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aparticularbandit · 2 years

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Ms. Mackie: Chapter Two

Chapter Summary: Twenty minutes, pills prescribed to help with her ankle and not a hangover (but they can do double duty, can’t they?), a quick shower to clean the scent of sex from her (although she aches for it all over again, particularly as she finds how sore her body is, as she runs her fingers along each mark her partners left in her ivory skin), and a piece of buttered toast later, Eve’s as ready for the day as she thinks she’ll ever be.

Brendan, on the other hand, appears to have not left his room at all.

Eve reaches out, brushes her fingertips along the closed door, and then continues on with her morning as though he hasn’t come home.

This is a lie, but it’s a necessary one she tells herself to make sure she gets out the door.

AO3

Eve wakes first, in a bed scenting sweetly of sex, one that should have been shared with her two companions, if they’d stayed, if they’d drawn warmth from each other.

(If they’d stayed, perhaps, in the early morning, there would have been a gentle, sleepy reprise. She can already imagine it now, slipping back to consciousness with the press of Julian’s lips to the curve of her neck, with Amanda’s fingers skimming the surface of her stomach until it flinches, to the softest whispers of, “Eve, it’s time to wake up,” to hot breath on her lips before another’s meet her own, to the gentle reflex of her fingers into Amanda’s untamed curls, to her other hand reaching and finally finding Julian just next to her—)

Her head throbs sharply, forcing her back to the present, to the alarm clock blaring next to her.

In one fluid motion, Eve slams a hand atop the alarm and forces herself into a sitting position. Her ankle complains loudly, harshly, and she fits the clunky, unsexy (or is it?) black boot over her foot, straps it into place, and then shifts out of bed, spaghetti strap tank hitched up about her waist, leaving a strip of bare skin exposed, sweatpants rolled once to keep its legs from catching under her feet (under her boot). She pushes a hand through her frumpled waves and squints at the room.

The light is so BRIGHT.

It isn’t fair to follow up such wonderfulness – and then such awkwardness – with a hangover and a sprained ankle.

Water. She needs water. And some very good pain pills.

Twenty minutes, pills prescribed to help with her ankle and not a hangover (but they can do double duty, can’t they?), a quick shower to clean the scent of sex from her (although she aches for it all over again, particularly as she finds how sore her body is, as she runs her fingers along each mark her partners left in her ivory skin), and a piece of buttered toast later, Eve’s as ready for the day as she thinks she’ll ever be.

Brendan, on the other hand, appears to have not left his room at all.

Eve pauses in front of his door. Only a few months ago, they had woken nearly around the same time. She’d always gotten up earlier, almost at the crack of dawn, so that she could be out of the bathroom in time for him to take it when he returned from his early morning jog, but they’d still woken at the same time. Maybe it’s better that they hadn’t now; she’s gotten used to his absence and started sleeping in later, not needing to arrange her schedule around his, and she wouldn’t want to interfere with anything he might need today. Especially not after he’d seen her—

She swallows and decides against checking in on him. Brendan probably had later classes at college – she will need to ask about that later – and whatever has caused him to return a week before break must have worn him out. Add to that what he’d—

No.

Eve reaches out, brushes her fingertips along the closed door, and then continues on with her morning as though he hasn’t come home.

This is a lie, but it’s a necessary one she tells herself to make sure she gets out the door.

Eve hobbles into the senior center, moving slow. Even with the pain pills, her head throbs unpleasantly. She keeps her sunglasses on, despite knowing that the seniors will look down on her for doing so, and clutches two plastic cups of coffee from not Starbucks, but the local coffee shop that Amanda introduced her to a few weeks ago. When she makes it to her office, she collapses behind her desk, sets Amanda’s cup down, and then raises her own for another long drink. It hasn’t really been helping, but the warmth along the back of her throat is pleasant, at least.

Seconds pass before Amanda enters her office – without sunglasses, which surprisingly makes Eve’s heart sink just the slightest bit – not that she would ever wish pain on her friend! Only that she thought they might commiserate over this together, too. Eve offers her the slightest of smiles, winces at the sudden throb of her head, and lifts the second cup toward her. “Coffee?”

“Eve, you shouldn’t be here. You’re hurt.”

Amanda glances down, and Eve follows her gaze to the thick clunky black boot. “Oh, this?” she asks before promptly sitting in her office chair. “I’m fine.” She starts to move papers from one side of her desk to the other before pulling out her keyboard. “As long as I sit here, it’s like nothing ever happened. Besides,” she meets Amanda’s eyes briefly, “I didn’t want you to think I was, um.” She licks her lips, and her gaze drops. “Hiding from you.” Her voice grows quieter. Her eyes flick up and back down. “Again.”

Because Amanda had never believed her lies about being sick after that first kiss. Lying is not her strength.

“I wouldn’t have thought that,” Amanda gently corrects her. She takes the plastic cup, smiles at the name etched in purple on the outside, and then raises it. “You brought the good stuff.”

Eve allows herself to hope, and a smile tentatively breaches her lips. “Of course. Only the best for—” She cuts herself off. That’s inappropriate for work. “Only the best,” she repeats after clearing her throat.

Amanda just nods knowingly. “Mm.” She sips the coffee. “But you really should go home, Eve. Take a sick day. I’ve got this.” Her hand sets on the edge of Eve’s desk, and for a moment—

Eve imagines Amanda beneath the desk, running her hands up Eve’s exposed—

She swallows. “No, no. I…I wouldn’t want to put that on you—”

“Eve.” Amanda steps forward, closer, and meets her eyes. “I’m telling you this as a colleague and as a friend who has sprained her ankle and been on those pain pills you’re on – and worse – and tried to work through them, and it does not go well for anyone. You always say it’s better to take time and take care of yourself than it is to push yourself into things your body isn’t ready for. Maybe you should listen to your own advice.”

With Amanda standing this close, taller than her, hovering over her, Eve’s mind starts to wander again. She reigns it back in before it can go too far, though, and licks her lips. “Okay,” she says, voice soft, not letting her gaze drop from Amanda’s. “If you…if you insist.”

“Oh, I insist.” Amanda smiles at her before starting back toward the door with her cup of coffee in her hands. She stops just inside the door, taps her fingers on its frame, and then glances back. “Do you mind if I stop by your house after work? You didn’t seem to like the tequila, so I thought I’d take it off your hands. If you don’t mind.”

Eve’s breath hitches in her throat the moment Amanda suggests stopping by after work. She swallows around it and nods before saying, “I don’t mind.” She smiles at her, easy, far more easy than she thought it would be. She’d expected this to be tense. Awkward. Employer/employee crossing a line feeling bad, just like it had after she’d mistakenly kissed her. But this…is nothing like that. Somehow.

Maybe because they’d both been aware of what they were doing. Because they’d both wanted it.

All three had—

“Good. I’ll see you later, then.”

Amanda slips through the door, and Eve takes a deep breath, wishing that she’d gotten iced coffee so that she would have something cool to drink.

Of note, Brendan does wake up before his mom leaves. He can hear her through his bedroom door – all that clunk-clunk-clunking as she moves from one room to the other – and he thinks maybe she should take off that stupid boot so that he can get some rest. It’s not like he’s actually gotten any sleep. He’s dozed off a few times, sure, but his mind just keeps racing and racing and coming back to that image of his mom, naked, in bed with—

Yeah, see, he doesn’t want to think about that, but he can’t get it out of his head. He’d even pulled out his laptop, plugged in an old pair of headphones, and tried to turn on some porn, but that. just. made things worse. Because then it wasn’t an image of the three of them in bed together talking, it was—

Nope, nope, he was finally actually getting somewhere with that whole not being awake thing, and he would really like to get back to that—

Except he can’t, because his mom is clunk-clunk-clunking around the entire house.

Brendan’s breath stills when the clunking stops just in front of his door. Please don’t come in. Please don’t come in. Don’t knock on the door. He can pretend he’s asleep. Just cover his head with his blanket and hide between his pillows and then she’ll leave him alone. He’s done that before with great success, but mostly he just doesn’t want her to even try right now.

Then the clunking starts again, ending only when the door clicks shut.

He breathes a big sigh of relief, closes his eyes again, and hopes that maybe – maybe – this time he’ll be able to do more than just doze off now that she’s gone.

It’s three hours later, closer to noon than not, when Brendan wakes to the vibrating of his phone on his bedside table. He groans – a consecutive three hours is probably better than nothing, but he’s still so exhausted. At least those images hadn’t filtered into his dreams; he doesn’t want to think about his mom and Julian—

Okay, okay, that’s a little bit of barf coming up the back of his throat again, and he doesn’t want to relive that either.

Brendan reaches over and checks his phone, expecting it to be his mom. Something about going out for pizza and seeing if he wants anything, like she usually does. Cupcakes, maybe, to celebrate his being home so early. Not that he’ll be able to eat them if he wants to stay in shape for lacrosse next year, but he’s…starting to think that isn’t likely. His grades are horrible. Scholarships only go so far. He could maybe make it another semester, but then he’ll lose those, too, and he’s not—

He opens his phone and scrolls through his missed messages – his missed phone calls – from his dad. That’s…that’s something, at least. Nothing from Chloe. That still stings. A text from Sanjay – who somehow got his number from Zack a long time ago and just never got the chance to use it – checking in on him, seeing if he’s okay. Nerd. It’s not like he can talk about what he just saw with any of them anyway.

Not that he’s thinking about it. Talking to people would mean that he’s thinking about it, and he’s very much not thinking about it.

Brendan shoots his dad a text, ignoring the countless variations on Brendan? Are you okay? What’s wrong? Call me! – almost like he’d called his mom instead of his dad, and says, Drank too much. I’m fine. That should be enough. It wouldn’t be for his mom – he can’t imagine even telling her he was drunk – but his dad’s a bro. Or was one, once. Or could be one when he didn’t have his head stuck up his ass over—

Point is, his dad will get it, and he’ll leave him alone, which is really what Brendan wants right now.

His bare feet slap the floor. He pushes a hand through his mussed hair. His room seems so bare now, other than the backpack he’d dragged next to his bed, other than the laptop he still had open on his bedside table. He’s not supposed to be here yet. Everything is falling apart.

(Has it always been falling apart? Has he only been able to push it back for the past ten years? Did it ever stop falling apart?)

Brendan has never felt more tired in his entire life.

Bare foot, Brendan pads from his bedroom, checks left or right to make sure that his mom really is gone and isn’t just trying to fool him, and then makes his way to the kitchen, opens the fridge, and digs behind all of the frozen meals (Lean Cuisine) that she likes to eat when she doesn’t have time to cook dinner (not as often anymore as it used to be, or maybe it’s more often now that he’s gone – not that he cares) until he finds a bottle of—

Tequila?

His mom had always been more of a schnapps person, which was not great when he wanted to get drunk, but it had always been better than nothing. This is…this is odd.

But, again. Better than nothing.

Brendan pulls a shot glass from the top shelf of the cabinet where his mom hides them, takes a shot of the tequila, makes a face, and then takes another shot before drying the glass out and putting it back where he’d found it, capping the tequila and putting it back in the very back of the freezer, behind all of the frozen meals. That should…that should help.

Hopefully.

The real problem with coming back before Thanksgiving break is that none of Brendan’s friends are going to be in town, except for the guys who didn’t graduate, and he doesn’t really want to hang out with a bunch of high school seniors. He doesn’t want to be that guy – the one from college who just creepily hangs out with high schoolers all the time and never, you know, moves on. Leonard had done that when he was a junior – honestly, they should not have been surprised; his name was Leonard, for crying out loud – and, like, Leonard had been cool and then he was just sad.

Still.

Being with someone sounds a lot better than being with no one.

He doesn’t want to reach out to Becca, but he could, conceivably. She’d been more than happy to see him the last time, so it only stands to reason that she’d be more than happy to see him again. They could start back up again; she’d always been easy, but she’d be more easy as the girlfriend of a college guy. She’d probably be so happy to see him back again that she wouldn’t even ask why it was early. He could just—

Brendan bikes to the local ice cream shop, locks his bike to one of the bike stands outside, and strolls inside. There’s no one there, of course. They’re all in school. But he strolls up to the counter anyway, hunches over like he always used to, and gives the backside of the lady behind the counter a good look before just dinging the little gold bell. She’s got her red hair pulled up in a high ponytail, and he can see freckles along the nape of her neck, just under the little wisps of hair that won’t fit in the ponytail. And the apron they force them to wear just accents her tiny little waist.

It’s making him pretty hot, actually.

…or maybe that’s the tequila.

Or both.

The girl turns around, and now he can see the smattering of freckles all across her face – the bridge of her nose, her cheeks, down her neck, even just on the inside of her button-up shirt where she has the first button unbuttoned so that he can almost just see the curve of her breasts. All freckles. One corner of his lips curves up as his eyes move to her name tag. Katie.

It’s a pretty name, as far as names go.

“You need something?” Katie asks, raising one sculpted auburn brow. Her eyes are just this dazzling shade of blue.

How about you? Brendan thinks, smug with himself for the little joke that lifts his lips, and then he shrugs. “You got anything good?”

Katie rolls her eyes. “Look, it’s an ice cream shop, we’ve got all the normal flavors, and you can get a shake or a waffle cone or—”

“You got a banana split?” Brendan continues to lean against the counter, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

“Yeah.” Katie sounds like she doesn’t care, but that’s just the job, right? “That what you want?”

Brendan flashes her his most encouraging grin. “Yeah. Let’s do that.” He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his wallet. “How much?”

She does not say free of charge, but that’s okay. It isn’t like he expected that or anything.

But his eyes follow her every now and again as he sits in his chair and starts in on the first real thing he’s eaten all day. (His mom quit buying cereal. Who forgets to buy cereal? What is wrong with her?)

When Eve finally returns home, Brendan is gone. She knows because he left his bedroom door wide open – bed unmade, like always, and empty of him. She calls for him, but he doesn’t answer her, and when she checks for his bike outside, it’s gone. That’s fine. It’s fine. They can…they can talk later.

She’s not sure how to even bridge that conversation, but she can at least ask him why he’s decided to come back so soon. He must have a reason, and he must expect her to ask. She just has to make sure that she doesn’t let him bullshit her the way his dad used to, giving excuse after excuse for why he’d gotten back so late when really he’d been out with the girl he’d found from a fucking Craigslist ad—

Eve pushes a hand through her hair. All that time cleaning, all that time getting ready for work, and now she’s right back here, waiting. Brendan’s gone. She doesn’t know for how long. But if he’s out on his bike—

Her lips push together. Her head gives a sharp pang, sharper as she pulls her sunglasses off and winces with how bright the room has gotten. She gets herself a glass of water and heads to her bedroom. Orgasms are actually supposed to help with headaches.

She doesn’t even need porn this time; just remembering the three of them, skin on skin on skin, is enough to get her wet.

(After, when she has exhausted herself, when she has drained her glass of water, Eve closes her eyes and lets herself rest. She needs it, she thinks. That’s what a day off from work with a sprained ankle is supposed to be. Rest.

She just wants someone else – or someones else – to rest with her. She aches for the aftercare they were robbed of.

But she will never tell them that.)

The knock on the front door rouses Eve from her drowsy rest, and she opens her eyes, forgetting where she is for the first few seconds. She should be at work. What time is it? Oh, right. Amanda sent her home. Rest. For the sprained ankle. Right. Right. Amanda’s supposed to be coming over later for the tequila. Amanda’s—

Oh, shit.

Eve snaps up, pushes herself out of bed a little too quickly, puts a little too much weight on her sprained ankle and pulls back with a little yelp of pain, then pushes the clunky black boot into place before rushing – as much as anyone can rush in that stupid boot – to the front door. It isn’t until she opens the door to Amanda that she realizes she’s only in her shirt – respectable, for work, it’s a nice shirt, not a t-shirt – and her underwear.

Right. She’d taken her pants off for—

Right.

She swallows and flushes a brilliant pink. “Sorry, sorry, I didn’t even think, I, uh, I’ll just go get some pants, c’mon in, the tequila’s just—”

Eve leaves Amanda at the door and tries to rush back to her room, but it is so fucking hard in this stupid fucking boot. She doesn’t get very far before she feels Amanda’s hand on her shoulder, stopping her. Her lips press together as she turns back.

“It’s okay, Eve.” Amanda gives her a wry little smile. “You’re comfortable, right? That’s the best part of taking a day off. I don’t mind.”

The flush returns then, and Eve nods slow. “Yeah,” she says, looking down and tucking mussy strands of her hair back out of her face. “I….” She takes a deep breath in, swallows hard, and then looks back up at Amanda, smiling the way that she always does. It’s an easy smile. Never fake. Never fake. “The tequila’s just in the freezer.”

“The freezer?” Amanda’s eyes widen.

Eve looks at her initially. “Is there something wrong with that?”

Amanda bites the tip of her tongue, bites her lower lip, holds something back, and then gives a little shake of her head. “No. No, there’s nothing wrong with that.” One edge of her lips twists in a wry grin. “You don’t drink tequila very often, do you?”

“No,” Eve says with a shake of her head as she leads her to the kitchen. “Ted – my ex-husband – he always liked it better than I did. Ours was the first time I’ve had it in…well, at least a decade. Before he left, but longer. We stopped drinking together much earlier than that, and he quit trying to get me to drink tequila with him even earlier than that.”

“I didn’t realize it was such a bad memory for you.”

Eve shrugs. “It’s not. I don’t think about it all that often. I just drink something else.” She gives Amanda a smaller smile. “And now I have good memories for it.” Then she leans a little closer, shielding her mouth as though trying to hide what she’s about to say from someone else, even though there’s no one else there. “I still probably won’t drink it again.” She leans back. “Unless you bring it, of course.”

She hates the words as soon as they’re out of her mouth, and she flushes a bright red. It was probably a one-time thing, first of all, and even if it wasn’t, she’s Amanda’s boss. She doesn’t want to make things awkward.

“Oh, if you want it, I’ll always bring it.” Amanda’s eyes shift down and then back up before meeting Eve’s.

Oh.

Well.

Okay then.

Eve ruffles the back of her hair with a gentle scratching. “Good. Good. Um.” She turns to the freezer, opens it, and digs through the frozen meals before pulling out the bottle of tequila. “I always stash the liquor there. In case Brendan tries to find it. Although I’m sure he…he probably already knows it’s there.” Her gaze drops. “I’m…I’m really sorry about—”

“Eve. You didn’t know. It’s fine. We’ll just forget about that part, okay?”

“I…I don’t know if I can forget,” Eve admits, unable to keep her voice from growing soft, from shaking. She can’t imagine what she would’ve felt like if she’d walked in on her parents with…with someone her age – girl, boy, it wouldn’t have mattered. Gross, probably. Disgusted, like Brendan was. She’d seen it on his face, the pure disgust.

Eve gives herself a little shake then turns as the freezer door closes, holding the tequila bottle out. “Here,” she says. “This is yours. I hope you enjoy it. Responsibly.” She hopes that sounds like a joke and not like…. “Sorry, that sounded bad,” she says before she can even see Amanda’s reaction, glancing down. “I—”

Amanda takes Eve’s chin between her thumb and forefinger and tilts her head back. “Eve,” she repeats her name again and meets her eyes with her own warm, brown ones. “Relax.” Her lips curve, and she holds back what looks to be a laugh. “It’s like you don’t know the meaning of the word.”

Eve’s gaze drops. She can’t look into Amanda’s eyes that long right now. It makes her uncertain. “I know how to relax.”

“Oh? And how do you do that?”

Eve can feel the weight of Amanda’s gaze – curious, inquisitive, amused – as she looks her over, hand moving from where she’d gripped her chin and curving gentle through her hair. Oh, Eve remembers this. She bites her lower lip, glances up just enough to focus on Amanda’s slightly parted lips, and then—

She’s reading the room right this time, isn’t she? This isn’t like before, when she’d kissed her and Amanda hadn’t wanted it, right? This is—

Eve leans up on her tiptoes, brings her lips close to Amanda’s, and hesitates.

“It’s okay, Eve.”

She can feel Amanda’s smile against her lips.

“You can kiss me, if you want. I won’t mind. I’d actually enjoy it—”

Eve doesn’t mean to silence her, but if their lips are going to be moving that much against each other’s, then they should at least make it slightly more pleasurable.

Brendan slams the front door behind him. He’s feeling better than he had before he’d left – banana splits and hot girls and tequila can really do that for a person – but he still doesn’t want to talk to his mom, and seeing her car out in the driveway made his day just that little bit worse.

As had the other car that he didn’t recognize.

There’s no sound at first, and then his mom, from what sounds like the kitchen, “Brendan? Is that you?”

“Yeah, Mom, look,” Brendan starts as he walks to the kitchen, shoving his hands into his jeans pockets, “can we not talk about—”

And there is that woman again – the one he’d seen naked in his mom’s bed, the image flashes into his mind as soon as he sees her, and he’s certain his mom catches it because her face freezes – and his mom in nothing but a shirt and her panties, and they’re really close, and his stomach rolls—

“This is, um, this is Amanda,” his mom says with an awkward sort of smile. “She’s, um….” She glances to the other woman.

“A friend from work,” Amanda completes for her.

She’s fat. Not that that’s, you know, a problem, but he’d noticed it before, and he’s noticing it now, and honestly, maybe his mom just couldn’t do better. She has a nice face. That’s something that’s going for her, at least.

“Uh, yeah. Sure.” Brendan pushes his hands through his hair. What is this, some sort of booty call? He hadn’t been gone that long. He turns to his mom. “Is this just what you do after work now? Since I’m not here to keep you from—”

“Brendan—”

“No, no. It’s fine.” Amanda reaches over and pats his cheek. “You have a good day, Brendan.” She passes him with her bottle of tequila – fuck, he wanted more of that first, although now he’s feeling sick since he’d drunk that and it was hers, and that just makes him uncomfortable all over – and his mom’s eyes follow her. He glances over his shoulder at her, but she just slips through the front door like nothing happened at all, like he hadn’t caught them, like he doesn’t know exactly what—

“Brendan.”

He turns back, and his mom has her arms crossed about her chest, and for some reason, he feels like she’s upset with him. “Are you mad at me?” he asks, brows shooting up. “I literally just came home, and you’re like this,” he gestures to her with one hand, “and it’s better than—”

His mom looks ashamed. Good.

Still, Brendan cuts himself off. “I’m going back to my room.” He turns away from her.

His mom grabs his arm. “Brendan, we need to talk.”

She has never grabbed his arm like that before.

“Yeah?” Brendan turns back to face her. “We gonna talk about you being into girls now, Mom?” He gives her an exasperated look. “I mean, you could have told me. I wouldn’t have been upset or anything.” His lips press together, and he shakes his head. “I can’t—” He rips his arm out of her grip and storms to his room.

She follows him.

She doesn’t normally follow him when he’s like this.

“What do you want?” Brendan asks, turning around one last time to face her. “You don’t have to follow me.”

His mom takes a deep breath. She lets it out slow. Then she looks up and meets his eyes. “What are you doing home, Brendan? Thanksgiving break isn’t for another week. You should be at school.”

Like that excuses your behavior.

“I just needed a break,” Brendan says, hedging.

“A week early?” his mom asks, raising her brows.

“Yeah. School sucks, okay?” Brendan clenches his hand into a fist, relaxes, and then clenches again. “I think I’m going to quit anyway, so, like—”

“You’re going to what?”

Her voice is soft. Dangerously soft. It reminds him of the last arguments she and his dad used to have, right before his dad left.

“Quit.”

The word tastes bitter, and Brendan notices the way she flinches as he says it. Good. Good. She deserves it for what he came home to.

“I hope that doesn’t screw up your plans too much.”

This time when he goes to his room and slams the door behind him, his mom doesn’t follow him.

Good.

#bandit fic #ms. mackie #mrs. fletcher #eve fletcher #brendan fletcher #amanda olney #tw fatphobia #fatphobia tw #(because brendan's internal dialogue is shitty)#(we are aware that brendan has a lot of growing up to do and that's part of it)#(and i'm sorry for that)

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formulaforza · 2 months

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miss americana and the heartbreak prince

—08. It's So Sweet —word count: 5.2k —warnings: none :) love, mackie... um... yeah. yeahhhh. sorry sorry sorry if you still read this fic. surprise I guess! its NOT as dead as you thought it was. See you guys again in four months. hopefully sooner if there is a God.

Charles, teeth dug into his tongue so hard he can taste copper, manages to keep from slipping up for the remainder of his time in Georgia. He swallows it down, chokes on an I love you everytime she looks at him for days that feel like an eternity.

The flight out to France that marks the end of his stay had spent weeks serving as a dreadful backmarker, but now it was one of solace, saving him from himself. He knows better than to spit out “I love you” two months in. He knows better, but he also knows. Simple as that. He just knows.

He’s good at keeping it down during phone calls and voice memos and FaceTimes because there’s no fucking way he’s stupid enough to say it over the phone. Whenever he does finally deem the time to be right, it’ll be inches from her face, with all the time in the world ahead of them. Her smile will be there, just waiting to be kissed.

It definitely will not be while she’s grading papers or reviewing a movie or putting purple refills in her pen, even though he finds himself thinking just how plain and simple he loves her when she’s doing those things.

– – –

Charles spends the holidays with his family in France, coming pretty much directly from his time with Chris and her family in Georgia.

They quiz him like there’s no tomorrow about all of it; on Chris, and her family and her city and her life. He thinks he does a half-decent job at keeping his cards close to his chest; hiding his tells and acting completely normal and regular and plain about it all.

Well. He can be coy and secretive to everyone but his mom. Mother’s always know when their sons are in love, and Pascale has always been particularly apt at seeing straight through her boys and the bullshit they try to feed her.

He’s helping with dinner dishes—working hard to get those extra points towards being the favorite son this weekend—when she confronts him about it. He knows he’s in trouble. He’s never been able to lie to her in a way that was even sort-of convincing.

“So, Chris…” she hums, drying three two forks at once with a damp towel. “Is this going to be something?” She asks. Charles shrugs, squeezing more blue dish soap onto the plate in his other hand. “That’s too much,” she remarks.

He ignores the comment, moves the scrubbing sponge over the plate in small circles. “It’s new, still.”

“But you like her?”

He chuckles. Of course he likes her. He wouldn’t be dating her, traveling to see her, introducing her to his family if he didn’t at least like her. That’d just be cruel. “I like her a lot,” he says. I like her the most, he bites his tongue. He rinses the soap from the plate.

Pascale nods, soft smile on her lips when she takes the plate from his hand, drying it carefully. “Just like, is that right, Charles?”

He knows what she means, what she’s implying. They both know she’s right, too, but he can’t stand to admit it. He feels like if he does, if he actually speaks the words out loud, there’s no way he’s going to be able to keep it in anymore. It’ll be breaking the seal, and he can’t. Not yet. He doesn’t have it in him yet. “Maman,” he says, and his tone is laced with her answer, soft and sweet and pleading in a desperate way.

She smiles, sets the plate down onto the counter gently. It still clatters against the marble. “I know,” she hums, hand finding his shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze.

Charles spends New Year’s Eve in London. He’s with his brothers and his friends and like, all of their girlfriends. He’s been pathetically texting her the entire trip going on about i’ll buy your ticket if you want to come and it would be so much more fun with you here.

What Charles doesn’t know is that Chris is on her way, and that she’d been planning the surprise with Joris for three weeks. After a red eye flight from Atlanta that lands a little before two in the afternoon in London, Joris manages to sneak off from the group to meet her at the hotel and give her a key to his room. She hides out there for most of the afternoon while Joris tries to convince the group to head back to the hotel for a few hours without spoiling the surprise of why they should go back to the hotel in the middle of the day.

When he finally gets them back to the hotel, he waits fifteen minutes to text her the all clear, to let her know that she can come and execute the surprise.

It takes her an almost comical amount of time to find his room, considering it’s in the same hallway as everyone else’ rooms, and only ends up being three or four doors down from where she’d started. When she finally finds it, she’s hit with a sudden wave of anxiety.

What if he doesn’t want me here? She worries. Her hands get clammy and she stands there in front of the door like a complete idiot just waiting for her body to do something, to do anything. Finally, she brings her fist to the door and knocks.

Voices are muffled and heavy feet shuffle on the other side of the door before finally, after what feels like an eternity of loud bickering from the boys about who’s going to open the door, Chris is face to face with Charles, stupid, toothy grin on her face. “Oh,” he says.

Behind him, the guys jeer in French, but neither of them are paying any attention. Chris can't stop laughing, standing there, staring at Charles in the doorway. He stares right back, his eyes a window into the gears that turn behind them, processing… processing… processing so incredibly slowly. “Are you gonna hug me, or just stare at me?” She finally asks, and he laughs, snapping into reality, pulling her into a tight hug.

“What are you doing here?” He questions, pressing a hard kiss into her hair, and then he laughs even harder. “How did you get here?”

– – –

Chris isn’t there for more than a couple days—she has to be back at work as winter break winds to a close, and Charles has training camp in Italy at the end of the week. It’s a quick visit, but they make the most of it, and they do get their new year’s eve kiss.

It’s been, like, a month and a half since Chris was last in Monaco, but it’s been just two and a half weeks since someone posted a TikTok of Charles and her walking around Monte Carlo together. That means, it’s been two weeks of Chris stumbling upon, and falling down rabbit holes of, Charles’ fan accounts desperately trying to put a face to the back of the head of the girl in the video.

She’s less interested in are they going to figure out who I am and more interested in are they at least, like, close? The answer is no. No, they are not even kind-of close to connecting Chris with him. It’s all models and friends and people he follows on Instagram and even one ex-girlfriend, but definitely no American kindergarten teachers.

The fire is only fed, though, when on New Year’s Eve, drunk on Moscow Mules and equipped with the world’s most fashionable LED glasses, Charles is posted showing off the look. Under his arm, equally as drunk off espresso martinis, is Chris, engaged in conversation with Joris beside her.

It’s been two-thousand twenty-three for fifteen minutes, and Instagram explore pages across the world are already filled with pictures of the side of her head and Charles’ goofy heart-eyed glasses.

Chris is too drunk to know, much less care, but when she does find out about it, she won’t be bothered. She thinks that maybe she never will be a big deal—certainly not as big of one as he seems to think it is. Nothing is going to happen, she tells him so many times it doesn’t even sound like a sentence anymore. Who cares if everyone figures out who I am?

January isn’t much but settling into a routine. They’re both busy with a million and one different things—just a little peek into any sort of future they hope to have together—and it’s the end of the month before they see each other in person again.

Every post he makes on social media—every video, photo, story, mention, and repost is run through a microscope, carefully dissected searching for a repeat like and commenter, for an unfamiliar woman’s voice or a hand or a coat or a head of hair. Names fly around in a tornado of guesses, and none of them are correct.

It’s an easy routine to fall into; scheduled phone calls, FaceTime dates twice a week, and sneakily sent texts in the middle of the workday. Sometimes it feels like they aren’t all that far apart, like he could walk out the front door and get into his car and drive for fifteen minutes and be at her house, eat dinner at the same table, fall asleep at the same time, in the same bed. Other times, they can feel every step of the four-thousand, six-hundred, ninety-five miles that separate them, when it’s all pictures of dinner and goodmorning texts seen three hours later and delayed, laggy FaceTime calls.

It’s on one of those calls, where her face is frozen mid-conversation, that she’s gushing about how excited she is for some school event at the end of the month, the Art show, she’d called it, and when—after sorting out the camera issue for the time being—he’d asked for clarification on what exactly an Art show is, she’d explained the whole event with a big, excited smile on her face.

“Oh my gosh!” She’d laughed, pulling her legs underneath her. “Okay, so, it’s the coolest thing. Basically, the art department displays all of the art the students have made so far this year all throughout the year, and the kids get to show it off to all their family. They set up a book fair in the library, and they serve ice-cream in the cafeteria,” she explains, “All the teachers go, and they bring their families, too,” she nods. “It’s really cool. I like to see how proud the kids are of their work.”

He decides then, in that very moment, that he doesn’t want to hear about this in text messages and photos and Facetime calls. He wants to be there—feel her energy, her pride, her smile. It just pours out of his mouth, what if I came? And then, before she can even come up with a response, If that’s okay, obviously. If you even would like, want that, you know.

She bites down on a smile. “I thought you wanted to keep things quiet?” she chuckles, “be all protective of me and stuff?”

Charles shrugs. “I don’t think anyone would believe I’m at a primary school’s art-fair in the middle-of-nowhere America.”

“I mean, I don’t care,” she explains, tucking her bangs behind her ears. “But you do. I’d love it if you could be there.”

He smiles. “You’d love it?”

“I would!” She laughs, leaning forward, closer to the camera. “You’d better come for more than just a day though,” she continues, slumping back against the couch behind her, picking at the cuticles on her thumb, raising her brows when she quietly adds: “I can think of lots of other things I’d love to do with you.”

He shakes his head, dimples digging into his cheeks. “You’re a tease, Christyn,” he taunts, and her head shoots up from her cuticle.

“You have such a dirty mind, Charlie!” she laughs, and his cheeks burn at the nickname, at the accusation.

“Don’t call me that,” he mutters, and she only laughs harder, smiles bigger.

“Why?” She teases, crossing her arms over her chest, cocking her head to the side playfully. “Because it makes you blush?”

– – –

There’s really only one of Chris’ students that Charles knows by name: Quinn. Or, as Chris usually refers to her, my sweet, sweet, little Quinnie. Quinnie is not at the art show. Chris goes on to explain that she and her family are never at any of the school events—no open houses, no field trips, no choir recitals or art shows or parent teacher conferences. If it’s not a free event that takes place during school hours, neither Quinn or her siblings will be there, and their Mother will never be there because she’s always at work.

So, no Quinn to win over. He does, however, meet what may be the cutest kid he’s ever been face-to-face with in Landry, a little girl with two long brown braids and a strawberry patterned dress on. Landry is the first of her students to find their teacher, and completely ignores him to tug Chris’ arm towards the little girl’s artwork hung in the hallway.

“I’ll be right back,” she says hurriedly, over her shoulder, letting the little girl pull her away. Charles nods and flashes her a quick wink before she’s properly whisked away, leaving him with nothing better to do than shove his hands deep in his pockets and analyze the artwork of primary school students.

When she finds him again, no Landry in tow, she links her arm through his, leaning her head against his shoulder. “She told me I have a cute boyfriend,” she says.

“No, she did not,” He laughs, but his ears blush pink.

“She did,” she nods. “She said you were ‘oh my goodness he is soooooo cute,’” Chris repeats, in a sing-songy tone. “I said, ‘I know right! He’s the cutest.’”

“Whatever,” Charles mutters, running his other hand through his hair. “Where’s the ice-cream at, anyway?”

Two styrofoam bowls of vanilla ice-cream slices—one covered in rainbow sprinkles, the other with chocolate syrup and a maraschino cherry—later, and Chris and Charles are sitting at Chris’ desk in her classroom, him in the green spinning chair, her on the desk itself.

Two boys, who Chris refers to after they leave the room as Nash and Wyatt, are bouncing off the walls with excitement when they turn the corner into Chris’ classroom, their faces lighting up when they find her there. “Miss Elliott!” One of them shouts, half-out of breath. “The book fair has posters of your brother!” He explains.

“Yeah!” The other chimes in. “I see-ed it when my sister was getting a poster of,” he takes a big breath, “of, uh, a princess poster or something.”

“Yeah, and I get-ted this one!” The first kid adds, unrolling the paper in this hand to reveal a black and white Fortnite poster, demonstrating the dances from the game. “Cool right?” He asks, and Chris nods.

“So cool!” She says, “where are you going to hang it?”

Charles leans back in the chair, spinning slightly side to side, eating his ice-cream and just observing the interaction.

“Um, probably in my bedroom.”

Chris nods again, “perfect place for it,” she agrees.

– – –

He’s in Georgia for three days; Friday to Sunday, and spends all of it with Chris, almost entirely at her house. The art show is on Friday night, but he finds himself playing sleepover host with Chris on Saturday when Reid appears with a backpack, a pillow, and a baby blanket Chris tells him not to refer to as a baby blanket.

Chase is racing in Los Angeles this weekend, and left town on Tuesday, leaving Hannah alone on Mom duty. That would be all fine, if the weekend didn’t fall on the one weekend a month she works. Bill, Cindy, Chris, and Hannah’s mom have been helping to pick up the slack left in Chase’ absence.

It all comes together to result in him sitting in the middle of the living room, on the floor, surrounded by every blanket and pillow in the entire house on a Saturday night—a four-year-old boy sitting across from him, hanging on his every word, and his girlfriend in the other room making popcorn.

He’s been tasked with coming up with, and executing the plan for a super, super, cool boy-fort that Auntie Chris can come into, I guess.

A fort that fits into that description is a lot easier in theory. In Practice, however, he’s faced with the nephew he desperately needs the approval of, and a pile of purple and pink and sparkly and fluffy blankets and pillows.

It takes all four of the dining table chairs, a curtain rod from the screened-in porch, a fitted sheet, and a box fan, but the fort is quickly commissioned, and gets Reid’s stamp of approval when he moves his pillow, favorite blanket, and definitely not a baby-blanket, baby-blanket into the build.

Chris is behind them momentarily, knocking on the seat of one of the dining chairs before Reid permits her to enter. She crawls in, laptop and big bowl of popcorn in either hand. Reid is sandwiched between the two of them, Cars blanket covering his little frame, eyes glued to the screen while buttery fingers bury themselves in the popcorn bowl.

Reid is asleep about five minutes after the popcorn bowl is empty, Chris running her fingers through his short brown hair while soft little snores leave his lips. Her head rests on his pillow, just above his head, and she watches the movie. Charles watches her, arm propped up at the elbow, holding his head up. She’s so soft. So sweet. It ties him up in knots.

He feels like a child when she catches him staring, her eyes glancing over to him and making unexpected contact. His cheeks burn and his eyes dart away, back to the screen, to the movie. She giggles softly, barely loud enough for him to hear over his sudden mortification. “Beautiful fort you’ve built here,” she says, and he looks back at her, meets her eyes properly this time.

“Thank you,” he chuckles. “I’m thinking maybe I will make it my new career after racing.” Charles nods. Chris nods. A smile dances its way across her lips, turning the corners up gently. It makes him smile, too. “Charles Leclerc: Professional fort builder.”

“Oh,” She chuckles. “I can hear it now. You’ll be a household name.”When Charles wakes up, credits are rolling on the laptop screen and Chris’ hand is moving softly over his shoulder. He’s the bridge of his nose and picking the sleep out of his eyes and trying to get his bearings. All he’s sorted out so far is that Chris is here, he’s fucking boiling, and there’s a sleeping kid between them. He squints his eyes—like the dim light from the black credit screen is too bright for him—until she comes into focus. She points to the exit of the fort. “Bed,” she mouths.

“Well,” Chris shrugs, bringing a forkful of salad to her mouth. “I think you’ve won Reid over.”

Charles laughs on her phone screen. He’s in Italy… or Monaco… or… she’s not really sure, to be honest. It’s hard to keep track sometimes, when he’s always somewhere new. He’s in bed, wherever he is, the lamp from her kitchen casting the only light in his dark room. “Is that right?”

“Oh yeah,” she nods. “I had the pleasure of reminding him you weren’t here this afternoon. He wasn’t happy with me.” She remembers it well, his declaration that Charles and Me are going to play games today, and remembers better the little, defeated oh, right after she had to remind him Charles had left the day before.

Charles chuckles, shaking his head and rolling his eyes playfully. “I told him goodbye!”

“I know!” She says, taking another bite, her hand covering her mouth while she talks around the lettuce. “He thought you meant goodbye for the day,” she explains, swallowing. “Not goodbye for a while.”

Charles frowns. “Shit, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize!” Chris laughs, poking her fork around her bowl. “I love that he likes you so much, it’s adorable,” she hums. “He’s absolutely devastated you won’t be at his birthday party, though.”

Charles scoffs, his mouth dramatically falling open. “No way. You didn't tell me it was his birthday!”

“Because it’s not for like, two weeks!” She defense, laughing. “I wasn’t even thinking about it.”

“When is it?”

She cocks her head to the side, already knowing what he’s about to say, and unscrews the top of her water bottle. “His birthday’s the sixteenth, but the party is the eighteenth.”

“I’ll be there.”

“No you won’t. You have testing.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Yeah,” she insists. “On Monday you have to be in Bahrain.”

“Monday is not Saturday.”

Chris doesn’t tell anyone outside of Chase and Hannah that Charles is flying in, and they definitely don’t tell Reid about it, just in case it falls through for any of the million reasons it could possibly fall through because of.

It was a last minute-trip, after all, and it seems like every second of Charles’ time is accounted for right now, so Chris is prepared at any moment to get a text or a call apologetically explaining that he got pulled into something else. That call never comes, and she picks him up from the airport late Friday night, just in time to bicker in the middle of a liquor store about wine.

“Absolutely not, baby.” He says, shaking his head, a truly horrified look on his face.

“You don’t even drink wine!” She insists, holding a three-liter box of Franzia. “This is perfectly fine.”

His eyes go wide, brows raising like he can’t believe what he’s hearing. “It’s in a box.”

She rolls her eyes. “It’s for a fifth birthday party.”

“It’s not for the five-year-old,” he argues, picking two bottles of overpriced chardonnay from the shelf. “We’ll get these.”

– – –

Much to the dismay of the other, they show up to the party the next afternoon with one box and one bottle.

Reid is upstairs playing with some kid that Chris is related to somehow, she’s sure, so their arrival goes unnoticed by the birthday boy. Instead, Chris is heaving the box of wine onto the kitchen island, greeting a visibly stressed Hannah with a hug. Charles follows closely behind, setting his bottle down next to her box, following the hug train to Hannah.

“Look great, as always, Hannah,” He says, and Hannah laughs.

“I’m a mess, the house is a mess. Reid,” she looks to Chris, “Lord have mercy on me, your nephew has dressed himself.”

Chris scowls, and then shrugs. Charles laughs. “He can be Chandler’s nephew, today,” she says.

“He’s still your godson, though,” Hannah reminds.

“Oh, don’t I know it!”

Charles takes Chris’ coat with his own, hands them both up in the mud room that’s just off the kitchen. He hears Hannah calling for Reid while he does it, telling him to come down and say hello to your auntie. Auntie Chris. He loves the way Reid says it—Annie Chris—or, when he really wants to stir some shit up, which Charles has come to learn is just about all of the time, Reid will call her Miss Elliott.

Everyone hears him before they see him, little feet making heavy noises as they hurry down the stairs so quickly he might as well have just jumped off the landing and tuck’n’rolled his way into the kitchen. He’s bouncing on his feet, talking to Chris animatedly with his back turned to Charles when he appears in the mud-room doorway. Immediately, Chris is glancing up to him and covering Reid’s eyes with her hands, turning him to face Charles. “I have a surprise for you, Reidy.”

“What?” He squirms. “What is it?”

“More like who is it?” Hannah says, and Reid gasps.

“Chucky?” He asks, and Chris is grinning at Charles, adjusting her hands over the boy’s eyes so one hand covers them both. With the other hand, she pokes Reid’s side right where he’s ticklish and makes him giggle.

“Who?” She asks, his belly laugh making her laugh, too.

“Sharles!” Reid exclaims, breathless from laughing so hard. “Sha-rle,” He laughs out, enunciating the poorly mocked accent.

“Wrong,” Chris says, and then takes her hand off his eyes to reveal Charles.

Reid is slamming into Charles’ legs before he can even squat down to give the kid a proper hug, settling for just hugging his legs. “You comed!” He cheers.

“Come on, Mate!” Charles says, ruffling the little boy’s hair. “You didn’t think I would miss such an important birthday?”

Chris watches the whole interaction with a giddy smile on her face. Hannah watches, too, while she stirs a crock pot full of nacho cheese. Reid fills Charles in on everything that’s happened to him since Charles left, and is already asking if Charles wants to go play catch outside with the football he’s gotten from his dad earlier that week, on his actual birthday. When Hannah slides behind Chris, between her body and the cabinets, muttering a quick behind you and grabbing a ladle from a drawer, she gives Chris’ shoulder a soft squeeze.

– – –

Chris is MIA when Bill and Cindy turn up, arms full of food and gifts for their only grandchild, but Charles is in the backyard, standing around a smoking fire pit with Chase and Reid and other people he remembers meeting from the wedding, but who’s names he wouldn’t be able to remember if there was a gun held to his temple.

Bill and Cindy wander out shortly after they arrive, looking for the birthday boy, and Charles handles the introductions all by himself—a handshake to Dad, a compliment to Mom, and hugs for both of them. He knows how to charm. Knows he’s going to be working at it for a while, probably. He’s more than willing to put in the hours.

“I didn’t know you were comin’, son,” Bill says, and Charles is nodding, hands in his jacket pockets, rocking back and forth on his heels.

“Yeah, it was a kind of… last minute choice.”

“Aw,” Cindy hums. “What a sweetheart. How long are you in town for?”

“Just a couple days,” he explains. “Chris is off work this week, but I have to get to Bahrain in a couple days. Get used to the timezone and everything.”

“Ah,” Bill nods. “Season’s starting up again, that right?”

“Eh,” he shrugs. “It never stops, it feels like,” and Bill nods.

“Don’t I know it, boy.”

“Is Chrissy planning on coming out to any of your races?” Cindy asks, linking her arm through Bill’s, leaning against him around the fire. “I know she told us that y’all are keeping it pretty hush-hush for now.”

“Eventually, I hope she can,” he says. “I don’t want to have her come if she doesn’t feel comfortable.”

Cindy nods, smiling to herself. “Smart answer, honey,” she says, and Bill laughs. “You’re a good egg.” Charles chuckles softly, if only because he doesn’t know what to say to that. He’s been called a lot of things over the years, but good egg might be a new one.

Just then, Chris is pushing open the sliding door on the back deck, stepping out with her coat on, the hood pulled up over her head, her hands hidden in the sleeves. “Well, speak of the Devil,” Bill says, greeting his daughter with a tight hug.

“Uh oh,” Chris laughs, following suit with a hug for her mom, too. “Y’all are talking about me?”

He’s come to learn that her accent is never anywhere as strong as it is when she's around family. He’s familiar with the pattern of it, and does the same thing after long breaks away from speaking English or Italian. It takes a while to settle back into translating your thoughts. He thinks it’s probably pretty similar, even if she’s not translating from another language. He thinks it’s cute, when the southern twang gets extra prominent. It’s cute, and it’s sweet, and she sounds like a movie character sometimes.

She slots into her comfortable position at Charles’ side, and his arm is tossing itself over her shoulder before he even realizes it’s happening. It’s habit, almost, to keep her close. “Always,” he says.

– – –

They’re cute and annoyingly couple-ey all night. He doesn’t care if she’s related to or friends with almost everyone here, he’s never not amazed at just how easily she can find home in any conversation. Sometimes he wonders if he looks as awestruck about it as he feels, watching her put on this masterclass with everyone she talks to—from passing, brief conversations about how good Hannah’s food is and how old Reid is getting, to the long, sit-down chats about work and her life and their lives. It’s so crystal clear that she makes everyone feel important—the most important person in the room—and he;s even starting to remember names.

There’s a lot of names to remember.

There’s nobody that feels quite as important to Chris as Charles does, though, he’s sure of it. In fact, he’s not sure there’s another person on Earth that could manage to make a social event into something so… recharging for him. She just radiates energy, truly. It’s in the atmosphere, just being in her proximity, just having an arm around her or their fingers intertwined or the smell of her perfume on his clothes is enough.

He loves her so horribly that he’s almost sick with it. He’s biting his tongue all night. Hell, he’s even trying to talk himself out of the now months old revelation.

Like, she drinks wine from a fucking box. A box. Of wine. And she sees absolutely no problem with it. She wants to drag him around to every person, to engage in every conversation. She changed her perfume or her shampoo or her laundry detergent or something, because she smells different than the last time he was with her. She drives like an elderly woman—Jesus fucking Christ, she takes the speed limit so seriously it’s hard to sit in the passenger seat and let it happen. She cried three times on the way from Atlanta. Three times, because she saw some roadkill that wasn't even identifiable, and couldn’t stop thinking about it. She’s covered in glitter, like, all the time. And so is her stuff. It’s on her face and her hands and her clothes and every surface of her house. Glitter and spelling tests and like, six variations of the same travel coffee mug. She listens to country music as if it’s the only genre of music that exists, and she listens to it all the time. He doesn’t love her. He doesn’t. If he did, he wouldn't have been able to keep it in for so long.

He doesn’t love her, and then she laughs and he can feel it in his fucking gut, feels the urge to laugh even when he doesn’t get the joke, even when he misses entirely what is making her so happy. He wants to laugh because she’s laughing and her laugh makes the world a better place and he loves her so bad it hurts.

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starry-hughes · 4 months

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fireplace snuggling (mackie samoskevich)

day 15 of star’s ficmas

kasey tkachuk x mackie samoskevich (au)

Mackie got into Sunrise late, some rain caused his flight to be delayed. It wasnt Christmas Day or even Christmas Eve but the delayed flight caused him to miss the yearly Tkachuk Christmas skate at wherever arena rink they were in the city for. He had received pictures of Kasey on the bench, not wanting to skate. She hadn’t really skated since her injury that caused her to be terrified of skating, decommitted herself from college and caused the worst family tension.

He tried not to think about how bad of a look it was for him to show up late, especially to Kasey Tkachuk’s parents. Kasey was excited though, she would have waited hours in the airport for her boyfriend. Her older brother, Matthew, was circling around the airport as she waited inside.

Mackie wouldn’t have expected anything less, seeing his girlfriend standing there as he was walking out of the airport. It was a day before Christmas and the airport was crowded, but he immediately spotted his girlfriend, standing in the Charlotte Checkers Christmas sweater he had sent her.

Kasey didn’t want to let go of Mackie as soon as she yanked him into her arms. “I missed you so much,” she practically cried as he hugged her. “I missed you too… hopefully no one is that upset I’m coming in at midnight?”

Kasey grinned, “Oh Matty is pissed, but he can get over it.”

The three got back to the house and Matthew mumbled something about going up to bed, telling Mackie that he better sleep on the couch. “He’s joking,” Kasey reassured. She was full of energy for it being almost one in the morning. “My mom made Matthew get this electric fireplace, she wanted a real one, but we live in Florida,” Kasey dragged her boyfriend over to the fireplace. Mackie sat next to his girlfriend who plopped herself down on the floor. He took the moment to finally kiss her.

Mackie wasn’t sure how long they kissed, but his lips were swollen and his hair tousled. “Kasey, I’m not sleeping with you on the floor of the living room,” Mackie warned as her hands fiddled with the sweatband of his sweatpants. Kasey reached over to grab the remote that controlled the fireplace and the sound of crackling and warmth entered the room.

“I’m hoping they send me back here soon, get to see you more,” Mackie started before yanking a pillow off the couch and laying down on the carpeted living room floor. Kasey was quick to snuggle into his side. “I hope so too,” Kasey played with his chain around his neck, “I like when you’re around.”

The young couple stayed up for another two hours, talking about anything and everything that came to their minds. “Mack?” Kasey whispered when she realized he hadn’t answered her question and looked over to find her boyfriend asleep. She smiled, snuggling into his side and closing her eyes, the sound of the crackling fireplace putting her to sleep.

“Aww they are so cute!” Emma whispered. “I’m going to wake them up,” Matthew said. “Matthew!” Taryn complained. “I’m waking them up.” Matthew stated. “Dude be nice,” Brady said.

Mackie was kicked gently in the leg and his eyes fluttered open. The sun was shining through the windows, it was morning. There was a blanket over the two of them, Mackie has a vague memory of Kasey getting up in the middle of the night to grab a blanket. “Kasey,” Mackie mumbled, “your family is awake.”

He sat up, realizing that the Tkachuk siblings were all stifling laughter and that Chantal and Keith Tkachuk were sitting close to the two on the floor. “Oh… Morning Mr and Mrs Tkachuk, thanks for inviting me to Christmas?”

Kasey woke up, sitting up and rubbing her eyes, her hair was its messy natural curls. “Hi mom, hi dad… So are we decorating cookies today or…”

#mackie samoskevich #mackie samoskevich imagine #kasey and mackie #nhl imagine #hockey imagine #mackie samoskevich blurb #fl panthers imagine #star’s ficmas

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greazyfloz · 1 year

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Lovers & Strangers - Chapter 1

disclaimer: This series contains heavy smut, heavy partying, swearing & overall angst

Enjoy! :)

My life growing up in Northern Alberta was easy. I was giving an amazing life, my parents truly were the best. The best thing they gifted me was my best friend, Ethan. Ethan and I first met when I was only 8 days old. Ethan was only a year old when his parents brought him to meet me for the first time. Throughout the years we became closer and closer.

In elementary school we would tell people that we were siblings throughout the early years. Then in the later years of elementary he would dress me up in goalie gear and practice his slap shot in his front yard. It was convenient that he only lived two streets over because we also fought like siblings. Ethan and I bickered like siblings throughout middle school but nothing lasted over 24 hours.

Our families, along with a couple other families would get together for every holiday and make it our own special day. We would end and start every New Year together, have Superbowl parties, St. Patrick’s day, Canada Day, has ‘Friendsgiving’, Halloween parties, and would celebrate every Christmas Eve together. Every March Break and Labour Day weekend our families spent away on vacation, we truly were inseparable. As we grew older it became a series of the older kids staying for the first half of the parties, then heading out with their friends. As Ethan became more competitive with hockey the less he was able to attend the get togethers.

When Ethan was 15 when he left our hometown to play hockey but we still were able to keep in touch because of our parents get togethers, and we went to the same parties during the summer months. Typically best friends don’t sleep with each other. Sleeping with each other didn’t really change our friendship, we never got jealous, and we still slept with other people. We really had that “if we both aren’t married by the time we are 30, we will marry each other” type of friendship. Ethan and I having sex was something people always thought we did, but would be shocked if they found out we actually did.

Ethan and I are both Sophomores at the University of Michigan. Last year it was really easy to sleep with him occasionally because luckily my roommate dropped out a week in the first semester and I was never assigned a new one. Sophomore year was harder to keep a secret. We didn’t care if people found out but we didn’t really want people to know either but recently we haven’t really been sleeping together much or at all.

I love UMich so far, Ethan being on the hockey team allowed me to also have a whole team of automatic friends. Well a whole team minus one. From day one Mark and I could not stand each other. He was easy to ignore at first, but now I think he tries to get on my nerves.

I walk into the sophomore house and find Mackie, Dylan and Mackie all sitting on the couch, “Hey guys! Eddy still not back?” I ask sitting beside Mackie

“Nah, he just left actually” Luke asks

“Fuck, I thought I would catch him after class”

“You can hang with us buddy” Dylan says

I decide to stay and hang out with the boys until Mark comes home. He comes in the house and sits in the room beside Luke, “What are you doing here? Do you not have your own place?” he asks me

“Well I was hanging out with some friends but since you are here, I’m now hanging out with my friends and an egotistical piece of shit” I say giving him a sarcastic smile.

“Ouu burn” Mark says rolling his eyes, “Anyways, we are having the boys over tonight. I said we would throw the party for once” he says facing the rest of the guys.

“Ugh no Estapa” Luke starts, “I don’t want random people in here”

“Too bad! I already told everyone” Mark says, “It’s just the usual gathering”

“That is a lot of people Mark” Dylan says

“Well yeah, but she won't be here so it’ll be fine!” Mark says pointing at me

“She…” I laugh after

“Oh you're a he? You know I always wondered”

“Mark, you’re such an ass” I say standing, “Tell Eddy to call me when he gets back” I say to Mackie as I leave the house,

As soon as I got home I went straight to the bathroom and into the tub. I put a little bit of bubbles in and stirred the water around. As I was undressing myself, my phone rings. I answer seeing it was Ethan, “Hey Ed” I say into my phone.

“Hey, I’m coming over” he says

“I’m in the bath right now” I tell him and he sighs

“Can I join?” he says almost defeated

“Of course, what’s wrong?” I ask

“It has just been a day”

“Aw Eth, I’ll wait for you. I locked the door cause my roommates aren’t home”

“I’m pulling in now” he says and I can hear the gravel of my driveway faintly crunch in the back of the call.

“Okay, I’m coming” I say ending the call.

I take my housecoat and put it on as I run down the stairs letting him in. I pout my bottom lip and bring him in for a hug. “Come on” I say walking back up to the bathroom and he follows. We get into the bathroom and I take my housecoat off and step into the bathtub as Ethan sits on the toilet beside the tub. “You're not coming in?” I ask confused

“No” he says so I sink in the tub a little further

“Okay, then what's got ya down?” I ask him

“I failed that stupid test this morning which sucks because it was a make up test for one I already failed, but practice before that was tough, and I’m just stressin about hockey”

“Get in here” I say sitting back up so he can sit on the other side of the tub. Ethan sighs before answering

“Fine” he says, undressing himself before taking a seat across from me. I bring my knees together so he can stretch his legs out beside me then I stretch my legs out and lay them on top of his.

“I take it you and Kennedy’s fling is over?” I say

“Yeah why?”

“You're in the tub with me” I giggle and he laughs too. Once we stop laughing I speak again, “So, I really hate Mark”

“I hate hearing that”

“He told me I was manly looking today after he told me that I wasn’t allowed to come over tonight, oh yeah you are throwing a party” I say and Ethan rolls his eyes

“Ugh why do you guys fight so much”

“I literally don’t even start it. Why wont you have my back ever when it comes to him?” I say and he shakes his head, “I’m sorry, I know you’re already stressed I shouldn’t have said anything but it pisses me off”

“Well we both could release some steam, come here” he says casually

I took my legs off his thighs and brought them in before turning my body so I was now sitting between his legs. I lean back and his hands wrap around me so each hand has a boob to hold. He began massaging my boobs and I leaned my head back so it was on his shoulder. He starts squeezing harder and harder, making me moan out slightly.

“Sorry” he says then starts massaging them a little lighter but still hard

“No, it feels good” I say and he begins massaging them again harder.

“Turn” he says, and I turn looking at him on my knees between his legs. He continues massaging my tits as he leans in, taking one in his mouth, sucking around my nipple. He then flicks his tongue up and down on my nipple taking turns between each of them. He then begins nibbling my nipples and I reach down and stroke his cock. Ethan’s hands travel down my body and I adjust my position so my knees are bent on his thighs as he enters two fingers inside of me. I continue to stroke him and he continues to finger my pussy until I cum.

He sits on the edge of the tub, “alright, I’m going to cum soon” he says stroking his cock as he waits for my mouth. I lean in and lick the base to the tip then enter him inside my mouth. I bobble my head up and down as his head falls back, “Fuck! I’m close” he says as I continue back and forth on his cock. “Take me all” he says and I begin slowly inching my way down his cock, until I am close to the base. I hold it then shake my head back to relieve my throat. I then take him in and out of my mouth fast as the loud throat noises that escape my mouth fill the bathroom. “A- Fuck-k-k!” Ethan moans as he cums in my mouth. I keep him in a minute to make sure he finishes cuming before releasing him from my mouth, swallowing before plopping back to my side of the tub. Ethan does the same across from me. We both laugh then continue our conversation from before.

“Just stick with me tonight” Ethan says

“He will still bother me Ethan”

“I don’t even understand why he wouldn’t like you” he says, “honestly I was terrified he was going to try and hook up with you or something. That would fucking suck” he says making me laugh

“Wow” I say laughing

“Well, we got something weird going on” he laughs

“Not really”

“We are currently bathing together Y/n” he laughs again and I laugh along

“Sooo. Some besties bath together”

“Sure, but typically they have the same anatomy AND how many of them happen to have their dick slide down the others throat” he says making us both laugh.

“Well don’t worry, I have no intentions on even being the idiots friend”

#ethan edwards #ethan edwards imagine #umich hockey smut #umich imagine #umich hockey #umich hockey imagine #mark estapa x reader #mark estapa smut #mark estapa

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midnightbabylon · 11 months

Text

New Years Eve

summary: Some time ago, you met Anthony Mackie on the set of a movie project. You two understood each other from the first second. Although you tend to avoid social contacts, he constantly invites you to his annual parties. At least five times a year, you’ll be in his house. Parties aren’t for you, but he always makes you laugh even though you don’t want to be there. And every time at those parties, you meet an incredibly handsome man. Will he and you finally get closer on New Year’s Eve?

pairing: Sebastian Stan x fem!reader

word count: 1.3k

warnings: none I guess

✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪

You met Anthony on Set when you became a bit bigger in the scene. As a not over social person you often stayed in your trailer reading a book. You could say that Anthony adopted you when he found out that you were practically hiding to not talk with people. He took you out to eat lunch or you were just roaming around the city. He was making you feel all kinds of comfort. You had great chemistry and soon became friends. For New Years he wanted to throw a massive house party with all his friends, colleagues and family . You volunteered to help him with decorations etc. because you really liked organizing parties. At the time time you were damn nervous because you knew that Sebastian will come tonight. You were crushing hard on this men. On the other hand you met Sebastian a few times only. Every time you had great conversations for hours ongoing, you two laughed and smiled a lot but did this mean he liked you the way you liked him? Tonight you wanted to shoot your shot. A kiss after the New Years countdown sounded perfect to you. Mackie knew about your crush that is why he bought your outfit. “He’s gonna see u in this and man.” He chuckled and made an obscene pose. “I am so good at this.” As you looked in the bag you couldn’t believe your eyes. This little black dress was a tiny piece of clothing. “I am not gonna wear that. I’d rather die.” You shoved the bag right back into his arms. “What? No! You are gonna look sexy as hell. He will be head over heels for you.” “I doubt that. It’s barely covering my ass and tits.” You gestured up and down your body. “That’s the point darling. You have great tits and a bombastic ass. Show him.” You shook your head.

Because of his compliment, you still had to smile. "Okay I'll wear it, but only if I get to do my make up and hair by myself." He grinned widely and gave you a high five. "You got it." An hour later, the house was conspicuously decorated with all sorts of odds and ends and food was on the tables. The drinks were all set up in the kitchen, so everyone could help themselves. Now you could finally get ready, too. "What if he doesn't come at all today?" You called into the room while Anthony was putting on a shirt. "Oh he'll come, he promised me." You rolled your eyes. "Okay, and what if he comes with an escort or hooks up with a pretty girl at the party?" Anthony put his hands on your bare shoulders. "You worry too much. None of that is happening. In that outfit, he only has eyes for you. Just look at you. That dress is perfect for your body type. I've outdone myself." He laughed out loud. "Just get off your high horse," you smirked.

After a few more hours, the house gradually filled up. It was still exactly four hours until midnight and you already had a headache from the stuffy air and the loud music. You weren't really in the party mood for the new year yet, inside you were rather cleaning up after the guests who were making a mess. To clear your head, you went outside to the terrace. There, the lights danced across the pool and fewer people danced and wrestled around. Anthony you had lost in the crowd a while ago. Exhaling loudly, you leaned against the wall of the house and closed your eyes. Peace and quiet. "Y/N there you are!" Sounded Anthony's voice not two seconds later. "Look who I found!" he warbled. Sebastian stood beside him, a red cup in his hand. In the blue shirt, he looked simply gorgeous. Swallowing, you began to smile. "Hey, you made it." He stared at you for a few seconds and nodded. "Yeah wow ehm you look great. That dress suits you immensely." You noticed your cheeks turning red from the heat rising into them but still returned his hug. God he smelled so divine like a man, with a hint of sandalwood. "Thanks Seb."

You chatted a few minutes before someone called his name and he turned away from you to talk to the other person. Now was your chance to grab a water. A quick check to the clock told you there was only one and a half hour left till midnight. Your eyes wandered trough the crowd of people dancing when you caught the familiar color of his shirt. A really pretty redhead reached for a strand of hair and smiled widely at him. You couldn't hear what they were saying but she probably complimented him the way he smiled back at her. Your heart pounded faster than it should with the sting in your stomach. Jealousy creeped up your blood line. But you shouldn't be jealous, he's not even yours. Quickly you looked elsewhere.

At the same time Anthony watched your reaction intensely and started playing his role as wing man for the night.

"Hey man who you kissing tonight?" Sebastian looked at him in confusion "I am single why should I kiss someone?" Anthony put his arm around his shoulder. "Everybody kisses someone at midnight." Seb drew his eyebrows together. "Who are you kissing?" He laughed. "I am kissing that hot chic right over there." Sebastian laughed nervously. "Okay good for you. And who should I kiss?" He shrugged his shoulders. "Y/N." Mackie smiled at him. "Y/N?" "Trust me. Just kiss her and you'll see how she feels about you. You flirt at every one of my parties." He rolled his eyes. "Flirting doesn't mean we're going to be anything." Anthony grinned meaningfully. "Trust me. She wants to be kissed." Sebastian sighed. "You know I'm not the type to do that." "I know, I know, but it's either that or lock you in a closet for seven minutes like the teen parties used to be." Sebastian laughed softly and took a sip of the alcohol that was mixed with some soft drink. Maybe he needed this burning in his throat today to finally have the courage to take the first step. His eyes scanned your body with arousal. The way you leaned against the bar, at the other side of the room, lost in your own thoughts. Not seeing how many men are staring at you just in this second.

In a chorus, the last ten digits of the countdown sounded. Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven. You couldn't see Sebastian anywhere, how could you possibly make it to him by one? Yourself. Five. Four. You went around in circles but there were just too many people. Three. Two. Oh, God.

Before the one sounded, warm hands closed around your cheeks and soft lips touched yours. Surprised, you let your eyes open and looked into the face you just wanted to see all evening. "Kiss me Y/N." He murmured against your lips and you gave in. Sighing, you wrapped your arms around his neck and pressed your body against his. You didn't even notice the cheers and lights around you. The kiss felt so real. You felt everything. You almost lost your mind when you felt his tongue exploring your mouth. It felt like hours before you broke away from each other. "That was…" He began and you finished the sentence. "Wow." While he added "Long overdue." You both had to laugh and looked deep into each other's eyes afterwards. "Do you feel like getting out of here and maybe going somewhere else for a bite to eat or a coffee?" He scratched the back of his head and you nodded happily. "I'd love to."

Permanent Bucky/Sebastian Taglist:

@aya-fay @glitterydeputyshepherdwagon @queenofkings1212 @lilya-petrichor @dexter99 @dystopian-dez382 @xoxoloverb @yougottalovefandoms @justalostgirl

#sebastian stan x you #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan imagine #bucky barnes #bucky x y/n #bucky x female reader #bucky x you #sebastian stan fanfiction

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barbielore · 4 months

Text

No, this isn't my first post about the Holiday Barbie series.

It isn't even my second post.

In a nutshell, Holiday Barbie is a series which has been more or less running consistently for 35 years - albeit with some rebranding throughout, covering titles such as "Holiday Barbie", "Holiday Celebrations Barbie", "Celebrations Barbie" and"Happy Holidays Barbie". The point is, she's a special edition Barbie released in or in the lead-up to December, and Mattel have made them 35 years running. Naturally there's a lot to talk about.

For all that they generally have very secular names, it seems very apparent to me that it's essentially a Christmas release. You can say "Holiday" all you like, but you can't convince me that 2007 isn't wearing a Santa dress.

But no, no, honestly - many of them have more general winter themes or are themed around other end of year holidays such as New Years Eve. And with 35+ of them to cover, I'll never talk about them all. So here is a selection just of a few of my personal favourites.

2006 (what a surprise - of course I like her, she's a Bob Mackie)

2. 2016 Peace Hope and Love

3. 1996 Happy Holidays

4. 1991 Happy Holidays (see, not all my faves end with a 6)

5. 2013

#barbie #barbie collectibles #holiday barbie #happy holidays barbie #bob mackie

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runawaywhorses · 1 year

Photo

Miley Cyrus wearing vintage Bob Mackie from the 1980s during her New Years Eve party

#miley cyrus #music #actress

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bitchinbarzal · 1 year

Note

prompt “25. Character A and Character B meet in the ER on Christmas Eve” with either mackie samo or ethan edwards? (:

“Dude would you fucking sit still?!”

“Luke I have a glass shard in my eye!”

“Mackie stop yelling at him, he’s trying to help!”

“Shut up Duke!”

You quirked an eyebrow at the group of boys approaching the desk “Can I help you?”

The tall one spoke “Yes, my friend here has a glass shard in his eye”

“Can you tell me why?” You asked.

They all looked at each other in embarrassment “Someone, hit our window with a hockey puck and the glass broke”

“So you were attacked? I will have the call the police-“

“No! We were the ones who did it”

Your lips lay in a thin line while you contemplated what to say next.

“Okay… can I have name, date of birth and insurance please for glass in eye guy?”

Mackie smiled “It’s Matthew Samoskevich…”

When Mackie finally got seen to by a doctor you were the topic of the boys conversation “she looks too young to be a nurse”

When Mackie finally got out it was technically Christmas. After midnight.

He approached the desk to say thank you.

“Can I help- oh glass in eye guy!” You cheered.

“It’s Mackie, you can call me Mackie. I just want to say thank you I know idiots like me are wasting time on Christmas Eve for nurses like you-“

“Oh I’m not a nurse! I’m just a receptionist for Christmas I’m only nineteen”

That was a pleasant surprise to Mackie “Oh?”

“Extra holiday money” you shrugged.

“Is there anything else I can do for you?” You asked sweetly.

Mackie contemplated it “is it, am I allowed to ask for your number?”

“I can’t do that while I’m on the job” you mumbled.

“Oh no that’s fine, sorry for asking!”

Mackie watched you scribble something down on a post it note and hand it over to him “If you experience any further issues please don’t hesitate to contact us”

You spoke loud enough for your colleagues to hear. Mackie got the gist pretty quickly.

he folded it into his pocket. When he arrived home he unfolded it.

y/n <3 call me :)

Maybe the ER trip was worth it.

#lulu’s christmas party

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aparticularbandit · 2 years

Text

Ms. Mackie - Chapter One

Summary: Equipped with her own name and a new outlook on life while being forced to reckon with her son’s homecoming, Eve must decide whether she wants to keep the life she has found or return to the box she has always allowed to contain her.

Chapter Summary: Eve opens her mouth, tries to say something, can’t get any words out, can’t think of anything to say, and closes her mouth again, licking her lips. She averts her gaze, unable to bear the weight of the look that she caused, and takes a deep breath, one that causes a small cloud as she lets it out. The first of the year. Normally, that fills her with a giddy little joy – snow will fall soon, and the world will be covered with a pure white blanket that glitters where the sunlight strikes it. Of course, it never stays that way; by the end of the season, it’s all grimy and grey, pushed to the edges of parking lots and left to die as the world thaws out, but at least at the beginning? It’s beautiful.

AO3

Eve shivers.

The November chill pierces through her pink robe, but no matter how she bundles it tighter about her, she still shivers, goosebumps raising along her otherwise bare skin. She leans heavily on her left foot so as not to put any weight on her sprained ankle; the pills she’d taken earlier wore off sometime in the proceeding hour, but the occasional sharp stabs of pain – her fault, not that of her partners, who paid such careful attention to her that she’d forgotten to do it herself – meant little in light of everything else that happened, only enhanced it. She’d never really understood how the women in her videos seemed to enjoy being spanked (doing it herself had done absolutely nothing for her), but she’s starting to see how—

Eve shivers, pulls her robe tighter around her bare form, and holds tight to the rail as she clunks to the first step of her porch. “Brendan?”

He’s pushed his hands through his hair and left them there, mussing his already intentionally messy hair, shoulders hunched, not quite curling into himself the way he sometimes had right after Ted left—

At her words, Brendan shivers, and hoping that has more to do with the chill in the air than anything else, Eve sits next to him and reaches overs to rub what should be comforting circles on his back, just the way she had when he’d had to stay home from school in the third grade, so sick with the flu that he hadn’t been able to move from his bed, sweating through his sheets, a trash can next to his bed so that he wouldn’t have to get up.

Brendan flinches away from her like he’s been burned, scoots as far away from her as he can, and gives her the most pained, confused look that she’s ever seen, worse even than when Ted—

Eve opens her mouth, tries to say something, can’t get any words out, can’t think of anything to say, and closes her mouth again, licking her lips. She averts her gaze, unable to bear the weight of the look that she caused, and takes a deep breath, one that causes a small cloud as she lets it out. The first of the year. Normally, that fills her with a giddy little joy – snow will fall soon, and the world will be covered with a pure white blanket that glitters where the sunlight strikes it. Of course, it never stays that way; by the end of the season, it’s all grimy and grey, pushed to the edges of parking lots and left to die as the world thaws out, but at least at the beginning? It’s beautiful.

“Brendan,” Eve starts, tucking her own frazzled hair back behind one ear, “I—”

“I’m gonna go for a walk.”

Brendan stands in one fluid motion, shoves his hands into his pockets, and stampedes down the stairs the way he always has. Eve barely stands in the time it takes for him to race away from her, and when he turns back to face her, she’s obscenely aware of the way her robe leaves a little too much exposed for her son to handle. He swallows once, hard, gives her a look of pure disgust, and then starts off down the sidewalk.

Eve stares after him, keeping an eye on her son until he turns the corner at the edge of the block, and only when he’s gone does she clunk back to the front door. She pauses there, one hand on the screen door, barely holding it open, and glances first back to the corner Brendan turned and then to the driveway where Amanda’s car had been parked only a few minutes earlier.

She shivers and then goes inside.

Brendan shoves his hands deeper into his jacket as he stalks down the sidewalk. He’s late, but this was the way Julian went, wasn’t it? He’s never going to catch up to him. (He’s not sure he wants to catch up to him.)

He starts to jog.

The chill November air hits worse here than it did at college, but it slicks the sweat from his forehead and tricks his already pounding heart into thinking it has a real reason to be doing that. The sound of his shoes hitting the pavement reminds him of high school, of running blocks with the boys, making sure to stay in shape for whichever sport season they were entering. Football. Lacrosse. Basketball between them, although he’d enjoyed that one a little less. Winter wasn’t for sports; winter was for partying.

(His mom must have been—)

Brendan shoves that thought down and jogs faster, faster, faster until he’s in a full on sprint and doesn’t know how he’d gotten to that, pumping muscles that he’d just worn down at the gym before Sanjay found him. That’s okay. He needs a good run. Better to be running after something here than in the college gym, running and running and going nowhere.

Where the fuck is that guy?

Julian’s normal skateboard route never used to take him over here, or if it had, Brendan certainly never once saw him, which means that he could have taken another turn or two and Brendan would never know. He’s never going to find him. He’s never going to catch up to a boy on a skateboard if he doesn’t know how to find him, and it’s not like Brendan’s ever really cared about finding Julian before, he just—

As soon as he found that little—

He can’t even think the word.

It flits through his mind, and Brendan’s stomach heaves. He pulls to an abrupt stop (not good for running, not good for his legs) and hunches over the edge of the sidewalk as bile jumps up his throat. Spit fills his mouth first, that desperate need to not throw up, and then the bile, and then he’s heaving and heaving and heaving, everything he’d eaten after Sanjay drove through the McDonald’s drive-thru at his request, all onions and that stuff they call beef and partially digested French fries, and he tries to stop, but he can’t.

When he’s done, long after he’s gotten everything out of his stomach, after far too many minutes of just dry heaving and nothing coming up, Brendan collapses on the edge of the sidewalk, crumples into himself, and hangs his head in his hands. He needs a drink. He needs to go home. He can’t go home.

Brendan pulls out his phone. He stares at the screen. It’s well after Jon-Jon’s bedtime, and if he calls now, he’s going to wake him up. Jon-Jon will throw a tantrum if he wakes up. Maybe he won’t wake up.

He dials the number.

It rings.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

Fucking—

“Brendan?” his dad’s voice croaks out his name, and a wave of relief surges through him. “You shouldn’t be calling this—”

“Dad.” Brendan pushes his hands through his hair for what must be the millionth time at this point. “Can I crash with you for a bit? I just got back, and Mom’s—”

Mom’s been fucking—

Nope, nope, can’t think about that again, because any time he starts to think about, his stomach starts to heave again, and he’s already done that, he can’t do that again, his stomach’s already twisted into knots, and his legs flinch from all of the running with no cooldown, and—

“Got back?” his dad asks, still bleary. “From college? Don’t you still have another week?”

“I just needed a break.” Brendan immediately jumps to his own defense. He shakes his head. “You know what, don’t worry about it.” Bravado. He can do this. He can do this. “You don’t need to worry about me.”

“Brendan—”

But he’s already hung up.

Brendan takes a deep, shuddering breath. He pushes himself into a standing position. His legs complain, but they’ll like the walk back. Cooldown period. Yeah. That’s what this is. Should’ve stretched or something before running, but he can’t really do anything about that now. His body can take it. Can take a lot worse, actually, and the thought brings a smirk to his face.

He shoves his hands back into his pockets, turns back the way he came, takes a deep, shuddering breath, and starts home again.

Eve hears the click of the front door just as she finishes making Brendan’s bed. She’d meant to do this before he returned for Thanksgiving break, but he’s back so early. She wants to ask. She can’t ask right now. Of course, making his bed takes longer with the boot making her clunk around everywhere. She just can’t move the way she wants right now—

Julian kissed her ankle so gently, Amanda moved her fingers along the spot where the pain hit hardest, soothing, soothing, soothing as—

She gives her head a little shake, pushes one hand through her hair again, and then stares at his bed. It isn’t perfect, the way he deserves, but it’s better. It’s as good as she can make it right now.

When Eve turns, Brendan stands just inside of his bedroom door, strap of his backpack hanging over his shoulder. He gives her a look, swallows, and then tilts his head back in a general ‘sup? gesture. It’s an acknowledgment. That’s…that’s something, isn’t it? Then his gaze drops. He can’t even look at her. Of course. She never should have—

But she can’t stop thinking about those gentle caresses skimming along the surface of her skin, soft pressure against the inside of her thighs, kisses before she could think to ask—

“Mom?” Brendan says her name, and at least this time she doesn’t hear any panic lacing it. Just a tight sort of calm. “I’m gonna go to sleep now. So can you leave?”

Eve takes a sharp, cooling breath in and nods to herself. “Yeah, yeah.” The nod becomes more rapid. That’s what he needs, after all, and after everything she’d just made him go through—

What about everything she’d just gone through?

As she passes him, Eve’s throat grows tight. She stops just outside of the doorway and glances back towards him. Her baby boy. She’d walked in on her parents once. Only once. She’d purged it from her mind, but she understands. On her first, most basic instinct, she reaches out to place a hand on his shoulder, to give him an affirming, comforting little squeeze. Then she remembers how he’d flinched away from her when she’d tried on the porch. By the time she thinks better of it, he’s shut the door, not even looking up to see her looking back at him.

That’s.

That’s okay.

It’s okay.

Eve returns to the living room, takes a shot of the horrible tequila Amanda and Julian brought back with them, doesn’t even think about whose glass it might have been originally (after everything, does it really matter?), and begins to clean up. Her ankle complains, but she ignores it. That’s what bodies do. They complain. And this is what she does.

She pushes past it like nothing is the matter.

#bandit fic #ms. mackie #eve fletcher #brendan fletcher #is there even anything in his tag idk #mrs. fletcher #what even all else do i tag this with #i think maybe that's enough?#IDK #NEW FANDOM IDK BRO #we'll see how this goes?

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