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butididntpourthewhiskeys · 4 years

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L O V E B O U N D

“Christmasbound IV”

Taylor opens her eyes, just once, then closes them immediately. The entire room is spinning again. Her eyes are glued together, her vision blurry. She should’ve taken an Advil before bed. She should’ve prevented this. With a loud groan, she turns around in bed, the blanket only covering one half of her body. She swallows once, can obviously feel how dry her throat is. Taylor wants to move, wants to get up and tell herself that this is a new day, a new beginning, a new chance. All of these positive affirmations that she’s been growing up with. But today, she can’t. Maybe it was the late night whiskey while being all alone that was a bad idea. Maybe it was taking step closer to Joe and his family, which truly has been a bad idea after all.

Taylor takes another deep breath, holds her hand. She’s tired. Emotionally even more than physically. She slowly sits up. A stinging pain in her head keeping her from moving further. She looks to the side, could’ve sworn that she ensured to have a water bottle next to her bed. But the only thing she finds on the nightstand next to her is the whiskey glass. Almost empty. Disgusted at herself, Taylor moves her legs to dangle down the left side of the bed. She just sits upright, feels how dizzy she still is. When she was twenty- three and the world was against her, Taylor would always feel a sense of direction deep within her. As bad as it was, and as destructive as her dealing mechanisms may have been - she always knew this was just a phase. Just a bad month, a bad occurrence. A bad relationship. But now, at age 32, she doesn’t feel a sense of direction anymore. Even more so, she feels like she’s been on the right path. For a long time. Until she decided to leave it. Decided to go so incredibly wrong. All of that, while being a mother. Taylor swallows, stands up on the soft carpet on her bedroom floor. Barefoot and with nothing but her oversized sleeping shirt, Taylor makes her way down the stairs. Her eyes immediately fall onto the big window fronts. With swollen eyes and dried mascara on her cheek, she can’t help but smile tiredly. The world is white. Taylor can already see Eleanor before her eyes, having woken up hours ago and excitedly jumping around the Christmas tree. She’s happy it has snowed. She’s happy Eleanor is with Joe and his family. Where there’s more happiness. Where she can make these happy childhood Christmas memories that Taylor always wanted for her little girl. Even before she was born.

Taylor reaches for the blue coffee mug on the top shelf in the kitchen. She quickly turns on the coffee machine and waits silently for the warm brew to enter her cup. Maybe, just maybe, Eleanor is happier staying with Joe and Naomi, and Elizabeth and Richard. Not with her, right now, on this day. She doesn’t know how to be a mother when deep inside, she’s the lost teenage girl again. She’s never gone through this scenario when becoming a mother. She’s never been prepared that something might hit her that would absolutely numb her from being Eleanor’s mommy. From putting on a fake smile, just to be there for Eleanor. Taylor swallows the hot beverage, knows even without looking into the mirror how horrible she looks. Her shoulder long hair curly and in all directions, mascara under her eyes, bangs all messed up. She slowly grabs her phone, tabs two times to open the chat with Joe. She stares at their last exchanged messages for a few seconds. And she swallows again.

I can’t wait to have you two here, see you soon.

How ironic, that she actually felt like he had other reasons to invite her over. Other reasons than to finally move on from her.

Hey, Merry Christmas. I woke up not feeling great and don’t want to risk anything, so I think I’ll be staying home today. I’ll call later to speak to E. Merry Christmas to your family, give E a kiss from me.

Taylor drops her phone on the marble counter, doesn’t even care if the fall was a bit too harsh. She then grabs her coffee mug and wanders up the stairs again. This time though, she doesn’t go back to her messed up bed and the empty whiskey glass that is waiting for her like a cloud of guilt, in the middle of her house. Instead, she walks straight to the piano room. With bare legs, she slowly sits down on the little chair right in front of the massive piano. For a second, she just sits there, then lifts the piano lid slowly. She doesn’t even move, just takes a last sip of her coffee before placing the mug right on top of the piano. Her fingers slowly brush each key, low undefined sounds coming from the instrument. She’s never been good at life. But this was all she’s had. All she could really get right. All she will ever understand.

Did you ever hear about the girl who got frozen?

Taylor begins to follow this voice inside of her. Without thinking too much, she lets her hands do the work. Wanders from key to key, until there’s a melody that speaks for her.

____________________

“Mommy, I also got the new tonniebox that I wanted. And daddy and me also read me the note that Santa left for me. Santa wrote a note, just for me!” the little girl babbles into her mother’s ears. Taylor, who’s still just in her PJs, sits on the sofa now. Coffee number three in her hands, her hair still as messed up as before. She laughs quietly on the phone, can see her daughter’s excited little face in front of her eyes. “Of course he did. You’re such a good person, and you know that Santa always has an eye on that. And he’s so proud of you, same as me.” Taylor says, consciously didn’t tell her that she’s been a ‘good girl’, this year. She’s learned the difference between society telling you you’re a ‘good girl’ and actually being a good person. There’s worlds between these two things. Taylor can hear the background noises, Elizabeth probably rushing to prepare breakfast for everyone. Just when Eleanor was done telling Taylor about her presents, she can hear Joe in the background. Asking her if ‘mummy’s still on the phone’. Taylor swallows. It takes less than five seconds and she can hear Joe’s voice. He sounds careful, almost worried, a hint of curiosity in his voice. Her text this morning was probably too obvious. He knows her too well, probably can tell already that she’s been to overwhelmed by last night. Too overwhelmed meeting Naomi. Too overwhelmed seeing Joe with another woman. For the first time in a decade. For the first time ever.

He asks her if she’s feeling better, if she can make it to join them for lunch. How important it would be for Eleanor to have her mum there. Taylor feels sick, just hearing his voice again. Maybe it’s the coffee on her empty stomach, or it’s the warmth in his deep voice, that has captured her from the first time he opened his mouth, ages ago, through all the noise, on a warm LA summer night.

“I don’t know if it’s safe for me to come over, especially with covid and.. I do feel a scratch in my throat. So I think it’s better if…”

“We all got tested yesterday. It’s impossible that…”

“It doesn’t change the fact that I feel like crap,” she says, hoping he would finally stop. Taylor hears his silence on the end of the phone line. He knows. She knows that he knows.

“Of course, I’m sorry for pressuring you. It’s just… it’s Christmas Day and…”

“No, no. You’re not pressuring me.” She then says, still feels sad whenever he does. She needs to stop doing this. Needs to stop subconsciously mirroring him. Caring so much and so deeply about his happiness that she adjusts whenever he’s feeling some type of way. Suddenly, Taylor can hear Eleanor in the background. She is asking about mommy. Asking when mommy is coming over. Taylor feels this pressure on her chest again. Is she abandoning her daughter right now? Because she can’t get over her own feelings?

“Eleanor wants to.. wants to speak to you again.” He says then and Taylor can hear him handing over the phone. It takes one whiny “mommy” and Taylor knows she needs to get up, get freshened up, get over herself. She’s not twenty- three anymore. She can’t just care solely for herself anymore. She can’t just stay right here.

____________________

With a bad tummy ache, Taylor stares out of the window, watching all the naked trees in the dim light.

You left me no choice but to stay here forever.

For whatever reason, these lyrics are stuck in her head and she knows that she needs to write them down tonight. Just when the car stops, Taylor feels a rush of nausea overcome her. She unbuckles her seatbelt and nods at her driver. She thanks him underneath her mask, swallows hard as she sees the family home just meters away from her, behind the glass of the car where she’s still sitting in the backseat. She feels unable to move, but does it anyways. After a few seconds, she’s left the car, wearing black jeans and boots and nothing but a plaid blouse underneath her coat. She slowly takes off the mask, remains there in front of the house. She’s doing this for Eleanor. She’s doing this because she’s got a responsibility. Because she’s an adult now. Taylor slowly takes a few steps up to the entry through the thin layer of snow on the ground, can already smell Elizabeth’s cherry pie through the open window that leads right to the hallway. Taylor knows she looks better than a few hours ago. Her hair and face clean. Mascara where it’s supposed to be. Blush on her lips and cheeks. Almost as if nothing had happened to her. Nothing at all. With a slight nauseous feeling, Taylor was about to ring the doorbell but stopped in the last second, as the big door opened by itself already. A bit surprised and startled, Taylor looks at Elizabeth. And the fifty- year old woman looks back at her. It’s this uncomfortable and insecure silence between them for a few seconds. But even before Taylor can say anything, Elizabeth’s face changes into a warm smile. A relief that has run through Taylor’s veins immediately.

“Oh hi there, I knew I heard a car pull up.”

Taylor nods, was just about to answer as Elizabeth already pulls her inside the house and inside her arms. This is still new to her. This is still overwhelming. Taylor closes her eyes and feels Elizabeth’s hands on her back, stroking her back up and down. She immediately feels tears building up, swallows them down in the last second, just when the brown haired woman pulls back and smiles at her.

“Are you feeling better?” She asks, a well- knowing look on her face, as she already takes Taylor’s coat from her. Taylor, who feels welcomed but trapped at the same time, just nods quietly. She doesn’t really want to talk about it.

“Yeah I felt a bit off this morning.” she mumbles. Elizabeth places a hand on her back as soon as she’s put the coat away and walks with Taylor into the kitchen. Like a wildcat in fight mode, Taylor hectically looks through the living room but nobody’s there. That’s not quite what she expected to find.

“Where..”

“Oh they’re all upstairs on the attic looking through Joe’s old theatre costumes.” Elizabeth laughs, begins to stir the sauce she’s preparing on the stove. Taylor just nods, doesn’t really know how to act or move. She just takes a deep breath standing there. An old Christmas CD from the 90s is playing. The lights on the Christmas tree are lid. The cooker hood making dump noises. Elizabeth looks up at Taylor again, can see her awkwardly standing there, leaning against the counter next to her.

“We’re very happy to have you here, you know.” She says then and Taylor feels how she blushes. She never thought Elizabeth would ever say something like this to her ever again. Not after she and Eleanor left her son. Not after the last Christmas.

“I’m happy to be here as well.” Taylor then answers and Elizabeth steals her another look, then giggles quietly.

“Are you really?”

Taylor feels like she’s freezing for a while. She doesn’t know what to do with this answer.

“Of course, I.. I’m so thankful we’re speaking again and..”

“No, I didn’t mean that.” She says and Taylor knows what she knows. It must be written all over her face. A face that says ‘he’s moved on, I haven’t’. Taylor doesn’t say anything, as Elizabeth turns down the temperature of the stove and turns around at her.

“We should go for a walk soon. Catch up a bit.”

Taylor immediately smiles and nods a few times. Even if she feels like hell is loose, this offer definitely made her smile a bit more. It took exactly seven seconds to pass, as multiple steps come down the stairs and Eleanor screams excitedly, let’s go off her grandfather’s hand to run towards her mom.

“Mommy!” She screams and Taylor laughs for the first time really today, lifts up the small girl and holds her on her hip smiling. “Monkey, hello.” Taylor smiles, Eleanor and her automatically leaning in for a kiss on the lips which is followed by Taylor stealing her cheek another kiss. Just as she wished Eleanor another merry Christmas, is when she notices Naomi’s warm smile facing them. Within a matter of seconds, Taylor feels irritated again, holds onto the little girl on her arm as if she’s holding onto her life.

“Oh darling, are you so happy your mummy’s joined too?” Elizabeth strokes over Eleanor’s curls after having watched the scene between Eleanor and Taylor with a smile. She knows that after all, Taylor’s an incredible mother. A quality that she knew she’s got from the very first day they met. Right in this house. A decade ago. “Yes.” Eleanor mumbles into Taylor’s neck and they all laugh quietly. Just in that second, Joe also joins the family kitchen and smiles warmly at Taylor. He’s glad she’s made it.

“Someone’s glad her mum’s here, huh?” he then laughs at his daughter. Taylor was about to answer him, but his hand that casually lands on Naomi’s shoulder keeps her from opening her mouth.“Ellie, are you so happy you can show mummy your presents now?” the petite woman says, looking at Eleanor who’s still on Taylor’s arm. Ellie. Just in that moment, Eleanor turns her head grumpily, and goes “My name is Eleanor”. Taylor tries her hardest not to smile, but her mini- me seems to have hit the nail in the head here. Joe immediately laughs, both hands on Naomi’s shoulders now. “Darling, why don’t you show your mum what Santa Claus left under the tree this morning for her?” He says with a grin, obviously wanted to change topics to make sure that the awkward mood in the room diminishes. In that second, Eleanor moves on Taylor’s arm quickly and signals her that she wants to get down.

Together with Eleanor, Taylor now walks into the living room, knees down in front of Eleanor’s presents.

“Look, this one’s from Santa for mummy.” She says with a bright smile and Taylor decides to sit down on the carpet while opening her present.

“Mhm what could that be?” She says, swallows hard as she finally takes a good look at what’s in her hands. A colored polaroid of Joe and Eleanor, smiling into the camera is placed in the middle of the green card. Surrounded by little Christmas stickers and drawn Christmas trees with glitter hearts on them, both Eleanor and Joe have their heads stuck together, smiling the purest smiles into the camera. She can see Joe’s arm holding the camera. Of course she’s had some help with this present. Right underneath the picture, Eleanor has placed a smiling heart sticker and wrote “from Eleanor and daddy” in her messy handwriting, just the way a first grader would do. Taylor looks at the card, tears forming in her eyes. She doesn’t want to get emotional now. Doesn’t want to get emotional here in this room. But the two humans, who are so innocently smiling in this picture, still mean the world to her.

“I love it so much.” She says then quietly, hopes that no one else has seen her get teary. Eleanor looks confused at her mum, but Taylor just laughs, wipes away the tears on her cheeks and immediately hugs her. “This is so beautiful that I got super emotional, honey.” She laughs, soothing Eleanor a bit. And the little girl nods, seems to accept Taylor’s answer.

“I made the card, but Santa wrapped it up and put it under the tree.”

Taylor laughs and nods before getting up. Especially, because to Eleanor - it actually makes a lot of sense.

“That’s so nice of him. I’m so happy Santa brought me this beautiful card.” She says, takes Eleanor’s hand before joining the others around the table.

____________________

It’s been an hour now since Taylor consciously made the decision to have a conversation with the left side of the big table - Patrick and his girlfriend Jess. It’s been so wonderful reconnecting with him, hearing about his plans for after his masters degree. Hearing Jess talk about how they met, their struggles to find an affordable flat in northwest London and how excited they are to drive up to Denmark together once this coronavirus situation is over. Taylor has made the conscious effort to ignore Naomi, Joe and Tom who are seated on the other half of the table. Taylor knows she can’t block the new woman on this table out, but she clearly is taking every chance she’s got to engage in other conversations. Just when Eleanor is tapping attentively on her shoulder is when Taylor looks up and finds Naomi, Joe and Eleanor all dressed up. Apparently ready to go for a walk. A bit confused, Taylor looks at Joe and then back at Eleanor.

“We’re going out for a walk with Flint, do you want to join us?”

Taylor immediately shakes her head, an answer that came a bit too fast.

“Oh thanks for asking but I think you should go without me.” she mumbles, the last thing she wants to do right now is go for a walk with Naomi and Joe. Eleanor however continues to pull her hand, seems to have made up her mind that her mum has to join them today. Just when Taylor was about to talk to Eleanor is when Joe already speaks up. His voice in the same gentle tone that he’s always put on when they had a serious conversation.

“Actually, it would be fantastic if we could just... talk a bit? Who knows when’s the next time that we can all get together?” he says, Naomi just standing next to him, smiling hopefully and nodding with big eyes. Taylor knows that she’s being unreasonable but she would wish that Naomi wasn’t a petite and small woman, who’s got huge eyes, seems a bit shy and radiates this incredible kindness that sickens her whenever she enters the room. She wants Naomi to be someone she can passionately hate. Someone who’s toxic and mean, who gives off bad energy. But instead, she seems to be a kind, ordinary, bi- racial woman. Someone who Taylor would want to be friends with. The last person who Taylor would have wanted as her replacement. The better choice. The easier choice.

“Yeah it would be fun to.. catch up!” Naomi then says to Taylor in her British accent, sounding a bit unsure whether she’s been taking it too far. Taylor swallows. She’s got no arguments left. If she still decides to not go with them, then she would be the bad cop. A decision she doesn’t want to have to take. Taylor slowly gets up, nods and puts on a fake smile as Eleanor already cheers on her. She seems to be way more excited than Taylor is.

“Alright, it’s fine.” Taylor mumbles, can feel Elizabeth’s stare in her neck. She knows that it’s not fine. Not at all.

A bit insecure, just like she was back then, Taylor slowly puts in her boots that were left in the hallway. Joe watches her and he knows this isn’t easy for her. But knowing Taylor, he also is aware that things will feel way easier once she gets to know Naomi. Once she sees that she’s so respected by someone who doesn’t even know her. Once she sees that he wants her in his life. Forever. No matter what the circumstances are.

Joe remains standing in the hallway, watches Eleanor and Naomi with Flint leave the doorway already. Joe remains standing there, looks down at Taylor who’s still fixing her boots. Once she gets up, she exchanges a look with him and he smiles. Taylor is rolling her eyes.

I can’t believe you make me do this.

Thank you for doing this.

With her hands in her coat, Taylor slowly starts walking next to Joe. She feels awkward to say the least. Going for a walk with Joe, their child and his new girlfriend. Naomi carefully slows down to walk right next to Joe, and seems to be more than interested to start a conversation with Taylor.

“It’s such a beautiful weather isn’t it? I can’t believe it started snowing last night.” Naomi says and Taylor nods, can see in the corner of her eye that Joe is holding hands with her. And Taylor feels sick. To say the least.

“Eleanor was so sad these past weeks cause it hadn’t snowed yet, so she’s ecstatic today.” Joe laughs and everyone reacts except for Taylor. She usually is excellent in smalltalk, and Joe knows that. But seeing her so quiet makes him think that it’s not even a statement she’s giving him - she probably really is at a loss for words.

“Are you feeling better?” Joe asks her and Taylor slowly looks up, looks straight at Eleanor who’s holding Flint in her hands while walking down the street.

“Yeah definitely.” She says, doesn’t even try to sound like she’s okay with it. Slowly but surely, she feels rage develop in her chest. She cannot believe he’s making her do this. She cannot believe after everything they’ve been though, he can just go for a walk with Eleanor and her and his new girlfriend.

“Are you usually based in London or in America, Taylor?” Naomi then asks and Taylor can feel immediately that she’s been desperate to start a conversation with her. Taylor feels her staring at her. But she can’t face her just yet.

“Well Eleanor’s pre- school is based in London so we’re mainly here. But before covid we would travel a lot between Nashville and London.” she answers, feels actually kind of proud that she’s grown up enough to not become mean or sarcastic towards Naomi. And she can feel Joe do the same. She doesn’t have to look at him to know that he’s proud how civil she can be.

“Wow must be nice to have homes all over the world.” Naomi says and Joe laughs quietly. She cannot believe he’s laughing at her. Cannot believe he would be with someone who’s from an entirely different world. But then again, wasn’t that what Joe was to her back then? A sweet escape from the crowded and abnormal world she’s been living in. Taylor dares to look to her left and she can see Naomi looking at her steps carefully. Maybe, Naomi is Joe’s escape from her. The most painful thought she’s had for a while.

“Well, I’m sure Joe already told you that living in two different countries at the same time isn’t as exciting as you may think.” Naomi laughs quickly, and anyone who would witness this conversation could tell immediately that Naomi is nervous. Taylor hates it. Taylor hates how nice she is.

“Well, I was raised in southwest London and my family never could afford to travel. So to me, all of that sounds lovely.” Taylor says nothing.

“Daddy, can you help me with Flint’s collar?” Eleanor suddenly yells, already is a good six hundred meters in front of them. Joe immediately nods, starts jogging towards his daughter. Taylor and Naomi are now left behind, slowly continue walking down the street. And without taking a closer look at Naomi, Taylor can feel how happy the other woman seems to be that she has some alone time with Taylor now.

“It sounds ridiculous, I’m sure, but you have no idea how scared I was to meet you.” Naomi then says and Taylor wishes she never would’ve started this topic. She doesn’t know anything about Naomi and she wants things to stay this way. “When I was younger I had all of your albums at my house and... I really admire you a lot.”

“Thanks.” Taylor answers, as emotionless as possible. And she can sense that Naomi feels the cold that she radiates right now. How can Joe expect her to bond with his new girlfriend on Christmas? How can he think that her love for him has ever diminished? It never could. And he used to know that. The silence between the tall blonde woman in the big black coat and the smaller woman in the red puff jacket gets louder. Taylor feels uncomfortable and she for sure knows that Naomi feels the same.

“I know you hate me.” Naomi then says and Taylor sighs. Her anger gets more with every single word she says.

“I don’t hate you.”

“No, I mean.. I get it. And I feel so sorry for...”

“What do you feel sorry for?” Taylor asks, a bit too aggressive for her usual self.

“I’m sorry that Joe is making us meet over Christmas. It wasn’t my idea. I hope you know that. But I think he just... he wants things to become easier. With us. With you and your daughter. I think he just wants to finally have some peace.”

Naomi’s last sentence rips Taylor’s insides apart. She knows that she’s right. That she just said what Taylor sang years ago. Joe just wants to have peace in his life. With a partner who can give him that. With her as an ex- girlfriend and with his child. That’s all he wants. Taylor and Naomi just keep walking down the street, nothing but the gravel under their soles can be heard.

“You know, I will never become someone for him like you were.” Naomi then says and Taylor starts to feel sick. She can’t believe that this woman won’t stop talking. It almost feels painful hearing her voice in her ears. “You... you were his first real love. Whenever we talk about these things...” she sighs, then looks back up at Tay. “He speaks a lot about you and I think there’s just so many things he’s still digesting. Please don’t ever think that..”

“Naomi...” Taylor then interrupts her because she feels like throwing up. She can’t believe that the little person next to her is opening up to her if it she was an old friend. And maybe, exactly that kindness is what drives her insane. Because deep down, Taylor knows that Joe deserves someone as caring as that. Someone who helps him heal the wounds that she created. “I don’t hate you, Naomi. But I also need you to respect that I need time. Can we not talk about Joe anymore?”

Naomi looks at Taylor with big eyes, immediately nods. She seems intimidated by the tall blonde woman and Taylor can feel how guilty she feels. Naomi shakes her head, then turns to Taylor. “God, Taylor, I’m so sorry. I wasn’t thinking. I just thought maybe it would be the right way to just.. be really honest with you, but you’re so right, it was super insensible, and...”

“It’s fine.” Taylor then says, enjoys the sudden silence between them more than she expected. Taylor slowly looks up, can see Joe walking hand in hand with Eleanor. His hand lands on Eleanor’s head, and even from far away, Taylor can hear that she’s singing her favorite Christmas song. Taylor can’t help but smile for a second. Maybe, just maybe, it was all meant to be this way. Taylor still remembers ten years ago, when she first moved to New York and discovered slowly that with the lifestyle she chose, having a family and a committed relationship would be impossible. Maybe, just maybe, she was right back then. Taylor sees Joe jogging backwards, making Eleanor laugh. He seems so happy today. Playing with Eleanor, knowing he’s found someone who can give him the kind of life he was always used to, before her. The kind of life he craves. Taylor suddenly feels a new feeling in her chest. It’s a feeling she read about multiple times but never had experienced herself before, in the truest form she could imagine. She just wants him to be happy. Even if it means that she’s not part of his life anymore. At least not in the way she used to be. And she wants him to ‘digest’ whatever she did to him. Wants someone to help him heal the scars that she gave him.

“Look at that house, baby, oh my god.” Taylor squeaks for the fifteenth time in the past hour, stops in the middle of the street again. Joe grins, takes a step back to see what she’s looking at. A tiny house in brick stone with a French balcony right on the canal. He looks down at the blonde woman and laughs. She quickly reaches for her crossbody bag, takes out her phone and takes a picture. He can’t help but laugh.

“We’ll go home on Sunday and you have two hundred pictures of dutch houses on your phone.” Taylor grins, but doesn’t let him stop her. She just continues to take pictures, then buries her phone in her bag again and reaches for his hand once more. In nothing but her jeans shorts, white sneakers and huge sweatshirt, Taylor walks next to Joe. It’s a lukewarm summer night. With both hands now clinging onto Joe’s, they just continue to walk down the small street somewhere here in Amsterdam.

“I’m just in awe that there’s people living here, in this.. dream city. It’s so cozy and gorgeous. I just… Joe, I could cry how romantic this is.” Joe, who’s still walking hand in hand next to her just looks down at her with a big smile. His blonde hair a bit too long. His beard grown for his upcoming movie role. He just smiles, gets closer to her and presses a gentle kiss onto her lips. She tastes like the rose chapstick she applied earlier.

“I’m glad you like it.” he then says, continues walking down this lane. Taylor’s eyes are everywhere right now. She’s smitten by the city, smitten by the fact that she’s experiencing this. A weekend in a beautiful European city with the love of her life. No big black cars. No security around her. She feels so free with him, so safe, so… alive.

“Thanks for taking me here and organizing everything.” She mumbles. The sun is slowly setting and she’s glad she put on her sweater. “You’re very welcome. We’re almost there.” Joe says, keeps looking at his phone to make sure they’re not missing the right lane. “I think we need to go that way.” He says, points to a tiny alley on the left. Taylor looks at him and then back at the tiny street and just laughs. “God, I fucking love Europe” she laughs, holds onto his hand a bit tighter as they make their way through the alley. Joe looks back at her and she’s amused, carefully watches her steps on the cobblestones to not trip or fall.

“Where are you taking me? Do I have to be scared?” She asks, and Joe laughs.

“I’m taking you out to dinner, I already told you that.” he says all smart and Taylor just shakes her head.

“I’m really hungry. Where are we...”, within a few seconds Taylor gets quieter because she’s speechless. Just as they left the tiny street, a massive canal with a beautiful bridge that fully lid up by small lights is right in front of them. And Taylor feels like she’s in a movie. “Beautiful here, huh?” he smiles and Taylor remains speechless.

“Do you see this restaurant?” he asks, points to three small tables that are located right on the bridge next to the canal. Taylor just looks up at him, can’t believe he picked this romantic little restaurant for the two.

“Are you kidding me? This is... oh my god.” With a proud smile, Joe starts walking closer to the small restaurant. Just as they stand in front, Joe starts speaking to the waiter who then accompanies Taylor and Joe to their outside table - a tiny round table on the small bridge right over the Amsterdam canal. Taylor, who truly seems to be at a loss for words just sits down together with Joe. And the blonde haired man has to laugh at her reaction. Her eyes as big as the eyes of a child and her jaw still dropped.

“Do you like it?” he asks laughing, knows the answer himself. Taylor still looks around, unable to process how beautiful her surrounding is. She’s used to big city lights and massive crowds. But what Joe is presenting her here is quiet and calm beauty. The sunset over the old Dutch roofs. The view over the canal right from this little bridge. People who pass the street on the other side with their bikes. It’s quiet and small and beautiful.

“Joe, this is... this is by far the most romantic restaurant I’ve ever been at. How did you... how did you find this?” she asks, her phone already in her hand, taking pictures of everything around her. And Joe can’t help but smile. This was exactly what he wanted. He wanted to make this special, wanted to show her some of the most beautiful places in the world he knows. He wants to take her to all of them. The special ones and the common ones.

Just when he was about to open the menu, Taylor tells him to smile at her and he does so. The picture she just took of him makes her smile. He seems so happy, his eyes radiating in this picture right in the centre of this beautiful scenery right here at this restaurant. Taylor looks at this picture for a minute too long.

This is it. This is her entire happiness.

With a happy smile, Taylor puts her phone back into her small YSL purse and opens the menu like he just did. “What are you going to eat?” Taylor asks him and Joe smiles slightly, then looks back up at her.

“Well I’m not sure yet but I already know what you’re gonna get.” Taylor laughs,

“Okay and what is that?”

“Number 21 - truffle pasta with side salad. Dressing on the side.” Taylor looks back up at him and laughs in surprise again. He just knows her too well.

“Why the fuck do you read me like a book?” she jokes, and Joe can’t help but stare at her for a bit longer. She really does look incredible in this light. Her bangs a bit messy, her hair in a bun. She looks cozy in her sweater. But most of all she looks... happy.

“I guess I just know you very well.” he says, and Taylor closes the menu and looks back up at him. It’s a loving look, an intimate one. She slowly reaches for his hand across the table and Joe also puts the menu aside.

“You do. You really do.” she just mumbles and he feels like drowning in her eyes. Just when Joe was about to open his mouth, the waiter had already made his way to them and Joe orders - both main menus and two glasses of the Chardonnay. Taylor’s favorite.

“Do you ever think about what our lives could be like, living here in one of these tiny houses.” Taylor then says, her eyes on her surroundings. She sounds so dreamy as so often. Her heart is the heart of a little romantic. Joe still holds her hand on the table, strokes the back of it slowly. His eyes are just on her. “Maybe you would be working at the Amsterdam theatre of arts. I would be a writer. We’d both may struggle financially but live in a tiny old flat. You would get me tulips every weekend. We would eat a lot of cheese.” Joe starts laughing then, still looking at Taylor.

“I don’t think that’s what actual Dutch people do on the daily, babe.” he laughs, as the waiter already approaches their table and serves them two glasses of wine. Not even for a split second, Taylor lets go off Joe’s hand. With her other hand she’s reaching for the wine glass.

“Cheers baby. To us. Two years.” she smiles and he does the same.

“Two years. Almost.” he says and she laughs slowly.

“Oh come on, do you really think I’m breaking up with you two weeks before our anniversary?” she laughs and he just shrugs his shoulders.

“You never know.” Taylor just shakes her head. He is silly at times.

“But for real now, what if we quit our lives and move to Amsterdam and become ordinary people?” she asks him and Joe has to laugh once more. She really seems to be obsessed with this idea .

“I don’t know, I like our lives.” he says, feels a sudden nervousness overcome him. It’s the first time since this weekend. The first time that it comes boiling up and scaring him a bit.

“I mean... our lives are not normal or easy. I would like normal and easy for a while.” Taylor says, looks around herself once more. She can’t wait to send pictures of this beautiful location to her family and friends. They won’t even believe how lucky she’s been.

“I think normal and easy is not for us. We’re not normal or easy and I love that.” he says, takes a sip off his wine glass. Taylor laughs and looks at him then.

“No I am not normal or easy. You are though.” she jokes but Joe doesn’t react to her. She knows that it’s one of her weaknesses. Laughing when she’s nervous. Turning things that scare or worry her into a joke. Joe, who still hasn’t replied yet, just keeps staring at her. She’s so uncomfortable all of the sudden. And she never is, especially not when she’s with Joe.

“You are normal and you are easy too. And I love you.” he says then and Taylor looks back at him. She can see so much in his eyes, in these moments. So much love and kindness, but there’s also something else. He’s holding something back. Deep down, she can feel that.

“I know you still think you’re a burden and your life’s all complicated and all that..” he then says and Taylor freezes. There’s not been many times where he’s blurted something like this out. Without thinking twice. Just like that. Taylor swallows. Why is it that he can read her mind like that. As If she was an open book to him. “But have you ever thought for a second that you’re the only one out there I ever want to be with? I.. I don’t care about anything like that. All the.. all the complications or the not easiness or the abnormal things about your life. It’s not like that for me. I can’t ever see myself loving someone else again.” He says, ends his little speech with a smile. And Taylor just sits there, at the restaurant, holding his hand. She looks at his face but his words feel too overwhelming for her to process them. She’s had relationships before. But she’s never heard words quite like these.

“Do you understand me?” he jokes at her speechlessness then, “I can’t be with anyone else ever again. You changed me.”

“I changed you?”

“You did.” Joe looks back in her eyes and he can see how deeply emotional she is. This is it, he thinks.

“You changed me, Joe. In so many ways.” He smiles, takes a deep breath, holds her little hand a bit tighter.

“I know we never spoke about this in all seriousness, but…” he stops again, looks at her hands, before looking back up at her again. He feels shaky all of the sudden. His hands become a bit more sweaty than usually. “But.. how would you feel about.. things getting more serious in the future.”

“What do you mean?”

“How would you feel if I asked you to marry me?” Taylor sits there, a soothing evening breeze passing her face. She just smiles at him, doesn’t say anything. Then, without her controlling it, Taylor starts laughing. Loudly. Joe swallows. This was not quite the reaction he was hoping for.

“Baby, are you proposing to me? Or what is this?” Joe takes a breath, then laughs with her. He’s a bit insecure, but he’s shaking it off quite well. Acting school seems to have paid off.

“I’m not, I just wanted to speak to you about it. I mean… do you ever want to get married and have kids, or what are your plans in like… years down the road.”

“Of course I want to marry you. And I want us to have tall blonde weird ass kids.” she smiles across the table, “but.. we’re not there yet. I mean, we’re not even thirty yet. I just.. I definitely need a bit longer.” She laughs and Joe nods. He also takes a sip of his wine glass now. He definitely needs that.

“Do you feel differently?” She asks him then and he shakes his head.

“No, no I fully agree with you. I mean.. I’m 27. Way too young.” he mumbles, and Taylor reaches his hand again.

“Hey, look at me.” she says then, almost whispering because she knows he will hear her. “It’s you and me until the day I die. No matter if you love someone else or.. if you hate me. I will always love you, even when you don’t love me anymore.”

A dog barks at the end of the road. The soft snow underneath her boots creak slightly. For the first time since minutes, Taylor looks up in front of her again. Joe and Eleanor are still a good three hundred meters in front of them, have now started to pick a snowball fight. Just the two of them. And the tall man seems unlucky, seems to have taught his daughter very well. Every now and then, he acts as if Eleanor’s snowball hit him very hard. Harder than humanly possible. And Eleanor loves it, giggles excitedly while speaking to Flint about her next move.

You left me. You left me. You left me no choice but to stay here forever.

Taylor feels her body vibrating. She immediately stops, turns around at the woman next to her. “Uhm Naomi, can you.. can you walk up to Joe and tell him I need to finish something really quick. He.. he’ll know. See you later.” Naomi nods a bit confused, and it’s only then that Taylor notices how insecure the woman seems. She’s looking at Taylor, trying hard to understand her. Trying hard to read her. It’s this moment, in which Taylor understands that it’s also not easy being in her position. She’s the one who wasn’t there. Who hasn’t lived through the past years.

But Joe and her did. Every second.

More determined than before, she then turns around, already picks her phone as soon as she’s a few meters away from her. Within a matter of seconds, Taylor opens her recording app, stares at her phone for a few seconds and closes the app again. She then goes back to her picture folder, scrolls up for a few seconds. Right until she’s found it. Found something she didn’t want to see for a long time.

07.54pm, Amsterdam, Netherlands, September 4th, 2018.

Her phone still reminds her. Taylor stares at this picture for a while. Joe indeed, looked so happy. Sitting in the small restaurant by the canal. Holding her hand. Believing that they were forever. Having his mum’s ring in his pocket. Little did he know then that this evening would be the first time she would refuse his proposal. Taylor touches his face on the screen for a few seconds, then closes the app again. She goes back into her recordings, holds the phone close to her and begins to sing quietly. She doesn’t want anyone to notice her. To notice her singing nonsense into her phone - which has been the only dealing mechanism she’s ever known. She closes her eyes, right on this snowy winter day, and she’s back. Back in Amsterdam. Back in summer.

“Help, I'm still at the restaurant, still sitting in a corner I haunt, cross-legged in the dim light, everything was just right..”

#taylor swift #joe and taylor #joe alwyn #taylor swift fanfiction #joe and taylor fanfiction #lovebound #fanfiction #Christmasbound #right where you left me #amsterdam

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oddshelbyout · 4 years

Text

Dance With Me // John Shelby X Fem!Reader

Summary: Your childhood friend John promises you a dance at the pub you work at but he disappears. You spend the night worried about him until he shows up at your door, wounded.

Warnings: Swearing, Drinking, Description of wound (slightly graphic), Blood

Word Count: 2304

Author’s Note:

I decided I wanna write for John more so here is another one. I liked the idea but I’m not sure how it turned out, some parts can be a little too vague and rushed. I still hope you’ll enjoy it!

English is not my first language and I’m not always confident about my work so please let me know if I make any mistakes or anything I can fix in my writing.

You can ask to be added to my taglist. You can be tagged to works on a specific character or just any of my works. Please dm me or send your wish to my ask box if you’d like to be added.

Requests are open. You can request any Peaky Blinders related imagines or prompts for me to write. I’m a minor so I don’t take NSFW requests, please keep that in mind.

———————

Friday nights were always the busiest at the pub you worked at. You were busy filling up pints. You were also bopping your head to the song the pretty lady on top of the chair was singing.

It was a joyful night, everyone was singing and you loved Friday nights for that. You left the bar and started wiping the tables. The tables were sticky from all the spilled drinks, as usual.

As you were minding your business, enjoying the next song that lady was singing, everyone just shut up. The pub went all quiet. You heard the door close and you looked up. There stood John Shelby.

“Go ahead people, continue.” he said and people started singing again. You left the cloth you wiped the tables with on a table and ran to John. You threw yourself in his arms.

“I haven’t seen you in weeks! Where have you been?” you asked. If anyone else asked him that, he would be furious but it was you. You grew up together, you were basically a Shelby and he thought you were the only one worth telling where he was.

“Had some business in London.” he said, he held your hand and dragged you to a table. He sat down and put his tab of cigarettes on the table.

“I’m working.” you smiled. He just turned to your boss and said “She’s taking a break.” you chuckled, sat down to the chair beside him.

“I’d rather you work in one of our pubs.” he told you, the only thing you did was roll your eyes. “I’m good here, thanks though.” you said a moment later, just to fill the uncomfortable silence between you.

“So you were in London for almost 3 weeks?” John nodded to your question, that was unusual. He usually never stayed in London for that long, “It should be serious then.” you said and he nodded again.

“Is something wrong? You’re a little too silent.” you asked. “Uh no, I actually wanted to ask you if you’d like to dance.” John smiled. You didn’t know if he genuinely wanted to dance or if he just didn’t want to talk about what he did in London.

“No, I’m at work!” you said, he smiled. He wasn’t going to let you go without a dance. “Come on Y/N!” he encouraged you. You would love to dance with him but not at work.

“My shift ends in half an hour, what if we dance then?” you ask, John looks happy to hear that. He looked at his watch, he got on his feet. “I’ll be back in half an hour.” he promised and left the pub.

You got back to wiping the tables. The time passed quickly and you didn’t realise how fast. The music coming out of the record player replaced the lady’s voice, who seemed to leave.

You dropped the dirty cloth into the bucket of water. You looked around the pub and then the clock on the wall. John hadn’t came, it’s been more than half an hour.

“Is it okay if I leave?” you asked your boss. The pub wasn’t as crowded as it was earlier and it was obvious he could manage on his own.

“See you tomorrow Y/N!” he shouted behind you, “Good night.” you shouted back before opening the door. You walked down the dark alleys of the city, your steps were slow. You weren’t afraid of the dark nights of Birmingham, you knew how to protect yourself well.

When you finally got to your home, all you wanted to do was go to sleep but your mind was busy with John. Not showing up was nothing like him. He had never stood you up. If he said he’d show up and dance with you, he was going to. You could feel something was wrong.

You just changed into your night dress and went to bed immediately. You lied in your bed, closed your eyes but you couldn’t sleep. Normally you wouldn’t be worried but this time was different.

You also really wanted to dance with him. You danced together a lot when you were younger, then both of you started seeing it as something more romantic. You were best friends, you didn’t want to seem romantic.

You couldn’t sleep. You wondered where John was but also you wondered the reason behind him offering that dance. That occupied your mind so much that sleep seemed impossible.

Was it because he didn’t want to talk about London like you assumed or was it because he wanted to dance with you like you hoped? You didn’t know how long you have been trying to go to sleep either.

Your tired body started giving up and your loud thoughts faded. You were finally falling to sleep and you would if someone didn’t knock on your door.

Your eyes opened wide, you jumped out of your bed. John didn’t show up like he promised you and spent 3 weeks in London for ‘business’ so you just assumed you were in trouble.

It wouldn’t be the first time you were on a kill list because you were so close to the Shelbys. You took your paper knife from the desk in your room, it was your best choice as a weapon at that moment.

You held the knife tight and stood behind the door. “Who is it?” you said, ready to stab whoever was behind your door. “Y/N just open up!” you heard John say, he sounded like he was trying to speak with his teeth clenched.

“Thank God!” you dropped the knife on the floor and opened the door. What you saw behind the door made you take the thanks back. John stood still, blood dripping behind his white shirt. His jacket was missing and he had no gun on him.

“What the fuck happened?” you asked, you pulled him in. You shut the door and made him sit on the floor, he was losing so much blood that he was dizzy and couldn’t stand up properly.

“You fucker!” you shouted at him, John looked at you not getting why you were angry at him. He was shot on his left arm, the bullet missed his heart with only a few centimeters.

“Just take this bullet out now!” John shouted, “Don’t you have a whole family who can do that better than me?” you asked in horror. “Just do it!” he shouted back.

You ran to the living room, grabbed the single bottle of vodka you had. You handed the bottle to John but he drank it instead of showering his wound with it.

“That’s not why I gave it to you!” you shouted at him. You were sure the neighbours were going to complain a lot. You took the bottle back as soon as he finished his sip.

You sat down on your knees. You took the paper knife again, first cut the sleeves of his shirt and then poured the vodka on. “Don’t waste it, I need it!” John told you. You just chuckled and carefully put the knife on his skin.

“Yeah, drinking is more important.” you complained while you tried to dig the knife under the bullet. John screamed in pain, “I thought you were tougher than that.” you laughed.

“Shut up!” he shouted back, scrunching his face from the pain. You finally pushed the bullet out, piled the cut sleeve into a ball and started pushing it on the open wound.

You took a sip from the vodka, “I thought it wasn’t to drink.” John mumbled while still being obviously in pain. “I need it because you showed up wounded in the middle of the night and stood me up earlier.” you said and John’s face just relaxed.

“You waited for me?” he asked simply, you hated that he had the balls to ask that. You ignored the question, “You should’ve gone to Polly, I’m sure she would be better at taking it out.” John squinted his eyes.

“No I couldn’t, nobody can know I fucked up.” he said, you knew what he was talking about. He fucked the ‘business’ up with whatever he did in London. “And couldn’t let the kids see me like this.” how could you forget about John’s kids, apparently they were with Polly when he was in London.

John took the ball of shirt from you and started pushing it himself. “If you did something wrong, they’ll know sooner or later.” you said, almost pitying him. You knew very well how an angry Tommy Shelby behaved.

“I’ll tell them, just not like this.” he said but that made you a little uneasy. “So why did you come here? To put me in danger too?” you asked, still bitter about the dance.

“No because I wanted to apologise.” you took your gaze away from him. “For what?” you asked like you didn’t know. “For not being there to dance.” he said, you looked back at him.

“I thought we didn’t dance, friends don’t dance like that, remember?” you asked, trying him and searching for the answer you hoped for.

“You were willing to dance when I asked you at the pub.” you nodded, had nothing to say. “And also for not keeping my promise, you were probably worried.” he confessed, you once again nodded. “Obviously I was right to be worried.” you pointed at his left arm.

He laughed, you assumed the pain had faded. “I’m sorry Y/N.” he apologised sincerely, his impression said it all. “It’s okay, you never stood me up.” you sounded sad.

John took a deep breath, “Dance with me.” he said. You were surprised to get that offer at that exact moment. “What?” you asked, he tried to stand up but he felt too weak to do so.

“Dance with me like you promised me, I came all the way here.” he said smiling softly. “You came here because you were shot.” you answered, “So you’re not gonna dance with me?” you copied his smile and helped you get up.

“My record player is broken though.” you said while walking him to the living room in your arm. You looked down to the floor worrying about the carpets. All of your carpets now had blood stains on but it didn’t matter. One of the things Shelbys thought you was how to take blood stains off, you were in luck.

“We’ll dance without music then.” he said, he stopped pushing on his arm even though it was still bleeding. He wrapped his arms around you even though it caused him pain.

You started looking deep into his green eyes, they hadn’t changed a bit since the day you first met him. Neither of you were over the age of 10, kids playing together, sharing anything. Your parents passed away and your aunt who was your guardian was absent. You grew inside the Shelbys and that was the best thing that happened to you.

Looking deep into his eyes made you remember the day he married Martha and how happy he was. You saw the same happiness in his eyes that day. “Are you happy?” you asked him, totally unintentionally.

“I am when I’m with you.” he said and started whistling a tune. He kept whistling and you moved your body in sync with his.

“John Shelby, do you love me?” you asked and he stopped whistling. He didn’t stop dancing though. “Is that even a question?” he asked and you thought he didn’t get the exact question.

“But do you love me?” you let your arms go, you stopped dancing and stood before him like a statue. “I do.” he said, you weren’t convinced. Your brain just couldn’t accept that your love wasn’t unrequited.

“Do you love me like you loved Martha?” you asked, he licked his lips and blinked. “Maybe even more.” he confessed, your knees got weak.

You looked on your right arm, it had stains of blood from John’s wound. You still weren’t convinced that he loved you back. You thought best friends could be the only thing you’ll ever be.

“What took you so long.” you swallowed, you should’ve been happy but you weren’t. You’d rather not learn about his feelings this way. You would rather learn it at a time when he wasn’t wounded and came to you for it.

“Denial.” he said, “I didn’t believe we could be anything other than friends.” he confessed. Hearing that made you smile, you didn’t even realise you were smiling until he copied yours.

“So what now?” Do I let you kiss me?” you raised your eyebrows and asked. “Yes and maybe more?” he divided his lips like he was asking for the kiss.

“I just took a bullet out of you!” you exclaimed, “That never stopped me!” he replied back. You laughed, “Fucking hell!” you gave up and pushed your lips on his.

This was surprisingly your first kiss with him. As teenagers you two had debated if you should try kissing but that seemed too dangerous for both of you. Neither of you wanted to risk your friendship.

What made you risk your friendship at that moment was a mystery. You didn’t think a moment about that because after that one moment of shock, you were finally happy to get that confession.

His lips were better than what you imagined. They were soft even though they looked rough and chapped. His lips were cold most likely because of all the blood he lost.

You parted from him to take a breath and slipped an “I love you.” before you kissed him again. Knowing he wanted more, you didn’t care about his wound and pushed him on the couch. You knew exactly what he wanted and you would give it to him.

#john shelby #peaky blinders #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders oneshot #peaky blinders x reader #john shelby fanfic #john shelby oneshot #john shelby x reader #john shelby x you #john shelby x y/n #john shelby imagine #peaky blinders imagine #joe cole

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blood-sucking-freaks · 3 years

Text

idk if i'm gonna do all of the BJ book on here yet, BUT here's a section of it that kind of helps expand on the 'Evil Bill and Evil Ted trash Bill and Ted's place' scene and I fucking love that we got a little bit more fleshed out characterization of EB and ET in the book because I love them (also a funny little bit on De Nomolos' 'teaching')

Bill and Ted weren't the best housekeepers in the world. Evil Bill and Evil Ted were even worse - horrible, in fact. They were also totally into mindless destruction, and while Good Bill and Good Ted had their faults, destroying for destroying's sake was not one of them. Of course, they knew that once they got the Wyld Stallyns off the ground, they would have to destroy a few thousand dollars' worth of equipment whenever they played some live gigs in mega-arenas -the fans would expect it - but that was in the future, when they could afford it.

With Evil Bill and Evil ted, on the other hand, it was not only their life's work, what they had been totally programmed to do, but it was their hobby was well. Now, having destroyed their relationship between Good Bill and Good Ted and the princesses and murdering Bill and ted into the bargain, Evil Bill and Evil Ted were addressing themselves to the question of trashing Bill and Ted's apartment. They were very good at it. Pros, you might say.

They had already had a certain amount of fun tearing up what there was of bill and Ted's meager wardrobe, flushing smaller household items down the toilet and totally scratching and smashing their prized collection of Aerosmith and Iron Maiden records. The stereo and the TV were just smoking shells, the posters had been stripped from the walls, the rug ripped up from the floor, the curtains destroyed, the furniture hacked to splinters.

Evil Bill and Evil Ted now turned to the kitchen and found that that was a very entertaining venue, opening up many opportunities for creative and imaginative ways of destroying things.

Ted threw open the door of the refrigerator and yanked out a can of soda. He shook it ferociously and then fired a long stream of sticky liquid at Evil Bill.

"You look thirsty, dude!" cackled Evil Ted.

"And you look hungry!" yelled Evil Bill. He grabbed a handful of eggs from the rack in the door of the refrigerator and pasted evil Ted in the side of the head with two of them.

"Yah!" Evil Ted squeezed some of the yolk from his hair. "And I know what you want!"

"What?"

"Dessert, dude!" Evil Ted pulled out an aerosol can of whipped cream topping and blasted away at Evil Bill. Cream, eggs and soda made the kitchen floor sticky underfoot, and just for the heck of it, Evil Bill and Evil Ted pulled all the food out of the refrigerator, tossed it to the ground and trampled it into paste.

Then they turned their attention to the kitchen cabinets, inventing, on the spur of the moment, a new kind of basketball. Instead of using a ball, like normal people, or even normal robots, they played with all the glassware - plates, glasses, saucers - that they found in the cabinets. True, you couldn't dribble a plate - no bounce, right? - but it did make for a very satisfying slam dunk.

You see, Bill and ted had a little indoor basketball net over their kitchen door, and sometimes, when they had to have some very serious and deep conversation, they would sit at their kitchen counter, talking about the Wyld Stallyns, their babes, their future and other serious things, shooting a nerf ball at the hoop. It helped them concentrate and it didn't do any harm.

That just wasn't evil Bill and Evil Ted's kind of game. Evil Ted had a big water glass in his right hand, and he was backing in toward the basket, his left arm out to keep Evil bill out of the way. Evil Bill, for his part, was working hard to block, in Evil ted's face, trying to prevent the attacker from getting a look at the basket.

"No way, dude," said Evil Bill, "you'll get through my totally non-heinous and most resplendent blocking."

"Yah?" Evil Ted powered in a few feet and hooked the glass at the basket. It sailed through the air, end over end, whiffed through the basket and exploded with a crash on the tile floor.

"Two points, dude!"

"Lucky, dude, that's all. My turn." He scooped up a dinner plate, faked right, went left and blew by Evil Ted, leaped for the hoop and jammed, slamming the plate into smithereens.

"He shoots! He scores!" yelled Evil Bill. "The man, er, robot is unstoppable!"

Evil Ted had an armful of glasses, and he was standing about where he imagined the free throw line to be, pitching them toward the basket. Not all of them swished - a couple of them just smashed against the kitchen wall, showering glass over everything - but most found their target and then shattered.

Evil Bill did his best to help out, goaltending, tipping in a few of the rim shots. It sounded as if it were raining broken glass in the wreckage of Bill and Ted's apartment.

Then, abruptly, it stopped.

"More!" demanded Evil Bill.

Evil Ted was peering into the cupboards, rummaging around, throwing out cans and cereal boxes, rifling the shelves, like a thief searching for hidden valuables.

"Bad news, dude."

"What?"

"Game's over. We are totally out of dishes!"

"Heinous."

They look for a moment over the extensive wreckage, smiles of satisfaction on their faces.

"Well," said Evil Bill. "It was fun while it lasted. I just wish those other us's had more stuff to wreck."

"Well, we didn't make all that much at Pretzels 'n' Cheese, dude."

"Yah, but I wish we had spent more on decorating."

Evil Ted suddenly had a totally triumphant idea. "Wait, Evil Bill, check this out."

"What?"

"This, dude." Evil Ted put his hands around his neck, as if he were trying to strangle himself, and pulled. His electronic, completely solid-state head popped out of his neck, trailing a few wires like tentacles. His headless body thundered across the kitchen, crunching glass underfoot, and slam-dunked his own indestructible head into the basket.

"Two points!" Evil Ted's head roared as it rolled across the kitchen floor.

Evil Bill was most impressed with this new variation on the game. True, they were trashing themselves now, but trashing is trashing.

"Not bad, dude, not bad."

"That's what I call heads-up basketball, dude." Evil Ted's head was still on the floor, and it was giving a certain amount of thought to the problem of how to get back to his body.

"Here," said Evil Bill, "lemme try that." Just as Evil Ted had done, Evil Bill pilled his head off his neck, as easily as popping a tab on a soft-drink can. "Check this out, Evil Ted. Keep your eye on the ball and watch a perfect Kareem-style sky hook." Evil Bill lofted his own head high in the air, a long graceful arc that seemed to be perfectly on target - until it slammed into one of the blades of the ceiling fan in the kitchen. It stuck there and turned slowly around, as if it were on a merry-go-round.

"Whoaaaaaa!" shouted Evil Bill's head. "Totally bogus!"

"Dude! You totally didn't see the fan!" Evil Ted's body, all on its own, decided it was time it had a head back. It reached down and grabbed it and stuffed it back on his neck.

Evil Bill's head continued to turn round and round. It was beginning to make him a little dizzy.

"Evil Ted! Get my body over here and take me off this thing."

"Yah! You heard him, dude," said the now-complete Evil Ted to Evil Bill's headless torso. "Go get your head, dude."

Instead of doing what it was told, the body casually waved to Evil Bill's twirling head, gesturing to him as if it didn't give a damn whether it ever got back with its head again.

"Whoooaaa!" said Evil Ted. "What a lousy attitude you have, Evil Bill."

"As soon as I get back to my body, dude, I am gonna totally beat myself black and blue."

"You'll totally have it coming to you, Evil Bill. Trouble is it's gonna hurt you more than it'll hurt yourself."

"It'll be worth it. Evil Ted, dude, get me down from here, would ya please?"

"Yah!" Evil Ted leaped as if going up for a jump shot, grabbed the head off the fan blade and came down lightly. This seemed to get Evil Bill's body's attention. Evil Ted waved the head at the body. "Got your head, dude!" he said tauntingly.

"Stop fooling around, Evil Ted, and totally reunite me with my body."

"No way, dude!" Evil Ted tucked the head into the crook of his right arm like a football running back. "I'm gonna score a touchdown!"

Evil Bill's voice was muffled. "Gotta get through my triumphant defense first." Evil Bill's headless body charged toward Evil Ted like a front-line blocker. "I'm gonna totally tackle you, dude!"

"No way!" Evil Ted danced around Evil Bill's body, raced into the living room and spiked Evil Bill's head into a wastebasket. "Touch-down for Evil Ted! Now for the triumphant field goal!"

"You're not kicking my head anywhere, dude!" Evil Bill's body rushed into the living room and grabbed the head out of the wastebasket. Quickly he jammed the head back on his shoulders. "That's better."

"That was fun!" said Evil Ted.

"Yah! Way to go, dude! We are truly most resplendent total headbangers."

"Yah!" Evil Ted air-guitared wildly for a moment, then stopped stock-still, a funny look on his face.

"What's up, Evil Ted?"

"We're wanted on the phone, Evil Bill. It's the boss from head office." Evil Ted smacked the back of his head and his eye popped into his hand. There was a moment of static and fuzz in the pupil, the De Nomolos's sneery face came on the screen.

"How's it goin', master-dude?"

De Nomolos looked with utter contempt at his two evil creations. Even though they were central to his plan, he couldn't help but loathe these two creatures. He looked forward to a time when not only would there be no Bill and Ted, but no manmade Bill and Teds either. Bliss...

"Give me a report," snapped De Nomolos. "At once!"

"We totally ruined things between Joanna and Elizabeth and Bill and Ted," said Evil Bill.

"Yah. They were most sad dudes when we totally murdered them."

"Yah! And now we've been having a little R and R while we trash their heinous apartment."

"Stop wasting time," De Nomolos barked. "You must proceed with the plan. Immediately, do you understand me?"

"Yes, master-dude!" they said in unison.

"Understand me, you cretins," said De Nomolos, "it is not enough that you destroy those two...those two...," he couldn't even bring himself to say their names, "...imbeciles. It is imperative that you destroy everything about them."

"Totally!" agreed Evil Bill and Evil Ted.

"So get on with it," De Nomolos ordered. "Follow you orders to the letter."

"Okay, dude," said Evil Ted. "What's next? What does the program say?"

"Don't think! You're not programmed to think!" yelled De Nomolos. "Just do! The next phase consists of completely alienating Bill and Ted from everyone they've ever known."

"Right!" said Evil Bill.

"Excellent!" said Evil Ted. "You are one most smart dude, dude."

De Nomolos looked withy disgust at the machines he had created in the image of his greatest enemies. "I hate them and I hate robot versions of them."

"Hey, dude," said Evil Bill, "don't blame us. You're the one who made us."

"Yah!" said Evil Ted.

"Don't remind me," said De Nomolos. "Get to work!"

The image on the eye monitor fuzzed over and De Nomolos disappeared. Back in the future, he was busy implementing his own part in the plan, which consisted mainly of indoctrinating his captive students at Bill and Ted University in the history he had so carefully and nastily rewritten.

"Pop quiz!" he said suddenly to the class. "Close your books!"

Thomas Edison, Bach and the rest of the class closed their personal copies of a not very fascinating book called Nomolos de Nomolos - The Greatest Man In History and sat up straight.

De Nomolos scowled at the ranks of students. "In what year did Robot Ted marry Missy?" He scanned the room, as if about to choose a candidate for execution. "Thomas Edison! Answer me!"

Edison started as if he had been pinched and swallowed hard. It had been a while since he had taken a pop quiz, and he had never taken one with a gun to his head. It was a most disconcerting feeling.

"Uh...1996?" he asked hopefully.

De Nomolos actually smiled, an expression that looked sort of peculiar, out of place on his face. "Very good. You are as smart as your reputation said you were."

Seeing as Edison was on De Nomolos's good side, he thought he might use the opportunity to get out of the jam he found himself in. "Sir, I hate to bother you, but I have to be getting back to New Jersey to invent the motion picture, and I happen to know that Johann Sebastian Bach here was halfway through Das Musicalishes Opfer - really smoking, really on a roll too - so maybe we could be heading back to our own times now."

Edison wasn't teacher's pet anymore. "Shut up. You know no one can leave the century during a quiz. Leads to cheating. Now... you!" He pointed to a student in the third row who was so scared she jumped about a foot on the air.

"Me?"

"Yes, you..." De Nomolos's brow furrowed as if he was trying to think up a real toughie. "In what year did Missy marry Robot Bill?"

"1998," she said quickly.

De Nomolos smiled his bad guy smile. "Good... Good... Things are coming along very nicely, very nicely indeed." De Nomolos looked around the room, drawing a bead on another hapless student, like a sniper fixing a victim in the crosshairs of his sights. "You!" All the time that Robot Bill and Robot Ted were on earth, where were the actual Bill and Ted?"

The student swallowed hard. "They were dead, sir. Totally."

"Exactly." De Nomolos spoke with a great and obvious sense of satisfaction. Things seemed to be going his way, just as planned. "Gone... dead. Never to return again. And that means that their idiocy will have died with them. No one can do anything about it. Ingenious, isn't it?"

#bill and ted #bill and ted's excellent adventure #bill and ted's bogus journey #bill s preston esquire #evil bill s preston esquire #evil ted theodore logan #ted theodore logan #de nomolos #alex winter #keanu reeves

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namjoon-koya · 4 years

Text

Choose wisely: prologue

(A/N: I really wanted to write a horror fanfic and I got a lot of inspiration from YouTube on how to make one so here it goes.)

Pairing: Bakugou x reader

Warning ⚠️: angst, horror, creepy pictures, fluff, nsfw in the near future, dreamcore/Liminal Space.

Summary: While Bakugou and you are fighting against a villain along with Midoriya and Todoroki you both unexpectedly get hit by the villain’s quirk. You both wake up in a different world it feels like a dream, but you both can’t seem to escape until someone informs you how to escape it and it won’t be easy choosing wisely is the only way out to getting back into the real world.

The Liminal Space is the Space that lies between the known and the unknown. It is a transitional space of heightened intensity that we experience when we traverse the threshold of the creative unknown.

Hero work never seemed to stop or slow down at least not for you and Bakugou; after graduating U.A both of you decided to work in the same company considering you both were dating and still wanted to continue to be close even if the U.A days were over. Both of you have been dating for 2 years now, your friends assumed Bakugou and you would have settled down already gotten married and maybe start a family.

It wasn’t that simple as they though Bakugou lived for the thrill of being a pro hero he was still the same even after graduating U.A Bakugou still continued to want to prove he was the best pro hero ever. Of course you’d still continue to support him, but sometimes you did want to settle down already; but you never knew how to bring that conversation up to him.

Hell you and Bakugou didn’t even live in the same apartment yet, Bakugou loved you and you loved him; but there was no communication between the both of you when there was a problem “it’s frustrating..” you said out loud as you continued to gaze up at the ceiling. You heard your phone go off on the nightstand you slowly started to get up from bed realizing it was almost 10AM which meant it was time to go to work.

You walked over to the bathroom and began your daily routine before going back to the bedroom and getting your hero costume “I should ask hatsume to make a few upgrades.” You said as you examined your outfit in the mirror. You picked up your backpack from the ground and headed to the kitchen, you often didn’t have time to eat so you’d just grab a fruit out of the fruit bowl and just be on your way to the agency. You heard your phone ring again you looked down and see Bakugou had sent you a text.

You made sure you had everything before finally leaving, you made sure to lock your door since often times you’d forget and Bakugou would just call you a dumbass and remind you to lock it. Once outside you saw Bakugou’s car you rushed over and opened the passenger side “Good morning Katsuki.” You said smiling as you put on your seatbelt he gruffly says morning before kissing you on the cheek.

He pulls back “did you remember to lock your door?” You roll your eyes “ONE time Bakugou it was just ONE time.” You try to argue, but he only laughs “actually three-“ you pout “I was drunk that time and also my neighborhood is pretty safe!” Bakugou let’s out a sigh “better to be safe Y/N.” He says as he starts driving off the agency.

The drives to the agency were often quiet, but not the awkward kind of quiet; but more like the comfortable type of quiet Bakugou would often hold your hand in his as he drove you scolded him saying it wasn’t safe, but he’d smirk and reply by saying “I’m a pretty safe driver babe.” Whenever he’d stopped the car because of the red lights he’d bring your hand to his lips and leave a small kiss on your knuckles making you blush.

He would catch a glimpse of you blushing and just smirk “you play unfair.” You mumbled out “never said I would play fair Babe.”

You both finally arrived at the agency and saw Kirishima already there “finally the two love birds make it to work!” He shouts happily “shut up dumbass the traffic was more packed today that’s why.” He said crossing his arms. “Mm sure it was, but how’s your morning Y/N.” You smile at Kirishima “it was fine thank you for asking did the boss already hand out assignments?”

“Not all, but I’m working with Tetsutetsu today so I’ll definitely be some kind of adventure today.” Kirishima said as he smiled, the two boys were somewhat familiar Tetsutetsu had a hardening quirk, but instead of his skin hardening his skin would turn into steel which amazed you a lot and of course you can’t forget their similar shark teeth.. you could only imagine how hard their bite together would be.

“Blaze, Ground Zero you both will be working with another agency’s member. Deku and Shoto.” Once you heard those two names come out the boss’s mouth you swear you could feel Bakugou try to hold back every curse word he could think of. You had completely forgot that Bakugou STILL continued to compete against them for the number one spot.. you let out a sigh. You could hear Kirishima laughing behind you “Good Luck Y/N you’re going to need it.”

The four of you decide on meeting in a cafe to lay low apparently the new villain kept tabs on heroes to avoid getting caught as the boss informed both you and Bakugou. Once you both arrived at the cafe you saw Midoriya and Todoroki siting together chatting away through the window. Bakugou let out a frustrated grunt “we should just leave-“ “and get scolded by our boss? No thanks!” You say as you open the door, Bakugou followed behind you still holding a scowl on his face.

“Todoroki Midoriya! It’s been so long!” You said going up to them Midoriya’s eyes sparkled as he saw you “Y/N! I’m so happy to see you! U-uh you too kaachan.” Bakugou only grunted which earned him a elbow to his side. “Todoroki how have you been?” You asked “I’m fine Y/N thank you for asking.” Once the four of you settled down and ordered drinks that’s when you all started talking about the villain.

“So what do we know?” You asked.

“The villain hasn’t showed his quirk yet, they tend to keep tabs on heroes to avoid getting caught, traveling in daylight is scarce BUT not uncommon for them, night time seems to be the time they come out more.” You hummed as Todoroki provided the information.

“Why night though? Heroes come out either way in the nighttime.”

“Seems to me like he’s playing a game of cat and mouse.. mouses tend to come out at night so maybe he’s waiting for the cats to take the bait?” Midoriya’s hypothesis seemed reasonable some villains you’ve come across loved to play around with heroes until they got caught..

The four of you made a plan to catch the villain when it’s night, Todoroki would stay with Midoriya and you’d stay near Bakugou. You felt uneasy about this job.. you didn’t even know why often times you’d feel more comfortable, but something was telling you not to do it.. you shrugged it off trying to not think about the worse case scenario happening.

Finally when it was night the four of you headed out it seemed somewhat peaceful and quiet expect for the cars often honking or passing by. The uneasy feeling came back again and you started becoming hesitant in your own steps as you followed Bakugou; he noticed he stopped before looking back “are you alright?” You nod.

He continues to walk until you both land on the spot where you two are suppose to be “Oi deku are you guys ready?” He asked through the small earpiece “ready kaachan it says that he’s supposed to be here.” So you guys wait until the villain comes out a few minutes pass by and then an hour. You let out a sigh “Deku are you sure he’s here? Maybe he left-“

“Are you sure about that?”

You felt yourself shiver was he behind you guys all this time?! You and Bakugou quickly jump out the way to keep distance between the killer, you couldn’t see his face; but his outfit was definitely.. normal than other villains you’ve faced he had only a dark cloak on with a white mask covering his face.

“Why so scared Blaze? Are you having an uneasy feeling?”

You choked how the hell did he know? Was this his quirk? To scare people to make them feel uneasy so they can make mistakes?

“Y-Blaze! Don’t get distracted now!” Bakugou shouts at you, you quickly snap out of your train of thought as you quickly activate your quirk. The villain only laughed.. why is he just laughing? At this point the uncomfortable feeling you had went away and now you’re pissed off is he really underestimating your quirk?

“Dont make that face little hero! I’m not making fun of you, but your quirk is completely useless against me.. don’t believe me? Watch.”

The feeling came back again this time it was much more stronger you felt sick, you felt dizzy what the hell did this villain do to you? You could hear Bakugou yelling your name, but suddenly darkness overwhelmed you.

...

....

......

........

You suddenly woke up you let out a groan “why does it feel like I drank too much?..” you said as you rubbed your eyes you looked around and realized you were in some kind of house.. the stairs looked like it was decaying.. the house didn’t even look modern it looked more like.. it was vintage.. “Bakugou?.. Todoroki?.. Midoriya?” You called out as you started to get up from the floor.

Did.. the villain kidnap you? No he couldn’t he was all alone with no backup at all and Bakugou would’ve taken you to a safe place by now.. so where the hell where you exactly? The house seemed empty.. it was empty there was no TV, no decorations, no fridge and not even a couch.. the uncomfortable feeling came back again.

Why did it feel like you were a dream.. but then it felt so real? You opened the front door and took a look outside there was no cars expect for other houses which looked like they were decaying and similarly vintage as well.. you rushed down the street “Bakugou! Todoroki! Midoriya! Please! This isn’t funny anymore!” You shout, but no one came.

You were completely alone in this dimension.

#bnha fanfiction #mha fanfiction #bnha series #mha series #bnha reader insert #mha reader insert #bakugou x reader #bakugo x y/n #bakugo x you #bakugou fanfiction #choose wisely #Bakugou fanfic

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alleycat97 · 4 years

Text

Slippery Slopes Pt.2

Part two y’all! Sorry it’s late, I’ve been busy. Should be one more part to finish this up!

Tag list: @samanthadalton @fundamentalromantic @avalawrencefl @penda-bear @queen-arabella-of-cordonia @kamilahsayeet2063

It had been an interesting 24 hours since the accident on the slopes yesterday. No word had been passed on about Emma and that left her suitors restless. Mason couldn’t cope with the fact that his father or ex best friend had committed such a cruel act that hurt Emma.

Noah couldn’t believe he was even in this situation. He should have never trusted Jennings but he let his guard down for the sake of the trip and Emma, and this is what he got. He was looking at charges for trespassing and endangerment while Principal Jennings seemed to be clearing his name.

Mack couldn’t stop pacing, Dr. Price was doing an awful job of updating his own daughter on her sisters progress. Ava wasn’t fairing much better. She had organized their room over and over trying to make sure it’s perfect for when Emma came back to the lodge.

It was just a sit tight and stand ready type of situation. None of them had a personal car available, so trapped at the lodge they were.

Ava stopped her cleaning when she heard a cellphone go off, to no surprise it was hers and the caller was Bayla. She grumbled and put the phone back down, she had called 4 times already today. Ava couldn’t bring herself to talk to her girlfriend knowing Emma was hurt in the hospital. She would sound weak, vulnerable, all red flags Bayla didn’t need right now.

Another call rang out across the house, this time it was Mack’s phone, and judging by her facial reactions, it was with her father. Mack nodded enthusiastically and ended the call, yelling out to find Mason.

“Emma is ready to come back here, dad said she will be ok, we need to go and pick her up. Spare keys are in his room, I’ll grab them and we can go.”

“What all was wrong?” Ava rushed out of the room and into the foyer.

“He didn’t say. I guess we will know when we all get back.” Mack said noticing the gloom placed on Ava’s features. “She’s gonna be alright.”

Ava went and tidied up the room once more and without knowing what Emma would require, she just cluttered the entire nightstand with odd and ends eliminating the guessing.

The front door slamming was her queue to come running, she leaned over the balcony railing only to see Jennings and Noah.

“I don’t know how you got those signs in my bag old man, but this isn’t over.” Noah hissed shoving his way past Principal Jennings.

“Maybe you should think twice before doing illegal activities. You’re never going to learn trailer trash.” Jennings barked stopping Noah dead in his tracks.

Jennings was an asshole. This dude seemed to get off on making teenagers lives miserable. The tension was unbearable.

“I know you knew about the course being closed. I just can’t figure out why you’d try to hurt Emma. You’re a sick bastard and if I go down, you’re coming with me.” Noah said inching up into Jennings face.

The scene was split up when Mack came through the door. Mason in tow pushing an unconscious Emma in a wheelchair. She had a cast on her leg and looked so cold. Dave brought up the rear looking like hell. Looks like sleep wasn't an option for him either.

“Ah yes there she is. How did everything go?” Jennings asked unfazed of what transpired.

Mason ignored him and tried to walk past to the staircase with Emma sleeping.

“I said how did everything go?” Jennings said jerking Mason back almost causing him to fall. Noah shoved Jennings aside helping to stabilize Mason so Emma wouldn’t fall out of the chair.

“Ask Mr. Price dad! Let go of me, Emma needs to be in bed!” Mason snapped shoving his fathers hands away from him.

Jennings jumped at the outburst and gritted his teeth, turning to Dave. “Let’s talk in the kitchen, I’ll have the Chef whip up some coffee.”

With the adults gone and the room de-stressed, Noah assisted Mason in carrying Emma up to her room, Ava steering clear of them until Emma was placed in bed.

“Ok boys thank you. I can handle her from here.” Ava shot out shoving them aside to check on Emma.

The boys looked to each other confused but didn’t say anything about the outburst. Mason needed his own rest and Noah had a busy day ahead of him with Jennings and the ski patrol assholes.

“Just let us know when she wakes alright? Mr. Price has her medicine.” Mason said closing the door leaving Ava alone with a sleeping Emma.

Ava had no clue why she wanted the privacy with Emma. She was a taken woman and Emma was her bestie. Nothing else, she tried to convince herself.

But the longer she sat and stared at Emma, the more her heart pounded, the more she wanted to wake her and kiss her all better. The thoughts of such activities made her dizzy and she had to get away. But it was Emma, she had this way of keeping her grounded and for the life of her, Ava couldn’t drag herself away.

So she continued to sit in silence, begging for Emma to wake up, because quite frankly? She didn’t look too well.

Ava easily got up and slipped out of the room and looked for Mr. Price. She heard some quiet commotion from the kitchen, what a shock.

“Now you listen here Jim, I don’t know how it happened, all I know is my little girl just underwent a major leg surgery after she took place in your little race.”

“Now I know how it looks Dave, I’m quite sorry that it happened, but Mr. Harris is the culprit here. I should have known not to place trust in him. What a terrible thing, taking down those signs.”

Noah heard his name and flew into the kitchen,

“I told you Jennings! I didn’t take down any signs!”

“Quiet scum! Adults are talking here! Don’t you have a meeting with the ski patrol?” Jim teased.

“I don’t know how you twisted this on me, but I’ll get you back.” Noah inched closer so only Jennings could here, “Maybe I should call off our deal?”

Whatever was said, Jennings went pale and cleared his throat. Removing himself from the conversation.

“Mr. Price?” Ava said entering the room. “Emma is still asleep. And she’s so pale, she looks sick.”

“I feared that. It’s her medication, she should be awake anytime now for another dose. Here, please give her one of these when she awakes. I’m going to get some rest.” Mr. Price said handing over the medicine.

Ava returned to the room with the meds and hot tea to find Emma slowly awaking.

“Hello sleepy head.” Ava rushed over with a smile.

“Where am I?” Emma groggily spoke out.

“Back in the bedroom with good ol me.”

Emma rubbed at her eyes trying to get them to open, “Are you an angel?”

Ava snorted, “Oh now you wanna shoot your shot huh.”

“Worth a try.” Emma laughed. “I feel terrible.”

“You look it.” Ava agreed dodging the pillow Emma tossed.

“Here Mahomes, here’s your pill and I made your favorite tea.” Ava giggled as she sat down next to Emma to help her take the meds and give her a sip of tea.

“Psh, Mahomes wishes he had this cannon for an arm.” Emma tried laughing but she done exhausted herself.

“Relax, you just underwent surgery. I’m actually impressed they released you so quickly.”

“Perks of having a doctor for a dad. I’m not about that hospital food.”

The two sat in silence for a moment while Emma sipped her tea. It was so nice just the two of them, Ava had Emma all to herself, no intruders, no boys, and no Bayla. Crap....Bayla was still her girlfriend.

Ava came to and realized she was stroking Emma’s delicate hair, resting her hand on Emma’s soft cheek. She quickly composed herself and stood abruptly, creating as much distance as possible.

What was this? What were they? Friends? More than friends? Ava knew what the answer should be, but the timing was terrible. Bayla was her own girlfriend, and Emma had her own issues.

A text shot through to Ava’s phone, it was Bayla. “Speak of the devil.” Ava whispered. She had been putting her off for long enough and by judging by the text she received, Bayla wasn’t happy.

“Ava?” Emma called out oblivious to Ava’s aggressive texting.

Ava turned immediately to face her, “Yeah?”

“Where are the boys?”

Ava doesn’t know why, but with her issues with Bayla and her feelings for Emma, hearing her ask for the boys really added fuel to her blazing fire.

“Idk. Mason is resting and Noah and Jennings are with the ski patrol.”

Emma could hear the aggression in Ava’s voice, but she couldn’t tell if it was at her texting or towards her about her question.

“Is everything alright Ava?”

“Yeah. It’s just Bayla. She’s bugging me because I haven’t responded in awhile.”

“Oh. I wonder what has her in a twist.” Emma asked innocently.

Ava knew why. She told Bayla before she left the arrangement, so naturally she had to keep tabs on her at all times. Trust between the two were slipping, but Ava wasn’t helping her cause and Emma wasn’t either. “Because that’s what a good girlfriend does!” Ava snapped surprising Emma. “She’s just concerned!”

“Oh. I understand, I’m sorry.” Emma apologized.

“No Emma you don’t! You don’t understand and you never will!” Ava said slamming her phone down on the counter and stomping towards the door.

Something told Emma deep within this was more than just Bayla being worried, she couldn’t help but think this was all her fault and the reason Ava was upset.

Ava had to get out and breathe, she loved Emma, but she couldn’t take her indecisiveness. She couldn’t stand competing for her hand any longer, it was time to set the record straight. She stepped back in to grab her phone before heading back out again.

“Where are you going?” Emma tried.

“I’ve got a phone call to make.”

#playchoices #pixelberry #ava x mc #ava lawrence #mackenzie price #noah harris #mason jennings

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mason-knight-retired · 3 years

Text

Before Asteria

(timelines? don’t know her) --

The halls of the defunct Cerberus base are uncomfortably familiar.

There are ghosts lurking in the shadows. The warren-like layout of this place was almost identical to Phoenix 1, and with every door they kick open, every room they check, Mason almost expects to find Tatsu or any other familiar face huddled in a corner.

Even with the flickering lights overhead from the failing power grid, Mason could easily imagine he was back on P1. It’s disturbing on too many levels but it’s not until they shift into the long hallway of the residential deck that it really seems to hit home.

There are rows of self contained suites for the operatives. His room, along with Ethan’s, had always been larger and nestled at the end of the hallway on P1. Virtue of seniority, he supposes.

By the end, Ethan’s room on P1 had been mostly for storage.

Mason knows he’s not the only one uncomfortable walking these halls. Ben and Nico feel it too, but it’s something they all pointedly ignore. Until they can’t any longer.

The dragoon comes at him with a lash Mason meets with his own and with the movement, the same terrifying dream replays behind his eyes - the nightmare of each one of them, twisted and remade into one of these and he hesitates. Despite the fact Ethan’s ring on his ringer and Ben and Nico are at first at his back and then in front of him, he hesitates to take the death blow.

There’s a blue crackle in the air and Nico booms past him, hot on Ben’s tail, so fast Mason hadn’t even felt the biotic brush against him until he was on the opposite side of the hall and squarely colliding with the dragoon’s chest. Then it’s on the ground, convulsing grotesquely as something bloody and black oozes from between the plates of its armor.

Marie’s voice sounds in Mason’s ear through the tinny speakers in his helmet. “What was that?”

“Hostiles,” Mason replies curtly. Ben moves on ahead, kicking the doors open and hunting for more quarry. “Dragoons as we expected. Stay alert, there might be more.”

When Mason turns around, it's straight into Zeus shiny blue breast plate looming over him, uncomfortably close. “What?”

Nico’s eyes glitter through his face plate, just a golden glow on the other side. “You hesitated, Huntsman.”

“Of course I fucking did.”

“One day that’s going to get you killed.”

Mason grits his teeth and bites back his retort. He glances sideways at the dragoon on the floor, the armour so familiar and foreign at the same time. Maybe it was the nightmares that kept replaying behind his eyes, but he still couldn’t separate phoenix and dragoons any easier this many months into the fleet’s campaign than it had been at the start.

Nico doesn’t move.

“Come on, Zeus. Get moving. We still have three more levels to clear.”

“You’ve lost your edge,” Nico tells him.

Mason snorts and kicks the body on the floor in irritation. The black ooze leaks over his armored toe and squelches as he hauls up the dragoon’s limp wrist and tries to pry away the gauntlet. It’s an ugly job, the gauntlet fused into the dragoon’s wrist and bone. He tries not to let himself think about who this man was, if there was a family out there that missed him, or someone he loved waiting for him to come home.

Maybe Zeus was right. “Maybe I should hand over command to you then, huh, Zeus?” Mason says it with a bitter edge, a challenge wrapped up in annoyance, although who he’s really pissed at, he can’t tell.

Nico moves out of his way slowly but Mason can feel the way his eyes burn into him. “Maybe you should.”

Nico’s answer plants a seed in the back of Mason's mind and its tendrils grow with every quiet step back on the Berlin. He passes the observation lounge and overhears Luca crooning over his guitar, singing some slow song about love and loneliness and missing the one you love and he backtracks to stand in the doorway and listen.

Luca catches his eye but he doesn’t stop until he’s finished his song.

“Got anything happier?” Masons asks, venturing into the room. Maybe a distraction will help push away the aching loneliness. When he’d first come on board the Berlin, he had missed Ethan desperately too, but this now was a different kind of ache. Bittersweet in a way, because he knows Ethan is missing him too.

“Not really in the mood,” Luca huffs, glancing down at his feet. There’s a bruise around his eye that’s faded and Mason knows the reason for it is still languishing in the brig. He wishes there was more they could do about it, but this wasn’t Cerberus, and the kid wasn’t really one of theirs. The Alliance had to follow their own protocols.

Mason hesitates to leave anyway.

He tilts his head. “You okay, Luca?”

The engineer looks up, as though surprised Mason would address him. He sort of is. “You know, I think you’re the only one who doesn’t call me ‘kid.’”

“Is…” Mason frowns. “I can, if you want me to?”

“No,” Luca flashes him a small smile from under his curls. Sometimes he reminds him a little of Ben from before, although with a lot less batarian thrashcore and not entirely chaotic pranks. “I kind of hate it when they call me kid.”

Mason finds himself drifting closer. “I heard about what happened. I’m sorry.”

Luca grimaces and the twang of the strings goes from pleasant to something harsh before stopping all together with a slap on the guitar’s body. “Uh. Thanks. But it’s cool. I can handle it.”

Luca starts to play again, another song Mason doesn’t recognize and Mason sags back against the couch as he listens.

The gold band around his finger feels heavy.

“Let me get this straight-“

Marie pinches the brow of her nose and sighs. She looks tired, more strung out than he’s ever seen her and the guilt rides him hard against his breastbone. “You want to go back to the citadel?”

“You don't need me here, Commander,” Mason shrugs and tries to soften the news by playing to her ego. It almost works but then her lips purse as he continues. “I thought you did. But you've got Nico. You've got Ben and Maddox, even if he’s not fighting fit yet. You don’t need me just now. And I... I just want to be with Ethan. We just… it feels like we only just found each other and then I had to say goodbye to him. And it turns out I’m not as okay with that as I thought I would be.”

“I can understand that, Mase.” She glances at the band on his finger, then looks away. “Priorities change, I get it. But.... It's temporary, right?”

“I hope so. I know things haven’t been exactly great between us lately, but-“

“Shut up. I still love you. I love all of you phoenix boys. But we’re not done here.” She waves a hand, encompassing the ship. “Not by a long shot. I still need all of you.”

“I know. And you’ll have us when it counts, I promise you that, Ree.”

In the docking bay, Mason hoists the duffle bag over his shoulder and peers into a familiar set of bright green eyes. “I'll stay if you need me too, Benji. I feel bad being the one to ask you here in the first place and then leaving myself.”

“No,” the little vanguard grins. “I’m good, Boss. But say hi for me. Both.”

“I will. And with any luck, I might even be able to bring them back with me. It might make things more pleasant around here.”

Ben scrunches his nose. “Yeah,” Mason laughs. “Okay, no. It won’t. It was fun having Ethan on board for a while though.”

“More fun for you.”

“Guilty. But… Look, Benji, real talk now. Promise me you’re going to keep on top of your meds and regular check in’s with Kate, okay?”

Ben nods solemnly and Mason squeezes his shoulder. “I told Luca to keep an eye out for you, but I’m pretty sure he’d do that anyway. In the meantime, you stay out trou.... No, actually. Forget that.” Mason shakes his head and grins. “Get out there and raise hell, little cat.”

It takes far too long to get back to the Citadel, a handful of hops and jumps in passing cruisers and a near miss on account of the reapers, but he’s never been more happy to step foot back into the artificial air and stand under the artificial clouds.

He’s walking down the ramp when he sees him – Sabre, husband, the love of his life - the face and body he traced over and over in his mind on the Berlin during the long nights alone. His face splits into a grin in spite of himself and he shakes his head in a disbelieving laugh.

“How did you know?” he asks without preamble as he gets close.

Ethan holds himself still and watches him, eyes hungry. “I knew as soon as your ship came through the relay. Do you really think I wasn’t keeping tabs on my heart while you were out there?”

Mason comes to a stop in front of him, still grinning and flooded with so much love he’s almost dizzy with it. The latent hum of Ethan’s biotics brushing against his own settles him in a way nothing else could. “I should have known. Kinda ruined my epic surprise though.”

“No. It didn’t. Not by a long shot.” Ethan’s hands cups his face, brushing over his lips. Those hazel eyes Mason has been dreaming about go soft as he holds Mason reverently and presses their foreheads together. “Hi, baby,” he whispers.

Mason drops his duffle bag and grips Ethan close. “Hi. I missed you so much.”

#ethan sinclair #scooter roosevelt #mason knight #luca moreno #alskdjklasjd thank god they're together again #eason #married eason #before asteria #marie miller

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rons-hermiones · 3 years

Text

Come Find Me

by rons-hermiones

Summary: Unplanned, Hermione is forced to spend Christmas at the Burrow due to her grandmother falling very ill. After being ignored by Hermione for weeks, Ron is determined to show her how much she means to him. Just before he gets the chance to tell her, Bellatrix Lestrange shows up with other plans for Hermione. Can Ron get to her before it's too late? (Ron/Hermione Half-Blood Prince AU)

Rating: M for language & dark themes in later chapters.

Chapter Twenty

Ron had side alonged tons of times with both his Dad, Mum, Bill, and Charlie. Sure the first time he got sick all over his fathers shoes, but by the second time he was just violently dizzy. Now it’s like nothing, uncomfortable in the moment, but not long lasting. So why did he feel so sick all of the sudden?

A pit of dread was building in his stomach. He physically keeled over, clutching at his knees and heaving a little onto the grass, hoping to hack something up.

A hand found his back and rubbed it for a moment, the touch startled him until he met Bill’s blue eyes. “What’s wrong Ronnie? You haven’t had that sort of reaction to apparition in years.” His oldest brother pointed out.

Ron ignores his words, not able to find a viable excuse at the moment. Harry however, seems to catch on from his place on Bill’s left.

“I don’t think it’s because of the apparition.” The chosen one frowned at his best friend's brother.

Bill gulped, suddenly feeling a little guilty for not realizing sooner, but supplied a soft nod.

“Ron if you don’t think you can do this I’d understand. No ones gonna hold it against you.” His brother whispered, bending down to meet his hunched over form.

Soon, the ginger recovers as he shakes his head viciously and stands tall. “I have to do this. Not even just for myself but you know...” the words ‘for her’ are unspoken.

“Okay, let’s all just take a minute.” Bill suggests noticing Harry’s pale face.

They all stand for a little bit. Bill’s eyes seemingly searching for any threats, Harry toeing some leaves, and Ron closing his eyes to focus his breathing.

“I’ve never been here before.” Harry comments quietly, causing Ron to open his blue eyes and meet his green ones. “I mean...” he starts.

“Neither have I.” His friends soon clarifies, “it’s never been me who came out, always Dad, Bill, Lupin.” He lists, “feels wrong.”

The dark haired boy nods slowly, “yeah it does.” He agrees, scratching his head awkwardly.

Bill felt like an intruder on a private moment between the pair, but didn’t have anywhere else to go. Instead, he stood silently, not wanting to rush them.

“I reckon we can’t stand out here forever.” Ron breaks tensely after another minute of staring at the brick house.

“Come on.” Bill led them down the path first.

When the trio reached the door, it was the oldest Weasley who had the courage to finally knock.

After a small scuffle heard behind the door, Hugo Granger threw it open with. His face went from that of confusion to a beaming smile.

It made Ron’s stomach clench.

“Bill! What a pleasure! Oh Harry and Ron, nice to see you!” He says happily.

Ron had met Mister Granger on a few occasions at Kings Cross and in Diagon Alley. He was always kind to Ron and his family, more than happy to entertain his father on all things Muggles.

“Is my little girl here? Jean and I told her to stay put.” He frowned a little.

Ron really felt ill now.

“We’re really sorry to disturb you,” Bill began cryptically, “may we come inside?”

Hugo eyed him skeptically, it wasn’t that he wasn’t comfortable with Bill in his home, but this visit was puzzling.

“Of course.” He opened the door to them, “Jean!” He called out as they stepped in.

“Who was it at the door?” The woman’s voice came as she walked into the foyer, smiling at the sight of the boys. “Oh! This is so unexpected. It’s lovely to see you all! Come in, come in.” Jean ushered them over to the sitting room.

“Wait here while I get some tea, I have some made.” She tells, scurrying to the kitchen, causing Bill’s protest to die on his lips.

Soon his older brother and Hermione’s father fell into small talk. Harry supplying a few nods here and there in acknowledgement.

Ron however, was too busy surveying the house.

Everything was clean and white. The dark wood floors seemed freshly polished and the pillows looked recently fluffed. On the mantle were photos of Hermione. Unmoving, but just as sentimental.

Ones of her swaddled in a towel, her as a small baby, her in France with bushy brown hair, and many more. The one that caught his eye was her at King’s Cross from her first year, smiling widely as she sat on her new trunk.

He had to look away. The memories of happier times becoming too painful as of late. The whole thought of her now miserable made it too much.

Missus Granger soon returned with a tray of tea and biscuits, but no one made a move to grab anything. Not even Ron, which shocked Harry and Bill alike.

He noticed now Hermione’s mother nervously wringing her hands together. “This is about Hermione isn’t it? I knew she’d take my mother’s death badly, but I didn’t think it would warrant a home visit. I’d assume she’d dive into her work. It’s not exactly a healthy alternative but she’s-“ the woman ranted.

“She doesn’t know.” Ron interrupted huskily before he could help himself.

“She doesn’t?” Hugo asked, shocked, “well we sent an owl. The white one, I think she’s yours Harry.” He pointed out.

The chosen one nodded slowly, “we got the owl but Hermione she,” he cleared his throat, “she never saw your letter.”

The couple eyed each other for a moment before Hugo spoke, “I’m not sure I understand what you mean.”

Bill glanced at his brother and his best friend, both were averting their eyes from the adults in front of them.

“Hermione, she’s gone.” He says sadly, not even having a moment to elaborate before the Granger’s jumped in.

“Oh Hugo! I knew this would happen! We told her not to come home.” She said painfully clutching her husband's hand.

He grabbed it and gave it a squeeze before turning back to Bill, “do you know where she is? How long ago did she leave?” He asked quickly.

Bill shook his head again, surprised to find tears stinging the backs of his eyes. Ron’s head soon found its place between his hands as Harry plucked his hoodie's zipper.

“She didn’t leave,” he gulped, “she was taken.” The eldest Weasley said shakily.

“Taken!” Jean exclaimed aghast.

“I don’t understand.” Hugo said, voice quivering as silent tears began to stream his wife’s face.

“I knew we shouldn’t have sent her off to that school. I knew it.” Her mother cried.

This seemed to peeve Ron off, Harry too.

“It’s not because of Hogwarts, it's because of me.” Harry informed quickly and sadly.

“You?” Jean spat rather angrily.

“Not Harry, me.” Ron corrected, sure of it.

“You?” Her voice had leveled out to confusion rather than anger.

As Ron nodded, Harry shook his head.

“Well what is it? What’s happened?” Hugo asked anxiously, trying to keep his calm whilst his wife fell into his arms.

Harry took a staggering breath, “my godfather, he,” he sighed sadly, “last year he was killed.”

“Killed?” Jean squeaked nervously, worried for Hermione’s fate.

“Yeah, you see-” The chosen one started.

“Harry, third year, start there. Pettigrew.” Ron moaned the name painfully. He knew Hermione had stopped being honest with her parents around then. After being petrified.

“Right...”

And so it began. The Granger’s barely had time to shed tears over Hermione, as they’d been too focused on the stories being told. Those of that night in the Shrieking Shack, of Barty Crouch Junior, Cedric Diggory, and Dolores Umbridge. Even the events of the Department of Mysteries (Missus Granger let out a terrible cry at learning Hermione had been cursed) and presently their Christmas holiday.

“It was just over a week ago when it all happened.” Harry started nervously, palms running roughly over his denim clad legs.

“Bellatrix Lestrange,” he began before Hugo interrupted.

“The woman at the Ministry? The one who killed your godfather?” He asked voice so soft it made Harry’s heart break. Here these people were not knowing if their daughter was alright, yet felt for him after losing Sirius.

Harry nodded, “yeah, her, well she arrived at the Burrow with Fenrir Greyback.”

“The man who hurt you Bill.” Jean said to herself, mentally keeping tabs of all the players

A little awkwardly, the oldest of the three nodded.

“She came. Said some nasty things then went to leave. I-“ he began shamefully, “I followed her.”

“So did Hermione. So did I.” Ron was quick to defend.

“You only followed because I ran in first. If I hadn’t-“ he began frustrated, hot angry tears forming in his eyes.

“If there’s one thing I know about my daughter, it’s that she would do anything to protect you two boys. Please don’t blame yourself Harry.” Jean said with wet eyes, placing a soft hand on Harry’s clenched fist.

“If I just-“ he started again.

“If you had known this would happen to Hermione would you still have ran after her?” The woman asked, voice riddled with sadness.

“No, of course not!” He cried out indignantly.

“Exactly.” She soothed, retracting her hand to find her husband again, “continue.” Jean requested.

Though painful, Ron knew this was his part to tell, “Bellatrix, she said she wanted to kill me.” He decided to leave out the part of Hermione in the witch's clutches, wanting to spare some pain.

“Why?” Hugo gasped.

Bill noticed Ron begin to tremble and he could at least fill this part in. “Us Weasley’s were dubbed as ‘blood-traitors’, purebloods who support Muggles and Muggle borns alike. We’re also not few and far between. To someone like Bellatrix Lestrange, if she kills one of us there’s still over half a dozen more.”

Hesitantly, Hugo nodded in acknowledgment and understanding, but not agreement.

“She didn’t want to kill Hermione.” Ron’s voice broke suddenly hoarse, “or Harry.”

“But isn’t him, uh, You-Know-Who, isn’t he after you Harry?” Jean questioned.

“Yeah, he is, it’s peculiar they didn’t try it with me.”

“And Hermione? Why her?”

Again, Ron and Harry squirmed uncomfortably, “your daughter is one of the brightest witches Hogwarts has ever seen. You-Know-Who, well, we reckon he needed her brilliant mind. That she may know something that could hurt him.” Bill advised regretfully.

For now, questions from the Granger’s halted, it all was too much to take in.

“So Hermione, she-she saved herself for me,” Ron choked, “she hid me to keep me safe and gave herself up so they wouldn’t kill me and they took her. And I couldn’t do anything. Not a thing.” Ron broke down becoming hysterical.

Tears filled the room. Missus Granger’s sobs rivaled Ron’s as Mister Granger held her, silent tears of his own streaming his reddened cheeks. Harry had slumped over, breathing heavily, while Bill placed a soft hand on his shoulder.

Ron stood suddenly, halting all the tears for a moment, “Loo. I need the loo.” He said, sounding almost panicked.

“Ron, maybe you should just-“ Bill began to suggest.

“Upstairs, second door on your right.” Hugo said with a groggy voice.

The ginger nodded and took off, not noticing Jean throw her husband a funny look at the instructions. Instead, he just heard Bill’s soft voice floating through the room as he told the Granger’s of the measures the order had been taking.

Ron climbed the steps two at time before being met by a long hallway with identical white doors. Spotting the second door to his right, he frantically pushed it open, ready to collapse atop the toilet lid.

But instead he was met by a different sight.

Blue walls. A large bookshelf tucked in the corner. Parchment stacked neatly atop a desk. Next to it was a Muggle chessboard. Pictures stuffed and tacked onto a board. And the smell.

Roses. Lemon. Ink.

The same thing he smelt in the Amortentia earlier in the year.

It was all so Hermione. It was consuming his senses too much, too fast. And without even realizing what he was doing, he doubled onto her bed, silently crying.

“I thought you might need this more than the loo.” A voice sounded from the door.

Immediately Ron jumped to his feet, feeling like he'd done something wrong.

“Relax Ron, I sent you here for a reason.” Mister Granger eased, moving to sit in the chair at Hermione’s desk, motioning for the boy to sit back down.

“I’m so sorry Mister Granger, this is all my fault,” he started shaking his head.

“I don’t believe that Ron.” He said strongly.

The ginger shook his head fiercely, “you should. You don’t understand how much I’ve hurt her,” too many things come to mind. Lavender. The Yule Ball. Crookshanks. Scabbers. Trolls. “I could’ve done better.” He wiped at his eyes with the backs of his wrists.

“You think I don’t blame myself for this too?” He asked a little harshly, “I get it,” he began softer, “you loved my daughter didn’t you?” He asks knowingly.

“No.” Ron’s voice was so strong, it even startled him. “I love her.” He clarified, “Don’t talk about her like she’s gone. Like she’ll never know.”

Hugo nodded slowly, but said nothing for a few minutes, letting Ron take in Hermione’s room with blurry eyes instead.

“I want to understand Ron.” His voice broke the air, “I wish my daughter hadn’t lied to me. Jean and I suspected something but didn’t push it. But I need to know if there’s even something that can help. Please Ron.” He begged.

Ron, Harry, and Bill had skimmed the surface of the chaos that has been their last six years at Hogwarts. And Ron knew more details on Hermione specifically then the other two, Mister Granger sensed as much.

And Ron sensed the desperation in his eyes, the same look he’s been wearing for weeks. Even before Hermione was gone. When his biggest problem was chucking Lavender Brown cause he had missed her so much.

Thoughtfully, his blue eyes found the untouched chess set. He pushed down the warmth in his chest at the thought of Hermione practicing just so she could match him. He didn’t have time to harp on it.

“Mister Granger, have you ever played chess?” He asked, a brilliant idea forming in his head.

...

Hugo Granger pondered over the chess board carefully, studying the pieces as he placed them on the respective squares.

“So my daughter is your queen?” He asked as Ron used tape to secure the parchment onto the white queen.

Ron momentarily stopped what he was doing and opened and closed his mouth like a fish gasping for air, “Er, what? I don’t know.” He fumbled.

“The chess piece Ron, Hermione she’s the queen, is she not?” He asked, a little amused.

“Oh,” he said, relieved , then suddenly realized he didn’t answer the question, “oh yeah, well I reckon it fits.” He says a little nervously.

Ron was playing white and Mister Granger was black.

You-Know-Who and Harry were the kings respectively. Hermione was the queen, while Bellatrix Lestrange was on her side. Ron made himself the knight, the protector, he felt a bit awkward about it, but he figured it would be worse if he had just written himself off. Then Hermione’s dad was sure to think he’s useless. In turn, Greyback was the knight, he debated over Malfoy, but settled on making him bishop.

He also debated putting Draco’s name down as well, but settled for just the last name representing him and his father. Draco wasn’t guilty of anything but being a poncy pureblood prat. Well for now.

Dumbledore was the other bishop, both ready to take over if their kings fell. The rook’s were just labeled ‘Death Eaters’ and ‘The Order’, being both were to represent the Kingdoms walls per say.

As for the pawns it included those who either lost their lives or were simple puppets. Sirius, Cedric, Quirinius Quirrell, Peter Pettigrew, Mad Eye, even Ginny due to second year.

Anyone else important would just have to be mentioned along the way.

“And this woman,” Hugo began lifting up his black queen, “she’s the one who took Hermione?”

Ron simply gulped and supplied a weak nod. Like the younger man, talks of Hermione’s captor seemed to evoke pure sadness from Hugo Granger.

Suddenly, guilt bubbled within Ron yet again, “we don’t have to do this.” He vaguely gestured to the chess board.

“I want to,” he insisted, “but if it’s too much for you...”

The ginger repressed the urge to groan. This man really should not be giving him the benefit of the doubt. Not after all he’s done to his daughter. Even before this.

“Look there’s something you should know.” Ron’s eyes quickly averted her fathers.

Hugo’s eyes pierced his, silently encouraging him to continue.

“Before Hermione,” he choked a little, “before she was taken, her and I, we weren’t speaking.” He admitted in a whisper, ashamed.

“Why?” He asked.

“Well, I think,” he didn’t know how to phrase it, he didn’t want to, “I know I hurt her. My sister says I broke her heart.” He trailed quietly.

And then for the first time since he arrived here, Mister Granger’s face was painted with red hot fury. Fists clenched so hard they turned white.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He told the man quickly.

“Did my Hermione know that? That you’re sorry?” Hugo all but grunted.

“No, I never got the chance to tell her.” It took almost everything out of Weasley not to cry.

A few moments passed, but to Ron it felt like a lifetime. Eventually, Mister Granger seemed to lessen his rage and took a deep breath.

“I don’t blame you Ron.” He began honestly, “I don’t blame you that those people took Hermione. I may not have known everything about my daughter, but I do know her and I know how much she cares about you.” Hermione’s father pauses, “and I know you know as much too, so I just want to ask you why?”

And Ron knew what the ‘why?’ was for. Why would he hurt her knowing how much she cared. And for that, he doesn’t really have an answer, not a good one anyway. Nothing he can even justify to himself.

The only thing that resonates is something he told Harry before all this, before Hermione was gone.

“How can you love someone so much and hurt them so bad?”

And he doesn’t know. Now more than ever. His mind is just constantly consumed with guilt, sadness, and anger. All directed at him or occasionally, Bellatrix and the rest of You-Know-Who’s followers.

“I can’t answer that.” Ron tells him, “there’s no reason that could make it right. If I had known what would-“ a bile rose in his throat.

“I know that Ron.” The man says softly, “I know that she knew too.”

“Knows.” He blurted out before he could help it.

Awkwardly, Hugo clears his throat, choosing not to acknowledge the outburst, “of course she knows.” He subtly corrects, “and I want to hear about what happened this year, but maybe we should start from the beginning?” He suggested pointing weakly to the board.

Nodding slowly, Ron cleared his throat and thought for a moment before picking up the piece representing Harry.

“I reckon a lot of this starts around Halloween first year. Do you know anything about Mountain Trolls...”

#ron x hermione #ron weasley #ron and hermione #rons-hermiones come find me #hermione granger #romione fanfic #romione #hp fanfic #hp #sixth year

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okageshadowkingfannovel · 4 years

Text

Book 1. The Boy Meets the King

Chapter 1.

In a normal unsuspecting kitchen, a former adventurer stands before a stove, stirring the contents of a pot and humming to herself. In her early forties, she’s a warm, pleasant looking woman with pony-tailed reddish brown hair and soft brown eyes. She might have been the hero of this story about two decades ago, but her adventures are long since passed. The only adventures for her today are those of being a devoted wife and mother, and that means preparing dinner.

It’s just after lunch and suddenly, the younger of the woman’s two children bursts into the kitchen. She is a slender pretty girl with strawberry blond pigtails and vibrant green eyes. She is Annie, a teenager, but also, not the hero of this story. In fact, she has very little interest outside of keeping herself popular amongst the teenagers of Tenel village and finding a satisfactory boyfriend.

“Hey Mom, what’s for dinner?”

“Oh Annie,” Mom starts while casting a smile over her shoulder, “you just had lunch not too long ago and you’re already thinking about dinner?”

Annie twists a dainty finger into the strands of one pigtail. “I was just asking. It smells so good. Tell me, Mom. I wanna know.”

At this moment, the woman’s eldest child enters the kitchen, but it takes her and Annie a too long moment to notice him.

“Well, I’ll say that- Oh! Ari!”

“See? Ari’s come to find out too.”

The boy called Ari is 16 years old. He has a sapling like frame - slender, scrawny, almost seeming bendy. Shaggy red hair falls in long locks around his face and across his forehead, and his large eyes are emerald green. He’s wearing a blue striped sleeveless shirt, a black vest with gold clasps and a skull patch on the chest, and long khaki trousers. He doesn’t speak up much for himself and the whole town of Tenel agrees that his most notable quality is how unremarkable he is.

That being said, this quiet ordinary boy is the hero for this peculiar tale.

“Come on, Mom! What is it? It smells like stew … or steak?” Annie carries on.

“Well, what do you think it might be, Ari?”

Ari courteously sniffs the air, shrugs, and answers. “I don’t know.”

Mom looks slightly disappointed that her son gave no guess, but she smiles anyway and says, “well, tonight’s dinner is … a secret!”

Annie rolls her eyes. “Mom! That’s so unfair.”

“Oh! That reminds me, Ari. Your dad found a funny bottle on his way home last night. It’s right there on the table.”

She gestures towards the kitchen table where, seeming very out of place upon the normal white table cloth and next to the three branched candelabra, there indeed sits a strange looking bottle. It is a gaudy purple with an intricate green pattern necklacing the thinly tapering opening. Two handles spring out and curve down to the bottom to make for easy carrying. Four large, candy like turquoise gemstones are embedded into the bottle’s curves.

“We can’t get the cap off,” his mother admits, “don’t you think it’s strange?”

Observing more closely, Ari notices the cork very firmly shoved into the opening.

He reaches out a finger and pokes it.

A low muffled moan sounds from deep within the bottle.

Ari leans in and sniffs at the cork.

All he catches is an overwhelming waft of mold.

Finally, he firmly grasps the neck of the bottle and pulls at the cork.

But it won’t budge, not even a wiggle.

“See?” says his mother, abandoning the stove to draw closer to the bottle, “I wonder what’s in there.”

There’s a sparkle in her eyes, a far off wandering look, a hint of the curious adventurer she used to be.

“Mom!” Annie breaks her mother’s reverie, “it’s pointless to keep a bottle we can’t open. Throw it away.”

To strike her point, Annie flips a pigtail on the last word.

“Ah! Well, let’s see … What should we do?”

Their mother hesitates a moment in thought. And then, she lights up with realization.

“Oh! That reminds me! I forgot to pick up bread! But I can’t leave the stove. What should I do?”

Before Ari can make any sort of suggestion, his sister steps over him.

“Oh darn, I wish I could help you out, Mom, but I have a test tomorrow and I really need to study. My future is on the line!”

With that, Annie turns around and makes a dash out of the kitchen.

Unsurprisingly, Ari notices the sounds of her footsteps are heading out the front door instead of up the stairs to her room where her school books lay waiting.

“Well then, Ari,” says his mother, “go down to the bakery in the village and pick up a loaf of bread for me. They’ll just put it on our tab, so you can just run in and grab it. Thank you, dear.”

His mother turns back to her stove and her humming. Ari is about to leave the kitchen when she whips around again.

“Oh! While you’re out, why don’t you stop by Town Hall and see your father.” She turns back to her cooking, wistfully, “ah, my love, hard at work. If only I could see your father in action. Such rapture …” she trails off to herself.

Feeling repulsed and uncomfortable with his mother’s personal musings, as teenagers ordinarily do, Ari finally leaves the kitchen.

The family home is a mansion that lays like a sprawled out reptile just south-east of the village of Tenel. It sits fatly in a clearing of pine trees, just a stone’s throw from the village road. It wears jagged stones in various states of grey, reaches tall, dizzying pointed towers up to mingle with the tree tops, and caps itself with crooked blue shingles. It keeps itself company with a dried up fountain in the front courtyard, a tiny, but ancient ancestral graveyard, and a huge, thick, wooden gate at the entrance to keep all of it in.

Ari steps out into the courtyard, shielding his eyes from the sunlight already beginning to sharpen through the trees as afternoon slips into evening. He notices Annie waiting for him at the top of the stone steps that snake down to the front gate.

“So, did she tell you what’s for dinner?” she asks, blocking his path, “come on, tell me.”

“What happened to your homework?”

Annie starts to tease her pigtail with a wiggling finger.

“Well! I’m going out on a twilight date with Morris before dinner. To polish my feminine airs, I have to build up experience while I’m young. My book says so too …”

“What kind of book says that?”

“It’s one of Mom’s old books. What was the name again? … Oh! ‘Controlling Guys Made Easy.’”

Before Ari can protest, Annie spins around and skips on down the stairs.

“Anyway, enjoy your errand, Ari!” she calls before disappearing through the wooden gate.

Ari sighs, figuring there was little he could have said or done to make things play out differently.

With hands in pockets, he lazily makes his way over to the small graveyard by the pathway. He likes to say hello upon passing the three residents. The stones are so old that most of the lettering has been worn away, but Ari makes out what he can and makes up the rest:

‘RIP Nameless Hero - Well, we think he must have a name, but nobody asked him.’

‘Man who drank, gambled, and died from poisonous fish - just as he planned. RIP’

‘Person who touched the knowledge of the Library.’

After 16 years, Ari still knows nothing beyond these half-deciphered inscriptions, but he gives his regards all the same. When satisfied, he heads on through the big wooden gate that leads him to a meandering dirt path. It winds through the grass, between rotted logs and small rocky hills, untangling Ari from the clusters of trees until it finds the main road. A nearby sign helpfully points out to any casually passing tourist:

‘North: Tenel Village/Church

West: Tenel Field & Madril

East: Nameless Dwelling’

Ari wonders if his family will ever decide to name their house so the sign could be a bit more specific.

“Hmmm, Nancy? Or Connie?”

At the crossroads stand two boys about Ari’s age, Levi and Nathan. Dark haired Nathan is the pudgier fellow, while Levi is lanky and alight with flaming orange hair.

“Huh?”

“Whoa!” Nathan exclaims, his fat frame jumping, “Oh! It’s you. You scared me, Ari! When did you get here? I didn’t even notice.”

“Ari, you look real gloomy,” says Levi, “hey, you know what? The circus is coming to the field over there tomorrow night!” He gestures vaguely in the direction of Tenel Field.

“Really?” Ari replies noncommittally.

“I, I, I’m definitely gonna ask Julia out this time! I, I, I will do it! And me and Julia are gonna go out on a romantic date!”

“I wonder who I should ask out,” Nathan muses in the face of his friend’s determination, “Ari, why don’t you ask somebody out too? It’s the circus!”

Ari chuckles and shrugs his shoulders in what he hopes is a ‘cool, but not caring too much’ display. “Sure, I’ll just narrow down my list a bit and ask one out.”

It doesn’t come off as cool as he hoped.

“Ha!” Levi bursts, “I bet he doesn’t have the guts to ask a girl out! Ha ha ha! Chicken!”

The skinny boy goes the extra mile and begins flapping his arms and clucking.

“Anyway, I better get on over to the village,” says Ari before the soul crushing embarrassment can descend, “got an errand to run.”

“You’d better go quick then,” says Nathan, “they’re closing the town gates earlier and earlier. The ghosts and monsters from Tenel field have been wandering closer to town, I heard.”

The hauntings and prowlings of Tenel Field are nothing new to Ari’s ears. All his life, he’s heard the townspeople complaining about the beasts and deadly things that roam wild and how it’s getting worse every year. Ari hears most people, especially the older ones, blaming it on something evil going on out West in Madril that’s driving the wild things nutty. It’s gotten to the point where Tenel’s posted a sentry on the path between Tenel and the field to keep kids and the like in town and to warn everyone if something should wander in. Ari never gives the matter much thought, reasoning that interesting things like monster encounters only happen to interesting people. And it’s so rare to see ghosts come floating in out of the field.

But the sun does seem ever so slightly lower than it was when he first stepped out of the house.

“Right, I’ll be quick.”

With that, Ari leaves them to their great girl debate and heads toward the main gates of Tenel. For now, the entrance is wide open, yawning its welcome to any passerby bored enough to visit the little town. But later, as it gets darker, the gates will eventually be shut and locked, as Tenel residents cling to the illogical belief that doors and locks can keep out ghosts.

As he enters, he notices a pretty blond girl in a white dress standing by the inn and looking absentmindedly off into the distance. Further putting his errand on hold, Ari walks up to her.

“Hey Julia.”

She doesn’t respond.

Ari waits patiently.

It’s alright. I’m used to being ignored.

Julia looks on for another moment or two. Ari continues waiting.

Any day now …

“Huh? Oh, Ari!” she says, her gaze finally shifting onto him, “I was daydreaming. Sorry about that. Hey, did you know the circus is coming tomorrow night?”

Julia and Ari have been friends since childhood, and though time and puberty have pulled them in different directions, they still consider themselves at the very least good friends. Typically, Julia isn’t so spacey - it’s just an ‘Ari thing.’

“Yeah, Nathan and Levi mentioned it.”

“Isn’t it great? It’s the circus!”

“Yeah, it’s pretty great.”

She looks at him, blue eyes wide and expectant.

“I mean,” he continues, “really great. Very exciting.”

She still says nothing. He waves a hand in front of her eyes, wondering if she’s sunk into another daydream. He does have that effect on people sometimes.

“So, aren’t you gonna ask me to go to the circus with you?” she says suddenly.

“Oh! Well, yeah,” Ari stumbles, “um, I mean, I need to check in with my folks, but … would you … would you like to …”

Before Ari can finish his bare minimum of a question, Julia takes a step back and giggles.

“Sorry, Ari.”

Without even knowing the rest of the sentence, Ari can tell she doesn’t seem very sorry.

“Somebody else already asked me. If you’d have asked me earlier …”

Ari thinks about maybe saying something in protest or in his own defense, but decides it’s not worth it as she makes her way past him.

“Um,” she says, pausing before she walks away completely, “Some time soon, Ari, I … I need to tell you something important … so … see you.”

She takes off running, disappearing fast into the town - an impressive feat given its small size and even smaller populace. Ari isn’t sure what to make of Julia. Teenagerdom is difficult enough to navigate for himself without the complex enigma of teenage girls thrown into the mix. As with most problems, puzzles, and peculiarities, Ari shrugs and carries on with his business.

As he passes it, Ari notices the sign on the Parm Inn door:

‘CLOSED due to water shortage - not that we get any guests anyway. Ha! - Parm Inn Landlord.’

The posting has been there for several weeks. Similar notices decorate the doors of ‘Tinkers,’ the blacksmith and ‘Gulp,’ the bar:

‘Can’t do business without water. I’ll be sleeping. - Tinkers Owner’

‘Closed due to shortage! And for those who owe me money, PAY UP QUICK! - Gulp Hostess.’

Ari can only wonder how much longer before these places will have to close for good. Tenel is already pretty small. Any smaller and they’d have to start calling themselves ‘a small cluster of houses and shops’ instead of a town.

“Ah! Ari!” someone suddenly exclaims.

Ari turns to see the butcher standing outside his shop, just across from the inn. A man with an egg like figure and neatly parted brown hair, the butcher breathes out a heavy sigh as he clutches at his chest.

“You gave me a fright, Ari. I didn’t notice ya standing there at first.”

“Sorry, Mr. Kellogg.”

“Shame about the water shortage, isn’t it? Thankfully, we’ve got some stored up for emergencies like this, but we’re getting mighty low. Can’t say how much longer we’ll be able to stay open.”

“Yeah, I wonder what’s caus-”

“You like beef, Ari?”

He is a little startled by the question.

“Oh, well, I don’t dislike it, sir.”

“I’ve got a great deal on ground beef. One pound, 20 sukel. Figure you might not be able to get any tomorrow - if we can’t open, I mean.”

A few minutes later, Ari walks out of the butcher shop with a wrapped up pound of ground beef under his arm and his wallet 20 sukel lighter.

“Pleasure doing business with you,” calls Mr. Kellogg as he locks the door to his shop to leave for the day, “get home safe.”

Ari waves as the butcher turns to make his way home. He doubts he’ll have business there, but Ari hopes the butcher is open tomorrow. As he makes his way towards the bakery, he passes by two men deep in conversation and nervousness.

“Oh dear, this just won’t do. The water supply has stopped and almost all the stores are closed. It’s under investigation now … do you think it might be related to ghosts?”

“All I know is they’re saying there are tons of ghost problems in Madril. And they’re a big, machine town. Totally different class than Tenel. If they can’t handle the ghosts and monsters, we don’t stand a chance.”

The other man nods weakly, looking very pale. “We’ll be in big trouble.”

Ari remembers his mother’s suggestion couched in wifely affection and decides to go visit his father. He passes Gulp, Tinkers, the miscellaneous shop known as ‘The Other One’, and several homes. All the way in the back of town, atop a small hill, is the church and right beside it the Tenel Village Office. The church sits quietly and patiently, having been unused and unvisited for several weeks now. Ari thinks the cream color of the tall rounded church towers is starting to look like spoiled milk. Green stains are creeping up the sides and the forest surrounding Tenel is starting to reclaim it.

A sign before the tightly shut door reads:

‘Until further notice, please do not enter the church. - Tenel Village Office’

Feeling helpless in the face of such a polite, pathetic notice, Ari walks over to the Tenel Village Office.

Inside, the village office is busy and hectic. Immediately, Ari spots his father sitting behind his usual desk at the front, but all around him, people rush and run and flitter about like a swarm of frustrated, inconvenienced bees. Even their talk sounds like buzzing.

Ari carefully navigates his way towards that front desk. Ari’s father is a short, stringy sort of man. He parts his dark brown hair straight and neat down the middle, and he looks at the world through thick, soda bottle glasses. He has the look of a man who believes in aliens and psychic phenomenon. If one were to ask him about such things, he could easily go on for hours. Ari can attest to it. His father stares intently into a stack of pages in the middle of his desk. He stares as if staring hard enough will burst the pages into flames or cast them into an alternate dimension where he doesn’t have to look at them anymore. Ari is sorry to see these efforts aren’t working.

“Oh! Hello there, Ari. Here to see your cool father at work?”

Ari rolls his eyes, but still smiles.

“What d’ya think? Too cool for words, huh? I redefine ‘cool.’ Ha!”

Now the smile is starting to fade. Ari’s father has perfected the art of being too corny.

“Sorry, sorry,” his father chuckles, “as you can see, the office is in a bit of a panic over the water shortage. We’re doing everything we can to find the cause, but …”

As his father trails off, Ari sees his shoulders slump and behind the happy-go-luck dork that is his father, Ari can see the exhausted Assistant Manager.

“On top of that, the Classification Tables will be arriving soon from the Royal City. That always puts the office on edge.”

Ari knows vaguely about the Classification Tables. His father has cursed it multiple times throughout the year. Supposedly, the village office sends a character report of each Tenel resident to the Royal City and then the city sends back a huge packet of tables that identify and categorize each and every citizen. Ari frequently asks his father how he is ‘classified,’ but his father usually responds with some corny joke.

‘The Assistant Manager’s son.’ ‘The eldest child at the Nameless Dwelling.’ ‘Some Shady Guy.’

So, Ari doesn’t really ask about it anymore. He just accepts that the Classification Table causes his father a lot of headache and woe. Once, Ari tried asking one of his father’s coworkers what the purpose was of the Classification Tables. Her response was unsatisfactory.

“Oh! I didn’t see you there! You’re the assistant manager’s son, aren’t you? Well, the Classification Tables, they … well, they … they maintain order of course! They help the town run smoothly. Why else would the Royal City have us do all this? Now, please leave me alone. I’m quite busy.”

So, Ari understands the weight when, on top of the water shortage problem, his father says he also has to deal with the Royal City’s Classification Tables.

“Anyway, what’s for dinner?” his father asks suddenly, the joy lifting his shoulders back up from their slump, “Ah, I wanna go home. I miss your mom.”

Ari chuckles. “No idea. She wouldn’t tell me. Says it’s a surprise.”

“Ha, yeah, that sounds like your mother.”

“She asked me to pick up bread.”

“Oh! Well, you better get moving, son. It’s getting dark out. The town will be closing soon.”

“Great seeing you, Dad,” says Ari as he turns to leave, nearly crashing into a speeding intern.

Ari steps back outside and, just as his dad said, the dark is noticeably beginning to descend on the town. He rushes down the hill to the Bakery, hoping the owner hasn’t decided to close doors early due to the dark looming in. The bell above the door clangs to life as he rushes in. Despite that, the husband and wife who run the Bakery carry on with their personal business, not seeming to notice Ari standing in the doorway. He steps up to the main counter where the wife stands, her back to Ari as she sorts through the baked goods on the back shelf.

The smell of freshly baked bread is intoxicating, filling Ari with warmth until the harsh pang of hunger in his stomach drives it away.

“Excuse me,” he says.

The portly Mrs. Bakster is singing to herself as she counts and pokes at the remaining pastries. It’s not a very good song and Mrs. Bakster isn’t very good at singing it.

“Hello? Mrs. Bakster?”

“Huh?” Finally, she whips around. “Oh! It’s you, Ari! Don’t I always tell you? A boy should speak up!”

These types of reprimands are nothing new. Mrs. Bakster has many opinions and is very keen on sharing them.

“Now, now, don’t harangue the boy, dear,” calls Mr. Bakster from across the shop, “don’t mind her too much, Ari. She’s got a sharp tongue, but a soft heart really.”

Ari smiles good humoredly, simply wanting to get the bread and get home for dinner.

“You’ve come to pick up bread for your mother, right?” says Mrs. Bakster as she reaches over to a shelf and pulls off a fine, golden colored loaf. With speed and finesse, she neatly wraps the loaf in paper and then, gently hands it to Ari. “Here you are. Don’t squeeze it too much. Don’t want to crush it.”

“Yes, Mrs. Bakster, thank you.”

“By the way, Ari, before you go, I wanted to ask - anything bothering you?”

“Now, dear!” chides Mr. Bakster.

“Come on! Keep your chin up, boy!” Mrs. Bakster carries on, ignoring her husband, “girls like the assertive ones, you know? And I know you’ve got a lot of potential, Ari. You can be anything you want. You just got to assert yourself, and girls will be all over you.”

Ari smiles and nods, backing away slowly.

“Alright, alright. Get on home and get that to your mother. I’ve got a dinner to get ready and a husband to feed, you know.”

“Yes … thank you, Mrs. Bakster. You too, Mr. Bakster. Have a good evening.”

Ari turns and whips out the door before the baker can be inspired with another round of opinions. Once outside, Ari is surprised to find Annie waiting.

“Ari, you done with your errands? You’ve been gone forever.”

“Sorry, yeah. I’m done.”

“What’s the matter?” she asks, and then eyes the bakery, “oh, did she lecture you again?”

Yeah, sure, make me relive it, why don’t ya?

The thought translates into a shrug.

“Let me guess,” says Annie playfully, “Oh, Ari, you’ve got to speak up for yourself more. You practically blend into someone else’s shadow.”

Ari gives her a brotherly glare.

“Oh well, at least there are some people around here who see some good in you … Julie, for instance.” Annie giggles mercilessly. “You lucky guy.”

All the way home, Annie teases her brother about the baker woman’s “advice” and Julie’s “affections.” But Ari takes it all without a word, wondering to himself about lots of different topics from that busy afternoon. He thinks about the water shortage and about his classification from the Royal City and about Julie picking someone else over him and about what it actually means to ‘blend into someone else’s shadow.’

Chapter 1 • Chapter 2 • Chapter 3 • Chapter 4 • Chapter 5 • Chapter 6 • Chapter 7 • Chapter 8 • Chapter 9 • Chapter 10 • Chapter 11 • Chapter 12 • Chapter 13 • Chapter 14 • Chapter 15 • Chapter 16 - Finale

NOTE: Okage Shadow King is owned by Sony Computer Entertainment and Zener Works. This novelization is purely a fan-work and the writer claims no ownership over the characters, general plot line(s), etc.

#okage shadow king #osk #playstation 2 #video games #novelization #boku to maō

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everlarkficexchange · 4 years

Text

No One's Gonna Need You More

Written by: @ambpersand

Prompt 36: Frustrated and stressed out Single dad!Peeta needs a fuck desperately. His best friend, Katniss, unwittingly offers to help him out. Things get murky with repressed feelings, but one thing’s certain, Peeta can’t keep his hands to himself anymore and Katniss is all too willing to oblige at the drop of a hat, regardless of place, time and her own emotions, as long as he keeps whispering all his sexy, filthy thoughts into her ear. [submitted by anonymous]

Rated E.

—————————————————————–

“Hey Katniss, It’s Delly… I just wanted to let you know that Peeta is here at Sae’s bar tonight, but he doesn’t look so good… I don’t know what happened but you might want to come get him.”

Delly left the message on my voicemail twenty minutes ago, but I jumped in my car so fast that I don’t bother calling her back. My mind is racing with too many questions to be able to focus on anything except driving and getting to Peeta.

Is he okay? Did something happen? Was there an accident? Why is he at the bar alone on a Friday night? And why didn’t he tell me?

He’s my best friend, but as far as I know, nothing special was supposed to be happening tonight. It’s just another Friday. Or is it? Did I miss something? Did he have plans that he told me about, but I forgot? No, I think, searching back through my memory. If he wanted to go out, he would have asked me. Or he would have given me a heads up, because that’s what we did. We checked in with each other. We looked after each other. It’s been that way for six years now, but this has me spinning.

We made that promise when he finally admitted that his on-again-off-again girlfriend was actually a one night stand, and she was 6 months pregnant. They couldn’t make it work, and she wanted to give the baby up. He’d been sitting on the secret for months without confiding in me, and it wasn’t until he was almost completely wrecked that he finally confessed that he was going to be a single dad all on his own. He was afraid to say anything in case it scared me off, and he cared too much for our friendship to let something like failed birth control get in between us. Since then, I’ve been by his side. Through thick and thin. Helping him when he needed it most, never judging. But now… Now he’s out at a bar on a Friday night, and he didn’t tell me. It seems inconsequential, but with how close we are, I know it means something.

A heavy feeling settles in my stomach when I realize that he’s obviously been keeping something from me again. Whatever it is. And if he’s at the bar… Where’s Lily?

We usually tell each other everything. We text occasionally throughout the day, but we spend most of our weekends together. Even tonight, when he asked me what I was up to, I responded back with a picture of my dinner framed in front of my TV. He responded back with a couple of emojis, but didn’t give me any impression that he wasn’t at home doing the same thing.

What’s going on?

The bar is packed, which is unsurprising for a Friday night, but I spot him almost immediately after walking through the door. His blond waves stand out at me like a beacon, shining in the low lights from the row of stools in front of the bar top. What I can’t see, though, is his face… He’s sitting slumped forward, his fists pressed into his eyes, and an empty glass in front of him.

“Peeta?” he jumps when I place my hand on his shoulder, so I pull it back quickly. He’s never had a problem being touched before, but the way he twists away from my hand is enough to make a frown start to pull at the edges of my mouth.

“Katniss?” my name sounds thick and slow, like his tongue and lips can’t get through the syllables quite right, and his eyes are glassy when he turns to face me. The sudden movement has him grabbing at the edge of the bar for support, and my immediate instinct is to reach out and steady him with a hand on his back.

“What are you doing here?” blinking rapidly, he squints at me like I might be a mirage. His confusion doesn’t help to reassure the strange, betrayed feeling that’s started to settle in my stomach, but I squash it down. He’s drunker than I’ve ever seen him before, and he needs to get home before he blacks out on the dirty floor of the bar.

“I’m here to help get you home,” I tell him, digging in my purse for a few dollars to throw down in front of his empty glass. I don’t know what his bar tab is, and I’m not sure I want to know. He’s obviously had more than one beer, which is his standard when we grab dinner together. When the bartender doesn’t notice me waiting after a moment, I give up and turn back to Peeta. We’ll have to come back and settle it in the morning, I guess.

“No,” he tries again, shaking his head. The movement is more of a circle than anything else, and it makes him dizzy again. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m here to take you home,” I repeat, slower this time. God, how much did he have to drink?

“Katniss,” he reaches out, placing his wide palm against my cheek. “No.”

As frustrated as I am that he came to the bar to get shit-faced without telling me, I want to laugh at how ridiculous this conversation is. I’m not usually the one who’s good with words, but right now he’s almost incoherent.

“Peeta, yes,” placing my hand over his, I pull it away from my face. When he frowns a little, I shake my head. “You’ve had too much to drink. You need to get home.”

At the mention of home, I cringe. I should have remembered.

“Where’s Lily?”

“Hmm? Oh,” a wide smile breaks out across his face at the mention of her name. “She’s with Rye.”

His slurred answer sounds more like sheswifrye, but I let out a relieved sigh. On the off chance he needs a sitter for his daughter, he calls me. But his brother? That’s usually only when he and I have plans together, or if I’m busy. I’m always the first person he calls, and I try to resist scowling at the snub. “Come on, then. Let’s get going.”

He doesn’t fight me when I stoop down to wrap his arm around my shoulder, pulling his weight up and forward so I can act as a human crutch. He’s just tall enough that my shoulders settle into the side of his torso, but it will do.

“Why though?” he asks, stumbling forward a little when we begin to make our way to the front door. My arm is wrapped around the opposite side of his stomach, and I can feel the solid strength of his abs underneath the button up shirt he’s wearing.

“God, you are drunk,” I huff out a laugh, because he’s heavy. “I told you already.”

“No, why?” he persists, pulling his head back to look down at me with a bleary gaze.

It takes me a second to realize that I must be missing the point. What is he trying to ask me? Why am I at the bar? To take his drunk ass home to sleep it off.

“Because I’m your best friend,” I try a different tactic with my answer this time, thankful when we make it through the door without him falling over completely. His steps are heavy and shuffling beside mine, but he smiles easily when I speak again. “And you would do it for me, wouldn’t you?”

“Always,” he sighs the word and leans into my embrace a little as we walk down the sidewalk toward my car.

An easy silence falls between us, even though I’m full of questions. I won’t get anywhere questioning him now, though, and he’s going to need to take some water and painkillers before getting him into bed.

“Did you drive here earlier?” I ask him once we get to my SUV, and I manage to get the passenger side door unlocked and open with my free hand.

“Yeah,” he swallows heavily before climbing into the seat in an uncoordinated movement. Once he’s finally settled, he pats around at his pockets before finding his keys and pulling them out to hand to me. “Here, you drive.”

“I think I will,” I laugh, pushing them into my purse for safekeeping. I guess we’ll have two things to take care of in the morning.

Once I’m settled in to the driver’s side and pulling out into the street, I cast a glance in his direction. He’s got his head leaning back on the headrest with his eyes closed, and even in the weird yellow glow of the streetlights he’s still the most handsome guy I’ve ever seen. With a wide set jaw and long eyelashes the same color of his wavy hair, he’s always been hard to look away from. Light freckles dot his face, scattered across his cheekbones, nose, and forehead from so many summers outside with his brothers. With a wide nose and plush lips, I could stare at him all night if he would let me. Thankfully, he’s used to me staring at him.

Even with his eyes closed right now, he can tell. “Thanks,” he says, sighing a little. His voice is still slurred, but it’s starting to grow heavy with sleep. Shit, I won’t be able to carry him inside if he passes out now.

“Peeta,” I say his name loud enough to get his eyes fluttering open. “Why were you at the bar tonight?”

I don’t say the question I actually want to ask.

“I asked you first,” he chuckles, sitting up a little and blinking rapidly like he’s trying to clear his vision.

“And I answered,” I point out, hoping that this will be enough to keep him awake and engaged for another ten minutes while I drive home.

“No you didn’t,” his voice is playful, and he rolls his head to the side to look at me. Even in the dark I can see the vibrant blue of his eyes. “I didn’t tell you I was gonna be there. Are you following me, Katniss?”

The sound I make is more of a scoff than anything else, and I move my eyes back to the road so he doesn’t see me roll them at the absurdity of the idea. It isn’t until his words sink in that I realize what he was trying to ask me all along. Not why, but how.

“Delly called me,” I tell him, rolling my lips between my teeth. The slight stinging feeling is back in my chest now, and I take a deep breath to try and dislodge it.

“She shouldn’t have,” Peeta shakes his head and looks out the window, resting his forehead against the glass.

“Why not?” my question is genuinely curious, because I don’t know how he would have gotten home if someone hadn’t come to get him. And if Rye is busy, then that leaves me. Was he expecting the bartender to call him a cab or something?

“Because,” he sighs heavily, letting his eyes fall shut again. I know this look. It’s his frustrated look, when he’s searching for the words to say something difficult, but can’t find them just yet. I’ve seen him give this look to Lily on occasion, but never me.

“I was fine,” he says instead.

“You’re drunk,” I correct him.

“It wasn’t supposed to be a big deal,” he shrugs, but I can see the defeat that’s written on his face. He’s hiding something, or a few somethings, but I can’t even begin to imagine what it might be.

“You can tell me anything, you know,” I soften my voice so I don’t sound so accusatory. “You’re my best friend.”

“That’s why I can’t tell you,” he exclaims, pulling his hands up to tug at his hair. “It’s fine, okay? Everything is fine.”

It’s not fine, I want to say. Five years ago he and I made a promise to stop keeping secrets from each other, but apparently I’m the only one who kept up my end of the bargain. When I don’t respond back, he looks at me, and even though my eyes are straight ahead, I see the way his jaw drops open a little.

I’m sure I look angry. I kind of am, but I’m more annoyed by anything else. I get woken up at 10 PM to come get his drunk ass, and he can’t even be bothered to be honest with me.

“Katniss,” he pleads, leaning forward and resting his head on my shoulder. “Please don’t be mad at me.”

“I’m not mad,” I sigh, careful not to dislodge his head when I turn the steering wheel.

“It wasn’t supposed to be a big deal. Just one and done and then I would be okay, you know?”

“What?” it’s like he’s speaking in riddles. Drunk riddles.

“You wouldn’t get it,” he sits up and shakes his head, but the movement must make him dizzy again. “Whoa,” he grabs at the center console to steady himself, and I give him a worried look when I see his normally pale complexion is more of an ashy white color.

“Please don’t puke in my car,” I eye him wearily. “Just sit back, okay? We’ll be home in a minute.”

“I’m okay,” he sucks in a few deep breaths through his nose, and he sounds confident enough that I believe him.

After another moment, his eyebrows knit together. “Home?”

“My house,” I correct. My place is closer than his, but I didn’t even think of taking him back to his house instead. Someone needs to watch him tonight to make sure he’s okay, the last thing I need is another phone call in the morning that he fell down the stairs trying to make it to the bathroom because he was still drunk at 2 AM.

“I like your house,” he sighs happily, and I can’t stop the smile that stretches across my lips. Even though I’m annoyed at him, he’s still unquestionably nice. It’s my weakness.

“Good. We’re going to get you some water and get you into bed, okay?”

“Bed?” he says the word like it’s the best reward I could give him, and I can’t help but laugh a little.

My place is a small one bedroom bungalow, but it’s okay. He can take my bed and I’ll sleep on the couch.

“Yes, a bed. But you have to stay awake until we get there, okay?” I tell him when I notice that his eyes have drifted closed again.

“Okay,” he agrees, even though his eyes are still closed.

“Did you eat dinner?” I try asking another question instead to try and keep him awake.

“Hmm?” it takes him a second to process the question, but then he shakes his head slightly. “No. I was waiting, but then you showed up.”

“You were waiting?” A quick glance at the clock tells me it’s past 10:30 now, and I can’t imagine what he means.

“Mmhmm,” he nods, but doesn’t elaborate.

“How long were you waiting for?” I ask instead, trying not to sigh in frustration.

His fingers begin ticking the numbers off, and I wait while he struggles with the math. Apparently, numbers and alcohol don’t mix.

“Uhh,” he stops, running his hand across his face again. “When was 6?”

“You’ve been waiting at the bar since 6 PM?” my eyebrows shoot up.

“Yeah,” his confirmation sounds sadder than I expect, and I can’t stop from looking at him. Even though I’m still driving, we’re close to my house in the residential part of town. There’s no other cars around, and I let my eyes focus on him for a brief second.

His eyes are cast down at his lap, and his shoulders are slumped forward again like they were when I first walked into the bar. Normally he’s in a good mood, upbeat and outgoing, but this is… something else entirely.

“Who were you waiting for, Peeta?” I ask him quietly. “I would have come if you would have just told me.”

“You couldn’t come,” he shakes his head in a vehement no, and I immediately frown.

“Ouch,” I try to laugh it off, but it’s true. His words sting, and I know in the morning he’ll barely remember any of this.

“It doesn’t matter,” he sighs again. “It was dumb.”

Before I can get too angry about the strange and sudden secrecy, I notice how embarrassed he sounds.

“It’s okay,” when I pull into my driveway, I glance at him again, surprised to see his cheeks and ears stained pink. “Let’s get you inside.”

“I’m sorry,” he mutters as soon as we enter my living room, and he kicks off his shoes on instinct. He’s walking a little steadier now, but I keep close just in case he stumbles.

“For what?”

“Everything. You weren’t supposed to be bothered.”

“You think I’m bothered by helping you?”

“I was trying to get help on my own,” he drops his head back, and the frustration is practically rolling off of him in waves. His moods are swinging around wildly, and I can barely keep track if he’s upset or confused or angry. Or maybe it’s just all three, and I rarely see him this worked up.

My living room, kitchen, and dining room all bleed into each other, and I’ve never been more thankful for the cramped floor plan. When I direct him to the small dining table, he doesn’t fight it. “You sit here while I get some water, okay?”

“You don’t have to do this,” he grabs my hand before I can walk away, looking up at me with pleading eyes.

“I do, or you’re going to have one hell of a hangover,” I purse my lips, but I don’t have the heart to tell him he’s going to have a nasty headache in the morning either way. He never drinks like this, and it’s bound to come back and bite him in the ass.

“No,” he tugs down on my fingers, but he doesn’t look away. “You’re the only one who takes care of me. You don’t have to do it.”

Ahh, I almost laugh. We’ve reached the emotional stage of his drunkenness. “I want to, Peeta. I like helping to take care of you. You take care of me too, you know.”

At my words, his neck flushes red and his eyes dart away. Narrowing my eyes, I watch as he shifts in his seat a little, but his hand feels burning hot against my skin.

“That’s not…” he tries, but has to swallow before he can continue. “You can’t take care of this.”

“I can’t take care of what, Peeta?” getting him water?

“Me,” he emphasizes by pressing his other hand to his chest.

“Okay, Peeta. You’re drunk. Let me go get you some water,” this time I do laugh a little bit, because later I’ll be angry. When he’s asleep, I’ll get to think more about how he’s starting to hide things and keeping cryptic secrets.

He finally lets my hand go, but only so he can scrub it across his cheeks. “I’m sorry for being such a wreck. I just… I just wanted…”

“You just wanted what?” I know I shouldn’t push, but I need to know. I need to know what was so important that he thought he had to hide it from me.

“God,” his hands move from his face into his hair, where he scratches his nails against his scalp. “Shit. I just… It’s been so long. It feels like I’m about to lose my mind.”

“It’s been so long since what, Peeta?” I lean against the table next to him, not trusting myself to move any further away. “You can tell me anything. I promise I’ll do whatever I can to help you. You know I would.”

He chuckles a little, but the sound is short lived. “You wouldn’t.”

“I would,” I poke at his shoulder. He’s been the most constant influence in my life for years. Supporting me through both my mom and my sister moving halfway across the country. Bringing me food and taking care of me when I’m sick. Celebrating when I got the big promotion at work. Helping me with repairs around my house when I needed a second hand and couldn’t handle it alone. “Anything, Peeta. Always.”

“You’d pity fuck me?” he must be going for shock value, and it works. My jaw drops open on a gasp, and it’s the least thing I expected him to say. Even drunk, he shrugs at my response. “See. I told you. That’s what I thought. You can’t always help me.”

“That’s…” I have to blink a few times to get my bearings. My body feels suddenly flushed at his confession, and I don’t know what to do with the information. “That’s what you were doing tonight?”

“What I was trying to do,” he drops his head forward, and I can see that his neck is still burning bright red. “Until I got stood up and then drank my weight in liquor. Fuck, I’m sorry, Katniss. I shouldn’t have said anything. I’m sorry–”

“Peeta,” I cut him off before he can spiral any further. “Why didn’t you just tell me you were on a date?”

“Because,” he sighs again, but his words are starting to sound a little clearer now. He might be starting to sober up, but only barely. “Because it’s been five years since I’ve had sex and I’m desperate. It’s sad.”

Five years. It’s been just under five years since Lily was born, which means… “You haven’t had sex since Clove?”

“I told you,” he lets out a weak laugh. “It’s sad. But the last year or so… It’s just…”

“You’re finally ready to start dating again?” I try to fill in the blanks. I remember a conversation, shortly after Lily was born, when he met a pretty blonde named Madge. She could have been the perfect stand-in for Lily’s mom, but he wasn’t interested. He turned her down multiple times, and kept insisting that he wasn’t ready. Eventually she moved on, but Peeta kept his sole focus on Lily. Until now, apparently.

The thought sends a flash of jealousy through my system, ice cold and unexpected. As much as I want what’s best for Peeta, I’m taken aback by how much I don’t like the idea of him being out with another woman. Maybe it’s because he’s kept most of his attention on Lily, the bakery, and me for the last five years, but my reaction is as confusing as it is strong. I don’t own him, I try to tell myself, but it does little to quell the spike of pressure in my chest.

“Not even,” he blinks a few times, fisting his hands together, but he won’t look at me now. “I’m desperate. I feel like a teenager again. It’s all I can think about. I thought maybe a quick date would help take the edge off so I could go back to normal, but…”

Oh. “You, uh…” I struggle for the words, but a smile is tugging at my lips. “Just needed to let off some steam?”

“God,” he snorts a laugh. “It’s pathetic.”

“It’s not!” I try to argue, but I can’t stop the giggle that erupts out of my chest.

“Trust me, I’ve tried everything else.”

I don’t even know where to begin dissecting his statement. Everything? What does that even mean? Oh, I realize, and I can’t stop the visual once it’s in my head. His hand wrapped around his erection, pumping long and slow, with smooth movements as his palm encircles the tip…

“I shouldn’t have said anything,” he says once I go silent, but I snap out of my filthy little dream. I can feel the heat of embarrassment flushing against the back of my neck now, and I avoid looking at him in case he sees it written across my face.

“You’re fine, Peeta,” I don’t want him to be embarrassed, but my body is flushed with an odd sensation that feels warm and tingly at the same time.

“I know you said you would help me no matter what, but this is why I didn’t want to tell you,” he finally looks at me again, his gaze harder than usual.

“I–” I what, exactly? “I’ll do it.”

The words slip out of my mouth before I can stop them, and his eyes go wide at the same time mine do.

“You what?”

“I’ll do it,” I force myself to repeat the words, and they sound choked as I push them past my lips.

“Katniss, no,” he tries to sit back, but the chair keeps him from going anywhere. He’s sputtering a little now, confused by my sudden offer. I’m just as surprised by it as he is, but I can’t take it back now. “No, you don’t need to–”

“You said just once, right?” it feels like I’m the one who’s drunk now, but I can’t help it. The tightness in my chest has expanded, wrapping around my lungs and abdomen with a kind of pressure I’ve never experienced before. “Let me help you then. This way you don’t have to wait for a stranger at the bar.”

He doesn’t say anything for a moment, instead staring at me with the same hard gaze. “I don’t want your pity.”

“It’s not,” I breathe out. I’ve always been attracted to him, but now… He needs help, and I’m his best friend. I can do this. I can help him out, no strings attached. I can. If he says yes.

“Katniss, I can’t,” he starts to shake his head slowly, and my stomach sinks like a heavy weight. “It would ruin everything…”

“Okay,” I nod, forcing my face into something that doesn’t look as hurt as I feel by his unintentional rejection. “That’s fine. I just thought I would offer. I’ll go get you some water, okay?”

I’m up and over at the sink before he can respond again, and all I hear is a choked noise from the middle of his chest. “Katniss…”

“Come on, you need to get some sleep,” when I finally return to the table, he hasn’t moved. I usher him forward with a hand on his palm, and he raises to his feet slowly. He’s still drunk, but he’s managed to sober up somewhat by the shock of my offer. Hopefully he still won’t remember this in the morning, but I know him well enough that even if he does, he’ll be too polite to say anything.

He lets me push him down the hallway to my room, and collapses into my bed without argument. “Drink this,” I hand him the water before moving to grab the blanket from the end of my bed, tossing it over his lower body.

He doesn’t say anything, instead staring at me with a steady gaze as I move around the room. Once the bottle of aspirin is on the bedside table, I flip off the light. “I’ll be on the couch. Come get me if you need anything, okay?”

“Okay,” his agreement is slow and quiet, and I let out a sigh as soon as I close the door shut behind me.

Shit.

———————————————-

I don’t know what time it is when I hear the sound of the toilet flushing, but from the blue light beginning to peek through the curtains, it must be early. I’m a light sleeper, and when you’re used to sleeping in a house alone, any errant noise will wake me up instantly.

“Peeta?” I call out, my voice groggy and rough from sleep, and pull myself from the couch. My joints are a little stiff, but I probably feel better than he does.

“Yeah?” his voice is weak from the other side of the bathroom door down the hall, and when I reach it I rap lightly with my knuckles.

“You okay?”

“No,” his response is heavy with misery, and I let out a slight laugh. “Don’t come in. I’m dying.”

I crack the door open, unsurprising when I see his legs sprawled out on the floor.

“I’ll call the coroner, then.”

“Please do,” he replies, his voice muffled. When I push the door open the rest of the way, I see that he’s stripped off his shirt and is using it as a pillow against the cold tile of the floor.

“Wow. You look like hell,” I nudge his calf with my toe, and he winces as if he’s in pain. His skin looks pale and clammy, shining slightly in the overhead light.

“You don’t have to shout it,” he croaks, trying to wave me off, but the motion is weak and half-hearted.

“You look like hell,” I mock-whisper at him, having too much fun to leave him alone. I know I probably should, but after last night… He deserves to get a little bit of shit from me, I think.

“That’s better.”

“So,” I move into the bathroom and slide by body down the back of the door, tucking my legs in front of my body. “What did we learn last night?”

“To not mix beer and bourbon,” he groans.

“Good lesson. Did you take the aspirin I left you?”

“Yeah,” he swallows heavily. “Then I puked it up.”

I snort, unsurprised. “You should shower. You’ll feel better.”

And you smell like the back of a bar, I skip telling him that part, and he groans.

“That means getting off the floor,” Peeta sighs. “I don’t know if I can.”

“You can. Now come on,” I move forward to help him up, and he lets out another groan as he rises to his feet. I’ve seen him shirtless plenty of times before, but now, in the light of day after my embarrassing offer, I avert my eyes.

“Can we get breakfast?” he asks on a heavy sigh. I’m not surprised he wants food, now, even as sick as he is after his unintentional bender. It’s probably been 18 hours since he’s last eaten.

“How about I make some omelettes and we can crash on the couch until the bar opens?”

He starts the shower spray and gives me a confused look, obviously unaware of how he left the bar last night. Good, I think. Maybe then he won’t remember the rest of the night, either.

“We still need to pay your tab and pick up your car, you lush.”

“Shit,” he curses, closing his eyes and rubbing his knuckle across his brow.

“Yeah, shit,” I echo. “You know where the towels are.”

The soft noise from the shower should be reassuring as I get started on breakfast, but it’s not. It’s a reminder that Peeta is naked in my house, just a few dozen feet away from me. Usually, it wouldn’t be that big of a deal. It shouldn’t be that big of a deal, either. But now it is, because I had to go and fuck things up. Even if he can’t remember my offer, that’s exactly what I did. And because of it, I’m stuck imagining what he looks like standing in my shower, water cascading down his chest, his hands soaping his body–

“Hey,” his voice surprises me, and I almost jump out of my skin when he speaks from just a few feet behind me. “Whoa, are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” I take a deep breath to try and calm my racing heart, but he gives me a careful look. “Just focusing on cooking, that’s all.”

When I motion to the pan in front of me, he goes still. “You’re making potatoes?”

They might be his favorite, and I might be stupid for thinking about it when I saw the bag of hash browns in my freezer. “Figured you could use the carbs.”

“You’re a lifesaver, you know that?” he praises me, moving to the electric kettle next to the fridge.

“Don’t kid yourself, I’m just racking up favors now. That’s all this is,” I laugh it off, focusing on the sizzling pan in front of me while he moves to make us tea.

“Sorry I don’t have any more coffee,” I tell him with a shrug. I usually keep a bag on hand for him in the cabinet, but I’m pretty sure he drank it all at least a month ago.

“It’s fine,” he assures me. “My stomach probably couldn’t handle it right now anyway.”

“Are you feeling any better?”

“If by better you mean half-alive, sure,” his laugh is soft and warm, and Iet my eyes flutter closed at the sound and grip the spatula a little tighter. A comfortable silence fills the kitchen, and he works to grab plates and utensils while I finish cooking. Once we’re sitting down on the couch, food in hand, he clears his throat.

“Thanks for last night.”

“It’s no problem,” I assure him, hoping he doesn’t take it any further, but when he opens his mouth again I almost groan. I know the look on his face. It’s persistence.

Shit. I was wrong… He does remember after all, and I can see the careful look in his eyes. It’s the same one he gets when he’s trying to deal with Lily when she gets cranky and he’s trying to avoid a full blown meltdown.

“We don’t need to talk about it,” I try to cut him off before he can get started. We absolutely don’t need to even acknowledge it. It was a stupid offer, and we should just move on.

“You don’t even know what I’m about to say,” he quirks a blond eyebrow up at me and sets his fork down.

“I do, trust me. And we don’t.”

“Katniss,” my name is so soft against his tongue that I barely hear it. “I–”

“We talked about it plenty last night. It’s fine, Peeta. Really. We can just move on and forget it ever happened.”

Please don’t make me relive that rejection. Please.

“Okay,” he nods after a moment. “If that’s what you want.”

Instead of answering I nod and shovel a forkful of eggs into my mouth, turning back to the TV in front of us. To something normal and easy. Something that doesn’t remind me of my lapse in judgement last night when I offered to fuck my best friend.

The next time he speaks, he offers me a slight smile. “Thanks for everything.”

———————————————-

It’s almost 3 PM when my phone chimes with a new text message, and I’m halfway through unpacking my groceries. After dropping Peeta off at his car and an awkward goodbye, I came back home to get a shower, then ran a few errands to get what I needed for the week. It helped to feel some semblance of normal, but when I see his name on my screen, that strange tingling feeling resumes in my stomach.

Peeta: You busy?

I wait until I’ve got the rest of my bags unpacked before getting to the message, then head to the living room.

Katniss: Not really, why?

My phone buzzes again almost immediately, another text message from him popping up in our conversation history.

Peeta: Are you home?

Katniss: Yeah, what’s up? Did you leave something here?

When he doesn’t answer, I set my phone down on the coffee table and grab the remote, settling in to watch some TV until I need to make dinner. Before I can finish scrolling through the menu, my doorbell rings.

Confused, I make my way to the door, but freeze as soon as I swing it open.

It’s Peeta.

“Why did you ring the doorbell?” I cock my head to the side, but he’s biting down on his lower lip hard enough that the delicate pink skin has turned bright red. Usually he knocks before opening the door and letting himself in, but now he looks almost hesitant to step forward. It’s a strange thought, but I also notice that he’s changed clothes. So he went home and then… came back here?

He shakes his head, ignoring my question. “Did you mean it?”

“What?” confused, I take a step back, but he follows me, crowding up closer to my body without stepping fully into the house.

“What you said to me last night,” he clarifies, staring into my eyes with more purpose than I’ve ever seen. “Your offer. Did you mean it?”

Oh god, the offer to sleep with him? “I thought we weren’t going to talk about that,” I shake my head and take another step back, but he mirrors the movement again. Like a predator following his prey, I’m locked in his sights.

“I thought I could let it go,” he shakes his head, letting his eyes drift closed for the briefest of moments. “I was wrong.”

“Peeta,” I try, but he shuts the door behind him and cuts off my words. My heart is pounding now, sending shocks of adrenaline through my system as I try to figure out my next move. Do I tell him I didn’t mean it? Do I laugh it off?

“I’ll only ask this once,” he says, his voice low. “Just tell me the truth.”

“I–” my throat suddenly feels dry and tight, and I have to swallow a few times to push past it. “I think so.”

My answer is barely a whisper, but I see the relief as it washes over his features.

“I need a yes or no,” with another step, we’re inches apart.

“Yes,” I manage a nod, but it’s shaky, and my thighs hit the back of the couch. I’m stuck, backed up as far as I can go.

“Do you think…” he takes a shuddering breath, like he’s trying to breathe me in, but it’s the only crack in his facade. Everything else seems so intent. So desperate, that I don’t doubt him for a moment. “Just once?”

“Just once,” I agree, echoing his words with another nod.

“And nothing will change?” his eyes drop down to my lips, and in a movement that seems almost involuntary, his tongue peeks out, swiping across his own lower lip. “I can’t lose you, Katniss. I don’t want to fuck this up.”

“It wont,” I try to assure him. It wont. It can’t. He’s my best friend, and I’m his. We’ve been through everything together… And if he needs help, I would rather he come to me than anyone else. “I promise.”

The word promise cuts him loose completely and he pounces on me, releasing all the pent up tension that he’s been keeping in his broad shoulders. His lips crash down on mine and I barely have time to suck in a gasp before his fingers are digging into my hair.

“Fuck, Katniss,” He sighs against my lips, but I can’t think. His mouth is working mine so effortlessly, and it feels… Holy shit. It feels like I’m floating, and it takes everything in me just to stay upright while he ravages me. With his hands cradling my jaw and neck, he tilts my face back, opening me up to him so he can press his lips down my neck. “I’m sorry, I can’t…”

“You really do need to let off some steam, don’t you?” I try to joke, because it’s the only thing I can do while he’s nibbling on the soft skin beneath my ear. I’ve never seen him like this, either. He’s like a completely different person, holding me still while he takes what he needs.

And this is only the beginning.

“You have no idea,” his shoulders shake slightly with laughter, and the slight stubble on his jaw brushes over the sensitive skin on my neck. I can’t stop the noise that squeaks out of my chest at the feel of it, and my body moves on instinct, pressing against his so I can get more of whatever he’s offering.

One of his hands drifts down my neck, skirting along the outside of my breast and down to my waist. When he slides his fingers under the hem of my shirt, he pauses. His palm is hot against my skin, and I can feel the way his hands are trembling with want. It’s enough to make my center coil even tighter, and I wish his hand was pressed against my underwear instead of my stomach.

“If I don’t stop now, I wont,” he’s breathless, practically panting already, and I can feel the rapid thump of his heart when I lean forward. When he presses his hips forward into my abdomen, the growing hardness underneath his jeans is enough to make me realize just how worked up he actually is.

“Then don’t,” I have to stop myself from grabbing at him in what I’m sure would be a too-desperate move. I want to feel more of him, to know what’s underneath his clothes in a way that I’ve only ever seen from afar.

He bites off a curse at my response, nipping at my ear and pulling the lobe between his teeth. The sensation causes my body to tremble, but before I can make a move, he spins my body around.

“You have no idea,” he pushes my arms forward until I’m braced against the back of the couch for support, my hips bent forward just slightly. Just so he can get me into the right angle to grind himself against my ass, pushing his erection into the soft cradle of my thighs. “God, I’ve wanted you.”

“You have?” I should be ashamed of how breathless I sound now. How weak and trembling my voice is. But the only thing I can focus on is the way he’s moving against me, and the path that his hands are tracing as he tucks them under my shirt to grab at my waist. My hips. My ribcage.

“Why do you think I’m so desperate?” he leans forward to brush his lips against my ear, whispering the words. His hand tracks down around the front of my stomach, reaching forward until he finds the button of my jeans and snaps it open with a quick twist of his fingers.

“Do you know how hard it was not to come out here last night and see if you really meant it?” he growls, pushing his hips against me again. He’s hard, so hard, and I’m aching now. It’s a physical pain between my legs, and even though it hasn’t been as long for me as it has for him, I know it won’t go away until I’m filled completely.

“No?” I shake my head, only willing to tell him the truth. He’s putting himself out there for me now, and I can’t risk it. I can’t risk anything… If I lie, he’ll know. He always does.

“Or this morning?” the chuckle that vibrates his chest against my back sounds more like a growl, and his fingers dip low enough to start tracing the outside of my panties. It’s slow, maddening circles, and I can tell he’s mimicking the movements he would use on my clit if I opened my legs wide enough. “When I walked into the kitchen to see you cooking breakfast in those little shorts you wear?”

He likes my shorts? It’s the stupidest thought to have while he’s grinding in to me, but I can’t stop it from floating through my head. They’re old, probably back from my days in high school, but they’re comfortable and worn-in. And short. Which I hadn’t thought about before, because I didn’t think he was looking.

“My shorts?” I don’t know what else to say, but I know I want him to keep going. Pulling my hair from my neck, he presses slow kisses down my nape, taking his time. He’s not as frenzied now that I’m trapped like this, up against the couch while his fingers dip lower and lower toward the apex of my thighs. But I’m frozen, waiting, because if I make the wrong move I know I’ll risk him stopping completely.

“Everytime you wear those shorts I want to see what your thighs taste like. They sit so high that sometimes,” he pauses for another kiss, this time opening his mouth a little to trail his tongue along the skin, “when you bend over I can see the slightest shadow by your underwear. And it’s all I can think about for days.”

“Oh,” I breathe in, tilting my hips toward his touch. I can’t help but think about all the times I’ve worn those shorts around him. Around Lily too, when I babysit. But I never realized her father was watching me.

“What would you have done? If I came into the kitchen and dropped to my knees in front of you? Would you have opened up so I could have a taste? Or would you have teased me a little and made me work for it?”

“I–” I suck in a gasp when his fingers finally dive beneath the edge of my underwear. He still doesn’t push them inside or seek out my clit, instead continuing his slow, careful circles. I’m probably soaked by now, and I rock my hips forward to get more of his touch. I can barely think about anything else… I’m surrounded by him. His hands. His hips. His words.

“Tell me,” he coaxes, his hand moving just far enough to trace the seam of my opening. It’s teasing and light, but his middle finger slides easily against me. Oh god. There’s a heat radiating from my center, pulsing out with every pump of my heart… I can’t remember the last time I was this turned on.

“I would have–” I have to swallow again, searching for the words. What would I have done? “I would have let you do whatever you wanted.”

“Mmm,” he hums, his lips moving up to my ear again. “What I wanted? I wanted to lay you out on the table and pull those little shorts down your legs, kissing every damn inch on the way down. And then,” he nips at the spot just behind me ear before lathing his tongue across the sting, “I would have licked my way back up. Until you were squirming around, chanting my name. Until you were just as desperate as I am.”

“Peeta,” his name is barely a whisper of breath, but I can’t stop it.

“Just like that,” he laughs a little, finally giving me something of a reprieve. His fingers dip inside of my opening just enough to gather the pooling wetness before dragging it up to my clit and giving it a light brush.

“Oh my god,” on instinct I open my legs wider, but he’s got me caged in. I can’t go far, but I work my hips in tandem against his fingers, pressing down harder for more friction. “Please, Peeta.”

“Do you know how long I’ve fantasized about you saying my name? Begging me for it?” he growls the words a little and rubs himself against my backside, but doesn’t stop the movement of his hands.

“How long?” I ask. I have to know. I need to know. He said he was desperate, but this is… More than I ever expected.

“Days,” when he pulls his hand from my underwear I almost cry out, but he doesn’t stop moving. “Months,” his hands work to pull down my jeans over my hips and down my thighs, and he barely pauses before I hear him unzipping his own. “Years. So long I can’t even remember the first time it happened.”

“What…” I have to swallow through the tight lump in my throat, but his hands are back on me in an instant. Running over the exposed skin of my ass, I tilt my hips back into his touch when he begins to knead the handfuls of flesh. I don’t care if it’s a wanton move–I’ll give him anything right now. Everything. “What else did you imagine?”

“What haven’t I imagined?” his breathless laugh is a warm brush of air on my neck, but one of his hands disappears and I have to fight the urge to glance back to see what he’s doing now.

“I think about it all the time, Katniss. I thought about it this morning when we were on the couch, and I wanted to see if you preferred my fingers or my tongue on your clit. If I could hold off on fucking you long enough to make you come more than once.”

My answer is nothing more than a soft gasp, but when he chuckles again I can’t stop myself. I have to see him. When I turn my head around and finally take a look at him, need coils tighter inside of me. His blue eyes, normally so bright, are dark and stormy, and his jaw is tense. His chest is rising and falling with rapid breaths, and I’ve never seen this kind of look on his face.

It’s determination. And desire, burning hot. It’s pure, unbridled want for me.

When my eyes dip down lower, my jaw drops. He’s running the palm of his hand down the length of his erection as he watches me, unashamed.

“This is what you do to me,” Peeta gives me a hard look, his fingers squeezing as he strokes himself. The head of his cock is an angry red, stretched taught and swollen. “This is all for you.”

I can’t see the details, but I see enough to know that it’s thick. Thick and long, and I’m a little ashamed at the way my eyes lock on him. His movements are quick and expert, like he’s not even bothering to play coy. No, this is how he gets himself off. His fingers squeeze tighter just underneath the head, and he swirls the palm of his hand up and over the tip before dragging it back down. Over and over again, I’m completely entranced.

“Tell me what you want,” he coaxes, his voice dropping to a whisper. “You want me to take you to your bedroom? I’ll do it. Or do you want me to fuck you right here so you can never look at your couch again without thinking about me?”

“Right here,” I breathe out the words. I don’t care if it’s too desperate or needy, I need him now. My desire has ratched up to the point where my core is actually aching, desperate to be filled. I don’t want to waste any more time than we already have.

A grin tugs at his lips, and it’s a sudden reminder of how devastatingly handsome Peeta can be. How he is, really, all the time.

“Take your shirt off,” he directs me, moving to do the same. In an instant, we’re both naked in the middle of my living room, and my limbs begin to shake with the slightest of tremors. I don’t know if it’s from anxiety or anticipation, but I wait for his next instruction. If this is only going to happen once, I need to make sure that it’s exactly how he wants it.

“Fuck,” biting his lower lip, he reaches out to brush his thumb across my exposed nipple. The sensation is enough to make my entire body start trembling. I feel like a leaf about to blow away, but when he moves down and brushes a wet kiss across the tight peak, my body goes still. “I’m going to be dreaming about you for weeks.”

When he switches to the other breast, lathing his tongue against my nipple before sucking it between his lips, I have to lean back against the couch for support. “Do you remember…” he starts, his hand trailing down his stomach to give his cock a few rough strokes. “That bathing suit you wore to the lake last year?”

“Yes,” I give him a shaky nod, even though it takes me a moment to clear the haze of lust from my mind long enough to remember what he’s talking about. It was a plain black one-piece that Prim convinced me to buy from some overpriced department store, but it’s the only one I have. The neckline dips low and the legs are cut high, but it covers everything better than a bikini would have.

“You went swimming with Lily and when you climbed back on the pier, I thought I was going to go out of my mind,” he stands back up, leaving my nipples swollen and red from his attention. When his hands come to rest on my hips, I let him turn my body back around until I’m braced against the couch, my legs wide and hips tilted up. Like I’m on display.

I love it.

“You must have been cold, because your nipples were these hard little points and it took everything I had in me not to pull you down to your towel on the beach and suck on them through the material,” he braces his body behind mine, positioning his cock right underneath my opening. He doesn’t push in, though, and instead holds himself there.

“You should have,” I admit. Had I known, I probably would have tried to shield myself away from him. But now? Knowing this is how he is? And what he thinks when he’s being so polite and good on the outside?

“Oh, I dreamed about it. Over and over again,” he slides himself forward, running his head between my slick folds until he reaches my clit and then back again. Not quite dipping inside of me, but giving me just enough to stimulate what it might feel like if he gave in. Sucking in a harsh breath I rock back toward him, needing more stimulation. It’s filthy, the way he’s fucking me. Teasing me, really, with the head of his cock against the sensitive bundle of nerves. It doesn’t feel as good as his hand did, but I want to work myself on top of it nonetheless.

To drive his point home he reaches around me to pluck at my left nipple, pinching the tip between his deft fingers, rolling it around until it aches. They’re never usually sensitive, but he’s playing with them like he’s thought about it. A lot. And it feels good, with the right kind of roughness and pressure to send more wetness rushing down to my core.

“Peeta,” I whimper his name, begging him for more. I don’t know how much more teasing I can withstand without melting into the floor entirely.

“You want it?” he slows his thrusts to a maddening pace, drawing back and forward like he isn’t digging his fingers into my hips hard enough to leave bruises tomorrow.

“Please,” I urge him, moving my hips back and forth to seek out more force, more stimulation. My eyelids feel heavy, and it’s taking all the strength I have not to tilt myself back so the head of his cock can slip right inside. I’m wet enough that I know it wouldn’t take much, but I have to let him choose. I’m on birth control, but the last time Peeta had a one night stand he ended up with a daughter.

A one night stand. I try to ignore the way the thought makes my chest feel a little hollow. That’s not what this is. This is more. It has to be.

“Fuck,” he curses when my hips falter, his head dropping forward to rest on my shoulder. “I have a condom, but you feel so good…”

“Get it,” I urge. “Please. I need you, Peeta.”

When he pulls away to dig around for his jeans, I can’t help but shiver at the lack of warmth. Before I can get too uncomfortable, though, he’s pulling at the foil packet with his teeth and rolling the rubber down his length.

“Lean forward,” he coaxes with a hand between my shoulder blades. I follow his lead, bracing myself farther down and backing up so my ass is in the air. When he nudges my feet, I open them wider. I’m even more exposed now than I was before, presented and ready for him.

“God, you’re so beautiful,” his words are barely more than a whisper, but I catch them above the rapid pounding of my heart. It makes my skin flush hot, building from my chest all the way up to my ears. “Are you ready?”

His words are teasing, but I can feel the way his hand is shaking slightly when he lines his erection up at the apex of my thighs.

“Yes,” I drop my head forward, clenching my eyes tight. “Please, Peeta.”

A low groan builds in his throat when he pushes forward, my walls tightening around him as our bodies join together. “Oh fuck,” he curses again once he’s seated all the way inside of me, but I can’t answer him. I’m panting, out of breath even though I’ve barely done anything, but my senses are completely overwhelmed. My nerves are on fire at the feel of him inside me, and the head of his cock has bumped that sensitive spot just at the front of my pelvis that brings tears to my eyes.

“Oh my god,” my voice is strangled, and I drop down to my elbows against the back of the couch. The movement only serves to open my hips wider to him, and Peeta grips me tightly.

“Are you okay?” he pauses, his voice tight, strained with tension. I know if I look back at him right now he’ll be gritting his teeth, but I can’t. If I do, if I let myself see him right now, I’ll fall apart entirely. And it’s too soon. I have to hold on for as long as I can.

“Yes,” wetting my lips, I nod. “God, yes.”

I’m sure he’s worried that it’s too tight of a fit and that I’m in pain, but that’s not it at all. My legs are shaking because he feels so good inside of me. So right. So much so that all I want to do is rock back and forth on his cock like some desperate, wild version of myself, giving everything I have to him at once.

So I do.

When he doesn’t immediately move, I do, reaching up on my toes and sinking back down in a careful maneuver so the head of his erection doesn’t hit too deep. The movement makes him shudder out a breath, but he stands frozen while I work myself on top of him, snapping my hips back with every thrust. It feels so good that I can’t, the friction of his length stretching me as I work him deeper and deeper inside. I only mean to do it once or twice, but now that I’ve started, I can’t get enough.

“Peeta,” I groan at the sensation. I’m so wet now that he’s sliding in and out of my pussy with ease, and when I risk a look at him I’m almost overwhelmed at the sight. His eyes are glued to where we meet, his hands digging into the flesh of my thighs while his chest grows bright red. I can feel my inner walls clench against him when I realize that he’s totally entranced by my movements, and I slow my pace down, rocking back and forth with shallow thrusts.

“Do you like that?” I risk asking, even though it sounds awkward coming from my mouth.

At my question, his eyes shoot up to mine and he takes a deep breath. I expect him to smile, but he doesn’t, and gives me a hard look instead. “I like everything you do.”

It’s enough to unleash him, and he grabs my hips to take back control. Holding me in place, he thrusts forward, then pulls back until he’s almost out of me completely. He gives me everything he’s got in steady strokes, pushing and pulling until I’m almost sobbing from the sensation of him. The tight coil of heat that’s been building in my abdomen climbs higher, but it’s not enough. Not yet.

“I need–” I gasp for air, gripping the back of the cushions so hard my knuckles turn white. I’m trying my hardest to keep up with his pounding tempo, but I can barely think. “More. More.”

It’s the only way I know how to ask. I need his fingers on my clit again, working in tandem with his cock. I need his body wrapped around mine, caging me in so that he’s the only thing I can feel. I need more of him, in any way he’s willing to give it to me.

I hear the groan deep in his chest right before his steady pace falters, like my plea was enough to throw him off course. “God, Katniss,” he pants, biting down on his lip. He doesn’t stop though, and only increases the force of his thrusts… Almost like he can’t stop.

When his hand loosens its grip from my waist, I can feel that he’s shaking just slightly. His whole body is trembling despite the desperate way he’s fucking me, and it’s the only thing that gives away just how close he is to losing it completely. Despite his shakiness, his fingers are confident when they find my clit and begin to rub in short, tight circles.

“Oh,” I cry out at the sudden sensation and my knees come together, locking his hand in place, but he doesn’t let up. “Oh, oh oh–” my hips start rocking on their own, like my body is in control, seeking out more of that delicious friction where I need it most. I can feel myself growing wetter and tighter against him, and I can’t stop.

“I’m almost there,” I bite down on the inside of my cheek from crying out too loud. There are a thousand sounds trapped in my chest and if I let any of them out, I know the neighbors will hear. “Keep going, oh, please keep–”

I can feel my orgasm steadily approaching, building more and more pressure in my pelvis with every stroke of his fingers and every push of his length inside of me.

“No,” Peeta stops suddenly, pulling out and grabbing me by the waist. “Not yet.”

“Wait–” I sputter, but he’s pulling me down to the rug before I can even ask what he means by not yet. Before I even know how he’s moved me around so easily, he’s laying flat on his back with my knees bracketed around his chest, which is rising with rapid breaths.

“I want to taste it the first time you come,” he demands, pulling my hips up toward his face.

Holy shit. I’ve never– “Peeta,” I try to resist, but his hands are like iron brands on my skin. I can’t move, and he holds me in place while I try to formulate my protest. “I’ve never–”

“Then let me be your first,” he breathes, licking his lips. “Please. I need this, Katniss. I need you.”

As hesitant as I am, I let him pull me forward the rest of the way until my knees are situated on either side of his head and my lower legs are resting underneath his shoulders, keeping me in my spot if I try to move or squirm in any direction.

“Are you sure?” I ask him, keeping my hips high enough and away from his face while I look down at him, but his jaw is set in a hard line and his eyes have gone dark again. When he nuzzles the inside of my thigh with his nose and takes a deep breath, my entire body breaks out in goosebumps.

“More than anything,” he answers, sweeping his hands down the outside of my legs and back up my thighs, coaxing me forward.

When I lean my hips to the spot over his mouth, he rewards me with a soft kiss at the crease of my thigh, then moves to the other side to mimic the motion. He circles my pussy with light kisses until I’m panting, my hips shaking with want. But he’s taking his time and exploring me with his mouth, his lips, his nose, brushing the light stubble on his chin against the sensitive flesh but never going where I want or need him the most.

“Peeta,” I whisper, moving my hands down to my hips where he is holding on to me, and I wrap my fingers around the outside of his palm. To anchor myself, maybe. Or just to touch him. He’s got me so scrambled that I don’t even know which way is up anymore.

“Now you want it?” he teases, never stopping his trail of kisses. When he nips lightly at the sensitive skin of my outer folds, my hips jerk.

“Yes,” the word falls from my lips easily, and I don’t care if I’m begging for it now. I need whatever it is that he’s willing to give me.

His response is to give me a long, slow lick right up the seam of my lips, lathing his tongue flat when he reaches the swollen head of my clit, and I cry out.

“Oh god–” I choke, gasping for air, but I barely suck in a lungful before he repeats the motion, this time focusing more on the sensitive bundle of nerves. Swirling his tongue around it, he gives it a light flick before flattening his tongue again. Over and over he switches his technique until I’m panting, my legs shaking around his head. I was close before he stopped, and his attentions on my clit are enough to ramp my arousal right back up to the precipice.

“Peeta, oh my god, Peeta,” it’s more of a chant than anything, but it gives my mouth something to do. If I don’t, I’ll start moaning and whining so loud that the entire block will know what we’re up to. “Please, please please please–”

When he wraps his lips around my clit and sucks lightly, I almost fall forward. I would, too, if it’s hands weren’t holding me in place, keeping me upright while he licks me with as much fervor as I’ve ever seen. When he lightly swipes his tongue back and forth across the sensitive bud, my legs start shaking hard.

“Come on,” he coaxes, his breath warm against my swollen flesh. “Don’t fight it.”

With the slight pressure of his hands, he encourages me to rock against his face, flattening his tongue and flicking at my clit in even, steady strokes.

“Oh fuck,” I gasp, moving my hips back and forth across his mouth while he fucks me with his tongue. I can hear how wet I am, and how sloppy it sounds when he’s sucking and licking at my flesh, and the telltale heat of an oncoming orgasm starts to build in my stomach. It washes over my skin and my pulse quickens, fueling me to keep bucking against him. The tremors in my legs spread into my pelvis and my movements go from a steady push and pull to more of an erratic shudder, but I can’t stop. Not when I’m this close.

“Please,” I beg him, ramping up my pace, pressing my hips down harder until I’m grinding against his mouth. I should be ashamed of how bad I want it, and how bad I love the way his mouth feels against my aching pussy, but I can’t get enough. I need it. I need more of it, and him, and everything he’s doing. He must know that I’m getting close, because he leans into it, groaning when I press against this tongue and snap my hips back and forth. The vibration of his groan sends my flying even closer to the edge, and I can feel my entire body start to shake.

I’m so close now, and every pass of his tongue inches me toward what I know will be an overwhelming orgasm. The kind where I lose sight of where I’m at and what I’m doing, and I’m helpless against the pleasure that seizes my body. If his jaw is getting sore, he doesn’t give me any indication. If anything, he’s just as into it as I am, and his pace never lets up. He flicks at my clit, rubbing it with the flat of his tongue, giving me just enough pressure and friction that I struggle to keep my eyes open.

It isn’t until I look down at him and see him staring back at me with dark eyes that my orgasm finally crashes over me, breaking against my body like a tidal wave on the beach. It crashes against me at once, starting in my center and radiating out in flashes of white hot heat, sizzling against my nerves and sending shockwaves to my center. I can feel my walls clenching at the emptiness, and although I don’t feel him move his hand, Peeta’s fingers are suddenly there to fill the space.

Like he knew.

“Oh god,” I gasp at the renewed sensation, and the added pressure inside my pussy is enough to send me careening into another shock of pleasure. This one blurs my vision, and I gasp for air, bucking against his hand and tongue to get more, to ride out the bliss that’s washing over me and trickling down my limbs. “Oh god, oh god, oh god–”

“Mmmm,” Peeta hums, lapping at the moisture that’s leaking around his fingers, and I can’t stop the shudder that wracks my body. Holy shit.

In the aftermath of my orgasm I’m dazed, but I’m struck by the sudden and overwhelming urge to return the favor that he just gave me. I need to show him how much I want him, and to give him the same kind of pleasure that’s still singing in my veins.

Although my joints are stiff and my limbs heavy, I manage to pull away from his mouth where he’s still licking at me with lazy, slow swipes of his tongue.

“What–” he tries to grasp me as I pull back, but I laugh, the sound breathless, and shake my head.

“My turn.”

Scooting down his chest and torso, I settle in around his waist and grip at his erection, which is still hard and prominent against his stomach. He didn’t even bother to take off the condom, and I let out a sigh of relief when I sink down slowly.

“Oh, fuck,” he bites out the curse, his hands immediately grabbing at my waist when I rock my hips against him, working the head of his cock through the tight channel of my core. My walls are swollen from the effects of my orgasm, and I swear I can feel every ridge and vein of him as I finally seat myself on him fully.

“Katniss–” he breathes, fingers digging into my ribcage, and I watch his face closely when I make my first move, pulling my hips back and sliding forward again in a single thrust. His lips part on another breath and his eyes flutter closed, so I do it again. And again, over and over until my pace has quickened and I’m pulling my hips back and forth steadily. It takes him a second to recover from the sensations, but he does, rocking against me and lifting his hips to meet mine in an easy give-and-take.

“Touch me,” I plead, leaning my body back so I can snap my hips forward a little bit harder. I don’t care where he touches me–my clit, my breasts, my face… anything.

“I’ll touch you whenever you want,” he grits out when I circle myself on top of him but complies, one hand moving to my breast and the other down to my clit. He works his thumbs in concentric circles, brushing over the sensitive spots with deft hands. “Wherever you want.”

I’m sure it’s an empty promise, considering we just agreed for this to be a one time only deal. But now, looking down at him and seeing the heat building in his eyes again, the tightness in his neck as he meets my thrusts, I don’t know how I’ll be able to go back to what we had before.

When his right thumb presses down against my clit, I cry out, my hips faltering in their movements. He’s starting to shake now too, and I can feel the slight tremble in his legs as he works his hips in time with my own. The friction from the rug beneath my knees is starting to burn, and I can only imagine how red and raw his back must look. Despite that we’re both breathless and shaking, desperate for each other and rutting as hard and fast as we can. It’s not beautiful, tender sex. This is fucking like our lives depend on it, as if we’re racing to give and get as much pleasure as we can before the clock runs out.

“God, Katniss,” he lets out a deep groan before sitting up, his hands moving to my face to cradle my jaw. His lips press down against mine in a desperate kiss and I open up to him, circling my hips while lapping at his tongue.

I let out a light squeak when he moves his arms down, wrapping them around my torso and holding my weight as he leans me back. Back far enough that now he’s the one on top, with my legs wrapped around his waist, never once pulling out.

“I can’t believe I waited this long to have you,” he admits, trailing open mouthed kisses down my neck.

“I hope it’s worth the wait,” I try to tease, but it comes out weak and breathless, and I lift my neck to the side to give him more access. I don’t have much leverage underneath him but I do what I can to meet his thrusts, tilting my hips toward him with every push of his own.

“You have no fucking idea,” he laughs, moving his hand back between our bodies and seeking out the spot where we join. His fingers brush against my clit again, still swollen and sensitive, and I tighten my legs around him when he starts circling the bud with quick strokes.

“I don’t know how much longer I can hold out,” he admits, moving his head until our foreheads are resting against each other. With his gaze heavy on me, I see that he’s telling the truth. He’s struggling to keep his eyes open, the white of his teeth digging into his lower lip while he concentrates on working his fingers and hips in time together.

“Then don’t,” tightening my legs around his waist, I work my hips against his hand, urging him on in any way I can. “Don’t hold out.”

“God,” he groans again, letting his eyes fall closed, and he unleashes everything he’s been holding back. His pace picks up to an almost frantic speed, pounding into my center with all the power his body contains. It’s enough to make me cry out, but the sound morphs into a choked moan when he leans down and sucks at the spot where my neck meets my collarbone.

“Yes, Peeta,” I gasp, holding on while he pushes us farther across the rug with each forceful thrust. It’s all I can do to hold on, but that’s enough–his fingers are working me so easily that I can already feel the quick build towards my second orgasm. It won’t be nearly as big as the first one, but the telltale tightening in my center is enough of a signal to know I’m getting close.

With every press of his cock and stroke of his fingers, I tighten against him even more. He doesn’t let up, even when his pace grows erratic, moving from long and hard to short and fast, pistoning between my thighs like he’s desperate to reach the finish line.

“Oh,” the moan slips past my lips and I hike my legs higher, opening my thighs as wide as they can go around his waist. It changes the angle of my clit and I gasp, because suddenly, I’m there. I’m crying out before I know what’s happening, tumbling straight into another wave of pleasure as it floods my system with warm, sparking sensations.

“Oh god Peeta–I’m coming,” I don’t know why I tell him, because I know he can feel it. My entire body seizes up, tightening around him as I ride out the orgasm against him.

“Katniss,” he groans, his hips faltering for a brief moment, and I can feel it when he starts to come. His cock pulses inside of me, heavy and strong as his thrusts finally start to slow. He pushes through his orgasm like he doesn’t want to stop, his lips and mouth still sucking against my neck while his hips draw lazy circles against mine.

Oh my god, we’re both out of breath and completely wrung out, and after a moment of holding on to each other, Peeta extracts himself from my grip and falls to the floor beside me. When he flashes me a leisurely grin, I can’t ignore the swooping sensation in my lower stomach.

And I know it has nothing to do with the two orgasms he just gave me.

“That,” he starts, pausing to catch his breath, “was worth the wait.”

“Yeah,” I agree with a heavy swallow. The only problem is, now that I know what I’m missing… I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to go back to how we were before, even though I promised that it would be “just once.”

I want to laugh at the ironic humor of it all, of how I was the one to promise it could be a one time thing. But I can’t without letting on how truly screwed I am. It was a stupid promise that I shouldn’t have made… Of course I would think it was possible, no matter how dumb it seems now. That was before I knew how perfect he was in bed. How raw and filthy and real he is underneath the facade of my nice, caring best friend.

Now, I know… Just once will never be enough.

#Springtime Edition 2020 #ambpersand #prompt 36 #submission

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