#this is going on ao3 with the first part!

[thegnomelord]

me very patiently waiting for that mothussy :3

oh and here’s another wittle thing i thought…i tend to hc price as a bear hybrid or other so i think he would go into hibernations,, since hes still on duty he wouldnt go into a long-term one like other bears, but simply sleep a LOT of the day…i would wanna cuddle big bear price so bad awaawaewfgwh 🥺 hes really hairy but instead of it being coarse hair, its more fluffy cause its the winter!! so his facial hair puffs up a bit…and his chest hair…and the happy trail…you get the idea :3 idk i just like bear price i want him to pound me into the mattress and suck my cock until it falls off hug me!!

-❀

Give me like a couple more days lol, I got ghost and soap more or less done in a rough draft format, just need to write out price and gaz then a quick rewrite to clean up the draft. Cause rn all mini drafts are about 1k and very rough so when I clean it up they're probs gonna be bumped up to like 2k? Just knowing me and how my drafts end up doubling in size lol.

Also duuude you are a treasure trove of ideas lol. I want bear price now and now I'm horny so here's a bunch of bear price

Help a Bear Out

CW:NSFW, MDNI, daddy kink, dom/sub, oral, somno, edging, foodplay, cockwarming. Bear Price x Top Male reader Ao3

Imagine Bear Price who is by no means a small man any time of the year, bear genetics + having to be physically fit to take down terrorists leads to him having a very strong and imposing build befitting a Kodiak bear. The fur only adds to the striking image, making him look larger and his arms appear thicker, letting him scare many young boars from trying to tussle with him lest he crack their skulls.

But he turns massive in winter.

He can't help it; There's no escaping the iron clad control nature has over his body as his dark fur thickens and gains a fluffy golden color. No evading the instinct telling him to eat and rest and grow fat for winter until his hard earned muscles disappear beneath the cloak of fat. No ignoring sweet lull of sleep's song when he's yawning every five minutes and the words on the report swim in his blurry eyes.

Imagine Bear Price who, in his younger days, used to be self conscious about the changes his body went through. Growing up surrounded by humans was tough, dread would start building in his heart the moment the first leaf from the trees would fall. He's lost count how many times the kids would laugh at him when he'd show up to school after winter break with a chubby face and barely able to run a lap with how tired he was.

As he grew and started being curious about sex, it only got worse. He'd snatch the porn mags his sisters would buy behind their parents back, spending hours looking in the mirror and comparing his pudgy belly and fat thighs to the chiseled abs and lean muscles of the models. He'd spend hours exercising and trying to loose the weight he'd gain, but it would be all for naught.

And it didn't stop when he graduated and went into the military. His superiors may have tolerated the extra sleep and rations Price needed because he was a monster on the field, but they by no means were happy about it. He'd end up with thrice the amount of work and run ragged in training until he returned to his pre-winter weight.

Imagine Bear Price who doesn't give a shit about how he looks like now. Why would he, when he sees how you look at him? How you touch him? How you worship him?

Your hands wind around his waist and the groan you let out when you realize the space between your fingertips has gotten bigger is hungry. Your face burrows into his chest, his soft fluffy fur tickling your face as you nuzzle his pecks. The way his pudgy belly and love handles jiggle under your wandering hands makes you wish you had more arms so you could feel every part of him.

A content growl rumbles from the bottom of his chest, eyelids open just enough to watch you. "My boy's forgotten his manners." He chuckles, but there's no way to hide the wagging of his little bear tail. The reverent way you touch him makes him feel like a king.

"Sorry sir." There's absolutely no shame in your voice or your actions, not when your mind is held captive by the soft fluffy fur and the warmth of his skin. Without thinking you slide your hands up to grope his chest and you groan — the squishy fat covering his muscles and makes his pecs so large they don't fit in your hands anymore, fat plumping up between your fingers and his flesh jiggling as you press his pecs against your head and motorboat him.

The surprised laugh you earn is like ambrosia to sweeten the heaven you're drowning in.

Imagine Bear Price who gets so sleepy as the nights get longer and colder. While he still gets the work done, and for the most part doesn't mind the 'old man' jokes his boys make, it's obvious how irritated he gets when he's forced to stay awake longer than he needs to; each extra second spent explaining to a muppet how to do his job makes his eyes darker and voice rougher until he's passively growling like a construction engine.

Luckily you're there to calm down the beast.

Groping his ass or scratching the base of his tail to distract him so you can kiss along his jaw and rub your cheek against his beard. "You're doing it again sir." You mutter, voice smooth and low enough to soothe his prickled mind. Kissing him sweet and slow so you can tug his lazy body back into his room, into his den, where you can give him what his mind and body craves the most — sweet sweet sleep. . . and you.

Imagine Bear Price who's chest rumbles with a purr without stopping the second you settle into his den, his clawed fingers sliding over and groping your naked skin with just as much love and adoration as you show him.

Wrapped in so many layers of blankets and furs, engulfed by his bulk and his own fur, you are so so warm that neither one of you need clothes. Price's favorite position is to hug you like a Teddy bear. Despite the irony, it lets him wrap his body around you so you're safe and protected, practically suffocating in his fur. Not that you mind, especially when Price can nuzzle his nose into your hair or skin, to breathe in your scent to his heart's content and purr low praises into your ear: "Good boy,"

And, if you're especially good, he lets you use his ass as a pillow. He'll growl and grumble about not being able to scent you or hold you, but he'll soon be sleeping peacefully with you slumbering on his large ass.

Imagine Bear Price who, between the long stretches of sleep, get's horny. It's a natural reaction from sleeping next to his naked mate, wanting to feel you and hear your moans, but he doesn't have the energy to actually fuck. His lethargy turns the feeling of languid arousal into Hell.

Both of you try to initiate a couple of times; fumbling beneath the sheets, wandering hands roaming and groping as far as they can reach, his teeth nibbling on your neck and your hungry lips laying hickeys on his thick neck. Not wanting to undo the tangle of limbs you two end up grinding against each other, breathing the same air between kisses as sweet pleasure burns in your belies.

Then you stop just long enough to grab the lube, and Price's mind, still half way in lala land, only needs a couple of seconds of inaction to pull him back into deep sleep. By the time you return to him he's already snoring, limbs reaching out to grip you tightly and pull you close, but all thoughts of sex are forgotten.

And Price is so, so, angry with himself when he wakes up and realizes he left you high and dry again, shame eating away at his stomach because what kind of bear leaves his mate unsatisfied? The unworthy kind.

Imagine Bear Price who's mind is blown when you suggest cockwarming. Hibernation is about sleeping and relaxing, not strenuous sex, so the thought of being able to feel you while still fulfilling his body's need to rest? Oh it gets him hard.

It takes a while to figure out the perfect position, Price is too big and heavy to lay on top of you without crushing you, and his fingers earn to grip and hold you close so spooning him viable either.

Finally you end up with him laying on his back, legs spread with you laying on top of him and oh, it's perfect. You can feel him purr as you slide inside his blistering hot hole, his strong arms wrapping around you and claws scrapping along your spine. "That's my boy, perfect f' daddy." He mumbles through the fog of sleep, throwing one heavy leg over yours to keep you close.

You can't help the shudder that races down your spine, his musky earthy scent curling in your nose and making your cock throb inside him. You only stretching him long enough to be able to take you without tearing something, and Price relishes the slight sting of pain nibbling on his nerves when your cock hardens.

You don't try to fuck him, by the time you're fully settled inside him he's already snoozing. A slow roll of your hips and the resulting tightening of his hole is enough to sate your lust when it arises, enough to keep you half hard and stretching him out. His pecs make such a good pillow, thick fluffy fur and chest hair tickling your skin, the slow and calm beating of his heart lulling you to sleep before you know it.

Imagine Bear Price who gets an insatiable sweet tooth. There’s not a single secret stash in his room that doesn’t have his favorite bottle of honey in it. Hell, there’s more honey hidden in his room than cigars.

And his lazy mind decides to combine his hunger with honey with his hunger for you.

"Hold still for daddy, baby boy." Price mumbles against your abdomen, big hand gripping your hip to keep you still so not a drop of the honey he drizzles on your cock goes to waste. "Good." He purrs, wide tongue lolling out of his mouth to lap at your tip, claws massaging the skin beneath them.

He can spend hours laying between your legs, lazily lavishing your cock with attention while satisfying his craving for sweets. Whine and moan as much as you want, uselessly buck your hips as best you can against his unfair strength, nothing will make him rush — with his energy drained he'll spend meticulous minutes following every vein on your cock with his tongue before he even thinks of gently suckling on your tip. "Relax my boy, just enjoy this." He mutters, lips pressed against the sticky flesh of your shaft.

And when he does take you into his mouth, it's just as slow. His mouth hangs open so you can see your tip resting on his tongue before he laps at your slit, drool and honey running down his chin and sticking the strands of his beard together. When all the honey is in his stomach he just drizzles more, nibbling on your thighs or stomach to keep his mouth and mind occupied with you before starting the torturous process all over again.

The slow torturous pleasure is easy to endure just so you can see his eyes light up when you start leaking precum.

Imagine Bear Price absolutely loves loves loves the salty tang your cum adds to the sweet honey, the delicate combination of flavor dancing on tongue and only fueling his gluttonous mind to demand more.

The distinct taste is the only way to cut through the fog of lazy pleasure in his mind, turning him greedy. Price mumbles and growls incoherent words around your cock as he swallows you down to the root, swallowing around you and holding you down when you try to buck up. "My boy tastes so good." He mumbles as he rises up, nuzzling his cheek against your weeping tip, looking up at you with hungry blue eyes. "Just for daddy, yeah?"

"Ye-yes sir." You whimper through your clenched teeth, your head lolling back against the pillows when he swallows you whole again, your tip bumping against the back of his throat. "Just fo- fuck, fuck,- just for you." You don't know how he doesn't choke on you but you don't have the mental faculties to even think about that when your brains are leaking through your cock.

Price smiles around your cock, the purr rattling his chest and making his throat vibrate around you. "Smart boy," He praises after he pulls off, precum and honey swirling on his tongue as he takes the moment to savor the taste. He knows how close you are, he can feel the cum churning your balls when he rolls them in his rough palm. "You can give daddy a bit more, can't you?"

You honestly don't know how long you will last.

Imagine Bear Price who can get so insatiable he growls like a tractor when you try to weakly push him off your cock, so aroused that you think even the slightest gust of wind will make you pop.

Price bites your thigh enough to hurt and only his hand squeezing down on the base of your cock keeps you from cumming. "And where do you think you're going boy?" He demands, claws digging into your skin to pull your hips closer, little kitten licks of his tongue driving you to the brink of madness.

"S-Sir!" You moan before you can stop yourself, your hips twitching uselessly against his hands, thighs shaking. "'m sorry, I'm fuck, I'm so close." You whimper, fat tears rolling down your cheeks. Every nerve in your system is on fire, pleasure so strong it's turned to pain along your body.

Price huffs, but his tight hold lessens. "It's alright sweet boy," He hums, placing a sweet kiss on your cock head. "I know how you can make it up to daddy."

Imagine Bear Price who's only placated when you slide your cock back inside him. Your muscles ache from the strength it takes you to hoist his heavy legs over your shoulders and keep them there, but your rewarded with the tightening of his sweet hole, a pleased rumble leaving his throat.

“G-good boy-.” He growls, long claws scratching down your back as you pound into him. Your thrusts are slow but deep, making his toes curl every time you bottom out, tip scraping his prostate and making his cock spurt a dollop of precum with every thrust. “Fucking daddy so deep. I taught you well, yeah?”

"Yes, yes, yes!" You agree to everything he says without hearing any of his words, your body moving automatically to bully your dick into him. Every thrust is heaven and every second spent pulling out from his tight heat is hell, the sensitive veins of your cock scraping against his walls.

He moans when you manage to clip his prostate with your thrusts, one clawed hand sliding down to grip your hip hard enough to bruise. "Harder boy," He demands, rolling his hips to meet you half way, other hand raising up to scruff you. "You can go har-hm!- harder. . . don't you wan- fuck, want to make daddy feel good?"

Clenching your eyes shut you slam into him as hard as you can, feeling the fat widening his frame jiggle with every hard thrust. Without thinking Price pulls your head down to smother you in his pecs, soft fluffy fur tickling your face as the ample flesh suffocates you. The sweet scent of honey mixed with his musk erases any vestiges of sentient thought in your head, leaving your animal brain to pick up the pieces — Pin him down harder and mate him, rut into him until he's roaring with his full chest, his hard cock slapping against your stomach.

Price reacts to the change in your behavior by pressing your face even harder against his chest, his walls clenching around your cock like a vice so you have to try harder to push into him. Price’s lips brush against your ear, voice low and rumbly. “My boy, come in daddy.” He urges you on, both legs now tightly wound around your waist so you can only hump your aching cock into him. “Co-mh!- cum, cum in me son, you want to be good for daddy right?”

That's all it takes to drive you over the edge, mind going black like a piece of paper as your orgasm rocks through you with the intensity of lighting. The sensation of your hot cum spilling into his hole triggers his own orgasm and he cums with a thunderous roar, sticky seed shooting across your abdomen.

You collapse on top of him, his legs keeping your softening cock inside him, not that you have even a single functioning muscle to try to pull out. His big hand cradles your skull, honey flavored lips placing soothing kisses on your temple. "That's my boy." Price murmurs, his chest rumbling with a soft purr. "Did so well for me." He yawns, eyelids fluttering as that fog of lethargy settles over both of you. "Now rest," The order is spoken in the softest voice he's ever used, and it works like a horse tranquilizer on you.

As you drift off to sleep, you feel his hole clench around your soft cock, the cum inside him squelching as his body unconsciously tries to persuade yours into filling him up just a bit more.

It's gonna be a long winter.

#gnome correspondence #cod mw2 #x reader #male reader #top male reader #captain john price #captain price x male reader #captain john price x reader #captain john price x male reader #gay #bear price #❀anon #centerpieces of the hoard #call of duty mw3 #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty x male reader #call of duty modern warfare 2 #call of duty x reader #cod mlm #mlm smut #mlm #call of duty #cod modern warfare #bottom cod x male reader #cod x reader #price x male reader #x male reader #x top male reader

[loveinhawkins]

ao3

Eddie falls asleep in the back of the RV. Steve watches it happen in stages, after the stop at The War Zone—driving a little further out for a food shop, away from prying eyes.

He announces that the coast is clear when the roads become reassuringly empty. For the first time in days, he relaxes into the rhythm of driving: he’s triple-checked that no-one’s tailing them, and if it weren’t for the hastily bought weapons, he could almost pretend that…

He glances at the rearview mirror, sensing movement. It’s Eddie, standing up from where he’d been huddled against the back of Steve’s seat. He looks like he’s relishing the freedom to stretch his legs—Steve thinks, with a pang, that he’s probably sick of hiding—and takes his time on his way to the back seat.

Keeps his balance for the most part, only stumbles once, briefly latches onto Robin’s shoulder with a sheepish smile, says something like, “Role reversal, Buckley,” and she laughs.

He settles with the kids in the back. Clearly tries to give them the most space, folding his legs awkwardly in the corner almost like he’s already back to hiding again, but they won’t let him; Dustin wiggles along to create more room, and Erica pins Eddie with a look—the most Steve can make out is, “You look like a…”, but whatever she says makes Eddie snort, then smile with obvious affection.

The next time Steve looks to find Eddie’s reflection, he’s relaxed into his seat, legs stretched out in front, the edge of one sneaker bouncing up and down absent-mindedly—but growing slower and slower.

He’s talking to Lucas, the speech drowned out by the RV engine; Steve can still see how it makes Lucas relax in turn, even giggle, which has been an all too rare occurrence lately. How Max, despite carrying the heaviness of the Walkman, looks on with a spark in her eyes.

If Steve had to guess, he’d say that Eddie doesn’t mean to fall asleep. Maybe it’s the motion of the RV or the angle of the sun through the windows. Maybe it’s just that he finally feels safe.

Either way, his blinks get longer and longer, and then he’s drifted off, out completely, and Steve watches with something close to pride as the kids all get off the bench in silent agreement—Max confidently lifting Eddie’s legs and swinging them up onto the cushions like it’s second nature. He barely stirs, head nodding a little until he’s lying down properly.

Steve splits the last of his cash with Nancy on the food. They make a trio with Robin for heading to the store, the kids on what they’ve dubbed ‘Eddie watch’ and what Steve has dubbed, “Yeah, I’ve left it running—that still means no driving unless, like—actually no, I’m not even gonna—yeah, Dustin, I’ll get you more Pringles, Jesus Christ.”

And because he’s weak, he still ends up caving to Max’s loophole that yes, if demodogs and/or bats and/or people that just look at them funny show up, she’s got permission to floor it; he’s not gonna tell her he’d scoped the place out well before he’d parked.

Ten minutes later, laden with bags, Nancy says, “We could use somewhere with more space. For…”

She indicates the supplies of a more grim variety than snacks.

Steve thinks about it, then exhales with a little laugh. “Yeah, I’ve got somewhere.”

Robin eyes him curiously. It’s like she’s heard through the laugh, can somehow feel the thing that wells up in the back of his throat—only for a second; he’s used to pushing it back.

She squeezes his shoulder. He pats the back of her hand before driving away. Sometimes words spill out between them, ever flowing. Sometimes they don’t need words at all.

There’s a strange kind of thrill in feeling the tires go right over the grass. Feels bigger than what it is—like something’s finally been unearthed.

They’re all quiet as the group starts to filter outside. Steve looks over his shoulder: Eddie is still fast asleep. His lips move every so often, drowsy half-formed words.

Steve wonders what he’s dreaming about. He hopes it’s something good.

He lets everyone go in front of him—Robin snatches a bag of food out of Dustin’s hands, whispering fondly, “That one’s mine, you animal.”

Nancy hesitates just outside, then turns back into the RV to sit on the step.

“It’s just…” She tilts her head to the side with meaning. “I don’t think he should wake up alone, you know?”

Steve nods. “Yeah, me too.”

And that’s how they end up sat together, half in the RV and half outside. Nancy dangles her feet above the grass—she could reach it, of course, but it seems deliberate, like she’s enjoying the breeze.

Or trying to, at any rate: there’s still a restlessness to her, an anxious pinch to her face, like she’s one step away from jumping to her feet and—

Steve squeezes her knee—hears the way she exhales, like she’s finally caught her breath.

“Food first,” Steve says gently.

She nods belatedly, like the words take a little while longer to reach her. “Food first.” She rustles through one of the bags, brings out something wrapped in foil. “Robin said this is for you…?”

Steve chuckles. It’s a sesame bagel: bacon, egg, and cheese.

He gives half to Nancy.

They eat in companionable silence—just listening to the breeze and the occasional shout of laughter: Robin’s formed a circle with everyone up ahead, a chaotic game of duck, duck, goose, which is a ridiculous choice because her run is ridiculous, and Steve feels his cheeks ache with a smile at the grass stains already on her shirt, as Dustin and Lucas pull her down in some kind of duck-goose uprising, and Max gets Erica up on her shoulders, joining the fray; and underneath it all, he can hear Eddie hum slightly in his sleep, but it’s not a noise of distress—like he knows subconsciously that he isn’t alone.

“Here,” Nancy says.

When Steve turns to her, she’s got a packet of chips open between them. Salt and vinegar.

He doesn’t mean to say it out loud, but—

“You remembered,” he says through a rush of affection; it hits him square in the chest.

Nancy smiles. “Can never forget you and Mike fighting for the last packet.”

Steve knocks their knees together. “Yeah, he fought dirty.”

They laugh together, hushed but heartfelt.

There’s a streak of ketchup across Nancy’s face that she hasn’t bothered wiping away. She looks years younger somehow—looks lighter, like the food in her stomach has settled something intangible.

Her smile turns even softer, thoughtful, and warmth settles behind Steve’s eyes.

I’m sorry, he thinks. I’m sorry I couldn’t be what…

You never deserved to hurt.

“Did you get changed in the dark?” Nancy says, eyes bright with mirth.

It’s so sudden that it startles Steve right out of his thoughts, a welling emotion halted.

“Excuse me, Nancy Wheeler?” he says with a faint grin.

“Steve Harrington,” Nancy returns teasingly. She ruffles a hand through the back of his hair with easy affection, “There. That’s more like it.”

“Am I presentable now?”

“Oh, you’ll do.”

She rests her chin in her hand, just considers him—but it’s a gentle kind of look. Almost like they’re back in English class, and he’s just answered a question without stumbling over his interpretation, and he glances across to her desk, finds her watching him with pride.

“You suited the denim,” she says sincerely. Mimes how he’d shrugged into Eddie’s vest.

Steve feels touched in a way that he can’t fully place, like she’s said something else. Maybe she has.

“Thanks,” he says.

They both look over to the field at a cry of victory. Dustin’s found the stash of 3 Musketeers, holding it aloft like he’s just won a science trophy.

“Hey,” Nancy calls, laughing, “at least one of those is mine!”

Steve can feel her shift, about to stand, and impulsively, he says, “Nance, wait.”

She’s stood already in the split second it took for him to speak, but she turns back.

Steve stands up. Hugs her.

He tries to put all he doesn’t know how to say into it; he does his best, pressing a chaste kiss to her temple. Thinks of how he swept her into an embrace next to the school lockers, her surprised shout of laughter, if you can be this for her, she’ll be happy, you’ll be…

And maybe she’s heard some of it, because her hold tightens around him, like she’s saying, you never deserved any of it, either.

She pulls back. Claps his shoulders to make him sit back down, and they both giggle slightly, both vulnerable. Nancy’s eyes are shining at the corners. But Steve knows they’re the good kind of tears.

He feels them, too.

Nancy nods, smiling wide, blinking in quick succession before the moment’s gone.

He nods back.

And then she’s running over to Dustin, and it almost looks like she’s flying, like she’s sixteen years old again, and nothing ever…

Steve has to close his eyes for just a second. Breathes through it.

Minutes pass before he catches a change in Eddie’s breathing—hears him shift and sigh as he stretches.

Steve tilts backwards, just enough to see Eddie slowly drifting awake on the bench.

“Hey,” Steve says as soft as he can, so Eddie can go back to sleep if he wants; so it can just be part of a dream.

For a moment, it looks like that’s exactly what Eddie will do. But then his eyes find Steve’s, and they light up in recognition.

And he smiles. Sits up.

“Shit, did I really…?” The rest of the question’s lost to a yawn, and he stretches again, rubs a hand across his face to wake himself up.

“Yup,” Steve says. There’s one last bag by his feet, which he picks up to put in Eddie’s view. “This has got your name on it, man.”

Eddie sits down next to him. Steve shifts closer as he hands the bag over, feels the gentle press of Eddie against his side, the warmth left over from sleep.

Eddie whistles at the assortment of food. “Thanks, Steve.”

“Yeah, no—like, thank Dustin, not me.”

Dustin had rattled off a list of Eddie’s favourites—“Actual food this time, Dustin, he’s not surviving on just cereal, it’s depressing,”—which Steve had written hastily on the back of his hand.

He knows that Eddie’s seen the evidence of the list on his skin, faded as it is from the dying pen he’d used, because he smiles when he says, “Mm-hmm, I will,” like they’re sharing a secret; and then he looks off into the distance, squinting against the sun with a hand over his eyes, barks a laugh. “Besides, he looks kinda busy, uh… I don’t actually know what he’s doing. Killing Buckley, maybe?”

Robin’s joking yell punctuates Eddie’s words; it looks like she’s somehow recruited Lucas over to her side, because Dustin’s trying to flatten the pair of them; Erica’s got Dustin’s thinking cap on backwards, while Max shouts, “That’s a foul!”; Nancy’s sat crosslegged, eating candy and throwing out words of amused encouragement.

Eddie chuckles so fondly. He eats some of his share, then sighs with contentment. He stands but doesn’t go far at all, drifts over to a patch of ground like he’s drawn to it. Sits down. Runs his hands through the blades of grass and flowers, even the weeds; it makes Steve smile.

He follows.

They sit close to each other almost like they’re still sharing the step, even though there’s more than enough room to…

Eddie keeps watching the roughhousing. His eyes crinkle at the corners. He looks… happy.

He sighs again, leaning back a little, “This is nice. Who’s idea was it to come here?”

“Nancy’s, really,” Steve says.

But he can tell that Eddie notices the evasion—there’s a barely perceptible twitch of his eyebrow as he listens. He’s getting almost scarily good at it, Steve thinks, but it’s not done in an intimidating way; it’s not like Eddie wants to catch him out in something. It’s more like he… just wants to know. Like he cares.

“But you knew a spot?” Eddie prompts.

“Yeah, I…”

Steve could still avoid it—could just say carelessly, ‘cause we drove past it, duh, and Eddie would let it drop, he knows he would. But…

“I came here when I was a kid. Like, years ago. It was summer, and I think the car broke down or something? So we had to wait for…” Steve shrugs, but it’s just movement for the sake of it, trying to conceal the way his throat’s tightening in slow increments. “It was… I liked it,” he adds. Nods towards the kids. “I thought they might like it, too.” He tries to laugh, “Guess that’s kinda stupid to—”

“I think it’s sweet,” Eddie interrupts firmly. “This place, it’s…” He smiles at Max’s squeal, Lucas lifting her up in a bridal carry. “It’s perfect, Steve.”

Steve tries to smile, because it is perfect, but that suddenly makes it hurt all the more. He’s gripped by a fierce, desperate urge to seize the weapons and burn them, to just let everyone fucking rest, to tell them they don’t have to do it anymore, they never have to—

“Steve,” Eddie says, soft, dismayed—sitting up and touching Steve’s hand where it rests in the grass, so delicately, so kind—

Steve swallows; he must not have pushed it all back in time. He doesn’t want to know what his face looks like, but he can guess, can feel the telltale burn in his eyes—and wavers on the brink. Almost falls. But he catches himself, only just, and when he’s forced to quickly swipe at his eyes with the back of his hand, he reasons that it’s okay. Only Eddie can see.

Still, he should—

“Sorry,” he waves a hand, tries to laugh at himself again, “just ignore me.”

When Eddie smiles, it looks as if he’s only doing it because he’s taking his lead from Steve. His eyes speak for him—like he’s thinking, you’re breaking my heart.

“Ignore you? Shit, man, that’s hard. Have you seen you?”

It’s said with a ridiculous amount of theatrics—so obviously done to lift Steve’s mood. But there’s a note of sincerity that Steve can hear above everything; Eddie isn’t hiding it.

Perhaps he doesn’t need to, either.

“I’m more than just a pretty face, Munson.”

He expects Eddie to laugh. And though he does, it’s quieter than he’d expected, and he says, “Oh, I know. Trust me.” He’s looking at the kids as he speaks. “They’ll be okay, you know.” He doesn’t say it like a platitude. He says it like a promise. “Wheeler, Buckley… me. We have them, too.”

And Steve doesn’t know how Eddie could ever accuse himself of cowardice. God, if you could only hear yourself, he thinks.

“I don’t want—I know. I know you do. I just—just wish—”

His voice fails him.

Eddie tilts his hand, palm up. Steve could act like he’d never seen it all. It’d be easy.

He takes Eddie’s hand. Breathes, and tries again.

“I just wish we didn’t have to—”

It’s as far as he can manage.

Eddie squeezes his hand. Murmurs, very gently, like a memory, “And so do all who live to see such times.”

Steve doesn’t need to ask. He can feel the weight of it through the words alone. Focuses on Eddie’s touch, the way his fingertips brush against Steve’s knuckles, over and over.

And then Steve lets go, but not before squeezing Eddie’s hand in return. Twice. He doesn’t know Morse code, but he hopes he’s understood.

He watches the kids play again. Glances over to the side when he feels another touch, Eddie’s shoulder briefly skimming his. This time he can tell it’s accidental; Eddie’s swaying a little where he sits.

“Shit, sorry. It’s the sun, it’s,” he yawns, “it’s making me…”

Steve’s reminded of the boathouse; of Eddie’s sunken face at Skull Rock.

“You’re just exhausted, Eddie,” he says.

He stands, briefly places his hands on Eddie’s forearms, tries to shield him from the worst of the vertigo. He feels Eddie jump beneath his touch, a forcible jolt back from the edge of sleep. Visceral.

Steve’s chest hurts.

“Wait there,” he says. “I’ll be right back. Hey, try to not fall asleep just yet, ‘kay?”

“M’not,” Eddie says, not very convincingly.

When Steve returns with a pillow from the RV, Eddie is lying in the grass, flat on his back. One hand floats in front of his face, fingers curling like he’s playing guitar chords—like he’s doing it to keep himself awake.

“Dude, that can’t be comfortable,” Steve says. He bends down, taps Eddie on the forehead, which makes Eddie blink slowly, looking at him upside down. “Can I…?”

“Yeah, whatever,” Eddie says softly. It sounds like I trust you.

Gently, Steve cups the back of Eddie’s head, moves it up ever so slightly and puts the pillow in between him and the ground. Eddie settles onto it with a sigh.

Steve moves away, sits back down; Eddie turns to lie on his side, facing him. His cheek presses into the pillow, one leg bending a little, like this is how he lies in bed; there’s a fragile vulnerability to the sight.

The sun draws attention to the grass in his hair. The slightest trace of freckles underneath his eyes; they’ll come out more in summer, Steve finds himself thinking. He wants to be there to see it.

It was summer when he first thought a boy was pretty. That day the car broke down, but his dad was laughing, making the most of it; he’d walked and walked to buy ice-cream and returned victorious to the field, where Steve was waiting with his mom.

They weren’t the only families there—the spot had been much busier years ago: people using it as a pit stop on road trips, Hawkins locals mixed in with folks from out of town, so it felt like the whole world was to be found here, stretching out before them in the grass.

Steve had seen the boy playing tag—it was over in barely a flash, but he still remembers how he held his breath when their eyes met, without understanding why.

He’s pretty, he’d thought, it was the only word he had for it—an instinct from his mom teaching him words, bouncing him on her hip, oh, Steve, look at the pretty flowers.

He’d known even then it was a thought he couldn’t share—like how a child comes to know that they’re not to touch a hot stove.

He’s pretty.

Steve could tell himself that he doesn’t know why he’s remembering it now. But it would be a lie.

Eddie’s tugging idly at the grass, but his hand keeps going slack, twitching with oncoming sleep.

“You know how t’whistle with ‘em?” he asks clumsily.

His eyes are closed. Steve stills his hand, slips a blade of grass out from his loose hold.

“No,” he says, drags it through his teeth like he’ll miraculously make it whistle just by doing that.

Nothing happens, of course; the grass tastes just a little sweet on his tongue. He takes it out from in between his lips and lets it go, to be lost on the wind.

When the taste dissipates, he misses it.

“Yeah, me neither,” Eddie says, amused. His voice is lilting with exhaustion. “My uncle tried to teach me once, but I couldn’t… maybe ‘cause… still had some of my baby teeth… maybe that makes it harder?”

“Maybe,” Steve agrees quietly. He picks some grass out of Eddie’s hair, as lightly as he can. “I’ll ask him for some tips.”

Eddie smiles at that. “He’ll like you,” he says.

He’s half-asleep, Steve reminds himself. He hardly knows what he’s saying.

But he can’t help feeling pleased at the thought.

“Oh, yeah? You think so?”

“Mm-hmm. He likes…” Eddie yawns. “Likes everyone I like. And I… I really like you.”

It’s said so easily. Like it’s simple.

Maybe it could be. Just this once.

Steve feels emotion creeping up his throat, resting heavy on his tongue. This time, he doesn’t push it back; he speaks through it.

“I really like you, too,” he whispers.

Eddie hums sweetly, like he’s heard even when almost all the way to dreaming. “Think there’s a trick to it,” he mumbles, and Steve realises he’s talking about whistling again, lost to a childhood memory.

Stay there, Eddie. Rest.

“A trick?” Steve says in hushed tones.

“Yeah, I… remember he’d… he’d say…”

Eddie falls asleep mid-sentence.

Steve watches him. Angles his shoulder to create shade, shielding him from the sun.

He looks over at the kids: they’re playing tag with Robin now, Nancy joining in—a little quieter, like maybe they’d seen…

If he unfocuses his eyes just slightly, he can almost see his dad coming over the hill with the tubs of ice-cream. His mom smiling, sunburn on her shoulder, and Steve hit with a wave of inexplicable sadness, like he already knew, she’ll never be this happy again.

Eddie sighs in his sleep.

Steve feels a subtle change in the sun on his skin, the afternoon dying.

Stay, he thinks. Mouths it with childish hope, stay, like he’s still the boy who fell asleep right here, in between his parents, wanting the day to stretch on and on—the one who couldn’t outrun the feeling, even then, that he was coming to the end of something.

#do you ever think about just how much Steve loves them all #gay steve harrington #implicit but it’s there #steve harrington fic #pre steddie #steddie fic #steve and nancy #steve and the party #eddie and the party #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #nancy wheeler #steve x eddie #steve and his parents

[unholyhelbig]

Can't wait for part four oh my god

Center picture Cred: Jadiakallisti

Title: The Beast You've Made of Me [Part 4/7]

Ship: Female!Reader x Natasha Romanoff x Wanda Maximoff

Wordcount: 3,545

Summary: When reader wakes up in her own grave, she's suddenly aware of a past that spans lifetimes, but she's not the only one. Two Avengers are tasked with keeping readers past a secret, or at the very least, controlled.

Warnings: Blood, night terrors, chains, mentions of things under the skin, mentions of torture, terrible grammar.

[a/n: This one may be shorter, but damn if it's not filled with plot. I promise, I don't hate Thor. ]

[ Part one | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven ]

Main Masterlist | Read my stuff on AO3 | Leave Requests

Wanda Maximoff stared at you while you slept. She hadn’t meant to do so; she was drawn to you. A blanket that was a soft baby blue was covering you and you’d tightened your grip around it until your knuckles were white. Soft breathes escaped you, and she selfishly thought about other quiet sounds she could draw with her presence.

They’d moved you from the initial containment unit when SHIELD was satisfied enough with your blood results, and your rate of regeneration. There were no more physical tests they could run on you, no more blood or vitals that needed to be taken. So, they’d moved you to a cell that was less like a hospital room and more like a condo.

No, Wanda wouldn’t quite call it that. It was mostly white, the walls honeycombed and equipped with sound proofing in need be. There was a bed, and a nightstand, even a television that was tacked the adjacent wall.

In the corner was a glass containment unit that reminded you that you were, in fact, a prisoner. They’d given you more clothes, simple sweatpants and shirts that had a large stretching logo on the front. You’d considered it a win that it didn’t have an inmate number just below the collar.

Wanda stood at the two-way glass. She didn’t have the heart to push through your reserves when they were lowered like this. And truthfully, her skin still tingled from the first time she had invaded your mind. There was so much there, yet, each time she tried to reach further it was like a rolodex of times and dates, and an immeasurable amount of death.

A calloused hand found its way to the small of her back. Wanda clocked the scent of birch and vanilla. It was familiar and calmed her nerves like a soothing balm. The witch bit down on her thumb nail and spared a worried glance to her wife.

“She looks so peaceful when she sleeps.”

“You wouldn’t believe how loud it is in there.”

Natasha hummed and wrapped her arms around Wanda, resting her chin on the other woman’s shoulder. They both watched you for a few minutes; the curve of your figure, and the rhythmic up and down of your chest. A small frown had etched itself onto your features, but it quickly vanished.

“Nat,” Wanda’s voice was nothing more than a whisper, but she’d turned her head, making it ring loud and clear. “I know we’ve been making jokes about this… toying with her. But, I don’t think I can let her go.”

Natasha squeezed Wanda tighter and made eye contact with her in the reflection of the window. That stare was so genuine that it made Natasha’s heart ache in the center of her chest. She didn’t want to admit it, but she found you quite charming too. Aloof, at times, but there was so much hidden under the surface.

“Yeah, baby. I know what you mean. You’ve always had a thing for the broken ones, and she’s convinced that she falls into that category.”

A sigh moved past Wanda’s lips. Your thoughts were so loud they almost penetrated her defenses. You were having a nightmare. According to Natasha, they all followed the same formula, and if it was anything like she had witnessed; the farmstead, the stretching bone-white rib cage that protruded from the center of a young girl. She wanted nothing of it.

“Can we keep her?” Wanda asked.  

A chuckle vibrated through Natasha. Wanda felt the sensation against her spine and leaned into the feeling, laying her hands over the ones encircling her. “Well, I suppose that’s up to her.”

A frown formed against your features, a pained expression that pulled at them both in ways that they weren’t expecting. Through they glass, they could hear small whimpers that seemed to catch in your throat. You burrowed further into the mattress. If Wanda squinted, she could see tears wet your rosy cheeks.

Then the screaming started. It was wracked with pain, and a second one didn’t’ escape you before both women burst through the door. They each had experience with night terrors, though, from the sound of it, nothing as visceral as yours.

“Solnechnyy svet,” Wanda’s low hum was accompanied by her soft touch. You writhed, effectively shoving the blankets away. You were in a pair of shorts and a tank-top. A growl pushed past your lips, something inhuman and startling.

It was Natasha who saw the darkness under your skin. She clenched her eyes tighter, trying to clear her vision. There were black veins that squirmed just beneath the surface in the form of chains. But no, they couldn’t be. That would irrational. Binds forming under your flesh and wrapped around your bones. It simply wasn’t possible.

Unconsciously, you clawed at your throat, at ghostly links that snaked around your neck. It was choking you, making it hard to breathe. A hiccup pushed past your lips and tears continued to dampen your pillow.

“Wanda, what do we do?”

Natasha had placed a hand firmly on your chest, pressing you into the mattress. She didn’t want you to thrash hard enough to injure yourself but she struggled against your strength. Another cry escaped you, and blinked again, trying to push the image of sharpened teeth from her mind.

“We have to wake her up, I think.”

“What if that hurts her more?”

“I think she’s going to hurt herself if we don’t pull her out of this. It’s so loud. God, her mind is like tar.”

Natasha didn’t wait for an explanation. She straddled your squirming form. She gripped both of your wrists and pinned them above your head. A cry escaped you, even in your sleep you tried fruitlessly to buck her off.

“Can you go in and pull her out?”

“I can try. Everything is so dark. Can you hold her still?”

Natasha grits, pushing all of her weight on you. “I’m trying. Jesus Christ she’s strong.”

Wanda’s eyes flashed a dark, and alarming red. Natasha huffed, knowing that it would be impossible to reach either of you in this moment. Her arms were starting to fail her, strands of copper hair falling into her gaze. The phantom binds seemed to tightened, you sputtered and pulled, but didn’t falter in your fight.

The witches shoulders started to tremble, her jaw clenched and whispered words not reaching Natasha’s ears. You bucked again, pushing into her. She tightened her thighs around your center, trying to lean all of her weight on your arms.

Small pin-pricks of pain erupted the tendons in hands. With fierce eyes, Natasha gawked at the pitch black that spread across your fingers. Your nails were elongating, ending in claws that were sharp enough to pierce her skin and even draw blood.

Wanda drew in a sharp and cloying breath before she wretched herself away from you and stumbled back from the bed. Her eyes were crimson and frantic for a few moments before she could blink the color away, chest heaving up and down. You were finally quiet, falling limp under Natasha.

Natasha panted, looking back at her wife “Are you okay?”

Wanda used the back of her hand to wipe moisture away from under her eyes. Her hands were shaking, her stare frantic. “I could taste blood. All I could taste was blood.”

Natasha made a small noise and looked down at you. The chains had vanished, your skin smooth, if not an irritated red from your scratching. She couldn’t’ glimpse your teeth, but prayed they weren’t pointed. Your nails had retracted and left nothing but small cuts behind.

“Mm, what the fuck,” you grumbled, eyes fluttering open, betraying your groggy state. You were fully pulled from unconsciousness when you realized the pressure against you. “What the fuck?!”

“Yeah, I’d like to ask you the same thing.”

Natasha let her own body go slack, she flopped down next to you to catch her breath. Wanda had lowered herself tentatively to the corner of the mattress. She audibly gulped, trying to quell the dryness in her throat.

“Shit, did I hurt you?” You glanced down at Wanda, raising yourself up onto your elbow. “I hurt both of you.”

“Not really, kitten. Just startled us, is all.”

Her words hung in the air. She was a good liar, possibly the best, but you could still detect the trepidation in her voice. Your entire body was buzzing, thrumming with a type of fear that you hadn’t felt in years. Not since the ice broke, and your brothers gurgled screams echoed in the air.

Wanda looked as if she’d seen a ghost. Her skin was pale and her eyes were borderline wild. You’d only ever seen the woman in pristine composure, and this frightened you more than the metallic scent of blood that wafted off Natasha.

She let out a shaky breathe that had her wife shooting up despites her exhaustion. She curled a finger under the woman’s chin and guided her soft stare. “Baby, what did you see?”

Wanda grabbed Natasha’s hand with her own, lowering it down to her lap, but not releasing her hold. Her eyes found yours. “What did you see?”

You drew your legs to your chest and hugged them close. There was mostly dark, but a deepening sense of dread clung to you throughout sleep. “I… was in Jennifer’s apartment but something was off. It didn’t’ feel right and it didn’t take me long to notice it. I excused myself to go to the bathroom and splash my face with water, but when I opened the door, it was, shit, it was this dense forest.”

Wanda nodded as if she agreed with your recall. It was an endless landscape of stretching evergreens. Through the gaps in the trees you could see a mountain range that was dusted with a powdering of snow. You knew you weren’t alone, but you couldn’t quite see who was with you.

“There were chains, dozens of them that I was meant to break. The people around me willed that I didn’t, that I couldn’t. But they were easy to snap, nothing for me to push through.”

“They made other chains, didn’t they?” Wanda asked gently.

You nodded. “I think they were afraid of me. I scared them with my size, with my strength. What does that mean?”

Wanda shook her head and gave you a sympathetic stare. If she had felt a fraction of the fear, the contempt, that you had, then you owed her an apology. It hit you like a stone but could break bones like a boulder if one wasn’t careful.

The glass shattered under the strength of the hit. A fierce ache shot down your spine, the pop of windowpane not registering until the pebble-sized shards reined down around your bare feet. Your breathe had effectively been knocked out of you, and kept out by the mans iron-tight grip on your throat, his other hand keeping you steady by wrapping around the fabric of your shirt.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

This man was huge and could easily toss you to the sun if he weren’t restraining himself. He smelled of citrus, of a kind of mint that tickled your throat. Your introduction to Thor, God of Thunder, was not at all what you had imagined.

There was a flicker of anger in his eyes before he launched himself at you. He’d shoved you into the glass pane and decided to choke the life out of you. Your hands clawed at his unwavering grip, lungs burning and legs kicking. Spots had started to form in your vision.

Natasha and Steve tried to pull him away, making little progress. You were losing consciousness, not able to fight back in your current state of shock. His arms were suddenly wrenched back. You fell to the floor, glass embedding itself in it’s skin.

You coughed and sputtered, not registering the phantom manes of red around his wrist, and arms. You curled into yourself, coughing as you greedily took in as much air as you could. Natasha was at your side in an instant. Steve’s aftershave coating your throat as he checked you over. Both disregarded the glass.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Natasha was on her feet, satisfied that you had turned away from death’s doorstep. She closed the distance between herself and the God of Thunder, shoving him with a strong hand. “You touch her again and I’ll put you through a wall. Understand?”

She was deterred by the fear in his eyes. She’d known this man for years, and had him backed into a corner with a protective fury in her bones. Thor was a gentle giant, never using his strength without a driving factor. There was apprehension in his stance, large hands dragging down his bearded face.

“Lady Romanoff, I assure you, you do not know what you are protecting.”

“I just watched you throw someone half your size through a glass window. Explain to me why I wouldn’t protect her.”

She glanced over at you, on your feet and with Steve’s arm around your middle, keeping you up. The hardness of his stare mirrored Natasha’s. Wanda’s eyes were neural, but magic whirred around her fingertips like worms, writhing for purchase.

“That is not a woman!” He laughed, boisterous, yet without humor, he pointed a finger at you. “That is the end of times, the catalyst for the fall of Valhalla and Asgard. My home! If you don’t destroy it, I will.”

“No one is destroying anything.” Wanda snarled, effectively placing herself between Thor and yourself. Her arms were crossed over her chest. “We called to you for answers, not this. You’re welcome to return to your galivanting around space.”

“You expect me to leave? Not until I have it in chains.”

This brought your own stare to his, hardening your stance. A low growl escaped your chest, one that had a dark rumble to it, silencing the entire room. It was inhuman, it pulled the air away and filled the area with tension.

“You see that? That’s just a fraction of power. You let it get in and manipulate you, then you’ll be responsible for the world crumbling. You hear me?”

“Hi, yes,” You raised a shaky hand, “Do I have a say in this?”

“I cannot talk to you!” He said, almost frantically, taking a step back, “I refuse to let you manipulate me.”

Steve cleared his throat, taking control of the room. He removed himself from you when he was certain that you weren’t going to topple over. The pain had turned into a dull hum, and then soon, nothing at all. Your own hair was standing up at the presence of Thor.

“We’re being rash here. You’re clearly bothered by y/n. Before we jump to conclusions, maybe we should talk about this.” He offered, earning a huff and an apprehensive stare. “Explain to us what has you so spooked.”

Yes, god please. You pleaded silently. There was the inherent fear in his stance, but that at least gave way to him knowing exactly what you were. The horror was more accepting than the confusion. He’d sited the end of worlds, and you certainly knew you didn’t’ have that in you, standing in a pair of blood-soaked sweatpants and awkwardly picking a shard of glass from your palm.

Thor’s shoulders had dropped. He’d deflated like a balloon and suddenly looked as pale as Wanda had earlier. He kept his distance from you, licking his dry lips and scratching the back of his head. “Captain, do you recall the struggle of going up against Loki? This deceit and his tricks, and his betrayal.”

He nodded, the room engulfed in quiet. It was their first encounter as a team and so much had happened since then. Natasha clenched and unclenched her jaw, recalling her turmoil with Clint, but keeping her thoughts to herself. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other.

“We scraped by in that war. Can you imagine the damage his daughter will do if unleashed on this world?”

Thor didn’t get an answer. All eyes had turned to you, finally dislodging the piece of glass from your hand. You let it fall to the floor, your mouth opening as if you wanted to say something, but it died before spoken.

“No,” You laughed, shaking your head “No, absolutely not. I have very normal parents who didn’t’ try to take over the world. My dad paints houses and my mom teaches biology and there is no way in hell I’m anyone else’s child!”

He looked at you with a form of pity now. Just like the rest of the Inhuman’s and heroes of the world, you hadn’t kept up with Loki. Of course, you recognized the sourness behind his name. The malice and the hundreds of lives that he took. But you also recognized the familiar feeling in your gut.

“I don’t’ understand,” Wanda spoke up, “We ran all of the background checks. FRIDAY didn’t’ find a single red flag in Y/n’s history. She was born and grew up in Hoboken. The only police report is from a busted house party and she was just in a holding cell until she sobered up. She is, by all accounts, normal aside from digging herself out of her own grave.”

“You were not supposed to die, so you didn’t.”

“I got hit by a taxi.”

“Okay,” Natasha soothed, placing a calming hand on your back. Nothing was connecting, and it all swirled around your mind viciously. Thor was your uncle? Your angry, blood thirsty uncle.

“Loki had three children that were all a threat to Asgard. And for centuries, the population struggled with their existence, feared them. They were unstoppable creatures that craved nothing but blood and carnage.”

Okay, ouch. The only thing you craved right now was normalcy. It seemed so far out of reach. If you could turn back time and go back to your desk job and your quiet comfort, you would be content for eternity.

“Jormungandr was trapped within the waters that surrounded Asgard, meant to float in a limbo for all eternity. And Hel, she was sent to the underworld to rule. Better the dead than the living be effected by her cruelness.” Thor grimaced, nearly shuddered at the thought of her. “And then there is you. Fenrir.”

“y/n,” You suggested quietly.

He pointed at you with a shaking finger “untamable. Feral. They attempted to chain you down twice before they realized that no metal was strong enough to hold you. They needed to trap you in a different way to stop the coming of Ragnarök.”

“What did you do?” Wanda asked, voice unsteady with anger.

“I didn’t’ do anything. The people of Asgard knew that if they were truly to be safe from its reign, then they’d have to banish it somewhere that didn’t’ offer much power. So, they crafted chains. Ones that would keep it’s animal nature restrained on Asgard, but it’s conscious in a constant state of torture.”

“Oh, nice, cool.” You let out a shaky breath. “That’s really comforting, thank you.”

He sneered at you, fueled by years of legend that had seeped into his brain. You couldn’t remember seeing this type of hatred in anyone before, and certainly not the Avenger that was voted the ‘most huggable’ in at least ten teen magazines.

“You tore Tyr’s hand from his body, ripped his tendons and filled your mouth with blood, you greedy animal.”

“That’s enough.” Steve barked. “You’ve explained nothing. If she is some all-powerful world-ending child of a God, then how is she here?”

“Don’t you get it, Cap? This is it’s prison. Centuries of pain. Life after life watching it’s family die in the most horrific ways. It’s the same prison we’ve trapped Loki in for his sins and the same one it’s fated to live forever.”

The dreams you’d had for years flashed before you in a dizzying brigade. Thor looked much too satisfied for your liking but Natasha’s sudden grip on your arm stopped you. She gave you a knowing look, a warning telling you to stay in place, and against your better judgement, you listened.

“I think it’s time for you to leave.” Wanda said.

“Fine,”

He laughed again, taking a few steps away from the three avengers and their charge. His boots crunched against the glass. He refused to turn his back to you, instead keeping a vicious glare on his features until he made it to the door. You fought off the chills that threatened to work their way through your body. If not for Natasha, you would have fallen back to the floor.

“Be warned, Lady Romanoff. When I return, I will not be alone. I cannot guarantee your safety in the event that you throw yourself between me and this beast again.”

“Go.” Wanda rumbled, “Now.”

Thor held up both hands, nodding his head at Steve before he finally willed himself to turn. The three of you watched helplessly as you walked with a purpose down the corridor. His footfalls echoed, and you swore that you could hear them even when he was out of view.

[Taglist💕: @dannipotatoo, @non-binary-frogking, @mysticalmoonlight7, @metanoiablxxm, @coxlong, @b3nzzzzz, @simpforlizzie, @delulu-bayolet-era, @dorabledewdroop, @crescentcrush, @roselockwood, @ellieromanov, @leenasayeed, @theowlappears, @pitifulbinx, @pepemyfantasy, @tekanparadiae, @skittlebum, @mariabeloskivismyoc, @natsbiggestfan1, @marvelwomen-simp, @cinffy23, @kyky-maximoff, @natalierushmansstuff, @bstvst, @lezzylover, @404-almostdone, @mishimrno, @maxidentbby, @shayarshucky, @merlinsouls, @neothepotato, @aliherreraaa, @olicity-boo, @tarathia, @thinking1bee, @shayarshucky, @bstvst]

#Natasha Romanoff #Natasha Romanov #Wanda Maximoff #scarlet witch #black widow #Natasha Romanoff x you #Natasha Romanoff x reader #Natasha Romanoff x y/n #Natasha Romanov x you #Natasha Romanov x y/n #Natasha Romanov x reader #Wanda Maximoff x you #Wanda Maximoff x reader #Wanda maximoff x y/n #Wandanat #Wandanat x reader #Wandanat x you #Wandanat x y/n #Marvel

[skunkox]

"Until he gets tired of me."

That's was Darlin's answer anytime someone questioned their relationship with Sam. A pircing but deep pain would shoot through their chest every time they said it. But it was always said in a joking tone and a movement to distract the other person from their face.

No one needed to see how that thought may have hurt them. They knew what they were getting into from jump. Darlin' felt safe. Safer than they had felt in a long time. They found that safety in Sam and were grateful for it. Nothing is promised, and to have had Sam in their life at all was a blessing and a mercy.

As much as they hated the thought of Sam ever leaving them, Darlin' could never blame him. They'd fucked up so many times in their life. People had gotten hurt. They were reckless. In being so, caused Sam to strain himself to care and worry for them.

There were day they wished Sam would just pack up and go. To rid himself the headache of their presence. But whenever they woke, he was always right there, holding them close and tightly.

He'd never do that, though. It was obvious to anyone who actually bothered to see them together. The tenderness in his eyes. The gentleness of his touch. The vampire was beyond sprung for the wolf. He was happy. Like he was finally healing.

Sam wouldn't be going anywhere. Sam learned that about himself very quickly after the first couple of meetings. Darlin' knew as well. A part of their brain screamed to believe otherwise. They hadn't done anything to deserve his grace. His patience. His love. Love that was promised to them until the end of their time.

"Do you think Count Yee-Haw will stay?"

The question had been asked once again. This time, by a young boy named Carlos. He had gotten attached to Darlin' as a toddler and was one of the few pack members that was genuinely happy to see them back.

Count Yee-Haw was the nickname the the pack kids had given Sam. Only they could call him that, though. It was a name bestowed upon him after the collective decided to put his vamp strength to the test. The poor man was literally dog piled and left to hold and stumble around with a minimum of 8 kids hanging off his frame like ornaments. It was a title he was growing fond of.

"Probably. At least until he gets tired of me." Darlin gave the boy a half-hearted smile and pulled forward the hood of his jacket.

"I heard some of the adults talking. They said that he wouldn't stay when you get older." Carlos admitted, frown all too clear on his face. "It's stupid. He obviously loves you. And you're happy now. Isn't that enough?"

The words spoken came from a place of care. Carlos had missed his favorite rebel and defender of Asher's antics. Truth be told, he was worried Darlin' would become uneasy around the pack again and got MIA again. They were more stable with the southern vamp at their side.

Darlin' was about ready to hug the kid in an attempt to soothe his nerves. But a single thought ran through their head. Carlos was a sweet kid. But what he said was just a little nice? Too nice to come from a tween.

"Besides. I don't think you'll ever stop being weird. A d he already talks like an old ma-." Darlin' cut him short with a smack to the back of his head.

"If you think that, why even ask?"

"Because I know you hear them too. And I don't want you guys to go anywhere."

🦇🐺🦇🐺🦇🐺🦇🐺

If you read all that, I'm sorry.

Labeling this as part 1 cause I'm tired. Sorta been drained all week. Hoping to get actually rest this weekend and do a part 2. I have a habit of starting things and not finishing.

AO3 scares me, so small shit will remain here for the time being.

#redacted audio #redacted asmr #redactedverse #redacted fic #redacted darlin #redacted tank #redacted sam #sam collins

[kyletogaz]

hi, i’m jess. this is my masterlist i guess (will be updating every time i post something new). also my inbox is open if you want to chat

18+ MDNI

AO3

kyle “gaz” garrick

welcome home, it’s wash day

finger food

reconnaissance (mission shenanigans with gaz & soap)

meet cute with kyle

the first time kyle says i love you

it’s just sex, right?

getting back together

what’s your deal? (kyle asks you out)

simon “ghost” riley

baby, it’s cold inside (#ghostchallenge)

do better (thigh riding)

just one more, lovie

simon fucks the attitude out of you

letting go (breaking up with simon) (part 2: johnny x reader)

captain john price

keep quiet

john “soap” mactavish

heal me (part 1: simon x reader)

-

i don’t write:

rape/non-con

breeding kink

piss play

pregnancy/established children

teen/adult romance

shit that will get you blocked:

requesting anything i wrote in the previous section above ↑

racism/anti-blackness (i’m black and i don’t play that shit)

misogyny/misogynoir (refer to what i said above)

if you are a minor and/or faceless blog (if you are not a minor, put your age in your bio and post stuff!)

demanding there be an additional part to whatever i write (i see it all the time on my dash, don’t bring that mess to my blog)

#is this how you do it? 🙃 #kyle gaz garrick #simon riley x reader #kyle garrick x reader #soap mactavish x reader #john price x reader #simon ghost riley #call of duty masterlist #📁-kyletogaz

[thegildedbee]

Do-Over: May 20 Prompt from @calaisreno

Program Note: Since there are a bunch of these posties, I've also stuck them onto my ao3 site since that's easier than my going back through tumblr later if I end up trying to make them grow up into a real fic :-) You can also find them at the May 2024 Prompts collection, in the company of multitudes of breathtakingly creative ficsters and their fics to read and treasure, organized by @calaisreno -- what a maestro they are, with setting in motion this whole fantabulous outpouring of mayday-mayhem and orchestrating it all month long, amirite? Yes, I am! :-) ........................................................................... “Really? Really? I can’t even open a goddamn email message without getting knocked about and run over and pissed on,” John fumes, trapped in a fight-or-flight reaction that is equal parts fight and equal parts flight, making his head feel like it’s going to explode. He throws his coffee cup against the wall, and his only regret is that the effort does nothing in terms of relieving any of the pressure. “Of course it doesn’t,” he says through clenched teeth.

The last weeks have been an agony. The first weekend in February had ushered in heavy rains and sharp winds, which had him making his way across London while dragging his boots through grimy slush that inevitably trickled its way inside his socks in icy rivulets. He landed on his arse at one point while crossing the road, which annoyed the already angry drivers who leaned on their horns as they skidded around him.

He’d stayed inside for the next four days, until the sun appeared for a brief flirtation with the city before being swallowed up by the charcoal ash-smudged clouds once again.

He knows, obviously, that one month out from Sherlock’s funeral, that it's still early days for being able to have any sort of balance inside, but still, he hadn’t thought that there were bottoms below the bottoms to which he’d already plummeted. But whether he acknowledges it forthrightly or not, part of what is driving his internal fury is the incessant advertising for Valentine’s Day. It makes him want to take his gun and shoot a skull and crossbones into the nearest brick wall.

Staring at the mess of ceramic shards and wild splatters of coffee, he puts his hands on his hips and hangs his head. “You need to get it out, John,” he spits out in a whiny, imitative falsetto. “Say it now, John. Say what you didn’t say.”

There was the huge British Airways billboard, of a blue sky with a white fluffy cloud in the shape of a heart, with a jet and its contrail slicing through it like a cupid’s arrow:

“London to Singapore: This Valentine’s Day, Say it With an Escape Voucher.”

Escape. Right.

There was the Twitter campaign on the Underground, with large mock-ups of sarcastic dating tweets, like:

*finds a soulmate.* *swipes left in hope of finding a hotter soulmate.*

The mass text message from Angelo’s, advertising the Valentine’s Day prix fixe dinner:

“Eat with Your Heart.”

Today, though. Could this be any more ludicrous? It was nothing but a mundane email message, to be sent to the trash in a trice. But.

It was one of those emails, where the writer puts an inspirational quote underneath their signature.

“There are no do-overs, but there are second chances.”

Oh, yes, he was feeling so uplifted, now. So appreciative of the earnest guidance. So motivated to become more self-aware.

" . . . there are second chances."

Like hell there are.

He hears the sound of the door opening, and of his sister bustling into the vestibule, chattering and gesticulating her way toward the kitchen with her usual noise and bluster.

"Hey, Johnny? You home?” she asks, as she rounds the corner, stopping short at the sight of the smoldering vibrations he's giving off. “Oh. There you are. What happened?”

John shakes his head, giving her a sardonic smile. “I don’t know what to tell you, Harry. The mug just jumped right out of my hand and ran into the wall.”

She looks at him sideways, immediately aware from his tone that something is clearly gravely amiss, that the shattered cup is just the tip of something harsher. Although, when wasn’t he finding something amiss? It's been a never-ending rotation of anger, depression, anger, depression, anger, depression. 

“I picked up some groceries," she says, cautiously. "There’s some of that ice cream you like. Also fruit and veg if you’re going to take a stab at fighting off the scurvy you've got coming on.”

John walks into the kitchen, his demeanor collapsing from rage to stoicism. “Hey. Let me help.”

“Sure, thanks, Johnny. Oh, I wanted to ask you for a favor – it’s a bit daft, but I thought I’d just give it a shot."

“Okay.”

“Trina wants to go to a film on Valentine’s Day. Would it be possible for you to watch her two kids for a few hours at her place?”

John stares at her in disbelief, pulling back his neck and peering at her with skepticism.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah," she says, hurriedly. "I see that’s going over real well. Never mind.”

John shakes his head. "Harry, it's just that I have no idea if I can be in charge of someone's kids right now. I imagine I could, but it’s not exactly in my wheelhouse. I mean, safety first, with kids, and I'm not in the best head."

Harry brushes her shoulder against his, trying to lighten the mood. "Are you serious? Can you handle kids? What about living with Sherlock – you said it was like running a day nursery sometimes. And you kept him out of trouble just fine, kept him in one piece -- ”

Her hand flies to her mouth and her eyes go impossibly wide. “Oh no, I’m so sorry, Johnny, oh no, I didn’t think, I just let my mouth run on.” She looks at him standing there, rigid except for a slow inhale, and a scary length of time holding his breath, until he finally begins to let it escape in stingy exhalations. She tries to explain, with, “It’s just, you know, you always said it was like managing a child at times" -- and his expression is really alarming her now -- "oh no, never mind, I will shut up. Right now. I'm so sorry."

John says nothing. He turns his head to the side and looks behind him; looks above him; looks at Harry; looks down at his feet; clenches his hands; unclenches his hands; clenches his hands again; starts to say something; stops; shakes his head; looks at Harry again; rolls his eyes; and throws up his hands.

“That’s it. Harry, this isn't because of the last few moments, it’s just I'm at the end of my rope after a very bad few weeks. Look. I just need to get out of here. I'm going to go away for a few days. I appreciate what you're doing for me, and for being able to be here, but just for now, I need to get away."

“Okay, John," she says, placatingly, contrite. "I’m sorry, I really –” she stops when he holds up his hand.

“Not the issue, Harry. Truly.”

“But where are you going to go? Are you going to be okay?” she says urgently, worried about this sudden turn of events, and what it might mean.

“I don’t know," John says plainly, shrugging his shoulders. "I may just go to the train station and throw a dart at the departures board. But, look, I’m going to grab a few things and then I’ll be off. Best have me out the way for yourself as well.”

Not stopping to double-guess himself or to have to explain himself further, John jogs over to his room and hastily grabs at the first few things he sees that he might need, stuffs them into his rucksack, puts on his heavy coat, and gives Harry a kiss on the forehead. “I’ll let you know where I land.”

"Promise, Johnny?”

“Promise.”

John practically runs out the door, feeling like he's flying apart, and wanting to get outside and to start moving toward something, somewhere, even if it’s just pretend. He loves London, he does. So much, but he's been so many places around the city with Sherlock for so many different reasons, it’s an atlas of emotion that he is always aware of. To be honest, he also doesn’t want to leave London right now, for the same reason; London means Sherlock, and he wants to hold on to as much of him as he can right now.

Fight or flight.

He wonders: should he visit Sherlock's grave? Would that help him shake some of this? No, the gravesite is an ending, and he doesn’t want to be reminded of endings, of feeling like he's being ground into the pavement by a merciless force.

Some place that is a memory of beginnings? Bart’s is out, he says to himself with a harsh chuckle. Not 221B. 

Where then?

He thinks back to those first days, and pulls up his general knowledge of London transport and pleads with it to find him an answer.

Paddington, it says. Paddington? Ah, he knows this. All right, then: Paddington.

He’s going to Cardiff.

........................................................

@calaisreno @totallysilvergirl @friday411 @peanitbear @original-welovethebeekeeper

@helloliriels @a-victorian-girl @keirgreeneyes @starrla89 @naefelldaurk

@topsyturvy-turtely @lisbeth-kk @raina-at @jobooksncoffee @meetinginsamarra

@solarmama-plantsareneat @bluebellofbakerstreet @dragonnan @safedistancefrombeingsmart @jolieblack

@msladysmith @ninasnakie @riversong912 @dapetty

.............................................................................

#mayprompts2024 #calaisreno #sherlock bits and bobs #may prompts 2024 #johnlock

[clockwork-ashes]

All You Have Is Your Fire - Part XIV

Find all previous parts on Ao3 :)

Summary: 'I can hear your heart beating through the stone.' For the briefest of moments, Lucien wondered if his mate would know exactly when his heart’s steady rhythm came to a sudden stop.

Note: A huge thank you to the lovely @bettdraws who deserves all the credit for the post that inspired me to start writing this :) Another huge thank you to everyone reading! ALSO please look at this post, I gasped it's so lovely. All of @teddyhoneybear's moodboards are stunning <3

Tag List: @anishake / @nocasdatsgay / @mybestfriendmademe / @talibunny30 / @halfbutneverwhole / @wishfulimaginings / @goldenmagnolias / @emmers-bens123 / @cauldronblssd / @xirose / @rarephloxes / @thehighlordishere /

Elain was floating. Black skirts weightless, hair a halo. She could not tell if the water was cold, but there were shivers going up her spine, causing ripples around her. 

Elain felt as her lips pulled down. She was looking up, the endless sky over her. There was no moon, she noticed. Slowly, even the stars began to wink out, darkness taking their place. One by one, they disappeared, and Elain could do nothing but watch, unmoving. 

Unease washed over Elain like a gentle wave as she felt something by her bare feet. 

Hands. 

Bones. 

Wrapping itself around her ankle, it tugged, swift as lightning. Elain did not even get the chance to scream as she was pulled into the depths, still unable to see the moon. 

Elain woke up with a jolt, heart racing and each of her senses heightened. She had truly had enough of her strange dreams. Running a hand through her hair, Elain gave herself a moment to calm down, stretching her legs over the arm of the chair she had slept in. 

Elain sat up with a tired huff. She would go to the library, she thought, grab a book on the cauldron and return before the sun was daybright. It was almost embarrassing to admit just how very little she still knew about the object that had seen fit to curse her with the powers of a seer. 

As she considered going alone to search for the library in the winding halls of the Forest House, her eyes fell on Lucien. Elain knew she had agreed to speak with her mate, but with the dreams completely plaguing her thoughts, she figured she would be too distracted to focus. 

Lucien was still sound asleep, and Elain was surprised she had managed to wake up earlier than him. The covers were pulled up to his waist, the laces of his shirt undone, chest rising and falling steadily. The way he was laying down, Elain could not see his scar. 

For a moment Elain wondered if she should wake him, should ask him to escort her to the library he had taken her to on that first day she had been in the Autumn Court. As quickly as the thought had come to her, she pushed it aside, sighing as she got up to choose the dress she would wear. 

Elain decided she would ask Cora to come with her, hoping the other woman would not mind being called on before everyone else had woken up. 

Eris’s words from the night before about wearing Night Court colours went through her mind as she stood in front of the large closet, filled with dresses she had brought, but also a few that were not her own. Elain ignored his words and grabbed a dress in a dark shade of plum, small diamonds along the bottom of the skirts making it seem like stars had been plucked from the sky and sewn into the fabric. 

As Elain looked in the mirror, it pained her to admit that the emerald green dress from the night before suited her better. She scowled at her reflection, turning away. 

With silent steps, Elain quickly made her way across her and Lucien’s shared chambers, careful not to wake him. She cast a final glance in her mate’s direction, and was glad to see that he had not stirred. She checked to see if the door was locked, surprised but pleased when the handle turned and she could slip out, shutting the door behind her. 

Elain lifted her skirts, worrying at her bottom lip as she questioned whether it was a smart idea to leave Lucien’s side. In the last few days, she had come to the decision that Lucien was in fact quite likeable, but she was glad for some distance, especially knowing that they were going to talk about all that had happened in the last few days. 

When Elain was near her mate, nothing felt true. 

She was certain that the mating bond was influencing her thoughts, but being away from him gave her time to think. 

Elain knew she could not marry Lucien, but she was also aware of how dreadfully complicated the situation she had gotten herself in was. She continued to consider how they might find a way out of a wedding ceremony as she walked down the maze-like halls of the Forest House. 

Elain was almost sure she knew where she was going, and she felt some of the tension in her shoulders leave as she spotted the stairs that led down to the floor with Cora’s room. Hand on the wooden railing, Elain skipped steps as she quickly made her way to the guest suite she and Lucien had taken Cora to after their short visit to the library. 

Elain paused in front of the other woman’s door, gathering some courage before she finally knocked, three gentle taps with her knuckles against the wood. 

“Cora,” she said, the word a breath falling between her teeth, knocking again. “Cora, it’s Elain.” 

Elain heard the latch of the lock falling, right before Cora pulled the door open, the hinges screaming. She was surprised that the other woman was fully dressed and ready for the day, her dark hair in an intricate braid. 

Cora raised a dark brow, looking past Elain and checking the hallway for anyone else. “Why are you awake?” She asked. 

“Will you come to the library with me?” 

With elegant steps, Cora moved to stand outside her room. “Right now?” 

Elain simply nodded in response.

“Just the two of us?” Cora further clarified, slight unease leaking into her tone. 

“I have to go to the library. You don’t—”

Before Elain could finish her sentence, Cora shut the door behind her, interrupting. “I’ll come,” she said, determined. “Will Lucien be joining?” 

“No, no, I don’t want him knowing. Not Eris, either,” Elain added. “I hope this will stay between us.” 

“Walk and talk, Elain,” Cora’s eyes were bright with amusement as she flashed a mischievous smile. “I love secrets.” 

Elain hooked an arm through Cora’s, and began to explain in hushed whispers how she had begun to see visions during the war with Hybern. The other woman’s presence was a comfort as Elain told her about her recent dreams, about the heavy feeling in her chest of knowing that something was wrong. 

“I know nothing about these…abilities,” Elain admitted. The words choked her, nerves settling in her gut. She cast a glance at their surroundings, and furrowed her brow. “And I don’t know where we are.” It took Elain a great effort not to release a childlike groan. 

Cora pulled them both to a stop, looking around their unfamiliar surroundings. “I thought you knew where you were going.” 

“Let’s just assume I know nothing about everything,” Elain blew a stray curl from where it had fallen in front of her eyes. 

Cora snorted as she dragged Elain towards a pair of carved oak doors, firelight filtering through the crack of space between them. 

Elain sighed in relief as she spotted towering shelves in the small space, rows of ancient books neatly organised. Although it was a library much smaller than the one Lucien had taken them to, it was no less lovely. Every piece of furniture, all the carpets, even most of the books looked worn. 

Quietly shutting the doors behind them, Cora put a gentle hand to Elain’s elbow. “Where should we start?” 

With a small laugh, Elain faced the other woman. “I have no idea.” 

Cora pushed her gently, playfully, like a friend might. “I’ll take the shelves on the left,” she said with a smile.  

Elain was so grateful for Cora’s presence, so glad that she was not alone in that moment. “Thank you,” the words were sincere. 

Just as they were about to go their separate ways, Elain heard a voice, lovely as windchimes behind them. 

“It’s not very often that unexpected visitors stumble into my private library.” Cora did not seem startled, but Elain jumped at the sound. Turning slowly, not knowing who she would face. 

The Lady of Autumn was stunningly beautiful and Elain found herself searching for Lucien’s features on her cold but beautiful face. She was wearing a dress with intricate gold details stitched along the brown bodice, her hair a striking contrast against the dark fabric. Just as Eris’s did, her red hair seemed to flicker like a dying ember in the light of the torches. Elain found herself uncertain of what to say, lips parting slightly in surprise.

“Apologies, lady,” Cora curtsied, speaking for them both, and Elain fumbled with her skirts to do the same. “We had not realised, we will take our leave.” 

“No need,” the lady offered as she waved an elegant hand, “It’s been some time since I’ve enjoyed the company of those other than my family.” Like a wolf, she tilted her head, directing her russet gaze at Elain. “Though I suppose we will be family soon enough.”

Elain plastered on her most convincing smile, “Lucien has told me so much about you, my lady.” The lie fell from her lips naturally. 

At the title, the older woman scrunched her nose in distaste. “Please, call me Callista.” She lifted an auburn brow, “you are to be my daughter, after all.” 

Cora remained silent as Elain took a few careful steps in Callista’s direction. “I had wished to meet you, to truly meet you, but…” she trailed off, unsure what to say next. 

The Lady of Autumn nodded as though she understood. “I am happy to see you in my court, Elain Archeron of Night.” Elain could practically feel the genuine emotion in the room, a mother honestly glad that her son was to be married. 

Guilt crawled up Elain’s spine, brief and unwelcome. “I was looking for a book,” she said suddenly, hoping to change the subject. 

“A specific one?” Callista offered, “I’ve read all the ones here.” 

Elain was struck by just how old the other woman was, how old most of the fae were. She once again remembered that while Cora looked the same age as her, there were probably decades between them.

“I’m looking…” Elain paused, not knowing what to say to get what she wanted from the library, but not wanting to reveal her intentions to the High Lord’s wife. “Do you have a book on lakes?” Callista furrowed her brow, looking confused. Elain blushed, speaking again before the lady could respond. “Or, perhaps a book on witches?” 

The Lady of the Autumn Court grinned, reminding Elain very much of Lucien. “On witches? I have many.”

#acotar #a court of thorns and roses #elucien #elain archeron x lucien vanserra #elain archeron #lucien vanserra #autumn court #eris vanserra #the lady of the autumn court #ashes writes sometimes #all you have is your fire #thank you to everyone who has taken the time to comment and reblog and like <3

[vampiratelafitte]

PINK

— read this first or this might not make sense!

— ao3 link!

Sandra Lynn had noticed this pattern lately. 

The house was full — always loud and busy — and she loved it. She loved knowing Lydia could work out in the gym with Ragh, and Jawbone hummed when he folded laundry; She loved when Tracker would shuffle about her room still in her parka as if the manor wasn’t always a toasty seventy something degrees, and Aelwyn snuck about to do her laundry like she wasn’t unignorable; She spent part of her evening on the porch watching Zayn and Adaine sit next to each other and whisper in soft tones and glowing in the graveyard mist; She loved hearing Fabian and Kristen shriek at each other about whatever crazy thing they were fighting about at that point — ribbon dancing maybe?

The point was, the noise would be so loud through every room of the manor, the whole place was bursting with shuffling, shrieking, static life, except for the room in the basement right under the piano. It was always just a little too quiet. 

Figueroth Faeth was not a quiet kid, she never had been. For the first four months of the baby’s life, Sandra Lynn had gotten a grand total of ten hours of sleep a week and spoke her voice raw responding to the babbling as if it was recognisable language. When Fig was a little older, and crashing through their house with a velocity that neither she or Gilear could keep up with, there was singing to let them know where she was. Even after all the bad happened, and she was watching her daughter self-immolate, there was always laughter barking, happy or bitter; but always loud.

Not anymore.

For a while she told herself it was the exhaustion. The kids all had so much going on. Kristen was student body president, Adaine had a paid job, and Fig was pulling together the new album the band had produced; and those were just some of her girls. Sometimes though, she heard the three of them talking about it, half laughing and half yawning, in sleep blurred conversations behind doors cracked open so each knew the other didn’t want to be alone. 

‘The Saint of the Twilight pantheon, the Oracle of Stars, and the Archdevil of Rebellion walk into a Haunted Manor –’ Fig would intone and the others would start cackling, drunk on sleep starvation, before she could finish.

It was summer now though, and the kids had been resting up for weeks after fighting Porter. The smudges of purple under everyone’s eyes had disappeared, and they all smiled like there weren’t weights on their backs now. She liked the new friends that were dragged to the Manor for the most part, she liked having Ayda’s feet clack over floorboards again.

Really though, she missed her kid. Her loud, wonderful Fig.

She imagined that Fig would get considerably less quiet imminently. Her hands were clutching a shirt and, even as she stared at the tattered posters and unmade bed in the room, she laughed a little hysterically at the pink (once white) shirt. It had been Ayda’s, but Fig had taken to wearing it to bed. Sandra Lynn was screwed. Her doom was only compounded by the emergence of horns over the top of where she was holding it up in front of her. 

‘Mom? Is that Ayda’s shirt? What the hell!’ She shrieked, and then pink hands were tugging it from her grasp. They were a lighter pink than the shirt, but only by a few shades; those hands were one of Sandra Lynn’s favourite colours in the world – alive. She had seen what Fig looked like dead, her eyes glazed over and her limbs limp. Her skin, when she was upright and bright, was a shade of pink that had looked like all over sunburn to the untrained eye. It made her think of baby blankets and the strength of one of her daughter’s most crushing hugs after a long adventure. It was the colour of clouds at sunset and highlighter doodles in the corner of textbook pages.

‘Sorry – I’m so sorry Fig! Someone’s owlbear jersey got mixed in and I just… messed it up.’ She sighed and scrubbed a hand over her eyes, eventually dropping her hands to her sides and shrugging. It wasn’t as often that she felt useless these days, but now she did. One misstep and suddenly it was like she had to start all over. Her fingers spasmed to do anything but hang uselessly at her sides, but she made them stay still. For some reason, she couldn’t do the same to her voice, and she found herself restlessly still talking.

‘I hope you’re okay, kid, and not just about this, but everything. You’ve been quiet lately, and I don’t know whether it’s all this responsibility or your dad being so busy, or Gilear having a new baby, or even if it’s me letting all these people stay here…’ she breathed a long breath and wondered why she couldn’t stop and shut up ‘– but I want you to know I’m here for you.’

Big red eyes, squinted, baffled and amused before Fig screwed the shirt up and threw it to the side. She launched herself at her mom and Sandra Lynn wrapped her arms around her kid instinctively, running her fingers over that long intricate braid. The familiar feeling of horns poking into her shoulder was coupled with a voice that seemed quieter than it used to be, but not because it was any less happy, ‘mom it’s just a shirt, it’s okay.’

Sandra Lynn sniffled but tried her best to make it sound like a pained exhale instead, ‘it was a clean, folded shirt, but I’m glad.’

‘I love you mom,’ Fig laughed and pulled back to grin at the older woman.

‘Love you too kiddo.’

#sharkie writes #fantasy high #fantasy high junior year #fhjy #dimension 20 #fig faeth #the bad kids #d20 #adaine abernant #riz gukgak #ayda aguefort #gorgug thistlespring #fabian aramais seacaster #kristen applebees #sandralynn faeth #figueroth faeth #gilear faeth #jawbone o'shaughnessey #lydia barkrock

[kaeyeahsworld]

Under the stars

Toji x Original female character

Summary: A short sweet drabble for all the tired souls out there.

Tags: pure fluff.

c/w: mention of cigarettes, smoking

MDNI cross posted on ao3

She couldn't do it. It was going to be one of those nights where her sleep just didn't catch up with the day's exhaustion. Her room wasn't too cold, the blanket wasn't too warm, it wasn't stuffy and she was rather comfortable but her mind was racing. She had run out of cigarettes.

"Does he remember?" Agnes thought to herself out loud. Finally deciding against laying down in bed, she got up and grabbed a thin quilt, and wrapped it around herself, it was a cold and clear winter night outside with a chill breeze that had settled over the town for the day. While grabbing the unit keys, she put on some slippers and headed out to the terrace. Some part of her believed that Toji would be up there.

As she exited the lift that had stopped on the 14th floor, she realised that it was much colder up here than she had anticipated. Agnes started climbing up the final stairs but stopped mid-flight. ‘Am I being foolish? Maybe it is just me, maybe I am just imagining ourselves together’ Thoughts that had been there for quite some time now. But the answer lied past these stairs so she dragged herself up and walked through the ever-familiar white wood door.

He was there. With his broad buff back to her, elbows up on the terrace wall's edge gazing at the stars. He looked more ethereal than ever. He was wearing plain gray joggers and a black office shirt he probably didn't bother removing after work, dark hair ruffled and kissed by the gentle wind. Agnes slowly walked over and stood beside him, wrapping herself more tightly around with the quilt she had carried along.

"Can't sleep?" he asked, voice low and soft. She nodded her head and put her elbows up on the wall too. The stars were visible tonight, more lucent than ever. The space between them was inches. "Aren't you cold, Toji?" she asked. He turned towards her and caught his breath.

She was standing there, her hair a lovely dark mess at the tips, and her cheeks and nose were a shade of pink thanks to the cold. Lovely brown eyes peering at him, begging him to bare his soul to her. Lips he wished he could worship upon day after day.

Denying himself any longer would only bring him suffering. He wanted to end it. For a beginning he hoped, he was going to have with the both of them together. He slowly grabbed the quilt from her hands, taking in her surprised expression, wrapping it around both of them from behind her, with his chest to her back. She let out a little gasp as he embraced her, arms strong around her waist "Warmer now?" he asked lips near her ear, nuzzling his chin on her shoulder. "Yeah.." she let out a breathy reply

Maybe she wasn't wrong after all. All her worries and exhaustion drained away when she was in his arms. Safe and sound from the world. Toji brought up a cigarette to her lips and lit it for her. She gave a small smile as she breathed in the musky nicotine. "Since when did you start smoking love?" "I haven't. I just had a feeling you didn't have one on you today so I carried it with me just in case" he said from behind, a cheeky smile playing on his luscious lips. He still remembered the first time he saw her lighting one, a sight never more hot and enticing. She let out a puff.

A comfortable silence wrapped them for a while. "Sweetheart, do you remember?" he asked, a mere whisper while taking her hand in his. She put the cigarette down. Of course, she did. "I do Toji, I couldn't forget it. I don't want to" She turned her head towards and fell in love with him all over once again when she saw his lovely green eyes and his bright smile, competing with the stars.

"A year ago, today, at 2:00 in the morning, was the first time we ever spoke to each other"

"Right here," he said before he put his hand on her nape and gently brought them closer, foreheads touching.

"I don't ever want to give up this moment," he said. "Not for the skies," she said, "not for the stars" they finished, bringing their lips to each other.

A/N- Very out of character Toji lmfao but soft toji supremacy always.

Also Agnes pronounced as Agh-ness

don’t mind the weird spacing lol, any requests for soft toji are always welcome!

Take care sweets

Header credits @kiochisato

#fluff #romance #wattpad #jjk fluff #jjk toji #jjk x reader #oc #anime fluff #soft toji #soft girl #jujutsu toji #jjk fanfic #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #toji fluff #toji x you #toji zenin #toji fushiguro #toji x reader #jujutsu kaisen toji #toji x y/n #original character #oc fic #smoking #anime fic

[rosedere]

The Liyue Lotus and the Merchant from Snezhnaya

(Pantalone x Fem! Reader)

MDNI +18

Cw: kidnapping, Stalking, non con elements, Graphic violence (later chapters), Yandere content *will update as the series goes on

Cross posted on AO3

1.The White Lotus (you are here), Part 2, Part 3

Synopsis: Unfortunately, The Regerator develops a fixation with you while you are working undercover for Yelan. And there’s no one who can get in his way of his prized Lotus.

-

So delighted Drowning in happines Floating Far and wide

Only with you, we'll be as one soon

If it's in you, you will be loved soon

Only with you, we'll be as one soon

Baby, won't you fall in love?

You had been watching the harbor all day.

This is normally a task you complete on the regular, but today was even more urgent than usual.

Taking a dainty swig from the steaming tea in front of you from where you sat in the middle of the crowded storyteller's crowd, blending in with most of the audience, you had a perfect view of where your target was rumored to be.

After the failed mission holding Theofan in custody by your boss and the traveler, you and your bosses subordinates were sent to the shadows to find where your person of interest was.

It had just turned noon, and the skies were carrying a warm breeze singaling the change from spring to summer as you kept your eyes on the busy streets for anyone matching his description. 

Taking another sip, you looked back around behind you observing the scene before you.

The storyteller was retelling some story youd heard 50 times in the few weeks you'd been sent to watch this particular area for your target.

Everyone around you was focused on the storyteller, with a few enjoying the tea or snacks they bought from the various stalls below.

No one would suspect you were the white lotus.

The highest-ranking subordinate of Yelan's intelligence gatherers—at least thats what Yelan and Ningguang named you.

Only they knew your true name.

After finishing your cautious observation, you went back to looking towards the street for the umpteenth time this day.

A shiver ran down your spine before you saw him.

“Is this seat taken, miss?”

At first, you didn't react at all to the voice, assuming it wasn't directed at you. There were many openings in front of you anyway; it seemed silly to want to be in the corner. You weren't seeing much of the storyteller's flamboyant performance anyway.

A tap to your shoulder was what made you completely aware. Looking up you saw him towering before you.

He was wearing clothes that were not at all what you would wear in the warm season: a long dark coat with purple accents and various dark insulation on the coat he wore, his hair curled and falling past his shoulder tied back with his glasses sitting perfectly on top of his nose. He also wore dark layers, with a turtleneck being the most visible one you could see.

He had no vision, which was a good sign. If things got ugly, you could immediately overpower him with your bow tucked behind your clothing.

You didn't react, keeping your poker face, before replying to his question.

“No, go right ahead,” you plainly responded towards the man. 

He pulled the chair to sit next to you before sitting too close for comfort in your personal space. His cologne assaulting your nostrils didn't smell of the usual Liyue scents that were made into perfumes and colognes; it smelled cold and spicy with little to no musk foreign.

You decided to look towards the storyteller, looking beyond the screens surrounding his stages towards the safe point at the top of the Yangshang teahouse.

Yelan should be there.

“My, I've never seen you around here; is this your first time in Liyue?” the man asked.

You knew he was watching you.

Despite being undercover and being familar with disguises, acting was not your strong suit.

To be honest, you never had a situation where someone approached you in your disguise in all your 10 years working under Yelan.

Saying nothing would lead him to grow suspicious, but you didn't know what to say to the man.

“No, I was born and raised in this harbor,” you curtly responded, grabbing your tea and taking a few sips.

“I guess it was my lucky day then to run into a beautiful glaze lily like you in my path,” he said with a smile curving his lips.

He was definitely up to something.

“Thank you; I wasn't aware I'd run into you either.”

Very unaware

“Have you ever heard of the Northland Bank? Miss...” he began. 

“Lián”

He smiled once more at you, crossing his hands under his chin.

“A beautiful name to fit an attractive face,” he said.

“I'm in charge of the Northland Bank; although I'm normally away to my motherland, I had to stop by to help a few subordinates, so I'm in the area for another few days,” he rambled.

Northland bank

You felt a chill rise up from your arms.

This was now escalating from an oblivious civilian blowing your cover to possibly something even worse.

Swallowing the bile from your throat, you tried to keep your composure.

"Oh, so you're not from Liyue?" You asked casually.

“I consider it a home, but I practically live in Snezhnaya nowadays,” he smiled.

“Interesting, I've never been that far; the furthest I've gone is to Chenyu Vale,” you replied.

Sipping half of your tea, you wanted to finish the cup before you had to flee.

This situation was out of your control if you said the wrong thing. The fatui were not to be messed with in the slightest.

Especially if he's who you think he is.

"Well, maybe we can go together one day; I'll have to warn; it's colder than you've ever experienced before,” he chuckled. You smile at him but decide not to respond any longer.

You hoped that if you kept staring towards the teahouse, Yelan would sense your Mayday plea.

Taking another sip of your tea, you snuck a glance besides you, only to accidentally make eye contact with him.

Great

"So, Lián, tell me a bit about yourself,” the man asked, tracing a fingertip idly on the redwood table next to you.

“What brings you here? I come every time I'm in the harbor, and I've never seen someone as eye-catching as you before,” he purred.

“I normally don't come here; I decided to come on my day off..” 

"Pantalone,” he answered with a sophisticated tone.

The inkling of dread tickled the back of your head as you heard those words.

The Regerator

You needed Yelan immediately.

“Pantalone—it sounds like a name I could hear the owner of the Northland Bank having,” you giggled cutely.

He seemed to have liked the reaction from you, at least since he only had a toothy-looking grin.

"Well, I'm glad you like it,” he said.

"So, where do you work, Lián?" I'd feel terrible if you were right under my nose this whole time.” 

“I work as an apothecary at the perfume shop.” You took another sip, leaving at most two sips left.

"Well, now I know where I need to stop more often," he said in an upbeat tone.

You glanced back at the roof to see your holy grail.

Yelan was watching from the rooftop now.

You got up, holding your tea cup in hand, and scooted the chair back.

“I must refill my teacup with more of this tea.” 

“Sorry”

You didn't look back at Pantalone before you weaved your way past the tables towards the street below.

As much as you wanted to hasten your pace, you couldn't alert him; you just had to hopefully distance yourself and make your way back to headquarters across the way.

Looking to the left and right of the bustling street, you went towards the bridge leading out of Liyue. It was a secret way to get to headquarters without alerting anyone you remembered being told in case of a situation such as this one.

“Lián”

You tried to ignore him once again, walking towards the safety of the bridge a few feet away.

You felt a hand on your shoulder curled firmly on your cloak.

Of course, turning around, you saw Pantalone humbly smiling down at your shocked face.

“Where are you going in such a hurry? I don't mind accompanying you wherever you go.”

Something was wrong.

Your fellow shadows were nowhere to be seen, despite Yelan spotting you in a compromised situation a few minutes ago.

This could end really badly if you can't shake him.

“I'd love for you to come with me, but I must hurry to Chenyu Vale for something urgent,” you sternly said.

“I don't mind coming along,” he said, too quick for your liking.

“How about this?” you said, grabbing the gloved hand perched on your shoulder in your tinier hands.

“Why don't we meet tomorrow near the harbor strip? We can talk all evening if you want.” You flirted.

Blegh

But anything to get him to fall for your trap.

“If you promise it, Lián,” he eagerly replied.

“But I'll tell you this now– I don't like deceivers or anyone who goes back on promises,” he chuckled darkly.

He tucked a strain of loose hair behind your ear as you looked up at him with your faux grin.

“I promise,” you said, holding his hands in yours.

You then quickly sprinted into the mountains, still feeling the allustrive eyes of pantalone on your compromised figure.

You didn't stop until you were in the Chasms maw.

-

“Respectfully, why the hell did you all not save me?” You shrieked in the dimly lit wooden room.

Yelan was sitting across from your now uncloaked body, revealing your brightly lit cryovision on your back, while your three coworkers idly sat next to her poised figure, idly swirling a lemon in her water.

“He was about to follow me into the mountains, and god knows what to me, I think he suspected I was working for the Tianquan,” you paced back and forth once again.

“You always said in a compromised position we'd have to lead the person of interest far from-”

Yelan put a hand out in a way to silence you.

"(Name), you know we wouldn't have let it get that far; he wasn't showing signs of being a hostile target from what Fa reported.” 

“He actually seems to be attracted to you, if anything,” she said, curling her lips into a cheeky smile before taking a sip of lemon water.

“This new development can work in our favors; we just need you to resume playing your “Lián” character, don't you think?” She smiled at you.

“But why me? Surely we can't recruit another one of the agents to do undercover work; I don't do that,” you remarked.

“If we got another agent, he would grow suspicious, and that would arguably throw you into more danger,” she sighed, resting her hands under her chin.

“You don't have to worry; we can get you a disguise by tonight, along with new rooming accommodations and your fake occupation.” Yelan looked sharply towards you, who was anxiously pacing in front of the table now.

“Ill only do it if you guarantee you'll have eyes on me the entire time—I dont trust those fatui scum,” you pouted, crossing your arms.

“Trust me (name) if you pull this off, this will be the biggest arrest in all of Liyue." Yelan smoothly replied, “You'd be in the history books for sure.”

“So cheesy,” you puffed your cheek out.

“All I ask is that you not sleep in my bed while I'm gone.” You narrowed your eyes toward her.

“No guarantees,” Yelan casually said before crossing her arms behind her head.

You only rolled your eyes before you decided to leave for the evening.

The wall back to your home you shared with your unofficial roommate felt like it was drawn out more than usual.

Making your way towards the food stall you frequent.

However, you couldn't shake the feeling of being watched as you gave your mora to the food stall owner.

Quickly grabbing your dinner, you took off towards the street leading to the small, tucked-away home you shared with your boss.

Notes:

Sorry about the shortness! Im just afraid of word vomitting every single chapter haha

#pantalone x reader #yandere pantalone #yandere content #yandere genshin x reader #genshin x reader #minors dni #yandere x you #genshin impact #self insert

[tashacee]

The Clocktown Mystery

Chapter Nine - The Force Heist

It was all very well, Time saying that they were going to steal a force gem from Tingle, but the actual logistics of the heist were a little more complicated than that. According to Time, Tingle and his father lived in the Southern Swamp, and it would take the better part of a day for them to get there. There was a warp point which would make travel faster in future, but they would need to actually get to it first to activate it.

And… there was something about the using of the warp point that seemed to unsettle the old man, but that was a problem for later. The main thing now was that they all now had a job to do, a common goal for them to work towards. By the time the next reset came and they all were pulled back to the morning, they were all fed and rested and more than ready to go.

Wind was… a normal level of excited. Completely and absolutely normal. He wasn’t going rabid with delight that finally, finally Time was indulging the inner gremlin that Wind knew was there and allowing him to steal stuff. The old man may have pretended to be a serious adult who had his life together in front of the others, but Wind had known him during the War of Ages. When he had been a ten year old in the middle of an identity crisis who dealt with his feelings through violence. Back then, Mask would have joined in on Wind’s plans for heists with vigour, and he always had the best ideas.

Read the rest on AO3!

#it me #linked universe #lu #linked universe fic #linked universe fanfic #fanfic #the clocktown mystery

[nutteu]

[cattonquick] angry smol ft. smitten tol, but make it longer

[AO3 ver.] [rambling compilation]

you remember this? okay, let's make something out of it, one of the possibilities. go ahead and read if you fancy it, but don't blame me in the end lol (also prepare yourself, it's gonna be long and messy, format wise. enjoy this 14k something i whipped out on the spot lol)

let's see. why not have oliver attending oxford out of spite, demanding that he was to be given a fast track towards graduation and making research journals just to piss off people who looked down on him, riding on full scholarship because he didn't want to waste time. sure, he could just stay at home and enjoy life because his family didn't expect anything out of him and would love it if he spent his time close to them. but he had another plan, and he was one angry motherfucker, so he'd conquer this goddamn educational path and obliterate anyone who dared to stand on his way, even god, because fuck that entity as well. oliver would rather swallow a beating heart whole than admit that he'd be defeated by a fucking concept and something practically unseen.

and so, there he was, arriving at the campus and giving nasty glares to those who giggled at his appearance. he didn't give a shit about people who thought that he was ugly, he had no time to fuss about that. but they were saying stupid shit about his buttoned-up shirt and his scarf, and those were from his father, so fuck them. these were precious to him, everything that had anything to do with his family was. he was aware that he was fiercely protective of them, even from his early childhood, but they reciprocated it by loving him completely, entirely, encompassingly. there was nothing that could ever compare to his family's love for him, and he wasn't interested in finding someone who could match it. again, he didn't have time for it.

he didn't peep through the window, in this universe, didn't see someone who would swerve his entire plan of being a recluse, didn't see someone who would love him the way his family did, even more so, because that someone was greedy and selfish and childish, above all else. but, oliver did pull off his scarf and unbutton his shirt near the window, and felix catton happened to look his way, seeing glimpses of him through the window as oliver moved to close the curtain. their eyes met for a moment, dark sky and summer blue, felix with a benign smile on his lips, and oliver with a scowl on his. the curtain was roughly yanked and oliver muttered under his breath about popular kids and high school all over again. it didn't matter; it wasn't his goddamn business.

unfortunately for him, the reaction that he gave wasn't something that felix catton was used to, hence the surprise in his dark eyes. he blinked several times in disbelief, then laughed to himself. it was kind of funny, because he was used to awe and worship in people's eyes when they looked at him; used to batted eyelashes and a twinkle of infatuation. he definitely wasn't expecting such an impressive scowl on an unfamiliar face, those ungodly glasses, and a peek of chest beneath the unbuttoned shirt. felix told himself that it was amusing, and didn't think too much about it. after all, sooner or later, people would cave to him, for him. it just needed time, and since the stranger was within the dorm, it was safe to say that they'd cross paths soon enough. he didn't know why it was important that they met again, but he figured that it was probably because this was the first time someone acted that way towards him. sue him, he was curious, and there was a certain part in him, one that was raised in wealth and multitudes of privileges, that urged him to take this as a challenge, just to prove that, at the end of the day, felix would be someone hard to ignore, let alone to be despised, like the stranger had seemed to feel towards him.

but, right now, they were separated and going forward with their own agendas and lives. it would be some time before fate would have it that they finally found each other in their paths. right now, oliver was calling his mum to tell her that he had arrived and that the student body already pissed him off, listening to her laughter and her soft cadence as she advised him not to be too rough on those poor kids, and felix was on his way to yet another night spent at the pub, keeping a stranger's scowling face at the back of his mind as the crowd cheered and urged him on for another shot, farleigh laughing next to him and telling him that he'd be abandoned by the side of the road if he passed out from the drinks.

let's have some moments of oliver trudging the corridors like he was on a warpath, and people's widened eyes as they caught sight of his narrowed ones and brusque movements. they whispered and jeered and oliver stared them down until they skittered away, then continued his way to the library. he wasn't going to waste time dawdling around; he had goals to achieve and time to compete with. as it was, in this universe, he still met michael gavey, and instead of playing along, he glared at michael and said, "fuck off before i punch your face."

let it be known, right now and later on, that oliver's entire repertoire of responses to people consisted solely of: fuck off; get the fuck out of my face; stay there, i'm going to punch you; and, the favorite, you're a pathetic idiot. let it be that, in this universe, oliver was way too pissed off at the universe and fate to ever consider being anything else than angry and impatient. it didn't matter anyway; it wasn't like he needed to play nice with people, other than his family, and he didn't need anyone's else to achieve what he wanted. he was more than capable to breeze through his syllabus and the requirement to graduate early on the four-year course, and if he didn't get that, he'd terrorize his dean until she understood the magnitude of fear that oliver would incite in people. he wasn't afraid of anything, because why would he? he had known fear more than people would assume from him, and he head learned that it would do nothing but hinder his plans if he were to succumb to it. and so, there he was, angry and impatient and on the path to conquer his education. nothing would stand in his way, and he wouldn't stray from it, no matter what michael gavey said. it truly was a miracle and oliver hadn't punched him the moment that guy opened his mouth.

then, of course, the tutoring, with oliver debating the professor within an inch of his life, and farleigh start coming twenty minutes late into the discussion. the professor looked blatantly relieved at farleigh's arrival and immediately changed the topic towards some bullshit about farleigh's mother and how she was someone admired to the professor. oliver didn't give a shit about that, and he also didn't give a shit about farleigh's not-so-subtle mockery. he glanced at farleigh, and flatly stated, "you're useless. if you have nothing to say about the discussion at hand, then better shut your mouth before i punch the fuck outta it, see if you can still speak with four teeth gone."

"oliver!" the professor exclaimed, eyes wide yet staying still on his seat, because he was terrified enough by this young man and his mind, his insistence and his no-nonsense attitude. it was safe to say that he would be wary of every tutoring session that involved oliver quick in it for future to come. "come on, we can discuss this without throwing insults or punches, can we? farleigh, how about you tell us what you've read?"

farleigh, shocked and pissed off because some nobody dared to threaten him, yet keeping the seed of fear anyway because oliver didn't seem like he was joking at all about what he said, finally stuttered out some things he remembered from his incomplete reading. it seemed to pacify oliver, at least, and it made farleigh curios, because he had never met anybody like oliver, who dressed himself like a grandpa, glasses that made his harsh features worse, and soft voice that belied the words he said out loud. it was kind of entertaining, seeing oliver steadily and mercilessly beating the professor to the ground, metaphorically speaking, though farleigh was suspicious that oliver wouldn't mind the more physical side of that statement. farleigh might have his own insecurities and he had a nasty habit of belittling people he deemed below him, but this was the first time someone actually threatened him and didn't seem to give a shit about farleigh's reputation. it was a breath of fresh air, to be honest, because while oliver's words were harsh, they weren't lies and oliver didn't seem interested in playing coy to be in farleigh's good graces. people like that was rare, and farleigh had all the intentions of keeping oliver close, if not for a debating partner to trade insults with, then for his honesty.

and so, farleigh draped himself all over oliver's back, easily overshadowing him because oliver might be someone with incredible temper and short fuse, but he was so small that it was easy to forget how cruel he could be with his mouth. farleigh said, "give me your phone, i'll put in my number."

"i'm not interested," oliver stated plainly, trying to get out of farleigh's hold and only ended up trapped within the man's long arms because he refused to let go. "i'll punch your dick if you don't let me go right this second."

"oh, come on, oliver," farleigh laughed. "i promise i can keep up with your studies. i didn't take it seriously because i thought it would be a joke, you know? i'm not going to disappoint you, honest to god." it might be a little bit of a lie, because farleigh had plans for oliver that didn't include studying, but that was for later, after he managed to wrangle oliver into being his study partner. then, after that, some parties and perhaps a round of jagerbomb. oliver didn't need to know that, however.

oliver finally stilled, then looked up at him suspiciously. "if you bother me for something else than our study, i will burn every single one of your belonging, farleigh start."

farleigh laughed again, more honest this time. "cross my heart and all," he said, and cheered when oliver reluctantly gave him his phone. he punched in the number, and messaged himself, before letting oliver go and skipping ahead before oliver changed his mind and went through with his initial plan of punching the shit out of farleigh's face.

you might ask yourself, where did felix fit into this? where was he? don't you worry. felix might not have the best first impression on oliver, but the act of surprising farleigh with his temper and threats was the catalyst. unbeknownst to oliver, farleigh had told the experience to felix as soon as they met, drinking themselves to stupor as farleigh told his cousin, half terrified and half entertained to no end, about this little guy with his ugly plaids and terrifying intelligence; described him down to the last detail and proudly showing the brisk message oliver had sent him last night, a mere ok, 5pm, library. felix, drunken and amused because farleigh was chattering about some stranger who managed to mess with his head, for the first time showing interest in anyone instead of just mocking them to hell and back. farleigh seemed to have this reluctant respect for oliver, and if felix squinted enough, he could see the start of a juvenile crush.

still, there was something, niggling at the back of his mind, that pulsed when farleigh told him about this mysterious and hilariously angry oliver quick. the memory didn't come, however, and so, he chalked it up to his drunken mind trying to conjure an approximation of the stranger farleigh seemed to be fond of. perhaps, felix could tag along to their study session and see for himself just who was this oliver. not now, though, it wasn't that important.

as fate would have it, however, they met sooner than felix thought. there he was, still a victim of the thumbtacks despite being in another universe, another possibility; his tire useless and his bike a heap on his feet as he sighed dramatically and wishing for a breeze so his hair could be ruffled and he could look more miserable. he was hoping his pitiful stance would appeal to people, and they would help him, but of course, those fuckers only glanced and whispered then left. heartless, all of them.

then, then, a small, vaguely familiar figure approached him, halting to a stop before felix. those summer blue, he recognized this person. felix smiled at him, and the man pursed his lips in a grimace. he seemed to be debating internally about something felix didn't know about, before he sighed roughly and got off his bike. he shot felix a disgusted look before he took the books out of the basket, and pointed a short finger at him, said, "get the fuck up. you look pathetic. take my bike and go to wherever you need to. return it to the shed and i'll take yours to be repaired."

"oh my god," felix exclaimed, standing up and graciously letting the insults breeze through him. he had expected this from the moment he saw this man through the window. it was both hilarious and scary, how this man seemed to be perpetually pissed off at the world. there was that feeling again, niggling at the back of his head, and this time he knew what it was. the oliver quick that farleigh raved about, was the same man that had tickled felix's curiosity on that day. "you're my saviour! thank you, thank you so much, mate. you didn't know how hopeless i felt before you came. what's your name? i need to know how to call my savior."

"i don't give a shit about how you feel," the man said promptly. "just take the bike and stop looking like a pitiful idiot."

"awh, come on," felix cooed, standing up to wrap an arm around oliver's small shoulders. wow, he didn't know that oliver was this small; it would be so easy to completely overshadow him, engulf him with felix's entire height. he smiled at this, because it was yet another funny thing about this man. his stature was so disproportionate to his apparent, constant anger. he was like a chihuahua, or better yet, black-footed cat. small and deadly. yeah, it seemed fitting. "i'm felix," he continued. "now you know my name. give me yours? please?"

oliver looked absolutely disgusted at him, and forcefully wrangled his way out of felix's hold. it was sort of ridiculous, him with his scowl, while wearing those nerdy glasses and a goddamn helmet. who the hell used bike helmet these days? oliver, that was who. it kind of suited him, though. made him adorable and geeky. oliver let out another rough sigh, and said curtly, "oliver quick. now, stop talking to me and go."

"yessir!" felix smiled brightly, then advanced on oliver and gripped his shoulders tight so the man couldn't escape as felix peppered his helmet with kisses. "thank you so much, ollie. you're a savior!"

"stop calling me that," oliver grunted out, trying and failing to get out of felix's grip. "and i only helped you because my mom raised me right." he paused, then shrugged. "and because you looked pathetic."

"awh, you care!" felix said, palm on his chest. "still, thank you. can i get your number? i gotta give you something in return for helping me."

"not interested," oliver said, then gathered his books and secured it with his arms, walking over to felix's bike and inspected it for a moment. "you got three thumbtacks and you didn't realize it? are you that stupid?"

felix shrugged. it was kind of insulting, but then again, he had prepared himself the moment he heard about oliver quick from farleigh. compared to what he had heard, this was mild coming from oliver. "must be some pranks."

oliver sighed. "whatever," he said, then pulled the bike upright. he stabbed a finger on felix's chest, said, "don't get my bike all fucked-up like yours. pathetic or not, i will break your nose if you messed up my bike."

"understood," felix nodded genially. then, because he knew how to flaunt his eyes and he had a dramatic flair he learned from his mum, "now, your number?" he added a smile, offering his phone.

oliver shot him that disgusted look again, and snatched the phone, punching the numbers in with more force than necessary. "don't text me if it's not important, and don't call me unless i give you the permission to do so."

"noted," felix said, happy now that he got the number, immediately sent a silly hi ;). oliver checked his phone, and glared with the power of a thousand suns at felix, who just smiled wider and hee-hee'd his way out of the man's ire. "gotta go now. thanks a lot, ollie!" he said, and placed one last kiss on the man's helmet before escaping from oliver's temper and scurrying away.

and so, they met, and oliver almost regretted his decision of giving felix a leeway. felix, however, would take that inch and asked for miles, for more, because he was selfish and greedy and had never known grief or disappointment. he would learn those, but it wasn't for later. right now, oliver took his bike to be repaired and felix spent his lecture messaging farleigh, flaunting that he got oliver quick to save him, didn't get a punch to his nose for calling him ollie, and even managed to kiss his helmet. farleigh would say, you're joking, and felix would flaunt further that he got oliver's number as well now. he then spent the remaining time of the lecture arranging a meeting with oliver soon. like oliver, he also didn't want to waste time, albeit with different reason. he figured that he could ask farleigh for oliver's schedule, because his cousin managed to wrangle it out of oliver's mouth, for the sake of their study-date was his excuse.

oliver, on the other hand, was complaining to his sisters about farleigh and felix, called them juvenile bastards and mona said, awh, you have friends now! and it was so humiliating to admit what happened with felix, because oliver saw it as a weakness. his mother, on the other hand, seemed to be so proud of him for helping people, for opening up enough to let people into his life. he told her it wasn't like that, and that felix and farleigh were just pulling his pants, that sooner or later he would have to break their teeth. but there was a smile in his mum's voice, pride in his dad's, and gentle teasing in his sisters'. oliver let out a sigh and smiled despite himself. he missed his family already; missed their presence and constant chatters around him, their understanding and their strong hearts. he missed waking up to eliza holding his hand, or alicia running her fingers to his hair, softly singing a lullaby when he had difficulties falling asleep, constant headache that he ignored because he was used to it.

oliver still had that headache, difficulties falling asleep, and there was no one to accompany him now, no one to sing him lullabies. he couldn't just constantly call his family, because he had to focus on his study and he didn't want to make them worry. they were worried enough as it was, especially now that oliver had decided to go to college. he had taken a year-gap and stayed at home, but he figured that fate wouldn't wait for him, and thus he decided to pursue what he had always wanted to do. perhaps, in another life, he would have all the time in the world, would be less angry. but in this life, he was stuck with his fate, with his inability of being kind, with his perpetual anger towards the world at large, the absolute indifference he felt for people who didn't know him.

except, it wasn't really true now, was it? oliver could admit that he had let his weakness shine through when he gave farleigh his number, even though he reasoned that he liked having someone to banter with, trading insults and arguments back and forth. people were usually afraid of him, especially since he started being an absolute asshole in his last year of high school, so it was kind of relieving to have someone who didn't shatter easily when he insulted them. it was nice having someone who could give as good as they got. then, there was felix, who had received oliver's backwards kindness simply because he was so pathetic and oliver pitied him. then, of course his assumption about felix was proven true when he quite literally and immediately asked for more from oliver. spoiled children, all of them. but he just looked so earnest and pitiful and oliver still remembered what his mother said. it's okay that you're angry, my love, but never forget that kindness is something you're capable of. let it be something you can possess despite your fate. curse his upbringing and habit, but he couldn't just leave felix and his stupid puppy eyes on the side of the road.

then, not even two days since they met, felix bombarded him with messages, asking his dorm number, and oliver, already impatient from his headache and assignments, told him just so he could shut up already. what he got after that was someone banging on his door, and felix grinning at him when oliver finally opened the door.

"hiya, mate," felix greeted, and oliver slammed the door close on his face. he banged on the door again, shouting, "come on, ollie! it's cold out here! i just wanna see you, please? pleaaase!"

"oh my god," oliver groused out after opening the door again, "you can't shut up, can you? what do you want?"

felix he-he'd his way again, and said, "how about we go to a pub tonight? you must be tired from all that studying. you know farleigh, right? he's my cousin and he told me he knows you. you can meet him again! with me, of course. my friends are also there, so i got you fresh meat to terrorize!"

"i meet him enough on daily basis, any more and i'm going to throw up," oliver said. "i'm not interested. go there on your own."

"oh, come on, ollieee," felix pleaded, dishing out his charm and intentionally looking as pitiful as he could. he knew that oliver thought of him as this pitiful child, and he was going to milk it for what it was worth. "just a round? then we can go. i'll even walk you back!"

"you really don't know when to stop, do you?" oliver gritted out as felix batted his eyelashes at him. "fine," he sighed, because, what the hell. he had done workloads for an entire semester, thanks to the lecturers who gave him leeway by giving him the entire syllabus and assignments to finish, so he'd have enough time to finish the rest and graduate as quickly as possible. he still needed to pressure his dean, but that was for later. right now, he could just get drunk. "but you're paying."

"deal," felix grinned, satisfied with his victory, and got the door slammed on his face again as oliver changed his clothes. he didn't mind it, even if he could admit he had wanted to get inside the dorm room, wanted to see what kind of person oliver was from his belongings. after a few minutes, oliver opened the door again, his attire completed by the same ugly plaids. did he not possess any other kind of clothing? well, it didn't matter. felix could always buy him some, once he roped oliver into it. for now, baby step. "let's go, they must have started without us already."

oliver's first outing with felix was... disastrous. not even twenty-minutes in, and oliver already started three separate fights that thankfully didn't come to fruition, because they were too busy being obliterated to the ground by oliver's scathing mouth, and felix looming over him and glaring at anyone who dared to mouth off to oliver. felix didn't exactly know why he did it, but a part of him just couldn't accept it when oliver's attention wasn't on him. it was gratifying to be lavished by the rare attention from someone who seemed to hate anyone on-sight. besides, he kind of liked it, listening to oliver's insults and how he always managed to strike where it hurt the most. two of the three fights were finished because the victims of oliver's mouth left while sobbing, and the last one didn't escalate into physical fights because felix's and oliver's combined glares were enough to make the stranger scurry away. then, when oliver turned around, felix plastered a genial smile and wrapped his arms around oliver, steered him away from the possible fights and into the couch on the corner of the room, where his friends and farleigh were.

felix's friends were definitely terrified of oliver, but farleigh could see more into it because he knew both oliver and felix. he knew that felix had a nasty habit of choosing a toy to be played with until he was satisfied, discarding the used toy in search for another. but this was the first time he actually did something like this, follow someone around like a pathetic puppy, using the advantage of his stature and status to beat someone into submission, simply because they tried to fight with oliver. farleigh wasn't dumb, he knew that oliver quick was different than felix's other toy, solely because oliver had self-awareness, was cruel and mean when he wanted to, and didn't give a shit about felix's background. oliver would break felix's bones if he dared to think of him as a plaything, and felix seemed to be aware of it. what farleigh didn't understand, was why his cousin seemed to be attached to oliver when they weren't even that close to begin with, and he had known oliver for lesser time than farleigh. his first guess, and the strongest, was because, this time, it was felix finding himself a puppy love, a fleeting infatuation which wasn't reciprocated, because oliver didn't seem all that interested in felix, romantically. but farleigh knew, that the harder the challenge was, the more felix would work for it. he didn't know how this would end up, but he banked his horse on heartbreak, on felix's end, more likely.

well, it wasn't his business, felix's love at first sight with oliver. it was kind of hilarious, too, because this kind of thing almost never happened to felix, simply because it was always the other side who fell in love with him first. this truly was a puppy love, and farleigh would enjoy the entertainment for as long as it lasted.

and so, the night continued, with farleigh shouting jagerbomb at one point, and oliver simply pointing at felix and said, "tell him. he's my wallet tonight." and farleigh laughed, because of course felix was. they were sitting close, the three of them, flanking oliver left and right because everyone else was too scared to come near oliver. the man seemed satisfied enough with the fear in their eyes, and was even willing to be urged to drink shots after shots. farleigh said, "wow, oliver, didn't know you're a party animal!"

"i have constant headache from people's stupidity, and i'm not going to waste free alcohol," he replied, then downed another shot after shrugging and muttering eh, what the hell, i'll die anyway. well, farleigh thought, he'd definitely die with that much alcohol in his veins, and it was such a waste of a good debating partner.

so, he steered oliver away from the alcohol, and instead started quizzing him about his daily life and background. oliver parried his questions with glares, and only softening a little after felix joined in the conversation, all puppy-like and eager to hear more about oliver. farleigh realized, with hysterical laughter in his throat, that oliver probably thought of felix as someone so pitiful and pathetic, and that was the only reason he hadn't razed felix to the ground. felix was just that pathetic, and oliver allowed him to be close because it was simply not worth his time being angry at someone like felix. it was fucking hilarious, because this was the first time someone ever thought that way about felix. farleigh was enjoying this immensely.

oliver said, he had three sisters: mona, eliza, and alicia, all older than him. his mum was a housewife and his father worked in a construction company as a civil engineer. he took a year-gap and only now decided to enter college. he took literatures and theology because it was easy and he wanted to graduate early, fuck the four-year course. his hobby was actually knitting and studying, and he didn't give a shit about his clothing style because he idolized his dad and wanted to look like him. well, there went the reason of why he dressed himself like an old man. still, farleigh thought as oliver got progressively more drunk as felix plied him with more alcohol, it was such a shame to leave oliver wardrobe in its pathetic state. once he found a leeway of entering oliver's dorm room, he'd do something about it. felix would certainly appreciate that effort, and it would be funny, him making heart eyes at oliver without realizing it himself.

but, still, all the answers oliver gave didn't explain his constant anger and scowl. farleigh chalked it to them not being close enough. but maybe, with enough gatherings at the pub and more liquor, he could get the answer out of oliver. it was fine to leave it this way right now. besides, it was funny as hell listening to oliver blatantly disregarding everyone around him but felix and farleigh, and answering to annabel's attempt of getting felix's attention with can't you see we're talking? get your needy ass elsewhere, which was beyond rude, because annabel knew felix longer than oliver did. but farleigh thought that it was might as well, since annabel had been blatantly belittling oliver's appearance and his prowess in commanding felix's attention. farleigh didn't blame annabel, though her crush was ill-advised and doomed to a heartbreak, because someone like felix didn't do proper romance, simply because he was too stupid to recognize it, and no one ever snagged his attention as much as oliver did. farleigh imagined it, felix pursuing a proper relationship with oliver, and laughed, because it was both impossible and, just like annabel's feelings, doomed to a heartbreak. he could see it easily, oliver shutting felix down mercilessly. farleigh ought to be there when it happened, maybe bring a handicam. venetia would appreciate the laugh, he thought.

at the end of the night, felix had to carry oliver because he was too drunk to walk properly. half-asleep and drunken out of his mind, oliver actually looked cute, definitely an improvement than his usual frown and scowl. he looked more peaceful like this, younger. it also didn't help that he had a small stature, and so, seeing him being carried on felix's back was something novel and funny at the same time. farleigh took it upon himself to accompany them, because he wanted to see oliver's room. he noted, that this was the first time felix didn't take someone back to fuck; he didn't even glance at the girls making eyes at him, all his attention on oliver.

oliver grunted something out in his sleep, and farleigh put a palm on his small back, steadying him as he reached for his head, muttering out fucking headache, then went back to sleep. farleigh moved his hand to sling around felix's neck again, and they resumed their track. once they arrived at the room, oliver was let down carefully, then they waited until he was awake enough to open the door. once he did however, it seemed that some of his sobriety had returned as well, because he just nodded curtly at them, said thanks for bringing me back, and slammed the door on their faces. farleigh stared, not used to being treated this way. but felix, that lovesick fool, only sighed pleasantly and said, "this is the third time he slammed the door on my face. it was kind of cute, don't you think?"

"you're crazy, man," farleigh laughed as they made their way towards their own room.

"do you think ollie will accept it if i bought him new clothes? no offense to his style, but it needs a little... reshaping," felix sighed.

"he'll probably kill you," farleigh shrugged, and promised himself he'd tell venetia about it. it would entertain her. or, maybe, she needed to meet oliver himself, get herself away from liquor for a moment to enjoy life in sobriety. as much as farleigh understood her reasoning, it didn't mean that it didn't make him and felix despair when she tried to numb herself and her feelings with alcohol. maybe, oliver might be able to get venetia from all of that, call her out without mercy and make her see the light. farleigh didn't know why he put such responsibility on, virtually, a stranger to them. but oliver was honest, had no interest in people, and was beyond merciless with his quips. if he were to be taken to saltburn, he'd be a storm. it would be priceless, seeing elspeth and james' faces.

"ah, but he's so cute too in his plaids," felix said. "don't you think?"

"no," farleigh laughed. "you're wasted, and he'll punch you if he heard you talk about him that way."

"i kind of wanted to see him punch someone," felix sighed wistfully. "but he's so small. what if he can't reach the face? oh, well, he can always kick the groin, i suppose. he's the perfect height for that, isn't he? is that the reason why he's so angry? i heard the shorter people are angrier because they're closer to hell."

"you're being silly," farleigh said. "go to sleep before oliver caught you saying all of that."

"he won't do anything to me, though," felix said confidently. "he helped me and accepted my invitation to hang out."

"yeah, because he sees you as this pitiful puppy," farleigh said, sighing out loud. "be careful, though. you're kind of stupid when it comes to love. you might hurt yourself."

"ollie won't hurt me," felix said, again with that confidence. "he thinks i'm useless and can't do anything right. he'll protect me."

"you're talking shit out of your ass, man," farleigh sighed again, and pushed felix inside his dorm room when they reached it. "go to sleep, and don't dream about oliver. you don't even know him, for fuck's sake."

"but i will," felix said, assured. "just you wait, i'll make him like me too. we're gonna be best mates and everything!"

"see?" farleigh said, rolling his eyes. "already showing your stupidity. go to sleep, felix."

felix fell asleep and didn't dream about oliver, but he did think about the man when he woke up, a stupid smile on his lips as he thought about all the things they could do together. he couldn't help it, oliver was so different than the people around him. he was so unapologetically himself, didn't give a shit about other people's feelings, had insurmountable rage for such a small body, and was so smart that it was scary. also, he was kind of cute when he was half-asleep, and when he talked about his family. it was evident that he loved them so much, and felix didn't know how it felt. sure, he loved venetia and farleigh, but their upbringing wasn't exactly something to be compared with oliver's apparent close tie with his family. he valued them and thought of them as something precious. felix's life was served on a diamond platter, a heirloom from a legacy he didn't know how to run away from. he never experienced true familial love when it came to his parents, and he envied oliver for that. it was truly a miracle that felix still ended up with heart on his sleeve, because he had seen what happened to his sister and cousin. farleigh covered-up his insecurities and needs of genuine love with his haughty attitude and mockeries; venetia buried her feelings and dreams with cigarettes and alcohol, long since given up about the way her parents didn't really see her as a person, and instead merely a failure. they had money and an estate spanning across acres, they had influence and privileges, but felix had never heard someone talked about him with such reverence and fierce love the way oliver talked about his family. he wanted that, and he felt like oliver was the only way for him to attain that. if anything, maybe oliver would pity him enough to be invited to the quicks' household, get away from the sprawling mess that was saltburn, experience how it felt like to be cherished and valued, instead of something to be projected onto and be flaunted in parties, only to be ignored in daily life.

oliver, on the other hand, woke up with massive headache and regrets of talking so much when he was inebriated. curse farleigh and felix for their curiosity, he was going to murder them later. but right now, he needed something for his headache. it wasn't like he wasn't used to it, but this morning it was even more so. he sighed and promised himself he wouldn't accept the next invitation for a night's out. he took his pills and showered, brushed his hair and rolled his eyes at the fallen strands of hair. at this rate, he'd be bald before next month. well, that wasn't a problem. he had been bald before, and it had been hard growing out his hair again, and it kept falling once it got longer. maybe he should just shave it off again, less hassle that way. but, well, they'd just fall out and he'd be bald eventually anyway. he just gotta wait for it.

he didn't have an assignment today, already finished it prior to going out last night. but he did have an appointment with his dean, and he promised himself he'd extort quick graduation from her dainty hands. with that in mind, he gathered his bag close and headed out of the dorm. there was a vibration from his phone, and he opened it to farleigh's message of 'study together at lunch?', to which he replied with 'ok'. he had time for that, and farleigh was actually really smart once he stopped acting like an asshole. but oliver didn't mind that, either. he was also, after all, an asshole.

the dean looked wary when she saw him, probably already hearing from the lecturers how he behaved. he didn't care; he wasn't here to play nice. he was here to pursue his goals, and like fuck he was going to let anyone get in the way of it. so, he debated back and forth with the dean, almost made her cry and got himself booted out of the oxford. but he didn't, and he got the schedule for advanced classes in his itinerary. it meant more workloads, but he didn't mind that. he didn't have time to waste complaining about it.

the dean walked him to the door, and placed a hand on his shoulder. she was a tall woman, with weary green eyes and a look that only someone with responsibilities got. she said, "don't push yourself too hard. enjoy your youth while it lasts, it's okay to be like that, you know?"

"i don't have enough time for that," he said, and her eyes softened. so, he sighed, and nodded. "i'll try, but i can't promise anything."

"that's good enough for me," the dean said. "come see me if you have difficulties with your advanced classes. we can work something out for that."

"no need to," oliver said, but his tone was gentler. "i appreciate the offer, though. have a good day."

he left the office and went to the cafe which farleigh had sent the address to him. when he got there, he rolled his eyes and sighed in exasperation, because of course felix would tag along, even though they were in completely different majors and he didn't need to be there. oliver felt a pulse twitch in his head, overshadowing the constant headache. this pathetic git, he swore to god.

"come on, ollie, don't make that face," felix whined. "i'm a great company, you know?"

"no, you're not," oliver said blatantly. "and your presence here isn't welcomed."

felix smiled, looking like he had won something, as he said, "you mentioned that you liked physics and civil engineering. i happen to know someone you can talk about those things with."

that piqued oliver's interest. he chose literature and theology because it didn't require him to think too much, but he had always been interested in all kind of knowledge, and it was especially nice to have someone whom he could discuss those things with. his dad used to be his study partner whenever he had free time, teaching oliver about civil engineering. he looked at felix's stupid smile, and nodded, taking a seat between him and farleigh. "where's that person."

"let me call her," felix said, giddy because this was yet another inch he could take from oliver. he dialed venetia's number, and waited until she picked up the call. "hey, are you busy? i got a friend here. he likes the things you used to study. do you have time to talk? he's not a git, i promise, just... very honest--oh, come on, vee. just a little bit? i promise you won't regret it."

oliver waited patiently as felix tried to assure the person on the call to speak to oliver. farleigh didn't deign them attention as he focused on his papers. at last, the phone was given to oliver. felix looked proud of himself, and expectant as well. so, oliver just sighed and spoke, "hello?"

"is this oliver?" the voice on the other line said, mirth in her voice. "felix's new boytoy?"

"you keep calling me that and i'll find out your whereabouts and boil your teeth for supper," he said, and frowned when there was a laughter greeting his words.

"i like you," she said. "can i call you ollie? i'll call you ollie. i'm venetia."

oliver gritted his teeth. what the fuck was it with these people? they trampled his personal space, were stupid enough to enjoy his presence, and had weird knacks of liking his insults. masochists, all of them, he swore to god. but then, venetia mentioned a research he had read before, and she was so adept in the theories and methods used, and oliver found that he could forgive venetia for her weird taste in company. they talked about their favorite physicists and argued about some journals. it was also fun to know that venetia used to write her own research journals, and she was entirely open for suggestions and critics.

somewhere along the conversation, she said, "you're the most real person i have ever known, ollie. i think i'll keep you around. might have to fight felix for his boytoy, though."

"i'm not a thing to be kept around, and i have no intention of being anyone's boytoy," he groused out. "i can take both of you in a fight."

venetia laughed, bright and honest. "okay, how about a friend, then?"

oliver wrinkled his nose. he didn't have many of those, friends. he didn't consider farleigh or felix as friends, because they just did whatever they wanted and dragged him along with their shenanigans. but he could do with venetia. she was smart, even though she didn't sound entirely sober, and she possessed a keen mind that oliver could appreciate.

"okay, i can do that," he said, nodding even though venetia couldn't see him.

felix, from his seat, made a gargled sound that vaguely expressed his happiness and victory. he looked so smug, oliver wanted to punch his handsome face. once the call had cut off, oliver gave the phone back to felix, who accepted it and looked at oliver like an overeager puppy. he seemed to expect something, and oliver wasn't adept in reading someone's mind or emotion. but felix did introduce him to venetia, and he enjoyed their interaction. he bit his lip, and slowly formed the words on his tongue.

"uh," he started, "good job. i like venetia."

"yes!" felix exclaimed, drawing attention from the people around them. he didn't seem to mind the stares, however. "see, ollie, if you keep me around, you'll find good things and have a good time!"

for the second time that day, he said, "i don't have enough time for that."

"just you see," felix promised.

oliver considered it for a moment. these people were strangers to him, no matter how much they seemed to want to know him. he wasn't used to it, and he definitely wasn't used to people who liked his not-so-charming personality. farleigh was fun to be around, and there was a certain part of oliver that felt fondness at felix's stupid puppy eyes. maybe... he could spare some time for them. any kind of risk they could have from befriending someone like him was their responsibility entirely. he refused to take the blame. it was, after all, not him who started this tentative friendship.

felix, on the other hand, was overjoyed. not only because oliver seemed pleased with a new discussion partner, but also because venetia sounded sober enough throughout the call and she had seemed... happy, though reluctantly. he understood, happiness wasn't a concept she was familiar with, and she had thought that oliver was just another toy felix would discard at the end of the day. but see, oliver was more than that. at least, felix thought so.

the days went forward, and within them were various meetings and nights out that oliver finally relented to. it was weird, this kind of thing. oliver realized that farleigh and felix were genuinely curious about him, and he was allowed to ask them questions too. oliver wasn't used to it, wanting to know someone. it'd be futile in the end, was something he had always thought. he talked about it with his mum, and she sounded suspiciously like she was in tears when he heard about his decision of giving the cattons' siblings a sliver of his time. oliver used to have friends, yes, but he pushed them all away once his anger at the world overcame him completely. friends were something he couldn't afford, being him. but now, there were people who wanted to know him, on their own volitions. they were adults now, though young, and oliver thought that heartaches and loss were something they could handle maturely. it wasn't his responsibility to console them at the end of it, he reminded himself.

enjoy your youth while it lasts.

he thought about it, and concluded that he could be selfish, this time. he knew that the cattons were only curious about him, and they possessed an entirely different mindset than him, courtesy of their upbringing and state of family. farleigh had told him that the catton siblings didn't mean to offend him by calling him a toy, it was just something they were used to because they could afford blind kindness and thought that they could have everything in their lives. they were unaware of their ignorance, and it was, unfortunately, one of their defining personalities. but, farleigh said with a pained face, as if it hurt him to talk about oliver with kindness, too used to them trading insults, oliver was someone different. the cattons were used to people following their whims, but this time, they met someone who didn't see them for only their status, but instead a person who saw them for who they were and didn't discriminate them from his sharp mouth and scathing insults. in the following week, he had three calls from venetia, once she acquired his phone number, and one of it was spent insulting each other.

this time, they met someone whom they had to work for, to get close to. it was different, because oliver refused to be anything but himself, and they needed that kind of person in their lives. at least, that was how farleigh thought of it. afterwards he looked sick at his admission, and said, ugh, being nice to you makes me want to puke. to which oliver replied with, go ahead and puke, i'll laugh at you.

still, ultimately, he ended up with friends. it was so weird, thinking that he had people who didn't mind his prickly nature and habit of starting a fight with dumbasses. venetia told him to call her vee, and he listened about her inability to face her own thoughts and feelings, the reason why she chose to drown herself in liquor. listened, when she cried and whispered i just want them to love me, you know? said to her, you don't need their love. you can achieve anything you want. come to my house and i'll introduce you to my parents and sisters. they'll welcome you and my dad is a good conversation partner for your interest. he gave her his parents' numbers, and got a call from them that a venetia catton had introduced herself as his friend, and asked if they would like to have lunch together some day, so they could meet one of their son's current closest people.

felix pouted and whined when he found out, because, hey, he wanted to be introduced to oliver's parents, too. but there was undeniable happiness in his eyes, and he spoke so gently when he said i'm glad you allowed her to be your friend. oliver was silent when he said that, and didn't think about how this would end. it was okay, he could enjoy this while it lasted, and when it ended, at least he could be rest assured that he did something to change someone and pull them away from their misery. venetia might not know him for long, but oliver thought that it was unfair for such a bright mind to be dimmed down because of stupid people and fate. he told his parents that venetia was allowed to sleep in his room, should she come to their house; told them to always contact her, because he didn't want to risk undoing what the girl had achieved if she were to be left behind yet again in the yawning emptiness of loneliness.

oliver still didn't know how to handle having friends, but he trudged forward like he had done all this time. he didn't know where this decision would bring him to, but like fuck he was going to let it go, now that he had decided to pursue it. he hounded the catton siblings with questions of his own, and gleaned knowledge about their personalities, their memories, their dreams and wishes. he found out that farleigh was a lonely boy who needed love, because his mother couldn't give it to him; was so embarrassed that he had to constantly ask he cattons, beg with a bowl. oliver told him to start being independent and to try out work, so he could have income of his own. he was smart and he could tutor people. he could also choose to delve into fashion or entertainment, because he got the skills and mindset for it. farleigh considered it, and oliver told him that he'd introduce him to his family too, if he had the time. now, there were two cattons whom his parents knew about, and, apparently, mona and farleigh got along famously, because of their shared interest in fashion and completely appalled by oliver's choice of attire.

the last catton to be introduced was felix, and he had complained loudly about it. to be honest, oliver didn't know how to do that when it came to felix. with venetia and farleigh, it was because of shared interests and understanding of their minds. but felix was someone oliver had helped simply because he looked so pathetic, with his bike a useless heap on the side of the road. felix was... someone oliver didn't understand. he was painfully kind, and people flocked to him like moths to fire. he was stupid beyond belief when it came to studying, and had to be threatened before he did his assignments, muttering and whining under his breath. he was popular, could converse well with people, had a savior complex a mile wide with the way he treated people, and definitely didn't understand how to not be the center of attention.

felix followed him around like a puppy, always chattering about some mundane things that oliver unfortunately listened to; he was smart enough to understand that oliver's anger wasn't going to be directed at him because he was seen as pathetic, and he was okay with it, as long as he could annoy oliver on daily basis. he was surprisingly secretive about his own feelings, even though he wore his heart on his sleeve. oliver couldn't understand that-- felix's habit of putting his feelings at risk, just because he didn't know how to love while still protecting his heart. if his heart was to be hurt, it would shatter completely, because, even though farleigh kept telling oliver that felix was a dumbass when it came to love, but oliver himself believed that felix simply didn't know how to love except with his whole heart.

it was terribly easy to make him sad and ruin his mood, but it was also easy to appease him in return, if he were to be given attention and a touch of affection. he seemed to be aware of his shortcomings, but didn't know how to process them healthily. so, he turned towards alcohol and meaningless sex and friendships that only scratched the exterior he put out for people to see. he cried easily, and he pouted and whined all the time, even about the smallest thing. but, one thing that shone the brightest was how felix, at heart, just wanted to help people. it was selfish, sure, his need of being seen as a savior, but oliver understood that it came from his parents shaping him up to always think this way, their habit of belittling those more unfortunate than them, making out charity as a selfish act instead of a selfless one, wolves in fancy clothing who couldn't understand the plight of those they deemed beneath their level. oliver could see traces of it on all the catton children, but he understood why they were the way they were.

the difficult thing was that, while felix was eager to share about himself to olive, it was like pulling teeth when it came to his private thoughts. at first, oliver didn't really think about it. they were friends and that should be enough kindness to be given to these weird people who insisted on being close to him. but he couldn't just ignore it all the time.

because, while oliver was still not privy to felix's thoughts, he knew how it felt to be seen with adoration and awe in those dark eyes, mirth and amusement when he started cussing people out, thoughtful expression when he started lecturing farleigh about their assignment. he knew how it felt to be called ollie, like it mattered; knew how felix's kisses felt on his forehead and his cheeks and the back of his neck, because felix liked standing behind and looming over him. it was a weird habit that oliver was helpless against, because, as much as felix acted like a pathetic puppy, he was so stubborn and selfish when it came to satisfying his curiosity and need of constant physical touch.

he would wrap his arms around oliver, giggle into his hair, patting his thigh, play with his fingers, demanding his attention all the time. he would pull oliver close to him when they went out to pubs, and would forcibly wrench away oliver's head when it became too close to farleigh. there was a reason why he always sat between oliver and farleigh, ever since that time. farleigh just laughed at his face, and oliver rolled his eyes but ultimately relenting. he thought that maybe he was going insane, because what was he doing here, within felix's arms, listening to him sing a song terribly. he had goals to achieve, and time to compete with, so what was he doing here?

but see, oliver, with all his anger and scathing mouth and habit of starting a fight, was still a young man. he had decided to open up to the catton siblings, and he didn't know how to take it back, how to warn them that it would be futile in the end, because it wasn't wise to cultivate relationships and memories with oliver. no matter how rough his exterior was, he still had a heart.

a heart, which stuttered a beat or two when felix came to him, all smiles and all the intentions of hogging oliver's attention; when felix laughed at his insults; when felix touched him; when felix looked at him with something close to wonder in his eyes; when oliver finally allowed farleigh and felix into his room, and felix touched all his belongings with reverence while farleigh started criticizing his wardrobe.

when felix spent the afternoon staring at oliver as he did his papers, when he smoked and stared intently at oliver, when he held oliver close underneath the dim light of the pub, when he carried oliver back in drunken nights, when he whined and complained and pouted and begged for oliver's time and attention and care.

within those moments, oliver realized, mortified beyond belief and heaving out wistful sighs, that he had been too soft when it came to felix. he had always gave the man a leeway, a path into oliver's live, simply by being a simpleton who didn't know how to give up.

on one of their outing, oliver went alone to pay for another round of jagerbomb, because he knew that farleigh was stressed out with the upcoming exams, and he wanted his turn to pay, instead of solely relying on felix. that, was when a man stood close to him and started a conversation that oliver had no intention of reciprocating. he was merely there to wait for the jagerbomb. as per usual, the man grew irritated by his lack of response, and oliver only said, "scram. i have interest in entertaining self-centered idiot like you."

now, it wasn't unusual for oliver to start a bar fight, given how his mouth operated. but this time, felix wasn't there to loom over him, engrossed in a conversation with his friend, and the man had thrown a punch before oliver could anticipate it. his head was ringing, and he felt blood flowing down from his nose. he licked his lips, and was about to throw a punch back, when a familiar back came into his vision, and then it was a blur of screams and sickening crunch of someone's nose being broken. oliver's cheek pulsed in pain as he cradled it, and his nose still hadn't stopped bleeding. he watched, as if in a trance, as felix absolutely pulverized the man, and only stopped when the man no longer moved.

oliver wiped at his nose, and more blood flowed. shit, he thought. wasn't from the punch, then. he did what his mum always told him to when he got nosebleed, but the headache that suddenly overcame him was too strong for him to think of anything else. his vision swum, then, suddenly, he was encased in warmth, and someone was calling out to him. oliver didn't realize that his legs had failed him, until he felt himself being carried by strong arms. he vaguely remembered the whispers as he was carried through the masses, farleigh hot on their heels.

"felix," he croaked out, reaching blindly for the man's face. felix winced when he pressed on a bruise. oliver laughed a little. "you shouldn't fight someone else's fight, you know? i could handle myself well enough. you know that."

"i don't care," felix said, harsh and cold, so unlike what oliver had seen from him. it made him uncomfortable, and weirdly guilty. "he punched you, he touched you. you were bleeding and almost fainted, ollie. how is that handling yourself?"

oliver sighed, and considered redirecting the conversation altogether. but... but he had known felix's birthday and what kind of food he liked, what kind of spices he couldn't handle, who was his favorite singer, his favorite liquor, his go-to brand of cigarettes and liquid for vapes. he knew how it felt like, for his hand to be enveloped by felix completely, to be carried by him, to be in his arms when felix was feeling particularly clingy. he knew all of that. the least he could do... was to offer the truth, the warning he should have given.

he tried to speak, but there was nothing that came out of his mouth. his throat felt dry, like sandpaper, and he ended up just burying his face into the crook of felix's neck, uncaring of the blood he smeared on the skin. "don't be angry," he said, muffled. "it's my job to do that."

felix let out a rough sigh, then his arms tightened around oliver. "you scared me," he admitted. "you don't know how scared i was when i saw you falling. don't do that anymore, ollie. don't let yourself get punched like that. your body isn't strong enough to withstand it."

"you're treating me like a child," oliver said, suddenly tired. his headache was steadily making it difficult to think, and his guilt was eating him alive. "also, your requests are beyond selfish and stupid."

"i don't care," felix repeated.

"why are you doing this?" oliver finally managed to ask. if felix ever said that it was because he didn't like having his toy being touched by other people, headache or not, nosebleed or not, oliver would punch his nose until it cracked underneath his fist.

"because i care, ollie," felix said. "i care about you. you're my friend."

oliver gulped with difficulty. he didn't know how to say it to felix, that it was unwise for him to think like that, that he'd only hurt himself in the end. because oliver was supposed to be alone, supposed to bear the burden of living on borrowed time by himself. he wasn't supposed to offer up friendship blindly, wasn't supposed to care about these people in return. it'd just hurt both sides in the end. oliver wasn't someone who could stay, after all.

but he couldn't say it. because felix's voice sounded pained when he spoke, and his arms were strong and warm and oliver didn't want them to let go. so, he let himself be carried back to his dorm, wiping at his nose that had thankfully stopped bleeding, took his pills, and relented to felix's request of staying the night. farleigh had been silent since they left the pub, but he sighed like oliver had hurt him, and bade them goodnight as he settled on the extra mattress.

felix slept next to oliver that night, holding him close like he was afraid that oliver would disappear if he were to let go. that was an apt analogy, he supposed. oliver let himself be held, tracing patterns on felix's arm, and scrounging up courage to finally speak.

"felix," he said, staring at the man's clavicle so he didn't have to look felix in the eye and break down right then and there. "why... why do you care? i know you follow me around because you thought it's entertaining to see me insult people and start fights. you were fine with it, so why the change of mind?"

he saw the tick in felix's jaw, then a gust of air as he sighed. he buried his face into oliver's hair, before he said, "my feelings changed."

"you don't know me," oliver reminded him. "it's only been a few months. you don't know me, and i don't know you. not well enough for you to care like this."

"you're a dumbass, ollie," felix said. "didn't you see the way farleigh looked at you just now? and venetia would fuss and worry when she found out about this. i might not know you completely, but i want to. do you?"

oliver thought about it. thought about his decision to go college, the advanced classes, the fast track towards graduation, the goals he must achieved, the promise to himself, the hatred towards the world, the fate, the universe. he didn't have time for this. he didn't. but, felix didn't deserve his ire and cold shoulders. not anymore. as much as it pained him to say it, he was oliver's friend.

"i do," he whispered, like it was a secret. "what do you want to know?"

"what's your favorite genre of music?"

"it's rock and metal, actually."

a laughter. "no way, ollie!"

"what's yours?" he asked, pressing a smile on felix's skin.

"honestly? classical music."

"what was your childhood dream?"

"a gardener."

what's your favorite colour. why did you choose latin. what kind of book do you read. what's your favorite movies. who's your preferred sibling, venetia or farleigh. who was your first crush. why did you smoke. what do you want to be. what's your best childhood memory. why did you choose to befriend me. what do you think about your parents. what's your secret.

it's blue. i chose latin because i thought it'd be easy and i can sleep more. i read gardening and cooking books. i love the godfather. i love vee, but farleigh is so fun at parties and he makes the best insult. you completely dethrone him though, i like your insults more now. my first crush was this girl on sixt form. i smoked because i wanted to look cool, and then i kinda became addicted to it. when mum bought me a music box. because you're entertaining and, as i found out later on, an amazing person to be around; you're so honest with your thoughts and being yourself; you're so smart and i like your attention on me. my secret? i think i'm afraid of ending up alone and with no dreams; i can have anything money could buy, but i'm scared of ending up with an empty heart and a house too big for my loneliness.

now you.

it was green, but it's brown now. i chose literatures because it has the easiest workload and i can graduate early. i read researches the most but i love sci-fi. i also love the godfather. i like vee the most; sorry, but you and farleigh can't compare (oliver! how could you wound me like that?"). my first crush was this girl who used to be my neighbor, then she moved away. i didn't smoke because my body suffers enough as it is. when i was eight and mona fell into my birthday cake by accident. because i thought you were a pathetic idiot, so i let you follow me around; then i found out that you care about people more than your heart can handle, that you're so selfish and greedy and i find myself not minding it; that you're so painfully kind that it's hard to look at you sometime. my secret? you wanted to know my secret?

"yeah," felix whispered, pulling him closer.

oliver closed his eyes, and wrapped his arms around felix. "i'm running out of time."

"what do you mean, ols?" felix asked, and there was a tremble to his voice.

"you wanna know why i'm always angry?" oliver said, then chuckled to himself. "it's because i decided to stop caring. why should i care when there's more important matters at hand? i'm always angry, because i'm running out of time. because i've been fucked over by fate and the world. so, i'm angry, because that was the only thing i've learned how to be. i don't want to be weak anymore, don't want to cry rivers over my fate anymore. so, i'm angry, all the time. the headache is also another reason, but honestly, i have that all the time, so i'm pretty used to it."

"ollie," felix said, and he sounded so small, so lost. oliver hugged him tighter. it broke his heart, too, to hear heartbreak in felix's voice. "why didn't you tell us?"

"i tried," he said. "but i didn't know how, and i didn't think it was important enough."

"you always did say that it's futile, being friends with you," felix laughed; it sounded hoarse and brittle. "i thought that was you being a pessimist."

"i am a pessimist, but not because of the reasons you thought of me." he heaved a sigh when felix's breath shuddered. he continued, "i got diagnosed when i was fifteen; back then we didn't know and it wasn't something to be worried about. then, my hair started falling and i got constant headache; i started having fainting spells and often had nosebleed. they said that it could still be cured, so i underwent a surgery. it stopped for a while, then the symptoms started again, and it turned out that i still have it. so, i decided, i'm not going to cry or complain about this. i think, i was angry because i was scared, of dying, of leaving behind my family, of not being able to pursue my dreams. so, out of spite, i entered college, extorted fast track to graduation from my dean's hands, which she allowed because she knew about this."

he took a moment. then, said, softly, "i had wanted to just ignore everything and continue with my study. with enough luck, i could graduate before i'm out of commission. they told me that it came back stronger than before, and that i'm living on borrowed time. imagine telling an eighteen-year-old that," he laughed, and felix's arms tightened around him, almost suffocating. he welcomed it and embraced the man just as tight.

felix heaved something that sounded suspiciously close to a sob, and oliver heard the rustle from the mattress on the floor where farleigh was sleeping. there was a dip of weight on the bed, and someone took one of oliver's hand to grip it tight. oliver sighed; he had thought that farleigh could be spared from this.

"there's no cure anymore," he continued gently, as he broke his friend's hearts. "they told me i have at least three years, if i keep doing chemo. but honestly, i don't think my family's budget can handle that, even with healthcare, and chemo takes a toll on my body. i want to at least be myself, look like myself, when i die." there were twin hitches of breath when he said that; oliver ignored the pang in his heart and trudged on, like he always did. "i still take my pills but no more chemo. my hair is starting to fall out again, though i count it as victory that i didn't faint as often as i did before. i think my body knows that i'm being stubborn."

"you'll be bald by the end of the semester," farleigh choked out, and oliver laughed freely. "you'll look so ugly with bald head, but don't worry, we still like you."

"i'm... glad," he said, voice small. "i'm glad that i have you guys, and venetia. i thought i shouldn't have friends anymore, because it'll be such a hassle, you know? leaving everything behind, and i'll just hurt someone's heart with... well, me dying."

"you're so blase about this, it's annoying," farleigh complained, but his voice was heavy with emotions. "cry like a normal person, goddammit."

"i'm not exactly normal," oliver said primly, then laughed along with his friends. "it's okay. i've got everything sorted, eulogy and all. i'll finish my course and graduate; i've made enough research journals to be put in our libary, and i've made friends with assholes like the three of you. i'm glad i'm able to do it, despite everything."

there, he said it out loud, at last. now, it was time to weather the storm yet again.

felix's body shuddered, and then, he started crying in earnest, hiding his face in the crook of oliver's neck. his tears seeped into oliver's shirt, and it broke his heart to pieces to hear anguish in felix's sobs. farleigh tightened his grip, and brought oliver's hand to his chest.

"it's alright," he tried to console, patting the back of felix's head with his free hand. "you saw me--i was okay, wasn't i? i didn't get nosebleed that often, didn't faint often as well. three years? i'm too angry to die that soon. i'll be okay."

felix sobbed harder, and oliver didn't know how to mend his wound. this was an act of mercy as much as it was conscious effort of breaking someone's heart. it would never be easy, to lose someone.

farleigh seemed to sense his helplessness, because he said, "scoot over, losers, i'm sleeping on the bed."

it took a little bit of coaxing to get felix to move. in the end, oliver lay on his back, between the two, each hand gripped by them. felix laid his head on his shoulder, and farleigh rested his chin on his hair. they didn't say anything for a moment, until felix seemed to get ahold of himself, and whispered, "ollie."

"yeah?" he hummed.

"don't go," felix said, sounding so much like a lost child, one whose heart was aching.

"i'm not going anywhere," oliver said, and let the lie stay between them like a blanket. it was alright, even if it was a lie. he could lie as many times as felix needed to finally accept this, to stand on his own feet without oliver to follow around.

 "ollie," felix called out again.

"yeah?" he answered patiently. he just wanted felix to stop hurting, no matter how impossible it might seem at the moment.

"tomorrow, let's ditch class and go to your house," felix croaked out, voice heavy with tears. "i'll go get venetia and my jeep, and we can have a road trip."

oliver's heart hurt. "okay," he said gently. "we can do that, fels."

they didn't sleep that night, trading stories and banters as they waited out felix's sobs. when he calmed down enough to respond to them, they started planning a week-long escapades to prescot. they could afford to do it, they thought, because they wanted to be foolish and young and alive. in the morning, farleigh stayed with him as he packed up his clothes, and felix was gone for some time before he met them outside of the campus with a jeep and venetia on the backseat, her face pale and her eyes red-rimmed. but there was courage in them, persistence and selfishness so on brand for a catton. oliver couldn't believe it, but these three were so stubborn and he couldn't do anything about it. if he were to die suddenly, they'd probably wouldn't allow his soul to rest. that was how determined they were.

the trip was spent chattering amongst each other, singing on the top of their lungs, and the siblings flaunting embarrassing memory of each other to oliver. he laughed and joined in the conversation, feeling so, so scared and so, so hopeful for the first time in his life. he could do this, he thought. he could have this, as long as it lasted, and he was going to get everything he could desire because he knew they would give him the world and more.

his parents were surprised when they arrived, smiling sheepishly while saddling their belongings, but they were soon welcomed and his parents gushed about the catton siblings and how they were such a good friend for oliver. it was quite embarrassing, especially when his mum pulled out the baby pictures, but he figured that if he didn't do this know, then when else? it wasn't like he had all the time in the world.

but it felt like that, being here, with his family and his friends. it felt like he had all the time in the world, all the dreams he could achieve, all the memories he wanted to carve. his sisters flocked to his friends and shared camaraderie with them, complaining about oliver's mouth and his nasty habit of insulting someone within an inch of their lives. they had dinners and picnics for lunch; they watched movies together and played board games; they slept late into the night trading stories, camped and cramped into oliver's room because suddenly it became everyone's territory.

but no matter how much they seemed to be enjoying these moments, sometimes, oliver would look at felix and saw the grim look in his eyes. he would jostle felix's shoulders, let the man entwine their fingers together, lie yet again and say, "it's going to be okay, felix. i'm not going anywhere."

venetia slept in alicia's room, and farleigh in mona's. felix slept with oliver, and his siblings graciously let it. they still spent more time in oliver's room than their respecting resting place, though. they really were greedy, these cattons. give an inch and they'd take miles and miles away from what was given initially. they would befriend oliver like it was the last thing they did, and it probably was, given the situation. oliver gave as good as he got, because like fuck he was going to be weak, he had been strong all this time, hadn't he?

but, when the night came and felix held him in his sleep, he would say, "i'm scared." and felix would pull him close, whispering all the things they could do once summer came, then the fall, then winter. they would do all the things in the world, and oliver would be there, because felix was selfish and greedy and wore his heart on his sleeve. oliver was going to break it someday, already breaking it right now, but they didn't talk about it.

the same way they didn't talk about the fondness in oliver's eyes at felix's antics, his unsurprising possessiveness, his penchant of hogging all of oliver's attention and care, his constant need to touch oliver, his newfound habit of cuddling oliver to sleep, the kisses he pressed to oliver's temple when they pretended to be asleep. they didn't talk about it, because oliver refused to-- refused to break felix's heart further.

in the end, it was venetia who stole him away for a girl's night, which consisted of oliver's sisters and her, and oliver as the victim of their pampering. he was in the middle of having his toenails painted when venetia said, "he's not a child, you know? i know he acts like that most of the time, and he's too sensitive for his own good, but he's stronger than you know. go ahead and kiss him. i can be entertained by him acting more like a buffoon, as if he's not already. just kiss him and do whatever the fuck you want. if you're going to die anyway, why not have the last hurrah and say fuck you to the world and fate?"

venetia was the only one who didn't shy away from the topic, the one who was strong enough to keep her tears for herself. oliver respected and envied her at the same time. so, he nodded, said that he'd consider it, and kissed felix anyway when he was staring at oliver yet again from the windowsill, smoking his stupid cigarettes.

his mouth tasted acrid and bitter, and he gaped like a dead fish for a few seconds before his brain seemed to get the memo, and then the cigarette was forgotten on the floor, an ignored fire hazard, as he gathered oliver into his arms and kissed him like a man starving. felix kissed him like he was the one dying, like this was his only chance of doing this, like his life depended on it. oliver supposed that the looming threat of his death was enough of a motivation.

"we don't have to make it into a relationship," oliver told him. "we can keep it casual. it's not fun being left behind after all."

"you stupid little shit," felix laughed and kissed him again. "i've been flirting with you non-stop and you still thought i don't want this?"

"well, it's easy to mistake infatuation for love when we're in this kind of situation," oliver shrugged, and was kissed yet again.

"oliver, ollie, you stupid fuck," felix said, and there was that heartache again in his voice. "farleigh kept teasing me about it, venetia too, and i was too dumb to realize it but i like you, you angry, violent motherfucker."

"did i rub off on you too much? why are you cussing me out like this?" oliver laughed, leaned into the embrace and enjoying the warmth he was encompassed with. "so much for a confession."

"i don't know everything about you, ollie," felix said, calm and resigned and happy within the same breath. "as you do about me. but i've said it before: i want to. we still have time; we'll make it count."

it was hard to breathe, to swallow. here they were, living on borrowed time, finding love at the most inopportune moment. but that was alright, they both could lie, could wish that they would have all the time in the world. it could be their little secret, that they were both afraid of the end, the looming storm on the horizon.

for now, oliver could kiss felix until they were breathless, spent his time with his family and friends, making the most of his time, because fuck you universe. he could be happy, and he wouldn't have it any other way. he might be defeated, but it still tasted sweet, this acceptance of his fate at last, because he wasn't alone when he did it. he had people who adored him, who cared about him, who were selfish and greedy and loving when it came to him.

it was alright. in this moment, he was alive; in this moment, oliver was happy.

-

in a sunday afternoon, the summer sky outside of the window, oliver died in felix's arms. it was a beautiful day to die.

it was two weeks before his early graduation, and he got flying colors, a fucking valedictorian. felix catton's heart was shattered at last, after so long of breaking apart at the seams. he held oliver close, for the last time, before he strengthened his heart and made some calls.

oliver's funeral was attended by many people. his family, his friends, his dean and professors, and his lover. his eulogy was read by felix, and flowers were arranged on his tombstone. venetia wrote his name on a stone, and they invited the quicks to throw it over a river, to honor his memories and life.

oliver's life was cut too short, and he spent most of it being angry at the world, at fate. but it was okay, because he had people who held him dear, who thought of him as someone close and important and beloved. his researches would be studied, and his pictures would be put on bedrooms, in cherished albums. venetia strong-armed her siblings into living a life they promised oliver they would live, dreams they would achieve, wishes they would make real.

every year, in a summer afternoon, they would have a picnic with the quicks, pulling out old albums full of oliver's childhood pictures, and talked and laughed and remembered-- a young man with anger so disproportionate to his stature, with mind so intelligent, with heart so big, with compassion and kindness that he hid beneath his biting words and hilarious impatience.

every year, felix catton's heart break apart all over again when he visited oliver's tombstone. but he would tell the stories of his life, how much he missed oliver, how he wished that they had more time. but, he would also be grateful that they were allowed to spend the end of it within each other's arms.

it would be some time before the people in oliver's life healed from their wounds, but it's alright. even though it was a lie right now, it was okay. they would be okay, and they could always try. it was alright.

-

#shiki writes #saltburn #saltburn 2023 #saltburn posting #cattonquick #felix catton #oliver quick #farleigh start #venetia catton

[dawningfairytale]

Would you happen to have any good fic recs (can be wip or completed, or some of your own) :D

hi anon!! it really depends on what you're into, though i've been posting more about hatchetfield i'll give you recs for that!! i'm going to sort this by ships, because it works in my mind so!! hope this helps!! not all the fics i like, but here are really truly just some!! especially since i couldn't find some i really liked unfortunately but, such is life. i generally like monstery themes and supernatural elements, so that's going to be a common theme in these recs, but not all of them.

jagertitty (grace x max) shameless self promotion - siren/werewolf au, incomplete, longfic @owlhari - ghost!grace and max meeting for the first time, she saves him from dying in the waylon prank, oneshot prince_doomed - another version of grace's dream of ghost!max?? the description on ao3 does it better, but either way it's very beautifully written, oneshot

lautity (grace x steph) shameless self promotion - tgwdlm au, i had fun, and it was nice to make grace instantly okay with being queer for fucking once, oneshot it was on anon, but idk if the author intended to take it off?? so for safety i'm not going to say on this post - the fic is called good luck babe, what it says on the tin, gracie is repressed, oneshot @theiloveyousong - first meeting when steph and grace were little kids and adorable and you should read it, oneshot

lautski (steph x pete) @the-spaced-out-ace - pete is a mermaid, and Fun (emotional torture) is to be had, in progress but seemingly coming to a conclusion :) @max-will-one-day-be-okay - vampire steph vampire steph VAMPIRE STEPH- (in progress)

lautskity (grace x steph x pete) @max-will-one-day-be-okay - grace has a sexual fantasy about steph and pete, oneshot, :) @jklovesfandoms - generally great works for this ship, i say start with comfort her (in progress) and go from there :)

paulkins (paul x emma) slytherlynn - this fic is abandoned in the middle of very plotty stuff (so be warned it is incomplete and i doubt it will ever be complete), but it has infected!paul and i remember reading it on the train into high school YEARS ago, and i really like all the character dynamics @hotchocolateboy - very alice woodward centric, slice of life sort of stuff (my girl is going THROUGH it) but i just!! really like it!! in progress @affo-gatto-gateau - mermaid!paul fic, in progress, it's fun i'm enjoying it!! there is lore being set up and i am HERE for it

the npmd jocks (kyle x max, as well as brenda x stacy) @nibblelinephym - stacy and brenda are oblivious lesbians who are in love with each other, oneshot @tnoy-keraxis - a night (so yeah oneshot) where many people are in love and we get a peek into their lives, framed by max and kyle being useless and oblivious and tragic (they aren't useless, it's internalised homophobia)

duke x ted @amethystunarmed - duke is helping ted get custody for pete. duke is going through it. oneshot (part of a series)

i can safely recommend all of these fics, and other fics by these authors (even if they aren't listed here). happy reading!!! and ofc feel free to add recs in the reblogs!!!

#i already took up too much space but know that i'm gushing over all of these fics internally #npmd #nerdy prudes must die #hatchetfield #fic rec #jagertitty #lautity #lautski #lautskity #paulkins #queerleaders #is this about what i sent to the confessions blog like a month ago??

[natrogersfics]

The Anthology - Chapter 2: Fortnight

Artwork by @faith2nyc Read on AO3

Did you have an early call-time that I missed? Haven’t heard from you all day. Getting a little worried… Nat, where are you? Please answer the phone.

She’s not a morning person.

Of all the things Steve knows about Natasha Romanoff, that’s one fact he’s certain he can bet his life on. It’s why waking up to an empty bed yesterday was such a jarring experience, especially since he’ll be hard-pressed to pinpoint the last time it happened. And as he looks down at his phone, reading through all his texts to her that have gone unanswered, he can only run a hand wearily over his face.

Natasha had been an enigma from the very moment he’d met her on the set of The Avengers years ago. He had heard a lot about his first-time costar, sure – it was hard not to know of the prodigious child actor who would eventually go on to become box office royalty in no time at all. But with the limited amount of screentime they shared then, it’s not as though he’d gotten the chance to get to know her. It's for that reason that he had jumped at the opportunity when, after their first table read for The Winter Soldier, their directors had suggested that they spend time together outside of set.

It wouldn’t be hyperbolic to say that getting to know Natasha has been profound in every aspect. Nevertheless, it hadn’t been an easy process. Despite her vast body of work and the many stories the media has written, speculating untruthfully about her life more often than not as he would learn, the mysterious and seemingly impenetrable aura about her that intrigued so many remained. It’s only through their late-night conversations, often seated on the floor of their temporary living rooms and a bottle of whatever they could find passed between them, that he had finally come to realize that her mystique is all to do with all the armor she carries. Armor that, despite how ruthless this business is, has allowed her to survive. To thrive. The concept was foreign to him, of course. He’s an open book, has been from the very first time he entered the industry and donned the glimmering shield of Captain America. But that too was a privilege, he had found out. While he’s made some mistakes along the way, none of them have been heightened, underscored, and thrown back at him at lightspeed quite like hers have.

In all honesty, he’s still not sure what he did to deserve to see what’s underneath all her sacred protection. To get a glimpse into just how heavy and exhausting it is to have to constantly carry it around. Even so, he’s glad to have the honor. For as grim a sight as it can be, mixed in with all the pain and loneliness are also the most beautiful parts of her that very few get to see. To the rest of the world, Natasha Romanoff is the captivating bombshell on their magazine covers. The striking, perfect face and the husky, seductive voice behind some of the most alluring characters to grace the big screen. And yes, he sees those facets of her, too. But beyond that, Natasha to him is the epitome of what it is to be beautifully human. She has loved. She has lost. She’s made mistakes and made them again. And while she’s not always afforded the same time and space to learn from her missteps as others, she’s always risen from the ashes – even if that’s meant she’s had to keep her heart under lock and key.

The last thought elicits a sigh from him. She rarely speaks about her past, but he didn’t need to hear the entire story to know that she’s had her heart eviscerated enough times to last her a lifetime. And it’s not as though her heart is something he expects of her now. He wasn’t expecting anything at all when they had fallen into… whatever this thing between them is now. But he’d be lying if he said he hasn’t felt something shift. Almost as if their touches have lingered, their kisses growing hungrier in the absence of their ability to speak the words. He can’t help but wonder if she had felt that, too. If that’s the reason she felt the need to run away from the warmth of his bed that morning.

The need for clarity cuts through him like a blade through the softest of flesh, and he finds himself reaching for his phone once more. “Natasha,” he all but pleads when his call goes straight to voicemail. “Please talk to me.”

A gasp falls from Widow’s lips as her back hits the wall. Before her, Captain America stares her down, his eyes blazing with fury. “Where is it?”

“Safe,” she says practically through gritted teeth.

“Do better!”

Her eyes narrow. “Where did you get it?”

“Why would I tell you?”

“Fury gave it to you. Why?”

“What's on it?”

“I don't know.”

Unconvinced, Captain America’s grip on her arms tightens. “Stop lying!”

“I only act like I know everything, Cap.”

“I bet you knew Fury hired the pirates, didn't you?”

“Well, it makes sense,” she acquiesces. “The ship was dirty, Fury needed a way in, so do you.”

“I'm not gonna ask you again,” he hisses.

“I know who killed Fury,” she whispers, prompting his hold on her to loosen. “Most of the intelligence community doesn't believe he exists, the ones who do call him the Winter Soldier. He's credited with over two dozen assassinations in the last fifty years.”

“So he's a ghost story,” he concludes.

“Five years ago, I was escorting a nuclear engineer out of Iran. Somebody shot out my tires near Odessa. We lost control, went straight over a cliff, I pulled us out, but the Winter Soldier was there. I was covering my engineer, so he shot him straight through me…” She pulls up her shirt to show him the scar on the side of her stomach. “Soviet slug, no rifling.” She lets her lips curl into the slightest of smirks. “Bye-bye bikinis.”

“Yeah,” he deadpans. “I bet you look terrible in them now.”

“And cut!”

Natasha would never show it, but for the first time since her day started, it’s as though she can finally catch her breath as she steps away from Steve to look at the men behind the camera. “Did you want us to go again?”

“No, we’re good,” Joe, one-half of their directing duo, says. “We got the take.”

“That’s a wrap for you two today,” Anthony chimes in.

She doesn’t argue, and despite feeling Steve’s gaze heavy on her, she doesn’t dare look his way as she nods at both directors and makes a beeline for her trailer. She’s halfway there when she hears hurried footfalls behind her.

“Natasha,” Steve calls out, but she keeps walking. His voice grows louder. “Natasha, wait!”

“What do you want, Steve?” she asks as she whips around, crossing her hands over her chest. The question comes out harsher than she’d intended, and she regrets it immediately when she sees the hurt flash in his eyes.

“What do I want?” he says, expression incredulous. “Nat, I haven’t heard from you in days, and now you can’t get away from me fast enough.” He takes a step towards her, leaving mere inches between them. “Did I do something wrong?”

She looks away from him at that. She’s read his every text. Listened to every voicemail he’s left her, and then listened to it again. And now, as she stands before him, hearing the agony in his voice up close and personal, she wants nothing more than to tell him the truth. To let him know that this is killing her, too.

As his question hangs in the air between them, she feels his hand encircle her wrist. “Natasha,” he whispers, running his thumb gently over her tripping pulse. “Baby, I-”

Her head snaps to him then. He’s never called her that, at least not outside the safety of either of their beds, that, coupled with the concern thick in his stare, she feels her restraint begin to waver like a house of cards in a gust of wind.

No.

She yanks her hand away and out of his touch, shaking her head. “I have nothing to say to you.”

As she walks away, she keeps her eyes downturned, certain that another glance at him will all but make her resolve crumble. It’s only when she’s finally in the solace of her trailer that she leans her back against the door, bringing her hands to her face. “I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I’m so sorry.”

Chapter 1 | Chapter 3

#Romanogers #The Anthology #Steve Rogers #Natasha Romanoff #Captain America #Black Widow #Hollywood AU #Movie Star AU #Fortnight #steve x natasha

[redfoxwritesstuff]

Sunflower, Book 1, Chapter 25

Tom Hiddleston x OFC Series rated: M Chapter warnings: Flashback smut AN: Just a splash of my daddy issues, so sorry about that. I swear, I'm trying to keep it under control! Enjoy the last fluffy chapter before the angst really starts to amp up. Sorry not sorry. Masterlist AO3 KoFi

~~~~~<3

Tears gathered in Mia’s eyes as she looked at the little bit of magic Tom had worked. Mia had always felt guilty that she couldn’t give the big parties Sally would see on the TV and often she was too tired or too broke to even do a lot. Again and again, she told Tom to go small. Simple. Easy. 

She took comfort in the fact that the first few birthdays, kids don’t remember beyond the stories they’re told and the pictures they see. She wasn’t sure kids remembered their 5th birthday parties either but Tom had put in the effort to make it special, even while toeing the line of her request. 

Purple and pink balloons reflected the sparkling water. There were bottles of sparking juice and a handful of plastic champagne glasses, making the small party child fancy. Tom had pizzas, one peperoni and one cheese on each side of the bottom of a foam cooler upside down over what she assumed was the birthday cake. 

Tom was sitting on the edge of the pool pumping up the last of the floaties and for a moment, time froze and Mia’s heart skipped a beat. The strong sun shone on his bare back and arms, casting shadows in the dips of his defined muscles. His hair was alight with it, golden reds highlighting every wild curl in his short hair, stealing her breath away more than the definition in his back as he moved about comfortably. 

This was the man she married in a act of drunken stupidity. No, perhaps not stupidity after all, if she closed her eyes and indulged her heart. What if, just maybe, marrying this man three weeks ago was one of her life’s greatest decisions?

This was a man she could fall in love with. God, did he make it hard not to just fling herself headfirst in, reckless and trusting. It was hard to remind herself the importance of taking things slow when she saw him like that, sitting at the edge of the pool and blowing up kid’s pool toys as if it was the most important task of his life. As if it was a part of his life. As if he belonged. 

He was the father Sally deserved. God, if she could just give Sally this man as a father. If she could somehow change the fabric of reality and make this the man that fathered Sally,Mia would. That wasn’t possible but she could give him to her now, if she just was willing to take a risk, willing to trust.

Tom was a person though. There was no way she could force him to stay, no way she would want to if he wanted to leave. But fuck, if this could be their lives, she wanted him to want to stay. What if she tried and he left? What if Sally got to have this, really have it, and then lost it? What if it was her fault? What if she wasn’t a good enough woman to keep a man like Tom?

“Tommy!” Sally broke the moment, saving Mia from a lifetime spent in a single heartbeat and whirlwind of ‘what if’s. “It’s so pretty!”

Mia looked away from the way Tom smiled at Sally, directing her attention to her phone as it pinged in her hand, thankful for the distraction. Again, she texted Ray to see if he was coming on her way down.

“Fucking calm down” the message read, sent from her daughter’s father. He was a man she had once loved, who she had thought loved her at one point. “I’m on my fucking way.”

He was in a bad mood but that wasn’t unusual for him. He was always in a bad mood during the last few years or so. Mia was just thankful he had answered, if she was honest. It was rare that she could give Sally the gift of time with her father. This time, at least for her birthday, it looked like it was going to happen. 

“Sally will be so excited” Mia sent back. 

He didn’t respond. 

“Is Daddy coming?” Sally ran over as Tom reminded her that walking feet were important to use around the pool. Tom looked over to Mia with worry clearly etched on his face. 

“He said he’s on his way.” Mia said and in her gut, it felt like the wrong thing to say.

“Anything I should be aware of?” Tom asked, wrapping an arm around her waist and hugging her to him, a calculated risk he decided was worth it after the time spent at the ranch. 

“What do you mean?” His hand was cold from the pool water, causing goosebumps to cover her skin. It felt good seeping into her skin through the robe, cooling the skin heated by the desert sun. 

“Do I need to be worried about him trying to knock my head off or trying to drown me in the pool?”

Mia gave it a big of thought, “Don’t know, to be honest. We’ve never been in a situation even close to this before.”

“Lovely.” Tom’s voice came flat, though is fingers twitched against her waist. 

“You’ll be fine,” Mia patted Tom’s chest, trying to ignore the feeling of the sun warmed skin and firm muscle under hand while she laughed. “I’m sure you can out run him.”

“In this heat?” Tom teased as he gave her one last squeeze before returning to the pool.

It felt good to laugh together. To celebrate together. To be together.

Mia hesitated near the pool, watching as Sally and Tom splashed eachother. They were quickly becoming the picture of a family and it was magical to watch it happen. Sally deserved this. 

For Sally, Mia decided, she needed to invest in this marriage as much as Tom was. 

“Are you going to get in?” Tom asked after resurfacing from a dramatic splash induced water death. 

“Yeah, I just-”

“Mom’s shy.” Sally giggled. “I don’t know why, she’s so pretty.”

“She is pretty,” Tom agreed, nodding wisely to the small girl floating on the inflated unicorn next to him before making his way toward the steps of the pool. 

Rising out of the water one step at a time, water ran off of his chest and abdomen. Streams of water gathered to run down the valleys between muscles as her eyes followed. His hair was dark with water, plastered to his head. As he rose out of the water, his trunks clung to his hips and-

Yeah, she needed to pay attention to where she was and that the water was nice and cold. Stop looking at the man like he was a goddamn piece of meat. She was not some nineteen year old girl who’s not been around the block a few times. 

Keep your eyes on socially acceptable places. This was real life, not some romance movie. Keep it together. 

Tom was close to her now. She could see the scattered hairs on his chest. Was he feeling the same things she was in that moment? Was he thinking the same sort of thoughts looking down at her? Her heart was beating out of her chest. Was his?

Reaching out, Tom placed his hands on either side of her neck. Long fingers curled around the back of her neck and the pads of his thumbs rubbed against her jaw, spreading blessed coolness into overheated skin. His pinkies slipped under the silk fabric of her robe. 

Was he going to kiss her? Would he do it right there, in front of Sally and anyone who happened to pass by?

Slowly, Tom’s hands ran down her neck and over her shoulders. She was captivated by his eyes. As the neck of her robe expanded, pulling open she absently untied the belt. the silk fell away from her in a whoosh as Tom’s hands reached the curve of her shoulders. She caught the robe in her hands as it fell and just stood there, lost in the spell of his eyes. 

“There,” His voice was thick, like something had caught in his throat. “Now you can get in the pool.”

When Mia was slow to get moving, Tom seemed to return to life. He grabbed the robe from her hands as she slowly gathered it up. Balling it up, he tossed it onto a poolside chair. 

Without much warning or even giving himself a chance to over think things, he scooped her up in his arms. A squeak of shock captured Sally’s attention and then the little girl was cheering them on. 

Mia reflexively threw her arms around Tom as he descended the steps slowly. Realizing how much of her skin was directly touching his skin, she let go and tried to put distance between them. 

This did nothing but shift her weight, almost toppling the both of them into the water. Feeling herself becoming unsteady, she grabbed onto him again. He carried her down the steps as if she weighed nothing in his arms. 

It shouldn’t have surprised her, she saw his build. 

Tom enjoyed the feeling of having her in his arms. Her skin was hot against his water cooled skin. The contrast felt dizzying.

“You’re too hot.” Tom said, not realizing until after the words left his lips the double meaning. 

Instantly his face began to feel hot and he had very few options. Somehow, he thought falling forward with her in his arms into the pool where the shallows dropped off into the deeper water was the best response to the situation. 

Mia surfaced sputtering water. Her brown hair was soaked, hanging awkwardly in the hair clip that had been keeping it off her shoulders. Tom surfaced a moment later gasping for breath. He didn’t have a chance to wait for a potential wrath or catch his breath before Mia was splashing him. 

“What if I couldn’t swim!” She was laughing even as she voiced her outrage.

“I would have saved you.” His words came in short bursts between mouthfuls of water she flung at him. 

Sally was an equal opportunity attacker, armed with a squirt gun and a unicorn steed to escape on. She had no allies, she had no partners, and she took no prisoners in her aquatic attacks. 

Such a brutal attack left no other option but for the adults to join forces and take down the small tyrannical dictator of the pool, filling the air with splashes, water and the musical sound of a family at play.

They played for a rather long time before dragging themselves out of the water for pizza and drinks. Some other kids had joined them at complex pool, giving Sally other victims for round two of the master of the sea. 

Mia stood, robe hanging from her elbows mostly forgotten as she checked her phone for what felt like the hundredth time. Sally was distracted, laughing and sharing pizza with anyone who joined their mini party.

“Any word?” Tom asked, resting his hand on her back as he came up beside her. 

“No.” Resisting the urge to throw her phone, Mia simply locked it and placed it face down again. “He said he was on his way an hour and a half ago.”

 ~~~~~<3

Sally was tired when they finally made their way inside, carried by her mother. Tom made easy work of the few trips needed to bring what remained of the cake and presents inside. Mia was thankful for the additional hands, Sally alone was getting far too big to be carried home. 

For today though, she would carry her little girl as far as she wanted. Five years old now, Mia could hardly believe it. This little girl had changed her life and been with her through some of her most challenging times. She was Mia’s world. 

For Sally, Mia would burn the world down if needed. For Sally, Mia would give the world on a plater if she only asked. 

It killed her that there were things she couldn’t give her daughter though, things she deserved more than anything.

Ray never did show up. Mia wanted to believe something happened to him. Perhaps a car accident on the way? Maybe he was in the hospital, phone lost or destroyed? That would be better than knowing that he just decided to not show up to his daughter’s birthday party. Again. 

~~~~~<3~~~~~<3~~~~~<3~~~~~<3~~~~~<3

They moved together, chasing the release they both so desperately needed. The sound of skin slapping together filled the room. The bed springs sang a song of primal lust, accompanied by the music of their gasping moans.

Tom’s fingers bunched into a fist, catching her hand in the process. He held onto her as his wife clenched around him, driving him on, pulling him deeper. 

Close. He was so close now. He could only hope that she was there with him as she gasped in pleasure, arching against him. Her walls fluttered around him. He moaned deeply as begging pleas for more fell from her lips.

She was his. His wife. His new life. His new everything. 

She was his. 

Finally, he had someone. Finally, he was enough for someone. 

Finally. 

~~~~~<3

Tag List: @winterisakiller @alexakeyloveloki @jennyggggrrr @dangertoozmanykids101 @tilltheendwilliwrite @tinchentitri @wizardcherryblossom @kats72 @buttercupcookies-blog @violethaze @soulpiercing @evedia @princess-ofthe-pages

#tom hiddleston x ofc #tom hiddleston x reader #tom hiddleston x original character #tom hiddleston x original female character #tom hiddelson x reader #tom hiddleston fanfic #tom hiddleston x you #tom hiddleston rpf #tom hiddleston smut #tom hiddleston x

[rosiegirlie]

Before You Go Performing (2): Rosie Rosenthal x OC

summary: Billie tries to work through some insecurities and Rosie is an absolute gentleman about it. Also Crosby turns out to be a good friend when things go down at the pub. word count: 11.8k read on ao3 part one

Billie felt like she was on top of the world with Rosie escorting her back home to her hut like something out of a romantic movie. The pair were walking slowly and a brief moment of comfortable silence had come over them. Billie couldn’t help but look out at the sun beginning to set over the trees and she smiled at the sight. Billie had long loved a good sunset and now that she was thousands of miles away from home she appreciated them even more. Even though no two sunsets were the same each reminded Billie of the red and white big top with the lights around beginning to glow. She could almost smell the popcorn and hear laughter in the air as the sky was starting to shift into something both purple and orange. 

Growing up in the circus a lot of what seemed magical to others was her mundane. But she always felt the magic in the sunsets before the last show of the day. Watching the sunset had been a part of her superstition filled warm up routine on the nights she got to perform. She found it funny that she used to feel such potential in a sunset while lately she found it in the sunrise. But it was easy to find the beauty in anything with Rosie by her side. The past week with Rosie had been an absolute dream and Billie had trouble falling asleep each night, afraid that when she woke up she’d find it had been just that, a dream. 

“Are you sure you don’t want to come out with me tonight? I’d make sure you have a good time.” Rosie asked, drawing Billie’s attention away from thinking about sunsets.  

“I always have a good time when I’m with you.” Billie answered with a smile. She received one in return.  

“So then why don’t you come?” He asked.

“I told you.” She squeezed his hand quickly and resisted the urge to pull him in for a hug. There were too many people around for that. “I have a headache building and being around all the noise and people in the officer’s club sounds like a nightmare. I need a quiet night. I just need to curl up with my book and turn in early.” 

“I want to hear your thoughts when you finish the chapter. You’re going to have a lot to say, I can’t wait.” Rosie said. 

“If I can finish. You know how slow I go.” Billie teased herself.

“You’ll finish just fine, don’t worry. There’s no rush.” Rosie reassured her. 

Billie couldn’t help but think he was wrong. Of course there was a rush. They rarely talked about it but Rosie could be lost just like that. Ever since this thing had first started between Billie and Rosie it was like Billie had been living in limbo. She’d never had to live like this, with her heart on the line almost every day. It’d been an adjustment over the past week getting used to the life of having her heart wrapped up in a pilot. Despite being such a positive person the reality hung so heavy Billie couldn’t ignore it. She had a lifetime of experience masking any of her emotions so she didn’t think Rosie had picked up on it quite yet, but she knew it was only a matter of time until he brought up the future. And once they talked about the future they would have to acknowledge all of the possibilities.

A part of her knew they needed to have that sort of conversation but she was also terrified of solidifying what was developing between them. Rosie had changed her world with just one look but she hadn’t figured out what that meant for her future. Even though being around Rosie somehow made the rest of the world make sense it also made her lose her inability to think rationally. All she really knew was that she would be utterly destroyed if she lost Rosie in any way. 

Rosie grabbed her hand and pulled her into one of the little alleys in-between the nurses’ huts, Billie couldn’t help but giggle as they went. "I'll take my dance now since I can't tonight." He twirled her around and while Billie almost stumbled she was quick to find Rosie’s rhythm and follow along as he swung her around their grass dance floor.

Billie couldn’t help but smile as she looked up at Rosie. Their faces were so close it wouldn’t take much for her to stretch out and kiss him and the thought made her stomach flip with nerves. Rosie seemed to be thinking the same and Billie swore he started moving his head towards hers but she turned her head before seeing if she was right. 

She slipped out of Rosie’s arms and went to stand against the wall. After feigning being out of breath Billie put a hands on her hips, shrugged and said, “Sorry.”

Rosie came to stand beside her and reached an arm arm out so his elbow rested on the wall and his head settled onto his fist. He looked at Billie and she couldn’t help but blush under his scrutiny. She wondered how long it was going to take for her body to adjust and not react that way every time he looked at her. 

“I feel there’s something you’re not telling me.” He said, perceptive as always. 

“I don’t know what you mean.” She lied. 

“We don’t have to talk about it. But I hope you know that you can talk to me about anything.” 

And it was that, Rosie’s constant understanding and grace, that had Billie speaking before she could plan what to say. She’d fold in an instant if he was the one questioning her. 

“I don’t know how I feel about the touching in public where people can see. Beyond what’s normal I mean.” 

Rosie immediately dropped his arm and took a large step back. The distance left a bitter taste in her mouth. “Have I made you uncomfortable?” Rosie looked distraught so Billie ignored the hypocrisy and stretched her hands out to grab Rosie’s in an attempt to comfort him. She hated seeing him so upset. 

“Not at all! Don’t you dare think that. You have been perfectly lovely in every way, Rosie. And I really mean that, trust me. This is a me thing.” 

“Then can you expand on what you mean?” Rosie slowly asked. 

Billie dropped her hands from Rosie’s and started wringing them nervously. “I don’t think I can really explain it. It’s just …” she waved a hand as if brushing off a thought. “I guess it all stems from being insecure. It’s just I don’t want to bring you down. I don’t want to be a distraction, you need to stay focused.” 

Rosie was making that face again so Billie continued, “I’m not saying I don’t want to be around you or be seen with you. I want to be with you, I just want to go slow. I want respectable not indecent.” 

Billie couldn’t explain how conflicted she felt. Because Billie knew all about physical relationships. She was no stranger to sex. Billie in the past was not shy, hadn’t had an ounce of shame and she was mortified at the idea of sharing her history with Rosie. If she had her way Rosie would never know about all of the scandalous things she used to do in public. Billie hated that she proved certain stereotypes right but she couldn’t help her past. She was both ashamed of her past self and proud for having been confident enough to get what she wanted. Still, she didn’t want to be seen as some sort of easy or loose girl. She didn't want to be like that anymore. Even more she wanted to be wanted beyond her body for once.

She didn’t know how to explain that she wanted something steady and real. This was the first thing Billie could possibly call a relationship and she’d spent years dreaming about this happening. But now that she was here with Rosie she was realizing how her past was on the edge making her fairy tale dreams unobtainable. She’d be destroyed  if her history somehow brought about Rosie’s social downfall or worse, turned him off completely. If she could keep things physically mild with Rosie, if she could convince him to stay around without relying on her body then there was a chance for things to continue. Because this thing did feel real with Rosie, the most real and right thing she’d ever felt. Billie would never forgive herself if she messed this up.

“You want something real.” Rosie said with an understanding smile. 

It was like he read her mind. Billie met his eyes again and she was struck again with a sense of awe in how in tune he was with her. 

“How do you always do that?” she asked. 

“How do I do what?” 

“You know exactly what I’m thinking when I don’t know how to say it.” She started wringing her hands again and looked around at anything but Rosie. “It’s embarrassing but… I don’t have any experience and because of that I want to do things right.” 

Rosie reached his hand out and gently touched her elbow to get her attention before dropping it back to his side. “You’re working yourself up over something you don’t even need to worry about. I’m fine with slow.” he reassured her. “I’ll take whatever you’ll give me.”

“You really don’t mind?”

“Honestly, I don’t mind. I can handle real.” Rosie took a small step closer and resumed his position leaning against the wall. “In fact, I like the idea of a little courting. It’s romantic.” 

Billie really didn’t understand how she got so lucky with Rosie. A girl like her didn’t deserve someone like him but she certainly wasn’t going to let him go. She was going to do whatever it took to keep him by her side.

“I’m fine with you setting the pace.” Rosie said and that really had Billie melting. 

She looked around to see if anyone could see them and when she felt like it was safe she grabbed Rosie’s tie and pulled him into a kiss that she wanted to escalate but resisted the temptation. It was a quick thing and Billie immediately turned on her heels and fled the scene in embarrassment at her forwardness. Especially after having just said she didn’t want that sort of thing yet. Understandably she left him stunned with his eyes wide and mouth open in surprise. 

Billie stopped after rounding the corner off the building and stuck her head back around to look at Rosie. “I hope you have a good night, I’ll see you tomorrow?” 

“Tomorrow.” Rosie answered weakly. Billie winked at him and gave a little wave then made her way inside.

It didn’t take long for Billie to get comfortable in the chair by the window with a blanket tucked around her. She wouldn’t be able to stay here for long with the fading sunlight but she wanted to take advantage while she could. Billie had only managed a couple of pages when voices just outside the window distracted her. She couldn’t help but lean closer to listen and it didn’t take long for her to recognize Rebecca’s nasally drone. 

“It’s just that she’s a waste of space. We give her the easiest tasks and she can barely handle them!” Rebecca said.

“At least she’s always in a good mood.” Someone else said.

“Who care’s if she’s in a good mood if she’s a waste of the Army’s resources.”

The girls all laughed and the sound sent chills down Billie’s spine. She wasn’t stupid; Rebecca and her friends were talking about her. She felt three inches tall but she couldn’t stop listening. 

“Plus there’s the way she’s been hanging on to Rosie.” Rebecca complained. “She was bad before but now her heads all in the clouds. She’s such a floozy distracting our best pilot.” 

“I saw him walking her back after dinner the other night.” someone confessed. “He has to be somewhat interested in her.” Billie’s heart warmed at the small argument in her favor but it didn’t last long.

“Or, Rosie is simply a gentlemen and Billie knows how to take advantage of that.” Rebecca countered. “She’s the kind of girl to use men. She’s circus trash who brings trouble with her wherever she goes, so what else would you expect? We can’t trust her with anything of value. We’d be doing Rosie a favor by pulling Billie from his side. He deserves someone better. It’s always heartbreaking seeing a man with potential being held back.” Rebecca’s voice was filled with distain for Billie and she could picture exactly what Rebecca’s face looked like as she complained about Billie. It was always the beautiful and talented ones that could say the most hurtful things, or at least it’d been that way in Billie’s life.

“By someone better you mean you, right?” Someone asked.

“What can I say, you saw how we looked together the other week.” Billie could picture Rebecca flipping her blonde hair behind her shoulder as she laughed. Billie felt sick. They had looked rather good dancing together and it had broke Billie’s heart and still hurt to think about. 

Having heard enough Billie got out of the chair and fell face first onto her bed. She screamed. Then she rolled over, grabbed her pillow and put it over her face then screamed again. Hate was a useless emotion in Billie’s book but for the first time in her life she understood what it felt like to hate someone. She was so frustrated she felt hysterical. It was like Rebecca had confirmed all of her worst fears of what people thought of her. One of her goals when signing up to be a nurse had been to reinvent herself and it was devastating to have her past ruin that. She wished she could go back in time and never tell anyone she was from the circus. She should have made up some backstory and lived a lie. Surely that would have been easier to deal with than this. 

Billie sat straight up with one thought on her mind, she needed to get drunk. Her adrenaline was racing with her frustration and humiliation and she needed to get the energy out somehow. She wanted to be reckless and make poor decisions to cover up this deep hurt. After peeking out of the window to make sure Rebecca and her friends had left Billie gathered her things and left the hut. She climbed on her bike and started furiously pedaling away, making it to the pub in record time. 

Billie burst through the door of the pub with such gusto that more than a couple of heads turned in her direction. She marched right up to the bar and ordered a shot of whiskey. Before the bartender could set it down Billie snatched the glass from his hand and slammed it back. “Another.” she asked. The bartender’s eyebrows were raised but he grabbed the bottle and poured more into her glass. Again she downed it all in one go and sucked a hiss through her teeth. “Another.” 

“Are you sure you can—”

“Another.” She glared at him and he immediately poured her another heavy pour. She threw it back. He set the bottle down next to her while he got her a glass of water and left her to go check on other side of the bar. After making sure he wasn’t looking she grabbed the bottle and with her heavy hand poured the whiskey like it was water. But this time Billie waited a bit before drinking and took a sip instead of throwing it back like she’d been doing. She picked her glass up and studied the whiskey, noting how the amber liquid reflected the dim light of the pub. It was so pretty it reminded her of the wood beams and rigging that held the big top together. It reminded her of safety and support.

Billie’s headache was gone but in its place she felt nauseous as all of the shots she’d taken hit her at once. She set the glass back down and let her head fall to rest on the bar. Billie wanted to forget, she wanted to make everything go away. She lifted her head back up and took another sip of her drink. She wanted to be numbed out and she was well on her way to that point. She pulled out enough money for what she'd taken and stuck it under the glass of water.

Billie worked her way back to a table near the window and smiled to herself as she settled down. Billie loved how dark and moody the pub was; she loved how she could sink into the flickering shadows from all the candle light. There was an intimacy to the pub, a warmth that Billie found missing in the officer’s club. The officer’s club had an edge of respectability that got under Billie’s skin. She preferred places where people could fully let loose. She liked being with the common man. She was used to being with those described as rough around the edges, so even though she didn’t interact with any of them she felt at home with the pub’s patrons. 

It didn’t take long for Billie to start wallowing about Rebecca. This wasn’t her first foray into mean girl drama but it had been a long while since she’d had to deal with it. She hadn’t thought that it was something she’d have to worry about but now that she was in it she felt like a fool for thinking it wouldn’t happen. Gossip and drama were a part of life no matter where one went and Thorpe Abbotts was no different. Billie should have been more prepared. She used to have thicker skin than this.

But even if she’d been prepared she’d still have gotten hurt over things she couldn’t change. It was frustrating because Billie knew she didn’t have anything to apologize for, nothing to be ashamed about. If men could live their lives sexually free then she had every right to do the same. She knew her truth and so did those who’s opinion she actually cared about. In the grand scheme of things Rebecca’s opinion didn’t matter and Billie should let it roll off of her like water off a duck’s back. Still, Billie did her best to drink away her bad mood.

Luckily she’d been left alone over the course of the night. It was as if she was giving off the aura of someone who shouldn’t be messed with. Billie supposed that since she was almost always in a good mood her brief moments of melancholy carried more weight than normal. She wondered what Rosie would do when she inevitably got this way around him. How would he respond when she was practically vibrating with negative energy and became a miserable bitch? Billie knew the effect her rare bad moods could have on those closest to her and she wasn’t looking forward to testing it with Rosie. It was a good thing she’d gone to the pub to drown her sorrows. Hopefully she’d be able to work her anger and shame out of her system so she’d be back to normal by the next time she saw Rosie. 

Billie had been eyeing an arm wresting contest that had started across the room while absentmindedly carving a heart into the table with her pocket knife. The group of airmen looked like they were having the time of their lives, their enthusiasm taking off all the years stress had added to their faces. Arm wrestling had been one of the games they’d played as kids and Billie missed the thrill and feeling of slamming someone’s hand down. She loved games, she missed playing things. She set her knife down and rubbed her thumb over the finished carving, her nail catching on the corner and a splinter got caught under her nail. Billie hissed in pain but then managed to squeeze it out. This was justice coming for her for defacing the pub’s table. It was very on theme for how she was feeling. 

Billie looked up to take a drink of her almost empty pint and saw Crosby heading directly for her. She’d never seen him at the pub in all of her time on base and even though she’d never thought about it before she realized that she’d unconsciously assumed he hated the pub like Rosie. 

She waited until he came to stand right in front of her to greet him. “Good evening, Sir.” 

“Good evening. I’ve been watching you.” Crosby said. Billie made a face and he scrambled to say, “Wait, that sounds awful. I didn’t mean that in a creepy way.” 

Billie couldn’t help but laugh and gave a smile, “It’s okay, I get what you mean. What about it?’’

“It’s just that you seem upset and I wanted to see if you needed to talk about it.”

“How did you come to that conclusion?” Billie couldn’t help but be a bit defensive. She knew it was obvious but she was still sensitive.

“Judging by how many trips you took to the bar,” he nodded down at all of the empty glasses on her table. “It looks like you’re drinking for two.”

“If you want me to be embarrassed you’re shit out of luck.”

Crosby placed a glass of water in front of her then sat down in the seat across. Billie was annoyed, she felt like Crosby was babying her even though she knew he was just looking out for her. He was a good man she was grateful he had forgiven her after the blood drawing fiasco. Billie liked having him on her side even if it bothered her at times. She took a small sip of water and then went back to watching the arm contest over in the corner. 

“I can tell you want to go over there.” Crosby observed.

“Is it that obvious?” Billie asked. 

"A little. It’s all the staring.” Billie must have made some sort of face again because he reassured her by saying “It’s only because I was keeping an eye on you that I noticed.” He hesitated as if debating whether or not he should say something. “You seem more down than usual. And I’ve never seen you alone before without all your girls. Did something happen?”  

Billie finished off her drink and gave a little shrug as she put the empty glass on the table with all the rest. She really didn’t want to answer Crosby’s question. A part of her thought that Crosby would actually be a good person to confide in since he’d probably respond well and give her some sort of advice, but everything was still too fresh. She couldn’t bare to talk about her embarrassment. Her self loathing was suffocating. 

“Do you think I could win?” Billie nodded in the direction of the men arm wrestling.

“You want to go over and get in on it?” Crosby asked.

“Come on, tell me you don’t think I can. Give me a reason to prove you wrong.” It was the liveliest she’d been all night.

“Why do I feel like you somehow hustled me into coming over just so I could bet that you can’t beat someone in an arm wrestling contest?” Crosby said with a groan.

“I wish I could say I was that skilled. But what do you say? You think I should go for it?”  

“You’re drunk is what I think.” He snarked.

“Do I seem drunk to you?” Billie asked. Besides her face getting flushed she was good at holding her drink. Normally she could be well beyond drunk and still act as if she was stone cold sober. But she wasn’t herself tonight and she wondered if she was off her game. 

“No, but that doesn’t mean you aren’t. Looks can be deceiving.” he sighed. “But yes, I think you could beat someone. I don’t know if any of them are that someone but I know you’re going to try.” 

“You’re a smart man, Crosby. I get why they promoted you.” 

Mind made up that she was going to get in on the action she stood up from the table with such force she bumped the table causing the glasses to clang together. 

“Easy now.” Crosby was startled by Billie’s sudden movement and moved to steady the glasses. 

“You want to come watch?” She was on the move before he could answer. 

As she got closer she realized that she didn’t recognize any of the airmen in the group but that wasn’t unusual. Like others on base she hadn’t been as good at keeping up with the new recruits as the original crews. Still, she marched forward smiling as if she knew them already and didn’t bother introducing herself. 

“Evening gentlemen. Can I have the next round?” She asked.

“Yeah, we’ll have a couple of lagers.” The man who just won said with a smile to all his friends. 

“No, I meant the game.” Billie pointed at the empty space between the men. 

All of them looked at her confused. The one who just lost asked, “You want to arm wrestle us?” 

“Not all of you, just whoever’s next. Normal rules, come on now.” She snapped her fingers at them to keep up.

“Look, ma’am. This sort of thing isn’t really for ladies.”

“Ladies can’t be strong?” she cocked an eyebrow and stared them down. 

The one across from her visibly swallowed then saw something just over Billie’s shoulder and he sat up straighter. 

“Why don’t you humor her?” Crosby asked from behind Billie, but it carried the weight of an order. 

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to.” Now she felt bad for trying to have some fun. She didn’t want to get rank involved. 

“I just don’t want to hurt you.” The airman said and Billie had to admit she appreciated the gesture. The guy meant well. It wasn’t his fault he didn’t know what Billie could handle. 

“Oh you’re so sweet to be worried about me.” she put her hand over her heart. “But you don’t have to. It’s just been a while since I’ve arm wrestled. My brother and I used to all the time.

“I won’t take it easy on you like your brother, ma’am.”

“I’d be insulted if you did.” She shooed one of the guys out of their seat and plopped down. She stuck her arm out. “Are you going to let me have my fun or not?” 

Billie won the first round easily. It was clear her opponent had completely misjudged her. Billie couldn’t help but love when men did that. 

“I thought you said you weren’t going to go easy on her?” one his friends teased him. And Billie wanted to echo the question but figured it was best to chill on the table talk. 

Her challenger was frustrated. He stuck his arm out to go again and Billie obliged. He was certainly trying harder but it didn’t take long for Billie to gain momentum. The guy’s face flushed, his whole face and neck red as he struggled to move her arm. Billie would be worried about him causing trouble but with Crosby behind her she knew she was safe. She was vaguely aware of more people around them but it wasn’t enough that she was worried about seriously wounding this guy’s pride. Her arm was beginning to hurt but Billie knew it was a level  of pain she could push through for a while even though she’d be feeling the affects for far longer.

The man fell back into his chair in shock when Billie won the second round. He was still bright red and Billie couldn’t help it this time and laughed at the teasing his friends were doing. This was the sort of fun she didn’t know she needed to cheer herself up. Crosby didn’t join in on the teasing but smiled in amusement at Billie’s antics; he was relieved that Billie was starting to act like herself again.

“One more.” The airman looked determined like some little toddler trying their hardest to do something for the first time. 

He was a young thing Billie realized, probably around her brother’s age and her heart throbbed at the thought. Billie wanted to squeeze his cheeks and and lecture him about one thing or another like she would with Eddie. The next best thing would be knocking him down a peg and reminding him women weren’t to be judged so easy. She grabbed his hand and situated herself for another round. 

While he made a good attempt Billie still had him knocked down in under a minute. He looked completely stunned after being bested. Billie held her breath for how he was going to respond since it looked like he could start yelling and causing trouble. One never did know with these military men. But then he just barked out a loud laugh, one that was joined by Billie and all of his friends. Billie got out of her chair and thanked him for humoring her. 

“It was my pleasure. It was nice to be reminded about the dangers of expectations.” He suck his hand out. “We never got around to introductions, sorry for being rude. Lieutenant Miller, ma’am.”

Billie shook his hand. “Please, just call me Billie. I can’t stand all of this formal stuff.” Billie waved her hand dismissively. “Anyways, thank you for giving me a little taste of the home front.” Billie gave a slight curtsy then turned to go back to her original table. 

She stopped before sitting down and put her hands on her hips while she inspected the table. The only glass with anything in it was the water that Crosby had brought her and that wouldn’t do. She stepped towards the bar but Crosby stopped her. 

“Do you really need another drink?” he asked.

“I’ll get a beer instead of whiskey, does that make you feel better?” She turned on her heels and stomped away before she could hear Crosby’s response. 

Billie wormed her way into the mess of people crowded around the bar. As soon as she found a spot the person to her right left but before Billie could spread out the space was immediately filled. She took in the newcomer out of the corner of her eye. Judging from the uniform he was an RAF airman and Billie couldn’t help but roll her eyes at him. She’d heard enough stories about them messing with her guys that she couldn’t help but be annoyed by this guy on sight. 

Billie was really annoyed when the airman’s arm brushed against her boob as he reached out to grab the bowl of nuts in front of her. She had to lean back to give him more space. She was a bit grossed out but tried to not think much of it beyond being a drunk accident and lack of awareness. But then the man leaned into her space again as he talked to his friend. Billie had a bad feeling but she stayed where she was. 

She told the bartender what she wanted then started drumming her fingers on the bar top to distract herself. Suddenly Billie felt a hand start to go around her waist and she immediately stepped away out of reach.

“Hands to yourself!” Billie snapped. 

“Come on now, love. I’m just having a little fun is all. I saw you having fun over there with all those tossers, you can have a little fun with me.” He leaned into her space with his face close enough that Billie could smell how drunk he was. 

Billie hated that the beautiful accent was being ruined by words that made her want to gag. “I don’t want to have fun with you. And you can have fun without touching me.”

His hand went to her waist again but then went further.  He grabbed her ass and she roughly pushed his arm away. 

“Get off of me!” She was furious. She wanted to rip his arm off but she didn’t want to start any more trouble than was necessary. 

“Do I need to buy you a drink first? I thought you Americans had no problem jumping right to it." He was leering at her like something out of a nightmare.

“Just leave me alone.” Billie was annoyed no one around her was doing anything in her defense but she wasn’t that surprised. People often kept to themselves when things like this happened. She looked over her shoulder and saw that Crosby had left their table and was quickly coming towards her. He looked concerned and was staring down the man giving Billie a hard time.  

“Here ya go little lady.” The bartender placed a pint down in front of her and Billie felt like she could breathe again. Now she’d be able to get away from the creep and carry on with her night. She turned her back on him and took a step away from the bar to meet Crosby in the crowd and go back to their table. 

“Wait, where you going? You have a drink so now we can talk.” The man reached out and grabbed her with both hands around her waist. He pulled her backwards into him causing Billie to spill half of her drink onto the floor. Billie saw red and she almost threw the glass on the ground. 

She twisted to the right and swung her left hand around to punch him straight in the face. It was like she put all of her strength behind the punch because the guy immediately crumpled, his head hitting the top of the bar before he slumped to the ground. 

Billie felt like she was watching this all play out from an outsider’s perspective and she looked a disheveled mess standing over this guy with her fist clenched and breathing so hard her whole body was shaking. Everyone seemed to be frozen around her even though she knew people had to be reacting. She came back to herself and leaned over the man to put her drink back on the bar. He groaned but didn’t make any move to get up. 

“Sorry about that.” She apologized to the bartender who was looking at her in shock just like everyone else around her. Billie was mortified at the attention and turned to run out of the pub. 

Billie’s eyes began to sting as soon as her face hit the cool night air. She held back her tears long enough to dart around to the side of the pub and find a place in the shadows to lean against the wall. Billie was crying as soon as her back hit the bricks with a hand covering her mouth to keep from making a sound. She didn’t need any more attention on herself. She’d only just stopped shaking when she heard a group of men leaving and one of them saying something about “that bitch.”

“Yeah, but that bitch threw a mighty left hook.” Someone said.

They laughed and Billie took a step away from the sound. One split away from the group and started down the back alley towards Billie. In an instant Billie felt more sober than she’d ever been and again she stepped further back along the wall deeper into the shadows. He stopped a couple of feet from the front of the building and Billie heard him unzip his pants. She turned away and clamped her hand tighter over her mouth to keep back her nervous laughter as he took a piss. Billie stayed frozen against the wall as the man finished and returned to his group. Her breaths were slow to steady but eventually evened out as the voices faded and once they disappeared she dropped her hand from her mouth to study it. 

She couldn’t see much with the miserable lighting in the back alley but she could tell she was bleeding. Her hand was throbbing in time with her still racing heart. With her knuckles a couple of inches from her face she noted that it wasn’t that serious of a thing despite what the amount of blood would imply. She’d probably caught the corner of one of his teeth since she did come at him from a bit of an angle. The memory of her closest friend Charles warning her of this very thing when he first taught her to throw a punch floated through her mind and she couldn’t help the chuckle that slipped out from her dry lips. Charles would be so frustrated with her but she knew that after pulling her into a headlock he’d whisper that he was proud of her and compliment her form. With how quickly the asshole had gone down she knew that she’d had the form worth complimenting.

Billie went to wipe off some of the blood on her skirt but stopped herself. She could stain her skirt and she didn’t want to deal with the hassle of getting the bloodstains out. She slumped back against the wall of the pub and leaned her head back so she could stare up at the stars. Billie felt woozy and a little nauseous so she crouched down on the ground and wrapped her arms around her legs. She waved her injured hand hang gently in the air so the breeze could help dry the blood and she could go back to using her hand freely again. Once the blood was dry she’d start the long trip home. There was no way she was going to be able to ride her bike being so drunk so she was going to have to walk it. Once again Billie was regretting her choices of the night. 

Billie looked back up at the stars and thought about how exhausted she was. It wouldn’t take much for her to fall asleep right there. She felt like a wet rag being rung out after having felt practically every emotion throughout the course of the day. But despite the high of Rosie returning safely the devastating blow of Rebecca’s remarks weighed Billie down. Even though she wasn’t ashamed of how she’d responded to the RAF creep she felt like she’d somehow proved Rebecca right and she hated it. Billie felt like she was going to cry again and put her hands over her eyes as if she could physically keep the tears from coming out. 

“Nurse James? Billie, you back there?” 

A voice came from the other end of the alley by the front of the pub. Billie wiped at her eyes as she stood up and squinted at the figure coming closer to her. It was Crosby. 

“I figured you might want this.” He was holding out a makeshift ice pack and Billie was touched at his gesture. 

“Thank you. Yeah, this will really help.” She shuddered when she put the icepack on her knuckles but pushed through the slight discomfort. Soon she felt nothing but relief. 

“I settled up for you inside. Can I walk you back to your quarters?” Crosby asked. 

Billie must have given him some sort of look because he was quick to add, “It’s just that I don’t think Rosie would forgive me if I let you walk home alone.” he cleared his throat. “Especially after what just happened.” 

“You don’t need to do that.” 

“I know, but I’m going to do it anyways. Look at it this way, I’d do this to any of my friends who drank almost an entire bottle of whiskey on their own over the night.” he reasoned. 

Billie figured she couldn’t argue her way out of it so she simply shrugged with acceptance. “Guess we best be off then.” 

“After you.” Crosby stepped aside and gestured with his hand that Billie should lead the way. Billie stumbled with the first step she took and Crosby rushed forward to help her. 

“I’m okay.” Billie reassured him as she straightened up. 

She grabbed the icepack from where she’d dropped it on the ground and looked at how the rag was now covered in dirt. It was essentially useless now that she couldn’t put it back on her open wound. So much for nice things. Billie took a deep breath before starting to walk again, quickly coming to Crosby’s side and matching his pace. Once they were walking with their bikes she realized just how drunk she was and she was suddenly more grateful than annoyed that Crosby wanted to walk her home. 

They walked in silence for a couple of minutes. Billie could tell that she was slightly swaying and was grateful Crosby wasn’t treating her more like a kid who couldn’t handle their drink and simply gave her the space to stumble along. It helped having the bike to keep her steady.

“How do you think you’re going to tell Rosie about this one?” Crosby asked interrupting the silence. 

“Oh, I’m not going to tell Rosie.” Billie said bluntly.

“What do you mean? You have to tell him.” Crosby was confused. 

“No I don’t. And neither do you. You can keep this quiet can’t you? Please?” Billie didn’t want to resort to begging but more so she didn’t want news of the night to get back to Rosie. So she’d beg if she must.

“Do you really think that you can keep him from finding out? I wasn’t the only witness in there. It’ll be the talk all around the breakfast tables tomorrow.” 

Billie groaned, “But I can still try.” She kicked a rock as she pouted like a kid. “I can’t even think about talking to Rosie until I’ve sobered up.” 

As if on cue Billie felt like she was going to throw up and stumbled off to the side of the gravel path leaving a startled Crosby and her bike behind. She hunched over and started dry heaving, only vaguely aware of Crosby coming up behind her pressing his hand gently on her back. She spat then coughed. 

“Are you okay?” Crosby asked. 

“I’m not going to let myself throw up if that’s what you’re asking.” Billie said then spat again.

“You say that as if you can will yourself not to be sick. If that was possible I would know, trust me.” He thought for a moment. “Is that really something you can do? A circus thing? You have to teach me if it is.” 

Billie laughed. “No, that’s not one of my special skills. It’s mostly hope and drunk confidence that I can keep it all down. I hate having to be sick in public.” 

“Something you’re familiar with?” 

“I don’t like the judgement in your tone.” Billie snipped and stood up. She wiped at her mouth with the back of her hand and then gave a smile to Crosby. “But yes, that’s something I’m familiar with.” 

“Here.” Crosby handed Billie a mint. “They help me, maybe they’ll do something for you too.” 

Billie took the mint, unwrapped it and popped it in her mouth. “Thanks.” 

They started back up again, though a bit slower this time. They had just entered the base’s bounds when Billie broke the comfortable silence that had fallen back over them. 

“What were you even doing slumming it at the pub tonight with the rest of us? Normally you stick to the officer’s club like Rosie.” She waved around her injured hand and said, “The pub’s drunken debauchery isn’t really your style.” She had meant to ask earlier in the night but had forgotten in the midst of everything. 

“I don’t hate it, it just gives me a headache.” he answered. 

“Semantics.” Billie wanted an answer. 

“I made a promise to some of the new guys.” Crosby’s response didn’t tell Billie anything but she figured it was best to accept his simple explanation. She was the dangerous combination of wasted and nosy but she held herself back.

“I’m trying to work on the whole bonding thing.” Crosby elaborated while making a pained face that made Billie laugh. 

“You’re really suffering, aren’t you?” 

Crosby brushed off her teasing with an eye roll but then turned serious. “I know it’s hard but I’m trying to take a page out of the Majors’ book.” he shrugged. “As much as I don’t want to get close to them it’s important for me to be familiar. I have to do what I can to take care of them, they’re my responsibility. And sometimes taking care of them means suffering a night in the pub.” 

“You almost sounded like Buck there at the end, complaining about Bucky.” 

Crosby chuckled. “I’m going to take that as a compliment.” He shook his head as he thought back on the Majors. “None of us will ever be able to do what they did.” 

“But you can do things your way.” Billie encouraged. She leaned over and elbowed Crosby’s arm harder than she intended causing him to stumble slightly. 

“I’m certainly trying.” Crosby answered as he righted himself. 

“You know, I think trying is one of the most admirable things someone could ever do.” Billie said. “So many people know they should do something but they’re too scared to make themselves do it. So many people can’t act! Life is all about momentum. You know, it’s like back when I was first learning the trapeze and I would get frozen up on the platform. I would be paralyzed up there staring down at the people who looked like ants and I couldn’t do anything! I could never just start right away even though I knew it would be for the best. That was the hardest habit for me to shake off. My dad used to get so mad at me.” she trailed off with a laugh.

Billie suddenly stopped in her tracks and pointed a finger at Crosby who was looking back very confused at her drunk rambling. She wasn’t sure if she was going to make sense but she continued, “Once you get moving it’s easier to keep moving. And it’s easier to start back up than starting from scratch. Starting is the hard part and you’ve already done that! Now you’re in the thick of it doing the necessary thing which is something to be proud of.” 

“Thank you… I think?” 

“You’re welcome.” She clapped her hand on his back. “Your men are lucky to have you watching over them. You make a difference.” She really hoped he knew how serious she was. Crosby wasn’t the type to easily accept a compliment.

Crosby went to answer but was cut off by a loud laugh coming from behind the building directly to their left. A moment later and a group of airmen came around the corner heading in their direction. As if by some sort of magnetism Billie’s eyes immediately went to Rosie in the back who was laughing with Pappy beside him. Of course it would be Rosie. She really hadn’t wanted him to see her in this state but there was no avoiding it now.

“How’s that plan of keeping the whole thing from Rosie going?” Crosby seemed to have noticed Rosie too, much to Billie’s dismay.

“Sometimes I really can’t stand you, Croz.” 

Crosby let out a laugh, taken aback but amused by Billie’s response. And as was her luck of the night Crosby’s laughter had drawn Rosie’s attention. 

“That you, Harry?” Rosie broke from the pack and jogged ahead of them to reach the pair quicker. His face brightened when he realized Billie was next to Crosby and Billie felt her heart up in her throat as she received Rosie’s full attention. Somehow she was feeling both incredibly sober and like she’d just taken another chug of whiskey at the same time. Billie didn’t think she’d ever be able to make sense of the way Rosie made her feel. She swallowed nervously but smiled back and did a little wave. 

“Good evening, you two.” Rosie didn’t stop as he came up to them. Instead he pulled Billie into his arms and swung her around to start dancing along to whatever song was in his head. Billie couldn’t help but laugh delightedly as she easily fell in step alongside Rosie. She could barely feel her hand throbbing with Rosie’s holding it. Crosby watched with a smile as the pair danced without noticing the group of airmen having to go out of their way to avoid the two.

“You’ve had a quite a bit to drink haven’t you?” Billie teased Rosie when they came to a stop and she leaned into his side to rest her head briefly on his shoulder. 

“I could say the same about you my dear.” Rosie wrapped his arm around Billie to keep her steady against him. He turned his attention to Crosby standing near their bikes. 

“What’s with the ice pack?” Rosie was looking at the ice pack Crosby was still holding after picking it up when Billie was almost sick. Billie had forgotten all about it. “What happened?” 

“It’s not mine.” Crosby said and Billie bit her tongue to hold back a groan of frustration at his honesty. 

Rosie looked her up and down and Billie shifted, for once uncomfortable with Rosie’s full attention on her. Without really thinking about it she moved her injured left hand behind her back, but she hadn’t realized that Rosie would feel her arm move since it was the one next to his side. He didn’t miss a thing and immediately moved to grab her arm and pull it out from behind her back. 

“What happened?” Rosie asked, his tone no longer light and joking. He’d traced his way down her arm and was gently cradling her hand in his, the thumbs ghosting over the dried blood. 

“This, oh it’s nothing.” Billie pulled her hand away from Rosie’s while taking a small step back. She hid her hand behind her back again. Maybe if she kept it out of sight Rosie would stay calm. She started shifting her weight side to side, swaying nervously. 

“It’s something worth an ice pack.”

“It’s been a long night, Rosie, we don’t need to get into it.” 

“I’m going to ask again and I’d really appreciate if you told me yourself. What happened?” Rosie’s tone had shifted into something so serious Billie stopped moving. Now wasn’t the time to play around. 

“It was just a misunderstanding.” Still, Billie really didn’t want to get into it. Her worst fear was that Rosie would look at her different if he knew she started trouble even if she all she did was defend herself. She didn’t want to find out if he thought of her in the same way Rebecca did. She didn’t think her heart could handle that kind of hurt after the night she’d had. 

“Why are you defending that guy?” Crosby asked Billie. 

“Harry, leave it.” Billie snapped. 

“No, Harry, go on. What do you mean? What guy?” Rosie asked, getting heated.

“Not one of ours. One of the RAF guys took an interest in Billie and wouldn’t take no for an answer.” Crosby explained while ignoring the killer look Billie was shooting at him. 

“So you said no in a way he’d understand you?” Rosie directed his question at Billie, inferring the rest of the story.

“I’m not going to apologize.” Billie crossed her arms defensively with a huff. She was still terrified of him treating her different but she wasn’t one to be ashamed of defending herself. 

“I didn’t say you needed to.” Rosie looked at Crosby. “Do you think you could recognize him if you saw him again?”

“Rosie, honey, leave it alone.” She grabbed his chin and pulled his face back to face hers. 

“I’m not going to leave it alone!” Rosie’s voice echoed loud around them and Billie was proud of herself for not flinching at the sudden increase in volume. 

Billie had never seen Rosie this worked up. Now that he’d been by her side for a while Billie realized that he’d had more to drink than he originally let on. He was more drunk than he’d ever been around her before. To be fair, this was the most drunk she’d ever been around him too. A part of her was beyond pleased that he was so upset on her behalf but the rest of her didn’t think she was worth all the fuss. 

“It’s okay, I took care of it. He’s not going to do it again, I’m fine. It’s not worth getting worked up over.” Again she tried to reassure him.

“But you shouldn’t have to take care of whatever it is.” he said with a frown, voice back to a respectable volume. He reached a hand out and cradled the side of her face. She couldn’t help but lean into the palm of his hand. He let out a sigh.“You’re always taking care of it by yourself when I want to be the one taking care of you. I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you to protect you. You deserve that at the very least and I failed you.”

“You’re just drunk talking sweet, come on. You have nothing to apologize for, really, Rosie.” Billie reassured him with a smile as she wrapped her hand around Rosie’s wrist.  

“I know you know I’m serious.” He dropped his hand from her face. “You shouldn’t have to fight battles all on your own.” Rosie studied her for a moment. “Life hasn’t been kind to you but that doesn’t mean it’s always going to this way.” His voice lowered to a whisper and Billie felt a stirring deep within her. “I could give you what you deserve.”

Billie didn’t know what to say to Rosie’s confession, his words weighed heavy on her chest making it hard to take a breath. She was too drunk, Rosie was too drunk, for them to be having a conversation like this. She cleared her throat and looked around suddenly uncomfortable with the thought of looking at Rosie. If she looked at him she was sure she’d burst into tears. He was just too much and she was too emotionally unstable to handle his sincerity. She needed to find a distraction. She saw her bike standing alone with no Crosby in sight. 

“Looks like we’ve been abandoned.” She said. 

Rosie laughed lightly as he noted that Crosby had in fact vanished at some point while the two had been wrapped up in each other. He walked over to the bike and grabbed hold of the handles. He gestured his head in the direction of the Billie’s hut. “Ready to move?” 

Billie came to his side and they started down the path. They’d only gone a couple of yards when Rosie stopped. Billie looked at him, confused, but then Rosie stuck out his hand. Billie looked at it and debated with herself over whether or not she should take it. She hadn’t made her mind up but when Rosie started pulling his hand back Billie snatched it without a second thought. She was blushing like crazy but she refused to make eye contact with Rosie. She could picture his face perfectly and she preened inside at being able to put a smile on his face. She gave in and peeked to confirm what she’d assumed and was pleased to see Rosie was in fact smiling dopily ahead and blushing just as much as she was. 

Rosie pulled her along the path with one hand, the other controlling Billie’s bike. Billie was grateful no one was around because she loved the feeling of Rosie’s hand in hers a bit too much. They came upon a bench and Rosie leaned the bike against the back. 

He looked at her with a bashful smile, “Let’s sit for a bit.” 

Billie nodded in agreement and they settled onto the bench with Billie not fully pressed into Rosie’s side but certainly sitting closer than what was standard. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Rosie asked.

“Harry already told you what happened.” Billie grumbled.

“That’s not what I meant.” Rosie reached out and brushed back a stray piece of Billie’s hair off her face. Chills rushed down Billie’s arms as his fingers gently traced the back of her ear. She ached for more of his touch as soon as his fingers left her skin.

“What did you mean then?” Once again Billie was pretty sure she knew what he meant but she couldn’t stop herself from asking. Knowing Rosie he picked up on the root of the problem and wanted to attack it head on. While she admired that about him it was frustrating being on the receiving end of his pointed observations. 

“I thought you wanted a quiet night.” He lifted her injured hand up and quickly kissed her knuckles. “This isn’t quiet.” 

Billie looked away from Rosie but didn’t pull her hand away. “I don’t know if I can talk about it quite yet.” She confessed while staring at how their fingers wrapped around each other. 

“Is it about Eddie?” 

Billie looked back up at Rosie. He’d always been so easy for her to read but now that he was drunk he was an open book. He was so worried for her it made Billie’s heart skip a beat. It was so sweet of him to ask about her brother first. Again she was struck with the thought that she didn’t deserve him.

She shook her head and answered, “No, it’s nothing to do with Eddie.” Billie sighed and said, “It’s embarrassing…” she trailed off with a weak chuckle. 

Billie ran her free hand through her hair and her fingers caught on a couple of knots but she forced them through. She ripped out a couple of strands and tossed them out onto the ground in front of their bench. Billie felt so childish, so petty complaining to Rosie about gossip. She didn’t want to ruin his opinion of anyone even if she thought they deserved it. She knew how well respected Rebecca was on base. Billie didn’t want anyone else to get involved. Christ, she didn’t even think she could talk to Barbara about what she’d overheard. 

Rosie’s thumb rubbed over the back of her hand and Billie was pulled back into the moment. She felt herself leaning further into Rosie’s side. She’d fantasized countless times about what it would feel like to be wrapped up in his arms but none of them came close to the real thing. 

“I said it before and I’ll say it again, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. But I hope you know I’m here for you. You can talk to me about anything. There is nothing embarrassing you could possibly say that would put me off.” He let go of her hand and reached a finger out to playfully tap the tip of Billie’s nose. “Did I ever tell you about when I met Majors Egan and Cleven?” 

Billie shook her head. “I don’t think so, no.”

Rosie was blushing fiercely but smiled as he said, “Let’s just say talking about flying in your skivvies doesn’t make the best first impression.” 

Billie threw her head back and cackled. “You’re not serious!” 

“I wish I could say I was joking.”

The sound of footsteps on the gravel and laughter behind them interrupted Billie asking for the whole story. Rosie straightened up and pulled away from Billie to give more than the illusion of a respectable distance between them. Billie hated how sick the sudden distance made her feel. She wanted him back. She felt weightless without his arm around her but for the first time in her life she hated the feeling. She needed grounding.

The pair were quiet while the group of airmen walked behind them and their banter did little to fill the space between Billie and Rosie. Billie suddenly realized Rosie had listened to what she’d said all those hours ago. He was respecting her wishes and letting her set the pace. It felt like it had been an entire lifetime since she’d shied away from his advance. But the more she thought about it the more Billie found herself opposing her original stance. She’d already proved Rebecca right that night so Billie figured she might as well go all in on bringing the gossip to life. 

People were still walking behind them, an unknown number of witnesses but Billie mentally pushed them aside and leaned back into Rosie’s side to close the distance he’d created. An unspoken gesture of consent; the invitation he said he would wait for. His arm immediately wrapped around her shoulder and pulled her until two were pressed tighter together than they’d been before. Billie couldn’t help but giggle as she settled into her new position practically on top of Rosie’s lap. She couldn’t bare to move. He pressed a kiss onto the top of her forehead and Billie barely held back a whimper. It was such a soft sweet thing but she couldn’t remember the last time someone had kissed her forehead. Her stomach flipped as she followed the train of thought and realized, not for the first time, that no one had ever treated her with the reverence Rosie seemed to hold for her. 

She stretched her neck to look up at Rosie through her eyelashes. He looked as drunk as Billie felt and Billie knew with every fiber in her being that Rosie wouldn’t kiss her unless she initiated it. Even though his dilated eyes kept darting from hers to her lips. Just like she could only pull herself away from thinking about what his mustache would feel like against her skin to stare back into his blue eyes. Billie felt ridiculous but nothing felt as right to her as looking at Rosie up close like this. She wanted to look at him for the rest of her life. Without another thought Billie stretched her neck and pressed her lips to his. 

Rosie was slow to respond and Billie was desperate for more. She pulled back the slightest bit and parted her lips. The beginning of saying something, she didn’t know what, was on the tip of her tongue but Rosie stopped her from apologizing or begging for more by closing the distance with a passion that Billie hadn’t been expecting. It was quick to get heavy between them with tongues and hands and Billie felt like she was flying. Rosie’s hands went to her hair and Billie couldn’t help but gasp. The sound seemed to spur Rosie on and his hands moved to cradle her face, keeping her in place while he took what he wanted and what she eagerly gave. Billie had never had this much fun with just kissing. But then he suddenly broke away and dropped his hands as if they were burning. Billie sucked in a deep breath as she struggled to steady her breathing. Her head felt like it weight ten more pounds without Rosie’s hands there to steady her. 

“We need to stop, I don’t want to rush this,” he said seeming to be as out of sorts as she was if his breathing was anything to go by. “I want to savor you.” 

“But I’m having too much fun.” she pouted. Billie knew she was being confusing going back and forth with what she was comfortable with and Rosie deserved better than her instability. But she was too drunk to try and lie to Rosie. Besides, she didn’t like lying to Rosie. 

She didn’t want more than necking in public right now, she didn’t even know if Rosie could handle more than that, but she wanted to keep going. It had been ages since she’d kissed anyone and she’d forgotten just how much she liked it. There was such a lovely intimacy to a good kiss. The real issue was now she knew what it was like to kiss someone she had proper feelings for. Billie had never kissed anyone like Rosie and she wasn’t sure if anyone would be able to live up to him. It was all so ridiculous because in some ways the kiss had been such a mild thing and yet it was the most life changing kiss Billie had ever had. She was on a high like no other and she didn’t want to stop. But she was weak willed when it came to Rosie and she’d do whatever he asked of her.  “This is the opposite of taking things slow. Besides you deserve better than a moonlight tryst outside where anyone can see.” He started brushing her hair back, trying to undo the mess he’d made. 

“I really don’t have it in me to care right now.” She confessed and leaned her head down on his chest. 

“Well that’s very progressive of you.”

She pulled back and studied Rosie. “Are you worried about my honor?” She phrased it as a question but in Billie’s heart it was a statement. She didn’t know how but there were times when she could just tell what he was thinking and this was one of them. 

“Well you said you wanted respectable and I’m trying my hardest over here but you’re making it hard looking at me like that.” His voice dropped, “You’re absolutely beautiful. I hope you’ve been told that a lot over your life because it’s true.” he said almost to himself as if he didn’t realize he was talking out loud. He traced a finger along her jaw and started to go up to her lips but then he dropped his hand. 

Billie had the sudden realization that Rosie probably thought she was a virgin. He probably thought that when she said she was inexperienced he’d assumed in every way. It seemed he hadn’t let any rumors or assumptions get to him. She felt like she owed it to him to be upfront with where she was really at. She was terrified of what he was going to think of her, if he was going to cut things off. It would be the hardest thing to recover from if Rosie broke her heart. 

She took a deep breath and said, “I’ve never been with a man.” 

“I know, you said that earlier.” 

“Romantically. I haven’t been with a man romantically. But I have physically.” Rosie’s face was blank and Billie was quick to continue, “See, I’ve never dated anyone. I’ve never… I’ve never been serious about someone. And no one has ever been serious about me.” She looked at their hands. “I’ve done things I shouldn’t be proud of but the thing is… I wouldn’t be who I am today if I hadn’t made those choices.” And that was a truth Billie wasn’t proud of. So much of her self worth had been built off her body; being approved of sexually was just as formative for her confidence as was meeting her father’s expectations for performing. 

Rosie didn’t say anything and Billie was too scared to look at him to see how he was feeling. If she read his face and saw any sort of disapproval or disappointment she didn’t think her heart would survive. “Does that surprise you?” she asked while running her thumb over the back of Rosie’s hand. 

Rosie shook his head. “Honestly, nothing about you surprises me.” 

Billie didn’t know how to take that and she said as such. She didn’t dare look at him. Rosie was quiet again as he thought about how to explain himself. He started playing with her hair and she couldn’t help but lean into his touch like some sort of animal getting pet. She held back voicing her desire for him to tug just a bit harder knowing it would lead to things getting carried away again. 

“You come across someone who has this distinctively unique life experience. It’s just as you said, you wouldn’t be who you are if you hadn’t made those choices. And who am I to judge you for those choices? You shouldn’t feel like you have to apologize for living your life. You are who you are and I happen to like who you are.” 

“That’s funny because I feel like I’ve barely lived a life at all.” Billie said with a disgruntled chuckle still refusing to look at Rosie. She didn't want to acknowledge his confession of feelings, she was blushing too hard to speak on it.

“Well whatever life it was, I’m glad it brought you to me.” He pressed a kiss onto the top of Billie’s head. 

“You can’t just say things like that.” She finally looked up at Rosie who was looking back confused. 

“What did I say?” he asked.

“It’s like you’re straight out of my dreams. You’re too good to be true.” Billie said breathlessly. 

She was getting sidetracked by some of Rosie’s curls peeking out from under his hat. Billie wanted a turn with her hands in his hair. She raised her hand without thinking about it but let it hover by the side of Rosie’s face as she debated whether or not she should start something. She wanted to but she didn’t know if she should. Billie thought back to what she was talking to Crosby about, momentum. She dropped her hand. 

“And you call me the sweet talker.” Rosie caught her hand as it fell and brought it up to his lips. She loved when he did that, it made her feel like the respectable lady she'd been told her whole life she wasn't.

Billie blushed and curled in on Rosie to hide her face. She felt so safe being in Rosie’s arms she never wanted to leave. She shifted to wrap her arms around him as best she could and leaned her head on his chest as they held each other. His racing heartbeat seemed perfectly in time with her own. Billie really didn’t want anyone to see them wrapped up in each other but at the same time she didn’t have it in her to care one bit who saw them. Rebecca herself could come up in front of them and Billie wouldn’t be able to pull herself away. She just couldn’t resist Rosie. His arms tightened around her and Billie knew the feeling was mutual. 

#sorry this took forever to write ! hopefully the next bit won't take as long !! but i am the way i am so ?!! #masters of the air #masters of the air fanfiction #mota fanfic #mota fanfiction #rosie rosenthal x oc #masters of the air oc #rosiegirlie writes