#quick lunch break thing that’s been rattling around in my brain for months

[bedrock-to-buildheight]

[georgemackayhey]

Hotter Than Summer

a/n: Remember when I promised more NSFW stuff? Yeah so this is by far the smuttiest thing I've ever written. Do Not interact with this is you're underaged. But if you're legal, have fun! 18+ only

w/c: 8k

───※ ·❆· ※───

Every year, you went on a trip with your family.

Your parents and siblings would cram into one car, and meet up with your neighbors in the countryside, under the same roof. A cabin that over looked a lake, that housed a forest, that wrapped all the way around to where you were.

You'd go in the dead of summer, when school let out. When the mosquitoes were rampant and the heat was crippling. You couldn't ever figure out what was so enjoyable about heading into the middle of no place to melt inside a rented home for a few weeks, but you went back each year. Of course, swimming in the lake was a blast and campefires at midnight were such fun. But that was mostly due to the fact that you got to spend such quality time with your favorite old neighbours.

Your fathers best university pal, and his wife only moved across the street when you were well into your high school career. But your dad was chuffed still to have his oldest friend one hop skip and jump away. Your mom was just as fond of the family, and soon you were sharing dinners and going to festivals and movies with them and their son, George.

When you met, you ignorantly assumed there was no way he wasn't a jock, or something equally as brain dead. No one with a face that pretty could possibly be smarter than a blade of grass.

But it wasn't long after they moved in, untill his parents asked you to show him around the school. And even though he was older and so vastly different from you, one morning, you found out George wasn't at all how you'd imagined. As you took him through the school halls, he went on and on about the theater program and marveled over your decently sized and poorly decorated library. He even thanked you for wasting your free break guiding him round to help him make sense of the schedule in his hands.

And after then, you had it bad. So that was precisely the reason you decided to steer clear. You gave small waves in the halls, and pretended not to scream internally when he sat next to you at lunch, every now and again. You went about your day pretending you were much more preoccupied with your other friends, and saved all your hopelessly romantic daydreams about George for your diary.

Until summer, of course. When you showed up to the cabin with your family and your siblings and some of their friends. George would be there, and you let yourself trail behind him like a puppy then. But he always asked for your company, really. He always dragged you to go swimming or to walk three miles to the nearest convenient shop for snacks. He'd sit next to you during rainy afternoon movie marathons and entertain all of your fireside ramblings.  

But it had been three years since you'd spent a summer in the cabin. Your last time was the summer after you graduated. George's last time was two years prior, and nothing had quite been the same since.

///

You knew he wouldn't be there, this year. You should have been off, just as well, drinking till dawn or whatever else college kids wasted evenings doing.

His parents were there, though, and spent at least a minute each hugging you hello. After then, you trekked through the familiar home, up to the room you always claimed as your own, and you pretended not to feel dramatically sad. And for the next week, you sat around the fireside with your siblings, and laughed at their dumb jokes. You swam in the lake all alone. And you listened to George's parents yammer on about how proud they were of all his latest and most admirable achievements.

The last day of your visit, you sat alone in the sun room with a book, but only used it as a fan while you reminisced of all the times you'd sat doing the same before.

"I don't know why we come here when it's this hot." You sighed across the table full of left over breakfast food. Your family had migrated toward the back garden to play volleyball, but you couldn't be bothered trudging through the heat.

"I've always wanted to come in the autumn, watch the leaves change, make better use of all this firewood." You never did, because that's when school started and holidays were left to plan in for insufferable days like now.

George's mother was setting a pitcher of spiked punch on the table, something she made every year you'd been old enough to enjoy in her company.

"You know, it's so funny you say that." She grinned, shooting you a bright glance as she moved to pour you a drink.

"Our Geogre will be home this fall and he was asking about heading up to the cabin." She began. You used your book fan with a little more vigour.

"We, unfortunately, won't be able to make that happen of course, with his father's job and my plans of travelling before snowfall." She rambled, the ice in her drink clinking as she raised it to her lips. Your family's laughter rang muffled from beyond the glass wall of windows that made up the breakfast nook. And the heat, like a blanket over you. Like a pool you stayed trapped drowning in.

"You know- you kids should come here on your own! You're plenty old enough now to handle that responsibility and you always were such good friends. I bet Georgie would just love that." His mother's smile was audible in her tone and beaming from her face. You tried not to gawk at her, not to scrabble to sit straight. You casually lowered your leg from the arm of the chair and looked to the woman with a turn of your head.

"Oh I don't know, do ya think-"

"Yes, yes!" She interrupted with a furrowed brow like this was very serious. "I'm meant to call him later. I'll pass the idea along for you, love."

With a soft grin, her mind was made up. You shrugged, hoping it would make her believe you wouldn't be let down either way. But you'd never wanted anything more.

///

She got through to George, and apparently, according to his mother, he very excitedly accepted the plans. You weren't too sure that was entirely true, but you couldn't help but do a little happy dance behind the closed doors of your cabin bedroom. It was always as you left it, green quilt, matching rug, and the few framed albums you hung to make up for the bland wallpaper.

You left it, thrilled by the thought of returning in two months, and stayed glued to your phone till then. Geogre was meant to text you when the time crept nearer for your roughly made plans to become a little more organized.

You weren't sure what you were so excited for. He'd probably bring a girl, or a least mention one. There was no way he didn't have his pick of dozens vying for his attention. Still, the idea of spending a weekend in the cabin in such close quarters with your old crush was thrilling.

///

He texted you a month before you ended up planning to stay, and your exchange was jarringly short. George shot you a date and time. You agreed. Then he asked if you minded if a couple of his friends tagged along. And of course, you didn't. And that was that.

The summer dragged on, and at the first sign of autumn in the air you practically had all your bags packed.

When the time came, you gave your family quick goodbyes and arrived to the cabin a couple of hours early. The air was crisp, and the lake looked cold from your safe distance away. You breezed through the thin fog and smiled to yourself when you stepped into the place.

Everything was just how you'd left it. There were even still a few notes tapped to the refrigerator. You moved through the wooden structure and noticed how high the ceilings were for the first time in a while. And after washing a few sheets, and sorting out some of the food you'd brought for dinner, your solitude was interrupted.

There was a rattle at the door, and when it opened your heart stopped. He was here. George was all grown up. You hadn't seen him since the last time he came out here with the lot of you, the summer after he graduated. Years had passed, and now his hair was a little longer. He was a little leaner, a little taller, maybe. His nose was reddened by the cold but his smile was familiar. You tried not to gape at him and the way he seemed like an actual supermodel while he rested his bag by the door and looked to you, his grin growing wider.

"Hello, stranger." You smiled.

"Y/n!" He called with outstretched arms. You abandoned your place at the stove to accept his embrace and prayed he wouldn't be able to feel your quickened heartbeat.

"George." You beamed. Because he was your friend. At least, he had been once. His smile remained as he wrapped a strong arm around your middle and mumbled a hello right in your ear.

"Where are all your friends, then?" You cleared your throat, trying everything to keep your cool. Did he really have to speak so low in your ear? This weekend might prove to be incredibly awkward...

"Ah, yeah, one cancelled and the other might just as well. He said he'd keep me updated." George winced, running a hand across the back of his neck. "Hope you don't mind boring old me?"

"Of course not." You produced a chuckle. "I'm just making dinner."

And just like that, it felt like old times. George took over the kitchen for a bit, while you bickered over spices and seasonings. And in between stirring up an evening meal, George tucked his bags away in the room he'd always stayed in, and came back to help you set the table.

Conversation never lost its steady pace. George asked you about your budding life after highschool. He asked what you were doing for money and what you dreamed of doing for good. He laughed at some of your best stories and started to trade some of his own.

You'd always felt a bit intimidated by George, but worse now than ever before. He was musing about Hollywood and rambling about his life on movie sets. You nodded along, and watched George's pretty structured face light up as he spoke of his dreams and how some of them had come true.

When you'd finished dinner, your nerves really started up. Here the two of you were, all alone for the first time, maybe ever. There was always someone else near by in your knowing each other. Whether it be here, back home, or at school. You weren't sure how to handle all the empty space, so to occupy your time, you started a fire in the den. It was a cozy little room where everyone usually spent movie nights curled up on the small sofa. You liked to come here to read, when the sun shone brightly through the picture windows.

But it was dark now, and the fire was small. So you stuck nearby to help make it grow and wondered why you and Geogre were here. You wondered if his friend would ever show. You wondered if he'd ever really invited anyone at all.

"I brought beer, but there was some rum stashed away," George spoke himself into the room, holding a bottle and a glass in hand. He held each out to you, offering you take your pick. You picked the rum and thanked him for thinking you might've wanted a choice.

"I think I know you pretty well after all this time." George grinned, sitting on the floor in front of the fire. You were stood there, watching the flames flicker higher, and it took an internal debate for you to sit at his side. Were you making things weird or had they been weird on their own? Just moments ago you were mulling over how normal everything felt. Yeah, must'a just been you.

"I dunno," You huffed as you crossed your legs. "I've changed a lot since the days we used to tolerate each others company."

"Tolerate?" George chuckled. "We both know half our stays in this cabin were made most enjoyable by all the times we band together. We always had such fun."

"We did. Do you think we're too old now to have fun, this time around?" You asked, taking a sip of the rum he offered you. George stalled for a beat, like he was really considering the answer to your question. And then he looked at you and shook his head.

"I hope not." His lithe grin made your throat go dry. So you finished off your rum and stood for a refill. When you settled back in the den, George was halfway through his beer, and you got to talking about life again. He told you the scariest stories of his time away, and you reminisced about some of the traumas of life you and Geogre had been caught up in together when he was only one house away. George went for another beer, and you stayed watching the fire steadily burn.

He returned in silence and the quiet lingered for a long while, with both of you fixated not the flames.

"Remember when you said you'd let me stow away in your luggage when you left, so I could skip out on my physics finale?" You laughed into your drink.  You felt George's eyes turn to search for your own, but you were still too deep in thought. "I failed that quiz, George. You were supposed to be my way out of this town."

"Hmm." George took a swig of his beer as you finished your second glass of rum. "Maybe that's why I've come back."

"That's rich." You chuckled and pointed a look to George. You couldn't hold back your nervous breaths of laughter now. Because he was watching you. His sea blue eyes seemed to search your face. You never recalled a time he looked at you with such undivided attention.

"What's so funny?" George rose a pale brow, taking another sip of beer. And as the answer formed on your lips, you blamed the rum entirely for your lack of critical thinking.

"I used to have the biggest crush on you." You admitted, turning a glance to George. His gaze had yet to break from your face, but you swore his smile grew ever so slightly. He furrowed his brow and shot you a sidelong look, like he didn't believe what you were saying.

"I did!" You laughed, the voice in your head reprimanding you for being so bold, as the words kept pouring out of your mouth. "You were my older, smoking hot neighbour boy. It was all very cliche but true." You shrugged. A blush burnt your cheeks and your mind suddenly caught up with your actions and you'd started to regret everything that had just transpired.

You mumbled a weary curse as you ducked your head away, hoping George wouldn't go on embarrassing you too much about this. You really hadn't planned to out yourself on the first night of your staying here with him. You hadn't planned to ever tell him that.

But George wasn't saying anything. He was just looking at you, like he had been. Like he was trying to figure you out. His eyes travelled from your face to search the reset of you. You watched George's gaze roam across your build while you tried not to combust in a self conscious worry. But the strange tension was too much not to break.

"What are you looking at me like that for?" You feared, hiding your bashful grin by lifting the nearly empty glass of rum to your lips.

"Because you're beautiful." George grinned, laughing a little like this was some big obvious fact.

"You're just tipsy." You shook your head, pointing to his empty bottle of beer and its half full replacement.

"No, you're just beautiful. You always have been." His tone grew more serious. You dared to catch his eye. The flames from a foot away were reflected in his gaze, and something else too. His eyes flicked away from yours to land on your lips. And his parted ever so slightly. If you hadn't dared to glimpse at his mouth, you wouldn't have noticed the way his jaw slacked.

His eye caught yours again and you realized he was moving closer. George was leaning in and your heart was beating a mile a minute and the fire seemed hotter than the dozen summers you'd wasted away here before.

His lips brushed yours before anything, and neither of you moved for a moment. His warm breath ghosted across your face and all your dreams seemed to suddenly come true as his mouth closed against yours.

Slowly, your lips started moving together. But they moved in perfect time, like they were made for it and waiting for this day to come true. George kissed you with a little more intent, as you kissed him back like you'd never get the chance to again. Because you had never once believed anything like this would happen with George. Maybe he was just tipsy. Or lonely. Or bored. You didn't care. You started to believe he had at least a little bit of actual interest in you, with the way he leaned closer and pressed his grip into your side. His tongue brushed against yours as his fingers started creeping closer to your chest. You wondered if he could feel your heart beating like a drum, and if his hand would ever reach its destination. You kissed him hard as encouragement, and he let out the sweetest whimper that would have made your eyes roll if they were open.

And then there was a knock at the door.

"Shit." You let out another nervous laugh, pulling away and catching your breath. You thought George's friends had all cancelled.

"I'm- I'm sorry." George shook his head, swiping hand at his lips and furrowing a brow at another knock on the door.

"Don't be?" You searched George's eyes for a moment and hoped he knew what you were asking. You hoped he watched as you hurried away. Had that really just happened? Had you just been bold enough to do the thing you'd wished of doing since sometime in high school? Was all the gentle passion in his kissing you back fueled by the drinks? Or had he really meant it?

The knocking kept on as you drifted closer. Geeze, for someone who wasn't sure about coming, they sure seemed excited to be here in the middle of the night. You adjusted yourself on the way to unlock the door, and tried not to blanch when you saw who was on the other side.

"Hi kids!" George's mother beamed, a bag in her arms. "My trip got cancelled and your folks weren't busy so we figured we'd come surprise you!"

The group of parents shuffled through the door. Your father toted a bottle of whiskey and your mother held a stack of films in her grasp. They each hugged you, and you scrambled to steady your tone.

"What a treat." You laughed through your teeth. The change in the pace of your evening could have given you whiplash.

"Oh, it's just like old times!" George's mother squealed, finding her son shuffling toward the kitchen to find what all the commotion was about.

"I suppose so." He grinned, accepting his mothers embrace and nodding as she explained that his father was too busy with work to crash the party. With all the tender sweetness you'd fallen for over the years, George said he understood but greeted his mother with kindness all the while. And as your parents rushed to pass hugs his way, George caught your eye. You wanted nothing more than to ask about the question in his gaze. But you feared your weekend with George wouldn't be as you'd once dreamed, like always.

///

You were glad to sit around the dying fire with your family. His mother's laugh was music to your ears. Your father's jokes had George doubled over with laughter. Your mother mused over and over about how glad she was for this surprise getaway.

And you couldn't be too upset, because you relished every moment you got to spend like this. Usually, this cabin was an escape, a place you could come without a care in the world. But now, there was a nagging little worry tumbling around your head, as everyone sat dragging the night on. Loose plans for the next day were made, talk of enjoying nature and making use of the big kitchen. You said something about sleeping in, because that was a rare occasion in your life these days. And here was a place where your wishes were supposed to be granted.

Your mother was the first to head to bed. The other adults decided to as well, but not before recruiting George to help clean up the kitchen neither of you had been very worried about taking total care of earlier in the evening.

You trudged up the stairs and took your turn in the shower, after wishing your mother a lovely night's sleep. She kept walking to the end of the hall, where she and your father enjoyed the best view just overtop of the forest of trees all around you.

While you washed up for the evening, your mind raced in every direction. What had just happened? And what was going to happen now? You'd been through all sorts of unexpected events with George, growing up. But never anything remotely close to... whatever this was. So far, this wasn't at all how you'd envisioned your long-awaited autumn visit in the countryside.

George's mother was soon making her way to bed too. She passed by as you opened the bathroom door and paused to give you a kiss on the cheek. You wished her goodnight and started your creep toward your own room. Before you could get there, George was walking with your father up the stairs, sharing chatter about a sports game from last year.

"Alright well, I'm off to clean up before bed." Your father noted, ruffling your hair on his way past. "Unless you need in here, George." Your father spun and pointed. There was another half bath downstairs, but the one on the second floor was the only one completed with a big shower and a separate tub.

"Ah, just holler when you're finished and I'll have a turn." George nodded as your father spun back toward the loo wishing you goodnight. You caught George's eye as you started back to your room, and prayed the creaking of the floorboard behind you were his footsteps and not just another one of your daydreams.

Sure, and strangely enough, a set of fingers curled around your wrist before you passed through your doorway.

"I believe we have some unfinished business." His voice muttered over your shoulder. Holy shit. How was this happening?

You didn't have time to waste questioning any longer. You only pulled George into the room you'd come to call your own, and shut the door with a gentle click that wouldn't cause any unwanted attention. No sooner than you had, George was on you.

His lips captured yours in a flash, like you'd been lost at sea and were only just being reunited. You threw your arms around his neck and barely held back a shocked giggle when George pulled you flush against him. You could have spent forever this way, in George's strong embrace, sharing the same breath.

He kissed you dizzy and spun you toward the wall. His hands found your chest at long last and he sighed against your mouth as you pulled him closer best you could. His hips pressed into yours and his hand trailed down your front, till his fingers stalled at the button of your sleep shorts.

"Can I?" He asked in a husky breath, looking right at you. You raised a brow, and gave him a nod, only just attempting to catch your breath. You could hardly believe it. But you'd never been more sure. George kept an eye on you for a beat, as you pressed your teeth to your lower lip. And when his hand started to move, you couldn't help but smile.

"Do you have any idea how badly I've always wanted to do this?" George asked, breathing in your ear as his hand disappeared below the fabric of your shorts. "For how long I've dreamed of having my way with you?" A shiver shot through you as he nipped at your neck. It was all very overwhelming. His word. His lips. His fingers, steadily starting to trace all the right places.

"Holy shit, George." You whined, gripping his shoulder for support from melting into a puddle on the floor.

"What? Am I doing alright?" He asked in a snide way, keeping his mouth pressed below your ear, and pressing his fingers against you with more vigour. Your breath caught at the feeling and George hummed happily against your throat.  His fingers travelled further, deeper, till there was no place left for them to go. And when he set his digits into motion, you couldn't help but let out a noise, a small broken cry that tore George's focus from your neck right to you. His fingers stopped moving and his free hand reached your jaw. He held your face in his grasp and seemed to stall a question on his lips. Then with a breath, George asked,

"You're not gonna keep quiet are you?" At the same moment he'd decided your reaction, his fingers started moving again, and his hand that held your jaw moved to cover your mouth.

"Still try, darling, this cabin isn't very big you know?" George grinned, putting his fingers to good use. Your eyes rolled back, and tried as you might, another cry escaped your throat when George picked up his pace. His one hand stayed firm over your mouth as he worked you up and whispered sinful encouragement in your ear. When you could barely feel the floor under your feet, a noise came from the hall. A knock on a distant door.

You groaned as George stalled, and chuckled at your disappointment. His free hand slid down to your throat and his fingers gently curled around there as his eyes watched yours. From behind your door and down the way you heard your father.

"George! Showers free. And don't forget to see your alarm. We're still hiking at dawn!"

You could have cried, really, when you realized your night of fun was halted till further notice. George slipped his fingers from your shorts as you sucked in a breath and let it out like a sigh.

"Don't worry love," George cooed. "I plan on taking good care of you... eventually." The fingers he'd been using found their way to your mouth. You watched his pretty blue eyes flutter as you wrapped your lips and swirled your tongue around his knuckles. You swore he almost reconsidered his leave. But then George straightened and backed away with a clenched jaw and a smile on his lips.

"Get some rest. We're hiking in the morning!" He announced with a wink as he reached for the handle of your door.

"Oh, fuck you." You grinned, feeling empty and full of fire all at once.

"With any luck." George said, before shutting the door behind him.

///

"It's too high!" You worried, searching for a broad rock to step down onto. You and your family had found yourselves at the top of the trail that wound through the forest. But had decided to take a different route back down, around the lake.

"Here look, step there." George spoke up, from the bottom of the path that was broken up. He pointed to a patch of dirt you envisioned crumbling the moment you relied on it. Your mother tutted, and moved past you to take George's advice. Your lovely neighbour extended his hand to your mother who managed her way to safety with his help. Your father followed, helping George's mother, until you were the last one left.

They all stared up at you as you bit your nails and mulled over your game plan.

"Right- we're walkin' on. Get her off, George." Your father waved and turned to follow your mother and George's, who were already ahead gossiping about some tv show. You struggled to hide your blush as Geogre shifted his weight and grinned up to you.

"Do you trust me?" He asked.

"Obviously." You pointed. George reached out, and you held your breath, and stepped where everyone else had. George's hand was strong, but your prediction came true. As you balanced your weight on the patch of dirt, it began to give way. But George was there. He swept you away with ease and balanced you on both feet on the same level of ground as him.

"Did you just want me to save you all along?" George mused, keeping his arms snug around you as you stood.

"Come on." You bit back a smile and pushed George to lead the way, noticing your folks posed for a self at the opening of a man-made bridge.

You all walked on, till you spotted a weather-worn gazebo near the opening of the lake. The sun was unusually bright for the seasons, though a chill balanced in the air. Your gang stalled to rest in the small enclosure and laughed about the adventure you'd been on, and how none of you had ever realized this little nook was out here in all the years you'd been staying right around the bend.

George's mother was the first to head in, saying something about a midday nap. You didn't blame her. You all really had risen with the sun to enjoy the trails before a late lunch. Your mother was next to leave, mentioning just that. Her plans to make a big ridiculous afternoon meal that would likely count as some kind of dinner,  too. Your father followed after her, paranoid about the trek from out of the woods alone.

George stayed and shot you a look as you watched everyone walk away, and turn around the lake. And for a moment, you just talked. Like how you always used too. About life and death and everything in between. All while each pause between topics grew long and heavy.  Soon, you rose from the bench, tired of sitting, but excited to find yourself lingering out here in the sole company of the man you'd been dreaming of keeping all to yourself.

"Do you prefer it here in the summer, or now?" You wondered aloud, because you really wanted to know. The area you'd come to know so well seemed like a different world in the cold.

George followed your ambling, back down the skinny trail from where you'd just come. He waited to respond until he stepped to face you and stalled your meander.

"Now." George smiled, searching your eyes and pushing his nose against yours. The action made your heart flutter and your fists curl in the pockets of your jacket. Then he kissed you so tenderly, like you'd kissed thousands of times before and he was used to the sensation. You, however, were still dazzled by it. Your hands flew up and clung to the jacket he'd left unzipped. You kissed him back like this was your last chance to prove how badly you'd always wanted too. At your fervour, George snaked his arms around you. One of his hands tangled in your hair as his other trailed to your backside.

You had no excuse to hold back your pleased sighs, as George pressed against you, digging his fingers into your thigh and pulling it nearer to his hip. Your own hands started to wander, right between his legs. George let out a groan as you pressed your palm against his tight jeans, and you thought of doing it again just to hear his reaction. But you had something better in mind.

You broke your kiss and grabbed both of George's hands. He watched as you dragged him a little deeper into the green, and fell against a wide tree when you pushed his toward it.

When you started to fiddle with his belt buckle and bend your knees, George flushed and gapped at you.

"Here?" He asked with a nervous grin, looking much more innocent and shy than he'd appeared last night. Maybe ever.

"Would you rather trade bakewell recipes, George?" You asked with a snicker, sitting back against your heels and peering up to him. "We really don't have to, though." You spoke again with a serious nod, making sure he knew you really didn't want to do anything he didn't want to. But damn, you really wanted this.

"I'd really like if we did." George swallowed, and your grin stretched back to life. "I was just surprised is all."

"Why? Don't you think I'd like to show you as good a time as you started to show me last night?" You unzipped his trousers and kept your gaze fixed to George.

"I promise to make it up to you." He breathed as you started to pull at his boxers.

"You already are." You assured, just before the time for talk had ceased. Your mouth had better things to do.

When George lost his fingers in your hair, and tugged, you were motivated to deepen your interaction. Then you got to hear the way George whined and hissed and cursed your name under his breath. Even if you could reach your free hand to his lips, you couldn't dream of keeping George quiet. His sounds were the sweetest encouragement you'd ever known.

You stayed on your knees until your efforts paid off. Then you helped George pull his trousers back in shape as you rose to meet him, and were pleasantly surprised when he grabbed your face and kissed you. But when his hand started to trail below your waste you broke your kiss and shook your head.

"We don't have time." You sighed, brushing back some of George's unkempt blonde waves.

"But-" His perfect pale brows furrowed and his thumb brushed your cheek.

"It's okay. We'd better get going." You nodded. George nodded too, but then stole another quick kiss. It made you wonder what this was about. It made you wonder what George thought of you, and what he thought of you with him. You didn't let yourself wonder long. The sky was starting to darken with clouds. So you brushed the dirt from your knees and let George lead the way back to the cabin, biting back your broad grin every time he turned to make sure you were close behind.

///

The next morning was spent lazing about the breakfast table as a drizzle locked you all in. Your parents were each still in the kitchen, arguing over cinnamon rolls and other breakfast treats.

"I always wanted to come here to watch the leaves change." You piped up, setting a steaming coffee mug to the side, with your gaze stuck out the rain covered window. George sat by your side, with his head in the crook of his elbow on the table.

"We must have come too early in the year." You sighed, searching for a glimpse of orange or yellow in the distance. All you saw was brown and green against a dull grey sky.

"Well," George spoke up, quietly so. You lowered your eyes to find his, and fixated on his small grin. "That just means we'll have to come back."

"Yeah?" You hesitated to ask. What had he meant? Why had he said so? George only rested his hand on your thigh below the table, tracing patterns on your knee with his thumb. You kept your gaze on him and realized you had fallen hard and fast.

You'd always had it bad for George, but with all this new and very exciting attention he'd been giving you, it was game over. You'd thought of nothing but George each night you fell asleep one room over. Your heart practically leapt out of your rib cage every time you caught his eye across the room, since the beginning of the weekend.

But you didn't understand it. Neither of you talked about what you'd done or mentioned doing anything quite like it again. You just waited up in empty halls and hoped he'd come around the corner in the least suspicious amount of time possible.

But today was hard. Today you couldn't sneak out in the woods, or around the corner. You were trapped in by rain, and if you and George snuck behind closed doors there wouldn't be a question as to why, and that would be utterly embarrassing.

So you sat across from George as your father rallied everyone around an old tattered board game. You caught George's eye as your parents bickered over game rule, and wondered what he was thinking as his pretty blue gaze locked on yours.

When you followed your mother's instructions to go and find a stack of movies in her room, George's mother shuffled off to go make snacks. So your favourite pretty blonde said something about taking a shower, and followed as you trekked up the stairs. But no sooner than you found the stack of movies, and George lingered outside of the bathroom did your father spin into the hall in search of his glasses.

You and George only got to share a look before he shut the bathroom door, and your father recruited you to help in his hunt.

As you all curled up for a movie marathon, Geogre helped you pour everyone a drink. While he reached for a set of glasses, he sneaked past you with one hand grazing your lower back for as long as he could get away with.

And when your parents took residence on the love seat and his mother kicked back in the chair, you and George were left to make the floor comfortable. You dumped all the extra blankets in front of the coffee table and sat a few inches away from George while some romcom played on. It was almost painful, how close he was without being able to reach out. What a strange turn of events.

His mother fell fast asleep by the second film, and your parent's dozed off by the third.

And as the last film played on, you felt George's hand creeping closer to yours. His fingers fit between your own, and his thumb brushed against your knuckles every now and again, as you sat holding hands.

You hadn't really seen that coming. You hadn't known what to expect of this whole thing with George, but an innocent lasting touch wasn't it. All the questions you'd always wondered were louder and scarier as the movie dragged on.

And when it was over, George walked you up the stairs. You kept quiet as not to wake your parents, and watched as he moved in the dark. When he stalled in the doorway of your room, you gazed up to him with a pushed in brow. Then he kissed you. Just a gentle, lingering peck. He left you in your doorway with that, and you stayed up staring at your ceiling wondering why.

///

Your parents left the next morning. They hadn't planned too. But your father got a call from work and since they'd all arrived as a group they decided to leave that way. You had awoken early and found yourself staring at the pages of a book when your mother bustled down the stairs to let you know.

"We'll see you kids at the start of the week!" George's mother waved on her way out of the door. She hoped you'd both enjoy the last day of the weekend in the cozy little place you'd always come back to.

Your parents scrambled to pack their things and followed her out of the door in a dazed rush, rambling about how they wished they didn't have to leave as they headed to the door.

Just like that the cabin was quiet, more so than you'd ever noticed, even when you'd been the only one creeping through the halls. You had no idea what to expect. You didn't want to get your hopes up. And you didn't want to make this already strange situation even weirder. So you took to doing the dishes at the sound of your parents peeling out of the gravel drive. You scrubbed every plate and focused on every soap bubble to stall time as you thought up what to say.

One of you had to say something, right?

When the staircase finally creaked, you'd finished the leftover dishes and were nearly done sorting the last of them away. George stretched into the room, looking around to realize the cabin was missing your surprise guests.

"Dad got called into work. You just missed telling everyone goodbye." You shrugged, meeting George's eye for a moment before you spun to put the last dish away. You listened as he softly floated toward the space you occupied yourself.

"So I finally get you all to myself then?" George seemed to really ask. He looked tired, still. But there was a gentle smile on his face, some kind of hopeful glaze painted over his features. George reached out to you, both of his hands softly holding your face. He peered at you, searching your features as his thumb traced your bottom lip.

"You really wanna spend the rest of this weekend with me?" You wondered, ducking your head as a twinge of fear started to take hold. But Geogre straightened your gaze once more, he made you look at him as he chose his words.

"I'd like to spend much longer than just this weekend with you," He spoke gently like every word was precious. You couldn't possibly think of what to say. You could only smile. You grinned without holding back and watched as George shut his eyes and kissed you.

You kissed him back and decided the pouring rain was cause enough to start a fire. George trailed behind you on your mission to throw a few logs in the fireplace. When you turned from sparking a flame, you watched George settle onto the floor that was still a mess with blankets and pillows from last night's movie marathon. He reached up to you, fingers moving from their latch on your wrist to press into your sides as he pulled you right into his lap.

Just like that his arms were around you and his mouth opened against yours. The fire was nice, but the warmth coming from George was heavenly. You moved your kisses to his neck, relishing the way his pulse beat under your touch. You trailed your lips back across his jaw until you were kissing him again, and dissolving in his strong hold.

You held his face in your hands as your mouths moved together, and only released your grasp to raise your hands over your head as George lifted your sweater up and away. His kisses trailed across your exposed skin, to the swell of your breasts, while his fingers managed to unclasp your bra. With your knees on either side of his hips, you rocked against George, feeling more desperate for his touch than ever.

"Are you sad your friends ditch you?" You asked in a breath with a smile and George was busy pressing his tongue to your skin. You felt him smile, and the warmth of a chuckle escape him.

"Are you glad our parents came and ruined our chances of spending the whole weekend this way?" George shot back, as you pulled his shirt away. You rolled your eyes and pushed George back against a stack of pillows, reaching for his belt. You laughed as he kicked his trousers away and pulled you down for a kiss, like he couldn't fathom parting from you for a second.

You spent a while wrapped up in his tangled limbs- kissing him, trailing your fingers against his burning skin, rocking against each other while the last of your layers kept you from doing what you really wanted.

"You know, I always had a crush on you, too." George propped himself up on both elbows as you'd started to pull his boxers away. You paused your mission for a moment to look at him. His half-lidded gaze and the mess of his hair. The marks starting to darken on near his throat, from you. He was more beautiful each new time you caught a glimpse, it seemed.

"Sentiment not required, but appreciated." You grinned as George sat up, free of the last of his clothes, reaching to free you of your own with his sea blue eyes on yours all the while.

"I did." He rose a brow, and something about his confirming so made your heartache, as it already beat like a drum. You brushed back his tousled waves and searched George's face for approval. He blinked up at you, totally enraptured. You could have stayed in this paused state forever and you swore he might have been content, too. But you couldn't wait any longer. You'd waited long enough.

When you lowered yourself into George's lap, you watched his eyes close and his jaw slack. A sigh escaped his lips, like he was totally relieved. And not just by the pressure you'd both felt now, but by the build-up of this whole weekend. Like something from very deep within him was finally settled. You might have laughed a little at that state of him if you weren't feeling the same. You'd never felt so safe. A strange word for a time like now, but the only word that seemed to fit.

Neither of you moved for a while. At first, you'd focused on settling into the feeling. Then you became totally distracted, brushing back George's hair and peppering his face with kisses. His hands stayed loose around your sides and his nose nudged your own in a way that made your heart sing.

"As much as I love this, I really would like if you moved a little, dove." George cooed in your ear and kneaded his fingers into your hips hoping you'd get the hint.

So you did what he said, and rolled against him. George kept his grip firm as he let out one of those melodious groans of his. You picked up the pace then, not daring to hold back your own hums as George's eyes opened to find yours.

You shared another kiss as you found your rhythm, but couldn't keep it up for long. Your lips parted but lingered close to his when you couldn't hold back a broken cry.

George wrapped an arm around your middle and moved swiftly to lay you down. You watched as he loomed over you and searched your features like he did the first night here. You were in the same place as you had been when you confessed your stupid crush. And you were in the same spot you had been when he kissed you for the first time. And when he closed the distance between you once more, it felt better than ever.

You pressed your heels into his back and tried to tell him how fucking great he was at this, but incoherent mumbles were all you could manage.

"That good, huh?" George strained, barely getting the words out himself. But the little laugh that followed his statement seemed easy and sweet. As if you weren't feeling enough, your heart threatened to burst. Everything felt near bursting, actually.

"It's okay, baby." His saccharine voice rang in your ear as he somehow pushed you deeper into the mess of blankets. "It's just you and me now, and you feel so fucking good. You can let go now, love. I wanna feel you to let go."

He could have kept up talking that way and you'd fall to pieces in no time. But when his hand travelled below your stomach you nearly k.o'ed. Between the things he spoke just to you, the way he paused talking to curse a little, and the rhythm of his hips against yours, it didn't take long until you came undone. He kept you pinned in place until you nearly couldn't see straight until it seemed he couldn't either. When it was all said and done, neither of you moved for a moment. You were less irked by the fact you could have been doing that all weekend, and more moonstruck by the reality that it'd happened at all.

///

It wasn't long before you decided to get cleaned up, but it took awhile to get to the bathroom. George stopped you in the hallway to do everything over again, somehow better than the first time. He stopped you from finding clean clothes to pin you to the bed you'd called your own. You tangled your fingers in his hair as he made his way between your thighs, and made you forget all about doing anything else for the rest of the evening.

And when you finally made it to the bathroom, he followed you into the warm bath. But there, you only relaxed. The water soothed your aching muscles, and the whiskey your dad left behind was passed over the bubbles as you and George sat together till the water grew cold. You talked as you cleaned yourself up, about things you'd always talked about before. You watched as George changed into a pair of joggers you recognized from days gone by. You let him wrap you up in a towel and hold you close in the steam-filled bathroom, and you decided it was paradise.

Your night went on like normal. Like most nights had, in the cabin. You made dinner, and joked about the time your siblings nearly burnt the place down making cookies during a heatwave. And after you ate, you left the dishes for another day, like always. Then you followed George to the den, and watched as he turned the telly on to some slasher marathon. Your autumn dreams were alive and well, as you curled up on the sofa at his side.

You stayed happily tucked against him, one arm and leg across his frame. One of his strong arms nearly pulled you on top of him in an effort to cuddle close as possible. You nuzzled your face into his neck when something especially upsetting flashed across the screen. And eventually, the comfort of his secure hand splayed across your head, and his other arm holding you firmly in place, sent you into the most peaceful sleep you must have ever slipped into.

///

"Wake up, love."

Your eyes were heavy, and your limbs ached. The blankets felt so warm in the morning cold, and George's breath tickled your ear.

"My darling, wake up." He said again, tracing a finger along your jaw as your eyes fluttered open.

"M'up." You sighed, focusing on George's pretty face, his brilliant blue eyes and the easy smile on his full lips. You realized he wasn't curled close, but kneeling at your side like he'd been up for a while now.

"Come and see." His smile widened as he grabbed your hand and tugged you to stand. You pushed in your brows and only sat up so quickly because of George's unusual excitement. He kept your hand in his and dragged you across the room to the fog tinted windows. What time was it? George moved you to the clearest view, and snaked his arms around your middle from behind.

You rubbed your eyes and looked. And past the mist, you saw the trees. Among the usual green and grey, you saw spots of dark red and orange starting to appear. The further you looked the more colours you noticed, and then you realized George had noticed before you.

"Now we know." He mumbled in your ear, as you tore your gaze from the stunning view to look over your shoulder. George really did get prettier with every glance. And now you knew, indeed. You knew how he felt, and you knew you'd get to go home with him as more than neighbours. You knew the perfect time to come back to this cabin, too, when the colours were brightest and the fire's warmth would be most coveted. And you knew George would come back with you. The only thing you weren't sure of was which room you'd stay in together, in all the years to come.

───※ ·❆· ※───

[laurensprentiss]

Jouska [Hotch x Reader]

Chapter 7:

Warnings: Panic attacks, anxiety, lots of angst. Emily Prentiss’ cameo! Will reader ever catch a break? Doutbful.

Word Count: 3,842 (It’s a long but a good’un)

———

Perhaps home is not a place but simply an irrevocable condition.” - James Baldwin

———

You’ve been operating on autopilot since that day. For around a week and a half now, you work from home, run your errands, come home and find yourself staring into nothing, sitting in your apartment alone. You’ve been dodging calls from Hotch, your dad, Emily and now your ex, too, since he’d been back in town. 

You’d stormed out of the building that day on wobbly legs, willing yourself not to buckle or fall on the floor, your breath shaky and shallow. You’d somehow managed to keep your composure in the cab home, staring out of the window, your brain feeling like static, incomprehensible, confusing and far too busy. 

You were surprised though, at your outward composure, surprised that you hadn’t even felt the need to cry, not even so much as a lump in your throat anymore. The adrenaline had seemed to be wearing off on the journey home, you’d even give a weary smile to the cab driver as you got out of the car. But you’d been so preoccupied with your thoughts that you hadn’t noticed the same black sedan from earlier that day, tailing your cab again. 

Once you’d finally keyed your door closed, though - you’d sunk to the cold tile of your apartment floor and let the shame and embarrassment of your naivety wash over you, cursing yourself repeatedly, sick with rage. Not rage towards Hotch, or McCall. Rage towards yourself. Furious that you’d even let yourself entertain any sort of delusion about Hotch, that you’d even allowed a flutter of hope to bloom in your chest. 

Mortified that he’d been actively avoiding you while you’d been waiting for the phone to ring, like some desperate, naive little girl. 

You’d cried then, which had only infuriated you more. What did you have to cry about? He didn’t owe you anything. He had a job, and he was doing it well, considering he’d been the one to draw up the profile. He had a whole life, a past with Haley, and most likely, a future with her, too. 

You’d heard a knock on the door behind you that had startled you in the midst of the tears streaming down your cheeks. You’d heard Hotch’s voice call your name from behind the door and you’d had to fight to not gasp or cry even more as he’d called out to you.

“Please. Just let me in. Please just let me explain myself.” He’d pleaded. He didn’t quite understand what he would say even if you did open the door, but the desperation he felt to see you, to just say something that wasn’t met with anger by you, far outweighed any rational thought he could muster right now. 

You’d clasped both hands over your mouth and brought your knees to your chest to stop any sound from escaping, willing yourself to hold your ground just this once. To pull back some respect for yourself, to try and grasp at anything that would let you feel like you were on even footing again.  

“Please? I can hear you in there, you can yell at me, hit me, scream at me, just please let me say what I need to say to you!” You’d just held your breath and focused on the rise and fall of your chest to keep yourself grounded, your eyes closed.

No.

You’d heard some shuffling and muffled voices through the door, Agent McCall’s voice familiar to you at this point. You’d listened hard as you’d heard him tell Hotch to leave. 

“Ben-”

“Now.” His voice was stern. “Go talk to Barnes. I’ll handle things here.” 

He’d hesitated for a moment against the door before he’d finally left, his body weighed down with the immense guilt, his stomach like concrete. 

This wasn’t going to go away.

Once you were sure he’d left, you’d gathered yourself up off the floor and splashed some water on your face, willing the puffiness in your cheeks and eyes to subside. In your vulnerability, you’d felt intensely alone and mistakenly picked up the phone, needing a friend to confide in.

“Hello?”

“Jordan?” 

“Yeah? Who’s this?” 

“It’s me.” You could hear the gears turning in his head. You’d said your name through the phone and he chuckled. 

“Hey. I wasn’t expecting your call. How’ve you been?”

“Can you come over?” You’d said abruptly. 

He paused. There was no answer for a while and you’d had to look at the phone, to double-check it hadn’t been disconnected. 

“Hello?” 

“I- yeah. I’m on my way. See you soon, babe.” You’d shuddered slightly at his pet name for you, you never had liked it when you were together and it had felt even stranger now. But you needed someone to help you through this, and he was nothing if not familiar, even if you hadn’t worked out the first time. 

Unbeknownst to you, though. Hotch had stayed parked across the road and had seen Jordan enter your apartment building around thirty minutes later. He’d frowned and leaned across the console to watch the figure walk into the lobby right as he’d seen your apartment lights turn on. He’d turned his attention to your apartment window then, as you’d drawn your curtains, the sight of you making his breath catch. He’d gripped the steering wheel tight as he’d maneuvered himself to desperately get a better view of you, only to see Jordan behind you as you’d pulled the fabric closed, his heart dropping and a lump forming in his throat. 

He’d never even had you, but he’d lost you. 

———

You give yourself a once over in the mirror again , dusting off some lint that isn’t really there off of your dress, turning to make sure that it fits right. Taking a couple of deep breaths, you step out of your bedroom.

“Ready, ma’am?” Agent McCall asks. 

You simply nod and grab your purse as Agent McCall leads the way out of the door, confirming the address of the bistro over his earpiece. You have a strange knot in your stomach, the kind that develops when you have to see an old friend who you’ve lost touch with. The kind that develops when you have a psycho stalker and you’re estranged and furious at the one person who’d slowly become your comfort.

You’d decided that you had to try to make an attempt, a real effort to keep the small number of friends you did have, finally taking Emily’s calls and even proposing lunch. She’d responded excited, and had taken care of the reservations for you, said it’d be her treat. 

You glance up towards agent McCall, a question bubbling up in your chest, but you lose your nerve at the last minute. He spots you from the corner of his eye but doesn’t attempt to respond or invite further questions, simply setting the SUV into drive and taking off. You bite the inside of your cheek, repeatedly looking at your watch, your index finger scratching divots into the side of your thumb. As you pull up to the restaurant, you spot two undercovers on either side of the block. MPD, you deduce. 

Agent McCall opens your door for you, confirming something on his earpiece as he escorts you out. “I’ll be waiting right here, Agent Hotchner will be here soon to relieve me, so he’ll be escorting you back, ma’am.” He rattles it off like a rehearsed speech, but there’s a hint of levity in his voice. 

Your head whips towards his direction. “Hotchner? No, he’s not on my detail anymore.” You quip back, the panic and excitement making for a strange cocktail. 

“As of this morning, he is.” He ducks his head. “I’m sorry, I know what happened and I completely respect that, but the Ambassador made the decision and Barnes agrees. I’m sorry ma’am.”  

Your chest flutters slightly at that, futile excitement, dread and anxiety spreading to your bones at the thought of seeing Hotch for the first time in so long. You huff and take his hand. 

“We’re not done with this.” You mutter to him.

You turn to find Emily’s dark eyes watching you from the outdoor seating area of the restaurant as you cross the road, squinting slightly as if to see if it’s really you. When you laugh, she immediately sets her napkin down on the table, and shouts your name, her arms outstretched almost immediately, her face breaking out into a grin.

Oh Emily.

You close the gap between you, taking quick little steps in an awkward kind of run, as you meet her hug, her body almost crushing you. Air leaves your chest in a whoosh as you both laugh, rocking slightly to catch your balance. She rubs your arms up and down when she finally releases you, leading the way to your table. “Oh! It’s so good to see you!” She breathes.

You immediately relax, the dread and nervousness washing away. No matter how long it goes between visits with Emily, you could probably always count on the fact that you’d pick up right where you left off. You felt almost silly now for even thinking it’d be any different. The stress of the past month melts away and you finally feel at ease for the first time in a long time. 

“It’s good to see you too!” You laugh, sitting back. You chance a quick glance over the SUV, but you give yourself away. Emily follows your eyes and spots Agent McCall parked on the other side of the road, watching you. 

“Hey. What’s with the goon squad?” She points her head to the left to point to McCall, glaringly obvious that he’s there to watch you. “I spotted two UC’s a block away too.” She questions. 

You sigh. It’s not really a question you can avoid, besides, she’s a close friend and confidante. And she’s so sharp, always aware of her surroundings - almost unsettlingly so. But if anybody could relate, it would be her. You briefly explain that somebody had been leaving you notes and gifts for a while which is why- 

“You didn’t go to college this year - that’s right.” She nods, finishing your sentence for you. She winces slightly with sympathy as the pieces fall into place for her. She shakes her head in disbelief. “I- how long?” She asks. Her eyebrows are pulled together, her brown eyes wide and vulnerable. 

“Since last summer. Dad had some old friends with the FBI so they're my security until we catch him, I guess.” You pick at a hangnail, the reality of the situation making your heart sink more every day. 

“I'm sorry.” She exhales. “First a breakup, then your father’s whole heart scare, and then this?”

You look up at her. “How did you know about Dad?”

“Ambassador Prentiss.” She laments, sarcastically.

“Ah.” 

“Mother had her aide get in touch when she didn’t hear back from your father.” Her voice softens as she reaches her hand across the table to stop you from ripping the skin straight off your finger. “Why didn’t you just tell me? I may not have been much help, but I’m always here to listen. You gotta reach out more.” 

A lump forms in your throat as you come to the crushing realisation that you didn’t really have many friends at all, no real friends of substance that you could really confide in, anyway . Sure, you had society friends, acquaintances, the children of other DC officials but your heart sinks. You have nobody except your father and Emily - and your father, well. He wouldn’t be around forever. 

You squeeze her hand back and thank her, retreating back to your lap and scratching your thumb again, toying with the skin. Her eyebrows quirk as she watches you, aware of your nervous tics.

“What is it?”

You snap your head up. “Hm? What? Oh- nothing.”

“Don’t even. I know when you’re lying. What is it?” Her eyebrows raise, the way they do when she challenges someone. She did always have the uncanny ability to see right through people. 

You sigh. “Fine. It’s about the breakup.” She slumps back in her seat and rolls her eyes, her head shaking. 

“You did not. Tell me you didn’t.”

“Don’t kill me. But, around two weeks ago, I kinda slept with Jordan.” You wince.

She inhales sharply through her teeth, shaking her head. “Come on. I thought you knew better! Why would you do that? He’s nothing but trouble.” 

“I. I don’t know, it’s a long story. I haven’t seen him since, though.” You try to justify to her with a laugh, throwing your hands up in defence. “He keeps trying to call, but I just let it go to voicemail. If anything, I remembered why we didn’t work the first time around.” 

“Uh huh.” She raises her eyebrows and huffs out a laugh. “Good. He gives the creeps.” She mutters. 

You let out a laugh then, a real laugh and you can’t remember the last time you felt this light. You think for a split second about how you did feel this light and happy around Hotch despite the impending danger, but you erase the thought from your mind quickly, refusing to allow yourself to go down that road again. 

The mere split second thought makes your chest drop, though - another wave of sadness washing over you just as quickly, and it’s only exacerbated by the fact that you’re going to have to face him soon. Your emotions seemingly do a rapid 180.

You feel grateful to be here with Emily, with someone to talk to, but the hole that you’d tried to fill with Jordan a week ago had only left you feeling more empty and dissatisfied with your life. You’d asked him to go home later that night, unable to look at him, or yourself. All you could think about was how Hotch was probably happy, living in domesticity with his first love and you were spending the night alone - again, while someone out there probably wanted you dead.

You flash Emily a quick smile and excuse yourself to the ladies’ room as she carefully watches you enter the restaurant. Once inside you try your best to hold in the tears, the harsh lighting oddly illuminating the top of your face, washing you out. You grip the edges of the cool sink, trying to even your breathing but the tears come as though they have a life of their own, falling down your cheek. 

Your eyes sting and your chest burns as you finally let yourself cry again, you feel it long overdue, the loneliness, the isolation, the danger. All of it rearing its ugly head. You try to stifle the sobs from your chest, desperate whimpers escaping from your throat as it gets harder and harder to breathe. 

A door handle turning suddenly startles you, making you jump. You clear your throat, your voice coming nasally. “Occupied.” 

Loud knocks come this time, making rapid contact with the wood on the other side. “I said it’s occupied!” You call out, louder this time. 

It’s silent for a moment before loud thumps and grunts come from the other side, as your heart drops, your knees weak. Your wide eyes dart around the bathroom when the door starts to heave, the hinges rattling as the person on the other side attempts to break it down. 

You back away with shaky legs, trying to get as far away from the door as possible. You don’t even realise when you start screaming for help, the noise in the bathroom rising, suffocating you. A high pitched whine penetrates your skull, your hands and face sweaty, heart thrumming as you shake. Your vision tunnels and you feel nausea rising in your stomach. 

The thumping suddenly subsides, a breathy laugh coming from the other side, as you fall to the floor, the cold hard tile against the back of your thighs. You find it hard to breathe, your vision is clouded by black spots, and you realise you’re still calling out for help, your voice screeching. 

“Ma’am?” A young woman’s voice comes from the other side. “Ma’am are you in there?” She asks, panic rising in her voice. 

You hear Hotch’s voice on the other side, speaking to the woman, followed by the sound of keys. Relief washes over you temporarily but you can’t bring yourself to get up or even move slightly, your body frozen. The young woman manages to open the door after shakily fumbling with the keys, Hotch brushing past her. 

The sight of you on the bathroom floor, sweaty, cried out and so vulnerable does something to him he can’t quite explain. You’re curled into a ball in the corner of the bathroom under the sink, your knees against your chest, your hands clutching your head as you rock slightly. He’s furious and devastated in equal measure, doesn’t quite know how to proceed. Protocol dictates he ask you what happened, take you to a secure location, obtain evidence. 

Screw protocol. 

He gets down on your level, shrugs off his suit blazer and wraps it around you, not bothering to move you off the wall, the blazer covering you like a blanket. He whispers off the young employee to block off the bathroom area, his hand reaching up to push some matted hair off your face. 

He doesn’t bother asking if you’re okay, the question entirely redundant if your current state is anything to go by. Figures it’s futile, patronising, even. 

“Hey, it’s me. Can you hear me?” He whispers. Your eyes are still closed and you’re hyperventilating, droplets of sweat on your forehead as you rock back and forth. He hesitantly brings his other hand to your face, his thumb rubbing your cheek. “Hey.” 

You hold onto his forearm. “Aaron?” 

“Come here.”

You close the small amount of distance between you and lean forward to throw yourself into his arms, hanging onto his shoulder as sobs wrack your body. His arms awkwardly wrap around you, his blazer and your legs in the way, but he holds you close nonetheless, his hand running up and down your back as he shushes you. He remembers reading once, that even pressure around the ribs can help with nervous system dysregulation so he squeezes tight, whispering encouragement into your ear.

“It’s okay. It’s okay. You’re okay. I got you. Breathe with me.” He doesn’t let go as he breathes exaggeratedly, wanting you to take his lead. His presence allows you to find a tandem with the rise and fall of his chest while he rubs smooth lines up and down your back. “That’s good, you’re doing really good, sweetheart.” 

He has a lump forming in his throat and rage bubbling in his chest. He thanks God that he’d arrived here just in time and made the decision to run into the restaurant to speak to you when he did. He’d heard the sound of you screaming from the back of the restaurant right as he was about to ask the waitress if she’d seen you, and saw red as he’d sprinted through the booths and tables to get to you. 

He was going to kill this son of a bitch. 

You fall limp in his arms as your breathing regulates, your chest and the back of your throat aching like you just ran a marathon - your head feels like a brick. You let your eyes flutter closed and bury your face into the crook of Hotch’s neck, inhaling his scent. You remember back to the day you first met, almost four months ago now, the cold Virgina air, the rain, the way he’d given you his blazer - your body relaxes slightly. 

The noise of the hustle and bustle outside the bathroom area starts to become louder as you finally start feeling present again, feeling returning to your hands and feet.

You hear a familiar voice right outside. “You need to let me in, it’s my friend in there.” You blink your eyes open.

Ma’am. It’s a crime scene, I’m afraid you can’t go in there.” A stern voice replies. 

“What? A- a crime scene? Let me through.” She says defiantly.

Emily. 

You hear a commotion and footsteps approaching, a shadow getting bigger as you release yourself from Hotch’s arms, using the back of your hand to wipe your face. She appears in the doorway then, a horrified look on her face as she gasps, the waiter trailing behind her, an embarrassed look on his face. 

Hotch turns to look at her and back at you, his eyes narrowing as he looks at you, concern etched on his face as you communicate wordlessly. 

He raises his eyebrows.

You okay? 

You nod. 

Yeah. 

“Honey.” She gasps. Hotch moves over to the side, standing up and offers Emily a tight smile as he brushes off his pant legs and hands. She sinks to her knees on the floor, sitting next to you, her arm around your shoulder, inviting you close to her. Her other hand rubs your thigh gently, and you lay your head on her shoulder, your hands wrapping around the one she has in your thigh and you squeeze. Her other hand gently brushes over your hair, as she inhales and exhales with you, her comforting presence something that you’d been sorely missing. 

Hotch signals to excuse himself to Emily and she just nods, allowing him to leave. She doesn’t ask what happened, she doesn’t speak, she doesn’t move. Just offers herself to you as her heart breaks a little at the sight of you. 

It’s around ten minutes later that Hotch returns, voices overlap through police radios as he shoos a police officer away. He crouches down to your level, a small smile on his face. 

“Hey.” He rubs a hand on your shin. “We ready to go?”

You heave a breath. “Yeah. Yeah, get me the hell out of here.” You huff. You glance at Emily. “You're coming right?”

“Of course.” She whispers with a smile, her hand squeezing yours. “I’m gonna grab some stuff from my place first, okay? I can be at yours in an hour.”

You nod. Hotch holds out his hand to help you up, collecting his blazer and draping it around your shoulders, rubbing them as he does, to reassure you. He places a hand on the small of your back, nodding at the waiter as he shows the three of you out of the back exit, Emily walking behind you. Hotch’s car is parked right outside the service entrance in the back alleyway, and you smile up at him, thankful that you wouldn’t have to walk out to the front again. 

“I’ll see you soon, honey.” Emily hugs you as you wrap your arms around her waist, squeezing tight. She places a protective kiss on your temple and nods at Hotch as she walks around to get her car. You watch her turn the corner and take a deep breath.

“Hey. Let’s get you home.” 

———

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@oreogutz @andromedasstarship @galacticnerd-78 @izzyl13 @dinopossum @crying-river @purpledragonturtles @gabbysblogthingy @euphoricmidoriya @archiveofadragon @yoshigguk @swiftingday @jeor @ivebeenthinkingboutu @bauslut @vashanatasha​

[dreamescapeswriting]

The Last Promise ~ JJK [Request]

↬↬↬Word Count: 3.9K

↬↬↬Genre: ANGST, Sad ending, mentions of death, blood, car accident, heart conditions

↬↬↬Pairing: Jungkook x Fem Reader

↬↬↬ A/N: The original request was for Y/N to have an illness I can’t and will never write about and they said this would be okay to change so I hope this is okay for you.

The sun was shining through the curtains in the kitchen so brightly that Jungkook could barely read the report he was supposed to be working on for work that morning. 

"You've got a letter, I think it's from Y/n," Jisoo's voice didn't sound best pleased with the fact that you had written him a letter Jungkook was just as confused about it as she was. He hadn't heard from you in months but now all of a sudden you were writing him and handwritten letter? 

"I wonder what it is?" He questioned but Jisoo had no time to sit and talk about what the letter from you could and couldn't be about, she was late to work so she gave him and a quick kiss before leaving the apartment that they were sharing together now. He groaned flicking open the envelope. He was met with your usual handwriting and he smiled as he saw the way you wrote his name was still the same in the cute handwriting you had. It made his heart lurch as he remembered all the notes you used to put on his lunch for work.

Jungkook, 

Before you throw this letter down and discard it along with everything else I thought you held close to you, you need to read all of this and read it properly. There's something you need to know about why I didn't give you the blood that day in the hospital...The day my whole life came falling apart ...

The machine you were laid inside was doing the routine beeping that it always did, you'd been in and out of the machine so much that it no longer scared you when you had to go for a screening. The beeps always used to scare you, made you feel like there was something else wrong with you.

"Everything looks okay Y/n," The doctor called out over the beeping, the machine began to wind down and you could hear everything inside of it shutting off before you were pulled out by a nurse who handed you a glass of water before leaving the room. Your doctor came out from behind his glass screen holding a clipboard and pen at the ready, 

"Are you still taking the medications?" The doctor was doing his job you knew that but the questions were always boring, asking the same routine questions that he had to do once a month while you gave him all of the same answers that you'd been doing for the last four years. 

"Yes," You whispered showing him the box of pills that you kept in your handbag, you took so many different pills in the day it was no wonder that you didn't rattle whenever you took a step anywhere.

"Are they effecting you any differently?" You shook your head even though it wasn't an answer he wanted, he wanted words to come from your lips not just a simple nodding of the head.

"No side effects. I'm fine like I have been for the last four years." You mumbled putting on your shoes as you jumped down from the bed you'd been sitting on. You put it down to it being his job to be this protective over his patients but you hadn't had a problem in the last four years yet you still had to take pills every day and would have to for the rest of your life thanks to the Dilated Cardiomyopathy that made your heart weaker than most peoples. It made your life a little harder than most but you weren't going to sit back and let it get you down you weren't going to let it hold you back from anything either, 

"Are you still doing your regular exercises?" He meant the swimming he'd suggested to you, promising you that it was the only sport that would be good for your ''condition'' without damaging you or your body or making your heart any worse.

"I go swimming once a week with my boyfriend, speaking of which I'm late." He rolled his eyes playfully at you and told you to go writing down the answers he knew to his questions, you'd been seeing him for so long he was more like a friend than a doctor but he was close to you. Private care wasn't cheap but it was the only way to get the treatment you needed for your weakened heart with someone who would take all of this seriously with you.

"Hey Kookie, I know I'm late and you're driving but call me when you get this." You said into his answer phone as you made your way out of the hospital and towards the exit doors, he was supposed to be meeting you at a local park before you went out on a date. He didn't know about your heart condition, you and he had only been together for a year and you didn't want to tell him. Though your family had all told you it was something he needed to know you didn't want to risk him treating you like you were made of glass all of a sudden. That was how everyone else treated you. Like you were something that was bound to break at any second when it couldn't have been any further from the truth. As long as you were taking your medications, eating right and behaving like someone who wanted to live you would be fine. No one had to know. Especially not Jungkook.

"Y/n?!" Your best friends voice came through the phone panicked after you finally picked up her call, you'd had 15 missed calls from her along with some voicemails but you'd assumed they weren't anything important until you heard her sobs,

"What's wrong? I was just in an appointment." She didn't know either, no one knew except family and even then it had only been your parents along with your siblings since they had been the ones to find you when you got sick.

"Do you not check the news?! Or your Phone?!" She screamed at you from down the other end of the phone and you knew it was urgent, she'd never spoken to you like this unless something was really bothering her. 

"What's wrong?" You froze outside the hospital doors when you saw an ambulance parked up outside, your best friend standing in a cream dress as she was covered in blood. 

"W-What are you doing here?! What happened?!" Your phone dropped to the floor smashing against the pavement as she turned around to see you standing there, her face was covered in blood as if she'd been the one to get hurt but the way she was standing it couldn't have been her. 

"It's not me, it's Jungkook." As soon as his name left her lips panic washed over your body, the amount of blood she was covered in meant it wasn't good. The ambulance and rushing workers were adding up to something terrible happening. Your body went into shock, freezing you from working as she wasted no time in asking why you were already in the hospital you'd told them before that you did volunteer work there from time to time, she began rushing you through the building ignoring your constant questioning about what was wrong with Jungkook and why she was covered in presumably his blood.

"Jisoo!" You screamed slamming your foot down against the tiled floor in the hallway you demand answers from her instead of the whimpers she was letting out. All you'd managed to get from her were the few words, 

"Car, accident, blood, surprise, and dying." So your mind wasn't putting the best case scenario right in front of you right now.

"Jisoo please," You begged her looking into her eyes with your giant pleading ones waiting for some kind of answer that would make sense and didn't make your heart thud against your chest and make it hurt. Stress wasn't good for you but right now stress was all you were getting from her, 

"Jungkook. We were driving to the park, we were going to surprise you when...When this car it...It came out of nowhere Y/n." The worst thing your brain could come up with was that it was him involved in the accident but if he was so badly injured why hadn't your friend been? 

"Why aren't you hurt?" She shook her head, 

"He wasn't wearing a seatbelt, he smashed his...Oh my god, his head." She broke down into tears and a doctor came out of the room from behind you, 

"We've managed to keep him stable, are any of you a match for his blood type?" Jisoo looked at you knowing that you were an identical match and so was she, 

"I-I am but I can't-" She scoffed at you, 

"She's scared of a little needle but we're both a match we can donate." A doctor lead you into another small room that was on the same hallway, a nurse then began getting you and your friend ready to take some blood from you, 

"I can't do this, please I have to talk to someone first-" Your best friend began grumbling something under her breath at you but you ignored her pulling a nurse to the side to tell her about the medications you were on. Some of the prevented you from donating your blood and you knew that if Jungkook got your blood it could fuck him up even more than he already was from the accident.

When Jungkook woke up the next day his eyes met yours and you smiled sweetly in his direction rubbing your fingers over his knuckles in a soothing way, you'd come to a decision while he was under that you were going to tell him the real reason why you hadn't been able to donate your blood to him. It was going to have to be told sooner or later and you would rather have him know now rather than never knowing. 

"Kookie," You breathed seeing his eyes staring at you but he didn't respond to the nickname as he usually would. Normally the nickname you had for him was met with a giant smile back or at least an acknowledgement this time it was as if hearing the nickname you had for him caused him pain, you were going to put it down to the accident until the door opened.

"I brought us some cookies, water for your stomach and then I- Oh. Y/n." You frowned hearing the confused tone coming from your best friend, Jungkook had been out for a day and you'd gone home to get him some clothes. 

"What?" You whispered standing up from the chair, you saw the look that she was giving Jungkook and it filled you with dread. 

"I was just- wondering what you were doing here." She placed the food and drink down onto a table in the room, Jungkook tried to speak but it was as if his voice was going. Which was happening due to the amount of sleep he'd been getting since the accident. 

"You haven't done it yet?"

"Done what yet?" You questioned as she directed the question at your boyfriend, you already knew what was coming. You could feel it in the pit of your stomach that something bad was about to happen, his eyes locked onto yours again and this time you were met with sadness behind them,

"Jungkook?" 

"Jisoo can you give us some space please?" He grumbled at her and she left the room, not giving you a second glance as she threw her hair over her shoulder. 

"You wouldn't give me your blood-"

"Yeah, and I have a very good reason-"

"Why? Were you just going to let me bleed out and die on the hospital floor!?" You knew he was angry but you wanted him to know why you hadn't donated before he began yelling at you, your chest was already starting to hurt from the yelling and the look he was giving you.

"Jisoo! She risked herself giving me more blood than she was supposed to!" Jisoo had given him a lot of blood you knew that but that wasn't your fault, you couldn't give him your blood unless he wanted to die that way. 

"Jungkook please let me explain-"

"Explain what?! Jisoo already did it for you! You wanted me to die, didn't you? It would save you having to break up with me, but look" I'm doing it for you. We're over." What he was saying didn't make any sense, why would you break up with him when you adored him? You loved everything about him and he thought you'd let him just die.

"Jungkook are you even listening to yourself!? Why would I break up with you-" The door opened and Jisoo was standing there looking pretty proud of herself, so much for friendship. 

"You're not supposed to cause him stress, it can make him worse. She walked over to his side of the bed and ran her hand over his forehead as if she'd done it a million times before, it only made the stabbing pain in your chest worse to watch the way they acted together.

Days had passed by in the blink of an eye, you'd spent a week trying to get everything out of your shared apartment with Jungkook before he got home from the hospital - they'd kept him over to make sure he was recovering well from the blood transfusion. You wanted to get out of there before he and Jisoo came back from the hospital but you were unlucky in that, they'd come home right as you were putting the final boxes into the boot of your car. Seeing them together broke your heart and not just in the descriptive way of the word but in the physical sense too. Once they saw you there they kissed in front of you as if trying to add salt into the wound Jisoo knew what she was doing and she was going to make sure you knew damn well that you'd missed out on Jungkook, you cried the whole drive back to your parent's house where you were greeted with open arms. You'd half expected them to tell you they told you so but it never came mostly because they were too afraid to make this worse for you.

"You can talk to me about this sweetie, I understand what you're going through." Your mother whispered one night as you laid awake on the sofa, you were watching some random reality show that was on the TV. Your family was worried about you, all of the stress could have lead to something seriously wrong with your heart.

"I'm fine, mum." You lied sitting up from the sofa and turning to face the stairs debating going up them to sleep or just to pass out on the sofa like you had done the night before and the night before that, 

"I'm just tired." Another lie. The whole time you'd been back in the family home you'd done nothing but sleep, hoping that somehow you would wake up and all of this would be some kind of highly realistic dream and was one of the side effects from your medication but that never came. 

"I know something is wrong and that's fine, your best friend just stole your boyfriend." You knew your mother was only trying to make things better but in turn, was somehow making everything feel so much worse. 

"I'm fine, I'm going to go to bed." Her hand on your wrist stopped you from moving away from her and your eyes landed on the floor, 

"You forgot your meds," You took the box she was holding out for you and headed towards the staircase, everything was hitting you hard. The thought of never taking your meds again was crawling back into your brain, convincing you that there was no need for them but there was every need. Your father sat down beside you mum holding her in his arms as she sobbed against his chest, your heart wouldn't be able to handle this if you kept this act up and they were concerned for you.

A few months had passed by and things weren't getting any easier, it was getting harder for you to get up every day when you were faced with Jisoo and Jungkook everywhere, your brother had begun talking about them a lot whenever he thought you weren't around. You'd gone for a walk to the shop to clear your head and to pick up a refill on your medication, you were sick of the constant questioning from your mother and father along with your brother's comments about Jungkook, you didn't hold it against him for breaking up with you but you wished he would at least listen to your reasoning behind not giving him any of your blood.

"That's what I said? She's nothing but a selfish money grabber." You frowned hearing Jisoo's voice in the shop you were in, you were around the corner picking out some fruit for the night to munch on since junk food wasn't good for you. 

"Babe she wasn't that bad-" Jungkook was there too and their voices sounded like they were coming closer, you were going to be cornered in the middle of a supermarket full of people. Coming face to face with your ex-boyfriend and ex-best friend wasn't something you'd put on the top of your to-do list that day.

"There she is now, why don't we ask her," You wanted the ground to swallow you whole as soon as you heard Jisoo acknowledge your presence within the store. Jungkook looked at you and once he locked eyes you knew he was like a whole new person now, you were met with a cold stare from him as he raised his eyebrows as if challenging you to try and defend yourself. As you tried to come up with something to say you began to stumble over your words and dropped the basket onto the floor you were carrying, everything spilt onto the floor including the medication which you grabbed before making a quick exit. 

"Runaway! Just like you always did you, coward!" Jisoo screamed but Jungkook had seen the medication bottle you grabbed and wondered what you were doing with it, he remembered you being the healthiest person in the world when you were together. Your mother watched in horror as you came in that night and threw your meds onto the floor, running away exclaiming that you no longer wanted them anymore, it only made her and your father worried for you more.

They had every right to be worried less than a month later you were laid up in a hospital bed with your family gathered around you, some were crying while others acted as though they weren't bothered. Your body was hooked up to so many different machines that you'd made a joke to your younger brother that you were turning into a robot - it was an attempt at cheering him up though it hadn't worked very well he ended up crying and never wanting to go back to your room again. The worst part of all of this was that you knew you were going and you knew you were going to die sometime this week, 

"Mum, can you get me some of the stationary from my bag? Please," You whispered looking at her as she glanced up from her book. She had been the only one not to leave your side throughout the process she felt like it was her fault since she'd been the one to find you on the bathroom floor. 

"What for?" The pad of paper was placed down in front of you as you sat up in the bed, you took the pen she was giving you and wrote his name in big bold writing along the front of the envelope. 

"Y/n...Is that wise?" She only wanted what was best for you, 

"Mum...We both know I don't have much time left." Was all you said to her before you began writing the letter, everything you'd been thought of feeling since the breakup and that day in the hospital.

Jungkook was crying as he stared at the last couple sentences of the paper in his hands, the letter had read like some kind of book to him. As if he'd been there when everything you'd said had happened. 

If you're reading this and my mum didn't mess up the timing today is the day of my funeral, I didn't want you there but not out of spite. Despite everything you and Jisoo put me through for the last couple months of my life I know it wasn't your fault. Neither of you knew about my heart condition and that was on me. I'd originally planned to tell you before Jisoo walked in on us when you were in the hospital but after you ended things I didn't - excuse the pun I guess - have the heart to do that. 

Jungkook made his way towards your house a couple of hours later, your mother was waiting on the doorstep for him since he'd called ahead of time. 

"I didn't-"

"I know." She whispered not letting him finish his sentence, she knew he had no idea you were sick. She opened her arms for him to be able to hug her before you'd died you'd begged her not to hold it against him for what happened that none of it had been his fault. Anything could have caused your heart to act up the way it did, even your doctor said that it could have been the medications that stopped taking effect, it didn't have to be Jungkook and Jisoo that just happened to coincide with the timing.

"I didn't know if I'd have known-"

"Jungkook before she went she made me promise not to let you blame yourself, she made me promise to look after you." He could imagine it clearly in his head. You sitting on the edge of the bed and making sure everyone else was taken cared of before you even thought of yourself it was what you did, something that you always did because you never wanted to put your needs before anyone else. You put everyone else's needs before your own because you were that type of person, the good kind. Guilt and regret ran through his body as he thought about you being alone on your last couple of days. Images of the way he'd talked about you to people ran through his head, he didn't want to be cruel to you but to him, but the way he'd seen it you'd left him to die instead of giving him the blood he needed to survive looking back on it now he could see why you'd done that.

"You should come inside, get you some hot chocolate." She mumbled standing up from the floor it hadn't been her intention to keep her promise at first but she knew you meant it. You'd loved Jungkook with everything within your body so she wasn't going to disrespect your last wish, she helped him up from the ground and turned him around to face the front door. He knew there was nothing that was ever going to make him feel better after what he'd done to you but he was going to try and make things up by helping your family whenever he could. 

Tagline:

@writingdreamsnottragedies​ @snowy-meowl​ @jooniesdarlingdimples​ @lyoongx​ @lynnthevirgo​ @fan-ati--c​ @mitzwinchester​ @rjsmochii​ @callingmyangel​ @kneel-begyourpardon​ @taestannie​ @innersooya​

[heauxplesslydevoted]

And They Were Roommates (Bryce Lahela x MC)

Summary: A surprise leads to a major shift in Bryce and Casey’s relationship

A/N: Eeeek, this is my first time ever writing a Bryce x MC fic! The day you guys see me writing something not Ethan centric is the day you should play the lotto because it’s more rare than a unicorn sighting.

Anywho....please enjoy!

Tags: @drakewalker04 @canknot @lapisreviewsstuff @senseofduties @maurine07 @badchoicesposts @ermidc @sundaescreamcheese @danijimenezv @starrystarrytrouble @the-pale-goddess @gogotomago95 @have-aheart @aworldoffandoms @zaffrenotes @anotherbeingsworld @to-fangirl-or-not-to-fangirl @nazariolahela @the-unconquered-queen @writinghereandthere @omgjasminesimone @parkerattano @silent-storms-posts

~v~

“Okay, are we going out to lunch?” Casey asks, twisting her fingers into her skirt. From the passenger seat of Bryce’s car, the bustling streets of Boston fly past her. A tendril of her curly hair whips around in the wind, settling on her lip as it sticks to her tacky lip gloss. Bryce is a freaking speed demon and drives too fast for her liking.

But she does like looking at him when he’s behind the wheel. His grip on the wheel is relaxed, much like his posture, slouched low in the seat, right hand drumming against the gear shift. While it’s still winter, the sun is shining brightly, making the highlights in his hair and the light dusting of freckles adorning his nose stand out. Her boyfriend—even thinking that word makes her giddy—makes a pretty sight to behold.

“No, that’s not the plan. But we can go get food once we’re done,” Bryce answers..

“Ice skating?” Casey guesses. She watches as he shakes his head. “But ice skating sounds so fun.”

“We can go ice skating some other time, Case.”

“We’re going to the movies?”

Bryce chuckles. She’s been trying to guess all morning what he has planned for the day, and despite getting every single guess wrong, Casey comes up with another one at the drop of a hat. The persistence is admirable. “You’ll find out soon enough. Stop being so nosy.”

Casey pouts, feigning hurt. “I resent that! I prefer to be called naturally inquisitive. It makes me sound smart.”

“You’re nosy,” Bryce deadpans. “But don’t fret, we’ll be there in like, 5 minutes tops.”

He’s been excited from the moment he told her to get dressed, and Casey can see that his leg is bouncing up and down underneath the steering wheel. Whatever he has planned, he’s really excited about it, so Casey decided to keep quiet and enjoy the rest of the ride.

They enjoy the rest of the short ride, Casey scrolling through Bryce’s different Spotify playlists until she settles on the perfect song, but he’s pulling in and parking his car before she can even hit play.

An apartment complex was not what she was expecting to see. It’s a very nice apartment complex, located a few blocks away from Boston University. Casey can see the college students milling around, some adults walking their dogs, a few older more established couples, some with kids, some without going in and out of the building.

Now her curiosity is piqued. Is Bryce dragging her along to some surgeon friend’s apartment? Is this his idea of a Saturday adventure? Granted, he never promised her an adventure, just a surprise, and while she likes most of his surgical cohort, she’d rather be doing something else. Nonetheless, Casey doesn’t say anything, letting Bryce intertwine their fingers and lead her through the building.

They ride up the elevator in silence until they reach the 4th floor. It isn’t until Bryce reaches into his pocket and pulls out a key do the alarms go off on her brain. “Bryce? Did you–”

“I got a new apartment!” Bryce exclaims, cutting her off. “Surprise!”

Once the door is open, he’s pulling her in, his excitement palpable. Casey looks around the place. It’s unfurnished, the hardwood floors beneath them bright and freshly waxed. And even though she hasn’t looked around, she can already tell it’s much larger than his current 1 bedroom.

“Oh...wow,” is all that manages to come out of her mouth.

“I know! It’s in Keiki’s school district, thank god. And it’s a brand new unit, all stainless steel appliances, marble and quartz countertops, which are apparently huge deals when you’re apartment hunting. In-unit washer and dryer, walk-in closets, there’s a gym and a pool downstairs, a game room–”

Casey watches him as his animatedly rattles off all of the features in the apartment. His face is flush, pink with excitement, his words are breathless and tumbling out of his mouth all at once. She takes a step forward, cupping his face between both hands. “Bryce, I think you should stop and breathe.”

The command makes him flush hard, now from embarrassment. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine. You can continue now.”

“That was pretty much it. The main draw is that it’s a two bedroom, two bathroom apartment, so I don’t have to sleep on the couch anymore. Now Keiki and I will each have our own space. Do you think she’ll like it?”

“Will the 15 year old girl like having her own room, and not having to share a bathroom with her older brother?” Casey nods. “Absolutely. Keiki is a lucky duck.” She takes a few steps further into the apartment, silently appraising it. It’s beautiful from what she can see, and she hasn’t even seen the bedrooms. “Question: how are you affording this place? You’re a surgical resident, living in Boston is expensive, and I’m pretty sure Sallie Mae is eating most of your paychecks.”

Bryce looks down at his feet, shuffling them back and forth much to Casey’s dismay. He’s going to scuff the floors doing that. “I uh...I talked to my parents.”

“When?”

“A little over a month ago, before I enrolled Keiki in school. I called my parents and gave them quite the earful about not contacting Keiki once since she’s been in Boston, and I kinda let them have it. Turns out I’ve been holding in a lot of pent up...stuff regarding my parents.”

Casey’s eyes soften at his confession. They hardly ever have conversations about his parents, and when they do, it’s never good. “You want to talk about it?”

Bryce shakes his head, memories of that conversation trying to bubble to the surface. His mother tried her hand at making awkward small talk as if they hadn’t gone years without talking, while his father said nothing at all. He bites the inside of his cheek, willing the bad memory to go away. Negative thoughts of his parents don’t need to invade this space.  “Nah, it’s not important.”

Resisting the urge to call bullshit, Casey simply nods. “Agree to disagree, Bry. But we’ll table it for now and just continue your story.”

He’s grateful that she’s willing to listen, but not pushy enough to force him to talk, leaving the ball in his court. “Long story short, I told them that Keiki is welcome to stay with me in Boston and I wouldn’t make it public news that they all but abandoned their daughter and drag social services into things, if they allowed me to be her legal caregiver.”

“Really?”

“Yup. So I can be in charge of her education and medical decisions while she’s out here. It’s less permanent than me filing her guardianship, and my parents still legally have rights, but it makes things easier. And because of that, my parents are giving me a pretty generous monthly allowance for all of her expenses. Housing, food, school supplies, the works.”

“So child support?”

“Pretty much, yes. I didn’t ask for it, but the Lahelas like to throw money at their problems. Some of that money goes towards the rent here, the rest I put in a savings account for Keiki. I’ll gift her the money when she starts college, so she’ll have a bit of a nest egg, and won’t be dependent on ramen noodles and the McDermot’s dollar menu like I was.”

Bryce shoves his hands into his pockets and looks at Casey, trying to gauge her reaction. “I know I dumped a lot on you, and you probably think I’m insane for taking all of this on but–”

Casey wraps her arms around his waist and cuts him off with a quick kiss. “If I could look at you with literal heart eyes right now, I would.”

“Really?” 

“Really.” She leans forward, resting her head against the solid expanse of his chest. The faint scent of his laundry detergent and his cologne invade her senses, and she relishes in it. He smells like comfort, if there was ever such a thing. “I can’t believe you accomplished all of this in such a short period of time.”

“Well my lease was up, and I was trying to get Keiki situated in school, and it all sort of fell into place at the right time.”

“Stop trying to downplay it,” Casey orders. “You are strong, and brave, and you take initiative in any situation. I don’t know too many 27 year olds that would spring into action and volunteer to raise their teenage sisters, all while being a resident and trying to juggle their own personal life.”

The way she says it, the awe and idolatry in her voice makes his stomach flip. Bryce considers himself to be a pretty self-assured guy. He has a healthy level of self esteem, but something about Casey praising him always causes him to short circuit, without fail. “You make it sound so much cooler than it really is.”

“It is cool,” Carey argues. “You’re doing a noble thing, so let me give you compliments you deserve.”

He doesn’t meet her eyes immediately, the bashfulness still holding him tight. Eventually, Bryce looks up at her, her expression open and earnest. “You make me sound so much better than I really am.”

Casey grabs hold of his sweater and tugs him closer, forcing him to crane forward and be at her eye level. “Mhmm, it’s a hidden talent of mine. I happen to be an excellent salesperson.”

Bryce smirks, their lips barely brushing against each other, and mumbles “You’re such a dork,” before capturing her in a kiss. Casey responds instantly, matching his eagerness and fervor. It doesn’t take long for things to get more heated, his tongue slipping into her mouth, hands going to grip her waist.

She breaks to kiss to inhale sharply. “You’ve lived here for 5 minutes and you’re already trying to defile the place.”

“Can’t help it. You make me feel like a horny teenager again, baby.”

“Well stop it.”

Bryce rolls his eyes. “You’re no fun.”

“Come on loverboy, show me around. Give me the grand tour.”

They wander around the apartment at a leisurely pace, Casey pointing out all of the different things Bryce could buy to furnish the place—“What do you mean you’ve never gone to Home Goods?”—and admonishing his idea to shop on Craigslist. He’s an adult, not a college freshman, and his home should reflect that.

“You want to know what the best part is?” Bryce asks, leading Casey back to their starting point, the living room.

“What?”

“Keiki’s bedroom is on the other side of the apartment, separated by a pretty sizable living room.”

He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively, and she shoves at his chest, laughing. “And? Are you trying to say something?”

“Yeah, that one of us—you—can be pretty loud at times.”

Her cheeks heat up and she blushes furiously. “Well I’ll make sure to keep it quiet on the nights that I sleep over.”

“What if you didn’t just spend the night over here?”

He instantly regrets the way he phrased that sentence because it sounds like he just told her he doesn’t want her in his apartment. Casey frowns. “What do you mean?”

“Sorry! That sounded weird.” He flushes, stumbling over his words. Something about Casey Valentine makes him very nervous. “That’s not what I meant, I promise.”

Bryce grabs both of Casey’s hands, holding them close to his chest. “Move in with me.”

Her eyes widen at the suggestion. He wants to do what? “What?”

“I spent all of last year tiptoeing around our relationship, trying to keep things light and breezy when I really didn’t want that. And it took you being in that...horrible accent for me to finally reveal the full extent of my feelings for you. Now that we’re together and official, I don’t want to waste any more time.”

“I would like to go to sleep with you every night, your ice cold feet pressed against my legs, and your curly hair tickling my nose because you’ve invaded my side of the bed. And I want to wake up to you every morning, because even though you think you look crazy in the morning, I think you’re absolutely beautiful. I want us to cook together every day, or just you because you’re a much better cook than I am.” Casey giggles at his jokes, which only spur him on further. “Besides Keiki, you’re the most important person I have, and I want you here with me, permanently.”

When Casey doesn’t say anything immediately, Bryce understands. He just dropped a bomb—a few bombs actually—right at her feet, she needs time to process. But the silence stretches until it grows into something long and uncomfortable, and a thin sheen of sweat forms at Bryce’s hairline. Did he just shoot himself in the foot? Did he seriously overestimate her feelings for him, and the nature of their relationship?

Before he can open his mouth to renege on the invitation, Casey speaks. “We’re going to have to talk to your landlord, or the property manager, because a new lease needs to be drawn up.”

“W-what?”

“I mean, I assume it’s just you and Keiki listed on the lease, and I don’t want to just be a permanent guest staying in your apartment. I want it to be our apartment, so I need to be on the lease agreement,” Casey explains. “And I know you said your parents cover most of the rent on this place, but I want to contribute, so I guess I’ll be in charge of the–”

She doesn’t get to finish talking because Bryce is on her in an instant, his mouth crashing into hers in a fiery kiss. His fingers dig into her hips, walking her backwards until her back bumps into the kitchen island. In a quick show of strength, Bryce lifts her onto the island, and Casey has to break the kiss to hiss. 

“Shit, that’s cold!”

“Sorry baby.” He’s not the least bit sorry, flashing her his signature smirk. “I’ll warm you up.”

“And you say I’m the dorky one,” Casey teases, laughing as Bryce kisses her between each word.

“You are,” he insists, kissing down her neck. She squirms away from him as his lips find a particularly sensitive spot, but he holds her in place. “We bring that out in each other.”

He kisses her a few more times, some softer than others, some so deep, she feels dizzy when he pulls away.

“We’re really going to do this?” Casey asks rhetorically. “This whole living together thing?”

“We are. I asked, and you said yes, so you’re stuck with me, little lady.” 

There’s a smile on his face, so huge, Casey really thinks he might blind her with his pearly white teeth. She hasn’t seen him this relaxed, this unabashedly happy in a while. She can’t help but to smile back.

“You have to let me have creative control on furniture and decorations though.”

“This apartment is going to look like a furniture store magazine spread.”

Casey nods. “It’ll smell like the inside of a Bath & Body Works store in here, too.”

“You’re going to go crazy on the candles, aren’t you?”

“Oh absolutely. They also have cute wall plug-ins.”

Bryce laughs. “I don’t care. You and Keiki can do whatever you want to the place.”

“Mhmm, now you’re talking my language, Lahela.”

They talk excitedly, basking in the fun that this new journey is going to bring their relationship. They don’t know how much time has passed when the conversation finally dwindles down.

“Hey, Bryce?”

“Yeah?”

“Can you let me down from here?” Casey asks, gesturing to the countertop. Bryce has her caged in, arms on either side of her. “Despite your best efforts to warm me up with a make-out session, this thing is freezing cold.”

“No one told you to wear a mini skirt like this in winter, you naughty school girl.”

“I resent that! This skirt is very cute, and it would’ve looked even cuter had you taken me ice skating.”

Bryce rolls his eyes. He’s gonna have to take this girl to the ice skating rink, and soon. He trails his hands up and down her legs, taking in all the goosebumps that have popped up on her smooth skin.

“You want to know where this skirt would look even better?”

“Where?”

Gripping the backs of her thighs, Bryce lifts Casey off of the countertop and into his arms. “The floor of our new bedroom.” 

[wizkiddx]

Need your person

ahhh i have really no idea what i am doing. Anywayyyss this is a really angsty Harry fic, I have a part two but not sure how I feel abt it - so we will see if it ever sees the light of day x x x 

“Tom? I’m back!” Nadia declared as she heavily shut the black gloss front door of her boyfriend's place. She was wrestling with a ridiculous amount of shopping bags, that bounced against her calves before deciding to just dump them at the door- they could be dealt with later. Naturally, she’d blame the excessive haul on her friend that she’d met for lunch; Georgia almost forced her to buy all the clothes...right?

Once she had done so, she glanced around the almost still house, making her left eyebrow quirk up a bit. Since Tom and Harry returned for Toms latest filming venture their house hadn’t been quiet for a moment thereafter. With Tom, Harry, Harrison and herself and Y/n (Harry’s girlfriend) living there- fair to say there normally was at least someone messing around and causing chaos. Before she could read any more into it, Tom appeared round the corner, a small smile as he caught sight of his lovely and almost certainly shopping addicted girlfriend. 

“Hey”

“Hey” He replied back, smile tight-lipped and a very awkward atmosphere falling over the normally most easy-going couple. Nadia didn’t like it, choosing to address it straight up. 

“You gonna tell me why the weird vibe then?” Bags long since forgotten and abandoned, the couple naturally entered the sitting room- Tom landing heavily on the plush cream sofa. 

“I-er... look I know she’s one of your best friends but... well Harry’s got a pretty conclusive photo and account taken by some fan. She’s been cheating on him.” Nadia was unaware of her jaw falling slack while she stood above her boyfriend, arms folded and shaking her head slightly. 

“No Y/n wouldn’t. Come off it Tom you know too, there’s no chance.”

“I’m serious Nads. Harry’s confronting her now, shits really fucked him up.” Tom had this hard tone behind his intense gaze, something that Nadia had only seen a handful of times in their 1 yes relationship. It scared her. 

“ Nonono rewind though. Y/n wouldn’t cheat on him... she’s so in love with the boy!” Tom knew this would be tricky, especially with how close the two girls had gotten over that first lockdown and then ever since. Sometimes he questioned who the relationship was between, Nadia and Y/n seemingly just made for each other in a platonic kind of way. He sighed heavily, digging his phone out his back pocket to show her the picture, all the while watched by her intense hazel gaze. Not saying another word, Tom just held his phone out for her to take, photo on the display. 

“Swipe next to see what she says” after a short time Tom added, Nadia squinting at the phone and clearly zooming in on the blurry image. 

It did look pretty damning, Y/n and an unnamed man with his arm around her- pulling her almost flush against his chest, even at the public cafe they were seated outside. Though the image was grainy as hell, Y/n looked upset, as if he was comforting her. He, just for information, was a fairly attractive man- Tom would fairly admit. Clean-shaven, crisp white shirt on, jet black hair perfectly styled and a strongly carved face. 

That was the issue though, why Nadia’s lips parted with a silent and almost non-existent breath outwards- most getting stuck in her throat. She knew the face, briefly, from an encounter when the boys were away filming. She’d been so busy concentrating on Y/n at that moment about a month ago, it was a surprise she recognised the face at all. 

Suddenly feeling her heart drop, Nadia followed her boyfriends instructions and swiped left, revealing a screenshot of an Instagram direct message - along paragraph giving an exact recount of the day (or at least this ransomers recount). To paraphrase:

“ she just kept going ‘Harry can’t find out. I can’t tell Harry.’ She sounded upset but I just thought you should know”

The fan was obviously well-meaning but just so so wrong. Nadia gulped a little before looking up at her boyfriend, who was unconsciously tensing his jaw. He did that when he was uncomfortable or nervous and hell was he. 

“Where are they?”She muttered voice quiet which Nadia hadn’t realised till long since she’d spoken. It was just tense. 

“In the garden but we need to leave them be it’s not-“

“-FUCK” Predictably, Nads didn’t let Tom finish, already turning on her heel and rushing into the kitchen. Tom yelling something and following, but that’s not what she was concentrating on. 

Her best mate needed her. 

Even at the far end of the kitchen,  Nadia froze at the sight through the garden windows. Y/n was sat with her head in her hands, clearly crying and rocking slightly on the black wicker garden furniture set while Harry stood above. 

Harry. 

Harry was seething with rage. Nads could see him yelling at her, arms being flown round to articulate his anger furthermore. Because Harry didn’t open up easily. Because Harry was so in love with someone that apparently betrayed him so completely. When he saw that DM he just couldn’t ignore it. He’d always been self-conscious, Y/n knew that most of all. It felt like a knife was plunged and then twisted deeper into his chest. And who committed the heinous act? The person he had trusted most int he world. 

“Tom, I will explain but for now you just have to trust me.” Tearing her eye line away from Y/n’s crumpled body, which flinched with every harsh word Harry yelled- as if he were trying to get a reaction from her. Tom just looked at Nads in disbelief, arms crossed protectively and waiting for more. 

“Look…I-I know for a fact she didn’t cheat. There something you both don’t know but it’s not this at all.”

“Nadia I know your close but.-“

“I’m being very fucking serious Tom. If you trust me you have to go and get Harry away. Bloody look at him- she’s not arguing back! He’s hurting them both.”

“ He has a right to be angry.” Tom tried to counter, feeling uncomfortable with how easily Nadia brushed off such a serious and real accusation. 

“Tom for both their sakes, please...I’m begging you to help me” It was the desperation in her brown eyes. Making Tom shift from foot to foot. He was so torn but Nadia must have a reason. This isn’t just her bullshitting to protect a friend, he could see that much. As she grabbed his hands desperately, Tom already knew he was going to follow her.  And she could most definitely see it too as she minutely smiled in thanks before walking with purpose toward the back door. 

—————

You needed an out. Now. 

When Harry had first cornered you in the house with a steely gaze and asked you to have a conversation in the garden, you’d been running on adrenaline. Naturally, you thought he had somehow found out- but this? He had got it oh so wrong. But what hurt most was the fact you couldn’t say anything. You knew his heart was breaking, the fact he was screaming at you and calling you names you thought he never could even associate with you, it was only because he was so hurt. Yet at that moment, you couldn’t fathom how to explain the truth. That was the issue… the truth would hurt him too. So maybe it was easier this way, him hating you and suddenly not being apart of each other's life. Because that would still hurt him less than reality.

With that thought, your body decided to just make this even harder. What did it do you ask? Choose that exact moment to fail you again. Your thoughts all suddenly got jumbled, it felt like your brain was on some sort of rollercoaster. Brief moments of clarity when you weren’t swimming in a pool of disorientation. But to be honest, those moments when you could see the pain on his face, they hurt more than just sinking into oblivion as your body sorted folded over on itself. 

You were stuck fighting two battles neither of which you were sure you could win.

—————

It was just then, as Harry launched into another ‘how dare you betray him’ spiel that Nadia and Tom opened the door. Nadia making an immediate beeline to Y/n, holding her shoulders and trying to support her into an upwards position - leaving Tom to deal with a ball of hurt and rage that was Harry. 

“Mate you need to stop it’s not making any-“

“Fuck off Tom this is between me and her.” Harry snapped back, slapping his brother's arms off his. 

“I know but it’s not going anywhere.”

“Tom”

“Harry I’m serious give it a minute. You need to cool down” Tom urged, still slightly concerned by the rage in his brother's eyes, while Tom gently reached out to hold his shoulders. The younger man needed a bit of grounding and the contact meant Tom could half steer him toward the house.  With a quick glance of worry back to Y/n and Nadia, Tom followed Harry inside- arguing him up the stairs into his room. 

Meanwhile, Nadia was getting more and more concerned. Y/n could barely hold her body up and she was shaking. 

“Y/n what do you need um the-the finger prick thing?… What’s happening?”

“Yeh and uh…Need the... in the fridge get the oat milk and my-my bag.” It was a bit of a weird request but Nadia wasn’t going to question it and ran inside, grabbing the oat milk that seemed to rattle and then Y/n’s bag which was just in the countertop, knowing that was where she kept her finger prick test. Although this wasn’t about her either - Nadia was slightly terrified, shakily shouting for Haz who had to be somewhere in the house. 

“Okay okay, do you need my help?” Nadia spoke with trembling hands, unzipping the little pouch to reveal the red device and all its apparatus. During the month the boys had been away Nadia had seen Y/n do this a thousand times, but it still scared her at the thought. Luckily Y/n shook her head and took the device, pricking her finger then squeezing the blood onto the sensor film. While it beeped away measuring her glucose levels she smiled weakly at her friend. 

“I’m just low I think, can you get the sachets out the milk?” Because of course, Y/n was such an idiot she had hid her essential medication within a carton of oat milk, which was genius and stupid in equal measure. Genius because everybody else in the house was absolutely disgusted by oat milk being a thing so no one would ever try to make a cuppa with it; stupid because in moments like this, who was to know that the bloody oat milk carton could save her life?

“Do I need to phone an ambulance… you-you don't look good Y/n/n.”

“No” Y/n swallowed thickly, grimacing slightly at the reading that just appeared on the device - by far the lowest it had ever read since she had started having to do these stupid measurements. “If I pass out then yes but… I just need the glucose strips” Nadia nodded, still trying to prise the plastic packages out the empty oat milk container. Wordlessly Nadia finally phished one out and ripped it open immediately thrusting it into Y/n’s mouth - at least 70% certain that was what she had to do with them. 

While all this was happening Harrison wandered into the garden and looked at the scene in front of him in a bit of shock. Y/n was deathly grey, looking as though she was fighting every urge in her body to just relax everything and collapse into unconsciousness. Nadia kneeled in front of her, already working on ripping another packet open. After taking a moment or two to process what was happening Haz knelt down next to Nadia. 

“You need me to do anything?”

“I -er don’t think so… actually Y/n?? Y/N????” Nadia started violently shaking Y/n whose eyes had finally slipped shut. “Fuck shit fuck… you need to ring an ambulance Haz.”

“Your serious?”

“Deadly. I’ll explain later just get your phone… tell them she was having a hypo and now she’s unconscious. The er the number on the machine thing was 2.8”

Harrison didn’t argue; he did what he was told and an ambulance was immediately dispatched while Nadia followed instructions of the operator that had been put on speaker, still dropping the sachets of liquid down into her mouth. In fact, when they heard the ambulance pull into their road, Y/n started to stir- groaning and heavily blinking her eyes open. 

It was a bit of a blur, but the paramedics came in and slowly Y/n started to get more with it. 

“You know what happened to you love?” The kind-eyed Liverpudlian lady asked, removing the oxygen mask that was put on her as a precautionary measure, in the haze of them arriving. 

“Blood sugar low?”

“Uh-huh, you’ve just had a hypo. Are you type 1 or 2?”

“Um, I-uh…” Y/n flicked her eyes up to see Haz still stood looking very concerned while Nadia spoke to the other paramedic in hushed tones. “Neither… I got pancreatic cancer and so…so my whole pancreas is kind of dying.” Y/n could practically hear Harrison's eyes bugging out his head - but kept her eyes firmly on the blonde stout lady. She wasn’t ready to face that yet.

“Oh, lovie... you have to be really careful yeh? Hypos can turn to a coma really quick and you know what happens then.”

“I’m sorry, I uh guess I forgot to eat and then been running on adrenaline cos of…” Because of Harry. But she wasn’t about to pour her heart out to a complete stranger so instead shut her mouth. Emma, the paramedic, seemed t9 get the message and again smiled down at her gently.

“It’s okay I get it... so you know then that because you lost consciousness really we should be taking you to the hospital? Get your bloods checked?” The grimace on Y/n’s face was more than enough to answer her.

“Please I just want to sleep-“

“You need to go to hospital Y/n/n” Haz interjected who had been completely silent and still in shock. Yes, she wasn’t his girlfriend, but they were bloody close and he still hadn’t really had an explanation. 

“I just want to sleep and-and I got a lot of explaining to do” Y/n made the mistake of momentarily looking up to see Harrison’s glassy eyes and Emma followed suit. 

“You the boyfriend?”

“No, i- um I’m his housemate.”

“If we are even still together” Y/n mumbled her eyes trained on the ground. In response, Haz huffed indignantly sitting down right beside the slightly crippled girl and slung his arm around her shoulder. “Don’t you worry about that hey? Everything’s is gonna be fine.” Her head came to rest on his arm making Haz bend down to press a gentle kiss to her forehead. She was sort of the other sister, having been on the scene much earlier than Nadia had, he’d come to really get on with her. 

After a moment of just being there with Haz, Y/n simply thankful he didn’t seem to hate her or believe the rumours anymore, Emma spoke up. 

“So a hard pass on the hospital is it? Because then we should just think about getting you inside to rest.” Y/n nodded hard, very clearly expressing her preference, making the two chuckle. “They’d only be checking your blood levels which I can get a doctor to do tomorrow morning from home. I’m not supposed to say this but it's okay to stay.” It was all going swimmingly until they heard a very very familiar voice. 

“What the hells happening?” 

[mattzerella-sticks]

Not Here for Me

If he had the choice, Dean never would have stepped foot inside this place. But Sam was curious - and curious is a hell of a lot better than the depression that clung to him day after day since Jess left him. So Dean swallows his pride, joins Sam as his babysitter. So he won't get find himself in any trouble. Trouble, however, is more likely to find Dean. In the bowels of his personal hell, can Dean resist temptations that have plagued him his entire life? Or will someone descend and lend a hand, showing Dean that the darkness he imagined only lived inside his own mind. And all that he feared was not as he seemed if he let himself step out of the shadows of his past.

(Dean/Cas, Human AU, 2000s-set, 8,113 words, tw: Dean’s childhood & upbringing by one John Winchester)

ao3

           His ears hurt. Dean stares at a small puddle of maybe-water-maybe-vodka that collected on the bar top, focusing on it instead of the pounding bass drum and blender whirring that’s somehow considered music. At least that’s what Sam told him seconds after entering, meeting Dean’s disgruntlement with patented exasperation. Floppy bangs pushed back for its full effect. “You’re such an old man,” he said, “Can you pretend you’re happy being here?”

           “That depends,” he fired back, brow raised. Pulled taut like a bowstring, retort knocked and waiting. He lets it fly, “How quick do you think I can get drunk?”

           The answer – very quickly. Dean balked when Sam ordered them these bubbling potions the color of lava lamps mixed with Barbie vomit. Served in dainty glasses Dean could easily break if he applied even a fraction of pressure between his thumb and forefinger. Rim lined with salt and a wedge of lime. Sam suggested they cheers. He chugged his before Sam raised the glass. He flagged the bartender, ignoring Sam’s glare. “What the hell did I drink?” he asked.

           The bartender pursed his lips, eyes dragging over Dean’s frame as if he were stripping him bare in the room; peeling away the layers of his jacket and plaid button-down and faded band tee like they were tissue, freckled-and-pale skin freed for the bartender’s enjoyment. He sowed seeds of unwanted fantasies. Dean cleared his throat, repeating the question, digging out those dropped seedlings before the bartender’s imagined wanderings might flower.

           If Dean wanted to encourage attention, he’d have dressed like him. Mesh shirt with uneven holes, some stretched wider than most. Its woven fabric failed at hiding the sweat that dampened his obviously spray-tanned skin, strips of orange paint peeling like a rind. The bartender wiped his brow, a streak of bright white skin revealed. “A strawberry margarita.”

           “Of course,” Dean nodded at the selection behind him, “got anything that doesn’t taste too… sugary?” A frown dragged every wrinkle and crease forward on the bartender’s face. He clarified, “A beer. What beer do you have?”

           They didn’t have any. Dean asked for a vodka neat, Sam criticizing his choice as the bartender retreated. “You’re so boring.” That was three vodka neats ago.

           Sam left his station beside Dean soon after his first drink, swept away in the tide of bodies pulsing in the center of the club. Each individual moving to a different beat. Their dancing unsyncopated and wild. Yet, despite how hopeless it looked, bodies acting independently from one another, the writhing mass shared one mind. Although, even assimilated by the crowd, Dean can keep track of his little brother. Head poking free of the mass like some odd periscope. Scanning every few seconds until their gazes met and then submerging once more.

           Dean isn’t searching for him now. He studies his small puddle of definitely-vodka. He swiped his finger through it earlier and sucked it dry; cheeks hollow, eyes half-lidded and unfocused. Dean heard someone’s glass shatter over the wretched din of noise, timed perfectly with his finger popping out of his mouth like a burst bubble. The sharp smell of alcohol fries his nose hairs. It dulls the throbbing ache caused by his surroundings, Dean’s frayed nerves sparking underneath, jumping like live wires since Sam detailed their plans for this evening.

           “You wanna go to a gay bar?”

           Sam rolled his eyes with so much force they rattled inside his skull like a novelty magic eight-ball, his hazel gaze landing on him, answer written neatly, ‘It is decidedly so’. Dean shook it again, scoffing. The answer changed. Not in Dean’s favor. ‘Yes – definitely’.

           “Why?” Dean leaned across their small table, “Are you…?” He asks with a wry twist of his lips and a limp wrist.

           “I don’t know,” Sam told him.

           “You don’t know? Isn’t that a requirement for a – a gay bar?”

           “Not necessarily,” he explained, sitting across from Dean finally. Sam’s windbreaker swooshed with every dramatic sweep of his arm. “I mean… sure, most of the people there are gay. But it’s not like they make you flash some official gay card at the door…” Expression pinched, he powered head, avoiding the conversational detour and sticking to the main highway of his argument. “Besides, there’s more than just gay.”

           Dean nodded, “Like what?”

           “Bisexual, Pansexual… Asexual, Demisexual –“

           “I think I might be that,” Dean laughed, tongue swiping over his bottom lip. “It means you’re attracted to Demi Moore, right? Because if Kutcher weren’t in the picture, I’d definitely be all up in her business!”

           “Don’t be an ass, Dean,” Sam said, “Demisexuality is a real thing, okay? It’s only being attracted to people who you have a deep, intimate bond with.”

           “Oh, is that so?” He stretched his legs out from beneath the table, knocking into Sam’s. “That what you’re learning in college? I thought you wanted to be a lawyer. Or were you a bit presumptuous when you made that e-mail, lawboy?”

           “I still do,” Sam muttered, cheeks tinted a dark shade. “I… it was one of these classes I have to take, for my degree. Made me think about things I never knew about and – and stuff I said that, looking back, was… kind of offensive. That we joked about, what dad would say, sometimes…” Dean tuned Sam out partly, a refreshing static separating him from Sam’s words. Standard whenever Sam mentioned their dad, or if he saw something that reminded him of dad, or if dad cared enough to leave a voicemail for Sam on their shared answering machine. The little antenna on his brain’s radio drooped slightly, making Dean fiddle for the signal. He managed to catch the remainder of Sam’s monologue, barely. “…it’s a whole new world!”

           “No, it isn’t,” Dean sighed, tiredly scrubbing his chin. “Sam, you’ve only ever liked girls.”

           “To my knowledge!” Sam insisted, “I might’ve liked a boy, possibly. Maybe. I mean… do you remember Trevor?”

           “Trevor?”

           “Y’know, Trevor,” he fumbled through his memories, silence painstakingly ticking past. The clicking of their kitchen clock suddenly, obnoxiously loud. “That kid from that town we stayed at for about two months my sophomore year of high school, up in Montana.”

           Dean remembered that town. GED burning a hole in his pocket, he bummed through town hunting for a job since dad hightailed it for a phantom thread of a lead on their mother’s murderer. Not many folks were hiring, but a stern man in a rough-hewn Stetson and bushy mustache needed an extra ranch hand. Introduced Dean to his son, Dean’s new co-worker. Steve was a nice boy, older than him by a few years, with a warm temperament, skin tanned like leather from a life of fieldwork, and legs bent further than Dean’s by riding horses since birth.

           One day while tending the horses, Steve noticed how Dean’s focus drifted every few seconds, drawn to the saddles. “We can go for a ride,” he mentioned, “one night, around the property.”

           “I wouldn’t even know how to get on a horse, let alone ride it.”

           Steve chuckled, shoulders barely shaking from the act. His honeyed eyes were earnest and gooey in the filtered sunlight, distracting Dean more than saddles ever did. “I can show you,” he said, “it ain’t too hard.” He proved that by using their lunch break to teach Dean how to mount a horse. He demonstrated it, legs wrapping around its thick flanks, showboating and urging the steed forward by tapping his heels while Dean laughed, head dizzy from spinning, following Steve and the horse, as well as other things. “Think you can try it?” Dean didn’t. He shook his head, lip trapped between his teeth. Speaking felt blasphemous in that moment. “What if I helped?” Steve offered a hand, easily hefting Dean up atop the horse. They shared the saddle, Dean bracketed by Steve’s sturdy arms and supported by his firm chest. Dean felt every tug of the reigns as Steve guided the horse around the stable, and every whispered breath along his neck. Steve dismounted first, holding Dean’s hips and helping him down later. “Now imagine how nice that’d be, out on the plains, with nothing but the moon watching us?” He painted a pretty picture, even if Dean’s copied brushstrokes were shaky and inelegant. They made plans the following Friday.

           John returned Tuesday, and they left Wednesday. He’d never been near a horse since.

           But they weren’t talking about Steve. Why did he think of Steve? “Trevor?” Dean repeated, still unsure what Sam’s flailing meant.

           “My lab partner,” he said, “We bonded over our mutual appreciation of Vince Vincente and the Goonies… there were some days he’d give me the extra sandwich his mom packed, for some reason?”

           “You mean to tell me you had a crush on this Trevor kid?”

           “I might have!” Sam rose, shouting, “He was… he treated me well, and I liked hanging around him.”

           “He was your friend, Sam. Friend,” Dean sunk deeper into his seat, kicking Sam’s abandoned chair. “You have had friends in your life, right? I know I joke about you being a loser, but I never really meant it…”

           “Of course I had friends,” he scowled, “I have friends.”

           “And you’ve had girlfriends,” Dean reminded him, “Hell, you and Jess only broke up about a month ago! Did Trevor give you feelings like Jess did?”

           Sam visibly faltered, stooping slightly. Footing lost as the ground trembled beneath his feet. “Well… no, I mean – not, not that I can recall…” Spluttering, his hands balled tighter into fists. “But maybe it’s different, feelings for a boy and – and feelings for a girl.”

           “Sam, feelings are feelings regardless of who’s on the other end of ‘em. You just… you just know –“

           Like he regressed two decades, Sam stomped his foot in a very childish way. Whining, “God, Dean, can’t you be a little supportive!” Immediately his face stretched in regret, rubber band snapping as he leaped forward in years to his appropriate age. It didn’t matter; the barb struck exactly where it intended, puncturing soft underbelly, unguarded by Dean’s calloused defenses.

           Dean stiffened; gaze drawn to a whorl in the table’s finish. His thumb pressed hard at its center. He snorted, but it sounded more like an engine backfiring. “Supportive huh?” he asked, smile wide and wry, “You want me to be more supportive?” Thousands of examples flickered like a clip reel in his mind. Small things. Dean skipping breakfast so Sam can eat the last of their cereal. Wearing the same clothes, weeks on end, because Sam needed a new wardrobe, reedy body bigger than what they had. Risking arrest with every five-finger discount or hustled game or back alley trick; supporting the way their dad couldn’t.

           Bigger things. Lying, letting Sam play over at other kids’ houses; Dean frozen, watching the door in fear their dad came home early. Hiding letters from admissions for Sam, secreted from beneath their dad’s nose. He was an ever-present figure during those last few years. A shadowy patrol that continually followed since they were old enough. Dad had more use for men then children. Dean went as far as distracting him one starless night while Sam escaped, then accepted the consequences of his actions. He joined Sam weeks later with Baby’s keys and a split lip caused by, who he described to Sam as, some jackass biker. It healed in time for an interview, for a job he still has. Six days a week spent under the hoods of cars, working long hours and earning money to support them both, like before. Giving Sam the very freedoms he’d been denied – time, luxury, and safety.

           He held these words firm in his mouth, smoke bitter as it roiled. But, in his next breath, Dean released the past with a low hiss. Darkness rising, dissipating. “It’s okay,” he assured Sam, cutting off his rambling apologies. “Really.” He glanced at Sam’s outfit, fully taking in his choices. A color-blocked jacket of bright colors, reds, yellows, and oranges, that glowed over his tight, dark button-down. A hint of some printed graphic peeking behind the half-zippered flaps. Combined with a pair of Sam’s most distressed denim and flip-flops because It’s California, Dean, and you know how awful my feet sweat. As a whole Sam presented like a grade-A douchebag. Entirely unprepared for any bar, let alone a gay one. Dean’s instincts kicked into overdrive.

           “Fine,” he decided, standing, too, “you want supportive? Then I’m coming with you.”

           “What?” Sam trailed Dean’s wake as he left for his bedroom, cornering him while he slipped into some ratty white sneakers left by his dresser. “You’re coming?”

           “Sure.”

           “But… why?” Sam slammed his hand on Dean’s doorframe, blocking his exit. “You’re not gay.”

           Dean frowned at him, “I thought you didn’t have to be gay to go to a gay bar?”

           “Yeah, but –“ He knocked Sam’s arm loose, passing his brother on the way towards the door. Sam followed, buzzing behind like a mosquito. “You don’t seriously wanna go, do you?”

           “Obviously not,” Dean said, sliding into an oversized leather jacket. Another relic of their dad’s. Dean couldn’t leave without it. He couldn’t explain why. “But since you’re insisting on doing this, I might as well make sure you don’t get taken advantage of.”

           “That won’t happen.”

           “You kidding? A guy like you, wobbling around like a fawn – a sort of gay Bambi… you’d get eaten alive instantly. Or drugged.” He squeezed Sam’s shoulder, the finger of his other hand pressed into his brother’s chest like it was an intercom button, pushing so forcefully Dean thought it might burst through the other side. “I don’t need the stress of finding out you died at this gay bar because some idiot overestimated the amount of roofies they’d need to take down your elephant-sized ass.”

           Sam cringed at his worst-case scenario but hadn’t shrugged his hand off. Instead he returned the gesture with his own comforting touch around Dean’s wrist. “Okay,” Sam said, “you can come. Don’t embarrass me though, by being an ass.”

           “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

           “Hey,” Sam said later, Baby idling in front of a red light. Zeppelin blaring through her speakers, making conversation difficult. Dean lowered it for his brother. “What’d you think dad’d say, if he knew where we were going?”

           Dad’s opinion, of his two sons wasting their night in a gay bar, would ruffle the feathers of Sam’s newfound sensitivity. He hears their dad’s voice clearly, delivering a tirade about their terrible choices. Dean spent his time at the bar drowning that voice since arriving. He drains his fourth-or-fifth glass of its contents. It all splashes like the others, into his empty, churning stomach. Dad’s voice, the awful music, his nerves and senses slip out of mind. He sees dregs of vodka left in his glass. He uses the same finger that swiped through the tiny bar puddle and swirls it there, coating in in more vodka. Again, Dean sucks on his finger.

           Someone approaches while his lips graze knuckle.

           “If you get tired of that finger…” a stranger says on his right, reeking of cherry-and-liquored stink. Dean’s face scrunches at the smell. “I’ve got this big thing you can suck on…” His gaze wanders to where the stranger is.

           He’s a man with severely gelled hair, plastered back. A few strands were missed in the initial sweep and clung to his forehead, shiny and wet, making it seem like oil slowly bled down. He chokes on a gold chain that resembles a collar, broad neck seizing as he breathes. Steroids, Dean wagers, given how bulging veins snake past the sleeves of his stretched-thin shirt. Which makes him doubt the man’s ‘big’ claim. He arches a stupidly perfect, sculpted brow, leaning far past the bubble of Dean’s personal space. “You’d definitely have a lot more fun than playing with your finger,” he adds, taking Dean’s silence as an apparent invitation.

           He can’t remember when his finger slid free, but it did and, while spit-slick, jabs at Roidy’s brick-wall chest. “Not interested pal,” he says, “Why don’t you try a different fella?”

           “What if I don’t want a different fella?”

           “Then you are s’stupid as you look.” Dean waves, flagging the bartender for his next vodka. “Why don’t you take your big package crap elsewhere?”

           Undeterred, Roidy leans closer. Fingertips ghosting where Dean holds his glass as the bartender refills it. He tenses, squirming, imagining the very oil that drips from the man’s head coats his fingers, too, and through his touch smears it around Dean’s wrist. “Listen, you might not know this… but I made a promise tonight. That I would fuck the hottest, sexiest piece of trade in the club tonight. And congratulations… that’s you.”

           Dean squints, mockingly cooing at the other’s assessment. “I feel honored,” he says, sarcasm heavy like the hand pouring his drinks this evening. “Special, even,” Dean continues, “don’t know how anyone could turn y’away after that.”

           “No one does.”

           “Then I guess I’ll be the first?” Dean asks. The bartender huffs softly under breath, he and Dean reveling silently. They connect over this interloper’s antics. With a subtle shift in the bartender’s gaze, a snide flash of teeth, Dean understands. He’s not the first, only the latest. Certainly not the last.

           What he wants to be, though, is left alone. That doesn’t seem likely. Not with how Roidy gloms onto Dean’s side, an arm curling around his shoulders. Not if his biting smile meant anything, tearing through Dean’s dismissals. Not as Roidy whispers, barely audible because of the music, “If you’re going for discreet, I can do that… play along, that is. It wouldn’t be worth it if it were easy…”

           Dean’s mood sinks under such nauseating charms. He looks for assistance in the bartender, but he swam to safer shores at some point, serving drinks elsewhere. Unfortunate. He was starting to like him.

           Roidy snuffles Dean’s neck, alarms clanging within his head. Or possibly it’s coming from the many speakers placed throughout the bar. Either way that plus everything he drank, make thinking complicated and tortuously slow, like Roidy nosing along his collarbone. His thoughts fall apart before they make it to his mouth, Dean opening and shutting and opening his mouth hoping a few words can crawl themselves into existence. He manages a few garbled syllables that are greatly ignored.

           As swiftly as Roidy began his assault, he’s being tugged off him. Dean gasps for breath, spinning, facing the dancefloor now. Glaring at Roidy who glares elsewhere, at the owner of the hand that cleaved this growth from Dean’s side.

           It’s beautiful, for a hand. Tan, palm curled around Dean’s shoulder protectively. No cuts or scabs across the knuckles, nor any scars. If he were to touch it, he imagines the skin there is soft and smooth. Dean’s gaze travels, curious who might own such a gentle hand.

           Chasing the sinewy lines of his savior’s arms to broad shoulders, Dean feels his chest tighten in a desperate need for fresh air. However, it’s not terrifying like before with Roidy. This is unique and comforting. He inhales, then exhales. He has no trouble breathing. He still feels that tightness. Crushing once he finds his savior’s face.

           Marble. Statues are carved from stone – marble, specifically – he remembers from an old teacher’s droned lecture that returned with vengeance. Spoken during a field trip to some museum where Dean barely stayed awake as they flew room to room, always seconds from collapsing, waking momentarily for the next exhibit. Except when they entered a room of statues, and Dean managed fifteen minutes of attentiveness. Aided by chiseled features of a statue hidden between two columns near the farthest corner of the room. A man, naked, endowed, frozen in repose and staring into the distance. It might have been at a bathroom door, Dean’s memory supplied, but the statue saw beyond such borders. Dean wished he knew what existed where only statues can see. All he understood was the expression. Marble evoked steel. The statue displayed determination, tempered and ready for whatever barrels forward, with a hint of sorrow he must greet what is to come. The same expression shone on his savior’s face triggering his sudden recollection. Only his was brighter because of those eyes. An incomparable blue.

           On first glance, Dean wonders if that statue perhaps came alive. Journeyed from wherever it stood, in that town whose name he can’t summon up, to save him. Except that’s impossible. That statue is most likely there, forever guarding the bathroom. Blue Eyes is a man with his own history, parallel to Dean’s until he jumped in playing hero. But why?

           He can’t think of a reasonable explanation, because Blue Eyes finally speaks. “Hey babe,” he growls, Dean jolting from the pitch, like he stepped, shoeless, on glass shards littering the floor. An abundance of them must slip loose from Blue Eyes’ mouth whenever it opens after they shredded his vocal cords. “Sorry I’m late, traffic was crazy.”

           What?

           “What?”

           “Didn’t you get my text?” he asks Dean. Then, subtly checking on Roidy who watches, fuming from the sidelines, he makes an odd clicking sound. “Or were your hands full, and you couldn’t check?”

           “His hands were full all right,” Roidy interrupts, not waiting for Dean’s response. He tries shoving Blue Eyes back, but he refuses to budge. His strength real and not decorative like Roidy’s. He falters slightly; adjusts course and snags a fistful of Blue Eyes’ white button-down in case Blue Eyes wastes energy trying what Roidy did. “Why don’t you leave and let your babe hang with someone who’s there when he needs him?”

           Blue Eyes squints, lips slowly stretching, like a match dragged across a striker, until the flame of a smirk dances into view. “I can assure you, that’s exactly who I am. Wouldn’t you agree?”

           He does. He should. Blue Eyes listens for Dean’s answer, chin dipped patiently. Roidy’s is, as well. Both wait on him, Dean the difference between favor and disgrace. It’s a non-decision. He eases into his savior’s warmth, improvising by slipping his thumb through a belt loop on the other side. “Exactly,” Dean says, “you’re all I need, sweetie.”

           Dean knows there’s no reason to turn from Blue Eyes. Temptation wins, and he chances a peek at the loser. Roidy fumes, his sneer somehow making him appear uglier. He wipes at his brow, disrupting those few, sticky strands, and reveals covered pockmarks. They appear horn-like, in the bar’s dim lighting. That cherry-and-liquor scent sours, suddenly pungent like rotten eggs. “Whatever,” he mutters, letting Blue Eyes go, “your boyfriend’s a fucking tease.”

           “Go fuck yourself,” Dean drawls, laughing, squeezing Blue Eyes tighter. Encouraged by his presence. “At least you’ll know it’s consen-u-tal!”

           Roidy departs dreadfully, saluting them with his middle finger. Dean responds with a raised glass that quickly empties itself down his throat. Slumping onto the bar, releasing Blue Eyes, Dean motions for the bartender’s return. “Hey,” he slurs, “another vodk-eh and, uh…” He scowls, studying the rack, an array of alcohol lined up. “Shit, man,” he asks his savior, “what’s your poison?”

           “Tequila,” Blue Eyes tells the bartender, frowning at Dean, “You sure you’re good for this?”

           “What’s that s’posed to mean?”

           “That you look like you’ve had enough.” Blue Eyes accepts the glass of tequila, tapping its rim against his chin, lime wedge hitting the corner of his quirked lips. “How many of those vodkas have you had?”

           “’Bout this many,” he answers, hand open. Dean hums, considering the number. “Maybe one or two more. Or less? I must’ve lost count…” He shrugs, sipping at his latest drink. “S’okay, though, I once drank this meathead trucker under the table. A whole bottle of ol’ Jack at this… roadhouse off a highway somewhere east a’here.” Vodka sloshes with each gesture while he retells the story. “So I’ve got tolernance.”

           “Clearly.” Blue Eyes chuckles, and Dean – not sure for what reason – joins him. He can’t hear much of it, but the bits of his laughter that break over the bar’s chaotic din make Dean giddy. “Thank you,” he nods at his tequila, “for the drink.”

           “Hey, I’m the one thankin’ here buddy,” Dean says, “I don’t know what I’d’ve done if you hadn’t stepp-epped in when you did. Probably somethin’ punchy.”

           “He would have deserved it,” he finally tips his glass back. Dean’s Adam’s apple bobs in rhythm with Blue Eyes’, even if his drink rests miles away on the bar top. “Hey,” Blue Eyes continues, smiling, fiddling with the lime wedge, “what’s your name?”

           “Why you wanna know?”

           “Well, usually I know the names of the men who buy me drinks. Especially those who buy them for me after I’ve scared off pervy creeps.”

           “You make a habit of this, then?”

           “No,” Blue Eyes says, “you’re the first.”

           Unlike with Roidy, Dean believes him. “Dean.”

           “Castiel,” he reveals, simultaneously sticking the lime in his mouth. Teeth locked around it, he drains the wedge of its juice. Dean blushes, and the rush of blood to his head brings dizziness. Resting one hand on the bar doesn’t help. Neither does two. Castiel finishes his drink, placing the glass and shriveled lime near Dean’s hands, and yet his sudden lightheadedness persists.

           Castiel must notice this queasiness, because he grazes Dean’s elbow. Uses words Dean cannot presently grasp. A wave of concern sweeps across Castiel’s features, transforming them. Drawing Dean closer, lost in his orbit.

           A diversion is necessary. “So, Cas,” he starts, their faces inches from each other. To talk easier. “You gay?”

           “Uh…” Belatedly, Dean realizes his stupidity. His jaw drops, as if he can vacuum the question back. Pretend he never said it. Castiel, looking saintly under the bar’s neon glow, recovers faster. Replies before Dean might withdraw. “Yeah, yes I’m… I’m gay. Be pretty weird if I wasn’t.”

           “I must be pretty weird, huh,” Dean thinks aloud. He smacks his lips. They taste oddly like a morning where, after playing some hilarious prank on Sam, he came to with old socks stuffed into his duct taped mouth.

           Castiel skews his head to the side. “Why are you weird?”

           “Because…” It’s a bad idea. He recognizes how bad an idea this is. However, recognition and action are completely separate. And while he succeeds in the former, he fails spectacularly with the latter. “I’m not gay.” Then, slurring, he whisper-shouts, “I’m straaaaight.”

           “Really…” Castiel skims through tens of emotions Dean cannot discern with his vodka-addled brain. He settles on detachment, the tightness within his chest loosening as Cas inches backwards. Dean, instinctively, floats closer. That strain returns tenfold, like a python coiled itself around Dean. Squeezes him until Castiel bumps into a patron, bringing their chests flush together. Dean likes it even if he cannot breathe. Castiel smiles, but it’s noticeably different than those previously gifted. “If you’re straight, why are you at a gay bar?”

           “You don’t have to be gay to be in a gay bar,” Dean supplies.

           “It’d be a real plus though.” He barely caught Castiel’s mumbling. He can’t question what was meant, because Castiel clears his throat and repeats his question. “Why did you choose a gay bar for the evening?”

           Dean glances at the dance floor. Sam hadn’t left, enmeshed between writhing bodies. “I’m not here for me. My brother – he thinks he’s gay… or somethin’ like it,” he tells Castiel, snorting when someone other than Sam rakes a paw through his hair. Awkwardness flashes like lightning, disappearing behind forced puppy-dog features and Sam’s too-wide grin. “He’s here expermimenting while I’m the… uh – the moral support.”

           Castiel’s face publicizes his thoughts. The lines of his face twitch in simple patterns that are already familiar to Dean. And the pools of his eyes reflect the subdued variety of his feelings, providing needed transparency. With this change of his features, Dean guesses Castiel’s tensed mouthline and wishbone-bent eyebrows meant awe and respect. “That’s… very nice of you.”

           “Least I can do,” Dean shrugs, tasting sock once more, “it’s not like I’ll need’ta do more. Kid’s straight as a… straight thing.”

           Those pearled emotions seal themselves tightly in a clamshell, Castiel sending them back into murky depths. “How would you know?”

           “Because I’ve known the kid all m’life, Cas. He’s a shit liar… at least to me he is.” Dean settles against the bar, past resurfacing. A clear memory from their younger years. Sam never finishing his dinners, but somehow dropping a clean plate into the trashcan every time. Followed by a question, like clockwork, about taking a walk. “Around the motel,” he said, “nothing further.” His father’s rules. Never plainly set, but strictly enforced. Dean learned of them the hard way. Sam agreed, not even fighting like he usually did. Maybe that’s why, one night, he left their motel a beat after Sam. Dean kept close tabs on his brother. Not stopping him as he disobeyed orders and crossed the street, nor when a crowd of adults poured out of some ritzy venue, stares scathing as he passed. He maintained distance, only toeing nearer as Sam slowed for a better view of the alleyway he paused at, of a three-legged dog hobbling out of a cardboard box, tongue lolling, tail wagging. Sam greeted him in similar fashion, kneeling at the edge where light and shadows gathered. He pet and pet and pet this stray, stopping only to reveal the portion of dinner he hadn’t eaten wrapped in several paper towels. Dean scurried off in the direction of the motel, asking Sam how his walk was once he returned. He relates all this to Castiel. “Sam loved dogs. Always wanted one assa pet…” If this was his chance, Dean figured he might help. Became more lenient. Gave Sam food from his plate, not that he ever noticed. Lied to John during those rare moments he was home.  “Most of the things he got away with were only because I let him. I’m sure if he ever wanted a boyfriend he could’ve done it, and there I’d be covering his tracks like I did for his dog an’ his playdates an’ his girlfriends.”

           “Wow, you…” Castiel trails off. Or perhaps he completed his thought, and Dean missed it because their arms are pressed together on the bar. Dean turns, watching the other’s soft contemplation instead of Sam. Castiel meets his gaze, those pearls reappearing. Shinier, too. “What happened to the dog?”

           “Sam dropped off food the next two weeks, but by then our dad was dying to move on,” he explains, “I happened to overhear him bitchin’ on the phone and knew it’d be soon. So I took a personal day and brought his mutt t’the nearest shelter.” Hopefully Patchy found a good home, not that he cared.

           “You’re a good brother.”

           “I try my best.”

           “Your best is better than a lot of people’s…” Castiel knocks his shoulder into Dean’s, Dean chasing after it. “My brothers’ idea of kindness is the occasional birthday e-mail, when the mood strikes them that is.”

           “That sucks.” There’s more he wants to say, except Dean cannot make his mouth open again. When he finally unsticks his lips, he forgot all those words that seemed important moments ago. Replaced by off-tempo notes and cyclical phrases. Dean sighs, head lolling to the side while his lids slide closed over his eyes.

           He exists in darkness. A warm, welcoming blackness, like being swaddled in a blanket. Hiding under it while winds howled and raged, sheets of rain slamming atop roofs and pelleting windows. Safe, protected.

           That blanket is torn from him, Dean stumbling slightly. Castiel catches him and helps him stand upright, smirking. “Hey,” Dean whines, numb fingers twining loosely around Castiel’s wrist, “where you goin’?”

           Castiel nods at the writhing mass, somehow larger since Dean last looked. “I feel like dancing.”

           “No…” Dean tugs Castiel back towards him. He stays where he was. “Stay here,” Dean insists.

           “Or…” Castiel says, prying Dean’s hand from his wrist. His needy fingers seep through the spaces between Castiel’s and he clings tight. “Or,” he repeats, breathier than before, “you can join me on the dancefloor?”

           “I don’t dance, Cas…” His legs betray him, following Castiel into the fray. Vodka making his protests toothless. Vodka and Castiel.

           He meant what he said, though. He does not dance. Men don’t dance. Real men. Normal men. Dad never danced, not even at his wedding. Even though mom begged, dad would tell them that he remained firm in his decision. “Never trust a man who dances,” he advised, Sam asleep feet from where they sat, beers in their hands. Dean was fourteen. “No man wants to dance. If he’s dancing, it means he’s weak enough to have lost that fight. And if he likes dancing, then that’s not the kind of man you want to be associating with.” Dean nodded, because at fourteen why not? Dad rarely gave guidance that wasn’t pointed, aimed directly at him. Cutting, slicing bits and pieces off and leaving them behind in whatever motel they briefly occupied.

           With how Castiel moves, effortless and graceful, Dean bets he likes dancing. And if Castiel likes dancing, Dean wonders, truly, how bad it can be.

           You want these people thinking you’re some kind of fairy? They already have, before he walked onto the dance floor. No son of mine is gonna dance with a man! Luckily, he won’t be dancing with one. He’ll dance, surrounded by men. Do you want to look gay, Dean? He won’t. Not if he says he doesn’t. Not if he says he isn’t.

           A kid from his junior high days taught him that. How, by telling yourself what you do isn’t gay, suddenly you create your own version of truth. “Not for everything,” he warned. He paused, panting, as he – like Dean – recovered on the leather couch. Spent, video paused on his basement television, shorts – like Dean’s – around his ankles, “it doesn’t work all the time.”

           “But for this?” Dean asked.

           “Definitely this.”

           Dean listened; those sacred words used sparingly over time. Mostly during clouded nights when the money ran out, as did their supplies, and Dean’s skills at the pool table or poker game couldn’t compare to those of his body.

           He uses the words again. This isn’t gay. Castiel spins him, his chest plastered onto Dean’s back. He tries phrasing it differently. Dancing isn’t gay. Dean takes his free hand, the one not latched onto Castiel, and mirrors an earlier action he saw. Combs his fingers through Castiel’s dark brown locks. He amends and adds to it, too. Dancing is the least gay thing he can be doing in this bar. That appeases the monster clawing at his mind, its voice, eerily similar to his dad’s, fading away. Dean smiles, then lets go.

           The music isn’t so bad. Dancing isn’t as bad, either. Castiel is…

           Dean focuses only on the music and dancing. It’s easy, losing himself in the rhythm. Forgetting who he is, where he is, and why he is where he is. He becomes nameless, another body in motion. Faceless as the strobe lights flicker and hide his features. Thoughtless, no room for anything besides what he hears. Dean doesn’t exist save for moments that jab at his awareness. Castiel squeezing his hand. The feel of hair then stubble then hair as his touch roams. Gasps at the base of his neck that elicit headier gasps from Dean. Firm press of chest-to-back, joined hands resting over his heart while Castiel’s free hand lays atop Dean’s stomach as they rock together.

           Dancing is the least gay thing he can be doing at this bar.

           While it fascinates Dean, Castiel must tire of their arrangement, because he disturbs Dean’s oblivion by turning from back-to-chest to chest-to-chest. The wrong move, Dean thinks, as his vision blurs in such a violent way. The room spins and tilts long after he did, everything appearing off-balance. Save for Castiel, standing in front of him, not dancing anymore.

           That’s why he throws his arms around Castiel’s shoulders, Dean’s mind comforts him with seconds later. For safety. For stability. Since he, too, wasn’t dancing anymore. His legs were useless, bent further than normal. Making him smaller. Forcing him to angle his head upwards to meet his savior’s searching gaze. Lips parted silently, asking a question with the ghost of his breath. Dean thinks he hears an invitation.

           He accepts. Dives headfirst into it, vodka mixing with tequila and a spritz of lime. Castiel tastes better than any drink he’s had. He puts pressure on Castiel’s shoulder, climbing for easier access. Castiel helps; an arm braced around Dean’s waist steadies him. Guides their bodies into a holding pattern, a simple sway that won’t interfere with the others cavorting around them. Serenity made within the chaos of a raging sea; these waves don’t crash. Rather, they tenderly caress the shoreline before retreating in similar fashion. A line of sea foam, like the line of spit generously coating Dean’s mouth, the only proof it even hit.

           Dean breaks from their kiss, panting. His forehead rests against Castiel’s. “That was…” he pauses, testing each word he thinks of and ultimately rejecting them all since they fail to describe what happened. He settles for, “Wow.”

           “It was,” Castiel agrees, “Why’d you stop, then?”

           “I stopped?” Dean sifts through his memories, those last few minutes entirely unforgettable but completely hard to recount. “I did?” he whispers, “Maybe it’s because I’m straight?”

           “Are you sure?”

           “I…” He can be, if he says so. Unfortunately, Dean forgets those little magic words. Trapped in limbo, the space between truths. “I’m not… I don’t know.”

           Cas steps back, enough that Dean sees his entire face instead of those enchanting blue eyes. It eases the worry plaguing Dean’s mind. “Did you enjoy what just happened? What we did?”

           “Yeah.”

           “Then you certainly aren’t straight.”

           Dean nods. He swallows a lump in his throat, feels it tear itself down into his stomach. He imagines blood spouting out of these gashes, building, climbing up in an escape attempt. He chokes on it. It might not be blood. Maybe-blood-maybe-drool leaks from the corners of his mouth as he asks, in a daze, “Does that mean I’m gay?”

           “Or something like it.” Castiel reaches forward, combing through Dean’s sweaty hair in time with the music. “Hey,” he says, “it’s okay if you are. That you like… that you kissed me. It’s okay.”

           It isn’t. Dean knows it isn’t. Not for him. Not with all that’s expected of him. The blueprint of who he’s supposed to be. Who Dean Winchester is. Torn to shreds and raining overhead like the actual confetti that floats down from high above. That were released without notice. Dropped there while he stands, in the middle of the dance floor, petrified by another man’s kiss. Dad’s efforts wasted.

           “It’s okay,” Castiel repeats, “it’s okay…” He drifts further away; but before Dean can whine about his absence, he realizes his feet move, too. Castiel leads him from the belly of this ecstatic, partying mob.

           “Where are you taking me?”

           “Nowhere far, just off the dance floor.” They reach the perimeter, crowd thinned and weak; Cas releases his hold on Dean. Shrugs his shoulders, blessedly smiling at him. “Where you go and... what you do next, well – that’s up to you.”

           He’s unprepared for such freedoms. The simplicity of making a choice. A foreign concept when all your life, every decision was already made for you. For other people. Keys don’t choose which doors they open. Hammers don’t make plans on which nails they’ll hit and which they’ll avoid.

           Dean giggles, overcome by an intoxicating rush of getting to choose without any real consequence. No judgement, no threats, no guilt. If Dean told Castiel that kiss meant nothing and then bolted out of the bar, he would never have to deal with these conflicting thoughts, actions, and feelings. Never need to see Castiel again.

           That isn’t what he wants.

           Dean embraces the confusion because he, Dean, wants to. He kisses Castiel, driving them forward until they hit a wall, because he wants to. Tells him, “I want you,” because he does. Because it’s the truth.

           And Castiel’s truth, “You can have me,” slots perfectly next to his.

           Dean is intimately familiar with the art of kissing. Spent years practicing with ever-changing partners; girls from all over who were probably as bored as Dean felt. Girls who his dad saw and made him beam with pride. Enough girls, so that he called Dean names – different than the ones he thought Dean didn’t know about – like lady killer and chip off the ol’ block. Girls that were good kissers, bad kissers, and mostly unremarkable whatsoever. Dean lost his appetite for kissing, the act not being very fun for him. Not something he might look forward to, even if he said the right things and acted his part perfectly.

           Kissing Castiel wasn’t good. Wasn’t bad. Not unremarkable in the slightest. It elevated the idea of kissing onto another level. A holy act. Placing Castiel on the same level as all his previous entanglements would be similar to heresy.

           This isn’t just a kiss. It’s Dean sticking his face into a fuse box with all the switches flicked on. It’s Dean stepping out into a storm without an umbrella. It’s riding down an empty highway, no cops in sight, and abusing the gas pedal until the speedometer needle vanishes.

           This kiss is apocalyptic, destroying the notion that anyone besides they two existed.

           A hand joins the two roving his body, shaking his arm. Dean laughs, “How’d you do that, Cas?”

           “Dean,” Not-Cas says, “hey, uh… Dean?” He turns, Castiel’s lips adorning his jaw with favor, and finds Sam on his other side. Watching. Aware of what he interrupted, given his pained smile and squinted gaze trapped elsewhere. “Sorry, but I’m…” he clears his throat, “I’m kinda ready to leave, if you… you are?”

           His fingers curl where Castiel’s shirt is rucked up, dangerously teasing the line of his jeans. Castiel rolls his hips, rutting their cocks against each other again. “Yeah,” he tells Sam, “Yeah I can… we can go.”

           Dean extracts himself from Castiel, slowly, taking care to disentangle themselves. Dean flattens Castiel’s mussed hair. He fiddles with the buttons of Dean’s shirts, inexplicably unfastened. Neither speak of how these things happened. “Hey,” he starts, still hovering inside the other man’s personal space, “Um… thank you, for everything. Tonight. From the bar to – uh… to he –!”

           Castiel drags him into a kiss, one Dean returns heartily. His hands grabbing fabric while Castiel’s dance around his hips. Consumed by this, Dean ignores his cell phone being stolen. Only becomes aware of it when Castiel ends their goodbye with a smile, Dean’s phone in hand actively calling someone. “My number,” he explains, flipping his phone shut, “to use whenever. Hopefully soon.”

           “…Thanks.”

           “Good night, Dean.”

           “Night, Cas.”

           He lingers. He opens his phone, closes it, then slips it back into his pocket. Sam mutters an unintelligible phrase at them, shoving Dean from where he stood. Dean blindly navigates his way towards the exit, seeing nothing but Castiel’s shrinking face that disappears once they step outside.

           He expected heat. It’s cold. Not actually, but cooler than the room they left, where bodies and light and energy broke the thermometer. Fresh air brushes his skin, startling Dean from his stupor. Dean jolts awake. His heart plummets down past his ass, chest hollowing. He glances at Sam, about to ask if they ever entered the bar. Or if he hallucinated everything on the walk to it. Dean’s lips purse, then flatten. Sam already walked ahead. He jogs after him.

           No one speaks for half their journey.

           They pass a twenty-four-hour convenience store Dean remembers, and he knows Baby waits a block around the next corner. Sam chooses then to restart their conversation. “Looks like this trip was good for both of us,” he says, hands shoved inside his pockets. He won’t meet Dean’s eyes. “Learned a lot.”

           “Really?” He’s parched. Unbalanced. His feet won’t walk in a straight line, stumbling every few steps. He persists, “What?”

           Sam shrugs, “I might have… over-examined that memory of Trevor.” Sighing, Sam kicks an empty, abandoned can into the street. “I guess I was searching for a reason why Jess and my relationship ended like it did. We were going so strong I… I figured it might have been me. That I wasn’t able to love her the way she needed because I couldn’t.”

           “Sometimes people just don’t work,” Dean tells him, “and no amount of forcing it is gonna fix it.”

           “Yeah…” He spots Baby easily, street deserted save his car and some poor, busted Beetle. Dean searches for his keys, struggling. Sam talks all the while. “And then there are some people who… who click immediately.” Dean tenses, breath stuttering. “How long have you been –?”

           He’s back in the bar. He must be. How else could he hear this overwhelming, earsplitting ringing. The kind that makes him stagger, slump against the closest surface and collapse there into a tiny ball, protected from the voice that somehow talks louder than that goddamn ringing. The monster’s voice. The one that sounds strangely similar to his dad’s. Angrily shouting, calling him names. “I’m not,” he said, as always, “I’m not.”

           Another sound overpowers the monster and that throbbing din. “Dean! Dean, hey… hey-hey-hey-hey Dean… it’s okay… it’s me, Sam. Sammy.” Someone touches his shoulder. Dean flinches from it. “Come on Dean… I won’t hurt you.” Their voice hitches, sounding waterlogged. “Please, Dean… wherever you think you are, you’re not. I promise. I need you, man. Sammy needs you.”

           Look out for Sammy.

           Dean forces himself into the present, a herculean feat as shadowed claws dig at him. Fight his attempts. He pries an eye open, then the other. There’s only Sam. Sam, kneeling in front of him on the sidewalk. Sam who, though he denies it, carries so much of their dad with him it makes staying calm near impossible. Dean sees a reflection of who Sam could be, that dad hoped Dean might be, that Sam wished he never would be. It was the reason why fatherly adoration came effortlessly when it was for Sam, even during days they hardly spoke. Dean acted as their go between. Hearing praise and relaying it; forever the messenger, carrying wounds and scars.

            “Dean, are you… you’re with me, right?” Dean nods, tension melting away. He slides further, knees bumping into Sam’s. A wordless comfort. “Fuck I am so… so sorry. I didn’t, I never meant –“

           “It’s okay.”

           “It’s not okay, Dean. Fuck!” His shout echoes towards the moon, filling the space left by clear California night. “What if I asked you while you were driving, we could have…”

           They might have died.

           “Shit…” Dean hisses, rubbing his throbbing head, willing its silence so he can think. He gets one minutes. He uses it wisely, handing Baby’s keys to Sam. “Take ‘em.”

           “What?”

           “I drank too much anyway.” Wobbling when he rises, Dean proves that true. “You were gonna have to take it, regardless.”

           Sam’s expression softens. In turn, Dean’s skin crawls. “Thank you.”

           “Just go start the damn car.” Dean won’t follow. Rather sharpening his defenses for the inevitable. Bad music. Lawful driving. Plaintive whines and rhetorical questions, all in an attempt at making Dean talk. About tonight. About their childhood. About signs he didn’t see, how it felt being this while in dad’s presence. Sam will push and push and push until he’s flatter than cardboard. Contents neatly organized and fit for storage.

           He hears the soft rumble of Baby’s engine, then that of his phone. A text.

Unknown Number 1 (650) 378-0914: In case you’re wondering, my name is spelled C A S T I E L ;)

           Despite what a whirlwind these past few minutes felt like, Dean laughs. Giggles become snorting which become happier tears rolling across his cheeks, tracing over still-damp lines and erasing them from sight. He clutches his phone atop his heart, figure bent as he now wheezes.

           Dean reigns in his giddiness. Stares at the message, wondering what he will do. Once Dean decides, he realizes his thumb was already halfway done.

           He saves his number under Cas <3. Dean responds, snapping his phone closed quickly before he can reread and second guess.

           Sam honks, watching with interest. A thousand questions waiting, hidden by the curious bend of his brows. Because of Castiel, Dean must face them. Will answer them. Is ready for them.

[blankdblank]

Hobbit Soulmate Pt 35

Two more weeks of daily stops to the same banquet hall, that once split in half Adrien and his film stage cast around metal chairs forming the set of the fake play the first directions came about. Off to the other half they kept him too distracted while you worked with the choreographer on your own routine involving falling down on purpose. A lot less acrobatic than some had expected but no less adorable to you with thoughts of how it would look at the final go around. And while they broke you got to work on the second stage routine you would have, more graceful with large feathers for the entourage to the top hat and cane donning man.

Evening calls to both Richard and Lee up in Canada seemingly on vastly different schedules came between extra juggling lessons with Emma. Though soon enough you were back smiling for the security guard at the airport who let you past excited to see your next postcard of a film showing off the worth of all your travels around the world. Smoothing your fingers through your curls absently while rereading one of your favorite books adjusting to the slightly shorter length once you’d had it trimmed again. The flight had become a common blip to just get to the next stop along the way. When you would get to your between home however it would be a quick drop of the bag to head to the car waiting for you to take you to set alongside Lee.

Out in the hall once you’d hurried from the taxi up to your floor Lee outside his doorway stood off of the wall smiling and closing the distance. “Hey, welcome back,” nice and warm he hugged you tightly saying, “Rich left earlier I think, his car’s gone.”

“Ya, has to get to the empty northern set. Have fun up here? He said you’ve been making friends.” You asked in his pull back guiding him to your door as he took hold of your duffel bag.

“Just been meeting the other extras, they’re a bit curious on you. Understandably.” His eyes looking you over, “Sleep on the plane?”

“Nope, too cold, you sleep well?” Unlocking the door to step inside turning on the light guiding him inside.

“Inflatable mattress is a bit rickety.”

“How have you not bought a bed yet?”

“I don’t want to buy a bed, then I’d have to get rid of the bed. Will and my sister want the lounges at least for when they move out and we can split the moving costs.”

Down the hall you went stopping in the living room at the cabinet with a grin, “He fixed it up,” you said making Lee smirk watching you open the doors and peek inside.

“Saw him outside in the cold sanding away weeks back. Been keeping busy, even bought some shelves looks like.”

“Yes, he does love breaking out his hammer.” Making Lee chuckle going with you to the bedroom where you found a box of candies and a note from Richard that he would have dinner ready for you when you got back. A quick settle of your bag in the closet and you left your satchel beside that when he glanced at his watch again clearly having been waiting himself to climb in the car with you to get started. “Sorry I’ve left you to carry the weight.”

That had him chuckle walking with you back down to the lobby, “No problem, kind of like the mystery, even Tracy has been thriving in it. Though it will be fun to see you so relentlessly confrontational.”

“Thank you, get to be an odd duck.”

You caught his eye and he wet his lips at the door saying, “I saw him at a jewelry store you know.”

“I did not hear that,” you said exiting the door making him smirk again.

“He’s going to propose, or buy you something very very shiny.”

“Why do you do this?” you said locking the door behind you.

Leaning in however he pressed a sweet kiss to your cheek humming in the sling of his arm behind your back, “Gets cold, we need a distraction.” Making you roll your eyes while he settled closer to your side glad to have you back with him. “He is perfectly miserable you know, when he’s not on set, only got him to lunch once.”

“Oh I know, we’re just determined to mope when apart apparently, and everyone I work with seems to say I rattle endlessly on about Rich too.”

“Oh I doubt that, more like you don’t share much and when you do it sticks out. They want you to be over the moon happy, you brood off to the sides from what I know about you on set.”

“Well I’ve never been one to be the center of attention at a party.”

“Odd choice of employment for the lot of us wallflowers.” He hummed shifting his hand to fix your collar after fixing his own jacket shut again.

.

Changed and seated in a trio of people helping to straighten your hair you read through the script for the first scenes to be filmed today. Curious stares lingered around the room of actors readying to film the start of the first four episodes set through winter months. A few bouts of chatting with the others and some of the mystery seemed to drop away with people wondering how convincing the bubbly vibes you gave off could be warped into the cynical and rude young woman to head this cast. Though from a glimpse of your note taking on the edge of your script the also left handed father wondered how your right handed grip on the pencil had been known by those casting when he had been told that you were left handed, the one child of his hired three that was a leftie like him.

Once the camera was rolling that doubt dropped as you switched hands showing you were ambidextrous, a trait at least comforting himself that your characters could hold that bond. A bond that between takes you got to deepening sharing more about yourselves that Lee jumped in on stealing every chance he got to be close to you. Always trying to wrap around your side or back propping his chin on top of your head proving that like Tracy had mentioned there was a history there, one that was confusing as clearly Lee wasn’t the name of your boyfriend and he wasn’t the guy you had been photographed cuddling up to at your premiers.

.

“Richy Rich,” you said entering your apartment just filled with the scents of the dinner he was fixing up. From the archway of the kitchen the grinning giant frame came to scoop you up in a warm hug with lips melting against yours.

Tenderly he kept his forehead to yours smiling as he hummed, “I made meatloaf,” relaxing his arms more around your back as your fingers smoothed up into his hair. “I take it Lee’s in the hall.”

That made you giggle, “Changing his shirt, got something on it.” He nodded and you giggled, “If he’s wearing green then he was lying to buy us some time. I hear you’ve been brooding between shifts.”

“It’s cold, I’ve been missing my cuddling partner. Did you notice the cabinet?”

You nodded and smiled, “You did an amazing job. Doors open and everything.”

Settling you down he stole another kiss along with your hand guiding you to the living room to show off the cabinet and polaroids of what he had found sharing the story about the family he’d tracked down creeping your grin out more, “And you tracked the family down over these?” Lifting the pile of pictures conveniently free of the geode box and rings, “Really?”

Sheepishly in a try not to spill the beans he eased his hands into his pockets saying, “Music boxes and those pens are expensive, and the receipts had a name. Wouldn’t be right to keep them without looking into who owned them. Made a cute story.”

“Very cute,” you giggled out then glanced to the door at the knock.

“Open, Lee.” He called out smiling at you, “Told him before it was open, he insists.”

The door opened and creeping in Lee poked his head in and you said, “No one’s going to eat you. You changed your pants too.”

You teased making him smirk and lift his slipper covered foot, “And took off my boots. Socks were cold too. Brought some cake.” Lifting the cake he brought from his fridge.

Richard smiled saying, “Thank you, I’ll set the table, let you breathe.”

Lee retorted, “I am breathing,” turning to follow Richard’s path to the kitchen as you sat to undo your boots to change your own socks. You nodded up at him and he repeated, “I am breathing.”

.

Days had the three of you mingling your schedules to have lunches and dinners together between distractions from the sleepy section of town you had settled in. On the set still things only seemed to get a bit mixed up for you, between playing someone so opposite and even having so much friction between you and Lee on screen with his place right next to you between the takes and scenes. “He really isn’t over you, yet is he?” Tracy had muttered a week in and all you could do was sigh at another take pulling you apart while you were to film the big reveal scene for their pretend relationship he clearly had hoped to be with you instead.

Richard was your rock though when he kept these rocky days a bit smoother, even if it seemed he was plotting something. Each stolen glance away and subtle flinch or tuck of a sweatshirt in one of the cubbies he never seemed to move in the closet had that jewelry shop trip mentioned by Lee circling in your brain. No matter how many times his shifts had kept him away for part of the day or even some of the night you didn’t dip to start digging for what he might be hiding and simply pretended that you didn’t know or notice he was up to something.

Valentines circled in your mind and was always a possibility just a few weeks off, a date he made sure to note, even with a card or folded paper flower or heart. Either way he was miserable with secrets and would cave eventually. And in the evenings in together that same fluid friendship came out with a tv and the splurged purchase of a dvd and vhs player helped to add to group movie nights where Richard got to show off his morning off wine purchases to share more of his interest in it with the pair of you.

.

Confusing didn’t come close, and where wine led to joking and a lean in with a teasing smile apparently led to a kiss, not with your boyfriend. Right between the pair of men you had eaten with you shared a communal grumble at the phone call announcing it was morning. Off your back Lee eased with hand smoothing down your side, the motion opening your eyes to spot Richard’s hand from your shoulder to pat the nightstand for his phone he grumbled and set down seeing it wasn’t ringing. “Not mine,” he rumbled moving his hand to smooth across your back again drawing you closer with his forehead tapping to yours.

Behind you Lee found his pants and said, “Not mine,” sighing as he reached out tugging your pants closer from your pocket he brought your ringing phone, “Yours Jaqi.”

Richard sighed again and while your mind still settled to the fact that you and Richard were naked out of instinct you rolled onto your side with hand raised to accept the phone you read the name and sighed reading Jennifer Garner’s number you grumbled and answered, “Hey Jen,”

A sniffle later and while Lee, also clearly naked settled out beside you, she sobbed out, “I’m leaving Scott.” Smoothing a hand over your face she said, “I’ve called a lawyer and I just have to get out of here. How is Canada?”

“It’s cold, tons of snow coming,”

She sniffled again and said through clearly packing a bag, “Good, I could use some snow. I’ll let you know where I settle in,”

“Ya, I can have you for lunch when you get here.” She traded good days and you hung up settling your phone on top of your belly as the duo cuddled closer to you. “Jen’s coming to town, getting divorced.”

To that Richard rumbled, “No, no bad mood,” planting a kiss on your neck followed by another on your lips in the start of a trail down your torso. Smirking drowsily on your side Lee leaned in glad to have another chance to kiss you again. The night before obviously fueled by the wine at the mention that you had brought the kit of toys from New York hoping to give them back to him not needing them anymore clearly in case he might find someone to be in a relationship with. The morning was clearly going to be awkward and a second call from a friend back in New York had you in a sweater fetching a drink while the guys pulled on their underwear and sweats.

Now was when the awkward set in for the guys, or Lee at least. From the edge of the bed Richard glanced to Lee at his second glance his way making Richard say, “Oh stop, I think we’re a touch past bashful glances, don’t you?”

Lee looked him over asking, “We kissed. Touched-. Have you, have you had threesomes before?”

“No,” Richard sighed out smoothing his hand through his hair, “But I’ve had partners who’ve suggested it before, never got there though.”

Lee asked with brows furrowing, “Partners, not girlfriends?”

“I’ve dated men before,” That had Lee’s brows arch upwards, “Though it was always frivolous. A lot of charismatic people in musical theater. Focused on more scratching their itches to keep them content when it came to sex that I just never felt. Never even really bonded with anyone before, never truly loved anyone before. Sex was never truly gratifying at all preferring a more domestic side to relationships, but now I’m with Jaqi that’s all changed. And it’s absolutely fantastic that when I met her she felt the same way about relationships, though she’s never showed an interest in women before it’s more than comforting to have someone who is the same as me.”

Lee, “So, you think Jaqi’s gay too?” He wet his lips, “I mean, she likes us, well she loves you, no question,”

Richard cut him off by chuckling at his try to correct his wording, “Haven’t found a label for anything concerning Jaqi yet, good luck with that one,” making Lee smirk and nod, “I do hope you’ll help keep her from moping while I have to head to Europe.”

Lee’s hands fixed around his shirt on his lap, “I always try to keep her from moping, not counting with that Jordan debacle.” Wetting his lips again he asked, “How long till you come back?”

“I won’t, unfortunately, when filming is through here for you both she’s sending the furniture to her place in New York while I’m working in England. She’s got some free time there through the Daredevil premier till she heads to England.”

Lee asked after wetting his lips again, “You don’t like me, do you?” That made Richard smirk again, “Because you’re supposed to be proposing to her.” Right off Richard’s brow ticked up, “I saw you walk out of that jewelry shop, when are you proposing?”

“I am still working on that.”

Lee whispered, “But you have a ring?”

“I have one, my brother’s helping me come up with a plan. Easier back in England.”

“Anything I can do to help?”

“Keep her from moping, least you could do for your girlfriend. I smell breakfast, come get some food.” He said standing up to head to the kitchen. Once there he grinned easing his hand across your belly to peer over your shoulder pressing a kiss to your free cheek as the other was holding your phone. “I’ve got it, Love,” he murmured into your ear guiding you away from the oven to take over cooking smirking as he caught your turn in time for Lee to come into the kitchen.

Passing you Lee leaned in to kiss your cheek too and got to helping with the food, not too long after you hung up and turned to set the table for the three of you. “What are you two up to later?” Lee asked looking you both over taking a bite of his food.

“I have to read through tomorrow’s script still, that reservation episode is still driving me up the wall,” gaining a smirk from Lee, “And you won’t help either antagonizing me the whole time.”

Richard hummed, “What are you up to?” lifting his mug for a sip.

Lee, “Just the go-kart race track with the guys. You can come too if you like?” He looked to you as you lowered your fork lifting a finger while you chewed, “Right, Jen is coming down.”

“Maybe next time. Plenty of time to shame the guys on the track yet.”

Lee post smirk wet his lips and drew in a breath, “I can eat at mine tonight,”

Richard smirked saying, “No need for that. If she’s wanting time with Jaqi we can help to keep Jen’s mind off her soon to be ex.”

Swallowing your mouthful you said, “I don’t even know why she called me other than I’m out here away from everyone else.”

The guys both said, “You’re her friend.”

Richard continued, “If I was going through that I’d want you to be with me. Even the other Jen calls on her rough days,”

Lee, “And Naomi let you in on her plan. Said she was torn between the roles. Has she called since you got the role?”

“Well, they still haven’t gone public yet, and she said she’d be off to email only on her new project thanks to shoddy reception.”

Richard, “Should be some interesting fireworks then.”

The conversation veered around to other things that could be done through the week noticed from trips around town. And once cleaned up at the time Lee said, “Better get a shower in before the guys get here, you two have fun,” his move in wasn’t missed and right on the lips he claimed a sweet kiss and smiled in his pull back.

“No kiss for me?” Richard teased.

With a shake of his head Lee chuckled to himself and at Richard’s step over they traded pecks on the cheek and Lee said, “Have fun you giant teddy bear.” Turning for the door to let himself out through another lingering smile your way.

Behind the closed door Richard smiled easing closer to you in the shift of your eyes to him. Straight to your hips his hands settled and smoothed upwards in his lean in to begin a trail of his lips down your neck, “While we’re alone, let me give you a rubdown and draw us up a bath my Love.”

Smirk melting across your lips your hands eased up around his shoulders in the firm smooth of hands up your sides onto your back, “I love you, you know that.”

Lowly he chuckled against your neck tightening his arms to lift you up and carry you to the bedroom to lay you out. Kneeling above you again he hummed continuing the kisses along your neck with hands working against your back firmly unable to move at the thighs holding him in place in this loving embrace. To your forehead his moved with a tap of noses at the sudden sniffle from your seeing the pants Lee had left on the end of the bed in fetching your phone. “I love you, it’s me and you always. Lee’s always been there, it’s always been us three. Not sure if he’ll be wanting another three way tumble, but it’s always gonna be you and me, no matter who he flits off to.”

Anxiously you wet your lips and you asked, “You think he’ll want to again, us three?”

“I think it had a lot to do with the wine, we did pop the third before the teasing started. Honestly I don’t know what he wants or would want, I know he still loves you and he’s comfortable sleeping with you after you were his first, hard to shut you off, I was miserable without you. For now, until I have to go and get naked for someone else I’d like to keep cuddled up with you while I can.” Stealing another kiss to your lips he hummed, “So no tears about last night.”

Weakly you said, “I didn’t plan-,”

“I know, and I doubt he did. He’s been picking up hints from your dad no doubt and has been asking about our future plans. He knows it’s you and me always. I know I hurt you when I slept with Tiffany, and there is no chance I would ever think you would do anything like that, and I will never hint otherwise. We chose together the three of us, I know your past and his feelings and I’m not threatened by that to dare to say anything hurtful about it. Please don’t be scared this does nothing to damage us at all.” Sweetly in a partial pout he asked, “Now can I flip you over and rub your back?” Up you lifted and stole a kiss of your own letting your legs loose granting your chuckling Mate to start the rubdown starting the afternoon of cuddling post bath to a show on tv.

“I love you, so much more than oceans can fight.” You murmured clinging closer to his side stretched out on the couch widening his already bright smile from the kiss you planted on his neck and burrow of your head there gripping at his shirt in a try to bring him closer to you.

“Oceans don’t stand a chance, my formidable Love,” he hummed back adjusting the blanket and his arms more across your back feeling you drifting off to sleep. Keeping you there until a convenient stretch from you a while later let him climb up out of your hold to hurry to the bath to relieve his bursting bladder. Jen Garner had arrived and asked to have lunch the next day hoping for a long nights rest and meal alone to deflate granting the three of you to blend back into another tame supper and night apart once your sheets were dried and the bed made again.

.

Quiet out of the bath while you remained asleep, now on the bed, Richard crept. Walking in the path of light lit by the lowly glowing aquarium lamp with tiny floating fish inside giving off bubble sounds on the shelves along the wall as a sort of nightlight used thanks to the trains of big rigs that woke you up in their path behind the building from the warehouse a while down the road in your first week there. He never got an answer for what nightmare they set off to have you jolt out of bed near to screaming halfway already to tears. Something he hoped was coincidental or drawn from a horror film of some sort. All the same while that usual train of big rigs came through sounding off he smiled to the sight of those unruly curls sprawled about halfway into your face nestled into the pillow supporting it and arms above your head matching the awkward sprawl of your legs. Impatient to sleep to bask in the time to cuddle even when unconscious with him now turned over when he slipped out of bed.

Sheets half strewn and wrinkled beyond repair until he would come back righting them to draw close to your side again. Somehow the notion was back on his mind, your wedding night, just that first night where you were secured together having vowed to be bound to one another forever. Deep back in the closet even in the dark he found the hiding place for the rings he had made up and once that cold metal touched his palm from your ring he slipped his ring right on his ring finger smiling to himself in the dark. Slowly he crept closer with yours in hand and to the bed he went hovering over you finding the right finger that after a few hushed huffs of hot air inside the ring to not jolt you awake.

Rather easily it slid over your lowest knuckle inching his smile painfully wider at the perfect fit, that smile dropped however at your brows scrunching up and body tucking to roll over onto your side stirring an urge to tell you to stop or turn back. Instantly his hands were over his mouth in his wide eyed stare in your settling back into the bed. Right up under the pillow your left arm curled and he caught his opening, around the bed up to the headboard he crept resting his hand on the wood frame to reach out lifting the edge of the pillow slow and steady. Sideways around your fingers his hovered to rest on the metal, down to your face from the ring his eyes darted and leaning in he pressed his lips to your cheek stirring a shift in your body aiding in the subtle tug of the ring. Back into his palm it was tucked and in a step back he let out a breath turning to head back and hide the rings away again smile back noting that the fit was just perfect.

“Richy,” lowly you whined to the sound of the engines cranking up again in the shift of gears hastening his rush to tuck the rings back in their place and turn to be back.

“Right here,” he said from the closet luring a disapproving slumbering huff in response hurrying him along to silence any shadow hidden pout sure to follow. “Right here,” he hummed again sliding back into bed drawing your shifting self to his chest again tangling with you to his favorite position halfway across your body granting tons of sleepy kisses to your cheek and nose to help you stir.

 *

Halfway sprawled over Lee woke for his waking trip to the toilet groaning, barely able to make it there before his body dropped to the floor. “Agh,” he groaned wincing at the excruciating pain radiating from his right side upwards. To his knees he managed with tears threatening to pool into his eyes from the pain to the far wall of his bedroom where he managed to drop to his side whispering, “Jaqi-,” curling a fist he took a pained swing failing to catch his breath.

On the other side of the wall softly you grumbled in your sleep at the thump spoiling your late morning off in bed. Into your neck Richard huffed only to grumble himself at the second thump. “Lee have-,”

Two more thumps came quickly opening the Brit’s eyes making him lift his head as you turned yours with hearts quickening at the trio of thumps coming next and a muffled sound of what could be a groan. Together up you popped and hurried to pull on clothes and slippers, the last thing you grabbed was your key ring including the spare to his apartment he’d given you upon moving in for a spare to yours and out you shot. Straight to his door you went with Richard locking yours behind you to race inside his after you, “Lee?” You panted out answered by a pained groan.

“I can’t-,” he groaned out setting his head on the floor with eyes shut hearing you entering his bedroom.

“Lee,” you said on the way over to drop at his side looking him over as Richard stopped in the doorway inspecting the scene himself. “Is it your head, or stomach?”

“I stood up, and,” he panted again, “Just, this pain up my side.”

“Right side?” You asked and he nodded. “Okay,” you said easing his shirt up, “I’m gonna press on your side, it’s gonna hurt.” He groaned but clenched his eyes at Richard’s move closer to watch you press into his right side, the press made him groan but clenching into a ball he groaned loader at your hand releasing.

“Why did you do that?” gritting his teeth the pain now had tears in his eyes.

“That’s the appendix.”

“I’m gonna get you up, Lee, Jaqi you can get the car.” You nodded accepting the keys from him as Richard tucked Lee in his arms and lifted him bridal style only luring another groan, “I know it hurts but over the shoulder will be worse.” Around the room you grabbed his phone, wallet and keys leading the way out and locking up to the lot where you brought the car over opening the door from inside for Lee to be eased and buckled into the seat. Locking eyes with Richard panting for air through the pain he groaned again and Richard said, “Just sit tight, hospital in no time.” From the front to back seat he moved closing the doors behind him to buckle in as you turned the wheel starting the drive as Lee tired to relax back against the seat with eyes closed.

“Just another block,” you said at the final light seeing the hospital in sight, “Then they’ll get you fixed up.”

“My,” he panted out and inhaled to pant out, “my mom,”

“I’ll call them when we get you booked in.”

Richard said, “My brother had his appendix out when we were kids it’s quite a simple surgery and you weren’t half as bad as he was, painted half our bedroom by the time we found out it wasn’t a stomach bug.”

You nodded as Lee looked your way, “Three of my cousins’ kids have had them and two of my cousins, even my uncles have scars from theirs when dad was raising them. I’ve even looked into it, small cut and some clamps and then cut and singe off the tube thingy going to the appendix and it’s done, feel so much better after.”

Lee, “Have you had the surgery?”

“No, but I have had my tonsils out,” you said glancing to the halfway smirking Lee, “I know it’s not the same, but it kinda is, you can live without both of them.”

Lee panted out, “What I get,” making you look at him again from the road then back again, “pretending to sleep with Tracy.”

“Oh I highly doubt that is what did it,” Richard hummed helping to keep Lee upright in the final turns. Parked in the closest spot at the emergency room you both got out with Richard unbuckling Lee he eased his arms around again, “Almost there big guy.” You shut the car and shivered in the rush across the crosswalk.

The sight of the tall person being carried in had a gurney brought over and as Lee stretched out you said, “His appendix. I don’t think he’s been sick. Found him on the floor.” Sharing his blood type and a bad reaction to a medication he was given as a kid to help him pass something he swallowed making a couple nurses smirk at the irrelevant medication but glad all the same to have been informed of the reaction all the same.

Lee’s hand gripped yours and he said, “Jaqi-,” as the doctor from the ER called for an operating room to be prepped and nurses to bring over the prepping IV.

“Cut, clamp, cut, singe, stitch, done. We’re right here,” he drew in another breath letting you go at your peck on his cheek, letting the staff take over at Richard’s confirming pat on his shoulder through the confirming press the Doctor gave to his side.

Holding the clipboard you sat with Lee’s wallet filling in everything you could with Richard beside you stroking your back and walked over taking the papers for you and the nurse there said they had wheeled Lee back. “Thank you,” he said and turned to go back and bring you into his side pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Just took him back, his parents answer yet?”

“No,” you said still holding Lee’s phone, “Will’s on a trip and they’re out in Oklahoma with his sister. I said he’ll be fine.”

“He will be, you gonna call work? Let them know?”

That had your head turn to see the flashes from outside of the two photographers who had been camped out at your place since Jen had come to town hoping to catch her dropping by as her hotel had stricter surgery. “They’re not up for a few hours at least. Still dark out. I’ll call in the morning.”

Not even ten minutes into the first magazine Richard had brought over the phone began to ring and answering the call you said, “Mr Pace, ya hey, Lee’s still in surgery but he seemed to be early on in symptoms. The doctor didn’t seem bothered by anything.”

“Well,” he cleared his throat, “That sounds good, um, we can’t exactly fly out,” he said clearly having just woken up to check on his sick mom they’d flown out to help with the family home.

“Oh no I get that. We’re here I just wanted you guys to know. I’ll keep you posted and have Lee call you later.”

“Thank you Jaqi, really. Couldn’t have happened at a worse time when at least his mom couldn’t fly out.” A voice calling out had him saying, “Um,”

“That’s ok, I got him here, you take care of Gran Pace few days and he should be up and ready to go.”

“We’ll talk later, thank you Jaqi.” He hung up and you smoothed a hand over your forehead stealing another glance at the growing number of flashes through the opening doors as another patient arrived until a ring from your own cell phone drew your focus.

Your dad’s number was on the screen and you answered, “Dad?”

“Pumpkin, whose hurt? My friend up there said you’re on the news you’re at the hospital?”

“Lee’s appendix is giving him trouble,” that had him exhale in relief, “Ya, Rich carried him in and they’ve got him on the table now.” You wet your lips, “It’s on the news and they didn’t say who was sick?”

“They just saw you with a guy carrying another guy to the hospital. He alright?”

“Scared,” you said, “But shouldn’t be long now and I think work should be fine giving him a few days easy work. Sorry we worried you.”

“No, worry me, any time. Both you kids up there we need to worry from time to time. You ok?”

“Good, he was just on the floor when we found him. You ok? They didn’t wake you up?”

“Up to the sheep here in a bit, not too early, Pumpkin. All good here. Looks like the biggest birthing year yet coming up, they’re glad to have me around again for some more heavy lifting. But I’m never more than a flight away, don’t want to use up all your minutes, but call me if you need to talk ok? I love you.”

“Love you, Daddy, I will, hug the sheep for me.” Earning a chuckle from him before the call ended.

Pt 36

Hobbit – Soulmate - @evyiione​​, @deepestfirefun, @rhaenaatargaryen, @anastasialovers

X all Rich. A - @abiwim​, @deepestfirefun​, @thestorybookmistress

X Lee P - @tigereyesf​

All –

@himoverflowers​, @theincaprincess​​, @aspiringtranslator​​, @thegreyberet​​, @patanghill17​​, @jesgisborne​​, @curvestrology​​, @alishlieb​​, @jogregor​​, @armitageadoration​​, @fizzyxcustard​​, @lilith15000​​, @marvels-ghost​​, @catthefearless​​, @imjusthereforthereads​​, @c-s-stars​​, @otakumultimuse-hiddlewhore​​, @mariannetora​​, @shes-a-killer-kween​, @ggbbhehe4455

[chickensarentcheap]

Best Part of Me -Chapter 13

Warnings: profanity

Tagging: @c-a-v-a-l-r-y​, @alievans007​, @thunderintheshadows​, @innerpaperexpertcloud​

“Well tonight went pretty good,” Tyler comments, as he joins his wife in the kitchen; leaning stomach first against the island, placing his elbows on the granite countertop and running his palms over his face. “I have to say, you really nailed the whole being civil thing.”

Esme rolls her eyes; unappreciative of the sarcasm that drips from every word. With all five kids settled for the night, it’s inevitable that the topic of the disastrous end to dinner would be brought up. And he watches as she moves about the room, gathering up snacks for school lunches, preparing the meals, cleaning that day’s garbage out of lunch pails.  The dress and make up are long gone; a wide head band holds her hair away from her face and she’s clad in a pair of shorts made from an old pair of sweatpants and a simple white tank top. A far cry from what she’d looked like at dinner, but no less beautiful.  

“Why would you even get into it with her?” he asks. “Aren’t you always the one that’s telling me not to let people get inside my head?”

“Don’t act like this wasn’t a long time coming. That it hasn’t been six years of her trying to destroy us. Always one thing after another with her. Sending you emails, text messages, showing up at your hotel rooms while on jobs. I’m supposed to be okay with all of that?”

“I never said that. I never said you had to be okay with it.”

“You’d be pretty fucking pissed if the roles were reversed. You would have long ago beat the shit out of them if I had an ex that acted like that.”

“Six months ago your ex helped someone try and kill me, so...”

“That’s not the same and you know it. Was Mark sending me sexually explicit emails and text messages? Was he getting drunk and sending me naked pictures of himself? Was he showing up in the driveway every time you went out of town?”

Tyler shrugs. “I dunno. Was he?”

“You damn well know he wasn’t. Don’t bring Mark into this. He didn’t spend six years playing stupid fucking games trying to get me to cheat on you. And if can’t see the difference between my ex-husband and your ex... whatever the hell she is....”

“Okay first off. She wasn’t an ex anything. I was fucking her. That’s it. Don’t make it seem more important than it was. You were actually married to that asshole.”

“Which has no actual bearing on this conversation because he didn’t do the shit that Nik did. Oh my god, can you honestly not see the fucking difference?”

Tyler smirks. “So being civil doesn’t extend to me either, I see.”

“You know what, fuck you Tyler. Maybe there’s more to things than you’re letting on. You get awful defensive when I say anything remotely negative about Nik.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it. I have enough negative things to say about her myself. I don’t give a crap if you shit talk. I agree with all of it, so...”

“You were awful quick to defend her though,” Esme points out, as she finishes packing the snacks and juices boxes in the three lunch bags and sets them on the island.  

“When? When did I defend her? Give me one example of when I defended her.”

“You were on her side the whole time!”

“Like fuck I was,” he scowls. “I always have your back and you know it.”

“You kept trying to stop me,” she accuses. “Bossing me around, ordering me about. Like who the hell do you think you are?”

“Well I have a ring on my fingers and a piece of paper that says I’m your husband. And I was not ordering you around. I just wanted you to stop. It wasn’t the time or place for that shit.”

“She deserved to hear it.”

“Which I agree with. But she didn’t need to hear it there. Time and place, Esme. And that was not the time or the place.”

“Someone with your temper lecturing me about keeping it together?” she snorts. “That’s rich. Because you’re such a pacifist, right Tyler? Give me a break.”  She tosses open the door on the dishwasher and begins yanking items out of it; the clatter and rattle increasing in volume with each object she places in the cupboards.  “You just don’t like I was insulting your precious Nik,” she snidely remarks.

“Jesus fuck. Let it go! There was never a me and Nik. I never wanted there to be a me and Nik. It was sex. That’s it.”

“So like Dhaka,” she remarks. “Just lasting longer.”

“Don’t even compare the two. Dhaka was totally different.”

“How?” Esme challenges. “You were fucking her. Just like you were fucking me. What was so different about it?”

“Well I married you for one.  It didn’t end up being just sex in the end, did it? What went on with me and you is completely difference than what went on with me and her. Don’t pretend it isn’t.”

“Did you feel anything?” she asks. “When you saw her?”

He laughs. “What?”

“When she showed up at lunch today. Did you feel anything for her?”

“Why the hell would I? I’ve never felt anything for her. Why would I start now?”

“Do you not see the way she looks at you? How she’s been looking at you for the six and a half years?”

“No. I don’t. And you know why? Because I don’t fucking care. The only one I care about looking at me is you. That’s it. Not Nik, not Millie’s teacher, not any other woman on the planet. You. So stop making me out to be someone bastard that’s going to cheat you. Because I never would. I’m not Mark.”

“I think I know that.”

“Do you? Because it’s been six and a half years of trying to prove that to you. Of trying to show you that not all men fuck other women or beat the shit out of them. And I get it. He fucked you up. But when does it stop? When do I get to stop proving to you that I’m not like him?”

“When have I ever said you had to?!” she retorts. “When have I ever made you feel that I was comparing you to him? I've never once done that, and you know it. That’s in your head, Tyler. And it wasn’t me that put it there.”

“Who’s the one that’s had to pick up all the pieces and put them back together?”

“Well I’m sorry that you feel it’s been such burden to you. That I’ve just made your life so hard.”

“I never said that. Stop overreacting to every I say. That isn’t what I meant, and you know it. And can you please stop doing that?! He gestures towards the dishwasher. “I’m trying to fucking talk to you!”

“Fine,” she unceremoniously drops a plate onto the counter, then leans back against it, arms crossed over her chest. “Talk. Are you capable of that or you just wanting to unload on me?”

“I want to talk,” Tyler insists. “I don’t want to fight. Although it’s not getting off to a good fucking start, is it.”

“You should have had my back,” she snarls.

“I did! I always do.  No questions asked.”

“You were hell bent on shutting me up.”

“I didn’t want the kids hearing that shit. They didn’t need to hear any of it. They’re innocent, for fuck sake. Why did you feel the need to say all what you did while they were there? Couldn’t it have waited until they weren’t around?”

“They’ve heard worse,” Esme reasons. “They’ve heard us fight. They’re probably listening right now, actually.”

“They’re asleep. But they won’t be for very long if you don’t keep your goddamn voice down. Can we about this rationally? Without yelling or trash talking one another? Can we actually manage that? Because I’m sick of resorting that other shit. We’re supposed to be working on that, remember? Not fighting so much.”

“And we haven’t been fighting. We’ve barely fought in the last six months. And then she shows up and everything goes to hell. You think I want to fight with you? That I was us to be like this? Because I don’t. I hate it. When we get like this.”

“Then let’s stay calm and talk about things. Not yell. Talk.  Like normal people.”

She gives a small laugh. “When have we ever been normal? It’s never been normal. It didn’t start out normal and it’s not normal now.”

“Fuck normal. Normal’s boring. I just want to be us. But not the angry, mean us. Because I hate that version.”

“So do I. You’re the last person on earth I want be angry with. And I’m not angry at you. I don’t know I’m even freaking out on you. You didn’t do anything wrong. It’s all that stupid bitch and the fact you stuck your dick in her and now my brother is marrying her and ughhh...” she presses her palms against her forehead. “...please tell me you find this just as screwed up as I do.”

“Your brother and Nik? Yeah, I do. But you’re the one that set them up because you didn’t want her subjected to Mark, so...”

“Worst decision ever!” she laments. “And I’ve made some pretty bad decisions. But that one? That one takes the cake.”

“For what it’s worth,” he walks around the island, then leans back against the counter next to the stove as she fills the kettle with water and plugs it in. “I don’t think she’s with him to cause issues with us. I don’t think it’s some game she’s playing. I think she’s actually sincere about how she feels about him.”

She smirks. “What makes you think that?”

“I didn’t just beat the shit out of and kill them when I did the job. I did actually have to talk face to face with them from time to time.  I had to learn how to read people.”

“And here I was, attracted to you because I was under the impression that you were nothing more than a butt kicking bad ass,” she teases. “Brains and brawn. Extra sexy. No wonder I keep you around. You’re not just a pretty face.”

“You ever think maybe I just stick around? That you’re not actually keep me? That I just like being here?”

“You really are a glutton for punishment,” she says with a wink, then retrieves two clean mugs from the dishwasher. “So you’re telling me that you were able to ‘read’ Nik?”

“Both of them actually,” he reveals, as he grabs the milk from the fridge.

“And?”

“And it’s legit. The whole thing between them. She’s not playing a game. This isn’t about her trying to weasel her way back into our lives to fuck things up. She’s in love with the guy.”

“Tyler Rake talking about being able to when a woman is in love with a man,” she shakes her head. “What kind of alternate dimension am I living in?”

“Well it wasn’t too hard to figure out. It’s the same way you look at me and I know you love me, so...”

“You’re finally admitting it!” she cries. “Oh my god! You're actually admitting that there’s a ‘look’. You’ve been denying the existence of a ‘look’ for years. Is all that gray hair you’re getting bringing wisdom and enlightenment with it?”

“You know,” Tyler grins. “You have this really weird way of paying people backhanded compliments.”

“I like your gray hair. You’re going to look crazy sexy when all of it is like that. And then your beard will go gray too and...” she sighs dreamily. “Are you still going to love me when I have a head full of gray hair?”

“Baby, I’d love you with no hair.”

She smiles, and he leans down to kiss her.

****

It’s a clear and beautiful night; a fresh, cool breeze rolling in off the ocean, the full moon reflecting off the surface of the water. They sit side by side on the edge of the pool, feet dangling in the water, sipping tea and enjoying a comfortable, companionable silence. And when she shivers, he wraps an arm around her shoulders and pulls her tight into his side.  

“You saw the ‘look’ with my brother too?” Esme asks, and as she blows on her drink to cool it down.

Tyler nods. “You can’t tell me you don’t notice it. That he’s crazy about her.”

“I do notice. I just keep hoping I’m imagining it.”

“Sorry.  I hate to be bearer of bad news, but it’s the real deal.”

“How you do you know?”

“Because it’s the same way I look at you.”

“Awww baby...” she reaches up to tousle his hair, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “...you have the cutest, sweetest moments.”

“That doesn’t go any further than the two of us. That I say shit like that.”

“It’s not shit. It’s pure and adorable and it makes you even sexier.  Who doesn’t love a man that isn’t afraid to get all sappy and show emotion?”

“You may love it, but I don’t love being that way. I do it just for you.”

“Such a burden. The sacrifices you make for the woman you love.”

There isn’t a sacrifice he wouldn’t make for her. Whether it was something as simple as giving up a few hours of sleep to help with the baby or something as dire as exchanging his life for hers. He’d do it. Willingly. No questions asked. No second thoughts.

“I wasn’t taking Nik’s said,” he says. “That’s not why I wanted you to stop talking about things. I didn’t want the kids hearing any of that. I mean, you brought up Dhaka. And the bridge.”

“It was the truth. She was going to leave us there.”

“I know. But the kids didn’t need to hear that. How do we know they’re not going to school tomorrow and talk about the time both their mom and dad could have died? Like, fuck...” he sighs heavily.  “...I didn’t think we’d have talk about that until later. Or ever.”

“I shouldn’t have brought that stuff up,” she admits. “You’re right?”

“What?” he grins. “What did you say? I didn’t quite hear you. Can you say that a little louder? Yell it if you have to. So everyone can hear you.”

“I said you’re right,” she grumbles, and elbows him playfully in the ribs. “Don’t be a shit head. I’ve admitted you’re right before. I admit you’re right at least once a year, every year. Consider it an anniversary gift.”

“I thought your anniversary gift is letting me fuck you up the a...”

“Stop!” she orders and places a hand over his mouth. “We do not talk about that. We just do it. We don’t speak of it. Ever.”

“Why?” he chuckles. “Hurts to admit you’re a freak?”

“We are not talking about this. You know I hate talking about it. About THAT.”

“Okay...Okay...I’m sorry. I’ll shut up about it and just enjoy it once a year.”

“Thank you,” she leans her head against his shoulder and wraps an arm around his waist. “Did they kids say anything? When you were tucking them in? About what they heard tonight.”

“Not a word. They were too busy going on and on about how awesome it is that Uncle Kyle’s come to visit and that they got to eat off of ‘adult plates’ and drink out of ‘adult glasses’.”

She grins.

“And one of your son’s was mad that his spaghetti didn’t have cut up hot dogs in it.”

Esme laughs. “That has to be Tyler.  That’s his favorite food.”

“That kid’s a freak. Like his mother.”

“He’s all you and you know it!”

“I do not like piece of hot dog in spaghetti. That's fucking gross.”

“You complain about that but you eat vegemite?” she challenges.

“What are you talking about? That shit is amazing.”

“It’s disgusting!” And you even have the fucking nerve to put it on steak sometimes! That should be illegal. Ruining a good steak like that. That stuff is just....ewwww...” she shudders dramatically.

“You know what would be really awesome though,” Tyler muses.

“I’m almost afraid to ask.”

“If I was to put vegemite on something else and eat it off.”

She frowns. “Please tell me you’re not talking about...”

“I so am.”

“And you call me a freak!” she attempts to shove him away with her elbows, then shrieks and arches her back and starts to giggle when he grabs her in the sensitive spot just below her ribs and aggressively tickles. “What the fuck is wrong with you? You’re disturbed! I’m not letting you put vegemite there!”

“You let me put chocolate sauce there. And strawberry jam.”

“Which are both way better than vegemite. You’re gross, Tyler! What is your major malfunction?”

“Well I love vegemite and you. So if I combine the two...”

“You’re disgusting. How do I stay married to you?”

“Because I dick you down as well as I do. And you love me.”

“Okay. I’ll give you those. You are seriously warped though.”

Grinning, he presses a kiss to her temple and then pulls her even tighter into his side.  And for several minutes they sit quietly, admiring the reflection of the moon upon the water, enjoying the breeze that tousles the treetops and lightly stirs up the sand.  

***

“You seem pretty calm,” she comments, as she sips her tea. “About Nik showing up.”

“I was not calm this afternoon.  Trust me.”

“And now?”

“Now I’m pissed. Not a raging pissed. But pissed. Just that she has the fucking nerve to want more from me. I have nothing left to give her. I’ve shed enough blood for her. I don’t know what more she could possibly want.”

“As much as I stand her, she’s actually onto something. Asking you to train Ovi. She knows there’s no one else out there that can do the job like you can. She knows he’ll be trained right. You’re not going to half ass it.”

“I’d rather not be doing it at all.”

“But you have to. For Ovi. The chances of him surviving the job will be a hell of a lot higher if you train him.”

Tyler smirks. “You have a lot of faith in me.”

“It’s not faith. I just know that you were one of the best. If not the best. I knew that before we even met; I used to hear your name get passed around in certain circles.  Everyone knew what you did and how well you did it, yet no one knew for sure that you even existed.  And if you can’t talk Ovi out of doing this, at least you can teach him what he needs to stay alive, right?”

He nods in agreement.

“There’s something else bugging you, isn’t there. I can just tell. It’s not just the training thing. It’s more than that.”

“Esme, I don’t need to tell you everything. You don’t need all that on your shoulders.”

“Remember what the therapist said? About shouldering everything on your own? That if you keep doing it and don’t learn to open up about things, we won’t make it. And that scares me, Tyler. Because I want us to make it. I wouldn’t be working as hard as I am and going to see therapists if I didn’t.”

He drops a kiss on the top of her head. “I want us to make it too.”

“Then stop being such a stubborn asshole and talk to me. Please. Stop worrying about how much I can deal with it or that you’re somehow a burden. Because you’re not. You never could be. We’re in this together. You’re shit is my shit. As soon as we got married, we took on each other’s shit. So I need you to talk to me.”

He sighs heavily and takes a swallow of now lukewarm tea. “It’s just something that Nik said. It’s been eating at me since this afternoon.”

“Okay....”

“She said that Ovi is going this because he feels as if he has something to prove to me.”

“What?” she gives an incredulous laugh. “That makes no sense. What would he have to prove to you?”

“She said I’ve made him feel like he has to prove he’s worthy of being my kid. For me to love him like one of my kids.”

Esme scowls. “She actually said that to you?”

“It’s been bugging me all fucking day. Because I keep wracking my brain trying to come up with something...anything...that I might have said or done to make him feel that way.”

“You haven’t said or done anything. That’s just Nik being a callous, manipulative bitch. Ovi would never...ever...say that about you. You’ve always loved that kid. No strings attached. Not once have you ever made him feel ‘less than’ because he’s not yours by blood. You realize that she’s fucking with your head, right? She’s trying to guilt you into helping her. It’s what she does. Like how she pulled that ‘you’ll never be able to properly provide for your family without the job’ card when I was having the twins.”

“And I fell for it and nearly destroyed us in the end.”

“Well this time, that won’t happen. You’re doing what you have to do to help Ovi. And we both know he’ll be better off for it. And if you have to get back into it to help him, that’s fine. But Tyler...I am telling you right now...if you go back into the job for no reason, I’m done. I can’t live that life again. And never can the kids. If you do that...go willingly...we won’t be here when you get back.”

He sighs heavily and squeezes her shoulder. “I know.”

“Because I love you, but I love my kids more.  I have to do what’s best for them. And life is not it. You know that.”

He nods in agreement. It’s a painful, hate truth that hits deep. But is one that he needs to hear. He’s run out of chances. He knows it. She's taken him back and seen past all the broken promises and forgiven him time and time again. Way more times that he actually deserved.

“Promise me you won’t go back,” she says. “Only if you have to. To help Ovi.”

“I’m not going back, baby. Not unless there’s no other choice. I don’t want to lose you. Or my kids. I can't lose you guys.”

She presses a kiss to his cheek, then slides her hand over his ribs, onto his back and up to the nape of his hair; nails lightly scratching at the back of his head.  “You need to go back on your meds,” she says.

Tyler frowns. “How’d you...”

“You honestly think I don’t know when you stop taking them? And no. I’m not opening the bottle and counting them. It’s the way you get. You start having trouble sleeping again, you’re easily agitated, you fidget a lot and you can’t stay still, you’re super fucking moody. You can’t just stop them.  That’s not how these things work.”

“I was feeling fine,” he shrugs, and the excuse sounds lame even to his own ears.

“You were feeling fine because you were taking your meds. Isn’t that obvious? I mean, if you’re feeling like this when you’re off them...”

“It’s just the withdrawal.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it. It isn’t just the withdrawal. It’s how you feel when you’re not on them. And I know it makes you think you’re weak that you have to take them and that it somehow makes you ‘less of a man’ that you have to rely on these things.  But that’s crap too. It takes a stronger, bigger man to realize something is wrong and then work on getting his shit together.”

“I know you believe that, and maybe it’s true. And it should make me feel better. But I hate this. Being this way.”

“I know you do,” she rubs his back comfortingly. “And I wish you didn’t have to deal with this. But you are. Dealing with it. And you’re doing a lot better than you think you are.”

“Yeah? Because it doesn’t fucking feel like it.”

“Well if you’re not taking your meds, you’re going to feel like that. Why do you do this to yourself? You know you feel better when you’re taking them. You see the difference they make.”

“It’s the fact I have to take them in the first place. That my brain is so fucked up that it can’t function on its own. I hate that I can’t wake up in the morning without needing meds. It’s pathetic. And it’s weak.”

“It is not weak,” she insists. “You are not weak. That is some Gaspar bullshit in your head.  Or your father. Those two voices are the last ones you should be listening to. Gaspar was a sociopath and your father...well we know what he is.”

“And if I end up just like him?”

“Who? Gaspar?”

“Fuck, that’s even worse. My father.”

“Tyler, you are nothing like your father. You have your issues, but you are not like that. Not in the slightest. You need to get that out of your head, too. Because if you were like that, I wouldn’t be here, and neither would your kids. We would not be sticking around to put up with that bullshit. And as far as the other one goes...Gaspar...now that was person who was fucked up. You think your brain is messed up? How screwed up was his that he was willing to kill a kid? He was just going to hand Ovi over. What kind of whack job would do something like that?”

He’s never told her. That the ten million dollars wasn’t just to hand Ovi over, but her as well. A package deal, Gaspar had told him. Ovi’s dead body a trophy Asif could gloat over, her very much alive on a plaything he could add to his collection. For six and a half years he’s been holding onto that secret. It’s for her own good; nothing positive could ever come out of her knowing the whole truth. It’s bad enough that there are still times when he looks at her and thinks about what Gaspar had said. About all of the things that would have been done to her before Asif finally got bored and put her out of her misery.

“Are you okay?” she asks, and he’s suddenly aware of how tense his shoulders have become; how tight his jaw is clenched.

Tyler nods, then turns his face into hers and presses his lips to her forehead. “Just brings back some bad shit. Talking about him. Gaspar. That was a huge fucking mistake. Asking him for help.”

“He was your friend. Or at least you thought he was. You didn’t know what he was capable of. Money brings out the worst in a lot of people. He’s the perfect example. I still can’t believe you were even friends with someone like that.  You’re just so...I don’t know...different.  You’re human. He wasn’t. Anyone that would do something like that to a kid is a shitty human being and they deserve everything horrible that happens to them.”

Yet he’d still mourned Gaspar.  As he sat there on the steps with Ovi, watching his old friend take his last breaths. Part of him had grieved. Not for the actual loss of life, but that Ovi had been forced to kill Gaspar in the first place. That he’d trusted someone...someone he’d considered a friend...and they’d betrayed him.   And sometimes that loss is the more painful than losing the actual person.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Esme says. “Everything that happened at Gaspar’s house. There’s no way you could have known what he was going to do. You had no reason to believe that he’d do something like that. That he’d be friends with someone like Asif.”

“Something was off. When I first talked to him in the kitchen. When he said he was going to ‘kiss his wife’. There was something that wasn’t quite right about it. I didn’t think about it until afterwards.”

“Was there ever a wife? That’s what I’d like to know.”

Tyler shrugs.

“There wasn’t one picture in that house.  There wasn’t even a single toothbrush in the bathroom, let alone two. It was just weird. It was like no one actually lived there. Almost like it was a safe house.”

“Or a place he took people to to hold them for Asif.”

“You don’t think that’s what would have happened, do you? Had he killed you to get to Ovi. You don’t think he would have kept us there until...”

“I don’t know. I don’t even want to think about it; what would have happened if Ovi hadn’t have done what he did. Because you would have been left behind too and that’s not something I want in my head.  It wouldn’t have been quick and painless for you.”

“Tyler, you need to stop dwelling on things that could have happened. Don’t go down that rabbit hole, okay? Nothing good will come of that and you know it. I don’t want you doing that to yourself. Things happen for a reason. Ovi was meant to kill Gaspar so everything else could fall into place. If things hadn’t had happened the way they did...in the order they did...we wouldn’t be here right now. Six and a half years later. Five kids later. I bet you didn’t think that’s where your life would end up. When Nik and I showed up at your place that day.”

“I don’t know,” he grins. “You were pretty cute.”

“Well where you lived, you didn’t have many options to choose from, so...”

“Stop that,” he gently scolds, and lays a hand on the side of her head and kisses her temple. “You were beautiful.”

She smiles, then wraps both arms around his torso and leans into him.

“And you had those jeans shorts on that were a little tight in the ass and...”

“You were actually checking out my ass? The second I walked in the door?”

“It was more like thirty seconds.”

She snorts.

“What? I’m a guy.  A red-blooded guy who knows a good thing when he sees one. And you just walked right in through the front door. When you’re given a gift like that...”

“You’re an ass,” she laughs. “For what it’s worth, I thought you were insanely hot. You were not what I expected. At all. All the stories that I’d heard about you, you did not look like what I thought you would look like.”

“What did you think I would look like?”

“Honestly, I don’t know. But it wasn’t that. I guess I expected someone older.  Not nearly as attractive. And definitely not as ripped. That was a pleasant surprise. Walking in there and seeing you. I mean, who doesn’t love a jacked guy with pretty blue eyes? I was worried. When Nik told me her plan. I didn’t want to be pretend married to some old, ugly guy.”

“You thought I’d be old and ugly? What the fuck?”

“I didn’t know what you looked like. I thought someone with the experience and the body count you had would look...I don’t know...old. Haggard. That he’d have a dad bod. Not an eight pack and an ass you could bounce a quarter off.”

He chuckles at that.

“I know it was weird for you. Going into a job like that. Having to be ‘pretend married’.”

“It was a first. But it wasn’t weird. I mean, you were nice to look at. It could have been worse.”

“Yeah, I could have made you sleep on the floor the entire five days.”

“Now that would have been a fucking tragedy. So thank you. Thank you for letting me into your pants so easily.”

“You’re such a dick,” she laughs.  

“Those five days were....”

“Interesting?”

“I was going to say fucking awesome, but I guess interesting works too.”

“They were pretty intense,” she says. “In a fun way.”

“In a very fun way. Most fun I’ve had on the job. Ever. Hands down.”

“Well look where your fun has led you. Where five days of crazy sex has brought you. A wife, five kids. Definitely not where you thought you’d end up.”

“Maybe not. But it doesn’t mean I’m not exactly where I’m supposed to be.”

“Boy,” she pulls back and smiles at him. “You’re on fire tonight with the sappy shit. I’d say you were doing it just to try and get into my pants, but that’s hardly a challenge anymore and you know you don’t have to work as hard at it.”

“Have you ever thought that I’m just happy? Being here. With you. That I’m glad this is where my life ended up? That I even survived to get a chance to have any of this? Because that’s the closest to death I’ve ever been. And I don’t want to be that close to it ever again. I got my second chance. I’m not going to fuck that up.”

She kisses him. Long and soft, a hand on the side of his face, the other resting on his ribs. “You’re kind of my favorite,” she says, and presses her lips to the bridge of his nose.

“You’re kind of my favorite too.”

She tousles his hair, then pulls her feet from the pool and stands up. “I’m going to go and check on the kids and then I’m going to go and have a long, hot bath. Unless you want to have a shower and then we can just save water.”

He tilts his head back to look up at her, grinning. “I’ll be in in a little bit.”

“Okay. Don’t be too long,” she pecks his lips. “And get out of your head,” she orders, as she heads towards the house. “Nothing good ever comes out of spending too much time in there. Don’t let bad shit live there rent free.”

“You’re a naggy pain in the ass, you know that?”

“But I’m your naggy pain in the ass. And you’d miss this ass. Don’t deny it.”

“I’d miss more than the ass,” he informs her.

“Yeah, I know exactly what you’d miss.”

“Everything,” he says. “I’d miss everything.”

She gives him one last smile and a small wink, then disappears into the house.

[aliciameade]

Bechloe Week 2019: Day 2 - Coworkers

“In the Closet” - Rated T

Also on AO3

~  ~  ~

~  ~  ~

“Burning the midnight oil again?”

Chloe looks up and over her computer screen and smiles. “Always.”

“Why are you still here?” Beca leans against the empty desk across from Chloe’s and pockets her iPhone. Her clear intent to focus on their conversation makes the ever-present butterflies in Chloe’s stomach stir.

She uses the welcome interruption to stretch, arching her back as she lifts her arms. She knows it makes her shirt ride up; it’s why she does it. “I need to get my team’s budget for Q2 uploaded before midnight.”

“Procrastinate much?” Beca says with a smile. It isn’t lost on Chloe that her eyes seem to pointedly avoid Chloe’s once she’d finished stretching.

Chloe shrugs and rolls her chair back from her desk to twist absentmindedly back and forth. “I work better under pressure.”

“I feel that.” She watches as Beca pulls something out of a back pocket of her jeans: a keycard, which she waves conspiratorially. “I swiped Aubrey’s badge when she was in the bathroom and I’m going to raid the snack closet. Want something?”

Yeah. You. “I’m good, but thanks,” Chloe replies with a dismissive wave. Her long-standing crush on her coworker—or rather, her ability to control her crush—tended to wax and wane. Sometimes, Chloe feels a zing of happiness when she and Beca catch each other’s eye as one walks through the other’s area and it would keep her happy the rest of the week. Sometimes, Chloe walks past the copy room to find Beca on her hands and knees in front of the huge printer/copier trying to fix the paper jam and Chloe returns to her desk mind so full of fantasies that she would have to step into the restroom to touch herself.

It wasn’t that dating coworkers is disallowed. Neither is the other’s supervisor; they aren’t even in the same department. But Chloe had spent the first three months of Beca’s employment sure the woman was straight, or, at the very least, in a relationship with a man. Beca started to bring in personal items for her desk and Chloe loved the glimpses into her life until one of those items was a photo of Beca kissing the cheek of some guy in front of the entrance to The Wizarding World of Harry Potter.

“Some guy.” Chloe knows who it was: Jesse, Beca’s boyfriend.

Or, she assumes he’s Beca’s boyfriend. She was always meeting him for lunch, or he would stop by the office just to bring her a cup of her favorite coffee, or she’ll say, “Jesse,” when Chloe teasingly asks her who she’s texting when she notices her smiling at her phone.

That smile was something else. It did things to Chloe. Twisted her up inside. Made her second-guess her words from time to time which was a rarity for her when she had a crush. But “crush” seems an ill-fitting term for what she feels for Beca. Enamored. Bewitched. Besotted. Those are more apropos.

But hidden among all the photos and trinkets, Chloe had noticed one tiny flash of bright colors. A rainbow bracelet, one of those rubber ones that companies toss out at the Pride parade every year, wrapped around a cup on Beca’s desk. She’s thought a lot about that bracelet: if Beca just likes bright colors (that didn’t seem right). It doesn’t have to mean anything, of course; maybe Beca is a good ally.

Or maybe Beca’s something other than heterosexual and got the bracelet because she caught it at a Pride parade celebrating herself.

Chloe raps her nails on her keyboard a few times trying to remember what she was in the middle of doing before Beca interrupted her but her focus has shifted. She thinks about snacks, or, more accurately, the fact that Beca is in the snack closet. More than once over their few years working together, a fantasy has slipped through Chloe’s mind involving bumping into Beca somewhere in the office long after working hours—a conference room, the restroom, the break room, the snack closet—and making a suggestive comment to her, followed by a lengthy daydream of pinning her to a wall or sitting her on (or bending her over) the conference room table.

“Oh, my God, chill,” she says with a mind-clearing shake of the head. It does little to clear away the lust, though, and despite the nonstop argument happening in her brain, she rolls her chair back from her desk to stand.

She isn’t going to the snack closet. She just needs to take a lap, walk through the empty halls to give herself something else to think about.

Except in doing so, she finds herself stopped in front of the half-opened door of the snack closet watching Beca rifle through the cabinet that houses the company’s supply of chips, cookies, and crackers. There are already a few options on the nearby table, one of them being Chloe’s favorite (Oreos) and she can’t help but wonder if Beca had chosen it for her despite turning down her offer.

She sneaks up behind Beca until she’s inches away, then leans in with, “Boo!”

Beca’s reaction is a combination of a gasp and the word, “Shit!” as she tries to flee only to be trapped between the cabinet and Chloe. “Oh, it’s you,” she says after whipping her head around, eyes wide with surprise. “Jesus, don’t do that, dude.”

“Couldn’t help it,” she says with a shrug and doesn’t make an effort to move back and give Beca space. It was too nice to be so close to her. She smiles brightly when Beca turns around after finishing straightening out the bags of snacks she’d disrupted in her fright. “Find anything yummy?”

Beca seems taken aback by Chloe’s proximity but doesn’t comment on it. Instead, she swallows and tilts her head toward the choices on the counter. “Can’t go wrong with Cheetos.” Beca’s eyes are furtive; they refuse to hold Chloe’s gaze more than a second and in their nervous flitting, land on what seem to be Chloe’s mouth more than once.

The possibility thrills Chloe and she bites her lip as a test and it works; Beca’s eyes fall to her lips again. “So, I’ve been wondering,” she starts, “how long have you and your boyfriend been together?”

Beca’s brow furrows in confusion. “Boyfriend?”

“Yeah, you have pictures of him all over your desk. Jesse?”

A bark of laughter escapes Beca and she covers her mouth with a shake of her head. “Oh, my God,” she says with a small groan as she drops her hand. “Jesse is not my boyfriend.”

Chloe’s heart picks up pace. “No?”

“Best friend. Not boyfriend. Gross,” she adds under her breath.

“Any boyfriend?”

The corners of Beca’s mouth twitch. “No.”

“Girlfriend?” she hedges.

At that, Beca’s left brow arches. “No.”

“Partner of any kind?”

“Single and ready to mingle,” Beca says and then seems to regret it, grimacing. “I mean, uh, no.” She’s still thinking so Chloe waits for her to continue. “Um...you?” The question is forced and she can tell Beca feels awkward, but then again, Beca seems to feel awkward during most of their interactions.

The good news of Beca’s singledom makes it easy for Chloe to slip on a flirty smirk. “Oh, I’m very ready to mingle.”

“That’s nice,” Beca says with a tight jaw and a nod.

“Mm, it is.” Chloe lets her eyes slip to Beca’s lips and lingers there long enough that Beca’s blushing when she looks up again. “You know, Beca—”

She’s cut off by Beca darting forward to kiss her. It’s quick but there’s no doubt in Chloe’s mind that it was intentional and she smiles into it in the brief moment it lasts.

“I’m sorry,” Beca says the second their lips part. “I shouldn’t have just—”

“Ready to mingle, indeed,” Chloe interrupts with a wider smile as she steps further into Beca’s personal space to rest a hand on her shoulder, thumb grazing the curve of her neck. She hadn’t been expecting it to play out this way, with Beca kissing her first. She hadn’t been expecting it to play out at all; she’d really been more on a fact-finding mission of curiosity, to crank up the flirtation and see if Beca would bite or not.

Instead, she seems to be the one who got hooked.

“Don’t apologize,” she continues. “I liked it.”

Beca manages to blush even harder but her chin lifts and the uncertainty in her eyes begins to fade. “Well, I mean, you’ve been hitting on me pretty hard, so I figured I’d put you out of your misery.”

The direct, punchy flirtation rattles Chloe, unprepared for it as she is. She also hadn’t expected Beca to call her out on her past—and current—behavior. “Was I that obvious?”

Beca squints at her. “Painfully.” Then she smiles one of the genuine smiles that always ties Chloe up in knots. “Took you so long to make a move; you forced my hand.”

“Well, I do like a slow burn.” She’s not totally sure how she’s keeping her cool right now; her insides feel like they’re on the spin cycle.

“The snack closet though? Of all places.”

“I had a fantasy.” She says it before she thinks she should maybe censor herself and it’s her turn to cover her mouth and blush. “Shit, forget I said that.”

This time, she gets both eyebrows lifting, accompanied by what should be an illegal smirk of impressed surprise. “Seriously? In here?”

“Oh, my God.” She has to cover her face with both hands. She’s legitimately mortified; admitting to your crush seconds after learning it’s mutual that you’ve fantasized about having sex with her in a closet at the office is high on Chloe’s list of what not to do [in real life].

“Hey,” Beca’s saying as she drags Chloe’s hands away from her face. That’s all she says because she leans in to kiss Chloe again.

This time it’s not as shy and it’s definitely not as quick. It’s slow and gentle and does wonders to erase Chloe’s moment of oversharing. She sighs and puts her hand back where it was along Beca’s neck and likes that Beca tilts her head when she does it like she’s inviting her to it. She likes how soft Beca’s lips are and the way they retreat only to return at a different angle. They’re figuring out what works, that first kiss that is as unfamiliar as it is thrilling and she knows they find their rhythm and angles when she hears Beca exhale. It’s not a moan, not even close to one, but it’s definitely a sound of pleasure.

She feels Beca’s hand on her shoulder mirroring her own and that’s what does it. Finally flips that switch inside her that’s been holding her back. She sighs, then lets the tip of her tongue slip along Beca’s lower lip. A tease. A question.

Beca’s copies the motion along Chloe’s lip a few seconds later and her heart leaps.

She inches her hand higher along Beca’s neck until her fingertips are slipping up and into the hair at the nape of her neck. Beca shivers and Chloe does a poor job of hiding her amusement, earning a mumbled, “Shut up,” against her lips before Beca’s tongue slips past her smile.

Someone does moan, then, but Chloe’s not sure who. She doesn’t need to know. All that matters is that Beca is an amazing kisser and things are beginning to escalate. Beca’s hands are in Chloe’s hair and Chloe’s are splitting duty between cradling Beca’s head and holding her waist to keep her close.

When Beca twists away to take a gasping breath, Chloe gives her a minute, just long enough before she proves she’s as good a kisser as Beca, teasing and playing with her tongue in a way that draws out a moan that is distinctly Beca’s.

“Shit,” Beca breathes when she turns away again. She’s all but clinging to Chloe who gives her a reprieve and shifts attention to her neck, trading kisses with teasing licks along its length and when she lets her teeth scrape, more an absentminded accident than anything, Beca moans again and her hips roll up into Chloe’s. “Shit,” Beca repeats, “okay.” She’s winded and it’s obvious. “Okay.”

Chloe eases back to look at her but her head is turned and her eyes are closed. “Okay?”

Beca nods sharply.

“Do you want to stop?”

“Yeah. I mean, no!” Beca finally opens her eyes and faces her. She looks well-kissed. “Sorry, I—”

“You’re right; we should stop.” Chloe says it so Beca doesn’t have to.

Beca starts to smile. “I don’t mean to deprive you of your fantasy.”

“Oh, my God, shut up,” Chloe laughs, giving her a light shove.

“Ah, dude! The edge of this cabinet is digging into my back enough as it is.”

Chloe gasps; the thought of Beca being in any kind of discomfort is horrible. She takes a step back, not even having noticed she’d had Beca seriously pinned awkwardly against the counter and cabinet. “I’m so sorry!”

“It’s okay.” Beca rubs at a spot on her shoulder and Chloe wishes she could kiss it better, but it might be a little too soon for such affections. “For the record, I really didn’t want to stop.”

Chloe’s still turned on and that doesn’t help settle her any. “No?” She watches in disbelief as Beca takes a step to close the distance Chloe created when she moved back.

She watches in disbelief as Beca shakes her head while she leans in and kisses Chloe again, now so confident that Chloe’s not sure how to process it. She retreats after a few seconds, though, and smirks. “My fantasy is doing it on Aubrey’s desk.”

Chloe gapes.

“With you. To clarify.” Beca winks and leans to kiss her again, another thorough yet brief one. “But maybe not for our first time.”

“No, yeah. Right.” Chloe smiles, still spinning. “Totes.”

“So, are you going to ask me on a date sometime this century? Or…”

She finally feels her brain start working again and hops like she’s been zapped. “Yes! Oh, my God, yes. Dinner? Tomorrow?”

Beca nods. “7:00 pm. Pick me up after work?”

Chloe laughs and pulls Beca back in for one more kiss. One, she hopes, will be one of a million more to come.

[lalainajanes]

For Writer’s Month Day 3 - Setting Prompt: Coffee Shop AU. I did a TATBILB thing for one of those headcanon memes and this is kind of based on that. 

Pour Us Together

Three weeks into the fall semester and Klaus’ Saturday routine, the one he’d started over the summer holidays, remains mostly unchanged. He’s brought his textbooks to the cafe instead of his sketchbook but he’s in his usual seat, paying more attention to Caroline Forbes than to his notes on the transition from Renaissance Classicism to Mannerism and the Baroque.

He’d stumbled on this place early on in the summer. Going home after his first year at Whitmore hadn’t been an option. Klaus didn’t have the funds or the desire to see his parents and he was certain his father felt much the same. He’d found work instead, a patchwork collection of part time jobs that would cover his bills and allow him to save up some extra spending money for next semester. Elijah had been generous but Klaus loathed having to call his brother and ask for money.  

The room he he’d been renting had been cheap and convenient but the house often noisy.

There aren’t a lot of customers this morning and no one’s particularly high maintenance. Caroline’s not really the sort to lean and relax, however so she’s by the window, scrubbing away some grime that Klaus suspects were left behind by small, sticky fingertips.

Her coworker does not share her work ethic and is currently leaning on the counter, her attention focused on her phone.

Klaus notices when the cloth drops from Caroline’s hands, grows concerned when she straightens abruptly, her attention caught by something outside. He’s fairly certain that her lips form an impolite word but a quick glance over her shoulder has Caroline swallowing it.

He doesn’t have time to look away and feign interest in something else and she catches his eyes immediately.

Luckily, she doesn’t seem at all displeased to find Klaus observing her. In fact she smiles, an edge of something Klaus would name as calculation to the curve of her lips. “April?” she calls. “I’m taking a ten minute break.”

Klaus is very intrigued.

She weaves her way around the tables, heading in his direction, her hands absently smoothing her skirt and straightening her lemon yellow cardigan. She’s still smiling when she sits across from him and she doesn’t bother with pleasantries. “I need a favor. And I know that’s weird because the barista/customer relationship isn’t really one where favors are a thing.”

“What sort of favor?” Klaus asks. He’s willing, obviously, since Caroline’s the main reason he frequents this café. But he’s also not one to ignore a situation that can be used to his advantage. He needs a portrait model for a midterm project and he’s already sketched Caroline dozens of times.

He’s certain they can come to a mutually beneficial arrangement. One that has the added benefit of allowing him to spend time with her outside of her working hours.

“Cliff notes version: they guy who broke up with me at the end of junior year and then had the nerve to try and get back with me at the beginning of this year, after I saw him on Instagram all over like twenty different girls all summer while he was in Europe with his dad, is about to come in.”

“That’s… a great deal of information.” All delivered at a rapid clip. It does clear something up for him, however. Early on, when he’d first started visiting the café, he’d seen Caroline fend off plenty of flirtations, with increasing levels of irritation. It’s why he’s been careful not to cross the line and attempt to flirt. He’d guessed that she just didn’t want to be bothered while she was working but it seems there was another, more complicated factor.

“I turned him down, obviously. And now he’s determined to shove his tongue down the throat of all the worst girls on my squad directly in front of me. He doesn’t even like coffee.”

“And you’d like me too…”

“Pretend to be my boyfriend. And like you’re super-hot for me.”

Hardly a chore. Klaus shifts, sliding from his chair to the one next to Caroline. He’s got his back to the door now and he leans in, tugging gently on a curl that’s escaped Caroline’s neat ponytail. She doesn’t shy away from him at all and Klaus takes that as a good sign. “I can do that,” he tells her. Then, he rests his hand on her knee, watching her face carefully. “Is this okay?”

She nods immediately and he scoots closer, encouraging her to lift her leg so it’s resting over his knee, tangling their legs together. Caroline’s brows rise and she’s grinning, sly like they share a secret. “Ooooh, you’re good.”

He traces a circle over her skin, careful not to going higher than her kneecap, “Thank you, love,” Klaus murmurs. “May I ask you a question?”

“It'd be kind of rude if I said no, wouldn’t it?”

The bells over the café’s door jingle. Neither Klaus nor Caroline looks to see who’s entered. She steals the fork he’d put down when she’d come over, helping herself to a bite of his pie. “Are you heartbroken? Still pining?”

She snorts, genuinely offended. “Ew, no.  I was over him by the 4th of July.”

“So you’re not trying to make him jealous?”

“Nope, I’m trying to make him leave me alone. He won’t listen to me when I tell him I’m not interested. I figure a blow to his ego might do the trick. Hence why we’re ignoring his existence right now.”

Klaus can do that. Easily.

“Well, now that we’ve broken the rule about favors between baristas and customers perhaps you’d be willing to do one for me.”

A hint of suspicion narrows Caroline’s blue eyes but she doesn’t move away. “Maybe. What kind of favor?”

“I’m an Art major…”

“At Whitmore, I know.” They’d had a few casual conversations over the summer, Klaus is encouraged that she recalls some of the details he’d shared.

“I have to paint a portrait for a class this semester. Would you be willing to sit for me?”

She considers him, his offer, silent for a long moment. “What kind of portrait? I’ll be 18 in October but my mother’s the sheriff of Mystic Falls and she would still call in favors with her law enforcement buddies in Whitmore and the highway patrol if she found out I was letting some guy paint me naked.”

“A fully clothed portrait,” Klaus clarifies. A not so helpful part of his brain catalogues the fact that she doesn’t seem unwilling to be painted nude. He’s certain he’ll think about it extensively. Later. “Shoulders up, really. You can wear anything you’d like.”

Caroline’s quick to agree, “I can do that. I’d give you your number but I am pretty sure I feel beady little eyes watching us and I don’t want to shatter the illusion that we’re already a thing.”

“I don’t have any pressing plans. I’m sure we can wait him out.”

The bells signaling incoming customers trill out and Caroline glances over, sees rather large family stream in. She sighs and sits up, getting to her feet. “I’ll bring you another coffee in a bit.”

Klaus doesn’t usually allow himself to linger much beyond midday on a Saturday but today he makes an exception. Caroline doesn’t seem to mind, stopping by to chat during lulls, sitting across from him during her lunch break and paging through his textbook.

He asks her if she’d like to get dinner once her shift is over. She says she’s tired but before he can offer another evening she asks how he feels about pizza.

“Doesn’t everyone like pizza?” he asks.

He spends the evening on her couch, gets to know more about her, her family, what she’s planning to do when she graduates next June.

Caroline steps into him when they’re finished loading the dishwasher, eyes excited and lips dampened. Klaus is excellent at taking a hint.

The good sheriff arrives home earlier than expected and he and Caroline have to scramble to make themselves presentable when they hear the rattle of a heavy ring of keys hit the hallway table.

It’s only later, when he’s driving home, that Klaus realizes his shirt’s on inside out.

[writtingsofspn]

Stanford Days

Request: dean x reader when they meet when Sam is at Stanford and dean and the reader fall deeply in love but dean has to leave. later dean is on a case and she is held captive and unconscious but dean knows its her because she is wearing a bracelet that was his so she starts hunting with them.

Pairing: Dean x reader

warnings: swearing that’s about it

A/N: Let me know what you think cause I loved writing this one!! 

Sam woke to the some sort of sound coming from within his house, years of hunting fine tuning his ears so that he woke at the slightest disturbance. He looked over to see Jess still sound asleep in the bed next to him as he carefully stood up and grabbed the gun from the side drawer he kept just in case.

Carefully he crept through the hall, silently jumping from cover to cover, something he has had to do far too many times in his life. He kept his gun trained at the ground, only wanting to fire it if absolutely necessary.

Finally, he made it into the kitchen, seeing that the door to the fridge was wide open, casting an eerie glow over the cabinets. He tiptoed up behind the door, pushing it closed just in time for a figure previously hidden from him behind it to step out from within. Without second thought Sam raised his gun just as the figure took a sharp breath and the fridge door slammed shut.

“God Sam what the fuck”

Immediately Sam recognized the voice and dropped his gun, tucking it in his waistband, instantly regretting having pulled it out of the drawer in the first place.

“Y/N?”

“Sam was that a gun?” You brain was running at a thousand miles a minute in total shock.

He knew there was no use lying to you so instead he chose to step around the issue entirely “Y/N its two am what are you doing here?”

“Where did you even get a gun? Does Jess know?” Questions rattled off in hushed tones quickly from your mouth, only stopping when Sam grabbed your arms and stooped down to your level.

“Y/N focus. Don’t worry about the gun. Why are you here”

“Annabelle came back with her boyfriend” You simply shrugged “I needed somewhere else to go. Away from their…noises”

Sam only rolled his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose with an exasperated sigh standing up tall. “Fine just next time send me a text or something”

“I didn’t want to wake you. But if I had known it might have gotten me shot” You half chuckled causing Sam to give you a warning look that just made you laugh harder.

“You know where the extra pillows are” He simply whispered over his shoulder as he went back to bed leaving you to plant yourself on the couch sleepily.

-

Jess set a cup of coffee out for you on the table and swept your feet to the ground to make room for herself to sit, a routine you were all to used to at this point in the year. “Welcome back to my favorite criminal”

“Criminal is such a strong word” You groaned as you sat up straight and picked up the mug. “Though it is nice to hear I’m your favorite”

“Gotta warn you it’s a very low bar” She chuckled as she switched on the tv.

“I’ll take what I can get” You laughed, taking a cautious sip and looking around “Sam already in class?”

“Yeah, god knows how he manages eight ams” She shrugged “But I think he’s out now cause his brother’s in town”

“Sam has a brother?”

“Yeah older” She shrugged “He talks about him all the time how do you not notice”

“I dunno” You shrugged “Though you definitely know him better than I do”

“I guess so”

“Have you met him before?”

“Once or twice. He’s a real big flirt but cute enough to get away with it I suppose”

You only nodded in response, turning towards the tv to see what the major headlines for the day were. “What time is it anyways”

“uhhh” She muttered turning around to look at the clock “9:45”

You sighed and downed the rest of your coffee “Alright I’ve got class, I’ll see you tonight?”

“Sounds like a plan” Jess nodded, extending your arm to take your mug.

You gave her a thankful smile as you handed it back to her and headed for the door, reaching for the knob just in time for it to swing outward to reveal Sam heading back in.

“Y/N good you’re still here” He smiled, stepping aside on the porch “This is my brother Dean”

You stood in shock for a moment with wide eyes. Jess’s “cute enough” description not being nearly accurate enough to describe the man standing in front of you. With sandy blond hair, bring green eyes, a strong jaw and over six feet in height he was much more than cute he was hot, hell he was sexy.

Suddenly you became all too aware of your day-old outfit of simple shorts and a t-shirt. Not to mention you were sure your hair was nothing short of a rats nest on top of your head.

“I see my brother likes to surround himself with gorgeous, smart women” Dean said with a soft lick of his lips and a smile that made your knees wobble.

“Sorry I’m late for class” You mumbled quickly, ducking around Sam and his brother, feeling their eyes on you as you walked back towards your own place with bright pink cheeks.

-

You stumbled into your usual bar, scanning crowd and quickly spotting Jess sitting at a table.

“Hey sorry I’m late” You said giving her a quick hug in greeting

“No worries I sent Sam and Dean to the bar to get your usual drink”

“Deans here?” You could already feel the heat rising to your cheeks and when you saw a grin appear on Jess’s face you knew she noticed it too.

“Yes he is and he’s been talking about you all day” She teased making you roll your eyes and give her a small shove.

“Shut up we’re not middle schoolers”

“Tell that to your school girl crush”

“God jess that was just bad” She just laughed at you, seeing Sam out of the corner of her eye and giving him a small head nod to let him know where she was at.

“What were you two talking about?” He asked as he and Dean approached the table.

“Nothing” She said unable to keep from breaking out into laughter again.

You looked at Dean with wide eyes sending him your best help me look as he handed you your drink. “Thanks I need alcohol desperately right now.”

“Don’t worry I’ll protect you from these two” He laughed.

“Keep bringing me more of these” You said shacking your glass “and I think I’ll keep you around”

And there it was again, his tongue darting out to lick his lips again and that damned smile.

-Three months later-

You sat at a table at the library, books spread out over the entirety of its surface. You had two days until your midterm exam and were starting to feel the pressure. So much so that you didn’t register a man walk up behind you and place his hands on your shoulders.

“How’s the studying going?”

You grinned immediately recognizing the voice. Jumping up and throwing your arms around Dean’s neck forgetting where you were at once.

“What are you doing here? I thought you didn’t get off of work till the weekend” You exclaimed, your cheeks turning red and dropping to your seat as soon as the chorus of shushing started.

Dean chuckled quietly, pulling a chair from another table next to you. “Boss let me off early, I decided to come see you”

“Good” you smiled leaning over before you could stop yourself and giving him a quick kiss.

“Really?! in public?!?!?!” He teased, enjoying the blush rise to your cheeks.

“Shut up I missed you” You gave him a playful shove on the arm.

“I missed you too sweetheart”

You grinned at him, enjoying the feeling of his hand casually rubbing circles on your knee. “I wished you had warned me though I’ve got to spend the rest of the week studying”

“Don’t worry about it” He assured you “I’ll just be here whenever you need a break”

“Good.” You said unconsciously biting your lip. “Meet you at noon for lunch?”

“Sound great” He said simply, giving you one more quick kiss with a grin before putting his chair back and walking back out of the library.

You tried to go back to studying immediately, wanting to get out for lunch quickly and were thus distracted easily and often. So you packed up an hour early, pulling out your phone to text Dean only to see that you had two missed calls and a text from him already, telling you to meet him at Sam’s house.

You immediately felt the worry rise within you. Two phone calls not exactly boding well. So you quickly threw the rest of your things into your bag and made your way to Sam’s house.

-

You could hear their hushed tones before you could open the door. Something about their dad needing them. Before they could get any further you knocked on the door, needing to know what was going on immediately.

The door opened in front of you right away and you saw Dean staring back at you with a somber expression.

“Dean what’s going on?”

Dean just sighed, looking down at his feet before stepping aside “Y/N we need to talk”.

You steeped in and followed Dean into the living room, watching Sam as he left the house without saying a word, the same expression as Dean’s on his face.

“Dean what’s wrong?”

Dean was silent for a moment. Sitting on the couch next to you with his elbows on his knees “I think my Dad may be in trouble.” He started, glancing up nervously at you every so often.

“I’m so sorry” You said, putting a comforting hand on his back, softly rubbing up and down.

“Sam and I are going to go help him out” He continued cautiously.

“I understand” You nodded “You’ve got to make sure he’s ok”

“I’m just not sure when I’m going to be back”

You sat puzzled for a moment “What do you mean?”

Dean’s body slumped a little bit “Honestly I don’t know how long this will take”

“No just like a ballpark” You shrugged, not fully understanding what was happening “are we talking weeks or months”

He just shook his head sighed before running his hand through his hair.

“It’s going to be a while isn’t it” You muttered, finally getting what he was trying to say.

“That’s what I’m afraid of” Dean let out a deep breath and finally looked up to meet your gaze “All I know is I’m going to make it back to you as soon as I can”

You knew that wasn’t good news, immediately slouching to match Dean’s posture. “What’s going on with your dad anyways?”

Another hand through his hair “I’m not entirely sure. I just know he needs our help”

“Alright” You said grabbing his hand and giving it a little squeeze “Just come back to me when you can”

The corner of his mouth twitched up slightly “I’ll try my best” he said grabbing your hand back, rubbing soft circles.

“So when are you leaving?’

“Right now”

“oh”

Dean sighed, slowly pushing himself to his feet before extending a hand to you “I’m really sorry about this Y/N”

You took it, allowing him to carefully pull you to your feet and into a hug, relishing the feeling of his arms comfortingly wrapped around your torso. “It’s not your fault Dean.”

After some time he reluctantly let go of you but kept you at arms length, taking time to look you in your eyes.

“Here” He said, going for his wrist and pulling off a simple leather chord “take this”

You stared at the bracelet for a bit before slipping it on your wrist. It was a nice thought but the bracelet didn’t nearly make up for not having Dean’s presence.

You followed him out of the house, watching helplessly as he got into his car. And without too much fuss Dean was gone, pulling off onto the main road leaving you sitting on the steps of Sam’s porch alone.

You stayed there for some time, long enough to catch Jess as she came back home, an expression on her face matching yours. She sat beside you without saying a word, leaning her head on your shoulder. You could feel her jump slightly as she silently sobbed.

-3 months later-

You laid in bed staring at the celling. Since Dean had left you had considerable trouble sleeping, spending hours just laying there, thinking.

You had known from the look on Dean’s face when he left that he wasn’t going to be back for some time, if at all. But that didn’t stop you from still hoping he’d have been back by now.

You rubbed your thumb over his bracelet, spinning it around your wrist. A habit you had picked up whenever you thought about him.

A few soft bangs came from the hallway outside of your room, sounds like Annabelle had finally made it back home, drunk off her ass no doubt from the sound of it. She disappeared a few days ago, probably just went to spend it at her boyfriend’s.

You rolled over onto your shoulder, pulling the blanket clear up to your chin, almost not noticing your door creaking open slowly and thus jumping considerably when your blanket was yanked back to your knees.

“Are you Y/N?” A deep voice demanded as you stared back at the large figure standing over you.

You couldn’t get yourself to answer him, struggling to control your breathing as you just laid there with wide eyes.

“Oh whatever” The man muttered before cocking a fist and the world going black.

-

You woke to a blinding pain in your head and the feeling of dried blood stuck just beneath your nose. You tried to bring your hand up to your face only to realize you couldn’t move. You looked down to see you were tied to an old wooden chair with ropes. How cliché.

With a groan you craned your neck to look around trying to get your bearing’s.

“Bout time” The same voice spoke to you from the opposite side of the room, slowly walking into the light.

“where am I” You croaked out, shocked at how broken your voice sounded.

“You know I expected the girlfriend of Dean Winchester to put up a much better fight than that.” He said in a condescending tone, completely ignoring your question.

“Dean?” You asked, not understanding how he fit into this.

Before you could comprehend what was happening your head was hitting the back of the chair violently as another punch landed just below your left eye. You could feel tears running involuntarily from them as you tried to remain calm.

“That’s what happens when you lie to me, got it”

“I asked a question how was that lying?” You asked before you could stop yourself. Another punch and suddenly you were struggling to breath, slumping over trying desperately to protect yourself.

“Alright I’ll make this simple” He spat at you, circling the chair menacingly. “Where is Dean Winchester?”

“I don’t know” You answered quickly desperate to make him stop “I haven’t seen him in months”

Another to your nose, more tears.

“Please stop” You cried out “I don’t know where he is”

The man rolled his eyes, hitting you again in the ribs. “Fine I’ll just go after the other one. Jessica”

You felt your stomach drop, “No”

“You can’t give me any information so I’ve got to try the other one”

“No please.” You sobbed “You don’t touch her and I won’t tell anyone what you did to me. You can just walk away from this I won’t bother you again.”

The man rolled his eyes again “No you won’t be saying anything. I’ll make sure of that” and before you could scream you were out again.

-

Dean parked the car and looked over at Sam who had his signature puppy dog eyes out. “Dean are you sure this is a good idea?”

“Sam we need to get this guy off of our asses before it’s too late”

“But going in alone? Shouldn’t we call for help?”

Dean only glared at his brother before getting out of the car and going to the trunk. Reluctantly Sam followed, accepting the gun his brother handed him.

“I’ll go in first you stay behind me” Dean grunted “there’s no room for error so follow the plan”

Sam checked the clip in his gun and nodded, following his brother up to the house.

Dean counted to three before silently pushing open the door, slipping into the house with Sam behind him. He quickly cleared the first few doors, finding nothing and continuing into the living room of the house in the back. Dean spotted a girl tied to a chair in the middle of the room, silently signaling to Sam that he would go check it out while Sam continued into the kitchen.

Cautiously Dean crept towards the woman freezing when he noticed the bracelet on her wrist.

“Nonono” He whispered to himself, all but dropping his gun as he rushed towards her. He could feel the fear rising within him as his hands shook slightly before he grabbed her head and tilted it up so he could look at her.

“Y/N” He breathed out, immediately shaking your shoulders trying to wake you up. “Y/N please” He called out, louder, his hands starting to shake as he struggled to control his fear.

Sam was at his side in an instant, staring for a moment in shock “Oh my god”

“Sammy do something” Dean pleaded as Sam’s fingers made their way to your throat.

“She has a pulse” Sam sighed in relief cutting the ropes and gently pulling up your eyelid and calling your name as Dean watched anxiously.

Your eyes began to blink rapidly, your chest rising rapidly with deep scared breaths, a scream rising in your throat only to die there once you recognized the person standing over you.

“Sam?” Your voice was hours, an intense amount of work going into saying his name.

Dean immediately grabbed your hand, squeezing it tightly as Sam got out of the way. “Y/N what happened are you ok?”

“Jess” You croaked out. “He’s going after Jess”

Sam and Dean exchanged a worried glance before Dean turned back to you “Fuck lets go get her” Dean said through locked teeth.

“No just go” You urged him, giving his hand a squeeze before letting go of it “I’ll be alright”

“There’s no way in hell I’m leaving you” Dean shook his head before scooping you into his arms carefully, hating the looks of pain that showed on your face as he did so “I already regret doing it the first time”

You would have protested, told him you were just going to slow them down but found doing so to require more energy than you had. So you just laid your head in Dean’s chest, relishing the familiar scent.

Carefully Dean laid you in the back seat of his car, jumping into the front and taking off.

-

You don’t remember much of the drive back to campus, fading in and out of consciousness as you groaned with each bump Dean hit. But you do remember when you finally arrived. Dean braking hard enough that you nearly fell onto the floor.

Sam jumped out of the car and ran up to Jess’s place quickly, Dean pausing long enough to tell you to stay in the car.

You slowly pushed yourself into a seating position, careful to keep your back straight as your ribs screamed in protest. You watched the house, jumping as the sound of a gunshot rang through the air as light briefly filled the house. You jumped to your feet, your head spinning as you stumbled into the house.

Dean was on the ground grunting as the large man kneeled over him, their hands locked together in a struggle, Sam no where to be found. You saw Dean’s gun on the ground and grabbed it without second thought. Jumping at the man and pushing him off of Dean before shooting him first chance you got.

The shot rang loud in your ears and your hands hurt from the kickback of the gun but you watched as the strange man slumped lifelessly on the ground.

Dean was on his feet in an instant before you, holding your head in his hands and staring into your eyes. “Y/N are you ok?”

You could feel your head spinning, spots appearing in your vision as your knees wobbled beneath you. Dean caught you swiftly, kneeling down with you to the ground.

“It’s going to be alright sweetheart” He whispered into your ear as he stroked your hair.

“jess?” You asked, struggling to keep your eyes open.

“She wasn’t even home everything’s fine”

And that was the last thing you heard before you fell asleep in Dean’s arms.

-

You woke up again on a strange bed, in a room you didn’t recognize.

“How are you feeling sweetheart?”

You groaned, holding your head as you sat up straighter, gladly accepting the pills Dean handed you.

“what” You paused, taking care to swallow hoping to wet your dry throat . “What happened”

Immediately Dean’s head was in his hands “Y/N I’m so sorry”

“For what?”

“Getting you mixed up in all of this. You got attacked because of me”

“Dean it’s not your fault” You tried to assure him but knew he wasn’t listening.

“You got hurt because of me” He just shook his head “and I can’t let that happen again”

“What are you saying Dean?”

“This is goodbye Y/N. For real this time.”

You stared at his with shock, spinning the bracelet on your wrist again. “No”

“The room’s paid for for the next three days. Stay as long as you want and just do what’s best for you and forget about me”

“Dean no I can’t. I won’t”

“Y/N you don’t understand” He sighed “As long as you associate yourself with me you’re in danger”

“Then let me stay with you”

“Y/N…” He began hesitantly.

“Dean we already have a past, I’m already associated with you you can’t change that. At least you could protect me.”

“I don’t know..” He said skeptically

“Dean please” You begged “I love you”

Dean stared at you in shock, eyes wide.

“I really do and you leaving the first time nearly killed me, please don’t put me in that position again”

Before you could continue Dean’s arms were around you making your ribs groan but you ignored it, eagerly hugging him back. “I love you too Y/N”

You smiled into the crook of his neck, burying your face in it happily.

“Alright Y/N, of course you can stay with me, but there are a few things I need to explain to you first.”

You grabbed his hand, staring deeply into his eyes “Dean there is nothing you can say that will make me want to leave you.”

Dean smiled, licking his lips. “Good”

[jiminscaramel]

plateau | jungkook [bts]

[GENRE] angst

[COUNT] 3.5k

[PAIRING] Jungkook x fem. reader

[WARNINGS] unedited, implied sexual references

[AU] college, childhood friends, f2l, fwb

[A/N] hello all! This is part two of the extended drabble, apologies for it being late. I hope you enjoy!

⬸ drabble  ⡇⤑ part 1  ⡇⤑ part 2

You’d be lying if you said you don’t miss him. It’s a complete and utter lie, conjured up to nurse the fresh wounds left in his wake. But you don’t want to miss him. You don’t want to feel the ugly yearning you feel manifesting inside your chest, you don’t want to be plagued by the once fond memories in the dead of the night. You want nothing more than for things to go back to how they once were.

In the long hours you spend reflecting upon everything that had recently happened, you had, at some point, attempted to figure out why Jimin had been so quick to reject you, to dismiss so many years of friendship at the tip of a hat. Of course, things hadn’t always been rosy, but had his reaction been warranted? Was a complete break in proportion with the awkward albeit comfortable relationship?

In the months that follow, you carry around a shell of yourself, going through the motions required to get through the day, but not quite living. It’s in no way an easy feat, but you somehow manage to get through it, scraping by with little effort. You sometimes catch a glimpse of him in the hallways or across campus, and even worse, in your lectures. It’s a painful reminder of what had and what could’ve been.

He sits on his own, preferring solitude over his usual crowd, something you know Jimin has never done and it’s the only thing to indicate that things are amiss. He hadn’t called, messaged or even so much as looked at you after your miserable encounter, appearing to be getting along just fine. But you know him a lot better than he thinks.

You make no attempt to reach out this time, choosing to abstain from any sort of contact. Because he’d made his feelings quite clear and you’d be damned if you allowed yourself to chase after someone who valued you no more than the dirt on his shoe. And this, you think to yourself, is perhaps why Jimin is hurting so.

It starts as nothing; a polite smile in shared lectures, an acknowledged nod in the gym. But as creatures of habit and due the natural pull for companionship, you find yourself eventually engaging in small talk. You’re the one to approach him first, drawn in by his debonair persona and charming looks.

The weeks that follow see the both of you grow closer and it’s refreshing for you, to finally get close to someone again. And so the inevitable follows suit, your longing for warmth, to be held and to be touched and his willingness to give it all.

But things are so much different to how you once knew them. He doesn’t touch you the same, or utter the same hushed words you’re used to. His hips move to a different rhythm altogether and you sigh in pleasure at the challenge. His lips aren’t quite the same, plush and pouty, but they still ravish you in all the places you need.

And for once, you don’t feel guilty, you don’t feel this unexplainable hurt in your chest when he’s finally asleep and you’re left wide awake by his side. You feel alive. You’re left alone with your thoughts, the soft sound of his breathing threatening to pull you under too. But something unknown drives you to do something completely out of character.

You run.

You get hastily get dressed in the dark pulling on whatever you can find and slip out of the dorm unnoticed. You breathe a sigh of relief and wind down the silent corridors and out onto the freezing grounds of campus, making a beeline for your apartment off grounds.

You know the minute he wakes up, that he’ll get the wrong idea, but that’s a problem for another day.

You avoid the gym and arrive to lectures early to grab a seat in the most covert area all to avoid the confrontation that is sure to follow. But it seems this morning isn’t in your favour. You wake up late, skipping breakfast altogether and throwing on whatever you can find. You curse the short commute you have to make to college, silently wishing you had a room on campus, but it doesn’t change the fact you’re still a blinding half hour late.

You slip in as quietly as possible and apologise profusely as you take a seat at the front, flustered and red-faced. You struggle to concentrate throuought the whole lesson, your thoughts wandering to the nearest food outlet to pacify the rumbling in your stomach.

You manage to copy some notes from the girl sat next to you, thanking her with a shy smile. Eventually, the lecture is over and you head straight for the door, desperate to fuel your body with some sort of lunch, but a hand tugs at your forearm, gently coaxing you to the side.

“Hey,” he smiles sheepishly and quickly withdraws his hand, afraid of being too forward.

You feel your cheeks aflame and your mouth run dry, your voice getting trapped in your throat. The levels of embarrassment rising within you are too much to bear and you mumble a poor excuse about needing to catch a bus somewhere. Anywhere but here.

“O-oh,” Jungkook stutters also, clearly flustered by your response. “I... uh, I just wanted to know how you were. You left and didn’t leave a note and I didn’t have your number–” he stops short as he realises. “Have you been avoiding me?”

“No!” You blurt out, a little too forceful to be believable. You clear your throat and try again. “No. I haven’t. I’ve– just been busy...” You cringe at how awful it sounds, the excuse reminding you of Jimin’s.

“It’s ok, I just wanted to make sure you were ok.” He says softly, carding a hand nervously through his hair. He nods towards you and his eyes sparkle in amusement. “I’ve been looking for that.”

You look down at your chest, confused to say the least, slow to catch on. In your haste to get dressed this morning you’d thrown on anything, anything being Jungkook’s hoodie you must’ve mistakenly picked up from his bedroom floor the other night. “Oh– god– I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to– I mean, I must’ve picked it up by mistake. I got dressed in the dark–”

He laughs, a kind sound that fills you with warmth and eases your nerves. You don’t feel ridiculed, rather comforted. “It’s ok,” he says again with an easy shrug of the shoulders. “Keep it, it suits you.” He stands there awkwardly, as if he wants to say more but can’t bring himself to speak.

“Let’s get lunch.” You blurt out again, your mouth a thousand miles ahead of your brain, acting on its own accord.

His round eyes widen in surprise at your offer, eyebrows raised in subtle question. He looks as if he’s about to say no, that he’s too busy and you steel your heart for yet another rejection. But he surprises you. “Sure.”

“My way of apology. For leaving so suddenly.” Though that’s not the complete truth. In fact, you enjoy the time you’d spent with Jungkook. It was easy, laidback and he never expected anything in return. He was happy to chitchat on the treadmills and share notes in class and say hello in passing, never forcing you to commit to anything you didn’t want to.

And even though the night you’d spent together had been pleasant, you never expected a follow up. You never expected him to seek you out to see how you were doing, to make sure you were ok and so his caring nature reels you in further, chasing the nurture you so crave. The nurture Jimin had failed to provide.

Your phone buzzes incessantly, vibrating closer and closer to the edge of the table with every ring. You know who it is without having to look, quickly declining the call and placing your phone back facedown.

You settle back on the couch, drawing your knees up to your chest and leaning your head against Jungkook’s shoulder, trying to focus on the movie. But a little nagging voice at the back of your head doesn’t let you off so easy. You drift off, deep in thought, while the the sounds of the film mute into a quiet soundtrack to accompany the things plaguing your mind.

You should tell him about Jimin.

It’s the same phrase that’s been rattling inside your mind for weeks but your counter argument is that telling Jungkook would mean making the two of you official and somewhere, deep inside your heart, that frightens you. It terrifies you to the core because what if things don’t work out? What if Jungkook reacts badly to finding about Jimin? What if you lose something dear to you, again?

You kid yourself into thinking that living in the moment will be enough, that living just for today and tomorrow will suffice, but you know it’ll all implode any time soon. The question is: when?

Your phone sporadically buzzes now, signalling incoming messages.

“You seem to be popular today,” Jungkook jokes lightheartedly, eyes glued to the action on the screen.

“Yeah,” You murmur absentmindedly, reaching over to turn your phone off. But you catch a glimpse of the messages on your screen, your face dropping and limbs freezing as you read them.

Call me

Please

I just want to talk

I’m sorry

I miss u

You stare at those three words for what feels like eternity, a silent rage manifesting in your chest and spreading like wildfire through your veins. You resist the urge to reply, even to retort in anger and your clammy hand squeezes the little device until your palms turn red.

You wonder what possibly goes through Jimin’s head, for him to treat you in such a way and to go back on it as if things were ever that simple. How dare he? Your rage boils over into hurt and morphs in complete sadness, washing away any good left in you. Your throat constricts as you try to swallow the ball in your throat but the tears in your eyes silently fall and it takes a minute before Jungkook notices something is wrong.

He blinks in surprise and jumps back, somehow wondering if he’s to blame for your tears. He stops the movie and starts to panic, frantically asking if you’re ok while also trying not to be too forceful. He grabs tissues and places them within reach and fusses in your little kitchenette while trying to make you a hot drink.

And while all of these things should make you feel better, they only serve to make you feel worse. Because you don’t deserve such kindness, how could you possibly?

He settles beside you again, placing the drinks on the table to cool down and tries to find out what’s eating away at you. “Is... is it me?” He asks hesitantly, afraid of your answer. “I can go, if you want, if you need space. I don’t mind–”

You shake your head no. “It’s not you.” You bring your head up and force yourself to look into his eyes, those kind and careful eyes that have never regarded you with anything but tenderness and decide that he at least deserves some sort of honest closure. “I promise. It’s not you.”

His face relaxes with relief, but worry still shimmers in his eyes and paints lines across his forehead that aren’t usually there. He wants to pry and find out but he doesn’t want to pressure you and so he struggles in finding the right balance. “We don’t have to talk about it, but maybe I can help?”

You wish he could. You wish he could just make it all go away. Not just the incessant messages and constant pleas, but the feelings too, the heaviness that seems to sit on your shoulders wherever you go. And perhaps he can, if you allow it, perhaps he can make all of it disappear. But you’re not yet willing to let yourself go and hand over your heart over to someone else, not without repairing it first.

“It’s not that simple,” you clench your jaw as your phone starts ringing again, but you ignore it this time.

From the corner of your eye you see him nod, but you’d be a fool to think Jungkook doesn’t know what’s going on, or at least have some idea. Yet he still doesn’t push and for that you’re grateful. But it only enforces the idea that you don’t deserve his kindness.

He leans forward and places a hand on your neck, his thumb stroking your jaw, and plants a gentle kiss on your forehead. You close your eyes and lean into his touch, savouring the way his lips feel against your skin. You sigh as he wipes your tears and for a moment, you feel ok. You feel like things aren’t as bad as they seem and that, with Jungkook’s support, things will get better.

“Whenever you’re ready. You can come to me whenever.” He mutters into your hair, pulling away and observing your face, eyes flitting around to try and find any negativity. His hand falls away but you grab it, holding his walm palm in between your cold ones.

“Thank you.” You whisper simply, hoping that it conveys the weight and absolute sincerity you feel. But you decide it isn’t enough and this time, it’s you who leans forward, eyes fluttering closed to seal your gratitude.

Your hand intertwines with his, holding on tight as your lips collide with his in an amorous kiss. Your lips mould together perfectly with his, moving in excellent sync to the melody of your heartbeats. Neither of you lead, instead finding a harmonious balance, the perfect push and pull. He doesn’t taste of anything in particular, contrary to all the books and stories you’ve read, but rather he tastes of home, comforting and familiar.

Your tongue traces the luscious swell of his lip, drinking in every emotion and feeling that pours out from him. It’s intoxicating but you can’t get enough, your heart racing to pump the endorphins to every part of your body. His hands snakes up to your neck again, finding purchase at the back of your head and he pulls you back on top of him as he leans back into the couch.

You sigh into his mouth at the shift of position and settle comfortably on his waist, your lips not once leaving his. His hands are searing hot, leaving behind a blazing trail of excitement on your skin as they roam around, exploring your body more carefully and with more attention than the last time.

You’re completely lost in him and his touch, the way he handles you so gently, as if you’re the most delicate being he’s every come across. And so the tears that fall this time, that run into your mouths coating them with a bitter flavour, aren’t out of sadness; they aren’t because you don’t understand, not because you’re hurting. But because you’re happy. And although it’s still early, too early to tell just how serious Jungkook may be, it’s enough.

The movie is long forgotten, drinks long abandoned and the only sounds that can be heard in your small apartment are those of pleasure and content. Your phone buzzes again with an incoming call, violently vibrating until it falls off the edge of the table, finally muted by the carpet.

You’d spent a lot of time with Jungkook, getting to know him, his hobbies and habits but you rarely have time to spend much leisure time with him, always meeting up to silently encourage each other while studying. Just having him in the room, you find, helps immensely and helps you concentrate, although it does sometimes take a monstrous amount of self control to keep your eyes – and hands – off him.

You’d also done an excellent job of avoiding Jimin, though whether it’s down to your own skill or his, you don’t know. You don’t often see him in lectures anymore and so it surprises you when you walk in early one afternoon to find him seated in his usual spot, looking a little skittish.

You make your way up to the back, as far away from him as possible, although Jungkook doesn’t seem to be around. The lesson drags on and on but you take ample notes, filling your notebook and laptop with countless doodles and bulletpoints. You manage to find him after the lecture is over, struggling to balance all his books in one hand while opening his bag with the other. You chuckle under your breath before going to help him and he places a kiss on your cheek as a thanks.

“I may or may have not fallen asleep for the most of this lecture,” he admits as he holds the door open on your way out. “Somehow my books are more comfortable than my mattress.” He grimaces and you can faintly see tired bags under his eyes.

You sigh and shake your head. “My place is always another option, I’ve told you countless times.”

“Yeah, but,” a dusting of pink colours his cheeks and he stutters, trying to politely decline. “I-I don’t want to intrude–”

“It’s not an intrusion if I invite you, Jungkook–”

“And your room is too stuffy.” He finishes quickly.

“Well, you’re not wrong,” you laugh along with him, the topic of discussion shifting to decide on somewhere to eat.

The town centre is small, but big enough to make you feel like you haven’t visited every outlet twice. You mill around for the better half of an hour choosing on a restaurant before settling in a quiet Chinese establishment, humbly nested in between two chain stores.

Halfway through the meal Jungkook excuses himself from the table to use the bathroom and you’re left alone for a while. He quickly returns and without looking you continue to eat, smiling as you joke, “Did you get lost or something?”

“No.” But it isn’t Jungkook.

You get the shock of your life and a complete loss of appetite when an unwelcome figure appears and seats itself opposite you. You’d forever recognise that voice. You look up, cheeks full of food, to discover Jimin in his place.

Your limbs feel weighed down by dread and your heart races in the worst way, preparing for the worst that could come.

“What the fuck are you doing here? Did you follow me?”

“I work here,” he says simply and for the first time since his surprise arrival you notice his apron and work slacks, decorated with countless stains.

“What do you want?” You try your best to remain neutral and borderline civil, but your heart starts to pang and sings a familiar song of longing. It’d had been so long – too long – since you’d seen him this close and to not reach out for him feels wrong. But things had changed.

“I just... wanted to talk. You’ve been ignoring my calls.”

“Just goes to show, two can play at that game, Jimin.” You set your cutlery down and push your bowl aside, acid burning in your throat with the threat of digested food.

“I know you’re mad–”

“Mad? You think I’m mad?” You lean in forward and lower your voice for him to hear, hissing each word to enunciate your pain. “I’m livid.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, me too,” you tug your coat on in a haste to leave, desperate for Jungkook to come back. “I’m sorry I ever gave you the time of day.”

“You don’t mean that,” Jimin reaches forward to try and take your hand in his but you flinch away, repulsed by his presence alone.

“I’ve never meant anything more. We’re done. Whatever it is we had, it’s finished.”

“Please, just listen. I know I hurt you, but what I did – what I said – it was a fucking mistake. I was just– scared...”

“To hurt me, Jimin, you would have to mean something to me.” You interrupt his poor excuse of an apology, anger oozing out from every pore.

“You mean something to me.” He says quietly.

“I’d hate to see how you treat those who mean nothing to you then.”

“Please,” he begs. “I miss you.” And something within him does sound broken, the slightest hint of sincerity lingering in the depths of his pleas. Looking closer you see he looks tired, exhausted even, eyes baggy and red, hair dishevelled and untidy; though it doesn’t exactly make him ugly – he has his personality for that.

Yes, he may miss you and you undeniably miss him but it’s just a feeling. A consequence of his actions that will, in time, disappear. Missing him means nothing if he isn’t willing to change or at least understand the severity of what he had done.

“You miss me warming your sheets.” You correct him, clenching your jaw and forcing yourself to hold it together. “Your apology isn’t accepted but it’s nice to see you grew a pair since the last time we talked.”

Jimin doesn't know what to make of your sudden attitude and your refusal to to accept his cowardly behaviour. His eyebrows raise in shock, lips pursed in a disappointed moue. “What can I do to make it up to you? What do you want me to do?”

You shake your head and laugh bitterly, astonished yourself at his blasé and dismissive behaviour. He really believes a simple act of kindness will fix everything? That you could simply kiss and make up and get over it? His failure to acknowledge the gravity of the situation only infuriates you more and you’re too blinded by rage to give a comprenhensive answer.

You spot Jungkook’s tuft of hair behind Jimin and stand up with your things in hand, ready to run the second he arrives. “Oh, I didn’t know you invited a friend.” He smiles at Jimin and introduces himself before eyeing your stance in question.

“We’re not friends.” You say flatly, staring Jimin dead in his eyes. “He was just asking about our meal.”

“Oh.” But Jungkook senses the tension in the air, trying to make sense of why you’re so on edge., but doesn’t question it further. “Are you leaving?”

You nod apologetically, offering a poor excuse of a forgotten errand you must run before the end of the day. But before you go you turn to Jimin, making sure you have the final say and making sure that he knows exactly where the two of you stand. You lean down a little closer, forcing the ball of hurt down your throat at the painful memory, and utter the same words that had once served to beak your heart.

“I think you should go and get on with things. Like I am. And stop dwelling on something you never had.”

[unkindnessofone]

5SOS. Park That Car

This is a series of Daphne one shots. I can’t believe it’s done. I loved writing it. There is the slightest amount of smut in one them, but that’s it. It’s like so very little. Please enjoy. I love hearing your feedback. It would be cool to hear which one was your favorite if any. Also dedicating this one to @fivesauceblurbs . They've always been supportive and it does not go unnoticed. The title is based off this song . To me, it could be Daphne’s theme and it’s by one of my favorite bands.

ONE

Some days Daphne Hood didn’t like anything about herself. Sometimes, she could rattle off a list of a hundred different things about herself that were ‘bad’, 'ugly’, or 'stupid’. Even though she didn’t think she was one of the strongest dancers in her classes, it was generally when she was extending her limbs and throwing her body into music that she felt of all the villainous voices in her head. However, she didn’t take dance every day. There were two days out of the week where she had to stay behind at school and work with a tutor in order to pass. It was on those days that she was particularly hard on herself. So instead of dance class, she had to find an alternative happy place. She didn’t have March’s arms anymore, so Daphne started to feel her best when she was behind the wheel of her car. It was one of the only things she felt came very naturally to her. She was, simply put, a very good driver. Molly Irwin was the brain with long legs and strong morals, but she was an absolute menace on the road. She always felt like a complete waste of cells standing next to Molly Irwin who was always the smartest girl in the room so Daphne was quite pleased that she was a better driver. It was petty, but sometimes it was the smallest things that meant the most.

As much as she would have rather been in a dance studio somewhere either taking a class or working on her own technique by herself in front a mirror that taunted her, Daphne knew how important it was to her parents that she pulled up her grades. They had arranged the after school and lunch hour tutoring for her and she had seen tears almost fall from her very cool mom’s eyes when she once brought home a B on a pop quiz in geography. Glad to be finished and heading home, Daphne tossed her book bag carelessly in the passenger seat of her car as she climbed behind the wheel. Most of the teachers were gone at this point, leaving her little purple car as one of four in the parking lot. She put on a slow song that she had fallen in love with after breaking up with March. She dreamed of choreographing something heartbreaking in the most beautiful sense of the word, but so far only a few foot movements came to mind.

Daphne stopped right behind the sign, watching the one other car on the road in front of her private school as it rushed by. She checked around her before merging onto the road and heading straight. She had done the drive countless times whether being driven by a parent, a parent’s friend, or herself. Happily, she swam her head through the air ever so gently along with the melody. It was relaxing until her instincts kicked in and slammed on the brakes before her eyes and brain even had time to register what just happened. Out of nowhere, there was a person in front of her in the middle of Princess Street, just a few blocks away from her school. Daphne’s mane threw itself forward and she stared, shocked and winded, at March Hemmings staring back at her right in front of her windshield. He wasn’t just staring, he was looking through her with cold, but soulful eyes. She didn’t think she hit him. She hoped she hadn’t hit him. She was confident there wasn’t an innocent way to almost hitting your ex boyfriend with your car. Right away, she put the car into park and rushed out to where he was standing, reaching down for the skateboard that had slipped out from under him.

“Are you okay? Did I hit you?” Brushing her hair frantically behind her ears pierced with pink clay lotus flowers, Daphne asked, coming so close to him that he moved himself back one step.

“I’m fine.” Embarrassed, March refused to look at her. He felt like a moron in front of someone he was always trying to look good in front of.

She noticed his black uniform tie on the ground between them, the one he always wore undone and swept it up from the ground before offering it out in her open palm, “I didn’t see you. I’m sorry. I don’t even know where you came from.” Daphne started to look around to try and figure out his point of origin before her attention was brought back by his fingers fidgeting in her palm to take back his uniform piece. He had lost it enough times before for the principal to write to his parents about it.

“I didn’t see your car.” Poking his tongue into his cheek, March focused on the cut in his gums from biting down when he realized a car was coming. It wasn’t just any car, too. It was a car that still smelled like him it was so full of memories that he had a hand in creating.

“Do you want a ride home?” Daphne didn’t really want to risk any more awkward or confrontational moments with March, but her heart was still pounding in her chest and she wasn’t thinking straight.

“I’m fine.” Again, he told her, putting his board down and playing with it with just one foot. “I got to go.” Vague and cool as a gentle breeze above palm trees, he played. Daphne watched him skate away slowly after checking for other cars and then went back to her car, letting out an exhale to calm herself down before getting behind the wheel. She had just put her car back in drive when a loud and quick knock on her passenger window made her let out an honest one second scream. She put the car in park again as soon as she realized it was March, his face framed in the window. She looked at her car door panel to find the right button to roll it down, but before she could, he had the door open and was sitting inside. Daphne didn’t know whether she should drive or not, so she just put on her signals and idled.

“Can you, just,” Abruptly, the way he was doing everything these days, March put his board between his knees and confronted her. “answer a question for me?” He asked with a hand rubbing his messy hair underneath his beloved black beanie.

“I’ll try.” Daphne felt more nervous than she ever had before a math test or dance recital.

“Are you seeing someone?” The question nearly choked him on the way out. It had occurred to him that he might not want to know the answer. They had only been broken up for two and a half months though and it hurt him to wonder about. Daphne was completely stunned, giving him time to adjust his curiosity, “No. Are you seeing Ryan Vogel?” She was about to answer, but March’s mouth was open and he couldn’t close it even if he used both his hands to push his lips together. “He’s a St John’s guy, you know?” It was an all-boys school, one with a stupid rivalry with their school’s soccer team. “None of them are cool.” He was about to say bad-looking, but he knew that wasn’t a strong point to lead with.

“Iden goes to St John’s.” Blinking as rapidly as she was trying to think, Daphne finally managed to get a word in.

“Yeah, I know. They play soccer together. He told me he’s a spaz.”

“I guess I have a type then.” Daphne said without thinking and then bit down on her formerly glossy lips. She had surprised herself with her own burst of sassiness. She had never been very witty or good at giving someone their due shit. “Why are you asking me this, March? You made out with Raquel in the corner of the cafeteria, right in my view, and I’ve heard you’ve liked hooked up with the a couple freshman. I’m not confronting you about it.”

“Are you with him?”

“No!” Not that it was any of his business, but Daphne really didn’t want to drag this conversation out much longer. She longed for the days when they were children and he was shoving her as hard as he could into puddles. These days it seemed like he would rather die than have a pleasant exchange with her. She didn’t think she would be able to pick Ryan Vogel out in a crowd, but she wasn’t about to give March the satisfaction of knowing that.

“Well, he’s into you. He told Iden that he heard you were single and he was trying to figure out if you were girlfriend material or the splash and dash kind.” He rattled off, warning her in the harshest way possible.

“He sounds awful then.”

“Yeah, he is. I thought you should know. Spaz!”

“Thank you?” Daphne threw her arms down at either side of her, shrugging her shoulders. Her car was small, it just comfortably fit four people, but felt completely lost inside it at the moment.

“You’re welcome.” He threw open the car door, nearly hitting a van that was going around them. “And your hair looks great today!” As if it was an insult, he told her in a sour tone that could use a lozenge. March took his board and skated away from her again, slamming the door behind him. He left Daphne feeling boggled. In fact, she had to turn off the radio and drive silently the whole way home in order to clear her busy mind.

TWO

“I’m trying to put together something for Grace and I, a little getaway…” Michael explained while Calum drove them through Sunset Boulevard. It was a beautiful day, but he only let the windows down and kept the top of the blue convertible up. He had forgotten two year old Daphne’s sun hat back at the house they were renting and he also didn’t want to invite any unnecessary attention to the three of them as they went around running errands. He had a bass guitar to pick up from the shop among other things. Both he and Michael had decided to pick up fancy take out for their little families. “I don’t know when our schedule allows time.” Michael shook his head at his own words while drumming his hand on the outside of the car to the beat of the classic rock song on, arm slightly out the window.

“Lucky for you, your parents will probably take Iden and Emme at a moment’s notice.” Calum said while stopping at a red light. To call them doting grandparents would have been an understatement. They put Annemarie Irwin to shame with the way she spoiled her grand babies with lipstick kisses alone. Calum took the pause to check in his mirror at Daphne in her car seat. She was wearing her hair in a half pony, jetting out of the top of her head. She had fished out her Minnie Mouse sunglasses with red bows on the corner of the frames from between the car seats and put them on herself. His smile almost stretched off of his face at the sight of how cute she looked. He waved in the mirror and, much to his surprise, she waved back eagerly, her hand moving as quick as windshield wipers on a stormy midnight drive.

“Yeah.” Michael agreed, forever grateful to his parents for their help. “We just need it.” He said even though everyone and their dog knew that. “I’m thinking i’ll surprise her and we can go back to Bora Bora. Redo the honeymoon.”

“Well, it’s not like you guys really saw outside your resort room then anyway.” Smirking, he teased his best friend. Calum didn’t have to be on their honeymoon with them to know they spent almost all of it in the infinity pool having sex, in their bed having sex, in their oversized shower having sex, and in an elevator having sex.

“I wouldn’t mind it being like last time.” Grace was currently freezing him out. She was angry with him for not going over any of the tour dates with her as well as expecting her to go to every kid’s doctor’s appointment by herself while he was in rehearsals in Los Angeles.

“You two always work it out.” Calum told Michael as he was sure he had many times before. Sometimes, for fun, he and his other friends made bets at how long The Cliffords would go before making amends. So far, Calum had made two thousand dollars due to knowing Grace and Michael better than anyone else. It was always the same. She lost her temper due to something to do with Michael’s job, he rolled his eyes or didn’t understand why she was hurt, and then they were livid with one another.

As Michael started to explain that he was looking for a couple’s counselor before they went away, the sound of tires screeching and metal folding forcefully together took over and then all there was was smoke, the radio, and terrified tears from Daphne in her car seat. Behind them, a kitchen appliance delivery truck had smoked the rear of the convertible. The impact was felt through the entire car, but Daphne had been the human most affected.

“Fuck!” Ignoring the rule about swearing in front of his daughter, Calum pierced his curse through the air.

“It’s okay.” Michael was looking out the broken back window, glass everywhere in the back seat and covering Daphne’s little elastic blue jeans, but he reached his hand back out of reflex to offer her comfort.”Oh, Daffy. It’s going to be okay.”

“What the fuck?” Calum was out of the car, shouting over the hood at the driver of the delivery truck. He was just a teenager behind the wheel, wiping at his forehead in a panic and staring at the same mess Michael was.

“I’m real sorry, dude.” Outside the window, the driver barely popped his head out. He didn’t want to actually leave the safety of his car. Calum looked like he could punch right through the door with the veins beginning to show in his knuckles that were curled. “I don’t know, I just…I’m sorry.” He wasn’t about to admit to the man who looked ready to murder him that he had been texting when he crashed into their car.

“You’re sorry?” Calum pushed his front seat forward, listening to cars honk around him that only egged Daphne’s tears on, and then reached in to unbuckle her from the mess of glass she was sitting in. He had no idea if she was okay, her Minnie Mouse glasses still covering her face. Michael was out of the car by now, assessing the damage with his hands in his hair while a collection of people gathered around. “Well, I got a kid covered in glass, fucking terrified, you could have killed her, a crushed car, and you’re just sorry?” Calum roared while holding his daughter against his chest in both arms. He noticed only then that she was shaking. He didn’t know how to calm down and keep her calm, so he just began to bounce her up and down like he would when she was a baby, soothing her right before bed. She always just fell asleep in his arms when he did that, holding her against his bare chest and singing softly to her some song or another.

“Um, I can give you my info. Please don’t tell my boss.” The teenage driver could feel pimples forming beneath his skin. He had never experienced such stress in his life.

“Your company getting a bad Yelp review is the least of your problems, buddy.” Michael shook his head as he came closer to the truck, looking to act as a mediator in the moment. “Cal, hey. Go make sure she doesn’t have glass on her or anything. I’ll handle it.” He figured he would exchange information with the driver, call a tow truck or Grace or Luke, but he wasn’t going to let Calum kill the teenager with so many witnesses around. Not to mention that Daphne was still howling in his arms. Michael had never seen the usually very docile little girl use her lungs like this before. Her mouth was open and she was not showing any signs of lowering her voice.

“I’m going to fucking kill you.” With one hand on the back of Daphne’s head, still bouncing her in his arms diligently, Cal pointed his middle finger through the truck’s front window and started to walk off the road, heading into the TGIFriday’s they were almost in front of. Their bathroom would have to do for shaking any pieces of glass out of Daphne’s hair or off her beige Roots hoodie. “I know, Daffy, I know.” He cooed into her ear while his hot red face tried to keep from exploding into his own fit of screams. She was physically in his hands and he could feel her life being held there with all it’s weight. Calum felt guilty despite having done nothing wrong. He wasn’t even trying to figure out how he was going to check if there were any shards of glass in her eyes. He was just trying to keep her close and calm.

THREE

Even though she hadn’t been invited, Daphne still felt like she was finally a cool girl as she rolled up in front of the Great Southern Hotel. Someone Emmeline knew knew someone was was throwing a Halloween party there. She knew that even though she had just turned sixteen that there was no way her parents would let her go so she didn’t even bother asking. She stayed home, texted March, and hung out in her bedroom instead of going to the basement to watch horror movies with her mom and Aunt Cher who was visiting for a week before going to investigate other parts of Australia (and its divinely sexy locals.) Instead, Daphne played designated driver. Penelope’s dad didn’t like her driving his custom cars and Emmeline partied too hard to get behind the wheel. 

Costumed people were spilling out of the front of the building, not at all blending in with the other patrons who opted for regular wear and seemed annoyed by the party-goers. Daphne parked on the other side of the street and texted Penelope. It was almost midnight which meant it was close to Penny’s curfew. She knew Emmeline would want to stay out all night, so she came early unless Penny needed help getting her into the vehicle.

“I’ll just call him.” Crossing the road with limp feet in high heels, Emmeline slurred loudly. She was hanging her whole body onto Penny’s, the tall blond practically carrying her across the road to Daphne’s car. Penelope had on black jeans and a long sleeves black crew neck. If it wasn’t for the black ears on her head and lack of whiskers drawn on her cheeks, Daphne wouldn’t have realized she was dressed up as the world’s most underwhelming black bear. In fact, she sort of thought she was supposed to be her dad, Luke, back when he wore his hair long. 

Emmeline, on the other hand, was ringing in Halloween the way a lingerie catalog might. She was inspired by pineapple. One of her most favorite fruits, but if she hadn’t had a flashy bejeweled headband on with a leaf growing from the top, she would have just looked like Marilyn Monroe is a bright banana yellow cut out bathing suit and cheap glittery heels. 

“You’re not calling my Dad. I already took his number out of your phone.” Penelope grumbled as she carried the dead weight to the car. This was not her first rodeo with a drunk Emmeline. She was probably the most fun girl to go out with until she became work at the end of the night. 

“I’ll call him and say you’re staying with me!” Emmeline continued to push. It was an age old lie cherished by lying teenagers everywhere. Emme could never figure out why Penelope wouldn’t go with it. She forgot that most people weren’t raised by the iron fists of Cagney and Luke Hemmings, where rules were strict and followed. “Penny, please! Why not?” She whined. She wanted to go back and flirt with the man dressed as Karl Lagerfeld. 

“Because you’re too drunk to sound convincing, my mom will check with your mom, and I told you that I couldn’t say out tonight.” Penelope explained while struggling to keep Emmeline up right. They were steps away from the car so Daphne reached behind herself and fiddled to open up the backseat door. “I have brunch with the whole family in the morning.” She couldn’t remember which of her dad’s brothers was celebrating what, but regardless, Penelope loved brunch and she wasn’t missing a chance to gorge on mangoes, waffles, and whipped cream. With ease from practice, Penelope peeled Emmeline’s arm from around her neck and rested her in a reclined position in Daphne’s backseat before closing the door on her. From there, Daphne jumped up on her knees and reached back as Emmeline was sitting up to help buckle her in safely.

“Thanks for picking us up, Daff.” Penny chimed while hopping into the passenger seat just as Daphne was hooking Emmeline in.

“Daphne, call Uncle Luke. Tell him this -” Closing her eyes as it felt like too much work to keep them awake, Emmy began before letting out a hiccup.

“We are not calling my Dad!” Penny turned back and shut down Emmeline. It was close to shouting as anyone had ever heard from the surfer. 

“You’re a bear, right?” Starting her car up, Daphne asked Penelope as she pulled out of the parking job she was particularly proud of. 

“Yeah.” Penny pulled off her ears and hooked them around her right knee. “I wanted to be a polar bear, but wearing white around a drunk Emmeline…" 

"I hear you.” Daphne laughed. 

“Oh my god, I spilled wine on you like once.” Leaning into the window behind Penny, Emmeline grumbled. 

“Twice.” Pen chimed in, checking on her friend through the mirror.

“I was the one that it only happened once too.” Daphne added. 

“What are we listening to? Daphne, are you planning a funeral?” Emmeline hiccuped her way through asking while also finding humour in her teasing question. 

“This is very depressing.” Penelope had to agree about the ballad playing through the car. It was very different then the loud rap remixes they had just been inundated with at the hotel party. 

“It’s how I come up with ideas for dance class.” Feeling more than embarrassed, Daphne explained timidly and then reached around with one hand for her cell phone in a cup holder. She gave it to Penelope to change the song playing through Blue Tooth. 

“Ah, call your dad!” Forever relentless, Emme saw the phone in a blur and shouted. 

Penelope just ignored her and had an eighties playlist on in a matter of seconds, starting them off with Your Love by The Outfield, one of her favorites. No one knew why, but Penny loved music from the cocaine and spandex decade. She had been left alone with her Dad’s intense vinyl collection as a kid and found herself falling in love with her first crush, Sting, and then she became obsessed. 

“I’m dropping you off first.” Even though it made more sense to drop Penelope off second since they lived close to one another, Daphne didn’t want to risk Penelope getting in trouble by coming in after midnight.

“Thanks. Will you be able to handle the rowdy pineapple on your own?” Penny joked, reaching behind her chair to hold Emme’s hand. Drunk or not drunk, they were as close as sisters. Penny always felt like they were real soulmates and boys were just side projects almost like hobbies. 

“Yeah. I don’t know where to take her though.” Daphne admitted as she slowed down at the first sight of a yellow light. 

They had used the guest house at the Irwin’s place before. It had been Connor’s idea because he knew his parents never used it except to store backyard accessories and family friends they didn’t really like. He had smoked his first joint in there and lost his virginity last year on its couch which Penelope found repulsive since she had sat on that couch since unknowingly. Still, the Irwin’s might have been the most relaxed parents, but it was also the most work to sneak onto their property and Daphne didn’t know if she could do it by herself. She knew just dropping Emmeline off at her house was an option. She could just leave the drunk girl alone to deal with her own mess, but that didn’t seem like something a good friend would do. It left the Hood home or Penelope’s place, but Daphne knew she couldn’t use Penny’s since they had a busy family-centric morning ahead of them. She figured she would just take her home with her then. Daphne didn’t think her mom or dad would care. They would probably just be glad Emme was safe and, if they were upset, Daphne would have to handle it. She figured she would let Emmeline sleep it off on her canopy bed and drive her home before her morning jazz dance class. 

“My house?” Daphne checked in with Penelope before pulling onto the street where the Hemmings family typically resided. It was three minutes to midnight which made Daphne feel very successful. If she had hit one more red light, she would have been screwed. 

“Water, Advil, and keep her on her side.” Penny checked her pockets for her house key and clamped her hand around the door handle, ready to rush out. For a girl who snuck out all the time, curfew really stressed her out. The Bangles playing so loudly from the vehicle that it called for Luke to come to the front door, opening it as Penelope charged out of the car before it fully stopped. She waved goodbye to both friends, but only Daphne waved back as Emmeline was out like a burnt bulb. 

FOUR

There was enough hairspray in Daphne’s hair to make her a fire hazard as she sat in the passenger seat of her mother’s SUV. She had her favorite Roots sweatpants on from the last visit to her grandparents who lived in Canada and her basic black dance leotard with the shorter sleeves on as they made their way together to dance competition that was two hours West of Sydney. She made herself comfortable with her legs folded in a circle a shape on the seat, singing along to the radio. It was only with Skye that Daphne felt like she could one hundred percent be herself. She would rather eat her own foot before she sang in front of anyone. With her mom, she felt she was at her most fun. 

“Are you upset at March?” Turning down the volume from the steering wheel’s control, Skye asked as she noticed Daphne texting eagerly. 

“For not coming?” Daphne checked, throwing her hair back and feeling confused that none of her hair was falling around her. “No. I understand.” His parents had said 'no’ due to some family related commitment and Daphne wasn’t the type to push. 

“It’s nice to just get away us girls anyway." 

"Like old days.” Daphne recalled with a half smile as she returned to texting March. He had only just woken up as it was just about eight in the morning. If she knew him as well as she felt she did, Daphne assumed he would be going back to sleep soon enough. 

Back when she was small doing ballet and jazz exclusively, Daphne and her mother would be treks everywhere together to recitals, competitions, and showcases. Growing up, Calum was always away and sometimes Skye had to join him leaving her grandparents to drive her to lessons. The majority of time though, it was just her and her mum on the road. As much as Daphne would have liked her boyfriend to be there, it would meant more if her Dad had some way to be there. She knew he couldn’t control his schedule all the time and if he had to be in Germany, he had to be in Germany. As used to things as she was, it didn’t make them suck any less. 

“I wanted to talk to you about March anyway and it’s probably better than we are alone for it." 

Daphne’s already saucer sized eyes widen deeper. She and her mom could talk about anything, they always had. It was the worst when her mom was in British Columbia visiting family when Daphne first got her period at ten and was alone in a Starbucks with her Dad, Ashton, and Connor. Still, Daphne did try to keep some things to herself like the chocolate stash she kept in her bedside table and her sex life. 

Daphne put her phone down on the car seat through the space between her legs. Very slowly, she turned to give her mom her attention, watching as Skye cleared her throat with a splash of now cold coffee.

"Are you guys using condoms?" 

Skye was not stupid. She had known March since he was born and he was a teenage boy who had always been obsessed with the female form. With the way the two of them snuck around in the beginning, Skye figured they were probably rubbing one another down in a very intimate way. She didn’t like it and Calum really didn’t like it, but all Skye could do was make sure Daphne was informed and protected.

Daphne stayed quiet. She didn’t know how to freak her mom out and say 'no’.

"Is he saying he doesn’t want to wear them?” She investigated further, watching Daphne’s very done up face blush harder than the bright pink she currently was wearing on the apples of her cheeks. 

“No, Mom, March would wear anything I asked him to.” Well except for the colour orange, but that was a different conversation entirely. 

“Great, so condoms." 

"Mom, I’m already on the pill." 

It was Skye’s turn to bulge out her eyes. She hadn’t expected that response and not as bluntly as Daphne said it. 

"Oh? Okay, that’s good.” Turning off the freeway at the first opportunity, Skye hummed and nodded. “It’s really great you’re taking the pill, but um, can I ask how you got it?” Daphne was a sophomore. She was sure that her doctor would have checked with Skye first. 

“I went to the women’s clinic downtown." 

"Oh, okay. Well, I’m glad you were proactive." 

"Mum, I’ve been taking the pill for a while. Like…about a year, maybe.” It seemed as good a time as any to tell Skye that even if it made her grow as quiet as she had made the radio. 

“So, March is…” Skye didn’t want to make any assumptions. “Is he your…?" 

"Second.” It wasn’t a label that had to do with sentimental value or even March’s skill set, it was just the truth. “I’m his first though.” Daphne knew that it wasn’t important to her mum, but it was a fact she really liked. It felt special to be someone else’s first time. 

“You know that the pill doesn’t protect against infections, right?” She moved some flying dark hairs out of her view and checked.

“But he is my first and I’ve been tested.” Daphne hated school and she wasn’t particularly good at it, but she did pay attention in their health course. 

“Maybe, he’s had blow jobs or had oral sex with someone else.” Skye could not believe how clinical she was being. “Daphne, you should really insist on condoms in case your pills ever failed or if one of you…" 

"What?" 

"Strayed. People cheat.” Skye should know as she was the one Calum cheated on with many moons ago. 

“March wouldn’t do that.” Shaking her head, Daphne insisted what she felt was true. She even squished her eyes together in disbelief that someone would suggest otherwise. Truthfully, she saw the boy through rose-tinted glasses.

“Trust me, Daffy, its better to be safe. You can’t know what a person would do in every situation. I’m glad you trust him, of course, but you have to look out for yourself and if you can’t, you shouldn’t be having sex with anyone." 

"Have you been cheated on?” After two minutes of hurt silence, Daphne asked quietly.

“Not that I know of.” Until Calum, none of relationships lasted long enough for someone to be unfaithful. “A good friend of mine in college was cheated on. The guy gave her herpes.” Instinctively, Daphne wiggles her nose upward in a repulsed manner. “Yeah, that’s for life. It was really awful and she used to say he would never cheat on her.”

“I don’t think anyone in our grade has herpes.” Even though Daphne had traveled from coast to coast, her world was still just her school and neighborhood.

“It’s not the kind of thing you exchange at the lockers.” Then again, it had been a long time since Skye had been in high school and, even after earning her own citizenship, Australia sometimes proved to be very different than her native homeland. 

“Well, I don’t think March is going to give me herpes.” Mostly to herself, Daphne mumbled and picked up her phone. Without reading his response from before, she sent him an all caps message that simply read “NO HERPES PLS!” with a sad emoji at the end.

As Skye pulled in, she sighed,  "I don’t think he will either, but wouldn’t it be nice to be sure?“ 

Daphne didn’t look up from her phone though. She was anxiously awaiting her boyfriend’s answer.

"Daphne, I bought you condoms. They’re under your bed.” She came right out and said it. “If you’re going to have sex, use them.” She knew it wasn’t a matter of if though. 

Daphne was silent. She didn’t know how to move out of their sex conversation and into anything else. It felt strange for her to start talking about the pending dance competition where she was competing with her contemporary class and by herself which she didn’t usually do due to a lack of confidence. All she was thinking about now was how her mum was thinking about her and March Hemmings going down to bonetown. 

She started straightening herself out in her seat as her Mom searched through the concert hall’s parking lot for an empty space. 

“Weird. There’s a different 1970 Chevelle here.” Daphne would recognize the classic black car anywhere. Before she was born, it was what meant the most to her Dad. Well, one of the things. He had seen him physically flinch when she ran around it as a little kid, pretending to be a peacock or a bunny rabbit. “Its black and everything.” She pressed her hands against the window and looked behind her at the car that she had only ever seen in her own garage. 

“Weird.” Skye shrugged as she pulled into a tight spot. Daphne jumped out of the car and instantly stretched her arms high above her head before touching her toes as well. She needed to be limber for the rest of the day and she felt sore from sitting in the car for so long. She wandered around to the back of the car, lifting up the trunk door with some struggle. Daphne opened up her large dance duffel bag and glanced through it before tossing her phone and water bottle from the front seat inside. 

“That bag is the size of you!” Behind her, she heard a most familiar voice, but it wasn’t her mother’s at all. It was a kind scoff and sounded like it belonged to someone who spent a lot of time leaning and slouching. With a healthy dose of fear, the way she did almost everything, Daphne checked over her shoulder and spotted March standing right next to her Dad,  both of them wearing very proud smiles. 

“We gotcha!” Calum pointed at his girl as she came charging at him, jumping into a hug and squeezing his neck tightly. She knew how busy he was, so the fact that he had come to see her dance meant so much to the teenager. 

“I didn’t think you could come.” She sighed in his ear as she took weight off her toes and rested onto the soles of sneakers. 

“I drove up with March.” Her dad informed her as she side stepped away from him to hug her boyfriend, kissing him sneakily on the cheek. 

“Hey gorgeous.” March smiled into her ear. He wasn’t used to her hair looking so flat and sticky. He didn’t know what to make of it, but he had seen his brother’s hair before a swim meet. “Your dad said he would create a new way to murder me that no one’s ever thought of before if I hurt you. Can I drive back with you and your mum?” In as low a whisper as his voice could manage, March told her quickly. 

“My mum said you might give me herpes.” Daphne informed him back quietly before they both exchanged looks of confusion and fear in the parking lot. 

FIVE

He was punching out a text slowly, squinting at his phone as he did. Luke really never enjoyed football games and often wondered how on Earth he wound up with a son as athletically driven as Miles was. His knee knocked against Cagney, her eyes completely on the game even though Miles wasn’t even on the field yet, and he waved his screen at her.

“Penelope made this.” On his phone were three different photos of pie crusts. His daughter had messaged the photos to her Grandma Liz who had, in turn, sent them to her Dad. She explained that they were different crusts even though to Luke and Cagney they all looked identical, more alike than their two sons had at birth.

“Well, great. She is going to make our entire Christmas meal then.” Smiling, Cagney summed up and put her attention right back on the game after looking away for two seconds. Every year, either Cagney’s mother or mother-in-law made the feast with Cagney only being asked to make a Greek or tossed salad. One year, she was asked to bring a veggie platter from the store. She always asked Luke if they could do a meal with just their family, he always said 'yes’, and it never quite came together. This year she was going to get it even if it was her young daughter who would be working the stove and stuffing the turkey.

“Or at least the pie crusts.” He joked and put his phone back into the pocket of his leather jacket. It was important to Luke that he always looked like the coolest parent at these games. He wanted them to know that he was, or at least thought he was, a very cool dad.

As they watched the game, they stretched out on the bleachers. The two women in front of them vacated their seats giving both Hemmings parents room to rest their feet. Cagney found herself stretching her neck and as she did, she spotted Daphne in the parking lot many meters away from the field. She was carrying books against her chest in a hugging fashion and standing right behind her beloved purple car.

“Oh, look, it’s Daphne.” She nudged her husband in the arm, surprising him, and pointed across the field to where she had spotted the girl who had up until recently been a staple at their house. They had watched Daphne grow up just as they had their own troublesome trio.

“This is the longest I think we’ve gone without seeing her.” Luke mused and went back to watching the game, Miles finally on the field and running at light speed to defend the ball.

“Skye says she’s very quiet again.” Cagney informed Luke, not sure if it mattered to him. Even if March and Daphne separated, Cagney still worried about the young girl.

“She was never loud.” Luke frowned his whole face at the comment. It sounded absurd.

“No, but I think March brought out a little something in her. She softened him and he…”

“He snuck her into our house.” Luke laughed, amused with his own commentary. She didn’t have to say so, he knew that his wife thought he was hilarious.

“Should we talk to her?”

“Should we?” Luke had thought about it. He and Calum were practically brothers, but they didn’t talk like Skye and Cagney did. Calum wanted things to remain unchanged between them, so they avoided talking about their families since Daphne and March split up. They kept their conversations about everyone else around them or business. Luke wanted to tell Calum that March was struggling and he wanted to ask if Daphne was happy, but Calum made it clear that it wasn’t theirs to be involved in. At least not yet.

“I want her to still feel welcomed at our home even if Penny isn’t there or March is.”

“I don’t think March would like that.” Luke thought about how he would feel if his mom had invited his ex girlfriends or the girls who rejected him home for Sunday roast.

“You know what I mean…” Cagney tried again. “I want her to know we still love her. She probably thinks we hate her.” She wasn’t really about to invite Daphne over without talking to her baby boy first.

“Well we are Team March.” It was a recent draft for Luke who always fancied Daphne Hood to good for his boy, but he felt good about his position now especially with the bonding he had been trying to do with his youngest son.

“Come on.” Cagney jagged him again, this time lighter, and started to stand up to step down off the bleachers, excusing herself to the parents next to her the entire way to the ground.

Simply, Luke followed suit with his fist pressed as deep as they could go into the pockets of his jacket.

When they finally were close enough to Daphne that they could make out the tartan pattern of her school kilt and that one of her knee socks had sunk down to her ankles, Luke and Cagney plastered smiles on their face. Luke whistled out to her as he always had with the kids when they were small and she whipped around, her hair acting like a lasso in the strong wind. At first, Luke noticed her giant eyes as he always did, but Cagney spotted something amiss. Her smile vanished and was replaced with absolute horror.

“Who did that?!” She gasped at Daphne as she approached the back window of the purple car Calum had gifted his daughter with. “Tell me. I will call the principal now.” Having three children at Bishop Strachan Academy at once, Cagney had the number of a lot of different staff in her cell phone. It helped for when she needed someone else to drive Miles to his games or when March was facing suspension.

“I don’t know.” Looking down at the tips of her shiny black shoes with hurt and embarrassment, Daphne admitted in a hush.

In spray paint, huge black letters, it read 'FAT’ on the back window of her car. Daphne planned to pretend she was unaffected. She even had figured out what to tell her parents when they asked, thinking she would say that she never noticed, but internally and all over her face, it hurt like Hell. Luke and Cagney hadn’t even noticed that the windshield read, 'DUMB BITCH’ in wonky uppercase letters. Luke felt his heart sink low in his chest and he reached out instinctively to rub at her back. He knew that March cared too ardently for Daphne to do such a thing. At least, he hoped March was in charge of his emotions enough to not be cruel.

“Has this ever happened before?” Luke inquired. When Daphne was little and struggled with reading, Calum kept the challenge to himself. He was always private and proud. Luke would not have been surprised if Calum never mentioned Daphne being bullied before.

“No.” Daphne had been teased all her life, but nothing of hers had been vandalized. “I mean, I know when I was with March, you thought a lot of friends, but I don’t.” Biting down on her glossy bottom lip, Daphne told them. Cagney wasn’t surprised. Skye had confided in her about how shy her daughter was and how much she appreciated Penelope looking out for her and inviting her out. Luke, on the other hand, couldn’t believe someone not wanting to be around Daphne. She was the perfect companion in his mind. She was quiet and short, ideal for travel.

“You know what, Luke is going to take your car to the wash.” Cagney whipped out her phone, considering texting her youngest son who was currently at home and asking him to join his Dad. “I’ll drive you home, I’ll talk to your parents. I don’t want you in that car.” She didn’t want Daphne to have to look at those labels any longer.

“Aunt Keg, it’s fine.” Waving her hand through the air, Daphne lied. She was trying so hard not to cry that the four words burnt on their way up her throat.

“No.” Cagney gripped Daphne’s shoulders as Luke continued to rub her back lightly. “Daphne,” She drew the full moon eyes they all adored so much into her blue stare. “You and March might have broken up, but we did not. You are still as mine as Penelope is. We love you like our own. These people,” She motioned to the car beside them. “They are nothing. They are mean. You are good.” She poked Daphne in the shoulder to confirm what she was saying. “You have always been good.”

“Fuck those fuckers.” Frowning at the car, Luke proudly stated in her ears.

Cagney slid her eyes away from Daphne long enough to give her husband a crooked, but amused smile.

“What he said.” Standing up straight, Cagney pulled Daphne into a tight hug and held the back of her head. “I love you.” She promised as Luke wrapped his arm around Daphne’s shoulder and murmured the same affection to her.

“You’re going to watch the rest of the game with me. Give Luke your keys.” Cagney instructed. She was used to taking charge as she had a thrill-seeking daughter, two twin boys, and used to be in charge of four rock star’s hair. Just as she been improving Luke’s life every day since she started trimming his messy bedhead, she was going to try to make Daphne’s bad day better.

SIX

“Slow…” Daphne breathed out once March’s mouth left hers in place of the skin exposed from her open school blouse. He had waited around the parking lot for Daphne to finish writing her makeup test from a math test that she had failed at the beginning of the week. The sun was just slipping down when they left the building and, to celebrate, they found a mostly wooded area in a private park. Daphne parked her car between two trees and raced March into the backseat. She knew it wouldn’t be comfortable, but neither of them cared in the slightest. “Yeah. Like that.” He had been sucking on her skin like a vacuum hose before, but now he had her shirt open wider and was kindly kissing around her nipple like he might kiss her lips.

His almost clammy hand was racing up her leg, trying to find her lacy thong under her kilt, while the other hand fiddled with the button of his school trousers that he absolutely detested.

“I don’t want to be slow, Daphne.” There was nothing patient about the boy. “I’ve wanted you all damn day.” Pretty much from the moment she picked him and Penny up for school. He saw her smiling behind the wheel with her bright painted pink lips and her hair tamed into two dutch braids and he was aroused. He had missed every word Mrs. Kilty said in his first period because he was too busy trying to suppress his half massed penis under his desk. His mind was still guessing the color of Daphne’s bra. He had been wrong. It was beige and not a satin salmon pink.

Passionately, he gripped at both her thighs and growled before leaning in to try and unbutton the rest of her blouse with his mouth. It was nowhere near as easy as guys in movies made it look. Grinning, Daphne reached down and acted as an assistant before taking a leap from her last button to the zipper of his pants, reaching in and massaging the lump that had formed from the second they first kissed in the backseat. Shivering, March groaned at the first touch, his eyes focused on watching her as she reached into his tight navy boxer briefs. He hit his head on the roof of her car as he leaned his head back out of reflex to how good it felt when she stroked him, just the tip, into her mouth. It was a warmth he had only ever felt in a sauna before, but enclosed in the one important area. Daphne was laying down with her large breasts spilling from the cups of her most basic bra, inches away from her chin as she pulled him in with just her lips and tongue. Her hands found a place on either side of his hips, moving him closer and bringing him in deeper.

“God, you’re perfect.” His eyes fluttered shut and the corners of his smile met the bottom of his ears. He didn’t care that his phone was vibrating nonstop in the front seat. It might as well have been the humming noise that Daphne made when she went down on him. They harmonized perfectly and whoever it was, they could wait. He never wanted to leave her purple car.

SEVEN

It hadn’t gone as plan. Honestly, nothing in their relationship had to be honest. Calum Hood and Skye Pierre were not about to complain though. Finally, after failed IVF tries, fallen through adoptions, six miscarriages, and screaming tears on the shower floor, they had a little person to call their own. Daphne Amalie Hood came into the world underweight, premature, and with fluid in her lungs, but came into the world she did. It hadn’t at all been as they planned when Skye was put on bed rest while they were visiting her family in British Columbia. Daphne decided she had enough time inside the warmest place she would ever call home and began to arrive early resulting in her being in an incubator and having to have assistance breathing for two weeks. Calum and Skye were used to things refusing to go their way, but it didn’t change how much their bodies ached when they went back to her parent’s house without their daughter night after night.

Finally, after being stuck in Canada for two weeks, they were having the moment that Calum had dreamed about. It had been a blip in Skye’s plans, she knew they would have to bring home their child at some point, but Calum had really fantasized about carrying the chair up to their front door, bringing their little thing through, and showing them the place. He found a silver lining in their dramatic debacle. He was going to get to do the part he was most excited for twice. Once in the guest room of his in-laws place where they had kindly set up a bassinet and then again when they flew back to Sydney where her room that Michael and Calum had pulled an all-nighter painting powder blue awaited her decorated with little rabbit, mouse, and duck trinkets that Skye had collected during the brief moments when let herself believe that this pregnancy would be successful.

Thankfully, Skye’s parents gracefully understood the delicate situation. They allowed Calum to cover a room for them at a five star hotel so that the new Pierre-Hood family could have a real first day together. They even sent out a mass email to all their relatives asking for privacy and to hold back on stopping by or calling. After they stocked their fridge with premade meals and Perrier water, they took off and left the house empty for their daughter, her beloved boyfriend, and new granddaughter to use.

Calum had never driven so cautiously in his life and not just because he was using his mother-in-law’s old hatchback. He had the tiniest baby he had ever laid eyes on, let alone held, in the backseat with Skye. Daphne was all hair and eyes. She earned her thick locks from her mother and large soul searching eyes from her pop. As he pulled into the driveway of the bungalow that Skye had lived in throughout high school and college, he carefully checked in his rear view mirror before shutting off the car. They weren’t inside yet, but so far, everyone was still in one piece. There were yet to be any tears of any kind.

“We’re home.” In a whisper-shout, Calum tenderly exclaimed just like he had been dreaming about doing. “Well, a little bit. We’re at your grandparents house.” He chuckled to himself and Skye. It wasn’t quite as fun to say, but it made for good practice for when they headed home. If it was up to his family, they would already be there.

“She’s still sleeping.” Due to the hectic nature of her birth and past pregnancy ordeals, Skye kept putting her palm softly on Daphne’s chest, making sure she was breathing. She thought babies were supposed to fuss more, but Daphne was quiet. The doctors explained that in the beginning their miracle child was in enormous amounts of pain,  but she never made a peep. Her face was wrinkled and red, but Skye and Calum thought all the babies they met looked like that. At first glance, Connor Irwin appeared like a nightmare based demon until the fifth hour of his life.

“Let’s get going.” He had his hand curled around the door handle, ready and eager to head inside. He couldn’t wait for their new world to start spinning. Calum had convinced himself everything would change when they walked through the front door, but he noticed through the mirror that Skye wasn’t moving. She kept her seatbelt on and her attention on their slumbering daughter. “You coming?” He asked, watching her as she held her deep inhale.

“I can’t believe this is real.” She had said it so many times since Daphne was born. Reality had set in,  but she still felt too blessed for everything to actually be happening. They had waited for so long. They had hurt so much. Even though she was raised without religion, Skye had spent so many afternoons on the floor praying for some power to allow her the experience of motherhood that so many others had and did not care for. She was scared to move and lose everything again just as she had so many other times before. They had been so close so many times that she didn’t feel home free just yet like Calum did.

“She’s all ours.” Calum turned halfway on his seat and reached around to offer his hand to Skye. He wasn’t surprised when she hesitated removing her touch from Daphne to link her fingers between his. “We’re going to be this happy forever.” In that moment, Calum meant it. His eyes promised her that his words were true as they spoke into hers, his mouth loosened it’s smile to relax her own jaw muscles, and his hand squeezed hers tighter like it always did when she needed it most.

She hoped he was right even if just for now.