#( hoping to god i can talk to my dr earlier than friday this week so i can get this sorted out )

[hiisheart]

( i genuinely don't understand why my psychiatrist didn't just have me go back on hydroxyzine again ... esp cuz the doctor at the hospital said he'd give me it/something like it ... )

[maximons]

Perfect

Summary: Wanda Maximoff and Y/n L/n, two kindred spirits that find themselves drawn to each other. And because of this, they knew their first date wouldn’t be anything less than perfect.

Word Count: 2,462

Genre: College AU, Fluff

Requested?: Yes

A/N: Hope ya’ll like your teeth rotting, cause that’s all this is :)

You first saw Wanda Maximoff in early October.

In hindsight, you couldn’t believe you didn’t notice her sooner. It was in your psychology class on a Friday afternoon. The class was required for your major, and it was also your last class of the day and the last one of the week, so you weren’t the most excited to be there. You leaned back in your chair, pen twirling in your hand, listening to the professor drone on about...something. You weren’t really paying attention.

You assumed she asked a question, because a few stray hands shot up in the air. One was selected, and a voice started speaking.

And, oh wow...you were paying attention now.

The beautiful voice was deeper, raspy. It held your attention, pulling you in even if you didn’t want to be, which you very much did. What intrigued you the most was the slight accent that was laced within it. You couldn’t pinpoint where it was from exactly, but you would guess European. Eastern European maybe.

Hypnotizing.

“Thank you, Miss Maximoff, that was actually very insightful.” You snapped back into reality at the sound of your professors voice. You leaned back into your seat, eyes drifting over to the owner of the voice.

You couldn’t see her face, as you were seated in the back of the lecture hall and she was closer to the front, but your gaze was met with a beautiful head of flowing red hair. You could tell that it wasn’t natural, most likely dyed, but it didn’t make it any less gorgeous. Right then and there, you made it a goal to get closer to this girl. You brought the tip of your pen to your lips, biting on it slightly. A smile grew on your face, still staring at the back of her head.

“Well, hello Miss Maximoff.”

The opportunity to talk to her arose the next week. You walked into class, few minutes earlier than you usually did, eyes scanning the room. You were happy to see the head of red hair that plagued your mind for the last few days already in her seat. This time though, you got to see her face. Your jaw dropped slightly.

She’s beautiful.

You snapped yourself out of it, not wanting to risk getting caught staring. You casually made your way through the room and up a few steps. However, instead of going to your usual seat in the back of the hall, you plopped yourself down into the seat next to hers.

You slid your bag off your shoulder, shoving it under the table in front of you, staring forward. You noticed the redhead turn her gaze towards you, wondering why you were sitting there you were sure. After a few moments, her gaze still lingered on you, so you took a chance and turned you head. You gave her a small smile.

“Hey.” You said quietly, as casual as you could. You didn’t want her to think you were some kind of stalker, sitting next to her just to get close to her.

Well, yeah that’s what you were doing, but you didn’t want her to get the wrong idea.

She simply responded with the same smile and greeting before turning her attention back towards the front of the room. Just then, your professor walked in and the lecture started.

After about a half hour of half listening, your ears perked up at the next thing out of her mouth. “Alright, get into pairs and discuss.”

Yes! This was your chance. Normally you hated group work, especially in this class since none of your friends shared it with you, but today you were excited.

You turned your head towards the redhead only to find her looking at you. You gave her a nervous chuckle. “You wanna...” You trailed off, but she caught on to what you were saying on saying and nodded. You smiled. “I don’t think we’ve met before, I’m Y/n.” You straightened yourself up, holding out your hand for her to take.

She chuckled as she took it. “I know. Dr. Logan keeps scolding you for not paying attention.” She teased, accent present as ever. You laughed nervously. 

“That’s me.” She laughed a little more at that, and man you loved the sound. 

“I’m Wanda.”

You smiled. Wanda Maximoff. What a name.

You started discussing the topic at hand, conversation flowing pretty easily between you two. You quickly caught on to how her accent would thicken when saying certain words. You hung onto every word that flowed out of her mouth. She was also incredibly smart and insightful, but not in a condescending or pretentious way. She was perfect.

You were a goner.

The next few weeks you would continue sitting next to her, and finding reasons to talk to her. You became each others go to partners for class activities. You even formed a friendship outside of class, slowly making your way from acquaintances to friends. You introduced her to your friend group, and she did to hers. You hung out everyday, even began to crash at each others places, it was amazing.

The end of the semester quickly approached, and you were packing your bags to go home for winter break. You and Wanda swore to keep in contact and talk as much as you could. Before you officially left campus though, you had to do something in person. You made your way to Wanda’s dorm and knocked. She answered, and before she could get a word out, you asked the question that’s been on the tip of your tongue for months.

“Do you want to go out with me?”

You knew it was a last minute request, but you didn’t want to do it over the phone. And when you got to see her smile grow as she nodded excitingly, you knew it was the right choice.

You never got around to setting a day because her twin brother, Pietro, was essentially rushing her out of the building, ready to go home. She called over her shoulder that she would call you. And she did as soon she could.

You both decided that you would wait until spring semester and go to the nice restaurant that was in town, it was a popular date sight for those in your school. It sounded like a plan.

But two weeks later, you decided you had a better one.

Wanda was a free spirit, and you were pretty unconventional yourself. Dinner dates were more for couples that didn’t know each other well and wanted to have their first meeting in a public setting. That wasn’t you two. You were great friends already, and you didn’t want to be stuck in the confines of the etiquette of the restaurant. You wanted to be 100% yourself, and you wanted her to be as well.

Wanda was very confused when you asked her where she lived and if she was free tomorrow night. She knew you were up to something, but she didn’t know what. When she asked, you simply said “Trust me.” And she did.

Wanda only lived an hour and a half from you. Perfect. Easy drive.

The next night, you grabbed the keys to the pickup truck that you shared with your dad. You packed what you think you two would need, and then you took off.

An hour and a half later, you arrived at Wanda’s place. Whoa. She practically lived in a mansion. Someone neglected to tell you that she was loaded. You laughed to yourself, thinking of the ways you could tease her about it later. You parked your truck a little ways down the street, so it wasn’t immediately noticeable to the residents inside. You got out and made your way over to the back of the truck. You leaned against it, and pulled out your phone.

“Hey, Y/n!” Wanda answered excitingly, and you couldn’t help but smile.

“Hello there, Miss. Maximoff. What are you up to this fine evening?” You said in a terribly butchered British accent, but Wanda found it amusing and laughed.

“Nothing much, I just got out of the shower.”

“Ah, perfect. Say, instead of getting ready for bed...you might wanna put something warm on.”

Wanda furrowed her brow in confusion, but smiled at your antics. You were up to something. “What did you do?”

“Me? Oh nothing, why would you think that?” You said in mock hurt, and she laughed again. “But I wouldn’t mind it if you made your way outside...” You trailed off, and before Wanda could ask why. You hung up.

A few minutes later, Wanda walked outside. She was dressed casually, jeans and a red sweater. She had her white coat pulled tightly around her, and she tugged on her black scarf as she walked down the walkway.

Absolutely beautiful.

Confusion was plastered on her face, she looked around for a moment, not understanding why she wanted you to go outside. She pulled out her phone, ready to call you again, when she heard a loud honk. She made her way down the street towards the sound, and she gasped slightly when she saw you.

“Oh my god!” She exclaimed and started running towards you. She jumped up into your arms, legs wrapping around you in a tight hug. Both of you sported wide smiles as you laughed. After a few moments, Wanda hopped off of you, smile still wide as she looked at you. “What are you doing here!?”

“Well, I know we talked about how we’d go down to the restaurant, which we can still do if you want to, but I figured...it wouldn’t be us if we didn’t go for a little adventure for our first date.”

Wanda smiled. She was also thinking something similar, but she wanted this to work with you, so she thought she’d play it safe for the first date. She should’ve known better though, because you were you. You didn’t care for societal norms, you played everything by ear, and you faced life head on and in the moment. You were perfect to her. “And where would we be going, Miss L/n?”

“Well, that’s the best part.” You started as you opened the passenger door for Wanda. “I have no idea. We’ll let the road guide us.” You made a gesture to the road, causing the redhead to laugh. 

“Alright, Y/n. Show me the way.” You smiled as you helped her in the truck. You closed the door, and made your way over to the drivers seat, taking off a moment later.

About two hours later, you were still on the road. You didn’t know exactly where you were, and you didn’t care. All you cared about was the beautiful girl beside you. You’ve been engaged in various conversations throughout the night, some playful, some serious, but all of them were amazing. You could talk to this woman for the rest of your life and you would never get bored.

You were making your way through a tunnel, and since it was nearing 1am by this point, it was only you. Wanda shot you a mischievous look ad she hit the button to the truck’s sunroof. You chuckled. “Whatcha doing there?”

“You ever wonder what it would feel like to fly?”

“Who hasn’t?”

“Well this...” Wanda clicked her seatbelt off and carefully stood on the seat. “Is the closest you can get to it.” She stood up, sticking the upper half of her body out of the roof. 

You panicked for a moment. You were driving pretty fast, and were sure this was unsafe. You didn’t want anything to happen to her. You were about to say something, but then Wanda let out a boisterous laugh. “This is amazing!” She let out a scream of excitement. “Y/n, turn the music up!”

You couldn’t help but smile. This woman was truly amazing. You couldn’t bring yourself to worry about the safety measures when she was enjoying herself like this. You obliged and turned the radio up, and Wanda began singing along to the words and, oh wow...

If you thought her speaking voice was captivating...her singing voice was just something else entirely. You were smiling as wide as you possibly could, enjoying this moment. 

It was perfect.

Soon enough though, the end of the tunnel was approaching. There was a metal bar that hung low, so you decided now was the time to pull her back. You tugged on her pant leg. “Okay, Supergirl, get back in here before your head gets torn off.” You laughed, and Wanda soon dropped back in her seat, laughing with you.

You wanted to get a good look at the girl sitting next to you, have a conversation where you could pay attention to her entirely and not having to split your focus. “You up for one more stop?” You asked. Wanda nodded excitingly. 

“Of course.”

You drove for about five more minutes when you spotted a small vacant park. You pulled over to the side of the road and park, and got out. You opened the door open for Wanda again, and helped her get out. You then made your way to the backseat and pulled out the blankets you decided to bring, before walking with Wanda to the center of the park.

You laid down one of the blankets on the grass, and when you both laid down on it, you pulled the other one on top of you.

You spent the next half hour or so in deep conversation, staring at the stars. You didn’t want this night to end, but when you saw Wanda let out a yawn, you figured it would have to soon.

“Alright, we should start heading back. We gotta get you to bed, Miss Bezos.” Wanda smacked your arm at you poking fun at her financial status. “Actually, I’m sure you have a private jet that can pick us up. where’s Alfred at?” You both laughed harder as Wanda hit you again. You two began wrestling, play fighting with each other, when eventually you let Wanda win. She rolled on top of you, pinning you down. 

You continued laughing for a few more moments, before it died down. You were both then very aware of your position and blushed. You looked into each others eyes for a moment, and then Wanda began speaking.

“Tonight was just...so perfect. Thank you, Y/n.” She said softly, and you smiled.

“Of course.” 

You stayed there, staring into each others eyes for another moment, before Wanda started leaning down. You picked your head up, meeting her in the middle, and your lips locked in a soft kiss. You both smiled as you deepened the kiss.

This was for sure the perfect end to a perfect evening.

[cjsinkythoughts]

FATWS One Shot #2 - The Beginning of a Family

Word Count: 1804

Warnings: Cursing, Mentions of Human Trafficking (once, it was a mission Reader did), Minor Character Injury

Setting/Characters: The first half-ish of The Avengers in 2012; Reader, Steve Rogers, Nick Fury, Natasha Romanoff, Tony Stark, Bruce Banner, Thor, Mentions of Loki, Phil Coulson, and Clint Barton, OC!Agent Anderson

A/N: Here’s One Shot Number 2! I was thinking of making it longer and adding the actual Battle of Manhattan, but I dunno if I’m gonna do that. I just wanted these to be One Shots of first meetings and other smaller events. I didn’t want to do scene-for-scene two parters. If you want me to, I can, I don’t mind doing it, I just wasn’t planning on it. I’ve kinda been slacking today, which is why I haven’t cranked out more than this one, but I’ll see if I can finish one more for tonight. Tomorrow’s another late night for me at work, BUT! Tomorrow night FATWS comes out! So I will be doing the next Episode! I also don’t have Friday off this week, so the Parts might bleed into Saturday, but they will come this weekend!

Reminder that this has nothing to do with FATWS the show, but I don’t have a title for my FATWS Series, which is what these are based off of, so this is what they’re called for now! If you have any ideas for names, feel free to send them in! I’m just too lazy to come up with something clever for the whole Series.

Thank you so much for reading! As always, not beta’d so please excuse any mistakes! Be kind to yourselves and others! Stay tuned and enjoy!

FATWS Masterlist

cjsinkythoughts Masterlist

You were exhausted, coming back from an assignment that lasted a little over two months. It’d been your first one since you were assigned to help Steve adjust, and you were guessing they’d keep you on desk duty for a few months before sending you back out again. Which frustrated you to no end.

But then you got back your personal cell phone from a fellow agent and, seeing you had a few  voicemails - which you never had - you flipped it on.

“Hi, Y/N.” Your lips turned up at the man you started growing close to over the past year. “I-I know you’re on a mission right now. I mean, you just left last week. Anyways, I just…I hope you’re doin’ okay. You probably won’t get this until later, but…still. I hope you’re safe. I, uh, I got that book. The one you were joking about me getting. The U.S. History for Dummies one. It goes farther back than I need to know, but I still read all of it. It helped. I wish you were here though. But I know you’re working. And that’s important. Um… I guess I’ll see you in a few months.”

The phone beeped before the next message played. “I took your advice. I got a sketchbook and some other stuff. There’s a ton of new supplies. I’m kinda excited to try them out. Maybe they’re not new but they’re more accessible now than they used to be. And I found a gym. In Brooklyn. It’s kinda run down - a hole in the wall type place - but they don’t do memberships and they don’t care how long you stay as long as you pay for your time. So that’s nice. I guess. Anyways…hi. I don’t think I said that earlier. It’s Steve, by the way. But you probably guessed that. Um…that’s all. I just wanted to let you know. Stay safe, honey. Abbyssinia.”

You listened to the next couple ones, all along the same lines. Steve telling you about his day; about the dog he was allowed to pet on his run or the different coffee he tried this morning at your previous suggestion. You snickered a little, shaking your head. You would never guessed that Hitler hitting, Nazi punching Captain America was so…soft. Cute.

His last voicemail was from earlier that morning, and it made her brow furrow. “Hey, honey. I, uh…God, I really wish you were here. I was told you’d be getting back last week, but then they said it might be another couple weeks because something happened? I hope nothing happened. Please be okay. I’ve really missed you. I know it’s only been a year, but…you’re the only familiar thing I have right now. I guess Fury was right to choose you since you were the first person I saw. There’s a, uh, problem. Fury’s got a mission for me. Some guy named Loki stole the Tesseract. Which was HYDRA’s secret weapon. That blue cube thing. I was just getting used to laptops and fast food and this…it’s just a lot. Overwhelming. You were always good at making things less intimidating. I’ve gotta go. Some SHIELD personnel are picking me up now. We’re going to…somewhere. I’m sure you would know, but they haven’t exactly told me. Hoping to see you soon, Y/N. Please be safe.”

You frowned at the information, looking up at one of your fellow agents, Anderson. “Hey.” He turned his head towards you from his conversation with the copilot. “Is something going on at HQ?”

“The Helicarrier.” Anderson corrected. “Fury just called it in. Something with the Tesseract. And some guy’s mind controlling people. He’s got Barton, apparently. The director is bringing a few people on board; Banner, Stark, Romanoff. Rogers, too, I heard. He wants you to be there ASAP, so we’re going there now.”

Letting out a sigh, you rubbed your eyes and nodded. “Alright. Let’s go see what’s going on.”

*************************

Fury met you as you walked off the jet, lugging your duffle bag over your shoulder. You were still in your clothes from the mission; a human trafficking ring in Guam. Dirty, torn up jeans along with a white tank top hugging your torso and a flannel, unbuttoned, over your shoulders. One of your sneakers had a hole in it, too, and you were walking with a slight limp from the dislocated kneecap you got a few days prior.

“Agent.” He nodded in greeting, passing you a file. “The others are waiting. We just brought in Loki.”

You chewed your cheek, narrowing your eyes as you scanned the information in the file. It had personal files of the others, but you didn’t need to look through those. You knew Natasha very well, considering she taught you half the things you know, along with Barton. You knew Stark - of course you did - especially after you helped set Natasha up to be his secretary a while back. Banner you were also knowledgeable about, seeing as you went undercover to find him when he first took off and had been part of the tracking team on him ever since. Thor you had learned about after his fiasco in New Mexico from Coulson. And, last but certainly not least, Steve Rogers, who you knew better than any file could explain.

“Walk me through this; Thor and Loki are the real Thor and Loki? Like, from Norse myths?”

“Apparently so. You know about the New Mexico incident with the two last year, don’t you?”

You nodded, pinching your lips together tightly. “Well, yeah, but I thought…I dunno. I guess it just didn’t click. So,” you tucked the file under your arm securely, raising an eyebrow at Fury. “We’re fighting a god? An actual god?”

“With an army of aliens.” He confirmed.

“Wonderful.” You huffed as the two of you turned a corner, making your way onto the bridge, just in time to hear Stark talking to Banner about him turning into the Hulk.

“Dr. Banner is only here to track the cube.” Fury butted in. You crossed your arms behind Fury, leaning on your good leg. “I was hoping you might join him. Before you do, this is-” 

“Y/N! You’re back!”

You shot a grin to the blonde, who perked up upon seeing you. “Hi, Steve. Just in time, too, huh.” You nudged Natasha slightly. “Hey, Nat. Sorry about Clint.”

She shrugged. “I’m just glad you’re here to help.”

“I’m sorry.” You looked over to find Banner frowning contemplatively at you. “Do I know you?”

You opened your mouth to answer, but Fury beat you to it. “Formalities later. Y/L/N, we’ll bring you up to speed-”

“I’ll get there, sir. How are you boys planning on tracking down the Tesseract?” You questioned, nodding in the two geniuses’ direction.

“I’d start with that stick of his.” Steve suggested, turning to look at the duo as well. “It may be magical but it works an awful lot like a HYDRA weapon.”

“I don’t know about that, but it is powered by the Cube.” Fury stated. “And I’d like to know how Loki used it to turn two of the sharpest men I know into his personal flying monkeys.”

A tall, broad as hell blonde looked at Fury, confused. “Monkeys? I do not understand-”

“I do!” Steve jumped in, pointing at Thor, before leaning back in his seat at the silence that came after his exclamation. “I-I understood that reference.”

You chuckled and shook your head, winking at Steve when he smiled bashfully at you. As the two scientists - was Stark a scientist? - started heading out, Steve hopped up, padding over to you.

“You’re back early.”

“Late, technically.” You shrugged, letting him pull you in for a hug, your hand rubbing his back. “I got your calls.”

He pulled away, his ears turning red. “Oh, yeah. I, uhm-”

You sniggered. “It’s fine, Steve. You can call me whenever you need to. I’m just sorry I couldn’t answer you sooner.”

“You were working.” He shrugged half heartedly. “Did it go okay? Are you okay?”

“Yes, Steven. I’m fine.” You rolled your eyes just as a yawn threatened to escape your lips. “If not a little tired.” You tapped on the star against his chest. “Nice suit, by the way.”

“Ha ha.” He grinned, eyeing your own clothing. “You’re matching me.” He tugged on the red, white, and blue flannel hanging from your arms. “You also look like shit.”

You snorted. “Wow. What a gentleman. Let’s get this whole Loki situation over with so I can go to bed, yeah?”

He chuckled a little with a nod. “Sounds like a plan, honey.” The two of you started out of the bridge. “You should shower first, though.”

“You’re a bully, you know that?”

“I’m just sayin’!”

“I’m just sayin’!” You mocked with a huff. “Leave me be, Rogers.”

His laughter was cut short, making you look over at him curiously, only to find his slitted eyes studying your movements. “Why are you limping?”

“Relax, Captain. I just dislocated my knee. It’s fine. Shit happens on missions, you know that.”

“Is that why you came back late?”

Shaking your head, you lead him to one of the private rooms the Helicarrier had so you could shower and change. “No. I just needed a little more time. That’s all. Now let’s focus on the problem at hand. We can talk more later.”

He hesitated, leaning against the doorway and watching you set your bag on the small cot.  “Okay. As long as you’re alright.”

Your heart jumped a bit at the concern laced in his tone, the apprehension in those blue eyes - which you found out had some green in them - making your breath hitch slightly. “I am.” You spoke softly with a firm nod of your head, trying to assure him and his worries. “I promise.”

“I’m gonna go check on Banner and Stark, then. Come find me when you’re done.”

You cleared your throat to recover yourself, throwing him a cheeky grin. “Aye, aye, Captain.”

He rolled his eyes with a smile, before turning and walking out, leaving you alone and confused.

What was that? You’d never had that reaction to anything. Your heart doesn’t race whenever someone walks in the room. Not like it did with him. What the hell did that even mean?

You shook your head, clearing your throats. You didn’t have time to dwell on that now. You doubted it was anything more than a fluke. You were just tired and seeing someone familiar, who was genuinely excited to see you was like a breath of fresh air after your operation. That’s all. Yeah.

With that decided, you headed to the shower, head spinning with new thoughts of this problem with the God of Mischief and that stupid blue cube.

All Works Taglist (Open):

@happygoreading​ @bibliophilewednesday​

[wiypt-writes]

Stark Spangled Rebirth

Chapter 1: Flowers In The Window

Summary: Steven Grant Rogers, the dumb kid who was always too stubborn to run away from a fight, was never gonna allow a bunch of no-good low-lives to hassle a dame in the street, even if it was going to lead to him getting his ass kicked. For once, however, the ass kicking has an upside as the dame in question seemed particularly grateful, a fact she displays a few days later at the Stark Expo.

But it wasn’t the only encounter that fateful night that seemed set to change his life when Dr Erskine throws him a bone, meaning Steve can finally do the one thing he’s been desperate to do for years.

Join the army.

Warnings: Bad Language words. Nothing much… Pairing: Steve Rogers x OFC Katie Stark

A/N:  So here it is…my take on what would have gone down so to speak should Katie have been part of the CA: TFA timeline and my contribution of sorts to the CATF 10 Year Anniversary Challenge. I’ll be trying to keep this fic as accurate to the time period and the movie as possible, just like with the other SS fics.  I really hope you enjoy this, there will be some creative license because, let’s face it, what is Fan Fic other than self-indulgence?

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar Katie Stark and the other OCs.��By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

SSR Masterlist // Main Masterlist

June 1943

It started just the same as any normal Friday morning for Steven Grant Rogers. He unlocked the back of the Grocery Store on the corner of Berry Street in Brooklyn, using the entrance down the alley way reserved for staff. Once inside, he grabbed his beige coloured linen apron off the hook and smiled at the items he had to work with today. Fridays were always a treat as they took the rare delivery of freshly cut flowers ready to be sold for the weekend. This week there were boxes of bright white gardenias with their waxy petals and shiny, leathery dark green leaves, bunches of bright purple heliotrope which always reminded him of one of his mother’s scarves, and plenty of white, blue and purple asters. Steve bent down to take in the strong, vibrant fragrance of the gardenias, closing his eyes. It was easy to imagine he was in some garden somewhere, or even the middle of central park…not some little shop in Williamsberg.

“Don’t be inhaling enough of that to set your asthma off!” Mr Tromley, a kindly faced, portly man in his fifties greeted, and Steve turned to look at him, smiling a little shyly.

“I won’t Mr T,” he assured him, “they’re just so darn pretty…”

“Well set yourself a few aside.” Mr Tromley smiled, “you can take them home and sketch them.”

“Oh, I couldn’t.” Steve protested, the way he always did when Mr Tromley tried to slip him something for free be it scraps of meat he couldn’t sell from the counter that would be given to dogs, bread that wasn’t as soft as it had been in the morning and would be fed to the birds, milk that was going to turn, cheese that was slightly past its best. Mr Tromley ignored all his protests though, usually threatening to sack Steve if he didn’t take it. The man knew what it was like to come from a hard background, which was part of the reason he’d taken a shine to that sickly, twenty-two year old orphan with a degree in fine arts that had come begging for a job some three years ago. He couldn’t pay him much but he could do other things to make sure he got by.

“Well if you don’t take ‘em Steve they’ll just end up withering and a-dyin’, so reckon you’d be doin’ em a kindness.” Mr Tromley shrugged “Now, my Ada has some coffee going, you want a cup before we open the doors?”

Steve glanced at the clock above the counter, more out of habit than anything as he knew full well that he arrived with an hour to go.

“Mr T that’d be swell.” He smiled.

“Okay, you get started and I’ll fetch it down.”

Steve began in the usual way, pulling some simple bouquets together, varying in size and price, ready for the busy men to pick up on their way home from work, a nice present for their dame’s for the weekend. Once the stalks and lower foliage were trimmed and stripped, he fastened and tied them in simple brown waxy paper using plain brown string. Steve always insisted on using plain wrapping as anything else would detract from the beauty of the flowers. He placed the finished bouquets into one of the green buckets of water Mr Tromley fetched from the back, before he then carefully and delicately trimmed down the remaining flowers before placing them loose in their own buckets according to type, ready for the ladies, and occasional gentleman, who had the time and desire to create their own bunches.

Impeccably organised, as ever, Steve finished his work fifteen minutes before the store was due to open. He then set about helping Mr Tromley as they arranged the buckets outside the shop window on the sidewalk, before they set up the other stalls of seasonal vegetables. There wasn’t much fruit to go by at the moment, but that was a sign of the times really. But what they did have, namely a selection of apples and oranges, they set those out ready too. Once that was done, Mr Tromley handed Steve a thick wedge of fresh bread which had been delivered that morning from the local bakery, along with some of his wife’s home-made jam which was sold from their shop. Steve took his breakfast with a mumbled thanks, averse to taking the daily handouts as ever, and Mr Tromley sighed.

“Steve, when are you going to realise that a piece of bread and jam for breakfast ain’t gonna bankrupt me?”

“I just don’t want to appear to take advantage, that’s all.” “Ah quit it.” Tromley waved his hand, shaking his head “If I didn’t want you to take advantage of it, I wouldn’t offer it would I? Now, eat that and get behind the counter.”

The morning passed much the same as they always did. A flurry of activity at opening, a steady stream of locals and regulars through to the usual peak of activity just before lunch. Like clockwork, Mr Tromley closed the doors bang on midday for an hour and Steve gathered his sketchbook along with the brown paper bag which contained his cheese and bread, and headed outside into the sun. At Mr Tromley’s instruction he selected an apple from the display and crossed the road avoiding the yellow cabs and cyclists and trams, taking up seat on the bench which sat directly opposite the shop front.  He chewed his lunch, washed it down with the tin bottle of lemonade that Mrs Tromley had filled for him earlier, and then once he had finished his apple he tossed the core over to a pigeon who instantly began pecking at it. He then untucked the pencil that was behind his ear, opened his sketchbook and resumed the detailed landscapes he was doing of the buildings surrounding the shop front. Drawing was his escape, something he did any chance he got. He dreamed one day of travelling the world, drawing all the different sights he could, but that was out of the question. Well, until he finally got into the army. With four failed attempts under his belt already, most men would have given up but not Steven Rogers. Stubborn, tenacious and plucky to a fault, he was already planning his next attempt at enlisting, this time he was going to hail from New Jersey. Well, as good a place as any.  

Steve glanced up, checking the detail of the window to the cobblers next door, and that was when he saw her, just walking down the sidewalk. She wore a red high-collared, cap sleeved tea-dress which flared out slightly from her hips and finished just below her knee. It was cinched in at the waist with a black belt, and was detailed round the hem and sleeve edges with pretty white lace. On her feet she wore a pair of simple, elegant black block heel courts with a T-bar buckle. Her hair was a silky, shiny chestnut which hung around her face in bouncy waves and she had a soft, gentle profile with high cheekbones, slightly flushed cheeks and ruby lips. She stopped outside the shop, examining the flowers with a smile, and then she looked up at the shop door and saw the CLOSED sign in the window. She can’t be from around here, Steve thought to himself, everyone in the neighbourhood knew when Tromley closed his doors and opened them, you could set your watch by it. Still, she hung around, softly picking up a gardenia and holding it to her nose, smiling to herself as she inhaled.

Steve found the innocent act breath-taking. He felt a little, well, shameful in a way, to be watching her so, intruding on what was clearly a private moment but he couldn’t help it. She was beautiful, grace personified, and he felt a little sad as she replaced the flower, gave the buckets one last look, before she continued on her way. Steve sighed, wishing to God that the shop had been open, it would have given him an excuse to maybe see her a little more closely. Perhaps talk to her. Or not as the case maybe, Bucky was always telling him how useless he was when it came to striking up conversations with ladies. But, for now, he had to settle for watching her walk away. Only he wasn’t the only one.

“Hey pretty thing…” Steve heard a voice and turned to his left where a group of men, most likely in their late teens or early twenties, had spotted her. As Steve watched he saw one of them push himself off the lamppost he’d been leaning on and cross the street towards her. The lady stopped, looking at him with her eyebrow raised. He spoke to her again, Steve couldn’t hear the conversation but a smile tugged at his lips as the lady looked the boy up and down, disdain etched all over her pretty face before she shook her head and laughed. She made to move past the kid but he reached out and grabbed her arm.

And Steve just couldn’t help himself.

“Hey!” He called, jumping up and hurrying across the street. “Let the lady go.”

“Back off, this has nothing to do with you.” The man rounded on him, looking at him before he snorted at Steve’s stature. “Besides, what you gonna do about it anyway? Runt.”

Steve took a deep breath, he was used to people looking down their noses at him, both figuratively and literally. That was part and parcel of being only five foot four inches tall. He also knew that at hundred pound give or take, he didn’t cut a formidable figure either, but he was damned if he was going to let this bully manhandle a dame in the middle of the street.

The woman wrenched her arm away from the man’s grip and glared at him, furious green eyes bored into his as she snorted and looked the guy up and down. “He’s clearly twice the gentleman you’ll ever be. Didn’t your mother ever teach you basic, good manners jack ass?”

“What did you just say?” a sudden darkness crossed the man’s face as he looked down at the woman who stood, un-yielding, clutching her purse as it hung around her shoulder.

“You heard me, well unless you’re deaf as well as ugly.” She shrugged slightly. At that Steve really couldn’t hold his face straight anymore and he felt the side of his lips curl up into a smirk. He was sure the pretty dame’s eyes flickered to his but he must have imagined it as when he stole a glance back at her she was staring straight back at the man who’d been giving her the trouble.

“Mouthy little broad you ain’t ya?” He snarled.

“Show some damned respect.” Steve shot out, and this time the man rounded on him. Steve stood stock still, his mother’s words echoing clearly in his head- you start running, they’ll never let you stop and he was aware in his peripheral that the other 2 men who’d been observing until now were starting to circle like sharks who had just had their first taste of blood.

He braced himself, ready for the inevitable fight, legs slightly apart, hands balling into fists by his side. But it was no use. He was never going to be fast enough or strong enough for one of these guys, let alone three, and as the fist connected with his face he heard a scream and a yell as he fell backwards into the display of oranges and apples which he had lovingly helped Mr T prepare before.

Steve staggered to his feet, readying himself for another hit but it didn’t come. Instead one of the guys was sent sprawling to the ground besides him, shortly followed by the other. He wheeled round to see Bucky had the one that was left standing pinned up by the collar against the brick wall to the side of the shop and Mrs T was on the door step brandishing a broom handle, a string of Italian expletives leaving her mouth.

“Get outta here!” Bucky shoved the one that he was holding harshly into the road where he narrowly avoided colliding with the side of a yellow cab. Then turns to Steve and pulls him up.

“Seriously?” Bucky groaned and Steve shook his head, dusting himself down “You pick a fight with three at once?”

“He didn’t pick a fight with any of them.” A soft voice spoke and both Steve and Bucky turned to look at the dame in the red dress who was dusting herself down as her eyes flitted from Bucky, to Steve, then back again. “He came to help me when one of those bozos was getting a little too familiar.”

“That’s Stevie, a regular Knight in shining armour.” Bucky ruffled Steve’s hair as he gave an exasperated sigh, pushing himself away from his best friend. “Especially when there’s a beautiful dame involved.”

 The lady looked at Bucky, arching an eyebrow before she looked back at Steve and he gulped slightly as for the first time he took her in properly. There was nothing else to say other than she was drop dead gorgeous. Deep green eyes that sparkled like emeralds looked back at him from a heart shaped face, nose speckled with freckles which twitched a little as she smiled revealing a row of perfectly straight, white teeth

"I guess I should thank you Stevie." She spoke, and Steve felt the heat rise in his cheeks.

"It was nothing...I just.." he stopped dead as she reached out and straightened his tie, long eyelashes blinking against his cheeks as she smoothed over his shoulders and dropped a kiss to his cheek.

"My hero"

Steve swallowed and looked at the woman as she stepped back, smiling at him.

“I err, it was…my pleasure.” Steve stuttered and the lady arched an eyebrow, a grin on her face.

“Interesting choice of words.”

“I mean, not pleasure, obviously. No one likes seeing a beautiful dame getting hassled, I mean woman, not that…” he shook his head, as Bucky nudged him. He was rambling, as per usual. “I err, I should…”he gestured to the shop as Mr and Mrs Tromley were now looking at the mess of fruit all over the floor.

“I’m sorry about that.” She turned to the shopkeepers who looked at her, Mrs Tromley waving her away.

“Not your fault, dear.”

“Can I at least buy some of the flowers?”  She asked, a little shyly. “That is what I actually wanted to do after all.”

“Of course, Steven, can you…” Mr T nodded to Steve and then his eyes fell on Bucky “James Buchanan Barnes, what are you doing here?”

“Got a week or so’s furlough, Mr T and Ma sent me for some stuff, I gotta list.” he nodded, fishing it out of his pocket.

Tromley took it from him, scanned it and then turned to walk into the shop, beckoning for Bucky to follow him. Steve’s eyes followed his friend’s broad back as Bucky paused in the doorway and stopped, turning back to the woman. Steve groaned inwardly, he knew that face, Bucky was about to turn on the charm and she was no doubt going to fall in a pool at his feet, just like most of the other girls in the neighbourhood.

“You’re not from round here, right?” Bucky asked.

“What makes you say that?” She countered with a question of her own, looking Bucky up and down as she spoke.

“Never seen you before.”

“Know all the girls in Brooklyn, do you James Buchanan Barnes?” She asked, and Bucky gave a chuckle as she repeated his name to him and winked.

“Only the pretty ones.” “Well I suppose with most men joining the army the moment, even the pretty ones can’t be choosers.”

At that Steve let out a snort of laughter as Bucky blinked in surprise. “Ouch.” He gave a little scoff and shake of his head before he turned to walk into the shop.

“He always like that?” The lady looked at Steve who took a deep breath and smiled a little.

“Yes Ma’am. And to be honest it normally works.” Steve glanced at Bucky before he looked back at the woman who was looking at him, her eyes twinkling. “Most girls just can’t seem’ta say no!”

“Well, I’ll let you into a secret.” She grinned and leaned closer to Steve. “I’m not like most girls.”

Steve swallowed again, nervously brushing a hand through his hair as she straightened up and smiled at him. “I’m Katie by the way, seems only fair you know my name seeing as I know yours.”

“I err, that’s a pretty name.” Steve smiled and then inwardly cursed himself again.

Pretty name? Really? That’s the best you can do?

“Thank you.” She giggled, and then she turned to the buckets “So errr, do you wanna make me a bouquet Steve? Something pretty for my room.”

Glad of the distraction, Steve nodded and turned to the various bunches of flowers. “I err, I noticed you were admiring the gardenias, so…” “You were watching me?” she spoke and Steve looked at her, ready to start protesting that wasn’t what he’d been doing when he spotted the glint in her eyes and he shook his head giving a sigh. She grinned “I love gardenias, lilies are my favourite but gardenias are pretty too.”

“Yeah we don’t have any lilies, unfortunately.” Steve shrugged “They were my Ma’s favourite too.”

Steve set about gathering a generous bunch of flowers as she instructed him to make it a large bouquet and then she followed him into the shop where he wrapped them in brown paper and string as Bucky was leaning against the counter, chatting to the Tromleys, Mrs Tromley laughing loudly at something he’d said.

“You are a cad, Bucky Barnes!” She looked at him, shaking her head “Isn’t it bad enough you joined the army? You’ll give your ma a heart attack one of these days.”

Bucky shrugged “It wasn’t so bad, he never caught me. Even on a bum ankle I was faster.”

“You been caught in places you shouldn’t be again Buck?” Steve looked at him and he shrugged, grinning.

“You know me, Stevie!”

“Yeah, yeah I do.” Steve rolled his eyes before he tied off the bouquet with the string and then handed it to Katie. She smiled.

“You have talented hands.” She spoke gently and Steve flushed once more, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Yeah, he’s good with them.” Bucky spoke and Steve glared at him. Katie turned to look at Bucky again, a smirk playing on her lips.

“Makes a change, in my experience most men don’t know the first thing about how to use them.”

Mrs Tromley choked a little on her coffee as she looked at the younger woman, flashing her a wink. Katie bit her lip, her mouth curling up into a small smile as she rummaged in her purse, pulling out a small leather wallet.

“How much do I owe you?”

“No charge.” Mr Tromley spoke suddenly but Katie shook her head.

“I insist, I was responsible for your display getting trashed, least I can do is pay for these.”

“Oh trust me,” Mr Tromley smiled, “seeing you put that toe-rag into them was worth it.”

“Yeah, you had some pretty vicious moves for a dame.” Bucky looked at her and she shrugged as Steve frowned.

“Wait, you…” “Don’t look so surprised.” Katie smiled “A girl should always know how to defend herself. But if I’m honest, it’s always nice to have a man do it for you.”

At that she smiled and slapped some money down on the counter, stepping back. “Keep the change in insist.”

Mr Tromley looked at her, then at the note, his mouth falling open a little.

“Thank you again Steve.” She picked up the bouquet. “Maybe I’ll see you around.”

“I hope so, I mean…yeah…come back soon.”

She smiled and with a final look in his direction she left, the bell ringing as the door opened and shut behind her. There was a pause until Bucky turned to Steve.

“Come back soon?” he looked at him “Really? That’s the best you could do?”

Steve groaned. “Piss off Bucky.” He shot, giving a yelp as Mrs T swatted at his head.

“Language, Steven!” She scalded, as Mr T chuckled and slid the money she’d left to Steve across the counter. Steve blinked and looked at it, before he shook his head. Mr Tromley glared at him.

“You don’t take that you’re fired.”

With a groan Steve folded the $5 note up and slid it into the pocket of his slacks. Mrs Tromley muttered something about going to check on her scones which were in the oven upstairs and Mr Tromley headed into the back, leaving Steve and Bucky alone.

“You know, that dame was practically begging for you to ask her out on a date.” Bucky picked up the paper bag containing the groceries he had come for and Steve looked at him, snorting.

“You’re joking right?” the smaller man shook his head “Dame’s like that don’t want a guy like me.” “Clueless.” Bucky shook his head “Absolutely fucking clueless.” Steve watched him head to the door, before he stopped and turned back. “Oh that reminds me. Ma’s expecting you about 6 for dinner. She’s making meatloaf and told me that if you refuse she’s gonna, and I quote.” Bucky cleared his throat and spoke in a light, airey impression of his Ma, “march round to his house and drag him outta that apartment by his ear.”

Steve rolled his eyes well naturedly. He hadn’t been to the Barnes’ for dinner for a week so he wasn’t surprised Winnie had sent Bucky with an invitation that was more of an instruction than anything. “Okay, thanks Buck.”

Bucky gave him a salute before he headed out of the store, whistling to himself. Steve took a deep breath, shook his head and turned back to his work, pushing all thoughts of the stunning young woman in the red dress out of his mind.

*****

“You just don’t know when to give up, do you?” She taunting voice of his opponent rang in Steve’s ears as he staggered to his feet. This wasn’t how he’d planned his trip to the movie theatre going, not one iota. But when the loudmouthed asshole had done nothing but show total disrespect to those fighting overseas as the infomercial was showing, his temper had gotten the better of him and once more had led to him getting into a fight. As far as Monday’s went, this one was pretty crappy.

Which of course he could never walk away from.

“I can do this all day.” Steve huffed, swinging his fist at the guy again. The jerk easily blocked Steve’s feeble punch with his arm, delivering a huge jab with his left which sent Steve sprawling straight into the side of the trashcan from which he’d picked up the lid before. As Steve lay dazed, he heard a familiar voice breaking through the fog.

“Hey! Pick on someone your own size.” Bucky yanked the guy backwards by his jacket, shoving him a little down the alleyway. The guy swung at Bucky who dodged it almost lazily, before delivering a punch of his own, placing a firm boot up the guys ass as he retreated hurriedly. Watching as he scooted away, Bucky turned to Steve who was stood with his hands on his knees, steadying himself.

“Sometimes, I think you like getting punched.”

“I had him on the ropes.” Steve replied, pressing the heel of his palm to the cut above his eyebrow, wincing a little from the various blows he’d taken.

Bucky said nothing, instead he bent down to pick up the enlistment form that had fallen from Steve’s pocket and with a sigh he glanced at it.

“How many times is this?” His eyes scanned the information and he arched an eyebrow “Oh, you’re from Paramus now? You know it’s illegal to lie on the enlistment form. And seriously, Jersey?”

Steve ignored him, and then for the first time looked up at his friend to see him stood tall in his full army uniform. Which could only mean one thing. “You get your orders?” he frowned a little.

“The one-o-seventh. Sergeant James Barnes. Shipping out for England first thing tomorrow.”

Steve sighed, great. Just what he needed to hear. “I should be going.” He shook his head dejectedly.

Bucky looked at him sympathetically before he smiled, and looked an arm round his shoulder, pulling him closer in a friendly gesture as they both began to head back down the alley towards the main road.

“Come on, man, it’s my last night! Gotta get you cleaned up.”

“Why? Where are we going?”

“The future.” Bucky handed Steve the newspaper he was holding. Steve opened it to see the ad for the World Exposition Of Tomorrow.

“Buck…” he began to protest but Bucky stopped him.

“Seriously? My last night before I ship off to bust Nazi’s and you’re already tryin’a bail?”

“No, I just…” “Stevie!” Bucky whined. “Since I got my draft last September, I’ve hardly seen you other than when I’ve been home…”

“I know, but…” “No buts, man! I mean who knows when I’m gonna see you again now I’m actually being sent into combat and not just back to Camp McCoy. You know, London is a little further afield than Wisconsin “

“I’m well aware of that.” Steve rolled his eyes.

“So come on! Let’s go, have some fun. Cut loose a little. It’ll do you good.”

Steve looked up to see Bucky’s eyes shining with mischief, his handsome face grinning at him and he rolled his eyes “Fine, but you’re buying the hotdogs.”

“What else is new?” Bucky grinned, grabbing Steve in a headlock and ruffling his hair a little.

“Jerk.” Steve said furiously, pushing him away.

*****

A couple of hours later the two of them entered the Expo, Steve taking in the sights around him. It was crazy busy, a buzz of excitement around the air and it was hardly surprising. Howard Stark, the guy at the centre of it all was somewhat of a celebrity. He’d founded his company some four years ago at the age of twenty-two, and it had grown from strength to strength, with numerous pioneering technological advances to his name. Steve would be lying if he said he wasn’t a little excited to see the latest and no doubt flamboyant invention the guy had come up with, but his mind was still on his failed Army application, the feeling of inadequacy exacerbated even more by the fact Bucky was going to be leaving him behind to serve his country, something that Steve felt he should be doing right along with his best pal.

Sensing his brooding nature, Bucky nudged him and opened his mouth no doubt to make some wise crack, but Steve shook his head.

“Buck, just don’t”

“I don’t see what the problem is.” Bucky shook his head as they wandered down the steps towards the main pavilion area “You’re about to be the last eligible man in New York.” Bucky grinned, and Steve sighed heavily. Yup, there it was. “You know, there’s three and a half million women here.”

“Well, I’d settle for just one.” Steve muttered and Bucky grinned, Steve allowing a little smile to spread across his face at his own joke.

“Good thing I took care of that.” Bucky grinned and waved to two girls, a blonde and a brunette, who stood a few feet away and Steve stopped dead as one of the girls waved back, calling out to Bucky.

Great, here we go again.

“What did you tell her about me?” Steve groaned. “Only the good stuff.” Bucky smirked as they walked towards the girls, Steve brushing his hand through his hair, making sure it was as tidy as he could.

Bucky introduced the girls as Connie and Bonnie. It was obvious from the start that Connie was the one Bucky was trying his luck with, although to be fair Bonnie might as well have been with Bucky too for all the attention she paid to Steve. As they wandered into the Pavilion, Steve stopped to purchase a bag of sweets before he followed on behind the other 3, glancing around at the various exhibits.

“Welcome to the Modern Marvels Pavilion and the World of Tomorrow.” The expo announcer spoke “A greater world. A better world.”

There was a little bit of murmuring from people in front of them as they stopped, glancing at the large stage in front of them which was currently dark, but then there was movement, music struck up and Connie grabbed Bucky’s arm in excitement.

“Oh, my God! It’s starting!” She squealed and yanked on Bucky’s hand, pulling him closer. As Steve stood behind them he saw the stage light up to reveal a row of women all dressed in black and white striped waistcoats, short jackets and top hats. One of them walked across the front of the stage, smiling as she spoke into a microphone

“Ladies and gentlemen, Mr. Howard Stark!”

Smooth and cool as a cucumber, Howard Stark strode onto the stage, taking off his top hat, whilst he smiled, handing it to the announcer before kissing her as the crowd cheered. Howard smirked a little, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket which he used to dab at his mouth before he addressed his audience.

“Ladies and Gentlemen!” at that point Steve held the small paper bag over towards Bonnie who looked at it, then him, almost scathingly as Howard continued his speech. “What if I told you that in just a few short years, your automobile won’t even have to touch the ground at all?”

“You know…” A vaguely familiar voice spoke and Steve looked up from where he had been examining his bag of bonbons, wondering what was wrong with them, to see the woman from the shop a few days ago, Katie stood to the side of Bonnie. She was dressed in a simple grey dress which sported a pencil style skirt, with a light blue cardigan covering her shoulders. “When a gentleman offers you a sweet and you don’t want one, there’s really no need to be such a rude bitch about it.”

Her eyes were narrowed as she gave Bonnie a scathing look. Bonnie floundered a little as Katie reached out, dipping her red nailed, manicured hand into the paper bag and taking a bonbon. In doing so, she jostled Bonnie forward a little with her elbow, and turned to the stage, popping the bonbon in her mouth, giving Steve a little wink. Steve felt his cheeks flush as Bucky turned, his attention drawn to the slight scuffle behind him. He saw Katie stood next to Steve and he grinned.

“Hey Dollface!” Katie turned her head and looked at Bucky as Steve rolled his eyes. However, just like at the shop, she payed Bucky no attention other than a flick of her eyebrow, before her eyes moved back to the stage, Steve doing the same to see that Stark was now stood by some sort of podium.

“With Stark robotic reversion technology, you’ll be able to do just that.” Howard spoke, and with that he turned to fiddle with a few switches on the podium and the car started to hover ever so slightly off the ground. Steve felt his mouth drop open in awe as in front of him Bucky let out an astonished mumble.

“Holy cow!”

But he spoke too soon, as the jets making the car hover suddenly malfunctioned and the car fell back onto the stage with a loud crash, sparks flying out round it.

Bucky turned to look at Steve, smiling as Steve’s eyebrows raised, and besides him, Katie gave a snort.

“I did say a few years, didn’t I?” Howard laughed, leaning on the bonnet of the car.

“Few years my ass.” Katie mumbled and Steve looked at her.

“What?”

“Nothing, doesn’t matter.” She shook her head. “Listen, I gotta go-”

“Oh, ok.” Steve tried not to sound disappointed but Katie smiled at him softly, cutting him off.

“Meet me at the Cider cart in an hour.”

“I err…” Steve stuttered, before he frowned. “You sure, you wanna meet me?”

“If I didn’t I wouldn’t have said so.” Katie grinned. “One hour, don’t you dare be late.”

“Yeah, an hour, got it.”

Not quite able to believe his luck, Steve watched her go, smiling to himself before he glanced around and his eyes stopped on the familiar Uncle Sam poster pointing at him, with an arrow directing him to a recruitment centre. What the hell, he had nothing to lose…and an hour was plenty of time. Decision made, he followed the signs and jogged up the steps into the building, pausing to take a look around as people were milling in the carpeted hallway.

“Come on soldier!” a woman giggled at her male company, pulling him away from a mirror making him look like a soldier. Once he was gone Steve stepped in front of the mirror but he was too short to fill out the face. His shoulders slumped and then suddenly, a strong hand gripped his right and Bucky chuckled.

“You’re kind of missing the point of a double date.” He said, shaking his head as Steve stepped away, turning to face him “We’re taking the girls dancing.”

“You go ahead. I’ll catch up with you.” Steve replied, hands dropping into his pockets.

“What, you had a better offer? From Dollface?”

“Her name is Katie.”

“Oh my God I’m right!” Bucky laughed. “Good for you, Punk!”

Steve rolled his eyes and then watched as a man strode past him in an Army Uniform and when Steve looked back at Bucky, his friend’s face now sported an exasperated expression as he’d clearly realised what Steve was planning. “You’re really gonna do this again?”

“Well, it’s a fair. I’m gonna try my luck.” Steve answered with a little shrug.

“As who? Steve from Ohio? They’ll catch you. Or worse, they’ll actually take you.” Bucky’s voice was frustrated and Steve gave a little smile.

“Look, I know you don’t think I can do this, but I’m more-“

“This isn’t a back alley, Steve. It’s war!” Bucky cut him off.

“I know it’s a war. You don’t have to tell me that-“ “Why are you so keen to fight? There are so many important jobs.” “What am I gonna do? Collect scrap metal-“

“Yes!”

“-in my little red wagon?”

“Why not?”

“I’m not gonna sit in a factory, Bucky.” Steve argued, shaking his head.

“I don’t…” Bucky protested once more and Steve cut him off.

“Bucky, come on! There are men laying down their lives. I got no right to do any less than them. That’s what you don’t understand. This isn’t about me.”

“Right. Cause you got nothing to prove.” Bucky said gently and Steve took a deep breath. But before Bucky could say anything else Connie called out to him.

“Hey, Sarge! Are we going dancing?”

Bucky turned back to the girls, his arms held out to the side. “Yes, we are.” With that he turned back to Steve, shaking his head a little, his shoulders slumped in resignation. “Don’t do anything stupid until I get back.” He instructed as he started to walk away.

“How can I? You’re taking all the stupid with you.” Steve shot back and Bucky shook his head, giving a snort.

“You’re a punk.” He walked back towards Steve and hugged him goodbye.

“Jerk” Steve said gently slapping Bucky’s back. “Be careful.”

With a pang of sadness, Steve watched his best friend walking away, not quite sure when they’d see each other again, if indeed ever. He licked his lips and then called out to Bucky once more. “Don’t win the war till I get there!”

Bucky stopped and saluted him before he strode down the steps, “Come on girls. They’re playing our song.”

With a deep breath, Steve headed into the recruitment centre, past an older gentlemen in a brown suit. He was given the usual forms to fill out, this time going with Ohio as his place of birth-thanks for that one, Buck- and he was shown to the medical examination room. After the short physical was over, he was just fastening the sleeves of his long shirt up again when a nurse walked into the room and whispered something inaudible to the doctor.

“Wait here.” The Doctor turned to him, moving to the curtain.

“Is there a problem?” Steve asked, frowning a little.

“Just wait here.” The doctor repeated his instruction before he walked out.

Steve paused for a second, glancing over his right shoulder at a sign warning against lying on enlistment forms before he glanced at the curtain, cold dread filling him. Shit, Bucky was right, they’d caught up with him. Jumping down off the bed he sat heavily in a chair and began to pull on his shoes when someone entered the cubicle. He glanced up and saw a Military Police officer looking at him and he swallowed a little nervously. But before he could say anything another man entered, the man Steve had walked past about forty minutes or so previously in the foyer, and he was clutching a file in his hands.

“Thank you.” The man spoke to the Police Officer who left, pulling the curtains closed behind him. Steve watched as the man turned to face him, his hands behind his back. “So, you want to go overseas.” The man pulled the file from behind him, opening it “Kill some Nazis.”

“Excuse me?”

“Dr. Abraham Erskine.” The man closed the folder and walked over as Steve stood up, shaking his hand “I represent the Strategic Scientific Reserve.”

“Steve Rogers” Steve nodded, noting the man’s accent as he placed the file on the medical bed and started to look through it. “Where are you from?”

“Queens. 73rd Street and Utopia Parkway. Before that, Germany.” He adjusted his glasses as he glanced at Steve “This troubles you?”

“No.” Steve replied honestly, shaking his head.

“Where are you from, Mr. Rogers?” Erskine asked, resting both his hands on the bench “Mmm? Is it New Haven? Or Paramus? Five exams in five different cities.”

“That might not be the right file.” Steve began to try and get out of whatever trouble he was in but Erskine was quick to cut him off.

“No, it’s not the exams I’m interested in. It’s the five tries.” Erskine closed the file, picking it up “But you didn’t answer my question.” He strode over and stopped in front of Steve “Do you want to kill Nazis?”

Steve glanced to the side before he looked at Erskine “Is this a test?”

“Yes.” The man replied bluntly and Steve took a deep breath, before he answered as honestly as he could.

“I don’t wanna kill anyone.” He shook his head, raising his eyes to meet Erskine’s “I don’t like bullies. I don’t care where they’re from.”

“Well, there are already so many big men fighting this war. Maybe what we need now is the little guy, huh?” Erskine smiled before he turned to leave “I can offer you a chance” he said, whipping the curtains open “Only a chance.”

Steve couldn’t believe his ears. Was this Doctor guy actually telling him he’d done it, that he’d finally made it into the army? He had no idea what the Strategic Science Reserve was, or why Erskine had questioned him so, but right now he didn’t care.

“I’ll take it.” He said, hastily grabbing his belongings and following Erskine out.

“Good.” Erskine placed the file down on the desk and picked up a stamp, before replacing it and reaching for another “So where is the little guy from, actually?”

Steve smiled “Brooklyn.”

Erskine smiled back, stamped the form before closing the file and handing it to Steve. “Congratulations, soldier.”

Steve hastily opened it up and did a double take as he saw the stamp was a 1A this time, not 4f. He let out a deep breath and glanced up to thank the man, but he’d already left.

“You’ll be sent your papers and instructions shortly” Another man spoke to him, taking the file off him and handing him back the recruitment slip. Steve nodded. “Be ready, the SSR are on a schedule.”

Steve nodded, before he was shown out of the room. Still in a daze he clutched the piece of paper in his hand and wandered back to the area where he’d left Bucky before. And then he remembered Katie.

Shit.

He hastily made his way outside the building and headed back to the pavilion, weaving his way through the crowds. He found the cider cart and saw her waiting, chatting to the man behind the counter, her brown hair hanging round her shoulders, rouged lips which curled up into a smile as she spotted him approaching.

“You’re late.” Katie looked at him and Steve flushed. “I was beginning to thing you’d stood me up.”

“I wouldn’t do that, my ma taught me better.” He gave her a small smile “I was just...” he waved his enlistment paper at her and she frowned a little

“You enlisted?”

He nodded “Yup.” “Wow.” Katie blinked, “Erm, congratulations, I guess. Is that the right word?”

“It is when you’ve tried and been rejected several times already.” Steve shrugged before he snorted “Story of my life.”

“That girl before was fuckin’ rude.” Katie’s eyes narrowed and Steve blinked at the profanity coming from her mouth before she rolled her eyes. “Don’t look at me like that!”

“Like what?”

“Like the fact I swore means I’m gonna go to hell.” She snorted “If it does, then I got that particular ticket a long time ago.”

“Sorry, I was…” he took a deep breath. “For such a pretty woman you certainly…er…”

“Have a filthy mouth?” She asked and Steve snorted, shrugging as he looked away, his lips curling up into a crooked smile as he raised his eyebrows. She leaned closer to him, her lips brushing his ear as she whispered “You have no idea.”

Steve swallowed at the blatant innuendo causing her to laugh at him even more before she nudged him with her elbow “Come on soldier, what do you want to drink?”

Soldier…that was the second time in ten minutes he’d been called that, and Steve liked it much more coming from her. He watched her for a second before he realised he was staring and she jerked her head towards the stall.

“Cat got your tongue, Stevie?” She grinned and he took a deep breath. “What do you want?”

“Erm, an ale…please…hang on.” He began fishing in his pocket but Katie gently wrapped a hand around his wrist.

“No need.” She smiled, as the man behind the counter held out the ale for Steve along with a cup of cider for her. She took it with a thanks and smiled, taking a sip. “Put it on the tab, will you?”

The stall attendant snorted and nodded “Whatever you say, Katie.”

She turned away and started walking slowly over to an exhibit, Steve falling into step besides her.

“How does he know ya?” Steve asked. Katie looked at him as she swallowed a sip of her cider

“Because I work here,well, I do at the moment.” She smiled as Steve looked at her blankly “I helped organise this.” She waved her hand around.

“You work for Howard Stark?”

“In a fashion.” Katie shrugged. “Now come on, I’m not working now and I wanna see how everything looks.”

They walked around the expo grounds, taking in the sights and various attractions. Steve was surprised to find his awkwardness ebbing away with each minute he spent in Katie’s company. She was down to Earth, easy to talk to and made him feel comfortable about himself…although his good spirits might have also been due to the fact he’d finally made it into the army. His meeting with Dr Erskine had baffled him a little, all truth be told, but he’d liked the man. There was something about him that told Steve he could trust him, and Steve was normally a pretty good judge of character.

By the time they’d done pretty much a lap of the main area of the Pavillion, stopping to examine The Synthetic Man in great detail, Steve was surprised to find that he’d spent over an hour with a woman who hadn’t been seeking to lose him at the first opportunity, quite the opposite in fact. On more than one occasion he noticed men looking in her direction, then to his with puzzled expressions on their face, and he had to admit was it the other way round he’d also probably be slightly surprised to see them together. She was a good two inches taller than him, but he was used to that, she was pretty, vivacious…well out of his league all things considered. But she was good company, and he was thoroughly disappointed when they seemed to be heading back towards the place they’d started, signalling their time together was likely coming to an end.

“So, do you need to find Barnes or…” she looked at him and Steve chuckled.

“Er no, no. He’ll be busy.” Steve shrugged

“What, he just ditched you for those girls?” Katie frowned.

“No, not entirely. I ditched him, well, I went to join the army. He doesn’t approve.” Steve finished, explaining slightly.

“Approve of what?”

“Me signin’ up.

“Why not?”

“Doesn’t think I can cope.” Steve shrugged. “I wasn’t exactly a healthy kid so…”

“Well they let you in so you can’t be that bad.”

Steve wrinkled his nose and shook his head slightly. “Some doctor in there offered me a chance, what can I say? Said that there were so many big guys fighting, maybe they needed a little one.”

At that Katie stopped walking and looked at him. “Wait, it was a doctor that accepted you?”

“Yeah,” Steve frowned

“You mean one of the Medical Recruitment Officers?”

“No, I don’t think so.” Steve’s frown deepened “He was with some Scientific Division.” He looked at Katie, who was looking right back at him, her eyes wide “Wait, is there something wrong?”

“No, nothing, just surprised me a little, that’s all.” She looked around, as if she was searching for someone and Steve watched her, a little confused as she chewed her lip with an air of contemplation before she looked back at him, her green eyes locking onto his with a softness in them that made him go weak at the knees, well, weaker than normal. “Thank you for keeping me company tonight Steve, I had fun.”

“Me too.” He said earnestly. “Hey, if you want, I mean only if you want, we could maybe meet up again, you know, before I get my posting?” At that Katie’s face fell and Steve sighed, he’d blown it. She’d only asked him to accompany her round he expo out of politeness, duty even as a thank you for his intervention on the street a few weeks back, and now he’d put her on the spot. “It’s okay.” He started to back track. “I get that you’re probably busy and get asked that all the time…”

“No, it’s not that.” She shook her head “I’d love to go out with you Steve, but I leave town tomorrow. I’m needed back at, well, my other job.”

“Oh, okay.” Steve popped a shoulder up, trying to hide his disappointment. “Well, I err…good luck. With whatever that job is.”

Katie laughed. “It’s me who should be wishing you good luck, trust me.” She cocked her head before she took a deep breath. “Just remember Steve, the world needs men like you, be a shame if we lost you all in the war.”

At her compliment he felt himself once more flush, and the heat in his neck rose even more as she leaned down and pressed her lips softly to his cheek. She pulled back a little, locking her eyes onto his and he swallowed, the lump in his throat now only rivalled by the one he was starting to feel in his slacks. And then, he had no idea how it happened but her lips were suddenly pressed to his. He froze momentarily, but then he went with his instinct and mirrored her movements, his eyes fluttering closed. Her hands gently curled over his shoulder, his automatically falling to her hips, shaking a little against the fabric of her dress as the kiss deepened slightly, the warm edge of her tongue flicking at his lips. He parted his mouth a little, allowing her to curl her tongue against his, a movement that made him shudder and he was beyond disappointed when she pulled away. She smiled against his mouth, her nose bumping his slightly as his cheeks felt hotter than the sun. He knew he was blushing, furiously, having just had his first proper kiss in the middle of a huge exhibition, but Katie seemed completely nonplussed as she smiled at him.

“For luck.” She whispered, stepping back slightly, before she turned and headed away, casting a glance back over her shoulder at him, flashing him another cheeky little wink. “See you around.”

Steve floundered a little, mouth gaping as he watched her disappear into the crowd, and with a final shake of his head and a deep, steadying breath he headed for the exit.

*****

 As it turned out Steve didn’t have long to wait for his posting at all. The following day he received his papers assigning him to Camp Lehigh in New Jersey as part of his recruitment to the SSR’s “Operation Rebirth” programme, whatever that was. He assumed he’d receive more details upon arrival. It wasn’t that which surprised him the most however, it was the date upon which he was ordered to report. Wednesday. As in, tomorrow. Whilst it didn’t give him much time to prepare, it didn’t bother him too much. He had meagre belongings anyways and anything he didn’t want to take with him he packed up into smaller boxes with the help of Bucky’s teenage sister Rebecca, Buck’s dad promising to keep it safe for him until he got back.

Winnie was beside herself when Steve broke the news that he too was enlisting, but she wished him well and made him promise to write. As did the Tromleys, who both took the news even worse than Bucky’s family had. Ada having first burst into tears then hugged him so hard he thought she was going to crush him half to death, whilst Mr Tromley had shook his hand and warned him that if he didn’t come back alive, with all 4 limbs, he’d kill Steve himself.

The morning rolled round ridiculously fast and both the Tromleys and Mr and Mrs Barnes insisted on seeing him off.  Once more Ada and Winnie hugged him tightly before Mr Tromley and Mr Barnes shook his hand, the latter promising Steve he would sort out everything with his landlord, taking the key to his small apartment in the tenement building where Steve had lived in all his life. Steve felt a little pang of emotion at that point, this was the last physical tie he really had to his mother but he took a deep breath letting it go slowly. She’d been dead now for seven years and anything that remained of hers in the building was all safely stored.

No, Steve had absolutely no doubts about what he was doing. This was all he had ever wanted, to follow in his father’s footsteps and so, at six am on the 16th June 1943 Steve Rogers boarded the Army bus that arrived at the bus station to take him and a number of other recruits to New Jersey, leaving the place he’d called home for his entire life behind.

**** Chapter 2

[what-is-your-plan-today]

Stark Spangled Rebirth

Chapter 1: Flowers In The Window

Summary: Steven Grant Rogers, the dumb kid, too stubborn to run away from a fight, was never gonna allow a bunch of no-good low-lives to hassle a dame in the street, even if it was going to lead to him getting his ass kicked. For once, however, the ass kicking has an upside as the dame in question seemed particularly grateful, a fact she displays a few days later at the Stark Expo.

But it wasn’t the only encounter that night that seemed set to change his life when Dr Erskine throws him a bone, meaning Steve can finally do the one thing he’s been desperate to do for years.

Join the army.

Warnings: Bad Language words. Nothing much… Pairing: Steve Rogers x OFC Katie Stark

A/N:  As part of SSB’s 1st Birthday, @sweater-daddiesdumbdork​ sent me and ask asking what would have gone down so to speak should Katie have been part of the CA: TFA timeline. So here it is, my take!  I’ll be trying to keep this fic as accurate to the time period and the movie as possible, just like with the other SS fics. I’ve gleamed the dates and timeline from good old google and a wonderful post that flipped up on my timeline which can be found here.

I really hope you enjoy this, there will be some creative license because, let’s face it, what is Fan Fic other than self-indulgence? I’ve been dying to write something like this for ages. All of it will be written from Steve’s point of view because…well, just because.   Huge thanks to my beta readers @southerngracela​ and @icanfeelastormbrewing​ who both found time in their hugely hectic schedules to check this over. That said, any mistakes are my own. I’ll probably spot them once posted but, whatever!

HAPPY 1 YEAR BIRTHDAY to STARK SPANGLED BANNER!!!! 

SSR Masterlist // WIYPT Masterlist 

June 1943

It started just the same as any normal Friday morning for Steven Grant Rogers. He unlocked the back of the Grocery Store on the corner of Berry Street in Brooklyn, using the entrance down the alley way reserved for staff. Once inside he grabbed his beige coloured linen apron off the hook and smiled at the items he had to work with today. Fridays, were always a treat as they took the rare delivery of freshly cut flowers ready to be sold for the weekend. This week there were boxes of bright white gardenias with their waxy petals and shiny, leathery dark green leaves, bunches of bright purple heliotrope which always reminded him of one of his mother’s scarves, and plenty of white, blue and purple asters. Steve bent down to take in the strong, vibrant fragrance of the gardenias, closing his eyes. It was easy to imagine he was in some garden somewhere, or even the middle of central park…not some little shop in Williamsberg.

“Don’t be inhaling enough of that to set your asthma off!” Mr Tromley, a kindly faced, portly man in his 50s greeted, and Steve turned to look at him, smiling a little shyly.

“I won’t Mr T.” he assured him. “They’re just so darn pretty…”

“Well set yourself a few aside.” Mr Tromley smiled “You can take them home and sketch them.”

“Oh, I couldn’t” Steve protested, the way he always did when Mr Tromley tried to slip him something for free be it scraps of meat he couldn’t sell from the counter that would be given to dogs, bread that wasn’t as soft as it had been in the morning and would be fed to the birds, milk that was going to turn, cheese that was slightly past its best. Mr Tromley ignored all his protests though, usually threatening to sack Steve if he didn’t take it. The man knew what it was like to come from a hard background, which was part of the reason he’d taken a shine to that sickly, 22 year old orphan with a degree in fine arts that had come begging for a job some 3 years ago. He couldn’t pay him much but he could do other things to make sure he got by.

“Well if you don’t take ‘em Steve they’ll just end up withering and a-dyin’, so reckon you’d be doin’ em a kindness.” Mr Tromley shrugged “Now, my Ada has some coffee going, you want a cup before we open the doors?”

Steve glanced at the clock above the counter, more out of habit than anything as he knew full well that he arrived with an hour to go.

“Mr T that’d be swell.” He smiled.

“Okay, you get started and I’ll fetch it down.”

Steve began in the usual way, pulling some simple bouquets together, varying in size and price, ready for the busy men to pick up on their way home from work, a nice present for their dame’s for the weekend. Once the stalks and lower foliage were trimmed and stripped, he fastened and tied them in simple brown waxy paper using plain brown string. Steve always insisted on using plain wrapping as anything else would detract from the beauty of the flowers. He placed the finished bouquets into one of the green buckets of water Mr Tromley fetched from the back, before he then carefully and delicately trimmed down the remaining flowers before placing them loose in their own buckets according to type, ready for the ladies, and occasional gentleman, who had the time and desire to create their own bunches.

Impeccably organised, as ever, Steve finished his work 15 minutes before the store was due to open. He then set about helping Mr Tromley as they arranged the buckets outside the shop window on the sidewalk, before they set up the other stalls of seasonal vegetables. There wasn’t much fruit to go by at the moment, but that was a sign of the times really. But what they did have, namely a selection of apples and oranges, they set those out ready too. Once that was done, Mr Tromley handed Steve a thick wedge of fresh bread which had been delivered that morning from the local bakery, along with some of his wife’s home-made jam which was sold from their shop. Steve took his breakfast with a mumbled thanks, averse to taking the daily handouts as ever, and Mr Tromley sighed.

“Steve, when are you going to realise that a piece of bread and jam for breakfast ain’t gonna bankrupt me?”

“I just don’t want to appear to take advantage, that’s all.” “Ah quit it.” Tromley waved his hand, shaking his head “If I didn’t want you to take advantage of it, I wouldn’t offer it would I? Now, eat that and get behind the counter.”

The morning passed much the same as they always did. A flurry of activity at opening, a steady stream of locals and regulars through to the usual peak of activity just before lunch. Like clockwork, Mr Tromley closed the doors bang on midday for an hour and Steve gathered his sketchbook along with the brown paper bag which contained his cheese and bread, and headed outside into the sun. At Mr Tromley’s instruction he selected an apple from the display and crossed the road avoiding the yellow cabs and cyclists and trams, taking up seat on the bench which sat directly opposite the shop front.  He chewed his lunch, washed it down with the tin bottle of lemonade that Mrs Tromley had filled for him earlier, and then once he had finished his apple he tossed the core over to a pigeon who instantly began pecking at it. He then untucked the pencil that was behind his ear, opened his sketchbook and resumed the detailed landscapes he was doing of the buildings surrounding the shop front. Drawing was his escape, something he did any chance he got. He dreamed one day of travelling the world, drawing all the different sights he could, but that was out of the question. Well, until he finally got into the army. With 4 failed attempts under his belt already, most men would have given up but not Steven Rogers. Stubborn, tenacious and plucky to a fault, he was already planning his next attempt at enlisting, this time he was going to hail from New Jersey. Well, as good a place as any.  

Steve glanced up, checking the detail of the window to the cobblers next door, and that was when he saw her, just walking down the sidewalk. She wore a red high-collared, cap sleeved tea-dress which flared out slightly from her hips and finished just below her knee. It was cinched in at the waist with a black belt, and was detailed round the hem and sleeve edges with pretty white lace. On her feet she wore a pair of simple, elegant black block heel courts with a T-bar buckle. Her hair was a silky, shiny chestnut which hung around her face in bouncy waves and she had a soft, gentle profile with high cheekbones, slightly flushed cheeks and ruby lips. She stopped outside the shop, examining the flowers with a smile, and then she looked up at the shop door and saw the CLOSED sign in the window. She can’t be from around here, Steve thought to himself, everyone in the neighbourhood knew when Tromley closed his doors and opened them, you could set your watch by it. Still, she hung around, softly picking up a gardenia and holding it to her nose, smiling to herself as she inhaled.

Steve found the innocent act breath-taking. He felt a little, well, shameful in a way, to be watching her so, intruding on what was clearly a private moment but he couldn’t help it. She was beautiful, grace personified, and he felt a little sad as she replaced the flower, gave the buckets one last look, before she continued on her way. Steve sighed, wishing to God that the shop had been open, it would have given him an excuse to maybe see her a little more closely. Perhaps talk to her. Or not as the case maybe, Bucky was always telling him how useless he was when it came to striking up conversations with ladies. But, for now, he had to settle for watching her walk away. Only he wasn’t the only one.

“Hey pretty thing…” Steve heard a voice and turned to his left where a group of men, most likely in their late teens or early twenties, had spotted her. As Steve watched he saw one of them push himself off the lamppost he’d been leaning on and cross the street towards her. The lady stopped, looking at him with her eyebrow raised. He spoke to her again, Steve couldn’t hear the conversation but a smile tugged at his lips as the lady looked the boy up and down, disdain etched all over her pretty face before she shook her head and laughed. She made to move past the kid but he reached out and grabbed her arm.

And Steve just couldn’t help himself.

“Hey…” he called, jumping up and hurrying across the street “Let the lady go.”

“Back off, this has nothing to do with you.” The man rounded on him, looking at him before he snorted at Steve’s stature. “Besides, what you gonna do about it anyway?”

Steve took a deep breath, he was used to people looking down their noses at him, both figuratively and literally. That was part and parcel of being only 5 foot 4 inches tall. He also knew that at 100lb give or take, he didn’t cut a formidable figure either, but he was damned if he was going to let this bully manhandle a dame in the middle of the street.

The woman wrenched her arm away from the man’s grip and glared at him, furious green eyes bored into his as she snorted and looked the guy up and down. “He’s clearly twice the gentleman you’ll ever be. Didn’t your mother ever teach you basic, good manners jack ass?”

“What did you just say?” a sudden darkness crossed the man’s face as he looked down at the woman who stood, un-yielding, clutching her purse as it hung around her shoulder.

“You heard me, well unless you’re deaf as well as ugly.” she shrugged slightly. At that Steve really couldn’t hold his face straight anymore and he felt the side of his lips curl up into a smirk. He was sure the pretty dame’s eyes flickered to his but he must have imagined it as when he stole a glance back at her she was staring straight back at the man who’d been giving her the trouble.

“Mouthy little broad you ain’t ya?” he snarled.

“Show some damned respect.” Steve shot out, and this time the man rounded on him. Steve stood stock still, his mother’s words echoing clearly in his head- you start running, they’ll never let you stop and he was aware in his peripheral that the other 2 men who’d been observing until now were starting to circle like sharks who had just had their first taste of blood.

He braced himself, ready for the inevitable fight, legs slightly apart, hands balling into fists by his side. But it was no use. He was never going to be fast enough or strong enough for one of these guys, let alone 3, and as the fist connected with his face he heard a scream and a yell as he fell backwards into the display of oranges and apples which he had lovingly helped Mr T prepare before.

Steve staggered to his feet, readying himself for another hit but it didn’t come. Instead one of the guys was sent sprawling to the ground besides him, shortly followed by the other. He wheeled round to see Bucky had the one that was left standing pinned up by the collar against the brick wall to the side of the shop and Mrs T was on the door step brandishing a broom handle, a string of Italian expletives leaving her mouth.

“Get outta here…” Bucky shoved the one that he was holding harshly into the road where he narrowly avoided colliding with the side of a yellow cab. Then turns to Steve and pulls him up.

“Seriously?” Bucky groaned and Steve shook his head, dusting himself down “You pick a fight with 3 at once?”

“He didn’t pick a fight with any of them.” A soft voice spoke and both Steve and Bucky turned to look at the dame in the red dress who was dusting herself down as her eyes flitted from Bucky, to Steve, then back again. “He came to help me when one of those bozos was getting a little too familiar.”

“That’s Stevie, a regular Knight in shining armour…” Bucky ruffled Steve’s hair as he gave an exasperated sigh, pushing himself away from his best friend. “Especially when there’s a beautiful dame involved.”

 The lady looked at Bucky, arching an eyebrow slightly before she looked back at Steve and he gulped slightly as for the first time he took her in properly.  She was gorgeous. Deep green eyes that sparkled like emeralds in a coal mine looked back at him from a heart shaped face, nose speckled with freckles which twitched a little as she smiled revealing a row of perfectly straight, white teeth

"I guess I should thank you Stevie." She spoke, and Steve felt the heat rise in his cheeks.

"It was nothing...I just.." he stopped dead as she reached out and straightened his tie, long eyelashes blinking against his cheeks as she smoothed over his shoulders and dropped a kiss to his cheek.

"My hero"

Steve swallowed and looked at the woman as she stepped back, smiling at him.

“I err, it was…my pleasure.” Steve stuttered and the lady arched an eyebrow, a grin on her face.

“Interesting choice of words.”

“I mean, not pleasure, obviously. No one likes seeing a beautiful dame getting hassled, I mean woman, not that…” he shook his head, as Bucky nudged him. He was rambling, as per usual. “I err, I should…”he gestured to the shop as Mr and Mrs Tromley were now looking at the mess of fruit all over the floor.

“I’m sorry about that.” She turned to the shopkeepers who looked at her, Mrs Tromley waving her away.

“Not your fault dear.”

“Can I at least buy some of the flowers?”  She asked, a little shyly “That is what I actually wanted to do after all.”

“Of course, Steven, can you…” Mr T nodded to Steve and then his eyes fell on Bucky “James Buchanan Barnes, what are you doing here?”

“Got a week or so’s furlough, Mr T and Ma sent me for some stuff, I gotta list.” he nodded, fishing it out of his pocket.

Tromley took it from him, scanned it and then turned to walk into the shop, beckoning for Bucky to follow him. Steve’s eyes followed his friend’s broad back as Bucky paused in the doorway and stopped, turning back to the woman. Steve groaned inwardly, he knew that face, Bucky was about to turn on the charm and she was no doubt going to fall in a pool at his feet, just like most of the other girls in the neighbourhood.

“You’re not from round here, right?” Bucky asked.

“What makes you say that?” she countered with a question of her own, looking Bucky up and down as she spoke.

“Never seen you before.”

“Know all the girls in Brooklyn, do you James Buchanan Barnes?” she asked, and Bucky gave a chuckle as she repeated his name to him and winked.

“Only the pretty ones.” “Well I suppose with most men joining the army the moment, even the pretty ones can’t be choosers.”

At that Steve let out a snort of laughter as Bucky blinked in surprise. “Ouch.” He gave a little scoff and shake of his head before he turned to walk into the shop.

“He always like that?” the lady looked at Steve who took a deep breath and smiled a little.

“Yes Ma’am. And to be honest it normally works.” Steve glanced at Bucky before he looked back at the woman who was looking at him, her eyes twinkling “Most girls just can’t say no!”

“Well, I’ll let you into a secret.” She grinned and leaned closer to Steve. “I’m not like most girls.”

Steve swallowed again, nervously brushing a hand through his hair as she straightened up and smiled at him. “I’m Katie by the way, seems only fair you know my name seeing as I know yours.”

“I err, that’s a pretty name.” Steve smiled and then inwardly cursed himself again. He really had no idea how to talk to dames.

“Thank you.” She giggled, and then she turned to the buckets “So errr, do you wanna make me a bouquet Steve? Something pretty for my room.”

Glad of the distraction, Steve nodded and turned to the various bunches of flowers. “I err, I noticed you were admiring the gardenias, so…” “You were watching me?” she spoke and Steve looked at her, ready to start protesting that wasn’t what he’d been doing when he spotted the glint in her eyes and he shook his head giving a sigh. She grinned “I love gardenias, lilies are my favourite but gardenias are pretty too.”

“Yeah we don’t have any lilies, unfortunately.” Steve shrugged “They were my Ma’s favourite too.”

If she noticed the use of the past tense verb when speaking about his mother she didn’t say anything, but really what would she say? They’d met literally about 5 minutes ago. Steve set about gathering a generous bunch of flowers as she instructed him to make it a large bouquet and then she followed him into the shop where he wrapped them in brown paper and string as Bucky was leaning against the counter, chatting to the Tromleys, Mrs Tromley laughing loudly at something he’d said.

“You are a cad Bucky Barnes!” she look at him, shaking her head “Isn’t it bad enough you joined the army? You’ll give your ma a heart attack one of these days.”

Bucky shrugged “It wasn’t so bad, he never caught me. Even on a bum ankle I was faster.”

“You been caught in places you shouldn’t be again Buck?” Steve looked at him and he shrugged, grinning.

“You know me Stevie…”

“Yeah, yeah I do.” Steve rolled his eyes before he tied off the bouquet with the string and then handed it to Katie. She smiled.

“You have talented hands.” She spoke gently and Steve flushed once more, rubbing the back of his hands.

“Yeah, he’s good with them.” Bucky spoke and Steve glared at him. Katie turned to look at Bucky again, a smirk playing on her lips.

“Makes a change, in my experience most men don’t know the first thing about how to use them.”

Mrs Tromley choked a little on her coffee as she looked at the younger woman, flashing her a wink. Katie bit her lip, her mouth curling up into a small smile as she rummaged in her purse, pulling out a small leather wallet.

“How much do I owe you?”

“No charge.” Mr Tromley spoke suddenly but Katie shook her head.

“I insist, I was responsible for your display getting trashed, least I can do is pay for these.”

“Oh trust me.” Mr Tromley smiled, “Seeing you put that toe-rag into them was worth it.”

“Yeah, you had some pretty vicious moves for a dame.” Bucky looked at her and she shrugged as Steve frowned.

“Wait, you…” “Don’t look so surprised.” Katie smiled “A girl should always know how to defend herself. But if I’m honest, it’s always nice to have a man do it for you.”

At that she smiled and slapped some money down on the counter, stepping back. “Keep the change in insist.”

Mr Tromley looked at her, then at the note, his mouth falling open a little.

“Thank you again Steve.” She picked up the bouquet. “Maybe I’ll see you around.”

“I hope so, I mean…yeah…come back soon.”

She smiled and with a final look in his direction she left, the bell ringing as the door opened and shut behind her. There was a pause until Bucky turned to Steve.

“Come back soon?” he looked at him “Really? That’s the best you could do?”

Steve groaned. “Piss off Bucky.” He shot, giving a yelp as Mrs T swatted at his head.

“Language Steven!” she scalded, as Mr T chuckled and slid the money she’d left to Steve across the counter. Steve blinked and looked at it, before he shook his head. Mr Tromley glared at him.

“You don’t take that you’re fired.”

With a groan Steve folded the $5 note up and slid it into the pocket of his slacks. Mrs Tromley muttered something about going to check on her scones which were in the oven upstairs and Mr Tromley headed into the back, leaving Steve and Bucky alone.

“You know, that dame was practically begging for you to ask her out on a date.” Bucky picked up the paper bag containing the groceries he had come for and Steve looked at him, snorting.

“You’re joking right?” the smaller man shook his head “Dame’s like that don’t want a guy like me.” “Clueless.” Bucky shook his head “Absolutely fucking clueless.” Steve watched him head to the door, before he stopped and turned back. “Oh that reminds me. Ma’s expecting you about 6 for dinner. She’s making meatloaf and told me that if you refuse she’s gonna, and I quote.” Bucky cleared his throat and spoke in a light, airey impression of his Ma “march round to his house and drag him outta that apartment by his ear.”

Steve rolled his eyes well naturedly. He hadn’t been to the Barnes’ for dinner for a week so he wasn’t surprised Winnie had sent Bucky with an invitation that was more of an instruction than anything. “Okay, thanks Buck.”

Bucky gave him a salute before he headed out of the store, whistling to himself. Steve took a deep breath, shook his head and turned back to his work, pushing all thoughts of the stunning young woman in the red dress out of his mind.

“You just don’t know when to give up, do you?” the taunting voice of his opponent rang in Steve’s ears as he staggered to his feet. This wasn’t how he’d planned his trip to the movie theatre going, not one iota. But when the loudmouthed asshole had done nothing but show total disrespect to those fighting overseas as the infomercial was showing, his temper had gotten the better of him and once more had led to him getting into a fight. As far as Monday’s went, this one was pretty crappy.

Which of course he could never walk away from.

“I can do this all day.” Steve huffed, swinging his fist at the guy again. The jerk easily blocked Steve’s feeble punch with his arm, delivering a huge jab with his left which sent Steve sprawling straight into the side of the trashcan from which he’d picked up the lid before. As Steve lay dazed, he heard a familiar voice breaking through the fog.

“Hey! Pick on someone your own size.” Bucky yanked the guy backwards by his jacket, shoving him a little down the alleyway. The guy swung at Bucky who dodged it almost lazily, before delivering a punch of his own, placing a firm boot up the guys ass as he retreated hurriedly. Watching as he scooted away, Bucky turned to Steve who was stood with his hands on his knees, steadying himself.

“Sometimes, I think you like getting punched.”

“I had him on the ropes.” Steve replied, pressing the heel of his palm to the cut above his eyebrow, wincing a little from the various blows he’d taken.

Bucky said nothing, instead he bent down to pick up the enlistment form that had fallen from Steve’s pocket and with a sigh he glanced at it.

“How many times is this?” his eyes scanned the information and he arched an eyebrow “Oh, you’re from Paramus now? You know it’s illegal to lie on the enlistment form. And seriously, Jersey?”

Steve ignored him, and then for the first time looked up at his friend to see him stood tall in his full army uniform. Which could only mean one thing. “You get your orders?” he frowned a little.

“The one-o-seventh. Sergeant James Barnes. Shipping out for England first thing tomorrow.”

Steve sighed, great. Just what he needed to hear. “I should be going.” He shook his head dejectedly.

Bucky looked at him sympathetically before he smiled, and looked an arm round his shoulder, pulling him closer in a friendly gesture as they both began to head back down the alley towards the main road.

“Come on, man, it’s my last night! Gotta get you cleaned up.”

“Why? Where are we going?”

“The future.” Bucky handed Steve the newspaper he was holding. Steve opened it to see the ad for the World Exposition Of Tomorrow.

“Buck…” he began to protest but Bucky stopped him.

“Seriously? My last night before I ship off to bust Nazi’s and you’re already tryin’a bail?”

“No, I just…” “Stevie!” Bucky whined. “Since I got my draft last September, I’ve hardly seen you other than when I’ve been home…”

“I know, but…” “No buts, man! I mean who knows when I’m gonna see you again now I’m actually being sent into combat and not just back to Camp McCoy. You know, London is a little further afield than Wisconsin “

“I’m well aware of that.” Steve rolled his eyes.

“So come on! Let’s go, have some fun. Cut loose a little. It’ll do you good.”

Steve looked up to see Bucky’s eyes shining with mischief, his handsome face grinning at him and he rolled his eyes “Fine, but you’re buying the hotdogs.”

“What else is new?” Bucky grinned, grabbing Steve in a headlock and ruffling his hair a little.

“Jerk.” Steve said furiously, pushing him away.

A couple of hours later the 2 of them entered the Expo, Steve taking in the sights around him. It was crazy busy, a buzz of excitement around the air and it was hardly surprising. Howard Stark, the guy at the centre of it all was somewhat of a celebrity. He’d founded his company some 4 years ago at the age of 22 and it had grown from strength to strength, with numerous pioneering technological advances to his name. Steve would be lying if he said he wasn’t a little excited to see the latest and no doubt flamboyant invention the guy had come up with, but his mind was still on his failed Army application, the feeling of inadequacy exacerbated even more by the fact Bucky was going to be leaving him behind to serve his country, something that Steve felt he should be doing right along with his best pal.

Sensing his brooding nature, Bucky nudged him and opened his mouth no doubt to make some wise crack, but Steve shook his head.

“Buck, just don’t”

“I don’t see what the problem is.” Bucky shook his head as they wandered down the steps towards the main pavilion area “You’re about to be the last eligible man in New York.” Bucky grinned, and Steve sighed heavily. Yup, there it was. “You know, there’s three and a half million women here.”

“Well, I’d settle for just one.” Steve muttered and Bucky grinned, Steve allowing a little smile to spread across his face at his own joke.

“Good thing I took care of that.” Bucky grinned and waved to two girls, a blonde and a brunette, who stood a few feet away and Steve stopped dead as one of the girls waved back, calling out to Bucky.

Great, here we go again.

“What did you tell her about me?” Steve groaned. “Only the good stuff.” Bucky smirked as they walked towards the girls, Steve brushing his hand through his hair, making sure it was as tidy as he could.

Bucky introduced the girls as Connie and Bonnie. It was obvious from the start that Connie was the one Bucky was trying his luck with, although to be fair Bonnie might as well have been with Bucky too for all the attention she paid to Steve. As they wandered into the Pavilion, Steve stopped to purchase a bag of sweets before he followed on behind the other 3, glancing around at the various exhibits.

“Welcome to the Modern Marvels Pavilion and the World of Tomorrow.” The expo announcer spoke “A greater world. A better world.”

There was a little bit of murmuring from people in front of them as they stopped, glancing at the large stage in front of them which was currently dark, but then there was movement, music struck up and Connie grabbed Bucky’s arm in excitement.

“Oh, my God! It’s starting!” she squealed and yanked on Bucky’s hand, pulling him closer. As Steve stood behind them he saw the stage light up to reveal a row of women all dressed in black and white striped waistcoats, short jackets and top hats. One of them walked across the front of the stage, smiling as she spoke into a microphone

“Ladies and gentlemen, Mr. Howard Stark!”

Smooth and cool as a cucumber, Howard Stark strode onto the stage, taking off his top hat, whilst he smiled, handing it to the announcer before kissing her as the crowd cheered. Howard smirked a little, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket which he used to dab at his mouth before he addressed his audience.

“Ladies and Gentlemen!” at that point Steve held the small paper bag over towards Bonnie who looked at it, then him, almost scathingly as Howard continued his speech. “What if I told you that in just a few short years, your automobile won’t even have to touch the ground at all?”

“You know…” a vaguely familiar voice spoke and Steve looked up from where he had been examining his bag of bonbons, wondering what was wrong with them, to see the woman from the shop a few weeks ago, Katie stood to the side of Bonnie. She was dressed in a simple grey dress which sported a pencil style skirt, with a light blue cardigan covering her shoulders. “When a gentleman offers you a sweet and you don’t want one, there’s really no need to be such a rude bitch about it.”

Her eyes were narrowed as she gave Bonnie a scathing look. Bonnie floundered a little as Katie reached out, dipping her red nailed, manicured hand into the paper bag and taking a sweet. In doing so she jostled Bonnie forward a little with her elbow, and turned to the stage, popping the bonbon in her mouth, giving Steve a little wink. Steve felt his cheeks flush a little as Bucky turned a little, his attention drawn to the slight scuffle behind him. He saw Katie stood next to Steve and he grinned.

“Hey Dollface.” Katie turned her head and looked at Bucky as Steve rolled his eyes. However, just like at the shop, she payed Bucky no attention other than a flick of her eyebrow, before her eyes flicked back to the stage, Steve doing the same to see that Stark was now stood by some sort of podium.

“With Stark robotic reversion technology, you’ll be able to do just that.” Howard spoke, and with that he turned to fiddle with a few switches on the podium and the car started to hover ever so slightly off the ground. Steve felt his mouth drop open in awe as in front of him Bucky let out an astonished mumble.

“Holy cow.”

But he spoke too soon, as the robots making the car hover suddenly malfunctioned and the car fell back onto the stage with a loud crash, sparks flying out round it.

Bucky turned to look at Steve, smiling as Steve’s eyebrows raised, and besides him, Katie gave a snort.

“I did say a few years, didn’t I?” Howard laughed, leaning on the bonnet of the car.

“Few years my ass.” Katie mumbled and Steve looked at her.

“What?”

“Nothing, doesn’t matter.” she shook her head. “Listen, I gotta go-”

“Oh, ok.” Steve tried not to sound disappointed but Katie smiled at him softly, cutting him off.

“Meet me at the Cider cart in an hour.”

“I err…” Steve stuttered, before he frowned “You sure, you wanna meet me?”

“If I didn’t I wouldn’t have said so.” Katie grinned,  “1 hour, don’t you dare be late.”

“Yeah, an hour, got it…”

Not quite able to believe his luck, Steve watched her go, smiling to himself before he glanced around and his eyes stopped on the familiar Uncle Sam poster pointing at him, with an arrow directing him to a recruitment centre. What the hell, he had nothing to lose…and an hour was plenty of time. Decision made, he followed the signs and jogged up the steps into the building, pausing to take a look around as people were milling in the carpeted hallway.

“Come on soldier!” a woman giggled at her male company, pulling him away from a mirror making him look like a soldier. Once he was gone Steve stepped in front of the mirror but he was too short to fill out the face. His shoulders slumped and then suddenly, a strong hand gripped his right and Bucky chuckled.

“You’re kind of missing the point of a double date.” He said, shaking his head as Steve stepped away, turning to face him “We’re taking the girls dancing.”

“You go ahead. I’ll catch up with you.” Steve replied, hands dropping into his pockets.

“What, you had a better offer? From Doll face?”

“Her name is Katie.”

“Oh my God I’m right!” Bucky laughed “Good for you, Punk!”

Steve rolled his eyes and then watched as a man strode past him in an Army Uniform and when Steve looked back at Bucky, his friend’s face now sported an exasperated expression as he’d clearly realised what Steve was planning. “You’re really gonna do this again?”

“Well, it’s a fair. I’m gonna try my luck.” Steve answered with a little shrug.

“As who? Steve from Ohio? They’ll catch you. Or worse, they’ll actually take you.” Bucky’s voice was frustrated and Steve gave a little smile.

“Look, I know you don’t think I can do this, but I’m more-“

“This isn’t a back alley, Steve. It’s war!” Bucky cut him off.

“I know it’s a war. You don’t have to tell me that-“ “Why are you so keen to fight? There are so many important jobs.” “What am I gonna do? Collect scrap metal-“

“Yes!”

“-in my little red wagon?”

“Why not?”

“I’m not gonna sit in a factory, Bucky.” Steve argued, shaking his head.

“I don’t…” Bucky protested once more and Steve cut him off.

“Bucky, come on! There are men laying down their lives. I got no right to do any less than them. That’s what you don’t understand. This isn’t about me.”

“Right. Cause you got nothing to prove.” Bucky said gently and Steve took a deep breath. But before Bucky could say anything else Connie called out to him.

“Hey, Sarge! Are we going dancing?”

Bucky turned back to the girls, his arms held out to the side. “Yes, we are.” With that he turned back to Steve, shaking his head a little, his shoulders slumped in resignation. “Don’t do anything stupid until I get back.” He instructed as he started to walk away.

“How can I? You’re taking all the stupid with you.” Steve shot back and Bucky shook his head, giving a snort.

“You’re a punk.” He walked back towards Steve and hugged him goodbye.

“Jerk” Steve said gently slapping Bucky’s back. “Be careful.”

With a pang of sadness, Steve watched his best friend walking away, not quite sure when they’d see each other again, if indeed ever. He licked his lips and then called out to Bucky once more. “Don’t win the war till I get there!”

Bucky stopped and saluted him before he strode down the steps, “Come on girls. They’re playing our song.”

With a deep breath, Steve headed into the recruitment centre, past an older gentlemen in a brown suit. He was given the usual forms to fill out, this time going with Ohio as his place of birth-thanks for that one, Buck- and he was shown to the medical examination room. After the short physical was over, he was just fastening the sleeves of his long shirt up again when a nurse walked into the room and whispered something inaudible to the doctor.

“Wait here.” The Doctor turned to him, moving to the curtain.

“Is there a problem?” Steve asked, frowning a little.

“Just wait here.” The doctor repeated his instruction before he walked out.

Steve paused for a second, glancing over his right shoulder at a sign warning against lying on enlistment forms before he glanced at the curtain, cold dread filling him. Shit, Bucky was right, they’d caught up with him. Jumping down off the bed he sat heavily in a chair and began to pull on his shoes when someone entered the cubicle. He glanced up and saw a Military Police officer looking at him and he swallowed a little nervously. But before he could say anything another man entered, the man Steve had walked past about forty minutes or so previously in the foyer, and he was clutching a file in his hands.

“Thank you.” The man spoke to the Police Officer who left, pulling the curtains closed behind him. Steve watched as the man turned to face him, his hands behind his back. “So, you want to go overseas.” The man pulled the file from behind him, opening it “Kill some Nazis.”

“Excuse me?”

“Dr. Abraham Erskine.” The man closed the folder and walked over as Steve stood up, shaking his hand “I represent the Strategic Scientific Reserve.”

“Steve Rogers” Steve nodded, noting the man’s accent as he placed the file on the medical bed and started to look through it. “Where are you from?”

“Queens. 73rd Street and Utopia Parkway. Before that, Germany.” He adjusted his glasses as he glanced at Steve “This troubles you?”

“No.” Steve replied honestly, shaking his head.

“Where are you from, Mr. Rogers?” Erskine asked, resting both his hands on the bench “Mmm? Is it New Haven? Or Paramus? Five exams in five different cities.”

“That might not be the right file.” Steve began to try and get out of whatever trouble he was in but Erskine was quick to cut him off.

“No, it’s not the exams I’m interested in. It’s the five tries.” Erskine closed the file, picking it up “But you didn’t answer my question.” He strode over and stopped in front of Steve “Do you want to kill Nazis?”

Steve glanced to the side before he looked at Erskine “Is this a test?”

“Yes.” The man replied bluntly and Steve took a deep breath, before he answered as honestly as he could.

“I don’t wanna kill anyone.” He shook his head, raising his eyes to meet Erskine’s “I don’t like bullies. I don’t care where they’re from.”

“Well, there are already so many big men fighting this war. Maybe what we need now is the little guy, huh?” Erskine smiled before he turned to leave “I can offer you a chance” he said, whipping the curtains open “Only a chance.”

Steve couldn’t believe his ears. Was this Doctor guy actually telling him he’d done it, that he’d finally made it into the army? He had no idea what the Strategic Science Reserve was, or why Erskine had questioned him so, but right now he didn’t care.

“I’ll take it.” He said, hastily grabbing his belongings and following Erskine out.

“Good.” Erskine placed the file down on the desk and picked up a stamp, before replacing it and reaching for another “So where is the little guy from, actually?”

Steve smiled “Brooklyn.”

Erskine smiled back, stamped the form before closing the file and handing it to Steve. “Congratulations, soldier.”

Steve hastily opened it up and did a double take as he saw the stamp was a 1A this time, not 4f. He let out a deep breath and glanced up to thank the man, but he’d already left.

“You’ll be sent your papers and instructions shortly” Another man spoke to him, taking the file off him and handing him back the recruitment slip. Steve nodded. “Be ready, the SSR are on a schedule.”

Steve nodded, before he was shown out of the room. Still in a daze he clutched the piece of paper in his hand and wandered back to the area where he’d left Bucky before. And then he remembered Katie.

Shit.

He hastily made his way outside the building and headed back to the pavilion, weaving his way through the crowds. One bonus to being small was that it made it easy to do so. He found the cider cart and saw her waiting, chatting to the man behind the counter, her brown hair hanging round her shoulders, rouged lips which curled up into a smile as she spotted him approaching.

“You’re late.” Katie looked at him and Steve flushed. “I was beginning to think you’d stood me up.”

“I wouldn’t do that, my ma taught me better.” He gave her a small smile “I was just...” he waved his enlistment paper at her and she frowned a little

“You enlisted?”

He nodded “Yup.” “Wow.” Katie blinked, “Erm, congratulations, I guess. Is that the right word?”

“It is when you’ve tried and been rejected several times already.” Steve shrugged before he snorted “Story of my life.”

“That girl before was fuckin’ rude.” Katie’s eyes narrowed and Steve blinked at the profanity coming from her mouth before she rolled her eyes “Don’t look at me like that!”

“Like what?”

“Like the fact I swore means I’m gonna go to hell.” She snorted “If it does, then I got that particular ticket a long time ago.”

“Sorry, I was…” he took a deep breath “For such a pretty woman you certainly…er…”

“Have a filthy mouth?” she asked and Steve snorted, shrugging as he looked away, his lips curling up into a crooked smile as he raised his eyebrows. She leaned closer to him, her lips brushing his ear as she whispered “You have no idea.”

Steve swallowed at the blatant innuendo causing her to laugh at him even more before she nudged him with her elbow “Come on soldier, what do you want to drink?”

Soldier…that was the second time in 10 minutes he’d been called that, and Steve liked it much more coming from her. He watched her for a second before he realised he was staring and she jerked her head towards the stall.

“Cat got your tongue Stevie?” she grinned and he took a deep breath “What do you want?”

“Erm, an ale…please…hang on.” he began fishing in his pocket but Katie gently wrapped a hand around his wrist.

“No need.” she smiled, as the man behind the counter held out the ale for Steve along with a cup of cider for her. She took it with a thanks and smiled, taking a sip. “Put it on the tab, will you?”

The stall attendant snorted and nodded “Whatever you say, Katie.”

She turned away and started walking slowly over to an exhibit, Steve falling into step besides her.

“How does he know ya?” Steve asked. Katie looked at him as she swallowed a sip of her cider

“Because I work here…well, I do at the moment.” She smiled as Steve looked at her blankly “I helped organise this.” She waved her hand around.

“You work for Howard Stark?”

“Kinda.” Katie shrugged “Now come on, I’m not working now and I wanna see how everything looks.”

They walked around the expo grounds, taking in the sights and various attractions. Steve was surprised to find his awkwardness ebbing away with each minute he spent in Katie’s company. She was down to Earth, easy to talk to and made him feel comfortable about himself…although his good spirits might have also been due to the fact he’d finally made it into the army. His meeting with Dr Erskine had baffled him a little, all truth be told, but he’d liked the man. There was something about him that told Steve he could trust him, and Steve was normally a pretty good judge of character.

By the time they’d done pretty much a lap of the main area of the Pavillion, stopping to examine The Synthetic Man in great detail, Steve was surprised to find that he’d spent over an hour with a woman who hadn’t been seeking to lose him at the first opportunity, quite the opposite in fact. On more than one occasion he noticed men looking in her direction, then to his with puzzled expressions on their face, and he had to admit was it the other way round he’d also probably be slightly surprised to see them together. She was a good 2 inches taller than him, but he was used to that, she was pretty, vivacious…well out of his league all things considered. But she was good company, and he was thoroughly disappointed when they seemed to be heading back towards the place they’d started, signalling their time together was likely coming to an end.

“So, do you need to find Barnes or…” she looked at him and Steve chuckled.

“Er no, no. He’ll be…busy.” Steve shrugged

“What he just ditched you for those girls?” Katie frowned.

“No, not entirely. I ditched him, well, I went to join the army. He doesn’t approve.” Steve finished, explaining slightly.

“Approve of what?”

“Me signin’ up.

“Why not?”

“Doesn’t think I can cope.” Steve shrugged “I wasn’t exactly a healthy kid so…”

“Well they let you in so you can’t be that bad.”

Steve wrinkled his nose and shook his head slightly “Some doctor in there offered me a chance, what can I say? Said that there were so many big guys fighting, maybe they needed a little one.”

At that Katie stopped walking and looked at him. “Wait, it was a doctor that accepted you?”

“Yeah,” Steve frowned

“You mean one of the Medical Recruitment Officers?”

“No, I don’t think so.” Steve’s frown deepened “He was with some Scientific Division” he looked at Katie, who was looking right back at him, her eyes wide “Wait, is there something wrong?”

“No, nothing…just surprised me a little, that’s all.” She looked around, as if she was searching for someone and Steve watched her, a little confused as she chewed her lip with an air of contemplation before she looked back at him, her green eyes locking onto his with a softness in them that made him go weak at the knees, well, weaker than normal “Thank you for keeping me company tonight Steve, I had fun.”

“Me too.” He said earnestly “Hey, if you want, I mean only if you want, we could maybe meet up again, you know, before I get my posting?” At that Katie’s face fell and Steve sighed, he’d blown it. She’d only asked him to accompany her round he expo out of politeness, duty even as a thank you for his intervention on the street a few weeks back, and now he’d put her on the spot. “It’s ok.” He started to back track “I get that you’re probably busy and get asked that all the time…”

“No, it’s not that.” She shook her head “I’d love to go out with you Steve, but I leave town tomorrow. I’m needed back at…well, my other job.”

“Oh, ok.” Steve popped a shoulder up, trying to hide his disappointment. “Well, I err…good luck. With whatever that job is.”

Katie laughed “It’s me who should be wishing you good luck, trust me.” She cocked her head before she took a deep breath “Just remember Steve, the world needs men like you, be a shame if we lost you all in the war.”

At her compliment he felt himself once more flush, and the heat in his neck rose even more as she leaned down and pressed her lips softly to his cheek. She pulled back a little, locking her eyes onto his and he swallowed, the lump in his throat now only rivalled by the one he was starting to feel in his slacks. And then, he had no idea how it happened but her lips were suddenly pressed to his. He froze momentarily, but then he went with his instinct and mirrored her movements, his eyes fluttering closed. Her hands gently curled over his shoulder, his automatically falling to her hips, shaking a little against the fabric of her dress as the kiss deepened slightly, the warm edge of her tongue flicking at his lips. He parted his mouth a little, allowing her to curl her tongue against his, a movement that made him shudder and he was beyond disappointed when she pulled away. She smiled against his mouth, her nose bumping his slightly as his cheeks felt hotter than the sun. He knew he was blushing, furiously, having just had his first proper kiss in the middle of a huge exhibition, but Katie seemed completely nonplussed as she smiled at him.

“For luck.” She whispered, stepping back slightly, before she turned and headed away, casting a glance back over her shoulder at him, flashing him another cheeky little wink. “See you around.”

Steve floundered a little, mouth gaping as he watched her disappear into the crowd, and with a final shake of his head and a deep, steadying breath he headed for the exit.

 As it turned out Steve didn’t have long to wait for his posting at all. The following day he received his papers assigning him to Camp Lehigh in New Jersey as part of his recruitment to the SSR’s “Operation Rebirth” programme, whatever that was. He assumed he’d receive more details upon arrival. It wasn’t that which surprised him the most however, it was the date upon which he was ordered to report. Wednesday. As in, tomorrow. Whilst it didn’t give him much time to prepare, it didn’t bother him too much. He had meagre belongings anyways and anything he didn’t want to take with him he packed up into smaller boxes with the help of Bucky’s teenage sister Rebecca, Buck’s dad promising to keep it safe for him until he got back.

Winnie was beside herself when Steve broke the news that he too was enlisting, but she wished him well and made him promise to write. As did the Tromleys, who both took the news even worse than Bucky’s family had. Ada having first burst into tears then hugged him so hard he thought she was going to crush him half to death, whilst Mr Tromley had shook his hand and warned him that if he didn’t come back alive, with all 4 limbs, he’d kill Steve himself.

The morning rolled round ridiculously fast and both the Tromleys and Mr and Mrs Barnes insisted on seeing him off.  Once more Ada and Winnie hugged him tightly before Mr Tromley and Mr Barnes shook his hand, the latter promising Steve he would sort out everything with his landlord, taking the key to his small apartment in the tenement building where Steve had lived in all his life. Steve felt a little pang of emotion at that point, this was the last physical tie he really had to his mother but he took a deep breath letting it go slowly. She’d been dead now for 7 years and anything that remained of hers in the building was all safely stored.

No, Steve had absolutely no doubts about what he was doing. This was all he had ever wanted, to follow in his father’s footsteps and so, at 6am on the 16th June 1943 Steve Rogers boarded the Army bus that arrived at the bus station to take him and a number of other recruits to New Jersey, leaving the place he’d called home for his entire life behind.

[atlafan]

My Everything - Part Sixteen

A Take it Slow Sequel

What happens with Harry and Y/N after he proposes? How will the two navigate the engaged life while also continuing to juggle their jobs, friends, and families? Let’s find out.

Warnings: fluff, smut, and angst

Words: 4.6K

a/n: it’s back! thank you all for your patience, I’ve that written for a bit, but it felt good to take a break and work on some other things. I hope you enjoy this part!

Masterpost

“You’re having another?!” Nannie shrieks through the phone.

“Yeah! We’re going to find out the sex soon, we’ve just been waiting until my first trimester is done.”

“How have you been feeling this time around?”

“I was really nauseous in the beginning, but now I’m fine not too bad.”

“I’m so excited for you.”

“We’re going to tell Jack soon.”

“He’ll be a great big brother, honey.”

“Thanks, Nannie.”

You speak with her a few minutes longer before hanging up. You wrap up things in your office before heading to the day care to pick up Jack.

“Mumma!” He exclaims.

“Hi, baby. You ready?”

“Mhm, look!” He holds up a drawing for you.

“Oh, that’s very nice. Should we put it on the fridge when we get home so Daddy can see it?”

“Yes!”

You get Jack in his car seat and get him home. You sit in the living room to grade some papers while he watches TV. Harry said he’d come home with pizza tonight.

“Babe!” You hear him call. He rests the pizza on the kitchen counter before coming into the living room. “Hi.” He smiles.

“Daddy!”

“Hey, buddy.” He kisses Jack’s head, and then kisses yours before sitting down. “How are you today?”

“Oh, I feel great, actually.”

“A couple more weeks, right?” He rubs your lower belly. Jack watches Harry and gets up to do the same thing to you. You can’t help but giggle.

“Jack…do you wanna know why Daddy rubs Mumma’s belly so much?” You ask him and pick him up to put him in your lap.

“Why?” You look at Harry and he nods.

“It’s because I’m growing a baby in here.”

“A baby?”

“Mhm, Daddy and I wanted to give you a little brother or sister. Would you like that?”

“Yes!”

“You’d have someone to play with, just like at day care.” Harry explains. “But it takes time for the baby to grow, so Mumma’s belly is gonna keep getting bigger.”

“When will baby come?”

“In the spring.” You say.

“We’re going to find out if it’s a boy or girl soon, Jack.” Harry says. “Our family’s growin’.”

“Growin’.” He repeats. You and Harry giggle.

“But that also means you might need to help us. Mumma’s gonna be really busy when baby comes.” Harry explains.

“Busy?”

“Mhm, she may not have as much time for kisses and cuddles.”

“But it doesn’t mean I don’t love you.” You interject. “The baby will just need extra kisses and cuddles. You’ll be able to help with that, honey.”

“I will?”

“Mhm, because you give the best kisses and cuddles.” You tickle his tummy and it makes him giggle. “Come on, Daddy brought pizza home for dinner. Let’s eat.”

//

You kept your doctor’s appointments on Fridays so you wouldn’t have to worry about Jack needing to come with you. It was also an easy day for Harry to come meet you. Just like last time, you were gaining weight in your belly first before anywhere else, and in your boobs.

“Okay, are you two ready to know what you’re having?” Dr. Johnson asks you. You both nod yes. “Looks like this time around…it’s going to be a girl!”

Both you and Harry burst into happy tears. You had no idea what you’d name a girl. You were so sure with Jack. You’d really have to think about this one.

“A little girl, I can’t believe it.” Harry wipes his eyes. “I can’t wait to tell my mum.” He opens the car door for you and gets into the driver’s seat.

“I know! What are you thinking for names?”

“Did you wanna keep a J theme? What about, like, Jessica Rose?”

“You sure came up with that fast.” You laugh. “I like that, though. Jessica Rose. Jack and Jessica. It’s cute.”

“That’s what I thought. We don’t need to decide right now though. We can think it over.”

Harry pulls up to the day care at your university and tells you he’ll go inside to get Jack. It would be a nice surprise since Harry never picked him up. He got a few looks as he walked in. It’s not like he was the only parent with tattoos, so he just chalked it up to the fact that he’s literally been to the day care twice.

“Daddy?!” Jack comes running over to Harry, and he scoops him up.

“Are yeh surprised?”

“Yeah!” Jack nuzzles into Harry.

“Oh, hi Mr. Styles.” One of the day care workers says to him. “Almost didn’t recognize you.”

“Hi there, uh, I’m sorry I don’t remember your name.”

“Haley.” She smiles.

“Right, sorry.”

“Where’s your wife?”

“In the car. We had to meet up for something earlier, so I thought it would be nice if I came in to get him since it’s so rare. How was he today?”

“Oh, just fine. He’s always so good.”

“Got everything, Jack?”

“Mhm.”

“Alright, mummy and Buster are in the car, we better not leave ‘em out there. Bye, Haley, thanks.”

Some of the other day care workers come over to her.

“So that’s where he gets the curls from.”

“God, Dr. Y/L/N is so lucky!” Haley groans. “To be honest I always thought she was divorced since she doesn’t have the same last name as Jack.”

“Oh, lots of people don’t change their names nowadays, come on.”

“She never talks about him either, that’s all I’m saying.”

“Not all parents have the time to stay and chat. Come on, we need to clean up.”

//

Jack babbled on about day care and the things he drew, and the leaves he got to play in outside. When you got him inside you sat him down in the living room.

“Jack, today Daddy and I went to the doctor to find out if you’re having a baby brother or sister. Would you like to know?”

“Yes!”

“You’re gonna have a baby sister, buddy.” Harry beams.

“Baby sister.” Jack pats your tummy and it nearly makes you weep.

“That’s right, my darling boy.” You coo. “Got a little girl in here.”

“How?”

“Babies come from mummy’s tummies.” Harry explains.

“But how does baby get in Mumma’s tummy?” Harry’s face goes pale, and he looks at you.

“Isn’t he a little young to be askin’ that?”

“He’s just curious.” You shrug. “Um, Jack, when two people, uh, love each other…well I shouldn’t say that because sometimes people don’t love each other…”

“Y/N, he doesn’t need to know the complexities of that.” Harry chuckles. “We can be cute about it, he’s only two.” Harry pulls Jack into his lap. “Jack, when two people love each other a lot, like Mummy and I do, they’re able to turn that love into a baby. In fact, Mummy grew you in her tummy, just like how she’s doin’ with baby sister.”

“You did?!” He says to you.

“Mhm, hold on.” You take out your phone and find a picture of when you were pregnant with Jack. “See, that’s you in my tummy.”

“Wow!” He gazes at the photo. You swipe to one right after he was born.

“And this was you as a baby. You were so tiny.” You pout at him.

Jack loses interest and slides off of Harry’s lap. He get his box of blocks and spreads them out to play with.

“He’s not even going to remember what you said, and what you said was so nice.” You pout at Harry.

“It’s okay, I’m sure that won’t be the only time he asks us.” He laughs.  

//

You kept waking up around four in the morning, almost in anticipation for Harry’s 5AM alarm to go off. Although, he always stayed in bed until 5:45. He’d shower, take Buster out, make up Jack’s lunch box, and out the door he’d go.

You were reaching that point in your pregnancy where your only real craving was Harry. It was difficult, though, to find the time. You were busy with Jack the second you’d get him home. You needed to get him dinner, a bath, and then to bed. Then after bed you would use the quiet to grade or make sure your lessons were good to go. You had a home office to get your work done in, and Harry would do his best to leave you be.

As you looked over at him sleeping peacefully, you felt guilty for wanting to wake him up. He was just as tired as you. It was nearing the end of October, and Jack loved playing in the leaves, so when Harry would get home from work, Jack would beg him to go outside and jump around in the piles. Harry had a tough time saying no, especially since he missed Jack all day long.

When Harry’s alarm goes off, you watch him grab his phone to hit snooze, and then he mindlessly rolls over to reach for you and pull you close like his did most mornings.

“Harry.” You whisper.

“Mm.” He grunts and furrows his brows. “Don’t need to be up yet.”

“I’ve been awake for a while.”

“Why?” He says, eyes still closed.

“Because…I…want you.” You say in a half whine half pout. His eyes snap open to meet yours. “I’m restless.”

“Would you let me sleep a little longer? You can take a shower with me in a bit.”

“Oh.” Your eyes burn with tears. You turn your face so he doesn’t see. You felt slightly rejected, and maybe you were taking it a little more personally than you normally would.

“I’m just really tired.”

“Okay.”

He closes his eyes again and settles. He hears you sniffle and he sighs. He looks back up at you and sees the tears trickle down your cheeks.

“Y/N.” Harry sits up slightly. “Alright, I’m awake now.”

“And now you’re upset with me.”

“I’m not, come here.”

“No.”

“I thought you wanted to-“

“You don’t even really want me right now and it would just feel like a force. I’m sorry for waking you.” You sit up and cross your arms.

“I do want you, I just wanna be able to give you what you need and I can’t do that when I’m not fully awake. I’m awake now, so-“

“Just forget it.” You rip the blanket away and get out of bed.

“Where are you going?!”

“I’m gonna go put breakfast together and make your coffee. Go back to sleep if you want.” You huff. You throw your robe on and leave the bedroom.

Harry sighs heavily and looks at the clock; 5:15. There was still time. He gets up and goes down the stairs to the kitchen, the smell of fresh coffee hitting his nostrils. You were starting the electric kettle to make some oatmeal but he stops you.

“Don’t be like this.” He says, cupping your cheeks. “It kills me.”

“I can’t help it, I’m sorry.” You sniffle again. “I feel disgusting all the time with all the changes my body is making again, so when you don’t jump at the chance to frisk me…I get a little self-conscious.”

You bury your head in his chest and he wraps his arms around you. He kisses the top of your head, and pulls you back to look at you.

“You know I think you get more beautiful every day.” He kisses your forehead. “Let me take you back upstairs. I was just groggy before, I’m awake now. Let me love on yeh, hm?”

“You really want to? You’re not just saying that?”

“I really want to. I can’t remember the last time we actually fucked. It’s a shame.”

He leads you back upstairs and gets all of your clothes off. He strips himself of his pajama bottoms as well and joins you on the bed. He has you lay down and he kisses you all over, which makes you giggle. Things stop being funny when his fingers run along your slit. His middle finger slips inside, making your head roll back and your toes curl. His thumb works your clit and a breathless moan leaves your lips.

“This what you’ve been needin’, angel?”

“Yes.” You whine.

“Poor thing.” He pouts and then smirks at you. “Must be so difficult wanting to fuck your husband all the time, hm?”

“Harry, now really isn’t the time to tease me, okay?”

“Really? I think it is. Still got plenty of time before I need to hop in the shower, thought I’d have a little fun.”

He slips another finger in and curls the both of them up. He kisses on your chest, and sucks on the skin right above your breast. Your eyes widen. Harry didn’t really leave marks on you anymore. You both were getting older, after all. You gasp as his teeth sink in further and he groans as he feels you becoming more and more wet. He lets go and grins as he watches your skin turn purple. He uses his other thumb to rub over the mark.

“Why’d I ever stop doin’ that? Purple really is one of your colors, love.”

“Harry.” You groan as his thumb rubs harsh circles on your clit.

“Distracted are we?”

His fingers pump in and out of you faster, your nails grasp at the sheets and you nearly scream at the orgasm you have. He uses his free hand to cover your mouth.

“Shh, don’t want him wakin’ up, right?” You nod your head slowly.

“Okay then.” He removes his hand and kisses you.

Your hands run through his hair as he positions himself over you, lining his hard cock up with your center. He swallows your moans as he pushes inside. You wrap your legs around Harry’s waist and pull him as close as you can, heels digging into the back of his thighs. He uses one of his hands to knead your breast. You grab it to slide up to your throat.

“Really? That won’t stress you out?” He grunts as he thrusts in and out of you.

“No.”

He gets a decent grip on you where he knows you like it, and your eyes roll into the back of your head. You practically claw at his back which you know he likes. He craved the scratch marks. He lets go of your throat, before you can complain he’s grabbing your legs and throwing them over his shoulders. You both were looking directly at each other.

“Harry.”

“Y/N.”

“Oh my god, fuck!” Your back arches as you come to another release.

He fucks you through it, coming to his own release. He nearly collapses on top of you, but goes to your side instead. It takes you both a minute or two to catch your breaths.

“Might take you up on that shower, you got me all sweaty.” You giggle.

“Good.” He kisses you and gets up. “Who needs coffee when a good shag with your wife is enough to get you goin’ for the day?”

He helps you off the bed and into the shower.

“Love you so much.” He coos as he washes your back.

“Love you too.”

//

Jack decided he wanted to be a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle for Halloween. It was the perfect family dress up. You looked extremely cute as a turtle, especially with your bump growing. Niall and Sarah were having their annual party. You and Harry walk Jack up and down your street to take him trick or treating before heading to the party.

Harry inspects all of the candy when you get home. He allows Jack one piece. Your doorbell rings to let the babysitter in.

“Hi Becca.” You smile at her. “Come on in.”

“Thanks! Love the outfit Mrs. Styles.”

“Oh, thanks. It was all Jack’s idea. Harry! Becca’s here!”

“Alright, alright.” He comes into the kitchen. “Jack’s just fallen asleep. Feel free to watch TV, eat whatever yeh like in fridge, all that.”

“Thanks, Mr. Styles. Have a good time at your party.” She smiles, and out the door you two go.

“She’s a sweet girl, I’m glad we found her.” You say.

“Me too. Thank god for Sarah and her connections.”

Niall nearly pisses himself when he sees the two of you.

“This takes the cake, you two always have the best costumes.”

Harry has a couple drinks, but refrains from getting too crazy since you couldn’t drink. You were having fun catching up with your friends. You told them you were having a girl. You feel your phone buzz in your pocket and you see Becca’s name.

“Becca?!” You go to a more private part of the house.

“Hi, Mrs. Styles, um, I think Jack is sick.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well I heard something on the baby monitor and went up to check on him and he threw up in bed, and-“

“We’ll be right there!” You hang up and look around. “Harry!”

“What’s up, gorgeous?”

“Jack’s throwing up! We need to get home!”

You rush out of the party without saying goodbye and Harry follows you. You jog as fast as you can, bypassing teenagers out still trying to get candy. Harry was right behind you. You burst through the door and find Becca cradling Jack to her.

“Mumma!” He cries.

“Becca, I am so sorry.” You take Jack from her. “Was it just the one time?”

“Yeah, I stripped his bed and threw everything in the wash. I put new pj’s on him too.”

“Thank you so much.” Harry says to her. He reaches into his pocket for his wallet and pays her. “Here.”

“This is way more than-“

“For your troubles.” He smiles.

“Feel better, Jack.” Becca leaves and you look at Harry distressed.

“He’s burning up. I don’t understand he was perfectly fine earlier.”

“Tummy hurts, Mumma.”

“I know, baby.” You kiss his forehead. “Harry, can you open up a ginger ale, I have the caffeine free kind in the fridge.”

“Yeah.”

He opens it and puts a straw in. He holds it up for Jack.

“Slow sips, honey.” You look at Harry. “I’m gonna run him a bath, I think he’s scared from getting sick. He should sleep with us tonight too.”

Before Harry can say anything you take Jack upstairs. He follows you up to the bathroom and stops you from starting the bath.

“What are you doing?”

“He doesn’t need a bath, look at him he’s falling back asleep. Maybe the candy we let him have didn’t agree with his stomach.”

“But his forehead.”

Harry grabs a thermometer from the cabinet and puts it in his ear.

“See, no temp. He’s probably just sweaty.”

“I want him to sleep with us.”

“Okay.”

Harry scoops Jack up and gets him tucked into your bed while you remake his. You get your costume off and look at Harry.

“Aren’t you going to change?”

“I, uh, was havin’ a pretty good time at the party…” He rubs the back of his neck.

“You want to leave?”

“Well…he’s fine, right?”

“Right.”

“And you’re probably tired anyways, so you’ll stay here with him, and-“

“And you’ll go have fun.”

“Y/N.” He sighs. “We haven’t had a night out in forever, Niall’s party is still goin’ on, I’d like to go back for a bit. Why does this need to be a big thing?”

“It’s not. Goodnight.” You turn the light off and leave him standing in the dark.

He knew he should probably stay, but he was sort of buzzed and wanted to go fuck around with his friends. So he walked back to Niall’s. Everyone asked what happened and he explained that Jack just had a stomach ache, and you were handling it. He had the fun he was looking for, and headed back to the house a couple of hours later. When he got up to the bedroom he saw Buster sleeping in his spot on the bed.

“Don’t you dare move him.” You whisper.

“He’s in my spot.”

“Not your spot tonight.”

“Where would you like me to sleep then?”

“Anywhere but this bed, Harry Styles.” You huff and roll over.

He groans, but doesn’t want to wake Jack up, so he goes down the hall and passes out in the guest room. The other one was slowly being turned in your little girl’s nursery. The next morning he gets up and hears you giggling with Jack.

“You scared me, wasn’t very nice.” He hears you say to Jack. He leans against the door frame to watch you.

“Sorry, Mumma.”

“I don’t think we’ll be having candy before bed again.”

“Okay.” Jack snuggles up to you and rubs your belly like how Harry does all the time. “Morning baby sister.”

“Good morning big brother.” You say and stroke his head. You look up and see Harry standing and frown at him. “Look, Jack, it’s Daddy.”

“Daddy!” Jack bounces off the bed and runs over to Harry. “Pancakes? Please!”

“Alright, alright, I’ll make pancakes. Want pancakes, Mummy?”

You simply stand up and go into the bathroom. Harry sighs and whistles for Buster. He lets him out in the backyard, and gets Jack washed up for the morning. He sets Jack in his booster seat while he whips up the pancakes. He cuts them up for him and sits down to watch him eat.

You come down fresh as a daisy. Your hair was done and you had make up on.

“What are you all dolled up for?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” You scoff.

“I get it, you’re upset because I went back to the party, but-“

“I’m upset because you didn’t even seem to care that our son could have had the flu or something!” You take a deep breath. “I’m going out.”

“Where?” You blink at him. “When will you be back?”

“Funny, you didn’t say when you’d be back from the party. I didn’t fall asleep until you strolled in after midnight.”

“Y/N, I need to know where you are, come on.”

“I’m going to have brunch with the girls. I don’t know when I’ll be back. You don’t really seem to care about your pregnant wife, so please don’t pretend like you do.”

You give Jack a kiss on the top of his head, and out the door you go.

“I think today’s gonna be a chore day, Jack. Uh…Mummy likes when we help out.”

“Okay.” The boy shrugs and finishes up his pancakes.

//

Your brunch with Sarah and Rachel was much needed. They were on your side, but they also helped you see Harry’s side of things. You couldn’t blame him for wanting to go be with his friends, but you were pissed at the way he went about it. It was good for you to let off some steam. The three of you go to the mall and they help you pick out some new maternity outfits.

When you get home the house is quiet. You go out back and see Jack playing on the swing set, Buster sitting in the shade, and Harry mowing the lawn. He had to have done this on purpose, he knew it was your weakness. He had his yard sneakers and jeans on, that was it. Oh, and his red bandana to hold his hair back. You look at Jack who also had a bandana to hold his hair back.

“Mumma!” Jack exclaims and runs towards you.

“Hi, precious, are you having fun with Daddy?”

“Mhm.” You pick him up and adjust him to your hip.

Harry stops the mower and comes over to you. He guzzles down the water he left outside for himself.

“A bit cold to be shirtless, don’t you think?”

“We raked the leaves first, I’m sweatin’ my ass off with all this yard work.” He huffs.

“Ohh, Jack you helped Daddy with the leaves?”

“Mhm, I’m a big boy.” You burst out laughing and kiss his cheek. You set him down and he runs back over to the swing set.

“A big boy, huh?”

“It was the only way I could get him to help.” He rolls his eyes. “He did look cute with his little rake, I have to say.”

“Looks cute with the bandana too.”

“He whined until I put it on him. Said he wanted to look just like me.”

“Hopefully he won’t feel the same about the tattoos.” You smirk.

“I feel really bad about last night. I shouldn’t have gone back out.”

“Perhaps I also overacted.”

“You didn’t, I was being an asshole.”

“I was just more upset that something could have been wrong with him and you didn’t care.”

“I did care, but I was trying to stay calm. I could see you freaking out, I was trying to keep the situation handled. He was fine.”

“I know.”

“Did you have fun with the girls?” He wraps his arms around you.

“Yes.”

He leans into kiss you, but gets interrupted.

“Don’t be gross, Daddy.” Jack tugs on Harry’s pant leg.

“I think it’s time for your nap.” Harry picks Jack up and he fusses with him, but ultimately settles.

You’re sitting on the couch with Buster when Harry comes back down.

“I need to finish the lawn.”

“Okay.”

“When I come back in, though, can we make up?”

“I’d like that.” You blush slightly as you smile at him.

He smirks and goes back out to finish up the lawn. You look around and see he did a bit of tidying up. You were grateful. When he comes inside he uses the t-shirt in his back pocket to wipe his face.

“I know yeh showered already, and you look so pretty, but-“

“How about a bath?”

Harry perks up and practically sprints up the stairs. He gets it going and you put your hair up to not get it wet. Once it’s time to get in, you sit in front of him, and he wraps his arms around you. He gives you kisses on the back of your neck and shoulders. He peppers kisses to your cheek and it makes you giggle. You both sort of lost track of time while you were in there. Harry was just about to start rubbing your clit when you heard the pitter patter of feet. Both of your eyes grow wide when you see the mop of curls standing in front of you. You both used to bring Jack into the bath with you all the time, but he was starting to get a little big for that now.

“Tubby?” He asks, rubbing his eyes.

“Uh, yeah, Jack, Mummy and Daddy needed a tubby.” Harry says. “You know, you should really stay in your room and wait for us.”

“Had to wee, Daddy.”

“Did you make it to the potty?” You ask him.

“Yes.” He beams.

“Good. Jack, why don’t you color in your room until we’re done, okay?” You tell him.

“Okay!” You hear him run down the hall to his room.

“Alright.” You sigh and look back at Harry. “We can continue this later.”

“He can color on his own for a bit.”

“I’m nervous about him swallowing a crayon or something.”

Harry hums in agreement and helps you up. You both get cozy in some sweats. You both color with Jack for a bit before getting him his after nap snack. Harry whips up a strifry for dinner while you do some grading. You both put your baby boy to bed. Harry reads him a story and does all of the funny voices Jack likes. Even with the tension this morning, it was a nice day as a family.

Harry brings you to the bedroom to take advantage of the time now that Jack was asleep.

“See, this is what we should be doin’ instead of watchin’ TV.”

You giggle as he kisses on you.

“You’re right. I’ve been needy for you for hours.”

“Really?” He smirks.

“Mhm.” You wrap your arms around his neck.

“Well, let’s just take care of that, shall we?”

[sometimesiwrite]

Hooked on a Feeling

The Witcher: Modern Academia AU

Essi/Eskel

A/N: Inspired by this lovely art piece and my general ongoing obsession with Lit Prof Eskel, I bring you this—whatever this is. It came about largely because I want to explore Essi more thoroughly through different pairings, various different planes of existence, etc. The best way for me to think about and develop a character is to put them in with other characters and see what happens. This may or may not become a series, this also might stay where it is. I chose a modern AU because I wanted a challenge. I believe characters change with context, and this has been an interesting time spent with Eskel in this context as well. I’m not sure how I feel about him in this universe (aside from the love and affection I will likely always feel for that man); more specifically, I’m not sure I’ve done him justice, but I suppose I’ll let you decide for yourself. Feedback is usually helpful and always welcome. Cheers, friends! 

Warnings: bit o’ smut, age gap, academic power structures, dialogue-heavy

MASTERLIST

Enjoy!

Strong hands held her steady, warm and luxurious through the cotton-poly-spandex of her skirt as it bunched around the tops of her thighs. A breathless roll of her hips left a spot blooming slippery dark on the red cotton of his boxer briefs, and a hungry moan escaped his throat as he explored the tender flesh and tendons of her neck. Papers crumpled under foot, previously housed on top of the desk, but now relegated to excess carpeting. Roget’s Thesaurus, Crabb’s English Synonyms, Shakespeare’s Lexicon, and other reference materials splayed open helplessly on the office floor as he toed off his shoes and sloughed off his pants. 

She clutched him to her, feeling the shift and flex of his torso beneath her hands as she pressed her right cheek to his. She was overwhelmed with the urge to be closer, to know better, dig deeper into the possibilities of what they could mean to each other. But she could also feel the hesitation lingering between his fingers and her skin like a mirage over hot pavement, and the desire to ease and reassure took over. “You’re holding back,” she whispered, pausing their fervor. “Is this not what you wanted?”  

Her hot breath against his ear sent a rushing tingle down his spine that made him falter, ever-so-briefly, before he regained his composure. He was breathing heavy against her, hair a mess, glasses askew, every muscle in his body quivering as he stood; caught between following the raw satisfaction of impulse, and listening to the unwelcome logic echoing loudly in his head that this was a bad idea. “No, no, believe me, this is very much what I want. I just—I need to make sure tha-ha-ha-haaaaa,” no one, not even him, got to know the end of that sentence as her palm dragged along the bulge in his briefs.

She blinked at him with certainty, pale cheeks blushing from her own boldness. But she wanted him to know that he was wanted: his mind, his body, his whatever-else-he-chose-to-give-her. Slender fingers nimbly worked the pearly buttons on his dress shirt. “You need to make sure that I don’t feel coerced by the difference in our ages or your institutional status.” She ran her hands over the crisp white cotton of his undershirt and smirked, “or your strength.” 

Gods the way she talked sometimes, like her fucking soul belonged somewhere else, the way she just spoke words and meant them like it was the easiest thing in the world to be straightforward. It felt… safe. He could drift in the current of her transparency and never question whether she was holding something back or saying something merely for the sake of placating his insecurity. This woman had no subtext. It was liberating and, if he was perfectly honest, acutely arousing. 

“Yes, of course I want to make sure,” he ran a hand through her hair, smelling sea salt and verbena. “And I want to make sure that you…”

She took his face in her hands and washed his honey-hazel eyes in her startling sea-glass-blue, “I want you.”

__________

Not even a third of the way through the semester, and Essi had already given up on the idea of making coffee and having a “pleasant wakeup” at home before class. It took no less time to roll out of bed and walk all the way to the cafeteria, but at least there was always a blueberry danish for her trouble, and the walk ensured she wouldn’t be tempted back into the warm bundle of blankets on her bed. She blinked heavily and shivered a little, her eyes still bleary from not-enough-sleep. She gripped her contigo travel mug and tried to remember the first two chapters of Gadamer that she’d half-read the night before (earlier that morning) as her eyes drifted closed.

...can I get for you?

Good morning… Miss?

The man in front of her gave a wry smile to the cashier, “Almost seems a shame to wake her up.” He gingerly reached out and nudged Essi’s elbow. She startled and her eyes—her two spectacularly blue eyes—blinked open. “Sorry,” the man said with an endeared smile, “You, uh… you alright?”

Essi blinked herself alert as a piece of strawberry blonde hair escaped a silver clip at the back of her head. She brushed the loose piece back behind her ear. “Yes. Sorry, just… uh, house blend in this, please. Double-double. And a blueberry danish.” She paid the cashier and stepped to the side to wait for her order. The man in front of her, she assumed, was also waiting on his. He leaned to the side, still facing forward.

“Long night?” he asked, clearly still mildly amused by the situation.

She conducted a surreptitious survey of her chatty companion, “You could say that. Philosophy reading got away from me this week.” A keycard was clipped to his breast pocket: Dept. English, E. L. Varga, Ph.D. The lack of photo indicated it was at least a year old if not more—photo IDs had only just become mandatory with the rapid growth of the campus and certain programs. She reckoned he was maybe 37-ish, from the way his hazel eye crinkled a little at the corner and the few bright silver streaks in his dark auburn hair. He looked… distinguished, but without the stiffness of someone whose entire adult life had been fully committed to academia. Post-doc? Assistant Professor?

“Full day ahead?” Essi couldn’t help but think the world of radio was missing a key contributor, his voice was so striking—deep and rich, but without being flashy, an unassuming timbre that came from somewhere deep within and carried a vulnerability with it. 

“Oh, a little. Philosophy seminar followed by Contemporary Poetry this afternoon.”

“Two on a Friday. That’s a bit unkind.” 

“I like them both and the professors are very engaging, it’s just, well…”

“Abrupt end to the week.” 

“Yes exactly…” This unexpected morning companion was an excellent conversationalist. So much so that Essi hardly noticed she’d only seen the left half of him the entire time they’d been standing in line. She didn’t have much time to ponder on it, though, as her travel mug appeared at the same time as Dr. Varga’s order (a coffee and a cream cheese bagel). She glanced at the time and hastily lidded her thermos, hoping to get a bit more reading done before class began. 

“Oh look, we have the same one!” she said, pointing to the turquoise blue, double-walled, spill-proof (as if) container as she tightened the seal on her own. “Funny coincidence.”

“Or maybe,” he offered suspensefully, tucking his bagel into his shoulder bag and lidding his own, “it’s not.” 

Essi offered a sleepy chuckle, “Divine intervention in the form of coffee?”

“You’re the philosopher,” he smiled warmly, and moved to face her fully but stopped himself, instead opting to stare at his hand where it rested on the lid of his thermos. His left eye caught Essi’s inquisitive head tilt as he cleared his throat, “Have a good day.” He pursed his lips in a halfhearted smile and turned away. No doubt he has places to be, she concluded. But a small part of her couldn’t get over his sudden shift. He’d gone from being so open, so warm and charming to being—well, distant. 

Essi’s musings about the mysterious E. L. Varga, Ph.D. were quickly dissolved by her professor’s introduction to Hermeneutics followed by a lively discussion about the nature and qualities of knowing. At the halfway point, the class dispersed for a ten minute break as they all stretched their legs and went to the bathroom. Essi gambled that her coffee would have cooled down to a drinkable temperature, and took a sip. What the—? 

“Oh, damnit!”

“Hm? What’s the matter?” Julian asked, through a mouthful of pita and hummus. 

“This isn’t mine,” she said, half-befuddled, half amused. 

“How do you know they didn’t just get the order wrong? You’re telling me you took a stranger's coffee thermos which just happens  to be identical to your own?”

“Yes, that’s exactly what happened,” Essi stated with certainty, staring into the middle distance. “I should find him after class and give it back.”

“Well, unless you can see through walls now, you’ll need to track down his office. Which,” Julian took another sizeable bite of pita, “I doubt you’ll be able to do without knowing his name, so I say just leave it and—“

“E. L. Varga, Ph. D., English department.”

Julian stared at his cousin, “You’re a little scary sometimes, you know that?” 

________

Essi combed the halls of the English department after her seminar. Several times, she thought about going to the admin office to ask (it was the logical thing to do), but she felt suddenly shy about looking for him. Perhaps Julian was right, perhaps this was more trouble than it was worth. Her head was spinning with questions about whether she was imposing or perhaps impinging on his boundaries, disrespecting his privacy. Perhaps she should just leave the thermos with the Admin office and trust that it would get to him. She could just buy a new one for herself, no problem there. But then a part of her wanted to see him again, make a good impression. He intrigued her, and the small taste of conversation he’d given her that morning made her want to talk with him more about anything at all, no matter how trivial. 

She wasn’t infatuated. Rather he’d made an impression, and something about him—the way he carried himself, presented his thoughts, his general affect—drew her to him in a way she couldn’t explain. Suddenly he mattered, and she was trawling the seemingly-endless network of almost-identical hallways in the hopes of returning what was his, and retrieving what was hers. She finally found the right office, impossibly small, and tucked away at the far end of a cul-de-sac. She knocked quietly. 

“Come in?”

 E. L. Varga, Ph.D. had his back to the door, ankles crossed on a corner of his desk with a stack of papers in his lap. “Just.. one second,” he finished underlining a scrawled turquoise notation in the margin and spun around to face the door, setting his papers down as he turned. “Yes, what can I do for—” he froze, coming face-to-face with dazzling blue eyes and strawberry blonde hair pulled up in a silver clip. “Ah.” 

Essi tried hard to avoid the look of shock that rippled across her face and made her big blue eyes even bigger. Three jagged scars trailed angrily from the corner of his eye and past his mouth, coming to a final stop on the side of his chin. He cleared his throat and gave the same wry smile he’d parted with earlier that morning, adjusting his rectangular, wire-rimmed glasses back on the bridge of his nose.

“I imagine you’ve come for this,” he said, placing Essi’s thermos on the edge of the table. 

“I—yes, I’m so sorry. I wasn’t paying attention and, well,” she fished his out from her bag, “here.” She handed it to him and he accepted with a lighthearted raise of his eyebrows. She paused for a moment, meeting his eyes intensely. There was a sadness behind them that made her want to stay, made her want to ask questions, find out the source of his pain and eradicate it. Instead she smiled a little more stiffly than she meant to and lingered in the doorway. 

E. L. Varga scratched at the lines in his cheek, “Was there, uh… something else?”

Essi shook her head pleasantly, “No. I suppose I’ll go now.”

Another pause, “Alright. Well. Enjoy your weeke—.”

“Why do you mark in blue?”

“I beg your pardon?” Dr. Varga blinked, nonplused. 

“When I came in, before you turned around, I saw you leaving a comment on someone’s paper. I assume you were marking?” (he nodded), “You use turquoise. Most professors use red.”

He huffed a small laugh, spinning his marking pen in its cap, “I prefer to use a colour that’s a little less foreboding. It’s still bright and easy to notice, but it doesn’t mean instant panic for those students who, like me, have a Pavlovian panic response to red ink. That and red is my favourite colour, so the last thing I want is to associate it with constructive criticism and a never-ending trail of ‘see me’s.”

“That’s very generous of you. Most professors don’t think about it that hard.”

“The extent to which many professors don’t think is shocking, I’m afraid.”

“Well, I’m glad for your students. They have a thoughtful instructor.” 

Dr. Varga smiled warmly and removed his glasses, “Thank you. Was there something else?” 

“You hid from me this morning,” Essi answered calmly, not knowing how else to bring up something like that—clumsily had been the only other option. 

He answered slowly, “Yes. I did.”

“You didn’t need to do that.”

There was a pause as Dr. Varga tried to wrap his head around what exactly was happening. Part of him was feeling exposed and a little too noticed for his own comfort. Another part of him, however, found this straightforwardness refreshing. Most people pretended to ignore the massive scars on the side of his face—which he always thought was a bit ridiculous and usually led to more awkwardness than if they just stared like he knew they wanted to. It wasn’t that she was staring, either, or asking unwelcome questions, but she wasn’t avoiding acknowledging the obvious. He liked that, he decided, even if it did make him feel a bit raw. 

“It depends how you define ‘need’, doesn’t it?”

His averted glance was all Essi needed to realize it wasn’t her he had been trying to spare somehow; rather, he was trying to spare himself from her unpredictable reaction at 8:30 in the morning. A wave of sadness crested inside her at the thought of this warm and charismatic man having to strategically orient his face because he didn’t want a pleasant conversation suddenly filled with maneuvering and overcompensation. He’d just wanted a normal moment of small-talk to start his morning.

“I’m sorry,” Essi said. “Navigating others’ reactions must be exhausting. You deserve better.” 

E. L. Varga shrugged and steered the subject to something a little less eat-pray-love. “Unexpected things surprise us. Like you, finding my secret gremlin office for the sake of two identical thermoses we could just as easily have dumped out and used as our own.”

“But I would have known it wasn’t mine,” Essi answered with an overly-earnest, wide-eyed expression.

He leaned back in his chair, hands folded contemplatively in his lap, ”Would that bother you?”

“Some of the colour has worn off the bottom rim on yours, probably from swirling it on your desk while you think. Whereas mine has a shallow dent in the side from when I dropped it last semester on my way to the library. Yours got the way it did because of you, just like mine did because of me. They both have stories connected to them. I can’t walk around carrying my coffee in someone else’s story. It wouldn’t feel right.” 

Dr. Varga tilted his head, considering this shrewd young woman with seemingly no filter and unnecessary depth. It was a coffee thermos, for Christ’s sake. But she was genuine, poetic, and her eyes were the most alluring shade of blue he’d ever seen.

“Well,” he tapped his pen, “thank you for bringing it back to me safe and sound. Yours should still be drinkable if you unscrew the top. I only took one sip, but in case you’re afraid of cooties…”

“Same with yours, I’ll probably just rinse mine or…” she trailed off, realizing that saying ‘leave it’ would sound a bit strange. “So, Dr. E. L. Varga. Was it a coincidence after all?” Essi asked, a small enigmatic smile pulling at her lips. 

“Eskel,” He said. “My name is Eskel.”

“Essi Daven. Until next time.”

With a little nod, she closed the door behind her, leaving Eskel to release the half-breath he’d been holding. 

_______

The weekend passed all-too quickly. Essi and Julian played a double set at the campus bar—a standing invitation they never missed no matter how busy their schedules were. They both had double lectures on Friday, and nothing quite staved off the risk of burnout like good music and an enthusiastic audience. The rest of the weekend was spent more-or-less curled up in the livingroom with stacks of notebooks, JStor printouts, and dog-eared anthologies as they got to work on their readings for the coming week.

It was Wednesday by the time Essi made it back to the campus cafe, this time a good 45 minutes early and significantly better-rested than she’d been the previous Friday. Still, it didn’t stop her from nearly jumping out of her shoes when… 

“Awake this morning, I see.” 

She turned abruptly at the familiar voice to find Dr. Eskel L. Varga standing behind her, smiling welcomingly. She grasped the outside of his arm while she caught her breath, “Well, if I wasn’t awake before, I am now. Good morning!”

A rich chuckle came from the professor’s throat as he offered her elbow a brief touch of reassurance. “You know, most people do that after they’ve turned around.” 

“You know, I’m not sure how to respond to that,” she answered lightly.

“I’m sorry, you don’t have to. It was just—”

“That’s alright, I know what it was,” Essi blinked warmly up at him and Eskel got the distinct feeling she was checking him somehow, the way her eyes hovered and flickered between his own. Satisfied, she turned to the cashier and placed her usual order, stepping aside to wait with Eskel for his bagel. 

“We’ll have to keep a close eye on the twins today,” he said, tucking his wallet into his pocket.

“I think any amount of attention from either of us will be enough to prevent another mishap. But, then again, it’s a shame we won’t have an excuse to distract ourselves with an early afternoon mystery.” Essi thanked the young man behind the counter as she accepted her thermos and blueberry danish.

“Hm, I imagine you’ll be glad not to have to find my office again, though. Cheers,” Eskel held up his own travel mug before taking a sip and lidding it. “I should be off. Busy day today. Good to see you, Essi.”

“I can walk with you if you like.” 

Eskel slowed and turned tentatively back to her, “Sure, alright. If it won’t make you late.”

“No, no, I have time. My class doesn’t start until 9:30. That is, if you want company. You might…  prefer to walk alone?”

Eskel smiled again, the friendly distanced smile of someone who wanted to avoid any and all misunderstandings. You see, there was something about Essi that set this post-doctorate professor on edge—not because she made him uncomfortable. On the contrary: she made him feel surprisingly comfortable. Comfortable in a way he was not accustomed to feeling around someone he’d only just met, and briefly at that. But even the brief few minutes they’d spent in each others’ company had been enough for Eskel to feel strangely drawn to her. There was an inherent intimacy in the way she interacted with him—with everyone, he assumed; the way her large blue eyes blinked slowly and inquisitively at him, the way they penetrated without piercing and lingered on his without darting away. It only served to enhance the subtle, self-possessed sensuality she exuded, and it made Eskel slightly-less-than-comfortable (insofar as he found it unavoidably appealing). 

“I don’t mind a bit of company from time to time,” he offered, having opted for ‘Intriguing Conversation with Interesting Potential Future Student’ as his intention for this and all future encounters. They walked for about a minute in silence, neither quite knowing where to begin. Without the crutch of mistaken coffee-identity, the realm of conversational possibilities seemed a bit daunting. Eskel decided to ease the tension, “So, Essi. You know that I teach in the English department and where my office is. What’s your major? Or are you just doing general studies?” 

“Well, I did do general studies my first year of undergrad,” a small piece of Eskel’s uneasiness eased. So she’s a grad student… “Now, I’m finishing off the first half of my Poetry MFA.”

Essi watched as his face immediately opened, eyes lighting up like a kid at DisneyLand, “Really? What’s your focus?” It was unbearably endearing. 

“Affect and Poetic Performance. I’m examining the relationship between lyric and melody through the lens of Affect Theory.”

“Affect Theory…”

“It’s a way of talking about our ineffable responses to different environments. It’s all well and good to say, ‘well this or that has a certain vibe,’ or ‘something about that person feels off,’ when we’re speaking colloquially, but how do we talk about it in a broader, more objective way for the purposes of research? It’s a kind of philosophy of sensing if you think about it.”

Essi’s entire demeanor had changed on the turn of a dime. She was effusive, incisive, and talking a mile a minute, her gestures captivatingly eccentric as she spoke—Eskel thought it looked like her thoughts were physical things she was trying to pull out of her so she could arrange them properly. He wanted to see more of this side of her. Not just because he was amused and impressed, but because he was genuinely fascinated by where all this discussion of affect was going.

“And so affect itself is…”

“Affect is the thing that happens before emotion; a gut feeling or an intuition. It’s all those feelings we don’t have words for yet still sense acutely and precisely.” Her footsteps were becoming shorter, as though they were trying to keep pace with her thoughts, and her cheeks were starting to flush a pretty shade of pink beneath her light layer of foundation (or powder or whatever it was that made her shimmer slightly). 

“This all sounds very elusive, Essi.”

“Exactly! It is! It’s incredibly elusive! And yet, what is it about a certain song that we can all agree sounds ‘melancholy’? How do we, as artists—poets, actors, sculptors, writers, musicians, gallerists, interior decorators—curate affect in a way that’s consistent and predictable?” 

“Hm…” Eskel had forgotten about being charmed by his companion and was now fully invested in the inquiry at hand. He felt confident that he’d pieced it together so far. “So: how do lyrics and melody work together to form a cohesive, wide-reaching atmosphere...”

“—And how does the singer or musician facilitate that? Precisely.”

“It sounds like you’re digging into some interesting corners. Are you enjoying it?”

“I’m finding it invigorating,” the pink of her cheeks only served to intensify the blue of her irises as they flashed brightly up at him. 

“I’m happy to hear that. It isn’t always the case,” Eskel stopped, having reached the top of the hallway leading to his office. “I should get to work, but. Thank you for the company. You’re thinking about a lot of interesting things.”

“A roundabout way of saying I’m interesting, perhaps.” There was no flirtation in her voice, no slyness on her face, but Eskel felt his face grow warm all the same. He couldn’t decide what was worse: that she wasn’t flirting but stating the obvious; or that her stating the obvious had the same effect as flirting. 

“Yes, well. Duty calls,” he gave Essi a polite wave and turned towards his office.

“Can I ask you a personal question?”

He stopped. “Sure” he replied stiffly, privately bracing himself for the inevitable question. Fine. Alright. It’s natural to be curious. 

“What’s the L stand for?”

Eskel turned back to face her, eyebrows furrowed in utter confusion. “Sorry?”

“Eskel L. Varga. What’s the L for?”

“Oh! Sorry I thought…” he scratched gently at his right cheek and Essi’s heart sank. How many callous people had imposed their curiosity on him? A spark of protective anger shot up inside her as she watched his hand and she had an overwhelming urge to reach for him. “It’s, uh, it’s for Llewlyn.”

She swallowed heavily, restraining her hand as it twitched by her side, wanting to touch, to ease, to unburden. “You thought I was going to ask about something else that’s none of my business.”

Eskel rocked on his heels, examining the various dings and dents in the linoleum tiling, “Yes.”

“That’s none of my business.”

“Thank you,” he looked up, his free hand now in his pocket. “Most people don’t… I should go.”

“Have a good week, Eskel.”

“You, too.” 

To say that Eskel retreated behind his office door would be a bit of an overstatement. But in the quiet solitude of his own private space, he had a moment to collect himself, to temper the intense vulnerability pressing on his chest. But there was another feeling, too, that felt more… elastic. A buoyancy driven by stimulating conversation and pleasant company; he was impressed, incredibly impressed; and despite his better judgement there was a part of him that hoped he would see her again on Friday morning. 

Essi made her way to class with an indelible smile on her face as she struggled to convince herself that it was a professor’s job to listen to eager students and find their research topics interesting. Try as she might, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was happening. She didn’t know what, just yet, but it was something. Only time would tell.

______

@morethangeraskier @the-space-between-heartbeats  @just-a-sad-donut @oxenfurt-archives @thirstyforred @titaniafire @belalugosisdead @lonelygayz @awkward-turtles-world @iloveyouyen @criminaly-supernatural@friendlybelladonna @enkelikauneus @sulkyshengshou

[theawkwardterrier]

my whole trajectory's toward you, and it's not losing momentum (call it anything we want)

Summary: Anthony had expected a certain amount of trouble when he took over managing the Danbury campaign. He didn’t imagine this amount. He didn’t imagine that it might at some point become something other than trouble.

There was mention of rival political campaign managers Kate and Anthony and even though I couldn’t quite get there - or make a scene happen which directly featured Newton 😔 - I did manage rivals and political campaigning. So here’s something to serve as incentive, congratulation, or brief respite depending on how far @thesokovianaccords​ has gotten in her grad school application process. Sorry if it’s a bit OOC, Livia - maybe it’s just the right degree to make sense in a modern AU? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Read on AO3

A week into running Dr. Danbury’s campaign, Anthony realizes that he has made a grave error in allowing himself to give in when his mother requested “a bit of a favor.”

At the time she’d asked, he had just gotten the news that his previous candidate was dropping out of his own race for health reasons, and of course, Dr. Danbury has been a fixture for his entire life so he might well have stepped up merely because she needed help (despite knowing that the reason she needed the help was that she’d fired her entire previous campaign team). Besides that, he has rarely been able to deny his mother anything, and that’s even before she brings up the number of hours she spent in labor with him (twenty-two, as he well knows by now) but still...he damn well should have ignored all that this time.

For his money, the most annoying part of not being listened to by the candidate is that her instincts have mostly served her well. Three days after he started, she ignored the common wisdom of maintaining decorum and not insulting the opposition which he had reminded her of before she went on camera, and had only benefited from it; apparently the majority of the constituency agreed that the particular candidate she had been asked about was indeed a “first class wanker who should pray nightly for the brains God gave a goose.” At least she had heeded Anthony’s advice to refer to the man as “my opponent” rather than using his name and giving him free advertising in the soundbite as it was played on nearly every news broadcast for the next several days.

“Well, we seem to have come out of this one all right,” she says, sipping her coffee and looking just the slightest bit smug - he doesn’t lie to candidates, so he had been obliged to report that the latest polling numbers actually went up after the incident. “Anything else, Bridgerton?”

Swallowing the speech he wants to give about how easily things could shift during a campaign, not to mention the difference between what people told a pollster and how they actually cast their votes, he says, “Perhaps we might look to hire a policy director, ma’am? To help...guide the campaign a bit more?”

“If we did, I should wonder what I had hired you for.” She looks at him over the tops of her glasses as if she can tell he is dreaming of responding that ah, well, it seems he is unnecessary, and perhaps he will just excuse himself from the position now. He makes sure his expression remains neutral and finally she waves a hand. “Well, let me see some names and CVs after the weekend, and I shall decide then.”

“Very good.” He extremely purposefully does not sigh until he is out of her office and striding along the corridor of their campaign headquarters. There are plenty of people who will take a call from him on short notice and who will back him with the candidate. Yes, if he can’t quit altogether (and he can’t if he wants his regular seat at Christmas dinner) then having someone in his corner is just the ticket.

He arrives for work on Monday even earlier than his traditional first thing in the morning, wondering to himself whether it will be better to simply present his top applicants or if he should throw in a decoy or two to make his choices shine even brighter - although perhaps that’s just the sort of ploy that the candidate would sniff out in a heartbeat after a career of wrangling university students. Still debating, he turns the corner toward his office, only to find Dr. Danbury in the hall outside, speaking with someone. Anthony doesn’t recognize the person from the back, can only see a fall of shiny, dark hair, so he guesses it is one of the volunteers, perhaps someone new who has arrived early for orientation. He hopes that Dr. Danbury isn’t being too intimidating.

“Ah, Bridgerton,” the lady in question calls down the hallway, and something about her tone makes Anthony’s spine go straight. “Good morning.”

Still, he clings to his good mood as he greets her. “Let me put my things down, and then we can go over your schedule for the day. And I have those CVs you had requested as well.”

“Nevermind those,” she says, and the little smile on her lips makes every one of his nerves stand on end. “Did you know that your mother and I went out for a drink on Friday evening? Oh, yes, we had a wonderful time, and your brother Colin came around to escort us home. Such a lovely boy, had some delightful stories about his trip to Greece - and so interested in the campaign. In fact, he had a brilliant thought when I mentioned your idea for bringing on someone new to help shape things alongside the two of us.”

Whatever virtues his brother Colin might possess, interest in the campaign is absolutely not among them. Skin humming all over, Anthony manages a casual, “Oh?”

“Indeed, and luckily I was able to organize it all over the weekend so you wouldn’t have to do a thing.” She gestures toward her companion, and with a sick swoop in his stomach, Anthony knows who he is going to see before she shifts around.

“I believe you two have met before?” Dr. Danbury says, voice fading just a bit beneath the static in Anthony’s ears as Kate Sheffield turns to face him.

They have not actually met before, but that doesn’t mean that they don’t know of each other.

The first time Anthony heard her name, it was her sister saying it - about twenty times in a row, if he’s being honest. He met Edie Sheffield two years back at one of his mother’s galas. Edie ran a different prestigious kids charity than the one Mum was fundraising for, so he’d wondered if inviting her was somehow inviting the enemy or maybe bragging. But Edie was sweet, and passionate about her job, and looked absolutely gorgeous in sapphire satin, and he settled into a night of getting her drinks and chatting her up, despite the fact that she didn’t seem as interested in speaking with him as she did in mentioning that he really must talk with her sister.

He’d stayed the night in the hotel where the gala had been held (alone, in one of the rooms which had been set aside for guests from the event; he’d put Edie in a car at about 11) and was planning on taking his mother to breakfast after she came down from her own room. When he went to check out, however, the desk attendant handed him a message which had been taken down for him on hotel stationary.

Dickheads like you shouldn’t try to get with my sister. Don’t do it again.

KS

“Is there anything else that I can assist you with?” asked the attendant, holding onto her poker face remarkably. Perhaps they taught that in hospitality programs.

He’d crushed the note in his hand before smoothing his own face placidly and handing over his credit card. His mother was all smiles and chatter during breakfast, but his mind was still on the note, which seemed to have burned itself behind his eyelids.

Dickheads like you - oh, so only other types of dickheads need apply? And get with? Were they twelve years old and couldn’t use grownup words? Not to mention the signature, such as it was. Trying to play mafia boss, expecting that he’d know who had sent it. He did, but it took a lot of bloody gall to assume that he would.

Not as much gall as Don’t do it again. He couldn’t even think of that part, the demeaning certainty of it, without a certain vein beginning to throb in his forehead.

In the two years since, he found himself falling back into analysis of the note - it was barely more than a dozen words, so how could there still be so much to parse? - whenever her name came up, which became more and more frequent as she moved from nothing campaigns in the most forgotten corners of the country to deputy deputy whatever on somewhat more consequential ones. She was gaining a reputation among his peers. They said she was smart and canny, that she had a knack for looking at the bigger picture and acting on her instincts.

(Someone who’d once worked with her had also mentioned that it helped that she didn’t have a high opinion of her looks, didn’t flaunt herself the way some women did around the office - she certainly didn’t have a reason to do so, but sometimes that didn’t stop them.

“Oh, be fair,” said the other man. “She does have quite a nice—”

They’d shut up when he’d walked into the room - everyone knew better than to talk that way around him, and it wasn’t just because of “all those sisters” the way some people said. Eloise had been interning with the campaign that summer, and for the rest of the day while he’d talked with human resources, he’d let her make mistakes on all of their lunch and coffee orders and give them the wrong data for their reports when they’d made her look it up instead of doing it themselves. When he’d fired them, he spread the word on why, but left the particulars out of it.)

The note returns to his mind whenever someone new has their one experience of suggesting Kate Sheffield as a potential hire, or when he thinks he’s seen her in the background of some press conference or event for another candidate, or if he runs into Edie at another charity function, where he absolutely does not flirt with her just that extra bit harder while part of his mind thinks Your move directly toward her sister who he has never actually met in person.

Until now.

“We’re acquainted,” he tells Dr. Danbury, managing to remain polite by avoiding Kate’s gaze. He leaves it at that.

They’re the first two in the conference room for the all-staff the next morning, and somehow he’s not surprised.

“Good morning,” he says as he comes in to find her over by the coffee. She’s doctoring it significantly, clearly already familiar with the quality to be found in a campaign office. He always buys his own; he can’t stand the amount of milk and sugar and oddly flavored creamers required to make the other stuff palatable (and don’t even get him started on the alleged tea).

Tone cool, she replies, “Mr. Bridgerton,” and takes a sip from her mug.

It isn’t as if the staff goes around calling him “Tony” or “boss,” and only the most knock-kneed newcomers call him “sir.” He’s Anthony to most. He has no inclination to correct her.

He works to keep his tone casual and courteous as usual when he introduces her to everyone (“And this is Kate Sheffield, who will be doing some consulting for us”) but something about it must catch Dr. Danbury’s attention, because she raises an eyebrow at him from her end of the table and rests both hands atop her stick.

The fact that the candidate is aware that something is going on between the two of them makes it all the more exasperating when two days later she signs off on Kate’s media and advertising plan over his own. He shows up for dinner with Daphne and Simon that evening as planned, knowing that Daphne would be completely willing to pull the pregnancy card if he tried to get out of it, but she sends him home before the waiter has brought the dessert menus because he keeps muttering about how more people travel by tube and railways and for longer distances but are more likely to take more individual rides on buses and what that means for posting print ads.

(The numbers are seared into his mind, considering she’d included a full breakdown with three kinds of graphs and bloody footnotes in her presentation.)

Getting released from the restaurant early gives him extra time to go back to the office for a bit and put together a preliminary get out the vote strategy. He calls in several favors as a part of it, including one from an old friend of his father’s who asks incredulously, “Really? For this?” clearly wondering whether Anthony’s reputation is deserved if he’s pulling out all the stops for something so routine.

It’s well worth it, however, when Dr. Danbury raises an eyebrow as she looks over the document he’d put together, and tells him, “Well done, Bridgerton, very well done indeed. I think this shall do nicely.”

He does not even glance toward Kate; there really isn’t any need to gloat.

Well, one tiny peek won’t hurt.

Her jaw is set and her eyes are flinty, but she gives him just the slightest nod, as if to say that he might have won this round, but she’d like to see him try the next one.

Just before three in the morning, he wakes himself, panting, from a dream that makes him think he might have to report himself for workplace sexual harassment.

“I would have hoped you’d have better self-preservation instincts,” he says aloud to his body. “Or at least better taste.”

Collapsing back against the pillows, he pushes his mind toward images of ex-girlfriends and celebrities, but no, there is Kate, strong and challenging and gorgeous above him, a vivid afterimage that refuses to go away, and he sighs and gives into it, trying to set himself to rights so he can get past this and find at least a bit more sleep.

Anthony has never been the sort of boss who shouts at people in the office - he has always tended toward cold anger and “you know what you’ve done, now fix it” stares, and doesn’t intend to act differently now. But as he stalks over to Kate’s desk, he finds a fiercer anger taking over, just a bit.

“You changed my media statement,” he says, voice silken with it as he leans his palms down on her desktop and rests his weight on them. He is speaking low, the words just for her, although his eyes roam over the others moving busily around the main space of the office.

She turns her chair slightly, so that he feels the brush of her hair on his forearms where his sleeves are rolled up; it shifts his attention fully in her direction. Her hair tie had snapped earlier, and the thick topknot she tried twisting for herself has collapsed, leaving it free around her shoulders. He snaps himself back from examining the shining curls as she says, “Yes, I did.”

Part of him admires her straightforwardness, that she takes responsibility without even trying to deny it. The other part...well, the anger hasn’t exactly disappeared.

In a level tone which would have his siblings looking over in alarm, he says. “I had worked that statement out with the entire communications department.”

“The entire communications department does what you tell them to do. It’s what you pay them for.”

“And what, exactly, do I pay you for?”

They are facing each other now, their bodies a bit too close for it. She is looking directly at him, voice sharp and clear as glass. “I was hired by the candidate, to help run the campaign that she wants. Your statement was just a polite walkback of her words.”

He has the sudden thought that the brown of her eyes could be warm, that her gaze probably is warm when she’s looking at her sister or the dog whose photo she has framed on her desk (a plump, panting little corgi wearing a bright blue bow tie, absurd), but he’s never seen her that way. He’s only ever gotten this, annoyance and disdain and perhaps disappointment.

Still, he responds, “Her words need to be walked back if she wants to someday be more than the candidate. In this constituency, colonial reparations aren’t a popular enough issue to increase turnout for those who weren’t already interested, and it’s exactly the sort of thing which will put off those who were on the fence. We’re trying to flip a seat by reminding people of what their current MP is doing wrong; we have to stay on message, not muddy things with topics too few understand. Sending out a statement moderating the comment is the right move.”

“But that statement isn’t what the candidate believes, and her future constituents should know what her actual position is - they likely aren’t as stupid as you seem to think. And besides that, she has the right stance in the first place.”

In the weeks since she arrived, he’s found that the things people said of her were true: she is smart, perhaps too smart for the good of either of them, and decisive, easily seeing what’s been done and what needs to be and acting on it, the exact sort of person you would want at your side as you plot a course forward. But he hadn’t realized that she was a believer.

There are fewer idealists in politics than one might think, or at least who have risen to her level. He always finds them a bit off-putting, and it startles him even more with her - he had thought he recognized in her a sharpness and pragmatism which reminded him of his own.

“Don’t do anything like this again,” he says, trying to temper his own abruptness even as he is somewhat unsettled by the conviction in her. “Or I’ll fire you, and I don’t care what the candidate says about it.”

“I think she would have quite a lot to say in that circumstance,” Kate tells him, but she turns back to her keyboard and doesn’t argue anymore.

At least until the next day, when they end up nearly nose to nose in his office as Anthony maintains that they can’t get anyone’s hopes up with a promise of immediate action on climate change, especially considering the priorities in the party platform and the likely makeup of the next parliament, and Kate practically shouts that they’re showing people where their convictions lie and that Dr. Danbury will fight for them if she gets the chance.

When Anthony dreams of her again that night, they are not talking about policy at all. But when he wakes up, edgy and aching as he is, he finds himself hoping one day to see her smile at him the way he did in his sleep; he wants to know if her eyes really are as warm as he imagined.

On Saturday, there’s such persistent nagging in the older sibling groupchat that Anthony finally gives in and agrees to leave the office for a night out. Forcing him into some allegedly relaxing activity is a time-honored tradition when they’re coming into the final stretch of a campaign; he’s certain the others have been discussing tactics in one of the numerous other chats that are always going on. (The last he’d glimpsed, the sibling group which didn’t include Gregory, Hyacinth, or himself - but did, irritatingly, include Simon - was named “Anthony’s Scary Forehead Vein.”)

“Please tell me that we aren’t going to paint ceramics again,” Anthony says as he walks, hands in his pockets, beside Benedict. Their group is too large to all move together on the sidewalk, which is a bit of a relief. “I don’t think I could put up with another night of Eloise reminding me that there are stencils if I need them.”

Benedict very narrowly and very obviously avoids laughing at him. Now that Anthony thinks about it, actually, his brother had spent that particular outing using a dozen colors to intricately decorate a mug, spending so long on it that they had nearly closed the place around him. Their mother drinks her tea from it frequently, however. “Thankfully there won’t be any pottery or painting tonight.”

“And it’s not—”

“Not a club,” Benedict assures him, then grins. “Can you imagine Simon trying to make certain no one came within a foot radius of Daph on the dance floor?”

Anthony shakes his head, looking ahead of them to where his sister and brother-in-law are walking together, not holding hands, but so close that they might as well be. He still feels a bit strange about the two of them together, especially after all the drama on the way, but he can see that they’re in love each other, even if he can’t really imagine why anyone would want to be, and they’re extremely obviously happy, so he’s trying to grow accustomed to it. He can also absolutely see Simon working himself into knots playing mosh pit bodyguard.

“So where are we going, then?” he asks, but before Benedict can answer, Eloise, broken away from her friend Penelope, tosses her arms over their shoulders and wriggles her face between them.

“You’ll just have to see,” she says, and Anthony doesn’t have to look at her to know that she is twitching her eyebrows at them. He probably could get it out of her if he tried, but he actually is finding himself feeling a little lighter being out with everyone, so he just waits and ten minutes later, they’re entering an already fairly crowded pub. Colin and Eloise go over to register them as a trivia team - or more likely to bicker over what name their team should have. As if realizing the same, Daphne squeezes Simon’s hand once and pushes over to join them.

(Her stomach is still flat, even for someone looking, but Anthony notices that she places a protective hand over it as she walks through the crush anyway.)

The rest of them go to claim a table and start putting together an order for drinks and appetizers. Anthony is leaning across, shouting a promise that if Penelope doesn’t finish her chili loaded potato wedges, they’ll certainly be taken care of, when someone behind him asks, “Excuse me, can we borrow this chair?”

“Sorry, there are more of us coming,” he says politely, turning to face the woman. She’s thirtyish and tall, but that’s all he takes in before he spots, over her shoulder, the rest of her group. They’re all chatting with each other, wearing matching T-shirts in a variety of bold colors which declare them the Quizzie Bennets, and in the center, her hair up in a ponytail and definite warmth in her eyes, is Kate. Edie stands beside her, picture perfect nose crinkled in a teasing way, but all Anthony can notice is that he’s never seen Kate in jeans like this, that the odd, bright purple of her shirt looks electric instead of ugly against the dark of her hair, and all he can think is that he never imagined her as relaxed as she is, weapons laid down.

She seems to detect his gaze then, and as she meets it he expects the weapons to be picked right back up. There’s certainly surprise, a guardedness to her eyes as they meet his, but then she narrows them in his direction, as if saying game on.

So that’s how she wants to play it, he thinks, then turns to the others and says, “No alcohol.”

Benedict blinks. “What do you mean by that?”

“In solidarity with Daphne,” Anthony offers.

“Daph does know that it’s pub trivia,” Simon says. “And she’s not—”

“Fine,” Anthony interrupts before the compliment train can get rolling. He sets his jaw. “I mean that we need to keep clear heads if we’re going to absolutely trounce everyone here.”

Penelope looks a bit alarmed by the vehemence in his tone and Simon quirks a brow, but the others are game enough - Bridgertons have always had a competitive streak, and apparently the rest of them actually chose this particular trivia night because it’s done aloud, infinite bounce style, instead of on paper.

“We play with live ammo around here,” Eloise declares gleefully once she’s returned and been updated on what she missed.

“Damn right we do,” Anthony mutters to himself, glad that he is seated with his back to Kate so he can resist the temptation to see how irritated she looks just now, or how face might be a little flushed and her ponytail loosened from the heat of everyone packed together inside…

“Who exactly do you keep looking for?” asks Colin, who’d plopped himself into the chair Kate’s teammate had asked about. He cranes obviously around, and Anthony turns firmly back to the table before his brother can follow his line of vision.

For all that they didn’t pick their team in order to be serious contenders, they do cover the bases fairly well. Anthony has politics and current events, obviously, along with history. Penelope plays backup there as well, and covers literature alongside Colin, who handily takes on geography too. (Anthony has always inwardly wondered how reasonable it was to build a career around wanderlust and Instagram and freelancing for travel magazines, but if it brings them victory tonight, he will never question again.) Benedict apparently took in more about nature than any of the rest of them who grew up in the Kentish countryside, and knows quite a bit more about art and art history than Anthony had expected. Daphne, unpredictably, knows a lot about sports - she claims that it’s what happens when you spend your life being rambled at as “another one of the boys” - and, more predictably, music.

Anthony hadn’t expected Simon’s skill with numbers to be particularly helpful, but now he’ll have to buy him a drink at some point, both for doubting and for pulling them out of a sticky situation involving Bernstein's constant. He wishes that Francesca wasn’t too young to have come out with them - there are several instances where they could have used her chiming in with quiet calm about anything related to economics or science, but they instead have to all give questionable contributions in that regard. They all chip in for pop culture, too, although Eloise is clearly the master - she actually yawns as she announces that of course the country where Monica’s boyfriend Pete Becker took her on their first date was Italy, and Anthony has never been more grateful that he lets everyone sponge off his Netflix login (although would it really kill them to not be using all the screens on the rare occasions he actually has the time and inclination to watch something?).

The trouble is that there are plenty of other teams who are clearly regulars, and they were put together in order to be serious contenders. The questions and answers are flying through the air, the quizmaster, a skinny older man with big hair shouting “Correct! For ten points,” more often than not, and most importantly, the Quizzie Bennets are availing themselves nicely. (He should have guessed as soon as he saw the matching T-shirts.)

Questions his team can’t answer correctly bounce to them next, and he can’t help but toss Kate an incredulous look after she not only answers that Angela Merkel was voted chancellor of November rather than October 2005, but also rattles off the margin for and against. Her eyes meet his as if she was expecting his glance, but she just shrugs before wrapping her lips around her straw and taking a dainty sip of her drink. He has to look away then.

Still, Team Quizerton (apparently the name that both Colin and Eloise had hated enough for Daphne to negotiate them to agreement) has done well enough that Anthony feels confident as they move into the final round.

“And what will the twist be tonight?” the excitable quizmaster asks, although he then just presses a button on his phone rather than spinning some kind of enormous wheel. His face lights up as he announces grandly, “Ah, the ladder!”

He quickly outlines the rules: each team will have five questions selected for them in ascending order of difficulty, with point values from ten to fifty. For each correct answer, they will receive the corresponding points and the option of requesting a related bonus question for half the initial question’s value. Wrong answers mean a point deduction, double for bonus questions, and the end of play for that team. You can also pass, choosing another team to answer and forfeiting further questions for yours but freezing your points where they stand.

It’s more like a game show than any trivia night that Anthony is familiar with, but he actually appreciates the strategy element; he can understand why this would be Kate’s preferred contest.

He considers giving a pep talk to the table, but all of them - except for Simon, who’s looking somewhere between vaguely amused and bored - are dialed in, ready to claim victory, so he settles back and readies himself for it too.

It happens in the final round. Anthony is just allowing himself to feel the slightest bit smug at having earned them another 75 points by not only correctly responding that Sri Lanka was the first country to have a female prime minister, but answering the bonus of her name (Sirimavo Bandaranaike) and year of election (1960) as well. The quizmaster nods, turns, and reads off the next question: “This famous playwright’s last words were reportedly ‘I knew it! I knew it! Born in a hotel room and, goddamn it, dying in a hotel room.’”

There’s a strange, deep silence, then a buzz of whispering among the Quizzie Bennets, and Anthony is struck by the realization that they don’t know the answer. He certainly doesn’t either, and a glance around at his group tells him that they would have been screwed had they gotten the question, but it doesn’t matter. Excitement licks up his throat, victory so close he can taste it…

And then Kate’s head comes up from the huddle, and her eyes meet his, and he knows exactly what she is going to do before she does it.

“Ten seconds!” says the quizmaster.

“Trust me,” Kate mouths to her teammates, and then says aloud, “We’d like to pass, and give the Know It Ales a chance to answer.”

Anthony’s mouth goes dry. Stupid team name aside, they’ve been confidently answering questions all night, and this time is no different. Their leader is nearly bored as he immediately says, “Eugene O’Neill.” And Anthony can barely hear the room around him over the blood rushing in his ears as they answer the follow-up too.

When the quizmaster declares the Know It Ales the champions for the evening, Kate slings her arms around her teammates and cheers as if he’s announced her name instead. The other Quizzie Bennets look puzzled, but when she stares defiantly at Anthony, chin raised, beaming, glowing not like she’s in the spotlight but like she’s the light itself, he somewhat suspects that she’s the winner indeed.

“Isn’t that—” Colin starts somewhere close to Anthony’s ear.

“No, it is not,” Anthony tells him firmly, and wrestles him off to pay their tab.

Later that night, after he’s somewhat successfully distracted himself with work and somewhat less successfully distracted himself with looking for something to watch (why isn’t everyone asleep, and even if they are up, could they really not leave him one available screen?) he finds himself sitting on the edge of his bed with his work phone in one hand and his personal one in the other. And even though he knows exactly how bad an idea it is, he very carefully references the campaign contact group and keys one number into a new text message in his personal phone.

Sorry that this didn’t seem to be your night. Best of luck to your team next time.

He shoves out a breath and stands as soon as he’s sent it, forces himself to start getting ready for bed; she’s probably asleep now, or she might read it as rude or sarcastic and choose not to respond, and the text is just going to sit there, awkward and interminable…

There are plenty of ways to be lucky, thanks very much, and I think we found one - although I look forward to reclaiming my rightful title someday soon. See you on Monday, Bridgerton.

Regardless of what he tells himself, he can’t quite get the stupid grin off his face as he shuts off the light. He’s under no illusions about who his dreams will feature tonight.

Monday night before the election, Anthony leaves the office past eleven. He rubs his eyes as he walks past dark cubicles and conference rooms - unsurprisingly, he’s the last one around - and decides that what he needs more than sleep is something to eat, and not whatever cup noodles or single egg he might come up with at home. No, he needs comfort food, something generous and hot and greasy as Benedict’s face the year he was thirteen (not that his at fifteen was much better).

His favorite hole in the wall is open until midnight, so he stumbles over there and buys the biggest order of chips he can, the enormous burger nearly an afterthought. The place is tiny and not the sort of spot that has ever even heard of ambiance, but he’s tired and the idea of waiting to get back to his flat and eating in its emptiness isn’t particularly appealing. He turns with his food in hand and finds Kate looking up at him, startled, from one of the three tables.

He could take one of the others, leave them to eat in awkward peace, or he could pretend he had always intended to have his food to go. Instead he comes over and asks, “Can I join you?”

Her capable hands moving just a note too slowly, as though giving him time to reconsider, she collects the documents from the opposite side of the table, tapping them into order as he waits patiently. She folds her fingers atop the neat stack in front of her once she’s finished, watching as he dives into his meal; he should probably be embarrassed about it, but he doesn’t really have the energy.

They talk about inconsequential things - how the weather forecast might cause trouble with voter turnout, the unfortunate office incident with Johnson and the speakerphone last week, mutual political acquaintances - and Anthony realizes that it’s the first time they’ve ever done this, just made small talk without disagreeing. Kate doesn’t lose her sharp tongue simply because they are in casual conversation, but it’s different when her remarks aren’t directed at him; hearing her pert analyses of other candidates and campaign staffers actually makes him laugh.

She’s left half a piece of cold fish and polished off more than a few of his chips (completely unthinkingly, he’s sure) when they’re informed that closing time’s come and they have to clear the table. It would be completely natural for them to part ways and see each other in the morning for another round of sparring, but he finds himself saying, “I think I might go get a drink,” and finds her answering, “I think I might join you.”

He regrets it just a bit when he’s balanced on the bar stool (he really is exhausted; this is the earliest he’s been out of the office in days) but then Kate raises her wineglass and says, “To the homestretch,” and smiles just a bit as he touches his glass to hers. The light falls cozy and dim around them and he can still see exactly how long and competent her fingers are, wrapped around the stem, the places where strands of hair have escaped their pins, trailing down to rest against her exposed throat.

Right, he thinks inanely to himself. Right, excellent, this was a good choice, and belts back his scotch before signaling for another.

“Those were your siblings?” she asks, taking a sip of her own drink. “At trivia the other night?”

“Some of them were...are…” He shakes his head, trying to straighten out his own meaning. “It was some of my siblings, the oldest four, and my brother-in-law, and my sister’s best friend.” Then, before he can stop himself, he adds, “I saw your sister was there as well.”

“Hmm,” she says, taking another sip of her cabernet, and he can see her spine stiffening, armor reasserting itself.

For the first time, he realizes that she could easily hate Edie, her younger sister - her younger half-sister, even - who is sweet and accomplished and more apparently pretty, the one people’s eyes turn to when the Sheffield girls are around, but what Kate displays is no begrudging love.

It would probably be better for him to change the topic, get them back on safer ground, but though he might be smart, he’s not necessarily wise, so he tosses back his second scotch and asks, “Why did you warn me off her the first time? You didn’t even know me.”

“Yes, but I knew of you,” she says. As always, she faces the comment head on, doesn’t even pretend not to remember exactly what he’s talking about. “I was starting in the industry, I needed to have an ear to the ground and at least a general sense of the players, and I didn’t like the sense I got about you. It didn't make me think you were the kind of person to trust with my sister.”

“I’ve never—I would never—I don’t think I’ve—” he says, stumbling, slightly stricken. He knows that there are whisper networks about the people - the men - in their field, knows exactly who some of the whispers are about and has done his best to be the type of person who helps make those whispers into shouts. It would kill him a bit to find out that he’s done something that would make someone feel the need to speak about him that way.

“Not necessarily on a personal level,” she says, suddenly gentle, then circles her finger around the rim of her glass and amends, “Well, not that way. People actually said you were very smart and a good employer, but when I learned more about your history, the jobs you’d worked on in the past, it didn’t feel like there was any principle to your choices. As if you were just willing to sell yourself to whoever asked, or at least whoever looked good on a resume. Edwina deserves more than that.”

She is looking at him extremely frankly, as if she hasn’t just shrugged away the idea of the career he’s built, but with the way she says her sister’s name, the softness of it, how she somehow makes the full, old-fashioned version more personal than the nickname - he understands that sort of devotion. Hearing it from her steals the irritation beginning to build even as she continues. “I could never even entirely figure out why you went into politics rather than something else. You’re reasonably intelligent, you could have done any number of things if you weren’t particularly invested in the issues.”

Somehow, instead of the protest he was expecting, that he was intending, what comes out is simply, “It’s the family business.”

“I’m sorry?”

“The Bridgerton Group. My father started it.” By her expression, she doesn’t think that two generations exactly makes a family legacy, but for once she holds her tongue, and his, loose with drink and exhaustion, can’t hold back.

“I grew up playing under the table at a dozen campaign offices across London and having poster mock-ups as my placemats. When I was a bit older, I was allowed to volunteer, and I loved seeing him there, in his element, listening to proposals and then telling everyone, ‘Well, here’s what we’re going to do.’” He swallows. “He—My father died, just after my first year at university, and I wasn’t old or experienced enough to take his place. The staff went off to work for other people, and all I could think about was how disappointed he would have been, to see this thing he’d built, this thing he loved, fall apart so easily. The entire time until I graduated, while I was getting experience with other consulting firms and working on other campaigns, I was just waiting until I could do justice to what he left behind for me.

“He nearly called it ABC Consulting, but my mother told him that it sounded too juvenile. My parents had me and my brothers fairly young - he was still a student when Benedict and I were born - and he wanted to name it after us.”

He realizes as soon as he’s said it that he’s only ever admitted that once before, to Simon on a similarly drunken night during their final year at school, forgetting the way that Simon and his father were, or weren’t, with each other; his friend’s face had closed up as soon as the words had left Anthony’s mouth, and they’d never talked about it again. But Kate’s face is open, listening, more than he thinks he’s ever seen from her, in such a way that he thinks he could reveal anything to her.

He could tell her about the trouble he and his brothers got up to as children, or how he likes watching baking shows to relax even though he’s not worth a damn in the kitchen, or that he can’t stop himself from adding another mile to his morning run each time he finds a gray hair. He could start talking about how complicated his feelings have grown regarding the man who was once his best friend, or about the way his entire chest had burned as his mother placed a squalling Hyacinth into his nineteen-year-old hands before closing her eyes and about how he never wants either of them to know that he’d tried to force himself not to tremble and had trembled anyway. But this isn’t the time for any of that, so he continues.

“I wanted to put it back together for him. There were candidates I took on in the early days who were stepping stones, necessary to building a reputation but who I wouldn’t work with again now that I have the reputation and the choices that come with it. And I have my own opinions on the issues - some of which might match yours more closely than you’d expect - but I’m there to make sure that the candidates who hire me succeed in getting where they want to be. I’m good at that, and I’m committed to it, and I’ve never run a campaign I wasn’t proud of. Sometimes, though, being around you, I wonder if you're going to eventually talk me into a different philosophy.”

His glass is full again though he isn’t sure when that happened, and a group of middle-aged men with ties undone and suitcases beneath their eyes fumbles past the bar behind them toward a booth, but the only thing he is paying attention to is Kate’s considering gaze on him as she absently swirls the wine remaining in her glass.

“I have the feeling,” she finally says, “that when you say a different philosophy, you consider it a more naïve one. And I’m not certain that our opinions on the issues would really match up considering that you grew up with family money.” Her voice is not arch or insulting, though, and he would certainly know.

“We were...comfortable,” he admits. She raises a waspish eyebrow in response.

“No one who’s actually middle class would ever put it like that,” she informs him. “You most definitely have a trust fund.” But she actually smiles at him, and for once he knows what it’s like to have Kate Sheffield look at him with warmth in her eyes.

He’d quite like to have that again.

“Do you think—?”

“That we should dignify the remarks with a response? No, I absolutely do not.”

Anthony glares down at the article he has pulled up on his phone, then looks over at Kate, striding down the hall beside him, eating slices of peach out of a reusable container. For a moment he’s distracted from the rumormongering on behalf of one of their opposing campaigns; he thinks of Kate’s hands carefully working the knife around the fruit, of the way her tongue flicks over to catch the juice when she takes a bite…

“I could reach out,” he says, too loudly, before he walks into a wall. “I know the head of the campaign over there, I can remind him about the spirit of fair play and all that, especially this close to the finish line.”

She looks over at him incredulously, snapping the top onto her empty Tupperware. “I don’t care if you were the best man at his wedding, he’ll laugh you off the phone. I’ve had at least three listicles of our candidate’s best insults toward her opponents forwarded to me just this morning.”

“I had the feeling that wouldn’t work.” He pinches the bridge of his nose. Just three days left, for better or worse. “Fine, so we say nothing and hope that it passes out of the media cycle quickly and doesn’t do too much damage to the absentee votes.”

“As I said from the beginning.”

“You are far too determined never to let me have the last word,” he says, just the slightest bit amused, as they circle around the desks of the main office, edging their way over to hers.

She snags the toe of her ballet flat on a computer charger trailing across the floor, stumbles, but he catches her hand just in time and sets her upright again. She continues walking as if it hadn’t even happened, raising her voice enough to be heard over the chatter and buzz of phone calls as she teases, “What would be the fun in that?”

Aghast, he says, “We aren’t here to have fun, Sheffield.”

“Oh, did you actually want to win?” She tosses the empty container onto her desk as she drops into her chair, then looks up at him, swiveling slightly from side to side and shaking her head. “You really are a cliché.”

“Yeah, well, here’s another one: get to work.”

“I’m not sure that’s technically a cliché, but I suppose I could do that,” she says, with a shrug and a grin, turning toward her computer. He watches her for another few seconds, and then takes himself off to his office before he becomes too much of a cliché himself.

Despite the phone call he had earlier with his mother promising her that he wouldn’t, he falls asleep on his desk the night before the election, startling himself awake hours later.

“Too bloody old for this,” he mutters to himself, grimacing as seemingly every joint and muscle in his body quite firmly announces itself when he stands. Scrubbing a hand through his hair, he gathers his things and makes his way through the darkened office.

Except it isn’t as dark as he’d expected. He scans the desks to try to figure out who left their lamp on, and finds Kate with her head resting on her arms, essentially imitating him from ten minutes prior.

Briefly, he stands there, not entirely sure what to do, but then he walks over, hand hovering by her shoulder before he gives her a light shake.

“Kate,” he says softly, crouching so he’s closer to her level. Her loose ponytail drapes over the burgundy of her blouse, quite close to his hand. He had not realized that he would recognize the scent of her, clean and straightforward with a subtly delicate edge; he should have known - he’s been smelling it in his dreams for weeks. He swallows and shakes her once more. “Kate, you should go home.”

“That was meant to be my line,” she says, far more lucidly than he would have expected. He shifts back as she stirs and sits up, massaging her fingers over her eyes. “I had the feeling that you weren’t going to leave at a sensible time, so I was planning on reminding you before I went home, only apparently I can’t leave at a sensible time either.”

“No, I suspect that sensible times to leave the office don’t involve the letters A or M,” he agrees. “Not that I would know anything about that.”

As she readies herself to leave, he tries to remember that the way she stretches out her back or takes down her hair, how she swings her bag over her shoulder, the quick, assessing way her eyes cover the room to make certain everything is in its place: all of that should be unremarkable. But there’s a moment, just the tiniest sliver of time, when she’s flicked off her desk lamp and they begin to walk out together in the glow of the emergency exit signs and the dim light of windows from other office buildings - she glances over at him, his hair rumpled, tie and briefcase dangling from one hand, and he thinks that he sees her swallow in a way that he recognizes all too well.

And then the moment is gone, and they’re out on the sidewalk, about to go their separate ways, the car he’d called for her already waiting.

“Big day tomorrow,” he says over the top of the door, holding it open as she climbs in. “Are you ready for it?”

“I’m always ready.”

He laughs, soft as the night around them. “Yes, I suppose you are. Good night, then.”

She looks at him one last time in the yellow beam of the streetlight, still a bit sleepy-eyed but no less aware for it. “Good night, Bridgerton,” she tells him, and drives away, and he can’t help but wonder about what if she hadn’t, what if he’d said something or she had made a choice, what if she didn’t drive away from him again.

The day of the election is always the worst for him - all the work behind him, nothing really to be done but let the people vote. He’s in the office earlier than usual anyway, early enough that he isn't certain it was worthwhile going home, but this, at least, he can control. He manages to keep himself busy throughout the day, but it’s all just a countdown to that night.

Somehow, despite - or perhaps because of - the sleeplessness and planning and stress, it isn’t one those contests that drag on. Dr. Danbury is brought on stage at about a quarter to one alongside the other candidates; the results, when the returning officer announces them, are decisive.

She’d brushed away his offers to help or choose a staffer or hire someone to work on her speech with her; instead she’s written it herself, and although brief, it’s as firm and irreverent as she is. He suspects that no one will ever pack as much sarcasm into referring to certain colleagues as “the right honorable.”

He makes some calls and receives congratulations from his mother and siblings, who have long since ceased to find these sorts of things interesting enough to attend but who make certain to keep up from home. As Dr. Danbury frees from handshaking and small talking, he makes his way over to her.

“Congratulations, ma’am.” He holds out his hand, which she eyes with a lifted brow.

“Anthony Bridgerton, I’ve known you since you were charming people from your mother’s arms, and considering that - not to mention all we’ve been through together over these last months - I think you can stand to give me more than just a handshake.”

He hugs her, which feels odd and tells him more than anything that the campaign is over. When he pulls away from her, she pats his cheek. “Now, go celebrate. You’ve earned it. I’m certainly going to.” And she winks.

The campaign staff is making plans for drinks and dancing and even just going home to raise a glass with loved ones. He wades into the group, patting backs and shaking hands, speaking briefly to some of them, smiling all the while.

And then he sees Kate, toward the edge of the crowd, chatting with one of the young guys from finance. Edwina is beside them, likely not as inured to the excitement of the night as the Bridgertons.

Kate, the taller of the two, spots him, leaning over to say something to her sister before weaving her way over. He tips his head toward a quieter little hallway, and they go over together, leaning against parallel walls.

“Congratulations,” they say to each other at the same time, and then immediately after, “I only wanted to say—”

He nods at her to go first. It’s only polite. But there’s an unusual sort of trepidation about her face, a pause that he doesn’t expect, that makes him wonder if she wishes that he’d taken the initiative. Still, she’s Kate, so she takes a breath and comes out with, “Edwina is here tonight, and if you still wanted—Clearly I misjudged you, and so if you were still interested in her, I wouldn’t say anything.”

“Oh,” he says, and that is all he can manage for the moment, standing frozen and watching Kate force her shoulders back and her gaze to his.

He does not know precisely how to communicate the depths to which he has realized that he does not want to date Edie Sheffield, that he never wanted to date her, that his interest lies entirely elsewhere. What he says instead is, “I had wanted to ask you to stay on with the Group. Permanently. You’re very, very good at what you do, and I think that...You know, your perspective and your clarity during the campaign was extremely helpful, extremely valuable, to me.”

He can picture it plainly, has been picturing it already: Kate taking him to task about every little issue, forcing him to remember the things outside of the campaign itself, the bigger things. Kate, with her hair swept up and her eyes bright and furious, challenging him to be the best version of himself, or at least to want to try.

But then she looks up at him and says, “I’ve actually had another job offer recently. The candidate—I’m sorry, the MP-elect wants me to be her new chief of staff, and I was already inclined to accept.”

“You’re going to be incredible at that,” he says immediately, blank shock quickly giving way to sincerity then laughter. “I can’t believe I didn’t think of it sooner. Maybe I just didn’t think that Parliament was ready for it.”

“That’s probably for the best, though. Element of surprise and all.”

Her voice doesn’t trail away but as his laughter does, so does her smile, her animation; the air seems to fall thin and still. He doesn’t know that there’s ever been a beat of awkwardness between them like this, not even when they have been at their most prickly with each other, but it’s there now, in her eyes as she looks across at him, in his gut as he wonders what to say next.

“I’m glad you got another job offer,” is what comes out, and there is her unamused, interrogative eyebrow, hovering upward.

“So you weren’t serious with yours?”

“No, of course I was, it’s only that...Well, I’ve been your boss up until now, regardless of how much you might believe it should be the other way around.” That even gets him a slight returning smile, enough for him to ignore the dryness in his mouth and the franticness of his chest to say, “And if you had taken the job with me, I would have continued to be your boss. Which would have made it rather unacceptable for me to ask you out.”

In the space of that breath, with the silence heavy between them even as they stand right beside a crowded room, even as Dr. Danbury’s voice crows easily above the others, still practiced from projecting through the university lecture hall, he wonders if she is going to leave him like this, cards on the table, only the fall below him.

“Well,” she finally says, slow as anything. She is looking up at him, considering and careful, but he knows that her mind must be working at triple its already remarkable speed. “If I’m going to be around the city, and there’s no conflict of interest…”

He doesn’t entirely like the way it is turning into something neat and logical in front of him when he’s never felt anything close to that around her. He doesn’t like the way she looks tentative, pushing back against the edge of something more than caution - fear, perhaps, as if this might be a trick, as if the idea of allowing herself to crack open is unbearably terrifying, and it looks wrong on her face, so bold and familiar, he never wants to see that expression there again. He reaches out across the space, and when she reaches back, he takes her hand.

“Kate,” he says. “You are the most infuriating person I’ve ever known and possibly the smartest, you are wildly, overly principled and somehow make me want to be the same, you never let me have a moment’s peace, I can’t stop thinking about you, and I’d like to go on a date with you.”

“Well, that does sum things up nicely, Anthony,” she tells him, and despite herself, he can see a little snatch of a smile just there, the warmth growing in her eyes as they look right into him, the fear working its way from her. Still, she tries for nonchalance as she says, “My contract with the campaign doesn’t end until Friday. We can do Saturday night, if you’re up for it.”

He’s up for it. He takes her out Saturday night for dinner, hides a smile as she pokes fun at his shoes, gets into an argument with her about education funding, and goes to bed more distracted by a half hour of pressing her against her front door (and then onto her sofa for another twenty minutes) than he has any right to be considering he isn’t fourteen. He spends Sunday night with her too, and on Monday they go to see a movie they both hate but can’t stop talking about, and he is fairly certain he is going to spend essentially every night with her for the rest of his life.

It isn’t peaceful - and only likely to get busier once they both really get back to work - and her dog is a nuisance and Colin tries to take credit for the whole thing, and they’re so happy that neither of them cares.

[driversmutbucket]

Kitten VI

Hello beautiful readers. I know many of you are itching for the next installment of these two.

Enjoy x

Tag list: Tag list: @reyloaddict55​ @candycanes19​ @jediminddicks1000​ @finn-ray-nal-beads​ @maybe-your-left​ @thegreenmatt​ @morby​ @sydneyssmut​ @contesa-lui-alucard​

Kylo Ren AU x reader

Warning ⚠️NSFW, semi public sex, sub/dom dynamic, phone sex, mentions of sugar dad

dies, Daddy kink (come on it was a matter of time kids).

I googled you.

You stared at the txt message from Kylo with a frown. Your mind instantly driving off the deep end and wondering what fresh hell he had found.

You quickly typed your name into google and scrolled through the first screen. Nothing exciting, the gallery website, a few videos of presentations you had done, some academic papers and art reviews. 

You exhaled and sipped your tea, typing back a reply. 

Should I be concerned? 

Far from it. I watched your presentations. They were very good. 

Warmth bloomed in your chest. 

Thank you. But weren’t you bored to tears? 

No, I like art. And the skirts you wear. 

Ah. 

I hope you weren’t having inappropriate thoughts at work again, Doctor. Control yourself. You can’t see but I am rolling my eyes ;)

Would you and your skirt like to come for the weekend?

My skirt and I would. Are you going to collect me from the gallery? I can show you around like we talked about?

Yes, see you tomorrow, Kitten. 

—-

You found yourself glancing at the clock and your phone every 5 minutes after 5pm. 

Last weekend had seemed like both a turning point and a reset, in whatever this relationship with Kylo was. You knew about each other now. Mostly surface level, although Kylo was proving to be a very layered and complex individual. 

You had googled him, finally, last night. The results were mainly work related, impressive reviews and accolades amongst photos from upmarket social gatherings. Many images of him in suits, that made your mouth go dry. 

Your office phone rang, making you jump out of your skin. 

“Ma’am I have a Mr Ren here, saying you are expecting him?”

You glanced at the clock, a lot earlier than you had expected him.

“Yes I am, you can let him in, thanks.” You said to the head of security. They would have been starting to close for the day at the front entrance. 

There was a knock at your door. 

“Come in.” 

Kylo walked in with a little smile, surveying your office, and then you, at your desk. You looked at him over the frames of your reading glasses, your lips curling into a smile.

He walked over to you wordlessly, you stood up to meet him, reaching for him. 

“Hi” you breathed, pecking his lips. 

“Hello my Kitten” he said softly, resting his lips on your forehead. 

“I’ve still got a few emails to reply to.” You sighed, sagging against chest.

“I don’t mind, I promise I won’t distract you.” 

The little smirk on his face told you otherwise.

He proceeded to sit in your desk chair and pat his lap, “come be a good girl and finish your work.” 

Your inner sub purred. 

You sat on his lap, he circled your waist and pulled you back so you were flush against him, your feet unable to touch the floor.

He lowered the office chair so it would fit under the desk.

You had to lean forward to use the keyboard and mouse, your bottom pressing into his groin. 

God help me you thought, looking at the 10 unread emails in your inbox. 

You opened the first one, as his hand slid under your blouse. You struggled to read the text as he unclipped your bra and his hands cupped your breasts, squeezing gently. 

You cursed under your breath before hitting reply, you could feel his cock hardening beneath you. 

“Your heart is beating very fast.” he murmured, nuzzling into your neck, thumbs rubbing your nipples gently.

“Gee, i wonder why.” you deadpanned, as your fingers flew across the keyboard.

He tutted, “Attitude, Kitten, don’t be a brat.” before tweaking both of your nipples and making you squeak.

“How many emails do you need to reply to?” Kylo asked. 

“10.”

“I want you to count them down as you reply.”

“Yes Sir, 1.” you said as you hit send. 

By email 5 you were hot and bothered. Kylo was whispering praises with a rough voice as you typed. 

“Stand up.” he instructed, as you hit send on email 5.

You did as you were told, you heard him shuffling behind you, the zip of his fly, before his hands snaked around your front and undid your trousers, pulling everything down to your knees.

“Come, sit back down, on my cock.” His voice sounded strained as he guided your hips to the position.

You moaned softly as the head of his cock prodded your entrance. He pulled you down, with a groan, until you were seated back on his lap, stuffed full. “JesusfuckingChrist.” you whined.

“No moving until you are done with your work.” he breathed, nibbling the shell of your ear. 

“You are cruel.” you hissed, before opening email number 6.

He chuckled darkly, before running his hands back up your blouse. 

By email 10 you were seeing double, clenching around him to spite him. 

“You little devil.” he hissed in your ear before groaning as you squeezed as hard as you could. 

You hummed smugly as you typed. Hoping the recipients didn’t judge the plethora of grammatical errors too harshly.  

“10!” you announced, as you hit send.

He stood up so fast you would have face planted into the desk, had he not been gripping your hips. 

You braced yourself on the desk as he drew out and slammed back into you, so hard you were half winded.

“Fuck, this fucking pussy drives me wild.” he growled, the previous restraint evaporating as he began to piston into you. 

God bless the solid oak of your desk, had it been flimsy, everything would surely be on the floor. 

“Do you know how fucking, goddamn, sexy you look, sitting at this desk, hmm?” he hissed. 

You could only whimper in response, your brain turning to mush.

“I swear to god, you are going to kill me.” he was borderline babbling now, his thrusts slightly erratic as his orgasm built. 

“Sir-.. Kylo-...fuck, i need-”

“Cum on my cock Kitten.” he gritted out. 

Like a good little sub, you did just that, whimpering, white-knuckling the edge of the desk as you climaxed.

He soon followed with a string of curses, fingertips digging into the soft flesh of your hips. 

You were utterly boneless when he pulled out, staying bent over the desk with your trousers, now at your ankles. 

His lips on the small of your back brought you back to earth. He pulled up your trousers, and you laughed as you stood up, legs wobbly. 

“Jesus Christ Doc.” you teased, turning to face him as you buttoned up your trousers, “now i’m going to have your cum dripping out of me for the entire tour.”

“A dangerous thing to say to me Kitten.” Kylo smirked, taking your face in his hands and kissing you softly. 

You smiled against his lips. 

--

You took him around the gallery, hand in hand. 

“Tell me if you are getting bored.” you urged, running your hand down his chest. You had just finished a long spiel about the large Kandinsky painting, that was your personal favorite. 

He had a soft smile on his face the whole time as his eyes flicked from you to the painting. 

“Watching you talk so passionately will never be boring to me.” he murmured, “you look radiant, beautiful, i could watch it all day.”

You couldn’t help beaming up at him, heart fluttering. 

You were still beaming as security let you out the front doors.

“Night boss.” The guard said cheerily as he shut the door behind you both.

“Who would have thought my little Kitten would be a big bad boss.” Kylo teased, as you walked down the steps.

You scoffed, “ha! Hardly! I like to think I am nice, thank you very much.”

He smacked your ass lightly, chuckling.

“Also I am hungry!” You announced, “so watch out.” You looked at him, through narrowed eyes.

He rolled his eyes, but was smiling at you fondly, “let’s get you fed then.”

You hummed happily as you came to his car, pausing to reach for his face for a kiss.

--

The weekend slipped by in the blink of an eye.

It was becoming increasingly harder, with every passing week to return to your home, alone. 

You had finally convinced Kylo to stay at your place the next coming weekend. You had a feeling that it was a big deal (to him) to come to your home. He was giving over some of the control. Control made him feel safe - or so you theorized. 

Your phone lit up on Wednesday night as you were crawling into bed. 

I have a charity function on Friday night, would you like to be my date? It will probably be boring but less so with you there. 

Wow, really selling it to me there Dr Ren. But yes, i will be your date ;) I hope you will be wearing a suit. I like you in a suit.

I will be wearing a suit, Kitten, just for you. Can i buy you a dress? 

You smilled to yourself, biting your lower lip.

Are you going to be my sugar daddy now? ;) You can get me one, if you really want to, Daddy.

You saw the little dots that indicated he was typing stop and start for almost a minute.

Then your phone rang. 

“Hello” you purred softly.

“Kitten.” his voice was a bit hoarse. 

“Mmmm?” 

“What are you doing right now?”

“Sitting in bed.”

“and what are you wearing?”

“A tee. That’s all.”

He made a strained noise.

“Is your cock hard for me?” You purred. “Wish I could take you in my mouth.”

“Fuck.” He hissed, you could hear a rustling sound as he put you on loud speaker.

You did the same, laying back against your pillows.

“Why are you all hot and bothered.” You asked innocently.

“Your. message.” He gritted out. You had no doubt he was fisting his cock.

“What about my message, was it when I called you Daddy?” You breathed, gasping as you grazed your clit.

The moan that crackled through the phone was confirmation enough. You rummaged in your bedside cupboard for your vibrator as your pussy throbbed relentlessly.

“What are you doing Kitten?”

“Getting my vibrator, I want to touch my pussy, Daddy, please let me touch it.” You whined.

“Sofuckinghotwhenyoutalklikethatfuck.” He babbled, struggling to play along.

“Dadddddddddy, please!”

“Touch that sweet little cunt baby, I want to hear.” He rumbled, you could here his little pants of exertion as he pumped himself hard.

A loud moan ripped out of your throat as you pushed the wand to your clit, pleasure shooting through your body.

“Daddy— oh fuck— I! I’m not going to last long!” You whimpered, back arching off the bed as you kept the wand pressed to your clit.

“That’s ok Kitten, let me hear those pretty noises when you cum, let Daddy hear them” he urged.

You cried out as you began to climax, surprising even yourself how fast you were over the edge.

A slew of cursing and groans came through the phone, suggesting that Kylo was in the same boat.

You lay, panting. The phone line was silent.

“Want me to call you Daddy next time we fuck?” You asked with a little laugh.

“Fuck yes i do.” He rasped.

—

[justanotherwriter-fangirl]

Confessions (C. R.)

Words: 2,389 words

Warnings: Not that I can think of

Request:  Hey there! I noticed that you write for connor rhodes? I loved the latest story you posted, so i was wondering if you could write him confessing his feelings? Maybe the reader is another doctor or something, it's up to You, i know I'll love it regardless. Keep the good work💞 already loving your blog as it is.

A/N: Hi!!! I'm so sorry for taking so long to the anon who made this request :( but it's finally here!! I hope you like it and it's what you expected it 😅 As you can see I got a little bit carried away, hope you enjoy it!!!

Gif obtained from Google. All credits to its owner.

Thanks for reading

_______________________

Monday morning and the emergency room was already madness. A huge accident, a collapsed office building, was the cause of the rush in the ED having every doctor in the hospital working extra hard to attend the wounded.

You could hear Maggie and Mrs. Goodwin yelling orders outside Trauma 2 where you were examining a teen, probably an intern.

He was awake and responsive but you knew better so just to make sure he was really okay you ordered some X-rays and a CT Scan.

Leaving the room to treat someone else while the results came back, you quickly stepped out of the way of a gurney that almost ran over you, Connor and a bunch of nurses behind it heading to Trauma 1 to attend a woman not much older than you who didn't look good.

Behind them all there was a young man trying to catch up with them so you stepped on his way to stop him.

"Hi, sir. I'm Dr. (Y/L/N), are you okay? How can I help you?" you said as you raised your hands to calm him a little bit.

"How is she? Where are you taking her? Will she be okay?" he quickly asked, his full attention on the woman who was now disappearing behind some glass doors.

"Sir, I need you to look at me, please" you mentioned firmly, once his eyes settled on yours you added "Right now Dr. Rhodes is going to diagnose her to learn the severity of her injuries and treat her, but if you are not wounded you need to be on the waiting room, we have a lot of patients to treat and barely enough space considering the situation so please, wait outside and I promise you that as soon as I hear something about her I'll go out myself to keep you posted"

"You promise?"

"I do, I promise" you said escorting him to the waiting room "But let me tell you, your girlfriend is in really good hands, Dr. Rhodes is the best cardiothoracic surgeon we have on the hospital"

"Yeah, okay, thank you doctor" he finished barely listening to you and sitting on a chair, worried because needing a cardiothoracic surgeon couldn't be good, didn't it?

Once he was out of your way you passed to your next patient, a passerby who luckily only needed some stitches.

Your whole day went by in a blur, being pulled from one patient to another with barely time to breath in between.

Nevertheless, you had made a promise earlier so when you managed to get 5 free minutes you went straight to Maggie at the nurse station.

"Hey, Maggie. Have a minute?"

"Ummm... yeah, real quick. What do you need?"

"I just want to know about the status of a patient, Connor was the main doctor. Brunette woman, not much older than me, her face was bruised and she had a nasty cut on her leg, she was sent to Trauma 1"

"Oh, yeah she went almost immediately to surgery, she was in really bad shape, internal bleeding"

"Okay, thank you. Please let me know when they came out, her boyfriend is in the waiting room"

As you glanced at the waiting room, you could still see him on the same chair you left him, his leg bouncing up and down, probably scared that you wouldn't find him if he moved.

Getting closer to him you felt bad because her girl was really bad and he was so worried and you couldn't do anything about it.

"Sir?" You said when you were standing next to him.

"Dr. (Y/L/N)" he quickly stood up "You can call me Danny"

"Danny, I have news. I just talk with the charge nurse and she told me that..."

"Amy"

"Amy, yeah, she's on surgery, she was suffering of serious internal bleeding but she was immediately treated. Right now I don't have anything else for you but I'll let you know when she gets out so you can go see her."

“Yeah, thanks doctor”

A couple hours later you were making some coffee on the break room when you heard the door being open, Connor walking in.

"Hey, out of surgery already?" You said remembering Danny and his very worried state, while handing him a cup of coffee. It really looked like he needed it.

"Thanks (Y/N). Yeah, it was difficult but we made it, we manage to control all the bleeding, we had to remove her spleen though" he informed you taking a seat on the couch.

"So she's stable?"

"For now, she will be sedated for a while too but everything seems fine"

"It's so good to hear it Connor, I met her boyfriend. He's worried sick and I promised I'd let him know when she got out of surgery" you said heading towards the door.

"Wait..." he said quickly standing up and grabbing your hand to stop you, your heart starting to beat a little faster "I'll let him know, it's my job and you probably are tired, stay here and rest a bit"

Looking up to see him in the eyes, you realized how close you two were. You had always had a thing for Connor, him being the first person who welcomed you into the hospital when you first got here.

Since then he became a really good friend, problem was that you didn't want him just to be your friend. He was sweet and funny and handsome and so smart, it wasn't really a surprise when you figured you had feelings for him.

Unfortunately, you couldn't do anything about it, you didn't want to ruin your friendship. It was just too special.

“Sure?” 

“Sure, you have nothing to worry about” he said slowly letting your hand go.

“Ok, thanks. His name is Danny, black shirt, jeans and a red jacket”

“Got it, now go back and enjoy your coffee, you deserve some rest”

In his way to the wait room he couldn’t stop thinking about how your hand felt in his, if he had to be really honest, every time you’d step into the room his eyes immediately would fell over you, you were like a magnet and he could barely focus on anything else.

Since the first time you took a step on the ED he felt attracted to you but with the pass of time he started to get to know you and his feelings eventually grew. It actually made him feel kinda helpless, having feelings for you but unable to let you know in case you wouldn’t feel the same, it hurt him a little bit more each day.

You were so sweet, always caring for the patients, even if they weren’t directly under your care, you were so full of life and happy most of the times, babies loved you and you were one of the best doctors he had ever met, so intelligent and beautiful yet somehow unaware of the effect you had in others.

He immediately spotted Danny, impossible to miss the red jacket he was wearing and stood right in front of him.

“Danny? You’re Amy’s boyfriend? Dr. (Y/L/N) send me, I’m Dr. Rhodes”

“Well, she’s technically not my girlfriend, not yet at least, soon I hope but yes, I’m here with her”

He raised an eyebrow, a little bit amused with his rambling

“Not yet? Dr. (Y/L/N) says otherwise”

“She never gave me the chance to correct her” he said sheepishly scratching the back of his neck “but as soon as you tell me Amy is okay I’m ready to tell her. I never wanted to scare her away or lose her friendship but I almost lost her today, for good, and I realized I’m not ready to let her go without her knowing how I really feel, without her knowing that I love her and I want to spend the rest of my days with her if she lets me. Even if she says no at least she'll know the truth and I'll feel so much better, lighter than carrying my secret for life. If she knows I might have a chance with her, she might say yes, but if she doesn't it's already impossible. Sometimes life’s too short, don’t you think. Dr. Rhodes?”

"I guess you're right Danny, I'm glad you're ready because things are looking good. We manage to stop her internal bleeding and she's now unconscious due to the anesthesia but you can go see her now."

"Really? Oh my God, doctor, thank you so much"

"Good luck" he said before telling him her room and walk away. 

Throughout the rest of the week he couldn't take Danny's words out of his head, he knew he was right. If he wanted a chance to be with you, because he was sure he wanted just that, to call you his, he had to come clean, tell you how he felt and wait for the best before it was too late. 

It was friday night already, his shift almost ending and he was trying to gather all his confidence to ask you out tonight. He promised himself he would do it before the night ended but it was really hard to find the right words and the right moment, you were always hurrying around from one patient to another, barely having a free couple minutes to talk. He didn't want to rush it, he wanted to tell you everything and the fact that he could see Danny everyday coming to the hospital with flowers wasn't helping at all, it was just a constantly reminder of how he was unable to let you know about his feelings. 

Letting a sigh escape his lips he leaned against the nurse bay, he wasn't ready to give up, his mind already made up, but you weren't doing it easy. 

Just as he was about to call it night, the clock marking already 10 pm, he saw entering the break room. This was his chance. 

Sneaking in behind you he closed the door and locked it, he didn't want any interruptions. 

"(Y/N), I need to talk to you for a minute" he firmly stated. 

"Oh, hey Connor. Sure, tell me" you said grabbing a mug to pour some coffee on it, not really paying much attention to his nervous state. 

"It's important so please let me finish first and then you can say whatever you want to say" he said grabbing your shoulder to make you turn around. standing directly in front of you for the first time you realized how on edge he was. 

"Okay… yeah, of course. You know you can tell me anything, Connor. I'm here for you, no matter what"

"I hope you really mean that" he mumbled letting a nervous laugh out. "Okay so, I've been wanted to tell you this for a while and it might be a little shocking but recently someone made me realize that life's short and we need to take action in order to make things happen and I'm ready to tell you this because I don't want to live any longer without you knowing the truth. This could go either one of two ways and I hope this ends the good way, I really do but anyway I can't keep it a secret anymore.” he let out a sigh before grabbing your hands, his eyes bearing into your soul. “(Y/N), this might come as a surprise but I really like you, I’ve liked you for a long time and I’d like to go out with you, as more than a friend. Being completely honest with you, I’m quite sure I feel so much more than just that but I really don’t want to scare you off, it’s just that you are such a beautiful human being and you make me so happy, even if you are not with me the mere thought of you makes me smile. So, what do you say? Would you go out with me? On a date?”

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing, was he really asking you out? 

“Why?” was the first thing that left your mouth

“Why? Why do I want to date you? (Y/N), did you listen all I just said?”

“Yes, I did but this seems to good to be truth, why would you want to date me? There are so many doctors and nurses and even patients who would love to go out with you, doctors and nurses and patients way more beautiful and successful and smarter than me”

“I don’t care about others, I only want to date you, call you mine. I wish you could see yourself the way I do because you are such an amazing person, you are beautiful and sweet and way more intelligent than anyone here, you are independent and strong and you don’t take no for an answer, you do all you can and more for your patients and you always try your best to let them leave with their families safe and sound. You are all I could ever ask for, the woman of my dreams and even then I’m pretty sure I don’t deserve you, so it’s all your decision now”

“Are you kidding me? Of course I would love to go out with you Connor, that’s the nicest someone have ever told me and I’m just so lucky that the guy I really like was the one who said it”

“Wait, what?”

“I like you too, Connor, like a lot and this just feels like out of one of my dreams”

“It’s not a dream” he whispered grabbing your chin with his right hand, his eyes silently asking for permission and only after you nodded slightly he leaned down to press his lips against yours, a sweet and slow kiss confirming it, this was not a dream, this was real and it was a hundred times better.

As you separated to look at each other you heard Will celebrating and shouting from the outside breaking your little bubble.

“Yes! Hey guys, they finally did it. Nat, I told you they wouldn’t last any longer, you owe me 20 bucks” he said walking away, making you both laugh, of course there was no privacy in this hospital.

_______________________

Masterlist

[wonderfullyinaccurate]

Someone Like Me || Part 1/2

Warnings:

- Abusive Relationship(past mentioned and present actively described)

- Physical Abuse(past mentioned and present actively described)

You have been warned.

- Minjun is an OC made up completely by me.

This does not portray what I think of anyone involved and is simply made up of my imagination. Thank you. 

- Happy Ending(both parts)

Short Description: Jeongguk is in an abusive relationship and Taehyung comes to his rescue after a bad night.

Jeongguk’s POV

I flinch as a glass is thrown across the kitchen, just barely missing me, and shattering against the wall. Tears were already streaming down my face and I was shaking uncontrollably. I thought that I would have grown used to this now, but each time he became more and more terrifying. He became much more violent as the months progressed, I don’t know where it all went wrong. Everything was perfect. Where did I go wrong?

Ugly sobs were pouring out of me and all he did was continue to yell and berate me. He reached for more and more solid objects to launch in my direction. I try to dodge and avoid them but one of our particularly denser glass hit me in the head, shattering on my skull. I let out a choked scream as it struck me and almost instantly fell to the ground . He took this as an opportunity to dash over and grab me by my neck and yank me upwards. I gasp from the the sudden move and lack of inflowing air.

“You fucking bitch!”, Minjun yells while tightening his grip on my neck, “I asked you to do one simple fucking thing and you can’t even do that?! You’re home all fucking day doing absolutely nothing, you useless piece of shit!”

“Mi-Minjun. I-I’m s-sorry. I-I wa-was s-sick th-this mo-morning”, I say while gasping for air.

“Fucking useless!”, he says while throwing me back down to the ground.

I inhale sharply, trying to regain my breath. I reach a hand up to my neck, touching it lightly, it was sure to bruise from his force. I had barely gotten my breathing under control when I received a sharp kick right to my ribs, instantly knocking the air out of me again. He kicked me again in the stomach and once in the chest, though he was aiming for my face. I let out scream with every kick, hoping it would just end.

I curl up in to a small ball on the floor once the kicking ceased. Silent cries wracking through me. I hear him scoff and leave the room, mumbling something incoherent under his breath. Minutes later the front door to our shared apartment swings open and slams shut, signifying that he left, most likely to go drink. I stayed in my position, unable to move elsewhere at this point. I could feel a warm liquid trickling down my face, it had to be blood from the glass that hit me prior.

I was struggling to breathe still, he must have cracked a rib or something, I couldn’t tell though everything hurt. He had only been gone for a few minutes when I suddenly hear someone knocking loudly on the door. There is nothing I can think of at the moment to get their attention as I surely couldn’t yell either. The knocking continues. I could hear their voice now.

“Hello! I heard yelling! What’s going on? Is everything okay?”, a deep voice booms from outside, it almost sounds like the door was partially open.

Maybe Minjun slamming the door didn’t allow it to shut all the way.

I try making some noise, but anything that came out of my mouth was raspy and quiet. I slowly move my arm out and reach for a piece of broken glass before throwing it as best I as could to hit the other pieces. It seems to have worked, as the stranger from outside announces that they are coming in. I can hear the floor creak lightly as they slowly made their way further into the apartment. They made it to the kitchen area and instantly let out a loud gasp. The stranger rushes over too me and drops down to the floor, narrowly avoiding the glass.

“Oh my god! I-I...fuck!”, the man says panicked while he looks me over.

He quickly reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone, dialing for the police. The phone call was quick and barely audible to me. The man brings his attention back to me and stands up. He starts moving any glass away from the area surrounding me.

I felt a sharp pain in my chest before I begin to cough, blood finding its way out of my mouth. The man instantly panics more. He runs back over to me and slowly gets me to come out of my fetal-like position and saw a shard of glass stuck into my side. I must have landed on it when Minjun threw me back down.

“Shit, shit, shit. Okay, alright. The police and ambulance will be here soon alright, just stay focused on me. Just try to answer my questions, okay?”, the man asks me, trying his best to keep me awake.

I glance over to him and try to give a nod.

“Alright, alright, so what’s your name?”, he asked.

“J-Jeongguk. Je-Jeon Jeong-gguk”, I answer with a very raspy voice.

“Alright, good, good. Stay with me Jeongguk. I’m Taehyung. Do you know who did this?”, he asks another question while finding my hand and giving it a gentle squeeze.

I pause for a moment.

“M-my bo-boyfriend, Mi-Minjun”, I answer shakily.

The faint sound of sirens can be heard in the distance as I am struggling more and more to breathe. Taehyung seems to take notice and tries his best to get me to take slower, deeper breaths. The sirens were outside now and I could hear the people rushing in. Everything began to get really dark. I can hardly understand what is going on. I could faintly hear the EMTs voices and the last thing I saw before everything went dark was Taehyung.

———————2 Weeks Later———————

I open my eyes to see nothing but bright lights, immediately squinting to adjust. A faint beeping sound slowly making its way through my ears and getting louder as I began to fully take in my surroundings.

I look around to see machines with different numbers and information on them, along with a heart rate monitor and I could feel the tubes and wires leading to my arms. I could finally recognize that I am in the hospital in what appears to be an ICU room. I am the only one in the room, at least until one of the nurses came in. She looks slightly surprised to see me awake.

“Mr. Jeon, nice to have you join us today. Do you know why you’re here?”, she asks me, getting straight to work.

“I...uh”, my voice comes out extremely hoarse and dry.

“Ah, hold that thought. I’ll get you some water and the doctor, okay?”, she said sweetly.

I nod.

She swiftly exits. I shift slightly in the bed and a quick spurt of pain shoots through my side causing me to hiss.

“Careful there. Don’t want to make it worse”, a deep voice cuts through the room.

I look over to see a slightly familiar face.

“I brought some water with me if you want it. It’s in a bottle.”, Taehyung says while holding the water up, “I’m assuming the nurse has already seen you?”

I nod as he walks closer. He uncaps the bottle and passes it to me. I reach up and take it from him slowly and begin to drink as he continues talking.

“I’m sure the nurse told you that she was gonna bring water?”, he questions.

“Y-yeah”, I say while moving the water bottle away.

“Have you seen the doctor yet? I’ve been gone for like two hours or so”, he asks.

“N-no. I j-just woke up”, I answer.

“Oh. I see. Well, I guess we’ll wait for them then”, he says while moving over to the chair near the bed, “Question. What’s today?”

“Huh?”, I look over at him.

“Mm, you know. Monday? Tuesday? What’s today?”, he asks again.

“Umm.”, I pause to think.

If it was Thursday when Minjun did this, I can’t imagine that it’s been more than a day or two. I thought I would feel more pain, but it must be the morphine or something.

“It’s either Friday or Saturday, right?”, I finally answer.

“Mm, not quite. It’s Thursday”, he says while watching my expression change.

Thursday? But...what?

“Thursday? It’s been a week?”, I ask clearly confused.

“Two actually. But it’s nothing to be alarmed of”, he says still watching me.

“T-two weeks?”, I repeat somewhat emotional.

“Hey, it’s—“, Taehyung starts.

A knock sounds through the room and the nurse returns with water and the doctor.

“Ah, Mr. Kim, nice to see you again. I see you brought him water already. I’ll just set this down over here for later.”, she says while setting the styrofoam cup down on a rolling table near the bed, “Dr. Sonu is here to check you over and answer any questions, okay? I’ll be back later, sweetheart.”

The nurse leaves the room and the doctor comes closer to me and checks the information on the monitors while writing some stuff down.

“Alright, hi Jeongguk, I’m Dr. Sonu Chihun. I’ve been looking after you while you’ve been here and helped preform the surgery you had. How are you feeling?”, Dr. Sonu asks me.

“I-I...what? I had surgery? I don’t know what’s going on”, I say, starting to tear up.

Taehyung stands up and quickly walks over to the side opposite of the doctor and takes my hand. He gently rubs his thumb on the back of my hand.

“Hey, it’s okay. I know all this information is coming at you really quickly right now, but I just need you to breath and relax, okay? We’re gonna fill you in, I promise”, Taehyung says, giving my hand a light little squeeze.

I nod slowly, taking in a few deep breaths before looking back towards Dr. Sonu.

“Right yes, I’m sorry. That was partially my fault. Let’s talk. I’m sure you know the reason you were brought in, yes”, Dr. Sonu asks while I nod, “Right, well, we had to take you into surgery upon arrival for the glass shard that had entered into your side, as it had punctured your lung.”

My mouth formed and “o” shaped as the doctor was explaining.

“Are you feeling much pain from that side right now just laying there?”, he asks.

“Uh, not really. Maybe a slight pinch, but that may be because I shifted a bit earlier”, I answer him.

“Mm, well, that’s about normal for where you are now. What about any other discomforts? Like your head?”, he says while taking more notes.

“Uh, not really?”, I say.

“That’s good. I don’t think you’ll have to stay here much longer Mr. Jeon. Maybe two or three more days max, just to clear some things. Once you are able to leave though, you’ll have to make sure you keep your movement and lifting limited for the time being. I’ll remind you of all this once we start filling out the discharge papers, alright?”, Dr. Sonu says while giving me a smile.

“Al-alright”, I nod.

“Nice seeing you boys. And, I’ll be back to check on you again later Jeongguk”, the doctor says while leaving the room.

I let out a shuttering sigh as I dove into my thoughts, completely missing the fact that Taehyung had never let go of my hand. He continues to rub small circles into the back of my hand before speaking up.

“What are you thinking about?”, he asks.

I shake my head coming back into reality.

“I...I have no where to go once I’m out of here. I can’t go back there to that apartment, Minjun had me delete all my friends from my phone and change my number months ago, I have no clue where my family is, and what if he comes back for me. I ju-just”, I begin to cry.

“Shh, it’s okay. I promise Minjun won’t ever see you again, the police found him two days after what he did to you. You two won’t see each other for a long time, you don’t have to worry about him anymore. As for your friends and family, I’m sure we can find them together while you stay with me”, he says reassuringly.

“What? Really? No...no that’s not right. You’ve already wasted two weeks here with me, I can’t—“, I start.

“No, it’s not a waste coming here to check on you. Let me tell you a quick story, okay?”, he asks while I nod, “A few years ago, I was in a situation just like yours. I was in a toxic and abusive relationship with no escape. He made me do all the same things Minjun did to you, I lost everything I had because of him. Well, one night we were out having dinner, a night I thought was going to be different for a change. At one point I had excused myself and when I returned my leg hit the table causing his drink to spill down on to him, completely on accident. He blew up right then and there, the restaurant full of people. I kept on apologizing and then, as a waiter was passing by, he grabbed the bottle they were carrying and smashed it over my head. I fell to the ground instantly and people screamed. He went to kick me and was able to get one good one in before other patrons of the restaurant, whether they were workers or customers, came in to restrain him and check me. I was barely coherent at this point. The next thing I remember was waking up here, in the hospital. There was one other person in the room and she was looking down at her phone. She saw me out of the corner of her eye and looked up and smiled at me. She did for me, what I’m doing for you, because she told me her story, but no one was there for her. It sucked. She made me promise to do the same, if I had ever found myself in the same situation. So, here I am. I am a man of my word”, he tells me with a few tears prickling at his eyes.

I look at him with pure sympathy in my eyes.

“Wow. I’m so sorry, Taehyung”, I say.

“No need. It’s in the past now. For now, we’ll focus on you”, he says while booping my nose.

“...okay”, I finally agree.

————————1 Week Later———————-

I was discharged from the hospital two days after I had woken up and I’ve been living in Taehyung’s spare room since. He went and collected my clothes from my old apartment beforehand. I couldn’t bear the thought of going back there at the moment. Just the thought alone of returning there made me tear up.

Currently I am laying in bed, as the doctor— and Taehyung—have me on strict bed rest. I was told that I could move around for maybe 15 to 30 minutes at a time, but to take long periods of rest in between. For my safety, the doctor also said not to move around without Taehyung being present, just in case I wasn’t able to handle it. I only really moved back and forth from the bedroom to the living room or dining table. I wasn’t allowed to sit up right for long periods of time either, Dr. Sonu said 30 minutes was my limit for most things.

I heard a knock on my door before Taehyung opens it completely and steps into the room. He walks over to the bed and sits on the edge.

“How are you feeling today? Have I brought your medicine in yet?”, he asks.

“Better, I think. And you have, earlier this morning. Did you forget?”, I ask with a light chuckle, anything more would’ve hurt still.

“Ah, right.”, he laughs, “That’s good that you’re feeling better as well because I have some news!”

“News? Is it the good kind?”, I ask while looking directly at him.

“Of course! When would I ever deliver bad news?”, he acts shocked, “Anyways, I believe I have found some friends of yours!”

“Wait!? Really?!”, I ask shocked.

“Mhm! Do the names Park Jimin, Min Yoongi, Jung Hoseok, Kim Namjoon, and Kim Seokjin sound familiar to you?”, he asks, showing some excitement.

“Oh my god! How?”, I ask as tears start pouring out, “I never thought that I would see them again.”

Taehyung moves closer to my face and wipes away the tears.

“I’m assuming these are happy tears?”, he chuckles.

I nod while smiling like an idiot.

“I haven’t seen them in soo long. I miss them all so much. How did you find them?”, I ask, a few tears still escaping.

“The internet is a wonderful place when you’re looking for people. I’m part of a page that helps reunite lost family and friends. I put a notice out the day you had told me about them and I’ve just heard back today. I’ve messaged back and forth with a few of them and the all want to come see you!”, he answers enthusiastically, “I told them that when you’re more mobile would be the best time, so you guys can properly hang out. So, you better get to healing up faster!”

“Doctor says three more weeks, so I better be. I can’t stand not being able to move freely right now”, I joke.

“I’m sure, you seem like your more of a free spirited kinda guy”, he says.

“My friends used to call me that a lot when I was younger, so I guess I am. I was just...held back”, I say the last part quietly.

Taehyung rubs my shoulder.

“Well, no more of that. If the doctor clears you for it, we’re going to one of the funnest places I can think of when your friends get here”, he announces.

“Sounds amazing!”, I say while smiling.

“Great, now let’s watch a movie! You pick one out and I’ll go get snacks!”, he says giddily.

“Alright, sounds like a plan to me!”

(1/2)

[lelitachay]

Frozen fanfiction: Søsken

Summary: Even though Anna loved her sister-in-law, she couldn’t help but notice there was something peculiar about Elsa. Everything starts to make sense after an accident and a forced family reunion.

Modern AU. Kristanna - Frohana - Kristoff & Elsa BrOTP.

Chapters 1 to 10 - Here  

Chapter 11 - Repercussions    

Chapter 12 - Time apart

Chapter 13 - Guilt

Chapter 14 - The way I see it

-

Reconnecting

After the radio incident, both girls remained on the floor talking and sharing stories, trying to get back the serene atmosphere they had shared in the early morning. It wasn’t until Anna mentioned Kai and Gerda, that Elsa noticed the time and thought it was better to get ready. She needed to pack a few things to stay some days at her parents’ house, and her crutches made the task a lot harder than it usually was.

Elsa finished arranging things in her backpack when Kai knocked on her door. She picked the bag, ready to leave the house, when Anna stopped her.

“Are you sure your parents won’t have a problem taking me home?” She was clearly nervous about meeting her in-laws again.

“For the last time, no. They won’t.” Elsa chuckled. She didn’t want to laugh at Anna’s nervousness, but it was funny to hear her ask the question for the fourth time.

“It’s just-... The last time I saw them was when we told you-... And I don’t know if-” Anna kept trying to get the words out, but her nervousness made talking more difficult than it was supposed to be. Truth was, she was afraid of Gerda and Kai’s opinion of her. Deep inside she believed they weren’t going to be okay with the fact she was spending time with Elsa after everything that happened. To make things worse, she didn’t know if Kristoff had told them about their fight the previous week. She knew her fears were uncalled-for since they had always been nice and kind to her, but she knew they loved Kristoff and Elsa more than anything. And something told her her family was not the most loved one by the Bjorgmans’ at that moment.

Elsa was about to reassure her once again; when Kai, getting tired of waiting in the cold, opened the door. “Thank god you don’t listen to me and you never lock your door. It’s freezing out there.” He rubbed his arms trying to heat his body as he smiled to his daughter. “Ready to go, Elsa?”

“Ready,” Elsa said after she greeted him. As she was handing him her backpack, she asked, “could we give Anna a ride?”

“Anna?” He raised his head in surprise at the mention of her name. Finally noticing the girl in question was standing behind his daughter.

Anna showed her father-in-law a timid smile and waved to him when she saw how surprised he was to see her there.

“She came to visit and now she needs to get home,” said Elsa, saving Anna the trouble of explaining what she was doing there. Anna noticed Kai’s puzzled look, but she was thankful to see him smile at her after the initial confusion wore off. 

-

For the most part, the ride back to Trollheim was peaceful. Kai and Gerda asked some questions about Anna’s stay the previous night, genuinely curious about her visit. They seemed happy she had taken the time to visit Elsa and see how she was doing, which was a relief to Anna since the last thing she wanted was for things to be awkward between them.

At some point during the trip, however, Anna began to notice Elsa becoming more and more nervous. The closer they got to Trollheim, detached from the conversation she looked. She kept fidgeting and the temperature in the car had decreased, showing something was clearly wrong with her. Taking Gerda a few tries to get her to answer the simplest questions.

Gerda, knowing exactly what was troubling her daughter, didn't hesitate to call her attention one last time and ask, “Elsa, are you okay?”

“Yes,” answered Elsa, raising her head and pretending everything was okay. “Yes… I’m just- I’m fine.”

Not buying her daughter’s lies, Gerda turned around in her seat and said, “everything will be fine, dear.”

“I know,” She let out a breath. “It’s silly to be nervous.” She knew that for any other person, being afraid of doctors and hospitals was ridiculous, but she still struggled with undesired memories every time she found herself inside a clinic. “Do you think this will be my last appointment?”

“I’m not sure,” answered the old woman sincerely. “But remember, you’ll need some therapy sessions once the cast is removed.” Gerda knew Elsa couldn’t stand the appointments, but she didn’t want to give her false hope.

“Right.”

"I'll be right there, sweetheart." Gerda promised. 

Anna stayed silent while mother and daughter talked to each other. She felt bad for Elsa's dejected expression, since it showed how much she truly hated those appointments. But she was happy to be able to witness Gerda's love. It made Anna feel better to know she hadn't lied to Elsa earlier that day. Her family loved her more than Elsa imagined, and it was obvious, by Gerda’s expression, she wasn’t planning to leave her behind.

Anna’s thoughts were interrupted when Kai parked the car in front of the hospital and he broke the silence. “Here we are,” he exclaimed. "I’ll take Anna home and then return for you two later.”

“Oh, that’s not necessary.” The last thing Anna wanted was to be a burden to Kai. “I can take a cab or walk.”

“Nonsense. I won’t leave you here.”

“Kai, it’s not necessary. I swear.” 

“There’s no point in arguing with dad,” said Elsa once she had stepped out of the car. “Just accept the ride.”

Kai’s smile on the rear-view mirror clearly stated the Elsa was correct, and he was not going to accept no for an answer. Anna laughed, and finally accepted.

“Thank you for visiting Elsa,” said Kai when they were alone in the car. “She can really use a friend right now.”

“I thought you'd be against the idea of me spending time with her," she admitted, looking at her hands in shame. “Taking into account everything that happened…”

“Whatever happened before you were born is not your fault, kid." 

"No. I mean forcing my parents to tell her the truth so soon. I didn't stop to think how much it could affect her." Anna didn't know how much Elsa had shared with her parents about the way she felt, but she thought it was an understanding she was not doing alright. 

"Maybe the when and how weren't ideal, but I think you had good intentions, Anna." 

Anna smiled to his comment, but Kai noticed Anna's ever present happiness was tainted with sadness and concern. Something that, in his opinion, didn't really suit the girl. He turned around on his seat to face her and asked, "how are you holding up?" 

"What?" 

"It must have been hard for you to find out the truth too. How are you holding up?" 

Touched by the man's concern she answered truthfully. "I've been better. My parents haven't been the same since they found out Elsa was their daughter. And it's strange to think of Elsa as my older sister to be honest." 

"And yet, you take the time to make sure Elsa is alright… Thank you." 

Not knowing what to say, she simply smiled once again.

When they reached her house, she thanked Kai for the ride, and stepped out of the car. She was about to close the door when Kai asked, “is your father home?”

“I think so...”

Anna entered her house and was soon stopped by Agdar. He had been calling Kristoff all morning trying to speak with but no-one was answering the phone, making him worry.

"Anna," he called her attention. "Where have you been?"

“I was in the North mountain,” she answered simply, not wanting to explain herself too much to her father. She knew her parents were going to ask some questions, but she wanted to say as little as possible and not to betray Elsa’s trust

He was more than surprised by her answer, since he and Idunn were convinced she had stayed the night with Kristoff, like she did most Fridays nights. "You could have told us where you were going."

Anna thought it was better not argue with her father and changed the topic, “Kai is outside, he wants to talk to you.”

Agdar asked Anna to let her mother know she was back, and he left the house in a hurry, hoping the Kai and Gerda had changed their mind about their conversation earlier. "Thank you for giving our daughter a ride,” said Agdar, once he reached the car.

“There’s no need to thank me." Kai wanted to get back to the hospital before Elsa’s appointment was over, so he jumped to the matter he wanted to discuss with Agdar. Not wasting anymore time than necessary, he asked, "does the name Douglas Weselton sound familiar to you?" 

"Dr. Weselton?" asked Agdar, surprised. "Yes. He was a doctor from Romsdal. Actually, he was the one who helped us with Idunn's pregnancy when we were expecting Elsa. Why?" 

Kai looked at him with astonishment at that. He knew they had mentioned his name the night Elsa lost control of her powers, but he had no idea the man had actually helped the couple with the pregnancy. Kai was sure he needed to hear their story now. He needed to find out the Arendelles' reasons to trust their health and daughter to someone like Weselton. "Did you leave Elsa under his care?" 

Agdar noticed Kai’s collected demeanour disappear, making him worry. "Yes… Why? What’s going on?"

Kai wanted to remain civil and give the couple a chance to explain their past before judging them for their actions. But knowing they had willing left Elsa in Weselton’s hands wasn’t helping him at the moment. “I’ve been thinking about your request. And I think it would be best for us to meet and talk about Elsa’s past. There are a few things I’d like to discuss with you. But I need to know you’ll be willing to tell me your part of the story too. Do you think you think you can do that?”

“As Idunn said, all we want to do is make amends. We are more than willing to tell you and Elsa everything that happened."

"It'll be better for us to meet and talk things through then." Kai started the car and turned to Agdar again once again. "Elsa will be home for a few days, and she hasn’t said anything about wanting to see you yet. And, as you can imagine, making sure she’s okay is my top priority right now; for that reason, I think we should meet after she goes back to the North mountain."

“I understand.” Agdar wished he could see Elsa again, but he knew giving the girl some time was their best bet at the moment. “Please call us when you and Gerda think it’s a good time to meet.”

“I will,” said Kai with a nod.

“Thank you so much, Kai. This means the world to us.”

Kai felt relieved at his words. Something in Agdar’s gratefulness let him know he was doing the right thing by giving the couple a chance.

-

Kristoff climbed the stairs leading to his apartment late that afternoon. He was tired after a long day at the factory, and he was still feeling disappointed he had wasted his Saturday at work. He usually had weekends off, but whenever his boss needed someone trustworthy to replace him, he was the first guy to be called in. Kristoff liked the fact his boss trusted him with the factory and the shipments, but he couldn’t stand acting like a boss to his peers. For that reason, his day had been a bit more stressful than it was usual. And knowing he was returning to an empty apartment didn’t help much to lift his mood. He had always relied on his girlfriend or his sister to talk to and relax after hard days at work; but now, he had to face the fact he was alone yet another weekend for his own stupidity. Leaving him with the bitter taste that he could have said or done things differently the previous weeks.

When he reached his apartment, he tried to unlock the door only to find out it was already unlocked. Something that was completely impossible unless someone was inside the apartment. Knowing for a fact his sister - the only person with keys to his apartment - was in the North mountain, made Kristoff worry. He thought of the possibility he hadn’t locked the door in the morning like he imagined, but then he realised Sven hadn't barked, like he did every day, when he heard him at the door.

Kristoff instantly freaked out, thinking maybe a burglar had entered the apartment and had put the dog to sleep. The idea of someone breaking into his house and hurting Sven made his blood boil and, without thinking too much, he slammed the door open. If there was someone still inside, he would give the person a beating.

He entered the apartment and suddenly his anger changed to confusion when he saw Sven - his main concern - growling in front of him, ready to attack. Kristoff tried to calm the dog down, but Sven was blindly trying to protect its home, barking loudly and not letting Kristoff walk any further.

Kristoff raised his head to see what was going on inside his house when he noticed his sister sitting on the couch. She looked alarmed and Kristoff could see snowflakes falling around her. “Elsa?” he asked, surprised to see her there.

"What is wrong with you?!” yelled Elsa. “You scared me half to death. I thought someone had broken into your apartment!"

“What are you doing here?” asked Kristoff trying to speak over Sven’s barks. He took a step closer, but Sven began growling again. “Sven, calm down, it's me!”

“Don't yell at him,” countered Elsa. She understood the dog's behaviour perfectly. Kristoff had scared both of them by slamming his door, making Sven jump from the couch, where he had been sitting. “He was only trying to protect the apartment. Right, Sven?”

Hearing Elsa's calmer tone of voice helped Sven calm down, and he finally noticed it was Kristoff who had entered the house. After looking at his owner for a moment, the dog turned around and returned to his place next to Elsa, who immediately tried to sooth the animal by petting its head.

“I thought you were a burglar,” explained Kristoff. “I wanted to scare the hell out of whoever was inside the apartment.”

“Well, mission accomplished,” laughed Elsa, finally understanding her brother's peculiar entrance. 

Kristoff chuckled at that and sat on a chair close to where Sven was sitting. Pointing at the dog with his index finger, he said, “I can't believe you would be willing to bite me just to protect Elsa. Don't forget who feeds you every day, Sven.” 

“Don't listen to him, Sven,” said Elsa hugging the dog and resting her chin on top of his head. “Just follow your heart. I can feed you too.” Sven barked happily, and moved to try and lick her face. “See? He loves me more.” Elsa laughed at the dog’s affection but soon tried to stop him.

Kristoff laughed too. Not believing how lucky Elsa was whenever she needed to get a reaction out of Sven. The dog seemed to play along, doing whatever she needed him to do at the right time. “He just missed you. He clearly loves me more…” 

It was after they had calmed down, that Kristoff noticed something different in his sister. “Wait a minute. Where is your cast?”

“The doctor removed it today,” said Elsa, beaming. She had been so eager to share the good news with her brother, she had asked Kai to give her a ride to his place soon after her appointment was over. “It feels so good to be able to bend my knee again.” Elsa then extended her right leg and showed her brother, as if moving her leg was the most incredible thing that had ever happened to her.

Kristoff laughed at her demonstration, finding Elsa's happiness incredibly contagious. "I'm so happy for you." 

Seeing Kristoff once again, smiling and sharing her happiness, helped Elsa understand better what Anna had told her that morning. She couldn't keep pushing those who loved her away. Even if her pain hadn't let her see what Kristoff had tried to do for her a couple of weeks before, it didn’t mean she couldn’t set things right with him at that moment. “Kristoff I- I wanted to apologise.”

Kristoff opened his eyes in surprise. Since their fight, he had been beating himself up for what he had done to Elsa, and he hadn't find the courage to ask for forgiveness. And here she was, apologising and trying for them to be on good terms again. 

“I shouldn't have reacted the way I did. You were trying to listen to me and help me, and all I did was taking it out on you,” she continued. “I still don't agree with the fact you deliberately chose to keep the truth from me. But I shouldn't have lashed out on you like I did. I shouldn't have pushed you away." She looked at him and said, “I'm sorry.”

“All I was doing was hide your past from you, which is by far the worst thing I've done.” Scratching his neck, Kristoff tried to find the right words. He still hadn't forgiven himself for what he had done, and it was hard to explain how he felt. But he was certain he couldn't let Elsa take all the blame for their argument. “I should be the one asking for your forgiveness.”

A big smile plastered on her face at that. “I’ve already forgiven you, Kristoff.” Elsa always found it hard to open up, but there was something in Kristoff that always prompt her to keep sharing the way she felt. She wished, not for the first time, that talking with other people could be as easy as talking to him or Gerda. “I've got to admit I was disappointed at first, but now I see your point of view. Or I think I do. That's the reason I'm here. I've missed you and I want things to be okay between us.” 

“Can you stand up?” asked Kristoff out of the blue, confusing Elsa. 

His question had little to do with their conversation, but she answered anyway, “I think so, yes.” She stood up to show him she was good enough to do so. “Why? What do you-?”

Once Elsa was standing in front of him, Kristoff got up and gave her a crushing bear hug. “I've missed you too,” he whispered. All his life he had found it easier to show the way he felt with his body, better than with words, and even if he knew they'd need to discuss their fight and the fact he had kept the truth from her at some point; at that moment all he wanted to do was show her how much he had missed her.

Elsa wrapped her arms around him, hiding her face in the crook of his neck.

“Are you going to cry?” asked Kristoff, teasingly. 

“No,” replied Elsa, taking a deep breath to calm herself down. The last thing she wanted was for him to notice her eyes had filled with tears. But the truth was, she needed that hug more than she was willing to admit outloud.

After their hug, brother and sister continued talking about life and meaningless things. It was easy for both of them to forget about their problems whenever they were together. Time apart only worked as a reminder of how much they needed each other.

A couple of hours later, Kristoff noticed the time and suggested they both went to their favourite bar to celebrate the fact Elsa's leg was healing. She still had a long way to recover - crutches for a couple of weeks, therapy and training to regain her strength once again - but at least her major inconvenience was out of the way.

Their favourite bar was a small place in the other side of town. A perfect spot for someone like them, who didn’t enjoy being in crowded places. There they could order some pizzas, beer and enjoy their time, not worrying about a thing in the world. It was for that reason that they went to the bar, and stayed for hours joking and telling stories. They hadn't agreed to it, but both of them avoided sensitive or serious topics, wishing to spend a night away from their problems.

“Do you remember the first time we ate in this place?” asked Kristoff, remembering what he believed was one of the best nights of his life.

“This bar?” wondered Elsa. “I don’t think I remember, no.”

“How can you not remember?!” he asked, already laughing at the memory. “We were both twenty. I had just bought the truck... Rings a bell?”

Elsa opened her eyes in surprise and laughed. “We ate here that night?”

“Yes!” A grin plastered on his face. “Do you remember what happened when we left?”

“How could I forget? Your truck wouldn’t start. And when you tried to fix it,” Elsa emphasised the fix part to show her displeasure at Kristoff's skills as a mechanic, “the engine got on fire!”

“It wasn’t my fault!” laughed Kristoff out loud, as he threw some peanuts to his sister. Elsa always told the story as if he had been the reason the vehicle got on fire. “I still can’t believe the neighbours called the police thinking we were vandals setting things on fire, though” he commented afterwards.

“I was so nervous I thought I was going to freeze everything.”

“It could have been helpful if you did. We wouldn’t have had to wait for the firemen to show up.”

“Yes, because it was going to be really easy for us to explain we had put the fire out using snow in the middle of the summer.” Years had passed since the incident, and Elsa still couldn’t believe Kristoff had yelled at her to ‘put the fire out’ over twenty times, not even thinking about the consequences.

“Do you remember dad’s face when he got to the parking lot with the other officers, only to find out we were the vandals? The old man looked so done!” They were both crying from laughter at that point. Thinking about Kai’s expression always cracked them up.

“I think he really regretted adopting us that night." Elsa remembered her father’s face perfectly, and she could only agree with Kristoff, the man had seemed so done and tired. “At least he didn’t have to pay for the damages.”

“I was lucky the insurance paid for everything.” If Kristoff had to be honest, he had only started laughing about that night after he had received the check from the insurance company.

After they both stopped laughing, Elsa asked, "have you ever told Anna that story?"

"No. I don't think I have," replied Kristoff, a lot more serious than before. Being on good terms with Elsa again and going out with her had helped him forget about his argument with Anna. But at the mention of her name, he remembered how incredibly stupid he had been and how much he missed her.

"That's odd. It seems like the kind of anecdote she would enjoy."

"Yeah. I'm sure she would."

Elsa soon noticed her brother's attitude change, making her worry. "Are you okay? You seem distracted." For lack of better words, thought Elsa. More than distracted he seemed sad and angered, the complete opposite to mere minutes before.

He knew Elsa was going to find out sooner or later about his fight with Anna, especially if he kept sulking instead of solving his problems; so he thought it was best to come clean and tell his sister about his problem. "Anna and I had a fight," he admitted. "We haven't been talking lately." 

"What?" The last thing she had expected was for him to say something like that. She couldn’t believe he had kept that piece of information to himself the whole night. She soon thought it was strange how Anna hadn’t mentioned it either. Elsa couldn’t stop herself from feeling bad for not noticing both of them were hurting. "Since when?

"It’s been over a week now." He kept his eyes on the table. "I’ve been meaning to call her and set things right…" 

"But?" 

"But I’m afraid to call. What if she won’t talk to me. I behaved like an ass." 

"What happened between you two? What did you do?" 

Kristoff was about to tell Elsa about their argument when he realised she had been the main reason they had fought in the first place. Well, not the reason, but the main thing they have been discussing when it happened. He stopped himself in time and thought it was better to spare her the details. "We had a misunderstanding. And I asked her to leave the apartment."

"What was it about?"

"It doesn't matter."

"Kristoff…"

Kristoff crossed his arms and rested his back on the chair. “Trust me, what we fought about isn’t important. I know we can come to an agreement about that," he said, hoping Elsa would stop asking questions about it. "But I'm still afraid to call. What if she doesn't want to forgive me?”

“Don’t be silly, Kristoff. Call her and let her know how you feel. I’m sure she will forgive you.” Elsa remembered the way Anna had spoken about Kristoff that morning, and she couldn’t think of anything her sister-in-law had said or done to show she was mad at him.

“You are probably right.” He seemed to agree with her, but it was obvious to Elsa he still felt bad about the whole situation.

-

As Anna showed up on Friday evening at Elsa’s cottage, just like she had promised the previous week. This time she carried some clothes and a bag full of books for Elsa.

Both girls shared dinner together that night and talked about their week. Each one sharing what was new in their life. Anna had been ecstatic to find out Elsa no longer needed her cast, and that she was already working on her recovery. While Elsa, on her part, was happy to find out Anna had passed one of her tests with perfect marks. At some point during the night, however, Kristoff's name was mentioned and Anna’s expression fell considerably. 

Elsa, knowing exactly what was wrong with the younger girl, stopped what she was saying and asked, “the idiot hasn’t called you yet, has he?”

“What?” asked Anna, surprised by the sudden question.

“Kristoff…” clarified Elsa. “I know you two had a fight, and for your expression I can see he hasn’t called you yet.”

“You know about- Wait, what do you mean he hasn’t called me yet?”

Elsa sighed. She considered herself socially inept, but sometimes she thought people around her weren’t far behind. How could Anna - or Kristoff for that matter - even consider the possibility that the other didn’t want to talk was beyond her. “I shouldn’t betray my brother’s trust by telling you this but Kristoff has been trying to call you for the last few days, he’s just afraid you’ll reject him.”

“Why would I reject him? I’ve been missing him like crazy,” confessed Anna.

Elsa smiled at that. It was obvious both of them were so respectful of each other’s wishes, they were making their relationship more complicated than it really was. “I don’t know why he thinks so… All I know is he misses you as much as you do. Please be patient with him. He’s just an idiot.”

Anna could only smile at her words. Elsa was so certain things were going to work out between them, she was literally asking her to relax and just wait for Kristoff to show up. “You know, you always sell yourself short, but you end up being the most sensible person of the three of us.”

“Of course I am,” said Elsa, sure of herself. "Unlike you two, I'm not in love." 

Anna bursted out laughing at the comment. She then thanked Elsa for making her feel a lot better than she had in days.

A couple of hours later, when Anna had gone to bed - after yet another argument about who was sleeping in the main bedroom - Elsa called her brother and asked him to pay her a visit in the mountain. Kristoff, worrying for her sister’s well being, soon agreed and promised to get there before lunch the following day. Elsa knew that Kristoff was definitely going to get mad at her for setting him up with Anna like that. But she was willing to tolerate his irritation, if it meant he and Anna finally sat down solved their problems.

-

Agdar yawned as he walked to his bedroom late that night. He had been working since early afternoon in some contracts for the company and he was feeling exhausted. The weeks following Elsa’s incident had been chaotic, resulting in his work being neglected; and he was still trying to get his life back on track. Something that proved to be more than difficult, given the fact his mind was constantly drifting back to Elsa and Anna.

He entered the room, and he was surprised to find is wife sitting in bed, writing, scratching and mumbling to herself, instead of sleeping. “What are you doing?” he asked, curious to know what kept her occupied so late at night.

“I’m writing a letter,” answered Idunn unconsciously, not paying too much attention to her husband.

“A letter? To whom?” 

"Elsa," she answered, somewhat ashamed of saying it out loud.

“What?” He knew his wife had been desperate to see and talk to Elsa since the last time they had seen her, but he believed it was better to be more patient, give her some more time before reaching out to her. 

“I’m not planning to send them…” she explained. “It just helps with the pain. There’s so much I want to tell her...” She still felt silly writing letters that weren't going to be read, but writing down her feelings had helped her cope with the way she felt. After her conversation with Anna, where her daughter had explained Elsa's childhood had been a lot harder than she had originally imagined; Idunn had she had begun writing letters of sorts, to her eldest daughter.

Agdar understood Idunn’s pain, but he hadn’t imagined she had been doing something like that for days. There was nothing he wouldn’t give to see his family overcome their pain and sadness. Agdar’s train of thought was interrupted by the telephone before he got the chance to answer to his wife. He looked at her then with a puzzled look on his face. “Were you expecting a call?”

“No.”

Agdar hurried to the living room and picked up, hoping it was nothing related to the company or his work in general. Great was his surprise when Kai greeted him on the other line.

“Kai, I was not expecting- No, I wasn’t. It’s okay,” he said reassuring the older man he hadn’t been sleeping. “Tomorrow? Yes, tomorrow is perfect,” he agreed in a heartbeat. “Thank you.” 

“Who was it?” asked Idunn from the door. She knew it was important by the look Agdar’s expression.

“It was Kai… He wants to meet us tomorrow.”

“What?”

“He wants to talk to us. About Elsa.”

“Will Elsa be-?”

“No, she won’t be there,” he interrupted, not wanting to give his wife false hopes. “But Gerda and him are willing to answer our questions.”

“They changed their mind?” she asked, hopefully.

Agdar nodded, knowing perfectly well Idunn was now feeling as excited and nervous as he was. Their chance to reconnect with their eldest daughter was only a few hours away.

--

Thank you all for your comments. I love this story and I want to finish it. It’s my personal challenge. But it’s really nice to see what you guys think of every chapter.

This chapter took a little bit longer than I originally imagined. I kept changing things as I edited it. So much, that I almost have the next chapter written. So, this means you won’t have to wait so long to know how Kai and Gerda adopted Elsa! I’m really excited to share her past with you after so long!

As always, let me know what you think – what you like, what you hate – everything helps me improve! Feel free to share the story if you want too.

Tagging:  @melody-fox, @kristoffxannafanatic, @kristannafictionals, @neptrabbit, @skneez, @ellacarter13, @wondering-in-life, @who-i-am-8, @fanfictionrecommendations-com, @815-allisnotlost, @khartx, @joannevixxon, @betweenthedreams, @lilrann, @burbobah, @rileysfs, @zutonium, @earlvessalius, @blood-jewel, @disneydreamer8901, @the-sky-is-awake, @disneyfan103, @the-magic-one-is-you, @anamaria8garcia, @welovefrozenfanfiction, @bigfrozenfan-archive, @bigfrozenfan, @frozen-snips  @deisymendoza  @zackhaikal123 @cornstarch @roostercrowedatmidnight @wandering-bard-from-the-id, @showurselfelsa @fuzzyelsalikeiduna @when-dawn-arrives​ @drafteedragon​ @snowycrocus​ @tare8chan​ @localarendellian​ @wabitham​ @roostercrowedatmidnight​ @aries1708 @tare8chan, @just-your-local-history-nerd, @dontrunintofirexoxo @daphmckinnon @poketin

[bazypitchandsimonsnow]

Being Simon

Chapter 2: The Present

Rating: T

Genre: Fluff/Angst

Word Count: 9856

Chapter 2/2 (All chapters)

Summary: Simon is back in his own time, but all he can think about is the man from his past.

Read on AO3

AN: Time for some pining!

———————————————

I wake up on Sunday feeling just as shitty as I did Friday night. No amount of comfort food, hitting my punching bag, or mindless TV have helped. And sleeping it off has done jack shit, because all I could dream was Ty’s soft looking black hair and pretty eyes.

I barely know who he is. I don’t even know his bloody last name. Yet I desperately want to see him again. How that’s going to happen is...well, that’s something I haven’t figured out yet. Every time I’ve opened a door, I’ve hoped I would walk into Dr. Margaret’s office. She can time travel and teleport, surely she’ll know something about one guy I talked to. Right? Right...

I throw off my blankets, sitting up and staring out at the London skyline, lit up in violet and gold by the rising sun. I wonder if he’s out there, looking at the same horizon I am. I wonder if he’s working at his mother’s law firm, or if he’s reading forever like he truly wants. I hope it’s the latter. I want him to be happy. Fuck, I can’t stop thinking about him. The urge to see him again is burning in my chest and gut and everywhere. I’ve never felt like this before; so intensely focused on one person. If only I had looked at his bloody number!

“God,” I groan, “I want waffles. At least I can have that.” I get up and stomp to my door. The second I walk through, I stumble onto a cold stone floor, bright lights flooding my vision.

“Nice pants,” Dr. Margaret says. I pull the hem of my shirt over my Monty Python boxers.

“Seriously, why do you always get me at literally the worst times?”

“Not my fault you never have a good time.”

“Oh, fuck off.” I sit heavily on her couch with my arms crossed. “So what happened? You usually do the post-regret session earlier than this.”

“Time is an illusion. Stop stalling. What did you learn?”

I sigh, sinking further into the cushions. “Well, I learned that Agatha and I didn’t just fall apart, I let it fall apart. I put myself and my own stuff before her time and time again. And I’ve done the same with everyone else after Agatha because I refused to see my part in our relationship ending, so I never tried to fix it. I need to actually be present in and put the work into my relationships. That’s the lesson, right?”

Dr. Margaret scoffs and laces her fingers together, elbows on her desk. “What the hell am I here for?”

I shrug with a little smirk. My ego feels way too inflated right now. “Dunno. You got something else to add?”

“Hm.” She leans forward and pins me with her intense eyes. She’s really good at that. “You’re too scared of being alone to end things when they’re not going well. Why you get dumped every time. See that?”

And pop goes my pride. My face heats up, most likely turning an impressive shade of scarlet. I sink into my seat. “Okay, yeah, you’ve got a point there...”

“Simon.” She moves even closer with a kind smile. “Don’t feel bad. Not a bad person. Were alone most of your childhood, don’t want to be alone again. But can’t keep making choices from fear. Have to make them for the right reasons.”

“What are the right reasons, then?”

“Happiness, growth, all that good shite on greeting cards.”

I let out a small laugh. “Okay, I’ll go pick some up at the corner store.”

“Get some ice cream too. Deserve it after such a long regret.” She leans back in her chair, strong arms crossed behind her head. “Maybe give Agatha a call on the way there. Might know something about a raven haired bloke.”

My pulse goes into double time. I lean forward with eyes wide. “Wait, you mean-”

“Have fun.” 

Dr. Margaret nods, and the world spins into a blur of colour around me. Then I'm stumbling through my bedroom door like I haven’t been anywhere at all. Fuck, I hate when she does that. I have to stay against the wall for a few seconds, just until I don’t feel like I’ve been on a bloody tea cup ride for a million years. Part of that might be caused by Dr. Margaret said. My heart is still beating like mad. It’s bruising my fucking rib cage, I swear. Holy shit. Holy shit.

I scramble to grab my phone, half charged on my bedside table. Fourth in my contacts is one Agatha Wellbelove. It’s relieving to see for so many reasons. The phone rings three times, each one making my anxiety ratchet up, until it finally cuts off.

“Hello?” Agatha answers.

“Aggie!” I say a bit too loudly.

“Simon? What are you doing? It’s four in the morning here.”

My stomach sinks. Right. Major events don’t usually change after a regret. “Oh my god, you’re in California. I completely forgot about the time difference, I’m so sorry. I’ll go-”

“It’s alright, I’m already awake now. What’s up?”

“Um...this is going to sound random, but do you remember Ty? Your friend from third year uni?”

“Wow,” she chuckles, “that’s a name I haven’t heard in a long time.”

Fuck, that’s not a good sign. “Have you, uh, seen him since uni?”

“A little, but not in awhile. We only had a couple more classes together before exams started. We had drinks a few times after, then I went to California right after graduation and he went to Oxford. Both of us were too busy to keep in touch, I guess.”

“Oh. Okay...” I lay down on my bed, Part of me just wants to curl up under my blankets forever. Another part wants to stuff my face with pastries. (Maybe both.) (Both is good.)

“What’s up with asking about Ty?”

“I dunno. I was just thinking about that time we talked. It just, uh, popped into my head” Because I literally just lived it a couple days ago while in time travel therapy, but I can’t say that. I learned a long time ago that no matter how rationally I explain it, no one will believe me.

“Right, you talked to him after our breakup.”

“Yeah. He helped me a lot. I’m pretty sure we wouldn’t still be friends without him. He was nice. In his own weird way.

She laughs quietly. “Yup, sounds like Ty. He acted all haughty but he was such a sweetheart. Wish I had kept more in touch with him more.”

“Me too.” I hug myself, and it helps a little. “Me too.”

“Oh, I think I might still be Facebook friends with him.”

Almost all my despair washes away in an instance and I bolt upright. “Really?!”

“Lemme check.” She makes little contemplative noises through the phone. “Okay, yeah, there he is, Ty Black.”

“Black? That’s his last name?”

“No, he told me he had a crush on Sirius Black and wanted to pretend they were married.”

“Oh...okay.” I start to deflate again. I feel like a leaking balloon. “Does it say anything?”

“Looks like he hasn’t used it in awhile. His last post was a couple of years ago. Says he made partner at a law firm.”

“Does it say which one?”

“No, just that it’s in London. Not surprised, he always wanted to be in the big city.”

I’m grinning ear to ear. He’s in London, my city. He’s here with me. I can find him. “Cool, cool, good to know. Um, anything else you can tell me, Ags? Like his full name?”

“No idea, Si. I actually didn’t know much about him. We spent most of our time gossiping about our classmates or getting shit faced. If I asked him something about his family or past, he’d always change the subject. So I just don’t know.”

I’m not sure how to feel about that. Ty told me things about his family, about his past. But was that because he trusted me instinctively, or because I was just some random bloke who probably wouldn’t remember? Was I convenient? Well, he gave me his number, so he must’ve seen...something in me. Not sure what though. I've never seen much in myself.

“Okay,” I sigh, “makes sense, yeah. Thanks, Agatha.”

“Welcome, and good luck. From what I remember, he was really cute.”

My face turns a bright shade of scarlet. Luckily Agatha can’t tell over the phone. (I think.) “Um, I’m not sure-”

“Please, give me more credit, Simon. I’ve known you for most of your life, I can absolutely tell when you're smitten. Not sure why you’re thinking about him over ten years later, but I support you. I hope it goes well.”

I smile, and I kind of hope she can hear that. “Thanks, Ags.”

“Welcome. Now I’m going to go back to bed. Love you.”

It’s impossible to describe the utter joy and relief I feel at those words. I’ve got Agatha back in my life. Hell, as far as she knows, we never lost touch to begin with. I’m so, so happy.

“Love you too, Ags. Night.”

“Night,” she yawns. The phone clicks off, but I keep grinning. Well, even if I can’t find Ty, this is absolutely a victory. But I’m going to damn well try.

My stomach growls louder than a lion. Waffles first, though. Definitely waffles.

———————————————

“You don’t remember anything about him?” I ask through my mouthful of sweet, delicious fried batter and syrup.

“No, Simon,” Penny sighs. “I don’t remember the guy you mentioned, like, once in the few weeks before our third year exams.”

I grumble. Stupid past me, not saying more. It’s not his fault though. Past versions of me only remember bits and pieces of a regret, just enough so they don’t seem like total weirdos who blacked out and can’t remember a big chunk of time. So it's more like stupid time travel shenanigans.

“Damn, okay. I’ll just keep looking.”

“Are you really going to scour all of London looking for one bloke you met over ten years ago?”

“When you say it like that it sounds stupid.”

“Yeah, it really does.”

“Bye, Penny, got more work to do.”

“Simon-”

I hang up before Penny can talk me out of this. She absolutely will, and I don’t want that right now. I want to find him, no matter how impossible it seems.

First stop is the alumni website, obviously. We went to the same uni, he has to be somewhere in the system. My fingers fly like lightning across the keyboard. No one in the political science or English departments that looks close to him, just a lot of uptight white dudes or hippie looking magazine writers who probably smoke too much weed. None of them have his gorgeous skin or dreamy grey eyes. (God, I want to see those eyes again.)

Next, I try the Oxford law school site. It’s even more impossible to navigate than most uni websites. There aren’t even any pictures of their alumni, just a list of stupidly posh names. Lewison, Pemberly, Grimm, Fairchild, Abbot, Harrington, none of which have a first name resembling Ty. That’s another issue. His name could be a nickname for so many other names. Tyler, Tyson, Tyrell, Tyrone are all possible. (Hope it’s not Tyrone, bloody hell.) Or maybe his name is just Ty, for some reason.

That’s why London 411 is absolutely no help. Apparently there are literally thousands of Ty's living in my city. I narrow it down to people my age, plus or minus a few years and there are still hundreds of Ty’s and Ty adjacents. I groan and rake my fingers through my hair, nails digging into my scalp. Why the fuck didn’t I get his last name? I want to scream at myself but all that would achieve is getting noise complaints from my neighbours.

Eventually, I resort to just straight up Googling. I try everything I can think of. “ty university of manchester,” “ty university of manchester english,” “ty university of manchester politics,” “ty university of manchester english politics,” “ty oxford law,” “ty london lawyer,” “ty london,” “ty sexy hot university of manchester student ashwerhuertjwerh.”

I faceplant my keyboard for longer than I would like to admit. “This is hopeless,” I groan into my table. I lift my head up to the ceiling. “What’s the point of this, Dr. Margaret? Is this some sort of test? Are you trying to give me a bloody ulcer?! Cause the last one is absolutely happening!”

Of course, there’s no answer. I’m not even sure where Dr. Margaret’s office exists relative to myself, or to our reality period. Trying to figure that out makes my brain hurt. I look at the clock, and it’s already seven. Christ, have I really been at this for that long? I should be grading homework like a good teacher. I need to stop. I’m a thirty three year old person, dammit, not a love struck teenager. (Okay maybe I’m both.) I slam my laptop shut and go on a hunt for food.

I heat up some frozen macaroni and take out my munchkins’ worksheets. Okay, these are easy. Math tests are universally understandable and simple most of the time, unlike stupid time travel therapy tests. I shovel bad pasta in my mouth as I fly through grading. 

“Good job, Matt,” I mumble through my shitty food. “Got the formula right.”

This is easy. I can do this. And I’m not thinking about Ty. Not at all. Maybe if I keep telling myself that, it will come true.

———————————————

“Nice job there, Roy,” I say. “You summarized the text wonderfully.”

“Thank you, Mr. Snow.” He beams at me with his gap toothed grin.

“You’re very welcome, bud.” I turn to Sufia, who seems to be stuck on the second question. I get down on her level, making my knees ache in the process. It’s worth it. “Need any help, Sufi?”

She holds up her worksheet to me a little too close. “What’s this word mean?”

I gently push the paper back so I can actually read it. (My vision isn't bad enough for that yet.) “‘Ascend,’ it means going up. For example you can ‘ascend the stairs.’”

Her eyebrows knit together. “Why doesn’t it just say go up then?”

“Well, that involves a longer discussion about poeticism that we’re going to have next week, alright?”

“Okay.” She goes back to the worksheet, sticking her tongue out in concentration. I chuckle under my breath. The strange and hilarious things kids do, gets to me every time.

I wander around the room, helping any kid who needs it and giving suggestions when asked. Teaching is less about telling and more about guiding children. It makes me wish a certain someone would guide me instead of leaving me to suffer for the last week.

I’ve still got nothing on Ty, no matter where and how I search. Everyday my hope gets whittled down bit by bit. I’m this close to giving up. There’s only so many hits one person can take, really.

“Yes, that’s a good point, Maeve, I like where you’re going with that,” I say. “How do you think that fits with our earlier readings?”

Maeve scratches her head with the top of her head with her pencil eraser. “Um...I don’t know...”

I crouch down near her. “Well, is there a way for you to remember? Do you have the books on you?”

“No, but I have something better!” She reaches into her absolutely massive backpack (I’m surprised she doesn’t tip over wearing that thing) and pulls out three notebooks. They’re all labeled with divider tabs. It’s insanely organized for a nine year old. “I keep a lot of notes.”

“Wow, I can see that. You like doing that?”

“Yeah! I keep all my notebooks, I like to read them.”

“Smart plan. Wish I kept-”

My mouth snaps shut. The gears are turning in my head. Creaking and slow, but still turning. I’m flung back to a vague memory of being 24, moving into my current flat from my old uni one, and Penny sorting through my random crap. She stood over a mess of all my uni papers next to my desk. Literal years of collected worksheets and notes that I never got around to throwing away.

“Why the hell do you have all these?” Penny asked.

“I wasn’t sure what I’d need for later classes,” I’d said, “then it all just piled up...”

She shook her head at me. “Well, you can’t keep all of it. Pick some stuff you want to keep and we’ll donate or throw out the rest.”

I nodded, then sat cross legged in front of the anxious student hoard. I tossed all the random papers profs handed out but I never read, along with most of my notebooks. But I remember one moment, a single instance that might change everything, when I decided to keep the notebooks that looked nice. Like the green one with vines on it I used in third year. I always kept it in my book bag. I liked the pocket just inside the front cover.

Holy shit.

“Mr. Snow?”  I’m snapped out of my weird memory trance back to my reality as a teacher who needs to, y’know, teach. I smile down at Maeve.

“Sorry, mate, spaced out a bit there. Anything else you need help with?”

Maeve points to a new question. “What does this mean?”

I explain the question to her as calmly as I can, not showing how I’m simultaneously panicking and ecstatic inside. Like a fireworks display in every lobe of my brain. Holy fucking shit.

———————————————

The second all the munchkins are out the door, so am I. Luckily I’ve been distracting myself from the Ty search by furiously doing all my lesson planning. I’m set for the next week. But all I’m really thinking about is where I put my bloody notebooks.

I slam my door shut, only vaguely wondering what my neighbours would think. My office (really a repurposed storage room) is a huge mess of textbooks and lesson ideas, like a tornado tore through a Michael’s and a college book store. I make it even worse by throwing object around, searching for one stupid thing. I have to have it, I need to have it. It’s my last chance, honestly. Please, universe, let this go right.

Under my Teaching Theory 5th Edition textbook is a pile of old notebooks, including a green one with vines on the cover. I scramble to open it. My heart skips a beat when I feel a piece of paper. Slowly, I pull it out, and gasp under my breath.

023-345-9876 Give me a call sometime, Snow - Ty

I’ve never typed a number so quickly in my life, though I have to keep hitting backspace because my fingers are shaking so much. And I’m even more nervous as I bring the phone to my ear. Fuck, this is so stupid, but I’m not turning back now. The phone rings three times before it finally gets picked up.

“Basilton Pitch,” a smooth, strong, most likely male voice replies. Well, that sort of sounds like him, but wrong name. My stomach sinks a little.

“H-Hi,” I squeak. I clear my throat so I don’t sound like I’m going through fucking puberty again. “Um...”

“Hello? May I help you?”

“Uh, possibly.” I rub the back of my sweaty neck. “I don’t know if you can help me, but I’m looking for someone who gave me this number a long time ago. Do you know a man named Ty?”

There’s a long, extremely awkward pause on the other side. My face gets more and more red each passing millisecond. I’ve really fucked up, haven’t I? I should just hang up-

“No one has called me that in ages,” he says. “Who are you?”

I gasp very audibly. Holy mother of all fuck. It’s him. I’ve found him! “It’s me!” I shout far too loudly. “I-It’s Simon. We met once in uni, after your friend Agatha broke up with me. I’m not sure if you remember-”

“You’re...you’re Simon Snow.”

“Yeah! That’s me! And you’re Ty, the really nice posh gay bloke who was getting his degree in politics and English then went to law school, right?” I’m grinning, I can’t stop grinning.

“Holy shit, it really is you.”

“Yeah, and you’re you!”

He chuckles, and his voice sounds even brighter than it did all those years ago. “Yes, I am. Though I’ll admit, I’m a bit...confused. Not that I’m ungrateful, but I gave you my number over ten years ago, and you’re only calling me now?”

“Um, yeah...” I scratch my blushing face, quickly concocting up a reasonable story that lacks time travel. “I got caught up in exams, then I, uh...kind of lost the notebook where I put your number. I was so pissed at myself for awhile but what could I do, y’know? Then I was, um, going through my old uni stuff today and take a wild guess at what I found.”

“A notebook with an ancient piece of scrap paper.”

“Still pretty smart, huh?”

“Well, it doesn’t take a genius to figure that out, but I’ll take the compliment.”

My cheeks are starting to ache from smiling. I don’t mind at all. “Happy to give it, and that you haven’t changed your number in over a decade.”

“Thank God for being loyal to a mobile carrier.”

I’m about to say something else, anything to keep talking to him. But then there’s commotion on the other end of the line, and Ty (Basilton?) moves away from the speaker.

“What?” he says. “Yes, I can take a look at your notes, Vadoma, give me a moment.” His voice becomes louder again. “I’m very sorry, I wish I could keep talking, but I have end of the week work to do.”

My shoulders slump. “Oh, okay.”

“From your area code, I’m guessing you’re in London too, so how about we have coffee tomorrow and catch up? Around noon good?”

“Yes!” My voice squeaks again, fuck. Calm down, Simon. “Yeah, that sounds great. Any suggestions?”

“I know a nice little place in Camden if that’s alright.”

“Yeah! I actually live in Camden.” 

“What a lovely coincidence. I’ll text you the address?”

“That would be amazing.”

“Great, I’ll see you then, Simon.”

“See you.”

The phone clicks off, but it stays by my ear for another long moment. My brain is still playing catch up.

I found him. I actually found him. My stomach is filled to the brim with a thousand butterflies. I’ve never been this excited about...anything, really. How is it that one guy can make me feel like this? I have no clue, but I don’t care. I’m just looking forward to tomorrow so much.

———————————————

My leg won’t stop bouncing. No matter how deeply I breathe or push down, it just keeps jerking around like a hyperactive toddler. I’m somewhere between excited and completely, utterly terrified. What if he doesn’t show up? Worse, what if he does show up and he doesn’t like me anymore? It’s been over ten years, I definitely don’t look like I did when I was 21 anymore. He could be horribly disappointed with 33 year old me, with my dark circles and crow’s feet and only marginally better fashion sense. I would be.

Fuck, he’s going to laugh in my face isn’t he? My leg bounces even more. I stuff the last of my scone in my mouth then wash it down with strong coffee. Unfortunately that does nothing for my anxiety. I’m stewing in so much worry and fear that I don’t notice a shadow over my table until it decides to speak.

“Hello,” the same smooth, strong voice from the phone and from ten years ago says. I look up, and my heart skips more than one beat.

He’s just as beautiful as he was back then, but in a very different way. Same reddish-gold skin, same deep sea grey eyes, same raven black hair. But instead of looking like some preppy statue, he looks, well, human. He’s dressed in a tucked in white button down with a soft floral pattern. His collar is open, the sleeves are rolled up to the elbow, and it’s even wrinkled in some places, but none of that seems to bother him. More astounding, he’s wearing distressed black denim that hugs his legs in all the right places, a thumb casually hooked in one pocket. Never would I have imagined the uptight bloke I met in jeans. His hair reaches all the way to his shoulders now, falling in a lazy wave that softens the sharp lines of his face. His kind smile absolutely helps too. 

This isn’t the same Ty from twelve years ago. This guy is a lot more grown up, and looks so much happier.

“Hello?” he says again. “You there, Snow?”

I shake off the second Ty induced pan-panic of my lifetime. “Uh, yeah. H-Hi, Ty. Oh, wait, you go by Basilton now, right? Or do you like something else?”

He chuckles as he takes his seat across from me. It’s a simple movement yet surprisingly graceful. “Just Baz is fine. It’s less of a mouthful than Basilton.”

“Okay. Hi, Baz.”

“Hello again, Simon. How have you been?”

“Good, good. How about you?”

“Alright. Honestly, I’m still in shock that I’m seeing you again.”

I chuckle and rub my neck nervously. “Yeah, me too. But, uh, you look good. Twelve years later and you’re still stupidly attractive.” My face immediately heats up. “Sorry, that’s weird-”

“I don’t mind. Not at all.” He leans back, arm casually slung over the back of his chair. “You’re still cute as ever, though I am glad your fashion sense has improved.

I must look so ridiculous right now, a thirty three year old man blushing like a smitten schoolboy. How can I help it when he talks like that? “T-Thanks. Your clothes have definitely changed too. What happened to the tweed jacket?”

Baz groans and hangs his head over the back of his chair. I like the way his hair falls. It’s pretty as hell. “Please don’t remind me. God, I don’t even know what I was trying to do back then.”

“Be some posh and professional prat while also being gay as hell?”

His head moves back up and he snaps his long finger and points at me. (I still want to know if he plays piano or not.) “Yes, that sounds right. Conformity and rebellion all at once. I had such insane cognitive dissonance back then, god.” He leans his cheek into his palm, pretty eyes fixed on me. “So what do you do now? Still attacking random men then stealing their cigarettes?”

I chuckle to try to hide my utter embarrassment. “No, but if I remember correctly, you offered me the cigarette.”

“Touche. You still haven’t answered though. What’s your life like?”

I shrug and sigh. “It’s pretty normal. I live in a tiny flat and I alternate between box food and take out, but I’ve got a pretty great job. I teach little kids.”

“So you did end up going into teaching like you wanted?”

“Eventually, yeah. I got sidetracked for...well, until a year ago. But I’ve finally been getting my life together lately. I do my laundry once a week now instead of once a month.”

He laughs, head bending back over the back. It’s so free and open, I’m amazed. “Yes, truly a sign of adulthood, I agree.” Baz sighs and runs his hand through his hair. I like how the black strands fall over his fingers. “I understand being derailed all too well. You should’ve seen me six months ago, I was a train wreck.”

“Really?” It’s hard to imagine Baz as a train wreck. He was so pristine in uni, and even now he still looks absolutely perfect.

“Oh absolutely. I’m humble enough nowadays to admit that you were right, Snow.”

“About what?” I don’t mind being right, but I’m not really used to it.

“About me.” He leans forward, arms crossed and elbows on the table, offering more but still a bit closed off. “All those years ago, you asked why I couldn’t just do what makes me happy. And I said that what I wanted didn’t matter. I had many reasons back then, but in the end they were all bollocks. I learned that the hard way. So, you were right.”

Is it strange that I’m both happy and sad that I was right? It’s absolutely a bittersweet taste on my tongue, like figuring out a lesson about myself from a therapy session. “Well, uh, thanks, I guess. But that sucks. Was the hard way, y’know...really hard? I hope it wasn’t.”

He sighs and runs his hand through his hair again. Honestly, he looks like some romantic hero when he does that. And I didn’t think he could get more attractive. “Well, it wasn’t fun, I can certainly say that. I did what I was supposed to do. Went to Oxford, became a lawyer at the family firm, fought all the cases the way I was supposed to. I kept waiting to not feel like shit every single day, but that never came. Nothing ever got better, and bit by bit small things piled up, completely crushing me. Then, well...” He winces, like someone has kicked them in the shins. “I did something pretty ridiculous.”

My head fills with a flurry of probably insane ideas. I only now realise that I’m leaning a lot closer, entranced and nervous for what Baz has to say. “How ridiculous are we talking?”

“Well,” he bites the corner of his lips (it looks way sexier than it should), “one morning over six months ago, I was looking over my case for the day. Checking notes and arguments, drinking too much coffee alone, smoothing out my suit, the usual. And for some reason, in that moment, a realization hit me; This was going to be the rest of my life. Reading cases, arguing for clients I hated, feeling completely numb all the time. I had been doing all this bollocks for almost ten years, and realistically I would be doing for decades to come. The thought sent me into a terrifying meltdown thanks to years of untreated mental health issues. I didn’t know what to do so I sort of ran away.”

“Ran away?” I chuckle. “In your thirties, I think they usually just call that a vacation.”

“It would have been, if I had told anyone I was leaving and hadn’t stopped answering my phone for weeks.”

My eyes go very, very wide. “Wait, what?!”

“Yeah...” It’s hard to tell in this lighting, but I think Baz’s cheeks turn red. Embarrassment looks cute on him. “After pacing around my flat for hours, I decided to simply leave. Packed a small bag, grabbed my car keys, and just started driving north with no destination in mind. Of course my colleagues started blowing up my mobile, then later my family and friends joined them. I couldn’t bear to answer because I didn’t even fully understand what was going on. I just needed to get far, far away from everything I knew and hated.”

“Where did you go then?”

“To a lot of places,” he sighs. “Mostly bad bars though. I basically drank and danced my way up the British Isle. I think. Honestly, I barely remember that time. It was an alcohol laden haze with brief moments of sober lucidity when I drove. And when I was lucid, I got depressed about my life again so I would drink more that night and pass out.”

“And you did that for how long?” My heart is beating a bit too fast. I know he’s fine, yeah, but still, the worry is eating away at me.

“Only a month,” he says, like that’s in any way a relief. “At the end of September, I stayed at a shitty inn in Scotland. I remember walking down the hall, and the next thing I knew I was in a hospital with my aunt by my side. She equal parts screamed at me and was relieved I was okay. Turned out I had fallen down the stairs while severely hungover like a bad Monty Python skit.”

He laughs, but there’s sadness behind it. Just like his smile over ten years ago. The more things change, the more they stay the same, I guess.

“Obviously I was fine.” He waves dismissively. “I spent two weeks recovering in the hospital. Which gave me a lot of time to think about myself and my future. By the end, I had decided to take an actual leave of absence from my work to focus on my mental health. And I did. Started therapy, stopped drinking, bought some clothes that weren’t bloody lawyer suits.” I can’t help but giggle. Baz’s smile has no sadness behind it this time.

“So I guess you’re not a lawyer anymore?”

He shakes his head. “Absolutely not. I quit a week after I got back to London, then started applying for book editor jobs.”

I grin wide. I can’t stop grinning. “Reading books forever.”

There’s a lovely glint in his eye. Like someone ripped Polaris from the heavens and put it in the deep sea grey of his eyes. (God the poetry unit is getting to me.) It’s a kind of playful happiness that I really, really like.

“You remember,” he says amused.

“Of course!” He smiles wider, eyebrows raising up. Now it’s my turn to blush like a teenager. I sheepishly rub the back of my neck, thinking of a reason that doesn’t include time travel. Or obsessing over our one conversation for a week. “Well, I-I’ve remembered some stuff. You just kind of, uh, y’know, stuck in my head.”

“Hence why you still called me ten years later.”

“Yeah.” I tilt my head down a bit, uselessly trying to hide how ridiculous I look. “I mean, I’m not really sure why. You were just...really different from anyone I’ve met. You were so, pretty and posh and smart, and at first I found it annoying. But the more we talked I realised you were nice, in your own strange way. And without your help I would have lost Agatha in my life forever. I dunno. You made an impression. You’ve come up in my head from time to time.”

Technically that’s not a lie. By time to time I just mean all the time for days. Though I have a vague feeling, a whisper of a half memory, that past me may have thought about Baz too. Some things always stick post-time travel no matter how much past me is supposed to forget. Usually it’s only the super important, impactful things. Looking at Baz’s incandescent smile, framed by wavy black hair, I think he might count.

“Honestly,” he says, his voice low in a very private way that I like, “you’ve come up in my head too. Especially during my crisis. I thought about how right you were back then, how I should have listened to you and maybe wouldn’t have wasted so much of my life if I had. But I was too stubborn and blind back then to” 

“Hey, stop that.” I somehow lean even closer. I’m this close to actually getting out of my chair. “Don’t beat yourself up so much. Remember that you had good reasons back then, and yeah it really sucked to go through all that, but you learned stuff right?”

“I suppose...”

“Then it wasn’t a waste.” Baz’s eyes narrow. A softer version of a glare, but he's still not totally happy. “Yeah, I know that’s easy to say, but I do kinda get it. Working in jobs I hated, never dating, never really doing anything for years, that all felt like a total waste. Sometimes it feels like my life is only just starting now at bloody 33. But I think struggling also gave me the drive to work harder now, live better. So did being a lawyer give you anything good?”

Baz looks really cute when he’s thinking. I like the way everything in his face pinches up, from the furrowed manicured brow to the slight pout of his bottom lip. (Don’t think about kissing that pout, do not think about it.) (Fuck I’m thinking about it.) Slowly, his expression softens.

“I learned,” he starts, “that I can’t force myself to love something. I thought if I was a lawyer long enough, I would at least learn to tolerate doing it, but I still hated every moment. I can’t keep living for other people’s expectations. At least that’s how my therapist puts it. Maybe I’ll fully listen to her one day.”

I let out a laughing snort and immediately cover my mouth in embarrassment. I hate when I do that. But Baz grins at me. The amused, affectionate glint in his eyes makes me want to blush even harder. My stomach feels like it’s full of rocks and butterflies all at once. It’s so overwhelming and wonderful.

“Took me a while to listen to my therapist too,” I say. “Actually fixing yourself is hard.”

“Tell me about it,” Baz groans, hanging his head for a moment, hair like a wavy curtain around his face. “It took ages for me to realise that I didn’t know everything that was wrong with me. Instead I had to actually listen to someone else’s assessment of me and not interject my own thoughts every time. Do you know how frustrating that is for a know it all like me?!”

“I can only imagine,” I giggle. My thoughts immediately go to Penny and the first time she got drunk. My ears rang for hours from all her yelling about not actually being drunk. She and Baz might get along. (Maybe a little too well. God, could I deal with two of them together?) (Hopefully, because I want Baz to stick around for awhile.)

“I live in absolute agony.” He puts the back of his hand against his forehead like a dramatic Victorian maiden. I’m about to call him that when my stomach decides to rumble louder than a bloody earthquake. The corner of Baz’s mouth quirks up. “You hungry there, Snow? I can get us something.”

“Uh, yeah, I’m always hungry. But I can buy it, don’t worry.”

“Nonsense. I was the one who asked you out and picked the place, I’ll happily pay.”

“Out like a date?” The words spill out before I have a chance to stop them. 

I’m pretty sure even the tips of my ears have turned bright pink at this point. Shit, why did I say that? Calm down, Simon. This is (technically) the first time we’ve seen each other in twelve years. No need to make this something it may not be. I expect Baz to be shocked, or confused, or annoyed at worst. But once again today, Baz surprises me. All he does is smile, looking at me with such kindness, far more open than I remember he was back at uni.

“Would you like this to be a date?” There's no pretense or implication in his words, he’s legitimately asking me. I don’t feel pressured, but luckily I already know.

“Yes, yeah, I-I would. I’d like that a lot.” I reach my hand forward across the table and just barely brush our fingers together. The tips of his are rough. Maybe he plays guitar or something, not piano. Doesn’t matter. I like the way he feels anyway.

Baz grins pointy ear to pointy ear. He flips his hand over, long callused fingers pressing into the much softer skin of my inner wrist. He can probably feel the way my pulse jumps. Luckily, I can feel the way his own is hammering. “Me too, Simon.”

We spend a bit too long just staring at each other before my stomach grumbles again. Baz chuckles and flags down the very nice waiter. I get another cherry scone and hot chocolate (yes I am 12 on the inside), and Baz gets something called a pumpkin mocha breve.

“What on Earth is that?” I ask when Baz gets his drink. It’s pale orange with a mountain of whipped cream on top.

“Try it.” He offers the cup to me and I take a sip. My tongue is immediately assaulted with more sugar that I’ve ever tasted at once. I blink rapidly from the shock.

“It tastes like a candy bar.”

“What can I say, I have a sweet tooth.” He licks the whipped cream off the top like a toddler with ice cream. A dollop gets on the tip of his nose.

“You’ve uh, got something right...” I flick the cream off with my thumb, “there.”

He laughs quietly. “Thank you. Allow me to return the favour.” Baz brushes some scone crumbs from my cheek. My skin feels like it’s on fire.

“T-Thanks.”

“You’re very welcome.”

We eat and drink and talk in between. Baz tells me about his work at the publishing house. It’s a small place that does mainly e-books and a few print ones, focusing on indie LGBT+ writers. He’s currently working on a book he describes as “gay polyamorous steampunk pirates,” which honestly gets me way too excited. I plan on pestering him for more details in the future. He looks animated the whole time, so passionate about what he’s doing. It makes him more beautiful.

He asks about my teaching. I tell him about my students, how incredible they are no matter how much they drive me crazy. I describe my lesson plans and all the new things I’m trying. Structured word inquiry, collaborative maths work, mixing subjects together to get kids engaged with stuff they don’t like. Luckily my principal is in favour of more out there ways of teaching too. Baz pays attention, asks questions and listens raptly. I can’t tell if he’s faking it. Most people do. I can’t blame them, it’s not very interesting. But as I go on and on, Baz never tries to change the subject or stares off into space. It’s not like he’s an angel for paying attention to me. It’s just nice that he’s making the effort. He’s really, really nice.

We eventually move off the topic of work. I tell him about my fencing class, something I haven’t done since I went to Watford. Baz calls me a bronze haired knight. I’m not too proud admit that made me blush. In turn, Baz tells me about getting back into playing the violin since he quit being a lawyer. (So that’s what the calluses are from).

“Cold I hear you play sometime?” I ask.

“My skills are still rusty,” he says over his near empty mug.

“Is that a no then?”

He sighs, but it’s with a small smile. “More like a ‘listen at your own risk.’”

“I can live with that.”

“Alright, another time then.”

I grin. Another time, I really like the sound of that.

Eventually, we somehow get onto the harder topics. I tell him about being in group homes, not having friends until Penny and Agatha, still feeling out of place and worthless sometimes. Baz talks about growing up without his mother, trying to live for her instead of himself until recently. Turns out we’ve both had a lot of hardship. We understand each other. We sort of match, I guess.

“I did like being with my younger siblings,” Baz sighs. “No matter how much I pretended I didn’t. Part of me felt like I was betraying my mother if I loved her husband’s children with another woman. But they were still my siblings and good kids, though I’m glad they’re all mostly tolerable ages now.”

I chuckle, leaning my cheek on my fist. “Mm, understandable. I always wanted siblings. Other kids to play with, y’know?”

“Group home kids didn’t play with you?”

“Nah, I was the weirdo who preferred punches over talking. No one liked being around me.”

Baz reaches out and brushes against my forearm. How can someone make me feel like I’m going to melt with just a touch? “If it’s any consolation, I certainly like being around you.”

I grin and touch his arm in turn. “I’ll certainly take that.”

We get away from all the dark shit, turning back to happier things. Baz describes the techniques and difficulties of the violin with dramatic gusto. I relay some of my worst customer service work experiences. I’ve never been good at talking, never liked it much. But I like it with Baz. He feels easy to talk to. I barely feel scared or awkward. We talk so much that we don’t even notice the sun setting on the horizon.

“Holy shit what time is it?” I say.

Baz looks down at his fancy leather watch. (A leftover from his prep days.) “Much later than I think either of us realised.”

I laugh and run a nervous hand through my hair. “Damn, sorry.”

“Don’t you dare apologize, Snow, unless you regret being here?”

“What?!” I gasp. “Of course not!”

He grins cheekily. I grumble and glare at him. Teasing bastard. Baz grabs my hand, lacing our fingers together. Any bad will immediately vanishes. “You said you lived in Camden. How close are we?”

“Uh, not that far. I walked here.”

“Wonderful. How about I pay then walk you home like a gentleman?”

I hope my face doesn’t look as hot as it feels. I squeeze his hand. “I’d like that a lot.”

He squeezes back. “Good.”

Baz does just as he says, and soon enough we’re strolling down the streets under the dimming London sky. We chat some more, but also occasionally just walk in comfortable silence. I don’t mind either, because Baz doesn’t let go of my hand the whole time. I’ve never felt so excited just from someone holding my hand. I don’t know why. I don’t care, really. I just want to bask in it forever.

Unfortunately though, we do reach my building. Never have I hated my own home more. I consider not telling Baz so we can keep walking, but then I remember all the homework I was supposed to grade yesterday while I was too excited about Baz to focus. I’ll need a good night’s sleep to survive. Life is too cruel sometimes.

“This is me,” I say.

“Nice place,” Baz replies.

“You don’t need to lie.”

“I’m not, I promise.” His head tilts to the side, a smirk on his lips. “Maybe I could see if your flat matches up sometime.”

I swear to god, my face is going to melt off from how much I’m blushing today. Baz laughs at my obviously flabbergasted expression. I playfully smack his shoulder. “Haha, very funny. Buy me dinner first, arsehole.”

He tugs me a bit closer by our joined hands. My nose is almost touching his. The smell of his post coffee peppermint gum hits me so hard I’m afraid I’ll stumble from the wonderful shock. “Are you free next Friday?”

I gulp, then nod slowly. I can’t look away from his mouth, fuck “Y-Yeah.”

“Good for you.” He takes a large step back, snapping me out of my daze. He’s got a cheeky little half smile on his lips. “I’m not, but I’m sure you’ll enjoy the free time.”

I gape at the absolute bastard. I shove his shoulder a bit harder this time. “Arsehole!”

Baz throws his head back laughing. It’s the most beautiful sound in the noisy London night. He takes my other hand and runs his thumb over the back of it. “Unfortunately, I am actually tied up for the next week, but I’m free the week after. Any ideas, Snow?”

I grin at him. “How about a scenic walk in Hyde Park?”

One of his eyebrows goes up in playful confusion. “Not dinner?”

“We’ll get to dinner eventually. I expect to be romanced a bit more first, Basilton.”

He smirks again and pulls me closer again “That doesn’t sound bad at all. Hyde Park will be lovely this time of year.”

“Agreed.”

Even though by all rational logic we should let go, our hands stay linked. Neither of us make a move to get away. I can smell the peppermint again, every time his hot breath brushes against my face. It’s somewhat shaky. But I imagine mine is about the same. I’m not sure. I’m too focused on his sharp cheekbones and blown pupils and pouty mouth. Mostly his mouth. Before I know it, we’re nose to nose. I’m getting whiffs of something other than his gum. Cedar, maybe, and bergamot. It’s perfect for Baz. He moves his face slightly, and our mouths almost touch. A spark still runs through my veins.

“Simon,” he sighs, and the sound of his voice hits me in so many places. Baz’s head moves again, brushing our noses together. I watch his eyes flutter like a pair of butterflies until they fully close. Mine follow suit. I’m overwhelmed by the smell of cedar and bergamot as I press my mouth to Baz’s.

He’s colder than I thought they would be, colder than anyone I’ve kissed before. Yet I like it so much more. Baz’s tepid mouth sends a calming wave through my constantly overheated body. He’s soft too, like how I imagine a cloud could feel if I was ever able to touch one. Our lips slot together so easily. His hands clutch mine tighter, nails even digging into my skin. Not good enough. Not close enough. I let go of Baz, but only so I can slide my arms up to hold his shoulders, pressing our bodies together. Baz immediately winds his arms around my waist, getting us even closer. He’s all lovely lean muscle pressed against me. And I fit into his arm so well. My lips fall open and Baz quickly follows. His tongue slowly over my back teeth, making stars explode behind my eyes and in my brain. I kiss him more fervently. Baz groans into my mouth. 

Part of me can’t believe that we’re doing this. Two thirty three year old men, snogging like stupid teenagers on the steps of my apartment building. Sounds so embarrassing. The other part of me really doesn’t care. I’ve never felt like this just from a kiss. Like I’ve left my body and entered another dimension where all there is happiness and pleasure and Baz. Is this how all kisses are supposed to feel? Or is it because of Baz? I don’t know, and I don’t care. I just weave my fingers through his silky smooth black hair and keep kissing this wonderful, wonderful man.

Baz pulls away, and I nearly whine. Luckily I still have a bit of dignity. (Just a bit.) He doesn’t let go of me, thank god. He keeps his lovely hands on my waist, eyes still half closed, bright red lips pulled into a grin.

“Do you always kiss on the first date, Snow?” he whispers playfully.

“No, you’re the first.” I twirl a bit of his wavy hair around my index finger. “Feel special?”

“Extremely.”

I lean forward and kiss him again for a moment. Just a quick, hard press against him. Baz leans forward slightly when I pull away. My heart flutters happily in my chest. “As much as I’d like to keep doing this, it’s late, and I’ve got grading to do.”

He makes an over dramatic groan, leaning against my hands. “How dare you be a responsible teacher who is truly committed to educating the next generation?”

God, he’s making me want to kiss him again. He does it so easily. “I know, terribly inconvenient. We’ll figure something out, yeah?”

“Yes, give me a call. And don’t wait twelve years this time.”

I sigh while Baz smirks at me. I’m about to retort when he leans down and kisses me. My head is spinning like a tumble dryer. I don’t want this day to ever end. Unfortunately, reality is a thing that exists. And because of it, Baz has to pull back, leaving me wanting more.

“I’ll text you when I get home,” he says, “alright?”

“Alright. Have a good night, Baz.”

“You too, Simon.”

He pecks my forehead, and I nearly melt into the pavement. We then slowly disentangle ourselves. My fingers trail on Baz’s as he lets go. He waves one more time. I smile back. And I keep smiling as I watch him walk down my street, only going for my keys when I lose sight of him as he turns the corner. I literally skip up my steps to my door. I’m so dazed with happiness that I barely notice that I walk into Dr. Margaret’s office instead of my dingy lobby.

“Snogging in public?” she says. “How very adolescent.”

I narrow my eyes at her. “That’s what you say after abandoning me for a week?”

She snorts, leaning back in her chair. “Didn’t abandon you. Just let you figure things out on your own. Point of therapy, remember?”

“Well, yeah, I know that. A little heads up would be nice though.”

“Not my style.”

It’s my turn to snort. I plant myself on her couch. “I know, you’re more of the ‘toss in the deep end and yell swim’ kind of therapist.”

“Mhm. And look how it turned out. Found your Baz.”

My eyes narrow even more. “How do you know his name?” Dr. Margaret just keeps smiling at me like a cat who’s caught a canary. The realisation slaps me in the face. My jaw drops open. “You knew exactly who and where he was the entire time, didn’t you?” No change, still smiling. “How?!”

“Though about him. Saw his whole life in my mind’s eye.”

My jaw falls further. Holy shit, how powerful is she? “Really?!”

“No.” She pulls a plastic card out of her pocket, holding it between her index and middle finger like a throwing star or something. “Swiped his uni ID and Googled him here. Much faster than powers.”

I can’t help but burst out laughing. Godlike abilities have nothing on a good search engine, it seems. “Of course you did.”

She shakes her head sarcastically. “Can’t believe you. Send you back in time, and you wonder how I know about one bloke?”

“Uh, yeah. Knowing everything is a bit different from time travel.” I lean forward with elbows on my knees. “Why didn’t you tell me about him then? Why make me suffer for a week?”

“Suffering now?”

“Well, no, now that I’ve found him-”

“And what made you want to find him?”

I rub the back of my neck, trying to coax the words out from my brain. “Uh, I dunno. I know we met only once, but he just stuck in my head. He was interesting, smart, funny and nice in his own way. And I wanted to talk to him again, learn more about him. It was overwhelming, really. How much I wanted to be around Baz again. I-I’ve never felt something like that so strongly before.”

“Exactly.” Dr. Margaret picks up a pen just to point it at me. “Felt strongly for the first time ever. Made you determined even to find him when it was hard. And never felt this strongly because you always settled for okay. Felt okay with Agatha, with Todd, with everyone. Need better than okay. Need to want someone more so you can build more. Make a relationship that’ll actually go somewhere.”

My eyebrows furrow. “I thought I needed to focus on the present more.”

“You do. In the present, desire Baz right?”

I think about Baz’s pretty eyes and his pretty laugh and the way he made my head do somersaults when he kissed me. My flushed face splits into a grin. “Yeah, I really do.”

“Good.” She leans back again with her hands linked behind her head. “Build from there. Put the effort in like you did searching for him. Will want to put the effort in, because you actually want him, not just because he’s nice and you should like him.”

The puzzle pieces start to slide into place finally. It was all one big, weird life lesson, of course, like everything Dr. Margaret gets me to do. Looking back, I cared about Agatha, and I did love her as a friend. But I never desired her. I never desired Todd or any of my other exes either. They just seemed like the kind of people you should date. They weren’t even bad, they just weren’t for me, weren’t who I wanted.

But dear lord, do I want Baz.

“You couldn’t just tell me I was dating people I wasn’t actually attracted to?” I ask. “That I was actually supposed to feel more but I was settling for nice people I didn’t really like instead?”

Dr. Margaret shakes her head. “Not how therapy works. Supposed to guide you to find the answers, not tell you outright. Where’s the fun in that?”

I cross my arms and smirk at her. “Since when is therapy fun?”

She glares at me hard. “Brat. Lucky that I like you.”

“Aw. I’m touched.” My voice is sarcastic, but my bright smile is genuine. I’m glad she likes me. I’m glad she’s here to help me finally live my life. I hate to think where I’d be without her help. From her returning grin, I think she knows that.

“Go do your grading. Be a responsible teacher. See you next time.”

“See you later, Dr. Margaret.”

She waves her hand, gold rings flashing in the light, and the world spins like a cyclone. I yelp as I fall flat on my arse on my apartment floor. Well, at least she didn’t put me back in the lobby so I had to climb all those stairs. Small blessings, take 'em where I can get ‘em. And Dr. Margaret herself is already a huge one.

After getting out of my day clothes and into trackies, I set about to my teacher's work. It’s not the most fun part of the job but it’s certainly the most important. I’m lost in a haze of spelling tests and math activities when I feel my phone buzz. There’s one text on the screen, and it makes me smile instantly.

Baz Hey, made it home safe. I had a lovely time today and can’t wait to see you again. Call me tomorrow at lunch?

Is it possible to die from such pure happiness and excitement? I hope not, because I’ve still got so much more of my life I want to live. And I want to see if Baz will be a big part of it.

Simon  me too. call you at noon <3

———————————————

AN: Mushy ending, as usual for me haha. I really hope you all liked that! Even if you don't know the original show, I hope it was good. I really liked the idea of Simon in time travel therapy, it would be good for him. Tbh I thought about making Ebb his therapist because she was such a mentor for him, but I wanted to try out Margaret and she ended up being a lot of fun. I may write more in this universe. There are other Being Erica plotlines that could be fun. And exploring Baz and Simon's relationship in this AU further could be great. We'll see. I'm taking writing day by day due to my health. Anywho, thanks for reading!

[peraltasames]

when you’re scared and alone (just know that i’m already home)

Jake is in prison, and Amy is three days late.

so emma @fourdrinkamy prompted me w this and i may or may not have teared up a little writing the last part and had to remind myself that they are together and happily married now omg enjoy the angst

title from already home by a great big world

read on ao3

It takes Amy three days to notice that she’s late.

It shouldn’t take that long, she’s as meticulous about her period as everything else in her life. She marks them on her calendar each month and checks taking her birth control pill off her to-do list each day. Never before in her life has she been three days late.

Never before, though, has she been spending hours after each shift combing through files upon files about Melanie Hawkins and her team, looking for the slightest inconsistency or slip-up. Never before has she been surviving on four hours of sleep (if that), fuelled by coffee and the motivation to get her boyfriend out of jail before he’s beaten or shanked or worse.

It isn’t until Friday morning, while she’s sitting at her desk yawning after a particularly long night and jotting a note down in her calendar to visit Jake’s mother this weekend, that she spots the little X marked on Tuesday of that week.

Twenty minutes and one frantic trip to the bodega across the street later, she’s perched over the sink in the precinct bathroom, waiting for a tiny symbol to dictate whether or not her life is about to change drastically.

She’s thought about kids a few times over the past year: watching Jake play with Nikolaj in Charles’ living room on Christmas Eve, babysitting Cagney and Lacey and realizing maybe they could handle parenting after all, helping her nephews build a blanket fort after dinner at her brother’s house. These thoughts have materialized in her brain as a faraway possibility for after they’re married. Ideally, she would already be a lieutenant or higher. Ideally, the father of her child would not be indefinitely locked up in a prison a thousand miles away.

Just as she sets the timer on her phone for three minutes as instructed by the box, the bathroom door swings open. Amy cautiously looked around the bullpen before scurrying off to take the test and made the judgement that the few women on the floor had gone to the bathroom recently enough that she would not be interrupted. Her worn-out, panicked brain did not take into consideration that Gina is very pregnant and gets up to pee very frequently.

“Amy, what are you - oh.”

By the time Amy meets her gaze, Gina is already looking at her with complete bewilderment.

“Are you-“

“I haven’t looked at it yet,” Amy says quietly.

Gina nods, slowly approaching her as if she’s made of dust and the slightest movement could make her disintegrate on the floor. It dawns on her that she must look as weak and helpless as she feels.

“No matter what it says, you’re not alone,” Gina promises her, her hand cautiously grabbing Amy’s, still gripping the edge of the counter for support. “You guys are gonna get him out, and even if you don’t…you’re not alone, okay?”

The sentiment of her friends supporting her is comforting, but another person being here, knowing that she may actually be carrying a child, tips the scale in her brain from stress and worry to full-blown panic. She isn’t alone, she knows that, but no support system could make doing this without Jake any less terrifying.

Nothing could make the idea of raising a baby, his baby, without him there every step of the way an even remotely acceptable possibility.

She doesn’t feel the tears until they’re soaking into Gina’s shirt over her shoulder, barely registering the sobs until they’re wracking her body and she’s clinging onto her friend for dear life.

“It’s gonna be okay,” she hears Gina say, her voice sounding distant, as though Amy is underwater and drowning.

“I-I can’t do it without him-“

“I know, girl. I know.”

The vibration of her phone, accompanied by the same loud, repetitive beeping sound that wakes her every morning, makes Amy jump out of Gina’s arms.

“Do you want me to look?” Gina asks, her eyes a little softer and more sympathetic after seeing Amy completely unravel before her. She’s kept most of her breakdowns since Jake’s been gone private and tries to put on a brave face at work, knowing that they’re all missing him and Rosa too.

Amy nods weakly, shakily wiping away tears with the sleeve of her blouse. She waits as Gina surveys the three tests on the counter (all different brands, to get the most conclusive result possible) and looks back up at her.

“All negative.”

The two words pass over her with a wave of relief, her body collapsing back against the wall behind her and sinking to the floor.

“I’m not pregnant?” she sputters, making sure she heard her correctly.

“You’re not pregnant.”

Gina comes to sit on the floor next to her, shoulder-to-shoulder, and pats her knee gently. Amy leans into her slightly as her stream of thoughts begins to clear.

“I’m three days late.” She tries to make sense of her body’s tardiness now that the most likely explanation is off the table, coming up with nothing. “I’m never late.”

“If you want, I can bring you to my OB/GYN appointment after work today to get checked out,” Gina offers. “She’s dope, we listen to Beyonce during my ultrasounds.”

Amy musters a small smile, nodding her head.

“Thanks, Gina.”

-

Just like every day, regardless of whether she’s still at the precinct or already home for the night, Amy is waiting anxiously by the phone for Jake’s call at ten o’clock. She picks up on the first ring, as always.

“Jake?”

“Hey, babe.”

His voice rings through her ears like a symphony. Their daily half-hour phone calls (as long as he can risk without a guard walking by) since he managed to acquire a contraband phone have been heavenly interruptions from an otherwise Jake-less existence.

“How are you doing?” she asks. “Is everything okay?”

The pause on the other end is a little bit too long, but it’s followed by an assured response that she knows is only for her benefit. “I’m doing okay. Just missing you.”

She subconsciously wraps his warmest, coziest blue hoodie tighter around her body. It’s one of the only ones that she hasn’t already worn to the point that she needed to wash it, one of the only things that still smells like him after nearly three weeks.

“I miss you too,” she sighs. “So much.”

“Is something wrong, Ames?”

It’s truly a testament to how well he knows her that he’s able to detect that something is off from so few words. She’s spent the past two hours since returning from the doctor’s office wrestling with whether or not to tell Jake about her false alarm today, or about the cause of it, which Dr. Abrams referred to as “alarmingly high stress levels.”

Though she doesn’t want to burden him with worries concerning her (she thinks she’s worrying enough for the both of them), there is nobody that she wants to - needs to - talk to about this more than him.

“I, um-“ she fiddles with the edge of the comforter, closing her eyes as she lets out a deep breath. “I had to take a pregnancy test today. I was three days late.”

“Was it - are you-“

“It was negative, don’t worry.” She cuts him off before the worried thoughts that had saturated her brain earlier today can reach him. “It was just scary for a minute.”

Once again, her head spins with anxieties over the thought of what may have happened if the test had been positive.

“You never miss your period. Did you see a doctor?” His voice has lost its confident steadiness, a facade that she can tell he puts on for each phone call just to ease her mind.

“I did, I’m totally fine,” she swears, hoping that she’s convincing enough to put his mind at ease. “It’s just, you know, regular stress.”

It would be a better lie if she hadn’t been stressed about something every single day that he’s known her.

“Ames, please promise me you’re taking care of yourself,” he pleads, now discernibly worried.

“I’m good, babe, you don’t have to worry about me.”

She adds it to the growing list of lies she’s told him lately: yes, I had dinner; no, I haven’t been crying; work was fine; I left the precinct hours ago.

“Okay,” he says, voice still laced with skepticism. “I’m really sorry I wasn’t there for you today.”

Her heart breaks, as if it can shatter any further. It is so annoyingly, utterly Jake to apologize for not being able to comfort her when he’s the one behind bars.

“God, I love you,” she murmurs, tears falling onto the pillow supporting her head.

“I love you too,” Jake echoes, the words heavy with the weight of the miles between them. “And Ames, about the test…we’ll do that for reals one day, okay?”

She has to believe for her sanity that he’s right, that it won’t be fifteen years and that they won’t miss their window. The idea of doing the whole “married with children” thing with anyone else is not an option that she’ll even begin to consider, as she told her mother shortly after Jake received his sentence. He’s been it for her for a long time, probably even longer than she’s realized.

“We would have cute kids,” she agrees, a small smile creeping on her face at the idea of creating something that is half-her and half-Jake (god, she hopes they get his hair and her organizational habits).

“The cutest. Our kid would put Terry and Charles and Gina’s kids to shame.” She can practically hear his trademark grin through the phone, though it’s a poor substitute for the real thing.

They spend the next twenty-eight minutes talking about hypothetical kids and the life they’re going to continue to build together. Afterwards, she sleeps the best she has in weeks, dreaming of the day that their happily ever after is no longer on hold.

[my-love-peterp]

Mistaken Chapter Seven

IF YOU WOULD LIKE TO BE ADDED TO THE TAGLIST DROP ME AN ASK

please like and rb/comment <3

Word Count: 4268

THERE ARE NO ENDGAME SPOILERS, THIS IS A DELAYED UPLOAD FROM AO3

Fic Summary: Peter Parker has been given the responsibility of bringing in a new recruit. Now, as an adult, he realizes that none of the trashy YA novels he read in high school could have prepared him for this. There was a storm on the horizon, and all they could do from the Tower is watch.

Chapter Summary: So this is definitely a chapter on my list of necessary revisions HOWEVER,  I’m writing one from some other characters POV just to shed some extra light on the circumstances surrounding what happens in this chapter. I think for sure we’ll get some Tony vignettes and maybe Steve and Darcy as well, just assessing Kaida and Tony and their states of mind (fragile, not great) and get into some motivating factors. Also, I know it’s a long time in coming but the big bad is coming soon. It’s not just Kaida vs herself as the main conflict in this piece. 

Warnings: drinking, smut, the like

Chapter One   Chapter Two   Chapter Three   Chapter Four   Chapter Five Chapter Six

The next day, I was reading the next book on my to be read list when Peter came screeching into the common room. “Cranewood!!” He practically shrieked as he ran, hips first into the back of the couch I was lounging one. He miscalculated his own speed and toppled over the back, faceplanting right into my lap.

“Oh my god, oh my god I’m so sorry I didn’t-oh, Jesus, I’m so sorry I just totally invaded your personal space and literally put my face there and oh my god.” He cut his own self off and blushed so deep, the tips of his ears almost flowed red. Peter licked himself back up and adjusted his blue sweatshirt before running his hands through the hair on the back of his neck and refusing to make eye contact with me.

“Peter?”

“Y-yeah what’s up Kaida,” he managed to squeak out before coughing and clearing his throat, lowering his voice to compensate. I just stared back at him expectantly, dog-earring my page before slamming the book shut between my thighs. He blinked twice before shifting uncomfortably between feet. I swear, for an adult man, this boy sure acted like a gawky sophomore a lot.

“Oh. Oh yeah!!! We’ve met before. Cranewood School for Girls. Technically you and Spider-Man met but... I’m hurt that you were never even going to mention the first time I saved your life. What’s up with that? And also how did a Hydra ghost end up on Long Island at an elite prep school for upstanding young women and-“ I tuned him out unconsciously.

In truth, I had completely forgotten my run in with Spider-Man when I was 13. My sister and I were much too busy then still readjusting to a normal lifestyle we’d never had and covering our tracks while breaking enough laws to provide for ourselves, day in and day out.

Nadia had laundered enough money that We had more than enough for a down payment on a small apartment in the Long Island area and I was proficient enough in my mimicry and illusion work that we were able to enroll in school with a late start due to our “parents” and their extremely generous donations. It certainly helped that Nadia and I were both whip-smart.

I remembered the day Spidey was talking about. Some jack booted Hydra thug had stormed the grounds and held my class hostage, because his primary target, Anna, who was the daughter of a senator, was my classmate. Luckily, she sat about as far away from me as popular so the Agent was never able to see my face. I didn’t realize the whole upset was over until I had felt a large hand rubbing my back.

Of course, it was Spider-Man that came to my rescue. That day seemed to repeat itself over and over with no end sight. Of course, he was comforting me. His super hearing was the first power I’d ever assimilated by accident. We should test that more in the lab.

As I opened my mouth to finally suggest a battery of tests to Peter, FRIDAY started shouting instructions to be heard over the loud clang of the emergency bell.

Science could wait.

A few months later

The alarm cut through my concentration. It turned out to be just a bigger Code Green false alarm. We’d had two in the last week. I’m not blaming it on any specific individuals but there’s was something to be said in the 200% uptick in near Code Green’s since Dr. Jane Foster and Darcy Lewis, intern and mechanical engineer extraordinaire returned from Reykjavik. But who was I to complain? After the relocated to the Tower back in May, just three months ago, there were more Strawberry pop tarts in the pantries than I’d ever seen before in my life. And it was so relieving to have another ‘devil may care’ woman around the Tower.

Don’t get me wrong, I love Natasha for all that she is but she’s just a teacher to me. And Wanda read as more of a mom friend in my mind. Darcy is the kind of girl you make up desperate housewives drinking games with. We gravitated toward each other immediately, bonding over baking, needling Tony, and then bemoaning the lack of clubbing appropriate company. She also held no judgment for me about my past, which I couldn’t believe until I saw her and Bucky making googly eyes at each other from across the room, then it all clicked.

Darcy Lewis had become my best friend, big sister and closest confidant and just a week’s time. Now, a few months later, there were still no hydra threats and my probation was set to be lifted this evening. “The perfect time to go clubbing “ Darcy had declared it, before enlisting my strengths to remove, forcibly if necessary, the science squad from their labs. And then to force them out into the world of the living. The only member to straight up refuse was Tony, as was expected. We had been… Cordial to one another but never anything more. I am nearly positive he had Friday keep tabs on my location just so he could avoid me at all times. Inevitably, we would run into each other Coming and going from our quarters or as we made our way to and from our designated lab spaces. I still didn’t quite understand why Tony lived on the same floor as the rest of the Avengers when I knew damn well he had his own penthouse in the tower.

Anyways, my lab was certainly something to behold. The calling it my lab was a bit of a stretch considering I didn’t build anything really, I just tested my powers and checked my biological markers with gadgets that Tony, Bruce, and Dr. Helen Cho had come up with together. We were still waiting for a contact from a group called the guardians who would potential he be able to determine what part alien I am. But it was the world’s most high tech library/relaxation room/artist’s studio. All to make remaining in it all day for the sake of data aggregation tenable.

To say I was bored out of my mind at first was an understatement. But over time I began to have visitors. Darcy was a daily, and surprisingly, so was Pietro. Peter and Bucky also visited, if less frequently. And, oddly enough, Vision was there almost all the time. I asked him about it once and he shrugged (how does a former AI program shrug so effectively) and simply stated that my presence combed his mind. Whatever that meant.

In any case, I wasn’t as bored or lonely anymore. In fact, I could almost swear that something was developing between Pietro and I.

Earlier this week, as I was doing the Times word search and also project in my powers to deflect incoming projectiles, my hair was flipped up and into my face, causing my concentration to skip which led to a tennis ball smacking me right in the face. Above me, Pietro burst out laughing and DUM-E beeped apologetically.

“I don’t think I can forgive you for this,“ I deadpanned, reaching back to jab him in the kidney, which he promptly dodged, all the while still cackling. When his laughing fit finally subsided, he stood back up straight.

“I have an idea, “he announced proudly.

“Stop the presses everyone, and called the Vatican, Speedy here has an idea. It must be a miracle. First one in a decade. The world must be ending,” I replied, looking at him and trying not to smirk. I will give him props because the obscene shocked and hurt that filled his face moments later was almost convincing. He chuckled and moved to sit on the stool next to me. He said nothing, only staring at me.

“Okay Zippy, what was your big idea?”

“You haven’t tested your instinctual and biological responses enough. For example, the fight or flight instinct is recreated too imperfectly in simulated situations to be of any use to you. However, there is another way around that beyond throwing yourself into open combat.” I tilted my head, waiting for him to continue. He leaned forward placing his hands on my side and leaning closer. Hesitant but not opposed, my eyes fluttered chat. Instead of kissing me as I had assumed (hoped!) was his plan, I felt his lips brush against the shell of my ear. I shattered at the sensation, anticipating.

“I have a question “, he whispered. I mumbled my acknowledgment and it took me a few seconds to process what he had said and by that time it was already too late. “ are you ticklish,” he had whisper gently. Now he was mercilessly attacking my side with one, extremely quick fingers, whenever I moved to try to escape, he was there.

I collapsed to the ground, giggling breathlessly before I cut myself and put on my grumpy face. Pietro smiled lazily and shifted so his knees were on either side of my thighs.

“ if you tickle me again, I’ll scream,” I warned him.

“ I bet I could have you screaming my name,” he replied cheesily.

“ I actually hate you right now. I’m considering making you my official arch nemesis. I might make T-shirts. And badges. Definitely badges.”

“Who’s making badges? Didn’t you know nemesis badges are so last season? This is why you should consult the great and powerful Darcy on all things,” came the snarky voice of my best friend from the lab door. I urgently pushed Pietro up and off of me. But as was the theme of the day, I was seconds too late, and Darcy saw us in a position that looked extremely compromising without context.

She raised her eyebrows at me, cheeks twitching as she managed, for once, to hold back whatever retort she thought of once she saw me beneath Pietro. Instead, she readjusted herself and offered me a hand to pick me up off of the slightly dusty floor. I made a mental note to give DUM-E the Swiffer tonight.

After I was back on my feet and thoroughly dusted off, Darcy approached the silver-haired man who was currently leaning against one of my shoulder high bookshelves, jabbing her finger into his sternum. “You hurt my sister and I know an Asgardian who can make your life a living hell. And no, I’m not talking about Thor. Plus, you should be scared of me, I’ve bested him in combat once before and I can certainly take you. So watch yourself Maximoff,” she growled before stomping away, grabbing me by the wrist and dragging me along behind her. “We’ve talked about this,” she hissed at me after her suite door slammed behind us. She’d been silent the entire elevator ride down to her floor. I loved Darcy but she was still a little paranoid about FRIDAY always being present and listening in.

“Darcy it wasn’t like that, he... tickled me?”

She snorted in disbelief. “Yeah, I bet he did. Looked like he wanted to do a lot more from where I was standing kid. I’m telling you he’s bad news. What do you see in him anyway?”

I scoffed at her insinuation that somehow, Pietro would be the rotten one between us. “Dee I was literally sleeping with Tony Stark a few months ago while I had intimate knowledge of his fiancés fate. Plus I’m not exactly innocent in literally any sense if the word...” I trailed off but she just glared at me, which was her way of telling me that we weren’t leaving until I answered all of her questions.

I sighed and plopped myself down on her cozy armchair, putting my feet up. “It’s just... he’s easy to be around Darcy. It’s not hard, I don’t have to think about anything twice, there’s no pressure. He’s funny, makes me smile, puts up with my shit. And he doesn’t want more from me than I’m willing to give. We’re as easy as breathing.” I blinked, shocked at the words that had just come out of my mouth. Sure, I would admit to having a crush on the guy, he was hot and snarky. I loved that. Wait, love? I really was losing my mind.

“You know what, forget anything I just said. Let’s go out clubbing like you suggested and find me a man to get under for the night. I have to blow off some steam. I’m delusional and sappy over here.”

Darcy shrugged, noncommittally. “What?!” I demanded, confused as all hell.

“If you really feel that way about him, you should tell him. He may not be pushing you to give more than you’re ready for, but is he going to be prepared to give you everything you want, or is he just here for the safe convenience of it Kaida? You two have been prancing around each other like orphaned fawns, afraid to let yourselves get hurt and calling it sacrifice for the other. Or maybe he just doesn’t care and wants to play dirty because you’re available and convenient. “

I was a little hurt at her words but I could see the truth behind them. It was time Pietro and I had a chat. But not before I went out and had fun with my best friend. I relayed that thought to Darcy who excitedly squealed as we plotted to get the Science Squad out and about with us.

That brings us to now. Several of us piling into the biggest limo I’d ever seen. Bruce, Jane, Nat, Clint, Thor, Wanda, Pietro, Sam, Helen, the super soldiers, and even Peter had elected to join Darcy and I out tonight. It was certainly going to be one for the history books.

Smushed as we were in the back of the vehicle, it was oddly calming. For the first time today I felt as though I had time to just think for myself. I brushed my hand along my inner left forearm and shivered as a chill climbed down my spine. The perfectly raised but horrifically off-kilter writing simply read ‘cereal?’ today. Not much to go on if I were actively looking for my soulmate. Not that I would.

Whatever being it was that decided that two halves, or sometimes thirds or fourths of the same soul, would be imprinted with the first and last words their counterparts said for that day, was a complete and total madman.

It wasn’t a whole lot to go off of. I knew they were older than me because I’d gotten the marking before I could speak and I was advanced for my age. I knew they were New Yorkers just by the way they’d mention certain places and things offhand.

But I wasn’t looking for them. It was fairly obvious to me, at that point, that becoming a fixture in my life was beneficial to absolutely no one. And, based on the blip of feeling or insight I’d get mentally from my soulmate bond, whoever they were had a strong sense of duty. Someone who felt duty bound to a person like me would only end up dead.

And yeah, maybe I was kidding myself and these were really just excuses to protect myself from losing more of the people I cared about but honestly who gave a fuck. There were millions of people in this city. What were the odds we’d even run into each other?

Too high. But there was nothing I could do about that.

And then, after what felt like hours, the car stopped and the group spilled out on to the sidewalk before scrambling to the door of the club, bypassing the line. It was one of the classier, more exclusive establishments in town but not too high brow to preclude any riff-raff.

Cue Darcy Lewis, the bane of all rationality. Darcy’s personality was that of an instigator. I, on the other hand, would never back down when challenged. That meant five tequila shots in five minutes in addition to getting three random numbers. Just for fun. A few shots later and Darcy hauled me on to the dance floor.

We writhed and twisted around each other, alternating between cackling at one another and concentrating on looking appealing and feeling sexy. Her hands roamed my body and rested on my hips as I playfully ground myself back into her.

I could see Natasha posted up in the corner, sipping a sea breeze and keeping her eyes open. Bruce stood a few feet away from her, nervously twitching but slugging back some whiskey. Clint was at the bar pounding back beers with Helen, Jane, Thor, and Sam. All seemed deeply invested in a manic take the Asgardian was telling, arms flailing and making weird shapes as he attempted to act out whichever feat of heroism was on tap for tonight. Wanda stood behind them but looked a little lost. That’s when I noticed that Pietro and Peter were both missing.

Peter was easy enough to find, he was perched next to the top of the stairs, keeping up surveillance of the entire place, the boy having no idea how to relax. I was about to mention Pietro’s absence to the brunette behind me when the wind rushed around me. Suddenly, I wasn’t on the dance floor with Darcy but back at the bar with Pietro.

“What the fuck dude,” I bit out, slapping his arm. “You can’t just speed someone without permission, it doesn’t work like that.” Pietro just shrugged and smiled lopsidedly. It was the kind of smile that got him off for everything. And now was no exception.

“But Kaida, you promised to show me what body shots were some day. I would like to do them now if that is okay. I still have not learned all of your silly American customs.”

I was just gone enough to nod eagerly while my body flushed hot. Body shot demonstrations were requested and so they would be done. We started simple, cleavage shots, I showed him with Darcy and then he practiced on me. His scruff scraped pleasantly against my overheated skin and I trembled. Then Darcy whispered salaciously in Pietro’s ear as I rested up against the bar. In a flash, Pietro‘s hands were squeezing around my hips and I was laying on top of the bar, shirt hiked up.

Tequila was poured and salt sprinkled around my Navel by Darcy freakin' Lewis, who, just hours earlier, had scolded both Pietro and I for our touching antics. But now, here she was, encouraging Pietro to haul me on to the bar. Before I could process that emotional whiplash, Pietro’s face was hovering over my stomach, a wicked smile filling his expression. I squirmed and he responded by dipping his head, using his tongue to swipe up the salt from my body before continuing down and sucking on my navel, slurping up all the tequila. My body was positively on fire. I opened my mouth in a breathless moan and nearly choked when my best friend shoved the rind of lime between my teeth. Her face was quickly replaced by Pietro’s. His eyes burned into mine, his pupils were blown, dark and hungry. He placed his mouth over mine, biting down surprisingly gently so lime juice with a hint of a taste that must be pure Pietro flooded my mouth. Icy fire burned through my veins as I completely forgot the discomfort of the hardwood bar pressing against my back. We were drawing closer and closer to each other as Pietro decisively removed the line from my mouth.

The trance was broken by a cough and a throat clearing. The Spiders Two, Peter and Natasha, were standing behind Pietro, arms crossed. Nat’s face was expressionless, but Peter‘s emotions were somewhat clear. He looked uncomfortable, annoyed and something else I couldn’t quite get a read on. My mouth fell open in a drunken grin, as I waved awkwardly to them, attempting to lift my head and slide off the bar and to my feet. Unfortunately, I was still more than a little boneless from the whole “Pietro‘s lips and tongue on my body“ situation, so, while I did manage to slide off the bar, landing on my feet and my high heels was a whole different story.

Long story short, I simply didn’t. Fortunately, when you’re friends with other enhanced people, their reflexes are typically pretty good. So I felt long, pale arms lock around my middle and stop me from falling. I grinned widely again at the feeling of thick ropey muscles encompassing me.

As I righted myself, the arms remained around me, hints of spicy cologne filling my nostrils when I slouched back into the warm body that stood behind me, closing my eyes and tilting my head back to nuzzle into Pietro’s neck. His breath caught and he let out a weirdly high pitched squeak in surprise.

“Oh shoot,” I stammered reflexively, looking down, “did I step on your foot or something? I know these heels can be a bitch.” It took me a minute to realize why what I was seeing felt so wrong. Instead of the tight black jeans Pietro had been wearing that night, my rescued had on dorky khakis and a blue button up. Peter.

“Fuck, Peter I didn’t know it was you, god damn I like almost assaulted you there. I’m so, so sorry. Jesus Christ, no more tequila for me ever.” I just kept rattling off apologies until he waved me away and Darcy took my arm to lead me out to a cab that was pulling up for us. It was time for me to go home, so Clint was being sent with me to supervise and make sure I made it back to the Tower in one piece and then he’d take one of Tony’s cars to drive back to his farmstead. “I’ve gotta take the kids to school tomorrow. Laura has a doctor’s appointment and I’m trying to be a good dad. You know, the whole nine yards. Or at least as good of a dad as a world-renowned assassin can be.” He ended up using the ride to babble on TL me about everything Nathaniel was getting up to at the moment and the big fiasco when he found out he was named after a girl and the killer meltdown when his parents rebuked him.

Clint deposited me in the elevator and hit my floor for me before he took off to the tunnel leading towards our parking garage. For the first fifth floors, everything was silent save for the occasional squeak of a gear or run of a pulley. Until the elevator stopped on one of the lab floors. I should have realized at that moment that all but one member of the Science Squad had been out that night, but it didn’t until I saw him step into the elevator beside me.

We stiffened simultaneously as Tony and I took the other in. Taking opposite corners, we studiously ignored each other as the elevator began moving. It was uncomfortable and deafeningly quiet, but that was probably more than I deserved. And then, as though whatever cosmic being had a direct line to my thoughts coupled with a sick sense of humor, the elevator froze, the lights went dark and an alarm started blaring, quickly followed by the emergency sprinkler system.

So to recap, I was trapped in a metal box, in the dark, being pelted with cold water, quite similar to what my parents used to do to Nadia and me.

It was at this moment that I had my worst panic attack to date. The sharp sense of panic cut down whatever buzz I had built up from the night before. Pure unadulterated terror flooded my chest as I collapsed to the floor, twitching. My chest heaved with silent sobs, my trauma reminding me that if I made a sound, Nadia would be punished and vice verse. Tears streamed down my cheeks and bile coated my throat. I could hear tony working frantically to desired the elevator panel and talking at me. I couldn’t hear what he was saying. It didn’t matter. I was too far gone.

Minutes, maybe hours passed. Before I could think clearly, I was entirely disassociated and then sleeping in a wet puddle on the floor of our stalled elevator.

When I woke up the next morning, I was in my own bed, drowning in an oversized hoody that I recognized as one I had stolen from Bucky weeks ago, that if I had to guess, he had originally stolen from Cap. It was royal blue number with a vintage style logo for the Brooklyn Dodgers, whose move was still a sore spot for Steve Rogers.

I sat up groggily, head pounding. As I finger combed my hair and stood to use my restroom, I heard gently snores coming from the plush sectional in my living room. Lo and behold, the Tony Stark was slumped over, not even under a blanket. The events of last night all came flooding back to me and I flushed a bright pink in embarrassment. I’d never shown just how deep that particular weakness ran for me. I turned back and tried to tiptoe out of the room and down to the communal floor for breakfast when Tony’s voice stopped me in my tracks.

“I think it’s time we had a talk.”

TAGLIST: @peeterparkr @private-bucky-barnes @laurfangirl424 @bucktitybarnes

[wistfulcynic]

Another Brick In The Wall: Chapter 14

It’s the end! I can’t believe it. This story that started out as a snotty protest against high school AUs somehow ended as my second longest MC and something that I’ve immensely enjoyed writing. It's been so interesting imagining these characters and the events of their lives through this lens, I just hope in the end I've done them justice. Thank you all so much for reading it, and for your lovely comments, without them this story probably wouldn't have happened. Love you all ❤️❤️❤️

Summary: Emma Swan, sheriff’s daughter, mayor’s niece, quarterback’s girlfriend, is the undisputed princess of Storybrooke High. She is smart and confident and used to getting what she wants. What she wants is Killian Jones, the new boy in school. But Killian is not easily manipulated, and reluctant to allow the dark secrets in his past to touch the girl he is rapidly falling in love with. Rating: T Read it on AO3: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14

Tags for: @darkcolinodonorgasm @jennjenn615 @hollyethecurious @resident-of-storybrooke @kmomof4 @bonbonpirate

Chapter 14:

Nine and a half years after the morning after her senior prom, Emma arrived home at the end of another exhausting day to find a thick cream envelope in her mail slot addressed to “Dr Emma Swan-Jones.” The Storybrooke High seal was pressed into the flap, and Emma knew immediately what it was. 

She sifted through the bills and junk mail seaching for another envelope, addressed to Killian. There wasn’t one. Perhaps that wasn’t surprising, though, she reasoned. He hadn’t technically graduated with her, just passed his AP exams and gone on his way. 

When Killian came home half an hour later she was sitting at the kitchen table, staring at the card the envelope had contained with a small scowl. He gave her a quizzical look and she handed it to him, without comment. He looked at it and laughed. “Of course,” he said. “The final stage in the American high school drama. The one wherein we return to the old alma mater, triumphantly to lord our brilliant success over the poor sods we went to school with.” He sat down across from her and handed the card back. “I suppose you’ll want to go?” 

Emma shrugged. “I don’t know. Do we have any brilliant success to lord over anyone?” That afternoon she had given expert testimony in the trial of a sixteen year old boy accused of sexually assaulting his twelve year old sister. He’d been acquitted. The girl had grabbed Emma’s hand and begged her with terrified eyes not to make her go back home. But there had been no other option. Watching that poor child be herded away by her parents had made Emma feel precisely the opposite of brilliantly successful. 

Killian gave her the soft, sympathetic look he always gave when he could tell she’d had a particularly bad day, and reached out to take her hand. “‘Brilliant’ may be too strong a word, but we’re certainly well on our way to where we want to be,” he said. “Don’t you think so, love?”

Killian was a junior professor, teaching all the hours God sent while simultanously participating in a major research project and writing the book he hoped would get him tenure. She was a forensic psychologist with the Boston PD, handed all the worst, most difficult cases by her superiors, coming home each day exhausted and ready to weep for humanity. They lived on the ground floor of a draughty old house that they paid way too much rent for, trying to save for a down payment on their own place, which at the rate they were going would only take about thirty years provided Boston house prices remained at their current stratospheric levels. She had wrinkles on her forehead now that didn’t smooth out when she stopped frowning and last week she had found a grey hair. Were they where they wanted to be?

She looked at her husband. The years had certainly been kind to him. His lanky frame had filled out and he had grown into his face, which was now covered with stubble from the thick beard he was usually too busy or tired to shave regularly. The scruff suited him, though. Everything suited him. Killian at seventeen had been a cute boy with eyes a bit too big and limbs a touch too long, teetering just on the precipice of his potential; Killian at twenty-seven was breathtaking. 

She realised he was waiting for an answer to his question. “I guess. I don’t know. Oh, I can’t think about things like that now, I’m in too much of a mood.” 

Keeping hold of her hand he stood and pulled her up into his arms, wrapping them tightly around her and stroking her hair. She sighed as she leaned against his solid, comforting form, drawing strength from his presence. 

“Rough day?” he asked. 

“When isn’t it?” she replied, unable to keep the frustration from her voice. 

“Do you want to talk about it?”

She shook her head as much as she could with her face buried in his shoulder. “Not really. Maybe later. Right now I just want to sit and do something mindless. Just not think for a while.” 

Killian kissed her gently on her hair and then on her lips. “Why don’t you find something on Netflix and I’ll pour us some wine,” he said. 

She nodded and went into the living room, collapsing on the sofa and putting her feet up on the coffee table. Killian hated when she did that, but sometimes she wanted to stretch out, she thought grumpily. 

“Anything you want for dinner?” he called from the kitchen.

“No, just whatever.” She picked up the remote and began scrolling aimlessly through the options.

He joined her a few minutes later, handing her a large glass of red wine and sitting down next to her, sighing as he did. He looked pointedly at her feet, but said nothing. She felt a brief flare of guilt. His days were hard too. She took her feet off the table and curled them under her as she tucked herself against his side and he put an arm around her. 

“I think ‘whatever’ is going to be pasta and a salad tonight,” he said, kissing the top of her head.   

“That sounds fine. What do you want to watch?”

“Oh, whatever,” he teased, using his ‘American’ accent. She gave him a small slap, rolling her eyes. 

“The Good Place?”

“Yeah, go on then.” 

It was a show they’d watched a hundred times, but after their stressful days they needed some comfort viewing. They watched two episodes as they drank their wine, then Killian went to make dinner and Emma checked her email. Five messages from her boss already, and she’d barely left work two hours ago. On a Friday. Firmly she closed the app and turned her phone upside down on the table. She’d deal with work later. Now she was going to have dinner with her husband and enjoy his company. 

They chatted about odds and ends as they ate, the everyday, random subjects that are common in long-term relationships. 

“By the way, you never answered my question, love,” said Killian, after a short silence. 

“Hmm? What question?” Emma twirled pasta around her fork. 

“Do you want to go to the reunion?”

She frowned. She’d forgotten about it, and wasn’t sure she wanted to open the subject again. “Eh, I don’t know,” she said. “I guess it might be nice to see some people again. We don’t really do any visiting when we go back to SB.” 

They went back regularly of course, to see Liam and Belle, who were married now with three small children, and her parents, who had a small child of their own— a surprise baby (very surprising, Snow had laughed) called Leo, who was now eight. But their trips were usually over holidays and they were so busy with their families, nieces and nephews and baby brothers, that they didn’t take much time to see old friends, especially since Ruby had moved to China and hardly ever came back. 

“I’ll leave it up to you,” said Killian. “I was only at that school for a year, and everyone I really came to care about I still see frequently. Even Whale, who I in fact see far too much of for anyone’s liking.” 

Against all odds Killian and Victor had remained friends of a sort and since Victor had moved to Boston three years earlier they went out together fairly regularly, though from what Killian said they spent most of that time bickering and needling at each other. Still, they seemed to enjoy it. 

By the time Emma and Killian had finished eating and cleaned up the kitchen it was past nine and their eyelids were drooping. “Do you want to watch anything else?” asked Killian.

“No,” said Emma, around an enormous yawn. “Let’s just go to bed.” 

She was so old, she thought. In bed by ten on a Friday night. But it was better than falling asleep on the sofa five minutes into a movie. 

They brushed their teeth and washed their faces, then got undressed and before putting on pajamas they wrapped themselves around each other as they did every night, sharing a deep kiss as they each mentally played a round of the debating game they called “Are We Too Knackered For Sex Or Not?”

To her surprise, Emma discovered that her answer was “Or Not.” She was exhausted, mentally and physically, but as much as she wanted to sleep she wanted to feel that closeness with Killian even more, wanted the warmth and comfort that she always felt when making love with him. Wanted proof that human relationships could be positive, nurturing things, not like that hellishly twisted nightmare family she’d seen today. Sometimes she felt that without her loving marriage, without Killian’s unwavering support, doing her job might come at the expense of her mental health. 

She signalled her intent by letting her hand slide down his back to cup his ass and pull his hips into hers, rocking her own against him. 

He hummed against her mouth. “So it’s an Or Not for you, then?” he murmured. 

“Yeah. You?”

“I’m certain I can summon the energy to ravish you, love,” he growled, hoisting her up against him. She shrieked and wrapped her legs around his waist, laughing as he tumbled them both onto their bed. 

Later, Emma lay with her head on Killian’s chest, listening to his heartbeat and the soft flow of his breath as he slept. She was tired in a more pleasant way now, sated and content and much more at peace than she had felt earlier, yet still she couldn’t sleep. Her fingers sifted through the abundant hair on his chest, one of her favourite things to touch, and she remembered with a smile the first night she’d spent in his arms. How she’d woken on that shining morning to the thought of how hairy he’d be one day. He had surpassed her expectations on that front. On most fronts, honestly. 

She indulged in more memories of that morning, of the two of them eating pancakes and bacon on the boat, laughing, talking about nothing, getting lost in each other’s eyes. They had been so in love, so happy. So full of bright optimism for the future. They’d thought they had it all figured out. 

A decade later they weren’t any less in love. If anything their feelings had only deepened and strengthened as their relationship matured. But life had not turned out to be quite as easy as they had envisioned it in that sparkling memory. She supposed it never really did. 

She thought about going to the Storybrooke High reunion, seeing the people she hadn’t seen since graduation. People she had ruled back then as Storybrooke’s princess, shallow and carefree, beloved and ever so slightly feared. People who had remained in the small town they’d been born in while she had moved to New York, travelled far and wide with Killian, seen and done so much that had changed her, then finally settled into a job that exhausted and depressed her even as every day reinforced her conviction that what she did was essential work, helping people as much as anything could. What would Storybrooke think of its princess now?

Human nature being what it was, she of course wondered sometimes about the life she could have had if she’d returned after college as her mother had wished. What she would have ended up doing, who she would have been with? Would Killian really have returned with her, given up his own future for her? Even odder to imagine, what would have become of her if she’d never met Killian at all? He was such an integral part of her existence, her husband, her best friend, the love of her life, that she was literally unable to imagine herself without him.  Had Killian never come to Storybrooke Emma would have grown up to be a wholly different person, one unrecognisable to the person she actually was. Whether she would have been happy in that other reality, in her ignorance both of true love and of the frustrations of the life she’d chosen, she couldn’t say. All she knew was that despite everything she was happy in this one. 

Killian shifted in his sleep, his hand sliding over the bare skin of her hip and onto her lower belly as he unconsciously cuddled her closer. Her skin tingled in its wake with the low-level arousal always ignited by even his lightest touch. He was the only man she’d ever slept with, something her friends hadn’t hesitated to tease her about over the years, like it was something they thought she would be ashamed of. But Emma always just laughed, letting the mockery roll off her back. She was more than satisfied with her sex life, certain that she wasn’t missing anything she couldn’t do without. In fact, hearing her friends’ stories of unsatisfying one-nighters and awkward morning-afters and the challenges of dating in the modern world just made her even more grateful for Killian, who still looked at her like she was the centre of his universe and whose hands on her never failed to send sparks dancing across her skin even after ten years together. Why would she want to go out looking for meaningless sex with men whose faces she would barely remember just for the sake of “wider experience” when she had the sexiest man she’d ever seen already in her bed, waiting to worship her and pleasure her and love her? Why go out for hamburger, as the saying goes, when you have steak at home? 

Though she’d be lying if she didn’t admit, if only to herself, how deeply she’d enjoyed the look on her college friends’ faces when they’d met him for the first time. After all the teasing she’d endured about her boyfriend who was actually a boy and about her turning down men old enough to buy her alcohol for the sake of a boy who wasn’t even eighteen yet, she had revelled in their shock, their disbelief, and yes, their outright envy. He’s mine, bitches, she remembed thinking, with her newfound college-student affinity for swearing. And you can suck it. 

“All right, all right,” Tiana had said. “I get it now. You’re a dark horse, Emma Swan.”

“Does he have a brother?” Ariel had asked innocently. 

Maintaining their relationship during their college years had, she realised now, been pretty easy. Alhough at first they had struggled with the distance, as they’d settled into college life and found their friends and routines and formed a routine for their relationship, texting throughout the day and FaceTiming in the evenings, they had learned to handle it. She’d missed him, of course, as he had her, but they’d always visited each other without fail twice a month, the only exception being during finals when they needed the time to study and didn’t wish to spend it on the train. Their winter and summer breaks had also been spent together, first in Storybrooke and later in either New York or Boston, working summer internships to help them get a leg up in their future careers. 

After graduation, Killian fulfilled his promise to go to Oxford for three years of graduate study while Emma, hating the idea of being so far away from him for so long, had impulsively applied for a master’s programme at the London School of Economics and to her surprise been accepted. 

“It’s for social and cultural psychology, which isn’t directly applicable to what I want to do,” she said. “But it sounds fascinating and it’ll give me a broader understanding of the field which can only be an advantage. And I should be able to start a PhD immediately when it’s finished.”

“I can’t say I’d be sorry to have you near,” said Killian. “I haven’t been back to the UK in five years, I’m a bit apprehensive about it. And of course not having an ocean between us is never a bad thing.” 

Emma of course had never been to the UK at all, and so they took three weeks before the start of their courses to travel around the country, everywhere except London and Oxford, as they had agreed that every time they got together (trading visits every two weeks as they’d done in college) they would do one touristy thing, reasoning that this ought to give them enough time to see the major sights of both cities during Emma’s year-long programme.  

Because life was insane and coincidences were real they actually ran into Milah one afternoon in Lincoln’s Inn Fields. It was early November and they were sitting on the grass enjoying an unseasonable bout of warmth and sunshine when Killian suddenly went stiff as a board, drawing in his breath sharply. 

“What is it?” asked Emma, concerned, following the trajectory of his gaze to a tall woman with long, dark hair tumbling down her back in wild curls who was walking along the path nearest them, a cell phone at her ear. 

“That’s her. Milah.” Killian’s voice was strained. 

“Really?” Emma leaned forward for a better look. 

“Yeah.” Killian’s hand tightened in hers, squeezing her fingers painfully. “Don’t stare, I don’t want to catch her attention.” 

“Are you sure? We could go talk to her, if you want.” 

“Definitely not.” 

“It might be good, Killian, to talk about—” 

“No, love, please. I’ve worked hard to put it behind me, I don’t want to dredge up old emotions that are best left in the past.” 

She snuggled closer into his side. “As you wish,” she said, stealing his line, and he smiled and kissed her. When they looked up again, Milah had gone. 

That night when they made love there was something almost frantic in the way he held her and touched her and thrust deep within her, as though he needed her to anchor him in the place he wanted to remain. Normally their lovemaking was very much a pair activity, but that night Emma lay back and let him take what he needed, knowing that his fingers would leave bruises on her soft skin but that she would never reproach him for them. And when he clung to her in the aftermath and she felt his tears dampen her hair she held him close and whispered that she loved him and always would, soothing him until he slept. 

The next morning he was lighter than she’d ever seen him, smiling brightly as they did their touristy thing —a trip on the London Eye this time— laughing freely when she held tightly to his jacket at the top, wrapping her securely in his arms. “I’ll never let you fall, Emma,” he murmured in her ear, and she smiled. She wouldn’t let him fall, either. She hadn’t, and she never would. 

When she saw him off on the train back to Oxford that evening she knew that he had left Milah and the trauma of his past behind, completely. Finally. He was free.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Killian awoke the next morning Emma was still asleep, curled up on her side and snoring lightly in the way he’d always found adorable. She still had shadows under her eyes but her face was relaxed and peaceful, which eased some of his worry about her state of mind. When Emma was particularly stressed she frowned even in her sleep, so her soft expression was a good sign. He hated seeing her so strung out but knew there was little he could do to help. It was simply her nature. She was incapable of not getting emotionally invested in the people she counselled; she cared about them and took it very hard when she wasn’t able to give them the help they needed. He couldn’t change that, nor did he really want to; her generous heart was one of the things he loved most about her. All he could really do was just be there, just offer his support and listen whenever she was ready to talk. 

He stroked her cheek with his thumb and kissed her softly on the forehead, and when she didn’t waken he slid carefully from the bed, pulling on his old Harvard sweatpants as quietly as he could. She seemed pretty deeply asleep and frankly, he thought, she could use the rest. It wasn’t often she had a chance to sleep in, even on a Saturday, but today, he silently decreed, she would. She would sleep late, and when she awoke he would have breakfast waiting for her.

Pancakes, he thought. We haven’t had those in ages. And bacon. Like they’d had the morning after the prom. He smiled to himself at the memory, one that hadn’t crossed his mind in years. So many good things had happened since that when it came to happy memories he had a true embarrassment of riches, and sometimes things got lost in the shuffle. The arrival of the reunion invite had it seemed shuffled them to the fore again. 

Although he could certainly understand Emma’s reluctance to go to her high school reunion and be faced with having either to hide or to explain the stresses and frustrations of the life she’d chosen to people who already struggled to understand why she’d chosen it, Killian knew she wouldn’t change a thing about their life, as he wouldn’t. All things considered they had been almost unbelievably fortunate. Finding the love of your life at sixteen or seventeen was vanishingly rare; even rarer was that relationship surviving years of separation, the stress of pursuing advanced degrees and of working long hours for low pay and little appreciation, and actually growing stronger with each new challenge thrown at it. He was immensely grateful for the last ten years with her and for all the years they had to come, for the children they hoped some day to have, for the life they would continute to build together. All they needed was each other, the rest of it—the jobs, the kids, the house— would work itself out. And if those things never came then they’d still be happy because they’d be together. 

Feeling cheerful at the prospect of surprising Emma with a nice breakfast, Killian opened the refrigerator, only to discover that that they had no bacon. And no milk. Sighing, he quickly peeked into the bedroom to check that Emma was still sound asleep, then tossed on his jacket, zipping it securely as he wasn’t wearing a shirt, and slipped from the house as quietly as possible. Twenty minutes later he was back, armed with bacon, milk, and some good coffee, plus chocolate chips for the pancakes. Emma permitted him to feed her healthy food these days as long as he prepared it, but she still held on to her childhood preference for sickly sweet breakfasts. He mixed the pancake batter and set it aside to rest while he cooked the bacon and then finally put the coffee on. Breakfast was nearly ready, and if anything would lure Emma out of bed it was the smell of good coffee. 

Sure enough she appeared in the kitchen moments later, wearing an old t-shirt of his and rubbing her eyes sleepily. “Is that the Guatemalan coffee I smell?” she asked, “I thought we’d run out.”

“I went to the store. It’s been a while since we’ve had a nice breakfast, and you seemed like you could use it.”

She came up behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist as he tested the heat of the griddle and poured out the first batch of pancakes. “God, I love you,” she said against the bare skin over his shoulder blade.

“I hope you’re not just saying that because I got chocolate chips for the pancakes,” he teased, picking up the bag to show her before sprinking a generous handful over half the batch. 

“Well, I can’t deny that’s a major factor,” she replied, deadpan. 

“I knew it.” 

She gave a light laugh and squeezed him tightly before heading for the coffee maker. “It’s ready,” she said. “Do you want a cup now?”

“Yeah, please.” Killian deftly flipped the pancakes. “These’ll be done in a minute, you go sit down and I’ll bring it all in when it’s ready.” 

Emma poured coffee for both of them and took their cups to the table. Sitting, she sipped at hers, letting the rich flavour and the caffeine kick both soothe and jolt her into full consciousness. She’d nearly finished the cup when Killian placed a generous stack of pancakes in front of her, oozing melted chocolate and accompanied by a pile of bacon. She laughed, the first free, happy laugh he’d heard from her in far too long. 

“Are there three of me?” she asked. 

“Now, darling, don’t pretend that you can’t, or won’t, eat all of that yourself,” he said, refilling her coffee cup. “Need I remind you of the Naples Pizza Incident?” 

“I was twenty three then!” she protested, “The calories burned off a lot faster in those days.” 

“It was only five years ago, love, not fifty.” 

“It feels longer,” she said, the grim mood falling back onto her face.  

He sat down and picked up his fork, deliberately casual. “Do you want to talk about it?” 

She nodded. “Yeah, I think I’m ready.” 

As they ate she told him about the case, the testimony she’d given, how her best efforts had seemed to make no difference, and how she’d had to send a traumatised little girl right back into the same terrible situation she thought she’d escaped. 

“That fucking judge, he cared more about ‘ruining the future’ of the brother than about protecting a little girl from a predator,” she fumed. “Of course a sexual assault conviction would ruin his future, it should.” She took a large bite of pancake, chewed and swallowed before continuing. “I think the worst thing was that the smug little shit knew there wouldn’t be any consequences for him. His parents knew what was going on, they did nothing. The judge did nothing. What’s even the point of a justice system if it doesn’t protect the people who most need protecting?” She bit down on a piece of bacon with a vicious crunch. 

 Killian knew this was a rhetorical question; she didn’t want his help or his opinion, just his ear and his shoulder. So he said nothing. 

Emma swiped her plate with the last bite of pancake and popped it in her mouth. “Looks like you were right,” she said. “I did eat it all.” 

“I knew you could do it,” he replied, smiling at her. “I believed in you. I always believe in you, Emma.” 

In more things than just eating pancakes, he meant, and he could tell she understood. She gave him an odd look, half soft smile, half inner turmoil.  

“Let’s go,” she said suddenly.  

“Where?”

“To the reunion. Let’s just go. I don’t care if we’re brilliantly successful or not, I’m happy. I’m exhausted and frustrated and sometimes I feel like all my efforts are for nothing, but then I come home and you pour me wine and fuck me senseless—”

“Um, make passionate love to my beautiful wife, I think you mean—”

“—then you make me pancakes for breakfast and listen to me complain about my day and even though that doesn’t make the problems go away it makes me feel like I can handle them. I can handle anything as long as you’re with me, and I’m happy, Killian.” She reached out and took his hand. “This is happily ever after,” she said softly, smiling into his eyes. “Everyone seems to think that that means your life is perfect but it doesn’t. It just means you’re happy despite the imperfections.”

“I’m happy with you, Emma,” he whispered, kissing her, leaning his forehead against hers, breathing her breath. “You're all I need, and I will never stop loving you.”

“I’ll never stop loving you,” she whispered back. They kissed again, deeper this time, a kiss tasting of pancakes and bacon and the years and years of joys and frustrations, triumphs and struggles, small victories and petty annoyances that they had to look forward to together. 

In that moment, despite the imperfections, they were perfectly, truly happy.