#belle writes

The man speaks animatedly as he flashes the woman his perfect, pearly white teeth. The woman elegantly crosses her bare right leg over her left. To a casual observer, the woman is very obviously listening to her companion with rapt attention. But Ellie was not a casual observer. 

Ellie notices the woman’s eyes glossing over and her tight-lipped smile and how her laugh is cleverly forced. Ellie’s slitted eyebrow raises when the woman suddenly takes the man by the collar and plants her mouth on his. Ellie doesn’t notice that the bartender has placed her drink in front of her, her stare focused on the couple shamelessly making out in public. 

Eventually, the woman releases the man’s collar and softly pushes him back. The expression on his face appears shocked but pleased with himself. Finally picking up her glass of whiskey, Ellie lets out a dry chuckle before taking a generous sip. The man doesn’t notice the woman’s half-eyed gaze, her cagey grimace, her twitching fingers. But Ellie does. 

The man leans in to whisper something in the woman’s ear. Ellie holds in a mirthless laugh upon seeing the woman rolling her eyes slightly in disdain, an act completely imperceptible to her companion. 

The man leans back before handing his phone to the woman. She stares at it blankly for a few moments before taking it and quickly typing something. She hands it back to the man, and Ellie mentally notes how she carefully avoids brushing her fingers against his. 

The man smirks before muttering some kind of farewell and walking away. The woman nods and waves him goodbye, a wedding band on her ring finger glinting brightly under the bar’s dingy lights. 

When the man finally rejoins his friends in a dark, far-away corner of the bar, the woman no longer bothers to mask the look of displeasure on her face. She sighs as she turns back around to the bar top, taking out a compact from her purse. She spends a few moments staring at her reflection in the tiny mirror as she fixes her smudged lipstick. 

Ellie continues to watch boldly as the woman closes her compact with a heavy sigh. The despondent, empty look on her face is one Ellie hasn’t seen in years. It almost tugs at Ellie’s heartstrings to watch such a sad image before her. Almost. 

The woman sighs once more as she shakes her head softly, shoves the tiny mirror back into her purse, and throws on a false, plastic smile. She raises a couple of fingers to wave the bartender down her way, quickly muttering her drink order. The bartender nods before placing two shot glasses in front of her, filling them both to the brim with tequila. 

Giving a silent thanks, the woman takes one between her fingers and promptly downs it. She quietly slams the glass back onto the wooden bar top, her face twisting in mild aversion to the liquid courage. She starts to reach for the second shot when she finally realizes that she’s being watched. Your panicked eyes widen in utter shock when they meet Ellie’s ocean green ones. Your bottom lip quivers as her top lip curves up in a smirk. You try to turn away, but Ellie holds your stare as she gets off her barstool to make her way to you. 

You take in her appearance as she saunters over, the image of a woman you once knew so well many years ago. Her auburn hair was shorter in its shaggy mullet cut, her lean arms seemingly more muscular, the air about her more confident than you knew it to be. Her much more intimidating presence only worsens your dread. When she finally finds herself in front of you, you only get a quick glimpse of the smug look on her face before you tear your eyes away to stare at your trembling fingers. 

You’ve already deduced that she witnessed the past few minutes, that your unscrupulous actions did not go unseen. And though you were refusing to meet her gaze, you know that Ellie is once again staring right at your silver wedding ring. 

She takes a seat on the barstool to the left of you, glass of whiskey still in her hand. She takes a few more sips before finally speaking, her rough and husky voice creating a hole at the bottom of your stomach. 

“Hey, babe.” 

“Oh, fuck! Oh, fuck!” you screamed breathlessly. 

Your hands clung desperately onto each of the car’s headrests, your breasts spilling out of your shirt and hovering above the console. Ellie’s fingers were gripping your hips, relentlessly fucking you back onto her in determination. Your mouth hung open as moans of bliss spilled shamelessly from your lips. The windows of Ellie’s truck would have, no doubt, been fogged up completely if it weren’t for the open car sunroof. 

“Yeah, right there… Just like that, baby… Fuck…” Ellie groaned as she felt your bare ass slap loudly against her thighs. 

Her strap was buried deep inside your pussy, completely drenched with your sticky cum. Ellie bit her bottom lip while she concentrated on roughly pumping herself into you and stretching your cunt out even further. The louder and more borderline pornographic your moans got, the sloppier Ellie became as she fucked you dumb. 

“You like that, baby?” she breathed cockily. 

“F-fuck! Fuck, yes! Yes, I love it!” 

“I know you do, fucking slut. Take it, fucking take it.” 

The entire truck shook as she increased the pace of her thrusts. It was incredibly fortunate that it was early evening and you were parked in a woodsy area in the middle of nowhere; your screams alone could be heard from miles away. 

“You’re being such a good girl for me,” Ellie praised. “Such a good fucking girl.” 

“I’m your good girl! I’m your good girl!” you repeated desperately. 

“Yeah? Is that right?” 

A slap to your ass caused you to whine loudly in pain and pleasure. 

“Oh!! F-fuck! Yes, yes, yes!” 

Ellie’s grunts became more and more animalistic each time you moaned. 

“Shit, you get me so fucking hard, baby,“ she groaned. “My cock feels so fucking good inside your tight little pussy.” 

“Oh g-god—” you stammered. “Don’t stop, don’t stop!” 

“You’re such a fucking slut, g-god…” Ellie panted, her cunt throbbing with pleasure as the base of the strap rubbed against her clit. “Shit, oh fuck, fuck!” 

One hand released your hip to run her fingers down your back, sending a chill down your spine. Ellie watched the sweat on your skin glinting under the setting sun’s rays and relished the way your ass rippled with each of her thrusts. 

“God… fucking look at you…” she sighed. “You’re so fucking gorgeous, babe.” 

She cascaded her fingers down to sink her nails into the supple skin of your ass. She reveled in the marks she would leave on you, possessiveness and pride coursing through her. 

Your brain was entirely blank, and you couldn’t think of anything or anyone else right now but Ellie. Every time you felt her this deep inside of you, your desire for her consumed every aching bone in your body. 

“I’m gonna fucking fill you up,” she rasped. “I’m gonna fill your cunt up with my cum.” 

The moan that escaped your lips at her words nearly sent Ellie over the edge. She wrapped an arm around your neck and pulled you up to her chest, falling back onto the backseat as you continued to bounce on her strap. 

“That’s right, ride my cock.” 

“Mmpf! Harder! Harder!” 

“Say please, baby girl.” 

“P-please! Harder, please!” 

“Good girl.” 

You suddenly felt Ellie’s hands palm your breasts. She started tracing circles around your nipples, savouring the sound of your pathetic whimpering. Not fully satisfied, her fingers pulled harshly at the tip of your nipple, eliciting a pitiful moan from you. Ellie groaned at the feeling of your cum dripping onto her lap and drenching her strap even further. 

Her thrusts got rougher and faster as she fucked up into you. You felt your pussy begin to tense up, getting closer and closer to your climax. 

“Oh god, I’m—I’m gonna cum! I’m gonna cum!” You screamed. 

“Fuck, yeah, cum for me, baby girl. Cum all over me.” Ellie grunted. 

Her left hand found your neck while her right arm slid in between your thighs, pulling your legs apart and positioning her hand on top of your clit. You bit back a moan as her fingers began to circle your sweet spot. 

“Uh uh,” Ellie tutted. “No holding back. I wanna hear you.” 

Her thumb and pointer finger softly squeezed your clit before returning to playing with you. You nearly screamed. 

“Ellie!!!” 

“Yeah, that’s right.” 

Your eyes began to roll to the back of your head as her grip on you got tighter. Her grunts became harsher, your legs got shakier, and your climax approached rapidly. Ellie could feel you reaching your limit and chuckled. 

“No cumming until I say so, babe,” she teased softly, slowing down her movements ever so slightly. 

“N-no, please!” you pleaded. 

“Need to cum, angel?” 

“Y-yes!” 

Ellie chuckled once more. 

“Then beg for it. Beg me to cum.” 

“P-please, Ellie. Please l-let me cum—” you stuttered. 

“Oh, come on,” she crooned. “You can do better than that. I know you can.” 

You whined as she squeezed her fingers around your neck. 

“El, please! Can I cum? Please, I need it. I need it so fucking badly! Please!” 

“Mm,” Ellie hummed, peppering your shoulder with kisses. “Such a good girl. Go ahead, babe. Cum for me.” 

“C-cum with me, Els. Cum inside me! Please! I want to feel your cum!” 

“O-oh, fuck!” 

Ellie moaned shamelessly at your plea and felt herself approaching her orgasm as you rode out yours. Your strangled cries harmonized throughout the woods, echoing off of flowing leaves and sturdy tree barks. Your climax lasted longer than it usually did, and Ellie held you until she felt your body slowly crumple on top of her. 

She kissed your shoulders softly as you shakily caught your breath, her fingers grazing your chest. When her lips started moving up towards your ear, Ellie inadvertently hit a ticklish part near your chin, and you burst into sudden laughter. Chuckling, Ellie repositioned you onto the leather seat and laid down on top of you to continue attacking you with kisses. 

The only thing anyone would have heard over the humming of crickets and the occasional blowing of wind was the giggles shared between you and the auburn-haired girl. Neither you nor Ellie had dressed yourselves just yet, both still partially naked in some form. But neither you nor she had cared, far too engrossed in each other’s presence for something as trivial and irrelevant as clothing to matter. 

Your cheeks hurt from how much you smiled, and your dry lips prickled and stung from how much you’d been kissing her all day. You knew that you likely looked unattractively unkept and probably needed a nice, long everything shower. But the look of pure, unwavering adoration in Ellie’s eyes had you suspended in the present; choosing to leave such a perfect moment seemed the most unnatural decision to make. 

Laid down in the backseat of the truck with her whispering sweet nothings into your ear, you couldn’t recall a time when you’d been happier. Everything from the smell of sweat and Ellie’s musky cologne to the awkward entanglement of your limbs was the unadulterated definition of heaven. 

“Do you know…” she whispered in between soft kisses to your lips. “... you have the most kissable face I’ve ever seen?” 

“Shut up!” you giggled. 

“Never,” she objected. “How is it my fault that you’re just so kissable?” 

“Oh my god,” you laughed, pulling her closer to you. “You’re so annoying.” 

“What? Do you want me to stop kissing you?” 

“No…” you grumbled, eyes rolling. 

“Then you shut up,” she concluded before she peppered your neck with more kisses, eliciting bursts of giggles from you. 

You weren’t sure exactly how long you and Ellie stayed interlaced with each other. It could have been an hour or five since you parked. Time didn’t exist in the backseat of that truck; it was only you and Ellie. 

An uncontrollable hankering for food was what ultimately wrenched you both out of your euphoric stupor. A sudden loud rumble from Ellie’s stomach caused you to burst out into tearful laughter. With her strap-on tucked back inside of her boxers and your pants hastily pulled back on, you were both back to cruising down the highway back into town. She’d handed the reins of the radio to you, so you were singing your heart out to a playlist you’d created just for blissful car rides like this. 

As you were belting out the bridge to some indie folk song with an enormous amount of zeal, Ellie spent a minute on autopilot to recklessly stare at you. You were watching the street lamps zooming past the passenger seat window with both arms out through the car sunroof, and she thought that there was nothing in the world that would ever be able to tear her away from you in this moment. 

She slowed her driving down when you eventually found yourselves back in the city. You were quietly humming along to the radio at a lengthy red light when a sudden and loud gasp from you made her nearly jump out of her skin. Ellie glanced at you in concern to find you shrinking quickly down your seat. 

“Babe? What’s wrong?” she asked anxiously. 

“Shh!” was all you uttered in reply. 

You were avoiding her eyes, your stare focused on something towards your side of the truck. She followed your gaze, and the sight she was met with made her stomach drop. 

A large group composed mostly of young women was gathered at an outdoor seating area next to a lively restaurant, all laughing and drinking together. Ellie recognized them instantly: they were your co-workers at a weekly post-work dinner together, a gathering you’d happily ditched that day to hang out with Ellie. The auburn-haired girl quickly glanced back at you, her eyebrows furrowing and lips pursing upon seeing the petrified look on your face. 

“Seriously?” she breathed. 

“Shh, shh!” you repeated, your fingers reaching for the volume knob of the radio and turning the music all the way down. 

“They didn’t see you,” she uttered bitterly. 

“Just drive, Ellie!” you begged. 

“I can’t. The light’s red.” 

You both sat in silence for another minute or so, you nervously wringing the bottom of your shirt between your fingers and Ellie white-knuckling the steering wheel, before finally driving off again. She had to resist snapping at you when you hissed for her to go after a millisecond of the stoplight turning green. 

Ellie knew you were still rigidly in the closet, even before you’d begun this love affair. She was almost sure that she’d merely started out as an experiment for you. But she had thought that maybe, after all this time, whatever you felt for her would overpower your inner self-loathing. 

You weren’t the first “straight” girl she’d stubbornly and stupidly developed feelings for. But you were the first for whom she held out genuine hope, hope that being with her would be more than enough for you. 

But as she watched you readjust yourself in the passenger seat once your co-workers were out of sight and obliviously continue on as if nothing had just occurred, it clicked painfully for Ellie: she was merely a fool in love, and she couldn’t and wouldn’t be the one to make you accept your fate. 

“What are you doing here?” You whisper accusingly, still refusing to look up at the auburn-haired woman. 

“You’re the one who’s married with a husband. What are you doing here?” Ellie chuckles humourlessly. 

“That’s none of your business.” 

“Yeah, I guess not.” 

You both sit in painstakingly loud silence, you tightly gripping your purse in your lap and Ellie finishing off the rest of her whiskey. Once her glass is empty, she waves the bartender down for another refill. Ignoring the worker’s curious eyes at the palpable tension between you, you begin compulsively picking at the cuticles of your perfectly manicured nails. 

“Still do that, huh? You’re gonna ruin the pretty nail job that I’m sure Chad spent a lot of money on,” Ellie points out after a sip of her drink. “Wouldn’t want that, would we?” 

“That is not his name,” you grumble. 

“Might as well be,” Ellie shrugs. “The dude is so boring and dull, a boring and dull name suits him. Can barely even remember what he looks like.” 

This was a lie on Ellie’s part; she knows what your husband’s name is, and she knows exactly what he looks like. 

“Are you just here to chew me out?” you ask bitterly. 

“I’m here to get a little drunk and watch some football. You just coincidentally happen to be at the same bar.” Ellie shrugs. 

“Bullshit,” you say. “You don’t care about sports. You never have.” 

“Oh, please, you don’t know me,” Ellie retorts. “Not anymore.” 

Your mouth falls open slightly before you gulp guiltily. 

“Y-yeah. I guess not.” 

A few more awkward moments pass before you speak again. 

“E-Ellie,” you begin. “About the last time we saw each other—” 

“It’s fine,” she shrugs once more. 

“No, but—” 

“It’s cool.” 

You finally look up to stare at her. You can’t read her at first, her expression steely. But when her ocean green eyes finally meet yours, Ellie can tell that you know the truth. 

You used your copy of Ellie’s apartment key to let yourself in through the front door. You noticed her in the kitchen preparing dinner on a chopping board. You dropped your purse next to the door and walked up behind her to wrap your arms around her waist, sighing contentedly. You didn’t catch the way her body immediately froze up at your touch. 

“Hey,” you hummed, peeking past the top of Ellie’s shoulders to glance at the food. “What’re you making for us?” 

“What are you doing here?” she asked stiffly, ignoring your question. 

You frowned, finally noticing her cold demeanour. Pulling your hands away, you backed up to get a better look at her. She kept her back turned to you, resuming her chopping. You tug on the end of her shirt in an attempt to get her attention. 

“Ellie. What’s wrong?” you asked tensely. 

“Nothing,” she muttered in reply, almost indistinctly. 

“It’s obviously something,” you insisted. “What’s going on?” 

Ellie finally turned around but kept her eyes on the ground and her arms crossed. 

“Just not in the mood to be around anyone right now.” 

“Okay, well, why didn’t you text me then? I could have just come over tomorrow instead. Or I would have planned to—” 

“I completely forgot you were coming over,” Ellie shrugged. “Sorry.” 

You looked completely perplexed, at a loss for words at her iciness. She didn’t look the least bit sorry, and it was obvious that she wasn’t trying to hide it. 

Ellie wasn’t always the most amiable person towards others. But she had always been warm and kind when it came to you, more than anyone had ever been. This side of her, so closed off and callous, was a side you never expected to experience for yourself. 

“D-did I d-do something?” you stuttered, twiddling your fingers anxiously. 

“No. Just had a bad day.” 

“Are you sure? I feel like I’m bothering you.” 

Ellie shrugged again. 

“Do you… do you want me to l-leave?” 

“Do what you want.” 

Your eyes welled up with hot tears, and you put every effort into trying not to let them spill. 

“What’s going on? Why are you acting like this?” 

Your hands began to reach towards her again, but she suddenly brushed them away before walking out of the kitchen. 

“Ellie! Wh—” 

You followed her into her bedroom and watched as she started packing up miscellaneous belongings into a backpack. 

“Wh…what are you doing? Where are you going?” 

“Think I’ll spend the night at Jesse’s.” 

“At Jesse’s? This is your apartment. And you just said you weren’t in the mood to be around anyone right now.” 

“Well, Jesse’s not just anyone.” 

“But I am?” 

Ellie turned around and finally looked you in the eye. You expected to see fury woven into her ocean green irises; instead, you were taken aback by the misery and disappointment etched on her face. 

“E-Ellie…?” 

“I think you should go.” 

“B-but why? What happened? What did I do?” 

“I… I…” 

Ellie took a deep breath before speaking again. 

“I think we should call this off.” 

You looked at her, bewildered and rattled. 

“C-call it off?” 

“Yeah.” 

You began to pick at your nailbeds nervously. 

“What do you mean? C-call… call what off, exactly?” you whispered. 

“Seriously?” Ellie scoffed in amazement. “Yeah, I… I need you to leave. Now.” 

“What?” 

Ellie scoffed again before turning back around to continue packing. 

“You’re unbelievable,” she laughed bitterly. “After everything we’ve done with each other, after everything we’ve been through… You still refuse to admit we’re together. You refuse to call what we have a relationship. You don’t even wanna call what we have ‘love’.” 

“E-Ellie… we’re just—” 

“Don’t you dare say that we’re ‘just friends.’ Friends don’t do what we do. Friends don’t kiss and cuddle and make out with each other. Friends don’t fuck each other every night. Friends don’t call each other ‘baby.’ Not the way we do.” 

She threw a shirt onto her bed before facing you again. 

“I get it. I know you’re not out. I get that you still have so much shit you need to figure out about yourself. But I can’t do it anymore. I can’t be your experiment. I can’t be your secret.” 

“You’re not! You’re not my secret. Y-you’re—” 

“I really don’t want to hear what I am to you anymore,” Ellie interrupted. “None of your friends know about us, not a single fucking one. They just know me as that one girl you hang out with a lot. They think we’re ‘besties’ or whatever the fuck you wanna call it. It’s obvious that I’m less important to you than you are to me.” 

“No! No! Ellie, it’s not like that. I-I—” you stuttered. “I care about y-you. I really do. Y-you do make me feel things that my other friends just don’t. B-but… I-I’m not… I’m not—” 

“You’re trying to say that you’re not a dyke.” 

“Ellie!” 

“It’s fine. I know that’s what you were thinking.” 

“It’s not! I’m just… I’m just… not… like that.” 

“Like me.” 

“Th-that’s not what I’m saying.”  

“I don’t… I just don’t fucking care anymore. I can’t keep doing this to myself.” 

She pinched the bridge of her nose, frowning, before continuing. 

“I-I… I love you. But I need space. I need a little air from… from all of this bullshit.” 

“E-Ellie—” you struggled to find words, anything to comfort or satiate her. 

“I don’t want to hear you make another fucking excuse or stupid reason for why you can’t want me the way I want you to. I can’t force you to do anything or give you the courage to be honest with yourself. But I just can’t be part of your lies anymore.” 

“Ellie, will you stop?” you demanded. “I didn’t come here to have you insult me to my face, to have you call me a liar and a user and—” 

“I didn’t say any of those things.” 

“You basically did! I came over because I thought we’d have a nice night and enjoy ourselves like we usually do, so I really don’t know what’s gotten into you!” 

“Have you seriously not been listening to anything I’ve said?” 

“I have! I just don’t get what I’ve done for you to start shit like this suddenly! We’ve been doing just fine and having fun, so what the hell is all this?” 

Ellie ran her hands down her face in frustration, while you balled up your fists in anger. 

“Tell me you love me.” Ellie suddenly said. 

“What?” 

“Tell me that you love me. It’s that simple. Tell me that you love me, and we can figure this all out.” Ellie declared. “But I want to hear you say it.” 

You blinked at her. 

“I… I…” 

Ellie smirked ruefully before speaking. 

“Yeah. Thought so.” 

She slung the backpack onto her shoulder and walked out into her living room. You paused for a moment before sprinting after her and catching her by the arm. 

“W-wait, Ellie. I…I do love—” 

“Don’t.” 

“Baby, please—” 

Ellie shook your arm off to turn towards you. 

“Stop. Just go. Don’t make this any harder than it has to be.” 

“I wish I could be what you want. I wish I wasn’t straight, I—” 

“Ha!” Ellie laughed. “I’ve been knee deep inside you, and you’re straight? That’s the funniest fucking thing I’ve ever heard in my life.” 

“I know we don’t have the most conventional friendship, but—” 

“But what? I’m supposed to be okay with you using me for attention and sex, only to get thrown away and forgotten about in the end?” 

“Huh,” you scoffed. “Is that what you really think of me? Do you really think I’m that shallow of a person?” 

Ellie took a calculated beat before responding. 

“Yeah. I fucking do.” 

Your eyes welled up with tears once again, crushed and livid. 

“Well, thank you for that. This has been very enlightening. Thank you for being so fucking honest with me.” 

“Yeah, well. One of us has to fucking be.” 

You glared at her while she stared at the floor, arms crossed against her chest. There was a stinging sensation burning at the tip of your tongue, threatening to spill spitefully from your lips. Something deep within you knew instinctively it would be cruel, but your temper and rage got the best of you. 

“Oh, you want to talk about honest, Ellie?” you spat. “Let’s talk about you being so fucking honest then.” 

“What the fuck are you talking about?” 

“You want to complain about me being straight, but don’t tell me that it didn’t give you a huge ego boost the first time you got me to sleep with you.” 

“Excuse you?” 

“I bet you were just so fucking excited to stick your strap in me so you could brag to fucking Jesse and fucking Dina that you got to ‘convert’ a straight girl for the night. How long did you wait to tell them the news?” 

“Stop it.” 

But you didn’t. 

“Can you not see how much of a cliché you are? I’m sorry if you feel I’ve led you on or whatever, shouldn’t you know not to fall for a straight girl? Did you think we were going to ride off into the sunset on a white horse if you strapped me enough times? You fuck good, Ellie, but not that good. Your dick is fucking plastic. You can wish and pretend all you want, but it’ll never be the real thing.” 

Ellie’s face completely drained of all colour, her many freckles extra prominent over her pale skin. 

“This was fun while it lasted, but I was never going to be the one for you. It’s time you stopped deluding yourself. You really gonna spend the rest of your life pathetically chasing after girls who will never want you?” 

You chuckled mirthlessly and walked towards the front door. Picking up your purse from the floor and turning the knob, you turned back to where Ellie stood frozen in place. 

“Well, good luck,” you proclaimed before shutting the door behind you. 

“I know it’s been years,” You begin, almost in a whisper. “But it was… really fucked up, what I said to you. You didn’t deserve that. We were so, so close, and I’m sure that really hurt you. I wouldn’t blame you if you totally hated me. I was going through something at the time, and I lashed out at you unfairly and—” 

“That’s great and all,” Ellie interrupts. “But I don’t really hear an actual apology in any of that bullshit.” 

You fidget in embarrassment before speaking once more. 

“I’m sorry.” 

“Sure,” Ellie shrugged before taking a huge swig from her whiskey. 

“H-how…” you attempt. “How have you b-been?” 

Ellie has to stop herself from cackling and settles for a snort. 

“Oh, come on. You don’t actually give a fuck.” 

“N-no, I do—” 

“You don’t have to pretend. I know you’re just asking to be polite.” 

Ellie takes her eyes off you to avert her gaze once more to the football game on the TV. 

“I’ve been great, actually. Really great.” Ellie assures. 

You stare at her, attempting to decode her expression. Her voice sounded confident and assured, but her ocean green eyes tell a different story.  

“You want me to do what?” 

Your face scrunched up in total bewilderment as your eyes bore into the girl sitting in front of you. 

Dina. One of Ellie’s best and closest friends. 

“Just what I said,” Dina replied, eyebrows raising. “I’m being completely fucking serious.” 

“Wow,” you scoffed. “This is why you wanted to meet up so badly? You couldn’t have just said this in your message?” 

“I wanted to see you do it. With my own eyes.” 

“Do you not see how fucked up and invasive this is?” 

“I don’t really give a fuck. Do it.” 

“No.” 

Dina’s deep brown eyes stared you down intensely, and you glared back. 

“I never liked you, you know,” you muttered. “Not really.” 

“I seriously don’t give a fuck.” 

“Great.” 

“Great.” 

“You’re a fucking weirdo.” 

“I still don’t give a fuck.” 

“Why does it even matter that much to you? You’re not her new girlfriend or anything. You know, you’re not even her type. Why does it matter to you if I block her number or not?” 

“Do you have any idea what you’ve done, the damage you did to her? Do you know how distraught she is, how badly she’s hurting right now?” 

You fought hard to hide your burning interest in Ellie’s current state. 

“You broke something in her,” Dina continued. “She won’t even tell anyone exactly how things went down between you two, but it was obviously really fucking bad.” 

“You ever consider that she hasn’t told you anything because it’s not your fucking business?” 

“Maybe so, but I can’t watch her go through this anymore. She looks through all your old pictures together and lurks all over your pages. I can tell she fights not to call you all the time. Part of her still believes that you’re going to come back and make amends, but you and I both know the truth.” 

Dina crossed her arms and leaned back into her chair before resuming. 

“The only way she can start healing from this is if she has zero access to you. Any part of you. But that’s only possible if you do something about it.” 

You stared at her in disbelief. 

“I’m sorry that Ellie’s having a hard time right now,” you said slowly. “I really am—” 

“Then prove it. Prove it right fucking now. Do the one thing that will allow her to accept this and move on with her life.” 

“I’m sorry she’s having a hard time,” you repeated. “But she’s a fully grown adult, and I’m not responsible for her mental well-being or what she does with her fucking life. It has absolutely nothing to do with me. If she’s so incapable of moving past what happened between us, that’s on her.” 

It was Dina’s turn to stare at you in disbelief, and you returned it with a look of cold inflexibility. She scoffed and shook her head as she gathered her things. 

“You know, I told her not to get involved with you. I had this nasty gut feeling about you since the very start, and I told her that it would end badly. But it’s Ellie, so of course, she didn’t listen to me. She didn’t want to listen, no matter how many times I told her that I didn’t like you or trust you.” 

Dina quickly downed the rest of her drink and slung her purse over her shoulder. 

“And despite all of that,” she went on. “I never thought you’d be this much of a callous, cold-hearted bitch. I thought that maybe, just maybe, you still cared enough about Ellie to do this for her. I thought that she had meant enough to you that you would just let her go.” 

She sneered, stood up from her chair, and sharply uttered the words that would involuntarily echo in your mind for years to come. 

“Just know this. In ten years, you’re gonna be married to the dullest, most boring man alive. You’ll have the boring white wedding, and you’ll live in the boring, three-story suburban house, and you’ll work an unfulfilling, boring job. You’ll have the most unsatisfactory sex, maybe pop out a kid or two for that same boring man. 

And one day, you’ll wake up in a cold sweat in the middle of the night, turn to your husband lying next to you, and you’re going to think of Ellie. You’re going to think of everything she did for you, all of the patience and trust and love. You’re going to remember exactly the way she made you feel and what you felt for her. And you’re going to look down at this man that you married, and you’re going to realize that you have been reduced to nothing more than his dull, boring wife. Everything you once were has been stripped away completely so you can be the final accessory to this man’s white picket fence dream. 

And you’re going to break down and sob harder than you ever have in your life, and he’s not going to move a single muscle to comfort you. And you’re not even going to care because in that moment, you’re going to realize that Ellie had left you behind all of those years ago. She’s happy and successful and content. You will not have crossed her mind in years, but she will haunt yours for the rest of your life. And there will be nothing you can do to ever stop that feeling.” 

With that, Dina stormed off. 

An hour later, you were lying on your bed, still fully clothed. You’d been staring intensely at Ellie’s phone number. There was this prickling impulse to call her, an impulse that your mind chided you for. 

You thought about what Dina had told you, that Ellie had been going through a hard time. “Part of her still believes that you’re going to come back and make amends,” she’d said. Ellie was still thinking about you, even after everything. 

You exhaled deeply as you rolled onto your side and found yourself staring at the wall of pictures next to your bed. Over a dozen frames hung against the white drywall, each holding a faded picture of you with friends or family. The photos were placed quite meticulously, all uniform and aligned. All but one. 

In a corner stood out a small polaroid picture flimsily stuck onto the wall with blue painter's tape. It was of you and Ellie, taken several months ago in your living room. She’d snapped the photo candidly, her head lying on your shoulder while making a silly face as you laughed boisterously at some stupid joke she’d just made. 

You’d berated her for taking it, embarrassed that she’d caught you in a moment of vulnerability. Your shame amplified when she’d insisted that you put it up on your wall of photos. She’d whined that you had no pictures of her anywhere in your place, and you refuted with the argument that it was a shittily taken photo. She won out in the end, sloppily placing it onto the wall with tape as you watched begrudgingly. 

Still lying in bed on your side, you stared at how unbefitting it looked amongst all your other photographs. It paled in comparison to the rest that were situated neatly in their wooden frames. It looked lopsided, unpleasant. Wrong. 

Your eyes turn back to your screen. With shaking hands, you blocked Ellie’s number before going through the rest of your phone and completely removing her existence from your life. 

You continue to stare at Ellie as she takes her eyes off the game to down the rest of her whiskey. You wait for her to elaborate further, but she doesn’t. 

“That’s… that’s good to hear,” you mutter. “I’m glad to hear you’ve been doing well.” 

“You’re so full of shit,” Ellie chuckles almost imperceptibly. You pretend not to hear her, but you both know that you did. 

“Are you still friends with Jesse and Dina?” you ask timidly, unsure as to why you’re attempting small talk. “How are they doing?” 

“Yeah, of course I’m still fucking friends with them. They’re my family,” she replies bluntly. “I don’t know why you’re asking, you never seemed to really like either of them.” 

You purse your lips. You never did like either of them much, both having cleverly kept their guard up against you during the time you’d known Ellie. Despite your efforts, they never fully warmed up to you. It angered you, over the years, to know that you proved them right, Dina specifically. 

“I was just wondering,” you respond defensively. “They were both really important to you, especially Dina.” 

The last two words slip from your lips with little thought, and Ellie’s face contorts into a look of incredulity and indignation. 

“What the fuck does that mean?” 

You shrug, toying with the second shot glass of tequila you’ve yet to drink. 

“Let me get this straight,” Ellie huffs. “You’re the one with a ring on your finger and a husband who is nowhere to be seen right now, hooking up with random fucking men two seconds after meeting them.” 

“I never—” 

“But I’m being questioned on whether I’ve fucked someone I’ve known since childhood, when I’m the one completely unmarried and free.” 

“I didn’t hook up with that guy—” 

“Your tongue was halfway down his throat, and you want to get pedantic about it?” Ellie laughs humourlessly. 

“What the fuck do you want, Ellie?” you almost cry. 

“You really should be asking yourself that question, angel,” Ellie retaliates. 

Ellie flags the bartender down one last time to close out her tab as you sit next to her silently, completely stunned and dumbfounded. You knew you shouldn’t have let your curiosity and envy get the best of you. You knew you should have ignored Ellie the moment you saw her. You knew it was a mistake to be here at all. 

“Jesse and Dina just celebrated their wedding anniversary last month,” Ellie suddenly says as she watches the bartender walk away with the card she just handed him. “They’ve even got a cute kid. JJ, my godson. They’ve been happily married for years.” 

You look up to glance at her, and you notice she’s staring at your ring finger. 

“I’m sure you know all about that, don’t you?” she asks sarcastically. 

“I, I’m—” you mutter, still at a loss for words. You involuntarily place a hand over your wedding band. 

“Look,” Ellie continues, turning away from you slightly to sign the check the bartender just placed in front of her. “I don’t know you anymore. I haven’t for a really long time.” 

She pushes the pen and paper away, and her eyes meet yours. 

“But even after all these years, I guess I’m still the one person you can’t fool with your bullshit. You can lie to your friends, you can lie to your shitty husband, you can lie to all the guys you meet at these bars. But I don’t even have to say, ‘I told you so’ when your life has clearly done that for me already.”  

She leans in close enough that you could see a slight tinge of blue in her irises. Your breathing hitches as your heart and other parts of you throb wildly. For half a second, you involuntarily gape at her lips before your bashful eyes dart back up to meet her ocean green ones. You can hear the smugness dripping in her voice as she chuckles. 

“Hope you figure it out one day, babe,” she nearly whispers. 

Mesmerized, you’re about to lean in even closer when Ellie suddenly pulls back and sits up. Disoriented, you watch as she takes your second shot of tequila and shoots it. She slams it down onto the bar and swipes a thumb across her bottom lip to wipe off the dripping excess of liquor. You attempt a response, but your tongue continues to fail you. Ellie gets off her barstool before turning towards you once more. 

“Good luck,” she croons. She gives you a wink and walks away. 

You gape after her, your body rigid with shock. After a moment, you slowly swivel in your seat to face the bar again. You find yourself face-to-face with the bemused bartender. 

“So, uh,” he asks slowly. “Did you… want another shot?” 

author's notes:

yes i am alive 🫶

hi beautiful people, can't believe i'm finally uploading something again after what, a year and seven months? 😭

i honestly didn't mean to take a break from writing, life kind of just happened. met the love of my life kali who i've been with for almost two years now, and moved VERY very far away (the furthest i've ever moved as an adult) to be with said love of my life. we have two cats and we very recently moved into our second apartment. still a preschool teacher but my new school is 50x better than my last place, and my bosses & students genuinely appreciate me. life isn't the most perfect bc being a teacher still means being broke foreverrrrr, but i'm in a far better place now than where i used to be back when i was more active

i know this isn't what everyone's been asking for (yes i still read people's comments on here and AO3 despite not really being active lol, i know y'all want more ncty and the last chapter of the heartbreak trilogy). but honestly i just needed to get my proverbial writing sea legs again, so i decided to work on a fic that i've been working on for nearly two years lol

proof btw:

a special thank you to kali my boyfriend my wife the absolute loml for helping me with this (yes i refer to him as my boyfriend but also my wife often times, my partner is a transmasc butch lesbian who uses he/him pronouns and we are a very classic butchfemme lesbian couple; please let me know ASAP if that is an issue so i may block you 🫶)!! he proofread this many times and came up with SO many vital suggestions, and he is honestly one of the biggest reasons why i was able to go back to writing again. thank you for being my biggest supporter always, i love you! (everyone say thank you to belle's wife kali for literally encouraging me to go back to writing fics again, y'all have him to thank for this)

(also to kali only: you need to finish what you were doing when you were helping me come up with inspiration for the sex scene, thankssss)

my wife at the end of us editing this: "bartender's name should be owen by the way cause i think it's funny"

anyway, i will eventually continue my WIPs! i will do it at my own pace because i am a full-time employed adult, but i hope to remain as active as possible if i can. i'm already working on other fics as you read this :)

feel free to send me questions in my inbox if you'd like!

missed y'all sm, and love y'all lots 🩷

taglist: @st4rluvrr, @bready101, @ sombersiiren, @mikellie, @nombreuxx, @xfairyari, @shiimer, @totallytatum, @ amara1012, @elliessweetheart, @ elaquinn, @ sapphicontherun, @lightz-go-down, @elliesssbitch, @sarhrts, @elliesmistress, @diddiqueen, @elluvs, @maxxione, @applewnutellalvr, @mourningdovee, @normalthing111, @rolly-pollie, @ tphmnv, @jajsnjz, @pink-irises, @ bonobo-372, @machetegirl109, @ sawaagyapong, @chappellroankisser, @les4elliewilliams, @immalosersblog, @ambersloane,

Peter sat in the backseat of the car, staring out the window with his eyes squinted against the harsh morning light. A dull thud had started sounding through his head, but for some reason, he couldn’t tear his eyes away. 

He wasn’t quite sure what was different about it today. It was the same sun he’d looked at day after day, forever unchanging and eternally uncaring. 

But something was different. 

Maybe it was him, or at least whatever strangeness had started to bubble up within him. He liked to consider himself that was easily content with the flow of life, but recently he couldn’t be more pissed with it. 

The car came to a sudden stop and he clamped his palm over his mouth in a futile effort to combat the sudden nausea. Everything was always too much now, too loud, too bright, too intense. 

The little tree hanging down from the rearview mirror didn’t help. It was supposed to smell like black ice. 

Peter didn’t like to think about black ice too much. Just like he didn’t like to think about himself either nowadays. 

Thinking about the immediate future was simple.

This current immediate future was easy too. They were coming up on a corner, the car would turn, and he would get out. He’d grab his duffel bag, and be as polite as he could manage. 

Then well – that was a different future. 

The turn came up, and he reached down to grip the handles of his bag. This part went as planned at least. 

But then he was staring up at the townhouse in front of him, chewing on the inside of his lip like it would have all the answers. 

He took in a deep breath and thought of his social worker’s email. It came to mind, a clear image of what it looked like the last time he’d read it. 

Internally reciting the instructions, he made his way to the gate. The townhouse was large, looked at least four floors high, and had a bay window on each floor after the first. 

His feet shuffled up the steps infuriatingly slow. 

Now, he let himself think of what kind of impression he would make. His hair had gone unwashed for weeks, there were more than a few stains and a couple of holes on his sweats, and the entirety of his life had been condensed down into a duffel bag with his foster agency’s name printed on the side. 

Without warning, the door was yanked open the second he reached the top of the steps. 

Inside was one of his new alphas. Beard and surprisingly dark hair aside, Peter couldn’t help but compare the man in front of him with the man on the cover of his high school history book. 

“Come on in,” Steve Rogers grunted, leaning to give Peter space. The inside of the townhouse looked even more opulent than the outside had suggested. The ceilings were ridiculously high, there was a glass chandelier hanging above what he guessed was the living room off to his right. He felt like he’d stepped into a magazine cutout – or a housewife’s wet dream. 

Peter was led down the hall and toward another staircase, forcing his eyes to stay glued to the space around him rather than looking directly at the man in front of him. 

They ended up inside the second kitchen Peter noticed, and another alpha was already sitting at the breakfast table. His posture was ramrod straight, palms placed carefully on the table in front of him, and his eyes were locked on Peter. 

At the center of the table was an assortment of food, something Peter expected to see at a conference or business meeting. 

“We wanted to get started with setting some uh,” the first alpha – Captain fucking America – started, “house rules. They’re more an expectations and boundaries sort of thing.” 

Peter nodded, trying to pour his attention into it. He couldn’t afford to forget anything. Though his words sounded scripted like this was the start of a speech he’d tried and mostly failed to memorize. 

“The most important thing is that at least one other person will know where you are, and where you plan on going. Most of these expectations are also expected of Bucky and I. It doesn’t mean you don’t have free reign over where you go. As long as it isn’t something that needs to be cleared by the social worker just let one of us know. If both of us are out, we’ll tell you as much as we can about where we are and how long we’ll be gone.” Here, he paused as if waiting for someone to drop from the ceiling and interject. 

“The second is that we respect each other’s space. Aside from common areas, bedrooms, and private rooms like my office or studio, all need permission to be entered. No one will go into your room or the nursery without permission and we expect the same in return.” 

Peter nodded again, feeling suddenly overwhelmed with doubt. This all sounded too easy, too simple.

But– 

Immediate future first. 

“The last is about self-care. All of the food in any of the refrigerators in a common space is available for you, and we expect you to keep up with any doctor’s appointments or speak out if you need something you have not been provided with. We purchased a few things for you that’ll be in your room but aside from that we’ll give you a credit card to use for anything else  you need.” He paused then, looking around like a wild animal waiting to return to hiding. 

“Do you have any questions?” The words felt forced like Peter was holding a gun to his head or physically dragging them from his throat. 

“What do you want from me?” He asked, then cursed himself. He’d promised that he wouldn’t bring up anything that hadn’t already been brought up. 

But he couldn’t help but think that the alphas wanted more than a housemate. To take a pregnant, orphaned omega home was ridiculous as is. To do it without wanting something in exchange was even crazier. His last foster mother had been an older woman who had too many kids in the house and needed another adult’s hands in the mix. The one before that had wanted–

Peter just needed to know what they wanted from him.

“I’m fucked in the head,” the other alpha’s words were said so quietly Peter almost had to strain to hear, “so’s he, and having you around is supposed to help with that. You’re a prescription. Not a fucking toy.” 

Peter nodded, digging his short nails into his palms. 

In a sudden burst of movement Bucky – Steve had called him – pushed himself from the table and stomped toward the hallway off to their left. 

Steve rubbed a hand over his tired face, one of the only movements he’d made since they sat down. 

“We’re all here to help each other, Peter. We all have something to gain and not much to lose. Come, I’ll give you the tour.” 

As they walked around the gigantic house, Peter couldn’t help but think that those were some of the only genuine words he’d heard said aloud in a long, long, time. 

The only issue with them was that he had an entire world to lose.

~~~~

As Peter lay in bed, completely showered for the first time in what felt like years, he rested a hand on the lowest part of his torso. 

The skin under his hand had grown taught, and he had more stretch marks than he could count if he tried.

He didn’t break his rule yet, didn’t dare ponder the what-ifs or let the tentative bit of hope that had bubbled up in his chest surge forward. 

But he put his hand over his baby, and let himself dream that the tiny thing inside of him would be happy one day. 

A small, barely there tap against his hand was his answer. 

~~~~

Time passed oddly in the gigantic townhouse. It felt like the weeks he’d been there were months. The living room window had a perfect view of Prospect Park, and Peter couldn’t help but stare at it – he had no real memories tied to the park, but it still made him feel nostalgic for someone whose visage had started going hazy at the edges. 

Peter had forced himself to be content with sitting in the surprisingly small backyard, but he itched to go out into real nature. 

One morning, after a particularly vivid nightmare, he dressed himself in the lightest outfit he owned and cautiously approached Bucky. 

They hadn’t spoken much aside from pleasantries. Steve always asked him to join them for dinner, so they’d mostly ask each other some variation of “Can you pass me that.” 

Steve hadn’t been much better, but he would at least pretend holding a conversation with Peter was pleasant. 

Bucky, well on the days that Peter saw him, he’d be sitting stock still, looking either at nothing or everything at once. 

“Can I–” Normally, if someone had that look in their eye, Peter would try to make some noise to tell them he was in the room. 

Bucky always knew where he was. 

“Is it okay if I go to the park for a bit?” He finished, wringing his fingers in the hem of his shirt. He never had to tell anyone about therapy or doctor’s appointments. Steve always bought it up at some point either that day or the night before, and he was always sent off and picked up in a taxi they ordered. 

Bucky missed his next inhale, clenched the fingers of his metal hand, then nodded. 

Peter nodded as well, itching to flee but worried Bucky would have something to say and he’d miss it. 

The alpha tapped his index finger against his knee three times before taking in a slow breath through his mouth. 

“Here,” he grunted at last, then pulled a wad of twenties from his pocket and held them in Peter’s direction. 

A protest formed on the tip of his tongue, but it died down quickly and he took the bills with a muttered thanks. 

He didn’t bring anything with him, so laying on an unoccupied spot of grass wasn’t as comfortable as he thought it’d be. 

Around him, the park was filled with sounds that reminded him of another life. Children were laughing and squealing, a group of teenagers was comforting a sobbing beta girl, and dogs roamed the area.

Head tilted back, he decided that the sun looked different again. It didn’t hurt his eyes this time. 

He lay there until he heard the ice cream truck not far from him. There wasn’t much of a line yet, and he got up to wait behind a few nannies. 

It was the first craving that he’d really had – the first that he’d actually listened to. 

He even got sprinkles. 

And it was the best ice cream he’d ever fucking tasted. 

~~~~

His nightmares grew less frequent, but somehow worse at the same time. 

Instead of just dreaming of those nights, the memories twisted in on themselves and turned against him.

May, instead of shouting futile reassurances cursed and blamed him. Uncle Ben’s dead body turned its head one final time to spit vitriol. 

Peter stayed in bed those days, scared to close his eyes but unprepared to face the small world outside his door. 

One night one car crash melded with another, faces and seasons blended together, and Peter woke himself up screaming.

His stomach was rolling, his heart was racing, and all he wanted was for everything to stop. 

And god part of him wished he could stop.

“Hey Peter,” he heard from the other side of his door. 

He didn’t answer, his skin was too tight, and he was choking down screams that were begging to be set free. His body hurt in ways it hadn’t in months. 

He was scared that if he looked down at his legs he’d see sharp white bone instead of skin. 

Even if he could speak he didn’t know what he’d say. 

“I don’t know what you dreamed about,” Steve continued, “but I know that it’s only the bad ones that make me scream like that. And sometimes it helps to know that there’s someone on the other side of it hoping for you to pull through.”

Peter choked on his next sob, hating how much he felt like the little kid he’d been when he got the news of the first crash. 

Hating how much he wanted his mom.

“Can I open the door, Peter?” 

He nodded, hating how much he wanted more. He wanted a fucking hug but his skin was too tight, the space was the only place in the house that didn’t smell like alphas, he couldn’t let them see him– 

“Yeah,” he said when he realized Steve wouldn’t see his nod. 

And the alpha was right there, looking patient and with such a genuinely kind expression that Peter wanted to rip his face off. 

Steve had been so cagey, so unsure, but a crying omega would make anyone feel pity. 

And how Peter hated pity. 

He had enough for himself. 

But fuck did he want a hug. 

“I don’t have to come in, I can stay right here.” Peter really wanted to rip his face off now, because that sounded so perfect that Peter could barely comprehend it. 

“Bucky was a bit– he was kinda slutty when he felt like it. So well, one time between us wanting to stuff our faces full of hot dogs and him wanting to impress a girl we had to hitch a ride back from Coney Island on an ice cream truck.” 

Peter’s sobs stilled as he focused on Steve’s calm, level voice. 

“The jerk barely even won the stuffed animal for her. He spent, god, probably sixty bucks in today’s money trying to win that thing.” 

Steve sat down against the wall opposite the door and opened his mouth to either continue the story or start another one. 

Bucky came into Peter’s view and placed a hand on Steve’s shoulder. “You can’t just make me look bad. Now I gotta tell him about how we spent a bunch of money on food for you to waste it hurling after we rode the cyclone.” He got comfortable leaning against Steve’s side, eyes fixed intently on Peter. 

“Ever rode the cyclone?” Peter shook his head, but Bucky plowed on nonetheless, painting a vivid image of the rollercoaster’s first opening day. 

They told him stories of swing dancing, late-night talks on fire escapes, running away from gay bars when the cops got called, and so many more that Peter tried to commit to memory. They talked and talked, and eventually, Peter felt his eyes shut. 

His dreams were of good memories that time.

He dreamt of his mom’s hugs.

~~~~

Wandering around the townhouse seemed like a pointless venture. He’d already seen most of it, but it looked different. 

At this time of night, the dark hallways made the ceilings look higher, the space so vast that it was intimidating. He had an indescribable restlessness within him though, and he couldn’t bring himself to go back to his room. 

Bucky and Steve had been gone for days, on some mission that they couldn’t tell him about. All he’d been told was that they were in Russia – and according to Steve, even that was too much information. 

Frustrated, he slumped over the kitchen island, debating the merits of going out for a walk.

The oven clock glared at him, and he contented himself with groaning into his arms. 

Peter was tired, restless, and – 

He kind of wanted Chinese food. 

Decision made, he reached for his phone, hoping futilely that there would be a Chinese restaurant open. 

Once he found one, he keyed in their regular order accidentally. Peter froze once he realized, then cursed and ordered it anyway. They were supposed to be home soon, and he could always make his way through the leftovers if– 

Too far. 

Peter didn’t want to think about when they’d come back to the townhouse, or what shape they’d be in. 

They hadn’t gone on a mission in the entire time he’d been staying with them. The most they’d done was go to work meetings and even those were infrequent.

He occupied himself with a book, sitting in the window seat after finally turning some lights on. 

It was a book on the rise and fall of political structures in Eastern Europe – something Peter would have never imagined himself being willing to read. Oddly enough, it was interesting, just not enough to occupy his mind. 

His thoughts continued to wander, no matter how much he tried to stop them. He wound up pressing his palms to his eyes and taking as slow breaths as he could. 

When his phone buzzed with the delivery notification, he slowly made his way down the stairs. His body hurt, and his knee throbbed so hard Peter could feel it reverberate up and down his leg. 

On days like this, he walked with a small limp. Since his center of gravity had shifted, he felt like he had no way to comfortably compensate for the aching leg. It was an odd sensation that made him want to drag his leg behind him rather than put weight on it. 

He heard the sound of the door open as he approached the bottom of the steps and froze, fear flashing through his body. 

Bucky came into view first, dressed like – like a fucking spy straight from an action movie – holding two over-filled bags of food. 

“Hi, doll.” 

~~~~

Peter didn’t particularly enjoy going to the doctor’s office. His OBGYN was a fairly kind alpha woman, with streaks of grey spread throughout her long black hair. 

She had her moments, would be fairly kind to him one appointment then condescending another. It didn’t help that he’d been seeing her for regular checkups since he presented. 

Dr. Garcia was one of the only people still in his life who had met May and Ben. 

And she insisted on meeting Bucky and Steve. 

The two alphas looked comical, sitting in the small plastic chairs of the sonogram room. Bucky looked as haunted as he ever did, but somehow his frantic energy looked more excited than it did frightened. 

Steve wasn’t even pretending to be stoic, squeezing Bucky’s metal hand and smiling as broadly as Peter had ever seen him. 

Peter didn’t get it. 

Sure, they spoke more now than they had before, and sometimes Steve and he cooked together, or Bucky and he would lay in the grass in the park together, or– 

Fuck

Peter blinked the thoughts away, refusing to entertain the idea that he was starting to become friends with them or worse – 

“So,” Dr. Garcia started, slathering Peter’s belly in gel, “before I spoil it, I want to hear if we have any guesses.” 

Peter sighed, then looked back at the alpha pair. Steve was shaking his head and Bucky was staring intently at the sonogram screen. It wasn’t his first chance at learning his baby’s gender. The first opportunity came weeks ago when other genetic testing was done. 

He’d said no, he wasn’t sure why he’d said yes this time. 

“I say girl.”

“Let’s see if mother’s intuition is right,” she put the doppler on his belly, moved it around a bit, then paused. 

She fiddled with the machine with her free hand, and the heartbeat sounded in the otherwise quiet room. 

The doctor muttered something, moving the doppler this way and that before pausing. 

“What is it?” Steve piped up. 

“No,” Peter interjected before the doctor could answer. 

“I’m so sorry Peter, I have no clue how we missed this.” She pressed the doppler against the front of his stomach, “Everyone meet Baby A, a beautiful little girl,” She shifted around to nearly his rib cage, “And Baby B, a handsome little boy.” 

Baby B was almost completely hidden behind his sister, and they could barely see his silhouette.

“Baby A looks perfectly healthy, but I want to bump up your next appointment so we can try and get a better look at B. This changes your due date a bit too. I’d put you closer to twenty than twenty-four weeks now.”

Her cleanup was fast and brusque, and she handed Peter the pictures she’d printed without another word. 

“That was fun,” Peter announced when she left, wiping away at his stomach. It made sense, in a way. His stomach was a bit too big for only six months, and he never quite felt movement in the same spot at once. 

They left the doctor’s office, Steve still clutching Bucky’s hand. 

“We’re gonna need a lot of diapers,” he mused when they reached the car. 

Peter froze, “Well, not too much stuff. Not until they’re born.” He felt guilty about how much money they’d already spent on him, but this wasn’t about the money. 

His parents didn’t believe in buying too many things for the baby, and he was always taught that it could bring bad luck. He didn’t hold onto many superstitions anymore but couldn’t bear the thought of bringing more bad luck down on himself. 

“It’s bad luck to put up the crib too soon,” Bucky added. 

“Between the three of us, our luck is already pretty bad. The least we can do is avoid bringing in any more.”

Peter laughed a rough and ugly sound. It was like Steve had read his mind. 

“Chinese or Mexican?” He asked. Dinner was an easier thing to think about right now, with so many people walking around and doing double takes at Steve’s face. 

“Chinese and picnic?” Bucky offered. 

Steve called to put in the order once they’d settled into the car. Peter never felt right about being in cars anymore. They always made him uneasy and put him on edge. For months he’d refused to entertain the idea of getting into one and had insisted on walking or taking the train wherever he went. 

For whatever reason, longer car rides were easier. Maybe it was because he needed a way to justify them. 

He hadn’t driven much with Steve or Bucky in the driver’s seat. It was rare that they’d all go somewhere that they couldn’t walk to. 

Peter couldn’t stop thinking about how excited they’d been, how eager they seemed even now. It was a quiet joy, one that Peter might have missed if he hadn’t gotten used to how muted their emotions almost always were. 

It distracted him from the car ride, and he let himself think of the future – if only for the moment. 

They’d be good for the babies. Bucky would take them to the park and Steve would be calm while they raged and screamed at night. 

Peter didn’t know how he’d be. He hoped he could grow accustomed to the sleeplessness and prayed that he could smile at them. 

He was terrified of the worst, that ACS would deem him and the home unfit, that he’d fuck up and get kicked out of the house, and anything in between.

Peter didn’t want to think about it too hard this time. 

He was having twins. A year ago, he would have laughed at the idea. 

He still wanted to laugh at the idea, wanted to pretend that it wasn’t real. If he tried hard enough, he could almost convince himself that he’d wake up in the morning in his twin sized bed at the apartment he’d shared with Ben and May. He could almost pretend he was still dancing, still practicing for a future that wasn’t his anymore.

you ache a little, in your neck, from being all twisted up in them. but they're warm enough, safe enough, that it doesn't matter. your eyes are still heavy but–

one is missing. he was on nobara's side. the boys like to sleep on the outside, bookend you and nobara in the center.

carefully, you lift yourself up to peak around the room.

megumi is nowhere in sight. you listen closely in the dark, hear distant, soft noise in the living room.

you untangle yourself as gently as possible. thankfully, nobara and yuuji are heavy sleepers and don't stir when you slip out of bed. in the dark, you fumble for clothes, happen about a shirt strewn on the floor. you bring it to your nose and inhale–it must be yuuji's. it smells a little like nobara's perfume, though, the curshed berries and rose, musk and vanilla. the boy's like that one. when she gets ready in the morning with you, the whole bedroom will smell of it. she always spritzes some onto the sides of your throat, tilts your head with her hand, let's you have some of her best.

you slip into the shirt, let it fall around your thighs and pad out into the hallway to see soft, gold light towards the joint kitchen and living room. it feels a little dreamlike, heaven sweet, when you find megumi tucked into the couch, haloed in the small light he's turned on. messy hair. bare skinned. there's a mug of tea on the coffee table beside him.

he picks his head up when you enter, catches your eye. you wade into his arms naturally, both of you folding in on each other. he's cooler, while you're still sleep warm, can feel the way he tries to steal some of your heat, hands disappearing beneath yuuji's shirt to find skin as you curl up in his lap.

"can't sleep?" you murmur into his chest.

he hums in agreement, "did i wake you?"

maybe, you think, i just know. i just know when i don't have one of you, like some sixth sense you can't name, some part of you that now feels intrinsic. like missing a heart beat, feeling it skip, missing a limb, of course you'd know.

you shake your head, though, burrow deeper into his arms.

"want tea?" he asks softly, can feel the brush of his lips against your temple.

you nod into his neck, nudge your nose and lips against his jaw. you can feel him sigh a little, feel the breath of him escape in a quiet rush, appreciative. soft.

he leans forward a little, disturbing you, to grab his warm mug.

you unfurl yourself enough to let him bring it to your lips.

the mug is chipped, well-loved, and the tea is bitter, the root of something, crush of earth on your tongue. no honey. you don't mind it, it warms you inside out, but you usually prefer something softer; camomile or lavender. a squeeze of honey.

still, you take another sip. he then takes a sip for himself before settling it back onto the coffee table.

you both ease down against each other again. his broad hand moves up your spine, back down, soothing movements, almost restless.

after a moment, you ask quietly, "nightmare?"

a slow breath.

then, "yeah."

"you okay?" you press petaled kisses to his jaw, his cheek, little i'm sorrys, little comforts.

he hums again. "i don't know if i'll be able to sleep for–"

"why are you guys out here?" yuuji's voice is groggy, slurred almost, deeper and rougher than usual. he looks disheveled, barely awake. it's endearing, the squint of his eyes, the sleepy way he gazes at you two.

"megumi couldn't sleep." you answer and yuuji stumbles over towards the two of you on the couch now.

"let me in," he mutters, before just about throwing all of his weight onto the two of you.

"yuuji–" you laugh softly as he forces you and megumi down, squirms on top of you two all heavy, lax muscles and warm from sleep. megumi grunts as he takes the brunt of both your weights. your leg is twisted a little weird and you shift, make a noise of discontent and yuuji lifts up enough to let you get comfortable.

but then he's heavy again, heavy body, heavy eyes.

"yuu, why'd you even get out of bed if–" you ask, hands tangling in his short hair.

"wanted to make sure you guys were okay," he mumbles, cheek squished up against your chest. your back is pressed to megumi's chest, whose propped against the arm of the couch.

"we're fine, sweet boy." you murmur, "we should go back to bed."

"'m not moving," yuuji declares, hands fitting around your sides, along megumi's thighs. when he's sleepy, he blindly reaches out and holds and feels.

you're about to admonish him, when megumi says, "i'm not sure i'll sleep."

"we can watch something," yuuji mumbles, "'til you fall asleep again. sleep on the couch."

"nobara won't like waking up alone." you counter.

"not waking her, she's evil when–" yuuji starts.

"just carry her out here, she probably won't even wake up." megumi suggests and his own hands now are creeping around your waist, one skimming over yuuji's arm.

"you do it–" yuuji mumbles.

"i have two people on top of me–"

"excuses, fushiguro, excuses..."

"what're you all doing out here?"

speak of the devil.

"nobara," you say warmly, "we were just going to get you."

she's in megumi's shirt. one sock is hers, the other is yours. she looks grouchy, always does when she's been woken, brows furrowed, lips puckered a little.

she pads over as you say, "megumi couldn't sleep. turn on the tv, we're going to watch something out here."

"it's three in the morning," she grumbles, but still, she reaches for remote. and then, noticing the tea, she picks that up, too, and lifts it to her lips, "whose is this?"

but before you can answer, she takes a sip, and then immediately twists her face up in disgust. "blegh," she makes a noise of distaste, answering her own question. only megumi likes his tea so bitter.

you can feel his soft smile against your temple.

she turns the tv on, soft blue light fills the room. she leans over all of you to turn off the lamp, darkness settling around you gently, save for the dreamy tv.

and then, "let me in." she mutters, nudging at yuuji.

he grumbles and she pushes at him harder. "up, idiot, i want in."

yuuji sits up a little to let her in, but only just so, and suddenly she's against you again, and yuuji's collapses onto her stomach, her legs. she growls softly at him, prickly girl that she is, but sinks her hands into his hair once he's settled against her middle.

you will certainly wake up sore, limbs asleep, perhaps too warm. but–

but it's good. and safe. comforting. a sweet little ache bubbles in your chest.

megumi fishes the remote from her hands and begins to scroll and search.

you press a little kiss to her cheek, messily to her jaw, and then she turns to kiss you soundly. you melt into it a moment and if it weren't so late–

you part from her, let her settle down against you, sink into you, into megumi, and yuuji.

by the time megumi has picked something, yuuji and nobara are already asleep again, dead weight against both of you. and megumi's breathing is even and gentle beneath you, his hands warm, his lips at your cheek, at your neck.

sleep coaxes you, lures you soft and slow, until it catches you with gentle hands.

in the flickering lights, the murmuring movie, tangled up in one another, in all your lives, you find peace again.