#I kept seeing smoke for minutes straight while I was sitting on the bench earlier

[there-will-be-a-way]

Also, my hallucinations have become so frequent that I talked to the ward's psychologist about them because I was scared I might develop a psychosis. Seeing cats that aren't there, hearing angry footsteps, seeing the door fly open when no one's there, seeing smoke, hearing someone whine "no no no" over and over almost every evening. The psychologist said it's not psychosis but my PTSD. That I'm so stressed flashbacks turn into pseudo-hallucinations, basically. My brain really is overwhelmed, huh

#personal posts #psych ward blogging #I kept seeing smoke for minutes straight while I was sitting on the bench earlier #and I'm already scared what the night may bring #this is prolly one of the situations in which I should reach out #but on the other hand I'm just being dramatic #and I know I can handle this on my own #but I handle way to much on my own #I just don't know what anyone could do #it is the way it is #reaching out just feels like whining #like what am I supposed to do? #go to the night nurse and tell her I'm afraid to sleep like a little child? #no.

[lazarettta]

Misthios III

Characters (Mother Miranda, Alcina Dimitrescu, Reader)

Word count (2k)

Rating (T)

Warning (straight zooted, none)

Countess Dimitrescu takes you home.

Any mistakes you find, blame it on the herbs.

Only taking a few steps from your holding cell, you were startled with what awaited you.

You weren't sure what to expect when you were about to meet Lady Dimitrescu but what you got wasn't on the top of your list; her inhuman beauty or her height. She was taller than tall and for a split second you actually gawked at the woman before remembering yourself and thankfully your jaw snapped shut inaudibly but she'd already caught you.

“This is (Y/n), take her to your castle and keep her there until I call.” You frowned at her words, you weren't some goddamn pet to keep and she had another thing coming if she thought that you were just going to sit around twiddling your thumbs. Miranda stopped next to the tall woman near the door and a small torch light, “Not a scratch, Alcina.”

“Of course, Mother Miranda.” She seemed amused and she clearly wasn't as human as she portrayed herself to be. You'd place a bet wagering that she is one of the myths you haven't yet tracked down...but which one?

Miranda didn't spare you another glance and she was gone within a blink of an eye, leaving you two alone, you cleared your throat bringing the woman's honey eyes to you again. “But you will refer to me as lady Dimitrescu.”

Keeping up with Alcina's long strides down the dreary pathway wasn't an easy feature especially given that the hallway itself was narrow and you didn't really have any interest in touching the walls. They were wet but it did not look or smell like water. Eventually the woman came to a stop, right in front of an iron door that turned out to be an elevator shaft—a bit like the ones used when mining was still a thing.

Prison cells in some abandoned underground mining tunnels, Miranda? Always so dark and mysterious...

The silence between you both was thick and a bit awkward and you could feel her caution and curiosity rolling off of her in waves and you knew that she was occasionally glancing at you because you were doing the same thing while you both waited for the elevator shaft to come down. This place just continued to get more and more curious—what other wonders was this village in the mountains hiding away from the rest of the world? But you were quick to chastise yourself for the thought, curiosity always killed the cat, (Y/n)...

“Yes,” her voice was low and deep this time opposed to the thunderous tone she was using earlier, “but satisfaction brought it back.”

You hadn't been aware that you spoke out loud. Having allowed yourself to be distracted with your thoughts that you failed to take notice of how much more observant the other woman became towards you the minute you both loaded onto the old shaft. Though the old thing hardly made a sound under lady Dimitrescu's weight despite the fact that in order to enter she had to duck a little for herself and her large brimmed hat.

Shoving your hands in your pocket, you turned slightly to look up at her making sure to keep your eyes above those pearls wrapped around her pale neck and accenting that decolletage—no doubt purposely done. “Ah, I haven't had that recited back to me in a very long time.”’

“Then you’re not keeping the right company.”

Your mouth twitched around a smile before you schooled it away, “That would be true if I actually had any friends...or family.”

Lady Dimitrescu raised an eyebrow, not that you’d see it because of her hat casting a shadow over a majority of her face, “Handsome thing like you without friends or family? Doubtful. Surely you have someone waiting for you? You seem like the type to have a maiden or two at your feet.”

This time you couldn’t push back your smile, you knew that she was fishing for some answers about your character—and no doubt trying to figure out why Miranda thought you were special enough to be placed under her word of protection, as if you actually needed it.

But that was all fine because you’d do the same thing, in fact you already were but you’d give her something—an inevitable piece of information that will come to light soon enough. She was already suspicious so it really was just a matter of you beating her to the punchline.

“Nope, none of the above. People just have this pesky little habit of dying on me.”

She chuckled, low and deep and you felt it a bit (and fuck was this the longest elevator ride you’ve ever been on), “Oh I know of that nuisance all too well myself.”

“Do you now?”

“Oh quite dear.” There was a bit of a sinister flare to her tone behind that innocent smile and shrug she tried to sell you. “One could even say it's my favorite pastime.”

And right as you were about to press another question the shaft came to a screeching halt, oh…how convenient. You swore you saw Lady Dimitrescu outright grinning before she ducked out ahead of you, if you didn’t know better you’d say she read your mind.

The moment you stepped out of the shaft and through the opening of the alcove, you were severely unprepared for the harsh winter wind or how well into the evening it’s become and the conversation earlier was placed on the backburner.

Less than two hundred feet away there was a stagecoach waiting with four black horses attached. The stagecoach was all black with gold trimmings, a style fit for royalty—you’ve seen enough of them in your lifetime to know.

There was a young man half frozen next to it as he waited for Lady Dimitrescu’s approach, nearly stuttering out all of his teeth to greet her but she hardly paid him any attention, gracefully ducking inside. The young man gawked at you as you entered the coach behind his employer but was quick to close the door after you.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, the tips of your ears heating up when you had to brush past her crossed legs to sit on the bench across from her and she made no effort to move, only watching you while smoking from her cigarette stick.

The stagecoach had a bigger interior than the exterior let on, accommodating the dark haired beauty perfectly. Though she was sitting at a sideways angle she seemed very comfortable and she was easily dumping the ashes outside of the cracked window.

“Is there anyway to get my things back��it had a majority of my clothes in there.” Or get back to your camp—it was probably ruined by now, either by wild animals or nature itself.

“We will accommodate you at the castle.” Her gaze was on you again but you were busy looking out of the window down at the village, now that it was nightfall everyone had their lights on—it was bigger than what you expected. “I don’t suppose you like dresses?”

~~

As you suspected, the inside of her castle was just as massive and beautiful in it's antiquity as it was on the outside. The estate was kept in pristine condition and you were honestly impressed with what you saw. But it was really warm though not uncomfortably so. You two had barely stepped into the lobby of her castle with you mostly admiring how easily she was able to bend at the waist without batting an eye to get through a door that wasn't custom sized for her. She seemed used to it but you wondered why she didn't correct the doors.

“Hmm. Nice castle but why is it so warm? I might have to sleep with a window open.” you joked, still taking in everything and you had yet to notice how your words affected your host.

She stopped dead in her tracks and turned on you so fast you actually did run into the taller woman. Your entire face was lost in a world of firm fluffiness and your senses were filled with the very essence of Lady Dimitrescu. Though before you could scramble away with an apology on the tip of your tongue, Lady Dimitrescu was moving before you and she had reached down and she fisted the back of your parka and kept you right where you were, close and trapped.

You were forced to look up at her between her bust, or let them suffocate you, and she was already looking down at you with a hard look but you had no idea what the hell you did.

“You open a window in my castle and you won't be sleeping at all, guest to Mother Miranda be damned.” she snarled, her tone steely and you had no choice but to listen—even if she didn’t have you in a death grip, “The windows are off limits. Do not open them. Do not touch them. Are we clear?”

Your eyebrows furrowed, still struggling against her unyielding hold and against your rising temper, “What the—”

“Do you understand?” she tightened her grip on the back of your clothing, forcing the collar of every layer you wore to constrict around your throat at an alarming fast rate.

“Understood.” you gritted, your blunt nails digging her soft flesh beneath your hands that was her stomach but you doubted that your nails were as deadly as hers. You didn't bother to tell her that it was a joke and you were quick to straighten yourself out as you caught your balance when she released you with a bit of a pull against your parka forcing you away from her. You cursed her in your native tongue but her attentions were now focused on something to your left—no, on someone.

“Ah, good! Servant, come here,” a young girl no older than twenty quickly came over, bowing her head awkwardly.

“Y-yes Lady Dimitrescu, how may I serve—”

Alcina cut in quickly as if she had better things to do, and she did, “You're not serving me tonight, girl. This (Y/n). She will be staying in the guest room to the left of the wine room and you will be tending to her every need for the duration of her stay, and I do mean her every need.” though her tone was cheerful there was an undertone of a threat if her instructions went under-performed. Alcina winked at you as she hadn't almost choked you out in the middle of her foyer.

“Yes ma'am, I understand.”

The maiden nearly nodded her head from her shoulders. She was so terrified. If you were blind you would've assumed it was her first day, but a good portion of you knew that it was something else—you remembered quite well how Miranda preferred to run her own kingdom and you weren't surprised that this woman had similar tastes.

“Keep your pleasantries. Just show me to my room and leave me before I really lose my fucking temper.” you snarled at both of them, namely the Lady of the castle. You were able to physically restrain yourself from starting a brawl with this woman but your mouth has almost always gotten you into more than half the situations that left marks all over your body.

Lady Dimitrescu looked back to you, tilting her head back slightly as if she was just finally taking notice of how hard you were glaring at her. She did not know why as it could've been for a number of things that have happened within the last five minutes.

Alcina's eyes shifted from you to the trembling maiden between the two of you, then back to you again, “Are we going to have an issue, (Y/n)?” and clearly misunderstanding the reason for your ire.

You scoffed knowing when to pick your battles and how she handles her staff was not one of them. But how she handled you was, “Manhandle me again and we will.”

The maiden gasped at your audacity and flinched sharply when Alcina chuckled while setting her hand on her hip. She found more and more curious and she was starting to see why Miranda liked you so much before. There was a spirit that burned inside of you—strong and rattling in its cage, she could see it in your eyes even as you restrained yourself.

The maiden opened her eyes when she didn't feel the whoosh of Lady Dimitrescu slapping you through the wall, she was surprised to see you still standing there alive. The maiden looked at you in awe before bowing her head, “P-please follow me, ma'am.”

Alcina still stood there with her hand on her hip and another one of her cigarettes was lit, watching you follow the little maiden through one of the side doors when a familiar buzzing made itself known until Bela was standing next to her, snuggled close as she wiped the blood from her mouth with the sleeve of her black shift. It needed to be washed anyway.

“Mother, who is that? Another meal?”

“No,” Alcina answered softly, reaching down with her free hand to push back Bela's hood so she could comb out a few tangles in her eldest daughter's blonde hair, “But she is very interesting, isn't she?”

“Yes, but who is she?” Bela asked again, this time looking up at Alcina.

“Perhaps a friend, or foe, that has yet to reveal itself. But for now, go and collect your sisters dear and meet me in my study...I wish to talk to them about something more pressing.”

Bela was gone in an instant, the synchronized buzzing of dozens of blowflies disappearing quickly leaving Alcina alone with her thoughts.

Here is a link to the Ao3 version of this story...if it's easier than tumblr...

#resident evil village #mother miranda x reader #alcina x reader #resident evil 8 #mother miranda #lady alcina x reader #resident evil miranda x reader

[gallavictorious]

Outsider POV Gallavich Fic: Captive Look

For a while there this spring, I was mildly obsessed with the CO in 10x03: you know, the good-looking guy who seems so completely unfazed by finding two armed inmates stabbing an old man, and then for whatever reason doesn't report it? (He can't have; Ian's parole wouldn't have happened so soon after something like that.) I also really dig his beard... Anyway, IMDB identifies him as Raymond and I've had this short little piece about him and his interactions with two certain dumbasses sitting almost finished in my draft doc for months and months and months, so... you're welcome? 2882 words, to help pass the time until the new episode!

You can read it below or on AO3.

---

It's half past eight on a Thursday when Raymond catches sight of them across the bar at South Side Social. He’s there to celebrate his baby sister’s birthday, familial obligation overriding personal preference, but after an hour of politely chatting with her increasingly wasted college friends over obnoxiously rustic-only-because-it’s-trendy food, he’s ready for a break. Catching Tina’s eye, he mimes lightening a cigarette; she raises an eyebrow at him and smirks. She’s a clever kid, his sister – the first in their family to go to college – and she knows him only too well. Knows, for instance, that he gave up smoking years and years ago.

Offering her a rueful grin, he gets up and gets out and spends the next few minutes breathing in Chicago’s poisonous evening air. It’s December, but unusually warm for the season, and somewhere underneath the dusty stink of exhaust fumes and concrete there’s a faint trace of melting snow.

On the way back to the table Raymond stops at the bar to order another beer, and that’s when he spots them, just three feet away. Two men in their mid-twenties, casually dressed and apparently in the middle of a not-very-serious argument, complete with waving hands and mock-scoffs. It takes a moment for the vague feeling of familiarity to click into actual recognition, and when it's does it's not so much their faces as the way they pause to look at each other.

It's not the sort of look you see a lot, especially not in prison.

So, well, he’ll be damned. It’s Milkovich and Gallagher. Cellmates, lovers, and occasionally a goddamn pain in his ass. Released, as improbable as it sounded, within days of each other less than half a year ago, and now laughing over drinks in a half-way decent restaurant in downtown Chicago. It’s not the sort of place he’d expected to find them in – but then again, there’d been a lot of unexpected things about that pair.

Not them hooking up, necessarily, not once they’d ended up sharing a cell; trading sexual favors for protection (whether voluntarily or not) was common enough. Frowned upon in theory, of course, but in practice –

Well. You didn’t have to like it, but it was what it was. Idealism didn’t survive long at Beckham. Raymond himself had never harbored any grand notions about the redemptive potential of his work, but he’d seen his fair share of fresh-faced new CO:s have their illusions crushed after a week or two caught between the often violent offenders who despised them, the indifferent malice of many seasoned CO:s, and the stifling drudgery of the American penal system in general. Not Raymond, though: he did his job, did it well, and went home and didn't spend waste moment of thought on it. You did what you needed to do to pay the bills; no need to dwell on it.

So no, Gallager getting in bed, quite literally, with Milkovich hadn’t been a surprise. The nature of their relationship, though...

Sure, it wasn’t unheard of for inmates to fall for one another, or for established couples to end up in prison together. Didn’t happen a lot, and actual homosexuality was still more likely to get you beat up than laid, but yeah, it did happen. What, in Raymond’s experience, never happened was having to people look at each other the way Milkovich and Gallagher sometimes did, whenever they thought no one else was watching: there was a kind of wonder to it, both staring at the other like they’ve been handed a goddamn gift and couldn’t quite believe their luck.

Particularly on Milkovich’s face the look was baffling.

Ever since the young man arrived at Beckamn he'd moved down the gray corridors and among the yellow-clad crowds like a man born to it. Raymond supposed he was; his father Terry had spent much of his adult life in the very same prison, as had a great many brothers, cousins and assorted associates. Though Raymond didn't know any details, and didn't really care to know them, he'd bet dollars to donuts that Mickey Milkovich's criminal career had had both an early start and a sense of inevitability to it. Various stints in juvie, followed by a real prison sentence for... attempted murder, wasn't it?... followed by a widely publicized jailbreak and an eventual and far less publicized return to Beckman.

Milkovich was tough enough to make others back down when he had to but smart enough not to start any unnecessary fights, not with the other inmates and not with the ones set to watch over them. Knew how to work the system, too: how to get things in, get things done, which guards could be bribed. Raymond didn't play that game himself, but he wasn't getting paid enough not to turn a blind eye when others do. And Milkovich had been pretty smooth about it, especially since his return; careful not to cause a stir.

Gallagher, on the other hand... He'd been the kind of inmate Raymond would've been seriously worried for, had he been inclined to worry and had Milkovich not been there to watch his back and show him the ropes. Not because Gallagher struck Raymond as even remotely helpless, but he so very obviously did not belong in prison, and so very obviously did not really have a clue about what was what in here. The nastier inmates would have eaten him alive long before he'd had the chance to navigate the intricacies of prison politics and find the friends needed for protection. He'd have ended up someone's bitch, or ended up in the infirmary, or dead.

But he'd ended up with Milkovich, and as unlikely as it had seemed at the time, that had worked out. (There were moments when Raymond wondered about that, wondered about them: apart from the looks, there were little touches, too, casual things that spoke of a familiarity far beyond what they could possibly have developed in their short time in a shared cell.)

That wasn't to say that their relationship had been all rainbows and lollipops, and it sure as hell hadn't been fun for everybody. They’d driven half the cellblock insane sometimes, as well as occasionally one another. Other prisoners had complained about their bickering and their fucking (though never officially complained, because you didn't, not unless you wanted to go looking for your teeth in the shower drain), and Raymond recalled vividly the time when not one but both of them had gotten roped into Chester Russom’s endless quest to spend the rest of his life behind bars –

He'd been passing by the infirmary when he'd heard the screaming and come running. Hadn't been surprised, exactly, to find what he found, but that didn't lessen the urge to smack both Milkovich and Gallagher on the head for being so damned stupid.

Neither of them had seemed particularly concerned about getting caught stabbing another inmate. In fact, they'd fallen over themselves to take the blame, which Raymond might have taken as an unselfish attempt to save the other – if he'd been a complete idiot and if the two of them hadn't been sniping at each other all the way from the infirmary, to the point where he felt like his head would explode.

“Imma murder you two if you don't stop talking,” he said, glaring at them as they sat chained outside the small office. Thankfully, they did stop, looking neither at him nor at each other.

Raymond waited for a moment, deliberating.

“What did Chester promise you?” he eventually asked. Gallagher might have agreed to help the old man out of the goodness of his heart, but Milkovich sure as hell hadn't.

Neither man answered. They were studiously avoiding looking at each other.

“You're not going anywhere until you tell me,” Raymond warned them. “If I have to leave your sorry asses chained to this bench all night that's no skin off my back.”

“We needed a break,” Gallagher offered eventually, reluctantly. Milkovich gave a little snort at that, but – wisely – kept his mouth shut. “So we thought that if one of us got sent to solitary... “ He trailed off, shrugging half-heartedly.

Oh, for the love of God - ! “Why did both of you have to stab him if the goal was to get one of you to solitary?”

Again, there was a protracted silence, and somewhere in it – in their earlier insistence that each of them had been the first to stick the shiv into Chester – Raymond could just about make out the shape of it.

“You are both idiots,” he said, moving to uncuff them from the bench, making a decision. “Come on, let's go.”

“Wait,” Gallagher said, not rising. “You're not reporting us? What about solitary?””

“You don't get a damn reward for stabbing someone, so no, you're not going into solitary, you're going straight back to your cell – where you will hand over all contraband you've hidden there.”

“Now, wait a minute – “ Milkovich began, but he faltered when Raymond fixed him with a hard stare.

Raymond had no illusions about intimidating this particular inmate, but Milkovich really did know how this worked; knew better than to ever be friendly with a guard, not even the ones he bribed – but knew when not to push too.

He had kept their hands cuffed for the walk back to the cell, which was policy, but was him making a point too. While there were extenuating circumstances – primarily the fact that Chester had asked them to stab him – by all rights they should be going down for this, and Raymond wasn’t one hundred percent sure why he wasn't letting them. Save himself the paperwork? Yeah, sure. Why not? As good a reason as any.

“Now, am I going to have to search the cell or will you give it up voluntarily?” he asked once they'd made it to the cell. “You make me look, I won't be too careful with your shit.”

A lot of the guards would be deliberately careless when they tossd a cell, either to prove a point or just for the hell of it. Raymond usually didn't bother with that sort of power trip bullshit, but he was prepared to make an exception if these morons proved stupid enough to give him any more trouble. He was already cutting them considerable slack here, and neither of them have the brains to appreciate it.

They had shared a look, and then Milkovich gave an imperceptible nod. Without a word they set to bring forth an array of cigarettes and foodstuff, little things that would have been commonplace and unremarkable in the real world but was made precious by its scarcity on the inside.

Raymond wasn't naive enough to believe they actually gave him everything they'd got in there, but enough of it to inconvenience them, which would have to do. He grabbed the the items, then fixed them both with a firm look.

“Either of you cause me any more trouble, I'm taking your books,” – he pointed to Gallager, then to Milkovich – “and your pens and paper. You think you have it bad now? Imagine sharing a cell and having nothing else to occupy you.”

He had hoped to God he wouldn't have to make good on his threat, though. The other prisoners would probably riot if they have to put up with more of ´bickering from these two.

“I catch either of you with a shiv again, you'll be fucking sorry,” he continued. “Talk it out, or agree not to talk, or whatever. Split the cell into his and his, I don't give a damn. But sort your shit out.”

Maybe they had, maybe they hadn't; the point became moot just a few weeks later, when Gallagher was released. Milkovich had soon followed him – and how exactly that had happened, Raymond still didn't know, because there was no way in hell anyone actually thought releasing that one back into society was a great move – and that had been that. For now, at least; he fully expected to see Milkovich again. Guy like that wasn't going to quit, and sooner or later he'd get caught and find himself back behind bars. Rinse repeat, until he got himself killed or locked away for good.

Only now here Milkovich is, but in front of a bar rather than behind them, and with Gallagher right by his side, laughing like they'd never stabbed a man just to get away from each other.

Raymond hesitates. There's some small part of him that actually wants to step up and say hello, and that throws him a little. He's got a rule about never getting emotionally invested in the fates of the inmates; that way lies nothing but heartbreak, because most of those who find themselves at Beckman will find themselves there again and again, for longer and longer. Don't abuse the prisoners, but don't care too much either: it's been Raymond's private policy for the past five years, and it's worked out so far.

Except now he's actually considering chatting with a couple of convicts, just 'cause he really is a little bit curious about how this unlikely pair is doing.

But nah. Forget it. His rule aside, it'd be pretty uncool to intrude on their evening out. They're free men now – kind of – and having a CO check up on them can't be high on their list of wants. But before he can move away, they both look his way; sees him. Recognizes him, too, from the way they freeze.

Okay. Call it fate, then. “Hello,” Raymond says, going for neutral good and a little nod; I come in peace.

A beat. Milkovich is eyeing him with a wariness he doesn't bother to conceal and it's Gallagher who speaks first:

“Officer Reese,” he says, managing a polite smile. “Hi.”

Raymond notices the way they glance down at the beers they technically shouldn't be having.

“I'm not your PO,” he assures them. “I don't give a damn if you drink. Might want to take it easy, though,” he can’t help but add. “Getting shitfaced is a quick way to get into trouble.”

Milkovich opens his mouth, but after a quick glare from Gallagher he closes it again. Probably for the best; Raymond can’t imagine him playing even remotely nice now that he doesn’t have to.

“Didn’t mean to interrupt your evening,” he says. “Looks like you’re doing all right.”

“Yeah, yeah, we've got jobs and... “ Gallagher pauses to glance at Milkovich again, as if asking his permission. Milkovich rolls his eyes but says nothing, and Gallagher turns his gaze back to Raymond. There's a real smile on his face now, small, but filled with something akin to disbelieving delight: “We got married. Couple of weeks ago.”

“Oh, wow. Congratulations.” Raymond isn’t quite sure what surprises him more: the fact of their marriage, or the fact that he is genuinely happy for them. Maybe he’s getting soft in his old age… Or maybe it’s just that there’s so very few happy endings for those who find themselves at Beckman, whether as inmates or as guards, that they need to be treasured whenever you find them.

“Ian!” someone calls across the room, and Gallagher turns his head to look at a blonde woman gesturing wildly. “Where are those drinks?”

“Shit,” Gallagher mutters. “Better get this to Tami before she has a fit.”

Another smile, and Gallagher is gone. Milkovich, however, lingers, seemingly debating whether to say something more. Curious against his will, Raymond does his best to look approachable. Evidently, it works, because Milkovich clears his throat:

“You’d reported us when we stabbed that old fucker in the infirmary, Ian wouldn’t have gotten his release.” He pauses, looking uncomfortable, then forces out: “Appreciate it.”

Raymond merely nods. Maybe he should say something about being glad taking a chance on them had paid off, that he is glad to see them doing well – but he’s pretty sure Milkovich wouldn’t much appreciate the sentiment.

“Your boy doesn’t belong in prison,” he says instead.

Milkovich face immediately collapses into a scowl. “Well, I didn't fucking put him there,” he growls.

But Raymond isn’t intimated; just hold his gaze. “Gonna keep him out of trouble then?” Gonna stay out of trouble, he doesn’t ask, but Milkovich isn’t stupid, so he'll hear it all the same.

Milkovich still glares, but something in his eyes seem to soften ever so slightly. “You betcha. Won’t have anything on us ever again,” he promises ambiguously, with a cocky grin and one eyebrow raised.

When he walks away, swagger in every step, he is every bit the unrepentant gangster – but Raymond keeps his eyes on him and sees the way he relaxes as soon as he stops next to Gallagher. Reaches out to touch him lightly on the arm, catching his eye. That same wondering smile on both of their faces.

Raymond thinks that maybe he won't actually see either of them again.

He is glad of it.

#gallavich #fic #my stuff

[withlovekth]

Darkroom (Part Six)

Part One / Two / Three / Four / Five

Pairing: Taehyung x Reader Genre: artist! taehyung, best friend! jimin, college au, fluff, smut, angst Contains: swearing, suicide mention Word Count: 3.2k

Author’s Note: Okay, honestly this was supposed to be a stand alone one shot that I wrote three years after I had stopped writing Darkroom but my housemate inspired me to rewrite it to fit because she didn’t want me to abandon it, so here we are.

You couldn’t help but constantly come back to a city that reminded you of him, all because of a conversation you had years ago in his nearly empty room. Given opportunities, a steady job, free housing— Who would pass up a chance like that? You thought, maybe, he would.

Is that what you’re still up to these days?

You shoved your hands into your coat pockets. A stream of air visibly left your lips as you aimlessly walked by random store fronts. Your reflection reminded you of a time where you stupidly started smoking because you hoped it’d help you stop thinking about him. But thinking about him also made you stop smoking. Maybe he would have told you to quit anyway.

Was that the kind of person you were? It’s getting harder to remember.

Every time you’re here, you’d make an excuse to explore as if you haven’t seen all the touristy spots the first time around. A part of you hoped you’d run into him, but the thought of your paths crossing filled you up with anxiety. You’d fantasize what you’d say to him. If, that is, you’d say anything at all. Most of the time all the daydreaming would leave you a complete mess, whether it was a bubbling one or a sobbing one, it was still a mess. But that was nothing new.

Your phone vibrated in your pocket. You braced yourself for another round of freezing your fingers off as you raised the device to your ear.

“Y/N, where are you?” Your best friend’s voice brought a part of you back into reality. “You were supposed to be here like ten minutes ago.”

“Jimin,” your voice trailed off. You tried to process where you were. “I’m... Lost?” That was your quickest answer.

“What do you mean you’re lost?” There was a hint of panic in his voice. “Geez, I need to stop letting you take public transit by yourself—”

“Sorry, sorry.” You cut him off. If he knew you still felt this way, he wouldn’t let you go around searching for trouble all by yourself. “I see the glass and garden museum—”

“Oh! Okay, go inside and wait in the gift shop. I bet you forgot your gloves today too.”

“... You’re not wrong.” He knew you too well. He always has.

He let out a slight chuckle. “I’ll be there soon.” He hung up.

You found refuge in the shop, weaving between customers and body heat. This city was so, so cold, and yet it never got cold enough to snow, just rain.

You stopped in front of a wall of postcards, thinking about all the times you’ve wanted to send one to him. You never knew his new address, so why did you have a stack of unset mail tucked away in a drawer back home? His name written all of them. Signed: With love.

The postcard’s design was a picture of one of the glass sculptures that hung from a window paneled ceiling. The mixture of orange and yellow glass popped out among the night sky in the background. You wanted to write to him then and there, asking for his opinions, if he’d like to see it with you one day. You knew he’d like it, or at least you hope he’d like it.

You reached for it, with your now warm hands and the goal of buying it to just hide it with the rest of the unsent letters. You instantly retracted your hand the moment it brushed against another’s.

“Sorry,” your voices came out in unison.

“No, I’m—” Your throat closed up for a second as your eyes met.

“Y/N?” His voice echoed in your ears. That voice that you thought you had forgotten, but remembered as if it were yesterday. The voice you remembered saying its goodbyes and you not realizing that was meant to be forever. “It’s been forever.” He smiled softly. “How have you been?”

“It’s been forever,” you repeated after him.

Forever. It wasn’t your choice to never see him again. It was his choice to never see you again. A choice that kept you up all night wondering if it was something you did or said for it to turn out this way. A choice that’d hit you out of nowhere with a whirlwind of emotions as you tried to enjoy an outing with your friends or while you were in the middle of a test you didn’t study for. And you thought it’d be this way. Forever. But forever decided it lasted long enough. And now forever was over. Now a new set of emotions overcome you. A confusing mixture of upset and gladness and maybe relief. You hoped the relief would last forever.

Somehow you managed to say, “I’m fine. Great, actually.” You swallowed. You felt the corners of your mouth twitching from how hard you’re actually smiling. And you wondered what this response was, but at the same time it was almost expected. You wanted to be upset, angry. And yet you’re here, smiling like an idiot, as if he didn’t move and disappear without a word for years. “How are you, Taehyung?”

Saying his name to his face felt so unreal. But this was really happening. You can hear your heart beating in your ears, your face getting hotter by the second, sweat building up under your clothes.

“I’m good. Life’s been treating me well.”

“That’s good.”

You felt his eyes on you, watching, analyzing. Does he know? Can he tell that you’re about to lose whatever is left of your sanity at any moment? It’s hard to tell what he was thinking. Was it always that way?

“Have you been inside the museum yet? It looks even better in real life.” He looked back up at the postcard. You could tell he was trying to make small talk. “So, who were you going to send this to?”

You. But of course you couldn’t tell him that.

“This is kind of… Embarrassing…” Your voice trailed off before you got the chance to spill your guts.

“Oh— You don’t need to tell me if you don’t want to.” He looked at the ground, smiling slightly to himself. “I guess this is kind of embarrassing too. I was actually going to get it for myself. I just collect them. I’m not sure when that started. And I don’t really have much of a reason to. I guess I just think they look cool.” He grabbed one off the wall.

Without thinking you took it from his hand. “I’ll buy it for you,” you blurted out.

“No, no, it’s okay!” He tried to take it, but you hid it behind your back.

“I insist.”

He towered over you, his face inching closer to yours as he attempted to reach around for the postcard. “Y/N,” he grinned. “It’s fine.”

You found yourself stuck, unable to look away from his face. Remembering the cute little mole under his eye, then the tip of his nose, and the one under his lips.

A child running by bumped into you and you fell forward. It wasn’t romantic like in those romcoms, you head-butted his lip and he retracted backwards, covering his mouth.

Your eyes widened. “Taehyung I’m sorry!”

“It’s okay. It was an accident,” he checked his fingers for blood. “I’m okay! I’m okay.”

“Sorry, I’m sorry. Okay now I definitely have to buy this for you, hold on.” You made a dash for the counter a couple steps away, nearly clipping another small child as they chased after the one who probably bumped you. You can hear Taehyung laugh as he trailed behind you.

You quickly made the transaction and handed over the card to him. “Here. I’m sorry, again.”

“What? You’re not going to write something for me?” He playful tilted his head.

You mumbled under your breath, “You’re killing me, Kim Taehyung.”

“Huh?”

“Nothing— Here, just— Ah. Did you want me to? I don’t have a pen…”

He held onto the postcard without taking it. “How about you think of something to write and then give it to me by the end of the day.” He nudged the card towards your body. “We’ll find you a pen later.”

“We? Later?” You didn’t want to look stupid in front of him, but you couldn’t help it. You quickly clenched your jaw after you realized you were staring at him with your mouth open.

“Yeah, later. Unless you have something else to do today?”

“Oh fuck, Ji—”

“Taehyung, who’s your friend?” An unknown woman walked up next to him, locking her arms around his. She glared at you so hard you could have sworn lasers would start shooting out of her eyes. She was beautiful. Of course she would be, it’s Taehyung.

He looked at you, but it felt more like he was looking past, maybe even through you. “She’s an old friend.”

You let out an awkward, almost forced laugh. “Yeah. An old friend. Right.” Right. That was all. Maybe a little more. Or could have been more. There was definitely more. But to him maybe you really were just a friend. Just a photo in an album at the bottom of an old moving box.

“Okay, well, we should be going now.” She began to drag him out.

You just watched him walk away. At least this time you already expected him to walk out of your life. It’s fine. This is fine. It’ll be fine.

He glanced back at you and stopped in his tracks. He gently detached himself from her and walked back over to you. He looked like he was trying hard to find something to say. Looking around as if the words would appear out of the air. He locked eyes with you once again, biting his lip. He really was thinking, but all he could come up with was a hushed, “Run.”

He had a wild look in his eyes as he grabbed your hand and bolted out of the museum, passing the girl he was with earlier. All you could make out was a string of some unkind names as the two of you darted out of earshot. He laughed the whole time. You ran for God knows how long before collapsing on a park bench. The cold air burned with each deep inhale. It hurt, but all you could do was smile.

As you tried to catch your breath you had to ask, “Who was that?”

“Just some girl I’ve been seeing. We met a few weeks ago at a coworker’s party.”

You’ve become more aware of how long you’ve been holding hands and you finally let go.

“It’s not serious though.”

You shove your hands back into your pockets, sitting up straight. “Why did you just ditch her? You’re on a date, right?”

He shrugged. “I’m not that into her. Besides, you’re way more interesting to hang out with.”

“How do you know that? It’s been three years.” You lowered your head to cover your face behind your hair. Your eyes stung, but now was not the time to be crying.

He hummed. “For starters, you nearly split my lip open, insisted on buying me a random postcard, and didn’t stop me from running away from her.”

You didn’t want to cave in so easily, but he knew how to make you smile. You can claim you hate it, but you secretly loved it. The part you hated the most was that he knew you loved it too. He still knew you so well.

“Y/N!” A voice called out from the distance.

You turned your head to the sound. “Jimin!” You shot up out of your seat. “Oh God, I forgot about him,” you mumbled under your breath.

He lightly jogged over. “Why did I just know it was you running out of the museum. I knew I should have just made you stay over at my place while you’re in town. What the hell were you doing? I told you to wait there and—” He finally looked over your shoulder. He grabbed you so fast you didn’t have time to react, shoving you behind him so that he kept you away from Taehyung. “What did you do to her?” His voice came out low.

“Nice to see you too, Jimin.” Taehyung got up with his hands outstretched for a hug.

Jimin stepped back, losing his balance for a moment as he stepped on your foot. “Ah— Sorry.”

“Jimin.” You gently put a hand on his shoulder. “It’s fine. I’m fine.” You tried to give him a reassuring smile. But was this really fine?

He sighed, loosening up. He cleared his throat. “Good to see you too, Taehyung.” He opted for a handshake instead. “Anyway, Y/N and I have somewhere to be. So if you don’t mind, we’ll be leaving.”

You grabbed your best friend’s wrist before he got the chance to walk away. “Wait.”

“What?”

You didn’t know what to say. You just wanted to cherish your time with Taehyung. Even if it was only for a second longer. You didn’t want him to disappear, although it was probably inevitable.

“Hey, I don’t mean to intrude. Sorry.” Taehyung apologized with a tone that was enough to nearly shatter your heart. “I’ll let you be on your way.”

“No. Wait. Please.” You raised your voice as you whipped yourself around to face him. Your head began to spin, your breathing was shallow. You weren’t ready to let him go. It’s too soon.

Please don’t go. Please don’t go. Please don’t go.

“Please don’t go.” You covered your mouth so quickly you practically slapped yourself.

“Y/N,” Jimin whispered, holding on to your shoulder as if it was like he was trying to stop you from shaking.

You held your breath, waiting, wondering what Taehyung will or won’t do.

Taehyung reached for your hands, uncovering them from your mouth. The look on his face. What was that look? You couldn’t understand how an expression could suddenly make you feel so full of love.

“I won’t. I’m here.”

“For how long?” You studied his face, searching for any indication he was lying while at the same time, trying to remember every part of it— the mole placements, the curve of his lips, the way his eyelashes moved as he blinked. Everything. Because you wanted to be ready for when the time comes he’ll leave you once again.

He looked confused. “What do you mean?”

“How long?” You repeated yourself. “How long will this last before you leave me again?” You stepped back, releasing yourself from his hold. “Are you just going to disappear again? Are you just going to leave me alone because I mean nothing more to you than just a friend? Well, friends don’t just up and disappear like that. Without a word. What kind of friend does that? I thought, maybe, I wasn’t just a friend to you. I thought I meant more to you. Like you do for me.”

You began to laugh in the middle of the silence. “Oh, God. I just sound so stupid and pathetic, don’t I?” Your lips quivered as you failed to attempt to keep your tears in. “That was so, so stupid—”

“Jimin,” Taehyung's voice sounded a bit annoyed. “You didn’t tell her?”

“I never got the chance to,” Jimin was frantic. “Now is not the time.”

“What were you going to tell me?” You rubbed your eyes, trying to see Jimin past the blurriness.

“Are you serious? You didn’t fucking tell her?” Taehyung bit his lower lip, trying to keep his cool, but it was obvious he was fuming.

“Tell me fucking what?”

“He told me to leave you alone—”

“Taehyung, shut up.”

“No! No! She needs to know.”

You grabbed Jimin by his coat, shaking him. “Why did you tell him to leave me alone?”

His face looked pale. “Y/N,” he sighed, brushing the little hairs away from your face.

You stiffened up.

“I couldn’t stand to see him with you,” he whispered, almost sounding ashamed.

“Why?” You couldn’t bear the silence, but you already have realized why.

“It’s obvious, isn’t it?” He caressed your tear stained cheek.

You stepped away from him in disbelief. “This isn’t really happening, is it? Jimin, I… I don’t even know what to say to you.”

“Tell me anything.” He accepted his fate.

You glanced at Taehyung. He pursed his lips, raising an eyebrow, his way to encourage you.

“I…” Your eyes settle back on Jimin. Somehow he looked so small, like he wanted to disappear. “I want to be angry with you. I guess I am angry with you. Could you not see how much I was hurting?”

“I did.”

“And you let me fucking feel this way for years?”

“I thought I could win you over. But when weeks turned into months then into a year, and then two, and three... I realized I wouldn’t ever win. It would always be Taehyung. It was too late for me.”

“And you?” You asked Taehyung.

“Jimin was my best friend too. And I didn’t want to get in his way.”

You laughed harder. You couldn’t believe this is where your life has led up to. For the longest time you thought you had done something wrong. That you were the selfish one. Selfish to think you could have someone like Taehyung.

You thought it was karma. You were the bad person. You made yourself out to always be the bad person and you couldn’t even remember what you did, but all you knew is that you deserved it. All those endless nights drinking your sorrows to failed suicide attempts. It was karma for mistreating yourself for all those years, even before Taehyung came into your life. Jimin finding you in the second year of high school, out cold with a bottle of sleeping pills in your hand, waking up to getting your stomach pumped. You did this to yourself because you believed everyone would be better off without you. God was punishing you, but at that point, you had forgotten over what, and it’s laughable.

But maybe you weren’t being selfish. What was wrong about feeling the way you felt? Liking someone? Loving someone? It was okay to love who you loved. You don’t need to be sorry about that. There’s nothing to be sorry about.

“I’m sorry, Jimin.” You said you weren’t going to be sorry, but you couldn’t help but think about all the times Jimin was there for you. This was your karma for everything you put him though, and you accepted his envy, his selfishness.

“You don’t have to be. I should be sorry. I just couldn’t make you happy.”

“Jimin—”

A sudden clash of thunder interrupted you, followed by heavy rain. There hadn’t been any signs it would rain, let alone a thunderstorm. But that was just expected of this city, unpredictable, just like everything else in your life.

Jimin took a step back, this interruption was just what he needed. “I’ll talk to you later. I promise.” He ran off into the direction he came from, disappearing behind the endless rain drops.

You looked up into the sky, feeling the water soak your hair. You closed your eyes and took a deep inhale. You wanted to scream. Then you couldn’t feel the rain on your face. You opened your eyes to find Taehyung shielding the both of you with his coat. He gave you a half smile.

“Let’s get you out of this rain?”

“Can I stay with you? I don’t want to be alone right now.”

“Of course.”

#bangtanwriters-net #pocarmysunited #bangtanbuds #boy group writers net #taehyung x reader #taehyung fluff #taehyung angst #taehyung smut #bts scenarios

[suckerforsmylex]

I Think I Made You Up Inside My Head - Pt. 6

“I should have loved a thunderbird instead; At least when spring comes, they roar back again. I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead. (I think I made you up inside my head.) “- Sylvia Plath, Mad Girls Love Song

The phone buzzes again, waking you out of your stunned stupor. Joker’s message blinks again, reminding you that his eyes are on you somehow and you suddenly realize that you’ve been shirtless this entire time and grab a button up and throw it on.  The thought that he may have been admiring your tits from afar makes you blush and you think to yourself, how is it that I am angry and turned on at the same time?

Closing the closet doors and sitting down on the bed again, you look around for a hint of how he may be able to observe you.  You search for cameras and bugs as if you were in a spy flick, but after about ten minutes, you realize that you don’t have time to investigate.  It’s much more important to try to recall who you got yourself into this mess in the first place.  The knife he dropped when he cut through your baby doll top, is still on the floor so you reach down to retrieve it and examine it closely.  

It is entirely made of gold and very sharp with a beautifully ornate handle.  It’s apparent that this knife is a specially made killing apparatus.  You indulge a strange urge to put the knife to your tongue and begin grinning again but you don’t know why. The confusion you feel is simultaneously exhilarating and frightening and suddenly it feels like an intense headache is coming on as another involuntary memory flashes back to you uncontrollably.

The Joker had just been committed after a plea of “not guilty, by reason of insanity.”  The sentence seemed appropriate as he was clearly insane. Throughout the trial, he tormented his own lawyer to the point where he resigned and The Joker had to be represented by a public defender.  When the sentence came down that he would be committed to the loony bin that is Arkham asylum, he smirked, winked at you and stroked the bulge in his pants.

By now, you had grown used to his vulgar displays of affection in the court room and you secretly enjoyed them.  Mid-trial he had to be restrained because during a court recess your earring came off, and when you bent down to get it, he tried to lunge and bite at you while spouting off all kinds of filthy things.  They put him in a muzzle and you became so stirred by the public display, that you had to excuse yourself to the restroom to “relieve yourself.” As you touched yourself, you thought of his eyes on you and how intense his glare was.

When they took him from the court room, you knew that there was a chance that you would never see him again and you decided at the last minute that you would actually take the nutty blonde up on her offer. Yes, you had gone out for a smoke earlier, after a particularly disturbing testimonial from a witness to a Joker murder. You didn’t smoke regularly but did under periods when you were stressed out.  You were sitting on a bench when she approached.  She was a bizarre girl and you couldn’t stop looking over as she was making her way up the court house steps.  She was singing a strange tune as she made her way up, skipping over and introducing herself abruptly.  “Hiyah!  Are you Y/N?”

You nodded suspiciously and she grabbed the cigarette from you, took a drag and then threw it behind her head which pissed you off because you had just lit it. “Hey! I just lit that!”  She suddenly stuck her hand out to shake yours.  “Harley Quinn. Pleased to meetcha’! Wow, Mistah J said you were cute and boy, was he right!”  A slight pout came across her face, but she quickly replaced it with a huge grin.  “I’m gonna’ make you an offer you can’t refuse honey bun.” The smiling blonde was freaking you out and you decided you would walk back into the court room after all.  Harley screamed out in desperation.  "Face it, you’re just like me!  A certified nutso and hopelessly in love with a murderous, psychopathic clown. Tell me you don’t want to break him out of the joint?”  

You spun around on your good leather heels.  “Are you talking about The Joker?”  You looked into Harley’s wild eyes and she smiled a crazed smile.   “Mistah J, sugar or Puddin.”  But you have to earn that last one! Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!”  A slow smile spread across your face and Harley clasped her hands in delight. “Show me what I have to do,” you squealed.  Harley’s excitement was rubbing off on you.  That and the lack of your medication.  You’d stopped taking it during the trial.  The Joker’s madness made you feel liberated and you decided that you would just live that way, without any help from medication to balance you out.  It was the freest you’d felt in a long time. “Meet me tonight and wear this. We’ll meet about a block from your apartment.  I’m so happy to have a girlfriend to go shopping with!”  

Harley tossed a silky red fabric at you.  It was a hood.  You’d heard of the Red Hood Gang, but only just then realized that you’d joined it.  No one knew how the Red Hood robbed all the banks they did, but you realized that it was a collective of criminals, of varying importance, all pledging their allegiance to The Joker. Harley was his second in command and you were proving yourself as a suitable number 3 with your sights on learning more as her apprentice.  

Harley had her heart set on robbing Nordies, the expensive department store with the beautiful Christmas displays every year, so you went in as a sort of a test to your commitment to her and the Joker mafia. You came out with the Gucci dresses she asked for and a couple of extras for yourself.  “Naughty, Naughty! Wheee!  Wahoo! You are amazing, girly,” Harley exclaimed.  You handed her the bags and kept one for yourself:  A tight black jumpsuit, black heels and a cologne you picked out just for J.            

In that very moment, you decided that you were going to break The Joker out of his cell.  Harley was still hatching a plan but you wanted to go without her. She loved him but you wanted him to know that you loved him more.  You baked him a cake with a phone in it for his birthday and sent it in to the Asylum and The Joker texted you back to let you know when Arkham was at its best to break him out. You took the keys to the purple Lambo and left the apartment to break The Joker out of the crazy house. After parking and posing as one of the guard’s wives who was in to visit and bring him his lunch, you put the men to sleep with a solution The Joker had given you the recipe for.  

The Joker came out of his cell and strolled right over to you with his straight jacket still on. He planted a rough kiss on you and you presented him with the cologne. He smirked, growled in your ear, and then you released him and you both fled to rob a jewelry store later in the night. This is where you remembered the knife from.  This is where you remembered the diamonds and the gold jewelry from.  You realize that you are hiding the entire stash in your closet for him.

You decide to dial Frost.  He answers and he’s all business as you figured he would be.  “What do you need?  Mister J said you might be calling for something.”  You’re bubbly when you answer. Something about his stoic reactions draws the silly out if you. “Hi, Frosty!   Where’s J,” You rasp out. Frost is un-phased.  “He’s taking care of something. Do me a favor. Only call me if there’s an issue,” he responds and hangs up abruptly. You look at your phone again and start scrolling through your contacts again.  HQ.  HQ! It doesn’t stand for Headquarters! It’s Harley Quinn!  You decide to call the number.  “

How’s my favorite little squirrel? Still trying to get that nut,” Harley answers with a giggle.  “Is this Harley,” you ask tentatively. She’s silent for a moment and then she answers in a rising chuckle. “Wow, Mistah J was right doll, you’re really a mess!  Yeah, dummy, it’s Harl!  No fair!  You broke Mistah J out of the clink without telling me. I don’t know whether to kick your ass or kiss ya’, but I’m in big trouble and he’s here to help so I guess I’ll have to deal with you later.  Mistah J is helping me clean up a mess ova’ here, but hold tight honey, he’s on his way back to you.”

#the joker #joker #leto joker fanfiction #joker fanfiction #harley quinn #mad girls love song #jared leto joker fanfiction

[catfishandthebottlefan]

#11 - Heathrow

A/N - So I’ve been gone for a few days, because I’ve been writing this long fic! It’s over 5,000 words (sorry😂) I’m super proud of this one though, and I’m sure you’ll love it :) Enjoy reading it, and, if you enjoyed it, please leave a note for me so I know what to write more of or less of! ~ A x

Van had always loved you. Well, it was the first thing he’d said to you when you were in pre-school - despite Van being a few months older than you, at your primary school they mixed the first two classes - and you’d given him your cookie cutter to help him make his sculpture out of play-dough. Through primary school, you’d stayed friends, before drifting apart gradually in secondary school as you began to see him less and less. Everyday chats turned weekly, and you only saw each other when it was organised by your parents, such as at family barbecues or special birthdays. You never forgot about each other, however, and you’d often smile as a surprise “how r u, havent spoke in ages xx” would flash up on your phone when Van was away.

You were 16 when you had to call Van for the first time in a couple of weeks. You were stranded at Heathrow Airport after a terrorist incident, when someone attempted to detonate a bomb in Manchester. Your flight back from Spain (where your family were on holiday - you had to return early to be home in time for GCSE results day) had been diverted to Heathrow.

“Van,” you pleaded, tears falling down your face, “Where are you?”

“Hey, you ok? I’m at home, sleeping like every other sane person on the planet. Why?”

“It’s ok, don’t worry-” you choked back a sob.

“Y/N, Y/N, hey, why are you upset?” the concern in Van’s voice shone through, “Where are you?”

“I’m stranded at Heathrow, someone set off a bomb somewhere, I’m ok, I just don’t have enough money for a taxi home or a hotel room and I, I don’t know what to do-”

You heard a jingle of keys in the background. “Van, it’s too far, it’ll take you 4 hours to drive-”

“I’m not in a rush, are you?” Van replied, jokingly, as you heard the slam of a car door.

“Van, you don’t have to do this, it’s 3 o’clock in the morning-” you choked, as you sat, shivering on a bench outside Heathrow Airport.

“Hang tight, love, I’m coming to pick you up.” Van replied, reassuring you, “It’ll be okay.”

He hung the phone up, and you held it close to your chest, disappearing inside your hoodie. You didn’t know how to feel - happy you were being rescued, or guilty you’d had to ask Van to come pick you up. You didn’t have a lot of choice as none of your other friends could drive yet, but you still allowed a few tears to fall down your face as you thought of Van’s kindness.

It turned out there was no need to feel guilty. At 7:30am, you spotted the white Transit van come round the corner, The Streets blaring from the stereo. Van was, of course, in the driver’s seat, however, you were surprised to spot Larry sleeping in the seat closest to the passenger door. You leapt up off of the bench, wheeling your suitcase over to the van. Van jumped out of the driver’s side and wrapped you in his arms. He threw your suitcase into the back, which was filled with guitars, amps and other music equipment, and hustled you quickly into the middle seat of the van.

“Y/N?” Larry muttered groggily, as you wriggled past him into your seat.

“Thank you guys so much.” you smiled, pulling your knees closer to your chest under your hoodie.

“No need, I know you’d have done the same.” Van placed his left hand on your knee, “You’re freezing, babe!”

“I’m okay,” you smiled, leaning into Larry, “Thank you guys so much.”

“It’s fine!” Van replied, cheerily. Then, more sincerely, he told you, “I’m here, whenever you need me.”

Van gently put his hand on your thigh as he pulled out of the drop-off bay, and you felt a slight shiver travel up your spine. You told yourself not to be ridiculous, he was just a friend. As Van drove you home, you began to fall more and more in love with him - it was like you’d never been apart for all those weeks when life had come between your relationship. No, not a relationship, you told yourself. It was just a friendship.

Little did you know, he was telling himself the same thing.

-

You hadn’t heard from Van for after that summer. Stemming from him driving you home that  August morning, you had begun to meet up more and more. You would sit in the park together for days on end, then, at night, you would get smoke joints in the playground and get drunk by the duck pond. This led to blurred, yet fond memories of Van pushing Larry into the pond, and drunk Bob, who was always a laugh. Yet, once you started sixth form, you studied hard for your A-levels, and life began to push you and Van apart again. He left to tour with the band, who were still relatively unsuccessful, but you always admired his optimism. You kept in contact via calls and texts, always just as friends, but you slowly drifted further and further apart, just like the space between calls. You got into Oxford, to do a degree in Astrophysics, while Van was still living at home, or was on the road with the band, living off a pasty and a joint a day. Your parents - who had now divorced - expected you to have forgotten about him, and your uni mates knew nothing about him, but you still longed for his company, and would sit up late at night, contemplating calling him. Once again, little did you know, he was doing the same thing.

You were twenty-one when your professor broke the news that you were one of the few students he believed was capable of giving a talk to thousands of younger aspiring scientists as part of a education programme.

“Like a TED talk, only for teenagers.” he had told you.

You were eager to take part, until you realised the large scale of the project. You had to speak for half an hour, non-stop, about the same subject you were writing about in your dissertation - yours being a division of Nuclear and Particle Space Physics. Worst of all, it was situated in a theatre in the west end of London - as if you didn’t need to feel even more inferior. You had six months to prepare your speech and background slides, and you threw yourself into it.

The project became a welcome distraction from your life at the moment, as, that December, your mother was diagnosed with terminal breast cancer. You didn’t tell anybody, not even your housemates, instead filling your emptiness inside with uni work, taking on every project or extra credit assignment you could. Your grades prospered, and you quickly became a straight-A student in every assessment. You somehow managed to balance this with the gut-wrenching visits home every weekend, to see your mum. Everyone admired your tenacity and effort with your work, and some people even became jealous of your success, yet they didn’t know the emotional turmoil going on inside your head, as your mother became sicker and sicker.

What you failed to consider was how quickly news spread in Llandudno, and, only minutes after you were told your mum was in the hospice, your phone lit up with a call from Van. You declined the call at first, as you got in your car, ready to make your final 3 and a half hour drive to Llandudno. Once your mother passed away, you had no further plans of returning. There was nothing left for you there.

But, then again, there was Van.

As his call lit up your screen once more, you connected your phone to your car’s Bluetooth system, and answered the phone.

“Y/N!” Van’s voice boomed through your speakers.

Quickly, you turned the volume down, forgetting how loudly you had The National playing on your last journey back to Oxford from seeing your mum. You had taken to turning it up as loudly as you could on your way back from visiting, to drown out your sobs.

“Y/N,” Van almost whispered, “I had no idea, I’m, I’m so sorry-“

“Van.” you said, his name almost croaky in your throat as you say it for the first time in years, “It’s not your fault.” “I should have called earlier, I just, I don’t know, I just didn’t want to think about ya. I’ve been missing you.”

You pulled over into a lay-by. If you were going to have an emotional conversation, you did not want to risk crashing the car over it.

“Van,” you mumbled, “I’ve missed you too.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t call earlier, I just-“ his voice trailed off, “I want to see you.”

You sniff, holding back tears, “Well today might be your lucky day. I’m two hours away.”

“Hardly very lucky though, what with your mum-“ he checked himself, “I wish this wasn’t, I don’t know, I wish the circumstance wasn’t as bad.”

“That’s just life, innit.” you sniffed, trying to force yourself to smile, “How’s things with you?”

You started your car again as Van began to tell you about Catfish, and how they’re on the cusp of getting a deal, and how well they’re getting on.

“People know us, Y/N, it’s mad. They say stuff to us like, put that one on the album, or don’t bother with that one, it’s shit. It’s mental.”

You spoke to Van for most of the drive, until you got to Wrexham.

“My phone’s dying, love, I need to go,” he said, sadly, “Where can I meet you? Mine?”

“What do you mean?” you replied, “You’re home?”

“I am now I know you need me.”

-

You spent two days by your mother’s bedside as she slowly passed away. You had been preparing for this for months, but there was one eventuality that you hadn’t prepared for, and that was a new kind of relationship with Van.

After your mum passed on, you had every intention of returning to Oxford, but Mary and Bernie insisted upon you staying at the B&B. You lived there for two months after obtaining special permission from uni, and you spent nearly every waking hour with Van. It soon became every sleeping hour as well, because it would be nighttime when the grief would suffocate you. Van held you in his arms, and it felt as if he was gently squeezing the broken parts of your heart back together. In the daytime and evenings, you would follow Van around to gigs, and you realised he was right about Catfish - they really were becoming popular, and the band who once played covers in bars were now getting their own following, and recognition for the songs Van spent countless hours writing in his bedroom.

You didn’t know initially, but you became his muse. One day, Van went out to rehearse at Benji’s, and you stayed home, catching up on some lectures you’d asked your friends to video for you. However, after two hours studying, your mind began to wander, and your eyes were drawn to a leather-bound notebook on Van’s dresser. Against your better judgement, you opened the book, to find some half-finished lyrics and songs which Van hadn’t played to you yet. This was unusual; he’d played nearly every song he’d written to you in the time you’d been staying with him. You read the unfinished lyrics carefully.

“Love her from the get-go/pick her up from Heathrow/whenever she needs me” - was this about that time when you were 16 and he drove for hours to come and get you?

“I wanna make it my business, I wanna make you my problem” - was this about how you had told him not to worry about you, and you’d deal with your grief yourself?

You engrossed yourself in the fragments of songs written in the notebook. You knew some, such as Cocoon - which Van had played to you before - were about ex-girlfriends. However, it was the ones you hadn’t heard before which intrigued you the most - a couple of songs called ASA and Collide. You only twigged his romantic feelings for you after you turned the page to see your name written with love hearts around it, paired with doodles of what looked like you. Stood next to doodles of him. Your name and his, written in a heart, then crossed out, then rewritten another ten times.

Your heart plummeted, and then did somersaults. Did Van feel the same way as you did? You traced his handwriting of your name with your index finger, engrossed in the way his pen must’ve danced across the page, broadcasting his thoughts to the outside world. Well, not the outside world, as this notebook was Van’s. Private. You sighed, feeling guilty, and snapped the book shut.

As you turned around to gently place the notebook back where you found it, you noticed a figure out of the corner of your eye. Oh, shit. It was Van.

“Oh my God, Van,” you stuttered, “I’m so sorry, I knew it was private, I shouldn’t have looked, I-“

“Y/N,” Van replied, calmly, “It’s okay. I don’t mind. I promise.”

“Is it true?” you asked, quietly, “The things you write in here, are they true?”

“Depends what things you’re talking about.”

“Love her from the get-go? Pick her up from Heathrow?” you questioned, “Are they about me?”

Van blushed bright red, and took a step towards you.

“It’s true.” he confirmed.

You wasted no time in wrapping your arms around his waist, and he pulled your head into his chest. You inhaled deeply - Van always smelled nice.

“I love you too.” you mumbled into his jumper.

He responded simply by stroking the top of your head.

The next few weeks were spent exchanging stolen glances, and secret kisses when nobody was looking. Cuddling him a little closer in bed. A cheeky hand up your top when you lay together. Your hand on his thigh when driving around to gigs.

It wasn’t long before people started noticing, however. Larry was one of the first to twig, when he caught you and Van sharing the same cigarette on the balcony, snuggled under Van’s jacket together as the typically Welsh rain bounced off the pavements. Obviously, he told Benji, Bob, and Billy, and the news then spread like wildfire around the town, despite Van’s quiet threats of “chucking you in that fucking pond again, you little prick”. Van’s parents claimed to have known since you moved in, however you suspected it was old Mrs Perry next door who told them.

You liked being Van’s girl. He would get oddly protective of you, not letting you walk alone at night, making sure you had a jacket if it was raining. He would look you in the eye every once in a while at gigs, and wink at you. Whenever you were feeling down about your mum, he’d hold you in his arms and the world would seem to be a less cold and cruel place. He loved when you wore certain outfits, and he would let you wear his favourite jeans and hoodies that he didn’t even let Larry borrow. He’d learn the guitar chords of your favourite songs, just so he could play them to you.

He was the perfect boyfriend, and you dreaded having to go back to uni and leave him.

-

“So where even is Oxford Uni?” Van asked, getting into the passenger side of your car, “Somewhere down south?”

“Yes, Van, it’s in Oxfordshire. Above London, but below Birmingham.” you repeated for what seemed like the thousandth time.

He reached over to kiss the tear which raced down your cheek as you pulled out of his parents’ driveway. You glanced in your rear-view mirror to see Mary and Bernie waving enthusiastically, looking as proud as your own mother did when you drove off to Oxford for the first time.

“They’re just happy because they can say I went to Oxford.” he chuckled, in an attempt to cheer you up. You didn’t respond.

“I’m sorry, baby.” he said, tenderly, “We’ll be okay. I love you.”

“I know, I just feel, I don’t know-“ you sniffed, trying to suppress the lump in your throat, “I feel guilty for taking you away from everything like this.”

“C’mon, Y/N, we talked about this,” Van sighed, “I’m only staying until after your speech thingy, and if I don’t like it, I can go back, and I’ll visit you every weekend and all that jazz. Stop stressing, please, babe.”

You simply nodded your head as you pulled out onto the main road. Van fiddled with the stereo.

“This is a lot newer than the one in my van,” he said, his tongue poking out in concentration, “How do you get the radio?”

You pressed a few buttons on the steering wheel, shaking your head. “You won’t get a signal. Here, try a CD.”

Van put in your Arctic Monkeys Whatever People Say I Am That's What I’m Not CD.

“Still think our demos are better.” he quipped, as The View from the Afternoon began to play.

“You’re gonna struggle being away from the band for all this time.” you sighed, sadly.

“I’ve got me guitar and notebook!” he replied, cheerily enough, “What more could I need?”

“Uh, your bassist, lead guitar and drummer?” you joked back to him.

As you drove back through North Powys, Van fell asleep, and you felt a warm sensation in your heart. Although your world as you knew it had crumbled in the past few months, you had Van. He was all you needed.

-

You were right about Oxford - Van hated it. He hated being away from the band, he hated the lack of underage drinking and antisocial behaviour, he hated the accent. But he loved you, and that was what made him stay. He slept in your bed in halls, much to the disgust of your flatmates, who made it clear that they didn’t consider him good enough for you.

“I mean, him?” Natalie said, her nose wrinkling, “What does he do?”

“What’s his haircut all about?” Molly jeered.

You tried your best to persuade them to be on Van’s side. “I told you, he’s in a band! They’re really good as well! And I love his hair!”

Although they never said anything to his face, Van knew your roommates didn’t like him. He had unspeakable nicknames for them as well, and he’d loudly use them on the phone to Larry every evening. Despite him claiming he was happy here, as long as you were together, you knew he missed being on the road with the band. University life was too structured for Van, too organised. The only part he liked was the student parties which would happen every Friday night, but he even wasn’t the same when drunk, without his buddies. There was no hilarious banter, no casual arson, no recreational drug use. Well, there was weed, but you knew Van and the boys liked something a bit stronger on some of those heavier nights.

However, partying aside, the most important part was the fact that you were prepared for your speech, which took place two weeks after you and Van moved back to Oxford. He sat right at the front of the theatre, looking somewhat out of place next to the clean-cut parents, professors, and other downright nerds that had come along to support the speakers. Despite his clear misplacement amongst the scholars, Van was the best supporter in the whole theatre, and he cheered the loudest for you after your speech, which went perfectly, due to all the hard work and preparation you’d put in. You didn’t bother telling him that it wasn’t a football match or a concert, and it really didn’t matter how loudly you clapped, as you were so grateful for his support.

Van also made an effort with your friends, telling them how good their speeches were. Sophie and Julian quickly made friends with Van after he tried his best to express an interest in their joint speech on Advanced Quantum Mechanics. They seemed slightly surprised that he was in a band.

“So, what do you do?” asked Julian, politely.

“Me? I’m the lead singer of a class band,” he replied, happy someone was finally striking up a conversation with him, “We’re right on the cusp of getting signed, me and me mates can’t believe it, we’ve grafted so long for it.”

“You’re in a band! That’s so cool!” Sophie smiled, “So is that like, your uni hobby? What degree are you doing?”

“Degree?” Van laughed, “I got kicked out of school at 15! I’m in the band, like, that’s me job!”

“Oh, wow!” Julian smiled, “Like Noel Gallagher?”

“Nah, I’m like a shit version of Mike Skinner,” he chuckled, “We’re called Catfish and the Bottlemen. You should check us out, we’re more popular up North than down here though.”

Your friends nodded enthusiastically, and you and Van turned around to head back to halls.

He sighed. “Y/N, I do really miss the band.”

Your heart sunk. You knew Van wouldn’t last long in Oxford, but you didn’t quite want to believe he wasn’t happy here. You loved being with him all the time, but also being at uni. Part of you wanted to ignore the fact he wasn’t happy, and keep him here until your degree was finished, however, you knew that would be like keeping an eagle inside a cage. Van was the type of person to get cabin fever; he liked to be on the road all the time, waking up in a different place every day. He needed to spread his wings and fly - he hated the normality and routine of uni.

“Stay till the holidays?” you pleaded, as you walked back to the flat.

“When’s that?” Van replied, deep in thought.

“Middle of June, just another month? Please, Van?” you almost begged.

“I’ll try my best, it’s just, the band need me and I miss Larry and I hate this tiny flat and doing the same thing every day and the people and-“

“Van, just stop.” you sighed, exasperated, “Before you say something you regret.”

You entered the flat with an atmosphere between you that could be cut with a knife. You headed to bed, and you heard Van going into the kitchen to make a cup of tea. You tried to snuggle under the duvet, but you could never sleep without him by your side, so you lay awake, staring at the ceiling. You knew when you came back that Van would have to go home, but you desperately didn’t want him to.

About 5 minutes later, you saw Van coming into the bedroom, and quickly closed your eyes, pretending to be asleep. You sensed him taking off his jeans and shirt, and the bed moved under his weight as he got in beside you. Usually, when he wrapped his arms around your waist, you would wriggle closer to him, but, tonight you rolled over and faced the other way. You heard him sigh, and although your heart was breaking and you longed to be held, your anger and sadness at the fact he was leaving meant that you couldn’t bring yourself to be close to him.

You slept fitfully that night, tossing and turning, having nightmares about Van breaking up with you because you didn’t allow him to go home and do what he loved. The guilt ate you up inside, and you found yourself snuggled into his chest by 3am. He stroked your back and kissed the top of your head, whispering to you that he’d stay if you needed him to. However, you told him he needed to go back - he needed to be happy. You remember falling asleep with tears running down your cheeks and into Van’s chest.

-

The next morning, you woke up to Van sat at the end of your bed, strumming a few chords on the guitar.

“What’re you playing?” you croaked, pulling yourself up.

“Just sorting out the rhythm for one of the new songs.” he replied softy, not looking up from the guitar.

“Van, I was thinking-“

“Yeah?”

“I’m thinking you should go back today.” you said, seriously, “I’ll help you pack your things, and I’ll drive you home this afternoon.”

Van set the guitar down on the carpet, and paused for a moment. “I don’t want you driving me home, love, you’ve got your finals in a few weeks and I don’t want you missing out on study time.”

“I don’t mind, Van, I really don’t-“

“Y/N,” he took your hand, “I love you so much, but, please, I can get the fucking train, okay?”

You nodded, as he disappeared into the kitchen and came back with a cup of tea in your favourite mug. You smiled as he kissed your forehead.

“I’m gonna miss you so much, okay, but I’ll phone you every night, I promise.” he told you.

“Every night, even when you’re playing gigs and touring, like a rockstar?” You meant for this to sound jokey, but it came out as bitter and resentful.

“Y/N, I said I promised, okay?” Van snapped.

You placed the tea down on your bedside table and started taking Van’s clothes out of your wardrobe and putting them in his suitcase.

“Y/N, it doesn’t have to be like this-“

“Like what? We always said you would leave after my speech, it’s the next day, so it’s time for you to go back.”

“I meant, you know, between us,” he continued, his voice getting louder, “I’m not breaking up with you! I’m just going back home, where I belong. I don’t fit in here, not one bit!”

“I know, I know.” you said, softly, “I’m sorry, I know you have to go, I’m being selfish. It’s like when you find a mouse as a kid and you keep it in a box under your bed and your mum tries to tell you to put it back outside, because it’s an animal and it needs to be free, but you don’t want to because you quite liked its company and-“

“Shh,” Van stroked your back as you choked back the tears, “After finals, you can come up and live with us for the summer, you’ll graduate, you can get a job, we’ll get a flat, it’ll be fine.”

“A little cottage by the sea?” you sniffed.

“If that’s what you want,” he replied, “I’ll always be on the end of the phone, whenever you need me.”

-

Van left, and, after you waved until the whole train had disappeared from your sight, you got in your car, turned up The National, and sobbed as hard as you did when your mum passed away. A month passed, during which you called Van every morning and evening, and texted him throughout the day, whenever you weren’t studying. You did manage to get through finals, after having worked your socks off.

Van had informed you on the phone that he’d been touring with Catfish, and they were getting so close to being signed. They had been called a few times by various record labels and were starting to get big, playing proper gigs of their own. You were ecstatic for him, albeit jealous that you were stuck studying while he was on the road. Your mind cast back to fond memories of being 16, driving around with no real destination, although Van assured you that touring at age 21 was very different.

Finally, the 18th of June arrived, and you packed your bags into your car and followed many of the cars, mostly driven by parents, out of Oxford and began your journey back up to Llandudno. You had been stopped at traffic lights for about thirty seconds when you noticed something shiny on your dashboard. It was a CD, and you instantly recognised Van’s scrawled handwriting on the front of the disc.

Listen to this and think of me, Van xxx

You smiled as you put the disc into your car’s stereo, and ASA - a song Van would play to you on many evenings when you were studying - started playing through the speakers. What made it extra special was the fact that he’d written it about you.

The four hours and eighteen minutes it took to get to Abbey House B&B were the longest of your life. You cursed every red light and traffic jam, and drove at the speed limit wherever you could. You just wanted to be in Van’s arms.

You didn’t even bother to park your car straight in the B&B’s carpark, just dumping it between two spaces. You grabbed the flowers you’d brought for Mary and the beers for Bernie, and inhaled sharply, bracing yourself for seeing Van. Your heart both fluttered and pounded at the same time as you marched towards the front door, your black Vans (you hadn’t put them on because they were Van’s namesake - they were your favourite shoes to drive in) pounding the tarmac. No sooner had you rung the bell than you were enveloped in Van’s arms - he lifted you up and held you close into his chest. The second he put you down, he kissed your lips passionately.

“Van, stop, you’re crushing the stuff-“ you giggled, between kisses.

“Where’s my present?” he complained, childishly.

You pointed to your handbag.

“Later.” you whispered, and he grinned. That would shut him up for a while.

“Y/N, love, it’s so good to see you!” Mary greeted you enthusiastically from behind Van in the doorway.

You handed her the flowers and her face lit up, as she handed them to Bernie to put in a vase. She hugged you almost as tightly as Van, and you breathed in the soft scent of her washing powder. Bernie greeted you with a firm handshake and a smile, and you handed him the beers, much to his approval. Van and his family felt like home.

Many hugs were exchanged that evening - between you and Van, you and Mary, you and Bernie, or Van and his parents. You initially sat having a beer with Van while his parents attended to the guests, however they later joined you for a glass of wine and a catch-up.

Mary and Bernie went up to bed at about half ten, so you and Van made the kitchen your zone, where you set up some music from your phone. You put your favourite Spotify playlist on shuffle as Van backed you up against a cabinet and kissed you with an undying passion. His hand up your top, your hand around his waist, lost in the moment. That was until Lemonworld by The National began to play. You went to hit skip, as this song reminded you of coming home from visiting your mum, and then all the feelings hit at once. What were you doing back in Llandudno, the town in which your mother died, drinking, snogging your childhood best friend, having fun? You shouldn’t be here.

You pulled away from the kiss.

“What’s up, baby?” Van whispered huskily.

“I can’t, this song-“

“Shhh.” he put a finger to your lips, and pulled you up so you were stood upright. He tipped your head up with his index finger, so you were looking him in the eye.

“Can I have this dance?” he asked, sincerely.

You nodded, as you followed his step around the large kitchen, being careful not to knock over any utensils or ornaments, in order not to wake the guests. The dance ended with sloppy kisses down your neck, and a heart full of love rather than sadness.

At around midnight, the lads joined you, Larry, of course, bringing the weed. He was accompanied by Benji and Bob.

“Where’s Billy?” you asked, concerned.

“Oh, he left the band for ‘personal reasons’ a few weeks back,” Van said between taking drags of the joint, “I didn’t tell you because I thought he was talking shite, but he’s gone.”

“Oh.” you replied, quite shocked.

“But we’re getting a new guitarist!” Benji announced.

“His name’s John and he’s a Geordie,” Bob told you, “A class guitarist, and a great lad, according to me cousin that is.”

You nodded in approval, as you settled into Van’s lap. As you smoked and drank, you felt yourself and Van rising higher and higher within your own, untouchable bubble. This was what you’d been waiting for all these months.

You don’t quite remember the boys going home, but they must have, as you and Van woke up in his bed in a quiet house. You went downstairs to read a note left by Mary.

Gone to IKEA with Dad for some new furniture for room 3, back at about 4pm xxx

“Looks like we’ve got the house to ourselves for a couple of hours, McCann.” you called, seductively.

“Sounds good,” Van appeared behind you wearing nothing but his jeans, “But there’s something I have to show you first.”

You followed him back into the bedroom, and climbed back into the warm bed. Van sat on the end of the bed, and picked up the acoustic guitar which often laid strewn on his bedroom floor.

“This song’s called Heathrow.”

He strummed the guitar gently a few times before singing the first lyric.

Love her from the get-go

Pick her up from Heathrow

Whenever she needs me

Watch her on the West End

Pepper up her best friends

Whenever she needs me

She was a different league

When I was nothing much

Meet her when the tour's up

Hug her like her Mother would

Whenever she needs me

Snog her in the kitchen

Dance with her to Lemonworld

Whenever she needs me

She was a different league

When I was nothing much

You found yourself in tears by the end of the song. You threw your arms around Van’s shoulders, and kissed his bare neck.

“You like it?” he asked.

“I love it. And you.”

#Catfish and the Bottlemen #catb #VanFiction #vanfic #van mccann #fanfiction #fanfic #band fic

[hollandroos]

Run To Me; Part Twelve

Summary: Dad!Mob!Tom. Sequel to BAK but you don’t have to read that one first. If you wish too, the link is in my bio masterlist!!

Run To Me: Series Masterlist!

Words: 3952

Read on Wattpad! + Playlist!

The car rode along the highway, dark as it was you could still make out the features that grew more familiar the closer you got to his house; From the fence that lined the main road that signified you were at least ten minutes away, to the bumps in the road that grew less frequent and the odd cow that spotted in the distance thanks to the near blinding headlights.

You’d had a few experiences where you’d sat and stared out of the window on drives just like this one, down the same highway, eyes taking in the trip and while some of those times weren’t the best (staring teary-eyed at the scenery so you didn’t have to stare or pay any attention to Tom) some of those were spent playing games of I spy and taking in every little detail until the scene was permanently engraved in your mind.

So now, driving back to the place you once called your home with radio silence, you were filled with all kinds of nostalgia and a heavy amount of fear but your grief- while it was there was hidden beneath so many other unexpressed emotions. You had to wonder if he still owned the same ugly, navy blue couch in the library- or even the same books kept untouched. Whether or not he had the same staff was a mystery to you and you only hoped he kept the same chef?

“Is she asleep?”

You’re snapped out of your thoughts by Tom, who keeps his eyes trained on the road and you blink a few times to adjust to the light, craning your neck to see your daughter fast asleep with curls thrown over her eyes, a blanket over her chest and legs and stuffed toy on the ground below her feet. Rosie's’ mouth was open slightly, droll escaping as she snored softly. She looked utterly carefree.

In the boot, you could see your bags piled on top of one another.

“She’s fast asleep.” You tell him, covering your mouth with your hand as you yawn gently, mind taunting you with the thought of sleep for a single moment. “I’m glad, usually she’d get carsick on a ride this long.” You sit in silence for a moment before you speak up, eyes falling to Tom who looked fairly concentrated. “You know I’m not trying to hide you- who you are from Rosie, I don’t want this to be a secret forever.”

He nods. “I get it. This is a new thing for all of us, we’re adapting. As much as I’d love for her to know, it’s just best that we take things slow- for our sake as well.” Tom turns a bend before asking a question that was plaguing his mind since you’d left earlier that night. “How do you feel?”

You shrug, “Tired, I didn’t get much sleep last night.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Tom drags his gaze off of the road for a few seconds, looking at you before looking back to the road. “How do you feel about your dad- about his death?”

Truthfully you felt like your chest was threatening to concave- that your eyes were dams near close to exploding and your throat was only demanding that you let go but you were an expert at pretending everything was okay when it wasn’t.

“I’m fine.” Your voice reaches a new pitch.

“Y/N-”

“I’m fine.” You grit your teeth, heart pounding in your chest and it was the only thing you could hear in the confined vehicle. “We weren’t that close anyway.”

Lies. Your weekends sometimes consisted of spending hours at his- your old house, discussing your weeks over a cup of tea and a packet of malt biscuits. Your weekdays sometimes included keeping Rosie out of daycare and going to old cafes with him in tow and Christmas every since Rosie was born was spent at his place, opening gifts under the tree you’d had since you were her age. Every year it shrunk but wasn’t, was your little girl who seemed to be growing with every passing day.

You pick at a loose string on your sweater, curling it around one finger before resting your arm on the space between the passenger seat and the driver's seat just as Tom removes one hand from the wheel- resting it only inches away from yours until his fingers ghost beside your own and you tense. He bought a sudden warmth; having him so close bought a slight comfort that you’d admit you’d been craving.

It reminded you of the time in the hospital just after Harrison's death. The last time he was ever comforting was in that hospital bed as you shook and cried- that was something you did very often since that event.

The two of you stayed like that until you arrived at the house; with his hand merely grazing yours and in a whole other universe they’d be linked together.

-

Rosie padded around the large house, the skirt she’d picked out earlier slipping down every few moments and she desperately grasped at the elastic of the emerald green item, tugging it tightly around her waist. Her fingers played with the buttons that ran up the front and desperately tried to pick them off as she explored the longer then average halls.

She’d played hide and seek before but this was the ultimate game and she swore that for once she was going to win. Rosie had never played in such a large house before and especially not a house with so many rooms, every door and hallway extending into another part of the house that she never would’ve guessed existed. 

The girl stared wide-eyed and mouth agape as she passed the library, wondering for a moment if Tom had Clifford the big red dog or the little mermaid. She almost screamed when she saw the kitchen and the sweets that lined the bench.

Her room didn’t feel like her own yet and she still didn’t understand why they’d left the room she was used too, the one that held her posters and drawings and many of the stuffies that she owned.  She already missed her large selection of play dough and the bright pink blanket she usually cuddled under and it’d only been one night at the new house. Her new room was greyer, a bed a little too large for her and her mommy had put pillows on either side to prevent her from falling but she felt like a princess laying in it, surrounded by pillows and an adults duvet. Still, she felt lonely last night and allowed her mom to sleep beside her.

You didn’t complain, despite being gifted your own room.

The room Rosie had was already kindly decorated with toys that she had been able to bring and the vanity that reminded her of a princess vanity, a gentle white with lights around it contained her hairbrush and other hair accessories that made her groan and wince as she had her hair done. Peter sat on the bedside table with an alarm clock that at the moment read nine thirty-seven and she’d even carefully placed each of her clothes in their rightful draws, leaving the bag in the corner of the room.

Somehow the girl had done all of this with only one arm and it baffled you just how quickly she was adapting, only having the odd cry when she knocked it or couldn’t do something she so desperately wanted too. There was also the moment she had given up trying to eat her spaghetti with a fork and just used her hand, getting pasta sauce down her chin and staining one of her shirts. It was an ungodly sight that made you groan and chuck the shirt straight in the bin, refusing to look twice at the tomato paste down the front.

Rosie pushed two large doors open, having to jump to reach the door handle she knocks it open subtly, one of the doors creaking as she does and carefully, she steps into the room, looking around to make sure her mommy wasn’t coming down the hall before moving in and closes the door with a gentle ‘thud.’

The room was large, walls lined with photographs that were too complex for her little mind to comprehend and a large desk sat near the back, a computer much like the ones’ they had at daycare that she wasn’t allowed to touch or the one at the library that she went on once or twice when they’d go to look at books. Papers were scattered around it, highlighted with yellow and blue that caught her eye.

Rosie tucks herself under the desk with small grunts, pulling her knees into her chest and waits for a few moments, listening out for footsteps but when nothing happens, she stirs- a piercing ringing sound makes her jump and almost hit her head on to the wood, crawling out from her place as her curious mind pulls her towards the phone. But to get it, she had to climb up on the large leather chair and push herself towards the wooden desk with only one hand, cussing in her head using a word she’d heard her mother use once before as she inches closer. The ringing of the phone was tempting.

Without hesitating, she picks it up coughing professionally before pressing the phone to her ear. “Hello?”

The man on the other end pulls the phone away for a second, wondering if he’d called the wrong number. The girl sounded much too young to be the man in his late twenties that he’d been wanting to speak to.

“Hello? Who’s this?”

“Rosie. Who are you?” Rosie sits on the desk, the curls attaching the phone to the little box tickling the side of her face.

“Oh- Oh!” The man put two and two together, a sick smirk crossing his face as he realised who it was that he was speaking too. “Rosie, was it?”

The little girl nods her head, eyeing the paperwork as she gets distracted for a moment as she tries to make out the words on the paper. But she didn’t understand any of it. The words were far too small and way too long.  “That’s me.” She nods.

“It’s funny you picked up, I’ve been wanting to talk to you.” The man says, voice gruff as he speaks. On the other end of the phone, he taps his fingers against a cold mug of tea, the stench of cigarette smoke wafting around him teasingly and he took a drag from the one between his fingertips.

“Who is this?” She mumbles, brows furrowing together. She looks around the room, still dead silent and speaks to the stranger. Something her mother always told her not to do.

The man shook his head, “Don’t worry about it- It’s just finally nice to talk to my granddaughter.”

“What?” Rosie’s eyes widen and she perks up, her entire mood shifting from excitement to uncomfortableness. Any thoughts about the current game of hide and seek had dispersed. Rosie only knew one grandad and this didn’t sound like him. But then again, he could’ve easily been sick.

On the other end of the phone, the man sat in his living room. Alone apart from the Labrador dog he’d gotten for company and the fire that flickered away in the corner of the room.

“You tell your mother I said hi, okay?” He replies to the much smaller girl who was still riddled with confusion.

“Okay.” She unfurrows her brows and heard the line go dead straight after, placing the phone back onto the hook, eyes tracing the keyboard and with great will, she begins to tap the keys making the screen come to life.

Photos flashed before her eyes, ones’ of three boys sitting out the front on the lawn that she’d seen when arriving at the giant house last night before flashing to one of a small dog laying on a rug with a toy between its teeth. She smiles, thinking that it must be Tessa who she was still to meet before it flashes to another photo. This one makes her jolt back slightly, nearly slipping off of the table as she recognises both of the people on the screen.

“Mamma?” She says to herself just below her breath before the photo changes.

It was her mom on the screen, with Tom's arm around her waist. They were dressed nicely- her mommy in a princess dress and Tom in a black and white suit that she’d seen the people on TV wear only they looked a little younger. Gentle lines didn’t trace her mom's forehead when she smiled and her hair was slightly darker then what it was now. And Tom looked happy as he pulled the girl into his chest, lips extending upwards.

She gaped, never having seen photos of her mom in her younger years before that weren’t the photos she’d kept from her pregnancy. But even at four and a half, she could see the features that Rosie had stolen such as the smile that she wore daily.

“What are you doing in here?”

Rosie jerks her head towards the door, seeing Tom standing there with one hand around the knob as he stares at the little girl. For a moment she was afraid, heart accelerating before seeing Tom’s face soften as he began to walk towards her. She didn’t know why she suddenly felt afraid.

Rosie brings a finger to her lips as if telling Tom to shush and just loud enough for Tom hear, she says;  “Hide and seek.”

Tom already knew about the game, stepping towards the desk where the small girl sat on top of some of the work that had been discarded and placed himself in the leather chair. “Oh really? Your mommy’s getting worried because she can’t find you.”

“Good, that means I win.” She mumbles, little fingers going to scratch at her cast- more so her hand that was covered with the cast and before she can, Tom takes her hand. “I never win, mamma knows all my hiding places.”

“Yeah? And where’s that?” He asks.

Rosie clambers over the desk and looks down at the ground, realising she could never get there without hurting herself she sends Tom a glance who in turn, puts his arms around her and puts her on his lap. She sat comfortably and as she looks up, the little girl feels even smaller realising that even on Tom's lap the desk still sat at around her chin. 

Photos continued to flash on the screen and she watched a picture of an older man come up on the screen before it disappeared once more.

“Under my bed, in the kitchen cupboard and… uhh…” She stops for a moment to think, placing a hand on her chin. “In the bathtub!”

“The bathtub aye?” Tom chuckles to himself as he pictures Rosie trying to clamber into a bathtub and lay there completely still until you came to get her.

Rosie nods before inching around so she could see Tom. “I saw mommy.”

Tom ignores the question for a moment, looking at the little girl that was perched on his lap in an emerald green skirt and her hair thrown around- every other time he’d seen her it had been in ponytails or something similar. She was a gem- the sun and every one of its’ stars and he could only thank whoever was listening above that he got to be in her life now, as she was still learning and adapting to the world that was nothing but cruel and harsh- the same one that would try and break her down but Tom would be damned if it succeeded..

“Yeah, she was in the kitchen making your food last I checked.” He retorts. ,

“No.” She shakes her head, screwing her face up and turns to point at the computer. “On the screen, I saw her and you.”

“Huh?” Tom asks- before it clicks. He remembered the photo she was talking about, one taken at an event a long time ago when everything was okay, you two were decently happy and there was a large possibility that you were even pregnant with Rosie at that point. It was that small amount of time he liked to call the grey area.“We were friends for a while.”

Friends was an understatement. You were once lovers and after seeing you at that cafe Tom would sometimes admit that you still were. He was itching to know if his hand still fit in yours like two pieces of a puzzle, or if you could still fall asleep to fingers running through your hair. The mobster wanted to one day soon find out if your desire to wear his clothing was bigger then the desire to wear your own. It was fair to say that he was carefully trying to worm his way back into his heart but then again, it was like he’d never left in the first place.

He gets pulled back to earth by Rosie as she taps his hand gently, repeating her words. “Tommy? Did you play board games together?”

Tom laughs and shakes his head, completely forgetting about the work that he came into his office to complete urgently. But he had five years of catching up to do and wasn’t going to miss any opportunities.

“We didn’t play board games.” He tells her. “Your mommy use to be very mean.”  Tom wanted to tell himself that he was joking because you were never mean- just, thick-skinned and able to stand up for yourself.

Rosie gasps. “She was?!”

Tom nods eagerly and remembers both times. “She used to be able to beat a guy up within seconds- she probably still could.”

“Woah,” Rosie says, trying to imagine her mom fighting off bad guys but fails. It was something that seemed too insane, almost too unbelievable. Her mom was soft, didn’t like loud noises and kept to herself. What if she was a ninja?

You creep down the hallway, hearing two voices coming from one of the end rooms and stay to listen for a moment but it was too muffled so instead, you just push the door open and step in- immediately catching the attention of Rosie who giggles as she sees you and Tom who smiled. They looked so alike- clearly father and daughter and you realised that if you hadn’t of left, then Rosie probably would have been an absolute daddy’s girl; Choosing to Spend her afternoons out in the garden playing football with him instead of baking with you.

You shake your head at the two of them, guilty looks crossing their features. “Don’t put those thoughts into her head!”

Tom puts his hands up in defence. “I was just telling her the truth!”

You roll your eyes, stepping further into the room to see it was much different then the office you remembered- thankfully. It wasn’t only cleaner and less cluttered, but so far held no bad memories.

For a moment everything was fine- it was more than fine. You were carefree and laughing about god knows what. Your eyes were occupied by the two of them discussing how you used to be- used to, before you were sucked into pools of anxiety and consumed by fears that prickled and struck you like knives and tore you apart layer by layer on the very worst of nights.

PTSD- Post-traumatic stress disorder, was hard to explain, you thought as you leaned against the wall, arms folded securely and mind anywhere other then Earth. It was the fears that hid away in the deepest, darkest corners of your mind but were somehow always there, always visible and taunting. It was three am nightmares and crying and the flashbacks and guilt that came in indescribable waves, then two days of feeling safe before you worried that every step you took would create chaos around you like it had back then.

It was things you didn’t talk about but when you did you either A. Didn’t want to stop or B. Never wanted to bring it up again. It was the man that fought for his country and watched those around him die as he trudged on the muddy ground surrounded by useless ammunition, or the girl on that ship that sunk with everything she’d ever known and loved on board. Yours was the sound of gunshots, head hitting the wall hard enough for reality to shift as it breaks the plaster and hands tied to a wooden chair you’d once sat in as you told him that you loved him.

You coughed, hoping that if you coughed loud enough the wicked memories that flashed around your brain would cease and thankfully for the moment, they did.

“Mommy!” Rosie giggles as Tom tickles her, leaning back in his seat. The girl seemed content perched there. “Grandad told me to say hi.” She begins, kicking her foot back. “And Tom said that you can beat people-”

You blink, looking to Tom who looked just as confused as you before stopping Rosie who was prepared to ramble on. His eyebrows were knitted together attractively, large fingers curled around her waist to keep her from falling-

“Roo…” You stop, wetting your lips and pull the smaller girl into your lap. She fits like a puzzle piece, legs hanging over your knees.  “Grandad’s not here anymore-”

She nods, full of unexplained energy for nearly ten am. “I know, he called me earlier.”

“No, he passed.” You tell her. “He died sweetheart.” The room was awkwardly silent as Tom coughs gently, running a hand through his hair that no longer held in the curls. “Like grandma, remember? And- and Uncle Haz.”

Tom freezes at the mention of his old best friend, tensing as the name brings back memories he’d been trying to push to the very back of his mind. It showed that you hadn’t tried to hide everything from Rosie, but told her bits and pieces of what had happened and even mentioned the blue-eyed, blonde haired boy. He wondered if she knew about your abuse and injuries sustained- mentally and physically.

Rosie- who knew about your mother and Harrison after many stories you’d told, tilts her head and looks to Tom. “No he’s not, he called before on the phone. Gran and Haz don’t talk to us but Grandad can!” She blasts.

Knowing your daughter was very adamant and once she got an idea into her head, there were very little chances of it disappearing, you nod and give up for now and sigh- picking your daughter up out of Toms' arms and he would’ve complained if he knew that her breakfast wasn’t waiting downstairs for her.

“Right, okay.” You mutter. “C’mon gotta eat your eggs on toast before It gets cold.”

She wiggles around, almost unable to stay still- talk about ants in your pants.

“Uncle Harrison?” Tom asks.

“Uhh, yeah. She knows about him.” You tell him, voice quiet. “Are you coming in for some breakfast? I made you some too.”

His heart rate increases at the kind gesture, smiling tugging at his lips. “I’ll be down in a moment.”

As you walk out, Tom drops the pen and remains in his seat, fingers tapping against the desk as he stares at the telephone next to his computer that lay to the side, only just sitting off of the hook. It taunted him, something telling him to look into it more and he picks the device up, bringing it to his ear. All Tom hears is the flat line, gripping the device before smacking it back down on the hook.

Something wasn’t right.  

-

Pt.13

Leave comments or asks, reblog if you wish!! let’s talk about this chapter

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[sincerely-us-imagines]

strangers in the night (connor murphy x reader)

hello friends!! i feel like it’s been forever since i posted something, so here’s something i threw together yesterday before work! i’m not a huge fan of it, but it’s better than nothing so!!

warnings: referenced issues with parents, no-no words, smoking drugs, talk of suicide

You huffed, slamming the front door behind you. A white puff of air appeared in front of you as you did so, emphasizing just how cold it was outside. It was only the beginning of November, but it was late at night and there was a cold front coming through. It was definitely too chilly to be out in nothing but your pajama pants, boots, and a sweatshirt, but walking alone in the near-freezing temperature was a better option than staying at home right now. The argument with your parents had escalated into something you couldn’t handle. So here you were, at midnight, walking down the empty streets of your neighborhood, still able to hear your father’s shouting inside the house. You pulled up your hood shoved your hands into the pocket of your sweatshirt, shoulders hunching forward in the cold.

You turned and exited your neighborhood, walking along the side of the main road for a while. You pushed away the thoughts in your head, the ones telling you that this would be the perfect opportunity for someone to kidnap you. It was dark, there were no streetlights around, and despite living here for years, you didn’t really know where you were. You’d turned down several roads, just walking wherever you felt drawn to, trying to cool off from the argument. And god damn, had you cooled off. Your fingers and toes were so cold you could hardly feel them, and the hood was doing little to keep your ears warm.

You stopped after twenty or so minutes, coming to the entrance of a park. You’d never been here before- never even seen it-- but you decided to go in anyway, just in case there was an ominous, cream-colored Volkswagen following you. Not that you really thought there was, you’ve just watched a lot of crime documentaries, okay?

You followed the sidewalk through a covered picnic area and a couple of small grills, past the bathrooms (No thank you. Park bathrooms were creepy enough during daylight.), and to the playground area. As you approached the swings, you looked to the side. A single, dim, lamp post illuminated a nearby bench in an orange glow. There was a person sitting on the bench, leaned back and staring up at the sky. Their presence frightened you, and you let out a small yelp.

The person startled, snapping their head forward with a sharp “What the fuck?”

You stood, a hand pressed to your chest while your heart hammered rapidly inside it, and tried to catch your breath.

“S-Sorry,” you managed, beginning to calm down. “I didn’t think anyone else would be here. It’s like, midnight.”

“Yeah, I know.” it was a boy, you could tell, and he didn’t sound too happy that you were here.

You stood there for another moment, unsure of what to say. You settled on nothing, and finished making your way to the swings, sitting down on one and kicking at the woodchips beneath you. This was really awkward. The boy was only several yards away. You both kept your eyes fixed on the ground for a few minutes, not speaking.

After a little while you heard the boy dig around in his pocket, then the crinkle of plastic, then the scraping of a lighter.

“Fucking come on,” the boy muttered. You could tell from the sound of his voice that he had something between his lips. A cigarette, you figured.

The lighter scraped once, twice more before you heard an inhale.

A few seconds passed.

That did not smell like a cigarette.

“Is that weed?” you asked, looking over at him.

“What are you, a cop?” he asked irritably, pulling the blunt away from his mouth and breathing out.

“No,” you shook your head, hesitating. “I was just… wondering if you were going to share.”

You couldn’t quite see his face, but you could tell he had probably fixed you with an incredulous look.

“Fine.” he sighed, standing up. He picked up something from beside him and shoved it in his pocket with a slight rattle.

The rusty chains squeaked beneath his weight (which really couldn’t have been much) as he sat down, taking another short hit before passing it over to you.

You inhaled, the acrid taste lingering in the back of your mouth as it usually did. You held the smoke in for a few seconds before pursing your lips and blowing it out in a thin stream. You held the blunt back towards him, but he didn’t take it from you. You turned to find him staring straight ahead, seemingly lost in thought. You raised your hand higher, into his line of sight, to catch his attention. He blinked a couple times, looked over at you, then to your hand, before finally taking it back.

After several minutes you were left with little more than a roach, which he tucked back into his pocket, causing the rattle to sound again.

“What is that?” you asked, feeling like you were talking louder than you meant to. Whether it was because of the still night, quiet aside from crickets and the occasional hooting of an owl, or because you were stoned and you always kind of yelled when you were stoned (or so your friends told you), you didn’t know.

“What was what?” he asked, slowly looking up to fix his eyes on yours.

“That noise.”

“Bugs.” he said, then paused, his face screwed up in thought. “Night grasshoppers. The uh, the brown ones.”

You stared at him a moment, trying to figure out what he was talking about.

“No,” you shook your head. “Not the crickets-”

“Yeah, those things.” he interrupted, snapping his fingers as though he’d just solved something.

“That rattling sound. Like tic-tacs or something.”

His face fell then, eyebrows furrowing, and looked down.

“You’re wearing pajamas.” he said instead of answering.

“Yeah.” you nodded, also looking down to look at the Scooby-Doo clad fleece you wore on your legs.

“I like them.”

“Thanks.”

“Are you cold?”

“No.” you lied. You didn’t know why exactly you lied, but you felt like he was keeping something from you, so you decided to keep something from him. Your reasoning was a bit fuzzy at the moment.

“What’s your name?” you asked, realizing you had no idea who you had just smoked up with.

“Connor.” he answered. “You?”

“Y/n.”

“Are you an angel?” he asked suddenly, lifting his head to look at you.

You couldn’t help but laugh. Was this some sort of pick-up line?

“What?” you asked, a goofy laugh bubbling out of your mouth.

“Are you?” he sounded serious.

You shook your head, eyes scrunched partially from smiling, partially from confusion.

“Are you sure?” he asked, voice sounding strange, almost accusatory.

“I’m positive.” you assured him.

“What are you doing here?” he still didn’t sound like he believed you.

The smile faded from your face and you looked down, watching your toes as they scraped at the mulch.

“Got in a fight with my parents. Didn’t want to stay and listen to my dad yell at me so I just left.”

“What was the fight about?”

“Doesn’t matter.” you sighed, bringing your hands up to grip the cold chains beside you, and kicked off a little, swinging ever-so-slightly. “Why are you here?” you asked, directing the attention away from yourself.

“Was gonna kill myself.” he said, eyes still fixed on you like he was trying to figure you out.

“What?” you looked over at him, unsure whether or not you heard him right.

He reached in his pocket and pulled out an orange prescription bottle and shook it. The pills inside rattled just as they had earlier.

You looked back and forth between Connor and the bottle, your brain trying to figure out what to make of this.

“So you were going to…” you pointed at the pills, “but then I…?”

He nodded, stuffing the bottle back in his jacket.

“Figured you must’ve been my guardian angel or some shit.” a slight, crooked grin stretched across his face. “I’m still not completely convinced you aren’t.”

Heat spread across your cheeks, a contrast to the cold air against them.

“I don’t really know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything.”

So you didn’t.

You sat beside Connor on the swingset, staring up at the stars for what could have been minutes or hours until he spoke up again.

“Do you want to hang out some time?” he sounded vulnerable, scared for the first time that night.

“When?” you asked stupidly, brain still too clouded to be able to respond in an entirely normal manner.

“I dunno.” Connor shrugged. “Whenever you’re free? I’d like to at least buy you a coffee as a thank you.”

“I would like that.” you smiled, feeling so painfully like a teenager in some cliche movie. “But you don’t have to thank me. I didn’t actually do anything.”

“But if you hadn’t have shown up when you did I’d have--”

“Did you drive here?” you cut him off, not wanting to think about what would’ve happened.

“Uh, yeah?”

“I think there’s a Denny’s somewhere around here. You mind if I take you up on that offer now? If you’re sober enough, that is.”

He smiled at you then, standing and offering you his hand to pull you up.

“Your hands are freezing.” he commented, sounding almost surprised, even though it was forty degrees out.

“Yours are too.” you said almost defensively. It was true, but his hand still felt slightly warmer in yours. It was nice. You didn’t want to let go. Lucky for you, he didn’t pull away after you stood.

He led you by the hand to the parking lot and opened the passenger side door of an old blue Outback. You climbed in and he shut your door, rounding the car to get in and instantly turning up the heat as soon as it was cranked.

He waited for the engine to warm up, not saying anything. Soft music was playing from the speakers. You reached forward and turned the volume up, the car filling with sweetly crooned words.

Strangers in the night

Exchanging glances

Wondering in the night

What were the chances

We'd be sharing love

Before the night was through?

Something in your eyes

Was so inviting--

You laughed a little, your face feeling warm, and looked over at Connor. He smiled sheepishly as well, staring at the radio as he tucked a long brown curl behind his ear.

“Talk about coincidence, huh?” he looked a little embarrassed as he put the car in drive.

“I think I’d call it fate.” you smiled warmly, reaching your hand over the center console, palm up, offering it to him. He took it, squeezing lightly and smiling as he made his was down the road.

You could almost laugh at the absurdity of it all. What were the chances that your stupid argument with your parents would’ve led you here? You thought about how crazy it was that you left your house at that exact moment, that you turned down those specific roads, that you decided to go into the park. It was meant to happen, it had to have been. Maybe there was someone watching out for Connor, and for you too. There had to be a reason you ended up where you did, it had to be more than just happenstance. Things like that don’t just happen. Whatever it was that brought you together, though, you were glad for it. You could tell that the long, slender fingers you held between your own belonged right where they were in that moment, and you hoped the blooming feeling in your chest was predicting something wonderful.

#Connor Murphy x Reader #connor murphy imagine #connor murphy #dear evan hansen imagine #deh imagine #dear evan hansen #tw

[the-easy-lay]

Fireflies

Pairing: Maylor (could be interpreted as entirely platonic... up to you)

Word Count: around 2k

Summary: Fireflies... or my attempt at magical realism at 2 am.

Thank you @righteous-room-people​ for being the loveliest beta reader 🌹Please enjoy and feel free to let me know what you think ^^

-

The day Brian first met Roger, there was a mass blackout in the city. Without a single candle in his flat to light the paper he was supposed to read, he decided to go for a walk instead. He figured it was a rare opportunity for some stargazing with all the light pollution gone, and so he headed for the nearby park, the clearing of which provided a wide, unobstructed view of the night sky.

There seemed to be no one at the park but him, it was so quiet at this midnight hour and he could hear the rustling of leaves and droning of the cicadas. He never noticed that they, too, were citizens of this city. There was only the dim light of the moon to illuminate his path, and the shadows frightened him, kept him straining his ears for any sound that would indicate any presence other than his.

When he got to the central lake, he did catch sight of another person. It was a young man sitting statically on a bench overlooking the lake, who was pretty hard to miss because he was literally glowing. Several fireflies surrounded him, emanating a glow that lit up the beautiful lines on his face, his soft blond hair, his pale complexion. He looked up as Brian approached, and sighed, his breath turning into smoke from the cold. His blue eyes were unbearably sad.

“Are you alright?” Brian said rather breathlessly. Because breathtaking this person was. Brian had never seen someone so beautiful.

-

Roger was not much keen on talking. He replied to Brian’s questions very curtly, and even ignored some of them, like when Brian asked him where he lived or how old he was or why he went to the park every night to sit morosely by the lake. Brian only knew his name was Roger, that he was a biology student, and that his hometown was Cornwall. Mostly they sat in a comfortable silence side by side on the bench, Roger gazing at the lake, Brian gazing at the stars (and more and more frequently now, at Roger, who didn’t seem to notice at all).

-

The day they first met, though, the silence killed Brian. He couldn’t stand Roger’s refusing to even make eye contact with him. He was frustrated, but found himself unable to leave, because Roger really looked like he needed help. He looked so sad and frail. A lot of bad things could happen to him.

Two solid hours went by. The street lamps came on again. It was getting terribly cold, and Brian had to sleep before getting up for his lecture at seven in the morning. He looked at Roger in despair. “Please, let me know who you are. I’ll take you home. I just want to make sure you’re alright.”

And finally, a reply. “I’m here every day from nine at night. Go home now. Come back tomorrow if you like.” Then he seemed to disappear within the blink of an eye, and it was just Brian alone in the park, underneath the star-streaked sky, but he was in no mood for stars anymore.

-

There were a lot of things Brian should have noticed sooner. Like how the park was always completely deserted after nine. How Roger always left at midnight in a flurry of coat and scarf and was gone from sight in a matter of seconds. How Roger was unaffected by the weather, or anything else, it seemed. And the fireflies. The fireflies always surrounded him. He looked like an angel in the soft yellow glow.

-

Brian was surprised when Roger asked him a question, for the first time. “What’s bothering you?” he’d said.

Brian really had an epic shit day, in which the bus broke down and he was late and it was miserably cold outside and he had a mild headache and the latest pages of his thesis were god knows where, and he found himself leaving the house at precisely ten to nine to come to the goddamn park to sit with a stranger for three hours in the goddamn March wind. He licked his lips. “I’m fine, really. Nothing to talk about.”

“You’re lying.” Roger said sharply. “Why do you even have to lie to me? Why does it matter?”

Brian was still thinking of something to say, when, like a floodgate unleashed, he completely broke down. One minute he was determined to keep a straight face and not say a word, and then suddenly he found himself babbling about how terrible the other doctoral candidates in his department treated him because they were jealous he had landed the biggest research grant for a field trip to Tenerife the following year to gather data. And then the terrible bus ride, and the boring lecture hours, and the lost pages, on and on.

When he was finished, he felt exhausted, and still as frustrated, as if telling this stranger all his troubles could make a difference. He swallowed thickly, “I’m sorry. Frankly, I don’t think I should even be here tonight.”

Before he could gather his coat and stand up to leave, just when the thought of leaving entered his mind, in fact, Roger put his hand on top of his. He felt a warmth surge through his skin that went deep into his bones, and it was the oddest sensation ever. The weight he felt in his chest, the pain that had been throbbing in his head, the sting in his eyes due to his best efforts to hold back angry tears - all gone. Instead he felt a sense of relief, of lightness, and for the first time that day he noticed how clear the sky was, so that he could even see some constellations he had never seen in London before; how fresh the air smelled, despite the biting cold; how warm Roger’s hand was; how he felt more connection with this person more than he had ever had with anyone else. Roger didn’t withdraw his hand. He laced his fingers with Brian’s, and their hands fit together so snugly it reminded Brian of some idiom that had to do with a glove (for the life of him he suddenly could not recall what it was, but it was not the first time the English language had failed him).

“It always helps to talk to someone,” Roger said. “And you’re wrong. I’d be so lonely without you. Come back tomorrow.”

It wasn’t yet midnight, but Roger was gone. Brian was decidedly feeling so much better, so he went home and curled up in bed, sleeping like a baby. When he woke up the next morning, he couldn’t remember what he had dreamed about, but in his mind was the faint, warm glow of fireflies.

-

“Now tell me, what’s bothering you?” Brian tried for what must be the third time. Earlier that night he had confided in Roger about the long ongoing feud between him as his dad, and Roger’s touch magically made him feel better about it. They were more comfortable with each other now, as the way things naturally grew, and right now Roger had his arms wrapped tightly around Brian’s arm, his head resting on Brian’s shoulder. Brian was internally melting in this lovely warmth, this lovely light.

Roger. Oh Roger. What would I do without you?

Roger’s closed his eyes and, as usual, ignored the question. Their knees were touching. A firefly had landed on Brian’s lap. “Look,” he started. “There must be something I can do for you. I really do want to help. I don’t know if you know just how much you have helped me. Please. Talk to me, Roger, please. Please.”

Heavy eyelids fluttered open. They were so close together Brian could feel Roger’s hot breath on his neck, and yet, at the same time, Roger was so far away. He was like one of those distant stars in the sky. Brian didn’t know how to reach him.

“I’m fine, really,” Roger finally said. “I can’t be bothered. Nothing scares me anymore.”

Brian wanted to ask why, but he knew it would be fruitless, so he abandoned his follow-up questions and soaked himself in the comfort Roger gave him.

-

“I love you,” Brian said one day. It was just like shouting into a void. The words bounced off of Roger and were soon dispersed by the wind. There was no indication that Roger had even heard him say it.

-

Brian was reading the daily papers when he saw a small title that said, “BIOLOGY STUDENT’S BODY FOUND IN THE THAMES”. The short column of text followed said that the body had been identified as Roger Taylor, aged 21, a student enrolled at the East London Polytechnic. He was first reported missing three months ago, and during the time since, there had been speculations that some kind of accident must have happened to him, because it was on his way home from university that he was last seen. The remarkable thing was that the dead body was in absolutely normal condition. He was no different from someone who just came out of the shower, only his heart had stopped beating. To their disbelief, the doctors had had to admit that the young man was really dead after examining his body countless times. The strange thing about this case was that the body had disappeared from the hospital morgue overnight, while it was stored in a locked room, and there was absolutely no sign of a break-in.

It somehow all made sense.

Brian set down his paper and looked at the clock. Ten more minutes until their usual time. He ran as fast as he could to the park and arrived at nine sharp, according to his wristwatch. Panic filled his chest. The park was dark and rather quiet, but there were people there. So many people. Lovers, junkies, drunkards, the homeless. They were everywhere, in the dark shades, in the corners, on the benches, under the trees. There was a lesbian couple sitting by the lake, passionately making out and moaning, and there was no sign of Roger anywhere, and why were there people in the park, people other than Roger and him?

Brian waited until the couple were done in the park and seemed to be retreating to their bedroom for a wild night. He reclaimed his spot on the lakeside bench and patiently waited. After midnight he was getting very drowsy, but he was determined to wait. And then, at last, around half past two in the morning, the last of the junkies got up and staggered into the main street, leaving Brian alone.

Brian wasn’t alone for long; seconds later, Roger materialized right next to him, but without all the fireflies.

He didn’t waste any more precious time and got straight to the point. “I read about you in the papers. I need to know what happened. Please.” He didn’t care that he was always pleading. “Please.”

This time Roger heard him and answered him right away. It seemed that both of them were aware of the little time they had left. “So here’s my story. It’s going to sound very absurd, but bear with me, okay?” Brian nodded solemnly, tightly clutching Roger’s hand in his.

“I hated this big city. There were so many people and it made me feel so insignificant. Nothing turned out as I had thought when I packed up my things and left my childhood home. So I usually went to the bridge to look at the water. It reminded me of home. I just felt so out of place and lonely here. I didn’t really have friends. I was seeing this girl, I think she liked me a lot, but I didn’t like her, and I broke her heart, and I felt really guilty about that. I don’t know. I don’t think it was that bad, now that I look back on it. I just really needed someone, I guess. Which corner of London were you in? Why didn’t I find you sooner?” he laughed softly, but soon abandoned his attempt at humour and continued, his voice quiet and careful, like he was skating on thin ice. “So one day in September, I was there at my usual spot on the bridge, when I just fell. The Thames is where I ended up. Strangely enough, I didn’t feel any different being dead. I think I’d been drowning all along. I was still lonely. Then the fireflies came, flying just above the water, so I could see their light every night. I went up to the surface, just my soul, mind you, and they led me here, to this park. It’s a nice, green park, so I came here often to watch other people and sit among the trees, and I discovered that at nine, I can take a physical form, and the park mysteriously clears up until midnight, so I sit by the lake all by myself. That’s what happened until you came. Then you know what happened next, don’t you?”

“Yes, but… what about now?” Brian said shakily. He felt like Roger could vanish into thin air any moment now, and it scared him so much he didn’t dare to look at his wristwatch, or let his eyes drift from Roger’s ethereal face for just a second. His angel in disguise.

“Some idiot caught my body in a fishing batch. I reclaimed it last night. Now I think I must go. I shouldn’t even have been here this long. But I’m so, so glad I stayed behind for a while, because I met you, and… Brian, you have no idea how happy I am to listen to you, and to comfort you. I’d stay here with you forever if I could.”

Roger stood up. Before he could turn to leave, Brian had pulled him into crushing hug. “I’m sorry you drowned, Roger. I love you I love you I love you,” Brian whispered into his scarf.

“Here’s the thing. It’s okay to be scared. Remember that. It’s absolutely okay. It’s also okay to be sad. Just don’t be alone.” Roger looked straight into Brian’s eyes as he spoke. “And… I love you, too.”

He disappeared in one final glow. The park was dark for three seconds before the fireflies appeared from out of nowhere.

They lit up the way home. They followed Brian everywhere.

-

#gonna tag this as #maylor #but pls DON'T show it to them #and #fanfic #now i have a bad feeling about my grammar here #but gonna post anyway

[welllpthisishappening]

Netting the Rebound

She probably should have answered her phone. 

It was...somewhere. Her pocket. It was definitely in her pocket. But Emma was annoyed and she couldn’t deal with another fan incident and she just wanted to sit in whatever vaguely uncomfortable chair in whatever section of the Garden she was in. 

So, naturally, she got interrupted – and she wasn’t exactly mad about that. 

Word Count: 4.6K AN: Hello, hi, hey there @distant-rose!!! I am not your secret anything, but you have been very busy and I am in constant awe of just how absolutely fantastic you are, so here are some words and some flirting on the ice and some making out on the ice and cute kids wearing hockey jerseys. All of your law exams should be scared (terrified) of you because you are going to wreck them. I look forward to living in a world that you’re running. 

“You are lurking.”

Emma widened her eyes, slumped in one of the chairs in section…something. She had no idea what section it was. Three seasons in and she still couldn’t name the sections of the Garden without looking at a map. She was ninety-two percent certain it was the hundreds though.

She was only a few rows away from the ice.

Killian didn’t move, leaning against the front of the bench without a helmet on and no pads and she was kind of lurking.

The game had ended more than an hour before  – an OT loss that tied up the series with a Game Seven on the road looming two days from now and maybe she wasn’t just lurking.

She might have been wallowing instead.

And she hadn’t even played. Or been on the ice when Jeff gave up the goal. An easy goal. Or an easy save. Whatever. The semantics of it weren’t important.

They lost.

“I’m not lurking,” she argued. “I’m loitering, at worst. Maybe. Depending on which definition you want to use.” “I think definitions are fairly set in stone. Isn’t that the definition of that?” “Oh my God.” He flashed her a smile, which didn’t make much sense at all because they’d lost and they shouldn’t have and everything felt kind of like the end of the world. It wasn’t, of course, but that was neither here nor there and the chair Emma had claimed as her own was incredibly uncomfortable.

She would have been disappointed if she’d paid for it.

And Killian was still smiling, far too knowing to be anything except the blatantly obvious flirting it usually was after a win. They should have won.

He was wearing skates still.

Or he’d put skates back on.

The second one made her made her breath catch a bit.

“Stop overthinking it, Swan,” Killian continued and Emma scowled, frustration morphing into something that might have been closer to charmed because she was totally overthinking it and he totally knew. 

“That’s stupid,” she said, his smile getting bigger and he hadn’t cut his hair since the playoffs started. She wished she weren’t sitting in whatever section she was sitting in so she could run her hands through it. “It’s stupid that you’re doing that.”

“Standing here?”

“Yes.”

Killian barked out a laugh, hair inching closer to his eyes when he ducked his head and that was stupid too. “Ah, I thought there’d be more bantering involved there, love. I didn’t think we’d delve right into agreements like that. Must be some kind of record.”

“Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Way too late.”

Emma huffed, but the frustration was mostly gone entirely now and she couldn’t really think when he smiled at her like that – something cliché about it being more important than the game or the score or how obviously pissed off he was when the final buzzer sounded because Jeff should have been able to make that save in his sleep.

God she hated the playoffs.

And that was a total lie.

There was, after all, that other old cliché about there’s nothing like playoff hockey and, really, there wasn’t. It was loud and chaotic and the hits hit a little bit harder, but that did something stupid to Emma’s blood pressure too because, for the first time, she twisted the ring on her left finger instead of the one around her neck and the laces around her wrist were probably surprised to not be invited to whatever metaphorical party her clearly crazy mind had come up with.

Mrs. Vankald said Mattie cried for most of overtime. Emma figured that was a sign. Or that he was six months old and probably kind of tired, but she was also kind of tired and the fans had nearly rioted when they lost.

“Overthinking it,” Killian repeated, drawing out the word until it sounded like several post-game quotes.

“Why are you being so calm about this?”

“Would you like me to be angrier about it?”

“Honestly? Yes,” Emma admitted, rolling her eyes at her own myriad of emotions and Killian’s eyebrows jumped up high enough that she could barely see them through his hair. “It’s just…” she sighed, running a hand over her face and she was exhausted. Bone-tired exhausted to her very core and then, like, something even deeper and more meaningful and playoff hockey with a six-month old was some kind of challenge she wasn’t sure she was going to be able to meet.

Killian's smile shifted – a distinctly different look than the teasing one from a few moments before and Emma felt some of the fight fall out of her. “Just because we don’t win now does not mean it’s some kind of sweeping commentary on everything else, love,” he said lightly and really the mind-reading thing was starting to get ridiculous.

“Yeah, but I’ve gotten very used to winning.”

“That’s not a bad thing.”

“It’s a set-yourself-up for disappointment kind of thing.”

“Swan,” Killian muttered, swinging his legs over the boards and there was far too much glass in between them.

Emma made some kind of noise in the back of her throat – a mix between a growl and a groan and the single most exhausted sound in the history of the entire NHL and several different universes. “Also stupid,” she scowled and it was because Killian kept smiling at her and that was making it difficult to stay in the realm of wallowing. “Seriously, why aren’t you more pissed off about this? You’re…”

She waved her hands through the air, earning an arched eyebrow and an incredibly potent smirk for her troubles and she was almost ready for both of them. She sat up straight anyway, certain if her feet were touching the floor she’d be able to ground herself or something equally ridiculous and she really needed to talk to Zelena to find out if she was supposed to be planning for Game Seven in New Jersey.

Emma had been half planning for Game Seven in New Jersey since puck drop of overtime.

“You going to finish that sentence, love or what’s going on there?” Killian asked, rapping his knuckles against the glass. “I’m what, exactly?” “You.” “Me?” “Exactly.” “None of those words make sense in that order.”

She was going to give herself a headache from rolling her eyes so often, but it was such an easy save and if Emma had to go to New Jersey then they were going to have to ask Mrs. V to watch again and--

“Swan,” Killian said again, the rap on the glass was less a knock and more a rather jarring bang. Emma glared at him. “I’m almost surprised there isn’t smoke coming out of your ears, yet.” “That’s because you’re being frustrating. You’re really not mad about the goal? I could have been on the ice and I would have saved that goal.” His eyebrows, somehow, got even higher up his forehead, the smile widening into something that was, decidedly, Emma’s and she had to bite her lip to stop herself from making some other absurd noise. “In Jeff’s defense, Sean blocked that shot in the third and couldn’t quite skate during OT,” Killian reasoned. “And he knew it was a shitty goal. Did you not see him snap his stick?” “Of course I did. I watched the game.” “I’m not suggesting otherwise.” “You think he’s going to get some kind of awful headline on the The Post backpage tomorrow?”

“Unquestionably. I think Lucas was shouting at several different people and threatening several different credentials in an attempt to stop that from happening.” “Did it work?” Emma asked, smiling in spite of herself and they needed to get out of that arena. They needed to find their kid. She really wanted to see their kid.

“Absolutely not,” Killian laughed. “I think there were several heated exchanges, a few mentions of coverage, like Lucas cares or worries about that, and then she might have stomped her feet a few times while Scarlet tried to get pictures of it for his thriving social media empire.” Emma’s smile felt like it was going to split her face – which, honestly, was a slightly disgusting thought, but she was fairly certain she’d felt several dozen human emotions in the last ten minutes and Killian had found her sitting in an empty section of Madison Square Garden.

“How’d you know I was here?” Emma asked. “Also you’re still not answering my questions.” “There have been so many of them. I thought I already did post.” She deflated slightly, shoulders sagging and hair falling in her face and maybe if the season ended earlier than expected they could both get a haircut. “C’mon. That’s--” “--Stupid?” “Yeah and kind of charming which is also kind of stupid.” “I’m on a roll,” Killian grinned and Kristoff must have been wallowing the unexpected loss too because there were still a few sticks and three right-handed gloves sitting in the corner of the bench. “And of course I’m pissed, Swan. We should have clinched tonight and then you wouldn’t have to worry about the riot I’m sure happened in Chase Square or how much you feel like you’ll have to offer Mr. and Mrs. V to watch Mattie in two days and Kristoff wouldn’t still be yelling at Jeff about destroying equipment.” “Kristoff yelled at Jeff about destroying equipment?” Killian nodded seriously – or as seriously as he could in head-to-toe merch with still-damp hair and a smirk that would probably continue to affect Emma’s pulse for the rest of her life. “Scarlet recorded that and sent it to Banana too.” “Busy post-game for Scarlet.”

“You too I’d imagine since you weren’t there.” “Riot was a pretty good word for it,” Emma muttered. “And all of your reasons were about me.” Killian hummed, like it was the most obvious thing in the world and it kind of was because they were a team, in some kind of metaphorical sense, and he knew that she’d be lurking and stewing and wallowing in the seats.

“I wanted to win too, Swan,” he said, a flash of something in his gaze and Emma’s fingers brushed over her ring before she considered exactly what she was doing. “Super competitive weirdo that I am.” “That’s totally what I was talking about before.” “Yeah, I kind of imagined that too.” “Maybe we can get Mr. and Mrs. V some sort of edible arrangement or something,” Emma suggested. “I had to leave the suite early to deal with that stuff outside and Mer was freaking out and it was a whole thing.” “You really don’t have to buy them pre-packaged fruit, Swan.” “Yeah, but--” “There’s no buts, love,” Killian interrupted and she’d never hated a pane of glass or plastic or whatever it was more in her entire life. “Super grandparents to the rescue every single time. Banana told Scarlet Mrs. V had run out of storage on her phone because she was taking so many pictures of Mattie.”

Emma’s stomach swooped and jumped and twisted into several different naval-grade notes and the arena hadn’t really been warm – it was covered in ice, after all – but she felt warmer and more content than she had since the start of regulation.

It was still a shitty goal to give up though.

“Maybe we should just get her a different phone then,” Emma said. “What kind of phone does she have that’s running out of storage? That can’t be right. God, I bet Anna was scandalized.”

“There were a lot of capital letters and exclamation points in the several consecutive texts she sent to Scarlet. And Locksley.” “And Locksley?” “Scarlet was taking too long to respond.” “Ah, of course.”

“Covering all her bases,” Killian said. “And I have no idea what kind of phone Mrs. V has, but it’s ridiculously nice that you even considered it. Also, come down here.” Emma was halfway through her shrug, ready to brush off the compliment, but the words seemed to slam into the back of her brain and she was going to shave Killian’s eyebrows off in the middle of the night if only so he couldn’t do that thing again.

“What?” “Come down here,” he repeated, pausing between every word. “Look at all this open ice.” “What?” Killian threw his head back when he laughed, nearly losing his balance and Emma mumbled something that might have been better coordinated on the ice under her breath. That just got him to laugh louder.

“I’ve never argued that fact, Swan,” he said. “I’m serious though. We’re still within reasonable post-game. Come down here. We’ll take shots.” “If I say what again are you going to laugh louder?” “Yes.” “Oh, I thought there’d be more banter,” Emma muttered, throwing his own joke back at him and it just ended with more laughter and more smiles and another eyebrow twitch that probably should have been studied at some point.

It defied several laws of gravity – Emma was sure.

“We can banter while we shoot,” Killian reasoned. “Kristoff’s still yelling at Jeff and we probably won’t get run over by the zamboni.” “Probably is concerning.” “Are you telling me you don’t want to try and go five-hole on me right now?” “Do you think I’m just wandering around in constant state of wanting to shoot pucks at you?” Emma asked, but she was already standing up and trying to figure out how to get on the ice and they were exceptionally good at flirting. “That’s weird, right?”

“I hope not, no, but you’re also a super competitive weirdo, love.” “Rude.” “Obvious,” Killian corrected. “And there was a reason you were loitering or lurking and why I knew that you hadn’t left the arena because of both those things. So, c’mon, let’s live on the edge a little bit before my legs actually give out from exhaustion.”

It took a few minutes to get to the ice, weaving her way through reporters and slightly flustered team officials and one vaguely jarring moment when Emma nearly ran straight into Ariel, but she made it to the tunnel and jogged the final few feet, finding a still-smiling Killian standing on the ice again.

“I’m not wearing any skates,” Emma pointed out. “If I fall and concuss myself I’m going to be really mad at you.”

“Swan, it wounds me that you think I would let you fall or concuss yourself. And I don’t need Lucas or Mary Margaret to yell at me when I’m sleep deprived.” “Maybe that’s the plus of a Game Seven.” Killian hummed in confusion, holding a hand out and Emma’s feet skid across the top of the un-zamobni’ed ice. “The potential anger of both of Lucas and Mary Margaret?”

“Nah, nah, if I get to go to Jersey in two days then we could kick Locksley out of the room. Make him share with Ruby or something.” He didn’t understand immediately, eyes narrowed and a pinch in between his eyebrows that might have been the single most endearing thing Emma had see since Mattie noticed it was his dad standing at the blue line, but she could almost see the understanding wash across Killian’s face and she yelped when he wrapped an arm around her.

And then he kissed her – soundly and hard and several other words that, in any other circumstance, would be absolutely awful.

Emma wobbled a bit, gripping the front of his t-shirt to steady herself, but that was kind of pointless because he absolutely was not going to let her fall or get concussed and she really wanted to focus most of her energy on kissing Killian back.

One of them made some kind of sound, a groan or a sigh or something else decidedly romantic and Emma had to twist to get her arm up, carding her fingers through his hair until he was absolutely the one groaning.

She smiled against his mouth.

“That would be scandalous, Swan,” Killian mumbled, brushing his thumb over her cheek.

“Was that a no?” “An enthusiastic yes. Should we keep making out on the ice to prove it?” “I think that’s kind of pushing our luck,” she said and it was good that he’d changed out of his uniform before this whole thing because Emma wasn’t sure she could handle that. “I was after all promised some kind of shooting lesson.”

“You make it sound like this a ploy to get you to make out with me on the ice.”

“I’m going to be honest and say it would be disappointing if it weren’t.”

Killian grinned, catching her lips again and it was quick and heady and Emma was on an descriptive roll. He brought her with them when he skated back towards the bench, sneakers sliding and laughter echoing off the empty seats and the scoreboard hanging above their head.

“Are there even pucks down here?” Emma asked, but the words shook a bit when he nipped just behind her ear. “We’re going to get fined for this. Bump Jeff off the backpage for loitering.” “This is romantic, Swan. You’re ruining the mood.” “The only reason we are here is because we lost.” He nodded, cheek brushing against the top of her head and he had to let go of her to get a puck on his stick. “Romantic,” Killian repeated, flipping the puck up and catching it on the blade.

And, really, it wasn’t all that impressive.

It was normal and run-of-the-mill and all those descriptors Emma had been able to think about before when she wasn’t thinking about how goddamn attractive it was that her husband was exceptionally good at playing hockey.

As it was, she was far too focused on how goddamn attractive her husband was and he kept smirking at her because he totally knew it, bouncing the puck in the air while he waited for her return volley of expected banter.

“Alright there, Swan?” Killian asked and his smile was absurd when she actually groaned in response.

They had a kid.

They were married.

Tapping the puck on his stick blade – a stick that wasn’t even his – was not supposed to be that attractive.

“How do you do that?” she countered, the question falling out of her without her permission. Killian blinked. “The stick thing, I mean. Is that like some kind of right of passage for youth players or something?” “I have no idea what you’re asking me.”

He was still doing it – bouncing the stupid puck until that seemed to be echoing off the walls too, a metronome that matched up well with Emma’s heartbeat.

“That,” Emma said, waving her hand and he had to stop to catch her around the waist. His eyes got bluer, she was certain. “The bouncing thing. When did you learn how to do the bouncing thing? And why don’t you do more skills competitions?”

“I’ve been kind of busy with some other stuff, Swan. And I don’t think bouncing thing is the technical term, actually.” “You’re being difficult on purpose now.” “No, no, no, I’m flirting, Swan. There’s a difference.”

Emma shook her head, but she was charmed and Killian knew it. Every single person in that entire goddamn building knew it – even when he wasn’t showing off and doing that bouncing thing. “Fine,” she mumbled. “So forget shooting, then, show me the trick.”

He couldn’t do it again.

He kept trying, twisting his wrists and getting his stick under the puck, but every single time he tried to bounce it, the stupid thing crashed onto the ice and Killian cursed under his breath and Emma had been absolutely wrong before – this was the single most endearing thing she’d ever seen in her entire life.

“I think you’re cracking under the pressure, Cap,” Emma muttered, leaning back against the boards and she couldn’t really maintain casual when she was trying to stay upright, but at least she wasn’t cursing a forgotten hockey puck to several different hells. “How many underworlds are you even aware of? You’re making some of those up.” Killian didn’t look up, far too focused on catching the puck out of the air. “Greek, basic Christian, Aztec, Ancient China, Roman and Norse.” “Norse?” “It’s Mr. V’s favorite. That’s how you knew you were in trouble.”

Emma’s laugh seemed to bubble out of her, overtime losses and fan riots forgotten because she was so goddamn in love with her husband and this family that was hers and theirs and several other prepositions.

She was going to demand to go to New Jersey.

“Naturally,” she said. “And you’re definitely thinking about it too much. Am I making you nervous? Is that what it is?” “Not nervous,” Killian amended, glancing up at her and the puck landed flat on his stick blade. Emma might have gasped. Or cheered. “Determined.”

She was only fairly positive she was blushing, but she knew she was smiling and swooning, at least a little, tugging her lips back behind her teeth to make sure she didn’t do something stupid like actually start to giggle at the blue line.

“It’s all in the wrists,” Killian said. He moved both his hands, flicking them up and narrowing his eyes and it worked that time, puck landing flat and stick staying straight and Emma did her best to document every single shift in his body.

For posterity.

Or something.

And so she could do it better than Killian.

Because she was a super competitive weirdo.

He let the puck fall back onto the ice, offering the stick in unspoken challenge. “How long do I have to do the thing?” Emma asked. “Because you weren’t great at the start.” “You’re going to harp on that forever.” “That wasn’t a question.” “Neither was that.” Emma made a face – half a second away from sticking her tongue out – but they were going to get caught sooner rather than later and it was some kind of slightly romantic miracle that the lights hadn’t gone off on them yet. “Ok, so I’ve got to, like, get in under it, right?” she asked, groaning when Killian’s stupid eyebrow did something else decidedly stupid.

She’d clearly run out of descriptors.

“Fine, fine, stupid question,” Emma grumbled. She twisted her wrists, reasoning there was something about one fluid motion that, probably, made sense and, suddenly, the puck was in the air and it worked. But then Emma’s reactions took over and she wasn’t on skates and ice was, well, ice and she was having a difficult time keeping her balance and catching the puck and bouncing the puck and Killian’s arm was back around her waist.

They nearly fell over – a mess of limbs and grunts and groans and the goddamn hockey puck somehow managed to hit both of them in the leg – Killian’s jaw slamming into Emma’s shoulder as they stumbled back into the bench.

And she wasn’t really expecting the laughter.

From someone who wasn’t them.

Several someones.

“What the hell are you two doing?” Ruby shouted, mumbling an apology Roland and Henry’s direction and she couldn't move her hands the way she obviously wanted to. There was a baby in a Jones jersey in her arms. “Is this where you guys have been all of post?” “I went to post, Lucas,” Killian said. He still had his arm around Emma’s waist, tugging her flush against him and she couldn’t quite keep her laughter in, body shaking and feet sliding on ice and there was a whole platoon of them standing at the end of the tunnel.

Will had his phone out.

“That is true, Lucas,” he reasoned. “He glared at that one reporter from NJ.com, remember?” “You glared at a reporter from NJ.com?” Emma asked, appreciating whatever look landed on Killian’s face when she twisted to look at him. “I knew you were mad!” “We did lose, love.” “Jeff’s still apologizing to Kristoff for breaking very expensive equipment,” Robin said. “We thought you guys disappeared. Have you really been on the ice the whole time?” Killian shrugged, a dismissive move that was probably supposed to end the conversation, but they were a team made up of overly interfering and super competitive weirdos and Roland was already trying to get onto the ice.

“Hook, Hook, Hook,” he shouted, running past the outstretched arms of Robin and Will. He landed on his back almost immediately, smile still on his face and Mattie appeared to be half a second away from an out far too late meltdown. “What are you guys doing?” “Learning how to do the bouncing thing,” Killian answered, sending a snow shower over Roland’s legs when he stopped in front of him. That only drew more laughter out of him and another put-upon groan out of Robin. “Can I have my kid now, Lucas?” Killian asked. “Also how did you end up with him? Did Mr. and Mrs. V leave?” Ruby glared at him. “I am not letting you hold this kid while you are in skates. Mostly because you shouldn’t be in skates anymore, but that’s a can of worms I’m not interested in opening either.” “That’s not an answer to the question I asked.” “I’ll take him,” Emma said, inching forward and breathing a soft sigh of relief when she was back on the ground. “Seriously though, Rubes did we totally scandalize Mr. and Mrs. V by being late? Are we late?” “Not really,” Robin muttered, earning his own glare from Ruby and he held up both hands in surrender. “Your move, Lucas.” “You’re not really late,” she said. “Cap left post early, but they were standing out by the locker room and you guys weren’t there and Mer mentioned the near riot and that was a garbage goal so I figured you’d guys would be here doing something painfully adorable.” “So you stole Mattie from the Vankalds?” Killian asked, tugging Roland back to his feet. “Your face is going to get stuck like that, Lucas.” “I was right. You guys were doing something painfully adorable and I only added to it because I know both of you and know that you both wanted your equally adorable kid. But said adorable kid kind of draws a crowd and Locksley and Scarlet announced they were just going to walk with me to make sure nothing happened.” “In the tunnel?” “Their words, not mine.” “She’s making it sound way weirder than it is, Cap,” Will reasoned, but he was making a face at the baby in Emma’s arms and that kind of ruined his entire argument.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s totally not weird,” Killian grinned. “Banana finally stop texting you?” “No, I think she’s talking to El too though because not all of her messages are making sense and she’s come up with, like, sixteen different Post headline options.” “Anything good?”

“If I tell you no are you going to tell her?” “Yes.” “Then every single one is fantastic.” Killian scoffed, moving towards the bench and brushing his hand on the side of Mattie’s jersey. It did something impossible to Emma’s entire being – made sure it exploded or burst into light or sentiment and Robin was taking pictures that time.

“Whatever, judge me,” he muttered, as soon as he noticed the curious glances his direction. “Lucas is right, this is painfully adorable. I don’t care.”

“Hook,” Roland shouted. “Can we go get food now?” Emma bit her lip, emotions and that same sentiment and a few other descriptions she hadn’t come up with yet flooding her system and settling in the pit of her stomach and in between her ribs and Killian nodded quickly, lifting Roland over the boards.

“Yeah,” he said. “Let’s get out of here.”

#cs ff #cs fic #captain swan ff #captain swan #cs #blue line one shots #this happened because we were watching a game the other day #and some guy did the bouncing thing #and my brain was like does every NHL player know how to do that #and my brain answered I BET KILLIAN JONES DOES #so heres this

[d0gdaze]

6.

Also on AO3

Chapters: 1 . 2 . 3 . 4 . 5 . 6 . 7 . 8 . 9 . (ongoing)

Reddie / Stenbrough

Word Count: 3289

Summary: Eddie Kaspbrak is set up on a date with a friend of a friend, and this Tozier guy is a hot mess. || Stan has feelings. Bill is confused. Long and angsty and may or may not contain a roadtrip. AU - no IT. Characters are 17/18. Set in early nineties. More film based but contains elements from the miniseries and the book.

Content Warnings: strong language | underage drinking / drug use | smoking | mildly sexual implications (no smut) | internalised homophobia | era-typical homophobia | implied child abuse / neglect

-Chapter 6-

The next day, everyone awoke in their own beds (or in Richie's case, the back seat of his truck), all hungover in one way or another, either from alcohol or emotion, or both. Ben was decidedly worse off than the rest of them, having had to rush to the bathroom at three in the morning to puke.

Bill had never felt worse. Knowing that he had probably just ended his friendship with Stan, someone he had known and loved and trusted, and who had trusted him, since they were kids. Knowing that they would have to talk, and it would be so hard and he would be stuttering so bad, and he would probably cry. And if Stan cried, fuck, he wouldn't be able to handle that. So he had lied there all night, counting the seconds, hoping that hey, maybe the sun would explode, or maybe he would succumb to some illness he didn't know he had, or maybe the floor beneath him would open up and swallow him whole, all of these things sounding so much better than talking to his best friend the next day.

Straight boys don't make out with other boys.

He couldn't get that particular thought out of his head. It felt so constricting, so uncomfortable. He had no idea what to do about it.

Straight boys don't make out with other boys.

But he was straight. He was sure of it. It had been one of the only constants in his life, up until the night before.

But straight boys don't make out with other boys.

The sun came up all too fast. Soon he could hear his family downstairs, Georgie switching on the television to watch morning cartoons, his mother idly humming as she cooked, the smell of bacon and eggs slowly sifting up to his room. Stan would undoubtedly be knocking on his front door within the hour.

Stan had gotten up before sunrise to go for a walk, deciding that he needed the fresh air after a very restless night. He had grabbed his birdwatching handbook and binoculars before he left the house. Birdwatching was something he used to do a lot when he was younger, whenever he wasn't with his friends or filling his religious obligations you could usually find him sat on a park bench, binoculars fixed on a birdbath or a specific tree. He had had a lot less time for it lately, but he still indulged himself when the rare opportunity occurred. When he was younger he could have named every bird as soon as he saw it and spell it correctly back to front, but that information had since been replaced with more important things, and he was much slower to recognise anything. It didn't bother him too much, really. He still enjoyed himself very much.

But he wasn't thinking much about birds as he walked down the street.

He was thinking about Bill.

His feelings were so muddled about the night before. He couldn't really remember any specific details, and what he did recall were broken up in fragments that didn't make sense when he put them together. The feeling of Bill's arms around his shoulders in the living room. Of Bill's breath, hot on his skin.  Bill moaning softly as Stan dug his fingers into his waist. Bill's tongue in his mouth. He felt his face heating up.

It was everything he wanted, right? Yes, he liked Bill, he wanted to be with Bill, and that's what he got. He should be happy, right?

But it feels so wrong.

He had wanted to be with Bill, eventually, but not like that. Not so drunk they couldn't see straight. Not locked in someone else's bathroom covered in each other's drool, barely remembering any of it the next day.

He figured he should go talk to Bill about it, but what would he even say?

'Hey babe, had a super fun time eating your face last night but I think it was a mistake and I wish it never happened!'

He shook his head. It'll be fine! It was Bill, for god sakes, they trusted each other enough to talk about this.

Everything will be fine.

Bill dragged himself out of bed at 7.38am, figuring he would have to get up sooner or later, and he didn't really want his parents coming into his room to wake him.

He stumbled his way to the bathroom, rubbing sleep out of his eyes.

He nearly screamed when he saw his reflection.

The left side of his neck was littered with hickeys. Big, blueish-purple marks all the way from his collarbone to his jawline.

“Oh fuck,” he said, leaning in closer to the mirror to get a better look, “motherf-fucker.”

There was a knock at the door, and he jumped.

“You okay in there Billy? Heard you swearing.”

Georgie.

“Y-yeah, George, I'm fine,” he called out, “just d-dropped something.”

“Mkay!”

Bill went back to inspecting the lovebites Stan had gifted him.

Fuck.

He knew that if his parents saw they would not be happy. And he knew that if any of his friends saw, they wouldn't let him live it down.

FUCK.

He searched his brain for a resolution, something, anything.

It was far too hot out to hide it up with a scarf, so that was out.

Maybe he could cover it with something?

He opened the mirror cabinet, knowing his mother kept some of her makeup in here somewhere. He rummaged around the shelves until he found a small tube labelled 'foundation'.

Here goes nothing.

He squeezed a far too generous amount into his palm and awkwardly rubbed it onto the side of his neck, and after he worked at it for a minute he decided that it was good enough, nowhere near perfect (it was too dark for his skin tone and you could still see the bruises coming through if you looked close enough), but enough to get away with it as long as he didn't draw attention.

He replaced the tube back in the cabinet, and cleaned up what had dripped onto the sink.

Stan had cut his birdwatching endeavour short, only staying in the park for half an hour or so before the lack of actual birds started to frustrate him and he left. He decided to take the long way around to Bill's, figuring that it was a nice enough morning, and the extra time he would have to think couldn't do much harm.

He could hear birds chirping in the trees around him as he walked, which irritated him slightly because where were the little bastards when he was looking for them earlier, huh? But it was still a sound he found soothing, and it helped calm his nerves, if only a little.

Somehow the walk that should have taken twenty minutes seemed to only take three, and before he knew it he was standing on Bill's front porch.

He straightened himself up and knocked on the door. He heard excited footsteps approaching him and soon enough Georgie was standing in front of him, flashing a toothy grin.

“Hey Georgie, is Bill here?”

“He's upstairs, I'll take you to him!”

Before Stan could refuse, Georgie had taken him by the hand and was leading him up the stairs, bounding up them two steps at a time. Stan just followed and laughed.

They stopped in front of Bill's room, and Stan braced himself before opening the door.

A few minutes later they were sitting under the tree in Bill's backyard, they didn't stay in his room as they didn't want to risk his parents overhearing anything or walking in while they talked.

“L-l-look, S-stan, I th-th-th- ab-b-b-bout l-l-” Bill was getting frustrated, it showed on his face, and he dig his fingernails into his palms. Stan just listened patiently, nodding gently, letting him know to continue.

“L-l-last n-nuh-night, it wh-was,” he could feel tears forming behind his eyes, a dry lump in the back of his throat.

Just talk, talk like a normal person for once, fucking hell.

“It w-w-was, was a m-m-m-muh, fuck,” his tongue just refused to do what he wanted, he could feel his hands trembling, his eyes blinking rapidly to stop himself from crying.

“It was a mistake,” Stan finished his sentence for him, “yeah, I know.”

Bill stared at him, feeling confused and angry and relieved all at once. He broke down, collapsing into Stan's chest, and just sobbed until the tight pain in his chest disappeared. Stan held him the whole time, not saying anything, not crying, not being able to pinpoint any particular emotion. He felt blank. There was no other way to describe it. He felt as if all of his feelings, good or bad, had just left his body, leaving an empty shell. Maybe they would return, maybe they wouldn't. He didn't know. Maybe they had left him and fallen into Bill somehow.

So he held his friend on his lap, unable to cry, or speak, or feel anything.

Eventually Bill stopped crying, stood himself up, gave Stan a weak smile, and headed inside, making sure he avoided his parents and brother as he went to his room.

Neither one had said what they really wanted to say. In a weird way, they were both glad they didn't. As it was, they could just spend a few days apart, and then they would be able to continue as if nothing happened. Their friends wouldn't ever need to find out. They wouldn't fight. They could just shake it off and pretend it didn't mean anything.

They didn't need to make it worse by talking about it.

That afternoon, Richie had met up with Beverly in town, and they had sat on the curb outside of the ice-creamery (Bev got vanilla and Richie got strawberry), talking about everything and nothing at all. Eddie, Mike, and Ben were all invited but turned the offer down, Mike and Ben had gone to the  library together and Eddie was staying home to help Mrs. Kaspbrak clean up the house a little. So they were alone, and they both rather appreciated that fact.

“You and Eddie seem to be going pretty well,” Bev said, ever so casually, after finishing off the last bite of her cone.

“Yeah, well, I dunno about that.”

“Really? You looked pretty comfortable with each other a few nights ago.”

“That was before I told him I was leaving.”

Bev's smile faded from her face.

“Leaving?”

“Bev, you know I can't stay here. I love you guys but-” She was glaring at him now.

“But what, Richie?”

He shook his head. “I just... it's like I've spent my entire life in this cage, just wishing to be able to get up and go, and live the way I want to, and now I can, Bev. And I did, I left home in the middle of the night and just drove, and it's the best feeling in the world. And I need my life to be like that, Bev. Derry's just another cage. And maybe it's much better than my old one, the bars are wider apart and I've got other's to share it with. But it's still a cage.”

Beverly had to stop herself from slapping him in the face.

“This isn't fucking Dead Poet's Society, Richie! You can't just scream 'cease the day' and go live out of your fucking car!” The outburst was making a few people on the street turn their heads. Richie was in a mild state of shock. “I actually can't believe you right now, Tozier.”

“Bev-”

“What do you think is even out there for you, dude? It's like, we're all here, and we care about you, and we will help you, but you still don't think that's good enough?”

“Bev, please-”

“You don't think I'm good enough? Or Bill? Or Eddie, for god's sake?”

“Beverly.”

“Because I have known that kid for years and he has never, ever, opened himself up to someone the way he has with you. He was looking at you last night like you were the whole goddamn world. And if you fuck that up, I swear I'll-”

“BEV.”

“WHAT?”

Beverly fell silent, breathing heavily, eyes still angrily and somewhat desperately fixated on Richie.

Richie had plenty of things he wanted to say right then.

If I don't leave now, I'll never be happy.

If I don't leave now, you're all going to get sick of me.

If I don't leave now, I'll never want to go.

If I don't leave now, Eddie will realise how fucking messed up I am.

He said nothing.

“You know what, Richie? Fine. Go. If you don't want to stay then don't.”

She stood up and looked down at him, scowling.

“But don't call in seven years and ask to come back.”

And with that she stormed off, leaving Richie feeling wounded on the side of the road.

“What the f-fuck do you mean you're l-leaving?”

The seven of them were standing in Bill's front yard, all looking with differing expressions towards Richie, who was nonchalantly leaning against his truck, cigarette hanging out of his mouth, appearing much more relaxed than he actually was.

“I mean I'm leaving. Hitting the road. Saying sayonara. Adios. So long, fair well, auf Wiedersehen good night. Thanks for the accommodation Big Bill, hopefully I'll see you round the way sometime.”

Eddie couldn't understand what he was hearing. He felt helpless, unable to do anything. It was a bad dream, surely. Surely he wasn't really going, that it was all a joke. He would get in his truck and wave goodbye only to drive around the block and reappear yelling 'SIKE!' or something stupid, and they would roll their eyes and he would laugh and he would stay.

They still needed time.

They still needed to work things out.

He knew he didn't love Richie yet, but if he left he would never get to find out if he would.

Eddie felt panic set in, his breathing becoming shallower, his body completely frozen. He couldn't move. He couldn't speak. All he could do was watch as Richie started to walk towards Bill, saying what might be his last goodbye.

Richie walked around to each of them individually, exchanging parting words and hugs.

“Bill, say goodbye to ol' Georgie for me. I wish I coulda seen him again.” “Stan the man! You bloomin' legend! Stay gorgeous, babe.”

“T'was a pleasure Hanscom, just wish it hadn't been so short-lived.”

“Mikey, my boy, keep keeping 'em in line, champ.”

Beverly had been avoiding eye contact with him through the whole affair.

“Miss Marsh,” he said, sounding as genuine as he could, keeping his voice low so the others wouldn't overhear, “I would say sorry, but I know it wouldn't be enough.” Bev finally met his eye, and he could see the utter distraught in her face before she wrapped her arms around his neck.

“If you ever find that you've forgiven me, I pray you'll call.”

Beverly kissed him on the cheek before letting him go.

And then Richie turned to Eddie, who had watched him the whole time, trying not to blink, trying not to hyperventilate.

Richie stood close enough that he was all Eddie could see.

“Don't leave now. You said two weeks.” Eddie whimpered.

Richie pulled him into a tight hug, resting his chin on the top of his head.

“Perhaps in another lifetime, love.”

“Please stay.”

Richie pulled away, only slightly, and tilted Eddie's chin up with one finger.

Then, Richie whispered something into his ear. To everyone else, due to the angle, it looked like a kiss.

And with that, Richie Tozier got into the driver's seat of his dirty, maroon, pick-up truck, waved at them one last time, and drove away. The next ten seconds were the longest ten seconds Eddie had ever experienced. As the rest of them watched the truck's taillights get further and further away, he stared at the ground. Suddenly he saw his whole future split in two. One half where Richie drove away into the night, never to be seen again. He would go back to his house, his mother would scold him for being out at night without a jacket. He would go to sleep and wake up and Richie would be in some other town. And Eddie would see his friends every day until eventually they moved or drifted apart as friends often did. He would leave his mother's house in a few years and have a place of his own, and he may even fall in love with someone else, get married, live a good, content, happy little life. And there would be days when he thought about Richie and there would be days when he didn't. And there would be days when Richie was just a foggy memory, possibly a dream, a good dream, but with out any reason to believe it was real. And Richie would do much the same or maybe he would just drive until it killed him.

And then the was the other half.

The half that scared him nearly to death.

Every single atom in his body was telling him to stay where he was. Just stand there, just watch him drive away. Don't do anything stupid. Dear god, don't do anything stupid. He's gone. He's gone and you can't change that. Don't do anything stupid. What would your mother do? What would your friends do? What would you do? DON'T DO ANYTHING STUPID.

“The offer still stands, you know.”

Eddie's feet hit the pavement before he even knew what he was doing. He sprinted as fast as he could possibly go, chasing after the truck, chasing after Richie. He could hear his friend's calling out his name, telling him to stop, what the hell are you doing?

He just ran faster, faster than he had ever run before, smiling and laughing the whole time, so weightless and euphoric that he felt he might start flying.

Richie had turned the radio all the way up, trying to drown out his thoughts. He had used all of his strength trying not to cry in front of the others, so as soon as he was out of their line of sight he just bawled, ugly, fat tears pouring down his cheeks, his glasses fogging up so much that he had to pull over.

He didn't notice Eddie sprinting to his car. In fact he didn't notice Eddie until he had already climbed into the passenger side seat, red-faced and drenched in sweat, panting and wheezing, looking like he had just finished a marathon.

“Ed, what are you-” he didn't have time to finish sniffling his way through his sentence before Eddie kissed him, probably the grossest kiss ever between all the snot and sweat and the fact that Eddie could barely breath and Richie was still uncontrollably sobbing, but in the moment they swore it was the best kiss that either of them had ever had.

Eddie had to use his inhaler a few times after they pulled apart, and Richie went to work drying his own face with the sleeves of his jacket.

Soon they could see Beverly, Bill, Stan, Mike, and Ben approaching quickly through the rearview mirror.

“Drive,” Eddie said, turning to Richie with wide eyes and a slightly crazed look on his face. “Ed-” “God damn it just drive!”

Richie quickly started the car and speeded away, until they couldn't see them anymore.

“Where are we going, love?” he asked, glancing over at Eddie who was smiling wider than ever, looking insane but still so fucking beautiful.

“Wherever the road takes us.”

#writing #reddie #stenbrough #reddie fanfic #stenbrough fanfic

[uberff]

Chapter 13

Jaylen

I been looking ugly ass hell with this facial hair growing out, so it was time for me to shave. Just as I put on shaving cream, my phone started to ring. I could never have time to myself and chill.

“Sup?” I answered my phone, putting it on speaker before I sat it on the cabinet. I literally just shaved a week and a half ago. Shit grew faster than coochie hair.

“Jaylen can we talk?” I heard a feminine voice that didn’t sound like Robyn’s. I furrowed my eyebrows and tapped the screen to look at the caller I.D. The number wasn’t saved so I ain’t know who the fuck it was.

“Who dis?” I put my razor down, focusing on whoever I was on the phone with. Rob would beat my ass.

“Ty..” I heard her sigh as I sucked my teeth and scratched the back of my head. She stayed calling whenever my life was going good.

Robyn was my girl now. She would constantly take time away from her clients whenever she could, and make sure I was straight mentally. I was back painting as if I never stopped. Everything was perfect. I wasn’t falling for Ty’s shit this time. I need to stop answering my personal phone for random numbers.

“I got a girl now, so that fake crying shit that you be doing to get some dick ain’t bout to work this time. What you need?”

“I miss you, Jaylen. I’ve tried moving on, but I just can’t.”

At this point I was fed up. People was forever trying to pop in and out of ya life like they ain’t do shit wrong like you supposed to forgive them in a second. As soon as you do one wrong thing, it’s the end of the world.

She the main reason why the only homie I got is O. My nigga Rocky was like a brother to me. I met him when I started selling dope and shit. We ain’t get along at first cause both of us cocky as shit, but after almost dying one night, I saved his ass and we was tight ever since then.

Fast forward like two years later, I go to jail for some fucking drugs that wasn’t mine. Turns out, Rocky and some of his niggas got busted and my name came up. I was the only nigga that had to do time. Don’t even get me started on what else I found out about him. Whenever I see the nigga, Ima kill him.

Throughout all that shit, Ty held me down but she was forever nagging about my lifestyle. If ya nigga sell dope, you gotta understand that it’s not as fucking easy as 123 to get outta that shit. It takes time and that’s what she failed to realize.

When I went to jail, she was pissed off when I told her the reason why I was in there and after that, I ain’t hear from her. No response from letters, calls or nothing. I figured that she was hurt, so I wasn’t really upset about it.

I got out early due to good behavior and I planned on kicking her ass to the curb, but I didn’t wanna throw the damn relationship away. I get to her place and this bitch fucking pregnant as hell, bout to pop.

Last time we fucked, it wasn’t raw so I knew she was fucking around on me.

I heard rumors that she was fucking Rocky but I knew she was better than that. I guess I thought wrong, cyause as soon as I seen her stomach, he came out the bathroom in a robe. If it wasn’t for O sitting outside in the car, I would’ve been back in jail because I was gone kill they asses.

Bitch had me sending love letters and shit while she was out here fucking my homie in our bed.

I cringed at the memory and tried my best to not think about the flashbacks. “You had ya chance bro. You went and got pregnant by one of my homies when I was suffering for some shit I ain’t do. You'on miss me, you miss my dick. That’s all our relationship was about to you.”

“Jay, that’s not true. I’ve apologized millions of times, why can’t you just forgive me?” I shook my head before hanging up and going straight to my call logs to block her number.

Just as I started to block her, I had an incoming call from Robyn.

“Wassup?”

“You called me earlier.”

“Oh, I was tryna see where you was.”

“Getting my models ready for this shoot.”

“Oh you want me to call you later then?”

“Yes please.” She said before quickly hanging up. I swear since it was NYFW, Robyn been busy as hell. I only see her like two times and that was just because she had left her purse.

Between that, and me having some shit up my sleeve, I was just ready for all this shit to be done. I hated being away from here for too long.  Not to mention I was sexually frustrated.

To top that off, she was mad at me cause we had a little mishap during sex.

*Flashback*

“Hey babe, I’m just getting my purse.” She said as she quickly walked into the kitchen. She had a short ass shorts and a crop top that I just wanted to rip off of her at the moment.

“Why you in a rush?” I kissed her neck, walking up behind her and holding her in place.

“Jayyyyy, you’re gonna make me late! I have an appointment with a client!” She act like she wasn’t the boss.

“Just the tip.” I lied.

“No.”

“Stop playing br-” I was cut off by the sound of her phone ringing. She sucked her teeth and checked her watch.

“It’s not gone take that long.” She gave me a look and just slightly bent herself over on the edge of the counter. I knew she was frontin’.

“Hurry up.” She spat.

“Fuck up, don’t rush me.” I smacked her ass before sliding her panties over to the side. Just as I was about to slide in, Winter had walked in the kitchen and quickly walked out once she noticed what we were doing. “I didn’t see anything, I didn’t see anything, I didn’t see anything.” She constantly repeated walking back towards O’s room.

“See! You said nobody was here.” She smacked me on the back of my head, fixing her panties.

“Damn, I thought nobody wasn’t. She went back, we got time.”

“Jaylen you really bout to sell your soul to get this nut huh?” I chuckled at her joke.

“We ain’t did shit in a minute, not even kissed.” She smirked before reaching for my zipper.

**

“Fuck, I’m bout to bust.” I grunted, feeling my nut build up. I tapped Robyn so that she could get up but she just kept going. “Just like that.” A moan slipped out as I pushed her head down, but I ain’t even care.

In a blink of an eye, it had gotten on her face but most had got in her hair. “Jaylen!” She hissed, angrily. I guess she wasn’t into that type of shit.

“Bab-”

“You got some in my eye!” She groaned, storming to the bathroom while holding her eye.

“I ain’t mean to, come here!”

*Flashback Over*

Ever since then, we ain’t did shit cause she thinks I did that shit on purpose. I told her ass to get up and she ain’t wanna listen.

I chuckled at the memory, because she made me sleep on the couch and everything that night.

**

I was about 10 seconds from strangling Robyn, real talk. She just pissed me off to the max by associating with that nigga at the park. I hate that she’s so fuckin’ friendly.

*Flashback*

“Bring yo ass, I ain’t leaving you over here by yourself.” I tapped Robyn as her lazy ass refused to get up from the bench.

“Jaylen, the car’s literally like 5 steps away.. I’m fine right here just go.” I hesitated at first but just said fuck it cause she was being difficult for nothing. Now if a bear pop out and eat her ass up its gone be my fault.

Brushing the thought off, I unlocked the door to my car and grabbed my camera that was sitting in the backseat. I barely used it, but this shit was bout to be full of shit today.

Grabbing it, I shut my door before locking my car back up. As I got up, I noticed more niggas over in the area that rob and I was in. See this the shit I was talking bout.

I had to do a double take, because I know I ain’t see who I think I saw tryna Mack on Robyn. To make matters worse, she was entertaining the shit. As soon as he put his arm up, I snatched my gun out of my jeans, bussin’ with no questions asked. I told this nigga whenever I see him it’s over.

By now, there was a shoot out that went on for about a minute until his pussy ass hopped back in the car with his buster ass niggas.

I went over to the bench and seen Robyn ducking on the ground. “Why the fuck were you talking to him?!” I barked at her as I tucked the gun back in my Robin jeans.

“Where the hell did you get this gun from?”

“Robyn, fuck allat shit, why the fuck was you letting this nigga put his arm around you?!”

“I told him I was here with you!”

“You should’ve fucking walked away but you kept the fucking convo going! If ya ass would’ve went with me this wouldn’t even have happened!”

“I’m going home.” She rolled her eyes, walking towards the parking lot.

I hope she didn’t think I was fucking finished.

*flashback over*

“Man I need a fuckin’ blunt.”

“No! We’re going to sit here and talk!”

“You not my fuckin’ mama Bruh, if I wanna smoke that’s what the fuck Ima do.” I barked at her as she rose her eyebrows.

“I’m just looking out for your health, but fuck it. Do you, bye.” She grabbed her purse and left out of the front door with no hesitation. I didn’t stop her either.

Shit had me fucking livid.

**

I used my key that Dell gave me to get into they crib so I could check on Rob. I blew up on her a few hours ago and I felt like shit once my adrenaline and temper cooled off, I swear I don’t be meaning half of the shit I say but, it’s the only way to get niggas out my face. I gotta chill out with Robyn though, she’s so delicate and sensitive, I don’t wanna push her to no limits. We got potential, just need growth and go the right way about communication.

I heard Ashanti’s angelic voice coming from the kitchen and I furrowed my eyebrows. House was dark as fuck, who was tryna summon demons with love songs? I stuck my head in the kitchen and saw Rob at the table with her sketchpad and a glass of Crown Royal Apple. She don’t drink so I know I pushed her to the edge.

“Wassup, baby?” She stopped shading for a split second then went back to it.

“Rob, c'mon. I wasn’t in my right mind.”

“Are you ever? Every goddamn time I turn around, you’re blowing up on me like you’re the only nigga that’s been through some shit. I’m sorry about what happened but I have fuckin’ feelings too, as your girlfriend, you should try to hear me the fuck out sometimes.” This was the most shes ever cursed.

“Babe, you right.” She scoffed and smirked darkly. “What the fuck ever, Jaylen.” She mumbled and I ran my hand down my face.

“I’m tryna apologize. You not makin’ this shit easy. Seeing that nigga brought me back to a dark place in life, as my girl, you should be tryna hear me out.”

“Don’t twist this shit and throw it back on me. Fuck that game, I’m not tryna play. A few weeks ago, I was in that same place. You’re not the only one that got cheated on and a baby came out of it. You’re not the only one who lost a fuckin’ parent, I lost two! You wanna one-up me on trauma? I can go on for days.”

I sighed and peeled her body from off her chair and onto my lap. I kissed her neck and rested my forehead on her back. “I’m tryin’, Rob. At least gimme that.”

“I’m trying too. I’m trying to be there for you all the damn time with the tantrums and you shut me out. Why are we even together?”

My eyes teared up and my mouth went dry. “I love you, my nigga. Whatchu don’t feel the same?”

She dropped her pencil and turned around to wrap her arms around my torso. “I love you, Jaylen. That’s not why I’m questioning this. How can we hold each other down if we sometimes can’t hold a conversation without a fight?”

“I’m a fuck-up, Robyn. My upbringing ain’t have the Full House talks, kisses and hugs. I ask questions after I fuck shit up. I’m not used to the coddling, man. Seeing that nigga again woke a side of me that I promised to keep dead.” She wiped my face and played in my splotchy facial hair.

“I get that. Lickin’ shots off in broad daylight and cussing me out for telling someone you’re my boyfriend is extreme, baby.”

“You told him you was mine?” I felt like shit. Seeing that nigga all touchy feely on my baby shoulder had my blood boiling.

“Ain’t I?” She smiled and kissed my cheek long and tenderly. “You wanna talk now, DMX? Barking ain’t the way to go with me, I almost packed my shit and went ghost on you.”

I chuckled and wrapped my arms around her waist, stealing a sloppy, yet powerful kiss from her. “Yeah. I’m ready.”

“It’s okay if you’re not. It’s STILL hard to talk about my parents.”

“It’s hard as fuck. I trust you to make me feel better though, I gotta get it off my chest.”

“I’m here.” She put our foreheads together. We a force when we together, I swear. I don’t deserve her, she deserve much better.

Robyn

Girl you done got thick since the last time I measured you.“ I smirked as I boosted one of my loyal clients. I was designing her birthday fits and we’ve been in my damn office all day which is located in our condo. This is why I’ve been working on putting a store together.

“I’ve been eating girl.” She chuckled holding her arms up, so I could measure her waist. After joking around for another half hour, I finished her measurements and we started to talk about more ideas regarding her outfit before she left. She was the last client of the day and I couldn’t wait to put this damn business phone on silent and relax.

Don’t give me wrong, I love all my clients dearly. What I loved the most was seeing the looks of satisfaction on their faces once their pieces were finalized. I loved making women feel pretty. Black women at that.

It’s just that this damn phone blows up left and right and it’s overwhelming sometimes. I loved what I do though, so let me stop complaining.

As I started to go upstairs to my room, I noticed Odell lying on the couch with his arms over his face. He wasn’t sleep. He was just in a funk because his ankle was broken and they had lost their game Sunday.

“You’ll be back on the field in no time O.” I sat down next to him. I wanted to offer to watch movies with him for the rest of the night, but whenever something was football related and it was bad, he wanted to be alone. He didn’t take losses very well.

“This shit would happen right in the beginning of the season.” He huffed, staring up at the ceiling.

“We all gotta have a minor setback for a major comeback O. When you get back on that field, everyone’s gonna feel you. You gone come back 10 times harder, and I promise you that. You got this O, so there’s nothing to worry about. Get your rest and think about how you out to murder these niggas when you get healed.” I assured him as a small smile slowly started to creep on his face.

“You right.”

“That I am. Now get some sleep.” I kissed his forehead, propping his leg up on his pillow so that he could be comfortable. “Need anything before I go?” He shook his head no before pulling me down to hug him.

“I know ion say it often but I love you, aight?” He didn’t say it a lot but the many things that he had done for me proved it, so was fine with that.

“I love you too.” I smiled before walking out and shutting his door behind me.

By now, everything was taken care of and I was about to fall asleep any minute. As soon as I felt myself about to go into a deep, well needed slumber, a pair of arms wrapped around me. I hadn’t talked to this fool all day, the audacity.

“Boy hell no, where you been at?” I turned around to face him. Now I was wide awake. Yea shit’s been strange ever since he blew up on me, but I’m trying to get over that.

“I got caught up in some shit. I had to finish painting this rec. cause the deadline’s tomorrow.” He said as I rolled my eyes. I knew he was lying cause every time he’d paint, he’d smell like it or have some on his clothes. He looked like he was getting ready to go to a party right now. This nigga was fresher than a peppermint.

“Yea whatever Jaylen. I’m sleeping on the couch.” I started to grab my pillow but he stopped me.

“Bro, I’m telling you that’s what I was doing. Fuck you think? That I’m out here cheating?” I didn’t think he was cheating at all, but what does he expect for me to think? You’re coming home late every night, lying about where you’ve been. I just got out of a relationship with a cheater of course I’m gonna think something is up.

“Ain’t nobody even said all that but if the shoe fits then wear it. You over here snitching on yourself but since you brought it up, are you?” He chuckled bitterly before staring at me for a few seconds. I knew he was about to start talking shit from that little laugh.

“Get ya insecure ass on bro, nobody cheating on you. I wouldn’t be with you if I wanted to see other people. I ain’t checkin’ for nobody else. I’m here wit you right now, right?” I know he wasn’t trying to call anybody insecure.

“Insecure?” I questioned.

“Hell yea.”

“Jaylen, please do not go there with me because I will hurt your feelings.”

“Try me.” I didn’t even have it in me to bring up all the times he’s cried to me about how he’s trusting me not to hurt him, so I just kept quiet. I’d be a bitch to bring up something so touchy for him to speak on, but shit he was doing the same thing.

“Just get out of my face. As a matter of fact, go home. Please.” I pushed him off of the bed. He stumbled a little before standing up straight in front of me with a stupid smirk. “Go home! You’re getting on my nerves!” I yelled, trying to push him towards the door but he stayed still the whole time.

“Girl I ain’t goin’ no fuckin’ where, this is my home. I belong right here witchu’ so get yo ass back in that bed.” He chewed on his toothpick, smiling at me. I huffed and climbed back into the bed as he followed right behind me.

“You must want some dick huh?”

I ignored him, closing my eyes. I didn’t want anything after he decided to let it rip on my face without my permission last week.

“I love you.” He said, kissing my cheek as he started to get comfortable. I soon said my prayers before drifting off into the sleep that I’d been waiting on all day.

Just like the past two weeks, I woke up and Jaylen wasn’t by my side. I’m locking my damn door tonight. He can stay his lying ass at home. He could at least tell me where he’s been going, what if something happens to him? I wouldn’t even know.

Grabbing my phone off of the nightstand, I scrolled through my contacts before finding his name and pressing on it. It went straight to voicemail like every other time. Yea, I give up. Jaylen could kiss my ass.

**

“What you doing wit his shit?” I heard Odell ask as I carried Jaylen’s things out to the hallway in front of his door. He wants to play games? Cool.

“Putting it out of my room.” I shrugged, as I shut and locked our front door once I was finished.

“I just talked to him this morning, he said everything was cool.” He looked confused.

“Well he lied to you.” I said before going in the kitchen to get a water bottle.

“Why y'all gotta be into it now? I’m tryna rest.” He groaned, putting a pillow over his face.

Shitty Neighbor🙄: Robyn why the fuck is my shit in front of my door??????

Shitty Neighbor🙄: Helloooooo I know you ain’t doing shit, you see my fucking messages

Not even a second later, he started beating on the front door because it was locked. As soon as he did that, O had jumped because the sound scared him.

“y'all niggas playing too much.”

“ODELL OPEN THE DOOR.”

“NIGGA IM FUCKIN’ INJURED!” He yelled back, putting his beats on so that he could tune us out.

“Stop fucking playing Robyn!”

As he continued to knock, I went back up to my room so that I wouldn’t have to hear him. He was gonna be out there all day.

**

“I knew that hairy ass baby wasn’t Jaylen’s.” I heard Winter say as she scrolled through Kayla’s instagram. I’m assuming she had the baby already because Win’s been over here talking shit for the last 10 minutes about how their baby looked like a monkey.

“You ain’t no prize either so shut up. Ive seen ya baby pics and you looked like a lil gremlin.” Odell fired at her as I started to instigate. He didn’t like when people talked about kids.

She waved him off as he shook his head before limping out to the patio. “I’m so glad you didn’t let him get you pregnant.” I looked away.

“Well..” I sighed, preparing to tell her what’s been up with me.

“BITCH!” She yelled, as I quickly shushed her. She was the first person besides Qua that I was telling this to.

“After he told me he cheated, I found out I was pregnant the same night he went to jail. Between that and Jaylen hating my guts at the time, it was just too much. Constantly going back and forth with both of them was so stressful. Jaylen was pissed off because I wouldn’t stop seeing Kai, but I was only doing it because I was pregnant. I didn’t even wanna tell Kai at first because having kids is a sensitive topic for him.”

“But It’s like almost a year later?”

“I lost the baby.. which is why I just went ghost for the couple of months.”

“What!? Aw Robyn I’m so sorry, you didn’t deserve that. You’re literally the sweetest person I know.”

“No, it’s fine. I was pretty hurt but I think it was for the best. Kai’s ass probably gonna rot in there so raising a baby all by myself would’ve been hectic.”

“That’s true.” She sighed, embracing me in a hug but I chuckled and let her know that I was fine. Yea I cried and cried at first, but I’m learning to get over it. I didn’t wanna tell anyone because they’d start to baby me. Especially Jaylen.

“Don’t tell anyone either! You know you have a big ass mouth, Win.” I pointed my finger at her as I spoke sternly. Winter was known for running her damn mouth and she knew it was true.

“Girl, who would I tell? You don’t just go up to people and causally say, "Oh yea girl my homegirl Robyn had a miscarriage.”

“Mhm, knowing you, Odell would be aware of it by tonight.”

“Not at all, we beefing right now.”

“If a bitch have beef with me, she gone have beef wit me fuhevaaaa’!” We heard O’s voice come from his room. He watches too much damn TV to know who said that.

“Get your brother.” She laughed as she started to pick up her purse and head towards the door.

“I’ll see you later, call me whenever you need something girl. I mean it. If you don’t want to tell O or Jay, I’m here.” She gave me an assuring smile before leaving. I knew she meant it because she’s never nice. Not even to O.

I smiled and grabbed my sketchpad that was sitting on the table. Whenever I got something off of my chest, drawing designs were a piece of cake. As soon as my pen touched the paper, I went straight to work. It was as if everything else around me disappeared and I was in my own zone.

Well that went on for about an hour or so until it started to storm and the thunder damn near made me scream. I would text Jaylen but I wasn’t talking to him right now so I guess I’d go chill with O. He was probably asleep. Nothing could wake him.

I sighed and closed my sketch pad, quickly running to Odell’s room. He was more than likely knocked out from the meds that the docs gave him for his ankle.

“Delly.” I shook him, calling him by his childhood nickname. He remained sleep, in the same position with his thumb in his mouth.

“Odell!” I said louder but he still didn’t bulge. I rolled my eyes and grabbed his phone to flash the light on him.  On the screen I seen a text message from Jaylen.

Jay🤙🏽: lol is u ded

I shook my head at his childish ass, and tossed O’s phone back on the bed. I didn’t want to go to Jaylen’s place but I knew he was probably doing something fun and productive cause he wasn’t scared of any damn thing but God.

As I left out of the front door, I shut and locked it pausing as I stopped in front of Jaylen’s door. I twisted the knob, and it was open which slightly pissed me off a little. Growing up, my parents never locked the doors and now they’re gone.

I brushed it off and just walked in, only to hear Michael Jackson’s legendary voice blaring throughout his whole condo. He must’ve been in deep thought about something.

Searching around for him literally every where, he was no where to be found which was weird. I started to remember that I didn’t check his basement.

While I walked down there, the music got louder and louder. As Human Nature was playing, I could hear Jaylen’s voice singing along with the song and he actually sounded like an angel. I crept up behind him and noticed that he was looking through a photo book with family pictures in it. I was probably the last thing on his mind.

I slowly wrapped my arms around him as he remained still on the bean bag and continued to flip through the pictures. Most of them were pictures of him and his mom or him and some girl that looked familiar.

I kissed the side of his face as I started to feel his hand squeeze mines. “What’d I tell you about the door?” I put my chin on top of his head.

“I wasn’t thinking bout it, my fault. You still mad?” He questioned as I gave him a look. He smirked and put the photo album on the table before picking me up bridal style.

“Jay, you’re not getting anything so I don’t even know why you’re smirking.” I rolled my eyes as he gave me a “yea ok” look.

I don’t know why he thought this was a joke. He lost his privileges.

**

I woke up in my naked glory, covered in cold sweat focusing on my surroundings after another uncomfortable dream. When I realized that I was in Jaylen’s room, I tensed down and went to check my phone. It was a quarter to nine and still no sign or notification from Jaylen. I sighed and threw his comforters off me before going to take a shower with some music, maybe that’ll give him enough time to check himself, I take long ass showers, ya’ll.

Kitty Kat by Beyoncè played loudly and I captured my life under the spray of the water. If this shit wasn’t my relationship. I grinned wide and fucked up the harmony that Bey sang effortlessly.

“You know I hate sleepin’ alone, but you said that you would soon be home but, baby that was a long time ago! I’m not feelin’ it, I’m not feelin’ it!”  I screamed at the top of my lungs while exfoliating with my mask. All the stress of work and Jaylen’s clown ass had me breaking out like never before so I gotta hydrate, who knows? This cute ass face could be on a billboard one day, I pray, man!

While Beyoncè had the power to take my mind off Jaylen, I brought myself back to thinking about him. We were doing so fuckin’ good up until last week and now, I could barely get a hold of him and when I do, he never sticks around long enough for me to ask him anything. Hella suspicious, huh?

“Fuck this.” I mumbled and turned the shower off, feeling much better than I did prior to me getting in. I got dressed into something simple and went to my contacts. I swallowed my pride and tapped his name with the lowest expectations, he never answered but this time, he did.

“Yes, baby?” he answered like shit was sweet. I blushed at the sound of his voice and twirled my hair while responding.

“Where are you Jaylen?”

“I’m out baby, making shit happen. Where you at?” I looked at the phone and started cussing him out with the phone on mute.

“I’m in your bed but guess what?”

“What’s that?”

“You’re not fuckin’ in it. At least you’re not fuckin’ me in it. Why are you never here anymore?” I mumbled, going misty-eyed. I’m tired of crying over relationships!

“I gave you some before I left. Chill, I’m out painting for a client.”

“This late?”

“When the money call, I answer.”

“But when I do, you hit decline?” He sighed and put his husky voice on and started talking dirty.

“Jaylen, it’s curtains for that. I’m tired.”

“Sleep, Rob. I'ma be there when you wake up.” he hung up and I threw a tantrum on his big ass bed. HELL NO!

I went back over to my house after locking the damn door and went looking for Winter. “WIN!” I screamed so loud that Odell shuffled in his sleep.

“What what?” she mumbled on Odell’s chest.

“Come here, you said you’d be here. I need you.” I sobbed and she shot up and put her shorts on, leaving the bedroom all to Dell.

“What’s wrong? Why are you crying?” she croaked, squinting from the light since I woke her up.

“Jaylen’s cheating on me.” I blurted and her face dropped. “That’s whatchu woke me up for? Girl, Jay’s mark ass loves the shit out of you. He worked hella hard to getchu. He’s not dumb enough to lose you this quick.”

“That’s what I thought. I called it two other times and ignored the damn signs. My first ex was lying his ass off and cheating right in front of my face, and Kai…you know.” I paced back and forth and she motioned for me to sit down next to her.

“So whatchu wanna do?”

“I wanna see for myself.”

“You wanna see him drill another bitch?” she asked with her eyes wide open.

“No, I wanna see if he’s really cheating on me, Winter.”

“We could clone his phone like Angela did Ghost on Power. This shit was so player.” she smirked. “That’ll take too damn long so we gotta go old-fashioned. I gotchu though, I had to spy on your brother a few times.”

I rolled my eyes as she slipped on my Uggs. We hopped in my truck while she tracked Jaylen’s phone. It was taking us deep into the downtown area. “Jay messin’ with the white, cigarette-smokin’ hoes?” she asked, popping her head out the window to greet the working women on the corner.

“Winter, focus!” I yelled, pulling her back down by the loop in her shorts. “Aight, aight! Ooh shit, he’s calling!”

She threw the phone back on my lap and I tossed it back on hers. “Nigga, I don’t like him. Answer his cheating ass phone call.”

I answered and tried to sound as natural as possible. “Hey,”

“Rob, you still good? I’m on my way back in a little, you want some food?”

“No Jaylen, I just want you.”

“Gimme like 15 minutes, I'ma be speedin’ in the fast lane.” he laughed but I didn’t. This shit was like dejavu.

“Jay, do you love me?”

“Of course.”

“Promise?”

“pROmiSe? Yeah head ass, I love the shit outta you. Why?”

“I just…I don’t know. I wanted to hear you say it.”

“I ain’t like your last niggas, I mean it, baby. I’m just busy right now, once I finished this work, I'ma be back up under you.”

“Okay.” I sighed. Maybe he wasn’t lying.

“You wanted me to say so say it back. Fuck you think this is?”

“I love you.” I recited with no hesitation. And I do, too damn much.

“Got my heart flutterin’ and shit. Let me get back to work.” he mumbled before Winter started tapping me viciously on my arm.

I whipped my head in her direction and she pointed across the street. “That’s his bitch ass right there with a white hoe.” she whispered loudly and I covered the phone.

“Yeah, I’ll see you in a little.” I hung up and pulled over, putting my head on the steering wheel with Winter consoling me.

A/N: Let me know if there’s any errors or if I skipped too much! I didn’t check!

#chrisbrown #chris brown #teambreezy #soooraven #obj

[evildeen]

little talks

My Beefy Bucky Birthday Exchange ( @beefybuckyswap) for @therothwoman! It’s a whole bunch of fluff with a pinch of angst (or maybe the other way around?). Hope you like it! c:

Brooklyn, NYC Steve’s apartment 5:51 AM

Who knew Captain America snored so badly?

Bucky left Steve to his horrendous snoring after being woken up by the hibernating bear not once, not twice, but four times throughout the course of the night. Sorry there’s only one bed, Steve said when they first started crashing here. I’ll take the couch.

Which was stupid. Steve barely fit on the couch. So Bucky took the couch, at first, then realized he was hardly sleeping anyway (being cryofrozen for six months in Wakanda seemed to be affecting his sleep, and he refused to acknowledge anything else as the culprit). For the past few nights they sat up in bed together talking until they both fell asleep. That was all fine and good until Steve got so deep asleep that he started sounding like a freight train.

Steve snored on and on, kind of sounding like he was drowning. Bucky decided in that moment, if he ever came across a time machine (which was entirely possible with The Way Things Were), he’d go back in time to the science team that made Captain America and make sure they added No Snoring, Ever to the super soldier serum.

They’d spent a week in this Brooklyn apartment. A little R&R, Steve called it. For six months, Bucky stayed in cryo before Steve and T’challa woke him up with news that they found the red Hydra book that contained all of the Winter Soldier’s secrets. They thought it might put Bucky at ease to destroy the Soldier’s trigger words and let Bucky decide to do with the rest. In some ways, it did, but with Hydra it was always something--which was why when Tony Stark offered an olive branch to get Steve leads on Hydra’s whereabouts, Bucky decided he was in for the fight, too.

Turning onto his side, Bucky propped up his head with his hand and watched Steve snore for a minute or two, somewhat relieved that his distressingly handsome friend could look so ugly while he slept. Last night, they sat up laughing and talking, and it had been ages--years, he feared--since Bucky allowed himself to laugh so freely. At first, the motions felt almost foreign to him, like riding a bike again for the first time since being a kid.  Turns out, he missed being able to smile like he used to--like he really meant it. And he did, now, here in Brooklyn with Steve.

Two years on the run, being alone, squatting in an abandoned apartment, dumpster diving, making barely enough money selling scrap metal and doing odd jobs to get by, took a different kind of toll on him. He wasn’t living--he was surviving. It wasn’t Hydra but it wasn’t good, either. Bucky dragged a hand over his face and ignored the tiny nagging thought that things weren’t “the way they were,” and that fighting Hydra meant a different kind of servitude. But Bucky had a lot to atone for.

Bucky’s eyes drifted from Steve to the faint outline of the shield stowed behind one of the curtains. Tony returned the shield, and Steve accepted it, but immediately tucked it out of sight. The mantle of Captain America left a bad taste in his mouth, but he wouldn’t admit it out loud. It showed in the way he looked at it warily, distrustfully--touched it like it would explode on him.

“Steve.”

Bucky pushed on Steve's shoulder. The man stirred, rolled onto his back, and continued breathing with his mouth open. A faint skein of drool scaled from the corner of his mouth to the pillow.

“Ah, geez. Come on, man.”

Bucky tap tap tap tapped Steve on the forehead with his metal finger. Steve reacted by scrunching up his face and muttering “butterfingers.” So Bucky escalated his attempts at waking him by flinging off the covers and placing his full metal hand on Steve's bare chest.

Steve’s eyes flung open and he shot up straight in bed. “Jesus, Bucky!”

“I was checking for signs of life.”

Steve pressed his palms into his eyes and rubbed. It wasn’t like him to sleep in late like this. Usually both of them were up and moving by five. “Sorry,” Steve mumbled.

“For what? You needed the sleep, man.”

“We gotta meet at seven for a mission brief at Avengers Tower.”

“Seven? Seven? In the morning?”

“Yeah.” Steve sat up and grabbed his pillow, tossed it at Bucky’s face. “We’re supposed to go on a recon mission, you know.”

“Ooooo,” Bucky said, the pillow sitting on his face and muffling him. “I thought recon missions would be beneath the great Captain America.”

“Buck,” Steve said. Bucky moved the pillow away and stared up at him with a smirk. “We talked about this. I’m not--”

“Yeah, yeah. You’re not Captain America anymore. Until you start acting like you’re retired, or you find a replacement--you’re not Captain America. I don’t make the rules.”

Steve folded his arms, inhaled as if to say something, before Bucky sat up and interrupted him. “If you’re so-called retired, then you’ll let me go to the meeting without you. How’s that?”

“But--”

“You can do some ‘retired’ ‘stuff,’” Bucky made air quotes with his fingers, “while I’m gone.”

---

“People hate pigeons, you know.”

Bucky smiled and turned his head to one side so Sam couldn’t see. Then he tossed another handful of breadcrumbs onto the sidewalk for the gaggle of pigeons that gathered to feast. “Yeah, I know.” A particularly fat pigeon body checked a smaller pigeon away from some crumbs and Bucky chuckled out loud. “You don’t, though.”

“Anyway,” Sam said, clearly ready to change the subject, “I didn’t call you to a secret meeting in Prospect Park for nothing.”

“I wouldn’t have shown up for nothing.”

Sam folded in his lips for a second as if physically holding in a snide remark. “It’s about Steve.”

“Of course it is.”

Sam sat back on the park bench and lifted his head to the sky, mere inches from wanting to hit Bucky in the face. “This is serious. He’s spent the whole week putting out fires when he said he was supposed to be spending time with,” and Sam made sure to roll his eyes so Bucky could see, “you.”

Scrunching up his face, Bucky folded his hands in his lap and nudged a pigeon away from pecking his shoe. “Oh.”

“He doesn’t know how to be anything but Captain America. What did he even do before the war?”

The question was probably rhetorical, but the answer still made sense. “Get into fights, mostly. Read a book. Fight the book.”

Sam laughed and it surprised him to laugh at that, so he covered his face with his hand and settled down enough to bring up his next point: “Steve thought finding you would let things fall into place.”

Bucky snorted. The irony wasn’t lost on either of them, as Bucky turned his head toward Sam, he saw a matching bitter smile on the other man’s face. “Well, that was a mistake,” Bucky said.

“You’re kind of a mess, yeah.”

Bucky shoved Sam, and Sam shoved him back. For a second they were just shoving each other on a park bench until Sam hissed fuck you and scared enough pigeons that they all took off at once in a mess of loose feathers and pigeon trills.

Both of them sighed in unison and hated themselves for it, then Sam folded his arms and nudged Bucky with an elbow. “I’ve tried--believe me--to get him to let me in, but Steve swears up and down nothing’s wrong.”

“He does that.”

“Can you try?”

“Sam… if he won’t talk to you…” Bucky shook his head. “I’ve been trying way longer to get Steve to open up.”

“That bad, huh?”

“He’s the worst.”

“Well… I’ll keep trying if you will.”

“Deal.”

---

Bucky could smell whatever Steve had done to the kitchen from halfway down the stairs.

“I bet you twenty bucks Steve had to use the fire extinguisher,” Bucky said to Sam.

“You’re on.”

Bucky opened the door and fully expected to get hit in the face with a wall of smoke, but the apartment was surprisingly devoid of any fires or smoke damage.

“I made lunch!” Steve announced. He had plates out on the breakfast bar for the three of them and he was wearing an apron that was suspiciously clean. “How was the meeting?”

Sam shrugged one shoulder, sat down at the counter and eyed the plate in front of him. “It went well. Nat is taking the lead and she told us to stay home.”

Taking the seat next to Sam, Bucky twisted on the swivel stool back and forth and kept watching Steve with a little too much interest.

“What?” Steve finally asked.

“Nothin. So what’s this?” Bucky motioned toward their plates.

“Grilled cheese sandwiches. And there was supposed to be tomato soup, but I accidentally cut open the can and--nevermind.”

“What happened to that one?” Sam pointed at the sandwich that looked like a piece of charcoal.

“That one��s mine. I--uh--forgot to turn it over.”

Bucky picked up his sandwich and took a bite. Toasted bread with half-melted cheese in the middle, but Bucky wasn’t picky. Sam ate his too and Steve added a lot of ketchup to dip his charred sandwich in.

“So Nat’s gonna do the recon solo,” Steve said between bites. “Tony texted me some updates earlier about the warehouse. Something about stolen vibranium and--”

“Steve,” Sam interrupted. “We got this.”

“Don’t worry your pretty little head over it,” Bucky said.

As if on cue, Steve’s phone started ringing from the living room. Sam looked at Bucky, but Bucky was way ahead of him--he practically jumped out of his seat, shoved Steve out of the way, and dove over the back of the couch to grab the phone.

“Who’s calling?” Steve asked, still a little stunned and clueless as to why Bucky shoved him.

“Doesn’t matter! You’re on vacation!” Bucky held up the phone and tried to crush it with his hand. “What the--” The phone casing barely even bent against the pressure of his fingers. Bucky’s eyes went a little wide. What the hell kind of cell phone was this?

“Give it back!” Steve was on top of him leaned over the couch and grabbing for the phone before Bucky could slip away.

“Barnes! It’s a fuckin’ Nokia! Over here!”

Bucky  lobbed the phone over Steve and Sam caught it. He was in the kitchen and shoving the phone in the microwave before Steve could get to him. Sam hit the one minute button, and it was all over.

“You just--microwaved my phone--”

“Yeah, your super soldier phone.” Bucky looked down at his metal hand, unfamiliar with the idea that he couldn’t crush stuff with it. “I thought your phone was from the late 90s. Why’s it so strong?”

“Nokias, man,” is all Sam said, a little reverent, as Steve’s phone melted in the microwave. He hummed Amazing Grace as Bucky and Steve joined him to watch the phone melt. It caught fire, which prompted a frantic search for the fire extinguisher, and to this day Sam swears Bucky owes him twenty bucks because Steve didn’t use it while cooking lunch.

---

“Sam says we gotta watch at least two movies off the list while he’s gone,” Bucky instructed Steve as they settled down on the couch. Sam left after lunch to pick up his cousin from the airport, who was apparently visiting the city since Sam wasn’t working or on the other side of the world for the first time in a while.

“You pick,” said Steve. “I’ve already watched some.”

All they had was a piece of paper ripped out of a notebook with movie titles and release years, and only a few of them had notes from Sam. Independence Day had “THE BEST!!!” written next to it, which made it an obvious choice.

“Plus it takes place on your birthday,” Bucky added. It took approximately fifteen minutes for them to figure out how to turn on the surround sound system and queue up the movie.

“Wait,” Steve said after a while. “Isn’t your birthday coming up?”

Bucky’s brow furrowed. He had his legs curled up under him and he leaned against the back of the couch with his arm stretched out behind Steve. He hadn’t actually noticed he’d put his arm there until that very second. “Uh,” he said, “I think so, yeah.”

“The 10th! That’s in two days, Buck. Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I dunno. I thought we’d be out on a recon mission so it didn’t seem important.”

“I’m gonna call Sam--” Steve paused and let out a sigh. “Can I borrow your phone? Mine was set on fire and melted.”

---

Steve wouldn’t tell Bucky what he talked to Sam about, but he had a sneaking suspicion that it had something to do with his birthday and some sort of secret plans for going out on the town. Steve grinned at him as they got into the taxi to meet up with Sam and his cousin.

“Remember all those times you made me go out when I didn’t want to?” Steve asked.

“No, not at all. I knew you wanted to go out, you were just too chickenshit about it.”

Steve swatted at Bucky’s arm. “Consider this payback.”

They met up at a cocktail bar near Times Square. The place was dark inside and small, and it only took them a second to find Sam and his cousin sitting at a table by the front windows. Sam got up to greet them.

“Hey, man.” Sam hugged Steve and looked at Bucky. “Hey.”

“Hi,” said Bucky, peering over Sam’s shoulder at his cousin who was staring at them with wide eyes.

“This is my cousin Mel,” Sam introduced. “Mel, this is--”

“Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes. Nice to meet you!”

Steve and Bucky shook hands with Mel and sat down across from her. Bucky felt a little silly--maybe because this was his first time meeting anybody outside of the immediate circle of the Avengers--and he was terrified he’d have nothing to talk about with Mel. She explained that she was studying computer science at MIT and had come into town on spring break. She seemed rather shy around Steve and Bucky, but Sam assured her over and over again that she needn’t trouble herself with acting a certain way around them.

Bucky could have ordered a cocktail, but everything sounded weird (gentian bitters? The fuck?) and why bother with anything fancy when he could just order whiskey?

And drink three of them?

“Oooo, Sammy, take us dancing,” Mel said when they left the cocktail bar. “I wanna dance!”

“I’m too old for that shit, Mel. And these two--”

“I’ll go dancing,” said Bucky. Steve’s head whipped around to glare at him. “It’s only been, what, sixty years?”

“You’re really milking this whole ‘it’s your birthday’ thing, aren’t you, Buck?” Steve grumbled. “All right. Let’s go dancing.”

---

The club Sam and Mel picked out was loud and dark and smelled like sweat and old cigarettes. It was so loud that Bucky could almost forgot about the smell. People didn’t dance like they used to, he knew, but this was something else entirely--bright lights and fake smoke, bodies colliding and moving, drinks spilling and shouting over the loud bass.

“I hope you’re happy,” Bucky said to Sam at the bar, which was only slightly less loud and aggravating as the dance floor. “I can’t dance to this music, and yet Steve’s out there dancing his ass off.”

“Happy birthday, Barnes,” Sam replied with a chuckle, and slid him a beer. “On me.”

“Thanks.” They pushed their way to the edge of the dance floor, and Bucky could see Steve and Mel dancing together in the crowd. While part of him resented how quickly Steve took to this “dancing,” Bucky was actually quite pleased that Steve finally enjoyed dancing. That is--until Mel started grinding on Steve.

“You’re not jealous, are you, Barnes?”

Bucky took a long drink from his beer and Sam was like a shark smelling blood.

“What’s with the long face, huh?”

“For your information, I’ve danced with Steve before, and it’s nothing to write home about.”

Sam almost doubled over laughing. “You what? You danced with Steve? Who lead?”

“I was teaching Steve how to lead, so I was the dame--y’know what, fuck you Sam.”

They both drank long swigs from their drinks.

Mel eventually dragged Steve over to them. They both looked sweaty and tired. “Sammy! I wanna go to the next club!”

“I think I’ve had enough dancing for one night,” Steve said, and even he was still catching his breath.

“Fine, fine. One more vodka Redbull for the road, then.”

“That’ll kill you, Sam,” Bucky warned him.

“Worse things have tried. Bye.” He hugged Steve. “Bye, Barnes.” He thought about hugging Bucky, but instead just awkwardly patted him on the shoulder.

“Nice meeting you,” Bucky said to Mel. Mel hugged him, then Steve.

“We gotta hang out again before I leave. Okay? Promise?”

“Yeah,” Bucky said with a small smile. “Promise. Maybe you can teach me how to dance.”

“Oooo.” Mel winked at him. “I’d love to.”

---

They hadn’t walked more than a block from the club when Steve reached out and grabbed Bucky by the hand. “Hey, I’m sorry if--”

“Sorry? Shut up. You were great back there. I’ve never seen you dance before.” Bucky ignored how hot his face felt with Steve holding his hand.

Steve stopped Bucky from walking and stepped in front of him, that earnest concerned crease in his brow that looked annoying and cute all at once. “You’re not mad?”

“Mad? Jesus, Rogers. Of course not. I had fun. Did you?”

“Yeah--I--Mel’s cute--uhm--”

It didn’t normally take a lot for Steve to get so flustered that he couldn’t form a sentence, but it did surprise Bucky when Steve bent down and kissed him on the mouth.

Bucky made a muffled sound of surprise against the kiss, his whole body stiffening up, and he put his hands on Steve’s chest and meant to push him back, but he didn’t.

“Sorry,” Steve murmured when he pulled back.

“Would you quit saying that?” Bucky could taste a hint of mint on his lips from the cocktail Steve had even though it was hours ago, or maybe he was just imagining it. “You’re--such an idiot, Steve. God.” Bucky grabbed a fistful of Steve’s shirt and pulled him in for another kiss, just to try it again, see if it felt like his feet had left the ground again.

Steve made a noise Bucky never heard him make before, something deep in his chest, then he yanked his lips away. “We, uh, should head back.”

“Oh. Okay.” Bucky said it almost like a question, an invitation.

“I mean, if you want. It’s your, uhm, birthday night--thing.”

Bucky flicked his tongue over his lips and knew for sure he tasted mint. He inhaled sharply and grinned at Steve. “Let’s not go back yet. You wanna get milkshakes first?”

“Yes. Yes, I do.”

---

“Sorry about before,” Steve watched as Bucky grabbed the cherry off the top of his vanilla shake. “I didn’t mean to--”

“I swear to God, if you apologize one more time, I’m gonna kick your ass.” Bucky’s face burned. He couldn’t say it out loud--that he liked the fact Steve kissed him--because nothing made any goddamn sense right now and he didn’t want to think too much about it.

“It’s just… I’ve had a little more time for thinking lately, and… When I was dancing I got this, I dunno, feeling?”

“Feelings? From Steve Rogers? No.” Bucky’s words oozed with sarcasm because it was so, so much easier to torment Steve than it was for him to let him continue.

“Yeah. You know what? Nevermind. I don’t wanna talk about it.”

“Cool. Okay. It’s all right. I mean, I--” Bucky shrugged, ate a couple of spoonfuls of his banana milkshake. His face might as well have caught fire at this point, and it would have been a welcome release from the feelings that wanted to explode out of his chest. He realized why it was so hard for him or Steve to talk about their feelings--they either allowed for mutual silent understanding or they called each other names until nobody wanted to open up. So Bucky tried being open. “It’s cool if you want to kiss, or whatever.” He failed.

Steve nodded at him, his eyes getting narrow. He opened his mouth as if to say something, talked himself out of it, and went back to drinking his shake.

“We just have some shit to figure out,” Bucky said after a minute of soul crushing silence. “You and your friends, the shield… me with the…” Bucky tapped the side of his head. “Maybe this isn’t such a good idea.”

Steve was still silent.

“Unless you think it is.”

“I dunno. I don’t have any good ideas.”

They both smiled bitter, self-deprecating smiles. They drank two milkshakes each and eventually waddled back to the apartment. Steve said he’d take the couch, but Bucky didn’t want to sleep alone that night, and neither did Steve. As Bucky settled in beside Steve, Steve took his metal hand in his and interlaced their fingers. They laid like that in silence for a few minutes, Bucky’s head buzzing with all kinds of thoughts like: was this really happening? Did he want this to happen? How long had Steve thought about doing that? Since Bucky got back? Before the war?

“Remember in Independence Day when the guy punches the alien in the face and says ‘welcome to earth’?” Steve asked completely out of the blue.

Bucky snickered. “Yeah.”

“That’s the kind of birthday I want.”

“Punching aliens in the face?”

“Yeah. I mean… I think I wanna keep doing what I was doing. Being Captain America.”

“Oh.” Well, shit. Bucky turned his head and looked at Steve, really looked at him, maybe figured deep down it was the only way Steve knew how to be. Maybe that was okay, maybe it wasn’t. “You’re too young to retire, anyway.”

“Shut up,” Steve chuckled.

“Make me.”

So Steve kissed him again, much bolder this time, and maybe things didn’t have to make perfect sense for them right now, but at least Bucky knew that he and Steve made sense. Kissing Steve sparked something in him he barely recognized, and he felt more alive than he had in a long time. Almost as carefree and weightless and happy as the time him and Steve went to a Yankees game together. They drank milkshakes that night, too. 

This was good, and Steve was good, and Bucky relished in the sensation of their lips touching and the way Steve kept holding his hand. For now, this was enough. Steve was enough. They’d sort the rest later.

#therothwoman #beefybuckyexchange17 #stucky #cat writes sometimes #long post #fluff and angst like whoa #bucky barnes #sam wilson #steve rogers

[justanotherinterludeff]

11

I’ma drink up, I’ma smoke some’ Keep it moving, it was nice to know ya Boy watch me leave You ghost to me Wish you good luck being lonely I’ma push red every time you phone me You bout to be A memory

She Don’t x Ella Mai ft. Ty Dolla $ign

“Patek Philippe, the plain one, that’s too much sauce. Hermes in the A, that’s too much sauce. They let me know before I was famous, I had too much sauce.” I mouthed along with Future. My earphones were plugged into my Macbook and I was having a jolly good time with this Apple Playlist. I needed this hype music to wake me up, because this coffee wasn’t helping.

For whatever reason, I had been procrastinating this whole week, knowing I had a research paper due today. I had already completed two of my three classes today, and I had a hour break in between so I was chilling outside on one of the benches. I had my word document open, I typed a word or two since I sat down, but honestly, I was more interested in the Public Desire website I was looking at. These shoes were gorgeous and I knew exactly where my next paycheck was going. 

I took a sip of my coffee and put it back down before scrolling down on the page. My phone lit up next to me pulling me away from one screen to the next. 

Adrienne: Where you at? 

On the quad, sitting at one of the benches.

Adrienne: On my way! 

I giggled and shook my head before putting my phone back down. I knew Adrienne wasn’t coming over here to get any work done. At all. The quad was somewhere she liked to chill, so she wouldn’t pass up having someone to chill with. Plus it was really close to the Que plot. Where Amari liked to spend most of his time on campus. 

She and I seemed to be hitting it off lately. She was a sweet girl. She looked out for me at work, and school. And I genuinely appreciated it. I could officially say I had more than one friend now. I considered not only her as a friend, but Naomi too.

“Hey friend!” She greeted me from a little distance away. I laughed and sent a wave her way. She sauntered over my way and gave me a kiss on the cheek before taking the seat across from me. “Hey pretty. What you doing out here by yourself?” She questioned. 

Adrienne was so fucking gorgeous. Like, she was always put together. He outfits were cute as fuck, her hair was always laid, and she was always beat. I admired that about her. She put effort into her appearance. Every single day. And today was no different. I needed to take a page out of her book, cause baby, honestly I could care less. I threw on sweats, combed my hair, put some perfume on, and I was on my way to school. 

“Trying to finish up my last page of this paper.” I sighed. “How’s it going?” She asked. “Girl, I’m looking at shoes. That’s how it’s going.” I said and we shared a laugh. The conversation continued, talks about our classes, grades, our schedule at work, and anything else that had come up. Well, that was before the obnoxious barking started. 

My eye roll was so vicious. Adrienne only laughed, she loved herself some Ques. Pretty much every girl did. The tongue wagging just didn’t do it for me. “There go my man girl.” Adrienne nodded at Amari aggy ass. Right behind his favorite line brother, he was laughing it up. Ugly ass.

I had yet to tell her what he said about not wanting to talk to anyone that wasn’t down to.. fuck. The topic of Amari hadn’t really come up between us honestly. I did plan to tell her though, when the time is right. 

“He’s so fucking fine.” She grumbled from in front of me. She was turned around, admiring you know who. I shook my head and kept scrolling through the website. These thigh high boots were to die for. “Oh shit.” I heard her murmur before she snapped her neck back to face me. She looked like she had seen a ghost. I looked up and seen Amari coming our way. 

I wanted to laugh but the poor girl looked like she was about to pass out! I couldn’t. “Breathe Adrienne. Relax.” She took two deep breaths and before she could take the last one, he was almost next to her. “Wassup Ugly?” He greeted me, throwing his arm around my shoulder. I rolled my eyes and pushed his arm off. 

“Don’t let me tell you what’s ugly Amari.” I warned. He only chuckled before looking up at Adrienne. “What’s up?” He nodded toward her. “Hi.” She replied and sent him a smile. He slipped in the seat next to me, while I continued to scroll through the website. “What you doing tonight?” He asked. 

“Going to work.” I answered. I looked away from my computer screen and dung around in my bag for my granola bar. “What time you get off?” He asked. “9.” “Cool, I’ll see you at 10:30 then.” He nodded. I looked up at him confused. “See me where? I’m going to sleep.” I laughed. I was dead ass serious. It was the weekend. And I was tired as fuccckkk! 

“The only thing I’m seeing tonight is my eyelids.” “You lame bruh.” He chuckled. “Jelani’s bro haing a little get together. Come through.” “I’m not going to no party, Mari.” “Who said it was a party? Did that word come out my mouth, shawty?” He directed his question at Adrienne. She giggled and shook her head no, “I don’t think it did.” This traitor. 

“It’s a get together. Nothing too big. Latest you getting home is around 2. You can even bring your friend too. What’s your name sweetheart?” He hurled another question in Dri’s direction. “Adrienne.” She smirked. I noticed he kept his eyes on her a little minute longer before matching her smirk. I squinted my eyes and looked between the two of them. Where they flirting? 

“Yeah, you and Adrienne come through.” He licked his lips and finally removed his eyes from hers. “Imma text you the address later. Alright?” “Alright Amari.” I yawned. “Alright, see you later.” He kissed my cheek. “Adrienne.” He smiled and she waved him goodbye. He jogged off to catch up with his line brothers. 

“Bihhhhhhhhhh!” Adrienne started making me laugh. “Like, am I crazy or was his flirting with me?” “Nah, he was flirting alright.” I nodded and she grinned. “Listen, Dri. Just a heads up, Amari isn’t really looking for a relationship right now. He’s just into… having sex right now. At least that what he said.” I shrugged. “Aww, friend! I appreciate the heads up.” She pouted cutely. 

“But honestly, truly,” She started in her best Joanne voice. “I just wanna fuck him.” She shrugged making my eyes bulge a little. The fact that she was so bold with it was funny as hell. “Girl, I wouldn’t even thinkkkk about being with Amari in a relationship. At least right now. I just heard the dick is bomb, and I know the tongue can’t be no different.” She giggled. 

“Okay, yeah. Let’s not have a talk about anything that has to do with sex and Amari? K? Thanks.” I shook my head. “Sorry.” She laughed. “But we are going tonight right? Cause I already put an oufit together for tonight and I need to be with my man tonight.” She spoke with her hands. 

“Yeah, we can go. Hopefully we can get Naomi out from under Mackai long enough for her to come with us too.” “Girl please, we both know that’s not happening.” She rolled her eyes. I’m not sure what he said to her last night, but baby, he had her feeling some type of way okay?

She woke up this morning skinning and grinning. I heard her on the phone last night, laughing it up, I’m guessing with him. She made breakfast, and he swung by to see her before she left for work. They were tonguing each other down in the kitchen. They would have hopped on the counter and had sex if I didn’t clear my throat. I was happy for her. She’d been in a little funk, and he was slowly but surely getting her out of it. 

“Oh shit.” I grumbled. I saved my work and closed my Macbook. I wasn’t getting any work done anyway. Thinking about Naomi and Mackai reminded me that Bryson asked to see me tonight. I pulled my phone out my bag and sure enough he had texted me. 

Bryson: Hope you having a good day. I know I was supposed to see you tonight, but something came up. How about tomorrow? 

I am, thank you. And that’s cool. See you tomorrow. 

Everything seems to be falling into place except this paper! 

My bed was so soft, and I was never more appreciative to be home after the day I had. I managed to finish and print my paper, minutes before it was due. Since we only had to drop it off today, I left school early and made my way to work until it was time to clock in.

I treated myself to a nice juicy burger during my lunch break. My shift went by pretty fast, but since Claire’s decided they wanted to have a blowout sale today, the place was packed. Rude ass teenagers, mostly. I swear I was so over that job. I got home around 9 and was surprised not to see Naomi. I texted her and she let me know Mack decided to take her out for their first date tonight. 

I gagged at the cuteness. I wished her luck and hopped straight in my bed. I have no clue when I went to sleep, but I was awoken with a phone call from Adrienne, letting me know she was outside my apartment door. I sprang up quickly and jogged to the front door to let her in. 

When she peep I was still in my clothes from earlier, she huffed and rolled her eyes. “I’m sorrrrry! I don’t even know when I fell asleep. I swear it won’t take that long for me to get ready.” I let her know. “Okay, but you look so good!” I let her know. “Don’t try to butter me up girl. But thank you.” She laughed. We walked back into my room and I went straight to my closet. I pulled out something to wear and went to turn my shower on. 

“You’re wearing.. that?” She asked. “…Yeah? What’s wrong with it?” I pouted. “Nothing, nothing.” She shrugged. “I just think you should step your sexy up, Zemora. I mean you got the body, why not flaunt it?” She asked. “Eh… I don’t know Dri. I just like to be comfortable.” “Let me pick your outfit. Pleasssse?” She begged. 

“Okay, Dri. Just nothing too crazy.” I gave her one specific direction. “I got you, I got you. Now get in the shower.” She shooed me. I shook my head, but followed her order anyway. I stripped and jumped into the steaming hot shower and let the water consumed me. I washed myself clean and let the water hit my skin. 

Whenever I get in the shower, I have the tendency of letting my thoughts drift. From school, to work, to money, my family, and my sad ass love life. I found myself thinking about Bryson this time. He was so mysterious. I didn’t know much about him, but I found myself always wanting to be around him, always talking to him. It’s weird to me. 

I was never good with boys. When I was younger, I was shy as fuck. I would barely speak in a classroom, much less to a boy. My first ever encounter with a boy on a serious level was around senior year. His name was Donovan. We went to different schools and admittedly, we came from different worlds. If you would have told me that my first boyfriend, first love, first everything, would be a white boy, I would tell you, you were a bold face lie. 

But he was. Donovan was my everything. Or I thought he was. He wasn’t too wild, he wasn’t too calm. He was just right. Smart, independent, funny. All that. It was crazy to me when we started growing apart my freshman year of college. He went to a school out of state and we just fell apart. We decided to just end it because we were growing apart. Neither of us were putting in the effort, so why waste or time? You know?

Bryson was completely different. I wasn’t stupid, I knew what he did for a living. The numerous amount of phone calls, on the different phones he had, the code him and Mackai spoke in. I knew. I also didn’t judge him either. We all gotta do what we gotta do to survive in this world. Plus, he had a daughter and a family to provide for. 

I was so seduced by the mysterious, dangerous persona he had going on. He was fine as hell too. Going from vanilla, no pun intended, to this was new and exciting for me. I found myself thinking things that weren’t too holy when it came to him either. Those lips, those hands, that voice.. My God. 

“Zemora! Girl, come on!” Adrienne knocked at the door. She snapped me out of my trance and I was thankful. My thoughts didn’t need to get deeper than that. I turned the shower off, hopped out, and dried my skin. I plugged my flat iron in, knowing I was gonna bump my bob quickly before we left and exited the bathroom. 

When I walked out into my room, Dri was setting the bodysuit I bought from an online boutique I bought the other day. “Girl, you holding out on me! This is cute, where’d you get this?” “Some Instagram boutique.” I shrugged. I grabbed some underwear and moisturized my skin before pulling on the outfit she laid out for me. I liked it. 

“Okay titties! Okay ass! I see you!” Her silly ass nodded. I was dead. “Stop Adrienne! I do like this, though.” I turned in the mirror to admire my assets. I looked good. It didn’t take me a while longer to get my hair together, a little makeup, and my shoes on. “Ready?” I asked Adrienne after spraying on some perfume. She shot me a look like, “seriously?”

We took my car, and Adrienne made her mind up that if she got too drunk she was spending the night at my house which I had no problem with. She also made jokes about how she might be going home with Amari tonight. We both knew she was lowkey serious though. More power to her. 

We drove the route that the GPS guided us along to the address Amari sent me earlier. The houses looked like the ones that were in Bryson’s neighborhood. So, whoever’s house it was, they had money. There were a few cars in the driveway, including Amari’s and I couldn’t hear any loud music, so it really wasn’t anything too big. 

We made sure to check each other before we knocked at the door. Jelani opened the door, with a drank in his hand and a smile on his face. “Bout time your fine ass got here.” He grinned at me. I rolled my eyes, like I always do when Jelani opened his mouth to speak to me. “Adrienne this is Jelani, Amari’s thirsty friend.” I half joked. 

They exchanged their hellos, before we were invited in. Adrienne and I stayed close to each other when we entered. We kept our eyes open for Amari, more so Adrienne, if you know what I mean. The get together was nice I must say. There was music playing in the background, but nothing too loud. People were mingling and I could swear mostly everybody went to school with us. 

“There’s Amari.”Adrienne pointed out once we made our way to the kitchen. He was sitting on the kitchen counter laughing it up with a few people. He looked nice. Adrienne and I sauntered over to say hi. He embraced both of us in hugs and made sure we both had drinks. There was a nice little vibe going on in here and I liked it. Nothing too crazy, which I liked. 

The kitchen started getting a little crowded so, most of us made our way outside. It was gorgeous out here. I sat on the couch and continued to sip mu drink and enjoy the music. Adrienne and Amari were definitely flirting this time around. They were standing in the corner, not too far away from m, whispering in each other’s ear, touching, all that. Adrienne made sure to send a grin my way and I could only laugh. 

Despite of how bored I probably looked, I was actually having a good time. I adjusted my bodysuit and pulled out my phone from my back pocket. I scrolled through Instagram with one hand and use my other to bring my drink to my lips. Whatever mixed up, it was really good and I had a little buzz going on. This is why I didn’t drink, because I was such a light weight. 

“Why they got you over here all by yourself?” I turned my head to see Jelani looking down at me. I giggled. That all I ever did when I drank. “I’m cool by myself.” I shrugged. I’m not sure what gave him the hint to sit down, but he did. 

“You sure? You don’t nobody to keep you company?” He asked. I watched as his eyes scanned all over my body. “I’m good, Jelani.” I assured him. In no way, shape or form was Jelani ugly on the outside. But he was so full of himself and he had the nastiest attitude, ever. So that made him ugly. 

“You always been stuck up.” He chuckled. “And you always been an asshole.” I countered. I rolled my eyes at him and got up. I headed inside to find a bathroom. The living room was still brightly lit, but there was a light cloud of smoke covering the living room, and I could definitely smell the weed. 

It might have been a contact high that had me seeing things, but right in there corner, there sat Bryson. He sat on the couch, blunt in hand, and a girl on his lap. I needed to collect myself. I turned quickly down the hall to find the bathroom. 

When I did, I made sure to pee, wash my hands, and collect my thoughts. “Zemora. You can’t be mad. You barely know this boy from a can of paint. He’s is not obligated to tell you that he’s going to be at a party with another girl. That is not your man, therefore, you can not be mad.” The rational side of me was assessing everything. But boy oh boy was the irrational side ready to weigh in. I didn’t let it though. Because honestly, Bryson didn’t owe me shit. 

When I stepped out of the bathroom, I jumped when I saw him waiting outside the door. “What’s up?” He asked. “Play it cool.” I coached myself. “Oh, hey.” I smiled awkwardly. “Did you need to use the bathroom? I’m all done.” I tried to step away and he grabbed my arm. “Can we talk real quick?” “About..?” I giggled. 

“Come on Zemora..” “What?” I giggled. I pulled away from him and resorted back outside. As soon as I stepped outside, my eyes caught Adrienne’s and she walked over to me. “You okay?” She asked with furrowed brows. “Yeah, I’m good. Just kind of ready to go.” I answered. “Oh okay. Cause Amari is ready to go too.” “Alright.” 

I followed her lead and Amari was saying his last good byes to everyone outside before we headed back inside to exit through the front door. Bryson and I locked eyes as all three of us exited and I looked away. I was ready to go home and get in my bed. 

“You good to drive, Z?” Amari asked. “Yeah.” And it was true, seeing Bryson and his little girlfriend sobered me up. Plus, I didn’t even drink that much. “You positive?” He double check. “Mari, I promise.” I assured him. I climbed into my car, and he made sure I put my seat belt on. “Uh, yo friend Adrienne rolling with me.” He smiled. That bitch. 

“Mari..” “I know. I know Z. Look it ain’t even like that.” He chuckled. “But it is Amari.” I rolled my eyes. “Look, we both know what we doing. She ain’t drunk. We good. Now you just worry about getting home safe. Call me when you get home. I love you.” “Love you too.” I rolled my eyes. “Them shits gon’ fall out yo head.” He laughed as he watched me back out the driveway. 

I got to my house about 20 minutes later, and made sure to tell Amari I got here safely. Naomi wasn’t back yet. I could tell. I made sure to check her room too. I took my make up off, got in some PJs, and decided to watch some Netflix. 

Twenty minutes into Captain America, my phone went off, indicating a text message. 

Bryson: You make it home safe?

I rolled my eyes and sat my phone back down.I wanted to be petty and ask him if the girl he was with made it home safe, but I decided against it. He owes me nothing, so therefore I don’t need to give him any energy. 

Bryson: Zemora.. please just let me know if you got home okay.

Rolling my eyes once again, I decided to put him out his misery. 

Yes Bryson, I made it home. 

Bryson: Can we talk about tonight?

There’s nothing to talk about..? 

Bryson: Forreal Zemora, I know shit look bad but I promise you, it wasn’t even like that.

You don’t owe me any type of explanation. Good night. 

Bryson: Come open your front door.

What the fuck? I looked at my phone like I was crazy. I know, he did not show up to my house! I battled with myself for a second or two, before deciding to go and open it. I opened the door slightly and he looked up at me. “Can I come in? Please?” He asked. I sighed, but let him in nonetheless. 

“What are you doing here? It’s late.” “I couldn’t let you go to sleep mad at me.” He shrugged. Okay Ne-yo. I rolled my eyes internally. “I don’t want you to think I lied to you, because I didn’t. Something really did come up. You can confirm that with my sister and Mack. He was a little late for their date because of it. We could have still met up, but I figured you would be tired because you had school and you worked today.”

“So you went to the party with another girl because you thought I wouldn’t be there?” I finished his thought. “No! Nah. Zemora it ain’t like that at all. I went to the party cause I go invited, I figured why not. One minute I’m smoking a blunt kicking it with my niggas, the next some girl slip herself on my lap. I ain’t gon’ lie and say I don’t know her, cause I do. But, me and this girl ain’t never been intimate or nothing like that. We just got the same group of friends.” 

All of this sounded legit, but I don’t know. “Okay. Is that all? It’s really late Bryson.” He nodded. “I just wanted you to know the truth.” “Okay.” I responded. I opened the door for him again. He walked out and before he turned to leave he said, “I don’t know what it is.” 

“What?” “I don’t know what it is about you. For whatever reason, I’m so fucking drawn to you and I don’t know why. I just left a party because I had to make sure you was good, and that you knew the truth before I went to sleep. And I don’t even know you.” He ran his hand over his face. Crazy.. cause I felt the same way. 

He sighed. He leaned in and kissed my cheek, “Good night Zemora.” And then he left.

[thenovl]

NOVL Excerpt: Dreamland Burning

— Rowan— 

Nobody walks in Tulsa. At least not to get anywhere. Oil built our houses, paved our streets, and turned us from a cow town stop on the Frisco Railroad into the heart of Route 66. My ninth-grade Oklahoma History teacher joked that around these parts, walking is sacrilege. Real Tulsans drive.

But today my car is totaled and I have an eleven- thirty appointment with the district attorney at the county courthouse. So I walked.

Mom and Dad wanted to come home and pick me up after their morning meetings. I convinced them the walk would help me clear my head, and it did. Especially when I got to the place where he died.

Honestly, I’d been a little worried that being there again would mess me up. So to keep myself calm, I imagined how things must have looked the night Will and Joseph and Ruby tried to survive. There’s this old map of Tulsa online, and the streets I walked along to get here are on it. In 1921, the Arkansas River cut them off to the south, just like it does today. But back then they ran north into trees and fields and farms. There aren’t any farms now, only highways and concrete.

It was probably quieter a hundred years ago, but that doesn’t necessarily mean better. I understand now that history only moves forward in a straight line when we learn from it. Otherwise it loops past the same mistakes over and over again.

That’s why I’m here, wearing one of Mom’s knee- length business skirts, sitting on a bench near the court- house, waiting to tell the DA what happened. I want to stop just one of those loops. Because it’s like Geneva says: The dead always have stories to tell. They just need the living to listen. 

Everything started the first Monday of summer vacation. It was my only chance at a real day off, because the next morning I was supposed to start the internship Mom had arranged. It was the kind of thing that would look good on college applications and get me recommendation letters from people with MD after their names. I didn’t especially want to be locked up in a sterilized research lab all summer, but I never bothered to look for something better. The way things stood, I had one day all my own to sleep late, eat Nutella with a spoon, and send James a thousand texts about nothing.

Only I didn’t get to do any of that.

At 7 am on the dot, a construction crew pulled into the driveway and started slamming truck doors and banging tools around. Hundred-year-old windows do a crap job of keeping things out, so even though the men spoke quietly, I could hear their murmurs and smell the smoke from their cigarettes.

After a while, the side gate squeaked open and the guys carried their tools to the servants’ quarters behind our house. Just so you don’t get the wrong idea, that sounds a lot more impressive than it is. I mean, yes, we have money, but no one in my family has had live-in servants since my great-great-grandparents. After they died, my great-uncle Chotch moved into the back house. Years earlier, when Chotch was two, he’d wandered out of the kitchen and fallen into the pool. By the time the gardener found him and got him breathing again, he was blue and brain-damaged. He’d lived, though, and was good at cut- ting hair. Dad says he gave free trims to all the workers at the oil company my great-great-grandfather founded, right up until the day he died. That was in 1959.

The only things living in the back house since then have been holiday decorations, old furniture, Uncle Chotch’s Victrola, and termites. Then, last Christmas, Mom decided that even though there are three unused bedrooms in the main house, we needed a guest cottage, too.

Dad fought her on it, I think because he’s a nice liberal white guy weirded out by the idea that the back house was built for black servants. If it had been up to him, he would have let it rot.

Mom was not okay with that.

Her great-grandfather had been the son of a maid, raised in the back house of a mansion two blocks over. He’d gone on to graduate first in his class from Morehouse College and become one of Tulsa’s best-known black attorneys. Mom went to law school to carry on the family legal tradition and ended up owning a back house. For her, it mattered.

“I won’t stand by and let a perfectly good building crumble to dust,” she’d argued. There had been some closed-door negotiations between her and Dad after that, then a few days where they didn’t talk to each other at all. In the end, Dad started referring to the back house as his “man cave,” and while he shopped for gaming systems and a pool table, Mom interviewed contractors.

That was six months ago. The renovations started in May.

I lay there listening to the workmen’s saw, figuring I had maybe three minutes before our grumpy neighbor, Mr. Metzidakis, started banging on the front door to complain about the noise.

Only he didn’t have to.

The saw stopped on its own. The gate creaked open.

Equipment clunked against the truck bed. And the men talked so fast and low that I could only catch four words.

Huesos viejos. Policía. Asesinato.

Which, yes, I understood—thank you, Señora Markowitz and tres años de español. And which, yes, was enough to get me out of bed and over to the window in time to see their truck back out onto the street and drive away.

Something strange was going on, and I wanted to know what. So I snagged a pair of flip-flops and headed for the back house.

It was a disaster inside. A week before, the workmen had demolished the ceiling and pulled all the toxic asbestos insulation. After that, they’d hacked out big chunks of termite-tunneled plaster from the walls and ripped the old Formica countertops off the cabinets. A gritty layer of construction dust coated everything, including Uncle Chotch’s old Victrola in the corner. At least they covered it with plastic, I thought, stepping around boxes of tile and grout on my way to the fresh-cut hole in the floor at the back of the room.

Only once I got there, I forgot about the Victrola completely and understood exactly what had sent the workmen running.

Huesos viejos. Policía. Asesinato.

Old bones.

Police.

Murder.

— William—

I wasn’t good when the trouble started. Wasn’t particularly bad, either, but I had potential. See, Tulsa in 1921 was a town where boys like me roamed wild. Prohibition made Choctaw beer and corn whiskey more tempting than ever, and booze wasn’t near the worst vice available.

My friend Cletus Hayes grew up in a house two doors down from mine. His father was a bank executive muckety-muck with a brand-new Cadillac automobile and friends on the city council. For that reason alone, Mama and Pop generally let Clete’s knack for mischief slide. He and I got along fine eighty percent of the time, and kept each other’s company accordingly.

One thing we always did agree on was that misbehaving was best done in pairs. Plenty of the roustabout gangs running Tulsa’s streets would have taken us in, but I always figured the two of us and maybe even smart enough to know the difference between hell-raising and causing real harm. Those gangs were chock-full of unemployed young men back from the Great War who’d come to Oklahoma looking for oilfield work down at the Glenn Pool strike. They’d seen bad things, done a few themselves, and liked showing off for locals. Problem was, the locals would try to one-up ’em, the roustabouts would take things a step further, and in the end, someone always spent the night in jail. That’s why Clete and me kept to ourselves. We weren’t angels, but we weren’t hardened or hollow, either. Of course, even fair-to-middling boys like us veered off the righteous path from time to time. Some worse than others.

I was only seventeen, but had the shoulders and five- o’clock shadow of a full-grown man. More than one girl at Tulsa Central High School had her eye on me, and that’s the truth. None of them stood a chance, though; Adeline Dobbs had stolen my heart way back in second grade, and the fact that she was a year older and the prettiest girl in school didn’t dampen my hopes of winning her in the least.

She was a beauty, Addie was; slim and graceful as prairie grass, with black hair and eyes like a summer sky. I dreamed about that girl, about her clean smell and the peek of her lashes underneath her hat brim. And I loved her for her kindness, too. Boys followed her about like pups, but she always managed to deflect their affections without wounding their pride.

For years I loved her from afar, and spent no small amount of energy convincing myself it was only a matter of time before she started loving me back. Maybe that’s why what happened at the Two-Knock Inn that cool March night tore me up so bad.

I was on my third glass of Choc and feeling fine when Addie arrived. Clete was there, too, dancing with a pretty, brown-skinned girl. For when it came to the fairer sex, a sweet smile and a pair of shapely legs were all it took to turn him colorblind. Not that it mattered at the Two-Knock. Jim Crow laws may have kept Negroes and whites separated in proper Tulsa establishments, but in juke joints and speakeasies out on the edge of town, folks didn’t care about your skin color near so much as they did the contents of your wallet.

The Two-Knock was a rough place, though. A place where girls like Addie didn’t belong. Even so, the sight of her coming through that door took my breath away. She was a vision: crimson dress, lips painted to match, eyes all wild and bright. Clete saw her, too, and made his way to my side after the song ended and poked me in the ribs, saying, “Lookee who just walked in!”

I didn’t have breath enough to respond, so Clete jabbed me again. Said, “What’re you waiting for, Will? Go talk to her!”

I wanted to. Lord, how I wanted to. But Addie was too good for the Two-Knock, and I couldn’t quite reconcile myself with her being there.

When I didn’t move, Clete rolled his eyes and socked me on the shoulder. Said, “This is it, dummy! If you don’t go over and buy her a drink, you’re the biggest jackass I know.”

To which I replied that Addie didn’t drink. And Clete snorted, “We’re in a speakeasy, knucklehead. She didn’t come for tea.”

I shrugged. Signaled the bartender for another glass of Choc and slugged most of it down soon as it arrived. Then I looked back at Addie and asked Clete if he really thought I should go over.

“Hell yes!” he said.

So I puffed up my chest like the big dumb pigeon I was and got to my feet. Which was when the front door opened, and everything changed.

The man who walked in was tall and handsome, muscled all over, and browner than boot leather. Something about him shone. Drew your eyes like he was the one thing in the world worth looking at. He only had eyes for Addie, though, and she gave him a smile like sunrise when he sat down beside her.

I dropped back onto the barstool.

“You better chase him off,” Clete said. But my throat was tight, and I only just managed to mumble, “Nothin’ I can do.”

“You kiddin’ me?” he said. “That boy’s out of line!”

I stayed quiet and stared at Addie’s pale hand perched atop the table. She and the man were talking. Smiling. Laughing. With every word, his fingers moved closer to hers.

Hate balled up inside me like a brass-knuckled fist. And when he slowly, slowly ran his fingertip across her skin, every foul emotion in the world churned deep down in the depths of my belly. Glancing sideways at a white woman was near enough to get Negroes lynched in Tulsa. Shot, even, in the middle of Main Street at noon, and with no more consequence than a wink and a nudge and a slap on the back. And God help me, that’s exactly what I wanted for the man touching my Addie.

I wanted him dead.

Thanks for reading the first two chapters of Jennifer Latham’s thought-provoking and powerful new novel. Like what you read? Be sure to check out Dreamland Burning when it releases on Tuesday, February 21, 2017!  

#dreamland burning #jennifer latham #book excerpt #book preview #read #booklr #NOVL excerpt #dreamlandburning

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A little Delix, anyone?

So everyone has read about Dean and Felix’s break-up. Do you want to read about how they got back together? Or I guess how they started to get back together.

What am I saying, of course you do!

Enjoy this ficlet! 

Warning: This fic contains swearing, references to sex, questionable parental advice, and references to alcohol and underaged drinking. 

Dean was still sort of groggy from waking up, so much so, in fact, he let his dad drive. Maybe he had been hoping that driving would distract John from talking. Unfortunately, it really didn’t. At first, it was just attempts at pleasant small talk that Dean ignored or grunted his way through, but ten minutes into the ride it shifted. Then it was all the questions and statement Dean had been dodging for weeks.

Are you okay?

Kiddo, you have to get over this.

Breakups happen.

There is plenty of fish in the sea.

By the time they had reached Aunt Naomi’s Dean wanted to punch his dad in the fucking face.

Dean was so sick of people telling him he needed to get over Felix. Everyone seemed to be trying to get him over it (his dad), get him past it (Kyle), or just straight up avoiding him because they didn’t know how to deal with him (Wash and Watts). The only person that seemed to act like Dean being emotional over the break up was okay was Will and that was actually worse. He was just so fucking sympathetic and worried about him all the time it made shit worst.

Ever since he could remember Dean had liked going to Aunt Naomi’s. There was always good food, and it was always warm. That day, however, he had no desire to be there because it meant he had to at least try to pretend like he was okay which he wasn’t and trying to pretend made it worse.

That didn’t mean he didn’t force himself to smile as the front door opened, it just meant that as he did, he felt a piece of his soul wither.

Aunt Naomi was the one to greet them at the door, and in so many ways she was still the woman Dean remembered from his childhood. Her bright blue eyes, golden blonde hair, and freckled cheeks were all so similar to his dad that there really was no way anyone could meet the two and not instantly know they were related. It might have been a toss-up on who looked older, but that was to be expected considering that while Aunt Naomi spent her nights grading English papers John played in smoke-filled bars while trying to drink his weight in beer.

Dean barely had a chance to take her in standing in the doorway with her hair piled on the top of her head in a messy bun and her wide smile before he was pulled down into a rib-cracking hug. He had been taller than his aunt since he was thirteen, but he still felt like a little kid when she hugged him like that. It was really nice, but Dean couldn’t let himself really sink into it because he honestly didn’t trust himself to not just start crying.

He was so sick of fucking crying. Dean had never been a cryer but since the break up he felt like he was constantly crying. There were places that he couldn’t go anymore because they made him think of Felix. He tried to hang out with Kyle at the café in town and had to leave and ended up crying in his car like an idiot because he couldn’t stop thinking about him. And then, of course, there was the day John had to stop him from burning his sheets because they smelled like Felix, and Dean just couldn’t handle that.

Yeah, he was a mess. Dean wouldn’t deny that, but he thought he wasn’t doing so bad considering what he had lost. There wouldn’t be another Felix for him, so of course, he was going to be a fucking mess.

Still, Dean was pretty sure that if he started sobbing into his aunt’s shoulder, she was going to have some questions. Since Aunt Naomi didn’t know that he was bisexual or that he and Felix had been dating, there was just no explaining.

He held it together, just barely, as Aunt Naomi declared softly, “I am so proud of you!!!”

“Jeez, Nams,” his dad grumbled in a good-natured way that Dean was just habituated to because his dad and Aunt Naomi were always picking at each other in a teasing way. It was just another thing that made it obvious the two were siblings. “Let us get in the door at least,” he complained in obvious jest.

Aunt Naomi released him from her embrace and subtly swatted at her brother. Dean was happy for the distraction because it gave him a few seconds to pull back the tears that were welling up in his eyes. “Thanks, Aunt Naomi,” he grumbled as he took an interest in his shoes.

He just caught Aunt Naomi looking at him critically for a second before turning to his dad. “What’s with the mood?” she questioned in her no-nonsense voice that usually meant someone was in trouble, “Usually it’s the parents that get all melancholy when their kids graduate high school.”

Dean was actually a little nervous that his dad might say something. He had promised not to tell Aunt Naomi, but over the last few days, he and his dad couldn’t see eye to eye on everything. They were fighting even more than they normally did, and it was pretty clear to Dean that he was getting fed up. That was honestly bullshit considering how much Dean had put up with from his dad over the years, but his dad wasn’t exactly known for his impulse control.

In the end, his worry was for nothing because his dad actually kept his mouth shut. “Teenagers,” John declared with a shrug, “They are a mystery.”

“Ah-ha,” Aunt Naomi hummed, clearly not even remotely convinced.

“I’m good, Aunt Naomi, I promise,” Dean assured weakly. It was a lie after all, and he didn’t have the energy to really try. “Where’s Will?” he asked in hopes of an escape.

Aunt Naomi immediately broke out into a smile as she answered, “Oh, it’s such a nice day I thought we could cook out.” The concern that had colored her voice only seconds earlier had been replaced with a soft glow of positivity that Dean was one hundred percent sure only his aunt could produce. It was nice and warm, and brought back comforting childhood memories.

Dean had no delusions that Aunt Naomi still wasn’t suspicious something was going on. She was too perceptive to be so easily distracted for more than a few minutes. Besides she had a weird sixth sense about things. She always seemed to know when things were going on. How she hadn’t figured out about Felix yet Dean wasn’t entirely sure.

“Nice,” John declared very much sounding like a drunk frat guy. That was one of the many downsides of having a musician for a dad. John spent so much time with people half his age that he would pick up these linguistic habits of a much younger man. If Dean brought people around his dad, Dean would have found it embarrassing but since he didn’t it was just something that would cause him to roll his eyes. His dad squeezed around Aunt Naomi and through the front door as he stated, “I can man the grill.”

Aunt Naomi let out a soft sigh as she turned on her heels and followed John further into the house. “Only if you promise not to burn down my house,” she called after him in a mix of genuine exasperation and a playful sort of amusement.

Dean followed, stepping into the house and pulling the door shut behind him as he heard his dad call back to his aunt, “Nams, come on.”

They made their way through the house and out to the back yard where Will and Nico were sitting together on a picnic table Dean was pretty sure Aunt Naomi had had since before he was born. Dean loved his cousin and liked Nico but seeing the two of them together as the perfect happy couple they were: sitting close to each other and speaking in whispers, it made his stomach lurch. It wasn’t anything personal, it was just that seeing couples being happy was really hard at the moment.

Remember, you’re happy, he told himself bitterly as he forced down his emotions enough that there was a chance they didn’t show if people didn’t look at him too hard.

This is going to be a really long day.

“Hey,” John greeted, “There’s my nephew, the high school graduate.”

“Hey, Uncle John,” Will replied with a bright smile directed at John once he managed to tear his eyes off Nico.

God, they are just so in love, Dean thought jealously, I hate it.

Instant karma wasn’t a thing when Dean did good things, but he thought one selfish petty thought for one second and it immediately came into play. Will turned to him and his easy smile didn’t slip but something in his body language and in his eyes shifted to show concern. “Hey, Dean.”

It was a simple enough greeting, but Dean heard the underlying questions:

How are you doing?

Are you okay?

Do you need to talk?

The thing was Will could have been a dick from day one on the breakup because he had never liked Felix, and he had been open about his confusion at their relationship, but he wasn’t. Will never shit talked Felix or tried to talk Dean out of being upset about the breakup. For the most part, he just listened and let Dean be a basket case about everything. He really only stepped in when Dean seemed like he was going to get really self-destructive which hadn’t happened all that often.

Dean was appreciative of Will, he really was, but it was also very strange. Ever since Dean could remember he had been watching out for Will. When they were little, Dean would take responsibility for impulsive things Will would do, or at least he would share the blame so he and Will would get punished together. In junior high, when Will started getting in fights, Dean didn’t get it, but he always had his back. When Will came back from New York with PTSD, Dean had been confused and terrified by it, but he had done what he could. That was their relationship, and it was strange to have the roles reversed.

What was he going to do? Complain? No, Dean wasn’t going to do that. Like with so many things in his life at that moment, he had no other choice than to deal with it.

“S’up?” he replied with a casual nod as he dropped himself on the bench opposite the couple. He could only hope that his emotions really didn’t show.

John dropped on the bench next to him unceremoniously. “Who’s the new face?” he asked as he very tactlessly pointed at Nico like he was a new and interesting exhibit at the zoo.

Naomi had started moving around the backyard preparing for a Solace family cook out the moment they had stepped out the door but somehow in her frenzy, she had managed to hear the statement. That was Aunt Naomi, she had the ears of a bat. “Will!” she called sharply in warning. Dean didn’t turn, but he could practically feel Aunt Naomi giving Will one of those pointed looks she was so good at.

“Sorry, mom,” Will called back quickly before readjusting his focus. “Uncle John this is Nico,” he introduced, hand gestures and all, “Nico this is my Uncle John.”

“Hello,” Nico was quick to greet with a little wave in a mouse-like voice that didn’t seem to fit the battle-tested demigod Dean knew he was. “It is very nice to meet you,” he added politely, if slightly shy.

Will had mentioned once that Nico’s family, his mortal family, had been in politics. Something about an ambassador, Dean didn’t quite remember but that sort of made sense. Nico was a parents’ dream when it came to soft-spoken manners. That didn’t always fit everything else Dean knew about him or had seen of him for that matter. The number of times he had walked in on Will and Nico having sex alone should have been enough to kill any shyness the guy had, but it was more than that. Nico had killed serious monsters, saved the world, and he was a fucking underwear model.

Dean’s dad was raised by a southern preacher, and he demonstrated nowhere near the level of manners Nico had. “Oh, he’s polite!” he declared as he looked at Will like he was impressed or something. “And no southern twang,” he added before turning to Nico and asking (bluntly) “What brings you to these parts?”

Nico seemed to shrink in on himself a little as he looked toward Will with question marks in his big anime eyes. Dean knew that coming out had been a big deal in Will and Nico’s relationship, specifically Will coming out. At the time it had happened, Dean didn’t really get why it was such a big deal for Nico, but now that he knew a little bit about his past it made sense.

Will looked uncertain under Nico’s attention which was fucking ridiculous because he had been dating Nico for over a fucking year. He guessed Will was torn between actually explaining that he was gay, and Nico was his boyfriend to John or explained why he hadn’t already done all of that to Nico. The second one was easy enough, although their money supply really didn’t reflect it, John had been working a lot over the last year, so he just hadn’t been around as much.

Dean couldn’t deal with the sympathetic embarrassment that would come with watching Will try to fumble through either option. Also, John already knew Will was gay, so it wasn’t the big coming out moment Will probably thought it was going to be.

“Nico is Will’s boyfriend,” Dean stated matter-of-factly and maybe a little bored sounding. Apathy was his primary coping mechanism when in public at the moment, and it wasn’t great, but it was all he had.

Will’s eyes went wide with surprise which did make Dean feel a little guilty. Not guilty enough to apologize because he was really just doing Will a favor. He just looked at Will and shrugged and figured Will would complain about it later.

Of course, he didn’t exist in a vacuum, and Aunt Naomi really did have the hearing of a bat. “Dean,” she spoke his name as a clear reprimand as she walked past the table on the way to the grill with a bag of charcoal in hand.

Almost seventeen years of listening to Aunt Naomi like she was his mother had Dean shrinking a little where he sat just from her saying his name in that tone. He might have even considered apologizing just to avoid being reprimanded more if his dad didn’t jump in. “Oh, calm down Nams, I already heard the news,” he declared before leaning back a little in his seat and calling at Aunt Naomi around Dean’s back, “And don’t think I forgot you owe me ten bucks.”

“I owe you nothing,” Aunt Naomi shot back with zero amusement. It was one of those interactions that Dean was pretty sure perfectly captured his dad and his aunt’s whole sibling relationship. His dad being casual and someone inappropriate about what could easily be a sensitive topic, and his aunt seeming unamused but resigned to it.

Aunt Naomi dropped the charcoal by the grill and started back toward the house. “And be polite,” she called back to John before disappearing into the house.

She was gone but that didn’t stop John from turning in his seat to call after her, “When am I not polite?”

“Do you want a list of examples?” Dean questioned flatly. He could certainly think of more than a few occasions where his father’s matters were found lacking. Unfortunately, every single one of those moments involved Felix which was somewhere he couldn’t go if he wanted to actually keep it together.

“Probably not,” John answered with a shrug. He turned back to Nico with interest before asking, “So you’re the underwear model, huh? How did you two meet?”

Dean had to give Nico credit because he seemed completely unfazed by the comment of there being a bet on Will’s sexuality or the mention of his modeling. “Camp,” he answered with ease.

“Oh,” John nodded. Dean could see his dad looking at Nico like he was trying to figure something out and could practically see the wheels turning. “So….?” He stated, and it was so obvious he was trying to figure out how to ask the question that was running around in his head and was failing to find the words spectacularly.

“Yes,” Dean answered with a heavy sigh. Watching his dad try to ask the question without asking it was painful, and it wasn’t like Will or Nico were going to answer it. Dean guessed he just didn’t have the patience for it that day. “Nico is a demigod too,” he answered matter-of-factly

Will looked like he could have literally exploded at that. His mouth dropped and his eyes went impossibly wide before he shrieked disapprovingly, “Dean!”

Dean probably should have felt bad, but he had already hit his limit on feeling shitty. Plus, Will’s reaction was pretty comical considering the weird history their family had with the gods, or at least Apollo. Will, of course, didn’t know about that because what was Dean honestly supposed to say? Hey, it turns out that my dad was banging Apollo the same time as your mom. No, that wasn’t a conversation he ever wanted to have.

“Calm down,” Dean said, and he meantt to sound reassuring but like pretty much everything he said lately, it just came off dismissive and disinterested. “He already knows,” he explained flatly.

Will definitely wanted to question that. It was written all over his face, and Dean could just imagine how badly that could go especially with his dad and his mouth. Dean’s fears were short-lived because his dad swept in and diverted the whole conversation and he wasn’t even offensive or inappropriate. He looked toward Nico with interest and asked, “So which Greek god or goddess is responsible for your existence?”

Nico was great because he was unphased by all of it, but Dean guessed that was the benefit of being an outsider. It wasn’t Nico’s family, it would be someday when Will and Nico tied the knot…..

Fuck, Dean groaned, he knew he shouldn’t feel that way but just thinking about how blissfully happy Will and Nico were made Dean hate them a little. It wasn’t their fault that Dean’s love life had gone up in flames but Dean still resented them for it.

“Hades,” Nico answered with a little smirk completely oblivious to Dean’s inner temper tantrum.

John nodded thoughtfully for a second before asking, “The god of death?”

“That’s Thanos,” Dean corrected. Dean would think his dad would have learned at least a little something about Greek mythology when he was fucking an actual Greek god, but apparently not.

“Hades is the ruler of the underworld,” Nico explained far more politely. He had also slipped his hand into Will’s which had clearly gotten Will to relax, and the sight of it made Dean want to bang his head against the table. He wasn’t ever going to have that type of thing again and he fucking missed it.

“Oh,” John exclaimed like that was impressive which Dean had to admit he thought it was, but Nico always downplayed it. “How rock ‘n’ roll of you,” he added which was very much a John thing to say because he refused to realize that it was fucking weird when parents talked like they were still a teenager. Sure, he was only thirty-six, but it still could drive Dean nuts.

Nico laughed a little and looked down, clearly starting to blush. “I guess,” he replied bashfully.

“Alright,” Naomi declared as she approached the table. Dean wasn’t sure he had ever seen anything end a conversation so quickly in his life as Aunt Naomi’s simple presence. Will said that she was getting better about all the demigod stuff since she had read Dean’s story, and Dean believed that, but knowing everything he now knew about his dad and Apollo (which he was pretty sure Aunt Naomi didn’t know) it was just awkward. “What are we talking about?” She looked around the table before settling specifically on Dean’s dad, “And please tell me it is appropriate.”

“Your faith in me is really heartwarming, Nams,” John declared with amusement, “But since you asked, I was just being friendly and getting to know Will’s nice boyfriend, Nico.”

Naomi looked immediately to Nico. “He’s being polite?”

“Yes,” Nico assured, “Very.”

“Good,” She declared seeming genuinely relieved, and with John, Dean really couldn’t blame her for that. She took a seat next to John and focused her attention on Dean and Will. Dean sort of wished she would go back to teasing John because he didn’t want to be the center of attention right now (or ever again). “So, how do you both feel now that you have officially graduated?”

Dean didn’t want to answer that question for a variety of reasons, and he didn’t miss the look his dad shot in his direction either which made him not want to talk even more. Luckily, the moment Nico looked at Will, Will started talking. “It really hasn’t completely sunk in yet,” He admitted, “I don’t think it will really feel real until classes start in the fall.”

“God, I don’t want to think about that,” Aunt Naomi declared and although she was smiling Dean could feel the true emotion of it. Dean could imagine it had been more challenging for her: she had read Dean’s stupid story and now knew how Will’s life had been at risk in the past, he and Will had been applying for college, Will had been busier because of Nico, Dean hadn’t been around as much because of Felix, and then his dad started dating or whatever the fuck he and Bobby was doing so he hadn’t been around as much either. She had been on her own a lot which knowing his aunt had been to be hard for her because she was so used to people around. She was dating, so he guessed that probably served as a distraction for her, but for obvious reasons, Dean didn’t want to think about that either.

She turned to Dean’s dad and poked him in the chest kind of aggressively. “Can you believe both our boys are going to be in California come September?” she questioned sounding a little weepy but excited.

It was a nothing comment, or it could have been but Dean saw the look his dad gave him. Dean wasn’t fucking having that argument for the sixth time that week and he told him that with an especially pointed glare, but John didn’t listen. Nothing new there. “Well, at least one of them will be,” John grumbled.

Dean really wanted Aunt Naomi to not hear it or to just let it go but he wasn’t stupid and neither was aunt Naomi. There was no way she wasn’t going to pick up on that and question it. It just wasn’t who Aunt Naomi was. Her smile faded as she looked at John with confusion for a second before she turned to look at Dean. “What?” She questioned and she already sounded so fucking disappointed.

She was his aunt and not his mom, but she was the closest thing Dean had ever had to a mom. Hearing that disappointment in her voice killed him, and Dean really didn’t need that. It was bad enough that his dad had been throwing little jabs at him since they had talked about college. “Really?” Dean looked at his dad. He didn’t hide his aggravation either because while his dad had been clear about not approving of his decision, he had said it was Dean’s life. “What happened to it being my decision!?!” he shouted.

“Still is,” his dad replied easily with a shrug, “But that doesn’t mean there isn’t going to be consequences.” He pointed toward Aunt Naomi, and it was clear at this point that his dad was making a point that he had been dying to make. “One of which is your Aunt Naomi’s wrath,” he declared, “Maybe she’ll get you to come to your damn senses.”

“Dean James Solace,” Aunt Naomi declared pulling out her teacher voice that had half their high school pissing their pants. And she had that no-nonsense look that made it clear she wanted answers and would settle for nothing else. “What is going on?” she questioned, but it really sounded like more of a demand.

Dean considered just lying. Aunt Naomi wasn’t going to understand, and it was just going to be a whole big thing. It wasn’t like Dean could explain it either because despite what he had repeatedly assured his dad, it had everything to do with Felix. The only thing that stopped him was that he knew from years of experience that never worked. “I don’t know,” he replied. He tried to shrug like it was nothing

but he knew it was more like a squirm. He knew Aunt Naomi was going to freak out, and he didn’t want to deal with it. He took an interest in his hands resting on the well-worn picnic table as he spoke. “I’ve just been thinking about taking a year off before school,” he admitted sheepishly.

He could do so much with a year. Dean was positive that he could get Felix back if he had a full year without distractions to work at it. The whole disastrous night of Kyle’s party had proven that to Dean. Sure, having sex with Felix that night had been a horrible idea because Dean had not been prepared for that, but it still proved something to him. Felix still wanted him in his life, and he definitely had been into the sex, so his whole bullshit line of just not wanting their relationship was proven to be bullshit. Something else was obviously the issue, and Dean could really work on that in a year. He was even willing to swallow his pride and pretend they could be just friends while he figured it out. He would have so much time to work on it too because he wouldn’t have school or soccer in the way. He could drive Felix to and from school or practice, hang out whenever Felix wanted, maybe make subtle reminders that the cutest cheerleader’s eyes were too close together. Whatever it took.

“What!?!” Aunt Naomi exclaimed almost violently. That was pretty much the reaction Dean was expecting, but he still cringed. “Dean, you have a full scholarship to Berkeley!”

“I know,” Dean admitted.

It really wasn’t like he didn’t know what he was doing. He had thought about it, but if it came down to a choice between Berkeley and Felix, he was going to choose Felix without question. That wasn’t even a hard decision, but again, it wasn’t like he could explain that to Aunt Naomi.

“I could see if I could delay my acceptance for a year,” he continued even though he knew it was bullshit. He had already looked into that and knew that unless he had a medical reason that wasn’t going to fly. There was no fucking way that Dean was going to tell anyone that because he didn’t want to hear it. “It might not even affect my scholarship that much,” he offered as a (fake) reassurance.

Aunt Naomi stared at him for a solid minute with a look of shock and confusion before shouting, “Why!?!”

“I just…” he started but realized he had no plan on how to end that statement. God, he just felt so fucking deflated. He slumped where he sat and answered weakly, “It would be nice to have some time to figure some stuff out, that’s all.”

“What stuff?” Aunt Naomi questioned. She said stuff like it was the most vial of curse words. She didn’t wait for Dean to even try to answer before turning to Will. “Will, what is he talking about?” she questioned demandingly.

Dean was sort of surprised that Will had even been listening because when Nico was around Will was usually extra distracted but apparently he was. He held up his hands like someone was pointing a gun at him and at least tried to look confused. Will wasn’t the best of liars, but he was at least somewhat convincing on that front. “This is the first I’ve heard about any of this, I swear,” Will assured. When he turned and looked at Dean the concern was more than visible, “What happened to the plan?”

Will was just being like a genuinely concerned and caring person, but the question infuriated Dean. Where did he get off bringing up the plan after all the ways he had abandoned it. Where did he get off passing judgment at all? Dean was sure if Will was in his position and Nico had dumped him, med school would take a backseat to his efforts to get Nico back.

“Dude, seriously?” he questioned with a heavy eye roll, “No offense, but you sort of fucked the plan months ago.”

“Language!” Aunt Naomi reprimanded immediately, and Will sputtered in response.

“Aunt Naomi,” Dean sighed. He was prepared to apologize if it meant they could talk about literally anything else. “I-“ The sound of the house’s doorbell carried from inside, cutting Dean off before he could say another word.

Aunt Naomi looked toward the door that led to the house and huffed audibly before looking back at the people sitting around the table. “I need to get that,” she declared with clear frustration. The doorbell rang again, and Aunt Naomi huffed again before fixing Dean with a stern look and declaring, “But that by no means mean this conversation is over.”

Dean’s stomach did a flip because he knew when Aunt Naomi said something like that she absolutely meant it, but it wasn’t just that. As she stormed toward the house grumbling under her breath Dean wondered who could possibly be at the house when there was a scheduled Solace family event. There shouldn’t be anyone else because there wasn’t anyone else that belonged to the Solace clan. There might have been a grandfather or something still around near Memphis but they never actually saw him, and his dad and Aunt Naomi never really talked about him. There was Uncle Bobby, who wasn’t family, but maybe someday he would be because things did seem sort of serious. It couldn’t be him because he was working that day.

One thought that came to mind as to who it could be, but the idea was completely beyond what Dean knew he could handle, so he did his best to push it aside.

Aunt Naomi had just disappeared into the house when Dean’s dad turned back to the table with one of his typical casual smiles. “Welcome to the family,” he declared to Nico with a dramatic little gesture around the yard, “We’re usually more chill.”

Nico smiled brightly at that. Will could (and would) go on and on about Nico’s smile, and Dean had to admit it was nice. He was still pretty sure Will blew it out of proportion because it was kind of rare that Nico really smiled. It was a nice, but it was nothing compared to Felix’s smile.

Felix

Fuck!

“I’m Italian, that was nothing,” Nico stated with a little chuckle, “I have an early memory of my mother throwing a plate at Hades’ head. I don’t remember the details, but it definitely happened at least once.”

John nodded thoughtfully for a moment before commenting, “Good for her.”

John sounded sincere as he said it, and in a different moment, it might have had Dean wondering at his dad’s relationship with Apollo. As it was, all Dean could think about was who else could possibly be at the door. The thought scratched and itched at his brain, and he just couldn’t take it a single second longer. “Who else is coming?” Dean finally asked as he turned to Will.

Will shook his head and genuinely looked confused as he answered, “No idea.”

Dean was pretty sure his heart rate doubled. Why wouldn’t Will not know? Aunt Naomi (unlike John) wasn’t really big on keeping secrets. Maybe it was because Will had freaked the fuck out the last time that person had been invited over for Thanksgiving.

No

“You didn’t invite anyone else?” Dean questioned. He desperately wanted…no, needed Will to say he had. Maybe, Wash or Watts or Nora and Ruby or someone from camp. Dean would have been happy to hear anyone’s name because if he didn’t……

“No,” Will stated still sounding confused, “I’m going to see everyone from camp soon, so there wasn’t really a point.”

“Oh god,” Dean exclaimed because there was no other option left. “No. I can’t,” he admitted as he actually clutched at his stomach.

It had to be Leonard. He and Aunt Naomi were dating so it made sense. He hadn’t really come around the house since Will had lost it at Thanksgiving, and Dean had gotten the impression that things were sort of cooling off between Aunt Naomi and Leonard when he had been spending more time at the Jackson residence. Maybe things had changed. Dean didn’t know, but he was sure if Leonard was there so would Felix. He had been largely avoiding seeing Felix since the breakup.

“I literally can’t,” He said leaning forward and pressing his head against the picnic table. Thinking about Felix felt like he was being stabbed in the heart. Seeing Felix was a million times worse. He was pretty sure it was hell.

“Wha-?” Will started to question his meaning but then Aunt Naomi’s chatting voice carried from the kitchen a half a second before she stepped out into the back yard with Dean’s worse nightmare: Leonard followed by a clearly uncomfortable and apprehensive looking Felix.

Even as out of place as Felix looked, he still looked good. His hair was perfectly not styled, and he was wearing a blue t-shirt that brought out the green in his eyes. He had also definitely recently put on Chapstick, so his full lips practically glistened in the sun. Dean just wanted to kiss those luscious lips and run his fingers through his stylish hair, and it fucking hurt not to be able too.

Dean was honestly speechless at the sight. Besides the chatter between Aunt Naomi and Leonard, the first sound to come was from John. “Oh yeah,” he declared as he drummed his hands on the table. “I’m going to need a beer for this shit,” he stated before climbing off the bench seat and heading for the door.

It was a nightmare, and it was all so surreal. Dean felt the moment that Felix’s eyes locked onto his and for the briefest of seconds, it was like Dean was breathing again for the first time in weeks. Then Felix looked away, and he just ached.

His dad was already practically through the door when Felix made everything a million times worse. “One o’clock in the afternoon,” he declared watching as John walked past, “I’m shocked you don’t have one already.”

The comment was passive aggressive and unnecessary, but it totally fit the weird dynamic that Felix and John had developed over the last few months. They had been making these comments toward each other for months, and as insulting as it all sounded on the surfaces they had always seemed strangely good-natured. It didn’t make fucking sense, but that was just how it had been when Dean and Felix had been dating. They weren’t dating anymore (Felix’s choice), but Dean could still feel the effort from Felix, and he could feel how it fell flat. Things just weren’t the same anymore.

Dean just wanted the whole awkward thing to pass. He was pretty sure that the only thing that was going to get him through this whole horrible mess was this moment passing. But it didn’t pass, it got so much worse. Instead of just walking past like Dean desperately needed him to, his dad stopped and openly glared at Felix (which was so much more aggressive then Dean was used to from his dad). “Felix,” John stated firmly, “Do everyone a favor and shut the fuck up.”

“John!” Naomi exclaimed in complete shock before Dean could even think. It was so in line with the entire dynamic that had existed between John and Felix before, but all Dean could think was that his dad should have kept his mouth fucking shut.

His dad stormed into the house like he was the one that was wronged, and Felix just called after him in that flat way Felix got when he was annoyed and didn’t know what to do about it. “Good to see you too John,” he called, watching John as he went.

John slammed the door on the way into the house and Felix’s dad looked completely at a loss. Aunt Naomi handled the situation infinitely better which was so much worse. She turned and glared at the people sitting around the table. “So I take it there is something I should probably know?”

The question was asked in that tone Aunt Naomi could get that really left no room for discussion. He didn’t have to look at Will to know he was squirming from it, and the thing was Dean should have been squirming too, but he just didn’t have the energy for it. He sighed, pushed himself off the bench and started for the house. “It’s really nothing you need to deal with Aunt Naomi,” he assured as he walked past to follow John into the house. He was careful to keep plenty of distance between himself and Felix, but just knowing he was there was enough to make him ache.

In the house, he found his dad shutting the refrigerator door with a beer in hand. The fact that John decided to start day drinking was just another thing that Dean had to be pissed about. In a lot of ways, Dean had been walking around sort of detached from everything going on around him since the breakup, but seeing his dad standing there after being such an ass with a fucking beer in his hand made him snap on some level.

“What the actual fuck is wrong with you!” he hissed at John, “You can’t just say shit like that.”

John twisted off the cap of the beer and took a long pull from the bottle. “What would you like me to do then?” he questioned like it was so reasonable.

“Not that!” Dean growled back, “You could just keep your mouth shut or, I don’t know, be nice.”

“To Felix?” John questioned with what sounded like genuine confusion. Dean didn’t know what he had to be confused about. He shook his head and scoffed, “Oh kiddo, that ain't gonna happen.”

John moved so he was leaning against the counter before taking another long pull from the bottle in his hands. He was so fucking casual about it which just infuriated Dean more. This wasn’t a conversation he wanted to have. It wasn’t a situation he wanted to be in at all. The last thing he needed was his dad making things a million times worse. Aunt Naomi already had too many questions that Dean didn’t have good answers for.

“It’s not like it has anything to do with you,” he reminded sharply.

The bottle was half way to his dad’s mouth when he paused for a second and then lowered it. He turned so he was actually looking at Dean, and there was a real heat in his eyes that Dean didn’t really see all that often from him. “Kiddo, I get I don’t qualify as what most people would see as traditional parent but you are still my kid,” he declared firmly, “Watching you fall to fucking pieces these last few weeks hasn’t exactly been fun for me considering I can’t do shit to fix it for you.” John paused to take a sip from his beer before continuing, “That might be selfish as fuck, but it’s the truth so it has everything to do with me.”

Dean felt all the energy drain out of him because that, all of what his dad said, was nothing like what he had expected. That wasn’t the type of shit his dad said, ever. He didn’t know what to do or say to that so he just stood there and tried to process.

His dad sighed and took a step forward. One hand went to pull open the fridge while the other thrust the half-drunken bottle of beer at Dean which Dean took more out of reflex than anything else. His dad produced another bottle of beer from the refrigerator before letting the door fall closed. “This is probably real shit advice, but in my experience, you’ve got two choices; you can get mad or you can get numb,” John declared twisting the top off his new beer, “And I’ve always been shit at getting mad.” He tossed the bottle cap carelessly onto the counter before clicking his bottle against the one in Dean’s hand. He took a long sip from his drink, reached out and ruffled Dean’s hair (which Dean hated), and walked out into the backyard.

Dean wasn’t a big drinker. He would have a beer or two at a party, but beyond that, he rarely drank. It wasn’t that he was super health conscious or worried about the fact that since he was underage it was technically illegal. It was just that living with a borderline alcoholic made him apprehensive to go down that path. He certainly had never had a beer before five o’clock in the afternoon, but as he stood there, and as his dad’s words rang in his ears he considered it. He considered it for a lot longer than he was proud of before dumping the bottle down the sink.

After taking a few minutes to breathe and just try to prepare for what he was about to face, Dean stepped back outside. Everyone was sitting around the picnic table, and the tension was visible the second Dean walked out the door, which didn’t really make him excited to join the group, but he forced himself to do it. He took a seat as far away from Felix as he could manage at the small table with every intention to just not look at him. He immediately wasn’t successful, and he couldn’t help but see the discomfort rolling off Felix in waves. Dean hated it, and he felt bad, which was probably ridiculous considering Felix had broken up with him, but it was how he felt.

“Felix,” Aunt Naomi started as she looked down the table, “I heard you got center forward on the soccer team.”

Dean wasn’t as involved with tryouts as he had been in the past because he was graduating, but he still heard about how things went. It was hard not to because Wash and Watts had been bitching about it plenty when they thought Dean wasn’t listening. He didn’t know what they had expected because it was obvious that Felix was coach’s real choice for striker. The fact that coach also offered him team captain probably came as a blow to some egos. All it made Dean think about was how he wished that he had been there to help Felix celebrate when he found out. He was just going to have to add that to his list of regrets.

Felix was focused on watching himself pick at his nails and didn’t look up as he muttered his reply, “Yeah.”

“That must be exciting,” Aunt Naomi offered.  

She really was trying, but Felix still didn’t give her much in return. “I guess,” he replied with a shrug.

“It was the position you played in Vermont,” Aunt Naomi continued to try to make conversation even though Felix wasn’t giving her much to work with, “Right?”

“Yeah,” Felix answered.

The whole thing was so painful Dean thought he might die from it. He thought he wanted anything to just interrupt the awkwardness but then Leonard groaned, and he knew it was going to get worse. All Leonard did was say Felix’s name, but the tone was the exact wrong thing for him to do with Felix at that moment. That might have been Leonard’s superpower: doing the exact perfect thing to send Felix over the edge.

Felix’s head shot up and he glared at his father with clear fury. “What?” he questioned heatedly, “I told you I shouldn’t come!” With that Felix smacked the table with both hands hard, stood, and stormed toward the house.

Leonard sighed with exasperation and turned toward the rest of the table (but mostly Aunt Naomi) with an apologetic expression. Dean was pretty sure he was the only one to see it because everyone else around the table turned to look at him. Will and Nico looked worried, his dad looked annoyed, and Aunt Naomi just clearly wanted answers, and she expected Dean to have them.

Dean had answers: Felix didn’t want to be around him. It was that fucking simple and being forced to face that piece of information yet again was like ripping his heart out of his chest. Everyone was staring at him with one sort of expectation or another which made it all so much worse. Dean was in no way prepared to deal with any of it, and he just sort of cracked. “So I can’t take this,” Dean admitted as he pushed up and off the bench.

He didn’t wait for questions or comments before he headed into the house. It wasn’t like he really thought about it. Dean didn’t even really know what his intent was, but he still found himself in Aunt Naomi’s kitchen listening to the water run in the bathroom.

Dean did find himself strangely relieved that no one followed him into the house, and anxious as he listened to the water. Standing there leaning against the kitchen counter, Dean didn’t even realize he was waiting until the water stopped. That was when it dawned on him that he wasn’t so much trying to escape the awkwardness that was everyone staring at him but rather going toward a hopeful resolution. Maybe if he had a chance to say everything that was running around in his head he could let it go (or he and Felix could get past whatever the fuck this thing was, and they could get back together).

The bathroom door opened and then closed slightly as Dean took in the lingering scent of beer that he had dumped down the sink. He sort of regretted not drinking that beer. It wasn’t like he wanted to be drunk at one o’clock in the afternoon or anything, but a little something to take the edge off his nerves at that moment could have been nice.

Felix turned a corner and walked into the kitchen, and it was clear he was in his own world. He had clearly splashed water on his face because his skin was glistening and dewy, and he was absently rubbing his hands on his board shorts. The whole thing brought Dean’s attention to the sliver of skin that was visible between Felix’s shorts and the hem of his t-shirt, and that only added to Dean’s anxiety.

Before Dean could chicken out as he had on more than one occasion, he pushed off the counter and put himself in Felix’s path. “We need to talk,” he declared firmly as he announced his presence (he guessed).

Felix immediately looked up and jumped, like genuinely jumped out of surprise. “Jesus fucking Christ, Dean!” he exclaimed with agitation, “Did you follow me in here?” Felix looked annoyed, but he didn’t give Dean a chance to answer (not that Dean had a good one). “Fuck!”

He had followed Felix even if it hadn’t been a conscious decision. He just wanted some sense of closure, but the way Felix said it made Dean suddenly feel embarrassed by his actions. Rubbing at his neck awkwardly he started, “Yeah well-”

“We need to talk?” Felix interrupted by completing Dean’s thought. His voice was so sharp and hard that Dean was taken aback. “That’s funny coming from you because I’m not the one who’s been avoiding you,” Felix pointed out angrily.

“What?” Dean questioned. He wasn’t used to hearing Felix sounding so harsh, but more than that, he was almost offended by the accusation in Felix’s statement. Yes, he had been keeping his distance from Felix because Felix had dumped him and being around him felt like having his heart ripped out of his chest. He really didn’t see what other choice he had had. “Was I supposed to pretend that everything was fine?” he asked.

Felix’s expression hardened, and he pulled his arms over his chest in a show of defiance Dean wasn’t sure he had ever seen actually directed at himself before. Something sparked in his green and gold eyes like cold fire. “You were supposed to be my friend,” Felix answered sharply.

“Friend?” Dean laughed despite himself. It was humorless and cold. “Are you fucking kidding me?” he questioned. He didn’t know if he was angry or just heartbroken by the idea. How could Felix even say something like that, he didn’t understand. He couldn’t really think that what was between them was so simple. “Or have you actually lied to yourself enough to believe that’s all we were?”

That cold fire in Felix’s eyes was still there for a long moment before Dean could have sworn something softened but then Felix looked down. “Dean,” Felix sighed as he moved to step around him and walk away.

No, Dean thought as he moved to step in Felix’s direct path, I can’t just let Felix walk away again.

“No,” he declared firmly. “You got to say your fucking peace, and now it’s my fucking turn,” he stated with force, “You don’t get to show up here and just walk away.”

Felix glared up at Dean as he replied, “You’ve made how you feel perfectly clear.”

“Have I?” Dean questioned. That was one of the things that haunted him the most about everything. He never got a chance to really say how he felt and know that Felix heard him. He had said I love you but at the time he had thought Felix was asleep. Dean needed Felix to know and believe that Dean loved him. “Because I keep thinking that if I had, really had, we wouldn’t be here,” he stated.

Felix sucked in a breath and there was a long stretch before he looked up to meet Dean’s gaze. “I did you a fucking favor, why can’t you see that?” Felix growled back at Dean.

“That is bullshit and you know it,” Dean barked back with just as much heat. “You didn’t do me a favor, you fucking ran,” he exclaimed with more certainty then he had until that moment, “You want to be friends, then do me an actual favor and give me the truth for a fucking change.” He stepped closer so he was in Felix’s space and poked aggressively at Felix’s chest as he continued, “I loved you, and fuck me, but I still do.” A lump rose in Dean’s throat, and he had to swallow hard to choke down a sob before he could say another word. He let his hand fall so he wasn’t pointing aggressively at Felix’s chest, but he didn’t step out of Felix’s space. He looked at Felix and felt himself melt a little before starting in a much softer tone, “Can you honestly tell me you don’t feel the same way, that you didn’t….?”

For a second Dean would have sworn that Felix leaned into his space a little more, but it was too short for Dean to be sure. Felix took a step back and looked down at the tiled floor. “No, I felt nothing,” he stated softly before pushing past Dean on his way toward the door.

Dean was stunned for a few seconds, but he snapped out of it quickly. It helped that he couldn’t believe what Felix had said. He turned and caught Felix by the arm just as Felix had reached the door and spun him so they were facing each other again. “You’re a horrible fucking liar,” he growled, and he didn’t let go of Felix’s arm because he couldn’t dare, “You don’t really mean that.”

Felix surprisingly didn’t pull away. He didn’t even try to step away from Dean as he spoke in the softest voice, “But I want….” He swallowed hard before continuing, “I need to mean it.”

“Why?” Dean questioned softly.

“Because you’re going to leave,” Felix stated with such certainty before pausing to look up and meet Dean’s gaze. He looked so vulnerable as he continued, “And you’ll realize that you don’t really want this.”

The statement confirmed so many suspicions that had been running through Dean’s head. The ones that he dare not think on too hard because they offered the sliver of hope. He should have felt elated, but he just felt worse. How could Felix think that Dean would ever be able to want anyone or anything else? How could he not know that he was the best thing that had ever and could ever happen to Dean? Dean was pretty sure he would have rather Felix just slap him in the face and call him an asshole than to actually hear Felix say something so heartbreaking.

“That’s not true,” Dean insisted. His voice quivered with the words, but it wasn’t from uncertainty. It was from the tears he was trying to hold back at the thought that Felix had been carrying such a burden.

Maybe his judgment was just clouded by his own emotion, but he had expected Felix to soften at his assurance at the very least, but that wasn’t what happened. If anything, Felix stiffened. He still didn’t pull away from Dean’s grasp but in every other way, he retreated from Dean’s very presence. “It might not happen right away, but it will,” he declared as he met Dean’s gaze defiantly.

Dean had the terrifying realization that Felix believed that with one hundred percent of his being. It wasn’t just fear for him. It was Felix’s reality that Dean was going to leave him eventually. “Felix,” Dean spoke softly as he let go of Felix’s arm in favor of bringing a hand up to brush against Felix’s cheek affectionately, “I swear that isn’t going to happen.”

Felix didn’t move away from his touch. Instead, he sighed and leaned into the caress of Dean’s fingers. It was enough for Dean to think it was safe to risk it. He leaned down and there was a moment where he thought Felix leaned up. Right before their lips met Felix pulled away and stepped back creating the most painful bit of distance between them.

“Dean,” Felix shook his head as he spoke, “I just can’t.” Felix pushed passed him and was out the door before Dean could even think of what to do.

Something in him snapped, and he acted on instinct without thought. He turned and followed Felix out the door with a new-found determination. “Felix!” he called out as the door slammed behind him. “Stop telling me what I want and what I’m going to do!” he shouted as he moved to catch up with Felix.

Felix had stopped in the middle of the yard and turned to face him as Dean approached. His hand flew up like he was going to say something argumentative or aggressive, but Dean didn’t give him a chance to get out a single syllable. He caught Felix’s wrist and pulled Felix in with one swift motion. It was probably due to surprise but Felix didn’t resist the motion.

Dean didn’t even think. He didn’t need to because if there was one thing that he could do by instinct it was kissing Felix. He leaned down, their lips met, and then they were kissing. At first, Dean was too aggressive, and he could feel Felix’s tension. A heartbeat passed and then another, and Dean relaxed into the familiar feel of Felix’s lips as Felix started kissing him back.

He was so lost in the moment Dean didn’t even realize Felix had grabbed a clump of his t-shirt until their lips were parting. It was weird because as much as Dean didn’t want to stop kissing Felix, there was something about having Felix so close and knowing they had just kissed that was a relief. It was like he was breathing for the first time in weeks.

They weren’t kissing but neither of them stepped away from each other. Felix didn’t release Dean’s t-shirt even as Dean let go of his wrist which Dean didn’t mind. He didn’t mind the look of vulnerability in Felix’s eyes as they fluttered open to look up at him.

Neither of them said a word as they just stared at each other. There were obviously questions. Dean could see them in Felix’s hazel eyes and feel them running around in his own mind, and he knew they would need to be answered eventually but that didn’t have to be that second.

“Well,” the familiar voice of Dean’s father declared cutting through the moment and jarring Dean back to reality. Dean turned in time to see his dad smack the picnic table as he moved to stand. “I’m going to need another beer,” John declared matter-of-factly before turning to walk toward the house.

Dean was pretty sure that no one at the table had heard a word John had said because they were all staring at where Dean and Felix stood. Will was wide-eyed with shock while Nico had his face buried in Will’s shoulder. Aunt Naomi looked surprised but also like she was putting the pieces together which probably was going to be a problem. Then there was Leonard who looked completely frozen while he blinked rapidly.

“Well, fuck,” Felix sighed as Dean felt his fingers release their grip on his t-shirt.

Hope you enjoyed! 

#ficlet #OCs #Delix