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hockeywhy · 3 years

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4 times you faked a relationship + 1 time you didn’t; m.tkachuk

WARNINGS: language. WORD COUNT: 17.2k. A/N: So, I didn’t want my effort for this fic to go to waste and I’ve decided to re-write it for Matty because he and the fake dating trope work so well together. I had to, so here it is.

one.

“I’d only be asking Matthew if I had no other options and needed a last resort,” you said. “Until then, I’m not even contemplating it.”

“Kind of sounds like you’ve just about reached the bottom of your list, right around where you’re keeping Matthew, Y/N,” your friend, Anna, responded and though her tone said sympathy, the look on her face reflected anything but sheer elation.

The invitation landed on your tabletop with a loud slap while you deposited yourself in a nearby chair unceremoniously, glaring at the decorative paper as if it offended you. Actually, scratch that. It did offend you. Greatly so. Honestly, it may as well have come in the form of one of those boxing gloves that sprung out of a box immediately upon opening and decked you square in the face. That’s how much it offended you.

The golden letters inked on the thick paper warmly requested the pleasure of your company to witness the love of Josh Reynolds to Louise Jones six weeks from now. The location stated was a hotel you knew only through word of mouth: one of those fancy establishments that served ridiculously priced plates that were more canapes than actual meals.

You doubted there would be much pleasure from your company.

You and Josh called it quits just over a year ago after a relationship that became increasing rockier, significantly more emotionally exhausting. The two of you started dating in high school and if the relationship started off with nothing but the sort of blinding fiery passion only teens could be capable of, well someone missed the memo on giving you the message that all fires eventually fizzle out. Gradually, it was the only way you could see your relationship heading and it seemed that Josh felt it too. It made the breakup easier: it was neat and mutual. Still, that couldn’t be considered an incentive for either of you to invite each other to such grand, deeply personal events. You couldn’t help but feel a little hurt that he found someone he wanted to tie the knot with so quickly but in retrospect, Josh had always wanted that while you were content as you were. That seemed to be the fork in your road with him.

On the one hand, you were angry at Josh for even considering jotting your name down on the list of attendees and on the other, you were angry at yourself for being angry about that. One moment you were dead set on declining the invite and the next, you considering that doing that would simply show you were bitter and unable to be civil about it. Besides, surely it was noted somewhere in the Rulebook of Ex’s that you just couldn’t do stuff like that. That seemed to just about do it. Like hell you’d given anyone the satisfaction of one-upping you.

You needed a plus one. Desperately.

“Ask your brother then. Pretty sure that’s bound to impress anyone there. It’s not often many will get to say they brushed shoulders with an up-and-coming professional athlete.”

“I don’t need that sort of plus one. If I did, I would’ve asked you—”

“Thanks,” Anna mumbled.”

“—but what I need,” you ploughed on ahead, “is, well, something that can come off a bit more serious looking.”

She rolled her eyes. “Saying the word boyfriend won’t jinx you into permanent silence, you know. You need a boyfriend.”

“A boyfriend for a day,” you agreed contemplatively.

She picked up the invitation to look through it carefully and after concluding her inspection, she slapped the papers back down on the table, grinning. “Matthew it will be then!”

Your younger brother, Jake, recently signed his entry-level contract with the Calgary Flames, in a way carrying forward the family tradition of starting a career in professional sports with them. Your grandfather did, your father did and now, here you were watching your little brother take on the mantle. Your family’s involvement in sport and, specifically, the team meant that you were somewhat familiar with the organization whether that meant attending home games or a few events arranged by the team. You couldn’t say you were the best of friends with them, certainly nowhere near the level your brother was, but generally speaking you were fond of the C of Red.

That couldn’t also be said about Matthew, however.

It seemed that from the get-go, there was a personality clash between you. At first, you thought it was just Matthew picking on you, joking around as he disagreed with virtually anything you’d say but progressively, you were pretty sure the two of you didn’t even have the compatibility to keep things civil. Matthew had a way with pushing your buttons and it bothered you he could do that with so much ease, though the more you thought of it, the more it shouldn’t have come as a surprise to you: you were all too familiar with his on-ice shenanigans, after all. Whenever you knew you had to be under the same roof as him, you’d tell yourself to not let him get under your skin but that resolve would last for all of ten minutes. Fifteen if you had a particularly good day.

Much to your chagrin, it seemed your brother was closest to Matthew. Though you offered the spare room in your apartment, your brother was so warmly welcomed by Matthew. It was no doubt even Jake found your annoyance with his teammate entertaining.

The thought alone was frustrating enough. If one day, by chance, you caught sight of a white strand of hair on your head, you were dead set on blaming Matthew for it. Matthew and his smarmy attitude; Matthew and his smartass retorts; Matthew and the smirks he threw your way whenever your brother took his side, outnumbering you.

You clenched your teeth, glaring at the invite. From the corner of your eye, you saw Anna’s outstretched hand holding your phone out to you. A groan formed in your throat and you wished you kept in contact with the handful of guys you tried dating after Josh. None really stayed. Or better said, none managed to draw you in. It was as if Josh had put a jinx on you. If that was the case, you hoped that this whammy would disappear if it meant watching him watch someone else walk down the aisle towards him.

Anna waved the device at you insistently. “Do it. Come on. Even you know nothing says fuck you like turning up there with Matthew. Scrappy when he wants to be and he’s not bad to look at either. You know it.”

You arched an eyebrow up at her. “More than Johnny?”

She flushed visibly. Johnny and Anna were still a relatively new thing, dancing around their relationship carefully as if they were both doing this rodeo for the first time. It was pretty cute. “Don’t change the subject.” She placed the device down on the table in front of you then patted your shoulder. “I have a feeling you won’t regret it. If he gets on your nerves too much, well…it can’t be worse than watching your ex get married, right?”

“Ouch,” you winced, but chuckled, knowing you were defeated. Matthew was the last resort, and you knew you were at the bottom of your list before you even started going through it. “You do realize if he declines, I’ll probably make a start on packing my bags and moving to Montana, right? The only time you’ll hear from me is when my handwritten letter goes through the nine circles of hell that is our postal service.”

Anna fixed you with a stare that could only read as ‘do it’. “I wouldn’t be so insistent on this if I knew Matthew would say no. I have a feeling he’ll surprise you.”

With a heavy sigh, you unlocked your phone and scrolled through your list of contacts, thumb hovering over his name when it came up. Anna wasn’t wrong: Matthew wasn’t bad to look at all, that much you could admit. But god, if he turned you down…. you knew you wouldn’t be able to ever show your face in front of him or the rest of the team ever again.

“I think I’ve had enough surprises from him to last a lifetime,” you mumbled but tapped the call symbol anyway.

He answered on the third ring. “Hel—

You didn’t let him finish. “I need your help,” you ground out, eyes closing while you rubbed at your forehead with the tips of your fingers.

There was silence on the other end of the line that had you biting your lip in anxiousness. You shouldn’t have done this. You really shouldn’t have done this. All it would take would be just hitting the ‘resume my account’ link on one of the dating apps you signed up for a while ago. Someone was bound to be attracted not only to you but the promise of an open bar—

“Music to my ears,” Matthew’s response came through. You could practically hear the smile in his voice and knew you’d regret it; you could easily tell from the tone of his voice.

You sighed quietly, leaning forward to rest your elbows on the table, eyes glued to the invitation. Fuck it, you could get someone else; easily, no doubt. The world of online dating was vast and there would always be takers.

“Uh, yeah actually, never mind—”

“No, no. Come on, Y/N. Pretty sure this is the first time you’re calling me first so can we take a moment to just let that sink in?” Silence again, then a chuckle. “Okay, now that we did. How can I help you?”

It wasn’t as if Josh had put you in the position to ask Matthew for a favor but still: fuck Josh, anyway. In a split second of sheer pettiness, you considered aiming to host the most extravagant, unforgettable weddings when your turn would come just to show him who does it better.

“Are you free the third weekend in June?” you asked tiredly.

“Don’t know. Depends what for and who you’re asking for.”

You should’ve asked him face-to-face. At least then, he would’ve had the chance to see you roll your eyes, turn on your heel and walk away. “I’m obviously asking for myself. Could you just be straightforward for once and answer yes or no? You’re making me hold the line for longer than I anticipated and I’m happy to ask someone else,” you lied.

“Let me get this right—” Here comes, you thought exhausted. “You’re calling me for the first time since you have my number to ask me if I’m free the third weekend in June? As a favor for yourself.”

“Matthew, I didn’t stutter—”

“What’s happening in June?”

You don’t know what it was about his words that downed you. It was nothing but a simple question yet the only thing you could think of was: the first boy I’ve dated and so far, the only one, seems to have moved on quicker than I anticipated and while I’m still trying to build myself back up, I’m sitting in my kitchen looking at a wedding invitation and wallowing in self-pity because regardless of how hard I try, of how much I’ve amended my standards, no one seems to do it so what if this is it for me? What if this is just the way it’ll be from now on? And now, I’m resorting to lying just to make myself feel better but also put a façade in front of someone who I know no longer cares about me like that. And really, nor do I about him but here we are. So, nothing much is happening in June, Matthew. Hopefully we get a lot more sunshine though!

What you responded with instead was, “just an old friend of mine getting married and I need a plus one. Nothing serious. Just go there for an hour or two, say some hellos and leave. It’s a quick in-and-out thing.”

More silence on the other end of the line other than the muffled shuffle of what sounded like bedsheets. “Why not ask your brother then?”

“Asked him already, said he’s got something lined up already. So, are you free or not?” you lied, quickly pressing on even if you knew that sounded a lot like desperation.

“For you, at a price.” He was smirking. You knew he was and more than ever, you wished 2021 was the year you could just reach through the phone and shake the person on the other end.

“Uh-huh. Right. No, just forget it. Forget I even—”

You were going to end the call when Matthew laughed, quickly calling out a “no, no! Nothing weird, I promise. Just owe me a favor in return, is all.”

“Do I get a choice?” you mumbled, more to yourself than towards him.

“I think we both know that you don’t. Text me the time and place,” he instructed and then, just as you were really about to end the call, he added, “hey, send me a photo of what you’re wearing also. I’ll match my tie to your dress, free of charge.”

“Can you maybe ditch the jacket while you’re at it? Just want to make sure your tie’s within reach so I can strangle you with it.”

Even after you cut the call, Matthew’s laughter rang in your ears.

Matthew matched his tie to your red dress. The color of the silk around his neck was so striking, you would swear it was made from the same material as your outfit. You sent him a photo of the material of the dress, more as a joke than having any expectations attached to it so you were pleasantly surprised to see he made the effort. For a moment, you allowed yourself to bask in sheer joy knowing that to any eye, the two of you could easily pass as a couple. At least, from looks alone if not from attitude. You were a proud person; fiercely so. Knowing you were now in debt to Matthew however he saw fit dealt a pretty impressive blow to your ego. You don’t let yourself linger too much on that thought, though. It was already difficult enough to loosen up and relax your stance as you climbed into Matthew’s car as soon as he texted you of his arrival.

“You look good,” he commented after you fixed the seatbelt on. He turned in his seat as much as space would allow so he could look at you properly and in return, you arched an eyebrow, refusing to give way to his stare. “Are you trying to one-up the bride?”

“Ha, ha. Funny. You didn’t even see the bride. I didn’t even see the bride.”

“Didn’t see her but I’m seeing you, so,” he shrugged, by way of explanation before correcting his position.

If asked, you wouldn’t deny that Matthew also looked good. Very good. But only if asked. It was impossible that someone with a face like that didn’t know they turned heads easily wherever they went. Matthew’s suit fit him as if it was sown on him. If the two of you had a better relationship, you would even dare ask him what it was he was putting in that hair of his that made it so shiny and gave those curls so much definition, taming them almost perfectly when he really put his mind to it. Whatever it was, you had a feeling he didn’t strain as much as you had earlier that morning to tame your hair and though you could give yourself credit for how well it turned out, your arms weren’t thanking you for it.

Thankfully, much of the drive was pleasant. Though you hated small talk, you decided to make an effort if only to ease your nerves as the navigation system indicated you were drawing closer and closer to that glitzy hotel. You learned that although the season was over, Matthew, Brady and the rest of the family would spend a few weeks in Canada before heading back home to St. Louis. In turn, you told him that some of the days off you booked from work would be spent somewhere just as sunny and warm but with more beaches. It was safe ground. That, you could do although progressively, you were becoming more and more distracted, and less focused on the conversation the two of you managed to keep.

“Want me to pull over?” Matthew asked suddenly.

“What,” you mumbled, turning your attention from the road ahead to Matthew who seemed amused by the situation. “Why would I want you to do that?”

“I’d want you to do that. You look pretty pale and honestly, I’ve just had the interior cleaned so—”

“Fuck you, Tkachuk, keep driving. I’m just a little…cold. How high do you have the AC on?”

He fixed you with a stare while waiting for the lights ahead to turn green, eyebrow arched. “It’s June, Y/N, and uncomfortably warm. If it makes you feel better, though, I could turn it off and we can roll down the windows instead?”

“No, sorry—you’re right. It’s fine. Just leave the AC as it is.”

The laugh he gave was nothing short of incredulous. “Repeat that back for me. Actually—hold on, do that when I can press record on my phone so I can have that on repeat. Did you admit I’m right?”

“God, you’re making me regret inviting you,” you muttered though without heat.

An uncomfortable silence slipped between the two of you or maybe, it was just your perspective on it. Matthew seemed perfectly at ease minding the road, only occasionally throwing a cursory glance towards the car’s navigation system whenever it announced a turn. Doing this seemed more and more like a bad idea. A terrible one. No one would’ve held it against you if you denied the invitation. In fact, you thought that was more expected than accepting it and turning up to the party as if you were seeing an old friend, not an ex-boyfriend. It wasn’t too late though. Matthew could still turn the car around.

“Listen, Matt—”

“You have now reached your destination. Your destination is on the right.”

You released a breath you weren’t even aware of holding, then threw a quick look towards the main entrance of the hotel. Already, a few guests whom you recognized were crossing into the lobby.

“You really don’t look okay at all,” Matthew repeated and there was less humor in his voice and more concern this time around. Even you weren’t ignorant to how much your mood kept fluctuating over the course of the drive: often, engaged in conversation but occasionally, withdrawn, barely just catching on to whatever it was Matthew was saying. Sure, he probably didn’t know you well enough to read you, but it didn’t take a genius to figure out something was amiss. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I felt like there’s more to this thing than you’re telling me. You could’ve asked your brother, yet you didn’t—”

Damn it. You made him swear to play along. You made a quick mental note to get back at him about it whenever you felt energized enough to do so.

“Matthew,” you said, your voice suddenly clear, tone neutral. You didn’t dare look him in the eyes so instead, you kept your stare fixed on the revolving doors ahead. “I’m only going to say this once and I hope that you won’t make me repeat it now or ever again. I’d prefer that you don’t mention it to anyone either. The person getting married today is my ex-boyfriend. Up until last year, we’ve been together since we were teenagers. I loved him. Since we broke up, I kept trying to look for parts of him in others, but I couldn’t find even a trace of who he was. I feel as I’ve been jinxed, and I felt that maybe if I come today, maybe if I see him with someone else, I can confidently say I’m fine with that. It hurt my pride when I received the invitation, so my first thought was to lie. If, for just a few hours, I can pretend I’ve also moved on and I’m not stuck in this…fucking weird limbo, then maybe it becomes true. A fucked up self-prophecy. So.” You pause, clearing your throat. Your mouth suddenly felt dry from your speech, yet you couldn’t feel a pang of regret in your chest or heat behind your eyes. “So. If you want out, that’s fine. After all, I’m asking you to pretend to be my date out of spite, I guess. And embarrassment. It’s childish and unfair and ridiculous but—”

You came to a halt when you felt a finger under your chin, and a gentle upward push forced you to raise your head up a little more. When you turned towards Matthew, you looked at him with a look of confusion on your face.

“Keep your head up. We have a wedding to go to.”

His encouragement sunk in faster than expected and as your expression relaxed, a smile formed on your face.

Yeah. The two of you had a wedding to go to.

The event hall was decorated minimally yet tastefully. It made everything seem even more personal and you received that impression from every detail: from the flower arrangements to the music, everything was a testament to a life united by love. Maybe your emotional outburst earlier accounted for it, but you felt lighter even as you watched the newlyweds glide along the floor for their first dance. Sure, you felt a desperate pang of want but it was distant. Muffled.

Despite your initial thoughts, having Matthew at your side felt very much like a safety cushion. It surprised you to watch him settle into his role with so much ease that eventually, even you didn’t have to remind yourself to not withdraw whenever his arm wrapped around your waist: sometimes loosely, sometimes a little tighter, reeling you in closer.

Fish, here is your bait, you thought wildly as you stood tucked at his side while he accepted flatteries from one of the guests who swore had been a fan of the Calgary Flames since before he could even talk.

“You must be so proud,” the man turned towards you. “Your family’s truly one of a kind to have all played for the team and now—” He gestures towards Matthew as if to say all of this. “Must be something about those Flames!”

You laughed tightly, just as Matthew squeezed your side. By that move alone, you could tell he was eating this up.

“Yeah, just can’t get enough of them,” you concluded, pitching your voice just a little higher towards the end. To the man, it was as genuine as could be, but Matthew cautioned you silently with the slightest narrowing of his eyes, effectively warning you to be more realistic. “Hey, I’ll get us some refills? Try to be a little more inconspicuous in the meantime. Remember this isn’t your day,” you joked.

“Only practicing for when our turn comes,” Matthew responded without missing a beat and released the hold he had on you.

Once at the bar, you allowed yourself some extra moments to catch your breath. Even off ice, Matthew was a force to be reckoned with. He struck conversation with others easily, drew their attention with seemingly little effort and easily set the mood for whatever situation or person the two of you would run into. A part of you thought his profession had a lot to do with his mannerism, but a bigger part knew different: mostly, it was really just Matthew.

He had a way with words and with people that you haven’t been witness to before and couldn’t help but wonder if it was all show. He was, after all, a face for the public: familiar with interviews, familiar with the attention, apparently not overwhelmed even by less conventional questions. Watching him play this role was fascinating to say the least. It certainly took your mind off the circumstances so credit where credit was due.

“Hey, it’s good to see you here.”

You turned from the bar and came face to face with Josh. His jacket was off, and his sleeves were neatly rolled up past his elbows; behind the knot of his tie, you could see he’d undone the top button of the collar. You’d seen him make countless rounds across the entire floor, greeting guests and ensuring everything was running smoothly. Occasionally, you watched him dance either with his wife, or family members, or even guests you recognized as work colleagues.

You smiled. “Thanks for the invite. It was a bit weird to receive it, I can’t lie about that, but I’m glad you sent it.” It surprised you to learn you weren’t even lying about that. Through the course of the evening, it dawned on you that maybe, it was more the thought of being here that made you anxious; the event itself, however, proved just how right you were. It felt…fine. You felt fine.

“Yeah—uh, I wasn’t… I wasn’t really sure but, well, before…” He trailed off into a sigh.

You chuckled softly. “Would you like to buy a vowel?”

That made him laugh. Truly, genuinely laugh. “Sorry. I guess it’s a bit weird for me also. But, well, before you and I were, well, you-and-I, we were friends. I would’ve hoped we’d still be friends even after…” He waved a hand in the air by way of explanation but that was sufficient for you.

“Won’t hurt to be friends. Whatever happened between us—well. Thing of the past. Build bridges and get over them, right?”

“Right. Function of a bridge and all.”

“Hey. Congratulations, by the way! I’m happy for you. Really. I wish the two of you all the best. She seems really great.”

“She is,” he agreed and cast a glance towards the room, eyes undoubtedly searching for her. “Are you—”

“Here you are.”

Saved by the bell. A weight fell around your waist that, by now, was warm and familiar. Unconsciously, you leaned into Matthew, flashing a wide smile at Josh. At first, he seemed surprised by the sudden appearance but then his features settled into something more comfortable; something so much like relief that for a moment, you wished you could just come clean about it. You and Matthew were less than meets the eye.

Before you could even introduce them, a kiss was pressed to your cheek, knocking all air from your lungs and almost making you choke because of it.

What the hell.

“You were gone for some time, so I thought to check on you,” Matthew informed you, all matter of fact. To Josh, he said, “congratulations on the wedding. Must be pretty great to finally get to this point. You two look great together.”

“Oh? Yeah. Yeah, thanks man. So glad you could come along today.” Josh turned to you, an eyebrow perked in interest. “I didn’t know you two were together.”

“Oh we’re just—”

You began but were promptly interrupted by Matthew. “We like to keep it lowkey. It hasn’t been that long for us but that’s not much of a problem when your gut tells you this is it. You know it well, right?”

You were entirely caught off guard. Instead of responding immediately, you bought yourself some time by taking a sip from your glass of—whatever it was. Strong though. Just perfect for the situation you suddenly found yourself in: ex-boyfriend ahead, fake boyfriend to the side, promising sweet nothings that you knew would come back to haunt you at some ungodly hour. You wished you could step on his shoe; pull on those shiny curls of his real quick, knock some sense back into him. There was a difference between play a role well and clearly, playing it too well.

Matthew pushed ahead. “It’s pretty good timing for us though. We could take some notes for when our turn comes, right babe?”

“I’ll let the two of you to it, then. Thanks again for coming.” Josh made a move to step away but before he did, he turned to you and caught your eyes. “I’m really happy for you, Y/N. You look good together. Just make sure you don’t take too many notes.”

“Wouldn’t dream to,” Matthew responded, and you could read the slight bite in his words. When Josh was out of earshot, he looked down at you. “You dated him? Just him?”

“Hey, what’d I say about not bringing that up again? And save your dick measuring contests for the locker room, Tkachuk. Now’s not the time nor place.”

“Now’s definitely the time and place,” he countered, making you roll your eyes but there was a smile on your face you couldn’t quite wipe off. “Come on. Let’s continue taking leaves out of their book.” In one swift motion, he took the glass from your hand and set it on the bar while above, the LED lights dimmed, and the playlist switched to a slower song.

You threw him a cautious look, easily reading where that was going. “I’m not dancing.”

“Sure, you are. You want to give the impression of being happily in love? You need to start pulling your weight in this thing.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Atlas. Do your shoulders hurt from carrying the burden of our relationship?” you mocked, yet still allowed him to lead you towards the dance floor. Right in the center of it given the bride and groom appeared to sit this one out; you expected nothing less from him. You weren’t even surprised when he made an entire show out of it, forcing you to do a pirouette when the two of you claimed your spot.

“You can’t even imagine the pain you put me through,” he sighed near your ear as the two of you began swaying to the music.

“Well, you’re still standing so clearly it can’t be that bad.”

“Baby, it’s torture.”

You were grateful the two of you weren’t exactly face to face or you were sure Matthew would never have let you live down the flush you felt rising to your cheeks. Sure, he didn’t use the pet name in a genuine manner, but just hearing it roll off his tongue like that… You stopped that thought before it grew into a whole new different monster.

After a few moments of silence passed, Matthew lowered his head closer to yours, his warm breath colliding with the skin on your throat. “Do you think now’s the right time to kiss? Are enough people watching?”

You stepped on his foot. Not hard, but just with the right amount of pressure to draw a wince from him. Satisfied, you leaned back just a little to look at him properly. “Don’t even think about it, Tkachuk—”

“Thought about it already.”

Through clenched teeth, you hissed, “you. Are. Incorrigible.”

He raised his eyebrows, surprised. “If only you could meet yourself.”

You snickered quietly then leaned back against him. “Thanks for doing this. I know it’s not the most convenient of things… and it wasn’t fair to tell you the full truth of it right on the day of. But—well, thanks.”

“That sounds like it was pretty difficult to let out. It’s very…. heartfelt.”

“Just fucking accept it as I gave it to you, Tkachuk,” you complained, more amused than annoyed.

More silence followed, filled in only by the general buzz of the room and the slow melody. “And now?” Matthew questioned a short while later. You allowed an extended silence to fill in for your confusion. He picked up on it within seconds. “Do you still feel jinxed? Stuck in the same place while he goes on ahead in life?”

You took some time to think through your answer, time during which the song faded into yet another slow one. Matthew didn’t give an indication of wanting to move away from the dancefloor, so you saw no purpose in you doing that.

“Not really,” you concluded. “Just seems like we’re both following different trajectories. Doesn’t mean I’m left behind if I’ve not yet met someone to settle down with like he did. Maybe I just need to be here to come to terms with it. Good for him though. I’m genuinely happy for him and his wife. I think lots of people imagine going through this very same moment.” You ended with a shrug but then, to lighten up the moment, you added, “don’t mock me for it. Between the two of us, I’m the one with the pointy shoes.”

Matthew laughed, a low, pleasant laugh right by your ear. “I’ll give you a free pass for what’s left of today.”

“Your generosity astounds me. Please could you also sign my jersey?”

“Is it my jersey?”

“Why would it be your jersey when I have my last name printed out on one at the expense of my brother being roughed up a little?”

“Don’t tempt me. That favor you now owe me? I might just use it to have you get my jersey so I can sign it since you so generously asked.”

“Your call,” you shrugged. “Just know it’s going straight in the wash right after you scribble on it.”

Matthew took a few small steps back, only to pull you back towards him. You played along and spun as you landed into his hold once again.

“You say that now, but when you’ll see yourself with it—”

“I’ll auction it on eBay.”

The laugh you got out of Matthew stayed with you through the rest of the night and like never before, his good disposition easily transferred to you.

two.

When the elevator doors slid open, your brother and Johnny weren’t the only ones to step into the hotel lobby. Matthew accompanied them, flashing a smug smile as the trio approached and his eyes landed on you. You cast a quizzical glance from your brother, to Johnny, to Matthew and then looked towards Anna as if to ask are you seeing this? She only shrugged at you in silent response, though she was grinning from ear to ear. At least someone was certainly enjoying this.

“Last I remember, there were only two of you,” you commented.

“Was that before or after your third drink?” your brother chirped back.

Instead of humoring him, you shift your gaze to Matthew. “What gives, Tkachuk? Can’t be left at home unsupervised during family vacations?”

“My house training has only gone so far,” he responded smartly, then nodded his head towards Anna and Johnny who were caught in a half-hug, apparently entertaining by watching you and Matthew bicker as if watching a tennis match. “They’re not family.”

Anna feigned a gasp on your behalf. “Y/N and I are part and parcel, Matt. Thought you’d know that by now.”

“Well, the three of us are part and parcel also, Anna. Thought you’d definitely know that by now,” he responded but you were already leading the way out of the hotel lobby and towards the busy square outside.

It was a hub of activity: from street vendors to dance and music performers, there was something to see regardless of which way you looked. Although you arrived at your holiday destination the previous day, the flight south coupled with the warm, sticky evening made you want to steer away from the busier parts of the town. Instead, you opted to lounge by the pool with Anna, having perhaps one too many cocktails to kickstart your vacation. Perhaps you missed Matthew’s arrival at some point then, though for the life of you, you couldn’t remember anyone mentioning he’d come along also. Not that it bothered you greatly.

Since the time you asked him to be your plus one some few weeks ago, the relationship between the two of you warmed slightly. Sure, he still knew which buttons to press to get a reaction out of you, but you saw it as being less ill-intended and more good-natured fun. You kept up with him easily and whenever it felt as if he was cornering you, you conceded with a roll of your eyes but never admitted defeat. You didn’t consider the two of you friends, but something changed on the day of the wedding right around the time you had spilled out your feelings about the entire deal to him. Looking back on it, you found it strange just how easily you did that, no second thoughts, no wishing for takebacks. You knew you owed him the truth given the position you put him in without plenty of heads-up, but you could’ve easily just simplified the entire thing.

It wasn’t difficult to stick together as a group but eventually, you wandered off towards a few stalls on your own that have caught your eye. Though you wanted some more time to have Anna to yourself, it was technically her first vacation with Johnny. You could catch up with her later in the room; surely, she’d have even more swooning to do over him by then. Not that you blamed her. Johnny was an incredible guy.

First, you stopped at a stall selling a range of baked goods that you simply couldn’t turn away from. And for good reason: the sour cherry churro you settled for was a dream come true. From there, you strolled towards a few small stores selling a range of products ranging from colorful graphic tees to earrings made from vibrant, colorful gemstones. You held a blue pair next to your ear, turning one way then another to watch as the light reflected off the gleaming gem.

“Those suit your complexion,” the attendant commented and when you looked towards him, he smiled bashfully.

A gentle heat crept up your neck, unable to keep the grin off your face but you couldn’t look away from him: his skin was lightly tanned, and a dusting of freckles covered the bridge of his nose and upper cheeks. His blond hair was messy in a way you could easily tell was styled to appear as such. He was cute in a sort of conventional way, but you liked the way he smiled at you, all shy but certainly genuine.

“Funny you say that. I always had a feeling blue was my color,” you responded, and his smile widened.

“Here for vacation?” he asked.

You nodded. “Yeah, I just got here yesterday, and I’ll be around for a few days,” you added, a little hopeful.

Hey, if you could score some good company while in the area, then you weren’t going to turn down the opportunity to flirt a little and make good with someone more local.

“Good. That’s really good to know.” He regarded you for a moment and you were certain that caused your blush to deepen though at the same time, it made you feel a little…exposed. “Hey, are you free—”

“The red ones are nicer.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, frustration quickly replacing the feeling of near euphoria. You could recognize that voice anywhere. Of all times he could have run into you, the universe fixed it so he popped up when you least needed that to happen.

“I prefer the blue,” you countered, then held them up against your ear again though you knew you didn’t need to double check if they suited you.

“No, trust me with the red,” Matthew insisted, and you saw him appear behind you in the small circular mirror you were looking into. He was so close. “Goes well with that little number I got you the other day.”

You sputtered. “W-what?! Stop messing—”

In the mirror Matthew’s eyes flicked from you to the attendant. “Yeah, you know the one. I left the box on the bed in our room, thought to surprise—”

“Tkachuk, just shut up. There isn’t an our room—”

This was so painfully uncomfortable. So frustratingly annoying, you felt the blood warm in your veins, that familiar wave of anger coursing through your body.

“I’ll ring those up for you,” the attendant said, his voice carefully polite while he accepted the red earrings from Matthew’s outstretched hand.

You hated him. Passionately hated him. It was easy for Matthew to play games like those because he could easily get just about anyone, but you? It wasn’t quite as easy to not be a pro-athlete who had pretty much everything lined up and going for them. You tried catching the store attendant’s eyes again but he was busy accepting the cash from Matthew after packing away the earrings in a small paper bag. You knew he wouldn’t catch sight of it, but it didn’t stop you from casting a longing, apologetic glance towards him before leaving the store.

It felt as if for every two steps you took, Matthew only needed one and despite the crowds, he caught up with you easily, holding out the bag towards you while you powered ahead.

“Come on, don’t be mad. The red ones are definitely better than the blue ones,” Matthew tried to reason with you while holding the hand stretched out to you, insistent on his offer. When you didn’t respond and instead, tried to rush further ahead, Matthew pressed on. Him managing to keep up with your pace only added fuel to the fire. “Don’t tell me you’re upset over Ron Jon back there.”

You came to a halt, turning to glare up at him. “I am, Matthew. You didn’t need to do what you did back there. There was no reason for it. It was shitty of you, and I need you to back off while I try to enjoy the rest of my night.” You clenched your jaw, trying to suppress the overwhelming feeling of anger that normally resulted in tears. “You could at least pretend to be sorry about it.”

With that, you turned on your heel and squeezed your way through the crowds, ignoring Matthew’s calls to stop and come back and that he was only joking.

Too late for that, you thought bitterly, making a turn towards a street popular for its dining and bar venues.

The part of the archipelago more popular with tourists was truly a sight to behold as the sun went down, coloring the sky in some of the warmest, most calming shades of orange, red and yellow you ever saw. It seemed as if everyone gathered on the promenade, phones at the ready while taking photos of the sky, selfies and group shots. Even you couldn’t resist it and after taking a few well-centered selfies, a passing couple offered to take your photo which you immediately posed for.

Later, once the sight sunk in, you moved towards a nearby bar, first attracted by the pink, purple and blue neon lights and then, the music. A good cocktail, good music and a gorgeous sunset were all it took for you to feel more relaxed, leaving behind the event from earlier. He wouldn’t be the first cute guy you’d see, nor the last and indeed, it was easy for you to settle in the more crowded area of the locale where people were dancing either solo, with a partner or as part of a group.

Not long after you weaved your way onto the dancefloor, you felt a pair of hands settle on your hips, drawing you in. You went easily, accepting the embrace, accepting the way you were being led into the dance, swaying your hips along with his. You didn’t even miss a beat when he spun you around, but you kept your hands pressed against his shoulders, rather than wrapping your arms around his neck. You were tipsy, no doubt, and admittedly felt touch-starved but you weren’t quite in the mood for anything more. You even dodged his mouth when he tipped his head down to your lips so instead, he landed a kiss on your cheek. Still, he was pretty relentless. The dance took a turn that was significantly more sensual, crossing a line into discomfort, and you felt that was your cue to try and remove yourself from him. It was easy initially. You threw him a small smile and when he caught hold of your hand, you simply motioned you were only going to get a drink, hoping that would keep him where he was with the knowledge you would return.

When you finally pulled away, you made a bee line towards the exit of the venue but again, you were a step too slow. The guy caught you just at the door.

“Where are you running off to, pretty?” he slurred, his voice louder above the thumping of the music.

“Oh—Um, just getting a breath of fresh air, is all,” you said quickly and immediately wished you didn’t venture off in a place like this alone. It was as if you suddenly forgot everything that was common sense, pushed towards it by earlier frustration.

“Doesn’t look like it to me.” He frowned, but there was no clarity in his eyes. He was entirely out of it and his fingers squeezed painfully around your wrist. You flinched visibly, squirming under his touch and even if you tried pulling your arm away, it was useless. He overpowered you even through the drunken haze. “Wanna go? Fine, then let’s go together.”

“No—uh, I’m actually here with my friends. I’ve just—I saw them so I’m going to catch up with them. They must be looking for—”

“Then we can go to them together, sweetheart. Here, point them out to me.”

“No, really. I’m going to them alone,” you emphasized and put all your force into trying to free your hand. It may have taken him by surprise that led to his loosened grip, but as soon as you turned on your heel, you found out there was more to it than just that.

You almost faceplanted right into Matthew’s chest when you tried making a run for it. He stood there, eyes flicking between you and the guy with an unreadable expression on his face. Your heart was hammering wildly in your chest and instinctively, you almost glued yourself to his side. It wasn’t the first time someone tried to force a move on you, but it was the first time it was done so in such a thoughtless, drunken manner. Perhaps your fear was also enhanced by being alone in an unfamiliar place. To see Matthew this time felt like a blessing.

“Babe,” Matthew said by way of greeting, pulling you to him when he wrapped an arm around your shoulders.

You didn’t realize you were trembling until you stood so close to him, legs suddenly feeling like jelly in front of your salvation. Matthew could easily overpower the guy; even if they were roughly the same height, there was a big difference between the body of an athlete and the swaying one of a drunk guy. Still, it didn’t mean you wanted Matthew to get caught up in anything he’d later regret or would affect him in any way, so you pressed a hand to his chest trying to put some pressure into guiding him away from the scene.

“She yours?” the drunk guy slurred, head tilting back, chin pointing towards your general direction.

“Yeah. So, guess that makes the situation even worse for you,” Matthew responded. His tone was light, seemingly non-threatening to someone who didn’t know him but you did. You knew him and you could read him crystal clear in this moment.

“Matthew, please,” you muttered, looking at him almost desperately while trying to put all your body weight into guiding him away.

The guy scoffed. “You’ve gotta do better than that, buddy.” He snickered. “You’ve gotta keep ‘em on a tighter leash unless you want them to go—”

Matthew made a move towards him, but you quickly stepped in front of him, essentially forcing him to halt. “Matt, please. Let’s go, okay? Please. I really want to leave. Right now.”

He glared at the guy for a moment longer but the hard look in his eyes softened as soon as his gaze fell on you. You took the liberty of placing most of your weight against Matthew, allowing him to remove both of you from the situation and towards a less crowded area. That was easy to find: with the sun having long set, most of the crowds cleared away from the promenade so there was plenty of space for you to collect yourself in peace.

He didn’t pry into the situation, didn’t even make any smartass comments. Instead, he let you slip away from under the safety of his arm while you pace around a small area, trying to work off the anxiety as much as you could. You had to count your breaths, remind yourself to breathe in then out slowly. You were okay. You were far from that guy, and he couldn’t hurt you. At least, no more than he already did. Your wrist felt a bit sore, but you’d take that over anything worse.

“You okay?” Matthew asked at last, tone careful. “I can go back there and pull him out, you know, get him to apologize.”

“No!” you said loudly, desperately, then cleared your throat and lowered your voice. “No, don’t go. Please. I just need a moment, that’s all. Just a little. Could you not leave? I’ll be fine in a moment. Just—just need to catch my breath—"

“Hey, hey—relax. It’s over. He can’t put a hand down on you now, or ever.” Matthew took a few steps closer to you as if apprehensive to approach you in the first place. You knew what you must’ve looked like: pale, still shaken by what happened. He held a hand towards you, palm up. “Can I touch you?”

You looked from it to his face, then said, “don’t get any funny ideas,” but it lacked your usual punch. You took his hand though, letting yourself be drawn to him. Matthew smelled like the sea. You couldn’t help but wonder if maybe he’d gone down to the beach earlier to take a dip. You wished you did that rather than try and drink your frustration over missing out on a random guy. God, you could sleep right here if sleeping while standing was a thing. “I’m sorry for reacting the way I did before—with, uh—what did you call him?”

Matthew chuckled, a low, deep chuckle. “Ron Jon.”

“You’re awful, Tkachuk.”

“And you have a funny way of expressing gratitude.”

“Sorry—”

He laughed louder. “I’m messing with you.” A pause, and then, “I’m sorry I rained on your parade earlier with the guy back then. If you really liked him…” He trailed off, as if to let you fill in the sentence for him.

You laughed weakly, waving a hand dismissively. “Thanks. Again. Seems like nowadays, I just keep having to thank you for one thing or the other.”

You felt him shrug. “Fine by me. You keep adding to these favors you owe me.”

“It’s only one. Well. Two if you want to be a dick and count this one too.”

You took a step back, detaching yourself from him to run both hands through your hair. You felt exhausted, drained of energy yet relieved. Who would’ve thought you’d be pleased to see Matthew pull another one of his appearing out of the blue acts?

“You give me no other choice but to be one,” he joked. “Come on, let’s go back to the hotel. Everyone’s wondering where you were, so you kind of lost your right to vote on dinner for tonight.”

You sighed heavily. “Let me guess: you all ganged up on me in my absence and settled on lobster?”

Matthew grinned. “Can’t vacation in a seaside town and skip out on that.”

“Ugh. Sea critters.” You pulled a face, drawing yet another laugh from Matthew. It made you feel oddly accomplished but you cut that train of thought there, forcing it to derail elsewhere, to place more familiar to you, more comfortable. “Matthew, I mean it when I said thank you. That was—it was scary,” you admitted as the two of you started walking back towards the hotel. You pulled your wrist into your hand, rubbing at the skin gently. Focused on the road ahead, you missed Matthew frowning down at the gesture. “I don’t know how that happened. It’s just—it’s not my thing to do. Go out alone, especially in a place like that. Good instincts by the way,” you tried to joke but it fell flat.

“Don’t mention it,” he said, voice tight. “I don’t want to think about it again if I can help it.”

You cast a confused stare in his direction but by then, it was his turn to look ahead, a frown marring his features. You didn’t push any further though.

Later that night, after you and Anna decided to call it a day and switch off the lights, you lay in bed glancing a look up at the ceiling above. You didn’t think back on the evening’s events but rather, thought back to how a familiar small brown paper bag was taped to your room’s door before dinner. Anna had fixed you with a knowing stare as you plucked it off the door, tipping its contents into the palm of your hand.

Then, you thought how during dinner, Matthew had claimed the seat next to yours and complimented the earrings you wore, remarking how awfully familiar they seemed though he could swear he didn’t know where from. For the first time, you had an inside joke to share with him and neither of you bothered to offer any clarifications to everyone else around the table as they tried to press for details.

three.

The Flames’ first game of the season was scheduled to take place in Las Vegas and with a few days left of vacation, you couldn’t skip on the opportunity to return to the city you were inexplicably fond of, as well as watching your brother play on the third line. The night promised to be unforgettable, and you wouldn’t miss it for the world. Although there were plenty of things to keep you busy throughout the day, your eyes would occasionally wander down to your watch, counting down the hours until the start of the game. It seemed like most of the city was doing the same.

Often, you’d spot handfuls of people donning Knights jerseys and occasionally, there would be a few Flames fans wandering the streets and locales. You’d only spotted one person wearing your brother’s jersey but that was more than enough for you – he was a fairly new face in the professional league, but he certainly pulled his weight during every shift he had on ice whenever given the opportunity. Luckily, you managed to take a quick photo of their back before they disappeared into the crowds, sending it to your brother along with a thumbs-up emoji.

He didn’t respond immediately, nor did you expect him to. You could only imagine how quickly he racked up pre-game nerves and he had a pretty strict routine, which included avoiding his phone until after the game. You couldn’t really make sense of superstitions even if each member of your family who played, whether professionally or otherwise, had their own. Naturally, you were surprised when your phone pinged, indicating a new message almost half an hour later. Except, it wasn’t quite who you were expecting.

Matthew is that your way of saying good luck?

You frowned, but all it took was a little more attention on your part to notice you hadn’t sent the message to your brother but rather, to Matthew. Lately, he was one of your top contacts for frequent messaging.

You wrong number

You good luck to you too though, i guess :/

Matthew busy?

You don’t you have practice to get to?

Matthew [attachment: photo of an ice rink where a few players were captured in motion]

Matthew [attachment: photo of his skates, taken from the players’ bench]

Matthew on break, where are you?

You hanging around

Matthew what are you wearing?

You [emoji: middle finger]

Matthew ice cold

Matthew nice, i can handle ice cold

You then go handle ice cold so you don’t get handled tonight

Matthew wish me luck too

You i already did

Matthew i need it twice, it’s my superstition

You that’s a bullshit superstition

Matthew if we lose tonight, it’s on you

You [emoji: angry face]

You good luck!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Matthew :)

You dropped your phone on the table with a low groan, slouching in your chair. From across the table, Anna shot you a confused stare which quickly morphed into understanding when you rolled your eyes, shooting your phone a look of frustration as if the device itself was to blame.

“Anything interesting?” she asked in a singsong tone.

“If you count Matthew being his usual self interesting, then that’s what’s up. Otherwise, nothing new.”

“By his usual self, do you mean engaging? Funny? Witty? So good with his words that he yet again takes your attention and keeps it while the rest of us, mere mortals, struggle to do that for longer than a few minutes tops?”

You arched an eyebrow, somewhat amused. “All that – just empty words.”

Anna leaned back in her seat, taking her glass with her while twirling the straw, looking ahead somewhat thoughtfully. “You know what the two of you remind me of? Those two kids in the playground who think love can only be expressed through pulling hair and making snide remarks.”

“First of all, that’s a shitty way of trying to get someone to realize you have feelings for them and second of all, love is a pretty big word. You managing to carry it okay?”

“Okay, maybe not love. But like? It has to be like. Say what you want to say but it looks different from the outside.”

“Okay, you keep staying out there and let me know what you’re seeing. I like your imagination. Very vivid,” you commented but there was no bite to your words and Anna threw her head back with laughter.

You didn’t think much of your exchange with Matthew throughout the rest of the day, nor did you try to linger too long on Anna’s interpretation of your relationship with Matthew. You let it wash over you, knowing it’d give her too much satisfaction if you fretted too much over it and anyway, many of your thoughts seemed to fly towards the evening’s game.

By the time the two of you made your way to the arena, however, you moved from anxiety to excitement within the space of mere moments, apparently. Even if this wasn’t your first rodeo and you’d been to countless games before, there was nothing quite like the thrill of an opening game. You and Anna had spaces reserved in the upper stands along with other family members and significant others but both of you chose to watch the warm-ups close-up, so you hung around by the glass at ice level.

The Vegas Knights and the Flames stepped on the ice to a combination of cheers and the thump of a loud electronic mix. You spotted your brother almost instantly. He did a quick lap around the team’s half of the ice before pulling a puck towards him with his stick, sliding it this way and that before shooting it over towards the net. Once sufficiently warmed up, he cast a searching look around the rink and you quickly waved both arms up in the air to try and get his attention. You knew he’d spotted you, but he made an entire show out of looking over you until you smacked a hand against the panel. You knew the sound wouldn’t be heard over the general noise of the arena, but he still laughed. When he skated over, you held your phone up, giving it a quick shake and mouthing “selfie?”.

He flashed a thumbs up and you quickly turned around to take the photo, but it wasn’t until you inspected it afterwards that you noticed you were photobombed by Matthew himself. You had every intention to look up from the screen and somehow try and get his attention only to glare at him, but he was a step ahead. You almost jumped out of your skin when you noticed Matthew standing right there by the glass, smirking at you.

“Asshole,” you mouthed, not daring to voice it out given you were surrounded by kids.

Matthew winked, skated to collect a stray puck then threw it up over the boards towards one of the kids standing right next to you. The kid was clearly thrilled by the gesture, bouncing up and down with the puck held over his head as if it were a trophy. You couldn’t help it: your heart melted at the sight, so you simply nodded once at Matthew, apparently just in time as the warm-up countdown reached zero.

You weren’t surprised the home team were putting on such a show for the opening night. There was a little bit of Vegas in every opening act: from the fireworks set off outside the arena to the showgirls and mind-blowing animations projected down on the ice, it felt more of a Stanley Cup playoff game than the start of a regular season game. This was Vegas and no one did it quite like Vegas did, you had to give that to them.

Both teams were almost evenly balanced throughout the first period but stepping out of intermissions and into the second, the Flames started powering ahead. It was as if something had clicked together even better and they functioned as a well-oiled machine, both in offence and defense. By the end of that period, they were leading the Knights 3-2 and you were more than elated your brother had earned himself an assist. Like all games, tensions formed quickly, and the third period saw both teams play aggressively. On several occasions, you caught sight of players clearly chirping each other even while heading towards their respective benches after the end of a shift. Once, Matthew seemed to be involved in a seemingly endless yelling match with a player on the opposing team. There were more checks against the panels, an impressive number of penalties drawn by both teams, and it felt as if the atmosphere was just tethering towards a fight.

It happened right after the Flames scored the fourth goal with just two minutes left of the game.

The moment the puck was dropped at center ice, you watched as Matthew charged ahead towards one of the Knights players who didn’t hesitate to drop the gloves. Between them, Matthew had the faster instinct, and he landed the first punch, effectively forcing both players to fall to the ice while the referees scrambled to try and split them apart. They were there a moment too late, just mere seconds after you caught sight of knuckles scraping along Matthew’s mouth on the big screens above. At first, it seemed to be nothing more than a graze but once he was separated and made his way towards the Flames bench, you noticed several spots of blood on his jersey on the screens above that made you almost jump out of your seat.

Sure, this was a familiar sight, but it didn’t alleviate the sheer shock and restlessness. Whatever had happened between them must’ve been a pretty big deal to set Matthew off the way it did. There was no way of sugarcoating it: the fight was vicious. More than ever, you wanted the period countdown to reach zero so you could go down to the lockers. It wasn’t just a few nagging feelings towards Matthew that led you to react the way you did. He was a friend, after all, so worrying for him was simply natural. An expected way of responding to a situation like that.

“He had it worse before, remember?” Anna reminded you as you followed the small stream of relatives and friends down towards the players’ rooms.

“Still looked pretty bad to me,” you responded, briefly pulling your lower lip between your teeth. Before she could continue being the voice of reason, you added in a light tone, “I just want to see if he had any teeth knocked out of his mouth this time around.”

It took some time before the players filed out and as you watched them come out one by one, you almost wished you saved this for somewhere less…well, public. Sure, you were just a friend checking on a friend, but you wished you could do that without an audience.

Your brother emerged first, beaming, no doubt pleased with the win, and you hugged him tightly, easily sharing his joy.

“He’s just getting ready to come out now,” he informed you, heading nodding back towards the locker.

You blinked. “What? Oh—no, I’m just. I was waiting for you to say congratulations. What are you even talking about,” you mumbled but inevitably, your eyes were drawn towards the locker room as the door swung open and Matthew stepped out.

His hair was still damp but already curling again. He was dressed in the same suit he probably arrived in, a simple light grey number that fit him perfectly. He had his backpack on also and in one hand, he carried an apparently ice-cold bottle of water while the other was pressing an ice pack to the corner of his mouth. When you made eye contact, he frowned lightly and for a moment, seemed almost hesitant to approach you. This time, you were a step ahead and cornered him before he decided to walk away.

You nodded your head once, indicating in his general direction. “What? You’re trying to add to the family’s hefty dentist bill by getting a few teeth knocked out already?”

Matthew shrugged. “It’s not hockey without a few scraps now and then.”

“For a guy who got a goal and an assist, you sure don’t look too pleased with that.”

At that comment, Matthew’s expression shifted, lightening up considerably. “Are you keeping track of my stats now?”

“What? No, Tkachuk. I was doing what everyone else in that arena was doing: paying attention generally speaking.”

Suddenly, his entire face scrunched up in pain and he almost doubled over as he groaned. Instinctively, you reached out for him, eyes widening a little when bending down a little to try and look at his face.

“Oh my god—Matthew. Are you okay? Do you need me to get a medic to check—”

You frowned as soon as you felt his shoulders tremble under your touch. Slowly, it dawned on you he was laughing. Laughing. You slapped his shoulder lightly, the gesture more a tap than anything else and you started walking down the corridor quickly, trying to catch up with everyone else as they filed out of the arena.

“Hey, hey, wait, Y/N! Come on, don’t be mad,” he called out after you and you heard him jog to catch up with you. When he did, he took a couple more steps ahead then stepped in your path, walking backwards to match your pace. “I was only messing around. I couldn’t not do that. You should’ve seen your face, honestly.”

“My face? Hope you’ve seen yours. I’m not mad. Me being mad would basically mean you managed to get to me which you really didn’t, so don’t give yourself any credit, Tkachuk,” you responded. “You just reminded me you’re still a dick so thanks for that.”

“Give me a free pass. I’m injured.”

“If you’re searching for sympathy, you’re looking for it in the wrong place,” you informed him, side stepping him so that he resumed walking at your side instead. After a few moments of silence, you conceded with a sigh. “Seriously speaking. How’s your mouth?”

“Don’t think I’ll need fillers, let’s just say.” He removed his hand from his mouth, and you looked over.

Thankfully, it seemed that putting ice on it quickly was paying off. The area was somewhat red, but no significant damage seemed to be visible to the untrained eye. He was certainly miles better than he was just months ago.

“Looks okay, I guess,” you shrugged. “What happened? Honestly, it looked pretty intense from the outside.”

Matthew didn’t respond and you didn’t press him for details even after you stepped out into the balmy Vegas night. If he chose to not share with you, then you guessed it must’ve been either pretty personal or pretty stupid. You leaned more towards the former. You didn’t even complain when he followed you to the car you hired, claiming the passenger seat. Before you also stepped inside, a message pinged in from Anna informed you she had taken off with Johnny for dinner but promised to be back in the room in a few to catch up.

You didn’t start the engine when you fixed your seatbelt and instead, leaned your head back against the rest, watching a few other vehicles pull out of the car park. In his seat, Matthew was looking out of the window to his left, heading resting against a loosely formed fist propped up against the door.

“He was talking shit about you,” he said at last, but didn’t turn to you when he spoke.

“Who was?”

“The guy on the other team. He made a comment about you towards your brother at the end of the shift. Something about… I don’t know, something crude, vulgar. Don’t really remember it.”

You didn’t quite believe him on the last part, but you allowed it anyway. “Okay… Well, I don’t know the guy anyway, so it didn’t matter, Matthew. You should have let it slip by or left my brother to deal with it.” Then, out of curiosity, you asked, “why didn’t you?”

More silence. Occasionally, the muffled sound of a passing car would cut through it but it, too, would be gone in seconds.

“Because I couldn’t.”

You pursed your lips and your fingers clenched then unclenched in your lap. You placed your hands on the steering wheel, then dropped them away before settling them back on it after starting the engine.

“Thanks, I guess. You just keep making me owe you favors.”

“You don’t owe me—”

“So, I’ll clear that now with dinner. Just please don’t tell me you’re going to need to be on a smoothie diet. I’ll feel bad eating something really good while you’re there with a strawberry and banana drink. Not that I’d stop eating though, just so you know. But it’s the thought that counts,” you said and finally, finally he chuckled quietly.

“No smoothie diets this time.”

You sighed dramatically. “Maybe no smoothie diets ever?”

Matthew shrugged. He was still not meeting your eyes but that was okay. “Can’t promise that. Kind of comes with the job. Just in case though, I like the sweeter stuff more. Triple chocolate, Oreo pieces, peanut butter.”

“Thanks, Matthew. I’ll file that under information I don’t care to know about.”

“I’m injured. Show some sympathy,” he demanded without heat, finally turning to you.

You cooed then reached out with one of your hands to pat his cheek lightly. “Aw, really searching for it in the wrong place.”

“I’ll make do with what I can get,” he allowed, and you could swear he leaned into your touch, but you tore your hand away before either of you got too comfortable.

four.

Matthew called in his favor after a few of his teammates agreed where to host their Halloween party.

“Kind of sounds like you’re the one asking for a favor,” you commented, planting yourself at your kitchen table while securing the phone between your ear and shoulder.

Matthew sighed on the other end. “Sort of. Who does a themed Halloween party anyway? The theme itself is Halloween.”

“You’re not wrong about that. Could be fun though, a bit more unique. So, what’s the theme for this year?”

“Couple outfits,” Matthew replied without hesitation.

You stilled and were grateful he wasn’t in the same room as you. It took you a great deal more energy over the course of the past few months to convince yourself that Matthew didn’t attract you in one way or another. His looks aside, it was rare you came across someone who could easily keep up with your snide remarks and the more you got to know him, the more you realized that there was more to Matthew than just being a typical athlete with his share of well-deserved fame. He was funny, dedicated and undoubtedly, caring. You had some first-hand experience with the latter. After all, he didn’t owe you anything to make him obligated to jump into whatever weird situation you found yourself in.

You warmed to him little by little. If you found him attractive, well that was for you alone to know though it made everything just that more difficult. Thankfully, Matthew seemed pretty oblivious to it or at least, he was doing a good job at pretending he didn’t catch you staring at him on several occasions or the few times you took a discrete step back if it felt like you were too close to him. Knowing he was asking you to go together as a couple (pretend couple, you corrected yourself) only added to the difficulty of coming to terms with your…crush.

Puppy love, you assured yourself. It’ll go as quickly as it came.

“Y/N?”

“Sorry, still here. Guess it sucks another year will go by without the opportunity to bring out your Fortnite costume.”

“Oh, come on. I wouldn’t dress like a game character!”

“Matthew,” you warned.

There was a pause, then, “okay, fine. Maybe I would. So, can you come?”

You shrugged, then remembered he couldn’t see it. “I owe it to you, don’t I?”

“Great! Hey, choose something good for us. There’s going to be a prize for best dressed and I have my eyes on it.”

“I think we can both agree my creativity will not let us down. I’ll text you my idea. You just make sure you actually stick to it, so I don’t end up looking stupid.”

“Don’t worry,” he started, “I won’t dump you on Halloween.”

“Good to know I won’t end up traumatized and have my favorite holiday ruined,” you said, by way of goodbye.

“Hey, spin around for me once. You look good. Blonde’s not bad on you.”

“No color’s bad on me,” you responded but refused to entertain Matthew by complying with his request. Instead, you rang the bell to Noah’s apartment after the door didn’t budge when Matthew tried the handle.

“Come on, just a spin,” Matthew insisted, nudging his elbow into your own then pressed the doorbell himself once again – hard, as if that would make it ring louder.

“Only if you dance for me and do the entire Greased Lightning choreography without missing a step.”

Matthew feigned a groan and you shot him an amused look. Before you could even comment on that, the door opened, and Noah stood at the threshold. The ruckus from inside spilled out into the corridor and from what you could see beyond him, it was a full house of all sorts of characters.

“Wow! Sandy and Danny! Finally, someone with really good taste,” Noah said by way of greeting and he looked towards you pointedly.

You flashed him a grin. “Always a pleasure to exceed expectations,” you responded and stepped into his open arms, a clear invitation for an embrace that was shortly broken apart by Matthew.

“Hey, none of that man,” he said, pulling you back and easily holding most of your weight as you broke into a laugh that had you stumbling into his side. “I didn’t even get to tell her she’s the one that I want.”

“Yeah, well, you better shape up ‘cause I need a man,” you responded, without missing a beat though you couldn’t help but replay his words in your mind. They sounded a lot like a broken record that you desperately wished to stop immediately before this…thing went way too far and spun out of control.

You were both led towards a photo wall and if you had any nerves about striking good poses without at least some liquid courage first, all that vanished. To your surprise, Matthew easily took the lead initially, falling to his knees in front of you in an attempt to recreate the part where a smitten Danny fell before Sandy, completely and utterly overwhelmed by her presence. Despite it being difficult to control your laughter, you played along with ease. At first, you were simply grinning down at him but you couldn’t let all his in-character effort go to waste, so you turned, casting a glance down towards him over your shoulder. To your side, Noah’s flash was going off every few seconds as he tried to capture the two of you from the best angle, together with cheers of encouragement. For your second pose, you rested your arms on Matthew’s shoulders once he rose back to his full height and his hands held on to either side of your torso. Again, the flash went off and again, the two of you changed pose into something more casual: him, standing behind you with his palms on your hips while you place a hand on his face, grinning at the camera. The flash went off again and he whooped loudly.

“I’m never inviting both of you to a party with this theme again,” Noah muttered, feigning disgruntlement. “You can’t come into my home and kill it like that.”

“Blame the one who came up with this idea in the first place,” Matthew defended, holding both hands up in the air in a gesture of innocence.

It was true. The idea to dress as Danny and Sandy from Grease came to you fairly quickly. You knew the two were a popular go-to, but you enjoyed the movie greatly. Plus, it was a great opportunity for you to pull out a pair of red heels you invested a hefty sum of money into. And, well, admittedly there was something about Matthew that made you think he’d suit the role just fine. When you shared your idea with him, he was on board from the start without complaining or suggesting alternatives. You were grateful for that: when Matthew picked you up earlier, dressed in an all-black outfit, leather jacket and hair styled to rival John Travolta’s, you gave yourself a mental pat on your shoulder. If any photos would go up on the internet, you were pretty sure Instagram would be grateful to you. Certainly, you knew Chantal and Keith would get a kick out of it for sure.

“Guilty as charged,” you acknowledged. “I’m going to look for Anna. Catch you later.” You gave a wave to the both of them before making your way towards the hub of activity where couple costumes ranged from peanut butter and jelly to superheroes.

She was fairly easy to locate, in part because she told you she and Johnny would dress as Wonder Woman and Steve Trevor. The red, blue and gold of her outfit were unmissable even in a sea of costumes. As soon as she spotted you approaching, she made a beeline and wrapped an arm around yours.

“Tell me you and Matthew will recreate the entire You’re the One That I Want scene,” she pleaded. “Please tell me that at some point this evening, you’ll tell us to clear the dancefloor so the two of you can have your moment.”

You rolled your eyes, dragging her along towards a table hosting drinks and small bites. “There’s no moment we’re going to be having.”

“Because you don’t want to or because you want to so badly that you don’t know how to ask him? I’m pretty sure he’ll say yes.”

“Neither,” you muttered but even you’d be able to hear the lack of conviction in your tone from a mile away.

To take your mind off it, you poured yourself a glass of red wine, taking a tentative sip from it. Across the room, Matthew had deposited his black leather jacket away and started making rounds around the room. You took a longer sip from your wine and looked away.

Anna fixed you with a knowing stare which you refused to acknowledge, but she knew you like the back of her hand. “It’s okay to say you like him, you know,” she advised, and you hated the soothing tone she tried to take when saying that. It felt more pitying than anything, as if you hadn’t already had your share of disappointments in love—or, relationships better said.

“Who said anything about liking him? He’s not bad to look at I’ll admit, but that’s where it stops.” You frowned, looking out of the nearest nearby window that gave a broad view of the city below. “That’s where I want it to stop,” you admitted, this time quieter.

You were well aware that you were occasionally trying to look for a narrative that was most convenient for late night thoughts when you had the peace and privacy to think of him as you wished. The reality couldn’t be more different, though, and you knew that. Matthew was helpful to you before because he was good friends with your brother and eventually, you realized that it was just part of his nature. Beyond being successful, beyond his fame and recognition, Matthew was kind and funny and respectful. It was just that you didn’t give him the chance to before and now that you got to know him better, you suddenly realized that…what? You’d like the first man who gives you a helping hand? If that were the case, you should’ve gotten the memo sooner: it would’ve been easier liking the tech guy from work who once debugged your laptop.

It wasn’t doing you any good to try and look for a ‘but’ in every situation: Matthew is helpful because he’s good friends with my brother but it’s not like that should force him to act as if we’re romantically involved not once or twice or thrice but now, four times. Regardless of how you looked at it, that reeked of desperation. You were in that weird period in your life where it felt as if everyone around you was in a relationship, so maybe that mood translated to you.

That’s right, you settled. That’s what was possibly behind these thoughts of yours. You found Matthew attractive – and what? So did plenty of other people. You saw him surrounded by girls after practice, after matches, while out. What you felt was nothing special. It felt easier to think of it that way, even if for a few hours to truly enjoy the party without having that lurking at the back of your mind.

You mingled easily, danced with Anna, danced with other players’ girlfriends and wives, danced with your brother, even attempted a few traditional Russian dances taught by Nikita, Artyom and a few of their friends, that left you breathless by their rapid pace and intricate footwork.

“I’m done!” you declared, breathless and almost swaying on your feet when another Russian folk song came to an end but thankfully, you managed to hold steady before you could catch a ride on the hot mess express. “Absolutely wasted. Knocked out.” You stepped away, tired but euphoric and dropped rather unceremoniously on one of the available couches pushed against a wall.

“Having fun?” Matthew asked and there was a light flush on his cheeks you knew wasn’t from dancing. There was even just a slight slur to his speech.

“The most,” you replied, breathless, and accepted the drink he held out to you. You took a sip without questioning him what was in the glass, only to find out for yourself he was settling for harder stuff tonight. “But never let it be said that anyone can keep up with Russians because let me tell you,” you whistled quietly, “we’re a couple of steps behind. Plenty of steps behind, actually.”

Matthew flashed a lazy smile and you briefly spared a moment to envy him for how kept together he remained despite being evidently buzzed. “’s okay. At least we’re the better dressed ones so we lose in style.”

You took another sip from his glass, holding it out to him with a smirk. “Tell me about it, stud,” you said in what you hoped was a low, alluring tone of voice but no sooner did you think that, and you were reduced to embarrassed laughter. “Forget about that! Forget it, forget it! Where’s the delete button?”

“I didn’t come equipped with that,” he declared proudly, finishing off what was left of his drink. “C’mere, you can show me a couple of those steps you learned.”

He stood, a little unsteadily initially then held a hand to you. You knew he wouldn’t have the strength to pull you up properly, so you stood easily fully intent to actually lead him through some of the steps. Except, Matthew was definitely swaying more than you thought he would. There was something inexplicably amusing about the situation and instead of directing him towards the center of the room, you steered him away from it and towards a small bathroom you were shown to earlier that night when you needed some time to re-touch your makeup.

“Where’re we going?” he asked curiously, looking over his shoulder towards the living room with a look that could only be read as longing.

“To cool down a little and then you can learn as many folk dances as you want. Believe me, you need to be alert for them. Can’t miss a step,” you advised, trying to steady him by wrapping an arm around him though the difference in weight between the two of you couldn’t compare. Still, you managed to get him into the bathroom safely without either of you making a mess of yourselves or the room.

“Are you gonna cool down too?” he questioned.

“Sure thing, definitely need it.”

“Good, we’ll cool down together.” With that, he made a move to open the glass partition for the shower cubicle but thankfully, you were significantly more alert than he was and managed to prevent him from doing anything more than that.

“Not that sort of cool down. Here, sit here,” you encouraged, lowering the lid on the toilet so Matthew could drop down. You doubted you’d be able to hold much of his strength above the sink if you were to help him splash some cold water on his face.

“But I want that sort of cool down,” he slurred. “With you. Us two. You said you want to cool down too. Could be a couple activity.” He grinned, as if proud of himself.

Thankfully, Matthew was buzzed enough to miss the flush on your face, the slight shake of your hand as you arranged a towel around his neck to prevent too much overspill before turning the tap on.

“Can’t do that, Matthew. Here, this will be much better, I promise.”

“Wanna try though,” he mumbled but was still compliant as you pressed a wet, cool palm against his forehead, then either of his cheeks. “Not cool enough.” His complaint was accompanied by a frown which only morphed into a lazy smirk when he leaned back, trying to pull you with him. “C’mon, Y/N. It’s a couple’s Halloween night.”

“Matthew, we’re not a couple,” you said gently, pushing your palms against his shoulders in an attempt to free yourself from his hold. Before it was too late. Before you allowed yourself to get drawn into a drunk man’s ramblings.

“But I wanna be. A couple, with you.”

You put all your strength into breaking away from his hold and thankfully, managed to do so. Your heart was hammering in your chest as if desperately trying to release itself from the cage of your ribs.

“Matthew, you’re drunk. Here, splash some cold water on your face so you can come back to your senses.”

“But I’m not drunk,” he insisted and as if to demonstrate, he stood up quickly. He swayed on the spot, stretching out his arms a little and once he found his footing, he looked towards you with an expression that mixed pride with hopefulness. “See? Definitely okay—”

You frowned, feeling a little caged in. You should’ve left the door open at least. “Okay, then let’s go back out there, yeah? I can get an Uber and I’ll take you home if you prefer that?”

“Yes,” he said, then leaned back against the door. “Only if you come with me.”

You exhaled, suddenly tired as if the exchange was working every ounce of energy out of you. “I’ll come to make sure you’re okay and can make it to your bed okay.”

“I can though. I can definitely make it there even on my own and you know why? Because I’m not drunk,” Matthew insisted and when you shot him a look of disbelief, he peeled himself away from the door. “Look, look I can prove it to you I’m not drunk.”

Before you could even ask him to walk a straight line without stumbling his steps, Matthew’s arm wrapped around your waist while his other hand pressed on the back of your head, bringing you closer until your lips met. Kissing Matthew was like everything you imagined and more. He even did that with the same passion with which he skated on ice, chasing puck after puck. It left you breathless how well he worked his lips against your own as if all along, he knew how to do that in such way that it’d leave your legs feeling like jelly. Beyond that though, it felt comfortable. Not forceful despite him having not asked if he could do it in the first place, yet it still felt right. You tasted sweetness on his mouth and the sharp tang of whiskey. Vaguely, you knew nothing else could compare. It was that thought that made you push away from him with as much force as you could muster, ducking under his arm and towards the door.

“I’ll ask someone to take you home,” you said without even looking his way before leaving dashing out of the bathroom.

“You okay?” Anna asked you when you ran into her. Quite literally.

“Uh—yeah. No, actually. I think I feel a bit unwell so I’m going to head home, okay?”

You made a move to leave but her arm stopped you. “Hey. Are you sure you’re okay?”

Above her shoulder, you saw Matthew emerge from the bathroom, a little dazzled, eyes searching the room. Before he could even spot you, you quickly freed yourself from her hold and nodded. “Will be. I’ll text you when I get home. Don’t rush back, okay? Tell Alex I said thanks for the invite.”

You didn’t stumble a step in your heels as you jogged towards the door, making a swift exit before you attracted even more attention.

+ one.

Matthew left no calls and no messages, but that was fine. You didn’t spend time trying to build your expectations of anything like that happening because drunk words weren’t always sober thoughts. The event was just something you had to deal with and if you had to do it alone, then so be it. Reasonably speaking, you and Matthew went from nothing to friends and if you caught feelings along the way, then that was your mistake for letting yourself slip like that. You were left broken hearted once, you really didn’t want to go through that again especially over someone that wasn’t even really and truly yours to begin with.

So, the next morning, you woke up at a reasonably early hour despite the late night but felt energized enough to sweep through your apartment and collect the garments you tossed carelessly on your way to bed after arriving at home. You said a heartfelt goodbye to Sandy, apologizing that in this scenario, her and Danny didn’t end up driving off in a red convertible. After that, you showered and changed in a fresh set of clothes even if the day would most likely be spent indoors. It was a fitting conclusion to the Halloween weekend, and you could do with some downtime, really.

Anna must’ve stayed with Johnny because regardless of how much noise you made, she didn’t emerge from the room and after fixing a quick breakfast and brewing coffee to continued silence, you knew you were right. It didn’t bother you. You’d make full use of the couch and stretch out on it properly as you flicked through your Netflix account and for the sake of sticking to weekend morning traditions, you selected a lighthearted sitcom. You were halfway through the third episode when your doorbell rang. You could’ve sworn Anna had a spare key of her own unless she misplaced it or forgot it home. Not entirely out of question.

Except, it wasn’t Anna who greeted you when you opened the door.

“Oh.” You coughed lightly, crossing your arms then unfolding them, then leaning one against the doorway before dropping it to your side. “Hey—uh. Hey Tkachuk, isn’t it a bit early for you to be out and about? You were smashed the last time I saw you.”

Matthew looked over your shoulder into the apartment, as if checking to see if you were alone. “Can I come in?”

Defeated, you stepped to the side and cleared the way for him to step inside before pushing the door closed. Part of you wished you’d dressed up as if you were ready to head off somewhere. You weren’t quite ready nor willing to face whatever music Matthew had in mind for you.

In the aftermath of the party, out of the flashiness of the costume, Matthew seemed to be perfectly clear-headed despite the state you’d left him in. The curls atop his head seemed soft despite the natural frizz and as he passed by, you caught a whiff of sharp cologne and fresh bodywash.

“Is Anna here?”

“Are we playing twenty-one questions?”

“No?”

“Kind of sounds like it, though?” You laughed quietly, trying to lighten the mood. It was bad enough the weather outside was gloomy, autumn settling in full force. Now, you had to deal with a Matthew who looked as if he wasn’t sure he came to the right place. “Coffee?” you asked, already leading the way towards the kitchen. You heard him follow behind you just moments later. While you poured a full cup for him, he hovered by the table, making you frown at him. “What’s wrong with you? You need an invite to sit down and relax? Seriously, Matthew, you look like you should be in bed.”

“You left last night without saying anything,” he said instead.

“Uh—yeah. I was kind of tired and I wanted it to call it a night early so—”

“Was it because of what I said or what I did?”

You almost dropped the coffee cup, but fortunately only startled enough for the liquid to slosh over the rim and down the back of your hand, causing you to hiss in pain. You cursed quietly and, in an instant, Matthew crossed over the room and took the cup from you, setting it down on the table before leading you towards the sink. As if used to this, he placed your hand under ice cold water and once the sharp pain numbed, you pushed his hand away, taking a step to the side in an attempt to put more distance between you.

“It’s fine, I’ve got this,” you mumbled, holding your hand still under the jet for a few more seconds before closing it.

It was hardly worth the fuss, but it gave you a reason to make yourself busy with something other than freaking out. It couldn’t be that he remembered anything. It couldn’t be that he was standing in your kitchen, thinking that it was a good idea to just open up that subject when you were so ready to take a shovel to it and bury it six feet under.

“Didn’t you get tired of it at all?” he tried again.

“Tired of what?”

“Of pretending. Of only acting like we’re together for one reason or the other—”

“Matthew, I asked you only once and you know why. I apologized then but if it helps you sleep better at night, I’ll apologize again for dragging you into my mess. I don’t know what the point is of this discussion—”

“The point,” he said, raising his voice but only to cut through your speech. “The point is that I’m tired of it. I’m tired of having to be by your side and pretend. It got to a stage where I don’t even know what’s real and what isn’t, and I feel as if the only time I’ll know that for sure will be when you find someone, so you no longer need to turn to me to pretend.”

“Matthew, I’m not using you, if that’s what you’re thinking. You’re coming at me with this out of the blue and I don’t even understand what this is all about,” you argued, waving a hand between the two of you.

Matthew clenched his jaw. You watched as he flexed it and his eyebrows furrowed. “Do you need me to spell it out for you again? I thought I was pretty straightforward about what I want last night.”

“You were drunk last night, is what you were. You could hardly put a foot in front of the other.”

“You know that’s not true,” he retorts, lifting his arms then dropping them back down to his sides. “I was sober enough to know damn well what I said and why I said it. If you want to keep pretending even now, even at this point, then you go ahead and do that but let me be clear with you again and you take what you want from it: I don’t want to pretend with you anymore. I want to be with you. You want to know what that feels like? It feels a lot like being so close to something you want, literally having that thing dangled right in front of you only to have it snatched just when you think it’s yours. Me kissing you last night? I’m sorry I forced it on you, I could’ve gone about doing it differently but I’m not sorry for what I feel. That was all me and not the alcohol. So, you take this and do what you want with it.”

You stared at him, disbelieving your ears. It wouldn’t surprise you if that was the case: you did wake up surprisingly refreshed even after an emotionally charged night, so for all you knew, you could be dreaming this.

“Matthew, what are you—That’s, you’re kidding me with this right? You can’t. You can’t possibly think that.”

“And why not?”

“Because it doesn’t make sense. Are you even hearing yourself talk?”

“Why doesn’t it make sense? Want me to go about it differently? If you let me pull your hair, I’ll let you push me in the sandbox.”

You were suffering from a strange, ill-timed case of déjà vu. Part of you wanted to laugh at the situation but the bigger part of you triumphed, thankfully. You released a breath you had been holding, bringing both hands up to cover your face, taking some moments to yourself. Or perhaps, you’d lost track of time because eventually, you heard Matthew sigh and felt his fingers wrap around each wrist though he didn’t put pressure to tug your hands down from your face.

“Sorry. I’m just—I’m not doing this the right way. I don’t want it to seem like I’m forcing my feelings on you and that you should accept them. If I misread us—you at any point, then fine. Just, we can drop it here and I’ll deal with it but—”

You shook your head slowly. “No, I just need a moment. Sorry. You really caught me by surprise. I didn’t… I thought everything you said last night…what you did… I thought that was just, well, just the alcohol. So, I did the best thing I knew to do and, uh, left.”

“Drunk words, sober thoughts,” he reminded you quietly and this time, you dropped your hands away from your face so you could look up at him.

He was so handsome. Ridiculously handsome in his casual clothes. Briefly, you thought back to the time you first found safety in his arms and wondered if maybe… Well, why not. You closed the distance between the two of you, wrapping your arms around him, fingers clinging to the thick material of his hoodie while you faceplanted against his chest and breathed him in.

You liked Matthew. You liked Matthew so much that the admission overwhelmed you so much that you squeezed him to you, trying desperately to bring him closer. The gesture seemed to prompt him into action, and he returned the hug, pressing a kiss to the top of your head and then to the base of your throat once he’d lowered his head there.

“Me too. I want to be with you too. Really be with you. No more of this pretend stuff,” you told him, your voice muffled against his body, but you knew he caught every word.

He chuckled, the sound low and deep, sending shivers down your spine. “We won Noah’s competition last night.”

“Bet he did it because of your long face,” you commented, unable to help yourself. “What did we win?”

Matthew made a move to step back, but you clung to him, much to your embarrassment. It seemed as if your body acted out of sync with your mind, but who could blame it when Matthew stood right there, right before you. Turned out he only took a step back to lift you off your feet and instinctively, you wrapped your legs around his hips, arms resting loosely around his neck. You leaned in and pressed a fleeting kiss to his mouth as he stumbled away from the kitchen while you stole another kiss. And then, just because you could, a third.

“A voucher to a seafood restaurant,” he informed you, breaking into a laugh when you groaned, throwing your head back in sheer frustration even if you had a strong feeling he was only messing with you.

“Remind me to never put so much effort if that’s what the stake are.”

“Noted. Next time, I’ll tell you we could just stay home for Halloween and play by our rules. Outfits optional. Probably not recommended.”

“That’s…really not what I said.”

“I’m reading between the lines. See? We know each other so well.”

You laughed as he carried you all the way into your room without even as much as breaking a sweat. That was definitely some food for thought at a later point.

#matthew tkachuk #matthew tkachuk fic #matthew tkachuk imagine #nhl fic #nhl fanfic #nhl imagine #*

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ellsbclls · 3 years

Note

" wow... you look... you look amazing. " for peter please? i love love love ur writing btw!

NOTE: This... ended up so embarrassingly long... i don't even know what the word count is, but i can bet it's a good 20%-30% longer than the average blurb.

WARNINGS: cursing, quirky🤪 mentions of drug use, implied making out (but can be perceived as sex, dear god please don’t perceive it as sex though), and some good ol’ fashion stark!ready x peter parker banter

They say, "never meet your heroes." Well, Peter wished he had adhered to that warning before he ended up here — a lanky, overdressed thumb towering high above the roof of the Avenger's Compound.

A semi-annual assembly of New York City's finest heroes that had little to do with their civic duties, and much to do with their inhibitions, and just how much alcohol it would take to release them — but there was one glaring problem.

Peter didn't drink.

He never saw the allure, especially when it came at such a high risk. He'd convinced himself that he refrained for the sake of Aunt May, the only remaining part of his family who put her life on the line to ensure his safety and overall well-being — the Spider-Man reveal already took some getting used to, he didn't need to add drunken night expenditures to her overnight fretting. Yet, when Flash's 'End of the Year' party had been raided by the police, a small part of him found joy in knowing he needn't fear the police or their breathalyzer test, even if he was deemed Pussy Parker for the remainder of that summer.

Even if he wanted to instill some liquid courage into himself, he hadn't the basic courage to let himself be vulnerable like that, in front of all the adults that made up the Avengers. Mr.Stark had already commented on his only suit, and how small he looked as it swamped his form, and the entire altercation made him wish the roof would just open up and swallow him whole.

Bullies, you'd call them.

There they were, New York's finest Defender's, huddled around the Mastrangelo like it couldn't put their entire life savings to shame, hosting a rousing game of beer pong upon its marble exterior. Your father was lucky your mother was still in Milan, tying up loose ends on a new line of bullshit you didn't concern yourself with. You just counted the days until she returned home, and you could soak up every ounce of her nurturing presence.

God, did you miss her.

It’s not like your father wasn’t just as nurturing, competitively so, to a point were you almost felt smothered — but you were too alike. In spaces where you both held too stubborn, your mother was there to mediate, and with ceaseless barrages of dry humor came her firm, unwavering severity, proving her love with candid remarks instead of jesting quips.

“Oh, free intern!” He dragged you from your nostalgic supercut with your endearing nickname, coaxing a fierce glare from your hues. “Run down to that place on 7th street and get some beer? And not that Miller Coor’s Bud bullshit, the upper echelon on Sigma Delta Nu delicacies.”

Jesus Christ.

You had caught glimpses of his argument with Steve, complaining about how stupid it would be to pour anything top shelf into a red solo cup — blasphemous really — but you didn’t expect him to do anything more than concede.

"Father of the year, everybody." You clapped just above your head, prompting the remaining company to join you. "I think you're forgetting that I'm not twenty-one."

"First and foremost, I know I am," Tony counters your triumphant grin with a sarcastic one. "Which is how I know that your fake ID says 21."

"Stark, it's fine. I can grab the beer," You thanked God and her impeccable timing once Steve interrupted, settling himself between the two of you with outstretched palms. "I could use the fresh air anyway."

You mimicked Steve's stance, cocking your brows toward your father. "See? Problem solved. Now leave me alone."

Losing interest in the company exponentially, you started to retreat, but groaned once your father's voice pierced the air again. "Nuh-uh-uh, Rogers. Why? So you can go to the nearest GNC and snort a container of protein powder? I don't think so."

You retreat to the furthest recesses of your mind as Tony and Steve bicker back and forth about honesty and friendly competition. Steve wouldn't know how to bump a rail if the U.S Army assembled a thorough, interactive training course on it, and his age quadrupled the life expectancy of most snow-packed socialites. Yet, on the other hand, you were shocked that your father even knew what a GNC was — ultimately, you were riled from your thoughts by an irksome realization.

"Are you fucking- Why can't old man Jenkins do it?" you gestured wildly toward the enhanced super soldier in question, blind to the obvious offense scrawled across his features. You seldom took your opulent lineage for granted, but when situations such as these presented themself, a selfish corner of your mind wondered what it would be like to have a run-of-the mill, cheesy-pun equipped, golf short wearing father. "You'd rather risk your daughter's own safety, and the sanctity of her criminal record, for a stupid game of beer pong?"

Natasha's incredulous laughter chimed between your incessant back and forth, spurred by the uncanny resemblance you and your father shared between every aspect imaginable — your dry wit just so happened to be in the spotlight.

"Yes," He didn't bother to meet your glare, already familiar with its scorching beam against the side of his face "Yes I would."

Hues practically rolled into the back of your skull, exaggerating your every move to a thespian level to make it clear, to even the boniest of heads, that you didn't take pleasure in this task. You were so excited to finally unwind at this event — slam down the sugary mocktail your Uncle Thor always "forgot" to order virgin, dangle your feet over the shallow end of the pool, maybe even shoot a few low jests at Bucky if there wasn't a carnal gleam in his eyes.

Your thrilling plans were now put on hold just to support your father's mid-life crisis.

"I know, I know." He tried to repeat the name of the wine stop n’ shop, only for you to wave him off. He wasn’t wrong — you had been abusing your fake ID in that very stop n’ shop for years, though you’ve recently come to the conclusion that the cashier was far more interested in your chest than your credentials. "If I get arrested, I'm bring you down with me. I'll tell Business Insider that FRIDAY's just one, big elaborate ruse for the underground Fake ID business you have on the side. They'll eat it up like-"

"Love you, honey! I'll venmo you!" He butt in, sending you off with a wave of his fingers.

You flipped him off, shouting an earnest 'I love you' in return. There was no denying that you loved each other, some would even argue that he loved you more than he loved himself — you just chose to show it in your own, eccentric way.

Mere seconds into your newfound task, you stopped dead in your tracks. You could make out that bed of chestnut locks anywhere.

"Parker?" Swiftly surveying his frumpy attire, you struggled to stifle the upward tilt of your lips. Even as he stood uncomfortably before you, visibly seconds away from crawling out of his own skin, he still managed to be the sweet, endearing Peter you knew and loved. "God, I didn't even realize that was you."

You didn't have the heart to tell him that you caught one fleeting glimpse of him at the very beginning of the festivities and thought he was a part of the catering company, nor did you feel a need to disclose the snide remark you whispered into your father's ear about the miserable staff. There was no sense in kicking a dead horse while it was already down.

His gaze weighed heavy against your frame, though, bolstered by an overwhelming intensity that forced you to wonder if he could read your mind. Though, if you could tap into his thoughts, you'd be shocked to find a reflection of your own — bewilderment, adoration, the tell-tale signs of a burgeoning crush, and the myriad of excuses that disputed them.

He could only manage to stumble over his words, complimenting you with sentiments that could never amount to the emotions welling in his chest. "Wow... you look... you look amazing."

And you couldn't argue, not with the way you were pampered hours prior. Mercier had smothered your hair in this honey-infused serum that made your curls bounce to life with each step, and the custom Jacquemus silhouette you were sporting hugged every ample curve enticingly so. You felt like a million bucks, and you probably cost that much give or take, so why deny it?

Peter, on the other hand — Well, he was very lucky that he was so cute, and his jawline could probably cut Vision's infinity stone straight out of his skull. It almost made up for the tragic shape of his suit, and just how tragically out of place it was at this event.

"You look, um-" Softness tugged at the corner of your eyes as they crinkled dotingly. "You look very cute."

"That was a very convincing half-truth." He chuckled, a subtle pink hue blooming over the valleys of his cheeks."

"Oh, so a part of you knows you're cute." You teased, enjoying the way the pink hue grew deeper.

"Oh! Oh, no... No, I mean, kind of? On the scale of confident perspectives, I think-uh-cute... Cute is on the lower end? And you know what? My Aunt May-"

"Peter, you wanna get out of here?" You interrupted him, hoping to save him from all the words he had yet to stumble over. "And then immediately come back?"

"Yeah," He vigorously nodded his head, despite being equally as confused. "Yeah, I'd like that a lot."

"Come," You offered your hand, a small gesture the two of you have woven into your complicated relationship.

You'd tend to straddle a very thin line between friendship and something more, reaping all the warm, tentative affections of newfound lovers without explicitly considering yourselves so. The both of you, for as brilliant as your merits show, continued to convince yourselves that the hand holding, the comfortable silences, the mornings plastered against each other's sides, were simply happenstance. Despite the increasing willingness of each encounter, you'd only ever chalk it up to chance. So when you offered your hand out to him, he took it in stride — because the two of you would indulge in every ounce of attention you could get your hands on, at least until one of you inevitably came to your senses and found someone worth your time.

Your fingers were firmly intertwined as you led him to the roof’s exit, tugging him down the staircase and through the vacant halls of the top floor just in time to catch the elevator. You found no reason to keep his hand hostage once you were inside, so you begrudgingly retracted yours. You swore you could hear a pitiful huff come from his side of the elevator, but you chalked it up to wishful thinking.

Now it was just you and Peter, left to your own devices, and roughly ninety-two floors away from your destination. Just enough time to do what you were aching to do.

“Peter,” You murmured, and his gaze flickered to your own without a moment of hesitation, drenched in a hopeful haze you failed to decipher.

“Y/N?” He echoed, tilting his body toward your own.

“You look...” You paused, unsure of which word accurately portrayed your thoughts. ”insane.”

“I know.” He whined. You tried to stifle the giggle that bubbled at his hopeless demeanor, brows furrowed together as he squeezed his eyes shut, shoulders slumped impossible low.

“It’s a good thing you have such a charitable friend.” And you made light work of his suit jacket, the air suddenly rapt with a thick air of electricity as you worked the offending article off his shoulders, haphazardly tossing it on the ground. Protests formed on the tip of his tongue, but he opted to swallow them in return for your help, going slack when you ran your fingers through his meticulously gelled hair.

Though he embodied the vision of a suave, debonair socialite alarmingly well, with his carefully quaffed locks, nothing suited him as well as the pillowy, fawn tendrils that made up his soft curls. You needed them back, needed a reminder of your sweet, darling boy, and patience was never your strong suit.

You wondered if he was in need of the same reminder, seeing as he’d let you manhandle him without so much as a hum of discontent.

All done. Only a few revisions, and he was a completely different boy. Clad in a crisp, white shirt, sans its horrifying grey counterpart, you rolled the sleeves up to his elbows and unbuttoned the top three discs. The fabric was taut against his impressive set of muscles, leaving little to the imagination with each sweeping roll of his arms. You’d pat yourself on the back, but you were too busy drooling all over your work.

“Is- Is this good?” He broke the silence with a tentative query, peering back at you through his lashes.

"Yeah,” You voice came out strangled at best, distracted by the flurry of butterflies ravaging your stomach. There was something about this moment — maybe it was the glint of tenderness ridding his gaze, or your tight proximity, or maybe it was fate, finally persuading you to topple over that dangerous line — but regardless, you decided it was now or never. “but there's still something missing,"

“My jacket?” He breathlessly queried. His eyes frantically searched your face, like he couldn’t settle on just one feature to admire.

“No, no...” You breathed back, cautiously inching closer, until there was only a sliver of space separating your chests. "You need to loosen up, Parker."

“And what- What do you suggest I do?” His gaze flickered down to your lips shamelessly, and returned just as quickly.

“Do you trust me?”

“I’ve trusted you this far.”

“Good,” You sighed, your breath fanning over his lips before you greedily chased its warmth, kissing him with such feather-light pressure, it almost felt like a dream — a thrilling, delicate dream. You had to tear yourself from his lips before you delved even deeper, hoping to find a mirror image of your relief, your satisfaction, in his own features. However, before your eyes even fluttered open, his palms swept under the curve of your jaw, and coaxed your mouth back to his, instantly qualming any of your fears as you both melted into the exchange. He tasted of spearmint, and cherries, and something so intoxicatingly him that you could barely restrain yourself.

You wanted him, God, did you want him, and for the first time, someone wanted you just as much, without an ounce of greed to it — He wanted you for you.

The remaining seconds of the elevator ride were filled with fervent kisses, and wandering hands, your fingers playing with the curls at the nape of his neck while his bunched the silky fabric of your dress. It was all smitten, indulgent brushes of your lips until the elevator dinged, and the doors opened up to reveal the fashionably late, dynamic duo —Sam Wilson and James Buchanan Barnes.

Their expressions were nothing short of priceless, one complexion green while the other ran pale at the sight of your interwoven limbs. You tried to open your mouth before they could comment, but you were far too late, buried in a booming wall of—

"This is a public space! You are defiling a public space!"

"I can't do this— I'm gonna take the stairs."

Their voices weaved into a messy, irritated harmony of disbelief, managing to still complement each other despite their varying levels of urgency.

An idea, a selfish, evil idea, popped into your head, and you enacted it before you could even unravel yourself from Peter’s hold.

"You just reminded me, I was about to text you! My dad needs a couple cases of Yuengling.” You gestured for Peter to press on the “Open Door” button, and by the time he started clicking the prompt, you’d already fetched your wallet, fishing your card out for Sam. “They probably have some at the corner store, but he’ll throw up if he finds out he was drinking alcohol from the corner store, so you’re gonna have to walk down to that market on Seventh.” You could feel Peter’s perplexed gaze gnaw at your shoulder, but you persisted in your impish pursuits, shoving the AmEx into his hand.

“Chop chop, lover boys!” You hastily snapped your fingers in his direction, and yelled just loud enough to make sure Bucky accompanied him, parsing their punishment out evenly.

Served them right, encroaching on such a perfect moment.

Bucky’s groan echoed through the stairwell, followed by a childish stomp of combat boots, and you were pleased enough to shoo Peter’s hand away, pressing the “Close Door” button.

Sometimes it was nice being Tony Stark’s daughter — less backtalk from the sovereign throne of comebackdom.

“I thought you said we were getting out of here.” His brows were pinched together, the most adorable little frown forming between them.

“Oh, we most certainly are,” You replied, pressing the button for your floor. You could tell that the pieces weren’t clicking all the way, and you proceeded to spell it out for him, dropping a chaste kiss to the spot just below his ear. “We’re gonna go to my room. And then we’re gonna go right back to the party when we’re done.”

“When we’re done?” He mused, voice wavering beneath the soft caress of your lips, scattering even more tentative kisses down the column of his neck.

“When we’re done.” You parroted back, meeting his downward gaze through your lashes.”I think you still have some loosening up to do.”

#peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker blurb #peter parker oneshot #peter parker x stark!reader #3K ????????????#3?????????#K??????????#IDK HOW I GOT HERE #MOM PICK ME UP IM S C A RED?????#idk i think there's just something about stark!ready x peter parker that just gets me going #mine*

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themfchase · 4 years

Text

raven unit v (m) jjk

Jeon Jungkook x Reader

‒ raven unit. (m) chapter five: safe house. ✎ [8k words]

genre: political!Au, taskforce!Au, warcrime!Au

warnings: smut, angst, gore, violence, drug mentions, alcohol mention, graphic description of violence, death, oral (male receiving, sorry not that much smut in this chapter) With your life at risk and several people around you dead, your loyal head of security makes sure your safety is taken care of when he’s out of the picture. Three ruthless, dangerous and deadly men take on the task to protect and hide you, Min Yoongi, Jung Hoseok and the one in command, Jeon Jungkook. masterlist. chapter one. chapter two chapter three. .raven unit: drabble #01 drabble #02 n/a: After a long hiatus due to work, I’m here to finally post the fifth chapter of Raven Unit. The next chapter will be the final chapter of this series and I can only say for now, it’s been a ride. I really hope you enjoy it. It’s shorter than the others and highly unedited, but I just wanted to post as soon as I could. Please, send me messaged, anything, your support and love for this series has been what motives me to keep going and I’ll never take that for granted. Thank you so much. <3 Now onto the chapter.

You had spotted Jimin and Jin a couple of times as you and Namjoon were quietly still in your corner, watching as the partygoers spoke to each other avidly. The discrete radio in your ear was also dead silent, only to be used in case something changed. The tension had eased a little as you drank a single glass of wine. Maybe you should have eaten more before leaving. Namjoon remained quiet as he observed the party, eyes now giving away his soldier ways as they sharpened to any sudden movement close to you, and you were thankful for the silence. Looking around your eyes searched for Jungkook, you hadn’t spotted him after he had threatened Namjoon, you’d feel a lot calmer if you could just see him, keep your eyes on him. Make sure he was safe. A gasp left you when you felt a warm palm against your own, head turning to look at Namjoon that offered you a comforting smile. “Loosen up, nothing is going to happen, all you need to do is to be yourself.” He smiled, and you frowned. Be yourself is the last thing you needed to do. “Well, you get the point.” Your lips parted to give him a witty answer when you were interrupted by the sound of a voice. “Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to The Elizebeth Gala.” Your gaze moved to the tall man sporting a fine tailored suit, he had a glass of champagne in his hand and he looked oddly familiar. “I’m pleased to see everyone has adhered to our masquerade theme this year.” He continued, he was young, perhaps a little older than Jin, but still oddly familiar. “I hope you all enjoy the event, dance, enjoy the food and the music, it’s a pleasure to receive you all.” He makes a quick toast, eyes moving in your direction, and for a moment you’re nervous. Once everyone goes back to their conversation, the man is slowly making his way towards you, your eyes slightly building behind the mask and your hand automatically wraps around Namjoon’s arm. “Mr. Kim, fancy seeing you here.” He stops in front of you both, gaze moving towards Namjoon. “Mr. Wang, I’d say the same, wouldn’t expect you to be out so soon.” Namjoon retorted politely. Your brows furrowed. They knew each other. The handsome man scoffed, eyes rolling as he downed his champagne and placed on a passing tray. “Well, they can’t keep me locked forever, I have good lawyers.” He placed his hands in his pockets, shrugging. “I guess I owe you one.” Namjoon chuckled, a melodic laugh that was too unfair to be true. “Don’t get caught next time or I’m keeping them.” You didn’t understand what they were talking about, your gaze moving from one to the other as they had the cryptic conversation. “And who might this beautiful lady be?” The man’s gaze shifted to you, eyes boring down your figure, but not in a nasty way. Namjoon’s lips parted to answer, but you quickly extended your hand. “Raven, it’s a pleasure.” You smiled at him, finding newfound confidence within you. The man lifted a brow, taking your hand, but to your surprise he lifted the back of your palm to his lips, placing a kiss to it. “Enchantée.” He - cheesily added. “So, Mr. Wang, how do you and Namjoon know each other?” You wrapped your arm back around Namjoon’s arm once again, the man stifling beside you. “Please, call me Jackson.” The man winked. Too many cliches for one man, but suddenly the name rang clearer in your head. Jackson Wang. You had a faint memory of seeing the news and his name popping up when they announced they had one of FBI’s most wanted under custody “Oh, Namjoon, and I go way back. He’s safe kept some of my... Art a few times when I was... Unavailable.” It all came back to you now, one of the most infamous con artist of all time. Had made million-dollar heists. Art. Banks. Politicians. “But of course, my collection isn’t by far as vast and luxurious as Namjoons, I’m sure you’ve seen it.” His gaze shifted to the man beside you, Namjoon stood silent, looking straight at the other man. “Oh, I’ve seen it.” You faked a wide grin. “Was quite taken back by the Caravaggio first time I saw it, matter of fact, I think I heard somewhere that It had been stolen a few years back...” You furrowed your brows, bringing one finger up to your lower lip inquisitorially. “Isn’t that right, Joonie?” You tilted your head to look at him. Namjoon has his tongue poking on the inner side of his cheek, annoyed. “Oh, the Caravaggio, if he doesn’t take good care of it, I might just sneak in someday and take if for myself.” Jackson continued, but Namjoons brows raised. “Oh, you can definitely try. But my security is better than the Louvre, my friend, where I borrowed it from, and plus, I don’t mind killing intruders.” Namjoon smiled widely, bringing the glass in his hand to his lips. “Are you at least going to finally tell me how you breached that?” Jackson lifted a brow. “Nope,” Namjoon answered, emphasizing the ‘p’ as he took yet another sip from his drink. “Well, in that case, I think it’s time for me to return to the party.” He chuckled, looking your way. “Raven, it was a pleasure meeting such a stunning woman.” He gave you a slight bow and made his way back to the crowd. You and Namjoon were quiet for a while, not a word exchanged, but you couldn’t help it, you started shaking your head, dumbfounded by the information you just got. “A fucking con artist.” You blurted out. Namjoon quickly pulled to further back onto the boat. “Keep it fucking down, people can hear you.” He whispered, quickly looking around and bringing one hand up to fix his hair. You turned in his direction, crossing your arms. “So is everything about you a pissing contest?” You questioned, and he rolled his eyes, finally a semblance of a non-poised man. “I just enjoy art.” Was his answer. “You can just go to a museum and enjoy it there, in case you’re unaware.” You retorted. “I didn’t steal it, I borrowed it. Besides, the Art Mafia is very real and I assure you more people are safe with some of them in my hands than they are in museums.” Namjoon shrugged. “I knew there was something fishy about you.” You chuckled, the alcohol making you a little more loose than you’d be. “Doesn’t my sketchy persona make me even slightly more attractive?” The corner of his lip lifted in a smirk. And you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t attractive as fuck. But the real thing ringing in your head was... Was Namjoon flirting with you? You took in a deep breath. He knew what he did to you, they all knew. “Maybe, or maybe it just makes you seem lame.” You teased, a tipsy chuckle leaving you. “Oh, Raven, I can assure you, I’m far from lame.” That sobered you up. He was certainly flirting with you. But unknown to you, someone was listening in, and that someone walked away right before what you said next. “Don’t start getting ideas, now, Joonie, I’m a taken girl.” You brushed off his flirting. “Nah, you’re not my type anyway, I just enjoy the chase.” You suddenly felt comfortable around him for the first time, as if a wall had fallen between you both. And you both talked about art and other things you had in common for the next hour. You had even forgotten what your situation was for a moment before something rang in yours and Namjoon’s ear. “Suspicious movement on level three, keep your eyes open.” It was Hobi, your nerves suddenly spiked, and you were on high alert. “Hoseok, what’s up?” You heard Jungkook's question over the com. There was a beat of silence before he answered. “Found two bodies in the laundry carts, I think we have company.” That was more than just suspicious movement. That meant they had found you. What didn’t make sense, though, was how? You quickly eyed Namjoon, he only nodded, it was time to move. Making your way through the crowd, he guided you by the hand, your eyes quickly moving to the waiters, Yoongi, Taehyung they were all looking, one hand hovering perfectly over where their guns would be. And then you saw another face, one you didn’t know, a menacing one, wearing a disheveled waiter’s uniform, a small bloodstain on the corner of the shirt. Your eyes bulging as the man walked slowly through the crowd, eyes all the faces, looking for you. He slowly made his way towards you and Namjoon, still not looking at you, and you quickly spotted Jungkook, he had spotted the man as well, but he wouldn’t be able to make his way to you in time, the boat was almost over the border. You were almost there, just a few more minutes. As the man made his way towards you, it was as if things moved in slow motion, Jungkook reaching for his gun, the slow movement of the man’s eyes moving in your direction. You had to make a decision, and you quickly pulled Namjoon back, turning your back to the man and slamming your lips onto Namjoons. He stiffed in place as your lips met his, but quickly cupped your small face with his large hands, almost covering most of it as he kissed you back. You kept your eyes open, gaze moving as the man went right past you, not even stopping to look at the kissing couple. As soon as he was out of sight, you pulled away, quickly turning your head to meet a frozen Jungkook. His eyes glued to you then his gaze moving to Namjoon. He shifted as fast as you could think, gaze darkening, featured hardening, and he took one step. “Jungkook, not here.“ You heard Jin speak over the com and he stopped, but you could almost see the anger bubbling in his features before he took in a deep breath. “We’re moving.“ He spoke over the com and you followed him with your eyes. Hands quickly lifting to your lips. “You can worry about that later, Raven, we have to move.” It was Namjoon who bought you out of your screaming thoughts, pulling you in the crowd and walking to the Jackson, that spoke avidly about something with someone. “It’s time to repay your debt.” Namjoon interrupted the conversation, making Jackson just glare at the person he was talking to, the same walking away. “Hit me.” He spoke with amusement. “I need to get off this boat effective immediately, has to fit at least eight people.” He looked around as he spoke, making sure the second possible attacker wasn’t close. “I have a motorboat in the back of the boat, should fit everyone.” Jackson didn’t even question. “Follow me.” You were moving the moment Jackson took a step, skipping as you tried to follow their quick steps. “Back of the boat,” Namjoon spoke over the com. As you made your way through the large waste boat, one by one the boy’s appeared behind you, your head turning to spot them, and Jungkook in the back with dark eyes, not even looking in your direction. Once you were finally at the back of the boat it was dark, the boys quickly going past you as Namjoon stopped in front of Jackson, the man putting his hands in his pockets. “We’re crossing the border as we speak. A couple more minutes and you shouldn’t have any trouble,” Jackson informed. “You have two armed men on the boat, they’re dangerous, keep your eyes open.” Said Namjoon. “Oh, I already had seven armed men to worry about. Two more shouldn’t be a problem.” He shrugged. “Besides, I could tell the story of how I helped get the president’s daughter to safety at parties in the future.” You furrowed your brows once his gaze met yours. “Oh, you didn’t think I wouldn’t notice, did you? I can spot fine art from a distance, sweetheart.” Your mouth opened, but you closed it, not really knowing what to say. “Time to go,” Jimin said, you turned your head and noticed the motorboat was already on the water. “ Namjoon thanked Jackson and pulled you along with him. He helped you onto the motorboat, and soon enough, you were on your way, watching the big boat disappear as water splashed lightly around you from the speed you were going. The boat was silent, everyone quiet and looking ahead, even Namjoon as the only light source was the moon shining above you. You sat at the far back of the boat, watching them with their backs to you, Jungkook stirring, sailing. You had a dreading feeling that you had messed up. A dreading feeling that it would be hard to overcome this, but you just hugged your arms as the harsh wind blew your hair, messing it up. The party was over. It was back to reality now. It must have taken an hour for you to finally reach the docks. Not one word spoken once the boat was anchored at the dark, empty docks. You had made it, one step closer to being safe, one step closer. You almost lost your step once your feet met the rotting wood from the dock, Yoongi quickly gripping on your arm, making sure you wouldn’t fall before he was walking beside you, following the others. Your eyes were trained on Jungkook’s back. It was unusual of him to leave your side when you were out in the open like this, and it made you want to curl into yourself. You all walked until you stopped in front of three cars, Hobi and Jimin quickly moving to uncover them as Namjoon threw a black backpack over the hood and began to undress. You turned around, looking at Jungkook as he too began to undress. “Jungkook.” He didn’t look at you, didn’t even react. You sighed. “Jungkook.” You tried again. He continued to undress. Back to you. Losing your patience you closed the gap between you both, gripping at his arm and he quickly pulled it away from you. “What?” He questioned sharply. You furrowed your brows, a scoff leaving you. “You can’t be serious. Jungkook, I had to do it.” You started to argue with him, but he remained quiet. You could feel the other men quickly glance up as they all changed. “Jungkook, fucking talk to me.” You insisted once he finally finished putting his gun in his holster. “Fine, you wanna talk?” He turned to face you. “Let’s fucking talk, Raven.” He quickly gripped at your arm and pulled you into the back of one of the cars, throwing another backpack beside you before he shut the door. “I’ll drive with her, you guys go along, I want Jin in front of me, Hobi behind me.” He commanded before getting in the driver’s seat and starting the car. “Get dressed.” He commanded to you before he started driving. You huffed, almost like a teenager, but obeyed, quickly changing into the clothes inside the bag, the same black cargo pants, and the plain shirt. You took off your heels and put on the heavy boots, undoing your hair, taking off your jewelry, and stuffing it all inside the bag before you crawled into the front seat, sitting beside him. “Put your seat belt on.” He once again commanded coldly. You did so then crossed your arms and it was quiet. The road was dark, it was mostly dirty all around, you could see Jin’s car in front of you and Hobi behind you through the review mirror. “Talk.” He said. “I’m not speaking to you while you’re acting like an asshole.” You shook your head. “Oh, stop being a fucking spoiled brat.” He spat, not looking in your direction. “I fucking kissed him, so fucking what, Jungkook, there was a man ready to fucking kill me coming in my direction I needed to think fast.” You argued. “Ah, I see, think fast, so the flirting before that had nothing to do with you suddenly deciding to fucking kiss not only my soldier but my fucking best friend, one I have fucking history with?” He condescendingly asked. “Of course not! What the fuck do you think I am? I’m in a life-death situation and you think the first thing that comes into my head is to make out with your fucking flirty friend, fuck you!” You lose your patience. He’s quiet for a few seconds, then he shakes his head. “So you admit you two were flirting?” You rolled your eyes, both hands coming up to rub at your face in frustration. “Yes, we fucking flirted, Jungkook. But not only was it playful, but I also told him to not get ideas because I was taken.” You looked away, out the window to the pitch dark desert. “I’m not fucking Irina, I’m not going to sleep with all your friends, I just want you.” And if you hadn’t seen his expression on the reflection of the window, perhaps you wouldn’t have regretted saying those words. You quickly turned to look at him, his brows deeply furrowed, a look of grief in them as he went quiet. “I’m sorry.” Your voice was quiet. “I’m sorry you lost someone you loved, someone you let go of.” You reached a hand towards him, placing it gently on his cheek. “But I’m not her, Jungkook... I playfully flirty with your friends, but... I don’t want any of them, and they don’t want me.” “That’s easy for you to say, I can see the way they look at you.” His voice came out contained. “No... They don’t want me. I know they don’t... They respect you and they respect me. It’s just banter... You don’t have to give me up for anyone.” You leaned forward, the seatbelt making it hard for you to reach him fully, but you placed your lips on his cheek, and his eyes fluttered. “I wouldn’t...” He spoke softly, stance relaxing. “I wouldn’t give you up... Not you.” He quickly glanced at you, before looking back at the road. “I’m sorry I kissed Namjoon, but it really was a way to hide my face in an unsuspicious manner.” You apologized, thumb grazing softly at his cheek. “Motherfucker, now I’m going to have to find a way to deep clean your mouth.” He chuckled. “Did he slip in tongue? I swear to god, I’ll use bleach.” He shook his head, and it was your turn to laugh. “Mmm, maybe a little.” You teased, and he squinted, looking in your direction. “But I know a better way to cleans my mouth from him.” You tilted your head, one hand moving to unclasp your seat belt. Jungkook quickly furrowed his brows. “What are you doing?” He questioned, putting his eyes back on the road. “Cleansing my mouth, commander.” You reached down, hand pressing into his clothed middle, and his lips parted. “Y/N, we’re in the middle of a mission.” He warned you. “Nothing is going to happen.” You comforted him as you felt his cock hardening under your palm. “What if something does happen, am I supposed to just start a shootout with my boner hanging out?” He quickly glanced at you. “Jungkook, shut up and let me suck your cock.” You started to undo his pants. He didn’t argue. Smoothly, you pulled out his hard erection from his pants, eyes shining once his hard engorged head met your eyes, licking your lips as you started to slowly pump him. His gaze fell to the motion of your hand moving up and down slowly on his length. “Eyes on the road, commander, I know for a fact you’re good at multitasking.” You leaned down, mouth engulfing his tip and sucking on it gently. “Fuck.” He whispered out, you could hear the light thump of his head against the seat. The curse gave you more motivation, sinking further onto his length, tongue lapping as you took in as much as you could before pulling away, a string of saliva connecting you to his cock. You pumped him a few more times, noticing his grip tight around the steering wheel, and you looked up at him. Fuck, he was hot. Lidded eyes, slightly swollen lower lip. He must have been biting on it. You decide you want this to be the best head he’s ever had, so you sink back down onto his length, further down until you could feel him in the back of your throat, unable to breathe. Your throat closed around him and he dragged out groan sent a shiver down your spine and straight to your core. Bobbing your head, you repeated the motion a few times, taking him in deep and stilling, hearing him pant just above you. Little grunts and groans leaving him as you did your best to bring him closer to his edge. Your mouth pooled with drool, jerking off what you couldn’t fit in your mouth, and eventually, you felt a hand rest on the back of your head, fingers threading into your locks before he was gripping. You allowed him to control your motions, understanding that he was a man of control, and he pulled at your head and pushed, setting a pace that made his sounds louder, breathless. “Fuck, just like that, baby.” He cursed out, and you whined, you wanted to see him. Wanted to see the look of pleasure on his face. His eyes shifting from your head to the road, sharp attention allowing him to drive and edge at the same time. It wasn’t until you felt yourself choke around his cock at one hard press of your head down that he hissed, croaked out, voice breaking when he spoke. “I’m gonna fucking cum.” He almost whined out. And you went faster, bopping your head, drool sticky hands playing with his cock and his groans become more frequent, louder. His grip on your hair tightened until it was painful and he was twitching and spilling into your mouth. Hot spurs of cum coating your tongue and throat as he ground upwards to rise his high. Like a good girl, you helped him until nothing more came out, swallowing every last bit of his release before you pulled away, sitting up again. He panted, hand moving to the steering wheel again, and you helped tuck him back into his pants before he looked at you. There was the dangerous, hungry gaze that sent jolts of arousal down your body. You truly felt like he hadn’t shown you just how much he would devour you. And you were eager to find out. “Fuck, you’re so beautiful.” He whispered out, hand moving to clean the drool from the corner of your swollen lips and bringing it to his own, sucking the thumb into his mouth. It was amazing how something as simple as that made you blush, calling you beautiful. It made you forget everything, just like at the party, it made you forget you were being hunted down, chased, that you had witnessed, almost felt death multiple times. Right here, with his warm body just beside yours... You felt like you were already saved. A few hours went by. It didn’t nearly seem like it while you both talked about things you hadn’t had the opportunity to talk about before. Trivial things, really, but in a setting like yours, it was more than welcomed. You had found out Jungkook was obsessed with games. Mostly shooting games, of course, the soldier would be obsessed with shooting games. He defended himself by saying it had improved his strategy views and you laughed at him. His laugh, though, was truly mesmerizing, when he was free, full-body laughter that made your heart feel like it could stop beating at any second. That boyish smile of his when he made fun of your disastrous prom date. It almost felt perfect, if your mind didn’t suddenly sabotage you with the heavyweight of your duty to the world. Jungkook noticed the shift in your demeanor but decided to let you process that on your own, offering his support by placing his hand on your knee. You took it, interlocking your fingers. Soon enough you were going uphill on a rocky road, the car bouncing, and he took his hand away to have a better grip at the steering wheel. The safe house was atop a hill surrounded by a deep, large forest. The house looked old but large. It was made out of heavy wood, and you could tell it was well taken care of. As soon as the cars pulled up into the large vast driveway, you could see the sky turn a light blue color, indicating the sun was rising, and you didn’t even notice how tired you were before you saw the change. Everyone parked, and Jungkook turned his head in your direction, a deep sigh leaving him. It was as if he could finally relax. “Welcome to the Safe house, Raven.” His voice came out raspy, and you offered him a soft smile, reaching out for his hand and taking it. There was a silent conversation going on between you both. Everything you both had gone through to ensure your safety, how close to death you had been, how in the middle of this all you still found a way to find love, even if it was all still so fresh. A knock to your window brought you both back to reality, finally exiting the car. Jungkook walked to you, taking your hand as you both met up with the other men. Namjoon kept his eyes cast down, hands in his pockets. It was different seeing him in anything other than a suit, but you couldn’t deny that it also fitted him perfectly. “So... Uh...” He began, Jungkook lifting a brow in amusement. “You’re not mad about the kiss, right?” He finally lifted his gaze to his commander. Jungkook chuckled. “Nah, it’s fine. She did what she had to do.” Jungkook nodded. “Besides, you’re free to kiss right now if you want, I wouldn’t mind at all,” Jungkook said, and you looked at him, brows furrowing. He only shrugged. You squinted your eyes. “She sucked your dick in the car, didn’t she?” Yoongi was the one to ask, Jungkook only smirked. “Yeah, definitely gave him head in the car,” Hobi added in. “What the fuck?” You cursed out. “Do you guys really need to talk about me giving Jungkook head or not in the car right now?” You felt your face burn hot. Why were they like this? “It’s not a discussion, you did give him head in the car, I could see your head moving.” Jimin fixed the straps of his backpack. “Oh my god.” You rolled your eyes. “Not the first time Namjoon would get dick breath, though.” It was Taehyung’s turn. Everyone looked at him, silent. “What, too soon?” You all fell into laughter, it felt like it was finally over, deciding to participate in the fun, you pouted your lips. “Joonie, give me a kiss.” You playfully said. “You all are children.” Namjoon crossed his arms. “Let’s settle in, I’m fucking starving.” Jin finally spoke, taking the first step towards the house. The inside was dark, yet cozy, it had a big fireplace with a large couch and a few armchairs, Jungkook was quick to walk into a room. You only watched everyone move around as if they were familiar with the house. Taehyung and Jimin quickly starting a fire while Namjoon looked through the cabinets for some coffee, Jin and Hobi sat down on the couch and groaned. Everyone was tired. You looked around for Yoongi, only noticing him walking back from the same room Jungkook was in and joining the other two on the couch. “Jungkook put up the motion sensors, it’s safe sailing now.” He slumped on the couch and relaxed. Jungkook finally made his way back, watching you, still frozen in place, looking around. “Love what you did with the place, by the way,” Namjoon commented from the wide-open kitchen on the opposite of the living room. You looked at Jungkook. “So, this is your safe house?” You questioned him, watching him place his hands in his pockets and make his way to you. “This is my house.” He admitted. “Your original safe house was meant to be somewhere else, I changed things up last minute.” He said looking at the boys and back at you. You both were quiet for a while, a shy smile playing on your face. “So, are you going to show me around, commander?” You looked down, reaching out your hand to tug on his shirt. He sighed, leaning closer to you. “You really have to stop calling me commander if you don’t want me to fuck you in front of everyone.” He teased, voice raspy. “There are literally nine rooms in the house. Get one.” Yoongi shouted from the couch. You chuckled, Jungkook mimicking you. Jungkook showed you around the house, Yoongi wasn’t lying there were nine rooms, eight bedrooms, and one control room. You saw monitors that showed cameras that spread all over the forest area, they were all motion-triggered and on the wall, Jungkook had a waste collection of guns. You noticed there were no pictures on the wall. If this was his house, you’d think he at least would have pictures of his friends, but to your surprise there was nothing. He showed you his room. It was simple, a bed, bedside table, no television. It felt... Lonely. But this was after all his home. “Do you want to rest, Namjoon made some coffee, we’re taking turns keeping watch for the first week.” He leaned against the frame of his bedroom door, crossing his arms like he always did, muscles bulging out, making you really tempted to “rest” with him for the next hours. But for some reason, you were no longer tired, you just wanted to sit down with them, spend some time with everyone. “No, it’s fine, I just want to relax a little.” He nodded and took your hand, walking back to the living room. You all sat down in front of the newly lit fire, everyone with coffee mugs in their hands and quiet, all of them contemplating that we had made it. Finally made it. The responsibility of what you had to do next weighed on your shoulders. But you just looked at their faces, faces of the men that risked their lives for you, that someone took you in, someone that came from a completely different world than them. “I found out what Namjoon does for a living.” You said, breaking the silence as you brought your own mug of coffee to your lips. The conversation spurred on after that, Namjoon telling everyone about how and why he got into being a con artist. Everyone pays attention, Yoongi makes fun of him for it and everyone joins in on the laughter. And soon enough the conversation becomes more serious. “So, Y/N... Do you know what you’re going to say?” Hobi is the one that asks, you’re head is resting on Jungkook’s shoulder and he has an arm around your waist, playing with the material of your shirt. You think about it for a few seconds. “I guess I’m just going to tell the truth.” You begin. “If people want to believe me or not, that’s up to them, but I’m going to do my part and it’s probably going to open up an investigation.” You took in a deep breath. “And after that?” Jin was the one that asked. You moved your gaze to him, remembering the conversation you both had at Seamore. After everything was over, what would you do? “I... I don’t know. I guess it all depends on the outcome. I’ll go back and continue my duty in my father’s place for as long as the people need me, but... Once that’s over, I think I’m done.” You look down at your fingers, contemplating going back to your “normal” life, leaving these men behind. “I think you’re really brave,” Taehyung spoke. “You went through hell, held yourself pretty well despite losing everyone you trusted, your family, you could just disappear, be presumed dead. But you’re choosing to set the record straight. To fulfill your duties.” Jungkook sighed beside you, you wondered if he also was thinking of the aftermath of it all. You nodded, a soft appreciative smile tugging on your lips. “I know this might sound cliche, but... I lost my family, and I feel like life gave me a new one. You know? Like... Six brothers.” You spoke softly. “Count me out, I’ve thought about fucking you before.” Yoongi chimed in. “Yeah, me too, sorry...” It was Taehyung’s turn. “Well, you did kiss me, so...” Namjoon added. “If one more person speaks up, I’m bringing out my knives,” Jungkook warned. The boys chuckled, and you pursed your lips, chuckling right after. “What about you guys, though? What now?” You asked, wrapping an arm around Jungkook’s middle, looking at them. “Well, I’m going to need to head back to Red Hawk sooner or later.” Jimin sighed out. “Get back to work.” “Yeah, Gallaticus has been unattended for a while, I might have to go back too,” Taehyung said. “I can stay for a while after the first week, but I have a job coming up that I need to strategize, so, not for long,“ Namjoon said while resting his head on his hand. “Same for me, my men need to come back,” Jin spoke out. You looked at Yoongi and Hoseok, waiting for their answers, but all they did was look at their commander, they were with him till the very end. Jungkook sighed, letting his head rest back on the couch. “I guess... We go back to our lives.” He finally spoke. You could tell there was a lot going through his head. Doubts, worries. “But you’re free to stay for as long as you like.” His gaze moved to you. You leaned up, pressing your lips to his softly, his eyes fluttering closed as you kissed him tenderly. It wasn’t an answer, but it was an appreciation. After another hour, everyone started to retreat into their bedrooms, Jin and Jimin taking the first watch. You knew you were safe here, but Jungkook wanted to be sure, so for the first week, they’d take turns. Jungkook pulled you into his bedroom, he was tired, you could see it on his face. He was in his home, he could finally relax, you were safe. Once you both changed, you walked over to him, wrapping your arms around his middle, resting your head on his back, and taking in a deep breath. He turned in your hold, wrapping his large arms around your tiny frame and walking backward until the back of his legs hit the mattress. He didn’t even mind falling down onto it with you in his arms, he soaked in it. In the feeling of you. “Thank you.” You whispered out, nuzzling into his neck as if your life depended on it. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.” You repeated it like a mantra, feeling your throat burn, your eyes burn. He soothed you, caressing his hand up and down your back, pulling you flush against him. “You don’t need to thank me. I was just doing my job.” He whispered, pressing his lips to your temple. “I love you.” You let out in a broken voice, feeling the weight of the world almost lift off your shoulders. “I love you, little dove.” He searched for your lips, pressing soft, tender kisses to your lips over and over. And then you both stayed like that, in each other’s arms, until you were both asleep. A routine settled during the first week. Jin and Jimin would take watch during the night and sleep during the day, Taehyung and Namjoon took the day shift. Yoongi, Hobi, and Jungkook decided to continue your training while you were there to keep up not only your strength but their own. It was almost domestic, waking up with Jungkook every morning, soft kisses and morning voices, morning sex - a lot of morning sex - and getting to watch them act more freely with each other. It truly felt like a family. Your new family. Namjoon left once the first week was over. You gave him a long hug, hard and thanked him for everything. He said you were always welcome to come visit him and talk art once everything was over. The second to leave was Jin, not before cooking the most delicious breakfast you ever had and hugging you as tight as he could. You almost cried once he left, but held your tears when he said that you knew what to do now, that he was proud of how far you had come. Once the second week rolled around Taehyung and Jimin decided it was time for them to leave. They were both by the door with their backpacks, a lingering sadness on their faces after spending so much time with you. “I’m going to miss you.” Taehyung hugged you tight. This time you couldn’t help the tears hiding your face into his neck. You didn’t want him to go, you didn’t know when you would see him again. Hugging Jimin, you dried your tears and watched the men say their goodbyes to each other with long lingering hugs and a lot of shared thank you’s. Once they took off you leaned against the door frame with the three remaining men. The three men that had been with you from the start. “Hey, Yoongi, and I are going to collect some wood, want to come with us?” Jungkook took you out of your thoughts as you still looked at the empty road ahead of you, where Taehyung and Jimin had left. “No, I’m fine, I think I’m going to rest for a while.” You said. “Yeah, I could use a nap,” Hobi added. “You two get some rest, we’ll be back soon.” Jungkook smiled, leaning in to peck your lips. Once they’re gone, you sit on the couch, going through all your memories with the men that had left, deciding to lay down you feel something hard underneath you. It was Jungkook’s black notebook. You look at it for a while pursing your lips, your eyes moving to the front door before deciding to take a look. You weren’t expecting what you saw. They were sketches. Some were of people you didn’t know, but you could make out the boys, Yoongi laughing, Hoseok sleeping. Namjoon seated on a rock, Jin with his arms wide open. Jimin doing pushups. Taehyung’s boxy smile. These were all sketches of Jungkook’s family. You flipped through the pages until once sketch caught your eyes. It was you, sleeping against a car window, your pants pulled down your legs. The second was of you smiling in the dessert, a fire in front of you. You flipped through the pages of more and more sketches of you in situations you remembered. Some of only the boys, some of you with them. Your face kept showing up again and again, and you realized why Jungkook didn’t have any pictures around his house. Because he registered his favorite memories. You found yourself bringing your hands to your lips, more tears filling your eyes. A knock to the door breaks the moment, your brows furrowing. Jungkook and Yoongi wouldn’t knock, perhaps it was Jimin and Taehyung back because they forgot something. You quickly made your way to the door, opening it without hesitation and a smile on your face, the smile, though, quickly disappeared when you were met with a familiar face you hadn’t seen since the day you met Jungkook. “Phillip.” You breathed out, surprised by the sudden visit. “Miss Y/L/N.” He smiled at you. “I’m so happy to see you well.” You were speechless for a while, still standing at the door. “Yes... I’m safe.” You said. “I knew I had chosen the right team to take care of you.” He smiled wider. “Is Jungkook here, I wanted a word with him regarding the mission.” He looked past you, through the door. “Oh... No, Yoongi and him went to get some wood, but they should be back soon, please, come in.” You made way for him to enter the house. You shut the door and guided him towards the living room. He sat in one of the armchairs, smiling at you and you sat right across him. “I can see you guys encountered some trouble.” He said, pointing at the scar on your shoulder, your fingers quickly lifted, tracing the outline of it as the memory came rushing back to you. “Yes, we had some trouble, but... We pulled through in the end.” You said. “And have you already decided what to do?” He asked, and you furrowed your brows. “Regarding Jefferson John, I mean, have you decided how you’re going to expose him?” He rested his hands on his lap, the same soft smile on his lips. “Well, I recorded a video on my first week here... I just haven’t decided what to do...” You started. “Wait... How do you know about Jefferson John?” You questioned, you remembered clearly that you hadn’t told anyone other than the boys about your suspicion. “How do you...?” Suddenly you felt highly suspicious about Phillip showing up, you also remembered Jungkook telling you coming to his house was a last-minute call, how did Phillip know? You didn’t think Jungkook would have told anyone out of the circle. You suddenly stood up. Backing away from the man, your back hitting the kitchen counter. He didn’t say anything, instead, he stood and took two steps. “You have to understand miss Y/L/N, the world is cruel, I’m just doing my job.” He said in a calm voice as if the meaning of those words didn’t indicate that he was going to kill you. “W-why get a team to protect me, w-why go through all that trouble?” You spat at him, rage fueling in your veins. “Oh, I had to make sure no one else got the hit, of course.” He said simply. You blindly patted under the kitchen counter behind you, looking for the gun you knew Jungkook had hidden. “I selected my best team to make sure an asset as valuable as you were protected, you must understand.” He reached for something on his hip and you heard the click of a gun behind him. “Hobi!” Your eyes bulged once you saw the man with a gun pointed to Phillip. “Ah, Hoseok, fancy seeing you here. I guess I miscalculated.” Phillip didn’t even look at him, only pursed his lips, putting his hand back down. “Phillip, I really don’t want to shoot you,” Hoseok said between clenched teeth. “That’s why you’re not in charge.” He said before you heard a loud shot come through the window, shattering the glass and hitting Hoseok right on the side of his body. Your eyes bulged, a loud ripping scream of his name coming from you as you watched him fall unconscious on the floor. Phillip took out his gun, pointing it at you. “Stay where you are.” He said, walking backward and kicking Hoseok’s gun further away from his hand. Tears streamed down your eyes as they were glued to your friend’s form, blood soaking through his shirt. “Now, where were we.” He looked back at you right before you heard gunshots in front of the house. Jungkook was back, you took the moment of Philips distraction to launch yourself forward onto him, hands gripping at his wrist where he held the gun, using your elbow to hit at his jaw and try to disarm him, but he was well trained and you, well, you were barely trained. It happened fast, Jungkook barging into the house, pointing his gun at the man and you, back flush against Phillip, his arm around your throat and a gun muzzle pressed to the side of your head. “Let her go.” Jungkook sounded dangerous. He sounded possessed. Sweat dripping down his face and a look of pure rage in his eyes. “I thought you were smarter than this,” Phillip said, a disappointed tone to his voice. “I said, let her fucking go, Phillip.” He growled out. “What are you going to do, shoot me?” He questioned, raising a brow. “You work for me, put your gun down.” He scoffed at Jungkook. But Jungkook remained in position, ready to shoot. “Stupid boy.” Was all Phillip said. “Bring him in.” He shouted and from the door came Yoongi at gunpoint, a man in all black with a black mask pressing his gun to the back of his head. Jungkook’s eyes bulged, looking from you to Yoongi. And right there you understood his internal battle. “Put the gun down, Jungkook, you’re outnumbered. If you don’t your friend dies.” Phillip grinned. “Jungkook, don’t put the gun down.” Yoongi warned and hissed when the armed man pressed the gun harder onto his head, spitting out a “shut up”. He looked at you, ultimate dread in his eyes. And right there you understood what he had said in the desert. When you’re in this line of work, people you love can be used as leverage. Your head went back to the memories you both had shared, to his black notebook. You were happy, he had made you happy, you could see it in his eyes, filling with tears, with dread. Fear, ultimate fear, and grief, one he knew he would feel. You swallowed the hard lump in your throat as tears streamed down your face. “It’s ok...” You said. “It’s ok, it’s not your fault.” You reassured him, nodding in the man’s tight hold. “I love you... Thank you for letting me love you, thank you so much for l-letting me love you.” He shook his head, the silent tears falling down his cheek. You could see him tremble. “Jungkook, please, please don’t fucking do this,” Yoongi argued, receiving a strong hit to his side. “Put the gun down, Jungkook... It’s ok, I love you.” You watched his stance falter, and you closed your eyes, ready to embrace what was coming next. You heard the familiar sound of gunshots, the familiar feeling of something hitting you, but not in the head, almost just like the first day, and your body slumped down to the floor, the pain radiating all through your body before you blacked out. n/a: see you in the next and final chapter of Raven Unit.

#raven unit #themfchase #jungkook #jk #jeon #bts #fanfic #imagine #smut #mature #btsnetwork #oc #reader #fic #kssmutclub #btssmutcentral #btsmutcentral #smutcentralnet

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be-ready-when-i-say-go · 4 years

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Missin’ You is Terrible- Part 1: Missin’ You

Calum isn’t looking for deep feelings, just for some fun. But he’s pretty sure friends with benefits isn’t supposed to go like this. Black!Female Reader.

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I’m in your city.

It is not his smoothest line. Even as he drafts the message, he wears a doopy ass grin, giggling to himself. He can imagine her eye roll, the purse of her lips, the tsk of her tongue sliding over the roof of her mouth and the back of her teeth. He watches the gray bubbles appear on his screen, the circles shifting from light gray to dark gray as he imagines her fingers tapping away at the screen.

What’s that supposed to mean to me, Hood?

Calum scoffs. She likes giving him a hard time. I have a day off here too.

You still haven’t answered my question.

She’s already starting. She’s going to make him say it, make him beg for it already. He’d normally hate this. He was normally direct. If he wanted sex, he’d say so. If he didn’t, he knew how to open his mouth. But she made this different. She made this fun. She’d play annoyed, unphased, but he knows that deep down her gut twisted just like his. He knows that no matter how many times she faked annoyance, she’d crack. Her giggle would escape her in tufts and she’d snort sometimes. But only sometimes. He can see the grin on her face, the way she’s tugging her lip between her teeth.

Her teeth, fuck. He loves the feeling of her teeth grazing over his bottom lip. Even better than that though is the feeling of her teeth sinking into his flesh, his lip, tugging it a little. The mere thought leaves him nearly moaning in the dressing room. He taps away to reply, It means you should be at the show and pick me up tonight.

Well lucky for you, a very nice man sent me tickets. I will be at the show.

Calum stares at his screen. He waits. Is she going to confirm that she’ll pick him up? He asked her to the show, but didn’t really confirm if they would see each other. He wasn’t sure what her schedule would look like and didn’t want to be too demanding. He groans when nothing comes through for a solid minute or two. You’re an ass.

But you like my ass.

I do. I really fucking do. Calum bites down on his lips, inhaling deeply as the bubbles appear again.

I’ll pick you up after the show. But you’re going to have to either get me access to the back of the venue or hike your cute ass to event parking.

Calum pushes to his feet. He’d rather not be seen walking to her car. It’s nothing against her. He just knows the second fans catch an ounce of suspicious activity, they will run a mile with it. He’s always kept a low profile, no matter how hard it was. He presses the phone to his ear, reaching for his bag. He rips a page from his journal. She answers on the second ring.

“What kind of car do you drive?” he asks. She rattles of the brand and make. Calum writes it down. “Plate number?”

“What’s this for? You know my car.”

“It’s for security, so they know I’m not walking to some fucking strangers car. They’ll probably escort me, but still they might ask or want need it to make sure who are who you say you are.”

“Just tell them it’s the hella attractive girl.”

Calum laughs. “Yeah because that narrows it down so well.”

“Wouldn’t it be easier if I got you from the hotel in the morning,” she offers.

Calum shakes his head, walking to over to one of the bodyguards. “That’s too long.”

“You’ll be exhausted after your show.”

“I’m always exhausted, babycakes.”

She exhales hard, the phone crackle a little. He knows what that nickname does to her. “You’re in for it now,” she whispers. “You’re dead in the water, Hood.” The call ends. Calum’s not even shocked. He slides his phone back into his pocket, handing over the information he has. He describes her, maybe a little too in depth but the guard doesn’t say anything about it.

They talk to the head coordinator and event staffing. It’s not until an hour or so after soundcheck that Calum gets confirmation that a someone will be on the lookout for her car and will escort him. He’d fight against this, but knows he’ll ultimately lose that battle.

“You’ll be back to the hotel in time for the drive right?”

Calum nods. “Of course.”

Then with a bit of smirk and a wink, the guard adds, “Just don’t get into too much trouble.” The laugh bubbles up in his chest, spilling past his lips. Calum shakes his head at the antic. If he only knew how much trouble, Calum would be getting into.

Calum’s not sitting on the couch, more like laying against it, though is butt is still technically in a sitting position, Michael giggling at him. He flips him off, teasingly. “Leave me alone, Clifford.” Then in responds slides in further from his barely upright position.

“It’s your back you’re breaking,” Michael chuckles and then goes back to his phone.

Calum’s phone vibrates against his stomach. He pushes back up to see the notification. New iMessage- A-1. It’s an inside joke. She’a A-1 and he’s Steak Sauce, though in her phone it’s spelt like S-O-S a joke off the band acronym. She was way too pleased with herself over the pun. Calum doesn’t have the heart to tell her how cheesy it is, so he lets himself forever reside in her contacts as SteakSOS and gets a chuckle every time he happens to see it.

He slides to unlock the notification and a shaky breath leaves him. Fuck, fuck, of course. It shouldn’t even make him this hot and bothered, but what he did not think would happen is that he’d open that message to a video. It’s just a video of her hand, pulling up fishnet thigh highs. But her nails are shaped into a point and painted a pretty yellow against the warm red depths of her brown skin. He watches as she flexes, gripping at unclothed thigh before the video ends. He can feel the way the sharp point digging into his shoulders now. He can imagine that way her fingers feel dancing across his skin.

He plays it again, there’s no sound--he’s thankful. Another message follows it. Did I spend two hours at a nail salon just to send you that? Yes I did. Did I spend another thirty minutes trying to fucking record one handed? Sure did, angel.

Angel. His heart nearly stops as he exhales shakily again at the nickname. “You alright?” Michael asks. His tone rings with amusement. When Calum meets his eye, he can see the smile decorating Michael’s face. He knows, Calum figures. It’s not like Calum’s exactly hidden this friendship, friends with benefits relationship, from the boys. But he tries not to make it so obvious.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” Calum says with a chuckle. It’s breathy and nowhere near convincing. But Michael doesn’t push it. He smiles with a nod. Whatever is happening, Michael knows Calum will be sporting marks come tomorrow.

You’re not just trying to kill me. You’re trying to swallow me fucking hole huh?

In more ways than one, she replies.

Calum groans, throwing his head back into the cushions. “I hate her,” he laughs to himself. He sits there, reliving their last meeting. They were in his car, sitting at the edge of the beach, watching over into the water. Or more like the water was watching them fog up the windows.

His brain wonders down all the random assortment of memories of them together. He lands on their first meeting. Calum started noticing her about a year and a half ago. She went to the same coffee shop that he frequented. She was always hunched over some stack of paper, always tapping away at her computer. He always wanted to ask her what she was doing. But he found himself afraid, always choosing to watch from afar as she typed away, as she scratched words onto the page. She looked endearing with three red pens stuck in her hair.

Then one day, he caught her, head resting on her forearms. He didn’t want to disturb her, but he did notice some kids eyeing her things. So he went over and sat across from her while he waited for her drink. Make it seem like they were together. He didn’t have anything planned for the day. He just needed some coffee. He didn’t mean sitting there, just to make sure that her belongings didn’t get stolen. After about twenty minutes, he noticed her stirring, so he gathered his empty cup. Calum was sliding his phone back into his pocket when she spoke. “Well, I haven’t just woken up from a nap. I have died and gone to fucking heaven.”

He snapped his head at her, the heat flooding his cheeks. He couldn’t really blush, it never really showed up. But god, did his face feel warm. “I’m sorry. You were sleeping and some kids looked like they were planning something. I sat down to try to and deter them. They left, but then I was worried someone else would try and come up. So I figured I’d sit here until you woke up.”

“Thank you. You’re a literal angel.”

They talked every all the time in the coffee shop. And then the coffee shop turned into bars. Bars turned into bedrooms. Bedrooms turned into the back of cars, the back of cars turned into her spending the night. Spending the night turned into baking at nearly two AM. Baking at nearly two AM turned into laying out in his backyard pondering the universe. Then she moved further up the Californian coast and out of the city to work for an independent publishing company; she’s happier there. Calum is glad for her. Just misses her two AM baking excursions.

Now, they rarely get to see each other. Now it’s Calum texting her, I’m in your city as if he didn’t make that two hour drive anytime he wanted to see her. But it’s fun this way. Things feel more intense this way. They turn out all the stops. Which leads Calum here, eyes closed, grinning like an idiot, the ghost of her touch tickling his skin. He pops off the couch, heading to the bathroom, phone in hand. Payback’s a bitch, he hopes she knows that.

He Facetimes her. No videos, no pictures. He has a strict rule against it. The call rings loudly, bouncing off the concrete walls. She picks up, only to see Calum’s tattooed hand rubbing over his crotch. He lets the sigh fall over his lips at the pressure. He’s needed this, he could feel tightness growing in his pants, the way his lower gut ached for release. He couldn’t give her that. But he could tease her; he could release some of the tension for his own benefit. A moan is building in him. He presses his lips together, refusing to crack just yet. But she knows.

“Let me hear you, angel,” she commands. “If you’re going to sit there and be this much of a gotdamn tease, at least give me the satisfaction of hearing your sweet moans.”

Calum could. He could give her that. But he won’t. He ends the call, exhaling hard. His phone is about to explode with messages from her. One message comes in, he feels the phone shake in his hand. Then another comes in. Then another. A fourth. A fifth. A sixth one. Calum grins to himself, finally taking his hand away from his crotch and then running it through his hair. He’s in trouble now.

It’s while the boys and he are eating a small dinner before the show that his phone buzzes again. It hasn’t buzzed in a while after her rant about him being “a motherfucking ass”. I’m at the venue. She describes where’s she’s parked, in a parking deck on the back side of the venue stating “if she were any higher up, she’d touch God and any further back she’d revert herself to the 1950’s”. Calum alerts a bodyguard who takes an event security guard to investigate where she is.

That’s not very descriptive, you know, Calum replies.

Another text comes in, about ten minutes later. Clearly it was, because I can spot two of your goons headed for my car.

_________

Calum can’t spot her in the crowd. He tries, looking up the upper levels of the venue. But he can’t see anything clearly. He wishes he could but that’s not going to happen with lights. It’s when Luke gets a talking break that the flashing lights die down. But he can’t see through the haze. He takes out an inner ear, trying listen for her voice. But doesn’t catch anything. Then he gets to talk. “How are you guys doing tonight?” The crowd roars to life. He repeats the question. “I asked, how are you guys doing tonight!” he adds emphasis to the last word, shouting into the mic.

Then he hears her, right as the crowd is starting to settle down. Just as clear as a bell, “I can’t scream any louder. I’m waiting for ‘Valentine’ to lose my shit.”

He laughs into the microphone, looking for her in the crowd again. He think he spots her, in a bright yellow shirt. “You’re going to be waiting a little bit then, ba-,” The nickname almost falls off his lips. He almost lets it slip through his lungs, but he catches it right on the edge of his tongue and swallows it back down. “But we’ll get there. I promise. Right now, we’re slowing it down. Is it okay to slow it down for second?” Calum jokes around a bit with the boys as Michael strums before launching into Amnesia.

As they take their final bow, instruments still reverberating into the speakers, Calum looks out over the crowd for her one last time. He spots the yellow in the crowd again. But he can’t be sure it’s her. They exit the stage, the adrenaline still pumping through his veins. High fiving each other, still breathing hard after the show. He can’t wait to have her beneath his finger tips. Calum showers first. He knows he ought to eat something. But he’s not worried about that. He just needs her. He wonders to the bus, gathering the last of his things. He walks back with his traveler bag in his hand.

Ashton whistles. “Uh huh, who are you going to see?” He can smell the cologne on Calum.

“Nobody, man. Nobody,” Calum returns, nothing sliding his phone into his pocket.

“Nobody seems like a hell of a somebody

“Shut up,” Calum huffs, a chuckle falling from his lips as well.

“Still a lot of foot traffic. Might as well eat, give it another half an hour or so,” the bodyguard warns. Calum wants to say fuck it, but figures if he does, he’ll be spotted. “We’ll go the second it dies down.”

Calum nods and manages to get through most of his second dinner. It’s as the first drop hits his stomach that realizes how fucking hungry he actually is. True to his word, the second the venue is cleared, Calum follows behind the guard. He can hear as the stage is torn down, people’s voices echoing. Outside near the buses, they cut across the back, jaywalk over the shockingly clear road.

As they approach the top of the parking deck, Calum spots her figure in the shadows of the lamp posts. He grins, picking up his gait. He might as well run as the pace he’s half jogging. She pushes up from the hood of her car, starting towards him. Calum wraps her up in his arms, rocking the both of them side to side. She was in yellow. He buries his face into the crook of her neck, smiling against her skin, inhaling the faint scent of her hair products. Calum melts into her touch, the way she squeezes him, the hum of her effort falling over her lips.

This is a goddamn home away from home, here in her arms, Calum thinks to himself. They release each other. Calum stares down at her, lips turned up into a smile. His hands slide down her side, stopping at her hips. Her nails drag over the veins in his hands. “It’s been too long,” he whispers.

“Well Mr. Rockstar. My address is still the same.”

“I’m sorry.”

She grins, nails digging a little into the flesh of his hands. “You can make it up to me,” she states, pulling her hips from his grasp. Her boots make a soft clacking sound as she struts to her car, backwards. Her fingers slide over his. Calum hooks his middle finger around hers, so the contact isn’t lost. She readjusts the grip, hooking her pinky through his as they walk side by side. “You realize I nearly called you babycakes in front of the audience tonight right?” he asks, watch the light and shadows cross over her face.

“I know.”

“That would’ve been embarrassing.”

“For you, not for me.”

The inside of her car is warm, he notes. Very warm. She shrugs out of her jacket. “What were you cold or something?” he tease, poking at her thighs beneath the gaps in the fishnets. The black and white houndstooth pattern skirt looks flimsy. It’s all for the aesthetic, he figures, and he likes it. He just likes her, if he’s completely honest with himself. But he never is. Not in love anyway. He can’t afford to be completely honest.

“I didn’t want to greet you with a cold car. And my legs are freezing. I didn’t think it’d get this cool.”

He rubs his palm over her inner thigh, after putting his seatbelt on. She doesn’t shudder, doesn’t moan. She just smiles, her cheeks lifting as her bottom lip falls victim to her teeth. Calum leaves his hand there, buried in the heat of her inner thighs meeting. She descends the parking structure. “Long way home or sit through traffic?” she asks stopped at the exit.

“Long way,” he shrugs. He has nowhere to be right now of course. She squeezes his fingers with her thighs.

Calum brushes his thumb over the skin, also brushing up against her thinly covered sex. She mashes her lips together, making a left turn. He can’t feel anything. He won’t push it now. He’ll wait. “What made you decide to wear yellow, huh?”

“Wanted to stand out.”

“I was looking for you, you know?”

“Bet my big mouth was the fastest way to look for me.”

He chuckles, “It was.” His thumb hooks into the side of her panties. Her gasp is audible, she grips tighter at the steering wheel.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” she hisses softly. Calum doesn’t listen. He’s done with it. They’ve been driving for a few minutes now. He should’ve picked the traffic. At least she could’ve stopped. Not that going that way was completely risk free. Even though it would’ve been the tail end of it, they still could’ve gotten spotted together.

Dragging his middle finger up, he groans at the slickness coating his finger. “You really did miss me.”

Her laugh strikes him odd. It’s sad, quiet. This is unlike her. But she doesn’t speak. Calum teases his finger at her entrance. Slowly, he lets the digit slip inside. She shifts, the softest sound leaving her parted lips. “Talk to me babycakes,” Calum urges, pushing his finger as deep as he can. He’s breathless at the feeling of her sitting on his digit. She sits around his finger so well, pulling him deeper almost. He wishes it was his cock, but he’ll have to wait.

“I’d rather misbehave,” comes her response before she adds on, “Besides, you know it’s killing you. Have a taste.”

He already knows well enough what she taste like that slight saltiness. He can already taste it. He wonders if she remembers the way she tastes. Because if not he’s about to remind her. “Pull over,” he demands.

“We’re on back roads. The shoulder is very narrow.”

“How much longer?” he asks, curling his finger.

She hums, a chuckle falling over her throat. “Another ten, fifteen minutes if we don’t encounter any critters.”

Calum chuckles at the term. She might have left her home town, but her hometown has not left her. He decides not to risk it. “Can you handle this? Can you just still on my fingers?”

“Finger,” she corrects just like he knew she would. Calum pulls the one finger out before pushing a second one alongside it. Expelling all of the air in her lungs, she does her best not to make a sound. It’s not the first time he’s had his fingers deep in her while driving. Besides she has more important things to focus on like this fucking road. If she could spare the glance to Calum to throw daggers at him with her glare she would.

But she keeps her eyes on the road, his fingers deep in her aching core. He must love this, she thinks. Loves her wrapped around his fingers, whether it’s her tongue or her heat, it doesn’t really matter. As long as she is somehow wrapped around his finger, he is in heaven. She tightens her pelvic muscles, squeezing around his digits. Calum groans, head falling into the headrest. His stomach jumps.

“Do it again, please,” he breathes, rolling his head to look at her. She glances over. His face is a tad pink. He’s flushed already. She tightens around his fingers again. He is putty in her hands though his hands are the only that are milking her with his lazy curling inside.

It’s the longest five more minutes to pull into the driveway of her house. It was left to her in her grandmother’s will. Also another reason why she moved. The house isn’t much, one story but with a lot of space. The engine cuts off and Calum is leaning over the console, fingers still buried in her. His mouth brushes over hers. He doesn’t have the words, the breathe to speak his next thought. But it’s like she knows as her mouth seals over his. She pushes all the right buttons as her teeth sink into his bottom on. Calum hisses, pushing his fingers particularly hard into her. Her legs fall even farther apart.

Her nails dig into the muscles of his shoulders as they kiss. The points of pain are like small fires in his skin. Calum trails the tip of his tongue up her lips as he pulls away from the mess of lips, bites, teeth, and tongue. She pulls his fingers out of her, bringing his hand to her mouth. Through her lashes, she watches his face. Calum’s gaze is trained on the way his fingers glisten before the lights in the car go out.

He laughs, a huff of a chuckle. It’s silenced as she sucks his digits into her mouth. Calum’s mouth falls open, a moan falling from his throat. She runs her tongue between his fingers, cleaning every inch of them. He wants to kiss her. But he doesn’t want her to stop sucking on his fingers. Calum leans in, pulling his fingers from inside her mouth, but leaves them resting against her pouty lips.

“I wasn’t done,” she sighs.

He doesn’t respond, instead he kisses her, the tips of his own fingers brushing against his lips too. It’s nice for a moment and then she brings one digit back into her mouth, leaving Calum’s lips hovering over hers yet again. This is ridiculous. He wants to kiss her, just wants to feel her supple lips against his again. Who gives fuck if his own finger is in the way? Calum kisses her, over his own knuckle as her tongue massages the pad of his finger.

Calum’s not even sure when they made it inside her house. His senses too full of her, her scent, the way her skin feels, her moans, her groans, her sighs, the way his name sounds from her lips. He drops his bag in front of the her couch. “Thirsty?” she asks, toying out of her shoes.

Calum unzips his boots, watching her hips as she walks to her kitchen. His socks are a little slippery against the tile she has down, but he manages to catch up to her, taking her hips into his hand and pulling her back into his chest. She grinds down into his crotch, feeling the bulge. Sliding them down to the hem of her skirt, he pushes it up until the band of her panties are exposed. “The only thing I need is you,” he whispers, yanking at the flimsy material. She shudders, but steps out of them.

Calum steps away, hooking his pinky through hers. “Fix yourself. And c’mon.”

It takes a few seconds for her to get the skirt back down her legs, but she follows behind Calum as he wanders down the main hallway. As they enter her bedroom, she slides in behind Calum, wrapping her arms around his waist. Her fingers trail up underneath the sweatshirt. It should tickle, but Calum tenses for different. Her fingers trace the line of his pants and underwear until she pops the button. Her movements are slow but precise.

She pulls the material up. Calum helps her pull it up and over his head. She tugs at the t-shirt too. “I’ll be underdressed,” Calum laughs.

“Take it off, please?” She presses kisses through the cotton of the shirt. Calum pulls it up, tossing it to the heap with his sweatshirt.

Her nails run down his back ad Calum shudders. The pain will be coming next and the anticipation is killing him. He needs it. He needs it like he needs her to suck on his fingers again; he needs it like he needs to kiss her. He needs the pain just like he needs her, to be beneath above, beside her. It does not matter. Her touch is light, the pads of her fingers just barely touching. Then her nails are digging into his lower back. He grunts, fingers curling into fists. She doesn’t let up either.

With a growl, he spins around and pushes her into the wall. She collide with the wall with a particular loud thud. Calum cups the back of her head. “You okay?”

She nods. “But you’re not going to be,” she grin, hand running up his stomach and chest.

“What does that mean?”

Her fingers dance across his lips and Calum opens his mouth. Her eyes twinkle. He knows what order is next. Two of her fingers slip over his tongue. “Suck,” she whispers, staring into his warm brown eyes. They’re hidden a little behind a cloud of tiredness, but a thick layer of lust. His moan shakes against her fingers, but he hollows his cheek, pulling his head back a little. The tip of his tongue tickles against webbing of her hands, but he loves it. He loves the weight of her fingers on his tongue. He the slight string as she runs the tops of her nails over the rough of his mouth.

Calum grabs onto her wrist, holding her still, so he can run his tongue over each one of her digits. With her free hand, she reaches into his pants, grasping his length. Calum’s jaw falls slack at the grasps. He forgets all about her fingers in his mouth, placing his hands on the wall on either side of her head. She runs her hands down to his pants and pushes them down. Kneeling she tugs the pants down and helps him step out of them. “I am severely underdressed,” Calum pants.

He reaches a hand down and tangles his fingers into her hair, pulling her gaze up to his. “Strip, leave the fishnets.”

Still on her knees, she buttons the blouse, letting the material fall down her arms. She sit on her but, pushing her hips up with her core and heels. The material slides down over her calves. She sits propped up against the wall, legs spread open for Calum. Her core is soaked, leaking, creating a shine to her skin. Calum groans, dropping to his knees between her legs. He goes to lean in when she stops him with a foot to his chest. Calum runs his fingers up her skin. She plays at the necklaces hanging from his chest with her toe.

“Please don’t toy with me,” he begs, squeezing her thigh. “Please, babycakes.”

She drops her foot. Calum scoots back, pulling her into his lap. Her lips find his immediately. One and tangled in the hair at the back of her neck, Calum drifts his fingers to her clit. She shudders at the first contact, moving to his earlobe and biting down. “Fuck,” he whispers at the slight twinge of pain.

“I wanna ride you,” she whispers, kissing down his neck.

“Of course, babycakes. Just come around my fingers once. You know how much I love it.”

With a nod, she pushes off his lap. “I can do that, anytime, angel.” Pushing to his knees, Calum grabs her thighs and nudges her against the wall. Using his fingers he pulls back her labia and licks a stripe up her, sucking on her cit. “Goddamn,” she sighs. Calum inserts two fingers into her, pumping and curling at the inside of her. He needs her to unravel around his fingers. He needs to feel that squeeze one last time. He hasn’t felt that in so long. She moans from above him when he starts to kitten lick the bundle of nerves.

Nails scratching at his scalp, Calum moans against her mound as she tightens her grip. Her legs tremble. He presses her harder into the wall, curls faster, hits deeper inside her. “Fuck. Calum.” Her voice is strained. The muscle in her legs starts jumping, legs bouncing. Calum grins. This is it. This is it. She comes around him, a grunt falling over her lips. “Cal--” she chokes on her own breathe.

She contracts and releases around his finger. Calum groans, slowly his lapping. But leaves his fingers buried deep in her heat. When he pulls his fingers out, she sags, sliding down the wall. Fuck, she can’t breathe. God. She feels like she’s floating. It shouldn’t take thing long to come back down. Calum strokes her cheek with his clean hand, kissing across her face. If it doesn’t work, he’ll find a way to do a cold compress. “Come back to me, babycakes. Deep breathe.”

Her eyes slowly blink back open. Calum grins. “There you are.”

She laughs. “Unfortunately.”

“I need some help.”

Inhaling deeply, she lets her close drift close before opening them and exhaling. “What’s up, angel?”

Calum taps his fingers coated in her arousal against her lips. “Can you help me clean these?”

She opens her mouth, resting her tongue flat against his fingers. Calum bends down, licking off the otherside. Together they clean his fingers, tongue brushing every so often. Calum pulls his hand away. She captures his lip between her teeth again, pullling hard. He groans. “Can I ride you now?”

“I would say you you don’t have to ask twice, but you just did.”

He’s always like this. Always still sassy. “Just get the fuck on the bed.”

Calum stands first, helping her up. “You sure you can handle it.”

Playfully slapping his ass, she laughs. “I’m sure I can.” He acts like he hates this, sending a glare to her over his shoulder. But Calum loves this, loves that they can still be playful in sex. Opening her bedside drawer, he pulls out a condom. Her birth control is right on top of the nightstand. She’s still taking it. When he turns around, she’s sitting on the edge of the bed. She’s just watching him. Her gaze makes his gut flip again. What is she looking at?

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” he chuckles, tearing opening the package.

“You said no to pictures. Lay back,” she comments, patting the mattress. Calum rolls the latex on and reclines into her plush pillows.

“Tell me,” he starts, watching her crawling up the length of body, pausing to kissing his thighs. “What were thinking about in the ride over here? When I asked--” the question stops on his tongue as her lips near his crotch. “When I asked if you missed me?”

“I’ll explain later, okay?” she whispers, lips ghosting over his cock. Calum goes to speak again until her nails dig into his hips. He moans. She continues to kiss up his body. She kisses and sucks a hickey onto his each collarbone.

“Please, God, please,” he whines. That’s all she needs before sinking down onto his length. “Fuck,” Calum swears, grabbing onto her hips. She grinds her hips against his, holding herself up by pressing her hands onto his chest.

“Tell me, angel, how’s the view?” she grins.

Calum reaches up for one of her breast, rolling the brown bud between his fingers. “It’s like heaven,” he pants. Calum wants more, but he knows to wait this out. His body feels like it’s on fire, but it’s a fire that continues to get stronger. Moving his fingers from her breast to her clit, he tries to help build her to faster to her second orgasm. The moment he touches her nerve, she snatches the hand away.

All movement is paused. “You want to fuck me huh? Is that what you want to do?”

“I want you to feel good. I--I want to make love to you.”

The phrase leaves her speechless. This hasn’t been about love. Or at least not on the surface, not with a label. It’s been a physical connection for sure. But the mental one has also been under the surface. Always felt, never talked about. Calum sees the shock on her face and takes this moment to get the upper hand. He hugs her close, before rolling them over. Her beneath him, still buried in her velvet heat.

“Can I?” he asks.

She nods. “Yes-yes.”

Calum kisses her, open mouthed before pulling out and slowly thrusting back inside her. She releases a small sigh in his ear as he thrusts inside. That’s a new sound. He thrusts slowly back into her. She releases it again. “Shit, you make the most beautiful sounds,” he whispers. He can’t get deep like this. So he pauses and places a pillow under her hips, brushing her knees to her chest.

She grips the sheets as Calum re enters her. “God, fuck.” She can feel him everywhere. Not just inside her, his body is pressed firmly against her. She can feel his chest against his, his breath ghosting over her skin as his face is buried her into neck. His hips roll at just the right angle that he brushes over her cit.

With very little warning, she cums beneath him, muscles tensing. Calum lifts his head to watch her face. The way her eyes screw up shut, the o she makes with her lips, the way her back arches off the bed. He loves this. He loves watching this. If he could record it, he would. To watch it over and over and over. Calum’s own orgams washes over him. He gives a final two thrusts before spilling over into the condom.

They stay meshed together, the metal brushing over her brown skin. He loves the way it looks. God, how he could stay here forever. But he can’t. “Can I kiss you?” she asks, not sheepish, but concerned, but hesitant, unsure.

“Of course.”

This kiss isn’t a clash of teeth, tongue or biting. It’s slow, and sensual. Almost loving. They part, Calum slowly pulling out of her. She pulls him alongside her into the bathroom. They clean themselves up, use the restroom. She leans up against the counter as Calum washes his hands. “I didn’t answer you when you asked if I miss you because I don’t just miss sex with you. I miss having you around.”

Calum pauses, hands still resting under the warm water. “I miss you too,” he whispers.

She shakes her head. “Not the same way.” She shouldn’t have been vulnerable with him. He can’t do it. It’s not his fault, fully. It’s the road, it’s the constant travel. It’s the always being away. It’s the past too. It’s the people before, it’s the cruelty of being of being so invasive, it’s this life as a person of color. It’s not all his fault, but some of it was, like the shutting people out, bottling up.

Calum quickly dries his hands, before following into the bedroom. She starts picking up her clothes and his. Calum stands bare at the threshold. “I know how you like your tea. 2 parts honey, one part sugar. You prefer black fruity teas. You despise coffee. But drink it because it’s the only thing that keeps you up for deadlines. You edit in coffee shops, but like writing in your backyard best. You prefer early morning to late nights. You like tequila over vodka which I’ll never understand. You hate twisting your hair, but like the way the curls look in the morning. You do pineapples when you’re lazy. You still can’t perfect the slicked down ponytail, but you still try. You’ve thought about doing a blow out but are too scared it’ll ruin your curl pattern again. You prefer shea butter moisturizers. You shop black owned every chance you get. You hate the fashion world, but still like designer shoes.

“You’ll shop a sale every chance you get. You donate half your closet twice a year to the domestic abuse shelter in honor of the women in your family. You volunteer at hospitals during Christmas because you like walking in as Storm and having the other black kids staring up at you in awe. You wished you cosplayed more. You play the piano well for someone that’s never learned a scale. Your voice is so fucking soulful and if I could get you to sing on one our songs, I think I’d die in the studio before you ever opened your mouth. I miss you too. I am listening. You’re one of the first people I want to tell good news too. You’re the first person I think of when I see a cute dog. I miss not being to talk in my backyard.”

“Then why the hell didn’t you say anything.”

“I didn’t know how. I hate being so far away from you. I like this--being normal. I wish I didn’t have to miss you. But I’d rather miss you than not have you at all.”

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mikeyhatesit113 · 3 years

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forever and never: Chapter 10

My car pulls up to the daycare entrance and Janie comes outside, the overnight bag slung loosely from her shoulder. Her face is blank, but her demeanor is defeated. She walks to my car and she gets in, shutting the door behind her. It’s just us two and a pregnant silence now.

A million questions swim through my mind.

Not to be outdone, she has a million excuses prepared.

“He drove you to work this morning?” I start by asking.

“Yeah,” she says quietly.

After the barrage of text messages from her and Bill, I am still unclear about what the truth is.

He said they met multiple times.

She said once.

He said they kissed several times.

She claimed once.

But whether it was a thousand times, or just once, I had a single question. This question did just pertain to the past 24 hour’s events, but it covered all the happenings over the past two years.

The hotel stays without receipts or bank records. The men who were just friends. The phone calls and text messages dripping with secrecy. The names under other names.

The nights where I watched her walk away.

“At any point throughout any of this, did you ever consider what you were doing to your sons’ home?” I asked.

My voice was not loud. My tone was not vicious.

It was a simple question that any mother should have been asking themselves. An anguished look comes across her face and she leans forward, putting her face in her hands.

Her muffled sobs fill the car and the atmosphere is devastating for both of us.

She had been caught, and another secret love story had been reduced to smoldering ash.

And for the third time in 2 years, I once again had been deceived.

Only this time, I had more answers than questions. I knew she was actually guilty.

Her lips had actually touched another man’s.

Proof beyond a reasonable doubt.

With this verdict, what would the jury decide?

They were lenient.

My heart wrenched at the thought of leaving her and the boys. After all we had been through, and all I believed we had overcome, I just couldn’t bring myself to throw in the towels.

I had watched those two little boys grow into walking, talking mini-adults.

James was no longer a curious Pre-K little boy. He was now 10, and he was funny. He had friends, and we had a great relationship. He loved Michael Myers just like I did, and he mimicked my wacky antics around the house. He was as close as a son could be.

Brock was no longer a tot in diapers. He was an animated kid who had started school now, and he loved to wrestle in the living room with his brother and I.

After 4 and a half years of being responsible for them, I was supposed to walk away without a second thought?

What if we could overcome this? One more thing to look back on as an old couple, decades later on that typical front porch swing moment. Saying with a smile as we are looking into eachother’s eyes, “We made it.”

“We got through it.”

“We proved our love was stronger than anything.”

“For better or for worse.”

Despite everything I knew, and how dirty I felt, I had decided to stay. I couldn’t pronounce it dead yet, despite what the vitals were telling me.

And as we moved on just days after the Bill scandal broke, I remained disturbed by a single, abstract thought.

I had trusted Bill, and he was a great friend.

He was my groomsman who saw us at our worst and our best.

But the fact that I was blindsided by his betrayal wasn’t because of those things, necessarily.

It was due to something else.

Like, the fact that, Bill wasn’t the one I had my eye on.

I was eyeing another person entirely, and we had already crossed paths.

Let me introduce you to, Steppenwolf.

“Mr. Steppenwolf is so funny,” Janie laughed in the kitchen as she was preparing dinner one day. We were telling eachother about our respective days, and she was telling me about how Mr. Steppenwolf, a fellow daycare teacher, had outsmarted an angry parent that day.

In fact, Mr. Steppenwolf was the director of the program at Janie’s center.

Sound familiar?

“And he has the craziest hats,” she giggled.

“Oh,” I responded. A balding man with gray hair in his 30’s with a wacky hat collection seemed interesting enough, but it quickly left my mind.

He was married with kids, anyway.

But then, Mr. Steppenwolf popped up on my radar again just days later.

I was scrolling through Instagram, and I noticed that Steppenwolf had been “liking” and commenting on almost every one of Janie’s pictures.

Despite the arena I was in, I wasn’t a terribly jealous guy. But for curiosity’s sake, I went to Steppenwolf’s profile and discovered that Janie was doing the exact same thing to his photos.

For instance, his picture of a stink bug had earned a “like” from Janie, and a bonus comment that said, “OMG Mr. Steppewolf, what a creepy bug!”

In addition, I noticed that their social networking relationship was barely a month old, and the commenting/liking had picked up in frequency.

But nevertheless, I wasn’t a jealous guy. However, I did casually tease Janie about the interactions with Mr. Steppenwolf on Instagram. She played it off and changed the subject.

Coincidentally, Mr. Steppenwolf’s profile went PRIVATE a day later.

But perhaps, Steppenwolf was deemed a true threat until one beautiful Summer day.

It was a sunny, July day, and I was going to a Fantasy Football draft at a friend’s house.

Janie, usually opposing my attendance to such events, was surprisingly supportive and cool with my plans to go. In fact, she whipped me up a batch of Buffalo Chicken Dip to take along as a party contribution.

“And I know when you guys get together, you like to stay out late. Just so you know, I won’t be mad if it goes to 2am or something. You deserve to have a good time with your friends,” she spoke.

“Are you sure you’re ok with me going?” I asked as I put tin foil over the top of the chicken dip pan.

“Yeah,” she insisted brightly. “I’ll just hang out around here, or maybe go see my parents at the campground,” she said.

“Cool,” I said, grabbing my keys. I was running a bit behind on time, and I had to get on the road. I had planned to leave 10 minutes earlier, and now I was probably going to be late.

Just then, Janie’s phone on the counter lit up.

Out of habit, I looked at the screen and saw a text.

From Steppenwolf.

“Hey bud, wasn’t sure if we were still on the for the movie? If not, just let me know, and I’ll kick back and hang around the house.”

I read the message, my jaw clenching and my mind beginning to race.

Movie? With Steppenwolf??

What the fuck?

Janie looked at the screen, and immediately after reading the message, she got frantically defensive.

“He’s texting the wrong Janie!” she insisted, her eyes quickly welling with tears. “He must have meant the other Janie in the other program,” she explained.

She picked up her phone and dialed Steppenwolf immediately. He answered, and once again, what she said next would determine everything.

“Hey Mr. Steppenwolf,” she greeted him. “I have a very upset husband standing next to me, and he thinks your message was actually meant for me,” she fake chuckled.

I’m not certain what he said, but Janie’s reaction did its best to make me believe that this was indeed just a big misunderstanding.

“That’s what I said!” she said on the phone, laughing.

She offered me the phone. “Did you want to talk to him?” she asked.

“No,” I said, scowling.

I wasn’t sure what the fuck was going on, but it didn’t look good. As I waited for her to end the call, I knew that I no longer wanted to go to the Fantasy Football draft.

I wanted to dump the buffalo chicken dip in the trash.

How could I go have a good time with these new suspicions?

In terms of timeline, the Bill scandal had not yet happened. That wouldn’t be happening for another two weeks yet.

So in truth, these were my first suspicions since a year earlier when she ran off into the night with Shawn.

But I thought we had moved past that? I thought I’d never feel that way again?

Janie hung up the phone and insisted that his message was meant from someone else. I did my best to believe her, but I was uneasy.

What if it wasn’t a mistake?

I reluctantly left the house and went to the Fantasy Football party, sitting amongst my friends and doing my best to act normal.

Janie, almost as if she knew that I was on alert, texted me frequently.

A few hours later, I left the Fantasy Football party and went to the campground her parents were at. Janie had went to visit them, and she invited me to swing by.

We sat around the fire, talking casually. Janie and I did our best to ignore the serpent between us that had just been resurrected, threatening to strike.

As the days that followed went on, I noticed other little changes in Janie.

She suddenly took a big interest into the sporty attire that the younger girls at her center wore. She suddenly bought several pairs of running shorts, and her behavior at home transformed into more of their demeanor as well.

She’d post pictures online of herself posing flirtatiously with them. Of course, these photos had a thumbs up from Mr. Steppenwolf, who was often lingering in the background and making goofy faces.

Then, she started staying out later at night. She’d cite after-work meetings at a nearby sports bar, but some nights, she wouldn’t come home till after midnight. I’d stay up and wait for her, knowing I’d have to be awake for work in less than 5 hours, but I couldn’t sleep.

I had to know she was safe, and I had to torture myself with secret suspicions.

I’d watch the Lancer pull into the driveway as relief washed over me. I’d run upstairs and crawl into bed quickly so that she wouldn’t know I had stayed up to wait. She’d come upstairs and get ready for bed quickly, and as she’d get under the covers, I’d smell the beer on her breath.

She’d fall out pretty quickly, but I often laid there in the dark as I stared at the ceiling, wondering where her night had taken her.

The weird occurrences continued one day when I saw a mixed CD in her car. It was titled “Daddy Mix”, and it contained nothing but songs with the word “Daddy” in their titles.

“Daddy Sang Bass”, by Johnny Cash.

“Hey Daddy (Daddy’s Home)”, by Usher.

“Daddy’s Eyes”, by The Killers.

“What’s this?” I asked, holding up the CD.

“Oh, that,” she laughed. “So, I call Mr. Steppenwolf ‘daddy’ at work, and everyone thinks that it’s funny,” she explained. “So they all got together and put this CD together for me, and slid it in my mailbox,” she said.

The explanation seemed off to me. I’ve found many things my co-workers have done to be hilarious, but creating a mixed CD for them as a result honestly never crossed my mind.

It was such a small occurrence that I quickly forgot about it.

Either that, or I was actively overlooking things as to not find a reason to worry about them.

All I wanted was peace as a husband. I never believed that I had accidentally signed up to be a 24/7 private investigator.

Then one night, I came face to face with Steppenwolf.

It was a night where another after-work meeting was taking place, and she invited me. I sat there amongst her co-workers, and I found myself having a pleasant time as I met people and their spouses for the first time.

Then, Steppenwolf showed up.

I noticed quickly how he presented himself. Though he was a smaller man, he carried himself with an upmost self-importance.

I watched him get out of his purple sports car, and as he walked up, I saw him tug at the bottom of the tight lime-green polo he had decided to wear.

He walked into the outdoor patio area we were all seated at, and his co-workers welcomed him as he took a seat at the far end of the two tables we had pushed together to accommodate our party size.

Steppenwolf did not look at me.

Janie was seated beside me, deep in conversation with a fellow co-worker. I decided to drink some beers, and soon I found myself lost in casual conversations of my own with other people.

It was then I noticed, Steppenwolf and Janie were gone. I looked around quickly, but I could not spot them. I got up from the table and walked inside the crowded bar. After some quick recon, I located my targets.

They were deep in a hushed conversation back by the bathrooms, which were hidden from plain view. I walked up to them and as I stood beside Janie, I crossed my arms and faced Steppenwolf.

Their conversation abruptly stopped, and Steppenwolf shot me a sideways glance as he leaned on the wall. He walked away without another word, and I asked Janie about what I had seemingly interrupted.

“He’s just having an issue with another co-worker, and he was talking to me about it,” she said.

Soon after that night, the Bill events happened.

It was August now, and as Summer was winding down, Janie and I found ourselves in a shattered state.

But were we beyond repair?

The night before Labor Day Sunday, Janie and I decided to go to Hersheypark. It had always been a nice spot for us and the boys, but on this night, it was just us two.

Night had fallen, and the park was clearing out. There weren’t too many people left, and as we walked side by side, I noticed the continued silence between us.

“You ok?” I asked.

“Yeah, I just want to know that you’re ok,” she replied.

“I am if you are.”

The sunset that night, and the emptiness around us, was too eerie for me to ignore. It was symbolic of our love story.

----

The next day, we had a Labor Day cookout planned at our home. Close to the start time, Janie and I walked over to her mom’s house to get some bug spray.

My sister had requested some, and Janie found this as a reason to angrily march off across the street to accomodate my family.

“What is your problem?” I asked her as I followed behind her.

“Nothing, Michael, nothing,” she said.

We both returned to our house and our guests arrived. The cookout got started, and things started off normally enough.

Janie guzzled down alcoholic beverages, and she kept asking her step-dad to admit that she was his princess.

I played corn hole with some of the other guests, but predictably, things took a turn for the worst as night fell.

My father had taken my nephews to a local carnival that night, and he dropped them off at our house because my sister was attending our cookout. However, my father wanted to make a quick job of dropping them off, as his dog had been at home for hours without a bathroom break.

I stood out front with my sister as we casually chatted with our father, and then he got back in his car and drove off.

Janie, however, took great offense to this gesture. He had not come back to the party in the back yard to say hello, and she decided that she had an issue with this.

I picked up on this when I returned to the back yard, and Janie stood amongst the party guests glaring at me.

When I watched her walk in the house, I seized my opportunity to follow her inside and find out what was wrong.

“Hey,” I said as I slid the door closed behind me. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing is ever good enough, is it?” she asked.

“What are you talking about?” I asked.

“Your dad, after all these years, still hates me,” she said. “What the fuck are we even doing?” she asked savagely.

Kelly came inside at that moment, and she saw our confrontation.

“Guys, don’t fight,” she said.

“I’m not fighting!” I said, my temper soaring. “She’s picking another fight with me!”

At those words, Janie scoffed and ran upstairs. When she came back down, she had another overnight bag slung from her shoulder.

The second one I had seen in a month. The third one I had seen in a year.

“And where are you going?” I asked.

“Janie, don’t leave,” Kelly begged.

Janie only wanted to talk to Kelly, but I barreled on, demanding to know where Janie was leaving to go this time.

Janie asked where the Lancer keys were, but I wasn’t about to let that happen.

“You aren’t taking the Lancer,” I said. “You’ve been drinking, and you’re not totaling my car.”

Janie didn’t scream back, though.

As our guests continued enjoying themselves in our back yard, Janie quietly left out the front door. I watched her from the door step as she disappeared into the night, one more time.

There was nothing for it. She was looking for a reason all along.

And I was tired of stopping her.

I was tired of trying.

But seeing her walk away never got easier.

I returned to the back yard, and though some people were aware what had happened, others didn't mind. Janie’s step-dad chatted merrily with our landlord, taking swigs of beer. I wasn’t about to spoil their time.

I walked up to my grandmother and uncle, and I quietly let them know what had happened. I walked them to their car, feeling bad at the failure I had become.

“Well,” my grandmother said. “You’ll have this. And remember what I said, you have a home with me.”

I thanked her and my uncle for coming, and after they drove away, I never felt more alone. Most of the guests had departed, but a few stayed. I walked around my empty home, wondering what to do. I decided to go to bed.

Of course, i didn't sleep at all.

Our Boston Terrier curled up next to me in bed as I listened to Linkin Park’s “Burn It Down” on my iPod.

The cycle repeated As explosions broke in the sky All that I needed Was the one thing I couldn’t find...

I got up several times that night, looking out the window and hoping to see her return. Instead, I remember seeing our landlord and a few of Janie’s family members sitting around our bonfire, still burning brightly.

After a brief stints of sleep and constant exhaustion, morning came.

The sky was full of clouds, and the air was humid and muggy. I walked around our house, seeing the mess in the back yard and the piles of dishes on the kitchen counter.

I was all alone.

I started cleaning up, trying to take my mind off of the situation at hand.

Had Bill re-entered the arena? Or was she with someone else?

I told myself I wouldn’t call, but we were past that point. Enough was enough. I picked up my phone and dialed her number, and it went right to voicemail. I said the only thing I could say;

“I’m not calling to find out where you are or who you’re with. I’m only asking you, out of respect for our time together and the home of those two little boys, to tell me what’s going on?”

I hung up and continued cleaning up the mess.

After a half hour, I called again.

“You don’t understand how serious this is, I need you to tell me what’s going on. Nothing else. Just tell me where things stand,” I spoke.

I hung up my phone.

Then, she called back.

I walked out into the back yard as I answered her call.

“Hey,” I said.

“I’m done,” she said softly. “We fight all the time. Things haven’t been right. We’re toxic,” she spoke. “I’m done.”

“Are you with Steppenwolf?” I asked.

“...yeah, but I slept on his couch,” she said.

Our conversation didn’t last long. What was there left to say?

I packed a few things in a hurry.

I was going home.

As I loaded some things into my car, I saw Janie’s mom sitting on her back porch. I shut my car door after putting my things inside the car and walked across the street.

“Hey,” I said.

“I’m sorry, Ekim,” her mom said. “I don’t know why she’s doing this. I didn’t raise her that way,” Janie’s mom spoke. “I can’t go against her, she’s all I have. She’s my baby,” her mom pleaded.

“I know. She’s with Steppenwolf,” I mumbled.

“Yeah, I heard. I don’t know why she’s doing this.”

---

Walking through my grandmother’s front door was less than ceremonious, but there are places throughout you’re life where you feel safe.

This was one of them.

My uncle had since moved in with her since I had moved out 5 years earlier, and he had my old room. But I didn’t care. I was eager to have any place to call home, and in turn, I moved whatever I had with me into a smaller upstairs bedroom.

It was my room when I was 14 years old before I moved to a bigger room. Since I had moved out of it, it had become a storage room for miscellaneous items and holiday decorations.

The bed mattress was gone, but the box spring was still there. I draped a few blankets on the top until I figured something else out in terms of a bed.

It would have to do for now, like everything else.

That day, I didn’t plan on staying idle and letting my imagination tear me to pieces.

There would be no sleep, no rest, and no peace.

So I might as well stay busy.

I decided to accompany some friends to a back yard cookout, and I needed to take several breaks away from the party to vent to my buddy’s girlfriend.

I was inconsolable. I couldn’t think of anything else.

Luckily, she was understanding and listened patiently while I spilled my guts several times that day.

My life was in pieces, and my marriage was over.

That night, they invited me back to their place to hang out.

I sat beside my one friend on their love seat as they watched the newest episode of the show, Breaking Bad.

I sat next to him and odd as it sounds, just not being alone made my eyes heavy.

36 hours of no sleep was catching up to me.

My head slumped over as I fell asleep, but I couldn’t fall into too deep of a sleep state.

Night was falling outside, and my vicious imagination was going to punish me for not giving it a chance to torture me all day.

I sat there, my head slumped on my buddy’s shoulder as I heard a song coming from the TV. It’s a song called “Crystal Blue Persuasion”, and it was playing on the episode of Breaking Bad. My imagination played a perverse slideshow for me as the melody filled my ears.

I missed her. I just wanted to be next to her.

And he had her.

The music from the TV played as the images in my head haunted me, my stomach turning...

“Look over yonder, what do you see?”

They start kissing in Steppenwolf’s living room, knowing they have the entire night together...

“The sun is a-risen, most definitely.”

They wander through Steppenwolf’s house toward his bedroom...

“A new day is coming, people are changing,”

They reach his bedroom and lay on his bed...

“Ain’t it beautiful? Crystal blue persuasion.”

The light goes out.

But for me, it was far from over.

Broken, but not beyond repair.

We weren’t finished yet.

“My secrets are buried now From my heart and my bones catch a fever When it cuts you up this deep It's hard to find a way to breathe

Your eyes are swallowing me Mirrors start to whisper Shadows start to see My skin's smothering me Help me find a way to breathe.”

Bring Me the Horizon “Sleepwalking”

NOTE: Though this is my side of the story, including my own personal recollections and opinions, the reader should not consider this note anything other than a work of literature. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

#dating #relationships #depression #breakups #relationship advice #divorce #marriage #mental health #suicide #begin again #new beginnings #taylor swift #never #forever #love #hate #papa roach

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mithrilwren · 4 years

Text

3 Turn

Another installment in the Shadowgast Figure Skating AU, inspired by the incredible art of @fiovske! You don’t technically have to read the first piece in the series to understand this one - they more or less stand on their own - but if you’re going to read both, I’d recommend doing so in order. [Also on Ao3] [Find the whole series of one-shots in this AU here!]

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3 turn: a figure skating element which involves a change in direction and edge. The direction of the turn follows the way the edge rotates and curves, either from an inside edge to an outside edge, or an outside edge to an inside edge.

---

1. Forward.

There’s a new skater on the ice tonight.

It’s a rare occurrence, to see an unfamiliar face in competition. Essek has grown accustomed to seeing the same lineup of competitors at every event. The particular selection of faces may change with the location, but the roster is generally static; there are only a select few whose skills are high enough to qualify at this level.

Still, the whirling blur of motion in Essek’s periphery wears a colour palette he’s not familiar with, and as his coach guides him through last-minute stretches at the sideboards, he watches the figure out of the corner of his eye. Not paying full attention, of course - his turn is next in the order, and there are many elements to review in his mind before he steps out onto the ice himself - but he does catch a few details: a grey and black suit, a flash of red hair, the sound of a skate coming down hard.

Too hard, and the subsequent gasps of the crowd tell him a jump has been fumbled, if not outright failed.

Essek smirks - not unkindly, necessarily, but with the satisfaction of renewed confidence. Whoever this new blood is, he’s clearly knocked himself out of the running. Not a challenger, then, and thus, not worthy of any more of Essek’s attention.

As the music fades to a close, he lets his breath go in one low beat. He’s ready. He’s relaxed. This will be a good performance.

Essek barely pays the new competitor any mind as they pass each other: him stepping into the rink, and the other man stepping out. There’s no delay between the two routines for flowers to be collected. Evidently, none were thrown. The man must truly be a newcomer - not many rise to this level of competition without accumulating at least a small base of supporters. But again, Essek reminds himself, this is all unimportant to the task at hand.

Essek floats out to the center of the ice and places one toe on its tip, hands curving up to frame his chin and cheek in an elegant tableau. The crowd is still, as breathless as his own body, as they wait for the first note.

Then the music starts, and Essek flies.

---

Once all the roses and little gifts are collected from the ice, Essek rejoins his coach in the kiss-and-cry. The red-headed competitor is already far from his mind as they wait together for his scores to be announced.

(The cutesy name of the simple, black-clothed bench, surrounded by a chorus of video cameras and fake flowers, is something of a derisive joke between the two of them; neither he nor Mirimm would ever be caught dead doing either in public.)

The only expression Essek allows himself as the numbers are read out is a small smile: first place standing, as expected. Mirimm’s reaction is equally subdued. She doesn’t congratulate him, not on what was already a forgone conclusion.

(And still, his heart eases as he hears the final tally, even though he knew that his performance tonight was without critique. There’s an unhelpful anxiety that accompanies every kiss-and-cry, so ingrained he can barely separate it from the brighter feeling of anticipation. He can’t seem to shake the lingering dread that one day the scores will be announced, and he will be found lacking, and the perilous peak on which he stands will crumble away.)

After returning to their seats, Essek watches the rest of the skaters from the audience with vague interest. He knows most of their routines by rote, along with their faces. The season is spent perfecting only two sets of choreography per person - one short program, one free skate - and he’s seen most of them performed already, whether televised or in competition. Still, the art of skating is beautiful in itself, and even familiar routines are a pleasant enough diversion as they all wait for the final scores, that will determine the skate order for the next day.

Finally, after the last skater has received their marks, the ranking is read out to the audience. Essek’s name is the first announced, of course. As the top-placed competitor, he will go last. That, too, was never in question.

The name ‘Caleb Widogast’, at a stalwart middle rank, crackles over the loudspeakers, and Essek starts. He cocks his head, trying to capture the remnants of the sound before the announcements continue. Something about that name… he’s sure he’s heard it before. Essek turns to Mirimm, leaning down to murmur in her ear.

“Why do I know the name ‘Widogast’?”

Mirimm - an elderly woman, with so many years of experience under her belt that not even her wizened face and hunched, almost goblinish appearance can diminish her reputation as one of the skating world’s premiere coaches - squints, her mouth set into a troubled frown. He’s not accustomed to seeing even that much emotion from her, and certainly not in public. Her answer takes far longer than it should for such a simple question.

“I suppose that would have been before your time, wouldn’t it?” Essek carefully suppresses a wince. Having achieved so much by such a young age might be a badge of honour for some, but he often tires of being so continuously reminded of it. He would rather be set apart by his skill, not his circumstances. “He was a prominent competitor in the juniors circuit, many years ago. ” Her voice grows more craggly as it dips low, softer, as though she’s talking to herself and not to him. “I didn’t realize he’d started skating again.”

“A hiatus? Was there a reason?” There are few explanations that are conceivable to Essek, why someone would choose to give up the sport, even temporarily. You don’t leave a life like this up - not at this level, not after so much work and pain and investment. Even he, even after-

Well. It’s not something you just abandon.

Again, Mirimm pauses before answering. “I don’t know the whole story, but… I believe he was under a lot of pressure.” The inflection on the word pressure doesn’t quite sit right with Essek, and his own frown deepens. “The Empire is very... rigid, with its athletes, as you well know.”

Essek’s mouth parts slightly. Then Widogast is a Dwendalian skater. Now that’s interesting. Stranger still, that no one would have informed him of the man in advance, but if even Mirimm didn’t know he was competing...

“That’s all you can tell me?”

“That’s all I’m telling you.” She fixes him with a hard look, and he sighs, knowing a final answer when he hears one. He’s learned not to question the hierarchy, over the years. As supportive as Mirimm is, and as high as he rises, there are still some things he’s not privileged enough to know. Being sponsored by the Dynasty itself comes with a laundry list of pros and cons, after all, and as much as he’s aware that his role in the conflict between nations is symbolic, it is not unimportant. The threads of political posturing between the Empire and the Dynasty are long-rooted and deeply meaningful, and appearances are more vital now than ever, in this time of perilous peace. He takes that responsibility as seriously as any aspect of his own career.

Still, his curiousity is peaked, and he barely hears the rest of the names in the order, too busy turning over one in particular in his mind.

---

There are also pros and cons in being the last onto the ice, Essek muses the next day, as he waits for his turn to arrive. On one hand, he’s stuck ruminating on his own upcoming performance for longer than any other skater. On the other, he finally has a chance to watch the other routines properly.

He waits with bated breath for the name ‘Caleb Widogast’ to be announced. From his seat near the front of the stands, he has a perfect view to suss out this mysterious competitor, and he intends to make good use of that advantage. Even if Mirimm refuses to share more, there’s a great deal he can learn from simple observation.

His catalogue begins the moment the man steps out onto the ice. There’s a certain awkwardness to Widogast’s movements, as the man drifts out to the center of the rink - a dipped head, and hunched shoulders, nothing at all like Essek’s regal posture. His eyes are nearly hidden beneath the long, wavy bangs that tumble out from his loose ponytail. It’s a curiously unpolished look: not strictly against regulations, but certainly not the finessed coif of a typical skater, especially not with hair of that length. Essek wonders if he does it himself, or if his stylist is simply unskilled. The messiness doesn’t seem intentional, rather, it almost looks like the ponytail began as a tighter pull-back, but wasn’t secured properly.

His outfit, at least, is neat, if slightly old-fashioned. The hard lines of black and grey are typical Dwendalian attire, and Essek thinks again of Mirimm’s words. Rigid. That is certainly a word to describe the suit. He can’t say that Widogast looks terribly comfortable in its constrictive folds and creases. That type of outfit requires a precision to pull off that his hair and his posture don’t match. Everything about the look is like two halves at war from within, and Essek wouldn’t be surprised if the man loses points on presentation before the music even starts.

In the quiet moments at center ice, Essek watches as Widogast breathes out, arms crossed in front of his chest. His shoulders come down, as though he’s forcibly told them to relax. Then the first note sounds, and Widogast takes off towards the rink’s edge in a burst of energy, launching into a routine that leaves Essek more confused with every bar.

The man is obviously quite technically proficient, but whatever rigidity he managed to force out of his shoulders, he clearly hasn’t shaken it from the rest of his body. His steps are intricate, but stiff, and though his movements smooth out into something more like a dancer’s elegance by the end of the first step sequence, Essek is keen now to the tension that shudders beneath. He isn’t surprised at all when Widogast’s first jump finishes a full rotation short of the intended triple lutz. Even if the set-up was executed well, it lacked confidence, and no jump approached with hesitation will ever succeed.

Still, the landing is clean, and though the rest of the routine is fairly unremarkable - full of the traditional upright forms and purposeful movements that he’s come to expect from the (admittedly, small) number of Empire skaters he’s competed against over the years - with each passing moment, Essek only finds himself more transfixed by the series of contradictions that make up ‘Caleb Widogast’.

Who is this man, who skates with all the skill of a champion and the confidence of a fifteen-year-old trainee?

Why is his outfit so strict, and his hair so wild?

Who would give up skating for long enough to fall out of memory, only to return as a shadow of their former glory?

Essek must know more.

He watches Widogast’s face as the song comes to a close, hoping to catch a glimpse of his reaction to the past few minutes. Is he pleased with the middling performance, or disappointed? But as soon as the music dies away, his head is already tucked back to his shoulder, and he hurries his way off the ice even before the polite smattering of applause finishes. No flowers again, and no whoops or cheers from the audience. Even the other Dwendalian entrant - Vadim, oft bronze-medalist, powerful jumps - offers no vocal support to his countryman. He sits a few aisles away from Essek, watching the routine just as intently as him, but without any hint of comradery hidden in his tight-lipped expression. If anything, his look is assessing, rather than familiar.

Stranger and stranger.

Essek’s eyes follow Widogast as he steps out of the rink and heads towards the kiss-and-cry. There’s no coach waiting there when he arrives. Widogast takes a seat by himself, and the next skater takes to the ice. The music starts again, and still, nobody joins him. Widogast picks up his coat from atop his bag and wraps it around his own shoulders, clutching the fabric to his chest as he waits for the scores to be read.

Essek’s heart unexpectedly pangs. He’s no stranger to being on his own - he prefers it, nearly always - but still… he never realized how lonesome that bench could look.

Essek prides himself on being able to predict any score within five points, and this time is no exception. Not a bad showing, per se, but nothing spectacular. Even with only half the scores tallied, the podium is already out of Widogast’s reach. Essek is too far away to judge his expression as the numbers are read from the loudspeakers, but his reaction is far from dramatic. The man sits quietly for a few moments more, then gathers his bag and returns to his seat, ignoring the handful of microphones shoved in his direction as he passes the press box. He doesn’t move from that seat, not for as long as it takes Mirimm to tap Essek on the shoulder and remind him that he should get downstairs and stretch for his own routine.

It only strikes him as odd a half-hour or so later, as he gets up off the cold concrete floor and returns the foam roller to its case, that Widogast’s seat wasn’t next to Vadim’s. If anyone else from the Dynasty was in attendance, they and Essek would have been seated together. A show of patriotic solidarity is never amiss, and the Empire tends to be even more strict than his own country in that regard. But he doesn’t have time to contemplate the question further, because Mirimm is already hurrying him along, back to the rink’s edge just in time for his routine to start.

The rest of the night passes in an accustomed blur - the flawless performance, the kiss-and-cry, the inevitable triumph. It seems barely more than a blink of the eye before Essek finds himself on the podium, listening to the last strains of the familiar anthem fade away. He receives his medal gracefully, dipping his head as the ribbon is placed around his neck, but when he looks up again, it’s to scan the crowd once more, looking for Widogast.

The search is fruitless; his eyes land on an empty seat, and no trace of where the man went. Perhaps he left once he knew the final results. Essek can’t help but be a little disappointed - he has always been insatiably inquisitive, and this Caleb Widogast is an enigma like no other - but it seems tonight is not the night he’ll satisfy that curiousity.

Essek exchanges civil handshakes with the other medalists and makes his way back towards the locker room to collect the remainder of his things, while the crowd begins to filter out of the arena.

Progress is slow, constantly impeded by eager fans looking for autographs or photos that his station - and the ever-present cameras - don’t allow him to refuse. Mirimm knows not to wait around, and by the time he manages to (politely) fight his way out of the stands, he finds himself in a mostly abandoned facility. The occasional conversation still wafts through the echoing concrete corridors below the rink, but most of the other skaters have left already. He’s pleased by the solitude, not least because his left leg is aching fiercely, and in an empty hallway, he can allow himself the slightest limp. He keeps his ears open for any hint of incoming footsteps, of course, but it’s an unexpected boon after a long day.

The locker room is empty as well. Still, Essek ducks into one of the shower stalls and turns the lock before unzipping his bag. He moves aside the foam roller’s case and reaches in, pulling out the brace that lies beneath. Essek holds it in his hands and leans back against the wall, considering.

The pain is worse tonight than usual, but this isn’t exactly a regional show. The reporters will be trained on him the moment he emerges into the lobby. Better not to risk it. Essek slips the brace back into the bag, wincing as he pushes himself off the wall, and unlocks the stall door.

He can manage, and there will be a hot shower waiting for him once he passes through the gauntlet of reporters and returns to his hotel: a well deserved reward.

He takes another step, and his thigh muscle shudders beneath the weight. Essek grits his teeth.

He can manage.

Essek is nearly to the back stairwell that will take him back to the lobby when he hears it - a new, unplaceable sound, drifting from around the corner. He steps closer, and the sound becomes clearer. Quickened, irregular breathing.

He walks as quietly as he can to the bend, and peers around.

A man is braced against the wall, arms crossed over his eyes as he leans his weight against them, his face turned towards the ground as he gulps shallow breaths of air. The shock of red hair, now fully escaped from its tie and spread loose over quavering shoulders, is unmistakable.

It’s Widogast.

Essek means to back away as silently as he came. The man is indisposed, and no matter how great his curiousity, he wouldn’t spy on someone in such a private moment. But his leg, the treacherous thing, buckles on the first step back, and that slight stumble is enough to bring Widogast’s head whipping up. His bright eyes - blue, very blue, improbably blue - land on Essek, and Essek freezes, feeling more chastened than he probably should, considering he truly hadn’t meant to intrude.

Widogast immediately straightens, sucking in one last breath before bowing his head. “I am in your way. My apologies.”

The soft accent catches Essek off guard. Stereotypical as it might be, he was expecting the more severe dialect of King Dwendal. As a child of the Dynasty, brought up in wartime, there were few other Empire voices that were recognizable. All he had were the propaganda speeches on the radio and the indistinct image of a faraway court on the television. He was not a soldier, and would never meet a child of the Empire face to face. At least, that’s what he’d assumed, at the time.

“Are you…” alright, is the word he wants to say. If it’s not an outright panic attack he’s startled the man out of, it was something close to it. But to acknowledge that feels too... forward. They’ve only just met, after all, and he is still a representative of the Dynasty. He must never forget that, or the caution it entails. “...going up?” Essek finishes, gesturing at the stairwell.

Widogast grimaces, a pained look that smoothes out to something more neutral as surely as his movements did on the ice. It’s almost disconcerting, how calm he seems now - how steeled - when only a few minutes ago he could barely breathe.

“I will, in a short while. Please,” Widogast says. “Don’t let me keep you.” His eyes move to Essek’s chest and widen in realization, and Essek is suddenly self-conscious of the golden medal that still shimmers between strips of back gauze. “My apologies again, Herr Thelyss, and... congratulations, on the victory.”

“Thank you,” Essek says slowly. So he knows who Essek is. Has the man been studying up on him as well? But he forces the momentary paranoia down. He is the reigning champion, three years running, and today’s victory sets him well on the path for a fourth crown. Of course this man would know his name. Who in the skating world doesn’t?

Still, Essek makes no move towards the stairwell, and neither does Widogast. Finally, Essek breaks the stalemate. “Shall we go up together?”

It’s a reckless suggestion. If they’re seen emerging together, the reporters will eat them alive. He’s under firm instructions from both Mirimm and the Bright Queen herself that he’s to maintain a civil, but distant, relationship with those Empire competitors he meets. But he can’t help but want to continue the interaction, now that circumstances have brought them together. He might not get another chance like this, imprudent as it might be.

If anything, Widogast’s expression becomes even more pained, and Essek watches him physically hold in a shudder. “Please, go on,” he says again. “I’m sure you’re a busy man.”

An even more reckless thought occurs to Essek. “You’re very right. To be honest, I’m not sure I feel like spending what time I have with the vultures tonight,” he says, regarding Widogast with an air of nonchalance. “And - forgive me - you seem a little tired yourself. Perhaps we should show ourselves out the back? I know another exit.” There. Plausible deniability for the both of them.

Widogast fixes him with a stare as piercing as Essek’s ever delivered, and he knows he’s been found out. That might concern him more, if he knew what, precisely, he was attempting to conceal in the offer. He hasn’t quite parsed out his own intentions - only that the enigma of Caleb Widogast has him intrigued, and he wants as much time as he can steal to begin to unravel the pieces of that mystery.

“...If you are offering, then… I would be grateful.” Widogast dips his head again, sharp expression fading to something almost weary. “I’m not sure I’m up to facing them tonight either,” he admits, more softly.

“Then the rear exit it is.” Essek turns, and a few moments later, footsteps hurry to join his as he leads the way through the twists and turns of the underground structure.

The truth is, Essek knows all the back entrances, to every major rink on the competition circuit. He often comes a day early to walk the halls, scouting out the surest route that will avoid the flash - or worse, the blinking red recording light - of the cameras. In a pinch, he’s even acquired building schematics, if advance travel wasn’t an option.

He can manage, after all - he always does - but there are some nights where he’d rather not have to.

The two of them walk in silence. Though there are a thousand questions burning on Essek’s lips, he knows that there is a time and place, and that this isn’t the appropriate one. Better to show as little of his own hand as possible, while he still knows so little about the man’s connections within the Empire, and… well, he doesn’t want to push Widogast further, not after what he just witnessed.

It might be the shrewder choice. Widogast is more vulnerable now, at least emotionally, than he might be later on, and Essek could probably press him and learn some of what he wants to know. But still-

But still. He feels how he feels. There’s no use pretending something else.

They come at last to a different stairwell, this one leading up to a set of heavy metal doors coated in cracked orangeish paint. Essek pushes the doors open and holds the first for Widogast, and the two of them exit into an alleyway. From the opposite end of the narrow path, the lights of the street blare and fade: cars, passing into the gathering night. Essek looks once more at Widogast, holding his coat closed against the chill of the damp night. Each wash of light catches the outline of the man’s hair: a glimmer of auburn against the grey brick at his back, tumbling in loose waves around his jaw.

“Thank you,” Widogast says again, this time with open, unguarded sincerity, and as the man finally meets Essek’s eyes, the back of his neck begins to prickle. “I am in your debt.”

“Indeed. Perhaps I’ll ask a favour in return, the next time we meet?”

Essek means the banter to be light - playful, even - but Widogast doesn’t smile. He does nod, however, expression altogether too serious for the tenor of the conversation. “A favour,” he says. “Alright.”

“Till the next time, then,” Essek says, and starts towards the alley’s exit. Widogast follows on his heels, but Essek holds up a hand. “Give it a few minutes, in case there are watching eyes on this side.” Widogast frowns, but as Essek points to the symbol of the Bright Queen subtly embroidered on his sleeve, he nods again in understanding.

Essek chances one last glance back before he slips out of the alleyway and onto the street. He sees Widogast framed against the door: a figure in grey silhouette, and still impossibly alone.

---

The shower does help with the pain, and he’s able to go to bed that night without splinting the leg at all, which is a better outcome than he’d hoped. By tomorrow, he’ll be back in the Dynasty, in the comfort of his own home, and for now at least he has creature comforts: good wine, a soft bed, and an evening to himself, without needing to speak to a single other soul. This is his preferred way to celebrate a victory.

As he lays down to sleep, red hair and blue eyes flutter through Essek’s mind, an inescapable interest still burning within him. He finally gives in to the compulsion at almost one in the morning, dragging himself out of bed and back to the sitting room portion of the suite. Pulling open his laptop, he quickly types a name into the search bar.

There are dozens of results for ‘Caleb Widogast’: old videos at low resolution, standings from various tournaments, even a few news articles in languages he doesn’t know. He clicks on one of the videos first, indulging himself for a minute or so in grainy clips of a boy with the same red hair - though much shorter - as the man he met today. But there’s something about the experience that’s almost uncomfortably voyeuristic, and he quickly abandons the pursuit in favour of the articles.

The few that are in the common tongue are intriguing, but sparse, and all uniformly disappear after a certain date. By three in the morning, he’s exhausted every dead end, and come to one inevitable conclusion: Caleb Widogast - the junior’s champion, a prodigy, just like Essek - existed for many years, and then he simply didn’t.

After today’s standings, Widogast won’t be moving on in the circuit. The next leg of competition is all that matters. Essek shuts the laptop, tired and frustrated, and resolves to put the conundrum out of his mind.

And, for a time, he succeeds.

2. Pivot.

The next time they meet, a season has passed, and Essek has his fourth championship victory. Riding high off his success and all the accolades that followed, the exhibition rounds before the next circuit are a breath of fresh air - literally.

The warm shores of Nicodranas seem an unusual place to host an ice skating event, but perhaps the international planning committee has tired of all the cold and dreary locales they’re typically forced to frequent - or maybe somebody had a summer home that they wanted to make use of. Either way, it doesn’t quite suit Essek’s constitution, and he begrudges not having a good excuse to wear his typical heavy mantle outdoors, but it is a change of pace.

He’s taken aback when he spies the name ‘Caleb Widogast’ on the day’s program. Countries usually announce their designated entrants for these events months in advance - how is it possible that both he and Mirimm could be caught unawares yet again? But when he asks, this time Mirimm brushes him off entirely, and he’s forced to stew in silence as he waits for the man to appear.

Thankfully, he doesn’t have to wait long. Widogast’s lot falls first in the order, and Essek settles in to watch the short program he missed all those months ago.

Alas, there’s not much to watch. If he thought the man was unpracticed the first time he saw him skate, it’s worse now. These non-qualifier rounds are meant for testing and perfecting choreography before the competition truly begins, and Widogast is obviously still working out the kinks in his routine. The jumps are turbulent, nearly all under-rotated, and even his more melodic passages lack presence or style. Once again, the second half improves on the first, but in a short program - as the name implies - there isn’t much time to make an impression. Essek fully expects to see Widogast’s face fall as soon as he finishes.

But he’s caught off guard as the music reaches its crescendo, then fades, and a raucous cheer rises from somewhere high in the stands. He’s close enough this time to see an embarrassed smile break over Widogast’s lips, and he gives a little wave to whoever made the noise before skating off the ice.

The kiss-and-cry isn’t empty this time either when he arrives. Someone is sitting on the bench, in a tracksuit of blue and grey. They’re too far off to discern any other details, and Essek finds himself rising and descending against his own better judgement, ignoring Mirimm’s pointed look as he makes his way towards the semi-circle of cameras.

Now that he’s closer, he can start to get a sense of Widogast’s companion. Tall, olive-skinned, with close-cropped hair tied up into a top-knot. Despite the baggy clothes she wears, the woman is obviously athletic. Muscles bulge beneath the flimsy fabric as she gives Widogast a hard pat on the back, and he leans in closer to her. She’s younger than him, Essek notes, and not built like a skater - nothing about her is delicate. It’s also unlikely she’s a coach, not at that age. A friend then, or a lover? He’s seen some skaters wait with their husbands or wives, even parents, when their coach isn’t available. It’s certainly a possibility.

He slips away before Widogast’s scores are announced, not wanting to risk discovery by either the man himself or the reporters that circle like sharks around the booth, waiting to snatch an interview from anyone who stops too long. He’ll have to find another excuse to reintroduce himself, somewhere farther from the ring of microphones.

He finds his moment halfway through the roster of performances. It’s a carefully engineered crossing of paths, as he descends to find a glass of water at the same time as Widogast and his companion dip off from the rest of their group, heading in the same direction.

Because, apparently, Widogast does have a group now: a few mismatched individuals clustered in the upper rows, far from the seats reserved for performers. That must have been where the cheer came from. Maybe he’s accumulated a small following between the first event and now.

Essek sidles up beside the pair, walking in lockstep for a few moments before speaking. “I was wondering if I’d see you again.” Widogast pauses, glancing over towards Essek, and puts his hand up to the woman as his eyes widen.

“Caleb, who’s this?” the woman asks, stumbling to a halt just inches shy of Widogast’s back. Her tone is entirely too aggressive for meeting a stranger, and he wonders what about himself provoked that level of suspicion in so short a time.

“Essek Thelyss,” he says, giving a slight bow. “Your friend and I met a few months ago.” Her glare only intensifies, and Widogast puts a hand on her shoulder.

“It’s alright, Beau,” he says, then turns to Essek. “It’s good to see you again. I… understand congratulations are in order?” Essek inclines his head.

“They’re appreciated, but not necessary. I’m happy to focus on what comes next.”

“I understand that completely.” Widogast’s words seem more steady now than they were before, and his posture straighter. Perhaps it has something to do with the woman - Beau - at his side. Some need others to prop them up, when their own courage fails. Essek is not one of those people, but he doesn’t judge those who do too harshly. It’s a difficult world they live in. “I intend to do the same.”

“And how was it, exactly, that you two met, Essek?” Beau crosses her arms, flexing until the muscles ripple beneath a sheen of acrylic blue, and Essek doesn’t miss how she subtly shifts so that she’s placed between the two of them, like a surly tomcat guarding its kill. He still doesn’t know what he’s done to warrant this kind of aggression from her, and he opens his mouth to retort, but Widogast beats him to the pass.

“Beau,” he warns. “This isn’t… it wasn’t him.” She turns her glare to her friend, and Essek watches on, even more perplexed, as a silent conversation ensues beneath the actual words spoken. “And this isn’t the time, or the place.”

Beau hesitates, but seems to find what she was looking for in Widogast’s eyes. It’s her turn to breathe out slowly, as she turns back to Essek. “Sorry, man,” she says. “Didn’t mean to jump down your throat.” She sticks out a hand, and he reluctantly takes it and gives it a light shake. Her grip is incredibly strong, and Essek doesn’t try to match it, aiming instead to take his hand back quickly, before any joints leave their sockets.

“No offence taken,” he says as she releases him. “I should return, anyhow. My turn will come soon.”

Widogast looks for a moment like he might protest, but eventually his mouth snaps shut, and his expression shifts to something between embarrassment and contrition. “It was good to see you again, Herr… Essek.”

The informality of the address takes Essek by surprise - no Empire skater has ever called him anything other than Thelyss - but his mouth quirks up at the edges. He gets the feeling he’s being mollified. He’s more surprised to find that the obvious manipulation is working. “Till next time, Caleb.”

If it’s offered, then he can return the gesture. He couldn’t be blamed, for following Widog- Caleb’s lead. Courteous, but still sufficiently distant. That still lies within the confines of his mandate.

Yes. That is a line he can defend.

And besides, it may not matter much. He’s learned all he needs to know at this point. Caleb’s poor performance at their first competition was not a fluke, thus the man remains an enigma, but not a threat. Essek is happy enough to lay the matter to rest. He has greater concerns to focus his energy on.

...

Herr Essek.

He’s never heard his name spoken before, in an accent like that.

Hmm.

3. Turn.

As for the third event, their paths don’t cross at all. Essek notes the familiar name in the program at the start of the first day, but doesn’t have the time or the inclination to seek him out over the course of the competition. This is, in many ways, the most important tournament of the season, though it isn’t the one that will determine the overall champion. New skaters debut here, and the tone of the whole circuit will be set by the results of this first event. He must perform. Any other distraction is a death sentence.

And of course, with that anxiety mounting, the pain grows worse, as it always does. A flare, the likes of which he hasn’t felt in years, begins to burn steadily by the conclusion of the short programs, and the distraction is so great that even Mirimm notices his discomfort, when he can’t stop himself from squirming in his seat by the fifth hour. It’s undignified, and he hates his own weakness more than that of his body. He has better control than this.

The pain will pass, if he can put it out of his mind.

His performance in the free skate still earns him the top spot of the podium, but it’s a shakier thing than either he or Mirimm are comfortable with. For the first time in almost two years, and after a few very stern words from his coach, Essek concedes to the braces at the end of the second day. The constriction makes his gait awkward, and he waits until he is absolutely certain everyone else has left the building before attempting to sneak out to the street. His car will be waiting for him at the curbside, ready to spirit him away on the double as soon as he emerges. All he needs to do is follow the memorized route.

In this particular arena, the changing rooms are on the same level as the rink itself, and the path to his chosen exit takes him within a breath of the sideboards. He can taste the biting chill on his lips as he walks between walls of fibreglass, rather than concrete.

Essek’s heart nearly stops when he hears the schiff of blades against ice drifting through the wall to his left. Someone is still here, skating.

He will have to walk past at least one opening to the rink before his path is clear. He slows to a more careful pace, lest he be spotted. It’s too late to go back and change out of the braces now, and if he’s recognized, the person would surely wonder about his altered steps, maybe even ask questions, maybe even tell others about what they saw, and…

None of that is acceptable. So he will not allow it to happen.

At the first break in the wall, Essek pauses, then dips his head around the corner. It takes him a few moments to spot the figure on the far side of the darkened ring: a wraith of black and crimson. The shape drifts in and out of sight, obscured by the same wall that hides Essek.

Late as it is, the rink is closed for the night. There should be nobody left here but the cleaning staff, and as always, his curiousity gets the better of him. Essek risks sticking his head out a little farther, trusting the darkness of the hallway to keep him safe for long enough to sneak a glance at whoever has snuck back in.

The only light in the arena falls from a single overhead array, casting a haze of sallow yellow over only half the ice, littered with patches of red from the emergency exit signs. He thinks at first that’s what he’s seeing - the reflection of the emergency lights - but the flashes of red behind the plexiglass are too fast-moving, too unstable to be echoes of something stationary.

He steps closer still, pressing his back to the edge of the wall as the figure glides into the haze once more, curving backwards in a relaxed arc. Strips of red material that line the long sleeves of his black shirt shimmer as he passes through the transition between darkness and light. Essek squints, trying to make out any identifying features, before the skater slips into blackness once more.

He thinks, for a moment, that it almost looks like-

But that can’t be. The movement is too legato, too relaxed. If it really was-

The skater disappears, then emerges again, spinning out into an effortless combination - triple salchow, double toe loop - and sinks into the landing without a flinch or a stumble. His leg comes up as he transitions into a layback spin, the edge of the skate barely grazing the tip of his ponytail as he grasps the skate behind his head. Unmistakable auburn locks, still halfway to escaping from their tie, fan out as he spins, and spins, and-

It is him.

It’s Caleb.

Without thinking, Essek steps closer, mesmerized by the sight. The spin narrows, and his foot comes down to a point as Caleb’s hands rise into the air, held together in a perfect spire. The pace quickens, so fast now that even if there was all the light in the world, Essek wouldn’t have been able to make out his face. The only sound is the whisper of his skate against the ice as the spin resolves, and he glides into darkness again. The tension releases, and Essek realizes he was holding his breath.

This Caleb is nothing at all like the one he’s seen in competition. The transitions he uses, the posture of his arms, the suppleness of his movements are softer, less biting than before - and yes, less powerful, but more graceful in return. It strikes Essek all at once, what the difference is: Caleb is not dancing like an Empire skater. His moves tonight lack the academic precision of any of the other Dwendalians Essek has competed against, whose style he now recognizes in the remembrance of Caleb’s earlier performances. Those routines were an imitation of a philosophy, one that didn’t sit comfortably on Caleb’s shoulders.

Whatever this style is - this bowling, wild, unpredictable dance - it’s something new. Something original.

Caleb reappears into the light. Double toe loop, single toe loop, double salchow, and straight into a quadruple flip, with barely a breath of space between the two. The final jump under-rotates by a mile and Caleb’s hand smacks down onto the ice as he falls out into an erratic spin, only rescued from a total wipeout by a last ditch turn onto the inside edge of his skate. Even so, he skids almost to a halt, and Essek puts a hand to his mouth, caught between horror and admiration.

He could have injured himself there, seriously so. To force a combination like that into the leadup for a quadruple jump... it was a one in a million chance of success, even for someone of Essek’s calibre. He must have known that he would fail, and likely twist an ankle in the effort, if not worse. Why risk it? Is it a strategy for the next competition, banking on difficulty over execution to boost his score?

But it isn’t a routine that Caleb’s practicing. There’s no music, and if there was, Essek can’t imagine what piece would match the sequence of mismatched moves he’s attempting.

No, this isn’t practice for the next event.

This is experimentation.

This is creation.

At last, Caleb glides to a stop at the center of the ice. Chest heaving, he raises his hands and pushes back the bangs from his forehead, hair held in place at last by the sweat of exertion. A panting wheeze becomes a smile, becomes a grin, becomes a laugh, and the sound peals out across the rink, echoing from the farthest corners. Essek feels the same joy swell within his own chest, the same excitement at having done the impossible, even if the effort was imperfect.

He doesn’t fall in love, in that moment. It’s still too soon, for all of that. But something in his heart falls out of place, and into Caleb’s unknowing hands. There’s a force drawing him towards center ice, tethering them together - a connection, when he has not felt connected to anyone, in so very long.

Essek slips away, letting Caleb experience his last moments of giddy triumph in peace. He’s already desperate to see him once more: the real Caleb, not the shadow he’s witnessed in competition. Essek doesn’t know how he’ll manage it, but he will. He is determined not to let this be the last time.

And there has never been anything he’s been determined about, that he did not achieve.

Essek contents himself with that certainty, and only realizes as the car door slides shut at his back, that somewhere in the last hour, his pain disappeared.

#critical role #cr fic #shadowgast #essek thelyss #caleb widogast #my writing

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inevitably-johnlocked · 3 years

Note

Hey Steph, got any good old (maybe new?) bedsharing fics for a fanfic obsessed lurker?

Thanks 😘

Hey Nonny!!

Hahha! I actually just did a list recently of my old ones, but I just double-checked my offline lists and I actually DO have some fics on my next Bed Sharing list, so GUESS WHAT? Your ask is the one to start the next Bed Sharing one, LOL.

As usual, if anyone has any they’d like to add, especially if they’re brand new fics, let us know! <3

BEDSHARING Pt. 5

See also:

The Speckled Blonde / BedSharing

BedSharing Pt. 2 and Insecure Sherlock

Bed Sharing Pt. 3

Bed Sharing Pt. 4

Bed Sharing “Just Happens”

Soft. Happy. Content. by inevitably_johnlocked (G, 223 w., 1 Ch. || Sleepy Cuddles, Bed Sharing, Slice of Life, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Spooning, Morning After, Sherlock POV) – Sherlock reflects on his state of mind.

And When The Night Is Over by Simply Isnt On (K, 329 w., 1 Ch. || Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Platonic Bed Sharing / Not Slash) – Sherlock and John sleep together.

I Knew You Loved Me by inevitably_johnlocked (T, 743 w., 1 Ch. || Morning Cuddles, Fluff, Clingy Sherlock, Idiots in Love, Slice of Life, Morning After, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Declarations of Love, Pet Name, Bed Sharing, Snuggles) – John and Sherlock share a lie-in the morning after their first time. So fluffy and gross your teeth will fall out. Part 4 of I-J's Tumblr Ficlet Collection

Sleep Tonight by Jenn1984 (T, 1,220 w, 1 Ch. || Hurt/Comfort, Bed Sharing, Worried Sherlock, Sick John, Hugs/Cuddles, Touch Neediness) – Fingers begin prying open his jacket looking for a wound and John would really like to swat at them. No, he's not hit anywhere, he's just damn sick.- John Watson has a fever.

Loved. by inevitably_johnlocked (G, 1,231 w., 1 Ch. || First Sherlock POV, Slice of Life, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Nose Kisses, Morning After, Love Confessions, Morning Cuddles, Emotional Sherlock, Sentiment, Bed Sharing) – Sherlock reflects on his relationship with John. Part 5 of I-J's Tumblr Ficlet Collection

Here to Stay by MockJayPhoenix12 (K, 1,574 w., 1 Ch. || Post Reunion, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Headache, Bed Sharing, Care Taker Sherlock, Hand Holding, Fluff) – On Sherlock's first day home, John wakes with a migraine.

The Perfect Place by SilverSmile (K+, 1,955 w., 1 Ch. || Humour, Romance, 5 and Ones, Fluff, Experiments, Bed Sharing) – Sherlock attempts to find the perfect place to sleep, but his little experiment proves to be far more difficult than expected.

Insomnia by TheSingingGirl (K+, 2,635 w., 1 Ch. || Friendship, Humour, Bed Sharing, Sleepy Sherlock) – Sleep is merely the next frontier in what has become the battle to keep Sherlock alive. It's because of this that John ends up in bed with a sociopath.

Human Body Pillow by Lunavere (K, 4,122 w., 1 Ch. || Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Five and Ones, Sleepy Johnlock, Bed Sharing) – A story about the five times John fell asleep on Sherlock, and the one time Sherlock fell asleep on him.

The Myth by AGirloftheSouth (M, 4,329 w., 1 Ch || Sex Toys / Anal Beads, PWP, Romance, Bottom John, Prostate Stimulation) – Sherlock believes something to be a myth. John proves him wrong.

When We Sleep by PrincessNala (K+, 6,660 w., 1 Ch || Post-TGG, Alternating POV, Bed Sharing, Anxious/Worried Sherlock, Hurt/Comfort, Hugs) – Sherlock needed to feel every beat of his heart, every rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. It was the only way to completely assure himself that John was alive and right there next to him, and not dead, no, never dead…

To be loved by Strange_johnlock (E, 12,436 w., 8 Ch. || Post S3, Established Relationship, First Person POV Sherlock, Pet Names, Soft Sherlock, Mild ADHD, Protective John, Captain Watson, Body Appreciation, Bottomlock, Rough Sex, Travelling for Holidays, Introspection, Sherlock Loves John So Much It Hurts) – John is so deeply integrated into the work, both as my conductor of light, and as a great shot with a vicious right hook who tackles men -and women- no matter their size all in my defense. He protects me with all he can without question, and this loyalty is surely more than I deserve. Or: Sherlock is counting his blessings.

There's So Much Labour Just in Breathing Lately by Susan (E, 12,708 w., 1 Ch. || Post-TRF / Mentions of S3 Events, Romance, Angst, Grief/Mourning, Grieving John, Mutual Pining, Meddling Mycroft, Therapy, Ambiguous Hopeful Ending, Infidelity) – The dreams he hated most – the ones that left him a sweating, shaking mess when he woke – were the ones in which Sherlock was just Sherlock. Laughing or drinking tea. Sitting across the table from him at Angelo’s eating pasta. Trailing his open hand behind him on the way to the bedroom. “C’mon, John. I’m about to have my way with you.”

Kintsugi by distantstarlight (E, 14,772 w., 1 Ch. || Post S4, Emotional Hurt / Comfort, Regret / Remorse, Loneliness, Separation, Drug Use, Healing, Protective John, Sad Sherlock, Dev. Rel., Complicated Relationships, Love, Angst With Happy Ending, Sherlock is Called Freak, John’s Penance, Voyeurism, Doctor/Caretaker John, Guilty John, Detox, Fingering, Love Confessions, Cuddling, Slight Non-Con Turns Enthusiastic Consent, Virgin Sherlock) – Sherlock Holmes becomes estranged from the man he had once considered his best friend after John lets him down horribly in public. It seems that the world's only consulting detective will be on his own once again...or will he?

The Burning of the Leaves by blueink3 (M, 15,915 w., 3 Ch. || Post S4, Angst, Reichenbach, Parentlock, Past Jolto, Idiot John, Sherlock’s a Mess, Puppies, Fluff, Possessive / Jealous Sherlock, Pining Sherlock, Sherlock POV, Matchmaker Sholto, Melancholic Feelings, Emotional Sherlock, Domesticity, Love Confessions in the Rain, Kissing in the Rain, Pet Names, Panic Attack) – After the events of series 4, Major Sholto invites John and Sherlock to lunch one day. It nearly proves to be too much for their tenuous relationship as the past haunts the present, putting the future that Sherlock so desperately wants at risk.

A Silver Sixpence by _doodle (NC-17, 16,400 w., 2 Ch. || LJ Fic || For a Case / Case Fic, Fake Relationship, Humour, Romance, Marriage Proposal, Awkward Idiots, Cuddling, Touching, Kissing, Love Confessions, Bed Sharing, Friends to Lovers, Fake Until It’s Not, Schmoop and Fluff, Bottomlock) – “John, we need to get married. It’s for a case, not any romantic notions on my part pertaining to our partnership,” Sherlock said, with brutal honesty, and without even looking up.

Division by MrsNoggin (E, 19,542 w., 11 Ch. || Coffee Shop AU || First Kiss/Time, Fluff, Barista Sherlock, Clingy Sherlock, POV John, John’s Limp, Bed Sharing, Fluff, Sleepy Cuddles, Sensuality, Touching, Virgin Sherlock, Insecure John) – John likes mysteries. And every morning he dips into the local independent coffee bar with his newspaper and ponders another... one Sherlock Holmes.

Out of the Woods by SilentAuror (E, 20,471 w., 1 Ch. || Post S4, Romance, Slow Burn, Flirting, Drunk Sex, Practical Jokes, POV Sherlock, Bottomlock, Possessive John, Pining Sherlock, Frustrated Wanking, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Blow Jobs, First Kiss/Time, Virgin Sherlock, Love Confessions, Soft Sherlock, Dancing, Bum Appreciation, Hanging out with the Yard) – Sherlock is fairly certain that John has taken to flirting with him of late, but can't be entirely certain of it. At least, not until a case takes them into a forest, along with Lestrade's team and something happens that will change everything about their lives...

Insanity in the Middle by DotyTakeThisDown (E, 28,010 w., 8 Ch. || Equestrian Sports AU || Alternate First Meeting, POV John, Pining John, Bottomlock, Clueless Sherlock, First Kiss/Time, Passionate Kisses, Hand Holding, Caught Making Out, Bed Sharing, Spooning, Blow Job) – John is a world-class eventing rider with a gold medal and several four-star wins to his credit, but he's never won at Rolex. Sherlock is an up-and-coming rider taking the sport by storm.

A Home for Us by sussexbound (M, 30,581 w., 12 Ch. || Scars, Bedsharing, Grief, Doctor John, Hurt/Comfort, Post-TRF, Implied/Referenced Torture, Sherlock POV, Pining Sherlock, Suicidal Ideation, Heavy Emotions, Clingy Sherlock, Hallucinations, Disassociation, Emotional Turmoil) – He has been on the road for two years, and he is exhausted. He’s almost accepted that he will never see London (John) again—almost. But then there are nights like tonight, where he is weak, and all he can think of is the warmth of the flat they once shared, the crackle of the fire in the hearth, the teasing smile playing at the corner of John’s lips, the boxes of half-eaten Chinese takeaway balanced precariously in their laps. He aches at the memory of it, at the realisation that it is something he may never experience again.

Anchor Point by trickybonmot (E, 49,856 w., 80 Ch. || Truman Show AU || Psychological Drama, Suspense, Slow Burn, Dark Characters / Fic, Alternating First/Third Person, Protective John, Anxious/Worried Sherlock, Tender Moments, Love Confessions, Hand/Blow Jobs, Cuddling, Jealous John, First Kiss/Time) – The world tunes in nightly for Sherlock, the ultimate in reality TV: Sherlock Holmes, a real person with a legendary name, unknowingly lives out his life in a staged setting contrived by his brother. Things get complicated when a retired army doctor joins the show to play the part of Sherlock's closest friend. This fic borrows its concept from the 1998 film, the Truman Show. However, you don't need to have any knowledge of the movie to enjoy this story.

The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse by SilentAuror (E, 50,635 w., 1 Ch. || Post-S4/S4 Divergence, Case Fic, For a Case / Reverse Fake-Relationship, Conferences, Marriage Equality, Travelling / New York, Pride, Homophobia, Bottomlock, Marriage Proposal, John POV, Sexuality, Love Confessions, Emotional Love Making, Public Hand Jobs, Blow Jobs, Passionate Kissing, Needy/Clingy Sherlock, Virgin Sherlock, Touching / Hand Holding, Bed Sharing, Little Spoon Sherlock, Intense Orgasms) – John and Sherlock go to New York to attend a conference run by the National Defence of Traditional Marriage Coalition in order to investigate the potential bombing of the annual Manhattan Pride parade. As the conference unfolds, John finds himself repulsed by the toxic ideology being presented, which becomes relevent to his own unacknowledged issues and his friendship with Sherlock...

A Goose Quill Dipped in Venom by Polyphony (M, 52,748 w., 16 Ch. || Celebrity John AU || Alternate First Meeting, TV Host John, Supermodel Mary, Character Death, Mystery, Romance, Case Fic, First Kiss/Time, Meddling Mycroft, Drug Abuse, Doctor John, PDA, Deductions, POV Sherlock, Toplock, Sexual Tension, Angry/Rough Sex, Hopeful Ending, Asperger’s Sherlock) – Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective, is called in to a very ordinary although brutal murder. Something is badly out of tune with the whole scenario and Sherlock finds himself becoming more and more obsessed with the crime - and also with the victim.

Isosceles by SilentAuror (E, 56,609 w., 7 Ch. || Post-S4, POV John, Original Male Character / Sherlock Dates Another Man, Love Triangle, Jealous John, Virgin Sherlock, Sexual Coaching, Angst, Romance, Domesticity, Unrequited Feelings, Miscommunication, First Kiss/Time, For a Case, Friends With Benefits, Bottomlock, Love Confessions, Spooning) – After solving a case for a major celebrity, Sherlock gets himself asked out. When John asks, he discovers that Sherlock has no intention of going, at least not until John agrees to coach him through whatever he might need to know for his date...

Lunar Landscapes by J_Baillier (M, 57,046 w., 21 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || S3/TAB Fix-It, Slow Burn Angst, Drama, Hurt/Comfort, Confessions, Drugs, Pain, Medical, Injury, Sherlock Whump, Mental Health Issues, Panic Attacks, Romance, Secrets, Tragedy, Trauma, BAMF John, Doctor!John, Drug Addict Sherlock, Injured Sherlock, Grieving John, Idiots In Love, Protective John, POV John Watson, PTSD Sherlock, Sherlock is a Mess, Medical Realism) – An accident forces John to face the fact that Sherlock's downward spiral had started long before his flight to exile even left the tarmac.

Repairing the Broken Things by BakerTumblings (M, 75,252 w., 15 Ch. || S4 Compliant, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Medical Trauma, Hospitals, Big Brother Mycroft, Misunderstandings, Realizations, Severe Accident, John Whump, Pneumonia, Medical Procedures, Bed Sharing, First Time, Healing, Happy Ending) – "I'm calling today to notify you that there's been an accident."

Just To Hold You Close by sussexbound (E, 70,841 w., 18 Ch. || Alternate First Meeting, Sherlock POV, ASD Sherlock, PTSD John, Demisexual Sherlock, Bisexual John, Cuddling/Snuggling, Platonic Cuddling, Enthusiastic Consent, Bed Sharing, Love Confessions, First Kiss/Time, Sexual Tension, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Cuddle Negotiations, For a Case Until It Isn’t, Hair Petting, Sexual Negotiation, Anxiety, Trust Issues, Slow Burn, Panic Attacks, Frottage, Hand/Blow Jobs, Referenced Self Harm / Abuse / Suicidal Ideation, First Kiss/Time, Anal) – When a woman is murdered and the last person to see her alive is recently invalided army vet turned reluctant (and prickly) professional cuddler, John Watson, Sherlock Holmes is pulled into a world of intimacy and intrigue he never could have imagined. John is a conundrum and mystery: frank yet reserved, tender yet angry, open yet afraid. Sherlock is instantly drawn into his orbit, and begins to feel and desire things he never has before.

Gold Rush by ShirleyCarlton (E, 71,783 w., 17 Ch. || Post S3 / No Mary, Friends to Lovers, Mentions of Past Sexual Abuse, First Kiss, Case Fic, Slow Burn, Alternating POV, Switchlock, Angst with Happy Ending, Marriage Proposal, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Abduction, Anxious/Insecure Sherlock, Miscommunication, Emotional Lovemaking) – John has divorced Mary and pops round to 221B one evening to find Sherlock in the middle of a case. As Sherlock tries to find the identity of a young woman’s stalker, John realises he can no longer deny his feelings for Sherlock – which then, to their befuddlement, turn out to be mutual. Shy kisses and tentative embraces ensue. But will Sherlock be able to cast off a shadow from his past that he thinks might prevent John from wanting to stay?

Thermocline by J_Baillier (M, 83,557 w., 14 Ch. || Scuba Diving AU || Adventure, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Marine Archaeology, Asexual Sherlock, Horny John, Relationship Drama, Technical/Scuba/Wreck Diving, Slow Burn, Underwater / Medical Peril, Doctor John, Hurt Sherlock, Anxious Sherlock, John POV, Protective John, Body Appreciation) – John "Five Oceans" Watson — technical dive instructor, dive accident analyst and weapon of mass seduction — meets recluse professor of maritime archaeology Holmes. As they head out to a remote archipelago off the coast of Guatemala to study and film its shipwrecks for a documentary, will sparks fly or fizzle out?

Kintsukuroi by sussexbound (E, 91,823 w., 20 Ch. || S4 Compliant / Post-TLD, Grief / Mourning, PTSD, Internalized Homophobia, Therapy, Past Abuse, Alcohol Abuse, Nightmares, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Depression, Anxiety, Bed Sharing, Love Confessions, Cuddling, Suicidal Ideation, Masturbation, Minor Character Death, Sexting, Frottage, Inexperienced Sherlock, Rimming / Anal / BJ’s, Emotional Turmoil, Finding Each Other) – “I love you.” Sherlock sees the words hit John with almost physical force. He reels back a little, jaw twitching and eyes filling. “I love you,” he repeats, a little softer, a little more gentle, as earnest as he possibly can. Because they’ve been teetering on the brink of this thing for years, and it had become painfully obvious over the last few months that they were at a tipping point. This had to happen. Now it has. Now they can see where they end up. The tears in John’s eyes spill over, and he wipes at them angrily. “Do you even know what that means?”

The Summer Boy by khorazir (T, 94,706 w., 6 Ch. || Post S3/Post TAB/Alternate S4, Friends to Lovers, Flashbacks, Sussex, Bullying, 1980′s Kid Sherlock, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Inexperienced Sherlock, Grief/Mourning, Pining Sherlock, Background Case Fic) – About half a year after the fateful events at Appledore, Sherlock and John embark on a private case in Sussex. For Sherlock, it’s a journey into his past, bringing up memories both happy and sad that he has locked away for almost thirty years. For John, it means coming to terms with the present – and a potential future with Sherlock. Part 1 of the The Summer Boy series

Northwest Passage by Kryptaria (E, 95,157 w., 27 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Canadian AU || BAMF!John, Canadian John, PTSD, Anal / Oral Sex, Rimming, Emotional Hurt / Comfort, Drug Rehab, Falling in Love, Pining Sherlock, Love Confessions, Sherlock’s Violin, Panic Attacks, Switching, Anxious / Protective Sherlock, Hugs for Comfort, Suicide Mentions, Healing Each Other) – Seven years ago, Captain John Watson of the Canadian Forces Medical Service withdrew from society, seeking a simple, isolated life in the distant northern wilderness of Canada. Though he survives from one day to the next, he doesn't truly live until someone from his dark past calls in a favor and turns his world upside-down with the introduction of Sherlock Holmes." Part 1 of Tales from the Northwest

The Bang and the Clatter by earlgreytea68 (M, 137,049 w., 37 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Baseball AU || Slow Burn / Dev. Rel., Possessive/Obsessive Sherlock, Jealous Sherlock, Mutual Pining, Body Appreciation, Depression, Closeted Sexuality, Family, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Ogling Each Other, Anxious Sherlock, Panic Attack, Drunkenness, Talk of Forever, Big Feelings™) – Sherlock Holmes is a pitcher and John Watson is a catcher. No, no, no, it's a baseball AU. Part 1 of Baseball

Against the Rest of the World by SilentAuror (E, 151,714 w., 20 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Post-TRF, Hiatus Fic, POV First Person Sherlock, Present Tense, First Kiss/Time, Big Brother Mycroft, Escaping from Capture, Soft Sherlock, Toplock, Insecurity, Infidelity, Travelling, Introspection, Pining Sherlock, Depression, Fantasies, Yearning for the Past, PTSD Sherlock, Suicidal Ideation) – Sherlock has been away from London for nine hundred and twelve days and counting, and has no idea what sort of reception to expect when he finally returns.

Proving A Point by elldotsee & J_Baillier (E, 186,270 w., 28 Ch. || Me Before You Fusion || Medical Realism, Insecure John, Depression, Romance, Angst, POV John, Sherlock Whump, Serious Illness, Doctor John, Injury Recovery, Assisted Suicide, Sherlock’s Violin, Awkward Sexual Situations, Alcoholism, Drugs, Idiots in Love, Slow Burn, Body Image, Friends to Lovers, Hurt / Comfort, Pain, Big Brother Mycroft, Intimacy, Anxiety, PTSD, Family Issues, Psychological Trauma, John Whump, Case Fics, Loneliness, Pain) – Invalided home from Afghanistan, running out of funds and convinced that his surgical career is over, John Watson accepts a mysterious job offer to provide care and companionship for a disabled person. Little does he know how much hangs in the balance of his performance as he settles into his new life at Musgrave Court.

#steph replies #johnlock fic recs #my fic recs #bed sharing fics #bedsharing #Anonymous #e-rated fics #longg post

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thecreelhouse · 4 years

Text

Wild Thing

Paring: Steve Harrington x Original Female Character

Prompt: People should do more “meet ugly” and less “meet cute”. For example.

“I broke your nose at a mosh pit” AU

Word count: 3,547

Content warnings: drinking? A tiny mention of blood? Cursing, lots of that.

Author’s note: okay so awhile back I reblogged a huuuuge AU masterlist filled with tinier lists of AUs, and this one was my fave, especially since I’ve been through plenty of pit injuries at shows lol. It’s ridiculous, it’s cheesy, but this was really fun to write!! I’m trying to keep myself active with one shots till an idea for another series comes along, bc I really miss kill the lights already lol. Title is from X’s cover of “Wild Thing”. Anywaaaaay, hope y’all enjoy this one! <3

Chicago’s skyline was always an incredible sight, but seeing it lit up and shimmer among the night sky really brought out the character the city held.

It was a cold, winter night, and somehow Robin convinced Steve to take the trip out west towards the Windy City. It was a weekend, and by some great miracle, they both had off that night and the next day, and Robin was not letting it go to waste. She decided it’d be a night best spent dragging her best friend along to some punk show in the city, some band that Steve had never heard the name of. It’s not like he had plans any better waiting for him back home in Hawkins, so he figured there was no harm in tagging along.

As they got closer to their destination, though, he was second guessing the choice, feeling out of his comfort zone. Steve was once the kind of guy who could at least fake the confidence he didn’t truly hold when he walked into an unfamiliar place, but his present self wasn’t even sure where to dig up the facade anymore.

“You sure you wanna go?” Steve asked, absentmindedly.

“Am I sure I want to go? Where? This show?” Robin asked back, dumbfounded. “I mean, considering we drove a few hours and we’re almost there, yeah, Dingus, I do.”

Steve sighed, feeling dumb for even asking, and feeling even worse for being this uncomfortable over a new situation. It’s not like this sort of event was really his scene. He enjoyed music, but more of whatever came up on the radio, what was a hit at the time, and didn’t pay much more mind to any music beyond that.

“You’d just be sitting at home, doing what? Nothing? End up babysitting?”

“Is it still called babysitting when they’re well into their teenage years?” Steve deflected, and Robin rolled her eyes as she drove on down the highway.

“Live a little, Harrington.” She groaned, exiting off a ramp that led into the city’s grid.

“I’ve done plenty of that, Buckley.” He scoffed back. “Or did you forget the entire mess that happened at Starcourt?”

“I mean you could use a little fun, a little adventure that doesn’t involve evil Russians and other-dimensional monsters.” Robin pointed out, and Steve knew she was right. Nowadays it was just easier to stay close to home, keep things low key, and try as hard as possible to stay as far as possible from trouble.

Getting lost in his thoughts, time didn’t wait up for Steve. Before he realized it, they were in the tiny venue- a sweaty, grimy, smokey basement in the city, under who knows what building. He wasn’t sure how Robin could even enjoy herself in a place like this.

A few shots of cheap vodka burned their way down their throats before Steve finally felt a little bit more comfortable in his own skin. It wasn’t long before Robin ditched him, letting loose in the packed crowd and letting the music dance her away. Steve asked her several times that night who they were even seeing, and still couldn’t remember for the life of him.

Slowly but surely, Steve began nodding his head along to the music, loud and sharp, falling in rhythm to the beats in the air. The nervousness was falling away, and he felt himself having fun for the first time in ages. He had no clue where Robin was, and had no idea what this song was, but he didn’t care anymore.

The band onstage jumped right into a heavier song next, and the crowd began to open up into a wide circle in the middle, confusing Steve. He wasn’t sober enough to grasp onto what was happening before people started moving wildly in the middle of the circle.

A few seconds in, Steve watched Robin go around the circle pit before ending back up by him, laughing as she tried to catch her balance and breath. Even if he was completely lost here, seeing his best friend have the time of her life was enough to put a smile on his face too.

“Having fun yet?” She yelled into his ear over the music, and Steve nodded, bashfully smiling.

“Definitely don’t belong here, but you were right, Buckley. Beats staying at home.” He yelled back, and her grin grew, happy to see her best friend genuinely enjoy himself for once.

Steve spoke directly in her ear again, quieter this time, as the band tuned up for their next song. “So what’s up with everyone running around in a circle? Is this like, the punk version of duck-duck-goose?”

Robin snorted at his words. “Nah, Dingus, that would be a circle pit. This is how people dance at these shows!”

“By playing tag?”

“Or sometimes throwing elbows.” Robin smirked at him, and before he could even question what she meant, the music started up again with the pit opening wider. Sure enough, young punks were throwing their bodies wildly about the center of the room, throwing Steve even deeper into confusion.

Not sure where to look, his eyes bounced rapidly around the people throwing themselves into one another, wondering why the hell anyone would think this was fun, and doesn’t it hurt? Breaking his stream of thought, a girl threw herself into the predominantly male mess of the pit, no fear to be seen. She instantly caught and hooked Steve’s attention.

Sure, this young woman was cute- unconventionally, with her purple mohawk, plaid skirt and ripped fishnets, black Docs, and a denim vest adorned with hand sewn patches and sparkling studs all over- but it was her smile that really hooked Steve in. She threw herself against the crowd, hitting into men twice her size, stumbling a bit, but that didn’t stop the laughter that kept tumbling from her lips. The light from the stage caught her face for a second, and Steve caught a glimpse of her face, sporting heavy eye makeup, and a shiny piercing hanging from the middle of her bottom lip, and his stomach did somersaults at the thought of what it’s like to kiss someone with a piercing like that.

As soon as the thought came, Steve quickly shook it from his mind, trying to focus back in on the music, and go back to enjoying himself. He noticed he lost sight of the girl, and wondered where she slipped to in the jam packed, yet small crowd.

Music blaring on, Steve began to lose himself in the sounds again, enjoying the moment again, when a loud CRACK! echoed out, followed by blinding pain through his head.

It took Steve a moment to realize he was hit, square on in the nose.

“Holy fuck!” He cried out in pain, and Robin grabbed onto his arm, holding her friend from falling over on the ground.

“You got hit good, Harrington. I think you’re bleeding.” Robin casually mentioned, sending Steve into further panic. It didn’t help that the show carried on, with fans still wildly thrashing about in the crowd. Robin pulled him off to the side, towards the dirty, dingy bar.

“Fuck, dude, I am so sorry!” A voice yelled out to him. “Shit, I got you good!”

Steve tilted his head up, disoriented, but still ready to curse out whoever the dick was that cracked his nose. “Maybe if you weren’t such a fucking-“

Eyes fully opened, pushing past the pain, he stopped dead mid sentence, realizing who was in front of him. The girl he was admiring earlier.

“Lay it on me, I’m a big girl, I can handle it.” She smirked, watching his tough exterior attitude fade away. Steve’s jaw hung open, in awe this girl most likely broke his nose, and stunned by how gorgeous she was.

“I- fuck, I’m sorry.”

Robin stifled a laugh, watching Steve stumble over his words a few feet off.

The girl bit her lip, piercing catching between her teeth ever so slightly, and it made Steve’s stomach flip again. “For what? Getting in my way?” She joked, laughing. “It’s totally my fault, man. I’m sorry. I just really lose myself to X’s music, a little too easily.”

Steve felt a smile tug on his lips, admiring the young woman’s confidence in just being herself. He was also grateful she mentioned who was playing, considering he still couldn’t remember up until that point.

“It- It’s cool, they’re really good!”

“It’s your first time seeing them, huh?” The girl laughed, and Robin stepped in, laughing too.

“I dragged him along. Baby’s first real punk show.” Robin teased her best friend, pinching his face, ignoring his eyes rolling.

“No shame, we all have our firsts! Once, I busted my lip open in the pit on someone’s airborne boot, had to get this baby repierced after it healed.” The girl said, almost with a bragging tone, but not enough to be annoying. Almost like she wore it as a badge of honor; a badass story to tell.

“I tried telling Robin this isn’t really my thing.” Steve admitted, sheepishly. The girl shrugged.

“What matters is if you’re having a good time. From before knocking you out, you definitely looked like you were starting to enjoy yourself!” She said, smiling brightly. “Glad I could be a part of your first experience.”

Steve felt his face flush at her words; she noticed him before this all happened? God, he really hoped he hadn’t looked like a tool beforehand.

“Well, I’m honored such an expert like yourself decked me in the face.” He laughed, still cradling his nose, trying to stop the bleeding with bar napkins. With his free hand, he outstretched it to the girl, “I’m Steve, by the way. And this is my best friend, Robin.”

Robin waved at the girl, more interested in how Steve was turning this situation around for himself. The girl smiled at Robin, then back at Steve, even wider, before shaking his hand dramatically.

“Name’s Rosie. It’s nice to meet you!” Rosie winked, still giggling. Steve felt the biggest headache of his life begin to spread, but still couldn’t help grinning back at Rosie. Even with a cracked, bleeding, probably now swollen nose, he felt the happiest and carefree he had felt in months.

“You guys hungry? I could really go for some pizza or somethin’.” Rosie asked, and Robin looked over at Steve to gauge how he felt, to which he shrugged and smiled.

“You have a place in mind?” Steve asked, and Rosie nodded proudly.

“Not to brag, but us Chicago folks got the best pizza around.” Rosie faked a hair flip, brushing the shaved side of her head. Steve laughed at the motion.

Steve and Robin followed Rosie out of the venue, and down the block to a little hole-in-the-wall pizzeria. They sat and ordered, getting to know each other over the extra cheesy deep dish pizza.

“So you’re from Hawkins?” Rosie asked before taking a sip of her cheap beer.

“Mhm, sadly.” Robin said, rolling her eyes.

“All that weird shit, right?” Rosie asked. “It went down before I moved out here, it was the final straw for me.”

Steve choked on a string of cheese at her words. “You lived in Hawkins? How the hell have we never met you?”

Rosie bit her lip, smirking while looking away. Steve knew if she kept doing that, it’d be the death of him.

“You were kind of a real jerk to me in school.” Rosie winced as she admitted. “I actually switched schools because of all the bullying. Not just you, of course. Just... everyone, everyone was so wrapped up in stupid bullshit titles.”

Steve’s heart dropped into his stomach, his face falling into a frown along with it. “Fuck... I had no clue, Rosie. I’m so sorry.”

“No biggie.” She shrugged. “Like I said, not really all you. Everyone was a dick. It was good to move a town over. People were still awful, but definitely not as bad as some of the assholes that were in Hawkins High.”

Steve’s frown only fell deeper. Robin gave him a sad look, feeling for her friend, knowing he had changed so much in the short time they’ve known each other, and that he was nothing like the person that Rosie once knew.

“Why didn’t you say something earlier?” Steve asked, voice quieter now.

“Took me a minute to recognize you two. Made me feel a little better about the punch to the face.” She quietly giggled.

“I deserved that, for sure.”

“Maybe just a little, Harrington.” Rosie teased, sticking her tongue out at him, and his smile began to return. “We’re even now.”

“I had it coming, surprised you didn’t throw that at me in school.” He laughed, not sure if he was joking, but glad it made Rosie laugh in return. For someone who seemed as tough as nails to Steve, her laugh was the softest thing he had ever heard.

“Are you guys driving back tonight? It’s really late, so if you need to crash at my place you’re more than welcome to.” Rosie mentioned, and Robin nodded right away, more exhausted than she expected to be.

“Yes please! Do you know how boring long car rides get with this dingus? He loves snoring when he’s in the passenger seat.” Robin exclaimed, and Rosie laughed, smiling over at Steve. Steve let them poke fun, too tired to quip back. He was perfectly fine with the idea, too, wanting just to lay down and hopefully sleep off this headache.

The three of them headed to Rosie’s house, just a few blocks over. It was a decent sized, old townhouse, shared among several roommates, all who were out for the night. The house wasn’t the neatest, but it had character. Makeshift bookshelves from milk crates held all sorts of things besides books; plants, records, a pair of roller skates, a sewing kit, all scattered among the surfaces.

“Make yourselves at home! There’s plenty of surfaces to crash on.” Rosie offered. “It’s ain’t much, but it’s home.”

Steve took notice of the wide variety of art pieces hung among the walls, all messy with unique styles, clearly from more underground artists. Some cross stitch pieces hung among them, with vulgar phrases such as “Make yourself at home- and go fuck yourself!” Or, “please don’t do coke in the bathroom.”, making Steve smile at how different it was to his parents’ home. It was a breath of fresh air to how neat and tidy their house was.

“We got couches, bean bags, and some futons upstairs in the guest room.” Rosie pointed out, walking further into the living room and kicking her shoes off and across the floor. She dropped her jacket onto a hook on the wall, revealing she just had a tank top underneath. Steve wondered how she wasn’t cold the whole night, before his attention fell elsewhere, onto her tattoos. She wasn’t heavily tattooed, but enough where they were noticeable. They suited her; everything about Rosie’s look reflected her outgoing, unapologetic attitude, and Steve admired that about her.

“I’m outtie like a belly button, y’all,” Robin mumbled, and with that, fell back onto the squishy, well lived in couch, immediately falling asleep. Steve shook his head at his best friend.

“She talks shit on me falling asleep in the car, but this girl can fall asleep anywhere.” He laughed, and Rosie joined in with her soft giggles.

“C’mon, there’s more places upstairs.” She said, and began heading up the creaky, wooden stairs. Steve trailed behind her, feeling exhaustion hit him further.

Rosie opened a door, flipping a switch on. Band and movie posters covered the walls, and a plain futon laid in the room, blankets piled all across it. “Make yourself cozy, alright? If you need anything, don’t be afraid to give me a holler.”

Steve nodded, bummed to be ending the night with Rosie so soon. He felt like it all went by so quickly, even with the pounding headache.

“Yeah, thanks again, Rosie. We owe you.” He said, smiling at her. She returned a grin, before turning down the hall and heading into her room, closing the door gently behind her.

Steve couldn’t sleep, and at first, he was sure it was due to the headache. An hour passed, and he realized it wasn’t that. Well. Okay. It was, but it was more importantly his guilt still keeping him awake. Rosie said it was fine, it was in the past, but it didn’t mean he didn’t have a hard time forgiving himself. Steve couldn’t even remember if he ever said or had done anything specifically to her, and it made him feel even worse.

Tossing and turning, he couldn’t find sleep, no matter how far he reached for it. Frustrated, he rolled out of the blankets, and padded down the hall to Rosie’s room. The door was covered in more band posters, sketches, and caution tape. He hesitated for a moment before mustering up the courage to knock. Before his fist could tap the wood, the door swung open.

“You can’t sleep either, huh?” Rosie said as she appeared in the doorway, startling Steve slightly. Rosie was in drowning in an oversized band hoodie of some sort, and not much else, causing Steve to choke on air a bit. He blushed, looking away while trying to compose himself.

“Ye- yeah.” He stuttered, before taking a deep breath. “Look, Rosie, I’m sorry- I was a real fucking jerk back then, and I’m sorry I ever hurt you. I feel like a dick, I can’t even remember what I’ve said or done-“

“Steve, it’s fine. It’s all good.” Rosie said softly, resting her hand on his arm, and it stopped his rambling. “We’re even now, remember?”

“I deserve more than this,” He pointed to his swollen nose. “Trust me.”

“You’re making up for lost time now, though. Never woulda’ thought you would be friends with Robin Buckley back then, but you guys are two peas in a pod now!” Rosie said, smiling, trying to lighten things.

“I’m grateful she even gave me a real chance at friendship. I’m grateful you don’t hate my guts, either.” Steve mumbled, still too nervous to look Rosie in the eyes.

“Can I be real, Harrington?” She asked before continuing, and only doing so when his eyes finally met hers. “I was a real sucker for ya’ back then, even when you were a dick.”

Steve’s jaw dropped. “No way, you’re kidding.”

Rosie bit her lip, biting down just where her lip ring caught, and fuck there it goes again, driving Steve mad. “Yes way, you were a jerk but still cute, even if you weren’t my type.”

Steve felt his confidence come back, just a smidge. “Am I your type now?”

Rosie hummed, tapping her finger on her chin, pretending to contemplate. “I dunno, man. Maybe. Doesn’t it scare you that a girl is tougher in a pit than you?”

Steve’s eyes grew wide as he shook his head, exhaustion taking over his filter. “No, no way, that was really fucking hot. Fuck, sorry. Not, like, you know-“

“Shut up, Steve.” Rosie interjected before pushing her lips onto his, and oh god, his thoughts wondering how it felt to kiss someone with a lip ring was everything he imagined and more. His stomach did flips, one right after another. Rosie’s lips were soft, and the cool metal of her lip ring sent small shivers up his spine. He leaned in closer, gently pushing her back into his room, throwing his arms around her as he closed the door with his foot, without breaking the kiss.

Hands roamed bodies, soft moans floated through the air, and clothing was thrown around the floor like confetti. Rosie pulled Steve to her bed, flipping over to be on top, throwing Steve off a bit. He wasn’t used to girls taking this much control with him, but he kind of liked it.

Time had passed faster than Steve had wanted, and before he knew it, they were laying next to each other in Rosie’s bed, each trying to catch their breath.

Rosie snuggled closer to Steve, feeling content and humming softly. Steve pulled her closer, kissing her forehead.

“Never thought in a million years you’d give me the time of day.” Rosie whispered.

“Never thought you’d have even been nice to me after being a dick to you back then.” Steve replied, now gently running his hands across the shaved sides of her head, enjoying the feeling. “Is it alright to say I don’t want this to just be a one night thing?”

Rosie rolled over, straddling Steve and smirking down at him. Her hands gently traveled up to his face, just barely touching where the skin was now bruising.

“Only if you let me teach you how to run the pits.” Rosie cracked, and began to giggle, causing Steve to laugh and roll his eyes before he pulled her face down to his, kissing her again.

Never in a million years would he imagine another face injury would lead to something good for once, and he wouldn’t change it for a damn thing.

#steve harrington x oc #steve harrington x ofc #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fanfic #stranger things x oc #stranger things x ofc #stranger things x you #stranger things x reader #stranger things au #steve harrington au #meet ugly au #my fics #wild thing

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shireness-says · 5 years

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Ear-resistible

Summary: Emma may be out the night before Easter as a favor to Mary Margaret, but she didn't expect to see Killian Jones in the center of town. After midnight. In a rabbit suit. Rated T for language. ~2.5K. Also on Ao3.

A/N: Happy Easter to those who celebrate it! Yes, this is going up a little early, but I’ll be busy tomorrow and the events of the fic happen the night before anyways. It’s a good enough excuse. Loosely based on an episode of the mid-90s BBC comedy “The Vicar of Dibley”, which I watched an inexplicable amount of as a kid for someone born after it premiered in the United States. It’s still funny.

Thanks to @snidgetsafan for her beta-ing and half the puns. She’s the best.

Enjoy, and let me know what you think!

Storybrooke, Maine has always been a little too good to be true.

After all, there isn’t really a place with an annual candle-based festival, or one where an entire town takes a lonely orphan girl under their collective wing, or one with a massive town-wide Easter egg hunt. It’s absurd. That place can’t exist.

And yet, somehow, Storybrooke does.

Emma Swan even knows the person who dresses as the Easter Bunny every year (because that’s exactly the kind of town Storybrooke is) - a lovely young lady named Mary Margaret Nolan, local fifth grade teacher and daughter of the late Leo Blanchard, the former mayor who’d originated this tradition in the first place. Mary Margaret continuing her father’s legacy, rabbit costume and all, is the least shocking of all of this - something about continuity and family tradition and other sentiments that belong in a friggin’ Hallmark movie. After all, this is Storybrooke, the only town in the world where all of this seems natural.

Mary Margaret Nolan also happens to be Emma Swan’s best friend, which is how she gets pulled into this whole mess in the first place.

“I don’t know what happened, but I’ve caught some sort of stomach bug,” she’d explained to Emma over the phone. She’d certainly sounded miserable, her voice echoing around the bathroom where undoubtedly she’d still been camped. That’s probably why Emma had agreed when Mary Margaret had begged Emma to do her a huge favor.

Unfortunately, that favor had been to dress up as the goddamn Easter Bunny to hide eggs around town.

(Personally, Emma thinks insisting she wear a costume is stupid, but Mary Margaret had been insistent.

“What if one of the kids sees you?” she’d asked, like there’d actually be school kids peeking out their windows at half past midnight. Lucky for Mary Margaret, one of the few guilt trips that still works on Emma is the prospect of disappointed kids.)

She feels ridiculous, honestly. Blatantly ridiculous. If Mary Margaret has a bug, there’s no way Emma is putting on her rabbit suit, so Emma had taken things into her own hands. Rabbit footie pajamas complete with fluffy tail and some ears on a headband is close enough, right? Especially since she’s painted whiskers and teeth on her face? Mary Margaret’s very fancy and expensive rabbit suit doubtless wouldn’t have fit anyways, since Emma is a good several inches taller. Hey, if she has to do this insane thing, at least she’s going to be comfortable.

Hiding eggs is kinda fun, Emma has to admit. It’s a bit of fun she never really got as a kid, only seeing it on TV and wishing she could do that too. She’d already been 15 by the time the Nolans had taken her in, eventually for good, and Emma had already been too old and full of teenage attitude to take part in the hunt herself, even if the residents of Storybrooke - who adopted her nearly as much as Ruth and Robert and David had - doubtless would have cheered her on if she had. It’s fun, finding clever little places to stash eggs for the older kids and easier spots that will make the littler ones feel clever, all the while hearing the rattle of coins and candy inside the plastic.

Sure, there’s a few eggs in spots Emma doesn’t remember leaving anything, but it’s half past midnight. It’s easy enough to write that off as tiredness and simple forgetfulness. Since the eggs are fake, Emma doesn’t need to keep a map of where she hides things for later. She’s the only one out doing this, anyways, and the eggs don’t look like they’ve been left outside for a year; there’s no reason to think she’s not the one who hid them.

That makes it all the more shocking to look across the town square and see another figure in full rabbit costume with a wagon full of eggs.

“What the…” she mutters, squinting as if it could somehow make the sight make sense.

Meanwhile, the other rabbit takes off their head piece - one of those massive mascot-type deals. “Swan?” they call in an accented male voice, before moving closer into her clear line of sight.

Oh shit. She knows exactly who it is: Killian Jones, local bartender and object of her lust (and possible love). And the last person Emma wants to see facing her in a rabbit suit.

Emma not wanting to see Jones has nothing to do with her own feelings; she’s willing to admit, at least to herself, that she likes Jones one hell of a lot, likes his smile and his sense of humor and that delicious accent that sends shivers chasing down her spine, even if all three are usually directed at other people. There’s been an attraction, at least on her part, ever since he moved to Storybrooke almost two and a half years ago now. No, the problem is that Jones doesn’t like her, and Emma can’t figure out why.

She’d thought it was some kind of jealousy at first, what with the way she catches him glaring whenever she interacts with other men in the bar, but it’s more than that. If she leans over the bar to try and talk to him over the noise, he groans. If they see each other in public, he offers only the briefest pleasantries before heading in the opposite direction as quickly as possible. Honestly, he seems disdainful of everything about her. The heart wants what the heart wants, though, and Emma’s never been able to quash her attraction to Killian Jones, God help her.

“What are you doing here, lass?” he asks as he approaches until he’s close enough for Emma to reach out and touch his mascot suit if she wanted too. Did Storybrooke High change its team from the Knights to the… Demon Rabbits or something? She doesn’t follow high school sports close enough to remember; all she knows is that the enormous rabbit head under Killian’s arm is freaking her out with its dead eyes and cartoonish teeth.

“What do you think I’m doing out here?” Emma shoots back, probably harsher than is needed in the situation. Maybe this is why she’s still single. “I’m hiding Easter eggs. Jesus Christ, where did you get that awful costume?”

“No,” he replies slowly, gesturing towards his ridiculous wagon. “I’m the one hiding Easter eggs. And technically, Swan, it’s already Easter, it seems pretty bold to be taking the Lord’s name in vain on Easter. But, for the record, Belle lent it to me from the drama department. The high school put on a production of Harvey last year, don’t you remember?”

“Shut up,” she mumbles. The know-it-all attitude definitely isn’t helping any of this… even if Emma hadn’t remembered that play. Musical? Whatever. “Okay, well, I don’t know why you’d be hiding eggs still, because Mary Margaret asked me to take over since she’s sick.” Emma’s getting a bit defensive about this, but she can’t actually bring herself to care.

“And David asked me for the same reason. I don’t know why you’re arguing with me about this, Swan.”

“Because you’re not supposed to be here!” she all but explodes, before reigning her emotions back in. It’s just a weird misunderstanding; there’s no reason to get mad at Killian for something that’s not his fault. Probably. “Look, just… I don’t want to be in your way, just as much as you don’t want me in your way, so you take the North end and I’ll hide stuff on the South end. Everything gets covered and you won’t have to deal with me. Fine by you?”

“That seems a bit harsh,” Killian mumbles back. Notably, he doesn’t answer her question, which Emma tries not to be pissed about. God, this man some days.

“What, the divide and conquer plan? Not sure what you’d find harsh about that.”

“No, the part where you seem to think I’m bothered by you.”

“Look, you don’t have to pretend, Killian. I know you don’t like me, and it’s fine, I’m a big girl, we’ll just stay out of each other’s hair —”

“What makes you think I don’t like you?” To his credit, Killian does look genuinely confused. That almost pisses Emma off more - this who, me? act that he’s apparently decided to put on.

“Oh please. I’d have to be blind not to see the glares and hear the groans and whatever. I’m not an idiot, I can put two and two together.”

“It’s not what you think,” Killian argues - weakly, in Emma’s opinion - turning red to his very ears.

“You go out of your way to avoid me,” she deadpans.

“Yeah, but it’s not because I don’t like you, it’s because…” Killian trails off for a moment, before muttering something unintelligible.

“I didn’t understand a single word of that,” Emma comments dryly, crossing her arms. “Try again.”

Killian sighs heavily. “Look, I really like you, alright?”

“No you don’t.” It’s a stupid thing to say, considering that he literally just told her so (and turned adorably red doing it), but it’s Emma’s knee-jerk reaction. There’s no way, right?

He scratches behind his ear - a sign Emma’s learned means he’s uncomfortable or embarrassed. Could he actually be serious? “Aye, I really do. Veering rather alarmingly towards the territory of “smitten”, if I’m quite honest.”

“But you’re always so... disapproving,” she tries to reason. “If you like me so much, why all the glaring and the groaning?”

“When do I groan?”

“Usually when I’m leaning against the bar, though I can probably come up with other examples.”

Killian laughs. It’s very much unexpected. “You’d groan too, Swan, if a lady you fancied had a habit of leaning down right in front of you and perfectly displaying all her lovely undergarments. I’m just a man, love, and that lacy black number does things to me.”

Oh. Oh. Well, she supposes that makes enough sense. Still… “Well, what about everything else? You go out of your way to avoid me, don’t pretend you don’t.”

He sighs again, a frustrated sound this time. Maybe a little sad too. “I know it doesn’t make much sense. And believe me, it wasn’t at all for lack of want. But you’re my best friend’s little sister,” he shrugs. “David can be protective, not that I blame him. I’m sure I’d be the same if I had a younger sister. But the fact remains that I’m not too keen on him cutting my balls off over this, especially since it’s so one-sided.”

That gives Emma pause for a moment. “Wait, one-sided?” she demands. “Is that what you think this is?”

“Aye,” he says, hanging his head. Rejection tinges his tone - needlessly, really, but he’s not picking up one her cues in the least. “Which is fine, Swan, I’m a grown lad and my feelings are my own. I’m not asking… that is, I’d never assume you felt the same, and nothing needs to change —”

“Whoa, hold on, that’s not —” Emma cuts herself off to collect her own thoughts, running her hands along her scalp in an anxious gesture. It’s been an absolute 180 in the past few minutes where her perception of their relationship is concerned, and she feels the need to take a few moments to try and recenter herself, collect her bearings. “Fuck,” she grumbles, “this is not how I imagined this going at all.”

“How you imagined what, love?” Confusion still colors his face; that just won’t do. She’s making a total hash of this - though she’d argue that that’s kind of on him as well - but maybe there’s still a way to redeem it. It’s about the destination, not the journey, right?

(She’s pretty sure that’s not how the saying goes, but she also doesn’t care anymore.)

So she kisses him, reaches across and hauls Killian down to meet her mouth by the front of the ridiculous vest his stupid rabbit costume is wearing. It’s the only redeeming factor of the whole thing, allowing her some form of leverage.

The kiss isn’t a gentle thing. Somehow, in her mind, Emma always imagined sweeping instrumentals as her and Killian’s lips brushed, hands stealing tentatively into hair and across cheeks. This is… not that. There’s a lot of tongue and a bit of teeth (mostly on her part) and honestly, the word she’s looking for to describe this is probably closest to devour. After waiting so goddamn long there just doesn’t seem to be a point in taking it slow; instead, she’d rather try to make up for every missed second, all at once. Not that Killian seems opposed to it. Rather, he seems determined to pull Emma as close as humanly possible, like if she��s just plastered tight enough to his front he can feel her through his ridiculous bulky rabbit suit.

Eventually, the franticness starts to settle into something easier, tongues giving way to lips, nipping giving way to sucking. They’ve finally perfected the angle too, noses just barely brushing as their mouths meet. Emma’s hands have settled on his chest, faux-furred as it is, and Killian’s have begun to creep down from her hips towards her ass. After his talk about being tormented by the sightline down her shirt, Emma would have figured he was a boob man, but hey, she’s not opposed to this development either…

Until he reaches the stupid fluffball on the seat of her pants and pulls.

Emma jerks back at that. “Did you just tweak my tail?” she demands, staring at him incredulously.

“Couldn’t help myself, love,” he teases, dropping a little kiss on her nose. “You make a bloody cute Easter Bunny.”

“Oh my God, file that under ‘things I never want to hear again’,” Emma groans, but she’s smiling too. It’s hard not to, now that she gets to enjoy his playful side. “C’mon, we’ve got to finish hiding these eggs… but maybe you can come back to my burrow afterwards.” She even throws in a wink for good measure, now that there’s no reason they can’t have a little fun.

“I’m holding you to that, love,” he says, crossing back to his wagon as Emma collects her own fabric grocery sack full of eggs. Once they’re both collected again, his terrifying rabbit head perched in the wagon’s bucket, Killian offers his free pawto her. “Shall we?”

“Yeah, alright.”

They’ve barely started walking again before the realization hits Emma, making her groan.

“What is it, love?” Killian asks, his voice full of concern.

“Nothing to worry about, not really,” she quickly clarified. “I just realized… if this is Mary Margaret and David’s idea of a set up, I’m going to kill them.”

Killian laughs uproariously at that, slinging an arm around her shoulders. “Ah, well, all’s well that ends well, right?”

(As it turns out, no one really believes Mary Margaret when she tries to claim that this is exactly what she had planned all along. Distraction induced by morning sickness is much more believable, after all, than setting up two people to fall in love as the Easter Bunnies.)

(Emma and Killian are a little too busy doing some other things like rabbits to care too much.)

#cs ff #captain swan #captain swan fanfiction #my writing #Ear-resistable #holiday fic #Easter #happy Sunday everyone

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cksmart-world · 4 years

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The completely unnecessary news analysis

by Christopher Smart

February 2, 2020

WHY REPUBLICANS NIXED WITNESSES

1 - He did it, but it's not an impeachable offense.

2 - He did it, but let the voters decide in November.

3 – This is a hoax lynching, so F-off.

4 - The House didn't have any first-hand witnesses, so it's Nancy Pelosi's fault.

5 - Jon Bolton is a disgruntled, rabid, angry man who had a bad childhood.

6 - We can't waste time on this, because if we do, we can't waste time on other stuff.

7 - The whistle blower is a subversive communist who must be unmasked and hanged, or at least given a pantsing by Rand Paul.

8 - He did it, but if I vote for witnesses, I'll be disinvited from CPAC and be reduced to drinking milkshakes with Mitt Romney in the cloakroom — I could even wind up with my head on a pike.

9 - He did it, but if we call witnesses, Americans will get an up-close account of how to run a criminal enterprise from the White House and that would hurt our democracy.

10 - He did it, but Congress has given up its constitutional mandate to check the power of the president. Long live Trump.

DUCK AND COVER, LEGISLATURE IN SESSION

The staff here at Smart Bomb has loaded up on emergency supplies: water, trail mix, flashlights and toilet paper — everything needed to survive a cataclysm. That's right, the Utah Legislature is in session. One of the slimiest and oft-used ploys on Capital Hill is something called a “boxcar.” That's when a legislator puts up a bill that is blank. Cagey lawmakers then wait until the last minute confusion of the session to sneak in language out of the Old Testament and have it voted through before anyone can say, lights out. But the staff here at Smart Bomb has cleverly embedded moles in the Republican caucus to get the skinny. One boxcar would amend Utah liquor law to mandate that fine wine be served in beer mugs. This would dissuade people from drinking wine. A companion boxcar would mandate that beer be served only in champaign flutes. Imagine that at the Twilight Lounge. Another boxcar would force pregnant women to watch a fetus grilled on the spit of a Weber Barbecue before seeking an abortion. This is when some new residents call back the Mayflower Movers. Our intel has it that another one would require everyone over 18 to carry a firearm. The legislation is labeled, “The Safe Utah Law.” Wilson and the band have loaded up on California bud and Pabst Blue Ribbon — it's going to be a long, strange haul to March 14.

CALIFORNIA DREAMIN' IN FINALND

The American Dream is a lot easier to achieve in Finland. So says Sanna Marin, the Finnish prime minister. “We have a very good education system. We have a good health-care and social welfare system that allows anybody to become anything.” These are probably some of the reasons Finland gets ranked the happiest country in the world.” The United States is ranked 17th. Nordic countries are at the top of the World Economic Forum’s “Social Mobility Index,” that evaluates how citizens from all walks of life fare in health, educational achievement and income. The United States ranks No. 27. Don't tell that to Donald Trump (not that you could). But that's not all. In Finland health care is free — for everyone. The Finn's spend about $4,000 per person per year. The U.S. health-care system, by contrast, spends more than $10,000 per person per year. And no surprise, Finns are healthier. Finland also has one of the lowest poverty rates in the world — 6.3 percent compared to 11.8 percent in the U.S. All of that may be true, but the Finns don't have the Super Bowl and pelvis-grinding half-time shows. So put that in your kalakukko and smoke it.

SUPER SUNDAY IS AS AMERICAN AS GUACAMOLE

The nation's big celebration is in the books for another year and many people actually know who won the game. By Easter, few will remember the come-from-behind spectacle of Patrick Mahomes and the Kansas City Chiefs. But, hey, the important thing is that Americans all got together in front of a TV and didn't talk politics. We were united by chicken wings and guacamole. Americans ate 1.38 Billion (with a 'B') chicken wings, according to Food & Drink magazine. (We did not make this up.) But that's not all. Americans devoured an estimated 153 Million pounds of avocados for guacamole on Super Sunday, along with 14,500 tons of chips. To wash it all down, we drank an estimated 162 million gallons of beer. On average, each American consumed 2,400 calories. Football, of course, is a dangerous sport — for spectators: Since 2013, avocado accidents (removing the pit with a knife) have accounted for 27,059 trips to the emergency room — the majority of which occurred on Super Sunday. There is no reliable data on hangovers, but a potentially record number of people took Monday off. It's the god's honest truth.

Post Script — There it is, another historic week here at Smart Bomb. And when we say historic, we aren't just whistling “Dixie.” This will go down as the time when unabashed Republican senators tied themselves up in integrity pretzels that even they found embarrassing. Can't you just see Lindsey Graham years from now in his rocking chair gazing out at yesteryear: “The Devil made me do it.” Right. Closer to the present, Michael Bloomberg has drawn first blood in our never-ending presidential campaign: “Trump is a pathological liar who lies about everything: his fake hair, his obesity, and his spray-on tan.” Ouch. That hit the Insulter-In-Chief right where he lives. And speaking of Trumpness, Brian Wilson has called for a boycott of The Beach Boys over their upcoming engagement at a trophy-hunting event featuring Donald Trump Jr. Mike Love is the only remaining member of the '60s California band, who sang about surfing, cars, girls and big-game safaris. WTF. The original quintet (The Wilson brothers, Brian Dennis and Carl and their cousin, Al Jardine) wouldn't be caught dead posing with a leopard carcass. “Help me Rhonda, help me Rhonda now, shoot that big ol' rhinoceros...” Yecht. There ought to be a law. But what are you going to do?

OK, Wilson, wake up the band and take us out with a little feel-good for Punxsutawney Phil's early spring: Well, she got her daddy's car / And she cruised to the hamburger stand, now / Seems she forgot all about the library / Like she told her old man, now / And with the radio blasting / Goes cruising just as fast as she can now / And she'll have fun, fun, fun till her daddy takes the T-bird away...

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singulardivinity-blog · 5 years

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Enchanted pt 1

Prompt 1 (uploaded 02.06.19)

Characters: Witch!Y/N, Physician!Namjoon, Herbalist!Seokjin, Knight!Jungkook, Knight!Hoseok, King!Taehyung, Servant!Jimin, King’s Adviser!Yoongi. Paring: Taehyung x Y/N Genre: Fantasy, Romance Words: 1.8k Warnings: None Parts: [1] /

-> The Kingdom of Malith falls to the witches and King Si-hyuk of Eondan is killed. A new king is crowned and smugglers make their way into the kingdom, leaving Y/N with little options. She meets with her childhood friend Seokjin and royal physician Namjoon who offers her a job at the palace.

Part one: I ran through the forest, gasping as I struggled to breathe, the soft sound of hooves hitting the mossy floor chasing me as I went. Entering a clearing, I staggered realising I was trapped, ensnared in the familiar path back to my burning camp. Smoke curled in waves off the forest floor, the ruins of my community and our peace blackened in smog. This community had held my youth, the safety and love of my peers, and admittedly as of recent, the demise of a kingdom.

Our people were a generous and peaceful group, yet anger had brewed until we were oppressed into fighting. I had not taken part in that historic event, although held dear the story of my mothers and fathers struggle at revolution.

And here I was again. Nearly a decade after I had ran from the fear and grief of losing the two I loved above all else. I was back, watching the rest of my life demolish.

Only this time, I was stronger and I understood my power. Nothing could weaken me, and there was nothing left to take from me.

The horses and riders upon them, halted as they circled me, seemingly giving me no escape. What could they possibly want from me? There was nothing left they could take from me, nothing to blackmail me with as they tortured me for the whereabouts of my kin.

“You have nowhere to go now, sweetheart,” the thug crooned, smiling viscously as if I were an animal caught for sport.

I spun, glancing at each of the riders and wondered briefly if they each had their own families, friends, or if they knew what it felt like to lose a partner.

“Unfortunately for you I’m afraid,” I smirked to their leader, “I have more than one trick up my sleeve.”

The uneasy glances surrounding me made me smirk. They knew what I was.

Back turned to their leader, I smiled sadly as I heard him scream, “Seize her!” I knew what I had to do in exchange for my freedom.

A single tear slid down my cheek as my closed eyes flared golden. “You’ll never catch me.” with the twitch of an eyebrow the men and creatures ignited, shattering as flames licked at their skin. I sprinted, escaping their screams as shrapnel flew from my explosions, and freed myself of their torment.

There was only one place I could go now. The only place where safety and trust was ensured; in the small cottage of my childhood best friend. Seokjin and I had known each other since before either of us understood the meanings of power and law. We had grown up vivaciously; I danced among flowers while he discovered new herbs and undergrowth, and he watched avidly as I perfected my craft and learnt new spells. We understood each other’s passions and we became each other’s closest friends. A few years older than me and the most promising of his siblings, Seokjin was expected to find work while I was still going through the early awkwardness of puberty. He became apprenticed as an amateur herbalist, a royal physician offering him a chance to pursue his dreams professionally, and my heart ached as I watched him leave.

We never grew apart completely, but seeing each other became difficult due to his growing responsibility, and my need to keep myself hidden. He was affiliated with the castle, and I could not risk that kind of exposure.

Reaching the edge of the forest, I spotted the small wooden cottage. Its quaint familiarity made me smile and I quickly noticed the two figures pottering around the garden. I watched as they spoke, laughing at something Seokjin was holding, and I longed to be in that second man’s place. Those bittersweet emotions clutched at me again, and I couldn’t help but wish he had never left. Seokjin had barely changed, gangly limbs and boyish aura, although he now stood tall and confident, any suggestion of the worry or anxiety that used to trace his face was gone and his smile content.

Approaching the men, Seokjin’s smile grew impossibly wider as he recognised my short figure and unusual clothing immediately. He rushed over and pulled me against him, exclaiming in his rich teasing voice, “It’s been long enough for heaven’s sake, I had started to think you gone and died on me!” He was joking, although concern laced his voice at seeing my exhausted form, my attire having ripped while I was running and my hair oily from my less than frequent washes. “I was wondering when you’d come back to me.” Mockingly patting his chest, I laughed. “Yeah, yeah. I missed you too.” As we pulled away the other man stood forward, extending an arm. I recognised him immediately from the countless times Seokjin had gushed about the attractive and intelligent physician. “It’s a pleasure to meet you Y/N.” “Namjoon?” I tried and he smiled broadly taking his hand. He was a handsome man, brownish hair and tanned skin, and he held such a poised persona that I was surprised when he blushed self-consciously. “I’ve been told so much about you over the years and to be honest, I was wondering when we would finally meet.” He glanced teasingly at Seokjin who had brought me back into a hug. “I missed you so much,” He paused. “There is so much we need to talk about.”

Seokjin led me inside and I marvelled at the beauty of his house. Rows of shelves packed with books and jars filled with dried flowers, an ornate fireplace sitting the corner and I realised that Seokjin had become significantly wealthier than when he’d left home.

He sat down before me as Namjoon left excitedly, babbling about some herbal tea Seokjin had taught him how to make. I could tell Seokjin was trying to tell me something, internally conflicted about how he should word what he wanted to say. “You and Namjoon have a beautiful house, Seokjin.” I smiled and his tense form visibly relaxed. “How did you know?” He laughed and I shrugged, “I guess I just had a feeling. Besides you look absolutely smitten.” Namjoon came back in the room with our tea cheerily and sat down next to Seokjin. “I probably don’t need to ask you not to tell anyone, do I?” Seokjin implored and I faked a gasp. “Jin, as if you’d even need to ask me! I would never dream about telling anyone.” The couple beamed at each other and I couldn’t help but join them, knowing my best friend had found his muse.

The mood softened as Seokjin sighed, “I don’t know what to say, Y/N, where to start. So much has happened.”

“After the fall of Malith to the witches, and then the overthrowing of the witches, Eondan was thrown into chaos. Our trading routes have become non-existent and King Taehyung doubled the amount of soldiers on standby in case of an attack. Families have been closing down their stores because they either can’t get supplies, or can’t sell what they have.” He looked disgruntled, disturbed by what he was to say next, and I noticed that Namjoon had begun holding his hand, adorned with a beautiful woven metal ring identical to the one on Seokjin’s fourth finger.

“Namjoon has had to stop attending to people. He doesn’t have any medications left and it’s too dangerous for me to risk going into the forest to get herbs. I’m sure you’ve seen the smugglers?” I nodded solemnly, recounting the run in that had bought me to Seokjin in the first place.

“They’re trafficking anyone of worth; anyone they can get money off in Azkater, whether by profession or simply beauty, as a way of earning enough income to feed themselves.”

I recalled the stories I’d been told of Azkater as a child. It was a corrupt nation where criminals would go if they found no other kingdom that would accept them. It ran off greed, money and hatred, and allied with no one unless they proved beneficial. I had only been there once briefly and what I saw was enough to keep me away forever.

“Wait Jin. What do you mean King Taehyung?”

“King Si-hyuk was in Malith when it was attacked. He’s dead. Prince Taehyung brought him here after he was hit in the chest but he died while Namjoon was attending him. Taehyung was crowned king.”

“But surely Taehyung must only be the same age us? He’s barely an adult how could be expected to run a kingdom?”

“There were no other successors. King Taehyung is the oldest of his family, it’s what has been expected of him since he was born. Although clearly they didn’t prepare him very well, he hasn’t been very good at his job.”

“Oh Seokjin,” Namjoon tutted, “He’s grieving. He watched his father die, have sympathy.”

“And while he gets to sit on his throne crying in his silk cloak and holding his silver spoon, his kingdom is falling apart!” Jin paused embarrassedly,

“I’m sorry Y/N, I shouldn’t be speaking so ill of our king, I’m frustrated is all. Joon tells of what happens inside the castle and out, and we’ve just been through so much recently. It just all seems so unfair-.”

“I understand. I’m so sorry I wasn’t here for you, Seokjin. If I had known, maybe I could’ve done something, could’ve helped? I was so selfish to stay hidden while all of this was happening.”

“It’s not your fault, Y/N, how could you have foreseen this? Your community did this, not you.”

Your community. Not ours. How could he say that when he grew up alongside the same laws as ours, the same peace? I felt disgusted that we had become so torn apart that he didn’t recognise himself as part of our family, as if he had erased our entire childhood from his life.

He sensed my discomfort and immediately apologised.

“That’s not what I meant.”

“It doesn’t matter Seokjin.” I snapped, composing myself I looked to Namjoon who had begun speaking.

“The reality is, I’m afraid, that there’s really not much we can do about it now. We’re just going to have to sit this out.”

Seokjin hugged me one more time before announcing that he was going to cook dinner. Namjoon led me to the spare bedroom telling me they had it set up in case anyone got suspicious of their living arrangement. Two men in the one house often did arise theories.

I laid underneath the woven blanket and realised then that I had been exposed to a circumstance I had never envisioned; my best friend and the love of his life hiding the same way I did with my powers and I couldn’t help but cry.

No one should have to live like this. I shouldn’t have to live like this.

#fic #fanfic #bts #writing #masterlist #taehyung x reader #bts au #bts x reader #bts fanfic #king!taehyung #kim seokjin #min yoongi #jung hoseok #park jimin #kim taehyung #kim namjoon #jeon jungkook

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possiblyimbiassed · 5 years

Text

Carl = Charlie = Victor?

The appearance of Victor Trevor in TFP as a little pirate friend from Sherlock’s childhood, who got trapped in a well where he drowned, is intriguing to say the least; it doesn’t seem to connect with anything else we had seen in the show, except for the dog Redbeard. But Victor is not a new element for Sherlockians over the world, and I think this meta by @sagestreet gives an excellent explanation of how Victor fits into the show on a meta level. But what about the textual and subtextual levels? I imagine this has been brought up before, but something just seemed to click into place, so I’ll just throw my thoughts on it out here anyway. There are some pieces of the puzzle that stands out to me, so let’s try to put them together into something - more or less - coherent.

So, for a start: what exactly do we know about Victor Trevor from ACD canon (The Gloria Scott, GLOR)? I’ve highlighted certain facts that caught my attention in this recollection (Sidney Paget’s illustrations are all found here):

Well, basically this:

The story about Victor Trevor was Sherlock Holmes’ first case ever.

Sherlock got to know Victor when they were both at college.

They became friends (Sherlock’s only friend) because Victor’s dog bit Sherlock so he ended up in a sick bed where Victor spent a lot of time with him.

Victor came from a rich family, and Sherlock spent a summer with Victor and his father (Trevor senior; a “squire”) at their large, old-fashioned house with high chimneys.

In what is described as his ‘first case’, Sherlock deduced (parts of) and eventually learned what had happened to Victor’s father, involving a ship with convicts (Trevor senior among them), a mutiny, explosions, killings, shipwreck and Trevor senior ending up hiding under false name for the rest of his life.

Hudson, a surviving criminal from the event, showed up at the mansion, getting drunk and blackmailing Victor’s father with the threat of exposure, which would forever sully his and his family’s name.

Victor’s father's real name was James Armitage, the initials of which Sherlock discovered from his secret tattoo. He got suspicious of Sherlock, who could deduce his criminal past, which led to Sherlock leaving the place.

Victor showed Sherlock a message with a skip code that had meant imminent danger to Trevor senior. It’s a threat of exposure, the fear from which he never recovered; it gave him a stroke that lead to his death.

The skip code read, after deciphering: “The game is up. Hudson has told all. Fly for your life.”

After his father’s death, Victor ended up “heart-broken” in a tea plantation in India. Sherlock and Victor never seemed to have met again after that.

This is Sherlock, many years later, telling John about the message Victor had him decipher:

“Yet the fact remains that the reader, who was a fine, robust old man, was knocked clean down by it as if it had been the butt end of a pistol.”

“You arouse my curiosity,” said I.

Now, this does not bear the slightest similarity to what we learn about Victor in TFP, does it? But what if his story is indeed included in BBC Sherlock, but not (just) in TFP; what if the story about Victor is scattered all over the episodes in the show? And what if this scattered story about Victor is meant to give us clues about the emotional trauma in Sherlock’s past that made him shut down his feelings? Under the cut, let’s take a closer look at some elements of the episodes from this perspective, to see if this idea would make any sense:

ASiP

This is only the first episode of the show, but I think some traces of Victor might be found already here. James Phillimore, 18, who seemed to have some problems with internalised homophobia (judging by how he refused to share an umbrella with his friend in the heavy rain), was found dead near a sports centre, seemingly having committed suicide with a poison. But Sherlock’s investigation makes it clear that Phillimore is one of the victims of serial-killer cabbie Jeff Hope. Phillimore was a student at Roland Kerr’s College for Further Education, an old building with Victorian design (see my recent meta + additions for a more in-depth analysis of the significance of this college).

In canon James Phillimore figures as an unsolved problem in The Problem of Thor Bridge (THOR):

“A problem without a solution may interest the student, but can hardly fail to annoy the casual reader. Among these unfinished tales is that of Mr. James Phillimore, who, stepping back into his own house to get his umbrella, was never more seen in this world.”

(The main plot of THOR, however, is a triangle drama where one of the involved parts commits suicide but tries to arrange it so their rival is accused of murder.) Roland Kerr’s college is also where Jeff Hope takes Sherlock to talk to him and make him kill himself at the end of ASiP, and where (supposedly) John shoots Hope. The college is also represented as Sherlock’s Mind Palace in HLV, where he finds comfort and strength to survive a gunshot by mentally summoning his childhood’s dog Redbeard.

TGG

Several people have pointed out, about this last episode of S1, that Moriarty’s five “Greenwich pips” transmitted by a pink telephone (=heart metaphor) in TGG represent the five series in BBC Sherlock. Moriarty’s ‘great game’ with pips in it begins with an explosion close to 221B.

The case of Carl Powers is what comes from the first pip, but it also ties into the fifth and final pip. In the first pip we learn that the death of Carl Powers was Sherlock’s first case, an he has saved a press clip of the boy from this case:

In TFP, however, we’re told that The Musgrave Ritual was his first case. None of them is canon consistent, however, since ACD told us that Holmes first case was The Gloria Scott. According to Sherlock’s discoveries in TGG, Carl was a young swimming athlete who was poisoned by Jim Moriarty, which lead to him drowning in the pool. The official version from the police, however, was that Carl died in the water due to some sort of ‘fit’. The case of the fifth pip takes place at the swimming pool where Carl died.

Strangely enough, Sherlock makes an appointment with Jim exactly there, and this pool is also where Jim tosses the valuable memory stick that Sherlock has recovered. The Carl Powers case was never solved, though, and the Bruce Partington memory stick was never recovered. Which means, that if the fifth pip is foreshadowing S5, the Carl Powers case might come up again in S5.

THoB

This whole episode of S2 is about a guy, Henry Knight, who is haunted by a childhood trauma in which he lost his father. Sherlock seems particularly engaged in this ‘cold case’ with modern times consequences. For the first time we see him shaking with fear after having (supposedly) sighted the same monstrous ‘hound’ that has affected Henry since he was a boy.

But it turns out that “there never was any monster”; Henry’s father was killed by his own friend. (Please read @sagestreet‘s brilliant ‘Follow the dogs’ meta series for subtextual explanations of how the ‘hound’ mythology represents homophobia, and many other very interesting ideas). Another important fact that we learn in this episode, is that Sherlock considers John his only friend.

TRF

In one of Sherlock’s cases in the last episode of S2, he and John visit a boarding school, from which two children have been kidnapped. Sherlock’s sudden rant against Miss MacKenzie is a little bit weird, though, isn’t it?

Moriarty has poisoned the children by luring them to eat toxic chocolate. In this episode Sherlock and John are very much exposed and speculated about in the media. Suddenly Sherlock is accused of the kidnapping and Moriarty blackmails Sherlock by threatening John, which (supposedly) leads to Sherlock killing himself (but he actually disappears by faking his suicide).

TEH

in the first episode of S3, when Sherlock comes back from the dead, he immediately deduces that John’s fiancee ‘Mary’ has a secret tattoo and is a liar:

Later, in HLV, it turns out she has been hiding under a false name and lied about her criminal past and has many deaths on her conscience as an assassin. Sherlock also observes that ‘Mary’ can recognise a skip code; in fact there’s a skip code sent as a warning about an imminent danger to John.

Sherlock deciphers it, and the resulting message is “Save John Watson”, which leads him to where John is trapped in a bonfire.

HLV

At the end of the last episode of S3, John is threatened by the ruthless blackmailer and media magnate CAM, who flicks John’s face in front of Sherlock and threatens them both with exposure in his news paper.

I’ve written about this in The Threat of Exposure and other metas about media’s role in BBC Sherlock (X, X).

TST

In the first episode of S4, young Charlie Welsborough is found dead in his own car outside his rich (and Thatcher-loving) parents’ mansion, when his car is hit by another car and explodes.

Rather than (as is his MO in S1 and S2) investigating the crime scene to find out what really happened, Sherlock quickly concludes merely from police data that Charlie had made himself invisible by disguising as a car seat.

According to Sherlock, instead of surprising his father by coming out of the car, as he (supposedly) had planned, Charlie died instantly from some sort of ‘seizure’, and sat there dead until the car exploded a week later. (Added to this case is also the smashing of a Thatcher bust, which later in TST leads to Sherlock discovering a valuable memory stick).

What bothers me however, apart from the fact that Sherlock’s explanation is quite illogical, is the subtextual implications: a) Charlie is queer-coded,

(the rainbow is just one of the clues) and b) dying inside one’s own car like that is suspiciously similar to a common suicide method. The idea that Charlie (supposedly) died from a “seizure” ties him closely to Carl Powers - his namesake in Sherlock’s first case, who according to the police died from a “fit” in the water. And Sherlock was reminded of Carl’s case directly after an explosion in TGG. Only this time it’s Sherlock who jumps to conclusions about a ‘seizure’, rather than the police. Which makes me believe that this event represents something entirely different inside Sherlock’s Memory Palace/Mind Theatre. Something dwelling in Sherlock’s subconscious, possibly involving a young (boy)friend ‘coming out’ to a conservative, homophobic father in the Thatcher era. And a possible suicide (or at least disappearance?) by said (boy)friend. Victor Trevor travelled to India in canon, while Charlie Welsborough was traveling in Tibet before he died. (Sounds a bit similar to Sherlock traveling in Tibet/Himalaya during the canon hiatus/MHR doesn’t it?).

TFP

In this last episode of S4, theres an explosion at 221B Baker Street, caused by a ‘patience grenade’:

Sherlock and John suddenly appear on a ship as pirates:

They take over the boat and force their way onto Sherrinford Island where Eurus is imprisoned. This is also the only episode where Victor Trevor is mentioned, but he’s not a young man; he’s supposed to be a kid from Sherlock’s childhood - his best (and only) friend. Victor is very much presented as a John mirror; short blond hair, checked shirt and trapped in a well.

Sherlock and Victor were playing pirates outside Sherlock’s childhood home, the mansion Musgrave Hall, which apparently had high chimneys.

Sherlock was called ‘Yellowbeard’ and Victor ‘Redbeard’. In TFP we also see John and Sherlock hijacking a fishing boat and telling the captain that they’re pirates. In spite of both Sherlock’s dog Redbeard and Victor figuring in early snippets of Sherlock’s dreams in S4, Sister Sentiment Eurus later tells him that they never had a dog;

Sherlock was not allowed to have one, since their father was ‘allergic’. We also learn that Eurus (Sherlock’s supposedly forgotten sister) killed Victor by trapping him in a well, because she was jealous that her brother Sherlock had a friend and she was not included in their games. Nothing more is explained about Victor, however (and I feel sure this storyline isn’t over yet).

Victor never came out of the well; he drowned there, but at the end of TFP John seems to be trapped in the same well as Victor, and discovers his bones in it. In the last minute, with a raising water level, Sherlock saves John from the well by solving a puzzle and thereby finding and embracing Eurus.

Conclusion

So, I do believe that we have most of the ingredients of canon’s story about Victor Trevor and the ship The Gloria Scott scattered over the whole show: colleges and boarding schools; a dog; two best friends who were separated; a young man who might have committed suicide, a homophobic father; a mansion; a secret tattoo; a skip code with an important message; someone seemingly innocent with a criminal past; a ship with pirates (= mutinous criminals); dangerous explosions; blackmail and threats of exposure; a trip to Asia. And the back story is merged with the show’s present. What all this might mean for the next series, we can only speculate, but I do think that we have a pattern here.

Thanks to everyone who has had the patience to read all this. :) Tagging some people who might be interested: @sarahthecoat @tjlcisthenewsexy @ebaeschnbliah @fellshish @gosherlocked @loveismyrevolution @sagestreet @sherlockshadow @darlingtonsubstitution @devoursjohnlock @tendergingergirl @kateis-cakeis @csi-baker-street-babes @88thparallel @timilina @dieseldrakilis @sherlock-overflow-error @elldotsee

#victor trevor #the gloria scott #subtextual reading #Patterns in BBC Sherlock #charlie welsborough #carl powers #Sherlock's first case

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vampirefreakism · 5 years

Text

The Scientist (Chapter 28)

Summary: In the events following Asgard’s destruction, Loki finds himself on Earth seeking refuge to await the inevitable. Much to his surprise, it comes from a source he would never have expected.

AO3 Link

The Soundtrack So Far

Warnings: domestic fluff

Word count: 4k

A/N: Ugh, another long boy. Oh well, gear up, y'all. First off, I'm still a ball of anxiety and sadness about Endgame and knowing that a good portion of the trailers isn't real sure makes it worse. But hey, we all get to suffer together.

Masterlist

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On a peaceful, snowy morning, Loki woke to the smell of fresh breakfast and the sound of soothing music. It was a usual start to his day, but he always welcomed them. Stretching and rubbing the back of this neck, he rose and followed the spicy aroma to its source.

Out of the corner of her eye, Luna spotted him and threw him a charming smile.

“Morning. Merry Christmas. Or should I say ‘Happy Yule?’” She pointed with the spatula to the yellow-white mixture in the pan. “I’m making some eggs and toast for us if you don't mind."

“Of course not. Smells good,” Loki said, voice rough from dehydration. He envied the smoothness of Luna’s voice.

Sensing his discomfort, Luna gestured to the coffee maker. “I just brewed a fresh batch. It’s a good one if you want.”

Loki did, so he shuffled past her, took a clean mug, and poured himself a cup. Leaning his hip on the counter edge, he felt the warmth of his beverage seep into his tired bones. He clenched and unclenched a hand, stretching out the ligaments, and eyed the decal on his mug of choice. The familiar red-white-and-blue shield drew a muffled chuckle from his throat. Of course, he had to pick this one out. But he didn’t mind. It amused him. Given his past with everyone else, he held an inherent dislike for them, save his present company.

The music caught his ear over the crackling of hot oil. He doesn’t remember hearing the voice of the artist or the song playing. Curious, he gives it a listen.

“These lyrics,” he says absently, “they’re so macabre.”

Luna spares him a glance. “Yeah, but the feeling is romantic.”

“What’s so romantic about being dead and buried? And then have the corpses be found later on?”

“Nothing, really,” she reaches and grabs the toast, “but it’s the way it’s said. Like, ‘I would do anything – even die – so long as I did it with you.’ You know?” Luna took down two plates, handing one to Loki. “Romantic, I guess, whether or not you believe in that stuff.” The soft smile she was sporting dissipated.

“What stuff?” He asked as she served him a portion of eggs and a toast.

“You know, love.” Luna scooped her own portion and stood across from him. “That stuff.”

“You don’t believe it?” Loki probed her.

Luna waved a hand as though she were swatting away his question. “Eh,” she sneered a little. Not a topic she wished to get into on a holiday morning. “I put red pepper flakes in here, so be careful. Sometimes I can’t tell if I put too much in.” She hands him a fork, and he tastes her new creation. The bite of spices was commonplace in her home, and he welcomed it.

Content, he affirmed to her, “As always, it’s delightful.”

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

A book in his right hand and a plate of cookies to his left, Loki lounged on the couch and finished up his story. It was a rousing tale of murder, mystery, and a charismatic serial killer. But, alas, as all stories do, it came to an end. Closing the novel, he did a visual sweep of his surroundings.

The album had finished its first full play, and in its place, a movie was on with the volume set low. ‘Home Alone,' it was called if Loki remembered correctly. Luna mentioned how she watched it every year around the holiday season and how he may take a shine to Kevin. True to her word, he did. Kevin’s tricks and independent spirit pleased and reminded him of his own childhood.

He watched the film in silence, gathering the plot points he’d missed and slowly partaking in the sugar cookies. He made a mental note to find time to watch it from the beginning. Near the end, he let his gaze wander over to where Luna sat. Diligently, she decorated their little tree with a small set of ornaments, a box of candy canes, and a bag of Hershey Kisses. Loki felt an itch to participate. Having enough of media, he stood and approached his friend.

“Hey,” Luna greeted, scooting to the side to give Loki some space. “How does this look to you?”

He took the space she gave him and assessed her decorating. “It’s good.”

Luna couldn’t help but beam. “Good. Glad you like it.” A Kiss in hand, she placed it on a central branch. "Little sweets," she adjusted an ornament, "baubles and such,” and folded her hands in her lap. “It’s good.”

Loki reached for the side table and plucked the object of his interest – a bundle of mistletoe – off it. “What about this?” He held it up to Luna’s line of sight. “Where would you put it?”

“That,” she took the thing from him and put it down, “is going nowhere.”

Her reluctance amused him. “Hypothetically, where would it go?”

Luna sighed. She knew he was faking it. “You know where it goes.” Loki couldn’t trick her.

He crossed his arms. “So, why not put it up?”

“Because if one of us stood under it, we would have to kiss, and the only kiss you’ll ever get from me,” Luna grabbed a Hershey Kiss from the bag, “is one of these.” She tossed it up into the air, and he caught it without a fumble.

Maintaining eye contact, Loki unwrapped it as carefully as he could and placed the chocolate in his mouth. “I’ll take it.”

Luna huffed, a little embarrassed, and softly pushed his shoulder. Loki leaned back on his hands and chuckled, her bashful grin satisfying him for the time.

The small packages and bags under the tree caught his interest, the number of them piquing his curiosity. He wondered if anyone else would be joining them. He hoped not.

As if she read his mind, Luna chimed back in, saying, “We’ll open these later, after I make some of the hot chocolate I know you like.”

Loki felt it necessary to voice his concern. “Will anyone else be coming?”

“Nope.” Luna shook her head. “Just us. Why? You already tired of me?” She smirked, teasing him. Loki chuckled and held his hands up in mock defense.

“Oh dear, you got me.” His sarcastic tone gave him away, for he could never have a boring moment with her. Chaos was his specialty, but he favored her tranquility. Though, he was confused. “But really, what of the rest of your family?” Luna had praised her mother many times to him. In his mind, if he removed himself, they should be together at this time. He was concerned as to why they were not.

Luna ground her teeth, doing her best to hold the truth back. Yes, Loki was her friend, but no one in her life now knew of her personal life details.

She scoffed lightly. “You don’t need to worry about them.” With a swallow, she buried her secrets down in the deepest part of her soul. “They can have their own day. We have ours.” A slow smile took its place on Loki’s handsome face. He took the bait and sated his curiosity for the time being.

Silence overtook them; one Luna wasn't comfortable with. Desperate to fill it, she changed the subject. "Hey, uh, can we go over those steps from the other day? I don't really feel like I got the hang of them yet.”

“You did them well enough the other day.”

“Tell you what: we go over the dance, and then after, we see what the elves brought us for under the tree? Or rather, in your case, the dwarves.”

Loki stood to his full height and extended a hand down. “It’s a deal.” Luna took it and pulled herself to her feet.

Fingers intertwined, they moseyed to the stereo. Not bothering to change the CD inside, Loki turned it on and scrolled through the tracks to find the one his heart desired.

“I see you like Hozier.” Luna smiled. “I’m glad.”

“Oh, he’s exceptional,” Loki praised as he selected a song. “And, to our luck, he has crafted an appropriate song for us.”

Pressing play and leading Luna into an open space, he took his position as she did hers. It was the song he had the privilege of waking up to and, oh, how appropriate it was. A bit forward, but he took to it nonetheless.

Circling each other slowly, they moved into the dance Loki knew by heart, mind, soul, and muscle. A rotation in one direction, a quick pivot of the foot, and a rotation in the other.

“Babe, there's something tragic about you; something so magic about you. Don't you agree?”

Changing direction again, they touched their wrists together. Luna’s hand was tempted to grab Loki’s, but his correcting remark from the first time she did it reminded her to not. They repeated the move again as their feet changed and took them the opposite way.

“Babe, there's something lonesome about you; something so wholesome about you. Get closer to me.”

It was protocol to maintain eye contact with a dance partner, but Loki was magnetic; Luna couldn’t look away, no matter if she wished to. A flustered feeling bloomed in her breast, but she dismissed it in turn for concentrating on her timing and footfalls.

He brought his hand down and molded it into the curve of her waist. Hers did the same, their touch as gentle as could be. The warmth emanating from her skin soaked through his shirt. He expected the sensation, but it never ceased to usher a slight tingle.

“No tired sigh, no rolling eyes. No irony.”

A wide sidestep took the two from each other’s grasp, but the dance commanded they not stray far. Hand still outstretched, Loki took hold of Luna’s and, with a swift pull, brought her back into his embrace. Closer than the previous step, but the next called for it.

Arm set firmly across her back, he tilted her backward, supporting her full weight. The arm she encircled around his neck gripped him tight in fear of slipping. But she held steadfast in her confidence in him and let her head tip back a bit further, allowing her an upside-down vision of her living room. He delighted in the carefree giggle she let out.

“No ‘Who cares?’, no vacant stare. No time for me.”

Bringing Luna back to a standing position, Loki took her hand from his shoulder and spun her away. He couldn’t let go, however. It would be improper to break contact now. Bringing her back to him, one held the opposite hand of the other, forming a small circle between them. Though, from how they held each other, the existing space separating the two was mere inches wide.

“Honey, you're familiar, like my mirror years ago.”

In time with the song’s signature, Luna stepped to Loki's side, and he stepped to hers; her right to his, his left to hers. She shook aside temptation and looked to her feet. Accidental entanglement with Loki’s feet had been embarrassing, and she was determined to not make the same mistake again. Loki spotted her conduct violation and released a hand to tilt her chin back up.

“Eyes on me,” he mumbled, holding Luna’s gaze as he retook her hand.

"Sorry," she breathed out. Loki held no grudge against her, for he did the same as a youngster.

“Idealism sits in prison, chivalry fell on his sword.”

Once more, Loki spun her, but not far. Gently guiding her under his arm, he lay the back of his hand on the far side of her waist, close enough for her to keep hold of his fingertips. Luna draped her free arm across his mid-back and bent her wrist far enough for him to grab her hand.

They locked eyes and made another slow rotation. Luna strained her neck a bit looking up, for he was so tall. It made her wonder if the princesses he danced with in the past had a similar problem. An idle thought. Maybe they didn’t. But who’s to say? The issue could be overlooked for the sole sake of dancing with a prince of Asgard.

“Innocence died screaming; honey, ask me, I should know.”

Finishing the turn, they separated, turned in their place, and did the steps again in the other direction. Loki took Luna around slowly, feeling her against him. He reminisced on how he performed the dance in the old days: adorned in gold and green, fresh-faced, a bright glint of mischief in his eye, and a partner on his arm he routinely forgot the name of.

He entertained the fantasy of Luna being a visiting royal from a neighboring kingdom. Oh, how he would jealously guard and horde her attention. As the other princesses would silently compete for Thor’s hand, Loki would indulge himself and dance with his own princess until the sun rose and set over the edge of the world. His darling friend, all to himself, for as long as they wished.

With the dance nearing its end, Loki grabs hold of Luna’s hand and brings her back around to face him. He spins her once more for good measure, releases her, and gives her a gracious bow. Brimming with pure joy, Luna waves her arms out to either side of her and reciprocates his gesture.

“See? You got it,” Loki praises, making no effort to hide his proud smile.

“Glad you approve.” Luna holds her hand out to him. “Ready for another round?”

Loki takes it, soft and natural. “Need you ask?”

“I slithered here from Eden just to sit outside your door.”

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

Together, they finished out the song, going for two more rounds of the routine. Amidst her lifted spirits, Luna congratulated herself on entirely diverting Loki from the topic of her family. Friend or not, it wasn’t his business to know anything about her past further than the things she casually told him.

Turning the music off, Luna shuffled to the kitchen. “How about some hot chocolate?” She stooped and took out a small pot. “As promised.”

Loki rubbed his hands together, already tasting it. “Couldn’t say no if I wanted to.”

“You can always say ‘no.’” Luna poured out two servings of milk. “But, by the way you said it, I’ll take it as a ‘yes.’”

“Oh, please do.” Loki situated himself on the sofa and turned the television on again.

In place of an Irishman's soulful voice, the chiming of an eleven-year-old Macaulay Culkin made its way to Luna's ears. Unable to resist, she giggled and made a comment.

“Lost in New York? The streets are numbered!” Her obscure reference and uncharacteristic word enunciation caught Loki’s attention and confused him completely. Suspecting him to, Luna turned her head and called out. “It’s a line from a John Mulaney show. I can show it to you later if you want.”

Of course, Loki was interested. “I just might take you up on it.”

In his time with her, Loki had watched many quality films. Luna had good taste, lucky for him. The movie in question wasn’t good, but he kept up with the story regardless. Kevin’s charisma made up for where the direction and writing lacked.

Twirling a lock of his hair around his index finger, he took a look at the array of gifts beneath the tree and another at the kitchen. Channeling his inner child, he grew impatient; curious about what was for him and what was for Luna. She had neglected to label them, so all he could do is guess. The dwarves of old granted him and the rest of the royal family with lavish gifts, many beyond compare to the other realms under the Allfather’s rule. But, far away from all the glitz and glamour, anything meant for him was more than good enough.

The appearance of a steaming mug of hot chocolate broke any new thought manifesting in his head; its accompanying aroma drawing him in further. Loki leaned towards it to take it, but Luna carried it out of his reach.

“May I tempt you enough to pull you away for a bit?” She said, nodding to the tree in the corner.

Loki stood. “If that’s part of the deal,” he points to a mug, “tempt away.”

“Well,” Luna took a step closer to the tree, caressing the side of the mug, “you better come and get her before she gets cold.” She takes a spot on the floor and sits with her feet tucked beneath her.

“Ooh, we wouldn’t want that, now, would we?” Loki sits to her left and gingerly takes the mug from her.

Luna takes a sip of her hot chocolate. “Alright. So, I have a couple gifts for you and some from Peter.”

Loki, a bit perplexed, eyes his friend and the presents she’s referring to. “Peter?”

“Mhm.” Luna nods. “Isn’t he just the nicest? Apparently, he handmade something for you. How about we start with his things?” She passes him the bag Peter gave her and takes a smaller gift for herself. “Here, this one’s yours. He said to be careful because it’s fragile, and no, I have no idea what it is.” She sips from her mug, anticipating Peter’s gift.

“I will take the utmost precaution,” he mutters as he opens the bag and draws out the wrapped object.

Beneath the soft fabric, he feels something small and hard. He takes excellent care unfolding the cloth surrounding it. Resting in a sea of black is a small ceramic snake, coiled up and painted a vibrant green, with a gold horned helmet encasing its head. Loki traces the curves with a finger, barely touching the shiny surface. Luna scoots closer and leans in to get a better look.

“Oh, it’s beautiful,” she coos, restraining herself from touching it. “And he put your helmet on it too.”

Loki flashed a smile. He was utterly taken with his new miniature. “He must have remembered my story.”

“Which one?”

“One from when I was a child.” Loki set his little snake on the coffee table for safe-keeping. “My favorite prank to pull on my brother. It never failed to get him.”

Luna drew her legs to her chest and rested her chin on her knees. “What would you do?”

“Thor’s favorite animals are snakes, so I would regularly transform into one to surprise him.”

“And he never caught on?”

“Oh, he did, but we were having fun, so we never stopped.” Loki reached over and brushed the snake’s tiny curved horn, feeling a familial affection for the boy settling in his heart. Yet another human has earned their place on his good side.

“Don’t forget the shirt.” Luna placed a hand on the crumpled cloth. “He says that’s also a thing for you.” Haphazardly, Loki straightened out the shirt and held it up. A retro design sat on the front of two boys facing each other, knives in hand, with a bold-print caption reading ‘My First Knife Fight.’ Loki’s amused laugh stoked Luna’s curiosity, so she leaned closer to get a better look. “Is that part of the story too?”

“Oh, yes. The most crucial part.”

Luna looked at him suspiciously. “Don’t tell me you stabbed him.”

Loki chuckled. “Alright, I won’t tell you.”

Luna threw her hands up. “Of course you would stab him.”

“What gave it away?”

“Literally everything. You’re an expert in sharp objects, and you Asgardians heal really fast, so a regular stabbing wouldn't do too much damage. Besides, it’s kinda your style.”

Luna shrugged, smug and proud. “Surprise.” He eyed the gift Peter intended for Luna. It was still unopened. “So what did he give you?”

“Oh yeah," Luna said in realization. She unceremoniously tore into the colored paper and unfolded the little bundle of fabric. “Aw, Spider-Man socks.” She held them close and smiled gratefully. Pulling them on, she made a mental note to give Peter a big hug the next time they meet. “Of course, he’d know.”

Loki was suspicious, as evidence of her secrets continued to pile on. “Yes, they are nice.”

“Ooh, ok. My turn now.” Luna moved to her original spot. “The rest are your presents from me. Let’s do,” she hovered a hand over the remaining three objects and plucked one from the pile, “let’s do this first.” She held it out for Loki to take at his leisure.

It was soft and small, not unlike Peter’s gift for Luna. Loki ripped the package open and held up his own pair of socks. They were bigger than Luna’s and decorated with simple insignias of trees, ornaments, sprigs of holly, and reindeer.

“These are… interesting.”

To Luna’s dismay, Loki was impossible to read. He looked neither impressed nor disappointed. “Patterned holiday socks.” She tried explaining, but she felt like a fool. “You don’t have to wear them. It’s just … I've never gotten socks for anyone before, and I wanted to get those for you. I can always return them or give them to Tony if you don’t-,”

Loki held the pair close to his chest as though he expected someone to snatch them away. “Now, why on Earth would I let you do that? They’re for me.” He pulled the plastic tabs holding the pieces together and slipped them on his feet. “Now, no one can take them.”

“They suit you very well.” Luna was proud of herself. The first of three was a success. “I hope they’re comfortable enough.”

“Indeed they are.” Loki rubbed his feet together, feeling the soft cloth against his skin. “What else do you have for me?”

“Ooh, yes. I have two more things.” Luna handed him a hard, rectangular box a bit longer than his hand. “I didn’t plan this one, really. I just saw it and thought you’d like it.”

Loki uncovered it and revealed a flat gold chain necklace long enough to encompass his neck and rest easy along his collarbones. He dropped the cover and lifted the chain out. The metal shined bright and slid smoothly in his fingers.

“You are indeed right.”

Luna clenched her fist and grinned. Another victory on her part. “Here, let me.” She took it carefully out of his hands and shuffled on her knees to kneel behind him. Avoiding his hair, she draped the chain around his neck and latched it closed. She leaned to one side of him and admired his new piece. “Gold looks good on you.”

Loki couldn’t help but smirk. He was hardly immune to her flattery. “It’s lovely,” he said, giving it another feel with his fingertips.

“I’m glad you think so.” Luna crawled back to the tree and handed him the remaining box. “Ok, last but not least, this one.”

It was another hard box. Loki made short work of its wrappings, no longer able to withhold any self-control. Embellishing the lid was the Stark Industries logo. Loki was puzzled. He knew Luna knew how he disliked Stark, so why gift him a product? He placed the box on the floor and lifted the lid. Inside sat no jewelry or mug or other paraphernalia; it was a glass rectangle similar to the one Luna possessed. No, not similar. It was the same one.

“Is this… is this what I think it is?” Loki eased it out of its packaging, watching the tree lights reflect off the surface.

“Mhm.” Luna nodded, doubly excited “I don’t have a phone here, so I figured you might want a way to reach me if you need anything while I’m at work. Or if I’m running late, I can call and tell you. I activated it already, so you just have to turn it on and work it. Like this.” She clicked the top button, making the default display screen come to life. “FRIDAY is connected to it, so she’s always there if you need help or whatever.”

“Thank you for this. All of it.” Loki was honest, through and through. It was a scary feeling, but Luna helped quell his fear a little.

A broad smile took place once more on Luna's face. Today was full of them, it seemed. “You are very welcome, my friend.”

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