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sukirichi · 3 years

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a thing or two (m.)

tutor geto has a thing or two to teach you.

cw. oral sex (f and m receiving), lube, unprotected sex, sweet! geto, halloween setting so priest! geto, age gap, slight body worship, fingering, overall romantic sex, kitchen counter sex, dirty talk, lots of kissing, mutual masturbation, intoxication, pwp, unedited as always eep

note. for my right boob @sixeyesgojo my first ever geto fic and i hope it’s to your liking...writing this with a frozen arm and numb fingers weeeee, i almost became a geto simp.

Halloween festivals have never felt livelier in the city. People dressed up in various outfits milled about the events place, your drink nearly sloshing on the ground the more they bumped into you.

Bass and music boosted from the large speakers smack in the middle of the grounds, and everyone danced to their heart’s content, you and your friends a huge inclusion to the crowd.

You don’t really go out to parties that much. Hell, you don’t even drink.

But after numerous encouragements from your friends, you’re now dressed in she-devil skin-tight black dress, black lipstick, and red horns placed on your head. It’s hard not to feel confident and sexy – the kick of the liquor is settling down as well – when you’ve got human eyes, vampiric red eyes, ghoul sclera lenses and even a fucking Cyclops eye turning your way.

You’re excitedly grinding against your friends, the whoops and cheers mixing in with slurred mumbles of the lyrics.

The night is young and so are you.

This may have been your third or fourth drink, you don’t really know, but probably some way along the second since you’re not really hammered. You’re somewhat sober enough to feel large hands gripping your hips, a protest of not tonight, Dracula about to leave your lips when you come face to face with a face you never thought you would see here.

Clad in a long black cloak, a silver cross hung around his neck, his dark hair in a neat bun and black earrings a perfect completion to the hauntingly stunning look he pulled off, your throat ran dry.

“Sir Geto?”

“Hey, it’s you,” your tutor spoke up with unmasked interest, his curious eyes trailing down your revealing outfit…the way your dress hugged all your curves and how your breasts are practically popping from your top. Geto smirked, “And please, we’re not studying at home, just call me Geto. Surprised to see you here.”

“Well, it’s Halloween, would be a shame if I didn’t go out,” laughing nervously, you found yourself acting out of habit as you twirled a strand of hair to your finger. “I’m surprised to see you here. I thought you’d have work.”

“Nah, the boys and I are free for tonight,” he answered with a grin, nodding to where his friends – a really tall white haired man and a bored blond who looks like he’s ready to leave anytime – dancing and drinking at the corner. Geto must’ve felt your unnecessary prolonged stare at his attractive friends for he’s pulling you closer again, not sexually or even hidden with motives, but because it’s hard to hear each other through the music.

“Hey, do you wanna dance?” Nodding, you waved goodbye to your friends. They didn’t really notice considering they’re way too hammered and occupied dancing with others. Surely, they wouldn’t notice your little escapade.

Geto’s warm hands leads you somewhere out the bar and into the open grounds, where cups are already littered on the grass and people are drunkenly shaking their ass to everything and everyone.

It’s a ridiculous sight that has both you and Geto laughing.

“So…you liking the festival so far?”

“It’s…pretty fun,” you admit and loop your arms around him with ease. Normally, you wouldn’t be doing this.

He may not be your actual professor or teacher, but he’s still a family friend of your friend who’s been tutoring you for the past semester and is basically the only reason you can endure math. Granted, he’s always been deadly attractive, but you’ve never really been affected by it, not up this close, anyway.

But you’re most definitely closer now, and Geto’s forehead is pressed against yours as he sways you both side to side.

“My first time drinking and I feel so light,” Geto hums at your slightly intoxicated eyes, his grin turning gummy when your curious hands trail up his robes to experimentally grope his pecs.

“First time, huh? We’ll I’ll be here to hold you up if you feel dizzy.”

“Thanks,” you beamed up at him. Geto, albeit being at least seven years older, feels so youthful that you’re not really bothered by the age gap. Again, it could be the alcohol, but he feels so warm, so nice, that you lean back to survey him this time around. “You look great, by the way, though you’re dressed up as…”

Geto rolls his eyes before you can finish.

“I know, the priest costume looks weird, but we found it pretty funny so here I am.”

“No, no, it looks great,” you wave off, your smile freezing on your face when a nostalgic song starts to blast through the speakers. In your head, in your head! “Zombies by the Cranberries. A classic.”

Geto’s hands snake around your waist before they hover over your ass, his eyes mischievous and slanted as he mumbles, “It’s a great song to dance with a perfect little devil with.”

You don’t know who leaned it first.

Not like it mattered, when Geto tasted strongly of strawberry flavored bear and cheesecake. An odd combination, even more so with his spicy cologne, but it only has you pulling you in closer to him.

He’s such a great kisser. Legs turned to jelly, knees weakening and lips locking in rhythm to the beat – it feels like it’s just the two of you in that moment. Geto smiles through the kiss, tongue prodding your lips to open before you’re gasping for air. Your attempt to regain air back to your lungs is cut off when Geto leans closer to slip his tongue inside your mouth, greedily sucking on it until you’re moaning in his arms.

Soon enough, you’re both holding on to each other to the point you might as well be fucking openly.

Geto is cupping your cheeks as he excitedly kisses you, his smiles intoxicating and the bubbling laughter he lets out much like music to your ears.

“Yo, Geto, are you sure about this? She looks like a minor, dude,” one of his friends speak up, and that’s when you see his white haired friend – who has extremely azure eyes that you can’t tell whether it’s contacts or not – crossing his arms on his chest, though his amused smirk said otherwise.

If anything, the guy is only suggestive, wiggling his brows up and down as he puts his fingers into a V shape, his tongue poked out.

You snort at his gestures, and just like how Geto did before, he turns your cheeks towards him again, his gaze feral and wanting. “I assure you,” Geto murmurs over your lips, “She’s not.” Eyes wide and all attention to him the way he wants, Geto’s smirk is cunning before he leans down to capture your lips in another heated kiss.

Stumbling back to his apartment turned out to be a lot more challenging. With the urgent need to relieve each other of this burning in your cores, you and Geto have made out everywhere, hands kneading each other’s skin until you fall awkwardly at his bed.

There’s no time to worry about it though. Not when he’s eagerly unbuttoning his robe, his dark hair messed up and a few strands shielding his eyes that glimmer when you struggle to squeeze out of your dress. He helps you get it off before he hovers over you, knocking your knee with his to make you fall open. You’re left completely vulnerable and naked under his predatory gaze, large hands smoothing over your skin – from your ankle, up to your thighs and the dips in your body, before he settles right above your breasts, nipples hard between his fingers.

“Fuck, you look stunning,” he praises, biting his lip at the same time you drunkenly giggle. “Bet you taste perfect too.”

“Only one way to find out, then.”

“Come here,” Get growls and rips off your panties, your half-hearted protests completely missed in his haze of pleasure. Upon seeing you bare for him, wet and pussy lips glistening, Geto groans deep in his chest. “Such a pretty pussy. Shoulda fucked you a long time ago when we were alone for so many hours,” curling his upper lip, he begins to settle down between your legs, peering up from you under his lashes as he teasingly blows air over your core that has you shivering. “I could’ve taught you so many more things, don’t you think?”

“Careful there, father, wouldn’t want you to sin tonight.”

“Oh no, you don’t get to do that to me tonight, sweetheart,” he laughs evilly, joined by you afterwards at the little teasings. “You’re a little devil and I’m nothing but a mortal man. Of course I’d fall to the consequences of my sinful desires.”

Sitting up with your elbows resting on the mattress, you tug him by his cross, hard. “Here’s your one way ticket to hell then,” you dared, letting your legs spread wider and pushing his head down. Geto inhales sharply when the tip of his nose nudges your clit, drawing out a shuddered moan from you. “Feast for yourself.”

“Hmm, you’re a whole ass fucking meal, baby,” he marveled, giving little teasing bites on your inner thigh that you’re sure would leave a mark. “I’m going to devour you.”

Geto isn’t kidding.

You clearly undermined him, or perhaps you knew all along what he could do and you just wanted to bring out this side for him, because riled up Geto who was excitedly sucking on your clit like a man starved had you seeing stars in the whites of his ceiling.

“Hnggrr, G-Geto, fuck!”

“Yeah, you like that?” he chuckles from your pussy, the vibrations of it sending electricity jolting down deep to your core. Geto begins to trail down, his tongue playfully poking your entrance as slick coats his muscle and cheeks, licking and kissing everywhere that you actually find it hard to keep quiet. Narrowing your eyes at him – and you wished you didn’t, because you’ve never seen a more lewd sight before – you slap your palm over your mouth, the only thing keeping your legs apart the strong grip he had on you. “Don’t be shy, babe. We’ve got the whole place to ourselves tonight. Scream as loud as you want. Let the neighbors hear how good I’m fucking you.”

“Y-you’re so lewd, fuck-” you announce, but the sounds of your squelching being sucked by his eager, unquenched self is even more lewd. “Geto, I’m coming, I’m coming!”

Geto just pushes you over the edge, ignoring the way your thighs are shaking and you’re pushing him away once the overstimulation becomes too much to handle. You giggle when he sighs at not being able to eat you out anymore, but his glistening face is a lot more arousing than entertaining. Struggling to catch your breath, Geto smirks at how easily you’ve come undone, groaning as he wipes your juices with his thumb and licking his lips afterwards. He bends forward as he stares at you the whole while, slipping his digit through your mouth in a silent demand for you to taste yourself.

Never pulling away from holding his gaze, you wrap your lips around his thumb, swirling your tongue and sucking just hard enough that he absentmindedly humps the air.

“You okay? You look like you’re about to pass out.”

“Shut up. You literally ate my soul out,” you stare at the trail of saliva connected to his finger, the image so fucking dirty yet arousing that you begin to clench around nothing. Meanwhile, Geto’s biceps flex as he runs his hand through his hair, and that’s when you see he’s so rock hard that he probably feels uncomfortable. “Do you want me to…?”

“You don’t have to. It’s okay.”

“Seriously, Geto, you’re declining an offer to get your dick sucked?”

“I mean, I’m not against it but-” you shove his boxers down and immediately take him into your mouth, no foreplay at all, and your teeth graze his dick as you do so. Geto’s hips sutter forward in a knee-jerk movement he almost falls down on his bed, but catches him on the last second to not crush you. He ogled at your cock-stuffed mouth and puffy cheeks, his breaths sharp from the pleasure he’s receiving. “Sh-shit, not so fast, baby. I don’t want to cum like this.”

“Hmm.”

Staring up at him innocently, Geto closes his eyes and runs his finger through your locks, slightly bucking his hips deeper into your mouth. Even in his euphoria, Geto is careful to let you go at your own pace, though his self-controls falter a little bit the moment you fondle his balls.

His eyes snap open. Teeth bared and belly flexing, you keep rendering him frozen with how you take him in deeper until his hair is tickling your nose, cheeks sucked in and hollow as you slide his cock along your warm walls. “Oh, fuck, you’re really a fucking devil, right there, yeah,” he hisses, taking a handful of your hair so he could get a better look at you. “Well, who would’ve thought? Always seemingly so innocent. Who knew you could suck dick like this?”

“You like it,” you tease while pumping his shaft up and down and giving kitten licks to the head, where Geto smirks at you.

“Yeah, I love it,” he corrects, his cock twitching on your dainty hands that look so tiny in comparison to his girth. “But no way I’m coming tonight anywhere than your pussy,” Geto pushes you back down on the bed where he showers you with heated kisses, wrists pinned under his grip and hickeys left everywhere on your neck. His sticky fingers trail down your skin to finger you, the sensation too much, too good, too wrong, and that thought alone that’s been drumming into you as the intoxication fades away make you both pause.

“I-I…”

“It’s okay, just relax,” he reassures, withdrawing his fingers that can’t get past your pussy that has now tightened the minute he touched you down there. Geto sends you another approving glance before he pumps his shaft and up down, aligning it with your entrance and kissing you flat on the lips the whole time. “I’ll put it in, okay? Tell me if anything hurts.”

“Hey, hey. Breathe,” he cups your cheek while looking deep into your eyes, though that slight pinch on his forehead let you know he experienced the same discomfort.

Geto must’ve realized both of you aren’t getting anywhere tonight because soon, he’s falling back to this side, eyeing your pussy with longing and lust before his arm lands over his face. “Well… Maybe not tonight.”

“Geto,” you begin, turning on your side in hopes of easing the pained frown on his face. “I’m so sorry…”

“Hey, it’s fine, really, don’t worry about it,” he blinks at you and rests back on the pillows, his hand already wrapped around his hard, throbbing cock where the tip is leaking. “Let me just relieve myself. I’m so fucking hard it hurts.”

You don’t know what you’re expecting, but definitely not for him to jack off right beside you. You watch; perplexed, awed, undeniably aroused as he holds your gaze, his jaw clenched and accentuating his sharp features more from the movement. Geto is absolutely shameless as he fucks his own fist that is cum-stained, beads of white pre-cum coating his incredibly thick shaft with thick veins.

It’s so wrong yet so fucking hot that you can’t help but do the same.

Sneaking your fingers down to your kitty, you rub your clit and bite your lip, pleasuring yourself the same way he does. Geto exhales in wonder from watching you masturbate, his muscles ripping and arm so buff, you wonder why he hasn’t folded you in half yet.

Oh right, you’re too anxious to ever have his dick inside you, yet you’re shamelessly rubbing circles in your clit. Spreading your pussy lips open, you slide your fingers down and collect your juices, gasping right beside Geto who’s angrily pumping his dick.

Geto suddenly leans back on his calves to stare at your pussy and jacks off, catching some cum from your pussy lips which makes you giggle in surprise, but he comes back to fisting himself. The eroticism of your actions pushed you both to the edge until the both of you came, his dick softening and his cum shooting all over your thighs.

“God, you’re so sexy, I could stare at you all day.”

“That was…”

“Yeah,” he breathes out in stuttered chuckles, throwing a leg over the bed as he stands to hs full naked, cum-stained glory. “Hey, I’ll clean you up. Do you want something to drink or eat? A glass of water, maybe?”

“That sounds great.”

Geto comes back with a shirt of a rock festival and wipes his cum from your stomach, then folds it to wipe your arousal off. He helps you settle inside his oversized shirt that is warm, comfortable, and smells so faintly of him that the exhaustion of tonight’s events is rapidly coming to you.

“Come here. It’s pretty cold tonight,” You gladly cuddle with him, your head laid on top of his buff arm while his free one is wrapped around you.“How’s your studies going? Do you understand math a little better now?”

Despite his innocent queries, his actions are everything but.

His hands are trailing up to slowly to stroke your nipples. Geto thumbs at the hardened peaks before he softly squeezes your breast, letting his hand repeatedly graze over your sensitive nipples as if it’s second nature to him. It turns you on so bad, but you’re exhausted and you’re rubbing your thighs together, sighing and quietly moaning every now and then.

“A-a little, I guess,” you answer, a little bit distracted. He’s modest and no longer aroused (judging from his state inside his boxers), so you try not to start something you’re not prepared to finish. “Hey, Geto, can I ask you something?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you more of an ass or boobs person?”

Geto handles the question with ease. “As long as the proportions are right, I like both, and I like yours,” he grins, cupping your boobs in his hand as if to prove a point. Then, he tugs your (his) shirt up just enough to reveal the erect nipples, his eyes narrowed before he sucks lightly on the sides. You gasp at his ministrations but voice no complaints, and neither does he when your nails dig into his arm. “Yours are so beautiful.”

“Flatterer,” you playfully punch his chest, but Geto only chuckles and brings you closer to his chest, his lips warm on top of your forehead. “I’m pretty sleepy…”

“Then sleep. I’ll still be here tomorrow, don’t worry. You’re free to stay as long as you like.”

The next day, Geto is already gone from the room. You’re not worried because one) this is a one night stand with your hot tutor, you’re not supposed to be attached, and two) the smell of pancakes wafting from the slight crack of his door is very much present.

Stretching your arms out, you pad to where Geto is busy flipping pancakes. He’s already dressed comfortably in a white shirt and dark sweats, turning around to smile at you at the sound of your footsteps. “There’s a naked girl in my room? Wow.”

“It’s not like you haven’t seen everything last night.”

Geto doesn’t need to gesture you to come closer to him, you’re already too pulled in by his presence that you’re wrapping an arm around his neck while he kisses you flat on the lips.

“Doesn’t mean I get tired of it,” he teases, lips lingering above yours before he drifts down the crook your neck, voice deep and husky as he greets, “’Morning. Can you pass me the syrup?”

Nodding, you bend over the counter. The syrup is located in the bottom of the pantry and you’re halfway to opening the glass panels when you hear Geto shut off the stove. His hands come to grip on your hips as he grinds his hard cock on your exposed bottom, his lips hovering over your ear. “On second thought…I think I’ll have my meal a little differently.”

“G-Geto.”

“I bought lube while you were asleep. Maybe it’ll make you loosen a little bit?” Geto touches you down there, his eyes glimmering with mischief once he witnesses for himself your state. “You’re already wet babe,” he announces, proudly presenting his wet fingers right before your eyes. “Wait for me.”

Nervously, you fix your shirt and hair as Geto runs to the living room where he pulls out a bottle of lube and discards his shirt somewhere. He wastes no time in lifting you up to the counter where dives between your legs, and you’re tugging at his hair as his tongue eagerly licks your wetness.

“Geto, ah, stop playing around!”

“Wasn’t planning on it, babe, I’m a little impatient,” Geto stands up again to kiss you for a quick second before he grabs the lube and spreads it all over his cock, his fingers experimentally prying your hole open to see if you could take it.

Once his digit slides in with ease, you moan the same time he grins wickedly.

You think he’ll go straight for it but Geto takes his time with you, making sure you’re properly stretched open before he splits you in his half with his cock. He’s really thick, after all, and your tight little cunt needs to adjust well to make sure you enjoy it rather than be in pain. Once satisfied, you pull Geto by the collar and wrap one leg around his waist to bring him closer, gasping when his tip slides between your pussy lips.

Both of you are too lost in a daze of lust to be able to speak properly. One nod from you is all he needs before he’s slipping inside your warm walls, his head falling into the juncture of your neck where he keeps grunting on how good you feel around him.

You can’t help but scratch down his back the deeper he drives his hips, the mere movement of his cock sliding against the bumpy drags of your tissues making you fall apart.

Not a minute later, your shirt is bunched up under your breasts, free for Geto to suck on while he fucks the living daylights out of you. His knuckles turn white from how hard he’s gripping the counter, another hand planted right under your knee to keep your leg spread open for him. You’re moaning openly under him, strings of fuck yeah right there and shit, Geto, you feel so good filling in the early morning air that would’ve been innocent if there weren’t such loud sounds of skin slapping against skin mixing with the chirping birds.

You squeeze Geto’s ass as he plants himself deeper inside you, setting a pace that is both mind-numbing and exhilarating.

It’s hard to believe that just days ago, you’re in the exact same place sharing waffles with him, only you’re studying math and he’s wearing glasses; professional, formal, polite – the exact opposite of the sinful things he’s doing to you right now.

Geto’s grunts are almost choked in your ear as you come hard, walls convulsing and spasming around his thick length.

He immediately pulls out his hard cock to come all over your thighs instead, watching the way your hole clenches around nothing while his slippery dick is smeared and repeatedly slapping your inner thighs. You keep gasping as you ride out your orgasm, thighs burning from the uncomfortable stretch of having one leg propped by him and the other heel planted on the counters. Geto’s moans are deep, sinful, and inherently masculine the whole while he shoots his deep all over you, creating a mess both on the counter and on your skin.

It takes a while before you both regain your breath and composure, with Geto awkwardly pulling his pants up as he laughs along with you. “So…breakfast?”

“Yeah,” you giggled, “I’m famished.”

Safe to say, that morning was spent with not much enough breakfast, but definitely lots of kissing and even more fucking around. Everything Geto said the first time you met him had been proven true – he did have a thing or two to teach you.

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and-knowing-is-half-the-battle · 3 years

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Treatment, Part II: Storming

Part I

FATWS!Bucky x Fem!Therapist reader

Length: 1.7K

Summary: When his therapist goes missing, Bucky steps in.

Warnings: Slow burn, angst, cursing, mention of past violence, mention of past abusive relationship, kidnapping, violence

Photo source: buckysbarnes

Session 10

You were late. A few minutes wasn’t unusual, but this? He had booked your earliest appointment because it was all you had open, so he was standing outside your office, awkwardly pacing around the hall. He gave up after half an hour and having called you several times with no answer. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. You had taught him to trust his gut.

He started with a contact in the FBI. He had refrained from ever digging into your life despite having the resources, because it was the right thing to do. When the email they said they would send popped up on his phone, he hesitated for just a moment before opening it. There was no coming back from this. But he had to do it.

He skimmed over the file, learning about your place of birth, the names of your parents, a marriage when you were young, and a divorce. He had definitely noticed you didn’t wear a ring. Then he saw the police reports. Five … six … seven? He read the first, then the second with a sinking feeling. All of them were domestic violence calls, and none of them ended with an arrest. In fact, they were all documented as false alarms. He googled the name of your ex, and was disappointed to discover that his instincts were right. He was a cop.

_________________

You struggled at the zip tie binding your wrists behind your back, even though you didn’t have much room in the trunk. You were doing your best to get your feet through so you could defend yourself to some degree. But your old shoulder injury just wouldn’t allow the flexibility you needed. It burned as you tried again. Again.

__________________

He parked in front of your apartment building, feeling uneasy again at invading your privacy. He shook off the feeling, making his way into the building and to your apartment. Number 304. The door jam was intact.

For now.

He busted into the room, his metal shoulder taking the brunt of it. He moved through each room with a detective’s eye, taking in arbitrary details as he searched. How neat you were. The careful way your bed was made. The tiniest little plants on your kitchen windowsill. The scent of your soap in the bathroom.

He checked the email again, scrolling down to find the make and model of your car, realizing that he had seen it in the parking lot of your office. You had definitely been home last night, because your little to-do list on the fridge was marked off (“take out the trash, sweep kitchen, water plants”). So he had been waiting for you this morning. It had happened right under his goddamn nose.

_________________

You tried not to panic as the car finally stopped. The trunk opened, blinding you with the sudden morning light, and you were lifted bodily out of the car.

“Are you ready to be nice now?” he asked, a smug smile on his face. You didn’t respond, staring at him with angry eyes. “Then I guess you’ll have to stay that way.” He gestured at the cloth gag in your mouth. It was probably better this way. He had always liked you silent and compliant. He bent down, lifting you onto his shoulder and carrying you toward the safe house on the edge of town. No one would bother him here.

_________________

He hung up the phone after talking to what felt like the hundredth person in his quest for information, scrubbing his hand down his stubbled face. This guy was one of the old boys. Traditional. Brutal. Well respected. He wasn’t going to get anywhere with his colleagues, and they made that quite clear. He looked again at the precinct information, this time searching for people who were arrested often, but charges were never filed. He’d bet his other arm that this guy was dirty.

And he found the perfect person.

______________

“I swear man, I don’t know anything!” The man cringed, having seen Bucky remove his coat to show his metal arm.

“I’m just looking for where he lays low. Bars, hotels, wherever he takes the sex workers he blackmails,” Bucky rolled his shoulders back, dramatically cracking his neck on both sides.

“Okay, man, okay! Just don’t tell them it was me!” he backed further away, hitting the fencing that divided the alley.

“I don’t plan on doing a lot of talking. WHERE,”

“That big brown apartment building by the water. He has a safehouse there that is never used for real business. The … The Clover! That’s it!”

“Great. Now get lost. And if he finds out I’m coming, I’ll know exactly who to take my pound of flesh from,” Bucky threw over his shoulder as he planned his next move.

______________

The front desk was abandoned, as always. No one to question why a man showed up with a bound lady over his shoulder. Though from the look of the people who saw him, they wouldn’t have confronted him anyway.

He tossed you onto the couch, closing the door and taking off his jacket.

“Want a drink? Oh, right. I guess not,” he chuckled, pouring himself some whiskey while you wrestled your way to a more dignified position amongst the pillows. The dread was starting to build in your stomach. He was never nice, but when he was drinking was when he was at his worst.

“Now, when are we going to stop this dance and get back together?” He sat on the coffee table facing you, trapping your knees between his. “No one else will want you. Damaged goods and all.” He swirled the drink in his glass, taking measured sips. You tried to answer, your words muffled against the now wet fabric. His eyes shot you a warning as he reached forward and cut the gag with his knife. A knife that you were very familiar with.

“I’ve said this before. I’m not getting back together with you, ever,” you said firmly. “The healthy thing to do is move on,”

“Move on!” he guffawed loudly, an ugly sound that grated on your ears. “Just because you have that fancy degree now, you think you know what’s best for me? You’re not fooling anyone. You’re still that simple little girl I married,”

“Stop this, Justin. Is this really the way you want to win me over? Through force?”

“If it’s the only way you’ll listen,” he said lowly, twirling his knife in his fingers. You swallowed thickly, your fear growing. “What will it take before you listen, y/n? What do I need to do?” He leaned forward, brushing the knife lightly over your collar bone. You stayed perfectly still, willing your breaths to even out.

That’s when the door burst open. Justin stood, knife in hand, and turned toward the door.

“Who the hell are you?” he demanded, and you realized with a shock that it was Bucky, chest heaving, black metal arm fully revealed, standing in the doorway.

“Step away from her or you’ll find out,” he said, his voice cold. Justin lifted you and spun you against his chest. Your bound ankles made it impossible to resist, and you stumbled against him.

“How about you step back, dumbass?” he threatened, pushing the knife into your throat with a sharp sting. Bucky’s jaw visibly tightened.

“Justin, listen to him. He’s-”

“Shut up!” he growled, keeping his eyes on Bucky.

“Justin, seriously, he’s-”

“I said shut up!” He punched you in the kidney with his free hand, giving Bucky the opening he was looking for. He lunged forward, grabbing Justin’s knife with his metal hand and lifting it up, catching you as you fell forward. His arm finished its arc, twisting Justin’s wrist until he dropped the knife, his other hand feebly trying to break Bucky’s grip. Once he was sure you were securely against his chest, he lifted his leg and kicked Justin in the chest, sending him into the opposite wall.

He looked down at your trembling form then, holding you tightly and murmuring reassurances.

“It’s okay. I’ve got you. It’s over. Shhh.” He reached behind you, breaking the zip tie at your wrists effortlessly. You immediately clung to him, taking in his woody clean smell.

“Here,” he offered gently, placing your hands on his shoulders to steady yourself as he bent down to free your ankles. He then wrapped his arm around you, guiding you gently down the hall.

____________________

“I don’t know where to start,” you said as he dabbed at your neck with gauze he found in your medicine cabinet. You were sitting on the kitchen table so he could see what he was doing. “I mean, a thank you is in order, but this definitely changes our relationship.” He met your eyes with his astonishingly blue ones before returning to his task.

“I was afraid it would,” he said with his typical fake apathy. Now that the action was over, the sad reality was sinking in. You couldn’t be his therapist anymore. Not after this. It was a massive breach of - well, everything.

“I … I’m so sorry you got dragged into this,” you said, your eyes stinging as the tears began to form.

“Let’s be clear, I dragged myself into this,”

“But what other option did you have? A man with your skills and resources, your big heart? It’s not like you could have left it to the police,” As always, you understood him easily.

“Stop. Look at me,” And you did. “I’m not sorry. I’m just glad you’re safe. Even if it means … even if it means I can’t see you again,” Your tears spilled over then, the implications out there in the open. You didn’t want this. You looked forward to seeing him every week, and he was doing so well.

“Right,” you croaked, knowing there was nothing you could do. If only you had met under different circumstances.

“Ok, neck’s all done. Let me take a look at the-”

“Nope!” You stood quickly when his hand reached for the hem of your shirt, regretting it instantly when pain bloomed in your back. “I think I’ve taken advantage of your kindness enough for one day,” His hands went limp at his sides, and you passed him to hold open your front door. “I really appreciate all you’ve done. I’ll be sure to contact you with some names of people I trust, so you can continue your work.”

“Sure. Thanks,” he said blankly as he passed by. He turned, staring at you as you slowly closed your door and your heart.

Part III

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n

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rostovs-lover · 3 years

Text

roy rogers

brian may x reader | cursing, some suggestive language, a little bit of anxiety, alcohol consumption | she/her pronouns | fluffy? slow-burn?? | wc.3667

i’m low key tempted to make a part two,,

anon : Can I request a super cute fic where Bri needs more money for uni, so he starts offering guitar lessons and the reader has a little brother who really wants to learn how to play, so she signs him up. Maybe her brother is extremely good with a guitar and he has a lot of lessons with Bri. He also sees the reader a lot and he catches feelings HARD. Maybe the reader’s little brother spills something to both of them with the help of the rest of the band and they end of together. I just need major FLUFF

your younger brother thinks his guitar teacher is perfect for you and he’s adamant about getting you together. requests open!!

A Roy Roger’s is a nonalcoholic drink made of cola and cherry grenadine and topped with a maraschino cherry.

Your younger brother, David, practically lived in your apartment. For a fourteen year old he was brilliant and very, very sneaky. Sneaky enough to creep out of your mother’s house in the dead of night and crawl up to the fire escape of your second story apartment.

When you’d stumbled to the kitchen, half asleep, he’d been at the table thumbing through a cookbook. He’d also had the audacity to laugh when you screamed, thinking he was an intruder. It wasn’t the first time this had happened, and it most definitely wouldn’t be the last either.

“One of these days something is going to be thrown at your head,” You hissed, setting a bowl of cereal in front of David, who looked at it with the utmost disgust.

“What is this?”

“Quisp, either eat it or starve.”

He glowered at you, “I like Waffelos,”

“That's so sad, I have no money, its Quisp or nothing.” It was quiet for a while as you both ate, David still looking through your cookbook.

He closed the book, examining the cover as he spoke, “Mum said you have to sign me up for guitar lessons,”

“Mum said what?”

“You have to sign me up for guitar lessons, she’ll pay. I have a well of untapped potential in the musical realm. That's according to her coworker, Deirdre.” He sighed, exasperated, “Mum trusts Deirdre apparently because now I have to learn guitar.”

“Where on earth does mum expect me to sign you up, I mean did she give you any specifics, like a price range? Do you even have a guitar?”

“First, I have mum’s old guitar. Second, she just said lessons. I think she trusts your judgment.”

Despite how much you appreciated your mother trusting your judgment, finding reasonably priced guitar lessons with someone who wasn’t a creep was harder than anticipated. You had collected a handful of flyers and business cards, all offering said lessons. The first call you placed was to a nice old lady looking to take up some spare time by providing lessons but she lived too far away for your mother to drive every week. The next was almost promising until you told Robert MacIntere that the lesson was for your brother, not you and he hung up the phone. One woman had too many cats, another man asked for your shoe size, someone else cursed you out when you said you couldn’t do their outlandish prices. The only promising thing you had gotten was a History professor, a very nice man too. You were thrilled when the lessons had finally been scheduled until he bowed out at the last minute and you were back at square one.

You had almost given up when, one rainy Thursday evening, you found an advert pinned outside of the auditorium. Guitar lessons, not too far away, open every Tuesday and Wednesday after three o’clock. The document was typed, all except a phone number scrawled on the bottom, almost as if an afterthought. You scratched the number on the palm of your hand and called straight away when you got home.

The line wrung for several seconds, “Yo?”

“Hi. Hi, yes I’m calling about a flyer I saw posted at Imperial College? It was an advert for bi-weekly guitar lessons, and your number was on the paper. I was wondering about booking a couple of weeks?”

The person on the line snorted, “Sorry dear, that’s not me. I assume you’re looking for my mate, just one moment and I’ll gather him-” You heard his hand cover the receiver as she called for someone, “Just one sec’ lovie,”

The phone was audibly handed off, “Hello?”

“Hi, um I’m calling about the guitar lessons?”

“Oh!” His voice, “Yes, of course! That's me, are you looking to schedule one?”

You had scheduled for the following Tuesday at four, to meet at his apartment. In the car on the way there, David rambled on about everything he wanted to learn and exactly how ecstatic he was for this. He had named his guitar George, after George Harison, who he admired. On the elevator ride up to Brian’s apartment, David was practically vibrating and he bounced on the balls of his feet as you waited at the door.

The door was opened by a blond, clad in a bathrobe and flannel pyjama pants who puffed at his cigarette as he stared at you, “What brings you here?”

Before you could speak David, who the blond hadn’t noticed until just then, piped up, “The guitar lessons. I’m the one being taught, [Name] is just sitting in.”

“Oh, well come in then, I’ll go and get Brian.” He tucked his cigarette behind him and lead you inside, “Um, make yourselves at home, couch is all yours.” He howled Brian’s name and ducked into the kitchen, snuffing out the smoke in an ashtray.

David got settled on the couch, tugging out his guitar, and you set into a chair. From around the corner rushed a very frantic body, clutching his own guitar. He was very tall, and the black pants he wore made his legs seem unproportionate to his body. What caught your eye the most though was his hair, he had a thick mane of tightly wound black curls, which also added to his height.

“Hi, I’m very sorry about this, I got a touch caught up in a bit of school work.” He settled onto the couch next to your brother, “You must be David, I’m Brian.” He gestured a hand to your brother.

David, ever the charmer, shook firmly as he spoke, “Its pleasure meeting you. I wasn’t quite sure that lessons were even going to happen, no one seemed right, according to mum, but you seem nice! Your guitar is neat. Oh! That's my sister, [Name], I believe you spoke on the phone.”

“We did,” Brian leaned forwards to shake your hand as well, “Its nice to meet you,”

A better teacher would have been hard to come by. Brian was patient and soft spoken, he worked at your brother’s pace, never rushing past anything he didn’t fully understand. The lesson was only an hour long but it seemed much shorter, with a book in tow you didn’t pay much mind to anything else. That was until you caught yourself glancing over the cover to watch the lesson. Brian was attractive and he had very nice hands. You were somewhat aghast you’d never seen him on campus, he seemed hard to miss.

The lessons became weekly, and despite trusting Brian and his roommate, Roger, you still opted to stay for every one. It was always pleasant, the apartment was nice, Brian was nice, and you had begun to get acquainted with his friends. During the third week, Roger had let it slip that they were in a band. Brian’s face had flushed scarlet and he’d played with his fingers as he explained that it wasn’t anything serious. On that same visit, you’d had a conversation with Roger in the kitchen while he got you a glass of water. He was nice, only half awake at the time, but you’d realized you had an evolution class together at school. He had also given you his number, and David would absolutely not let you hear the end of it.

“Please-” Your brother cried as he threw himself onto your sofa, “You haven’t had a boyfriend in ages. The last one was, what was his name?”

You rolled your eyes, “Chet?”

“Chet Robbins! Chet the safe bet!”

“Chet the safe bet? Did you make that up?”

David smiled, very proudly, “I did! Just now actually, because it's true! Chet, the business student, trust fund child, frat boy. Why not date a drummer?”

“Because I like stability David,”

“[Name] date the drummer. I beg, I plead. He was so into you, he gave you his number!”

“If you will recall, I have his number. Because his number is the apartment number and that's what I called for the lessons. I also refuse to date your teacher’s best friend. How would I approach that, ‘Hi Brian! You’re teaching my brother an instrument, I did your friend last night. How have you been?’”

David gasped in mock disgust, “I never said a word about doing him. You foul wench, I simply implied dinner. Maybe seeing one of his shows.”

“Oh my dear, when you date a drummer it's never just dinner.” You snorted.

“Well, when I date a drummer it will be. Only dinner, no foul play.”

“Please, please keep that attitude for the rest of your life.”

It was quiet as he mulled over your words. You started off, putting away your bag and coat when he abruptly sat up, “You don’t dislike the drummer, in fact, it has nothing to do with him. You don’t like my teacher’s best friend, you like my teacher.” He grinned when your face lit up, “Oh you do, you absolutely do! I’ve never seen you blush that hard.”

“You little twit,” You hissed, “If you say a word about this I will have your head. This stays between us and us only.”

David was sneaky, very sneaky. Your conversation had planted an idea in his head like a seed and every brief glance and soft smile you shared with his teacher was water. He was growing a downright devious plan, with you directly at the center of it.

David, after quietly looking over the house and picking up on Brian’s affinity for science fiction, had been the one to recommend you start reading George Orwell’s 1984. He had also purposely disappeared to the restroom when he caught sight of Brian eyeing the cover.

Brian carefully cleared his throat, “Do you read much Orwell?”

“Oh, Orwell? No, not really. I, um- I read The Road to Wigan Pier for a book club a while ago. Are you a fan?”

“Oh yes,” He smiled, leaning forwards, “I’ve read that, actually. I was in a band a few years back by the same name,”

You cocked your head, closing the book against your finger, “1984?”

“Yes, quite silly, I know. Never was much good at naming.”

“Roger said you’re in a band now, what's that called?”

His cheeks were beginning to pick up a soft pink again, “Um, Queen. Our singer named it-”

David sat back down, “Did I miss anything important?”

Brian looked away and you went back to your book. The only noise became the guitar residing between the two boys on the couch. David had learned enough to start on a song, I Walk the Line by Johnny Cash. It was recognizable enough to draw your attention, and it was lovely at first until it was all David played. When you returned home, when you visited your mother, he played it so much you had memorized the fingering to it.

It was at another lesson, several weeks later, when you had been left by your lonesome. David had gone to get a drink and Brian had run to retrieve something from his room. All alone and with nothing to tell you not to you settled into the couch with the guitar and tried at the song. It was choppy, a bit off-key, but mostly there.

“I didn’t know you played?” Brian’s voice was soft but you still jumped, shooting around to find him. Leaned against the back of the sofa he twirled a coin between his fingers, grinning down at you.

You swallowed, “I don’t, no, not really. Dave’s just played this so much I remembered how it looked.”

He propped his chin in his hand, “I think you could be quite good. Just, here-” He slipped the coin between his teeth to reach down, softly grasping your wrist, adjusting your placement on the neck. His hands were warm and it sent a shiver up your spine as he carefully moved your fingers, “That should do nicely, I trust you’ll do well with the right placement.” He was quiet for a moment, silently pondering something, “Friday night we have a show at about ten o’clock, say you come and maybe I could show you something on the guitar afterwards.”

You considered, “Where is it?”

“The Cameo, downtown London.”

“It sounds lovely, very, but I have to admit I’m not big on the downtown London clubs. I actually don’t know where that is. Although I do have a friend whos well versed with the scene, I could ask her to show me there?”

“Wonderful,” He grinned, “It's a date!” Something else David wouldn’t let go of. Usually, all he talked about was the music he learned but now he was enthralled with the prospect of a new romantic venture. You had been informed on exactly how to dress, what makeup to wear, what drink to order. He also picked the exact shade of blue for you to paint your nails.

You called Marilla after your mother picked David up and she had agreed, enthusiastically, to show you to the club. When she arrived you had been called ‘prudish’ and were forbidden to dress yourself. In the very back of your closet was a floral dress you’d bought for a wedding reception that never happened. It was supposed to be returned but you just hadn’t gotten around to it.

“It doesn’t scream rock n’ roll,” She inspected the green fabric under the kitchen light, “But anyone can look like Twiggy with enough eyeshadow so it’ll have to do. You should invest in club clothes, you might have to if anything goes with this guitar player.” Her eyebrows wagged.

You rolled your eyes, taking the dress from her, “Hush, you’re just as bad as David.”

“Your brother?” Marilla snorted, “What's he got to do with this?”

“He's an insufferable little shit, that's what-” You pushed off your top, “At first he tried to get me with the guitar player’s flatmate but when that didn’t work he really pushed Brian and I,”

Marilla was amused, far more amused than you, “He's a cunning thing, I’ve always liked him. Oh boy, now I really want to see your guitarist, Brian was it?”

The club pulsed, dull lights glaring down against everything. It was smokey and smelled of weed and whiskey. The band onstage was far too loud and you clung to Marilla’s hand as she pulled you up to the bar.

“What do you want?” She practically had to yell for you to hear but it went through you, you couldn’t think with all the noise and lights. She sighed and patted your hand, “A Moscow mule and a Roy Roger’s please.” She shouted at the bartender, “It's alright babes, no alcohol, just fancy cherry coke.” You nodded and accepted the drink, taking a tentative sip as you scanned the crowd. The band onstage had seemed to conclude their set but it didn’t make things any quieter. It was overwhelming really, moreso as Marilla started to pull you up to the front.

“Come on, it's almost ten. Your boy’ll be up next!” She settled in front of the stage, rooting you to the spot next to her.

Brian��s flatmate came out, twirling a drumstick between his fingers and he was met with loud cheers. Marilla whooped, waving big up at him. He was followed by the bass player, Brian, and the singer. They were all enthralling, and you were enraptured. The boys on stage looked ethereal, in flowy tops and sparkly makeup. The frontman was clad in glittery jewelry and the bass player wore platform boots. Their music drew you in and eased your nerves about how crowded the club was. The last song had a guitar solo and as he played Brian’s eyes met yours. A rose of warmth bloomed into your cheeks and he grinned, fingering at the chords.

Marilla, immune to none, elbowed you in the ribs, “That's him?!”

You nodded, “It is,”

“Damn girlie! Good for you! But for the record, I think I like the drummer,”

“His name is Roger. If you come backstage with me you can meet him.”

She grinned, “I’m so proud of you, getting connections!” As they finished Roger flung one of his drumsticks into the crowd. You flinched as Marilla’s hand shot out. She squawked as she caught it, quickly tucking it into her pants and taking your hand, pulling you towards the back lounge. She pushed at the thin curtain to the side, slipping in.

It was quieter and you watched people in glamorous outfits dally about. A redhead in hot pants dropped onto the shabby leather sofa, passing glass bottles of something to both the drummer and bassist. The singer was swirling what you could only assume to be a cosmopolitan. He looked up, catching sight of you and Marilla, both looking a bit lost.

“Hello, come come!” The singer waved you over and Marilla practically dragged you.

“You are spectacular!” She raved, “All of you, magical!” She tugged the stick out of her waistband and made her way to the drummer.

You cleared your throat, “You really are amazing, you have a lovely voice.”

The brunette smiled, “Thank you! I’m Freddie by the way, our charming drummer is Roger. The lovely John plays bass and Brian should be around here somewhere, he plays the guitar.”

“It's nice to meet you, Freddie, I’m [Name]. I was actually looking for Brian,” You twiddled with your fingers, looking down, “He asked to meet here tonight. You wouldn’t happen to know where he is would you?”

“You know, he may have popped to the kitchen. I’ll show you,” Freddie stood up. He seemed to catch your hesitation, glancing back to Marilla, “I’ll keep an eye on her. Roggie really is no harm, he plays much bigger than he actually is, I don’t think he could hurt a soul. Not an undeserving one at least.” He started towards the kitchen with you in tow.

Aforementioned kitchen was small and shockingly clean. Your guitarist sat on the counter with a glass of water.

Brian seemed to be in his own world until Freddie caught his attention, “Someone’s been looking for you, my dear,”

Brian looked up, “[Name]! Hello, I’m so glad you came!” He slid off the counter setting his drink down, “Did you bring your friend?”

“I did, she’s become infatuated with Roger though.”

He grinned, “Oh Rog seems to do that to some people.”

“Well, I'll leave you to it!” Freddie called, waving and walking back to the lounge.

When the door shut Brian began to fiddle with the bottom of his shirt, “I left my guitar in the other room, I could go and grab it if you’d still like to learn that song.” He studied your face, “But you don’t look comfortable, are you alright?”

“Yes, this just isn’t really my scene. I’m not used to the noise and everything, there's a lot of people here.”

He smiled sympathetically, “I know, it's crowded. There's a nice little diner just down the road, we could walk there and talk if you’d like.”

You nodded, “Sure, that would be lovely.”

The air was crisp and it brought you back to reality from the club. Brian had lent you an extra sweater he had brought, it was warm but you had to roll the sleeves a few times. It was quiet as you walked, the occasional car rushing past. The sidewalk narrowed as you got closer to the strip of restaurants and you felt the back of Brian’s hand brush yours. You caught his fingers, lacing yours into them and nervously looking up. His expression mimicked yours, jittery and shy and totally taken.

“You look very pretty,” He murmured, thumbing over your knuckles, “That green looks very nice on you.”

You smiled, “Thank you, you look lovely as well.”

“Oh pish posh, this is just stage wear. But I’m glad you think it looks okay, Rog said I looked frumpy.”

You giggled, “Marilla, the one who brought me, called me prudish earlier.”

His laugh was soft, “Well, we can be fashion disappointments to our friends together,” He pulled open the door to MaryAnne’s Diner, holding it for you.

You were settled in a booth waiting for your order when Brian spoke, “David really has potential,”

“With the guitar? I’m not surprised, he's always been good at everything he tries. It's really quite annoying, how brilliant he is.”

“He seems so, a very nice kid. Does he live with you?”

“No no,” You smiled, “No he lives with our mum, he just sneaks out to see me more than he should. I don’t know if I ever thanked you for letting me sit in, I know it's not common practice. I just worry about him, he seems so much older than he actually is and I’m worried it’ll get him in trouble one day.”

Brian patted your hand, “Oh darling, I understand. I really don’t mind at all, I’m glad I met you.”

“I’m glad I’ve met you as well.”

He had walked you home, contently explaining the story behind one of the constellations he saw.

He stalled at the door, keeping your hand in his, “So I suppose I’ll see you next week?”

“Absolutely,”

He moved one hand to push a piece of hair out of your face, “Well until then I suppose,”

You leaned up, closing in on him. You felt his hot breath against your cheeks, “Is this okay?”

He nodded, “More than,” And pulled you into him.

He was as gentle in kissing you as he was in everything else, carefully nudging his nose against yours. His mouth was warm and he stroked your mandible, easing deeper into the kiss. He relished in the taste of maraschino cherry from the Roy Roger’s you’d had earlier. You gasped softly as he nipped at your bottom lip, pulling away. The lipgloss he had been wearing was smeared against the corner of your mouth and he carefully wiped at it with his thumb.

David would never let you hear the end of this either.

#Brian May #brian may imagine #brian may x reader #Queen #queen imagine #queen x reader #bohemian rhapsody #bohemian rhapsody imagines #queen #lennie writes

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tchallasbabymama · 3 years

Text

M’Baku’s Love- Chapter 6

Here’s the next chapter of M’Baku’s Love. Check out my masterlist HERE to catch up and read my other stories. Let me know what you think or if you want to be tagged. Hope y’all enjoy!

Word count: ~6100

When M’Baku picked Niecey up for their date, the first thing they both noticed was that his dark brown tuxedo with gorilla fur sash clashed with Neicey’s low-cut black sequin dress. The two of them obviously hadn’t discussed what they were wearing and it showed, which irritated Niecey to no end. M’Baku really couldn’t care less, but she was seriously upset about how they’d look together in pictures.

“You couldn’t find a black tux?” she asked him just before they walked in after seething in the car the whole twenty minute ride over.

“I had plenty of options, but I wore this because it reminded me of formal Jabari attire.” he fought to keep his eyes from rolling.

“Ugh fine, hopefully we won’t look too bad. Come on.” she walked ahead of him as he handed the valet his keys and they entered the gala. People mingled about, eating and drinking and no doubt opening their pocketbooks. Even the dance floor had a decent amount of people swaying to the jazz music coming from the live band.

However, nothing could have prepared M’Baku for how beautiful Monae looked that night. She happened to be looking towards the door at the moment he walked in and their eyes met from across the room. She had paired a spaghetti strap bronze silk gown with a split up her left thigh with strappy nude heels that made it look like she was walking on her tiptoes all night and her favorite delicate gold drop earrings that dusted her collarbone. They held each other’s gaze for a little too long, and both of their dates noticed but chose not to say anything.

M’Baku and Neicey made their way through the crowd, stopping periodically to speak to their colleagues. She tried to avoid Monae by ignoring that side of the room entirely, but M’Baku eventually steered them right in her direction.

“Monae, Darrin. How are you two this evening?” he asked as they approached the couple.

“It’s actually Derrick-”

“Oh, my apologies.”

Monae fought to keep a laugh in.

“I’m Neicey,” she inserted herself in the conversation with an attitude that rubbed both Monae and M’Baku the wrong way.

“Nice to meet you Neicey,” Derrick responded before taking a sip of his champagne.

“Thank you... Derrick, was it?”

“That’s me. So do you work here with these two?”

“I do, but we’re in different departments. Although I guess M’Baku doesn't really have a department,” she laughed and Derrick was the only one that joined her. The two of them continued to get acquainted while M’Baku and Monae tried to avoid each other's gaze. However They were unsuccessful and ended up locking eyes across Derrick and Neicey’s conversation, but when Derrick looked up to bring in M’Baku he saw the look of adoration on the man’s face as he stared longingly at Monae. Derrick couldn’t believe this man was so bold as to stare at his fiancee like that right in front of him..

“Hey man, so I hear you’re only in town for a short while. When are you leaving?” Derrick asked with a certain gruffness in his voice.

“Derrick, don’t be rude,” Monae whispered to him, shooting an apologetic smile M’Baku’s way. Derrick brushed her off and continued his line of questioning.

“I’m just curious. When are you going back to Wakanda?”

“I will be here two more months,” M’Baku stood tall. “And you?” He threw back.

“We’ll be moving in a couple weeks actually,” he looked down at Monae as her jaw clenched. “Monae’s still not happy about it though, are you Momo?”

She gave him a forced smile, “We don’t need to talk about that right now, let’s just have a good time.”

“There you are! Damn, y’all clean up nice.” N’Jadaka said as he and T’Challa made their way over to greet M’Baku and company. Both Udakus had on black tuxes with silk scarves draped over their left shoulders, the prince’s a shiny gold and the king’s a bold purple.

“Thanks, so do you two,” Neicey responded.

“I wouldn’t be brave enough to rock a scarf like that.” Derrick added.

“Yes, well you-“

“Look nice in your tux,” T’Challa cut off M’Baku, shooting him a look. “Actually Derrick we were wondering if you would give us some, uh, legal advice. We have a few questions about opening a pro-Bono legal clinic.”

“That’s not my specialty, but sure.”

“Fantastic!. We need you to meet some people. Monae do you mind if we steal him away from you?”

“By all means…”

The three men walked away as M’Baku caught Shuri’s eye across the room. She and Nakia were slowly making their way over to them, but kept being stopped and roped into conversations with various prospective donors.

“So, Monae. Where are you moving to?” Neicey asked, hoping it was somewhere far, far away.

“That’s a complicated answer right now-“

“So you’re staying?”

“Like I said, it's complicated,” she deadpanned and grabbed another flute of champagne from a passing waiter, placing her empty one back on the tray.

“I guess.” she shrugged before turning back to her date. “M’Baku let’s get a real drink from the bar, not this bubbly mess.” She tried to pull him towards the bar, but he didn’t budge.

“Monae, would you like to join us? I do not want to just leave you here all alone,” he offered as Shuri and Nakia came up behind him.

“Thank you, but I’ll let the two of you spend some time together,” she said with a sarcastic tone that only M’Baku picked up on. “Besides, these gorgeous ladies just showed up to keep me company.” She gestured to the royalty in their presence and M’Baku turned around to greet them.

“My Queen, Princess, you both look lovely this evening.”

Nakia wore a floor-length eggplant gown with a sweetheart neckline with matching opera gloves and emerald jewelry. Shuri surprisingly had on heels with her black jumpsuit that was covered in gold embroidery. They both looked regal, even more so than usual.

“Thanks, you don’t look too bad yourself. And Monae, this bronze is stunning! Did you two come together?” Shuri asked, accidentally stirring the pot. M’Baku could feel Neicey seething on the other side of him.

“No, we did,” she said as she grabbed onto his arm.

“Oh I’m sorry, I just thought with the outfits- nevermind. I love the sequins.”

“Thank you.”

An awkward silence followed, but Nakia broke it before it could go on too long.

“How has your class been going? I hear great things from the kids,” Nakia asked, declining a flute of champagne from a passing waiter.

“Oh they’re a dream to work with. Have you seen their latest project? Last week I taught them about revisionist history and they’ve been researching real historical facts and performing skits based around their subject. You have to come by and see it. They’re so good!”

“I’ll stop by on Monday for sure,” Nakia responded. “Since your class is so popular I’d love it if you could come with me to talk to some of our donors.”

“Sure but M’Ba-“

“He’ll be fine. Plus I think the Princess needs him for something anyway.” Nakia led her away from her date and over to the only group of rich Black folks in the room.

Shuri turned to wink at M’Baku and tried to slip away before Monae could notice her escape since she had turned to talk to one of her art teachers and his wife, but Monae caught her at the last second..

“So, princess, quick question-“

“Princess? You know I’m just Shuri to you, Monae.”

“Not when you look like that you’re not. Did she say yes?”

“Yes! She’s right over there mingling with some of the other tech nerds,” she pointed to a short, shapely, bald girl in a jumpsuit just like Shuri’s. “Her name is Tae. Isn’t she just the cutest?”

“Absolutely adorable,” M’Baku smiled at his friend, happy she had finally been able to make a move.

“Well, I should go mingle some more. I’ll catch you two later! Again, love the matching outfits,” Shuri said as she skirted away. She picked up a champagne flute, but before she could even bring it to her lips, her brother came out of nowhere and snatched it from her grasp.

“You’re too young.”

“Oh come on, I can drink at home!”

“This isn’t Wakanda, and you’re not 21. We have to present a good image for the donors-“

“We don’t even need donors, we have more than enough money to fund the center.”

“Yes, but people want to have a say in what goes on in their communities and rich people like to throw money around. Who am I to deny them that right?”

“You just like taking colonizer’s money,” she whispered to him and he responded with a wink before sipping from the confiscated champagne flute.

“You’re starting to get it.” He walked away with a smug look on his face to find his wife in the crowd. Shuri rolled her eyes and went to go keep Tae company.

Meanwhile, Monae and M’Baku finally got a moment alone.

“You look absolutely beautiful tonight. This dress is very distracting.”

“Thank you. You know, sometimes I forget you’re a chief but right now you really do look like royalty. Hell, all you Wakandans do.”

“You say that as though you do not look like a queen yourself.”

Monae blushed and he held out his arm towards her.

“Want a real drink?”

“God, yes.”

He laughed and led her to the open bar, ordering them both whiskey, his neat and hers on ice.

“How did you know I was a whiskey girl?”

“I did my research on your home, too. I figured Jack Daniels was a safe bet.”

“And the ice?”

“You ask for extra ice on everything, so I just assumed-“

“Correctly.”

They smiled at each other and continued flirting back and forth by the bar until they caught the eye of a jealous lover. Derrick stormed over to the bar and stood between them.

“Are you having fun?” he asked Monae, back turned to M’Baku.

“Derrick stop being rude, we were in the middle of a conversation-“

“Yeah I saw. I’m ready to get out of here, let’s go.”

“We haven’t been here that long-“

“I said let’s go.”

M’Baku didn’t like the tone of voice he used when speaking to her, so he stepped in, squaring up with Derrick

“I think the lady-“

“Did I ask you?” he raised his voice as he turned to face the chief. “No, I didn’t. Monae, let’s- fuck, where’d she go?” When turned back around she was gone.

“I will go find her.”

“Nah big man, you’ve done enough. I’ll go find my girl.” And with that, he was off, leaving M’Baku at the bar alone. He threw back his drink right as N’Jadaka approached.

“Yo what’s up with you?”

“I am going to kill him.”

“Who, Demarcus?”

“Yes. He is too controlling of her.”

“Well it’s not like you’ll have to deal with him much longer.” The prince said, clapping him on the shoulder. “Hey where’d your date disappear to?”

M’Baku shrugged and N’Jadaka chuckled before something caught his eye.

“There’s your girl.” He nodded towards the entryway, and M’Baku turned around to see Monae and Derrick having what looked to be a very quiet heated argument. As luck would have it, Neicey reappeared at that moment.

“Hey cutie, miss me?” She clung to his arm and he felt his blood pressure rise. She noticed the tension in his shoulders. “What’s up with you?”

“Monae’s fiance is being a dick,” N’Jadaka answered for him, prompting Neicey to roll her eyes.

“Again with all the Monae talk? I’m so tired of hearing about that bitch-”

M’Baku’s head had never turned so fast, and N’Jadaka was seriously concerned for Neicey’s safety for a moment.

“What did you just call her?” M’Baku asked for clarification, making sure he heard her right.

“How about we all chill out. Neicey, wanna dance?”

“Sure, why not. It’s not like he was gonna ask me anyway.”

N’Jadaka gave M’Baku a look that told him to relax before escorting Neicey to the dance floor.

M’Baku looked back up to find Monae and she was nowhere in sight, so he made his way towards the doors to see if she had maybe gone outside for some air. She hadn’t, they had just gone around the corner to argue in peace. Yet again, he caught the tail end of their disagreement.

“You never want to support anything I do, Derrick. I’m tired of it.”

“Well I’m tired of you flirting with that chief guy.”

“That ‘chief guy’ has a name-”

“Do I look like I care? Look, we’re leaving for LA in two weeks. Do you think you can keep your legs closed until then?”

Monae was stunned, mostly because she had no comeback. She had already opened her legs for M’Baku, but Derrick didn’t know that. Thankfully he took her shock for offense and tried to backtrack.

“I didn’t mean it to sound that way-”

“Yes you did.”

“Monae, I-”

“No. Derrick I’m tired of doing this back and forth. You don’t respect me and you never have. I can’t keep doing this-”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying we’re done, Derrick. You can go to LA and be this big, successful entertainment lawyer all you want now. I’m done.” She took the ring off her finger and handed it back to him.

She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him, waiting for a response.

“You think you can live the life I could provide for you on your teacher’s salary?” his voice was low and full of rage.

“Oh honey, I make way more than the average teacher. They actually pay us here, so I’ll be fine. You’re not needed.”

He was fuming.

“Fine! Don’t come crawling back to me when he leaves you behind.”

And with that, Derrick turned and left the gala.

M’Baku wasn’t sure of what to do, should he go to her or give her space? He heard her sniffles and quickly made up his mind.

“Monae-”

“What?!” she yelled before she could register the voice that was speaking to her since she kept her back towards the door so nobody would see her tears.

“Monae, I am sorry.”

She broke down upon really hearing his voice.

“It’s not your fault, it was bound to happen anyway. It’s just hard to let go of so many years, you know?”

“I understand, I have been there. I am still sorry for my part in this and how it led to hurting you.”

“You’ve been here before?”

“Yes, she broke my heart so I had to let her go, but the situation was very different. Can I get you anything?”

She smiled through her tears at his attempt to be helpful.

“No I just need to clean up, and get back out there.” she pointed to the restrooms. He waited for her while she went in to dry her tears and fix her makeup. As he did, he caught sight of N’Jadaka and Neicey sneaking out together and let out a chuckle. At least that situation was taken care of, now he could focus all his energy on Monae.

When she emerged her makeup was once again flawless and M’Baku couldn’t help but stare at her beauty.

“What? Did I miss a spot?” she panicked

“No, just taking it all in,” he said with a whimsical smile on his face.

She blushed and reached to grab his arm before stopping herself.

“Where’s Neicey? I don’t want her chomping my damn head off for being within a 5 foot radius of you.”

M’Baku laughed. “Oh, she will not be a problem anymore, I just saw N’Jadaka take her home for the night.”

“Of course he did,” Monae wrapped her arm around M’Baku’s large bicep. He led her back into the gala just as T’Challa was finishing up his speech.

“-and to the donors, we raise our glasses to you for your continued support and interest in bettering the community. We couldn’t do this without you.”

Shuri scoffed and Nakia fought to hide a smile, nudging her sister-in-law to keep her quiet.

“Please, continue to utilize our open bar and try some of the hors d'oeuvres our wonderful wait staff are carrying around the room. Enjoy your night, and we appreciate your generosity.” Nakia added.

Everyone clapped as the three royals exited the stage.

“Where the hell is N’Jadaka?” T’Challa asked M’Baku when he made his way over.

“Oh he’s busy with Neicey.”

“N- ohhh. That’s great!” he noticed Monae's confused face and dialed it back a little. “I mean, good for him.”

Monae could tell something was up, but she’d get it out of M’Baku later.

“Nice speech, T. I can already see the money rolling in. You know, rich white folks love easing their guilty consciences.”

“Thank you, Monae. The more they give us, the less we have to put up, and the more centers we can open and do the same thing all over again.” T’Challa said softly through a fake smile as some of those rich white people walked within earshot of the conversation.

“Have you looked at other locations?”

“We have, it is difficult to narrow down cities. We want to stay in the US for now, but eventually we could become global.”

“You should look into Nashville. It’s crawling with gentrifiers, and North Nashville has one of the highest incarceration rates in the country. For Black folks, of course.”

“Really? I was unaware of that. North Nashville, you say... I am assuming that is a Black neighborhood?”

“Not for much longer,” she said with a deep sadness in her face that the king took note of. “But an Outreach Center could really help the community.”

“I will keep that in mind, thank you. So….” The king looked on expectantly.

“Sooo…?” Monae asked back before he gestured to the two of them. She playfully rolled her eyes. “I don’t know what you mean.”

M’Baku chuckled at both of their antics.

“I’m sure you don’t…” T’Challa said as he walked away to go mingle with the crowd some more.

“How long do these things usually last?” M’Baku leaned down and said with his lips grazing her ear.

“I don't know, this is my first gala. Why, tired of it already?”

“Honestly, yes. I would much rather be on my couch right about now, the collars on these button up shirts are extremely uncomfortable.”

“Let’s go then. I’m not in the mood to deal with people, and that couch sounds real good right about now.”

-------

Had she been thinking, Monae would’ve run home real quick to change, but there she was barefoot in an evening gown in M’Baku’s kitchen going through his fridge to find something to eat.

“We should order in, those hors d'oeuvres weren’t enough.”

“What do you have a taste for?” M’Baku rounded the corner in grey sweatpants and a black tank and it took everything in Monae to not jump him right then and there.

“Honestly? You, but I’m also not in the mood. You can’t just walk around looking like that, it’s not fair.”

He cornered her against the counter, arms on either side of her.

“And you walking around here in this gown is unfair to me, yet here you are.” he looked down at her erect nipples, stiff from the chill of his loft. He had turned the thermostat up to 70 for her, but that was as high as he was willing to go.

He kissed her forehead and backed up, trying not to stare too hard at her heaving chest.

“M’Baku, I might need some time. I’m still kind of in a weird headspace right now and-”

“I understand, which is why I have a surprise for you.”

Her face lit up like a kid at Christmas. “What is it?”

“You will have to come over here to find out.” He said with a chuckle, walking towards the living area and plopping on the couch. She joined him shortly after and he picked up the remote. When he pressed play tears came to her eyes as she heard the twinkling sounds of the opening to her favorite movie.

“You remembered?” she asked through the couple tears that had escaped her eyes. One day during their many lunches, she had mentioned that her favorite feel-good movie was The Wiz and since he had never seen it, she vowed to change that. Now here he was, pulling out all the stops.

“Of course I did, I have been making my own ‘Captain America’ list.”

“So have I! It’s on my phone, I’ll grab it after the movie.”

They decided to order pizza and she settled into the couch, but couldn’t get comfortable in her dress.

“Let me get you a change of clothes. It might be a little big-”

“A little? I’m like a foot shorter than you, I’ll be swimming in whatever you give me.”

He chuckled and motioned for her to follow him. She paused the movie right as Toto ran into the snowstorm and got up, trying not to trip over her dress since she no longer had on her heels.

M’Baku found a t-shirt for her to wear and got to looking for pants when she stopped him.

“This should be fine, you’ve already seen everything and this’ll be like a dress on me anyway.” she said, undoing her side zipper and letting the gown fall to the ground before reaching for the shirt. He snatched it away from her and held it up high, forcing her to either climb him or jump for it. She chose the latter and he was too distracted by her bouncing breasts to keep the shirt out of reach. She snatched it from his hand and threw it on, sticking her tongue out at him in the process.

“Do that again, and I will find a much better use for your tongue.” he warned her as they made their way back to the couch.

Monae blushed and plopped down next to him, tucking her legs under her and leaning into M’Baku. He put his arm around her so she could lean in closer and his hand rested on her waist while his fingers mindlessly traced patterns into her side. They stayed like that until the pizza arrived and got right back into position after they ate.

She knew every line and lyric, and M’Baku found himself watching her more than the movie. She was beaming the whole time except when sang along to “Home” through her usual tears.

“Why are you sad?” he asked, wiping them away. She smiled at his concern.

“I’m not sad, it’s just an emotional song. It always gets me” she spoke while dabbing her eyes with a clean napkin. “Ready to see my list?”

“I was born ready.”

She grabbed her phone from the charger while he grabbed a notebook off the coffee table. When she returned, she got right back into the same position tucked into his side and turned her phone on to see several voicemails from Derrick. She rolled her eyes and unlocked her phone, going to her notes app and pulling up her very own “Captain America List”.

“Ok, you go first!”

M’Baku opened his notebook and flipped through the pages for a moment before he found what he was looking for.

“Well I can cross off The Wiz. It is an excellent movie by the way, but I already knew you had good taste,” he said cockily. She nudged him in his side. “This is what I have so far: The Autobiography of Malcolm X, Lemonade (but not the drink), spades, Roots, The Color Purple, and Friday.”

“Ok, ok, good start. Here’s some more, and this is not an exhaustive list. I will be adding more.” She cleared her throat, “So far I have: The New Jim Crow, Homecoming, “the cookout”, the Harlem Renaissance, Kindred, Alvin Ailey American Dance Theater, Pose, and T’Challa’s Black Jeopardy sketch.“

M’Baku scribbled it all down as she spoke, and she was tickled by his intense concentration.

“Anything else?”

“That’s it for now. Where did you get yours from?”

“N’Jadaka and Deontae. Tell me about what’s on your list.”

“Well first we have The New Jim Crow by Michelle Alexander. It’s a really depressing book, but if you want to understand white supremacy in this country and how it still operates today, this is a must. Homecoming because not only is it a flawless performance by Beyoncé Giselle Knowles-Carter-”

“I believe I have heard some of her music, she is very talented.”

“Oh-ho-ho, just you wait. It’s not just about her though, you’ll get a feel for the HBCU experience and that’s important. You have to go to a cookout at least once. I’m gonna try to convince N’Jadaka to throw one at his place, I can’t describe in any other words than Black as fuck. The only thing that beats it is a family reunion. Next we have the Harlem Renaissance which is a whole time period of Black creativity. Authors, artists, musicians, you name it. Kindred is one of my favorite books, it’s sci-fi and has time travel but as I’m sure you can guess, that doesn’t work well for Black people in this country.”

M’Baku could listen to her talk for days and almost got lost in her lips until she caught him and shocked him from his daze.

“Are you listening?”

“I-I am sorry, you are just so beautiful. Please, keep going, I want to hear more.”

“Where was I?” she asked as a heat crept up her cheeks. “Oh, um, right. So, Alvin Ailey because I’m a dancer so obviously I would pick that, and Pose because it’s a really good show and you’ll learn some about the AIDS crisis and how Black and Brown queer and trans people are treated here. Newsflash: not that good. Last, we have T’Challa’s SNL sketch. Oh my god, you have to watch it, he’s actually really funny. That’s all I have for now, but I’ll add more as it comes to me.”

“Tell me about my list.” he requested, continuing to stare at her lips as she spoke again.

“Your list?”

“Mhm.” he said, looking at her dreamily. It was late so she couldn't tell if he was simply tired or enamoured by her. Probably both.

“Ok, well, let me see here…” she looked over his list. “Autobiography of Malcolm X, another must. Do you know who he is?”

“Yes, I learned of him when I was researching your people’s history. He was quite a polarizing character, but I agree with his stance.”

“I actually have all of these books, I’ll bring them to you on Monday. Next up is...Lemonade! This is from Deontae, isn't it?”

“How did you guess?”

“He’s a huge Beyoncé fan and I know damn well this didn’t come from Prince Charming.”

“You think he is charming?” M’Baku asked with a raised eyebrow.

“It’s a character from some old story...and Shrek 2. Anyways, yes, Lemonade the movie not the drink. Spades? Oh, N’Jadaka’s trying to get you killed. Black people do not play when it comes to spades. It’s a card game, I’ll teach you. Roots is a book and a miniseries about a family going through the horrors of slavery. The Color Purple...now reading the book is recommended, but you have to watch the movie. References galore, same with Friday. It’s hilarious, quotable, and about smoking weed. What more could you ask for?”

“Weed?”

A slow grinch-like smile crept up Monae’s face.

“Have you ever smoked before? Eaten an edible?”

“No, it never appealed to me.”

A belly laugh erupted out of Monae and M’Baku stared at her in confusion.

“Oh my god, you got me feeling like Smokey, but my nigga...I’m getting you high. You gotta do it at least once.”

“I will try it for you.”

Monae was giddy and although he couldn't understand where her excitement was coming from, he was looking forward to finding out.

-------

The next morning M’Baku woke up to the feel of movement on his left side. His eyes slowly blinked open as he watched Monae attempt to sneak away from him.

“Where are you going?” he asked, stretching his body and sitting up from the couch. They had fallen asleep around 4am after talking and drinking wine all night, and although the couch was not the most comfortable to sleep on, M’Baku was. Monae slept like a baby, but M’Baku’s neck would probably be hurting for the next day or so.

“As much as we drank last night, where do you think?”

“Someone is feisty in the morning.”

“No, I’m feisty when I’m trying not to pee on myself.”

M’Baku chuckled as she ran down the hallway towards the bathroom. A couple minutes later she poked her head into the hallway.

“Do you have an extra toothbrush I can use?”

“Bottom drawer.”

“Thanks!”

The chief had just finished his morning stretches when Monae reappeared and he took her place. When he emerged, she had eggs and vegetables sitting on the counter and was rummaging through his cabinets. He saw her standing on her tiptoes trying to grab a frying pan that was just out of her reach and he came up behind her to grab it for her. He handed it to her and bent down to lightly kiss her on the neck and whisper in her ear.

“Good morning, beautiful.”

A chill went down her spine as she fought to focus on the task at hand.

“Good morning, handsome.”

He turned her around to face him.

“So you think I am handsome?” he teased, leaning in closer to her lips as her arms made their way around his neck.

“Of course.” She closed the distance and gave him a soft peck, and he responded by pulling her in for a real kiss, tongue and all.

“You know…” she started.

“What?”

“I’m single now…”

“Really? I was not aware,” M’Baku said sarcastically. She playfully hit his chest and his deep, rumbling laugh filled the room.

“Ok, ok I will stop,” he grinned at her.

“As I was saying, since I’m single now I can do whatever I want.”

“Whoever, you mean.”

“Exactly, and it’s a very short list,” she gave him a light kiss. “But first, breakfast!” she pulled away, much to his dismay, but he let her turn back around towards the counter. He held her waist and rested his head on top of hers.

“You know, the more you distract me the longer it’ll take to eat.”

“I do not care,” he said, squeezing her tighter. “Unless you want help, in which case I can be an excellent assistant.”

“I’d like that, actually. Grab a knife and start cutting up the onion while I put on some music.”

The two of them danced around the kitchen to Monae’s “Good Morning” Spotify playlist, M’Baku catching everything she threw back at him and surprising her by being light on his feet. After he finished chopping up the onions, mushrooms, spinach, and tomatoes, he tried to reach for the pan, but Monae’s hand was quicker and beat him to it.

“Nope! I’m cooking breakfast as a thank you.”

“For what?” his head tilted to the side and he gave her a curious glance.

“For...well, everything. It’s been a good month and you’ve been a good friend to me, even though we both know you were always more than a friend...the point is, thank you for being there for me and for making me laugh and for letting me stay the night.”

“Of course, that is what friends do.” he kissed her on the neck again as he walked by to grab dishes from the cabinet. Monae took the apple slices she had just cut and covered them in cinnamon and nutmeg before tossing them in the now-hot skillet. The coconut oil popped her a little, but she was used to it since she had been cooking for years. She let the apples cook down and continued to dance on her own while M’Baku recorded her moves on his rarely-used kimoyo beads.

She put on a show for him, rolling her hips and bouncing her ass extra hard, his t-shirt flying up so that he could get a glimpse of her pussy. She dropped it low to Megan Thee Stallion’s “Cry Baby” before bringing it back up slowly and checking on the apples, which were just about done. She started sauteing up the chopped vegetables and cracked a few eggs into a bowl before whipping them up and pouring them into the skillet. She scrambled up the eggs while she cracked open an avocado and placed slices of it on toast on both plates. M’Baku watched her make herself at home in his space and he wondered for a moment what it would be like to wake up every morning to this, and not just for the next two months.

His thoughts were cut short by her calling his name.

“Are you ok?”

“Yes, I am sorry, I just...you really are enchanting.”

Her bottom lip found its place between her teeth as she handed him his plate. He dug into his honey avocado toast, vegetable scramble, and fried apples like he hadn't eaten in days. When he finished he leaned back and rubbed his stomach in slow circles.

“You are the second best cook I have ever met.”

“Second? The first better be your mama-”

He chuckled at how easily she gets riled up.

“In fact, it is. You two would get along great, she is feisty just like you.”

“No wonder you have good taste in women,” she winked at him as she got up to grab their dishes. He reached for them, but she swatted his hand away. “Aht! This is a ‘thank you’, remember? You can wash them next time.”

She put the dishes in the sink before rinsing one off and placing it in the dishwasher when M’Baku came up behind her, holding her hips and grinding into her.

“I cannot wait to thank you,” he said slowly as he kissed from her ear to her collarbone. Monae was frozen on the spot, stuck under his spell, pussy throbbing more with every touch of his lips and every whisper.

“What are you waiting for?” She pushed her ass into him, feeling his thick, juicy dick sitting on her lower back. Those sweatpants weren’t holding anything down, and she was thankful for the print she saw when she looked behind her, prompting her to turn around and grab it, forcing the chief to let out a rumbling moan.

“N-not now, I want to take you out first on a real date.”

“Ugh, then why are you doing this to me? I’m horny as fuck, M’Baku.”

He chuckled and leaned in to kiss her softly, speaking against her lips, “Because I want your body ready for me.”

She shivered as he backed away from her and left the kitchen, heading towards the dining area to finish clearing off the table.

“So about this date. When are you free?”

“I’m free all weekend,” she said as his gap toothed smile grew bigger across his face.

“Well then how about this: I take you home, then I come back for you later and we go to the festival you mentioned last night.”

She did a little celebratory dance before jumping up to kiss him on the cheek and running to his room to put her dress back on. They both slid on their shoes and were out the door in minutes, Monae extra excited to get their date started.

On the way to Monae’s apartment, they both ignored the confused looks from the passersby as they took in the sight of a man in sweatpants walking hand in hand down the street with a woman in a shiny evening gown. When they reached her building, M’Baku held the door open for her as they entered. He walked her to her door and gave her another featherlight kiss.

“See you soon.”

She unlocked her door and stepped in, closing it behind her and taking a deep breath before leaning her back against it and letting out a dreamy sigh. She couldn’t believe it was finally happening.

Next Chapter

Taglist:

@maddeningmayhem, @theblulife, @devnicolee

#cecewritessometimes #black panther fic #m'baku #m'baku x oc #m'baku's love #black!oc #jada kingdom

61 notes · View notes

yikesharringrove · 4 years

Note

Hey! So think you could do something along the line of Steve finding Billy breaking down (writers choice as to why) somewhere random Billy thought he'd be alone for awhile and Billy is all teeth towards him before Steve coaxes him enough to let him in on why he's so upset. Maybe first kiss? Or just some angst and comfort

Billy was crashing through the woods, didn’t know where he was, where he was going, barely even knew which way was up at this point.

He was driving, trying to find somewhere, anywhere, had gotten out of his car to stumble through the woods.

He heard a branch snap, went still.

“Hello?”

“Jesus Christ.” Steve Harrington, of all people, stepped out from behind a tree, a wooden baseball bat dropping from where he had it, up and ready. It was that fucking nailed bat Max had threatened his dick with.

“What’s with the weapon?” Billy flexed his hands. A fight wouldn’t be so bad right now. He knows he can take Harrington.

“You’re not the worst thing I’ve seen in these woods.” His eyes looked hollow, empty.

“The fuck you goin’ on about?” Billy could feel his skin itching, his arms shaking.

“Nothing that concerns you, Hargrove.” They stared each other down.

And then Steve stepped closer, holding out the bat.

“You’re giving that to me?” Steve nodded. Billy took it, checking the grip.

“Hit that tree.” Billy looked at him.

“What?”

“You obviously want to hit something, and I’d love to not get the shit beaten outta me again, so, tree.” Billy looked at the bat.

“You gonna be pissed if I break it?”

“Nah. I got like, three of ‘em.” Billy adjusted his stance, holding the bat just like Neil had taught him.

He swung, tree bark splitting and flying into the air when he wrenched the nails out.

He hit it again. And again. And again.

He only figured out he was crying when his vision started swimming, didn’t sop hitting the tree.

He didn’t stop as the bat splintered, as the nails bent and chunks of tree flew off.

And then the bat cracked, split entirely in half.

Billy felt the same.

He threw the piece he was still holding to the ground, burying his face in his hands.

And then there was a warm hand on his shoulder.

Billy whipped around, pushing Steve back from him.

His eyes were wide, and he nearly stumbled over a root.

“What the fuck?”

“Stay the fuck away from me, Harrington!” His blood was pounding in his ears.

“You got two options. Option one: you pound my face in like I can tell you want to. You end up feeling shitty about yourself and I move on. Or, option two: You come eat dinner with me.”

Billy deflated.

“Wh-why?”

“’Cause I’m lonely and got more chicken than I could possibly eat. Besides, you’re in my backyard.” He turned, stepping expertly over a few branches, turning to Billy. “Coming?”

Billy’s not entirely sure why he followed.

The woods opened up to the back of a huge house, a fucking in ground pool right there in front of it.

Because of course Harrington had a giant house with a heated pool.

He led Billy inside the sliding glass door, into the immaculate living room, through to the surgically clean kitchen.

“You live in a model home or some shit?” Steve gave him a tight smile.

“Pretty much.” there was a bucket of KFC on the counter. Steve got two plates from the cabinet, a couple forks, the bucket of chicken. He gestured for Billy to grab the back of sides and Billy stole a few cloth napkins from the neat pile.

Steve led him downstairs to a cozy looking rec room, plopping himself in front of the couch.

“Your parents home?” Billy didn’t want to think about crying in front of him earlier.

“What day is it?”

“Thursday.”

“Not for a week and six days then.” Steve was building himself a plate.

“Must be nice.”

“Used to be.” Billy didn’t know what that meant.

No parents was always a positive.

“What do you mean?” Steve gave him an odd look.

“If I tell you, will you tell me why you were being angry in the woods?”

“Probably not.” Steve shrugged, picking up the television remote.

He put on Indiana Jones.

“Oh, yes. I love this movie.” He scoot forward in his seat, taking way too big a bite of chicken.

It was cute.

Billy mentally kicked himself, tried to stop staring.

It was quiet as they watched the movie, eating the too much food.

“I didn’t know I was in your yard.” Steve looked up at him, a little dazed from pulling his attention away from Indiana.

“I mean, glad I found you. Before anything else did.”

“Anything?” Steve went pale.

“Bears. There’s bears. Here. I saw one. Once.” Billy nodded slowly, one eyebrow raised.

“Bears?”

“Bears.” He watched the movie for a little while longer.

“I just gotta get out sometimes. Be somewhere not in my house. Used to go to the beach, but, uh, no beaches here.” Steve sat up a little straighter.

“We’ve got beaches!” Billy gave him a look. “Well, obviously not ocean beaches, but we’ve got, just come with me.”

He left the t.v. on as he raced up the stairs, running up them on all fours like a little kid.

Billy very fastidiously did not melt at the sight.

Steve was tugging on a jacket, grabbing his keys, and was out the door as Billy rounded the corner.

He didn’t know where Steve was driving him to, but Steve had obviously been there a lot. All the turns were well practiced, and he slid right into a parking spot, the lines too faded to see in the dark.

Billy squinted when he got out of the car.

There were other cars lined up in the other spots, a few spaces left between each car.

Steve led him down a little hill.

“Absolutely pathetic.” Billy could see the water in the moonlight. “This is not a beach.”

“Closest you’re gonna get in Hawkins.” Steve was smiling, all proud of himself.

“Just another reason to fucking hate it here.” Billy flopped down on the shore.

It wasn’t even proper sand, more like, a bunch of pebbles. Steve sat next to him.

“Yeah, there’s a lot of those.”

“It’s worse when you’ve lived somewhere else.”

“Who says I haven’t?”

“No way. I’d bet my right nut you’ve never even left the state.”

“That’s unfortunate to your right nut then, because I went to Chicago once with my dad.” Billy tossed his head back, let his laugh ring out over the water.

“Real world traveler, over here.” Steve shushed his yells, laughing as he did.

“Billy, be quiet, there’s people fucking.”

“Yeah, I kinda put two and two together there, Steve-o.” Steve rolled his eyes. “So you brought me to make out point, then?”

“Lovers’ Lake.”

“Even worse.” Steve huffed a laugh at him. Billy looked out over the water, up at the stars.

There were a lot out here. He could even see the milky way.

“If my dad knew some boy took me out to a place called Lovers’ Lake,” he trailed off.

“Yeah, mine too.” He put on a deep voice, puffing out his chest. “Harringtons aren’t queers, Steven.” Billy looked at him.

“Are Harringtons queers?” His calf was twitching, needed to get his energy out somehow.

“One is.” Steve’s voice was quiet, Billy almost didn’t catch it over the lapping of the water at the shore. “What about the Hargroves?”

“One is.”

Steve smiled at him.

“Maybe they should get together sometime.”

“Yeah, they could go to Lovers’ Lake and make out like a couple a’ dumbasses begging to get caught.” Steve laughed.

“One of ‘em has a big empty house. Gets lonely a lot.”

“The other one doesn’t like bein’ home much.”

“Sounds like they’re a pretty good match.”

“They just might be.” They were leaning into one another, Billy could feel Steve’s breath against his face, could smell his rich boy cologne.

“One of them would really like to be kissed right now,” Steve breathed against his lips.

Billy took his face in both hands, planting a soft kiss to his lips.

It didn’t last long, just something sweet for them to treasure tonight.

“I should probably go home soon.”

“I can drive you to your car, if you want.” Steve stood up, dusting off his ass, holding out a hand for Billy.

They held hands back to Steve’s car. Billy felt like a lovesick idiot.

Maybe he was, just a little bit.

Steve idled next to Billy’s car.

“So, same time tomorrow?”

“Let’s skip the breakdown though, yeah? Don’t think I can do ‘em back to back like that.”

“Then let’s also skip the whole finding you in the scary woods behind my house, too. Just use the front door.”

“You gonna let me pick the movie.” Steve gave him a sharp look.

“You got a problem with Indiana Jones? ‘Cause I don’t think this thing between us can go any further if you do.” Billy laughed. He felt so much fucking lighter after this evening, felt like he could go back, face his dad with a smile.

“No problem, just wanted to watch somethin’ scary.” Steve made a face.

“Not really a scary movie person.” Billy rolled his eyes.

“Then crawl into my lap and be all cute and scared.” Steve’s went all big. “I literally just handed that one to you.”

“Well then you better bring somethin’ horrifying, if this is just a horny ploy.”

“You’ll be scared right outta your pants.” Steve laughed at him, pushing him towards the open door.

“Go away. I don’t like you anymore.”

“See you tomorrow, Stever.”

“Yeah, whatever. See you tomorrow.”

#yikes writes #steve harrington #billy hargrove #steve harrington x billy hargrove #billy hargrove x steve harrington #harringrove #harringrove fic #harringrove ficlet #harringrove drabble

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jaskiers-sweetkiss · 4 years

Text

Worth It

Pairings: Dousy, background Pepperony, FitzSimmons, Philinda, Mackelana, and Huntingbird

Word Count: 2.8K

Warnings: mentions of violence, mentions of gun use, mentions of ptsd, light swearing

a/n: Here’s my soulmate au for day 6 of @aosficnet2 ‘s AoS AU August! It’s got Modern Man!Daniel Sousa based on Enver’s appearance as a police officer in The Avengers.

___

Daisy “Quake” Johnson - Inhuman, hacker, Agent of SHIELD, and now she could add “Avenger” to her list of descriptors. The agent hadn’t been entirely surprised when she’d received an impromptu meeting with Director Nick Fury about her powers. At the time he had told her he was putting together a team, a group of people with super-human abilities that would work together to defend the world if the threat arose. She had signed on, she was already a SHIELD agent and she’d had plenty of training with her ability from her mom growing up at Afterlife, but she never met the team. Well, until about 24 hours ago. They were a bit of a nightmare (a complete shitshow if she was being blunt), none of them had worked together before so it was no surprise that they were butting heads. Daisy got along just fine with Natasha Romanoff aka the Black Widow as the two of them had crossed paths from time to time within SHIELD, but she couldn’t say the same for scientist Bruce Banner (the Hulk), billionaire Tony Stark (Iron Man), or the first-ever superhero Steve Rogers (Captain America). Of course, now they were also dealing with a Norse god of thunder who was supposedly good and his brother who was apparently bad. Thor, Stark, and Rogers: three massive egos in one aircraft.

Judging by the footage they were streaming from the museum Loki was more than just bad. Daisy had always been wary of powers, her mom had taught her that. Power was extremely dangerous when put in the wrong hands, that’s why Afterlife was so selective in choosing who got to go through terrigenesis. Loki was clearly the wrong hands and even though she really hated the men she was surrounded with, if they were the world’s only hope then she’d put up with them.

“So you expect me to believe there is life on other planets?”

Daisy sighed, trying not to get too frustrated. The man had been in the ice for seventy years, he missed a lot and probably had no reason to expect that “aliens” existed. Of course, she had known the truth since she was a child: not only was it highly probable that life existed elsewhere in the galaxy, but she was part-alien herself. Of course, no one else knew that. Inhumans were a secret from the rest of the world and it would need to stay that way.

“Oh, I’m sorry Seismic Activity, did you know that already?” Stark asked sarcastically, raising a brow at her and she rolled her eyes.

“It’s Quake, actually, and yeah, I knew that, statistically, it was highly probable that alien life exists,” she bit back, glaring at the man, “Just about everyone in this century knows that.”

“Agent Johnson if you have some sort of issue with when I was born then you should just come out and say it,” Cap said, a frown on his face as he sat up in his chair.

“Look, I couldn’t give two shits whether you were born yesterday or a thousand years ago, I just don’t think we really have time to be debating extraterrestrial life right now,” Daisy said, fighting the urge to roll her eyes again as she gestured to the holoscreen displaying Loki’s cell.

“She’s right, gear up.” Director Fury said. Daisy wasn’t sure when he had entered but she was glad he was taking her side. “We’re under attack.”

Daisy nodded, rushing out of the room to find her gauntlets and her weapons. It wasn’t a great idea to quake on a giant helicarrier so she’d probably be fighting old school.

“Woah, what the hell is that Johnson?” Natasha Romanoff was sneakier than Fury and Daisy hadn’t even known she was in the room until her wrist was tightly in the woman’s grasp.

She sighed, tugging her arm out of the redhead’s grip and slipping on her gauntlet to cover the writing. The marks weren’t uncommon, most of the world had them. They developed at age 16 and were usually the first words your soulmate said to you. However, not everyone got one or soulmates died and SHIELD specialized in utilizing the soulmark-less. That’s not to say there weren’t agents with soul marks in the organization, for ordinary agents SHIELD held a mostly don’t ask, don’t tell policy. Typically the only way to get into high-risk assignments like the Avengers was to prove the lack of a soulmate, but of course, the Avengers were less than typical.

“They make exceptions for people with powers.” She brushed it off, slipping on her other gauntlet.

“That doesn’t change the fact that you’re connected to someone,” Natasha argued and Daisy huffed, turning away.

“Stark’s got a mark, and he’s actually met his soulmate. If something happens to me mine’ll never know what they missed.”

Daisy quickly slid her various knives and guns into place in their holsters before leaving, effectively putting an end to one of the worst conversations she’d had in a while. She didn’t need the Black Widow to guilt-trip her, she had herself for that. She’d heard the stories about the pain people felt when their soulmate died and it often kept her up at night, but right now she had a job to do and she’d be damned if she sacrificed the world for one person she hadn’t even met.

Of course, her dedication to the cause hadn’t mattered much, she still wound up on the floor of the helicarrier with Phil Coulson bleeding out. She didn’t know the man super well, but he was usually the agent present whenever an 0-8-4 was discovered and since Daisy was something of an 0-8-4 herself, they crossed paths pretty frequently. She knew he was an upstanding and kind man, she knew he was a good agent, and she knew he didn’t deserve to die like this.

It wasn’t long until Fury came and swept him away and Hill ushered her back into the briefing room where some of the others were gathered. They all looked worse for wear and apparently they were about ready to give up. The Hulk was gone, Loki had jettisoned Thor from the airship, and he has the tesseract and would likely be taking over earth shortly. Daisy couldn’t believe it.

“I just watched several good agents die, and you want to throw in the towel? Do you have any respect for yourselves?” She questioned, glaring at Rogers and Stark.

She stormed out when she was met with silence, passing Fury in the hallway. She wanted desperately to change out of her skintight Quake suit and get cleaned up, but she wasn’t ready to give up the fight yet, opting instead to unzip the top half, tying the sleeves around her waist. She wandered around the ship like that, her sports bra the only thing covering her torso, before finding herself on the top deck, leaning over a railing.

“Have you met them yet?”

Daisy turned to see Rogers gesturing to her wrist where the words “Who the hell are you?” were written in a neat script.

“Nah,” she shook her head, barely concealing her disappointment with a smile.

“You’ll find them eventually, or they’ll find you.” He gave her a tight-lipped smile.

“Thanks for not berating me for risking my life while my soulmate is out there somewhere.”

“Hey, I hid my makr to join a highly experimental drug trial and enlist in World War Two so I don’t have much room for judgment.” He joked and Daisy laughed, feeling a little better.

___

Daniel Sousa had been sure this would be another day at the station as he slipped his uniform over his shoulders, covering the soulmark on the back of his shoulder. Soulmarks appeared when a person turned 16, appearing at the place where their soulmate would first come in contact with them. The combination of the location of his mark and the words (“Probably your only chance at survival now let me go”) had always been a mystery to him though he hoped he would solve it soon.

He took the subway to the station, just like he did every morning. Daniel was a police officer for the 99th precinct in NYC which was about a fifteen-minute subway ride away from his apartment. Despite its obvious flaws (thanks MTA), he liked taking the subway - it was more environmentally friendly than driving himself, it was much faster than trying to make it through New York traffic or walk (though sometimes he did walk when it was nice and his leg wasn’t bugging him as much), and the crowds increased the probability that he’d come across his soulmate.

She wasn’t on the subway today again and so Daniel resigned himself to daydreams of how they might meet. He hoped it would be romantic, that she’d bump into him accidentally (it was the best way he could explain the back of his shoulder), maybe he’d catch her as she tripped over him and they’d lock eyes and she’d take his breath away. He pushed away the fears that she would be freaked out by his prosthetic or the fact that her words on his shoulder didn’t fit that scenario at all. He wanted their meeting to be perfect for her.

He was ripped away from his thoughts by his partner, Jack Thompson, telling him they had to go check out a call downtown. There weren’t any detectives involved so it likely wasn’t anything serious- probably a noise complaint or something equally mundane.

Daniel had been right, the call was a typical noise complaint, easily solved and probably ignored as soon as they left the building (Jack bet they’d be back in 24 hours, Daniel gave it 32). However, he never could’ve guessed that when they went to climb back into the squad car a portal would open up in the sky and a bunch of space creatures would attack earth. Thompson grabbed the radio to inform the station of the situation. It took a few minutes of convincing (he didn’t blame them, he only believed it because he was seeing it) and a few more to figure out what to do (there really isn’t an official protocol for Hostile Alien Invasion) before they were told to stay put and that backup was on the way.

Daniel reached for his gun, steeling himself for the fight he was sure he was about to be involved in. An alien invasion would be a really bad time for his crippling ptsd. Still, he was sure his hand would shake if he had to actually lift his gun, his finger would hesitate on the trigger, he’d have to fight to keep his eyes open because if he closed them all he’d see was Afghanistan.

“Sousa you with me?” Thompson asked, snapping him from his thoughts.

He nodded, letting out a shaky breath, when had he stopped breathing?

Thompson nodded, more to himself than to Daniel, “Good, cause we’re going to get through this.”

___

If she had been really thinking at all, she might’ve wondered if she was having an out-of-body experience as she moved through the streets of Manhattan with the purpose of a woman on a mission. The Avengers were scattered across the borough trying to fight the Chitauri with mixed success. It seemed like no matter how many they blasted, quaked, shot, or struck with lightning more kept coming through the portal. Daisy was taking out as many of the aliens as she could while trying to command the local police forces- badges or not, they were purely human and severely underprepared to fight this threat. Their services were more equipped to evacuate and protect the civilians.

She hadn’t been paying attention when she knocked into someone’s shoulder. It was a police officer, she noticed, though where most of the officers she’d seen seemed ready to take on the Chitauri head-on, he looked terrified.

“Who the hell are you?” The man questioned, quickly grabbing her wrist before she could run off.

“Probably your only chance at survival now let me go.” Daisy bit back angrily and the man gasped, dropping her arm and backing away like she had burned him.

“You’re- we’re-” The man stuttered and even though he could’ve been about to say anything (maybe “you’re Quake!” or “We’re gonna die!”) Daisy knew exactly what he meant. She knew from the burning sensation on the wrist he had been holding. He was her soulmate.

“Oh my god, I don’t have time for this!” Daisy yelled angrily, quaking the alien that had appeared behind the man.

She silently cursed fate or destiny or whatever was behind this for planning her soulmate meeting during a literal alien invasion.

“Listen, I need you to leave the frontlines- spread the word: all officers are to evacuate as many civilians as possible. Focus on protecting them.” She ordered making an effort to put the world-altering event before the life-altering event she had accidentally just stumbled upon.

“Who’s going to be there to fight?”

Daisy quaked another approaching Chitauri soldier. “Leave that to the people with powers.”

The officer nodded mutely, seemingly stunned into silence.

“Sousa!” Another officer called out, “Quit chatting we have a job to do!”

The dark-haired officer, her soulmate, nodded to the man and started to move away.

“Officer Sousa!” Daisy called, taking steps backward herself, “Maybe we can get some coffee when this is all done?”

“Sure but how’ll I find you?” He asked, turning back to stare at her hopefully.

Daisy’s steps were picking up speed, the urgency of the day not lost on her. “Don’t worry about it, I’ll find you!”

And with that she was off, turning on her heels and sprinting towards Stark Tower.

___

Daisy stared at the computer monitor in front of her. It had been a few days since the Chitauri attack and while New York and her mental state was still a disaster, she needed to do this. The file she had found in SHIELD’s database was a welcome distraction, as was the handsome face staring back at her from the screen.

Daniel Jordan Sousa. Born 1984 in Twin Falls, Idaho. Served one tour in Afghanistan before being discharged due to an injury resulting in the amputation of his left leg.

She scrolled down to the contact information.

Cellphone: (xxx)xxx-xxxx

Bingo.

Daisy: Hi, it’s Daisy Johnson, your soulmate? I was wondering if we could get that coffee?

She was surprised by how quickly he responded.

Daniel: I’d love to!

Daniel: btw how did you get my number?

Daisy: It’s a bit of a story, mind if I tell you over that coffee?

Daniel: does 1:00 work? Maybe we could grab a bite to eat while we’re at it?

Daisy smiled before checking the time, 11 o’clock. She had two hours to get ready.

Daisy: 1:00 sounds great. I know a cute place off 12th ave

___

Daniel had no intention of pulling his soulmate from the field, he knew it was where she wanted to be and he’d never dream of taking it from her. However, he’d be damned if he wasn’t out there to watch her back. So, he joined SHIELD not long after they met. Despite his prosthetic, he climbed the ranks relatively quickly though Daisy wasn’t surprised. She had seen his record both in the military and the police force, Daniel Sousa was a damn fine agent.

The two weren’t in any hurry relationship-wise. They had moved in together fairly quickly but even two years later they had yet to get engaged. It was a bit of an anomaly - soulmates were usually hitched within a year of meeting each other but Daisy didn’t really hold much stock in a piece of paper declaring their relationship valid and Daniel decided he really didn’t need that paper either as long as he still had Daisy. Besides, with their separate jobs at SHIELD, they didn’t really have much time to plan engagements or weddings.

In 2014 the pair were recruited to an elite team by Phil Coulson, the man Daisy could’ve sworn had died in her arms, the man the Avengers were told had died. She had shaken her head at Fury when she found out. “You manipulative son of a bitch,” she had said though she had meant it fondly. Who knows what would’ve happened when the Chitauri invaded if he hadn’t done what he had.

Daisy and Daniel joined scientist duo and soulmates Jemma Simmons and Leopold Fitz as well as Coulson’s soulmate Melinda May on the Bus, a giant plane Fury had given Coulson as reparations for his death. The team had its bumps in its initial missions but they quickly became a tightly knit family that only grew when Coulson took over as Director of SHIELD after the Hydra takeover.

When Daniel finally proposed Jemma had been her maid of honor and Bobbi and Elena had been her bridesmaids. Likewise, Fitz had been Daniel’s best man and Mack and Hunter had filled out the rest of the groomsmen roles. It had been a small but beautiful wedding, Daisy’s mom had allowed them to have the ceremony at Afterlife and Coulson and May had been their officiants.

Daisy had cursed fate when they met, but looking back she realized it was all worth it for this.

___

a/n: I had no idea how to end this. Also, I have no clue where the 99th precinct operates in NYC (if it even exists) I just wanted to make a Brooklyn 99 reference. Though I’m realizing belatedly that B99 takes place in Brooklyn and probably doesn’t operate in manhattan but oh well.

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spectralscathath · 4 years

Text

Clover Ebi and the World's Luckiest Pie

Fair Game Week, Day 2: Date/Domestic

Clover Ebi is many things. He's Captain of the Ace Ops, he's one of Atlas's elite Huntsmen, a member of Ironwood's inner circle, a damn good poker player, and an all-round decent guy. He's charming, calm, cool under fire, has a semblance that can swing the odds, and even without that he has the skills and raw talent to back up his confidence. He's a catch, basically, and he knows it.

Now if Elm could stop laughing at him as he tells himself this, that would be great. It wasn't techically a date.

Ao3 Link

Clover looked at his reflection and held up a shirt in front of himself, wondering if maybe this one would work. He’d heard Qrow occasionally make the occasional pun, usually under his breath. Maybe one of his more casual t-shirts would work. After all, he didn’t have to be in his uniform all the time.

‘Born to fish, forced to work’ stared back at him, a gift from Elm that had been delivered with a suspiciously innocent grin.

He tossed that one aside too, slowly building up a pile on the bed. He wanted to make a good impression. He may have been a workaholic, but in his own apartment, he could tone it down, treat Qrow like a friend and not just a colleague.

He was amazed that the old spy had actually agreed to come over, but if Elm’s friendship had taught him anything, it was that there was no better way to get a visitor then to offer something home-cooked and delicious.

Which was why Elm was currently snickering at him from where she leaned against the door frame, since his luck only went so far when it came to cooking, and he wasn’t going to risk it. Not on something important like this.

“What, no fishing jokes?” Brown eyes sparkled cheerfully at him, Elm in her own casuals. A pastel lavender apron protected her cream sweater, her hair out of the usual ponytail and giving her a softer look. “How about this one?” she held up a tank top that said ‘sleeves are for nerds’.

“Absolutely not,” he laughed and grabbed it out of her hands. “He wears sleeves, in case you haven’t noticed. Calling him names doesn’t make a good impression.”

“I don’t know, flexing to assert dominance might up your chances,” she mused, flicking her bangs out of her eyes.

He snorted and threw the shirt back at her face. “This is a friendly hang out, Elm.”

“Clover, when you arrested him you ignored the very important Relic just so you could stand over him spinning your horseshoe.”

“But I looked cool, right?”

“You’re a show-off.” She grinned and started folding the pile of shirts tossed haphazardly on his bed.

“You’re one to brag, miss ‘jumped off Atlas for a dare’. It’s been what, ten minutes since you mentioned that?” He helped her set them aside in neat piles to be put away later. Order and cleanliness were important.

“Okay, so we’re both braggarts. Now do you know what you’re going to wear?”

“At this point I may as well wear my fishing vest and beanie.”

“Absolutely not.” Elm held up one of his white dress shirts. “Do you still have that green waistcoat?”

------

He hovered around his kitchen as he waited for Qrow to arrive, alternating between looking around his small apartment to make sure that it was neat and taking deep inhales of the divine smell of tonight's dinner. His scroll sat next to his speaker, smooth Mantle jazz filling the air as he kept throwing hungry glances at his oven.

He heard a knock on the door and scampered over to get it, feeling oddly nervous. Sure, he hadn’t exactly dated in a while, especially not since the Fall of Beacon, but he’d had plenty of on and off relationships and dates over the years. Perhaps he just felt somewhat rusty because of the year of throwing himself into his work as part of Ironwood’s inner circle.

He opened the door and felt his heart stutter a little bit. Qrow-

Wow.

Qrow had dressed up as well, it seemed. A dark red button-up, the same colour as his cape, with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and his usual rings adorning his fingers. His hair had been slicked back, which was a pretty good look if Clover did say so himself. He’d left the top two buttons undone, a necklace with a sideways cross hanging between the divots of his collarbones. Clover recognised the necklace as one that Qrow had worn when he’d first arrived in Atlas. It suited him.

Clover felt incredibly glad that he hadn’t taken Elm’s joking advice to wear a shirt with a bad fisherman pun on it. “Hello, Qrow,” he smiled at him, green eyes bright.

Qrow gave him a once-over that Clover hoped was appreciative and tossed a careless smirk at him, a faint slouch to his shoulders. “So you can wear sleeves.”

“If I have to,” he grinned, his usual armband wrapped over the shirt. “And you went without the cape, I notice.”

“Unwillingly. Ren stole it before I could put it on.” Qrow rolled his eyes. “Brat.”

“You didn’t steal it back? I thought you’d be good at that.” He stepped to the side a little bit. “Come in, dinner’s just ready.” Elm had left simple written instructions because she clearly didn’t trust him.

Qrow slank in past him, looking around the place with some sort of look that Clover was used to seeing in a set of lavender eyes. Clover would put money on the bet that Qrow had just spotted everything shiny and/or valuable in his apartment, and also every single point of entry. “Nice place. I was expecting something spartan, I won’t lie.”

Clover smiled proudly and closed the door. “Well, I find that having a home I actually like being in is an excellent reason to not spend all night working.”

Qrow hummed in what was probably agreement before he snorted. “Wow. The fisherman aesthetic doesn’t just stick to the weapon?”

Clover followed his gaze to his fish tank, set against the wall and large enough that his little aquarium was bright and lively. He had the water heated to provide a comfortable temperature for his fist. Danios, Platies, Swordtails, and Tetras filled the waters, darting about the habitat he’d made for them.

“I like fish,” he shrugged innocently. He’d leave out the fact that he’d named each and every one of them for now.

“Okay, I have to ask, do you actually fish?” Qrow raised a brow.

“I do, actually. One side of my family are fishermen in Argus.” He looked at his bookshelf, the top row filled with pictures while books were stacked in the other three. “My mother’s side, specifically.”

“Huh. I’ve been there.”

“I heard.” He really hoped it was exaggeration.

“... I’ve been there other times besides that. Normally I don’t get caught.” Qrow’s eyes held a teasing glint that definitely caught Clover’s interest.

He grinned back and decided to take the obvious opportunity. “So I got lucky?”

“You’re a terrible person,” Qrow snickered, watching Clover’s fish swim around.

“You think I’m great.” He flicked his pin and hoped he was right.

Qrow looked at him like he was about to answer before the alarm Elm had set went off, cutting through the Mantle jazz with a demonic screeching. Both Huntsmen jumped and immediately reached for weapons they didn’t have, attention focusing on the sound.

Clover relaxed first and strode towards the kitchen, looking at the instructions pinned to the fridge to make absolutely sure before he turned off the oven and grabbed a tea towel, reaching in to grab the shepherd’s pie. He chanted ‘please don’t burn’ in his head as a mantra and mercifully, fortunately, fantastically, it came out totally fine.

He placed it on the stove top to cool, taking a moment to just bask in the awe of Elm’s cooking skills, before he turned to grab plates and crashed headfirst into a curious Qrow Branwen, who had been looming behind him to try see what the enticing smell of dinner was.

Their skulls knocked together with a loud clonk, both of them stumbling back from the impact. Clover swore as he stepped back, one hand coming up to touch his forehead as the other went behind him, just barely avoiding the pie.

Qrow tripped over the table, sending the cutlery, both glasses of water, and a candle that Clover really should have never even got out of a cupboard over the floor and himself. Water splashed, glass shards went everywhere, a table leg snapped, and one of the napkins caught fire.

Qrow lifted his hands from where they had been clutching at his forehead, took one look at the absolute destruction he was now the centrepiece of, and let out a long-suffering groan of existential weariness. He didn’t even bother getting up, even as water soaked into his shirt.

Clover stared, gobsmacked, before he panicked and started moving his hands in useless fussy gestures. “Holy shit are you okay? I’m so sorry I didn’t see you there- how many fingers am I holding up?” What if he’d concussed him?

Qrow blinked at him, looking rather done with the situation before he threw up a hand. “Help me up?”

A smidge of colour crossed Clover’s cheeks as he realised he probably should have led with that, clasping Qrow’s wrist firmly as he pulled him to his feet. “Sorry, I should have paid more attention.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Qrow pushed his soaking wet hair out of his eyes, the back having fallen out of his usual swoop to cling to his neck instead. “I have quiet footsteps.”

Clover gave him a cursory glance, checking for damage. “I have shirts you can borrow if you don’t want to stay in something soaked,” he offered, before he processed what he was saying. Qrow in one of his shirts? With their… specific sort of camaraderie?

Qrow quirked a brow at him before a wickedly sharp grin slashed across his face, one that deepened the blush painted across the bridge of Clover’s nose. “Sure thing, Shamrock.” Clover could see nothing but future disaster in those mischievous, beautiful eyes. Qrow continued like he wasn’t being an absolute hazard to Clover’s heart health. “Just point me where I’ll find them then I’ll help you clean up.”

Clover swallowed and kept his voice steady. “My room, just to the left of the main room. The door on the right. There’s folded clothes on the bed, you can borrow one of those if you need to.”

Qrow patted his shoulder, let go of his wrist, and sauntered off, stepping gracefully around the broken furniture.

Clover looked at the disaster that had been his table and made an executive decision that Elm’s cooking was and always would be more important. He fetched two plates and some cutlery, dividing the shepherd’s pie neatly in half before serving it up. He carried the plates out to his living room, setting them on his coffee table with the cutlery before fetching more water.

He didn’t know what Qrow’s story was with alcohol, but he’d said that he’d given up, so Clover wasn’t about to serve him some for dinner. That would be in very poor taste.

He waited for about a minute before he heard Qrow’s husk. “Hey, Shamrock, where do you keep your towels.”

“Linen cupboard, I’ll grab you one.” He got off the couch and made sure to get the softest one he had, rapping his knuckles on the bedroom door.

Qrow pulled it open and grabbed the towel, immediately rubbing his hair with it. Clover looked at the shirt he was in and wanted to go stab himself with Kingfisher’s harpoon, ‘fishing saved me from becoming a porn star. Now I’m just a hooker’ emblazoned over black fabric in swirly gold letters.

He should have put the puns away.

“Dinner’s ready?” He tried, feeling rather more flustered than he was used to.

Qrow smirked at him and strutted by with an absolute lack of shame, practically crashing down onto the couch as he grabbed a plate. “This smells fucking good. You make it?”

“Elm. My skill in the kitchen begins and ends with stews and boiling things. Even my luck can’t do everything.” He’d cop to it.

“I’m banned from cooking anything that isn’t breakfast foods or microwaveable. It’s nearly impossible to fuck up breakfast food.” Qrow took a big heaping forkful of the world’s luckiest pie and shoved it all into his mouth in one big bite. Clover couldn’t quite make out what the next words were, they got mangled somewhere between the cheesy potatoes and the meat stew, but he hazarded a guess that it probably involved appreciative swearing.

Clover did the same, and had a moment to realise that Elm had definitely outdone herself on his behalf, before he fully committed to clearing his plate entirely and buying Elm something nice.

Talk was dead. There was only them, the pie, and the fucking beautiful moment they were having with it. Before long, the plates were cleared, and Clover was left to stare at the fishing joke on one of his tops as it mocked him.

He’d had a mission plan. He hoped that the backup option of sitting on the couch wasn’t too far a step down. “I’m sorry again, about before.”

“Don’t worry about it, it was my semblance anyway.” Qrow rubbed his hair with the towel again, and Clover spotted a faint scar on his right bicep, something his longer sleeves usually covered. “The couch is comfier anyway. Better view.”

Clover raised a brow. “Oh?” Did Qrow mean him?

“Your fish.” Qrow nodded at the tank. “They’re pretty cool. I have a dog at home. He’s Tai’s dog, really, but I’m part of the pack.”

“I’m glad that plan B worked out.” Clover had been a little too focused on the food to be worrying about fish or Qrow. But he was glad to know things still went well.

“Definitely.” Qrow picked up the plates. “I’ll help you clean up.”

“No, you don’t have to, you’re a guest.” Clover shook his head. “Don’t worry, I’ll sort it out later.”

“Later, huh?” Qrow grinned. “But we just had dinner.”

“But we haven’t had tea,” Clover wagged a finger at him with a returning smile. If nothing else, he was going to show Qrow his collection of novelty mugs. The other Huntsman would probably get a kick out of that. “Tell you what, you tell me about your dog, and I’ll point out each fish in my aquarium by name.”

Qrow barked a laugh and shifted so he was resting one knee up on the couch, turned attentively towards Clover as he lounged there like he owned the place. “Deal. So his name’s Zwei…”

-------

Clover waved Qrow off, still in the borrowed shirt, with his own soaked dress shirt under his arm, and felt like he could be floating with how light his chest was.

He dialled Elm the moment he'd closed his apartment door behind him, grinning like he'd just found a pot of gold at a rainbow's end. She picked up, just as quickly, and he could practically hear her massive grin over the scroll. “So, how’d it go, fearless leader?”

“I got a second date!” It was totally a date.

-------

Happy St Patrick's Day, everybody.

#Fair Game #fairgameweek2020 #Clover Ebi #Qrow Branwen #RWBY #Elm Ederne #she's here too and she's having a wonderful time #my writings

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janetbrown711 · 4 years

Text

"So... are we gonna walk to Paris, or..?" Webby walked behind a now frustrated Louie.

"We'll take a boat in Germany, calm down," Louie huffed.

"Ooh, okay," Webby nodded, "so then we're walking to Germany."

"No, of course not your grace, we're taking a bus," Louie teased.

"A bus? Why I've never been on a bus," she put her hands on her hips. Louie sighed.

"I need a break. Let's stop here," they had arrived at a small creek with a little bridge go stop by. Donald sat down and started to write something in his notebook. Webby peered over his shoulder (which she knew was rude but she was curious) and saw it was a letter to one Daisy.

"Who's Daisy?" Webby asked. Louie snorted.

"Oh, she's just the most beautiful, most passionate, and most loving woman in all of Paris," Donald's face melted into a dopey smile. Louie rolled his eyes.

"Donald, focus here," Louie told.

"I am. She's the first cousin to the Empress," he smiled.

"Wait, i thought we were going to see the Empress herself. Why her cousin?" Webby asked. "Louie..?"

"Well- okay. Nobody gets near the Dowager Empress without convincing Daisy first," he grinned. Webby blinked.

"Oh no. No, no, no! Nobody ever told me I had to prove I was the Grand Duchess!" She told him.

"Look, I-"

"Show up? Yes. Look nice? Yes. But lie? No!" Webby protested.

"Hey, you don't know if its a lie. What if it's true?" He asked. Webby huffed and turned away to the bridge.

"Wait," he grabbed her arm. "I know, i know. Its another roadblock on the path to finding out who you are. I just thought this was something you had to see through to the end no matter what," Louie explained.

"But look at me Louie. I am not exactly Grand Duchess material," she referred to her rags, huffed, and stormed to the bridge. Louie did the same but the opposite direction. Luckily, Donald followed her.

"Here," he handed her a flower and gestured her to look at her reflection in the creek. "Tell me, what do you see?"

"I see a skinny nobody with no past, and no future," she dropped the flower into the water and watched the water ripple.

"I see an engaging and fiery young woman who on a number of occasions showed great and daring leadership and regal command, equal to any royal in the world," Donald smiled at her. "And i have known my fair share of royalty."

"You have?" Webby asked.

"Yes, i do. I used to be a member of the imperial court," he said. Webby smiled, feeling a lot more comfortable with the idea now.

"You? In the court? Wait- does that mean-"

"No, Louie was not. He was just a boy. And i was just his uncle," Donald said.

"What about his mom?" She asked.

"Oh she worked in the kitchens. It was pure luck that I was able to rise to my status, until the revolution of course. Louie's mother wanted to stay close to me so she got a job as head kitchen maid and her boys helped out there too, though often they found ways to get themselves into trouble," he chuckled.

"Boys like plural?" Webby asked. Donald's face fell.

"Yes... Louie- had two triplet brothers. Huey and Dewey," Donald explained.

"What... happened to them?" She asked.

"The revolution," he shook his head.

"Oh... i'm so sorry," she said.

"It's okay. I've come to terms with it. I swore to his mom to protect him and I've done a pretty good job so far,," He smiled tiredly at her. Webby hugged him.

"I bet it still hurts though," she said. Donald sighed again.

"Yeah. It does," he let go.

"So, are you ready to become the Grand Duchess Webbigail?" Louie appeared out of nowhere, killing the mood instantly. Webby snarled and went off again. Donald shot him a look and Lena growled at him.

"What?" Louie raised his arms.

"Webby, there is nothing left for you back there. Everything is in Paris," Donald said. Webby pondered that thought for a long hard moment.

"Well then... gentlemen... start your teaching," she said. Donald clapped, his old melancholy mood completely out of sight.

"Ah yes. I remember it well," he stepped toward her. "You were born in a palace by the sea."

"A palace by the sea..." she whispered to herself. The idea felt strange, yet natural.

"You rode horseback when you were only three," Donald just started listing off random facts.

"And you would make faces and terrorize the cook," He laughed.

"Was I wild?" Webby laughed.

"Like a buck," Louie snorted.

"But you'd behave when your mother gave you a stern look," Donald added.

"Fair, i suppose," she nodded.

"Oh come on, if we're supposed to get you ready to see Daisy, you'll need to be more accepting than that," Louie said.

"Let's work on posture," Donald made sure Louie's impatientness didn't shine through too loudly.

"Shoulders back, head high, don't walk, try to float," Donald straightened her back and lifted her chin. Louie got a stick and balanced it on her head and she walked, but she almost tripped over herself.

"This feels ridiculous," Webby huffed.

"Its important though," Louie patted her head.

"You give a bow," Donald displayed. Webby copied.

"What now?" Webby asked.

"Your hand receives a kiss," Donald was about to do it, but Louie got to it before he did. He kissed it and grinned cheekily. Webby nearly smacked him in the face but Donald was quick to move past it.

"If i can learn to do it, you can learn to do it. Now let's talk food," Donald brought them back to the suitcases and got out food.

"Oh geez, guess there's a lot more to being a Duchess than i realized," Webby laughed to herself.

"Oh yes..." Donald said with almost pity.

For the rest of the day they spent their time teaching her how to eat, talk, sit, walk, and taught her facts about the Vanderquacks while they rode on various vehicles before eventually arriving at the boat to Germany.

When they had all settled down the cabin, they were planning on meeting up for dancing lessons and Louie stopped her on the way up.

"Look, i bought you a dress," he sounded mighty proud of it.

"More like a tent. Look how big this thing is," she looked at it.

"It's flowy," he rolled his eyes (a now signature Louie move).

"Just put it on," he gave it to her and headed up the stairs.

"Hmmm," she put it against herself and messed with the skirt. She looked up at him and he looked back at her, but he quickly turned away and went up the stairs.

The sun had almost entirely set by the time Webby was up again. Louie and Donald had started a game of chess but Louie had no idea how to play so was losing miserably, so when Webby finally showed up he got up and clapped happily before he got a good look at her.

The dress made her look like a whole other person. Her white hair was tied into a neat ponytail, a blue ribbon making that possible (he didn't know where that came from). The blue dress fit her like a glove and she just looked... magnificent.

"Wonderful! Marvelous!" Donald applauded her.

"And now you are dressed for a ball," Donald smiled.

"And now to learn to dance for one as well. Louie?" he said and forced Louie out of his star struck gaze.

"Mm?" He asked, not realizing his uncle had taken his arm and dragged him in front of Webby.

"Oh- i-im not very good... at... it," he tried to back down but Webby put her arms up and he slowly took them and they started to dance a little but Donald stopped them.

"Webby, you dont lead, he does," Donald corrected.

"You're the expert," Webby brushed a loose hair from her face.

Slowly, they joined again and Louie led a bit before talking.

"You know... that dress is uh- very... beautiful," he said.

"You really think so?" She asked.

"Yes," he said, spinning her in a circle. "It was nice on the hangar but it looks even better in you. You should wear it."

"I am wearing it," Webby teased him.

"Oh- yes. Right. Of course," he internally face palmed. "I'm just trying to give you a- uh..."

"Compliment?" She asked, looking into his eyes. He paused his speech.

"Yes," he nodded. He closed his eyes a moment before opening them and seeing Webby still hadn't broken her gaze into his and just like that he was sucked in. They both stopped talking and just focused on the dancing and each other's eyes.

Meanwhile, Donald was smiling softly, petting Lena while he watched them dance.

"I see it now Lena," he said. "All it took was a bit of intervention and time and now look at them. Smiling and dancing," he sighed happily, before his smile fell.

"Oh dear... how will we get through this? If they are actually in love and this actually works, then..." Donald looked at Lena who whimpered sadly.

"No, let's let this be for now. No harm in letting the present be the present," he said. Lena nodded and he set the small dog back down in his lap.

"Louie..." she whispered. "I'm feeling a little lightheaded and... dizzy."

"Me too," he stopped, still ever so engaged with her eyes. "Maybe it's from all the spinning."

"Maybe we should stop," Louie said.

"Louie, we have stopped," she pointed out.

"O-oh right," Louie laughed a little, before looking back into her eyes. "Webby, I..."

"Yes?" She leaned closer. Slowly, they both closed their eyes and leaned in, but Louie stopped himself.

"You're doing great," he said, before walking away and down to the cabin. Both Webby and Donald's smiles fell.

"I'm sure he didn't mean anything by that Webby," Donald placed a soft hand on her shoulder. "He's just... protective of himself."

"Yeah..." she slowly lowered her arms and sighed.

"I'm going to bed," Webby said. Donald nodded.

"I think that'd be best for all of us."

.o0o.

"There she is master!" Poe de Spell pointed at the projection coming off of the purple stone. Magica nodded.

"All sound asleep in her little bed," she fake fawned over her. "And pleasant dreams to you, princess," she smiled widely at it.

"Yes, sweet dreams indeed," Poe chuckled half heartedly.

"What's with the pathetic laugh?" She raised an eyebrow.

"You never told me what you were planning to do so if im honest, i'm a bit confused," Poe admitted.

"Imbicile," Magica growled to herself.

"I am going to infiltrate her dreams so she cannot escape me and falls to her doom off this little dinky boat!" She shouted.

"Oh wow master, that is very evil of you. Congrats," he clapped.

"Why thank you Poe I do try," she smirked. "Now say goodnight to the princess."

"Goodnight Princess," Poe said.

"And sweet dreams to you," Magica finished.

.o0o.

Meanwhile, over in the land of the living, every passenger on the boat was sleeping soundly in their cabins, so no one was awake to notice the dark purple shadows rising from the air vents and searching for their target. Quickly they found her, and began their work.

Webby found herself in a field with butterflies and warm sunshine all around. A little boy called her name and three butterflies traveled from him to her. She giggled, accepting his invitation and following, both in dream and real life. Webby slipped out of her bed and began to walk, following with a smile on her face. Lena's head perked up at the sound of the door closing. Lena quickly went to the door and began to bark, but it was no use. Webby was in a trance. Lena was quickly desperate, and on discovering she couldn't reach Donald (he slept on the top bunk), she went to Louie (who was on the floor). She got on him and began to bark in his ear.

"What do you want?" Louie groaned, trying to turn over.

At the same time, Webby chased the little boy up a steep staircase of stone, making sure to keep her footing. She skipped and pranced and laughed along with him. Finally the boy stopped and there were three women who waved and laughed before diving down into the calm and warn waters below the cliff. Webby beamed.

Lena bit Louie's hand and he jolted up with a start.

"Hey- what was that for?!" He picked up the dog before looking over to Webby's bed and seeing it was empty.

"Webby!" He gasped as lightning flashed. It was now pouring heavily. He set Lena down and the dog ran to the door and whined. Louie got up and ran out, accidentally slamming himself into the wall due to the massive rocks the boat was now taking.

"Webby!!!"

"Webby! Come join us Webby! The water is fantastic!" One of the women called to her. Webby climbed to the edge of the boat.

"Hello!" She called to them. They looked to familiar, and so friendly. The little boy lept with joy and jumped in, so the water couldn't be all that bad or dangerous.

"Webby!" Louie nearly fell due to the amount of water on the deck, but he kept his footing, running to find her. A wave crashed in the deck and he clung to a pole with all his might and pulled himself up so he could find a better view. With another flash of lightning, he saw her familiar silhouette, about to jump off the boat. Louie gasped. "Webby!!! Stop!!!" He took a rope and prepared to swing over.

Webby turned her head to see where she had heard her name. The man from below called to her again. "Jump!!!" He was angrier than before now. Webby flinched back. "Jump I say!!! The Vanderquack curse!!!" With that, he turned into a hideous demonic creature. Webby gasped as it grew larger in size and grabbed her hand and began to drag her off, when she suddenly felt someone else grab her from behind. She kicked and flailed her arms and legs desperately.

Louie was the one who grabbed her. He took her off the ledge and brought her down to safety, while she still kicked and flailed while shouting the whole time.

"Webby! What's gotten into you?" He set her down and she opened her eyes. He had never seen anyone look more scared in his life.

"Th-the Vanderquack curse!" She shouted, breathing heavily.

"Wh-what?" He wasn't expecting that.

"Th-the curse! I keep seeing faces! So many faces! All familiar," she grabbed his shirt and sobbed into it. Louie didn't know what to do or say so he just wrapped his arms around her.

"It was a nightmare Webby," he stroked her back. "It's alright now," he rested his head on hers.

"You're safe."

.o0o.

"NOOOOO!!!!!! HOW COULD THAT HAVE POSSIBLY NOT WORKED?!" Magica exclaimed, lightning flashing with her anger.

"Magica! You're getting yourself worked up over a small setback!" Poe said.

"Small??? That was the last straw!!! I can't give up but it's time i stopped depending on a little trinket telling me what to do," she scowled. Poe gasped.

"You don't mean..."

"Oh yes Poe. I do mean," she grinned ear to ear.

"I say it's time we say hello to the princess ourselves. Face to face,"

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9

#webbistasia #ducktales #louie duck #donald duck #webby vanderquack #my fics #lena de spell #hdl #della duck #nightmares #poe de spell #ducktales au #i did it y'all #i wrote part 5

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cad-av-er · 5 years

Text

Snowbaz- Slight AU Chapter One

Inspired by a post by @numptypitch

This story takes place at Watford, they still have magic and the Humdrum does not exist. Please remember that this is my first ever Snowbaz fic, as well as my first time writing any type of story on tumblr so please tell me how you like it! Thanks so much for reading and I hope you enjoy!

Simon PoV

Weeks. It’s hard to remember it’s only been weeks since the beginning of the school year. With Baz missing, it feels like it’s been forever and a half. I get anxious thinking about how weeks turn into months, and months could turn into Baz never coming back to Watford. Sometimes I wonder if he’s purposely not at school just to mess with me, but then I remember how much education mattered to his mother, and how much she mattered to him. I don’t think he’d willingly miss school unless the Old Families made him.

I bet they’re planning on overthrowing the Mage. They’ve been trying to ever since he took office. Allegedly because he can’t take care of the school and students. That’s what they say, at least.

Penny says I should stop focusing on Baz and politics and start focusing on magic and my classes. I don’t know why I listen to her, I hate magic. I’m supposed to be the best, the Chosen One, but I can’t do anything. I can’t control my power. Anyone else here would be better off as the Chosen One. Penny would be amazing. Even Baz would be bloody perfect.

Magic is the least of my problems right now; because I live in a world where my roommate is my rival.

And he’s still missing.

Baz PoV

After spending who-knows-how-long trapped by fucking numpties, pondering different (and completely improbable) ways to become Simon Snow’s boyfriend, Fiona finally rescues me. I don’t even know what to say, so I gratefully chow down in the back seat (because the front seat is for people who haven’t been kidnapped by fucking numpties).

The whole ride to Watford is silent, save for the soft sounds of whatever ‘edgy’ CD Fiona decided to play. Fiona dropped me off. I tried to thank her as I got out of the car, but she shooed me away and popped the trunk so I could grab my bags. We didn’t say goodbye to each other; we never do.

I stalled going back to our room. I was in no shape to see Snow again. I had dealt with having to think of him whilst being held captive by the scum of magical creatures. Instead of heading to the Mummers house or checking in with the staff for missed schoolwork, I head to the kitchen and grab a snack before going to the catacombs and draining a few rats. Once I’m full, I stay in ‘le tomb de enfants’ and try to think of a good excuse to tell Snow when he (inevitably) asks where I’ve been. Once I think of something half-believable, I emerge, letting myself adjust to the light again before going to unpack my bags.

A few minutes after I start unpacking, Snow and Bunce burst through the door, laughing. The moment they see me, they freeze. It takes all of my willpower to not turn to Snow, just to see his perfectly imperfect face. I’d missed him, more than I’d ever like to admit. I finished unpacking the small duffel on my bed before I finally looked up, standing straight and trying not to cry of happiness at the sight of him. Even seeing Bunce was a relief. I shouldn’t be like this, I can’t cry in front of my peers; I’m a Pitch. Pitches aren’t weak.

My shoulders fell after noticing how tired Snow looked. By this point in the year, he’s usually put on a few pounds and caught back up to where he was supposed to be, but he looked like he had just come in the door on the first day back. It broke my heart; I hope desperately this wasn’t because of me.

We all just stood there, staring. Snow looked just about to cry. I thought he’d have better self control in front of Bunce, but I was tempted to shout ‘Anathema’ when he ran across the room and tackled me. It took me a few seconds to realise that he was hugging me, and I ‘reluctantly’ returned it. Bunce looked horrified, but turned on her heels and marched out of the room, giving us privacy. I honestly thought Snow might crush me. So, to keep up appearances, I put an end to one of the best moments of my life (like an idiot).

“Are you just about done being sentimental or are we going to braid each other’s hair and talk about boys as well?” I sneered. Snow jumped off of me like I told him I have the plague, and immediately put his walls back up.

“If you ever disappear like that again, your welcome back will be a hell of a lot different, you hear?” Snow scolded me like he was my father, so I rolled my eyes the way any other moody teenage boy would. I couldn’t help but find his words endearing, no matter the threat behind them.

I know that my chances with Snow are practically nonexistent. I understand that he’s in a ‘happy’, straight relationship with a beautiful, perfect dream-girl. I get that he hates me more than I do. We could never be on friendly terms, let alone anything... more. So, I figured that it’s time for me to move on. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to be completely over Snow, but I want to be happy with someone.

That’s why I’ve decided to come out to Watford. My family already knows (even though my father isn’t thrilled, he’s still supportive of me), so I think it’s time to take the next step. Fiona gave me a small pride pin on my birthday. I’m going to stick it on my bag and wait for people to notice. It seemed simple enough, while still being effective and clear. I would be lying if I said I wasn’t nervous, but I knew that no one would dare make fun of me if they wished to keep all of their fingers. Nevertheless, little cartoon bats flurried around in my gut, blowing the intensity of such a small gesture way out of proportion. Before I could chicken out, I pricked the soft leather of my bag and pushed the pride pin through.

...

Coming out went much better than I thought possible: I burst into the dining hall, proudly sporting the colorful pin. It was small, but still big enough to be noticed. Everybody stared, a few people came up to me and told me how proud they were. I’d give them a small, tight lipped smile and thank them in return.

In my seventh class of the day, a boy with wildly curly black hair and dazzlingly blue eyes sat next to me. He was short for our age, and his ghostly pale skin was dotted with a few light freckles (not nearly as many as Snow has).

“Hey.” He murmured. His accent had a slight German influence, but his voice was smooth and steady, despite the waves of anxiety I could sense from him. “I’m Amery. Amery Hartkee.” He added, sticking his hand out for me to shake. I took it cautiously, waiting for him to continue.

“I’m Baz.” I offered, when he said nothing.

“Is Baz short for something?”

“Yeah...” I debated telling him my full name, knowing he would most likely laugh. I decided it didn’t matter, so I looked him straight right in the eye and silently challenged him. “Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch.” I said in the most stable monotone I could manage. He looked toward the front of the classroom.

“Tasteful.” He smirked, before Miss Possibelf made her way to the front of the room and started our lesson. I’d already been taught what we were learning today, so I spaced out and thought about Amery. He seemed great, and a little part of me couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to love someone beside Snow; to give my affection to someone like Amery, someone who could possibly return them. It was a tempting thought; but I think I’m getting ahead of myself.

I would be lying if I said I’d never noticed him before. It’s impossible not to, the windows shine directly to his seat, framing his dark curls and light skin. He rarely wore his uniform in class, and the pastel green jumper he wore instead hung loosely on his thin frame. There was no denying how attractive he was.

My thoughts are interrupted by a snippet of paper that was dropped on my open book. I opened the folded note to see the neat, condensed, all-caps writing of the boy next to me.

DO YOU GET ANY OF THIS CRAP?

I carefully and smoothly wrote a reply, before folding it back and handing it carefully to Amery.

My father made me take a few classes over summer to make sure I was ‘ahead of the game’... so, yes

He nibbles on the end of his pen before scribbling out a response.

MIND MEETING IN THE LIBRARY AFTER CLASS? I THINK I NEED THE HELP OF AN EXPERT ^ ~^

I smiled softly at the note, before turning and nodding to Amery. I folded the paper into a small square and stored it in my bag. It only then occurred to me that Amery might only have started talking to me because I was out.

The bell rang shrilly, dismissing us all for the day. Amery and I walked toward the hallway, idly chatting. I held in a chuckle at his wild hand gestures as he ranted excitedly about some Normal song artist that he was practically in love with.

Maybe this is the year I move on.

What did you guys think! Please feel free to reblog if you liked it, I know it took a really long time but I wanted to make sure it was what I wanted- especially since this is the first story I’m posting on here! If you want to be tagged in the next chapter, please say so! I’m doing this for you guys, so please if you have questions/comments/concerns/theories or anything else feel free to contact me!

Tagged:

@findingshiro13

#snowbaz #snowbaz fanfiction #simon snow #baz pitch #gay #lgbt #fanfiction #carry on #rainbow rowell #carry on rainbow rowell #vinnosint

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peaky-yamyam · 6 years

Text

Twenty-One: Part Twenty-Four

Part One | Part Twenty-Three | Part Twenty-Four | Part Twenty-Five |

@inkinterrupted and everyone else who has been waiting for this update, I’m sorry it took so long to get posted and I hope you enjoy this penultimate fluffy, slice-of-potential-life chapter.

Alfie seems a little better when I wake up, he’s already down stairs making us something to eat and I make my way down in the shirt and under shorts I slept in. When I enter the kitchen I find a chair with its back to the table and an array of hairdressing equipment laid out behind it.

“Do you want to eat first?” Alfie asks, placing a full teacup on the table and gesturing that it’s for me.

“First before what?”

“Before you sort my hair out. You’ve talked a big talk about this hair cutting malarkey, time to step up sweetheart.”

“I’ll do your hair first,” I answer with a broad smile and prompt him into the chair.

It takes a minute for me to remember everything my father taught me, but soon my fingers work quickly and I manage to trim Alfie’s hair into a neat and low maintenance style. The whole thing seems unnecessarily intimate, moreso even than having sex or sharing a bed; a strange sense of routine laced through the actions.

As I’m clearing up, Alfie’s phone begins to ring and he hurries off to answer it.

“Bar’ll be ready by the weekend,” he announces as he returns.

“Excuse me?”

“The bar, the one you manage yeah? The one you helped blow a hole in the ceiling of, it’ll be ready to open on Saturday night.”

I scowl at his facetious response but don’t have chance to reply before my mind starts whirling with everything that needs to be done.

“Don’t panic about it love.”

“Don’t panic? I’ve got less than a week to sort everything, there’s shifts that need to be covered, things that need to be ordered! Are my clothes dry? I need to go-“

Alfie takes my hand and pulls me against his chest, silencing my ramblings with a gentle hand stroking the back of my head.

“I got a phone here, I got the details for all the staff and all the suppliers. You have full use of my driver to contact any of ‘em who ain’t got a phone. Now will you calm down?”

I nod against his chest and he releases me. He grabs the cup of tea he’d set aside for me and leads us through to the living room, pushing me by the shoulder to sit in the chair. Walking into his office, he snatches the phone from the table and yanks on the cord to stretch it over to my seat, before grabbing a few files from the bookshelves and dropping those in front of me as well.

He nods to my bemused expression as he hands me some paper and a pencil. “Organised chaos ain’t it?”

“Thank you Alfie,” I say spreading the papers across the coffee table as I try to organise myself.

Names, addresses, references, suppliers, receipts, orders, everything I could need is packaged away in a few files and, although less organised than my filing at the club, I can’t help but be impressed with it.

“You seem surprised Emilia,” Alfie says, watching over my shoulder as I begin to sort the papers into an order that works.

“I am. A little.”

“You think I could run the organisation if I didn’t do a bit of fucking filing now and then?”

“I just can’t imagine you taking the time to sort things out…”

“I bet you can’t imagine me taking time to do a lot of the things I do, but I still do ‘em,” he says, weaving his fingers through my hair, still messy and unstyled.

His fingertips linger on my scalp, rubbing gentle strokes across it and I relax myself into the feeling, the club and the opening relegated to the furthest reaches of my mind with every caress of Alfie’s fingers.

“Right, well,” he says, clearing his throat. “I best leave you to it then…”

Slowly, begrudgingly, he removes his hand from my hair as if the action pains him, and heads back to the kitchen, no doubt to begin breakfast that was promised first thing.

Without Alfie’s distraction, the weight of everything that needs to be done rushes back and I focus my attention on what needs doing. Luckily I had the forethought to keep up with the last few weeks orders, the only thing missing will be whatever Florine wants to serve as the grand opening drink and a few crates from Alfie’s bakery. Despite my initial panic, things fall into place easily; staff are amenable to their shifts, entertainment is sorted without difficulty and, when I explain where I am, Florrie volunteers with enthusiasm that she’ll be the one to check everything is in order later today.

By the time I’ve got everything sorted it’s getting dark. Alfie has spent the day dozing in the chair opposite me, still clearly feeling the effects of his beating. He’s gotten up every so often to bring tea or food but has largely left me uninterrupted which, although appreciated while I was busy, has now created a sense of belonging in his house that’s made me begrudged to leave.

“I’m all done now Alfie,” I say, packaging his papers back into their rightful files.

“Hmm, everything alright? All organised with military precision?”

“Yes,” I reply, standing as if I’m ready to leave.

I feel guilty for not wanting to go, my mum and dad will be expecting me, most likely with dinner on the table, and with our relationship as informal as it is it really isn’t proper for me to spend another night in Alfie’s bed. But at the same time, it’s too easy to assure myself that no-one will find out and that my parents are used to me not being around for dinners.

“I don’t want to assume nothing,” Alfie says, “but seeing as it’s practically dark out and you’ve made no attempt to excuse yourself, or even to get dressed, I can’t help but think you’re wanting to stay here another night?”

“If I can, I don’t want to overstay my welcome,” I answer before I have a chance to talk myself out of it. “And I’ll leave in the morning if you have to go to work-“

Alfie waves his hand and pushes himself from his seat. “No work tomorrow.”

“But-“

“I’m giving myself the day off.” He takes my hand and pulls me from where I’ve stationed myself on the floor. “And you could never overstay your welcome.”

Alfie gives himself another day off on Monday - perks of being the boss, he explains - but on Tuesday has to tear himself away and make an appearance at the bakery so I’m left to entertain myself in his house. I busy myself with cleaning up the mess we’ve made over the past few days and start preparing brisket, the only thing scroungable from the scraps in Alfie’s cupboards, for us to eat once he returns. His bare cupboards are sorrowful and I make a list of food and kitchen supplies he needs to replenish. When I look at the innocent note on the kitchen table though, my stomach flips. Without even realising, I’ve become comfortable in Alfie’s house; the few changes of clothes Florrie brought round for me hang next to his suits in the wardrobe, my shoes have a spot on the shoe rack and our used cups from breakfast sit nicely together on the side. I’ve fitted into Alfie’s life and house like I’m the piece that’s been missing and the thought stirs a sickening excitement in me. But I also know that I need to remove myself before it becomes too difficult; eventually I have to go back home and it’ll only become less appealing the longer Alfie and I spend living indecently.

I decide to phone my mother and inform her of my plans before I have a change of heart; telling her is as good as setting it in stone and I know that I won’t be swayed no matter how Alfie tries to convince me to stay.

#peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders fanfiction #alfie solomons fanfiction #alfie solomons imagine #alfie solomons fanfic #twenty one

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southsidestory · 7 years

Text

Things Not Seen

RATING: Mature

SHIP: Rey / Ben Solo | Kylo Ren

SUMMARY: It can’t be love, what he’s feeling. Not the real thing anyway. It’s irrational and possessive, too unhealthy and unwanted. But whether or not this is the kind of love he’s been taught to revere, Ben thinks about Rey through the rest of Christmas break. He daydreams about his professor's smart mouth, the way her expressions always start at the curve of her lips. How she tasted when they kissed.

WARNINGS: emotional and physical abuse (not within the reylo relationship), religious fanaticism, grief / mourning, depression, past suicide attempt

NOTES: This story is for the @reylofanfictionanthology’s 2017 Anthology, Celebrate the Waking! My celebration / theme was Reunion. Thank you to @xxlovendreamsxx and @reylotrashcompactor for their help as betas for this piece. <3

PROVERBS 4:23

Above all else, guard your heart,

for everything you do flows from it.

—

Ben takes Intro to the Hebrew Bible in the spring of his freshman year because he wants to get a headstart on his 200-level courses. Most of his classmates have no idea what their majors will be, and they change their minds every few weeks, but not Ben. It’s Religious Studies for him, which he knew before he even sent out his college applications.

Old Testament is an eight o’clock class, and because Ben likes to be early for everything, he shows up at 7:45. He unpacks a clean notebook, his freshly printed syllabus, a new black pen, his NOAB (New Oxford Annotated Bible, 4th Edition, which he despises), and his personal Bible (King James Version, which he loves).

There’s only one other student, but she looks so out of his place that he almost wonders if he’s in the wrong classroom. She’s tall and leggy, with brown hair pulled up into a high bun. Her blue jeans are nearly worn through at the knees, her sneakers battered and cheap. Scholarship student then, which is rare enough at a college like Litton. But she’s also too old for a 200-level RS class, typically populated by sophomores and particularly motivated freshmen, like him. Probably some senior who’s hoping to wile away her last semester in low-level courses while she works on her thesis.

“This is Introduction to the Hebrew Bible,” Ben says, not quite making it a question.

“It is indeed.” The girl doesn’t look up from her phone, which she’s tapping at aggressively. From the beeping sound that she hasn’t bothered to silence, he thinks she must be playing some kind of game.

She’s pretty, despite her ordinary clothes and messy hair. She also looks utterly unprepared. The only thing she has with her, apart from that noisy phone, is a thermos.

When she shrugs out of her fleece, he sees that she’s wearing a long-sleeved t-shirt underneath. Dark green, with an image of a Bible across the chest, the proud words “Jewish Zombie Saves the Universe” emblazoned across its cover.

“If you don’t like Christians, what are you doing in an Old Testament class?” he asks, before he can stop himself.

The girl finally sets down her phone, looking startled and amused. “Excuse me?” she asks. The start of a patronizing smile is tugging at the corner of her mouth, like Ben is simply the most adorable thing she’s ever seen.

He gestures at the offensive shirt and says, “You’re obviously not Christian. Probably not even an RS major.”

She snorts. “Well you’re not wrong.”

Ben doesn’t like being laughed at. Never has tolerated it well. Thirteen years of relentless bullying throughout public school will do that to a person.

“What are you then?” he asks, even though he doesn’t have to. He’d bet his tuition that she’s an atheist.

“Human,” she says, and now her smile has a sharper edge to it. Good, he’s glad to be getting to her a little. “But I suspect that that isn’t the information you were fishing for.”

Ben rolls his eyes, then busies himself with rereading the syllabus, anything to keep from talking to this obnoxious girl. He shouldn’t have engaged her anyway. Pastor Snoke always says it’s a waste of time to bother with people like that.

She goes back to playing on her phone, and they ignore each other until 7:55, when the other students start filtering in.

“Hey, Professor Jones!”

Ben looks over, and for a moment he wonders how he could have missed the professor arriving—until he realizes that the student who spoke is talking to the rude girl in the awful green shirt.

“Hi, Rachel.” She smiles and asks, “Did you have a good holiday?”

Rachel says she went on a ski trip to some resort in Colorado, but he barely registers any of that, because the girl—no, his professor—smirks at him, and Ben stares at the table, cheeks scalding hot. He hasn’t been this humiliated since Todd Baxter pantsed him in the seventh grade, exposing his privates to the entire middle school during a pep rally.

I want to die, Ben thinks. I want to actually die.

He grips his left wrist, squeezes until the pressure calms him. Then he shoots his professor the nastiest look he can muster, because she just let him talk to her like she was a student. Allowed him to make an ass of himself, and now she’s wearing a self-satisfied grin, as if it’s the funniest thing in the world.

Professor Jones starts class at precisely eight o’clock, which Ben would appreciate if he didn’t dislike her so much.

“Welcome to Introduction to the Hebrew Bible,” she says. “I’m Rey Jones. You can call me by my first name, if you’d prefer. Just don’t make the mistake of thinking that it will diminish my authority over you, because it doesn’t.”

She says this lightly enough that the class laughs, but Ben can tell she means every word. This woman might be young for a professor, but she’s tough as nails. How in the hell did he take her for a student?

Some suck-up who claimed the seat to the left of Professor Jones compliments her shirt. “I guess Jesus is pretty zombie-ish, huh?” he asks.

Professor Jones shrugs. “Actually, if we’re applying fantastic terms to Jesus, he’d be more properly categorized as a lich than a zombie.”

Everyone besides Ben laughs again, and Professor Jones smiles. “All right, please introduce yourselves. I had most of you last year for 101, but I’d like to put names to the new faces.”

Professor Jones asks each of them to give their name, year, major, and one interesting personal fact. Ben listens to his classmates just attentively enough to discover that he’s the only freshman in this course. Evidence of his over-achievement usually makes him feel proud, but right now he’s too annoyed for that.

“Ben Solo,” he says, once it’s his turn. “Freshman. I’ll be majoring in Religious Studies as soon as I’m allowed to declare. This isn’t very interesting, but it’s a fact about myself: I’m awful at judging someone’s age.”

A subtle smile flickers across Professor Jones’s mouth before she looks to the next student.

It’s a standard first day, just discussing the objectives of the course and the texts they’ll be studying throughout the semester. At least it’s only a fifty minute class, and Professor Jones kicks them out a quarter-hour early. “Use this extra time to get started on Friday’s reading. You’ll probably need it.”

Ben stuffs his things into his bag and hurries out of the classroom. He doesn’t look back to see if his professor is laughing at him, because he’s certain that she is.

—

RS 270 quickly proves to be Ben’s most difficult class. Logic, Intro Greek, and Southern Literature are almost too easy to keep his attention, but Hebrew Bible is something else entirely.

Professor Jones assigns twice as much reading as his lit professor, and she expects her students to keep up with it. Her classes are discussion-oriented, fast-paced, and demanding. As much as he’d prefer to hate her style, Ben actually thinks Professor Jones is one of the best teachers he’s ever had. She has a way of explaining difficult ideas with great clarity while still conveying the complexity of the concepts. To her credit, she doesn’t seem to hold their conversation before the first class against him.

She’s intelligent and engaging, if blunt, and she’d probably be Ben’s favorite professor if he didn’t hate her approach to the Bible. It isn’t that Professor Jones is mean or dismissive of his beliefs, but he questions whether she has any respect at all for the texts she’s teaching. She shows him how to see the Old Testament in new ways, to better understand its books through the cultural contexts they emerged from. It’s fascinating and eye-opening—if a little galling to be utterly schooled on Biblical knowledge by a woman who probably has a stronger faith in the Flying Spaghetti Monster than in God.

By the middle of the semester, he can’t help but think of her as Rey. Half the class calls her by her given name, just as she invited them to do, but there’s more to it than that, an urge Ben can’t quite explain, that makes him want to know her better

—

Rey always returns his papers within a week of their due date, the margins littered with annotations in green ink. Suggestions to improve his arguments, questions, sometimes rambling comments that seem to have little direction or purpose.

She writes A- at the bottom of each one, along with some note about his paper as a whole. No matter how stingy or effusive her praise is, the grade remains the same. The essay she hands back after spring break says, Perfect. A-

That’s what finally drives him to her office. He finds Rey hunched over her desk, scribbling in a notebook, the sleeves of her plaid shirt rolled up to her elbows. He expected her office to be disorganized, considering her perpetually sloppy hairstyles and wrinkled clothes, but it’s spotless and neat.

“Ben,” she says, without looking up from her work. “It’s five o’clock on a Friday. My office hours ended at three-thirty. I know you know this.”

He closes the door, takes the seat across from her, and lays his latest paper on her desk. “If my work was perfect, then why did you give me an A minus?”

Rey sighs, sets down her pen, and looks at him. “Because you can do better.”

“Better than perfect?” Ben asks.

“Your papers are excellent. More cohesive than mine when I was your age, and that’s saying something.” She points to the wall, at a dozen framed awards and diplomas. BA from Stanford, MA from Indiana University, PhD from Duke.

Ben shifts uncomfortably in his chair. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” Rey says. She leans forward, frowning. “Your arguments are well constructed, and your ideas are clearly expressed, but it’s all very safe. I think you know how to write to appeal to your professors’ interests—which is a great strategy if your only goal is to graduate summa cum laude in three years. But if you want to develop your own voice? Not so much.”

“Are you kidding?” It takes all of Ben’s self control not to shout when he says, “I bend over backwards to write the kind of papers you’d want to see, and that’s not enough?”

Rey flips to the third page of his paper and taps the second paragraph. “Your analysis of the Pentateuch reads like a response to my last book. What’d you do, check it out from the library?”

Ben snatches his paper out of her hands, and he doesn’t care how rude that is.

“I don’t want to read a paper that’s engineered to flatter my ego,” Rey says sharply. “Next time, write about something that matters to you, instead of something that matters to me.”

Yes, he checked out her book, and yes, he read it from cover to cover, but she’s wrong about why he did that. It had nothing to do with flattering his professor, because Ben never imagined that she’d notice the influence of her writing on his own work. He’s been reading through Rey’s bibliography all semester, consuming every book and journal article that she’s authored.

Ben isn’t about to admit that, so he stands and says, “See you on Monday, Professor Jones.”

—

Ben lives in the library throughout finals week, researching and writing for six days straight, only stopping to take short naps and coffee breaks.

His asshole roommate, Armitage, orders him to stop crashing into their dorm at all hours of the night and day just to rest for thirty minutes and head back to the library. Apparently this is disrupting his beauty sleep.

If Ben wasn’t a Christian, he’d tell Armitage to fuck off. Instead, he finds a nice, out-of-the-way nook in the library and takes his naps there, curled up in a fluffy armchair.

Ben spends countless hours on his final paper for RS 270, a close examination of the Book of Job, exploring the role of suffering in faith. He’s never put so much of himself into an academic project, his passion and his convictions. If Rey slaps another A minus onto this one, he’s going to give her a piece of his mind.

—

Ben snatches the manila envelope out of his student mailbox, rips it open, and flips past all the green ink that litters the margins of his final paper, looking to the grade and the comment at the end.

Insightful and original. Better than perfect. A+

ECCLESIASTES 1:18

For with much wisdom comes much sorrow;

the more knowledge, the more grief.

—

Going home is different when you don’t have a real home to go to.

Ben would never say as much to Pastor Snoke, but sometimes he misses his mother. Maybe it’s just nostalgia borne from separation, because when Ben lived with his mom, he spent most of his time wishing to get out from under her roof. They fought whenever she was around, which wasn’t often. Neither of his parents spent much time with him, but there’s no point in resenting his father over that, not anymore.

Ben ran away a month after he turned eighteen, and Pastor Snoke welcomed him into his family’s home, just as he promised he would.

Mom had given him far more freedom. She never kept up with where he was going or how late he’d be out, but strangely, Ben feels less confined in a house where there are rules. Pastor Snoke’s expectations may be high, and the punishments for disappointing him harsh, but at least he knows that someone is paying attention.

Ben tries not to think about his mother on the way back to Cottontown. He spends the bus ride listening to music and rereading Rey’s comments on his final paper. He traces her handwriting, fingers lingering on the uneven curves and sharp points. You should be proud, she’d written on the back.

He finds Mrs. Snoke waiting for him at the bus station. She hugs him and says, “We’ve missed you so much, Ben.”

“Missed you too,” he says, before pulling away.

Mrs. Snoke makes pot roast for dinner, one of Ben’s favorite meals, and Pastor Snoke allows him to say grace. He feels less like an intruder, a lost boy interloping on a real family, when he holds hands with his mentors and asks for God’s blessing. Afterward, Mrs. Snoke washes the dishes. She always cooks and cleans, an arrangement that Ben has never felt comfortable with, because he knows what his mother would think of it.

—

Starbrook Church of Christ has the largest congregation in all of Cottontown, and sometimes Ben worries that he isn’t worthy of inheriting it.

He’s known that he’s going into ministry since he was sixteen, when Pastor Snoke saved him and offered him a place at his church. But it wasn’t until January of last year, after he ran away, that Pastor Snoke told him he’d like for Ben to lead the Starbrook congregation someday.

“You’re as good as a son to me, and you have what it takes. The drive, the talent, the uncompromising faith.” He’d looked at Ben with such confidence, and it was elating, intoxicating, for someone to believe in him like that. How could he say no?

Ben leads Bible study on Sunday mornings, teaching little kids about the Passion, the Three Wise Men, Jesus turning water into wine. This was easy last summer, because he’d wished someone had taught him these things as a child. So much would have been easier if he’d been raised in the faith instead of having to find it for himself.

It isn’t so easy this summer. He hesitates. He doubts. There’s only goodness in teaching a five-year-old to love her neighbors, but when Sarah asks why only boys can lead activities, he doesn’t know what to say.

The correct answer is, Because this is how God made us. Men lead and women follow. This is the way it’s meant to be. But Ben’s mother is a leader through and through, and he just spent a semester following the most brilliant woman he’s ever met. He wants to believe, but by the end of summer break, the right answer doesn’t feel so right anymore.

—

Some of Ben’s classmates resent his rigidity, but he has nothing on Armitage. His roommate obsessively organizes his notes, keeps his desk spotless, and maintains a system of color-coded calendars so that he’s perpetually early to all of his classes and extracurricular engagements.

On their first day back at Litton, Armitage kicks Ben’s unzipped suitcase and says, “Keep your clothes in your dresser this year. If I find dirty socks laying around they’re going straight in the trash.”

“Don’t touch my things,” Ben says.

He’d love to punch Armitage in his sneering, pink face, and maybe that’s showing, because his roommate makes some excuse about going to the library and disappears for the rest of the night.

It doesn’t matter. He’d rather be alone anyway.

—

The Litton College Catalogue is clear about the nature of RS 233: Pain, Suffering, and Death.

A seminar that examines critical issues and problems of crisis experience involving pain, suffering, and death using various disciplinary perspectives and pedagogical methods, including interviews with healthcare professionals. Designed primarily for students considering health or human service vocations (e.g., medical professions, counseling, social work, ministry), but also of interest to others.

Ben signed up for this class last semester, when he was too enthralled by Rey’s instruction to care what she was teaching in the fall, because he knew he would take it. Now RS 233 is almost here, and he spends all night dreaming about his father. In the shower, he scratches at his left wrist until the verse tattooed there is obscured with abrasions, blood-spotted and sore. The ache of it reminds him that he’s here and alive, grounds him until he’s calm enough to pray.

When Ben walks into class fifteen minutes early, Rey says, “Back for more?”

He claims a seat two chairs down from hers and fidgets with his sleeve, tugging it lower over the bandage on his wrist. “I like a challenge.”

“Well, that’s good, because this class isn’t for the faint-hearted.”

Rey runs a hand through her hair, which is as messy as ever. That should probably be off-putting, but Ben finds it charming. It’s an effective distraction, if not a very smart one, to focus on his pretty professor instead of the father he buried five years ago.

He tries to smile. “I don’t think anyone faint-hearted would sign up for Pain, Suffering, and Death.”

Rey rests her elbows on the table and leans forward, just the slightest bit closer to him. “Are you all right?”

Ben hasn’t talked about his father with anyone besides Pastor Snoke, but for some reason it’s almost easy to tell Rey, “I’m not sure I should have signed up for this class. I think it’s going to hit too close to home, and I can’t afford to let—for personal issues get in the way of my education.”

Rey nods slowly. “If that’s how you feel, there’s still time to drop it.”

Ben’s stomach lurches, sickened into knots, but it uncoils when Rey says, “I wish you’d stay, though. Studying this sort of thing can be good in the long run. Difficult, but cathartic.”

Ben doesn’t drop the class. He tells himself it’s for the good it might do him, but the truth is, he’s slightly less afraid of facing his grief than losing the chance to see Rey three times a week for the next four months.

—

He spends the first half of sophomore year interviewing trauma surgeons and hospice nurses, reading everything from medical philosophy to The Stranger. It’s fascinating work, but every bit of it reminds him of his father.

Ben is usually outspoken, but he doesn’t contribute one word to the group discussion on euthanasia. Rey keeps shooting him worried looks while other students are speaking, and he thinks she might mean to corner him after class, but he doesn’t give her the chance. Ben rushes out as soon as nine-fifty hits, goes straight to the nearest bathroom, locks the door, and bends over the sink, gasping for breath. He turns on the cold water so that no one standing outside the restroom will hear him crying.

—

Here’s what Ben knows of pain, suffering, and death: there’s no reason to it, no divine plan that can possibly explain why his father had to die slowly and painfully before his forty-ninth birthday.

He remembers the blisters on Dad’s chest, where radiation treatments had burned his skin raw; the wet, rattling sound of his father’s breathing; the blood he left on napkins when he coughed; statistics about his lung function and the size of his tumors, numbers and scans that never offered any hope. Ben remembers asking Mom what DNR meant, how the smile she gave him trembled when she said it was short for do not resuscitate.

Pastor Snoke has explained the mysteriousness of God’s mercy a thousand times. Before his baptism, Ben searched inward for answers, and since then he’s read enough Christian philosophy on the problem of evil that he could write a dissertation on it. He’s grasped at every straw, and for awhile, Pastor Snoke’s promises gave him the comfort he needed to breathe. But no explanation is comforting anymore, and Ben doesn’t know what to do.

—

When he doesn’t turn in a final paper, he receives an email from Rey, warning him that his grade will decrease by ten percent every day that it’s late. He ignores her, and she sends another email telling him to come to her office. If he doesn’t turn in this paper, he’s going to lose his scholarships, Pastor Snoke’s patronage, and his home.

Good. At least if he drops out, there’ll be no one left to miss him, and it’s not as though he deserves any better.

Ben shuts down his laptop and takes a nap.

He doesn’t drag himself out of bed until lunchtime the next day. Baked chicken has never been less appealing, but he’s starving and food is food. Three bites in, Ben remembers feeding his father his last meal, not that he’d known it for what it was at the time. Now he can hear winter wind rattling the window frames, the clank of silverware hitting ceramic plates. Chatter, laughter, and arguments buzz around him, all of it rising toward the vaulted ceiling and echoing around the refectory.

He leaves his plate where it is and goes outside, into flurrying snow. Ben walks slowly, tries to stay calm, but he can’t breathe and all he can think is that he has to get out of this school, out of this town, out of this place, out of here—

He barely stops short of knocking over Rey. She has to grab his arm to keep from slipping on the icy sidewalk, and he wishes that he could feel the warmth of her touch, but there are too many layers between them. She’s always beautiful, but with her nose ruddy and the tips of her ears hidden under a grey hat she looks girlish too, more like the student he mistook her for the day they met.

Ben wants to touch her, hold her, kiss her, and it isn’t the sudden desire that surprises him; what surprises him is that this desire isn’t sudden at all, and he’s been lying to himself for almost a year.

Rey looks up at him, frowning. “Ben? Are you all right?”

He wants to answer, but his voice feels stuck, caught at the base of his throat. When she pulls away, panic digs its way into his chest, squeezing his lungs until he grabs her shoulders and says, “Don’t.”

Rey’s eyes are wide, her expressive mouth slack, wind-chafed cheeks flushing from pink to red. But she stops, stays still under his hands.

Ben lets go of her and steps away. He’s hot all over, must be blushing from his hairline to his toes. It’s from embarrassment, mostly, but yearning too, and that only makes the embarrassment worse. He runs away, cutting across the lawn to the wooded copse behind the refectory, then further, until he reaches the labyrinth. It’s nothing special, just a circular pathway made up of frost-glazed stones that twist and twine around each other, but he’s come here to pray in the past.

Now he’s breathing hard, more from cold and anxiety than exertion, and he can’t find the focus to reach out to God right now. He sits at the wooden bench, rests his elbows on his knees, and bends forward, lacing his fingers together over the back of his head. He breathes deeply and picks out five things he can hear, the way his high school therapist taught him to do: snow-bearing wind, the crunch of icy grass beneath his feet, chirping birds, some skittering creature in the woods, his own restless breathing. Then four things, then three, then two, then—Rey’s voice, calling his name.

Ben sits up, rubbing his gloved knuckles over his eyes. “What are you doing here?”

Rey freezes, looking more confused than concerned now, like she hadn’t stopped until this moment to consider the wisdom of running after him. She stands straighter, steadier, and says, “You looked like you might be… unsafe. I only want to make sure you’re all right.”

“Unsafe?” Ben grasps his left wrist, at the tattoo of Hebrews 11:1 that hides under his sweater sleeve. The verse stretches halfway to his elbow, inking over the scar underneath. “I’m not planning to off myself, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

He’d hoped to deter her with crudeness, but Rey crosses her arms over her chest and says, “That’s exactly what I’m worried about. You’ve seemed depressed for months, you never turned in your final paper, and now—”

Ben shrugs. “And now I’m running off behind school buildings to cry like a little boy. Got it. Your concern is duly noted, Professor Jones.”

“If you need help, there are counselors you can talk to—”

“What good is talking going to do?” He shakes his head, pulls at his sleeve, and whispers, “Talking won’t bring him back.”

Rey takes a careful, half-step toward him. “Who won’t it bring back?”

“My dad.” Ben makes himself smile, because if he doesn’t, he’s going to break down again. “He signed a DNR after his last bout in the hospital, let a bunch of nurses shoot him up full of morphine, and died two weeks later. I was there when it happened. I let it happen. I just—just stood there and watched him die—”

“No,” Rey says. “Don’t do that to yourself.”

There’s an impossible softness in her eyes, sympathy bleeding into pity. Looking at him this way is the cruelest thing she could have done, and it drives Ben to his feet.

“I was fine before I met you! I had it figured out, all the answers I needed. Losing him only meant saying goodbye for now, not forever, and now I don’t know what to believe.”

His insides have been turned outward, every nerve in his body raw and exposed. He wants to get away, wants to free himself of this pain. Ben goes to Rey, stands so close to her that he doesn’t feel like a student anymore. Only a man, strong and tall enough to tower over a woman he wants to touch. It can’t even the playing field, but it creates enough of an illusion for him to pretend that the imbalance between them doesn’t matter.

Rey’s gaze darts up and down the length of his body, like she’s assessing him. Ben can’t tell whether or not she’s trying to evaluate a threat, so when he leans down he does it cautiously, gently, giving her plenty of time to stop this if that’s what she wants.

She makes a soft noise when he kisses her, then gasps as he runs his hands down her back, her waist, her hips. She tastes like nothing Ben can place, and he wonders if all kisses feel this way, like he’s drunk (or maybe awake) for the first time—

Rey tears herself away and wipes at her swollen lips with the heel of her hand. She’s shivering, shaking her head, saying frantic, regretful things that all mean this was a mistake.

Ben bites his lip, but there’s nothing of her taste left there. Any trace of their kiss has already faded from his mouth. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—I wasn’t thinking straight.”

He walks away before Rey can challenge any of his lies, and he isn’t surprised when she doesn’t follow.

—

One week into Christmas break, Ben checks his final grades. He expects to see his first academic failure, but instead he finds that he received an A- in Pain, Suffering, and Death. Ben knows that it’s only a misplaced apology, or possibly a bribe for his silence, but he hopes that Rey simply thought he deserved to pass.

I CORINTHIANS 13:4

Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud.

—

It can’t be love, what he’s feeling. Not the real thing anyway. It’s irrational and possessive, too unhealthy and unwanted.

But whether or not this is the kind of love he’s been taught to revere, Ben thinks about Rey through the rest of his break. He daydreams about her smart mouth, the way her expressions always start at the curve of her lips. How she tasted when they kissed. He only risks jerking off in the shower, where the noise of running water will cover his gasps, and when he touches himself he pictures Rey. Her long legs wrapped around his waist, her head thrown back to expose the pale curves of her throat, the sounds she would make if he pleased her.

He thinks Rey might have kissed him back. Ben remembers her leaning in, deliberately opening her mouth to his in the fraction of a second before she pulled away. It’s probably a figment of his imagination, a consolation his memory has constructed to soothe the sting of her rejection, but he wants it to be true. He wants it to be true so badly that he can’t be sure it is.

Not that it matters. Even if some part of her does want him, Rey made her feelings clear enough at the labyrinth.

At first Ben prays for freedom from this infatuation that’s buried itself under his skin. When that fails, he prays for the wisdom and patience to move past it in time, but if anything, he only feels less wise and more impatient as the days between Christmas and the New Year crawl by.

When Ben forgets to say amen after Pastor Snoke’s eloquent grace, he gets slapped. Shame shivers along the ridges of his spine, but Ben swallows down the impulse to hit back, to argue, to cry.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

Pastor Snoke cups Ben’s cheek, the same cheek he struck, his touch gentle now.

“I know you are,” he says, smiling. “Now eat your dinner.”

—

Ben wakes with the smell of cigarette smoke in his nose, the sour ash scent that never quite faded from the living room curtains, even years after Dad quit smoking. He dreamed of blistered skin and bloody napkins. Of his father’s tumors, showing silver and nebulous against black X-ray film, like clouds drifting across a night sky. Innocuous, almost pretty, for such ugly, dangerous things.

He misses Rey.

Ben speaks to his blank, empty ceiling for ten minutes, begging for forgiveness and help, when something unwelcome tugs low in his belly. Uncertainty, mistrust.

“Are you even there?” He has to whisper the question. It’s too dangerous to give much voice to.

Ben hears nothing, feels nothing. So he does what he always does when doubt creeps in. He slides his fingers along the tattoo that marks his left arm, mouthing the words without looking at them. This ritual eases his fears, even if it doesn’t bring much reassurance that someone is listening.

—

On the last Sunday before going back to school, Pastor Snoke takes Ben behind the church and says, “You’re distracted, falling down on your responsibilities here and at school. I know you almost lost your fellowship because your volunteer hours barely met the minimum requirements. That isn’t acceptable.”

Ben knows that Pastor Snoke has connections at Litton. It’s half the reason he was accepted into such a high-profile school when his high school GPA was less than stellar, thanks to his disastrous freshman year. He wonders whether it was a snitch from financial aid or the Casterfo Fellowship committee who told Pastor Snoke about his rocky semester.

“You’re right. I’ll do better, it’s just—” Ben resists the urge to shrug, because Pastor Snoke hates it when he doesn’t stand up straight. “I had a difficult few months.”

“I don’t want excuses. I want improvement,” Pastor Snoke says. He grasps the back of his neck in a gesture that might be fatherly if it wasn’t hard enough to hurt. “If you hadn’t lost focus, you could have found the guidance you needed to do well. The Lord never gives us more than we can bear, Ben.”

Then I wish I wasn’t capable of bearing so much.

“Of course. I’m sorry I disappointed you.”

Pastor Snoke’s frown deepens. He looks upward meaningfully and says, “It isn’t my disappointment you should be worried about.”

Ben nods as respectfully as he can manage, since it seems he can’t say anything right today.

—

He’d been disappointed last semester when he couldn’t fit any of Rey’s classes into his spring schedule. Now Ben is thankful that his only RS class is Living Religions with Professor Îmwe. Advanced Greek and Astronomy are a welcome respite after the academic hell he went through last fall, although Krennic’s class makes him want to rip his hair out. It’s more his professor’s attitude that bothers him than the subject matter, but Ben still hates sitting through ninety minutes of poli sci every Tuesday and Thursday.

At the end of January, Ben goes to Rey’s office. She’s there, naturally. She works so much that it makes him wonder what kind of life she has outside of this college.

It’s the first time he’s seen her in more than passing since the day they kissed. Her hair is in a loose braid instead of its usual bun, and she never bothered to take off her coat, despite the space heater running in the corner.

Ben walks inside without knocking, points to the heater, and says, “Those aren’t allowed on campus. It’s pretty irresponsible for you to have one.”

Rey shoves a stack of papers into a folder, staring steadily at her desk. “Did you need something?”

Ben pulls the door shut behind him. He takes three deep breaths, sends a quick prayer heavenward, and says, “We should talk about what happened at the labyrinth.”

She finally looks up. “No, we shouldn’t. It’s better left alone, and—well, I assume you won’t be taking more of my classes anyway.”

“Why would you think that?” Ben asks.

Rey stands up and lays her hands flat on her tidy desk. “Because it’s not appropriate.”

Ben grips the edge of her desk and bows low enough that, if he worked up the courage, he could kiss her again.

“What I feel for you isn’t appropriate, whether I’m in your classes or not,” Ben whispers.

Rey straightens, backs away from her desk, and tucks a stray lock of hair behind her ear. She moves with the swift clumsiness of restless fear, so far from the confidence and composure she usually exudes. Rey is a brilliant teacher and an accomplished scholar, but under that, she’s just a person. A regular person like any other, and he’s been an idiot for keeping her on a pedestal.

“We’re not going down this path,” Rey says. “It would only hurt both of us.”

His desires are unwise, but maybe not unreturned, and if Rey wants him back there’s a chance—

“So you don’t want what happened between us to compromise my education, but you’re excluding me from your classes, which are the best in the whole department.” He walks around the desk and closes in on her space until she’s backed against a bookshelf. “In case you hadn’t noticed, that’s going to compromise my education.”

The top of Rey’s head barely brushes his chin, and her soft breath warms his throat. Still, her voice comes out firm, almost harsh, when she says, “I’m sorry, Ben, I am, but I don’t see you like that. You’re a great student and a—a bright kid—”

He cups Rey’s face between his hands, strokes his thumb over her cheek, and watches her gaze flicker toward his mouth. She bites her own lip, then turns away, breaths coming in short, sharp pants.

“You’re not as good at lying to yourself as you’d like to be,” Ben says.

Rey pushes him, and the shock of being struck makes him stumble.

“Get out,” she says. “Get out, and don’t come back.”

She sounds more broken than fierce, but he does as he’s told.

Later, alone in his bed, Ben realizes that he always follows wherever Rey leads him, and no matter how much he’d like to, he can’t get around the distance between her authority and his. She’s ten years older than him, smarter, better educated, with the power to ruin his future if she wants to. No matter how fiercely they disagree, in the end, he dances to whatever song Rey plays. Maybe that’s the problem.

—

Ben has managed to get through nearly two years at Litton without making a single friend. It wasn’t difficult; he’s always had to work to earn anyone’s affection or interest, and until college, his peers seemed to enjoy making his life hell. At least here he’s mostly ignored.

He can’t stand Armitage, and Armitage returns the (lack of) sentiment. But by virtue of sharing a room, they spend more time with each other than anyone else, and they agree to live together at East Village apartments next year. Better the devil you know, Ben supposes.

They’re both awake at three o’clock in the morning on a Thursday in April when Armitage closes his business textbook, pulls a fifth of whiskey from the bottom drawer of his desk, and asks, “Do you ever drink, Father Solo?”

“I’m going to be a minister, not a priest,” Ben says, but for once Armitage’s ribbing only makes him laugh. “And no, I don’t drink.”

Armitage takes a glass from the pretentious shelf of dishes next to his mini-fridge and fills it with whiskey. “Shocker.”

“I used to,” Ben says. “I used to drink all the time. Too much.”

The look Armitage gives him isn’t quite one of respect, but it’s close. “Really? I never would’ve guessed you for a budding alcoholic. Were you a man-whore too?”

Ben closes his laptop, turns to his roommate, and says, “No. I didn’t want to be close to anyone. I just wanted to…”

Disappear. He wanted to disappear, but even if Armitage is being decent for once, Ben can’t share that truth.

Armitage turns up his glass and drinks half the whiskey in one go without even flinching. “Well, here’s a piece of advice, for whenever you manage to foist your virginity off on someone: fucking doesn’t require intimacy.”

Ben ends up drinking whiskey too, then passing out. He wakes up with a dull headache after a night of dreamless sleep, feeling empty, wrung-out, and blessedly calm.

—

Ben goes to his first Greek party the weekend before finals, where he avoids getting wasted by winning game after game of beer pong. Even when he spent half his time drunk or hungover, Natty Lite was never his drink of choice, and his aim has always been excellent.

His beer pong partner is Jyn, a junior who’s famous for calling Professor Krennic a cunt in the middle of the refectory last year.

Her boyfriend Cassian has been stalking the edges of the party for the last hour, clearly pissed off except for when he looks at Jyn. Ben gestures at him and asks, “How long have you two been together?”

“Ages. For better or worse.” She makes a perfect shot. The ping pong ball sinks into a red cup at the opposite side of the table with a satisfying plop. Bodhi—another RS major who Ben knows in passing—drinks his beer, pulls a face, and tells Jyn in the most polite way possible that she’s the worst friend he’s ever had.

Ben considers flirting with Jyn. He’s heard from two-hundred-pound football players that Cassian isn’t one to fuck with, and he hasn’t been in a fight since Pastor Snoke saved him. It might feel good to be hurt, even better to hurt someone else.

After their third win, Jyn claps him on the shoulder and says, “If I keep playing with you I’ll never get drunk.”

He smiles at her, cool enough to be on the safe side of friendly. “You’re not too bad yourself.”

Ben drinks soda for the next hour, doesn’t start any fights, and ignores Jessika Pava when she flirts with him. He leaves while the party is still going strong to walk around campus. Loneliness makes him feel even more disappointingly sober, so Ben goes to the labyrinth. The woods are green and lively, full of the impending promise of summer, but he can see this place covered in frost, can almost taste the sting of winter wind.

It isn’t his fragile faith that held him back at the party, because there was little temptation to resist. Ben isn’t particularly interested in getting drunk, or fighting, or testing out Armitage’s love-life advice with a girl he barely knows. All he truly wants is Rey.

—

Ben should have declared his major months ago, but he’s been putting it off. When he finally files the appropriate paperwork, he also picks up a blue form for requesting an advisor change. Now that he’s officially a Religious Studies major, he needs a professor from the RS department to mentor him.

Rey blushes when he shows up at her office with the request form. They small talk for a minute, the most they’ve spoken to each other in three months, but then she says, “You know I can’t be your advisor.”

He smiles, as brightly as he’s capable of. “Of course you can. You’re the best.”

“My credentials have nothing to do with this. Try Professor Îmwe, or maybe Malbus—”

“Malbus hates me. Îmwe is great at his job, but he teaches world religions, and I’m going into ministry. You’re an expert on the history of Biblical interpretation, American religions, and modern theology. Which makes you the perfect advisor for me.”

“Ben…” Rey looks at him with such softness that it sends an ache through his chest and heat to his belly.

He shrugs. “I don’t see the problem.”

Her softness turns sharp in an instant, and she says, “Yes you do. Don’t be obtuse.”

“I’m not being obtuse,” Ben says. “But I am hoping you could clear something up for me. I should’ve failed 233 and lost half my scholarships, but instead, here I am with my semester paid for and my GPA intact. Harassing you about being my advisor, because you won’t talk to me for any other reason.”

The silence between them grows thick, heavy with the gravity of what they’re saying—and not saying. Ben chews the inside of his cheek, waiting. Hoping.

“I’m sorry,” Rey says, so low and small that her voice would be lost if not for the stillness of this room.

“For which part?”

“I gave you that grade because you’re one of the brightest students I’ve ever had, and you didn’t deserve to lose your education over grief.” She glances down at her desk. “And I’ve been avoiding you because it’s the best thing I can think to do in a situation where nothing seems right.”

Ben counts five things he can see in this office. Bookshelves crammed into a space far too small for them. Rey’s degrees, decorating the only free wall. Fountain pens and folders scattered across her desk. A flowerpot in the window, housing a plant that’s either dead or very neglected. And Rey, so beautiful with her cheeks flushed, eyes greener and glassier than usual.

“You knew I was going to kiss you. You knew, and you let me do it.”

Rey is looking at him, and at least she has enough courage, enough respect for him, to meet his eyes when she says, “Yes.”

Running away hasn’t served him very well so far, so maybe it’s time to stand his ground.

Now or never.

“Let’s see each other,” Ben says. “No more dancing around this thing, trying to fight off something I want, and that I’m pretty sure you want too.”

“Do you realize what you’re suggesting? The consequences we could face if we got found out?” Rey picks up a pen and fidgets with it, turning it over and over. “I’d lose my job. The administration would watch you like a hawk for the rest of your time here, and most of your classmates would crucify you.”

Ben can’t keep a grin off of his face, because she isn’t saying no. It almost hurts to smile so widely. “Then we’ll be careful.”

Rey opens her mouth, but says nothing, and he can see it, the nervousness that’s keeping her quiet, and he can’t—he just can’t let her back out when she’s so close to giving in. Ben stands up, walks around the desk, and gets on his knees before Rey. He feels ridiculously like a man about to propose.

“Please.” Ben grasps her hips, then wraps his arms around her waist. Pulls her closer, to the edge of her seat. She’s a tall woman, but light. Easy to manhandle.

Rey grabs him by the front of his shirt, and Ben scrambles to his feet. He doesn’t let go of Rey, doesn’t stop touching her even once, as she stands, hops up onto her desk, and pulls him down for a kiss.

It’s wet and messy, all hunger, tongues, and sharp teeth. She’s biting at his lips as much as kissing him, like she means to take him apart one piece at a time.

—

They made it to Rey’s apartment, even into bed, but not out of all their clothes. Ben’s pants and boxers are tangled around his knees, his shirt unbuttoned. Pressed flat against the mattress with Rey on top of him, he feels frantic and overcome, drunk on the taste of her, the sight of her undressed from the waist down, riding him.

He slides his hands under Rey’s shirt and bra to grasp her breasts. They’re small, soft, her nipples peaked under his hands. He moans, rocks up harder, faster, meeting her movements. Each thrust draws a high, keening noise from Rey, quiet but desperate. And he loves all of it: pleasing her, feeling the warmth and wetness of her sex around his cock, watching her thighs work as she takes what she wants from him.

Rey looks down at him like she’s needed this every bit as much as he has, and it’s good, so much, too much—

“Wait,” Ben hisses, but he can’t stop lifting his hips, bucking up into her. “You’ve gotta slow down, or I’ll—I’m—”

“It’s okay, I want it, I want to watch you come.” Rey pulls her shirt over her head, then her bra, so he can see her, all of her, while she—

Ben bites his knuckles to keep from shouting, but he still moans loud enough that her neighbors can probably hear it through these thin walls. He can’t care, because he’s close, so close, and then he’s there. Lost under Rey, buried inside her, while bliss hits him in waves. He can hear her whimpers beneath his own, goading him on, coaxing him to the end until he’s wrung out, boneless and spent.

The room hasn’t quite settled around him again when Rey falls to the bed by his side.

“How was that?” she asks, breathless.

By the confidence in her voice, he thinks she already knows. Which is good, because all Ben can muster the intelligence to say is, “I don’t have the words for it.”

Rey laughs. “Well that’s a first.”

Then she nods in the direction of his groin, and says, “You might want to get rid of that condom.”

“Right.”

Ben would rather not think about the condom. He hadn’t known how the hell to put it on, which clearly wasn’t lost on Rey, although she had the tact not to comment on it. He goes to the bathroom, throws the condom away, and cleans himself up.

He undresses before climbing back into bed, and has to smile at the soft, stupid expression that steals over Rey’s face when she sees him naked.

“You’re really something else, you know that?” Her voice breaks on the question, and it might be as satisfying as the sex to witness the effect he’s having on her.

She lets him hold her close and play with her hair. It’s soft and fine, almost wispy, and prone to snagging when he runs his fingers through it.

“Did you come?” Ben asks.

Rey shakes her head, then nudges his calf with her foot. “I’m not too worried about it. I expect you’ll make sure I get mine before the night’s through. You are an overachiever after all.”

“Well that’s certainly true.” Ben tries to smile, but it feels weak.

“What is it?” Rey asks. “You look sad now.”

He untangles his fingers from her hair. “I don’t want to be a disappointment.”

Rey sits up, cradles his face between her hands, and looks at him with such steady, blazing attention that as much as he wants to look away, he can’t.

“Ben. Listen to me: there’s nothing disappointing about you. Not one thing.”

He should pull away. Making love once, holding each other, basking in the smallest sliver of her affection—that’s all it takes for Rey to claim every part of him that matters.

This is foolish and selfish, no good for either of them, but Ben thinks maybe, despite that, what he’s feeling could be something like love anyway.

ECCLESIASTES 6:7

Everyone’s toil is for the mouth, yet the appetite is never satisfied.

—

Ben barely studies for his last exam because he goes to Rey’s apartment every night he can spare. They spend most of that time making love, then lying together in the aftermath, getting to know one another while they share tender touches and quiet words.

The night before he leaves for Cottontown, they’re entwined in a pile of inside-out clothes on the living room floor, breathless and grinning at each other.

Ben props himself up on an elbow, leans over Rey, and says, “Tell me something about yourself. I want to know you better.”

She laughs. “You already know me as well as anyone does.”

“I do?” He almost laughs with her, but then Ben notices that the smile around her mouth is empty in her eyes.

Rey touches the crook of his elbow, slides her fingers along the skin of his left forearm, following the lines of his tattoo and the scar underneath it.

“If I share something personal with you, will you tell me about this?” she asks.

Ben kisses her forehead. “Sure.”

It isn’t as if the worst of it (of him) isn’t in plain sight anyway.

“My parents dumped me at a hospital in Arizona when I was six. They left me there.” Rey looks up at the ceiling, the smallness of her voice fading into the shadows. “They left me, and they never came back.”

“That’s terrible,” Ben tells her, because it is, and because he doesn’t know what else to say.

Rey shrugs, still looking upward. “I guess so.”

He imagines Rey as a little girl, lost and alone until someone found her. Lost and alone even now, maybe, if he’s the closest thing to a friend that she has.

“Your turn,” Rey says.

Ben lies on his back beside her. He thinks there might be a water stain on the ceiling, but with only the waning blue of twilight to see by, he can’t be sure.

“I missed my dad. Missed him all the time, so I found ways not to think about him. I bullied kids who were smaller than me, just to have someone to hurt. Then I started fights with seniors, to get someone to hurt me. I drank all the time, so much that even my mom noticed. And she wasn’t—” Ben scrubs a hand over his face, counts five things he can hear, and says, “She was a good mom, but she was busy. Always so busy, dealing with a million things that were more important than me, and after Dad died, she found enough distractions to keep her even busier.”

“Like you did,” Rey whispers.

“No, not like me,” Ben says. “Anyway, I’m sure you’ve guessed where this story’s going. Nothing helped, not in the long-run. So I tried to do something that would end the pain for good.”

He doesn’t tell her about bleeding all over his bathroom floor, the flood gushing from his wrist, so bright and warm that it terrified him. He was too scared to hurt himself further, but frozen, determined not to call for help. He sat there, curled up on the tile, turning his white bathroom red red red, until his mother found him.

“Why’d you tattoo over your scar?” Rey asks. “To hide it?”

Ben shakes his head. “I tried to kill myself because I was hopeless. So when I found my faith, I wanted to cover up my scar with the thing that gave me hope again.”

Rey scoots closer to him, wraps an arm around his waist, and says, “That’s beautiful.”

No, it’s stupid, Ben thinks, but he keeps that to himself. His ability to believe has become a meager thing, too shameful to share, even with Rey.

In the silence between them, Ben offers his hand. Rey takes it, and they stay this way for a long while. Lovers who only love with their bodies, holding hands in the darkness.

—

A year ago, having sex before marriage sounded impossible, if tempting, and now he’s done it. It isn’t until he’s back at Pastor Snoke’s that Ben feels the gravity of his choices. He learned how to fear God in this house, and how to fear Pastor Snoke even more. That’s the way it’s supposed to be, because respect begins with awe, awe requires intimidation, and intimidation is born through fear. But Ben’s fear of God has waned with the awe he used to feel, and without enough respect for the path he set himself on, he simply doesn’t care enough to keep away from Rey.

At church, he’s an imposter among the faithful, the sort of wolf in sheep’s clothing that Matthew 7:15 warns about. It’s easier to see the hateful lies he swallowed, now that he better understands why he was so hungry for them.

Pastor Snoke reads Psalms 139:13—for you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother’s womb—and when he condemns the women who end their pregnancies, Ben thinks of Rey at age seventeen. Six weeks along and living out of her car. She told him, in the middle of the night a few weeks ago, that she had an abortion, went to college, and tried not to look back.

Not so long ago, Ben believed everything Pastor Snoke is saying now.

He stands, runs out of the church as fast as his legs will carry him, and finds a quiet place behind the church to hide. It keeps him from vomiting in the front pew, but then he thinks of what will await him at Pastor Snoke’s house. Hours in his locked room, or maybe a simple slap to the face. It’s too late to go home, and he can’t risk losing his place at Litton, his place beside Rey—

Help me please help me I can’t do this alone somebody help me—

Ben doesn’t know if he’s praying to his father or God, but maybe if he calls out loud enough and long enough, someone will answer.

—

He doesn’t have to go to church the next week, because the bruise on his cheek still hasn’t healed.

Ben spends all of Sunday morning writing a letter to his mother. It starts with I’m sorry and ends with please forgive me, but he can’t bring himself to deliver it. His home is only five miles away, but with the blame and betrayal he’d have to cross to get there, it might as well be a thousand.

He never has been brave. It’s a hard truth that Ben accepted years ago, after he had to look away from his dying father, and in the blink of an eye, missed the most important moment of his life.

—

Ben talks to Rey on the burner phone that he bought right after finals. He hides in his closet and keeps his voice pitched low, feeling more like a child than a twenty-year-old man.

“I miss you,” he whispers.

“I…” He hears Rey take an unsteady breath, her voice two hundred miles away, yet right in his ear. “I miss you too.”

Ben chews his lip, worrying the bruised flesh between his teeth so that the sting ties him to the present. “So, what are you teaching next semester? I’m taking Malbus again for—”

“I don’t want to talk about work,” Rey says, snappish enough that its sharpness rings in Ben’s ears.

“Well then what do you want to talk about?” he asks. “Because it doesn’t seem like you want to talk about us either, and those are the only two things we have in common.”

“Don’t be dramatic. It just seems—it’s not right for us to mix this up with—” She sighs, then her voice lowers, softens, when she says, “I don’t want to confuse you. There’s what we’re doing… and then there’s what we are to each other. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Their affair and their relationship lead to the same thing for him. He isn’t a student fucking his professor; he’s just a man making love to the woman he’s devoted to. But he only says, “Yeah, of course. I get it.”

—

“I expect better from you this year,” Pastor Snoke says. “Don’t let anything steer you away from the right path, no matter how tempting it is. If you’re not vigilant, it’s easy to be seduced by the world, to forget what needs to be done. Remember my lessons.”

Ben nods, fidgeting with his keys—keys to a gently used Toyota that Pastor Snoke gave him a week ago.

“I’ll do my best. And you won’t have any reason to hear about me this year, I promise.”

The drive back to Litton stretches on and on, the same highway view repeating a thousand times. The sidelines broken by meadows, cornfields, and roadside woods, dotted with billboards for churches, jewelry companies, fast-food restaurants. Plain black promises on white canvas claim that THE WAGES OF SIN IS DEATH, half a mile down from a Hustler Hollywood.

By the time he reaches his school, Ben needs a shower and a nap, but the first thing he does, even before unloading his belongings into his new student apartment, is search out Rey. Her office is locked and silent, but it’s easy enough to find her in the library, wandering through the stacks with three books already under her arm.

She’s beautiful. Hair pulled up into three buns today, something new and a little silly that makes her look younger than thirty.

He pretends to examine a book near her and whispers, “Go to the restroom down the hall and wait for me.”

There’s a smile that Rey is trying to hold back, but it shows at the corners of her eyes. “Well hello to you too, darling.”

Ben pulls out a heavy book on the phenomenology of religion and flips to a page on Eliade. It’s boring, but reading it gives him something to think about besides the ache settling between his legs, tightening his throat, beating in his chest. Lust, homesickness, love. He glances around, checking for students that he already knows won’t be there.

“I need to kiss you,” Ben whispers. “Need to get my mouth on all of you.”

Five minutes later, they’re locked in the third-floor bathroom, kissing and biting at each other, pulling at clothes. Ben holds Rey against the wall, one arm braced over her head, the other unbuttoning her loose jeans. She’s a tall woman, but when they’re pressed close this way, both on their feet instead of in bed, she seems small, slight. Easy to have however he wants, so long as she wants it too.

Rey shivers when he tugs at her zipper, a shiver that turns to steady trembling as he yanks her pants and plain cotton underwear down her hips and thighs, lets them drop to her ankles.

He gets on his knees, and he loves it, loves everything about this. The sharp jerk of Rey’s fingers in his hair as she guides him closer, the whimpers she muffles around her own knuckles. The mindless calm that settles over him as he lets her take charge, giving orders and pulling his hair and bucking against his mouth. He loves the taste and smell of her, the heat and salt musk on his tongue. Wet, so wet, even more so as he unravels her with each lick, all slick warmth across his mouth and around his fingers, crooked inside her. He feels it when she comes, the quivering of her sex that he’s touching from within.

Then he pulls away, climbs to his feet, wipes the mess from his mouth with his shirtsleeve, and turns Rey around so that she’s facing the wall.

“Do you have—?”

“Yeah. I made a pitstop on the way here.”

Ben unfastens his jeans, gets them down to his knees, tangled with his boxers, and pulls a condom from his pocket. God bless Hustler, he thinks, and he doesn’t even have time to feel guilty about it before he’s inside her, and then that’s all he cares about. Rey, pressed flat against the wall, letting out the quietest of whimpers every time he thrusts. Rey, moaning his name again and again, telling him to fuck her, to have her harder, faster, to make her feel it tomorrow.

I love you, he thinks, when he’s close, when he comes, when he’s falling down from the high of pleasure. And later still, after they’ve straightened their clothes and parted ways, and he’s lying in his bed alone that night, he thinks it again: I love you. I love you so much that it’s tearing me apart.

He wishes Rey was here, to sleep beside him. That he could wake up next to her each morning, until he’s earned the intimacy of her heart as much as the intimacy of her body. That he could fall asleep in her arms at night, taking turns being each other’s protectors.

It’s becoming misery, to need someone so fully, and be needed back only in the basest, barest possible way.

—

Ben wonders how long they can keep this up. By December, he can hardly stand it. He turns twenty-one just before finals, and Rey promises to take him for a drink when the new semester starts. Plans for something like a date sustain him through his exams, distracting but elating, and he’s motivated like never before to do well.

He aces every exam, doesn’t even need to see his grades to know it, and when he tells Rey, she laughs. Throws her arms around his neck and says, “You really are brilliant. It’s a shame how well you know it, though.”

During Christmas break, he’s lost. Divergent schedules and the need for discretion keep them apart more often than not, but at least at school he has the privilege of seeing Rey. Even if it’s only a glimpse of her, walking around campus or grabbing a meal in the refectory (where she always goes back for second helpings of the dishes she likes).

When they’re together, he needs her so fiercely that it feels like something inside of him, something deep-seated and important, is being pulled from its place. Ripped out and exposed, made raw before this woman who owns him. And when they’re apart, he aches. That same part, that necessary piece of self, hurts to be away from Rey.

But she doesn’t feel the same. It’s obvious from the reservation he often feels behind her touch outside of bed, the gentle way she always cues him to leave her home before sunrise, that Rey’s desires run shallower than his own. She’s glad to use him and be used, but nothing more.

And Ben knows, as much as he doesn’t want to, that this isn’t sustainable, could never stand the test of time. An uneven love will eventually overbalance.

—

It ends as abruptly as it started, on a cold night in April.

A storm rages outside, and a clap of thunder startles Ben awake. Muzzy-headed and still boneless from lovemaking, it takes him a moment to register that Rey isn’t beside him. He climbs out of bed, pulls on his jeans, and wanders through her apartment, calling her name.

He finds her outside, on the patio, grasping the railing with a white-knuckled grip. As if that hold is the only thing that might keep her from hauling herself right over the balustrade and falling three stories to the pavement below. Ben grabs Rey by the arm and yanks her around, because he can’t tolerate it, seeing her lean so close to the edge like that.

Lightning flashes, a fork of purple-white fire branching across the sky, illuminating the whole darkness, and the whole of them, standing half-naked in the watchful night.

She’s crying. He’s never seen Rey cry before, and he knows, even before he asks, “What’s wrong?” that this is it. This is the end.

“I can’t—” She sniffs, runs a hand through her soaked hair, and says, “I can’t keep doing this, Ben. I’m sorry, but I can’t.”

The wind is cold on his skin, ferrying a thousand icy raindrops that beat against his body, that could eat him alive, and for a moment, that’s all he can feel. The wind, the rain, the cold.

Then the rest of it hits, and he runs inside, to get away from Rey more than to get away from the storm. He pulls on his shirt and shoes, grabs his backpack from the coat closet, and rushes into the hallway, down the staircase, running as fast and as far as he can when he can’t think, when he can’t breathe.

“Ben, wait!”

Rey followed him outside, still dressed only in a drenched sweater, long enough to cover any sight of her panties. She’s shivering, hair soaked flat against her face, barefoot and sobbing in the rain.

“Let me explain! Please—”

He rounds on her, doesn’t even think before he pushes her against the brick wall. “Why? You’re kicking me out, aren’t you? So I might as well go.”

She bites her lip, looks up at him with swollen eyes, her lashes wet with tears and rain. “I’m trying to do the right thing by you. This is hurting you. I can see that it’s hurting you, and I—” Rey looks down, and he knows that whatever is coming next will be awful. “I don’t feel the same way you do, Ben, and you deserve better than to be strung along.”

“Strung along?” He leans closer, bows low enough that he could kiss her mouth if he wanted to. If she wanted him to. “You’ve tied me up into knots, wrapped me around your little finger. Do you really think there’s anything right left that we can do here?”

She tilts her head back, angling her lips a shade nearer to his own, showing her throat to him, like prey.

“I love you,” Ben says, and finally, the words are out. He’s free of carrying them around like a weight on his shoulders, growing heavier each day they go unspoken.

Rey only nods, then whispers, “I know.”

It’s not her rejection that hurts the most. That, at least, he saw coming. It’s the softness in Rey’s eyes, the cloak of her pity that settles over him, that hits hardest.

He kisses her, presses her against the wall more roughly, taking her mouth and caging her body with his own so that, at least in this way, he can be the one in control. Bigger and stronger, with the power to make her whimper and kiss back and moan. To quiver under his roaming hands—

Rey pushes him. She isn’t strong enough to throw him off of her, but Ben still backs away.

They watch each other. Rey cries so hard that her chest heaves, and the rain keeps falling, the heavens keep roiling with a spring storm. Indiscriminate, unmoved by the display below them.

When Ben walks away, he doesn’t look back.

SONG OF SOLOMON 5:6

I opened for my beloved, but my beloved had left; he was gone. My heart sank at his departure. I looked for him but did not find him. I called him but he did not answer.

—

His faded faith must be written all over him, because Pastor Snoke asks him flat-out in the middle of June, “Do you even believe anymore, Ben?”

This is the time to lie, to claim a faith he’s been leaving by the wayside for years, inch by inch, verse by verse. Lying would protect him, secure his final year of school, keep a roof over his head.

He thinks of blood on the bathroom floor, and his father’s last breath—the one that he looked away from, the one he missed, because he’s a coward. He thinks of Rey, crying in the rain, throwing him aside like trash. If he’s learned anything, it’s that there are many ways to give up, and some hurt more than others. But this one isn’t going to hurt at all.

“No,” Ben says. “I don’t believe in any of it, and I don’t think I ever really did. I just wanted to be free of my grief, and you dangled the Word over me like a worm over a hungry fish. So I took it.”

Suddenly Pastor Snoke’s wholesome face turns into something ugly, low, and foul. The scar across his cheek stands out, white and twisted with the sneer around his mouth. For the first time, Ben thinks he must have earned that mark.

“I thought you were the son I never had,” Snoke says. “But you’re just as much a disappointment to me as you were to your father.”

Ben punches him, and it feels good, it feels so satisfying, to finally hit this man back.

Snoke barely flinches, but it isn’t his pain that Ben wants anyway. Just the simple act of reclaiming himself, of taking back a small measure of the power that he handed over—no, that Snoke took from him.

The pastor touches his mouth, and it comes away bloody. “Get out, and don’t ever show your face here again.”

“Don’t worry,” Ben says. “I won’t.”

—

There aren’t a lot of resources for homeless twenty-somethings in Cottontown. After Snoke sent him away, he walked around for two days with nothing but the clothes on his back. All of his money came from Snoke, and he hates to spend even the thirty-two dollars in his pocket on food.

His mother’s house is so close. He could walk there in no time, he could say that he left the church and beg to come home. But he doesn’t have any right to that home, doesn’t have any right to her forgiveness, even if she’d grant it.

He borrows a stranger’s phone while he’s shopping for bread and bologna at Walmart, dials his mom’s number, then hangs up before it can ring. He calls Rey after that, and even though he doesn’t expect her to pick up, it still hurts when she doesn’t answer.

Ben smiles at the little blue-haired lady who let him borrow her ten-year-old flip phone, thanks her, and leaves the shop without buying anything.

—

The summer heat is a new hell, the kind that almost makes Ben believe in the devil again. Every day is a fresh exercise in heat exhaustion, so he finds the coolest places to lurk. Shaded park benches, the community center, under the red-striped flower shop awning.

Mrs. Miller, the shop’s owner, gives him ice water and invites him inside whenever he likes. Ben uses her bathroom to wash up with hand soap, but he knows he still looks ragged and dirty. He won’t repay Mrs. Miller’s kindness by lingering in her shop, driving away customers.

He goes to the Hope Center at the beginning of July, and when he explains the situation with Pastor Snoke, they agree that it’s terrible, just terrible, that a man of God would do such a thing.

Ben shrugs. “I would’ve run away if he hadn’t kicked me out first.”

I’m good at running away.

The women at the center help him find an apartment by the middle of July, and the first night he sleeps inside, cradled on an air-mattress in a cool bedroom, he almost cries.

The next day, when he brings Mrs. Miller a box of chocolates as a thank you gift, she offers him a job.

Working at the shop is easy enough for Ben. He’s always been meticulous, attuned to the fine details of things, whether it’s the nuances of a religious text or the careful pitch of Rey’s cries as he drew her closer to coming. That pays off once his days are consumed by caring for and arranging flowers. Mrs. Miller teaches him that too much baby’s breath only makes arrangements look tacky, the meaning of flowers is useless information unless you’re trying to sell Valentine’s arrangements or guilt-roses, and no, carnations never stop smelling like funerals.

August comes, and August goes, taking the start of a new semester at Litton with it.

—

His mother walks into the empty flower shop on September 29th at exactly one o’clock in the afternoon, and Ben knows he’ll remember this day for the rest of his life. It’s going to be tucked away in his memory for safekeeping, like flowers between the pages of a Bible.

She doesn’t see him at first, too busy examining a display of white roses, so Ben takes a moment to watch her. Her long dark braid is streaked with silver now, the fine lines by her eyes more prominent. She looks as beautiful as ever, but older. Of course she does; it’s been three years, eight months, and six days since they last saw each other. Not that he allowed himself to count, until recently.

“Mom…”

It chokes out of him before he even means to say anything, but she turns immediately, her brown eyes going wide, wider, then glassy with tears. She doesn’t let them fall, though. His mother has never been an easy crier, not like him.

“Ben?”

It stings to hear so much reservation in her voice, hope colored by disbelief, by mourning.

“Yeah, it’s me,” he says.

Ben steps around the counter, gripping its edge to keep himself steady. His mom walks over, holds out her hands, trembling, tentative, and asks, “Can I hug you?”

It isn’t until he has her wrapped in his arms that Ben realizes how much he’s missed this, missed her.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Mom, please—”

He doesn’t even know what he means to say. Don’t hate me? Still love me? Let me come home? It doesn’t matter, because she burrows closer, and buries her head against his chest. Was she always this tiny, this delicate?

They finally fall away from the embrace, but then his mother stands up on the tips of her toes to cup his face between her hands. “You’re so tall,” she says, crying now, finally crying like he is. “When did you get so tall?”

Once they’ve (mostly) managed to let go of each other, Ben locks up the shop, calls Mrs. Miller to tell her what happened, and follows his mom to her car. His voice is stuck in his throat all the way back to Peachtree Street, and as soon as they reach the house, he almost starts crying again. His mom repainted the siding from white to a soft, sunny yellow, and there’s a garden around the porch now. It’s his house, but not as he remembers it.

There are a few cars parked in the driveway and on the lawn around it, one that he recognizes as his grandmother’s, another that he thinks might belong to his godparents, Bail and Breha.

“What’s everyone doing here?” he asks.

“Oh, shit, I didn’t even think to tell you. The family gets together on the last Friday of every month now, sweetheart. After you left—well I thought it might be a good idea for all of us to stay close.”

Before Ben can figure out what to say, his mom smiles at him, as warmly as if no time has passed at all. “Come on. It’s the perfect day for you to come home.”

—

His grandmother sobs for ten minutes straight and won’t let go of him until Mom says, “All right, give him a chance to breathe. Don’t want to run him off again.”

Ben laughs, more out of shock than good humor, but he’s thankful that there’s so little his mother finds too sacred to make fun of.

“This is a day for family, Ben,” Uncle Luke says, smiling. “Once you’ve had some time to let that sink in, it might be good for you to think about it.”

Ben hugs Uncle Luke once more, then his cousin Finn and Breha, then his mother. He can’t get enough of pulling her close, smelling the comforting floral scent of her perfume, one thing that’s still the same after all this time.

The house is loud and boisterous, overwhelming but beautiful. Once, the noise would have bothered him, but now he doesn’t care. Through the laughter and the music and hollering from one room to another, all Ben hears is joy. A home full of joy, when he needed it most, and he can only be thankful for his family’s warmth and grace.

Maybe Luke isn’t wrong. Being here, today of all days, makes him believe for the first time in a long while that something greater than himself could be at work.

—

That night, after everyone else has gone home, Ben stays up until the early hours of the morning, talking with his mother. He tells her about living with Pastor Snoke. About college and Rey, and feeling lost without her. Most of all, though, they remember Dad together.

When dawn starts creeping through the windows, warming the kitchen with golden light, his mom says, “He’d be proud of you, Ben. So proud.”

They laugh and cry and laugh again, and this is it, he thinks. This is what he needed all along. Time for the sharp edges of his grief to wear down, and someone to share this with, the burden of love cut short. There’s no magic cure for loss, but he can do this. He can keep going.

—

Ben is lying in his childhood bed, listening to morning birdsong outside his window, when he finally calls Rey.

She answers on the second ring. He doesn’t even get through a greeting before she says, “Ben! Where the hell are you? I’ve been worried out of my mind. First you don’t answer my calls, then you never show up at school? I’ve—I didn’t know what—I was afraid you’d hurt yourself.”

Rey takes three shuddering breaths, and he thinks she might be trying not to hyperventilate.

He sits up, cradling the phone between his shoulder and his head, and holds out his hands. Then he feels stupid. It’s not like he can touch her from here.

“It’s all right, I’m all right. Now, anyway. I’m home—with my mom, I mean, and—”

“I lied,” Rey says. The words come out in a rush, like she’s been holding them in since the last time they spoke, letting honesty fester in some hidden corner of her heart.

“Lied about what?” Ben asks.

He can hear her mouth opening, the start of her voice, trembling over the line. It gives him the illusion that she’s close enough to kiss, despite the distance between them.

“I told you that I don’t feel the same way you do,” she says. “I lied.”

They spend all morning on the phone, talking through hard truths and simple ones. Being together, truly together, won’t be easy. But this time, they agree that it’s a risk worth taking.

HEBREWS 11:1

Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.

—

That afternoon, Ben goes to the creek behind his house. His mother would probably find this silly, but he’s always found more meaning in ritual than she does. He takes off his socks and shoes, rolls his pants up to his knees, and walks into the hungry water.

Ben wants to cast off this person he’s been for the last eight years: arrogant and selfish, whether devout or doubtful. He’s done this once before, stepped into living water in the hopes that it might wash him clean, but this is different. Today, Ben isn’t running away. Today, he’s walking toward something.

He looks up, unsure of who he’s speaking to, or if anyone is even listening, but certain for once that it doesn’t matter. “Hi,” he says. “It’s been awhile.”

#reylo #reylo fanfic #reylo fanfiction #rffa #reylo fanfiction anthology #celebrate the waking #trigger warning #physical abuse #religious fanaticism #grief #depression #suicide attempt #emotional abuse #professor!rey #student!ben #student-teacher au

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