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in which your husband leaves you with unsavory company (ormund hightower), and you are forced to feign tolerance whilst you wait for his return
PAIRINGS: gwayne hightower x fem!reader, gwayne hightower x wife!reader, daeron targaryen x aunt!reader
WARNINGS: yearning to the max, angst, ormund hightower, pregnancy, protective!reader, simp!gwayne (when is he not), gwayne being sad, daeron being sad, reader being super sad, arguing, the slightest fluff ending
WORD COUNT: 4.6k
🎶 : sailor song - gigi perez
AN: 🩵♥️💗💛 - my sweet gwayne. this was so much fun to write!! also daeron is a perfect little angel wafe. happy reading!!
The sun shone through the curtains, and you hummed, rolling over into your husband’s chest. “Save me, Ser.”
“From whom shall I save you from, my lady?”
Your hand pointed towards the window, mumbling. “It has offended me.”
“You expect me to slay the sun?” Gwayne’s laugh filled the room, and you couldn't help but smile into his soft skin. “How else will your beloved garden continue to grow?”
“That is your beloved garden, not mine. Is what I have asked such an impossible request?” You looked up, attempting to manipulate him with your feminine wiles. “Your lady wife has asked you a question.”
“You are spirited this morning.” His smile was almost as bright as the sun. “Did you sleep well?”
“With you by my side, how can I not?” You pulled yourself to his lips. “Promise me that you will come back to me.”
“Always.” He whispered, his lips brushing against yours as he spoke. “I shall never leave your side. Not for a moment.”
“Lies.” You smirked. “Thought I would not insult you and pretend that I do not appreciate the sentiment.”
“I am glad that my promise suits you.” Gwayne’s hand shot out, pulling you close to him. Your stomach flipped, wrapping your leg around his waist. “How fares the babe?”
“She is eager, as always.” You grabbed at his wrist, guiding his hand to your stomach. “She wants her father.”
“Soon, my love.” He kissed the corner of your mouth, smiling when your eyes fluttered shut. “Soon.”
“My lady.”
You hummed, your hand shooting out to Gwayne’s side as you attempted to bury your face into the pillow. So he was gone. You frowned, another terribly life-like dream. Your maid, Lila, completely unaware of your melancholic state, laughed before attempting to wake you once more. “I hate to disturb you, but it is urgent. From Lord Hightower.”
You shot up, heart beating faster than it should. “Gwayne has written?”
“No, my lady.” Lila frowned. “It is from the Lord Hightower.”
You huffed, letting yourself fall back into the comfort of your warm bed. “Read it to me then.”
“He requests your presence in Tumbleton. He says he wants to-” She scoffed, and you pretended not to hear. “He wants to present a united front for the future king, Daeron.”
You shot up once more. “Daeron? King?”
“That is what he says, my lady.”
“Is there anything else?”
“He- he asks that you arrive as quickly as possible.”
“I do not see how that will be possible, seeing as the roads are thick with thieves and Hightower enemies.” Your hand gravitated toward your swollen stomach. “I will not put my child in harm’s way for Ormund Hightower’s sake.”
“He says that Daeron will come fetch you by Dragonback.”
“Seven hells.” Your heart sank. “How will I bring my things-”
“I will ensure everything is taken care of, my lady.” Lila rushes to rid you of your worries. “You must rest, and prepare yourself.”
“Well said, Lila.” You stood, rounding your bed to don Gwayne’s robe. It still smelled ever so slightly of him, bringing you comfort in his absence. “I will break my fast in the gardens today.”
“An excellent choice, my lady.”
Daeron had grown since you last saw him.
Since Ormund took him away from the one home he had ever known to risk his life for the sake of glory. When you had last seen him, he had been three and ten, nearly four and ten.
His voice was deeper, his eyes were sadder.
You wanted to kill Ormund.
Ever the gentleman, Daeron helped you on and off of the Tessarion, his hand providing proof of you and Gwayne’s guidance, to always be kind, to always stay true to his heart.
You kissed his cheek, smiling brightly when his face turned bright red. “Have I embarrassed you, nephew?”
“Compared to Uncle Ormund’s actions, it is nothing.” He quipped, linking your arm through his as he escorted you into the Tumbleton estate. “I have missed you.”
“And I you, sweet boy.” You pulled him closer. “How have you fared since your departure?”
“Well enough.” His smile was tight, secretive. “Others have it far worse than I. Others in this very city-”
“I am well aware of other’s troubles, Daeron. We shall remedy that soon enough.” You stopped just before the door you assumed would lead you to Ormund, whispering. “I asked how you fared?”
“I am fine.” He nodded, straightening his posture as if that would comfort you. It did not. “All is well.”
“If you insist.” You huffed. “Shall we face the beast?”
“Aunt!” Daeron’s eyes widened, collecting himself before he motioned to the guards to open the door.
“Cousin!” Ormund stood behind a great oak desk. “How good of you to join us.”
“My lord.” You curtsied quickly. “How could I refuse such a kind invitation from the Lord of Oldtown?”
“Still…” Ormund had caught your obvious disdain for him the moment you entered the room. You were glad of it, if he had not, he would have been far stupider than you thought him to already be. “Is the babe-” You almost laughed at his attempt to show care.
“Fine. Thank you.”
“I am sure after such an arduous journey, that you would like to rest.”
“That would be most appreciated, my lord.” You squinted, wary of his sudden kindness. Ormund was not known for his consideration of others.
“I have had the maids fix the finest room they could find. Daeron shall escort you.” He sat at the table, plopping a grape into his mouth casually. “And I shall see you in the morrow.”
You curtsied once more before bidding him goodbye. “Good evening.”
“Good evening.”
Had Ormund broken?
Yes, he had.
This very morning, he, in the same breath, denied Lord and Lady Footling their bedchambers, threatened to end their lives, and swore that his men would be on their best behavior, all whilst bare as the day he was born.
Now, he asks that you come along to deal with a diplomacy issue.
Lady Footling is as fierce as she is proud, stepping forward to confront the intruder of her home once more. “You said your men were honorable. This one-” She pointed to the Hightower knight standing to her right, his face bloodied and beaten. “Has sinned.”
“I was billeted at the smithy, my lord. But the smith didn’t like it. Mayhaps he resents the imposition or mayhaps he is loyal to Rhaenyra. But he struck me.”
“My lord.” The smith stepped forward. “Now, if it please you, we bear you no ill will. But this man went to ravish my sister and then broke my wife’s arm when she tried to stop him. She is a weaver. We need what little she earns.”
“Is this true?” Ormund looked at the Hightower knight with a look of neutrality. You do not trust him for a moment.
“No, my lord.” The knight replies.
Cries break out as a result. The women look utterly fearful, on the verge of tears when Ormund raises his hand. “I will have calm. What is your name?”
“Garrick, my lord, of Whitegrove.”
“Garrick of Whitegrove. You have violated guest right. You have debauched yourself upon a woman and injured another. Your punishment will fit your crime. You will be gelded, and you will have your own arm broken. You may remain in my service, but trespass again, and you will hang.”
The knight’s face was white. “My lord. I have a wife.”
“You should have thought of that then,” You stepped forward. “Before you attempted to defile a woman’s virtue. The House of Hightower will not allow this dishonorable act to go unpunished.”
Ormund said nothing, simply signaling the knights to take him away. “See them home. Have a maester tend to their wounds.” He waited until their ears were out of reach to address Daeron. “We must keep a firm grip, tensions are high. Lawlessness and disorder claw at our gates.”
“Yes, sire.”
“And your aunt is right.” He smiled firmly. “House Hightower will not allow its honor to be questioned.”
“She is quite beautiful.” You whisper, caressing Tessarion’s snout sweetly. “Sweet too.”
“Is she much different from the dragons you have known in the past?” Daeron pressed his forehead against her scales. “I have none to compare her to, it would seem.”
“In stature, no. She is very similar to your-” You gulped, wondering how you might rephrase your answer. “To your sister’s dragon.”
“Dreamfyre?” Daeron’s eyes lit up. “Yes, I have heard she is of a similar color. Kind too.”
“Yes.” You pursed your lips. Thank the gods you did not mention Syrax. “Has she been out since you escorted me here?”
“No.” He frowned. “She longs to fly. We hardly ever have the chance as of late.”
“She will feel the wind beneath her wings once more, I am sure of it.”
Tessarion purred from the loss of his touch. He smiled, leaning his forehead against her once more. “Patience, my girl. It won’t be long.”
A high screech left the dragon’s mouth, startling you. “I have warned you against indulging in affection for that beast.”
Tessarion grew restless, bellowing at the Hightower lord. You fought the smirk that was forming on your lips: even the dragon could sense how dismal his presence was. “Lykiri.”
“Have you come down here to try and dull his longing to ride?” Ormund addressed you.
“Quite the opposite.” You smiled tightly. “He is a Targaryen, he should want to bond with his dragon.” You stepped forward, pulling your robes closer. “Or would you deny him his birthright?”
Ormund chose not to respond, simply ignoring your act of defiance. “You are a good boy. You speak kindly, and you say your prayers. I have raised you in the light of the Seven, and the Father smiles upon you. But there is a taint in your blood. The Targaryens are a savage race, poor in intellect, but rich in cunning. With dark spells, they created abominations to subdue what was rightly ours. We are the superior men. But against that, we could not stand.” Tessarion growled as Ormund placed, or at least tried to, his hand on Daeron's shoulder. “The gods have put you to divine purpose, my boy.”
“What purpose, sire?”
“The brutes raise a woman to the Iron Throne. A desecration!” You held your tongue, deciding not to remind the man that Alicent had sat the throne for years in Viserys stead. “It was a blessing that you came to ward in Oldtown. Your brothers are lost, but you remain a Hightower, raised in the shadow of the Citadel, in the light of the Starry Sept. Now, you must be king.”
Amongst other unfortunate virtues, your cousin (by marriage) was overbearing and intense. He could not lose, and he could not admit any wrongdoing. When his mind was set on a path, there was no changing it. You had witnessed many a passionate speech from the man, and this was shaping up to be one that you wanted to leave.
And you would have, if not for Daeron’s sake.
“You would not wish, surely, for me to turn cloak against my brothers.”
You stepped forward, grabbing Daeron’s hand and giving it a comforting squeeze as Ormund walked up the stairs and motioned towards the door.
Your eyes widened as Ormund’s right hand man dragged in the smith from earlier, whose wife had been assaulted. A hand subconsciously fell to your stomach, fear coursing through your veins. “I thought you let him go.”
“A righteous king must demonstrate he upholds many virtues. Honor, wisdom, justice.”
“He only acted when our man attacked a woman.”
“He laid hands on a Hightower.”
“You speak of justice yet you punish this man for something you yourself condemned.” You stepped forward, putting yourself between Daeron and the madman. “You are committing a grave mistake.”
“Quiet, woman. That soldier is an extension of you, of the crown. Justice must be done.”
“Is not mercy a kingly virtue?” Your heart swelled with pride at Daeron’s argument.
“That sounds like something your father would say.”
You pushed Daeron back, glaring as Ormund took a step closer, and drew his sword. “He is a boy, Ormund.”
“He is the king.”
“He is not the king!” You yelled. “He is sweet, and he is kind, but he is not a king. You cannot force him to carry out your ventures. It is not right.”
“What is not right is you speaking out of turn-”
“I beg your pardon?” You clenched your hands into tight fists. “He will not do it.”
“Aunt-” Daeron whispered. “It is alright, truly.”
“I will do it in his stead-” Your eyes welled up. “He’s just a boy. My boy.”
“Aunt-” Daeron stepped around you, grabbing the sword from his uncle’s hands. “It must be done.”
“Daeron, please-”
He stood tall, his hand shaking ever so slightly as he stared at the smith. “Do not look. It will only upset you more.”
Your sleep was plagued with visions of Gwayne, both real memories and falsified. Your longing for your husband had gotten to the point where you considered sleeping forever so you could at least see him there.
You lay on your lounge chair, staring out the window of your chambers. If you could not sleep, perhaps you could daydream. Tumbleton was loud, louder than Oldtown ever was, even on its busiest day. You could not leave the estate, courtesy of Ormund’s lockdown. Not leaving the estate ruined your plans to explore the city, hand out food to those less fortunate, and roam the woods.
All things you could do freely in Oldtown. All things you could be doing with Gwayne if his cousin had simply bent the knee and left this mess alone.
Instead, you were stuck here, like a prisoner in a dank cell.
A cell that had its own maid and delicious food, courtesy of the Footly’s chef, Mrs. Allen.
You were much more well off than most, you reminded yourself.
That didn’t stop you, however, from storming out of your room, your skirts swishing side to side, as you prepared to confront your cousin. Ormund sat behind his obnoxiously large desk, staring at a paper like it had personally offended him.
“Ah, you’re awake.”
Daydreaming would have to wait for another day. “I’ve been awake for hours, thank you.” You scoffed. “If you must know, I have been avoiding your presence.”
“What have I done to upset you this time?” He sat back in his chair, smug as ever.
“Other than refusing to let me return home and be at peace?”
“Yes.”
“You treat that boy-” You pointed to Daeron, who was dead silent, most likely in fear of being punished by his tyrant of an uncle. “Like a prize to be won. Not like the child that he is-”
“He is six and ten.”
“I believe you yourself were nine and ten when your father finally let you enter a tourney. Interesting, how you are permitted to shy away from the complexities of court, yet Daeron is forced to entertain your kingly notions.”
He glared. “Get to the point.”
“You must see reason and relinquish this city. Go back to Oldtown in good faith, and try to reach an agreement with the Queen.”
“The Queen?” Ormund smirked. “Are you implying that Aegon, and by association, his younger brothers, are not the true line?”
“I am implying that she is currently the Queen. Aegon and Aemond have fled.” You crossed your arms. “Do not twist my words. Surely, you see that-”
“Uncle Gwayne!” Daeron's face lit up. “You've returned!”
Your breath catches as you whip around. Perhaps, you reason with yourself, this is all part of another of your terrifyingly realistic dreams. You pray that the auburn-haired knight in front of you is not a trick of the light. He looks worn to the bone, but you do not care. Your eyes well with tears, and Gwayne's face falls into an ever deeper pit of despair. “Are you alright, my love?”
Stalking forward, you grab his face in your hands, squeezing his cheeks lightly. “Are you real?”
“My girl.” His hands grab at your hips, pulling you close. “I have missed you so-”
You pull your hands from his face, shoving at his chest between each word. “You left me!”
“What is the meaning of this?” A deep frown forms on his weary face.
“You left me with him!” Tears threaten to fall from your eyes. “Do you have any idea the things-”
Ormund cannot help but glare. “Watch your tongue, woman-”
“Shut your mouth, Ormund.” You hiss.
Gwayne grabs your wrists, halting your attack and perhaps, in the process, saving everyone from the wrath of his cousin. “I have craved your touch for two moons now. Surely, you can wait to reprimand me until after I have bathed.”
“You-” The tears released in steady streams. “I worried you were dead.”
He pulled you close, kissing your lips gently. “Do not cry, my love, please.”
“I cannot help it.” You huffed. “You did this to me.”
“Did what exactly?” He laughs. You stepped back, motioning to your stomach. He raised an eyebrow, visibly confused. “I-”
You turned to the side, letting the shape of your gown give him an indication as to what you could be implying. “Gwayne-”
“Are you-” He grinned, stepping forward. “Are you with child?”
“As much as I hate to interrupt this touching reunion-” Ormund cleared his throat. “You must tell me why you are here. I believed you to be in the woods with Criston Cole.”
Gwayne’s smile faltered, and you frowned, caressing his cheek gently. “Are you alright, my love?”
“Ser Criston stayed to fight the Tully army with our remaining men.”
“And so, he fights on, and yet you have returned. Because…”
“Because fighting on is madness.” When you really look at your husband, you see sadness, a broken man whose values had been proven extinct long ago.
“Do you think me mad, Your Grace?” Ormund looks at Daeron expectantly.
“No, sire.”
“You mean to fight on?” Gwayne scoffs. “With what? There’s a dragon sitting on the hill above us, and five more not thirty leagues away.”
“Rhaenyra will not burn her own subjects. She is a woman, squeamish.”
“If your host leaves these walls, they burn.” Gwayne’s jaw tightened. “Aemond has fled, and Rhaenyra holds my sister hostage. The River army draws closer by the day. You have put these countless peoples lives in jeopardy, my wife and unborn child’s lives in jeopardy. What possible course is there to remedy this?”
“Your uncle lacks imagination as well as courage.” Gwayne squeezes your hand, noticing when your eyes ignite with a dangerous look. Daeron smiles at the quip, and you can’t help it when your heart breaks just a little. “I would take one Hightower sword over three Tully mudmen. When the usurper’s host comes here, we will fight on our terms, our grounds. We have the clear advantage. The great houses cannot help but come to our side.”
“Have any yet come?” A laugh leaves your lips, and you slap a hand over your mouth, looking away.
“The patient hunter gets the kill. Something our most craven must learn.”
“I have marched a long road, fought and killed, and suffered my comrades to be killed about me.”
“Yes, you have endured much.” Ormund leans against his desk, a sly smirk etched on his lips. “I’m sure you found solace in your brothers at arms.”
“I am fatigued.” Gwayne does not give way to his cousin’s taunts. “It’s been weeks since I’ve seen a feather bed, and months since I’ve held my wife. By your leave.”
“You might escort your Aunt and Uncle to their quarters, Your Grace. Make sure he bathes.” He laughs, calling out after you. “Oh, and mind yourself. Keep your back to the wall.”
You see red as you reach out, gripping Daeron’s wrist. “We’re leaving. Do not listen to that craven man.”
Gwayne waits until they’ve turned the corner to speak. “He calls you Your Grace?”
“I’m sorry, I had to get through it.”
“And this is your way? Fawning?”
You whisper, wary of being watched. “Daeron knows how to deal with the man. Ormund has reached a new height of madness, one you and I have never seen.”
“He has styled you the bloody king,” Gwayne grumbles.
“Well, you left me alone with him. You know what he is. I do what I can.”
“You have done as well as anyone can, my boy.” You kiss the back of his hand. “But you know as well as I that your Uncle had no choice but to leave.”
“It certainly didn’t grieve him to ride away.” Daeron ripped his hand from your hold, standing in the middle of the hall.
Gwayne scoffed. “Mind yourself, Daeron.”
“Gwayne-”
“I hate who I am with him, and you- you don’t understand. He wants me to be the king. It is his greatest ambition.”
“Then tell him you won’t do it.”
“Who will protect me then?”
“You could cast him down.” Gwayne smiled. “If you were king.”
“A merciful and noble king. You would be even better than your father.” You reassured. “I know it.”
“I will never be king, Aunt.”
“I must-” Gwayne groaned. “I must bathe. Bath and lie down.”
“You will stay?” The boy sounded hopeful for the first time in months.
“And do what? Bear witness as Ormund marches our house to its doom? I’m second in line. I shall return to Oldtown and prepare to pick up the pieces.”
“Don’t leave me again.” Daeron cried. “Please.”
“You would be more than welcome to come with us, my sweet.” You look at Gwayne, whose face is blank.
“He’s Ormund’s treasure now. He’ll be safer here.”
You scoffed. “Surely, you do not mean that. Daeron, do not listen to-” But Daeron had left, and all the joy you’d felt when you’d seen your husband turned to anger. “Why would you say that to him?”
“Darling-”
“I cannot begin to describe the anger I feel towards you at this very moment.” You hissed, stalking around him.
“You must understand-”
You whipped around, your eyes fiery as you spoke. “I understand nothing. And seeing as you refuse to talk to me about the hardships you have faced-”
“I have not had the chance.” He stepped forward. “If you recall, I’ve only just arrived.”
“And what an impact you have made.” You scoffed. “Destroying what was left of that boy’s happiness.”
“You cannot meant to imply-”
“And yet I have.” You shoved past him. “Do not speak to me for the rest of the evening.”
Gwayne’s eyes had not left you since your disagreement, bearing into your soul. You hated him for it: he had found the loophole in your request.
You never said he couldn’t look at you.
It didn’t help you in the slightest that, as angry as you were with him at the moment, your heart screamed for him, your skin craved his touch. Still, you glared. “Could you look elsewhere?”
“I seem to recall a time when you begged for me to look upon you.”
You stared at the ceiling. “Do you think me vain?”
“Not at all.” The water splashed as he sat up in the bath. “I find you to be a perfectly well-balanced lady.”
You squinted, wary of his kindness. “Do not try to blind me with your false niceties.”
“You know as well as I that the things I tell you are not false.” He pauses for a moment, trying to catch your eyes. When you refuse to look at him, he continues. “Do you know how miserable it truly is to be fighting, to be away from one's home?"
You shake your head, and he nods. "I thought as such."
"That does not serve as an excuse to- to act a villain."
"Is that what you think of me?" When you do not respond, he looks away, eyes dark. "What a sad revelation."
"Gwayne-"
"Do you know what I thought of when I was away?” You shrug, your heart pumping wildly. “I thought of you. Only you-”
“I cannot-” Your voice gave out, and so you stood, leaving his side to give yourself some respite.
“I thought of-” His voice broke. “You in the morning, when I’d wake before you and watch as you laid there, not a care in the world. The peace you had, the soft smile your lips carried. You turned your back to him, staring out the window as silent tears fell down your cheeks. “I would remind myself of that image, of your image, every time we went into battle. I love you so intensely that it hurts my soul.” In the middle of all the emotion, he had left the bath, appearing behind you with the stealth of an assassin.
You leaned your back against his chest, eyes shut as his hands wrapped gently around your waist. “You are my whole world, my whole life. Do not think for a moment that I too did not want you by my side every waking moment you were gone. When I learned I was with child, I sobbed for days. All I did was wail for you from our bed, wishing that you would survive this bloody war.” You turn in his hold. “Never doubt my love for you. Never.” His forehead fell to lie against yours, his eyes falling to your lips with every breath. “I am upset with you because I know the man you are. And the man you are would never address that darling boy the way you have today.”
“I am sorry-”
“It is not I that you must apologize to.” Your hands shamelessly drifted up his bare chest, heat rising to your cheeks. “Please talk to him. Before it is too late. Before we-” You gulped. “Before we inevitably-”
“I swear on the old gods and the new that nothing will happen to you or the babe. You will be safe from whatever we face here.” His chest heaved as his hands drifted up and down the side of you. “I made a vow to protect, and I would rather die than see you breathe your last breath.”
“You are terribly dutiful.” You stretched your neck, delicately kissing the corner of his mouth. “But you do admit that you were callous with Daeron.”
“I will apologize to him on the morrow; this I swear to you.” He nudged his nose against your jaw, tilting your head to make way for his affection. Slowly, his lips leave feathery kisses down your jaw and neck, stealing your breath away.
“Gwayne-” You gasp. “I- you-”
“What?” He teased, knowing your mind was struggling to form coherent thoughts. He knew this because he reacted the same way whenever you touched him. “I cannot begin to decipher what you are thinking if you cannot tell me-”
“You are cruel.” Your voice sounded utterly wrecked. “So terribly cruel.”
“I hoped my wife would never utter those words.” He laughed. “But under these circumstances, I will allow it.”
The sun shone through the curtains, and you hummed. Your hands rose to your eyes, rubbing the sleep away. They slowly opened, an immediate sense of dread settling over you, the worst racing through your mind.
Had Gwayne truly returned, or had you dreamt it in order to deal with the pain that came with being apart? Your head whipped to the other side of the bed, a soft laugh leaving your lips.
Gwayne looked utterly exhausted. His mouth was open ever so slightly, his hair a mess from tossing and turning. You slide his tunic up, planting sweet kisses on the bruises that were still blooming on his perfect skin, still in disbelief that he was really, truly with you.
His hand wrapped around your waist, his eyes still closed as he pressed a kiss to your temple, grumbling a quiet good morning.
in which you realize that you and beau maxwell have never been just friends
PAIRINGS: beau maxwell x fem!reader, dean heyward-di laurentis x bestfriend!reader (platonic)
WARNINGS: avoidance of feelings, oblivious reader, golden retriever beau (little bit of i-can-pay-for-it mentality), smug dean (isn't he always), dramatic confession, dean being a beauxreader truther!!
WORD COUNT: 5.2k
🎶 : 3:15 - bazzi
AN: 🩵💗♥️ - oh beau. this is based off of a 'what i would wear in off campus' thing i did on tiktok. this is my baby, i love it so dearly. please enjoy!!
At the age of eight, Beau Maxwell was the bane of your existence. He was loud, obnoxious, and distracting to a fault. He walked into a room and people actually cheered. It also didn’t help that his smile could actually brighten anyone’s day.
At the age of twenty one, Beau Maxwell was your best friend slash secret conscience-eating crush.
You quickly grew fond of all the things you’d originally found him annoying for. You couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment you had become best friends, all you knew was that his friendship was something you couldn't lose.
Even if you had a horrible, almost disgusting, crush on him. You had to push it way down, down so far that even you sometimes forgot about it.
You’d been in the middle of staring blankly at your computer screen, thinking about all of this, when a medium vanilla latte with oat milk and cold foam popped up in front of your face.
The person holding it? Beau Maxwell.
You looked up slowly, scowling at your best friend’s smirk. “Are you happy about my miserable state?”
“A little.” He teased, setting the latte beside your computer. “Here.”
“How did you-”
“You posted about it. On your private story.” He shrugged like he hadn’t just done the most romantic thing on Planet Earth. “Figured you needed a pick-me-up.”
You knew what story he was referencing. It had said something along the lines of a typical college student wallowing in self misery instead of working on their big project that would determine if they got to graduate or not. You took a large sip of your coffee. “It wasn’t exactly clear about where I was.”
“I had time on my hands.”
Not only had he bought you a coffee, he had also searched the entire library for you.
“Stalker,” was all you could come up with.
“I’ve been called worse.” He smiled. “Why don’t we get out of here? You don’t seem to be getting much done-” You glared. “And it doesn’t help anyone if you sit here and wither away.”
“What a caring gentleman you are, worrying about my wellbeing.” You shoved your things in your bag, walking side by side with him towards the library doors. “Where are we going?”
“Wherever you want.”
You cursed your good nature.
Offering to grab drinks for your friends, you forgot just how slow the line moved at Briar Block parties, and just how lonely it got when you stood there for what seemed like hours by yourself. You’d finally gotten to the front, face to face with your savior, the one person who could quench your thirst.
You actually grinned when they called you up, relaxing your arms against the metal bar on the outside. “Three Dr.Peppers, one Coke, and one Diet Coke. All medium, please.”
“Would you like a drink tray?”
“That would be wonderful, thanks so much.”
“Of course.” The girl flashed a smile. “Will that be cash or card?”
“Card.”
You felt heat rise to your cheeks as you turned to face your best friend. “Hello to you as well, Beaumont.”
“My government name.” He shuddered. “Consider me spooked.”
“Are you still paying with card?” The girl had lost her slight smile, opting for a more annoyed and honestly disinterested look. You couldn’t blame her.
“Yes.” Beau tapped his card before you could even reach for your purse.
You frowned. “Beau. None of these are for you.”
“I’m aware.” He smiled. “Can’t a man pay for his best friend’s drinks?”
“As long as I’m the only one you’re buying drinks for.” You joked. Or maybe you weren’t. You hoped he took that comment as just that: a comment, and not a soft launch of your feelings.
He laughed, nudging you lightly. “You know you’re the only woman in my life.”
You let your brow quirk ever so slightly. “So now you’re blatantly lying?”
“Excuse me.” Beau looked highly offended. “I would never lie to you.”
“Yeah?” You took a step forward, almost challenging him to lie again. “I don’t believe you.”
His hand clutched his heart. “You wound me. Really, you do.”
Your order was placed on the counter, and the worker cleared her throat. “Is everything correct?”
You ripped your eyes away from Beau’s, nodding quickly. “Yup. Thank you so much.”
Beau grabbed the drink tray, walking diligently beside you. “You really are the only woman in my life.”
You scoffed. “Don’t patronize me.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means to treat others in a way that shows you see yourself as better. You say things in a condescending manner-”
He smirked. “Now who’s patronizing?”
“I have eyes, Beau.” You wave at the girls, Dexter, and Sean. “I see how everyone looks at you.”
“Just because they look at me doesn’t mean I’m looking back.” He frowned. “No one takes precedence over you. No one.”
“Your future girlfriend isn’t going to like that mentality.”
He raised a brow. “What was that?”
You coughed. “Nothing, Maxwell. Thanks for carrying our drinks.”
“Anytime.” He flashed his ever charming smile at Allie and Hannah. “Ladies.”
Allie and Hannah grabbed their sodas. “What a gentleman.”
You just smiled, not trusting yourself to say anything remotely normal back to them.
“It’s nothing. Enjoy.” Beau's eyes drifted to you, his eyebrows furrowing. “Do you have a jacket?”
“I-” You laughed lightly, his attention causing your nervous system to crash out. What was happening to you? “No?”
“Do you have a death wish?” Your eyes lit up with mischief, and he shook his head, shrugging off his jacket. “Forget I asked. Here, take mine.” Before you could even protest, he’d placed it around your shoulders and walked away.
“You’re so performative!” You yelled at his back, heat rising to your cheeks when he spared you one last look.
“You know you love me!”
“Oh my god.” Dexter whispered. “What sort of mating ritual is this?”
“Dexter!” You squeaked. “Oh my god!”
“You know I’m right.”
Allie nodded in agreement. “They’ve been like this for as long as I’ve known them. It was cute.”
“Was?” Your eyebrow rose.
“Now it’s just frustrating.”
“Oh?” Hannah laughed. “How so?”
“Because you can’t believe they’re not together yet.”
You groaned. “Someone please change the topic.”
“All I’m saying-” Allie hooks her arm through yours, leading you toward the stage. “Is that he likes you. Like a lot.”
“We’re just friends, Allie.”
“Whatever you need to tell yourself.” She whispered. “He’s staring, by the way.”
Heat rose to your cheeks as you forced yourself not to meet his gaze.
One day, you were listening to your friends compare the hockey boys to cretons, and the next, you were watching Hannah stare at Garrett Graham with this scary look of admiration. This had been going on for weeks, since the beginning of the school year.
Allie would say it was horrifying. You would opt for something kinder. They were weirdly endearing to watch.
Hannah wiggled her brows, gesturing to your coat. “Still haven’t returned it, I see.”
“Hannah.” Sometimes they weren’t endearing. Sometimes, they teamed up on you in order to get information.
“Returned?” Garrett smirked. “Whose is it?”
“It’s-”
“No one’s.” You cut in, hoping that would deter your best friend from outing you. “Don’t listen to her-”
“It’s Beau’s!” Hannah blurted out, cackling in satisfaction.
Garrett’s face lit up, and you groaned. “Don’t make it a thing, Graham.”
“I think I might have to.”
“You don’t have to do anything-”
“Nah, sometimes you do.” He laughed, pointing at the picnic tables you were approaching. “You’re wearing his coat, and you’re blushing about it. It’s totally a thing.”
You pulled the denim jacket closer to you, smiling as Beau spoke in a British accent. “I’m ignoring you.”
“I’m not shocked.” Garrett teased. “Your thing is making his big birthday announcement. If you were paying attention to me, that means you wouldn’t be paying attention to him. The world might explode if that were to happen-”
You shoved his arm, scoffing when Hannah just laughed. “Watch your back, Wells. You’re a traitor, and your pesky boytoy isn’t helping matters.”
“Boytoy?” Garrett cackled.
Beau’s eyes lit up when he saw you watching below. He waved quickly, and you waved back, laughing at the ridiculousness of it all.
Your entire life their birthday announcements had been extravagant, and you could honestly say that this was one of their tamer ones.
For their sixteenth, Beau and Dean did a series of water-based stunts (jetski flips, tubing, skiing, etc) and you had been recruited to record and edit the clips. It was then sent out to the entire school.
“Having fun?” You shouted.
Beau grinned. “Always.” You laughed, and Beau’s heart couldn’t help but skip when he realized that you were still wearing his jacket.
Curse the disgustingly talented woman that was Joanna Maxwell.
She was supposed to be your dynamic duo partner (Anakin and Padme, in case you were wondering.)
Then she got a last minute contract and had to ditch the party.
You texted her from the corner, pretending to be angry by sending the infamous scene of Anakin screaming ‘I hate you’. She emphasized your message with a ‘haha’.
You tucked your phone back into your fanny pack before walking over to the guys. “Anyone fancy a game of pong?”
“You're talking my language.” Tucker grinned. “Wanna team up?”
“Of course.” You nodded. “You really think I’d want to team up with Goose or-” You tilted your head. “Birdman?”
Logan scoffed. “Tucker and I are the birds and the bees, thank you very much.”
“My bad.” You laughed. “You two are made for each other, you know. You’re both bird-things.”
“Well put.” Beau teased. “How many of those have you had?”
“Enough so that I can still kick your ass and remember it.”
“Oh yeah?”
You nodded, jutting your hip sassily. “Yeah.”
“Let’s go, Logan. Her ego needs to be checked.”
“Oh, my ego?” Your eyes widened in faux offense. “Bring it on, Mr. Birthday Boy.”
Tucker leaned over, whispering in Logan’s ear as they followed after you. “This is some weird type of foreplay, right?”
Logan nodded. “You never know with those two.”
Of course you won.
It was insane how well you played when you were a little tipsy. There had to be some sort of science behind it, the loss of overthinking thanks to the alcohol coursing your system allowed you to trust your instincts or whatever.
It also helped that Tucker was actually good at pong.
When he sunk the ball into the winning cup, you screamed, jumping as you hugged him tightly. Beau just laughed, shaking his head in faux disappointment. Logan leaned over, speaking at a volume he knew only Beau could hear. “You look like you want to eat her, dude.”
Beau scoffed. “Insane choice of words, J.”
“Just stating the obvious.” Logan held his hands up defensively. “Are you ever going to tell her?”
“Someday.” He nodded. “Just not tonight.” Beau left his partner’s side, walking over to you with his hand outstretched. “Good game, Padme.”
“I’d say the same to you-” You giggled, shaking his hand. “But it really wasn’t your night.”
“Oh.” Beau’s eyes widened, taking advantage of your interlocked hands to pull you closer. “That’s pretty unsportsmanlike.”
“Thank god I don’t play sports.”
“I seem to recall you playing soccer in middle school.”
Your jaw went slack. “Are you actually gonna go there-”
“The Thunder Roses, right?”
Tucker and Logan laughed. You tore your hand out of his grasp, trying to silence him. He smirked, dodging your pathetic attempts. “Your jerseys were neon pink and orange.”
“Shut up!” You squeaked.
“Make me.”
As soon as the words left his mouth, Allie appeared, saving you from potential disaster. “Come do shots with me.”
“Okay.” Your eyes were still wide, staring at Beau with utter shock and surprise.
“That was-” Allie looked suspiciously at the football player. “Surprisingly easy. What did you do to her?”
“Nothing.” He murmured, his eyes stuck on you.
“Sure.” Allie nodded slowly. “Alright, well, say goodbye.” Hooking her arm through yours, she led you to the bar. “What did he say?”
“I-” You sighed. “I told him to shut up.”
“Okay?” Her eyebrows furrowed.
“And he said make me.”
“Oh my god.” Allie giggled. “Is it wrong to say my stomach just flipped a little bit?”
“Allie!” You gasped. “Control yourself.”
You may have overindulged.
Keywords: may have.
As of right now, you felt fine. Seconds away from vomiting, but otherwise fine. After Allie had pulled you away from Beau’s side, you’d taken shots. Then five minutes later, another round. Then another. Then you played YMCA flip cup.
So yeah, five seconds away from puking.
“Allie!” No response. Your best friend was jumping around, dancing erratically to the music as Sean tried to match her energy, but was failing horribly. “Allie!”
“Yeah?” She spun around, a large grin on her lips. She looked perfectly in her element. “What’s up?”
“I’m gonna go get some water.”
“Water?”
You nodded. “I just wanted to let you know so you don’t panic.”
“Thanks babe!” She hugged you quickly. “Do you want me to come with you?”
“I don’t want to interrupt your fun.” You laughed.
“You are my fun.” She frowned. “Don’t think I don’t want to hang out with you.”
One thing about Allie: when she was drunk, she was super kind and super wise. It was like normal Allie turned up to thirty. Your eyes watered as a result of her comment, hugging her once more to hide your emotions. “You’re the best, Al. I’ll be back!”
You let go, waving over your shoulder as you tried to find your way to the kitchen. Every lift of your foot was met with resistance thanks to the copious amounts of alcohol that coated the floor.
The mixture of dancing and open containers were disastrous, something that you wouldn’t wish on your worst enemy. You hoped that Beau had hired the best cleaning crew in the Upper East Coast, because his mother did not play when it came to her pristine wood floors.
The kitchen was in view when it happened.
Someone elbowed you, and thanks to your drunken state, your reaction time was non-existent. You immediately fell to the ground. The party-goers around you gasped, and tears started to stream down your cheeks.
To make it even worse, no one moved to help you. They just stood there and stared.
You sat there for a moment, collecting yourself. Wiping your hands off on your white pants (which were now ruined thanks to the previously mentioned floor), you prepared to pick yourself up when Beau’s voice rang over the music.
“Where is she?” You felt like you were floating on air when the crowd parted, and Beau stepped through. He knelt down, whispering your name so softly that your heart clenched. “Are you hurt?”
“I’m fine, Beau.”
“You don’t look fine. Have you-” He frowned, reaching up to wipe away your tears. “Were you crying?”
“Maybe a little.” You can’t help but lean into his touch, laughing softly. “I’m being dramatic, it’s really okay.”
“Let’s check you over, just in case.” In one fell swoop, he picked you up off the ground, wrapped an arm around your waist and guided you towards his room.
“You really don’t need to do this.” You gesture to his hold on you. “I can walk.”
“Just let me take care of you.” He smiled. “You fell so quickly it looked like a cartoon.”
“Hey!” You gasped. “Aren’t you supposed to try and make me feel better?”
“My bad.” He grinned, opening his bedroom door. “You looked so dainty, like a princess.”
“Well now you’re overdoing it.” You grumbled, pulling out of his hold to sit on his bed. “I feel so stupid.”
“Don’t say that.” He yelled from the other room. “You’re not stupid. You’re drunk, and you fell. It happens to the best of us.”
“I wouldn’t have fallen if someone didn’t shove me.” You grumbled.
“Wait a second.” Beau pops out of the bathroom, his hands full of supplies. Makeup wipes, a wet wash cloth, the works. He even brought moisturizer out. “Someone shoved you?”
“Yup.” You laid back, staring at the ceiling. He still had his One Direction poster up, the one that you gifted him when you were in middle school. “It was definitely an accident, but it still sucked.”
“How do you know it was an accident?” Beau frowned, pulling out a makeup wipe and unfolding it. “What did they look like? I’ll go back down there and-”
“Relax, Maxwell. I’m fine.” You smiled when the makeup wipe touched your skin, letting your eyes fall shut. “You know, I can take my own makeup off.”
“But why do that when I’m here and offering?”
“Fair point.”
“What kind of makeup did you use? It looks nice.”
You felt your stomach flutter. He had no idea how his compliments affected you. “I- I used some mascara, concealer, bronzer, blush, lip stain, lip gloss, and eyebrow gel.”
“Hmm. Do you remember the brands?”
“I normally get my makeup from IPSY. But the lip gloss is Elf, the lip stain is Covergirl, and the eyebrow gel is Maybelline.” You hadn’t realized that you’d been holding your breath. (It was most definitely because of how close he was to your face). “Beau?”
You heard him scoff as he wiped away your eyebrow gel. “Yea, sweetheart?”
“Do you ever think about that night?”
The makeup wipe stills, and your eyes shoot open. “I’m sorry, I don’t know why I-”
“All the time.” His cheeks were pink. “I think about it all the time.”
“Oh.” You gulped, realizing just how close you two were.
“It’s alright.” His jaw was tense as he stood, throwing away your used makeup wipe.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize.” He practically spat it out as he searched through his dresser for a hoodie. “I don’t regret it, and we did nothing wrong. There’s nothing to apologize for.”
“Okay.” You felt so stupid, so small as you watched him walk up to you with that same kind look. “Goodnight, Goose.”
He smiled softly, handing you the hoodie before he left the room. “Goodnight, Padme.”
Your head felt like it was about to explode.
It didn’t help that the sun had found a convenient spot to blast your face with its rays. You groaned, rolling over and shoving your face into the pillow. What time was it?
You didn’t hear any music or shouting, so you knew that everyone had gone.
You forced yourself to open your eyes, your stomach churning. “Oh my god.”
Your hand slapped around the bed, a feeling of impending doom blossoming when you couldn’t find it. Whipping the covers off, erratically searching his entire room. Beau. Memories of last night flashed before your eyes, the feel of impending doom growing worse.
Bzzz.
You huffed, turning around to find your phone plugged in on the bedside table. Three texts.
One from Beau, from only an hour or so after you fell asleep. I brought your overnight bag in, it’s in the bathroom.
One from Dean. Your friend Allie is hot.
And one from your friend, Allie. Are you alive?
Barely, you responded as you walked into the bathroom, staring at the overnight bag like it had personally offended you. Damn Beau and his relentless loyalty and kindness.
Two voices, distinct and comforting, echoed through the otherwise empty house. Beau and Dean, bickering about who knows what. You descended the stairs, rounding the corner with your head down.
“Sleeping Beauty.” Dean giggled. “Thanks for joining us.”
“Shut up, gremlin.” You slip into an island seat, letting your head drop onto the cool marble countertop. “How long have you been up?”
“About ten minutes.” Beau spoke. “How did you sleep?”
You felt like you were going to vomit from nerves. You kept your head down, mumbling. “Wonderfully, thank you.”
“Of course.”
Dean nudged you. “Did you see my text?”
“I did.” You dared to sit up, clutching your stomach. “I know she’s hot. Thank you for stating the obvious.”
“Are you gonna do me a solid and-”
“No.” You shook your head, reaching for a mug. “She has a boyfriend.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah, shit.” You tease. “Guess you can’t sleep your way through the entire Briar population.”
“Speaking of sleeping-” Dean wiggled his eyebrows. “What were you two up to last night?”
You coughed, choking on the sip you’d just taken.
Beau hissed. “Dude.”
“What?” Dean looked much too happy. “Can’t a guy ask his two friends if they hooked up?”
“You have no shame.” You pressed a hand to your chest.
“Neither of you have answered my question.”
“We didn’t hook up last night.” Beau turned back towards the pancakes he’d neglected. “Enough with the interrogation.”
“Jesus.” Dean leaned over, whispering in your ear. “He’s pissy.”
“I can hear you, Dean.”
You should have gotten in the car with Dean.
You shouldn’t have brought up last night’s events.
You should have drank less.
These are all things you thought about after you destroyed the best friendship you’d ever had.
Things that you should have taken into account before you did them.
The car ride back from Beau’s summer house had been fine, almost tranquil in a way. He’d had the music at the perfect volume, you grabbed Dunkin on the way back, there was hardly any traffic.
Then you decided to break that peace minutes before you got back to your apartment.
“I wanted to say thank you for not telling Dean about last night. Or, you know-” You gulped. “The other thing.”
His reaction caught you totally off guard. “Do you really regret it that much?”
“No, of course not.” You felt heat rise to your cheeks. “I just didn’t want to trap you in some awkward situation with us being best friends and all.”
“That’s all we are to you?” His grip on the steering wheel tightened. “Just best friends?”
“Beau.” You frowned. “I didn’t mean to imply-”
“You can’t even say it.” He scoffed. “You can’t even admit that we had sex.”
“We agreed not to talk about it.”
“Do you have any idea why I crawled through your window that night?”
You gulped. “I-” That night made shivers erupt all over and your heart race. “To hang out?”
“You have to know.” He sounded so hurt it almost made you cry. “Do you seriously not know?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I can’t spell it out for you.”
You turned in your seat, fully facing him. “I’m not a mind reader, Beau.”
He put the car in park, staring at you with desperation in his eyes. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”
“Well neither do I.” You huffed.
“Fine.” He looked back towards the road. “Then I guess we have nothing more to talk about.”
“Fine.” You unbuckled, your eyes threatening to spill over as you grabbed your things. “Thanks for the ride.” Everything in you screamed to look back, to stop and tell him everything. What you were thinking, what you felt, what you had always felt for him, but had been too scared to say.
But you didn’t turn back.
Beau didn’t have the same resolve as you, he never had.
So he watched as you slammed the door in his face and stormed into your apartment building with your head held high. He watched as his heart walked away, and he did nothing to stop you.
Coward.
You were good at wallowing.
If you put your mind to it, you could make it a profession.
On the first day, you’d skipped all your important classes and laid in bed.
On the second, you’d gone to class, but in possibly the ugliest outfit you owned. Bright green sweatpants from highschool, a teal hoodie from your best friend’s a cappella group, and the greasiest hair you’d ever had in your life.
When you walked into the class you shared with Garrett and Hannah, Garrett had physically winced at the state of you, and Hannah gave you the most pitiful look she could muster.
On day three, Allie staged an intervention.
“I haven’t seen you eat an actual meal since you got back from the birthday party.” You opened your mouth to speak, and she held up a finger. “And no, celery sticks and cream cheese doesn’t count.”
“There were chocolate chips.” You muttered.
“Not helping, babe.” Hannah whispered from behind her best friend. “We want to make sure you take care of yourself.”
“I don’t feel like it.” A lump grew in your throat at the mere thought of why you felt like this. “Can you just let me go back into my room and-”
“No.” Allie looked like a stern mother. It almost scared you. “You don’t have to leave the apartment, but you need to eat.” She sat beside you, grabbing your phone and opening DoorDash. “Now, what do you want?”
On the fourth day, you’d started to feel like a human being again. You’d gotten up at a normal time, made yourself a coffee, and put on a relatively cute outfit.
The fresh air blew through your hair, and the leaves were the perfect shade of orange.
You’d almost taken your phone out and posted the cutest instagram story of all time.
Then you’d spotted Beau.
Your heart stopped as your mind raced for a solution that didn’t lead to you having to talk to him. You’d taken too long, because Beau had spotted you back.
Your eyes went wide, and you stumbled backwards, walking as fast as you could to your next class. The long way, of course.
He hadn’t followed after you.
This wallowing period lasted for six days before you were forced to confront something you told yourself you would never give life to again. All thanks to Dean Di Laurentis.
Him and Allie would be perfect for each other. The pair of them were meddlers of the highest degree.
You were doing your homework in the living room when he walked in.
“Excuse me.” You glared. “What happened to hello?”
Allie scoffed. “Or knocking, for that matter?”
“This is important.” Dean sat on the arm of the couch. “No time for knocking.”
“That entire explanation took the exact same amount of time that knocking would have taken.”
“Not helping, Wellsy.” The boy muttered. “I came here to talk to you.”
“Okay.” You closed your laptop, leaning back into the couch cushion. “I’m all ears.”
“Something is up with Beau.”
“And you expect me to know what-”
“I know it was because of you.” He looked serious, like he genuinely was in pain seeing his best friend miserable. “And you don’t need to tell me what happened, but you do need to fix it. Both of you.”
Your eyes watered. “I’m scared, Dean.”
“I know.” He smiled. “But think about it this way- if you confess first, you can hold it over his head for the rest of your lives.”
“Oh my god!” You gasped. “Way to ruin the mood.”
“Wait a second-” Allie leaned forward. “You said the rest of their lives.”
“They’re meant for each other, Al.” Hannah sighed wistfully. You didn’t think your cheeks could grow any hotter than they already were. “The way they look at each other, the way he looks at her when she isn’t looking-”
“Where is he?”
“His apartment?” Dean raised a brow. “Why?”
“I-” You shot up, grinning widely. “I have to go!”
“I didn’t mean right now!” Dean yelled. “That might not be the best-”
You raced down your building’s stairs, jumped in your car, and sped towards his apartment. You most definitely broke about thirty traffic laws, but you didn’t care. You parked your car haphazardly and jumped into the elevator.
Which held a girl you had a bio class with during your freshman year. “Hey, Cathy.”
“Hey.” She flashed a smile. “What’s up?”
“I-” What were you supposed to say, you were here to confess your love to your childhood best friend? “Am visiting a friend.”
“Ah.” The elevator dinged, and she stepped off. “Nice to see you.”
“You too.” You tapped your foot, nervously waiting for the elevator to go up one floor, one singular floor. Why did it feel like the elevator was moving in slow motion right before your stop? Why did- It stopped, and your heart skipped, jumping out to get to his apartment. You flung open his front door, breath heaving.
About twelve pairs of curious eyes landed on you. The door shut quietly behind you, and you huffed. “Do you know where-”
“Hey.” God, he looked handsome. Beau stood across the room, holding an overflowing bowl of chips. “What’s up?”
“I didn’t know that-” You gulped. “That people would be here.”
“Sorry?” He tilted his head as he handed off the bowl to one of his brothers. You scanned the crowd, smiling when you found Tucker.
“Hey, Tuck.”
“Hey.” Tucker smiled back.
“Are you alright?” Beau questioned. “Did something happen?”
“I’m fine.” He visibly relaxed at the statement. “I just- I have to finish our conversation.”
“I really don’t think that here is the best-”
“I love you.” You blurted it out like it was nothing. “That actually came out wrong. I wanted it to be more-” You wiped your temple, sweat building up from the adrenaline. “It’s just that I- wanted it to be a little more grand but I-” You laughed. “I really love you. I have for a while now.” Beau was wide-eyed, his face unreadable. “And I’m so sorry for everything. For ignoring it mainly. For ignoring us.” He stepped towards you so quickly, you hadn’t even registered it. You just kept rambling. “I can’t lose you, and I can’t stay just friends. So I understand if you-”
Beau’s hands clenched tightly around your hips, pulling you flush against him. “Stop talking for a second.”
“Okay.” Your hands subconsciously slid into his hair at the nape of his neck as his lips dove down to meet yours. The room collectively gasped, teasing and shouting out words of encouragement. Shiver ran down your spine as his touch made its way up your back.
Beau pulled away just barely, and you found yourself whining for more as he flipped his friends off. “Screw off.”
“Well, technically, she invaded our brother’s night.” A voice, you didn’t know whose, interrupted. “So you screw off.”
“I’m sure they will.” Another quipped.
Beau’s eyes never left yours once though. “I love you too, you know.” He grinned, nudging your nose with his. “This was really dramatic of you.”
You shrugged. “Had to get your attention somehow.”
“You definitely did. Will you excuse me for one second?”
You nodded. ”Sure.”
He pecked your lips quickly, turning to the guys who were watching the two of you like their own personal soap opera. “Thanks for coming, everyone. But I’m gonna have to ask you to leave.” He cleared his throat when no one moved. “Now.”
“Whatever you say, boss.” Tucker jumped up, making a beeline for the door. “Congrats, by the way.”
“Thanks, Tuck.” You waved. “Goodnight.”
“Did I miss it?” You groaned, dropping your head into Beau’s chest. “Did I miss it?”
“Yes, Dean.” Beau laughed, rubbing comforting circles into your back. “You missed it.”
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🩵💗 - (i pictured this taking place during the fall time), simp!beau, FLUFF GALORE, idiots in love, KISSING GALORE, beau maxwell x fem!reader
here is the first part if you're interested!!
word count: 584
Asking your best friend to be the one to give you your first kiss was messing with your heart.
On one hand, it was Beau. On the other hand, he was really handsome.
Reflecting back on your initial idea, you realized how void of logic it was.
You didn't think your heart would race this fast and your mind would become this clouded when you got this close to your best friend.
"Relax, Trouble." He had this lazy sort of confidence about him that really (typically) irked you. Right now, though, it calmed you in a way that only he could. "It's just me."
"I know." You frowned. "I know it's just you."
"Then come here." He patted the spot next to him on the couch. "I won't bite. This time. That'll be part of your next lesson."
"Are you sure that your family won't be home soon-"
"I told you my parents are on vacation and Joanna has her own apartment." He gave you a reassuring smile, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear. "No one is going to interrupt."
"Okay." You turned toward him, looking between the space that still existed between you. "I feel like this would be an awkward way to kiss, no?"
"I mean-" His cheeks grew pink. "I guess."
"Can I-" You gestured to his lap. When he didn't instantly respond, you recoiled, stammering. "Sorry. What do I know about-"
"It's okay." He gulped. "It's alright." You let out a shaky breath as you straddled his lap, letting yourself relax into his hold. His hands were soft on your hips, grabbing at them like he was scared you would disappear.
"Is this alright?" You whispered.
"More than alright." He smiled quickly. "You're doing great, Trouble."
"We haven't even kissed yet." You leaned forward, your eyes fluttering to his lips every so often. "I'd be concerned if I was doing poorly."
His laugh sent shivers down your spine. "Put your hands on my chest."
"Okay." You felt your stomach flip.
"And I'm gonna- I'm gonna lean in, and-" His hands roamed up your back, pulling you closer. "Is this-"
"Kiss me, Maxwell." You murmured, your lips brushing his.
He was softer than you were expecting. Gentler too. You'd heard stories about Beau; everyone had. The stories you had heard were a little more aggressive.
You were still enjoying it, though.
His hands found their way under your shirt, tracing shapes as his lips softly pressed against yours. You gasped when he pulled your bottom lip between his teeth. "Oh-"
He pulled back, his cheeks now bright red. "Was that good?"
"It was great." You smiled, nudging his nose with yours.
"Good." He dove back down, and you grinned. This kiss was much more like the ones you'd heard tale of. Your hands drifted up to his hair, pulling lightly.
Now it was Beau's turn to gasp. "You are uh-" He gulped as you tentatively kissed down his neck. "Gonna kill me, Trouble."
"Sorry." You pulled back. "Am I-"
"You have no idea what you're doing to me." His thumb and pointer finger grabbed your chin. "No idea."
You wiggled your eyebrows. "You could give me one."
He laughed. "If you're down, then I'm-"
"Yes!" Your voice echoed through the apartment, and you slapped a hand over your mouth.
"What an enthusiastic reply." He smirked, standing up with you still in his hold.
"Beau-"
"Shh." Your legs squeezed his waist as he walked up the stairs. "I got you."
🩵💗 - (i pictured this taking place during the fall time), simp!beau, FLUFF GALORE, hopeless romantic!reader, besties in love, idiots in love, cutest little blurb i've ever written, beau maxwell x fem!reader
here is the second part if you're interested!!
word count: 750
Being in the city with Beau was the best. He knew where to go, what to eat, what to watch, and which parks to visit. It was like having your own little tour guide.
But every so often, when you had a longer subway ride, you would space out and fall into a state of deep reflection and self-pity.
Your eyes drifted from each person, wondering about their story, about how their day was. And then eventually, your eyes would land on a couple.
Happy, content, in love. It made your own heart clench with want. Today had been the millionth time this had happened to you. You watched a hopelessly in love boy, around you and Beau's age, blissfully unaware to the outward eye, plant the softest, sweetest kiss you'd ever seen on his girlfriend's lips.
Her smile widened as she returned the kiss quickly, mumbling something about people watching. The boy just laughed, wrapping an arm around her waist to pull her into his side.
Your expression fell ever so slightly, and Beau frowned, following your gaze. This was not the first time he'd found you staring wistfully at couples, nor would it be the last.
He cleared his throat, pulling you out of your thoughts. "Trouble? You alright?"
"Yeah." You nodded. "For sure."
"Really?" He raised a brow, stretching his arm out over your shoulders to whisper in your ear. "So you weren't daydreaming?"
"Yes?" You were much too confident for someone who was so obviously lying. "Sorry. Did I ignore you?"
"Nope." He smiled. "Didn't miss a thing."
"Cool." You grinned. "Wanna get pizza?"
"I thought you'd never ask."
...
You waited until after he'd taken a large bite to ask the most out-of-pocket question in the world. "Can you kiss me?"
Beau choked, eyes practically falling out of their sockets as he tried to catch his bearings. You look guilty, wincing every time he coughs. "What brought this on?"
"You've kissed a lot of girls, right?"
"Are you trying to slut shame me right now?"
You've never looked so embarrassed in your life, and Beau is living for the way you shift under his gaze. "No, no! I would never, you know that."
"I'm just teasing you." He took a large sip of water.
"You have, right?"
He nods.
"So you could say you're-" You huff. "Experienced?"
His ego, unfortunately, has never been larger. "I can give you a list of references."
"Oh, shut up." You push his arm, leaning back against the booth. "Forget I said anything."
"Nope. Can't." He leans forward, making it impossible for you to avoid him. "You want me to kiss you. Why?"
"I-" You groan. "This is so embarrassing."
"It's just me, Trouble. I promise this isn't embarrassing." He mumbles, taking another sip of his water. "It's kind of endearing, honestly."
"Endearing!" You let your face fall into your hands. "Kill me now."
"I'll kiss you. Free of charge and everything."
"Well, gee." You scoff, letting your hands fall into your lap. "Thanks, pal."
"You never said why you want me to do this mind-blowing kiss."
"I never said mind-blowing." You glared. "I trust you, okay? I want you to be my first kiss."
"First?" His heart skipped a beat. "As in-"
"Yes, Beau." You were back to glaring at him. "I've never been kissed. I've never done anything." His jaw was slack, and you wanted to curl up in a hole and die. "See? I told you it was embarrassing."
"Stop saying that." He look almost annoyed. Almost. "It's not, I promise you. I'm not judging you, and that's really the only opinion that matters anyway."
"You really need to get your ego checked, Maxwell."
"Yeah, yeah." He tried to deflate it, but he couldn't help it. You'd just asked him to be your first kiss. He was on top of the moon, and not even one of Sabrina's classic humiliating roasts could bring him down.
"I can ask someone else-"
"I'll do it." Pull it together, Maxwell.
"Geez." You smirked. "Try not to be so eager."
"So when do you want this thing to happen?"
Your nose scrunched up in disgust, and Beau can't help but feel the need to kiss the creases away. "Don't call it a thing. And I was thinking ASAP. Maybe when we get back to your apartment?"
"I can make that happen." He grinned. This was either going to be the best or the worst decision Beau would ever make in his life.
what is that irritating, grating, voice?!? it's spiderman - drabble #4
🩵♥️💗- AND ANOTHER ONE (thor-core)!!, angst/fluff, banter, team cap, enhanced!reader, basically wanda with purple powers lol, peter parker x fem!avenger!reader,peter parker x maximoff!reader
word count: 502
You watched from the shadows as Steve tried to talk Tony down. This wasn't exactly what you signed up for when the Avengers promised to take care of you and train you like one of their own. "Wanda-"
"It'll be alright, Angel." She whispered, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder.
"Underoos!" Tony's little sidekick swung out of nowhere, pulling Cap's shield from his hands and flipping around in the air. You stepped out, hands glowing, ready to take it back. "Nice job, kid."
"Thanks! I could have stuck the landing a little better-"
"Excuse me." You cleared your throat. "That doesn't belong to you."
"Harsh." He sounded as young as you. You glared, focusing on the shield. "I'm Spider-Man, by the way. What's your name?"
"Your distraction tactics will not work on me." You scoffed, wiggling your fingers. "Stand down, and I won't throw you around like a little rag doll."
"Alright." Tony rolled his eyes. "I don't know if this is some messed-up way of flirting or something, but we have an agenda."
"I wasn't-" The Spiderman was a blubbering mess, as far as you could tell. "I- Yeah, won't happen again, sorry, Mr. Stark."
"Tony-" You frowned. "Please, let us go."
"Aren't you supposed to be in time out?" The billionaire jutted his hip. "I left you at the compound, if I'm not mistaken. You and your sister."
"Funny. We would have stayed, but we didn't enjoy the whole prison vibe."
"Don't sass me, young lady." He was visibly growing frustrated. "I was trying to keep you safe, to keep Cap here from tearing the Avengers apart."
"You did that yourself." You spat out. "You took the one family I ever-"
Steve placed a hand on your shoulder, pulling you back before you made it worse. "Let me take it from here. Follow the kid."
...
The Spiderman had a knack for annoying people.
"Leave them alone, Spider-ling!" You flew after him, almost giggling when his eyes widened.
"Mr. Stark's orders, so-"
You raised one hand, pulling him off of the information pole like it was nothing. "Woah, what's going on?"
"I'm using my powers." You answered like it was obvious. "Would you like a soft or hard landing?"
"Soft!"
"Too slow." You flung him through the glass terminal ceiling, allowing yourself to laugh as he screamed. "Stupid little spider."
"Are you gonna free us?" Bucky grumbled. "Or are you gonna keep talking to yourself?"
"I-" You felt heat rise to your cheeks. "You should be grateful."
"I would be-" Sam interjected. "But your timing is horrible."
You stalked over, your fingers glowing purple as the web fluid melted from their wrists. "Требало би да те оставим овде да трулиш."
"What was that?" Sam squinted. "That's not fair; you know I can't speak Sokovian."
You smirked, walking away. "That is not my issue, Sam."
"Hey!"
"She said, I should leave you here to rot." Bucky almost laughed for the first time in decades. "I would if I were her."
🩵💗💛♥️ - AND ANOTHER ONE (thor-core)!! angsty, fluffy, hurt/comfort, just talking about life, enhanced!reader, basically wanda with purple powers lol, peter parker x fem!avenger!reader,peter parker x maximoff!reader
word count: 1,039
You'd been in the living room binging your favorite sitcom (Superstore) when you'd heard it: your window opening in the other room. Your bedroom.
God forbid a girl relax in her own home without imminent fear of an attack.
You wanted to groan. You'd just brewed a pot of tea and settled into your corner of the couch with your heated blanket on its highest setting.
In other words, this was an extremely inconvenient time to be attacked. Getting up from your spot, you grabbed the nearest weapon, planning your defense strategy.
Then you'd heard a thud, a pained gasp, and cursing. Your eyebrows furrowed as you walked carefully toward your bedroom door, pushing it open slowly.
"Hey, Angel." Spider-Man sat on your floor, clutching his side. "You look comfy."
"It is two am." You put your knife down on your bedside table. "How'd you know I lived here?"
"I-" He pulled his mask off the rest of the way, allowing you to see his eyes (full of guilt, by the way).
"Ah." You nodded in understanding. "You stalked me after I stalked you."
"Something like that. Sorry to barge in like this, but-" He gasped again. Your heart clenched, your mind racing for why you felt the way you did. You'd seen countless injuries, and you'd never batted an eye.
You were weirdly comfortable with Spider-Man.
Peter. You had to remember to call him Peter.
You were weirdly comfortable with Peter. In this specific situation, it felt like you'd been through it a million times before.
Except this was the first time he'd ever done this, as far as you could recall.
"It's bad, isn't it?" He nodded, and you instantly dropped to the floor, trying to examine the wound. "It's hard to see with the suit mostly covering it. Can-" You gestured to his chest, and his cheeks grew bright red. (It was definitely from the pain and adrenaline, and definitely NOT from the fact that you were touching him for the first time in years).
"Yes." He sounded tense. (Again, probably the pain).
Using your powers, you pulled down his torn suit, stopping at the waist. "Tell me when it hurts."
He was quiet for a while, his head leaning back against the mattress, the only indication of pain being his clenched jaw. If you hadn't noticed that, you would have never known he was in pain. He never complained, never told you that it hurt. That made you worry even more. "Can I ask what happened?"
"I was off tonight." He took a shaky breath in. "There was too much going on, too many people in trouble, and I- I got distracted."
"You could have called me, y'know." You looked up, a soft smile on your lips as your glowing hands hovered over the gash. "I would have been there."
"Yeah?" He smirked. "I thought you only dealt with large potatoes."
"Hey!" You were almost offended. "That's Yelena's thing, not mine. I- I want to help. I need to help."
You didn't have to say why; Peter knew. Of course he knew - after Wanda kidnapped an entire town, people were quick to turn on her younger sister, even though you hadn't been involved at all.
"Next time."
You frowned, refocusing on the wound, which was healing nicely. "Hopefully there isn't a next time."
"Of course." He nodded. "I just meant-"
"Relax, Peter." You giggled. "You're so tense."
He wanted to scream. This was all too much: your touch, your laugh, your smile. After years of denying himself of knowing you, he was now diving headfirst into all things you. Instead of screaming, he asked a stupid question. "How do your powers work?"
You raised a brow. "Do you actually want to know?"
"Yeah." He looked down at his side, which was now considerably less bloody than it was when he'd arrived. "It's cool. Glow stick hands - I wish I had that power."
"Glow stick hands?" You squeaked. That was a new one. "I was given these powers by HYDRA."
"In Sokovia, right?"
"Right." You nodded. "Wanda and I are actually very similar in that sense. We both have glow stick hands-" You wiggled your fingers. "And we can both move things with our minds. We can read minds too."
"How are you different, then?"
"Her powers are more-" You gulped. "Destructive in a way. I always thought it had something to do with the age they were given to us. She was a teenager, angry and brooding. I was a kid. I still had hope, I guess. Maybe I was just naive." You pulled your hands away, reaching for the first aid kit in your bedside table drawer. "I don't know if that makes any sense, now that I've said it out loud."
"I think it makes perfect sense," Peter murmured. "Do you miss her?"
"Every day." You felt your eyes water. "She was the closest thing I had to a mother. I hardly remember my own. Who I miss the most, though, is my brother."
"Your brother?" Peter had only heard rumors of a third Maximoff, but he thought they were just that: rumors.
"Pietro." You carefully placed a gauze sponge over his injury before wrapping his side with tape. "He died ten years ago, I think. Maybe twelve." You sat back, admiring your work. "It's hard to remember anymore."
"It's hard." Peter sat up, his cheeks still pink. "Losing a loved one so young."
"It is." You sat beside him, leaning your head on his shoulder. "You lost your Uncle Ben, right?"
"You-" He nodded slowly. "Your memory is improving."
"I've been searching."
"Searching?" His body tensed. "Searching for what?"
"For you in my memories. Sometimes it hurts to keep digging. But I think-" You sighed, placing a comforting hand on his arm. "I think it hurts more not knowing all that we were, you know?"
"Have you found anything else?" You shook your head, too scared to say. That conversation was for another day, one where you hadn't just finished patching him up, and he wasn't shirtless in your room at four am. "Let me know if you do find anything else."
"I will." You hummed, leaning into his hold. "I promise."
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you can't stop thinking about spiderman - drabble #2
♥️ - ANOTHER (thor-core)!! angsty if you really think about it (try not to) , peter parker x fem!avenger!reader, peter parker x maximoff!reader
word count: 444
Every time you closed your eyes, memories of Spider-Man played like a movie montage.
Some of them even included the man behind the mask, or what little you could remember of him. Flashes of wavy brown hair and a bright smile plagued every waking moment.
So as a result, you'd been tailgating him for days. What S.H.I.E.L.D .-trained agent wouldn't?
You had to get to the bottom of this fixation.
For days, you watched as he put himself in incredibly dangerous situations, fought crime at all hours of the night, and swung around the city erratically.
To sum up your observations, Spider-Man had a death wish.
But sometimes, when the city was quiet and there was nothing to fight, he'd sit on top of the Chrysler Building and stare out at the streets below.
"Do you ever get tired of following me?"
He'd said it so quietly you'd almost missed it. You scolded yourself. What would Natasha think if she knew how easily he'd spotted you?
"I don't know." You responded, stepping out of the shadows. "Do you ever get tired of risking your life?"
"That's the job, isn't it?"
You shrugged, sitting beside him. "I don't know. You seem to enjoy the parts that have a higher risk."
His spider-eyes squinted, and he nudged your arm. "Is this your twisted way of saying that you care about me?"
You expertly avoided answering the question. "What gave it away? That I was following you?"
"Honestly?" He laughed to himself. "I could smell your perfume. And..."
"And what?"
"I could hear your heartbeat. Every time I turned around, I could hear it pick up."
"That's not fair." You felt heat rise to your cheeks. "You're sort of cheating if you think about it."
"Whatever you say, Angel."
"That-" Your breath caught. "How do you know that nickname?"
"Pretty common nickname." He whispered.
You shook your head, standing up. "I knew it. I knew that I knew you! Only a specific group of close friends I had years ago called me that."
"I messed up." He whispered to himself. "I- I shouldn't have said that."
"But you did." You sounded so desperate for answers that you almost cringed. "Who are you?"
"Please don't make me do this."
"Tell me." Your voice broke. "It's eating me alive."
He stood up, nearing the edge. "I can't- I'm supposed to keep you safe." Turning around, you can see him readying to swing to the nearest building, and you call out in annoyance.
"Peter Parker, get back here right now!" You gasped as soon as the words left your mouth.
peter parker sees you for the first time in years - drabble #1
🩵♥️ - BND WAS SO GOOD!! hope you enjoy, implied past relationship, angsty if you really think about it (try not to) , peter parker x fem!reader, peter parker x avenger!reader, peter parker x maximoff!reader
word count: 555
Holy shit.
His hand slowly rose to his chest, clenching the skin above his heart. Evie whispered something about how his heart rate was higher than normal. He couldn't tell, to be honest; his hearing had gone when he caught sight of you.
"Sad-man!" The Black Widow yelled from across the room, her hands playing with the water. "Baby Wanda is here-"
"Yelena, please focus." Your voice, as familiar as ever, shot through his heart like a bullet. "Just tell Bucky to talk to Sam. It's a very simple request-"
"The Winter Soldier can handle his own appointments-"
"Can he?" You jutted your hip. "Because I've called him and his little secretary a million times, and it's straight to voicemail."
"Perhaps he does not walk to talk," Yelena smirked. "To either of you."
"We have much more evidence to support the whole 'ignoring' game. You blindsided us with this entire thing, The New Avengerz. What kind of name-" You huffed. "I'm getting off track. And-" You turned towards him, your arms crossed. "Why are you still here?"
Thank god for the mask. His jaw was slack, his heart racing a million miles an hour as he tried to form a singular sentence. He hadn't felt like this since he'd first met you at the airport in Germany. "I-"
"Do not be rude, Baby Wanda. Sad-man will not tell anyone what you say. He has no friends."
"Now who's being rude?" You scoffed. "And you know that's not my name."
"Baby Witch?"
"Not my name either." Your hands clenched, a habit you'd picked up from your older sister. It helped you calm down, or at least, that's what you had told Peter years ago. "Can you please just try? I don't know what happened during their whole little breakup-"
"That is for them to figure out, not us." Yelena raised a brow. "Do you not have bigger potatoes to fry than this?"
"Potatoes? What are you talking about?"
"It's her thing." Finally, a full sentence. Peter laughed awkwardly. "She calls problems potatoes."
"Okay..." You turned your back to Yelena, staring at him like you were trying to figure him out from a single glance. "Your voice, it-" Your eyes raked over his suit. "I fought you in Germany."
"Yea-"
"And we fought together during Thanos. The first and second time."
"Also true."
"Why do I-" You shook your head, and Peter's heart clenched. "I know you."
"I do not think so. Sad-man knows no one." Yelena murmured.
"No, I do." You insisted, stepping closer. Peter gulped, both craving and dreading your touch. "Why is it hard to think about you?"
"I should get going." Peter cleared his throat. "I can come by another time."
"Goodbye, Spider."
"We were friends, weren't we?" Your voice was smaller than he'd ever heard it.
"I don't- I don't know what you're talking about."
"I-" Your hands reached up, glowing the faintest shade of purple. He felt his mask start to lift, and his hands darted up, yanking it down. You stumbled back, realization clouding your pretty features. "I'm sorry. That was- I don't know what came over me."
"No worries." He whispered. "It's alright."
"I-" You pulled your jacket closer around you, storming out of the room without another word.
"That was odd." Yelena broke through the silence. "Very odd."
peter parker sees you for the first time in years - drabble #1
🩵♥️ - BND WAS SO GOOD!! hope you enjoy, implied past relationship, angsty if you really think about it (try not to) , peter parker x fem!reader, peter parker x avenger!reader, peter parker x maximoff!reader
word count: 555
Holy shit.
His hand slowly rose to his chest, clenching the skin above his heart. Evie whispered something about how his heart rate was higher than normal. He couldn't tell, to be honest; his hearing had gone when he caught sight of you.
"Sad-man!" The Black Widow yelled from across the room, her hands playing with the water. "Baby Wanda is here-"
"Yelena, please focus." Your voice, as familiar as ever, shot through his heart like a bullet. "Just tell Bucky to talk to Sam. It's a very simple request-"
"The Winter Soldier can handle his own appointments-"
"Can he?" You jutted your hip. "Because I've called him and his little secretary a million times, and it's straight to voicemail."
"Perhaps he does not walk to talk," Yelena smirked. "To either of you."
"We have much more evidence to support the whole 'ignoring' game. You blindsided us with this entire thing, The New Avengerz. What kind of name-" You huffed. "I'm getting off track. And-" You turned towards him, your arms crossed. "Why are you still here?"
Thank god for the mask. His jaw was slack, his heart racing a million miles an hour as he tried to form a singular sentence. He hadn't felt like this since he'd first met you at the airport in Germany. "I-"
"Do not be rude, Baby Wanda. Sad-man will not tell anyone what you say. He has no friends."
"Now who's being rude?" You scoffed. "And you know that's not my name."
"Baby Witch?"
"Not my name either." Your hands clenched, a habit you'd picked up from your older sister. It helped you calm down, or at least, that's what you had told Peter years ago. "Can you please just try? I don't know what happened during their whole little breakup-"
"That is for them to figure out, not us." Yelena raised a brow. "Do you not have bigger potatoes to fry than this?"
"Potatoes? What are you talking about?"
"It's her thing." Finally, a full sentence. Peter laughed awkwardly. "She calls problems potatoes."
"Okay..." You turned your back to Yelena, staring at him like you were trying to figure him out from a single glance. "Your voice, it-" Your eyes raked over his suit. "I fought you in Germany."
"Yea-"
"And we fought together during Thanos. The first and second time."
"Also true."
"Why do I-" You shook your head, and Peter's heart clenched. "I know you."
"I do not think so. Sad-man knows no one." Yelena murmured.
"No, I do." You insisted, stepping closer. Peter gulped, both craving and dreading your touch. "Why is it hard to think about you?"
"I should get going." Peter cleared his throat. "I can come by another time."
"Goodbye, Spider."
"We were friends, weren't we?" Your voice was smaller than he'd ever heard it.
"I don't- I don't know what you're talking about."
"I-" Your hands reached up, glowing the faintest shade of purple. He felt his mask start to lift, and his hands darted up, yanking it down. You stumbled back, realization clouding your pretty features. "I'm sorry. That was- I don't know what came over me."
"No worries." He whispered. "It's alright."
"I-" You pulled your jacket closer around you, storming out of the room without another word.
"That was odd." Yelena broke through the silence. "Very odd."
summary: ever since the world forgot peter parker, he’s kept exactly one promise: protect the people he loves, even if they never know his name. unfortunately for him, natasha romanoff made sure tony stark’s daughter would always notice when she was being followed.
warnings: memory-loss consequences, mentions of stalking, emotional angst, natasha romanoff’s training, english being not my first language.
the bell above the café door chimed softly.
peter didn’t look up.
he had learned that if he looked at every customer who walked in, he’d only end up disappointed. every few hours he’d convince himself that maybe, just maybe, someone would remember him.
no one ever did.
instead, he kept reading the same page of the physics textbook he’d been pretending to study for the last fifteen minutes while, through the reflection in the window, he watched her.
she looked… okay.
happy enough.
a little tired.
she laughed at something on her phone before ordering coffee. good. that was all he needed. he could leave now.
except he didn’t. because he’d told himself that every day for the past month.
just another five minutes. just until she leaves safely. just…
then the chair across from him scraped against the wooden floor.
peter froze.
“…hi.”
he slowly lowered his book.
reader smiled politely, almost apologetically.
“hi.” his brain completely stopped working.
she wasn’t supposed to be here.
she wasn’t supposed to even notice him.
she folded her arms on the table. “you’ve been following me for weeks.”
peter’s heart nearly stopped. “…i’m sorry?”
“you heard me.”
“i- i think you’ve got the wrong guy.”
“no.” she tilted her head. “it’s definitely you.”
peter forced an awkward laugh.
“i think i’d remember following someone.”
“you’ve changed hoodies six times.”
his smile faltered.
“you alternate between three backpacks. you’ve started buying coffee from places you clearly don’t like because they’re on my route. and yesterday you spent forty-three minutes pretending to compare cereal brands.”
peter blinked. “…how do you know it was forty-three?”
she gave him a look. “because i was timing you.”
silence.
then she sighed. “i let it go the first week.”
peter considered jumping through the nearest window.
“the second week I assumed you were gathering courage to ask me out.”
his ears turned scarlet. “what?”
“the third week I realized you weren’t actually trying to approach me.” she leaned back. “so now I’m curious.” another beat. “you don’t seem dangerous.”
“no.”
“you don’t seem creepy.”
“…thanks?”
“you actually look guilty… so.” she rested her chin on her hand. “why are you following me?”
peter stared at her.
every answer he wanted to give sat painfully behind the one he couldn’t.
because you’re my best friend.
because i promised your dad.
because i couldn’t save aunt may, but i can make sure nothing happens to you.
instead. “i think you’ve mistaken me for someone else.”
she smiled. “there it is.”
“what?”
“you’re lying.”
peter swallowed.
reader reached for her coffee when the waiter placed it down.
she took one sip before speaking again. “you know…” her voice softened. “i was trained by natasha romanoff.”
peter almost groaned.
“she spent years teaching me how to spot surveillance.” she pointed casually toward the window. “you always stay where you can see exits.”
peter blinked.
“you never let anyone stand behind you.”
another blink.
“when you think i might’ve noticed you, you start reading.”
his eyes drifted to the textbook still open in front of him.
“and,” she continued, “you scan everyone’s hands before you look at their faces.”
peter slowly closed the book.
“…old habits.”
“military?”
he smiled faintly. “no.”
“former shield?”
“…no.”
“hired by someone?”
his stomach tightened. “…no.”
she studied him for a long moment.
then something shifted in her expression.
not suspicion.
sadness.
“you know…” she murmured, “it’s strange.”
peter looked at her.
“i feel like…” she frowned. “…i should know you.”
his breath caught.
she looked embarrassed by her own words. “that’s weird, right?”
“…maybe.”
“i’ve had this feeling for months.” she laughed quietly. “i’ll see someone wearing a red hoodie and think, there you are, and then…” she shrugged. “it’s never who I’m looking for.”
peter had to grip the edge of the table to stop his hands from shaking.
“you have one of those faces.”
“my face?”
“it feels…” she searched for the word. “…familiar.”
neither of them spoke.
finally, reader smiled. “anyway.” she stood, grabbing her cup. “I don’t know why you’re following me.”
peter lowered his eyes.
“but i don’t think it’s because you want to hurt me.”
“…no.”
“i think…” she said quietly, “…you’re making sure i’m okay.”
his throat tightened.
“i don’t know why.”
neither do i anymore, he almost admitted.
she took a step away before pausing. “if you’re ever done hiding…”
peter looked up.
“…i’d like to know your name.” she smiled one last time as she turned towards the door.
she already had one hand on the café door when she heard him.
“wait.”
reader turned around.
peter was already regretting it.
his chair had scraped loudly against the floor, every eye in the café briefly drifting toward him before returning to their own conversations.
he swallowed.
she waited. “yeah?”
peter had rehearsed thousands of conversations with her.
none of them started like this.
“i…” he rubbed the back of his neck. “this is going to sound weird.”
a small smile tugged at her lips. “i’ve had a weird afternoon already.”
right.
she’d just confronted her own stalker.
“right.” he laughed nervously.
“i guess… i just wanted to say i’m sorry.”
“for following me?”
he nodded immediately. “yeah.”
“and?”
“and…” he looked down at the floor. “i wasn’t lying when i said i don’t want to hurt you.”
“i know.”
“i know that’s not enough of an explanation.”
“no.”
“but it’s the only one i can give.”
reader watched him for a long second. there was something painfully sincere about him. not charming. not smooth. just… honest.
like someone carrying a weight he wasn’t allowed to put down.
“so…” she asked softly. “does this mean you’re going to stop following me?”
peter hesitated. “…yes.” the word almost hurt. “if that’s what makes you feel safe.”
she noticed the way his shoulders slumped after he said it. like he’d just lost something.
her expression softened. “i didn’t say i felt unsafe.”
his eyes lifted to hers.
“i said i noticed.”
“oh.”
“you’ve had plenty of opportunities to do something.”
“i know.”
“you never did.”
“…no.”
“you actually scared away a guy who was following me last tuesday.”
peter blinked. “…you noticed that too?”
she laughed. “i notice everything.”
of course she did.
natasha would’ve been proud.
peter smiled despite himself. it was small. real.
reader noticed that too. “you smile like someone who doesn’t do it very often.”
his smile disappeared almost immediately. “…guess not.”
silence settled between them. comfortable this time.
then peter spoke before he could convince himself not to. “i know this is… probably inappropriate after everything.”
she raised an eyebrow.
“but…” he inhaled deeply. “would you maybe…” his voice almost cracked. “…want to be friends?”
the question hung between them.
reader stared. “friends?”
“i know.” he laughed awkwardly. “it sounds ridiculous.”
“you’ve been secretly following me for a month…”
“…yeah.”
“…and your solution is friendship?”
“when you put it like that….”
“it sounds insane.”
“it really does.” he buried his face in one hand. “i’m sorry. i should’ve just let you leave.”
she couldn’t help smiling. “no.”
he looked up.
“i’m glad you didn’t.”
peter blinked.
she stepped closer. “can i ask you something?”
“anything.”
“why me?”
he froze.
thee answer was so easy.
because you were my best friend.
because i fell in love with you when we were fifteen.
because every science project somehow became an excuse to spend another afternoon together.
because your dad used to pretend he didn’t know we kept sneaking into the lab.
because i still know exactly how you take your coffee.
instead.
“you seemed…” he searched for something that wasn’t a lie. “lonely.”
reader’s smile faded just a little. “…that’s a surprisingly accurate observation.”
peter’s heart sank. “i know what that’s like.”
she looked at him differently then.
not with suspicion. with recognition.
like she’d found another person carrying invisible things.
“i don’t usually make friends with strangers.”
“i figured.”
“but…” she reached into her tote bag and pulled out a small notebook. tearing off a page, she scribbled something before folding it once then she placed it in front of him. “my number.”
peter stared at it as if it might disappear.
“i have one condition.”
he looked up.
“no more following me.”
his stomach twisted. “…okay.”
“if you want to know whether i’m okay…” she smiled. “you ask.”
peter let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “…okay.”
“and if i catch you watching me from another rooftop.”
“i won’t.”
“peter.” the name left her mouth so naturally that they both froze.
silence.
reader frowned. “…why did i call you peter?”
his entire body went still. “i…”
she blinked rapidly. “i don’t even know your name.”
peter couldn’t breathe.
she shook her head, almost laughing at herself. “sorry. that’s… weird. it just slipped out.”
neither of them spoke.
finally, she smiled again, smaller this time. “so…” she tilted her head. “what’s your name?”
peter looked at the folded piece of paper with her phone number.
then back at the girl he’d loved since he was fifteen.
the girl who had just called him by the name the universe had stolen from him.
he smiled.
this time, it reached his eyes. “…peter. peter parker.”
she repeated it quietly, as though testing how it felt. “peter.” something in her chest stirred. a feeling with no memory attached.
only warmth.
only home.
“…it’s nice to meet you peter parker.”
peter nodded. “it really is.”
and for the first time since doctor strange’s spell, he wasn’t introducing himself to a stranger.
he was introducing himself to someone who, somehow, had almost remembered.
author’s note: i watched brand new day a few days ago, and i literally felt the need of writing something about peter parker. also i was thinking of making like a part 2 out of this, would you guys like that?
WARNINGS: SET DURING THE GOLDEN AGE, tension you could cut with a knife, idiots in love
WORD COUNT: 4.0k
🎶 : runaway - aurora
AN: 💗 - prequel to 'you were here' happy reading!!
Peter prided himself on his efficiency. Every morning, at the same time (eight am to be precise), he received a knock on his door, alerting him that the day had officially begun. His dressers would come in and choose an outfit, he would go through his first pile of paperwork, and head down to the drawing room for breakfast.
He always made it a point to stop by the kitchen for a chance of seeing what they’d be eating that day. Like any other day, he approached the door, fully prepared to waltz through with his award-winning smile, when an angelic voice stopped him dead in his tracks.
As captivating as the nyads themselves, he couldn’t help but lean in, wanting, no, needing more.
Peter Pevensie was by no means graceful.
Tripping over his own foot, he fell through the doorway, causing the once majestic voice to screech. The voice had come from possibly the most stunning woman he’d ever seen.
Peter was sure his cheeks were red as he scrambled to his feet.
What in Aslan’s name- your head whipped over to the door, yelping as a man with hair as golden as the sun burst through, stumbling over his own legs. “Excuse me-”
His clothes were much too grand for a servant, his hair much too clean for a butler. And as he stood, you realized who exactly had fallen into your kitchen.
“Your Majesty!” Your eyes grew wide as you sank into a deep curtsy.
“Please, don’t bow. I hate it when people bow.” Slowly, you stood, arms clasped behind your back.
“You have a beautiful voice, my lady.”
“I am no lady, Your Majesty.”
The High King frowned ever so slightly. “And humble as well.”
“Your Majesty-”
“I’ll leave you to your singing…” He trailed off, arms flailing as he gestured to the kitchen. “And baking.”
You nodded. “Have a good morning, Your Majesty.”
“My name is Peter. Formalities are so pretentious, don’t you agree?”
“I don’t know if I should have an opinion on that matter…” A small smile graced your lips. In that very moment, Peter vowed to try and make you smile as often as possible. “But I suppose so.”
It seemed as if his voice no longer worked, gawking ever so slightly as you curiously stared back at him. Panicking, he darted back through the door he’d fallen through.
The dining room had already dove into a quiet chaos, his siblings all shouting quick words of greeting, food already on their plates.
Even with the hectic nature around him, Peter felt as if he was walking on clouds. “Morning, Lu.”
“Pete.” She grinned. “You look oddly bright today. Cheery even.”
Susan laughed. “What an odd thing to say.”
“I’m not wrong. He looks all dazed and… giggly.”
“Giggly?” Edmund’s brow raised, a horrible smirk on his lips. “King Peter the Magnificent looks giggly?”
“Well, how would you describe him, Ed?”
“He’s not even paying attention to us. Look at him.” Peter was now smiling at his muffin, dead to the world around him. “Dear lord, something’s happened.”
Lucy laughed. “He met a girl. I can feel it.”
“Let’s not talk about him like he’s not even there.”
Peter hummed, setting the pastry down on his plate. “I may be ‘dazed’, but that does not mean I can’t hear.”
Lucy tilted her head. “So you do not deny you are dazed?”
You liked working in the castle. You liked how the staff were treated with respect and even admiration, and how, if one of the maids or butlers became ill, they had time to recover. You loved that even though every one of you was a servant, the royals never truly treated you like it. Since you’d begun your employment, you’d been invited to eat with them at every major holiday, every birthday gala, and every other major event Queen Susan threw.
You loved all of that, but there was one benefit that defeated them all.
The library. Cair Paravel’s library was by far the best in the kingdom. Having taught yourself to read at an early age, you grew an affinity young, sneaking away whenever you had the chance. The giant oak doors creaked as you pushed them open, the smell of the parchment immediately flooding your senses. Climbing the rolling ladder, you made your way around half the room until you found your new captivating read.
You’d almost made it safely down the ladder when disaster struck. “We meet again, my lady.” The voice caused your heart to skip, your mind to panic, and your balance to falter. Tripping over your own foot, you fell backward, eyes squeezed shut as you prepared for impact. Only it never came, two strong arms wrapped around you.
“Are you quite alright?”
You froze, rigid as realization clouded your mind. “Your Majesty!” Pulling yourself free of his hold, you sank into a low curtsy. “I cannot begin to-”
“Please, don’t apologize.” His eyes fell to your hands, smiling at the sight. “You have great taste.”
“I’m sorry?”
“A Midsummer Night’s Dream.” You stood, tilting your head to the side. You always thought the royals had been too busy to enjoy the library. “Lord, what fools these mortals be.”
“Stand aside. The noise they make will cause Demetrius to awake.”
He laughed, the sound causing your insides to twist horribly. “I see you’ve enjoyed the library.”
“Very much so, Your Majesty.”
“I swear I’ve asked you to call me Peter.” His eyes lit up, and if you were any braver, you would have scolded him for teasing you.
“Peter.” You opted for a strong glare in his direction. “Do you often have time to read?”
“Not so much anymore.” He frowned. “It seems as the years go on, the time I spend in here dwindles.”
You frowned along with him. “I’m sorry.”
“It is not your fault.” He laughed. “The kingdom never rests.”
“And neither do you, it seems.” Your eyes widened. “That was uncalled for. I- I should be going-”
“Please, don’t.” He stepped forward, as if he was prepared to stop you. “It’s funny. We keep finding each other. Just a fortnight ago-”
“You should have never heard-”
“My mother did the same thing.” A distant look settled in his beautifully blue eyes. “Sing as she cooked. It distracted her from whatever worries she had, and her food was perfection.” He sighed. “Perhaps that is why the food here is so magnificent.”
Your cheeks felt hot, laughing to distract from the butterflies fluttering around in your stomach. “I’m only the breakfast baker.”
“Interesting.” He smiled. “Breakfast is my favorite meal.”
You were going to combust, you were sure of it. “May I ask why you’re in the library? I thought you had meetings at this time of day?”
He smirked. “You keep track of my schedule?”
You sputtered. “No, I take care of your sister; she talks of you.”
His eyebrows scrunched. “Lucy?”
“Susan.”
He nodded. “Ah. Well, Yes. I normally have a meeting around this time. But I’m rebelling. My chief of staff is pestering me about marriage, and alliances, and I feel-”
“You feel like there are more important things to deal with.”
He tilted his head. “Are you a witch?”
You stopped breathing; the question, odd in nature, seemed to come from nowhere. “I’m sorry?”
“It’s just…” He stepped closer, eyes scanning your face curiously. “I was thinking that exact thing.”
“I’ve cared for your sister for years. She is quite worrisome, and I can only assume she gets that trait from you.”
He scoffed as if you hadn’t just seen into his very soul. “Worrisome?”
“I only meant that she thinks too much. It is a great quality to possess, in small quantities, my lord. Your sister… may be a bit anxious at times.”
He laughed loudly, clutching his heart. “A bit? Su’s the most anxious of us all!”
You couldn’t help but giggle along with him, his laughter proving to be quite infectious. “She is quite pent up.”
“She has this terrible need for everything to be perfect.”
“Just the other day, we discussed what shade of blue was closest to the Silver Sea for the Sailor’s Luncheon. She wanted to know which tablecloth would remind them of their love for the ocean.” You held your stomach. “I’m convinced they were all the same color.”
Peter had never felt more entranced than he did in this moment. Your eyes glowed as you spoke, your laughter as stunning as the sun setting in the west. His own laughter grew as a result, his smile so wide it hurt his cheeks.
“Your Majesty, there you are.” Mr.Tumnus’ dulcit tones echoed from the hall. Peter frowned as your laughter ceased, all remnants of humor falling from your face. “Mr.Alcotstrom is looking for you.”
Peter nodded. “I am aware. The lady and I were engaged in a riveting conversation.”
Mr. Tumnus smiled. If he sensed Peter’s annoyance, he did not show it. “And I’m sorry to interrupt you, but we both know how Alcotstrom gets when you run off.”
“Yes, yes. Tell him I’m coming, Tumnus.”
The faun nodded, smiling quickly toward you. “Wonderful to see you, Ms. Heywood.”
Peter waited until the faun had left the room to speak once more. “Your last name is Heywood?”
“It is-”
“I had a general with the same name.”
“My father.”
It all made sense. General Haywood had told him of a daughter, one staying in the camps with him, who had only known a life of fear and ice, a life controlled by the White Witch. “Why are you working as a maid?”
“After he passed, it made sense to find work taking care of what he loved.” You grinned. “He loved this country, and the people who fought to free it from Jadis. It felt right to stay.”
“I’m sorry-”
“You have nothing to be sorry for.”
“But you must know-”
“Enough.” Your voice was tense, your smile fading. “I have chores to attend to, and you have Mr.Alcotstrom.” You curtsied quickly, spinning on your heel toward the door.
“When will I see you again?” His voice was but a whisper, but it had startled you regardless.
“I suspect soon, quite soon.” You looked over your shoulder. “We keep running into each other.”
“Will you be at my birthday gala?” He sounded… eager?
“If you wish it.”
“I wish only that you want to be there, my lady.”
Why did he have to be so devastatingly charming? “I would love to.”
“Wonderful-”
“But I do not have the proper gown.” When you said it out loud, your reasoning sounded frail, weak, as if you had thought of it on the spot. “It would not be wise to attend such an elaborate event in… well,” You gestured to your issued work gown. “This.”
It was truly a wonder the hold you had on him. “I can assure you that anything you arrive in will be more than adequate.”
“That is very kind-”
“It is the truth.”
“Peter.” You laughed at the hilarity of it all. The High King was complimenting you. Peter was complimenting you. “You flatter me.”
“If that is the only reason you cannot attend-”
“It is.” You interrupted. “I swear it is.”
“Then I will see you at the gala.”
You opened your mouth to argue, but knew it was not worth it. In the end, you would go. Not because of the decadent food or the lavish decor, but to simply see him. “I will see you then, my lord.”
It was much too early for this- this incessant knocking. You groaned into your pillow, willing the bothersome noise to cease.
It did not.
Rolling out of your bed, you slipped your robe on, cracking the door open ever so slightly. “Good morning.”
“Good morning.” The woman smiled. You recognized her as one of the seamstresses who made the Queen’s gowns. You’d brought alteration notes to her many times. “You are Lady Heywood, are you not?”
Peter. “May I ask what this is about?”
“I was told it was urgent.” You opened the door the rest of the way, jaw-dropping at the sight. A large white box sat in her arms. “I hope this meets your specifications.”
“While I appreciate the offer, I never-”
“The High King himself asked that this dress be made for you.” The woman had a horrible smirk on her lips, a teasing nature in her tone. “I do wonder-”
“Thank you for the dress. I’m sure it will be wonderful.” You interrupted. “What is it-”
“His birthday gala, I assume.” She was now grinning. “Shall I help you try it on?”
“There’s really no need-”
“The ladies will be here to help you prepare in just a few hours.”
Your mind was reeling, all this information too much to handle. “I- May I have a moment?”
“Of course. I’ll be just down the hall.”
“Thank you.” You’d waited until she left your sight to slam the door shut, staring in both awe and horror at the box in your arms. Setting it carefully on your bed, you peeled it open, eyes tearing up at the sight.
On top of possibly the most extravagant dress you’d ever seen sat a note, small and simple. His handwriting was polished, perfect in every way. Your hand shook as you opened it, a small gasp leaving your lips at its contents.
Not with the eyes, but with the mind.
Clenching the note in your fist, you whipped around, stalking toward the High King’s quarters.
“I cannot accept your-”
Peter tore his head up from his work, his cheeks immediately growing pink at the sight before him. There you stood, as radiant as ever, in your nightgown and robe, feet bare, hair wild from a restless night’s sleep. “My lady, you are-”
“Peter-” You huffed, slamming the door shut behind you. “It is too much.”
“It?” He raised an eyebrow. “I have no idea as to what ‘it’ you are referring to.”
“Do not feign ignorance-” You stopped, squinting at the king. “Is there more?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“You said ‘what it.’ Are you implying there is more you have yet to gift me?”
He looked much too smug as he replied. “I cannot reveal all my tricks.”
“You are too kind.” You scolded. “It will look inappropriate.”
“I do not understand.”
“They will think I am some sort of-” You couldn’t even speak the word. “Some sort of-”
Peter stood, arms crossed, as he watched you curiously. “You seem awfully concerned with how others perceive you.”
“I am concerned for the both of us. It will look as if you are giving me special treatment, as if you and I are-”
He hummed. “Yes?”
“It is too extravagant.”
“You have still not told me the issue.”
“Well, it’s fragile.” You frowned. “It’s improper to say-”
He ignored the urge to point out that you had just burst into his room in your nightgown. “If that is all-”
“If this is some sort of horrible way of embarrassing me or-”
“Surely, you cannot think I would do that to you?” He looked positively betrayed. “I had that dress made because you told me of your predicament. I was merely remedying the situation.”
“And that is all?” The note still clenched in your fist started to burn. “You have nothing more you wish to say?” He shook his head, and you frowned, nodding once before turning back toward the door. “Fine.”
“Only-” He whispered, so softly you hadn’t heard him. The door slammed behind you, and his posture slumped, staring after you like a lost soul trapped in the River Styx. “Only that I find you positively entrancing when you are determined.”
Who were you to deny such a beautiful gift?
That’s what you reminded yourself of for the entirety of the night whenever a new lady’s maid curled your hair, applied rouge, or tightened your corset so much you thought you would surely pass out.
It felt nice to be pampered, to be the one treated so gently. Your days consisted of accidentally burning yourself from touching the pan, kneading bread, scrubbing the floors, and hemming the Queen’s gowns.
You never paid any mind when those things happened; it was just how it had always been. And you still understood that you were a maid and nothing more- “My lady.”
“Please don’t call me that.” You murmured. “You know that I am not a lady.”
“Yes, miss.” The girl nodded. “We’ve finished.” She placed your slippers before you, wrapped in luxurious green silk. “My lady-” You smiled at the title, and the girl winced. “I only meant- It’s just- you look like a Princess.”
Which brought you back to now, nervously clenching your fists as you waited to walk down the grand golden stairs. Many a young lady stood at the top, proudly jutting their chins when their names were announced.
You wished you’d thought of entering through the servants' door.
“The Lady Heywood.”
Aslan, that was you. Stepping forward, the front of your skirt lifted ever so slightly, carefully placing one foot in front of the other. Not many looked, thankfully. You were not from an affluent family, not a trader’s daughter or a diplomat’s niece.
You were simply a maid.
“My lady.” Somehow, Peter did not understand that sentiment. There he stood, handsome as ever, at the bottom of the steps, his hand extended. “You’re here.”
You couldn’t help but smile, delicately placing your hand in his. “Thank you, Your Majesty.” You didn’t want to elaborate, nor did you need to. He knew, and he smiled, eyes sparkling ever so slightly. “Happy Birthday.”
“Technically speaking,” He whispered as he led you through the crowd. “My birthday is tomorrow.”
“Oh.” You giggled. “So this is all a ruse then.”
“Exactly.” He laughed along with you. “We all lie, the four of us. The day after our birthdays, we laze about, go on rides, swim in the enchanted lake.” A far-off look grew on his face. “It is quite-”
“Peaceful.”
He stopped, looking over as if you’d shocked him to his very core. “Yes. Peaceful.” He let go of your hand, much to your chagrin, to nab two flutes of champagne. You’d almost refused to let go. Almost. “Are you quite certain you are not a witch?”
“Very, my lord.” You took a quaint sip, staring at him curiously. “You know that you’ve asked me this before.”
“I have.” He didn’t even try to deny it. “It’s just-”
“Yes?” You raised a brow.
“You have this ever so captivating-”
“Peter!”
The High King did nothing to hide the annoyance on his face, turning toward his brother as if it were some chore he wished not to do. “Edmund.”
“Susan is asking for you.”
“I’m in the middle of a conversation, dear brother.” You took another long sip of your champagne, trying not to seem eager at his very apparent need to stay with you. “The lady and I-”
“I’m sure you were being quite witty-” Edmund peeked over his brother’s shoulder, smiling quickly. “And I am truly sorry, my lady, but it is urgent business.”
“Well, if it is urgent-” Your heart clenched ever so slightly, a small, polite smile gracing your lips. “Your Majesties.”
“Lady Heywood,” Peter mumbled. “There is no need to-”
“It will only be a moment, Peter.” Edmund practically grumbled. “Aslan, you are quite worrisome tonight. Relax, it is your birthday.”
“Technically-” It had slipped out before you could stop yourself. “Tomorrow is the king’s birthday.”
It seemed that the Just King didn’t know whether to laugh or scoff. Peter, however, looked proud. “She’s right, you know.”
“Will you just-” Edmund grabbed his brother’s arm, pulling him away before he could spout out more excuses.
“I’ll be on the terrace.” You’d barely spoken, but he had seen, smiling brightly as ever.
A horrible chill ran through the air, goosebumps forming on your delicate skin. You shivered, rubbing your arms as if that would solve your issue.
“Are you cold?”
“Hardly.” You whispered, almost laughing at how your teeth began to chatter, betraying your words.
“You wouldn’t lie to me, would you?” Peter leaned his back against the railing, gazing at you curiously. “I would hate to think you have.”
“I could never lie to you.” You hadn’t meant it to sound so grave, but you stood by it nonetheless. “I’d be executed.”
He scoffed, laughing lightly. “You have such a grave sense of humor, my lady.” He stood straight, shrugging his cape off his shoulders. “Have you enjoyed the festivities?”
“I have.” Your cheeks felt warm. Perhaps you had begun to exhibit symptoms of hypothermia, or perhaps it was because Peter’s lips were a mere breath away, draping his cape over your own shoulders. “People will talk, you know.”
“Let them.” He huffed. “People pry into my business much too often.”
“I’m sure.” You pulled the cape closer to you, fighting to urge to fall prisoner to its comfort. You turned around, staring into the ballroom full of aristocrats. “What do you suppose they are whispering about right now?”
“In this very moment?”
You hummed, nodding.
“Well, I suppose…” You hadn’t noticed how his gaze fell to you, or how his pupils dilated ever so slightly. You hadn’t noticed how his voice grew breathy, and cheeks flushed, much too pink to be from the cold. “They are whispering about how beautiful you look in this light.”
You dared to look up, heart skipping a beat. “Peter-”
“You’ve said my name.”
“We cannot-”
“Do you know what I wished for? For my birthday?”
You glared. “To stop interrupting me?”
He laughed, shaking his head lightly. “Not exactly. Although it did involve you.”
“Well…” You suddenly felt too hot under his cape. “Now you must tell me.”
“I cannot.” His eyes flickered to your lips. “Or my wish will not come true.”
“Surely you can make an exception.” Your lids lulled, his spell captivating you, his gaze trapping you to stay so very still. “Just this once.”
“I cannot.” He smirked. “Perhaps, my lady, it would be best to show you.”
“Well-” You dared to step closer, your breaths now mingling in the cold night. “If you must.”
His arm snuck around your waist, pulling you flush against him. “Do you trust me?”
“Implicitly.”
He grinned, grabbing your hand in his. “There is a secret stairway.”
Not exactly the surprise you were expecting. “I’m sorry?”
He tapped the railing three times, and sure enough, a stairway appeared, away from the prying eyes that begged to catch a glimpse of the High King. “My lord?” You whispered. “Where are we-”
He practically pulled you down the stairs. “One moment.”
“Perhaps we should- oomph!” In one fell swoop, he had spun you around, pressed you against the wall, and smashed his lips against yours. “Peter-”
“You.” He kissed across your jaw, voice raspy. “I wished for you.”
“You’ve ruined your wish.”
He shook his head, his lashes tickling your skin as he continued his ascent. “I-” Another kiss down your neck. “Don’t.” And another. “Think I have.”
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