#I should really clean out the ducks' house

[fortheloveofwonderland]

Midnight | Chapter 19 | SR

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A/N - a slight jump forward in time here. For the sake of this, Spencer’s mom lives back in Vegas.

Chapter Summary - after finding a new place to settle down, things finally seem like they might be looking up for you and Spencer. Meanwhile Luke refuses to rest while he continues searching for you.

Pairing - unsub! Spencer Reid / Fem! Reader

Category - dark angst | smut | very eventual happy ending

Warnings - cleaning up a crime scene, burying bodies, fingering, handjob, swearing, vomit, brief mention of depression, penetrative, unprotected sex, lying.

WC - 5.7k

Chapter 19 - Stitch Me Up

Two Months Later

The desert city of Twentynine Palms, California was located in the Mojave Desert and sat on the northern side of the Joshua Tree National Park and promoted the motto “a beautiful desert oasis”. 

It wasn’t small but it was huge either, with a population of around twenty five thousand, making it a great place for two people to hide in plain sight. And given its desert location, the temperature this time of year was over one hundred and five, a stark contrast from tiny little Colorado mountain towns. 

Samuel and Violet Truman of Arizona had moved out west and rented themselves a little fully furnished three bed, single storey home on Chia Avenue in a quiet suburb of Twentynine Palms. They arrived two weeks ago after spending some six weeks travelling the states with their travel companions Jack and Lily Waters. 

From the outside their home left a lot to be desired, with its rickety metal fence and lone palm tree in the sandy front yard. But the inside was so modern and sheek that the couple had signed a lease on the spot. 

From the outside looking in, you and Spencer were the idyllic all American couple. And admittedly, from the inside you were also pretty damn happy. 

Since fleeing Crested Butte in the middle of the night two months ago, things had changed dramatically. That night you’d waited until Luke had stopped patrolling your cabin before getting Mary’s body into the trunk of the Nissan. You’d scrubbed every single inch of the house until it was cleaner than when you’d arrived, tweezed the bullet out of the wall and filled in the hole left behind, before gathering all of your belongings and getting the hell out of dodge. 

On the way out of town you had begged Spencer to make one last stop. He wanted to refuse, you could tell, but he was trying so hard to make you happy, to make up for the way he’d been treating you that he agreed and pulled the Nissan to a stop on the street outside of McGills. 

It had been late and all the lights were off so you’d ducked down the side alley towards the door that led up to his apartment. You’d had no idea if he’d be there but you’d prayed with every fibre of your being that he would. And by some stroke of luck, he answered the door after you’d knocked twice. 

“Rose,” he folded his arms across his chest and leant against the door jamb. “Or should I say, Y/N.” 

“I heard Luke spoke to you.” You gnawed on your lip as Jesse regarded you like the stranger you were. 

“He did. I have to say, I did not expect you to be FBI.” 

“Yeah.” You nodded. “It’s a long story. I just wanted to come by and apologise for everything. I probably really shouldn’t have let myself follow you out of the Nickel that night.” 

“I’m glad you did.” He nodded, dropping his arms to his sides. “Even though it didn’t work out between us, it at the very least got me out of my slump. Maybe now I can actually put myself out there again, you know? Now I’ve gotten over that first hurdle.” 

“You’re going to make some woman very happy someday.” You smiled, subconsciously taking a step closer. 

“It’s a shame it couldn’t have been you.” He shrugged wistfully. 

You swallowed thickly, glancing down the alley and noting that you couldn’t see the Nissan from this position, or more importantly, its occupant couldn’t see you. You stepped even closer to Jesse and cupped his cheek. 

“In another life maybe.” You whispered. “I’m leaving town.” 

“I figured as much.” He nodded as your hand wandered down from his face to bicep. “You could stay, you know? With me. You don’t have to go just because he wants you to.” 

“You have no idea how tempting that is. But I can’t.” 

“I know.” He sighed, suddenly gripping the back of your neck. “I’m going to miss you.” 

Suddenly he’d slammed his lips against yours in a kiss so passionate your legs had buckled. If Spencer knew how you’d said goodbye to Jesse, he most likely would have gone back and killed him. If he’d known you’d let Jesse finger you in his doorway while you jerked him off in return, Spencer would have certainly murdered him and probably enjoyed it. 

But clearly you had a better poker face than you realised as Spencer simply drove off as soon as you were back in the car. And on the drive the only thing you’d thought of were Jess’s last words to you. 

“I wish I’d gotten a chance to love you, Y/N.” 

But at some point you had to let that go. 

Mary’s final resting place had been a hole in the ground in the Beaverhead-Deerlodge National Forest in Montana, almost eight hundred miles north of her hometown of Crested Butte. The Nissan met the same fate as Spencer’s Volvo a further five hundred and fifty miles east just outside of Medora, North Dakota. 

Spencer purchased three pairs of bus tickets: one down to Texas, one out to Minnesota and one to Iowa, the latter being the ones you actually used. It took the better part of an entire day on a sweaty, smelly bus before you arrived in Cedar Rapids.

You checked into a cheap and dirty motel under the names of Jack and Lily Waters and spent almost the entire night having sex. Thoroughly exhausted in the morning, Spencer found a used car lot and using his Arizona licence in the name Samuel Truman, paid cash for a black Chevy Impala. 

For the six weeks that followed you travelled up and down the country in much of a zigzag, alternating between your two pseudonyms, back and forth so the BAU would never find you. You spent six weeks in multiple different cheap motels, fucking like rabbits every step of the way. 

You’d never felt so intrinsically linked to someone the way you did to Spencer in those six weeks. And it seemed he’d finally found his bliss as he didn’t kill once. 

Eventually when enough time passed you’d choose to settle down in California. But unfortunately the mundane realities of life would ultimately be your downfall. 

You stood up from the bathroom floor with a groan, wiping the back of your hand over your mouth and padding over to the sink. You stuck your mouth directly under the faucet and drank from it to wash away the taste of bile on your tongue. 

You’d been throwing up on and off for some weeks now but you simply put it down to the residual stress of being on the run. You exhaled heavily before shuffling back out into the bedroom where Spencer still lay naked on top of the sheets. 

“I’m mildly offended.” He offered you a wistful smile. 

“I’m sorry.” You grumbled, flopping back to the bed next to him. 

“It’s ok. Just never had anyone need to throw up whilst sucking my dick before.” He chuckled, wrapping his arm around your shoulders. 

“It’ll teach me not to eat hotdogs from a gas-and-go.” You sighed. “I can try again if you’re still in the mood?”

“After I just listened to you puke your guts up? I’m suddenly not very horny.” He pulled you closer so your head was resting on his chest. “But seriously, are you ok? You’ve been getting sick a lot lately.” 

“Yeah I guess it’s stress or something. I’ll be fine.” You nuzzled against him, placing your hand flush against his chest over his heart. 

You smiled as the ring caught the light and found yourself moving impossibly closer to Spencer. His grandmother's old ring had been upgraded, as had the one he wore, for newer silver matching bands inscribed on the inside with partners in crime. 

One of your stops on your travels before you’d made your way to Twentynine Palms had been in Atlantic City at a seedy motel just off the main strip. After a few drinks one night as you walked by a little drive-in chapel, Spencer had a proposition for. 

“What would you say I said we should get married?” He pulled you to a stop on the sidewalk. 

“Married?” You glared at him. 

“Right now. Partners in crime forever.” He grinned at you. 

“You’re joking, right?” Your brows furrowed. 

“I’ve never been more serious about anything in my life. Before we get swallowed up entirely in the lives of Samuel and Violet, I think Spencer and Y/N need to do this one last thing.” 

And really there had only been one answer to that. You and Spencer had been bound for life the moment you’d left DC with him, you were as good as married, so why not make it official? 

If your old team were to ever find one last trace of Spencer Reid and Y/N Y/L/N it would be the signing of marriage licences in a little Atlantic City chapel. 

Spencer purchased you the new rings as a surprise and that along with your rose gold heart necklace, were your most treasured possessions. 

“You don’t need to be stressed, sweetheart. It’s over, we’re safe now. I’ll never let anything bad happen to you.” He cooed, kissing your head. 

It really was amazing the difference a few months could make. Of course things weren’t ideal, you’d always be on the run, never able to return home but things with Spencer were as close to perfect as they could possibly be. 

Since fleeing Butte he’d been wonderful, the Spencer you’d known was still in there somewhere. You may be on the run but as long as this was the Spencer you woke up to every morning, you didn’t mind at all. 

But Spencer was wrong, things were far from over. At least you’d always have these moments to look back when everything came crumbling down. But for now, despite the stress within you, you knew Spencer was all you needed to feel whole. You and Spencer were two broken halves but maybe together you could patch each other up and finally feel complete. 

***

Two days after Luke Alvez arrived back from Crested Butte he received a phone call from the diner owner's son. 

Jesse McGill had informed him of the mysterious disappearance of the girl Mary, whom Luke had met at the diner, which was followed in quick succession by you and Spencer’s sudden departure from the town. 

It really didn’t take a genius to put two and two together. But unfortunately for Luke it did take a genius to pull it off and Spencer was sure to leave behind no trail, no scrap of evidence. And two months later and Mary still hadn’t been found and the BAU had no leads on you and Spencer’s whereabouts. You’d well and truly outsmarted them. 

In his spare time, which was very few and far between these days, he poured over the Duncan Green case file as well as images of the sparkling clean cabin you’d left behind in Butte in the hopes that maybe he’d missed something. He stayed late in the office every single night and looked for any reports of sightings of you and Spencer as Emily had officially registered you as missing persons. He scrolled through police databases for any other occurrences that might point to where the hell you were. 

He’d discovered two bodies buried in woodlands across the country which were similar in MO to Green but with no pertinent links between them, the BAU couldn’t investigate. 

Lyle Smith was found in a shallow grave with his throat cut in the Hoosier National Forest just north of Jasper, Indiana. The body of Brett Carlisle from Wichita, Kansas was found in the Rita Blanca National Grasslands in Texas. Both bodies had been subject to the elements but deemed to have been dead since before that little Nissan was picked up on Elk Avenue for the first time. So maybe Spencer had been on some kind spree since he’d left DC.

And that brought him onto the discovery of the burnt out Nissan, near identical to how they’d found Spencer’s Volvo. They’d spent three days searching the area surrounding where the vehicle was found for Mary’s body only to come up short. Of course, Spencer wasn’t stupid, he wouldn’t dispose of a body anywhere near the car. 

The only lead Luke had really had in the last two months was the filing of a marriage licence in the state of New Jersey. It was like a big middle finger in his face, clearly you’d both wanted him to find it. He’d driven to Atlantic City on one of his rare days off and canvassed the area near the wedding chapels, showing your photographs to anyone who would look. But he knew you’d be long gone. 

If he could just find a way to connect any of these crimes to Spencer, or to find Mary’s body then maybe he could convince you to come home. He was sure you had nothing to do with any of this and if had solid proof that Spencer had murdered one of these people maybe it could be his way to form a wedge between the two of you. No matter what happened, Luke would never stop trying to protect you. 

But god if it wasn’t taking its toll on him.

Luke Alvez was, in no uncertain terms, coming apart at the seams. The stitching holding him together had been removed thread by thread and at this point there was barely anything holding him together. Emily had expressed her concerns for his mental health, suggesting he seek medical help for what she had dubbed a depressive spiral. 

His response had been simply, “you’d be depressed too if your best friend had married a murderer” which had pretty much shut down the conversation. 

He knew he was devolving, he’d seen it hundred of times before. His apartment was a mess of case files, innocuous accounts of possible sightings and potential victims of Spencer. He barely slept, running mostly on coffee and energy bars. He was almost certain he was getting an ulcer. 

But he wouldn’t let this go. He couldn’t shake the feeling that you weren’t safe and he couldn’t rest until he knew you were. Maybe this obsession would eventually kill him, but it would be worth it to be able to free you from the clutches of Spencer Reid. 

***

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” You scurried back to the car with your best apologetic smile as you slid into the passenger’s seat and Spencer pulled a face. 

“Did you puke again?” He frowned at you. 

“No.” You shook your head. 

“You were peeing again? You went when we got here.” He started the engine. 

You weren’t exactly sure where you were headed, Spencer had simply told you that you were going out for the day and with nothing better to do you’d followed along. You were somewhere along the I-15 heading north about two hours away from Twentynine Palms, at a gas station. You’d only stopped long enough for Spencer to fill up the Chevy and have a coffee and you’d used the bathroom twice, which was very unlike you. 

“I know, I think I drank too much coffee this morning.” You mused, putting on your seatbelt.

“You always drink too much coffee, but that’s an entirely different conversation.” He chuckled, putting the car in reverse and pulling out of the space. 

As he merged back onto the interstate you twirled your wedding band around your finger, watching the way his caught the sunlight through the windscreen and you smiled to yourself. 

“Where are we going, Spence? Not that I don’t like a spontaneous road trip but I thought we’d settled now? Driving long distances usually only equals bad things where we’re concerned.” You rolled your bottom lip between your teeth. 

Spencer removed one hand from the wheel and brought it to rest on your knee while he smiled at you softly. 

“We’re going to see my mom.” He spoke happily.

“Oh.” You nodded with a soft laugh. “Ok, good. You had me worried for a second.” 

“I told you sweetheart, you don’t need to worry about anything. Not anymore.” He gave your leg a squeeze, the adrenaline pulsing through his veins. 

His bloodlust had been sated for the past two months but now it had come back with avengence. He needed to kill and he had a particular target in mind who he was sure would satisfy his urges more so than any that had come before. 

But it was better to keep you in the dark. You were so happy lately and Spencer loved it when you were happy. He’d use visiting his mom as a distraction and he’d sneak off and extract his plan solo. You’d never need to know and your blissful little bubble didn’t need to be popped. 

It was a win-win. 

He ran over his plan in his head as he drove, making sure he had all the little details secure in his mind. There was no margin for error here, this had to be the perfect kill. 

The two of you mostly stayed silent until he’d made it about another half hour up the interstate and you huffed out a loud breath. 

“Goddamnit,” you grumbled. “I need to pee again.” 

***

Visiting Spencer’s mom had been pretty safe for the two of you given that if anyone ever asked her if you’d been here, she most likely wouldn’t remember. You spent a few hours with her upon your arrival in Vegas before Spencer took you for a three course meal at the very expensive Capital Grille on Las Vegas strip. 

After he walked you down to Caesars Palace in which you expected to be having drinks and were extremely surprised when Spencer strolled up to the reception desk stating he had a room reserved under his other alias Jack Waters. 

A bellboy led you up to one of the top floors and showed you to the Palace Premium Suite. You stood in the middle of the grand living room while Spencer tipped the young man and once the door was closed and the two of you were alone, he sidled up behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist. 

“You like it?” He spoke as he kissed the side of your face. 

“Wh-what is happening?” You laughed, still in awe. “What did I do to deserve this?” 

“Consider it a belated, one night honeymoon.” His lips trailed down your neck. “And I guess just a small token of my gratitude for everything you’ve done for me. I know I have a hard time saying how I feel but I love you so fucking much and I am the luckiest man in the world to call you my wife.” 

“Spencer,” you sighed happily in your arms. “I love you too. And I’m the lucky one.” 

“Ok, now we’ve got that out of the way, tell me Mrs Reid, where would you like me to fuck you first?”

You moaned at his words, turning yourself around in his arms and attaching your lips together. 

“What are my options?” You spoke against his lips, feeling his dick growing hard as he pressed into you. 

“Well there are multiple couches, a four poster king sized bed, a pretty decadent bathtub, or there’s my personal favourite option…” his hands wandered under the hem of your shirt and over your back. 

“Which is?” You took hold of his lapels, tearing your lips away from his so you could look at him.

His pupils were already blown out with his lust, his lip quirked up into a sinful smirk. 

“We’re way up high, with some of the best views of Vegas.” He tugged your shirt up, quickly getting it over your head and tossing it aside. He took hold of your biceps and turned you back around to face the huge floor to ceiling windows overlooking the strip, his lips moving back to your ear. “My choice would be to fuck you up against the window. But that’s just me.” 

He was already leading you towards the windows, lips sucking the flesh of your neck, his free reaching between your bodies and unhooking your bra. He quickly got it off your arms and dropped it on the floor, and you made no protest when he pushed your front up against the window. You hissed slightly at the cool glass as it touched your nipples and Spencer smiled to himself. 

It was all a part of his plan. He would render you dumb with sex then run you an indulgent bubble bath with a large glass of wine to soothe your post-coital muscles. Then he’d tell you he’d left something at his mother's facility which was purposefully on the other side of town to buy him some time. 

He’d tell you he hopefully wouldn’t be gone long, but traffic on the strip at night could be a nightmare and he’d be back as soon as possible. He’d inform you of the bar and the spa downstairs if you wanted to use either while he was gone. 

And while you were preoccupied having a drink or getting a massage or whatever, he would seek out his target, slice his throat and be back before you knew it, with any luck rejuvenated enough for round two. 

He continued kissing your neck while he started unbuttoning your pants and you helped him wiggle them down your legs and kick them off. You could see Spencer in the reflection in the window start to work on the buttons of his shirt. You caught his eye and he smiled at you. 

He shucked his shirt off and pressed his bare chest against your back, caging you against the window with his hips, his hard cock pressing into your back. His lips moved back to your neck and worked on sucking deep bruises into your flesh whilst one hand wandered over your stomach and quickly dipped inside your panties. 

You closed your eyes as two fingers were soon pressing inside of you, his thumb massaging your clit. You rolled your ass backwards, grinding against his erection but you wobbled a little on your legs at the feeling of his fingers inside you. 

With your eyes closed your mind wandered of its own accord. There were times when you and Spencer were together that you found yourself thinking of Jesse, most specifically the last time you’d seen him when he’d fingered you in his doorway. 

It was entirely involuntary, you certainly didn’t mean to think about him and his strong tattooed arms and the large vein in his forearm that pulsed when his fingers were inside of you. You didn’t mean to imagine his wiry beard scratching your face as he kissed you. And you most definitely didn’t mean to picture him fucking you whilst Spencer was. Sometimes it just happened. 

Spencer was by no means an idiot and he knew you still thought about GI Mountain Man. He knew exactly what you looked like post orgasm and he’d known what the two of you had been doing when you’d said goodbye to him, even if you’d tried hard to hide it. There had been three, maybe four times when you’d said his name under your breath when he was fucking you but you’d never seemed to notice. 

Of course it bothered him, a part of him wanted to drive back to Butte and kill Jesse just to make himself feel better. But he was trying to be better for you and so he ignored the occasional slip of the tongue. 

Your hand snaked around his wrist, holding him firmly in place in your panties. He knew you were thinking about Jesse now, call it intuition, or gut instinct, but whatever it was Spencer knew. 

He used his free hand to relieve himself from his pants and move them down his thighs enough so they were out of his way. He was almost positive that Jesse wasn’t as big as him, couldn’t fill you up the way he could.

In one swift move, he removed his fingers from inside of you and hurriedly plunged his cock between your legs, causing you to gasp and fall flat against the window. Your eyes sprung open at the sudden intrusion and you made eye contact with him in the reflection.

“Jesus Christ, Spence.” You panted as he bottomed out. “A little warning next to him.” 

He chose to ignore you, placing his hands flush on the glass either side of your head as he started thrusting into you. He kept eye contact through the glass, not letting you close your eyes for fear you would start thinking of Jesse again. 

It’s not fair. I’ve done everything for her, I fucking married her and it’s still not enough. What makes him better than me? Why is he still on her mind? 

He tried not to let his anger cloud his judgement and had to rein himself back from fucking you too hard. He forced himself to slow down, thrusting you languidly against the window. You moaned in sync with one another while the Strip below illuminated you both in its chaotic glow. 

You kept your eyes on his in the reflection while he fucked you and all thoughts of Jesse left your head. When you were clenching around him, legs shaking from your impending orgasm, he took hold of your left hand and ran his fingers over your wedding band. 

“You’re mine.” He mumbled, his face contorting as his own orgasm snuck up on him. “Mine. My partner in crime, my wife, my…fuck.” 

He groaned the last word, head falling to your shoulder as he suddenly came inside of you. You whimpered as he filled you up, pushing you over the edge and your legs almost gave up with the force of your orgasm. 

You fell back against Spencer’s chest, his arms holding you up right even though his own legs were shaking. As you fought to catch your breath he peeled you away from the window as he slid out of you and helped you over to the couch. 

You collapsed onto it, panting heavily and pulling Spencer down with you. He laid his head on your chest and listened to the sound of your erratic heartbeat. 

You laid like this for a while until you were both breathing at a normal rhythm and Spencer untangled himself from your arms and got to his feet. He tucked himself away and tugged his pants back up before buttoning them. 

“I’m gonna run you a bubble bath.” He smiled softly down at you. 

“You gonna join me in it?” You smiled back sleepily. 

“Sadly not, I realised I left my wallet at Bennington.” He went to head towards the bathroom but he didn’t get far. 

“You had your wallet at dinner.” You sat up, frowning at the back of his head. 

Spencer froze in his tracks. Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit. 

“Uh,” he turned back to face you, quickly trying to think on his feet, which would be a lot easier if his head wasn’t still hazy from his orgasm. “Not my wallet, I meant the burner phone. I should go and get it.” 

You scrutinised him for a moment but thankfully for him your own head was also bleary and wouldn’t allow you to think too much into it. 

“Ok.” You shrugged, flopping back to the couch. 

Spencer exhaled heavily, continuing on his way to the bathroom. He started the water, pouring in an ample amount of bubble bath and leaving the tub to fill. 

“There’s a bar downstairs and a spa, even a casino. If you get bored with the bath and I’m not back, go nuts.” He spoke as headed back into the room, locating the bottle of red wine he’d had sent to the room before you arrived. 

He made quick work of the cork and poured you a large glass before coming back over to the couch and dropping down next to you. He handed you the glass and you sat yourself up against the cushions again. 

“Hmm I like honeymoons.” You smiled, bringing your glass to your lips and taking a small sip. 

Moments later your face fell and you gagged, thrusting the glass back at Spencer before leaping from the couch and running as fast as your legs could carry you to the bathroom. 

Spencer heard the toilet seat slam back against the cistern and then the distinctive sound of vomiting echoed around the room.

Realistically he was smart enough to figure out what was going on, as were you, but both of your heads were clouded by other thoughts and so you both missed the obvious. 

Spencer padded back to the bathroom and found you on your knees, wiping your hand over your mouth. You looked up at him with large, sad eyes. 

“The wine turned against me.” You whined. “Goddamn gas-and-go hotdogs.” 

Spencer smiled sadly at you and slid to the floor next to you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders as the bath continued to fill behind him. 

“Are you going to be ok if I pop out?” Please god say yes, I need this, it has to be tonight. 

“Yeah, I’ll be fine. It’s passed again now, I guess I just won’t be drinking any wine tonight.” You sighed. “You go, do your thing.” 

“As long as you’re sure.” Spencer pushed himself back to his feet and then held his hands out to help you up. 

“Of course. Do you think you’ll be gone for long?” 

“No idea, traffic at this time of night will probably be a pain, but I promise I’ll hurry.” He stroked your hair back from your face. 

“Ok.” You nodded, lowering yourself to sit on the edge of the tub. “Go, I’m fine. I can run a bath.” 

“I won’t be long.” He went to kiss you but then thought better of it as your breath smelt like vomit. Instead he kissed his first and middle finger and then placed them on your lips making you chuckle. 

Soon he was heading out of the room in search of his bag so he could change into jeans and t-shirt. The weapons were in the Chevvy’s glovebox, ready for their next assignment. 

He dressed quickly and got his shoes on, throwing on a hoodie before grabbing the car keys and heading to the door. 

“Be safe, sweetheart.” He called as he reached for the handle. 

“Love you.” You replied and it made his heart swell every time he heard you say that. 

As he opened the door, his wedding ring caught his eye and he rolled his lip between his teeth. He forced open the door, ignoring the way his heart practically exploded when he looked at his ring. He had a job to focus on. 

But the truth was, you were the only thing keeping him together. He was lost and you’d found him, taken him in and patched him up. His scars both mental and physical didn’t phase you, if anything you’d loved him harder because of them. You’d fixed him up in ways you’d never understand and he hoped he wasn’t making a huge mistake in what he was about to do. 

He was fairly certain you’d never walk away from him, that nothing he could do could be worse than the things he’d already put you through. Because he was sure one day all that thread keeping him together would come unravelled and if he had no one there to stitch him back up again he would be torn so deeply there would be no repairing him. And god only knows how quickly a broken man would devolve.

No, it's no wonder I feel broken,

Are you the one to fix me up, patching up the work they done?

Try and sew me,

So thread the needle, tie it off, teach me how to trust someone.

Really hoping that you stay,

That you never walk away,

Every word I shouldn't say, I shouldn't say, I shouldn't say it.

Do you feel the stress in me,

Steady bursting at the seams?

You're the only one I need to make me complete, yeah.

Stitch me up, stitch me up, don't tear me apart,

I've been stuck in the rut, patched up in the dark.

Stitch me up, stitch me up, there's pins in my heart, oh,

Pardon all my precious scars.

No, it's no wonder you've been feeling,

Like a doll in lost and found, so mistreated, thrown around.

Who you kidding? (You kidding),

Every flaw and every fray, that's what makes you sexy to me.

Really hoping that I stay,

I could never walk away,

Every word we shouldn't say, we shouldn't say, we shouldn't say it.

Do you feel the stress in me,

Steady bursting at the seams?

You're the only one I need to make me complete, yeah.

Stitch me up, stitch me up, don't tear me apart,

I've been stuck in the rut, patched up in the dark.

Stitch me up, stitch me up, there's pins in my heart, oh,

Pardon all my precious scars.

Elegant and broken, tasteful, tattered clothing,

I guess we've been caught in the middle of love.

Motive through emotion, damaged but we're golden,

I guess we've been caught in the middle of love.

Elegant and broken, tasteful, tattered clothing,

I guess we've been caught in the middle of love.

Motive through emotion, damaged but we're golden,

I guess we've been caught in the middle of love.

Stitch me up, stitch me up, don't tear me apart,

I've been stuck in the rut, patched up in the dark.

Stitch me up, stitch me up, there's pins in my heart, oh,

Pardon all my precious scars.

Really hoping that you stay,

Pray you never walk away,

Pardon all my precious scars.

Stitch me up, stitch me up, there's pins in my heart,

Oh, pardon all my precious scars.

@bubblebuttwade @jay-2s-world @daddy-dotcom @nomajdetective

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[wilteddreamsofbaldursgate]

Overindulgent father Astarion who tells his children they’re allergic to any kind of jewellery that isn’t made of the highest grade Dwarven crafted gold. 

It’s not even because Astarion might have a certain aversion to silver, no, he just raises his children to have standards, thank you very much. 

And it doesn’t end with shiny things, oh no… 

The Ancunín brood is known to be dressed in perfectly woven cotton, silk and soft leather clothes, no matter the occasion.

They’re seen playing with expensive toys, reading artfully illustrated books that certainly belong behind thick glass, not in children’s sticky hands. 

There’s even talk that one of the children is not as naturally inclined to music as his parents claim him to be, surely his lyre must be enchanted—the instrument certainly looks extravagant enough! 

And then there’s always this air of effortless haughtiness surrounding the Ancunín children whenever their nannies and servants are parading them through town as if they were perfect little dolls; objects to show off the wealth their parents acquired in quite the mysterious ways. 

So, it’s no secret that Astarion and Tav are pampering their children—some might say they’re even spoiling them rotten. 

And maybe they are, especially Astarion.

But he doesn’t see why he should raise them any other way, nor does he want to.  

When it comes to his children, Astarion has his own standards, and as long as Tav agrees with him nothing really matters. 

Because, these people, they don’t know anything about the Ancuníns. 

They don’t know that it’s not unusual for Astarion to wash out dirt and mud and strawberry stains from comically small finery, leaving behind only the memories of a day spent playing in the garden, chasing after ducks, picking flowers, lazing in the sun…

That any holes and tears the children’s clothes might suffer are quickly mended, making them look as good as new in no time. 

Nor do they know that Astarion doesn’t mind fashioning a brand new dress to match that of a favourite doll, either. Or to embroider a pretty vest with the likeness of that stray cat the children seem to adore, although their father would rather they don’t touch the mangy animal. 

No, those people know nothing at all...

“Not tired!” Astarion’s youngest cries; the vehement denial of her father’s earlier accusation is cut short by a telltale yawn.

The room still smells of fragrant lavender oil and peaches even when the bath water has already grown tepid, just one or two degrees above what Astarion would consider too cold to be enjoyable. 

Amused, he raises an eyebrow at the protesting toddler before he lifts her out of the copper bathtub with little effort. 

By now, he knows every step of this game.

“Tut-tut, my dear child, what did mama and I say?” Astarion kneels, quickly wrapping a soft towel around the child to keep her warm. “We only tell lies outside of this house.”

Unfazed by her father’s gentle scolding, the girl crosses her arms that haven’t yet lost their puppy fat across her chest, reminding Astarion a little too much of a very displeased Tav. 

Suppressing a sigh, he leans back to consider the pouting child, wondering what could possibly be upsetting her this time—the list is growing longer by the day, after all. 

“What’s the matter, dear?” Astarion asks gently, hoping it’s something easily fixable as it’s growing rather late. 

“Want apple!”

Decades ago, Astarion might’ve rolled his eyes—he knows exactly which stupid apple the child wants, it’s been haunting him all day—but once he started to treat his children’s problems as if they were his own, his life has grown somewhat easier. 

“Why, let’s get an apple on our way to bed, then. Would that be alright, Your Highness?” 

The girl promptly nods her head, allowing Astarion to pat her hair dry before dressing her in a clean night dress. 

She rests her cheek against her father’s shoulder as he carries her first to the kitchen to grab a fragrant apple and a knife, then to her bedroom where they settle on the cosy window seat, just like they do every night.

Soft moonlight is pouring through the windows; the child giggles at the way the knife’s blade is catching the silver light as Astarion peels and cuts the apple into even pieces.

“Here you go,” he finally says, giving the slice of apple one last examining look before surrendering it to the impatient little hands reaching for it. “A sweet treat for my little sweet. Doesn’t it taste so much better when we don’t eat it off the floor, darling?” And when it’s not crawling with ants…

The appeased toddler nibbles at the juicy fruit as Astarion carefully combs through her still-damp curls. 

Her hair’s getting long, he notices, knowing that taking care of it will become more time-consuming each day. 

Once, Astarion would’ve thought this task tedious, brushing out hair that’s not his own, oiling and braiding it for no other reason than knowing his children enjoy him doing it. 

But that’s why he loves doing it in the first place, he supposes.

Astarion can tell by his toddler’s heartbeat that sleep is about to claim her. 

The half-eaten slice of apple is still clutched in her little fist as he cradles the child to his chest, slowly rising from the window seat to put her to bed. 

He’s just about to lay the child down that the fruit drops to the floor, his daughter’s tiny hand clutching at his shirt instead.

“Thank you, papa,” she mumbles, more asleep than awake.

Astarion pauses.

He breathes in the clean, yet unique scent of the little girl that is forever engraved in his brain, the same way he knows under which exact constellation she was born. When she took her first steps, what her first word was. Soon, he will have to memorise her favourite colour, and what she likes to eat when dirty apples won’t be that appealing anymore. 

By now, Astarion knows this game by heart, knows that with every year that passes, he has something new to learn about his children.

And sometimes he wonders what it’s like to grow up with clean bed sheets and full bellies. Sleep filled with naught but warmth and happy memories. Ever open doors and tears that are dried by tender kisses. Living in a house where mistakes and anger are welcomed, safe. 

He wonders what it’s like for his children to know that their father’s love comes without conditions. Not now and not ever. 

Sitting down on the bed, Astarion holds his youngest a little closer to his chest, unwilling to let go of her, yet. 

He’s often accused of spoiling his children when most people can only just grasp the very surface of his love for them, the bare minimum of what he feels for his one and only, precious family. 

These baseless accusations are as unimportant to Astarion as the people voicing them.

He’s raising his children to have standards, wants them to take their father’s love for granted, to accept nothing less but pure devotion.

It’s the only way Astarion knows how to love them, the only way that comes most naturally to him. 

Astarion looks down at his little girl, now fast asleep, a gentle smile tugging at her lips. 

After all these years—all these children—he’s still in awe watching them sleep in his arms as if no harm in the world could ever befall them.

And it won’t—not if Astarion can help it. 

“No, thank you, my heart,” he whispers, pressing a kiss against the crown of the toddler’s head. 

When it comes to his children, Astarion holds himself to the highest standard.

#astarion #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #dadstarion #astarion x tav #astarion headcanons #astarion x f!tav #baldur's gate astarion #astarion ancunin #to the best worst dad #astarion father of the year every year #emicha writes #idk how this turned out this long #I just put my daddy issues to work #I'm thinking about writing more casual one shot length pieces like this more often though #btw anyone else who only got real gold jewellery as a child? #having a grandma who told them fake jewellery isn't good for your skin? #and now that you're an adult you're left with a certain standard for jewellery but no money to actually pay for it? #because that's really funny ha! #I'll sleep better knowing the ancunin brood will just steal their jewellery even when they're not destitute

[luveline]

could you write a ditzy!reader with tasm peter parker -- i have a vision of them bickering and reader just saying incredibly wrong things (ala getting things confused with each other, not flat out lies) while effortlessly beating whoever theyre fighting

“You always make this look much more difficult than it is, Spider-Man!” you call.

Peter is a little busy getting his head smashed into a wall to answer you. “Fuck! Hey, man, are you trying to graduate from robber to murderer? ‘Cos you’re getting there,” he says, shooting the front of a web into the robber’s face before ducking under his arm and quickly climbing up the opposite wall. He smacks the end of the web into the buildings  and lets the guy hand there two feet off the ground, dropping down to poke at his dangling feet. “Or you could be a life-sized Christmas decoration. This is way cooler.” 

“He’s not a robber, Spider-Man,” you say. He’s surprised you don’t call him Peter, honestly. “He’s a cat burglar. They’re different.” 

“He’s not a cat burglar, he didn’t go into anyone’s house. What are you doing?” 

You’ve strung the robber’s accomplice up like a fly in a spider's web. You’re giggling as you drop down beside him, the sound only so slightly muffled by your spandex mask. “He looks tasty.” 

A honk echoes from the mouth of the alley, then a screech of tires. Peter heard a cry of, “Hey, my purse!” and then, predictably, the approach of hurried footsteps. 

“Good day for robbers,” you say conversationally. 

“Bad day for old ladies. Do you have the purse?” 

You turn to him to show the purse already slung over your shoulder, the body bumping against your hip. “It suits me, right? Hey, did you know purses keep getting bigger because women have to carry more stuff? Soon, my purse will be the size of my car.” 

“You don’t have a car. And that’s not true, purses come in a hundred different sizes.” Peter gently pushed your chest back to get a clean shot at the approaching robber. He webs him at the feet, and smirks to himself as the newcomer immediately topples forward, the stolen purse flying from his hands. “Watch your step.” 

“Delivery!” you laugh, grabbing the bag off of the ground. “Hey, we should make these guys pay for the bags, considering they’re all scuffed up and broken now. What do you think?” you ask the robber stuck to the floor, who’s now lamenting a potentially broken nose. “Aw, Spider-Man, look what you did.”

“Walk it off,” Peter advises, taking you by the shoulders to lead you out of the alleyway. He’s too tired to deal with these idiots today. “It was in the name of justice.” 

“I heard that a broken nose takes up to five months to heal. What justice is that?” 

“That’s not true.” 

“It is. I saw it on the history channel.” 

“The same channel that thinks aliens built the pyramids?” 

“Everyone’s wrong about something.” 

“Yeah, well, I’ll keep it in mind. Now where did that old lady go?” 

“There’s a Pilates studio down the street. Old people love that stuff.” 

“No, they don’t.” Peter looks at you with concern. You keep on walking, unaware of his looking nor his judgement as you emerge from the alley into the New York City hub. Peter jogs to catch up, slipping an arm between yours to anchor you to him as he says, “It’s a good thing you’re so pretty.” 

“That’s mildly insulting. It’s a good thing you’re pretty.” 

Peter can’t kiss you with the masks. He would, though. A smacker of a kiss pressed unabashed into your cheek. “You really think old people like Pilates?”

#tasm peter parker #tasm peter x reader #tasm peter parker imagine #tasm peter parker x you #tasm peter parker x reader #tasm x reader #peter parker x reader #tasm!spiderman x reader #tasm!peter x reader #tasm!peter imagine #tasm!peter parker #tasm!peter parker x reader #tasm! peter parker x reader #spiderman x reader #peter parker oneshot #peter parker blurb #peter parker imagine #peter parker x you #peter parker x y/n #spiderman x you #spiderman fanfiction

[spaceyaceface]

Snow, Scarves, and Schemes

Sebastian Sallow x f!Reader (unspecified Hogwarts House)

Word Count: 14.8k (oops) 

Content Warnings: Slight angst 

Summary: Y/N is sick of Leander Prewett trying to court her. Luckily, she has a best friend named Sebastian Sallow who would love to help put an end to it. They devise a plan to pretend to court up until the Yule Ball. Should be simple, right? If only. 

Or, the classic friends to lovers, idiots in love, fake dating scenario. 

Also available on AO3

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

Y/N paced back and forth nervously in the Undercroft. This was a stupid idea. Utterly rubbish. She considered going back to her common room, but knew it was already too late–she’d sent him an owl, after all. A bloody owl with a bloody note asking for help and to meet her in the Undercroft. She couldn’t flee now; he’d just track her down and badger her about later.

She nearly jumped out of her skin when the door to the Undercroft opened with the boy she was waiting for waltzing through. He’d shot up in height the summer after their fifth year—he now nearly had to duck coming in the doorway. He’d been a twig for a brief moment after his growth spurt (a fact that Y/N had taken to her advantage and teased him with) but he had quickly filled out in the months that followed. Now, Sebastian Sallow stood tall and broad before her, the changes from the last two years evident to her eyes. It made her feel a little intimidated. Not that Sebastian himself was intimidating—she knew him too well to ever fear him. And he knew her well enough that she wouldn’t put up with any of his nonsense. The last two years of friendship had made them very close—of everyone in Hogwarts, Sebastian was easily the person she trusted the most, despite some of the difficulties throughout their time together. He’d really come far in proving himself redeemed—the fact that Anne now spoke to him attesting to his progress. It was her trust in him that led to this moment now.

“I got your owl, what’s happened?” He’d seen her nervous only a handful of times before. For the most part, Y/N was a girl who didn’t let things get to her—she made a habit of running headfirst into danger, thinking of the consequences only in passing. So, the way she was wringing her hands was most unusual. “You said you needed help, are the poachers back around Hogwarts?”

She shook her head quickly, finally meeting her eyes. “No, nothing like that. It’s just—oh this is stupid, I shouldn’t have sent that owl—”

“Too late,” Sebastian teased. “I know something’s afoot, I won’t rest until I find out what it is.”

“I know, I know!” She sighed. “You can’t laugh, alright?”

A signature smirk settled on his face. “No promises.”

She groaned. “Look, you know Leander Prewett, right?”

The events leading up to Y/N’s hastily scribbled note came back full force. Leander had followed her from her Herbology class down to Potions. Most of the time, Y/N had Sebastian and Ominis by her side, and could quickly dismiss the arrogant Gryffindor. But today, Sebastian had ‘accidently’ spilled a bag of dung all over Garreth Weasley’s feet, and Professor Garlick had insisted Sebastian stay behind to clean it up. Poor Ominis, guilty only by association, had been roped in as well. So Leander had taken his chance and walked out of the classroom with Y/N.

Because their conversations were usually cut off by Y/N running off to Sebastian and Ominis, Leander would typically ask how she was, make some snide remark about a Slytherin, and then ask her out. Sometimes she answered with a simple “No, thank you,” sometimes she made excuses of how busy she was, and sometimes, when she was really at her wit’s end, she’d pretend she hadn’t heard the question before claiming she saw Ominis’s blond hair up ahead and running off. But today she couldn’t find a reason to run.

And so, Leander strode up to her in the hall. “How are you, Y/N?”

“Just fine, thank you,” she stated simply, not even meeting eyes with the red-headed boy.

“Pretty low of Sallow to dump that dung all over. Typical Slytherin. Serves him right to have to clean it all up.”

She didn’t give him a reply this time, electing to roll her eyes instead. The whole Slytherin-Gryffindor rivalry had always seemed pointless and melodramatic to her, though she had to admit she disliked it coming from Leander a lot more than hearing it from Sebastian or Ominis.

“What would you say to a trip to the Three Broomsticks with me this weekend, eh? My treat, of course. Could make a date of it.”

She let out a sigh. “I’d say no thank you, Leander.”

He scowled a bit. It was no secret to the majority of the students in their year that Leander had been chasing after Y/N for some time now. Ever since she became the “hero of Hogwarts” (a title she loathed to be remembered by), he’d had his eye on her. She had always felt it was less than actual attraction and more of a claim to fame that had him on her tail. But he was persistent.

“Why won’t you let me take you out, Y/N? We could end up enjoying ourselves, you know. I pride myself in being good company.”

“Because I don’t want to , Leander.” She was growing exasperated with him quickly.

“Want to? Or don’t think you can?” Leander frowned at her. “I know your friends with Sallow, and if I’d hazard a guess, I’d say he’s trying to poison you against me.”

She stopped walking, aghast. “I’d say it’s yourself who led to any ill-feelings I have toward you.”

“Then why not give a chance at settling some of those ill-feelings?”

Her fists clenched at her sides, and before she knew what she was saying, the words came tumbling out of her mouth—the words she almost immediately grew to regret.

And now in the present, Sebastian's eyes narrowed. “That prat? What about him?”

Y/N couldn’t help but chuckle a bit at his sour reaction. “Well, it’s to do with him. You see, he keeps asking me out—”

“You’re not planning on saying yes, are you?” he asked, an edge to his voice. Ah, that Slytherin-Gryffindor rivalry.

“Of course not! Like you said, he’s a prat. A prat who won’t take no for an answer. Well, at least he wouldn’t, until I told him was already seeing someone…” She bit her lip, looking away from him.

Sebastian’s eyebrows raised. “You’re seeing someone? That’s news to him and me both, though I thought as your best friend I’d be a bit more entitled to that information.”

“That’s the whole problem, Sebastian! I’m not seeing anyone. I just needed a way to get him off my back, and now he’s suspicious, it was obvious he didn’t believe me—”

She was interrupted by a laugh. Sebastian was holding his arms over his stomach, nearly bent in half with the laughter shaking his body.

“You said you wouldn’t laugh!”

“I said no such thing.” He stood up straight again, still chuckling. “So, you need someone to pretend to be courting you, is that it?”

She blushed deeply, covering her face with her hands. “Yes, Sebastian. That’s what I need help with.”

“Well, I’m honored.” He grinned ear to ear. “What made you choose me over Ominis, if I may ask?”

“For one, most everyone has heard he’s courting Anne now, which would add some tension if he was supposedly courting both of us—”

“Ah, right,” Sebastian conceded. Ominis and Anne’s developing relationship was rather new, one that had completely blindsided Sebastian (which was ridiculous in Y/N’s opinion, she could see it from a mile away. The protective twin had simply been in denial), though he had approved nonetheless.

“And secondly, to be quite frank, Prewett… has a stronger distaste for you than for Ominis. I figured it would throw him off his game a bit more.”

“Strategic. I like it.” He clapped his hands together. “So, when do we start?”

Y/N brightened. “You’ll help me then?”

“Of course. You’re my best friend, Y/N, I’m happy to keep a slimy chap like Prewett off your back any day.”

She launched herself forward, tackling Sebastian in a hug. “Oh, thank you! You’re bloody brilliant, you know that?”

He gave a sly smile. “‘Course I do, though it’s nice to be reminded of it now and again.”

The two sat side by side, snacking on some of the nicked food they’d stored in the Undercroft. After practicing spells for a bit, they had gotten hungry and decided to take a break. Y/N broke a roll she was holding in half, setting one part into Sebastian’s outstretched hand. It was an unspoken system between them—always sharing what they ate.

“So,” Sebastian said between bites. “We should probably discuss the details of our arrangement, shouldn’t we?”

She glared at him. “You want some sort of payment for it?”

He put his hands up in surrender. “Not at all. I’m doing this out of the kindness of my heart. And seeing Prewett’s humiliated face.” He smiled at the chuckle this brought out of her. “I meant things like how long we plan to ‘court’, or how we want to go about… displaying it.”

She nodded, thinking. “Well, the Yule Ball is coming up. I think it’s part of why he’s upping his game.”

He hummed in agreement. “That’s in what, three weeks, is it?”

“Precisely. I figured we could court until a few days before the ball, then ‘break it off’. That way, you could ask whoever you wanted to be your date, and I could attend with Ominis as he helps me through my devastating heartbreak, like the true friend he is.”

Sebastian chuckled. “Sensible. Speaking of Ominis, you know we’re going to have to tell him we’re faking it, don’t you?”

“Oh, absolutely. He wouldn’t believe it otherwise. He’d call it out for what it was, and it’d all crumble before it started!”

Sebastian laughed. “He’s a decent liar. And he hates Prewett too, he won’t have any qualms with it.”

A chuckle made its way past her lips as she pressed another bit of food into Sebastian’s hand. “Now, as far as the ‘displaying it’ nonsense goes…”

Sebastian nodded solemnly. “This will be the most difficult part. I’ll have to tolerate your company, won’t I?”

The shove she gave him nearly tipped him over.

“Come on now! You know I’m joking!”

She rolled her eyes. “It’s me that tolerates you , we both know that. We’ll have to do a bit more than tolerate, anyway. I don’t imagine it’ll be too much, though. Perhaps holding hands, and occasional loving embrace, that sort of thing.”

“So I’m not getting a proper snog out of you is what I’m hearing?”

This time, the shove did tip him over. “You’re nothing but an overconfident rake, Sebastian Sallow!” Even as she said it, she smiled down at him.

“I’m not, and you know it. I’m a right and proper gentleman.”

“Right and proper gentlemen don’t talk about snogging in front of young ladies.”

“You’re my best friend, Y/N, you hardly count as a lady.”

There was a slight twinge of pain in her chest as he said those words. Since when did she not count as a lady? Sure, she preferred trousers to skirts and dresses, but they were simply more practical. She could out duel any witch or wizard who stood against her, but she liked to think she kept some amount of poise while doing so. And she thought herself quite respectable, at least until she got talking to Sebastian… perhaps he had a bit of a point. Most ladies would be aghast at arranging a fake-courting situation, and talking so plainly while doing so, but it was Sebastian . He felt more of an extension of herself at times than a boy she had met just over two years ago.

Y/N was in the middle of rolling her eyes when another voice joined the conversation. “What was that about snogging? Do the two of you need a moment alone?”

She grinned at the sight of Ominis walking toward them, his wand outstretched. “Oh, thank God you’re here Ominis. I don’t know if I could have spent another moment in the hell that is Sebastian’s company.”

“If that’s really how you feel, Y/N, our plan is doomed to fail,” Sebastian said, gathering more of their nicked food to share with the new addition.

“Plan? What trouble are you trying to get me into now?” Ominis asked as he sat on the floor beside them. Sebastian pressed an apple tart into his hand.

“Oh, nothing horrible, unless you think giving Prewett a heart attack is indecent,” Sebastian said.

“As… un-fond of Prewett I am, I still need to know what’s happening before I let anything proceed. What is it?”

Y/N sighed. “Well, Ominis, as someone who shares similar sentiments about Prewett, I… needed a way to get him to stop asking to take me out. I stupidly told him I was seeing someone, and Sebastian has graciously decided to step in and be that someone. Pretend to be that someone, I guess I should say.”

Ominis frowned. “And you need my help in what way?”

“Not in any way, really. Just go with it. Confirm it if people ask. Spread rumors when possible,” Sebastian said.

Ominis thought hard. Y/N could practically see the gears turning in his head, calculating every which way things could backfire. After a few moments, he seemed to come to the conclusion that nothing could go too terribly wrong. “All right. Whatever keeps Prewett at bay.”

Y/N threw an arm around him, startling him a bit. “Thank you, Ominis.”

He chuckled. “Anything for you. Now, if only I had someone to place bets with on how long the pair of you last.”

Ominis and Sebastian walked side by side back to the Slytherin common room. Y/N had departed a while before them, needing to catch up on a bit of her homework.

“Seems like an interesting plan the two of you have conceived,” Ominis said.

“Interesting indeed. Though I do have to say, it was pretty much Y/N who conceived it,” Sebastian replied easily.

“It’ll be… fascinating to see the two of you pretend to be a couple.” Ominis sounded thoughtful.

Sebastian frowned. “What do you mean by that?”

“Well, if I’m honest, there’s been times I thought the two of you might have something between you.” Ominis tilted his head to face Sebastian a little bit more. “Never certain of it, though. Should I have been certain of it?”

His frown deepened. “Are you trying to say that one of us has feelings for the other?”

Ominis shrugged. “More or less. Any truth to that?”

Sebastian found himself thinking about the thought of that. Truth be told, he hadn’t done much of it before. He enjoyed spending time with Y/N, of course. It was always fun to throw her off by saying something unexpected. What was more was how well she did the same thing back. It kept him on his toes, always letting him expect the unexpected. She was talented, too, of course. He’d never forget that first duel they had, nor the ones they fought side by side in afterwards. She was an incredible witch. Beautiful, too, though that was common knowledge among most of the students in their year. It was just a fact. A statement. Y/N was beautiful, talented, funny, and exciting. Sebastian knew all of these things–-that didn’t mean he liked her, did it?

He realized there had been a bit too much of a pause after Ominis’s question. He quickly spat out the conclusion he had drawn to. “No, Ominis. She’s my best friend, right beside you. I haven’t felt that way, and I seriously doubt she’d ever feel that way towards me. Purely platonic.”

Ominis nodded, seeming like he expected as much. “Figured. Was just curious if this whole arrangement would bring anything out of the two of you. Perhaps it’s for the best—if the two of you really did start courting, I have a feeling the very walls of Hogwarts would have their days numbered.”

“Are you saying we’d be an awful couple?”

“Awful, or perfect together. I don’t think the castle would stand a chance at your mayhem in either case.”

Sebastian chuckled before changing the subject. What he had told Ominis had been true… hadn’t it? She was his best friend. They were nothing more, never had been, and never would be.

So why was he so glad Ominis couldn’t see how flushed he’d gotten at the thought?

Y/N picked at her breakfast the next morning—she’d only eaten a couple bites of her tart before setting it back on her plate, moving her eggs around instead. She imagined this is what it felt like for those on the Quidditch teams before a match. It was only by sheer luck that none of her friends around her seemed to notice her unease; perhaps they figured she got a bad night of sleep or something. They talked animatedly to one another. Y/N tried to listen, but found herself distracted with constant glances at the door.

It was very usual for Sebastian to be late to breakfast—or at times to miss it entirely. With all his late night mischief, he tended to sleep in as much as possible before coming down at the last minute to grab some leftover pastry and rush off to class. She started to wonder if he would show at all before they had to start heading to Defense Against the Dark Arts.

As if the thought had brought him into existence, Sebastian Sallow strode through the doors of the Great Hall, Ominis trailing behind. He glanced quickly around the room before his eyes landed on Y/N, a smile appearing on his face as he walked over.

Seeing him let something settle in Y/N’s stomach. What was she so worried about? Of course he would show up for her. He always had, hadn’t he?

Sebastian arrived at Y/N’s table and didn’t hesitate to reach over her, grabbing an apple off her plate. “Lovely morning, isn’t it?”

Y/N scoffed. “Have you even looked outside yet? It’s a blizzard out there. I’m only grateful we don’t have to walk to Herbology in this mess.”

He shrugged. “Just because it’s snowing doesn’t mean it’s not lovely.”

A chuckle escaped her lips. “I suppose.”

He held out a hand to her, a prompting to head to class. “Come on then. Best we start our way over.”

The gesture wasn’t unusual coming from him, so she dedn’t hesitate to take his hand and stand. However, instead of letting their hands slide apart, his grip tightened as he laced his fingers between hers.

She turned away from him quickly, heading straight for the door. With their hands interlocked, he had no choice but to follow. She hoped she had turned quickly enough to keep him from seeing the blush that had crept up her cheeks. He had done that so… naturally. It stirred something inside her. She figured it was just her being impressed with his acting skills, and God knows Sebastian’s ego was already big enough—no need to let him know her astonishment of his actions to boost it further.

Once she felt she had collected herself enough, she turned her head to face him. “Did you finish your essay yet?”

He frowned. “What essay?”

“The one Professor Sharp assigned us in Veritaserum. Figured you’d find the topic interesting.”

His eyes lit up a bit. “Ah, yes, that one. Haven’t even started it, actually. Though I’m not nervous—I’d say the both of us know plenty to fill eleven inches of parchment.” He winked down at her, eliciting a smile on her lips. He was right about that. There was a period of time in their sixth year where Sebastian became determined to brew as many restricted potions as he could get the ingredients for. Veritaserum had been included in these, and the batch had resulted in an interesting night with Sebastian, Ominis, and Y/N spilling secret opinions on their classmates. “Perhaps we should brew another batch. I have a feeling Ominis isn’t telling me all the details of his letters with Anne.”

Y/N laughed and bumped shoulders with him, their interlocked hands keeping them both balanced. “Don’t torture your best friend for details about love letters, with you sister, no less.”

“Exactly! She’s my sister, I have a right to know!”

“I have the distinct feeling you wouldn’t want to know all the mushy things they write to each other.”

He rolls his eyes, but any annoyance comes across as ingenuine with the grin plastered on his face. “I’m not going to admit it, but maybe you’re right.” He leads them into the classroom, walking to the desk where Ominis already sat. Sebastian pulled out Y/N’s chair, allowing her to sit before taking his own beside her. A nice touch, she thought. Very in character.

Ominis chuckled to Y/N’s side. “The rumors have already begun. I overheard Poppy whispering about the two of you holding hands to someone, now that she’s got ahold of it, it’ll spread fast.”

Y/N grinned, meeting eyes with Sebastian beside her to see the smirk that had settled on his face. He stretched his arm above him, letting it settle on Y/N’s chair behind her. This was all too simple

The rest of the day continued on much the same. Sebastian was quick to hold her hand between classes, and with that the whispers around them became increasingly pronounced. It seemed too easy, really—Y/N supposed her close friendship to the boy leading up to this gave them some credibility as a believable pair.

By dinner, she couldn’t help but notice Leander Prewett positively fuming at the sight of them. He glared past all the tables, seemingly unable to tear his gaze away from Sebastian as he helped load food onto Y/N’s plate. She had to stifle a laugh.

“God, would you look at the awful sight of him?” she said, pulling her plate in front of her. “He’s livid.”

Sebastian smiled mischievously. “It’s beautiful to behold, really.”

Ominis frowned. “Well don’t leave me out of it.”

“Oh, you’re not missing much,” Sebastian replied, finishing up with his own plate and getting ready to dive into the meal. “Just Prewett tried to curse me with his glare alone. I suppose I should be grateful he never took to nonverbal spells.”

It wasn’t long until Imelda came over to the trio, Poppy and Natty trailing close behind her. Y/N held back a wince. Besides the two boys sat on either side of her, these three were her best friends. It was inevitable that they would confront her—especially with Imelda being, well, Imelda.

Her arms were crossed over her chest, a determined look in her eye. Natty stood off to one side, looking fairly unconcerned. Poppy, on the other hand, seemed nearly fearful.

“So,” Imelda said, looking between Y/N and Sebastian. “There have been rumors.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “About me? Pray tell.”

“About the two of you. ” She gave a tilt of her head to indicate Sebastian.

“I’m right here, you know,” he said.

“So am I,” Ominis interjected. “Though go on treating me like a broken broom, if you’d like.”

Y/N held back a laugh, trying to remain serious. Imelda rolled her eyes. “Just tell us if it’s true or not. Are the two of you… courting?”

Y/N shot a quick glance at Sebastian. The slight up-ticks in the corners of his mouth were all the reassurance she needed. “That we are. I’m surprised it took you all the entire day to ask me about it.”

Poppy let herself smile a bit behind Imelda. Funny, Y/N thought. She looked pretty happy about the development.

“We were surprised we weren’t the first to know,” Natty said.

“Well, to be fair, it’s a very new thing.”

“Long time coming, though,” Ominis mumbled.

Imelda’s suspicious eyes softened. “Well, alright. We just wanted to… confirm it, I suppose. It all seems a bit out of the blue, to be fair.”

Y/N shrugged, thinking fast. “These sort of things almost always are, aren’t they?”

“Not usually,” Poppy piped up.

“Well, this one was. In any case, I promise I’ll tell you all the whole story soon enough.”

“You better, L/N, or I’ll knock you off your broom,” Imelda said, smiling.

Y/N grinned back. “If you can catch me, that is.”

Imelda chuckled, waving a quick goodbye and leaving. Natty followed, but Poppy lingered for a moment. “She means well, you know. And for the record, I think the two of you complement each other.”  After that, she scurried away.

Y/N turned back to Sebastian. Was his face a bit red? No, couldn’t be… though she admitted that last comment from Poppy had thrown her off a bit. “Well, the cat’s out of the bag.”

Sebastian smiled. “That it is. Seems like you have a story to come up with, too. I only ask you don’t make me too pathetic.”

Y/N groaned. “Bloody hell.”

When the next morning rolled around, Y/N somehow wasn’t surprised to see Sebastian standing at the entrance to the Great Hall. It seemed that his dedication to ‘courting’ her had trumped his need for a little more extra sleep. As she walked toward him, she watched his eyes scan the throng of students rushing back and forth. Something stirred in her stomach as she saw how intently he looked through everyone—the fact that his eyes were searching for none other than her.  

How wonderful to have a friend who looked forward to seeing her that much.

Finally, his eyes landed on her. He… lit up, for the lack of a better term. A smile settled onto his face, and he pushed off of the wall he’d been leaning on, standing straighter. It was only a moment later he met her by her side.

“Morning, darling,” he said, as if he’d been waiting since the day before to say it.

That silly feeling in her stomach flared up again. “Good morning. I see the weather hasn’t gotten you down.”

His grin widened. “Down? You’re joking me, you know I love the snow.”

That much is true. She’d been teasing him all winter for that very fact; he’d looked like a child when Mr. Moon had started putting out the Christmas decorations—that elation only grew as the first flakes of snow settled on the castle grounds.

“It’s beautiful, Y/N, I seriously can’t see how you dislike it,” he says, taking her hand and leading her to the table.

“I don’t dislike it, it’s just… cold,” she replied. It was an honest answer. She’d always appreciated the snow from the distance; it was quite lovely to see Hogwarts and the surrounding hamlets covered in a blanket of snow. However, she wasn’t a fan of the chill–-it greatly limited her ability to go out and explore.

Sebastian sat down beside her. “Well then, I’ll take it as my responsibility as your companion to keep you warm.”

She wished she had something witty to reply back with. Instead, a blush fought its way to her face and she frowned. “You… yes. Do that, then.” She cleared her throat, looking around. “Where’s Ominis at?”

“Common room. He’ll be down shortly, he was just sending another letter to Anne before coming.”

She nodded. “We have Herbology today.”

“That we do.” He chuckled. “Merlin, am I excited to see Prewett’s face up close.”

“I hope it’s not too close. I wouldn’t put it past him if he were to try to duel you.”

“I almost hope he does,” Sebastian said, pulling some of the food off of Y/N’s plate. She slapped his hand away, but it was already too late. “I’d love to hex him onto his arse again.”

She shot him a warning glare. “Don’t you go starting anything. Ominis would kill us both if he had to pull his strings.”

He puts his hands up in a surrender. “Any spells I cast will be in self-defense only. I promise you that.”

It’s not long after that Ominis joins them, and then they were off to class. Once again, Sebastian’s hand found Y/N’s. There was still that slight pull in her stomach, a trace of unease in his fingertips. Normal things, she was sure, to have when holding hands with your best friend.

When they arrived in Herbology, the trio set themselves up at a table. The rest of the students came piling in and Y/N distinctly ignored the piercing gaze of Leander Prewett. She felt it on the back of her neck as class began and Professor Garlick gave instructions. It lingered as Sebastian pulled the pot they would be sharing onto the table, not giving her the chance to do it herself. And as the three of them spread soil into the pot, it bore into her still, not letting up for even a moment.

She felt she was about to combust from the heat of it when she noticed Sebastian’s grin beside her. Of course he was enjoying the whole thing—she’d have been a fool to think he’d feel any differently. She lightly slaped his arm with her gloved hand.

His eyebrows raised, not even phased by the ‘attack’, if one could consider it that. “And what was that for?”

“You’re enjoying yourself entirely too much .”

“Really? I was about to step it up a notch, I feel I’m not enjoying the moment to its fullest.”

And obviously, she couldn’t help but laugh at that. She always seemed to have a weakness for his quick remarks. His grin stretched further, if possible.

“Now, my dear, allow me to gather some seeds.” His face became terribly serious. “Don’t fret, I’ll only be gone a moment.”

She wanted to roll her eyes as he left, but instead, another chuckle made its way through her. Ominis let out a sigh. “And I thought he was insufferable before the two of you started this nonsense.”

The class carried on and Y/N found herself baffled again and again by Sebastian’s antics. First he insisted on not letting her leave the table for anything, running back and forth in the classroom to gather supplies. (Ominis didn’t complain about this aspect; he was completely content letting him weave through the tables like a mad-man.) Then he pulled the bag of soil away from her. When she tried to reason with him, he rattled on about how no lovely lady like her should get her hands dirty, to which she reminded him of all of the many, many times she’d proved herself most unlady-like in that sense. He didn’t relent. And finally, when class was over, he stood faster than a blink, offering his hand to help her up—to which, she rolled her eyes and took. It wasn’t this that surprised her—no, helping her up wasn’t extreme. It wasn’t something she would have even found outside of their friendship on a normal day. What caught her off guard was the bow he bent into as she stood, and the lips that pressed lightly, so very lightly , on the back of her hand. Her eyes widened.

He really was insistent on milking every last ounce of Prewett’s agony, wasn’t he?

In the bustle of students getting up and heading to the door, she doubted that many, if any at all, had seen this supposed display of affection. Even so, a tingle shot throughout her, settling right onto her warm cheeks. It was nerves, she reasoned. She was nervous about being caught in the scandal of one such as Sebastian Sallow being so physically affectionate toward her.

But as a figure stormed out of class, she realized the action had not gone completely unnoticed—as was the intention, she was sure. Leander Prewett strode past them, ears redder than the accents on his robes.

She’d have slapped the self-satisfied smirk off of Sebastian’s face if it didn’t look so bloody good on him. You know, in a completely platonic way.

Obviously.

They walked to Potions, and Y/N couldn’t help but notice that Ominis seemed in an awfully good mood, too. “I’m assuming the tantrum-like stomping I heard leaving the class was Prewett?”

“Tantrum-like,” Sebastian echoed. “A fitting way to describe him.”

“The two of you are awful, you know that?” Y/N said. She couldn’t help but be quite pleased with the outcome as well, though.

“‘Course we know that,” Sebastian replied.

Ominis grinned. “We’re not in Slytherin for nothing. Though to be a little fair to Prewett, I myself was getting a bit nauseous in there listening to the two of you. I only kept it together knowing it’s an over-the-top ruse.”

Sebastian scoffed. “Over-the-top. Not in the slightest, my dear Ominis. You just don’t know the first thing about romance.”

Y/N made no comment, though she was fairly certain Sebastian didn’t know much more about romance, either… He was doing a decent job at pretending to know, though.

They were fast approaching the classroom, and she winced to see Leander standing in the corridor leading up to class, arms folded and leaning against the wall in a sulk. His eyes shot up when he heard their footsteps, and he glared daggers directly at Sebastian. As they approached, he stood straighter, glancing between the three of them. She could see the nerves hidden behind his eyes.

“Could I talk to you, Y/N?” His eyes narrowed at Sebastian coldly. “ Privately?”

Sebastian tensed beside her. She was well aware of his protective streak. It was as deeply rooted in him as his charm, immovable as the freckles on his face. It was a part of her dear friend she both admired and grew tiresome of. But she was (almost) always good at talking him down, wasn’t she?

She tightened her grip on his hand. This time, it was a gesture of reassurance, not any sort of display for Leander–-though it could easily be taken as such. She looked up at him. “Go ahead into class. I’ll be right there, alright?”

He took a deep breath. It shuddered a bit on the way out. After a moment, he nodded. “Alright. But if it takes more than a few minutes, I’m coming back for you.”

He let go of her hand, and she found herself missing the comfort of the contact as he and Ominis continued down the corridor. She now faced Leander alone. “What is it you wanted to speak about?”

The red-head’s frown deepened. “It… seems,” he started, speaking as if each word physically pained him. “That you and Sallow are… involved. ”

About as much as she had been expecting. “And how is that your business?”

He gaped at her, as if she dare question his involvement in her affairs. “Because I thought you were a sensible person, Y/N. I still think you are, you’re just lost in this… nonsense.”

A small flame flickered somewhere in her chest. “Nonsense, you say?”

“Alright. It’s more than nonsense. It’s complete and utter rubbish. You’re blinded by Sallow, his false charm and party tricks.” Leanders fist clenched at his side, voice growing louder. “You’re better than this. Better than him. ”

Her jaw tightened. The flicker grew, sending heat down her arms and legs. “You’ll stop talking now, if you know what’s good for you.”

“No, Y/N. It’s I who knows what’s good for you. And what isn’t good for you is that conniving, sorry prick with no life ahead of him. He’s in detention every night. He’s ambitious for nothing but trouble, bound for nothing but a penniless life and an early grave.”

She hadn’t realized she’d pulled her wand out until it was aimed squarely at the Gryffindor’s chest. A raging fire burned inside of her, aching, needing to burst in a wave of fury. She had never felt anything like it.

It surprised her how steady the words were when she spoke them, how in control she was of the fire. “You are a fraction of the man Sebastian Sallow is. You know nothing of who he is, how it’s me who is undeserving of him . I would happily live a thousand penniless lives by his side before I ever even considered wasting a mere moment with you. So I’d suggest doing the greatest kindness you have the ability to provide, and piss off.”

Leander Prewett was stunned speechless. He stared at the girl–-no, the beast stood in front of him, at the wand poised to end him, and in the wisest decision he’d ever make, fled.  

Y/N stood in the hall, just breathing for a moment. How dare he—how dare he even suggest he knew a single thing about her Sebastian? He saw only what he chose to, only what his jealousy allowed him. He was wrong.

It was a minute or two before she walked toward the classroom, still half-blind in her anger. It was this blindness that kept her from seeing the figure using a poor disillusionment charm, just a few steps down the hall.

Sebastian slipped into the classroom just after Y/N, charm dispelling as he entered the door. He saw Ominis’s head face toward them, and he’s sure he can feel the anger rolling off of her in waves. It was so tangible that there was no need for sight in sensing it.

She plopped into her usual seat next to Natty, not noticing how Sebastian sat after her at his own desk, even when he had been given very specific instructions to go on ahead of her.

As for his part in the incident, he was stunned .

He didn’t think he’d ever taken a Stupefy that had affected him as much as this.

While Ominis had continued down to the classroom, Sebastian had cast a disillusionment charm over himself and hid against the wall. He was very aware that this was likely an invasion of privacy, and that Ominis was right in scoffing and rolling his eyes at the action, but he was Sebastian Sallow, for Salazar’s sake. How could he resist listening in to a conversation bound to be about him, especially when the circumstances for eavesdropping were so simple?

(There was also the fact that something could go wrong. And if it did, he couldn’t leave the girl he was supposed to be courting to fend off Prewett on her own, as capable as she was.)

He’d heard every word leave Prewett’s mouth. He’d been ready to jump out and defend his honor when Y/N had done so for him.

And what a bang-up job she’d done, hadn’t she?

The words still echoed in his head. A thousand lifetimes… the ridiculous claim that she didn’t deserve him. He couldn’t wrap his head around any of it.

Ominis leaned over to whisper, pulling Sebastian out of his head and into the reality of Sharp’s droning about their assignment. “Seems like the conversation went swimmingly. Is she mad at you for butting in?”

“I didn’t butt in,” Sebastian whispered back. “She handled herself just fine.”

“It is Y/N we’re talking about, we’ve both known she’s completely capable for years now,” Ominis said. He frowned. “She’s still angry, though, isn’t she?”

“Oh she’s fuming. ” It was true. Natsai was looking quizzically at her friend, concerned at her stiff posture and clenched jaw.

“What is it she’s mad about?”

“She—” He found himself not wanting to say it. Not wanting Ominis to read into the things she had said, make them into something they weren’t.

He didn’t want to allow himself to read into it, either.

“Prewett was being a pratt. Said he knew her better, tried to convince her he knew better than she did. She told him to piss off. ”

That was enough of the truth, wasn’t it?

Ominis seemed to think so, giving a low hum. “Serves him right.”

Y/N didn’t calm down, even when the instructions were over and she and Natty went to gather the ingredients for their potions. Sebastian kept an eye on her, watching her chop ginger with much more force than was necessary. It doesn’t look like she told Natty anything–-the poor Gryffindor looked at her friend, completely at a loss. Blimey, he might’ve thought he was looking in a mirror. Sebastian decided he better do something about the situation.

He abandoned his meager start to the assignment and strided over to Y/N’s table, approaching her from behind. “I do believe the textbook says to cut the ginger into even slices, not to mutilate it.”

She gave a small start, turning to face him. He sees just a bit of the fury drop off her shoulders as they meet eyes. She let out a sigh, looking down at the ginger and wincing. “I’ve made a mess of it, haven’t I?”

“I bit, if I have to admit it.”

She groaned. “I’m sorry, he’s just… it was infuriating.”

“Don’t apologize to me, apologize to your poor ginger. Let’s put it out of its misery, shall we?” He pulled out his wand, vanishing the sorry mess on her table before summoning the untouched ingredient he’d left on his desk. He set it down, smiling at her. “There. A fresh start.”

“Thank you.” He can tell by the look in her eyes that it’s more than just the ginger she’s talking about

“No, thank you.” As if it had a mind of its own, his hand found hers, giving it a light squeeze. “I quite hope he takes your advice and pisses off for the foreseeable future.”

Her mouth dropped open, but before she could say a word, he winked and walked back to his table.

The next few days went off without a hitch. Y/N and Sebastian played the part of the ideal courting couple, and none were the wiser. With each passing day, it became easier to hold hands, to lean in close and share conspiring whispers, to flirt and blush and play pretend.

(Curiously, the strange feeling in her stomach didn’t stop, as natural as these things became. Always nervous someone would see through it, she supposed.)

The rumors that had once been the very exciting topic of meals and corridor whispers turned slowly into accepted truth. There seemed to be no denying it. And as the Yule Ball loomed nearer, Y/N felt more and more at ease that she would not be asked to attend with Leander Prewett. He’d kept his distance since the Incident, as she’d taken to calling it, but felt that she’d be celebrating too soon if she thought he was done for good.

The Incident seemed not only to have an effect on Prewett. She hadn’t foreseen the consequences of Sebastian overhearing what she said, but really she didn’t think she would go back and change a single word she’d uttered. It had all been true. She knew him very well, as a friend, and she’d spend a thousand lifetimes with him, as a friend, and she sure as hell didn’t deserve him, as the bloody brilliant and completely wonderful friend he was.

Sebastian knew that.

Neither of them had spoken about it. They didn’t need to. There was nothing to address. Prewett had been stupid, Y/N had defended Sebastian, like a good friend , end of story.

So why did she still feel the weight of it whenever she saw him?

She figured it must be the leftover anger that coursed through her when she thought of Leander’s words, or the guilt that he had ever had to hear such things said about him. Yes, that was it. She wanted to reassure him. Say it straight to his face that that prat Prewett had it all wrong, and that he shouldn’t ever even consider things he said as truth. But that would have been an awkward conversation, and it was all implied anyway, so each time she thought about the Incident, she’d push it to the back of her mind.

She had been doing just that when Imelda caught her arm in the courtyard. “There you are! We’ve been trying to talk to you for ages .”

Y/N smiled at her, seeing Poppy in tow. “Oh? What about?”

Imelda rolled her eyes. “Don’t play coy, L/N. You still never told us the story about you and Sebastian. I mean, it's increasingly obvious the two of you are courting, but how? When? Why?”

“And have you kissed him yet?” Poppy added, grinning.

Y/N’s eyes went wide. “Poppy!”

The Hufflepuff smiled not-so-innocently.

Y/N shook her head in exasperation. “Look, it’s not as exciting as you both seem to think it is. We were walking together one day, he said he cared for me a bit more than friends, I said I felt the same, and here we are. And no, we haven’t kissed.” She’d thought carefully about the story she’d tell them, coming to the conclusion that a short, safe story was best. Fleshing it out with extreme detail would make it outlandish.

It was also hard for Y/N to think about how she and Sebastian might get together, for some reason. It caused that silly feeling in her stomach to turn.

Imelda frowned. “If I’m honest, I expected there to be a bit more to it. It is Sallow we’re talking about.”

Oh dear. Y/N shrugged, trying to hide any discomfort in the action. “Don’t know what to tell you. Sorry to disappoint.”

“You two have been getting along, though, haven’t you?” Poppy asked. “It seems like you are.”

“Of course we have been,” Y/N answered. “I mean, we were best friends before. Most of it feels… natural, really. Just a few added things. It’s… nice.” She was surprised that she didn’t get that uneasy feeling she normally had when telling a lie at those words.

They stopped pestering her about Sebastian (thankfully, she wasn't as good at coming up with lies on the spot as he is) and instead caught up on other things—homework, poachers, Quidditch, the usual. It was good spending some time with them. She almost didn’t notice the cold of the courtyard. Almost.  

She started shivering at some point—with just her uniform and robe, the chill was quick to settle in. The slight breeze didn’t help, either, whipping away any warmth before she could keep it.

“And just what are you doing out here without a proper coat?” a voice said from behind her. She felt a bit warmer already. Sebastian smirked from beside her, looking over her shivering frame.

“I wasn’t planning on spending a lot of time here, we just… happened to meet,” Y/N explained.

He gave a playful scoff. “Ridiculous. Here, take this,” he said, removing the scarf from around his neck. Her hand opened to grab it, but… there was no need. Instead, he stood directly in front of her, passing the scarf over her shoulders and tying it snuggly without a word. He ran a hand against it, smoothing it out and pushing her hair out of her face. “There we go. Color suits you pretty nicely, too.”

He seemed very satisfied with his handiwork, taking a small step back to admire it. There were several moments of silence until Y/N realized she should probably say something.

“Um, thank you. That’s… much better now.” She was in fact, very warm now.

He chuckled. “I’ll see you later, darling.” And with that, he left.

She didn’t feel the chill at all anymore. Her stomach fluttered with that silly feeling, and her head spun with the scent of old parchment and fireplaces.

The snow fell in gentle flakes around her, and she realized it really was beautiful when she could feel the cold.

The Yule Ball was now only ten days away. It had come up faster than Sebastian thought it would—very recently, three weeks had seemed like a lifetime. Now each day went faster than the last.

With the winter chill growing ever stronger, Y/N had taken to wearing Sebastian’s scarf constantly. She could have swapped her own scarf out and returned his own, but… she hadn’t. He reminded himself that it added a very believable level to their act. It was physical proof that they were tied together, present even when they weren’t standing side by side. When they were apart, Sebastian sometimes thought of her somewhere off in the castle, his scarf tied around her neck, and Ominis would have to tap his shoulder out of his distant thoughts.

He wasn’t really sure what that was all about.

But right now, Y/N was by his side, sitting in the grass as they listened to Professor Garlick’s lecture. Herbology was mostly a hands-on event, but as they progressed toward their N.E.W.T.s, there were some plants to study that even Professor Garlick hesitated to put in front of them. Today she had ushered them outside, insisting that if they had to listen to her ramble on, they should at least feel the sun while doing so.

The snow had melted over the last couple of days, leaving the ground drier than it had been all winter. Sebastian missed the white blanket that had coated the trees and fields. He hoped it would snow again before Christmas. While the sun was out, it was still rather cool. Which was why, even in her coat and scarf ( his scarf), Y/N had begun to shiver.

Sebastian chuckled. “Still cold, are we?”

She frowned, giving him a small glare. “What gave it away?” She looked back at Professor Garlick. “I don’t know how I’m going to make it through class without turning into a block of ice.”

“I’ve got an idea. Come here,” he said, scooting closer to her. Before she could protest, he wrapped his arm around her, pulling her softly into his side.

He wasn’t sure what had made him do it. Instinct? His natural and irresistible flirtatious charm? Who knows. But as soon as he had done it, the weight of it settled on him. Other things had become normal. But this, Y/N pressed against his chest, where she could likely feel his rapidly beating heart, this was new. His body stiffened at the realization. Was this ok? Had he gone too far?

For a moment, she also seemed surprised—but only for a moment. He felt her body relax a bit against his, allowing herself to lean into his warmth. He let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding and did the same.

Class continued, and Y/N stopped shivering. (Sebastian found this very fulfilling.) He was hyper aware of her breathing; he’d never heard it so close for so long. Over and over again he found his gaze drifting down to look at her, eyes unconsciously following the slope of her nose and curve of her lips. As soon as he’d realize he was staring, he’d whip his head forward again, begging himself to keep it that way. It never seemed to work.

After what felt like eternity, class ended. Y/N moved to stand, but Sebastian was quicker, jumping to his feet to offer his hand. A mischievous glint twinkled in her eye. She laid back on the ground, reaching up for his hand lazily. “The class really took it out of me. I’m not sure I can go on.”

Sebastian feigned annoyance. “Are you trying to take advantage of my kindness?” He grabbed her hand anyway, attempting to pull her up. She acted like a limp doll. He couldn’t help but laugh at the way she slumped forward when he finally pulled her into an upright sitting position. She stuck her tongue out at him. Leaning down, he grasped her other hand, forcing her to her feet. Still halfway committed to her game, she rose off balance, and to steady her, Sebastian placed a hand on her waist.

When she finally stood straight, he noticed how close the action had made them.

He was still holding her hand, still gripping her waist. He could feel her breath on his lips—it made his heart lurch. For a split second, he could only think of getting closer, seeing how not only her breath felt, but her lips against his—

His hands dropped to his side and he took a large step back. He couldn’t look at her. Couldn’t see the expression she was wearing. He didn’t know what he wanted to find.

So instead, he cleared his throat. “Lot of work to get you on your feet. Come on, those potions won’t brew themselves.”

Smooth, Sebastian.

Ominis Gaunt was no idiot. In fact, he fancied himself pretty sharp, especially when it came to certain topics.

One of these topics happened to be Sebastian Sallow.

He didn’t need working eyes to see that something was changing . Well, less changing, really, and more uncovering what had been there all along. He could hear it in the tone of Sebastian’s voice when he spoke to her, the way it went all soft. He felt it in the way Sebastian froze in place every time she entered a room. There was this small stupid sigh he’d let out when he couldn’t walk her to her next class, a lingering frown that wormed its way into his speech every time she wasn’t around.

They were little things. But they were there.

And now, after that Herbology class, his friend walked beside him in silence . It was something he had scarcely beheld.

Ominis wasn’t completely sure—not yet. But if he’d hazard a guess, he’d say his best friend had fallen in love—he just didn’t know it yet.

It finally hit her when she realized she missed his smell on his scarf.

She’d worn it every day since he gave it to her—it was cold out, why wouldn’t she? Why not appreciate the gift her friend had given her?

Why not take the chance to always feel he was near her, even when he wasn’t?

Over the days, the scent of fireplaces, old parchment, and a trace of his cologne faded away.  She sat in her room and took a deep breath, realizing in that moment that she had spent every moment she could basking in it. It was in the absence that she finally figured out that silly feeling in her stomach. And now that she had a name for it, it was painful.  

She wasn’t supposed to feel this way for a friend—her best friend . She wasn’t supposed to be excited when he held her hand, wasn’t supposed to feel the burn of his hold on her waist, wasn’t supposed to wish he had closed the distance and kissed the life out of her .

She wasn’t supposed to be in love with him.  

Because that’s what it had been all along, hadn’t it? She couldn’t even trace back to the beginning of the feeling, it was like it had been there all along, lingering, waiting to be discovered.

Now that she had, she worried it would destroy her.

There was no chance he felt the same—he would never have agreed to her stupid plan if those feelings had existed. He would have said something a long time ago. Perhaps he would have kissed her in Herbology.

Where was she supposed to go from here? How could she continue with their awful, awful plan, longing in every moment that it was the truth?

How could she give up the chance to pretend it was real, if only for a few days more?

She wouldn’t ruin this. The plan. Their friendship. She would continue on, and when the day came for it to end, she’d be heartbroken, and pretend to be that damn good at acting . She’d get over it, and she’d never let anyone know that she had ever been in love with Sebastian Sallow.

Ominis bounded into the Great Hall, which was a distinctly un-Ominis thing to do. Sebastian raised an eyebrow as his friend approached, grinning ear to ear. “Have you gotten a letter from Anne?”

“I haven’t checked my post yet,” Sebastian answered as Ominis sat in one of the empty seats beside him. Y/N hadn’t come down yet, which was a distinctly un-Y/N thing to do. Blimey, was everyone off today?

“Then I’ll do the pleasure of sharing the good news myself. She’s been feeling well these last several days, and if it keeps up, she plans to come to the Yule Ball!”

Sebastian understood his friend’s good mood immediately—his own heart soared at the thought of his sister enjoying herself and dancing the night away, and didn’t even feel bothered that it would likely be in Ominis’s arms (he had given his approval, after all). “Really? Have you asked her then, officially?”

“Of course. I’ll be right beside her, Sebastian. You won’t have to worry.”

Sebastian patted his oldest friend on the shoulder, grinning right back at him. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“This does leave a bit of a complication, though, doesn’t it?” Ominis said.

Sebastian frowned. “What do you mean?”

His friend sighed. “I was supposed to be going with Y/N after the two of you broke it off… it wasn’t official, or anything, but—”

“Don’t worry about it, Ominis. She wouldn’t want you to miss going with Anne.” Sebastian thought for a moment. “It is rather close to the ball, anyway. Perhaps it would be best if I went with her. Left the ‘breaking it off’ until afterwards.” Why did that thought make his heart beat faster? “If she’ll have me, of course.”

A strange expression crossed Ominis’s face. “That sounds like a wonderful idea. Why don’t you ask her once she arrives?”

“I will.”

For some reason, it became infinitely harder to eat after that conversation. Each bite of Sebastian’s toast had lost its taste, no matter how much butter he put on it. His pumpkin juice was the same.

What if she said no? What if she was disappointed to go with him, her longing lying elsewhere?

And why did he care so much if it did?

He pushed those thoughts aside as she arrived in the Great Hall, uniform slightly rumpled and hair askew. Had she stayed up too late studying?

In any case, he had a question he needed to ask. He rose to meet her, unable to wait for her to sit at the table. She started a bit, looking up at him.

“Morning, Sebastian,” she said.

“Morning. I had… a question to ask you.”

She tilted her head. He wondered if she heard the worried tone in his voice and quickly cleared his throat, trying to get it to leave.

“What’s the question?”

“Well, you see, there’s a bit of great news, and a little bad news that comes with this question.” Her eyebrows furrowed. “Anne is feeling well–well enough that she plans to attend the Yule Ball.”

Her eyes lit up. (He was glad he got to tell her, just so he could see that.) “That’s wonderful! I’ll be so excited to see her! What’s the bad in all of this?”

“She plans to attend with Ominis, who was going to be your date.”

She shakes her head. “That’s alright. I would never want to come between the two of them, I can stay in that night. Be heartbroken, and all that.”

Sebastian shifted on his feet, nervously. His arms came up to cross over his chest in a protective gesture. “But that’s where my question comes in. I thought—and, please feel free to say no to this—that we could go together? Most people would be expecting it anyways, and we could push off the end of our courting a bit, I wouldn’t mind. And it would keep Prewett trying to ask you last minute, I wouldn’t put it past—”

“Sebastian,” Y/N said, smiling. “That sounds wonderful. I’ll look forward to going with you.”

He held back a wide grin. “Good. I figured it would beat sitting in your dormitory being miserable.”

She laughed, and something shifted inside him. “That it will.”

And with that, he took her hand and led her to the table, his smile refusing to be hidden any longer.

The week leading up to the Yule Ball was a frenzy. Students were restless in class, whispering about who was going with who, figuring out if someone didn’t have a date yet, making plans on buying dresses and robes and discussing how to style hair. By the time the last class was out, a mere three days before the dance, the professors were sick of it. There was an excitement in the air—it was difficult not to get swept up into it.

It was inevitable, Y/N realized, that she wound up in the dress shop in Hogsmeade. Imelda, Poppy, and Natty were with her, all trying to find dresses of their own. Poppy had settled on a lovely gown with a light floral print. Natty found a deep maroon one, accented with flecks of gold–-the perfect dress for a proud Gryffindor. Imelda was set on a navy dress, a little less fancy than some of the other ones, insisting she needed to be able to move properly to dance.

Y/N, on the other hand, was at a loss. She felt like she had tried at least a dozen gowns on and hated every single one. She was nervous—more than she’d like to admit. She knew Sebastian didn’t feel the same for her as she did him, but she still wanted to put her best self forward. And part of that meant the perfect dress.

She sighed as the shopkeeper put away yet another reject—this one a frilly pink number than Y/N had nearly vomited on. She buried her face in her hands. “It’s hopeless.”

Poppy came to her side. “Of course it isn’t! We just have to keep looking!”

“What about this one?” Natty asked, pulling a dress forward for them to view. The Gryffindor had a proud glint in her eye, as if she already knew she had won. “I’m sure he’ll love the color.”

That much was sure to be true. It was a deep emerald green, one that Y/N thought would compliment Sebastian’s lovely brown hair nicely. She blushed at the thought, looking closer at the dress. “I can try it on and see.”

As the shopkeeper helped lace up the back, Y/N knew before looking in the mirror that this was the dress she would wear. It was a simple, but a little scandalous—the neckline allowed her collarbones and tops of her shoulders to be put on display, and the short flowing sleeves showed off her arms. It was lovely. She felt lovely.

When she was dressed, her friends grinned at her. “If you don’t get that dress, I’ll force you into it,” Imelda said.

“No need for force,” Y/N said. “I love it.”

She could only hope Sebastian loved it, too—even if it was just as a friend.

Sebastian’s fingers drummed on the table as he stared at the ground of the Undercroft. Ominis gave an annoyed hum. “If you don’t stop that tapping, I may have to blast your fingers off.”

He frowned at his friend, but stopped his tapping. “You act like I killed your puffskein.”  

“If I had a puffskein, and you killed it, I promise I’d act much worse. ”

Sebastian rolled his eyes, trying to read the book on the table in front of him. The words had no meaning to him.

“You’re tapping again.”

Sebastian groaned. “I can’t help it.”

Ominis raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t used to get so antsy without seeing her all day.”

“Y/N’s been gone for hours . Aren’t you a little concerned?”

“She’s dress shopping, Sebastian. I hardly think that’s an event to worry over.”

Sebastian pouted, arms crossed to keep from drumming the table.

“I didn’t say who her was, by the way.”

His head shot over to look at Ominis. “What do you mean?”

“I never mentioned who you were antsy about not seeing. Could have been Anne. Could have been Professor Weasley, for all the context there was. But you thought of Y/N. ” Ominis smiled to himself. “I wonder if it means what I think it means.”

Sebastian swallowed thickly. “And what exactly do you think it means?”  

He shrugged. “That you love her.”

It was like a fire ignited inside his chest. “What are you—why would—I don’t— ”

“With that reaction, I rescind my previous statement.” Ominis grinned. “It’s no longer what I think it means. It’s what I know it means.”

“You don’t know anything, Ominis. I’ve told you before, she's my best friend, I don’t…” he trailed off. He couldn’t say he didn’t.

“Are you quite certain of that?” Ominis closed the book he’d been tracing his wand over with a gentle thud . “Let’s review the facts before we come to a conclusion, dear friend. You’re nervous about the dance tomorrow.”

“It’s a ball, why wouldn’t I be–”

“Hush now, Sebastian. You’re going to listen to me for once in your life. You’re nervous because of her . Think back, is there anyone else you would have asked to the ball?”

Of course there bloody wasn’t. But that was a rule Sebastian made for himself, wasn’t it? Not to think about it? Not to let his heart race, his days revolve around her. Not to admit what these things meant.

“You’re insufferable when she’s gone—and believe me, I know the difference between normal Sebastian and insufferable Sebastian. You trusted her from the moment you saw her. You’d do anything for her, including torturing yourself by going along with this ridiculous scheme of hers. You lie to yourself, again and again, and for what? To protect her? To protect yourself? You love her, Sebastian.”

Sebastian held his head in his hands. He’d put up so many barriers, so many walls around that truth, that he felt himself crumbling. He couldn’t love Y/N, not because she wasn’t worthy of it, not because he didn’t, but because he couldn’t bear the thought of living without her. That was torture. That was insufferable.

The walls had been demolished. The rules all broken. The truth was out there now, spoken into existence by Ominis, and as much as Sebastian longed to put it back in the careful little corner he’d made for it, he couldn’t.

He was supposed to deny every word Ominis said. He was supposed to push these things aside and lie and go back to the way things were. But instead, his voice came out small, uneven, and raw.

“What am I going to do, Ominis?”

For all the snark he gave, Ominis truly cared for his friend. At the sound of his weak voice, he placed a gentle hand on Sebastian’s shoulder. “Telling her would be a good start.”

Sebastian gave a humorless laugh. “As if that wouldn’t ruin everything.”

“I seriously doubt admitting you care for her deeply would result in her hating you, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Ominis said. “If she had the capability to hate you, I feel you would have crossed that line long ago.”

“Which is exactly why she could never feel the same.”

Ominis sighed. “Sebastian, throughout everything, she has always been right at your side. I’d say that loyalty reflects feelings a bit deeper than friendship on her part.”

Sebastian didn’t have a reply to that. Admitting to Ominis, to himself, the feelings he had for Y/N had been challenge enough. To consider that Y/N might feel the same… It was too much. Ominis seemed to recognize that. “Look, just… think about it, alright? Go to the ball with her tomorrow. Let yourself enjoy it. Stop acting for one night, and see how it goes.”

Ominis gave him a pat on the shoulder, then rose to his feet. “I’m going to the dormitory. Anne is arriving tomorrow; it’s best if we both get our sleep.”

Sebastian scoffed as his friend left. As if he’d sleep at all after any of that.

The ball was only an hour away. After greeting Anne, Natty, Poppy, and Imelda had whisked Y/N away to begin getting ready. At first, Y/N didn’t understand why so much time was necessary—but as the minutes ticked away, she found herself nervously scrambling to pin her hair. They had all settled themselves in the Room of Requirement, figuring it was the perfect space for all of them to prepare. The other three girls had left just minutes ago, rushing off to see the other girls their year, and Y/N couldn’t help but admire their lovely gowns.

As she was leaving that morning, Y/N had hastily explained to Anne how to get to the room; she could only hope her instructions were clear. Evidently, they were—Anne came bursting into the room, bright smile on her face. She held a dress in her arms. Y/N tore her stare away from the mirror in front of her to turn to the girl. “Anne! You’ve made it! You haven’t left much time to get ready, you know.”

“Oh, I know,” she said, settling in front of the mirror beside her. “But I couldn’t tear myself away. It was wonderful seeing Ominis again.”

“I’m sure he made up for the hardship of seeing your brother,” Y/N joked.

Anne laughed. “And then some. Sebastian left a while ago to get ready. I’m glad he’s taking you, seeing as I stole your intended companion. Quite the plan the three of you had, hm?”

Y/N froze with a pin clutched between her fingers. “Ominis told you about it?”

“He did. I have to say, I’m sorry I missed seeing Prewett’s reaction. From what I’ve heard, you gave him quite the talking to.” Anne turned to the mirror, beginning the work on her own hair.

“O-oh? Well, um, yes, I suppose I did,” Y/N said, trying to distract herself by looking at her reflection. “I do appreciate Sebastian’s help with all of it.”

“He’s horrid, but he’s always there when it truly matters.” Anne glanced over at her. “Your hair looks perfect, why do you keep fidgeting with it?”

Y/N shrugged, trying to maintain a look of innocence. “I just want to look my best.”

“Nervous, are we?”

She froze. “W-why would I be nervous?”

Anne gasped, reaching out to grab Y/N’s arm. “You are nervous! Please, you must tell me, do you fancy him?”

“That… that’s ludicrous, Anne, he’s my best friend, you know that.”

The brunette smirked, and it looked much too like her brother—mischievous glint and all. “I won’t tell him.”

“I…”

Oh, what was the point? Why try to keep it in any longer—it was bound to drive her mad, might as well let someone know why she was doomed for an asylum.

“I do fancy him, Anne. In fact, I fancy him so much, I hardly know what to do with myself.” She sighed heavily. “It’s maddening . I’ve only realized it recently, though I now know I’ve felt this way for much longer than that. And now, with this idiotic plan—” She held her face in her hands. “Well, it’s easy to see how things… how it could be , if he only felt the same.”

She was too busy wallowing in her misery to see Anne’s grin widen with her words. “Perhaps tonight will change things.”

Y/N groaned. “I doubt that. He only asked me because he wanted to make sure Prewett didn’t.”

“And why would he want to make sure Prewett didn’t?”

“Because… because he’s a good friend, Anne.”

Anne shrugged. “I’m going to ask you to do something tonight, Y/N. Oh, quit groaning like you’ve been cursed, it’s not difficult —keep an open mind. That’s all. Try to see what’s there, and not what you’ve been so focused on avoiding. Let yourself be happy tonight.” Anne turned back to the mirror, finishing up her hair. “I won’t push you any more on the subject as long as you try to do that.”

Y/N didn’t think she had much choice but to accept.

As they walked to the ballroom, Y/N could only repeat the words don’t trip over and over again in her mind. Anne had gotten ready quickly, and she looked stunning in her blue dress. Her health had improved greatly in the past few months—a nurse and St. Mungos had been experimenting with different potions to ease her pain, and it had been working. Her face was no longer as thin, and Y/N could finally see her as the trouble-making girl she had always heard about.

Together, they turned the corner that led to the top of the stairs. Ominis and Sebastian stood at the bottom, speaking to one another. They hadn’t noticed them yet. The sight of Sebastian’s well-fitted black suit left her a bit breathless. She took Anne’s hand as they began down the stairs. Sebastian looked up.

If she thought she had been breathless a moment ago, now she was simply drowning . There was a softness in his eyes that traced over her, looking down at her gown and then back up to her face. For a moment, he seemed too stunned to move.  And then, he smiled.  

Oh, God, Y/N. Really don’t trip now.  

He walked with Ominis to the bottom of the stairs. He didn’t take his eyes off of her. He took a deep breath, she thought, and then… relaxed. Something about his disposition changed, ever so slightly.

Her hand slid into his as he offered it. “I can’t begin to describe how wonderful you look.”

His words made her heart race. “You clean up nicely yourself.”

He grinned, holding up his arm to escort her. “Shall we?”

She looped her arm through his. Anne and Ominis followed them. Y/N smiled. “They look happy together, don’t they?” she said softly.

Sebastian hummed in agreement. “There’s a part of me that thinks I should disapprove, but really, I couldn’t ask for someone better for my sister.”

The ballroom was decked ceiling to floor in Christmas decor. Floating lights twinkled through the air, making Y/N stare in in wonder. “It’s beautiful.”

“It is,” Sebastian said quietly. She turned to face him, his own head swiveling away from her. Around them, couples were preparing to dance. He cleared his throat. “May I take this dance?” he said in an overly posh voice, bowing to her.

She laughed. “Careful, you’re sounding a bit like Ominis there.”

He grinned before taking her hand, leading her to the floor. A wave of nerves came over her—she wasn’t much of a dancer. Sebastian seemed to notice this. “Don’t worry, I won’t hold it against you if you step on my feet. For long.”

She hit him on the shoulder. Rolling his eyes, he brought her into position, stepping closer to her. His free hand came to settle on her waist. He held it softly—she could barely feel the weight of it. It wasn’t hesitant, but… gentle. It was careful. She brought her own hand up to his shoulder—only then did she realize how close they truly were.

She could have counted every freckle on his face—and wouldn’t have minded the time it took to do so. His lashes were longer than she remembered. And his eyes—had they always had those flecks of green in them?

The music started, and he began to lead her in a dance.

Any nerves she had felt faded away once she realized how competent of a dancer Sebastian was. He led her effortlessly, bringing her in and out of twists and spins with ease. She found herself getting lost in the motions; it was rather like a duel, in some ways. Her awareness of her body was heightened, having to be ready to react to each move Sebastian made. She and Sebastian had proven themselves to be excellent dueling partners—why would dancing have been any different?

He pulled her into the basic position as the song shifted from one to another. This one was slower, less complex. It allowed them to stay face to face. Y/N grinned. “You never told me you could dance.”

He smirked a bit. “You never asked. My parents taught Anne and I when we were young. Thought it would only be proper for us to know, they at least tried to raise a gentleman.”

She chuckled. “Their efforts have been noticed. Although, it does make me wonder what other secrets my Sebastian might be hiding from me.”

His eyebrows raised. “Oh? Your Sebastian, is it?”

Her mouth opened quickly and then closed. A blush fought its way to her face. “I… This is about you and your secrets, Sebastian. Don’t try to change the subject.”

He laughed. “All in due time, my Y/N .” He didn’t give her the time to reply, pulling her into a quick spin that left her dizzy.

Several more songs came and went, each leaving the pair more restless than the last. It was only with great hesitation that Y/N asked to stop for a drink, thoroughly enjoying the exhilaration of it all. Sebastian led her to a table, returning a moment later with Butterbeer for each of them. Y/N sipped at it eagerly.

“Everyone seems to be enjoying themselves, don’t they?” Y/N said, watching Imelda dance stiffly with the Ravenclaw boy she had come with. As well as she flew, she didn’t move nearly as well on the ground. However, this fact didn’t keep her from smiling and laughing as she danced.

Sebastian nodded from beside her. “It is a bit crowded, though, don’t you think?”

She couldn’t help but agree. The room was nearly stifling. “It is a bit warm.”

“Then let’s go somewhere to cool off for a bit.” He smiled down at her, twinkle in his eye.

“Oh? Do you have something in mind?” she asked with a tilt of the head.

“You’ll see in just a moment.”

He led her out of the ballroom, and even the hallway alone gave her some fresh air she desperately needed. But they didn’t stop there. Instead, he dragged her through hallways and up staircases (and she didn’t even care how far it was—she’d go anywhere with him) until finally, they were at the top of the Astronomy tower.

The cool air hit her skin as she took deep, appreciative breaths. It had been a while since she had been up here—she hadn’t pursued a N.E.W.T. on the subject. The view was astonishing—how had she forgotten it?

Sebastian sat on the ground, overlooking the world around them. He patted the ground beside him, a clear indication to join him.

“It’s been a while since I’ve been up here,” she said, sitting. The moon was dancing in and out of the clouds, its pale light reflecting off of the Black Lake below them.

“I still sneak up here sometimes, to think.”

“Isn’t that what the Undercroft’s for?”

He smiled. “Sure. But sometimes a little risk of getting caught makes things a bit more worth it. Besides, the Undercroft has nothing to this view.”

She hummed in agreement. The heat of the ballroom had disappeared by now, and she found herself starting to shiver in the cold winter air. At the very first trace of this, Sebastian removed his coat, leaning over to wrap it around her shoulders. She was grateful the moon had hidden behind a cloud, concealing the redness in her face. Old parchment and fireplaces. “Thanks.”

“Of course.” He laid back on the ground, staring up at the sky above. “I’m going to be sore until next Tuesday with all that dancing we did.”

She fell back, laying beside him. “Maybe that’s their plan. Tire us all out at the beginning of the break so we don’t have energy to cause any mischief.”

He snorted. “You really think a lack of energy is enough to stop me?”

“Absolutely not. But perhaps the professors underestimated you.”

“Then I’ll have to show them how wrong they are then, won’t I?” He shifted, bringing one arm up behind his neck, resting his head on it. The other—the one next to her— stayed stretched out by his side.

She mirrored his position. “Don’t go too far. Ominis might have your head if he has to save you from expulsion. Again. ”

“He’ll forgive me. He always does.”

It was then she finally felt the heat of his gaze. She turned her head to look at him, meeting his eyes. How long had he been staring at her? There was a softness there—one that had been there all evening. She hadn’t realized it until then, but it dawned on her that the uneasiness, the fear that she had felt before the ball, had disappeared completely from the moment he smiled at her. It occurred to her that she should do something with that courage. She looked him right in the eye, a voice whispering in her mind— tell him. Just tell him you love him.

But he looked away, back up into the clouds. She let out a small sigh, doing the same. Was it really all so hopeless?

A warmth overtook her fingertips as Sebastian took her hand in his. Their fingers intertwined. She could feel the calluses of his thumb brush against her knuckle.

“It’s snowing,” he said softly, barely more than a whisper.

It was. The flakes came down slowly in fluttering paths that made her head spin as she stared up at them. They caught the moonlight, flickering just like the lights in the ballroom.

“It is,” she said. “And you were right. It really is lovely.”

She half expected some witty remark, a Sebastian-esque reply of obviously , he’s always right.

But instead, he just tightened his grip on her hand and watched the snow fall around them.

Four days. That’s how long it had been since the ball, since something had shifted.

Y/N didn’t know how to explain it–-her and Sebastian hadn’t spoken about that night, yet the weight of it was felt in every moment they spent together. They both continued on, pretending to be more than friends, while toeing that very line in reality. The first day or so, this shift had given her hope. Perhaps Sebastian did feel the same. He had held her hand without the world watching. He had looked at her with that softness. It had to mean something, didn’t it?

But the days continued to pass and nothing else changed. If they were still following the initial plan, they were supposed to break the whole thing off any day now. And yet… neither of them had brought it up.

She didn’t know what to do. She couldn’t keep living with this in-between thing, caught between a blissful lie and a heartbreaking truth. With every passing hour, it felt heavier and heavier. The words between them piled up. She worried she would soon drown in them.

They were in the courtyard when it finally happened. With the Christmas break, most students had returned home—the quiet wouldn’t last long, though. They would all be back for class the next day. Maybe the thought of the coming hustle and bustle is what drove Sebastian to speak. Y/N had cleared off a bench for the pair of them to sit at, snow lazily falling around them.

“What are we doing?”

Her eyebrows furrowed at his question. “I thought we came out here to enjoy the snow. Isn’t that what we planned on?”

He shook his head, sighing. He couldn’t meet her eyes. “I think we both know that’s not what I’m trying to talk about.”

Oh. Oh. “I… I’m not sure, Sebastian. If… if you want to break it off before everyone gets back, I understand. It would cause less of a stir that way.” I don’t want to break it off. I want to start over. I want to do it right this time around.

“You really want to break it off? After everything?” Where had that softness in his eyes gone?

“I don’t know what you want me to say, Sebastian. Wasn’t that the plan?” Why was she getting angry at him? If he felt the same thing she did, why couldn’t he just say it?

“That damn plan. Is this really all that’s about?” His voice rose in volume. “Still some stupid ploy to keep Prewett away?” He stood up from the bench, moving to pace in front of her.

“I…” She faltered. She watched his movements, back and forth, the way his brow furrowed and his lips fell down into a frown. “I don’t know, Sebastian. Maybe this was all too much to ask from you, but you’re my best friend and I—”

He interrupted her with a scoff. “ Friend. Don’t you know how it kills me to hear you say that?” He turned to face her, eyes aflame. “Since that bloody ball, every time I’ve even thought about you in that way, it tears me to bits. Each time I look at you, all I see is that night in the Astronomy tower, you, and the snow in your hair. It took everything in me not to kiss you that night, don’t you know that?”

She swore she could hear each snowflake hit the ground in the silence that followed. “You… you wanted to kiss me?” Her voice was timid. “Why?”

“Because I love you, Y/N. That’s why.”

And there it was.

Like a dam bursting, the truth poured out. “You asked me to help you with Prewett, and of course I agreed. You’re everything to me, why would I not help you? But then I realize, well I realize it’s you, and it’s always been you. I want it to be real, Y/N. Every last bit of it. I want—”

He hadn’t processed her jumping up from the bench until her lips were pressed against his in a short kiss. He didn’t even have time to close his eyes before she pulled away. Her hand still held his cheek.

He gaped at the girl in front of him. “I… I want… what was I saying?”

She smiled— really smiled, one of those ones done more with the eyes than the mouth. “I'm pretty sure you were telling me that you love me. You kept going on about it, though, so I thought I’d interrupt to say I love you, too.”

He didn’t waste another moment before kissing her. His hands cupped her face, pulling her closer than she ever thought possible. Her own hand skimmed across his cheek and then on the back of his neck, and goodness, was his hair as soft as it looked . The other hand held tightly onto the front of his coat—she swore it was the only thing keeping her on the planet.

It was him who broke the kiss, and she instinctively leaned forward to chase after his lips. He chuckled, pressing his forehead on hers. “I’ve had a thought,” he said, breathless. “I think I’d like to court you, if you’re interested.”

She laughed as he kissed the corner of her lips. “We’ve gone a bit out of order, don’t you think?”

“I couldn’t care less,” he said, moving to kiss her again.

The last coherent thought she could make was that the snow made for a very, very lovely morning.

When the students all arrived the next day to continue classes, no one paid much attention to Y/N L/N and Sebastian Sallow. Old news. An obvious pairing, looking back at it. No one really cared that she wasn’t just sporting a Slytherin scarf around her neck, but a green sweater that was much too big on her.To most, there was no difference in the grins on their faces, the excitement in their voices.  Well, no one except Ominis.

When Sebastian took a seat beside him, Ominis chuckled. “Seems I was right. Absolutely nothing to worry about.”

Sebastian rolled his eyes, but his wide grin countered any annoyance he might have felt. “Don’t start.”

As Y/N sat beside him, giving a quick kiss for good morning, he thought that maybe it was ok that Ominis was right every once in a while.

A/N: I really hope you all enjoyed this! I definitely had a lot of fun writing it. This is my first work with Sebastian, and I’m very much looking forward to writing more! I have plans for a few mores oneshots and a series, so stay tuned for those! Thanks for reading :)

#sebastian sallow x reader #sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow x mc #hogwarts legacy #sebastian sallow hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy sebastian #hogwarts legacy mc #ominis gaunt x anne sallow #fake dating au #fluff #angst #friends to lovers #idiots in love #first kiss

[roosterforme]

The Gray Sweatpants | Rooster x Reader

Summary: For you and Bradley, sharing a home comes easily. He is always willing to put in the extra work to make you happy, and he will do it wearing his gray sweatpants and a smile.

Warnings: Fluff and smut

Length: 2100 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

This was written to accompany my series Is It Working For You? along with a bunch of my one-shots! (But it can be read on its own) Check my masterlist in my profile for the reading order! Based on a request.

Living with you was an interesting change of pace for Bradley. He had gotten so used to tiny living quarters and never sharing anything. But now you were here in this big house, along with all of your colorful stuff, and your perfume, and your kitchen gadgets. And you wanted to share everything with him. 

Not a day went by that you weren't wearing his clothing and using his shaving cream in the shower. And you always offered to share your food with him, holding up a sandwich or forkful of food for him to take a bite. You always seemed to be around asking about his day and giving him all of the details of yours, delivered with your own brand of wit and humor that never failed to have him wrapping his arms around you. 

It was one of the first Friday nights after you moved into his house, and now it was your house, too. Every time he got to use the word "ours", it made him happy in a way he couldn't really explain. 

"I was thinking we should plant a garden in the backyard," you said, feeding Bradley a bite of your dinner from your perch on his lap. You were wearing one of his Top Gun shirts and nothing else, and Bradley couldn't imagine living here without you. "I mean, San Diego kind of sucks for flowers, but we're hardy east coast people. We should have a garden."

"We would have no street cred if we didn't have sad, dying, east coast people flowers," he replied, delighting in the sound of your laughter. 

"Exactly! Plus, the backyard is a little scary, Roo. I'll help you clean it up on Sunday, if you want."

"Sure, Baby Girl. We'll see."

But he had something else in mind now.

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

You woke up on Saturday morning to an empty bed and groaned. Bradley knew you had particular rules concerning him staying in bed with you on Saturday mornings. And you expected a certain level of compliance. 

"Bradley?" you called as you stumbled into the kitchen where you found him brewing coffee and eating some toast in just his gray sweatpants.

"Morning, Sweetheart," he rasped, but your mouth had gone dry. You must still be in bed, asleep and dreaming. That was the only way this would make sense.

You made a soft, strangled sound as Bradley reached up into the cabinet and grabbed your favorite mug. "Want some coffee?"

"Bradley," you whispered. He wasn't even wearing any underwear. You could see the outline of his cock pressing against the soft fabric as the pants hung low on his hips. 

You were taking a step closer to him, ready to drop to your knees when he said, "You'll be late for brunch with Cam and Maria if you don't leave soon." You had completely forgotten about your plans.

Your eyes slid up his naked torso until they met his smirking face. "Why are you not wearing underwear?"

He suddenly looked embarrassed, cheeks flushing pink. "I actually need you to show me how to use the washing machine. I'm almost out of clean clothes. Can you show me after brunch?"

You glanced at the clock on the microwave and sighed. You didn't even have time to properly blow your boyfriend like you wanted to. "Yeah, I'll show you after I get home, Roo," you whispered, running your fingers along his length through his pants.

"Oh fuck," he grunted when you cupped him and squeezed softly. He pressed you against the edge of the counter, and you could feel him getting hard for you. 

But you just stuck your chin in the air. "Next Saturday, make sure you stay in bed with me longer." You ducked out of his grasp with a grin while he groaned your name. "Oh, and I don't want to be late for brunch."

You got ready to go out, and when you passed him in the kitchen before you left, he was eating more toast and glaring at you. 

"You gonna come back and take care of this later?" he grunted, gesturing to his semi.

"Sure, Roo. Right after we do your laundry," you said with a wink. He just grunted in response before you added, "And make sure you don't go out in those pants. They are indecent!"

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

As soon as you were gone, Bradley thought about jerking off, but he knew he had a limited amount of time before you would be home again. So he quickly put his old sneakers on along with his aviators and traipsed out through the sliding glass door to the backyard. You weren't wrong; it was in pretty rough shape.

Bradley kicked over a faded lawn gnome and opened up the shed. He pulled out some shovels and a rake that the previous owners had left, and he got to work. An hour later, he was shocked to find that there was in fact a garden bed buried back along the privacy fence. He dug up dead plants and weird lawn ornaments, tossing everything off to the side to get taken out with the trash. 

He stopped working for a minute to wipe the sweat from his brow. The sun was strong even for early December, but at least it wasn't too hot outside. And now, as he looked around, Bradley was pleased to see that the whole space looked a lot better. His girlfriend wanted a garden? Well then she would get one.

"Roo?" you called from the sliding glass door. You were grinning and heading his way with a cold water bottle. "What are you doing?"

He took the drink from your hand and downed the entire thing before he answered you. "Making the yard nicer for you. Check it out. A garden bed."

But you weren't really looking at the yard as much as you were looking at him. You wrapped your arms around his sweaty torso and kissed him. "You're so sweet."

He grinned down at you but didn't dare touch, not wanting to get your cute dress all dirty. "We can go to the nursery tomorrow and pick out some flowers if you want. We can plant them...." His word trailed off as you bit your lip and slipped your hand inside the front of his sweatpants. 

"I've been thinking about this since I left for brunch." Your voice was soft and breathless as your fingers teased his length before you wrapped your small hand around his cock. "Been thinking about these gray sweatpants."

Bradley let you ease the fabric down until he was fully exposed. You were licking your lips and moaning softly. He knew exactly what that meant.

"God damn it," he groaned as you dropped to your knees on the grass in front of him. He was standing in the center of the yard, looking around to see if there was any way one of the neighbors could see what was going on. But when you kissed and licked away his precum before parting your lips and taking his tip, he decided he didn't care. 

Bradley reached one big palm to the back of your head and guided you along. You took him a little deeper, looking up at him as your mouth filled up with each inch of him until your lip was brushing his coarse hairs. You gagged a bit, hollowing your cheeks as you sucked on him. "You're such a good girl. I'll give you anything you want."

You moaned around him, your tongue swirling along the underside of his entire length until you pulled him out to the tip. You kissed him sweetly and softly asked, "You know what I want, Roo?"

Bradley shook his head a little bit, dazed as you let his cock rest against your plush tongue. He was panting now and twitching as your hot breath teased his dick. 

"You tell me what you want, and I'll give it to you."

You giggled and smiled up at him with half lidded eyes as your tongue caressed him. You kissed his swollen tip and nuzzled him with your nose before you said, "I want you to fuck me. Right here. In our backyard."

Bradley hauled you to your feet by grabbing your elbows. You squealed with delight, but he hushed you with one hand over your mouth. "I'll give you what you want, but you have to behave. You want our elderly neighbors calling the cops, because they think I'm back here trying to murder you?"

You groaned and licked Bradley's palm, gripping his cock with both hands. "Please, Bradley. Please make it so good that it sounds like that!"

His hand drifted down to your neck, and he led you to the side of the shed, stroking your soft skin as you practically purred for him. His hard dick bounced along, hanging out over his sweatpants as he backed you up against the small building. "Okay."

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

You were so turned on for him, and you blamed it all on his sweatpants. He had no idea what he was capable of in those things. But without underwear? Bradley Bradshaw should have been illegal. 

And now he had your back pinned against the shed with his huge hand on your neck while he reached into your underwear and started to finger you. 

"Oh," you gasped, admiring the way his aviators were sliding down his nose while you rode his middle finger. The pressure on your throat wasn't enough to hurt, but it was enough to make you feel like you were no longer in charge here. And that feeling excited you. 

Bradley's thumb stroked your clit, and you cried out for him. "Shh, be a good girl," he whispered, kissing your lips one time while his middle finger pressed forward on your most sensitive spot. When you whimpered, he kissed your forehead and said, "Yeah, nice and quiet, Baby Girl. Show me how good you can be."

You kept your little noises as quiet as you could, moving your hips in time with his thumb stroking you. When you were close, Bradley slipped his finger out of you, leaving you whining his name. He spun you to face the shed, yanking your underwear down so the lace brushed along your legs before they hit the ground. You planted both of your palms against the siding as Bradley pulled your dress up to your waist, fully exposing you to any neighbor who could have potentially been a little too nosy. 

"Oh my god," you groaned as Bradley planted his left hand above yours and guided himself inside you with the other. 

"You're so fucking wet." His voice was deep and needy as he fucked you, placing his hand on your pussy. He let you rub yourself against him as he bumped you along with his thrusts. 

"Bradley." The second syllable was much louder than the first, your voice rising in pitch with pleasure. "Fuck!"

"Shh," he scolded once more. "Quiet, or I'll stop."

It was an empty threat, you were sure of it. He must be beyond the point of no return, but just in case, you covered your own mouth with your hand. He had you pinned tight between his pelvis and his palm, grinding against your butt, and holding you in place.

The beautiful friction of his palm had you clenching and cumming as your orgasm washed over you suddenly. "It's so good," you whined, needing both hands on the shed to keep yourself upright. "You're so good, Roo."

The string of obscenities he muttered next to your ear were nowhere near as filthy as his cock slamming into you and filling you with his cum. He used your pussy to drain him of every last drop as you pulsed around him, and when he withdrew, you felt your thighs get coated with his mess.

You spun around to face him, eyes wide. "I can't believe you fucked me in the backyard." Your eyes dipped down to his cock, softening and dripping your mixed ejaculate all over those gray sweatpants. 

He tipped your chin up and looked at you over the top of his aviators. "You tell me you want something, I'm going to give it to you. Especially if it's my cock."

You grinned and kissed him before adjusting his sunglasses. "Let's go inside. We have even more laundry to do now." You tucked him back inside his sweatpants before stepping out of your underwear. "Don't forget those," you said, pointing to the scrap of lace in the grass.

You watched Bradley bend down and pick them up, bringing them up to his nose with a grunt as he followed you inside.

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

I hope you enjoyed Rooster's gray sweatpants @thedroneranger

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#bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #rooster x you #rooster fanfic #rooster x female reader #rooster x reader #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw fic #bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw x female reader #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #bradley rooster x reader #rooster bradshaw x female reader #top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick fanfiction #top gun imagine

[rafeandonlyrafe]

rafe being an aggressive lover headcanons <3

words: 800

warnings: mentions of violence, rafe being controlling a bit lol

“i love you so much, baby. i would kill everyone on this fucking island for you.” you know he’s serious, but you can’t help the laugh that bursts out of you. rafe pouts, hands tightening on your hips. he goes to duck his head in slight embarrassment, but you stop him, “i love you too baby.” you kiss him. “while i don’t want you to kill anyone, i will definitely keep that in mind if someone is pissing me off.”

“if you don’t want to go, we don’t have to go.” rafe says, admiring your dress as you smooth it out in the mirror for the hundredth time, nervous about dinner with your parents tonight. they’ve never been the biggest fans of rafe, but what upsets you more is how overly critical your dad is of you. he never gives you a break, and rafe knows how his words cut like a knife. “if he starts that shit again, i will deck him in the fucking face.” you roll your eyes, but know rafe absolutely would do that for you.

rafe has been at your back all day, arms around your waist or hands on your hips. it’s cleaning day at the house, and you find it really satisfying to move room to room, organizing and sanitizing, but it’s a bit hard when you have a lovesick rafe following you around. “baby, ow.” you wince in pain as he squeezes you too tightly. rafe backs away quickly. “i’m sorry.” you turn around and wrap your arms around his shoulders. “it’s okay, handsome. just too tight.” you peck his lips. “i know, sorry, just wanna squeeze you until you pop.”

“you’re never allowed to leave me.” rafe says seriously. you roll your eyes as you swipe on your lipgloss. “honey, i’m not leaving, i’m literally just getting dinner with the girls.” rafe pouts as you grab your purse. “you’re going to be gone for hours.” rafe whines. “you’re not going.” you turn to rafe, placing your hands on your hips. “excuse me?” rafe shakes his head, holding firm, “you’re not going.” “i’m going.” you head for the door, but rafe grabs your hand. you interrupt him before he can speak, “and you’re coming too.” rafe gives you a puzzled glance. “i already told the girls that you’d be joining me.”

“call me every hour.” rafe says, kissing you again, moving slightly closer to the door. “rafey, aren’t you gonna be in meetings and stuff?” you ask. rafe has been putting off an important business trip for weeks, and it can’t wait any longer. he really wanted you to come with him, but you insisted you were fine to stay at your house, you’re an adult after all and it’s only three days. “doesn’t matter. let me know whenever you’re leaving the house, i’ll be watching the cameras.” rafe had cameras put up in all of the common spaces, coincidentally a couple of days before he left. “i will call you.” you nod. “annie is coming over tomorrow evening, and i will probably go to the grocery store when you’re on your flight back so i can make you dinner.” rafe kisses you, pauses to open the door, and kisses you again. you’re glad you convinced him to leave an hour early, knowing that rafe actually leaving the house always took forever.

you’re sitting in bed together, having spent the whole sunday just lazing around the house. rafe pulls you onto his lap, pressing your body close to his. his teeth suddenly sink into your bottom lip, making your eyes shoot open. rafe doesn’t let up, gently biting down on your lip, tugging it slightly. you moan against his mouth, letting him know how much you like it.

“chicken?” rafe asks, and you shake your head no, a sour look on your face. “pasta?” another shake of your head. “chips? ice cream? pretzels? baby, you have to eat something. pizza? i’ll order from any restaurant.” “raaaafe.” you stop him, “i’m just not hungry, babe. it’s fine.” rafe runs his hand through his hair, chest puffing up and down, “it’s not fucking fine, honey. you can’t just skip a meal.” rafe pauses, clenching and unclenching his fist. “are you sick? should we go to the doctor?” “not at all honey… why don’t we order in pizza? that sounds good.” rafe can easily tell that you’re lying, but if it’ll get you to eat, he doesn’t care.

“get down!” rafes sudden yell startles you, making you wobble on the ladder. rafe is quick to grab you, literally pulling you off your feet and into his arms. “what do you think you’re doing?” rafe shakes you. “rafe!” you let out a little squeal. rafe sets you down on the couch, pacing the living room, “do you know how easily you could have fallen? whatever you’re doing, next time wait for me to get home and let me do it okay? i can’t have you hurt.” he kneels down in front of you. “you scared me.” you whisper. “sorry, bunny.” he squeezes your knees. “but please, no heights. nothing even a little dangerous. i- i can’t lose you.”

#reupload! #rafe fic #rafe fanfic #rafe fanfiction #rafe x reader #rafe x you #rafe x y/n #rafe imagine #rafe blurb #rafe drabble #rafe one shot #rafe fluff #rafe cameron fic #rafe cameron fanfic #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron blurb #rafe cameron drabble #rafe cameron one shot #rafe cameron headcanons #obx fic #outer banks fic

[bahrtofane]

blue thobe and tea

Jude but he’s your husband and it’s Eid. yay !

word count - 1.3K+

watch it - eid chaos and shenanigans

p.s. -Count this as my Eid gift to yall ! 

The clock reads a brisk 6:00 am, and you're late. Well, behind schedule. But still. 

Running around trying to find your shoes ( you swore you left them at the door but whatever) last minute ironing of clothes and fitting cookies in tupperware because the 50 you prepared isn't nearly enough. You've been in and out of the kitchen checking on the tea that's been steeping, brewing and boiling since you woke up.

You're still in your bath robe, clutching it closed while you do laps around your home. You left Jude still in bed, and he soon wakes at the commotion you're creating. 

Your ever-patient husband appears in the doorway with a bemused expression. His hair is much less neat than he likes and sleepy eyes only add to his charm. "What time even is it?" he grumbles, clearly not thrilled about the rush.

You glance at the clock, "We're running behind schedule," you admit, crossing your arms and shaking your head. 

Jude steps closer, wrapping his arms around you, “We'll make it work," he reassures, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. 

You relax, even for a second, sighing softly. 

“I don't want to be late late,” you grumble into the crook of his neck.

He coos at you, petting your hair and promising he'll be extra quick getting ready.

You smile, eyes crinkling while sending him off to shower. In the time he takes to get showered, ready, changed. You've found your shoes, heels now clanking as you finish the last bit of prep.

The tea is ready, poured into each thermos and set on the table. Jude steps out of your bedroom in the cutest blue thobe and your heart swoons.

“My handsome man,” you press a kiss to his cheek. 

“Think so?” He gives you a little spin. 

"You clean up nicely," you tease, giving him a playful nudge.

He chuckles, wrapping an arm around your waist,"Only for you, my love," he replies, planting a kiss on your lips.

You hum, “think you can get the thermos in the car?’

“Of course baby, “

As Jude heads out to the car with the thermos, you take a moment to admire him from behind. The way his thobe drapes over his frame, the confident stride in his step—it all makes your heart swell with pride. How lucky are you?

With a soft sigh, you clean up the last few things around your house. Washing the dishes, tucking plates inside the dishwasher, cleaning up the aftermath of your tea making, fluffing out your table cover, and sliding your house shoes snug against the wall. 

You get ready yourself. Not too much time as your dress slides off of its perch on your hanger. You do a quick once over in the mirror of your bathroom. Your makeup is good to go, your outfit is perfect. Things worked out after all. 

Your clock now reads 7:22. Relatively on schedule. You told your family you should get there around 8:30. 

You grab your purse, Judes sunglasses, the tupperware of cookies and head outside, locking the door behind you. The sun is beginning to rise, casting a golden hue over the neighborhood. Dew still clings to the blades of grass that span your front yard.

 Jude ducks into his designated seat, your passenger princess, holding his hands open for the tupperware as you slide it into his lap. His glasses go on top of his head, seat belt clicking softly as you make your way to the drivers side. 

Jude is giddy as you make your way to your famed family eid event. He used to be nervous out of his mind, unsure of where to fit in. half the time you found him standing off to the side. Until your cousins forcefully made him join monopoly (its eid tradition okay). 

And even since then he's been more or less of a monopoly fiend, getting way too fired up than what's probably acceptable for a monopoly game but who cares. If he's having fun that's all you could really ask for.  

As you drive to your destination, Jude hums along to the radio, occasionally reaching over to squeeze your hand or steal a quick kiss at a red light. 

“You're so clingy,” you huff. Rolling your eyes playfully but leaning into each kiss nonetheless. 

“Yeah yeah and you love it.” he shrugs. 

You can't argue with that. 

“Think you'll win this year?” He knows what you mean. Monopoly of course.

“Of course I will. Tell your cousin I don't care how many times he moves his pieces when I'm not looking I will win.” he rubs his hands together. 

“You do that. I'm gonna play chess.” you nod. 

“You're really missing out you know.”

“I'm really not, those fiends of property will not be coming near me.”

“Baby.” he laughs.

“Hm?”

"You're gonna have to fix your lipstick kinda smudged it.” he giggles.

You quickly look into your rearview mirror, “you did a number on me.”

He only laughs harder. Ah the sweet sound of Eid fun. You love Eid.

When you finally arrive at your destination (and fix your lipstick) , your cousin's house is alive with the sounds of laughter and greetings. She got to host this year. You think next year will be yours and Judes. You have some remodeling to finish this year. 

You and Jude are greeted warmly by friends and family, exchanging hugs and well wishes. You snort at your younger family members who wait for their Eid money. This year it's Jude who gives it out. Taking his wallet out and kneeing to eye level with the kids as they get their gift for the day. 

You find your cousin, knee deep in dishes in the kitchen already.

“There you are,” she beams, kissing your cheeks and wiping her hands dry. She pulls out a kitchen chair and hands it to you. You take a seat gladly. 

“You look busy.” you raise a brow. 

“You think?” she huffs. 

You raise your hands up, “hey it's not even tea time yet what's with the dishes.”

“Cookies I didn't finish this morning.” she groans, heading back to the sink.

You get up out of her seat and push her out of the way, “go greet your guest you idiot i got it here.”

She sighs, heading off to greet the growing crowd of people that fill her home. 

You finish in a few minutes, organizing what you can before finding Jude surrounded by kids who throw various sports balls for him to juggle. He's doing pretty good, laughing as each ball gets increasingly more outrageous. Golf balls? Where did they get golf balls? 

You take a few videos before he calls it quits and joins you to do your round of greeting the new arrivals.

Throughout the day, you and Jude enjoy the festivities, indulging in delicious food, sharing stories, and making cherished memories. He ends up winning monopoly, go figure. Chess ends in a stalemate and you have a stare off with a family friend that sits opposite to you in the living room. Next time you both agree silently. 

Lunch has been served along with a large array of sweets with tea, (yours was a hit). Jude preens at the praise that comes your way, boasting of how amazing you always make it, that your hands are just naturally sweet. 

You swat his chest, scurrying away while he continues to any and everyone that will listen to him. 

“That man is obsessed with you,” your cousin appears again, tea in hand. 

“Isn't he?” you snort. 

“I hope you guys host next year.” she gives you a nudge with her shoulder.

“Me too. You did great this year.” 

“Don't leave the cookies last minute like me though,” she grumbles before melting back into the crowd.

As the day draws to a close and you head home, hand in hand with Jude, you can't help but smile at the thought of many more Eids to come, spent with the love of your life.

You're thinking of getting him a pink thobe for next Eid, good idea no?

#jude x reader #bahr footy #jude bellingham x reader #jude bellingham x you #jude bellingham imagine #jude bellingham #jude x you #jude bellingham headcanons #jude bellingham blurb #jude bellingham fanfic #jude bellingham one shot #jb5 #jude x y/n #jude bellingham x y/n

[sluttywoozi]

First Things First | Part 1 of 2

Rating: M (18+) | WC: ~3.8k

Notes/Warnings: fem reader, college au, cute and clueless soccer star san, swearing, suggestiveness, alcohol, no sex in this part sry

Backstory I didn't feel like writing: everyone's on the soccer team (8 makes 1 team) and they all live in a scholarship house together plus 3 randos i guess bc there's 11 people on a soccer team apparently just fill it up w ur other favs

San’s crush on you was innocent enough, at first.

You were Wooyoung’s chem tutor last spring so you’d come around the house sometimes, always greeting him warmly with a grin and a short hug before asking how practice was going. San would battle a shiver at the way your body felt pressed against his then get halfway through a response before Woo got annoyed at sharing your attention and tugged you to the study room, leaving him behind with a defeated smile on his face and heat on the back of his neck.  

Then summer came and went, the weeks passing quickly with San’s classes and off-season training, and the fall semester started up before he even had time to catch his breath. He’d walked into his first class and there you were, front and center and scribbling in your planner. The seat next to you was empty and San didn’t know anyone else, so he didn’t see any harm in sitting with you. 

That doesn’t mean harm wasn’t caused, though.

Really, sitting next to you was the first in a series of mistakes that led him to where he is now: waiting to see if you’ll show up to this party and fighting to shove down the feelings bubbling up in his chest.

It used to be a lot easier but now, he’s spent too much time with you, enough to imagine how you’d feel in his arms and where you’d want to go on a date and what you’d look like in his bed, and it’s these images that flash through his mind whenever he tries to hold a conversation with you. 

That’s San’s other problem - for the life of him, he cannot talk to you like a normal person. He can talk to other girls just fine, even when they’re obviously flirting with him, but you’re different. He’s always either stuttering or mumbling, speaking way too fast or not speaking at all, his every interaction with you tinged by embarrassment and self-consciousness. You’re always patient with him, your hand squeezing his arm in encouragement and your sweet smile never faltering. It’s part of why he’s so into you, just knowing you’re along for the ride whether he can get the words out or not. 

San can feel his heart start to race, feel it thump in his chest like a jackrabbit when he spots you through the doorway.

Oh god, oh god, oh god. You're here. Fuck. 

He’s in charge of mixing drinks tonight but he wonders if he can get another job, not feeling very effective with the way his hands are suddenly shaking. The vodka spills over the shot cup, pooling on the counter and dripping off the edge before he can throw enough paper towels down. He can hear Seonghwa scolding him in the back of his mind, telling him to at least disinfect the floor now that there’s liquor all over it, so he mops a messy trail around the kitchen and prays no one comes looking for a drink before he finishes cleaning. 

He’s ducked behind the island, gathering up all of the used towels in his hands when he hears voices. Your voice, more specifically, plus another he doesn’t recognize.

Fuck, he probably reeks of vodka and now he’s got all these nasty towels in his hands and you’re here, in the kitchen, laughing at someone’s shitty joke. 

You should be laughing at his shitty jokes, San laments, debating whether it would be worth it to try to army crawl away or if he should just end his misery now and show himself. Your voice grows louder and San knows he has to make a decision, can practically feel the countdown blaring in his mind as the distance between you and his hiding spot shrinks. 

San pops up before it’s too late, a sheepish smile on his face and his alcohol soaked hands hidden behind his back. You’re standing by the counter with a guy he doesn’t know, tapping your fingers on the formica and looking around for the mixers. You’d jumped when he appeared, he notes with a grimace. He didn’t mean to startle you but it’s obvious he has by the wideness of your eyes and the hand over your heart. 

You break into a grin before he starts to feel too guilty, jumping toward him with a shout of his name and leaning in to wrap your arms around his neck. You smell like your perfume and a bit of the wine he’s noticed you like, and you’re so warm against him, so soft he could close his eyes and fall asleep right now. He presses his cheek to your head in lieu of hugging you back, but notices the joy in your eyes is weaker as you pull away, your gaze falling to the strain of his biceps as he holds the soggy paper towels behind his back. 

He’d rather embarrass himself than make you feel sad so he’s quick to reveal them, explaining with a crooked smile and bunched up shoulders that there had been a spill and he’s only just finished cleaning up. You giggle with fondness but the guy with you laughs at him the wrong way, prompting a glare from San and an elbow in the stomach from you. 

“This is my roommate’s little brother, I’ll be done with babysitting duty soon,” you promise apologetically. 

“I’m not a baby,” he sputters, rubbing his stomach and slinking to the other side of the kitchen. He opens coolers until he finds a White Claw, leaning against the counter and texting rapidly between sips, the dings and clicks pouring tension into San’s neck. 

“Yes, he is,” you whisper once your tag-along is far enough away, “He’s been driving me nuts.”

San pouts at you sympathetically as he tosses the towels in the trash and washes his hands, turning just enough to keep you in his line of sight and asking if you want a drink. You think about it for a second before declining with a small shake of your head, your nose scrunching in a way that makes San want to do something ridiculous like kiss it and then ask you to marry him. 

You chat with him while he fulfills his team-assigned duties, staring at his hands as he mixes drinks and checking your phone when someone wanders into the kitchen looking to fill their cup. He hopes you don’t feel like you have to stay with him, tries to figure out a way to let you know you can go without making you think that’s what he wants. 

San wants the opposite, wants you to stay and talk to him all night, pay attention to him and no one else, but he also doesn’t want you to feel trapped. He’s nowhere close to a plan when your roommate rounds the corner, followed closely by a whining Wooyoung and a silently suffering Yeosang. San can tell by the corners of Yeo’s mouth that Woo’s been badgering him for at least fifteen minutes already and bites his lips to stifle the chuckle, knowing from the many times he’s been in Yeosang’s shoes that the last thing he needs is someone laughing at him. 

Your roommate rolls her eyes and shoves a cup in Wooyoung’s gesticulating hands before telling him to shut the fuck up and take a drink, letting her focus shift to you and San once Wooyoung falls silent. He straightens up as best he can, feeling weirdly exposed as her gaze volleys between the two of you and hoping he passes whatever test she’s obviously putting him through. 

He must because she moves on to her brother after a short thirty seconds of agony, shouting a goodbye and dragging him from the room with his elbow held tightly in her grasp. Yeosang had escaped in the meantime and Wooyoung ran after him as soon as he noticed his absence, which left you and San alone in the kitchen again.

The thumping music dulls to a low hum as you catch his gaze and step over, your hand resting next to his on the counter. He’s not sure what exactly you’re doing but you’re close enough for him to feel your body heat, and it’s all San can do to stay still and let you get closer. He’s blinking too much, he knows, probably has the dumbest look on his face, but he doesn’t know what else to do. 

You’re only inches from him now and you smell so good and you’re so fucking pretty, and San knows he’d give anything just to feel you. The desperation is starting to claw its way up his throat as want settles deep in his stomach, his jeans tightening before he even has the chance to beg his body to stay calm. 

He doesn’t think you can tell but he’s scared nonetheless, terrified that you’ll notice and think he’s a perv and never want to speak to him or see him again and he’ll get super depressed and fall behind in his classes and get kicked off the soccer team and lose his scholarsh-

“Do you wanna go up to your room? It’s getting a bit crowded down here,” you propose, your eyebrows raised and a vulnerable look in your eyes. 

Up to his…? Oh, he must look sick or something. That’s much better than the alternative though, so he responds, “Yeah, um, I probably should go upstairs, I’m getting a bit tired.”

Your face falls and you step back, the vulnerability shuttering into a blankness he’s never seen before, and it occurs to San that that wasn’t what you meant at all. 

“OH! Oh. Uhm, you meant us… together? Like we both go to my room? Together?” San clarifies frantically, a hand falling to cover yours on the counter before it can slip off. 

“Yeah, San, I meant we should go up together,” you confirm with a small, breathy laugh. 

He can feel his dimples creasing his cheeks and wishes he could smile at you with anything but the most obvious crush of all time, but he knows it’s hopeless at this point. It’s been months now, months of seeing you in class and around campus, at parties and games, and feeling the you-shaped cavity in his chest grow and grow and grow. 

He’s pretty sure it’s starting to fill as you pull him up the stairs. He tries to ignore the catcalling of your shared friends, knowing you probably just want to talk or something, but his eyes catch on the movement of your hips as you climb and now all he can think about is what they’d feel like between his hands. That’s not exactly a new train of thought for San but he’s usually able to keep it under control when he’s with you, and he almost feels like he’s voluntarily walking into the lion’s den as you enter his room and he closes the door. 

It’s not too messy at least, just some folded laundry on the bed and his books spread out on his desk. He’d changed his sheets yesterday morning and there’s nothing embarrassing out as far as he can see, except for his printed Overwatch stats but he’s not sure you’d recognize them anyway, so it should be fine. 

Everything should be fine, so why is San’s heart trying to break out of his rib cage right now? 

It only gets worse when you plop down on his bed with a bounce, folding your hands in your lap and looking up at him expectantly. 

“Uh, do you want, like, a blanket or something?” San offers as he looks around the room in an effort to avoid your gaze. It doesn’t work very well - his room isn’t all that big and he can’t stop his eyes from snapping back to you every other second. You look on with a small smile, your face softening before you gently pat the spot next to you. 

He surreptitiously rubs his clammy palms on his jeans, tugging them down to allow himself a little more room (just in case) and sitting carefully on the comforter beside you. He’d left over a foot of space, but his mattress sinks in the middle and he finds himself much closer to you than he’d meant to be. You don’t look like you mind, the corners of your lips perking up and one leg lifting to fold on the bed as you turn to face him. 

San scrambles to figure out what to say, how to break the ice, though he has a sneaking suspicion he’s the only one who feels like there’s ice to break. 

“So, how’s your studying goi-” San starts, but you cut him off. 

“San, can I be honest with you? Like, really honest?” You ask, the only sign of your nervousness being the lip bitten between your teeth. 

He glances down at the hand you placed on his knee, his cheeks glowing with heat as he stutters, “Y-Yeah, of course you can.”

You take a deep breath and begin, “Well, we’ve been friends for a while, right?” 

He nods, opening his mouth to tell you how much your friendship means to him but closing it with a snap when you breathe out, “Hold on, please, I’ll never be able to tell you if I don’t say it all at once.”

San nods again, pointedly pursing his lips as he waits with bated breath. 

You break eye contact for a second and when your eyes return to his, they’re brimming with anxious energy. He wishes he could reassure you, but you’d asked him not to speak and he’s also probably more nervous than you right now. Honestly, he kind of wants to make up some excuse and flee the room, the house, the city, because he thinks he knows what you’re about to say. 

You’re about to tell him you know he’s in love with you, and that you’re sorry but you don’t feel the same way, and probably also that you have a crush on Seonghwa or Yunho. He wouldn’t blame you, they’re handsome and smooth and don’t get heart palpitations when you talk to them, and they’re not vir-

“San, are you okay? Did you hear anything I just said?” You question, pulling him out of his head and pulling his focus back to you. 

“I didn’t, I’m sorry,” he apologizes. “Please, tell me again?” 

Your face crumples before you cover it with both hands and whine, “God, I don’t know if I can do it again, once was hard enough.” 

“No, no, no, please don’t cry, please, do you want me to cry? I’ll cry too, if it helps,” San begs as he wraps his fingers around your wrists and pulls, uncovering your face only to have you stubbornly tuck your chin against your shoulder. 

“I’m not crying, San, I’m embarrassed.”

“Huh? Why?”

“Because I didn’t think it would be this hard to tell you I have feelings for you! I almost did it in the kitchen but you looked so nervous, and I assumed it was just the crowd so I thought, ‘Oh, maybe we should go upstairs, that should be easier’, and then it wasn’t easier! It was harder, and now I have to do it again!”

You groan in defeat and fall backwards on his bed, your eyes welling with frustrated tears and your arms crossing over your chest. San sits there, static ringing in his ears and your half-shouted confession running through his brain. It takes him longer than it should to process your words but as soon as he does, he flops down next to you like all of his strings have been cut. 

San feels drunk, or high, or something, as he stares over at you open-mouthed. 

“You have feelings for me? Like… romantic feelings? Are you sure?” 

Your head tilts to the side, your suspicious glare shifting into an expression of incredulity as you realize he’s serious. He flinches at the soft smack you land on his shoulder but grins when you start poking and pinching at the muscle with your fingers. 

“Yes, San, I’m sure I have romantic feelings for you,” you affirm with only a bit of impatience, avoiding his eyes and pressing your fingertips into his pecs. 

You seem kind of dejected and it occurs to him that he hasn’t reciprocated yet, that you don’t know he feels the same way, and he could kick himself for fucking this up so badly. He doesn’t know how to fix this, what to say to make you understand why he’s so nervous, why he struggles so much with you. 

Instead of something normal, San blurts out, “I’m fully in love with you.” 

Oh no. Oh fuck. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.

He clenches his eyes shut and rolls away from you with a groan, curling up as small as he can as the shame roils in his belly. The party rages downstairs, sounds floating in under the door and growing louder in the silence of his bedroom. 

“We’re kind of a disaster, huh?” You giggle as you shuffle closer, one arm wrapping around his waist and your knees notching in behind his.

San tenses up before relaxing completely, turning under your arm and tugging you closer with a hand on your waist. 

“Yeah, honestly, I’ve never… done this before,” he admits, forcing himself to hold your gaze as his fingers anxiously drum your side. “Are you really okay with me being in love with you?”

Your radiant smile could blind him and he instinctively mirrors you, his shy grin growing and his other arm sliding beneath you to pull you into his chest as you sigh, “Sannie, I’m more than okay with you being in love with me. I love you too, I was just being coy because I didn’t want to scare you off.”

“Seriously?!” 

San barely catches your nod before he’s surging forward and pressing his lips to yours, still smiling too wide for it to be much of a kiss. 

“Sorry, I’m sorry, I should have asked you if I could do that. I’ve just wanted to kiss you for literally months,” he exhales against your mouth, already aching to do it again. 

“Don't apologize, San, you can kiss me. I want you to kiss me,” you whisper, breathing in shakily as he closes the distance. 

His lips meet yours and it’s like everything inside him settles and riots at the same time. Soft, sweet affection wars with heady desire and as you deepen the kiss, the need grows. San is doing his best to contain himself, swallow the mortifying moans and gasps and whimpers that fight to escape from his mouth to yours, but it’s so difficult when this is the farthest he’s ever gone and it’s happening with you, of all people. 

He breaks away with a gasp, trying to catch his breath and calm himself down before he does anything to further embarrass himself, like cumming in his pants just from a little kissing. 

“You know how I said that I’ve never done this before?” 

You nod with a hum, trailing kisses down his cheek and along his jawline before pressing your soft lips to his pulse and sucking gently. He hiccups in a breath, cringing slightly because he knows you can feel how fast his heart is beating, feel how nervous and exhilarated you make him. 

“I meant like… I’ve never done any of this. Ever. You were kind of… my first kiss,” San whispers, embarrassment stealing his voice as your mouth freezes on his neck. 

You draw back to stare at him, your eyes calculating and your brows furrowed.

“How is that even possible? You’re so sweet and smart and hot and your shoulders are so broad.”

San’s ears warm as he stumbles through his answer, “I just never had time. I had to work really hard in high school to get my scholarship and now I have to work to keep it. Plus, it didn’t seem all that important. I figured it would just happen when it happened.”

“That makes sense, you are busy most of the time,” you agree, cupping his face and tracing your thumb over his cheekbone. The contact sends tingles down his spine, his cheek instantly dropping into your palm before a question pops into his head. 

“Wait, what do my shoulders have to do with this?” 

“San, come on, your shoulder to waist ratio is insane, you’re like a sexy Dorito,” you respond as if it should be obvious. 

“And you’re into that?” He asks, his confusion evident. 

“Yes, have you ever seen yourself from the back? And when you have your jersey on and you’re all sweaty and out of breath…” 

Your eyes roll back as you moan dramatically, obviously more in jest than seriousness, but it makes San’s dick twitch in his suddenly tight jeans all the same. It was almost too much just hearing that you love him too, and he’s not sure how to function now that he knows you think about him like this. 

He realizes you’re pressed up against him more than he thought you were, the heat of your body radiating into his even through your clothes, which must mean you can feel the length pushing at his zipper. 

Judging by your smirk, you definitely can, but before he can even think to feel ashamed, you push your hips into his and sink your free hand into his hair. 

“We’ll take this at your pace. You just have to tell me how slow or fast you wanna go,” you assure him, your eyes honest, your tone serious. 

San doesn’t take long to think through his response, knowing he’s been ready for this since he met you. 

“Fuck slow, let’s go fast. I want as much of you as you’ll let me have,” he answers as he pushes you to lay flat on the bed with the hand on your waist. The other hand wraps around the back of your neck and pulls you up into a searing kiss, his tongue sweeping over your bottom lip with only a little insecurity. 

You gasp against his mouth, the sound and sensation dizzying yet intensely gratifying. He pulls away to send you a smirk of his own and continues, “You may have to help me, though, show me what to do, how to make you feel good. Is that okay?”

Beaming up at him with whole galaxies in your eyes, you tell him, “It’s more than okay. In fact, I think you’re about to become my favorite student.”

(You're already his favorite teacher)

AN: i wrote this to hurt my bestie's feelings, i hope it works @sluttywonwoo (even tho i know you'll wait to read until i post part two

hoping to put part two up tomorrow or friday!!

im working on part two i promise 😩

PART TWO

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#san fluff #ateez scenarios #ateez imagines #ateez smut #ateez fluff #ateez fic #ateez san #san ateez #choi san #san x y/n #san x you #san x f!reader #san x fem reader #san x fem!reader #san x reader #choi san x reader #choi san x y/n #choi san fic #choi san ff #choi san x you #san fanfic #san scenarios #san imagines #san smut #✨emily writes✨ #kpop fanfic #kpop fluff #kpop smut

[chronicowboy]

Eddie isn't sure why he doesn't tell Buck about Marisol. He doesn't mention meeting her at the hardware store, doesn't mention exchanging numbers, doesn't mention the many failed texting attempts, definitely doesn't mention asking her out—or, well, saying yes when she asked him out.

A month ago he'd know exactly why he wasn't telling Buck about her. Most likely because a month ago he'd still believe he and Buck were dancing around something, so he never would have blushed his way through an interaction in front of the epoxy shelf in the first place. But now, with Buck and Natalia, Eddie doesn't know why he wouldn't just tell him.

Buck would be happy for him. He knows that much.

And yet, Eddie doesn't tell him, doesn't want to tell him, wants to keep Marisol as separate from Buck as he can possibly manage given how they met those first two times. He just wants to have something that isn't defined by Buck.

(He already has the heartache when Buck mentions Natalia with that little smile, already has the fear of rejection whenever he asks Buck to hang out now, already has Christopher who tilts his head when he's confused just like Buck.)

But its impossible to keep anything from Buck for long. And really, he should have seen this coming.

"Eddie, that is so embarrassing." Buck is shaking with his laughter at Christopher's colourful retelling of Eddie wiping out in the school parking lot the other day.

"For me or him?" Chris replies without missing a beat, only succeeding in making Buck laugh harder. He falls across the length of the couch as he clutches at his sides and Eddie shakes his head from the kitchen doorway. "Besides, if you think that's embarrassing," Chris snickers, and Eddie blanches, "you should have seen him trying to ask Marisol out."

Buck's laughter stops instantaneously, his whole body freezing up, and the silence consumes Eddie whole. He swallows thickly as Buck drags his eyes away from Christopher to look at Eddie. For once, Eddie can't actually see Buck, not the way he normally he can, all he sees is the Buck who can rip his heart from his sleeve and tuck it back into his chest.

"Marisol?" he prods weakly. "Rosa's mom?"

"No, God, no." Eddie shakes his head vigorously, tries to get back on even ground. "You think any single mom at that school would say yes after the Monday fiasco?"

"Who's Marisol?" Buck asks without even a huff of laughter.

"We went and helped her out after we destroyed the house she was fixing up, remember?" Eddie shrugs, ducks his head to avoid Buck's carefully blank eyes. "Saw her in the hardware store a month ago, finally worked up the courage to ask her out."

"Technically, she asked you," Chris chimes in. "I have no idea why."

"Thanks, kid," Eddie sighs.

"Wait, so I can't date someone I met on a call but you can?" Buck butts in, a heat behind the words that makes Eddie's hackles rise.

"I never said you couldn't date her," Eddie retorts, trying not to let his frustration boil over. "I politely tried to remind you that you dating someone you saved never ends well."

"Oh, wow." Buck scoffs. "I didn't save her, Eddie. She had a scratch on her hand, I patched it up. That's it."

"Yeah, I patched Ana's hand up too," Eddie mutters. He glances down at Christopher and feels a tendril of guilt curl around his heart. He's already had to live through his parents' arguments before, Eddie's not making him do it again.

Eddie purses his lips as he retreats into the kitchen, settling back against the fridge to let the cool metal calm him down. He tries to sort through Buck's reaction, but it doesn't make sense. This goes beyond the protective instincts of a best friend, and it feels like more than just Buck's abandonment issues rearing their head.

Everything gets so fucked up when one of them dates. A mess that neither one of them thinks to clean up until its too late. To Eddie, it makes sense. Now, anyway. Now, he knows why he'd hated Abby's ghost so passionately, why he'd U-turned so sharply from finding Ali perfectly nice to a ticking time bomb, why he'd only hated Taylor more with every day that had passed. And, of course, Natalia who never stood a chance when she was hanging onto Buck's death and running away from his life. Because Buck would never hold a grudge, but Eddie does it gladly and without being asked, simmering at the side-lines.

But Buck's reactions never make sense. Not to Shannon, not to Ana, not to Vanessa, not to Marisol.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Buck asks as soon as the kitchen door closes behind him.

"I don't know." Eddie squeezes his eyes shut and tilts his head towards the ceiling.

"Were you going to tell me?"

"I don't know." Eddie sighs, knocks his head against the fridge once for good measure. He cracks an eye open to look at Buck. "Were you going to tell me that you and Natalia bought a new couch together?"

"I did tell you." Buck frowns.

"No, I came over and saw the new couch and you distractedly told me that your mom's couch was covered in Kameron's amniotic fluid. Which you also didn't tell me about." Eddie folds his arms over his chest and takes a deep breath. "Buck, what are we arguing about here?"

"Our girlfriends apparently," Buck mumbles.

"I don't have a girlfriend. Just a date on Saturday." Eddie rolls his eyes, and a sharp thrill of bravery sparks at the base of his spine as he looks at Buck. "What are we really arguing about?"

"I-I don't know." Buck frowns down at his socked feet

"Maybe you should go back to the loft and figure that out," Eddie says quietly, hating himself for the flicker of hurt on Buck's face.

"Just me?" Buck croaks. "So you know what we're arguing about?"

"Yeah," Eddie whispers. He'd been arguing with himself about the very same thing for years before he'd just let himself feel it. Its only fair that Buck does the same.

"And you aren't going to tell me?" Buck asks wetly.

"Its something you have to figure out yourself, Buck." Eddie bites his lip and shrugs. "You don't have to leave now. I don't want you to leave," Eddie clarifies, "but no more arguing. Not where Chris can hear." And then, Eddie thinks that maybe he should give Buck a place to start even if Eddie never got that luxury himself. "He's already been through this with me and Shannon, doesn't need to go through it again with us."

He leaves Buck in the kitchen with the first clue to this little riddle of theirs.

#sami rambles #i want to know how buck finds out about marisol soooooooooo bad #and how his bitchy possessive nature pops out when he does #911 show #911 fox #evan buckley #eddie diaz #buddie #buck x eddie #christopher diaz #911 fic #911 ficlet #911 fanfic #buddie fic #buddie fanfic #buddie ficlet #buck x eddie fic #buck and christopher #buckley diaz family fic #buckley diaz family

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Unexpected 48

Warnings: non/dubcon, pregnancy, pegging, Lloyd being the worst, post partum, csection, suicidial ideation, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

You calm the baby as your own tears dry up. She doesn’t deserve misery even if you’re cursed with it. Maybe that’s what you should try, to save her from the same. If you can.

You get her to sleep at last and fall back onto the bed, weak with cheeks like crepe paper from crying. You stare at the ceiling as the window darkens as the night approaches. You knew deep down Lloyd wouldn’t be gone forever but that eventuality could never prepare you for his return.

Your eyes drift closed as you lay sideways on the mattress, too lazy to drag yourself up to the pillows. How pathetic are you. Feeling sorry for yourself because the obvious happened. Because that scum ran off like the cowardly dog he is. You knew from the moment you met him who he was so you can't pretend to be surprised.

There’s a tap on the door. You tense but your sense keeps you from panicking. It’s too gentle to be that jackass. You know he doesn’t have much in that thick skull of his but you hope he knows better than to try anything tonight.

“Sweetheart,” Harlan’s voice seeps through the door like molasses, “if you’re asleep, don’t worry, I just wanted to check in.”

You swallow and sit up. You prefer him to his wife or son. There’s a twinge in your chest as you realise you missed him. Of anyone, he’s been your only true companion. Not some erstwhile comfort or momentary escape.

You get up and open the door. The tall man stoops just below the lintel, his thick white facial hair catching your attention. Everything happened so fast, you hadn’t noticed it. His usually clean shaven face is slightly haggard with his exhaustion.

“Hey,” you greet him in a half-whisper, the quiet of the house makes even that seem loud, “wanna come in?”

“Sure,” he accepts and ducks inside as you hold the door. You shut it behind him as he smooths his grown out locks and peers around with a bashful posture. 

You come around him and stop by the bassinet, looking in at the dozing infant. You put your hand on the canopy and lift your chin, “you wanna see her?”

He hesitates, reaching to rub his neck, “I came to see to you first,” he intones, “I can’t imagine it’s been easy.”

“Me?” You scoff, “you don’t have to lie. You can hold her, she’ll just fall back asleep,” you move to reach into the bassinet and he nears, putting his hand out but not touching you.

“No, I mean it, I’m not gonna ask how you are ‘cause I know. But you’re my daughter and I wasn’t out there for just that bastard. I didn’t run halfway across the god– across the world for that moron,” he sniffs, “come on, let her sleep.” He pauses and glances down, lips curling slightly at the sight of his granddaughter, “she’s even more beautiful than I recall.”

He waves you away from her and you sit on the edge of the bed. You sit in silence as you watch his lingering gaze on the baby. Maybe, if he can look at her with that much love…

“You got questions, I’ll answer them,” he moves away from the bassinet as he sits beside you, “and if you don’t wanna talk about him, fair enough.”

You nod and look at the floor. You don’t know what you want. It doesn't really matter where he was. It matters that he left and that he stayed away. He confirmed every doubt you carried for nine months.

“Not about him,” you shake your head, feeling the sting return to the brim of your eyes, “but… did you mean it?”

“Did I mean what?”

“You called me your daughter,” you look at him meekly, “is that really what you believe?”

“'Course,” he snorts, “Dottie may’ve never given me a girl but the world did and they did a good job.”

Your cheek pinch and you fight back tears, “I don’t think you’d want me to be your daughter if you knew.”

“If I knew what?” He watches you, no judgment, no expectation. If you don’t tell him, you know he won’t ask again.

You hang your head and cross your arms. You close your eyes as you pick out the words, “I… found someone else. Just… just to waste the time. I wasn’t going to wait any longer for him.”

He hums and takes a long breath, “well, I know now and I don’t feel any different.”

You clamp your lips together and you glance at the bassinet. You hear the baby babble. You shudder and let your hands fall into your lap.

“There’s something else.”

“There is.”

You sniff and cover your face. You don’t know if you can say it out loud. It keeps you awake at night, it eats you alive, and it wakes you every day with a wail.

“The baby…” you slide your hands away from your face, “I’m trying… so hard.”

“She’s healthy, you’re doing good, sweetheart,” he says.

“No, no, you don’t–” you nearly choke as a lump rises to your throat, “I can’t love her. I try and I try and I can’t. I can’t even say her name.”

He nods and chews on your confession. You won’t look at him. You can’t face his disappointment. You can’t bear to see in him the same hatred you feel for yourself.

He startles you as he reaches over and puts his large hand over yours. He pulls it away from your lap and sidles closer on the bed. He holds your hand tight and leans his arm against yours.

“The only thing that upsets me about that is you lying,” he says, “because if you didn’t love that little girl, you wouldn’t be so worried about not.”

Your lip temples as you stare at the wall. No, he doesn’t understand. He can’t.

“I don’t… I can’t feel it–”

“You’ve been surviving and you done that for her as much as yourself,” he lets go of your hand and lifts his arm up onto your shoulders, “you ain’t got the chance to feel. Now you do, sweetheart.” He draws you into an embrace, “you don’t gotta take care of no one but you. I’ll deal with that brat I raised.”

You sniffle as your tears well over. You can’t stymie the flow once it starts. Harlan rests his chin lightly on your head as you curl into his shoulder and sob quietly, clinging to the front of his shirt. As your knuckles press against his ribs, he winces and lets out a wheeze.

You flinch but he doesn’t let you go, keeping you close.

“Harlan,” you croak, “you’re hurt?”

“I’m just fine,” he assures you as he rubs your back, “let me tell you, I dealt Marion a worse blow.”

You laugh through your tears at the thought of it, “did you really?”

“A nice one square in the chops just for you,” he avows, “another across his big dumb nose for baby Luna, too.” 

Your lips tug at the image playing in your head and the snipe about Lloyd’s nose, the most defining feature he shares with his father. You don’t know if Harlan meant to be funny but you it eases the weight in your chest. You gently pull away and look up at your father.

“Will you hold Luna?” You ask as you wipe your nose with the back of your hand, “she’s missed you so much.”

#unexpected #lloyd hansen #dark lloyd hansen #dark!lloyd hansen #andy barber #andy barber x reader #series #au #drabble #the gray man #defending jacob

[punk-in-docs]

🕷 Don’t Need Telling Twice 🕷

Eddie Munson x Reader

10.4k words

Summary: Movie Night at Eddie’s place. All the little things that sneak into the cracks in between new love and affection. So I was intending to get a lot filthier with this but somehow it turned out sweet enough to rot your teeth- Eddie being insecure. Wayne being parental, Pencils being nervous. Let’s see how they iron it out man. (It’s really just me waffling about insight into these two lovebirds)

Saturday morning in your scruffy yet clean kitchen. Stereo cranked high. Melded into your happy place.

The bright slip and drip of the opening guitar licks to ‘Should I stay or should I go.’ Joe’s condescending spitting voice begins. You twirl around with the greased baking sheets in hand.

The kitchen is warm, it’s got this odd glow about it, from the slanted sun gushing in through the cream drapes that have yellow flowers on them. The shabby wood cupboards and the creamy tiles of the breakfast counter with its little peach-pink roses, which is now cluttered with baking trays.

Entirely rose tinted in your view. But you’re blasting the Clash. Loud enough to wake the neighbours.

You’re making cookies for your date tonight. Moms tattered pink apron hanging limp off your body from too many washes. Really it’s a scratchy old thing.

This morning did come around quick. Sunrise like a copper-red wound knifing slashes across the sky. Burning the whole horizon to that fantastic blood orange. You’re too squirmy to sleep. Too excited.

Seeings as you were up early, you put it to use and ran to the store. And now you were knee deep in cookie batter. Chocolate chip. Little starbursts of Cocoa powder and flour dusted everywhere. Head banging, head shaking and hair flicking along to Joe Strummer and his ridiculing tone.

You kick the walnut stained cupboard door closed. It’s wonky and juts out like a stubby tooth snapped off a jaw. It’s always been like that.

Every door in your kitchen creaks. Whines all aged. The appliances have their knacks and sticky tricks that come with years and years worn behind them. Temperamental.

Sure even your whole house is nothing fancy. You’ve never had that much money to scrape together, or give a shit that the whole place is dated. One thing wins favour over all that; your place is cosy.

It’s stuffed with life. Scored deep with it. Consumed. It’s not some ultra chic monotone black-red wasteland. It’s got posters and art on the walls, the crazy bohemian touches that come from your entirely whacky mother.

Sure this house wasn’t all that. But she made it great, and celebrated it in it’s own uniqueness.

Same goes for the best kind of people too. She’d say that to you with a wink.

Handfuls of pennies and some imagination went a long way. Clicking her tongue and shooting you her fierce brand of optimism that seeps out her every pore: eternally unflinching.

A lot of it, this house, echoed its funky warm pattern after the musical, magical, mental, woman who birthed you.

Forever hunting thrift stores for funky things. Weird shaped clocks. The Who posters. 60’s pop art. French Impressionism posters. Stupid cartoon lamps with Bugs Bunny and Daffy Duck on the shade. Broken and chipped from the Goodwill but she liked that it wasn’t perfect or level.

She bought prints of famous artworks. Degas. Van Gogh. Millet. Flower drawings, or pressed leaves and flowers behind a sheet of glass. Not one piece of furniture matches in your living room. Or any room. The rugs are old and squishy soft, worn to death. It’s whacky to say the least. But you’d take it over any home they’re always flashing from the interior pages of a magazine.

She has blue daisy pillows on the couches. Always buys godawful cheap lemon candles that are all sugar acidic when they burn. But it cements that scent of home to you now.

There’s no inch of wall space not covered by frames or colour. One day she got up and impulsively painted your kitchen a bright buttery yellow. Just because. Flowers stamped everywhere cause she saw the idea in some hippy book.

And she filled this house with second hand books, too many, spilling over with them. She crammed your home with laughter, and literature, arts, and so many idols of your taste in music came from her.

You wouldn’t trade her for the entire world.

Flighty and bonkers as she is. You hate her being away so often, and with Charlie gone off now with her serious boyfriend, it does chip at you on the sadder days. Being here alone. It gouges just that little bit more when she’s not around.

The days when Linda says something particularly cutting, or times when jocks insults jab just that little too deep. You do miss her then. You can’t hate her for it. her job is a real earner and it makes her so happy. She brings you back souvenirs from every little corner of the globe she’s seen. Postcards. Snow globes.

She trusts you. She always says you’re her favourite kid in the world. That she knows of.

She’s not like some of the other Hawkins Moms you’ve seen. Not at all. The ones who all go to the same lousy hairdresser for the ruler straight highlighted bob. Go to Jazzercise on Thursdays. Hate their ignorant husbands. Wear beige cardigans and chunky gold jewellery and are the queen of boring casseroles and insist their kids be in bed by nine.

Then there’s her. Jagged and wound down and much looser. Etched in coolness. Less controlled - more quirky. Crazy hair even on a good day. Cherry ice cream smile. Young by their standards. Berkeley dropout. Strolling around in her suede fringed jacket and a Patti Smith t-shirt and boot cut jeans.

You’ve always seen the way other moms raised their brows at her appearance. They think she’s trashy. A single mom who dresses and eats and acts the way she does.

Scoffing behind her back at the rhinestone jacket or her vintage cowboy boots. She’s punchy. She doesn’t give two shits. She loves both her kids passionately and would be the first to swing a punch, split her knuckles open for you. Always in your corner. No matter what.

She had you both so young and braved through your dad walking out. Good riddance. He never did have the balls to do the important shit.

She told you that once you were just on the cusp of being old enough to understand why he wasn’t around.

Told you as she wrapped her arms around you and engulfed you in a hug. Smelling like Yves Saint Laurent Paris and gold Newports. She kissed the top of your head.

He couldn’t hack responsibility babe. He had his chance. Too bad he blew it. Cause I happen to think you’re the coolest pair of kids in the world.

She bucked up and scraped money together and it stung a bit sure. Pinched the corners of life at times. But she turned the back of her Brooke Shields shiny hair to the stares she gets in this town. Flipped the bird to those Carol’s and Susan’s who dared to judge her.

Somehow they thought she was a deadbeat mom. But she’s now raised two honour roll kids. First Charlie. Now you.

You’re on track for Indie State. Charlie went to Purdue. She said she’d love you even if you wanted to flip burgers or fix greasy old clunker cars for a living.

The phone shrills out loud as you’re scooping sticky chocolate chip dough into the greased sheets. It clumped between your fingers.

“Hang on.” You call out with no patience to the ringing, as you lean over to pluck it from the wall. Cradle it between your shoulder and ear. Trying to locate a dish rag for your smeared messy hands.

“Yeah.” Figured it would be someone for Mom, or a telemarketer.

“How’s it hangin, Pencils.”

Immediately a grin bursts on your lips. It’s Pavlovian. He smiles. You echo it.

You hear his voice? Ok then. Your stomach flew to bits. All fluttery like confetti.

“Well well well. If it isn’t my favourite metal head.” You say as you balance your trays down. Bumping the counter with your hip.

He chuckles through the phone. You hear the crackle of his exhale. You can picture his smile and it’s doing something to your guts that is just, crazy.

“Hey, c’mon now. Play fair. You never told me you were seeing other metal heads? I bet it’s that lanky haired bastard from the pizza place on Beechwood Drive, in his Slayer tees.” He twirled the old green phone cord around his finger. It clacks around that chunky silver ring of his.

He’s so quick to step up and play around and you love it. You can hear the jokiness layered on his voice. Hear him moving around cause staying still is his worst nightmare. Typical Eddie.

God. Look at you. You’re both twirling the phone cords around your fingers like middle school girls. Crushes thick in your throats and smiles. Choking your hearts fully. Paper airplanes tossed with love notes folded inside. Initials crossed together in a pink love-heart.

“Yeah.” You tease. “But his hair isn’t as great as yours. And don’t you know by now that I’ve got guys lined up around the block. I’ve had to have a ticket booth installed.” You pick up your wooden spoon to mix.

“Oh I’m so sorry, Linda. I thought I rang my pencils.” You hear the soft scuff of his laugh.

“Hang on one second, my lipgloss needs refreshing.” You pout. “And I feel like I should be singing ‘If I only had a brain’.”

He beams and it’s so wide his cheeks hurt.

“That’s not the Wizard of Oz I’m hearing over there pencils, right?” He deciphers.

“Saint Joe of Strummer. Our lord and saviour.” You tell him proudly. Cursing when you splodge a little of the sticky dough on the countertop. Looking around for the dish rag.

“I’m of the Anti-Christ church myself. Ozzy is my devil and I’m bound to obey.” He leers. His voice drops and it slithers between your legs to hear it get deep.

“Mmm. Sounds kinky.” You flirt. Trying your hardest not to drop dough on your bare toes where you’re scooping it to the tray. He’s a great distraction to your focus.

“If you’re into blood play and satanic practices baby, I got some great news for ya.” He fiddles with the empty microwave packets on the kitchen counter.

Chicken pot pie from two nights ago. The Kraft mac n’ cheese that he shovels down like air. Usually scraping it out the pan, eating it with a too big wooden spoon. As he reads a rock magazine at the kitchen counter.

“Sadly no. Dungeon stuff only. Oh and leather. Face masks. Lots of whipping too. And biting.” You tease.

“Hang on. Lemme get a pen and some paper… I’ll make a note…” He rustles around like he’s actually searching for it. Wiry body with the twisted phone cord wrapped around his torso.

You smile at his eagerness to please you.

“I don’t think you need to take notes, Munson. Last time was pretty sensational.” You blush. Mixing your batter and flirt is creeping onto your lips.

“Yeah?” He asks. “Jesus. You’ve no idea. It’s been driving me crazy. I should be committed. Look, I couldn’t even wait til tonight to hear your voice. I-“ He sighs in wanting. His tongue was tripping away from him. He drew back. Worried he was being too much.

He couldn’t wait. He had to call you.

“Munson. You never have to be sorry for calling me.”

Cause, I fucking like you.

“You know, you can call me Eddie. Pencils.”

“First name basis? How brazen.” You rib.

“Yeah, later on I was planning to show you my ankles. Risqué or what?” He flirts. You chuckle.

He’s wandering over to the window and flicking the curtain aside with his fingertips to see the same old drab and murky Forest Hills staring back at him.

“What would the village elders say-“ You gasp. “My reputation will be in tatters.”

“Not possible. Your name isn’t Linda.”

“I may have to kiss you for that one.” You warn.

“I’m very open to that.” He says very quickly. Twirling a packet of reds around the shiny surface of the table. Considering lighting one up. The rush of your voice is his nicotine until he hangs up.

You close a cupboard door and Eddie’s ears perk at the sound. “Learning drums over there?” He seeks.

“I’m baking.” You offer up.

Phone at your shoulder and between your ear still as you mix the dough with your other hand to fold in the chocolate chips. Shaking the packet and watching the chips fall. Plinking into the thick batter. It’s very messy and clumsily done.

“Tell me you’re wearing a tiny pink Betty Crocker apron?” He all but purrs down the phone. Licking his lips.

“It’s pink and frilly.” You drawl.

“Mmm. More-“ He rasps down directly down the phone. Grinning. Holds it right to his mouth to talk louder into the receiver.

“Pretty heels too. Lacquered hair like Donna Reed. Whole shebang.”

“Fuck.” He twirls hair around his finger. Almost bites down on his skull ring.

“The images in my head are so unmatched right now. You’ve no idea.” He charms.

“Damn.” He moans again. It’s low and it strikes a direct chord with your pussy.

Shit. You’ve had delicious filthy dreams about those moans. Your hands on that hard dick of his.

“Yeah and don’t forget my strand of pearls.” You grin.

He splutters. Oh he could give you pearls if you wanted them. It’s what he’s been dreaming of.

Such a horny boy.

“You’re the perfect date you know. Kinky as fuck, into whipping and leather. But pearls and baking.”

“You don’t even know what I’m baking-“

“You say pot brownies pencils, I’m gonna go out right this second and buy a goddamned ring.”

“Remember the four C’s. Colour. Clarity. Carat. Cut.”

“Shit. You want a diamond? Hmm I was thinking more along the lines of a pop ring. More in my budget. Or maybe something out the claw machine in the arcade.” He bargains.

“I like a man who puts in the effort. And, hey I’m not picky. I’ll take it. Diamonds are way overrated anyhow.” You decide.

“And just to lay your mind at rest I’m making Extra Chocolate, chocolate chip cookies.”

He cradled his aching throbbing heart. Hand splayed over his chest. Made a groaning noise like he was mortally wounded. A crackle of the sigh rattled the phone.

“Alright. You’re officially too good for me. I’m gonna have to hang up.” He jokes. You laugh.

You really hope he doesn’t.

“Don’t do that.” You ask quietly. “I need to talk to someone sensate. I beg of you.” You urge. “I had to listen to Linda bitch all the way home on Friday about how low fat ice cream sucks, and how much she wants to bang James Spader in Pretty in Pink.”

“Wow that really says a lot about her taste in guys.” He commented. She really was Tiffany-twisted, that girl. Wrapped up in her own over groomed looks, bouncy blonde curls, and sex life. Lived by rules out of Cosmo magazine and fad diets.

“My ears wanted to commit suicide by the time I got home. Thank god cause as I got out the car she started to mention the words sleepover and boyfriend and I just about had the sanity to slam the car door, before anymore came out.”

“Wise move baby.” He beamed.

You preened at the nickname that did dirty things. Finally you now had the cookies ready for the oven.

“Alright...” You clunked the wooden mixing spoon down. “First wave of troops going in. I’ll you know their condition after battle. Hopefully they make a worthy addition to our night as I am trying to impress you with my passably mediocre baking skills.” You charm.

“Hey don’t practice too hard now. You know us guys like em stoopid.” He puts on a southern-belle twang.

“If you can navigate yawself round a tree girlie. Keep on walkin. Them slick city fellers can have ya.” He drawls.

Your laugh makes his whole mood hop into giddy.

“You’re such a goof.” You smile. He couldn’t wait to see that grin of yours in person again. In a mere handful of hours-

“I didn’t need another incentive to be impressed by you, pencils...” He smiles. Tone slipping back into genuine. “Already there.” He offers.

Before you can respond. Hurricane Munson struck elsewhere.

“And uh, Whatever condition those troops are in. I’ll take it. I’m not picky either. Charlie. Tango. Bravo.”

“Good.” You answer. Twiddling with the corner of the dish cloth. Fondness settled like warm oozy mush on your chest. Inescapable.

You could spend hours down the phone listening to Eddie crack his jokes. Twirl around. Get distracted. Put on stupid drama club voices like he was at Hellfire

“There aren’t trees in the way of your trailer are there? Cause I won’t be able to navigate round them all on my own.” You joke in reference to his earlier remark.

“You’re the perfect lady.” He sighs in a sweet hum.

“Oh and uh, I picked the movies for tonight.” He suddenly announced. Sounding cheeky. Brimming with it.

“Yeah?” You asked with inflection. “Yeah.” He answered. With none.

“You’re not gonna tell me are you?” You clued up.

“Leave me to have my wicked wicked fun.”

“VHS tease.” You complained all snarky.

“Scoot your pretty ass over here and come see for yourself you coward.” He dares. Tongue tipped out between his smiling teeth.

“Six still good?” You check. Up on your tiptoes and swirling around the tiled floor. Stomach swooping with anticipation.

“Golden.” He answers.

“Guess I’ll see you then. I’ll be the one in the skirt.”

He sucks air through his teeth. “Ah same here. I hope we don’t clash.”

“Bye, Edward.” You joke. He gasps.

“Mm. Definitely gonna have to let you see my ankles now.” Comes his voice. Smile traced on it. You could tell.

“I’m counting the minutes.” You dip your voice low.

“See ya.” He parts. Slinging the phone back into it’s cradle on the wall. Smile charged to megawatt from your conversation. He wants to twirl and flip his hair. Goddamnit. He couldn’t keep still.

Then he drags his eyes to his surroundings. The crushed beer cans crumpled up on the kitchen counter, and the coffee table. The overflowing ashtrays. Trash in the kitchen. The dishes. The laundry strewn sofa. The dust- he chews his lip.

It was like he was seeing this place through fresh eyes. And it needed rectifying. He rolled up his sleeves.

Shit. He needed to hustle.

~

It was fair to say Wayne and Eddie had to grow used to living with each other.

The veil of constancy was Eddie’s safety blanket when it came to the gruff and earnestly stoic man, that was Wayne Munson; he pretty much remained himself. Didn’t change much.

Liked his bacon crispy. Made a peach cobbler that would blow your socks off til next Tuesd ay, but couldn’t assemble a sandwich neatly at all. Used to drive big semi trucks across the states. Did the crossword in the Hawkins Gazette. Adored Billie Holiday. Collected comical mugs. Liked strong coffee with cinnamon and had a dislike for cilantro. Loved old spaghetti westerns and that twanging soft country music he always hums too, which had carved space out of his soft-soppy Tennessee heart.

He had hatred for people with nasty gossiping sniping souls. Ugliness born inside, he thinks people don’t ever shift it on or lose that. He worked his fingers to the bone for the modest home and the little money they raked by on. He was unfailingly honest and generous. He had few words to give. He was Eddie’s weather-beaten yet reliable rock.

Eddie can imagine that Wayne getting to know him was more of a challenge; tricky to navigate; herding cats, walking on-knives-and-eggshells kind of difficult. How do you get to know someone when their character is set on shifting sand?

Thing is. Eddie never really changed that much.

He’s still the starry-eyed kid leaping on the couch, shredding air guitar to Metallica in filthy sneakers cause the moment just ran away with him. He’s the one making a huge show of not stepping on cracks in the pavement cause he’s down enough as it is. Not breaking mirrors, ever, and picking up sidewalk spilt pennies. And apologising and stepping over weeds in the trailer lot. Not trampling them underfoot.

Eddie was still the boy inside that felt bad for struggling weeds. The one to feel sorry for a squashed little dandelion.

Wayne wrenched open this home to this kid as a stranger. Barbs and shame-wrapped guilt set in his heart that he didn’t know his brothers own kid better than he did. He kept to his lane. He stayed out the way of his brothers numerous convictions. Remained a stranger to trouble.

But then, when need came knocking; he offered up, no questions asked. The way a bird offered the gentle lift of their wing, to something foreign needing shelter, in a warm bramble nest, from the raging storm.

Eddie will never forget the first words he heard out of Wayne’s mouth. Around the corner of some bland police precinct. Warm. Firm. Dependable.

“He’s my family. He’s blood. That’s enough. Kindly let me see him.”

He didn’t regret stepping up to bat for one minute. Maybe he’s grouchy and he’d never fully ‘get’ or approve of everything his nephew did, or enjoyed. But he didn’t chew him out, or pick at him for it.

He learned what flavour pop tarts Eddie liked best for breakfast. When he needed sleep or help. When he needed space. When to warn him to watch his attitude, or his mouth, or manners, and when to back off. Parental things.

Eddie was a stale eyed kid when he first met Wayne. Perhaps innocent and maybe just jaded enough to see beyond the rose-tinted prism of childhood. He was jaggedy-rough round the edges and not worn into himself yet. Caught up in the hard knocks of social care and down-and-out on his luck, as a mostly unwanted eight year old. That stuck some nasty pins in his ego pretty early on.

Wayne could see how Eddie kept expecting to be shuffled on elsewhere. Big shining eyes that a puppy would envy under a scruff mop of hair. Clutching all he had for dear life. His scruffy collection of tattered comics and stubby pencils and half broken toys.

Kept looking around the trailer like he shouldn’t get too attached. Sat gingerly on the edge of the sagging bed. Shouldn’t make mess or get comfy. Cause soon, he’ll have to pack his scrappy things into that sad cardboard box and eek out a wobbling lipped goodbye. Sad that home hadn’t stuck, again.

Eddie kept that empty scruffy little box sat in the bottom of his closet for six months. Just in case.

Wayne threw that box right in the trash.

Bought him a beat up old turntable. Put a shelf up in his room and a stood a few second hand fantasy paperback books on it. Bought him a few new things that didn’t belong to someone else first.

Wayne watched Eddie fall into stability. To learn how to put roots down. Grow steady and then in quick spurts, into who he was. In that way kids do. The way they grow into clothes that were too big. Shoes that would eventually fill out to fit their steps.

He watched the love of music come blasting in. Middle school. Rolling Stones magazines. Catching Black Sabbath on the radio one day. The appreciation for that loud thrashing dirty-steel rock he now loves. The one that ran vein deep. His idols with the crazy scruffy long hair. He discovered Ozzy and Axl, Judas Priest and Lemmy.

Watched him sew on badges that he bought for pennies at dime stores, and get bloody fingertips cause he really was useless at needlework. Found his signature rings at a cool vintage place outta state. Watched him saw off the arms of his denim jacket and come home with a swing in his step and a DIO shirt from the goodwill - a twinkle in his eye. Determination threaded in this burgeoning passion. Tip of the iceberg.

A plan Wayne. I have a well executed, thorough plan. Foolproof.

Mmmhmm. Is this gonna end up exactly like the last plan you had, kid?

Let’s find out.

Gone from the sweet boy who was too scared of everything, and everyone boring, and being judged, and now he’s turned inside out, full circle, to become this genuinely sweet young man, who turned against that boring tide of beige normalcy.

Eccentric and whirly with the unfocused energy that never burned out. Dynamite blaze kid. Even when he tried to hide scrapes on his knees, and raw knuckles. A shiner that he let his shaggy fringe cover, from an attempt to fight and claw back.

He still gave Wayne that shocking toothy grin with a fat lip and a busted nose, cause he was actually stupid proud of himself - and the way he stuck up for some freshman. The tiny nerdy one who had a carton of milk poured over his head by the meat head jocks. Having pages ripped out his science textbooks by them and spread to the wind like leaves.

Eddie sat beside the newbie with bleeding raw knuckles, cracked jokes, sellotaped those torn pages back together - wonky. Just to show that someone out there, cared.

The smiles became armour, devil horns and Gene Simmons tongue. The hair started to grow out into rioting curls. Doe eyes glinted promiscuity; to those who didn’t know him well enough to know there was no shred of malice anywhere in him.

Eddie collected parts of himself, the way someone would laundry plucked off the line- like the badges and pins he secured on his chest and flashed around for fun.

He found his first DND board and his dice at a yard sale. And then came that sweet head-muzzy strain of Colombia gold, and Reefer Rick and light frothy cans of beer on an empty stomach. He found acceptance. Ripped jeans and scuffed knees. The exquisite pin pricks of a scratchy tattoo the day he turned 18. Asked if he could wear the old sagging leather jacket he found hung in the back of the closet, from Wayne’s younger and more hip days.

The way he went full bonkers-gaga over seeing his 24 fret NJ warlock in the window of a music store in town. Bursting big heart eyes over it and saving up for months. Awfully tempted by the idea of some piercing, somewhere, but nearly fainted when he got in the shop. So that was the end of that. He founded Hellfire and he protected his fellow freaks. Scraped together his high school band.

Collected the little lost sheepies in armfuls, in bunches, so that no one within his reaches would ever have to sit and console that festering hungry chasm of being an unwanted kid, with nowhere to turn.

Cause Eddie knew well enough, it was a bottomless gremlin pit with gnashing teeth, and it would take take take as long as you bothered to feed it.

And all that learning and comfiness, and living, now it currently tapered down to Wayne not being at all surprised, by watching his nephew shaking frail little spindly spiders out into the doormat, talking soothingly to them.

Shooing them out off the glossy pages of his rock music magazine. Telling them to get used to the brave new world of Forest Hills outside these four walls.

“-And kudos by the way for eating the flies. Appreciate you for that. Sorry I’ll have to take down those cobwebs. Consider this your eviction notice.” As he jimmied the last one off the paper and it crinkled noisily. Bracelet on his wrist jingling.

Wayne is peering over the shield of his paper. Coffee steaming away in a chipped Snoopy mug by his side. Cigarette dangling from his fingers. Watching Eddie crouch right at the mouth of the trailer door. Holding it open and watching the insects lope away in new brave directions.

Pieces of clarity started to to swim together when he takes a look at Eddie’s clothes.

Different to his normal threads on a Saturday night; Either he’s kicking his feet into reeboks, shouldering on his leathers and vest to go out a party at some place, and come back reeking of grass and beer breath. Or; he’s shuffling around in his thread bare plaid pyjama pants and a ratty AC/DC tee, asking what’s for dinner through a smeary eyed yawn.

This is neither; he straightened up to go and neatly return the magazine to his room, as opposed to throwing it down to rest in any old place. Odd.

Wayne took notice of his clothes. Black jeans that were suspiciously clean of ash stains or frayed knee holes. His long sleeved black skull tee rolled up to his elbows, ink on display. Chest blazoned with a band name he’s never heard of, and down the sleeve too in gothic red. His hair was all fluffed up - like he’d finally discovered what a comb was.

Eddie saunters back into the room. Flitting from place to place. Shoving beer cans in a bulging garbage bag. Along with empty crushed food packets that he left out. Sweeping crumbs off the counter with his bare hands. Probably over the floor but the effort was there- picking cigarette butts off the floor that he was careless enough to drop.

And Wayne didn’t even have to shoot his usual look, clearing his throat at him, about that nasty habit. He was clearing up entirely on his own. Without prompt.

He was rushing. Rushing was the antithesis of Eddie’s speed. A thin film of sweat on his brow under that choppy lollop of a fringe. He’s crammed garbage bags full. Shoving stuff inside.

Says something under his breath that sounds like “shit” as he darts back into his room. Wallet chain jangling behind him. Socked feet thudding softly on the carpets.

He keeps an ear open for what sounds like commotion. Frantic tidying. The shuffling of clothes by the armful. Closet doors shutting with a thwack. He talks to his guitar as he hums and tidied.

“I know I know. Sweetheart. I should have done this earlier. Don’t look at me like that…”

He rounds up his dirty clothes and does a sniff test - again. That was the third time tonight.

Movement clattering along the hall. Socked feet storm back to the washer. He’s stuffing an armful of mostly all black clothing into it like he’s trying to dispose of body parts in there. Ramming in so much he has to shut the door quick.

“Rat bastard.” He hissed after he shook the dream fresh laundry powder in and slams it shut. Punches it for good measure. His rings clack on the metal-metal contact. Shook his fist out I n the air cause that hurt more than he thought it would.

Now he’s back to the trash bags in the kitchen. Looping them up and walking across the door to dump them outside in the garbage cans. Hopping across the sharp gravel in socked feet like a jumping hare.

Wayne sees that determined set in his brow as the door snaps open and back in slams Eddie at a million miles a second. Frowning at everything he sees. Sloped brows. Mouth curled into a grimace.

He comes to empty the overflowing ashtray on the coffee table near Wayne. Well, it was an old soup can that somehow turned into an ashtray. Annoyed that he missed it. Muttering to himself. Scooping away dust. It was like watching a one man ant farm.

This led to him now being stood on the couch, suddenly reorganising the shelf behind it. Batting cobwebs away from mugs and wiping a hand on his jeans.

“Jesus. I mean how dusty is this place?” Eddie asks to no one in particular. Not expecting an answer.

Silence. Rustling.

Wayne folds up his paper and nicely slaps it down on the arm beside him. Folds his hands in his lap. “Eddie.”

Eddie turns around like a doe eyed deer caught in semi headlights. Twisted at the waist. Back of his shirt riding up over his lithe waist. Peek of his back and his plaid red boxer band showing over the back of his jeans.

The bony notches of his spine poke through skin where he’s leaning over. He blinks owlishly at his uncle. One foot braced on the back of their elderly moth-eaten couch.

“What the hell you doin?” Wayne asks with kind bewilderment. Shaking his head at his kid.

“Spring cleaning?”

Wayne’s eyes narrow as he lifts his hand up and sucks on his cigarette. “Sure?” He checks.

“No?” Comes the answer. Carefully. Wincing. Wayne takes a breather.

“There’s cobwebs. And, dust.” He explained. Pointing to the wall before him. “Look see, dust.”

“Why the sudden aptitude for household chores there, huh?” Wayne asks as he nurses his cooling coffee.

To his shame they don’t exactly keep the place pristine. He tries his best, but on some days work takes it clean outta him. Eddie’s room resembled a garbage tip bomb-site most likely.

Eddie swallows. “You know. Just- some light maintenance.” He shrugs. That was the most plausible answer his brain spat out upfront.

“On a Saturday night?”

“I’m um, totally slammed on Sunday.” He admits. Clapping off his hands.

“Kid. How stupid do you think I am. Because frankly, all I’ve seen, is all I need to see. If you get my drift.”

Eddie turns away and continues his frantic cleaning. Polishing a mug with his shirt sleeve.

“I have… guests… coming over tonight.” If he makes it plural maybe he can get away with it.

“Your DND club.” Wayne guesses. This earns a snort from the metalhead.

“I once saw Gareth eat pizza off the canteen floor. Like I’d bother dusting here for those doofuses.” He grins.

“Then question remains; who are you dusting, and laundry-doing and taking out the spiders for?” Wayne leans forward and asks. Scratching the stubble at the side of his grizzled jaw.

Eddie clings to silence. Which he never does. Never ever does this boy exist without noise bursting out his mouth. Looks like a sheepish kid again.

Wayne’s gaze meets his. ‘Well?’

Cause he would support whomever Eddie chose to bring home. Girl or boy, or undecided. He’s no dummy. He’s got eyes in his head. He’s seen things. The little quirky tics in Eddie’s character when he likes someone. He knows his kid pretty darn well enough by now.

“A girl.” Eddie concludes turning away, like it was casual, cool, and nothing to get worked up over. No biggie. Just… the girl of my dreams. So what? I can be casual about this. It’s totally fine. And normal. Normally fine.

“A girl.” Wayne nods.

“Change this record. It’s skipping.” Eddie leers. Pointing a funny wagging finger at his relative.

“This girl. She royalty or something.”

Eddie cuts a look. It’s just bordering on grumpy and peeved.

“Listen, she ain’t coming to inspect the place or audit us. A little dust and clutter isn’t gonna put her off spending time with you, now is it.”

Eddie sighs. Itched the back of his head. Screwed his eyes shut.

“No. See man. I wanted to be presentable. Cause when she walks in this trailer, she’s gonna be expecting me to look and act like sleazy, greasy trailer trash. And I just. Wanna-“ he clenched his fists.

“Just wanna be….presentable.” He mumbled. Repeating. As he softly scuffed the couch arm with his foot. He sighed. Rubbed a dusty knuckle in his eye until stars scrawled black and bursting.

“Goddd. Look at me. I’ve showered twice. And I untangled the knots out my hair. I used that fancy bar soap I got for xmas that smells like lemons. I brushed my teeth for a whole two minutes. May have used a splash of your cologne. That stung like hell by the way.” He added naughtily. Pinching the collar of his shirt in two fingers and flapping it up and down to cool himself off.

“I’m sweaty. My hair feels itchy. I don’t know what I’m gonna say. She’s gonna be stunning, and awesome and I feel like I’m having a heart seizure or probably a stroke over here. I don’t know man. Fuck-“

Wayne let’s him get it out. As he’s learned with Eddie sometimes it’s best. He often just needed a ramble. To let his tongue lash til he ran dry.

He kicked the couch again. Harder. Still standing up tall on it.

“What’s she like, this girl. She into the same kinda stuff as you?” Wayne enquired.

It dipped muzzily into his big soft heart seeing Eddies mouth hooked right up into a petite smile when he asked about you. One side curls.

“No she’s, uh, she likes Punk music and Bowie, Talking Heads, Billy Idol, and like, you should hear her, she talks about all these artists and shit I’ve never heard of. It’s amazing-“

She’s entirely too good for the likes of me.

“She’s so cool. Effortlessly cool y’know?- And creative?! She likes scary movies and she works in the record store. She hates jocks. I cannot believe she’s actually bothering to look twice at a moron like me. Super senior, King of the freaks.” He jabs his fingers into his bony skull clad chest.

Because Eddie didn’t think it was exactly a secret that flunk out’s like him, were never exactly crawling in babes, or cramming in dates on the weekends.

“I really like her.” He mumbled openly. Wiping palms on his jeans. That’s what this effort all whittled down too.

He couldn’t meet Wayne’s eyes as he said it. It seemed to good to be true. His hopes were so little. Floundering seeds.

He wanted this to go well. He whirled his eyes elsewhere and fidgeted through his words. Typical Eddie.

“I gathered as much from your general-“ Wayne waved his hand around in the air of the living room and towards the kitchen “…Running round. Giving me whiplash just watching you, kid.” He stubs out his cigarette.

Eddie stays where he is. Stood couch top. Absorbing the information Wayne fed him.

“Why don’t you get down from there. Leave the dusting the hell alone. And just relax.” He soothes. Always a balm to the frizzy fraying nerves.

Eddie looks like it could be a trap if he dares to let himself chill out. You say it like it’s easy.

“She must like you to come all the way out here to spend time with you. Just be yourself. I guarantee you, that’s what she’s interested in. Not the state of this place.” He shifts in his chair and groans a little. Adjusts his legs.

Eddie let’s out a huff. Slumps down the sofa and throws his body onto it. Crazy hair flicking after he moved. It’s fluffier too. Some lame attempt at his own hands to pretty it up from its usual insanity.

“What you guys planning on doing?” He seeks. Sips his coffee. Distraction worked well, too. He often found.

“Ordering pizza and watching a couple movies.” Eddie says up to the ceiling. Scanning for cobwebs. Fiddling with the rings on one hand. One knee twitching up and down.

He had the stack of videos ready on top of the TV. Night of the Living Dead. Nightmare on Elm Street. And then Ghostbusters for something undeniably cheesy. The microwave popcorn in the kitchen. A number for the pizza place hemmed in on the fridge with magnets, as per usual.

Wayne makes a soft noise at the back of his throat at hearing that. A smile creeps on his lips. He idly reads the folded back of his paper.

“What?” Eddie quizzes.

Wayne’s smile grows if anything.

“I may be an old man. But I was young once. I do happen to know what that means.” He stared Eddie down in that parental way.

“You’re gonna be careful with this girl, right. Safe sex ain’t no joke.”

That did it.

“Aww man, c’mon.” Eddie choked, cringing, as he launched himself up out the sofa and quickly scurried away like a jangly pillar of goth black missile. Aimed sharpish in another direction.

“It’s a first date, by the way. I’m not gonna be breaking out the condoms and whistles and bells here.” He lets out.

He’s shaking his head and losing himself in the confines of his room. Music is softly shredding out the low stereo. Alice Coopers ‘Welcome to my Nightmare’ sneers softly into his room. He cranks it up.

Wayne stood up. Smiling and shaking his head in making his kid cringe. Gathering his things for work. Walking to the kitchen slowly to empty the dregs of his cup. Leave it in the sink for later. He grabs his things as he walks on past the front door. Heavy work boots crushing soft on the carpets and then the lino.

He walks right up to Eddie’s door, peers into the clustered metal gilded mess of his room.

Shocked to notice he could actually see the floor. And the raunchy pin ups were safely shepherded away inside the closet. The playboy magazines he pretends he doesn’t know about shoved under the bed. The dresser and side tables were still messy as. There’s been an attempt at making the bed. The sheets are straightened and tucked in.

“Listen now, you’re 20 year old man, and you have a zipper. I won’t say any more than that. But you best play it safe. Y’hear?”

“NO.” Eddie fairly shrieks.

“Not listening anymore.” Comes the answer as he faffs around and pretends to be busy with some things in his closet.

“Eddie.” Wayne smiles.

He turns back around and stands up. Expression of limited enthusiasm.

“Wayne. I am the town fuck up in a lot of ways. But not in this way.” He marched back to his bedside. Throws the blue Trojan condom packet up in the air and catches it. A silent ‘see?’

His uncles brow crooks up. Shuffling his wallet into his jeans. Pulling on his heavy fleece lined denim jacket. “Jeez. Those things still in date?”

Eddies face falls.

“They expire?” He flips the packet and looks at the back.

“Lord. I am gettin out of here. Save me some pizza would ya.” Wayne dismisses with a shake of his old head.

This high school romance thing was better left a young man’s game.

~

Eddie thinks he forgets how to breathe, when the buttery headlights of your car slant into the big window of the trailer.

He poked his head out the door earlier. The air is cool out tonight. Hung with moisture, so thick you could sip at it. Icy cold like a dirty clear martini. The kind of night that bloats up and leaves the taste of wet grass on your tongue.

The headlights are a sobering neon yellow under the cushy spring night that was churning slowly in dregs and streaks, to a violet. Lilac bathed air punched with cold. One of those night slow nights that gets slipped into dark majesty, and the stars cluster bright like winking pearls.

Eddie’s eyes have been on the windows for an hour. He’s paced groves in this thick matted carpet, he’s sure of it. Eyes set on the windows like he’s on a mission. Trying not to chew his nails. Got him acting like a pound mongrel waiting for their owner to come home.

The car lights flick off. Engine cuts dead.

And now he can hear the slam of your car door. His heart rockets into overdrive with scary amounts of adrenaline and stabbing excitement that will, he’s sure, undeniably make a moron out of him before then night is out.

You’re stepping up the creaky porch. He knows those snaps and shifts of the old steps. You’re knocking on his door.

He takes a deep breath. Fills his crappy sentimental lungs, that he placated with a cigarette, twenty ache filled minutes ago.

He cannot open the door fast enough, and the sight of you the other side, roundhouse whirls into his chest. Smacks right between the ribs. Fists him by the front of his t-shirt and yanks-

You’re like that song Wayne hums and taps his feet too, when he makes eggs on a Sunday mo rning. ‘Like being hit by a falling tree, woman, woman what you do to me.’

“Ah woman bearing beer. You’re definitely welcome inside.” He grins. Leaning against his door.

He thinks he keeps on imagining how pretty you are. But here you stand with the cheap orange light of the trailer washing back over you, haloing your body like a wash of heaven, and he’s gotta remember not to stare.

You’ve brushed this smoky-sparkly purple eyeshadow on. Nightshade purple like the sky out tonight. Big lashes all dark too. Your lips are pink shiny and glossy. (You so totally stole a tube from Linda, naughty pencils)

You’re wearing a brown corduroy skirt and a black polo neck. Long brown leather boots up to your calves. Your hair is so silky. Eyes shimmering this angel honey warmth at him.

You’re holding an eggshell coloured plate of Saran-wrapped cookies. Piled high and dark chocolate. In your other hand you have a six pack of coors and something else-

“Best part?” You begin.

You hold something up, tilt your head and there’s that smile.

The thing you hold, it’s all canine teeth and fake tufts of hair. Two triangle ears. Tacky acetic smell of plastic. “For the Heist.”

A wolf man mask. A smile leaps onto his lips.

“You think of everything.” He shakes his head in disbelief. “Got yours I hope Pencils?” He asks with a levelled look as he widens the door for you to step in.

“It’s in the car. Messes up my hair.” You shrug. You climb up the last uneven wedge of a step and move to come inside.

“Hey.” You smile. He liked that you goofed around first. Went traditional greeting second.

“Hey back.” He said softly. Pretty smile all wide. Espresso dark eyes fixed unendingly on your face.

You nervously chew your lip and gaze down. You want to lean over and kiss his cheek but didn’t want to overstep or be weird about it.

You clunkily flounder on the doormat. Self doubt lingers on your fingertips. You wish you could just escape into the confidence to lean over and kiss him like you did the other night. But then you had a belly of vodka and Dutch courage backing you up.

Decide hand him over the plate of cookies. He can smell the cocoa and sugar sneaking out when he takes the thing off you. “For you-“ you gift.

“Troops made it. Well done boys.” It makes you chuckle. Wiggles the plate in one hand and talks to the cookies.

“Hope you got a sweet tooth. I made so many.”

“Always.” He answers to your enquiry. “My diet is 98% Oreos and mini powdered donuts.” He beams.

You nudge the beers in your hand too. “Fridge?”

He takes them off you gently. “Yeah, here, gimme.” He bundled them up and stepped past you. The door snapped shut behind him and you took in the space as Eddie padded to the fridge.

You smile as you gaze around the walls. The scratchy orange curtains. The warmness of the lamps splashing up light. A very well beloved couch and all the mug keepsakes and hats on the walls. It’s cosy. It’s a home. Capital H. Just like yours. You can see that from one glance.

The Campbell’s soup can used as an ashtray cause the actual red glass ashtray next to it was overflowing with pocket junk. The plaid shirts yet to be ironed, crumpled somewhat clumsily in a laundry basket. Some sepia family pictures tacked to the space above the counter where the sun won’t bleach them. The red pansy pattern on the sofa that clashes with the lone saggy yellow throw pillow. The marbled malty brown carpet.

A place that sure wasn’t fancy, but had character and warmth in swathes more than anything designer and clinical green money could buy. It’s a sagging trailer sure, no hiding that. But you imagine with a cold shower of outside patting at the roof, these friendly yellow walls would swallow you up in their charming blanket of old cigarettes, male cologne and powder dreamy detergent. Some scratchy record playing blues and a snuggly throw on that couch, it would be a sort of enclosing haven.

“It’s uh- not much. But… a place to crash or to hang your hat, as Wayne says.” Eddie trails off. Setting the cookies on the counter. Nodding in jest towards the numerous baseball caps.

“I like it. Honestly. You should see my house. Moms hippy-bohemian posters and pretty strange sense of interior decor reigns strong.” You tell him.

“I’d like to see that.” He says as he clunks beers in the ancient whirring fridge. You smile over at him. You nod and share eye contact.

“Come through the front door this time though, perhaps. Save your ass from that thorny rose bush.” You encourage warmly.

“Awh. You’re worried about the state of my ass.” He preens. Leans against the counter and gives you moony eyes.

“Damn right. Someone’s got to be.” You answer back.

“Thank heaven it’s you.” He simpers. Smile

Slowly crawls up and your stomach warms all dizzy. You bite your lip.

“Drink?” He offers. Hands splayed over the counter. “We got Pepsi, ginger ale.”

“Actually, a beer would be great.” You nod. Cold buzz light give you some courage to finally bump your mouth to those soft sweet lips you adore. And had missed.

You should have done it tonight the second he opened the door. Damn politeness. You should’ve sprung on him.

“Two beers. Coming up.” He grins. Drums the counter with open slaps of his hands. Dives for the fridge.

You unzip your boots. Worried about getting wet marks on the floor.

“Princess. Your shoes are probably cleaner than this carpet.” Eddie explains wryly from behind the fridge.

Coming back to see you standing into the mushy carpet in your bare feet. Painted toes mulberry purple. Sparkles glitter gritty over the deep paint.

“It’s the principle of the thing now, Munson.” You say as you toe them off. Stuff your socks inside. You place them by the door and wander over to the jut of the counter. Standing the other side looking at him. His skin itches and leaps with the realisation of your smiling at him. He more than likes it.

He’s got the beers before him. Cracking them open. The fizz and the hoppy mist. He slides yours on over for you to catch like a saloon bar in a western.

“Mi’lady” He says as he raises his can up for you to crash them together in a toast. A tinny clank where you toast. His rings clack on the side of the can.

“Thank you, gallant Knight.” You flatter. After taking back a cold hop filled sip.

It makes you think of that slanted drunken time in Kyle’s garden. Sharing polite sips of a warm beer. Stealing glances under fringes and sparing longing looks.

You watch his brows raise with surprise at your choice of title. “And here, I thought I was the jangly belled jester dude. Or the scrawny but lovable bard.” He grins all toothy.

“Fraid not. You’re my Knight in shining DIO vest.” You tell him.

If you had to, you’d rearrange the entire solar system by hand to see the sight of Eddie Munson blush again the way he is now. His cheeks full with it.

He scratches the back of his neck and looks like he wants to twirl away and hide in his hair all bashful.

“You rescued me from the pack of Ogres and brought me healing Campbells aid. Not to mention some very seriously delicious behaviour in a closet.” You played along. Fiddling your fingertips along the edge of the counter. “That’s Knightly behaviour, my guy.” You nod.

“You’d be ok with being my maiden then, huh?” He can’t ignore the very bloated intent behind those words. Chews the inside of his lower lip. He can taste beer and he’s so aching to kiss you again.

“More than ok.” You met his longing brown gaze. Those melty eyes standing stark under that chippy fringe. “Hey, as long as you don’t think I’m the Dragon. I’m fine with whatever.” You hold your hands up.

His smile brightens. “I think we all know who the dragon is, pencils.”

You laugh.

His heart swoons.

And then it twirls somewhere different. He looks intent. Like he wants to grab something but can’t. Pent up. Like he’s digging fingers into the counter to keep from something else.

“Ok, excuse the shit outta me but, fuck it, I should have done this the second I saw you tonight.”

He suddenly bursts into movement around the counter. You follow where he rounds it in record time. Chain jangling. Socked feet padding the floor.

Emotions are chunky jagged things that can’t contain him. Slip off his body like oil slick. Beat off him like rain bouncing off concrete. It can’t contain him or maybe it’s the other way around.

He comes your side and you can barely have a breath before he’s cupped your neck either side, so gentle, and pushed his lips onto yours in a kiss so sweet it made your brain wipe blank.

His body cages you back into the counter. Tile top digging the back of your waist. Your hands flounder for a second. You smile to his lips before your hands come to his back. His belt buckle jams to your skirt and it makes your stomach flutter with want.

He tastes the same and it’s a flavour you’re oddly fascinated by. Smoky brush and hoppy beer. Maybe a little acrid but you don’t mind it. So traditionally Eddie it makes your knees wobble.

His thumb is soft on the line of your jaw. Savours the way He languidly kisses you out of breath. He swallows a sugary clasp of a little gasping noise you made. Wants more- more more more of them. He’s caught in your orbit and never wants to fall out of this clutch of your gravity.

Tastes the gloss off your mouth and he prays you don’t think him a massive perverted creep for this.

When you break for air, his lips don’t wander far. Spit wet and near yours and now he’s wearing sugar high pink gloss too. His nose lays along the line of yours.

“Sorry-“ He gasps.

He may have short circuited your brain with that kiss. Glitched something out for sure.

“I don’t see what sorry has to do with that.” You murmur softly. Leaning up to brush your nose into his. Try to contain this harsh vein buzz he’s got going in you.

“Inviting you over to my trailer and mauling you.” He gasps as he rakes a soft brush of hair off your cheek. Back tenderly behind your soft ear.

You push on your tiptoes. Capture his mouth in a slowly melting peck. Hand sliding across his cheek. Palming a cheekbone. Fingertips nesting in that dry wild mane.

“I don’t mind a little mauling.” You explain. He rests his hands on your hips with a self satisfied chuckle. Thumbs stroking the waistband of your skirt.

“Not very Knightly.” He quipped. Going dumb the way you plucked kisses at his mouth in-between his attempts to speak.

“Chastity is overrated. I’m not waiting in a fucking tower to protect my virtue.” You tell him.

You’ve got his fucking chest skipping and his heart is on the roof of his mouth. Cheeks ache from smiling.

He holds your waist like he’s afraid you’ll move or drift away. Ridiculous. You’ve patiently waited to get here. You’re not budging. Eyes set on yours. The wet gloss glimmer of your lips and those eyes he pathetically wants to stare into like he’s discovered a new form of Eden.

“I can’t believe I didn’t work up the courage to talk to you sooner.” Bursts out his mouth before he can stop it. A shy little confession that he feels very nerdy to have given a voice too.

“Wanna know something?” You tell him all softly. Stroking over the wavy tips of those choppy bangs.

“If not guess I’ll just kiss it outta you…” He decides. Eyes dizzily on your lips. His hips sway into you and he tilts his head to plant a sweet kiss at the corner of your mouth.

“I think I had a crush on you from the very second you got sat behind me in history class.” You explain.

You couldn’t help it. There you were all wrapped and stirred up in your love of punk and anarchy. And then in walks this crazy, messy leather clad and metal dipped kid with doe eyes and trouble stroked deep into his smile. The frenzy and the non-conformity. Clutched you good.

“Why do you think I always tapped on your shoulder asking for a pencil, pencils?” He teased. But he wasn’t done;

Sense slotted into place.

“Do you know why I call you that by the way?” He checks. Voice such a soft chasm of purity.

“I assumed the way I’m always covered in graphite and ink, and paint splatters.” You shrugged.

“No.” He raises your hand up and marks a kiss the back of it. “But I do really dig that look on you.”

“Alas-“ He continued. “Its because you never snapped at me. Never once rolled your eyes or ignored me when I tapped on your shoulder. You didn’t dismiss me the way everyone else did.”

You’re floored. Stood pinned to this counter and you’re so touched.

“You always gave me a pencil. Always. And you smiled at me as you did it. Didn’t tell me to keep it with disgust or bark that you wanted it back right after. Look at it like you’d contract rabies from being touching something I’d used.”

You indeed smiled at him. You asked about the patches on his vest. About the bands you’d not heard of. Told him the answer to a random question of the pop quiz if you saw him struggling. Twisted around and caught sight of the horned devil skull he was doodling and thought it was cool.

You lit up when he came into class or when he said something funny. And sure, he did show off in the hopes it would earn that beam of yours. He always felt like opportunity slipped out his hands when you scurried away after class finished.

He tried every day, to stay and catch your eye- make you laugh again. Just something to rouse that little kernel of connection he had to you. And when he saw you around you were always alongside the blonde one he assumed was too cool to approach.

“Wow, we’re morons. It’s only taken us this long to get things going.” You supplied casually.

“Pencils. Trust me. I noticed you beside that blonde poodle friend of yours a lot. I thought how pretty and awesome you seemed. Would’ve tried to talk to you, but I kinda thought you hated me.” He admits with a wince.

“Why?” You ask almost sadly. Ready to crunch up your own conscience in guilt.

“That’s what people usually do. They don’t even get to know me they just decide to skip right to the ‘hating my guts’ part.”

You shake your head. Boldly.

“Not this people.” You say. Cupping his cheek. “And I’d like to spend a lot of time proving that tonight.”

Your free hand slunk to his waist. Holding him with a perfectly lovely touch that has his knees swooning. Fuck it, yes. He could swoon too.

He smiles at that. And it’s so stunningly honest it makes the slippy walls of your heart ache. Lays his lips onto yours again.

“What’s say we order this pizza, get buzzed and uh, do some very dirty hand stuff on the couch whilst we pretend to be interested in it?” He grins.

“Perfect.” You slip up and kiss him again. Arms crossed over his shoulders. Body entirely pasted to his.

“Does this mean we’re officially dating now?” You ask him sweetly when you pull back. Not having moved one inch away. Engrossed, entangled and entwined.

“It better.” He nudged his nose to yours. And it really was as simple as that.

“Fuck. I wanna kiss you again. Can I-“ He started, and before you can even answer. Before your tongue can shape and push words out your teeth. He’s on you again.

“Baby. We’re way past asking permission.” You break away and breathily tell him as the kissing gets heavier, more intense. Arms squeeze harder. Getting closer when there’s no room to spare already. Crushed. No breath. It’s glorious.

“Don’t tell me that.” He flirts. If you give him free-reign, you’ll never be able to reel him back again. You just won’t. He’s far too, far gone.

“Believe I just did.” You tell him. Ballsy.

He leads you stumbling by the waist over to the couch. Smiling. Nibbling your lower lip. Sucking and his tongue sweeping yours. Knocking and kissing, knees touching. Falling and falling into each other again. You gasp where you awkwardly clash together on the lumpy couch cushions.

“Oh, you’re gonna regret that one Pencils.” He teases. Face all blushy and definitely love-drunk. Kiss dazed. Funny how you’d quite forgotten about those beers all of a sudden.

“Bring it on, Munson.” You urged.

~

🕷️This here? Oh no biggie. Just the next part of Eddie x Pencils 🕷️

My taglist for the JQ babes; @ceriseheaven @indouloureux @stiegasaw @fujiihime @youaremyfamiliar @captain-tch @ghosttownwherenoonegoes @svenyves @sammararaven @feralgoblinbabe @groupie-love-71 @andromeda-andromeda @starbxcks @morganamoonstone @ramona-thorns @gvtosbith @poppy-metal @munsonswhore86 @munsonlov3r @lunatictardis @shenevertricks1831 @hazzaismyreligion @harrys-tittie @anaisweird @cerinthussulpicia @cinnamoncunt @thincrusttheworks @manicpixiedreamcurl @therosietoesy @fanficappreciationblog @thicksexxualtension @tvserie-s-world @sharp-and-swift @dadsbongos @2clones-1kamino @edsforehead @chcolateeyelver @seven-glass-kids @forever-is-not-for-everyone @creme-bruhlee @bkish @wayward-rose @wyverntatty @latenighttalkingwithgrapejuice @churchmuffins @chickpeadumpsterfire @choke-me-levi @prozacandnicotine @xeddiesbattattsx

~

#eddie munson #Eddie munson x reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson smut #Eddie Munson fluff #eddie munson x oc #eddie munson x original character #eddie munson fan fiction #eddie munson fanfic #super freak series #stranger things s4 #stranger things #i would die for this man #punkwrites

[boba-beom]

❦ With You | K.TH

pairing: taehyun x f!reader

genre: fluff, bestfriends to lovers | oneshot

warning(s): senior year high school, set in 1984, relationship to be established, confessions, ft. the rest of txt, taehyun’s a lil nervous <3, yn a little bold, kisses.

summary: before the school term comes to a close for the festive holidays, your best friend of four years had asked you to go to the winter ball with him. however, there’s one more thing he wants to tell you.

wc: 2.3k

note: inspired by the last scene in s2 ep9 of stranger things. and the song ‘Every Breath You Take’ by The Police was perfect after I remembered taehyun talking about it and playing it on one of his vlives at the time :’) this was also written a while ago but I edited it a little and wanted to post this as my last taehyun fic to end tyun month :> thank you again @fairybinie for beta reading and for the advice 🫶🏼

SHORT PLAYLIST (recommended)

the hazy, vertical streaks from the moonlight passes through the open blinds, caressing over taehyun's face as his sister, hyunjae, straightens out the frills of his collar and adjusts the flimsy ribbon after. he turns his body, puffing in front of the mirror, loosening the tension and nervousness in his wrists, tilting his head left and right.

"aw, my not-so-little brother knows how to clean up well." hyunjae coos, lightly patting the top of his head.

"agh, you're gonna mess up my hair!" he swats her hands away, caving over his hair before fidgeting with the front pieces of his hair, making sure they would stay in place until he meets his date.

"so... are you gonna ask her today?"

the young male adjusts his outer coat, brows scrunching as he looks at his sister through the mirror, "ask who?"

"yn? aren't you going to ask her to dance with you tonight?" she sighs as she pinches the bridge of her nose, thinking how her brother could possibly be lacking in basic knowledge of making the first move—especially with his crush.

if there's one thing taehyun is good at, it's definitely being oblivious towards any female kind and their attempt to flirt with him. he's never dated, he's only confessed to one girl in middle school when he gifted her a heart-shaped box of chocolates. she accepted them, but refused to be his valentine, and since then he's never wanted to embarrass himself like that again.

"of course I'll ask her to dance with me. she's my date anyway, and I should tell her then..." he trails his words, thinking about what he would say once he finds the right moment later on in the evening, "I just hope a good song comes on." as cliché as that may sound.

hyunjae sees how anxious he is as he lets out a deep sigh. both their heads turn towards the open window from the sound of a car's triple beep in front of their house. the loud noise was soon followed by a few male voices shouting out his name, almost chant-like.

"good luck, 'lil man." hyunjae reaches out to pat his hair once again, but misses as he ducks and opens the front door.

"ayeeee, someone looks dashing tonight!" beomgyu screams with the upper half of his body out of the window. the other three males starts cheering and whistling as taehyun approaches the car with long, confident strides.

opening the door behind the driver's seat, he sits comfortably as he looks at the rest of them, "not too shabby yourselves guys." he chuckles, buckling his seatbelt.

"how are we feeling, boys?" yeonjun laughs, excitement clear in his voice. he briefly locks eyes with taehyun through the rear mirror, expecting him to answer the question.

"i just hope she doesn't reject me." taehyun speaks without hesitation. kai and beomgyu looks at him with their brows stitched together.

"are you kidding me? i'm sure she won't reject you, it's yn we're talking about." beomgyu sighs.

"and what's that supposed to mean?"

"that you have to be really dense to think she has no interest in you." soobin butts in, looking back at him from the passenger seat.

"he's book smart, just not girl smart." kai joins in.

"okay, okay. that's enough guys. i'm sure our boy can manage." yeonjun cuts off their bombarding banter towards taehyun.

taehyun rolls his eyes at his friends' continuous teasing, completely ignoring yeonjun. the topic for conversation slowly went round to each person—and about their dates—until they arrived at the venue for the winter ball.

the group of five made their way towards the entrance, keeping their eyes out for their dates. it was convenient that majority of their dates arrived together, as expected when asking people from the same friend-group. taehyun watches his friends greet their dates and entering in with linked arms, their outfits complimenting each other's nicely.

"we're gonna go ahead." soobin firmly pats taehyun's shoulder as he nods in response.

a few minutes passes by and taehyun is still standing by the entrance, yet his posture never fails him. he looks down at the cuffs of his black dress shirt, adjusting them out of restlessness, in the hopes he hasn't been turned down.

"taehyun? sorry i'm late." a soft voice speaks.

from the cuffs of his sleeves, he sees a shiny pair of white, mary jane pumps pointing towards him in his line of vision, less than half a meter away from his own black, dress shoes.

lifting his head slowly, his eyes travel up the figure in front of him; skin-toned stockings visible until the thin layer of white chiffon material just about lingers by the knees. he looks up to admire you in your entirety, a sweetheart neckline accentuating the length of your neck with a dainty pearl necklace sitting prettily at the base of your neck.

"yn," his voice almost breathless, "you look beautiful."

you chuckle at his compliment, looking down at the ground before your fingers subconsciously fiddles with the pearl strap of your purse.

"you don't look too bad either, kang."

he smiles at your implied compliment, holding out his arm for you to take, "shall we?"

as soon as the both of you walk through the tinsel curtain, you're met with snowflake-shaped lights projecting on the ground. your peers' arms are linked with their dates while they meet up in groups and you do the same.

you meet with a few friends, separating yourself from taehyun while he went to see his friends too. long conversations were made, and pictures were taken at the open photo booth that the school had hired for the evening. there were props and multiple photos could be taken so you were willing to try it out.

taehyun is sitting at his designated seat on the same table as his friends, locking eyes with you for a split second from across the room before you start making your way through the sea of students.

as you make a bee-line towards him, your eyes are trained on him, getting closer and closer. his side profile was stunning; his sharp jawline in full display as he slightly leans over the table to talk to yeonjun opposite him, and with every laugh, you saw the occasional appearance of his sharp canines which showcased his dimple.

in your four years of high school, you never found anyone just as handsome as kang taehyun himself. and you granted yourself lucky to have him as your best friend.

you approach his seat, resting a light hand on his shoulder until the boys stopped talking, causing taehyun to look up at you.

"hey, want to take a photo together over at the photo booth with me?" the freckles of light from the disco ball sparkles over your face, looking almost angelic as he gets up on his feet.

"that's our boy!"

"go taehyun!"

you hear beomgyu and kai exclaim along with the others as you take ahold of taehyun's hand in yours. taehyun could only pray that you don't look back at him because only then would you see how enamoured he is by you. the heat from his cheeks quickly spread and made its way to the tips of his ears—he's in too deep.

opening the curtains to the photo booth, he picks up a white feather boa and loosely twirls it around your neck accompanied with a quiet laugh from you. in return, you pick up a black masquerade mask for him to wear, only making his full attire look more complete than it already was.

you continue shuffling, making sure you were in the middle of the photo booth, "come closer." you speak up, gently tugging on his sleeve making him shuffle closer to you until he reluctantly resorted to resting his hand on the small of your back.

"i- is this okay?" taehyun was always wary of his hand placements, you knew that and you were more than comfortable with being this close to him.

"perfect, these photos are gonna look really nice." you're smiling at the photographer, posing your wrist as you splay your palm open and the end of the boa hanging off it. all while taehyun looks at you in awe. you've always been one to try new things, even putting yourself out there and not giving a single care to what people think of you. he found that quality admirable, really.

after a few more pictures were taken, and keeping the same props, it was time for the last photo.

"tyun, look at me." you whisper.

he turns his head to face you, your faces within centimetres apart until your noses brushed against each other. you hold the end of his chin still with your index finger and your thumb, closing your eyes, he mimics you until you feel the softness of his lips against yours, it was almost euphoric.

you just kissed your best friend.

the sound of the photographer snapping the last shot interrupted the momentary trance you were both in, the flash visible through your eyelids.

"we'll get them later, let's go." you pull back and hold his hand again. he was trailing after you while you make your way towards the bowl of fruit punch.

"so how did your photos go?" beomgyu comes into view beside you, passing the both of you already full cups of the punch.

taehyun stays silent, taking a sip from the drink while his other hand is still holding yours.

"it was fun, i think you should try it out. i heard there's more props if you ask the photographer." you take a sip from the drink, keeping eye contact with beomgyu while you watch his eyes flick back and forth between you and your date.

"if you say so," he says, walking away with a small smile tugging at his lips.

a new song fills the room, a song that only released last year. you remember hearing it a few times on your parents' radio and it being one of the most replayed songs since it was released. your peers and their partners gather onto the dance floor, girls with their arms draped over their date's shoulder, and some guys nervously resting their hands on their date's waist.

perfect. taehyun clears his throat before taking away your cup and placing both of them down on the closest table. he lifts a hand up, the other tucked behind his back as he asks, "yn, would you perhaps want to dance with me?"

you observe the way he's slightly bowing in front of you, your heart fluttering in your chest from his chivalrous gesture. "perhaps I do, kang." you say as you accept his hand, leading you onto the empty spot on the dance floor.

the lights dimmed down a little more than before, only the ambient lighting from the decorations and the disco ball reflected onto your faces. taehyun's hands were fumbling with the material around your waist, you could tell he was nervous but you wanted him to be comfortable with you like he always is. the only difference this time is that you're both dressed up and he hardly ever sees you dressed up.

"hey, ease into it. left then right, remember?" you reassure him after he visited your house one time and your older brother teased you about dancing with taehyun. your mother made sure to teach both of you the basics.

you hold onto one of his hands on your waist, letting his palm relax against you then letting go and bringing yourself closer so you could rest and bend your elbows over his shoulder, your temples leaning against each other.

a couple of minutes into the slow dancing made you feel so weightless. the strong scent of his cologne lingering by your nose, his soft and controlled breathing in front of you just felt so comforting. your faces were centimetres apart, no different than before, but both your eyes were briefly shut.

"yn?" taehyun speaks up softly, and you hum back in response. "there's something i've been meaning to tell you."

"mhm? and what is that?" you pull back to look at one of the features you love on his face. it's just one of those instances where you capture how his eyes could quite literally encapsulate the entire galaxy if possible.

"as a best friend, you're amazing, truly." he starts. you huff out an airy chuckle with your fixed attention on him. "but I want to get to know you beyond that. I really like you, yn. more than words could ever explain."

your eyes soften from his confession, knowing this was your best friend since freshman year and without a doubt, you were feeling quite the same.

"can i be your boyfriend?" he asks, head slightly tilting down to read your expression.

you pull him towards you, closing the proximity until your lips were just about grazing against each other. "i would love you to be my boyfriend, kang taehyun." you whisper before closing the gap and giving him a longer kiss than at the photo booth. he securely wraps his arms around your waist, chests colliding until your lips part.

"you really thought after i kissed you back there i'd say no?" you nudge his shoulder, catching his cheeks flush the smallest pink hues you could see.

"i really wasn't sure what that was, but if it's a kiss from you then i don't really mind." he shrugs nonchalantly.

"so i could say no as long as i give you kisses?" you tease him back.

"well... not quite, i want both." he shyly smiles with his dimples caving in his cheeks.

you peck his cheek in response to comment, "you really are cute, kang taehyun."

taglist: @bb-eilish @iggynor4 @ericyjun @bluejin0812 @luvsoobs @yeonyeonyeonjun @junniieesbby @kyrkitten @hyuntaena @day6andetcetera @amethysts-1620 @gorechoi-backup @dainsleif-when-playable @felix-housewife @choiwrld @yjusei @feyregels @dearkamal @ahnneyong @potaeto-writes-on-wp @wccycc @lizdevorak @fairybin @laylasbunbunny @acaiasahi @ttyunz @cha0thicpisces @vatterie @yunkiwii @prodsh00ky @ashxxgyu @onlyforgaeul @aprilisque @ja4hyvn (send me an ask if you would like to be part of my taglist while I fix my form).

© boba-beom ; all rights reserved. do not repost, copy, alter or translate in any way or platform.

#kflixnet #hybenet #taehyun x reader #taehyun fluff #taehyun imagines #taehyun scenarios #taehyun oneshot #txt x reader #txt fluff #txt imagines #txt scenarios #txt oneshot

[luveline]

hi! i loved you’re bodyguard james au sm! could i request something super fluffy with bodyguard james, maybe reader getting ready for bed and james doting on her <3

omg yes of course, thank you for your request! some mutual pining with bodyguard!james x fem!reader

"Do you think it's silly, sometimes, that you have to wait outside my door?" you ask James, hip popped against the doorframe, tired and lagging and wanting his attention.

He's thankfully deigned to turn to you, though his position is ramrod straight. "Not really."

"I understand when I'm out of bounds, but... you know, my door locks."

"You know as well as I do a lock won't stop some people."

"How about two locks?"

"Enough," he says. There's so much fondness there that you step forward. James gives you a stern look, which might be intimidating because of his general tall, lean shape if he were anyone else but himself. "Go get ready for bed."

"You can't boss me around," you say, and then turn into your room to get ready for bed anyhow. His laugh follows you.

You leave the door open and James doesn't move to close it. It's nice to have his company, to hear the lightest echo of his breathing. You live in such a quiet house, you'd almost think it was you and James alone.

But you're never alone.

"Jamie?" you ask, shrugging out of your soft cardigan.

He hums rather than answer.

"Do you get tired?" you ask, ducking down to look in the vanity's mirror.

You start to pull the jewellery from your hair one glimmering gem at a time, and then pull off the heavy, elegant chain of your necklace. Both easy enough. It's the bracelet you struggle with; the catch isn't manoeuvrable with only one hand.

"Sometimes. You know somebody swaps with me at one though? I don't stand here all night."

You approach him with a little more shyness than before and offer your wrist. "Can you help?"

His fingers slide over your skin obligingly.

"You work such long shifts. One to one. That's twelve whole hours. Don't you think that's excessive?"

"I'm head of your team. It's my job."

The bracelet unclips. James lowers it into your open palm, where it pools. A snake of tiny gems. You close your fingers around it.

"You don't think it's hurting you, all this working?"

"Pajamas."

You huff and head back into your room, dropping your bracelet into the mirrored tray you keep on your vanity. You'll put it away properly tomorrow in the safe jewellery box, but for tonight it'll live with your clips and chains.

"It doesn't hurt me," James says.

"Do you get all the sleep you need?"

"Eight solid hours."

You know he eats enough. He swaps out sometimes with other people to eat lunch, but usually he just eats it with you when you ask, and you always do. It doesn't exactly fit any professional boundaries.

James is your friend.

Maybe.

You grab some clean underwear and pyjamas and change right there in the middle of your room. James won't peek. If he did you wouldn't care. "You have enough time to yourself?" you ask.

"Interested in my private life?" he asks. You can hear his smile, his suggestive eyebrow raise.

"It's more hours than anyone should work, is all. Maybe you could change to eight."

"Ah, trying to get rid of me," he corrects himself.

You push your arms through the sleeves of a dainty nightgown and laugh. "Absolutely I am."

"Have to try harder than this."

You neaten the skirt and frown at your legs, wondering if they look a little dry, and decide some body lotion won't hurt. "Mandarin or lavender?" you call.

"You said the mandarin one made you itchy, last time."

"But it smells really good."

"That's the lotion eating at your skin."

You wrinkle your nose and bend at the waist to moisturise your legs. You wish you could brag and say it was an erotic, film worthy affair. It's mostly a scrabbling of your palms up and down. You sigh and work it up your thighs until you're soft to touch all over.

"If I weigh it up," he says suddenly, seriously, more serious than you're expecting, "it's less work to take longer shifts with you. I'd rather spend the hours watching you than orchestrating other people to watch you... I quite like looking after you."

He clears his throat. "Not that I look after you," he says.

You pad out into the hallway. James has turned his back to you. His arm tenses almost imperceptibly under your hand as you reach for his elbow.

"You definitely look after me." His skin is smooth. It's so hot under your touch that you can feel it moving up into the heels of your palms.

"It's my job," he says.

You'd thought about kissing his arm. Thought about it. His comment snaps you into reality. A goodnight kiss in any form at all would be inappropriate. He might like his job, but it's still a job.

"Where would you be, if you didn't have to work?" you ask.

"Come and stand in front of me," he says gently.

You do as he says. His eyes follow over your outfit. You let yourself believe his expression softens, though your logical head knows it's not the truth. James might be sweet on you, and he may even know how you feel about him, but that's where it all ends. He doesn't like you. He's paid to be here.

"What are you thinking?" he asks.

"That my socks aren't doing their job. Is it cold in here?"

"What are you really thinking?"

He's very patient with you when it comes to stuff like this. It's confusing, because James has about as much patience as you have subtlety.

"Are you okay?" he asks.

"I'm okay."

"Well, you look lovely. What an incredibly short nightgown," he praises amorously.

You flush with heat but decide you'll feed into his dramatics rather than tell him what's really wrong with you, stepping back to do a clumsy spin. "Picked it with you in mind, handsome."

"Yeah? Anything else?"

You gasp. "You overstep your station, good sir."

"I can't be blamed. You always look your softest before bed."

Your breath catches. You stop your flaunting and flouncing abruptly to look into his warm face. He looks to you, letting his arms fall from their crossed position to either side of his defined chest. Your eyes flit between his beauty mark. One to the left of his hawk-shaped nose, one below his lashes, three down his left cheek.

It's weird to want someone and have them this close, and know you will probably never, ever have them.

"If I didn't have to work," James says, face as impassive as his stance, a closed book. "I'll show you."

He holds out his hand. You don't take it. He thrusts it forward again.

When you finally give James your own, he spends a moment rubbing the back of it with his thumb like he's never felt it before.

He leads you into your room. He's been in here before, of course, but still, it's a lot to be led. You don't have a clue what he's doing, you think Oh, he's taking me to bed. But he skirts around it and brings you to the first window, pulling the curtains to one side.

He points. "See there?"

You follow his finger. "The gates?"

"The gates."

"James, I don't understand."

"That's where I'd be, if I didn't have to work. They probably wouldn't let me in, but I'd wait right there by the gates for you."

"That's not funny," you murmur.

"I'm not joking."

You grow very still. James drops his hand into the curve of your neck and follows it over the slope of your shoulder. It's affectionate, sweet, and very, very soothing.

His lips touch the side of your head, though it might be accidental. You're tired enough to imagine he's kissed you. "Brush your teeth, shortcake. And then bed. You have a long day tomorrow."

"Oh, don't remind me," you mumble.

"Okay, I won't."

He squeezes your shoulder one last time, clears his throat, and returns to his post. You brush your teeth and try not to sneak glances at the back of his head through the gap of the ensuite door.

#james potter x you #james potter x reader #james potter #james potter x y/n #james potter imagine #james potter fanfic #james potter fanfiction #james potter fic #marauders era #marauders #bodyguard!james potter #bodyguard!au

[ghouljams]

In which Cowboy!Soap is seized by the fatal American need to have a pretty good time. Or, Soap is really pretty and the nuns remember they haven't taken any vows against looking.

"County executioner, you book 'em we cook 'em." You sound so bored when you say it, Soap can't help the way he laughs, big and boisterous. You frown at your cell and hang up, setting it to the side as you stare at the numbers for the month. A half second later it rings again. You sigh and pick it up, "Big Bill's Car-B-Q, you road kill it, we road grill it."

"How many of those you got, bonnie?" He sounds like he's smiling, just barely tamping the laughter down. You glance at the unknown number on your screen.

"Who is this?"

"John MacTavish, Goose gave me yer number."

"How can I help you Johnny?" Oh, he loves the way you say his name. You could call him whatever you wanted and he'd come running.

"I hear you've got fireworks." You hum, and he wonders if that was the wrong way to ask.

“What are you looking for?” You ask finally.

“Biggest you got.”

“I’ve got some flour and gas, you want that?” He can’t tell if your inflection is flat because of the conversation or if that’s just how you talk. You’re clearly not interested in him, which means you’re smart. Which really makes him want you all the more.

“Why’d I want that?”

“Redneck C- Y’know what nevermind.” He can hear you tapping at something through the phone, both of you silent as you think. “Why don’t you come down to the house,” You tell him.

“The nunnery?”

“If you want to call it that.” You smile a little despite yourself, his accent is cute. “Lemme text you the directions, come by any time.”

A smart and reasonable man would wait a few minutes after receiving directions to leave. Soap grabs his keys as soon as you hang up. He doesn’t even wait to see if you text him before he’s in the truck.

-

You blink up at the man in your doorway as he smiles down at you. You weren’t expecting him so soon, it’s not even noon yet doesn’t he have anything better to do?

“You must really want fireworks,” You say, because you truly can’t think of anything but the way his eyes sparkle.

“Something like that,” he says, "can I come in?" You nod and stand to the side to let him shoulder past you, inhaling deeply as he does. He smells good, not that you… notice(clean linen and something cinnamon you think) and fills the whole doorway even as you press back against the jam to let him in.

"So what are you in the market for?" You ask, leading him through the house, "We've got a little bit of everything."

"Anythin' big, loud, and sparkly," Soap says, sliding up to walk next to you. You nod, thinking through your current inventory of less than legal goods. You glance up at your guest, he's got his head on a swivel, peaking in the various rooms of the old farmhouse. He glances down at you and you look away, conscious you've been staring too long.

"Um, they're out back. Can't keep them in the house or-" you mumble, trying to think of anything but his fucking pretty this guy is.

"Never seen a nun's hair before," he cuts you off, fingers petting over your head. You smack your hand against his touch, and he pulls it away quickly. You forgot your habit. You're not even a real nun pointing it out should make you duck your gaze away from him and blush.

"Goose called you Soap," you change the topic with the grace of a tap dancing elephant.

"Ach, she's nae but haverin'." He shakes his head, you aren't going to try and parse that. "It's a nickname." That you understand.

"I'm guessing you clean up nice?" You unlatch the back door, swinging the screen open.

"Something like that," he hums, reaching past you to hold the door open as you walk through. "You can call me Johnny."

You sort of like the way he says that, like it's a name just for you. Though you're sure he must have plenty of people calling him that. Much more reasonable than "Soap."

Soap isn't really sure what he's expecting when you unlatch a little white storage shed behind the house. You open it with such little fanfare that he would think it was just a tool shed except for the neat shelves of colorful explosives. He gives a low whistle, looking around. He hasn’t seen this much fire power since he left special forces. The fact that half of these things are proudly boasting names like “the mother in law” and “alligator rodeo” only adds to the absolute absurdity of nuns selling this stuff.

You lean against the doorway watching Johnny pick up cakes and mortars like a kid in a candy store. His distraction is your gain. You let your eyes roam over his back as he reaches for the bombette on the top shelf, almost envious of the explosives he’s holding to his chest. He’s got a good walk. You rest your head against the door, arms crossed to keep from getting fidgety. Yeah, that’s what it is, his walk. Confident, assured, military you think. It would explain the hair.

You snap your eyes from his thighs to his face in time for him to turn to you with an expensive amount of firecrackers. You’re probably going to have to limit his purchase. Goose’ll come after you if his fireworks catch on something.

You pull the fold-away table down from the door for him to set his goodies on. Tallying everything mentally as he pats his pockets for his wallet. He groans loudly.

“Left ma cash at the farm,” Johnny drags a hand down his face, glancing past you before starting to walk, “I’ll be back.” You grab his arm, and try not to marvel at- wow actually how much can this guy lift, that is one firm bicep.

“We could use some help in the garden,” You say quickly, “if you can spare some time, I’d trade you.”

-

It is hot as the devil out, and he is sweating like a sinner in church.

When you'd said garden Soap had thought you meant flowers, maybe some weeding, maybe a few little veggies. This is a whole farm. You're not even helping.

There are a few other nuns out in the "garden" collecting fruits and vegetables from the neatly laid crop rows. He's gotta admit, they all seem a little young to be nuns, far flung from the mean old women he'd expect. Also he's pretty sure he's caught all of them staring more often than is proper for a woman of faith. There was even the loud snap of a phone camera lens when he stripped his shirt off. If that's not an ego boost he doesn't know what is.

You stop at the edge of the vegetable patch, and join the obvious stares the rest of your roommates are fixing on John MacTavish. He is absolutely glowing with sweat, and you are transfixed by the way his muscles move as he works. You're not the pious woman you pretend to be by any stretch of the imagination, but he almost makes you believe in God. Hell if he was in church every sunday you might find yourself on your knees. You notice your tray slipping before everything falls to the ground and try to get your head on enough to tell him it's break time.

Johnny notices you first, his smile as bright as the sun as he sits back on his heels. He scrubs his face with his discarded shirt and loops it over his shoulders as he stands. Does he have to look at you like that? Like he's just so pleased to see you. It's almost pornographic, you think he might be doing it on purpose.

"What's this?" He asks, leaning to inspect your tray. You're sure he's just asking for something to say. You're… not really in a position to say anything right now, your tongue feels like it's stuck in place trying to make sure you're not drooling over him.

"Tea," you say dumbly, he raises a brow at you, "And I've got lunch inside, if you're hungry, but hydrate first."

Soap shrugs, his fingers wrapping around the tall iced glass. There's dirt under his nails, clinging to the sweat on his hands, you think he's more than paid for the fireworks by now. You're not sure the rest of your roommates are willing to give up their eye candy just yet.

He tips his head back for a drink and you try to focus on something boring like this month's budget, or taxes. Anything but the way his throat moves when he swallows, or the way he tips his head to the side to press the cool glass against his neck. You turn back to the house quickly and stalk towards the door just as fast as you can without looking like you're rushing. You cannot be around this man anymore.

You can already tell he is going to be very, very, bad for business.

#cowboy!Soap #wow i could not stop writing for him so this is a big one #i simply love the way he and his darling interact #the nuns are just roommates who are trapped in an extended bit #its great cover for all the illegal shit and cash businesses they run #johnny mactavish #johnny soap mactavish #john mactavish #soap x reader #soap x you #soap cod #soap mw2

[ovobawrites]

𝐵𝑒𝒶𝒸𝒽: 𝐸𝓅𝒾𝓈𝑜𝒹𝑒 𝒯𝓌𝑜 ♡ 𝐹𝒷𝑜𝓎𝓈 𝒜𝓃𝑜𝓃𝓎𝓂𝑜𝓊𝓈

disclaimer: this has already been posted on ao3 and quotev, i'm just reposting this beach episode special as a promo for the fic. after this is all my previous author notes.

this is a fem!reader and also a half chinese!reader insert.

previous ♡ next

The atmosphere surrounding the group as you gazed upon your temporary lodgings was one of surprise. For all his faults, at least Crowley did not skimp on renting out suitable accommodations. At least, that's what you were thinking, the others were... less grateful. 

"What is this meant to be, our storage room for the week?"

Ruggie cringed. "Leona! Stop being so-" He then glanced at Crewel and sighed, "Nevermind..."

The group were all discussing the rooming, which was practically an omen in itself. You just knew this was going to devolve into petty squabbling in no time at all. 

"But Jamil-" Kalim whined.

The brunet snapped at him, already knowing what he was going to say. "No, you are not going to buy out a 5 star hotel for us just for this trip Kalim!" 

"God I hope this place is clean. Rook, we're sharing a bathroom and bedroom if needed." Vil muttered, looking critically at the 3-story house.

His vice dormleader smiled in reply. "It would be my pleasure, Roi du Poison."

"Eh, goldfishie, are you mad? Is it 'cause you have no-one to room with? You can stay with me." Floyd smiled, all teeth, and ruffled Riddle's hair.

Riddle's eye twitched. You winced while Trey and Cater looked like they were about to duck for cover. Jade moved to drag his brother away while Azul did damage control, Trey pitching in while Cater looked like he was about to start hiding behind his suitcase to avoid the blowout.

Oh dear, I better go before this turns into another all-out brawl.

Idia was comatose on the floor, Ortho struggling to carry him as his older brother sobbed from the stress of these eccentric personalities. Malleus was examining the architecture, talking poor Lilia and Silver's ears off, though the freshman was once again in slumber. You decided to follow after Crewel, who had just entered the house. There was no way you were going to put yourself through this migraine-inducing situation. 

The interior of the lodge was a bit beyond your expectations. The decor was quite simple, with no gaudy displays of extravagance like you thought Crowley would go for. The entrance gave way to an small entry hall, leading to a rather large living room and dining area. The kitchen seemed to be off to the side while the bedrooms were upstairs. A large glass window gave a stunning view of the beach and natural landscape of the Sunshine Lands, the clear blue sky foretelling a fortunate day.

Crewel glanced apathetically to the entryway, where one could still hear the arguments of the boys outside. It seems none of them had noticed your absences. The professor sighed and went to look through the note left on the table for your group by the owners of this (suitably large) house. 

"It seems that there are just enough rooms to be shared between the boys, while you and I will be getting rooms of our own." Crewel smiled, pleased. "We should look through the rooms first to find which ones would be suitable for ourselves."

It seems your teacher really was the mischievous type. How lovely!

I better be getting a room with its own bathroom or so help me dear ancestors, I will murder any man who has subpar hygiene. 

So, leaving the boys to argue amongst themselves about the size and luxury of your lodgings, you and Crewel went upstairs to choose the most extravagant rooms for yourselves.

"...Wait, where did Professor Crewel and (Y/N) go?"

"Oh seven, we're screwed."

By the time the group had realised your absence, you and Crewel had taken the best rooms for yourselves on the top floor. There was no way Crewel would let you be on a floor filled with boys alone after all. To quote your brother, 'Men are all untrustworthy pigs, never ever give him an inch because he will take a mile. You can't make a silk purse out of a sow's ear.'.

Brother tends to be a bit extreme. At least he doesn't know about this trip, otherwise he'd give me tips on castration.

You shuddered at the thought, brother dearest was quite graphic and did not skimp on any details whatsoever.

...It didn't help that you were 10 when he first told you about it.

No use crying over it now. You started to take out your clothes from your qiánkūn dài and hang them up in the closet provided to you. You hated ironing and had no desire to deal with creases on your clothing this time. Just as you finished unpacking and setting your belongings out in your room, a crash came from downstairs. Seems the boys finally went inside instead of loitering and arguing like a pack of hooligans.

You decided to take your time. Give Riddle a chance to let off some steam before he starts ranting about how you broke rule #577: let redheads choose the rooms first. Or something equally asinine. 

Another crash and this time, a scream. It was probably best to leave this for Crewel to deal with, he was the authority figure in this situation. The boys would... most likely listen to him. Probably.

You pulled out suncream from your right sleeve to reapply and pass the time. Sunburns were not something you ever want to deal with, plus UV light would reveal your many stress wrinkles. 

A third crash... You decided to walk down now, locking the door behind you, wondering what your friends were getting up to. Hopefully they weren't arguing over rooms, poor Idia would have to share with another person other than Ortho, while someone would have to room with either Floyd or Azul. The horror.

The conversation you heard was... worrying to say the least. It seems that the boys were trying to argue who gets to pick the rooms first. If it weren't for the fact that it would ruin his nails, you were sure that Vil would have already started an all-out brawl. Where was Crewel?

"As head of the Heartslabyul Dorm, I believe that I should have the right to picking the rooms out first. After all, the Queen of Hearts did say that-"

"Now now Riddle," Azul smiled, irate. "Should it not be Octavinelle who chooses the rooms first? Perhaps you should learn a thing or two from our benevolent Sea Witch."

"Why you-!"

Leona cut in, "I'm the oldest, so I should get first pickings. Done. Let's go Ruggie." 

"Now hold on! Pomefiore should have the first choice! You potatoes don't need any type of special room since you obviously don't care about your appearances!"

While those four argued about who should be able to choose their dorm first, it seemed that Idia was... running away? From Floyd? Maybe you should go help him...

"Ah- Floyd?" You spoke up, giving Riddle and Azul a spook as they turned around to see you on the stairwell. "Maybe... don't chase Idia?"

The first year looked at you and pouted. "Eh? Why not? I'm so bored and Firefly Squid is so fun to chase!" He grinned menacingly.

"...Idia looks like he's about to go into cardiac arrest." You stated, deadpan. 

Ortho quickly flew over to check on his brother. Meanwhile, the Housewardens continued their argument. Floyd frowned and went to go harass Riddle (again), not wanting to face the force of nature that is Ortho. This derailed their conversation even further. By this point, Trey and Cater were attempting to deescalate the situation, while Rook egged Vil on and stayed by his side for support. Malleus, again just happy to be included, was talking animatedly to Lilia and Silver, still asleep, about... the intricacies of 15th century stonecutting? Jade was adding to the argument now, instead of passively watching his brother bother poor Idia, covertly teasing both Riddle and Azul and adding fuel to the fire. 

...Did Ruggie sneak upstairs to find a suitable room for him and Leona? Smart kid.

You now took the time to examine the room to find the source of all those crashing noises. There didn't seem to be any damage, so either Malleus and Lilia used magic to fix it or the crashes were from... poor Idia's frantic attempts to flee Floyd. You sat on the couch across from the Diasomnia trio, giving a smile and a wave to them, before leaning your head on your hand to watch the argument go on. It really was amusing to see Trey and Cater, unstoppable force, fight against Riddle's anger, immovable object. Though... you couldn't help but feel sorry for Kalim, who was less an active participant in the fight and more a person to insult and condemn, even with Jamil trying his best to defend him.

He's not doing a very good job of it though... I wonder why...

A noise to your right made you look over at Idia, who squeaked at the eye contact. You smiled with open body language, not unlike how one would approach a wild animal, and slowly moved closer to Idia. Ortho, at his side, gave a thumbs up and moved to fight for Ignihyde in the battle being waged. Idia, shocked, glanced back and forth between you and Ortho. Though you couldn't see what Ortho was motioning, by Idia's body language, it was likely something scandalous (by his definition).

However, it did seem to give the Housewarden some confidence. Idia took a deep breath, gathering all his courage, and said, "S-so..."

You leaned in closer, reveling in the pale pink blush across his cheeks and the way the tips of his hair flamed pink. "So...?"

"Uh- I-" His eyes darted wildly away from your face, red spreading across his and at this rate, his hair would be entirely pink within a moment. "I-I was wondering if... you'd like to... room with me and Ortho?"

How sweet! Though... he's not gonna like the news I'm gonna have to give him.

"Idia," He perked up, hope in his eyes at the soft smile on your face. "I'm sorry but, you do know I'm meant to room alone, right?"

He paled and yelped. "WHAT?! But-" Everyone's eyes were on him making him shrink into his hoodie like a turtle. "N-nevermind!"

Luckily for him, the boys all thought their current argument (or conversation, in Malleus' case) was more important than whatever made him yell. You did feel a smidge bad for Idia though, knowing how your peer struggled when it came to conversation and any type of social interaction.

So I wonder what made him reach out to me? No matter the reason, it must have taken him tremendous courage.

"I can suggest a roomate for you, though." You glanced over at Lilia, and got up to walk over to the other sofa. "I am terrible sorry to interrupt your conversation Malleus, but I was wondering if Silver had a roomate yet? If not, I feel that he and Idia would be well-suited to be in the same room."

Lilia chuckled at that, "Why do you think so dear (Y/N)? Surely his clubmate Azul would be easier to talk to?"

Malleus nodded at that, looking curious to your reasoning.

"You do have a point, however, I feel that with Silver, Idia will not be as nervous. Silver has a righteous personality, unlike Azul, and is not so... talkative. Moreover, Idia will not seek to disrupt Silver's work or training, which I think would benefit you greatly. From my point of view, it seems mutually beneficial."

Malleus looked pensive. "I do find your points persuasive, but... I fear that Silver may lose sleep with Idia in the dorm." 

"Not to worry." You hid your grin behind your sleeve. "I will make sure that Ortho will keep Idia in line."

Malleus and Lilia exchanged a glance, then, with a smirk, Lilia floated up towards you. Eye to eye. "It seems we are in agreement then."

"Seems we are." You smiled, though it was more a baring of teeth. "I thank you for your consideration."

And for a heart stopping moment, Malleus smiled in reply, softly with a hint of pink across his cheeks. The look in his eyes were undoubtedly kind and considerate, your heart felt like it was to leap out of your chest.

"'Twas no problem," he said, "the pleasure was ours."

With a twirl, you bounced over to Idia in time to the beating of your heart. He was huddled up on the far side of the couch, looking less a man and more a turtle.

You moved close to him, wide grin on your face. "I've got some good news for you!"

"I-is it that I can room alone?" He said, eyes gleaming with newfound hope.

"Nope! You're rooming with Silver!" 

Idia shrunk, making you frown in disapproval. "Whatever is the matter? Silver is the perfect roomie for you!" 

"Sure..." He rolled his eyes.

You placed your hands on your hips and listed out a 12 point argument on why Silver was, indeed, the best option for Idia to room with. By the end of it, well, he didn't look any happier but Idia did look a bit more grateful.

"You really thought about this, huh?" He remarked.

"Of course I did! I was worried about you, silly!" You pushed his shoulder playfully and Idia shoved you back in reply, tips of his hair a pretty fuchsia.

"You were?"

"Yeah! You're a dear person to me, of course I'd be worried for you!"

Ah... that can be grossly misinterpreted... whoops...

Idia's hair flamed pink for a moment, and his eyes widened in surprise. He opened his mouth to reply but-

Bang!

Professor Crewel was at the top of the stairs, and he looked pissed. "Now," he said, whip tapping menacingly against his open palm. "who told you horrible little dogs that you could cause such a commotion?"

Riddle, looking properly chastised, pouted and looked to the floor. Leona, on the other hand, rolled his eyes. Jamil and Kalim glanced away out of guilt while Azul frowned, less in remorse and more in disappointment at the argument being cut off.

Crewel looked even more upset. "Well?"

Vil spoke up, practiced guilt streaked throughout his demeanor. "No one, Professor, we were acting out of line. As the Housewarden of Pomefiore, I deeply apologise and hope to repent for my misconduct."

The others scrambled to follow suit, except for Leona. The lion looked unbothered by it all, probably because of Ruggie's absence and the discreet lack of any Savanaclaw bags in the room. Thankfully, Crewel didn't seem to noticed and looked slightly mollified by the apologies. He walked down the steps and took a perfunctory glance around the room. With nothing in disarray, he relaxed.

"Well then, judging by your unruly behaviours, I suppose Diasomnia and Ignihyde should get to choose their dorms first." He stated, arms crossed.

"But Professor-!" Riddle tried to interject but was silenced by a stern look from the man.

Idia glanced at you, nervous, and you motioned for him to stand up and grab his bags. You hoped he got a room on the same floor as you. The walls seemed rather thin and being in a room next to Kalim, or worse, Floyd, seemed like a curse.

Crewel went to get the boys in order and the rooms all sorted out. Lilia and Malleus had grabbed Silver's bags for him, leaving the sleeping freshman on the couch. You pulled out your phone for a moment, checking your notifications, just in case.

Brother: I hope you are doing well. Unfortunately, due to Jiànhóng's urging, I will be unable to contact you for a week. The Aster's fief needs to be taken care of, since the branch family[1] who were meant to be taking care of it have apparently been rather lazy. I will be dealing with that. Take care.

(Y/N): I see. I wish for things to go well and be easily dealt with for you, but knowing our branch family... Stay safe, love you! Tell Jiànhóng that I send him well wishes.

Brother: He is busy, as per usual. Unable to talk or answer any messages. Be safe.

Unsurprising then. Jiànhóng was never available for you to talk with. He was often swamped with the work your brother was reluctant to do, as his aide. You missed your friend, but knowing him, he'd do all the duchy's taxes for the next 5 years before he'd take a break. You hadn't been able to talk to him for a few months now, and it hurt to know that he considered his work more important than you. Why else would he ignore your messages?

"Are you alright?" Silver's voice snapped you from your reverie. 

"Hm?" Your head snapped to him, who was now awake and sitting properly on the sofa. "I am fine, why do you ask?"

The boy looked you in the eyes, concern written across his face. "You were frowning, I thought you were upset."

"Oh." Just that phrase was enough to make your heart go into overdrive, joyful pinks and purples flooding your chest. A warmth rose to your cheeks for a moment. "Thank you for your concern."

"There's no need to thank me," Silver replied with a slight smile, "I was worried about you, that's what friends do."

"I-I see." You glanced away, the eye contact feeling too intense. "Thank- ah. I am glad that we are friends."

Silver leant in closer, and despite the distance between you two from the couches, it felt like he was right in front of you. You were filled with warmth and butterflies started to swarm in your stomach.

"It is my pleasure-"

He was cut of by yelling from upstairs. Though it was too far to make out the words, from the voices, you could guess that Riddle was yelling at someone. Maybe Ruggie and Leona? He probably figured out their scheme. You doubted Crewel would do anything about it, he seemed a little fond of Ruggie, who was the main reason why Leona attended any of his alchemy classes. Thinking of the rooms...

Right... does Silver know who he's going to be rooming with? Better tell him.

"Silver," He turned his head to you, tilting it rather cutely in silent acknowledgment. "have you heard who you will be rooming with?"

"Ah." Silver frowned. "No. I should grab my bags and put them away now then, before I fall asleep." 

"Oh, you're rooming with Idia! I figured you two would get along-" You rose from the couch as Silver did, continuing your conversation as you two walked up the stairs together. 

"See, Idia's a bit... anxious around others, and I figured a calming presence like yours would be good for him! Plus, you need your sleep and I heard from Lilia that you get up early to train so-"

Silver interrupted you with a chuckle. "Sorry it's just... I'm glad that you care so much about me."

Stunned, you could only reply with, "...Ah."

Silver smiled at your silence, and you two continued up the stairs to search for Idia. 

...Your heart wouldn't stop racing.

Coincidentally, Idia was also on the top floor! He looked nervous when he saw both you and Silver standing at the door, but before he could say a word, Ortho rushed in and beamed with joy. 

"Ah, Silver is here! I'm glad you're rooming with my brother!"

Quick as a whip, the younger Shroud yanked Silver into the room, then slammed the door shut on your face. It stung a little, but you understood that there was no ill intent. Shrugging, you went back to your room, unlocking your door and closing it behind you. With a deep breath, you took the time to enjoy the silence and relax. Though... you could still hear Riddle's yells and the sound of slamming coming from the direction of Idia's room. 

Really, there's not much silence at all. 

So instead of attempting to unwind in an impossible situation, you chose to set up protection and silencing talismans throughout your room. The wards were placed mainly by your doorway, though you stuck some barrier fúlù by the window. Hopefully, this will alert you to anyone trying to sneak in. A smattering of silencing talismans in all four corners and you finally felt safe.

For all you could like the boys, you still couldn't bear to trust them. Perhaps it was your brother's lectures, maybe it was just a natural instinct but... sometimes, in your darkest moments, you felt terrified of your friends. When Trey or Cater were too close, when Leona leaned on you, when Rook was 'watching' you, a cold, bubbling tar of fear rose to your throat. On most days, you quickly snapped out of it, recognising your friends as people who would never hurt you. Yet, a deep-seated panic still remained. You could never trust them. It wasn't in your nature, though you'd like to try.

Crewel had left you all some time to unpack and get the rooming sorted out, stating that lunch would be at 12, then your group would go down to the beach for a few hours. You put on one of your swimsuits, deciding to go with a more conservative, one piece swimsuit for the day: a (f/c) piece with a heart-shaped hole in the chest. Applying suncream, then sorting out your hair and packing a beach bag were what you occupied your time with. A pair of towels and a beach umbrella were what you decided on bringing, using your bag instead of your sleeves to carry all the items you'd need. 

It took a bit of organising, but everything you needed fit. A water bottle, fúlù for emergencies, a coat in case it gets cold, extra suncream, your hat, sunglasses, magical pen... and more. In your defense, you had a lot of important items in your sleeves. You checked your phone for the time, and you still had 15 minutes before lunch, so you picked out a lovely white sundress to wear over your swimming gear. Grabbing your beach bag, you decided to spend that remaining time downstairs with your friends.

Only Leona and Ruggie were on the couches, evidently everyone else was either using that time to lounge around or prepare for the afternoon. Leona took up an entire couch, so you decided to sit close to Ruggie. The lion opened one of his eyes at your presence, glancing at the bag you had slung over your shoulder.

"That's a big bag, what do you need so much stuff for?" He muttered, an amused glint in his eye.

"It's just in case!" You pouted defensively. "I need all this stuff for emergencies!"

"Oh I'm locked behind a door? Good thing I brought my trusty battering ram!" Ruggie mocked you lightheartedly in a high pitched voice.

"No! A battering ram wouldn't fit in my bag," You glared half-heartedly. "and I don't sound like that!"

The hyena snickered. "Sure you don't."

"I don't!" You insisted.

Leona decided to speak up, "(Y/N), as someone who has been hearing you for the past 8 months... you absolutely do."

You gasped dramatically, draping yourself over the end of the couch like a swooning maiden with fainting fever. "How could you say that to me! I've done approximately no bad things! None!"

"Approximately?" Ruggie prompted, pushing your legs off of the side of the couch to move in closer. He looked similar to a predator stalking a prey in that moment, though you broke through and concealed that flash of fear.

"Well... I don't know if punching a guy is a crime..." You mumbled, looking away.

Leona frowned, deadpan. "It's not."

"What if... he was flying on a sword... 10 metres off the ground?" You continued. "And he broke his leg by falling?"

"Did you get caught?" Ruggie loomed over you, friendly smile on his face.

"No..." 

He grinned wildly. "Then it's not a crime! Right Leona?"

The prince smirked. "Yep, not a crime."

You were learning some things about your friends' moral systems today. And you thought they deserved to be roasted for it so you prepared to retort with a comment about not trusting the person who skips class 24/7 and the pickpocket who admitted to stealing thousands of thaumarks worth of stuff. 

But before you could, you were interrupted by a shriek of delight.

"Koi fishie!" Floyd practically flew down from the stairs and gathered you up with a tight hug. "You look so adorable lil' Koi, right Jade?"

Jade looked at you, smile in place. "She does look quite charming, I'd say. What do you think Azul?"

The Housewarden flushed, eyes darting around in search for help. He'd find none. "I-uh... I think she looks... uhm."

Jade's smile widened, eyes flashing. "Well Azul?"

Azul started sweating in stress. "She looks... uh... well..." He motioned his hands around wildly. 

Floyd, with you still wrapped up in your arms, spoke up. "She looks what? Don't be so shy, Azul!"

"She looks... okay!" Azul squeaked out, eyes squinted shut.

Floyd laughed wildly at that, gently putting you down before laughing his heart out to make fun of his poor Housewarden. Jade joined in with a chuckle while Ruggie snickered lightly. Leona smirked at the underwhelming answer.

You decided to tease Azul even more, finding his bright red face adorable. "You think I look... okay?" You pouted, eyes welling up with tears. "Oh... I see..." You looked away from the Octavinelle kids and slumped next to Ruggie, taking up a position to make it look as if you were crying on his shirt. 

"Hey!" The hyena whispered, a scowl on his face. "This shirt is like... super expensive! I bought it with Leona's money but still! Don't ruin it with your fake tears!"

You gave him a watery glare in reply and gestured to the tissue in your right hand. He sighed and backed up your act by stroking a gentle hand through your hair and glaring at Azul.

"I- uh." Azul stuttered, nervous when faced with tears.

Jade and Floyd looked genuinely concerned, and moved over to comfort you. Floyd patted your arm lightly while Jade offered encouraging words.

"Don't cry, dear, you look wonderful! Azul got like that because he was awestruck by how lovely you look." The vice Housewarden said, a kinder smile on his face.

"Are y-you sure?" You asked, practiced voice wobbly to further guilt trip Azul.

"Of course. When have I ever said a word I didn't mean?" Jade gently wiped your tears away, tilting your head to face his with a soft hand on your chin.

"Oh. Okay then." You smiled blindingly in reply. "I'm over it!"

Azul blinked in shock. Then, Ruggie started laughing hysterically at the whiplash, while Jade and Floyd, who had only just gotten the joke, blinked in surprise. They quickly joined in the laughter once they realised what you had done. Leona let out a pleased rumble at the prank you had pulled, with Azul looking absolutely dumbstruck by the complete tone shift.

"I- uh. What?" He stammered, a confused look in his eyes. 

No one could answer him, Floyd was wheezing on the floor while the rest of you took too much pleasure in watching the cogs in his brain turn to try and compute. When the poor boy did realise what happened, he only looked resigned to your shenanigans. Shaking his head with a sigh, Azul sat down next to you on the couch, posture perfectly composed, unlike his behaviour from earlier.

Soon, the rest of the group wandered down and waited for Crewel to arrive, looking hungry and ready to argue their hearts out. Riddle looked especially angry, though Vil was a close second. On the other hand, both Kalim and Jamil looked very pleased with their rooms, as did Malleus and Lilia. Idia's emergence from his room, dragged along by Ortho with Silver following close behind, heralded Crewel's arrival. The professor burst through the door to the house with a flourish, carrying bags of groceries and lunch boxes with him.

"Lucky for you pups, the ghosts decided to cook you all a lunch! Don't think this is normal though, you will be preparing your own meals, and mine, for the rest of this trip!" Crewel gave you all a stern look. "Now, let's all eat at the dining table, first come, first serve."

Oh dear...

At that, everyone scrambled to grab a good seat and a decent meal, Ruggie being at the head of the stampede with Floyd in a close second. This was sadly, futile, as Lilia floated from above to grab himself, Malleus and Silver some nice meals. Almost animalistic noises were heard as the boys all rushed to the table, you were slung over Jade's shoulder in the commotion, hanging from it like a doll. There was a lot of pushing and shoving coming from around you, though Jade remained unaffected. Soon, a scream from Idia signaling his fall to the floor. A squawk indicating Riddle suffered the same fate.

Really, when my brother said 'men act like animals' I thought he was speaking metaphorically. I didn't think he'd mean they'd act like this!

[1] Just a note, reader is from a noble family! The branch family was assigned to help out the main one, but they've obviously not been doing their job. They're from a descendant that married out of the family to a merchant, who is seen as 'new money' and doesn't have a title. So despite their relations, they lack a noble title.

and here is the second part of the beach ep. if you'd like to read the rest of the fic, you can read it on ao3 here, and on quotev here.

#twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #floyd leech x reader #trey clover x reader #riddle rosehearts x reader #jade leech x reader #vil shoenheit x reader #cater diamond x reader #kalim al asim x reader #jamil viper x reader #leona kingscholar x reader #rook hunt x reader #azul ashengrotto x reader #idia shroud x reader #malleus draconia x reader #ruggie bucchi x reader #silver x reader #lilia vanrouge x reader #twst x fem reader #female reader #reader insert #fboys anonymous #ovobawrites

[vhstown]

CAN SPIDERS SCREAM?

POV: 1610!MILES 🗡️ [halloween one shot]

summary: What's your favourite scary movie?

word count: 2.4k

content/warnings: depictions of murder, blood and stabbing

a/n: unedited :/ tew busy and i have never written fic that isn't x reader so! that's all erm have fun?

“Oi, Miles — wake up, mate.”

With slight surprise, Miles opened his eyes to see the dimly lit living room. Freeing himself from the confines of his friend’s shoulders, he blinked a few times to make out a rather bemused-looking Hobie. The punk’s eyes left his a moment later, and Miles was soon bombarded with the troubles of a movie night with people who had never had Netflix before.

“Give me the remote back, I just wanna—”

“We are not watching Ghostbusters again, Pav!” Hobie let out a slight laugh as a stream of web, and then a remote control, flew past him — right into Gwen’s hand.

“Ghostbusters is a perfectly fitting title for the occasion!” Pavitr protested, Hobie narrowly dodging the hand that flew up in frustration.

“He’s got a point — that Murray lad is scary lookin’,” Hobie chimed in. Gwen narrowed her eyes at him, as if to say “thanks a lot, Hobie”, before turning to Miles.

“You know what? Maybe Miles should pick. He’s been asleep all night anyway.”

“Hey! Not my fault my ma’ made me clean the whole house ‘fore you guys got here!”

Miles’ eyes felt like closing again at the memory; who knew using your webs to help with chores would need so much clean up afterwards? Not one of his brightest ideas, since he was all out of webs now. Though he would’ve been out of a home if his mom saw the kitchen covered in them.

“Where are your parents anyway? Perhaps on a romantic outing?” Miles rolled his eyes, like it’d do anything to subdue Pavitr’s less-than subtle expression.

“On Halloween night? Your lot must love a thrill, mate.” Also a lot less-than subtle — thanks a lot, Hobie.

Cheeks prickling with warmth, he snatched the remote from Gwen’s hand, frowning at the TV screen. Halloween movie…

“Well, if he’s anything like Rio and Jeff, he should be able to pick a movie.” Gwen crossed her legs, and everyone else shuffled back on the tiny couch.

“Thanks,” he mumbled through gritted teeth. Gwen’s knee, Hobie’s elbow, and Pavitr’s stare prodding him at either side, Miles sifted through the different shows and movies.

“How about Annabe—”

“Nope nope nope…!” As the preview came up, Pavitr shielded his eyes. “Anything besides dolls.”

“At least it’s better than Ghostbusters,” Gwen muttered under her breath as Pavitr peeked through his fingers.

“Oi, Gwendy, cheer up, yeah?” Miles ducked his head as Hobie reached over to slap Gwen on the shoulder. “She looks just like you!”

“Hobie!” was shouted from both ends of the couch.

Miles smiled, and grimaced. At least the two of them could agree that Hobie wasn’t any good when it came to movie nights.

Looking through the movies, none of them really interested Miles, or his friends. Each one would be met with an excited “wait!”, and then a disappointed groan, or another heckle from Hobie (it was one way to decide not to watch the movie.)

“Dude, Halloween’s almost over. Let’s just watch Ghost—”

“Just gimme a sec…” At this point, Miles had given up on listening to anyone, clicking through titles after a glance. It wasn’t like it was helping, though.

“Pick your favourite, or something,” Gwen suggested with just as little enthusiasm.

“Well it’s not Ghostbusters…” he mumbled to nobody in particular.

“Hey, not you too, Miles!”

Scream 2 appeared for probably the 5th time on screen. It’d have to do, he supposed.

“You guys seen Scream?” His tone didn't have enough energy to sound like a question.

“Well Hobie hasn’t, because he lives in the stone age,” Gwen started. “And he looks like Ghostface.”

“Don’t need ol’ Ghosty when we’ve got murderers in government.”

“Dude.” All Miles got was a shrug from Hobie, and then a sigh from Gwen. Crossing her arms, she fell back on the sofa with a creak.

“What? Fed up already?” Hobie questioned, brow raising by a twitch.

“It’s been like, 4 hours and all we’ve been watching is Ghostbusters. We ran out of popcorn ages ago.”

“You guys finished the—” Miles stood up, looking into the bowl. All that was in it was his reflection, staring back at him with disappointment. “Damn…”

“That was all Gwendy — swear on my life.” Hobie declared half a moment of silence later.

“Was not!”

“Okay, okay! Fine! Let’s just watch Scream.”

Miles turned on the movie, chucking the remote on the spot he was sat in. The introductory sequence started, and the room went dark with the screen.

“I’m gettin’ more popcorn — caramel popcorn." That got a groan out of everyone.

“If y’all use your webs…!”

He didn’t finish his threat as he walked into the kitchen — his mom could probably do that for him anyway.

The kitchen door swung open, shutting on its own weight. Miles held his wrist out to the cabinet, but all that came out was a click — out of webs. Right, of course.

A crackling bag of “Crunch ‘n Munch” caramel popcorn on the stove, Miles leaned his arms on the counter, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment. He’d been feeling groggy since he’d woken up, but the dreary tiredness was still lingering. Maybe sitting out here with microwaveable kernels popping on the stove would help. Stretching and letting out a groan, the cheap decorations on the windows caught his attention. He could guess that people were starting to head back from trick-or-treating. It was late, after all. Miles had grown out of it, at least for this year. Going out with his friends who technically weren’t meant to be here wasn’t exactly a good idea, though. Besides, being Spider-Man for Halloween again wasn’t really doing it for him.

Both of his parents were at work, but it didn't bother him too much. They were always busy, and so was he. All of them were keeping Brooklyn safe in their own ways, he supposed. And having the house to himself wasn't so bad.

Faint murmuring — excited, or panicked — could be heard from the living room. Miles laughed through his nose, the crackling of the popcorn getting louder as he haphazardly reached out to flip the bag. That was, until, a searing, high-pitched noise rang out.

Miles almost jumped, before realising that it was coming from the phone: the old-fashioned cordless phone his mom kept for emergencies, or, for making sure he was “actually at home like you said you’d be, because if you and your friends are out somewhere I don’t know about then—”

Better safe than sorry, he thought, picking it up without any thought but an exhale.

Click!

“Hello?”

The faint whirr of static could be heard on the other side; it was dull among the pop of the kernels and giddy buzz from the living room.

“Hello, Morales.” Okay, definitely not his mom.

“Uh, who is this?”

“Take a guess.” Miles took the phone away from his ear, frowning at the screen. These types of phones didn’t seem to give any useful information.

“Ganke? That you?” he humoured.

“Try again. Two more guesses.” His half-smile immediately dropped.

“Okay, nope. This is weird.”

Declining the call, Miles put it back on its stand, rolling his shoulders in discomfort. It was probably just a prank — kind of creepy nonetheless.

Krrrrr….! Miles’ attention quickly turned back to his popcorn, registering the smell of burning. Damn it…

Wooden spoon in hand, he turned off the stove, biting his lip as he assessed the damage. A second barrier of defence against his friends, at least. Come on man, you gotta wake up—

RIIING RIIING! Miles cursed under his breath, and then winced in guilt.

RIIING RIIING! Again? Well, it could be his mom.

RIIING RIII—

“Hello?”

“Why’d you hang up? Don’t you want to play a game?”

“Okay dude seriously? Couldn't you be at least a little original? I don’t have time for this, I literally just burnt my popcorn!”

Miles didn’t know why he was suddenly ranting to a stranger on the phone, but maybe it’d get them to break character, or something. It must be some kids behind the stupid crackly voice — or maybe it was his dad. He tried to stifle a laugh at the thought of his dad trying not to laugh and his tightened expression, even though nobody would hear. Well, whoever this was might.

“You’re making popcorn?”

“Uh-huh. Was gonna watch a movie, actually. And relax — you know, without weird phone calls at midnight.”

“How about this? I ask you a different question this time.”

“Yeah? What is it?” Miles let out a sigh, hands on his hips as the burning died out in the pan.

“What’s your favourite scary movie?”

“Not even a little improv..." he mumbled under his breath. Might as well stick to the script. “Uh, I dunno. Scream?”

“Scream? That one where the murderer wears a mask and goes around killing people?”

“Yeah, and where the murderer makes dumbass phone calls to their victims beforehand.”

“But that’s your favourite?”

“No..."

There was a pause on the end of the phone, before the modulated voice replied.

“You know... me neither.”

Bzzzt!

“Hey, what the…?!” Miles looked around him, but couldn’t make out anything. The power was out. “You can’t be serious…”

“Scream’s too old-school, don’t you think?”

There were equally confused reactions from the living room, and the voices of his friends got louder as he stepped into the hallway, phone in hand.

“Guys?” he called out, cordless phone by his hip and his own phone flash pointing into the hallway.

“They won’t hear you,” the voice from the phone said. Miles stopped, turning his phone and seeing something catch the light. "When you scream."

Moving, it shot towards him, his web-shooter sputtering empty air at the knife that surged past mere inches away from his face. No webs.

“Guys?!”

Miles pointed the flash up, only to see what looked like a Halloween mask that was melting: Ghostface. He would’ve laughed; it was crude at best. But right now, it was terrifying.

He booked it for the living room, pushing against the door only for it to push back against him. Locked — the panic surged in his chest, but his Spider-sense hadn’t gone off.

Thunk! Knife in wood — right where his face was a millisecond ago. His cheek stung only for a moment before he grabbed the knife out of the door, holding it to the darkness.

His mouth opened, and then closed. Should he call for his friends? Would it put him in more danger? Why couldn't he... Where did the masked person go—

A short breath came out of his throat, strangled. And then hot searing metal, right through his stomach. Why couldn't...

No, the metal wasn’t cold — it was the blood. The pain only seared for a moment, when the knife was pulled out. Miles’ hands went to the growing patch of darkness near his abdomen, bile in his throat and eyes wide, stinging from the dry air.

It was suddenly cold, and his mind was blank. Something that sounded like wind — a laugh, emerged from behind him.

He didn’t feel the second stab.

“Oi, Miles — wake up, mate.”

With slight surprise, Miles opened his eyes to see the dimly lit living room. Freeing himself from the confines of his friend’s shoulders, he blinked a few times to make out a rather bemused-looking Hobie. The punk’s eyes left his a moment later, and Miles was soon bombarded with the troubles of a movie night with people who had never had Netflix before.

“Give me the remote back, I just wanna—”

“We are not watching Ghostbusters again, Pav!” Hobie let out a slight laugh as a stream of web, and then a remote control, flew past him — right into Gwen’s hand.

“Ghostbusters is a perfectly fitting title for the occasion!” Pavitr protested, Hobie narrowly dodging the hand that flew up in frustration.

“He’s got a point — that Murray lad is scary lookin’,” Hobie chimed in. Gwen narrowed her eyes at him, as if to say “thanks a lot, Hobie”, before turning to Miles.

“You know what? Maybe Miles should pick. He’s been asleep all night anyway.”

“Huh?”

“We were doing fine!”

“No we weren’t, Pav — I was about to fall asleep.”

“Like Hobie said, Murray is a good representation of the horror genre!”

“And not the literal ghosts?”

“The ghosts too!”

“Hey.” Miles flinched a little at how close the voice was. “You alright? You look a bit pale, mate.”

The three of them went silent, attention turning to him. Hobie’s expression was laced with concern. Miles just nodded, though he wasn’t looking at anyone. He was fine, right? That was…

“Yeah, yeah — I’m cool. I just…” That wasn't real. He was fine. “Tired. Ma’ made me clean… and stuff.”

“Where are your parents anyway? Perhaps on a romantic outing?” He glanced at Pavitr, but it didn’t do anything to subdue Pavitr’s less-than subtle expression.

“On Halloween night? Your lot must love a thrill, mate.” Also less-than subtle. If it weren’t for the fog clouding his head, he would’ve been annoyed.

“Just watch… Anabelle, or something.” The sofa creaked as he pushed off of it. He winced at the feeling of his abdomen reeling in on itself. “I’m gonna get some—”

Two eyes met his: the reflection in the popcorn bowl. It was empty. Figures...

“That was all Gwendy, swear on my life.”

“Was not!”

“Oh, Miles is mad guys.”

“Hey, don’t look at me.”

It wasn't real.

“It was literally Hobie!”

Just a dream — of course.

“Miles…? Where are you goi—” Pavitr’s voice faded as the kitchen door swung shut behind him.

“Just need to call my mom,” he muttered to himself, grabbing the phone off the stand.

“Mira — I’m going to call this phone, okay? You need to call back from the call log. I'm showing you once.”

“Like—” This…

The call log appeared on screen.

Incoming:

31 OCT. 11:42PM Accepted

31 OCT. 11:40PM Accepted

31 OCT. 4:21PM Missed

Only the last one was his mom. Miles clicked out of the call log, met with the tiny blue home screen. It read: TUE 31 OCT.

The time right now was 11:39PM.

RIIING RIIING!

RIIING RIIING!

RIIING RIIING!…

His friends were in the other room, still arguing about what to watch.

“…Anything besides dolls...”

“…It’s better than Ghostbusters…”

“…She looks just like you!…”

"...Hobie!..."

…RIIING RIIING!…

With half an inhale, Miles picked up the old-fashioned cordless phone, thumb over the green button. It was the phone he’d answered before, and for some reason, minutes into the future.

The phone he’d answer many, many more times to come.

thanx 4 reading! thats it okay cya i havent slept more than 6 hours in a hot minute goodnight x_x oh n tagging @phoenixinthefiles :P

find my masterlist here !

#miles morales #hobie brown #gwen stacy #pavitr prabhakar #miles morales fanfiction #atsv miles #atsv hobie #atsv gwen #atsv pavitr #spider punk #ghost spider #spider uk #spiderman india #atsv fanfiction #across the spiderverse #spiderverse #spiderman across the spiderverse #atsv gen #spiderverse gen #hope im using these tags right :/ #vhstown