#so i was always the spokesperson for everything i believed while getting stared down by a whole class of people who believed the opposite

[steviescrystals]

being one of two liberals in a government class full of raging conservatives my senior year of high school was character development

[my-head-is-an-animal]

The Climb

Summary: You're a scientist, an engineer to be exact. Called to a meeting you had no real right to be at, Optimus Prime takes an exclusive interest in you, but you can't help but ask yourself at every turn, Why?

Rating: 18+ 🌹🩸🍆

Story Masterlist

Chapter 1

I’d never seen an Autobot up close before, never with my own eyes. Sure, I’d seen parts of dead ones, watched plenty of video footage, but I’d never actually stood in the same room as one before, let alone, Optimus Prime himself.

     He was so big, so powerful, such a force to be reckoned with, no wonder he was the leader of the Autobots, he was incredibly commanding on sight alone.

     I had been called upon along with a variety of other scientists to try to solve a problem, one that would inevitably be solved by some physicist, they always got the glory. I studied Space Engineering, these days it gave a much more secure career path, but it didn’t come with a lot of recognition.

     A meeting between Optimus Prime and the President’s spokesman was reaching boiling point, I couldn’t remember the man’s name, but judging from his attitude towards anything alien, he might not have lasted very long.

     ‘Your planet will be destroyed-‘ Optimus implored.

     ‘And who’s fault would that be?’ The man snapped back. ‘If you shared some of your technology, we stand a chance against this thing.’

     ‘Your capacity for war amongst yourselves does not fill me with confidence that you would not abuse any technology we give you.’

     He had a point there.

     ‘That’s not your choice to make.’ The man took a breath and I turned to my friend Theo.

     ‘Of course it’s his choice to make,’ I said. ‘It’s his technology to share.’

     We chuckled quietly, suddenly noticing the quiet that had blanketed the entire hanger. I looked up to see both the president’s man and Optimus Prime staring down at me, one with annoyance, the other with a curiosity in his eyes.

     ‘And anyway,’ the man continued, I should’ve remembered the echo in the building and not said anything at all. ‘If a ship is about to plunge itself into our planet, I think we’d all appreciate a few weapons to defend ourselves with.’

     Optimus hadn’t stopped looking at me the entire time the man spoke, not until he went to reply. The argument went on for ages and I decided to try and get back to work while it did, but all I could see in my minds eye was Optimus Prime’s blue eyes staring down at me. I felt so small.

     Eventually, the scientists were called upon to speak, I wasn’t the spokesperson for my department so was grateful that I wouldn’t have to put myself in the spotlight again, but I didn’t necessarily agree with everything we were presenting.

     ‘You disagree.’ Optimus’s low voice echoed throughout the hanger.

     All the speakers had been sent up to the balcony so that they were eye level with the Autobot, I stayed down below with Theo who was also grateful that he didn’t have to speak. Both of us believed that organics would remain undetectable by the alien ship heading towards Earth, so it stood to reason that a human could go in and sabotage the ship to prevent it from harvesting our core.

     Optimus’s attention was never on the spokesperson for our department, in fact the second she stepped forward to speak, he looked down at us. I turned away unable to maintain eye contact any longer and never realised that he kept his gaze on me especially.

     When I didn’t answer his question, Optimus descended onto one knee, and I felt my heart racing.

     ‘What is your name?’ He asked, his deep voice somehow quieter, as if he knew how intimidating he was.

     Theo nudged me to stand, and I did, feeling my mouth go dry. I awkwardly shoved my glasses up my nose and stuttered. ‘Uh, I, Harding. Dr Jane Harding.’ I finally managed to get out.

     ‘Dr Jane Harding.’ Optimus repeated and it was strange to hear him say it. ‘I would like to hear your opinion on the matter.’

     ‘Um, excuse me.’ The president’s man interrupted. ‘She is not part of this presentation; her opinion is being put to you by her spokesperson.’

     Optimus quickly turned to the man and snapped. ‘You have had your chance to speak, you will allow others their time as well.’ He turned his attention back to me. ‘It is clear that you do not agree that my Autobots could penetrate the ship’s exterior and destroy its controls, so what do you think is best, Dr Jane Harding?’

     I cleared my throat, my eyes flickering towards the angry looking man still glaring down at me.

     ‘I…’ I cleared my throat again, this wasn’t the time for cowardice, the fate of the world was at stake and if my opinion was what saved us, then I shouldn’t have been intimidated by one alien. ‘The ship looks to be of a similar origin to Cybertron,’ I started, trying hard to be brave. ‘It stands to reason that it will detect you the second you make your way towards it, but there’s a good chance it will not detect organics in quite the same way. We could send a man inside to sabotage the controls.’

     ‘A human?’ Optimus thought for a moment, that was when Lennox stepped forward.

     ‘Are you saying we could send a team inside that ship, dismantle its control system and get out without being detected?’ He asked, curiously more than thinking the idea was ridiculous.

     I pushed my glasses up my nose again, the sweat causing them to slide. ‘Well, it wouldn’t be quite as simple as that.’ Lennox almost laughed, knowing it was too good to be true. ‘Like I said, the Autobots would be detected long before they even reached the ship’s hull, and we don’t currently have anything powerful enough to blast a hole in the side of it.’ I swallowed, nervously. ‘Anything electronic would be detected, someone’s going to have to climb up and find a way inside.’

     Lennox stepped forward. ‘Climb? You know that’s at least a thirty thousand foot ascent maybe more?’

     I swallowed again. ‘Yes. But there are ways it can be done.’

     ‘We don’t have anyone capable of that.’

     ‘Then you’ll have to train someone.’ I took a breath, feeling the pressure starting to alleviate. ‘Look, we have six months before that ship is touching down on Earth, we have to use that time wisely. So you can build all the weapons you want, you can beg the Autobots for whatever technology you think will help, but that ship isn’t here because of them, it’s here because our planet is a hot bed for radiation and that’s what it feeds on. If the Autobots weren’t here, you wouldn’t think my plan was so ridiculous, we wouldn’t have many other options. At least this way, it limits the number of lives lost.’

     The room was quiet, I wasn’t sure why, but both Lennox and Optimus were considering my plan.

     ‘Do you believe one human could do this?’ Optimus finally asked me.

     I looked up at his blue eyes, noting the complexity of his face and no longer feeling as intimidated as I once did. ‘Yes, I do. There’s no limit to what a human being can endure. It’s mind over matter.’

     Something in the Autobot’s expression changed, but I couldn’t tell what it was. Lennox and the president’s man, who I now knew as Smith, began arguing about the riskiness of the plan as well as the impossibility, but Lennox was able to convince him to keep it in reserve, a plan B. I caught the look Lennox gave me which indicated he had no intention of keeping it in reserve, as far as he was concerned, it was Plan A.

     The meeting concluded and Lennox approached me as I gathered my folders up, taking me to one side.

     ‘You really think we can send a team into that ship undetected?’ He asked, still feeling shaky about the idea.

     ‘I do, but the ship has advanced capabilities to adapt to its surroundings, it would almost certainly adapt to detect organic life if there was enough of it penetrating its shields. So, a team? No. But one person would stand a much greater chance.’

     Lennox let a tense breath go. ‘You realise what you're asking?’

     ‘I do.’ I felt the guilt in my chest. ‘But if it saves the world, isn’t it worth it?’

     Lennox just chuckled, nodding. ‘If you were a soldier, I’d nominate you to make the climb. You got some guts.’

     ‘Thanks… I think.’ I frowned, pushing my glasses up again.

     ‘You should talk to Optimus before you leave, I’m sure he’d appreciate it.’

     ‘Oh, I couldn’t, I doubt he’d want anything to do with me.’ I shook my head, feeling the nervousness wash over me once again.

     ‘Dr Harding, if there’s one thing I’ve learned about Optimus Prime, it’s that not every human being captures his attention like that.’ Lennox smiled. ‘I don’t know what it is about you, but if he can see something in you worth listening to, then I’m behind him all the way. If you need anything, call and I’ll see it done.’

     Lennox nodded once and left me standing in the corner of the hanger, grasping my notes to my chest. I took a deep breath and tried to psyche myself up to say thank you to the great Autobot leader. What I, once again, didn’t notice, was that he was watching me from the same spot he’d stood for the entire meeting, it was like he knew where I was at any given moment.

     I took another breath and walked over to him.

    ‘Um,’ good start. ‘I… wait.’

     I suddenly realised that I should’ve been up in the balcony to make it easier for him to see me. I tried to climb the stairs quickly, but there was a lot of them and by the time I got to the top where people were still working away on computers, I probably could’ve said thank you and left.

     ‘Hi.’ I panted, not exactly sure of why that was my opening line.

     ‘Hello.’ Optimus chuckled a little.

     I took another deep breath and pushed my glasses up. ‘I… I just wanted to say thank you for giving me the chance to speak. I know you’ve got a lot to deal with, so I appreciated the opportunity. And good luck for the mission.’ I nodded, having said what I wanted to say and went to leave.

     ‘I look forward to working along side you, Dr Jane Harding.’ He said as I was about to make my way back down the stairs. I looked at his hugely complex face and frowned. ‘I have requested that you be the one to lead the search for the human who could make such a climb. I will accept no other liaison.’

     My heart was pounding so hard I thought I might have had a panic attack. ‘Me? But, I… I’m just an engineer, I’m not what you need.’

     ‘On the contrary, I have witnessed your actions in this room today, your compassion towards my kind, your bravery to stand up for what you believe. and your unwavering faith in your race. I have deemed you the only one capable of carrying out this task. I would be honoured to work along side you, Dr Jane Harding.’

     I wasn’t sure if time, my heart or the world had stopped, but something was slowing down before going into overdrive.

     ‘You want me?’ I asked, suddenly hating that that was the first thing that came to mind.

     ‘I do.’ Optimus nodded.

     I didn’t know what else to say, all I could do was nod and move out of the way of a soldier trying to get passed me on the balcony.

     I descended the steps and felt those blue eyes on me the entire way out of the hanger. I turned back to see Optimus still watching me, he raised a hand in farewell and once again the air of intimidation was lifted. I smiled and headed toward the minibus taking the scientists back to our accommodation.

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[mrwinterr]

So Happy

Pairing: Rockstar!Bucky Barnes AU x Female Reader

Summary: After a night with your favorite artist, you’re left wondering where you both really stand. 

Warnings: Smut 18+ (consensual, but unprotected sex, oral [male & female receiving], vaginal penetration and fingering, size kink and dirty talk). Language. Light mentions of substance abuse. Lying asses. Internet toxicity (I hate it here sometimes). Angst, I guess...TIME SKIP...and absolute horrendous fluff (that’s not my brand, alright).

Disclaimer: You can read part 1 here! It would make some sense. 

A/N: This follow-up is still based on some true events. Can’t hate the players, hate the game. For the most part it’s made up because some of us deserve the ending we think we deserve. I’m dedicating this to @shawnie--jo​ for all the love, enthusiasm and the patience because this took me a while. It’s a doozy! & with that note, enjoy!

“You owe me,” is the first thing you hear your friend say the moment you stepped foot back into the hotel you had booked for the night before. It was in a much different tone than of the one she had in line for the concert.

Frozen in place, you turn your attention to her sitting figure on one of the single couches of the lobby. She wasn’t happy that much you could tell judging by the expression on her face and the way she sat impatiently, one leg over the other and her arms crossed against her chest.

The bag next to hers on the ground adjacent to her feet were your belongings. The way it was misshapen suggested she had hastily shoved your things back in it for you. She must’ve been in a rush to leave before checking out or…

“You owe me $50 for the late check out fee,” she clarifies, ceasing all thoughts of why she was currently pissed at you.

Now begins the walk of shame. It wasn’t something you were used to. Could you even call this that? You had no reason to feel ashamed because you were completely aware of last night’s events. You defended your decision as so! Then why did you feel this way?

Perhaps it had to do with you just now returning to the hotel you were supposed to have been checked out of hours ago, but instead you’re greeted to your more than displeased best friend staring daggers at you for a different reason.

Sheepishly bringing a hand to rub the back of your neck, when you’re close enough to her, you open your mouth to begin apologizing, but she wasn’t done as she got up on her feet to level with you.

“You said you would be back before check out,” she said voice slowly rising in volume, no matter the distance between you two was close or not, you could tell this was just the start of a catalyst, “and it’s...oh,” she stops to look down at her phone, which shined bright revealing her lock screen and more importantly the time, “...only three hours past check out!” Yup, not happy with you at all.  

“I know you’re upset,” you start with the obvious, “and you have the right to be. I said I would be back in time, but I wasn’t,” maybe admitting you were wrong would allow her to see you were indeed aware of your mistakes, soften the blow to come a little bit.

“Upset? I’m disappointed!” she says, her arms falling to her sides and with a look of disbelief but is quickly washed over with indisposition. “Some sell-out rockstar invites you over to see him and you lose your sense of mind?”

“Look, I’ll pay you back. It’s no big deal.” At least on your end, you’re trying to remain calm even when her tone and choice of words get under your skin. You didn’t need this weekend to end on a bad note.

“This isn’t about the money!” She proclaimed.

“Then why are you bitching at me? I’m a grown adult! I know what I did-” Yeah, at least you were trying to stay composed, right?

“Do you?” She challenges. It’s one of those rhetorical questions, in which she didn’t need an answer to, but you were still going to give her one.

“Yes, ok. I slept with Bucky and I don’t regret it.”

The defense you put up so quickly around you weren’t something your friend was used to witnessing...maybe to your parents, yeah, but not at her. Sure, you’ve both had the occasional quarrels, but your relationship and sexual life was different because she really cared for your wellbeing and would be damned if someone hurt you.

“I’m just worried,” she admits for her initial brute front, “what you did was totally unlike you and I…”

“What?” You interrupt her, growing more tired of this conversation by the second.

“I don’t trust Bucky.” She blurts out.

You scoff at that reasoning, “you don’t know him-”

“And you do?” This time she interrupts and catches you off guard on that one. “You’re right. I don’t know him, but you said it yourself. Bucky meets tons of people every day. He’s on the road a lot. It’s easy for him to get lonely.”

There it was again. The self-conscious thoughts questioning everything about last night’s events. In a pathetic display of defense, you start counter-questioning her with some of the statements Bucky said to you. Why would he tell you all those sweet things and pretty promises if he knew he could have you so easily? Why would he think you weren’t like the other women out there who exposed their escapades for their 15 minutes of fame? What made him think anything of you? There were other girls in the crowd.

“He’s going to tell you things he wants you to hear to get what he wants.” She really believed that. She knew what some men were capable of. She had more experience than you and you often turned to her for things like this.

Her last sentence was something to let sink in. The way last night played out and the last few hours you spent with Bucky; you were blinded by a rose tint world.

Earlier that morning...

“You know,” Bucky starts with his gaze first set on your face, slowly starting to drift down your body trying to catch a glimpse of uncovered skin that the blanket was doing a horrible job in concealing. You watch with bubbling desire the way he bit his bottom lip and eyes growing darker, ”...if you ever need anything. I’m here to help. I can get you out of that town and you can stay with me in Brooklyn. We’ll find you a place to work in that’ll appreciate you more.”

He was a dream. He was so sweet, but you weren’t going to deny it. As much as you adored what little you knew about the real Bucky, a part of you that was always so careful was also skeptical. That voice in the back of your mind, whether it was your parents, teachers in the past, PSA spokespersons or your best friend, was still trying to tell you Bucky wasn’t an exception.

Then on the other hand, you were finally getting what you wanted. You weren’t a little girl anymore. You could take care of your own heart. Why couldn’t you have some fun? Indulge a little. Life is too short to sit around and wait. If he was serious about any of the things he said, then great! If not, oh well, you’ll live. What’s life without experience, right?

You just never imagined any of the harmless mentions or replies through social media were going to get you in bed with him and so smitten.

When Bucky pulls his lips away from you, he repositions himself on the bed to lie on his back and bask in the comfortable silence. You’re still on your side, but your eyes suddenly widen as you curiously take a peek over his frame and notice the red numbers of the alarm clock on the bedside table. The curtains were drawn shut, so you had no trace of the actual time of day.

“Shit,” you muttered to yourself, but was no use. It was just you and Bucky in the room and he’d definitely wonder why you’d grown frantic.

“Whoa. What’s the rush?” He says slowly sitting up, still exhausted, and watching you throw the hotel comforter over your body to get out of bed. You didn’t even care that you were naked in front of him. He’d have a souvenir to remember you by.

The sex tape was the least of your worries though. You fucking missed check out! You can only imagine the look on your friend’s face when you reunite.

“I missed check out,” you respond while momentarily being thrown off course in search of your underwear, but then instantly remembering how Bucky tore it off of you, and you did your best to push aside last night’s activities.

“What?” He asks, rubbing his face trying to rid himself of sleep. He had to get going too. The band was off to play in the next city in some hours. Unfortunately, you didn’t have enough time to take off from work to follow him.

“The hotel I’m staying at. I missed check out and my friend is going to be so pissed at me,” you explained beaten. You can’t for the life of you see where your clothes were in the dark room.

Drawing the curtains open or switching the light on without warning wouldn’t be ideal to the both of you and not only that, the effects of the substances your body was coursed through, the physicality of you and Bucky’s actions last night, the consequence of it all topped with the lone fact that you’re now standing naked in front of Bucky starts to seep in.

You try not to stand there awkwardly and do the only thing you can do. Inhibition creeping back in, you cover your face with your hands and breath in and out, hoping the floor would swallow you whole so you could escape this embarrassment and your friend’s pending wrath.

“Look,” Bucky says now in front of you, pulling your hands away from your face, he’s naked too, washing away some traces of vulnerability away, “you’re already late. You can’t change that. We can only keep moving forward,” he says, his arms slipping around your body to pull you close to his.

The sudden jolt from the skin-to-skin contact quickly subsides with the warmth of his body transferring onto yours. You hold onto his biceps and nod in acceptance. Any attempt to rush back to your hotel wasn’t going to do you any favors now.

“So then, what do you say we get cleaned up and try to enjoy our time together?” The way his head tilted to the side, a not-so-subtle hint in the direction of the shower in the bathroom, his smooth voice and his eyes half-lidded, ready to get lost in you one more time.

You said it yourself, life was short, so if you already knew your friend was going to chew you out, why deny yourself of its pleasures right now, especially if it’s coming from Bucky. 

“Can we just get going? We’ll catch traffic on the way back to the city if we just stand here and keep putting each other down,” you ask, slightly shaking your head of the early morning activities and straightening yourself up, bending forward to pick up your bag and sling it over your shoulder.

This little spat would eventually pass. None of the arguments you two had were ever threatening to your friendship with each other. You’ve both fought over things much more critical that it’d be a shame to let it be over someone like Bucky.

Before you could turn back around to exit, your friend grabs a hold of your arm and stops you. “I don’t want to see you get hurt. I could be wrong. Bucky could be the one, but I want you to be smart about doing whatever you end up doing with him. I just want you to ultimately be happy,” she says wholeheartedly.

You knew she was only coming from a good place. She only ever encouraged you to do your best and the right thing. She was the one you sought out advice from and she never led you astray. In the end, you knew you couldn’t ever truly be mad at her. You owed her more than $50 alone.

“Thanks. I’m sorry for snapping at you. I know your intentions are in the right place and I really appreciate you for everything. You even agreed to come to this show with me! But I’m only human and I’m going to make mistakes along the way,” you say and notice the fallen look on her face, but you don’t give her long enough to feel sorry for you with your follow up statement, “...if I get hurt, it’s going to suck, but I’ll get back up, learn from it and move on. Plus, I’ll have you there by my side to tell you I told you so...again, and we both know how much you enjoy that!” You end it on a joking note.  

A look of hope creeps back in on your friend and she’s pleased to see your resilient attitude again. You give her your best steadfast smile and it seemingly proved to be successful enough for her to accept your answer as she pulls you in for a warm hug.

You wonder, what Bucky’s motive was? He was Bucky Barnes. He could have anyone. Why did he trust you enough to be intimate with? What was his game? You just had to keep telling yourself for your sanity and wellbeing, with or without Bucky, in the end you’d still be happy.

The months to follow after that tour, you and Bucky had continued to stay in touch. You genuinely felt happy. He was giving you attention! From daily texts and long phone conversations or video calls, some rather suggestive than most, you were able to really learn a lot about each other. While you minded his glamorous lifestyle, each interaction erased all notions of it and he was just another normal human being.

If you were being truthful, a part of you was hoping whatever the two of you had was exclusive. You didn’t want to admit it, but you were in a way reserving yourself for Bucky because you felt there was something between you two and maybe he was just like you and too shy to be the one to bring it up first.

At times you’d find yourself being the one to initiate conversation...especially when the communication started becoming less frequent. They then reduced to just Holiday texts and suddenly they’d become unresponsive and you’d even be left on read. He never flew you to Brooklyn. He never followed you back on social media. You’d accepted he was most likely busy and the excuse of not wanting to attract unwanted attention to you, but the reality of it was he had seemed to move on.  

It’d been close to a year and things were really quiet. The Avengers hadn’t released anything new nor did they have an upcoming tour to rehearse for. You’re trying to not let Bucky’s silence bug you and do what you’ve always told yourself - keep living your life. You weren’t going to lie to yourself, you were angry at first for letting him get to you like that and realize that boys will be boys. They would never grow a real pair and be straight with women. They always had to go and sugarcoat everything. You had to accept it. Don’t hate the player, hate the game. You were just a one-night stand and the worst part of it was that you consented to it, so you couldn’t hold anything against him.

Things picked back up in your life, work demanded more of your time and you were dating again, taking it very slow and casual. You knew nothing more would come out of it, but it was enough to distract you from Bucky. Life was slowly returning back to normal, even though it never truly could be, until you notice Bucky is posting regularly on his social media accounts again.

It’s not so much that but is one of the comments from another user that is a constant in each sporadic post. You recognize the user as an international model from another country. Curiosity gets the best of you and you decide to check out her profile, noting all the photos of them together and realizing that while you thought Bucky went M.I.A., he was spending his free time getting cozy with her in exotic places.

Her comments start out harmless in the beginning, but quickly become more and more persistent until one sets the record straight. It read, “that’s MY man” followed by a number of heart eye emojis.

You didn’t even know Bucky and the model knew of each other, but why wouldn’t they? He was exposed to extraordinary people, so finding someone in the business was a better bet than settling with you. They lived in a totally different world than yours.

There’s a plethora of thoughts that run through your mind. This is why he isn't responding to you. He had a girlfriend, who was in a much different league than of your own, and he didn’t really go public with it on his end. It made you sad, that much you could admit to yourself because you held back for him, but you weren’t going to admit this feeling to him or your friend or the world. You were going to prove to them you’d do the same thing - move on. 

It’s a rather slow day at work and you’ve resulted in mindlessly scrolling through your Facebook newsfeed, but growing tired of lame memes and life updates from people you haven’t spoken to since high school, you switch over to Twitter for a more different kind of news and also a bit of some entertainment.

You’re not expecting the particular topic to be trending - #BuckyBarnesIsCancelled. You’d manage to move on from whatever it was between you and Bucky and returned back to your daily routine. You tried to remain a fan of The Avengers, but it wasn’t the same. The fling, if you could call it, with Bucky wouldn’t let you. You’d always be grateful for how their music impacted your life, but you’d have to keep living your life despite what transpired.  

Sitting up from your slumped position in your office chair, you ponder for maybe two seconds before clicking on the hashtag. Things were still pretty quiet with The Avengers, with the exception of paparazzi photos here and there, but this seemingly came out of nowhere. What stupid thing did he get himself into?

“No way,” you mock at the headline. Claims of Bucky being mentally abusive, and an addict were being made left and right.

You scrolled through the timeline and threads of replies to find the source of it all and you were shocked that it came from none other than his own girlfriend...well now ex-girlfriend you assumed. The vindictive side of you only allowed a small part in finding some humor in this, but if Bucky was any bit of the Bucky you spent the night with and got to know for those few short months then this was sad for him.

There wasn’t much you could do though. What were you to do? Send him a message of condolences of some sort? He’d probably just leave you on read. Whatever you two had was long over.

Bucky’s agency did well to defend him and save his reputation. They released one statement to clear things up. There’d been images before of him partying and no doubt high on some substance, but that didn’t prove he was an addict. Then again, did you ever really know him? You’d been exposed to that stuff around and because of him. Some people just had more access to certain things than others did.

In some time, when things leveled out once more, he seemed to be back in the clear, but at a rate where people have already decided whose story they believed over the other, whose side they were on, the damage had been done. If there was a recurring theme here, Bucky had one thing to do after the scandal - move on with his life.

It felt a little strange being here again. If you take into consideration some of the things that had already happened, a lot has really changed since you were last in a line to see The Avengers live.

The band had taken a short hiatus to let the fire die out from Bucky’s scandal. It was probably a smart move - to let people cool their jets and forget. It was last reported Bucky had turned a new leaf...something about getting help. Steve took time off to focus on other projects...something about humanitarian work. Sam released some solo stuff...something with a different sound, but still as successful. The time off was probably the best for the guys.

There weren’t as many people it seemed, but enough for them to play in one of the city’s largest venues. You suppose that’s what a span of three years could do to an artist. When the tour was announced you weren’t sure if you should buy a ticket or not, but it’d been some time since you had a night where you could forget about the stresses of the world for a few hours. Never mind the short stint between you and Bucky, you were still a fan of their music and the joyous feeling you got from it was timeless.

This time you were alone. You didn’t even tell your friend they were touring again. Bucky was almost a nonexistent topic for a good while now. Plus, she had her own life to live and couldn’t always be there next to you. You were the bigger fan after all. On top of that, she would’ve most likely have advised against you attending.

Your attire was not to impress, electing on something casual and comfortable with a simple pair of jeans, a leather jacket over a nice top that did a better job at controlling your cleavage than the last one, and cute boots. Yeah, a lot had changed, but the scene didn’t as there were still a mix of fans, old and new, over and under dressed.

The guys still had it. They looked great! They definitely belonged on the stage for the world to see. They even played a 3-song encore. You could tell they loved doing what they did and anyone who was a fan could feel the passion and energy they poured out in the performance.

You’re currently sitting in the seat of your car, head resting against the headrest as you try to unwind a little from standing for a few hours and from the walk back to the parking garage when your phone vibrates and chimes loudly.  

You glance over at the device you placed next to the driving console and your eyebrows scrunch in confusion at the name that appeared. Bucky Barnes. You’d never deleted his number and his text message thread had remained at the very bottom of your messaging app all this time. A sense of apprehension flows through you as you wonder what he could possibly want. How do you just text someone after ghosting them for over a year? Not to mention to someone you did something so intimate with and made all those promises to in the past. How does one do that?

Not wanting to dwell on it any longer or slip into restless thoughts about Bucky again because it wasn’t a walk in the park to forget about him, you open the text. It asks if you were in attendance because he claimed to have seen you in the crowd. This time around you’re not overthinking about what to respond with, you simply say yes. He’d been quick with his next message asking if you were still in the area to meet up.

The wise thing would probably be to reject the invite, but you find yourself once again staring at a hotel door waiting for him to open it. Initially, you’d suggested he tell you what he wanted to say via text, but he said it was something that had to be told in person. So, having been through what you had as a result of meeting up with him in the past, you had some sense of mind this time, you’d just have to make another mental note to not jump into bed with him again. If you were being truthful to yourself, the sex tape left you feeling a little cheap. He didn’t even send it to you as some form of fucked up courtesy or assure you that it wasn’t ever going to get leaked and luckily it hasn’t. You hoped he’d deleted it.

It was almost like Deja vu. You might as well have been reliving the night the first time Bucky invited you over to his hotel room. In the beginning it was kind of awkward and quiet, and it was exactly that years later, just with added history of course.

You’d chosen to sit on the end of one of the beds while Bucky moved slowly around the room trying to gather his thoughts and where to start. He notices the change in you. You were more confident and as you should be. Bucky Barnes couldn’t intimidate you this time. He had more to be embarrassed about than you did now.

Even though you had nowhere to be in the morning, it was getting late and you really would just like to get this meeting over with and Bucky was stalling.

“Bucky, why did you invite me here?” You say, the one to break the ice. He finally stops fidgeting around and focuses on you.

“I...I wanted to apologize,” he starts off, and you’re unmoving silence allows him to continue, “I realize how much of a complete dick I was to you…”

“What do you mean?” You ask. It’s not like he spread any dirty rumors about you or anything. He didn’t need to apologize for anything that you’re aware of. Maybe for leading you on, but you came to terms some time ago that maybe he didn’t owe you an explanation or perhaps you’d never get one. Yet here you both are.

“I used you,” he explains, now you’re confused, and he can see you’re not getting it entirely, which pains him. You didn’t think anything he did with you was wrong because you consented to it. It took two to tango, right?

Except it wasn’t like that at all and he wanted you to know how he strung you along all just for a quick fuck in the beginning and to cover his tracks he acted like he cared in getting to know you afterwards not realizing something purely good could come out of it for him. The confession wasn’t meant to hurt you again, but for you to realize your worth. He messed up with someone so special.

“I wasn’t lying when I said I remembered you from years before when you tripped in front of me,” there’s a small trace of happiness in the fond memory, “...and when I saw you in the crowd that night, fuck you looked so good and you still do…” he ended up a flustered mess after that small admission.

“Where is this going?” You ask hoping he’d get back on track and reveal the rest, trying to keep the fact he admitted an attraction to you in the back of your mind.

“Right...I’ll admit my ego got the best of me. The band was doing so well, everyone noticed us! I was getting attention from all kinds of people! I got hooked to different things,” suppose those articles were true then about him getting clean, you thought to yourself, “...it does get lonely on the road and I was so desperate for anyone,” oh you hoped and prayed he wouldn’t say what he was going to say next, but he does, “...and I knew there wouldn’t be that much effort on my part to get you to sleep with me.”

Great. Your friend was right then, and he was just like any other house name artist.

“Um...okay, that’s not something I was wanting to hear about myself,” you said after letting that sink in. Did you still appear to look easy?

“No, I’m sure it’s not, but when we were alone together everything was just easy-”

“Yeah, I got that. I’m easy!” You interrupt, and now you’re angry. As he’s trying to explain his actions, you started thinking about how mad and hurt you were when he started ghosting you. You couldn’t be upset about him getting a girlfriend, but the fact that he didn’t think he could continue even being your friend and instead just chose to ignore you was the better option was hella annoying.

“That’s not what I meant!” He says trying to justify his choice of words.

“Then how did you mean it?” You demand, and Bucky is a bit stunned with your new attitude. He foresaw that he would have a difficult time in explaining himself, but he didn’t think it’d be this hard dealing with how much his actions affected you.

“Everything was easy with you because you made it easy to feel,”

“I don’t know if I understand,” you say and attempt to get up, “...maybe this was a bad idea.”

“No, please. Let me finish,” Bucky is quick to get in front of you as he pleads for you to stay. You give him a slight nod and sit back down.

“Things with you were easy in a sense that being around you I was able to just be myself. I’ve never said those things to girls before you! I didn’t have to impress you with anything flashy. I even forgot I was some rockstar! You’re an incredible person, really-”

“I’m sorry, Bucky, but I just can’t,” you say, hating to interrupt him again, but you’re not ready to hear any of this, “...none of this still doesn’t sound right. It was just one night and then how do you explain just ghosting me the moment you get a supermodel girlfriend?” that last part came out unintentionally feisty but might as well let him know how you’d felt, “You couldn’t even be my friend when you were with her! I guess it was easy to just forget me too…”

Bucky lowers his head ashamed of how he handled that and just nods in acknowledgement of his actions, “you’re right. It doesn’t make sense, but what I feel is even harder to explain...”

“None of this accounts for her,” you demand. A part of you just wanted to know where she came from. How did it happen? Who asked who out? It wasn’t important information to know about, but the urge of human curiosity was large.

“She wasn’t even my idea,” he muttered, not really wanting to talk about her.

“What?” You ask.

“Getting with her was the label’s idea,” he admits, hating he was coerced into the idea of an on-screen relationship.

You scoff at the stupidity of fake relationships in the Entertainment industry. Why did people get their rocks off over it? Were OTPs really that a big deal? Are people so bored with their own lives that they have to push corporate into bringing two people who don't have feelings for each other together? However, Bucky thinks you don’t believe him and given how little you developed in trusting him with things, he’s not entirely wrong.

“I know it was a dumb thing to agree to and it’s one of the horrors working in this business, but I know now I should’ve just been forward with you,” Bucky says, voice still riddled begging for forgiveness.

“Why couldn’t you then?” You interrogate and notice the creases of distress on his face soften. “If I made it so easy to feel, then why wasn’t it just that to tell me the truth?”

“I-I don’t know,” he replies.

“Yes, you do,” you retort, and pretend you’re going to leave, but by doing so you know it’ll only get him to spill the beans quicker.

“I was scared!” He admits, stepping in front of you and keeping you still in your place on the end of the bed.

“Scared? Of what? Me?” You ask incredulously looking up at him.

“Yes!” He says and kneels down in front of you. “You’re so perfect! You’re real! You don’t treat me like I’m some celebrity. You didn’t even participate when people started cancelling me or whatever! You could’ve and you had every right to expose me, but you didn’t!” Your act did the trick, because the words just kept coming out of Bucky.

“I’m so sorry for ignoring you, for not telling you I was with her, but the more I got to know you, a part of me got really scared that I couldn’t keep being the kind of man you deserved because of my problems,” by this point, Bucky has placed both his hands on either side of you, his arms trapping you, “...trust me, I had a lot of time to think about everything I did wrong and what harm my reckless lifestyle has on others…I just feared it was already too late, but the one thing that I always thought about that helped me get through it was the lone night I had with you. I was so happy! I wanted that again...I had to get back to that, so I invited you back to try,” you didn’t even realize how close his face was to yours. He looked so torn and you hated seeing him like that, but there was nothing you could say that could fix things right now.

Bucky now felt vulnerable and almost pathetic. Just because he wanted another shot of happiness, and with you of all people, what made it okay for him to think you wanted to try again? You weren’t so certain of what you wanted with him anymore.

“Wow,” is all you give. You’re not sure what more you could add. After all that, he actually liked you? Were you still sure you weren’t living in some fanfic world? You needed some time to think about that and much to Bucky’s expectations, you weren’t going to come to a conclusion before you left this room tonight.

“Is there anything else you want to say?” You offer him the floor, and he gets it. You’re not going to say anything particular to his confession, at least not now. He’s not upset at all. It was a lot to take in. He had time to think, and he had to respect the time you��d need now.

He nods and backs away, realizing the close proximity, “just one question,” you nod this time and let him ask, “do you regret it?”

You know what he’s referring to, sleeping with him, the sex tape, the countless conversations, meeting with him right now - everything.

“No,” you answer honestly.

He lets out a weak smile, looking down sheepishly and adds, “I’ve never done anything like this with anyone before, I promise.”

He could promise and swear up and down all he’d like, but how could you be really sure? The only response you could give him is a small, neutral hum in acknowledgement.

Bucky knew this conversation wasn’t going to go as he had hoped. He really didn’t have a plan, he just really wanted to see you again. He goes silent and you know at this point, everything was all laid out. Time would tell the rest if this was worth saving.

“I can forgive you. I know I can because in a way part of moving on allows one to do so but completing a session or doing time in rehab doesn’t really prove anything,” you said brutally honest with him, he looks up at you almost defeated and just waiting for the final blow.

“You said a lot of promising things back then and you said a lot more tonight,” you add on, and gently begin to remove his hands from the spots either side of you to let you free, and get up to head out, however not with one more thing he could reflect on, also giving him hope, “...you need to show you’ve really changed,” then the conversation was over.

In some ways, these events needed to happen. He had to hit rock bottom to learn from his mistakes and kick out the bad habit. He knew now that he had to work hard to give you a reason to trust him and maybe even in the long run be with him.

On the other hand, you had to go through this whole thing in order to not base your happiness on someone else. You could be happy on your own and open enough to be with someone that wasn’t Bucky. 

For the next few months, to your surprise, Bucky had actually made an effort to keep in touch with you. It wasn’t overbearing and he minded your space as well as he could from a distance, given that he was still busy with the band and other duties that came with his status.

While at times he could be flirty, you learned it was part of his charm. Your friend wasn’t entirely thrilled when you’d admitted to her that you visited Bucky that night. You might’ve not shown it, but she knew how much his past actions affected you. Granted it did its job in teaching you a lesson and in return allowed you to be more confident and to not take anyone’s bullshit, she’d be damned if Bucky tried to pull another act like that around you again.

By now, you were comfortable enough with him to even tell him about random dates you’d gone on; none proving to be long-term, but it was nice to confide in someone else other than your best friend and get an opinion from a male perspective.

You weren’t going to lie, there was a part of you that still liked Bucky more than a friend, but you weren’t sure when it was okay to willingly go all in again with him. Sure, you’d given him another chance, but just how low could people really go to get what they wanted? Some people could just be really manipulative, and you weren’t wanting to ruin what you’ve both rebuilt for yourselves. Either way, you’d be happy with him in your life even as a friend, which is how it could’ve gone if he’d been honest from the get-go.

The year was coming to a close and you’re at your job’s annual Christmas party. You’d managed to convince your friend to be your plus one, but she claimed she didn’t need bribery because your company always ordered outstanding catering and who in their right mind would turn down free food anyways?

Aside from pretending you were having a great time talking to your co-workers, most of which whom you barely spoke to at the office and as faux-friendly as they were tonight, you felt stupid for glancing at your phone every now and then hoping to get a message from Bucky. He’d been keeping you entertained the first half of the party until he just stopped responding.

Your friend had ditched you to take advantage of the open bar several minutes ago, so you were sitting at a table alone trying not to look pathetic. You started thinking of when an appropriate time would be to leave when the Market Manager of your job took the mic. Too late, you thought to yourself and decided to get comfortable in your seat and listened to what cheesy Holiday speech they had to give, but what you hadn’t expected was a surprise guest.  

“What the hell?” You said to yourself as you watched Bucky, Steve and Sam shake hands with one of your bosses before settling into what would appear as an acoustic performance.

How’d they manage to get in contact with your job? Who gave them the in? Bucky knew what you did for a living, but you never stayed on that subject long enough to think much about it. Then your friend slides into the empty seat next to you, a drink in one hand and a knowingly smirk on her lips, one that suggests she was definitely in on this act. You didn’t realize how long you’d been staring at her with a stupid look of disbelief all over your face until your name is echoed throughout the speakers.

It snaps you out of your trance and you focus your attention to Bucky on stage, a huge smile on his face. All formalities set aside, he highlights you and your friendship before jumping into their new single, which was widely popular right now. Normally, you weren’t one to take compliments easily, not used to so much attention, but the whole world disappeared with Bucky.

Once their little set was over, the majority of your colleagues enjoyed the performance and asked for photos, to which the guys were more than happy to appease to. Your friend had managed to escape your clutches once more, this time abandoning you for the dessert table. You’re not alone for long as Bucky occupies the seat left open next to you. You look around your surroundings, hoping there aren’t any more surprises in store, and practically attack him with a big hug.

Bucky’s chuckle is muffled, his face buried in your hair, as he wraps his arms around you to return the gesture. When you pull away, you’re almost left speechless, but you’re dying to know how he managed to get here. He was technically still on tour and this was not one of the passing by cities.

“How?” You ask.

“Hi to you too,” he said with a cheeky grin, to which you playfully slap his arm, and he responds with your friend’s name. He explained how he’d wanted to see you and how much he had to grovel for your friend to trust him. She’d helped him arrange a meeting with your boss, who turned out to be a huge fan of The Avengers, and even sneak them inside the building all under your nose. She wasn’t easy to persuade, but if she was convinced enough to work with Bucky on anything then you knew this meant something more.  

The initial notion of wanting to leave the party immediately vanished and you wanted nothing more than to just sit there in Bucky’s company all night. Steve and Sam greeted you and you never realized that this was actually the first time meeting them formally and not outside of a venue. They weren’t rockstars to you any more than you were just a fan to them. They were Bucky’s friends, of course he’d confined to them on his end as much as you did with yours.

At some point they had excused themselves to catch the last flight headed back to Brooklyn, but Bucky had decided to stay longer. When it was time to leave, you found out Bucky hadn’t planned long enough to where he would stay the night in your city. The original plan was to fly back home with the guys and pick up on the remainder of the tour. They had a few days off, but it was just a few days shy of ending, and he couldn’t wait that long to see you.

It’s funny how life works because this time you’re the one inviting him to your place. You weren’t going to blame it on the open bar or how late it was or the underlying tension that was surrounding you two, but one thing was certain, it was mutual, and you both weren’t going to deny the attraction any longer.

You’d missed the weight of Bucky’s body on yours more than you’d realized as your hands held his face, keeping his lips attached to yours. You could taste the remnants of the unfinished drink he’d abandoned at the coffee table on his tongue. Bucky’s hands hiked your leg over his waist to get you to lie flat on your couch.

You’re the first to attempt to remove clothing by popping open the buttons of his button-up shirt before completely ridding of the item leaving him in his thin undershirt. You feel his hands slide up from your hips along your back as they dig into the minimal space the arch of your back had created for him to slowly unzip the back of your dress. With your lips both still attached, you manage to sit up, your dress falling down and bunching at the waist in the process, exposing your breasts. He couldn’t have picked a more perfect time to see you in an outfit that would not work with a bra.

Bucky curses breathlessly when he pulls his lips away from yours for a quick breather, but in the process, he takes a peek at your half naked body. You can tell he’s just itching to touch you and you take the commanding lead and place his hands on you. The atmosphere grows thicker, him kneading your breasts, you smash your lips on his in a sloppy lock.

You push Bucky down on his end of the couch and manage to kick your loose dress all the way down your legs and off your body. Bucky’s hands travel down to the curve of your ass before he grabs a handful of flesh, causing you to moan into the kiss. Your hands rake through his styled hair, the product he used unstiffening and his hair falls limp in your grasps.

Bucky’s hands started to aid your hips in moving roughly against his clothed member, desperate to relieve some friction, and you internally blushed remembering how thick he was, how full it felt to have his cock stuffed inside of you. You didn’t remain celibate during the hiatus of your relationship, you both had urges, but Bucky had really ruined others that came after him.

Your lips drifted down Bucky’s body, kissing at the skin of his chest in the pattern following the swoop-line seam of the undershirt that he was still wearing. You skipped the expanse of his toned stomach, until you’re met with the small amount of skin that peeked between his bottoms and hem of his undershirt. You slightly lift the material up and place small pecks at his lower abdomen, which causes a low groan to rumble in Bucky’s throat.

Your fingers deftly unbuckle his belt and unbutton his pants, with the zipper pulled apart, you’re marveling at the imprint of his hard cock, already twitching and staining his boxers. You manage to break your gaze and look up at Bucky, who is desperately pleading with you to proceed. Your eyes never leave his as you lower your head closer to his member, tongue darting out to the dark spot of his boxers, tasting the precum.

The contact causes him to squirm and lips form in a tight line. You pull down his pants and agonizingly peel off his boxers slowly, dragging it down to his thighs, just enough to expose him enough for you to work with before you wrap a hand around his length. Bucky’s upper body is supported by his bent elbows so he could watch you.

You kiss the tip of his leaking cock, a small string of his precum sticking to your lips when you pull back, to which you run your tongue over. Bucky’s head falls back just in time when your lips enclose the head, tongue twirling around the ridge and teasingly at the slit and loving the sound of his breath getting caught in his throat. You inch your mouth down his length and your vacant hand gets quick to work on what you’re not able to intake while the other runs up his exposed abdomen, your fingers curling in and lightly scratching down as it runs down to massage one of his thighs. You can feel the muscle in his thigh flex at your touch the more your head bobs up and down on him.  

A plethora of curses spew from his mouth, but the rush of sucking his cock, the gurgling of your spit mixed with his precum and occasional choking noise when your throat contracts around him, is all you can hear from your perspective. When you part from his member, you’re breathing intensifies, desperate for more air to enter your system, eyes slightly watering, lips swollen, your hand lazily slathering the wetness all over him.

“You’re so good at that,” Bucky comments and he finally manages to pick his head back up to look at you. He reaches forward to swipe at the mess on the corner of your chin, but you’re hungry for more, and you move your head to the side to suck on his thumb, eyes closed as you hum at the taste of his skin and essence.

Your soft tongue running against the pad of his somewhat calloused thumb, it pops lightly when you release the digit, a small, devious smile on your lips as you scoot away to lie on the other end of the couch. He’s almost at aghast by this, but even back then you were just always full of surprises around him and he wasn’t going to deny the appeal of your sexual allure.

Bucky is quick to get to your side, completely riding himself off the rest of his clothes - the undershirt, pants and boxers - he had dressed to impress but right now nothing more than but overdressed. He gently parts your legs, kissing up your calves and thighs, until settles between them, you can feel his warm breath fanning against your scantily covered core.

Unlike last time, you’re not afraid to watch him and he sends you a knowingly wink, quickly ascending up to give you a sweet kiss, while his fingers slip inside your panties and between your lips. Your hips eagerly thrust upwards hoping his fingers slip in.

“Baby, we got all night,” he says cradling your face in his other hand. You let out a small whine, but regardless attempt to be patient. Bucky studies your face, mesmerized by every structure and unique feature, then what felt like an eternity, but in reality, was only a few seconds, he sinks a finger inside your wet pussy.

As soon as the gasp leaves your lips, his lips swoop in and tongue instantly dipping in search of yours. The heated kiss only heightens the sensation in the pit of your stomach, your hips losing control and every buck up into his hand, your clit rubs up against his palm, invigorating it. The curl of his finger, lightly probs at the right spot inside you, you uncontrollably squeal against his lips, with a hand against his chest you gently push his body away from yours.

“Oh my God! Fuck, Bucky…” you say with your head tilting back to the curve of the couch’s arm. You feel Bucky’s lips kiss and suck at your exposed neck as his fingers continue their handy work, the lewd noises causing your eyes to roll back.

His lips find their way next to your ear, gently nipping at it, and you could just drown at the sound of his husky breathing and filthy words. “Can I taste you?” He asks. You’re not sure why he was asking, you’d want nothing less. You nod almost instantaneously before allowing him to remove your panties.  

Bucky’s hungry eyes remain fixated on your glistening core, “oh, I missed this pussy,” he comments before his tongue fondles the lips. He has a hand lying flat against one of your legs, pressed on the couch to keep them spread apart, the other blocked by his body. His routine contrasts his old with how his tongue moves in slow and calculated laps. His mouth was very talented, given whatever style he chose to play.

You’re tethering on an orgasm and Bucky wanted nothing more than to watch you come undone for him. Bucky’s fingers and tongue work in tandem and fast to help you reach a climax.

“You’re close, aren’t you?” Bucky manages to ask in between, eyes peering up at you. You don’t actually answer because you can’t concentrate from the pleasure he’s bestowing and the impending release. “Good. I want you to cum. I want all this pussy has to give,” his voice hitting a different low, even his fucking voice was so sexy. Your hands clutch on fistfuls of the couch cushions when you feel the first wave of pleasure wash over your body, your hips stilled in place as Bucky laps up at your arousal.

“The sweetest thing ever,” Bucky mutters mostly to himself, but hearing that comment only feeds your ego, which never is a bad thing in an intimate setting. Your chest heaves up and down from the impact. Just as Bucky is about to crawl back up to parallel, you stop him with a foot at his chest. He grabs your small foot in his hand and blinks at your resistance.

“Sit back,” you command. He drops your foot and watches as your body maneuvers around to climb over his. He didn’t even realize his body had complied to your demand, absolutely hypnotized by you.

You lean in for a deep kiss, one that leaves his brain a mush, yours too almost that you have to steady yourself with one hand on the couch armrest. You reach a hand down between your bodies and grab a hold of his hard cock. Your fingers tracing along the vein before you start rubbing his head through your sensitive, wet folds. Bucky’s hands lay lightly on your hips, trying with all his might to not force you to take him all the way in. A large part of him liked this dominant side of you. There was so much about you he was dying to unearth.

“Baby, please…” he begins pleading as you barely press the tip of his cock just at your entrance before you slowly lower your body down to engulf his entire length. You sit still once you’re sure you’ve bottomed out, not noticing Bucky’s fingers digging into your hips, sure enough to leave crescent marks and tiny bruises.

Bucky’s face is buried in your neck, your cheek pressed against the top of his head, lost in the mop of dark hair. You feel his cock twitch inside of you causing your hips to ground on his. He was in so deep, you weren’t sure how long you were going to last in this position, but you’d be damned if you denied it.

You start with slow swivels before sliding back and forth on his cock. Bucky’s hands released their death grip from your hips, one travelled to the front to grope at your breasts while the other supported your body settling itself on the small of your back. Your hands set themselves on the back of the couch on either side of his head, using it as leverage to ground down harder on him.

“Mm, I missed fucking this big cock,” you lean down to whisper right in his ear, “you’re so deep, Bucky.”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he spits out curse after curse at your dirty words. “You gonna cum on this big cock, hmm?” He asks. The question comes as a challenge and you weren’t ready to give up the ropes to him.

“Yeah, is this big cock gonna cum inside this tight pussy?” You counter the question, speeding up your gyrations until you start to feel the burn in your thighs and stomach begin to twist. He lets out a low, long growl, his eyes lulling shut and head falling back against the couch, ready to succumb to euphoria.

“No,” you say, suddenly ceasing all movements to pull at his hair. The sharp pain in his scalp causes his eyes to snap open and look up at you. “Keep your eyes on me,” you command much like how he did with you the first time. You watch him swallow the knot in his throat and give him a wicked smile before picking back up where you left off.

Your hands are sprawled on his sweaty chest as you bounce up and down his length. Bucky’s senses are on overdrive, the way your pussy naturally hugs his cock, walls squeezing occasionally, your breasts swaying right in front of him, your skin shining from the layer of sweat coating your body, and the look of immense pleasure written all over your face because of him.

“Baby, I’m gonna cum,” he says over and over as some form of warning, hoping you’re not far behind.

The way his face contorted in ecstasy, lips parted, sweat building up on his forehead, the tip of his cock stabbing at your sweet spot, you were about to cum too. His words become a muffled mess when you attempt to silence him with a bruising kiss just as you reach your high, pussy clenching tight around his cock milking him of everything he’s got. Each spurt of his hot cum that shoots inside you causes your hips to stutter in response. Bucky attempts to keep them at bay with a hand pressed against your back, keeping your body close to him and in the process also instilling his seed is rooted deep inside of you.

“God...damn,” Bucky says short of breath when your body lies limp against his. Your arms are wrapped around his neck, you haven’t attempted to move just yet as you both sat there with his cock still buried in. When you manage to sit up, you stare back at Bucky with tired eyes, but there’s a smile on both your faces. It only slightly falters at his next words.

“I love you,” he says earnestly. Thankfully your silence doesn’t bother him, “...you don’t have to say it back,” he adds, “I just wanted you to know. You’re so special,” he proclaims and your heart leaps at the very admission. You only nod for now but give him another reassuring smile because in time you knew you could allow yourself to love Bucky and be loved by him in return. It wasn’t a conventional meeting, but this was your life, not everyone else's.

When you finally manage to pull yourself off his cock, it slips out fluidly with a trail of his cum following in suit. You knew you’d curse yourself later on, but you’re both too tired to clean the mess right now. The pair of you settle into a lying position, facing one another, encased in each other’s arms. It’s a moment of bliss as you both just lie there, his eyes closed and a smile seemingly permanently etched on his face, only around you.  

“Hey Bucky,” you pipe up breaking the silence. He hums in response, “I want to know something...” you start out with.

“Anything,” he says, eyes still closed, his hand running up and down your arm, an indicator that he’s present and listening.

“What happened between you two?” Curiosity getting the best of you once more, you’re hoping this doesn’t ruin the moment, but you had to know. What went wrong? Besides, if this was going to work, he was going to have to be honest.

“Uh, she saw something on my phone…” he said cautiously, “...that involved you.” Your eyes widen at that. It couldn’t have been the sex tape you hoped.

“Bucky, no!” You gasp, sitting up and just hoping he doesn’t confirm it.

“Relax!” He says pulling you back down with him, “She was psycho. She went through my texts and saw some of the photos we used to send to each other. She must’ve thought they were recent.” He explains like it was no big deal.

Your heart stops racing slightly, you’re a bit relieved that she didn’t go as far as posting any of the photos on the Internet. You knew you were risking it by sexting with Bucky, but what was that saying? Hell hath no fury…and in a blind rage, she lashed out only on Bucky, but if she was a psycho, who knows what else she might’ve found on Bucky’s phone.

“Bucky?” you figure you might as well know now.

“Yeah…”

“What did you do with that sex tape?” You’d been dying to know if it was safely stored away or if maybe he even still watched it or just deleted it.

A big toothy grin spreads across his lips, his pearly whites on full display as he laughs at the question before he reaches over to the table next to the couch, where his cell phone rested on.

“Want to make a sequel?” He asks suggestively with a smirk on his lips and waving his phone at you, to which you playfully attempt to snatch from his grasp. He’s too quick, but nonetheless he replaces the phone in its original spot before focusing his attention on you alone.

“You don’t think this is all weird?” He questions almost hesitantly while tracing the outline of your jaw delicately. You’re not thinking that at all. You’d both been through a lot during the last few years that the only thing that was normal now was what you both had.

You shake your head in response, too tired for words, and drowning in the blissful moment. Bucky nods before declaring, “good because you make so happy,” then ending the night with sweet kisses. 

“Hey, it’s me. I know you’re busy at the studio today...” you start, cell phone pressed against your ear. You’re attempting to leave a voicemail to your boyfriend, who was expecting your arrival later that day, “...but I just wanted to assure you that this isn’t weird, and I can’t wait to see you...I love you, Bucky,” you finish up the message and stuff the device into your bag just in time to hear the voice of the airline staff making the pre-boarding announcements booming loudly from the speakers.  

Now boarding Group B for flight #107 to JFK Airport...final destination Brooklyn, New York.

A/N: We’ve been in quarantine for so long, I don’t remember how airport announcements are like anymore and I was only in Brooklyn last Spring…RIP to the good times.

A happy ending was weird to write in the end and I actually don’t like this particular Bucky so it could’ve gone really bad, but I said to myself, no, not this time, I can do what the title says and let them be just that - happy. I too can be happy if you give this a like, reblog or comment! Thanks for reading!  

[writing-with-l]

Our Forgotten Devils: Chapter One

Hi darlings! So, in honour of reaching 100 followers earlier this week, I’ve decided to post the first draft of the opening chapter of Our Forgotten Devils! (Still very much a work in progress, but it’s a start!) 💛

Taglist: @corkythewriteblr @mel-writes-with-her-dragons @ashen-crest @thelaughingstag @imthefutureauthor @fiercely-raging-writer

(Text continues under the cut) 

I: The Knocking Unceasing

  It’s a little after midnight when I wake up. My awareness of myself and my surroundings returns slowly and, when it does, the first things I notice are the sore neck and the twisted spine, a consequence of falling asleep on my cheap sofa while watching some god-awful spy thriller earlier in the night. I rub my eyes with a clumsy fist and an involuntary groan of discomfort, dragging myself into a position that vaguely resembles sitting upright. 

 Reluctantly, I open my eyes fully, and I regret it a mere second later. In the corner across from me, the TV is still turned on, sending a harsh glaring light emanating through my living room which stings my tired eyes. The program has changed now, though: gone is the cliche crap from earlier. Instead, a newsreader wearing a crisp navy business suit and a fixed grim expression stares blankly straight into the camera, reading aloud from the prompts in front of her.

 “... a body, discovered this morning, which is the third murder in the city since last week. A police department spokesperson has confirmed this evening that, like the previous murders, the victim was found slit open from neck to navel. Local residents have been urged to avoid travelling alone late at-”

 I manage to dig the remote out from where it had been lost between the sofa cushions and punch the OFF button firmly.  No one in their right mind wants to listen to that shit when they’re alone in their apartment in the middle of the night, and I’m no exception. Too many real-life horror stories at midnight and my imagination will start to give eyes and limbs to the shadows that creep around the dim corners of my apartment. Already the darkness pressing in on me from all sides has begun to make me a little uneasy, and I see no good reason to make that worse. Something nags in the back of my mind - that odd feeling you get when you think you should remember something but you don’t - but I dismiss it. I’ll only overthink it, like I usually do, and by that point any hope of sleep will be nothing more than an unachievable fantasy. 

 There’s silence now. I push myself up off the sofa, fully intending to head for the comfort of my bed, when something stops me in my tracks. The silence is suddenly shattered by a sharp knock on my front door. It startles me enough that I jump backwards almost on instinct, and the back of my shin collides with the pointed corner of the glass coffee table, causing me to swear under my breath. 

 The knocking continues - harsh, forceful, almost desperate knocking - and I make my way to the door, stumbling over my own abandoned shoes. I have no idea who the hell could possibly be looking for me in the middle of the night, but there’s something about the urgency of that insistent knocking that makes me rush to answer it. It takes me a few minutes of fumbling to get the bolt and chain undone and, as I do, my mind races. I’m not sure who I expect to see on the other side of the door, and my brain is working overtime trying to figure it out in the next ten seconds - family? a friend? the police, even? - but none of the answers I can come up with ease the tug of anxiety in my stomach. In my experience, if something is serious enough to warrant an interruption in the middle of the night, chances are it’s not going to be good news. 

 In a decisive attempt at silencing my anxiety, I yank open the door.

 A figure stands in my doorway. It takes me a minute, as my eyes sweep over their profile, but when the realisation finally hits me, it does so with enough force to knock the air from my lungs. 

 “Alex…” It comes out like a gasp, faint and surprised.

 I don’t know what it was that I expected to see when I opened that door, but it sure as hell wasn’t Alexander Michaelis. I haven’t heard a thing from him in just over five years; ever since he left town in a hurry one cold September morning, since all my texts and calls were met first with single sentences, then with one-word answers, and then finally with radio silence. Standing in front of me now, he looks the same as he did back then - a little older, of course, but otherwise identical - and the sight causes my heart to miss a beat. 

 Alex shifts nervously, his eyes downcast, studiously examining the threadbare hallway carpet. “I- I didn’t know where else to go.” His voice sounds shaky, almost frightened, and it makes my anxiety return with force. “Can I- can I come in?”

 “Yeah,” I say automatically. For a moment, that’s all I can say, my mind somewhat overwhelmed with shock and confusion. “Yeah, of course. What’s going on? Is everything okay?”

 Alex doesn’t answer me right away. He hesitates in the hallway for a moment, gaze flickering between the floor and my face like he can’t believe I’m really standing in front of him. I imagine my face must look something similar. He takes a step across the threshold and into my apartment, but he doesn’t get much further than that before he all but collapses into me. My arms move to hold him almost of their own accord: it’s like a reflex, something I couldn’t control even if I wanted to. I’m not entirely sure how I feel about that, but it doesn’t matter, I’ve got more important things to think about right now. Like the fact that Alex isn’t wearing any kind of jacket, and I realise that he’s cold as ice and shaking like a leaf.

 “Christ, you’re freezing!” I mutter, even though I don’t suppose that information will be a surprise to him. 

 I lead him into my apartment and across to the kitchen, and he follows easily but unsteadily, as if he’s uncertain on his feet. I sit him down at the kitchen table, in the chair closest to the radiator which I reach down and turn up to full. Alex stares blankly in front of him, running his forefinger repetitively across one of the grooves in the wooden table. Shrugging my own jacket off, I drape it around his shoulders like some pathetic excuse for an emergency blanket. He pulls it tighter around himself and mumbles a quiet “thanks”, while I busy myself with switching the kettle on. 

Once it’s boiled, I fill two chipped mugs with steaming tea and sit down opposite him, pushing one of the mugs across the table towards him. Tea was always my nana’s solution to everything. Too cold? Tea. Can’t sleep? Tea. Flynn’s having a panic attack again? Tea. I suppose she rubbed off on me more than I thought. Alex takes the tea with one hand and offers me a small smile, though his eyes are still staring downwards and the repetitive movement of his other hand doesn’t stop. My own hands are shaking, almost imperceptibly though, and I don’t quite know why. 

 As Alex drinks his tea, I take the moment to look at him properly under the harsh flickering kitchen light, and I realise that I was wrong before: he doesn’t look the same. His light blond hair, once sleek and styled, looks like it hasn’t been washed in days, dishevelled in a way that seems to suggest countless hours of nervous hands combing through the platinum strands. His blue eyes, bright and sparkling in my memory, are now dull and tired, bloodshot and rimmed with red. He looks like he’s been through hell and, in spite of the years that have passed, it still makes something clench in my chest. 

 “Alex, what’s going on?” I ask again.

He drains the last of his tea and carefully sets the mug back down on the table, before lifting his head to meet my gaze. It’s the first time tonight he’s actually properly looked me in the eye. When he finally speaks, his voice is hollow.

 “Ana’s missing.”

[inspired-by-the-music]

For You: 4 O’Clock

Taglist: @jineunwootrash​ @jamies-kpop-reactions​

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Chapter 11: The Name I Loved

Lei’s POV

“You know, Lei,” Lucas grumbled from his place in my closet, “there was a time in our lives when everything you owned was black!”

He stepped out to face me and Grandma. We were sitting on my bed and discussing— of all things— Taemin, who she agreed was the most beautiful person in the world after attending the Atlanta concert. Lucas looked so sad, eyes hooded and lips drawn into a tight frown, that I still couldn’t roll my eyes at his insistence to dress us both as if Mom’s annual Christmas party were a funeral. 

Unable to scold Lucas for interrupting just as she was about to ask, winking, if Taemin and I were ‘friends’ off-stage, Grandma took in his appearance. Already dressed in his all-black suit, Lucas stared down at his shiny black shoes as Grandma delicately asked, “Why are you wearing black to a Christmas party anyway, sweetie?”

Given my general lack of support for Ten’s suggested dress code, I didn’t consider myself the best spokesperson. Lucas seemed to glance at me for permission to speak, so I just nodded my head and fixed my gaze on a hanging poster of Donghae. 

I couldn’t take it down, and yet I couldn’t live comfortably with it staring at me like that. Donghae’s picture smiled so warmly that you could never guess that he carried the weight of rejection for over a decade. Is it okay for a picture to lie like that? Or was that smile genuine? 

All I could wonder was whether Donghae would bring me another strawberry milkshake the next time I was at the studio. All I could wonder was whether those days were behind us— if I had appreciated them enough to be able to let them go without regret— as Lucas replied, “We’re in mourning.”

Lucas’s tone was so hollow, Grandma faced me with deepened concern, patting my knee to offer some comfort. 

“Everything will be okay, Grandma.” I believed it because I had to. I believed it because I couldn’t stomach how Grandma was looking at me (like she had in her dining room). “My group members found out about Mom and Donghae, so they’re wearing black to express how sad it is that they’re not together.”

While Grandma blinked, eyebrows gathering together, and Lucas disappeared into my closet again, I repeated something that Kyungsoo said when I confided in him under Christmas lights. “For some people—” I thought of Lucas and Mark— “this is kind of like their first heartbreak, even if it isn’t really theirs. This demonstration may seem a little goofy to us, but—”

Maybe Mom and Donghae represented a fate that sort of awaited all of us as idols. Maybe the others were mourning what we already knew, what we didn’t like to acknowledge: we couldn’t love out loud. Many of our loves were worse than unrequited; they were unexpressed or unexplored because— how can you fall in love when someone’s always watching?

Maybe the others found their reflection in Mom and Donghae. Maybe that’s what empathy is. 

I guess Grandma didn’t need me to explain that. Before I could even try, she was running to the door, saying, “I guess I better go change then!” I was a little disappointed; I liked Grandma’s and Yesung’s tradition of wearing ugly Christmas sweaters. 

Perhaps feeling victorious at having gathered another person to his cause, Lucas emerged from my closet wearing a broad smile. I couldn’t be relieved to see his joyful expression because my eyes fell on the dress he was carrying. 

It wasn’t black. It was red. The dress I wore to Donghae’s party. 

“Lucas!” My breath caught in my throat as I sat, uncomfortably uptight, on the edge of my bed. “We have to burn that shit! It has bad juju!”

That was what I had been wearing the last time I saw Donghae— “maybe ever!” the dramatic voice in the back of my mind, which sounded too much like Lucas, screamed. That’s what I had been wearing when Donghae forced his way past Heechul into the house to confront Mom. That’s what I had been wearing when I ran up the stairs, away from their argument. That’s what I had been wearing when Mom yelled the world-reforming truth that she was the idol who never debuted. 

I didn’t want to know what terrible fate would befall the Christmas party if I wore that cursed dress.

But Lucas shook his head and argued, “This is what you wore when you found Taemin in your garden!”

Although I must have thought this once, twice, or every night on tour when I fell asleep in his arms, I was winded by the realization that what I considered the worst night of my life doubled as the beginning of a beautiful chapter: the time when Taemin and I were in love. 

So I wore that red dress. Not because Lucas thought it would bring Mom and Donghae together the way it brought me and Taemin together. Not because Lucas reasoned with a smirk, “You looked hot in this! And nobody really got to appreciate it because you left Donghae’s party early!” But because I wanted to see if it still fit. 

I don’t mean that literally. I hadn’t drastically gained weight during those two months of touring in America or anything. I just felt so different than I had been the last time I wore that dress. Wearing it again seemed like a good way to measure my growth. 

When I looked in the mirror, though, I didn’t look all that different. My hair was still short. Lucas had gone with me to get it trimmed before meeting Kyungsoo at the Mall. My eyes were still as wide and childlike as they had been when I debuted. My cheeks— almost permanently full and rosy— still gave me the appearance of someone wandering between childhood and adulthood. 

But there was no longer anything forced in my smile, painted with ruby lipstick. My hands were not balled into resigned fists pinned at my sides. I was not at all anxious about having people from work— the members of SuperM— in my home for a party as I had been every year prior. I was different, even if I couldn’t see it. 

I wasn’t willing to look back on the past 21 years of my life and decide that I had never known happiness. There was something in me that refused to attribute this warmth in my chest— this total internal transformation— to Taemin. Maybe I was afraid that by doing so, I would give him the power to take that warmth away with him if ever he left my side. 

No. I wasn’t afraid of Taemin. I wasn’t afraid of the rising sun. It was impossible to deny that the seeds of self-discovery and self-love had been planted the night of Donghae’s party. They had been planted that night I watched the moon in the garden. I just didn’t know who was more responsible for changing me— Mom by giving me the truth or Taemin by giving me his love. 

But I don’t know that it really matters. What matters is that there was no room in my heart to mourn what could have been. Maybe this made me selfish (or maybe it didn’t), but I was too happy with what was to despair on behalf of Mom and Donghae. 

I let my guard down— no, I allowed Taemin to break my guard down, and he did it carefully and quickly and painlessly— and maybe that’s why I was so hurt by what happened at the party. Then again, maybe I would have been hurt even with all of my defenses in place. Who knows? 

Super Junior was a constant in my life, and they proved it by attending the Christmas party yearly.  When I descended the staircase, I smiled at the fact that the first floor of my home was filled mostly by chaotic uncles who would drop everything to try to make me laugh. 

In the kitchen, Shindong and Leeteuk were constructing a gingerbread village. Although their only audience was Lucas and Mark— wearing their black suits— Leeteuk narrated every action as if he were starring in an international broadcast. 

Yesung, Kyuhyun, and Siwon monopolized the karaoke machine in the living room. They performed for Ten and Taeyong, who sat on opposite ends of a couch. Ten must have been angry because Taeyong wore a glittering red jacket that distracted from SuperM’s public mourning. 

As usual, Heechul was late. I’m not sure whether I was supposed to hope Donghae and Eunhyuk would arrive with him, but I held that hope quietly in the corner of my mind.

I hadn’t found Mom, Taemin, Kai, or Baekhyun before Siwon abandoned his duet with Kyuhyun— a comedic rendition of “Baby It’s Cold Outside”—  to chase me. Longer than Lucas, Siwon lived to ruin my hair. 

“Merry Christmas!” Siwon cheered in my ear before Kyuhyun and Yesung screamed for him to return to the living room. 

As soon as Siwon turned away, I ran to hide in the corner of the dining room with Ryeowook (Wookie) and Grandma, who were giggling about who knows what over their fragile cups of tea. 

“Here, Lei.” Wookie beamed as he lifted the teapot— adorned with carefully painted red roses— to pour into the smallest cup, which he handed to me. My heart swelled at this familiar scene from my childhood when Wookie delicately clinked his cup against mine, winking as he extended his pinky. 

While I smiled into my drink, Wookie asked, “So how are you? Did you have the time of your life in America?”

“Yeah,” Grandma chimed, setting her cup onto its saucer. “Did anything fun happen in America?”

Grandma didn’t have to say anything specific to remind me of her earlier fascination with Taemin. She only wiggled her eyebrows, and I laughed so hard that tea shot out of my nose, leaving my face burning with each breath long after I put the cup down on the table. 

Surprised, confused, and amused by my onslaught of giggles and Grandma’s all-knowing chuckles, Wookie’s gaze flickered between us. He smiled politely. “I’ll go get napkins.”

But before Wookie could stand, Grandma shook her head. “No need.” 

There was most certainly a need, I wanted to argue as the warm beverage trailed down my chin. I bit my tongue, however, when (after following Grandma’s gaze) I saw that Taemin was filling the doorway bridging the dining room to the kitchen. 

I don’t know if I was more embarrassed by the fact that Taemin had apparently watched me snort tea or how goofily he danced over to me as Siwon’s and Kyuhyun’s duet started from the top. My heart fluttered so violently at the first sight of Taemin since returning home that I could barely stand looking at him. Still, I definitely couldn’t stand looking away. 

After gratefully accepting a napkin to wipe my face, careful not to smear my makeup, I couldn’t stop staring at Taemin. Admiring him. Trying to commit every detail of him to memory. Like the other members of SuperM, most of Taemin’s attire was black except for his festive red suspenders and matching tie. 

“Look!” Taemin giggled and leaned over my chair to drape his tie over the sleeve of my dress. “We match!”

As if we were back in one of our rooms in America, as if Grandma and Wookie weren’t watching us (after sharing a glance and taking long sips of tea)— Taemin pursed his lips and ran his thumb over my earring, a simple silver moon. “This is pretty.”

Blushing at the sensation of his breath against my skin, I mumbled, “I’m glad you think so.”

Was it really okay for him to be so close to me? We were among family— or at least I was— but I felt more embarrassed than I imagined I might have felt in a room full of strangers. All those years, I liked to remind people that I wasn’t a child; yet, I shrank at the thought of Wookie or Grandma or anybody else that I had known since youth seeing me as an adult. 

Before Taemin could show me any more affection and darken my blush, Yesung walked in from the living room, arms outstretched and expecting a hug. Perhaps flinching away from Taemin, I ran to greet Yesung, smiling. 

“Merry Christmas, Yesung! Have I ever told you that you’re my favorite?” 

“Only every day since we met!” Yesung smiled and patted my arm. He had always been receptive to that kind of praise. 

When I turned toward the table, not quite ready to return to my seat, Taemin had already settled into it. Maybe he had already introduced himself to Grandma. 

Yesung was asking if I remembered how I used to fight with other Super Junior members if they so much as looked at him the wrong way— as if I wouldn’t still throw punches on his behalf— when Grandma reached across the table to run her fingers along the ribbon tied to Taemin’s wrist. The sky blue didn’t quite match his red and black ensemble, so it stood out more than ever. 

Ever the charmer, Taemin placed his hand over Grandma’s and gave her a dazzling smile. With their eyes, they shared a conversation that I couldn’t quite understand until Taemin chirped, “It was a gift.”

My heart swelled with affection when Taemin met my eyes. I don’t know what I would have done— maybe I would have exploded from joy— had Yesung not distracted me by saying, “I got you the best present, Lei! Why don’t you go get it from under the tree?”

Wookie encouraged, “Go get my gift too, Lei!”

Wookie could have deceived me with his smile, but I gathered from how Yesung fixed narrowed eyes on Taemin that they caught on to our relationship. Whatever they had to say to him (probably the same speech they gave Lucas years ago when we first met) couldn’t have been said in front of me. 

I knew better than to try (and fail) to talk Yesung out of protective mode, so I nodded and obediently walked to the Christmas tree where I found Baekhyun plucking candy canes from the branches. 

“Oh!” He smiled brightly, the lights reflecting in his eyes. “Is it time for presents already?”

“Baekhyun!” Taking his suddenly black tresses between my fingers, I cried, “What did you do to your hair?” I shouldn’t have been shocked. We changed our hair all the time. 

“You don’t like it?” Baekhyun pouted and plucked a candy cane from his mouth. “Well, I guess I can’t do everything to impress you, Lei. This is a part of my mourning exercises.” 

Before I could respond, Baekhyun offered me one of his candy canes. “Here. I’ll give you your real gift when Sehun gets here.” 

“Sehun?” My heart dropped. I opened my mouth to complain that I didn’t want Sehun to come or, at least, to ask why he would show up without an invitation, but a knock sounded at the door. 

Baekhyun advised, turning back to the tree as he stuffed the peppermint back into his mouth, “You probably wanna get that, hm?”

Beyond words, I was grateful to Baekhyun for warning me of what I would find behind the door: Oh Sehun wearing an all-black suit and carrying two presents. It was probably a little rude to greet him with the question, “What are you doing here?” but I couldn’t keep the words from falling out of my mouth. 

Sehun rolled his eyes. “Merry Christmas to you too.”

 Our unity against Baekhyun had dissolved. Leaning against the door frame, frowning at the line that formed between Sehun’s eyebrows, I guessed I was disappointed. 

“Would you let me in, please? It’s freezing out here!”

Snowflakes were falling all around him. If he weren’t already on my nerves— if he could just smile instead of scowling— the sight would have been worthy of a photograph. 

Realizing that I wouldn’t stand aside until he answered my question, Sehun admitted, voice a puff of white air in the winter night, “I’m here to represent Donghae and Eunhyuk, not because I want to spend Christmas arguing with you—”

Oh. So Donghae wasn’t coming after all. So this would be the first Christmas that we wouldn’t drink hot chocolate together or make a snowman family in the front yard or watch Christmas movies until I fell asleep on the couch. 

Oh. Tears gathered in my eyes, knowing that this crumbling, heart-stopping knowledge that life was different— and not only in good ways— occurred to Donghae when Mom was absent from his party. 

Oh. So that’s why Donghae had been able to justify pushing past Heechul and calling me in the middle of the night to talk to Mom. He was either trying to turn time back to the days we knew were happy or forward to the days when he and Mom could be together. It was impossible. Fruitless. But I didn’t fault him for trying. 

Trying to swallow the lump in my throat, wiping my eyes as I stood aside for Sehun to enter with his bad news, I think he tried to apologize. I’m not sure because I was too focused on Baekhyun, who appeared before me, smiling brightly with that candy cane still dangling out of his mouth and muffling his voice. 

 “Come on, Lei.” He nodded down to the gifts in his hands. “Yesung, Ryeowook, and I want you to open your presents.”

Thinking only that I had to find Mom to tell her gently that Donghae wasn’t coming (if she didn’t already know), I shook my head, but Baekhyun forced the brightly wrapped packages into my arms. He slung an arm around my shoulders and ushered me away from Sehun, into the dining room.

I was only slightly relieved that Sehun didn’t follow. 

The smiles Grandma, Taemin, Wookie, and Yesung greeted me with faltered when they noticed the look on my face. I hadn’t found my smile yet, even with Baekhyun playfully nudging me in the ribs. 

Rising from his seat with hands balled into fists, Yesung demanded, “What’s wrong?”

I shook my head and forced a smile. “Nothing—” My gaze drifted out the window— “it’s just— snow makes me cry.” 

The lie wasn’t especially convincing, but at least Yesung sat down. 

I sat only when Taemin stood, poorly masking his concern, to offer the seat he had stolen earlier. Rather than relocating to one of the many empty chairs, Taemin remained behind me, leaning against the back of my chair to watch me open the first gift Baekhyun dropped onto my lap. I kind of grinned, realizing that whatever Yesung and Wookie said hadn’t scared Taemin away. 

To me, it seemed awkward that so many people watched as I peeled back the green wrapping on Wookie’s gift, but I guess that people watching me was just business as usual. Mark and Lucas— bonding in their shared grief— walked in from the kitchen, asking,  “When was somebody gonna tell us it was time to watch Lei open presents?”

Feeling like I was trapped in a bizarre nightmare, I blinked until my eyes settled on Wookie’s gift: a beautiful blue teacup ornament. My fingers traced along the painted flower petals, cold to the touch. Wookie met my tear-filled expression with a smile that made my heart swell. Everyone— most loudly, Yesung and Baekhyun— cooed when I wiped my eyes and muttered my thanks. 

Pointing at the big box wrapped in bright red paper, Yesung instructed, “Open mine next!” Before I had even pulled out each record— one by Tiffany, one by Britney Spears, and one by the Backstreet Boys— Yesung said, “Don’t let me forget to send you the videos I got of each artist signing those and talking about how much they love your music!”

I wasn’t quite shocked because Yesung always got the best gifts, but I was beyond flattered that he had gone to such lengths to make me smile. As I beamed at Yesung, the ache in my chest caused by Donghae’s absence subsiding first with Wookie’s smile and then with Yesung’s enthusiastic thumbs up, Mark mumbled to Lucas, “Does this mean that my gift for Lei’s debut anniversary has finally been outdone?”

Lucas shrugged, grinning. “It’s hard to tell. Lei loves Jaemin—” Taemin breathed heavily behind me, and I shorted at the memory of his tantrum— “but Nick Carter, one of the Backstreet Boys, is like Lei’s ultimate pop icon crush.”

Taemin sat on the arm of my chair to admire my gifts— especially the album signed by Nick Carter— and Baekhyun yelled, “Where the hell is Sehun? I want you—” Looking at me, he chewed through the remainder of his candy cane— “to open our gift now!”

Summoned either by his name, or the dread swelling in my gut, or the rolling of my eyes, Sehun walked in from the kitchen. “Lei—” 

Sehun’s smirk faltered as his eyes fell on Taemin, whose shoulder was flush against mine.

For years, I dreamed of wiping the smirk from his face; then, once I learned how to, I tried to use my new power sparingly. That moment when Sehun forced his eyes away from Taemin to look at me, something very much like pain darkening his eyes, I squirmed at the thought that maybe he really did like me. 

Maybe it had been a game at the start. Maybe I had just been something fun to chase and tease. But to some degree, his feelings must have been sincere. Otherwise, a faint blush wouldn’t have painted his cheeks. He wouldn’t have had to swallow some lump in his throat before forcing himself to continue, “Don’t thank me too much if you like this.” 

Sehun snatched the silver-wrapped box from Baekhyun and forced it into my hands without meeting my eyes. “Baekhyun paid for half of it, so make sure you thank him too.” 

Knowing that Baekhyun and Sehun had joined forces had me on edge before this weird tension wedged between me and Sehun. I guess there had always been some tension between us; when I thought about it, I couldn’t clearly remember a moment that we had gotten along. I guess his sudden refusal or inability to look at me was just the fulfillment of years of— of whatever we were doing. 

I hated Sehun for ruining Christmas before he stood outside my door to say that Donghae wasn’t coming. I hated Sehun for staring down at the gift like that, lips tight in a frown. Except I guess I didn’t really hate him. Nobody wishes for someone they hate to just smile already. 

Taemin, still sitting on the arm of my chair, almost sitting in my lap, draped an arm around my shoulder. With a gentle smile and a nod, he reminded me to open the gift. 

It was an intricately woven mistletoe crown. A dreaded memory buried too deep, too terrible to describe— the memory some part of me relived whenever Sehun looked at me and teased me— rose to the surface of my mind and stained my face scarlet. 

I glared at Sehun, wondering why the hell he would get me something like that, but he didn’t notice. His widened eyes were fixed on the crown. He didn’t blink. Evidently, Baekhyun had been the brains behind this operation, and Sehun had only funded it. 

Again, we were united in annoyance toward Baekhyun. I wasn’t even happy about that because it had never been clearer to me that Sehun and I— whatever we were— were not friends. 

When I tore my burning eyes away from Sehun, unsure of what to say, I caught the briefest glimpse of Mom dropping something onto the kitchen counter, gasping, before running up the stairs. It always amazed me how quickly she could move in those heels without tripping over the hem of her pantsuit— this time a deep shade of green. 

This time, I was stunned by the realization that nobody had been with her in the kitchen. Everyone was either too busy singing and laughing in the living room or watching me open presents. Mom was alone. Always alone. 

Cursing Heechul for being late, I started to rise to my feet only to be immobilized by Taemin’s voice. “Oh,” he hummed into my ear as he lifted the mistletoe from its box. “It’s like a little wreath. Pretty.”

In Taemin’s hands, I thought as he admired the mistletoe, perhaps unaware that I was admiring him, it was pretty. 

Skipping over and snatching the mistletoe from Taemin to drop it onto my head unceremoniously, Baekhyun corrected, “It’s a crown!”

I’m not sure what led Sehun to try to kiss me, but I believe that Baekhyun must have instigated it because everything is a joke to them. 

One second, I was stealing indiscreet glances into the kitchen, wondering what Mom had dropped onto the counter and why it made her gasp, wondering how I would comfort her if it was related to Donghae (as I suspected) when some invisible force struck my heart and filled my eyes with tears every time I thought of him. The next, I was flinching as Lucas screamed “No!” and Sehun’s puckered lips inched closer to mine, agape in utter shock. 

Taemin yanked my chair back so quickly that I thought I was going to tumble face-first onto the hardwood floor. The room erupted into shrieks and giggles— the giggles belonging mostly to Mark and Baekhyun— as Taemin wedged his face between mine and Sehun’s. 

I don’t know why Taemin decided to intercept Sehun’s kiss when he could have just kissed me. On the one hand, I was grateful that our first kiss wouldn’t be the punchline to Baekhyun’s stupid mistletoe joke gift. Still, as I walked away, my entire being burned with annoyance— no, numb anger— that Sehun stole my first kiss.

From the kitchen, I heard Sehun’s gagging, Taemin’s goofy gasping laughter, Baekhyun’s maniacal cackling, and Yesung’s roar, “What the hell is going on around here?”

Maybe I could have found the humor in the situation had I not first found what Mom abandoned on the counter, still messy from crumbs, candy, and frosting that built Shindong’s and Leeteuk’s gingerbread village: a photograph of all of us— me, Mom, and Super Junior— shortly after Kyuhyun’s addition to the group. 

It must have been Donghae’s birthday. We all wore party hats while he wore an obnoxiously large pin that read: Birthday Boy. The picture must have been taken before Donghae’s annual confession; everyone was smiling, even Mom (who usually preferred a closed mouth half-grin). We all looked so young, especially me, wearing a ruffly blue dress, holding a teacup that matched Wookie’s, standing between Mom and Donghae, and staring at Yesung instead of whoever held the camera. 

My heart bled with the realization that we would never live in that moment again. It was in the past. And I don’t know that any of us appreciated it enough when it was our present. 

Once, I read that you only appreciate the value of a moment once it is a memory. That’s the kind of sentiment that I want to disagree with. The fear that it may be true inspired me to try to form myself into a person who seizes the day, who lives for right now, but I can’t quite do it. I can’t quite disagree with the truth. 

Let me be clear: there was never a day that I didn’t love Donghae. Never a day since he greeted me that first time with his warm smile (until those short-lived days of discomfort) that I hadn’t associated Donghae with fondness and security. Yet, I had never thought clearly or deeply about him— I hadn’t really seen him until I noticed his absence, until I felt him drifting away. 

I hate that this is the truth: I never knew how much I loved Donghae until I couldn’t call to tell him. 

It didn’t matter if he already knew. It didn’t matter that I would have gotten too shy or scared or embarrassed to tell him everything. It didn’t matter that I would always hold something back. I climbed the stairs, heavy with regret, clutching the picture frame against my chest. 

I wasn’t crying, I think, because some part of me expected to find Mom sobbing on her bed, face pressed into a pillow. The light was off, and I didn’t dare illuminate what I didn’t want to see— what I heard well enough. Stiff, silent, and awkward, I sat on the edge of the bed, tracing my fingertips along the elegant pattern on Mom’s silky pink comforter.

Of course, I knew that I couldn’t bring the photograph back to life. I knew that there was no merit in dreaming of turning back the hands of time, but I couldn’t shake the thought that if I could go back, I could lessen these present-tense pains. It didn’t make sense. 

How might things have been different had I known at age six or seven that Mom was a former trainee? Would I have looked at Donghae differently if I had known all that time that he wanted Mom to be in love with him? Had I known, would I have made all the decisions and formed all the relationships that led me to Taemin in the garden under the moonlight? 

I didn’t know. I don’t know. 

There was immense discomfort in realizing that I could never know. There was discomfort in believing, even as my mother moved to sob in my lap, that this was still the best version of the universe because this was where Taemin loved me. 

There was something bittersweet in accepting that even if this wasn’t the best timeline, even if this wasn’t the best reality, we couldn’t choose where we were born. I hadn’t chosen for life to be this way. There was nothing I could do to change our circumstances; we would have to learn to be happy because of or despite them. 

Mom said, “I understand that he—” I understood ‘he’ to mean Donghae— “doesn’t want to see me anymore. Outside of work, that’s his right.” Sitting upright, Mom revealed a small handwritten note in her palm. “But did he really have to send Sehun over here with that picture I gave him for his birthday and this note?”

Initially, my eyes fixated on the red thread bracelet on her wrist, trailing down closer to her elbow. I had never seen it (or anything like it) before. Swallowing the desire to ask where she had gotten the bracelet, I took the note and squinted to read the scrawled writing in the dark. 

It’s cruelty was simple. “Choose.”

My brow quivered. Choose what? To be with Donghae or not to be? It seemed to me that Mom made her choice. Regardless of some unspoken attraction to Donghae, she had chosen for fifteen years not to pursue that relationship. 

Maybe I just didn’t understand what might compel someone to beg for love, but I thought that at this point, Donghae was prolonging everyone’s misery. Maybe he just couldn’t imagine how difficult it was for Mom to reject him. Maybe the line between sorrow and anger, for me, had become too blurred in the recent chaos. 

I was overwhelmed by empathy for Donghae and for Mom. While I couldn’t divorce what I felt for one from what I felt for the other, I would have exploded from acknowledging both at the same time. Maybe because she was the one I understood better, maybe because she was the one crying before me, maybe because she had been with me longer, or maybe just because she was my Mom, the protective rage I felt on her behalf in that moment overshadowed every other emotion I had experienced in my entire life. 

I would have had to leave even if she hadn’t calmly instructed, “Go back to the party, Lei. Go have fun with your friends.” Maybe it’s selfish that I couldn’t work through my discomfort to be with her, but I couldn’t stand Mom’s tears. 

Even with her permission, I couldn’t quite move. I couldn’t quite leave her until she laid back on her pillow and added, “I just need some time alone to collect myself. I’ll be down soon.” 

Spurred by her encouragement, I left Mom’s room, but I didn’t return to the party. Clenching that stupid note in my fist, crinkling the lettering beyond recognition, and carrying the picture frame down at my side, I stormed into my bedroom. 

With little consideration of the fact that glass breaks, I slammed the picture face down onto the vanity that once housed the ribbon now donned on Taemin’s wrist. It’s only though some miracle that the metal frame didn’t shatter the mirror. 

The glass from the picture frame littered the vanity, crystallized around the vase of flowers Taemin gave me for my debut anniversary (where I had also placed his wilting rose from the garden), spilled onto the pale hardwood floor. I couldn’t even care because all I saw was Donghae’s smiling poster. All I knew was that I couldn’t have that anymore, couldn’t look at it anymore, couldn’t let it look at me for another second. 

A part of me that wasn’t satisfied with having destroyed only the picture frame wanted to rip the poster straight down the middle. It was only the tiniest fragment of my mind, but it was so loud that I—

I almost couldn’t hear that most of me sobbed at having shattered something so fragile and precious in a fit of rage, no matter how justified. Most of me wanted to run back to the vanity and try in vain to fit the pieces of glass back together, knowing well that it would never work— the frame would never be whole again, and I would only stain the photograph red with my blood. I just wanted to try to fix it because nobody wants to believe that they have broken something beyond repair. 

I didn’t race to the vanity, though. Trying (and failing) to steady my trembling hands, I plucked from the sky-blue painted walls each pin supporting Donghae’s poster. Although I let the pins hit the floor, I caught the poster in my arms just as Taemin filled the doorway behind me and asked, “Why are you taking Donghae’s poster down?”

It wasn’t the first time Taemin saw me cry. Objectively, that night wasn’t any worse than the night in the garden. This time, I wasn’t falling apart. Maybe you can’t fall apart once you know who you are. 

When Taemin walked into my room and sat on my bed, looking at me with concern that more closely resembled the curiosity he always reserved for me, I couldn’t quite meet his eyes. 

Holding the poster out to him because I didn’t know what to do with it anymore, I explained that it was my first Christmas without Donghae, who returned an old photograph of us with that note I left crumbled on my vanity. 

I mumbled, covering my eyes with my hands, “It just hurts to look at him. I don’t want to think about these painful things while looking at him. I don’t want—”

Through my shallow sobs, I couldn't explain that I didn't want the actions of Donghae today to define the Donghae of yesterday, of every day past. Maybe I didn’t know the words to describe my fear that these feelings of rage, bewilderment, and the all-encompassing sense of having been abandoned by another father would permanently taint what I hoped beyond all hopes could be salvaged. 

After folding the poster and laying it gently against my pillow, Taemin crossed the distance between us, enveloped me in his arms, and promised again and again— until the words almost lost all meaning— “It will be okay. Everything will be okay.” 

I wanted to believe Taemin and feel content to stay in his arms, but I had to do something with the rage bubbling in my gut. I couldn’t express that I was tired of waiting for the day when everything would feel okay. Apologizing, I untangled myself from his arms and barreled down the stairs into the party that was as jovial as it had been when Mom first left to mend her own broken heart. 

The goal had been to find Lucas. Feeling better always started with Lucas. 

The problem was that I found Sehun first, back pressed to the wall separating the dining room from the living room. 

My intentions hadn’t been confrontational or argumentative at first. Figuring that Sehun already knew about Donghae’s gifts as the person who brought them, I thought it was convenient that I wouldn’t have to explain much of the story. Besides, if my temper got the best of me, I didn’t mind having Sehun as a witness; I didn’t care what he thought of me. 

Maybe I believed that a tantrum wouldn’t hurt him. Maybe, at least in that moment, I didn’t care if I hurt him because— I acknowledged, glare hardening  as he looked at me— Sehun helped hurt Mom. 

Quietly, hoping not to attract attention, I said, “I need to talk to you.” 

Sehun blinked at me. If he saw that I was upset and had any desire to comfort me, he didn’t act like it. Crossing his arms over his chest, he mumbled, “What’s wrong with you? Can’t find your boyfriend?”

My face burned. “I don’t have time for your games.” Aware that people— namely, Baekhyun, from his place on the couch— were watching us, purely wanting to take the conversation somewhere a little more private, I grabbed around Sehun’s black tie and pulled him out the front door. 

The comfort provided by his lack of protest was short lived. The moment I closed the door, shutting us out in the cold nighttime snowfall on the front porch, Sehun tsked, “Your boyfriend really isn’t gonna like that, Lei. You’re a little new to love, so I’ll give you a tip: Don’t grab other guys by the tie.” 

I rolled my eyes as Sehun straightened his tie, and, although it was none of his business, I argued, “Taemin is not—”

“Ah,” Sehun wagged a mocking ginger, “I never said a name. You did. So there is something going on there. God—” he shouted at the sky so loudly that anyone in the house could have heard— “I thought you would only look at me like that!”

I gasped at Sehun’s allegation that I had ever felt anything toward him that compared to my love for Taemin.

Maybe— maybe if you promise never to tell anyone, I’ll admit that once upon a time, Sehun made my heart flutter in a way that didn’t make me want to slap him across the face. Maybe I’ll admit in a quiet whisper that over years, he had broken my heart little by little until the Christmas party two years ago when he shattered every illusion I ever harbored about him and dating and boys in general under the stupid mistletoe in a corner of my mother’s house. 

Sometimes, I almost convinced myself that Sehun never meant to hurt me. That almost helped me look at him. Often, I tried to believe that the Sehun under the mistletoe wasn’t the Sehun before me, but Sehun (present-tense) was raising his eyebrows, provoking me further on a night when I needed nothing other than a friend. Sehun then was the same person who hurt me on Christmas with little effort. 

At once crumbling under the weight of the mistletoe crown I had forgotten was on my head, I snatched it off, eyes watering at the sharp pain of it yanking at my hair. Tossing the crown onto the rocking chair in the corner of the porch, I wondered what good I imagined would come from leaving sweet, loving Taemin in my bedroom. 

I wondered what good I imagined would come from talking to Sehun, who remarked, “I guess you’ve really grown up then, huh?” 

His smirk annoyed me. “I wish you would,” I muttered, unable to look at him for more than a second at a time. “Really, I wish you hadn’t even come.” 

It wasn’t fair. I dragged him outside. What did I expect him to say or do to make things better? What right did I have to lose my temper when I should have known he would do little other than tease me? Stupid. I never should have left my room. 

Reaching out for my arm, Sehun argued, “You don’t mean that. You love seeing—”

His touch ignited my anger, temporarily numbing my sympathy for him. Wrenching my arm out of his grasp, I tried to burn Sehun with my gaze. “No, I don’t.” He shrank back, furrowed his brow, and I swallowed my remorse to bark, “It’s one thing to tease me. I don’t like it, but I don’t really expect much else from you. One day, I won’t give a shit what you say. And until then— well— I guess I’ve never been able to stay mad even though you make a fool of me again and again. But I will never forgive you for what you’ve done today.”

When I turned away and reached for the frozen doorknob, wincing as its chill bit through my fingertips, Sehun grabbed me again. He spun me around and lowered his face so it was level with mine, so I couldn’t look away as he asked, “What is wrong with you?”

For a second, or maybe less, I thought he was being serious until he continued, “Are you mad because your boyfriend kissed me? I didn’t ask him to or anything, so—”

“Is everything a joke to you?” There were no traces of humor in Sehun’s features, but I asked anyway. “Why the hell would I care if Taemin kisses you?”

Sighing as I swatted his hands away, Sehun shrugged and stuffed his hands into his pants’ pockets. “I don’t know. You shouldn’t be upset. You were a much better—”

“You’re a real jerk, you know that?” Too furious to stomach looking at him, yet too furious to look away, I stared right into Sehun’s eyes, repulsed by his poorly stifled chuckle as I challenged, “It’s not enough that you ruined Mom’s night, so now you’re bringing up how you ruined my Christmas a couple years ago?”

Sehun stuttered, “I— I ruined—” He coughed. “What’s wrong with your mom?” Genuine concern flickered through Sehun’s eyes before he claimed, “I didn’t do anything to—”

“Oh, no, you just delivered the cruelest gift on Donghae’s behalf, right? Because you can’t resist the opportunity to make me miserable—”

“You’re right!” Sehun’s face flushed red. “My entire world revolves around you! I only came here tonight because I wanted to see you! God only knows why when you always treat me like dirt under your shoes.”

Of course I didn’t quite believe him, but Sehun never looked like a liar. He never sounded like a liar. There was some part of me that had existed for years that always wanted to believe him. 

Dropping his hold on me, Sehun huffed, “Maybe if I’d known that Taemin would be hanging all over you like a lovesick puppy or some shit—”

I spoke through my teeth. “Stop talking about Taemin.” 

Sehun cut his eyes from me and ran a rough hand through his hair. “Whatever. Keep denying that there’s something going on with him—”

“What do you want from me, Sehun?”

Did he want me to tell him about the ribbon and the night and the garden and all the nights on tour? Too bad. I would never trust him with anything so fragile and precious and dear to my heart. It was mine, and he couldn’t have it. I would never let him have it. 

Sehun returned the question to me. “What do you want from me, Lei? Do you want me to apologize for kissing you two years ago? Because I won’t. Should I say that I’m sorry for giving your mom gifts from my friend when I didn’t even know what they were?”

I opened my mouth to say that I wasn’t very interested in hearing what he had to say, but Sehun spoke instead. “Without even telling you, I’ve done so much for you. I’ve carried and guarded so many secrets for you, and you just— I don’t expect you to thank me, but would it kill you to just—”

When Sehun stopped abruptly, I followed his gaze to find that Baekhyun had drawn the blinds to watch us through the window from his place on the couch. Our eyes met. Baekhyun looked away first. 

“Whatever,” Sehun grumbled. 

Before I could think of anything to say, before I could embrace or deny the burning urge to apologize, Heechul brushed by me to walk inside, I assumed, to find and comfort Mom. I would have followed Heechul inside to escape the fight that had gone too far even if Sehun hadn’t started the walk to his car first. 

Sehun must have taken the mistletoe crown with him; it wasn’t on the rocking chair when I searched for it in the dark. 

Lucas wrapped me in a bone crushing hug as soon as I walked in from the late night chill. He only released me when I promised, “I’m okay. I’m fine. I just really want to talk to Taemin.” Although Lucas could have teased me, he only nodded and nudged me toward the stairs. 

Baekhyun, the only person I thought knew about my argument with Sehun, didn’t say anything. He didn’t even glance up at me from the popcorn garland (that I made with Lucas that morning) that he was eating one piece at a time. If I imagined that Baekhyun could be sad, that’s what I imagined he would look like: eyes downcast, lips puckered into a boyish little pout, cheeks flushed. Had I been well enough to talk, I would have asked what was wrong. 

At the base of the stairs, where Kai and Wookie excitedly discussed their favorite holiday songs, I discarded my red heels. Before either of them— or any of the others at the still thriving party— could notice me, I dashed up to my room, shoes in hand. 

I don’t know how I knew that I would find Taemin there, sweeping the glass shards around the vanity into a small trash bin. Still standing by the door after I closed it with a soft click, after dropping my shoes onto the floor, I eagerly broke the silence. “I’m sorry I left you here to clean my mess.”

Glancing at the cleaned and reorganized vanity, I saw that he left the folded Donghae poster under the photograph on the same corner where the ribbon had once been. I could only hope that their color wouldn’t fade, that they wouldn’t collect dust for long. 

Taemin lightly kicked the bin under the vanity and walked to me. In both warm hands, he cupped my cheeks, and it wasn’t until I looked into his eyes— kind and comforting and sparkling although the only light in my room was the moon’s rays flooding in through the window behind him— that I realized I was crying. 

Wiping the tears, Taemin promised, “I’ll always be here to help you clean your messes. That’s nothing to apologize for. It’s okay if you run off and take whatever space you need because I’ll always be here when you come back.” 

I wrapped my arms around Taemin’s waist and pulled him against me. I hesitated to press my face against his chest because I didn’t want to stain his clothes with my makeup. There was little room to resist, however, when he drew me closer to his heartbeat, gently combing a hand through my hair. 

As if it would make everything better, I said, “I love you.” Taemin probably would have said that he loved me had I not continued, “I really don’t want to go back down to the party.” I didn’t care if I was being cowardly. 

“Okay,” Taemin agreed, “then we won’t.” 

I hadn’t expected him to stay with me when he could have been downstairs laughing with Kai, but I wouldn’t say anything to convince him to go. Maybe I didn’t need Taemin, but I wanted him. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Taemin asked once we were seated side by side on my bed (which was much bigger than any of our tiny hotel beds), atop a light blue quilt I had owned my entire life. 

Glancing away from Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, playing on the television mounted on the wall, I met Taemin’s careful gaze and shook my head. “Not really. The last time I tried to talk about this, Sehun and I yelled at each other and traumatized Baekhyun.”

“I’m not going to yell at you,” Taemin said quietly, as if to demonstrate his benevolence. Looking around the room, he joked, “And there’s no Baekhyun in sight!”

Smiling vaguely— and then biting on my lips because smiling didn’t seem right— I admitted, “Aside from all of the Donghae drama, I feel bad for taking my frustration out on Sehun, even though he was being annoying.”

“I don’t think Sehun would have a hard time forgiving you if you apologize.” Taemin disconnected my phone from its charger and handed it to me. When I only accepted it quietly, Taemin added, “I’m not saying that I think you have to apologize. It’s just— if you’re sorry—”

Taemin didn’t even have to know the full context of the argument; he encouraged me to apologize to Sehun only because he thought it would lessen my burden. He thought it would make me feel better. 

“Later,” I decided and laid my phone face down on the nightstand. I wasn’t quite ready to face my actions just yet. And, as I told Taemin, “I just want to be with you right now.” 

With a nod, Taemin swallowed his concern. Smiling like a child, he pointed at the small white-wrapped gift on the nightstand and asked, “What’s that?”

Once I grabbed the gift, I held it out to Taemin, giggling at his wide-eyed expression. “If you don’t like it—” Taemin shook his head, hair flopping as he accepted the present— “then I’ll be more than happy to keep it!”

The enthusiastic shaking of Taemin’s head stopped only as he admired the opened gift. “Does this—” He tucked my hair behind my ear and traced his thumb over my crescent moon earring as he had earlier in the dining room. Taemin beamed down at the giftbox and boasted, “This matches yours!”

I blushed as he retracted his hand to fit his new earring into one of his piercings. “Yeah. They’re two halves of a pair. I didn’t know if you’d like it, but—”

Taemin lightly kissed my cheek, dangerously close to my mouth, and swore, “I love it,” so I didn’t bother to explain the thoughts that led me to choose the moon earrings as his gift. Because f the way Taemin smiled at me, it seemed that he already understood. 

He stood and said, “I left your gift downstairs. I’ll be right back!”

Before he even left the room, I knew that I wouldn’t be able to fall asleep without Taemin’s embrace. Considering his frequent requests to come over throughout the week, I expected that Taemin would agree to stay until sunrise if I asked. Thinking only of making Taemin comfortable, I tiptoed down the hall to Lucas’s room in search of pajamas. 

As I passed Mom’s room and found it empty, I sighed in relief, releasing the breath I hadn’t known I was holding. Heechul must have convinced her to return to the party; he was good at that kind of thing. Although I didn’t quite want to join them, I was glad to imagine Mom having fun downstairs. 

When I first ran up the stairs back into Taemin’s arms, a critical part of my mind cursed me for running from the party— for running from Sehun as I always had. However, I decided as I imagined the smile that might settle on Taemin’s face when I asked him to stay, making new memories didn’t count as running. Spending time with Taemin counted as embracing the present, letting go of the past, and looking excitedly toward the future. 

As I emerged from Lucas’s closet, clutching a black t-shirt and gray sweatpants, I was caught. Face dangerously close to mine, Lucas asked, “What are you doing?”

The party must have been raging for nobody to react to my ear-splitting scream or Lucas’s subsequent side-splitting laughter. 

I wheezed, pressing a palm flat over my chest, “You just gave me a heart attack, Lucas! You should really learn to announce yourself.”

“I didn’t realize I had to announce myself in my own room,” Lucas rolled his eyes. His room— as if he hadn’t occupied a guest room. “I came to check on you. When you weren’t in your room, I didn’t expect to find you stealing from my closet!”

“It’s not stealing.” I tried to walk around Lucas, too embarrassed to explain that I was taking his clothes to encourage Taemin to spend the night. “It’s borrowing.” 

Lucas laughed. “Right.” He didn’t block the door; he walked into the hall first, and that allowed him to catch a glimpse of Taemin slipping into my room, gift box in hand. “Oh, I see!” Lucas winked and snorted at my blush. “Tell Taemin he can keep those—” he nodded toward the bundle of clothes in my hands— “if he wants to. He’s pretty sentimental, huh? He’ll want some kind of souvenir of the first time you asked him to spend the night.” 

My face burned as I kicked Lucas toward the stairs, giggling as he reacted with a dramatic cry as he ran a hand over the injury. 

When I returned to my room, I found Taemin sitting on my bed, a small white-wrapped gift sitting in his lap. I sat by his side and gave him the bundle of Lucas’s clothes in exchange for his box. 

“What’s this?” Taemin lowered his head before mine to steal my attention away from his gift. 

“Pajamas,” I forced myself to answer casually, delicately picking at tape. “You know, in case you want to spend the night. Here. With me.” Funny. Until I started talking, I didn’t think that I was nervous. Now, I couldn’t seem to stand the silence. How embarrassing. 

Taemin smiled at my invitation. His smile grew as he noticed my wide-eyed reaction to his gift: a silver crescent moon hanging on a delicate silver chain. 

It’s important to note that Taemin and I hadn’t coordinated our gifts. The only explanation for our matching, I guessed, was that we each associated the other with the moon that watched over us on that first night in the garden. The only explanation was that Taemin and I remembered that night with the same heart fluttering joy. We were on the same page at the same time, and that was rare and beautiful. 

“Here.” Taemin lifted the necklace out of its box with nimble fingers and motioned for me to turn my back to him. After struggling with the clasp for so long that I started giggling (which was mostly a reaction to Taemin’s high pitched whining), he finally secured the necklace around my neck. He placed a light kiss to the nape of my neck before turning me to face him. 

“Thank you,” I said while tracing my fingers along the cold pendant. 

“You’re welcome,” Taemin yawned and wrapped an arm around me. It was a cliche move, I guess, but it was cute enough to make me smile. “I’m kinda tired. Are you sure you don’t wanna go back to the party?”

Accepting my nod, Taemin grabbed Lucas’s clothes and started toward the door, I assumed, to change in the bathroom across the hall. 

“Wait!” I blurted as if what I wanted to say couldn’t wait another minute. Maybe it couldn’t. Maybe I had waited long enough. For a few seconds, I sat on the edge of my bed, gathering Taemin’s giftbox and the wrinkled wrapping paper. I was thankful that he had only stopped in his tracks; he hadn’t turned to face me. I don’t know that I could have looked him in the eyes as I confessed, “I want us to be together.”

“Huh?” Taemin gasped when I threw my arms around his waist, pulled his body against mine, and rose onto the tips of my toes to kiss the nape of his neck— the same place where he had kissed me just moments earlier. 

Taemin turned in my embrace. “I’ll be right back,” he assured, his lips meeting the crown of my head. “I just have to go change, and—”

Taemin cocked his head when I shook mine. “No, I mean—” I was stuttering, too excited to speak properly. I wasn’t quite nervous— or maybe I was; maybe it was anxiety that tied my stomach in knots. “I have to tell you that I love the necklace, and I love you, and I want to be your girlfriend, please.”

There was nothing to be afraid of. Taemin didn’t even search my face for uncertainty— perhaps knowing that he would find none— before giggling and running his hands down the lengths of my arms. “Is that it?” 

I nodded, and Taemin played, “It’s nice that you said ‘please.’ That’s very polite of you.” He must have been excited that I was voluntarily taking this bold step toward him. I wouldn’t have faulted him for teasing me. It didn’t hurt me when he teased me. “I want you to be my girlfriend, too, but not as much as I want to be your boyfriend.” 

He looked at me with raised eyebrows, so I agreed, “You can be my boyfriend, Taemin.” 

Maybe it was a little silly to be so ecstatic about titles when Taemin and I had been together for those few months that felt like forever, but after he left the room, I smiled so widely that my cheeks hurt as I danced into my pajamas. I was still smiling as I leaped onto the bed, eagerly awaiting the moment when Taemin would fill the space beside me— this time as my boyfriend— when my phone rang.

Should I be embarrassed that, even after the symbolic (dramatic) act of removing his poster from the wall, I accepted Donghae’s call? I’m not embarrassed. You have to understand how much he meant to me. You have to try to imagine how many smiles he planted on my face through years of kindness. 

I must have loved Donghae beyond comprehension. At the sight of him, small and smiling on my phone’s screen, every recently born resentment I held toward him was released. I don’t know if I could have clung to my anger even if I wanted to. 

Maybe it’s impossible to stay angry at somebody you love. Maybe I was looking for every excuse to forgive him for hurting Mom even if he wasn’t sorry.

I smiled a heavy sort of sincere smile as I greeted, “Hello. Merry Christmas,” with a small wave. 

“Merry Christmas.” Donghae mirrored my wave. His smile seemed heavier than mine. “Sehun said you were upset.” 

Is that why Donghae called? Not because his Christmas was incomplete without me (like mine was incomplete without him) but because Sehun tattled on me? My heart sank and only rose from the cold depths of disappointment when Taemin entered the room with his brilliant grin. 

Careful not to make any noise that would alert Donghae to Taemin’s presence— not wanting him to scold me or Mom because a boy was in my bedroom, a place much more intimate than a hotel room— I placed a finger over my lips and motioned for Taemin to sit on the floor. Because Donghae’s eyes were downcast, he didn’t notice. 

Taemin obeyed my instruction to be quiet, but he didn’t sit on the floor as I requested. Gently, he eased onto my bed, sitting down at my feet. I stifled a chuckle, reasoning that as long as he didn’t say anything, there was no harm in Taemin’s small rebellion. 

“Lei.” Donghae reclaimed my attention. “I called to check on you. Are you okay?”

Meeting his gaze, I answered, “I’m okay now. I just—” I almost choked on my honesty— “I missed you earlier, and—”

Did I dare to confront Donghae about the photograph? I had to; it wasn’t right to take out my aggression on Sehun without being willing to confront the source. 

“I saw a picture of all of us taken at one of your birthday parties years ago, back when I was a little kid, and I guess—” As if to remind me that he was there, that it was okay to be honest even when it hurt, Taemin grabbed my hand and empowered me to admit, “I’ve been sad lately because so much has changed.”

Moments passed in silence before Donghae acknowledged, nodding, “Yeah. Change is inevitable, and it can seem scary. You’re at a time in life where you’re starting to step into the world as an adult— and that’s a very good thing. I don’t know exactly how you're feeling, but I know that watching you grow is scary for me.” 

Donghae laughed, so I laughed too. Taemin squeezed my hand. 

Donghae confessed, “Lately, I’ve worried that maybe I’ve been a burden to you— like when I overreacted to your dance practice with Lucas or when I lost my temper because your mom trusted the boys in your group to share a room with you.”

I shook my head. “I won’t lie— you kind of embarrassed me. I mean, not so much with Lucas because I don’t care what he thinks, but Taemin—” Taemin’s eyes widened at his name— “I care what Taemin thinks.” 

Donghae apologized, and I said, “It’s okay. I don’t mind being embarrassed by you when you mean well. I’d rather have you here to overprotect me than have you stand someplace far away where I can’t see you just because you’re not sure what to do.”

I knew that Donghae skipped the party to avoid his tension with Mom, but I considered that maybe he was avoiding tension with me as well. I didn’t want him to avoid me. 

“I’m sorry that I haven’t done a better job of teaching you that always, no matter how far apart we may be from time to time, I love you. You’re like my daughter, Lei, and nothing can change that. If you need me or if you just want to talk, I’m always just a phone call away.”

Maybe because I wanted to— maybe because I needed to— I believed Donghae when he said that he loved me. I just wasn’t quite comforted because, as I told him, “My heart is broken for you. Donghae, I’m not trying to pry into your feelings for Mom—”

Midway through a gulp of water, Donghae choked. Water dribbled from his mouth down to the front of his black t-shirt. Did he not know how obvious his infatuation was? 

“— but how could you have returned the picture Mom gave you for your birthday? Did it hurt you at all to—”

“The picture?” Donghae dropped his phone onto the counter. I could hear him shuffling through his living room before he showed his panicked face. “I didn’t return the picture, but I can’t find it. I usually keep it on the mantle above my fireplace, but it’s not there!”

It was evident from his alarm that Donghae was telling the truth. My brow furrowed. “What do you mean? Sehun gave Mom your gift, and—”

“I gave your mom a bracelet like this one!” He held his hand up and pointed to a red thread on his wrist. I had seen one like it before— on Mom’s wrist when she was crying in her room. 

Again, I tried to explain what I knew. “Sehun said that he was here on behalf of you and Eunhyuk—”

Donghae’s eyes widened. “Lei, I have to go. I have to call Eunhyuk.”

Did that mean that Eunhyuk had stolen the photograph to give to Mom with that scribbled note? To me, that seemed over the top and inappropriate, but maybe Eunhyuk was tired of watching his friend pine. Maybe interfering (and hurting Mom in the process) was Eunhyuk’s way of rushing the fifteen years of rejection saga toward an ending with no regard for whether the ending would be happy. 

Is a sad ending better than no ending at all? I didn’t know.

“Don’t look so sad, Lei,” Donghae begged. “I’ll see you at the New Year’s party. And when I do—” He gestured to a bracelet on his wrist opposite from the one housing the red thread— “I’ll give you your gift: the bracelet that matches this.” 

I caught the briefest glimpse of the bracelet’s infinity symbol as I nodded. “Okay, Donghae. Goodnight, and please remember—” his brow furrowed in anticipation— “everything will be okay.” 

Donghae and I smiled, I think, because we both believed it. 

After saying his final Goodnight and Merry Christmas, Donghae ended the call, and Taemin wasted no time in claiming his place by my side at the head of the bed. Lacing his fingers through mine, Taemin asked, “Do you feel a little better now?”

I probably would have nodded my head even if I still felt terrible, but I felt as if the weight of the world— or at least the weight of Donghae’s fifteen years of heartbreak— had been lifted from my shoulders. It was as I had always hoped: even if Mom and Donghae weren’t bonded in a mutual love affair, Donghae still cared for me. Donghae would still have a presence in my life. 

Trusting that Donghae would somehow explain that he hadn’t returned the picture to Mom, I cast that issue from my mind. However matters between Mom and Donghae resolved, I wanted (or needed) to have as little involvement as possible to protect my relationships with each of them. 

Cupping my cheek— which I guess was Taemin’s new favorite thing to do— Taemin gushed, “I’m really proud of you. Do you know that?” It seemed like a peculiar thing for a boyfriend to tell his girlfriend, but I guessed I didn’t know much about how real couples talked to each other. Anyway, I appreciated Taemin’s pride in me. 

Just as I was about to say something too cringe-worthy to repeat, like, “Are you proud enough to kiss me?” Grandma walked into the room, black sweater sparkling. 

It was incredible, really, that after his colossal meltdown that night in the hotel when I said that anyone could catch us sleeping together, Taemin hadn’t thought to lock the door. Although Taemin hid his face behind my shoulder, and my entire body burned crimson in utter humiliation, Grandma didn’t scold us. She didn’t seem surprised, and she didn’t acknowledge Taemin’s presence in any way other than flashing a simple smile. 

“Lei, I just came to get my phone.” Grandma approached us only to grab her phone from my nightstand. “Goodnight!”

She locked the door on her way out, but our intimate atmosphere was now laced with tense embarrassment. Our innocence was somehow tainted by her unspoken expectation that something was either happening or going to happen. It was one thing for Taeyong to suspect that something was happening and giggle about it over hot wings; it was another for Grandma to suspect that we were up to no good and, worse, to encourage it. 

Face still hidden, Taemin squeaked, “So we’re not in trouble?”

I laid back on my pillow and sighed, grateful that if somebody had to walk in (other than Lucas, Kai, or Taeyong), it was Grandma. “No. Grandma’s not the scolding type.” 

She wasn’t the tattling type either, so she wouldn’t say anything to Mom. If Grandma ever told anyone that she found Taemin in my room, it would be Wookie; she would probably wait until next year, when there was less risk of us getting in trouble, to tell Wookie over a cup of tea. 

“Besides—” I glanced up at Taemin’s red face— “she likes you too much to get mad at you.” 

Taemin lit up, and his blush faded almost all at once. “She likes me?” Maybe Taemin didn’t understand that nobody could get through a conversation with him without falling. 

“Not as much as I like you, but—” 

I didn’t even get to finish teasing. My words encouraged Taemin to lay himself down and fit his warm body to mine. 

I’ll never know why we didn’t kiss that night when it would have been so easy. I guess it must have been the same unknown reason that we didn’t kiss any of those nights on tour in the privacy of our room. Despite the burning urge to lean in and feel his lips against mine for the first time, I kind of enjoyed the wait. Without realizing it, I had waited for Taemin my entire life. Now that he was there, listening to me, speaking to me, holding me, loving me, the wait for a kiss was no real burden. 

Taemin fell asleep minutes after his head hit the pillow. He must have been telling the truth when he said that he couldn’t sleep in the SuperM house. With Taemin snoring faintly into the still darkness, I drew a deep breath. 

In this perfect moment, there was only one thing nagging in my mind, tying my stomach in knots (as usual): the thought of Sehun. 

The urge to apologize to him was like an itch I couldn’t quite reach. And even if I could reach it, what reason did I have to believe that scratching it would make it go away? Isn’t that the worst thing to do when you’re trying to heal— disrupt the injury? 

Maybe, a part of me argued, the apology was more like applying medicine. Maybe apologizing would make me feel better, even if it didn’t magically make us friends. 

They were rather selfish, my reasons for reaching for my phone to text Sehun. I didn’t care much about making him feel better or receiving his forgiveness; I just knew that I wouldn’t get any sleep unless I tried to satisfy my conscience, unless I tried to untangle the knots in my stomach. 

[shiratorizawa-academy]

Oh, I got another poly STZ idea. It's Valentine's Day and Yamato's birthday. The guys stay after practice and give Yamato chocolates, flowers, etc. Yamato is like 'aw thanks guys for remembering my birthday' and everything. Which is true and all - how could they ever forget!? But, no, they're actually trying to ask him out and Yamato's just frozen and blushing so hard. And then there'd be lots of hugging and a few first kisses and the boys sleepover at the gym with Yamato in the middle. Lefty

I just realised that I wrote Yamato instead of Yamagata in that last ask and I can’t believe I did that to our sweet boy 😔 I guess I was too excited to share that idea that I didn’t pay enough attention and mashed up his first name with his surname. He just needs more love and him getting it from all his favourite boys had me emotional and excited because I kept picturing him with this expression of awe on his face. Lefty.

Shh it’s fine I’m sure he’d forgive you… I mean you even know his first name, that has to count for something lol

ALSO I LOVE THIS A LOT BLESS YOU!!! I wrote a short thing for it, I hope you don’t mind ♥

-

Hayato was excited about morning practice. Even more so than usual. He had been awake since 4am, something his mom definitely would have scolded him for if she had known. He wasn’t a child anymore, he shouldn’t get this excited about his own birthday.

But the thing was, it wasn’t just any birthday. It was his third (and last, but he preferred not to think about that) birthday at school. This school. He would get to spend it with his team and if the past two years had taught him anything, it was that they always found a way to make even the most mundane of things special. And today? Well, without sounding too full of himself, he knew that his birthday wasn’t just any other day to them.

With his heart pounding a little too fast, Hayato grabbed his gym shoes and his water bottle and considered looking for his phone. He’d like to take pictures if the team had anything planned - but it was probably too early for that. They had celebrated Eita’s birthday in the evening to make sure that they would have the entire gym for themselves.

Shrugging, Hayato left his dorm. He’d look for his phone after he had burned off some of his restless energy.

As he hurried towards the gym, he couldn’t keep his thoughts from wandering. He wondered what his friends were planning to him. Whatever it was, he really hoped he’d get a hug from Reon and Eita, both of them had really nice arms. Wakatoshi did, too, but Hayato had never gotten more than a shoulder pat from him. Maybe this time though? Since it was his last birthday with them? Third time’s the charm?

No, he shouldn’t get ahead of himself. He’d only be setting himself up for disappointment. It was more likely that Shirabu broke out into an impromptu dance number than that Wakatoshi hugged him.

The silly thought made him grin. Shirabu was usually very serious but every once in a while he loosened up. Hayato had seen him around Kawanishi after an exhausting training session or with Satori in the locker room when Shirabu thought that no one was paying attention. It’s like he showed his boyfriends another side of him that no one else got to see.

Except that Hayato knew about it.

And loved it.

It sounded stupid, but he really wanted to see more of it. He wanted to be the reason Shirabu laughed. And it wasn’t just about Shirabu either, he wanted Tsutomu to approach him when he got upset after a practice match and he wanted to be the one whose lap Kawanishi chose as a pillow when they were watching movies together. He wanted to carry Satori away when he was being overdramatic and wanted to kiss Eita’s forehead when he got sleepy. He wanted to hold hands with Reon under their lunch table and be someone Wakatoshi asked for advice - he wanted it all.

Because, as pathetic as it sounded, he had a crush on them. On all of them. Hayato knew that some of them were in a relationship with each other but he had never been brave enough to ask about the specifics of it. Maybe he was scared of the answers. He didn’t want to know who shared kisses behind stairwells or who was great to go to for comfort after a horror movie. No matter who it was, it wasn’t for him to take advantage of anyway. It was better he didn’t know. He had never felt left out or out of place spending time with them.

When his thoughts tried to take a darker turn, Hayato had troubles ignoring them. What if he was the odd man out? What if he was the only one who wasn’t in a relationship with someone else? What if he was intruding on their time-

No, that was stupid. Hayato shook his head and clutched his shoes a little tighter. He knew that they liked spending time with him. It didn’t matter who was going out with who, he was still their friend.

One corner later, he arrived at the locker room. A little surprised, he put his shoes down. He wasn’t the first one there. There were Tsutomu’s shoes right next to Wakatoshi’s and he was pretty sure that the black jacket in the corner belonged to Eita. The scarf on the bench belonged to Kawanishi and-

Huh. Was everyone else here already?

Quickly pulling on his shoes, Hayato entered the gym. He could see his friends huddled around one of the chairs that coach Washijou usually used. It didn’t seem that they had noticed him. Before he could call out a greeting, the door to the locker room fell shut and his friends jumped. Seven heads swiveled around to look at him with varying amounts of panic. Weirdly enough it didn’t seem to calm them down when he gave a casual wave.

“Hello, Yamagata,” Wakatoshi said. He was the only one who didn’t look like he was caught with his hand in a cookie jar.

“Hi?”

“We weren’t expecting you here so early,” Shirabu said. He shuffled a little closer to Tsutomu as if he was trying to hide whatever was on the chair from Hayato’s view.

Feeling awkward, Hayato rubbed his neck. “Ah, yeah. I was strangely motivated for training today…” His sentence trailed off as his friends nodded sagely. Had he interrupted something? Were they planning something for his birthday and now he had messed it up? After a second of hesitation, he added: “Something wrong? Should I come back later?”

Shirabu nodded quickly. “Yes, that would probably be for the best-”

“Are you kidding? It’s his birthday, we can’t just send him away,” Eita hissed. Hayato had to fight not to let his grin show, any concerns he had had were out of the window. It totally was for his birthday.

“No, seriously, it’s no trouble, I can come back later.”

“Yes, that would be-”

“Shirabu-”

Tsutomu frowned. “But he’s right, I think. We aren’t ready to-”

“Maybe we could just-”

“Everyone, calm down!” Satori exclaimed suddenly, cutting Reon off. He stepped out of the half-circle, unbothered by how his friends hurried to close the gap he had left behind. Hayato had caught sight of something colorful - flowers? It had honestly looked like flowers, which was unexpected but kind of cute - but didn’t think too much about it. It wouldn’t do to ruin their surprise, after all.

Raising an eyebrow, he watched Satori clap his hands. “Well, well! This might be a little earlier than expected but maybe that’s not such a bad thing. I have a plan. At least this way Eita-kun won’t start overthinking things.”

“Why must you always single me out every-”

“Shh, you’re ruining the mood,” Satori said, making shushing motions at Eita. Eita looked pissed but stuck to crossing his arms. “The point is, we can just go for it now. Why wait any longer?”

“Because,” Shirabu said, glancing at Hayato from the corner of his eyes, “we haven’t prepared.”

Tsutomu was quiet this time, but the way his fingers twisted into his shirt screamed louder than any words that he agreed with him. Kawanishi was sticking closer to him than usual, which Hayato wasn’t sure what to make of. Were they all nervous? Why? He wasn’t an especially difficult guy to please, some store-bought sweets really would have done it.

It wouldn’t have been his friends if they would have been satisfied with that though. With them, it was always about surpassing expectations.

Smiling to himself, Hayato crossed his arms. Shirabu, Satori, and Eita were involved in a heated discussion that Tsutomu slowly seemed to get dragged into. Before it could get out of hand, Reon stepped up and placed a calming hand on Shirabu’s and Eita’s shoulders.

Hayato’s eyes were immediately drawn to the gap in the circle. There was a bouquet of flowers, a bigger one than he would have expected. Weren’t flowers kind of expensive?

“Why don’t we wait for Satori to finish?” Reon asked. Hayato looked back at the three of them. Shirabu and Eita were both frowning at Satori but had backed down from their fight for now. For his part, Satori was entirely unbothered - he just grinned and patted the hand Reon had placed on Shirabu’s shoulder.

“Perfect! Perfect, thank you. My idea was that since we didn’t have time to rehearse anything yet, Wakatoshi-kun could just go for it.”

The group seemed surprised, blinking at Satori before turning towards Wakatoshi. Hayato followed their example, staring questioningly at their captain. Wakatoshi seemed just as confused as he felt.

“Me?”

“Yes, you! I mean, you’re kind of our spokesperson, aren’t you? You’re already used to speaking for the team.”

“This isn’t about the team though. There are a lot more people than just us on the team.”

“Semantics!” Satori waved Wakatoshi’s concerns aside and bounded towards the chair, lifting the bouquet of flowers and pressing it into Wakatoshi’s hands. “I’m sure you’ll do a great job. Don’t worry, the rest of us has got your back!” With these words, he began to hand out small wrapped packages to the others. Everyone accepted them with varying levels of hesitation. It was like the little presents increased their nerves tenfold and Hayato couldn’t help but begin to feel nervous himself. Just what was in these things?

Once everyone had their presents, they shuffled around to put Wakatoshi in the middle of their group. Hayato was familiar with it, they usually assumed that pose for official business. For some reason Wakatoshi looked unnaturally stiff though, his shoulders so tense that Hayato could almost feel it himself.

Silence filled the gym.

The more time passed, the more uneasy Hayato felt. Rubbing his neck, he told himself to calm down. He could feel Kawanishi’s gaze following his movements and realized that it was the exact same move the other always did when he was feeling uncomfortable. Dropping his arm, he gave the group a forced grin. “Is everything alright?”

Apparently, that was all Wakatoshi needed to find his footing again. He nodded once and took a decisive step forward. “Yes. There are two things we want to talk to you about. Firstly, we want to congratulate you on your birthday-”

“Happy birthday!” chorused the rest of the team. They bowed and Hayato quickly mimicked it before realizing his mistake. A little sheepish, he got back up and thanked them.

“And secondly, we would like to ask you to go out with us.”

There was a brief moment of silence. Hayato didn’t know about the others but for him, it was definitely one of shock. Wakatoshi had just asked him out on a date on behalf of the entire group. Did that mean that they were all dating? Did it mean that they all liked him back?! There was no way that was true. It just seemed unrealistic, what were the odds?

Hayato was still struggling to understand what had just happened when his friends began to mumble with each other. It felt like his heart was in his throat, he couldn’t hear what they were saying over the rush of blood in his ears. He only came back to the present when he registered Satori bowing and holding out his present, the others following suit.

“Was this really okay? What if he doesn’t like us back? Wasn’t it way too forward? What if he rejects us?” Tsutomu whispered nervously. Kawanishi responded in such a low voice that Hayato couldn’t make out his response.

Not that he needed to. After all, Tsutomu was talking about an entirely hypothetical scenario that Hayato felt no need to entertain. Now that the initial shock had worn off, it was easy to see how nervous they were waiting for his response. Hayato felt both flattered and like he was dealing with anxious teammates before an important game.

How odd. He had never been in a romantic relationship before and yet it felt like familiar territory. He was used to the team depending on him and he knew how to comfort his friends. Slowly, Hayato approached Wakatoshi and took the bouquet out of his hands. The moment it was in his arms, everyone slowly straightened up. They were looking at him with a mixture of fear and hope that made him want to give a hug to each and every one of them.

Smiling broadly, he clutched the flowers a little tighter. “Yeah. Yeah, sure.”

The resulting smiles on everyone’s faces really made him wish he had spent a few extra minutes looking for his phone. He never wanted to forget the pure happiness he saw there.

-

[After this there was definitely a group hug!!]

[pizzanotsinkships]

nanase haruka x first person fem reader nsfw

As a recent graduate with average grades, I managed to cast myself a low ranking job as a trainee stastician at a swimwear company in high tech Tokyo. To select the best spokesperson for our new line of swim trunks, numerous figures and charts have been gathered meticulously until we managed to luck out on an appointment with the best freestyle swimmer in Japan, Nanase Haruka. Due to countless attempts to persuade him as he had no interest in any causes besides swimming, we frantically gathered up a time and place to hopefully persuade him into filming an advert for us at his favourite venue- a 50m pool. Everyone was very excited to work with such a talented infamous sportsman, thus me being one of them attended the filming on my day off.

When I arrived shooting had already started, Nanase 🏊 Free!ly, his streamlined form treading through the water without much resistance, as if the body of water was urging him to move along it. Having some competitive swimming experience myself, I awed with bishie sparkles in my eyes until I felt a spank on my behind. “You’re late.” My boss Matsuoka Rin scowled matter-of-factly. He always treated female employees like this, but no one dared to complain because let’s face it, he’s fucking hot and like Nanase-san, had so much influence that the public would be way more likely to believe that girls came onto him than the other way round. Why would he choose to use a different swimmer than himself you might ask, well to Shark-teeth’s disappointment (don’t tell him I call him that), Nanase generated a lot more buzz among both male and female fans for his beautiful form and looks. “Cut!” The director shouted as Nanase took off his cap and goggles and did his signature hair flip…aaaahhh “Stop drooling and focus on your work” I felt Matsuoka’s breath against my ear, which he bit until I turned my eyes away from the water dripping down Nanase-san’s broad shoulders, toned chest and…his wet bulge. God. I let out a shallow breath as I heard my colleagues squealing and chattering in delight, dragging away my perverted boss for a celebratory drink after managing to get one of the most sought after sportsmen that constantly denied interviews. 

Soon it was just me and Nanase-san, I couldn’t turn my eyes away from him and didn’t want to leave. Drying his face with a towel he flickered his eyes towards me. “__, is that right.” God his voice. Wait, I need to reply. “Hai…how did you know my name?” I stuttered. “You’re the one that called me for the interview  right? Everyone rushed to greet me when I got here but I was let down that none of them were you…” I might had been imagining things, but Nanase’s face was a little red before he turned away from me. He wasn’t the only one, as I caught myself gazing at his nipples so I hurried to grab a towel from his unzipped bag so that he could dry himself…what is happening…why is everything dark. I opened my eyes to find myself wrapped in manly arms against bare skin. “You might be caring but you’re such a klutz.” Nanase-san chuckled as water from his hair dripped onto mine. I tried to swirl my head around to make light of the situation, only to remain trapped in his arms as we kneeled on the floor. Ah, I must have slipped and he rescued me. I lifted my head to find the towel I was getting for him draped across his shoulders, he looked absolutely adorable towels wrapped around his head and shoulders. The tension between us can be cut with a knife, or kiss in this case, as he stole one from my lips diving his face into mine. “You know, seeing Rin made me frustrated that he can do those things to the girl that loyally attends every race I’m in” I squeaked. Senpai noticed me? “Yes I did” There’s that killer smile again. Oh heck did he hear that? I noticed an edge of a smirk upon his lips as I closed the gap between us again. 

He got up to grab his belongings and walked towards the changing rooms. “Care to join?” He inquired with his hands outstretched. Our company rented out the entire pool so privacy was not an issue, aside from security at the entrance. “Yes, Haru-senpai” he responded with a small smile as I placed my hand in his. Upon entering the changing room, I was greeted by a body-size mirror revealing my wet see-through shirt, making me immensely embarrassed. Haru dropped his bag onto the floor and came up behind me to grope me, and I moaned at his sinful initiative. “Does Rin get to hear your pretty little moans like this?” He kept ahold of my boobs as I squirmed, which only entangled me into his body more, moaning again seeing my nipples rise in response to his light touches. I thrusted my hips towards the mirror uncontrollably in response, to which he started humping against, feeling each others’ warmth between the fabrics. “So sensitive.” He noted in a huskier tone than usual, gradually thrusting us into the showers. 

I screamed when I felt cold water running down my skin before he clamped my mouth shut. “You don’t want anyone to hear us right? Be a good girl. Shhhh the water will heat up as we’re doing it” Through my half-lidded eyes I saw him close off one of his eyes…Nanase Haruka fucking winked at me. I wanted to let lose already but I wanted to play hard to get. I let him unbutton my shirt and trousers hastily since he was kind enough to hoist me up against the wall. Or maybe that’s because I was staring daggers at him when he put his head in between my boobs. I got payback soon though when I felt his finger reach inside my thong. “So wet.” “It’s the water you idiot. Rin can make me wetter than you ever could.” That did it for him, as he quickly turned me over, making me stand up on my own, boobs squashed against the wall. He kneaded my butt before tearing off my thong along with my bra, spanking me once they are off. I started grinding into the wall, only to be stopped by him grabbing my butt again. “Your wetness belongs to me.” I flushed at his dominance, as I gradually felt his tip graze against my butt. No, oh no he’s not, don’t tell me he’s going to put it there for my first time – I convulsed on his lap as he entered me from behind, not used to having things stuck up my butt. I have tried pleasing myself with fingers and toys before, but never thought I would be into anal until now apparently I have an anal-loving lover. Slightly upset that I could not have my way with him and graze across his nipples, the toned part on the side below his chest and above his abs with my tongue, I pouted but moans ended up escaping my mouth instead, Haru occasionally shutting me up with his hand. Realising that I had little self-control, I felt Haru’s wet hair splashing around my back in his disapproval while he stuffed his trunks into my mouth. It wasn’t long until I felt multiple spurts of cum spilling inside me. Haru pulled out and turned me around, making me face down to look at the resulting creampie. 

“You’re evil." 

"And you love me for it." 

Never in my dreams did I fathom Nanase Haruka of all people to be this kinky.

[a-mad-scientist-approaches]

The Cipher Conspiracy (14)

Oh my God! It’s done!

This story has been in my head for over a year, and now I can finally bring it to a close. I’ve had this planned out since before I even started writing, and it’s such an incredible feeling to finally have it on (virtual) paper and concluded. I can’t believe how fun it’s been, guys.

As always, I am overjoyed to write @hntrgurl13‘s and @missinspi‘s respective OCs Adeline Marks and Madeline McGucket, and @scipunk63‘s Addiford ship. You guys... just...  <3

I am so freaking proud of this. Enjoy.

AO3

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Chapter 14: Finale

???    ∆

Ford? Ford?

He was underwater; everything was blurred. Smeared like a water painting.

Come on buddy, wake up. We gotta move.

He could feel something crunchy. Somethings crunchy. Crackling in his ear, along his cheek. Everything was swaying, rhythmically back and forth. Underwater smelled earthy… strange.

Okay, hold on Ford, just hold on.

Brown and dried leaves fell away from him. Brown and dried leaves fell away from him.

A sound stopped making noise. The silence deadened everything even more so. Some kind of blast. Distant. Contained explosions. They had stopped.

Muffled swearing.

He let the depths claim him again.

∆

“-Meanwhile, we go to an update on the situation in Manhattan.

“Power still has not been fully restored to the isle, in what has now been confirmed as a planned attack on American soil. At precisely seven o’clock last night, Manhattan began experiencing massive power failures until the entire city was completely dark. As many have speculated, these blackouts were indeed caused by several electromagnetic pulses, weapons designed to fry the circuits of any and every electronic device within their extensive range, planted in strategic areas for maximum damage. We are now receiving reports from multiple sources which outline Oracle Division, a covert government agency created to investigate and terminate anarchist extremist plots to sow chaos into the world, as the perpetrator for this crime. It seems that what was once Oracle Division’s duty to investigate has now become their duty to instigate. Up next: feel like there’s no one you can trust? No need to worry, because it seems like the end of the world is approaching anyway-”

A Road Somewhere? (USA, Probably)    ∆

There was a loud, uncomfortable rumbling under Ford’s left ear. He opened his eyes and found himself staring at the back of a driver’s side red leather seat – the interior of the Stanleymobile. He was lying on his side, cheek stuck to the surface of the back seat.

His heartrate skyrocketed.

“Ford, you back with me?” Came Stan’s voice.

“Yes!” He scrambled to push himself up. Stan was in the driver’s seat. Obviously. No one else was in the car.

More memories hit him.

“Turn arou-”

“Ford, shut it,” Stan’s voice was tight. “You think I’d be taking us away if we could go back? We’re lucky we got out-”

“Fiddleford and Addi-”

“It’s thanks to her we even are out! If she hadn’t been off drawing as much attention as she possibly could, we’d be in the same boat as her right now! So shut up, sit back, and be grateful, while I make sure that what they did is actually worth something!”

A bolt of anger fired through him. Like hell he would.

“Pull over,” he demanded.

“No,”

“What happened to Fiddleford?”

“What do you think?”

Menace entered his voice. “Pull. Over,”

“Do you actually think you can change anything at this point? They’re long gone by this time, Ford, and there’s nothing you or any other pretentiously-named agency full of ineffective, useless people can do for them, so we are going-”

“You’re just going to give up? After everything that’s happened, you decide-”

“-back to Sacramento to get Carla, and we are getting safe-”

“-that this is where you draw the line of all places-”

“-because crap has well and truly hit the fan and I am not letting-”

“-when Bill Cipher is a bigger threat than ever and he probably has Addi and Fiddleford right n-”

“JHESELBRAUM CAN HANDLE IT FROM HERE!”

“PULL THE DAMN CAR OVER!”

The brakes screeched, rubber burned, and Ford almost shot over the front seat as the car skidded to a halt.

∆

"Breaking news; a statement outlining the reason behind the closure and police perimeter recently established around the FBI field office in Roseville has just been issued by a federal spokesperson. The head of the office, Special Agent-in-Charge Ned Guy, has been killed, and agents have reason to believe that the assassin is still in the area – perhaps even inside the office itself. Further information pending, but the question remains: who sent this person, and who is their next target? Whoever it is, our thoughts – mostly along the lines of ‘I hope to God it isn’t me’ – are with them,”

The Side of a Road Somewhere (USA)    ∆

Ford was out of the car practically before it had stopped moving, and Stan tore off of his seatbelt to meet him.

“What is wrong with you?! We have to help them!”

“Haven’t you been listening? We can’t! We have no idea where they are, and even if we did know, there were at least thirty agents in that forest! How many of us are there, Ford? Two! We have a better chance of being invited into their homes for coffee and evil plans than we have of taking them on and winning!”

“We have Oracle Division, Stanley, and the FBI, and we will use them because I am telling you right now that we are not running and hiding from this!”

“So we act like idiots and end up like Addi and Fiddleford, who for all we know are already-”

The silence roared as Stan cut himself off, not daring to finish that sentence, and Ford fought to keep breathing evenly.

Finally, Stan looked him dead in the eye and said lowly, “Get in the car,” which brought a whole new wave of rage over Ford.

“What world are you living in that I ever would?” He snapped. “Our friends are suffering at this very moment because of my mistakes, because of things I allowed to happen!”

“Ford-”

“And not only that, but the world is in imminent danger from that madman, and you still won’t even consider trying to save anyone but yourself-”

He thought Stan was going to hit him.

“Of course I tried to save them! What the hell is wrong with you that you think I didn’t?! Fiddleford was right there with me, and I would’ve gotten him out, I would’ve, but we got separated and – and suddenly everything was going to shit and Addi was being swamped-”

“And you just left her?!”

“-I thought you were dead!”

The thudding in Ford’s head quieted down and all the panic for his friends that was clawing its way up his throat in preparation to be screamed at Stan caught, his voice refusing to give it power.

Stan looked about a second away from ripping his hair out, and he was staring desperately at Ford in mixed rage and pain and despair.

“I thought you were dead, Ford! Not in trouble this time, not hurt – dead. I heard gunshots, and when I ran towards them I found you, and you were lying on the ground and you weren’t moving and I thought you were dead! Do you have any idea what that’s like?” His voice cracked.

A low-lit room, bitingly cold despite the pleasantness of the bar next door, two bodies bleeding out on the ground, one of which could so easily have been Stan. Yes, Ford knew what that was like.

“So I’m sorry that I couldn’t do enough, and I’m sorry that we can’t do anything right now, but if you think I’m ever gonna let something like that happen again, then you really are entirely as much of an idiot as you act like when you’re scared,”

With that, Stan slumped against the driver-side door, exhausted. Ford felt hollowed-out, everything inside that had been propelling him gone for the moment. On jellied legs he made his way over and leant next to Stan, tentatively pressing his shoulder against his soon after.

Stan was right. He needed to get a grip. Spoiling for a fight – with Stan, Cipher, anyone – was the worst possible thing to do at present.

So what was something they could do?

His mind was blank. Judging from Stan’s equal motionlessness, he didn’t really know how to proceed either; Ford could guess, based on what his brother had just said, that until he’d dug in his own heels Stan had been (and, most probably, still subconsciously was) operating on the single priority of get who you can safe with practically no other considerations until that goal was fulfilled.

The problem was, Ford wasn’t letting him complete that goal, and even though the reality check Stan had given him had been effective, his own mind didn’t seem to be able to supply a solution either.

∆

“We have previously reported that Oracle Division, notorious rogue government agency behind the Manhattan Blackout, is also more than likely involved in many other plots to sow discord and chaos among the nation, and, perhaps, the world at large. Since that time, we have received many accusations of spreading false information through speculation, contributing to mass panic, and we apologise. Here is the following correction: Oracle Division, notorious rogue government agency behind the Manhattan Blackout, is most definitely behind Ned Guy’s assassination among many other disturbing events. The idea that sources can concur on any one thing is a myth, so why even bother to mention ours. We apologise, again, for the former inaccuracy,”

I-I Don’t... Know    ∆

He’d gone. The- the man with the… weapon. Yes. It looked like a gun, it fi-fired like a gun, ergo, it was definitely a weapon, if not one he recognised. But the man had gone, up an elevator, and he’d taken it with him and now he and the woman were left alone in the dark.

She was staring at him, speechless, horrified, and grief-stricken. She was crying, and he didn’t know why, only that he wanted to help her. Had she been there this whole time? It was hard to recall... it was hard to think…

It was like he should be hurting – he felt like he should be so, so hurt, but it was like his head was full of fog instead, and it was hard to do anything. The thing that hurt most was his eyes… which was definitely odd because he didn’t think he’d stared into that blinding white light from the weapon all that many times. A few, yeah, but surely not enough to make his eyeballs feel like they’d been scoured with a wire brush...

He wished she’d stop crying. That wasn’t going to help anyone, and he should know.

Should he know?

... yes, he thought so. He was pretty sure it was useless by this point.

How did he know that?

He felt floaty, which was not something he was used to feeling, but he wasn’t going to complain because it was a lot better than what he’d expected.

He’d expected?

Yeah, expected. He was too tired to think further about how he’d known to expect something. His brain felt exhausted. Imagine if the next round of… (was he being tortured?)… imagine if it involved sums. A bubble of laughter made its way past his lips. Now that would be torture.

Anyway, he felt floaty. Which was strange, because… because… he couldn’t stand… and he couldn’t stop shaking either. He was hanging and trembling from his wrists and his mind felt wrung out and the woman was saying something about the man going up for a phone call and they needed to get away, and she just looked even more scared when he asked what a phone call was. She explained. He snorted. That sounded like something out of science fiction if he’d ever heard it. Useful, but obviously fake. In fact, the only thing he could really feel was…

… anger. At that red book on the table. Because whenever the weapon fired, the book was consulted and it knew everything about him… didn’t it? It certainly didn’t know about – about – about… he couldn’t remember… and he was terrified more than ever for some reason because he couldn’t remember the boy’s name, or what he looked like, or –

He couldn’t remember.

Sacramento, California (USA)    ∆

“Wexler, the deal was you’d tell us what we needed to-”

“Was that I would reveal the agents I know of if, and only if, Cipher is taken down,”

Carla gritted her teeth.

“Until such time as that happens, I’m afraid I will be keeping my mouth – wisely – shut. Furthermore, I believe you have yet to follow through on your promise to place me in the Witness Protection Program.” Wexler regarded her with a very much unbeaten expression and she berated herself for forgetting that he had accepted the deal to save his own skin, meaning that he remained quite firmly on the side of the Cipher Wheel until that no longer became an option.

“Well, plans change, as you and your buddies have seen fit to demonstrate. We need to know where Cipher is. And what those names are, thank you very much,”

He smiled indulgently at her and kept silent.

“It’s only a matter of time before Cipher is dead or behind bars! The FBI is aware of the threat. We have in place layers and layers of resistance to meet him. He cannot win!” She protested, but she’d lost him and she knew it. He’d goaded her into begging, or close enough. Even though it hadn’t been completely successful, the assassination attempt had proved that Cipher’s reach was only growing, and had flipped her and Wexler’s positions: he had the upper hand now. Every line of his body oozed confidence.

“And yet you’re now coming to me, desperate for help. Where did that fierce drive to win go, agent? Don’t tell me. It disappeared, along with all your friends,”

“You’re afraid of Cipher,” she snapped. Wexler shrugged. That was news to no one. “We can keep you safe, you know we can. You wouldn’t have agreed to the first deal if you didn’t think so. We will still do that, but things have changed and you need to tell us what you know sooner rather than later,”

“In fact, McCorkle, I don’t know that you can deliver on all your promises of safety. An assassin is still after you, are they not? More than likely they have already made their way into the building, based on the amount of time that has elapsed since the first killing. So no, thus far, you have spectacularly failed to build any kind of rapport with me or earn any sort of confidence in you. Why should I not just keep my silence, wait for the Cipher Wheel to win, and you to die?”

“DAMMIT!” Carla shouted, striding into the room she had designated as her temporary, windowless, singularly-entranced cell of an office. Jheselbraum didn’t even look up from the news report she was watching as the door slammed closed.

“I take it he’s refusing to cooperate in any manner now?”

Vicious, if muttered, swearing and agitated pacing answered her.

“Has there been any word on El Dorado?” Carla reached the wall, spun on her heel, and strode back the way she’d come.

“The forest is still crawling with Cipher Wheel agents. I’ve heard nothing about Stanley or Stanford, or Agents Marks and McGucket, but we can assume that someone, perhaps even all of them, managed to escape the ambush. The forest would not be so active unless that was the case,”

Another pivot. “But at least one of them’s also been captured,” she stated flatly.

“The vehicles that have left the forest do indicate that,” Jheselbraum confirmed, a pillar of stillness in direct contrast to Carla’s flurry of movement. “As yet, none of my agents have been able to follow them without risking exposure,”

“And with Wexler refusing to talk, we have no other way of finding out where they might be going. Which is wherever Cipher is.” Carla stopped, braced her palms on the table in the centre of the room, and leant heavily on them, trying to work out the tension in her back before all the coiled muscle there snapped something important.

The next time she saw Stanley, and she would be seeing him again, if only to kill him herself, she was never letting him out of her sight again. A bit of a counter-productive sentiment, but rationality had had a foot halfway out the door since the day began.

And at some point she had to deal with the assassin, who was most certainly getting closer with every minute that passed. The building was on high alert, but regardless, she doubted Cipher would have sent anyone after her who couldn’t deal with that.

She had absolutely no idea where to go from here. Other than to pick up some Witness Protection Program forms, she supposed.

A phone rang in the silence. She felt the vibration through the table and looked up to see Jheselbraum reach for the device and stiffen, staring at the screen with the closest expression to dread Carla had ever seen on the woman’s face. She turned her gaze to the screen as well.

The caller image showed a single terrifying yellow eye.

The Road Again (USA)    ∆

Eventually they’d just sunk to the ground, drained.

It wasn’t that Stan wanted to admit that things looked pretty bleak... it’s just that they did anyway.

The silence between them was interrupted sharply by his phone ringing. He felt Ford jolt next to him.

Honestly, the turn the day – the past half hour – had taken meant that if it had been anyone other than Carla calling, Stan wasn’t sure he would’ve picked up. As it was, he turned on the speaker so Ford could hear as well, figuring that just because he wasn’t in the mood to plan a desperate and useless counterstrike against Cipher was no reason to keep that opportunity from his brother.

He hit the answer button.

“STAN?!”

Ford jumped again, and Stan flinched too. Had he accidentally turned the thing up to full volume again?

“Oh my GOD, you’re okay, you’re okay- you are, aren’t you? Aren’t you? Oh, hell, are you hurt? How bad is it? Listen to me closely: if you see a light, and it’s not the sun, do not-”

“No, no I’m fine!” Stan assured her hurriedly. “Ford’s here too, we’re both fine,”

“We’re unhurt, Carla,” Ford supplied, and from the look on his face Stan couldn’t help but think that he was not confirming the situation to Carla but more correcting Stan’s choice of words. Stan was inclined to agree with it.

“Jesus, that’s good to hear.” A pause. “Addi and Fiddleford?”

Stan’s stomach dropped out and Ford was silent.

“No,” he managed to get out. “No. They’re not,”

A sigh washed over the speakers. “I was hoping he was lying..."

“Hoping who was lying?” Ford said sharply.

The brief quiet on the other end of the line was very telling. So much so that Stan pretty much already knew what she was going to say before she’d gathered herself enough to say it.

“Jheselbraum and I just got a phone call from Bill Cipher,”

“Let me guess, it wasn’t to surrender himself and his network,” Stan said, dragging a hand down his face. Ford was rapidly losing what colour he’d regained as he too worked out what Carla was about to say.

“No, it... definitely was not. He wanted us to get a message to you.” She paused again, working out how best to phrase it, and Stan really wished she would just spit it out.

After a second, she gave up and did just that.

“He says Addi and Fiddleford are still alive, and if you guys show yourselves quick enough, they might even remain that way.” She let that sink in.

Hearing it out loud when you’re expecting it should really be easier than this, Stan considered with an air of detachment.

“He didn’t say anything else?” Demanded Ford.

“Other than a few taunts and name-calling? No,”

“So how are we supposed to hand ourselves over if he didn’t tell us where he is?” Stan exclaimed.

“I know. It’s a shame, but he really isn’t an idiot. He knew I’d be listening in to that call. He wasn’t going to reveal anything that might lead the FBI to him before he’s ready to fully take us on,”

“What about you, Poindexter?” Stan said urgently, turning to Ford. “You have any idea where he might be?”

“Cipher didn’t just use one place as headquarters,” Ford said, a deep furrow between his eyebrows. “He moved around fairly often. I know of a few places he’d frequent, yes, but there’s no guarantee he’s at any of them right now, and we don’t have time to check them all before he loses his patience with Addi and Fiddleford. Which is another thing! We don’t even know if they’re in the same place he is!”

“Yes we do,” Carla said unexpectedly, neatly stopping Ford dead in his increasingly hopeless rant.

“We do?” Stan looked at Ford.

“Yes. This whole situation with me got Addi and I thinking: he’s made it clear – even more so with that phone call – that he wants to kill or capture you two himself.”

“What situation with you?” Stan said warily.

“Doesn’t matter,” she said quickly, and he definitely didn’t believe that at all, but she was on a roll and they needed to know this, so he let it go for now. “The point is, you’ve been too much of a pain for him not to hold a grudge. Same situation with Oracle Division,”

“So they’ll be in the same place,” Stan nodded his understanding, and then frowned. “But that still doesn’t help us a whole lot. It just means we only have one raid to do instead of two, in a location we still don’t kn-” Stan stopped. Out of the corner of his eye, he’d just seen Ford stiffen. Looking at him again, there was the tell-tale gleam of understanding in his eye: he’d just worked something out.

“Ford?”

“I know where he is.” He gave a mirthless laugh. “I don’t why I thought it was possible he’d be anywhere else,”

“Alright, tell me where. We can alert Tactical and take him out before knows what hit him,”

Ford opened his mouth, and shut it again.

“No,” he said.

“No?!” Stan repeated incredulously. “Do you want Addi and Fiddleford back or not, Ford?”

Ford’s gaze was flinty and his words were cold enough to chill the Sahara.

“If Bill didn’t think he could kill Addi and Fiddleford before a strike team managed to kill him, he would not have gotten that message to us through you, Carla,”

“Ford, I know you’re worried about them, and I understand that their safety is paramount, but tactical teams know what they’re doing. They are trained for situations li-”

“Their safety is paramount, which is precisely why I’m not going to endanger them even more by telling you where Cipher is,”

“Oh, jeez-” The situation was rapidly flying off Stan’s well-used map of moves-that-could-be-considered-even-remotely-sane.

“So you’re just going to blindly hand yourselves over?” Carla said witheringly, as if she could stop Ford through brute force of will alone. Unfortunately, when Ford got like this there wasn’t really anything anyone could do short of getting into a fistfight with him, and Stan knew from personal experience that that would only harden his resolve.

“Of course not. We’re going to take him down ourselves. Or-” Ford faltered for the first time. “Or I will, anyway,”

He looked up at Stan defiantly, and Stan half wanted to get into that fistfight just to see if it was possible to knock some sense into the guy this time. The other half of him though, was indignant. He’d followed Ford across the world to make sure he wasn’t in trouble. He’d punched more people than he could count for him, and that wasn’t even from this recent jaunt. He’d willingly been flown by someone who didn’t know how to fly, almost been shot, actually been shot (and now his shoulder was hurting again, great), been drugged and dumped, chased and left behind, ambushed, momentarily convinced his brother was dead, and Ford still hadn’t been able to shake him.

Honestly, the most unbelievable thing about this situation was that Ford thought Stan wouldn’t come with him on this.

He groaned. “Weren’t you listening earlier? You don’t think I’m gonna let you do this alone, do you?”

Ford’s face broke into a relieved grin which told Stan that despite how it had sounded, he wasn’t taking this course of action lightly in the least.

There was silence on the other end of the line. Stan could practically feel Carla’s mind whirring.

“As soon as it’s safe to, you need to tell me where you are,” she reluctantly compromised.

“We will,” nodded Ford. Good. At least he wasn’t being idiotically stubborn.

“And Stan?” Her words were clipped and short, but the next ones had the hint of jaunty casualness to them, nevermind if it was a bit forced, just like they always did when they said goodbye. And because it wasn’t the last time they would, Stan thought fiercely, there wasn’t any need for it to be different this time. She might not be able to stop Ford through sheer willpower, but he knew she’d be damned if she let that mean she couldn’t stop anything else that way.

“See ya later,” she said.

“Can’t leave ya hanging, can I?”

There was a brief whiff of sound that might have been a huff of laughter, and the call disconnected.

“Please tell me you have a plan,” he said as soon as it did.

“I don’t,” said Ford immediately.

Stan stared at him. “Well, at least you ripped that band-aid off quickly,”

Sacramento, California (USA)    ∆

Busy. Keep busy. That was the thing. If she kept busy, she wouldn’t have time to think about… whatever she had just condemned Stan and Ford to. She aggressively ripped the Witness Protection forms out of the printer.

Just get this to Wexler and mush his face into it until he agrees to sign it. She sighed. Well, no. She wouldn’t do that. Although maybe she could get away with staring at him unnervingly until he did.

Abruptly, she pulled back from the corner she was about to turn. Window. Large window.

Stay away, you don’t want a bullet in your brain. Way to go, Carla.

She turned back, striding down an alternate, less populous, route. It took her deeper into the building.

Get to interrogation, get to interrogation. Not far now.

And someone knocked the breath out of her.

The Road, California (USA)    ∆

“He’s not going to let them go, Ford.” Stan said flatly. “We can’t just turn ourselves in and hope for the best. Guy’s convinced he’s on the verge of plunging the world into chaos-” He paused, rethinking that statement. “Guy is on the verge of plunging the world into chaos. No way is he going to stick to any deals we make with him. We need to be smart about this.”

Ford paced up and down the dusty roadside, nodding in agreement. “We should also expect that he’ll expect us to try something, and he’ll be accordingly prepared. The question is, does he know that we expect he’ll expect us to do something, and therefore expect our expectant strike at a whole new level of-”

“You’re making this too complicated,” Stan interrupted, passing rapidly through stages of grim agreement, horrified fascination, and irritated dismissal. “Stop thinking about might-bes and doing that get-in-his head routine - this isn’t some Sherkey Homes adventure,”

Ford looked faintly disappointed.

“What we know is that when we get there, he’s going to take our guns off us-”

“Actually, mine’s back in the forest somewhere. We only have yours now,”

Stan’s stomach dropped. “I don’t have mine either,” he admitted.

Ford’s eyebrows shot up and he warily asked, “What happened?”

Stan told him. Ford slapped a hand over his eyes.

“It’s still in the car somewhere!” Stan said defensively. “There’ll be plenty of time to find it on the drive there,”

“But you actually lost-”

“Shut up,”

“You shut up,”

∆

Her body had shut down with that blow. She couldn’t breathe. Her stomach muscles were seizing up. Before she collapsed to her knees, the assassin caught her by her collar and plunged a knife towards her throat.

She caught his wrist and wrenched it down and around, felt something give and his hand sprang open, the knife clattering to the floor. He hissed through his teeth, instinctively loosening his grip on her collar. Her legs took her weight. Her elbow took his senses.

He stumbled back, reeling from the strike to his jaw. She’d bought herself some time. Fighting back the surges of adrenaline that had her shaking and her brain screaming at her to sprint away as fast as she could, Carla focused, and her lungs seemed to expand again, filling with air, combating the pain and panic.

The assassin recovered at the same time she did. He struck first. She dodged, stepped in close, fired a punch into his side and stepped away again, springing lightly on the balls of her feet. He was driven back sharply, but that seemed to be all. Not a flicker of discomfort registered on his face as he reappraised her. Her mouth quirked in response. You didn’t have Stanley Pines as your sparring partner for long without picking up a thing or two.

Keep it simple, keep it simple.

∆

“Alright, alright, keeping it simple.” Ford considered. Having no weapons was a substantial drawback. “We get the memory gun off Bill and use it on him,”

Stan frowned. “Good plan – except there’s no way he going to let us get that close without a fight. And do we really want to fight him while he has that thing and Addi and Fiddleford?”

Before Ford could irritably point out that at the rate he was shooting down their ideas nothing was going to work, Stan straightened.

“Wait, yeah, that’s good. We should just fight him,”

“You just pointed out why that would be a bad idea,” Ford said, annoyed that the one time Stan was changing his mind about a bad idea was when the bad idea was his own.

∆

Not good.

One of the assassin’s legs hooked behind hers and tripped her up. His hand closed around her throat. Her back hit the door of the observation room. Her head slammed forward from the recoil and something metallic snapped. The door sprang open, and they were falling.

∆

“I can keep a gun from shooting me and whoever else is around,” Stan said confidently. He had just spent a couple weeks proving it, after all. “Look, Cipher’s probably not going to be paying much attention to me – you’re the one he wants vengeance and ruination and a spike up the butt and whatnot for-” Ford winced slightly – “meanwhile, what did I do? Just tagged along and punched him in the face that one time. So, you just keep his attention and when he least expects it, I’ll grab the gun from him.”

“If he doesn’t really care about you then why would he demand you show up as well?” Ford objected. “We can’t count on that working. And even if that wasn’t the case, you grab the gun from him and then what? You don’t know how to work it, Stan,”

“So I’ll smash it instead,”

“But then there’s still the problem of Bill – and before you say anything else, remember that he’ll probably have more weapons than just the memory gun on him,”

Stan closed his open mouth. That was a good point.

“So I should do it instead,” Ford stated.

That wasn’t.

“No,” said Stan instantly.

“I know how to work the memory gun. You distract him, I can take it from him, use it on him, and problem solved,” Ford insisted.

Blinking away images of his brother lying motionless, Stan rallied and said, “One: I’m the better fighter,”

Ford frowned and opened his mouth to argue, probably on principle, and Stan quickly amended his statement to, “I mean, you literally cut a probe out of your head and stitched it up a few hours ago. It’d be weird if you were still alright,”

Ford allowed him to continue, moderately appeased.

“Two: how am I going to distract him? If he is interested in me, we don’t know why, and even then you’re the one who’s been working for him for years: no matter what, you’ll be able to distract him better,”

“I refuse to believe that you wouldn’t be able to figure something out,” Ford said firmly. “Stan, it has to be you. The best and quickest way we have of neutralising Bill is if we use the memory gun on him, and since I’m the only one who knows how to do that safely-”

“Safely?” Stan picked up.

Ford waved a hand vaguely. “It’s a very delicate device. If it gets even slightly damaged, the consequences of using it could be-” he hesitated – “not good. Very, extremely not good.”

Stan practically radiated a demand for a better explanation.

“Well, for a start, it could explode, and since when I constructed it I dismissed trying to extract memories in their rather abstract pure form…”

“Right, that does sound hard,” Stan acknowledged.

“I designed it to simply rewrite matter instead, and while I intended the matter to only be neural pathways, it could conceivably be anything,”

Stan stared.

“In my defence, it was just meant to be a prototype,” Ford said in embarrassment.

Stan took a deep breath. “And you thought that was easier than just trying to grab memories?”

“I did,” confirmed Ford. “But the point is, it gets damaged, bad things happen. Most likely in a… silicaceous manner,”

“Bad things,” Stan said hollowly. “Yeah,”

∆

The assassin was at her back, an arm wrapped around her throat, crushing her windpipe. She’d managed to get a hand under his elbow before the lock was fully on and her muscles were screaming as she strained to break it. Her vision was going fuzzy at the edges. She sucked in a sliver of air. She… she had legs.

She hooked an ankle behind his and threw all her weight backwards. He tried to shift his stance to compensate but his foot was trapped by hers and he overbalanced, falling, and she felt the jolt as they collided with something. It was just enough of a distraction to rip herself free of the hold, spin, drive a fist into the side of his face and stumble backwards, coughing violently as the air simultaneously stung her throat and cleared her mind. No time for recovery. She made herself push off the desk she was clutching and ran forward and flung herself at him and took him off his feet and hurtled into the two-way mirror behind him.

∆

“I’m telling you, this is the best chance we have of defeating Bill-”

“And I’m telling you, you’re not a match for him right now! Sure, it could work, but there’s too high a chance that you and the others would get hurt. My way will be less dangerous for everyone,”

“Besides you, you mean,”

“Yes!” Stan said vehemently.

Ford gritted his teeth. They had been running in circles with this plan for far too long, and with every minute that passed he was itching more and more to just get underway already, the temptation to try and figure everything out in the car growing stronger and stronger as the thought of Addi and Fiddleford pressed increasingly insistently at him.

Stan was glaring at him, and had by now joined him in some irregular pacing. He was also occasionally clenching and unclenching his hands to let some agitation out. Clearly, he was also feeling the pressure.

He sighed, and Stan echoed it a moment later.

“Look Ford, there’s no way this is going to end perfectly,” Stan said. “We just have to go with the best option available,”

“And that’s the problem,” said Ford ruefully.

“Because you think using the memory gun on him will end it quicker, with the added bonus that it’s a poetic way to go out and will be pretty cathartic for you,” Stan said with a humourless smile.

“And you just want to do to him what you do to everyone who hurts the people you love,” Ford countered, equally pointedly. “Make sure he can’t do it again by hitting him like a ton of bricks,”

∆

A startled yell rang in Carla’s ears, almost missed in the cacophony created by the shock of the landing and the crash of the glass all around as they’d gone through the window.

She untucked herself from a protective ball, giving no acknowledgements whatsoever to the pains in her neck, back, shoulder, side. They were barely registering anyway. Her head was ringing. She scrambled up off the floor of the starkly-lit interrogation room, the assassin doing the same on its other side, jagged reflective fragments spread across the floor between them. Breathing hard, she got herself into a boxer’s stance, glancing at her hand when she had trouble closing it into a fist. Huh. It had a piece of glass sticking out of it.

The assassin had picked up another, larger shard. He held it firmly in his hand.

Oh joy, Carla thought numbly. A weapon. She decided then and there never to tackle someone through a window again.

The assassin didn’t make to move towards her. His attention had been caught by the third person in the room, handcuffed to the table and looking fairly shocked at what was going on. A person who could be very damaging to the Cipher Wheel, should he decide to cooperate.

The assassin switched targets and lunged towards Wexler instead. He leapt out of his chair and attempt to skirt around the table, but the cuffs anchoring him to the middle restricted his movements. The assassin recovered from the momentum of his first swing and jumped onto the interrogation table. Wexler paled, unable to move out of range. The assassin drew back his makeshift blade and Carla tackled him. They crashed to the floor, Carla saved from feeling most of the impact due to the combined effects of shock, adrenaline, and the relatively cushioned landing provided by the assassin.

His head had cracked against the floor. The fragment had gone deeper into her hand. The room was wavering slightly, but she didn’t think that was actually happening. She’d probably hit her head at some point. That didn’t sound right. The assassin had probably hit her head at some point. Jerk.

He groaned below her, trying to get up again. Carla drew back her good hand dealt him a swift uppercut. He slumped back, and didn’t move again.

“What the hell…” breathed Wexler behind her.

Ah, right.

Carla staggered to her feet and pushed her sweaty hair out of her face. She took a deep breath to try and get her – her everything under control, and delved deeply into her pocket. Wexler watched with wide eyes.

Out of it she drew a very crumpled and slightly torn sheaf of papers. She laid it down in front of Wexler, brushed some glass off, smoothed it out, left some bloodstains behind, and straightened up again.

“Please sign this form to apply for the Witness Protection Program,” she said professionally.

Wexler stared, slack-jawed.

“Unless you still think the FBI can’t deliver on its promises to protect you,” she added.

Wexler’s eyes flicked to the motionless assassin behind her, and back again.

“No, I’ll sign,” he said quickly.

∆

No bright ideas suddenly sprang into Ford’s mind to break the stalemate they found themselves in. No desperate last-minute solutions. Nothing.

Eventually, Stan sighed, and looked away.

Then he cocked his head slightly. Ford looked back at him. He was staring at their reflection in the Stanleymobile’s windows. There was nothing out of sorts to see there, as far as Ford was concerned.

“Y’know,” said Stan slowly. “I’m really glad I got that haircut,”

∆

“Ladies and gentlemen, we are just receiving word that the crisis at the FBI field office has ended, and the assassin has been apprehended with no further fatalities. We go now to Roberta Lopez, spokesperson from the FBI, and – oh, her, uh, colleague?”

“Thank you, yes. While the assassin has indeed been arrested and secured in a holding cell, the current situation is far from over, and before we go any further, we must inform you that Oracle Division is not the agency behind the Manhattan Blackout and Ned Guy’s assassination as the news has been reporting. Thanks for that, by the way. Rather, they have been framed by an organisation known as the Cipher Wheel, which the FBI has been investigating for several months now. At this very moment, we are concentrating our best efforts on bringing down these terrorists before they can cause any more harm. In collaboration with Oracle Division, who Mr Colleague here is a representative of, we fully expect to be able to handle this threat. Take it away, Neil,”

“BOOM! How d’you like them facts?!”

“Thank you, Neil. We will now take questions,”

∆

“Well, at least he’s cooperating now,” Jheselbraum said, arms folded as she peered over Carla’s shoulder at the folder containing Wexler’s new identity.

“For the most part,” Carla muttered, scratching at the bandage over her wrist. She was covered in glass cuts and more, but had only deemed the actual stab wound serious enough to address at the moment.

“Cipher is a sticking point. He insists on the guy being dead before he spills the beans, which on the bright side means we’re back to the original deal, but unfortunately also means that the only lead we have in figuring out where Stan and Ford have gone won’t talk until such time as it doesn’t matter anymore,” By which she meant “until Stan called her to tell her where they were because they’d managed to kill Cipher” and not “because Cipher had effectively destroyed all systems of world order thereby making Wexler’s sharing of information redundant.”

Jheselbraum’s speculative voice broke through her dark thoughts.

“Actually, I have been wondering about whether he is our only lead,”

Carla looked up at her with wide eyes.

“Has Oracle Division tracked down Addi and Fiddleford?” she asked eagerly.

Jheselbraum’s mouth quirked. “Not Oracle Division. And I’m not even certain she can help us. But if anyone has the ability to, it’s her.” She straightened decisively. “I’ll get back to you soon. In the meantime, perhaps you should deliver that folder to Agent Wexler, and savour the look on his face,”

Indeed she did, when she handed his new identity over a minute later. It was the least he owed her for the past few months.

“Alright Mr Toot-Toot McBumbersnazzle, it’s time to meet your new life as a travelling banjo minstrel,”

Gravity Falls, Oregon (Soon-to-be-Divided States of America)    ∆

A proximity sensor buzzed, signalling the approach of Pines, which was good news to Bill, who was getting impatient, and especially good news to Blondie and Fiddlesticks, whose heads he had been about to riddle with bullets.

“And right in the nick of time, boys,” he said, grinning as he lifted the gun off the man’s forehead. All sorts of shouts and protests finished their ringing echoes around the basement, leaving a breathless stillness in their wake that left him free to speak without competition. As the prisoners sagged, he continued, “Congratulations you two, you get to live another few minutes,”

They didn’t reply. Fiddsy he wasn’t even sure could at this point.

Spinning on his heel, Bill turned to the monitors.

He’d brought the brother. Good.

Stanford and Stanley were trudging across the grounds towards the cabin, their movements slow and deliberate. A smart choice, as Bill was more than capable of killing them where they stood thanks to Stanford’s enthusiasm and/or paranoia in his design of this place’s defences. It really was a shame that he’d sided against Bill.

They reached the front door, hands raised in surrender. As per Bill’s orders, the agents in the house above them let them through.

“Hey, you guys wanna play a game?” Bill suggested suddenly. McGucket made no response. He just hung there, his legs no longer able to support him. What a drip. Marks though, she raised her head and fixed him with a gaze that was definitely more lost than it had been a couple hours ago.

“Let’s try and figure out what their play is.” He peered theatrically at the next monitor, putting the gun on the desk before placing his palms flat against it too, pushing his face close to the screen. The upstairs agents were searching the brothers for weapons, going over every inch of them so that not so much as a pen knife would be brought down to the basement.

“Hmmm. Hope your pals here weren’t going to try taking me by surprise.” Twisting the screen around so that she could see, he asked, “What do you think?”

Marks’ eyes flicked over to it momentarily, but she seemed reluctant to look away from him – how flattering.

Then she did a double-take, and her eyes locked back onto the screen. She looked like she was concentrating. She was even leaning forward a little, trying to see it closer, an expression like there was a word she couldn’t think of right on the tip of her tongue, but remaining stubbornly out of reach.

Bill narrowed his eyes and stepped over to the edge of the desk, where he’d laid the memory gun on top of the Journal as a bookmark. He flipped backwards a few pages until he found what he was looking for.

“Ohh, right, you gave Fordsy your own little stop-and-frisk session back in China, didn’t you?” he teased.

Her eyes flew back to him, a sudden clarity in them. Hmm. Obviously his new toy wasn’t as refined as he’d thought.

“Funny,” Bill said, tilting his head. “I thought we already covered China…” He shrugged. “Must have missed this bit.”

A brief spin of the dial and a click of the trigger and a flash of light later, and those memories were once again gone. Marks flinched back, gasping, shaking her head and blinking the stars out of her eyes. When she looked back at the search of Stanford that the agents were finishing up, there was no recognition of the situation.

“Damn thing.” He shook the memory gun a little. “What about you, your head’s not fixing itself is it?” He shot at McGucket before he replaced the device. He didn’t expect a response, but he got one anyway.

“Well, it ain’t like Ah’d tell you’f I was!” And then he cackled – yep, cackled – briefly. Huh, looked like he was finally losing it. Well, it made things livelier anyway.

Out of curiosity, Bill tried erasing the ocean from his head. There was a brief pause, but McGucket continued cackling soon after. Marks looked sick.

“Finally, one of you’s seeing the humour in the situation. I don’t mind saying, you’ve been a pair of Debbie Downers lately.” Bill rolled his eyes and replaced the gun on top of the Journal, then resumed his position in front of the monitors. McGucket’s laughs died down soon after.

Pines and Pines 2.0 were being led through the house now. Returning to his musings on their possible plans, Bill said, “Credit where it’s due, at least they’re not attacking those agents. That would just be embarrassing for everyone,” If either of them so much as twitched aggressively towards an agent, the others, both visible and hidden from view, would bear down on the Pines like the wrath of, well, Bill.

No incidents occurred. Last week, Bill would have been inclined to put that down to Stanford’s forethought. Now… Bill was more informed.

He watched them walk compliantly through the rooms. Another thought struck him.

“Do a perimeter sweep,” he ordered through the mike. “We don’t want Oracle Division pulling any fast ones,” The command was acknowledged, and the monitors showed an increase in activity around and within the property moments later.

He doubted Stanford would have told the FBI where he was, not with Marks and McGucket so easily within his reach, and so far his and his brother’s cautious actions were confirming that. But Bill knew Jheselbraum. If there was anything that witch was good at, it was coming out of nowhere with devastatingly unexpected strikes.

The Wheel reported that all was quiet, however. It seemed that not even she had managed to find her way here.

On the central screen, one of the agents opened the bookcase revealing the stairs down to the basement’s first level. The other two escorted Stanley and Stanford through with a warning hand on their shoulders. They moved carefully.

At the elevator the lead agent typed in the access code, the buttons on the grainy image lighting up. Turning his gaze to a smaller monitor off to the side, Bill wondered if the elevator would be where they attempted something. It was the most strategic place for it.

Stanley and Stanford wordlessly entered the small area. The three guards visibly tensed in the tighter space, clearly also expecting an attack. Bill heard the elevator begin its trundle downwards, the sound propagating through the space and filling the once again silent area. Marks wasn’t even attempting to make escape plans with McGucket anymore. The lack of whispers in the background while he was apparently distracted was new. It was probably the certainty of death that was hanging in the air. Earlier, they probably hadn’t fully realised that he was going to kill them. And doing it in front of Stanford? Just a bonus.

The elevator reached the third level of the basement and its doors opened, revealing Pines, Disappointing Pines, and Guards One, Two, and Three, who had not been subdued, injured, or knocked unconscious. They pushed their charges out roughly.

Bill moved sedately over to the end of the bench, the motion alerting Stanley and Stanford to his presence. Their eyes alighted on him immediately. He settled comfortably against the edge, with the memory gun and Journal to his left, and the regular gun to his right, both easily within reach. He grinned at them.

“Just dump their weapons over there, you two,” he directed the agents.

“They didn’t bring any, sir,” reported one of them.

Bill raised an eyebrow at the Pines’. “Not very hopeful, were you?” he quipped. When they didn’t respond he continued, “Alright then, go back to your stations. Keep watch, be on guard, all that jazz. If you hear any screaming, that’ll be them. Don’t worry about it,” With a cheery wave, he dismissed them, and they turned and walked swiftly back to the elevator.

Once it started its rattling journey upwards, Bill examined his new prisoners. Stanley and Stanford returned his gaze with identical apprehensive expressions. And jeez, speaking of identical… they really did look similar. The monitor screens hadn’t done it justice. Stanford of course had blood and dirt all over his shirt, and Stanley wasn’t wearing glasses, but other than that… sheesh.

“I’m glad you brought your brother, Fordsy,” Bill started conversationally. “I would not have been happy otherwise,”

“You’re happy now?” said Stanford disbelievingly.

“No,” Bill admitted. “But this is nothing to what I would have been like,” The viciousness in his words was tempered by the palpable trepidation in the room.

“Well, you know,” said Stanley, far more flippantly than the tension in his body suggested he was capable of, “wherever we go, we go together,”

Bill gave an overexaggerated wince. “Ooh, might wanna rethink that line, buddy,”

Another difference between the two was that Stanley’s focus was solely on Bill, whereas Stanford had noticed McGucket and Marks manacled to the wall on Bill’s left.

“I assume I don’t need to do introductions?” he said lightly. Marks was looking all pathetic and desperate as she looked back at the frozen Stanford, which made Bill glad he hadn’t gotten around to burning out the latter bits of the Journal from her mind. No recognition would have been so much less entertaining, although Pines’ reaction to that would’ve been a sight to behold. Upsides to everything, Bill considered.

Stanley finally appeared to notice the other occupants of the room, and the expression that crossed his face was such a mixed bag of intensity that Bill actually laughed, whereupon it just became one of hate. Stanford had never been so open and easy to read. He liked this new guy.

“Addi? Fiddleford?” He asked in that rough voice of his. “You two-” He shut himself up before asking if they were okay.

“And look at that, you’re smart, too,” Bill praised. “No, Stanny, Miss Adeline and Mr Fiddleford are definitely not… well, how about you tell them yourselves, guys?” He gestured for them to go ahead and speak.

Marks glared, jaw clenched tightly shut. McGucket, however, was the more noticeably silent of the two. Not only did he not speak, but he didn’t move either. He hadn’t, in all the time that Stanley and Stanford had entered the basement. All eyes were drawn to him.

“Fiddleford?” said Stanford cautiously. No response.

“You wanna tell them or should I?” Bill cheerfully asked Marks.

She swallowed.

“He- he doesn’t know that’s his name,” she said softly.

Bill nodded emphatically. “Yep-amundo! Oh, don’t look so shocked, I had to do something while I waited for you guys, didn’t I?”

McGucket stirred. On shaky legs, he pushed himself to stand on his own a little more. “S’my name?” he murmured to Marks.

“Y-yeah. Fiddleford,” she replied unsteadily.

Well now the guy seemed a little more focused and clear-headed, and that wouldn’t do at all.

He slammed his left hand down on the Journal, and Stanley and Stanford would have had to be blind not to notice McGucket and Marks flinch as he came close to grabbing the memory gun again. Instead, he picked up the Journal.

McGucket’s eyes burned as they fixated on it. Bill’s grin broadened, and he flourished it at Stanford, who’s jaw was tightly clenched.

“Look familiar? It sure does to these two, I’ll tell you that. And it’s just chock full of all sorts of information! Families, histories, interests, missions… and I’m sure they both wanted all of it to end up in an easily accessible diary like it did, to be used against them at their earliest convenience!” Bill gave a mock salute. “We’re ever so grateful, Stanford,”

“Ford, he would’ve just found other things to use against us, or another way to get the information-” Marks started, valiantly trying to preserve the idiot’s feelings – and sure, she may have been right, Bill would have gotten the information anyway, but where was the fun in admitting that?

It was McGucket who interrupted her before Bill could, however.

“Didja write that?” The man was shaking, and not from the spot of torture. His hands were clenched tight, fingers biting into his palms. “All that- in that there book?”

Bill looked at Stanford, whose face was stonily shut down, unresponsive.

Like a switch had been flipped, McGucket chuckled suddenly. There wasn’t the slightest hint of mirth behind it, but he still shook with laughter.

“An’ Ah only had two months before retirement!”

Bill rolled his eyes. “I swear I already wiped Oracle Division…” he muttered. He picked up the memory gun again and shrugged amiably at Stanley and Stanford. “The things that slip your mind, am I right?”

He spun the dial with practiced ease and loosed the bright stream directly into McGucket’s face. The Pines’ started forward.

“AH, AH, AH, BOYS!” Bill held up the memory gun. “Stay where you are,” he warned vehemently. They did, standing further apart than before. “Good. No need to forget what the order of things is here, now is there?”

McGucket hadn’t reacted all that much to the burst from the memory gun. Bill would have wondered if it had even worked if he hadn’t stopped laughing so quickly.

“Alright, enough messing around,” he decided, leaning back against the bench once more and replacing the memory gun in its position atop the Journal, although he kept his hand on it. Pines and Disappointing Pines looked just about ready to charge, and while it would entertain him no end to have yet another excuse to hurt Blondie and Fiddsy because of them, he did want to get around to dealing out some pain for the Brothers Dim, too. That would only be delayed if he had to go and restrain them.

“You have us. Are you going to let Adeline and Fiddleford go?” Stanford said, his gaze flicking momentarily to the memory gun.

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t just waste my time with that question,” Bill said flatly.

“Then why are they still alive?”

In the peripheral of his vision, he saw Stanley take a step closer to him. So that was their play. One of them distracts him, the other gets the memory gun off him. Not great, and not going to work, and he would have thought that Stanford would be the one trying to wrest the thing away, but he’d play along for now. It’d make the finale all the more fun.

“Oh, because of this and that. Just never got ‘round to it, I suppose.” He turned to face more fully towards Stanford, like a thought had just occurred to him, and Stanley took the bait, edging closer.

“I gotta say, I am surprised you’ve managed to stay alive up ‘til now. I s’pose you’ve got your bro to thank for that, haha. Seems like a shame though, to let all that hard and unrewarding work just… disappear,” He punctuated the word by tapping his left fingers playfully on the memory gun. Stanley came closer still. Honestly, he hadn’t even crossed half the distance! He could definitely do with some pointers on strategy.

Quite happy to keep talking, Bill continued, “Y’know, what the heck!” He spread his hands wide and then dropped then back down, noticing that yes, Stanley had taken advantage of that chance too.

“Since you left, Stanford, I have to admit, there has been a bit of a vacuum left in your wake, and I don’t want to fill it with just anyone, you know what I’m saying? It really does need a Pines touch,”

Stanford stiffened.

Bill tilted his head innocently.

Stanford said, “No way in-”

“I’m sorry, WAS I TALKING TO YOU?” Bill thundered, and then he stuck out his right hand and grabbed the gun that didn’t fire white light and shot Stanford in the chest.

∆

“A’course Ah know where he is, y’think I was gonna let my husband go off in a state’f emergency without havin’ me as backup? I put a tracker under his tie this mornin’. He’s in some town in Oregon,”

“Thank you so much for your help, Madeline,”

“Why don’t you know where is? Jheselbraum? Why are you out of contact with him? Something hasn’t happened, has it?”

Silence.

“Madeline, we’ll need you to transfer us your tracking frequency as soon as possible,”

Silence again.

“Ah’m bringin’ it to ya myself. See you in twenty,”

∆

The blast hadn’t finished echoing around the basement before Bill was turning to Stanley.

“So whaddaya say, sport? Finally ready to join the fold? I gotta admit, I was sceptical at first, but y’know what, Sixer’s convinced me! He’s been singing you praises since months before you even showed up, isn’t that right Fordsy?”

On the ground behind him came a spluttering, gasping, pained noise. Stanley’s face was sheet white, his whole body frozen as if every joint was suddenly locked. Bill tossed the gun to his other hand and picked up the memory gun. So many guns! So many targets! Not the guy in front of him, though. At least, not if he made the right choice.

“All through that tour around the world, after every single mission, it was ‘Stanley this!’, ‘Stanley that!’ and I’ll admit, I didn’t wanna see it! I thought IQ over there was the golden boy!” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. Stanley’s eyes finally moved to follow its trajectory – hah, tragic-tory, more like.

“Wasn’t meant to be, unfortunately. Good thing you showed up! And I reckon you’re much more suited to this kind of life. After all, you didn’t go making friends with enemy agents first chance you got, you know how to focus on what’s important, and you know how to think on your feet and do whatever it takes to get what you want. And I bet you, kid, know what the smart option is now, don’t you?”

Stanley staggered a little. His eyes looked distinctly wet.

“I get it, you need a moment to think. Gotta weigh up those choices. Sure, on the one hand, I shot your brother. But on the other, I could just as easily shoot you. I’ll give you…” He deliberated for a moment. “… until I next get bored to make your decision, how’s that?”

He spun around to chat to his other prisoners. Marks’ expression was delightful, it was like he’d shot her instead, with that open-mouthed, shocked look, and eyes slowly filling with tears as she processed what happened. And even though McGucket wasn’t really up to date on what was going on, he didn’t appear any less affected. What a guy! Bill had been telling him practically since he’d arrived that the guy who wrote the Journal was the reason for all his torture, and he still only looked horrified. He was also the only other person in the room who hadn’t just stopped, rock-like. Even now he was examining everything that was happening, and fixing Bill with a pretty impressive evil eye.

Stanford’s groans of agony meanwhile were growing less and less, as were his laboured breaths. Bill didn’t even spare him a glance.

Feeling the constant background thrum of anger in him spike again, he was about to turn around and demand an answer of Pines when Marks drew a quick, shuddering breath and attracted his attention.

“Got something to say, lovely?”

She was stuck for words for a moment, but quickly found something to say.

“How- how could you do that?”

Pity it was so unoriginal.

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Blondie, but I’m a little short on all those ‘heroic qualities’ you value so highly,”

“Ya- ya didn’t haveta kill him,” said McGucket, not letting the tremors in his bones stop him it seemed.

“Didn’t I, now?”

“He could’ve still been useful, fer yer – yer whatchamacall it… robotical and weaponisifyin’ office! Where all the mad folk go to unleash their minds upon the world!” He cackled again for a moment.

“You mean the R and D department?” Marks asked him.

“That too,” agreed McGucket.

Bill arched an eyebrow. “Thanks for the suggestion, but he was being far more annoying than useful by the end. And besides! Too late now,”

There was a flicker on both their faces. Wow, shooting Stanford had really rattled them, hadn’t it? They hadn’t been this in sync with each other for hours. It was almost like they had a common goal again.

Bill frowned. “You guys aren’t trying to distract me, are you?”

He whipped around just as Stanley finished crossing the distance and slammed his boot into Bill’s wrist. The memory gun went flying.

It hit the floor, threw up sparks, skidded, and whirled around and around until McGucket brought his foot down and stomped on it with a viciously triumphant expression. The shimmern bulb audibly cracked, and electricity fizzled up and down its length before dying out.

It was broken, that was for sure.

And Bill had no other copies.

And of the two men who could build another, one was all but dead, and the other was rapidly heading towards insanity.

Was Bill angry? No. Was he incandescent? Closer. Most importantly, he was still holding one gun.

“YOU IDIOT!” He roared, and brought it up and struck Pines across the face with it. He went down hard, and Bill wasted no time lashing a kick into his side that knocked him away and onto his back. Bill advanced again as Stanley, coughing, went to scramble up.

Pines made it to his feet and threw a punch. Bill dodged it easily and sent his boot into the side of Pines’ knee, which dropped him again with an agonised yell. Must’ve already been injured. He kicked it again, snarling. Pines screamed.

Stanley was kneeling now. Good. Bill brought the gun around but couldn’t resist hitting him again with it. It struck his temple in the same place as the first time, colliding with his skull in a satisfying crunch, sending him sprawling. Bill brought the gun back again, finger on the trigger, so ready for the sight of some blood and brains, but Pines caught the barrel and pointed it away from his face. Bill fired anyway. The bullet shot into the ground by Pines’ ear, concrete scattering, the bang deafening. The heat from the explosion scalded Pines, who yelled out again and shifted his grip off the hot barrel and over Bill’s own hands, still keeping the weapon away from himself. Bill pressed down with all his weight. Almost immediately, he began to win. Well, it was good to know that the esteemed skills and strength of Stanley Pines were so easily overcome. He must have hit him in the head harder than he’d thought.

Pines was flat against the floor now, almost all of Bill’s weight bearing down on the gun in the grip between them, forcing it slowly back towards Stanley’s face. Bill pulled the trigger again. It blasted into the concrete, barely a millimetre between that hole and the first. He pulled the trigger again. Stanley’s head jerked away from the third hole, neatly in line with the others, but he didn’t let up. Again. A fourth hole appeared, and this time the bullet skimmed his ear, the blood dripping into the cracks on the floor. Bill grinned right into Pines’ strained and desperate face. He sighted along the barrel of the gun. Pines’ left eye widened underneath it.

“Hey wise guy. Thought you wanted me dead,”

No. There was no way.

Bill looked back so fast his neck cracked.

He was on his feet. How was he on his feet?

There was a trail of blood marking where he’d crawled from his prone position. He had one hand pressed tightly just below his ribcage. He looked like any second could bring him down, but the grim set of his face gave some inkling as to how none had yet. And he was aiming the memory gun, the broken, sparking memory gun that Stanford Pines would not fire in a million years, directly at Bill.

He forgot about the man under him and bounded up, one hand extended out in a wild grab-

“STANLEY-”

-and nothing.

∆

The blinding flash faded from her eyes and Addi blinked desperately to clear them.

“What…”

She kind of wanted to scream, kind of wanted to cry, kind of wanted to curl up and pretend like nothing was real, but she didn’t. She didn’t, because the futile hand Cipher had outstretched was immobile, that expression of frenzied desperation permanently locked onto his face. The colour had been leeched out of him.

He’d been turned entirely to stone.

His back still to her, Ford’s arm shakily dropped and the memory gun clattered to the floor once more. He groaned and his knees sagged, and he would probably have fallen flat on his face if Stan hadn’t suddenly been there, grabbing him and offering what support he could.

“Stan? Oh God, how- how do you feel?” Stan was saying… as… he lowered… Ford to the ground…

His voice sounded very different.

“Worse’n I look. Urggh, no, actually scratch that…”

And he sounded different too.

No. Nononono. Wait.

Cipher had yelled out Stan’s name right before…

“You switched?” she burst out, cursing herself for not seeing it sooner. Ford had six fingers, for crying out loud! And they were similar, yes, but not identical…

Neither twin responded, which she supposed was fair enough. F-Stan squeezed his eyes shut as Ford put pressure on the wound. There was a lot of blood, but evidently it wasn’t in an imminently fatal position – although the amount of time that elapsed before Stan got proper medical attention would still be a deciding factor. She’d seen Stan doing his best to plug it, but frankly she was amazed he hadn’t passed out yet.

Ford cursed and looked around, spying his glasses lying a little way away where they’d dropped off Stan when he was shot, and jammed them on his face with a trembling hand. Nope, she needed an answer.

“Why did you switch?” she demanded.

“We thought Ford was the only one who Cipher would be distracted by for long enough to get the memory gun off him, but he was also the only one who knew how to work it,” answered Stan, looking like he was trying to distract himself. “So we switched so I could distract him and Ford could get the memory gun off him, and hopefully everyone would come out fine.” He winced as Ford shifted. “As you can see, it worked amazingly,” he grunted.

It was possibly the most ill-advised plan Addi had ever thought anyone could conceive of. On the other hand, they had pulled it off, in a kind of roundabout way.

“Ford, get me out of here,” Addi called. “I can help, I have medical training,”

Thank God Cipher hadn’t taken those memories from her.

“Not ta mention we’ve been chained to this wall fer hours and we don’t want to be anymore,” Fiddleford chimed in with a far more valid reason. When Addi looked at him, he seemed utterly confused, but she thought that was because of Stan and Ford: he’d been clear-headed enough to keep Cipher’s attention on them. That most definitely did not mean that he was fine, though; he trembled like a leaf, and he couldn’t hold himself up properly. She was getting him, and Stan, and Ford as well, to a hospital ASAP.

Ford hadn’t moved from his position tending to Stan. It was like he hadn’t even heard her. Her heart clenched.

Five gunshots right next to the ear, plus dazing from multiple blows to the head. He probably didn’t.

As if just noticing that the shirt Stan was wearing was beyond saving at this point, Ford sighed and complained – a little louder than he normally would have – “You got blood all over my clothes,”

“You got blood all over your own clothes,” Stan muttered, affronted.

“What?”

“You got blood all over your own clothes,”

“What?”

Stan rolled his eyes and gestured towards herself and Fiddleford. “Just- just go help them down, Addi can at least recognise snark…”

Following his pointing finger, Ford’s eyes widened and he sprang up, finally remembering them. The key was on one of the workbenches, and as soon as it was jammed into the slot on Addi’s manacles, they clicked open. She hissed as her shoulders rotated for the first time in hours, her fingers and forearms tingling painfully as feeling rushed back to them, her back aching-

And Ford enclosed her in a hug and everything seemed a bit more bearable.

What did she know? She knew… she knew he was important to her, very important, as both a friend and something not yet defined but certainly real. She also thought that they’d probably worked together. He made her happy. He was fun, and stubborn, and she knew she needed to help him out of trouble a lot, and... damn it, what else? The little she knew of before Cipher and the basement seemed like a hazy dream. The first moment she could remember between them was… a reunion? In the El Dorado forest.

No, that wasn’t true.

A flash of memories crossed her mind. Her heart beating fast as he held her hands and leant in close. The breath literally being driven from her as he elbowed her in the gut and immediately looked horrified. His suddenly nervous but pleased expression as she asked him to buy her a drink.

Reluctantly, she let him go, and made her legs stumble over to Stan. There would be plenty of time to puzzle out the past later, when they weren’t dying.

She shook her head and dropped down beside him.

“How’s your breathing?” Other than painful and quick. “Difficult? Do you feel like coughing?”

“Nah. Kinda hard to focus, though,” he said, head lolling around to her.

“That’s the blood loss. Try and stay awake, okay? Tell me all about, uh…” She faltered at the realisation that she didn’t know him well enough to bring up his interests. Then a name burst into being behind her eyes.

“Carla! Tell me all about her.” She bent down and listened to the hole in his torso, moving his hands for a moment. She couldn’t hear any air. The bullet had missed his lung then. His hands felt clammy as she pressed them back down. He was in shock, too.

“Ford, we really need to stop this bleeding,” she said, interrupting Stan’s rambling. Ford straightened up from helping Fiddleford to a chair.

“Right.” His gaze passed rapidly over all of them in succession, lingering harrowingly on Stan. “I’ll- I’ll go upstairs and call for help-”

“No, ya darn well ain’t gonna, Stanford Pines!” Exploded Fiddleford. “’Cause there’s a veritabibble army of Cipher Wheel murder-machines dressed’n human form up there and I haven’t had a cat-piddlin’ second to design my own murder bot fer a counterattack!”

Addi stilled. The Wheel. It was still active. And the only reason she and her friends were still alive was because they didn’t know their boss was now a garden ornament. If they came down here, out of all of them she was the only one who would have any kind of chance at fighting back – Stan needed immediate medical help, Fiddleford couldn’t stand on his own or stop shaking (and that wasn’t even addressing his mental state), and Ford was one good hit away from collapse himself. It really shouldn’t be up to the girl with a mind like swiss cheese to protect them all, but it appeared it was.

The elevator came to life and dinged open.

“Area secured,” Carla McCorkle, dressed in full tactical gear, said into her mike.

“We found ‘em. They’re in th’basement,” her partner breathed in relief, throwing her head back and slumping.

Her partner…

“Maddie!” Addi cried.

“Addi!” Madeline McGucket responded automatically.

∆

“It seems that trouble has once again come to Gravity Falls. In a shocking turn of events, the creepy cabin in the woods that we all feel like is watching us when we go near it and out of which strange sounds and black-ops-looking type people occasionally enter, has been the headquarters for a mad spy organisation this entire time. It was stormed by the FBI and Oracle Division – whatever that is – not two hours ago, and four severely injured individuals were safely recovered from the basement, in which they had been held prisoner by the leader of said mad spy organisation, Bill Cipher. In events that are not entirely clear, Cipher had been… turned into a statue? Is this right? It is? Alright then… Cipher had been turned into a statue. When it was brought up out of the house and our reporter on the scene questioned whether Cipher might still be alive inside it, the thing was fly-kicked into a million pieces by one of the aforementioned prisoners, a Mr Fiddleford McGucket, to assorted cheering from the other prisoners, the FBI, the Oracle Division agents, random spectators, and the mad spy terrorists themselves. To conclude, the answer to that question is a resounding ‘no’.

“Meanwhile, the prisoners themselves are receiving treatment at the scene, as they are apparently too stubborn to leave things in other people’s hands…”

∆

From what Stan could see from his position lying on the stretcher in the ambulance, the clean-up seemed to be going well. Red and blue lights flashed into the night, and an almost continuous stream of Cipher Wheel operatives were being led out of Ford’s house, loaded into FBI vans, and driven away. It was much easier to take in his surroundings now that pain and cold fear weren’t pulsing through his body; the paramedics had given him something, and now the entire left side of his body was numb. And they’d assured him he wasn’t dying anymore, which was a relief. Also, they’d bandaged up that bullet graze on his shoulder. It was nice to be looked after.

Carla’s fingers were winding through his hair.

“We’re getting married as soon as possible,” she said. She was sitting in a chair next to him, occasionally touching the plaster the paramedics had insisted on putting on her multitude of cuts and scrapes.

“We are?” he asked.

“We are,” she confirmed. “I don’t trust you not to go off on yet another adventure and do something reckless and get yourself shot again before our wedding day,”

“Me do something reckless?” Spluttered Stan. “You tackled an assassin through a window today!”

“But I didn’t almost die!”

“That bandage over your wrist arteries and those bruises around your throat beg to differ,”

She flicked his nose.

“Ow!” He decided to let her idiocy go, at least until he could properly defend himself. “Yeah, let’s get married soon,” he agreed.

The last of the Cipher Wheel agents were driven off.

“So, case closed, huh?”

“Almost, thanks to you,” she smiled. “There’s still moles in practically every agency on the planet, I’ll bet, not too mention all the bureaucratic higher-ups Cipher had in his pocket – Jheselbraum’s superiors, for one. Fortunately, Wexler is free to help us with that, now,”

Stan groaned. “I thought you were going to take a break! What happened to us having some time off together?”

Carla blinked, startled. “I- uh, well, I’m still needed, there’s still things to-”

“Agents! There you are,” Came Jheselbraum’s voice.

Tilting his head, Stan saw her standing at the entrance of their ambulance.

“I couldn’t help overhearing the tail-end of that conversation,” she stated, “and I’m afraid Carla is right, Stanley. There is still much to see to with regards to the Cipher Wheel investigation,”

Stan’s heart sank.

“In fact, Carla, as a reward for the extensive amount of time and effort that you have put into this case, as well as the exceptional valour, initiative, and determination you have displayed these past few hours in the midst of crisis, I have taken it upon myself to use my not-inconsiderable influence to offer you a promotion,”

Carla’s face lit up.

Great. More work for her to take on.

Jheselbraum continued, “This will enable you a firmer command over the investigation, and I expect you’ll want to take full advantage of the delegative duties now available to you,”

Delegative duties? Well, just because it doesn’t sound like more work doesn’t mean it isn’t…

“I should also mention that this promotion comes with the condition that you take appropriate steps to address the large amount of stress and mental strain that this has placed upon you. Whatever those steps may be,” Jheselbraum looked from Carla to Stan, and back again. “Some leave, perhaps? Or time to work from home?”

For one heart-stopping moment, Stan thought Carla was too proud to accept. A few different expressions warred on her face, until something in it cleared.

“I’ll take that as a yes, Supervisory Special Agent McCorkle,” Jheselbraum smiled.

Carla sat back in her chair, breathing out slowly, and then grinned at Stan, who beamed broadly right back.

“So that’s that, Agent McCorkle?”

“That’s that, Mr Pines” she agreed.

Stan looked out of the ambulance again. Directly opposite, another ambulance was parked, its back doors open to them. He raised a hand in a brief wave to Addi and Ford, who were cuddling with their legs swinging off the edge of the ambulance floor. Ford had finally gotten some proper stitches in his head, as well as a bandage around it, and a knee brace. Addi was physically fine, but had a shock blanket draped around her shoulders. His brother smiled back at him.

“How often do ya put trackers on me?” Fiddleford wondered. His ambulance was next to Ford’s.

“Only when there’s a big whoppin’ emergency,” Madeline answered. Fiddleford was sitting up on his stretcher, and Madeline had joined him on it. The tremors had all but stopped, Stan was glad to see. Those were what had scared Madeline and the paramedics the most, but it had apparently only been shock symptoms, and wasn’t indicative of any kind of lasting brain damage. That hadn’t stopped Addi from flatly stating that both Fiddleford and herself were going to be booked up in mental therapy for the next few months, an action which Stan for one wholeheartedly agreed with.

Funnily enough, Fiddleford’s erratic speech was nothing to worry about. Madeline had disclosed that it wasn’t that out of character for him. He was way worse when he was drunk, apparently.

Something that balanced out the heartbreak that Madeline had shown when Fiddleford hadn’t entirely recognised her was the amazement and happiness on his face when she managed to tell him that she – at this point flushed from the action of the conflict with the Cipher Wheel agents, dressed head to foot in tactical gear, and backlit by the light from the elevator like some sort of avenging angel come to save them all – was his wife. Since then he’d seen Fiddleford staring off into space occasionally, just thinking things over.

“So what’s happening to Oracle Division?” Carla asked.

“We’re dissolved,” Addi replied. She nodded off to where Jheselbraum had moved to talk to some FBI officials. “The director said our mission’s over. The FBI has it handled from here, and Oracle Division agents will be picked up by other departments,”

“Is that what's going to happen to you?” Stan inquired, looking between her and Fiddleford.

Addi hesitated.

“Like hell it is!” Fiddleford snapped for her. “Whatever son of a bitumen road tries to stop me from retirin’ right this minute is goin’ ta be sorry. Ah’ve had it up to here with spies!”

“Fair enough,” Stan said, as Madeline high-fived him.

“I think I’m done with that scene for a while too,” Addi said, nestling closer to Ford.

“In that case,” Ford said, clearing his throat, “since I appear to be out of a job as well, how would you like to stay here with me? I’ve been thinking about going the scientific research route for years now, and this seems to be the perfect opportunity to do it,”

“Wh- really? Yes, of course! I’d love to!” Addi exclaimed, lurching off his shoulder to look him in the eye.

Happy as anything, Ford leaned forward so he could see into Fiddleford’s ambulance. “You’d be welcome too, Fiddleford. I can also look back over the memory gun schematics, see if I can reverse-engineer them. Any chance to make things right-”

“Ford, ‘making things right’ isn’t going to happen,” Addi interrupted.

Ford looked shattered.

Addi blanched. “No, no! That’s not what I meant! It’s because the memories are coming back on their own! We don’t need you to make a reverse-memory gun!”

“Wait, they are?” exclaimed Stan.

She nodded at him. “Every now and then another one gets triggered,”

Ford looked at Fiddleford. “Is this happening with you as well?”

“It is. Maddie’s been tellin’ me about Tate, and I’m rememberin’ him better all the time,”

“Well then maybe-” Ford reached behind him and grabbed the Journal, which he’d taken from the basement – “it would help if I recounted our missions together… that is, if you want my help…?” He looked uncertainly at Fiddleford. Stan winced as he remembered the anger he’d seen on the man’s face as Cipher had indicated the Journal.

Fiddleford sighed. “Stanford, Addi’s right. Cipher didn’t need that thing to hurt us, it was just convenient for him. Ah’d greatly appreciate yer help, and,” He glanced at Madeline, who shrugged in an easygoing manner, “Ah’d be happy to work with ya in th’future,”

Relief crossed Ford’s features.

Stan privately noticed that Fiddleford was clearly – to him at least – holding back quite a lot. Those first sentences had a rigidity to them that Stan thought probably meant that while Fiddleford could say them, and know they were true, there was still a way to go before he would really believe them. However, the fact that he had said them meant that things were already looking up.

“So you’re… doing okay?” Carla cringed at the inadequacy of the question.

“Improvin’,” Fiddleford nodded. “The memory gun stopped workin’ on me after a while, so that’s helped. Don’t think Cipher noticed, or cared too,”

“It did?” Addi asked, wide-eyed. “I mean, thank God, but… it did?”

At Fiddleford’s shrug, Ford straightened up. “That’s incredible! Perhaps you built up a resistance to the ray, or maybe the gun lost its power after a while – although that wouldn’t explain why it continued to work on Addi… I wonder, if we took an MRI of your brain-”

“Ford, are ya a neuroscientist?” Madeline asked with an amused tilt to her head.

“Ah, no-”

“Then leave it alone fer now. Let’s just relax for a while,”

Ford gave an embarrassed grin and Fiddleford squeezed his wife’s shoulders contentedly.

“All that bein’ said,” he piped up suddenly, irritation entering his voice. “Writin’ down yer top secret escapades was an idiotic thing ta do, Stanford, and if I’m goin’ to be workin’ with ya, you’ll be usin’ a computer, yer hear?”

“Computer’s can be hacked,” Ford responded weakly.

“Not mine,” said Fiddleford grimly.

Ford nodded his acquiescence, not that he had much choice, and then turned hopefully to Stan and Carla.

“We’ve already got jobs,” grinned Stan.

“We’ve also got some mandatory leave,” Carla put in. “I’d be happy to spend it here. After all, we’ve got ten years to catch up on, Ford,” She offered, and laughed as Stan immediately agreed to the idea. He was in no way ready to say goodbye to his brother yet, and he didn’t think Ford wanted him to leave yet either. There was still plenty of sappy hugs and conversations to have before then. And it looked like they were about to start now, as Ford opened the Journal on his lap, pressed a kiss to Addi’s hair, rolled his eyes at Stan’s eyebrow waggle, and began to read.

What had his life been like two weeks ago? He’d had a girlfriend who loved him, but who had also been extremely pressured by her work. He’d had a steady-ish job, but no friends. And a brother who he hadn’t seen in five years. Two weeks ago, life had been lonely, and quiet.

Now, he had a fiancée who loved him and whose case was all but wrapped up so she wasn’t in danger of dying of stress, he had taken down a terrorist and probably deserved a medal or some cash or something, he had two very firm friends who pulled stunts he found completely nuts but which probably meant that they weren’t about to be scared away any time soon, and a brother who wanted him around, who liked talking to him, who once again wanted his help and wanted to help him in return.

Now, life was moving on to better things, and he was looking forward to their next adventures even more.

[missmarj]

Without You

Word Count: 2021

Pairing: Steve x Reader

Mentions: Tony Stark, Natasha Romanoff, Bruce Banner, Bucky Barnes, Clint Barton, Wanda Maximoff, Thor, Nick Fury

Summary: The team expresses grief of losing you. The team held a funeral service and some shared a few words before letting you go

Warnings: Angst, Feels train.

No one can really say how or what they’re feeling because it still doesn't feel real to them. Tony looks around the empty common room, smiling half-heartedly as he can still see you sitting by the window with Steve as you two sketch each other. Tears start to pool in his eyes which he immediately blinks away as the AI's voice broke the deafening silence. "Everything's been overseen, Boss. Director Fury will be coming in anytime soon."

Natasha walks aimlessly to the common room with the rest of team in tow. They all fall lifelessly on the surrounding couches with red rimmed puffy eyes. Bruce looks around looking for someone in particular, finally he asks, "Where's Steve?" All he got as a response were blank stares and a remorseful shake of head from Bucky. Tony sighs as he turns the screen on, turning on the news channel.

Last Friday morning, rumors surfaced about a certain Avenger passing and it spread widely like wild fire but no one hears from the team of heroes. Until today when Agent Maria Hill, the acting spokesperson of the Avengers, finally addressed the news. Now the entire world mourns for the loss of Y/n Y/l/n. We send our sincerest sympathy and prayers to the hero's closest friends and relatives. Here's a short tribute from the network. These are just some of the moments we were privileged to capture of one of the bravest and most inspirational hero, Y/n.

Thor felt his heart clench as Y/n's laughter sounds through the speakers making him look up to the screen. Tears stream down Tony's face as series of Y/n's previous interviews on the news show play. He wipes it away quick but more tears keep falling.

"Look at her, that's during the community outreach." Clint clears his throat and continues, "She's been building houses for hours that day. She looks like a freaking angel." Clint says, smiling fondly but tears were pooling at his eyes. Natasha shakes her head laughing, "It's not fair, look at Wanda and I on the background! We look so haggard!" she covers her mouth as the laughter fade into silent pained sobs.

"I love my team mates. They're all dorks, honestly. Except for Nat, that woman is just fucking cool no matter what she does!" Y/n covers her mouth her eyes widening. "Sorry! I can't swear right?"

"Yes, Steve Rogers and I are dating. He's all mine." You hug Steve's waist and jumped up to kiss his bearded jaw, leaving a blushing Steve looking anywhere else but the camera.

Steve's jaw clenches and he felt as if his teeth would break for trying to hold the sobs from escaping his mouth. He turns away, leaning against the doorway and feeling the world shift all around him. The light thud made everyone look his way. Only Bucky had the balls to walk up to him, he pulls him in a hug

Nick Fury enters the common room and saw the world's mightiest heroes at their most vulnerable. Tony looks his way and he nods. "Team. It's time." Nick says solemnly and he was greeted with red rimmed eyes. Steve squeezed Bucky's shoulder and he gave him a tired smile. As they make their way out of the tower, they exchanged wide eyed glances. So much people came out for Y/n's funeral service.

Natasha shakes her head, smiling. "Didn't know you're such a little Ms. Popular, huh?" she mutters, looking up at the bright blue sky. "Look at all these lives Y/n touched. That girl never ceases to amaze me." Thor says fondly, Bruce chuckle at his side, nodding in agreement. Steve chokes on his tears as he sees Y/n's picture by her casket smiling widely as Bucky almost half drag him to their seats.

"We've gathered here today to remember the beautiful life of Agent Y/n Y/L/n." Nick says, flashing a smile at Y/n’s photograph. "A life she dedicated fighting for what she believes in and doing all that she can for the world. We just lost ourselves one hell of a hero but heaven above just earned themselves back an extraordinary angel. In honor of the life she lived, a few members of our team are going to share with you, fond memories they've shared with Y/n. This way, before we let her go," Nick's voice broke at the end and he tries to recover quickly, casting his gaze down and clearing his throat. "We can get to know her in ways we never did before."

"Today is Independence day. It's one of Y/n's favorite holiday. She used to drag me to all these families that had recently lost their loved ones from war. We'd visit veteran homes and she'll spend the afternoon busying herself in the kitchen to prepare them a special dinner while most people are out partying. She honors as much person who dedicated their lives so the world can be a little bit less messed up as she can." Wanda looks at Y/n's casket, placing a trembling hand on it. "I didn't fully understand her dedication before, but now, I do. I just can’t believe that the next Independence day I’ll be celebrating, you’re one of the fallen heroes I’ll be honoring, Y/n.” Wanda tried to muffle her sobs with her hand but completely failed. “I will honor you every day of my life. Thank you for teaching me and guiding me. You’re the best sister I never had."

“Out of all us in team, she’s the only one who can actually cook. Before we had her we relied on take outs, deliveries and ready-to-eat meals from Stark Industries which I can tell you is not one of their strengths.” Sam chuckles, flashing a knowing smile to Tony who merely rolls his eyes. “I always look forward to our Saturday nights when we get all fancy with the wine and whatever five star quality meal Y/n just effortlessly puts out for us. I really regret not making a move on her before Mr. Captain America here swept her off her feet because, Goddamn, that woman was wifey material.” The crowd laughs, Steve smiling and shaking his head at his friend. Sam’s smile fades as his gaze lay on the casket in front of him. He sighs and wet his lips. “I can’t believe that you’ve left us to fend for ourselves, Y/n. I mean, who’s going to stop Bucky and I from killing each other next time we get into a fight? That’s real lousy, girl.” He swallows hard, eyes falling on the podium as he tried to recompose himself. “I’m gonna miss you.”

“I met a lot of fighters in my life but I rarely meet fighters who avoid the fight because they know they’ll win.” Natasha says smiling warmly at Bruce. “Y/n has offered mercy to every single foe we met. Every. Single. One. She never really believed that a person can’t not have goodness within them. She always tries to see beyond the ugly truth. Always tries to see past someone’s dark side. Always believed in hope and in love.” A shaky breath escapes Natasha and she looks away as tears fall down her cheeks. “We never really deserved her.” She mutters.

“Y/n is the type of person that you just know when she’s in the room. Just like a ball of sunshine. Extremely intelligent, charming and stubborn, which is just the most dangerous combination. She also seems like she’s got everything figured out, always knowing what to do and what to say. It’s crazy because I’m over a hundred years old and I can’t do half the shit she’s able to do.” Bucky laughs, the whole team laughing with him. “My pal, Steve is one of the most selfless people I know and if there was anyone, ever, worthy of someone like Y/n? It’s him. And they’re just the best couple around. Not big on PDA unlike some couples,” he shoots a glare at Wanda and Vision currently in each other’s arms, causing everyone to look their way and laugh. “But sometimes annoying as hell because you know you can never have it as good.” Natasha runs a comforting hand on Steve’s shoulder as he let a few tears slip. Bucky pauses for a second, his eyes filling with tears as he looks at Y/n’s photograph. Finally he smiles continues, “You just rest up in there now, okay sweetheart? I’ll be protecting Steve and the rest of the team from now on.” He says then adds, “Even Sam, I promise.” Steve lets out a tearful laugh, clasping Sam’s shoulder.

“Everyone thought I was crazy when I first brought in Y/n like they had when I brought Peter. But weeks later, they’re all in love with her. Typical.” Tony rolls his eyes and the team laughs, reminiscent. “My favorite thing about Y/n is that she’s never really afraid of standing firm on what she believes in and it kinda made sense that she ended up with you, Cap. I mean that in every best way possible, by the way.” Tony grins at Steve who smiles back muttering a thank you. “The tower now is all sorts of lonely without you, Y/n. It’s literally quieter.” He chuckles, shaking his head. “I’ll miss hearing you yell over Sam and Bucky’s grunts and I never thought I’d see the day when I tell you that I’ll miss your out of the blue squeals of excitement over the littlest good news you get. Can’t believe I’ve found it annoying then.” Tony looks to the side, discretely wiping a tear. He sighs and continues, “You always said that you were lucky because we we’re all actually friends not just team mates. But it was us, Y/n. We were the lucky ones.”

As Steve takes the podium, a cool wind blew past the warm sunny morning. His nostrils flared and his eyes shut close. His senses fill with the sweet smell of roses, just like how Y/n’s hair used to smell. “I know baby, I love you.” He whispers, acknowledging her presence. Finally he opens his eyes and saw the faces of every single person that loved the woman that meant the world to him. He saw the beauty of her life through them and this put a smile on his trembling lips.

“Y/n Y/m/i Y/l/n was born on Y/b/d, in Y/h/t. A loving daughter, a friend, a brave soldier and one of the strongest women I had the privilege to meet. She spends most of her days off in different orphanages, homes for the elderly, rehabilitation centers, prisons and facilities for those with special needs. Sometimes I ask myself if she’s even real. She’s relentless in believing the world could get better. I lost that hope a while back after years of fighting other people’s battles and losing everything I love in the process.” He says, gazing towards Bucky with a sigh.

“But, Y/n, she-“ Steve pauses, clearing his throat. “She made me believe again that it can get better. That you just have to try harder than you did before. She restored my faith.” Steve’s hands combs through his hair, his fingers locking on the back of his head. He lets a few tears fall with a ragged breath. By this time, everyone is in tears and the silence was deafening. “She’s the woman of my dreams. She’s my world. I honestly don’t know what to do now that she’s gone. Just imagining waking up tomorrow in a world where she isn’t there any more kills me.” Steve scoffs, a sad smile forming in his lips. “But I know if you’re here right now, you’ll tell me, “Steven Grant Rogers, you walk it off! That’s what we do.”  with that look on your face as you use my own words against me.” The team nods in agreement, broken smiles painting over their tear-stained faces. “So, Y/n, baby, I hope you grant me the strength to push through. Because I mean it. For the first time in my life, I really don’t know what to do.” He whimpers, placing a trembling hand on your casket.

[ritebeforeyoureyes]

Haunt

Thank you all for being so patient with me! I know it’s been a while, but exam season did kick my butt. But now I’m done, and I’ll try and post as often as I can.

Masterlist – Plot: Zendaya and Tom grow closer.

Haunt (Chapter Sixteen)        

Getting to know Zendaya again was surprisingly refreshing for Tom. At first, she was hesitant to open up to him like she had previously been. But soon – day by day – Tom saw Zendaya’s walls start to break down. Every morning, he would conjure up a steaming cup of coffee and insist on learning about her ways of life and to begin with, Zendaya found it strange. It was always the same; she’d wake up, wake him up, tell him what she was doing for the day and he would follow her. Not even Darnell knew the ins and outs of how long she spent in the bathroom upon waking up but within time, Tom’s presence became just another part of her life – so much so that Tom was practically sleeping on the couch of her one-bedroom apartment.

“I think I’m going to head to the gym today.” Zendaya was dressed minimally in a pair of sweatpants and a tank top and yet, she was still as beautiful as ever. Her hands were gripping at her hair, forcing the strands into a messy bun as she scrambled about her kitchen in an attempt to find a water bottle.

“The gym?” Tom questioned, with a mocking tone to his voice. For a moment, he’d forgotten that dance had become such a big part of Zendaya’s life. The Zendaya he knew, back in the day, was the last person you would catch in the gym.

“Are you forgetting about dance, Thomas?”

Zendaya had always enjoyed dancing as an adolescent. Her lengthy limbs and delicate movements made her a spokesperson for any type of graceful dance. But she’d never really pursued it as anything other than a hobby. And as Tom got to know the new Zendaya, he had come to learn that photography and dance had become her outlets after he’d just picked up and left. Whenever she was upset or angry at him or the circumstances at home, taking pictures of mundane things made her see life differently. She lived behind the façade of a camera; the same thing applying to her dancing. She’d spend hours in the dance studio, perfecting her technique and extenuating her lines. When she danced, she wasn’t herself. There was a character or a feeling she portrayed and just for a moment, she wasn’t just broken and damaged Zendaya – she was strong and beautiful and courageous. And Tom had loved the light in her eyes as she spoke about it. She’d even told him the unexpected, “I applied to Juilliard, you know.”

On the contrary, as always, Tom was reminded of all the bad his departure had done to Zendaya’s life. Because she’d gotten in, to Juilliard and when he asked why she couldn’t go, his heart had plummeted into his rib cage. Juilliard was one of the best performing acts schools in the world and she had been one of the few who had been accepted and if Tom had stuck around, she would have attended. Tom had enough money to pay for her fees and his support would have been enough to tell her that she was more than deserving of the honour. But, not only could she not afford the incredibly high tuition fees, but she hadn’t been in the mental capacity to begin studying when the rest of her class had graduated. With everything in her life thrown up and into the air, Zendaya had taken a year out of school to focus on her mental health, bust tables and earn some money which eventually enabled her to uproot across the country.

And as they made their way into the tucked away, run-down dance studio, Tom couldn’t help but feel the dark cloud that had settled over him. He felt guilty and if he planned on wanting more from Zendaya, he knew he needed to voice his concerns, not only for her, but for himself too.

“I’m sorry.” He nestled himself on a bench in the corner of the room, his buff arms folded across his chest.

“For what?”

“I don’t think any apology is going to make up for the fact this is your life.” Tom ushered to the dirt streaked mirrors, the crooked floorboards and the musky dampness that infiltrated the place. “I should have been there-“

“Look, honestly, you leaving fucked me up.” Zendaya spoke with a candour that seemingly wasn’t helping displace Tom’s guilt. “But don’t apologise for my life ending up the way it did. I like this life. I built this life, for me, and I’m proud of it so, please don’t diminish it because it’s not the penthouse your used to-“

“I didn’t mean it like that-“ Tom was quick to defend himself, obviously not expecting the conversational tone to take such a drastic turn. “I’m not undermining the journey it took for you to get here. I just … I pretty much squashed the potential you had-“

“And you don’t think I have potential now?” It seemed everything Tom said triggered Zendaya and he didn’t want to fight with her, not when things were going so well so he took the time to deeply think about his words before he voiced them.

“I’m just sorry that you had to struggle so much because of me. The money, the missing me – it shaped who you are today, yeah, but there’s so much I look back on and … look, all I meant to say is I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry for the stupid decisions I made, and I hope you truly believe that.”

“Thanks, Tom.” Zendaya nodded lightly before turning her attention towards her sneakers. “And, I do.”

After their little honest conversation, both of them tried to lighten the mood that had suddenly grown incredibly heavy. At first, most of Zendaya’s session involved her stretching and doing the monotonous exercise tasks that raised her heartbeat; all of which Tom was happy to watch her do. But as their silence grew longer and Zendaya grew increasingly tired, she played some light-hearted music and managed to get Tom up on the floor to dance with her too. It had taken a lot of convincing but as soon as Zendaya hit him with her puppy dog eyes, there was no saying no.

Tom was as smitten as a new-born kitten.

“I look like an idiot.” Tom complained as he spun around on one foot, his balance forcing him to stumble all over the place.

“You are an idiot.” Zendaya chided playfully before placing her hands against his torso. She didn’t think about their proximity, the dancer in her purely thinking about Tom’s technique. But as soon as she touched him, she realised how close they were. Her nose was enveloped by his natural scent and she gulped loudly; both her mind and heart cursing her for still feeling so inevitably attracted to Tom. And, it was safe to say, Tom felt the same way. He couldn’t see Zendaya as she was behind him, but he felt her first. He felt the warmth of her body and that chemistry that was evidently palpable. Then when she actually touched him, he felt the perspiration form across his body. A mere hand to his side was sending him in a frenzy and he spun around to face her, this time, his technique surprisingly skilful. “That … was good.”

“Z.” Tom slowly moved towards her. Their bodies were already close, so he inched his face forwards, their eye contact not wavering. But before Tom could kiss her like he so desperately wanted to do, the shrill tone of his ringtone interrupted them. It was like a bucket of ice cold water had been thrown at them and they sprung apart, both surprisingly embarrassed with themselves. “It’s Harry, sorry, I need to take this.”

“Go ahead.” Zendaya shrugged, kind of breathless and light-headed with the thought of what would have happened if Harry hadn’t called.

They had had moments like these before and as time progressed, they were growing incredibly frequent. They’d bump into each other walking in and out of the bathroom and Tom’s touch would linger. She’d be eating dinner and find him staring at her like she was the last piece of cake. They’d drive to her studio and he’d hum to the radio and she’d smile every time he did. Tom was like Zendaya’s drug, somebody she couldn’t get enough of. And despite their unfortunate past lingering upon her shoulder, Zendaya found herself enjoying having Tom back around. It had taken some time, but things were slowly edging towards being normal again. She didn’t hesitate before telling him something or defy his every word; they were friends. But at times like these, she didn’t want to be just friends and it scared her. It petrified her. Because crossing the boundary between being friends and being more meant that Zendaya’s heart was back on the line. It meant she was susceptible to heartbreak and she wasn’t sure if she was ready for anything that serious yet.

Tom, on the other hand, cursed at Harry for his bad timing. Because, he knew, without that interruption she would have kissed him. That same light in her eyes that she got when talking about dance and photography, was the same light he could see in her eyes as he looked at her. It was a light he hadn’t seen since reuniting with her since they were teenagers and he was certain – absolutely certain – that she was catching feelings again.

“What is it, Harry?” Tom answered the phone with a snappy tone, his eyes fixated on Zendaya who was doing anything but looking in his direction.

“We’ve been doing some digging on Harrison.” Harry explained the purpose of his call. “Turns out he’s trying to relocate some of his business from New Jersey up to the city.”

“What?” Tom raised his voice in disbelief.

Tom’s outrage was justified because in their line of work, territory meant everything. Tom’s business involved the likes of drug exchanges, illegal business deals, assassinations. And with these came loyal clients, clients who had inhabited New York for centuries. It was an unsaid rule that most mafia or gang associations had a territory that was theirs and trying to infiltrate somebody else’s territory or their clientele was virtually unheard of. The likes of Tom and Harrison’s men had enough run-ins with the police and social agents of control, nobody wanted to create unnecessary conflict otherwise – that was until now.

“It looks like his primary goal is to ruin you.” Harry admitted the fact that everyone in the Holland family knew. Harrison was out for blood. “Going after Zendaya, our business-“

“He’s not going to succeed.” The finality in Tom’s voice was in reference to Zendaya. Tom knew how deeply the hatred between him and Harrison ran, and he knew if Haz got a hold of her, he would ruin her. Harrison wasn’t a forgiving man, and in his eyes, Zendaya was already the enemy out of association.

“Well, that’s where me and Sam come in.”

“What do you mean?” Tom could practically hear the smirk on Harry’s voice and his furiousness switched to curiosity.

“We feel like some confrontation with Harrison is necessary. He keeps trying to test us. If he really wanted Zendaya dead, she would be right now.” Tom didn’t like that thought and he snarled loudly, catching both Harry and Zendaya off guard. “He’s trying to scare you by dangling her in front of your face. We just have to show him whose boss.”

“And how do you propose we do that?”

“A charity gala.” Harry was grinning from ear to ear, proud of both him and Sam for coming up with the plan. “A public event hosted by us with the crème de la crème of New York’s elite. With all of our clients in attendance and paparazzi everywhere, Harrison wouldn’t dare do anything risky. And if he’s trying to steal our business, he has to do some ass kissing first. He’ll be trying to schmooze everyone, and we can show him whose boss; ridicule the Osterfield name before it even gets any chance of being mentioned in the city.”

Tom listened to Harry’s plan attentively and found himself subconsciously nodding in pride. After choosing to make Zendaya his priority, Tom had had to take a step back and had let Sam and Harry run the nitty gritty details of their business. And, the boys were proving themselves worthy. Their plans were commendable, something Tom wouldn’t even have thought of himself. “So, what do you say, huh?”

“I’m in.” Tom confirmed – he was going to have to confront Harrison himself.

If you enjoyed this piece and would like to help further me and my work, please support me whilst I get through university. The money you donate will go towards assisting me in my student fees, rent etc. It is one hundred per cent a voluntary pursuit and greatly appreciated, however, your lovely comments, likes and reblogs are always welcomed too. Thank you for being the greatest: https://ko-fi.com/D1D072V0

[ellana-ravenwood]

The Bat(mom) Glare - Batmom x Batfamily

Summary : Everyone feels a bit...uneasy when Batmom gives them that glare.

I know I said the next fic would be about a jealous Bruce, but I had a dream last night about this story down there, and just had to write it, hoping it’s not too bad, hoping you’ll like it. As usual feedbacks are welcome ! Here : 

You can find my masterlist here : @ella-ravenwood-archives

________________________________________________

It was at the very beginning of your relationship with Bruce that you discovered your “superpower”. Before that, you never really noticed, even though it was already there...No, it really was about four months in dating the Batman that you truly realized this capacity of yours. 

You had been friend with Bruce for years, and you knew about his nightly activities since quite a while...So when he told you you two shouldn’t be together anymore because it was dangerous, you couldn’t help but sarcastically laugh and give him your best “really ?” face. 

What, all those years it wasn’t dangerous and all of a sudden, as your relationship started to get serious, it became life threatening ? 

You remember him scoffing at you, saying it had nothing to do with you and him getting “serious”, while you perfectly knew it had everything to do with it. 

Words were useless to convince him, he was such a stubborn man, and he wouldn’t listen...So you just stared at him. Glared at him. You did not turn your gaze away, you did not leave like he told you to. 

You ignored Alfred and his sorry look, when he told you to follow him out of the batcave. You ignored Bruce when he started yelling at you to leave. You just glared at him, you kept your eyes on his silhouette. Until he said : 

-Stop looking at me like that. 

You didn’t stop. Because all of this was bullshit. Because he was pushing you away for a stupid reason. Because you knew he was doing it only cause he was afraid to get too close from someone and loose them too, like he lost his parents...So you just kept staring, glaring, without saying a word. 

-Stop (Y/N), please.

He tried to keep his composure for a long time. Damn stubborn man. 

Only, on that day, he realized that you were way more stubborn than he’ll ever be. Only, on that day, he realized, as your eyes wouldn’t leave his form, he could not go on without you. But he still resisted. For appearances maybe ? Or maybe he thought you’d eventually give up. You did not. You would never give up on him, he just had to deal with it. 

-Stop...stop looking at me like that...(Y/N)...please...

His voice was cracking. You had won. He knew it. You knew it. Because the reason he was pushing you away was bullshit. Being around him was dangerous ? Well big deal, leaving in fucking Gotham was dangerous anyway ! So you stared at him, glared at him, until he gave up. 

He needed you. Your support. Your presence. He knew it, you knew it. And under your intense gaze, he realized just to what extend he loved you. 

Love ? Yes. Yes it was definitely that. An intense, deep, unbreakable bond had always existed between you...and the day he finally asked you out, it became stronger than ever. No, he would not pushing you away because things were “dangerous”. You wouldn’t let him. So you stared, and he realized...

He realized just how doomed he was because of how much in love he was with you. Too damn much, probably...But it was a good kind of curse. He was glad to be doomed of loving you...

You stopped glaring at him when he fell into your arms, all his tough and emotionless demeanor gone. You stopped glaring at him once you knew he understood. You weren’t going anywhere. Period. At least, not until he’d stop loving you (which he knew would never happen. Could never happen. Hell, he was the one afraid you’d be tired of his shit and leave...But you’d never leave). 

On that day, he realized how much you meant to him, and you realized that you had magic eyes. If, with a simple glare, you could crack even the great Batman...Yup, you discovered your “superpower” the day Bruce understood you were the one and only. The love of his life. 

****************

Of course, most of the time, the use of your “magical eyes” wouldn’t be in such intense moments, wouldn’t be to convince your now husband that you’d never leave him, no matter what.

Usually, it’d be just when someone pissed you off, annoyed you, you’d stare at them, face more serious than ever, and no matter the strength of their will, they’d end up apologizing to you. 

“The Batmom glare”. That’s how your sons came to call it. 

It worked on them just as much as it worked on their father. Whenever one of them would do something you didn’t like, mostly something rude, you’d glare at them until, head bends down, they’d say : 

-...Sorry mom. 

You used it a lot when they started to fight. For exemple, that time Damian and Tim were at it again, and almost started to fight...until they spotted you, glaring at them. They tried to ignore it, but it was impossible, your power glare was just too strong for them...They stopped, apologized to each other, shook hands and...under your gaze even hugged before going to watch a movie together. 

When Jason was acting out and was provoking his father on purpose...He would stop immediately when meeting your eyes. And under your gaze, he would mumble an apology, and your husband would act as if it was nothing (though every night he’d cuddle against you, in need of reassurance that his son did not hate him...Of course he didn’t hate him, he just wanted his attention, and didn’t really know how to get it...). 

Oh and let’s not talk about when you got wind of Dick’s bad habit of skipping school...He definitely never did it again. 

It just always worked. It solved so many problems in your life. 

****************

Paparazzis would run away when you glared at them that way. 

Women who thought Bruce deserved better than you would never utter a word in your general direction ever again when you gave them the look. 

Politics and powerful men who tried to make you feel inferior to them because you were a woman, and “only Mr. Wayne’s spokesperson” would shiver under your gaze, and agree with whatever you’d say. 

Maybe sometimes you overused your “powers”, but Hell, it was the funniest thing to see all those people who thought they were better than you because you came from a poor neighborhood in Gotham, quiver when you glared at them. It was great to see the opinion they had of you change as you inspired respect just with your eyes. And through the years, less and less people dared to play the smart ass with Mrs. (Y/N) Wayne.

You used this glare though, only with people who deserved it. You would never intimidate someone just for fun. You were really a nice person, everyone who knew you personally would agree on that. You were an extremely empathic woman, and you did so much for Gotham’s disadvantaged communities. It’s just, sometimes, people should know better than to piss you off, you know ? 

You’d also glare a lot at people who were being rude or inappropriate, not only to you, but to people, even if said people were strangers. You just hated rudeness, and you’d make them apologize with your glare. 

Bruce thought it was insanely hot (except when it was destined to him...though the only time you glared at him was when he was being stubborn about something stupid). 

*****************

One day, while the entire Batfam was at the League’s headquarter, your friends that were present got surprised when you made Damian apologize to Superman (you couldn’t exactly remember what you son said, but you knew it was mean, and you hated free mean comments) by just looking at him intensely. 

Dick explained the “batmom glare” to them, and they were impressed...except for Hal, who did not believe in it. Well, up until you stared him down from across the room. Then, he definitely trusted your son’s words. 

You, a simple human (with some martial arts training, after all, you were the Batman’s wife), intimidated the mighty Green Lantern simply by looking at him.

With a smirk, you remember Jason saying, pointing at your husband : 

-And it works on him too. 

Bruce grumble incoherent sentences, trying to deny it...But then you gave him the glare, and, looking around at his friends, he said : 

-Yeah. Works on me too. 

They were impressed. And highly amused.  Laughter filled the room, and you and your sons thought it was the most hilarious thing ever when you stop them all dead in their track, stopped their laughter, by simply looking at them...Once you started to laugh though, quickly followed by your sons (hell, even Bruce smirked and chuckled), they understood you were joking, and laughed again. 

Still, Clark was properly freaked out. Hal would never underestimate you ever again. Barry was...strangely aroused ? (Which earned him a glare from your husband...scary too, and not at all arousing). Diana liked you even more, but also made sure to never annoy you. Arthur was impressed, and tried to glare at Dinah, who just laughed in his face and said he just wasn’t playing in the same sandbox than you...

Basically, the Justice League’s members learned to not get on your bad side. Not that it’d show often, but there were things, pet peeves of yours, that would make them glare at them, and they just avoided that, no matter how all mighty they were...You just had a way of intimidating them you know ?

********************

“The Batmom glare”, that’s how your sons called it. 

You liked that name. It was suiting. 

You were so glad that you discovered this sort of “superpower” you had, the effect on people just a simple stare from you could have...Because it definitely helped in your every day life. 

[gaysparklepires]

Epilogue - Treaty

Almost everything was back to normal in less time than I would have believed possible. The hospital welcomed Carlisle back with eager arms, not even bothering to conceal their delight that Esme had found life in L.A. so little to her liking. Thanks to the Calculus test I’d missed while abroad, Alice and Edward were in better shape to graduate than I was at the moment. Suddenly, it was time for me to start thinking about college. I had to kick myself for not being more on top of things. Many deadlines had passed me by, but Edward had a new stack of applications for me to fill out every day. He’d already done the Harvard route, so it didn’t bother him that, thanks to my procrastination, we might both end up at Peninsula Community College next year.

Charlie was still not entirely happy with me, or speaking to Edward. However, he saw something in me that reassured him that I would be okay this time and at least Edward was allowed—during designated visiting hours—inside the house again. I still wasn’t allowed out of the house, though.

School and work were the only exceptions, and the dreary, dull yellow walls of my classrooms had become oddly inviting to me of late. I think I was developing cabin fever. It didn’t hurt the situation that I had someone in the desk beside me again.

Edward had resumed his schedule from the beginning of the year, which put him in most of my classes again. After last fall, after the Cullens’ supposed move to L.A., the seat beside me had never been filled. Even Mike, always eager to take any advantage, had kept a safe distance. With Edward back in my life, it was almost as if the last eight months were just a disturbing nightmare.

Almost, but not quite. There was the house arrest situation, for one thing. And for another, before the fall, I hadn’t been best friends with Jacob Black. So, of course, I hadn’t missed him then.

I was desperate to see him, to talk to him again. But I wasn’t at liberty to go to La Push, and Jacob wasn’t coming to see me. He wouldn’t even answer my phone calls.

I made these calls mostly at night, after Edward had been kicked out—promptly at nine by a gruffly protective Charlie—and before Edward snuck back through my window when Charlie was asleep. I chose that time to make my fruitless calls because I’d noticed that Edward made a certain face every time I mentioned Jacob’s name. Sort of disapproving and wary …maybe even angry. I hoped that he had some reciprocal prejudice against the werewolves, and not that he secretly begrudged how close I had gotten to Jacob in his absence.

So, I didn’t mention Jacob much.

With Edward constantly trying to win back my trust, it was hard to think about unhappy things—even my former best friend and almost love, who was probably very unhappy right now, due to me. When I did think of Jake, I always felt guilty for not thinking of him more.

I couldn’t stop thinking of Jacob, even with Edward back. Yes, I did love Edward, very much, but I couldn’t deny where things had been left with Jacob. I had been seconds, a breath away, from choosing Jacob. I couldn’t just forget about that now. Even if I had left so suddenly to go to Edward.

Weeks passed, and Jacob still wouldn’t answer my calls. It started to become a constant worry. Like a dripping faucet in the back of my head that I couldn’t shut off or ignore. Drip, drip, drip. Jacob, Jacob, Jacob.

Even though I didn’t mention Jacob much to Edward, eventually my frustration and anxiety boiled over.

“It’s just… just rude!” I vented one Saturday afternoon when Edward picked me up from work. Being angry about things was easier than feeling guilty. “Downright insulting!”

I’d varied my pattern, in hopes of a different response. I’d called Jake from work this time, only to get an unhelpful Billy. Again.

“Billy said he didn’t want to talk to me,” I fumed, glaring at the rain oozing down the passenger window. “That he was there, and wouldn’t walk three steps to get to the phone! Usually Billy just says he’s out or busy or sleeping or something. I mean, it’s not like I didn’t know he was lying to me, but at least it was a polite way to handle it.” I huffed, and sunk deeper into my seat. Finally I let out a sad sigh. “I guess Billy hates me now too.”

“It’s not you, Beau,” Edward said quietly. “Nobody hates you.”

“You didn’t see Jacob’s face when I left,” I said quietly. “Honestly, he has every right to hate me after everything.”

“Jacob knows we’re back, and I’m sure he’s ascertained that I’m with you,” Edward said. “He won’t come anywhere near me. The enmity is rooted too deeply.”

“Sure, sure. But he knows you’re not… like other vampires.”

“There’s still good reason to keep a safe distance.”

I glared blindly out the windshield, seeing only Jacob’s face, set in the bitter mask I hated.

“Beau, we are what we are,” Edward said quietly. “I can control myself, but I doubt he can. He’s very young. It would most likely turn into a fight, and I don’t know if I could stop it before I k—“ he broke off, and then quickly continued. “Before I hurt him. You would be unhappy. I don’t want that to happen.”

I remembered what Jacob had said in the kitchen, hearing the words with perfect recall in his husky voice. I’m not sure that I’m even-tempered enough to handle that…. You probably wouldn’t like it so much if I killed your friend. But he’d been able to handle it, that time….

“Edward Cullen,” I whispered. “Were you about to say ‘killed him’? Were you?”

He looked away from me, staring into the rain. In front of us, the red light I hadn’t notice turned green and he started driving again, driving very slowly. Not his usual way of driving.

“I would try… very hard… not to do that,” Edward finally said.

I stared at him with my mouth hanging open, but he continued to look straight ahead. We were paused at the corner stop sign.

Abruptly, I remembered what had happened to Paris when Romeo came back. The stage directions were simple: They fight. Paris falls.

“Well,” I said, and took a deep breath, shaking my head to dispel the words in my head. “Nothing like that is ever going to happen, so there’s no reason to worry about it. Because I hope you know I would never forgive you if you… If that happened. So you make sure that never happens, okay?”

“Yes, sir.” He said with a serious expression.

“You better get me home before I get in more trouble for being late. You know Charlie’s staring at the clock right now.”

I turned my face up toward him, to smile-halfheartedly.

My heart stopped when I saw the grave expression on his statue-still face.

“You’re already in more trouble, Beau,” he whispered through unmoving lips.

I followed his gaze to see what he was seeing. I don’t know what I expected—maybe Victor standing in the middle of the street, his flaming red hair blowing in the wind, or a line of tall black cloaks… But I didn’t see anything at all.

“What? What is it?”

He took a deep breath. “Charlie…”

“My dad?” I tensed, panicked.

He looked down at me then, and his expression was calm enough to ease some of my panic.

“Charlie… is probably not going to kill you, but the tone of his thoughts are not… good,” he told me. He started to drive forward again, down my street, but he passed the house and parked by the edge of the trees.

“What did I do?” I gasped.

Edward glanced back at Charlie’s house. I followed his gaze, and noticed for the first time what was parked in the driveway next to the cruiser. Shiny, bright red, impossible to miss. My motorcycle, flaunting itself in the driveway.

Edward had said that Charlie was ready to kill me, so he must know that—that it was mine. There was only one person who could be behind this.

“No!” I gasped. “Why? Why would Jacob do this to me?” The sting of betrayal washed through me. I had trusted Jacob implicitly— trusted him with every single secret I had. He was supposed to be my safe harbor— the person I could always rely on. Of course things were strained right now, but I didn’t think any of the underlying foundation had changed. I didn’t think that was changeable!

What had I done to deserve this? Charlie was going to be so mad— and worse than that, he was going to be hurt and worried. Didn’t he have enough to deal with already? I would have never imagined that Jake could be so petty and just plain mean.

But I knew what I had done to deserve this. I had hurt him deeply. I couldn’t be mad at this betrayal because I had betrayed him first. He had put everything on the table, offered me everything, and I had run out on him.

“Is he still here?” I craned my neck, scanning the area.

“Yes. He’s waiting for us there.” Edward told me, nodding toward the slender path that divided the dark fringe of the forest in two.

I jumped out of the car, launching myself toward the trees. I felt a strange tightness in my chest. I needed to talk to Jacob. Now.

Why did Edward have to be so much faster than me?

He caught me around the waist before I made the path.

“Let me go! Let me go, Edward!” I shouted, pulling frantically away from his arms.

“Charlie will hear you, “Edward warned me. “And once he gets you inside, he may brick over the doorway.”

I glanced back at the house instinctively, and it seemed like the glossy red bike was all I could see. I was going to pay for that, I was sure.

“I need to talk to Jake, Edward, and then I’ll talk to Charlie.” I continued to struggle futilely.

“Jacob Black wants to see me. That’s why he’s still here.”

That stopped me cold—took it right out of me. My arms went limp. They fight; Paris falls.

My stomach dropped, my heart throbbed in my chest.

“Talk?” I asked.

“More or less.”

“How much more?” My voice shook.

Edward ran his hand through my hair. “Don’t worry, he’s not here to fight me. He’s acting as… spokesperson for the pack.”

“Oh.”

Edward looked at the house again, then tightened his arm around my waist and pulled me toward the woods. “We should hurry. Charlie’s getting impatient.”

We didn’t have to go far; Jacob waited just a short way up the path. He lounged against a mossy tree trunk as he waited, his face hard and bitter, exactly the way I knew it would be. He looked at me, and then at Edward. Jacob’s mouth stretched into a humorless sneer, and he shrugged away from the tree. He stood on the balls of his bare feet, leaning slightly forward, with his trembling hands clenched into fists. He looked bigger than the last time I’d seen him. Somehow, impossibly, he was still growing. He would tower over Edward, if they stood next to each other.

But Edward stopped as soon as we saw him, leaving a wide space between us and Jacob. Edward turned his body, shifting me so that I was behind him. I leaned around him to stare at Jacob—to show my disapproval at his actions.

I would have thought that seeing his resentful, cynical expression would only make me angry. Instead, it reminded me of the last time I’d seen him, with tears in his eyes. Any feeling of betrayal weakened, faltered, as I stared at Jacob. It had been so long since I’d seen him— I hated that our reunion had to be like this. I realized what the strange feeling in my chest was. It was that last break in my heart I had felt when I left him throbbing anew.

“Beau,” Jacob said as a greeting, nodding once toward me without looking away from Edward.

“Why?” I whispered, trying to hide the sound of the lump in my throat. “Why did you do that? How could you do that, Jacob?”

The sneer vanished, but his face stayed hard and rigid. “It’s for the best.”

“What is that supposed to mean? Do you want Charlie to strangle me? Or did you want him to have a heart attack, like Harry? No matter how mad you are at me, how could you do this to him?”

Jacob winced, and his eyebrows pulled together, but he didn’t answer.

“He didn’t want to hurt anyone—he just wanted to get you grounded, so that you wouldn’t be allowed to spend time with me,” Edward murmured, explaining the thoughts Jacob wouldn’t say.

Jacob’s eyes sparked with hate as he glowered at Edward again.

“Aw, Jake!” I groaned. “I’m already grounded! Why do you think I haven’t been down to La Push to see you? Or to kick your butt for avoiding my phone calls?”

Jacob’s eyes flashed back to me, confused for the first time. “That’s why?” he asked, and then locked his jaw, like he was sorry he’d said anything.

“He thought I wouldn’t let you, not Charlie,” Edward explained again.

“Stop that,” Jacob snapped.

Edward didn’t answer.

Jacob shuddered once, and then gritted his teeth as hard as his fists. “Beau wasn’t exaggerating about your… abilities,” he said through his teeth. “So you must already know why I’m here.”

“Yes,” Edward agreed in a soft voice. “But, before you begin, I need to say something.”

Jacob waited, clenching and unclenching his hands as he tried to control the shivers rolling down his arms.

“Thank you,” Edward said, and his voice throbbed with the depth of his sincerity. “I will never be able to tell you how grateful I am. I will owe you for the rest of my… existence.”

Jacob stared at him blankly, his shudders stilled by surprise. He exchanged a quick glance with me, but my face was just as mystified.

“For keeping Beau alive,” Edward clarified, his voice rough and fervent. “When I… didn’t.”

Understanding washed over Jacob’s face before the hard mask returned. “I didn’t do it for your benefit.”

“I know. But that doesn’t erase the gratitude I feel. I thought you should know. If there’s ever anything in my power to do for you…”

Jacob raised one black brow.

Edward shook his head. “That’s not in my power.”

“Whose, then?” Jacob growled.

Edward looked down at me. “His. I’m a quick learner, Jacob Black, and I don’t make the same mistake twice. I’m here until Beau orders me away.”

It wasn’t hard to understand what I’d missed in the conversation. The only thing that Jacob would want from Edward would be his absence.

I didn’t speak. I stared back at Edward for a moment, then sighed.

I turned to Jacob slowly. “Was there something else you needed, Jake? You wanted me in trouble— mission accomplished. Charlie might just send me to military school and then I won’t be able to see either of you, so I hope you’re happy. So what else did you come for?”

Jacob kept his eyes on Edward. “I just needed to remind your bloodsucking friends of a few key points in the treaty they agreed to. The treaty that is the only thing stopping me from ripping his throat out right this minute.”

“We haven’t forgotten,” Edward said at the same time that I demanded, “What key points?”

Jacob still glowered at Edward, but he answered me. “The treaty is quite specific. If any of them bite a human, the truce is over. Bite, not kill,” he emphasized. Finally, he looked at me. His eyes were cold.

It only took me a second to grasp the distinction, and then my face went pale.

“That’s complicated, Jake, I don’t want to get you involved. It’s not your business.”

“The hell it—” was all he managed to choke out.

I didn’t expect my lack of an explanation to bring on such a strong response. Despite the warning he’d come to give, he must not have thought it was an actual possibility. He must have thought the warning was just a precaution. How could he have known what had happened in Italy and how could I explain the situation I was in now?

Jacob was in a fit of near convulsions. He pressed his fists hard against his temples, closing his eyes tight and curling in on himself as he tried to control the spasms. His face turned sallow green under the russet skin.

“Jake? You okay?” I asked anxiously.

I took a half-step toward him, then Edward caught me and yanked me back behind his own body. “Careful! He’s not under control,” he warned me.

But Jacob was already somewhat himself again; only his arms were shaking now. He scowled at Edward with pure hate. “Ugh. I would never hurt him.”

Neither Edward or I missed the inflection, or the accusation it contained. A low hiss escaped Edward’s lips. Jacob clenched his fists reflexively.

“BEAU!” Charlie’s roar echoed from the direction of the house. “YOU GET IN THIS HOUSE THIS INSTANT!”

All of us froze, listening to the silence that followed.

I was the first to speak; my voice trembled. “Crap.”

Jacob’s furious expression faltered. “I am sorry about that,” he muttered. “I had to do what I could— I had to try.…”

“I guess I can’t fault you for it,” I sighed. I stared up the path, half-expecting Charlie to come barreling through the wet ferns like an enraged bull. I would be the red flag in that scenario.

“Just one more thing,” Edward said to me, and then he looked at Jacob. “We’ve found no trace of Victor on our side of the line— have you?” He knew the answer as soon as Jacob thought it, but Jacob spoke the answer anyway. “The last time was while Beau was… away. We let the bloodsucker think he was slipping through— we were tightening the circle, getting ready to ambush him—”

Ice shot down my spine.

“But then he took off like a bat out of hell. Near as we can tell, he caught your little female’s scent and bailed. He hasn’t come near our lands since.”

Edward nodded. “When he comes back, he’s not your problem anymore. We’ll—”

“He killed on our turf,” Jacob hissed. “He’s ours!”

“No—,” I began to protest both declarations.

“BEAU! I SEE HIS CAR AND I KNOW YOU’RE OUT THERE! IF YOU AREN’T INSIDE THIS HOUSE IN ONE MINUTE…!” Charlie didn’t bother to finish his threat.

“Let’s go,” Edward said.

I looked back at Jacob, torn. Would I see him again?

“Sorry,” he whispered so low that I had to read his lips to understand. “’ Bye, Beau.”

“You promised,” I reminded him desperately. “Jake, please.”

Jacob shook his head slowly, and the lump in my throat nearly strangled me.

“You know how hard I’ve tried to keep that promise, but… I can’t see how to keep trying. Not now…” He struggled to keep his hard mask in place, but it wavered, and then disappeared. “Miss you,” he mouthed. One of his hands reached toward me, his fingers outstretched, like he wished they were long enough to cross the distance between us.

“Me, too,” I choked out. My hand reached toward his across the wide space. Like we were connected, the echo of his pain twisted inside me. His pain, my pain.

“Jake…” I took a step toward him. I wanted to wrap my arms around his waist and erase the expression of misery on his face.

Edward pulled me back again, his arms restraining instead of defending.

“It’s okay,” I promised him, looking up with surprise in my face.

His eyes were unreadable, his face expressionless. Cold. “No, it’s not.”

It dawned on me then that Edward would see Jacob’s thoughts, and I had a pretty good idea of what thoughts were flashing through Jacob’s mind right now. I felt my face get hot.

“Edward, please…” I tried to move away, but Edward pulled me back again.

“Let him go,” Jacob snarled, furious again. “He wants to!” He took two long strides forward. A glint of anticipation flashed in his eyes. His chest seemed to swell as it shuddered.

Edward pushed me behind himself, wheeling to face Jacob.

“No! Edward!” I shoved myself back between them, holding my arms out against their chests. They both pushed against me slightly. “Stop! Both of you stop!”

They glared at each other for a long moment.

“Edward, go stand over there.” I finally said.

His eyes shot to me, but I avoided his gaze.

“Read his mind, is he going to hurt me?” I asked impatiently.

Edward hesitated for a moment before finally moving away.

I turned to Jacob, his eyes were on Edward and his face was still angry. His body was shaking slightly.

“Jake,” I reached out and touched his arm. His attention immediately refocused to me.

In that moment, I found myself looking at everything that had happened. Every moment with Edward from the beginning to now flashing through my mind, and every moment with Jacob at odds with it. I loved Edward, that much I knew. Standing here, though, I realized, I was never just settling for Jacob; I loved him, too.

My heart didn’t just belong to Edward anymore, I couldn’t deny that. Jacob held a part of my heart just as firmly.

“Jake, please, I can’t do this.”

The way he looked down at me reminded me of the last time I’d seen him, before I left for Italy. “Beau…” He reached up and touched my cheek.

“Jake, I…” I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, there was no holding back my emotions. I felt the tears forming in my eyes. “Jake, I love you.” I whispered. “You know I do.”

I felt him move closer to me, his hand on my waist.

“But don’t ask me to choose.”

He froze.

“Because I can’t make a decision here, now. I know that’s not fair to anyone. After everything that happened I can’t just cut off one of you to be with the other. My heart can’t handle that. So, please, don’t make me choose.”

I felt his hand fall away from my waist, and I knew I had ruined everything. There was no fixing this. I felt a sob break through my chest, my hands flew to my face to try, in vain, to hide my tears.

“I’m sorry, Jake, I’m sorry…” I sobbed.

I suddenly felt myself being pulled forward. Jacob was wrapping me in his arms, pulling me against his chest. He held me tightly in his warm embrace and I sobbed against his chest.

“Shh,” his hand stroked the back of my head, “It’s okay, Beau.”

“I’m sorry, Jake,” I continued to cry, “It’s not okay. I’m not being fair to you, I know that but—“

“Beau,” Jacob gently pushed me back, and lifted my chin to look at his face. “I told you once I could wait. That hasn’t changed.” He managed a half-smile. “Because I’m not giving up. I’ve got loads of time.”

I remembered the last time he said those words to me, what felt like a lifetime ago when we were both just ordinary humans, sitting in the lobby of a movie theatre. Selfish as it was, I hoped he was telling me the truth.

He leaned forward then, and gently kissed my forehead. He pulled me into one more tight hug, before letting me go and slowly backing away.

“BEAUREGARD SWAN!” Charlie’s voice echoed from the house again.

“Beau,” Edward’s voice came from behind me, “we should go.”

Jacob’s expression immediately changed into the bitter mask. He backed away even further as Edward approached.

Edward nodded once toward Jacob, and gently tugged me back towards the house. I let Edward guide me but I kept my eyes on Jacob. He watched us with a dark scowl on his bitter face. The anger drained from his eyes, and then, just before the forest came between us, his face suddenly crumpled in pain.

I knew that last glimpse of his face would haunt me until I saw him smile again.

And right there I vowed that I would see him smile, and soon. I would find a way to fix this, and if it was the last thing I did, I would never lose Jacob Black as a friend.

Edward kept his arm tight around my waist, holding me close. That was the only thing that kept the tears from coming back.

I had some serious problems.

I was in love with my best friend and with the boy standing next to me.

Victor was still on the loose, putting everyone I loved in danger.

If I didn’t become a vampire soon, the Volturi would kill me.

And now it seemed that if I did, the Quileute werewolves would try to do the job themselves—along with trying to kill the Cullens. I didn’t know who would win that fight, but no outcome was acceptable.

Very serious problems. I didn’t know where to begin to find the solutions. I didn’t know who to ask for advice. I didn’t know what I, the human amidst the fantastic, could possibly do to make everyone—including myself—happy.

Edward stopped us in the middle of Charlie’s front yard, under the spruce tree. He moved so he was facing me, putting his hands on my waist.

“Beau,” his voice was soft. “I need to ask you something.”

“Edward…” I began, “I’m… sure you read Jacob’s mind. Can you please wait until I’ve had time to process everything before we talk about this?” I felt tense and anxious.

“Beau, I told you before, I couldn’t blame you if you had moved on.” His voice was even, but the pain was evident in his eyes. “But I know you still love me.”

“I do,” I whispered.

“And I promised you I would show you how much I love you, and I promised I would prove to you that I want you forever.”

“Yes, you did.”

“Then, I have to ask you something.”

“Go ahead.” I was hesitant.

He paused for an excruciatingly long time.

“Marry me, Beau.”

I felt myself gasp quietly. My stomach filled with butterflies and my eyes widened. I couldn’t speak, my head swam, my heart pounded.

And there we stood, possibly on the edge of something amazing. This could be it, our shot at forever. I didn’t know what the future held, and I didn’t know how to fix everything. I was surrounded by danger, by loss, by heartbreak. I had gone through hell and come out the other side a better, stronger version of myself. I didn’t know what my destiny was and I didn’t know what fate might have in store for me. I didn’t have any answers.

But right here, in this one single moment, I didn’t care.

END

[mattsammonsez]

Brass Tacts: It’s Not Getting Knocked Down, It’s How You Get Back Up That Matters

Oh man...

A few weeks ago I wrote in Brass Tacts on how we’re witnessing a live lesson in marketing with the Popeyes vs. Chick-fil-a (and other restaurants) battle with the southern-style chicken sandwich. Popeyes won’t sell as many chicken sandwiches as Chick-fil-a, but now they control the conversation through smart social media usage and limited advertising. Now we’re witnessing another live marketing lesson at the other end of the spectrum: how NOT to do an ad campaign, and most importantly how NOT to respond to the fallout from a faulty ad campaign. Of course, I’m talking about the now-infamous Peloton commercial than has been skewered and lampooned since being released in late November.

Like a gift-wrapped Peloton, there is sooooo much to unwrap here. And ironically, the one person who will come out of this better is “Peloton woman”, and it’s not because she pedaled her way to happiness on an overpriced exercise bike. And as always, content creators and broadcasters have something to learn from all of this.

Where to begin? Well let’s start with my general thought of Peloton and similar “personal trainer” systems-- it’s a bunch of hooey. At more than $2,200 for the bike and a $39 monthly membership, if you want a Peloton it will cost you about $2,700 for a year’s usage. Depending on the state you live in and how much you pay in taxes, that amounts to about one full paycheck of net income if you make $100,000 annually. Suffice to say, roughly 80% of the population in the United States can’t afford one of these things, so in my opinion any commercial for this belongs in the “Lexus December to Remember” fantasy department. Yes, you too can have a pricey exercise bike featuring someone in a studio yelling at you to pedal harder if you haven’t emptied your bank account on the Lexus with leather seats (or the two GMC trucks you and your spouse gifted to yourselves, or the Buick SUV you treated yourself to). Most people in their right mind aren’t putting a big bow on a $60,000 vehicle in front of their fortress-size home for Christmas like they do on the TV.

I am also a big believer that if you do want to lose weight, or stay fit and trim, or enjoy the energy and confidence boost that exercising can provide you, I suggest from my own experience that you eat less crap and get up and move around more. I lost 40 pounds over the last 10 or 12 years by not eating fast food and limiting fried foods, virtually eliminating my soda intake as well as drastically cutting back on how much beer I drank, and by pushing myself to exercise for 60 minutes 3 times a week. Want a bike? They sell them at Goodwill for $40. There, I just got you a bike for the cost of one month of a Peloton membership, and you don’t have your “personal trainer” Vinny screaming from a sound stage to sweat a little more for him.

Ok, so personal thoughts on Peloton and exercise aside, let’s move on to what’s happening at Peloton right about now. The company is having trouble (surprise!) convincing people not in a six-figure household to buy one of these things, and a weaker-than-expected IPO on NASDAQ in September isn’t helping issues. So the holiday sales time, a key time for anyone in the physical fitness/personal wellness industries, was a must-hit for Peloton. As you know, they released the infamous ad on November 21st, right before you feel guilty about the 8 or 9 pounds of food you’re going to eat at Thanksgiving. At first the ad seems like the usual sappy/fantasy commercial-- much like the husband surprising his wife with a luxury car, here’s the husband surprising his wife with this expensive exercise bike. And like every other Peloton (or similar item) commercial, she pedals away in the spare room of her really large house and ends up in a good mood at the end of the commercial.

But over time came the now well-known backlash. Why is this already attractive and thin woman forcing herself on to the exercise bike? Why is her husband buying this for her, she clearly doesn’t need this? And the cringe-worthy finish: after a year of documenting her Peloton use, she shows off the compilation to her husband who grins and projects this aura of “well I kept her thin and hot for another year!” While the supposed message was empowering women to do great achievements (albeit on an expensive exercise bike), the various messages received by viewers was “fat is bad”, “exercise ‘til you drop”, and “stay sexy ladies or he’ll kick you and that royal lifestyle to the curb”. The reaction to the whole fiasco BY ALL parties is more fascinating to me.

“Now YOU get on that bike you smug little...”

Peloton got clobbered on Wall Street, losing upwards of $1.6 billion of its valuation after the ad became viral (although shares have recovered somewhat). Rather than admit that they were off the mark with the ad, Peloton is shifting the blame to the viewers, shocked that so many people “misinterpreted” what they were trying to sell (Hot tip: NEVER blame the audience for not getting your message. More on that later). Peloton’s CEO, John Foley, is suggesting this is old news (Hot tip: It’s not). And Peloton’s marketing partner, Mekanism, is very quiet on the whole thing, which is normally not a good sign. But these are all people behind the scenes. What about the people playing the roles of the misguided husband and wife?

This is the Brass Tacts lesson-- how you respond to being pulled into something you didn’t plan on being the center of attention on. And I’ll pull my own experience to the middle, as I was featured in a national ad campaign for H&R Block in the winter of 2013. Thankfully there was no controversy with that campaign, but even though I was used to broadcasting to thousands of people during my “day job” as the game day host of the Tampa Bay Lightning radio broadcasts, having my face pop up on TV screens and web ads across the nation for a solid two months was odd. And while the feedback from friends and strangers who saw the ad was all positive, it was still an adjustment for me to deal with the sudden notoriety I had. But after a few days I took it all in stride, and I still think back to that time 9 years ago when I was selected, filmed, and had a spot starring me delivered to the masses. It was a fun experience, but admittedly a little overwhelming. So if someone who is a professional broadcaster can be shaken a bit by a positive commercial experience, let’s see how our Peloton actors are doing.

Sean Hunter, a.k.a. “Peloton Husband”, was the first to speak out. Naturally, the guy who appeared in about 5 seconds of the ad, is playing the role of the victim. In TV and print interviews shortly after the public backlash, Hunter was stunned by the negative feedback that implemented him as a demanding and care-less husband. He was worried that this ad would stunt his day job as an elementary school teacher as well as his burgeoning acting career. But apparently he was so worried about this turn of events, he continued to give interviews and even changed his Instagram account name to “pelotonhusband”. I sure hope he survives to see his imminent stint on Dancing With the Stars.

But what about “Peloton Woman”? Her name is Monica Ruiz, and after laying low she released a statement through her agency on Saturday, also noting she was surprised by the backlash from the ad. But rather than play the victim, which in many ways she is if you see her character as an attractive young mother who has to pedal to nowhere and fast to keep her hot looks to keep her jackass husband happy, Ruiz ends up being the victor in this whole mess. As described in this New York Times article, actor Ryan Reynolds came to Ruiz’s rescue with one of the best response ads I have ever seen in my life. With Ruiz playing the role of a woman who has clearly been through A LOT lately, we find her at a local bar with her girl friends staring into space before chugging down a martini glass filled with Aviation Gin, Reynolds’ own gin product. As any good friends would do in a time of crisis, the friends reassure Ruiz that everything will be great and go ahead and throw back another. And by the way, one of the friends says to Ruiz, “you look great!”

Our hero Monica (center) in the ultimate clap back ad. I’ll drink to that.

As detailed in the Times article, Reynolds’ had to act fast to make the spot happen, and his timing couldn’t have been better with the public outcry at full pitch. Since the spot was filmed and produced by his own production company, the turnaround was quick and the spot debuted this past Saturday. In the end Ruiz’s character, who was supposed to be the damsel in distress who needed to ride this damn bike in her living room at all hours of the day to make her doofus husband happy in a bizarre way considering she was already an attractive young mother living a heavenly life in this beautiful home with a beautiful daughter, turns out to be the heroine. She didn’t need an expensive exercise bike to feel good about herself (and thus her husband somehow feels satisfied), she just needed a stiff drink with good friends away from home.

And in real life, Ruiz is the undisputed champion here, with a primary assist to Reynolds for getting her into the response ad so quickly. Ruiz comes out on top, shows the world that she cannot only take the heat, but she’ll spin it around and make a nice cool drink out of it. The sympathy for the awful Peloton ad, followed by the smart comeback in the Aviation Gin ad, likely means she’ll have more companies knocking on her door as a spokesperson. Meanwhile Sean Hunter looks like a sniveling idiot, CEO John Foley is likely throwing things in his office and blaming someone else, and Mekanism is probably wondering if they’ve lost the Peloton account for good.

I’m not much of a gin drinker, but I’ll be honest in saying while buying whiskey for my wife’s world-famous Irish Cream this past weekend, I glanced over at the Aviation Gin display. Mission accomplished, and I hope Monica Ruiz makes a mint off of every acting gig she gets.

So what do broadcasters and content creators learn from this mess?

KNOW YOUR AUDIENCE: You need to know who you’re talking to, and how you’re conveying that message. While Foley is trying to pretend like this fiasco is old news, even he acknowledges that the Peloton message needs to be clarified. If you think a certain segment of the population needs to be convinced that buying your product empowers them to do great things, then you need to find a smart and delicate way of conveying that message. Having an already attractive young woman playing the role of a married mother living in a gorgeous house needing to ride an exercise bike her husband mysteriously gifts her to apparently stay young and fit and attractive and snuggled nicely into this rich guy’s house in so many ways looks down at that woman-- and any woman watching the ad. How Peloton, or the ad agency Mekanism, thought this was a good idea or continued to green light it to completion is mind-boggling.

Don’t just “know” through demographic stats and information who your target audience is. KNOW your audience by putting their thoughts and feelings in to the equation. I’m willing to bet my weight in Aviation Gin that during the entire concept and execution of this campaign, there weren’t a lot of (or any) married upper middle-class women with children in on the process. That includes at Peloton, Mekanism, or any test audience for the ad. This wasn’t someone knowing the intended audience, it was someone thinking they knew who needed to see this.

Don’t blame the audience: Maybe the audience did misunderstand the intended message, but don’t EVER publicly suggest that they did. By doing so, you’re implying the audience (including your target audience) is too stupid to understand your high-brow style of communication. The fact is, if a large segment of the population throws back your content, then maybe (no definitely) you’re way off with your target. 

I recall back in 2011 when the Tampa Bay Lightning unveiled a brand new logo and color scheme, the one thing that fans were very vocal about was the lack of black in the new uniform design. Black had been part of the team’s identity since its inception in 1992, why did it totally have to go away? Likewise fans demanded that the Lightning’s unique lightning bolt pants, also a staple of the uniform since 1992, be part of the new concept. Rather than try to explain to the fans that they misunderstood what the team was trying to do, then-CEO Tod Leiweke said the team was going back to the drawing board. Not only was black reintroduced to accent the predominantly blue and white uniform, the pants had the lightning bolt down the side. In this situation, the customer is always right, even if they’re wrong for not seeing what you were trying to do.

Don’t get caught up, when you get caught up: Sometimes you get stuck in the middle when something goes awry, even if it isn’t your fault. Sean Hunter didn’t go into the audition process for the ad desiring to be seen as this idiot husband demeaning his wife by suggesting the already rail-thin woman needed to exercise more. And while most reasonable people don’t see Sean Hunter the actor as a real-life embodiment of the husband, understandably some people just connected dots and thought Hunter and the husband were one in the same. But Hunter should have laid low, let the controversy pass (because it eventually will), and let Peloton or the agency take the heat. Instead he was one of the first to speak out, coming off like a whiny victim, and despite this “career-threatening” moment he is still getting paid. And if it’s an ASCAP deal for him, when the ad stops running he’ll still have $10,000-$15,000 in his pocket for being in the ad. That’s hardly a negative game-changer.

Compare that to Ruiz who stayed out of the fire, and was treated to a sympathetic audience not only because of the unfortunate thrust in to being a face of gender inequality but also for being put in a similar position as Hunter. Rather than book every interview and complain about how her life was ruined, Reynolds came along and was able to recast her in a much lighter role that gave he personality the redeeming qualities of humility (”I can’t believe I was in that ad?”) and humor (”I think I’ll suck down another glass of gin with my friends.”). Eventually this will all blow over, but Ruiz will be remembered for looking calmer and wiser than Hunter, and her acting career may last longer than Peloton.

When the waters get choppy around you from a storm that is out of your control, often the best thing to do is put your head down and keep rowing for land.

Matt Sammon has been in broadcasting and content creation for 24 years, and was most recently the Director of Broadcasting & Programming for the Tampa Bay Lightning. Learn more about him and what he can do for you at SammonSez.com.