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beeeinyourbonnet · 7 months ago

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Covetous | Chapter 8

Rating: E

Pairing: Macelle (Father MacAvoy x Belle) or Nostelle (Nosty x Belle), who is to say which

Summary: Father Joseph MacAvoy wakes up in a library across town with no idea of how he got there. When the kind librarian doesn’t kick him out immediately, he considers that maybe there’s more to life than alcohol.

[chapter 1] [chapter 2] [chapter 3] [chapter 4] [chapter 5] [chapter 6] [chapter 7]

[read on ao3]

tws: alcoholism, homelessness.

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Though he tried to coax Belle into bed after an hour of calling all the stations near her flat and the library yielded no results, she insisted on sitting in her reading chair all night, staring out the window. He took the couch, too drunk to fight her, and passed out.

When he woke sometime around dawn, Belle was showered and dressed, clutching a white dress shirt in her lap while she dozed. Was it Nosty’s? Based on the photos around her flat, it was too small to have belonged to her father.

He didn’t want to wake her, but he also wasn’t sure what to do. He hadn’t expected to stay over, but he’d soon realized that Belle was going to drive herself into the ground if no one was there to make her eat, drink, and take breaks. It was a relief to see her sleep now, even though it was clear she hadn’t slept much in the night.

Figuring she wouldn’t be offended if he took a shower, he stumbled to the bathroom. She’d lain out a towel and washcloth with a scrap of paper on top that read Joseph. It was next to the mouthwash. How could she manage to be so thoughtful when she could barely remember to blink?

Belle was awake when he emerged in a towel, clutching the shirt so hard, he didn’t think even an iron could save it.

“Good morning,” he said tentatively.

“Morning.”

“Do you want some breakfast?” He wasn’t going to put her through his hideous attempts at eggs, but he could make toast at least.

She shook her head. “I have to go to work soon.”

“You have time for breakfast.” If he kept his voice firm, maybe he would feel firm. Belle nodded, and when she stood, he saw she was wearing two different shoes, one dark brown ankle boot and one black.

“Um, Belle?”

“There’s bread on the counter,” she said. “And jam in the fridge.”

Should he even tell her about the shoes? They were so similar, it didn’t even seem to impede her walking, but if he’d noticed, surely everyone would.

Once they each had a piece of toast spread with butter and strawberry jam, and Belle had let go of the shirt, he brought up the shoes.

“Oh god.” She laughed, a sound he wanted to enjoy but it only squeezed his heart. “My head’s not on right today. I don’t even know what’s on the schedule at work. You won’t let me traumatize any kids, right?”

“Of course not.” He was another story, but he’d made it through the library enough times without incident, he could probably make it today. “And we’ll keep calling. At every free minute.”

She nodded, eyes welling up. “Okay. We’ll keep calling.”

****

Belle considered it divine intervention that they made it to the library without injury since she couldn’t remember looking at the road even once on the drive. She didn’t bother with her usual opening tasks, just sat at her desk and logged into her email to retrieve her spreadsheet.

Joseph asked her a few questions about the coffee carafe and where all the light switches were, and she was so grateful for him being there. She hadn’t felt this out of sorts since her father moved to hospice, but there was no unknown then. Constant vigilance wouldn’t have helped her, she just took her time off where she could and then her bereavement leave when he finally passed. Now, what was she supposed to say? Hi, my usually-unreliable boyfriend of three or so days is missing, and I know he doesn’t have an address and has disappeared before, but I’m certain he’s injured, so I’ll be taking off an indefinite amount of time.

That would be absurd. Besides, if he actually was injured, she might have to take off to care for him.

Joseph brought her a stack of books from the overnight book return slot, and going through the motions of checking them back in soothed her. There was nothing taxing about this repetitive labor, nothing that wanted to pull the loneliness further. It was just books being books, as they always were. Reliably.

“Should I call some stations?” Joseph asked. “They might be happier to talk to a priest than a friend.”

Girlfriend, she wanted to correct him, but what was the point? It wasn’t like she and Nosty had discussed it. They were still figuring things out. That’s what she’d told him they could do.

“Okay, thanks.”

They spent the morning alternating between helping patrons, setting up a room for a school visit, and calling police stations. Joseph stepped outside several times to chat with her friend across the street, and she felt guilty for not doing so herself, but what would she say? The only words that came to her were the old tried and true about books, and if she couldn’t talk about that, she would just talk about Nosty.

She dialed the next station on her list, debating whether bursting into tears would get her more help or not. No one could do anything with just a nickname and a description, and no one had been willing to help her at all.

“Newham police, Constable Graves speaking.”

“Hi,” Belle said, reaching for her practiced words. “I’m looking for recent arrest information.”

“Name?”

“Well, that’s the tricky part, and please pardon me for being difficult, but I’m so worried—”

“If you don’t have a name, I can’t help you.”

Men her father’s age often buckled when face to face with her, and she wanted to scream when she couldn’t get the same effect on the phone. Maybe she’d go around to every station in London in person.

“Sorry, it’s just—he goes by Nosty, and he wears a kilt—”

“You’re looking for Nosty?”

Her head swam. Someone finally recognized him. Had Joseph felt like this last night when he’d discovered the hospital?

“Yes! Yes, I’m looking for Nosty.”

“What’s he done this time, then?”

She swallowed, reaching for a book just to have something to hold. “Nothing. I’m just trying to find him.”

“What for? He owe you money?” The constable guffawed and even more laughter echoed around him, like everyone was in on the joke. For a blissful moment, anger replaced Belle’s despair, but she bit her tongue. Yelling at the police wouldn’t help Nosty.

“Please, I’m just—”

“Hang on, hang on, just a minute.”

She sat in shocked silence while he placed her on hold. While she listened to the elevator music, Joseph sat next to her, bracing a hand on her shoulder.

“Hello?” This man sounded much younger, and Belle hastened to gather herself.

“Yes, hi, have you seen Nosty?”

“No, ma’am, I’m sorry.” In his quick accent, “ma’am” sounded like “mum.” “I just thought you might want to talk to someone who wouldn’t laugh at you.”

She grabbed Joseph’s hand, eyes welling with tears. “Thank you. You know him then?”

The young officer spoke so quietly, she had to press the phone to her ear. “We’ve arrested him before, but I haven’t seen him in awhile. Are you family?”

Should she lie? “Yes. I haven’t heard from him in a few days, and I’m worried.”

“If you like, I can take your information and ring you if I see him.”

The tears spilled over, and Joseph shoved a tissue at her. “Would you? Oh, thank you so much…?”

“Cliff, mum. Well, Constable Butler, to be formal.”

“Thank you so much, Cliff.”

She gave him every way she could think to reach her, hung up the phone, and then curled up in Joseph’s lap like a child and wept.

****

MacAvoy had not wished for much in his life. He was fairly content to be miserable as long as he could continue numbing the pain, but he had wished for Belle, and now he had her, and along with her an all-consuming guilt for wishing Nosty out of the picture.

He had never held a human over the age of one while they cried, much less a beautiful woman that he—let’s face it—was in love with. He could sense his future fuckup just lurking around the corner, waiting for the moment to strike.

“Shh.” He stroked her hair even though it would fill him with guilt, but he already felt so guilty it hardly mattered. “Belle, it’s okay, it’s gonna be okay. Why don’t we go to your office?”

She mumbled something and he thought he could make out desk.

“Okay, why don’t I put you in your office to relax for a little bit and I’ll watch the desk?”

She agreed to this, so he led her in and deposited her in her chair. Without looking, she opened one of the drawers and pulled out a bag of gummy bears, offering him one before taking a handful and curling up with her knees to her chest to eat them.

“I’ll be right out there if you need me,” he said.

“If you pick up and dial two, it’ll ring this phone.”

He thanked her and shut her in, then paused in front of the door to gather himself. He half expected Nosty to show up after all that and stab him in the throat with his boxcutter, and at the moment, it would be a relief just to see him.

Nosty did not show up while he sat at the desk, and he did not show up once Belle re-emerged, a little red and puffy but otherwise put together.

She sat and rested a hand over his, startling him.

“Thank you so much, Joseph,” she said. “I don’t know how I would have done anything alone.”

“No one should have to deal with something like this alone,” he said, voice hoarse.

She squeezed his hand, then let her fingers drop. “I’m glad I didn’t have to. And—and you know I’m here for you too.”

He could kiss her, he realized. He could lean forward and touch his lips to her red, tear-swollen cheek. That was not the behavior of a supportive friend, though. A supportive friend wouldn’t take advantage of a hurting woman trying to find the man she clearly loved.

A priest also shouldn’t be thinking about when it might be appropriate to kiss someone. The answer for him was never. It was never appropriate.

He would just have to be happy to see her happy.

****

MacAvoy didn’t go home with her again, but he was sure to be at the library before she arrived, and he spent a lot of time learning how to text faster so he could check in on her while she sat vigil by her window all night.

The only times he saw Belle happy was when she was working with groups at the library. She put on a bold face for the patrons, but when she had to lose herself in a group event, he could really see her passion for her job. He was too in love with her to even offer to help—every time he meant to, he would look into her smiling eyes and forget the entire English language.

He called the hospital again on Thursday, but they still hadn’t seen him, and they couldn’t offer to call him with information. He was lucky they were willing to tell him anything, and he had the feeling it was only his credentials. A god-fearing man on the other line was a blessing if MacAvoy wanted to know something.

With Belle’s increasing hopelessness rubbing off on him, the non-news put him in a foul mood. Nosty had better be dead for the grief he was putting her through. MacAvoy made himself a cup of tea with two shots of gin, a little treat for himself that he’d discovered at Belle’s. It was a good way to not hate himself for drinking.

Before he succumbed to the alcohol fully, he sent a quick check-in text to Belle, but she didn’t respond. He hoped that meant she was showering or eating, or maybe reading. She had confessed to him that she couldn’t focus on books, the one thing that had always brought her comfort.

He wished she could read again. No—he wouldn’t wish it.

“Dear God.” He crossed himself. “Please send Belle the strength to love books again. If there’s anyone who deserves your grace, it’s Belle French.”

Satisfied that he had gone through the right channels, he stumbled to the kitchen to scrounge around for dinner. He still didn’t eat much, but at least having toast at night meant he could report to Belle that he was feeding himself, and soon, he’d be getting his monthly stipend from the church. If he bought his own booze instead of going to the pub, maybe he could find things to eat that he couldn’t destroy.

His phone rang as he was debating ruining another egg for dinner, and he nearly fell in surprise.

“Belle?”

“Will you come get me?”

His brain stuttered. Was he wearing shoes? Clothes? Where was his wallet? “Yes, of course, where are you?”

“At the front door.”

He stopped. “What?”

“Outside the church. I knocked a few times, but I didn’t know how else to get your attention.”

“Be right there.”

His feet carried him so quickly, he almost fell three times, but soon he was yanking the front door open. Belle stood in the shadow, carrying a big purse and a bottle of wine.

“Can I stay here tonight?” she asked. “I can’t be in my flat.”

“Yes, yes, of course.” He ushered her in, wobbly hand on her back as he led her through the church toward the rectory. There were some spare bedrooms she could use, even if they were probably a little dusty.

He led her to the little kitchen first, and when he saw her in the light, he almost fell over. Her eyes and nose were red and puffy, and she had a little cut on the side of her forehead.

“What happened?” he demanded. If Nosty had laid his hands on her, he didn’t care that he was a priest, he was going to—going to—

Well, he would call the police, that was for sure.

Belle’s lower lip trembled. “Nosty’s—”

“What did he do?”

She stumbled back, and he flooded with guilt. She didn’t need him yelling at her if she’d run here to be safe.

“I’m sorry, Belle.” He lowered his voice. “What happened to your head?”

She frowned, reaching up to touch it. Her eyes widened and then she laughed, the same humorless chuckle he’d grown to know.

“I didn’t even realize. I wasn’t paying attention on the phone and I scraped my forehead on the cabinet corner.”

Considering how absent Belle had been all week, it was a wonder she hadn’t done something like that sooner.

“Who was on the phone?” Even a drunk idiot like him could figure out this was the important information.

Belle set the wine bottle on the table, then turned to him with her giant purse. “Where can I put this?”

So it was going to be like that. That was fine—MacAvoy could wait.

He showed her to the spare rooms, letting her inspect each one before deciding, and once she chose the room closest to his, she asked where the laundry room was before stripping all the sheets. It had to be close to eight. Was she planning on sleeping at all?

He shadowed her all around the rectory as she washed sheets, wiped down surfaces with some cleaning spray he dug up for her, and hung up a dress for work tomorrow in the closet.

Once she’d moved the sheets over to the dryer, he blocked her exit. This was madness.

“Belle.”

She gave him a defiant look, jaw clenched.

“Have you eaten?”

It was like he’d deflated her. She shook her head, and then let him guide her back to the kitchen. He didn’t know why he’d bothered—all he had was some bread and a few eggs.

Belle stared at the meager spread of ingredients, then turned to him with wet eyes. “I don’t know if I can cook. I’m sorry.”

“Belle, what happened?”

She sat at the table and pulled the wine toward her, picking at the label instead of looking at him. “Constable Cliff Butler called me.”

That could have been good news, but she didn’t sound like it was. “What did he say?”

“He said that he was out on a call today and saw Nosty in his usual place, and he was—” She swallowed, tears spilling down her cheeks. He knelt before her, grabbing her hands. They would give Nosty a beautiful funeral, one that would show God how much Belle loved him.

“He was what?” he prompted.

“Kicking a football.” She laughed harshly, and then she pressed her lips together. Her shoulders shook.

Still holding her hands, he frowned, confused. What did that mean? “I don’t understand.”

“He was playing around. He left me like this, knowing it would destroy me, and he’s fine. Constable Cliff Butler was very happy to report the good news to me.”

Oh.

He stood and wrapped his arms around her, hardly even relishing the feel of her hair as he stroked it and whispered platitudes while she gripped his shirt and sobbed.

“Come on,” he said when she started to calm down. “Let’s get some food.”

“Do you have wineglasses?”

He licked his lips. “I’m not sure that’s the best idea.”

Before he could blink, she’d thrown his arms off of her and stood out of his reach, glaring at him with a fury like he’d never seen.

“You? You’re not sure? You’re going to tell me not to have one glass of wine?”

In hindsight, he could see how that was not his smartest move. He raised his hands in surrender, the confidence he’d gained with her over the week bleeding out of him.

“I just don’t think it’ll help.”

“You don’t get to decide it won’t help,” she said. “No one makes decisions for me, especially not a man I’ve seen take four shots of gin in the last hour.”

He gulped. He’d thought he’d hidden it better than that.

“At least eat first,” he said.

“Eat what? A raw egg?”

She dropped back into her chair, then pressed her forehead to the table. He was so out of his element—congregants did not usually scream at him. Bartenders and waitresses did, but he was usually blacked out for that.

“I’ll get a pizza,” he said.

“Fine.”

He left the kitchen to hunt down his wallet and waste a prayer on his credit card going through. Since he had no internet, he went all the way down to the office to find a takeaway menu, then called in an order and crossed himself when his card was accepted.

It was just around the corner and the man on the phone said it would only be twenty minutes, so MacAvoy, knowing it was cowardly, waited alone in the office. He should have gone up to comfort Belle, but he couldn’t bring himself to be raged at. He didn’t want to hurt her like Nosty had.

“God, please. Please give Belle comfort. She doesn’t deserve this pain.”

The pizza arrived after twenty-two minutes, and he was forced to return to the rectory. Belle sat at the kitchen table where he’d left her, but the rest of the room was not as he’d left it. While he was gone, she’d washed every dish, wiped down all the counters, and put away all the dishes he’d managed to wash himself. The wine bottle sat unopened on the table.

“I’m sorry,” she said. She didn’t look up.

“No,” he said. “It was out of line.”

She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. You’ve been so helpful.”

He set the pizza down, pleased by the way she leaned toward it. Hunger was a good sign. “Maybe we can both have a glass?”

She nodded. “I would like that.”

He didn’t have wine glasses, so mugs would have to do, and he said nothing when Belle filled hers to the brim.

“How much for the pizza?” she asked, grimacing when she took a sip.

“It’s on me.”

“Joseph—”

“It’s on me, Belle.”

She licked her lips. “Thank you. For everything. I’m so lucky you found my library.”

He couldn’t believe that he lived in a world where he found a woman to love and that woman was grateful he’d blacked out in her place of work. God really did work in mysterious ways.

“I’m the lucky one,” he said. “Without you—” He shrugged.

“We can both be lucky at the same time,” she said. “It’s not a contest.”

He sat, considering this. If it was a contest, he would win, but maybe she was right. Maybe they were both just lucky that they’d found each other exactly when they needed each other.

“I’m glad you came here,” he said instead. “I’m happy to take care of you.”

She raised her wine mug. “Cheers to taking care of each other.”

He clinked his against hers, then took a gulp. It was much tastier than cheap gin, but his stomach rebelled against it. Didn’t matter. Belle wanted to drink wine, and it wasn’t like not drinking wine would keep him from being sick.

“Cheers,” he said. Belle was hurting and in his church, and he was going to care for her no matter what it took.

[chapter 9]

#anyelle #anyelle fic #anyelle fanfic #anyelle fanfiction #macelle #nostelle #nostelle fic #macelle fic #covetous #new update

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breadvidence · 1 year ago

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DAMMIT: I.II

On AO3

SUMMARY: Two suicidal old men with moral scrupulosity in a three-legged potato sack race towards domesticity. Dallas 2014/Brick crossover, all adaptation decisions arbitrary.

Note: When Valjean says "What has come into his hands he cannot put down" the 'what' is like someone else's trash and there isn't a garbage can as close as he thought there would be. Warning for suicidal ideation and medical content.

⁂

He who takes notes while he leans upon the steps of the sepulcher does not set aside his habits merely because he chooses to stand, put his feet upon them, and betake himself through the door. Which is to say: Javert can remember the attempt with damnable clarity, and the hospitalization so far well enough. Pain and drugs muddle, but do not erase. He knows the cut on his knuckles is from the teeth of the first responder who dragged him from the Trinity, and that rests uneasily in his gut. The nurse who leaned close as they sheared off his clothes and repeated your legs are broken, sir—your legs are broken—stop trying to stand—your legs are broken—she doesn’t work on his ward, but he hears her voice sometimes out in the halls, and he would recognize her face. He could repeat the words, shouted in a drowned-hoarse voice, he felt were necessary commentary when he woke from his first bout of unconsciousness to find himself catheterized, fixated on the sight of the bag full of red fluid which hung from the side of the hospital bed. Kidneys, of all fucking organs to take the fall hard.

It was on the morning of Valjean’s first visit when he, as coherent as might be expected through the dilaudid and haloperidol, received the disagreeable news of his ineffectiveness. No, he certainly wouldn’t die.

The surgeon praised his own work as he numbered the pedicle screws and rods which fix together Javert’s pelvis and lumbar spine, unironic when he called him a lucky man. “If your legs weren’t in pieces,” he said, “we’d have you up on your feet already.” Tricks of force and chance of angles, the fall spared his skull entirely and chest and abdomen more or less, a few ribs fractured on the right where he skewed to the side after his feet entered the water, internal damage limited to contusions where there might have been organs lacerated and vessels torn. The surgeon added, “Oh, you’ll need knee replacement before seventy. Not because of the jump—they’re just terrible. Wearing out. You a runner?”

Sometimes he thinks, If I were noncompliant with the physiotherapist, I could throw a DVT and die that way. He cannot bring himself to be noncompliant. He thinks: I should have shot myself. But he has been present at a failed suicide of that kind and can’t shake those memories now any better than when he took his sidearm out of its holster and decided to lay it on the parapet rather than put the muzzle in his mouth. At least he still has a goddamn face. He expresses this to the psychiatrist, who is the one doctor he doesn’t please, and gets no response except for an increase in dosage; he tries it with the therapist, too, though he is suspicious of her authority, and less inclined to make an effort. He has the uneasy sense, a thought that is like an object touched in muddy waters, that what she asks him to do —reflect on his reasons—is precisely the opposite of what will accomplish what she wants—his avoiding future high velocity impacts with water.

At the end of the first week, he conducts a tense conversation by phone with Gisquet about whether the email he sent on the sixth in fact qualifies as a resignation and learns that his confidence in his prompt severance is unfounded; it’s a union job; there’s disability law; of course he will not be a member of law enforcement, but at present— he holds the phone away from his face and hyperventilates about an officer’s obligations vis-a-vis known criminals in their hospital rooms. Gisquet continues to speak, and his sense of duty to the man throttles down panic enough for him to participate in the next unpleasant turn of the conversation, namely Gisquet’s apology for his response to the email, written and sent prior to his awareness of the situation— Javert has not read it yet, in any case. Gisquet expresses his regrets. Precisely what he regrets is unclear. He praises Javert’s career in funereal terms. Given Javert’s clear knowledge of his debasement in matters of justice, the implication of this praise unsettles him.

Valjean’s visit the next morning goes poorly.

Yes—a hell experienced not quite daily—here, a man. They do not say anything of significance to each other because Valjean does not ask and Javert does not know how to offer. Regardless, while he watches the hospital walls breathe in long nights disrupted by too much light and frequent nurse checks, he paws through their words and seeks— fuck! God knows what.

He finds, in memory, that he calls the man sir, though he never notices at the time.

He finds Valjean’s kindness. So many offers of little comforts, of practical help. Would you like a cup of coffee. There’s a sandwich shop downstairs if you want something other than hospital food. I brought a long cord for the tablet. Do you have houseplants that need to be watered. I can get your mail for you.

Today, “The nurses said you could have some of your own clothes, so I brought back sweatpants.”

“You went through my dresser?” It’s so intrusive, he fumbles between his unease and his gratitude, and the words that fall from his mouth are, “Guess I’ll check when I’m home that my watch is still there.” He horrifies himself.

Valjean laughs. “Your expression is—something,” he excuses himself. “That was unkind, Javert, but you’re forgiven. Calm down.”

The laugh, the scold, the forgiveness. Hunger—for which one—he does not know; something in him parts its jaws and slavers. Javert thinks this man might kill him where the river failed. He is comforted to know he keeps this from his eyes. Valjean would not make these visits, surely, if he could see—it; whatever it is.

⁂

Javert watches him with the eyes of a starved and beaten animal. Jean Valjean does not know if he is the meat, the cudgel, or the caressing hand, and derives little comfort from the awareness he is not alone in this uncertainty. He would leave the man to his suffering and call it kindness, but it has been two weeks and he is entangled. There have been no other visitors. One card, Get Well Soon!, in the trashcan.

Javert’s apartment is of a piece with this: a desk and no dining room table, one pillow on the bed, no photos on the walls. The cleanliness is noticeable, bleached grout, empty countertops, books in perfect alignment on the shelf next to a modest television set. When he turns on the latter, he expects Fox News and finds C-SPAN. In addition to condiments, there are two pre-made salads, a single raw chicken breast marinading in a ziplock, and a head of broccoli in the fridge, which he throws away. He scolds himself for being surprised that Javert would use spices other than pepper and salt.

“I cleared out your fridge,” he tells him.

Javert squints at him with much the same expression with which he greeted the sweatpants. “Did you. Well, make yourself at home, why don’t you.”

Jean Valjean thinks, You never seem to have, but certainly wouldn’t say anything. Maybe the suicide was planned for some time, and the apartment reflects a dying man’s conscientiousness to those who would have to clear out his things.

“Thank you,” Javert adds, after too long a pause.

“It’s nothing,” he says, before Javert can call him sir. “Do you have an update on your discharge date?”

He listens as Javert balances his desire to complain against his compliance with his medical team. It is ineffable. Jean Valjean has had a single hospital stay and he checked himself out against medical advice. He makes sympathetic noises. He pretends the nurses do not gossip to him. This man provides a—not quite welcome—distraction from the process that is legitimizing the money Jean Valjean intends to pass on to Cosette. The riot has been a sharp reminder that each day he lives is another step closer to God, and while he hardly intends to put himself in the line of gunfire again, well. Other hazards aside, that depends upon the damn boy of hers. With all due respect to her choices.

The liquid funds are a simple matter; he invokes old Fauchelevent’s name as if the man died with a penny in his pocket unspent. In the nineties and early aughts he falsified documents that are now long past discrediting, and those are of the essence in recovering the funds and property escheated to the state, which he has for over a decade allowed Texas to manage on his behalf. It frets at him, to bring Jean Valjean’s and Fantine’s names into the light, and it is no small task to leave Ultime Fauchelevent’s entirely out of the matter. Little use in the process if he allows his fraudulent identity to become entangled. He rehearses his speech to Cosette: no, I am not your father, but your mother left an estate to you, and—

Perhaps he will be able to sidestep entirely the provenance of the estate itself.

He considers the numbers involved. It might be a slightly excessive graduation present. Maybe he will not call it that after all. He thinks: he ought to sell the house in Southlake; he can find a property that costs much less to maintain, and so keep less of the money for himself. Cosette will not be so sad to lose her childhood home, surely, when she has left the city for medical school. It matters little that the idea hurts him. Such thoughts as these are what he escapes, coming to Baylor.

Abby greets him at the ward door with, “He’s on a tear,” so Jean Valjean turns back to the nurse station and cajoles coffee orders out of them, and goes with Jessica—who was almost on break, anyway—to fetch the cups up, as an apology that he hopes Javert will never learn about, for all it is on his behalf.

He is in the wheelchair rather than the bed, tapping at the handrims, though he has nowhere to go. Instead of a greeting, he says, “I’ve got excellent news from my insurance company.” He’s furious, irony held dead between his bared teeth. “I’m ready to be discharged into the conveniently available hands of my loving family. Yes, I’ll be rolling through the front door of my own accessible single-level home by five o’ clock.”

Jean Valjean waits a moment for this to continue, but Javert has worked himself past snapping into a shivery silence. “I don’t recall your having a—” He forebears from the loving. “—family.”

“What do you mean? I’ve had Mrs. Javert in my pocket this whole time.”

Jean Valjean props himself against the edge the bed and waits.

“I don’t need to be—” He waves his hand at the hospital room. “— here . The doctors want me discharged to a—” His expression takes on the fixed solemnity it tends towards when his pride is hurt. “—skilled nursing facility. The insurance says, No, there’s not high enough medical care needed. Well! I’m so terribly glad to hear my ability to shuffle my ass from a bed to a commode means I can walk up two flights of stairs. Yes, here I am without an IV, so there’s not a bit of medication management needed. In fact—”

Abby comes through the door with an expression of fixed good humor, as if Javert hasn’t broken off to stare at her with ill humor. “We need to move you back into bed, Mr. Javert. It’s been an hour.”

“It’s not a definite rule,” he snaps. “I’m fine. The pain’s not bad. You can go.”

Abby flushes and does so, but not without a despairing glance Jean Valjean’s way.

“Javert,” says Jean Valjean with great mildness. “Have you considered that the nurses have your best interest in mind? You might be more polite.”

“I hadn’t considered,” the man replies, in a stifled tone. “You’re right.”

Jean Valjean feels the hair prickle on the back of his neck. Javert was not like this in Montreuil; aside from the conflict over Fantine’s arrest he had the irritating habit of not arguing even where he clearly disagreed, but he avoided at the same time agreeing. I hear what you’re saying, Mr. Madeleine and I understand the point you’re making, Mr. Madeleine. Though obscured at first beneath the man’s—Jean Valjean does not know what to call it other than bullshit —there’s something here he does not want to name, which he suspects answers to submission, and which scares him. He has not been here long enough to flee. He clears his throat and says, “Well, then. I’m sorry to hear about your troubles. I can only imagine it’s very frustrating to be stuck in a hospital room.”

“Ah—yes.” He blinks. “I should be out by the end of the week, though. There’s an appeal process.”

Jean Valjean gives his hand an encouraging pat, only to feel bad when the fingers under his touch clutch around the handrims.

⁂

They allow the patients to wear their own clothing, which eases Jean Valjean—some; there is no other aspect of the SNF that is not wretched. He knows the odor of an institution. The transfer process has taxed Javert past what he wishes to admit, and Jean Valjean, perceiving this, begs his own weariness and departs early. He spends some confused length of time leaned against the door of his car, metal hot through his jeans, listening to a flock of grackles file their complaints. Through an open window he can hear one of the staff raising their voice in frustration.

In the evening he worries himself, he avoids his bed, when he dozes in the armchair it is into nightmare. As ever, the right path is the first one before him, and in his weakness he dithers to put his feet on it. How awful to their dignity, he thinks: that without any loved ones, Javert has this only, an old con, who pities him too greatly to see him imprisoned. And what will Jean Valjean say to Cosette? Yes, I’ve taken in a man —well, not altogether his strangest moment— and you must never speak with him . Less explicable. She will be hurt. Can he say instead he’s gone on a trip? No, she might stop by the house for something from her room. He could say that the house needs sudden repairs, perhaps? She might believe that.

In the morning, as he searches the Double Oaks website for their visitor policy—as if a man should need policy to say when he can be visited!—he reflects irritably on himself. To be vexed to nightmare—that’s reasonable enough when the hound’s teeth are seeking your flesh, but not if the dog is all gums. Yet—the dreams were not of pursuit, but of what comes after. It’s the kennel that troubles him, not its creature.

Well. The creature fails to delight as well, but he will weather him.

He does not expect, when he texts with an excuse for making a visit two days in a row, that Javert will rebuff him. It is well enough; he takes three days to lay groundwork for keeping Cosette away from the Southlake home, which is not so difficult with her continued distraction by Marius, and orders a simple cot to put in the office for himself. On the fourth, in the middle of the night, he receives a garbled but unusually friendly text from Javert that he takes to mean the SNF has adjusted his medication. In the morning there is a follow-up, Disregard .

Sure, Jean Valjean texts back. I can bring your mail over today.

OK. Fifteen minutes later, this is joined by, Thank you.

Maybe he should make his offer over text? His charitable behavior thus far has been accepted with fair grace, or in any case with a kind of bewildered compliance flavored by the occasional profanity, but he does not anticipate this will be a pleasant conversation. On the other hand, he can exert pressure in person more effectively, and he does not want Javert to make a choice contrary to his own best interest. Yes—best to ask in person. On the drive to the SNF he finds himself tense, but not unhappy.

The dayroom, with its large windows decorated by flower boxes, should seem kinder than a hospital. Jean Valjean crosses it with a prickling sense of barred doors and cameras, though neither are in evidence.

“Hey,” Javert greets him, and there must be something evident on his face, because he lapses into alert silence rather than launching into whatever complaints he has.

They are never quite reciprocated, but he can’t divest himself of the habit of pleasantries, the verbal dallying that has made him unremarkable over the years. Finally, he says, “I haven’t figured out all the logistics—” That is, he has not resigned himself to the logistics. “—and of course it depends on what you want, but I’m sure we can get you out of here before the end of the week.”

“What, planning to heal me with a little laying on of hands?” He bares his teeth, taken by some private humor. “I didn’t take you for that kind of saint.”

“No, I mean—this place. This institution. You ought not have to be here.”

Javert looks at him with the perpetual perplexity closer to the fore than his equally ever-present exasperation. “What are you talking about? It’s fine.”

“Don’t you find—” Have his senses deceived him, then, that he sees a prison where there is none? No; the scales are on the eyes that stare watchfully into his. “—that a place like this makes a person…” less , he means. Inhuman. He can understand the necessity of the facility without respecting it, can know the nurses and aids are not guards without allowing them to repudiate the function. Javert, to his regret on this particular day, has an interrogator’s sense for when the subject will break on his own, and waits on. He asks frankly, “Doesn’t it remind you of Memorial?”

Javert moves his shoulders in a restless, meaningless gesture; either it doesn’t, or he denies it to himself—how can it not , truly?—and either way he is uncomfortable arguing the point with Jean Valjean. He offers, in what is not a joke only because the fact of it is so terrible, “It has air conditioning?” Then he clears his throat, looks into his face, and says simply, “You don’t have an obligation to visit me.”

What has come into his hands he cannot put down. “Whatever the case may be, I have a single-level accessible home, and it would be no trouble—” Even he blushes at the extent of this lie. “—for you to recover a while with me. It is not unreasonable.”

Javert raises his eyebrows.

“There’s—”

“Fauchelevent—”

“—home health—”

“—Valjean.” The room is empty, but for him to say the name still feels like betrayal. “Can I speak?”

It takes a moment for him to understand this is a sincere question. “Yes. Of course.”

“I’ve seen your attempt to ruin yourself,” he says, in a tone that speaks anger while his eyes beg understanding. “You know what response I gave to that. You’ve insisted on—I don’t even know the word—clemency. You’re fucking helpful. Fine. Now you’d like to suffer for me, is that it? Well, you cannot take something that I do not have. I don’t mean to argue, but you’re only making it for yourself. You see structure and it’s a prison, is that it?” He averts his gaze at last. “I don’t. I’m fine. Ah, so—” His voice softens. “You kneel on the heights—that’s what I expect of you—” He sighs, presses a hand over his eyes, and says, “Fucking hell, I’m pretty sure you could’ve brought this to me when I was more sober. Pills are at seven o’ clock. Give me until the afternoon next time.”

He is warm—he’s blushing again. “Ah.” This is not the protest he expected, and he wants to quit any conversation that includes praise of his person.

“Ah?” Javert repeats, roughly.

“How long do you have here?” Jean Valjean asks.

“Four weeks or so,” he replies, and narrows his eyes. “You aren’t going to argue more?”

Jean Valjean examines himself and finds he is piqued; his charity does not get declined; Javert does not win arguments against him, certainly not so quickly. “I don’t know. Can we conduct this argument without comment on my character?”

“Probably not.”

“I thought you would say I’d be terrible to live with. That your dignity was at stake. That sort of thing.”

“I can also say those things, if you want,” Javert says. “You’re probably right. And God alone knows what kind of roommate I am. Nobody’s had that misfortune in thirty-five years.” He reaches out and, condescendingly, pats Jean Valjean’s knee. His hand is very large, the pinky knobbed by an old injury. “You’ll be fine. I’m sure you’ll find some other sacrifice to make soon.”

#DAMMIT #fanfic (mine)

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jingerhead · 3 years ago

Note

Please do write more beefy Andrew stuff, it's been a while since I've seen some :(

I have been WAITING dear anon I'm so glad you sent this!

I decided to call this one "My mood matched the weather until I saw you doing fucking pull-ups in the doorway what the hell". Enjoy!

Guess what you can even read this on AO3 if you want!

Apparently severe thunderstorms means canceling exy practice, or so it had been explained to Neil.

“Kevin’s still going!” he had tried to complain early that morning, glad to see an email that classes had also been canceled, but not happy that he was currently stuck in the dorm room.

“Kevin can breathe through his nose,” Andrew had argued while offering a mug of tea. Neil had taken it, but he wasn’t happy about it, even if it didn’t taste that bad when he took a sip.

“You’d let Kevin go if he couldn’t breathe,” he pointed out.

Andrew had pointedly said nothing and left the room, leaving Neil alone on the bottom bunk under a pile of blankets to help his chills. He didn’t like being sick: it used to be a hindrance when living with his mother, always worried he wouldn’t be able to run well with congestion or that a stray cough would give away a position. Mary had quickly instilled in him the ‘ignore it until you can’t’ way of treating a cold, and it had worked just fine for him until now. ‘Now’ being waking up on a rainy day unable to breathe through his nose and Andrew immediately noticing.

Seriously, all he had was some congestion and a few chills. He was actually fine.

“I can hear you thinking that you’re fine,” Andrew said as he walked back into the room.

Neil hoped that the convenient strike of lighting made his glare look menacing, but Andrew barely blinked when he saw it, so it would seem that he wouldn’t be allowed out of bed anytime soon. The annoying thing about the congestion was that it was just enough that Neil couldn’t concentrate well on doing homework, so he’d given up on calculus until he could breathe normally again and burrowed under the blankets.

“I am,” Neil argued, dropping his head back down on his pillow and sniffing.

Andrew didn’t say anything, so Neil decided he won that argument, and shifted more towards the wall as Andrew started to climb onto the bunk. He leaned against the headboard and put a binder in his lap, which made Neil realize he was actually doing homework while Neil was stuck unable to concentrate or breathe well and annoyed about it. He pulled the blankets closer to his body to fight some chills and laid his head back down on his pillow, right next to Andrew’s thigh.

“It’ll clear up in an hour,” Neil grumbled. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Hm,” Andrew hummed once, seeming unconcerned. After a second, he moved his free hand away from his homework and began to gently push his fingers through Neil’s hair, which was probably gross because Neil was pretty sure he had a fever if the chills were anything to go by, but Andrew didn’t look up or stop and it felt nice. Too nice. Neil could feel his eyelids drooping more with each passing second.

This is cheating, he thought angrily.

“If you can breathe without coughing or sniffing, I’ll drive you to the court and practice with you,” Andrew said.

“Deal?” Neil asked, suddenly feeling more awake.

“Yes.”

Neil made an attempt, but was barely able to fill his lungs before he had to sit up to cough. Andrew grabbed the box of tissues and held it out to him before leaning back against the bed in a far too satisfied way. It just pissed Neil off more, but he couldn’t do anything except lay back down and start to drift off again when Andrew’s hand went back to his hair.

Eventually he ended up falling asleep, because when Neil woke up again Andrew wasn’t in bed with him and the storm seemed to be louder, somehow. At one point he’d kicked some of the blankets away, now feeling way too hot and sweaty to be comfortable. Slowly, Neil lifted his head and looked around the dorm room, blinking a few times before finally feeling wide awake when he noticed some movement in the doorway. When his eyes finally registered what he was looking at, Neil realized that Andrew was doing pull-ups on the pull-up bar secured there, back facing the dorm room.

It was an interesting sight, to say the least.

Andrew had taken off his hoodie at some point, now in just a black tank-top and shorts. He’d also taken off his arm bands, which meant the dorm had to be empty, and there was just enough sweat on his flushed skin to tell Neil he’d obviously been doing these for a while. Probably because Neil had been asleep and pull-ups weren’t hard for him to do quietly. Andrew barely made any noise as he pulled his body upwards, arms curling to bring his head to the top of the doorframe and then down again, over and over, in easy repetition.

Neil had a ‘bad habit’ of staring at Andrew when he worked out. He couldn’t quite remember if he’d ever seen Andrew do pull-ups before, but he knew he could watch for hours if Andrew could keep doing them. Andrew liked to be strong, which showed in how he took care of his body. He had well sculpted biceps and broad shoulders, easily capable of lifting weight, including his own. Gym days were always ones to look forward to.

Neil was too busy staring at the way the muscles in Andrew’s shoulders moved every time he pulled his body upwards to count how many reps he did before dropping to the floor with a soft thump and taking a deep breath. He raised one arm and rolled his shoulder backwards, stretching for a second before hopping back up and doing a few more reps. Neil didn’t dare move, not wanting to draw attention to himself and break Andrew’s concentration or startle him.

Very suddenly, tingling spread throughout his nose and he sneezed.

Andrew dropped again and turned around quickly. He didn’t seem tired at all from his short workout or bothered by the interruption, walking to where the tissue box was and holding one out for Neil to take. “What are your symptoms?” he asked.

“Congestion,” Neil reported after blowing his nose. “Hot. Throat’s a little sore.”

The tissue box was left on the bed as Andrew walked out the door, coming back a moment later with a large bottle of water. He stood by the bed until Neil drank most of it, laying his head back down and sniffing again. He wanted to take a shower, but he also really didn’t want to move. Maybe if Andrew started doing pull-ups again, thus blocking the doorway, Neil would have to stay put and have nothing better to do than to watch again.

“Were you working out?” he asked.

“Nothing else to do,” Andrew said as more thunder boomed outside.

“Pull-ups?”

“Strength,” Andrew explained, half turning towards the doorway again. “Want a turn?”

“Ha,” Neil huffed humorlessly, kicking away more sheets. “I think I’ll just watch.”

Andrew rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. “Go shower,” he ordered, jumping up just slightly to grab the bar again.

Neil couldn’t focus for a moment as he watched Andrew start to move again. “I would,” he said once he finally got his feverish mind working, “but someone is blocking the doorway.”

“You know how to duck.”

~*~

Three days later, Neil came back from class and found Andrew sitting on the desk next to the window and smoking. He came to a stop right in front of the desk and pointedly took a deep breath, smirking to himself when Andrew raised an eyebrow.

“I can breathe without coughing or sniffing,” he declared.

“Congratulations,” Andrew mumbled around his cigarette, tone bored.

“We have a deal,” Neil reminded him.

Andrew’s eyes flashed as he clearly remembered said deal. Neil hadn’t asked about what restrictions there were to it for a situation exactly like this, because Andrew doesn’t back out of his deals, which was exactly what Neil wanted.

“It’s a rest day,” Andrew tried.

“Just means nobody else will be on the court,” Neil said, raising his keys. “And today is Kevin’s late day. Just you and me.”

Andrew reached up to hold his cigarette. Neil easily snatched it and decided to take his own drag from it. He knew he won when he saw Andrew’s eyes flash again, quickly untangling his legs to get off the desk, walking towards the door. “Fine, if you want to get your ass beat so badly.”

“Counting on it,” Neil teased, rushing after him.

#aftg #aftg fanfic #tfc #tfc fanfic #all for the game #all for the game fanfic #andreil #andreil fanfic #beefy andrew supremacy #i'm literally going to write a drabble series #don't tempt me #beefy andrew rights #jinger's works

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bomberqueen17 · 3 years ago

Text

back home

got back to buffalo in time for it to start snowing. accumulation around an inch out there. great. thanks. happy spring.

have horrible menstrual cramps. was woken by the pain the night before last, woke up to an ao3 comment in my inbox, and some miracle stayed my hand-- i was like oh reading that would make me feel better, and then some little mental gremlin was like no don’t do it what if it’s mean, and so i did not read it and went back to sleep and thank heavens, when i finally woke enough to read it, it was an entire comment about... i’m not sure, i had assumed they were asking me to tag better, but as i puzzled through i’ve realized they just don’t like that i mentioned a canon aspect of a character and felt i should have either elided or altered that detail, which again is a canon bit of that character, so I’m left rather confused and frankly a bit cranky about that. like if y’all want me to tag for something I will, but I’m not going to not mention a thing????? or like. only mention it to these heretofore unguessable standards?????? so buckle up I may have another Canon Explainer post later-- I do realize a lot of people read my shit without super knowing the canon sources and I am trying not to wind up putting out a skewed idea of what’s actually in canon vs what I’ve made up and that’s an uphill struggle and the solution is More Essays, whee.

anyway. also yes i do realize i missed another Friday update, and it’ll be Monday instead probably, except. heh.

so a couple weeks ago it was mentioned to Dude that he might be selected to go to California for a work thing, and he was like oh it won’t be me going i’m not worried, and then he failed to check his fucking work email about it and in fact is leaving at 5am Monday morning for the week, and so we had to abruptly pack up and leave the farm and then I had to scramble yesterday immediately following our six-hour drive home to do a week and a half of travel laundry so it has time to dry so he can pack today, and then I have to take him to the airport and then I’m on my own for this week. So.

anyway I’m feeling stressed and distressed and I’m in a lot of pain and am quite exhausted and I really don’t need someone arguing that their personal trauma means I should change how I tell stories. Like, I have sympathy, but also, that is not something I can either anticipate or accomodate.

Also like. most of my adult coping methods that let me fake competence in this world are built on a framework of Dude being really into habits and routines, so I will probably not sleep or eat while he is gone, and I am grimly not looking forward to that. He’s like.... you leave me alone all the time and i’m like yes, and i leave you and go to a house full of my family where they tell me what to do and regularly feed me, so. We’ll see how I do. If anyone wants to drop off a casserole so I don’t starve... ha i’ll probably compulsively save it and starve anyway. (I literally have a casserole in the freezer right now and i was just talking myself out of defrosting it.)

also i have to unpack everything from my vacation, and my supervisor is going on vacation this upcoming week too and so not only will i have all my stuff waiting for me to do but i will also have to do his, and i had no notice of that either, so i’m just really. like i’m Pre-Tired for this coming week. 😭

so anyway the monday update is like-- i have a bunch of stuff written but one thing is going to need like a new work created and title and tags and summary and now i’m just in this pile of Doubt, maybe I don’t know how to tag things properly, maybe this is more complicated than i thought, and I’m so tired and I’m working very hard to be polite but I’m also so fucking tired.

#about the author #fic writing #online and real lives

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donutloverxo · 3 years ago

Text

A Royal Scandal 3

Modern Royal King!Steve au

(Image from Pinterest)

cowritten with @lizzygal

Note - There will be no taglists for this. You can subscribe to the ao3 story to receive updates!

Please note that my stories are not to be stolen or reposted on any other site. Reblogs are welcome. This blog and this story is 18+. Do not read, follow or interact if you are not 18+.

Summary - Modern ruler, His Majesty King Steven G Rogers, is on a quest to make his long term secret relationship the real thing. He is a man in love and wants his lover and partner to be his queen.

Warnings - Smut (m/f), dub con/non con, sex tape, scandals, mentions of past domestic abuse, soft dark Steve, possessive Steve, spanking, power imbalance, mentions of previous domestic abuse, somnophilia.

Pairing - King!Steve x reader

Word count - 7k

Story masterlist

Sometimes Steven forgot that you weren’t that much younger than him. He forgot about a lot of things when it was only the two of you. You did that to him. You made him forget things that everyone else reminded him of constantly, intentional and not.

Early that morning was no different.

Long before his alarm went off, Steve found himself on his side watching you sleep. Feeling in every way equal to you, like there was not this huge ocean of things that he did not have in common with you, opposed to what the two of you shared.

Obviously, he was the son of kings and tyrants while you were the daughter of immigrants and a blue-collar family. You’d grown up in a house full of love and kindness and acceptance, he had not. You’d ended your teenage years going to college and then travelling and ending up here, where you chose to stay and work and travel and live a life that Steve could only dream of, his own had never been his own and never would be.

You had dreams and hopes, little things like aspirations. He didn’t.

Steve’s life was dictated by things like duty and obligations, expectations. Yours was not.

Maybe that was why he’d been so drawn to you?

Compared to all the royals around Europe and titled individuals, politicians, even old families, none of them interested him even a fraction of the amount that you interested him. To Steve you were exotic. You were a fascinating creature who might as well have come from Mars.

He couldn’t even say what it was or why.

For so long it had felt right to be alone. Considering the blood of monsters ran through his veins, Steve had been uninterested in any sort of companionship more than a brief encounter at a private location.

For Christ’s sake, he refused to sleep in the bedroom that his father had slept in.

Upon assuming the throne, he’d selected to take up older quarters in an unused part of the palace living complex. As if to ensure he was as far away from the rooms that his father and grandfather and great-grandfather had slept. Choosing to sleep in a bed untainted by any of those men, stored from when his land was ruled by an emperor. Hoping with the hopes of a young king that it would save him from their madness.

Beside him, you slept so peacefully, trustingly.

Steve had never brought anyone into his private apartment. Nor had his bed seen any carnal action since it’d gone into storage. Until you. He’d simply never been so inclined.

A rough sound from the growth on his cheek rubbing against his pillow. A pleasant reminder of that night that felt so long ago, yet also like only yesterday.

He’d had a beard back then he remembered.

A full bushy one.

One that had made you laugh softly at, roll your eyes and still manage to pull off an acceptable bow when you greeted him that late night.

“They beat Canada then Your Majesty?” You had inquired with good nature, setting down a whole stack of papers and folders onto the very modern conference table in a big room that could fit two dozen, more if the people were standing.

He’d beamed.

Steve remembered he’d been in a particularly good mood that night. Even if he was working late on the education push into the outer regions of his kingdom. A good amount was still very rural, many simple villages that lived as they had fifty or more years ago. Many parts of his kingdom were still deeply rooted in the past.

“Indeed. Eleven to four.”

He was beaming. Beaming! You were pretty sure you could see molars. It made you shake your head and begin to sort out all your work into piles to go over. Not that you’d ever admit to secretly being caught up in the hype of the team being so close to gold at the Winter Olympics. “So then the beard stays?”

“You of all people,” he admonished, coming over to help you. Picking up the well-marked up maps you’d spent hours annotating.

Making you roll your eyes.

On he went though, obviously needing to drive home the seriousness of this matter. “The beard stays until we win gold. Next we play Norway. I don’t think it needs to be said that we cannot risk it.”

He was serious. Really serious. If that full glorious beard was any indication.

More focused on the organizing task yourself.

Sorting your work by region, pile by pile, each had taken much work and effort and negotiation, endless phone calls and trips and emails to each area to get them to work not only with you, but one another. It was like herding cats. It had taken you months to get this all sorted out for Steve to see. His ideas weren’t even ready to be implemented. This was just the pre-gaming, the leadup, the work in preparation. You weren’t even on Step One. You were on Step Zero.

“Now that I know, I’ll be sure to grow a beard next Winter Olympics.”

And then you were rewarded with a rich hearty laugh from your king.

Well not your king, as you weren’t a citizen of this country. But you still liked to think of him as your king.

Watching you sleep was something he’d never tire of. Never get enough of. It was a luxury that he didn’t realize he wanted day in out.

The ability to wake up with you tangled up in blankets. Curled back against his front. Hogging pillows as you did. Allowing Steve to run his fingers up and down your bare thigh, along the curves of your body. Letting him lean forward to press his lips to your shoulder and see the peaceful rest of your face in his slowly lightening bedroom. Every last inch of you here for him.

Hungry.

That was what it was, he was hungry for you. Like a big bear that woke from hibernation after a long winter. At times he felt such a way. Never having felt this way about anyone prior.

In his own time, he slipped his fingers down along the round of your ass underneath the flesh of your hip. Warm. Soft. Smooth. Neither of you had left the bed since the late night bath in his tub.

Further down Steve allowed his fingers to trail.

Memorizing every last second to get him through his day. From how you felt pressed against the front of him, how your back moved against his chest with every steady breath you took. The way your legs tangled in his buttery sheets with his own, how the soft cheeks of your bottom pressed against his alert groin.

Most definitely though, how your skin tasted and felt beneath his mouth. Smelling like yourself from all your favorite bath products kept in his bathroom.

You’d smelled so good that night too.

You always smelled good.

It was something that he had noticed but hadn’t given any real thought to.

It seemed to be a mix of perfume and body lotion or cream. Cause Steve found the flowery smell would linger after you walked by in the way that perfume did, infusing the air and making his brain scream out that you were near. But also, when you shook his hand, it always had that sweet fresh clean smell afterwards.

Now, whenever Steve smelled it, all he could think about was you.

Those smells danced around him. Making the late hour bearable. Making the fact that the offices were empty but for the two of you, when you both should have been home in bed, not matter.

“Ok…” you were talking to him, pointing out places on the massive map that was his nation. Arms crossed. Legs spread. Standing beside you as you informed him with tones that indicated your happiness, your displeasure as well as your utter irritation. “…so I managed to get in touch with every Education Department in all nine of your territories.”

Though you were not looking at him, Steve nodded, laser focused on this project he’d tasked you with months ago.

“All of the department heads are on board with your desired overhaul to completely modernize the entire system. Unfortunately, they told me that I had to call all the district heads for all forty-six provinces to get their agreed participation too.”

Your tone went from pleased with yourself then skeptical and then annoyed.

You turned your head to look at him. “Which is what I spent the last three months doing. It was something of a thing.”

Steve could only imagine.

He was quiet though so you could go on. More than pleased with how well you worked in this position. He’d originally been skeptical with your being a foreigner. How dedicated would you be to a job in a country that was not your own? One hundred percent as it turned out.

Your hands flattened out dramatically on the table. Outrage surged from you. “I’m still waiting on two appointees because their predecessors apparently died during harvest season and no one could be bothered to replace the position. I literally had to fly out to the outer reaches of civilization to find this out. Cause all the government offices are closed during harvest season, fyi. But they’re literally filling the positions now.”

Such was the challenge of having a large kingdom with one foot in the future and one in the past. Such things led to the difficultly of keeping a Chief of Staff.

Steve’s previous Chief of Staff had come highly recommended and lasted a little over a month.

Whether it was from a lack of dedication, the obvious frustrations of the job or maybe he simply had not wanted to jump on a plane and fly six hours then ride by car five hours to remote areas in order to complete his work. Steve could not be sure. All he knew for sure was he’d keep you as long as humanly possible.

In his eyes, you were a saint.

“What’s with the question mark?”

Making you look to see which question mark you’d marked on the map full of stickers and marks and tabs. Hours had been spent working on the damn thing.

Seeing which question mark in question made your nose scrunch. “Oh…them, they refuse to even answer my calls until they are allowed to take their traditional name for their province. Which is way above my pay grade. Someone else is going to have to deal with them. I tried.”

Ah, Steve nodded, that was far from surprising. The far outer regions were notoriously independent or rebellious, depending on your stance.

He would deal with them accordingly. Not how his father did, but in his own way.

Steve’s attention was drawn to two nearby provinces. Each had a frowny face sticker. Without asking, he merely pointed.

A noise of pure disgusted frustration came from deep in your throat. Making you stand and look to him, brandishing your hands in all directions. “I tried my best with them. I really did. Both of those provinces absolutely refuse to take part in anything if the other is involved. Apparently, they’re still salty at one another over something that happened in fourteen-seventy-three and refer to me as the foreign she-devil. So…good luck with them Your Majesty.”

Soundly you slept.

Comfortable. Safe. At peace.

Making him feel like a true man. A provider able to care for you, protect you, satisfy you. As if he were stripped down to what nature intended. Instead of what society had dictated for you both.

Reaching down to that heavenly place between the V in your thighs, Steve pushed his fingers further to find your softness slippery, your skin slick with viscous arousal. In pushing his finger up further, running it around the edge of your slit to where the gateway to your body was hidden, he found you heavily aroused. Coating his fingers with a thick fluid that promised you would be able to take him now. Oozing into the cervices between his fingers and smearing thickly down his palm and over the back of his hand.

Unable to help himself, he brought his hand out from between your legs in order to look at your arousal. Merely the sight made his balls clench in eager anticipation. Tasting the bodily excretions had his hips moving against yours on their own.

A noise came from you. Though you were far from waking. Always one to enjoy your sleep.

On his tongue you were heady, ripe. Tasting like sin. Steve licked his fingers. Eyes closed so he could savor the taste, how you clung to his tongue and were thick, like a burst of brandy swirling with his saliva.

Awakened now from his deep sleep. Ravenous like a beast of the forest. He pressed a lingering kiss to your shoulder. Making you mumble. Making you wiggle in your sleep, causing you to reach your arm out for a pillow to pull close. Hooking your leg up higher too. Becoming more comfortable in the bed in addition to opening yourself up more to your king. As if your body had connected to his on a level your mind was unaware and encouraged him to take you.

Down he peered. Strands of hair fell across his forehead at the harsh angle. A soft lightening of the sun through drapes he never closed last night allowed the sight of moisture. Folds of bare skin sheened up at him. Tempting him with that webbing of goo that promised him you were ready.

Taking himself in hand, he caught sight of your name curled over his side. Reminding him of your absolute possession over him. Sending his hand low to pull his foreskin back in order to feed this hunger of you that consumed him.

Your signature was all swoops and swirls.

Recognizable above anyone else’s writing he came across on a daily basis.

All over paper and on the maps. In little corners. Highlighted. In different color pens. On stickie notes. Written on napkins or on the back of random pieces of paper.

At the time, he’d had no idea how far gone he really was.

Not even when he watched you take note after note with a purple inked pen, your hand flowing across paper like a swimmer cutting through the water. Taking down his every word, every command.

A incredibly distinctive feeling of being full woke you up from your glorious sleep, in a very singular sort of way that could be from only one thing. Only one thing on earth felt like that when waking you up.

Pulling you out of a warm blissful sleep only to wake you with the exquisite feeling of being stretched open, pushed into, filled up. Making your fingers clench bedding or pillows or whatever they could grab.

A low breathy moan came from you in the time between you were woken and awake, your face burrowing in a pillow was followed by a soft profanity. Weight slowly covered you. Weight pinned you down to the bed a little at a time. Skin and sheets and soft dustings of hair rubbed against you.

Only when you had fully woken did you feel pubes brush against your cheeks. A light tap of scrotum bumped you too.

Long arms wrapped around you. Wet lips mouthed along the curve of your neck.

This was a far superior way to wake up. Compared to your apartment, in bed alone, to your neighbors loud shrilling alarm clock through your paper-thin wall.

Groaning out at the feel of His Majesty’s cock stuffed safely up in your secret garden. You found yourself whining at Steve at whatever time it was in the early morning. “…fuuuuck…what’d I say about doing that…” A swivel, nay, a swivel with a pop of his pelvis followed, making you see stars, gasp deeply as if you’d been stabbed in the lungs and then add on for God and Country. “…My King…shit, My King…oh shit, My King.”

Though it may have been said in jest, his tone was hot enough to scald. “If memory serves me correctly…” another deep push of thick hips shoved you forward into the pillows. “…you say, not in my ass unless I’m awake.”

Stars.

So many bright and colorful stars.

Mmm.

Yes, that was something you had told him on many occasions and it still held very true. If Steve was going to put anything in your ass, forget that thing he claimed was a dick, you needed to be fully awake so you could both physically and emotionally prepare yourself.

Nothing at all could have prepared you for the drastic turn your life was about to take that night.

Nothing.

Everything had been so normal. It was so regular. Like many a long night working late hours at the palace before. Hours had been spent going over all your hard work contacting each and every head in each education department per province, as well as per territory. In addition to the national department of education, preparing to prep them for what the king wanted.

Like any other late night, Steve helped you put all of your paperwork back in the correct order you had it in. Like every other time, he requested a palace car take you to your apartment. Granted the apartment you shared with your best friend was walking distance away. It was late and simply not safe and you found were touched that Steve would think about your well-being.

For a king, he wasn’t that bad. When it was the two of you anyway.

Looks aside, which he had in spades, he could be very funny in a sarcastic sort of way. He was very well read and intelligent, quick on his feet. Although people seemed to think of him a certain type of way based on his father and his own kingship at a young age, when he really was his own person.

You’d noticed he had a definite interest in the classical masters and had on rare occasion seen him sketch out something on a flight or during a less than stimulating event. He had an artistic ability that would never come to anything due to his role.

His strong sense of duty paired with a disgusting moral obligation pretty much guaranteed his life would be spent in service to his country. Period.

You could see why people thought he was hot. The man had been blessed by the genetic gods. Plus he was a king. Who didn’t grow up dreaming about being a princess? Or think about a literal Prince Charming from fairy tales?

Having now had the benefit of working in a real life palace. You knew the realities of that fantasy.

You had two pages of notes that could attest to the reality of your childhood Disney Princess movies.

Reality was always so different.

Not for the first time, you found yourself repeating yourself. “…and let me say one more time. Thank you so much for talking with my parents. I know it was only ten minutes, but, I know how busy you are and it just completely topped off their visit. My mother has been telling everyone about how she met the king. You even have my father cheering for the hockey team.”

A smile came over Steve’s face that was real.

It wasn’t one of his practiced smiles. It was an actual smile. You could tell because it reached his eyes.

“Well,” Steve answered you with a shrug, sounding genuinely pleased even if he also sounded tired and like he wanted nothing more than to go off to his living quarters in the palace and crash into bed, before he had to get up to start a new day. Helping you stack the last of your papers up. “Anything to convert a soul to hockey. Technically, it is his team too.” And because he could not help himself, Steve added on, “Even if his grandparents fled from here for a cushy life in the west.”

Up your hand flew to your chest.

Your jaw dropped in mock pain. “Ouch, Sir! That one was painful.”

His smile grew at your over-the-top reaction.

Still though, he dipped his head and you noticed there was a little blush on his cheeks above where that magnificent beard grew. Chagrined, he quickly followed up with, “I apologize. That was a cheap shot.”

In a physical sort of way that his people were known to interact, personal space be damned, Steve reached over to touch your arm apologetically. Not something he did frequently. Although he had done it a handful of times. The press of his mouth to your cheek was new. The little kiss was brand new. Steve’s lips were gentle on your skin. His beard tickled your face.

Never in your life had your heart pounded as violently in your chest as it did at that gesture. Quickly, your head turned. Though you did not move back or say anything. Instead, you found yourself staring at Steve. Looking into those pools of blue that were looking at you with the same amount of surprise that you felt. His lips were right there, right there.

Blood roared in your ears, your heart pounded faster and faster and faster.

He kissed you.

Did he really though?

Was it a kiss or was it a kiss?

For a moment in time, you leaned in. Leaned closer. Leaned till you almost touched him because that was what your body wanted to do. Until you remembered that Steve was a king. A KING. Remembering that made your head command your body to lean backwards a bit. Allowing you to see that he had leant in to meet you.

He’d leaned closer to kiss you.

What were you doing? What in the hell were you doing? You had no business doing this, no business at all messing around with Steve.

Fingers moved along your arm, tracing up the back of it softly. That simple touch made goosebumps break out over your skin. It made your breath hitch. Your hands began to shake so you grabbed the fabric of your skirt.

However, you made no move to step away from Steve. Nor did he make any sort of move to step away from you.

Another attempt at a kiss was not made.

Fingers touched your face instead. Steve was close enough to you that you felt his legs brush yours. You felt his breath against your face. Fingertips ran across the swell of your cheekbone, down over your lips, tracing the bridge of your nose in what felt like a desire to memorize your face.

Steve was gentle. His fingertips felt like feathers on your skin. He made you shake like a leaf in terror because you wanted him to touch you more. You wanted to be touched. You wanted to feel his hands on you and the soft glide of his thumb along the line of your jaw was painfully insufficient.

Without thinking, you reached up with your hands until you remembered that he was the king.

Were you allowed to touch the king? You weren’t sure. He was touching you and it was fabulous but were you allowed to do the same? You wanted to. You so deeply wanted to. You just were not sure what was allowed in this situation. It had not exactly been covered in the Royal Protocol Guidebook you had.

Then came Steve’s voice. Harsh. Gravelly. Desperate.

“Touch me. It’s ok. I want you to.”

For only a heartbeat or two you remained still, observing him, making sure. Only after that did you reach up with your hands to cover his wrists. Rub along the fabric of his button-up shirt. In doing so, you not only felt the strength in his well-muscled wrists, or how warm the silky fabric was, but, you could feel him tremble. He was shaking about as much as you were.

A rush of air surged from his lungs as if you had burnt him.

Curious, you turned your head so you could place a single kiss on the inside of his hand touching your face, right at the base of his thumb. In doing so, you ripped a noise from deep within him. A noise that was both pained while also infused with wanting.

“This is ok?”

“Yes,” he croaked out, as if he were terrified you would stop.

Never would you have ever imagined he would be so responsive. Almost touch starved it felt.

Sometimes, Steve still felt as if he were a little touch starved to you. Sometimes it felt like he’d gone his entire life without having that physical connection between two people. As complicated of a man as he was with as complicated of a life as he had, you at times forgot that he was still a human being with human being needs that were essential to thriving.

And it wasn’t like you were complaining.

Far from it.

Not after the orgasm you just had, not from on top of him either. Lounged across the front of him. Loose limbed. Languid down to your marrow. Peppering the damp skin of his neck with slow wet kisses and scrapes of teeth. Long drags of your tongue collected drops of salt that tasted of him. Lazily. Heart to heart. Stomach to stomach.

There really were worse ways to wake up.

Like, for instance, in your apartment taking cold showers cause the building’s water heater was ancient. That wasn’t fun at all and usually had you shivering and hurrying through an icy shower. Straight up not a good time.

This? This was soooo much better.

Feeling Steve’s long legs wrapped up in your own, paired with his softening member filling you by virtue of sheer size not letting himself just pop out…this was a much better way to wake up. Far superior in every way.

Not that you were willing to waste precious time like this luxuriating in post-coital bliss. No, no. A burning question was hot on your mind that kept popping up after last night. After all, you were a modern woman and this was a serious relationship. You had every right to ask this question at any time you wanted. Even now. As your boyfriend, the king, fondled your breasts in his hands with such intensity that you would have thought he’d just broken out of Alcatraz after a decade of no nookie. Not that you were in the least bit complaining. Not one bit.

“Am I going to have to quit my job?”

It was something of a concern.

You loved your job. You loved working with Steve. You loved your life as it was and a big part of you suspected becoming queen would mean big changes.

Not that you lifted your head from his neck, or ceased your trek down towards his collarbone. Trail of your kisses never slowing or stopping. No hint of any sort of disruption came. Not for a moment or two. Not till your ravenous boyfriend squeezed your breasts possessively. Thumbed your nipples and finally opened his eyes, as if it were the biggest chore on earth.

His voice was rough. His tone felt like hot gooey honey that just got everywhere. “No…not yet…”

Leading you to make a noise. A pop followed when your mouth left the dark spot you’d been sucking on nearly at his collarbone. What with your name already etched on him. What else could you leave in a display of ownership over him? “Nothing else to add My King?” For added emphasis, perhaps you gave you vaginal muscles a clench knowing what that did to him.

A grunt came from beneath you.

Wrapped up in yours, Steve’s legs clenched in response to what you did. White teeth sank into his upper lip and you absolutely thrived at the sight and feel of him arching up against you, shifting around beneath you at the way your body squeezed him.

Those hands left your breasts only to reach down, run over your waist as they had so many times before, leading you to grab them. Snatch then right up. Press them down into the mattress over Steve’s head. Since the man was far larger than you, this sent you leaning downwards and ever closer to his face. “Steve? I asked you a question.”

How easy it would have been for him to get free. Yet, he seemed content where he found himself. Still wedged within you. Warm in bed. Body a sea of a complex cocktail of chemicals after physically releasing into you. A far better way to wake up than alone in a massive bed. Or worse, to his mother jabbing at him to urgently tell him something that was not urgent at all.

Feeling your breasts press against his chest. Lightly brushing over his skin, your nipples little points that sparked a definite interest in his dick.

God did he want you to be his queen.

“Not yet,” Steve ground out, nearly close to being overwhelmed by you. Each and every word was enunciated to utter perfection, as if it took all of his concentration and effort to get them out. “I’ll have the palace leave your name out of the official statement today. We can go slow. Ease you into things…ease you out of your job…” and to reward him for such a thoughtful statement, you clenched around him once more.

However, it seemed, there was more and even though his eyes rolled up into his head at the feel of your core squeezing his not entirely soft organ, he pushed on with the determination of his ancestors. Grunting. Arching back into the bed as the pillows had all wound up on the floor. Perfect teeth clenched together. “M-my people…will…love you…too.”

So, it was entirely possible, that you were feeling all kinds of powerful watching him writhe beneath you. Knowing exactly what sort of repercussions this could have to your morning. Which was still progressing on time. It was entirely possible that you may have intentionally pushed your own pelvis against his to reseat yourself.

“Oh yeah? How can you be so sure? You saw what happened with those two over in England. And that prince isn’t even next in line to the throne.”

Perhaps it was the seriousness of the direction in which your conversation had taken, Steve remained beneath you. Taking no action, even though you could quite literally feel his dick grow more interested in what your hips were doing.

A panted out, “…fuck…” escaped from him, before he opened his eyes to look at you seriously, if not also a little heatedly. “Quit obsessing over them. The King of Jordan married for love. Queen Rania was a commoner. If you must, focus on them.”

Sudden movement found you falling off Steve and onto the bed, shoved onto your back and in a flash, he was on top of you again. Over you. Hovering. Though he’d escaped out of your body, you could feel the king’s most delicious semi, slick from your previous copulation, squish between you both.

Admitting on an exhale, “Forgot about them.”

“Everyone does.” He agreed, surveying down, taking in the sight of you. “My country appreciates you. They’re fond of you. You’re in all the papers and they’ve given you a nickname.”

And that. That. Nearly killed the mood.

It sent your eyebrows together dubiously so.

Everytime you were in the press it was when your skirt had been blown up on a windy day, or if you’d accidentally gotten food on your shirt. Or that time a baby goat pooped on your shoes. Or when you’d tripped and fallen off a dock into a lake. Who could forget that time you’d accidentally called the Prime Minister of Canada a ‘moose fucking cannibal’ when you’d still been getting the hang of the language, your first year on the job?

You’d been affectionately dubbed, ‘the King’s Foreign Devil’ and it had stuck.

Hell, you still got asked about your thoughts on the Canadian Prime Minister whenever a member of the press was around.

“Most the time, you have a higher approval rating than I do,” he added. Much to the consternation of Maria Hill in PR. “Trust me. There is nothing my country loves more than a hard-working loyal servant of the people who talks shit about western leaders.”

Mood totally killed, you seethed and not for the first time, “That was an accident! I was trying to call him Canada’s Disney Prince.”

***

The note had been hand delivered to the palace and was now crumbled into a ball in the Queen Mother’s bedroom as she stormed off, once more, that early morning in a fury of rose satin and silk. Her perfume clouded around her, drifting behind her, much like the wake of a boat cutting through the water.

Thick carpets silenced her heels. Doors opened for her as she neared them, allowing her to not need to slow her step even for a second. Not a single moment wasted as she made her way through the private living quarters of the palace.

Down hallways and around corners, over to the rooms that her grown son had selected as his own.

It would have been so much easier if he would have just taken the rooms that his father had lived in.

Although, with the horrific memories attached to those rooms, how could she blame him when he elected not to? She had her own private rooms. The dead kings rooms were locked up tight and still not used. Abandoned like so much he’d done, started and accomplished in his life.

Upon coming to her only child’s rooms, those doors were held open for her and on she pressed on. Sailing through his rooms, one after another, until she got closer to his bedroom and could hear his shower which was the direction she headed.

A brief glance was made at the mess that was his bed.

A roll of her eyes was followed by a shake of her head.

Some things males never grew out of it seemed.

“Steven!” She called out in warning, should he be in the bathroom about to come out in the nude. Which was the last thing she wanted to see.

Not only was his bed a mess but his clothes from yesterday were all over the floor.

She had every intention of telling him that he needed to straighten up this mess before the cleaning staff came in his room. The last thing she wanted was for them to think he was messy and then tell their families and friends when they went home that the king had a messy bedroom and word would get out that her son was a slob. Ugh. No. She’d make sure that he straightened up.

Speaking of the devil.

As his shower ran, Steve peered out of the bathroom with a wet head. A midnight blue towel was wrapped around his waist. A toothbrush was in his hand. To Sarah, it was very clear that her grown son had not shaved yet either.

Seeing him in such a state that morning along with his messy room and the fact the shower was going wasting water. It did not make her mood any more agreeable.

Though her son was taller than her and considerably more muscular, she never feared him.

She knew he would never hurt her like his father had so many times. Towards the end, Steve had even defended her from his father’s physical attacks. Those days. They had been dark. Horrible. Terrible. When she noticed that her husband had begun to carry a knife to protect himself from his son. Well. What was she supposed to do?

Attacking her was one thing. Being violent towards her was one thing. There were some things that she learned to tolerate. It was unescapable. Their son though. To take a knife to their son? Her son? Sarah would never allow such a thing.

She was queen at the time.

It was not so difficult to get the drug that she put in her husband’s evening nightcap. She’d used all of it. Thrown the vial away the next day when she went to rouse the king as she did every morning, only to find him dead in his chair. Fireplace having long gone out. Slumped down. Cold. The coroner had said it was a heart attack. Exactly as she’d been told the drug would work. He’d been buried with no one the wiser. Not even Steve.

“Yes mother?”

Sarah rolled her eyes. “You are not growing another beard. Last time you looked like some man that lives up in the mountains in a tiny shack.”

Just as her own father once did, Steve’s eyebrows rose in surprise and question.

No. That was not why she was here.

Sarah had a higher calling that morning and straightening her slim shoulders, she so informed him. “Hope and Janet are here in the city. They’ve come for a surprise visit and will arrive at the palace within the hour.”

Steve’s eyes narrowed at her in response to her information.

It was horrifying. It was outrageous. It was not what he wanted to hear that morning one bit. Not at all. Not one single bit.

Hope and Janet?

Those were two names he never wanted to hear with the additional words being, ‘on their way’. No. Just no.

All he could say that was remotely civil, after what the then Princess Hope van Dyne had done, came out in something of a tone. “I don’t want to see either of them. If you want to see them, that’s your choice. Keep them away from me.”

Considering what the now Duchess Hope had spewed to every reporter, journalist and whomever with a platform…Sarah was a little surprised that Steve was being so kind.

She’d expected a bit more of a reaction from her son.

Could she be holding a bigger grudge against her one-time closest friend’s daughter? After what had happened, Queen Janet van Dyne had become somewhat distant. Which was not surprising. Hope had not broken the engagement gracefully. Nor had she been anything less than opinionated afterwards.

“I suspect she is in trouble,” Sarah confessed. “Why else would they come here? Considering everything that Hope has said over the years.”

Steam continued to seep through the cracked door.

Sarah was about to say something about the shower. Steve was wasting a considerable amount of hot water. She herself was leading the Go Green Initiative in the country and as she stated constantly, it all began at home.

“Mother, don’t take this the wrong way, but, I wouldn’t shit in Hope’s mouth if she was starving.”

Ah.

Perhaps she’d been too quick to judge Steve’s current opinion on the wayward duchess?

Pondering his statement, Sarah found herself looking for any way to come back with a counter when she noticed that the shower turned off. Which was odd. Shower’s didn’t turn themselves off.

What was even more peculiar, Steve reached back behind himself to shut his bathroom door.

It clicked.

Like a light going off.

How could she not have noticed? How could it not have been obvious?

Blue eyes that were a little softer than her son’s narrowed. “You aren’t alone.”

Silence.

Quiet.

Her pink lips opened in surprised. A question hovered on her tongue.

“No mother.”

“But…”

“Mother,” he implored as only a son could. “Not now. She would not want the first time she officially meets you to be when you’re dressed for the day and she is not.”

And though her son’s words were true. They were right. They were exactly what she would have wanted him to say and because she had raised him well, she was even proud that he had made such a quick decision. It wasn’t fair.

Sarah wanted to find out who you were. She wanted to meet the woman that her son was involved with. Was that so wrong? Sarah wanted to meet the woman that her son was considering marrying. There was so much she wanted to say to you, so much to teach you, so much she wanted to learn about you. Perhaps her desperation showed because her son reached out to place a hand on her elbow.

“If you can chase Hope and Janet away, we could have lunch together. The three of us. If not, dinner? Or even tomorrow. I’m not doing anything with Hope under this roof. Not after she referred to our country as a third world plus hellhole full of war criminals and superstitious backwoods heathens.”

Ah, so he did remember.

Those words had been seared into her memory as well. Sometimes Sarah wondered, as Steve had never really given much indication that he cared one way or the other what Hope had said. It was only after she began to speak unflatteringly about their people that he grew irritated, much like herself.

Although, what irritated Sarah more, was the quiet that came from the royal house of van Dyne and Pym a few countries over. Never once had Janet spoke up. Never had Janet said anything about her daughters outrageous remarks or behavior. Nor had she apologized.

Knowing her son, Sarah knew that he would never court anyone who was not kind or compassionate. Steve would never pick a Hope as his queen.

Up came a hand that bore a lovely ring decorated with fresh water pearls from their own waters. “I’ll have them gone before lunch and then we will all sit down together so I can finally meet her.”

#steve rogers x reader #chris evans x reader #steve x reader #captain america x reader #steve rogers x you #marvel x reader #avengers x reader #chris evans x you #chris evans x y/n

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liquid-luck-00 · 4 years ago

Text

When Two Coffee Addicts Unite

Part 1

@maribatmarch-2k21 Day 8: Texting

Ao3 *** Part 2

Okay so this can either be a continuation of Internet Friends or the beginning of something new. But if you want to read this as a continuation of Internet friends then you should know:

The police department is almost as bad as Damocles when dealing with powerful figures. They take the video and audio footage and simply put it in the file. Because at the time Lila still had most or in fact all of the class under her thumb, they all supported Lila’s claim that it was an accident. Lila claims that a sudden dizzy spell struck her, and she fell forwards towards Marinette. And as Mari was already on the edge of the balcony it was an accident. The fact that the file sat in the police department until well after any claim could be valid it wasn’t looked into more. Mari, her friends, and Tim did have backups of the footage, complete records for every interaction with the police, and recorded calls and interactions when dealing with the police. But as they didn’t want to involve the embassy as this would become an international affair they didn’t bother with the case.

That said the police don’t bother with the Miracle Court to avoid work. However, with the Mayor, Medical responders, and the Fire Department all aid the heroes, the police only do the bare minimum.

Marinette’s class has begun to watch Lila, but they didn’t look into her lies because except for this incident it’s just she said she said with occasional ‘injuries’ on Lila. Most of them are wary of Lila but they aren’t converted to Marinette’s side, but there is an increased tolerance between them.

~~~~~~~~~~

Marinette had just sat back at her seat after eating lunch, while the classroom was still empty. There was still half an hour left. Alix, Kim, Nino, Sabrina, and Max walked in as she sat down.

"Marinette you got the time?" Alix called out. They were on somewhat okay terms since Lila’s claims were a total 180 from the Marinette that they have known for forever.

"30 minutes left." she announced looking of her phone and in turn her missed messages.

Tim:

Mari

Nettie

Marin

Bean

Bug

Marinette

Marinette:

What's wrong.

Tim:

I have back to back meetings starting in 3 hrs. until 5.

and

Marinette:

Let me guess haven't slept.

Tim:

Exactly

Help me please

Marinette:

How many reports can you send me?

Tim:

Quite a few

Marinette:

Send me what you can.

Review the rest.

Take a nap!

And I'll be a little voice during your meeting.

Tim:

Thanks, I owe you Bean.

Marinette:

I'II hold you to that.

Tim:

Sent

Marinette:

Just make sure you wake up.

Tim:

I make no promises.

On second thought I don't want to find out how you are mad

She made it through the 15 minutes of class because Lila was akumatized. Lila had burst into the class followed by Alya, Nino, and Adrien. She claimed Mari cornered her in the bathroom and beat her a few minutes ago, showing everyone the 'bruises' on her arms. Chloe handed something to Sabrina who walked up to Lila.

"Oh, you poor thing," Sabrina consoled, Lila only whimpered. "Here this has a salve that helps bruises." She gently took Lila's wrist and wiped a 'bruise' which disappeared instantly.

"That's amazing what is it called?" Alya commented. "I should get some for Nora."

"Make-up remover." Sabrina and Chloe spoke together.

"Besides." Alix butt in. "Marinette's been here the past half hour and hasn't left."

"What?! How do you know?" Lila cried.

"Cause we've been here the whole time with her." Sabrina commented.

Marinette for her part didn't know or hear the conversation around her.

"Marinette. Marinette. Earth to Marinette," Kim shouted.

"Present!" She jolted practically standing. "Wait," she looked around, "class hasn't started."

"What are you hyper fixated on?" Adrien asked innocently.

"Just some reports, don't think you'd like them too much Kit-Kat."

"Fair," he shrugged sitting next to her. "So how were you in two places at once?"

"I can't," her head tilted to the side confusion clear on her face.

"So, if Mari hasn't left, can't be in two places at once, and your 'bruises' came off with make-up remover. How do you explain that Lila?" Adrien around, the class slowly draining their conclusions. However, Marinette spoke up. "She lied, obviously..." she stated having gone back to the reports.

"Um you said that out loud, Cake Pop, and loud at that."

"Huh?" sure enough when she looked around some were shock still, others typed furiously into their phones.

That was when Mrs. Bustier walked in, fifteen minutes late to the class. Which was also when the bandy contained restraint ended. Lila was akumatized, school let out, and the rest of her night went smoothly.

Tim woke up, and with her help survived his meetings. Some while on patrol she would constantly mute and unmute herself. Luckily, it wasn't more than twice, and they didn't run into anyone. Chat didn’t ask questions, figured it out since she was pouring over Wayne documents earlier. Tim would call her back after the private meetings and ended around 10.

At around 11 Tim text her back.

Tim:

Thanks Bug you saved me today.

Marinette:

No problem Draco

You owe me though.

Tim:

I remember.

Go to bed it's like midnight over there!

Marinette:

Yeah Yeah

Tim:

Ooh

Congratulations 2x!

Marinette:

What???

Please explain.

Tim

Timothy

Timothy Drake-Wayne answer me.

Dragon please

Ugh fine I'll sleep.

Which is what she did when he wouldn’t answer her.

She woke up the next morning to two emails from W. E.. The first was for a collaboration between W.E. and MDC for a show featuring Wayne Tech accessories and their new climate fabrics. She immediately responded and accepted. The second was that her class was one of two to be accepted as transfer students to Gotham Academy and intern slots at WE, she forwarded that to her teacher and the school.

Marinette:

You Gremlin

Tim:

Like I said congrats

Oh, I need you to give me three names.

Marinette:

What for?

Her mind was racing at the possibilities.

Tim:

You'll find out.

Marinette:

What’s the other school?

Tim:

Some Prep school in the UK.

Marinette:

Give me a Sec.

She opened another contact and typed.

Marinette:

Hey, did you get a spot in the Wayne/GA internship?

Mystery:

Yes.

Why?

Marinette:

Tell the others we are hitting Gotham with style.

Mystery:

Very well.

Mari then sent three names to him and smiled. This was going to be fun.

~~~~~~~~~~

Permanent Taglist: @itsmeevie01 @adrestar @miraculouspenta @vixen-uchiha

#maribat #dc x mlb #mlb x dc #dc x miraculous #miraculous x dc #ml marinette #tim drake #platonic timari #timari #adrien agreste #lila salt #maribatmarch2021

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massivedrickhead · 3 years ago

Text

Bechloe Week 2021 - Day 2

July 27th: Bed sharing/one bed

Read on AO3

Fun fact - everything I’ve written/will write for Bechloe week this year are all part of the same universe, but they won’t be posted in chronological order. So at the end of the week I’ll probably put something up with a list of the prompts in chronological order :)

Beca was pretty sure that sharing a bed with Chloe Beale was simultaneously the worst and best thing that had ever happened to her.

It was almost unbearable to be that close to her without being able to touch her in the way she really wanted to.

Strike that.

It was unbearable.

But Beca couldn’t sleep any other way.

On those occasions when Chloe would sleep elsewhere, Beca would find herself unable to drop off.

She’d be up most of the night tossing and turning, unable to get comfortable, unable to shut her mind off.

It was as if Chloe’s mere presence could calm Beca in a way that nothing else could.

And then they would have these moments of complete vulnerability late at night.

Chloe would reach out with a featherlight touch and run a hand through Beca’s hair. So gentle that sometimes Beca thought she was imagining it.

“Bec?”

“Hmm?”

“I can’t sleep.”

“M’kay.”

Beca would roll over, still practically asleep, and lift her arm, allowing Chloe to either scoot back into her - making Beca the big spoon - or for her to rest her head on her chest.

Beca was usually already asleep by the time Chloe had gotten into a comfortable position, but she always seemed to register the soft “thanks,” that Chloe would whisper.

On those nights when it was Beca’s turn to be comforted, Chloe seemed to always know without Beca having to ask.

Logically, Beca knew it was probably down to the fact that Beca tossed and turned more, or played on her phone for longer, that tipped Chloe off, but she liked to think that Chloe just… knew.

“What do you need?” Chloe would ask, her voice quiet and thick with sleep.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“Can you do the hair thing?”

“Mhm.”

Chloe would then lie on her side and gently run her hands through Beca’s hair, her nails lightly scratching her scalp.

Her other hand would rest on Beca’s side or stomach - depending on if she was on her back or side - and her thumb would sweep gently back and forth.

In the daylight, neither would mention these moments. They’d usually wake up back on their respective sides, and if they didn’t whoever woke up first would pull away and climb out of bed - usually waking the other in the process.

And while these moments were nothing short of tortuous for Beca, they were still the favourite part of her day.

Because at two or three in the morning, nothing else matters. There are no distractions. No texts or emails to answer. No potential to be interrupted. Nowhere they needed to be.

They could just exist in the quiet together. Their bed was an island in the room. They could ask questions that, in the cold light of day, could be forgotten or ignored. They could share secrets or confess insecurities that neither would at any other time of day.

“Bec, do you believe in soulmates?”

“I don’t know. I think so. Do you?”

“Yeah. Of course.”

“If I hadn’t kissed Jesse, do you think things would be different?”

“Different how?”

“I don’t know. Just different. I dated him throughout all of college, maybe I missed experiencing some things?”

“Do you regret dating him so long?”

“No. I don’t think so.”

“Chlo’?”

“‘Yeah?”

“What if I don’t make it as a producer? What if I’m not good enough?”

“You’re the most talented person I know. You’ll make it.”

Over the years of being best friends with Chloe, she’d always had a crush on her. It had been a harmless thing really, she assumed everyone had a crush on Chloe.

Especially after a drunken confession to Aubrey had caused the blonde to let out a snort of laughter and say “girl, same.”

But this last year or so that they’d spent sharing a bed - sharing more of themselves with each other than they’d ever done before - Beca had fallen hard and fast and completely in love with Chloe.

Which, let’s be honest, wasn’t an ideal situation. Especially considering that, about three weeks ago, Chloe had started dating Chicago.

“He rescued us from the Med, Beca. I think I owe him a date.”

“Technically Amy and I rescued you. He turned up after the hard bit was done.”

Wearing a new dress and her highest heels, Chloe had thrown Beca a wink and said “don’t wait up!” as she left their apartment to meet him for the third time this week.

Once the door closed, Beca flopped back dramatically on the bed and let out a groan.

“You know you could tell her!” Amy called from her bedroom. “Actually, ignore that, that’s a bad idea. If she turned you down it would make our living situation way more awkward.”

“When not if,” Beca said, miserably. “Have you seen the abs on Shit-ago?”

(Yes, her nickname for Chicago was unnecessarily mean and childish, but give her a break.)

“If Chloe hadn’t accepted the date I would have climbed him like a tree,” Amy said.

“You could save me a lot of pain if you’d use those millions of dollars you have to move out so I could at least have my own room,” Beca said.

Amy left her room and was also looking dressed up for a night out.

“I’m doing you a favour captain,” Amy said. “If I move out you’ll have no excuse to share a bed anymore, and I know you can’t sleep without her. Besides, when she eventually moves in with Chicago, you won’t be able to afford the rent on your own.”

“Please don’t use his real name, it humanises him,” Beca said. “And what makes you think she’d move in with him? Has she said anything?”

“Not specifically, no. But things are obviously going well between them. It’s not out of the realm of possibility that Chloe has found ‘the one’,” Amy said. “So, you know, if you’re going to make a confession of love, time’s ticking.” She checked her phone. “I gotta go. If you are going to comfort eat please leave my Ben & Jerry’s out of it.”

“I make no promises,” Beca said.

“Hmm, due to your pathetic state, I’ll let you off. See you tomorrow!”

Beca spent the remainder of her night feeling sorry for herself, and making some truly self-indulgent mixes.

There were so many songs about unrequited love that Beca was never short of material, and when she finished she saved them in a hidden password-protected so no-one else could even accidentally listen to them.

No, these mixes weren’t going to help her career but they did make her feel at least a little bit better.

The crying and eating Amy’s ice-cream had helped too of course.

Beca was in bed by the time Chloe got back that night, and even thought she wasn’t asleep she pretended she was.

Chloe could always tell when Beca had been crying, and she definitely did not want to talk about the reason why.

So she closed her eyes when she heard the keys in the door, and kept them closed as the lights came on which was followed by the sound of high-heeled shoes walking across the apartment.

She felt the bed dip behind her, and heard the click of Chloe’s lamp turn on.

The bed jostled again, and the main light went off.

She heard running water from the bathroom as Chloe washed off her makeup and brushed her teeth, and then the sound of drawers opening as she searched for pyjamas.

She heard Chloe undressing, and tried not to picture it. She hoped Chloe didn’t need help with unzipping her dress, because she didn’t know if she could handle that right now.

Eventually the bed dipped again and the light went out.

She felt Chloe gently tug at the blankets so she could cover herself.

Then there was nothing but a calm silence.

Beca could tell by the way that Chloe was breathing that she wasn’t asleep yet and before she could stop herself, she was rolling over to face her.

“Hey,” she said.

“Hi,” Chloe replied. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

Beca just smiled as she looked at Chloe’s face in the moonlight. She was so beautiful.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Beca said. “How was your night?”

They were both whispering, even though they were the only two people in the apartment, and it was only a little after midnight.

“Fine,” Chloe said. “What did you get up to?”

“Made some mixes,” Beca said. “Before you ask, no. They’re not ready yet.”

Chloe grinned. “Not even for me?”

“Especially not for you.”

“Spoil sport,” Chloe said.

They fell into an easy silence while they just continued to look at each other, and Beca felt that tug in her heart again.

She wanted more than anything to just reach out and touch her. To tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. To sweep her thumb across her jaw.

To kiss her.

God, she wanted to kiss her.

She swallowed, and turned so she was lying on her back.

Amy was right. Time was running out if she was going to say something. And Beca knew she had to say something.

She just didn’t think she could look at Chloe while she said it.

“Is everything okay?” Chloe asked, in her gentlest voice that was always Beca’s undoing.

She just had to do it. She had to rip the bandaid off and deal with whatever came after.

If Chloe turned her down… well… their friendship could survive that.

Right?

“Are you gonna move in with Chicago?”

If she’d been looking at Chloe she’d have seen her frown.

“What? No, what made you ask that? We’ve only been dating for a couple of weeks,” Chloe sounded genuinely confused, and it spurred Beca on. “We’ve been on, like, six dates.”

“But is that something you could see yourself doing? With him, I mean.”

“I… I don’t know. I don’t really know him, I hadn’t thought about it. Why?”

Beca swallowed again.

It was now or never.

“Chloe, I… fuck, this is… look, this is hard, okay. I’m not good at this.”

“Bec, you’re kinda freaking me out,” Chloe said. She sat up and switched on the lamp on her nightstand.

Beca felt instantly exposed and vulnerable - way too vulnerable - and she was up and off the bed in seconds.

“Beca-”

“Just… just give me a second,” Beca said, her heart beating uncomfortably.

She could feel tears building in her eyes and, at that exact moment, they heard the sound of keys in the door before Amy walked in.

“Funny story,” she said, shutting the door and walking further into the room. “Turns out it’s next week that I’m staying-”

She stopped abruptly, realising she had stepped into some kind of emotional minefield.

“Uh oh,” she said. “Beca when I said you should tell her I didn’t mean toni-”

“Nope!” Beca said, loudly cutting her off before walking into the bathroom and locking the door behind her.

Okay, so this wasn’t exactly going to plan.

She had locked herself in the bathroom and was maybe on the verge of a panic attack.

Not an ideal situation.

“Beca,” Chloe said, knocking on the door. “Come on, you can’t stay in there forever.”

I can try, Beca thought.

When Beca didn't respond, or give any indication that she would come out of the bathroom anytime soon, Chloe turned to Amy with a huff of frustration.

“What just happened?”

“So… she didn’t tell you anything?”

“No! I think she was about to tell me something and then…” Chloe trailed off with a shrug. “I don’t know. Something freaked her out and then you showed up.”

“Look this is really not something I should - or want to - be involved in,” Amy said. “So I’m just gonna…” She jerked a thumb towards her bedroom. Amy made a hasty retreat and Chloe returned to the bathroom door.

“Beca, please,” Chloe said. “Look, even if you don’t wanna talk to me, can you just unlock the door so I can go pee. I’ve had like a full bottle of wine tonight and you know how small my bladder is.”

She heard the lock slide and Beca opened the door.

Chloe could see tears in her eyes despite the fact that Beca was doing everything in her power to avoid looking at her.

“Thank you,” Chloe said, as Beca moved aside to let her in.

It hadn’t been a lie, Chloe really did need to pee, so after she closed the door behind her, Beca sat down on the bed and let her head drop into her hands.

It’s probably for the best, she thought. It would ruin everything.

The light from the lamp had had the same sobering effect of daylight.

It reminded her of all the reasons she hadn’t told Chloe how she felt, and why she shouldn’t tell her now.

Any fantasies she could conjure up during the night were always chased away by the day.

While Chloe was stroking her hair in the moonlight, it was easy to imagine that they could be together, but those hopes were always replaced with facts the next day. And the same thing was happening now.

Beca felt something hard lodge itself in her chest as she came to a realisation.

She couldn’t keep doing this.

She’d have to start looking for a new place.

When she heard the toilet flush and the sound of running water she quickly wiped her eyes.

She didn’t look at Chloe when she came out, and kept her eyes fixed on her clasped hands in front of her.

“Are you gonna tell me what’s going on?”

“No,” Beca said. “It’s… it’s nothing. It was dumb. Can we just go to sleep?”

“Sure,” Chloe said with a sigh.

Beca didn’t get into bed until the light was off and then she lay with her back to Chloe.

“Night Bec.”

Beca swallowed again, hoping her voice was steady. “Night.”

Beca’s phone then lit up on her bedside table.

Amy: omg tell her or I will!!!

Beca read it, smiled briefly, and then locked her phone.

She didn’t say anything else, but after a few minutes of silence, Chloe rolled over and wrapped her arm around Beca’s middle. Her other hand started stroking through her hair.

“You get a headache when you cry,” she said softly, answering the question Beca hadn’t asked.

Something broke inside Beca, and she knew she couldn’t keep it in any longer.

“I’m in love with you Chloe.”

Chloe’s hand stilled and Beca’s heart seemed to stop beating.

The silence stretched on, and Beca had to fight every urge to run.

And then Chloe’s arm tightened around Beca’s waist, and she pulled her closer.

“What took you so long?”

Beca laughed and turned around to face her. Their faces were inches apart now, and Beca could see the tears building in Chloe’s eyes.

“I was scared,” she said, her voice breaking. “I was so fucking scared. I didn’t want to lose you.”

“You could never lose me,” Chloe replied. “You will never lose me. I promise.”

Her eyes traveled over Beca’s face, flicking between her eyes, looking for doubt or regret. She didn’t see either. She saw love and adoration. She saw vulnerability, hope, and a tiny fraction of fear.

“I’m in love with you too, Bec.”

And then the fear was gone from her eyes and her face broke into a grin.

“Yeah?” Beca asked, letting out a tearful laugh.

“Yeah,” Chloe replied.

“Can I kiss you?”

Chloe nodded, and their lips met a second later.

Tomorrow, in the cold light of day, Chloe would tell Chicago she didn’t think they should see each other anymore. Tomorrow, she would ask Beca on a date and if it went well - which she knew it would - she would ask her to be her girlfriend.

Tomorrow, when the sun was up, she would repeat these things they’d said to each other in the moonlight.

She’d tell Beca she loved her.

She’d tell Beca she’d always loved her.

And Beca would say it back. A thousand times. In a thousand different ways.

#bechloe week #bechloe week 2021 #bechloe #bechloe prompt #bechloe fanfiction #bechloe fanfic #bechloe fic #beca #Chloe #beca x chloe #beca mitchell #chloe beale #pitch perfect #pitch perfect fanfic #pitch perfect fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic

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caravelmp3 · 3 years ago

Text

FEAR AND LOATHING IN DOMESTICATION

pairing: josh kiszka x reader warning(s): mentions of alcohol, references to sex, depression, & anxiety synopsis: in better terms, josh kiszka is a rolling stone, and when the pandemic causes the band to settle down for an undisclosed amount of time, reader helps josh come out of his slump note: title & reference to that one interview. you know the one. as someone with a fear of domestication as well, i related so hard to josh when he talked about settling down, and this came out of that. it’s just a lil something !! also posted on ao3 if you would like to check it out there instead. hope you all enjoy !! x

Josh was a vagabond, a nomad, living a peripatetic lifestyle of hopping from city to city overnight by bus or jet, bouncing between venues and interviews as if he was born to do so. Staying in three-star motel rooms in the middle of nowhere became a part of his lifestyle, one that he became quite adjusted to after three years on the go. Even while visiting home he was between family and friend houses, checking in on old stomping grounds, visiting studios hours away, anything to stay busy. In the clearest sense of terms, he was a rolling stone.

So, as everyone imagined it would happen, he began to lose his sense of self in 2020. One second the band were planning the release of an album, preparing to hit the road and play stadiums in South America with Metallica in the spring, and then the next they were hit with the news of cancellations and push-backs to everything they had been working towards. With the rise of a pandemic they were forced into a hiatus and into the first real break any of them had received, if they didn’t count the few days visiting home last holiday season.

He and the rest of the band hunkered down in Nashville and Josh started to live in his worst fear - domesticity. He was waking up at the same time every day in the same city, he was living the same life day after day, and it became old very quickly. While catching up on rest and exploring a new city was fun at first, it started to look like every other city before long. The adventure he would wake up to with excitement was no longer around. He had been forced to settle down, and he felt like a trapped animal trying to gnaw its own leg off.

And like the rest of the band and the management team, you hated seeing him that way.

The relationship between you and Josh was short, but you knew Josh for years, and you noticed the differences in his personality immediately once you followed him to Nashville following the shut down of your own job.

You once swung by the studio with a surprise lunch for the boys and the team and he was struggling to write lyrics on a notepad in the other room, surrounded by crumpled and balled sheets of paper. He would stay up later at night scrolling through airline websites for flights out of Nashville to random cities (as long as he was traveling, he told himself), and he shifted through hobbies to find anything that stuck (which eventually was reading and painting) (there was a corner of the living room filled with stacks of books and canvas paintings).

And you tried your best, even when times were hard on you, too. In order to boost Josh’s spirits and get his mind off the persistent idea that he was stuck in time, you attempted baking new treats and made him try them after dinner, you dabbled in bartending and made new drinks with tequila, set up painting dates in the backyard after work, bought books from second-hand stores you thought he would enjoy, and bought new and random vinyl for the nights spent in during summer storms.

But the bright blue, cloudless summer skies and warm breezes rustling the trees of summer became the red of maples and the bronze of oaks of autumn. Everyone hoped things would be different, maybe even just slightly, but nothing had changed at all. The band was still in Nashville, making the best of their time off to expand the album and the universe it was set in, and you were back to working, but only remotely, so Josh insisted you stayed with them instead of traveling back home at seemingly the height of the worst so far.

When the long, hot days turned into cooler mornings and long nights with the sun setting at five p.m., the effect of the year had finally hit everyone. Everyone was tired, they felt defeated.

So in one last desperate attempt to boost spirits and morale, everyone set off on their own adventure and escaped Nashville in the early days of December. Danny was going to Los Angeles, Sam was going skiing in Montana, and you knew that Josh and Jake needed their own trip. So after a few phone calls and exchanged emails over a week, you booked a trip for the twins and their family in Key West. It was something small - a rented RV for the dreaded sixteen-hour drive south, but what awaited them was a week in a rented beach house and days on a boat in the Gulf.

You booked it for everyone, you wanted the boys and their family to let loose and spend some time together before work drove them away again, but you weren’t going to lie and say you didn’t book it with Josh in mind. He was a fan of the beach and islands, history, and the water and sun and sand, and after months hunched over a studio coffee table writing and working endlessly on the album design, he deserved time to himself, to recover, to recoup.

You told him before bed on Thanksgiving day. The Kiszka family had come down from Michigan to celebrate the holiday, and they did with dinner and a fire in the pit in the backyard with music and plaid blankets and smores under the stars. After staying up talking to his mom, Josh had come to bed last with the lingering scent of fire smoke in his hair and Corona on his breath, and he met you under the covers, nestling his face in the crook of your neck before pressing a soft kiss against your skin while wishing you goodnight.

Humming, you rolled over and rolled into him. He chuckled and wrapped an arm around you, and that’s when you, in a sleep-deprived state, began to rattle off all of your plans,

“Tell your parents to stay for another week.” You said, eyes still closed, half-asleep.

Josh paused. “Why?” It wasn’t something he was opposed to, but it caught him by surprise.

“I booked a trip for the rest of us. While Danny and Sam are gone.” You laid your head on his shoulder, pressing a gentle kiss to his chest. “We leave for Key West in four days.”

And the shot of adrenaline that ran through Josh was something he hadn’t felt in quite a long time. The last time he got excited about going anywhere was to a new record shop that opened up a few streets over from the house. He quickly sat up in the bed, looking down at you (now laying sideways) in the dark with a smile.

“You’re fucking joking,”

You laughed and reached out for his hand. “Not at all,” you said bringing his hand up to kiss the palm, “I’m going to pick up an RV in a couple of days, and we can surprise your parents and take them shopping for clothes and everything else we need.”

Out of what seemed like a rush of euphoria, Josh threw himself on top of you, peppering your face with kisses and you laughed at the show of affection and at the tickle of the growing mustache he managed to grow (and pull off). You turned your head, holding his cheeks, and kissed him.

“Now, come on, let’s get some sleep.”

“Well that’s unlikely - now I’m going to lay here and think about all the dumb shit we can do.” He said, sliding under the covers and sliding an arm around you.

You just laughed and nestled your cheek against his chest, listening in to the quiet shuffling in the hallway outside the door of everyone going to bed, to the ticking sound of the clock on the wall, and then to Josh’s voice,

“Do you think they have pirate themed dinner cruises?”

“If they do, I’m sure you’ll find out about it.”

And he did.

(There wasn’t one.)

But you found so much more than you two ever dreamed of. Trading dreary Nashville for a bright and warm island, you welcomed the hot breeze and sun-kissed skin.

And even though there wasn’t a pirate themed dinner cruise, you watched Josh come alive in a new environment. You strolled hand-in-hand with him through the butterfly and nature conservatory, letting him rave about the multicolored birds and point at flowers he thought you would like while capturing them on film. On Duval Street he pulled you to get caricature portraits done, he ordered shots for everyone in the bar after a night spent swimming. He roamed Dry Tortugas National Park with Jake, admiring the view and history within the brick fort walls, and first thing one morning he pulled you out of bed to get breakfast and visit the Ernest Hemingway Home, so you sat with him on a bench in the morning light and drank coffee and pet the roaming cats that passed by.

The last night on the island you woke up naked without Josh beside you, and you turned to see him sitting on the balcony with the white sheer curtains billowing around him, writing in the journal he always kept on his person. A smile tugged on the corners of your lips.

Josh was falling in love with life again.

And you were falling in love with life again, too, because Josh was so passionate about living it.

#josh kiszka imagine #josh kiszka one shot #josh kiszka drabble #greta van fleet imagine #greta van fleet one shot #gvf imagine #gvf drabble #josh kiszka

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ladykailitha · 2 years ago

Text

The thrilling finale to the Johanna Constantine stories. This one will have chapters, so you can see it here or on AO3 under the title Love’s Labor

https://archiveofourown.org/works/42278628/chapters/106159230

Hob tried to live as though he was going about his life as normal. Tried to act as he had for hundreds of years. Tried to pretend his best friend wasn't in actual Hell.

It wasn’t as though as he could tell anyone. No one knew that he was immortal. Or that the friend he had been waiting for was King of Dreams and Nightmares. What was worse was the person that he could have told, Johanna, had also gone missing. He hadn’t see her since that night he and Morpheus had it out in the middle of the street.

Again.

At least Morpheus had explained where he was going and why he didn’t know when he’d be back. They had had drinks in the Dreaming, and when Hob woke, he had a lovely bottle of wine to keep him company. Not that Hob touched it after he put it in his fridge. He was going to share it with that idiot Dream Lord, when–not if–he came back.

Hope had been Hob’s constant companion for centuries. He wasn’t about to close the box on it now.

He was grading papers like his life depended on it (it didn’t, but it kept him sane) when there was a thud against his flat door and a weak cry for help.

Hob was on his feet in an instant. He threw opened the door, not knowing what to expect.

What he got was the thing farthest from his mind. Laying in a crumpled heap at his feet was Johanna Constantine. She definitely looked worse for wear and not in any shape to go anywhere else. But if there was anything Hob learned in his centuries on earth, no hospitals and no cops. Nothing that would leave a record of his presence.

He picked her up and laid her on his sofa.

“Fuck.”

He didn’t know what was wrong with her and the only first aid he knew was on himself and not others. He removed her coat and boots, staring down at her helplessly.

Hob picked her up again and carried her to the bedroom. He could sleep on the sofa. He’d slept in rougher places.

He got a shower and buried his head in hands as he tried not weep. He didn’t want to admit it, but he had hoped it was Morpheus. It didn’t make sense for Morpheus to show up at his door. He was more likely to show up in his dreams. But still, that hope was unkillable.

Hob sank to his knees and let the hot water run over him. He didn’t know what to do. Not about Johanna. Or Morpheus. Or work, which he still had to go to tomorrow.

He sat there until the water ran cold. He got ready for bed and laid out on the sofa with a thin blanket. He didn’t want to sleep. He didn’t find refuge in his dreams anymore. But he closed his eyes and drifted off anyway.

When he got up the next morning, Johanna was still unconscious on his bed. He didn’t know what to do. He had to go to work, but he also couldn’t leave her by herself.

Hob signed heavily. He wrote her a note with his mobile phone number and stuck it in a couple different places so she wouldn’t miss it and got ready for work.

Thank whoever that it was Friday, Hob thought, scrambling to take care of so he would be free the whole weekend. He had canceled his classes and was sending emails to his TAs when there was a knock on his office door. Standing in the open doorway were three of his best students: Percy Wolcott, a senior doing his thesis on the War of the Roses; Jaz Khan, a second year with a flare for the dramatic; and Courtney Blakeney, a bright young man who had just started his studies and hadn’t decided where his focus was going to be.

“How can I help you?” Hob asked, eyeing them warily.

They shuffled in and closed the door behind them.

Hob huffed out a sigh. “I’m busy right now, you’ll have to come back later.”

“Like hell, Prof,” Jaz said. “This is an intervention.”

“I beg your pardon?” Hob was getting annoyed now.

“You’ve never canceled classes before,” Courtney huffed.

Hob raised an eyebrow.

Courtney looked down at his feet and murmured, “Or so I’ve been told.”

“Nadia?!” Hob growled.

The black girl peeked around Percy and squeaked. She started typing furiously.

“Are you–are you live texting this to Gwen?” Hob asked incredulously.

“Prof. Harris wanted to be here, too,” Percy explained. “But she had a meeting with one of her students and wouldn’t cancel it,” he finished pointedly at Hob.

Hob rolled his eyes. “Despite what you students–and Professor Harris apparently–think, I DO have a life outside of teaching you lot.”

“You think we haven’t noticed you haven’t been your usual cheerful self?” Jaz countered, crossing her arms.

“Oh for fuck’s sake!” Hob cursed. He glared at them a long while before he threw his arms in the air. “I had a friend stop by last night in trouble and needing a place to stay and lie low for a bit,” he lied. Well, it might not be a lie. After all there was no other reason he could think of for Johanna’s sudden appearance on his doorstep. “So I’m wrapping stuff up so I can go take care of her.”

“Her?” Courtney asked, wagging his eyebrows.

“She’s just a friend. And I’m pretty sure she’s a lesbian,” Hob added with a frown. He wasn’t sure on that, but she had only mentioned old girlfriends, so...

Nadia peeked around Percy again with interest. “A lesbian you say?”

The other three turned to her.

“Hey!” Percy huffed. “We’re having an intervention here, not setting up your professor up with our professor’s friend!”

Nadia just shrugged. “It’s just an added bonus.”

“Please,” Hob begged. “I really need to get back to my flat and make sure she hasn’t done something stupid.”

“Hey!” Courtney said. “Canceling classes was only part of it. You’ve been down all week. This is new. What gives?”

The other three nodded.

Hob threw his head back. “You aren’t going to let this go, are you?”

There were various noises of dissent.

“Look, it’s really none of your business,” Hob growled. “But if you must know, there is this...” He closed his eyes. What would you call the anthropomorphic personification of Dreams? “This man that I used to meet up every once in a while for drinks. Just to shoot the shit.” Hob took a deep breath. “And we argued about the nature of our relationship and I didn’t see him for a really long time. Longer than we’ve ever gone and then he turns up. And...” Hob choked back tears. “I thought things were going well. We were seeing each other a lot more, and I honestly thought there was something between us.”

“What happened?” Percy asked.

“He had to leave for his job,” Hob croaked. “And he didn’t know when he’d be back. We had a lovely night together, before...” He worked his chin, trying not to cry. “Before he left. But it ended the way it always does, with nothing deeper than friends.”

“And he’s been gone a week?” Jaz guessed.

“Can you call him?” Courtney asked.

Hob shook his head. He didn’t think there were phones in hell. At least not ones that weren’t severely cursed, anyway. “So please, I understand your concerns, but it’s just a Friday. I thought the students would be thrilled. You can get an early start on your weekend.”

Jaz looked down and shifted uncomfortably. “Maybe other professors, but not you.”

Hob let out a sigh and leaned forward on his elbows, clasping his hands together and looking up at them. “I appreciate it. I do. But I do have a life outside these walls. I’m passionate about teaching, but for fuck’s sake, it’s not as though I canceled a week of classes or the whole semester. Something in my life came up and I’m going to take care of it. I will see you on Monday.” He returned to his emails.

He let out a sigh of relief when he heard the door open and they filed out. Or at least most of them did.

Hob looked up a few moments later to see Percy still standing there. “Percy...”

He was a good-looking man. He had dark, curly hair and light grey eyes. He had a soft spot for him, Hob had to admit. He probably would have tossed out any of the other three if they had stayed behind.

“This was mostly done in jest,” Percy started. He let out a sigh and ran his fingers through his hair. “But I’ve never seen you like this in the four years you’ve been at this school. I would have been your TA if you’d let me, but you wanted me to focus on my studies. I’ve never met a teacher that cared about his students the way you do. You have to understand why I was so worried.”

Hob huffed. He knew. Percy didn’t have a nice life before he came to the university. Though he had tried very hard not to, he wondered if Robyn would have been like Percy: bright, caring, passionate about life and love.

“And now you’re talking about this bloke that is hurting you. And you deserve better then this!” Percy cried out.

“You think he wanted to leave me?” Hob defended.

“I would have quit if it had been–” Percy stopped before he revealed his deepest secret.

Hob softened. He had many students over the years that had had crushes on him. But somehow he’d missed this one. “Percy...”

Percy hung his head. “Ignore that. Just how could anyone leave you? What am I even saying, I don’t know this guy. I’ve never met him and I’m passing judgment.”

Hob chuckled. “Yes, you have. Met him I mean.”

Percy raised his head slowly. “When?”

“He’s come to two of my lectures and has met me after class...uh...three times,” Hob explained with a smile. “I know you were in both lectures, and at least one of those classes.”

Percy frowned as he thought back. Was there a guy that had been hanging around? He didn’t usually notice anyone but Prof Gadling, but there was someone. Someone who had stood out because he didn’t feel like a student.

“The emo goth kid?” he asked.

Hob barked out a laugh, settling in his chair and folding his hands on his lap. “I’ll be sure to tell him you said that.”

“Him? Really?”

“He’s older than he looks for a start,” Hob explained. “He’s older than I am.”

“Come on, Professor, you can’t expect me to believe that,” he said.

“It’s true, though,” Hob insisted. By several millennia–eons, really.

“Do you think he feels the same about you?” Percy asked, placing both hands on the desk and leaning forward.

“It wouldn’t matter if he didn’t,” Hob told him gently. “Some times love isn’t requited. It happens. But it won’t stop me from loving him. He’s been hurt so many times. Not always their fault, admittedly. But he still loves–and that’s what truly matters.”

Percy huffed out a bitter laugh. “Even now you can’t help but teach, can you?”

Hob smiled sadly. “No. But will you learn the lesson?”

“I guess I’ll have to find out,” Percy murmured and he walked out Hob’s office, closing the door behind him.

p, li { white-space: pre-wrap; }

#dreamling #dream of the endless #Johanna Constantine #hob gadling #my writing

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noctisfishing · 2 years ago

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The Grand Enlightenment - Chapter 05

01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06

Summary: Koushiro and Hikari are dating, and they’ve been keeping it a secret from everybody else. But as it goes with any secret, well-kept or not, discoveries are bound to happen in the end.

Rated: T / Comedy & Romance

Ships: Koukari & featured/mentioned: Taiora, Kenyako, and Mimato

Notes: Hello, hello, I'm here for another update. I've been busy it's been wild. Thank you for waiting and thanks for your continued support. <3

Read below the cut, or click here for the start of the fic: AO3 | FFN

~*~*~*~*~*~

Hikari had spent another night with Koushiro. It was never the other way around; Koushiro didn't have a reason to sleep elsewhere that wasn't his own bed. After all, with Taichi frequently staying over at Sora's place, Hikari and Koushiro found it easy to plan their time together around those nights.

She loved to wake up beside him. Sometimes, they took a few hours' nap while he looked over his programming code as she read a textbook for one of her university courses; and when she woke up, she would find him resting his head on her shoulder, his face peaceful while he let his mind rest. Even as the two of them were generally capable of doing things on their own, Hikari loved that Koushiro was comfortable enough to lean on her for support.

And as she woke up that morning, his arms around her while he snoozed softly, she felt safe and warm with him, like she always seemed to feel at a young age whenever Taichi wasn't around.

Hikari lifted herself up to meet Koushiro's lips for a kiss. His eyebrows twitched before he opened his eyes to meet her gaze.

"Good morning," she whispered with a smile.

"Morning," was his sleepy response, but his lips curled upward.

Hikari noticed his spiky red hair all askew, in which her wild hands from the night before had played a part. She did not mind laying with Koushiro in silence for the rest of the morning, but as she slid her hands around his torso and onto his bare back, she contemplated reliving the previous night with him.

Koushiro's hands were moving along her body in response, and she felt tingles as she felt the tips of his fingers trace her skin.

"Kou..." she said. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

"I'm sure of it," he said, before he returned her kiss, a spark igniting in her. She accepted his kiss, leaning closer to him for more.

A beep sounded on her phone, but kissing him back was more important.

"I thought you turned that off," Koushiro mumbled between kisses.

"It's probably nothing."

Hikari's next kiss was deeper, and she ran on her urge to bring Koushiro's attention to her, and away from her incoming messages. He seemed to follow along, although as he moved even closer, his lips and his touch captivating her, she found herself surprised that she captured his attention more than she had anticipated.

But the sound of the next beep deflated her mood. With a groan, Hikari pulled away from Koushiro and grabbed her phone.

"I'm sorry, this was my fault…" she said, huffing while she tapped through the phone's settings on the screen.

"Hikari, it's okay.." Koushiro assured her.

But the next screen Hikari tapped into gave her pause. A new window popped up, and Hikari let out a gasp, as the text message that appeared was nowhere near assuring.

"The message was from Sora," Hikari said, panic rising in her chest. "She and Taichi will be here in five minutes!"

But as she heard the key turn into the lock, Hikari realized that she ignored her phone for five minutes too long.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Taichi was all smiles from the moment he and Sora left her apartment and through the train ride back to his place. He had checked his email notifications to discover that he had been accepted into an internship at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs in Tokyo.

He had been so excited that he couldn't stop talking about it all morning. Sora was extremely happy and proud of him and was open to listening to him jabber on for as long as he wanted. But the one thing she wanted to make sure of was that he didn't catch Hikari in his apartment.

"Wait!" said Sora, and Taichi stopped in the middle of turning the knob.

"What is it, Sora?"

"I've just remembered something…" Sora dug around in her purse to appear as though she was looking for her phone, which sat right at the top of her other belongings. She was able to peek at the screen that lit up inside of her purse, but there was no indication that Hikari responded to the message that she sent in the girls' group chat.

"Well, maybe you might focus better if we went inside. You might get distracted out in the hallway like this."

Now isn't the time to be so thoughtful and so sweet! She thought frantically.

Just as Taichi turned the doorknob and pushed the door open, the door across the hall opened at the same time, revealing Daisuke's head popping out from the opening.

"Taichi?" Daisuke said.

"Hey! Daisuke!" Taichi stepped away from his door and met Daisuke in the middle to greet him. Sora knew that their chatter would stall Taichi for a good while.

In the corner of her eye, she noticed Miyako and Ken peering out through the door frame.

"Anything from Hikari?" Sora asked Miyako in a hushed tone.

"Nothing in the chat," Miyako whispered back. "She's definitely still in there. We need to distract Taichi so that she can leave without him knowing."

"How the heck are we going to do that?" Ken asked.

"Good morning~!" Mimi called, her voice carrying across the hallway.

"Hey, Mimi!" Sora said in surprise mixed with relief as everyone turned to look at her. "What brings you here?"

"I… thought Daisuke said he was going to cook everyone breakfast, so I got here as soon as I could."

"I-I was?!" Daisuke asked incredulously.

Miyako stared him down, and Mimi joined her. Sora gave him a pleading look. Hopefully with Daisuke's agreement, Taichi would stray from going into his apartment.

"Takeru and I will help, too," Ken added. "Especially if there's a lot of us."

"Well then, that's fine by me!" Daisuke said with a nervous laugh.

"Sounds great!" Taichi said. "I'll be over there in a bit. Sora, you coming?"

To Sora's and everyone else's horror, Taichi opened his front door and walked in. Sora knew she had to be the one to think quickly and do something. Should she usher Taichi into his room until Hikari was able to run out?

"I… I can't believe you didn't mention it yet!" Sora blurted out, following Taichi right into the living room.

"Mention what?" Taichi asked. "That I got the internship?"

"What?! You got accepted into the program?!" Miyako cried. "Oh my god! Congratulations!"

"Thanks Miyako." Taichi smiled and rubbed the palm of his hand behind his neck, appearing bashful, but Sora knew he was liking the attention. "It's not that big of a deal-"

"Are you kidding?!" Mimi shouted. "This is great news!"

"Wow, Taichi, you're amazing!" Daisuke added. "I knew you'd get in!"

"It really is great, isn't it?" Taichi asked, laughing with glee.

While Taichi entertained everyone by answering their questions, Sora caught sight of Koushiro's door cracking open. No one else took notice and Sora kept her attention on Taichi.

"What's happening guys?" Koushiro asked, appearing as though he had just woken up.

"Aah! Koushiro!" Taichi said, putting his arm around Koushiro's shoulder and welcoming him into the group. "Remember that internship that I've been dying to get? Well, I got it!"

"Prodigious! I expected no less!"

Taichi laughed and Sora saw that Hikari's path from Koushiro's bedroom to the exit was wide open. Sora met eyes with Hikari, both of them cautious, but Sora gave her a nod: the go-ahead to run.

But as Hikari ran, Sora noticed that there was a slight pause in Taichi's voice. An unfortunate pause post-laughter where he would then turn to look to the side. In this case it was the side toward Hikari's path.

Sora needed a second to figure out how to distract Taichi from noticing Hikari. But she wondered if one whole second in time would have been too late.

It took Sora a moment to rush to Taichi, in front of everyone who created a circle to stand around him, and pull him towards her for a kiss. The whooping and hollering ensued around them, but Sora's eyes followed Hikari as she hurried the rest of the way out of the door. When Hikari was out of her view, Sora closed her eyes, falling into the kiss for a few moments before she pulled away.

"Congratulations, Taichi," she said, smiling.

Taichi stared blankly in a deep stupor. Sora cupped his cheeks with a warm smile, knowing that Hikari had successfully escaped her brother's sights, but it also hit Sora that she usually kept her display of affection to Taichi in private. She could feel her friends staring at them behind her, and she knew that no one in that circle surrounding them were going to let her live this moment down.

~*~*~*~*~*~

When the excitement died down, everyone eventually moved across the hall, and Daisuke, Ken, and Takeru began to prepare breakfast. Koushiro entered next door with Sora and Taichi, who stopped the moment he saw Hikari chatting with the other boys in the kitchen.

Hikari's eyes lit up as Taichi grinned. Before he could say anything, Hikari leapt into his arms and gave him a big embrace.

"I heard you got the internship, Taichi!" she said. "Congratulations! I'm so proud of you."

"Aww, thanks, Hikari."

Hikari pulled away and smiled back. "We all knew you could do it! You're the best."

"It's good to see you, Hikari. Did you just get here?"

"Yeah, Kou texted me-"

Koushiro noticed the pause as Hikari darted her eyes toward him and then back to Taichi.

"-and so did Dai. and Miya. Takeru, too. I guess everyone wanted to make sure that I was here."

"Even I would've texted you!" Taichi said, laughing along.

"That was a close call, wasn't it?" Miyako asked Koushiro, appearing at his side.

"You're telling me," Koushiro replied.

For a few moments, both he and Miyako watched the Yagami siblings chat among themselves until Sora and Takeru joined them.

"It's crazy, isn't it? That Hikari can talk so casually with him and not tell him."

"It's not as difficult as you might think. I was surprised at the kind of things that she hid from him as they were growing up. But you might not be, being the eldest of your siblings."

Miyako rolled her eyes and let out a deep breath. "Ooh, yeah. But believe you me, if something is hidden from us, we're going to find out, one way or another."

"That sounds like a warning to me, too."

"Are you thinking about telling him?"

At that moment, Hikari turned and met Koushiro's gaze. She gave him a soft smile, making his heart flutter as he smiled back.

"He'll find out whenever Hikari is ready to tell him."

#digimon fanfiction #koukari #taiora #noctiswriting #koukari fanfiction #the grand enlightenment #i can't believe i forgot the tags on this post!#i forgot how to tumblr

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starlightinhumanform · 3 years ago

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24/7: Chapter One

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Ship: Romantic Loceit, Platonic Demus, Platonic Logicality

Summary: James (aka Janus) works the graveyard shift at a open-all-night convenience store. Logan is a college student who stays up way too late, way too often. While pulling all-nighters, he often visits the store James works at. As time goes on, James begins to care about Logan as more than just a customer.

Warnings: Moderate Language, Some suggestive jokes, Mentions of ignorant/negative sentiments regarding vitiligo, Mentions of intoxication— some implied to be underage (please tell me if anything needs to be added)

Genre: College AU, Coffeeshop AU but weird (that’s literally the best way i can think of describing it), Mutual Feelings, Fluff

A/N: — Janus’ name in this AU is James (mostly because when I began planning this, his name hadn’t been revealed). I may still include his name by writing in a name-change but we’ll see lmao — I do not have vitiligo and do not personally know anyone with vitiligo; Janus’ experience with the condition is based entirely on my research. That being said, I did my best to give an accurate representation but I do not claim that it is flawless in anyway. If there are any improvements you think I can make in this area, please please let me know 🖤🖤🖤 Love you all 🖤✨

Ao3 Fic Masterpost Fic Request Info

James’ first shift started normally. That is, as normally as he could assume 24 hour convenience store shifts could be. It’s not like he had much experience with it.

Being his first day, he had assumed that the manager would’ve at least stuck around for a while. Instead, the woman had pointed out the bathroom plunger— advising him to not let anyone steal it— told him how to use the slushie machine, and said that if someone tried to rob the store, let them take the money; she even showed him the quickest way to open the cash register. Then she left within the first hour of James’ shift.

James didn’t mind being alone but he couldn’t fight down the frustration at his manager for abandoning him without actually telling him anything useful. He kept worrying that someone would ask a question that he couldn’t answer. What if the customer got angry and then he got reported and lost his job on the first night? Not to mention every time someone walked in, he was ready to bargain for his life with the $225.67 and a random condom in the cash register.

The adrenaline was getting to his head, stirring up usually dormant worries. He couldn’t stop glancing down at his hands. They were warm tan, patterned at random with lighter splotches. He had a condition known as vitiligo which made areas of his skin lose their pigmentation. For the majority of the time, it wasn’t a big deal; the worst part was the weird looks people gave him and even then, he could usually brush them off. Still, there was always the occasional idiot who felt the need to say something rude or inform him that he showed signs of demon possession. He hoped beyond everything that one of those incidents didn’t occur while he was alone in the store.

Thankfully, the only customers for the next few hours were a couple groups of teenagers at varying levels of intoxication and a traveling family made up of two parents suffering from highway-hypnosis and a small child who tried to climb into one of the drink refrigerators.

By one in the morning, the flow of incoming patrons had completely stopped. By that point James had already thrown back an entire 5-hour Energy drink and reorganized the chip rack— twice .

When the entry bell finally rang again at around two, James’ head was buzzing so badly he wasn’t sure if he had imagined the sound or not. A young man walked in— college aged with messy hair and glasses. He disappeared into the rows of brightly coloured plastic bags without a word and so quickly it made James once again question whether or not he was hallucinating.

It wasn’t until the man had made his way back to the counter, setting down a bag of chips and a couple energy drinks, that James was sure he existed. The man’s hair looked like it hadn’t been brushed in two days and his dark circles were so deep they could be seen from beneath his squared glasses. Yup, definitely a college student.

Despite the obvious signs of exhaustion, the man was undeniably pretty. Counter to his tired scowl, his eyes were bright and alert, framing a sharp nose. The way he kept his strong chin tilted slightly upwards and walked with purpose gave him the appearance of someone who actually knew what he was doing with his life— so basically, the opposite of James.

James was hardly ever self conscious about his appearance but this man— this stupidly pretty, oddly perfect man— made James squirm just a little bit, made him wonder if he was living on one side of some scale while the customer lounged on the other side. James tried to shrugged it off, focusing on the items in front of him instead.

The man spent the entire interaction at the counter muttering to himself and never once making eye contact. It was a little strange, but he was cute and James was bored so he decided to just appreciate the entertainment while it lasted.

It wasn’t until James went to hand the man his receipt that he seemed to even become aware of James’ existence. James held out the thin slip of paper, apparently causing the man to flinch backwards. His reaction was strong enough to make James wonder if he was one of those people— the type that thought vitiligo was some sort of deadly, contagious disease.

His eyes darted up quickly, his gaze sharp as it scanned over James’ face, “You’re not the normal cashier.”

He was taken aback by the accusing tone in the man’s voice, “No, I guess I’m not? I just got hired; the other guy got let off… something about trying to steal the plunger.”

“Oh,” His face transformed into a noncommittal scowl that James simply could not read, “Expect me regularly.”

The man turned on his heels and walked briskly to the door as James stood frozen and mystified behind the counter, “Oh, uh… see you soon then.”

——————

James woke up to the smell of something burning. He didn’t even remember dragging himself home and collapsing in his bed but based on the smell bothering him he evidently had made it back. No one could burn food quite like his roommate.

“Remus what the fuck are you doing?” James shuffled out to the kitchen where his roommate was poking at something on the stove.

“Making lunch.”

Based on his bed head and near-complete lack of clothes (Remus always slept in booty shorts and nothing else) James could guess that he had woken up only a few minutes earlier himself, “Dude that does not smell like anything humans should eat.”

Remus gave him a wicked grin and James decided not to push the subject. He walked out of the room with a sigh and hoped that the smell would clear up soon.

He made his way into the living room, sitting down and flipping open his laptop. James groaned at the lack of new email notifications. No new emails meant no new job acceptions.

“Guess I’m working the night shift again.”

James was grateful he got the job at the convenience store— no question. Getting a job as a college dropout was both necessary and nearly impossible at the same time. He was lucky to get a job at all and being a graveyard shift, he got paid nearly double the normal wage for his position. For now, his sleep schedule would just have to suffer.

——————

The weeks drifted by and James fell into a dull, but easy rhythm. He would go to work every night, spend the hours rearranging chip bags, guarding the plunger, and— if he was lucky— the pretty college boy would come in for a few minutes to grab salty food and a caffeinated drink.

James wasn’t sure when it became “lucky” for the man to come into the store. Maybe it was lucky because he was entertaining, always preoccupied and wandering around the store like his mind was a hundred miles away. He had this odd sort of duality— somehow both spaced out and intensely focused at the same time. It was like he was concentrating on the dimension beyond the one James was living in. He floated through this world, always preoccupied with world in his head. It was endearing and intriguing and James found himself looking forward to seeing the man. James wanted to see the world inside his head, to know what was so captivating that he had no use or interest for what was outside of it.

The student was quickly becoming his favourite customer— something James never thought he would have— and he genuinely enjoyed having a chance to talk to the other guy. He was handsome, obviously intelligent, and, if given the chance, James definitely would’ve asked him out for a drink.

As it was though, James looked awful in his uniform so he would never have the confidence to make a move the only times he ever saw him.

James started to watch for him. The man came at least once a week, always between midnight and four in the morning. He must have lived nearby because he always walked over instead of taking a car like most of the other patrons. Either that, or he lived further away and walked all the way just for a bag of chips and an energy drink.

It was a Thursday like any other when he walked into the store and James’ curiosity got the better of him.

“So,” James leaned across the counter as the man sat his items down, “you come around here often?”

He tilted his head quizzically, “Yes? I do come here often? You’ve seen me.”

“No I— it was a joke,” James resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. This was… not going the way James would have hoped, “What’s your name? We might as well get on first name basis since we see each other all the time.”

“I’m Logan,” Logan seemed surprised by the question.

“I’m James.”

Logan gave a curt nod, “I know.”

“But— how? I—“

“It’s on your name tag,” And with that, Logan turned and marched out of the store.

——————

Logan laid on his back, arms and legs spread over the entirety of his bed. The only leftover space of the bed was occupied by Patton, one of his housemates.

“So how did the all-nighter go?”

Logan groaned, “Well… it sure as hell did go all night. I’m so fucking tired.”

“This is what you get for viewing the entire American university system as a challenge.”

He squinted up at Patton. With his blond hair and round, smiling face he looked like the direct inversion of whatever pale little zombie Logan currently felt like, “I gotta stop staying up so late.”

“I don’t know, you kind of seem to like it,” His housemate patted his leg and stood up to walk out of Logan’s room, “By the way, where do you keep going? I hear you leaving the house, like, super early all the time.”

Sunlight was streaming through his partially open blinds. It was probably quite pretty but to Logan it just looked like a headache-inducing glare. He threw a pillow over his face, muffling his voice as he answered, “Booty call.”

Patton laughed as he stopped walking, “Yeah right. The day you answer a booty call is the day I will shave my head.”

Logan shifted the pillow slightly to look at Patton again. The man’s hair was his prize possession, like a curly fluffy cloud that he kept as a pet on top of his head. Logan didn’t know how Patton could afford the time and money he put into his hair. What he did know, however, was that Patton would never risk its safety. Logan frowned in (mostly) fake insult, “You really think there’s not a single person who would send me a horny text at three in the morning?”

“Nah I think there are quite a few people who would do that. I just doubt there’s anyone you’d actually find worth answering.”

Was there anyone he would actually answer? Logan stared up at the dark fabric above him. The pillowcase was a deep navy blue and if he really squinted, he could see the weave of the thread, a thousand random threads coming together to make a greater whole. The way the individual pieces created something far larger than themselves was fascinating to Logan. He had never given it much before, but he couldn’t help but wonder if he would ever find a random individual worth making something together.

In the darkness covering his eyes, a vision of the convenience store cashier flashed across his mind. The face he saw was light brown and across that warm canvas, lighter portions sprawled. For the first time, Logan began really thinking about that face. He had sharp features, tired eyes, and when he smiled with lips sloped upwards at a lopsided angle. His skin reminded Logan of the glossy photos of nebulae in his astronomy textbooks— bright splashes breaking up the sameness of the night sky. How had he never noticed that before? What was his name? James.

He heard the creak of their old floors beneath Patton as he walked out of Logan’s room. He probably thought Logan had fallen asleep as he lay there in silence. He was far from asleep, though. His mind was racing, trying to find the missed connections and continually finding new ones in the process. His eyes flickered as previously unrecognized thoughts began surfacing. And they didn’t stop. How had he never noticed?

“I’ve been going to that convenience store down the street,” Logan called as Patton walked away.

James.

Maybe there was someone for him.

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omiluvbug · 4 years ago

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Office Hours (Nanami Kento x Fem!Reader oneshot)

This oneshot can be viewed on AO3 and Wattpad too!

You woke up at around 6:30 am as the sun's rays peeked through the shallow gaps in the curtains by your window. This created soft rays of light traveling through the room, basking the plain white walls in soft hues of orange and yellow. You patted the bed as you looked for your alarm clock which blared an overly obnoxious sound.

Groaning, you got up, your hair a tangled mess as well as your patterned pajamas. You threw your blanket to the side as you stretched out her limbs. You contemplated on whether to stay in bed or go to work. You didn't really want to go to work today. Just the thought of you sitting down at your boring table for 8 hours doesn't seem that much exciting. You'd rather stay at home and curl up in your chair by the window, looking out to a nice view of the city.

However, you couldn't really risk getting scolded so early in the morning in front of a lot of people. Just the thought of it deeply embarrassed you. Sighing, you got up and lazily fixed your queen-sized bed, throwing pillows on top of another and draping the blanket over the comforter.

You quickly did her morning routine—washing your face and brushing your teeth, then changing into your usual office attire and applying some makeup. Afterwards, you quickly fixed your hair before going to the kitchen to prepare a small breakfast. You scrolled through her phone as you ate, laughing slightly at ridiculous posts of some strangers on the internet.

You liked these kinds of moments; moments where you would usually be just by yourself in the morning, enjoying your breakfast as you looked through her phone, or listening to songs as you made food or cleaned the house. It was mundane for sure, just a normal day-to-day living, but it provided you a sense of comfort, even just for a little bit.

"Oh crap!" You quickly jumped to your feet as you noticed the time. You didn't realize that you were on your phone for far too long. If you don't get out of the house now, you'll miss your train. You hurriedly grabbed your bag and threw it over your shoulder as you wore whatever colored pump you could find. You then dashed through the door, making your way towards the train station which was a 10 minute walk away from home.

"Woah there, careful," Said a man with long hair tied into a bun and bangs perfectly framing his face. His hands were on your arm, preventing you from tripping on the boxes on the floor. He wore deep navy pants with the jacket loosely hanging from his arm. Two buttons of his white dress shirt were opened, making you look elsewhere.

"We don't want anyone tripping over these boxes now, don't we?" He implied, looking at you as if he was waiting for some sort of response. "You alright there, Y/N?"

"My apologies, Mr. Getou!" You said, your eyes wide open and your lips slightly agape. "I wasn't paying attention to where I was going and I—"

Getou chuckled, waving a dismissive hand in front of you. "It's alright, dear." He bent down to pick the stray boxes up before placing them on top of a random table. He then looked at his watch, his eyebrows rising. "You better get to where you're going if you don't want to be scolded. CEO's a handful when he's mad."

Flashing you another smile, Getou began walking away and disappeared into a nearby hallway. Suguru Getou is the operations manager of the company, responsible for hiring new staff members and training them, as well as monitoring personnel documentation, to name a few. He works alongside Satoru Gojo who deals with financial statistics of the company.

"Yuji! Hurry up!" You turned and saw three unfamiliar faces walking in the hallway. Two of them were boys, while one of them was a girl with orange colored hair and a frown on her face. She wore a pastel pink suit with a white dress shirt underneath. They looked young, and perhaps maybe a little bit out of place.

"It's your damn fault we're running late!" She hissed, glaring at the boy with pink hair and lightly hitting him with her bag. The boy stuck his tongue out like a little kid, causing the lady to scoff.

"Me? Blame Megumi! He's the one who stopped at a nearby park just to pet the dogs and won't leave until he called each one of them 'good girls' and 'good boys!'"

"Leave me out of this," the other boy said grumpily, shaking his head as he walked away and left the two.

"Interns! Right here!" Ijichi called, calling the attention of the three. The three rushed towards the man, the girl's coffee almost spilling along the way.

Ah, so that's why they were unfamiliar to you, they're interns. You smiled a bit as you looked at the three playfully bickering while following Ijichi. It reminded you of your friends way back in high school. Suddenly, you wondered how they were doing. You're not much in contact with them these days as everyone is busy with their own lives. Besides, they weren't making much of an effort on trying to contact you anyway.

"Get going, lady. These hallways are not the place to hang around, no?" said Satoru Gojo, who was followed by Shoko Ieri, the team's assistant manager. Shoko was quick to slap the man's bicep, scolding him for being so rude so early in the morning.

"Alright, geez. My bad." Gojo's hands were in his pockets as he walked, his head casually tipping to the side as he looked at the woman before her before paying attention to you. He was wearing his usual black sunglasses. Why he wore it inside the building was something you didn’t know the reason for. "Good Morning, Y/N."

"Good Morning," You greeted back, causing the man to grin and the lady to smile.

"I see you're running late today." There was a teasing tone evident in his voice. He was going to say something more when Shoko tugged him closer, shaking her head and widening her eyes at him.

"Right, well," Gojo stuttered, gently removing Shoko's hand from his bicep. "See ya around, Y/N!" They began walking away, muttering something amongst themselves. You even caught a glimpse of Gojo looking back at you and chuckling which left you confused. What was that about?

Perhaps everyone was running late today. It was quite understandable as it was Monday. You spotted a few people rushing inside the building as you clocked in. You placed your card back to the holder before making your way to the 5th floor, where you usually do her work. You were in the Public Relations Department, mostly coordinating public events for the company, helping in gaining favorable media coverage, and maintaining the company's relationship with investors among others.

As you arrived at her floor, you quickly made your way towards your table and placed your bag on the chair before throwing away the crumbled paper you failed to discard the day before. You greeted your coworkers as you didn't want to seem rude.

The floor was brightly lit because of the huge windows that enabled natural light to pass through the transparent material. The floor was tiled and there were gorgeous wood accents plastered on the wall. Wood wall dividers were also used to separate the work space from the couch—where the employees would usually sit down during breaks to chat or wind down. And instead of cubicles, there were tables, allowing the employees to easily talk to each other when needed.

"Good morning! Here's some morning newspapers, Y/N." The head of the PR Department, Iori Utahime, greeted you with a smile. "Morning assembly meeting starts in a few minutes. We're just waiting for the CEO."

"He's running late too, Ms. Utahime?" You wondered why, but then you remembered that the CEO had a very important business meeting to attend over the weekend in Osaka.

"Seems like everyone is. It's a monday after all." She clapped her hands behind her back, shifting her weight from one foot to another. "I almost missed my train earlier! I had to run out of the house with bread in my mouth while fixing my hair."

You looked at the lady before you. She doesn't look disheveled, infact, she looked presentable as always. Her hair was combed nicely and was in a half-up half-down updo—she even had a little bow tied on her hair which you thought was quite adorable. Her white dress shirt and red pencil skirt was tailored to her body perfectly, leaving no unflattering gaps in the material.

"Good thing I made it in time though," she added as she mindlessly twirled a strand of hair on her hands. "I regret binge watching that drama last night."

You scrunched her face, knowing the feeling of staying up all night and regretting it the following morning. Utahime laughed, finding your reaction cute, before she patted your shoulders before bidding you a short goodbye. She went to the other's tables, greeting them a good morning and asking them about their plans for the day.

As you waited for the meeting to begin, you turned your desktop on and browsed through the emails. You frowned upon seeing some spam mails and quickly discarded them to the bin. You made a mental note to tell the head director that a certain investor wanted to make some changes with some of the deals. After that, you then skimmed through your newspaper, catching up on news that she might have missed over the weekend.

Soon, it was 9 am and the morning assembly meeting started. You stood up straight as their CEO, Kento Nanami, entered the floor alongside his trusty secretary, Yu Haibara, as well as a few other people. All eyes followed him as he walked towards the front of the room. You almost missed it, but the three interns were with them too, following Ijichi like they're lost puppies.

The CEO's face was stern, yet he returned the smiles the other employees gave him. Your breath hitched when you two made eye contact, causing heat to rise to your cheeks. Nanami briefly smiled at you before turning his attention back to the other employees. However, the lingering feeling stayed with you. Oh my god.

It almost felt silly feeling butterflies over a brief eye contact. You were already an adult yet you still act like a lovestruck high school student whenever you meet eyes with your crush. However, you accepted the way you felt around Nanami. He was intelligent, polite, poised, extremely good-looking, and a gentleman.

You couldn't help but to sigh. What was there to not swoon over for? He's literally the real deal.

You noticed that he was more casual with the way he dressed today. Rather than his usual cream-colored suit paired with a blue dress shirt underneath and his partnered tie, he wore a black turtleneck with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, showing his expensive watch on one hand and toned arms. He paired it with a pair of off-white tapered pants. His hair was slicked back, with a few loose strands of hair he had to brush up every now and then. His shoes were perfectly polished too, clanking ever so softly as he took a step.

Perhaps Kento Nanami was one of the reasons why you still chose to attend your job so early in the morning.

"Good morning." His voice was authoritative yet still soft and gentle. You even noticed the soft giggles some female employees let out upon hearing his voice. You chuckled as you shook your head. You couldn't really blame them for being giddy over him. Almost everyone is.

A chorus of hello's and good morning's were heard. Nanamin went through some announcements and important matters to discuss, mainly about increasing customer satisfaction rate and the like. He also talked about the short business trip he went to over the weekend and disclosed some information about future plans for a major project. At the same time, the department heads reported what plans they'll be doing for the rest of the day. Haibara happily took notes on his iPad, trying his hardest not to miss any important information.

"Very well," Nanami spoke, the attention once again turning to him. He acknowledged the effort each department had and thanked them for their hard work. This definitely boosted the morale of the employee seeing the smile and grins on their faces.

Nanami leaned a bit on the table, his arms crossed over his chests. He made eye contact with you one more time before turning his attention to the man beside him. "Ijichi, if you will. Thank you."

Ijichi nodded and walked forward, a kind smile evident on his face. A few coworkers giggled a bit, finding the man's actions kind of adorable.

"Good morning," he greeted. "As you may all know, fall internships have already begun. Here we have three students from The University of Tokyo who will be seeking our guidance for the rest of the year."

He then gestured to the interns to start introducing themselves. The first one to do so was the lady wearing a pastel pink suit. She had a genuine smile on her face rather than the frown she had earlier in the morning. You thought that she was pretty—very fashionable too.

"Good morning! I'm Kugisaki Nobara and I'm 21 years old. Please take good care of me! I humbly seek your guidance!"

"Um." The next up was the boy with pink hair. He was quite charming to say the least; very bubbly and smiley much like the lady. "I'm Yuji Itadori. 20 years old, and I look forward to working with you all! Please go easy on me!"

Finally, the boy with dark hair spoke. He was quite shy and kind of stoic at first glance. "I'm Megumi Fushiguro. I'm 20 years old and I'm looking forward to working with you all too. Please guide us well… and I would like to apologize in advance for all the troubles these two might cause."

The two intern's mouth went agape and a few other employees let out a chuckle. The employees then politely clapped for the three. Even Nanami did too and you couldn't help to notice the small smile forming on his lips—as if he was already growing fond of the interns. This made you smile too. You had always liked having interns around. Just last fall, other students interned in this company as well and you could still vividly remember how rowdy and lively the lot were. Two of them were from UTokyo, while the others were from KyotoU.

After the morning assembly meeting, the employees went back to their desks. You took a quick detour to the pantry to brew yourself some coffee before going back to her table. As you sat down, you folded the newspapers and kept them in your drawer as you were already finished reading them. Then, you went back to work.

The office was fairly quiet during working hours. Everyone was busy typing away on their keyboards to even spare the other employees a glance. It reminded you of libraries from school.

You reached out for your drink and frowned when you noticed that it was already empty. It was finished already? You didn’t even notice that the time was passing by so quickly. You contemplated on whether you should get up and brew some more, but you were already getting comfortable in your chair and didn't want to move an inch.

As if on cue, Gojo tapped your desk, making you turn to his direction. He had a cup of warm drink in his hands and grinned at her. You raised her eyebrow at him, confused with his sudden appearance. Usually he'll be on the third floor, supervising his department, or on the sixth floor, hanging out with other directors.

"A delivery for you, my lady." He put the warm drink down on her table and before you could even ask him why he gave it to you, he was already walking towards the elevator.

Frowning, you looked at the cup. Written on it was your favorite drink and a name that made your cheeks flush red. You covered half of your face, glaring at Gojo who was grinning as he waited for the elevator door to close. Grabbing your post-it from your desk, you covered the name written on your cup. Clicking your tongue, you went back to work and tried to bury the embarrassing feeling brewing inside you.

When lunch time came, you decided to go to a nearby restaurant with a few other employees. You and your coworkers settled on a table near the door by the big windows. As you sat down, your attention was diverted towards the door, where the CEO and his secretary stood. They seemed to be looking for someone as their eyes trailed around the restaurant.

"Nanamin!" Gojo called, not even addressing the man properly. The white-haired man waved his arms around, catching a few people's attention. Getou, Shoko, and Utahime, who were with him, just shook their heads as they ate their food, as if pretending that they didn’t know him.

Nanami was about to approach them until he locked eyes with you once again. Your heart thumped loudly in your chest as you noticed him approaching your table, Haibara following behind him. Your coworkers didn't seem to notice the CEO until he cleared his throat.

"Ah! Mr. Nanami!" The man before you stuttered. Nanami just offered him a kind smile before gesturing him to sit down.

"Is it alright if I ate with you today?" He asked and the others nodded. Well, they didn't really have that much of a choice—who would turn down someone like Nanami?

It was as if the universe was in your favor. Nanami pulled the seat beside you and sat on it, your knees subtly brushing against each other as he fixed his posture. However, he didn't seem to mind as he conversed with your coworkers. Haibara, who sat at the head of the table, sneakily glanced between you and Nanami, biting his lips as he tried to hide his smile.

The others then decided to begin ordering their own meals. However, you still don't know what to get. Maybe Nanami sitting beside you was a little bit distracting, and maybe he kind of knew it based on the small smiles he lets slip past his mouth every now and then.

"Ms. L/N?"

"Y-yes?" You turned to Nanami, heat rising to your cheeks.

You stared into his brown eyes. It reminded you of autumn for some reason. It was kind of fitting for someone like him, you concluded; a bit cold, but still makes you feel comfort and warmth. Maybe one of the reasons why Nanami reminded you of autumn so much is because naturally, the autumn season has a kind of romantic aspect to it. Perhaps it was the scenarios you think of with him before heading to bed, or maybe because you were actually falling deeply for him, but you couldn't help but to think that maybe, Nanami has a romantic side to him too.

You didn't realize that you were staring at him for far too long until you heard his soft chuckle. Looking away, you tried to compose yourself. However, the butterflies in your stomach seem to flutter more and more as they hear the wonderful song that is Nanami's voice.

"Are you good to order? I can line up to the counter for you," he offered.

It was embarrassing honestly, making a total fool of yourself in front of such a respectable man like him. "Um… no, it's fine, Mr. Nanami."

"Is [favorite food] and [favorite drink] alright?" He asked, standing up and grabbing his wallet from his back pocket.

You could only nod as he made his way towards the counter, catching up to Haibara and a few other employees. You were the only one left on the table, which gave you a responsibility to secure it. Not that you mind.

"So!" You nearly jumped when you heard Gojo Satoru beside you. How he managed to sneak up on you from the other side of the restaurant was something you don't know. He shamelessly sat himself on the chair beside you, which was previously occupied by Nanami. "You and Nanami, huh?"

"What?" You stuttered, completely baffled by his statement. The man just leaned back on his chair, causally tipping back a bit. "Pardon me but what are you talking about, Mr. Gojo?"

"Gojo is fine." The man scrunched his nose. "You're making me sound like an old man. I hate it."

You purse your lips, considering his statement. It seems like he didn't really mind dropping the honorifics that much. He leaned back further on his chair, propping his sunglasses on top of his head.

"You know," he began, looking over at Nanami's direction. "Nanami usually never dines with employees. I know you saw me call him over earlier, but he didn't hesitate one bit on walking towards your direction when you made eye contact." He then clicked his tongue, raising an eyebrow at you. "Which makes me conclude that what I wrote on your cup earlier was true. Am I right?"

You honestly didn't know what to say. He had a teasing grin on his face, much wider than the one he had earlier in the morning. He crossed his arms against his chest, silently urging you to spill it out already.

"I believe that seat was taken." Nanami came back with a tray with both your orders in his hands. The others were still by the counter, waiting for their turn.

Gojo whistled before standing up. "My apologies," he uttered, patting Nanami at the shoulder. "Pardon me for intruding on your little date."

You were expecting Nanami to deny his claim, but the blond didn't say anything. Instead, he calmly placed your order in front of you before sitting down. It was evident that he was ignoring Gojo, which caused the white-haired man to chuckle and shake his head. Gojo then gave you a wink before heading back to his table.

"Was he bothering you?" Nanami asked and you shook your head.

"No… not really." Nanami gave you a look, as if he wasn't buying it. "I'm fine really, Mr. Nanami. Thanks for your concern."

You gave him a smile and Nanami subtly returned one back. He was about to say something else when the other employees arrived, preventing him from doing so. Nanami cleared his throat and began eating, occasionally looking at you from time-to-time.

"Finally! I’m going home!" You yawned, stretching a bit on your chair. A few employees have already gone home as they finished their job a bit early. Breezily, you gathered all your valuables and placed them in your bag. Then, you decluttered your table before grabbing your coat and putting it on.

It was a 10 minute walk from the company to the nearest train station. The train was definitely cramped since it was getting kind of late. Students were seated on the chair, other employees were busy on their phones or reading a newspaper, and others were dozing off.

You sighed, wanting to get home as early as you could so you could jump into a nice warm bath and maybe even make yourself a nice dinner and watch a good show. It was a bit chilly at night too, so you'll sure be snuggling up to your bed, with multiple blankets laid on top of you.

Even though all of these things sound amazing, there is something else that you're looking forward to. You covered your mouth as you tried to hide a smile—you didn't want to get weird looks from other people, thinking you're out of your mind or something.

You unlocked the door of your apartment and made your way inside. You left your bag and shoes by the door as you took your coat off and hung it on the coat rack. You wore your indoor slippers before walking to the bathroom to take your makeup off.

As you did so, you grabbed your phone and played some music. You then turned the bath faucet on and waited for it to be the right temperature before stripping off and lowered yourself in the tub. You then made sure to tie your hair up, preventing it from getting wet.

The warm water soothed your sore muscles. You instantly felt at ease. This is exactly what you needed—a nice relaxing night after a long hard day at work. Humming to yourself, you sank further into the tub, letting the water reach up to your shoulders. You giggled as you played with the bubbles, making random shapes and drawing silly little soap faces on your legs.

Deep in your own moment, you didn't hear the opening of the main door nor the shoes being placed inside the shoe cabinet right beside yours. You didn't hear the leather bag being placed on top of the kitchen table nor the knock on the bathroom door. However, you did hear the door knob turning and the footsteps of the man walking towards you.

"Good evening, darling." Your husband, Kento Nanami, greeted you. He seated on the edge of the tub, looking at you with such adoration in his eyes. He looked tired, but still handsome. He tucked a hair behind your ear and you instantly leaned into his touch. He chuckled, holding your cheek, his thumb rubbing soft circles on your skin.

"Welcome home, Kento." You smiled, making his heart swoon. Despite being with him for the most of the day, you missed him.

Nanami placed a kiss on the crown of your head, making you sigh happily and giggle. "Would it be alright if I joined you?"

You nodded. Nanami had always been a man of consent. He always asks before approaching you. He had also always put you first before himself. He had always pampered you, cared for you, and made sure that you'll feel the love that you deserve. He was a very sweet guy, really—charming, dreamy . Perhaps you were one lucky girl to have someone like him in your life.

"I noticed you wore our wedding ring to work today," he said as he took his shirt off. He then began unbuckling his belt, making you look away. You had already seen his body multiple times, but it still makes your cheeks heat up. Nanami chuckled as he saw your reaction. You were adorable.

He placed a hand on your back as he guided you to move forward, making some room for him. He leaned back as you settled in between his legs, letting you rest your back on his chest. He draped his hands around you, softly caging you in his arms as he leaned his cheek on the top of your head.

"Well I liked the look of it on my fingers," you answered. "I noticed you wore it too… the other day."

Nanami hummed, placing a gentle kiss on your shoulder. It's not like you weren't proud of being married. Rather than that, it was merely just because Nanami wanted to see how long it would take for his employees to notice that he was, in fact, already someone else’s spouse. He had been subtly hinting it to others too—small bouquet of flowers on your table during special occasions (birthdays and anniversaries), simple random gifts at any time of the day, occasionally matching outfits with each other, and random lovesick post-it notes placed on your desktop monitor.

You couldn't deny it but you were definitely hopeful to see the priceless reactions of the employees once they did find out. This little game than Nanami created made the office hours more exciting—for the two of you anyway.

"I think Gojo already knows," you said, intertwining your hands together. "He gave me coffee earlier with the writing: 'nanamin's wife'"

"Perhaps it accidentally slipped from my mouth when we were on a business trip over the weekend." Nanami turned you around so you were facing him, letting you rest on his chest. He let his hand rest on your lower back. "Getou knows too. I bet Gojo told him. Were they bothering you too much? I saw Gojo pestering you earlier during lunch and you looked kind of uncomfortable."

"Not uncomfortable, just surprised," you answered. "I just didn't know how to act. We never talked about how to react when they found out."

Nanami chuckled. He held your chin and placed a soft tender kiss on your lips. The action made you shiver, making him smile through the kiss. Even just for a short while, you felt breathless.

"Just let things happen," Nanami murmured as he rested his head on the crook of your neck. He placed kisses on your neck and shoulder too, making you giggle due to the tickling sensation.

"You're being awfully clingy today, Kento." You brushed some of his hair away from his face, looking at his perfectly chiseled features. "You kept glancing at me at work and smiling at me, then you ate lunch with me, and now you're being so affectionate… not that I mind it though."

"I missed you, darling. That’s all." He placed another kiss on the corner of your lips. "I was in Osaka over the weekend, naturally, I would want to be around my sweet girl."

You laughed and nodded, feeling the heat rush to your cheeks once again. Nanami wasn't usually a touchy and a physically affectionate person, especially outside the house. He wasn’t a fan of public displays of affection, but he does make up for it whenever you two are alone.

Something you also noticed about him even from the first time you started dating, was that he was very subtle in the way he loved. He wasn't extravagant nor boastful with gifts. He was sure to keep it simple. Special occasions were an exception though.

You didn't mind it that much. You weren't a fan of lavish types of love and gift giving anyway—it's kind of overwhelming. The love that Nanami gives you was enough—not too less, not too much, it was the perfect balance in between.

Both of you stayed in the tub for a while, just enjoying the moment as you two held each other. It was peaceful, with occasional innocent words of affection exchanged between the two of you. You were glad that office hours were over, enabling you to enjoy your time alone with your husband.

After a few moments, Nanami ushered you to stand as he rinsed the bubbles on your body with the shower head. You giggled as the water accidentally sprayed on his face, causing him to squint and lightly shake his head—like a dog. You grabbed a towel from the rack and gently patted his face. Nanami even sneaked a small kiss on your wrist, causing you to squeal and bashfully smack him on his chest.

"All these years we spent together and you're still shy whenever I shower you with affection." Nanami tugged you closer to him as he draped a robe over your body. You both wore matching classic white ones, small initials of your name imprinted in his.

"I don't know why I just can't get used to the feeling!" You said, huffing.

"That's good. I like seeing your reactions." Nanami smiled, brushing your hair with his hands. There were some tangles in it, but he didn't mind. He liked brushing them away with his fingers nonetheless.

Nanami just stared at you, his heart thumping happily in his chest, butterflies fluttering in his stomach. He wondered what his life would be like if you weren't around. Shaking his head, he didn't want to think of it. You were there, in front of him, in his arms. It was enough.You were enough. Nanami couldn't bear living his life without having you around anyway. Perhaps you might have just bewitched his heart with your charms. But he was so in love with you that he didn't mind.

"You're as pretty as a flower, my sweet." He tugged you even closer to him, wrapping his arms around your frame and resting his head on top of yours. He looked at your reflection in the mirror. Your kind smile, your flushed cheeks—To Nanami, you were perfect.

"Kento?" He hummed, still looking at your face through the reflection. "Would you watch [favorite movie] with me?"

He chuckled, patting your head. How could he say no to you? "Of course, darling. Office hours are already over, right?"

#fanfic #jujutsu kaisen #nanami x y/n #nanami kento #jujutsu kaisen nanami #mentioned jujutsu kaisen characters #romance #fanfiction #self insert #y/n #anime #office

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nosferatvpussy · 4 years ago

Text

distorted lullabies [chapter XV]

Word count: 5,674

Warnings: vulgar language

Pairing: Dracula x female reader

Not the gif I wanted but I was too lazy to search for longer.

AO3 link

_______________

My ears rang with the grating sound of Judge Llewellyn’s voice projecting inside the courtroom. I glanced at my wristwatch. The session should have been over at 4.30pm but it was now past 5. Through the window closest to me, I could see that the sky had lost its orange clouds amidst light blue in favour of pinks and deep blues. Dracula would start calling me incessantly at any moment now, like he’d done yesterday.

Surreptitiously, I slid a hand on my trousers’ front pocket and grabbed my phone. I eased back on my seat to glimpse the screen from under the table. Jane Grisham’s client – my newest client as of yesterday, actually – huffed at my side but I ignored him; my problem was life or death, his was the possibility of ten years in prison which he well deserved.

No messages from Count Dracula so far, except the ones from last night. I scrolled up the texts. Odd. I dared bring the phone closer to check if my phone was on airplane mode to justify this but I could see three bars at the top indicating that I had signal.

“Are we boring you, Miss L/N?”

I scrambled into a proper posture as I clicked the phone off and hurriedly put it back in my pocket. My eyes met Judge Llewellyn’s up in his pulpit and I forced an innocent smile at his chiding stare.

“Apologies, my lord. Please proceed.”

The prosecutor, a scrawny old man, raised a contemptuous eyebrow at me before he continued scribbling on a notebook. Llewellyn was nearing the end of the session, going over court dates and times, which was indeed boring, and I knew he would email the details later to make sure nobody made any mistakes, so his speech wasn’t as important as he thought.

I rubbed the corners of my eyes as much as my make up would allow to try and clear the sensation that I had sand in my eyes from lack of sleep. I’d gotten only two hours of sleep – that is, if I combined all the moments I nodded off when shuffling through files, otherwise I wouldn’t say I’d slept at all. I had spent the night staring at the window until sunrise, listening to every minimal sound that could indicate that Count Dracula had found me hiding in Mallory’s guestroom. When Mallory finally woke up earlier that morning, I had already gotten ready for work, stuffed all my things back in my suitcase, made us breakfast and sat down with a cup of untouched tea to mull over what I was going to say to Dracula. By the time Mallory and I left for work, I was confident with my little speech but as the day stretched on and exhaustion settled over me, I doubted that I was capable of many coherent thoughts. Facing Count Dracula when my head was a jumble and I could scarcely keep my eyes open wasn’t ideal but I had no other choice. My ten days were beyond over.

Llewellyn briefly interrupted himself as the courtroom’s door opened with a creak. He regarded whoever had entered the courtroom before resuming. Clicking heels approaching me made me turn my head just in time to see Mallory taking a seat behind me with the audience, a stern look on her face.

Without turning away from the court, I leaned back to give her my ear.

“St Thomas Hospital called me just now, they’re letting Renfield out,” she whispered. My foot bumped into the table as if I had just been shocked by high voltage. My mouth opened and closed. None of what Mallory had just said made sense. She placed a hand on my shoulder. “Dracula vouched for him to leave, he’s one of Renfield’s emergency contacts, apparently. The nurse told me that Dracula called them to say that you will be picking up Renfield after release hours tonight because you’re caught up in court duty. Renfield gave the nurse my number so I could notify you. Y/N, how did Dracula know you’d be in court until late? Is he stalking you?”

My head started spinning from the moment Mallory said Dracula had vouched for Renfied, and I failed to process the rest of what she’d said.

Was he taunting me because the ten days were up? Was it a threat to Renfield’s life? A threat that he could hurt the people around me because I didn’t abide to his deadline?

“We’re adjourned,” Llewellyn declared, and I shot up from my seat at once, gathering my things as quickly as I could before striding out of the courtroom with Mallory at my side; my client forgotten.

“Y/N, is he stalking you?” she asked again when we were at the Royal Courts of Justice’s halls.

“I don’t know! Maybe. I wouldn’t put it past him.”

“You can’t keep seeing him if he is.”

“I don’t really have a choice in that matter, Mal,” I scoffed. She grabbed my elbow to make me look at her. Noting her scowl, I continued, “He’s a client, I can’t deny seeing him if he requests.” It wasn’t a lie but wasn’t the proper explanation either.

“Don’t play stupid with me, you know what I meant. Y/N, if he’s dangerous–”

“He is. He is very dangerous but I can deal with him,” I said, forcing my voice to sound strong to make me believe it, too. I untangled myself from Mallory. “I’ve got to go pick up Renfield. Talk to you later, Mal.”

______________________________________________________

“Miss? We’re here,” said the cabbie.

By his tone I knew he had said it at least once before and I hadn’t heard him.

Renfield should be waiting for me inside St Thomas Hospital with his bags packed and a harmless, sane look in his eyes, at least I hoped. Count Dracula could be waiting in there, too, waiting for me to walk right into his arms. If I was smarter and less tired, I would give the cabbie Mallory’s address, but I couldn’t run forever.

I rubbed my forehead. Exhaustion made it harder to evaluate all the possible consequences if I walked out of the car and into the hospital.

“Can you wait for me here?” I finally said to the cabbie. “I’m picking up someone and I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

“No problem,” he said, glancing at the taximeter with a small smile in his mouth.

I considered my suitcase in the backseat and left, unconcerned. There wasn’t anything valuable in there to a cabbie, unless he had a secret propensity for crossdressing.

My legs guided me through the hospital as if I was on autopilot while I cast furtive glances at every corner. More than once my heart sank when I saw a tall silhouette at the end of a hallway until I realised it was too short or too skinny to be Count Dracula.

Breathing was a hard task when I neared the psych ward but it was too late to turn back. People passed me, watery eyes and runny noses as a little girl complained that her dad sounded funny and asked her mother why dad drooled all the time and wouldn’t blink. The mother looked at me and I focused ahead of me, pretending I hadn’t heard any of that.

Nurse Margaret greeted me with a warm smile when I stopped at the nurse’s station inside the psych ward.

“Wondered if you’d really come. Your fiancée said you were quite busy.”

I raised my eyebrows.

“My what?”

“Your fiancée,” she repeated, enunciating the word clearly like I’d missed it the first time. “He called earlier and said that Mr. Renfield will be getting his treatments from home now and that you’d come tonight to sign his release forms.”

“He’s not my fiancée.”

“Oh. I must’ve heard him wrong, then, but I’m sure he said the word bride…” her gaze was lost in thought for a moment.

“Where do I sign?” I asked with more than a touch of impatience.

Margaret frowned lightly at my rudeness but retrieved a thin stack of papers from below her desk. Using a pen, she pointed at several paragraphs while she repeated without reading, almost word for word, what was written. Because Renfield had been committed on account of violent behaviour he would have to attend psychotherapy sessions inside St Thomas Hospital and see a psychiatrist every fifteen days – Nurse Margaret informed me that the normal procedure was usually every week but Renfield’s doctor had seen fantastic improvement and decided that fifteen days was more adequate in his case until he was deemed mentally healthy. She showed me where to sign and reminded me at each turn of a page that Renfield would be under my responsibility since I was permitting his release. When I was done signing everything, Margaret left to get Renfield.

Minutes rolled by and I paced around the waiting room like I was a caged beast, peering around corners, breath hitching in my chest whenever I heard a man’s voice. Clicking high heels drew me out to the hallway and I exhaled in relief upon seeing Renfield striding next to Nurse Margaret and a male nurse carrying a box. He was dressed in the very same clothes he had been wearing the morning he attacked me but they were clean and looked a little bigger on his frame than they did before. His glasses slid down his nose as he walked. They were too big for his face but he never wore another pair, even when I gave him new ones on his birthday. I smiled as he pushed them back over the bridge of his nose. Stubborn man. He smiled back.

“Happy to leave?” I asked him.

“You’ve got no idea,” he replied, and surprised me by planting a kiss to my forehead. I froze for a second. He was usually awkward about physical contact with almost anyone. Therapy must have driven another man to crawl out of him. “You didn’t come visit me last week. How was the wedding?”

“Not great,” I said, staring into his eyes. They didn’t change, so I assumed he didn’t know what had happened. He could also be wearing his courtroom face which was just as good as mine, better even.

At that, Margaret said her goodbyes with a warm smile and told us that Roger, the slender nurse carrying a cardboard box, would accompany us down with Renfield’s books. I noticed Renfield analysing me as I fidgeted inside my shoes and forced myself to stop. Roger tried to make small talk on the way out but I couldn’t give him more than a few words.

The taxi was parked in the same exact spot as before. The cabbie nodded at me, blowing out smoke before throwing his cigarette to the ground and stomping it. My feet hurt as I hurried towards him and my worry subsided a little. I’d made it. Renfield was out and I hadn’t seen Count Dracula. It wasn’t a trap but I still didn’t understand his true intention by doing so.

The cabbie opened the door for me and I entered the car, relaxing in my seat to feel the coolness of the window against my forehead. Roger placed the box next to me so when Renfield took a seat, it laid between us.

“Why am I out?” Renfield asked in the short pause it took for the cabbie to close our door and round the car towards the driver’s seat.

I stared at him.

“If you don’t know, what makes you think I would?”

“You’re his brid–” Renfield cut the word short when the cabbie threw himself behind the wheel. He leaned forward and gave the cabbie his address. When he spoke to me again, his voice was low over the sound of the car’s engine. “From my experience, the Count isn’t particularly kind and I know he would never do this for me, especially after my little outburst. There must be a reason for this benevolence.”

“At the wedding he said that you could have some of his things shipped from Romania to London. Maybe he has need of them now.”

Renfield gave me a lopsided smile. It was usually the smile he reserved for cross examining witnesses. A venomous snake just before it struck.

“The wedding. Something happened there, didn’t it?” He inquired. I chose to look out of the window instead of facing him. “You won’t look at me, which means I’m right. Please tell me you were smart enough to listen to what I told you.”

Surrender with arms wide open or he’ll hurt you and those around you. Listen to me. He will.

I surrendered but not fast enough. Not fast enough to take back everything I had done.

“I really should have listened to you,” I confessed. “He did exactly what you said he would.”

“Even though he’s lived a long time, patience isn’t one of his virtues, Y/N.”

“It wasn’t lack of patience,” I muttered. “Actually, he’s been nothing if not patient with me. I went behind his back and it blew up in my face, and you don’t need to chastise me about it. I’ve got enough guilt as it is.”

“What did he do?”

A weird question from him. Finally, I met his eyes again and was surprised to find that I knew the man behind them.

“Mallory,” I said as a means of explanation. There wasn’t much we could say with the cabbie listening. “She’s okay, though.”

“So are you,” Renfield said as he extended a hand and brushed my hair away from my neck.

“For now. I owe him an explanation, which I was supposed to give it to him yesterday but work happened. I’m not sure how he’ll–” I regarded Renfield for the second time that night. “You’re worried about me?”

“Of course I am.” He frowned, seemingly offended that I had to ask. “I wear glasses but I’m not completely blind. You haven’t been sleeping,” he said as he tapped under his eye. Covering my dark circles with a decent amount of concealer obviously didn’t disguise it enough. “And you were fidgeting inside the hospital because you were afraid of encountering Count Dracula. Cowardice is a horrible look on you, Y/N.”

“You haven’t asked me what I did to Dracula.”

“It mustn’t have been good to drive him towards Mallory. And why should it matter what you did to him? It’s no excuse.”

“Oh, my god,” I murmured, staring at him in shock as I pieced it together. The kiss to the forehead, his concern, the completely sane look to his eyes...

“What? Did you think I’d defend him if he hurt you?”

“He released you,” I said. Renfield’s frown deepened as he looked from me to the hospital like I had just stated the obvious. “He released you from him,” I spoke quietly so the cabbie wouldn’t hear it but Renfield did. His face paled until it was stark white in the car’s low light.

“No…”

“Would you ever speak of him this way if he hadn’t?”

He shook his head.

Letting Renfield out of the hospital wasn’t a threat or a ploy to get me. It was a gift. However dim the possibility, my brain latched on to the idea that it wasn’t simply a gift, but an apology. Being merciful wasn’t at all like Dracula. It wouldn’t fix what he had done but it was something. If he had freed Renfield out of the goodness of his heart or if he had done it for ulterior motives, it didn’t really matter. I had begged for Renfield and offered myself up in exchange and Dracula had dismissed my attempts. Before, he had never cared how much that hurt me. And now this; an abrupt kindness to make up for his deeds.

“He wouldn’t– no,” Renfield grumbled. “Why– he, he can’t… he can’t do this to me. I’ll be alone.”

“You’ll have me,” I retorted.

“No, you’re his. I know you are. It’s in your eyes, and you want it, too. You’ll be like him and who will I be, hm?” His voice was thin but carried the weight of restrained emotion. “Nobody, I’ll be nobody. In a few years the both of you won’t even remember me.”

To my horror, twin tears streamed down his face.

Dracula had called him weak once, and suddenly I understood why he could see Renfield like that. Renfield himself had said that he didn't exist without Count Dracula but I’d deduced he had been made to believe that as a slave. His weeping told of an abandonment I couldn’t understand, and hoped never would. As much as I dreaded the idea, some people can only fathom existence if they have a leash around their neck to guide them. Sometimes the leash is religion or politics, and least often it is a centuries old vampire. It comforted Renfield, I supposed, this feeling of unquestionable certainty, and to have that teared away debased him.

Revulsion wrapped its claws around my ankles until it creeped up to my face in a scowl. It wasn’t Renfield’s fault that this world had made him like this and I shouldn’t blame him for wanting direction under a tight fist of a warlord, and yet I found that an ugly part of me despised him for it. Did that mean I shared something in common with Count Dracula? One of his defects?

“It’ll pass,” I told Renfield, looking out the window. “You’ll find your footing again soon. And no matter what you think or what happens, I’ll remember you.”

Despite his desolation, I was glad that he was back to himself. If it made me selfish, so be it. Although I wasn’t sure I was more pleased that Renfield was himself again or that Dracula had done it for me.

When we arrived at Renfield’s flat in Chelsea, he refused any help to carry his belongings out of the car, so he stumbled out with the cardboard box and his small suitcase. At my request, the cabbie waited until I was sure Renfield was safe inside his building and then I gave him my address.

I fished my phone from my purse and skimmed through my texts. Still none from Dracula. My fingers started typing before I could really think about what I was doing.

_____________________________________________________

Count Dracula knocked briefly on Lucy’s balcony door before opening it. She had been lying on her stomach, texting someone, but turned around to greet him with a kittenish grin. The bed’s covers were instantly thrown away with a swift movement to expose her legs.

“Finally! I thought you were giving up on me,” she exclaimed, rising on the bed to stand on her knees. He allowed her to pull him closer by his jacket’s lapels but when she neared his lips, he turned his face slightly to the side and she kissed only the corner of his mouth. “Nobody ignores my texts, you know.”

“Alas, I did”– he raised an eyebrow– “but you were begging for me and I had to come to put an end to it.”

That elicited another grin from her. A few days ago he would have found it charming, it was odd that it didn’t get a reaction out of him now. He hadn’t spent time with Lucy ever since before the wedding, so maybe that’s all he needed to warm up to her again – time.

“Tell me you’re taking me out tonight,” she goaded, pouting.

“Don’t you have class tomorrow morning?”

“Yes but–”

“Then no.” He pushed her back on the bed and she fell with a laugh. “I’d rather do this,” he murmured as he climbed on top of her.

She wriggled under him, doing her best to incite him as she rubbed her neck near his mouth, her hips twisting in need as her legs wrapped about his waist to brush up against him. He let her touch him, and he waited for desire to rise. She whined when he didn’t respond to her advances.

Nothing stirred in him. He rolled off of her, throwing an arm over his face. His arm was lifted not a second later and he glanced at Lucy as she wrapped it around herself to snuggle up to his chest. He patted her shoulder, gazing up at the star pattern stamped on Lucy’s ceiling. Releasing Renfield should appease Y/N, which is what he wanted, but so far there was no news from her. He couldn’t stay in his home pacing around as he waited for a call. And then Lucy’s text had arrived and he decided it was better to go distract himself. No use so far.

“Did you have fun on your trip?” She asked him softly.

“Up to a point.”

“Did you miss me?”

“No, not really,” he said. Lucy chuckled, as she always did whenever he was too serious. He wasn’t sure if she interpreted his seriousness as a joke or if she laughed it off because she didn’t know how to react.

“But you’re here,” she continued.

“It seems so, yes.”

He could tell that she wanted him to say that he had missed her but he wouldn’t lie. If she was hurt, then it was for the best.

Lucy quickly maneuvered herself so she could straddle him. His hands automatically went to her thighs as she settled in a comfortable position.

“Okay, so you didn’t come here to talk or to take me out.” Lowering her body over his, she popped a button on his shirt. Then another. “We can do other stuff, more interesting stuff…” Another button opened and she splayed her hands on his chest, stroking his skin. She moved her hips back and forth over his and his body stirred in response. Ah, so he wasn’t completely immune to her, it seemed. When she leaned in to kiss him, he let her. He breathed in her scent, and the charm was broken as swiftly as it had begun. It wasn’t the smell of honey he so longed for. “You’re being weird,” Lucy mumbled against his lips before pulling back to observe him.

Shutting his eyes, he forced himself to relax, concentrating on wiping Y/N’s scent from his brain. He covered Lucy’s hands with his own when he felt a tug on another button. Her fingers persisted but a light squeeze on them made her stop.

“How come?”

“It’s fine if you don’t want to fuck because god knows all you want to do is drink me but you’re barely touching me, and usually you can’t keep your hands to yourself.” She wiggled her hips. “You’re not even hard, and I’m really trying here, Drac.” He laughed at her pout. She had never looked so offended since he’d met her and he had said things to her that would make anyone’s blood curdle. “It’s not funny. I was right that time, wasn’t I? You really don’t want me anymore.”

He opened his mouth to answer her, then his phone vibrated in his pocket, and froze. Lucy narrowed her eyes at him and glanced at the lit screen shining through the fabric of his trousers. She plucked his phone out, swatting his hands away when he tried to take it from her, and pushed off of his lap. He gripped thin air when she scooted out of the bed. He clenched his jaw. Lucy’s bratty behaviour was something he had learnt to enjoy but he didn’t find anything fun about it now.

“Give it to me, Lucy,” he said, holding out a hand as he sat. She bit her lip and shook her head to the sides as the phone lit her face from beneath. “Fine, then. Read the message aloud, please.”

“ I’m heading home now if you want to talk. And thank you. ” She read, making a face. “Who’s Y/N?”

Dracula grinned. A thank you from her was enough to bring him contentment, more than Lucy’s playful nature ever would. That boy from the pub, Trent, was apparently correct in saying that doing something nice for her might draw her out. If Dracula knew the outcome would be so perfect, he would have spared him for that alone.

“My lawyer,” he said, his grin widening. “Give it back to me, Lucy.”

She placed the phone in his palm with an eye roll before sprawling on the bed again.

“Is she the reason why you’re leaving me?”

“How could I leave you if we weren’t together to begin with?”

“Ouch.”

“I swore I’d be sincere with you from the start, and I also told you this wouldn’t become a relationship. Save your ‘ouch’,” he told her, smirking.

Taking advantage that Lucy appeared momentarily distracted by his words, he opened his texts. Beneath Y/N’s text, there was an opened one from Chelsea. He deleted it without reading it. She’d given him her number yesterday and while he thought to discard it, he was glad he hadn’t. After all, it was useful so he could find out when Y/N would be leaving work and Chelsea, appealing to gain his attention, had kindly provided the information that Y/N would be busy with court until late. It gave him a small window to call the hospital until the message reached her that Renfield was being released. Cutting the servitude ties to Renfield was as simple as closing a door. It opened another so he could make his way back to Y/N.

A sniffle drew his attention up as he was typing. Lucy turned her face toward him from where she lied, batting wet eyelashes at him.

“Lucy… Crying over me?” He smiled. “Didn’t you tell me you couldn’t get your heart broken and that you would be the one doing the heart breaking?”

“I’m crying because I never thought someone would reject me.” She huffed, and he laughed again, earning him a light, playful smack on the shoulder. “It’s sort of absurd.”

“You’re irredeemably spoiled.”

“I know.” She wiped the tears before crawling into his lap and pushing his arms away so she could fit between them. His phone was cast somewhere among her pillows. Lucy’s curls bounced as she settled on top of him and he smoothed them, being careful not to accidentally pull one. The time he’d done that, Lucy had made his ears ring from complaining so much. “But you like me anyway?” He simply nodded. “Hm. Can I meet her?”

“What?” He asked, as if his hearing had failed for the first time in centuries.

“Can I meet Y/N?”

“Why?”

“I want to see what I’m up against.”

“It’s not a competition, Lucy–”

“Okay. But what if–” she gave him a malicious smile “–c’mon, imagine… If I like her too, then maybe the three of us–”

“Lucy–”

“No, hear me out. It’s actually brilliant, and it’d be fun. I’ve never done anything like it. And if you make her a vampire too–”

“Lucy, stop.” He shook her lightly, making her furrow her eyebrows. “It could be fun, yes. Terribly fun, actually,” he said as he considered the image Lucy’s suggestion conjured. “But it’s not happening. None of it.”

“None of it?” She repeated.

“None, dear,” he asserted. A smile struggled on the corners of his mouth. He had come to see Lucy for one reason but now he wondered his true motivation. Had he known what he was doing, subconsciously? “I won’t come to see you anymore.”

She gaped.

“You’re going to let me wither and die, aren’t you?” she accused.

He chuckled, tilting his head.

“I trust you’ll find some inventive way to kill yourself before you reach old age.”

“You are my inventive way! You promised me eternal life, that I’d pretty forever–”

“Lucy…” he grabbed her jaw to make her stop talking and she whined, although her eyes twinkled slightly at his bruteness. “I really don’t care. I’ve made my decision.”

Tears appeared on her eyes.

“Oh, please, stop with the crying,” he requested, cupping her cheek so a thumb could catch a fat tear before it spilled. He licked it, savouring the salt of her hurt. “I’ve had to deal with vast amounts of it lately and I don’t deserve your tears. They won’t get you anywhere with me.” He sighed. “I don’t want you anymore, Lucy, but it has nothing to do with you. I’ve simply found what I was looking for in someone else. And in her alone.” He smiled. “Y/N is my perfect fruit.”

“You don’t have to be mean,” she grumbled.

“You’ve never seen me being mean. I realise now that I said the same words to you once and I thought them to be true at the time but not anymore. I don’t regret our time together, Lucy, and I’ll enjoy remembering it years from now. This is goodbye.”

Delicately, he started pushing her out of his lap but she grappled on to him. If she continued being a brat he might have to pry her hands away. When he gazed into her eyes he glimpsed in them an unforeseen sobriety. He hadn’t thought she was capable of it.

“You won’t make me a vampire. I don’t want to grow old, and I won’t, so before you leave me, will you give me death? A sweet, tragic death that will make people wail at my funeral and say “oh poor Lucy, gone so soon”? Pretty, pretty please?”

“Vain until your last moments, aren’t you, Lucy?”

“Always,” she proclaimed with a proud tilt of her chin. “Give me at least that if you’re going to dump me. What’s there to live for anyway?”

Dark eyes studied her face as he inhaled her scent. There was no fear tainting his senses. Lucy never feared anything from him which was what had drawn him to her at first, yet it wasn’t powerful enough to hold his interest. She didn’t want more out of life except for death. In that sense, Y/N and Lucy were entirely opposites. One couldn’t live forever if life’s eternal paths didn’t interest them; at least Y/N searched for something worth living for.

“Are you serious?” He asked, raising an eyebrow. She nodded solemnly. “Death is not a caprice. You can’t take it back, Lucy. If this is your last hope that I’ll keep you, that I’ll suddenly change my mind at the last second, then you underestimate me.”

“I’m dead serious,” she said, widening her eyes at her own joke. Dracula’s expression didn’t change. “I am, Drac. And why do you care?”

“I don’t.”

“Then do it,” she urged before brushing her hair away and exposing her neck to him.

Scars marked her neck and he bent forward instinctively, like it beckoned him closer. Lucy leaned in, her tiny chest heaving next to his, and he enveloped her in a tight embrace. Choosing to kill Lucy would leave only Y/N in his path, by doing it he would kill yet another bride, the one he was most certain would survive the metamorphosis. However glorious was that possibility there was nothing about Lucy that would make him want her as a companion.

“As a last courtesy…” he whispered, laying his lips on a vein. Her pulse accelerated and the vein jumped, coaxing him to take it cautiously between his teeth. “Lucy, my darkling… I’ll be your easeful Death.” He smiled at his own quotation but she didn’t seem to quite catch it. Y/N would have understood it. She stimulated everything in him, and managed to ignite parts of him that had been long forgotten. He hungered for her like he hungered for blood. What did Lucy do to him? Nothing, nothing, nothing.

His teeth cut through her and she slumped, melting into him. The taste of her blood was familiar and did not sing to him as it once did. He devoured her methodically. A flavorless drink, like an alcoholic’s bottle of choice. She didn’t move once, not even when death’s spasms should have seized her body.

Once she grew cold, utterly depleted of blood, he laid her on the bed, arranged the covers around her and fluffed the pillows. After considering it, he closed her eyes with the tips of his fingers and fixed the crown of curls about her head. Her dainty lips were slightly parted in her pout. A pretty picture for her mother to find – sweet and tragic, like Lucy had asked. He admired her for a moment and nodded in approval. It had been fun and if she wanted death, it was only right that he gave it to her.

Dracula’s shirt clung to the sides of his chest, dampened by the little blood that had escaped his mouth. He considered the dark swirls of hair on his chest muddled by red liquid; a shower was in order when he got home. His shirt made a muffled, wet sound as he buttoned it up.

His phone rested near Lucy’s shoulder. The screen was smeared with red but it was no trouble seeing through it as he opened Y/N’s message again.

It would be late at night until he made himself presentable to her, and she would be tired until then. Killing a bride in favour of another also occupied his mind more than he expected. Y/N had ensnared him, completely. He was used to it being the other way around. He had given her time and in that time he had done nothing but kill to cleanse himself from her. It hadn’t worked. Perhaps it was time he did some reflection of his own, before they met again.

Truce for now, we meet tomorrow. You’re welcome.

“She’s making me soft,” he muttered to himself. He eyed Lucy and rose an eyebrow. “Wouldn’t you say so, dear?”

A/N: Writing this chapter was a struggle, especially the last scene. Once again, not the right mindset for it in my opinion. For those who aren't familiar with what Dracula quotes, it's from Ode to a Nightingale by John Keats. As a treat, I'll let you all know that they'll be reunited in the next chapter... and that's all I'll say about that.

@festering-queen @feralstare @rheabalaur @a-dorky-book-keeper @thorin-smokin-shield @dreamer2381 @deborahlazaroff @illbegoinhome @saint-hardy @girlonfireice @mr-kisskiss-bangbang @iwasjustablur @crossoverqueen89 @vampirescurse @blue-serendipity @sunscreenfeverdream @25ocurer @daydreaming136 @hello-itsbarbie @princessayveke

#I think I tagged everyone #if not let me know #dracula 2020 #dracula netflix #bbc dracula #dracula bbc #dracula fanfic #dracula fic #claes bang #claes bang fanfic #dracula x reader #distorted lullabies #vampire fanfic

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apiratewhopines · 3 years ago

Text

Thanks to @teamhook for being awesome and providing artwork for this little story.

In the Offing

Chapter 14 — Dreamy

Summary: In which our heroine returns to familiar haunts

Chapter 14 on AO3

“I don’t want to see you again if it’s different

‘Cause I’ll only see all the things that I’m missing

And I should have cut all the ties but I didn’t

I didn’t let go”

-Friend, Gracie Abrams

Emma woke up early the next day despite a late night of discussions with Mary Margaret. For the first time in her life, she found herself engaging in girl talk and she suddenly understood what all the fuss was about. Having shared the messed up way her relationship had started and ended just as quickly with Killian, some of her emotional burden had lifted and she was more equipped to deal with the fallout that morning.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t the only fallout she had to work through. Having essentially quit her job last night, she was now in a position where she didn’t have any income flowing in and she wasn’t entirely sure Liam was going to pay her for the past weeks of work considering how she left. She certainly wasn’t going to shallow her pride and reach out on a collections call to him either. That left her in a tight spot. She had a decent amount of savings stashed away but it would disappear quickly if she didn’t do something soon.

Going home wasn’t a possibility until August was awake and she caught his attacker. Without any other options, she reached out to Barry. He had been less than pleased when she had called him at the outset of this little adventure and told him she wouldn’t be available for a couple of weeks but there wasn’t much he could do about it since she was a pay per job employee. His best one, to be sure, but it wasn’t like someone else couldn’t handle things while she was gone.

Barry’s enthusiasm at hearing from her lasted only as long as it took her to tell him her plans for the rest of the summer. They were approaching the Independence Day holiday and Henry would be back toward the end of July. She gave herself a deadline of his return flight date to wrap things up in Storybrooke because there was no way she was going to let him step foot in this town while a madman was on the loose.

Grudgingly, her boss had agreed to throw a couple of cases her way that weekend. Waiting for Mary Margaret to wake up, she went through her emails on her phone. Reviewing the four skips he had sent her, she made plans and set her lures. Now she simply needed to get to Boston.

As it turned out, Mary Margaret didn’t need to be talked into making a road trip. She had offered to drive before Emma could finish explaining the situation. Even knowing that Emma would be working the whole time didn’t diminish her enthusiasm. “I’ve never been to Boston! I never go anywhere despite the fact that I have weeks off during the summer. It will be fun. Don’t worry, I can keep myself entertained while you get caught up at your job.”

—

Traveling with Mary Margaret was definitely a different experience than traveling with Liam. The latter had spoken maybe ten words on the four hour drive. Mary Margaret, on the other hand, kept a steady stream of dialogue going in the car. It was pleasant and soothing and helped her to not think of other things. When she mentioned David in passing, it occurred to Emma that she had been so wrapped up in her own troubles, she hadn’t stopped to think about what the man must be going through. Finding out that his father may have been murdered, his body thrown in a pit like garbage, couldn’t have been easy. “How is he doing with everything?”

“He’s taking it pretty hard,” Mary Margaret shared. “His whole life his uncle, the entire town really, told him his father was a good-for-nothing. To find out that maybe there was more to the story has made him doubt a lot of what he thought was true. He feels like he failed him.”

“He was only a kid when his dad disappeared. There was nothing he could have done.”

“You and I know that but he’s not convinced. He’s gotten it in his head that his dad’s death and August’s shooting are connected. I’ve never seen him so focused on a case,” she explained as she followed the GPS directions into the parking garage of Emma’s place. “He thinks if he can solve it, he will find redemption.”

Parking and grabbing their stuff from the trunk, Emma keyed them through the elevator and within minutes they were opening the door to her apartment. Everything was as she had left it, down to the files spread across her countertop. With an anxious look at Mary Margaret, she ushered the woman down the hallway quickly. “Let me show you your room and you can get settled in.”

Leaving her in Henry’s room she rushed back to the kitchen and gathered the Storybrooke files, stuffing them down at the bottom of her bag with August’s manuscript. Crisis averted, she heard Mary Margaret exclaiming compliments on everything from the view of the city to the fun decorations her son had picked out for his space. It was enough to keep a smile on her face even when she saw that Killian had sent her a text a minute ago asking to meet for lunch so they could talk. Knowing he wouldn’t accept silence as an answer, she texted back that she was busy.

Seconds later, he responded with, ‘Dinner then.’

‘No. I have plans.’

‘Breakfast tomorrow.’

She heard Mary Margaret go into the hall bathroom as her phone dinged again. If Henry wasn’t out of town, she would have turned it off but since that wasn’t an option, and something inside her wouldn’t let her simply ignore him, she typed a lengthier text than she normally would have. ‘In case you didn’t notice, I quit my job with your brother last night. I’m working on some other projects to pay the bills. We don’t all have hidden treasure troves at our disposal.’

The bubbles that indicated he was replying immediately popped up. He must be sitting on top of his phone. ‘You can’t avoid me forever.’

‘You’re probably right but it’s good to have goals.’

When Mary Margaret came into the room, she threw her phone on the couch to avoid the temptation of letting him take up anymore of her day than he already had. Forcing herself to focus on the here and now, she took a few minutes to show Mary Margaret around the rest of the apartment. “Life in the big city must be so exciting,” she remarked as she curiously shuffled through the contents of Emma’s closet.

“It has it’s moments,” Emma agreed. “Although I have never been shot at or fallen into a death trap here so Storybrooke has that going for it.”

“What a life you live, Emma. So adventurous,” Mary Margaret commented with a touch of awe. She ran her hand down one of Emma’s work outfits, a tight pink number that was one of her favorites. “I can’t think of a single interesting thing that has happened to me in years.”

“I could do with a little less adventure if I’m being honest,” she answered. And fewer annoyingly troublesome men in her life while she was at it. With a stroke of inspiration, she said, “How would you like to come with me tonight?”

“While you work? What would we be doing?”

“I have leads on a couple of skips in Southie. Saturday nights are always a good time to track down these guys because they like to cut loose after a hard week of being pond scum. It usually only involves hanging out at their favorite bar and waiting for them to show up. People aren’t nearly as mysterious as they think they are,” she explained. Unless their last name happened to be Jones. “I could use another pair of eyes if you’re interested. You can borrow that pink dress if you want.”

Her expression was priceless and Emma slung her arm around her. “You’d be doing me a favor and we can bond over oysters. My treat.”

Hours later, time that had been filled with laughter and teasing, they climbed into Emma’s car and hit the road. Mary Margaret was barely recognizable in the bright form-fitting dress, her short hair carefully tousled and her makeup bolder than her normal natural look. Emma was sure she would turn more than one head at the bars and wished that David was there to see his childhood sweetheart all grown up. She certainly didn’t look like a nun or elementary school teacher tonight.

Navigating the Boston streets like a pro, Emma asked, “Have you ever thought about asking David out?”

“Of course not, Emma,” Mary Margaret said in a scandalized voice. Emma smirked at the way the other woman kept catching sight of herself in the side mirror and staring. She didn’t blame her though. The transformation was somewhat astounding.

“Why not? I see the way you two look at each other. It’s the twenty-first century. You should go for it. What’s the worst that could happen?”

“He could say no.”

“So what? It won’t kill you if he does, Mary Margaret. If you want your life to change, you can’t keep doing the same stuff over and over. Besides, he won’t say no,” Emma assured her. “If you want to practice, you could pick someone up at the bar tonight. Or maybe Dr. Whale, he seemed interested.”

“Gross,” she commented, proving that while she may be innocent she at least had standards and good instincts. “David was so disappointed when I turned him down. I’m not sure he ever really forgave me. With everything he went through with his ex-wife, I don’t know if he’s ready for another relationship.”

“So you plan on living in your loft for the rest of your life and never telling him how you feel?”

“I can’t say I’ve planned much at all,” she admitted. With a shy smile, she asked, “Do you really think he’d say yes?”

“Um, yeah, pretty sure he is already in love with you. Or maybe still in love with you considering your history,” Emma observed as she pulled the Bug into a tight parallel parking spot down the street from where they were going to look for their first quarry. Their prey was middle-aged businessman by the name of Jake who was accused of embezzlement. His mother had posted bail and he had skipped out a couple of days ago. He was rumored to be in town and crashing at his best buddy’s house down the street.

Getting out of the car, Emma smoothed down the black leather dress she had chosen for the night. It was warmer here, probably due to the heat being released from the asphalt and concrete after a day of sunny weather and summer temps. “Remember if you see him, let me know. I’ll take it from there.”

They entered the crowded bar a minute later. She groaned when she saw that the men in the establishment outnumbered the women significantly. That always made it harder to work because you were constantly being approached. Grabbing a high top with a good line of sight to the door and the bar area, she dropped her clutch and left Mary Margaret to give the bartender a head’s up and order a couple of drinks.

By the time she made it back to the table, Mary Margaret was already surrounded. Plopping their drinks down, she elbowed one of the potential suitors out of the way. “Move along,” she hissed at him. “We’re meeting our boyfriends in a minute.”

With a shrug as if to say ‘you win some, you lose some’ he and the rest of the group moved away. Mary Margaret looked over at her with a grin. “I didn’t realize people were so nice here. I could get used to it.”

“Well, you’re welcome to visit anytime,” she replied with a chuckle. “But I would be careful about getting too friendly with the locals.”

With her eyes wandering between the entrance and the nearest corner of the bar, she and Mary Margaret sipped their drinks and shouted at each other over the live music coming from the next room. A hour later, she was about to give up and move on to the next place when the skip walked in.

Straightening, she looked at Mary Margaret and said, “Showtime. I’ll be right back.”

She weaved her way through the crowd and reached the bar at the same time as Jake by design. Feigning clumsiness, she lurched into him and immediately started apologizing. “I’m so sorry, sweetie! I swear you can barely move in here it’s so crowded.”

As she had planned, his focus was completely centered on her now. Even in the blinking strobe lights, she could see the leer on his face. Resisting the urge to roll her eyes, she offered with fake sweetness, “Can I get you something to make up for plowing into you?”

“No need, gorgeous. You made my night by bumping into me,” Jake replied. “Can I buy you a drink?”

“Only if you promise to join me and my friend at our table over there,” she gushed as she pointed over to Mary Margaret and waved. The other woman offered a sunny smile and waved back.

His eyes lighting up like he hit the jackpot, he caught the bartender’s attention and ordered three shots. “Let’s go, gorgeous. I’m looking forward to meeting your beautiful friend.”

“She is beautiful, isn’t she?” She moved closer to him to be heard over the music. “This is her first night in Boston and I want to make it memorable for her. I think you’re just the guy to help me do that.”

“Always glad to help the ladies,” he sneered. They reached the table and he said, “Hello beautiful, I hope you like tequila.”

“Thanks! Hey, can you do me a favor? Can you take a picture of Emma and me? I forgot to do it before we left the apartment.”

Not sure why Mary Margaret was truly making friends with the jerk, she nonetheless moved to her side for photo. Arms wrapped around each other and cheeks pressed together, they both smiled widely right before the flash went off. Licking his lips, he commented, “It must be my lucky night.”

“It must be. You look like a guy who could use a little luck,” Emma remarked, deciding it was time to close the net and move on to the next case.

“What makes you say that, gorgeous?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Could be the reek of desperation I caught at the bar. But it doesn’t even begin to compare to how desperate your mother must be now that she’s on the hook for all that bail money.”

His face fell instantly, eyes narrowing and taking on a nasty gleam. “They sent a bounty hunter? What a joke. Lady, you don’t stand a chance. I’ve been taking kickboxing classes for years.”

“Good,” Emma said, moving to shield Mary Margaret. “Maybe it will be a even fight then.”

Unfortunately, his bravado fled at that moment and seconds later, his feet followed suit. With a long-suffering sigh, Emma mumbled, “I hate it when they run.”

Cheeks flushed with excitement, Mary Margaret yelled, “What are you waiting for? Let’s get him!”

“Fine,” Emma agreed, running out the door with Mary Margaret not far behind her. She saw Jake moving quickly across the street. If he made it to the alley, they would probably lose him. Increasing her speed and hoping Mary Margaret could fend for herself for the next couple of minutes, she cut in front of a car cruising slowly down the road, drawing a honk and some colorful language from the driver.

“Jake, it will be better for all of us if you let me bring you in peacefully,” she yelled at him, closing the distance between them.

“Get away from me, lady!”

With a guttural huff as she caught up with him, she grabbed his arm and twisted it in one fluid motion behind his back. The movement threw off his balance and he floundered roughly to the ground dragging her with him. They struggled for a couple of seconds and while he failed to land any direct hits, his fist did glance her jaw as she moved her head to avoid his knuckles. Deciding this nonsense had gone on long enough, she lifted her knee and caught him in the stomach as Mary Margaret joined them and started raining blows on his back with the shoes she had removed sometime during her mad dash to reach them.

Pushing him off of her, Emma jumped up and surveyed the scene. She was a little worse for wear but the warlike look on Mary Margaret’s face more than made up for any inconvenience the toad had caused. Fighting off the urge to giggle, she wrapped her arm around Mary Margaret’s shoulder and teased, “My hero.”

—

Emma wasn’t sure if it was the sound of music playing in the living room or the vibration of her phone that woke her up the next morning. While the exertions of the night before had caused her to fall asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow, it had been a restless night full of reaching for someone who wasn’t there and wondering why her apartment no longer felt like home.

Looking out at the dreary light of a rainy day, she mindlessly unlocked her phone and saw that Killian hadn’t given up yet. She wondered if this was their newest battle of wills. She had decidedly lost the last round when she kissed him first. This time she wouldn’t make the same mistakes. Her sanity was at sake. Even so, that didn’t stop her heartbeat from accelerating when she read his message from an hour ago.

‘I’m a big fan of the leather dress, Swan.’

Not stopping to examine why she didn’t just block his number, she responded, ‘Okay stalker. How do you know what I wore last night?’

Just like yesterday, the dialogue bubbles instantly appeared. She had never even seen him so much as look at his phone before but he seemed to be tied to it now. She couldn’t help but think she might be the sole reason for his newfound dependence.

‘Mary Margaret posted this beauty.’ Seconds later, he followed his text with the bar photo. Never caring for pictures of herself, she was pleasantly surprised it had turned out so well. There was something about it that caught her eye and made her wistful, maybe the way she and Mary Margaret had identical smiles or it could be the unexpectedly savage defense the woman had mounted for her just after it was taken. Then another text came through. ‘David sent it to me. I would rather die than join social media but I may reconsider my stance if this is what I have to look forward to…’

She needed to end this. She knew she was sending mixed signals by continuing to answer and as mad as she was at him, she also knew he deserved better. He deserved a clean break. They both did. Still, she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Instead, she responded, ‘We need to stop doing this.’ Even she wasn’t sure what she meant.

‘Never going to happen.’

Refusing to get sucked in again, she closed her messages. Pulling her laptop out from under the bed where it was charging, she logged into her banking to see if the money from last night’s endeavor hit her account yet. If she hadn’t already been laying down, she would have fallen over when she saw her balance. In addition to the five hundred dollars for Jake’s return, there had been two other transfers to her account that were dated for deposit on Monday.

The first one was for three thousand and noted as received from Jones Investigation. It was a couple hundred more than they had agreed on and when she saw the memo field reference hazard pay, she smiled against her will. Emma still wanted to punch the elder Jones but she appreciated the gesture all the same.

The second one was for two thousand. The sender was the law firm that August used but no other information was given. She immediately jumped up from bed to get the lawyer’s letter out of her bag. Not caring that it was early on a Sunday morning, she called the cell number he provided and was surprised when it was answered on the first ring.

“Miss Swan, is there something I can help you with?”

Not sure how he knew it was her calling, she nevertheless plunged straight in. “Mr. Smith, I’m calling in reference to a transfer to my account. I think there must be some mistake.”

“No mistake, Miss Swan. Mr. Booth was quite clear that you would receive a stipend if you should ever be called on to act as his Power of Attorney. Once he is stabilized, we will need to meet to go over a few business and legal items. For now, I understand the need to focus on medical decisions.”

“I don’t want it,” she argued, barely stopping herself from adding that it only made her look more suspicious. “If I’m in a position to make his financial decisions now, then my first one is to stop this payment.”

She could tell that the lawyer didn’t anticipate that type of a response and clearly didn’t know what to say. “Mr. Booth was adamant.”

“So am I.”

Sighing because he knew she had the authority to make the call, he agreed. “I’ll make note that you have refused all future payments.”

“Thank you. If you want to e-mail whatever items need attention, I’ll do my best to get back to you quickly. I hope this arrangement won’t be needed for much longer,” she said, trying her best to be professional as she ended the call.

Minutes after disconnecting, her e-mail started pinging with new messages from Alan Smith, Esquire. She decided that she would slog through them as soon as they got back to Storybrooke and do her best not to bankrupt her friend while he recovered.

—

It was late evening before their little caravan arrived back at the loft. Emma had taken some time to go through her mail, do several loads of laundry, and pack with more forethought than the last time she left. The whole time her companion followed her around in a way that would have been annoying if anyone else had tried it. With Mary Margaret, she found it endearing. Even Henry seemed enamored. Having called as they were headed out the door, he spoke with Mary Margaret for a few minutes while she carried her suitcases to the Bug. When she got back and reclaimed her phone, he whispered to her that Mary Margaret was the prettiest girl he’d ever seen.

She had to admit that it wasn’t horrible to be back. Sure this town appeared to want her dead, but there were good things about it too. The lack of traffic, the salty ocean breeze that was always so crisp and refreshing, the onion rings at Granny’s. Not to mention the leather-clad man who was waiting on their doorstep.

With a lopsided grin, Killian rose to take her suitcases as she approached. “Nice car, Swan.”

She forced herself not to return his smile and ignored the way her heart wobbled at the smoldering look he gave her. “What are you doing here?”

“Helping you carry your stuff in,” he replied, grabbing her luggage. She was quite certain it wasn’t an accident when his fingers lingered over her hand during the transfer. He looked so heartbreakingly handsome that she almost gave in then and there. Only the hunch that he knew what she was thinking kept her from doing so. He had always been aware of the effect he had on her and he was doing his best to use it to his advantage.

“How did you know when we would be getting back? Or have you been waiting here since we left yesterday,” she asked sarcastically.

“Alas, I would camp out here for days if I thought it would do me any good. Since you’re determined to harden your heart against me, I had to activate my spy network,” he told her with a overly forlorn look that made her want to laugh. It was then that she noticed they weren’t alone and that David was helping Mary Margaret collect her things from her car down the street.

As the duo approached, Mary Margaret’s voice carried to them. “You should have seen her, David. She chased the guy down in five inch heels. She practically jumped over the hood of a moving car and then had the guy on the ground without even breaking a sweat.”

“That’s not quite how it happened,” Emma clarified under her breath to Killian, feeling the heat of a blush spread across her face. He was looking at her in that way he always did and she ached with the knowledge that she would have to say the words to make him stop. It wasn’t even that she was angry anymore. She was plain, old-fashioned scared to death and seeing him made her have to admit it to herself.

“Then he punched her and she kicked him in the stomach,” Mary Margaret continued as they came up to the door. Nodding hello at Killian, she pushed it open and lead the group upstairs.

“He didn’t really punch me, Mary Margaret,” she corrected again, although only Killian seemed to be listening to her. The other two were so involved in their conversation that she may as well have been invisible.

“The bruise on your cheek would tell a different story, love,” Killian argued, shifting her bag to his other arm so he could run his finger along her jaw. “I think you should have aimed your kick a little lower.”

Before she could stop herself, she leaned into his touch. Need flared in his eyes and he cradled her cheek in his palm. He was magic, that was the only explanation. He would destroy her if she let him. Snapping out of it, she flinched back and took a couple of steps away. His eyes narrowed as she studiously avoided his gaze.

“You’re leaving out the best part,” she inserted, moving ahead of the group and pulling out the spare key Mary Margaret had given her. “When it looked like I would not live to fight another day, this little pixie came running over barefoot and proceeded to clobber the jerk with her stilettos.”

David’s face broke out in a wide grin and he exclaimed to Mary Margaret, “You didn’t!”

With an equally exuberant expression, the other woman confirmed, “I did! No one is going to hurt Emma on my watch.”

“I’ve never been prouder of my corrupting influence than at that moment,” Emma teased as they entered the apartment. She made sure to keep both of their companions between her and Killian at all times even as he continued to try to edge closer to her.

“I told you she was a hellion, Emma,” David joked. “Are you sure she wasn’t corrupting you?”

“I didn’t feel like a hellion,” Mary Margaret declared. “I felt free and brave and invincible. I wish I could always feel that way.”

“You know what you need to do,” Emma reminded her with a pointed look, never expecting her to actually listen. Her attention had already shifted back to Killian who was halfway up the stairs, carrying the bags to her bedroom. She wondered if she would ache for him the rest of her life or if it would fade like it did with Neal.

“You’re right, Emma,” Mary Margaret said with a big smile. Turning with a dramatic flair, she blurted out, “David, I want you to take me out. On a date. Right now.”

Thunderstruck, David dropped the bag he was carrying in the middle of the living room and sputtered, “Sure. Yeah, I’d love to. Let’s go.”

Before Emma could lift her jaw off the floor, they were gone and she was alone with her newest weakness. A weakness that looked at her like she was his favorite snack and wildest dream all wrapped up in one and was currently making his way down the stairs.

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