#willemmy fics

[away-ward]

Arrival

Summary: On the day of Indie's birth, there's one last person to introduce her to. Canon-compliant

Edited July 18, 2023 for grammar and phrasing.

Will

I rocked and bounced and swayed. I could sit down but there was too much energy coursing through my body to keep me seated. Emmy slept in the bed next to me, head resting on the white hospital pillows. Even with IV tubes, hair knotted and sticking to her forehead, and that shitty paper-thin gown, she was still the most beautiful woman. 

And mother. 

I swallowed, looking down at the little baby in my arms. Thanks to Winter, I've had plenty of practice holding one, not that it stopped me from shaking as the nurse passed her to me. She was so pink and warm and tiny in my large hands. None of Damon's babies were tiny like this. Those boys were monsters from day one. 

Not my girl. She was sweet and delicate, with a soft smell and blue eyes that I'm hoping won't stay blue. Green is a Grayson trait, and if one of my kids inherits them, cool, but I'm dying for this one to get her mother's chocolate-browns.  

Two light knocks at the door before it cracked open. I knew who to expect. Hours after the delivery, most everyone came through and left, promising to return in the morning after Emmy and baby had a chance to rest. Only one person hadn't shown their face yet. 

The door open to reveal two black eyes glinting in the light that spilled in from the hall way as Damon let himself in without a word. He closed the door and kept the lights off, leaving us in the pale glow from the window. Leaning back casually, arms crossed over his chest, he watched me hold my child with a superior smirk. 

Irritation simmered in my chest. At first, I was pissed he wasn't here. I knew it was his need for revenge that kept him away. He had to make a point. I regretted not being there for Ivarsen, and I've told him that. I thought we were in the clear, but as Em and I were allowed visitors, I couldn't ignore the stab of pain at his no-show. With each group, the joy I had became clouded by the bitterness of him not being there. I tried to hide the way I scanned the room, looking for him, but Em still caught it. Each time, she'd take my hand, squeezing it once to bring me back to the moment.

Looking at him now, I was just happy that I didn't have to share this with anyone else.  

My smile broke the tension first as I tore my gaze from him. I had to, because for some reason, I couldn't look away from the new life in my arms for too long. When I confirmed once again that she's real and she was there, I looked back up. My vision blurred and I realized, a bit embarrassingly, those are tears. 

I was crying.  

Again. 

Stupid fuck. My smile grew.

Damon grinned. "Are you dad now?" 

I knew if I tried to speak, my voice would fail me, so I swallowed and nodded. Damon shoved off the door, walking closer to inspect the newest addition to our constantly growing family. 

"About time you started catching up," he critiqued, peering closer. He lifted a brow, pretending to be unimpressed. "This the foretold William IV?"

I laughed. We had decided to follow Damon and Winter in keeping the gender a mystery until their arrival, but we made no secret that we were hoping for a boy – the next William. We knew either way we'd be over the moon, but between Mads, and Ivar and Gunnar, none of us really expected this. 

And I guess newborns don't look all that different, but I was a little offended he'd think my son would be so small and soft. 

"You ready for this?" I challenged. Damon lifted a brow in questions and I tilted my daughter to meet the face of who I knew would be her favorite uncle. "D, meet Indie Aspen Grayson. The first, if she so chooses." 

I swear I felt his heart stop. He looked from her to me back to her, eyes wide. It wasn't often I got the jump on him. This was my favorite surprise so far. 

"A girl?" he whispered, looking at me. Looking back at her, he said more to himself and with pride, "Our first girl." 

I shrugged. "Well, technically Athos -" 

His cutting glare shut me up. We all loved Athos, and accepted her as one of our own. Somehow, that girl was perfectly suited to the Fane's as if she were made for them, but I wouldn't deny that this felt different.

Indie cooed gently and I immediately went back to rocking her. 

"I was downstairs," Damon said. I glance up, reading him. "The entire time. For hours, I've just been sitting down there, waiting for this."

I nodded, accepting his non-apology. "Your point's been made. Don't do it again." 

"I'll catch the next one." 

I laughed. The next one, huh? I glanced behind me to Em, half expecting to catch her mid-eyeroll.  

Turning back to Damon, I asked the one thing I'd been dying to ask since he walked in. "You wanna hold her?" 

Damon's chest heaved with a sharp exhale as he raised his arms to take her. I adjusted my hold on the bundle, pausing at the last second.  

"You'll give her back, right?" I teased, smiling at him. 

He didn't take the bait, his eyes only for Indie as I passed her over. "Maybe. We'll see." 

"He will if he knows what's good for him," Emmy muttered from the bed beside us.  

I looked down, seeing her half-lidded gaze watching our daughter in Damon's arms, soft smile playing on her lips. I couldn't help myself from leaning down and pressing a kiss to her temple. Hovering over her, so close my eyes couldn't take in all of her at once, I breathed her in. She was a vision. Perfection. 

Her hand came up and cupped my cheek. I needed a shave. I needed to go relieve myself. And I could probably use a shower. 

But mostly, I needed to see my daughter again.  

Emmy's eyes drew away from me to where Damon had moved to the window of the private room. With one more kiss, I left her side to join him, wrapping a hand around his shoulder and looking down at Indie. Her eyes had opened and she was looking at Damon like she knew him. It's possible she recognized his voice. He was around Emmy plenty until the final weeks when she stayed home as a precaution. Even then, Winter came around to keep her company and Damon usually followed soon after. Still, I thought it was something else. Something I couldn't put a name to.

A weaker man might be jealous or suspicious, and I was once, but I understand now. Damon and I, and the others, are one in the same, tangled together and inseparable. Our bond doesn't only cover us; it transfers to what we each love.

"You might not be getting her back after all," he joked. At least, I hoped it was a joke. A part of him sounded serious.  

Emmy made a noise behind us, a low groan, and I turned to see her trying to sit up. I glared, silently telling her to stay put. She should know better. Annoyed, she slouched against the pillows, keeping her eyes on Damon's back. God, she's gonna be a great mom.

"About that," I said to him. I looked out at the view of Thunder Bay. The local hospital was small, only three stories, so we weren't towering above the town, but it was enough to get a good eye-full of our kingdom. We were building, moving through our plans at a steady rate. By the time the kids were starting school, we'd have this place well on lock.  

But that meant enemies were coming our way. 

I'd like to say losing both of us would be unlikely, but Emory lost her parents at eleven years old. She was pregnant for the anniversary of their passing this year and it made us aware just how prepared we need to be. 

For everything.

I continued, "Em and I have discussed it, and if anything happens to us, we want you and Winter to step-in." I waited for him to answer but he remained silent. I cleared my throat. "I believe you'd call it a Godparent." 

"Though please don't teach her about God," Emmy said.  

"Chill, he's been to Sunday School. Used to do confession and all that," I retorted. I was joking awkwardly because he still hadn't answered. "Plus, he's got that rosary. Must mean something, right." 

She made another sound of discontent.   

Smiling, I looked to Damon. His silence had me worried, though I'd never admit it. Maybe he doesn't want the extra responsibility. He and Winter weren't done having kids, and it's not like my kids would be abandoned if the Torrance's didn't take them in. The only reason we're putting it on paper is for the legality of it; so there's no confusion or hold up in the system. We had no doubt that our family would take them in them if we couldn't be by their side. But of all my friends, nobody would keep them like Damon. He had a sort of ferocious protectiveness over the kids that's even more terrifying than when we were teenagers. Until Mads and Ivars, I didn't know he could get any worse. And Em could act annoyed all she wanted, I knew that like me there wasn't anyone she'd trust more in this scenario. 

Finally, he looked over, regarding me for a moment before looking out at the town, but I saw it. I made the right call. Nothing would have ever stopped him from protecting my family if I couldn't. 

"Fucking moron," he said, "that's the exact opposite of a Godparent. The term you're looking for is legal guardian."

Ha. Caught him. "So...?" 

"Send the papers in the morning." 

I laughed. In the morning, he said, as we looked at the sun rising over the horizon. 

--

Notes: I have this idea that Damon would have a special connection with Indie. Thank you for reading/commenting/liking, and spending a few short minutes with me. As always, I'd love to hear you thoughts.

sending my love.

Master List

#devil's night series stuff #willemmy #will grayson iii #emory scott #devil's night series #damon torrance #my fic #post canon

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[away-ward]

Hollow

Based on the idea from this post . I said a "Fun Night" but I don't write things that are fun usually. There's always some sort of problem.

Summary: On a rare night out, Banks thinks she'll be the one teaching Emory the art of axe throwing, only to realize there's something going on inside her that Em can help with instead.

Post-Canon, written in third person because I still don't want to even attempt to butcher Banks voice. General OOC-ness. Angst, with a touch of humor.

And a lot of love.

November 7th, edited for grammar, spelling, and word choice.

--

“No, like this,” Banks said, stepping in behind Emory as close as she could. Bringing her arms around, she repositioned Emory’s hands on the bottom of the axe. “Now, line up, feet close together.” She shifted with Emory’s body, waiting until the position felt right.

“Aim,” she said next, and then released Emory. “Dominate foot forward, and throw.”

The axe rotated once in the air before sinking into the wooden board with a yellow target spray-painted on.

Directly in the center of the target. Emory swung around with a big smile spread across her face.

Banks curled her lips in a sneer. She went to remove the axe from the wood. Turning back to her friend, she said, “Beginner’s luck.”

Emory cocked an eyebrow. “Still closer than yours.”

Never one to back down from a challenge, Banks nodded her head towards the back of the cage. “Step aside.”

Emory bowed out, giving the room to Banks as she set up for her next throw. It was a rare night that they didn’t end up and Sensou for a class or work out, but Banks wasn’t in the mood to be around people. The kids were camping with the Fanes, Winter had a dance rehearsal, and Emory had said she’d never been Axe-throwing, so it was the perfect night to disappear for a while. All she had to do was show up at the Grayson’s a drag Em out the front door, ignoring Will’s weak protests about his wife and threats to report her for kidnapping.

With a strangled grunt, Banks let the axe fly. It struck the corner of the board, far from the target. Banks glared at it as Emory approached from behind, eyeing the offensive tool and then Banks.

She shrugged. “Bad throw. Go again.”

“I don’t need your pity,” Banks snapped, turning on her so they were face to face, nose to nose.

“It’s not pity when it’s coming from a friendly place,” Emory said. She crossed her arms, refusing to give an inch.

Banks’ chest rose and fell with heavy breath. She felt the tension in the air, and wondered if her friend could, too. She felt tight all over, and prickly, ready to snap at anything. Emory’s dark brown eyes remain steady on her, unbothered by her response.

Shaking her head, she stepped back. “Just go.”

Banks knew Emory could tell something was up just by the way she watched her, but Emory didn’t ask, instead stepping up for her second throw. She positioned herself perfectly this time, swing her arms back as she stepped forward and released the axe. It sank once more in the center of the target. Banks couldn’t help the surge of pride for her friend’s natural skills.

Emory Grayson was something else.

“Beginner's, what?” Emory teased. She held her hand to her ear, waiting for Bank’s concession.

Too bad, Banks thought, I don’t concede that easily. Wordlessly, she stepped around Emory’s smug figure. Wrapping her had around her third axe, she gripped it tightly in both hands, lining up with the target, she let out a deep breath, focusing on the bullseye in front of her.

Before she could release the handle, Banks’ vision shifted, blurring the target in front of her. No, she shook herself, chasing away the thought with a vicious snarl. With a guttural cry, she flung the axe. It rotated wildly and plunged deep into the wood.

“Woah,” she heard Em whisper behind her.

The dam in her chest cracked and broke, and before Banks knew what was happening, she reached for another axe. A hand wrapped around her wrist, stopping her. She rotated her arm to loosen Emory’s grip, but Emory still wrangled her away from where the weapons were housed, pushing her back.

Suddenly, Banks regretted training the girl so well.

“What is wrong with you?” Emory asked.

“Nothing.”

Emory’s lips tightened, but she didn’t say anything. Still, Banks could see the unspoken words in her eyes. Liar, she called her, and then demanded the truth.

Banks held her breath until she was sure it would come out without shaking. “Nothing,” she repeated. The word sounded empty even to her.

“Fine,” Emory clipped, “but it’s my turn.”

Banks watched as she pulled the Axe from the wood. It took her a good bit of yanking and leveraging her foot against the wall, which gave Banks a boost of ego. Then Emory set herself, taking aim. Her lips worked, as if she were contemplating something.

Finally, she settled. “This is for that client who didn’t want to talk to me but only to Damon,” she said loudly, voice turning to a deep growl. “And for calling me a ‘little lady’,” she finished as she released the axe in the air.

It could have sunk into the center, but Banks wouldn’t know. All she could stare at was Emory, who heaved a giant breath and turned to look at her.

Arching a brow, she lifted a single shoulder. “What, you think you’re the only one with shit they’re dealing with?”

When Banks didn’t answer, Emory scoffed and walked down the row to retrieve the axe. She walked back and stood in front of Banks, holding it out to her. Calmer than before, Banks took the axe and repeated the routine.

“This is for that woman who keeps hitting on my husband,” she said, and let the axe go. This time, it landed within the target without nearly splintering the wood.

“Nice,” Emory commented from the side, “but that’s not what’s bothering you.”

“It always bothers me,” Banks answered.

“Which means it’s not what’s going on today.”

Banks rolled her eyes. Sometimes, she hated how well Emory knew her.

Emory took the axe and, before throwing it, let out another aggravation. They repeated the process, taking turns. With each throw, both girls felt their shoulders lighten, as if the world were being lifted away. Emory more than Banks, who only seemed to get sadder, and more hollow.

Eventually, her friend ran out of grievances, and Banks found she was running low, too.

“This is for,” she said, axe in the air behind her, arms bent over her head, as she ran through everything, trying to pull on anything she could. Only one thing remained, front and center in her mind. “This is for my mom,” she said, letting the axe fly.

It didn’t make a full rotation, and instead bounced off the wood and falling to the ground. Banks couldn’t see it, though, as the tears welded up in her green eyes.

“Nik,” Emory whispered, coming to her side.

She looked up into Emory’s wide eyes, emphasized by her large glasses that Banks always thought were impractical. She could see the point at that moment, because they served as a barrier between her and the world.

Emory waited for her to say something. She never talked about her mom, not with her or with any of them, other than Kai. Especially not Damon. Her chin shook as she tried to keep the words off her tongue, not wanting to make it seem like a bigger deal than it was. They fell out anyway.

“My mom died,” she muttered on a shaky breath, quickly drawing in another to try and calm herself. Why wouldn’t her chin stop shaking. "That stupid bit—" she broke off, still not able to curse the woman the way she wanted. Because she didn’t want to, not really.

She felt Emory’s hand come to rest on her back and felt stupid for needing the comfort. Shaking her head, she drew back what tears she could. “They found her in the bathroom with a needle in her arm. Of course. She only ever sought her own pleasure.”

“When was the last time you spoke to her?”

“After Kai and I got married,” Banks nodded. And then she rolled her eyes again, “The first time.”

Emory laughed. It was a big joke that technically their wedding event was more like a vow renewal for the only two actually married.

“She came by right around I was a few months pregnant with Mads and asked for some money,” Banks continued. “I was hesitant at first, but also. She was going to be a grandma, so I thought...” she stopped again. What did she think? That another kid was going to finally convince her to fix herself? She was so stupid.

“But she said something and I realized that now that I was married to a wealthy man, she’d only ever see me as a bank account. So, I gave her the money and never answered her calls again.”

Emory rubbed her friend’s back. “Does Kai know?”

Banks shook his head. “No. I never told him about her visit, and I haven’t told him about this. It doesn’t matter. She’s never been in our life. Her death doesn’t change anything. I don’t know why I feel like this.”

They stood in silence for a minute, letting the feelings ride out. Finally, Emory stepped away, grabbing their bags. “Come on, this isn’t what we need right now.”

“What do you mean?” Banks asked, eyeing her sudden shift.

“I have a better way to work this out.”

A twenty-minute Uber ride through Meridian brought them to a different type of business. Banks stood aside as Emory sorted everything with the cashier. Then she ushered her into a small room with two doors, where she handed her a full-body suit, and PPE glasses and gloves.

“Put these on,” she demanded, already pulling the white suit over her clothes.

Banks sighed, but followed her instructions. “What are we doing here?”

Once fully situated, Emory opened the next door, letting them into another room. This one was filled with all kinds of junk, from appliances to broken furniture. Banks frown, turning back to Emory.

Emory was already ready, holding out a metal bat. “Hit the TV,” she said, nodding to the old, square TV on the table.

“What? No. This is stupid.”

“Hit the TV.”

“Em, I already know how to work out my anger. I do it multiple times a week, remember.”

“Sensou is about control and learning control. This is about being uncontrolled.” She jutted the bat out farther. “Hit the TV.”

“Alright!” Banks groaned, taking the bat. She wrapped her hands around the bat and looked at the black screen. All she could think about was how stupid she had been to cry in front of Emory.

Emory, who’d lost two loving parents when she was a child, and whose brother had turned to beating her because he couldn’t control himself. Then, when that wasn’t enough, he dragged her into his sick games, all while telling her he loved her. If anyone had something worth breaking down over, it was Emory.

At least with Gabriel and her mom, she knew the score.

Her hands squeezed the base, knuckles whitening as she stood in front of the TV with Em at her back.

If that was the case, she asked herself, then why did it hurt so bad?

“Hit the TV!” Emory said, her voice louder than before and ringing in Banks's ears.

“I will.”

“Hit it!”

“Okay.”

Not letting up, Emory responded before she could even get the word out. “Hit the TV, Banks!”

Banks let out a yell, swinging the bat around in a full arc. She swung so hard, she thought for sure her shoulder was going to pop. The TV shattered, glass flying everywhere and among the sound, she could hear Emory’s shout of joy.

Emory didn’t stop there. She raised her own weapon, a golf club, and hit another item sitting on a warped desk, letting a cry rip from her own throat. Banks watched, smiling at the monster before her that had taken over her best friend.

Together, they demolished the room, hitting everything in reach, sometimes stomping through chairs. When their hour was done, both girls were sweaty and spent. Banks laughed as Emory took off her protective gear, revealing her usual sleek brown hair had started to frizz around the top, and the ring over her cheeks from where the plastic glasses sat. She was red-faced with exertion, but looked exhilarated.

They laughed their way down the street to the nearest bar, taking up one of the small, round table high-tops. After place their orders with the waitress, Banks checked her phone, noting that Kai had only texted once to check on her. Across from her, Emory scrolled and scrolled.

“Will?”

“He keeps sending me GIFs and stickers.”

“He misses you,” Banks scoffed. They’d barely been separated for a few hours.

Emory shook her head. “He gets bored too easily. I swear, it’s all a game to see how many he can send before I get annoyed. All he wants is my attention, good or bad. He doesn't care.”

The way Em smiled at her phone, Banks concluded that it was all a game, just as she said. Only, Em was the one who knew how to play.

The waitress returned with their drinks, and after thanking her, Em put her phone face down on the table. Banks looked at her, swallowing. Playful Em turned into soft Em, and suddenly she didn’t know what to do. “It’s okay to be mad at her.”

“I know,” she said. “But it’s pointless, isn’t it?”

Emory swirled her drink. “It’s messy,” she said wistfully. Then looking at Banks as if looking for confirmation, she continued, “Love. Family. It’s messy.”

“It shouldn’t be,” Banks said, looking down at the table. “It should be simple. I love Kai, and I love my children. I’d never do anything that would hurt them.”

Emory nodded.

Banks looked up. “Did you know she sold me? She sold me to an eleven-year-old for like a thousand dollars. Who does that to their child?”

Emory took a deep breath. “When Martin died, I was sad. And didn’t know what to do with it. I couldn’t talk to Will, because…”

“Yeah,” Banks nodded. That was messy.

“But eventually I sorted it out. I was sad because I loved him. Despite everything, I loved him.” She paused, letting the words sink. “I hated him too, but I missed what he used to be when he was just my big brother.”

Banks nodded. Sometimes, in the quiet, when she let her thoughts drift to her mom, she wondered why she couldn’t just take care of her like a mom should.

But then she wouldn’t have Damon, or Kai, or her children. Or any of their family, which had grown on her over the years. Yes, even Michael. But she’d only admit that under torture.

“Will still doesn’t get it. He understands how you can hate someone you love, but he doesn’t understand how you can love someone you hate.”

“I can’t say I disagree with him,” Banks told her. “My mom hit me once and that was enough for me to decide. I don’t know how you could still feel that way for your brother.”

“Hey,” Emory snapped, “Martin would have never sold me to one of those basters for a thousand dollars.”

Banks raised her brows. She had a point.

“He would have held out for at least half-a-mil.”

They stared at each other before breaking out into laughter.

“Or a bag of potato chips,” Emory said through her amusement, shoulders shaking. “It’d depend on how hungry he was.”

They calmed down, each taking sips of their drinks, feeling a bit better. Emory always made things seem not as bad. Still, something lingered.

“She just gave me up like it was nothing. Like I was nothing to her,” she said, blinking away tears of anger because God, she already cried once that night and she wouldn’t do it again. “And if she could do that, what’s to stop anyone else from doing it.”

Now Emory gasped. “Banks,” she pushed. “You know that’s not true.”

“No, really. What’s to stop them?” They both knew who she was really talking about, so Banks tried again. “What’s to stop Kai from giving me up?”

“Kai would tear the world apart for you,” Emory stated, staring unwavering at her.

“Would he?” Banks challenged, “Or would he take this as his opportunity to get what he really wants.”

Emory tilted her head in confusion, dark eyes questioning. Banks returned the look. Both of them had heard the taunts and the rumors over the years, the ones about their family. Sometimes they were poly; sometimes they were swingers. Sometimes, it was just straight up cheating. No one knew and no one understood, which was fine, because they didn’t need them to. But there was one rumor that kept getting brought up again and again.

Realization dawn on Emory. “You can’t possibly be thinking of Rika.”

“Why not?”

 “Because…” Emory started, her words failing her as she tried to come up with an explanation.

“See.”

“No, I’m struggling because the idea is so silly and absurd. Kai would rather go to prison for a lifetime – two lifetimes, even - if it guaranteed your existence and your happiness. Rika was a…fantasy. The night he was arrested, it carved a crater into his mind that he couldn’t heal. Their revenge was supposed to close it, but that didn’t work out.”

Banks scoffed around the rim of her drink. “So, he had to fuck her to close his wound?”

“No, but it did close that chapter, as weird as it is. Closing the chapter allowed the wound to start healing. I don’t think it ever fully closed up until you.”

“How sweet.”

Emory held up her hands in mock forfeit. “But, hey, what do I know. I wasn’t there. You know, who might have the answers, though?”

“If you say Kai—”

“You should talk to him. You know, before you throw an axe through his head.”

Unwillingly, Banks chuckled at the thought.

“I know one thing for sure,” Emory said after a moment of silence. Banks dragged her eyes up to her, and Em smiled. “I love you. And I’d never trade you for a potato chip, or a thousand dollars, or a million. None of us would.”

Banks looked away, the rush of emotions doing things to her that she didn’t like happening in public.

“You’d trade me for one of your kids, though,” she challenged her friend.

“Damn right, I would,” Emory agreed. “And you’d be happy to die for them.”

“Absolutely,” Banks said, knowing the feeling was mutual.

But they worked too hard to make sure it never came to that.

“Another round?” Emory asked, nodded to their empty glasses. Banks waved down the waitress.

About an hour later, they called their husbands. Or attempted to. It was a little difficult to hit the button and even when their respective husbands picked up, there was a lot of giggling and confusion about where exactly they were located.

Over the speaker, Emory could hear Kai tell them they were cut off for the night.

Forty-five minutes and another two rounds later, shadows appeared over their table. The pair looked up, and faced with the amused and yet slightly confused expressions of their husbands, concealed their snorts of laughter with hands over their faces.

“Okay, that’s enough for you,” Kai said, lifting Banks by the arms. He hooked one arm around the back of his neck and guided her forward with his hands on her waist.

“Who said? You?” Banks asked, spinning around to look at him through narrowed eyes. “I don’t take orders from you.”

His gaze slanted at the challenge. “You wanna fight?” She could feel his hands tightening around her waist, but didn’t register what that could mean. Suddenly, she was in the air and over his shoulder.

She braced herself so that she didn’t go down completely, managing to catch sight of Will and Em behind them. Emory had her legs wrapped around Will’s body, arms around his shoulders as she looked at them from his back.

They laughed at her.

“Put me down,” she said as Kai carried her from the bar. Outside, Kai did put her back on her feet, letting her catch her balance. Late as it was, people were still around the streets, and with the fresh air and a clearing head, she suspected that might be why. He almost always went out of his way to let her keep her pride.

Will and Em stepped around them, starting towards the black SUV parked in front of the bar, the Graymor logo on the front door panel in gold. He brought a company car, she thought, because it has a darker tint on the windows.  

Behind her, Kai urged her forward. Before taking another step, she turned around, stepping as close to him as she could.

“If you had the chance to sleep with Rika again, would you?”

His brows fell, faced contorting with bewilderment. Behind her, she heard Will swear and Emory tell him to shut up. “I – what?” Kai asked.

Answer a question with a question wasn’t a good sign. “Would you fuck Rika?” she repeated, slower this time, pausing between each word.

“No,” he said just as slow, the word drawn out.

“What if I wanted to?”

“What the fu-“

“Will, seriously. Shut. Up.”

Banks pushed their two onlookers from her attention, focusing only on her husband. Kai blinked, jaw working. "If you wanted to, I would—" he breathed deeply, somehow uncomfortable and confident at the same time. “Would it make you happy?”

Banks stared at him.

Kai sighed. He dragged his hands up her sides, letting his fingers find the gaps in her clothes to touch her skin, until he reached her neck. His hands seemed to linger there for a moment, before he took her face a tilted it up, as if he could draw her closer.

She licked her lips, hands pressing against his chest. Not pushing him back, but not bringing him in. “Rika’s gorgeous.”

“Sure.”

“And you wanted her.”

“I wanted girls before her, too. You going to track every one of them down and quiz me about them, too? Going to kill every woman I've ever touched?”

“How do you know I haven’t? Have you been checking the obituaries lately?”

“I have, in fact.”

Banks stilled. She was teasing. She didn’t really mean that she was going to hunt down all his old hook-ups. But the seriousness in his tone made her heart stop. Her eyes searched his face, deep green meeting dark brown – darker than Em’s but just as warm. And just as understanding.

Her jealousy suddenly felt very – what did Em call it before? Absurd? “I didn’t know how to –”

“It’s fine. I figured you would tell me when you were ready.”

Her hands fiddled with the fabric of his crisp, white shirt. “How’d you know?”

Kai chuckled, the deep vibrations moving through her hands. He leaned down, using a single finger to move her hair out of the way. First his lips skimmed the edge of her jaw, coming to her ear. She could hear the dark smile in his voice. “Do you think there isn’t anything I don’t know about you, little one?”

She shivered as his breath graze over the sensitive skin, gripping his shirt tighter. Under her fist, she could feel his heart beat. Her other hand snaked around the back of his neck, finding the straight edge of his short hair.

“Get a room!”

“Em,” Will admonished.

She could feel the shift in her husband. Their room was an hour away. The back seat was about eight feet. Banks laughed. He was definitely thinking about it.

She let her lips brush against his once before darting out of his hold just as he tried to go deeper. “Nik,” he warned. First name, very serious.

Ignoring him, Banks grabbed Emory from where she was leaning and pulled her into the back seat. “It’s still girl’s night,” she shouted over Emory’s giggling.

“Girl’s night,” Will echoed from outside the car. “So, what does that mean? I don’t get to sleep with my wife tonight?”

“Nope, she’s all mine!” Banks said, pulling Emory into her arms as she tucked under her chin.

The front doors opened, the SUV shifted as the men settled into the front seat for the ride back to Thunder Bay. The girls in the back fidgeted until they were comfortably holding each other, with Emory resting her cheek on Banks’ shoulder, and Banks resting on the crown of Emory’s head.

Little Emory Grayson, she thought fondly, I love you.

They drove for a little, hitting the freeway just as she started to doze off, only coming back to awareness when she heard her husband’s voice.

“Stop looking at my wife.”

“I can’t help it,” Will whispered. “I’ve never seen Banks look so soft and gentle. She’s so... docile.”

“I can still lay you out flat on your back, Grayson.” She felt Emory shake with laughter under her.

“Only when I go easy on you.”

“Which is never.”

“Em, tell her!” Will whined.

“I don’t know. She is pretty scrappy.”

“Babe,” Will drew out, sounding aghast at the betrayal.

Banks opened her eyes, seeing Will first in the passenger seat. He sat forward, smiling despite the all the teasing. But then, he always smiled, never minding being their punching bag or the butt of the joke, because he knew he wasn’t a joke. His family had taught him that.

Then her eyes moved to her husband, who she could only see in profile. The yellow lights of the freeway bounced off his face, and in those small flashes of light she could see the tips of his smile too. His eyes moved, catching hers in the rearview mirror. In them, she could see everything she needed to know. His certainty of who he was and what he wanted, and that it all pointed to her, and them, and their children.

She nuzzled into Em’s soft hair, closing her eyes again, heart full once again.

--

Thanks so much for reading. I know we've been a little desperate for some Banks content and I felt bad throwing out the idea and then not delivering.

Hope this helps!

-KO

#devil's night series stuff #my fic #nikova banks #emory scott #kaibanks #willemmy #fic title: hollow

[away-ward]

Pursuit

Summary: Will was supposed to pick Emory up from the library for their first date, but a storm killed the power before he got there. And now everyone is missing. And maybe that was his plan all along.

Set in December after the Homecoming dance; Canon-Divergent.

Disclaimer: general OOC-ness as my writing style is different from PD's.

Emory

I shifted, the old plastic chair creaking with the movement. The noises of the library – hushed whispered, footsteps muffled by industrial carpet, book carts with squeaky wheels – fell silent about thirty minutes ago as it got closer to closing time. Those sounds provided comfort - background noise for me to complete my homework. Today, I was too distracting. My eyes drifted to the clock on the wall more often as the night wore on.

Uncontrollably, my eyes darted up again. Still fifteen minutes before Will would be here.

I clicked my pen repeatedly and licked my lips, forcing my eyes to return to the open book. I read the first two lines of text for the eight billionth time, but still -

Would this be our first legitimate date?

I swallowed, my throat feeling like sandpaper and my heart a hammer in my chest. The absurdity of it ran down my spine. It was silly to think that, knowing everything that had happened between us already.

The sweet, honey tones of the head librarian, Mrs. Porter, floated over from the front desk as she waved goodbye to another family. She saw me sitting at my usual round table in the corner, and she smiled and raised her right hand to pat her heart, a sympathetic gesture. My mom used to take me to Mrs. Porter’s Reading Hour when I was a little kid. When my parents died, Mrs. Porter let me sit on the children's beanbags even though I was technically too old. And when Martin was alive –

My breath hitched, stuck in my lungs.

Martin was dead - taken by a storm in the first week of November. There was an emergency call from an anonymous tipper saying a girl about to jump at the cliffs on the other side of the Cove. Everyone thought it was a prank, but just in case, they sent officers out anyway. Martin never came back. His friends and fellow officers were sad when they broke the news. It said it was too windy, they said, and he couldn’t see the edge of the cliff.

They thought I cried because I was sad. Poor little Emory Scott, an orphan in the truest sense. The town honored him the same way they did any public servant, quickly and quietly. There was an announcement in the paper, a small wake, and a donation fund that the townspeople contributed to. People brought flowers and looks of pity. Grand-Mere liked the flowers. They filled our home for a week after, and for once, things looked brighter.

The Ashby’s made an appearance as representatives of the town. The mayor and his wife stayed precisely long enough to say something nice and leave a card. Arion had nothing to say, but Winter seemed genuinely sorry. The Graysons' showed up too, surprisingly. I couldn’t look at Will, even as he stared me down. Not after homecoming or what happened the next day. It hurt too much, and now that Martin was gone, most of my excuses gone with him, I didn’t know what to do with Will.

Not that I had the time to deal with him. At sixteen, I wasn’t old enough to take guardianship of my grandmother, and without Martin’s salary, there was no way I could afford it, even with my college fund and the donations. I was overwrought at thought of losing her, missing a week of school to look through the law books, talk to lawyers - to anyone who would listen - trying to keep them from separating us.

Will found me, as he somehow always managed to. I was dragging my tired body back home from the bus stop when he forced me into his truck and down the road to Sticks where he wouldn’t let me leave until I finished the plate of fries he ordered.

He joked that we had to stop meeting like this, and images of the day in the movie theater overwhelmed me. I choked on my soda. When I tried to glare, he laughed.

Thunder echoed outside the library. I frowned, wondering if this was going to ruin his plans.

Storms. I should hate them, given all they’d taken from me, but I don’t. Outside, the streetlights flickered with the shadows of trees whipping in the slow wind. Over the next few hours, it would grow into a howling squall.

I checked my phone to confirm I hadn’t missed any messages from Will. Whatever he had planned, it wouldn’t be outdoors. Maybe that’s for the best, I thought. Somewhere inside, where it’s dark, and we’re alone. Sounds good, actually. Tonight could be the night he finally stops holding out on me.

A large draft of wind followed by a boom of thunder drew my attention back to the window. Above, the lights flickered before losing power. Then the streetlights blinked out, casting the street in darkness.

While I’m not afraid of storms, I’m not stupid either. Using my cellphone flash, I quickly gathered my stuff into my bag and walked to the reception desk, where I last saw Mrs. Porter. The space was empty, and as I looked around, I realized I didn’t see anyone else around either. My arm hair raised as I listened for something other than the wind. Mrs. Porter knew I was here, and she wouldn’t just leave a patron. Something is keeping her away.

Slowly, I made my way around the microscopic library. There are only two public spaces and a hallway. The front doors open to the reception desk. Going left leads to the Young People’s section, and right to the Adult section. The hallway that branches off the front goes to the bathrooms and to the break room in the back.

Despite the size, there’s an abundance of places to hide. Or to hide someone.

As soon as the thought came, I scoffed. “That is stupid,” I said, solely to hear it out loud.

But is it? It’s not like I don’t know a murderer. It’s not like this town is short of bizarre happenings.

It’s not like I haven’t wondered if Martin’s death was really an accident.

It’s not like I wasn’t planning fucking the man I thought may have done it.

I bit my bottom lip. “Will?” I called out, taking a chance. This is right up his alley. The kind of stupid prank only he’d think of. Nearly identical to what he did at the school.

I smirked, loosening up a bit. “Look, we’ve been here before, you already know I’m not scared,” I lied. Well, partially. There was still a part of me that doubted it was him. “I’m impressed you even got the storm. Is it a paid actor?”

No answer. I wondered if Mrs. Porter was a hostage, and if she could hear me talking to nobody.

Flirting. I was potentially flirting with a murderer while sweet Mrs. Porter was bleeding out somewhere. That would be bad.

Another strong gust forced the front doors to slam open. I gasped, dropping my bag to get to them quicker. I was surprised the power of the wind didn’t break the glass. Even as I tried to use all my strength to push them closed, I was losing that fight inch by inch.

Until someone appeared behind me, taking both doors and managing to muscle them together, giving me a chance to flip the lock in place. Finally able to catch my breath, my face and hair, and entire front soaked with rain, I turned to see who it was because it certainly wasn’t old Mrs. Porter.

The white mask glowed bright in the shadows. Whatever fear I was feeling was immediately expelled in a strong exhale.

He stood close, practically on top of me, all around me. Neither of us said a word as we watched each other. But I wanted –

Mimicking what I did before, I slipped the mask back, revealing his piercing green eyes.

Yeah. That’s what I wanted. To watch him watching me. Nobody looked at me the way he did, even now.

I could have kissed him in the lab at school, but I didn’t. I had my reasons. Now, though, I didn’t want to hold back. He’s been making me work for it, and the role reversal has nearly killed me.

I stood on my toes to reach him, leaving millimeters between our lips so that I could feel the air leaving him. And that’s where I stopped, just a breath away.

“Was this the plan?”

He swallowed. I couldn’t keep the hint of a smile at his suffering off my lips.

“Feels familiar,” I continued. “Was the lock-in just the teaser for the main event?”

His eyes danced, and I knew I was right.

“Do I get to hide this time?”

“You want me to hunt you?”

I pulled the mask back down, lowering myself to the ground. “Close your eyes, count to sixty. And then come and find me. If you can.”

I trust that he’s playing fair as I step away, noting the spots of water that trail after me, which was how I found him at school. I go to the carpeted area in the adult section, trying to map out the space from memory.

The stacks weren’t in rows like most libraries. They were more like a maze, with some rows dead-ended and others turning into the next row, which could only be discovered if you kept going. The shelves created illusions. I didn’t know how Mrs. Porter managed to keep it organized or why she let it go on that way. I chalked it up to just another Thunder Bay peculiarity.

After what felt like forever, I heard movement in the row over. I rolled my lips together to keep the giggle from getting out. I knew he’d come into the stacks. Being the rich boy he was, I doubt he spent as much time in them as me.

Darting around in the dark, I kept just out of his grasp. At some point, I think he was letting me get away so the game went on. When I think I’ve finally got him turned around and confused, I exited the rows of books. My legs shook as I crossed to the Young People's section. They have a loft area there, where the beanbags are. It should take him a while to think of that.

Halfway there, my foot slipped in the water from the rain. It just happened to be when the wind got quiet, and the small squeak from my shoe against the tile was so much louder in the silence. I waited with baited breath to see what he would do.

The noise seemed to reorient him, and suddenly, he shot off through the stacks faster than before. Thinking swiftly, I snatched the container of pens from the counter and threw it toward the bathroom hall before darting the other way.

The stairs to the loft were around the corner, and I climbed the small steps in threes, checking over my shoulder, until I could crawl into the loft area. Gently, I moved into the pile of beanbags, piling them over me so that every bit of me was covered.

Surrounded by darkness, all I had was my hearing to determine if he was coming. I waited, trying to hear him over my heartbeat.

And when he did find me, then what?

My breath came out slow. It'd been two months since homecoming. Two months wasn’t that long of a time. It still felt like forever for me. Everything had changed, just not Will.

But, then, hadn’t he changed? The night Will took me out to dinner, he asked how things were going since Martin died. I looked at him, remembering the day in the hall when he asked me about the bruises.

I thought of Damon Torrance and what he knew.

Then, of the two of them that night in the wrestling room.

A cold sweat broke along my neck as I straightened, pushing away the food he bought for me.

I remembered what Damon said as we walked to his car from the cemetery. He offered to “take care” of Martin for me. I never took him up on that; I never intended to.

Would he have made the same offer to Will?

Will’s green eyes watched me closely, waiting. He never seemed perceptive before, but there was no other word for the way his gaze pinned me in place.

I drew in a deep breath, suddenly feeling sick.

Will’s fondness for the Cove, for Cold Point, for mysteries, and his story of Reverie Cross all came flooding back. Suddenly, what happened with Martin was all too familiar.

But Will wouldn’t…

Would he?

I told him to take me home, and with a smile, he did.

He didn’t disappear. He was there the morning, parking his truck in my driveway. There was no stopping him from coming in the front door with a take-away breakfast for me and a cup holder with enough coffee for everyone, including the nurse attending to my grandmother. He also brought hot water in case Grand-Mere preferred tea.

He sat in her room and talked to her while I finished getting ready. I could still hear her charmed laugh from something he said. I hadn’t heard that sound in so long I nearly cried.

I divulged him about what was going on with Grand-Mere on the way to school. I didn’t want to go, but he reminded me I’d lose my scholarship if I didn’t keep my grades up. I sat in the passenger seat, hugging my back full of applications and petitions, and whispered my fears out the window, refusing to let a single tear drop. It felt good to admit it - to share the burden with someone.

A week later, a lawyer arrived with a check. A private benefactor was offering to pay for my grandmother’s care for the rest of her life in Thunder Bay, including a round-the-clock nurse if I needed it. Between that, and letters of character from my school and the town mayor, the judge agreed to let us stay in our home as long as we agree to a quarterly child service inspection until I turned eighteen.

I’d never felt so free as the day I left the courthouse.

The evidence pointed to Will’s involvement, but I never asked. Asking would make it real. Making it real would make me indebted to him. He wasn’t offering any information either. For two months, he didn’t push me. The most he’d done was sneak into my room through the window, even though he could use the front door now.

Some nights, he would just lay with me. Sometimes he waited until I reached for him, pulling him closer. As much as I pushed for more, he held back, always leaving me wanting more and frustrated at his resistance. Hours felt like they could stretch for all eternity when I was with him, but his patience never wore out.

I didn’t know what he wanted from me until he formally asked me out. He made sure I knew it was a date in the full sense of the word. He’d pick me up at an arranged time, we’d go to a pre-determined destination, and then after that, he’d take me home. There might even be a kiss on the porch at the end of the date “if I’m lucky.”

I gave him my middle finger, which he thought was hilarious.

I barely had the mind to agree to the date, I was so shocked. There was no denying I was better. I’d rejoined the swim team and band. I mostly hung out with Elle at school, but occasionally, we met up for coffee on the weekend. My projects around town were on track, and I got approved to start a new one on the bell tower the following week.

I might even have a boyfriend. Or something. Will doesn’t seem like the boyfriend type, though he’s still here, isn’t he? I can’t argue that it’s all for a chance to get into my pants anymore; I gave that to him two months ago and have more than offered several times since. What did I have to do to get him to take the bait? Strip off my clothes and dance around my room?

Something seized my ankle, dragging me from my spot as I screamed and fought to crawl away. Flipping over, I scrambled to get to my knees, but he came down on me before I got any leverage. I could feel his heart through my back as we breathed at different paces.

I laughed to myself.

Despite his superior size, I still struggled. I’d never stop fighting; I’d been too easy on him recently.

I bucked, trying to throw him off, but I just pushed into him more. His hand came around my throat, and he pulled me up, arching my back. His knees were on either side of my legs, my back against his chest. We panted with energy and anticipation. His hand drifted down, ghosting over my heavy chest, down to my waist, fingers dancing along the hem of my shirt. They brushed against the heated skin of my stomach. My breath shuddered.

Maybe my heart should be guilty over what I was doing. Haunted by Martin’s ghost, disturbed that Will was the one I wanted. It was sick, the things I wanted from him, to do to him. The fact that I just didn’t care.

Will’s not good for me.

But if it’s all true, then I wasn’t good for him either.

“Don’t worry,” he whispered against my ear. I could tell he’d already removed his mask by the way his lips brushed against the sensitive skin there. “Maybe you’ll win next time. After I have my reward.”

--

Last one left in my drafts, based on the idea that a game of hide-and-seek in the library is Will's ideal first date, though I wasn't able to find where PD said that.

Anyway. I struggled with it for a while because as I was writing, I couldn't figure out away to make it different than what had happened in the school during lock-in. And then also how to make it a first date? I could have gone completely AU, but ultimately decided on canon-divergence.

This will probably be the last one I write for a while.

As always, thank you for your time, any comments you leave, or liking. I appreciate everything you do.

-KO

#devil's night series stuff #my fic #willemmy #library date #response to prev ask #asked and answered 166

[away-ward]

Everyone else has cute, domestic au ideas. All I every think of is stuff like high school willemmy where during basketball practice, Will is told that Emory was rushed to the ER because she fell off the roof of the gazebo and he drops everything to get down there. And then the horsemen have to practically tear down walls to find her because they're not "family" meanwhile it's just a sprained ankle and Emmy's fine.

Banks doesn't miss the opportunity to tell them they should have Emmy's head checked because she's still in love with that dunce.

#ko's dns tag #willemmy #fic au

[away-ward]

Relief

Summary: After a nightmare, Emory finds relief in her safe haven. based on a prompt list a friend sent me: physical touch to feel safe.

Emory

Sunlight streams in through the round bay window in the living room, but it doesn’t warm my skin. I know, without reason to, that it is a summer and I am alone. Grand-mere is already gone, and the chill of the home, empty of her, sinks into my bones. 

I look around the house that I grew up in. Everything is exactly the same as it was before. All the furniture is arranged just how Martin likes it. Perfect, not a pillow out of place or a speck of dust on the mantle. 

I shouldn't be here.

Despite the heavy feeling settling in my stomach, I approach the stairs as I always do, placing my hand on the railing worn smooth through three generations of my family, listening for the familiar creaks in the floor boards.

At the top of the stairs is my brother's room. The door is cracked open, but it's too dark to see inside. I ignore it, rounding the banister toward my room, even though I know Martin turned into something else, a gym or an office. I never learned what exactly. 

Wait. Martin always keeps his door closed.

I inch back around, peering into the deep shadows beyond the door. My gut churns, my instincts trying to tell me something I can't understand. Inside, there's a thump – the sound of boots hitting the floor.

It's him. 

I rear back, stumbling and grabbing for something - anything - to keep upright. I need to go.

I shouldn’t be here.

I don’t want to be here.

Through the panic, I hear a woman's voice calls out. “Emory?" 

“Alex?” I answer, confused. Turning around and scanning the hall, I see a light at the end, in my grandma's room. Why is she here? She shouldn’t be here.

The floor above me creaks, footsteps moving around the attic, along with muffled voices. Who's up there? There shouldn't be anyone up there; all that's there is my family's old furniture and clothes.

Behind me, more thumps, heavy and familiar; a warning. Martin never did creep. He liked me to know when he was coming. Alex calls my name again from down the hall, followed by feminine laughter. Rika and Banks and Winter are with her.

My vision slows and the world tilts. 

He shot Alex. I remember it. The blood, her pale face, the rage of everyone.

How I couldn't stop it.

He has his gun now. The knowledge of this is inescapable.

So is the knowledge that he’s going to kill all of them and leave me alone again. It’ll be all my fault because I didn’t stop him when I should have.

I charge towards the door with the light, ready to physically drag each one out of the room to safety. I pass my room and stop. A much larger body stands by the window, lighting a candle. It's fire glows warm against the inky black night behind the glass.

When did it get dark?

Will. He sets the candle gently on the sill.

He shouldn’t be here, either. I rush in to grab him, my fingers hooking around the back of his white shirt like claws, bunching the stiff material.

“Will. We have to go. Go downstairs.”

Will turns around and smiles. And his smile is everything. It’s bright neon lights and ocean spray and that feeling of reaching the crest of a roller coaster right before it plummets to the bottom and it’s the feeling of free falling, stomach in your throat before the track swoops up again.

“Em,” he says, cupping face with both hands. His thumbs brush across my cheekbones, and he tilts his head, still smiling. "My little Emmy."

“Will,” I mumble. Inexplicably, I feel less anxious. Why was I so nervous before? Will is here. Everything is going to be okay.

But we’re being hunted. I hear the thumps of his boots coming down the hall.

I open my mouth to alert Will, to tell him about the girls and the voices upstairs, who I now know are the Horsemen. They're in danger too. Before I can say anything, the footsteps stop.

We’ve been caught. I turn out of Will's hold to face the hunter.

Martin stands in the doorway in his black police uniform, gun in hand. He looks exactly as he did when I was a kid, still young. I shake my head, silently asking him to go away, to save us this pain.

He raises the gun. I shuffle to cover as much of Will as I can, pulling him behind me as Martin pulls the trigger. There’s a boom, but not a crack, as the bullet leaves the barrel.

It hits me. I know it rips my stomach and back, but I’m not hurt. I feel nothing. I don't even bleed in spite of the gapping hole.

Will’s hurt.

Will’s white shirt turns red, expanding and darkening as his knees bend and give out and he falls forward into my arms and the floor creaks as Martin moves on and Will's eyes are so green as they widen and–

My eyes slam open, lungs sucking in a sharp breath as if I hadn't been breathing before. All I see are shadows. Slowly, the room starts to take shape. The nightstand on Will's side, the art on the wall, and the doors that leads to the master en suite. My rapid heartbeat carries on as I convince myself the danger isn’t real.

I hadn’t had a nightmare the entire time we stayed at the old Victorian before giving the keys to Micah and Rory, so why now? In fact, I hardly ever thought of Martin. When I did, it wasn’t with fear. I felt sorry for him and what we lost because of his sickness. Seeing Will with his family - both of them - brought to light the potential Martin and I could have had if things had been different. 

Will breathes deeply, still asleep. One of my hands rests on his chest, near his neck. I move across the cool sheets, tucking into his side, throwing an arm over his torso, and entangled my legs with his. He shifts, wrapping an arm tight around me. Every night, I fall asleep on my side, with him curled around me, but wake up every day wrapped around him just like this. I don’t think he minds, since kissing every inch of my body he can reach is his preferred method of waking up.

He jokes about breakfast being the most important meal of the day. Stupid. God, I love him.

I can’t get the image of his dark, bloody shirt out of my head. But he’s warm and solid under me, breathing evenly, happy in his dreams. I move my head to his chest and listen to his strong heartbeat.

I need more. 

Pressing my lips against his skin, centering on one of the tattoos on his pec, I let the warmth seep in. 

It’s not enough.

I open my mouth and rake my teeth down, nipping at the end and then licking the area.

He moans, shifting around me. Waking up. I hold my breath in anticipation. His throat move as he releases a low moan, and his hands, relaxed before, now grip my hips firmly and move me up over him, setting me down right where he likes me.

“Mmm,” he rumbles, his voice dry and raspy and deep from sleep, “this is usually my job.”

I lean down to labor over his abs, working my way up. I smile at the way his stomach quakes beneath me. “Take the morning off.”

He chuckles and gives me free rein of his body, letting me go wherever I please. Eventually, the images from my nightmare fade. The warmth of his skin, his touch, his sounds, they calm me. When I'm done, I curl up, still wrapped around him as he holds me close. I can close my eyes, feeling peaceful and content.

He’s safe. We’re safe.

--

I've been sitting on this for a few months. I really wanted to experiment with dreams and how they make sense when we're in them, even if they don't make sense at all? Not sure if I nailed it. I was also so focused on that aspect that I wasn't sure if I brought enough of Em's voice in. I'm sure I could have taken this in a different direction and captured her more. Anyway, because of these reasons, I hesitated on posting. But it's been in the drafts and it hasn't gotten any better, so I think it's time to post regardless of my doubts. Let me know what you all think. As always, I appreciate you're time. Thank you so much. Hope you're having a great week so far. With love!

Master List

#devil's night series stuff #emory scott #will grayson iii #willemmy #my fic #devil's night series

[away-ward]

Make No Apologies, pt 4

Finally got the chance to finish this little bit. It's not a true epilogue or anything. More like a moment that would be set a few months later.

<<<Part 3

Master list

Will

After

“It’s perfect,” Em whispers. 

I lean against the doorframe of our en suite, moving slowly so I don’t draw attention, while she ogles whatever is displayed on her laptop, answering whoever’s on the phone. From our bed. As we near midnight. In her cute little flannel pajamas. She’s dressed for the winter chill in a matching set, refusing to give up the comfort of warmth for something sexier. Doesn’t matter; she’s could still get any red-blooded male she wanted while wearing burlap sack. 

But instead of paying attention to the man watching her, she remains captivated by the screen. And the person on the other line.  

I’m torn. I love that my wife gets excited about things I wouldn’t understand. Seeing her eyes light up and dance at things like Georgian Terraces or exposed ironwork or whatever gives me a high that I can’t get from anything else. That I could see ideas form in her head as she looked at something otherwise unremarkable, and that she had the skill to take whatever was in her head and create it in the real world - I live and breathe that shit. 

There are a few things Em does that I hate. Like when she climbs on a ladder without asking someone to hold it or spends too long focusing on a project, and her eyes get bloodshot from lack of sleep.  

I was trying to pay Damon’s people to keep an eye on her before Damon found out and put a stop to it. Which I think is ridiculous because if Winter was out there climbing twenty-four-foot ladders, you can bet he’d have her in a harness and a minimum of five people holding that thing. But God forbid I try to tip someone a little extra to make sure my girl doesn’t lean too far off the side of a building and I’m “babying her.” 

Whatever. I know there’ll always be a part of Em that’ll try to do things on her own, and push beyond her limits. As much as I urge her to ask for help, she always seems to double-down, as if challenging me. At one point in my life, her letting me help in any way was too much to hope for. 

I just want to do so much for her, to show her I’m more than the boy she knew in high school or the addict that broke into her apartment. Just the idea of being the person who can make her smile, much less support her, is enough to get me out of bed every morning. 

Em gives me everything I could ever need, but she always makes me work for it. 

But now she’s smiling into the phone, at the someone talking in her ear. I knew she had a life in San Francisco that she left behind to come back here. Returning to Thunder Bay, working with Damon – those things were never in her plans, but she did that for me.  

It wasn’t like I demanded that she drop everything to come back here. I would have given her the time to transition. But she did it without hesitation, no questions or doubt about what she wanted. Just uprooted her life because where she wanted to be was with me.

For months, we’ve lived in a dream, almost seamlessly laying down the foundations of our lives together as if we never skipped a beat – or ten years. She doesn’t keep anything from me. It’s been fascinating to watch her change from a girl wrapped up in secrets and anger to a woman who lays her entire life bare, so open and beautiful.  

I didn’t think it would bother me this much, her keeping some things to herself. I respect her privacy, but a week of catching her whispering on the phone and ending conversations when I get too close and closing her laptop as soon as I come into the room. If I linger in the shadows long enough, I think I can hear a man’s voice on the other end - all of it has left me in a mood.   

Her eyes shine at the screen, but I know if I ask to see, she’d pull it away. I bet the person on the phone knows what she’s looking at. They know what’s making her smile like that. 

I recognize this feeling. Secrets. Jealousy. Things I thought we’d left behind. 

I clear my throat, and her eyes shoot up, startled behind her glasses. “I’ve got to go,” she says to the person on the phone, abruptly cutting them off as she hangs up. She closes the laptop and puts it on her bedside table before removing her glasses and putting them down next.   

“Who was that?” I ask, pulling back the covers as she turns off the lamp and shimmies down on her side. 

My stiff movements as I slip into bed next to her must give me away. She turns to watch me, her brown eyes infinitely bigger without the barrier. “Nobody,” she says slowly, “just someone from the firm that needed consulting.” 

Consulting? “Same nobody you’ve been talking to all week?” I try to keep my tone neutral, simply curious, but even I can hear the annoyance seeping in.   

She reaches out, putting her soft hand on my cheek, rubbing some of the stubble that’s grown in. It’s not usual that she’s the one soothing me out of a rotten mood. Sometimes, I think it’s the only thing I can do for her. Em’s so capable, she doesn’t even really need me. She survived on her own long before me, and she could do it again. I’d been the one to fall apart if she ever found a reason to leave. 

But Em wouldn’t do that. She wouldn’t cross any lines. Not after everything we’ve been through. Her thumb rubs the line of my cheek bone, eyes dancing around my face. I see the love she has for me shifting through her expressions.  

She sighs, tightening her lips. “It’s just business,” she says. Taking her hand away, she lifts sheets and pulls them up to her chin, curling on her to side facing me and closing her eyes. 

We usually fall asleep talking. This time she’s not waiting for me to get comfortable.  

I can’t. I can’t force myself to turn off the light or lay down. I just look at her resting peacefully, hair wrapped in a bun on top of her head, eyelashes resting against warm cheeks. Her shoulders lightly rise and fall with each breath, and I know sometime in the middle of the night, she’ll crawl over here and warp herself around me. 

My heart bursts in my chest.  

“You’re not...regretting your decision to leave right?”  

“Leave where?” she mutters, as if already half asleep. 

“San Francisco.” 

“Hmm?” 

I lean over her. 

“Who’s the guy?” I whisper, feeling stupid as each word leaves my mouth. 

She doesn’t react immediately, and I think maybe she’s asleep. Just as I’m about to give up and let it go, her brow furrows, creasing sharply in the middle. Her eyelids flutter open as she sits up, piercing me with a dark look. 

“What?” she snaps.  

“The nobody that needs consulting,” I answer. “Is it someone I know?” I only know three of her former male associates and one of them nearly got a restraining order against me. Thankfully Em was able to talk him out of it, though I’m sure my friends leveraged that decision as well. 

“Are you serious right now?”  

“I’m not accusing you of anything,” I retort. 

Em scoffs, rolling her eyes. “Except you are, or you wouldn’t bring it up right now.” She motions to the bed where we sleep; where we have some of our most intimate moments and conversations.  

“Can you blame me?” The dam of emotion I’d been holding back finally breaks. With too much energy buzzing through my body, I throw back the sheets and stand. “You’re having secret chats all day every day”- she rolls her eyes again, and yeah that’s hyperbolic as hell, but fuck me - “even in our bed, and you won’t tell me anything. What am I supposed to think, Em?” 

She turns on the light so we can see each other clearly. “You want to know what I’m doing? Fine,” she says. She grabs her computer, pulling it on her lap and jabbing at the keys. I stand above her, arms crossed, aware I’ve made a huge mistake before she even says anything. 

And here’s another stupid thought that burns a way through my brain: she looks so hot angry. In all our post-marital bliss, I’d nearly forgotten what her rage looked like. How it felt when she breathed fire. 

“Here, look.” She turns the screen toward me. 

God, I feel dumb. Mentally, I berate myself. “I don’t know what I’m looking at.” 

At the center of the screen is an image of a square with three colors – mainly white, with a bright red side and lines of black across the bottom. 

“It’s a painting,” she answers as I study the screen. “There was an artist my old firm bought from a lot, and he did this series of abstract pieces. This one always said ‘Will’ to me.” Em chuckles, “I’d go to his gallery just to see it, even though I told myself that wasn’t the reason. I just really liked all his pieces,” she says sarcastically and shakes her head.  

I look at her, waiting for more. 

“Then one day it was gone. Someone had bought it. I went home thinking it was no big deal, but I knew that painting was meant to be yours” She glances up, eyes sparking with convection, before looking back down. “The person I’ve been talking to is the artist. He heard me out and put me in contact with the owner. It took some convincing and help from the artist, but he agreed to sell. He's sending it back to the gallery where they’re going to build a custom frame for it and then ship it to us. I was making arrangements to have it delivered next week.” She lifts her judgmental stare to me again, “It was supposed to be a surprise for you, but you can't stop yourself, can you?” 

I look at the image with a new understanding. Seeing it as a painting, the different lines and texture started to make sense. It’s easy to see why she thought of me. The colors that make up the composition, white being the taking up most of the canvas, with a bold streak of red down the left side, and a few swipes of black around the bottom. It is jarring similar to my mask, and I loved the idea of hanging this somewhere people could see it. 

Like an ode to my other half. A way to bring the two parts of myself together, right under people’s noses. 

She knows me so well. 

“This is amazing, Em.” 

“Well, it would have been an even better surprise,” she says. And then she smiles, forgiving me as she always does.  

I close the laptop and put it down on my side, before turning off the light and crawling back into bed. I lay down facing her as she slips under the covers again. Our eyes adjust to the darkness in silence, but once I’m able to see her features, and see that she’s looking at me too, I groan. “I’m sorry, Em-”  

Her hand comes the rest over mine, gripping it. “I get it. I wouldn’t like you talking to some mystery woman either. Besides,” she chuckles, “I kind of like that you still get jealous over me.” 

I lean over, kissing her deeply. Without disconnecting our mouths, she moves back, lying flat on her pillow, inviting me to I crawl over her body. She opens for me, hands moving up my sides and over my shoulders as I find my way under her thick pajamas. 

In the middle, as I settle into her familiar frame, she laughs as though I’ve tickled her. “What?” I ask, continuing to lay kisses across her cheeks and going lower.  

“Seymour,” she says softly. 

My body jolts and freezes. I look up at her from my position near her belly. "What did you just say?” 

“The artist,” Em continues, rolling her lips to keep the laughter inside, “that’s his name. That’s the name of the person you thought I’d leave you for.” 

I rise, hovering over her and glaring. The additional knowledge doesn’t help what’s happening in my head. Why is she laughing? 

“Mm,” she moans, teasing out the syllables, “Seymour.” 

I cover her mouth, cutting off her giggles. “Don’t you ever say another man’s name in my bed again.” 

Not the least bit threatened, her body shakes uncontrollably beneath me.  

The way I see it, I have two options. I can roll back over a pout, or I can make sure she knows whose bed she warms at night. 

Thank you for taking the time to read, like, or comment. I really appreciate it. And a special thank you to those who waited patiently while I took the extra time to work this out. I also apologize for any mistakes or typos.

#devil's night series stuff #devil's night series #willemmy #will grayson iii #emory scott #my fic #au #request #multiple chatpers

[away-ward]

Make No Apologies, part 3

<Part 2 | Part 4 >>>

Master List

Emory

Present

Was I excited to be told I was explicitly requested on a project? Yes. And no. It’s not the first time it’s happened, but it’s always a compliment.   

The excitement turned to stone-cold fear when I learned of the location. Thunder Bay was the last place I wanted to be. Nothing good happened to me here. And walking into the conference room proved it.   

If I could get out of it, I would have. Short of dying or quitting, there was nothing I could do to get out of working on the project. That told me everything I needed to know about who made the request. Only so many names out of Thunder Bay could hold that much sway in California.  

“So, this is home?” Elise asked as we packed up our stuff at the end of the day. We had completed the designs for the new gazebo and sent it over for them to approve in the morning.  

“This is home,” I confirmed, shouldering my leather laptop bag.   

Byron came around my side. “Has it changed much?”    

“I don’t know. I haven’t been outside yet.” We arrived and came here directly from the airport in Meridian. I couldn’t look at anything as we drove in, too on edge to see what had changed.   

And what hadn’t.  

We trailed behind Brett and Elliot to the SUV that was provided. We were all staying at a hotel in the area – one of the Torrance’s, no doubt. That made me nervous, like living in a pit of snakes. But I’d rather be there than at the house. 

“Where’s the best place to get a bite around here?” Byron asked.   

I laughed. “Sticks.”  

Elise made a face, joking that it sounded like a dive bar. “Close,” I answered. I didn’t want to tell them I hardly ever went there or about my life before San Fran. My experiences wouldn’t match up with what they were expecting to hear about small-town life.   

They continued to ask about the area, wanting to explore it and get a feel for the real Thunder Bay, their home for the next month or so. I held firm in my resolve to stay in my hotel room. No chance was I leaving the security of four solid walls and a door between me and them.  

I wasn’t dumb enough to believe this was about ‘honoring the town’ and ‘staying true to Thunder Bay.’ This was Will’s doing. His threat hung over my head for years, and he was finally cashing it in.  

He looked good. I hated him for that. He always had one of those faces. Nice. Attractive. The years of drugs, booze, and girls did nothing to detract from that, damn him. He looked healthy, actually. And the muscles...even beneath the suit jacket, I could see the outline of round biceps and pecs. He didn’t play sports any longer, as far as I knew. Unless the occasional round of pool or a pick-up basketball game counted as a sport.   

That’s just what good genetics get you. Good genetics, and a whole bunch of daddy's money.

/-/-/

At the hotel, we dived up the room keys. Elise and I would share a double, Byron got a single, and Brett and Elliot shared the penthouse suite with two separate bedrooms. The suite would be our temporary headquarters when we weren’t working at Damon’s firm.  

Damon’s firm. Ugh. When did that happen? He never once showed an ounce of interest in design and construction, but suddenly, he became a big name in the field. I have nearly a decade of work behind me, but he gets to start his own firm within a few years of getting out of prison. Okkkaaay. 

Not that I'm jealous. Not at all. I just want to tear the whole thing to the ground and get the hell out of Dodge. Maybe then they'd get the message to leave me alone.  

Elise and I settled in our room. I deposited my luggage on the bed farthest from the door, leaving her one closest to the bathroom. She spent more time in there, anyway.   

“You sure you don’t want to come out,” she asked, freshening her makeup in the mirror in the room as I unpacked my suitcase. She’d already changed out of her professional clothes. I was planning to get straight into my pajamas.   

“No, you guys go.”  

She gave me a sad but understanding smile. The same one she always gave me when I didn’t join them back home. What can I say, I’m still not big on joining. 

Once she left, I changed, pulling on my cotton shorts and matching long-sleeve top. October wasn’t cold, exactly, but it could get chilly out. Setting up at the desk in the room, I pulled up my laptop and continued working on some of the other projects I had started before being dragged away.   

I was in the middle of a design when my phone screen lit up with a message. I swallowed. There, like, three people it could be, and none of them I wanted to talk to. When I finally convinced myself to pick up the phone and check the message, I saw it was from a blocked number.   

I relaxed. Only one person called me from a blocked number. My eyes scanned the empty room before opening the text message.   

‘I want you’  

My breath came out heavy through my nose, and I ground my teeth together. Images of lying with my back on the carpet floor in his office, his pants pulled down just enough, and a week of rug rash for ten minutes of pleasure flashed through my head.   

I put an end to that. Leaving San Francisco didn’t change anything.   

Putting the phone back down without answering, I tried returning to work. The screen lit up again, and again I exhaled, glaring at the device.   

‘It’s going to be a long four weeks'  

‘Stop.’ I shot back.  

The phone rang. When I didn’t answer, Brett left a message. Against my better judgment, I pressed play.  

A heavy breath. “Ems," he cooed, and I grimaced at the nickname.  

We were once comfortable, Brett and me. It was fun. Our arrangement was easy. He was separated from his wife; I wanted no strings. But then he returned to her, and it no longer made sense.   

He only pulled this shit on trips now, as rare as they were. And was never because he wanted me, really. He wanted quick and easy, and at least with me, there were no expectations.  

Brett called again. Rolling my lips, fighting with myself, I answer, pressing the phone to my ear. I allow my silence to ring loudly over the line.  

“I’m sorry,” he said first, and I almost fell for it. “But four whole weeks, Em. I’m already going crazy over here.”  

“Call your wife,” I told him.   

“Don’t be like this.”  

“Like what, a decent human?”  

“I said I was sorry, okay.”  

I shook my head. That didn’t make it better because he was still asking. And even if I wanted to, I couldn’t. Something about being in Thunder Bay made that one betrayal too far.   

“Let me see you,” Brett continued. “Meet me in the restaurant downstairs. We’ll have dinner and put it on the firm’s card. No strings.”  

I didn’t even need to think about it. “No,” I said, hanging up. I put the phone face down and returned to the laptop, but my motivation had disappeared. 

Closing it, I pushed away from the desk. The window was closed so that I couldn’t see the lights of the town. It had only been two hours since Elise left, so I didn’t expect her any time soon. I hoped Thunder Bay was treating her well. Better than it had ever treated me, at least.  

Laying across the bed, I flipped through the TV channels, looking for anything to fill the silence. There was always a movie I could pass the time with. Finding something, I stretched out and got comfortable, realizing this would be my life for the next few weeks, and I might as well get used to it. 

I zoned into the movie, finally relaxing by putting Brett and everyone else out of my head. It was perfect until a knock at the door during an intense action scene had me jumping in my spot. Grabbing the remote, I muted the TV and waited. It could be anyone – Elise, having forgotten her card. That would be the best case. Actually, the best case would be if someone had the wrong room. 

Brett would be the most logical option. I hadn’t looked at my phone since putting it down. He probably came to see if he could persuade me in person.  

Another knock. Three slow, intentional raps against the wood. I slid silently from the bed and approached, standing on my toes to see through the peephole. All I got was black. Whoever they were, they were smart enough to hold their finger over the viewfinder.  

The possibilities were dwindling, as were my options. I knew I should keep the door closed and hope he went away. 

“Emory.” My guts twisted at the sound of his voice, and my breath froze in my lungs. He hadn’t said anything during the meeting or after. The hold that just one word had over me was insane.  

I pulled open the door, a shot of heat flooding my body at the sight of Will. He leaned forward, one arm braced on the door frame above his head. The suit jacket he wore earlier was gone, leaving him in black slacks and a white shirt, unbuttoned at the neck and the sleeves rolled. In the light of the hall, I was able to see the tattoos that spanned across the slight opening and disappeared on both sides of his collarbone. On his arms, too, were a collection of images and words that I couldn't decipher at the moment.

“Expecting someone else?”  

I held out a hand out a hand to stop him. “Will. You shouldn’t be here.”  

He moved off the frame, stepping into the room. “Byron or Brett, maybe? Both?” I backed away as he shut the door, closing us inside. “Be honest with me; how many have there been over the years.”  

A part of me was thankful he came in angry and aggressive. Will being mean was something I could handle. It was when he was nice that I stumbled.  

“Why,” I taunted, “you want to swap stats?”  

One dark eyebrow lifted, he drifted forward with a calm ease. “Be honest for once in your life, and I might be a little forgiving.”  

“You can’t be serious,” I scoffed.  

“Oh, baby, you have no idea.”  

“While we’re on the topic of body counts, how’s Heidi? Bet she's just loving the life of a trophy wife.”  

He followed me in the limited space until I’d been backed up to the bed I claimed as mine. I refused to sit, to let him tower over me even more. So even as he got close enough that my chest brushed the front of his shirt, I didn’t lower.  

Satisfaction sparked in his green eyes. “Oh, she’s good. She takes real good care of me. But I’m tired of blonde.” He took a lock of my hair, rubbing it between his fingers and thumb. “Answer me, Emory.”  

My stomach dropped. “Is this all you are? After all this time.” I couldn’t believe it. He’s out of prison. He’s got a job. His life is back on track. Why had he waited all this time? “Please tell me there’s more to you than this.”  

“I told you. You’re going to pay back what you owe.”  

I kept my glare trained on him, even as I felt his hand brush my shoulder and the skin of my neck. He stopped at my nape. I looked into his eyes, and for half a second, I let myself believe he’d let me go. Then his eyes hardened, fist tightened, and he hauled me forward until I could feel his breath against my lips. Growling, he pushed us back. We both fell on the bed, me under him; his knees braced my thighs.  

“How many others have had you like this?” He breathed on my neck. “You always had so many excuses, but only for me, huh? Not for anyone else.”  

He still didn’t understand how hard it was. “Will, get off!” I shoved at him. It made no difference. His lips connected to my jaw as he moved over me, and I had to bite back a moan at the fire that lit in my veins.  

With one hand still around my neck, he moved around my face to my mouth, taking my bottom lip between his teeth; his other hand went to my hip and pulled at my cotton shorts. “You told me your ass was up for grabs, remember? So what’s the problem now? Still ashamed of me all these years later?”  

No. Not of you.  

“I did everything," he growled. I gasped as his hand got to my bare ass, grabbing it tight as he moved my body to his liking. “I left you alone. I partied my heart and brain out. I got clean. I’m big and powerful, just like you said I’d be. We did everything your way for ten years. Tell me why I can't have my turn.”  

“Will, I-” My breath hitched.  

He stopped, staring down at me, lips tightened and brow drawn. I could see the anger on the surface and underneath that, all the pain. As if disconnected from the rest of my body, I watched my hand lift toward his cheek. As if my touch could soothe away that pain.   

I can’t solve his problem. I am his problem. We're each other's problem. 

I pulled back before my palm could touch him.

“Afraid to face the mess you created?”  

Yes.  

He pushed himself off, and it felt like I was floating without his weight pressing into me. Stupidly, I missed the warmth of his body.   

After catching my breath, I pulled myself up to meet Will’s glare.   

“Here’s how it’s going to go,” he said. “You’re going to pack your bags and leave with me.”  

I snorted, ready to tell him he could get fucked, but he continued.  

“And for the next four weeks, you will do everything I wanted. Do you remember?”  

Everything he wanted? I forced a lump down my throat. Of course, I remembered. “Everything?” I asked. Some things just weren’t going to work according to his plans. Can't have a baby in four weeks. 

“Four weeks won't make up for the nearly three years I lost, but it’s a good start.”  

I didn’t move. He couldn’t be serious. What was the idea? We’d play house for a while, and all would be better? We couldn’t fix this. We’d only make it worse and possibly burn down the town while we’re at it. 

One look at him told me he was deadly serious, leaving me with no doubt that he wasn't leaving here without me.

I gritted my teeth. It didn't matter that there was enough blame to go around. If one of us was going to burn, it would be me. 

But jokes on him. I would making no apologies.

/-/-/

Note: So I know this probably isn't what was expected. I tried to mess with Will's motivation a bit to make it less about what Emory did and more about what he was "owed" [Insert Eye Roll], but also keep it true to their reuniting.

There was originally a fourth part that was much lighter and more cute but still featured a jealous Will, set after the four weeks when they'd finally gotten together, but it was giving more even more difficulty. I figured I'd rather get this up and work on that when I'm up for it than keep holding off. Who knows if that part will ever get done.

As always, I appreciate all those who took the time to read, and am looking forward to any thoughts and opinions you feel like sharing. If you noticed any mistakes or typos, feel free to mention.

Thank you!  

Edit:

Part 4

#devil's night series stuff #emory scott #will grayson iii #willemmy #my fic #au #requested #multiple chatpers #devil's night series

[away-ward]

Outside the Lines

Summary: Will commits his first of many felonies for Emory Scott, and she doesn't even know it. But it's fine. Because at least she'll still be around tomorrow.

Setting: pre-canon; Will is in 10th, Emory in 9th. Shortly after the first Devil's Night referenced in Corrupt.

Requested. Got a little out of control and sidetracked, but hopefully it works.

Thank you for reading.

Will

“You’re planning something for the charity case, aren’t you?” Callum Claythorne said, blowing hot breath on the back of my neck.

I moved away, put off by how close he was behind me but didn’t let it show. He laughed under his breath, gaze focused across the room. The sound made my stomach drop for all the wrong reasons.

“Way ahead of you. Just watch.”

I could chill with anyone. Callum hung around often, somewhat popular and didn’t seem to have a problem pulling any girl he wanted. Black hair, kind of watery blue eyes. I didn’t feel anything about him one way or another. Damon, however, had strong opinions. He called Callum Asslicker because of the way he fawned over Michael, and I used to laugh because he had a butt-chin and a habit for licking his lips. But ever since Devil’s Night a few weeks ago, Callum’s obsession over us had gotten worse. It was kind of creeping me out.

He jutted his narrow chin towards the table in the corner. Maybe leaning in the doorway, staring at the table’s single occupant wasn’t the most covert move.

But then, I wasn’t trying to be covert. I wanted her to know I was looking. Wanted her to feel my attention from across the room, like I felt her whenever she entered the building.

 She felt it, didn’t she?

 Most trips and dances are included in our tuition, but the extracurriculars like the winter ski trip cost something. Student volunteers took shifts collecting payments during lunch and after school, and I knew Emory Scott would be one of those volunteers as part of her work-study program. I stopped by the office to check the schedule to be sure she was the one working when I got my ticket, if only because it meant she couldn’t avoid me.

She’d gotten good at pretending I didn’t exist.

Emmy’s schedule included first lunch shift and a half-hour after school. I waited all week so that the rush would die down as the other students got theirs, giving me more time with her. But as her shift neared its end, so did my window of opportunity. After this, my only possibility was the afterschool shift, but I had practice at the same time.

Vera Armstrong approached to take over for her and I fidgeted by the door, too aware of Callum watching me watch her.

His low voice came from behind. “I’ve seen the way she treats you.”

She’s tough. I gave her everything I had, and she gave me back nothing but vitriol. But God, if I didn’t love that fire that flares up whenever I came close. She didn’t do that for anyone else. If the opposite of love is indifference...and love and hate are two sides of the same coin...then that must make us something, right?

Maybe I’m getting confused; English was never my thing.

Emory dutifully filled out the form on the clipboard that transferred responsibility of the lockbox and card machine over to Vera, and then held it out to her to sign. Ignoring her, Vera took the only chair and pulled her phone from her pocket. Emory waited. I could see her lips move as she tried to goad Vera into cooperating. Nothing worked, and finally Em slammed the clipboard down, along with a key on a spiral wristband.

My eyes automatically followed her as she approached the door. I stood straighter, waiting for the eye contact to come. The girl had me practically salivating like a dog for it, but she just breezed past as if I were invisible.

Damn, that hurt. I grinned, head hanging down. Sometimes, she’s too tough.

But why isn’t she eating? I knew she wasn’t rich like the typical student at TBP, but she could afford a good lunch, right? I had half a mind to follow her and demand to know.

“Watch,” Callum reminded me.

I did as Vera was joined by two juniors, Tommy Price and Bobby Lee. Her eyes lifted from the phone to scan the room as they slipped the lockbox full of student’s checks, and the receipt pouch, into a backpack and then disappearing into the crowd. Once they were gone, Vera called the teacher watching the lunch period over. Lots of hands waving and looks of confusion followed. It didn’t take a genius to guess what she was saying.

Stealing school property violated the student code of conduct.

I turned back to Callum, hooding my eyes. “You arranged this?”

He smirked, lifting his shoulder casually. “Not everyone in this place is useless, bro. I’ve seen you watching the charity case. Knew I could help you remind her of her place.”

Bro? I cocked my head. Was he trying to impress me? Hoping I’d go back to the guys and tell them how awesome he is? Because I’m the fun one who loves people.

Running my tongue along the edge of my teeth, I took all I had not to slam him into the wall. That wouldn’t be enough, though.

“Where’s the box being kept?” I asked Callum, serious for once, hoping that he didn’t read into my voice any.

The smug bastard grinned. Good. “It's in a safe place. We’re still working on getting her combination, but after that, we’ll put it in hers.” He laughed and nudged me with his elbow. “Let’s see her brother get her out of this. He’s all for justice when it’s one of us, but I bet when it’s his own family, he’ll drop the act.”

I couldn’t care less about her brother. He’s just a petty patrol officer handing out tickets for broken taillights and whatever. Of course, he’d back up his sister. It was the other thing he said that pricked me. One of us. Was he talking about the school, or did he really think he could work his way into our crew? That he could cozy up to me and we’d just welcome him?

Fuck that. That's not how this worked.

Patting Callum on the shoulder, I gave him a firm squeeze, imagining it was his neck. “Nice, man,” I said and walked away, slipping my phone out of my pocket.

My first text was to the kid that worked in the office. A quiet freshman and good kid, before his first kickback when I gave him my last blunt. Now, he looks at me as if I’m some sort of benevolent god. I tell him to ignore anyone else seeking information on Emory Scott, promising something in it for him if he follows through. Next, I texted the guys to meet me outside by the cars.

Kai and Michael were already there by the time I made it to student parking. Michael sat in the trunk of his G-Class, propping his leg up to rest his arm on his knee while Kai leaned against the frame of his fancy new Jeep. I couldn’t wait until it got its first scratch so he would stop babying it. I wanted to take that thing out and see what it could do. Exciting stuff, getting older. My birthday was still months away, but I already had an idea of what I wanted.

One thing I knew for sure, the truck I brought home was going to get dirty real quick.

And I had other plans for it, too.

Damon walked up last. “What are we doing out here? I’m starving.”

He was nowhere to be seen during lunch, but none of us pointed that out. Michael tossed a protein bar from the duffle bag in his trunk. He caught it and tore into the silver wrapper. He gave me a once over as he chewed through his first bite, lips curling back in a sneer. "What's pissed you off?”

“Nothing, I’m good,” I shrugged, and stuffed my hands in my pant pockets. “Get this, Claythrone thinks he’s got what it takes to run with us.” I chuckled as Damon groaned with annoyance. He really hated that guy.

Michael’s eyes narrowed. “What are you talking about?”

“He just bragged about this lame-ass prank he pulled on Emory Scott,” I said, kicking some loose gravel in an attempt to look casual about it.

“The scholarship kid?” Kai asked.

I nodded.

“What’d he do?” he continued. I forced myself to ignore the note of concern in his voice. Kai cared about people. Like genuinely cared.

I told them what I’d seen and what he told me, laying out his entire idea. I laughed, “He thinks we’d be impressed.”

“The fuck,” Damon scoffed under his breath, tossing the wrapper to the wind and bringing a cigarette to his lips. “Like that’s so hard. She can’t even cash the checks. They’re made out to the school.”

Kai’s eyebrows pinched, glaring at Damon for any number of reasons. “She could still get expelled for stealing.”

“Emory’s smarter than that,” I ground out, tired of them talking about her like it was even a possibility.

“Oh, she is, yeah?” Kai asked. His eyes shone with humor, and I hated the fact that I was being so obvious. It’s not that they couldn’t know that I loved her. I just wanted to keep her to myself for a while. I didn’t want anyone’s attention on her, especially not Kai’s. He’s too likable.

His approval was in my favor, though, because I needed all the reasons to persuade Michael to action. I’d move without him, of course. Contrary to rumor, we didn’t need his permission to do anything. It’s just more fun with the four of us together.

“Who fucking cares about the girl,” Damon asked, watching me. When I gave him nothing, he moved on, looking to Michael. “Claythorne, however, needs to be dealt with.”

Damon was right. Callum wanted to be one of us. He’d probably bought his own mask already. But he didn’t understand Devil’s Night or what we were doing.

We weren’t causing chaos and havoc just because we could…

Actually...that’s exactly why we were doing it.

Michael wanted Devil’s Night and the masks to remind us to live like nothing was off limits. We could spend our entire life dying inside the boundaries and lines society drew for us. Or we can really live the way we wanted, with all the mischief and mayhem that we could bring. Nothing was really forbidden if we wanted it enough.

We brought our people along of course, but there was never any question about who was leading the celebration. Because that’s what it was – a celebration of being young and alive and unburdened by society’s expectations.

That’s what Callum Claythorne didn’t get. We weren’t bullying or hazing people. Especially not those less fortunate than us. That’s not fun and it wasn’t what we were about. Anyone who punched down deserved to have their ass owned.

Michael looked at the school. Our school. Then back to me. “Got any ideas?”

***

An hour later, we circled the principal’s brand-new Lexus. Black hoodies and masks all the way, it took no time at all for Damon to get the keys from his office and drive it off school property. Kai and Michael grabbed set paint from the Theater’s Set and Prop room, while I got the last crucial item before Michael drove us to connect with Damon about two miles on the highway going away from town.

On the way, I texted Callum, asking him to meet us outside Sticks for a little fun. He texted back that he was on his way. Too bad we went in the opposite direction. We drove until we saw the silver car parked on the side of the road, close to the tree line and Michael pulled in behind it.

“This feels stupid,” Kai said as he got out of the passenger side. I couldn’t see his face through his silver mask, but I could image his expression: unimpressed.

“It’s supposed to,” Damon chimed in. “We’re not exactly dealing with a criminal mastermind.”

Michael steps forward, offering me the first can of paint from the back of the G-Class. “Honors,” he said.

I popped the top, revealing the deep blue inside. Stepping up, I take a second to admire just how much we’re going to fuck up this pretty car.

“Do you think his insurance covers Horsemen?” I joked, before swing back and letting the paint fly. After that, it’s free for all. Someone slashed the tires; another went at the leather seats. The sound of it ripping was like a song. It was Damon that drew an erect dick on the hood.

When the paint was all gone and the car thoroughly trashed, we stepped back to examine our handiwork, lifting our masks up and tucking them into the hoods. Damon swung an arm over my shoulder, pulling me close. “Happy now?”

I nodded, smiling big. A little property damage is good for the soul. “But I also kinda want to set it on fire,” I said, imagining the smoke rising off the scorched metal.

That got two responses at the same time. One from Damon, who said, “Fucking pyro,” and went for his lighter because he loves to make me happy.

The other was from Kai, who growled, “Absolutely not,” because he’s still concerned about getting arrested and what his daddy would say.

It was Michael who looked at the woods next to us and frowned. “Not this close to the trees. I don’t want to start a real fire.”

I shook my head. Seriously. How could he be so wild one minute and boring the next?

But then he proved he had something more in him. “Next time,” Michael promised, making me smile again. “Bigger than this.”

Damon approached Kai, running a hand under Kai’s jaw, pinching his chin. “It’s gonna happen eventually, you know,” he sang.

Kai slapped Damon’s hand away, but I came in right after, drawing Kai close by wrapping my arm around his neck and laughing, “Don’t worry, if we do get arrested, your pretty face will finally come in handy.”

“Bitch,” he called me, twisting out of my grasp.

Damon clutched the front of his pants. “Which is what you’ll be for some big hairy man.”

Michael and I laughed as Kai went at him. Damon could throw a punch, but Kai trained since childhood. It was never really a fair fight. I could even throw Damon down when I wanted to, which is how I knew Kai pulled his strength to toy with him.

“Alright,” Damon grunted, struggling in Kai’s chokehold while he chuckled in Damon’s ear. “Let go, or I’ll tell your dad you wear shoes in the house when he’s not home.”

“Say please,” Kai taunted.

“Fucker.”

Kai rolled his eyes but let him go, shoving him away.

Damon flipped him his middle finger, but even I could tell he was in a good mood.

We shed the jackets, hiding them in Michael’s ride. He’d burn them later, stained with paint as they were. Before we left, I tossed Callum’s wallet by the tire. Easy to see, but not like it was planted. As we got closer to the school, Kai placed the call in to the police station from a burner phone.

“Those damn hellions are at it again,” I shouted while Kai tried to turn away so they didn’t catch my voice. I howled when he hung up, hyped and ready for more. Always ready.

We’d only missed one period after lunch, but I had that office kid mark our attendance so it wouldn’t count against us. I promised myself to learn his name since he kept coming in clutch. Walking through the halls, we passed the office. I happened to glance through the windows to see Emory Scott sitting on the bench outside the principal’s door, her bag sitting at her side.

She’d been kept from class. Kai’s words from before about her getting expelled came back and that pissed me off all over again. I already had limited access to her. Take school away and I had nothing.

It took less than an hour for the cops to show up outside the school. The four of us spared each other discreet glances as we waited to see who was called – us or him. After getting through our first class without hearing our names on the intercom, we knew the plan had worked. It was confirmed when the rumors of Callum’s escapade started circulating, and then blew up when they found the lockbox exactly where I knew it would be.

His locker. Because he’s an idiot that keeps the evidence on him instead of a neutral location behind a lock no one else as the combination or key to. Duh.

It wasn’t enough, though. I still needed to see Emmy; to know she’d be here tomorrow. I searched for her between classes. Even the back of her head would have been enough to calm me, but as the students flooded the halls, I couldn’t find any sign of her.

“Tell me something,” Michael said as we stood outside the door of our last class of the day.

I glanced from side to side, looking either direction down the hall even though she never came up this way. Focusing on him, I paused. He leaned back against the hall of lockers, brown hair fanning over his lighter eyes, looking at me like he knew something.

“What’s up?” I asked casually.

“Was it all for the girl?”

All for her? Did I really drag my friends out of school and to go after another student, simply because he threatened a girl who wouldn’t give me the time of day?

I blew out a breath, unable to hold back my stupid smile. “Yeah.”

"Was it worth it?"

"I guess we'll see." He’s gonna nail me for this. I couldn’t imagine Michael ever losing his head over a girl. I felt like I lived in a hurricane whenever I thought of Emmy; alive and yet out of control. He'd never survive this feeling.

 Instead, he smirked. “I get it,” he said, lifting from the lockers and going into class just as the bell rang. Then he stopped, preventing me from following him, looking at me over his shoulder. “Have fun, Will, just don't become her puppet. Control it.”

I laughed as I followed him to our seats. Too late.

***

I was out of my seat just before the final bell, before Michael or the teacher could say anything. “Cover for me,” I told him, ducking around students getting their still shit together.

I needed to be on the court in fifteen minutes, which means I needed to book it down to the cafeteria if I wanted to get a second with Emmy before getting punishment laps.

Slowing down in the hall before the double doors, I hesitated. What if she wasn’t in there?

My heart stopped as I rounded the corner.

There she was, already at the table. The lockbox and receipt pouch had been returned. The room was mostly empty, save for a few lingering around the vending machines at the other end of the room.

Her face didn’t lift from the textbook in front of her as I approached, but I saw her thin shoulders pull up to her ears and then relax down. So, she knew I was here.

I waited, time limit forgotten, for her to look up.

She flipped the page. “You need something?”

Yeah, I need something. Look at me.

“Tickets.”

Emmy finally looked up, brow dipping, and frowned. “Tickets,” she asked, drawing out the s, “as in plural?”

“Yeah, that’s what it means,” I said, pulling my wallet out and getting my card.

Neutralizing her expression, Em busied herself with the card machine. “How many?”

“Two.”

She didn’t bat an eye. “That’ll be three thousand.”

I held my card out to her. “Save you a seat on the bus.”

“I’m sure your date would love that.”

“She probably wouldn’t,” I laughed. “She can’t seem to stand my company at all.”

She paused, studying me. I could tell she wanted to say something by the way her eyes searched my face, but there were too many things she wouldn’t give voice to. She had too many walls.

“I’m not going,” she ventured slowly, “I don’t ski.”

 I placed my hands on the table and leaned down so I can get closer to her. There’s nowhere for her to go. “There’s always the lodge where you can read by the fire or whatever it is you enjoy.”

“Throwing darts at pictures of the people I hate,” she interjected, giving me a pointed look.

“And then at night, we’ll share a hot chocolate. I’ll kiss the whipped cream off your nose.”

Emory gave me a mocking smirk, leaning forward. “And later I kiss it off of other place?”

One could dream.

“Please. You’re a cliché, William Grayson III, and I am unimpressed.” She tilted the machine towards herself so I couldn’t see what she was doing as she ran my card, handing it back to me. The machine beeped and my receipt rolled out. She ripped the edge and held it out to me. I didn’t take it.

“Why do you always say my full name like that,” I asked.

“Because it’s a mouthful.”

Automatically, I spat out, “So are other things.” I knew that was only going to make it worse, but I’d gotten the sense I already lost anyway. Why not go the extra mile to piss her off even more? At least then, she’d still be thinking of me after I left.

She glared over the rim of her dark glasses. “I say your full name because you’re a legacy, not someone I want to be friends with. And it’s a stupid name. The third.” She made a disgusted face. “Who does that to their kid?”

I lifted my shoulder. “I’m gonna name my kid William. He’ll be the fourth.”

She rolled her eyes, grumbling, “Of course, you are.” Wagging the receipt at me, she snapped, “Do you want this or not?”

I took it, quickly checking to make sure of what I already knew; she only charged me for one ticket, not two. “We could’ve had fun,” I told her, stuffing it my pocket.

She’d already started reading again. “I’d rather cut off my own legs than be trapped on top of a mountain with the lot of you.”

Well, at least she wasn’t limiting it to just me this time. That was something.

I stared at the top of her head, feeling unresolved even though she gave a clear sign she was done with me. I began to lean forward, pulled down by something. At the same time, Emmy picked up her head, seeming startled that I was still so close.

For the first time in a while, I got to see the details of her eyes up close. Dark brown and swimming, reminding me of the hot chocolate she wouldn’t share with me. Her lips fell open in a short gasp. I was near enough to feel the soft burst of air that rushed out. Her frizzy hair came forward, nearly covering her face and I raised my hand to…touch it? Brush it back? I just needed…

“Callum Claythorne was arrested,” she whispered.

I didn’t touch her. Not yet. “I know. For vandalizing the principal’s car.” They wouldn't hold him for long but at least he should have gotten the message.

Emory rolled her lips, looking to the side. “They called my brother and I thought…” She blinked and shook her head. “But then the detectives arrived and when he was clearing out his locker, they found the lockbox.”

She was relieved she wasn’t going to be expelled, otherwise she wouldn’t be telling me this. She was just talking because I was listening. Still, my heart burst because it was me she confided in.

Her gaze returned to mine. “Did you have anything to do with Callum?”

I tilted my head.

“I saw you standing with him right before the box went missing,” she clarified. “Did you…”

She looked terrified of the answer, no matter what it would be. Yes or no, it wasn’t good news for her.

My lips twitched with a smile as I finally let my finger connect with the front strands of her hair, hooking it and slowly drawing it back to hook around her ear. From there, I dragged it back along her jaw, in awe of how soft and gold her skin was.

She didn’t move, watching me with wide eyes.

Why? Because I can. But that wasn't

“You should know, I would never let anyone hurt you,” I explained. “No one. Anything you need or want, you only need to ask for it.”

She licked her lips. Was she processing this? Did she finally get it?

"Why?"

Why, she asked. Why would I want to give her anything she wanted? Do anything and everything for her? Commit a felony for her? Nothing was out of bounds when it came to Emmy Scott. "Because I can."

I rubbed my thumb on the edge of her jaw, keeping her eyes on me. “What do you want, Em? You want to go on the trip?”

“I-I want…” she breathed, eyelids fluttering.

“Yes?”

“I want,” she repeated. Then she withdrew, that same hard glare returning, and she pulled away from my grasp. My hand closed on air. “I want you to leave me alone.”

It took me a minute, but I managed to swallow all the pain and hide it. Knocking my fisted knuckles against the table, I looked at her, meeting her glare with my usual cheer. “You can have anything you want,” I said with a smile, “except that. Another time, then.”

I stepped back, making sure her eyes stayed on me until I was good and ready to break contact. I was so late for practice I’d probably die doing laps, but it was more than worth it. Because I think I won this round.

***

Honestly, this got way out of hand. At some point I stopped trying to match Will's voice as close as possible and just tried to make it fun. Let me know if it worked.

I may come back later and work on the Emory part. For some reason, no matter the word processor I used, every time I wrote out that part, it got deleted. There's like five different versions of that scene floating around out there, forever lost to us. If I do change anything, I will note the edit at the top.

Thanks to everyone who showed interest in this and patiently waited for me to finish. Hope it was worth it.

Sorry for any mistakes or typos. Feel free to point them out.

Master List

#devil's night series stuff #my fic #willemmy #will grayson iii #emory scott #pre-canon #requested #devil's night series

[away-ward]

Reality

for @elainscheron.

1.5k words

Summary: Morning in the Carfax room sees Emory falling back into old ways of thinking.

Emory pov, set before she meets Rika for wedding dress shopping.

Emory

I wait until the last second to leave the bed and get ready. Rika awaits and I guess when the Queen calls, we must answer.

No. Stop that, I tell myself. Rika’s nice. And the others seem nice too. I’m the heinous bitch, remember.

As I gather my clothes from yesterday, I mentally make a list of things I need to get done. Obviously, I’ll be moving back to Thunder Bay and I’ll have to deal with all that comes with it. I can’t pretend problems don’t exist forever. That’s always been Will’s forte; I usually have a firm stake in reality, excluding the past few days.

“You’re worried about something. I can see it.”

I look at him over my shoulder after slipping the shirt over my head. Will sits at the edge, elbows resting on his knees, green eyes watching my every move. It’s crazy how much I enjoy that. “A few days and you thing you know everything about me?”

“Days?” he chuckles. “Try twelve years.”

I do the math and realize he’s right. We’ve known each other for twelve years though it feels like longer.

“Talk to me, trouble. What is it?”

I move to grab my jeans, startled when his hand shoots out and grabs my wrist. “I’ve got to get ready if I’m going to meet Rika.”

“Screw Rika.”

I tip my head, looking up at him with mocking doubt. “That’s not how you treat friends, or so I hear.”

“Rika’s forgiven me for worse things than this.” His hold tightens on my wrist, but not painfully. It’s anchoring me to him. My heart picks up. The beat of it makes me nervous and I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to this. “I’m not letting you go until you talk. Not this time.”

He’s made that clear. Yesterday, the day before, and last night all over again…he asked me – begged me, really – to not wake up, and I promised to still be me when I do.

Promises are easier to make than keep, no matter what our intentions are.  

“You haven’t...” he trails off. I watch his throat move as he swallows the rest of the words.

“Changed my mind?” I laugh humorlessly. “Just try to get this ring back, I dare you.” I told him I loved him and I meant it. There’s no way I can return to my old life. He’ll have to kill me and then cut it off.

He lets out a breath that shakes with relief and then he tries for his usual levity to break the tension. “A person then? What, you got a boyfriend back in San Fran I don’t know about?”

“Oh yeah,” I nod. “More than one. A whole biker gang, in fact. And a marine. You’ll probably need to fight them for me Scott Pilgrim style.”

Will shrugs, up for the challenge. “Line ‘em up.”

I really laugh at that. He would, too. And if there’s anything I learned this week, it’s that he’d win.

He relaxes his hold on my wrist and his hand glides up my arm, over my shoulder and wraps around my neck so that I’m forced to look at him.

“Em,” he pleads. His eyes move between mine, reading what I can’t say. I don’t even know what I’d say if I could find the words to describe what’s going on. There’s no telling what he’s going to find.

My own confusion reflects back at me in his eyes. It’s that how it’s always been with us? “These past few days, you dove right in. You were here with me, Alex, my friends—"

I rip my head away suddenly. He’s hit the nail on the head and the knowledge of it floods my brain, overwhelming me.

Of course, he misinterprets. “Alex? You’re worried about Alex?” Will asks, sounding as exasperated as I feel.

“I’m not worried about Alex,” I tell him. Honestly, their relationship is the last thing on my mind.

Will doesn’t look like he believes me. He’s not mad about it. We’re over being angry at each other for our mistakes. Instead, he looks desperate, searching for anything to convince me.

“I’m not,” I insist. I push him back to the bed and force him to sit so that I can stand over him. I grab the sides of his face and pour every bit of truth in me into my next words. “I’m not worried about Alex. I can’t promise I’ll never be jealous of her because she has seven years with you. Seven years that were supposed to be mine.”

The last sentence comes out on sort of a growl that I can’t suppress.

Will grins, loving every bit of it. He always makes the grand, epic speeches telling me what I am and what we are and what we’re going to do. I guess it’s my turn. His hands brush up my thighs and settle on my waist, pulling me closer.

“Seven years I’ll never get back, that she’ll always have. But I’m not worried about her. Your friends seem to have some weird unspoken rules and I can’t say I get all of them, but bottom line, I’m into it.”

“Then what is it?” he asks as his thumbs rub circles on my tummy. It does nothing but riling up the very horny butterflies that seem to have taken up residence.

I hedge, “It’s someone else.”

“Someone else?” His grip tightens again, all his passion and ferocity going into keeping me in place. “If it’s not Alex, and there’s no one back in San Francisco, then who…if you say this is about Aydin, I’ll—"

I squeeze his face when I’ve heard enough and I can’t take it anymore. “It’s me, Will. The other someone is me.”

It’s kind of cute how he stops, blinking with bewilderment. His lips twitch with unformed thoughts as he tries to parse through what I’ve been thinking.

“Or the me you’ve spend the last twelve years dreaming about.” I wrap my arms around his neck and move to straddle his lap, a position I’m very quickly become familiar with. Have been familiar with. “What if I can’t measure up to her. What if I can’t be her every night. What if I never fit in with your friends the way…” My eyes drift to a spot behind him.

I know he thinks this too. He set the Cove on fire and decided I didn’t need to be a part of it. Not like them. Doesn’t that give some indication to his feelings on the matter. The only time he’s done something like that with me was homecoming, when I wasn’t me.

He sees where I’m looking and follows, finally seeing what’s been haunting the corner of my vision since I got up. The pink dress I wore to homecoming still hangs from the rafter, a ghostly reminder.

This is insane. I'm jealous of who I am in the dark; of how easy it is for her to just be.

All at once, it clicks into place for him because he can be clever when he wants to be. “There is no other you. That girl was the imagining of a spoiled, insecure little boy with a fantasy. That girl,” he nods over his shoulder, “that girl stole moments and nights to keep for herself. From what I’ve seen since we left the island, you don’t need to steal anything and hide it away. You take it, whatever makes you happy.”

I shake my head, but he stops me. “You broke a felon out of jail yesterday, before proposing to me on the street,” he says, smirking with glee. “I think I know what I’m talking about.”

I’ve been impulsive, sure, but this whole week is starting to feel like a vacation from reality. A fever dream, if there ever was one. Reality will come back around again and when I can’t keep it up, will he be content with all his decisions.

“Never have I been as happy as I was last night in this bed with you. It’s you; I gotta you and nothing else. I tried drugs and alcohol, friends and sex. Nothing works like holding you. Tell me you don’t feel the same.”

Will moves in closer but then stops before he meets my lips. His eyes study me and I realize he’s giving me a chance to answer instead of just taking the moment for himself. Aww, he’s learning.

I close the distance on my own, because he’s right. Nothing has ever felt better than spending hours wrapped up in him and I hate that I’m being forced to leave. I push closer to him as he dives in deep with his tongue, pushing away all my thoughts.

“Stop,” he warns, breathless against my lips, “or you’re not going to make it out of here.”

I love that. I’m not gonna lie, it feels good to know I’m his addiction and all those other things were just substitutes. It goes a long way to kill any doubts I have.

And I have an addiction, too. I guess I’ve always known, but the first step is admitting it, right?

I’m addicted to being the girl that makes him breathless.

Reality can go fuck itself. I’m here to stay.

--

Thank you for reading! I apologize for any mistakes.

@elainscheron, I hope this is enough to make up for the Alex post. I did try, but I just didn't seem any room for Emory to have serious doubts about Alex in the context of nightfall. Emory literally says she isn't worried about it and while I struggle with how easy it was for Em, I don't want to go against canon in this instance. But there is a little wiggle room with her jealousy.

More than that, I struggled with how easy it was for Emory to just become someone else. Maybe the argument can be made that it's who she's always been and she's just been suppressing herself her entire life, but even then change is hard, so I tried to go at it from that angle.

A lot of this is sort of brought up already, but we all relapse into old ways of thinking occasionally, right? Could be that I'm always dying for more Emory content and I want an entire book of just her.

Anyway, hope you enjoyed!

Master List

#devil's night series stuff #nightfall #my fic #willemmy #requested #post canon #devil's night series

[away-ward]

This isn’t a request more of a suggestion bc I know your writing doesn’t work like that but imagine a fic with Emmy talking to Will about her escapades with men over their time apart, or an ex of hers popping up idk I’m just so used to hearing about Will and his whore tendency’s I just want to hear about Emmy’s bc I know she was not celibate over the years, especially when he asked her if she ever had man in her mouth and she said she never had him in her mouth. I’d love to here even your thoughts on the matter. Ik that in one of your fics you wrote about Emmy being with her co worker in the past and Will was jealous about it.

Hey, thanks for the suggestion. To be honest, a request almost exactly like this is how I ended up with No Apologies. If you go back far enough, you’ll see I struggled with it back then. I’d probably struggle with it now, too.

I’ve recieved many requests/suggestions like this and I can understand why it’s popular. I really hope a fic writer comes into the fandom who is interested in this kind of plot, because I can see it doing really well.

I think part of the problem is that I’m just not interested in Emory trying to make Will jealous or upset. And this might be a controversial take, but I also don’t think Emory would try to do that. She has a tough shell, but inside she’s sweet and soft, and not interested in hurting others just because she can. If I were to make an honest attempt at a fic where they’re talking about it, it would be emotional and full of regret (on Will’s end; Emory doesn’t have anything to regret, but that doesn’t mean she wouldn’t also feel it.)

However, I can talk about why I don’t see what other people see when it comes to Emory’s potential body count being any kind of issue.

In Nightfall, Will says that he doesn’t care if anyone else touched her, she was his girl and that’s all that mattered.

Now, I know I just put up a large case for Will being a liar, but this is one moment where I think he was being truthful. He has a moment of clarity, where he’s able to tell what really matters and what doesn’t. While that moment might have passed, and he could find himself being jealous again, I think by the time they’re married, he settled with the things that have happened in the past and is ready to look forward. I don’t think he’s blind to the fact that nine years have passed, during which she could have done anything with anyone. What mattered is that they were finally in the right place and the right time, determined to see it through.

Maybe another hot take of mine, but Emory doesn’t have that high of a body count. I wouldn’t estimate more than five, and that’s stretching it.

I’ve discussed this briefly before. I feel Emory overestimated what college was going to be like for her. Maybe she thought that getting away from Martin would allow her to open up, but I see her still struggling to do that. A mixture of that’s simply who she is, trauma, and being heartbroken over Will leads to her not making strong connections. This is also confirmed in Nightfall when she’s able to make calls and realizes she has no one waiting on her. No one is missing her, which his a sad thought, but makes sense in a way.

It's totally possible that she’s attempted to have a “normal” life, going on dates or trying her hand at hook-up cultural, probably thinking similar to a lot of readers, “if Will can do it, so can I.” But there is a difference between her and Will, and I think she wouldn’t "enjoy" herself the same way he does.

The quote you mentioned, I didn’t take as confirmation, but instead as deflection. She doesn’t answer his question, only reminds him he never got that far.

A lot people point to that as proof she has more experience but I like to point to Rika, Banks, and Winter in return.

Rika’s body count was one before being with Michael. Banks’ was zero, and it’s unlikely Winter had sex with a man other than Damon, though we know she’s at least kissed others. None of them experienced any kind of learning curve where they had to improve their technique.

I’m not entirely sure if PD’s aim was to show that when it’s with the person “you’re made for” then everything will feel right and it’ll all fall into place. Or if they just didn’t want to write about women learning things or sex between a couple getting better with time or what. Regardless, I don’t see that quote or anything that Emory did with Will as proof she’s had a lot of experiences away from him.  

The way PD writes Will’s addictions lends to the idea that Women are grouped up with Drugs and Alcohol.

Since external relationships, or Will’s whoring around, seem to be linked with his drug use and drinking, it kind of points to that being a problem; one Will isn’t exactly proud of. I don’t see a scenario where Emory feels the need to bring up his past in a way to make him feel bad, or give him a taste of what he did to her by reminding him she had other people too. It would be the equivalent of reminding a recovering alcoholic of the horrible things they did when they were drunk. If you love someone, you don't just throw that in their face.

Emory accepted Will for who he was the day she asked him to marry her, his past included. It would be a shame if she were to keep this in her back pocket as a way get one over on him in the event of a fight.

And maybe my most controversial take: Emory doesn’t even think of those hypothetical men. Will does more than enough to satisfy her.

In Hideaway, Banks and Alex peek in on Will with another woman. Alex mentions that Will puts in the work in making his partner feel good.

In Nightfall, after Emory breaks Will out of prison and they’re in the back seat of the SUV, Damon parks and then, as he’s watching, says “Um…Wow. Okay.”

Damon.

Damon, who has watched Will with women many times before and has engaged with Will himself, sees the way Will goes after Emory, and this causes him to pause.

The first part I mention because it goes to the idea that Will might be the best lay of all the guys. It seems that he actually views the pleasure of his partner as a goal to achieve, as opposed to Michael or Damon who might view it as a curtsey on their part (except for with Rika and Winter, of course). Kai calls himself a “gentleman” but what does that even mean.

Point is, Will knows how to make people feel good. And now his focus and efforts are all towards Emory. Girl is livin' just fine.

I don’t think she would ever need a reason to conquer him this way.

I say all of this because whenever I get a request or an ask similar to this, it always comes across as if the goal is to make Will feel as bad as Emory did, to make him jealous of what she’s done. But I don’t see Emory going that low, and I don’t see a reason why she would. So writing something like that is a little difficult for me.

But like I said, if I were to take an honest crack at it, it would probably go something like

- The group is playing one of those truth or drink games (Will is sober so he always picks truth, but likes to all make it interesting by mixing it with like two lies and a truth).

-Emory pulls a card that is like “Reveal Your Body Count” or something and she immediately opts to take the shot. The group laughs it off, thinking it’s just Emory being private.

-Will senses the sudden shift in her mood, though she hides it well. He wonders if it’s the same thing that sting his heart. The reminder of the time they spent apart. The time they wasted not being together.

-It’s quiet on the way home. Will drives without seeing the road, lost in thought.

-Emmy, thinking he’s trying not to obsess over it, quietly whispers, “It’s probably not what you’re thinking.”

-Will looks over, seeing how she’s not making eye contact. He pulls the car over, coming to an abrupt stop that causes Emory to cry out.

-He turns to her and tells her that it doesn’t matter.

-Whatever she did to ease her pain or to enjoy her life, it wouldn’t change anything. Even if it were 50 or 100 or 500 men.  He’ll accept it because he loves who she is, and whatever she had to do to make her who she is.

-Whether she wants him to know, that’s her decision to make. He wants to know everything about her, but he’ll never force her to admit to anything she doesn’t want to. Never again will he put her in that spot.

-He'd tell her every time he remembers all the different women he used trying to forget her, he hates himself more, especially when he knows she’s aware of it. That he ever gave her the idea that someone else could have him the way she has him, causes him so much disgust sometimes he can’t look at himself. That she ever walked into a room and wondered, not if but how many women he’d been with…

-The number doesn’t matter; there isn’t a number high enough to make him hate himself less and there isn’t a number low enough that’ll make him love her more.

-Emory nods, because she didn’t know he still felt that way and maybe that’s for the best. She doesn’t know if telling him the right thing, but they did promise no more secrets between them and maybe it would make things better if he knew.

And because this is my head canon

-She tells him there were a few. She tried, at various times in her life, to see if she could the “normal” college experience, and get over it and move on, but it didn’t work that way. She wasn’t connecting the way she should; like she was there, feeling and seeing everything, but the experience belonged to someone else.

To me, this makes sense for her character; that she’d want a connection to make the moment real. It’s why Aydin went for her head before her heart. Emory connects with her mind, not her body. I think it would probably hurt Will more if he found out she had a close friend she’d been vulnerable with, revealed everything to, who’d been there when she graduated college and got a job and when her grandmother died. All those experiences that he’d never get because he was being stupid. He’s too familiar with the idea that sex can be meaningless, why would her having meaningless sex with some nameless fellows bother him? But anyway –

-She tells him and he’s quiet. Then he nods. Then he puts the car back in Drive, intending to pull away.

-Emory says wait. He looks at her, open and wondering, but not angry. She asks if he has any questions before the topic is closed.

-He pauses, considering. Finally, he looks at her again and says, “The only thing that matters is if they hurt you.”

-Emory’s heart swells, because of course that’s what he’s concerned with.

-“No,” she tells him. “The only thing they did wrong was not being you.”

And that’s how it would go for me. No jealousy, no rage. In my head, Will is already aware of just how much better Emory is than him, he doesn’t need to be reminded.

I also don’t think of his exploits nearly as much as some of the readers seem to. I just don’t care, because he wasn’t committed to Emory. He wasn’t doing anything that he didn’t have the right to do. If he had developed a romantic bond with someone and then Emory came back into his life and he tried to play one or the other, than would be an issue for me. But the way I see it now, Emory connects through her mind. Her developing that type of bond outside of Will would hurt him more. And Will is so causal with sex that him developing a romance outside of Emory would hurt her more. Neither one did that, so this isn’t a sticking point for me.

But I know it is for a lot of people and I don’t feel that my view is any righter than someone else’s. I do hope that a fic writer who wants to undertake that plot point comes in to give the readers what they want. It just won’t be me.

I’m sorry I can’t deliver. I still appreciate you coming to me and asking. Thank you.

-KO

#asked and answered #asked and answered 189 #devil's night series stuff #willemmy #fics #not a fic #but fic discussion

[away-ward]

Make No Apologies, part 1

Part 2>>

Master List

Summary: Will takes a trip to San Francisco to confirm what he thinks he knows. What he learns changes everything.

Based on a request: Will and Emory reunite, outside of Blackchurch, and Will is jealous, possibly because Emory has a boyfriend.

For context, this first part takes place closely following Killswitch. Parts 2 and 3 take place two years later. In this AU, Will went to Blackchurch and returned after being "rescued" by his friends, where the remaining events were all the same, except for what was influenced by Emory (i.e the Horseman wedding and burning the Cove.). There are other minor difference that will be addressed in the text, but feel free to ask if there's any confusion.

Please enjoy, and thank you for reading!

Emory

Before

I felt the shift in the air the second I stepped through the door. Everything was exactly where I left it when I walked out that morning. Living alone, I didn’t have to worry about people moving my stuff, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t weary of surprises.   

Locking the door behind me, I removed my sweater and hung it on the second-hand coat rack in the long, narrow living room. I dropped my keys in the small bowl on the old consul table by the door, leaving my work bag beside it. All my furniture, from the sofa to the wingback chair to my iron bed frame, was second-hand, a collection cobbled together as I transitioned out of the dorms.   

The one-bedroom apartment I scored during my internship was far out of my price range, but I fell in love when I saw the small chandeliers in the living and dining rooms. It didn’t matter that the kitchen counter was old, cracked tile, impossible to keep clean, or that the bathroom had horrible water pressure. I talked the owner down to something I could manage, promising to make improvements while I lived here. My degree was already paying off because he agreed with little arm twisting.  

I glanced right, taking in the nearly empty dining room. I didn’t have people over, so the table was only big enough for four, leaving most of the room bare. Through the arch, I saw the black and white tiles of the kitchen floor, the chipping sink and pale yellow wall. There was no exit through there, so I moved on to the hall leading to the bedroom.  

I refused to blink, keeping my eyes wide as I stared through the darkness. Scanning the walls, the corners, over every surface, I tried to pinpoint what unnerved me as I walked deeper into my home. Pictures of my grandma and my parents hung on the walls. I couldn’t shake the feeling someone had touched them as I passed. Unknown eyes had lingered on their faces. I swallowed, fighting the churn of my stomach.  

My bedroom was on the right, the door allowing a sliver of moonlight through. That confirmed what my instincts already knew. I only ever closed that door when I was inside. It should have been wide open.  

Quietly, heart pounding, I opened the hall closet and pulled out the bat Thea gave me when I told her I was moving to a first-floor apartment alone. I told her a taser would be better.   

My face cooled with sweat as I wrapped my hands around the base and moved silently toward the door. That would have been impossible two weeks ago before I had replaced all the squeaky floorboards.   

I paused next to the door, out of sight. The scent of cigarettes confronted me here, burning my sinuses. Holding my breath, I weighed my options. I should turn around and call the cops like any sane person.  

Ugh. Cops.  

Fight to the death it is, then. It’s them or me, and I’m not going down without swinging this time.  

I took a deep breath and kicked open the door on the exhale, biting back the roar of rage and fear as I brought the bat over my shoulder. My eyes wildly searched the room before landing on the lonely figure sitting in the chair by the window.   

The fight left my body as I took him in. The familiarity of it hit me like a train, slicing through my heart, leaving me struggling to hold myself up.  

“Long time, Em,” he said.    

He sat casually, unbothered by my sudden, loud intrusion. The glowing tip of the cigarette hung languidly between his fingers. Even slouched in the seat, he was massive. With the light coming in from behind him, I couldn’t make out the details, but I didn’t need to see to know that he’d changed far too much since the last time I saw him.  

“Will...”  

He waited.   

I waited, watching his movements.  

He waited some more. He brought the cigarette to his mouth, drawing the smoke in deeply before exhaling a cloud through his nose and then lazily snuffing it out on the wooden arm of the antique chair.  

I couldn’t take it. I turned and bolted, darting down the hall.   

It didn’t take more than a few seconds for him to catch up. He grabbed me around the waist before I could reach the door, throwing me back, effectively putting himself between me and my only exit.  

In the tussle, I caught the sharp sting of alcohol. My head swam with memories, returning to the last time I saw him drunk and angry. Backing away, I stepped around the couch so that it acted like a shield. It would be nothing for him to leap over it, but it was all I had.  

I gritted my teeth, grinding until my jaw hurt. Was this it, then? Was he ready to air it all out and end this thing between us?   

The multiple windows give me a better view of his face. As always, I was struck by his fine features: straight nose, pretty mouth, strong jaw. But it was the new details that moved me. The dark skin under his eyes, the slightly greasy sheen on his forehead, and lips that were too red and cracked. Whatever he used to style his hair with was long gone, leaving it limp and looking like he’d run his hands through it too many times.  

He was handsome as always, but he didn’t look good.  

“I've been waiting for this day,” I spat, ignoring all that, “though I expected you to come sooner. What happened, couldn’t get off Michael’s leash, or does one of the others hold it these days?”  

His smile was mocking. “You were waiting for me? Why is that?”  

I stayed silent. Maybe this had nothing to do with what I’d done. Maybe Will didn't even know and was here for another reason. If that were the case, telling him now would only make him worse.  

He tilted his head, taking a step to the side. “Is it because you know you owe me, maybe.”  

“I owe you shit.” Lie. Lie. Lie.  

“We both know that isn’t right,” he said. With each step he took, I took another. I knew he was herding me back to the bedroom. There was no other choice unless I let him close the distance between us. “I loved you, and you lied.”  

“You put Martin in the hospital,” I argued, “and you burned down my gazebo. I’d say we’re even.”  

“You ruined me.”  

“You’ve got nobody to blame but yourself.”  

He came to a stop as he entered the hallway. “You want to know why I’m here, Em? I just wanted to see you. See how you were holding up after everything you did to me, to us. I wanted to talk, to understand why...I wondered if you’d finally tell me the truth after all this time. If you could do that, then maybe...”  

So he did know.

I didn’t answer him. How could I?  

“I am barely hanging on, Em,” he continued. “And you know what really hurts? Instead of seeing you hurting just as much, you have the life you always wanted. Away from me. Happy.”  

My mouth opened with a silent gasp as my chest caved in. He’s been watching me. For how long? What has he seen?  

“What did you expect?” I ask, forcing more bravado than I felt. “For me to wallow around in self-pity, drinking my days away, and lifting every skirt I can find? I think you’ve got us confused, Will.”  

“Who was the guy?” he growled.  

What? I blinked in confusion, his unexpected diversion causing my mind to spin out.  

Will stepped closer. “The guy you had lunch with. Is he your man now?” The question was guttural, like it was torn from his throat.  

Lunch. I had lunch with Brett, a senior designer at the firm. He wanted to bring me onto his team for an upcoming project and invited me to lunch to review the details. We talked about the house and our ideas. It was innocent. He was a happily married man with three kids at home. But the way Will’s eyes trailed over me, I might as well have been sitting in his lap.   

“So what if he is?” I challenged. “Why shouldn’t I be out here, living my life? I could crawl into as many beds as I wanted. Let every man in the city have a piece of this ass. What are you going to do about it?”  

He charged. I retreated, scrambling to get away from him, from the anger that poured out of him and burned me.  

“Will,” I cried when he caught my shoulders and turned me so my back hit the wall. My glasses flew off, clattering somewhere nearby. “Will, stop.”  

His closed fist landed next to my head, and I felt the vibrations down my neck and spine. “All you had to do was apologize.”  

With shaky hands, I bunched the fabric at his shoulders, feeling the soft material of a hoodie. A black hoodie, just like before. “I won’t.”  

“Why can’t you just do what I ask, just once. Why do you have to ruin everything?”  

“I gave you what you wanted.” My voice strained as tears built behind my eyes. That perfect night. We had one perfect night, and it was everything I had to give. He never understood that. “I gave you Thunder Bay back. I left so it could be yours. Isn’t that what you want.” He wanted to erase me, and I let him.  

He shook me by the arms, screaming, “I told you want I want.” Me...Us.  

The ache from his grip and the sound of his rage felt like an old meeting an old acquaintance. Looking up at him, I almost smiled. “And I told you no.”  

Maybe I was the first. I'd love that.

He pushed me so forcibly that my head thumped against the wall as he stepped away. He ran a hand over his face, a sound like a groan crossed with a wail pulling from his chest. It broke me to hear, but I couldn't let him see it, even now. 

“I can’t,” he panted, gasping for air that escaped him. His glare cut me deep, despite the shadows we stood in. “They’re all moving on. But I can’t. Because of you.”  

I understood. No matter what I did, no matter who I met, nothing changed. I was still Emory Scott, the girl who killed the heart of the only boy she ever loved. “You’ll have to kill me.”  

He recoiled as if slapped and looked as shocked as I felt at seeing him here.  

I rested my head against the wall and looked up at my ceiling as the tears threatened to leak. “Kill me because I can’t keep doing this with you.” Taking a deep shuddering breath, I turned my gaze on him, hardening myself. “But I can’t be this with anyone else either.”   

And that was the truth. Will had a part of me, a crucial part that kept me chained to him. I ached from a hollow emptiness constantly. Lived with the pain, knowing I’d never be full again. I only truly lived when I was with Will.   

I forced my eyes to stay open, trained on him. "So come on, Will! Finish this. Finish what you started." Because I warned him to stay away from me. Don't touch me. He never listened and always did what he wanted. This was the consequence.  

He charged at me, and I gasped, bracing myself for his wrath. As soon as he got his hands on me, I swatted at him, heedless of his strength and not caring where my blows landed. 

But Will took me by surprise. He wrapped me up, pinning my arms between us. “Shh,” he said into my hair. I fought to push him off, but my energy waned the longer he held me. Stupidly, I leaned into him, hiccuping into his shoulder. I felt him move, shifting lower. His nose dragged down my temple, around my cheek, over the curve of my jaw until he pressed an open kiss along my nape. That stirred in me something I should have known better than to enjoy. Anticipation mixed with fear and...  

I pounded my fist against his chest to keep from cracking open in front of him. “I’m not sorry.”   

“Neither am I,” he shot back, his breath heating the place his lips just were. “We’re not done yet.”  

I sniffled and stiffened in his arms as his words took root. His hand snaked up the back of my neck and into my hair. He fisted the loose strands, forcing my head back to look at him in his hooded eyes. The stark green rimmed in red was all I could see.   

“We are going to finish this, Em, and I'm going to get my due,” he said, his other hand coming up and wrapping his fingers around my exposed throat. My heart hammered under the pad of his thumb. His lips brushed lightly against mine as he whispered, “But I want to enjoy it. Sober.”  

My breaths became shallow as I watched him watch me. So much of this was familiar, yet I didn't know what this new Will would do next.   

Will moved suddenly, his mouth landed fully on mine and his tongue sinking in deep for a terrible moment that I craved so much before pulling back. “So, you’ll have to wait a little longer, but I promise you when I’m done, you’ll wish all I wanted was an apology.”  

/-/-/

part 2>>

#devil's night series stuff #will grayson iii #emory scott #willemmy #my fic #au #requested #devil's night series #multiple chapters

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[away-ward]

See You Around

3.9k words on the first time Emory meets Will. Emory's POV. Notes at the end.

Emory would be about 13, and Will 14. I'm horrible at math, but I think since Will said he saw her during the summer when he was 14 and his birthday is in May, he would be starting his sophormore year at that age.

Usual disclaimers: This is all for fun. I can't write like Penelope Douglas. Emory won't sound the same, but I try. Thank you for giving it a shot.

Emory

I shifted on my feet, double checking the number on my printed schedule with the number on the locker. The excited voices of Thunder Bay Prep’s student body hollered all around the hall. Spinning to the last number on the dial, the door gave easily and I stepped closer, sticking my head inside. I didn’t have anything to put in the locker yet, but I use the metal walls to block the world.

For just a minute.

My heart was still in my throat. Had been since Martin dropped me off at the curb out front. Everybody stared at the squad car and then at me. As if I needed anything else to separate me from them. Not only am I new and poor, my brother’s a cop and my guardian. And everybody knows. My social life was DEA before I even stepped foot on the premises.

Which was fine. Thunder Bay Prep was my ticket out of town, not up the social ladder. The public school I would have gone to had crap extracurriculars, and I had every intention of taking advantage of what was offered, especially if it kept me out of the house for any length of time.

I rested my head against the cool blue locker, breathing in the smell of disinfectant. They must have just had the school cleaned for the first day. I tried to let that distract me, because I knew that it wasn’t just the judging glances from the other kids that had me wound tight. It was Martin. He wanted something from me.

I said 'thank you' for the ride, and told him to have a good day, but there was something else he wanted me to say and I failed. I failed and I knew he wouldn’t let it go. His disappointment with me would simmer in him all day until he got home and then nothing I said would matter.

My throat tightened again. Words and speaking up were still difficult. Martin didn’t like it when I stopped talking after our parent’s deaths. But nothing I said now was right either.

The locker door next to me opened and a girl started unloading her designer purse into the space. She was mid-conversation with her friend and I turned into my locker even more in an effort to be invisible. They ignored me anyway. From the sound of the voices, they weren’t freshman like me, though the way some of those kids looked and acted, it was hard to tell.

I peeked, just to get an idea of what I’d be dealing with. It confirmed my suspicions. The girl closest to me had thick, dark waves that reached midback, while the other had hair of spun gold, layered and highlighted. Both were tan – the natural kind, from weeks laying at the beach.

They wore the newest version of the uniform, the pattern on the skirt slightly different from the second-hand one Martin acquired from a recent graduate. It was too large for me and I had to safety-pin it so it wouldn’t fall form my underdeveloped hips. It still fell passed my knees, and the too large shirt hung off my boney shoulders.

Comparatively, their uniforms seemed almost too small. The shirts clung to the swell of their chests, and the skirts were rolled to midthigh, a lot shorter than what I thought was mandatory.

Seniors, if I had to guess.

A third girl approached, and amid hugs and squeals, I gathered it had been a while since they’d seen each other. Questions of vacations and trips followed. The newest girl showed off her diamond bracelet, a gift from ‘daddy,’ but the way she said it left room for interpretation of who exactly ‘daddy’ could be.

My eyes followed the bracelet on her thin wrist, barely processing what they were saying. She asked about their summers and when the two girls paused briefly before erupting into giggles, she stepped closer and asked again more eagerly.

The blonde broke first. “Maisie slept with Michael Crist at the end of summer party last weekend!”

“What?” The newest girl gasped. She has dark hair too, but lighter than the other, and eyes the color of a clear summer sky. They widen with surprise at Maisie.

“Oh, please. Don’t looked so shocked. You haven’t seen them since you’ve been back.”

Her friend didn’t look mad, only disgusted. “Since when to do we sleep with freshman. They’re practically babies.”

“Sophomores now,” Maisie insisted. Then she leaned in closer to her friends. “But trust me, there’s nothing soft about him.”

I frowned as they laughed. Gross. I’m officially uninterested.

“He can’t be more than 13,” the third girl continued. She looked half between a grimace and a smile.

“He just turned 15, actually.”

“Still. You’re kidding right? You’re panting over a 15-year-old boy. Where’s the challenge?”

“One, no one is panting here. Two, wait until you see them. Then you might not be so judgy.”

The bracelet girl shared a look with the blonde, but she only nodded to confirm Maisie’s words.

“Worth enough to commit a crime over?”

“Who’s going to tell? Him? Please.”

“Nothing stays a secret in Thunder Bay. You know that. It’ll all come out eventually.”

I heard Maisie close her locker. “Besides, I heard from Rebecca that she had a bit of fun with Damon Torrance…and then Will Grayson.” She laughed like it’s a big scandal. “Clearly, they’re not holding out for anyone. Those boys are ready to play.”

The girl shook her head in disbelief, then paused, seeming interested. “Wait. Like, at the same time, or…”

That was when I decided I needed to get out of there.

I tried to discreetly shut my locker and move in the opposite direction, giving one last look over my shoulder. I just…wanted to see them. To see these girls who cared about nothing but having a good time, as disturbing as their conversation was.

My movement caught the attention of Bracelet Girl and we made eye contact. She arched a brow, blue eyes hardening as I tried to duck away.

“What are you looking at?”

My throat pinched again, closing around my breath. My large glasses slipped down my nose and I freed one hand from it’s death grip on the strap across my chest to push them back up. “Nothing,” I finally push out in one breath. I waited, immobilized under their glares.

The blonde squinted her eyes at me. “Wait, I know who this is. Her brother’s that cop that shut down our parties all summer.”

Their eyes scanned me from head to toe and back up, taking in what I already knew they’d see. Sloppy uniform, scuffed shoes, stick-thin body. New and Poor and Snitch. I breathed in sharply. Please, don’t let that be what I’m known for.

Maisie stepped closer, crowding me against the lockers.

“I – “ I broke off. I, what? I’m not going to tell. Because that wouldn’t have been suspicious as hell.

“Here’s a tip if you want to stick around: look down,” Maisie advised. “Don’t make eye contact with those who are superior to you.”

That close up, I didn’t need my glasses to see the details of her face. I could see her hostility just fine over the thick, black rims. She waited for me to give in. I did, almost immediately, with Martin’s last warning look flashing in my head.

I flinched and dropped my gaze to the floor, like the coward I am.

Laughter broke out among them. I glared at my feet, already anticipating what the next year would bring with her as my neighbor. Like with Martin, I’d have to start timing my day so that we never crossed paths if I could help it.

“Maisie,” the blonde said, new excitement ringing in her voice. “Look.”

I felt the shift in the atmosphere. Maybe it was the way Maisie seemed to stand it bit taller, her chest jutting out just a bit more, or the way the hall seemed to hush. Something changed. The air became charged. Beyond my control, I lifted my head to look for the source and my attention was hooked by them.

A group of boys dominated the hall, heading in our direction. They were various ages, some taller than others, but four stood out the most, as if they had a gravitational pull that affected all of us. It was weird to see, because it was clear that they weren’t the oldest or the biggest. They still had round faces compared to the older, bigger boys – men, really, for all intents and purposes. Hierarchy should dictate they were at the bottom, yet somehow everything moved around them.

“Hi, Michael,” Maisie called as the lot passed by.

One boy glanced and barely gave her a nod, a single tilt of his head downward. Hardly an acknowledgment if I’d ever seen one. It looked like he could have been agreeing to whatever his friend was saying, except the friend also spared her a flick of his dark eyes before turning back to Michael.

Ouch. I almost felt bad for her. If I hadn't also found it slightly funny.

Another with darker hair and eyes of black made a show of skimming her form. His fingers came to his lips, playing with the full bottom one as he smirked at her desperation. Maisie gave him a coy smile and his tongue ran the edge of his teeth. He reminded me of a shark.

Ugh. I was disgusted by both of them.

Then my world was made of green.

Verdant. Viridian. Malachite. Lush, rich, green.

So green, like the leaves of an oak tree in the middle of summer, when you sit under its shade and drown in the color.

Attached to the green eyes that pinned me was a roundish tan face, and chocolate brown hair, purposefully gelled to look messy in that style I hated. He rotated fully as he passed, walking backward to keeping me in his sight. His eyes never deviated from mine. I know that because I couldn’t tear myself away either.

Then, his eyes dipped slowly. They danced with light and humor as his gaze wandered down.

And for a moment, my chest hurt. I knew what he saw.

New and poor and weak.

And standing next to Maisie and her friends, I was aware of what my thirteen-year-old body must look like. His roving gaze lingered somewhere below my eyes before coming back up. He bit his lip, the tip of which curved upwards in beginnings of a broad smile. He looked like he smiled easily.

Still, despite myself, my heart thumped. Was it embarrassment? Shame? I’d felt those before, but this didn’t match. It wasn’t familiar.

His dark-haired friend threw an arm around his neck, dragging him along to keep up with the group as it turned the corner at the end of the hall. Life followed them, and when they were all gone, the hall felt dead, like a light had gone out and none of us were breathing.

The hall started moving again, life returning. Maisie’s head snapped back around and she zeroed in on me. Martin had already taught me what came after that. Instead of sticking around for it, I attempted an escape.

I didn’t get far. Maisie grabbed the collar of my navy blazer, yanking me so hard my back hit the locker and I bit down on the cry that came up. It shouldn’t have hurt that much. Once the pain reached it’s peak and started to come down, I opened one eye and then the other.

Maisie didn’t say anything. She didn’t need to. The look she gave me said it all.

Message received.

Not that she had anything to worry about.

She left first, the blonde followed, but the girl with the bracelet stayed. I watched her warily, waiting for her attack. She held her large black binder to her chest, and unlike her friends with their designer purses, she made the sensible choice of a Jansport.

“I don’t know what you’re thinking,” she started softly but firm, “but boys like that will never be serious with a girl like you, and you’ll only end up worse for it. Do you understand?”

It’s not what I expected to hear and I think my surprise showed. My mouth dropped open, but I didn't answer. Wasn’t it obvious?

“I’m not trying to be mean. It’s only the truth.”

“Don’t worry,” I manage to say, squeezing the strap of my bag. “I’m not here to steal anyone's future sugar daddy.”

“That’s not what –“ She broke off, eyes hard again. Dipping her head, she sighed. “Never mind. Figure it out yourself. Hope it hurts."

 --

By the end of the second week, I’d figured out my schedule so that I was gone before Martin could give me a ride and I barely saw Maisie and her friends. My favorite times of the day were before school and after school, when the building was mostly empty and I didn’t feel eyes following me. Judging me.

I stopped at my locker to get the books I needed for the weekend. My plan was going well enough. Band would take up Tuesday and Thursday afternoons. Fridays would be game days as soon as the season started. I planned on trying out for the swim team, and that would take up Mondays and Wednesdays. I’d figure out something for the weekends. With any luck, I’d rarely be home except when I absolutely needed to be. For Grand-mere. I missed her already.

The air in the empty hall shifted in a way that had become all too familiar. The skin on the back of my neck prickled with heat and I flipped around, fusing my back to the wall of lockers now behind me.

“Hi,” William Grayson smiled. Full lips framing perfect, straight white teeth.

Up close, it was more than obvious he was rich. He had wealth written all over his features. One day, he’d grow from boyishly cute to big and handsome. With broad shoulders already, he was getting there. Still, there was a touch of softness to his face that kept him from being ‘hot’ just yet.

It wasn’t hard to learn his name. It seemed to be on the lips of nearly everyone at school. Youngest son of one of the richest families in the country, no wonder Maisie and her friends felt territorial. I agreed – I shouldn’t even be allowed to walk the same halls as their kind. And even though they were only sophomores, his group of friends stood out, small as the student body was. They just...vibrated on a different plane than everyone else.

And again, I got caught in his eyes. Twin pools that drew me in with how they dance with life. A life of pleasure and freedom, without pain. That’s him. I kinda hate him for it.

I was half-convinced I was going crazy.

“There’s a party out at the warehouse tonight. A sort of welcome back bash thing.”

I’d heard about it, but not directly. News of the cop’s sister traveled fast. On top of that, freshmen usually didn’t get invited to those types of parties. Too risky for teens who just want to drink and have other kinds of fun.

At that moment, I was more concerned with why he was standing so close and stepping even closer.

“Are you going?”

“No.” I answer firmly, swiftly.

I didn’t expect that to be the end of it. He didn’t seem to be the type to give up, so to send an even clearer message, I slammed my locker closed and attempted to move around him.

He moved with me.

“I can pick up you. That’s no problem.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Aren’t you fourteen?”

His devilish smile widened and I cursed myself for being so obvious. “Don’t worry about it. You in?”

“My answer is still no.”

“It'd be dope if you came.”

Seriously? Dope? Kill me. What's his angle? “Let’s see,” I tapped my finger to my chin, “going to an abandoned warehouse with a stranger and his buddies? Sounds like a invitation that only stupid girls would fall for.” I looked him dead straight in his laughing green eyes. “Go find someone else to live out your horror movie fantasies.”

He stuck out his hand. The tips of his fingers brush the front of my shirt because he was standing so close. “William Aaron Paine Grayson III.”

I froze, completely dumbfounded by his response.

I wasn’t kidding earlier. Literally everyone knew his name.

He leaned in as if to whisper a secret. “If you shake my hand and then say your name, we won’t be strangers anymore. We’ll be friends.”

I took a deep breath to bolster myself against the onslaught of his scent. “You know who my brother is?”

“All I'm hearing is that you have access to handcuffs.” His eyes shined. “Wow, this is quick, but I’m down. Didn't know you'd be so kinky. Guess I should've. It's always the quiet ones.”

I involuntary rolled my eyes and bite my inner lip out of frustration. His gazes dips like that first time and then it darkens, narrowing. His throat works with a swallow. My whole body buzzed in response. What was that about?

Shaking out of my thoughts, I tried a second time to get around him. He blocked me once again.

I dart to the left, and he's right in front of me, pushing me back.

“I’m on the basketball team. I can do this all afternoon.”

I ground my teeth and glared. “I know this is new for you, but leave. Me. Alone.”

“Come on,” he laughed lowly, stepping even closer and crowding me. “Just tell me your name.”

“I don’t need to.” I half-shouted in the empty hall. My eyes darted around him, looking for an exit.

“Emory.”

I stood, shocked and frozen in place. Even breathing was a struggle while blood rushed through my ears. But it wasn’t the same panic I felt when I heard Martin pull up. This was different. He said my name so softly, it was almost a pleasant whisper.

A caress.

He said it again, his voice deeper than before. “Emory Sophia Scott.”

People often got my name wrong, replacing the ‘O’ with an ‘E.’ It’s a small difference, but wrong nonetheless. However, my name rolled off of Will’s tongue as if he’d been practicing it.

“Would that have been so hard to say? It’s a beautiful name.” His hand came up and brushed the jacket of my oversized uniform, finding one of the loose buttons to play with. “Beautiful name for a beautiful girl.”

Beautiful name for a –

I scoffed.

No.

Hell no. I can’t believe him.

He somehow found the space to step even closer - seriously, how is there still space left. Any closer and I'd have been breathing in him. I back up as much as I could, causing the dial of my locker jutted into the exact center of a bruise and I gasped. But I couldn’t tell if it was from the pain this time.

“I’d really like to take you to that party tonight.” His tone had shifted, and though he was still smiling, I got the feeling he wasn't playing anymore. He seriously wanted me to go for some reason.

But I've seen Carrie. That's not happening here.

When I didn’t say anything, he slid his hand under the strap of my bag and lifts it over my head, taking it with him when he stepped away. Another step back, and then another. Before long, he was down the hall, walking away from me while keeping me locked in his sight.

With my bag.

I launched away from the lockers. “Give it back!”

“You want it?” He held it out of my reach with his superior height. “Come to the party. You’ll get it afterwards.”

“I can’t go.” I made a dive for it as he swings it around to his other hand. My fingers swept the fabric but clenched around air.

He spun out of the way, turning around me so that for a moment he was at my back. “Can’t or won’t?”

“Both.” I growled when I saw that he’d opened it and was pulling out my class binder. “Stop going through my stuff.”

He looks up gleefully. “You’re in band? That’s so cute. I can already see you in that little hat. It’ll go great with your glasses.”

So now he was openly making fun of me. Thanks for making it so clear.

“It’s great too, because you’ll be there to play the fight song for all of my games.”

“I’ll never play for you.” I jabbed and darted for the binder, but he effortlessly dodged my every attempted. Not only did he have height on me, but natural athleticism. Basically everything I lacked in spades.

“How many AP classes are you taking? Don’t you want to have a life,” he asked, going through my schedule.

If only he knew.

“Swim team, huh?” He stopped and eyed me up and down again, as if seeing me for the first time. Maybe picturing in a swim suit, even if the school’s team uniform was modest. “Maybe I should come to some of your meets. Would you like that?”

“Don’t bother.”

He shrugged dismissively. “I’ll already be there. Kai’s thinking of joining the swim team in the off season. Although, I have to admit I’m a lot more excited to see you than him.”

“Wrong choice. He’s prettier.” And he was. Kai Mori was something else.

Will smirks and nods. “Oh, he’s hot, for sure. But we’ll have to disagree on that.” There was an undercurrent to his words; something left unspoken that I couldn’t figure out.

I stared, breathing heavily from the exertion. He hadn’t broken a sweat.

“Fine,” Will said. “You can’t come to the party. Maybe another time. I’m still holding this until Monday unless you find me sooner and make me give it back.”

He just doesn't get it. I rushed up to him, getting in his face, bag forgotten. He didn't back up on my approach. In fact, he leaned in, his facing lighting up I grew near. It filled me with venom.

“Correction: I don’t want to go to the party. I’ll never want to go anywhere with you. I don’t want you talking to me or coming to my swim meets or looking for me in the stands during games. I don’t want to know you, and I don’t want to be friends. That will never happen. So go find some other girl to play with.”

I glared in spite and anger. He returned it when a stare of wonderment, like I’m somebody new. Like I’ve transformed in front of him. But I’m still just me. Suddenly, I became aware of how loud I had been. I shouted in his face. The first time in a long time I raised my voice.

For a second, I feared his reaction.

He leaned down. “I’m not trying to be your friend,” he whispered against my lips. “That's just the first step.”

The first step to what?

“Mr. Grayson? Miss Scott?”

We both turned at the sound of his name. My math teacher, Mr. Sorrel, stood at the end of the hall, his eyes darting between us. Will still had my bag over his shoulder, holding my binder in his hands. This doesn’t look good.

Will stepped back. “I was just helping Emmy with a class.”

“You? Helping her?” I heard the doubt dripping from each word and, irrationally, my irritation flared up.

Wait. Emmy? I glared at Will. Who gave him the right?

Mr. Sorrel didn't buy it for a second, but he sighed anyway, giving Will a regretful, tired look. “Give Miss Scott back her things and be on your way, Mr. Grayson.”

I blinked. Be on your way? That’s it?

Staring at Mr. Sorrel, Will took his time putting the binder back in my bag and closing it. Then, he held my bag out to me, dangling from one finger. I gripped it with both hands, hugging it too my chest as if it would protect me from his inspection.

He lingered longer than necessary, causing the teacher to prompt him again, that time with more force. Will rolled his eyes. Stuffing his hands in his slacks, he stepped up to me and then around.

As he went, he leaned down so that his lips brushed my ears. “See you around,” he said, his voice warm and delighted, “Emmy.”

I hugged my bag even tighter. Unable to stop myself, an exhilarating feeling surged through me. He wants to see me again. Maybe I misjudged him. It couldn't happen because Martin would have my head, but it was a nice thought.

My heart and stomach plummet at the thought of Martin, and all good feelings disappeared into the void too. There's no way a boy like Will Grayson would want anything to do with me. Not when Martin is around to ruin the fun. It had to be a trick after all; a plan he and his friends came up with.

Will’s words echoed in my mind as I walked out of the school alone. The kindness I thought I heard morphed into something else. Something dark and threatening.

See you around.

Emmy.

----

So...the response to my other willemmy was better than I thought. Thank you! I really apprecaite it. I suspect it's mostly a lack of other fics, but I'm still happy to see every like and reblog.

This one came about because I really just wanted to see their first meeting, and I'm kind sad we never got it. We got 3yo Michael holding Rika. We got Damon and Winter in the foutain. And Kai and Banks in the confessional booth.

But for Will and Emory? One line. Admittedly, this is probably the least important of the four, but I still wanted it. So, I headcanon.

I'm interested to know if you you thought about what their first meeting would have been like?

Again, sorry for any mistakes and thank you so much for your time!

Master List

#willemmy #will grayson iii #emory scott #my fic #devil's night series stuff #devil's night series #nightfall #penelope douglas

[away-ward]

Hell Yeah

Thoughts got away from me. As a result, here is a willemmy snippet/short fic. It takes place in the spring of Chapter 42, during that time jump.

I can't write anything like Penelope Douglas, and I know I can't nail these characters perfectly, so I feel a little embarrassed putting this out. I most I hope for is that you appreciate the fun of it.

Sorry for any mistakes, and thank you for reading.

Will

The rowdy sounds of laughter fill the large kitchen as everyone gathered once again at St. Killian’s. Mads and Ivars tumble around underfoot while we kick back. Everyone's here, and there isn’t even a good reason. We just naturally gravitate towards our old haunt turned home.

It feels good. Normal, even. These are my people, my family, and for once nothing's wrong. A peace I haven’t felt in years, and at one point thought I’d never have again. It hollers in my chest with each beat of my heart. There's only one thing that beats it…

I smile.

I don’t think the Fanes would be down to let me and Emmy sneak down to the catacombs for a little old-fashioned fun. Not while everyone is here, at least.

Not that we need to ask. Necessarily.

My eyes find Em automatically. She sits at the island, sandwiched between Alex and Rika, her hand supporting her chin as she watches the rapid, easy flowing conversation happening around her with a soft smile. My chest expands at the sight, loving that she’s there, in the middle and not in the corner away from everyone. It took forever to coax her out of those corners.

She’s still quiet though, and sometimes I still can’t tell if that’s her natural pace or if she’s nervous around us. She damn well never gives me a break, always busting me for something.

I love it.

Damon says leave her alone; she’ll speak when she wants to. Not everyone has to say everything that comes to mind like me.

But god, I love hearing her voice. And my heart stops at the sound of her laughter.

“…like that time you left me alone with Anderson five minutes too long,” Rika accuses, blue eyes narrowed at Michael but with none of the venom in her voice.

The guys and I all meet each other’s eyes as we simultaneously recall what happened after we pushed her out of that bathroom. We grin ruefully.

“Anderson?” Emory asks, glancing between Rika and the rest of us at the island. She hasn’t heard this story before and I know why.

It was the last normal night.

My eyes fall, teeth gritting against everything that follows.

She returns to Rika. “He bothered you?”

Rika rolls her eyes, lifting the glass she’s drinking from. “He bothered everyone.”

“And where is he now?” Michael rumbles. His seat is angled toward Rika but still open to everyone. Something passes between them, a shared secret in their own language.

Rika hides a smirk behind her glass.

“Exactly,” Michael finishes, sipping from his own bottle.

I chuckle to myself. The bottom of a river, that's where. It's will he'll stay if I have my way. I share a look with Damon, knowing he's in agreement. Anderson made the mistake of putting Winter's life at risk that night.

He all but signed his death certificate.

Em doesn’t add anything else to that. Her eyes flicker to the counter and she blinks for a moment. I catch her doing this occasionally. When I ask, she says it’s nothing.

But it’s something.

Damon tells me to give her time.

But she’s my wife and, God, I want to know. No secrets. That’s what we promised.

The conversation moves on and on and on, until night has fully taken over. The kids are passed out in the playpen in the living room, Winter’s whispering to Damon, pulling on his jacket sleeve to get him closer to the door, and we all pretend we don’t know what that means.

Banks and Kai start helping to clear the night’s dishes and trash while Rika sees Damon, Winter, and Alex out. Em picks up a large platter, careful not to spill the crumbs from the sandwiches we devoured over the course of the evening. As she turns, Kai is right behind her. I pause from gathering the cups and bottles to watch as he takes the platter from her. It takes a second but she lets him help, smiling as she follows him to the kitchen.

Kai told me what he said to her that night on the train while I was making calls and hiding. He’s apologized for it and Emmy said she accepted it. You’d think after we did later that night and then sharing a wedding, they’d be less awkward. She dived right in after everything and Kai has never been less than welcoming. Despite that, I feel it. This one thing, this crack in our foundation.

They’re trying, I know. It’s not easy to go from hating someone to seeing them as family overnight. But I worry what this will do to us if it continues. I love them both too much to let it happen. Em's my heart and Kai's been my reasoning for too long. I need them both.

Damon slaps my shoulder as his final parting, squeezing it for good measure. He’s the only one I’ve told my thoughts to. He’s not worried. Neither of them are big on talking; they respect actions so they communicate through doing, and that’s what will build their trust.

Though, I don’t think Damon worries about anything these days, except for whatever’s going on with Winter or Ivarson and their next one. Or his plans for Banks and Rika.

Maybe I’m just not ranking high enough on his radar anymore.

I’ll have to do something about that. Can't let him forget that I need him, too.

Rika waves us away when the kitchen is mostly clean. It’s late enough that I suspect she just wants us out of her house.

“If you were smart, you’d buy a secret property that none of us know about,” I tell her as she literally pushes me out the front doors. As usual, I’m the last to leave.

“I might have to,” she grunts, giving me another shove as I let gravity and my larger body give her trouble. “Otherwise, I’ll never get any privacy with my husband. Emory, think you can help?”

Emory rolls her eyes as she comes back up the stone steps. “Moron,” she mumbles, but the warmth in her eyes shakes me to my bones. She takes my hand and it’s like magic, pulling me towards her.

“Finally,” I hear Rika say and the door slam shut but all I can see is a rosy hue on golden skin and the tendons of Em's neck move when she sees me staring.

I laugh, watching as Emmy tries her hardest not to let that perfect smile show as I bring her hand up to my lips. She pretends to try to break away - or maybe she's serious - but it’s useless. No getting free now. She’s mine.

We descend the steps together, her hand in mine. She pushes her hair out of her face and adjusts her glasses. She only wears contacts when she’s working on-site, and I appreciate having free access to her face. I take full advantage, laying kisses across every millimeter while she tries to push me off. Still, her glasses are such a big part of her I’m happy she keeps on them most of the time.

I step towards passenger door of the truck to let her in, but she pulls me to a stop.

“It’s warm,” she says, looking at the sky.

“Yeah?” It’s spring. The weather is perfect. It’s late, but it’s Thunder Bay and I’m Will Grayson. “You wanna walk?”

She nods. I double check that the doors on the truck are locked, not that I’m worried about it.

We walk the same route the guys and I took the night we headed to Michael’s wedding, unknowingly our wedding. Every time it gives me a rush. I still can’t believe she sprang that one on me – just diving in. While I worried that she was changing her mind, she was focused on not wasting any more time. She’s so good at giving me everything I want and nothing I expect.

“What did you guys do to Anderson?” Emory asks as we walk through the center of town, our path lit only by the glow of the street lamps.

It takes a moment for me to remember the conversation from earlier. I don't know if she's asking about the Rika accident or his final moments, not that it matters.

“Nothing he didn’t deserve.” I look down at her, seeing the way her eyes flicker again. Using our linked hands, I pull her closer to my side forcing her to lean into me. “Why?”

“No reason, just curious. He was always a bit of a jerk.”

I frown, knowing more about him and his girlfriend than I’d like to. It pisses me off that we let them run around so freely after we left for college. But we didn’t know all that he was at the time, just that he pissed us off. “More than a bit, and more than a jerk.”

She snorts bitterly. “Yeah.”

Her response rolls around in my brain for a minute. Anderson was a predator, no two ways about it. If he had the guts to pick on Rika – the town’s sweetheart – and Winter – the mayor’s daughter – then Emory would be an easy target.

“He ever do anything to you?”

Her big dark eyes dart up to me and she gives me this look of disbelief. It’s the look she always gives me when she thinks I’ve asked a dumb question with an obvious answer. And yeah, sometimes the answers are obvious. I’ve only started looking at her past without my blinders so it’s going to take some time.

“But it’s no big deal,” she says with a shrug. “Everyone bothered me.”

I shake my head, angry for not having pieced it together before. Angry at Anderson but more at myself. “Why didn’t you say anything? I would’ve–" I break off with a harsh exhale. That’s a dead-end conversation and I know it.

Em lets out a short, harsh laugh. “Will, who do you think gave them the idea?”

I stop and she stops too, still hanging on to my hand. “What do you mean?”

She blinks, head cocked to the side in confusion. I’m serious, though. When she gets that, she sighs and looks way and squaring her jaw.

I yank on our linked hands, getting her attention back on me. “No secrets,” I tell her. It doesn’t matter that it’s the middle of the night and we’re standing in the middle of the street in the middle of our town. She’s telling me right now.

She raises her brows at the challenge. “Okay, Will. Tell me, what do you think the other students saw when you cornered me in the hallways? When you’d sit in the bed of your truck before school and joke about flipping my skirt? When you’d yank me into your lap or force others to sit away from me so you can have easy access to your mark?”

I remember clearly all the ways I tried to get her attention. I loved that blush that rose to her cheeks, quickly followed by the rush of anger in her eyes. She’s always been fun to tease. Even when she tried new tactics, like ignoring me or avoiding me, they never worked for long. Getting a rise out of her was the best part of my day. Sometimes the only reason I even went to school.

Which reminds me, I never did get to flip that blue skirt. Emmy doesn’t have her old school uniform anymore. Said she burned it the first chance she got after she landed in California. We still have my old tie, though, and I’m thinking Rika might have an in with the school. I’ll definitely pay for it, if that's the case.

She smirks, knowing where my thoughts had taken me, before sobering. “I know why you were doing it,” she says evenly. “But to everyone else, it just looked like I was Will Grayson’s target of the month. For three whole years."

I ground my teeth as she continued.

“Will Grayson, bullying the band geek. Will Grayson, laughing at the scholarship kid. Will Grayson, trying to get into the overalls of the moody, little nerd.”

My jaw clenched. I was trying to get into the overalls of my moody, little nerd. But that’s not all I wanted. And I probably would have killed anyone else who had the guts to try.

Emory swallows, her big eyes blinking at me from behind her glasses. “The other kids saw all that, and thought – well, if you can get away with it, I'm free game. So, they did it too.”

“It’s my fault.” Old news. I was so focused on her I didn’t think of the repercussions. It wasn’t just about her brother; I knew how mean my classmates could be. I brought the worst kind of attention to her and then didn’t shield her. I tried, when I caught it. But I wasn’t around all the time. I should've known there was more.

“No,” she whispers, shaking her head. “No, Will. I would have been a target anyway. I was a band geek and a scholarship kid, and my brother was a cop. You just made it impossible for me to stay in the background.”

Shit.

“Senior year was the worst,” she added casually, swinging out linked hands between us. “Because I had to deal with their shit and pretend that I didn’t know what it felt like to be loved by you. Martin was particularly hard, I think because he knew his time with me was coming to an end. I felt nothing but hate that year.”

I hate this. I need to hear it. Every story she chooses to share helps me see her better.

I pull her to me, hugging her to my chest and wrapping my arms around her, one around her back, the other winding through her hair. I kiss the top of her head and rest my chin there.

Never again.

“I’m going to make it up to you,” I vow into her hair. “Every day.”

I feel her shift against me, her hands running up my sides and under my shirt. They’re hot when they meet my bare skin. My heart jumps to my throat.

“Yes, every day,” she agrees. Her head tilts up until she’s looking at me. We meet eye to eye with how much I'm leaning over her. I can feel her breath against my lips and takes everything not to give into the pull. “Because now, I’m going to be your bully.”

I swallow, not even going to pretend I don’t respond to that; to the way she’s looking at me, as if I’m her next meal. God, yes.

She uses her hands at my sides to push me back until my back meets the brink wall of one of the closed businesses. It bites into my back but I can’t feel anything except her. Her lips form a wicked smile as they ghost around my neck and jaw, heating my skin.

She's testing my patience, something she's always been good at.

“I’m going to be the one shoving you into dark corners, and staring at you during your pick-up games with the boys. Distracting you.”

I try to move my hands to her hips, her ass, to bring her closer but she grips my wrist and pins them to the wall at my sides.

“Don’t play,” I groan, “you always stared at me during my games.”

“It was the uniform.”

My chest rumbles with the deep chuckle. “I know it was. I know a thing or two about uniforms, remember.” Yeah, I’m definitely getting one of those blue Thunder Bay Prep school uniforms. At least the skirt. She’s gonna let me flip it at least once.

She scoffs and I feel it everywhere. “I’m going to catcall you when I’m working in town with Damon, so that everyone knows who you're going home to. And I’m going to whisper the most delicious things in your ear, you’re going to wonder if I’m even real.”

I lean forward, trying to capture her lips but she moves out of the way. Her hands keep me pressed against the wall. I could easily overpower her, but this is it. This is everything I want.

This is everything I need.

Quiet, little Emory Grayson, making demands about what she wants. She looks so bored half the time, but right now she staring at me like she’s got plans for me.

And it's all for me.

We're going to be okay. I can already feel our foundation becoming stronger.

“Yeah,” she says, her lips finally connecting with my jaw and it feels like all pressure in me releases and triples at the same time. “You’re going to make it up to me, alright.”

“Hell, yeah,” I sigh as her warmth sinks in.

__

Master List

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[away-ward]

Make No Apologies, part 2

<part 1 | part 3>>>

Master List

Will

2 Years Later

Damon called the meeting, but of course he was the last to arrive, after refusing to tell us what it was about. He gathered us at his offices, in the conference room that was hardly ever used because Damon hated going to meetings. He'd rather work alone in the field or his shop than talk to his clients. That’s what Alex is for, he said. To please.  

I leaned over to Kai. “Do you know why we’re here?”  

He shrugged, scrolling through his phone. “As long as it’s not another plan for my wife, I don’t really care.”  

Banks was rocking it, somehow managing the business Gabriel left her and walking the political path Damon set her on. The Senator helped where he could, but Banks was always a natural.   

“If it was about the women, we’d be a St. Killian’s,” I said. That’s where we handled that side of our life. I swung back and forth in a wide arc in the cushy office chair. “This is something else.”  

Kai looked to the side, eyeing my fidgeting. Blackchurch had changed me. My restless energy was put into more productive things, and old habits were replaced with new ones. These days, I was healthier, sharper, quicker. Steadier.  

Usually.  

“Maybe it’s an idea for Devil’s Night,” I continued when neither offered any other suggestions.  

There was something in the air today that reminded me of old times. All my anxious energy twisted inside me, making me want things I hadn’t thought about in ages.  

 “I don’t know,” Kai said, returning to his phone.  

I swiped a bottle of water from the center of the table, taking a swig. Nodding to Michael, seated across from us, I asked, “You can’t feel it?”  

“All I feel is your leg vibrating under the table,” Michael replied. “Go outside and have a smoke.”  

Kai laughed under his breath. Michael hated it when we smoked around him; he especially hated that we supplied Rika with packs of cancer sticks. If he was encouraging my bad behavior so early in the morning, we were indeed at the end times.  

Damon appeared then, looking fresh despite having three toddlers at home. He stood at the front of the room, hands in his suit pockets.  

“Finally,” I said.  

He smirked at me. “Anxious to get going, are we? What, got a hot date later.”  

I flipped him off. Yeah, they were all married with children, and I’d sworn off women as a vice. So what? I don’t need it right now. I had my crew, my work, and the town. For the first time in my life, I woke every day knowing exactly what I was doing and why I was doing it.   

D knew I had plans, and what I was waiting for.  

It wasn’t the right time for it. Yet.  

“Enough,” Michael intervened as I shot Damon a dirty look. “What are we doing here, Damon?”  

“Since you asked so nicely, Mr. Fane,” Damon started, smiling at Michael's glare, “we’re going to be breaking ground on a new project. I have the blueprint, but I want the families to fund the build.”  

“So, why are we here?” Kai asked. “Just pull the funding.”  

I narrowed my eyes. “He’s keeping secrets.”  

The three of us stared him down while he grinned, looking extremely pleased with himself. “I’m bringing in a design team to make it perfect.”  

“From outside the town? No way. All work stays in-house. You know that.” Kai scoffed. 

He nodded in agreement. “I couldn’t agree more. I think you’ll be happy with my pick.”  

The lower murmur of voices entered the building, moving toward us as the receptionist at the front directed them back. The body grew taunt with a new wave of anxiety, and even before I could see them, I knew.  

A group of five shuffled into the room, the leader stepping forward to shake Damon’s hands. He was a tall man, about my height, and young but not as young as us, but I recognized him immediately. My veins filled with fire as images of them seated across from each other at a small table came forward, talking as if no one else were in the room. I got drunk after that and went to the address my contact at the Senator’s office had gotten for me.  

And after that...   

Behind him, were two men, one younger and one slightly older, and a blonde woman with a broad smile that showed her gums. Trying to use them as a shield was her. Emory Scott. I could see her clearly, despite her attempts to hide herself.   

I stood, drawing the attention of the room. My chest felt heavier with each breath.  

“Will?” Damon asked though he knew exactly what he’d done.  

The man clapped his hands together. “Well, let me introduce you to my team, and then we can get started on the design plans.”  

He eyed me specifically since I was the only other one standing. Kai discreetly kicked my ankle under the table, drawing my attention off her. I lowered into the chair, even though all I wanted to do was go over there a grab her.   

Shake her. Run with her. Kiss her. Strangle her.   

This is why it wasn’t the right time. I knew what I was doing in all areas of my life, except for her.   

Once I was seated, Michael told them we were ready to continue. Damon stepped aside, giving them the floor to spread out. The result left her exposed to me, to us. I could feel Michael and Kai’s attention on me, waiting for my next move. Now that we knew what Damon was up to, whatever that man said didn’t matter.   

All that mattered was Emmy Scott had returned to Thunder Bay, and we were in the best position to make it hurt.   

“And I’m sure you are familiar with Emory,” the man said, waving a hand to encourage her forward. “I hear she left quite an impact on the town before she graduated. An arbor, was it?”  

“Gazebo,” she corrected, eyes flickering up to him and back down.  

I ran my tongue on the back of my bottom lip. It felt like a hundred ants marched under my skin, and I was convinced she was the only one who could make it stop. I needed to touch her, feel her in my hands. But of course, she’d come prepared for me. Or, at least, she probably thought she did something there, wearing black pants and a tight burgundy top that reached over her collarbones. Did she believe covering every inch of her body would stop me?   

“Right. Well, she’s one of our star designers. I can understand why you requested her to be on the team, Mr. Torrance.”  

Damon shrugged. “We’re a family-oriented town, and the Scott’s have been here for generations.” Em rolled her eyes behind everyone like she had forgotten where she was. “It only seemed right, considering the project and all.”  

That caught her attention. She leaned forward to look at Damon, barely holding back her disdain as she asked, “And what is the project?”  

Damon produced a skinny matte black tube with the seal of his design firm. I’d seen them before. He kept his blueprints and plans in them. Uncapping it, he tapped the rolled papers until they stuck out halfway. Holding them out to her, Emory stared as if he were offering her a dead fish instead.  

Damon tsk'd, taking them back to unroll himself. “Unfortunately, Emory’s gazebo was the victim of some drunk teenager’s antics and burned to the ground several years ago.”  

“Oh, no,” the blonde woman, Elise, gasped, turning to Em with sad eyes.   

Em exhaled heavily through her nose, tightening her lips. She glared at Damon instead of answering. And then at me.  

Whoops, I chuckled, running my hand over my mouth to hide the grin. I used to feel guilty. Now I know she deserved it.   

“But by a strange turn of events, I found these.” The papers lay flat on the table in front of us, and everyone except Emory, Damon, and I leaned forward to look. Damon and Emory because they were too busy looking at each other, and I looked at them.  

What’s going on there?  

“You want to build another gazebo?” The designer asked. Never taking his eyes off the page, he tilted his head in Em's direction. “This looks like one of your designs.”  

Emory shifted her weight, hedging momentarily before admitting, “It’s from high school. We can come up with something better.”  

“This is beautiful, Em. Why would we change it,” the younger man said, and Elise nodded in agreement. “You always were a genius, even back then.”  

I glared at him. What was his name? I heard it, but I wasn’t paying attention. Bryan? Byron? Whatever. I didn’t like how his eyes lit up when he complimented her.    

She shook her head. “It’s old. We should come up with something new.”  

“I really like the chandeliers,” the older man said to the lead, ignoring her.  

“The marble, though,” he replied. “It’ll be expensive.”  

“Don’t worry about the cost. This is the perfect way to honor the town.” Michael said. Even though this was Damon’s plan for me, he and Kai were already drawn into the restoration aspect. They were all about keeping Thunder Bay true to itself. I was too. Hence, Coldfield.   

I just needed a minute to process what was happening.  

“I was actually thinking iron,” Damon offered.  

The designer tipped his head in consideration. “Iron will work. Emory, what do you think?”  

Everyone in the room turned to where she lingered by the exit. Forced to step up, she took a deep breath before looking at the plans. Her throat worked with restrained emotion as she examined them.  

But then her shoulders relaxed. An intense expression overtook her face as her eyes moved about the page.   

“Iron would be perfect, actually.” She looked up to Damon with muted respect. “It’s a great idea.”  

No, stop. Don’t look at him like that. 

Damon tipped is chin to accept the compliment.  

The lead designer nodded. “Let’s get to work. We’ll draw up the new plans based on this original and send them over for approval by the end of the day.”  

Michael stood, reaching out for his hand. “Sounds good. My wife’s town mayor, so let me know when you need permits. We’ll get them pushed through.”  

We left after, each of us passing near Emory and getting a good look. She tried to move out of my range when I walked past, refusing to acknowledge me. I was tempted to take her then, but held back, knowing greater opportunities were coming my way. 

/-/-/ 

“Have you figured it out yet?”  

I couldn’t take my eyes off the conference room. I stood on the other side of the glass, a few feet away and out of their line of sight, watching them work. My hands fisted in my suit pockets as Byron set a cup of tea down next to Em, squeezing her shoulder and smiling when she looked up and thanked him. He set another cup next to Elise as if it were an afterthought.  

“I want to hit something,” I told Damon as he took the spot on my right. “I don’t know if it’s me, one of them, or you. But someone is going to get decked.”   

He laughed under his breath. “And here I thought exercise was relaxing you.”  

Working out was one of the few things I had left to clear my mind. This desire wasn’t that. This was rage. At her for being here, at Damon for bringing her, at me for not being ready.  

At fucking Byron, who kept nudging and smiling at her like a puppy every time she said so much as a single word.  

Stupid boy, I thought. You have no idea. She’ll eat you alive for fun and call it survival.  

“What am I supposed to have figured out?”  

“Her punishment.”  

After we got to the bottom of it, I told them about Em’s involvement in our arrests. It was all Evans Crist’s plan, and Em was only one of the many layers he used to hide his involvement. I wasn't mad about what she did any longer. My time at Blackchurch had offered some clarity in that. I knew it was what she had to do. It wasn’t personal for her.   

Her refusal to admit the truth when she had the chance was personal.  

Her mistrust in me – that was personal. And undeserved.  

Giving her attention to other people, when I'm the one that suffered for touching her - that was personal

I could find a reason to forgive if she had tried to explain – even once, even if I wouldn’t listen. Her withholding herself from me made it personal.  

If she wants her pride, fine. I intend to bury her with it.  

I sucked in a breath when Emory rose from her seat at the table. She looked nothing like the kid I saw before leaving for college. Her long chocolate hair was tamed into a slick-backed ponytail. Her skin was still golden but brighter and clearer than before. Radiant.   

God, I wanted to soak in it.  

So did Byron, too, apparently, because his gaze trailed after her. At least he respected her enough not to openly stare at her ass as she left.   

She reached the hall outside the conference before she saw me and Damon standing a few feet away, observing her. Her cheeks went rosy under the gold, and I remembered that about her, too.   

She’s still beautiful to me, despite knowing what she’s done.  

Despite not knowing what she’s done.   

“Bathroom?” she asked. Her voice tried for neutral, but she still looked like she was about to bolt. She was practically quaking in her sneakers.  

Damon nodded down the hall in the opposite direction.   

She looked at us a second longer, eyes dark and haunting behind the black frames, before turning her back to me. I licked my lips.   

“You better make your move,” Damon warned. “You’re not the only one wanting a piece of that.”  

I snorted. So, he noticed Byron too. “I’m not worried about that kid.” I rolled my shoulders, hating how tense I was. What I needed was to punch something and then hit the sauna.

“I’m not talking about the kid.”  

Confused, I turned to check in with him. He nodded, gazing into the room but not at the dope that tried to charm her. The lead designer. The one that made me hate her for moving on.  

Brett Hartley. I’d looked into him and couldn’t find any evidence that proved he was anything other than a senior designer and mentor.  

“Him?” I asked, making sure we were talking about the same thing.   

“He doesn’t look at her,” Damon said knowingly, reading the man in ways I couldn’t, “even when he’s talking to her.”  

My breathing picked up as I understood what he was getting at. “And that proves?” I said, not ready for him to say it.   

Emory returned, stopping at the entrance, regarding us with narrowed eyes before stepping back into the room. Everyone looked up except for Brett. She walked behind him, carefully keeping an adequate distance between them, and sat at the opposite end of the table.   

“Yeah,” he laughed. Turning to look at me directly, he leaned in, “They’ve definitely fucked.”  

I squared my shoulders. Cracked my neck. Raised a hand to brace myself on the wall.   

I take it back.

I needed her pretty little neck in my grasp.  

“So,” Damon continued, “make up your mind, but hurry up. Michael and Kai left twenty minutes ago, so I’m guessing I have about five minutes before my phone blows up with calls from the sisterhood of the always in my fucking business.”  

Yeah, I'm sure Rika will have a word or two to through in the mix. Not to mention Winter. There's no escaping it for him.

"Why'd you do it?" He knew I was waiting. He didn't need to jump the gun like this, speeding up my timeline.

He exhaled through his nose as his eyes darkened. "The kids are growing up, Will. I don't want you missing the boat. It's not how I imagined things."

I shook my head. Same story, different day. His idea for our lives trumped the reality, so he took action. I'd kind of thought we'd been through this, but I guess I'm not the only one slow to change.

No mind. Now that Emmy was here, there was no reason to hold back any longer.

"Oh, and D," I called when he began to walk away. He turned back, rubbing his chin with a questioning gaze. "I still remember that night."

It took a second, but his eyes lit up. "Same here."

"I've forgiven you a lot, Brother," I said warmly, letting him get comfortable. When he nodded, I let my voice drop. "But if I find out you touched her, we're going to have a problem. One even Winter won't be able to protect you from."

His expression fell, reverting to it's empty baseline. "Enjoy your gift," he told me in parting.

I grinned, returning my gaze to the room. Happy Devil’s Night to me

/-/-/

part 3>>

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