#i thought maybe things would slow down after december

[thebestofoneshots]

Gilded Constellations | (wolfstar x reader)

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Pairing: Wolfstar x Reader Word Count: 7 K Warnings: None Prompt: It'd just one more day before it's full moon again, you must make sure you've got the smell of the pack... This IS a Wolfstar x reader fic, but it's incredibly slow burn. They won't start all dating each other until we're very deep into the story, but I promise the long wait will be worth it. Proofread by lovely: @aremuslupinsimp

Chapter 38: Let the Good Times Roll

Wednesday, December 22nd. 2:15 AM

When the party was over, you went up to your room alongside Lily to change. She wasn’t talking to you yet. You tried to give her some space, but you didn’t like not being able to talk to her. You weren’t even sure if you should apologise to her, and if you did, For what? For saying nasty things to Severus? You certainly weren’t sorry about that. Maybe for implying her in? That had been unnecessary, even if you knew it would spite him. 

You sighed as you walked in, Marlene and Mary were fast asleep, and you cast a quick silencing spell over their bed so neither you nor Lily would wake them up.  You looked at the redhead as you raised your wand and she walked towards the bathroom to change, avoiding your gaze altogether. 

Your gaze fixated on the closed door, a subtle crease forming on your forehead, and after a brief, contemplative moment, you bit your lip and walked over to your trunk to find something to change into yourself, giving one last look at the door before focusing completely on your task. She was out while you finished putting on your socks, leaning down on the bed as you stared at the floor. You missed the way she looked at you, only for a split second, but it was a longing stare. 

You also didn’t notice she had walked over to your bed until you felt it dip by your side. The feeling prompted you to sit upright, turning to look at her as quickly as possible.  She seemed to be hesitant to speak so you broke the silence instead, “I’m sorry.” 

“Oh, love–” she said as her shoulders slumped. She was about to say something else, but then you interrupted her, speaking almost a little too fast as you attempted to order your thoughts at the same time as you spoke. 

“I shouldn’t have implicated you in my fight with Severus. I was very mad at him for pushing you and James but using your name and his pent-up feelings for you to piss him off was disrespectful. To you more than him. And I did not consider how it might have affected you then, and I’m really sorry if I made you upset–” 

“Hey,” she said softly, licking her lips before placing a hand on your arm, much like Remus did often. “I’m sorry too.” You let out a short, relieved breath at the contact, she doesn’t like it when we fight either.  “James told me how hard he was shoved,” she explained, “He broke most of it with his arm and the door so I wouldn’t get hurt, but you and Remus must have seen it first hand, of course, you’d be mad.” 

“It was pretty bad,” you agreed, if Lily had gotten the full extent of the blow, she might have been sore now. 

“And I shouldn’t have lashed out at you either. I’m not excusing you for saying the things you did but I wasn’t just…” she seemed to hesitate for a second, as if she wasn’t sure which words she should use. “I wasn’t just angry at you, I was angry at Severus and at how much he’s changed through the years. He’s insufferable now, and I’m sorry you had to be the one defending me against him when I should be the one standing up for myself, but you didn’t know him then, he was different.” 

“He called you a mudblood,” you said, “James a bIood traitor and Remus a–” You didn’t even dare to say it. “I shouldn’t have used you, but there will never be a moment in which I won’t defend my friends, Lily. Even if it’s from their own friends.” 

It was her turn to sigh, “I know, it’s what I admire the most from you.” 

You leaned your head to the side, a soft smile drawing itself on your lips. “I admire your noble heart,” you said. “And your ability to stay calm in these kinds of situations. You’re like Remus, all warm and calm and conciliating–” 

“Oh, come on, you’ve seen me mad plenty of times.”

“Well yes, but you still manage to keep your head cool, I mean if Severus had–” you stopped yourself, you did not want to upset her further, instead you mumbled. “Might have punched him.”

“And be the aggressive Mudblood?” she asked you, your gaze almost fell at her words. She smiled bitterly, “I don’t have the luxury to retaliate like that.” 

You swallowed thickly. “It would be more than justified I–” you sighed. And then gave her another worried look, reaching your hand to grab hers. “I never even factored that in.” 

The weight of your privilege, the one bestowed upon you by your father who was keen on keeping up appearances of bIood purity, suddenly bore down on you. The privilege of not having to worry about your abilities, or having to prove how good you were simply to belong had never been more evident to you.

Of course, you had your own battles to fight, the world was still not fair for you, for any of your friends, really. But what Lily had to go through, the kind of bigotry she was exposed to and how she had to behave because of it, made you see her in a new light. Hours ago, if anyone told you, you’d admire Lily more than you did, you would have called them mad, and here you were, looking at your beautiful redhead friend and feeling nothing but utmost admiration for her. 

She smiled at you. “Thanks for being my knight in shining armour.” 

“Thanks for being the pure heart that holds me down when I’m about to go mad,” you responded with a smile. 

And then, laughter rippled through the room, a shared moment of catharsis. You let yourself fall on the bed, both you and Lily now staring at the wooden headboards and red curtains surrounding it. “Lily,” you began, your voice carrying a genuine warmth, “I don’t want to ever lose you as a friend.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that, I’ll latch onto you like a leech, I’ll be worse than Sirius even, you cannot get rid of me that easily.” 

“Not even if I hex Severus?” 

“Of course not,” she said with a laugh, but she quickly turned to look at you. “You’re not planning to hex him though, are you?” she asked in a worried tone. 

You just laughed in return. “Don’t worry about that, he’ll be suffering his own little issues tonight,” you said in a rather mysterious tone. 

She gasped, “What did you do?” 

“Me? Nothing.” You answered honestly. “In fact, it was he who stole the treat I was about to eat.” 

She threw you a look, “And you had nothing to do with it?” 

You shrugged, “Not my fault he and his gang are such gits.”  

Lily shook her head disapprovingly even if she had a smile plastered on her face. You stayed next to each other for a while. Eventually, she yawned, and you followed closely after. “You can stay on my bed if you want.” 

“Mhm?” She asked as she accommodated herself so her feet would be up on the bed and not resting on the ground like they had been previously since the two of you had been sitting on the edge, “You’re going with the boys? Because of the moon and the experiment Peter suggested, right?” 

You nodded in response, and then realised her eyes were closed, “Yes.” 

“Good night then,” she said and yawned again. You stood from the bed and brought over some covers from hers to place them on top of her since you had both laid on top of yours. As you did you leaned over to look at her and accommodated her hair behind her ear, you could see some of the freckles she always tried to hide with potions but that you found truly endearing. No wonder James liked her so much, your friend was gorgeous, but that was something you’d always known. 

You were too emotionally stirred to see the difference, while you considered both Lily and Remus your closest friends, and while you were attracted to girls, you didn’t even once look at Lily the exact same way you had looked at Remus through the night. The hunger that you felt for the latter was nothing compared to the sheer love and admiration you felt for the redhead. Two very different emotions, and they were there for two very different reasons, but you were still too blind to see. The blindfold, although slowly becoming sheerer, was still there. 

“I’m glad we’re still friends,” you whispered as you finished tucking her in. Then you made sure the rest of the girls were asleep before going back to the boy’s room. 

Now, it’s not that you were eager to go back to Remus. In fact, you thought you had ogled him enough with the horny potion still running through your system throughout the party –and it wasn’t gone entirely yet– but, just like Lily had mentioned, tomorrow was full moon. 

And while the couple of nights you had bunked with the boys had been enough, according to Remus who confirmed Vixen smelled like part of the pack, you had all agreed that the night before the full moon would be the most important. For a couple of reasons: first of all, the closer you smelled to the pack when Moony showed up, the more chances you would have to be accepted by him. Second, after the party, there was a high chance other people’s smells had been mixed in with your own, and thirdly, Remus said it would make him feel at ease knowing that Vixen smelled like nothing other than the pack. 

You wanted Remus to be at ease, especially in the particularly complicated time he had just before the moon, so you had all decided you’d meet again after the party was over. James had even lent his cloak so you could sneak out of your room and into theirs quietly. 

“What are you doing?” You heard someone whisper in your ear which had you jump a few feet back as you looked around. You had the cloak on, there was no fucking way… “Saw your door open.” The voice explained. 

You frowned, finally recognizing him, “Richie?!” 

“Boo,” he said as he became visible right in front of you, you stayed safely under the cloak.

“What– what are you doing in the Gryffindor tower?” 

“Can’t a ghost roam around freely in the castle?” He asked, with a slightly dramatic tone, ever so characteristic of him.  And then looked to the side pointing at the spot where your voice was coming from. “Kinda rude you don’t show yourself after I have.” 

You rolled your eyes, even if he couldn’t see it. “Well, if you haven’t noticed, I’m quite literally in the middle of sneaking out of my dorm at three AM, of course, I cannot step out of my hideout,” you whispered.

He hummed at that, “I still think it’s rude,” he said with a shrug. 

“How did the portrait lady let you in?” 

“She didn’t, I sneaked in. You’re not the only one with secret passages knowledge,” he said, a little haughtily. 

You gave him an incredulous look, hardly remembering he couldn’t actually see it. “And you came over because…” 

“I was bored, thought of giving the first years something to talk about in their Christmas break,” he responded with a shrug. 

“Poor kids,” you said as you shook your head in disapproval. 

“What about you?” he countered. “Why are you sneaking out at three in the morning? Are you planning a new prank with your boyfriends?” 

You couldn’t quite tell Richie what you were going to do, let alone who you were going to do it with, so it was best to just lie. “Boyfriend, and yes, something like that.” 

Richie gave the nothingness a look of incredulity, you thought it was funny that even though he was the ghost, he was the one with a slightly lost gaze as he talked exclusively to your voice. “You keep telling yourself that, little witch.” He said the last thing on purpose, he had heard Remus call you that, and he wanted to tease you over it. Maybe then you’d fucking realise what he had seen a while ago, but you and your stupid boyfriends failed to see. 

You shuddered when he said your nickname, no one used that one but Remus. Not even Sirius that seemed to have about 10 different nicknames for you. You certainly did not like the way it sounded when Richie said it. Was it because it sounded a lot more patronizing rather than endearing? Or was it only you who perceived it that way? Of course, you weren’t about to tell him that you didn’t like it when he said it, he had already teased you about nicknames in the past. You did not want to give him yet another reason to be annoying. 

You sighed. “Anyway, I’ll let you torture the poor kids, I have somewhere to be.” 

“No, wait!” Richie said as he turned to follow your voice. “Where are you going?” 

“Boys dorms,” you said honestly. He gave you a look, eyebrows raised and a suggestive smile. You would have nudged him if you could actually touch him. “For the prank you dirty-minded ghost!” 

“Of course, of course,” he said as he moved his head from side to side, brows furrowed slightly, his voice dripping with playful condescence. 

You huffed at that, worst part was, with the potion that was –now you knew– clearly not gone entirely, you had easily gone back to the thoughts of Remus and Sirius and the fact that you’d actually be sleeping next to the two of them. Your only hope left was that said potion did not emit any sort of effect on Vixen. And that your fox thoughts would be cleaner than your human ones. 

“Don’t tell anyone you saw me here,” he whispered, “McGonagall has been getting on my nerves for sneaking into the Slytherin dorms last time. They think James convinced me to do it. As if.” 

“See what?” you asked, a complicit smile etched on your features, “I’ve been soundly sleeping on my bed all night.” 

He gave a pleased look at that. “Good luck with your boys. Have fun! Take your special teas and potions and all that.” 

“Richie!” you admonished. As if you needed warmer thoughts to enter your head. Enough had been your ridiculous admiration of Remus’ torso with how tight the navy-blue shirt fit him. Enough had been the thought that you’d probably end up sleeping right over it. No, not me. Vixen, you corrected yourself. You almost regretted sacrificing yourself for James, but being honest, he would have had it much worse than you did. At least your body wasn’t going to give any physical indication of your thoughts no matter how far they escalated. And honestly, Lily did not need more emotional strain in one night either. You weren’t sure how she would react to a horny James on a normal day, but it would definitely not be positive with the toll of the night. 

Richie just shrugged, gave you a wink, and disappeared through a wall. Your eyes trailed behind as you saw him go and then started to walk towards the boys’ dorms. The hallways were dark, and you had to be extra careful not to trip on your way down the set of stairs of the girls’ dorms and up the ones on the boys’. Thankfully you had already taken that same path a good deal of times and you knew how to get from point A to point B with relative stealth. 

Once you were outside of their door you had to take a deep breath, forcing the image of shirtless Remus you had seen a while ago off your head, and walked inside. The boys knew you were coming later that night, so you trust they were all presentable. When you walked inside, you spotted James thrown on his bed, tie loose and shirt slightly unbuttoned, snoring just slightly as he was half-covered with the sheets. Peter was on his bed, perfectly tucked and with a Gryffindor beanie that clashed entirely with his purple striped pyjamas.  He is cold, you realised, you were too. The cloak had never been that warm. 

Then you spotted your boys, the boys, you corrected yourself. Fucking Richie and damn Ackley’s potion, they’d made your mind all wonky. “No use in hiding luv, we saw the door open,” Sirius said, he was on the bed next to Remus who was reading a book you hadn’t seen before. Sirius was sketching something in a small notebook. Both boys stood rather close to each other, but Remus kept his gaze on his book, respecting Sirius’ earlier wish of not snooping on his drawing, even if the temptation was gnawing at him. 

You took part of the cloak off and placed it around your shoulders. “You’re drawing,” you pointed. 

“Mhm,” Sirius said in response. “Just practising expressions.” 

“How’s it going?” 

“Surprisingly great, wanna see?” He asked. Both you and Remus looked at him with a rather surprised expression. Sirius had never allowed either of you to see his drawings, and he was now so casually offering it, that it had the two of you puzzled. 

“Sirius, are you all right?” you asked as you stepped closer to the bed, letting James’ cloak fall over Remus’ trunk as you did. 

“Did you hit your head?” Remus intervened. 

“Or took a potion?” You added as you leaned over the bed and placed your hand on his forehead to check if he had some sort of fever. 

“What?” The boy asked with a frown as he gently pulled your hand off his head. “No, I– You know what? Never mind.” 

You let a disappointed “aw” in response. “Doesn’t mean I don’t want to see it, we were just a little surprised,” you said, even pointing at Remus, to show it wasn’t just you that had been taken aback by his offer. 

“You’ve never shown us your drawings. At least not the ones in your notebook,” Remus added. 

Sirius seemed to hesitate at that, and they were right, he never showed his art to anyone. He had tried to show it to his mother once and she had berated him with it. Telling him it was a useless waste of his time and that he should instead be perfecting his charms, that Regulus was getting ahead of him and that he was lagging behind. That, if he continued, he would lose his chance to get into Hogwarts and would end up cast out of the family like a squib. He was only 8 at the time, and since that day, his drawings, other than the doodles on his notebooks, had been kept to himself. 

Sketchbook after sketchbook, sent to him by Andromeda and sometimes even his cool uncle Alphard (who had never been too loved by his mother and who had at least kept in touch with Sirius even after he had been kicked out last summer). Sirius had kept them all hidden and lock-charmed so no one would be able to access his art. But of course, he continued on drawing, sometimes because he saw something he wanted to remember, sometimes because he wanted to get better at it, sometimes for the sake of it, and sometimes because he wanted to piss Walburga off. 

Sirius had a rather specific way in which he would sit in the drawing room of his house, and while Regulus studied diligently, he would prop out his sketchbook and draw for hours, waiting for Walburga to come over, just to see her walk out of the room displeased, he enjoyed that look on her face so much that he would draw for even more hours, just to see if she’d come back and make it again. 

At some point he’d even found some drawing books in the family library, he had taken all of them and hid them in his trunk, using them to improve his skill –not that the practice hadn’t already done that for him, but he learnt a lot about proportions with those. Later on owling them to James and asking him to hide them when things got rougher at home. That Christmas he’d gotten even more books, all thanks to the Potters who’d given him a few as gifts (he had stayed with them over the break while telling his parents he’d be at Hogwarts), James had given him a set of always-sharp drawing pencils that he still used to this day. James had also told Peter and Remus about Sirius’ passion for drawing. Peter had gotten him some colouring pencils while Remus got him a leather bound sketchbook, the same he was using today, in fact. 

“Yeah I–” Sirius was hesitant, he didn’t even notice how easily it had slipped off his tongue. How he had just offered the two of you to see his drawing. The more he thought about it, the more he realised, he wanted the two of you to see it. He trusted you, unlike he’d ever trusted anyone in his life, and it was scary, giving someone so much power over him and his emotions. 

“Hey,” you said softly, noticing his change in demeanour.  “I’m sure both me and Rem would love to see your drawing. See what that pretty mind of yours came up with,” you reassured as you pointed at his forehead with one of your fingers as you mentioned his mind. “But neither of us is going to pressure you.” 

“We’re okay if you keep it to yourself,” Remus added, for good measure. He was feeling all sorts of warm feelings as he saw you treat Sirius with such kindness, to touch him with such tenderness, Merlin knew that boy needed this kind of affection and he was thrilled, that even if he couldn’t give it to him himself –not in the way he wanted at least– you could still do that for him. You really were made for each other. And he really was in the middle of a tender moment and he wasn’t sure if he should stay in it, not that either of you seemed to mind, you never did, he realised. 

“I want you to see it,” Sirius mumbled and he handed the sketchbook your way, one of his fingers in between the pages, to mark where the drawing was. You took it in your hands and opened it slowly when you realised what it was you gasped. 

“It’s beautiful,” you said honestly. Both the drawing and the person he had drawn. Sirius swallowed thickly, he wasn’t insecure about many things, but he had never shown his art to anyone. “You’ve captured him perfectly.” 

“Who?” Remus asked, now intrigued and leaning over to see the drawing as well. 

“You,” you said as you tilted the sketchbook over so he could see it as well. Remus’ eyes opened wide with surprise as he saw himself sketched out in the notebook. 

When Sirius said he was “practising” his expressions, he really meant it, he had sketched out a perfect version of Remus’ side profile as he read a book, his brow just slightly furrowed as he was looking at a particularly intriguing section of the detective novel he’d been reading earlier. “You were… you were drawing me?” he stuttered, as his eyes widened and he drew in a sharp breath. 

“You mind?” Sirius asked as he tilted his head slightly. 

Remus wasn’t sure how to respond. Did he mind? No, if anything he was flattered, barely holding the blush starting to creep up his cheeks, he never thought he’d be the subject of one of Sirius’ drawings, let alone the many he had already been of and would be in the future.  “No,” he said honestly. “I just didn’t realise.” 

“You were very absorbed in your book,” Sirius said with a shrug. “Wasn’t even being careful about it.” 

You turned to Sirius then, he’s drawn him before, you thought, it was in the way the lines were so sure, confident as if he knew exactly what he was doing and had to focus solely on his expression. But it made so much sense, they were roommates after all. You then wondered if he had drawn you too, was it possible that you too had been so engrossed in yourself that you hadn’t noticed? 

The drawing of Remus was beautiful, it truly reflected him in every way, but Remus had never seen himself as beautiful as he had been plastered on the sketch. He was truly stunning in Sirius’ gaze, and if that was what he looked like to you, then perhaps it too made sense when you called him beautiful. You’d even called him beautiful when you’d first seen the drawing. Well, was that him or was it Sirius’ talent that you had been praising? He chose to think a little bit was because of him.  

“Sirius it’s incredible,” you repeated as you gazed at the drawing again. “I expected you to be good but–” 

“I’m always good with my hands,” he said as he threw a wink your way and you almost pushed him off the bed entirely. You did not need dirty thoughts added. 

“My love you wound me,” he said dramatically as he let himself fall back onto Remus’ lap.  Remus had reacted just fast enough to pull the sketchbook up, Sirius looked at him with a cheeky little smile. “Moony, you’re awfully comfortable,” he teased. The two of you praising his art had gotten him in a dreadfully good mood. 

His two favourite people on earth had seen his drawing and they had both thought it was beautiful. Or at least been kind enough to pretend it was, he was pretty sure the two of you were being honest with him, though. He wasn’t always good at seeing through lies, but he was good when it mattered. 

Wait– his two favourite people in the world? 

Remus rolled his eyes as he looked down on Sirius, trying not to think of how beautiful he looked and instead of how annoying he was by taking up his personal space so brazenly. Problem was, even that he found endearing. The urge to brush his fingers through his perfectly chiselled nose was almost mortifying. 

Sirius wasn’t in a much better position either, he had focused so much on his drawing that he had forgotten he had actual Remus Lupin –who for some reason he now considered insanely attractive– looking at him like he was the only person in the room. They locked eyes for a moment and Sirius swallowed. 

You looked at the scene curiously and he seemed not to mind much the kind of attention Rem was providing him with, you already knew he loved being coddled. Sirius had always been touchy and cuddly, searching for the lack of affection his parents had given him wherever he could find it, but he and Remus had gotten a lot closer –physically at least– since you all started doing the pack cuddling thing this month. And while you found it endearing, that Sirius could find love not only with you but elsewhere as well in case you weren’t around to help him out, there was something about the way they were looking at each other in that particular moment that made you do a double take, or at least to stare a little closely. Have you missed something? That look was an awful lot like–

Suddenly there was a stir on the bed and the sketchbook fell from Remus’ hands. When he picked it up, the page had changed, and when he looked at it, he couldn’t actually hide the blush that crept up his cheeks, “Sirius Black!” he said in an admonishing tone. 

Sirius, who had turned his gaze to you and was pulling onto your leg, turned his head quickly and gasped when he saw the drawing Remus was looking at, “Close it, close it!” 

Remus did as told in an instant, swallowing thickly as he remembered the drawing. Sirius now was blushing as well. “What– what was that?” You asked with a small frown, completely changing your train of thought, now focusing solely on the sketchbook.

“Nothing,” Remus said simply. 

“Don’t worry about it, Starshine,” Sirius said, but that was not his cool and controlled voice. You could see how nervous he was, whatever it was that Remus had seen in the sketchbook, he clearly did not want you to see it too, which obviously made you want to see it even more. Meanwhile, Remus was struggling not to think of the drawing now burned into his brain. 

You scrutinised their reactions, the only sound in the room the gentle rustle of the fabric as you shifted on the bed. Your gaze darted between them, before deciding to focus on the latter. “Sirius?” He swallowed. 

“You don’t want to see it, trust me,” Remus said as coolly as he could, but you could clearly see through his bullshit. 

“Your lies only make me more curious.” 

“I’ll show it to you later.” 

“How will I know it’s the same?”

“Because you trust me?” Sirius responded with a shrug. 

“Would you show it to me later?” You asked as you turned to Remus. 

He cleared his throat, he really did not need to think of the drawing again. “Yes,” he lied. 

“Okay fine,” you responded, and laid back for a second, Remus had the sketchbook still in his hands.

Sirius was looking at you attentively, not sure how you had let the subject go so easily when you jumped forward to try and grab the notebook from Remus’ hands. But Remus’ reflexes had always been faster and he moved the book out of the way as you crashed against him and caused him to fall back on the bed with you on top. You, being deterred not even a little bit, pulled your hand forward to try and grab it again when Sirius grabbed you by the waist firmly and held you from moving forward again. 

Remus, meanwhile was trying not to think of the image, and now also your body pressed against him, and you, being so engrossed in your task, didn’t quite realise exactly what you were doing. 

“Starshine please, I promise I’ll show it to you later,” Sirius pleaded as he held you back from reaching towards Remus’ long outstretched hand. 

“Why not now?” you asked as you continued trying to move. 

“Because!” he said. “You’re all over Moony, come on!” he added as he tried to pull you back. 

You looked down, he was right, you were all over Remus, more specifically, all over the broad chest you had been thinking about all night, and you couldn’t help but think how firm it felt underneath you. But you still wanted to know. 

“What was it?” you asked, squirming as you tried to get out of Sirius’ grasp. 

“Anatomy study.” 

Finally, you stilled. Looking up to see how red Remus’ cheeks had gotten, and how he swallowed thickly after Sirius’ words. Now actually noticing how close you were to Remus and the compromising position your legs had been in, and the way they had entangled onto Remus’ and how long you had been there and how Sirius had been trying to pull you back by the waist and how flustered the two boys looked and suddenly it dawned on you. 

You scattered back in an instant, falling on Sirius’ lap as you did, he stilled you easily since his hands were still on your waist and you turned to him, your heart hammering on your chest. The thoughts currently roaming in your head weren’t making this entire ordeal any easier for you. 

“Do you mean-” you swallowed. “That kind of anatomy study?” 

Sirius sighed and looked at the side, before turning his gaze back to you. Remus was looking at the entire situation, at the position both you and Sirius had ended up in trying not to feel things, let alone imagine other ones. 

“Yes,” Sirius answered, giving you a look. “You really want to see?” he asked. He was sure what your answer could be, that didn’t stop Remus from sending him a reproachful look, as if telling him what a terrible idea that was. 

And if it had been any other day, you might have said yes. But after the potion, whatever and whoever Sirius had drawn, would probably be a terrible idea to look at, you already had enough heated thoughts as it was. Only made worse by the fact that you were now sitting on his lap and had been right over Remus earlier. Godric! How much longer for you to stop sexualizing your best friend? 

A lump formed in your throat and shook your head. “Show me a different day,” you said as you stared at him. Sirius nodded as he looked at you and you missed the way Remus let out a relieved breath. “Let’s uh– Let’s sleep now.” 

Neither of the boys argued, Remus placed the sketchbook on his night table and waved his wand to turn the lights off. You instantly turned into a fox and walked over to the end of the bed to try and clear your thoughts. Sirius extended his hand to pull you closer but ended up holding back and turning into a Padfoot instead. Then he walked closer to you and picked up Vixen carefully with his snout. 

You stilled as he did and allowed him to drop you over Remus’ chest, as you accommodated you realised Remus’ heartbeat was beating abnormally fast and you couldn’t help but think of the picture again. What the hell had Sirius drawn to garner such a reaction? You shook your head then, don’t need to know, don’t need to know!

Sirius was getting comfortable on the side by now, and he placed his snout over Remus’ shoulder, close to Vixen’s, and closed his eyes. But even if the three of you had your eyes closed, and even if the three of you were really trying to fall asleep, you could not stop thinking about the fact that you were sleeping on Remus’ chest. He couldn’t stop thinking about the drawing he’d seen and Sirius could not stop thinking how adorable Remus had looked with the blush creeping up his cheek, let alone the compromising position you had both ended up in earlier. And it stayed like that, all of you attempting to calm your breaths, until at least half an hour later when one by one, you started to fall asleep. 

The next day had gone pretty fast, you’d woken up and walked back to your room to get changed into your flying gear, meeting Sirius and James just outside of the common room for the last flight of the year, since everyone would be packing their bags for home the following day. Well, everyone except for Remus who’d go back home until after Christmas. 

After flying you had taken the last few classes of the year, which consisted of some teachers actually trying to teach, some final project presentations and some others of teachers who just allowed everyone to do whatever they wanted during the class time. On charms, you spent almost the entire class playing Wizards’ chess with Marlene and Mary while James and Sirius spent the class writing his essays for potions. Both using yours and Remus’ as a guide. 

On potions Slughorn had you present the essays and he congratulated everyone, even Sirius, got a slightly higher mark on that one than Severus, whom you’d heard had spent weeks working on, you couldn’t stop the slight mocking giggle that escaped your lips when he announced the grades. That was until you got yours and it was lower than Sirius’, who just shrugged awkwardly and gave you an apologetic smile. 

Sure, your head had been a little muddled while you wrote it (which was at some point after the friendly game with Neil and Nox) but you still thought your argument had been solid, even if Slughorn said that you didn’t have enough sources to back it up. 

“But where did you even get your sources? You literally used my essay as a base!” you asked Sirius as you read over his. 

He just shrugged, “made them up,” he said honestly and proceeded to show you the page where he had added them, which contained all sorts of ridiculous names like David Bowie, Freddie Mercury, Brian May, Steve Walsh, Brad Delp and even some surreal ones like Moonsmus Lup and Vixenia Starr.

“Oh, so you even gave us credit,” you said as you hovered your index over the ridiculous names he’d invented based on your nicknames. “How on earth did he buy that?” 

“Mom and dad used to have pretty rare books in the library,” he explained, “books rarely available to the general public…” 

You nodded as you pursed your lip. Half surprised, half admired by his boldness, “Next time I’ll add some myself.” 

“The weirdest the names, the more he loves it.”  

Herbology had gone by like charms, Mr. Folly was talking about properties of some curative flowers with the students who were interested in them –and who wanted to go for either medical or herboreal careers– and allowed the rest to do their thing. You had spent the time talking to Beth and Tom, planning to get together in London after the trip on the train to get some gifts for your friends. 

Remus had excused himself before the class was over and walked over to Pomfrey who took him straight to the shack. You had all agreed that you’d meet him there a little before 6 pm which was the estimated time for the moon to appear that night. 

After changing into the same clothes you had been wearing the previous night, just for good measure and according to Remus’ instructions, he said it would be for the best, to “maximize the smell of the pack” but also –and secretly– for his very own enjoyment. Not that it didn’t also translate to your and Sirius’ enjoyment, the three of you rather liked the way you smelled when your scents were all combined with each other. From Sirius always smelling slightly like leather, added to the light notes of your perfume that lingered on each other, all the way to the faint smell of Remus’ aftershave potion and the ever-present smell of chocolate that seemed to surround him. It was certainly an interesting mix, but one you had all grown to love.

“You ready?” Sirius asked while Wormtail sprinted towards the Whomping Willow, they had told you that the tree had a secret branch that if you pressed it right, it would calm him enough to let you through, and Wormtail was currently working on making it happen. 

You nodded in response, paying close attention to the way Wormtail walked and how after a small flick of his tiny rat-like hands, the Willow stilled. You looked marvelled at the sight of the usually bellic tree looking so serene. You let out a small scoff.

“What is it?” James asked. 

You pointed at the tree, “A trick like that would have saved my Nimbus.” 

“But we wouldn’t have ended up snogging under it,” Sirius said with a sneaky little smirk as he passed his hand over your shoulders. 

“Is that why you were late after the race?” James asked with a gasp. “We were all mad worried!” 

“We also had some things to discuss,” you said with a small shrug, “I thought Sirius hated me.” 

James genuinely laughed at that, “He was bIoody smitten!” 

“Yeah, I guess I should have seen the signs…” you replied as you turned to your boyfriend, “It was in those pretty puppy eyes of his.” 

He pulled his tongue out and then started running towards the tree, you smiled and followed shortly behind. James, on the other hand, lagged back just for a moment, noting how you chased behind Sirius with a bright smile plastered on your face, filled with only blithe thoughts as you walked towards the wolf’s den; as if you weren’t even slightly worried for the outcome of the night. 

And you really weren’t, as far-fetched as it was, you thought Peter’s idea of using scents to trick Moony into not wanting to eat you, made sense. You had been sneaking into the restricted section to look up some more werewolf-related tomes, sometimes with Sirius and sometimes by yourself, all in the hopes that you’d find something to back your claim up –and rip some more of those murder pages off of them– and even though you hadn’t found something that confirmed it, you had found some text that talked about how heavily werewolves leaned onto scents to hunt and track humans down. 

You had also taken some other “muggle animals” from the muggle studies section of the library and read about the normal wolves, and while you hadn’t found any stance in which they did something similar to what you had planned, there were some stances in which packs of wolves adopted stray and small dogs and raised them as their own. Now Vixen wasn’t either a stray, nor a dog, but she was canine, so that must atone for something, right? Either way, you had built a pretty strong case for Peter’s theory in your head, and while you couldn’t actually ask a teacher about it, you were about to do something that Lily had taught you was “the scientific method” in muggle terms. It was simple, you got a theory, and you tested it out to see if it would work. Now, according to Lily, the testing was in a controlled setting with proper security, your security would be Prongs, Padfoot and how fast you could move as Vixen, but you were still optimistic enough to go through with it. It had to work, otherwise, things would only get harder.

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A/N: Hey everyone? How is it going? Hope you enjoy this chapter, it's one of the fluffiest we've gotten in a while hehe You guys were asking for a new Q&A so I'm working on it at the moment, send all the questions you may want to be added here, or directly on asks. Love, Lils xx

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[word-wytch]

Don't Stand So Close To Me — Chapter 13

Eddie x Teacher!Reader

Chapter 13/? 8.4k. Series Masterlist

✏︎ Catalyst — an agent that provokes or speeds significant change or action.

✏︎ Series Summary: Forced to move back home to Hawkins after your fiancé cheats on you, you begin to fall in love again with an audacious 20 year old metalhead, only there’s one problem — he’s still in high school and you’re his English teacher.

While you struggle starting over in a place you never thought you would return, Eddie struggles feeling stuck in a place he can’t manage to leave — until you offer to help him. Of all the lessons learned, the most important are the ones you teach each other.

✏︎ Series CW: forbidden romance, slow burn, true love, smut (18+ mdni), internal conflict, student-teacher relationship, 10 year age gap, mutual pining, sexual tension, emotions, drama, angst, character development, happy ending :)

Chapter warnings: angst, drama, implied partner abuse, harm to fantasy creature 

Monday, December 9th 1985

Eddie propped his cheek against his knuckles as he watched you from the back of the classroom, just like he did every day. You were radiant on this one, brimming with excitement as you lectured on your favorite subject.

“We’re still in the planning phase for our short stories, but now that you all have a general idea of what you want to write about, I want you to start putting together an outline,” you prompted.

His eyes traced down the back of your blouse to where it met the waistline of your trousers. His hands still itched to hold you there. Burned was a better word now. He watched your hand scratch words onto the board with a nub of chalk, following the bend and curve of your fingers as they formed letters. 

The past three weeks had been much of the same. You and him, behind the big desk every Monday and Wednesday after school. You; trying to focus on his schoolwork. Him; trying to focus on you. You; letting him get away with it. 

There was plenty of studying happening too. In between studying the curve of your lips, the hue of your laugh, and the bones of your knuckles under his thumb, there were shining moments were something would click and he would solve an equation. Perhaps it was something to do with memory association or whatever textbook word you used to describe the psychology of learning, but something about the way you presented things made it easier for him to absorb. Perhaps it was your gentle patience, or your intuition. Knowing when to press forward and when to back off. Knowing how to show something differently than he’d been taught. Maybe it was just sweeter coming from your lips instead of Ms. O’Donnell’s. 

Eddie shifted in his desk as you clicked the end of your sentence against the board with a flourish. Stretching against the confines of the tiny chair, he hunched over the slab wood barely big enough to fit his notebook, and picked up his own chewed utensil to copy what you’d written. Maybe it was the bulk of his jacket, thicker and warmer with padding for winter, but suddenly he felt claustrophobic.

You whipped around brightly to face the class. “Alright, who remembers what three things inform character action?”

The question was met with restless silence. A cough. A sniffle.

With a defeated sigh, you turned back around to scratch desires, fears, and misbeliefs onto the board.

Glancing out the window at the pale grey sky and naked trees, Eddie counted on his fingers the number of months until there would be leaves on them again. 

Five. 

He just knew it would be an agonizing winter. One that dragged on and on, long after the groundhog saw its shadow. Huffing, he stared down at his beat up spiral notebook, blue lines blurring in his tired vision. The pen went slack in his hand. He closed his eyes and listened to your voice.

“I know these are short stories, but in the end something should have changed internally or interpersonally for your characters as a result of the plot. Remember, the plot is what happens, the story is how it affects the characters,” you said, jotting down the last bit.

It took on a different tone in front of the class. More rigid and professional, louder so it carried to the back of the room. It lacked the warmth and softness that it held when he was next to you. He imagined, for a sweet moment, how it would sound even closer; against the shell of his ear as you breathed a sigh beneath him. The gentle feather of your lips as they traveled south, just below his ear, where his jaw met his neck. In the playground of his mind, he could show you what a man he really was. Here, his hands were free to wander wherever they wanted; dip into the valleys of your clavicles, over the hills of your breasts, around the bend of your waist, the peaks of your hips, the mound of your—

A snicker broke his reverie. When he opened his eyes, Jason’s were already on him. 

“Taking a nap, Munson?” he mouthed mockingly.

Eddie rolled his eyes and seethed as he glared down at his notebook again. He shifted against the back of the hard plastic chair, against the tight cage of the desk. Finding no relief, he huffed and stared blankly ahead at the chalkboard, at the beige concrete wall, at the big desk, and then—at you. The gap had never been more enormous. An ocean of desks, a gaping chasm between where he was and where he wanted to be.

He must have looked downright pitiful, because the look you returned brimmed with a soft concern. In the two seconds he held you, Eddie released a deep sigh. Then you were back to the board.

“L-let’s start by highlighting the main point of each scene,” you said quickly, turning as you cleared your throat. Eddie caught your hand dart behind your neck before it fell promptly to your side. “Basically, why a scene exists and what it needs to accomplish. Does it provide information about the characters or move the story forward? Remember, these are short stories, so we want to make each scene really count.”

Eddie gripped the chewed pen and dutifully copied what you wrote. He knew he could have asked you later, had you explain it all again, given him tips, and pointers, and strategies, even helped him with his outline. But he wanted you to see that he was trying. He wanted you to see that he cared. He was always bad at school. Bad at paying attention. Bad at turning in assignments. Bad at following rules and keeping his mouth shut. 

He wanted to be good for you. 

When the bell rang, chair legs screeched against tile, notebooks crinkled, zippers ripped open and shut in a frenzied cacophony. Eddie hung back until the room filtered out. Until the only person left was you. Slinging his backpack over his shoulder, he padded up the long isle of desks until he reached yours. A standard routine.

“Hey,” he said, just like every other day. Just to savor another couple seconds in your presence, alone.

You looked up at him from the mess on your desk as you did countless times before, same tired smile, same soft eyes, same response. “Hey.”

Eddie rocked back and forth on his heels, holding your gaze for a little too long. “I’ll—uh, I’ll see you later, yeah?”

Your face grew bright and warm, a glint of summer against the pale, grey sky. “Yeah, see you later, Eddie.” 

There it was, the thing he really came for — his name. He sighed a smile and gave a single nod, turning slowly toward the door. 

______

By the time he made it to chemistry class, Eddie was ready for a nap. Maybe it was the pizza that sat like a rock in the pit of his stomach. Maybe it was the fact that, yet again, he had stayed up entirely too late, lost in your world. 

But he couldn’t just stop, not when Cybelle was being attacked by a ferocious fenfink — like a weasel, only much larger. Sharper claws, bigger teeth, and fatally attracted to something Cybelle had on her person. They were packing up camp in the morning when it happened. Perhaps it had been drawn to the smell of sweet Myrnish breakfast cakes, or the herbs stuffed inside Cybelle’s mask, or perhaps it was her gold amulet that sparkled in the glow of the fire. In hindsight, they really should have picked up a sword in Fenwood. Not that Lazarus had ever swung one. Not that he would trust himself to when the beast was grappling with the neckline of Cybelle’s coat as she struggled to fling it off her. Too much movement. Too many opportunities to miss. Instead, Lazarus had done the only thing he could manage to do in a panic, which is to grab the animal’s back and try to pry it off. 

The path through the boglands was narrow with small allowance for a camp site. On either side lay deep, murky water spotted with mounds of moss and pale, petrified trees. The fenfink didn’t give up easy. It tore at her silk with its claws, sniffing and growling at her crescent moon mask as Lazarus tugged at its furry body. As Cybelle’s boots threatened stumble back over the berm of the trail and into the wet abyss, Lazarus tugged as hard as he could, but the animal snatched a lifeline; a shiny gold chain that glimmered in the pale blue light of the early morning. 

It bent Cybelle forward at the neck. Time froze as her golden promise, his future, dangled in the space between them. Her hands fumbled at the animal’s rear claws to unlatch them from her abdomen. Eyes desperate, mask askew, Lazarus knew what he had to do. One good yank and the chain would break. She would be free, and he could hurl the beast into the bog to buy them time.  He knew it could be done, in theory. What would become of the treasure, however, would be left entirely to fate. 

In the glittering twinkle, he saw his cottage, his garden, his full size bed, his curtains billowing in the salty air. It swayed and skirted across the taught chain, dangling dangerously close to the edge of the murky water.

With a strangled cry, Cybelle worked the claws free of her dress, and he was left with a split second to decide. The golden tether winked in the fire’s glow. Fear flickered in her umber eyes. With a firm, decided tug, Lazarus broke the chain. Time slowed to a halt as the glimmering treasure launched upward with the force of it all. Cybelle stumbled back over the berm, grasping desperately at the air. It followed the arc that she took, hovering just out of reach. She just about bumped it with her fingertip, but the cold, wet shock at her back knocked the wind out of her.

Lazarus watched his dreams tumble into the water, helpless to stop it. As he grappled with the snarling beast, his eyes caught the last golden glimmer of hope before it plunked beneath the inky surface of the bog. He pivoted quickly, launching the creature in a heartbroken rage, and it flailed in the air before its headfirst collision with a tree scattered the birds for miles.

A wet, sobbing cough from the other side of path sent him scrambling toward it. Cybelle was a mess. Clambering on her knees, waist deep in a peaty, black filth that soaked through her gold coat. Her hands raked desperately, blindly, at the thick decay beneath the murky water. 

Lazarus stumbled over the mossy ledge and into the bog, extending his hand, but she could not meet his eyes.

“I-I can find it,” she choked, sucking what little breath she could muster as the soaked fabric clung to her face. “It-it is somewhere here… I heard it.” 

His heart sunk deeper than the treasure. “Please, Cybelle,” he pleaded. 

“I can find it,” she insisted weakly, and another desperate grasp beneath the water sent her tumbling further down. 

He dove in after her then, sinking deep into the muck to grab her by the waist before she slipped beneath the surface. Cybelle was persistent, twisting in his arms as sobs shook her tiny body. He simply gripped her tighter, drawing her toward his chest and out of the water. Her struggles paled to his strength.

“Please,” she whimpered, stamping his white linen shoulders with muddy hands. “I can—I can…” she could barely catch a breath, silk crescent now crooked and blackened with peat. 

With both arms clasped tightly around her back, Lazarus shushed her. “It’s gone, Cybelle.” He could not hide the mourning in his voice.

She shut her eyes with a defeated grimace and went limp. Tears burned her lash line as she sobbed against his chest. They opened when she felt a finger brush behind her ear. Gingerly, slowly, Lazarus hooked his fingers through the loop of her mask, eyes darting back and forth between hers in a wordless request for permission. Her stillness granted it, and with that, he peeled it away.

In the pale blue light of the early morning, waist deep in muck and mire, Lazarus saw Cybelle. Not for the first time ever, but for the first time like this. Raw, and ragged, and inches apart. She inhaled deeply, freely, and for the first time when she breathed out, there were no barriers between them. They stood there a moment in a captivated stillness with nothing but the hum of frogs and song of birds.

Cybelle was the one to break the silence. “We might as well turn around then,” she wavered bitterly. “I have…” her breath hitched, “nothing to offer you.”

Lazarus sighed, shaking his head as he raked in her soft features. “Your company,” he began, “is enough.”

Cybelle shut her eyes, blinking tears over her lashes to streak trails through her the dirt on her cheeks, and for the first time, her muddy arms drew around his waist, and she embraced him.

Eddie pressed his heated forehead to the cool slate of the lab table and shifted his stool back against the floor with a loud screech. Images of fenfinks, and pendants, and bog mire danced behind his eyelids. He could hear the weary exhaustion in Mr. Westfield’s voice. He didn’t even need to look up to know he was leaning against his desk and running his hand through his thinning hairline as he’d done a hundred times before at the top of sixth period.

“Alright, so today we’re going to be creating magnesium oxide. Magnesium plus oxygen. Get it?” The question was answered with sleepy eyes and a few stray sniffles. Mr. Westfield sighed. “Right. Since the school can’t afford enough bunsen burners for all of you, this week you’ll be splitting up into pairs.”

The room came alive, eyes meeting eyes as claims flew across the room. Eddie peeked over his arms at the table in front of him. Tina was practically falling out of her stool as she reached for Chrissy on the other side of the room with grabby hands. 

Mr. Westfield looked thoroughly unamused by the commotion. “I’ll be assigning them.”

The classroom groaned almost unanimously. 

“Hate to be a party pooper,” he started, his tone indicating quite the opposite, “but you’re here to learn, not to chit-chat. Ok, let’s see here…” Mr. Westfield adjusted his glasses on his nose as he scanned down the list of names in his attendance book. 

A restless silence fell over the room as the students awaited their fate. 

“Looks like we have an even number, excellent. Tina, you’ll be with Bobby.”

Eddie could see Tina’s eyes roll through the back of her head. 

Mr. Westfield peered up from his glasses. “Don’t act so excited. Ok, then we’ll have Ricky and Carmen, Sally and Janae…” he went down the list of names, checking them off and scribbling them on the side of the sheet to keep track.

Eddie sat up and glanced around the room as pairs were made, mentally checking off classmates as their names were called, ears perked and primed to hear his own. As the ones who remained dwindled and dwindled down to only two, his pulse quickened. 

“Ok and then that just leaves Ms. Cunningham,” he punctuated with his pen, “and Mr. Munson.”

Fuck.

Eddie turned his head slowly, reluctantly, toward the other side of the room where Chrissy Cunningham sat, and was met with a soft, coy smile. He swallowed and whipped his head to face forward. 

Un-fucking believable. If there was a God, which Eddie sincerely doubted, he sure had a twisted sense of humor.

Since their brief confrontation in the hallway following Tina’s Halloween party, Chrissy had, to his honest surprise, respected his wishes and kept her distance. It never stopped her from looking though. Stares, he would discover, were something you could feel. Burning into his temple from behind the curtain of his hair in class, heating the back of his neck at his locker as her perfume wafted up the hall. It was almost a daily occurrence. 

As the classroom rearranged itself in a cacophony of screeching stools and shuffling backpacks,  Eddie remained planted right were he was, thumbing at the bent spiral of his notebook, mind racing as his eyes glazed over. It was less than a minute before he smelled that familiar perfume and heard the stool next to him scoot against the floor.

“Hey,” came a voice like powdered sugar. 

Eddie looked up from his notebook with a slow hesitance. “Hey.”

“I…grabbed you some safety glasses and an apron,” she said, setting the items on the counter.

Silently lamenting the idea of spending the remaining hour wearing them, he gave a single nod and thanked her.

The room bustled with chatter as Mr. Westfield came around to dole out the bunsen burners, crucibles, scales, and other small tools. “You got a hair tie, Munson?” he asked.

Eddie patted himself down and feigned disappointment. “Fresh out I’m afraid.” 

“I’ve got one,” Chrissy interjected, rolling a powder blue scrunchie from her wrist to swing from the curve of her finger.

Eddie stared at it a second as it dangled in the space between them before snatching it. “Thanks,” he conceded. As he twisted the satin band around his curls to form a low ponytail, he could feel the heat from her gaze. It lingered as he put on his goggles, even as he tied the ribbons of the stiff apron behind his back. 

Wayne, perceptive as ever, had been right all those years ago outside the auditorium. He did, at eleven, have a crush on Chrissy Cunningham, but there were only so many times a person could ignore him before he got the memo. Before he figured out he wasn’t worth their time. It wasn’t the first time it happened. In fact, Eddie had become so accustomed to getting looked through instead of at that he’d made it a lifestyle to stand out. To talk loud, and dress loud, and play loud. To bite back, and shirk rules, and cause a scene. And over the course of a year he barely remembered, he’d left whatever feelings he might have had for her exactly where they belonged; in the graveyard with everything else he would rather forget.

But for some reason this year was different. He wasn’t sure what switch flipped that caused her to suddenly see him. Maybe it was because she was tired of her meathead boyfriend and needed a distraction. Maybe it was because he looked especially dangerous this year. Maybe it was because he’d been held back so many times that he’d become more forbidden than ever; an odd and tempting fascination. 

Eleven year old Eddie would have been elated. Twenty year old Eddie was, to put it simply, annoyed. 

Mr. Westfield returned to the front of the classroom to give instruction, and Eddie tried his best to follow along with the handout. 

The room sparked to life with the hiss of gas and the whump of it igniting from all corners. As the tall flame dance in front of him, Eddie tried to ignore the little voice in the back of his head that tempted him to dangle the sleeve of his flannel a little too close so he could escape to the nurse’s office. Freshman Eddie wouldn’t have thought twice.

Chrissy turned on the scale between them and set the empty clay crucible on top of it as instructed. She leaned in to record the weight and copied it onto her worksheet. Eddie did the same. According to the worksheet, the next step was to add the magnesium and weigh it again. 

“Make sure the coil isn’t too tight,” advised Mr. Westfield, “you’re gonna want to leave room for air.”

Eddie picked up the clay triangle, doing his best to stay focused on the task, and set it on the metal ring above the flame as demonstrated. 

“I think the ring is too high,” said Chrissy, leaning in to twist the clamp loose enough to lower it. “It’s gotta be like, in the blue part of the flame I think.” Her arm grazed his as she reached into his bubble, and suddenly he was back on that couch, feeling the her phantom fingers on the pins of his vest again, gold halo crooked, lips ghosting cherry alcohol. Eddie shot his gaze forward.

“Ok, now place the crucible in the center of the triangle,” Mr. Westfield instructed.

Eddie grabbed hold of the metal tongs and used them to pinch the pale clay vessel. Chrissy leaned closer as he lowered it to rest above the flame. 

Then they would wait. In the waiting, the classroom grew louder. Tina stood by her stool, arms crossed, eyes cast sideways in annoyance as Mr. Westfield came over to address the lack of flame coming out of her bunsen burner. 

Eddie sat there in tense silence, eyes fixed forward as the flame licked the crucible with its blue heat.

“You know, this definitely beats equations,” Chrissy remarked with a soft chuckle.

He couldn’t really argue with that. Eddie didn’t say that though, instead he just nodded quietly. 

“Say um,” Chrissy thumbed at the gummy eraser of her pencil, “Jason hasn’t given you any trouble, has he?”

Resentment rose up from the graveyard. “Define trouble,” he groused.

Chrissy sighed. “He can be a real asshole sometimes,” she admitted, to his surprise.

Eddie took a deep breath. It was vivid — the way she stumbled off that couch. How she nearly tripped over her own shoes. How Jason barked at her. The crazed look in his eyes. The fear in hers. “Sometimes?” he bit back.

Chrissy toyed at the hem of her skirt. “He’s not all bad.”

He wasn’t sure if it was the inflection of her voice, or the way her eyes cast down in shameful denial, but it transported him — all the way back to that small kitchen table, feet dangling from the chair as the red wax in his hand filled in the flame from a dragon’s mouth. He could see his mother in the kitchen doorway, her finger coiled tightly around the telephone cord, uttering the same words to a concerned voice on the other end. 

Eddie hardened his lips and shook his head bitterly. “Yeah, well, doesn’t make him good.” 

“Alright folks, listen up,” Mr. Westfield called out, drawing the attention of the class. “Next you’ll add the oxygen by lifting the lid to let some air in.”  

With a sudden, determined movement, Chrissy reached across him to grab the tongs, bracing herself against the slate table. She gave them a few clicks before pinching the handle to lift the small, clay lid. A reaction occurred; blinding and white, igniting the gap between crucible and lid in a flickering flare.

They jumped back in unison. 

“Try not to stare,” advised Mr. Westfield with monotone enthusiasm. “You could damage your eyes.”

Timely advice. Eddie blinked the white dots that clung to his vision away, and a smile caught him by surprise, betraying his steely resolve. 

Chrissy caught it, and her sea green eyes found his from across the bunsen burner as she lowered the lid again. “That was awesome,” she whispered wildly.

It was kind of cool, he had to admit. He would take playing with fire over staring numbly at numbers on a page any day. Eddie peered over the rim of his plastic safety glasses and offered a tentative smile. 

The heating continued, allowing for air every once in a while until finally there was no more reaction. There wasn’t much to say. Eddie removed the crucible from the burner. Chrissy added water from the pipette until the contents formed a paste. Eddie returned the crucible to the heat. The water evaporated. In the silence of their cooperation, in the passing of tools and scribbling of notes, Eddie wondered how long it would be before Chrissy came to her own conclusions. If she would ever figure out that even though Jason wasn’t all bad, she could do so much better. 

Not with him, but on her own.

Clutching the crucible in the tongs, Chrissy set it on the scale for the final time. They both copied the weight onto their worksheets — different than when they started.

With five minutes to the bell, the cleanup was frenzied; a clammer of equipment hastily returned to shelves and boxes backdropped against the hissing water of half a dozen sinks. Even Mr. Westfield had given up on volume control in favor of tidiness. Eddie rid himself of the dreaded apron and goggles just in time for the bell to ring, and with that he snatched his backpack from the floor and followed the flow of his classmates out the door. 

It wasn’t until he made it to the hallway that he remembered. Reaching back behind his neck, he felt it; ruffled satin. The owner was only a few feet ahead, ponytail swaying in ruffled white cotton as she walked. 

“Chrissy!” 

Her footsteps slowed, eyes brimming with a coy mischief that shot dread down his spine when turned against traffic to face him.

______

“Outlines are due on Friday,” you called to your class as you wiped down the board, a cloud of chalk dusted the air as you swiped the soft eraser over the letters. Like the wave of a magic wand, the bell had turned your practically snoring class into an eruption of noise. Before you could hear a pin drop, now you had to shout. With two periods left in the day, you wondered how many more times you would answer the same question. How many more times you would ask one only to be met with coughs and tired eyes.

Your feet hurt. Even the boots you had chosen for comfort and practicality were causing an ache in the soles of them, the hard heel putting too much pressure on your own. The lukewarm coffee you’d savored during fifth period had long since run its course through you. Glancing up at the clock, you realized you had about five minutes to take care of business or be forced to suffer for the duration of seventh period as well. Setting down the eraser, the decision was easy.

Your tired feet clicked down the crowded hallway with a sense of urgency that seemed to evade the rest of traffic. Scent pockets of perfume, mint gum, cigarettes, and body odors wafted through the air as you hurried past the rows of slamming lockers, dodging a pair of students overcome with the temptation to roughhouse, one grabbing the other by the backpack and yanking, sprinting ahead so his friend couldn’t catch him. You sighed, voice too tired to conjure discipline. 

As you picked up on that strange, familiar scent of the approaching science lab, your eyes, like a magnet, were drawn to a familiar silhouette, standing just outside the door. You would have recognized him anywhere, picked him out of a crowd of thousands. Flutters bloomed in your chest. His long, dark curls bounced as he shook them out with his hand, like he was scratching the back of his head. 

It was enchanting; the way he did just about anything. The way he moved, his sharp elbows and quick hands, the bright timbre of his voice, how his energy could shift on a dime from a soft breeze to a ripping gust. 

The past three weeks had been much of the same. Conversations that strayed from educational to casual. Lingering glances. Secret touches. Stolen moments. Never speaking the truth of your heart. Never offering more than your hand. 

The flow of students swept you forward, and as you passed, a figure emerged from behind where his shoulders obscured. In the seconds that slowed to a crawl, your eyes gathered volumes. 

Strawberry blonde, petite, clutching a book to her soft, white cardigan. Sparkling eyes under soft blue shadow, cocked head, fluttering lashes, a smile bright enough to draw a moth.

Craning your neck back as traffic surged, you searched for his eyes.

Eddie didn’t see you.

You blinked, hard, and snapped your gaze forward over the sea of students as your heart leapt into your throat. 

It was fine. 

Click.

It was nothing.

Click.

He’s allowed to talk to people. 

Click.

He didn’t see you.

Click.

Of course not, it’s crowded.

Click.

It burned, like the image was seared into your retinas. Her clean, white sneaker coyly toeing at the tile. Teeth that teased at plump, pink lips. Heavy lidded eyes. Arched back. Delicate fingers curled around a textbook spine. You tried to blink it away.

It was fine. It was nothing.

You rounded the corner for the faculty bathroom, relieved to find it empty, and shut yourself inside. The tried old light bathed the room in a yellow wash. You locked the door and stood there for a moment, heart racing, chest heaving in the quiet reprieve from the bells, lockers, and voices. Space for your thoughts to grow louder as you went about your business.

Why shouldn’t he talk to some girl? There was nothing wrong with that. In the glimpse that you caught of his face, it was lacking in distinct expression. Listening. Nothing worth noting. It was hers that really stuck with you. Her rosy cheeks and perky ponytail. The way she batted her eyes and licked her lips like she wanted to make a meal out of him.

Eddie Munson; summer wind. Tall and roguish, charming and animated, full of surprises. It was shocking he was single. Downright unbelievable that no other woman in this entire school would harbor any feelings. There had to be at least a handful that cast shy gazes as they passed him in the hallway. At least a few that floated curious whispers across lunch tables. In the dark corners of your imagination you had always figured, you’d just never seen it. And now the image wouldn’t leave you. Sticky. Clinging like you’d stepped in gum. 

You met your tired eyes in the mirror above the sink. Timeless, it mocked, as the whisper of lines became canyons. 

On the other side of the door was sea of young women. Free to talk and gawk and get into the sort of trouble he surely had a taste for. The kind of trouble you only had the freedom to imagine. How long before the novelty of you wore off? Before his restless hands sought something more? Something he could grasp in broad daylight? Someone who could keep his stride, share a milkshake or a bucket of popcorn?

You cast your welling eyes downward, turned on the water, wet your hands, and pumped the soap.

It started subtle, last spring. Started with the way he looked at you; a flame that dimmed to embers over months of dinners spent alone, plates gone cold, beds left empty, leaving you with nothing but to wonder how he looked at her. 

Time moves quickly for young men. You of all people would know it. Like a wildfire; hungry and insatiable, devouring everything in its path. It renders promises of meaning, leaves the past in charred remains. It surges ever forward, seeking fuel. 

It left behind an ice in you. Stalling over the sink as the world surged on outside, you felt it seize your chest again.

Eddie Munson; wildfire. Twenty years old. Restless. Reckless. He wasn’t your boyfriend. You weren’t an item. You were nothing.

The water was scalding. Bubbles erupted as you worked up a lather. Scrubbing your knuckles, your palms, the space between your fingers where his had nestled once. 

No. You weren’t nothing. 

The bell had you flinching; a loud and shrill summons back to your post, your place, your duty. 

You were his teacher.

Pinballs. Louder than the shrieking bell. Louder than ever before. You didn’t dare meet your eyes again, frightened of what sort of monster would stare back.

What am I doing? 

You turned off the water and paused, hands weeping over the sink. 

It was foolish, to play with fire. It was foolish just about anywhere, but here the walls were made of tinder, the desks of charcoal. His fingers like matches, striking you with every touch. But oh, how you craved the heat. Close enough to thaw you; the ice deep in your chest, weeping as it melted, pooling in your lap, making puddles on the floor.

Droplets fell to the tile as you turned to grab a paper towel. It soaked through, blooming dark, wet patches as the brown paper blotted up the dampness.

You shook your head bitterly. No. You certainly weren’t nothing. You were a phase. A passing fancy. An odd fascination. You would never make it to May. You’d be lucky if you made it to January without losing his interest entirely.

You crumpled the soggy paper in your fists and threw it in the trash. Blinking back tears, you pressed your hand to the door and took one deep, final breath as you prepared to face the world again — to put on your mask and perform in front of twenty pairs of judging eyes.

The gap was enormous. Cavernous and treacherous. He deserved someone he could be with in public. Someone he could take to a park or a movie. Someone he could go to fucking prom with. 

With a ragged exhale, you pressed open the door.  

He deserved someone his own age. 

The hall was a flurry of slamming lockers, a scattering of the few straggling students who rushed to find their classrooms. The wind cooled your heated face as you marched, one foot in front of the other, to your post. Shoulders back, deep breaths, sore feet making echos off the polished tile. 

He’d get tired of you too.

Click.

Click.

They always do.

Click.

Click.

Click.

Click.

The hall stretched on like an Escher drawing, twisting and distorting in your vision as you neared your classroom door. Tears threatened your lashes, and you huffed them away with a determined shrug of your shoulders.

As your fingers grazed the cold metal handle, you caught your own eyes in the glass. Sad and droopy, welling with longing and resentment. On the other side you could already hear the commotion, the questions, the stares, the awkward silence. The bell rang again — a final warning. 

With a heavy sigh, you turned the handle.

______

Eddie twisted the ridged dial of his locker in his fingers, left and right until he heard a click. Popping the door open and slinging his backpack forward on his shoulder, he unloaded three weighty textbooks into the dark, cluttered enclosure. He grabbed his thick, leather coat, tucked it under his arm, and slammed the door shut. 

In the absence of the books, and of the dimming noise as it filtered out through the front doors and into the parking lot, he felt another weight lift in him. In a matter of minutes, the mindless chatter, the tried scenery of this dull prison, the days worth of stares that clung to him like glue would fall away as he passed the threshold of your door. 

With every step he took, Eddie felt lighter. The slamming lockers didn’t phase him, the weird looks from freshmen went right through him, even the shoulder check from a jock coming around the corner glanced right off. In a million years he never would have expected to feel relieved to stay after school, or a pep in his step as he approached a classroom, but in a million years he never expected to find you behind the big desk. 

He could feel the warmth already as he approached your open door. Hear your laughter at his stupid jokes, feel the heat of your arm graze his, catch your hand, and you, by surprise. But when he turned into threshold, knuckles raising out of habit to rap against it, he was met with a different scene.

You didn’t look up. Not even when tapped his knuckles to the wood in a shave-and-a-haircut—two-bits pattern. Head cast down over a sea of papers, you looked like you were drowning. He padded slowly toward the big desk, face dropping as he noticed another detail: the wooden folding chair—his chair—sat empty and open. Across from you.

Eddie dropped his backpack to the floor with a heavy thump, making his presence known. “Hey,” he started, tentative and cautious. 

It wasn’t until he was practically towering over you that you finally looked up at him, face heavy, expressionless, tired. “Hey,” you stated plainly.

Eddie craned his head and searched your eyes. “You ok?”

You blinked and swallowed. “Yeah, everything’s fine.” 

He stood like this a moment, vision locked with yours, dark eyes roving, searching. When you offered nothing more, he simply nodded once, strolled around to the front of your desk, grabbed the back of the chair with a determined slap, and dragged it around to where it belonged — beside you. 

He took his place in it; draping his coat over the back of it like always, creaking the wood with his weight as he plunked himself down.

You resumed wading through the sea, heavy gaze cast over it. 

Eddie toyed with a pencil on your desk, tapping the eraser to the wood as his eyes bored a hole into the side of your head. You just kept on roving, shoulders tense, lips worried. He could have been invisible, watching you from a hole in a poster, or a crack in the wall. You offered him the same level of attention. “Something’s wrong,” he confronted, unable to take the frigid silence for a moment longer.

You sighed and set your pen down. “I’m sorry, it’s just…” your hand worried the back of your neck, “…a lot, this time of year, work wise.” Your eyes met his only for a second before casting downward again at the pages. “Here, let me clear this up.” Your hands busied themselves with the mess, shuffling the paper into a clumsy, hurried pile.

“No—no, it’s…it’s ok.” He scooted his chair closer, feeling so useless all of a sudden, burdensome, like his presence added to your task load. He wanted to help, to alleviate the tension, but his hands simply fumbled in his lap as you collected the clutter with your chalk dusted knuckles. As you tapped the pile of papers against the desk in haste to form a semblance of a pile, his hand gained a mind of its own. 

As if possessed by its own separate consciousness, an impulse deep and thrumming with the need to soothe, it took up refuge in the place between your shoulders; warm and firm, drawing slow, caring circles at your blouse. 

You froze, papers stiff against the surface, gaze straight ahead. His hand followed suit, freezing, twitching, arm locked in its extension.

“Y-you should—” you stuttered, blinking wildly as you found your breath. “Why don’t you go grab your schoolwork?” you asked with a curtness that startled him.

Eddie lurched his hand away like you were a hot stove. “I—I’m sorry I just… w-wanted to help. I’m sorry.” His mind became a whirlpool, swirling with worry as his stomach did backflips. He fumbled with the zipper on his backpack.

“No—no, Eddie, I’m… I’m sorry,” you lamented. 

He’d never seen your face so fraught. Like you’d stepped on a cat’s tail, chased it through the house with apologies. 

“It’s not your fault, it’s…” You swallowed, breaking his gaze. You couldn’t finish the sentence. You didn’t need to. 

Mine.

He was losing you. 

He should have expected it by now. What could he possibly offer you anyway? His hand? A few stolen moments? Some flirty comments to make you feel good about yourself for a second or two? 

He wondered when the other shoe would drop. When you would open your eyes and see this for what it really was — that you were a grown ass woman with a college degree and a real career, and he was twenty years old repeating his senior year of high school for the third fucking time, selling drugs to teenagers, and oh, your student for fuck’s sake. 

It wasn’t lost on him; that he was playing tee-ball in a big league stadium. He stared into the crumpled contents of his backpack with a deep, shaking breath, and pulled out his notebook. It fell from his hand with a dejected slap against the big desk; juvenile amidst the tidy assortment of office supplies. The spiral was bent and crumpled, the cover worn soft from abuse. He sat there a moment and stared at it as the heavy silence swallowed you both. 

Your lips hardened to a bitter line, eyes cast down over the evidence of your position. Over the evidence of his. You wouldn’t look at him, like you were afraid to. Finally, after a suffocating minute, you spoke — frigidly professional. “What do you want to work on today?” 

The question sent a hot rage coursing through him. So that was it, then? Business as usual? Pretending like nothing happened? That none of this was real? Eddie sat back in his seat and boiled with a gaze so intense it could have burned right through you. He wouldn’t give you the satisfaction of an answer. Not until you gave him enough respect to look him in the eyes when you asked the question.

You just sat there, frozen, shoulders locked, eyes cast down at the big desk for an agonizing moment that stretched well past the point of comfort. His gaze was unrelenting, fueled by stubborn indignation. You felt it. He knew you did, because when you finally did submit your eyes to him, you flinched. 

He almost felt bad for it. For causing you to shrink so small, to look so fragile, like how you did when you’d relinquished a fragment of your past, when the impulse to soothe you drove him to your hand. The impulse rose again, as did some annoyance by it; the grip you had on him, even in his most determined anger. 

“What?” you choked out, barely above a whisper.

You knew damn well what. The audacity to ask sent heat coursing through his veins again, but the look in your eyes, like cornered prey, quelled the fire enough to sigh his way to a level-headed response. “You’re acting different,” he said simply. 

You swallowed, breaking his gaze like you’d been caught. It would be insulting to deny it. He could see the gears turning over in your head, the thoughts forming careful words behind your eyes, but in the end, all you could muster was, “I’m sorry.” 

It was a weak admission. It answered nothing, really, other than confirming his suspicions. But it was something. He wanted to press, to poke, to pry, and get to the bottom of what caused this shift in you, but in the silence of the classroom, with floors that echoed and walls that listened, words like “you won’t let me touch you,” seemed too far too direct, far too pointed. In the end, it was your eyes that said the most; welling like pools with all the words he knew would pierce the ever thinning veil, poke holes in your shared secrets, make them monstrous and real.

In the end, your eyes just tugged him forward, made him soft and pliant until all he could muster was decency. “It’s…” he sighed, raking his hand through his hair, “it’s fine.” Soft as he intended it, he couldn’t hide the broken edge.

There was little relief in sigh you gave, heavy and ragged. Your fingers grazed the curled, beaten corner of his notebook with a caring reverence that made him wish that he was paper. 

He wondered how much longer it could go on like this, before you craved something more than he could offer. Before you tired of secret touches and passing glances. Before some hot-shot with a convertible saw you at a bar somewhere and swept you away. The crushing realization hung heavy in the space between you, the gap more cavernous than ever.

Eddie twisted his rings in his lap, fingers burning. It was a miracle you’d let him touch you to begin with. But you did, and he had, and by god, he refused to go back. He couldn’t, he wouldn’t. Not when you’d let him into your world, given him more than he ever thought possible — a sliver of hope. For you. For himself.

When the silence became too much for him to bear, he broke it with your name.

Your first name.

Bitter grief melted to soft shock as your lips parted, eyes widened. At last, he had your full attention. 

With a deep breath, he started. “I don’t… know what happened. If it’s something I did o-or something someone said, or, fuck,” he ran hand through his hair, exasperated, words trailing off into nothing. 

“Eddie,” you started, eyes softening deeper; into sympathy, into pity. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Then why won’t you look at me?” he snapped, but the quiver in his voice betrayed him. 

You swallowed, shaking your head, but before you could give an answer he didn’t want to hear, he continued.

“I know, it—it’s ludicrous, this whole thing. To think that I—” he breathed a bitter laugh, “that you,” he glanced at the door. 

But instead of shutting him down with the ugly truth, you leaned closer, like your whole world hinged on him. He saw it then, hope, glimmering like a golden treasure in the tremble of your lips, in the pinching of your brow, in the welling of your eyes that threatened to spill over.

“I know,” you whispered, like it caused you pain. 

Slowly, Eddie raised his hand to rest on top of his notebook, a fractional distance from yours. Close enough to feel your heat, to catch the subtle tremble of your knuckles. So transfixed by the curve of your delicate fingers beside the broad, ruddy angles of his, that had he not dared to draw his eyes away, he might have missed the tear that pinched through your lashes when you closed them.

Slowly, bravely, he inched his pinky forward. Just close enough to graze yours. It was a phantom of a touch, but you didn’t pull away. In fact, when he looked up, he was surprised to see a whisper of a smile. A sad, soft thing, like it was breaking through layers to surface. Emboldened, he raised his pinky, ever so slightly, to gently stroke yours. The gesture was small and silly, but enough to earn a puff of laughter through the smile that cracked the gloom upon your features.

It opened up a narrow passage, and he entered with the boldest thing that he had ever said.

Maybe it was the fact that he was too stubborn, or perhaps too stupid for his own good, but the sheer audacity of what came out of his mouth next surprised even himself. “Um, my band is playing at the Hideout tomorrow—a-and—” he swallowed, gaining composure as he raised his eyes to your level with conviction. “I want you to come.” 

It was all he could offer. An experience. 

Your jaw dropped. 

“I think—I-Iwant you to see some of the new stuff we’ve been working on. I think you’d like it,” he peddled on.

“Oh, Eddie I—” you shook your head. “I don’t know, I mean—”

He doubled down, brows level and serious. “We—we don’t have to come together. Hell, bring a friend, bring several. It doesn’t have to be a big deal if we don’t make it a big deal. People go to bars all the time.”

As you worried your lips in your teeth, he could see the scales tipping back and forth, weighing the odds and risks against the want. “Oh god, I don’t know.”

“You’re allowed to exist in public. You don’t just like… fold your arms and retreat into the walls here at night,” he laughed.

It snapped a chuckle out of you, like sunlight peeking through the clouds. “Oh yeah? Tell that to the students I run into at the grocery store,” you quipped. Then, as quickly as the sunlight came, the clouds were back. You surveyed the room and dropped your eyes in pensive worry. 

Eddie stroked his pinky over yours, slowly, sweetly. “Please?”

You gave him a look, one that threatened resistance but hiding just beneath it, surrender.

“It doesn’t have to be a big deal,” he persuaded, “just me on stage, and you in the audience cheering with your girlfriends or whatever, well, hopefully cheering. I mean ‘Hand of Doom’ is still a crapshoot sometimes but,” he breathed a laugh. 

With a chuckling shake of your head, your resolve crumbled like sand in front of his eyes. 

“You can boo us too, wouldn’t be the first time. We’ve got tough skin.”

You rolled your eyes and laughed. “I’m not gonna boo you.”

A wicked grin cracked like lightning across his face. “Not gonna, you mean you’ll come then?” 

You sighed, deep and heavy, shifting the scales back and forth.

Eddie tipped his head and raised his eyebrows. “You know you want to.”

“Of course I want to,” you deadpanned.

His umber eyes glimmered, wild and auspicious. “Well then, do what you want,” he said, sitting back in his seat like the decision was easy.

Want. A shelved, forgotten thing, like something you’d lost in the move. Something you’d tucked away long before that. Left to grow stale inside a box, in the back of a closet, in a place you barely remembered. 

It sat beside you now, loud and unignorable, with lips that begged and eyes that pleaded. And you, in all your years of practiced discipline, could no longer deny it. 

Eddie Munson; wildfire. Restless, frenetic, warm, and compelling. 

With a dignified sigh, and a verdant conviction that peeked through the ash, you turned to him at last, and surrendered.

______

A/N: So begins the craziest week in the whole story. Two words: Donkey Kong. 😈

The next chapter might take me a little longer than usual just because it's a moment we've all been waiting for and I want to make sure it's absolutely perfect.

Also, I've been featured on a PODCAST so if you want to hear me talk about this story and specifically the appeal of reader insert fics, check it out HERE!

✨ As always, nothing encourages me to continue writing this story more than hearing from you. Seriously, please give me your thoughts, your theories, your keyboard smashes. Hit up my inbox, my DMs, whatever suits your fancy.

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[quizzicalwriter]

hi! i loved your writing on dallas. could you please make a pt.2 of riverside where they're back at Buck's and they share an intimate moment (nsfw or not). thank you!

Riverside

Part Two

Pairing: Dallas Winston x Fem!Reader

Summary: Second part of ‘Riverside’ follows you and Dallas on the walk home and what happens after!

Warnings: SMUT. MDNI. Kissing, touching, slightly dominant Dallas, oral and fingering (both reader receiving.)

Word Count: 2.5k

A/N: Thank you for the request!

The walk back to Buck’s shouldn’t have taken that long, but the way you kept cussing under your breath with each squelch your shoes would make beneath your wet feet slowed things down to a snail's pace, enough for Dallas to groan inwardly and light another cigarette.

“You want my shoes?” He asked, pausing in his steps as he turned toward you, causing you to walk face-first into his chest due to your preoccupation with your damn shoes.

“What? No, no. I’m okay.” You replied, brushing your hair from your face where it’d flown forward when you’d all but head-butted Dallas’s chest. Luckily he didn’t care, his fingers moving to help you clear your face of your still-wet hair as he smirked around his cigarette.

“You’re stubborn and you’re cold, even with my jacket.” He murmured, leaning down ever so slightly to meet your eyes. “Still tryin’ to say you aren’t cold?”

You scowled at him then, the look making Dallas laugh as he turned back on his heel to continue the walk with you following in tow, sulking because you knew he was right, even if you didn’t want to admit it.

The leap into the river had led to Dallas kissing you, so you couldn’t say you regretted it all too much. Hell, you’d probably have done it in December if it meant Dallas’s hands found their way to your waist and breasts as they did back on the riverbed. The thought alone made your cheeks flush, thighs clenching together as you tried to clear your mind from your lascivious thoughts of the man walking in front of you.

You knew Dallas well enough to know that he would’ve walked the trek back to Buck’s barefoot if you’d asked him to, but you didn’t want to, maybe due to a combination of your stubbornness and not wanting to be the cause of Dallas accidentally walking on some broken glass given how the streets of Tulsa were on the best of days.

Thanks to a walk through a nearby abandoned apartment complex, you two were able to enter the city within five minutes. Dallas didn’t seem to like the idea of walking you alone, made much apparent by his continuous fiddling with his switchblade in his jean pocket as his other arm held you securely by his side. Nobody’d ever mess with you, not with Dallas by your side, he’d fought nearly everyone in town and then some, it felt like having your personal guard dog as you walked beneath the flickering streetlights, your gaze locked straight ahead, except for whenever you felt the pull to look at Dallas.

As you both walked up the street leading to Buck’s bar you quickly became aware of the sheer amount of cars surrounding the establishment. Dallas seemed to realize just as you did, a curse falling from his lips as you two squeezed your way between muscle cars and broken-down pieces of junk you found yourself amazed even made their way to the bar. The music was loud before he opened the front door, making you wince somewhat as you leaned into his side, allowing him to guide you through the dense crowd and cigarette smoke toward the stairs.

You thanked your lucky stars that nobody called upon Dallas besides a few greetings directed toward himself and you, not wanting to linger where the smoke was the heaviest and the conversations consisted of drunk individuals trying to scream over each other to ensure they were heard.

He opened his bedroom door for you then, holding it open as you walked beneath his arm into the warmth that poured from his room. It smelled heavily of him and his cologne, the scent making you feel safe, almost reminiscent of how a home should feel. You walked over to his bed, draping his leather jacket over the metal railing at the end of the bedframe.

There was a moment when you turned to face him, clothes clinging to your wet frame as his eyes looked you over. There were unspoken words exchanged between you then, your hands fumbling with the fabric of your shirt as you shifted on your feet, waiting for him to make the first move. Despite the warmth of the room you still felt your skin alight with goosebumps, a slight shiver running up your spine as your body acclimated to the new temperature.

The way you shivered made Dallas frown, clicking his tongue against his teeth as he moved toward you, both of you now enveloped in the warmth of his bedroom. The music still raged downstairs, some band you couldn’t recognize, but the only thing you could focus on was the way Dallas touched you over your clothes. His eyes flickered up to meet yours then, a smile evident on his face.

“Told you, didn’t I? Shouldn’t have gone in that water, got you shivering. Can practically feel your heartbeat through your skin, doll.”

There was always something electric in the way that Dallas touched you, his hands drifting up and underneath your shirt, fingertips ghosting over your skin. He knew how to make you writhe, to make you desperate enough to consider begging, which for someone like you didn’t come easily. You could feel his fingertips drift over your breasts, thumbs brushing over your nipples as he leaned down to press another kiss to your neck.

This was gentle, incredibly gentle for how irritated you’d made him earlier in the night. Something in his eyes made you not question it, his brow furrowed and lips parted as if he were committing every facet of your body to his memory. You only caught onto his game when your back involuntarily arched, pushing your chest into his palms. He abruptly pulled away, brown eyes flickering up to you as he tilted his head to the side.

“Can’t move while I’m tryin’ to warm you up, doll.” He stated, his voice reminiscent of how you’d chastise a kid for stealing something from a candy store. It made a whine die in the back of your throat, face skewing in desperation as you fought internally with yourself to be good.

After a moment he resumed, cupping your waist before sliding his hands down to your waist, then trailing them to the front of your jeans to slowly unbutton them. How he managed to keep his cool in such a manner never failed to amaze you, while your chest was heaving deeply with each breath he looked completely calm, occasionally narrowing his eyes whenever you began squirming against his touch.

As he pulled your jeans down, he moved down with them, effectively propping himself up on his knees in front of you as he helped you to step out of the denim. Once your legs were free he rubbed his hands along your calves, thighs, everything he could get his hands on. And then he started kissing along your skin, open-mouthed, lewd kisses that made you instinctively grab at his hair.

“Skin’s still so cold.” He whispered, fingers hooking around the band of your underwear as he slowly pulled it down to expose your glistening cunt to the night air. After he helped you to step out of your underwear you watched with bated breath as he began trailing another series of kisses up your legs, stopping short of your inner thigh. His hands grasped at the plushness of your ass, squeezing it hard enough to pull a squeak from you as you nearly stumbled on your own two feet.

“Dal, I-“ Before you could utter another word he moved between your legs, tongue flattening out against your folds. Your knees immediately buckled, causing you to stumble where you stood as you grasped at the skin of your thighs, silently pleading with yourself to not move - you didn’t want him to stop.

Your lips parted, whined out noises pouring from you as his tongue continued working between your folds, his eyes cast up at you as his grasp on your hips and ass tightened. You weren’t sure how many women he’d done this with, but all you could think of was the warmth and wetness of his tongue as it swirled around your clit and how he moved it in an almost expert like manner.

“Fu-uck.” You groaned, brows furrowing as your hips began moving against his mouth, pulling a grunt from his throat as he harshly slapped at the plush skin of your ass.

“Stop moving.” He all but growled out, quickly moving back between your legs as he began sucking at your clit, bringing his hand forward to curl two fingers into your cunt, slowly pumping them within you to match the tempo of his tongue.

Whatever coldness lingered against your skin from the frigid night air was long gone, replaced by a white-hot longing as his fingers pumped within you, the lewd sound of your arousal against his tongue and his fingers stretching you out filling the room along with your own near pathetic whines.

You could feel your orgasm building, inner walls clenching down around his fingers as he continued laving at your clit like a man starved. Every inhibition he’d had prior about having you stay still was long out the window as your fingers laced through his hair, locking onto the dark brown strands as you ground down against his face. You could’ve sworn you felt him smile against your cunt as your moans took up an octave, head falling back as you came against his tongue.

He slowly removed his fingers, taking a moment to pepper kisses against your inner thighs as you struggled to catch your breath. His hands smoothed up your sides as he moved to stand, the wetness once on his fingers pressed against your skin. You couldn’t bring yourself to be bothered, not when he’d made you cum against his tongue with enough ferocity to have your breath locked from your lungs as if you’d been winded.

He removed his jeans then, tossing them along with his belt into the far corner of his room, the fabric and metal falling with a soft clank. You didn’t have to look to know how hard he was, feeling him press against your stomach as he leaned down to capture your lips in a kiss. You could taste yourself on his tongue, your hands threading through his hair as you leaned up onto your toes to deepen the kiss. Only when your lungs were aching for oxygen did you pull away.

His lips were glistening in the moonlight that poured in through the bedroom window, his eyes dark and full of want. You were still weak, chest still heaving from your last orgasm as he scooped you up, helping your legs to wrap around his hips as he moved you both back to his bed.

You could feel the desperation pooling off of him, how his breath caught in his chest as he felt your bare cunt against his cock. How he looked at you made you feel as though you two had been doing this for years, a deep layer of intimacy in his gaze that you doubted he’d ever shown to anybody but you.

As he laid you down on his bed he made his way between your thighs, right hand moving to lift your thigh to drape it loosely over his hip. Neither of you felt the need to say anything, an unspoken layer of trust between you being heavily apparent as he leaned down to connect your lips again as he pushed into you.

The accompanying stretch felt heavenly, far bigger than his fingers. You could only gasp against his lips as he waited for you to nod, giving him some sort of sign that you were alright enough for him to move. As soon as you nodded he began rocking his hips, his brows furrowing as he tried desperately to conceal the low grunts that threatened to leave him.

“So tight.” He whispered, pressing a kiss to the pulse point of your throat as he rolled his hips against you. “So fucking tight and warm.”

His voice was wavering, a noise akin to a whine falling from his lips as your legs tightened around his waist, pulling him deeper into you. As his cock rocked into you, he reached a hand down between your bodies, swirling his middle and ring finger around your clit in sync with each roll of his hips.

The combination left you reeling, eyes screwing shut as your arms wrapped around his neck, fingers digging into the muscle that lined his back as you began moving your hips to meet his movements halfway, each thrust hitting so deep within you that you swore you could feel him from the outside had you placed your hand on your lower stomach.

This was more intense than you had bargained for when he’d taken you upstairs, more intimate than you’d overheard from when he’d take women during parties. This was Dallas in a new light, one without the borders he usually shone around himself. You couldn’t help but crave it, crave all of him with each thrust within you.

With a strangled groan his grasp on the sheets beside your head tightened, his fingers against your clit picking up in their pace as he whispered against your skin. “I’m gonna cum.”

The words left you speechless, only nodding as you felt your second orgasm of the night building within your lower stomach. You pressed languid kisses to his jaw, moaning against his damp skin in between each kiss. His hand moved from the bedsheet then, moving to cradle your face as he leaned against you, effectively pressing you against the mattress as he rutted into you.

“Dallas-“ Was all you could muster, cunt spasming around his cock as you came undone, the feeling of you tightening around him causing him to grunt. He pushed himself up onto his elbows, hand quickly moving to pull himself out of you, cum shooting in hot ropes against your lower stomach as he did.

He looked ethereal when he orgasmed, brows screwed together, lips parted as he grunted, cum spilling over his fingers only to drip along the top of your cunt. As he caught his breath he looked up at you, his cheeks flushed crimson as he moved to kiss you, not bothering to fill his lungs with much-needed air in preference over having your lips against him for as long as he could stand it.

After you two pulled away, both needing to breathe, he wrapped his arms around your center, pulling your back flush to his chest, pressing another kiss to the back of your neck just as he had by the river. The feeling made you hum in contentment, resting your cheek against his pillow as he intertwined his legs with yours, his breaths growing soft, almost in tandem with your own.

“Told you I could warm you up.” He whispered against your skin, a cocky grin evident in his words, causing you to roll your eyes as you laughed.

A/N: If you have read this far, thank you!! And thank you anon for the request, I’m always happy to write things if I’m able to. As always my works can be found on ao3 as well under the user Unscriptural! Hope you guys enjoy this, still getting used to writing smut - well, getting used to sharing it.

[raeofsunrise]

Rae, I need that part two more than I need my peppermint tea- 👀 I’m about to watch Detention for the 20th time this month… yes, December… no, I don’t have a problem 😂

it’s finally here!! sorry for making y’all wait, but it’s here. it’s a lot shorter due to my life being busy and just wanting to get it out, but i love it! hope you do too ☆

from me, to you

wordcount: 645

pairing: clapton davis x gn! reader

warnings: clapton has an inner monologue that’s kind of angsty?? i think this is one more cliché ❤️

—————

the suspense was killing him. did you read it yet? did you even remember the letter existed? what did you think? a million thoughts were rushing through clapton’s head as he walked to his class. maybe if he walked painstakingly slow, his mind would do the same.

but how would he distract himself for one whole hour? he had hoped that he wouldn’t run into you.

clapton was never one to think that highly of himself. surprising, i know. it seemed like everyone in his life thought he was the coolest. that he was amazing. but deep down, he never really thought that.

but you were always there to bring him up. to make him feel like everything people said he was—in the most healthy way possible.

he just doesn’t know what he’d do with himself if you didn’t feel the way he felt about you. he couldn’t lose you, not over some stupid feelings. he’d do anything to keep you in his life, even if it meant having to watch you go on with yours without him.

god, he really couldn’t lose you.

he was so lost in thought thinking about you, he thought he felt you tap his shoulder. surprisingly, it actually was you. and you were pulling him into an empty hallway so you could talk to him. he didn’t need to go to class that bad. wasn’t like it would affect his grade, anyways.

“finally,” you say.

“looked like you were in some real deep thought, there.”

he noticed you re-using his words from your earlier conversation. you never really forgot about anything, did you? under different circumstances, his heart would be fluttering because of that thought, but instead it’s fluttering because he’s not sure if you’re here to break his heart or not.

he realizes he hasn’t responded to you yet, but honestly he’s not sure if that would make things worse or way worse.

but he can’t just not talk to you.

“i was.” he says, letting out the smallest smile, one that was less full of energy, and more full of anxiety.

“i, uhm…i read the letter.” you say.

“oh.” he replies. maybe you didn’t read the back. maybe there is hope to salvage this friendship.

but his hope quickly dissipates as you finish your sentence.

“the whole letter.”

“oh.” was that all he could say?! no wonder you wanted to reject him, he thought.

you knew you were gonna have to lead the conversation, otherwise you’d never get him to tell you how he felt. you had to hear him say it.

“did you mean what you wrote?” you ask.

a beat passes.

“all of what you wrote.” you clarify.

your heart was racing. what if it was just impulse? what if you had read everything wrong?

“every word.” he answers.

you both stare at each other in silence. you don’t even realize how close you two are until he speaks.

“can i kiss yo—“ he tries to ask but you cut him off with a kiss as soon as the first word comes out of his mouth.

it didn’t last long, but you both savored every single moment of it. his lips were soft. soft like cotton candy, and—god, just as sweet. he kissed you with all the emotion he’s felt for you over the years. in the few moments your lips did meet, his hand found its way to your cheek. really, the only reason you both pulled away was to get some air.

after you both pull away, you’re left looking into his beautiful, brown, love-struck eyes. you decide to put a hand on his cheek, too.

“y’know, i think i love you too.” you say.

“you mean it?” he asks.

“every word.”

part 1

taglist (all the people who begged for a part two) ☆

@lovelyniyachy

@omwtkydttfym

@tacomumun3r

@janitorhutcherson (my bestie)

[mercurygray]

The Only One I've Got

This one goes out to the anonymous Fred Friend.

It looked like it was going to be sunny today.

After the long slow slog through October and November's sleets and snows, sunshine would be welcome, even if it was only for a few thin December hours. The weather was pressing in on them just as much as the missions were, and so far 1943 had not had much to recommend it except that it would soon be ending.

(Their director had asked quietly at Thanksgiving if a reassignment would be welcomed, but she didn't really want to go. If she left she'd lose so many good memories.)

"I left the mail on the table," Tatty said, coming in from the front where they usually parked the jeep. "I didn't see what's there."

"Thanks, Tat!" Fred said, brushing the last of the toast crumbs from her fingers and going to look at the pile. Helen, Helen, Mary, Tatty, Helen - and a small square of what looked like cardstock, stamped several times in purple and red with a very serious German word in the upper left corner, and her name, Freda Torvaldsen, written in careful block script in the address.

She must have made a noise, because Helen was suddenly there, and maybe Tatty, too, and she couldn't remember sitting down in the chair, and the rest of the mail had fallen on the floor. Her vision was swimming a little.

She wanted it to be from him. Maybe it wasn't.

"Fred, honey, you need me to read it to you?"

She shook her head, her hands shaking as she tried to turn it over to open it and nearly ripped the thing in two. Tatty took it from her and eased the seal open before she handed it back.

It was dated three months ago - October.

Dear Fred,

I'm hopeful that maybe you've tried to get news about me before now. If not, my new stationery should inform you - I am alive, and a guest of the Germans in a Prisoner of War camp. I'm sorry I haven't written before now. Now that we are settled we are permitted to send three pieces of mail a month and I needed to tell my folks first.

It feels very strange to write your name at the top of a letter. I've never had to write to you before. I'm hopeful that maybe we can keep this up, if you still feel the same way you did several months ago. Quarters here are close and I couldn't keep who I was writing to private. I need to let you know there have been some complaints. Lots of guys from the old outfit are here with me, and many names that you would know. (I'm not listing them, as I think the censor will black them out.) Hopefully you don't hear from them, too.

I just realized I'm using the word hopeful a lot, but it's the only one I've got. Hopefully Yours, John

PS - There are a few guys here who are not getting mail. Can you share my address with Ma Brennan and see if she could write something? It would be nice to share a little of the news from home and let them know that they aren't forgotten.

She read it through three times, vision increasingly blurry, realizing, belatedly, that the pencil was getting on her fingers. Hopefully yours. She held it to her nose and thought she could smell pipe smoke, and it was the best gift she'd ever gotten.

Of course I'm yours. You're the only one I've got.

-

A big thank you to a friend who is asking to remain anonymous for sharing images of what POW mail looked like. Some of it was on pre-printed postcards and some was on a message blank, which is what I'm describing here. The big German word Fred can't read is Kriegsgefangenpost, prisoner of war mail. I also just found a website online that has a ton of pictures of what this looked like.

[honeysuckleharringtons]

Part Five: "Seasonal Specials" ~ S. Harrington

Summary: (Then) Christmas Eve has rolled around, and unfortunately for a very pregnant Reader, she is stuck at home with a migraine. Luckily for her, her younger brother doesn't make for too bad of company. — (Now) A slow shift at Brew and Me turns out to be a good night for advice and a call from everyone's favorite nursing student.

Pairing: Nurse!Steve Harrington x Fem!Byers!Reader

Word Count: 1,900

Content Warning: teen pregnancy, discussions of homophobia, discussions of abuse and allusions to physical abuse, discussions of slut-shaming, Reader is lowkey bad at advice when it comes to these topics LMAO, explicit language, food consumption (Reader drinks hot chocolate), not really a warning but Will is gay and autistic in this series, as always lmk if i missed anything!

Extra Notes: this should've been posted way earlier, i am so sorry it wasn't. hope you guys enjoy though!

Originally Written: 12/21/2023 through 12/25/2023

honeysuckleharringtons' main masterlist can be found here!

'brew and me' series masterlist can be found here!

[ Then, December of 1987 ]

Christmas Eve. It was Christmas Eve and you were stuck at home with an excruciating headache.

You supposed it wasn't all bad. After all, staying at home was preferable over the rare occasion that you did leave the house, when everyone would stare you down like some caged animal at the zoo. Unfortunately, the same could be said for your family—no, not your immediate family, who'd helped you more than ever since you'd entered your third and final trimester—whose reactions had ranged from disgusted to sympathetic.

When you'd gone to the family's end-of-summer family reunion, you'd tried your best to hide the tiny bump you were sporting at the time. However, your aunt Judy had taken notice of your particularly round belly, and immediately figured out that it wasn't from one too many hot dogs at the cookout. Ever since then, you'd heard every comment in the book, everything from "whore throwing her life away" to "so sad she thought that was her only option."

So, instead of listening to the endless insults from your distant relatives, you'd prayed for some way out of the gathering. Unfortunately for you, God had a sense of humor, hence the excruciating headache.

The sound of the microwave beeping in the next room over set you off all over again, the noise like a hammer to the head. "Will, can't you tell that thing to shut up?" you groaned, covering your face with the compress he'd made you.

"Unfortunately, I don't think that's going to help," he joked. You couldn't tell if you wanted to laugh or kill him for his sense of humor. "Here's your hot chocolate."

You sat up ever-so-slightly, taking a small drink of the deep brown liquid. Almost instantly, the warmth of it made you feel a little better. "Thank you." You reached a hand over, ruffling his already messy hair. "By the way, you didn't have to stay home with me."

"And listen to Uncle Howie tell me how we're both going to hell? I'd rather have that headache of yours."

A snicker escaped your lips, knowing exactly what he meant. "Okay, maybe Uncle Howie is a bit too opinionated on the sex lives of sixteen and eighteen year olds, but you don't have to listen to him. I mean, you're missing out on Grandma's fruitcake, which is your favorite part of the holidays."

"After last year, listening to half our cousins tell me I'm fruitier than the cake, I don't think I'll ever eat it again." Will pulled his knees up to his chest, his face overtaken by an expression that looked a lot like longing. "Besides, it's not really worth it to me."

You set your mug aside before placing a hand on his knee. "What do you mean?"

"The way the family talks about you… I thought I was the black sheep of the family. You might as well be a purple sheep."

Your pregnancy hormones must've taken over, because instead of a normal reaction, you found yourself beginning to cry from his words. No, not because of pain from his statement, but rather comfort in knowing that he'd rather miss out on the finer things of life if it meant sticking up for you.

Will, and his lack of social cue skills, stared at you for a moment, unsure what to say. Eventually, he landed on, "Sorry if I made you more upset. I didn't-"

A small huff of amusement left your mouth as you shook your head. "No, Will," you smiled, reaching up to wipe away your excess tears, "I'm just… I'm really happy to have you."

He flashed you a closed-lip smile, one that felt so genuine and unapologetically Will. "I know you'd do the same for me."

[ Now, December of 1991 ]

"I would, kiddo. I really would."

Aster Bay was a different kind of beautiful at the holidays. Sure, the small college town was normally beautiful, but upon seeing the small-town glow overtake the place, you were sure you hadn't seen anything like it.

Apartments and beach-side condos decked out in Christmas lights, a tree as high as the clouds in the town square, students dressed in Christmas and Hanukkah sweaters, their dogs in matching attire. The town felt like your own personal snow globe, tiny flakes flooding the ground beneath your feet with every step.

The magic of the holidays of course carried over into your favorite little coffee shop, decorations of red and green covering the walls and counters while the smell of peppermint wafted through the air. Unfortunately for you and Max, the one thing your little coffee shop was lacking this Christmas Eve was customers.

Neither of you were really sure why the store was open. Nearly everyone had gone home for the holidays—students, patrons, and other baristas alike—and the store was dead quiet, aside from the soft sound of Sinead O'Conner playing on the overhead speaker. Silent Night is accurate, you thought to yourself.

"So, where's your lover boy at this Christmas Eve?" Max joked, breaking the long-winded silence.

You sighed, secretly longing for the nurse she spoke of. "Apparently they gave him a week off from the hospital so he went home to see his folks." A small wave of loneliness had come over you when Steve had told you about his departure a few days prior, when he stopped by to grab a latte for the road.

"That's nice. At least he's hopefully having a good time, not working on the holidays like some of us," she said lightheartedly. Though, you could've sworn you heard a hint of sadness in her tone.

"Hey, how come you aren't at home with your folks?" The question had been a simple one, but when Max looked up at you, you could tell her answer was about to be anything but simple.

Her arms folded tightly in front of her chest as she looked at you, a sigh falling between her plump lips. "It's… complicated."

You placed a loving hand on her shoulder. "I know we're only coworkers and we aren't really supposed to bring our personal lives to work with us, but you know you can talk to me, right? I'm your friend, plus I'm a mother so I have problem solving skills now."

She huffed in amusement at your last remark. "It's just… I can't really say a lot but my life in California, it's not as good as my life here. And as much as I love my mom, there's just… well, it's just better for me to stay here even as much as I miss her. Besides, it's not like I make enough to fly home and Neil certainly isn't going to pay for my flight."

You could tell from the clear distaste in the way she said Neil that she didn't like to say his name anymore than she had to. Unfortunately, you knew all too well what that was like, and there was a certain name that left a bad taste in your own mouth the same way Neil did for Max.

"I can't give you much advice because my dad was the one that left, but I promise, it does get better," you empathized. "You made the right decision by staying here. I'm proud of you, Max."

She began to fiddle with the sleeve of her flannel, her eyes darting away. "I hate being here though. I can't help my mom from here. There's no telling what he does to her when me and Billy are away."

You knew exactly what she meant by that too. "I know it doesn't seem like it, but that'll change too. Eventually he'll get tired of you and your mom fighting back and he'll leave. That's what my dad did anyway."

"The thing is," she paused, licking her lips, "I'm not sure my mom wants to fight back. It's like she wants to deal with Neil's bullshit. I mean, she divorced my dad over not making enough money and then she married Neil, who is still scraping at the bottom of the barrel to keep the lights on every month. Not to mention, she dated like ten guys in between and broke up with them for way less, but she'll always find a way to justify his actions."

You shrugged your shoulders. "My mom put up with it for seventeen years before she started to truly fight back." A small wave of silence came over the room before you continued, "I'm sorry I don't have much advice. I guess my situation was just a little different than most survivors'. One thing I can tell you though is that I'm proud of you for making the best decision for yourself. I know it's hard to put yourself first sometimes."

Max gave you a crooked smile, finally looking up at you again. "As much as it sucks that we've both been through a bad thing, I'm glad I have you to talk to about it."

"Of course, love. You're like a little sister to me."

Cutting your conversation short, the phone began to ring, the sound grating on your nerves. You loved your job, but it was Christmas Eve, damn it. In all honesty, you really just wanted to be at home, drinking hot chocolate with your girl in your lap and a movie playing on television.

Still, you picked up the phone, answering with the signature, "Happy holidays from Brew and Me. What can we do for you?"

"Can you tell me your seasonal specials?" said a familiar voice, his smirk audible in his tone.

"Steve! You're supposed to be on vacation," you scolded, though internally you were extremely happy to hear his voice. What is wrong with me? you pondered silently.

"I am, but I couldn't resist calling and ordering something."

Your brows furrowed at his statement. "How does that work?"

"Order anything you'd like and I'll pay you back when I get back to town. Think of it as a Christmas present, or whatever you celebrate."

"That feels like cheating, Harrington." Your eyes narrowed, despite his inability to see it.

"You don't have to tell me what it is, just how much I'll owe you," he replied. You could hear a fireplace crackling quietly in the background, and you could easily imagine him curled up in front of it, his skin covered with a thick Christmas sweater, glasses perched on his nose as he read a novel. "Same for Max or whoever else is working. Treat yourselves, courtesy of me."

"Well, thank you, Steve. We appreciate it," your lips curved upward into a smile as you spoke. "I hope you're enjoying your time off."

"I am. I'm sorry you have to work on Christmas Eve." You could almost hear the frown on his lips as he sympathized with you.

"It's not all bad. After all, I'm getting to hear from you."

"Careful, Byers, or I'll start to think you like me back," he smirked. Butterflies went off in your belly, your cheeks warm and surely rosy.

You were sure full sentences had escaped you, considering Steve had the ability to take your breath away and make you blush like no one else could. So, you stuck with what you knew you could say without stumbling over your words. "Happy holidays, Doc."

"It's a very happy holiday when I get to talk to you, Y/N."

So tumblr hates me...

I went over 24 hours thinking this chapter posted, only to find out tumblr ate it somewhere between my drafts, my queue, and my posts 🤦🏻‍♀️ this app loves to embarrass me

Anyway, I hope this was worth the extra long wait. It sucks that I'm posting it after the initial Christmas magic is over but I hope you guys liked it regardless! I will see you back here on Sunday for chapter six, which will be posted on time, fingers crossed!

-> taglist: @dungeons-are-too-cold @ducky-died-inside @awkotaco24 @liberhoe @princesseddie @corrodedseraphine @manuosorioh @esoltis280 @hazydespair @frostandflamesfanfic

[wowbright]

Fic: Paper Boats

Fandom/pairing: Glee, Kurt/Blaine

Event: December Klaine Fanworks Challenge 2023 (sail)

Words: ~ 1350 words                                        

Rating: Teen and up

Summary: After Kurt returns to the United States, Blaine has trouble adjusting to a new companionship.

Notes: This is part of my Mormon!Klaine universe. It takes place after Out of Eden, which I am still in the process of posting to AO3. It’s among the likely possibilities for their future. Warning for situational depression, but the story ends on a hopeful note. Elder Nixon is Warbler Trent.

* * *

It had started as a beautiful, sunny day at the park, but now enough clouds had rolled in that the sun was blocked and the whole place had a gray, overcast vibe, which was not helping Blaine's mood at all. Just as bad, the floods of people walking through the park had slowed down to a trickle, which meant Blaine couldn't distract himself by striking up a new conversation with a stranger every few minutes.

He sat on a stone ledge a few meters away from the water fountain. There were a couple of kids walking around it, taking turns dragging a toy boat along the edge of the artificial pool by a bright yellow string. Well, he thought, that was one good thing. When the sky grew dark like this, colors grew more saturated. The chalk drawings he and Elder Nixon had made this morning with shades that looked almost pastel in direct sunlight were now full of deep, rich color. He stared at their depiction of the pre-mortal world lit by a rainbow sun. It was almost as bright and beautiful as an actual sunset. Blaine wished he was there now. In the pre-mortal world, he had never had to be apart from Kurt.

This mortal world sucked.

“Did you ever have one of those things?” Elder Nixon asked. He stood next to Blaine, nodding at the kids with their tugboat.

“No,” sighed Blaine. “There wasn't much water in Mesa accept for the reflecting pool at the temple, and I wasn't allowed to play in there of course.”

“We had a game we liked to play in the inflatable pool when we stayed at our summer cabin in Minnesota. Have you ever heard of Viking funeral?”

“I've heard of Vikings having funerals. Didn’t the rich ones get buried in their boats?”

“Maybe? This game may or may not have had its origins in actual Viking traditions. Basically, we’d make paper boats— Hey. Want to make some paper boats? We’ve got plenty of paper.” Without waiting for an answer, Elder Nixon sat down on the ledge next to Blaine and set the flyers he’d been holding in his hand between them. “There's more here than we can possibly give out. You learned to make paper boats, right? Even if they didn't let you float them in the reflecting pool?”

“Yeah,” Blaine said sullenly. “Not sure I remember how, though.”

"Well, I do. Here—" Elder Nixon demonstrated the first fold, and refused to proceed until Blaine copied him, and so on with the next and next, until each of them had a little paper boat with a stout triangular mast in the center. Blaine felt the memory reawakening in his muscles, so he made another one and then another one, each more crisply executed than the last.

“Now we to set them to sail,” Elder Nixon announced.

“Is that how you play Viking funeral?” Blaine asked, following Elder Nixon to the edge of the fountain. The kids were no longer there, having abandoned their toy boat in favor of dragging their grown up to follow a duck with them to the top of a grassy knoll.

“Not exactly. I don't have all the supplies for Viking funeral, and anyway, I'm pretty sure we could get in trouble for playing it here.”

“Oh?” Blaine’s interest was genuinely piqued. It was a feeling that had grown unfamiliar in the preceding weeks. He had managed to feign interest plenty, of course, and a few times he had almost managed to convince himself that he was genuinely engaged in talking to someone or learning something new. But then the black cloud would creep back in, and his brain would get foggy, and everything felt fake and unreal and pointless again.

“You put a birthday candle in the top of each boat and light it,” Elder Nixon said, recreating the motions on one of his paper boats before launching it on the water.

“Oh.” An image of dozens of paper boats floating at night on the same fountain, each topped with a single candle, popped into Blaine’s head. “But that sounds beautiful. Like Japanese water lanterns.” He set two of his own boats on the water.

“It was,” Elder Nixon said. “Except that's not the part we got excited for. Because when the candles burn down, all that's left to burn is the paper. So that was the fun part for us, seeing our entire fleet go up in flames. We would launch our boats toward each other’s to speed the process along. Oh, the beautiful destruction!” Elder Nixon chuckled at the memory.

And, for some reason, Blaine felt himself chuckling, too. He could imagine miniature Elder Nixon and his chubby-cheeked siblings, all looking like little blonde cherubs from the front of an old Victorian greeting card, standing around a poofy plastic pool and cheering on the firy demise of their entire fleet. Maybe it was the incongruity of it. Elder Nixon was so kind and sweet. It was hard to imagine him setting things ablaze for kicks.

“Hey,” Elder Nixon said with a fond smile, “you're laughing.”

“I guess I am,” Blaine said, and stopped.

“Oh no. I ruined the moment.”

“No, you didn't.”

“Yes, I did.”

"No, you really didn't,” Blaine said. There was something inside him that kept tugging him back to a baseline of gloominess, no matter what the people around him did. "None of this is your fault. I mean, I know I have a reputation as a ray of sunshine, but I can't shine all the time. Everything's just been so hard lately.”

“Since I became your companion,” Elder Nixon said.

“Not because you're my companion," Blaine said. “You help make it better than it would be otherwise. You’re patient and kind and you don't judge me. And I want to be more cheerful. I really do. And I thought I would be. But …” Blaine couldn't keep it a secret anymore. It was making everything worse—made him feel like he was sneaking around and had something to hide, and those things felt too close to shame to be any good for Blaine's mental health. He hadn't wanted to put this burden on Elder Nixon—but then again, why was Blaine thinking of it as a burden? Elder Nixon could do what he wanted with it. He could let it bring them closer together as friends, or he could report Blaine to the mission president. It was up to him. It was out of Blaine’s hands. “I just—” Blaine felt tears pushing against his eyes. That was probably a good thing. He hadn’t let himself cry in front of another person since Kurt left. “I miss Elder Hummel a lot.”

Elder Nixon put a hand on Blaine shoulder and gave it a solid pat. “I know. It's tough when a companion you really click with leaves.”

Blaine shook his head. “It's not just that, though. I miss him because I'm in love with him.” And then, because if he was in for a penny, he was in for a pound, he added with urgency, “I'm gay and I fell in love with my companion, and he loves me back, and half the time I just feel really stupid for staying here and not following him to Ohio. And if you need to tell the mission president, you can; I mean, I'd rather it be my own decision, but beggars can't be choosers—and anyway, I don't want to be a burden to you, and I feel like I have been, the whole time we've been working together.”

“You're not a burden, Elder Anderson,” Elder Nixon said, and he hugged Blaine, which was not a thing missionaries usually did in public, but they weren't supposed to have emotional outbursts in public either and, besides, the kids and their grown up were nowhere to be seen right now. “You're my friend. And I'm so glad you told me, because now I can be a better friend to you.”

[mozukumi]

it's a wummer wum-derland

Phineas is going through a bout of seasonal depression. His friends are there to help him out.

1K words. Read on AO3 or under the readmore. Comments much appreciated!

Phineas doesn’t know when this winter got so bad for him.

It wasn’t a problem when he was younger. He had always preferred the summer, but he didn’t hate winter or anything. He would still make the most of every single possible day.

Last year, though, things started to change. He doesn’t remember when it started then, either, but he began to feel a lot more lethargic and depressed during that winter. He didn’t think much of it, though. He was in his first year of high school - it was only natural for him to have been a bit moody, wasn’t it?

He didn’t think it was going to happen again this winter. It started out great, after all! He began December by celebrating Hanukkah with the Garcia-Shapiro family, which he greatly enjoyed. Next were his final exams for the semester, which… yeah, those weren’t fun, but it was a necessary evil. That finally led to the roughly 14 days of winter vacation which fell between Christmas and New Year’s – each of which were the best day ever.

The change had to have happened sometime in January, then. That’s the logical explanation. But he can’t remember when it started; maybe this wasn’t the sort of thing which started, instead being a gradual decline.

He supposes it doesn’t really matter how he got here, exactly. What does matter is this: it’s a Saturday morning in February and he doesn’t want to do anything.

He can barely believe himself. The whole day is ahead of him, just waiting to be seized! Yet he’s still wasting away in his bed. And that sort of thing is fine every once-in-a-while (the do-nothing day is a yearly tradition he quite enjoys). But it’s not like he’s choosing to relax and take it slow. He desperately wants to carpe his diem.

But he just can’t do it.

He’s snapped out of his wallowing by a knock at the door. It’s Ferb, peeking his head in. An is eyebrow raised and a question is implied: what are we gonna do today?

“Sorry, Ferb, I’m - I’m not really feeling up to anything today,” he admits. And he hates himself for it, because he really should just push through this. All of his friends were available to hang out today - and with their busy high school schedules, that was getting so much rarer. He wishes he could take advantage of it.

Ferb nods, then walks over to his bedside. He tilts his head ever-so-slightly, and if Phineas is reading his body language correctly…

“You’re right, it has been a rough couple of weeks for me,” he says. “Not like anything happened, it’s just, ah…”

“You’ve got a case of the winter blues?” Ferb suggests.

“Yeah, I guess that’s right,” Phineas says. “I don’t want to keep you - say hi to the gang for me, okay?”

Ferb gives him a thumbs up, although Phineas didn’t need any confirmation from his brother. A reminder that he could count on Ferb was like a reminder that water was wet: completely unnecessary.

-

A couple of hours later, his phone began to ring. It was one of his customized ringtones – a 8-bit version of Gitchee Gitchee Goo – which meant the caller was…

“Isabella,” he says, hoping he didn’t sound too groggy. He had just woken up from his nap minutes earlier. “How are you?”

“Oh, I’m good! But I was really calling to ask about you. Are you feeling well enough to come down to the backyard for a few minutes?”

He thought about it. He was feeling a little bit better. Not enough to participate in a Big Idea, but well enough that he could come say hi and see what his friends were working on. “Yes, yes I am. I’ll get changed into my snowgear-”

“No need,” she interrupts, her tone a bit forced. “It’s… it’ll be fine! You don’t need to get out of your pajamas. Just come on down.”

“If you insist,” he says. He’s sure it’ll make sense soon. “I’ll be there soon.”

With that, he hangs up his phone and makes his way downstairs. It isn’t a long trek, but it’s just enough time to make him consider what the gang is up to. It can’t be anything open to the general public, since they told him not to bother changing. So it had to be a more personal project.

By the time he reaches that conclusion, he’s already at the front door. He steps out into the backyard, and -

It’s warm and it’s sunny.

That’s the first thing he notices. After all these months of overcast weather, the feeling of heat on his skin was almost alien. There was still snow on the ground, but it didn’t freeze his bare feet. Instead, it was just pleasantly cold. All around him, his friends begin to sing a familiar tune:

It’s a Wummer Wum-derland Unusual and grand Yeah, it’s anything but bland Because it’s Wummer (Bum bum, bum bum) Talkin’ ‘bout Wummer (Bum bum, bum bum) It’s so Wummer (Bum bum, bum bum)

Their cheer is infectious, and pretty soon Phineas is grinning from cheek to cheek. His eyes begin to water. “You guys, this is so… you’re the best friends ever, you know that?”

“Yeah, I am pretty aweso-”

“Do not ruin this moment, Buford,” Baljeet says under his breath, but Phineas can still very clearly hear him. Did he think he was being discreet…? Well, he’s not going to point that out.

“You always do all this amazing stuff for us, Phineas,” Isabella says, her voice soft. “Like, it’s pretty ridiculous how much you do. And I love- I mean, we love all that you do for us. But we want to take care of you too sometimes.”

“Since light therapy is an effective treatment for Seasonal Affective Disorder, Buford proposed that we rework a classic idea in order to cheer you up,” Baljeet says.

“Wait, Buford?

“Hey, I was at S’Winter! It was a non-speaking cameo, but I was still there!”

Phineas decides to not ask any clarifying questions - Buford said stuff like that all the time. Better to let it pass.

“Thank you,” he says, and it’s really not enough. The two words are hardly enough to express his gratitude at the gesture. But for now, it’ll have to do.

[footballffbarbiex]

player: Kasper Schmeichel words: 502 request: Kasper - No pref - 250 – 500 - Kasper said once that his guilty pleasure is sweets so Christmas must be a nightmare for him 😂 so can I request the reader just absolutely torturing him to wind him up by buying loads of sweets and taunting him with them to try and wind him up. ( then maybe them sat together eating some and cuddling after he lost a match or made a mistake or something 🥺)

December comes around faster each year and there are times when Christmas festive stock is lining the shop shelves before Halloween items are put up for sale. Big tins of chocolates, spiced biscuits and cake. Coffee shops brought out a festive variety of coffees and this would prove to be hard to resist for him. 

She didn’t want to overindulge this festive season, but she did like dipping into a few snacks while watching movies while curled up under whatever blanket Kasper has thrown over them. Kasper would bring in a small carrying tray with drinks and some … boyfriend acceptable snacks. 

Today after going grocery shopping, she couldn’t help but pop a few large tubs of chocolate into her shopping cart. She argued that Easter chocolate always tasted better than regular and she held the same belief with Christmas chocolate too. She purchased some hot cocoa powder and some flavoured syrups to add to it. Various toppings also found themselves in her cart and she located snacks like potato chips, popcorn, gingerbread and anything else that took her fancy. 

When Kasper returns home, there’s a slow cooker filled with hot cocoa and a small topping station set up beside it. He can smell the sickly sweet chocolate scent the moment he steps inside the house. It hangs in the air in such a way that just breathing it in allows him to taste it. 

He joins her in the lounge, a hot mug of sweet liquid within his hands but just as he begins to sit down, he notices the tubs on her lap as she stretches out on the couch. 

“The one thing I didn’t need today and you chose this day of all days to bring these home?” Kasper groans as he plonks himself down near her feet after placing his mug on the coffee table. 

“What made you say that?” She asks, leaning forward and plucking a chocolate from the tub. Kasper keeps his eyes on the screen, watching as the scene unfolds while she does the same to the chocolate wrapped. 

“Someone in catering brought in cake and snacks. Was the gaffer’s birthday so…”

“Oh boy.”

“I brought home a slice for you. It’s in my bag. I forgot to bring it in,” he jerks his thumb in the direction of where the front door is. 

“Thank you,” it was genuine gratitude expressed, there was something about knowing that Kasper thought of her and had intention of bringing a bit of happiness to her day. 

“Babe, this is the one time you can enjoy your things.”

“There’s enjoying it and there’s me.”

The look he gives her as she smirks over the rim of her mug is enough to push the tub of goodies his way. “I won’t tell anyone if you don’t.”

“The most wonderful time of the year, huh?” He mutters to himself before selecting one and tells himself that he won’t have too many. 

And already, Kasper knows he won’t resist the next one.

[ravencromwell]

Ask game: 1, 4, and 20 for Holland

Will do the Vor ones tomorrow!!!!! But for now:

* Rolls up sleeves*

1. First Impression: there's a funny and a serious answer to this.

Y'know how I'm always saying I'm terrible at predicting things? Before I picked ADSOM up, I went looking for ADSOM queer characters or something of the like. And discovered Rhy Maresh, about whom I only knew: his being gay plays a small part in the first book and a much larger one in the next two. So, I'm skimming along and this dude comes into Rhy's room and is all: "I have been to your father for business. I come to you for pleasure."

And my little May December loving heart—which also adores enemies to lovers? Fair somersaulted with joy as I read all about how this "Holland" worked for a rival kingdom. I was _amped up for this slow-burn where they had a long-term thing going on Holland's diplomatic missions that was secret from everyone even Rhy's brother, though I suspected maybe Kell guessed because he sure thought about this Holland a lot, which was only natural if you kinda thought he was gonna be your future brother-inn-law, right?

I can barely type this for laughing at how badly! I got the character dynamics wrong but like: Rhy was so _down! for flirting with him and the guard had said he was dangerous, with very cold, hollow eyes and I couldn't understand how Rhy could possibly be so casual about Holland being in his room if he didn't know something we were missing. (Only later did I learn that Rhy, dearest beloved, if confronted with a suddenly talking tree or wall: would aggressively flirt and charm the leaves/stone off it, only asking how it came to have the remarkable ability of speech after he discovered if it was in fact hot to kiss a tree or wall.)

The serious answer: from the moment I read the lines: "The Antari's eyes slid over the scene—the blood, the ink, the tortured commoner— expression lodged between distant surprise and disinterest. Holland liked to play at being hollow, but Athos knew it was a ruse. He might have feigned numbness, but he was hardly immune to sensation." followed swiftly by "What should I do with him?" even after Athos's "we're not too late" makes clear he expected Holland to follow him instead of help Beloc, I was just like _mine please join the cadre of my best beloveds and let me slay all your enemies (or set it up so that you can be the one to slay Athos do not fucking get me started on Holland being denied his vengeance we will be here all year).

Look, I know there are a dozen different ways to read that scene. I know you can think Holland was simply imagining himself there, or so deeply traumatized Athos was wrong and he didn't give a fuck. But those lines? Combined with Athos' latter staring for tells and seeing "Anger, pain, defiance" at the corner of Holland's mouth and the crease of his eye? Viscerally read as the only sort of solidarity Holland could show to this kid who was about to be a fellow abuse survivor. It didn't _work, but I will die on the fucking hill his asking "What do I do with him?" was a bid to get Beloc out of the frame for the night, because that sort of thing worked often when Athos was distracted.

And so, Holland showing solidarity with Maktahns, even when he didn't actually have the agency to do shit, became an absolute bedrock part of my characterization.

[The two stellar fannish examples of Holland's love for Maktahns in all their bloody glory are Snake Charmer, where he protects Nasi, and Green and Pleasant Lands, where Holland absolutely loses his shit in a contained fashion over Kell criticizing a (quite bleak) ritual. Just fucking peak characterization]

4. how many people do I ship them with? When reading, I'm down for absolutely _anything or _anyone with good Holland characterization. For what I'm likely to write: four. Vor and Tal, which you know. But I'm also deeply. deeply fond of a Holland Ojka arc where she follows him to Red and has to learn how to separate the man and the king, as well as the king and Osaron and properly falls for the man, rather than the king. And I have a deep affection for the Holland Rhy thing you gave me the excuse to write (it's coming at end of semester!!!): a Rhy who deeply misses Alucard and just getting to be a _person rather than a prince. Not even necessarily a fully rounded person who has in-depth conversations with his bed-mate (I mean. he misses that, too but he's not getting it with Holland and that's fine). Just someone from whom all the other party wants is thorough debauchery rather than a tumble and maybe a court appointment for their niece and maybe their friend's brother etc. "You draw them like flies," Holland says once, and Rhy doesn't understand why his laugh is bitter and wistful and it's probably cruel to think of people like insects, because he likes people most of the time he truly does. But also yes, he's so tired of only being the thing from which people take and take and take. And a Holland who wants an antidote to the Danes they probably won't kill who isn't Kell because his desperation to _know Holland is so sharp and Holland isn't here for soul-bearing hour.

20. Weird headcanon: Not weird so much as the one I'm thinking about most today:

It was Alox who ensured Holland could read. Alox has heard rumors that in corners of the city, books can be found. And these Antari, who his brother is slowly becoming one of as his eye turns were once the greatest magicians in the land. People like that like to hear themselves talk, so they probably like to read each other's blather too. Which means his brother has to read, even if Alox never had any use beyond learning the runes for binding so he wasn't cheated out of an inking when he could afford to capture magic.

The year before he decides Holland has to die, he fetches and carries for an old, ill man in a slightly richer district—only for his brother would he carry a dying man's shit down three flights of stairs—in exchange for paper with all the runes on it and some lessons on their sounds. Does his best to teach Holl second-hand, even though what he really wants is a drink—maybe Kosh, maybe blood for a hit of magic he'll decide when he meets his friends later—. Bastard actually leaves Alox two whole intact books when he dies. After that, well Holl never could turn down a challenge. He tosses 'em over and lets him start sounding it all out.

[littledrummeraussie]

Am I too late? 😂🥰 Hi Angie! I hope youre well! Been a while and I miss yoooou! Gimmie some soft holiday magic with Ashton maybe? 👀🥹

My dear Sky 💜 this one ran away with me, and I really do hope this is everything you dreamed of. To be honest, I plan on revisiting this one later this year because I had so much fun building the characters and their story. 💜

masterlist. | want to be added to my taglist? | Christmas Blurb Fest 2022

just fall in love with me this Christmas. [a fake dating story with Ashton]

warnings: boss!Ashton. personal assistant!reader. fake relationship. just general cuteness and feels and confessions and such.

word count: 4350

----------

“It’s one more hour and then you’re free to go.”

“Are you kicking me out of your Mom’s house? My own boyfriend?”

Ashton giggled at your offended face, holding onto the plate he was drying, and you were quick to join him, trying to stay as quiet as possible. You flicked some water at him as you finished the dishes, an offer you made to his mother after she so generously welcomed you to her home and let you be part of their Christmas preparation and the holiday itself. To be honest, it wasn’t such big of a surprise – after all, you were dating her really lovely and really handsome son, Ashton.

Fake dating her son, Ashton. Ashton, who was your boss. Your boss, who somehow made his whole family believe that he did go on dates which he was able to fit into his really tight schedule. A tight schedule which usually took up his whole day, and which you were responsible for – after all, you were his personal assistant, so it was perfectly normal for him to talk about you in the most random contexts, right?

.

Apparently his family thought otherwise.

Ashton approached you after a long Friday night back in November and offered to take you home, saying it was too late and too dark to wait for a cab or an Uber, and that it was the least he could do after you stayed overtime because of his meeting running too long. You were chatting about the upcoming Monday and what you needed to prepare for with the holiday season coming up when he let out a little cough, slowing down at a red light.

“If the holidays have already come up…”

“I did schedule your two-week vacation for December,” you smiled at him, tapping away on your tablet to pull up your notes, ready to jot down any other things he wanted you to add. “You just need to confirm when exactly you want to go home and I’ll buy your ticket as well.”

“What are you doing for Christmas?”

“Uhm… nothing?” you shook your head a little, his question taking you off-guard. “Why?”

“You’re not going home for the holidays?” Ashton looked at you, teeth sinking into his bottom lip, something you were not used to; he was always so confident and put together.

“No, my family is currently not talking to each other, and I really don’t want to deal with that if I can help it,” you explained, shrugging a little. “I would rather spend Christmas on my own and in peace.”

“What would you say if I asked you to come and spend Christmas with my family?” he parked the car in front of your building, finally turning towards you.

“I’m not sure I understand…” you raised an eyebrow at him, looking at him expectantly. “What is going on?”

“I– might have told them that we’re dating and that you’re coming with me?” Ashton said the whole thing in one breath, face twisting into an apologetic grimace. “I’m– sorry?”

“You did what?” you blinked at him, not even questioningly – you just felt confused. Really confused. You were sure your boss just lost his mind.

Ashton let out a loud groan, head banging on the steering wheel as he mumbled a few colourful curses, before falling back against his seat, fingers running through his perfectly styled hair, messing it up in a second. In any other situation this would have been a hilarious sight for you – your extremely talented and influential, well-dressed and well-spoken boss falling apart in his car, all but making a fool out of himself with the dramatic way he acted. But you knew Ashton. You’ve been working with him for more than two years now, first as a junior assistant, then promoted to be his personal assistant once he fired your predecessor. He rarely freaked out over things, especially minor ones. But this seemed like a problem he was not ready for.

“I’m sorry, I–” he sighed, rubbing at his face tiredly. “It was a misunderstanding and now I can’t get out of it.”

“What kind of misunderstanding? Ashton, come on, you’re not helping!”

“I was talking to my Mom and I was telling her about an event we did and then a dinner and then another thing, just… casually dropping your name in the conversation every 2 minutes or so because obviously it’s perfectly normal for me to talk about my PA when we’re working so closely together, but…” he took another deep breath, hanging his head low before glancing over at you again, red splotches appearing on his face from how frustrated he felt. “She didn’t know I fired Melody in January… and that you’re my PA now… and she thought that this new girl I’m suddenly talking about is actually my new girlfriend whom I did not introduce yet.”

“And you did not correct her on that…” you concluded, and Ashton shook his head, staring at the dashboard.

“Nooope. And she asked me if you would be able to join us for the holidays and before I knew it I’d already said yes…”

“Ash–”

“I just… I just wanted them to finally leave me alone!” he massaged his temple, a headache certainly starting to flare up from all the frustration he carried. “Every time I call home they are always, always asking me about my love life and I just– I hated how I always tell them that I don’t have anyone, how I don’t have time to date, and then… and then I panicked and I just said–”

“Ashton!” you raised your voice and that finally made him look at you, eyes big and maybe a little nervous, still chewing on his bottom lip. “I’m in, it’s fine.”

“It is? Yeah?” he perked up at your answer, desperation still lacing his voice. “You would do that?”

“Sure. After all, I’m your PA. It’s my job to sort out your things,” you took a little jab at him, and that made Ashton laugh a little, letting out the breath he was holding back.

“Thank you, Y/N. You really are saving my ass,” Ashton started pulling himself together, like he didn’t just have a nervous breakdown in front of you. “And of course you’ll be compensated for giving up your holiday for my sake.”

“We can talk about details later. I’ll schedule in a dinner for us, because we definitely need to talk about a lot of things…” you were already making a few notes for yourself before smiling at Ashton, opening the car door. “Do you feel like Italian or maybe something Asian-style for our first official date?”

“Really funny, Y/N,” a laugh hid in his voice as he rolled his eyes. “Surprise me?”

“Of course you would say that,” you shook your head, grabbing your things; after all, this was a weekly exchange between the two of you. “Alright, then I’ll see you on Monday if nothing comes up during the weekend.”

“Thank you again, really,” he gave you a little nod as you climbed out of the car, rolling the window down to call after you. “Have a good night, darling!”

You laughed at his attempt and waved him away, promising yourself that you’ll come up with a nickname for him as well so you can tease him in front of his family. If Ashton dragged you into this whole thing, the least you could do was to have some fun while fake dating your boss.

.

“Are you sure you don’t want to spend the night?” Ashton’s mother fussed with the lapels of his coat, not yet ready to let go of her son.

“We would really love to, but we both have early flights and the hotel is closer to the airport,” Ashton smiled at her, stopping her hands and instead holding them in his own. “It’s still a good hour until we arrive, and honestly, Y/N is not a morning person. Like, at all. And I really don’t want her to miss her flight now that we were able to get a last minute ticket.”

“It was really lovely spending time with you, Mrs. Irwin. Thank you for inviting me, truly, it was a pleasure,” you stepped next to them, letting her hug you as well as Ashton started saying goodbye to the rest of his family. “I really wish we could stay, but we really don’t have any other options.”

“I know, sweetheart. I’m grateful you’ve spent your holiday with us instead of your family, so I understand you want to be with them as well,” Anne Marie gave you another sweet smile, squeezing your hands just like Ashton did with her. “I’m so glad he found you. You complement each other perfectly. I’ve never seen my Ashton this happy, and I wanted to thank you for it.”

“Oh it’s… it’s nothing, really…” you stuttered at her words, suddenly feeling a little awkward; if only she knew that the whole thing was just a well-orchestrated show the two of you put together…

“Please, he looks at you with such adoration. Now I kinda understand why he was so nervous to bring you back home – he’s smitten with you, and there’s no way he would let anyone know that there is someone who has Mr. Big Boss wrapped around their finger,” she continued in a whisper, a twinkle in her eyes, like she was sharing a secret with you.

“Mom, please, don’t scare her away,” Ashton turned back to the two of you, laughing, his arm slipping around your waist. “We should go, darling. We still need to check in and all.”

“Sure, boo. Once again, thank you for everything. These last two weeks were incredible!”

“Please come back soon, both of you,” Anne Marie bid you goodbye one more time before you grabbed your bags and luggage, loading them into the car Ashton rented, then you were on your way back to the city.

Leaving two days earlier wasn’t in your plans, but right in the middle of your stay with Ashton’s family your mother called you up, asking if maybe you would be able to still visit them, even if it was just for a few days. You were ready to tell her that it was a really last minute invitation, and that you were kind of in the middle of something that actually involved your job and your boss, and really, you didn’t want to go and hear the latest family drama. But then that night when you told Ashton about it he was quick to realize that maybe you did want to go and see your family, and he pulled every possible string he could to get you a ticket.

“I’ll change your contact info to Mr. Big Boss,” you giggled, your head resting back against your seat as you looked at Ashton. “Though I kinda like Ashton Bear with the red heart.”

“You’re terrible. Was that really the best name you could come up with?” he groaned, sending you a quick smile as he drove down the road.

“Because Baby Shortcake and the cake emoji were so much better, you’re right,” your eyes rolled at the memory when you were both looking for his phone in your shared bedroom, finding it under the presents you’ve brought, your caller ID flashing across the screen. “How did I even become that?”

“It’s what you ordered for dessert on our third date,” he shrugged, his cheeks flushing pink. “I mean, on our date, when we were discussing everything and all.”

“When we were talking about coffee orders, and I might have confessed that I have a whole chart based on your moods and what kind of coffee you usually drink at that time? Because that was definitely a really good work date, and the absolute best strawberry shortcake I’ve ever had,” you smiled, a twinkle in your eyes. “You should definitely take me back for another dinner or something, I think I deserve it.”

“Only for the strawberry shortcake?” Ashton chuckled, but there was something else laced in his voice, something flirty and maybe hopeful.

“Definitely for the cake. But maybe for something else as well…” you let your answer linger between the two of you, not missing how Ashton tried to hide his smile in his scarf, mumbling a quiet ‘okay’ to you.

.

After two weeks of sharing the same bed it was a nice change that you were able to have one just for yourself, even though you were still sharing a room with Ashton. He told you to go ahead and take a shower while he sorted out some things, and you happily wrapped the robe around your body once you were done with your nightly routine. By that time Ashton had also come back and went to freshen up after you were finished, settling down next to you on the couch in his own robe. Before any of you could say a word someone knocked on the door and he quickly went to open it, appearing a moment later with a tray and two mugs.

“What’s this?” you smiled as you accepted the steaming cup, looking at your boss over the rim.

“Hot chocolate,” Ashton returned your smile, taking a small sip of his drink, licking the whipped cream off of his top lip. “I’m still in a Christmassy mood.”

“Yeah, me too. And our room definitely helps with that,” you nodded at the small tree in the corner along with the artificial fireplace in front of you, everything settling the mood for a perfect, quiet night you still had together – the very last one. “Though I really liked your Mom’s living room. It was really nice and cozy.”

“Yeah, it was… it was nice. Back at home. Thank you for coming with me once again,” Ashton stumbled through his words a little before looking at his phone, his lips twitching into a thin line before quickly shaking his head.

“You’re okay?” you did not miss his mood changing, and you thought something might have happened which caused it.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m good,” he gave you a forced smile, looking back at his mug, not really drinking it anymore. “Uhm… it’s midnight. You’re officially off duty, and no longer my girlfriend.”

“Oh,” you blinked at him a few times, realizing why his demeanour changed for a second to his usual boss one. “Yeah, of course. Thank you.”

Silence settled over the two of you as you both returned your attention to your hot chocolates, sipping on them quietly. You imagined that this moment would pass without any other thoughts, that once Ashton told you that your agreement has come to an end you would just fall back into your usual roles and act like nothing has happened in the last few weeks. But the truth was that you couldn’t forget about them: the dates you went on, the kisses you’ve shared, the vulnerable, intimate moments you witnessed from each other while you pretended to be lovers.

“You know…” you finally spoke after a few minutes. “I had so much fun during these two weeks with you. It was really lovely and it actually felt like… like something that Christmas with family really should be.”

“I really had so much fun with you too. Can’t remember the last time I felt like this,” Ashton’s mouth pulled into a little smile, nostalgia lacing his voice. “It was the first time that I– that I really wished I could stay a little longer.”

“I’m sorry you needed to leave because of me. You should have told me, I could have found a way to get here and catch my flight in the morning…”

“No, I– I wished that I could stay there… with you,” the confession finally slipped out of Ashton’s mouth, his eyes settling on you. “That you didn’t need to go home, and neither do I. That we would stay and just be together. Just a little longer.”

“I don’t have to go home if you don’t want me to,” you answered in a whisper, almost like you were scared that if you were any louder it would ruin the magic of the moment.

Ashton slowly put his mug down on the table in front of you before scooting closer and taking your cup as well, placing it next to his, eyes still trained on you. His palm curled around your jaw, your own hand sliding over his as he tipped your head forward, nose tracing yours for a moment before you felt his lips slowly press against your lips, soft and tasting so sweet. It was more than just the quick pecks you’ve exchanged in front of his family; a little moan escaped you at the kiss, and Ashton took that as a sign to tease his tongue against your bottom lip, taking your breath away for a second. Your free hand slipped onto his shoulder and up to the nape of his neck, fingers brushing through his curling hair to pull him closer, wanting to get lost in the kiss you’ve shared.

It was long minutes later when he finally pulled back a little, forehead resting against yours as he breathed deeply, the hot puffs of air tickling your skin. You felt a smile tug at the corner of your mouth, eyes still closed, the words softly falling from your lips:

“Hmm, a real kiss?”

“I would like to think they were all real,” Ashton chuckled, heat radiating from his cheeks, but the cheeky smile on his face gave him away.

“That’s why I needed to tell you to kiss me that very first time?” your fingers combed into his hair, tugging on his curls a little while pulling him back again, lips pressing together for another second.

“I’m not a damn fool…” Ashton mumbled against your skin, nuzzling his nose with yours. “Well, not anymore.”

His honesty made you laugh and you buried your face against his neck, stifling your giggles. Ashton wrapped his arms around you, keeping you close to his chest, palm rubbing up and down your back, something that he picked up during your time at his Mom’s house when you were cuddled up on the couch, watching Christmas movies together. You still remembered the first time you were forced to act like lovers and be all touchy with each other, and now it warmed your heart how naturally it came for the two of you.

“I’ve thought that the only reason why I asked you to come with me and pretend to be my girlfriend was simply because you’re my assistant, and you’re used to dealing with my shit,” Ashton sighed against your hair, his voice close to a whisper, and you held your breath as you listened to him. “I’ve told myself that whatever I was feeling during our dinner dates or quick post-work discussions was because it’s been a while since I had someone I could share anything with. Because I needed to pretend we’re together, and I needed to believe I have feelings for you. I told myself I’m not falling for you, that I cannot fall for you. But by the time we have arrived it was already too late…”

You pulled back just enough to look up at him again, foreheads touching, wanting to ask him something, but Ashton continued talking, his eyes sparkling in the colourful lights twinkling in the corner of the room.

“I think… I think I always had feelings for you. Maybe not as strong as now, but they were there. And every time we needed to act like a couple I just froze for a moment because I was fighting so hard to keep my feelings in check. And every time I just felt myself falling even more for you…” a little smile pulled at the corner of his mouth at his own confession, and you ran your fingers down his cheek, softly caressing it. “After those first few times… it was so easy, so comfortable – I liked that feeling with you, being comfortable. I’m not used to that with people.”

It wasn’t a question; it was a statement. And you did remember, every little moment from the past two weeks: all those times when you needed to face a new situation that required the both of you to put your boss–assistant relationship behind yourselves, get out of your comfort zones, and act like the loving couple you pretended to be. It made sense now, how Ashton always hesitated first, but then warmed up to you as time passed by. The long looks, the lingering touches, the unprompted little cuddles, the quiet moments shared in the morning. You could have acted like you always did, just two people having a work relationship. But somehow you always found yourselves close to the other.

“I was telling myself that I’m only feeling this because we’re pretending that we’re in love. That these things will pass soon, especially as we’re coming to the end of our agreement. Funny how I realized what I was really feeling by the time you have decided that you’ll go home to your parents. It made me realize that I might just lose my chance to tell you how I feel.”

“Well, that was… quite the confession,” you let out a little laugh, your own cheeks feeling warm as you cupped Ashton’s face in your hands. “Am I allowed to speak now?”

“Oh, shit, yeah! Of course,” Ashton groaned, trying to hide his blush from you, his dimples appearing as he smiled. “Sorry.”

“That’s okay. I know you’re good at motivational speeches,” you teased him, making him roll his eyes before looking back at you. “I liked whatever we had before we started fake dating. I love our work relationship, I love our dynamic. But truth to be told… it was really easy to fall in love with you. I always thought you were… decent and… handsome… definitely great humour. But I quickly told myself that I can either ruin this by having a crush on you, or you know… keep my job. And then you fired Melody…”

“…and you decided to keep your job,” he concluded, his voice sounding a little more quiet.

“I also knew that pursuing a relationship with you would be really difficult, seeing as you didn’t really have any breaks in the last few years. And I wasn’t sure how it could work out… PA by day, girlfriend by night? And anyway, I wasn’t even sure if you would like me like that.”

“Well, I wasn’t sure either… not until recently,” he said, nodding for you to continue.

“When you asked me to go on this trip with you, I– I told myself you were crazy. Then I realized I was also crazy for even just thinking about saying yes to your offer. But I thought it could be a fun way to spend Christmas if I’m not with my family, and it also kinda gave me the chance to pretend that you… that you like me. And I was gone from the moment I saw you at the airport, wearing your glasses and waiting for me with coffee… and it broke my heart that this would be only for two weeks.”

“That’s why you ended up saying yes to visiting your family, even though you didn’t want to do it before?” Ashton asked, brushing a few strands of hair away from your face.

“I had a moment when I felt really close to you, where I believed that this thing between us… it was real,” you confessed, eyes looking down. “And I felt that I might need a few days alone to sort out my feelings before going back to work with you, acting like nothing happened while we were here. Like we didn’t share the bed, we didn’t hold each other, and we definitely didn’t kiss.”

“Well, I don’t want to pretend that these two weeks never happened,” you felt him curl his arms around your waist, pulling you into his lap before tipping your chin up, making you look into his eyes. “It’s the happiest I’ve been for a long time now. And I really want to hold onto this feeling. I really want this to be real, you and me.”

“What about our jobs?” you sighed, fingers tangling into his hair and brushing it back from his forehead. “Cause I want this, I want you, more than anything. But I don’t want to give up on you, not as my boss, and definitely not as Ashton.”

“We’ll just try and work it out when we’re back, okay?” he cupped your cheek, leaning closer to press his lips softly against yours. “We’ll schedule a work dinner at that restaurant you liked and talk about it over a strawberry shortcake.”

“You’re terrible,” you scoffed, pressing a smiley kiss back onto his lips. “Do I have to make the reservation?”

“Hey now, I know I’m bad at scheduling, and that’s why I have you, but I’m taking you on that date myself,” Ashton giggled, mumbling his words between more kisses. “It’s what a real girlfriend deserves.”

“Can I keep your contact info as Ashton Bear? With the heart?” you nudged your nose against his as you kissed, his fingers tightening on your hips. “If you’re my real boyfriend now?”

“Surprise me?” his voice turned into a moan, locking his arms around you, your body pressed against his chest.

“Of course you would say that.”

His giggle filled the air, hearty and full of happiness before picking you up in his lap and taking you to the bedroom. There were a lot of things forgotten that night: setting an alarm for the next day. Your robes and the other bed. Staying on your sides as you fell asleep. You both forgot who you were pretending to be and who you were supposed to be.

That night you were finally just two people who fell in love during Christmas.

----------

@mymindwide @fuckyeah5sostakemehome @suchalonelysunflower @talkfastromance4 @ashtonsunflower @in-superbloom @wiiildflowerrr @lovelywordsblog @heyitskelseaj @sadistmichael

[holyghostbws]

heartbreaks and mistakes ; bws 💔

| Based on this request: hiii, do you take requests? if so, could you do an angst imagine where Brad is going thru a tough time/breakup and the band mates help him out? |

They met in december. Brad could still remember the first time it snowed that year because that same day he met her. In that very moment it had felt as if time had stop, he swore he could see the snowflakes falling in slow motion, glistening as they fell into the ground, almost as bright as her smile.

Every time they’d go out together, Brad would immediately reach for her hand. He didn’t have to look at it, he knew exactly the position of her fingers and how to intertwine them with his. If the air was too cold, he would gladly take his jacket off and put it around her shoulders; sometimes he secretly wished she would forget hers, just so he could give it his, let his arms be his blanket and let the world know she had someone. With time, forgotten clothes started to appear scattered around his flat, only for him to put them in an empty drawer that then became hers. Sometimes it wasn’t just clothes, sometimes it was an earring resting on her pillow, a scrunchie forgotten in the bathroom, the smell of her perfume in his sheets.

Brad could still picture every moment with her like it was a movie, he often found himself replaying memories in his head as if they were episodes of a tragic love story. It made no sense that he had burned and deleted all of their pictures together and even blocked her on social media, because their love was inked to his skin. Their relationship was built upon small, meaningful moments… she was home to Brad, but Brad wasn’t home to her.

Brad remembered the first time he met her parents. Unfortunately, it wasn’t something planned, they met them on one of their dates by accidentally running into them. She had introduced Brad as a friend although they were way past that state. Still, he said nothing and thought she had her reasons, maybe her parents were difficult, maybe she wanted to introduce him at a better time like a family gathering… he should’ve known. He should’ve known since the moment he said “i love you” and she never said it back, instead, she started a brand new conversation about weather. He had been foolish, he had been blinded by love and was too busy falling for her to see that he was the only one falling.

He had already pictured a future with her. They would host Christmas for their family and friends, full of peppermint-flavored kisses and presents, romantic dates on Valentines, picnics in the middle of flowers blooming, sweaty summers by the beach, matching outfits for Halloween… they never made it that far.

It was heartbreak after heartbreak for him during that relationship: “sorry I can’t meet your parents, I just think we should wait until the right moment”, “no, I can’t go out with you and your friends tonight, I have so much work to do”, “I’m so sorry I missed your concert, I know it was important to you and trust me, I hate myself for missing it but things got messy at work and they wouldn’t let me leave… you don’t want me getting fired, right?”, “I promise i’ll make it up to you”, “I swear it’s the last time that this happens”, “I’m sorry babe, please understand that it was out of my hands”, “Please believe me, I swear it won’t happen again”… There’s only so much pain a heart can take and Brad’s had been strong for so long, it was bound to happen: the breakup.

The blind fell to the floor on his birthday, when she didn’t show up. Just as many times before, she promised she’d be there on time, and he believed her, of course. Even he knew, deep in his heart, he was gonna be let down again, he decided to trust her; another mistake added to the already long list. Even in a room full of people who loved him, Brad felt miserable. How come everyone but her was there to celebrate him?

He wondered what he had done wrong to deserve that, maybe it was karma, maybe he was a shitty boyfriend, maybe it was a lesson he had to learn. It didn’t mattered why anymore, she didn’t love him and the only way to get through it was to blur everything out by getting wasted with his best mates, the ones that did show up, the ones that did care for him.

A week after his birthday, the call came.

“Hey, I think we need to talk” she said. The sentence every lover fears the most. The sentence that ends it all. Her voice sounded distant, like it was muffled. Hearing her break his heart for the millionth time would destroy him, he need to protect himself, so he tried to dissociate as much as he could from the conversation.

“About what?” He asked, trying to play it cool. He already knew, he knew exactly how it was going to go, he knew how she would try to act like she cared, like it was a difficult decision to make but after all it was the right choice.

“Can I see you? I’ll drop by your place.” He didn’t want to see her ever again, it would only make things worse for him, it would make him feel guilty when he didn’t have any reason to feel that way. It was true, but it was also true that he did want to see her, he wanted to see her everyday for the rest of his life, he wanted to see her when he woke up and when he went to sleep, he wanted to see her smiling and wanted to see her crying. Brad wanted to see her young face and then also her face after time had aged it. He wanted her, forever.

“I’m so sorry I didn’t make it” Was the first thing she said when he opened the door. Brad stood still and quiet and watched her face filling with something that seemed like regret.

“Did you even try to go?” He asked after a while. His voice was calm, he tried to appear neutral and unbothered but his eyes gave him away. There was no hiding the sadness and disappointment in them.

Her dropping her head to the floor was enough answer for him. She didn’t. And he knew that, still, it didn’t make it easier.

“I honestly don’t know what to say to you. I don’t even know why you’re here. It’s so obvious that you never cared and that you don’t feel the same way, so why bother? Don’t you have better things to do?” He still kept calm but could feel his insides shattering with every second that passed.

“Stop being so dramatic, Brad. I had a really shitty week and came here to apologize.” She rolled her eyes.

“Oh, sorry for bothering you and interrupting your apology, I have no right to be mad at you.” He could feel himself running out of patience.

“Oh god” She whined. “I knew it was a bad idea coming here, it’s impossible to talk to you when you’re like this…”

“You’re right, it was a bad idea for you to come here, you should go.” Brad said.

“I’m trying to tell you something, you asshole” She started raising her voice.

“I don’t want to hear it. I’m sick and tired of you, of always waiting for you just so you never show up, of keeping up with your bad moods and hurtful words, of always giving and receiving nothing back, I-“

“I’m sorry! I really am! I’m trying my best to be enough for you. I just want to be with you.” Her voice sounded high pitched, like she was about to cry but her eyes were dry.

“Cut the bullshit and don’t go wasting my time. Don’t waste yours. I see through your lies, I just pretended I didn’t because I loved you and wanted to believe you, but we can stop now.” The calmness in Brad faded away and was replaced by anger.

For a second, silence filled the atmosphere.

“I love you.” That was a stab that stroke to kill. It fueled him with rage and suddenly he wanted to stab her back, to hurt her as much as she did to him, but how could you hurt someone that simply doesn’t care?

Months ago, those three little words were all he wanted to hear. It’s funny how words mean nothing when they’re a little too late.

“Goodbye, y/n.”

💔

A week and a half was the longest he could keep the break up a secret from his band mates, they noticed his eyes had lost its sparkle and the bags under them.

“How you holding up mate?” James was the first one to ask. James already knew the answer to that question but felt like Brad could use the talking… that would’ve worked if Brad was communicative about his pain.

“I’m fine, actually.” Brad answered. The first days were rough for him but he had already managed to keep his feelings bottled up, regretting it and beating himself up would be of no use and besides, why would he keep being sad and mad about a relationship that was already dead? It was better to just move on and keep going on with his life, after all, the world wasn’t going to stop and nothing would change just because she didn’t love him.

“You know it’s okay to talk about your feelings, right? There’s no shame here.” James reassured him.

“Yeah, you can talk to us about anything.” Tristan intervened.

“There’s nothing to talk about. She never cared about me, why would I care about her?” Brad said, it sounded way more harsh that he intended to.

There was nothing his band mates could say that would make him feel better, that would at least ease the grieving. Memories stung him, it was like a disease with no cure and time was only a cruel reminder of a love that had maimed him.

“Yeah, mate. Fuck her. You can have any girl that you want, we should go out tonight.” Connor said. James wanted to kill him.

“Yeah, yeah. Let’s go out! You’ll forget about her in no time” Tristan chirped in.

“I think it’s a good idea to distract yourself but I also think you should talk about your feelings with someone and not just go and fuck the first woman you find.” James intervened, afraid of how the others would take his words.

“Oh shut up, James. What Brad needs right now is a night out to get wasted and meet a pretty face.” Tristan said with a laugh.

“Hey! Let’s go to Ibizaaaaaaa!” Connor screamed.

Brad stopped listening to his friends plans after that. He loved them, he really did, but none of them had the answers for mending his broken heart.

“Hey, uh, what if we try writing something?” Brad said after a while. Tristan and Connor stopped talking and turned their heads to him.

“Writing? Seriously?” Connor said in disbelief.

“I mean… sure, if that’s going to help you.” Tristan said and gave him a pat in his back.

“It’s a great idea! I’ll bring the guitar.” James said, seeing it as an opportunity for Brad to open up.

Brad had handwritten notes he found deep in his drawer right in his pocket: words of love that he had thought of turning into a song, into an album even… maybe those would now turn into an angry song or a sad one, or maybe into nothing. That was the magic of songwriting. After all, music and his friends had always been his therapy.

[shardofhope-fanfic]

Jimmothy. (2021, May- 2024, March, 7th)

I don't know if it's hilarious, or morbid that Jimmothy and his brother passed at the exact same time in my life. I don't mean a date, or anything so specific. But they left me during the transitory periods of my life when I had time to dedicate to them without any other worries. When Juice Box passed, it was too soon. I fought the reaper tooth and nail to give him more. He died short of his second birthday.

Jimmothy was made of tougher stuff than that, I suppose, but the march of time will wear us all down. Rats have it rougher than us, as after two years, their nerves began to fray and fail. I knew he was getting old in December when he began to waddle. Hind Leg degeneration had begun. I thought it would be different, this time. A slow decline into a peaceful death. I had time to come to terms with it. I thought it would be easier.

This monday, he seemed slightly off. He was still eating, but very little. All he wanted was apple sauce and attention, and I made an appointment for him to get checked out on Thursday. Not for any notion that I could keep him alive for much longer, but to make him comfortable.

Tuesday, he had stopped eating altogether and took a rapid downturn, only wanting to sleep, and occasionally cuddle. Strange, considering he was as independent as a rat could be. He hated being handled and coddled. And would only allow extended petting when he rode around on my shoulder like a pirate. Boys always tended to be, but that's what I loved about them. They were little teenagers, constantly embarrassed by their "Dad" being around, except when I fed them of course.

Later in the night, I knew that he wasn't long for this world. His hind legs had completely given up the ghost, and I couldn't coax him to even drink water. I thought it would be easier. It was not. I cried my eyes out like it was the first time I held him. I was so convinced that he would be gone in the morning, so I slept, getting mentally ready for burying the last of my first pair.

Yet he was still there in the morning, so my surprise. All that preparation crumbled in a moment, and I spent most of the day crying, petting him, and fretting over making him comfortable. I made a bed for him on my desk. I cried more, and I thought that maybe he would make it to the vet.

I spent an hour petting him as I listened to my records, holding him in my arms like I used to do when he was young as he rested. I made my peace then, I thought he may linger for a few more days and gently put him away to use the restroom.

by the time I got back, he was gone. died in the 3 min it took me to take a piss and wash my hands. His brother, of course, did the exact same thing to me.

In my heart, I feel like he was helping me get over him before I had to put him to rest. That he knew how upset I would be, how much I loved the little bastard and wanted to spend some time with me before his time was up. I like to think that, instead of he just wanted to die alone.

Either way, he was an important part of my life. Bought as a paid with his brother, during some of the worst years in my life. I'm better than I was then, healthier and happier, despite everything. Yet....Yet I feel a little lost, without them. Without my boys.

This doesn't even feel like a eulogy to me, more an explanation of what happened, and how much I miss him already. Yet, it feels like the best way to show what he was. He was a stubborn bastard who always wanted his way, despite whatever it was. But he loved everyone, even still.

Even still. I want him to have a little of the immortality that the internet provides, and thus, I write this. In the end, his stubbornness was a gift to me, giving me the time to spend some last moments with a pet I loved with all my heart.

Goodbye, my little bastard. I'll miss you.

[nerdzzone]

Temptations, Teasing, and the Ticking of Time

Summary: New Year’s Eve is a time that stirs up many different emotions - some find it overrated or disappointing while others find it inspiring and a chance for a new start - but after getting dragged to a party and hatching a plan, the one thing Madeline knows for sure is that her 2015 is going to get off to an unforgettable start.

Part of the Back To You series

-----

December 31 2014

While the week between Christmas and New Years Eve was commonly thought of as some kind of purgatory, it was one of Madeline’s favourite times. She loved Christmas and the chaos of everyone being together again, but with December being such a busy time as she rehearsed and then performed whatever show the ballet had picked that year - usually the Nutcracker - while also trying to buy presents and coordinate her journey home, it was nice to have a week with practically nothing to do.

It was also one of the few weeks of the year when Chris usually had no commitments, projects to film or meetings to attend which meant they got plenty of uninterrupted quality time together. They’d spent almost the entire week inside the comfort of their home, only leaving for the occasional walk or to pick up some takeout for dinner and they soaked up the time to reconnect.

“I feel sick,” Madeline groaned, dropping the empty bowl she’d been holding on to the floor beside the couch. “You shouldn’t have let me eat all that popcorn by myself.”

The credits rolled on the movie they’d been watching and Chris chuckled as he massaged her feet that were resting in his lap. It was a habit he’d developed whenever they were lounging around and Madeline began to wonder how she’d ever survived as a dancer for so many years without his services. She was used to the daily aches and pains of dancing for hours at a time, but the relief she’d found every time he pressed his fingers into the tight muscles and ligaments of her feet was something she knew she would miss when he went back to work.

“I learned a long time ago that I can’t stop you from doing anything that you want to do.”

“Yeah, but when you at least try then the threat of your ‘I told you so’ usually slows me down at least a little bit.”

“Does it?”

Chris shot her a skpetical look and Madeline couldn’t help but smile.

“Sometimes,” she shrugged. “It’s still worth a try.”

Chris teasingly shook his head as Madeline picked up the remote, returning to the Netflix home screen. 

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

Not bothering to respond, Madeline lazily skimmed through the movies on the screen, only half paying attention to what was being suggested until she realized that what she was scrolling past may as well be a collection dedicated to the man at the other end of the couch. She’d flicked by Not Another Teen Movie, Cellular, Captain America: The First Avengers, The Avengers, What’s Your Number, The Losers and Scott Pilgram vs. the World and even though Chris didn’t even seem to notice, her observation had a sudden wave of emotion flooding over her.

“Hey,” she nudged Chris with her foot to drag his attention away from the TV. “Have I told you lately how proud I am of you?”

Her question had a soft smile sliding onto Chris’ face as he raised a questioning eyebrow.

“Maybe not lately, but I know you are,” he assured her. “Why? What got you thinking about that?”

“This.” Madeline gestured to the TV with the remote in her hand before flicking back through all the movies and pointing out the ones he was in. “It’s pretty amazing. You’ve worked so hard and you’re so deserving of all your success.”

It felt like an understatement - like her words really couldn’t express how much his talent and dedication impressed her - but as she noticed a slight hint of colour rising in his cheeks, she thought it was safe to assume he knew how much she meant it. Reaching out an arm towards him, she gestured for him to come closer and lifted her feet so he could swivel his body and squeeze into the space between her and the back of the couch.

“I appreciate that, Maddie,” he said as he settled beside her, pressing a kiss to her shoulder once he was comfortable. “But I think most of it is just luck and I’m sure some people would probably argue that some of those movies were more bad luck than good.”

“What are you talking about?” Madeline asked as she reached up a hand to run her fingers through his hair. “I like all your movies.”

“That’s very sweet of you to say, but I can admit they’re not all masterpieces. Not Another Teen Movie wasn’t exactly a shining moment in my career.”

“I dunno if I agree with that,” Madeline protested. “Those whipped cream scenes got me through plenty of lonely nights.”

It was a new little tidbit of information that she was sharing and it quickly sparked Chris’ interest.

“Oh yeah? When was that?”

“When it first came out. I was young, pining away for you and desperate - I think I went into shock for a couple days after I saw it for the first time.”

“Really?” Chris asked as he shot her a smirk. “How old were you when that movie came out? Seventeen?”

“Yep, and it was way too much for my little virgin brain to handle,” she admitted, earning a bark of laughter from Chris that had her giggling along with him. “Seriously, I had to go lay down after I saw it. It was too much for me.”

“Well then, you must have had a heart attack when you saw the first Captain America movie,” Chris mused. “That scene when I ‘transform’ from scrawny Steve into my real chiseled self.”

There was a smugness to his voice and Madeline rolled her eyes as she attempted to keep his ego in check.

“Nah, I was over it by that point,” she informed him. “We were together by then and your ‘chiseled’ body was old news to me.”

“Oh, gee, thanks,” Chris huffed. “Good to know I don’t impress you anymore.”

There was a teasing edge to his voice, but Madeline was quick to reassure him.

“That’s not what I said. I’m always impressed by you, but your muscles aren’t such a shock to me on screen when I get my own private shows every night.”

“Okay, that’s fair,” Chris agreed. “But I will say that it’s still not great if my body is the best thing about some of my movies.”

“Well, it’s better than nothing,” Madeline shrugged with a smile. “But there’s lots to love about most of your movies. Maybe we should do a Chris Evans movie marathon tonight. We can go through every movie you’ve ever made and I can tell you why I love each and every one.”

“Oh yeah, cringing at my own bad performances all night sounds like a great time,” Chris scoffed, his words dripping with sarcasm. “But fortunately, we don’t have time for that. We’ve got Anna’s party, remember?”

The reminder of their plans had Madeline wrinkling her nose in displeasure. She hadn’t remembered and the thought of leaving their little bubble of comfort where Chris was cuddled into her side was entirely unappealing. She loved Chris’ friends and she knew he was excited to see them, but socializing after their week of solitude seemed like too much of a hassle and she always felt that New Year's Eve was notorious for being overhyped.

“Do we have to go?” She asked. “Can we stay here if I promise not to make you watch all your movies?”

“Yes, we have to go,” Chris insisted. “I told her we’d be there and everyone’s been givin’ me grief all week for being such a recluse, we need to go out before we go stir crazy.”

Hoping to win him over, Madeline scratched her fingers lightly against his scalp in the way that she knew would draw a purr of comfort from his lips.

“Spending time with you is my favourite thing, I could stay here forever and never go crazy.”

“Nice try,” Chris smiled as he lifted his head to look at her. “I’m surprised you made it this long, usually you can barely sit still long enough to get through a movie.”

“That’s because I’m so used to dancing all day and burning off all my energy,” she pointed out. “But being with you keeps me grounded, I could stay like this forever.”

While she did have ulterior motives, her words were very much true. It was hard for her to take a day off and be lazy when she spent so much of her time being very physically active, but spending time with Chris the way she had during their little break really did help her relax. However, while Chris knew that there was a sincerity to her words, he wasn’t about to fall for her manipulation as he pushed himself up and out of her grasp.

“I could stay here forever too,” he assured her, leaning down to press a kiss to her lips before climbing off the couch completely. “But we can come right back and spend all day here again tomorrow.”

Madeline whined, but Chris simply let out a laugh at her lack of enthusiasm and grabbed her hands to pull her up to her feet.

“It’ll be fun, I promise.”

“I know,” Madeline sighed, accepting defeat as she leaned against his chest. “I guess I should go make myself look pretty.”

“You always look pretty, no effort required for that part.”

“Yeah?” Madeline smiled, moving out of his arms and gesturing to her sweatpants and messy bun. “You think I could show up like this?”

“I wouldn’t care,” Chris shrugged. “But you might be a little underdressed.”

“That’s true. What time are we leaving? How long do I have?”

“About an hour and a half,” Chris told her after a quick glance at his watch. “Scott’s going too so he said he’d pick us up and drive us over.”

After nodding to acknowledge that she’d heard the answer, Madeline stretched to shake off the stiffness of laying on the couch all day and dragged herself towards their bedroom to get ready.

-

The sound of a long, low whistle from the doorway had Madeline pulling her attention off of her reflection in the mirror and turning to face Chris as she slipped the back onto her earring.

“You’re pretty dressed up for someone who didn’t even want to go out tonight.”

Madeline smiled as she smoothed down the front of the black dress she was wearing. It was short and it was tight, covering enough to keep it classy but not enough to prevent Chris’ mind from drifting to thoughts of the soft skin and curves that remained covered.

“Well, if we’re going then I have to put in a little effort,” she shrugged. “Do I look okay?”

The soft smirk on her face had Chris suspecting that she knew exactly how good she looked, but he was powerless to resist her fishing for a compliment.

“You look gorgeous,” he assured her as he crossed the room and slid an arm around her waist. “In fact, you look so gorgeous that I’m starting to regret our decision. Maybe we should just stay home…”

Madeline leaned into his touch as she let her arms slide around his neck and let out a questioning hum.

“Our decision? I think you mean your decision, my decision was to stay home.”

“That’s true,” Chris nodded. “But I’m not too proud to admit that I was wrong.”

“Well, what a shame that you didn’t have that little realization earlier,” Madeline smirked. “Because now that I’m all dressed up, it would be a waste of my outfit if we just stayed home.”

Chris dipped his head to hover his lips above hers as he let his hand wander down to her hips and pull them close against his own.

“I don’t think it would be a waste at all,” he insisted. “In fact, I think that dress would look even better on the floor than it does on you.”

He knew what he was doing and his deep, enticing voice sent a tingle down Madeline’s spine that had her powerless to resist as he moved forward to capture her in a searing kiss. His ferocity had her tightening her grip to keep herself steady, but as he tried to deepen the kiss even further, Madeline felt a momentary clarity in the fog of her brain and found the strength to wiggle out of his grasp.

“No,” she said firmly, pointing her finger at him warningly. “You made it very clear that we have to go to this party so don’t try to distract me now with your cheesy lines and sultry voice!”

“I’m not tryin’ anything.'' Chris shrugged in an entirely unconvincing attempt at seeming innocent. “It’s not my fault that you’ve made yourself look so irresistible.”

“It is your fault actually because you’re the one who wanted to go out,” Madeline reminded him, moving towards the closet and plucking a pair of strappy silver heels off the top of the shoe rack. “And now we don’t have time for any of those kinds of shenanigans.”

When she’d selected her outfit for the night, payback had been on her mind - if Chris was going to drag her to a party then she was going to make him regret it - and she was disappointed by how quickly he’d managed to regain the upper hand with a few sweet words and a steamy kiss. However, getting Chris worked up was one of her best talents. She was determined to not be so easily beaten and knew his weaknesses well so - desperate to get her plan back on track - Madeline made sure her back was still facing Chris as she bent at the waist to slip on her shoes.

She could feel his eyes burning into her as her position had the dress pulling tightly against the curve of her ass with the hem sliding dangerously high at the top of her thighs. It was a double edged sword as the choked groan she heard from the other side of the room was enough to have her nearly exposed underwear growing damp, but she tried to keep her composure and an air of nonchalance as she finished the task at hand and straightened her back once again.

“Are you going to get changed?” She surprised herself with the cool even tone she achieved as she pulled the dress back down to a more respectable length. “You should hurry if you are, Scott will probably be here any minute.”

Knowing her words were true, Madeline didn’t wait for a response before leaving the room. She knew she’d need a moment to compose herself before Scott arrived, but as she made it to the kitchen and tossed back a cold glass of water to take the edge off, she knew that the little game that she’d started would make for a very interesting night.

-

As reluctant as Madeline was to attend the party that night, she had to admit that it was the right choice. With everyone busy with their own lives and families, the group didn’t get as many opportunities to get together as they used to when they were younger and when they did manage to reunite, it was always a special time. She also knew how much it meant to Chris to be able to let loose and relax in an environment where he knew that he didn’t have to be on guard for cameras sneaking pictures or watch every word that came out of his mouth. The way he lit up as soon as they walked into Anna’s house made all the hassle of dragging herself off the couch and getting ready worth it.

She followed Chris to the kitchen where they dropped off their contribution to the communal drink pile and helped themselves to a beverage - beer for Chris and a generously portioned gin and tonic for Madeline - but as Chris fell into a conversation with his friend Mark, Madeline wandered off in search of their hostess.

It wasn’t as easy a task as she’d expected as the cozy little house was filled with about thirty people and almost all of them interrupted her mission to say hello and ask how she was doing, but eventually Madeline tracked Anna down by the stereo she was using as a DJ booth.

“Madeline, hi!” she grinned, wrapping Madeline in a hug as soon as she noticed her. “I’m so glad you guys made it!”

“Me too,” Madeline matched her smile. “It’s been way too long.”

“It really has, I don’t think I’ve seen you since before I was engaged.”

“That’s true,” Madeline nodded, her eyes lighting up as another thought struck her. “Show me your ring! I haven’t seen it in person yet!”

Beaming proudly, Anna eagerly held her hand in front of Madeline’s face.

“Oh my gosh, it’s gorgeous,” Madeline gushed. “Did you pick it out?”

“Nope, Gavin chose it all by himself. We’d had a few conversations in the past, enough to give him an idea of what I might like, but he picked it out.”

“Well, he did great!”

“He did, didn’t he?” Another voice cut in, drawing Madeline and Anna’s attention towards Mark’s wife, Alissa, as she joined their conversation. “Maybe he could give Chris a few tips.”

She shot Madeline a wink that earned her a laugh at the comment, but Anna’s eyes lit up.

“He must be thinking about it,” she mused. “You two have been together for so long now.”

“We already feel like an old married couple sometimes,” Madeline joked, but she shrugged her shoulders as she sipped her drink. “We aren’t in a big rush though. We talk about it every now and then, but Chris is so busy with Marvel and trying to fit in all the other projects he wants to work on, it would be hard to fit in a wedding too.”

“That’s a very good point,” Anna conceded as she nodded in agreement. “Planning a wedding is way more time consuming than I thought it would be.”

“Has it been really hard?”

“It’s been way harder than I expected,” Anna admitted. “There’s just so many things to keep track of and so many opinions to coordinate. Every time I think I’ve got things under control, someone points out another five things that I haven’t even thought of.”

Her answer had Madeline feeling a pang of guilt. While Anna had been Chris’ friend first, they’d always been close and she felt bad for not being more available to help with the wedding planning process.

“Well, I’ll be free for most of January if there’s anything I can help you with…”

“Thanks,” Anna smiled. “I should be okay, but I’ll keep it in mind. Honestly though, with a job like yours, you’d need to take at least a year off if you were trying to plan a wedding. No one tells you how hard it is.”

Just the thought of being forced to take that much time away from her career as she was finally really hitting her stride had Madeline’s stomach turning, but - as it wasn’t an imminent issue - she pushed the idea from her mind and kept the smile on her face.

“That’s why we’re not in a rush,” she informed them. “We’re happy with how things are now. It would be nice to get married, but I already know that Chris is the person I’m meant to be with and we’re in a good place right now with things just the way they are.”

“I still can’t believe how long it took you two to figure things out,” Alissa smiled, shaking her head. “I remember when Mark and I first started dating and I met you and Chris at a party, I spent the whole night thinking that you were a couple and I didn’t believe Mark when he told me that you weren’t. I thought he was pranking me until Chris started dating someone else.”

“It was always obvious to everyone, but them,” Anna agreed, playfully rolling her eyes. “I’ve probably told you both this story before, but when I went to my first Evans party when I was like fifteen, I asked him how long he’d been in love with you. He got so mad and said I was gross because you were ‘just a kid’ but Lisa gave me a look and I knew that I was right.”

“Everyone always says that, but I’m not sure it’s true,” Madeline mused with a soft smile. “I mean, I was head over heels for him for as long as I can remember, but he always says he didn’t realize how he felt until right before he told me.”

“Just because he didn’t realize doesn’t mean he didn’t feel that way,” Alissa pointed out. “He’s loved you as long as I’ve known him and I would bet money on that.”

They’d discussed it many times over the years, but Madeline had always remained skeptical. She’d spent so many years searching for any sign of affection from him that went beyond anything brotherly and it was hard for her to believe that it had been so obvious to everyone else when she’d never seen it. However, she knew how much he loved her now and a soft smile slid onto her face as she caught sight of him across the room.

Probably inspired by her own enticing outfit, Chris had dressed up for the occasion. Anna had been clear that she wanted everyone to put a little effort in, but Chris had gone above and beyond. Not that it took much effort for him to look good with his Captain America muscles lingering under the cover of a slightly too tight shirt. Madeline had no doubts that he’d picked one a size too small just to make her sweat all night, but she had no shame in admitting that it worked. Chris was an incredibly beautiful man and she struggled to believe that he was all hers.

“See, look at that,” Alissa’s voice pulled her out of her thoughts. “Look at how she’s looking at him, after all this time she’s still smitten.”

“Or horny,” Anna giggled, her already tipsy state encouraging a little extra honesty. “I know that look and it looks like more than just a look of love to me.”

Madeline’s cheeks burned from being caught, but knowing that any denial would result in more teasing, she limited her response to a simple murmured ‘shut up’ as she tossed back the last of her drink. Excusing herself under the guise of needing to top up her cup, Madeline slipped away from the conversation as her mind wandered to the many schemes she’d thought up on the way to the party. Her payback wasn’t going to be limited to just her flattering outfit - she had many ideas of how to make Chris regret being so determined to leave the house - and she was eager to get started on her revenge.

Mastering the art of discretion and managing to go unnoticed by everyone except Chris, she spent the rest of the evening splitting her time between socialising and catching up with their old friends and driving him wild.

Every chance she got, she found a way to tease him. From subtle things like standing a little too close and stretching up to whisper naughty things in his ear to bolder moves like sitting on his lap when there was conveniently no other chair - wiggling as she tried to get comfortable, just for good measure - and asking for a sip of his beer just to spend a little too long sucking on the neck of the bottle. Chris played it very cool - limiting his reactions to a raised eyebrow, a slight groan or the occasional whispered warning if she got under his skin enough - and his restraint had her wondering if perhaps her tactics were a tad too subtle.

However, after sneaking off to the bathroom just before midnight, Madeline had one more unignorable trick up her sleeve. The exciting naughtiness of what she was about to do had her heart beating just a little bit faster in her chest as she tracked him down and politely interrupted his conversation before pulling him away from the group he was talking to.

“I’ve got something for you,” she told him, feeling the nerves bubble up inside her as Chris raised a curious eyebrow.

“A present?”

“Sorta…”

Madeline flashed him a smirk before slipping her hand into his and passing him the panties that she’d removed in the bathroom. It took him a moment to realize what she’d done, but Madeline could see his eyes widen when he figured it out. The needy groan that fell from his lips had them both grateful for the volume of the music, but as Chris slipped her underwear into his pocket and tossed back the last of his beer, the look on his face told Madeline that she was in trouble.

“Let’s go,” Chris demanded. “We’re leaving.”

“What?” Madeline giggled. “We can’t go now, it’s almost time for the countdown.”

She could see Chris’ jaw clench as he mulled over their options until he gave her a curt nod.

“Okay, we’ll stay for a few more minutes,” he agreed. “But be careful, Madeline, or I’ll put you over my lap here in front of everyone.”

His words sent a flash of arousal through her and had her knees suddenly feeling weak, but she managed to regain her composure enough to reply.

“Oh, Chris, don’t threaten me with a good time.”

Shooting him a wink, Madeline scurried away before he had time to respond to her comment. She felt like she was on fire as she buzzed with anticipation, but she tried to reign in her excitement to avoid catching too much attention. In an attempt to distract herself, she tracked down Anna who was frantically - and very sloppily - filling up champagne flutes for everyone to have at midnight.

“Here, let me help,” Madeline smiled, picking up a bottle off the counter as she steadied the slight shake of her hand. “Why don’t I pour and you can hand them out?”

Anna happily accepted her support and having a task to keep her occupied helped take Madeline’s mind off of the situation that she’d gotten herself into, but once all the drinks were handed out and everyone gathered in front of the TV to watch the ball drop, Madeline couldn’t escape Chris any longer as he slid an arm around her waist. She flashed him an innocent smile as they counted down with all their friends, but the way he captured her lips as the sounds of ‘Happy New Year’ echoed around them had Madeline feeling very confident that their 2015 would be starting off with quite a bang.

-

Chris was reluctant to let Madeline out of his sight after the excitement of the new year beginning had calmed down. The party was still in full swing, but neither of them had much appetite left for anything but each other and it only took half an hour for Chris to lose any semblance of patience as the underwear that was burning a hole in his pocket had him tightening his grip on Madeline and demanding that they make an exit. She agreed, but couldn’t resist teasing him just a little bit more as she took her time going around the room and making sure that she said goodbye to each and every one of their friends. Chris found himself grateful for his many years of acting experience - using it to hide his displeasure at the delay - but he dragged her out the door as soon as she finished her performance.

The ride home was almost completely silent - something Madeline assumed was mostly out of respect for their uber driver - but she was surprised when they got home and the silence continued. She hung up her coat and followed Chris down the hall to their bedroom, but as he shrugged off the blazer he was wearing and let out a sigh, Madeline wondered briefly if she’d taken things too far.

“Are you okay?”

Her tentative question pulled Chris’ gaze up to meet hers and the fire in his eyes was reassuring before he even spoke.

“I’m fine,” he assured her. “I’m just trying to figure out what I should do with you.”

“Oh,” Madeline bit back a smile as she slipped off her shoes. “Well, I can think of a few suggestions.”

The sound of Chris’ deep chuckle filled her ears, but the dark edge to it had her anticipation rising again.

“I’m sure you can,” he nodded. “But after how you’ve behaved all night, I think you might need to be taught a lesson first.”

“Like a spanking?”

Madeline tried to keep the hopeful edge out of her voice, but as Chris smirked and shook his head, it was clear that he was onto her.

“As you pointed out earlier, I’m not sure that would be much of a punishment for you anymore.”

“I don’t think I need a punishment,” Madeline argued, although they both knew it was half-hearted. “I was just having a little fun…”

“Oh, c’mon,” Chris rolled his eyes, moving his hand to his back pocket to pull out his evidence. “Handing me your fuckin’ panties in the middle of a room full of my friends is more than a little fun! You were deliberately teasing me all night!”

As Madeline thought back to the look on his face when he’d realized what she was handing him, she couldn’t hold back the giggle that slipped from her lips. She saw a flicker of a smirk on Chris’ face too, but he held it together as he let her underwear fall onto the floor.

“Oh, you think it’s funny, do you?” He asked, not waiting for her to answer before he continued. “Well, let’s see if you’re still laughing by the time I’m done with you. Take off your clothes.”

His request caught Madeline off guard and she hesitated slightly.

“What?”

“You heard me,” he insisted. “Strip.”

He crossed his arm as he repeated the demand, but Madeline’s stubbornness was still bubbling to the surface.

“Please,” she reminded him. “It’s important to say ‘please’.”

She waited, but the only further response was a stern raise of his eyebrow and Madeline found herself powerless to resist. It was entertaining to wind him up and she had no doubt that she would enjoy whatever consequences he was about to dole out, but she had a feeling that she’d pushed him far enough already and didn’t want to test her luck.

Reaching up to slowly pull down her zipper, she did her best to pull the tight dress up over her head in a seductive way, but a blush quickly covered her cheeks as she realized that her underwear was already laying on the floor by Chris’ feet. She let the dress fall down beside her before lifting her hands to the clasp of her bra - leaving her completely exposed to him - and although she did her best to feign confidence, there was always something about being naked when Chris was not that left her feeling particularly vulnerable. The smirk on his face as his eyes raked over her body told her that perhaps that was his intention.

“You’re so fuckin’ gorgeous,” he praised her as he made his way across the room until he was close enough for his warm hand slid around her bare waist, sending a shiver tingling down Madeline’s spine. “You don’t need to work so hard to get me turned on, just seeing you like this is enough for me.”

“I know,” Madeline admitted as she leaned into his chest. “But it’s kinda fun to watch you squirm…”

“Well, now I think you owe me a little satisfaction, don’t you think?”

Madeline nodded eagerly as she stretched up to press her lips against his neck. The feel of his clothing against her skin was a clear reminder of who was in control, but the way his hands slid to her ass to pull her hips against the hardening in his pants had Madeline feeling very pleased with her efforts that evening. She continued licking and sucking at his skin as she gently rocked against him, but it didn’t take long for Chris’ grip to tighten before he pushed her away.

She was surprised by the sudden movement, but as his hands went to the buckle of his belt, she realized what he wanted and a smile slid onto her face.

“Get on your knees,” he instructed, his voice raspier as his arousal grew. He waited until she did as he requested and she watched as he pushed down his pants enough to start gently stroking himself. “I was debating just tying you up and making you watch me deal with the problem myself, but I think you should probably put in a little effort.”

The thought of not being able to finish what she’d started filled Madeline with dread and she moved quickly towards him before he could change his mind.

There was something about kneeling in front of him that she’d always loved, but doing it while she was naked and he hadn’t even bothered to undress had Madeline burning with desire. Her need to tease him was shifting into a need to please him and she eagerly took him in her hand, revelling in the feel of his soft skin. 

She stroked him a few times to make sure he was nice and ready for her before leaning forward to trace her tongue along his length and taking him into her mouth. The groan that left his mouth spurred her on as she let him slide over her tongue, but as his hand moved to grip the back of her head, the wetness growing between her legs became almost unignorable. She stayed focused on the task at hand as she hollowed her cheeks and slowly bobbed her head, but as she let her free hand drift down to between her thighs, she felt her head jerk backwards and as her gaze was forced up to meet Chris’ the smug look in his eyes had a whimper falling from her lips.

“Did I say you could touch yourself?” He waited for her to whine out a reluctant ‘no’ before he continued. “Then keep your hands where I can see them or I’ll have to tie them behind your back.”

It almost pained her to do so, but she did as he instructed and moved her hand, settling for rubbing her thighs together in an attempt to get some friction. The lack of relief that action gave her increased her urgency, but it appeared that Chris was losing his composure as well. He waited for her lips to wrap around him again before thrusting his hips towards her and forcing himself towards the back of her throat. The unexpected action had her gagging slightly, but Chris mercifully stilled as she adjusted.

“You good, baby?”

She nodded as best she could despite the watering of her eyes and once Chris was sure she was okay, he continued the movement of his hips. The grip in her hair was tight and the snap of his hips was sharp, but Madeline soaked up every moment of it. 

She knew it wasn’t something that everyone would understand, but there was a comfort she found in Chris really taking control. Her training, rehearsals and performances required a high level of self-discipline - she had to be incredibly focused throughout almost every day of her life because letting her concentration slip was putting herself at risk for serious, career ending injury - so she savoured every opportunity she was given to let go and let someone else call the shots for a while. She also relished in the trust it took to let Chris have his way with her. She knew that he’d never push her too far or cross any line that she wasn’t okay with and the intimacy that closeness created only added to her pleasure.  

That knowledge was what helped her stay calm as he fucked into her mouth at a steady pace. There was a constant stream of curses and encouragement falling from his lips, but as he let out a strangled groan and tightened his grip in her hair even more, Madeline knew he was close.

“Fuck, Maddie,” he growled. “You’re takin’ me so well, your mouth feels so good.”

His words had Madeline letting out a hum of pride and the effect it had on Chris was immediate. His hips stuttered just briefly, giving her a chance to stroke her tongue along the vein on the underside of his cock. The sensation had him thrusting forward just a few more quick times before he choked out a warning and spilled in her mouth.

He tensed - pulling Madeline’s head slightly away from him as she swallowed - but as the pleasure of his release started to wane, he relaxed his grip and moved his hand allowing Madeline to let him fall completely out of her mouth. The need for relief had Madeline wanting to spring to her feet and push Chris onto the bed, but her desire to follow his instructions had her staying on her knees, resting back on her heels and looking up at him until he flashed her a smirk and took a moment to pull his pants back up before holding out a hand to help her to her feet.

She felt a flash of disappointment that he’d chosen to keep his clothes on, but she forced back a pout as he pulled her into his arms.

“You did so good, baby,” he murmured into her hair. “Fuck, you’re amazing.”

The rumble of his voice had Madeline lifting her head from his chest to flash him her best puppy dog eyes.

“Amazing enough for you to fuck me now?”

He chuckled at her brazen request, but the look in his eyes told Madeline that he wasn’t done with her yet.

“I dunno,” he mused. “You teased me for hours tonight. Hardly seems fair that you only have to suffer for a few minutes…”

“Chris…” Madeline wasn’t proud of the whiny way his name fell from her lips, but after the evening of teasing and the build up of what they’d just done, the thought of waiting any longer made her want to cry. “You just said that I did a good job, I think I’ve made up for it.”

Chris took a moment to contemplate her argument before he reluctantly nodded and slipped out of her grasp so he could lead her to the bed, but Madeline should have known that it wouldn’t be that easy.

After waiting for her to lay down, Chris followed but kept some distance between them as he laid on his side next to her. Madeline frowned and reached for his shirt in an attempt to pull him on top of her, but he simply chuckled in response as he let his hand slide over the soft skin of her stomach and leaned down to press his lips against hers in a brief kiss.

“Patience…”

Another whine slipped from Madeline’s lips, but the feeling of his hands on her was enough of a distraction to keep her from voicing the desperation that she was feeling. She let a hand slip behind his neck to pull him back down for another kiss and was relieved when he didn’t resist or scold her for taking initiative as the simple sensation of his lips against hers was almost enough to push her over the edge. She was so tightly wound after the build up of all her teasing and the pleasure of pleasing him that she felt like she was about to explode as he slipped his tongue into her mouth, but that feeling was nothing compared to what she felt when his hand finally drifted down to the inside of her thigh. Her breath hitched as the suspense bubbled through her body and she was relieved when he didn’t make her wait very long before his hand moved a little higher and settled between her legs.

Unable to focus on anything else, Madeline’s head fell back against the pillow as Chris’ fingers just barely ghosting over the sensitive area had a moan falling from her lips. Her eyes scrunched shut as she pressed her hips up to encourage Chris to increase the friction and when he did as she’d silently requested and she opened her eyes again, the smirk on his face pulled another whimper from her.

“Is that what you wanted?” He asked, pressing his thumb against the little bundle of nerves that had been screaming for his attention as he slid a couple fingers inside her. “God, you’re so wet. Looks like all the teasing backfired, you’re more of a mess than I ever was…”

Madeline wanted to argue that claim - to point out that the way he reacted when she’d handed him her underwear showed that he had been just as worked up as she was - but she didn’t want to say anything that would take his focus away from what he was doing and the way that he curled his fingers quickly cleared her mind of any protests. She gasped and bucked her hips as she felt herself climbing towards her peak already, but as she tightened her grip on his shirt and moaned out his name, she suddenly felt his hand pull away.

The shock had her letting out a strangled cry as she felt herself twitching, her body itching for a release.

“Chris!” She groaned. “I was so close!”

“I know,” Chris smirked. “But I’m not sure you’ve earned that yet…”

“I have,” Madeline protested. “Please, Chris. I need it. I need you!”

Her begging only deepened the gratified look on his face.

“Should’ve thought of that before you spent the whole night driving me crazy.”

“That’s not fair,” she whimpered, but as she noticed that despite his previous orgasm his pants were already growing quite tight, she tried a different tactic. “Don’t you wanna fuck me? Don’t you wanna feel me wrapped around your cock?”

“I’m feeling pretty satisfied,” Chris informed her with a shrug. “I can do this all day.”

Despite her frustration and the tension of the moment, his words had a smirk sliding onto Madeline’s face and as Chris realized what he’d said, he let out a groan.

“Don’t-”

“Wow,” Madeline giggled. “I didn’t realize I was about to fuck the real Steve Rogers.”

A quick flick of his fingers back over her clit had any hint of amusement sliding off of Madeline’s face as a moan fell from her lips.

“I don’t think you’re really in a position to be making jokes right now, sweetheart,” he pointed out. “And you’re not gonna be fuckin’ anyone if you’re not careful.”

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” Madeline groaned as he moved his hand back to where it had been stroking the top of her thigh. “Please, Chris. I need it.”

Chris didn’t comment on her pleading and Madeline stayed quiet, worried that any further signs of her desperation would just lead Chris to drawing out the process even more. She squirmed beneath the gentle touch of his hand as she tried to slow down her heart as it raced in her chest and she felt a wave of relief when - after a few minutes - Chris slid his hand back up to touch her again.

However, the relief was short-lived as he repeated his earlier actions and stopped, once again, just before she could reach her peak. The frustration she felt almost brought tears to her eyes, but she managed to bite back any arguments as she knew from previous experience that they would be futile.

“Good girl,” Chris murmured, clearly pleased with her acceptance of the situation. “It’ll be worth it, I promise.”

Madeline was unconvinced - especially when his torment began to seem endless. She lost count of the number of times that he brought her tortuously close to the edge before leaving her hanging. He used his hands, his mouth, teasing her nipples relentlessly as his fingers stroked every sensitive spot he could reach. It was a game they knew well, but it didn’t usually start when Madeline was already so eager for a release and she felt like she’d never been so desperate or worked up in her life,

“Please,” she finally whimpered as yet another peak began to fade without release. While she was sure that it hadn’t been more than probably thirty minutes since his teasing began, it felt like hours and Madeline wasn’t sure she could take much more. “It hurts, Chris.”

Something in the tone of her begging must have told him that her desperation was shifting into despair or perhaps it was his own resolve beginning to crack because Chris pressed a quick and reassuring kiss to her lips before nodding and slipping from the bed. The distance between them had Madeline letting out a gentle whine of protest, but Chris ignored it as he pulled his shirt over his head and shoved down his pants with an urgency that showed just how much he was struggling too. 

By the time he was naked and crawling back over Madeline, neither of them had any restraint left. Madeline parted her legs for him with no hesitation and Chris lined himself up, sinking inside her as soon as he was close enough. The moan of pure pleasure that Madeline let out as the sensation had her arching up towards him was almost enough to finish Chris off before he’d even started, but he mustered up enough self-control to begin slowly moving his hips. It took barely more than a few seconds for Madeline’s nails to start digging into Chris’ back and he dipped his head down to her neck, nipping at the skin before trailing his lips up to ear.

“You’ve earned it, baby,” he murmured. “You can let go.”

His assurance was all Madeline needed to finally lose control as the coil that had been continuously tightening in her belly snapped and sent her flying over the edge of her release. The pleasure was blinding as she clung to Chris with his name pouring out of her mouth like a prayer. Watching her fall apart had always been one of Chris’ biggest weaknesses and the sight spurred him on even more. Lifting her leg onto his shoulder to help him get even deeper and gripping her thigh tightly for leverage, he snapped his hips at an unrelenting pace as he desperately chased his own peak. He felt Madeline relax beneath him when her pleasure began to subside, but a shift of his hips had her eyes widening again as he hit the perfect spot inside her.

Unsure whether she was still feeling the lingering waves of her first release or quickly building up to another one, Madeline pressed her hips up to meet Chris’ with every thrust, savoring the feeling that she’d been begging for . She was vaguely aware of the praise that was pouring from his lips, but she was too blissed out to pay much attention, feeling herself begin to quiver and clench around him as she lost control again. The sensation was too much for Chris to handle a second time and a few more thrusts of his hips had him following her over the edge with a deep groan of his own. His grip on her leg became bruisingly tight as he slowed his movements until they were both past their peak before leaning his forehead against her calf for a moment until he found the strength to pull out of her completely.

As he rolled onto his back beside her, he quickly pulled her into his arms as her body trembled with the intensity of her release. It wasn’t uncommon after some of their more unrestrained nights together and Chris knew how important it was to guide her through the aftermath of those moments and keep her feeling safe. Knowing she needed a close connection as she composed herself, he kept her pressed tightly to his side and mumbled assurances into her hair as he showered her with appreciative kisses until he felt her body start to calm down and relax into his embrace.

Always eager to make sure he hadn’t pushed her too far, he lazily rubbed his thumb across her shoulder as he checked in.

“How are you doing?”

“I’m good, I’m great,” she assured him, tilting her head to flash him a soft smile. “That was incredible.”

“Yeah? It wasn’t too much for you?”

“No, not at all.” She pressed her lips against his chest, hoping her affection would convince him of her sincerity before she voiced a question of her own. “Was I too much for you? I hope I didn’t annoy you with all my distractions tonight.”

“Annoy me?” Chris scoffed, making it clear just how ludicrous he found that suggestion to be. “You know I love it when you drive me wild, gives me an excuse to teach you a lesson.”

“Well, this was a lesson that I won’t forget anytime soon…”

Madeline felt a puff of laughter against her hair as Chris’ chest rumbled with a deep chuckle.

“I’m starting to think that’s part of the problem,” Chris mused. “You enjoy all the lessons a little too much.”

“No, I don’t. I take them very seriously.” It was a half-hearted lie and they both knew it. “It’s just too much fun to get you worked up.”

“I think I made it pretty clear that I feel the same about you.”

“That’s true, you definitely won today’s battle,” Madeline smiled as a wave of affection crashed over her. “I love you, Chris.”

“I love you too. Happy New Year.”

“Happy New Year,” Madeline replied. “I wonder what this year will bring.”

“Good things,” Chris confidently decided as he squeezed Madeline a little closer into his side. “I’ve got a good feeling about this year.”

The surety in his voice filled Madeline with hope that he was right - that 2015 would bring them nothing but more happiness than they’d already found - and she felt her stomach flicker with excitement as she thought of the endless possibilities for the year that stretched out ahead of them.

-

Next

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[burnwater13]

Fennec Shand standing on Morak waiting for Din Djarin and Migs Mayfeld to return from the Imperial Base. Image is from The Mandalorian, Season 2, Episode 7, The Believer. Caption is from The Mandalorian, Season 1, Episode 6, The Gunslinger. Caption reads: The bounty on your little friend has risen significantly. - Fennec Shand.

NOTE: Here is a story that ran in December 2023. I am on vacation and thought you might enjoy seeing this one again.

December 20, 2023

It had taken Grogu a long time to get the full story of what had happened when his dad and that obnoxious jerk, Calican, went into the desert after Fennec Shand. Din Djarin hadn’t wanted to talk about it. Calican couldn’t. Peli was just glad that it was over and at the time, Grogu had been pretty happy about that as well. 

But as time went by Grogu wanted to know more. How did that gunslinger make it out of that part of the desert alive? Where was the person they were going to find? What happened to his protector’s speeder bike? Most importantly, how the heck did that punk manage to trick an experienced Mandalorian Bounty Hunter?

Grogu realized it was that last question that his dad really didn’t want to answer. Peli told him that the kid had made his dad feel old and no one likes to be reminded that one day someone else would be taking their place. Grogu asked her if she felt that way too and was told in no uncertain terms that women like Peli did not grow old, they matured like fine spotchka and improved in all manner of ways. His dad heard that and started laughing as soon as she said ‘fine spotchka’. Peli had retorted that she never needed to hide her good looks under a helmet. Or words to that affect. Grogu couldn’t really hear her because his dad was still laughing so loudly.

It took a while, but he finally had the opportunity to ask Fennec herself. They had been at the Daimyo’s palace, having a meeting about things the Mandalorian could help them do to address some of the other issues on Tatooine. Grogu found that all very boring. Especially when the discussion drifted from the strategies and tactics needed to permanently close off Tatooine to spice smuggling and turned into a long, dull conversation between the two bounty hunters on methods and techniques for keeping Mandalorian armor clean and functional. 

“Hey Boss, I’m going to take the kid down to the rancor enclosure. Maybe he can get the critter to take a nap and the trainer can finally clean that place up. It stinks like a rathtar nest.”

“Don’t tire him out Fennec. We’re heading back to Mos Eisley today.”

“Don’t worry Mando. He’ll be fine. He’s not as easy to trick as you are.” Fennec cackled at his dad and then they were off. 

Grogu wondered what she was talking about and when they were out of earshot of the throne room, he asked her. 

“It’s a good thing for you that I’ve been a place or two kiddo. Your dad still doesn’t understand what you’re saying half the time.”

Grogu nodded his head. That was absolutely true. 

“When you decide to take up an occupation like mine, administrator for the Daimyo, you have to have a broad set of skills and experience. I’ve met others of your kind, a long time ago, and let me assure you, out of all of them you are by far the most intelligent and the best looking. Even so, I did learn a thing or two from them and that has always been a big advantage to me. Even when your dad and that fool, Calican, came after me.”

Ahh! Good. Fennec remembered all of that. Grogu had worried that when the Daimyo brought her into the Modifier that she’d forget all of what had happened that day. 

“I’ll never forget that day kid. That’s when I decided that I wouldn’t be taking your dad out. He’s the one who told that stupid kid not to… uh… end me. You don’t forget a thing like that. Even lying in the desert. I do think your dad needs to get better sensors for that armor he wears. Just because my heart beat slowed down, it didn’t mean I was gone.”

Fennec’s voice had changed subtly and Grogu almost missed it. She usually gave his dad a lot of guff and sass which Grogu found funny. Now she sounded impressed with him, if a little bit annoyed. But Grogu could understand that. He was always a little annoyed with his dad. 

“Kid, your dad is honorable. I’ve met a lot of Mandos in my time. Most of them weren’t fit to polish your dad’s armor. He and Boba are exceptions. Never forget that. I know I won’t.”

Grogu smiled and coo’d at her. He promised that he wouldn’t forget that either. He also wasn’t going to forget that even if you got fooled by someone once, it didn’t make you a fool. Either you trusted a person who couldn’t be trusted or the odds were never in your favor to begin with. Grogu supposed that’s why his dad didn’t want to talk about it. He still didn’t know which thing had happened and since it had all worked out in the end, it didn’t really matter. 

“Hey! Machete! The kid wants to ride the rancor!”

Grogu laughed as the big man scrambled up from where he was taking a nap and looked from one of them to the other. 

“Did the Boss agree to that?”

“Would I be here if he didn’t?” Fennec cackled. 

The trainer went to collect Ranky and Grogu shifted in Fennec’s arms so he could tap her head gently with his. 

“Thanks kid. Now really wear the critter out. It’s going to take him all day to get this place cleaned up.”

Fennec brushed a tear from one eye and Grogu just pretended that he hadn’t noticed. He’d never smelled a rathtar nest, but if it smelled like this, then he understood why it brought a tear to Fennec’s eye. Memories were like that.

[nitewrighter]

Scoops! (Part 2)

CW for some Clark mistreatment. As I was writing this I was like "Noooo! Stop hurting himmmm!" and then I kept hurting him. So, you've been warned.

Part 1

Read it on AO3 here!

----

“Any idea why the drone would take off like that?” said Lois, racing after Jimmy through the streets of Metropolis. They had hopped a tram to the edge of the New Troy, but had to leap off before the tram turned away from the Industrial district. It was December in the city—one of those dry, bright days that looks inviting but as soon as you step outside you realize it’s so cold your face hurts. Lois was frustrated at the weight of her own jacket and layer of thermals beneath her jeans slowing her down, and she wondered, briefly, if Clark was warm enough in his Superman outfit.

“Scoops,” said Jimmy.

“Scoops,” Lois corrected herself.

“It may have something to do with Scoops’s coding,” said Jimmy, vaulting over a bike rack to avoid a crowd of hedge fund bros crowding the sidewalk, the metal so cold it stung his skin on contact, “The AmerTek drone frame actually had multiple sensor capabilities—y’know, infrared, thermography, electromagnetic sensors—and I figured ‘that’s useful’ and I wrote in a few lines of code where Scoops would be naturally programmed to pursue things giving off unusual energy signatures.”

“You sure you didn’t… I don’t know… put a zero or a forward slash in the wrong place?”

“Never,” said Jimmy with deadly seriousness, “Not with Scoops.”

“This really means a lot to you, huh?”

“Lois, it’s a flying camera drone. Superman flies. We can get shots of Superman, in flight, without worrying about falling to our deaths. Plus, Scoops is a scout! We can send it into areas that are too dangerous for us to wander into! Do you know how much of a game changer that is?”

“I’m sure I would have, if it hadn’t crashed out the window mid-demo,” said Lois.

“Scoops was supposed to just keep a bead on you by recognizing you from all the data I have about you on my phone. But if there’s another Lois Lane, with an unusual energy signature…” Jimmy paused, “Or maybe multiple Lois Lanes clustered in one area—”

“Oh, no no no—I am not doing this again,” said Lois, dodging out of the way of a skateboarder, “I hate the League of Me’s! They’re jerks! I thought we ditched them!”

“Only because Jalana helped us,” said Jimmy, with a bit of smugness, “Good to know you two wouldn’t survive without me in every universe.”

“Jimmy, you wouldn’t have survived without you in that universe, either. But if they found our universe again…” Lois started sprinting even harder, “Oh no—Clark—!” She was overtaking Jimmy at this point.

“Hey—hey! I’m the one with the GPS and live feed!” said Jimmy. He suddenly skidded to a halt and started tapping at his phone, “Lois—wait! Live feed!”

Lois slid to a stop as well and trotted back to him. They both dipped into an alley for a bit more privacy, and Lois leaned over Jimmy’s shoulder as he opened Scoops’s live feed. The camera blipped on to showing Clark clearly struggling to push himself up from the ground as a black-clad, white-haired figure patiently paced toward him, holding a massive gun.

“You think I’m with the League?”

All color drained from Lois’s face as she heard her own voice.

“Don’t worry. I’m not hitting you with anything you can’t take.”

“But—”

The red of the gun’s beam seemed to stain the whole phone screen. Lois clasped both hands over her mouth and squeezed her eyes shut at the sound of Clark’s screams, Jimmy’s own eyes were wide with horror.

“Clark—” the name was muffled through Lois’s hands.

On his phone screen, the white-haired figure turned around, with Clark crumpled on the ground behind her, red smoke rising off of him. Lois’s face contorted with tearful outrage at the sight of her own face staring steadily at her through Scoops, through Jimmy’s phone.

“She—she can’t see us, can she?” Lois’s voice was taut as she watched her white-haired self approach the camera.

“N-no,” said Jimmy. Lois gave him a nervous glance and Jimmy said, “Well, she shouldn’t be able to.”

“I know you’re me, and I know you’re watching,” the white-haired Lois spoke into the camera, “So here’s the deal: stay out of my way and your Clark will be returned to you, unharmed.” She glanced over her shoulder at Clark, unconscious. “Well… no more harmed than he is already, I mean. I can’t give you an exact timeframe, I can only give you my word as… me. Well… you. Us.”

“God, she’s definitely you,” Jimmy murmured.

“Jimmy—” Lois said through gritted teeth.

“Don’t believe anything the League tells you. I don’t mean any harm to your universe. But I will be taking your drone.”

“WHAT?!” Jimmy blurted out.

“And, obviously, I’ll be borrowing your Clark for a while, but again, he will be returned to you, so long as you… and your…” the white-haired Lois blinked a few times and suddenly looked very tired, “Your Jimmy—” She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head as if snapping herself out of a haze, “So long as you and your Jimmy don’t do anything stupid. There is no negotiating. Stay out of my way. End transmission.”

There were several awkward seconds where Lois and Jimmy and the white-haired Lois were staring at each other before the white-haired Lois sighed and said, “Scoops…? End transmission” and the feed blipped to black.

“…you have to say ‘Scoops’ before issuing a command,” Jimmy whispered to Lois.

“I gathered,” said Lois, but then she blinked, “Wait, how could she command Scoops? Why wouldn’t you just make it so Scoops would only respond to you?”

“I programmed Scoops to respond to you, me, or Clark,” said Jimmy, “Scoops was supposed to be for all three of us.” His voice dropped a bit, “Well, just you and me so far, actually. I didn’t want to program anything for Clark until we could figure out some Clark vs. Superman privacy guidelines…”

“Oh, Jimmy—” Lois started before the name ‘Clark’ yanked her mind back to its previous panic, “Oh god—Clark!”

“Okay, we need to think about this,” said Jimmy, trying to compose himself.

“What’s there to think about? She’s kidnapping Clark! She shot him with a laser! Or energy beam! Something that looked like it really hurt!” 

“Okay, but she also said ‘Don’t trust the League,’ and they’ve nearly killed Clark before, too. This Lois said she would give our Clark back, that she was borrowing him.”

Lois blinked a few times, her brow crinkled, trying to steer her mind from the blaze of ‘I have to save Clark’ to ‘What is actually happening.’ She squeezed her eyes shut. “The League also believes Clark’s too dangerous in every reality,” she felt like she was forcing the words out of herself, “They wouldn’t use him like this. She needs him for something.” Her eyes flicked open and her breath steadied with determination.

“If we’re going to save him, we need to find out what,” Jimmy said in agreement.

“Right,” Lois said, half to herself and half to him, “Right.”

They started moving again.

“So she didn’t cut the GPS signal, did she?”

“Not yet,” Jimmy brought up his phone, “Still down at the docks. I’ll try to override to get the live feed back online.”

They hurried on, Lois wondering how long she could ride this ‘Boyfriend in peril’ wave of adrenaline and regretting the fact that she had spent the better part of an hour already wearing herself out trying to teach Clark how to properly stand and evade in a fight. How could that other Lois get the drop on him? Had Clark learned nothing? No, that wasn’t fair. He wasn’t even willing to flip Lois on a mat when she was trying to teach him sparring. He managed to pull a damn ‘I’m Superman and I’m going to invulnerable my way through a sparring session even though I agreed to the sparring session because we agreed depending so much on invulnerability wasn’t sustainable’ on her and like an idiot she hadn’t pushed him further, she hadn’t reminded him of the stakes. But then there was the more obvious aspect of it: It was her. Well, it wasn’t her, but it was a Lois, and of course Clark’s first priority would always be ‘Don’t hurt her’ rather than ‘Don’t let her hurt me,’ so if she had technology similar to that Red Omega field back at Cadmus, or kryptonite, or her dad’s weird rectangular hand cannon, there wouldn’t be a lot Clark’s invulnerability could do about that. But if that bleached-hair rockabilly ‘ooh look at me, I’m wearing a low-cut dress in winter’ asshole version of herself thought she could shoot her Clark with a laser, and then talk about borrowing him, like he was a stand mixer or something, oh, she had another thing coming.

Jimmy had abruptly stopped moving, his eyes fixed on his phone. He rubbed a hand over his mouth in distress.

“Jimmy?” Lois stopped walking.

“I—I can’t access Scoops’s live feed. I’m getting the screen I would get if Scoops was under maintenance—What’s she doing to Scoops?”

Lois huffed a breath. “Jimmy, I know you worked really hard on Scoops and it means a lot to you, but Clark—”

“No, I know—I know,” Jimmy blinked and shook his head, forcing himself to snap out of it, “Let’s just keep moving.”

The shriek of gulls at the Metropolis waterfront was more muted in winter, but all the same Lois wasn’t sure what exactly they would do once they found the white-haired Lois and, hopefully, Clark. She and Jimmy had saved Clark a couple of times before, but they usually had Clark as a pretty big distraction, and even then that ‘distraction’ usually involved Clark getting the crap kicked out of him—god, they really were way too dependent on that invulnerability. Clark had been her father’s hostage before, but had managed to escape thanks to the fact that his enemies all wanted to kill him so bad they ended up tripping each other up, which also wasn’t very encouraging.

“Lois,” Jimmy’s voice snapped her out of her puzzling, “Look.”

Lois followed where he was pointing. Two people were bickering softly at the main gates leading into the Metropolis shipyard.

They watched the two figures, one, a lean Korean man in a purple blazer, black turtleneck, and white pants, the other, a tall black girl in an olive drab cargo jacket and cuffed jeans. They were both wearing sunglasses, both hunched over a device on the Korean man’s wrist.

Lois’s eyes narrowed.

“Lewis and Jalana,” she muttered.

“Maybe we could follow them,” Jimmy mused under his breath, “If the you that kidnapped Clark has beef with them, then it’s likely—”

“HEY!” Lois hollered.

“Oh my god,” Jimmy said very quietly, pressing his fingertips to his forehead.

“YOU GUYS GOT A WARRANT?” Lois threw her arms up.

Lewis and Jalana looked at each other, then briskly approached them.

“Lois, what’s the plan—what was the plan here—!?” Jimmy said as Jalana seized his arm and both he and Lois were basically dragged into another alley. As far as Lois was concerned, this was, indeed, a plan: the foolproof Lois Lane plan of ‘Start some shit and see what you learn in the chaos.’ But also she would be lying if she said she wasn’t genuinely angry at them for having that Kryptonite crystal that nearly killed Clark.

“Are you crazy!?” Lewis hissed, “Do you have any idea how badly you can compromise your world and the League by drawing attention to us like that?!”

“What I want to know is what gives you guys the authority to tromp around our universe like you own the place!” said Lois. “We’re an Interdimensional Peacekeeping—” Lewis started.

“Yeah! And you don’t have the consent or authorization from any government entity in this universe to keep the peace!” Lois snapped.

“Oh, and I’m sure your governments consented to having a feral Clark flying around?!”

“He’s not feral!”

Both Jimmy and Jalana exchanged a tired glance of, ‘This is not conducive to either of our goals’ as Lewis and Lois argued.

“Your universe isn’t prepared in any capacity for even the knowledge of—!” Lewis started but Jalana held up a hand.

“Lewis, let me handle this,” said Jalana.

“She’s not League material, their Clark is still on the loose, and they’re all still persons of interest in the Mxyzptlk case,” said Lewis, with a glare at Lois.

“Their universe was derailed by the League’s failure to contain Mxy,” said Jalana, “And we’re in their universe doing damage control, again. Antagonizing them isn’t going to help.”

“I’m antagonizing?!” said Lewis, “She was the one who—”

“Lewis, just keep scanning for inter-dimensional anomalies. I’ll handle the locals,” said Jalana. Lewis rolled his eyes and stalked off, bringing up some kind of holographic interface from his gauntlet as he gave them space.

“…the League isn’t that mad at us still, is it?” said Jimmy.

“You should count yourselves lucky that you’re not seen as competent enough to be a threat to the multiverse,” said Jalana, putting a hand on one hip.

“Wow,” said Lois, folding her arms.

“But we’re not a priority right now, is what you’re saying,” said Jimmy.

“No. Right now, we’re after a rogue Lois,” Jalana explained.

Jimmy and Lois exchanged nervous glances.

“…you already know about her,” said Jalana, lowering her voice.

“Well—” Jimmy started.

“Before we tell you anything, we want your word that you guys won’t harm our Clark again,” said Lois.

“I’m not in a position to promise anything like that,” said Jalana, before her eyes flicked between them. “And… where is your Clark?”

Lois and Jimmy said nothing.

“Okay, you know, the first time your Clark gets involved with an inter-dimensional criminal, I can chalk that up to the fact that he didn’t have context on anything. The second time—”

“He’s been Clarknapped—I mean, kidnapped,” said Lois.

“We think she needs him for something,” said Jimmy.

“A Kryptonian… kidnapped,” Jalana said slowly. She folded her arms in thought. “Well, given the armory she built up in her own universe, it makes sense that she would have the means to do something like that.”

“Jalana, what are we dealing with, here?” asked Jimmy.

“She operates under the title, ‘The Spider Lady,’” said Jalana.

“The Spider Lady?” repeated Lois.

“Olsen, I know you’re not telling the persons of interest classified League information about the Spider Lady,” Lewis called from the other side of the alley.

“It’s not going to be classified very long if we can’t figure out what the Spider Lady’s trying to do in this dimension, Lewis,” said Jalana with an eye roll before turning back to Lois and Jimmy.

“So she’s actually called ‘The Spider Lady,” said Lois.

“Previously, she was an important informant for the League of Lois Lanes because her universe was basically used as a dumping ground for weaponry, people, and creatures deemed too dangerous for other realities,” Jalana went on.

“By who?” Said Jimmy.

“That’s classified,” said Lewis from the other side of the alley.

“She was an inter-dimensional arms dealer herself,” said Jalana, “But we apprehended her and she agreed to cooperate with the League of Lois Lanes in exchange for relative freedom. We had also determined that the Spider Lady was important to the stability of her own highly chaotic universe… but we don’t know what prompted her coming here.”

“The Spider Lady,” Lois said again.

“So wait, you’re saying there’s like, an inter-dimensional Black Market?” said Jimmy.

“I have a Pulitzer in like, 50 different realities, and you’re telling me, the best Villain-Me can come up with is ‘The Spider Lady!?’” Lois exclaimed.

“Yes, and yes,” said Lewis.

“I mean it kind of works in a pulpy way,” Jimmy mused.

“I’m not a ‘Spider Lady!’ I’d be something cool! Like—like ‘The Eradicator’, or something.”

“Mm—You’re not an Eradicator,” said Jimmy, flatly.

“Jimmy, work with me here.”

“Look,” said Jalana, “We could spend all day complaining about alternate-universe versions of ourselves—”

“Ow,” said Jimmy.

“Or we could track down this Lois before she does irreparable damage to your universe,” Jalana finished.

Jimmy awkwardly cleared his throat.

Jalana scrutinized him for a few seconds. “…you already know where she is.”

“Well, we know where Scoops is,” said Jimmy.

“Tell us,” said Lewis flatly.

“Oh no,” said Lois, “We’re not letting you guys get anywhere near Clark without us.”

“This is bigger than your stupid Clark!” said Lewis.

“He’s not stupid!” said Lois. “Fine!” Jalana barked over both of them, “You can come with us.”

“Olsen—” Lewis said in warning.

“They obviously have a strong rapport with their Clark,” said Jalana, “Assuming they’re reasonable,” she gave a pointed glance to Lois, “That makes them able to make the Kryptonian a less unpredictable factor in this.”

“This is going in in my report to Leader Lois,” said Lewis.

“Have to finish the mission before you write the report,” said Jalana, already walking out of the alley and towards the shipping yard, “Let’s move.”

——

Clark’s eyes bleared open. His head was pounding and his body ached all over, and there was a particular heaviness at his neck—he shifted where he was on the ground slightly. The ground below him was steel—the shipping container? He shifted his shoulders felt metal on his skin, and a chill ran through him. Instinctively, both hands went to his throat and clasped at the metal there, but it didn’t feel the same. He was so used to the anxiety of metal buckling beneath his grip if he wasn’t paying attention, but the fact that this metal didn’t yield to his straining fingers ignited an even more urgent fear. He glanced at his wrists, and saw they were cuffed. Instinctively, he narrowed his eyes at the cuffs, expecting heat vision to easily split the steel cables between them, but… nothing happened.

“Inhibitor collar. Earth 16,” The white-haired Lois was still working on Scoops. She had managed to pry the chassis open and was now poking at the interior. “I hope you understand, it’s nothing personal.”

“Wait—That’s not…”

“Y’know, the light show was new. I’ve seen my share of you’s, but I think I’ve only seen you glow blue…mm… twice? And that was only in archival footage. And it wasn’t like what you were doing. It’s interesting. Pretty, even. So are you wearing the ’S’ under your clothes at all times, or do the alien clothes… teleport on? Or…?”

“I—I don’t know?” Clark pushed up to a sitting position. He briefly thought back to the Cadmus research facility where those guns had blasted his shirt off—did he not have the Superman clothes back then because of that red Omega field? Were they that connected to his powers? Or was it simply because Lois was so angry with him being Superman, he really didn’t want to be Superman in that time? As the white-haired Lois’s words sank in more, then he glanced down at himself and realized he was back in his civilian clothes. He feverishly fished through his pockets as best he could with his hands cuffed, and managed to pull out his glasses and put them on. She snorted at the sight.

“Always with the glasses,” she said with a slight eye roll before resuming her work. She suddenly yanked something out of Scoops with an audible snap of wires and Clark winced.

“Can—can you not do that?” said Clark, “That’s my friend’s. He worked really hard on it.”

“He’ll live,” said the white-haired Lois, pulling something from her pocket.

Clark set his jaw, watching as she continued working. She seemed very absorbed into… lobotomizing Scoops? He craned his neck slightly to try and get some idea of what she was doing. She had an object that looked… kind of like a phone? And was using it to scan Scoops nearly every time she tweaked something or yanked something out or jammed something in.

“So… do I call you Lois? ” he broke the silence.

“In my world, I’m known as the Spider Lady,” said the white-haired Lois.

Clark snorted.

“What?” She glanced over her shoulder from Scoops.

“Nothing!” Clark brought his cuffed hands up, “Just… doesn’t seem like a name Lois would pick for herself.” She would probably pick something that sounds like a monster truck.

“Well, I’m not your Lois, am I?” said the Spider Lady.

“No,” said Clark, genuinely embarrassed.

“Look, just sit tight, Boy Scout, I’m almost done here.”

She seemed very absorbed in her work. Clark’s eyes flicked around the shipping container. Okay, no powers, he could figure this out. He still had the size advantage, right? Get her in a headlock? He should have asked Lois how to properly get someone in a headlock. Maybe find something heavy and whack her over the head and—oh god, no he didn’t want to do that. It didn’t have to come to that, right? She had said “I’m not going to hit you with anything you can’t take,” so he figured she needed him alive in some capacity.  

Superman can lift a bus, thought Clark, edging away as silently as he could, But if there’s one thing Clark Kent can do, it’s sneak off when nobody’s look—

Kick-in-the-chest, full-body pain suddenly exploded across his nerves. Clark’s entire body tensed up and he slammed flat to the ground again, convulsing as electrical currents coursed over his body from his neck.

“Ooh, I probably should have mentioned the collar’s shock function,” the Spider Lady made a mock-wincing sound through her teeth as she waved a small remote around, “Stings without invulnerability, doesn’t it?”

The shock ceased and Clark was left gasping and shuddering on the ground.

“What-what do you need me for?” The words came out of him as more of a grunt than a demand.

“You’ll see,” she turned her attention back to Scoops.

——

Lois and Jimmy paced behind Lewis and Jalana through the shipping yard. Lewis had demanded Jimmy sync up Scoop’s GPS data on his phone with his gauntlet, and both Lewis and Jalana insisted on taking the lead since this was ‘League’ business. Even if she really didn’t trust the League after they had tried to kill Clark, Lois was a little grateful to be moving in bigger numbers.

“So you’re saying she knocked him out with some kind of… big laser gun,” said Jalana, as they walked.

“Doesn’t exactly narrow things down,” said Lewis, looking at a hologram being projected by his gauntlet, “You didn’t see anything identifying about the gun?”

“We were a little bit more worried about Clark?” said Lois, folding her arms, “Why is the gun so important?”

“If we can figure out what universe she got it from, it might tell us more about what the Spider Lady’s planning,” explained Jalana, “What are the readings, Lewis?”

“Definitely some Red Sun radiation in the air, so…” he gave a glance back to Lois, “Maybe they’re telling the truth about their Clark being kidnapped.” He tapped at a few more symbols being projected by his gauntlet and the screen changed to some seemingly inscrutable charts, and started emitting a clicking sound. “I’m getting traces of Earth-21 Motherbox radiation, and Earth-48 Apokoliptian chrono-molecular manipulation imprints,” said Lewis.

“You mean ‘Apocalyptic?’” said Jimmy.

Color visibly drained from Lewis’s face and he glanced over at Jalana who was making a tight-lipped, desperate cutting motion next to her neck.

“…yyyes?” said Lewis.

“So it’s… from a universe that’s ended,” Lois said slowly.

“Yes!” Lewis said, jumping on this explanation a little too eagerly.

“…you’re bullshitting us,” said Lois.

“What? No—” Lewis started.

“I know you’re bullshitting us because I make those exact faces when I’m bullshitting Perry or my dad,” said Lois.

“Look,” said Jalana, slowing her pace to walk alongside Lois and Jimmy, “There’s a lot we can’t tell you, not just because it ties in with League security, but also because your universe just isn’t ready for it.”

“But if these things are dangerous,” said Lois with a slight glare, “Shouldn’t we know about them so we can prepare?”

“Well, that’s the thing,” said Lewis, still reading the holograms on his gauntlet, “The same thing will manifest differently across different universes. If we tell you to prepare for something, it could end up coming to you in completely different and more devastating form, because you prepared for it according to the logic of other universes.”

“So the League’s policy, in a lot of cases, is actually pretty hands-off,” said Jalana, “Let the different universes develop, expand, and adapt according to their own rules”

“Like the Prime Directive,” said Jimmy.

“No idea what that is, but sure,” said Jalana, “What makes the Spider Lady such a threat, is that she has enough interdimensional knowledge to catalyze an event here that your universe is completely unprepared for.”

“She said she didn’t mean our universe any harm,” said Lois. It felt hollow saying those words because of the clear danger of the situation and what had already happened to Clark, but she also knew from the experience that this League was more than willing to shoot first and ask questions later, which, honestly didn’t seem very ‘Lois’ of them—Questions were like, her whole thing.

“And you believe her?” An incredulous laugh shook Lewis’s voice.

“Well, why would she want to harm our universe?” said Jimmy.

“Sounds like she’s already hurt your Clark,” said Jalana.

Jimmy’s phone made a blipping noise. “We’re getting close,” he said quietly.

Lewis’s gauntlet blipped as well. “Confirmed.”

“All right,” Jalana pushed back her jacket sleeve to her own gauntlet, hit a few buttons, and a sidearm materialized, seemingly spun from light. It was noticeably smaller than the guns they had used on Clark, but it still made Lois’s jaw tighten. “You two, stay back. We’ll handle this.”

——

A few more minutes passed before the Spider Lady set Scoops down and massaged her eyebrows.

“So close…” she muttered, “Where is your world’s Doctor Ivo?”

“I don’t know,” said Clark, attempting to inject as much grimness and gravity into ‘I don’t know’ as he could.

“Fine. Where is his lab?”

“AmazoTech is mothballed,” Clark said with a slight raise of his eyebrows.

“AmazoTech?” she repeated. He didn’t like the way she sounded so interested at the word ‘AmazoTech.’

“They made phones, mostly. And had some sketchy business practices.” Clark wasn’t sure how much he should be telling her, but if he didn’t have his powers, he figured maybe he could keep her talking until he or Lois or Jimmy figured something out. Just… make AmazoTech sound as unremarkable as possible and—

“…they didn’t just make phones, did they, though?” She was studying him, those eyes sharp. He saw a bit of the Lois he knew, here. Always getting her answers, but something about it was so much colder. She held up that small remote that would activate the shock function of his collar and he did his best to keep his gaze at her level. She was thinking about it, he could tell. He said nothing.

“No…” she murmured, reading his face and turning back to Scoops. She picked up the drone and stared inside, “The company’s logo is on some of these components,” she said.

“Yeah, AmazoTech,” said Clark, trying to sound dismissive.

“You’re hiding something,” her voice was steady, “What is it?”

Clark’s initial plan of ‘Maybe I can keep her talking until I figure something out’ was quickly collapsing. Misleading or stalling her would be easier if he had any idea what she was after.

“Is Ivo your world’s Luthor?” asked the Spider Lady.

“…I have no idea what you mean by that,” Clark said flatly. 

“Wow, you don’t—?” the Spider Lady blinked at him before saying, “No, you wouldn’t, would you?” She huffed and picked up the device she was scanning scoops with. “Something happened in your world recently, and it’s a vital catalyst to what I need.”

“Oh—it’s been pretty uneventful here,” said Clark.

The Spider Lady ignored him and kept her eyes fixed on that odd device, pacing out of the shipping container. Clark pushed up to his feet (with a slight head rush) and awkwardly ambled after her.

“What is that?” The Spider Lady pointed to the head of the remains of Ivo’s Parasite kaiju husk, just peeking out from behind a building.

“What do you mean, ‘that?’” said Clark, “I don’t see any—oh, wow, what is that?”

That earned him a shock. His jaw clacked tight as a pained grunt seethed between his teeth. He painfully dropped to one knee as his whole body seized and shook in protest at its own lack of invulnerability. She turned the shock off and he was left buckled over again, heaving breaths. Every part of him felt so heavy, like he might crush himself just by existing. He was now beginning to have serious doubts about the whole, ‘I won’t hit you with anything you can’t take’ thing.

“Don’t play dumb, Boy Scout, neither of us has time for it,” said the Spider Lady.

“Guh…” was the only noise that fell out of Clark in response, but she wasn’t even looking at him as she squinted at the husk in the distance.

“What,” she said, slower and more commanding, “Is it?”

“It’s… broken,” said Clark, feeling a muscle spasm under his eye from the residual shock, “I broke it. So whatever you’re going to try to do, you can’t use it.” Really, this was about 60% wishful thinking talking. He wasn’t sure what she could do, but he certainly didn’t like the idea of her doing anything with a giant purple parasitic kaiju suit that had nearly destroyed the city.

“Did you just try to tell a Lois she can’t do something?” The Spider Lady raised her eyebrows, amused.

“It’s just a shell,” said Clark, “Withou Ivo—” and he immediately caught himself. Oh Clark, you moron, he thought to himself.

“Doctor Ivo?” The Spider Lady repeated. Clark hated how this Lois’s eyes lit up in the same way his Lois’s did, and the way her lower lower lids flexed in that same ‘putting things together’ way as she glanced back down her device.

“So that’s it,” she said under her breath, “That’s what I need.”

“For what?” said Clark.

Something back in the shipping container started beeping. “I thought I told your friends to stay out of my way,” she scoffed as she briskly walked back into the container and started quickly packing things up. Lois and Jimmy were coming? Before, he thought it was a combination of still recovering from the blasts and shocks, and the fact that so much of his attention was fixed on the Spider Lady, what her goals might be, and how to get away from her, but now it struck him just how muted the world was. The inhibitor collar was blocking off his super-hearing. Normally, he’d be able to hear Lois and Jimmy talking at a conversational level across the city if he concentrated, now he had no clue how close they were—only that they were coming.

Stall, stall, stall, thought Clark.

“You know, if you just told people what was going on, maybe we could explain—” Clark started but the Spider Lady shoved a large metal crate into his arms and he had to maneuver his forearms accordingly in the cuffs to accept it. Wow, things were heavy now. Wait, why did he just accept that crate? Was it because his Lois was always handing him things without a second thought?

“I know better than to trust the League on anything,” said the Spider Lady, she gave a glance to the scanning device. “How far away would you say that…AmazoTech shell-thing is?”

“Oh I don’t know,” said Clark, “Buuuuut I could fly you there if you took the collar off?”

“You’re adorable,” she said flatly, pointing the device towards the husk, as if she were taking a photo on a phone. It made a whirring noise, then a beep, then a few seconds later, another beep. “Ugh… I don’t know how long it’s going to take to calibrate,” she said, swinging that massive gun down to her hip and hauling it up at the ready, with Scoops stuffed into a small satchel at her side. She took a handful of Clark’s jacket from the back, Clark feeling the remote to his collar curled in that same fist.

“Spider Lady!” A voice which sounded eerily like a female version of Jimmy called from outside the shipping container, “You’re under arrest for unauthorized universe hopping, and 17 counts of possession of multiverse contraband!”

“Oh, so now it’s contraband,” the Spider Lady yelled back, her voice reverberating on the metal of the shipping container, “You all didn’t have a problem with the poison that was flowing into my world before!”

“Submit yourself to League custody, and you can plead your case then!” A voice that sounded uncannily like a male version of Lois called.

“Stay in front of me,” the Spider Lady’s voice was half muffled into Clark’s back. She poked the toastmaster gun into his ribs, “Move.”

Clark shuffled forward to the threshold of the shipping container.

“Y’know I’m probably not a good hostage, seeing as they’ve shot me before—” said Clark.

“Move,” the Spider Lady said again.

Clark stumbled out of the shipping container to see two members of the League of Lois Lanes pointing handgun-sized sidearms at him and the Spider Lady from a handful of yards away. His mind probably should have been spinning up some daring escape attempt, some means to use the presence of the League members as a distraction so that he could get away and find a way to get the collar off, but he didn’t know how far he could get before she just shocked him again, and he also really didn’t want to make any sudden moves in front of the League after last time. So instead, his primary train of thought was, Huh. Man Lois and lady Jimmy. Did I see them last time?

“Step away from the Kryptonian,” said the girl Jimmy.

“I don’t think I will. He’s not the biggest threat to you currently, I assure you,” said the Spider Lady.

The girl Jimmy didn’t lower her weapon.

“We can talk about this, Lois,” she said grimly.

“We’ve talked plenty already,” said the Spider Lady. She fired off the toastmaster. Both the girl Jimmy and the male Lois leapt out of the way as the neon coral blast of the toastmaster blazed into the shipping container with a screech of metal, leaving a flaming, twisted hole in the steel, and another hole through the other side of the shipping container.

She hit me with that??? Clark’s mind flared into a panic, one more instance of How far does my invulnerability go? and, I really, really don’t want to test how far my invulnerability goes.

The male Lois and the female Jimmy were returning fire now. Clark brought up the steel crate the Spider Lady had handed to him for protection, though it wasn’t much to hide behind. The League members had dipped behind another shipping container, for what little protection that would apparently afford them, both of them taking turns leaning out and firing. The Spider Lady fired at the ground next to them, sending up a big plume of burnt-smelling cement dust, obscuring their line of sight. The two league members both kept firing.

“Don’t hit him!”Clark’s head jerked up at the sound of Lois—his Lois’s voice. She was leaning out from a shipping container on the opposite side.

“Lo—” he started but his entire body seized in a shock.

“CLARK!” He heard his own name as an anguished shriek from Lois as she watched him twist and convulse. Jimmy had to physically stop her from rushing into the crossfire, and she was struggling against him. “No! Stop it!”

“I told you he wouldn’t get hurt if you stayed out of my way!” said the Spider Lady. But the dust was settling from her previous fire, and with Clark spasming and staggering, he was a much less effective human shield, so she was forced to increase her own fire at Lewis and Jalana.

“Lois, get down!” Jimmy tackled Lois to the ground as fire from the Spider Lady blazed through where they had both previously been standing. There was a massive column of smoke rising from the shipping container behind them. In the midst of all the panic the Spider Lady at least managed to remember to turn the shock off again, but Clark was stumbling, his vision swimming, on the verge of collapse. A shot from Lewis grazed the Spider Lady’s arm and she let out a frustrated, snarling yell, before something beeped from the interior of her jacket.

“Finally—” she breathed out her pain in that word, firing off another blast from the toastmaster, “We’re getting out of here, boy scout.” She drew that odd device from her jacket and hit a button on it.

Before this, Clark had only picked up the fizzing sound as part of his super-hearing, it had seemed so dreamlike and distant before, but now, up close, through the hazy pain of electrocution, it was a nightmarish blend of the familiar and uncanny. He remembered when he was a kid and Pa pulled out film reels of his old favorite Gray Ghost serials, the distinctive smell of the lightbulb and film and the clackclacklclackclackclack of the film projector. He also remembered watching the serials with Pa’s arm around him, explaining characters like, ‘That’s the Femme Fatale—she’s pretty, but watch out!’ and Ma going, 'I don’t know, Jon, is he old enough for this?’ And he remembered one night when the projector overheated and the reel jammed, and a burn hole started appearing on the film. Suddenly, the Gray Ghost punching out goons on a bedsheet was having his whole torso swallowed by a sickly black ring and a white void. That’s what Clark was looking at now, he realized, a film burn hole, oily and warped, but on the fabric of reality itself. A two-dimensional shape imposing itself on the third dimension, the space browning around it.

“Clark!” he heard Jimmy yell this time, and he looked over to the source of his voice. Lois was sprinting toward him and the Spider Lady, Lewis and Jalana’s fire whizzing inches away from her, Jimmy was stumbling after her, or maybe he was running to Clark’s rescue as well?

“Guys—” he instinctively lurched toward them.

“I said, we’re going!” The Spider Lady swung her toastmaster up and suddenly clocked him hard upside the jaw with the butt of the gun. He heard a protesting, “NO!” from both Jimmy and Lois, and tasted blood in his mouth as the Spider Lady shoved him and he fell, sideways, through the portal.

“What is that?!” said Lewis, at the sight of the burn hole.

“It’s her getaway, let’s go!” said Jalana, racing out from behind the shipping container, running towards the burn hole as well.

“Wait!” Lois was ahead of both of them, sprinting toward the burn hole, but the Spider Lady only gave her a cold glance before stepping through after Clark, the portal closing behind her to a black smudge, and then nothingness. Lois stumbled and collapsed to her knees in the now empty space, panting, the air around her having that faint chemical-film smell.  She sat there, arms uselessly limp at her sides for a few seconds, staring into space.

“Where did they go?” Jimmy reeled around to face Jalana, “Where did they go!?”

“We don’t know,” Jalana’s voice was stiff.

“We were lucky just to track her to this dimension,” said Lewis.

“We have operatives in other dimensions,” said Jalana, “They’ll be able to pick up on the energy surge wherever they come through.”

Jimmy heard Lois’s breath shuddering and he turned back around to look at her. Her back was to him, her shoulders had caved inward and bunched up, and she hugged herself, buckling forward and shaking. Jimmy’s mouth drew to a thin line.

“Lois…” he reached forward and put a hand on her shoulder, “Are you…?”

“No,” she said tensely, “No, I’m not okay.” And Jimmy gently lifted his hand away from her, realizing she was shaking from rage, just as much as sadness and fear. “She put a collar on him,” her voice was incredulous, bewildered.

“We’re going to figure this out,” said Jimmy, trying to convince himself just as much as her, “The League has eyes in other dimensions, and maybe I can still patch in to Scoops—”

“Jimmy,” he could hear her breath huffing against her teeth with fury, as her head swung around to look at him, “She put a collar on my Clark.”