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rafescoke · 3 years

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Crime ; Rafe Cameron

masterlist

Part #1

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x reader

Summary: Reader would do anything for the boy she loves from a summer ago.

Warnings: Story takes place at the start of season 2 (and some flashbacks from season 1), swearing, angst, death penalty, gaslighting, reader just needing help

A/N: i don’t think this is my best work at all :( but i’ll post the part 2 straight away!! didn’t know tumblr has a word limit now wtf

p.s; tell me what do you think of this fic!!

(Y/N) had begged for somewhere else to spend the Summer. She couldn’t go back to that place, not when there were too many memories that awaited her. No one seemed to listen to her, and her father continued to check something online.

“Rafe Cameron.”

“(Y/N),” she had smiled, and she thought about how gorgeous a boy could be. This man before her; with his hair messily parted and that goddamn blue eyes had her holding her breath, and she wasn’t in her usual demeanour.

“You come down here often?” Rafe asked, raising his eyebrows. (Y/N) watched as he chugged on his beer, and gave her another sly smile again.

“Um, not really. This is my first summer here.”

“That’s nice,” he shrugged, “Welcome to Obx.”

“Thanks,” she nodded, liking how Obx already is. She made a mental note to tell her friends back home about this island, and most importantly; Rafe Cameron.

“Do you wanna take a walk?”

(Y/N) never really accepted any boy’s invitation for a walk, because all the boys in the city never had good intentions with her. She never dated anyone, never bothered to do so.

“Sure,” she smiled, and walked alongside the dirty-blonde boy to the far end of the beach. He sucked in a breath, glancing at her from the corners of his eyes, and laughed.

“You look nervous.”

“You could be a mass murderer.”

“Isn’t that just the perfect person to spend the summer with?”

(Y/N) looked up at him, the moonlight from the sky illuminating his features. God, he really is beautiful. “I guess.”

“So would that be a problem if I killed someone before?”

(Y/N) laughed easily at the joke, bumping her arms against his. She felt a jolt from the touch, and swallowed her saliva. “No.”

Rafe chuckled, “Yeah. That’s more like it.”

(Y/N) had thought of that moment as nothing but a joke. A playful joke, meaning to flirt with her. The next few weeks were spent with only them two, sometimes in his house or (Y/N)’s stay. They were inseparable; always attached by the hips morning and night, and (Y/N) knew about all of his problems.

“Try it.”

“What? Coke?” She asked, bewildered. She looked down to the table, her hands fidgeting, and she quickly tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. She looked up to Rafe again, “I don’t know how.”

“Come on, I’ll show you,” he smiled, pulling her by her wrist and seated her beside him. She felt the jolt again, but she had gotten better at ignoring it.

Rafe lowered his hand, a finger placed on his left nostril, and snorted the line of white powder. He grunted, throwing his head back, and after a few seconds, he gave her a smirk.

“Your turn.”

(Y/N) smiled back, reaching for the rolled up bill before lowering his head to the last line. She took a deep breath, still so shaky, and snorted the powder before she could change her mind.

Her heartbeat quickened, and her mind was all over the place. She could feel her forehead getting clammy, and before she could do anything, Rafe cupped her face in his large hands.

“Hey, hey, you’re okay,” he expressed, looking straight into her eyes. (Y/N) didn’t realise she was starting to cry, and stared back into his eyes.

“You’re so pretty,” he said suddenly, rubbing comforting circles on her temples. (Y/N) relaxed under his touch, “Such a pretty girl.”

“I thought you’re friends with that Cameron boy,” her father suddenly said, shaking her out of her memories. (Y/N) closed her eyes, trying to push away the thoughts, and gave her father a grimace.

“So? I don’t want to see him.”

“What happened between you two? You used to ask me to move to Obx,” her father laughed, still clicking on the mouse to the laptop.

“People change, dad,” she muttered, and made her way back to her bedroom to be alone with her thoughts.

“Rafe! You don’t have to do this,” (Y/N) gasped, her hands around her mouth. She looked around the gazebo by the lake, her eyes brightening against the beautiful fairy lights and veins decorating the railings.

“It’s your last week here,” he shrugged, helping her to her seat before sitting for himself. He pointed to the food displayed before then, “Steak. Your favourite.”

“You are amazing,” she expressed, her eyes suddenly glassy. The lake never looked so calming, and (Y/N) wished she could capture this exact moment in her head.

“Just thought you should see the other side of Rafe Cameron,” he shrugged, his lips forming into a smile. “I’m glad you came down here to Obx.”

“Me too,” she breathed, and went for the food. “I’m so glad to have met you.”

“Yeah?” He chuckled, cutting his steak into small pieces before biting into one. “Didn’t you called me a mass murderer the first time we met?”

“It was a joke,” she rolled her eyes, “But I’ll still like you even if you are.”

She didn’t know the truth behind her words.

“You will?” He looked up to her, grinning. “And just like?”

“Just like. What are you playing at, Rafe?” She faked groan, putting her cutleries down and clasping her hand together. “What? You’re going to propose to me or something?”

Everything happened so fast; Rafe chuckled, awkwardly running his fingers through his fair, messing with his slicked back hair. She liked this messy hair better, but she liked anything about Rafe Cameron, messy hair or not.

“No.”

Rafe held out the tiny velvet box in his hands, and (Y/N) never saw a prettier smile than his.

“No,” she repeated, her breathing heavy. She was too shocked by this, only meaning the proposal part of her speech as a joke, and looked into his sincere eyes again.

“I’m not proposing to you,” he laughed, getting down to one knee and opening the box to a beautiful diamond ring. (Y/N) sucked in a breath, mesmerised. “I will though, in the future.”

“Oh my god, Rafe, I can’t accept this,” she gasped, watching as the diamond glinted under the bright light. “You’re too much.”

“It’s a promise ring,” he smiled, “And a proposal to ask you to become my girlfriend.”

He sucked in a breath, and (Y/N) swore her heart stopped. She never thought of herself worthy as these kind of moments, but here she was; all teary eyed, her hand against her heart to calm her crazy heartbeat.

“Will you be my girlfriend, (Y/N)?”

She laughed, wiping the tears that had rolled down to her cheeks, and cupped his face into her hands. “You’re so fucking dumb. Of course I will, asshole, without this whole dinner thing. You could ask me while we’re in the swimming pool and I’ll say yes.”

Rafe laughed, melting into her hands, before taking out the ring he had saved up for (by not buying anymore coke) and asking for her permission to slide it over her ring finger.

(Y/N) nodded, holding her breath, and the diamond ring slid to her finger, and she gasped at how pretty it looked. She wondered about how much it had cost Rafe to buy the ring for her, but pushed the thought away when Rafe tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear.

“We haven’t even kissed yet.”

(Y/N) laughed, “I told you you’re too fast, Rafe.”

Rafe smiled, inching closer to her, and (Y/N) just instantly stopped thinking. He was so beautiful, so angelic, and she wished she could stay at Obx forever.

“I love you, (Y/L/N).”

“Rafe,” she expressed, placing her forehead against his, “I love you too, okay?”

(Y/N) groaned, deepening her face against the soft pillow. She felt like screaming, but she didn’t have the energy to do so.

She would do anything for Rafe, and the next few days after that proposal went too fast that she felt like God was being unfair to her. He made her feel so good, and no one had made her feel the way he made her feel.

She felt like she was in heaven.

Until that one, certain Friday; the day before she went back to New York.

“Rafe, please,” she cried, pulling him by shirt as he pointed the gun at the sheriff, his eyes flaring up in anger. “Rafe, it doesn’t have to be this way.”

She looked at Ward, who looked afraid as well, and sucked in a breath. “You told me-”

“Shut up!” He grunted, his own fingers trembling on the trigger. “Fuck! Shut up.”

She didn’t know what to do. Sarah was looking at her for help, but she had tried her best to console him. She tried to reach for him again, to which he quickly pushed her away.

“Do that again, and I’ll kill you next.”

“Rafe-”

“Shut up!” He yelled again, and before she could do anything the pulled on the trigger, and the sheriff fell to the ground with widened eyes.

“Hey.”

(Y/N) jolted from her position at the knock, and groaned when her mother came in. She scooted away, giving her some space on the bed, and laid with her face planted against the pillow again.

“You never told us about what happened with you and Rafe,” she sighed, running her fingers through her hair. “Are you okay?”

“Fine.”

“Okay, so why don’t you want to go to Obx for the summer?”

“I want new boyfriends.”

Her mother laughed, “Okay. Then find new boyfriends in Obx. The blonde boy who helped us carry our bags the first time we arrived there can be one.”

“JJ?”

“He’s always around the island too, helping people for money,” she shrugged, “That’s a good kid. Doing honest work for honest money.”

“I’m not actually looking for a boyfriend, mom,” she rolled her eyes. “It was a figure of speech.”

“Well,” she stood up, “You better be looking for one. We’re spending the summer in Obx, and that’s final.”

. . .

(Y/N) rubbed her eyes against the glowing sunlight of North Carolina, her body screaming with pain from hours of sitting in the same position. She heard the pilot said something, her mind still woozy from only being caffeinated, and placed her head against the seat again.

“It’s a bright day, like it’s waiting for us,” her mother exclaimed, fixing her sunglasses before walking down the stairs to the road. (Y/N) groaned, still so tired, and she wished for nothing but to stay in her room with Netflix to watch.

“Hey, Mr (Y/L/N),” JJ smiled, and (Y/N) noticed the fake exterior he was trying to portray. “Come down here for another summer again?”

Her mother, who admired JJ’s ‘honest work’ gushed out to beside him, asking about his school and his works. (Y/N) rolled her eyes, not interested in making any new conversation, and she looked back at the area where the incident took place.

JJ caught her looking, and when her parents and the little brother had entered the car, he went to her to help her with her bags.

He crouched down, wrapping his fingers around the handle, and quickly whispered. “You saw, right?”

“Huh?”

“What Rafe did.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she muttered, and went into the car before he could say anything else.

God. Just how she expected her first moments after arriving in Obx.

“Hey! Welcome back!”

“You called the Camerons?” She groaned, looking at her father for some kind of useless explanation. After the brief conversation with JJ, she wanted nothing that could remind her of Rafe and hoped she could stay in her room for the whole 2 months.

“(Y/N), wait-”

She barged into her room for 2 months, noticing the old posters she had put up the year before, and thought about how happy she was at that time. She felt nothing now, and she couldn’t wait until the end of summer.

“Fuck!” She yelled, her head feeling so light, and placed herself before the naked bed. She sighed, trying to calm herself down, and thought of the ways to ignore the certain boy a few miles away.

Maybe he’s in college.

Maybe he’s going to leave her alone.

Maybe he has found someone new.

She felt a tug at the thought of the last sentence, and she couldn’t explain why she would even be devastated over him finding a new girl. That’s good, she guessed, at least she doesn’t have to think about staying away from him again.

Maybe she should spend her time with the pogues; JJ’s friends. They looked fun to hang with.

“Hey, (Y/N).”

“I’m not in the mood,” she grunted, shielding her eyes from the sunlight. “What do you want?”

“Can we go to the beach?”

“The beach?” She huffed, “We just arrived. Shouldn’t you clean your room or something?”

“Okay. But can you bring me to the beach after I’m done?”

“I’ll think about it,” she expressed, but after a few hours of sweeping and mopping the dusty room, placing the new bedsheet over the mattress and taking down her old posters, all she wanted to do was get out for some fresh air. She had slept most of her time in the plane so she wasn’t feeling like taking a nap at all, and she guessed it would be appropriate to bring her little brother to the beach.

She walked to her room, her hands around her waist. “Hey, you’re- where the fuck did you get that?”

“What?” He asked, raising the frame with his sister’s arms around Rafe, smiling happily at the camera. “This? Isn’t he your boyfriend?”

“Throw that away!” she yelled, “I said throw that away!”

“Okay, okay,” he groaned, throwing the frame into the big plastic bag before dusting the dust off of him. “Can we go to the beach now?”

“You’re an asshole, do you know that?” She huffed, watching as he changed into his swimming shorts, “And we’ve been cleaning for 3 hours. You’re not half done yet.”

“Whatever,” he said, and closed the door. “Just wait for me downstairs.”

The ride to the beach didn’t take long, and (Y/N) actually felt peaceful riding the bicycle and letting the breeze hit her square on the face. She had laughed at a stupid joke by her little brother, and she thought about how she could do this for the next 2 months.

“I wanna learn how to surf,” he said, letting the water soaked his feet and dumped his feet into the sand. “Do you?”

“You’ll forget how to when we’re back in New York,” she mumbled, gazing at the sky, “Also your body’s too weak to fight the waves.”

“No, it’s not,” he argued, “What are you going to do for the summer, (Y/N)? Are you going to be with that-”

“No,” she quickly said, curling her toes at the feeling of the water soaking her feet. “I’m not going to be with anyone.”

“Isn’t that your friend?”

“Ha-ha, nice joke,” she laughed falsely, still closing her eyes against the bright sky. “Who’s the friend? Is it Rafe?”

“Hey.”

(Y/N) sat up straight, her heart beating wildly, and what greeted her sight sent shivers down to her spine, and she quickly clutched onto her little brother’s wrist before pulling him away.

“Ow! What are you doing? (Y/N), let me go!” Lucas groaned, looking back at the boy who wanted nothing but to talk to his sister. “Rafe, help!”

“Shut up, you bitch,” she groaned, still pulling on his wrist. She knew about the possibility of leaving a claw mark on his skin, but she wanted nothing to do with the boy.

“Help me, Rafe! She’s going to kill me!”

“I said shut up!” She yelled, her chest heaving now, and she didn’t care about her hair that was hanging loosely from her hairclaw.

She didn’t know if Rafe was chasing after her, and she didn’t dare to look back.

“Ride your bike home,” she fumbled with the handle, “Now. Please, now!”

“Okay,” Lucas groaned, “What’s wrong with you? It’s just Rafe.”

“Go!” She yelled, already set to cycle back home, with her clothes all wet and sticking against her skin. She couldn’t breathe, and she hated the sight of him. She cycled back home hurriedly, tears streaming down her face, and she wished she had stayed home.

The night after the day on the beach she didn’t bother to come down for dinner, only staying in her room and browsing through Netflix. She didn’t feel like doing anything, and she hated how quick her mood was ruined.

She didn’t think about seeing him that quickly, especially after just arriving on the island that morning. This was exactly the problem; she couldn’t face him, not after what he did, but she couldn’t bring herself to turn him to the authorities. She was pushing him away, but at the same time protecting him.

The next morning, she felt shittier than ever. Being in the small island, where everywhere she goes could remind her back to Rafe, she decided to stay in bed and browse through more movies, only going downstairs for a glass of water before going back to her room. She was glad Lucas and her parents were enjoying most of their time here in Obx, and she would do the same if it weren’t for what happened last year.

She was scared. She was mad at herself too, because she couldn’t bring herself to tell anyone about what she saw. As much as she hated him now, a part of her still loved him.

“(Y/N)! Wait!”

“Get the fuck away from me!” She yelled, her eyes red and her cheeks wet. “You’re a fucking psycho.”

“No, no, baby, please-”

“Don’t call me baby, I swear to fucking god!” She yelled again, getting into the car and watched as Rafe desperately banged against the car window, pleading for her to hear him.

“It’s not what you think-”

(Y/N) cried, her head painful, and slowly slid the diamond ring from her finger before lowering the window by a slit and throwing it outside. Rafe watched the ring roll away but didn’t care to fetch it, only trying to speak to her through the tiny slit.

“I had to do it, please,” he begged, “Please. Baby. I can’t do this-”

“Go to hell,” she hissed, and sped away.

That was the last time she had ever seen Rafe, and she knew he tried to contact her with different phone numbers every day, but she had blocked every single number. The trouble stopped after a while, and (Y/N) realised how much she had been missing him.

Who could she confront about this?

Who could she tell?

She couldn’t. She loved him too much.

A week after settling in their summer home, (Y/N) was tired of all the screaming and nudging by her mother for her to get out of the house, and ‘get a life’. She didn’t feel like having a whole summer of just hanging out at the beach, not when the last time she had went there and bumped onto Rafe, so she decided to keep her distance off Figure 8 and made her way to the other side of the island.

She had only been there twice with Rafe before, to pick up something at Barry’s (he told her not to worry about it), so she never really quite get used to the road around here.

She stopped the jeep by the side of the road, glancing at the signboard and the road behind her. Did she go too far? Or was this just the wrong way?

She rested her back against the car door, already tired, and decided to just wait until she was good enough to drive home.

It was half an hour later when she heard the roaring of a motorcycle, and she quickly got to her feet, her chest suddenly heaving.

“Yo? You’re okay?”

“Huh?” She fixed her hair, “Um- yeah. Just resting.”

JJ nodded, “You should turn off your engine. You don’t want to-”

Just right on cue, the engine stopped completely and (Y/N) groaned, getting into the car to turn the engine again. It made some noise, until silence fell between them.

“That’s what I’m saying,” JJ said, “Where are you heading to?”

“Oh, nowhere in particular,” she sighed, getting out of the jeep and shutting the door angrily. Good. Just like how she wanted her day to be.

“Let me send you back home,” he offered, pointing to the black ride behind the jeep. She shook her head, her mouth forming into a tight smile.

“That’s alright, I can-”

“Walk back home? Come on, you’re far from Figure 8, and you’re 50 minutes away from The Cut on foot.”

She didn’t exactly wish for this, but it would help.

“Thanks,” she mumbled, helping her up to the motorcycle and placing her hands on his shoulders for some balance.

“You’ve never ridden a bike before?” JJ asked, half-amused. “No, no, because you look nervous.”

“I’ve just never ridden a bike with you driving,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Can you send me to the taxi stop or anything?”

“Really? Why can’t I just drive you home?”

She groaned, “Just send me to the taxi port, Maybank.”

He laughed, putting his helmet on, and (Y/N) placed her hands against her ears at the loud sound of the engine.

(Y/N) hate to admit it; but the ride to The Cut was the most thrilling thing that she had ever felt in months. She felt a smile slowly forming onto her face, and JJ swore he could see it too from the side mirror, and when they finally stopped at the taxi port, she was so happy she felt like buying a bike for herself.

“Thanks for the ride,” she said. “Minus one point for no helmet.”

“I didn’t know I would see you laying by the side of the road,” he rolled his eyes, a hint of teasing in his tone. “But where’s the fun when you’re all safe?”

She hummed in response, “I’ll see you around then.”

“So you’re just going to get an expensive ride back to Figure 8? Why wouldn’t you let me send you off?”

She knew exactly why, but she didn’t want to admit it. She was scared of Rafe seeing her on JJ’s bike, knowing that he’s not on good terms with the pogues, and the last thing she had ever wanted was to make him feel like he was being replaced.

“Don’t trouble yourself too much, JJ,” she sighed. “Besides, you can see me for the next 2 months everyday if that’s what you want.”

He grinned, “Good offer. Will think about that soon.”

(Y/N) laughed, tilting her head to one side before making a move to reach for her phone. JJ watched as she filled in her passcode, went straight to Contacts, and handed him the phone.

“What’s this?”

“Oh god, you’re annoying,” she rolled her eyes. “Put in your McDonald’s order.”

JJ laughed again, his fingers sliding over her phone screen easily to fill in his number, and he handed her the phone back after saving his name as ‘Handsome pogue’.

“I’ll see you around, (Y/L/N).”

(Y/N) smiled, this time sincerely, and she thought about the possibility of spending her summer in The Cut with JJ where she knew there would be no troubles awaiting her.

It was safe to say that JJ and (Y/N) were inseparable after spending so much time together the next few weeks. Everywhere JJ goes, (Y/N) would be there with him, either by helping him with his work in the restaurant or running for groceries to deliver with him. She liked it with him; he took her mind off Rafe, and that was everything that she needed.

JJ knew about the girl’s relationship with Rafe last year, but he was careful not to cross the invisible line. He was gentle with her, always studying her reactions at certain places (he was sure Rafe had taken her to those places before) and in return, she knew everything about him.

“I’m sorry about your dad,” she bit her lips, letting the water soaked her jeans as they laid on the sand, gazing at the view. She felt sorry for the blonde boy after knowing the truth about his father, and wished she could help him in any way.

“That’s okay,” he replied. “Hey, I’m bringing you to meet my friends. Would you like that?”

“Your friends?” She raised her brows, “Like Kiera and Pope?”

“Yeah,” he smiled, “Would you like to meet them?”

(Y/N) thoughts went back to the many times Rafe had told her about the pogues, but she always saw them as a tight group of friends who always had each other’s backs. She never had that kind of friendship before, especially living in New York where almost everyone is fake, and sometimes wished she could have something like that.

“Okay, yeah,” she nodded, “Would they like me?”

“You’re kidding? You’re amazing!” JJ gushed out, throwing his arms onto the air before slapping the water, resulting in a splash across her face.

She gasped, “Fuck, you’re fucking dead.”

“No, no, I don’t mean it-”

The conversation turned into a water fight, their screams filling the air and attracting everyone’s attention, but (Y/N) didn’t care. She was enjoying the moment, with JJ, and she wished she could do this forever.

“Stop it!” JJ laughed, pushing her down to the sand before pinning her arms on top of her head. He watched as her chest heaved, a smile playing on her lips.

He pulled away, clearing his throat. “I’m sorry, I didn’t-”

(Y/N) pulled him into a kiss, her fingers wrapping themselves around his jawline and allowing the water to completely wet their whole body. JJ softened into the kiss, still so shocked, but he never felt better than ever.

(Y/N) pulled away, giggling. “You’re red in the face, JJ.”

“Huh?” He smiled, and quickly pulled her up with him. “Let’s go to the Chateau. Get you cleaned up.”

“I’m not meeting your friends looking like this, J,” she rolled her eyes, pushing him away slightly. He pulled her close, placing a soft kiss against her forehead that left her all breathless.

“Why not? You’re still pretty.”

She made a face, but let her body be pulled away by JJ to his bike. She was nervous, of course, to see his friends, but she decided it was time anyways.

If she was to date JJ, then she would have to meet his friends and talk to them eventually.

When (Y/N) first entered the chateau, she didn’t know what to expect. Pope and Kiera were friendly to her, but she could feel the strange vibe between her and Kie, but they were both trying to be polite not to mention anything.

(Y/N) knew there was somebody missing from the group, but she didn’t dare mention it to anyone. JJ had hinted about this to her before, something about John B getting convicted, but she had tried her best to stray away from the topic.

“Let’s play truth or dare,” Kie smiled, clasping her hands together and laying her back against the chair. She watched as JJ whispered something to (Y/N), feeling her heart tightened when she laughed, and shook her head. Kie would never let anyone like her trouble her.

“JJ, truth or dare,” Kie said, crossing her arms. Her question was directed to JJ, but she watching (Y/N) intently.

“Dare.”

“Come on, we’re short of one person who could think of the best dares,” she said, and (Y/N) realised the piercing tone and attention towards her. She sucked in a breath, not sure if she was just stating or directing the statement to her in a satirical manner.

“Okay, truth,” JJ rolled his eyes.

“Do you miss John B?”

“Kie-” Pope groaned, “Not the time.”

(Y/N) watched as he glanced at her, but quickly pulled away when he realised she was staring at him too.

“Okay, since you guys wanna be such assholes,” Kie sat up straighter. “(Y/N), truth or dare?”

“I’m not playing.”

“Of course you’re playing,” Kie laughed, “You’re fucking with JJ now right? You gotta show-”

“Shit, Kie, what’s your problem?” JJ sighed, throwing his arms up into the air. “She’s a friend of mine.”

“She’s not your friend!” She suddenly exclaimed, “She fucking saw Rafe shot Sheriff Peterkin but decided to keep her stupid mouth shut because-”

“Stop it!” JJ yelled, pushing her against the seat. “Kie! Not right now!”

“What do you mean not right now?” (Y/N) asked, disbelief lacing in her tone. What was even happening? She was having the best time of her life a few hours ago at the beach, and now this?

“Oh, did your boyfriend not tell you?” Kie laughed. “It’s all an act for you to confess to him that you saw Rafe kill Sheriff Peterkin. Don’t fucking act dumb with me, (Y/N), you saw, and you didn’t tell anyone.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she gritted her teeth, “I never saw him kill anyone.”

“Bullshit!”

“Kie!” JJ yelled, using all of his power to hold off the struggling girl. He motioned for Pope to take over and tried to reach (Y/N), only for her to walk straight towards the exit.

“Wait, wait, I don’t mean it-” he sighed, wrapping his fingers around her wrist before pulling her close. “I don’t-”

“You betrayed me,” she said. “Are you that stupid? So you planned about helping me to the taxi stop so that I can confess whatever it is about Rafe? Is that your fucking plan?”

“No, oh my god, I didn’t mean-”

“Fuck! I know I can never trust you guys,” she hissed, pulling her hand away before walking towards the door. She groaned again when she realised the lack of a vehicle to drive home, but she rather walk back home than be in the same distance as JJ or Kie or anyone else.

She walked alone all the way to the main part of town so that she could hire a cab, and just to make her day any better; the rain suddenly decided it was time to cool the island, and (Y/N) was left to soak.

She put her arms around her, shivering slightly, looking back at her previous way and wondering how much time she had spent walking from the Chateau. If only she had driven all the way from Figure 8 to The Cut, she wouldn’t have had to waste her time walking mindlessly.

A few minutes after, she saw a car pulling up beside her. She decided to ignore the black vehicle in hope for whoever it is to finally give up.

“Get in, (Y/N).”

Part #2

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron imagines #rafe cameron smuts #drew starkey #drew starkey x reader #drew starkey imagines #outerbanks #outerbanks x reader #outerbanks imagines #outer banks

195 notes · View notes

sweetcathedral · 3 years

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🕸Haikyuu! — The Butterfly’s Ripple Effect🕸

Note: Currently a developing short story as I’m trying to figure out how to format it on tumblr, so that it’s easy to read (might take me a few months for the rough draft). The plot and ending is solidified, just need to piece together the scenes. Of course all Haikyuu characters are post-timeskip, it’s easier for me to write them as adults. It doesn’t make sense, but it will when I have the whole story down!

⚠️: blowjob, raw, forceful (?), cheating, giving in to temptation

The warmth of the sun gently wakes you up, making you flutter your lashes and wince at the brightness of the room. Memories of last night play back in your head as you pull the covers over you, but you look around to see that there was no sign of Kuroo. You hesitate to go back to sleep or look around the house to see if the others were okay from last night, since it wasn’t as loud as it should be.

“G’morning,” Kenma was leaning at the doorway with a cup of tea in his hand and a plate of omelettes in the other. “May I?”

You nodded, rubbing your eyes to fully wake you up.

“It smells nice. How are the others?”

“Oh, Kuroo’s driving them back to Sendai. The others wanted you to tag along on their road trip, but I told them that you’re probably jetlagged and needed the rest. They helped unload your stuff at the entranceway though,” he settled the tea and omelettes on the nightstand before pulling out a bed tray table from one of the drawers.

“I didn’t know you were the type to have breakfast in bed.”

“I’m not. A friend left it here last year, forgot about it and told me to keep it in the end. I just thought you’d like breakfast in bed today,” as Kenma was about to unfold the table, he paused in hesitation. It looked like he wanted to say something, but instead he lowered his head onto your lap. Thinking nothing of it, you run your fingers through his soft hair,

“Tired?”

“. . . I guess . . . I don’t know . . .”

You started humming the tune Kenma used to sing to you back then, when the two of you were still normal. The familiar feeling began to cloud your judgement, letting your fingers trace down the nape of Kenma’s neck. He immediately grabs your wrist, startling you from your trance.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he lifts his head.

“I—, sorry, I didn't mean—”

“Your food’s getting cold,” he changes the subject and continues to set up the bed table, arranging the tea and omelette. Before he was able to leave the bed, you reach for his hand,

“Kenma, wait . . .” the words you’ve always wanted to tell him is caught in your throat, “. . . I’m sor—!”

His hands clamp over your mouth as he gently kisses your forehead, softly dragging his cold fingers down to your throat. Unable to shake off the way it made you feel, he left you in silence.

After closing the door, Kenma briskly walked towards the bathroom, turned the faucet on and locked himself in. He leans against the door, slowly sliding down to the floor and pulled his hoodie completely over his head,

“. . . what am I doing? . . .” he sighs, pressing his head into his folded hands.

A moment later, the sound of your footsteps makes him jolt back up to turn the faucet off. He opens the door to see you standing there, knees clasped together.

“Don’t just stand there, move!” you push through him to get to the toilet and quickly kicked your panties off, landing at Kenma’s feet. “Phew, okay, you can leave now.”

Just as you finished cleaning yourself up, he picks up your wet stained panties.

“Hey! Give me those!” you tried grabbing them back from him, while covering yourself.

Fuck it. Kenma decided to cross the line he drew for himself. At this point it didn’t matter to him anymore, nothing mattered to him anymore. Everything that’s been holding him back has reached its limit, and he was more than ready to risk it all.

“What, it’s not like this is my first time seeing you naked.”

“Kuroo can walk in at any moment,” you argued back.

“He left two hours ago. It takes a total of eight hours driving to and from Sendai, plus the amount of stops he probably took to settle them down,” he quietly closes the door. “Which means I’ve about six hours to have you all to myself.”

The weight of Kenma’s words dawned on you. The sound of your heartbeat echoes in your ears, racing at the pace things were moving in. It’s only been a day since you got back, but Kenma had been displaying signs of temptation. You knew he was selfish, but you didn't know he can be this selfish—to the point of sleeping with his best friend’s girlfriend. Maybe you should’ve set the boundaries right then and there when you and Kuroo told him about your relationship. But you’ve been sleeping around with Kenma for so long that you didn’t realize that these things weren’t normal for someone in a relationship. It wasn’t right at all, especially to Kuroo. It’s cheating, but—

“Don’t worry, it’ll just be between you and me. I promise,” Kenma cups your face so that your eyes meet with his and draws you into a kiss. You quickly pull away from him,

“Kenma, we can’t. You know we can’t, I’m dating Kuroo, and . . .this is cheating—”

“Only if we get caught,” his fingers trace up your thighs.

You grip his wrist with trembling hands.

“Kenma . . . please, I—I can only hold back so much,” your voice begins to break.

“Do you trust me?” he pauses, waiting for your reply.

With guilt, you shyly nodded.

“That’s my good girl,” he lifts you up onto the edge of the sink. Kissing you along your neck and collarbones.

“Not there, you’ll leave a mark,” you stop him.

“Right, . . . sorry,” he pouts. With how far you’ve already taken the situation, you decided to let go of all senses of your morals.

“Come here,” you reach for his face, pulling him back into a kiss. Shocked that you took the lead, but relieved, he places his hand on your wet spot. The feeling of his fingers brushing over your clit makes you throb inside.

“Look at how messy you’re getting and I haven’t even put my fingers in you yet,” he crosses his fingers. “I know you like it when I do this.”

The twisting motion inside you sends waves of pleasure throughout your body, making your toes curl. Hot breaths escape your wet lips, feeling yourself come closer to ecstasy. Before you could reach your climax, Kenma pulls his fingers out.

“No, no no,” you whined.

“What’s wrong?” he cocked his head, knowing damn well what he’s doing. “You know begging doesn’t work on me, you need to show that you want it.” He leans in closer to your blushing ear. “Now get on those pretty knees of yours.”

The glazed look in your eyes catches Kenma’s attention. A smirk tugs across his face, gently gripping your throat, embracing you into another wet kiss. His teeth softly grazes your bottom lip as he pulls away. Reluctantly, you get on your knees.

You work your tongue, stroking up and down his cock. “Fuck,” he grunts, giving you a sense of pride. Impatiently, you start to touch yourself to relieve that aching feeling,

“Ah, ah, ah,” Kenma pulls you by the hair to get you off his cock. He grabs both of your wrists and pins them over your head against the edge of the sink, preventing you from touching yourself. “I’m not gonna let you take that satisfaction away from me. Now open your mouth nice and wide, and stick your tongue out.”

Your hips squirm and tremble, doing as he says.

“Hrmph!” the impact of his cock thrusts to the back of your throat, his grip tightening around your wrists. Tears stream down your cheeks and saliva dribbles down your chin, taking in every thrust he gives you. You choke on his load, filling you so much that you can’t do anything but swallow.

“You think I’m done?” he pushes you to the floor and turns you over, pinning one leg to your chest. The glint in his eyes tells you how long he’s been waiting for this moment. A single, long, moment to put you in a sloppy daze. You can feel his thumb brushing over your slick folds before pressing it in. Although you’re already a soaking mess down there, he wants to make sure you're fully prepped before going in raw.

“Don’t forget, I have you all to myself for more than a few hours,” he says in your ear as he slowly penetrates you. The tip hits you in the right spot making your walls flutter. Only the sound of your panting and moaning escape your lips.

You forgot how rough Kenma gets when his stress builds up and he has nowhere to vent it off on, but that privilege was taken away from him when you and Kuroo started your relationship. Admittedly, you miss Kenma from before he knew about your relationship with his best friend. You didn’t know how he truly felt about it and didn’t want to ask. You avoided wanting to ask ‘cause you’re scared about knowing how he really feels. The day you confronted him about it was also when he started to become distant and detached from you.

Slowly, your mind enters a daze, getting lost in the comfort you find from his guilty pleasure.

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argylemnwrites · 3 years

Text

Fight or Flight - Chapter 16: Rock

Pairing: Drake Walker x MC (Riley Liu)

Book: The Royal Heir (canon divergent from the end of book 2)

Word Count: ~3600

Rating: R (language only)

Summary: Almost four weeks since The Walker Absconding

Author’s Note: This series follows the Walkers, their friends, and Cordonia as a whole after they flee the country with their daughter during Barthelemy Beaumont’s attempted coup. To catch up on this series, check out it’s masterlist. (link can be found via my bio - sorry, Tumblr is once again not putting my posts with links in tag searches)

The sun had basically set. Bridget was now sound asleep in her car seat. She hadn’t made a noise since Riley had climbed into the back to feed her about two hours ago. He knew Riley herself had to be starving. They had been on the road for about four hours. Yet, Drake was reluctant to stop.

He knew that they had probably gotten away. Barely. It didn’t seem like anyone was following them. Their little jaunt through Tripoli should have lost anyone who might have been able to follow them out of Athens onto A8 and then onto A7. And after they doubled back and began heading northwest on EO111, they started passing through some very rural areas where no one would be able to follow them without being spotted. All signs pointed to them being safe for the moment.

Drake knew all of this, but the thought of stopping the car, of not just keeping going, still seemed so foolish. He knew this was dumb. It was getting dark. They were in the middle of nowhere. The car didn’t have an unlimited supply of gasoline. But he couldn’t bring himself to stop. He didn’t want to turn his family into sitting ducks.

So he just kept driving, moving forward. It was all there was left to do, really. Plus, it gave him something to focus on that wasn’t how bad things had gotten. How much he had failed everyone.

He didn’t have all the details, but the news stations had given him enough to know that Riley and Leo’s little meet up was how they’d been located. He had known that relying on Leo was a mistake. He’d fucking known it in his gut. But he’d agreed to the plan. Let Riley go out and take that risk with a man who had a weakness for gambling and beautiful women, and now it had all backfired. He should have told Olivia ‘no’ when she suggested it. Leo could never handle any real responsibilities. He’d run from them his whole life, and Drake had agreed to trust him with his family’s fragile safety and security. All of it now blown to fucking pieces.

And as if that wasn’t bad enough, Liam was going to be implicated in the whole mess. Based on the text Riley got from Hana, they were all getting rid of their burners, but the fact that Leo was known to have been in contact with them meant that people would assume that he was serving as a proxy for his brother. Liam would be under investigation for sure. It would give motherfucking Barthelemy more ammunition. It was a huge blow for Liam. And Drake didn’t even have a way to apologize anymore. It felt like pouring salt onto the wounds that were at least partially his fault. They had been so desperate for money and clothing, so they’d gambled. And now everyone he loved was going to pay for it.

“Drake.” Riley’s voice carried over from the backseat. She hadn’t bothered to climb back into the front when she was done feeding Bridget and nestling her back into her car seat, instead just staying beside her, not saying anything. Until now, at least. “We should probably think about finding a hotel, shouldn’t we?”

Drake shook his head. “We’re a bit of a story here now. It’s too risky to show our faces when the news has been talking about us. Probably displaying our pictures, too.”

“Okay, well should we find a place to camp then?”

He let out a sigh at that. Free camping wasn’t exactly legal in Greece. If they got caught, they would have to hope that the police just sent them on their way without asking for any identification to fine them or anything. But Riley had a point. He knew they couldn’t just keep driving indefinitely, and if hotels were out for the time being, chancing a night in the tent somewhere was their only other choice. At least they weren’t on the beach. If Drake had to guess, more tourists would flock to the ocean for a summer holiday, so those areas were probably watched more carefully.

“Sure, Walker. Can you try to find us a park or some place that might have some tree cover?”

And so, not twenty minutes later, Drake took a huge breath as he brought the car to a stop in a secluded area near the base of Kompovouni mountain, tucked off a side road he hoped no one would be using in the middle of the night.

“She still out?” he asked as he turned off the engine, glancing into the backseat via the rear-view mirror.

Riley looked into the car seat and nodded. “The real trick will be getting her out without waking her up.”

“You can grab her, Walker. I’ll get the tent.” Drake saw her nod again before he opened the door and climbed out of the car, heading around to the back and opening the hatch. He dug past the duffel bags and crib, tugging out the tent, the sleeping bags and pads, and the flashlight he’d stashed away all those weeks ago. He could hardly have imagined feeling worse than he did that day, but here he was, now looking back in wonder at how easy things were then compared to now. They weren’t yet wanted criminals. They had a roof over their heads. There had been hope they would be able to go home in days to weeks.

He hauled the gear further off the road, into a grove of trees that would hopefully shield them from sight if anyone decided to drive this way. It was getting darker by the second, so he shifted the equipment under his right arm so he could use the flashlight with his left. It wouldn’t do them any good for him to trip or step on a snake and injure himself. A first aid kit was not something he had thought to purchase back when he first stocked up.

He heard Riley’s footsteps not far behind him, her voice murmuring something to Bridget that was too quiet for him to pick up. When he finally felt they were far enough from the road, he set down their gear, spinning around and watching Riley join him after a few moments.

Bridget was awake, unfortunately. She wasn’t screaming yet, but she was frowning as she looked around, and her lips were all scrunched up, a sure sign she was about ready to wail.

“We gotta try and keep her quiet, Riley.”

“I know,” she hissed out, bouncing Bridget on her hip. “It’s okay, Peanut. Shhh, Mama’s here.”

Bridget started making her little crabby whiny noise, but wasn’t outright screaming, which Drake supposed was the best they could hope for given the circumstances. “Did you pack the stuffed corgi?”

Riley nodded, not taking her eyes off Bridget and keeping her voice quiet and soothing. “I’m pretty sure it’s in one of the duffels. If not, her lovie is in the diaper bag.”

“Alright, I’ll go grab more of our shit, then. Just try and keep her from crying.”

Drake let out a sigh when he was out of earshot of his family, then swallowed roughly and took a few deep breaths as he walked back to the car. He felt like the weight and reality of today was setting in more and more by the second. Now that he wasn’t distracted by driving and navigating and translating radio reports, he felt a massive lump forming in his throat, his eyes burning as a couple of stray tears leaked out. He knew he couldn’t go down this road, though. He couldn’t afford to lose it. Not now. Riley and Bridget needed him to keep his shit together. Today had been enough of a disaster as it was.

But he had failed everyone at this point and it was hard to stay calm. It honestly felt like he could barely breathe, and he was surprised he hadn’t thrown up yet. Maybe he was just too overwhelmed. It felt like his legs were going to collapse underneath him.

By the time he reached the car, he had to brace his arms on its roof, trying to calm himself down. He couldn’t cry. This was bad enough; he couldn’t make it worse. But it all just felt like too much. So, he just focused on taking a couple of breaths, blinking his eyes repeatedly as he worked to clear the tears that kept collecting there.

He knew he needed to get their bags and get back. He was taking way too long. Riley was going to worry and come looking for him if he stayed by the car much longer, and she shouldn’t see him like this. She was counting on him, and he’d let her down enough recently. No need to fall apart in front of her. But the more he tried to get his shit together, the closer he felt to collapsing to the ground. He was a fucking mess, useless and unstable.

By his best guess, he’d been leaning against the car, trying to regain any sense of composure, for about five minutes when he heard the crunch of her feet on the ground, getting closer and closer. He took a few more shaky breaths, trying to pull it together, but way too quickly, her hand was on his back, gently brushing between his shoulder blades.

“Drake?” she said, his name sounding far more like a question than a statement, but he didn’t know what to say. When she repeated his name, he just shook his head.

He felt her move around him, wedging herself between him and the car somehow. He tipped his head back, knowing he wouldn’t be able to take it if he saw the pity in her eyes.

“Drake,” she repeated, this time more confidently and firmly, her hand sliding up around the back of his neck.

He shook his head as he swallowed, trying to find his voice. “I… I just… I just need a minute, Riley.”

She didn't say anything, but she didn't move either, her hand stroking along his neck and playing with the ends of his hair. He needed her to let him get his shit together. He really did. But of course she could clearly sense how close he was to spiraling, so she was refusing to let him be. That was her MO. She could read him better than anyone, after all. What she didn't understand is that her support was going to make him lose it even more. It was bad enough that he failed Liam and his country, but now he had failed his wife and kid on top of that. He was useless. Pathetic. Hopeless.

Eventually, he took one last shuddering breath before glancing down, taking in Riley, holding Bridget tight against her side. She must have fallen back asleep, as she was not reacting to being essentially trapped between them, something that usually triggered squirming and fussing. Instead, her head was tucked against Riley’s shoulder. Riley herself just kept running her fingers along his neck. Even in the relative darkness, he could make out her deep brown eyes, staring at him with far more compassion and tenderness than he deserved.

“I’m so sorry, Riley. This…” Drake trailed off, taking another breath before he continued, “I shouldn’t have put us in this position.”

"Drake, this isn't your fault."

"I should have known that Leo would get caught, run his goddamn mouth like-"

"We don’t know for sure that is what happened. But even if it was, we knew that was a risk when we agreed to have him be the go-between. We both knew we didn't have another choice."

He just shook his head. "I should have never put you in that position. And now we have nothing and-"

"We have each other," she interrupted, "And we have our daughter. That's more than we could say if we'd stayed." Drake swallowed, but Riley kept going. "Us being together isn't nothing. Keeping our family together isn't nothing, Drake."

"I know, Riley."

She opened her mouth, as if she was going to say more, but instead she just let out a sigh as she wound her free arm around him more tightly.

It all was suddenly too much to hold back. He tried to choke back a sob, but he felt the tears he'd been holding back for weeks start to spill over. He knew he should be keeping it together, if not in front of Riley, at least in front of Bridget. But he just couldn't, not after everything.

Riley just held him, not saying or doing anything besides keeping an arm wrapped around his shoulders. He didn't know how long they stood there, but he cried like he never remembered doing in his life. He cried for Liam and all he was facing alone in Cordonia. He cried for all that Bridget had been subjected to already in her life. He cried for Riley and the position their family was in, one that he didn't know how to fix. He cried for agreeing to name Bridget heir, for not letting Riley talk him out of it back during their honeymoon. He cried for all the horrible things that had been said about them as parents, and not just over the past few weeks. But most of all, he cried for everyone he loved and cared about that he had let down so spectacularly.

Eventually, the tears slowed, a wave embarrassment rapidly taking the place of despair. He took a half step back, tugging out of Riley's tight hold, dropping his eyes to the ground beneath his feet.

"Sorry," he muttered as he kicked at some pebbles on the ground.

"For what? You’re allowed to be upset about this, Drake."

He let out a sigh and shook his head, "Yeah, I know. But I shouldn't burden you with it. Or her."

"You aren't burdening me with anything."

"Don't give me that, Riley. You're dealing with enough-"

"What, and you aren't? Drake, we are both overwhelmed and barely hanging on, and that was before the shitshow of today."

Drake didn’t know how to respond to that. All he felt like he could do was shake his head again, but Riley wasn’t done, apparently.

“When I was a fucking mess, ready to take off without a goddamn thought or plan or strategy, you fucking held things together for all of us. And I will never stop being grateful for that. I never would have made it a week without you.”

“That’s not tru-” Drake interrupted, but Riley just kept on going, stepping closer to him again, sliding her hand against his cheek.

“But I don’t need you to hold things together round the clock for the next few months, Drake. First of all, that is a fucking impossible goal given the shit we’re gonna face. But more importantly, we’re partners in this. I don’t need you to shield me from that fact that you’re feeling a whole bunch of shit.”

He took a breath before he could speak. Somehow, he felt the threat of tears again, even after all he had already unleashed. “I promised you I would be your protector, though.”

“Drake…”

“No, Riley. I promised you that at our wedding, and now-”

“-you have always protected me. You do everything in your power to keep me safe. To keep us safe,” she amended, tilting her head towards Bridget. “But don’t you remember that I said that I would be your protector in my vows?”

Of course he remembered. That day, that memory was burned into his brain. But her assessment that he had done everything he could to keep them safe felt false. At so many points along the way he had let her down. Let both of them down. Agreeing to name Bridget heir. Not taking Liam up on the exit strategy from that whole mess. The whole Aurvernal ordeal. With all of that, he’d been an awful protector of his wife and kid.

But even as he felt those thoughts swirling in his head, he just didn’t have the energy to challenge her on this. Not now, not tonight. Not only was he exhausted from the hours of driving after a mad dash through Athens to get back to his family when Olivia had called with the worst news, but he just felt emotionally spent as well. It’s like he could feel anymore at this point, and he certainly wasn’t ready to question someone as stubborn as Riley. All he wanted to do was sleep, but that would be a ways off. The tent still had to be set up, after all.

So he just let out a sigh and placed his hand over hers, still on his cheek, gently pulling it away as he threaded their fingers together. “Come on, Walker. Let’s just grab the rest of our stuff and set up for the night.”

They unloaded the rest of their bags, walking back to the selected campsite slowly. When they got there, Drake got to work, Riley helping as best she could without waking Bridget. He didn’t bother with the crib, knowing that Riley wasn’t going to risk waking Bridget again and chancing a crying fit by letting her out of her arms. He also suspected that Riley wasn’t going to want to be separated from Bridget after everything that went down today.

It was a slower process than he would have liked, but eventually they were done. Things were pitch dark by the time he had the tent up, the only light around coming as Riley held the flashlight for him. He supposed it was reassuring that no one had driven past.

As he moved their gear inside the tent, he wasn’t surprised when Riley started to unroll the sleeping bags as soon as he laid down the sleeping pads. What did surprise him was when she fully unzipped them and started to zip them together as one giant sleeping bag.

“Walker, there will be a gap at the bottom,” he said, crouching over one of the duffel bags and digging around to try and find some of their toiletries.

“Good thing it’s not too cold at night in the middle of August in Greece then.”

Drake twisted to look at her, so she gave him a little shrug as she sat there in the middle of the tent, Bridget still tucked against her as she futzed with the zippers. “I just… we should stick together.”

All he felt he could do was nod. He got what she was trying to tell him, the comfort she probably wanted for both of them. So, he didn’t fight her on it, just let her do her thing while he tracked down their toothbrushes and toothpaste, as well as her contact solution and glasses.

He stepped outside and dealt with his needs first, gently taking Bridget from her when she went to do the same. A few minutes later, she was crawling back into the tent and shimmying into the giant sleeping bag she created. She rolled over, reaching her arms out towards him, so he passed her Bridget, watching as she tucked their daughter in against her side, dropping a kiss on the top of her head. She glanced up at him after a few moments, her eyebrows raised above the frames of her glasses.

“Aren’t you coming to bed?”

“I think maybe I should keep watch-” Drake started, but Riley shook her head against the pillow.

“We’re both exhausted, Drake. We both need sleep so fucking badly. And let’s face it, if they find us here, it’s all over anyway.”

He couldn’t argue with a damn thing she said, so when she reached over and flipped open her crafted sleeping bag, he just slid in next to her, letting out a sigh of relief as she scooted over, settling in against him, with Bridget tucked between them.

Drake reached around to zip them in as Riley grabbed for the flashlight and flipped it off, dousing the tent in nearly complete darkness. He could just make out her eyes, staring at him as she threw an arm across his back. Things were quiet and still, the only sounds he could hear was their breathing. Bridget's little sleeping noises that almost sounded like snoring. Riley’s gentle and steady breaths. His own ragged sighs.

“We’re gonna get through this, Drake.” Riley’s statement was barely a whisper, but it felt so jarring. So loud.

“I hope so, Riley. But right-”

“No, I know we are going to get through this.”

He didn’t know how she could be so sure, have such conviction after everything had gone straight to hell. But she sounded confident, more like herself than she had in weeks. And maybe that was enough of a return to normal, or maybe his frazzled mind just wanted to cling to the thread of hope she was offering. Hell, maybe he was just too tired to care that she couldn’t actually know that as a fact. All he knew is that her words provided instant comfort, his eyes heavy as he reached over and slid a hand over her hip to her lower back, tugging her a bit closer in the process. If she said anything else after that, he had no idea, as for the first time since they’d left Cordonia, sleep came quickly and painlessly.

Perma: @walkerswhiskeygirl @octobereighth @kimmiedoo5 @mom2000aggie

TRR/TRH: @twinkleallnight @iaminlovewithtrr @mskaneko @axwalker @jovialyouthmusic @marshmallowsandfire @kingliam2019 @sirbeepsalot @texaskitten30 @princessleac1 @ladyangel70 @debramcg1106 @masterofbluff

Drake/MC: @no-one-u-know @iplaydrake

FoF: @burnsoslow @bobasheebaby

#drake walker #drake x mc #trh au fanfic #trh au #trh fanfic #choices fanfiction

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ageoldamateur · 3 years

Text

Introduction to my OC (Full story release!)

I think I should at least try to post the entire story now that I finished writing it.

While this is my first story posted here and my very first G/T story I have ever written, I have to apologize anyway for the way this story is set out as I do not know enough about Tumblr to formulate them into the same style as other writers here (Canadian policy, I must apologize to keep my citizenship). I don’t know how to bold letters or put symbols up, so I will just write as I would normally.

Also, while this is the first introduction of my Tinysona until Pixie draws me, this does not mean that I will not change anything later when I grow more comfortable with my Tinysona.

TW: Pre-vore, Safe/Soft Vore

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

I guess I need to introduce myself, should I?

You can call me Spartan and 2 months ago, I was a normal person. Just about to turn 22, I was thin and healthy and should have been happy with my life.Then I meddled with magic and ended up as small as the average finger. However, that spell also granted me strength, agility, and endurance many times that of my previous self, which I believe is a good enough trade off. Still, I needed food and safety, so I went looking for a place before getting taken in by Rose, another human who seemed to be completely fine with having a tiny living with her. I will later find out why later...

Rose sat at the table, a large hardcover book sitting in front of her. One hand held her chin while the other lightly wrapped around Spartan, who was using her fingers as hand holds so that he could see the pages. This was the third book of the series and both of them were concentrating, leaving the air still in the morning rays.

Standing on Rose’s shoulder with one of her fingers pressing against his collarbone, Spartan finished the page and set his head down on the finger. He had only known Rose for 2 months now, but it felt like a lifetime. He only had to live a life alone and shrunken for a few days before he found comfort in Rose. Of course, he had scared the daylights out of her when he first got her attention, but the bruise faded the next day and he was able to talk to her as an equal after that.

Now, they lived as a couple, or as much as you can when one of the people was the size of a finger and thus couldn’t work a job or around the house. It infuriated him, but Spartan tried to make it up by working on her computer and organizing everything there while Rose did her job. There were only sparse moments where she would read with him, so he treasured them and hoped that she didn’t mind that he couldn’t handle the books she owned.

Spartan spared a glance towards Rose, her green eyes steadily following each line on the page. If he was regular size, he highly doubted he would have landed anyone like her and even now still wondered why she let him stay. Sure, he did some tasks around the house, but nothing she couldn’t do faster and more effectively than him. Maybe there was something he wasn’t seeing.

Looking back down, his eyes focused on the finger that was closest to his head. Spartan was no stranger to the weird impulses that he got (autism never made anyone normal), but he took some time to ponder what the impulse was before acting on it.

Rose just finished the last paragraph of the page when she felt a soft pressure on her finger that held Spartan. Confused, she glanced down, using her freed hand (the one not holding Spartan) to brush aside her hair. Sure enough, Spartan was gently biting the side of her finger; in no way close to hurt, but much life how a dog holds something in his mouth. Rose was close enough to notice how Spartan’s eyes were unfocused, a sign that he was dissociated from the world around him.

“Are you biting me?” Rose asked skeptically. Snapping back into the real world, Spartan quickly let go.

“No! No, I wasn't biting you. I was just resting my mouth on …” His excuse died on his lips as he realized that he really did not have one other than an impulse, which sounded as hollow as the one he just said. Rose just stared at him for a moment longer, Spartan blushing and looking away, then slightly shrugged and turned the page.

***later that same day***

Spartan woke up the phone and checked the time.

7:37. He still has over half an hour until he expects Rose to leave work. Perfect.

Spartan quickly unlocked it and picked his playlist: a collection of sea shanties and folk songs. While Rose knew about the playlist, he never played it for her; different music tastes were perfectly fine in a relationship as long as they understood what the other wanted to listen to. Spartan usually listened to the playlist while working or in this case when he was finished and wanted to belt out songs.

As he picked out a song to start the playlist on, he mentally checked the list again, even though the physical copy was lying on the table in the kitchen, marked by himself. He did all the preparations for Rose’s taxes, organized the cabinet and the food within, and made sure Rose’s makeup was up to date. He had also given Chilly some exercise even though that wasn’t part of his list; though the cat understood Spartan’s place in the household, it still didn’t stop the kitten from chasing him around the house whenever she got the zoomies.

Spartan finally settled on a classic; “Home Boys Home,” by the Skullduggers. Pressing play, the music blared out of the bluetooth speakers; not loud enough to cause a noise complaint, but probably too loud for his ears health. Spartan sprang onto the coffee table and began to sing at the same level of the music, arms singing by his side as he paced around and followed the music.

As the song changed, Spartan would take a moment to recall the lyrics, then bounced to the beat. He didn’t know how long he sang for (he knew almost all of them by heart), but he had eventually grown tired enough to sit on the table, hands behind him and legs outstretched. He couldn’t see the clock, but suspected Rose to arrive home at any moment. When he heard the door open, he would turn off his music.

Spartan felt the warmth before the teeth met his chest. He flinched out of fear, letting out a manly squeak as they gripped his torso and lifted him off the table. Rose held Spartan sideways in her mouth much like a cat would a fish she caught and flopped down on the couch, turning off the music with a tap on the phone.

“Jeepers, Rose! I didn’t hear you come home!” Spartan said, his free left arm keeping Rose’s lips from suffocating him. He wasn’t necessarily stuck, he was much stronger than he appeared to be, but he still didn’t know how much his augmented endurance could endure should Rose bite down. “When did you arrive?”

Rose loosened her mouth, letting go of Spartan so that he tumbled off her chin and landed on her chest. “About an hour ago, before you began to sing your songs. I had a short day today, but decided to climb in through the window cause I didn’t want to deal with Gabe’s smoking in the hallway again.

“You really didn’t notice me gathering snacks and getting ready for movie night?” She asked. Spartan blushed, noticing now that Rose’s arms and hands were full of treats. That would explain why he ended up in her mouth, though the way she did grab him (sideways so that his head wasn’t in her mouth) meant she would have had to have craned her neck at an awkward angle in order to grab him.

“Sorry Rose, I guess I was quite invested in my music.” Spartan said, stepping a little closer to her collarbone, if only to get away from the potential awkwardness of being sandwiched in her breasts. “What movie did you pick?”

Rose grinned and pointed towards the TV where the DVD was sitting. Spartan bounded over and took a glance. “A Sizable Matter”, directed by Rogers Phill <fictional, don’t need to look it up>. It was advertised as ‘safe and fun for the whole family with stunning action and a romance of unusual proportions’. Ratings appeared good, but Spartan knew not to trust those. Before he shrunk, he had seen the critically acclaimed “5th Element” and thought it was terrible and sexist in a modern standard.

But, this was another one of those times where he could hang out with Rose, so he popped it out and slid it into the player. He hopped back as Rose began working on some gummies. Spartan chose one for himself and began munching; he wasn’t much into sweets on the regular but hey, he could treat himself if he wanted to.

The movie was actually really good, alternating perspectives between the race of Giants and humans. The main character was known as a Shifter, which meant they could alternate between the size of a giant or a human. It was their duty to solve the conflict between the two races with the help of several side characters.

Both Spartan and Rose were invested, Spartan resting on Rose’s throat, only slightly distracted by her swallowing. Eventually, the movie reached a close, the Shifter and their friends having almost finalized a treaty before a full fledged war happened. However, the main villain triggered a trap that sparked the war to happen in earnest. Just as the Shifter and their allies were about to head off again, the movie ended.

“Oh, are you kidding me?!” Spartan shouted, falling off of Rose in the process of reacting to the abrupt ending of the movie. Rose didn’t react to the same effect, she wasn't as invested in films like Spartan; yet she did utter a grunt of annoyance.

Rose watched as Spartan fell off the couch, thudding onto the ground and lying there splayed right beside some fallen Gummy bears. “I don’t know about you, I really enjoyed the movie.”

“Same here, but my goodness, there needs to be a sequel made immediately!” Spartan said, grabbing one of the gummies and hugging it to his chest. “The Shifter was the best character! They were so wholesome and adorable; the moments where the movie decides to slow down and let us watch them just cuddle their friends were perfect breaks in between all of the combat scenes!”

“I agree,” Rose said, reaching down to grab the gummies around Spartan, “they were the ideal hero. Though if I am to be honest, I grabbed the movie because of one scene shown in the trailer.”

“What scene was that?” Spartan extended his arms towards Rose with the Gummy in hand.

Rose smiled. From the floor, Spartan suddenly got worried as he saw his friend from a very different perspective. “This one.” She said.

Her fingers reached past the extended Gummy and grabbed Spartan’s chest, wrapping gently around him. Popping the other Gummy bears into her mouth, she raised Spartan over her head and gave him a good view of the inside of throat. She swallows, Spartan watching as they disappear down her gullet. He dropped the one he was holding, it landing on her tongue and then joining the others in her stomach.

Spartan knew the scene of which she was referring to. A giant monster had nearly eaten one of the Shifters' friends much like the predicament he was in currently. However, Spartan assumed that no hero was going to be saving him from this maw.

With no more gummies to eat in her mouth, Rose closed her mouth and locked eyes with Spartan. She smiled at him and Spartan returned it, though a bit confused as to what was happening. She lowered him down towards her mouth, still smiling. Spartan closed his eyes.

And Rose gave him a kiss, her lips almost sucking his face off before she pulled him back. “Oh, don’t worry yourself, I won’t be doing anything to you. After all, you are the only man who has ever cared about me.” She set him down on the coffee table and let her arm hang off the couch.

Spartan, still a little confused at the sequence of events that had just happened, sat up and watched Rose settle down and cover her eyes with her right hand. He crossed his legs and listened as Rose spoke.

“Before you scared the living daylights out of me, I hated my life. My job felt like it was draining me of energy and there was only Chilly at my home which felt more like a burden than a blessing. I had no one who I felt like cared about my interests, checked to make sure I ate, and accompanied me when I went out. I honestly felt like there was no reason for my life.

“Then you appeared, asking for my help. And once I got over my shock of your appearance, I realized that I could help you, I had a purpose again. Now whenever I get home, I can look forward to hanging out with you to read my favourite book or play chess or just talk and chill. It was like having a boyfriend that never demanded sex or asked for favors. It was like a dream come true.

“In more ways than one…” Rose mumbled.

“You are into vore?”

Judging by the silence of Rose, Spartan thought right, though her example kind of gave it away as well. Spartan stood up and hopped back onto the couch, crawling onto Rose’s stomach. Rose raised her arm to look at him.

“Rose, I have been so blessed to have been able to meet you. It boggles me to think that if I didn’t cast this spell I would not have met you or even be able to get to know you. I wouldn’t have been able to know that you enjoy mystery and steampunk stories, or that your favourite colour to wear is red because it reminds you of Autumn. I wouldn’t know that you were mistaken for a boy all the way up till grade 11 and you learned how to cook from your older brother.” Spartan said, walking up towards her head.

“You said your life got a purpose once I entered it. Well, I didn’t know what I was missing until I began to live with you. I found that I was capable of love and was worthy of affection. I was allowed to be weird and helpful and now that I have learned that I have helped you? I feel like I have actually done something for you now.” Spartan allowed himself to fall forward onto Rose’s cheek, giving his giant friend a hug to the best of his abilities.

Rose closed her eyes, feeling the closure of her tiny friend. She allowed her mind to wander and thought about a scenario where she could have met Spartan when he was the same size as her. Rose probably would not have spared him a second glance at a man just going through the motions. But because of a happy little accident, she had a person who shared feelings with her sitting on her face.

“Soooo… this vore thing.”

“It’s nothing, it’s nothing! Forget about it!” Rose said quickly, picking up Spartan and setting him down on the couch, sitting up as well.

“No, no, I am sorry if it is too awkward to talk about it!” Spartan said as he was set down. ‘It’s just… I also might be into it.”

Rose froze, mouth slightly opened. Spartan continued, “Of course, I have only used my imagination, so I have no clue if I would actually enjoy being swallowed, feeling the warmth of someone I love surrounding me.”

Spartan looked up at Rose, a flush creeping across his cheeks. “I never thought there would be a chance for me to make it a reality. Actually, that sounds quite selfish. I never thought I would be given the opportunity to experience it. Er, or that you would offer. Wait, you didn’t offer, I was just rambling, or am rambling, or just talking to myself-”

Rose poked him in the chest, pinning him down with her hand and her finger covering his mouth. It covered most of his face, leaving just one eye to lock in on hers as she leaned down towards him.

“You’re so lucky you are cute,” Rose said softly, “or else I would never be able to stand you.” Rose smiled and Spartan could see the warmth in it; despite the teasing, she really did care for him. Adjusting her grip, she picked up Spartan, holding him up towards her face.

She sighed, “I am actually going to do this, aren’t I?” she said more to herself, looking Spartan up and down. “Do you consent to being swallowed up by a hot and beautiful girl?”

Spartan looked around. “I don’t see one around, is she hiding?” He smiled at his joke as Rose scoffed. “I consent to be swallowed up by a hot, beautiful, intelligent, and amazing girl.” Spartan said slowly and clearly, locking eyes with Rose.

“Well, since I’m the only girl in the room, I hope that means me.” Rose said nonchalantly. Taking a steadying breath, she put Spartan into her mouth feet first. He fit without too much difficulty, squishing comfortably past her teeth as he was pushed all the way in.

Rose didn’t know what she expected to taste, but it certainly didn’t taste as exhilarating as the fics she had read led her to believe. Also, he was quite large now that he was in her mouth; normally she wouldn’t notice but because she didn’t dare chew, all she really did was move Spartan back and forth in her mouth.

Spartan was holding his breath just in case he realized that he couldn’t breath in there. Other than that, he absolutely enjoyed his time, rolling over and over again across the sticky surface, occasionally bumping into the teeth. He could feel that Rose was trying her best to get comfortable with him, but was struggling.

“Ugh, ‘ow ‘o ‘hey ‘ake it ‘ook so easy?” Rose said, opening her mouth to speak and give Spartan some fresh air. She let her tongue rest and felt her throat relax as well. Getting a spike of courage, she started to tilt her head back.

“That’s the same question I would expect some newly weds would ask.” Spartan said, his voice barely making it out of her mouth.

Rose snorted, then gagged as Spartan’s bare feet hit her tonsils. Still chuckling and coughing, Rose spat out Spartan into her hand and turned away to cough into her elbow. Spartan sat on Rose’s hand, curled up with his knees to his chest now that he was out of the warm environment.

“*cough* You really said that at the *cough* worst time, Spartan.” Rose said, starting to recover. She looked back at Spartan sitting in her hand, worrying that she had hurt him when she convulsed. “Are you okay? Did I hurt you?”

“I’m fine, though I feel like I just got out of a nice warm hot tub.” Spartan said honestly. “I don’t know if you are comfortable with this yet, though. I might be too big for you to go all the way with, no offence.”

Spartan stood up on Rose’s hand, eyes towards the ground to hide his disappointment. “I did enjoy being in your mouth, though. It was exactly as I imagined it to be; warm, comfortable, and the closest I’ve been to you bef-”

Rose, in a surge of frustration, shoved Spartan not too gently up and then down, effectively overriding her natural gag reflex through sheer speed. She swallowed hard, feeling Spartan slide down with ease before catching her breath. Then she realized what she had just done.

“Oh heck… I really did just eat him,” Rose said softly, looking down at her stomach. She jumped up, rushing over towards the bathroom. Just as she opened the door, she heard Spartan.

“Rose? You sound panicked, is everything okay?” His voice was muffled, but clear enough to understand. The voice was definitely coming from her stomach and Rose could feel Spartan shifting around to get comfortable. Rose sighed, leaning up against the sink and looking at herself in the mirror.

“Yeah, I am feeling better now that I can hear you.” Rose paused. “How do you feel?”

Silence. “Like I am safe and secure. I feel like I am getting a full body hug. Though, the Gummy bears in here kind of ruin the moment…” Spartan said.

Rose laughed. “Sorry about that. Next time, I will make sure your cuddle buddies aren’t as sticky and sweet. I wasn’t exactly planning for this when I got home from work today.”

Rose closed her eyes, feeling Spartan’s movements and a surge of parental protection. She could feel his limbs against her abs and could picture him in her stomach. She had been looking at the entire idea of vore the wrong way; She felt more protector than predator and it was amazing.

“As much as I would love to stay like this forever, I feel like we should think about how I will be getting out; I don’t know how safe this is. I think it’s because of my heightened endurance from the spell that has allowed me to breath so far, but I don’t want to press it.”

“Well, I think there is only one way for you to exit,” Rose stated, leaning back over the sink.

“Technically, there are two…”

“Shut up.” Rose said, then tried to trigger her gag reflex. After a while of trying, Rose felt Spartan shift around and reach up and suddenly it became a lot easier. She deposited Spartan into the sink and turned on the faucet for him.

“That was an amazing experience, Rose,” Spartan said, sticking his head in the water. “I just hope that you enjoyed it as well.”

Rose rolled her eyes. “Just got out of me and already jumped to the initiative in taking care of me.” She reached into the drawer beside the sink and pulled out a washcloth. She set it down next to Spartan, then stepped out of the room to give him some privacy.

“Well, did you? You asked me how I felt when I was in you.” Spartan said. There was a moment of silence as Rose thought about her answer. “I just realized how much of an innuendo this can be seen as. Should we pick a name for this experience? Something tamer?” Spartan added.

“Maybe later,” Rose sighed, putting her back on the wall and letting herself slide down until she was sitting on the floor. She rubbed her eyes, the memory of the experience still quite vivid in her mind. “To answer your question, I don’t really know yet.

“I went into it with an expectation, as most people do, and had those expectations quite subverted by reality. It was scary and surprising, but after I committed to it, it felt… comforting. I liked the feeling you gave me; it was as if I had hidden you away from the entirety of the world, all of the harm and hardships couldn’t reach you anymore.”

Rose rested her hands on her stomach, remembering Spartan cradled within her. “I already miss it, even though it hasn’t even been 2 minutes since you were there.”

“Well, you can always look forward to the next time those cravings hit.” Spartan said, strolling past the door wrapped up in the washcloth and viciously rubbing his hair. “Though, maybe without having eaten a ton of gummies beforehand. I think I have turned permanently sticky!”

Rose laughed, then scooped him up. “Come on, sticky boy, it’s almost 12. I need to get to sleep so that I can make it to work tomorrow.” She put him in his alcove, then disappeared into her room with Chilly.

Spartan got settled down and thought back on his day. He smiled. It was a pretty good day.

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

I think I need a break from vore, I don't know how I will top this for a while. Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed my… interesting writing style compared to the other writers on this website.

#g/t #wholesome giantess #g/t community #g/t fluff #soft vore #giant vore #giant/tiny #spartanwarrior2563 #pre vore

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firstdegreefangirl · 3 years

Text

OK, I have no idea what happened to it ((my guess is that the blue hellsite decided it was snacktime and ate the thing)), but ages ago, @kitkat0723 sent me an ask prompting the following:

May I pleaseeeeee request #11 back hugs and #15 The biggest warmest hugs

This is my fill for that, in this text post, because Tumblr disappeared the ask when I tried to save it in my drafts. Who knows? Anyway, it got much longer than intended, but I'm chalking that up to that it's technically two prompts, one fic. Heads up, there’s some frustratedDad!Eddie in here. Everything is all good by the end, and it’s nothing too severe, but if that’s not your kinda thing, no hard feelings. Other than that, enjoy!

Eddie’s staring at his hands, wrapped so tightly around the edge of the kitchen counter that he can see his knuckles turning white. His back is strained, muscles pulled taut against the effort it takes to support his head right now. When he flexes his fingers, it’s like he can feel the bones scraping together, hear the grinding echoing in his head.

It’s like a garbage disposal, sucking his thoughts down into its spinning blades. Except that the thoughts don’t go anywhere, and he’s still stuck thinking them.

He’s the worst dad in the world, and his kid doesn’t even have a mom to go running toward.

He can’t believe himself, yelling at Chris, sending him to his room without dessert just because he copped an attitude about his math homework.

(Actually, he did that because Chris kept rolling his eyes and calling his teacher a ‘stupid jerkface.’ Eddie met her at conferences; he might not be wrong, but that doesn’t mean it’s OK to say it out loud. Especially when Eddie told him more than once to stop.)

But it’s been a long day, for both of them. Eddie’s coming fresh off of an 18-hour shift, and apparently Chris had a pop quiz in social studies he wasn’t prepared for. So tensions were already running high before Buck cleared the pizza boxes away, turning the kitchen table into a makeshift classroom. (And honestly, what would any of them do without Buck, swooping in with delivery dinner to take at least one thing off of Eddie’s to-do list?)

Then Eddie had spent 45 minutes trying to remember how to divide fractions. Every time he’d tried to suggest something – anything at all, from “let’s look in your textbook” to “I think you flip one of them upside down – he'd been met with a long-suffering sigh and an eye-roll that would make Anderson Cooper proud.

“Why do I have to do this anyway? Math is stupid, and my teacher is stupid, and I’m stupid, and all of it’s stupid!” Chris would shout, or some variation thereof.

And eventually, Eddie had had enough. Enough of trying to rationalize through it. Enough of Buck looking at him helplessly and shrugging his shoulders because he’s no more useful with fractions than Eddie is. Enough of Chris’ high-pitched whine, the way he flopped back in his chair and groaned. Enough reminding him to use his words, that he’s a smart kid, that they’ll get through this together.

Enough of all of it.

“Fine, you don’t want to do your homework? That’s fine!” Eddie had shouted, pushing his chair back from the table with enough force to wobble it onto two legs. “But if you’re not going to work on this, then you can go put your pajamas on and brush your teeth. No TV and no ice cream until your worksheets are done, I don’t care how long it’s going to take. I’m not doing this with you all night, go to your room!”

Chris had stared at him, eyes wide and mouth agape in shock, before thinking better of it and running off. The sound of his crutches echoing was enough to shake Eddie from his stupor, but when he’d looked at Buck, who was already looking back, concern etched across his face, he’d snapped again.

“I can’t sit there all night and watch him stare at a piece of paper. I don’t want to hear it from you either, OK? Just …” Buck’s eyebrows had pushed closer together, and the anger bled out of Eddie again. His voice cracked as he continued. “Just give me a minute, OK? Please?”

Then he’d pushed past Buck to go stare out the kitchen window, before he could say anything else to hurt someone he loves.

Which brought him to now, clinging to the countertop like the world might swallow him whole if he lets go. Honestly, he’d probably deserve it, for raising his voice at his son and at his boyfriend, all in one breath.

He exhales shakily, screwing his eyes shut against the tears that are threatening to burn hot, salty tracks down his face.

He’s the worst dad in the world, and he sent his kid to his room, and Buck probably left too, and there’s nothing he can do about it.

But he can’t give in to the anger, can’t let it take over the definition of his day. He remembers Frank saying something about that, how it’s maybe not a bad day, just a bad moment that he’s milking all day. And he doesn’t want to do that, especially not where Chris is involved. So he takes another deep breath, and a few more after that.

He’s still breathing slowly, counting every second of air in and out of his lungs, when he feels a heavy, sold weight drape across his back.

He relaxes into the contact, knows who it is before Buck can even slide his arms around Eddie’s waist. Buck holds him tightly, crouches down far enough to bury his face in Eddie’s neck, waits patiently for their breathing to even out until they’re sharing the same rhythm.

Buck stands there, holding him tightly and long enough that Eddie doesn't feel like the world is going to beat him anymore. He holds Eddie until he feels strong enough to let go of the counter with one hand and wrap his fingers around Buck’s where they’re pressing into his stomach. His wrist won’t turn far enough to tangle their fingers together, but Buck lets Eddie hold onto his hand, squeezes back as best as he can when Eddie tightens his grip.

And after a long moment, when Eddie finally turns himself around in Buck’s arms, Buck is still there. He’s there for Eddie to cling to, adjusts his grasp so Eddie can get his hands high enough to wrap around Buck’s shoulders and fist in the back of his T-shirt. He’s there for Eddie to bury his face against Buck’s chest and let out one last long, shuddery sigh.

And he’s there when Eddie leans back, just far enough to see Buck’s face when he opens his mouth.

“Buck, I--”

“It's alright, I know, you’ve had a long day. No hard--” Eddie cuts him off, before he can supply the word “feelings.”

“It’s not. It’s not alright. I overreacted, and I lashed out, and I’m sorry.” Eddie sighs and leans his forehead back against Buck’s shoulder. “I shouldn’t have … I was out of line. You didn’t deserve that. You haven’t done anything tonight but try to help – and you have helped. I don’t know how I’d have gotten through tonight without you. Even if I screwed up royally.”

“You didn’t ‘screw up royally.’” Buck runs his hand up and down Eddie’s back, a hundred times more gentle than he deserves tonight. “You got frustrated, you snapped a little bit, but you backed off before you went too far. Eddie, babe, it happens. Trust me, from having parents who did screw up in a million different ways, I seriously doubt Chris is going to be talking about this in therapy in 20 years.”

“Oh god, Chris.” Eddie rears back again, dropping his hands to Buck’s sides, but not letting go of him. “I … I yelled at him and took away his dessert. Over math homework.”

“Over his attitude toward math homework.” But Buck’s words fall on deaf ears.

“He called himself stupid, and I yelled at him.”

“Eddie, hey.” Buck squeezes Eddie’s bicep gently until he can bring himself to make eye contact. “He’s doing good. I went back and talked with him, helped him get ready for bed. No progress on the math homework, but he’s jammied, and his teeth are brushed, and last I looked, he was working on the latest Captain Underpants book. He was a little worried that you were upset with him, but we talked, and he knows you had a long day, and he was being difficult and --”

“He’s not a difficult kid.” He’s not, truly, and Eddie had long ago promised himself that he’d never make Chris feel like he is.

“Maybe not, but even good kids have their moments. He knows that it’s not his fault, and that we both still love him very much. And you know what?” Eddie hums, but doesn’t say anything. “He asked me to come see if you were OK. ‘Dad must have had a really bad day,’ he said. ‘I think he might need some help with it, but I should stay in here, so I don’t get in trouble again.’”

Eddie sniffles, tears in his eyes for an entirely new reason now. Even after all of the mistakes he’s made – not just tonight, but especially now – he's still got such a sweet kid, with so much empathy, and the biggest heart of anyone he’s ever met. How many 11-year-olds would get yelled at and immediately want to make sure their dads are OK?

He doesn’t know for sure, but he’s willing to be that the number isn’t large.

“I should go talk to him,” Eddie sighs, finally stepping back far enough that he has to let go of Buck.

“I think he’d like that. Want some support?”

Eddie thinks for a moment, then nods. He doesn't know how he’d have gotten through this much of tonight without Buck, and he really doesn’t want to do the next part by himself either. He leads the way down the hall, but Buck catches his hand along the way. This time, their fingers fit together perfectly.

He stops at the doorway to Chris’ room, takes a second to look at his son, lying on top of the covers with his knees bent up to balance his book. He’s completely oblivious to the audience until Eddie knocks gently on the doorframe.

“Hey, Chris,” he starts, then realizes he doesn’t know where the sentence was meant to be going.

“Dad!” Chris sits up and grins. He grins, and Eddie’s heart swells. “Buck said you had a bad day. Do you need a hug?”

“Yeah,” Eddie nods, stepping forward until he can sit on the edge of the mattress. “Yeah, I think I do.”

The next thing he knows, Chris is all but launching himself at Eddie’s lap. He flings his arms around his dad’s neck and holds on tight. By the time he’s done squirming, he’s situated himself on top of Eddie’s thighs, chin tucked underneath his head.

He’s almost too big to be held like this, but it doesn’t matter to either of them as Eddie hugs him right back. One hand lands on Chris’ head, ruffles through the thick curls for a moment before gently tugging him back by the shoulder.

“Hey, you know how I always talk about setting a good example for the people around you?” Chris nods hesitantly, like he’s not sure where the conversation is going. But Eddie does, and he knows that everything is going to be OK. He takes a deep breath and continues.

“Well, I need to do that too. And tonight, that means that I owe you an apology.”

#katie writes #kw21 #buddie #evan buckley #eddie diaz #christopher diaz #911 #911 fox #9-1-1 #9-1-1 fox #911 fanfic #buddie fanfic #katie answers #prompt fill #kitkat0723 #my franns

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ais-for-alex · 3 years

Text

Come Dance With Me:

So I don’t remember if I actually posted this one on tumblr or not (I couldn’t seem to find it but tbh I also didn’t look to hard) anyway this is a fluffy little fic I wrote awhile ago about the cubs dancing to country music and it’s one of my favorites so I’m gonna share it again. As always characters belong to @lumosinlove 🥰

***

Finn shivered as he tried fitting the key into his front door, somehow the cold winter air had seemed to seep into his bones while he was out running errands. His fingers fumbled with the key numb from the biting air, he knew he should have worn gloves before he left that morning but he couldn’t be bothered to actually find a pair. When he finally slotted the key in and stepped into the apartment, warmth washed over him making him sigh in relief.

“Honeys I’m home!” he called out to Leo and Logan as he slipped out of his jacket and kicked off his sneakers.

“In here,” Leo’s voice called out from the kitchen. Finn felt a smile creep onto his face, as he padded farther into the apartment. Heading towards the kitchen he could smell the delicious aroma of Leo’s cooking and hear soft music issuing from their speakers. Finn paused leaning against the kitchen doorframe a bubble of warmth bloomed in his chest as he watched Leo sway to the rhythm while stirring a pot on the stove, listening to the soft sound of him humming to the music.

Suddenly Leo glanced over his shoulder and spotted Finn watching him, he grinned before flicking the burner to low and setting his spoon aside then turned and opened his arms in a warm invitation.

Finn couldn’t help but let himself be drawn into Leos warmth his long arms wrapping around him.

“Welcome back baby,” Leo said softly pressing a kiss into his red curls, there was a deeper twang in his voice than usual, it made Finns insides squirm. “Have fun at the DMV?” he asked jokingly.

Finn shuddered lightly and pulled away from Leo a grimace on his face as he leaned back against the counter, “I swear to god I was in that line for three hours just for the lady to hand me a form to sign, at this point I am fully convinced that place is literal hell.”

Leo rolled his eyes and chuckled before turning back to the stove.

“Watcha making?” Finn asked leaning over to peer into the pot the smell making his mouth water.

“Mmm, potato soup. I know, probably not the healthiest choice but it’s freezing outside and I felt like comfort food.”

“Hey, no complaints from me it looks amazing Nutty,” Leo smirked at that and sprinkled cheese into the pot.

“Where’s Lo?” Finn asked jumping up to fully sit on the counter he reached over and snagged piece of bacon from where Leo had left them to cool.

“Hey!” Leo said swatting at his hand, “those are for the soup.”

Finn simply grinned and munched happily on the crispy piece.

“Lo said he’s spending the night at Dumo’s. Apparently Katie got sent home from school sick and wouldn’t stop crying until he came over.”

“I guess it’s just you and me tonight then,” Finn said, watching as Leo covered the pot to let it simmer.

He turned to Finn with a soft look in his baby blue eyes before walking forward and slotting himself between Finns open thighs running his hands up them appreciatively.

“I guess so,” Leo leaned forward and caught Finns Lips in a kiss so sweet he felt like he would melt into a puddle right on the counter. Finn could feel the smile on Leo’s mouth as he slid his fingers into silky blond hair pulling him in closer, his legs wrapping around Leo’s waist.

Suddenly Leo pulled away with a gasp of surprise, leaving Finn to chase his lips, “Ah! I love this song!” Leo said happily as the music shifted to the opening notes of something new. He leaned forward again and pressed a chaste kiss to the corner of Finns mouth and whispered, “Come dance with me baby?”

Finn nodded grinning and slid down from the counter, “of course I will peanut butter.”

Leo led Finn out into the open center of the kitchen and wrapped an arm around his waist pulling him in close until they were nearly pressed together, his other hand holding Finns as they began to sway together moving in circles to the music. With a sigh Finn closed his eyes and pressed his face into Leo’s neck letting him lead him around their kitchen, he could feel the gentle vibrations as Leo began softly humming to the song.

Suddenly Leo’s voice deep with the twang of his southern accent was crooning in his ear the lyrics of a love song, “There's a difference between ‘miss ya’ and ‘I miss your face’ And there's a difference in ‘what's going on?’ and ‘baby, how was your day?’ Yeah, there's a hell of a difference in saying three words or kinda just meaning two, there's a difference in ‘love ya’ and ‘I love you’ And I wanna be the difference, yeah I do.”

Finn was filled with so much love for this man he felt like his heart would burst, he simply basked in the warmth of Leos palm on his lower back pressing him close, and the feeling of his strong heartbeat against his cheek.

***

Logan was completely content to be tucked under Finns arm as they laughed with the crowd, cheering as James got thrown from the mechanical bull. The flashing lights nearly blinding and the music so loud if felt like it was vibrating his bones.

The team was high with adrenaline from their win against Dallas Logan could feel it buzzing through his veins along with the alcohol from his rum and coke. Everything felt warm and happy and when Finn threw his head back laughing Logan couldn’t help but press his lips to the exposed column of his throat, loving the way he could feel him swallow each sip of his drink.

Somehow despite his height Leo had disappeared into the crowd not long after the team had arrived loud and raucous in celebration. Logan glanced around searching for his tall frame but all he could see was a flood of cowboy hats and denim.

“I’ma get a new drink!” Finn yelled over the music, he held up his glass that was now only filled with ice for emphasis.

Logan nodded and let Finns arm fall from his shoulders, he instead snagged his hand and let Finn lead him through the crowd in the direction of the bar.

“What can I get y’all?” the bartender asked.

“Dark and Stormy for me, want anything Lo?”

Glancing down into his half full glass he shook his head, “Nah, I’m good.”

Finn turned back to relay the info to the bartender, while Logan let his gaze wander over the crowd once again.

“Hey, have you seen Nut at all tonight?” he asked Finn.

“Hmm, he said he was going to the bathroom back when we first got here. Haven’t seen him since,” Finn replied taking his cocktail from the bartender. However, Logan didn’t hear him because his eyes had locked on to a tall figure.

“Lo?” Finn asked following his gaze then letting out a gasp at the sight. Leo had fallen into formation with a massive group of people all following the same steps to the music booming through the bar. Somewhere along the way Leo had acquired a cowboy hat that had blue turquoise stones on it, the smile on his face was wide and bright and made like he was laughing, the flashing lights turned his pale skin blue and pink. Logan watched transfixed as he danced thumbs tucked into his pockets not missing a step.

Suddenly Leos eyes found him standing at the bar with Finn watching and his smile turned sultry as he rolled his body to the beat seemingly putting on a show for his boys. Once the song ended Logan lost sight of Leo in the crowd once more. That is until he felt strong arms wrap around him the heat of Leos body pressed flush against his back.

“Did you like watching me, Tremz?” Leo whispered against the shell of his ear making Logan shiver in his arms, the twang of his accent more prominent than normal.

“Nice hat, Nutter Butter,” Finn said with a smirk leaning forward to catch Leo’s lips in a kiss over Logan’s shoulder. Logan could feel Leo still swaying to the beat of the music his body moving with him almost involuntarily.

“Thanks baby,” he said with a grin when Finn finally pulled away. The music had shifted to something slow and Logan could feel his body relaxing further into Leos arms letting him move him with the rhythm. “Come dance with me, Lo?” he asked leaning down to press a soft kiss behind his ear.

“Oui,” he said sighing at the feel of his lips, “yeah, let’s go.”

Finn grinned watching as they made their way onto the dancefloor amongst the other swaying couples.

Leo chuckled when rather than taking his hand Logan simply wrapped both his arms around Leo’s waist letting the taller man lead them around the floor in circles. Logan sighed and buried his face against Leo’s chest. The two seemed to get lost in the movements, lost in the warmth of each other’s arms, in the lights, in the music until Leo cupped a hand against Logan’s jaw tilting his face upwards to look at him.

Logan’s breath caught at the sight of Leos eyes darker in the dim lighting only the flashing blue and pink casting them in color.

“Don't matter where we've been. No, there ain't no better view. Then you in my arms with my eyes on you. With my eyes on you.” The lyrics fell from his lip only a moment before Leo pressed them against Logan’s.

***

Leo could hear the music pouring from their apartment before he even reached the door, the floor seemed to be vibrating with the bass and in all honesty, he had no idea how someone hadn’t complained about it yet. Slipping through the door Leo kicked off his shoes and plopped the grocery bags he was carrying down on the counter, leaving them to search for the source of the loud music.

The moment he stepped into the living room Leo nearly choked on his laugh at the sight of Finn and Logan. As the music continued to spill from the speakers Logan was passionately lip-syncing into the handle of a broom while Finn was rocking air guitar a dust rag clutched in one hand, he watched as they jammed out to the loud music his face pulling into a bright grin. Somehow neither of them noticed as he slipped into the room that is until he turned the music down just a bit.

“Nutty!” Finn shouted throwing his arms open wide and wrapping him in a tight hug.

Leo kissed his cheek, “what are you guys doing,” he asked amused.

“Well, we were trying to clean,” Logan said gesturing widely with his broom, “but apparently you’ve been holding out on us. Why is your country music so catchy? And why can’t I stop listening to it?”

Leo cackled at his words, “it’s all part of my nefarious plan.”

“What nefarious plan?” Finn asked incredulously.

“Oh wouldn’t you like to know,” Leo smirked.

“Plan or not,” Logan said turning the dial to turn the music back up, “this music slaps! Come dance with us Nutty!” Logan shouted with a grin holding his hands out for Leo to take.

Leo rolled his eyes but smiled and took his hand pulling Logan into a spin, Leo could Feel Finns hands on his hips as they moved to the beat. The three of them moved together limbs tangling as they stumbled around their apartment spinning and twisting to the booming music. They laughed at how absurd they must look but basked in how perfect the moment was anyway.

Leo pulled each of them in for a kiss letting his love pour into each of them through his smile and his lips. As the next song on the playlist began reverberating through their home Leo threw his head back and let the words fall from his lips, “If it's meant to be, it'll be, it'll be. Baby, just let it be. If it's meant to be, it'll be, it'll be. Baby, just let it be.”

Leo had every intention of simply letting life be, and if he spent the rest of it just dancing with the men currently pressed on either side of him he was pretty sure that would be as close to perfect as life would ever get.

Read on AO3

#sweater weather #coast to coast #leo knut #logan tremblay #lumosinlove #finn o’hara #o'knutzy #writing #country music

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suituuup · 3 years

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pieces - chapter eight

Five years ago, Chloe dropped off the face of the Earth. Beca didn’t expect to see her again dancing in a strip club, out of all places.

rated: E (drug use and emotional abuse in early chapters)

ao3 link

Chapter seven was published yesterday, in case you missed it! I was too lazy to make a tumblr post.

The term rollercoaster didn’t seem strong enough to describe the last six weeks of Chloe’s life.

Seeing Beca again. Leaving Marco. Getting clean. Finding out she was pregnant.

She felt like she needed to stop and take a minute to remind herself to breathe, but the weight pressing on her chest prevented her from sucking enough oxygen into her lungs.

“You’re…” Beca blinked twice in slow succession. “...pregnant. With a baby.” She grimaced in the next beat, releasing a breath. “Sorry, I-- I wasn’t expecting that.”

Chloe couldn't blame her for being shocked. She swallowed thickly and cleared the lump from her throat. “I made an appointment for an abortion. Tomorrow.”

Tears sprang up into her eyes before she could stop them, and she lifted a hand to her mouth to muffle the sob itching to come out.

“I’m sorry,” she croaked out, shaking her head.

“Chlo…” Beca murmured, setting a hand over Chloe’s back and the other one on Chloe’s. “You don’t need to apologize. What you’re going through is incredibly hard, and… if an abortion is what you feel is the best option, then that’s what you should do.”

Chloe had always wanted to have kids one day, but this was the worst possible timing. She didn’t have a place to raise that baby, or a job, not to mention that she was a recovering addict.

She nodded along to Beca’s words, as though attempting to convince herself further.

“Do you want me to come with you?” Beca asked. “To the appointment?”

Chloe hesitated. “I don’t want you to miss work because of me.”

“You’re more important than work,” Beca argued softly as her thumb stroked Chloe’s knuckles back and forth. “And I don’t think you should be doing this on your own, you know? But I don’t want to overstep either, so it’s completely up to you.”

Chloe sniffled, reaching up to wipe her tears away. “I… I think I’d like it if you could be there.”

“Done,” Beca instantly said, nodding firmly. She cleared her throat following a few beats of silence. “So um, is there anything you should do for your recovery? Now that you’re out of rehab, I mean.”

“The therapist there recommended one in the city, I need to call and book an appointment. I’m going to my first NA meeting in two days. Otherwise, I’ve been told having a routine could really help? Like go for a morning walk, do some yoga, cook, clean… that sort of stuff. But all I want to do right now is crash for a few hours.”

Beca nodded. “Sounds like a plan. Let me know if I can do anything to make things easier on you, okay?”

Chloe managed a small smile despite how heavy her heart felt. “I’m already so grateful for what you’re doing for me, Bec.”

“It’s what friends do. Help each other out.”

Chloe ended up sleeping for four hours straight. She had never felt so exhausted in her life, and she guessed it was a mix of the physical and emotional toll of pregnancy and rehab finally hitting her. She didn’t eat much for dinner and mostly pushed her food around in her plate, knowing most of it would come back up as it had for the last few days.

She and Beca got to the clinic ten minutes before Chloe’s appointment that next morning, and after filling out the paperwork, they were led into an exam room, where Chloe was asked to change into a paper gown. She sat down on the edge of the bed once she was changed, her eyes sweeping over the many baby pictures lining the wall.

Her attention shifted to the door when it opened, a middle-aged woman stepping inside.

“Hello, Chloe,” she greeted with a soft, reassuring smile. “I’m Dr. Harris.”

“Hi,” Chloe returned quietly. “This is my friend Beca.”

“Nice to meet you both,” Dr. Harris said as she approached. “I was told you’re here to terminate your pregnancy?”

“I-- yes.”

“Okay. As one of the nurses probably told you over the phone, I need to check how far along you are first so we can figure out if a procedure is required,” she explained, setting her chart down and snapping on a pair of gloves. “When was your last period?”

“I-- I’m not sure.”

She used to take the pill. But when you’re fortunate if you remember to eat one meal a day, it’s also easy to forget to renew your birth control prescription. That was just another detail among the many in her life that seemingly had ceased to have consequences or meaning the further she slipped down that rabbit hole.

“Okay, that’s alright. Can you lie down please, and put your feet in the stirrups? I need to do a vaginal ultrasound so we can see better.”

Chloe nodded, scooting back and lifting her feet. She reached for Beca’s hand as nerves sprouted in her belly, immensely grateful for her presence.

“This might not be the most comfortable feeling, but I’ll try to be as gentle as possible,” Dr. Harris said as she placed a condom over the wand before slowly inserting it. She tapped a few keys on the ultrasound machine, gently moving the wand around until a clear image popped up on the screen. It was another minute before she spoke again. “Okay… given the size of the embryo, you’re about seven weeks along, Chloe.”

Chloe puffed out a breath as a kaleidoscope of emotions swept through her. This was her baby, up there on the screen, and the sight of it suddenly made her question everything and ask something that she would regret shortly after. “Can I-- can I listen to the heartbeat?”

The doctor glanced at her. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” Chloe confirmed. “I’m sure.”

Nodding, Dr. Harris pushed another key, and the most beautiful sound filled the room a second later. A steady, strong woosh woosh. Tears sprang to Chloe’s eyes, and she felt a squeeze to her hand as she attempted not to let them fall. Her own heart constricted in her chest, so hard it was nearly painful.

“Turn if off, please,” she croaked out, shaking her head as her lids slammed shut, those tears sliding down her cheeks and curling around her chin.

The doctor shut off the machine and withdrew the wand a few seconds later. “You can put your legs down, Chloe.”

Chloe nodded and straightened, taking the tissue Beca offered her and blowing her nose with it.

Dr. Harris watched on, her eyes soft. “You still have some time before making a decision.”

“Did it look healthy?” She found herself asking, then figured she should explain. “I just got out of rehab. I did cocaine and drank a fair amount of alcohol on a daily basis up until four weeks ago. And I was given um...” Chloe scratched her forehead as she raked her brain for the medication name. “Gabapentin for the first two weeks of rehab to help with withdrawal.”

Dr. Harris’ features remained professional as she nodded slowly. “The heartbeat is strong, and I didn’t catch anything abnormal. The risk of miscarriage is more present than for other pregnancies as the drugs crossed through the placenta when you were still using, and that up to twelve weeks. Problems could occur during and after the pregnancy. But the baby could also be perfectly healthy, since you stopped in the early stages of pregnancy. It’s hard to tell.”

Chloe’s mind swam with all these possible scenarios, and she didn’t know whether to listen to her brain or her gut feeling. “How-- how much time do I have to decide?”

Dr. Harris slipped her hands into the pockets of her lab coat. “Abortion is legal up to 25 weeks in New York state. Up to ten weeks, you can take a pill, past that a surgical procedure is needed.”

Chloe sniffled, swiping the back of her hand under her runny nose. “Okay. Thank you.”

Dr. Harris cast them both a tight-lipped smile. “Of course. I’ll leave informational pamphlets at the desk for you to read, as well as my phone number should you have any questions.”

“Thanks,” Beca said as the doctor walked out, then focused back on Chloe, reaching out to brush her hair back behind her ear. “I’ll give you a few minutes to get dressed? I can go get those pamphlets in the meantime.”

Chloe nodded, her insides caving in as soon as the door clicked shut behind Beca. She gripped the edges of the exam cot hard, her nails digging into the leather and her breathing turning chopped as a mix of panic and sadness unleashed within her.

It all seemed unfair, but she knew her own recklessness was the root of the situation she found herself in.

She eventually managed to calm herself down enough to get dressed, meeting Beca by the desk ten minutes later. The walk home was silent, and Chloe was grateful Beca didn’t push her to talk. She didn’t even know how to process her own thoughts, let alone speaking them aloud.

A few days passed. Chloe slept a lot, and tried to keep herself busy the rest of the time. One hour each morning consisted of hugging the toilet while she puked her guts out, and the rest of her day was spent craving that warm embrace of the rush cocaine once brought her.

The temptation was there. She knew there was a store on the corner of Beca’s street that sold booze, and she knew there was enough change in the bowl by the front door to afford at least a couple beers.

Yet, she couldn’t bring herself to. Not after seeing that tiny blob on that screen and listening to its heartbeat, because the biggest part of her wanted this. She knew it deep down, but she couldn’t silence those same voices that had been making her life hell for the past four years, telling her that she was bound to fail at this like she did with everything else.

Chloe woke up that Saturday morning to a churning stomach. Scrambling out of bed, she stumbled to the bathroom across the hall and made it just in time to empty the contents of her stomach into the ceramic bowl.

She slumped back against the wall afterwards, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand as she reached out to flush the toilet with the other. Chloe glanced up when Beca appeared around the corner, a sympathetic smile curving her lips as she stepped closer and handed Chloe a steaming mug.

“Ginger tea. I read it helps with morning sickness.”

Chloe accepted it with a quiet thank you. She cradled the mug between her palms, her head tilting back against the tile behind her as she exhaled. “You can sit, if you want.”

Beca nodded and lowered herself next to her in the tight space, their thighs and shoulders touching. “Do you… want to talk?”

Chloe sucked in a sharp breath. “I feel… lost,” she croaked out, her head rolling to the side to look at Beca. “Before the appointment, I was so sure terminating the pregnancy was the wise option, but then I saw it on that screen and heard its heartbeat and…”

“You realized the wise decision is maybe not what you want?” Beca supplied when Chloe trailed off.

“I’ve always wanted to be a mom,” Chloe whispered before she broke eye-contact, focusing on the mug she held in her hands as she blinked away the tears filling her eyes. “But it’s crazy to even consider it, right? I don’t have a job, I don’t have my own place, and I’m still battling with my own mind because I crave something. All day, every day since my last hit.”

“But you didn’t cave,” Beca pointed out softly. “I know it’s only been four days since you got out of rehab, but you didn’t cave, and that’s already an accomplishment of its own.”

“I just… I don’t want to harm this baby more than I’ve possibly already done,” Chloe admitted quietly.

Beca nodded, and reached out to take one of Chloe’s hands, tugging it into her lap gently. “If keeping this baby is what you want to do, those things you’re worried about have solutions. You may not have a place of your own, but I’m not kicking you out. Even with a baby. This is home for you as long as you want or need it. A job shouldn’t be too difficult to find. Maybe it won’t be the greatest one on earth to start with, but it will be something to get your head back in the game,” she paused, tilting her head to the side and seeking Chloe’s gaze. “And what you just said? About not caving because of the baby? I can’t think of a better proof of your ability to be a great mom. You’re already putting that baby before your own needs, and I can’t even fathom how great and out of control those can become, and I think that’s admirable. And for what it’s worth, I think you should trust what your gut tells you. I listened to my brain instead of my heart once, and ended up making one of the biggest mistakes of my life.”

Chloe let Beca’s words resonate within her, basking in the temporary peace they brought her. There was no doubt about where her gut feeling lay on this.

“I feel like I’m turning your life upside down,” she whispered after a while, sniffling. “You’ve done so much for me already, I don’t want to keep abusing from your generosity, or jeopardize your relationship with Sarah.”

“You’re not abusing anything, Chlo. I promise,” Beca murmured with a squeeze to her hand. A stretch of silence settled between them, until Beca spoke again. “You still have time to think about it. Just know that whatever you decide to do, I’ll support it.”

Over the next week, Chloe found herself picturing what it would be like, caring and nurturing for that baby and raising them. For the first time in five years, cocaine wasn’t the first thing she thought about when she woke up, or the last thing on her mind before going to sleep.

For the first time in five years, it felt like she had purpose, in trying her best to be the mom her child deserved. That meant staying clean, leaving those demons behind where they belonged, and getting her life back together one day at a time, for that innocent being that came to light in the darkest time of her life.

She woke up earlier than usual that morning, and headed to the bathroom to pee, pausing as she caught sight of her reflection in the mirror. A soft gasp escaped as she lifted her shirt and ran her palm over the barely perceptible swell in her lower belly. It wasn’t there yesterday, and Chloe felt tears pool in her eyes.

Happy ones.

“Hey there, little one,” she croaked out, her heart swelling against her ribcage as she rubbed slow circles over her skin. “We’ll be okay, won’t we?”

She puffed out a long breath, a watery smile breaking through.

One day at a time.

#bechloe #bechloe fanfic #chloe beale #beca mitchell

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earliebirb · 4 years

Text

it’s a small world after all

This is a fic written for my dear friend Jen ( @ishipallthings ) who sent me this prompt. I am making a new text post because Tumblr doesn’t allow me to insert the “Keep reading” link properly when replying to an ask :(

it’s a small world after all

steve/tony, meet cute, pre-slash, au: no powers, 2054 words

“Great speech.”

Smiling at the compliment, Tony turns around. “Thank y—”

And nearly drops his champagne flute.

His world comes to a stop. The light chatter of the mingling guests fades away, all of his senses zeroing in on the man standing before him.

They had only spent a night together—one unforgettable night a year ago in London—and didn’t even manage to catch each other’s last names, but Tony would recognize those baby blues anywhere.

It’s Steve.

Steve from Tony’s London business trip. Or, as Rhodey has become accustomed to calling him after months and months of Tony bemoaning his own profound stupidity of letting the perfect London stranger go without giving him so much as a phone number—The Soulmate That Got Away.

“I— What— Steve?” Tony blinks and shakes his head, just to make sure that this is not some weird hallucination his brain has conjured up out of a severe case of lovesick pining.

No matter how many times he blinks, Steve stays there, standing in front of him, dressed in an elegant navy blue suit that shows off his insane shoulder to waist ratio.

“Tony,” Steve says and maybe Tony is imagining the way Steve sounds a little bit breathless, like maybe this moment is just as overwhelming for him as it is for Tony. How Tony has imagined this scenario happening a thousand times in a thousand different ways—meeting Steve again, hearing Steve call his name.

“What— What are you doing here?” Of all the places he thought he would run into Steve again, his best friend’s wedding is definitely not one of them. Tony sets the glass of champagne down on a nearby table before he actually drops it. His hand is definitely not trembling.

“Uh, my date is a friend. Of the bride’s.”

“A friend of Carol’s?”

“Yeah. She went to get a drink, but—”

Before Steve can finish his sentence, someone approaches him from behind, hooking her arm through his with the kind of easy affection that only comes from knowing each other for years.

“Steve, I’ve been looking for you everywhere,” the woman chides, but there is no mistaking the fond note in her voice. Her blonde hair falls just slightly below her shoulders. She is clad in a long dress whose shade of blue matches Steve’s suit.

“Sorry,” Steve says, squeezing her arm lightly as he turns to her with a soft smile. To his horror, Tony feels his own heart sinking. As much as he wants to, he finds himself unable to tear his eyes away from the sight of them standing side by side in front of him.

Loathe as Tony is to admit it, they look lovely together.

Tony doesn’t know why he is disappointed at all. After all, he is just a stranger with whom Steve has spent a night with. Granted, it was a wonderful night—one that started with them fighting over the last croissant at a coffee shop near Tony’s hotel and ended with pillow talk that was way too deep for someone Tony had just met a few hours prior.

Just because Tony had maybe—okay, definitely—fallen a little bit in love with him, however, it doesn’t guarantee that Steve would feel the same way about Tony.

To reiterate once again, they are just strangers. Acquaintances, at best. Acquaintances who spent a night being physically and emotionally intimate with each other on the day of their first meeting. The sex had been more than satisfactory, but if Tony were being honest, the part of that fateful day that had secured Steve a special place in his heart was the part where they spent the rest of the night cuddled up in bed, sharing secrets and stories about their very different lives until the early hours of the morning, pretending that they weren’t sleepy before eventually drifting off in each other’s arms.

Up until minutes ago, Tony wasn’t even sure he would ever see Steve again. It is beyond ridiculous for him to maintain the foolish hope of Steve returning his feelings, the hope that Steve had somehow also waited for him or tried to look for him all this time.

There is also the fact that Steve isn’t the one who had woken up in bed cold and alone after a night too well spent.

“Oh, hey! You’re James’ best friend, right? The best man. I’m Sharon.” The woman offers him her hand, a warm smile on her lips.

“Tony. Nice to meet you.” He shakes her hand, returning her smile.

There is a beat in which Sharon seems to take in the situation, looking back and forth between Steve and Tony.

“You guys know each other?”

“Yes—” Steve says.

“Well, not really—” Tony answers, at the exact same time.

Both of them fall into silence upon realizing their opposing answers. Sharon blinks, eyebrows furrowing.

“We’ve met before,” Tony manages eventually, giving Sharon what he hopes passes for an amicable smile. All the while, he feels Steve’s eyes on him.

“I see.” Sharon nods, but her smile is disconcertingly knowing. “Well, I think I saw some of my friends over there, so I’m going to leave you boys to catch up. It’s nice to meet you, Tony.”

With that, she leaves them alone again, her heels clicking away.

An awkward silence settles between them. After a few heartbeats, Tony takes a deep breath and makes a valiant attempt at small talk:

“So, how long have you guys been to—”

“You never called.”

“What?”

“I, uh.” Steve’s eyes flit down to his feet before meeting Tony’s. His smile looks slightly strained at the edges. ”You never contacted me.”

“You— You left without a word. I had no way of contacting you.”

“What?” Steve’s eyebrows crease together.

“You did!” Tony exclaims, extremely confused as to why Steve seems to be confused. “I woke up and you were gone. No goodbye. No nothing. How was I supposed to contact you?”

“I— I had to catch a flight, but I didn’t want to wake you, so I did leave without saying goodbye—”

“That’s literally what I just said—”

“—but I left a note!”

“...Huh?”

Steve stares at him with bewildered eyes. “I left you a note on the nightstand. I tore a piece of paper from the hotel notepad, wrote you a note, folded it, and left it there for you to find. I wrote down my phone number and everything.”

“No, you didn’t,” Tony insists, indignant. “I would’ve found—”

Except Tony now remembers that although when he woke up in bed that day he realized that Steve was nowhere to be found, he was also immediately struck with the realization that he was late for his 10 a.m. meeting with a client—the main reason he had been in London in the first place. He then scrambled to get ready and was out the door in a record time of ten minutes.

He didn’t even glance at whatever note Steve had supposedly left on the nightstand.

When he came back to the hotel later that night, his room had been cleaned up by the hotel staff.

“What?” Steve blinks at him.

Tony lets out a sharp exhale in disbelief. He tries to breathe through the wave of disappointment that hits him upon realizing that Steve had wanted him to call, and that both of them are just victims of an unfortunate set of events.

Steve is still staring at him, desperate for an explanation.

“I just realized that— Um. You see, that day, the morning after we… met, I woke up late for my meeting.” Tony smiles at him, sheepish and apologetic. “So I rushed out the door in a hurry. When I came back, the bed was made and the room was all tidy. There was nothing on the nightstand. My guess is that the hotel staff must’ve cleaned it up during the day, while I was gone, so…”

“So you never saw the note,” Steve finishes, a myriad of emotions flitting through his eyes.

“I never saw it,” Tony confirms, gazing wistfully at Steve, his heart constricting at the unfairness of it all. They could have started something, if luck had been on their side. Steve had waited for him to call. Now, however…

Steve clearly belongs to someone else now and whatever chance Tony had back then, it certainly is long gone by now.

Suddenly, someone calls out Tony’s name. They both turn to see the groom making a beckoning motion from across the room.

“Tones, let’s take a picture!” Rhodey shouts. He is flanked by Carol and Pepper. All three of them are staring at Tony, expectant smiles on their faces.

Tony nods at them with a grin before turning to Steve. Sweet, beautiful Steve whom Tony never got around to having a proper date with.

“Sorry, I have to go,” Tony says regretfully, heart heavy. “It’s really nice seeing you again, Steve.”

He takes one last look at Steve before turning around to join his friends.

Before he manages to take more than two steps, however, Steve catches his wrist.

“Tony, wait.”

Tony turns to see Steve staring at him with a weirdly intense expression on his face, like he is working up the courage to say something.

“Yeah?”

“Before you go, can I borrow your phone?”

Tony blinks but complies readily, fishing his phone out of his pocket. Maybe Steve wants to keep in touch, become friends.

Steve types a phone number into Tony’s phone. When he is done, he hands the phone back to Tony. The new number is saved under the name “Steve Rogers”.

“That’s my phone number. Don’t lose it this time,” Steve says, a sweet and lopsided smile on his face. He then swallows, shoving his hands into his pockets. “And, uh, listen… If it’s all the same to you, I would still very much like to go on that date with you, the one you promised we would go on once we’re both back home in New York. I know it’s long overdue, it’s been a year. But I would still love to go for coffee with you, if you’re willing.”

Tony stares at him, uncomprehending. Steve seems to take Tony’s silence as a sign of rejection, because then he licks his lips nervously and says:

“Only if you want to, of course. Only if you want to, only if you’re comfortable with it, and only if you have time. You really don’t have to if—”

“But,” Tony shakes his head, “I thought you and, uh, Sharon? Aren’t you two…?”

Steve pauses at Tony’s question. The second he registers what Tony is getting at, his eyes widen almost comically.

“Oh. Oh. Oh, no. No. We’re not like that. We’ve never been like that.” Steve breaks into a relieved chuckle. “I don’t think her girlfriend would like that idea very much.”

“Oh,” Tony breathes. He feels a rush of giddy hope, so strong and sudden that it leaves him a bit dizzy. “So, coffee?”

“Yeah.” Steve stares at him, nervous and expectant, light pink dusting his cheeks. “If that offer still stands.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“How does next weekend sound?”

Steve beams at him, smile radiant. “Next weekend sounds amazing.”

“Okay,” Tony says, stepping back slowly. “I’ll call you.”

Steve nods before ducking his head bashfully, biting his lip to suppress the growing grin on his face.

Turning around to finally walk away, Tony feels the ends of his lips climbing up into a helpless smile, so wide it could split his face in half.

Later that night, he calls Steve. His heart is pounding in his chest as he waits for Steve to pick up, phone pressed up to his ear.

“Hello?” Steve’s voice comes from the other end of the line.

“Rogers. It’s Tony. Tony Stark.”

A pause. “The Tony who stole my croissant?”

Tony grins. “I didn’t steal anything. That croissant was rightfully mine.”

“I got there first. I saw it first.”

“But I ordered it first.”

“I rest my case.” Steve laughs, the sound sending warmth running through Tony’s body. “I’m so glad you called. Thank you for calling.”

Tony smiles. It’s only right that he gives Steve a call.

After all, even though Tony had stolen Steve’s croissant, Steve managed to steal something much more valuable: Tony’s heart.

#stevetony #stevetony fic #stony #stony fic #superhusbands #steve/tony #steve x tony #mine #earl wrote something #earl answers #user: ishipallthings

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court-of-abs · 3 years

Text

Update on “Maybe Tomorrow” [Final Chapter; Chapter 17]

Hello, hello my ducklings.

It’s been nearly two years since I’ve last been on Tumblr and well over that time since I’ve written anything for my Elorcan fanfic “Maybe Tomorrow.” I actually just finished up reading a Court of Silver Flames and I remembered this page existed.

As you all might’ve guessed, I never did finish writing that last chapter, or the epilogue, even. And while I no longer intend to finish writing that last chapter now, I decided it would be fun to post what I had written so far as well as a bulleted list for the ideas I had for the epilogue. Please keep in mind two things: this was written over two years ago and I’m not letting myself attempt to edit it (although I did read through it quickly) and there is a potential trigger warning: this chapter covers themes of mental health, therapy, and topics related to it. I’ll also be adding this warning to the previous chapter, as I feel in hindsight I most definitely should’ve included it.

This community and these books were my everything in 2017-2018. I was going through a pretty tough time then, and I am so so happy to say I’m doing much better now despite everything going on in the world. I still keep up with each series to this day (I even cried the BIG tears when I finished Kingdom of Ash) and it will ALWAYS hold a special place in my heart.

Enjoy!! Let me know what you guys think <3 I miss and love you all, and I hope you’re doing well.

Naitivity. To herself, to her problems, to the pain flowing through her veins every step she took. That was why Saturday night had affected her so much.

In the almost nine years since their death, Elide had never acknowledged what had happened. She’d never grieved, barely faltered- she got away with it by not thinking about it, not talking about it. By not accepting the cards the fate had handed her, by turning a blind eye, it became so much easier to pretend it didn’t happen. It became so much easier to pretend she hadn’t changed.

Elide knew now that she wasn’t being strong for it. She was just being naive.

Elide wrapped her arms around herself and leaned forward to rest her head on the steering wheel of her car. She breathed, deeply, taking in the muffled sounds of students walking towards the front of the school- their voices, their laughter.

She smiled, then, thinking about what today was.

Then she frowned, thinking about what today was. The elections and then…

Another breath. In and out, just like the therapist had told her. Elide reached for her school books and swung open the door of her car, stepping out into the heat. She just needed to focus on today, just today.

And then, with the support of her friends, those that cared about her, she’d focus on the next. And the next, and the next…

Elide made it all of three steps away from her car when she ran into Aelin, Lysandra, and Manon standing by the rear of her car, their arms crossed and faces tight.

Elide swallowed and reached for the words she’d been saying over and over in her head for the last 24 hours. They were on the tip of her tongue-

“Manon!” Lysandra’s shout was cut off by Manon barrelling into Elide, pulling her into one of the most suffocating bear hugs she’d ever received. It was exactly what she needed.

“You scared the ever-living daylights out of us” she said into Elide’s hair.

Elide leaned her head on Manon’s shoulder. “I know. I’m sorry.”

Manon shook her head, and Elide watched as Lysandra and Aelin took a few steps forward, readying to pull Manon away should Elide need them to.

“There’s no need to be sorry, but Jesus, Elide, you just… disappeared after Saturday night. No one could get in touch with you all of Sunday, not even Lorcan.” Elide froze at his name. She mumbled another “sorry” into Manon’s shoulder and gripped her harder so that she wouldn’t notice.

“All right, all right” Lysandra said as she gently pried Manon’s arms off of Elide. “Don’t smother her.”

Elide smiled at her. “It’s alright-” and then Lysandra was gripping her in another extremely tight bear hug.

“Hey!” Manon shouted, scowling at Lysandra.

“You had plenty of time with her, it’s my turn now.”

“I got less than a minute-”

“Ladies” Aelin said, stepping between them. “This is about Elide right now, not you.” Aelin stepped towards Lysandra and Lysandra took a step away.

“Don’t even try, Aelin. You’ll get your turn in a minute.” Elide giggled as Aelin sighed and took a step back.

Lysandra smoothed down the hair on top of her head and said, “Do you want to tell us what happened- after Saturday, I mean. It’s okay if you’re not ready.”

Elide smiled up at her, at all of them, and took a small step forward- Lysandra reluctantly loosened her grip.

“It’s true,” Elide swallowed, “what Maeve said about my parents. That’s all true.” She wrapped her arms around herself, tighter, remembering what Dr. Ren had told her.

“I’ve spent the last nine or so years of my life… in denial. My parents, when they died, they were all I had. I was horrible at making friends, and when Vernon became my guardian, well, you might imagine why he didn’t exactly give me someone to talk to. The SDD tried to get me to talk, to acknowledge what had happened. They worked tirelessly to try and convince my uncle that I needed therapy but my uncle doesn’t really believe in mental illness, of any sort, and I… it was just too much for me,” Elide tried to meet all of their eyes as she talked but the bareness of the moment forced her eyes down to the pavement, “I didn’t talk for almost an entire year after they died. I had no outlet for the pain,” her voice cracked on the word, “the utter pain I was going through. Eventually I learned it was easier to shove it all down. Everyone said that since I was young I would quickly get past it and I took that as meaning that I had to quickly get past it. And so I did everything you’re not supposed to do when trying to grieve about the death of your loved ones.”

Elide gestured a hand to all of them, “I pushed people away... and I let the mention of the most amazing parents in the world become a trigger for my concealed anxiety and grief. And after Saturday, I couldn’t push it all back down after Saturday. And so nine years of pent up… everything came tumbling out.”

None of them spoke for a moment.

Then: “You talked to one hell of a therapist yesterday, didn’t you,” Manon said.

Elide let out a nervous chuckle. “Yeah, he set me straight.” Elide said, tracing the lines on one of her textbooks.

“So you’re okay?” Lysandra asked, wrapping her arms tentatively around Elide.

“No” Elide said, “I’m actually far from it. But …” Elide cleared her throat and hastily brushed away a fallen tear. “That’s okay. I know that.”

“Good” Aelin said. She reached for Elide, then, waving off a pissed Lysandra. “We’re going to be right here while you get through all of it, Elide. Absolutely all of it.”

“Thank you” Elide said, gladly accepting her third bear hug of the day. “And I’m sorry about how I reacted on Saturday, it must have been so scary for all of you. I’m really, truly sorry-”

“Don’t apologize” Aelin said, smoothing down her hair. “You don’t need to. What Maeve did was the definition of malicious, and you didn’t hear it but everyone booed her off stage after Lorcan rushed you out of the room.”

“I’m surprised they didn’t disqualify her from the race after that,” Lysandra said, and then she grimaced. “Gods I can still remember the look on her face-”

“Lysandra” Manon warned, “we all know she’s a bitch, but we don’t need to debate how much of one she is right at this second.”

Lysandra looked down at her feet and mumbled, “Sorry.”

“It’s okay, really” Elide said. “I don’t mind talking about how much of a bitch she is at all.”

“Oh thank the gods” Lysandra sighed, rushing over to Elide and grasping her hand. “Let’s all go sit down somewhere and discuss this. It’s going to be a lengthy conversation- there is so much bitchy-ness about her that you don’t even know about it.”

“Are we really doing this?” Manon said, raising a single brow. “Doesn’t that make us a bit petty?” A snort from Lysandra.

They all turned to Aelin, but Aelin just shrugged. “What Elide says, goes.”

Manon’s jaw twitched and then she threw up her hands. “What the hell.”

Elide giggled as the four of them linked arms and walked towards the school together. Manon had been right- she had talked to one hell of a shrink yesterday. But she hadn’t just helped her sift through the memories, figure out how to deal with the pain.

Lysandra cackled at something Manon said, and Aelin smiled back at them, unrestrained.

No, she’d also helped her realize how amazing her friends were. And that was best part of all.

If he couldn’t find her before the end of the day- he didn’t know what he was going to do. He just had to talk to her. He just had to know if she was alright.

His feet pounded into the concrete of the school parking lot... (I’m sorry I stopped typing here)

Here’s how I originally outlined the chapter (you can see some changes for when I actually sat down and wrote it):

Chp 17 Summary

Monday morning- day of election results. Elide is a mess. She hasn’t talked to anyone since Saturday night: this includes Lorcan. At school she’s confronted by friends and they’re all worried about her. They make up- Elide opens up to them about it. Lorcan clears things up with Rowan in the parking lot, they walk towards the school together. Then Lorcan comes over and asks to speak with Elide alone- they talk, and Lorcan gives her a new backpack (green like the carpet in the library). Asks if she could take care of Hellas for him- she says yes. They walk into the school hand in hand, knowing what they are and what they could be would have to wait for now.

Chapter Specifics

Outside of School

Elide sitting in her car again, contemplating the weekend. Reflective of first chapter- when she’s sitting there, not sure how things are going to go.

Walks towards the school in a daze. Aelin & Co waiting for her a few feet from the school. Everyone is tentative but then Manon comes running over and gives Elide a hug. It’s just what she needs.

Elide says she’s sorry and opens up to them about her thought. They all just tell her it’s not her fault for any of it and they’re sorry that happened to her.

Lorcan & Rowan Meeting

Lorcan walking towards Elide when Rowan steps in front of him. The two tersely talk

Flashback scene of sorts about what Rowan did for him the night before (Cain trying to goad Lorcan into a fight of sorts and Rowan stepping in)

at the end of it the two shake hands and are on good terms again.

Lorcan walks over to Elide and asks to speak with her alone. Bell rings for class to start but Lorcan leads them down a trail to talk.

He’s awkward until Elide leans up and kisses him. She tells him thank you

He gives her the backpack. Elide opens it up to find a copy of A Court of Wings and Ruin, and the picture of her parents protruding from it.

Lorcan says he wishes he could have made her happy like that. Elide says he did. In the short time they had, he did.

Lorcan asks her to take care of Hellas. She says of course.

Elide leans up and kisses him again and says that she’ll always care about him. And maybe in the future they’ll be something (make sure you don’t rush this!!)

Lorcan starts stuttering and Elide shakes her head. She explains that as much as she cares about him, she knows how much the long distance thing will wear down on them- and that he needs to be his own person when he comes back to her.

Outdoors speakers announce that Aelin and her team had won the election as they approach the school building.

Elide walks into the school with Lorcan, prepared for the day ahead. And the next. And then the next, and the next…

Epilogue

I actually don’t have any notes for this (I THOUGHT I DID I’M SORRY) but I think I had it so that they bump into each other at Terrasen University or something like that and they start as friends but eventually begin dating and then get married in the library and the last scene is them at their spot in the library in their wedding apparel just holding each other (because I’m sappy like that)

Thank you all, again. Writing this was a pleasure and I could not have asked for a better community and support group

- Abs

#throne of glass fanfic #elorcan #elorcanfanfic #maybe tomorrow

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twokinkybeans · 3 years

Note

Hello! I absolutely love all of your stories! I have a request, can you do a Starker story where Peter and his class go on a field trip to stark tower? I don’t really mind what happens there I just really want to see the ship. If you can thanks so much 💗

CHAPTER 2: BACKPACK

(Read chapter 1: Science Rules on Tumblr / AO3)

Summary: Peter is 14. Recently got his Spider powers and is no longer friends with Flash. Ned is in the picture. They go on a high school excursion and Peter is set on finding Tony to ask if he can join the Avengers. Side note: Tony is not romantically/sexually interested in Peter until chapter 3, when they are in an established relationship. Warnings: Angst. They talk about death whilst not actually mentioning it. Flash is an absolute asshole as always.

Rating: Mature (just to be sure for later on lol).

I actually had this one finished last Sunday but never got around to posting it. It isn’t edited at all, so I hope you enjoy! :P -Lien

“Mister Thompson, if you don’t take a seat this instant, it’ll be detention for you,” Mister Harrington threatens. Flash immediately presses his ass back into his seat and grins at Peter from a distance. They might resent each other now, but their infinite common interest in science, technology and Tony Stark has never faded. They don’t really talk to each other anymore and Peter is not expecting their broken friendship to ever be mended. Not with how Flash treats him these days, at least. The first cracks in their friendship appeared during their last visit to Stark Industries, when Flash became jealous of Peter for spending time with Tony. Flash’s behavior completely changed with his growing popularity at Midtown High. With regards to friendships, he ended up choosing quantity over quality. This resulted in him attempting to gain the schoolkids’ favors by bullying. Since Peter used to be his friend, he became an easy target. Peter might miss what they once had, but at least he managed to trade his friendship with Flash for an even better one. Ned Leeds enabled his geeky side and ever since the boy had helped Peter up after Flash had pushed him to the floor the first time, they became inseparable. Obviously, the school wanted to go to Avengers Tower to get them interested in pursuing careers in science and technology. Something both Ned and Peter already kind of were. As excited as everyone was to get a look inside the labs and workshops, there is a significantly higher interest in getting a glimpse of not just Tony Stark, but of any of the Avengers, now that Stark Tower has been rebirthed as Avengers Tower. However, there was another occupation that Peter also took interest in now that he had gained his Spider powers a little over half a year ago. Becoming an Avenger was his number one career dream. He’d no longer just help the little guy. He’d be able to help everyone. There’s nothing Peter wanted more than to run into Tony again like he did when they had the class trip in middle school. Maybe Peter could train under him? Learn from him? Tony would be the Master to his Padawan. He’d be an Avenger. All he needed right now was the courage to actually ask. Well, he’d have to find Tony- or any Avenger for that matter- first. … The second they set foot in the building, Peter grabs his bag and takes out the Science Rules cap that he wore as a child. He didn’t expect Tony to actually recognize him after all these years, but at least he has one point of reference he could fall back on. Security reminds him he’s not allowed to wear the cap inside, so he opts to attach it to his belt and have it hang from his hip. Flash makes an off-handed comment about it, but Peter ignores him. It still baffles Peter that Flash seems to feel no remorse for joking about the cap that he knows was Peter’s father’s. After the first two hours of the excursion Peter already starts losing hope. Most locations they go to are quite secluded and it’s not easy to get away from the security’s watchful eyes. They had to put their bags in a locker room earlier, so save for his web shooters, Peter couldn’t show Tony the suit he'd so proudly put together. If he would ever run into him. After hour three they’re finally allowed to go into the labs and actually do some tests themselves. Most of the materials they work with are quite harmless. The only thing that really could hurt them if they’re not careful is the bottle of slightly diluted bleach on their desks. At least all of the students want to make a good impression on Stark’s scientists, so they’re all on their best behavior. Everyone, but… “Whoopsies,” Flash deadpans next to Peter. The teen looks up surprised from his own workbench to see Flash, who is stationed next to him, purposefully elbow the bleach bottle. The opening up top is small, but some of the liquid still splashes out of it. Onto Peter’s hip. Peter stares at the cap that now has bleach splattered all over it and then back up at Flash who grins. “Guess it really is a one of a kind now.” Peter runs away from his spot to one of the security guards. He doesn’t trust himself to not start crying if he actually takes time to ask his question properly so all he can blurt out is: “Toilet?” The guard sees Peter’s panic and lets him out. “Uh, there’s one on the left right there.” “Th-thank-“ Water. Peter needs water right now. Needs to wash it out, even though the fabric is already lightening. Who knows, maybe he could wash it out with the tears that are forming in the corners of his eyes. He rushes and throws open the door, immediately starting the stream of water and shoving the cap under it. The further he can dilute the bleach, the better. His left hand clutches the little tag on the inside in an attempt to keep anything from spilling into it and messing up his father’s handwriting. A soft sob escapes his throat, but he’s startled to hear a urinal flush in one of the stalls. He sniffs and attempts to wipe away the tears with the elbow of his shirt. When he hears the door unlock he looks down in a half-assed attempt to focus on cleaning the cap. He bites on the inside of his cheek and clenches his jaw, feeling the presence of the man from the stall emerge. The man casually washes his hands next to Peter but his movement suddenly halts. “Peter?” Peter could recognize that voice in his sleep. His heart beats loudly in his chest and the world is spinning. He blinks before whipping his head up to lock eyes with Tony Stark. “Jeez, you’ve grown.” The man’s brows curl together at the look on Peter’s face. The boy breaks eye contact and looks forward into the mirror, only to realize his cheeks are red and his eyes are puffed. “What the hell happened?” There’s a moment of silence. Peter barely realizes that Tony recognized him. Knows him, still. Is concerned for him. Peter’s mouth opens and closes and he takes a breath before looking back down at the cap and continuing to attempt to wash out the bleach. “Bleach,” he mumbles. “Didn’t take you to be that clumsy.” “Wasn’t wearing it.” “Still.” Peter scrubs more aggressively now, tears threatening to spill again. He’s making a fool of himself and he wishes he could just disappear. “Hey,” Tony says quietly. “Hey-“ Peter’s eyes widen at a hand suddenly holding onto his lower arm. Peter’s frozen where he stands and can only watch defeated as Tony turns off the tap. Only now he feels how wet his cheeks are. When did he start crying again? “Damage’s already been done.” Tony takes the cap out of Peter’s hands and studies the lightened splotches on the front. “Don’t you think this looks cool?” He tries. “Don’t want it to look cool.” “I’m sure your dad won’t-“ Tony stops himself, knowing exactly why he shouldn’t finish his thought. He sucks at his teeth and looks away. “Sorry, how’s your mom?” Peter nearly laughs at Tony’s inability to read the room. “She was with him.” Mortified at his previous decision on how to continue the conversation, Tony takes a step back. Peter looks down at his wet hands and adds: “It’s okay.” “To be honest, no, not really. Are you taken care of?” “My aunt.” “Didn’t Richard have a brother?” Peter looks up again and grimaces, feeling like every word falling from Tony’s lips is a stab to the heart. “Fuck, I’m-“ “It’s okay.” “It’s not.” Tony shakes his head and moves closer to Peter again. “I’m sorry, kid.” The man scoffs. “I used to be better at this… Well, no actually, that’s a lie.” Peter swallows as the two just stare at each other in silence for a few seconds, neither of them sure where to go with this. The boy then clears his throat and moves to stand up straight. “I am, eh… Here on another excursion.” “High school this time, I presume? Or are you in uni already?” “Parents wanted me to have a somewhat normal childhood, so they didn’t want me to get ahead that far. My aunt honors that wish.” Peter now properly washes his hands, since his hands had started to tingle from the bleach. “Aren’t you bored out of your mind, then?” Peter raises his eyebrows and chuckles. “Maybe.” Tony’s wrist beeps and he takes a glance at his watch, sighing exasperated. He heads for the door and hands Peter the cap back on his trek. “Pete, I’m sorry, I gotta go. Give reception a call-“ No, is all Peter can think. Before he can form a rational though, he reaches out and webs Tony’s hand to the door handle, locking both of them in the bathroom. Tony stares down at the substance keeping the door shut and his hand attached to it. “What the-“ “I want to join the Avengers.” Peter is ready to hit himself in the head. That question was way too direct and now he’s really done it. Tony laughs surprised. “Oh, bother. You’re Spider-Guy?” Peter’s eyes widen. The man hadn’t said no. “Spider-Man.” “Right.” “Wait, aren’t you fourteen?” Tony asks confused. Peter’s aware his physique as Spider-Man is wildly different from what he appears as in daily life. “And a half.” “Kid, if that really is you, you need to stop before you get in over your head, okay?” Tony wants to step towards him, but is held back by the webbing. “You think I’m lying?” Peter crosses his arms offended. “Well, no, but-“ The billionaire shakes his head at the substance and scoffs. “You’re putting yourself in danger when you shouldn’t.” “I’m not stopping.” “What- are you an adrenaline junkie? Please, don’t tell me you’re doing this because of me. It’s not worth it, I promise you.” Peter stares at the wet cap in his hands. “Not everything’s about you.” He wishes he swallowed those words, but Tony seemed to be self- aware enough, taking the comment somewhat gracefully. “Then what is it about?” “Half a year ago I got these… Powers.” Peter raises his hands up to look at them and sighs. “I’m stronger and faster… And I- well…” He trails off and pulls his face together in a frown. “When you can do the things that I can, but you don’t, and then the bad things happen? They happen because of you.” “As inspiring as that is, you shouldn’t be doing any of the stuff I’ve seen in those videos.” Tony’s pulls at his wrist and swears silently. “Jesus, what is this made of?” “You… Watched the videos?” “Yeah, kid, I did, now please get this stuff off me?” “Right! It usually dissolves after two to three hours, but I have a dissolver in…” Peter falls silent as he realizes that what he needs is locked away by security. “Kid,” Tony threatens. “My backpack.”

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harcourtholmesii · 3 years

Text

A Strange Meeting

Fandoms: Dead by Daylight

Pairings: None

Warnings: - Reference to Violence - Referenced Gore - Referenced Death and Torture - Implied, Stated and Referenced Prejudice - Pretty Poorly Written

Words: 2019

I wrote this sometime ago, but I felt like posting some of my older works to Tumblr to get them out there. In this one, to clarify, I have this little headcanon that the Entity would want to get the most it can from its survivors and killers before tossing them into the void. So, the Entity forces some killers to be survivors and some survivors to be killers, so it might leech as much emotion, hope and fear out of them all.

Enjoy!

She had found a quiet place. It was hidden deep into the woods, far from the campfire’s warm glow, and out of sight of those judging looks. She could hear, carried along by the chilling wind, the faint cries of Dwight and Kate’s hollers as they searched for where she had hidden herself away. With her back pressed firmly to the chipping bark of the ulmus- elm behind her, she brought her knees up to her chin, muting her sobs. The cold wind swept through her, and beneath her long sleeves she could feel her hairs rising in horripilation.

Goose-bumps. It was what everyone else called it. But why not use the scientific term? She didn’t understand. According to David, and everyone else probably, there was a lot she didn’t understand. Her father called it a ‘brilliant mind’, an ‘inquisitive mind’, but her mother referred to it in much the same way as everyone else. ‘Special’. ‘Unique’. ‘Unusual’.

When the world around them began to collapse, everyone else ran to the door. When she was alone in the collapse, she just had to collect that one insect. Where one should run for a teammate, she had to collect the sap and take notes. She couldn’t help herself. That was what she knew; botany and entomology were her video games and childhood toys. She didn’t understand these trials. Never had she wished to be swept into a life or death game, and whilst other survivors lived for the chase, she despised having to run around. Her legs ached so much at the end of a trial, she would rarely wait to reach the campfire before collapsing to her knees. Even when those black, arachnid-like appendages tore her away from the safety of the fire, she could rarely find the strength to continue these trials any longer.

Claudette’s head snapped up, hearing heavy footsteps approaching. It sounded much like David or Bill’s heavy boots; the last people she wanted to talk to. As she brought a hand up to the tree behind her, gaining some purchase on it so she might stand quickly and run, she was interrupted by the face of a man she had not met out in these woods. She had never run into another lost soul on her own before. She had always been by Dwight or the others, but now, she was caught out and unsure how to react.

He was enormous. Like an ursus arctos horribilis- Like a grizzly bear in size, he was packed with muscle with wide grey eyes. He turned a dark gaze down to onto her; those grey eyes filled with mild curiosity. They carried a familiar weight to them, like the gazes she had seen many times when their group met survivors who had been there just as long as themselves (or perhaps longer). They were weary, exhausted and yet they looked at her with aroused suspicion. She noted the faintest dark stains on his clothes; there was blood, yes, like there always was, but a black powder mixed with mud and dirt caked the white of his collared shirt. He wore dark overalls with one strap snapped on the right side and, much like everyone else, his clothes were in such a disarray. How could a man like this be one of them? It was much like when she met David; just how could a man of his size, strength and temperament be a survivor?

A crunch of leaves and twigs alerted her, Claudette’s eyes travelling up to the man’s face as he ducked down beneath a branch and with his back pressed to the tree, slid down to sit on her left side. He dropped heavily into the mix of dirt and roots, but kept quiet. She didn’t like this. She wanted to speak up and tell him to go away. This was her spot. But, instead all she felt was the urge to stand and return to the campfire.

“Please stay.” Claudette hadn’t realised she had already started making a move to stand. His voice shocked her. It was a growl. Not like a threatening growl, but his voice was deep and broken that when his plica vocalis- vocal cords produced his words, it reminded her much like the deep bellows of a bear. She swallowed around a lump in her throat, feeling how her body tightened in fear. Her joints were strained, prepared for her to jump up and run like her body had never done so before. Even when she was in a trial, she had never felt so terrified. Nervously, she let herself slump back into her place at the base of the elm’s trunk. She was shaking.

“W-Who…” She swallowed again, trying to gain the nerve to speak. “Who are you?”

He turned his head to look at her; a slow, bored motion, with his grey eyes meeting hers. Even like this, he was still at least a foot taller. He was just… so… big…

“Someone like you.”

“H-How do you kno-?”

“I guessed.” He interrupted her, turning his head away, his right hand brushing lightly at the dirt between them. She bit her lip to keep herself from yelling at him at how he was getting her jean pants dirty. What did it matter? They were dirtied from mud, blood and torn to shreds at the calf and knees. He glanced back up at her, one large finger beginning to scratch a pattern into the dirt. “Lost.”

“W-What?”

“You seem lost.” His eyes turned back to the dirt, glowering at a mistake he brushed away with his knuckles. His attention returned to dividing his gaze between her face and his picture.

“W-Well, I’m not. I know where I can go and-”

“It is not what I meant.” He said, stopping his digits from digging into the dirt. He turned his body, angling it towards her, a foot between them. He was uncomfortably close for her liking, but he didn’t push further. “Your mind seems elsewhere.”

“And how do you know that?” She pulled her lips tight into a frown. She didn’t appreciate how he was analysing her. It was like how her mother tried to send her to a therapist, except instead of a sense of duty to her mother, she was kept there by her fear rooting her feet to the ground.

“I know.” He hummed, returning to a relaxed position around the tree. “No one runs from the fire except for a few reasons. Since you are not screaming…” He trailed off, letting Claudette fill in the rest.

“I… I just can’t deal with this any longer.” Well, he was certainly doing better than her therapist and actually getting her to spill something personal. Whether out of fear or not, it didn’t really matter. “I’m constantly afraid. I can’t keep up with this. I just… I just want to go home.” The world around her grew blurry, her eyes beginning to sting as tears welled up and then rolled tracks down her hot cheeks.

He didn’t speak. He had stopped drawing in the dirt, and kept his eyes trained on her and how she rose her hands up in fists to wipe away the tears. “I just want to go home to my parents. To my microscope and studies. I want to go back to college. If anything, people whispering behind my back is nothing compared to a hook going through it.” She bawled, bringing her body into a curled position.

“What is a m-micro-… ma-icro-scopp?” Her wide eyes turned to look up at him, surprised to find him tilting his head like a giant dog. He was curious, and the thought that this man didn’t know what a microscope was… It was a welcome distraction.

“A-…” She wiped the tears from her eyes, trying to gather herself. “A microscope i-is a tool used to analyse samples. Like being able to see… Um…” She reached down to the grass and dirt, pulling up into view a single leaf, crumpled, but otherwise intact. “Inside a plant there are cells. By having a sample like this leaf under a microscope, you can see them.”

“How?” His growl of a voice caused her body to shudder. Despite her discomfort, his being there as a stranger just listening to what she had to say reminded her of how someone would message the forums asking a simple question she could answer. At least over the internet and in the college chatrooms, people appreciated her knowledge.

She expanded on how it all worked, and felt herself go on and ramble. What could have been answered in fifty words had ended up becoming an entire thesis. Then came the questions about how she got into college studying science as a woman and what the internet was. Like Ashley and Laurie, it seemed he had been ripped out of a time long before her own. How long had he been here? Still, who knows how much time passed, but through it all, whilst he sketched into the forest floor, she answered all of his inquiries and explained how it all worked. She appreciated how he didn’t seem to have any prejudices despite his time, and when bringing up the topic, he simply shrugged his shoulders.

“It never mattered to my father. It doesn’t matter to me.”

When Claudette felt her rump and tailbone beginning to ache, she stood slowly, feeling a little better to talk to someone other than her teammates. As she stood, so did he; carefully sidestepping around his sketch until he faced her. She felt a little trapped just due to his sheer size and might, but when she moved, he did not reach out or follow behind. Instead, he took a step back in the opposite direction.

“Come with me.” She said, feeling a flush enter her cheeks. It was a little embarrassing saying that so quickly, but after their hours (she had to presume) of talking, she didn’t want to return to the group without him. Who knows? A man of his size might be able to help them in the trials.

“No.”

“W-Why not?” She felt a little astounded. Why wouldn’t he want to come? “I-It is okay. No one is going to run you off. I just needed time to myself. You should come with me. I’m sure the others will be happy to meet you.”

“No. I have my own to return to.”

“There are other campfires?” He looked over his shoulder, back through the thick woods from whence he came.

“Hundreds.”

“W-What?”

“Hundreds, scattered all about. We can’t go very far, but you are not the first person I have met out here.” He stepped away from her, the shadows over his form hiding his face from sight. The moonlight streaked that streaked through the woods refused to move and just grant her one last look at him. “I have to return to my own. In time, may we meet like this again.”

“Wait!” But already, he had vanished back into the dark. How a man like that could move so quickly and quietly, she had no clue. But apart from his patch of dirt, there was no sign he had even been there. In the dirt, what she saw drawn there was a truly nice sketch, if a little primitive due to the lack of tools. It was her face. Her face was in the dirt, with a small smile on her face. She bit back a huff of laughter- not out of actual amusement, but out of sheer irony that he would predict the outcome of their conversation.

She turned on her heel and went back the way she came, noting the carvings of Mashtyx in the bark of the trees, reminding her of her path. Now, as she returned to the safety of Kate’s lullaby and the warm glow of the campfire, she came to realise what was stained on his clothes. What gave him such an earthy smell. It was coal dust, much like what she smelt in the coal mines of the Macmillan estate.

#DBD #Dead by Daylight #The Trapper #Claudette Morel #DBD Fanfiction #DBD Fanfic #HarcourtHolmesII

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honey-and-strawberry · 3 years

Text

Black Velvet

An MX OT7 Vampire x Spellcaster AU

Warnings: swearing, dirty talk.

Kihyun & Hyungwon

Word count: 1.5k

Working graveyard shift, I’m used to seeing bizarre characters. I didn’t expect to see two heavenly attractive vampires, who bring up a strange proposal.

A/N: I know there were photos of Kihyun and Hyungwon in the original post but the first paragraph kept getting copied twice, I kept editing it and it wouldn’t go away. Blame tumblr.

Graveyard shift at Fairy Trade. I don’t know how this store hasn’t gotten out of business yet. The late night hours is a redeeming factor. Out of the whole street of shops and restaurants, we stick out like a sore thumb, but mostly because we are locally owned and have a fantasy aesthetic. I told my boss to renovate, or to at least change the stone floor to hardwood, but he refused.

Being one of three employees, I’m always stuck being overnight shift, which is my fault since I’m the only one willing to be around occults. I wouldn’t have a problem doing the shift, but then they assign me for afternoons too!

I’ll bring it up to management tomorrow, because my sleep schedule is affecting me hard. I’m reading through a book to look for energy boosting spells. So far, nothing that I haven’t tried before. It’s not like I’m busy during this shift, the only customers I get are vampires doing blood runs or fellow spellcasters grabbing last minute supplies.

The bell by the door dings.

“Hi, I’m here if you have any questions” I sweetly greet, eyes still glued to the book. I hear some murmuring in the isles. Instinctually, I look up to see who’s whispering. Two handsome, dark dressed men. I see a glimpse of their faces and my jaw drops. The taller one, who has slicked back black hair, wearing a black turtleneck with black jeans, has stunning grey eyes and plump lips. The shorter one, with mousy brown undercut with full bangs, wearing a satin button up under a black velvet jacket with slacks, has strikingly green eyes and a sharp jawline. They glance at me, then continue murmuring. I should be afraid of being outnumbered by a couple of vampires, but there’s emergency devices under the counter incase of a frenzy. They walk to the race section, out of my line of sight.

The tall one approaches the counter, suave with his hands in his pant pockets.

“Hi, there. May we get some bottles from the cooler, please?” he softly requests. His voice is a little raspy, but intoxicating. Without saying a word, I grab the keys for the blood cooler, my eyes locked onto his. He follows me to the blood cooler, towering over me. The shorter one, who is still taller than me, waits patiently at the cooler.

“Wow, you’re prettier up close” the shorter one greets. I almost drop the keys from shock. The tall one coughs to get the other one’s attention.

“I’m sorry, where are my manners? May we get some bottles, please?” the shorter one smiles.

“How many?” I smile, unlocking the cooler.

“Four bottles, please” both men estimate. I hand them two bottles each and relock the cooler. I can’t understand why vampires like these bottles. I heard it’s excellent quality, but I wouldn’t know since I’m not a vampire. We meet back at the counter to check them out.

“Anything else for you two?” I wonder before typing the prices into the register. They both shake their heads.

“Are you doing alright?” the shorter one asks, tilting his head.

“What do you mean?” I pause.

“You look tired” the shorter one points out, looking at the counter. “Energy spells?”.

The taller one elbow jabs him. Out of embarrassment, I close the book.

“I know something far better than those silly little spells” the shorter one continues.

“Let me guess, it’s to turn into a vampire?” I joke.

The taller one chuckles while the other one scoffs.

“No, but it does involve us” the shorter one flirts, flicking his eyebrow. I’m intrigued. Wait, these are vampires, this could involve murder for all I know.

“What’s all involved?” I ask for clarification. Both men glance at each other. That’s not helping my skepticism.

“Depends on how much you want it” the shorter one smirks. The tall one bites his lip to keep silent. We process the transaction. I hand the shorter one the receipt.

“I don’t know” I mumble, troubled. “What will happen to me?”.

“You will be on top of the world” the taller one surprisingly comments.

“What my brother here means, is that you won’t need those spells. For energy, health, and strength” the shorter one nervously laughs. My eyes widen, if I wasn’t interested before, I am now.

“I still don’t know” my cheeks burn. The shorter one takes a pen from the cup and scribbles on the receipt.

“Call me when you change your mind” he shrugs. I take the receipt. They wave goodbye, take their bottles and strut out of the shop.

Book of Fangs, chapter 4 paragraph 3. See you soon.

-Kihyun xxx-xxxx

Book of Fangs? Sounds familiar, I might’ve stocked it a while ago. Skimming through the shelves and I find a copy. I flip to chapter four, paragraph three. Vitality rituals?

An act of sacrifice. An exchange of power...based on the exchange of...oh. OH. Sex for the exchange of blood? Is this book a reasonable source? I guess it is.

For best results, the ritual must be performed with the whole clan per mortal partner.

Of course it is. I don’t even know how many members are in his clan. Wait, what am I saying! It’s sex for the exchange of blood! They could kill me! Although...those two are handsome. I could give him a call for more information…

Dialing his phone number, I wonder how desperate I am for a boost. He could be lying to me, using this as a trap to kill me. He wouldn’t be stupid enough to trick a spellcaster, would he?

“You took longer than expected. I like that” Kihyun answers. The hairs in the back of my neck stand.

“Hello to you too, Kihyun” I greet, swirling on my stool behind the counter.

“So what do you say, beautiful. Are you in?” Kihyun chuckles.

“I have questions first” I halt.

“Do tell”.

“Is the ritual really sex in exchange for blood?” I hesitate.

“Yes. Drinking blood during an act of protected sex” Kihyun explains. Protected sex makes it a little more comforting.

“The book says that the ritual could be done with the whole clan” I add, leaning on the counter.

“Correct, but isn’t necessary” Kihyun confirms.

“So the potency is determined by the amount of members in the clan. How many are in your clan?”.

“Ah, curious, are you? My clan is just us seven men”. Seven men? In one night? I subconsciously close my legs.

“And you promise this won’t kill me?” I change my tone to serious. I may know some spells that could kill them, but that would be pointless if they slash an artery.

“There is a chance of the ritual turning fatal, but we are careful about safety”. So they had experience doing this, that’s assuring. “You have the power to stop it at any time”. That’s even more assuring.

“You are aware that I’m a spellcaster and are capable of hurting you, right?” I sass.

“I like that about you. You’re not scared of us” Kihyun chuckles.

“What’s there to be scared about?” I flirt.

“Baby, don’t tease me just yet, I could come back” his voice deepens. I drag my nails on the counter, releasing some tension.

“How about I come see you?” I laugh. Oh shit, what did I just say? Who have I become!

“Sounds like a date. Tomorrow night?”. I could feel his cocky grin through the phone. I choke on my words. Did I really just ask someone on a date? A group sex date?!

“All eight of us?” I swallow my fear.

“All eight of us, but don’t worry, beautiful, you’re in good hands. We will take good care of you”. “I might get a little rough, though” a little growl rattles the phone.

“Good” I unknowingly exhale.

“You like it rough, baby?” he sounds a little surprised. I internally scream from realizing he heard me.

“I-I” I nervously laugh. He softly shushes.

“It’s ok, I’ll find out tomorrow. Till then, just imagine my teeth biting your soft neck while I’m deep inside you”. I dramatically inhale, rubbing the top of my thigh. Did I imagine him saying it, or did he actually say it?

“Talking dirty on the phone? That’s bold of you” I catch my breath. He inhales through his teeth.

“You imagined it though, didn’t you?”. I wonder if he’s all bark...and no bite? Ouch, that’s a bad joke.

“Maybe I did, maybe I didn’t” I snark with a smile.

“I know you did, but I shouldn’t keep you distracted. I’ll see you tomorrow, beautiful” he concludes before hanging up. I put my phone on the counter and blankly stare to mentally process the proposal. Do I really want to have sex with seven men in one night? For what, vitality? I’ll need a boost just to get through it! He said it himself, the ritual doesn't necessarily need all the members and I could stop it at any time. Let’s see what happens tomorrow, I guess.

#monsta x #monsta x smut #monsta x scenarios #monsta x imagines #monsta x kihyun #monsta x hyungwon #vamp mx agenda #monsta x fanfic #kpop #kpop smut #kpop fanfic

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syntheticpoetry · 4 years

Text

Kintsugi

Summary: Kurt and Blaine have a mature heart to heart involving Blaine's insecurities.

Tested reaction fic where I just really gratuitously expanded on the dialogue and included the missing smut scene that very obviously must have occurred off camera.

AO3 Link || FFN Link

Author’s Note: So during our Tumblr Gleewatch group viewing I was left wanting so much more out of this scene and it kinda just spiralled from there. There's some smut, but a lot of dialogue driven conversation following the canon dialogue where I felt like the conversation should have continued rather than end with their little heartfelt hug. The way Blaine just shattered and started crying and Kurt just held him with a straight face.... yeah. There was definitely more that happened there. So here you go. See more notes on the end explaining the title. Huge thanks to @blog-carmex for beta reading for me and offering her invaluable input :D

__________________________________________________________

It has been three hours since class ended. Three long hours since Blaine watched Kurt stride right past him without so much as another word after they changed out of their fencing gear. After their sparring match they had retreated to opposite ends of the classroom, huffing in silence and shooting daggers at one another. The mutual refusal to speak to each other had persisted all the way into the locker room where Kurt then proceeded to peel off his shirt in front of everyone. Blaine had slipped into a bathroom stall to change, a mix of embarrassment and guilt beginning to wash over the anger as he shimmied out of the white pants plastered against his sweaty skin. By the time he had emerged again Kurt had shouldered past him, tight lipped with eyes fixed in the distance, leaving Blaine to stand alone, his mouth hanging open and staring dumbly after him.

“I just find it funny that we haven’t been intimate in like a week and maybe this is why.”

“No, I don’t want to talk about it.”

“I got up early and forgot to text you.”

“You know what, Blaine? Sometimes I think we talk too much.”

After class Blaine had retreated to Kurt’s apartment in the hopes of another attempt at conversation, but has been melding himself into the couch for the last two hours with nothing but the silence and Kurt’s words to bounce around his skull as he waits for him to return. It feels like such a stupid fight. All of their previous discussions about just going to one another to air out their grievances, to talk about when things are bothering them feel like a distant memory. Blaine tried to talk to him. He tried to take the steps that they had outlined. But Kurt just shut him down. Kurt didn’t want to talk, didn’t want to let Blaine try to explain himself. Instead they were left to physically act out their aggressions in combat class of all places. Okay, so maybe Blaine wasn’t being completely open about the extent of his insecurities, but Kurt’s instant decision for distance and his ability to become an ice prince once Blaine had actually tried to initiate a conversation reminded him why it has always been so difficult to speak his mind.

Blaine is terrified. Terrified of rejection, terrified of Kurt finally peeling away his loosely fastened mask of confidence and seeing him for what he truly is— a coward. He had never felt brave until the day Kurt stared at him from across that table in Dalton like he was this wise old sage so full of advice and wisdom. It had been so easy to slip into the disguise, to feign the persona of a boy who had suffered and prevailed. Who was he kidding? Prevailed. What a joke. Blaine knows that whatever semblance of true bravery he ever possessed in the first place to compel him to bring a boy to a school dance in Ohio had been beaten away all those years ago in that parking lot. He told Kurt that he ran from his bullies and regretted it, but the truth is he knows he is still running. That he has never stopped.

Not like Kurt. Kurt, who had suffered in silence for months at the mercy of his own bullies and still emerged with his head held up high. Kurt, who had experienced his own hate driven assault, and had learned to become stronger and stand his ground so much quicker than Blaine could even begin to wrap his head around. Kurt, who is so much braver and resilient than Blaine can ever imagine himself being. Kurt, who does not actually need Blaine to guard him and guide him the way that he once used to.

And it terrifies Blaine to feel this insignificant again. To become a shadow of doubt beneath a rising sun.

The door to the apartment slides open and Kurt strolls in, phone pressed to his ear, instantly catching sight of Blaine on the couch. Blaine hunches over, arms resting against his knees, and braces himself for the explosion. All afternoon he has been waiting for Kurt to return, but now that he is actually here his instincts are screaming to just get up and run. Keep running. Don’t stop.

“Yeah, he’s here. Okay. Okay, bye,” Kurt slings his bag onto a chair at the kitchen table and turns to Blaine. “That was Rachel, she was just confirming us for her opening night.”

“What’d you tell her?” Blaine asks.

“I said, ‘Yeah, if we don’t kill each other in combat class, count us in,’” Kurt replies, eyes trained carefully on Blaine. Blaine does not want to return the focus though, choosing instead to tip a can of ginger ale into his mouth to douse the desert in his throat. Little distractions for idle hands and a restless mind.

“What happened in there?”

Here it comes— the avalanche. There’s a sudden tightness in his chest as he avoids meeting Kurt’s eyes. “You were really coming at me like— like… as if you had something to prove. What, I’m not sure.”

“That I’m as strong as you are,” Blaine says. The words sound surprisingly more bitter and resentful than he had initially intended them to. He remembers his place— don’t lose control — and tries to reign in some of the tension, just bottle it back up again.

“Okay,” Kurt says and strides towards him. Blaine takes note of the distance he keeps between them, the minuscule gap that feels like the Grand Canyon. Is it intentional? “But it’s not a contest.”

“Isn’t it though?” Blaine responds with the same bitterness again. “On some level? Cause for the first time in my life, I really feel like I’m losing.”

He can feel the loss of the control, the steady spiral into the depths of despair and uncertainty that he has trapped himself in for months. The knot in his stomach twists itself tighter, yet he cannot help himself. Once the train derails, there really is not much else to do but let the collision run its course. “I’ve felt that way ever since I got to New York. I feel like,” Blaine sets the can down and waves his hand between them, “We’re in this race together and you are just so much farther than I am. Like, it just feels like the whole balance has shifted.”

“What balance?” Kurt’s eyes narrow. He takes a seat in an armchair, keeps his distance.

Now he really has gotten himself in too deep.

“I guess it started when we first met,” Blaine shrinks back against the couch, avoiding Kurt’s piercing gaze. “And you came to Dalton because you were trying to get away from Karofsky, and I wanted to help you through that.”

“And you did,” Kurt says quietly.

“And I loved the way that felt. I loved it,” Blaine swallows and leans his head back against the couch, speaking to the ceiling. “I loved being able to protect you, but now I look at your life and…”

And now it hurts. Now it feels like I don’t fit into any part of it. Now it feels like I have never been, nor will I ever be enough for you because you don’t need me anymore. Nobody needs me the way that I need you. Why is this so hard?

“It’s completely different,” Blaine finishes and finally settles his eyes onto Kurt. “You’re a star at school, you have all these cool new friends, you started this band and I just,” Say it. Stop hiding. Say it. Tell him. “I feel like you don’t need me anymore, to protect or anything.”

There is a glint in Kurt’s eyes that sends Blaine’s heart careening down into his stomach. This has been a mistake. Saying anything at all, letting his guard down— it has all been a mistake. He springs up suddenly, anxious to disappear. “I mean, you asked me to move out, for God’s sake,” He murmurs bitterly as he walks past Kurt.

“We made that decision together,” Kurt replies, tone heavy and unimpressed, as he spins around in the chair to face him. “So is that what all this stuff is about that’s going on? I mean, you trying to get me to eat more?”

You are missing everything. You are missing the entire point. Do you even see me when we’re together? Can’t you tell?

“I don’t like the way I feel about myself anymore, Kurt! Okay?” Blaine’s raised voice takes them both by surprise. Through the open window, the sound of sirens permeates the post-confession silence. Blaine closes his eyes, already feeling the tears clinging to his lashes. He knows opening his mouth again is going to be yet another mistake, but so far he has been a glutton for punishment and self pity tonight, so what more is there to lose?

“And you have this amazing new body— do you know why we haven’t been intimate? It’s because I feel insecure around you. I feel insecure around my own fiancé, and Fratboiphysicals.com isn’t gonna judge me!”

Somehow this feels worse than keeping everything bottled up. The terror of Kurt’s reaction leaves him feeling dizzy and sick as he finally opens his eyes to absorb the blow. Somehow Kurt’s eyes exude a softness beneath the two smoldering flames. A sort of fierce protectiveness that only leaves Blaine feeling more pathetic than he did in the first place.

“Neither will I. Ever ,” Kurt responds and stands up to approach him. “But I am not going to apologize for not being some delicate flower that needs his boyfriend to protect him.”

“Kurt, I—”

“And you know what? Maybe you’re right. Maybe it is a contest. Maybe that’s the way it has to be with two guys. But I would much rather be running this race with you than against you.”

Blaine knows what it is to be lectured. Understands all too well that familiar feeling of being put in his place, his actions chalked up to overdramatics and oversensitivity. Looking up at Kurt towering over him, he feels even smaller now. Whatever certainty he possessed, whatever feigned strength he must have siphoned off of Kurt when he entered the apartment to stagger his way through his confession has evaporated completely, leaving behind a hollow shell. His words come out apologetic and frightened, tiny and remorseful.

“Me too, I just—”

“As equals ,” Kurt says sternly.

Equals. Something about the word flips a hidden switch. Equals. He has never felt a kinship with that word before, never understood what it felt like to stand beside someone and hold each other up, sharing the weight. He has always struggled to be the pillar for someone else, to mask the cracks in his own foundation. Something about the way Kurt says it makes him feel ashamed.

“I know, I know,” He presses both palms over his eyes, keeps pressing until spots of crimson and white appear scattered across the darkness behind his eyelids like bursts of fireworks. “I-I know. I know that , I’m so sorry. I’m just…”

I am not worth this. I am not worth your time.

“I’m just so scared that you’re gonna...”

His throat constricts because he can already envision it. He drops his hands, shaking his head, and focuses on the door just past Kurt, pictures him walking right through it like it is the easiest decision he has ever had to make. Kurt holds all of the power in this relationship, and Blaine knows that. Knows that whatever semblance of equality Kurt is preaching about right now is only a mirage. Blaine ruined their perfect balance the night he let his demons take control of his emotions and lead him to that weak moment of infidelity. One more wrong move and they are bound to break again. But Kurt does not walk away, he stands before him and continues to wait patiently.

“I’m just so scared that you’re gonna keep changing, and you’re gonna keep getting stronger, then one day you’re gonna wake up and realize, ‘I don’t love him anymore.’” Blaine shrugs his shoulders, tears glistening, and smiles in resignation to the paranoid confession as fact. Even children discard their favourite toys once they are broken beyond repair. So why would this be any different?

“Never,” Kurt replies, his gaze unwavering on Blaine. The quiet intensity of his determination makes Blaine’s stomach lurch again, anxiety twisting tighter and tighter. “I’m always gonna love you. And I don’t want you to be insecure or ashamed around me.”

It’s only when Blaine exhales that he realizes he had been holding his breath, clinging to the tension in every centimeter of his muscles.

“Next time you’re going through something like this you— you have to be honest with me.”

Blaine can feel himself nodding without any actual control, like it is a trained reflex in place to diffuse the rest of the uneasiness and settle the confrontation. Anything to make this stop. His lips go numb, eyes still fixed on the door as the next word comes out on autopilot, drained and defeated, “Okay.”

Kurt’s arms around him spark the calamity laying dormant though, pull him away from the resignation and suddenly he is grasping at every inch of Kurt that he possibly can, sinking into the embrace as though clinging tightly enough will fill the gaping hole in his chest. The ebbing shame becomes a tidal wave, crashes over and over again and threatens to drag him beneath the riptide as Kurt’s thumb brushes over his shoulder blade. He feels so undeserving of such kindness and patience.

“Blaine, I think maybe we should have a conversation about where all of this comes from,” Kurt presses his lips to the thick layer of gelled hair atop Blaine’s head. “Don’t you think?”

“What more is there to say? Can’t we just cuddle on the couch for the rest of the night?” Blaine mumbles against his neck.

“Don’t deflect, I think this is the most honest you’ve ever been with me about yourself and I want you to keep talking to me,” Kurt pulls away, hands on Blaine’s arms to push him back enough to look at him. “I want you to feel like you can talk to me because you know I’m not gonna judge you. I love every piece of you, no come on, don’t look away,” Kurt’s hand is immediately beneath Blaine’s chin, tilting his head back to center. There has always been a sadness buried beneath the constant glimmer in Blaine’s eyes, usually well hidden and mostly undetectable. In these rare moments of vulnerability, that sadness is always directly on display. “I love everything about you, even the pieces you try to hide away from me, especially those.”

“Kurt,” Blaine whispers urgently, his face contorting as he struggles against the grief, and tries to keep the controlled tears from transforming into full on ugly crying. But Kurt does not let him go. Kurt does not let him look or run away.

“How many times have you seen me cry? There’s no shame in letting go sometimes, Blaine.”

“I don’t want to do this,” Blaine breathes out. He tries to take a step back, but Kurt does not drop his arms. They remain firmly wrapped around him, rooting him to the spot. “I don’t want—”

“I’ve got you, and I am not letting you go,” Kurt says. “You remember what you told me the first time we met?”

“I said a lot of things,” Blaine closes his eyes and feels the warm streaking of tears down his cheeks. He has cried in front of Kurt before, but he’s never cried in front of him. The breakdowns have been reserved for solitude, behind locked doors, hidden away from the world.

“You told me that you ran away when things got tough, and that you regretted it ever since. Don’t run from me too, Blaine— stay.”

The perfect catalyst.

“I’m sorry,” Blaine chokes out. “I’m sor—sorry, I’m sorry,” He continues murmuring, the words becoming an incoherent jumble of consonants decorating the layer of heaving sobs and gasps for air in between. With eyes shut tight, he nestles his face back into Kurt’s neck, body trembling against his steady arms, and continues mumbling the only two words his brain seems capable of conjuring.

“Blaine, honey,” Kurt strokes his back and presses kisses to the top of his head. “Blaine, why are you apologizing?”

“I don’t know,” Blaine shakes his head, forehead against Kurt’s shoulder. “I don’t know.”

Now that it’s begun, it feels like it will never end. Control feels like a foreign language as he continues to shake and cling to any part of Kurt he can get his hands on.

“Come on, come here,” Kurt commands soothingly, leading them over to the couch. He drops down, pulling Blaine onto his lap. Blaine snakes his arms around Kurt’s neck, burying his face into his own arm. “I’ve got you, it’s okay, I’ve got you.”

The reassuring words seem to be having the complete opposite effect on Blaine and only draw out more tears. Crying feels like an effort rather than a cathartic release. The mask has finally been ripped away, leaving him feeling exposed, dissected. He feels weak. Ashamed and self-conscious. How could he lose control like this? What’s worse, how can he be so incapable of reigning it back in?

“Sweetheart, talk to me,” Kurt won’t stop pressing kisses to any area of skin he can reach. His lips are warm and wet against Blaine’s temple. Something tangible he can tether himself to. “Please?”

How do you condense years of pent up doubts and microaggressions of self-sabotage into a logical explanation? Where do you even begin?

“You know,” Kurt runs his fingers over the protective layer of gel, wriggling them in between to break up some of the strands. Blaine bites down on the inside corners of his bottom lip and allows Kurt to continue burrowing his fingers past the barrier. He had caked on so much of it after class it is a wonder Kurt is even able to break up any of it at all. Yet his dexterous fingers reach beneath and he massages Blaine’s scalp. It’s another calming, tangible gesture Blaine can tether himself to. “I have that keyboard in my bedroom. I can get that if you would rather sing something first right now. Usually helps you open up.”

The more Kurt’s fingers tangle and twist his hair, the calmer he feels. Once the tears have ceased enough he trusts himself to speak. “Okay,” Blaine has to mouth the word first before clearing his throat and rasping it out. He shuffles off of Kurt’s lap and spends the literal seconds of his absence wrenching his fingers together, both legs bouncing hurriedly against the wood floor. Kurt returns, keyboard secured underneath his arm, and sets it up on the coffee table in front of the couch before taking a seat beside Blaine. Before turning it on Blaine runs his fingers over the plastic keys. Will it ever get any easier to channel his emotions without a crutch? Kurt simply sits and watches, palm draped over the small of his back. Blaine exhales, the breath shuddering with the weight of all he tries to expel to lend his voice the strength to begin. He slides the switch up to turn it on and positions his fingers on the keys, gently tapping out a somber melody.

“ When you come home I feel the earth start to change, I am alive, I am alive, I am in love with this place. I love it most how you whisper my name And so I catch it in a bottle for my lonelier days.”

He never has to think when it comes to music. His fingers always seem to know just what notes to play. And the words always come easier when they are borrowed from someone else. He shifts closer to the keyboard, hands steady and certain as he continues with the melody. Kurt understands him so well, knows just the right things to say and do to coax him through the storms.

“The moment slows inside the palm of your hand, Oh I could stay like this forever or as long as we can. And in the morning I pour a warm cup of tea And hope you'll stay a little longer, stay a lifetime with me.”

He straightens his back, puts more vigor into the tempo as he pushes past the fear and lets his voice crescendo into the next verse. The one that means the most. The one he wishes he could say without having to hide behind the safety blanket of song. Maybe someday he can learn. But for now it is easier to parrot the words that bare a glimpse into his heart.

“Cause when you go, like summer gives to the rain, I am uncertain, but I'm certain I am losing my way. When you let go, I don't see straight anymore— I am unwinding, I am broken, I am losing my core.”

His voice breaks on the last line, raspy and watery with the weight of tears once again. He closes his eyes, languidly drags his fingers over the keys, lulling back the gentle melody as Kurt slides his hand up to his mid-back. He continues with the interlude, repeats it, drawing out the time to build up the courage to continue again. Kurt shifts closer beside him, wraps an arm around him and rests his chin on his shoulder. Tangible. Comforting. Reassuring.

“There is a door that opens at the sight of your face, I feel it all, I feel the warmth of every long summer day. And like an angel, you circle back with a kiss, You are the one I'm dreaming of, you are the one, you are the one. You lift me up with every step that I take, You are the reason, you're the answer when I'm drifting away. And through it all, when I start making a mess, You are forgiving, everlasting. You're my everything.”

The warmth of Kurt’s breath raises the hairs on the back of his neck. When Kurt’s lips press into the crook where his neck meets his shoulder the notes start to get sloppy, crescendoing and decrescendoing when a wave of goosebumps runs its course throughout his entire body. He abandons the keys, voice so low that some of the sound cuts out as he half-whispers a fragmented collection of the remaining lyrics.

“You are the one who holds my heart. When you come home I feel the earth start to change, I am alive, I am alive— there is a reason to stay.”

They sit in the stillness for a while, Kurt’s arms fastened loosely around Blaine’s waist, with only the distant muffled sounds of the city coming to life in the early hours of a Friday night to keep them company. Unlike the bustling renegades of New York City, there is no sense of urgency or obligation between them tonight. Blaine sinks back against Kurt’s chest, sluggish and exhausted, but he knows the night is nowhere near its finale. The song was merely an introduction, a segue into the next section of the grand orchestral piece.

“I remember telling you once that I’m not good at romance,” Blaine breaks the silence. “That I have no idea what I’m doing when it comes to this.”

“Probably the biggest lie you’ve ever told,” Kurt responds affably. Blaine can hear the tentativeness as he tries to keep the conversation light and playful and knows he is trying to work out just where he is headed with this train of thought.

“Is it though?”

“Blaine, you are probably the most romantic person I know. I used to think I was the hopeless romantic in this relationship, but you definitely have me beat.”

“I hate that phrase,” Blaine says indignantly, trying to shrink back against him more, but there is nowhere else to go. Kurt deciphers his body language and embraces him tighter. “Hopeless romantic— why does it have to be a hopeless romantic?”

“It’s just a phrase. Of course you aren’t hopeless,” Kurt begins pressing kisses to wherever he can reach again. Blaine closes his eyes and lets his head fall back against the couch cushion. Maybe Kurt was right. Maybe a week without intimacy really was far too long. The soft desperate whine that falls from his lips as Kurt continues to litter his neck with delicate kisses definitely suggests as much.

“Kurt, can we—”

“Soon,” Kurt says. “We aren’t done talking yet.” He sucks the skin at the base of Blaine’s neck between his teeth and gnaws gently and Blaine can feel the slight upturn of his lips against his skin as he lets a sharp, breathless exhale slip out.

“Well, I don’t know how well I’ll be able to concentrate if you keep—” Kurt moves his head away, only centimeters but he may as well have relocated himself across the room. Blaine scoots closer, practically sitting on his lap again now and whines, “No, no, no! Come back!”

“How about we play a game?” Kurt replaces his lips on Blaine’s neck and runs his tongue over the reddened bite mark.

“What kind of game?” Blaine rasps out, shivering as a new wave of goosebumps breaks out.

“A game of trust and honesty,” Kurt raises his head to whisper against Blaine’s ear. Blaine turns ever so slightly to face him, their noses touching, vision blurred and unfocused at such a close distance.

“Sounds like truth or truth instead of truth or dare. What are the rules?” He asks apprehensively.

“I’ll ask a question, you give me an honest answer. You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to, but if you do you can tell me what to do next,” Kurt replies. At Blaine’s continued exhibition of hesitation he adds, “We can even take turns, if it makes you more comfortable. You can ask me anything you want.”

Blaine tilts forward, resting his forehead against Kurt’s and hesitates before he nods a fraction of an inch. “Okay. Who goes first?”

“I’ll ask first,” He leans back and Blaine falters in the absence of his support before adjusting, back straight against the couch cushion. Kurt twists sideways, shoulder against the couch back and places one hand over Blaine’s. “Why did you pick that song?”

Blaine furrows his brows, tilts his head slightly, caught off guard. The song choice seemed self-explanatory. “Because it makes me think of you.”

Kurt doesn’t ask, he says, “Elaborate.”

Blaine squirms, doesn’t understand. Didn’t he listen to the lyrics? What more is there to say? Kurt merely smiles back at him, interlocks their fingers, and waits.

“Well, I guess because that’s how I feel with you. You make me feel safe. You remind me what it is to truly be alive and without you I feel,” He stops, throat suddenly tight.

Lost. I feel so lost without you sometimes.

“Feel what, honey?” Kurt prompts softly.

“Lost.” The word sounds small and fragile when he says it and yet it feels so heavy now that it is out in the open. But Kurt shows no indication of surprise at the confession. On the contrary, he seems pleased, as though this is exactly what he was hoping to hear.

“Why?” He rubs his thumb into the back of Blaine’s hand.

“Because,” Blaine starts and stops again. Talking used to feel so effortless between them before he had created this rift. Ever since their breakup every word has come carefully selected with the fear that it will be the absolute wrong thing to say. Just because Kurt has agreed to marry him, that does not mean he cannot still change his mind. And what if he does? Blaine cannot even bear to think about that. “Because you make me feel like I am really worth something when I can’t remember why. You gave me— us, you gave us another chance and I am so afraid of fucking it up all over again because you are the best thing to ever happen to me and I can’t… lose you again. I can’t go back to being alone and just pretending to be brave because everyone expects it of me.”

He feels winded by the end of it. One question in and already the endeavour feels draining. Kurt’s expression is unreadable when Blaine summons the courage to look him in the eyes. Is that… fear? He lifts one leg, drapes it over Blaine’s lap and leans forward to kiss him. Blaine kisses back hungrily, desperately.

“Tell me what you want and then it’s your turn to ask,” Kurt whispers against his lips. Blaine swallows, already half-hard from the simple act of kissing. With the weight of an entire day of silent brooding being lifted, his body cannot help but remind him just how desperately he needs to be touched. Needs to be needed. How many questions will they have to get through first though?

“Bite my neck again, harder this time though,” He requests. And Kurt obliges. He allows himself to be swept in it for the moment, palm riding over Kurt’s thigh as he feels the gentle brush of teeth and tongue over his skin before he sucks and bites and fuck that feels good. Too soon though, he stops and Blaine wants to whine and protest but remembers what he is waiting for. Right. A question. Something he is afraid to ask, but wants to anyways. That look in his eyes… Okay. Truth time. He can do this.

“Does that scare you? What I just said.”

“A little bit,” Kurt does not even hesitate, which does nothing to quell Blaine’s nerves. It feels like a slap in the face, affirming all of his fears to be true after all. A strange swooping sensation in the pit of his stomach leaves him looking crestfallen, but Kurt slides a hand up to caress his cheek and continues. “I think you use me to define yourself and measure your worth a lot of the time, and that’s the part that scares me sometimes. I don’t want you to need me to tell you that you are enough, I want you to feel it because you know it. And I have a funny feeling that this is something you’ve been doing long before we ever met.”

Kurt holds his face there, eyes soft and intense. Blaine’s lip quivers, eyes darting wildly as he searches Kurt’s face. Searches for what? He is not wrong. Deep down, he knows he is absolutely right. For as long as he can remember he has tethered himself to the attention of others, weighing his worth in compliments and just being noticed at all. Kurt had just been the first one to take it a step further, to love him in all the ways a human being could be loved, to make him feel seen and needed and wanted . He does not know how to verbalise this though, so instead he asks, “What do you want me to do?”

“Take off your sweater and your shirt.”

“Shouldn’t we move to—”

“Rachel has rehearsal all night, she won’t be back for a while.”

Blaine’s eyes automatically dart to the door but he nods stiffly and works the sweater over his head. He moves his hands to the base of his shirt, pauses and swallows. Yes, Kurt does not want him to feel insecure around him. But one conversation is not going to fix that. With the way they’re sitting on the couch, with the lights completely on— Blaine is completely aware of how he will look once that shirt comes off. Kurt presses a kiss to his cheek and slides his hands over Blaine’s, murmuring, “This too, my beautiful boy.” Pink in the face, Blaine licks his lips and allows Kurt to help him lift the shirt over his head. He tries to sit up straighter, keeping his eyes on Kurt to distract from the way his stomach protrudes and hangs over the edge of his pants.

“Your turn,” Blaine says, throat taut, so the words come strained and thick.

Kurt languidly drags his fingertips over his bare chest, just drinking him in for a moment. He rests his palm over Blaine’s heart before he asks, soft and loving and gentle as he possibly can, “Why do you think I would just get up and leave you? Where does that come from?”

It’s immediately evident why Kurt has positioned his hand over his chest when Blaine instinctively tries to sit forward, ready to stand and pace and will himself to vanish because, remind him again— why do they have to be doing this right now? Why can they not just be naked and sweaty and rutting against each other, drowning out the need for words and difficult conversations between desperate kisses and breathless moans in the dark?

You were right, we talk too much.

Kurt’s hand moves deftly over his chest, warm and reassuring, and his voice comes as eloquently and unwavering as it has all night, “Remember, you can skip, but I hope that you don’t.”

How is he supposed to just shut him down after that now? It is a request, not an obligation, but Blaine wants to please him, wants to make him proud. Because what does their relationship even mean if he is too afraid to speak to his own husband-to-be about the horrible things he has only whispered within his own head for years and years and years?

We’re getting married. He wants to marry you. The hard part is over. He said yes. Just let him in.

“Because,” He inhales sharply, exhales it into a long trembling breath and holds his hand over Kurt’s, pressing harder against his chest. Kurt nudges himself closer, wraps his other arm around his shoulders and draws him in. “Because everyone else does, so it feels like it’s only a matter of time before you do too.”

“This has to do with your family, doesn’t it?”

And of course Kurt knows already. Of course he has just been waiting for Blaine, stupid Blaine, to come forward and finally say it. How can he possibly have been this clueless? Despite the recent miscommunications and misunderstandings, the missteps in their natural abilities to decipher each other’s body language with nothing more than a glance of understanding, how could he ever think that Kurt would not know how to trace the root of all of it with such precision that he may as well just write the instruction manual on how to operate Blaine Devon Anderson?

“How stereotypical, right?” Blaine asks, partly because he does not know how else to respond, but mostly because he is soberly aware of the fact that he is sitting here, shirtless and defenseless, ready to cry for what feels like the thousandth time in the past week and just wants to maintain the shattered art of deflection. Sardonic and dizzy and bitter and angry with himself for bottling it up for so long when it was always in plain sight to begin with, he can’t help but think— So much time wasted. And for what?

“Stop that,” Kurt says quietly, tone so serious it feels like a kick straight to the ribs. Kurt was usually the one to crack a joke, humour cynical and so biting that he could take the edge off of anything. But then again, that was usually reserved for his own tragedies. Today has not been about laughing away the pain and self-deprecation, he has tried to make it something more. “Don’t make it less than it is. It’s something that matters to you, don’t make it a joke.”

“Sorry,” Blaine says, a pre-programmed response that makes Kurt’s brows furrow in what can only be perceived as disapproval. He simply shakes his head though, runs both hands over Blaine’s bare chest and varies his gaze, eyes darting back and forth between Blaine’s lips and eyes.

“You barely talk about them. I don’t know if you even still talk to them.”

Blaine moves to fold his arms over his chest, another defensive play that Kurt refuses to yield to. He moves his leg off of Blaine, drops it to the floor and then he’s tugging and coaxing and murmuring affections until Blaine is situated on his lap, their torsos pressed firm. The material from his sweater is scratchy and rough against Blaine’s bare skin and he thinks, desperately, Please just take that off and fuck me until I forget.

“Do you?” Kurt asks delicately.

Blaine swallows and the words come out thick as molasses, “Coop, sometimes, if I call him. My parents,” He licks his lips, shimmies down against Kurt’s lap so he can hide his face into the crook of his neck. With arms firmly around his waist, he presses fingertips into his back, that damn scratchy sweater, he just wants to rip it off of him and beg and beg and beg— make me forget, just make me forget. “My mom texted me when I first moved to New York to ask if I made it, I haven’t heard from her since.”

“And your dad?” Kurt probes cautiously.

A pause. Blaine spends the next few seconds just breathing against his neck and presses his fingertips down harder. “Fuck my dad,” He finally says, quiet and fragile. It is a wonder the words don’t crack and slice his throat right open on the way up.

He feels Kurt’s arms, so strong and protective, close tighter around him and maybe it is the silence that follows— because when does Kurt Hummel ever become speechless?— or the way Kurt keeps pulling and squeezing, trying to weld them together as one or the sudden influx of scattered kisses he presses to his forehead, but something in him shatters . His entire body shudders with the riptide of the sob that courses through him, but Kurt just holds him steady, rocks and whispers his little mantra, “I’ve got you, I love you, I’ve got you.”

“Hate him, I hate him— He’s just— And I’ve never been able to— He hates me, he's always—”

Blaine hiccups and babbles and gasps and cries, unable to pluck one coherent thought from the rush of water now that the dam has finally broken wide open. Kurt presses his lips to his forehead, whispers affections and instructions against his skin, and strokes his hair, his arms, his back— every possible inch of him that exists, Kurt is sliding his hands over, fingertips grazing and pulsing. Drained and dazed from the weight of everything the insane idea enters Blaine’s head— if you’re looking for the ‘off switch’ I have no idea where it is either.

One shuddering breath collides into the next with no space in between until Kurt is lifting his head, cupping his face between both hands. He tries to twist away, but Kurt’s thumbs stroke his cheeks, hold him steady and Blaine is just so tired he has no strength to fight him.

Please don’t look at me, I can’t stand it.

“Sweetheart, you’re hyperventilating. You’re gonna pass out if you keep going like this. Just let me help,” Kurt’s thumbs brush over his cheek bones, already red-raw and stinging. Blaine burrows his fingers deep into his back again and barely notices the feel of the sweater he has been scornfully regarding as he nods a few times between Kurt’s hands.

“O-o-o-k-kay,” He sputters, gasps and cries some more, wishing, again, to just simply disappear.

“Purse your lips together, I’m gonna count while you breathe,” Kurt kisses his forehead. He closes his eyes, tries to focus on the feel of soft, wet lips against his skin and nods again. He makes it to three on the trembling exhale before breathing in, sharp and quick. Thumbs against skin, lips against forehead, they reset. Kurt continues kissing his way across his face between murmured instructions, lips planting invisible X-marks-the-spots all over the raw geography of familiar terrain like it still needs to be thoroughly explored and mapped out. Blaine has been so focused on following his voice, desperate to latch onto each whispered command, he does not realise his breathing has slowed until their lips are finally touching. He lets Kurt take control, allows himself to be cared for and coddled and carefully handled like he is actually a broken sheet of glass filled with cracks, bound to shatter at the slightest hint of pressure.

Lips still pressed together, he whispers into Kurt’s mouth, “I feel like such a mess.”

“My beautiful boy,” Kurt breathes back and it is a conscious effort on his part not to just start crying again because fuck , he feels anything but beautiful right now. “We can stop for now, if you want. I know that was a lot.”

“No, I want to tell you. I–I know that I just… shut down sometimes, but I want you to know. It’s just,” Blaine leans backwards enough to look him in the eyes. “It’s hard for me to talk about these things.”

“I know,” Kurt’s thumb brushes his cheek again and Blaine leans into the touch. “Take your time.”

“I feel like I don’t even know him, you know?”

Kurt just watches him, one hand still caressing his face and the other rubbing gentle circles into his back. Kurt doesn’t know. Kurt will never know. Blaine releases a shaky exhale before continuing.

“He was never home, always working. And when he was home it’s like we were living on two different planes of existence, I felt invisible around him. He hasn’t been able to see me for a very long time. And my mom has just been so checked out— honestly, she’s been a mess for as long as I can remember. It was just— It wasn’t a happy home, Kurt. Cooper got out the second that he could, and I can’t really blame him for it. Even though we didn’t always get along and he was constantly trying to show me up, it was really lonely without him. I didn’t have a lot of friends at school, there was no Glee club— no safe space for anyone who was gay. It was just me and one other kid who were publicly out.”

“The one you went to the dance with?” Kurt asks quietly.

“Yeah,” Blaine nuzzles his neck and breathes in deep. “Afterwards he told his parents going to the dance together was my idea, and it was, and that was it. They didn’t want us being friends anymore, they blamed me for what happened and he just… walked away. Well, I think they moved, but he just stopped talking to me.”

“I’m sorry. That must have been— I’m sorry,” Kurt kisses the top of his head.

“My parents shipped me off to Dalton after that. I didn’t even want to go at first, if you can believe that.”

“Really?”

“Really. A boarding school with a dress code and a bunch of snobby rich kids? I was dreading it. But it became home. They didn’t care that I was gay, they accepted me right away. Then joining the Warblers? There were so many times I was convinced I was just in a coma and dreaming the entire thing up. We were treated like rockstars, it was the first time I felt good about myself in a long time.”

“Now I feel bad for making all those snarky remarks about everyone just being back-up singers to you,” Kurt says, earning a quiet laugh from Blaine.

“Well, you weren’t wrong. You were right to call it out. The whole reason I fell in love with being a Warbler was because everyone had an equal say, I just got so swept up in finally being noticed that I lost sight of the fact that there were probably some other guys that wanted to be noticed too. You kept my ego from overinflating.”

“You seemed like the most confident person in the world to me when we first met,” Kurt says. “I never would have guessed you struggled with any self-esteem issues.”

Blaine shrugs nonchalantly and presses a kiss to his neck. “You didn’t know because I didn’t want anyone to know. We didn’t… talk about feelings at my house. You started bringing that out in me, making me believe I didn’t always have to hide and pretend. But I lose sight of that sometimes, I guess. It’s easier to just shut down and bottle it up, but you’re right… I have to be able to come to you, we have to be able to come to each other. I’m— I’ll be better, I promise I will.”

“Thank you for sharing all of that with me. I’ve been able to guess at some of it for a while now, but hearing you finally say it— I’m proud of you. I always want you to feel safe with me, so I hope that you do talk to me more about things like this that are bothering you.”

Blaine nods against his shoulder, eyes stinging and blurring. He does not know why he expected anything other than absolute understanding and compassion from him, why it was so difficult to force the words out in the first place.

“Do you want to keep talking?”

Make me forget. Love me and don’t let me go and just make me forget everything else.

“I think I need a break from talking. I just need you, I—”

And then Kurt is kissing him and Blaine is kissing back like it is the first time all over again. He catches Kurt’s lips with his teeth, sloppy and hungry and desperate to be as close to him as possible because the great gaping canyon in his chest demands to be filled. Please! Please! Please! His heart thumps away the greedy melody and when Kurt pulls away, widening that endless cavern, he actually whines . But Kurt is tugging at the sleeves of his sweater— normally a crime , you always pull from the collar, he constantly tells Blaine— and Blaine’s hands hurry forward to help him strip it away.

Blaine has watched him while he works out, has witnessed firsthand the care and consistency and the effort behind those hardened muscles in his arms and chest and oh god those abs . He is like a living statue and Blaine is the only one privy to the private viewing of his full display of perfection. How could he let his stupid insecurities keep him from this?

“You’re staring.”

Without even looking Blaine can tell he’s smirking. “Can you blame me?”

He looks up to see another playful smirk, and that Kurt is staring right back at him, lower lip ever so slightly tucked in beneath his teeth. Fuck .

“So,” Kurt says, voice low and husky. “You still have to tell me what you want me to do next.”

Make me forget. Make me forget.

“Take control,” Blaine says softly. When Kurt’s hand travels up his thigh to fiddle with the button of his pants, he rasps out, “I’m all yours, take control.”

The caress of lips against his jaw, the ice cool touch of smooth fingers dipping below his waist band, teasing and exploring— Blaine closes his eyes and surrenders himself to sensation. Who needs pretty words when he has the tender touch of a lover’s fingertips to ignite bursts of starlight beneath his skin? Kurt’s hands find his and the gentle pull against them forces his eyes open where he finds Kurt ushering him off of his lap. He shifts off and allows himself to be lifted as Kurt stands, eyes alight with curiosity and wonder until Kurt’s mouth is on his again and he is lost, lost, lost once more.

Kissing Kurt is everything. Early November and his lips are slightly chapped, leaving only the faintest hint of his current favourite chapstick. It reminds Blaine of their nights nestled up by the fireplace in Dalton, coffees from the school cafeteria in hand and stealing vanilla and mocha flavoured kisses in between every break in conversation. He forgets that they are standing in the middle of Kurt’s living room, forgets that they are drifting through borrowed space as Rachel or even Santana, devious in her ways of sneaking around, could waltz in at any minute despite Kurt’s insistence that they won’t. As Kurt hooks his thumbs into belt loops and draws him closer, both of their bodies desperate for the heat and friction, he forgets about his insecurities and doubts. There is only the handsome man before him and nothing else in the world matters.

Lips locked, Kurt navigates them towards his bedroom. Neither of them wants to disentangle from each other long enough to lead, Blaine just has to trust him not to let him trip. His knees hit the edge of the bed and buckle, but Kurt grips his hips, digs his fingernails in and grinds their bodies together until they’re both moaning into the kiss. His pants feel unmanageably tight at this point now.

“Kurt—”

“Working on it,” Kurt kisses his way down to his neck, teeth gnawing sweetly until first the button, then the zipper and Blaine’s suddenly being pushed backwards onto the bed. He hastily props himself up on his elbows, panting softly, eyes lust blown and following Kurt’s every move. He’s kneeling down in front of the bed, yanking Blaine’s pants off from around his ankles now and every second feels like it is being stretched too long. Finally free though, his cock bounces against his stomach, throbbing and aching by the time Kurt settles between his legs. Blaine’s eyes dart to the bedside table, hand just starting to reach out when Kurt bends over and curls his fingers around his cock, flicking his tongue over the head before sucking hard. He pulls his mouth off with a faint pop! and brushes his thumb over the underside of the head.

“F-Fuck,” Blaine trembles, arm outstretched, its purpose completely forgotten. “You’re right, a week was too long.”

“Glad we’re on the same page,” Kurt says and takes him completely into his mouth, palm cupping his balls.

“Jesus— Fuck!” Blaine instantly bucks his hips and fills the spaces between his fingers with Kurt’s hair, breathless as he quickly adds, “Sorry, are you—”

Kurt hums his response and hollows his cheeks, breathes in through his nose and takes him further down. They have just barely gotten started and already Blaine feels himself coming undone. He struggles to keep his hips steady, but Kurt is moving torturously slow through all of this until he just stops moving his head altogether, mouth very much still full of Blaine’s cock and he could honestly scream because how dare he just stop like that—

Oh.

Blaine knows what he wants.

“Please,” The word comes hungry, breathless and on the verge of a whine. “Please, I need you, please—”

And Kurt’s head moves backwards, sucking as he goes until he reaches the tip of Blaine’s cock, where he flicks his tongue over it playfully. Blaine balls up the sheets of the mattress in his other fist and tugs on that instead of Kurt’s hair, the quiet desperate moans falling out of him like whispered secrets in the night. Kurt pulls his mouth off of him again, turns his head and kisses the inside of his thigh, before biting down and sucking. Blaine hisses in a breath, knuckles turning white, and lets Kurt mark him.

Yours, I’m yours, and no one else’s.

There is a moment when Kurt pulls away to rummage through the nightstand when Blaine cannot help but to stare again. How far they have come from the shy teenager who could not even look him directly in the eyes when discussing pornography. He remembers so vividly the day Kurt lamented he would never see himself as sexy , the word whispered with such discomfort like it was dirty and inconceivable. It was the day they were practicing in the mirror, Kurt had been trying so hard to get the look right but ultimately kept shying away, embarrassed and self-conscious with the effort, saying Blaine just made it look so easy. Neither of them had a clue what they were doing, but disguises had always come easy for Blaine. Now, Kurt looks up at him, dark-eyed, mouth slightly parted before that devilish smirk takes over again, and Blaine is weak and breathless beneath his gaze. How the times do certainly change.

Kurt’s fingers are already coated in lube when he starts kissing Blaine’s thigh again and circles one finger around the tight ring of muscles. Blaine wants to rush ahead, squirms his hips down and Kurt tuts disapprovingly, leaving him to lie still once again and wait patiently at his mercy. He really can be such a goddamn tease sometimes. But he does not make him wait long before sliding one finger in, stroking and twisting, until Blaine pants, “More, please, more.”

He takes his time, adds another finger and scissors and stretches him as Blaine squirms and begs beneath his touch. Only two fingers in and Blaine is beginning to completely unravel, hips involuntarily jerking up as Kurt strokes and twists and kisses and bites, leaving tiny reddened marks all along his thighs. It never takes Kurt long to find that sweet spot, and sure enough Blaine is arching his back and panting as his fingers continue to brush over and massage his prostate. Slowly, he withdraws his fingers and when he pats the side of Blaine's leg and tells him to sit up he cannot help but whine loudly in protest.

“So impatient,” Kurt says, eyes twinkling with amusement as he settles himself against the headboard and tugs until Blaine is positioned above his lap. Kurt’s in control, but he knows this is Blaine’s favourite position.

“Condom?” Blaine’s thighs are already shaking as he holds himself up.

“I trust you,” Kurt replies, bringing his hands up to cup his face, voice so low and sultry it is a wonder Blaine doesn’t just stagger into his orgasm right on the spot. “And I want you to feel it.”

What did I do to deserve you?

Blaine groans into the kiss as Kurt strokes himself, coating his cock with lube before he holds it firm for him to lower himself down onto. The sweet heat and friction already feels like it is almost too much to bear. There is no way he is going to last like this, and they both know it. He positions his hands on Kurt’s chest, sinks all the way down and pants loudly against his mouth, pausing to let himself adjust before rising up again. Kurt relocates his hands to his hips, fingernails digging in and helping him rise and fall, their rhythm slow and synchronized. It doesn’t take long before it becomes more sporadic and urgent, Kurt’s hips bucking up as Blaine’s thighs tremble and burn to match his rhythm until he’s hitting just that right spot again. He yelps his moan, fingernails burrowing into Kurt’s skin.

“There, there, there— right there!” Blaine exhales quickly, winded and sweaty as he clenches and shakes. With the way Kurt’s gripping his hips he knows there are going to bruises where the thumbs sink in. The thought of it alone sends a rush of heat up his spine that erupts as another breathless gasp.

“You’re fucking gorgeous,” Kurt groans out. “ So fucking gorgeous.”

Blaine’s laugh comes out half-strangled as he gyrates his hips faster, thighs trembling violently as he slams one palm against the headboard to keep himself balanced. “So are you, fuck, so are you. So—” Kurt slides his hands down, cups his ass and quickens his thrusts, throwing the rest of Blaine’s thoughts to the wind as he all but crashes his head forward against the headboard and cries out. He becomes acutely aware of Kurt’s mouth against his chest, of his tongue circling his nipple, but barely registers Kurt’s breathy laugh, “Sorry, you okay?”

“Don’t stop,” Blaine breathes back. “Don’t stop, don’t— fuck, you feel so good.”

Kurt sucks on his nipple as Blaine’s breath hitches, heavy and desperate. Kurt slips one hand down and closes it around his cock, earning another loud strangled sound somewhere between an exhale and an actual word.

“You’re perfect, you’re so perfect— Kurt, fuck I’m gonna—”

Kurt works his hand faster, hips bucking wildly as Blaine cries out again, stars exploding behind his eyes as he comes. Kurt cups his ass again, squeezing and panting heavily against his neck as he keeps thrusting, chasing his own orgasm only seconds later. Blaine’s legs give out, leaving Kurt’s firm grip on his ass, his hips still jerking upwards sporadically, as his only support. Blaine keeps his eyes closed, fingers curled tightly around Kurt’s shoulders and forehead resting against the headboard, as Kurt finally slows to a stop. He does not want to move, does not want Kurt to pull away and leave him feeling empty again. As though reading his mind, Kurt holds him there, pressing lazy kisses to sweat soaked skin as Blaine’s body continues to tremble.

“God, I missed you,” Kurt whispers, raising his head enough to kiss his neck.

“I love you,” Blaine rasps out. “So much. More than anything.”

Kurt feigns a dramatic gasp, lips brushing against his neck and tickling him. “Surely not more than hair gel.”

The smile on Blaine’s face almost hurts before they both break out into laughter.

“Need some help?” Kurt squeezes his ass playfully, earning a soft, sleepy moan.

“My legs don’t work anymore,” Blaine laughs breathlessly, limbs heavy and useless. Their earlier conversation feels like a lifetime ago.

“I’ve got you,” Kurt says soothingly, lips back against his neck.

In the post-orgasm haze Blaine is barely aware of their movements as he comes to settle down beside him, limbs tangled and still desperate for touch. Kurt wipes cum off of his stomach with a tissue— Blaine cannot help but think about the midnight trip to the laundromat they will most likely be taking to salvage the sheets— before he draws him in close, those strong arms like a promise and a safety blanket. It is moments like these he loves the most, where the world stops spinning and they are frozen in a perfect carefree moment of mutual adoration and comfort within each other’s arms.

“I’m sorry about your dad, about all of that,” Kurt suddenly says softly, jarring him from the temporary peace.

“Not your fault,” Blaine mumbles, snuggling in closer to him as though melding their bodies together physically will drive away the uncomfortable feeling of emptiness starting to creep in all over again.

“Do you actually hate him?”

“No, of course I don’t. I just wish,” Blaine sighs and presses a kiss to his chest, arm curling tighter around Kurt’s waist to keep himself tethered down. “I just want him to be proud of me and it really hurts that he’s not, that I basically don’t exist to him.”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Hmm?” Blaine asks distractedly.

“Have you ever thought about talking to someone?”

“What do you mean?” Blaine shifts his head, too lazy to actually lift it off of his chest, and settles his eyes on Kurt’s jaw.

“Like a therapist,” Kurt says carefully. Involuntarily, Blaine stiffens between his arms. “Have you ever thought about that?”

Blaine sluggishly drags his hand over Kurt’s chest, fingers tracing invisible patterns. Kurt tilts his head down, nose pressed to his loosely gelled hair and breathes in deep before pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “I might have,” Blaine whispers, heart thudding violently now. Kurt has been nothing but understanding and patient, yet the anxiety still clutches tightly and forces him to want to retreat and hide.

“Maybe you should,” Kurt says gently.

“Maybe,” Blaine parrots quietly.

“I’m not suggesting something is wrong with you,” Kurt adds, pressing another kiss to the top of his head. “If that’s what you’re thinking.”

How could you tell?

“It just might be good to talk to someone unbiased, don’t you think?”

Blaine continues trailing his fingers over Kurt’s chest, silent and pensive. He had certainly contemplated the idea plenty of times in the past, never sure of where to even begin. After the attack at the dance, when Kurt moved away, when they broke up— every time he had come remotely close to researching, shame and panic had chased the idea away.

“Say something?” Kurt asks softly and runs his fingers through his hair, far more pliable now that the gel has been somewhat dissolved by sweat.

Blaine’s hand stills against his chest and he props himself up on his elbow to get a better look at him. There is no judgement on his face. Those eyes like endless oceans of concern and compassion. Everything about his expression screams I see you, I love you and I see you.

“You’ll uh,” Blaine starts and struggles to hold his gaze, his first instinct telling him to stare at anything other than his eyes. “Will you help me look for one?”

“Of course I will. We’re a team, aren’t we?”

The smile on his face makes Blaine’s heart beat just a little faster, but there is no feeling of shame behind it. “Yes. We’re a team.”

He settles down in Kurt’s arms again, but silence between them never lasts long. It is only a matter of moments before Kurt’s speaking again. “Have you ever heard of Kintsugi?”

Blaine furrows his brows and tilts his head up towards him again. He is always full of these random little tidbits of information. “No? What’s that?”

“It’s a phrase used in Japan. It’s the art of mending broken pottery.”

“Okay?” Blaine trails the word out, the tickle in the back of his throat not quite a laugh just yet. He usually has a point when he brings things like this up, but sometimes he does not. Right now it is not obvious which side of that line he is on.

“Instead of using clear glue, they use powdered gold or silver, usually gold. So when they put the pieces back together, they’re not trying to hide the fact that it was broken. The process of being broken and repaired is part of its history, and they choose to highlight and display that fact by turning it into something new with these golden scars to show for it. I think that’s beautiful, don’t you?”

“So, are you calling me broken pottery?” Blaine asks, the laugh finally breaking free.

“No,” Kurt replies, placing two fingers on his chin to tilt his head up. “You’re a perfect work of art with a history to show for it.”

And as he leans forward, eager to press their lips together and soak up as much of him as humanly possible, Blaine thinks, And you are the artist.

________________________________________________________________

The song Blaine sings is When You Come Home by Mree, which instantly made me think of our boys when I first heard it.

I don't remember where I first learned about Kintsugi, but I became absolutely obsessed with it. To be able to take something broken, mend it and showcase all of its imperfections as something beautiful and apart of its history... just something about that really hit close to home for me. Here is one example. Take some time to google image search some pieces, they are absolutely breathtaking. And I think it is a perfect metaphor for how we can come to deal with our own traumas.

Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed it.

#klaine #klaine fic #glee tested #glee 5x16 #kintsugi #syntheticpoetry writes #smut #blaine anderson #kurt hummel #glee #glee fic #tested reaction

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argylemnwrites · 4 years

Text

Fight or Flight - Chapter 6: Next

Pairing: Drake Walker x MC (Riley Liu)

Book: The Royal Heir (canon divergent from the end of book 2)

Word Count: ~5500

Rating: PG-13 (rare language)

Summary: Eighteen hours since The Walker Absconding

Author’s Note: Sorry again for the delay on this one! I know PB has basically turned the laws of Cordonia into whatever they need them to be for plot reasons, but that’s not sufficient for me, so I am trying to construct some sort of framework based on what we know from TRM, ROE, and TRR/TRH. We’ll see how it goes...

This series follows the Walkers, their friends, and Cordonia as a whole after they flee the country with their daughter during Barthelemy Beaumont’s attempted coup. To catch up on this series, check out it’s masterlist. (link can be found via my bio - sorry, Tumblr is once again not putting my posts with links in tag searches)

“Riley… Hey, Riley.”

Riley’s eyes fluttered open as she felt a hand on her shoulder and heard Drake whispering her name, tugging her awake. It took her a few seconds to place herself as she glanced around the room. She reached for the nightstand with a fumbling hand before she remembered she didn’t have her glasses. She squinted at Drake. Thankfully, he’d crouched down in front of her, so he was at least in focus, even if the rest of the hotel room was a giant blur.

“Is everything okay?”

Drake nodded, running a hand over his chin. He was already showered, shaved, and dressed in a grey t-shirt and a pair of jeans. “I am going to go to the bakery across the street and see if any of the locals can point me towards a cheap, used car dealership.”

“Okay. I don’t think I’m going to be much help.” She’d always meant to learn Greek since moving to Cordonia, but she’d only ever gotten around to learning a handful of words. After all, official court business was always conducted in English, and most of the citizens of Valtoria were bilingual, so there had never really been a need. Until now apparently. It’s not that no one in Ioannina spoke English, but it wasn’t as common as she was used to. Even last night, she’d been utterly dependent on Drake to discuss what they needed in a hotel room with the man at the front desk.

“Yeah, that’s why I thought you might want to just stay here with Bridget.” At his statement, they both instinctively looked down at their daughter, still sleeping soundly along Riley’s side. Riley knew it wasn’t ideal that they decided to let her sleep in the same bed with them last night, but they didn’t really have any other options when the hotel employee told Drake there were no cribs available. And truth be told, Riley hadn’t wanted to let Bridget leave her side. Things were still too raw, too fresh.

“You don’t want me to come along?”

Drake shook his head slowly as he gently placed a hand on Bridget’s head. “I just figured it might be nice for her to be able to crawl and play and all that. Try and make things a little more normal for her, I guess.”

He did have a point. Normally, Bridget was able to crawl around and explore while they were taking meetings at Valtoria. Even on days where they had to go to the palace, one of them usually stuck with Bridget in her room there while the other handled all the official business. And Bridget was definitely at an age where she wanted to move about her environment. She didn’t like being restrained for too long.

“Okay. So you’re just going to get us a car then?”

He paused for a moment. “I think we need more than a car, Riley. I’m gonna try and find somewhere that sells outdoor supplies and camping gear. Plus a travel crib and a car seat for her. Maybe some toys, too.”

“You think we’re going to have to camp out to stay safe?”

“I don’t know,” he said with a shrug. “I would rather have a tent and some sleeping bags and not need them than have to panic and hide out with nothing.”

She swallowed roughly before she responded, staring down at their daughter, still passed out and oblivious to everything that had transpired in the past day. “How bad do you think things are going to get for us, Drake?”

He didn’t answer her right away, so after a few seconds she looked up and found him staring at her intently. “I have no idea. This will probably all just be a wild story if Liam keeps his title, but if Barthelemy succeeds… fuck, Riley. Every law enforcement agent in the EU will have the right to arrest us for kidnapping and send us back.”

“This is insanity. She’s our kid. Why would other countries recognize us traveling with her as a kidnapping?”

There was another pause as Drake glanced down, staring at the floor. “Because she’s Cordonia’s kid before she’s our kid. And kidnapping is one of the crimes that doesn’t require criminality verification in the arresting country under a European Arrest Warrant.” She just stared at him, wondering why this was yet another piece of random trivia he knew. As if he could read her thoughts, he glanced up and continued, “I did some research when I couldn’t sleep last night.”

“So another country would really just send us back for taking her out of Cordonia?”

“She’s legally Cordonia’s child.”

Riley sighed, trying to keep tears of frustration from forming. She’d cried enough yesterday, she didn’t need Drake thinking she wasn’t up to this again. But it just was a shitty situation. One they never should have been in at all.

“It’s not right, Drake.”

“No, it’s not. But it’s a little late to change that fact now.”

A wave of guilt washed over Riley as his words hung in the air. She could have put a stop to this bullshit long ago. She should have put a stop to it. And now everything was teetering on the edge of disaster. But she had to get a grip. She was not going to be an emotional mess today. So she took one last deep breath before responding to Drake.

“I think your plan makes sense. Can you stay with her while I get cleaned up before you go?”

Drake frowned just slightly, clearly wondering about the slight redirection of their conversation, but he nodded slowly, scooping up Bridget laying her across his chest as he settled down on top of the covers while Riley dug through the bag of clothing, trying to find something to wear.

As she showered, the lukewarm-at-best water pelting over her hair and skin, she tried to keep her thoughts from spiraling. Things were bad, but they could have been worse. They were together. They were able to withdraw money yesterday, so their accounts weren’t frozen yet. And they had some of their basic needs covered, thanks to Ray.

Ray had bought them several changes of clothing, some basic toiletries, more diapers and formula, and a few days of food before returning to Cordonia. He hadn’t let them pay for any of it, which was far too kind considering they’d lied to him and possibly made him an accessory to kidnapping. But he’d remained helpful and unfazed when they’d confessed that Lythikos was supposed to be their destination, not Greece. And he’d gotten them fairly well set up before he got back in the town car to return to Cordonia, a much appreciated kindness.

She wondered how things had gone when he spoke to Olivia, how pissed off she was about it all. Olivia hadn’t called them since they told her they were committed to staying away from Cordonia, so Riley had no idea how she was handling everything or how the hearing went. Hana had called again last night. She was alone at their home, trying to pack up a few of their personal belongings in hopes of getting them to them at some point if needed. She’d been kind and gentle, asking if there were certain items of clothing or specific toys that should be a priority. Riley didn’t know how Hana intended to get those belongings to them, but it was a sweet gesture. Even though she knew Hana wished they’d stayed in Cordonia, she felt grateful that her friend was trying to help them, even if she disagreed with Riley’s actions.

So there were some silver linings. But overall, things felt overwhelming and out of control. Riley had known somewhere in her mind that things were going to be horrible and stressful and mad difficult when she’d decided to get Bridget out of Cordonia as quickly as possible yesterday. But after a little sleep - admittedly very little given how upset she was about everything - things felt like they could quickly become insurmountable.

But she just couldn’t bring herself to head back for Cordonia. No matter how many worries she had about how the three of them were going to get through things going forward, there was a better chance of them being together through it all outside that country, and she just felt safer, knowing there would at least be more difficulties for Barthelemy and any of his posse to get their hands on her daughter. Nothing about Cordonia was safe. And while she wished she’d been able to recognize that earlier, she couldn’t go back now. Not when it finally felt like her eyes were open.

Stepping out of the shower, she quickly dressed and ran a comb through her hair, brushing her teeth and popping in her contacts before leaving the bathroom. She heard Bridget’s giggles and babbles right away. Turning into the main part of the small hotel room, she saw Drake sitting on the edge of the bed, bouncing Bridget on his knees as he held her in a standing position. She loved being stood upright like that, and it seemed like she’d be pulling up to stand on her own any day now.

When Drake saw Riley, he scooped Bridget into his arms and scooted off the bed. “She only woke up about 10 minutes ago. I can feed her before I head out if you want.”

“No, I’ve got it,” Riley said with a little shake of her head, taking Bridget as she got out a bottle, the formula, and a bottle of water. She was a bit surprised to see Drake digging through the diaper bag, pulling out all the money they’d managed to withdraw from their accounts yesterday. They’d both hemmed and hawed about pulling funds from the accounts tied to Valtoria, but eventually decided on doing it. After all, compared to kidnapping and treason, embezzlement charges were really just a drop in the ocean.

“You’re taking all the cash?”

“We haven’t heard from Olivia or Hana since last evening. Either things are still in progress, or they can’t safely get in touch with us. If it’s the latter, our accounts might be frozen now. I need to be prepared.”

Riley didn’t like the thought of being left without any money, even if she knew Drake was right. It left her feeling vulnerable, or rather even more vulnerable. She couldn’t help it, and a small, shaky little sigh escaped.

Drake pivoted to look at her, his eyes intense. “I’m trusting you not to take off with my kid while I’m gone. It seems like the least you could do is trust me not to take off with the money.”

There was just a hint of bitterness in his voice, but mostly he just sounded tired. Riley knew she was being callous with him. It was just hard to not let all her fears and worries spill over into everything she did and said at this point.

“You’re right; I’m sorry,” she said as she shook up the bottle of formula.

Drake let out a sigh, tucked the money in his wallet, and dropped a kiss on both her and Bridget’s foreheads. “Hopefully, I’ll be back in a few hours. Call if you need me, okay?”

She nodded and gave him a small little smile, but then he was off, hopefully to pull more cash and to get them some transportation. It was just her and Bridget, and even though that was her initial plan yesterday, it felt very lonely at the moment.

“Oh, Peanut. Mama has turned Daddy into a fugitive,” she cooed, giving Bridget the bottle. Figuring she should probably put this time to good use, she grabbed her phone quickly while Bridget actually had a good grasp on the bottle and sat down on the end of the bed, pulling up “How to run from law enforcement” as a search. At this point, they were going to be able to trace their ATM withdrawals anyway. If they somehow got ahold of her digital records from this phone, well, this search wouldn’t tell them anything they didn’t already know. Better to be at least a little prepared when Drake got back and they had to plan their next steps.

After reading for a few minutes, Riley swiped open her contacts list and tapped Drake’s name at the top of her favorites list. He answered almost instantly.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, we’re fine. I just have something else you should buy.”

“What?”

“Burner phones.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was almost like deja vu, sitting in the same seat in the same courtroom as once again everyone rose to their feet except Barthelemy and himself. This time, Liam knew that staying seated would probably not be an option when the justice left the courtroom. He probably should have risen now, to be honest. The no-confidence vote that happened this morning was almost certainly going to stand. But Liam wasn’t ready to look defeated. He would wait until this hearing concluded before deferring and recognizing that anyone else might hold the power of the crown.

The parties present today were almost identical to last night, with the addition of Hakim and Kiara on Barthelemy’s side and Hana on his. Normally, a different High Court justice would have been assigned since High Justice Questa had literally just ruled on an emergency hearing, but given that the same parties were named, she had volunteered to see this through. The usher waited until she sat down before once again announcing that all parties had been sworn in. As soon as he was finished, the justice looked from desk to desk, annoyance clearly written all over her face. It wasn’t surprising, but it didn’t bode well for either legal team.

“Not even 24 hours later, gentlemen? You really are determined to not let me have my weekend, aren’t you?” High Justice Questa said with a sigh and a shake of her head. “Did we manage to actually legally call the Conventus Nobilis today? It looks like it was all in order based on this documentation from both parties,” she said as she flipped through stacks of paper, “a no-confidence vote that passed with a margin of three to two and installed the patriarch of House Beaumont as king-regent, so I’m not sure what your case is, Mr. Rys.”

Liam fought to keep his face steady. He’d been expecting it, mentally preparing for it, but hearing his surname used instead of his title, a surname that he almost never had needed in his life still burned inside him, a deep pain and sense of failure, both on a personal and public level.

“Your Honor, my client is not challenging the loss of his power. He is now acting as a concerned citizen who believes that the transfer of power to the defendant was illegally performed,” Diana stated calmly as she rose and leaned in to the microphone.

“A concerned citizen? Right, I’m sure that’s his only motivation. Regardless, the brief you submitted is compelling. There obviously isn’t a large amount of precedent for me to base my decision on, so I am going to carefully listen to oral arguments to supplement and clarify the briefs both parties submitted. Additionally, depending on the intricacies of how different historical and modern laws intersect with this… unusual combination of circumstances, I may just offer a provisional ruling with a formal hearing scheduled in front of the full High Court as soon as possible if I feel this is too complex and unprecedented to be decided by just myself. Do both parties understand?”

Both Diana and Charles acknowledged her statement, then Diana delved into her arguments.

“Your Honor, if a reigning monarch is removed from the throne, the law clearly states that next in line for the throne should assume a role of king- or queen-regent until a Conclave can be held, at which time the major noble houses will determine the new royal line. Additionally, Cordonian law states that any direct heirs to the throne who have not come of age should have at least two regents recorded in case of their ascension to the throne before they reach adulthood. Given that these two laws are clear, I do not believe that the results of the Conventus Nobilis vote can legally do any more than remove my client from power. The major houses do not have the power to name anyone they’d like as regent.

“Bridget Walker is the clear queen-regent at this point, Your Honor, and the documentation submitted with her anointing named the Duchess and Duke of Valtoria as her regents. Therefore, it is our contention that one of them should serve as regent until a Conclave can legally occur. It seems like the most logical conclusion from the laws on file.”

“The issue, Diana, is that both the Duchess and Duke of Valtoria were named in the no-confidence vote as well. At least, that’s what I assume you are going to tell me, Charles,” High Justice Questa said as she turned slightly in her chair to face the defense desk.

“Indeed, Your Honor. The results of that vote clearly indicate that the majority of the major noble houses fear for our country’s well-being and prosperity if either of the Walkers are allowed to serve this country as regent. My client has graciously offered to step into that role, seeing as the Duchess of Valtoria was sponsored by House Beaumont and is therefore an honorary member.”

“Your issue, Charles, is that your client can’t legally do that,” High Justice Questa added, tilting her head and raising her eyebrows. The fact that she was tearing through Barthelemy’s team’s arguments just as quickly as she had their own was a small reassurance.

“He may have offered his services, but the majority of the noble houses support his regency as well.”

“Yes, but they don’t have that power either. They only get to name a new monarch, acting or otherwise, during a Conclave. And the vote today was not a Conclave, was it Charles?”

“No, Your Honor. A Conclave has to occur at the end of a Social Season.”

“Exactly. The regents for an heir who is too young to rule are decided by the reigning monarch at the time of the heir’s anointment, not by anyone else. In this case, since our new Queen-Regent was not born into the royal bloodline, but established in her position via Royal Decree, it is a noted precedent to allow the child’s parents to have a say in who is named as his or her regents. Why your client has decided he can just sidestep all of that is concerning. He’s claimed the power of the law for himself while being ignorant of our country’s laws at best, or with a willful disregard for them at worst. And quite frankly, the fact that the actual head of House Beaumont, his elder son, voted against him is not exactly a ringing endorsement.”

“Your Honor, someone needs to act as Queen-Regent Bridget’s regent!”

“Indeed, but not your client. The High Court does not recognize Lord Beaumont as acting regent at this time. Now, Diana,” High Justice Questa continued, not missing a beat, “your client was the reigning monarch at the time of Queen-Regent Bridget’s anointing. I see in your briefs that he has offered up two alternative regents for Queen-Regent Bridget - Lady Hana Lee or Lord Maxwell Beaumont.”

This had been part of their strategy, devised wearily sometime after 2 am and numerous cups of coffee. Since it was unlikely that the no-confidence vote was going to go their way, Diana had suggested naming alternate regents for Bridget, ones that would both be more sympathetic to his cause and that would be believable as alternate choices from Drake and Riley. Picking Hana and Maxwell had been the obvious choice.

“Your Honor!” Charles called out upon hearing those names, but he immediately quieted and sat back down when High Justice Questa raised her hand. She nodded at Diana, indicating she should continue in spite of the outburst from the opposing legal team.

“Yes, Your Honor. They are Queen-Regent Bridget’s godparents, indicating that the Duchess and Duke of Valtoria would have approved of either of them for this role, and my client is in total agreement.”

The justice didn’t respond immediately, but started flipping through a briefing, skimming a section when she arrived at the part she clearly wanted to discuss. Liam knew this was going to be their largest issue. They’d attempted to word the briefing carefully, not making it immediately apparent that Drake and Riley hadn’t actually been involved with the decision to name Hana and Maxwell up as alternative regents. But Questa was quick, and she had a great mind for details. The fact that this was the point in the hearing that she was explicitly referencing the text did not bode well for them.

“Diana, I’m looking at your wording here, where you mention your client’s reasoning for naming those two as possibilities for this role. Neither in your statement just now nor in this document do you ever quote the Walkers to indicate their approval. Is there a reason for this?”

Diana tried to be subtle, but Liam noticed her taking a deep breath before she responded, “Your Honor, we didn’t have a chance to speak to them directly. However, their-”

“I’m going to stop you right there. You didn’t have a chance to talk to them? Really?” Whatever scorn Questa held for Barthelemy, Liam felt it directed his way now, but at least doubled or tripled. She’d seen right through their little bluff.

“Everything has been so rushed, Your Honor,” Diana tried to justify, but Liam knew there was no salvaging this situation at this point.

“It seems like talking to the Duchess and Duke of Valtoria should have been high on your priority list to me. Common sense would indicate that if your argument was that those two individuals, in addition to your client, are responsible for naming a regent, actually getting them to name a regent would be pretty important to your case. So tell me, why haven’t you spoken to them regarding this matter? In fact, why aren’t they here in person? Last night I figured they had already put their daughter to sleep and were reluctant to leave her, but it’s-” she glanced quickly at her watch “-not even 5 pm. This seems like an important hearing for their family.”

“I haven’t been able to get in touch with them, Your Honor.”

High Justice Questa’s shoulders sagged slightly before she asked the question Liam was dreading. “Does your client even know their location at this time?”

Diana leaned over to him and whispered, “How do you want to play this, sir?”

He’d pulled Diana aside last night and informed her that Drake, Riley, and Bridget had likely fled the country, and that he had been choosing to stay ignorant of any information that would confirm that fact. She’d encouraged him to report his suspicions officially right then, insisting that he was her client, not them, but Liam didn’t feel throwing them to the wolves was the correct call. He was frustrated and personally hurt, but he knew there was no malice behind their actions. Besides, it wasn’t likely to improve his situation. So, he’d insisted on sticking to his technical ignorance then, and he had no intention of deviating from that plan now.

“As we discussed, Diana”

With a little nod, she returned to her microphone. “He believes that they headed to Lythikos at the invitation of Duchess Nevrakis for some privacy, but he hasn’t spoken to them since they were on the road.”

Questa’s reaction was immediate, her eyes closing and a hand rubbing roughly over them. She looked completely done with the actions of everyone in the room. Liam honestly couldn’t blame her. He was well aware that from an outside perspective, both he and Barthelemy looked like bumbling fools at the moment. On the other side of the courtroom, Liam noticed significant whispering and chatter. Clearly, Barthelemy’s camp was speculating on what that statement meant.

“Well, you all have decided to make this as messy as possible, haven’t you?” High Justice Questa mused to the room, interrupting all the side conversations. “Alright, this is what we’re going to do. I’m calling a recess until tomorrow at 9 am to allow the prosecution time to produce the Walkers. No statements, no hearsay, no speculation, they will be here in my court. If they are not present, sanctions will be issued, and the standing of their house and titles will be subject to review.

“As for the matter of Queen-Regent Bridget’s regent, that will be decided with or without their input at that time. If they are not produced, Mr. Rys will make the determination on his own. However, I would urge Mr. Rys to reconsider his choices for that role, because based on the reaction to the names you provided from the defense desk, I envision yet another summoning of the Conventus Nobilis if either of them get installed as regent. And if you think I’m impatient now, you do not want to see me if I am forced to preside over another emergency hearing.”

She paused for a moment, giving both desks intense, meaningful stares before continuing to issue her decision.

“Now, as we are currently left with no clear agent to act as monarch, I will defer to several old Cordonian statutes. First, a king or queen who is too young to rule will be overseen by a regent who is the next in line for the throne over the age of majority, unless otherwise specified. Given that the Walkers are not eligible anymore due to the vote of no confidence, we will proceed through succession. Seeing as Mr. Rys is the last in his family line and our new queen-regent obviously has no heirs, based on the foundational statutes, Cordonia would revert to Nevrakis rule. Good news is the head of House Nevrakis is here and now knows she’s Queen-Regent for the next handful of hours. This is a provisional appointment only, as it is customary to allow a few days to establish a regency, and a new regent is set to be named tomorrow, so the powers of the monarch will only be enacted in emergency situations. Is that clear?” she asked, staring past Liam to where Oliva was seated.

“Yes, Your Honor.” Liam heard Olivia say from behind him, loud and clear even without a microphone. Olivia gaining power was an obvious victory today, but only a temporary one. If they attempted to leave her in power, Barthelmey would undoubtedly call for another vote from the Conventus Nobilis.

Upon hearing her response, Questa turned slightly towards the defense desk. Barthelemy was clearly fuming, but she continued speaking before that legal team could get a word out. “And before you get all outraged, Charles, I would encourage you to use this as motivation to urge your client to strongly consider letting the regent presented tomorrow stand instead of challenging yet another leader. Because the longer it takes for these two parties to reach an agreement, the longer she-” High Justice Questa said as she gestured to Olivia “-retains provisional powers of the monarch, something I’m guessing your client does not desire. Is everyone clear of my expectations?”

Murmurs of assent came from both desks, following which Questa gave a curt nod and tapped her gavel, bringing the hearing to a close for the day. Liam rose to watch her leave. He had now officially lost the right to stay seated. Oddly, he felt almost numb about that fact. There were so many other things happening that required his attention.

He was expected to bring Drake and Riley to court tomorrow, and he was fairly certain that would not be a task that was possible for him to complete. This meant he needed to find another possible regent, one that Barthelemy and his allies would not attempt to remove from the throne but who would also be unlikely to bend to Barthelemy’s whims and schemes. Realistically, he needed to figure out Barthelemy’s endgame here. It would help him better plan for his next steps, including a bid to retake the throne at the Conclave, and if he was lucky, in the short term, it might even help him determine someone to suggest as regent who would be willing to show leniency to Drake and Riley. Allow him the chance to convince them to return to Cordonia, although the fact that Bridget was now the queen-regent did complicate matters more.

He saw Barthelemy approaching him, but Diana stopped him. “I’m sorry, but since this hearing is still pending, I’ve advised my client to not speak to you directly at this time.”

He let out a little huff, but went to rejoin his lawyers, allowing Liam to turn to Olivia, Hana, Maxwell, and Bertrand, all huddled in a little cluster behind him.

“How are you, Liam?” Hana asked, patting his shoulder gently with her hand, her eyes full of concern and worry.

“It is all a lot to process at the moment, but today could have gone worse, I suppose,” Liam responded, trying to keep his voice calm. Any emotional response on his part needed to wait until they were someplace private. “I guess we need to find a place to reconvene now that the palace is no longer an option.”

Olivia frowned, “Who says it’s not an option? If I’m the provisional regent, I think we can easily return for tonight.”

“Are the optics of that wise? I wouldn’t want it to look like you were abusing the temporary powers Questa granted you.”

She just shrugged. “I honestly don’t care. They can’t touch me in any way that matters, and it’s not like I’ll be making a bid during the Conclave since I’ll be sponsoring you.”

Her nonchalant statement gave Liam pause. Although the Rys lineage could be traced back for hundreds of years, House Rys wasn’t one of the five major houses and therefore could not put up a candidate. He hoped she was comfortable with that offer and didn’t resent him for taking away her chance to be queen. The tone of her voice was just so matter-of-fact and resigned, and it made Liam wonder. But for now, he needed to focus on the short term, not the long term.

“I suppose it might be nice to clean out my office,” he said, soft enough that he was sure no one but the people right next to him could hear. The last thing he needed was Barthelemy to somehow get his hands on all sorts of official documents and start combing through them.

Olivia gave him a crisp nod of agreement before spinning to face Maxwell and Bertrand. “Alright you two - Ramsford first. Bertrand, repeat after me, ‘Documents detailing my father’s incompetence are more important than heirloom cutlery.’”

“Lady Olivia, I hardly-”

“It’s now ‘Your Regency, Bertrand,” she said, throwing in a little wink and chuckle as Bertrand started to sputter out apologies. “Seriously though. Maxwell, you need to keep him focused. Preventing your father from gaining control of House Beaumont is imperative.

“After you’re done at Ramsford, head to Lythikos. Now, Maxwell, repeat after me. ‘Literally anything I want to touch will probably maim or kill me, so I will touch nothing but my pillow.’ Bertrand, I’m counting on you from stopping him from causing serious bodily harm to himself or others.”

After the brothers expressed their agreement and left the courtroom, Liam noticed Olivia and Hana shooting glances towards each other. There was no one left in the room but Diana and the junior attorney with her today, Nicolas, so whatever they were silently communicating must be something that they wanted to keep from the legal team.

“Diana, Nicolas, we are meeting back at the palace. We can probably use the monarch’s office for tonight. But starting tomorrow, we will likely be relocating-” he glanced at Olivia, who nodded deeply “-to Lythikos. If you two wouldn’t mind heading back to the palace and determining who on the team is still willing to serve as my legal counsel now that I am no longer king, that would be a helpful next step. Say we meet up again in one hour?”

The lawyers agreed to the plan, leaving Liam alone with Olivia and Hana. “Alright, what couldn’t you bring up until they left?”

Hana passed him a sheet of paper. On it were two phone numbers, written in perfect cursive.

“What’s this?”

“Since you no longer are king, we thought maybe you would not want to be left in the dark anymore.”

It only took him a second to realize what Hana was saying and what the phone numbers implied.

“They got burner phones?”

Olivia let out a little sigh. “Yup. And if you want to talk to them, our next step should be getting you one, too.”

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