#I am in the middle of moving apartments but the person whose couch I am currently surfing got the rona

[dartlekey]

Life update: if things do not go as planned but it's technically still fine, I just have to do a bunch of rescheduling, am I allowed to be grumpy about it? (I know the answer is yes, as long as I don't make it someone else's problem; I'm just being dramatic. Nevertheless - )

[rextasywrites]

Apple pies and sportscandy (Sportacus x reader) - Chapter 1/?

"As the wind started to blow the cold air into my face, I decided to retreat back into my new place. A couch with some cup noodles and a silly tv show was waiting for me. In the comfort of a fuzzy blanket while slurping up noodles, I wondered what my time in LazyTown would bring me. What kind of new adventures were waiting for me? Would the people in town like me?"

Reader has had enough and decides to move to LazyTown to take over the old closed down bakery. A zeppelin catches her eye on the the first night, but what if its owner does more than just catch her eye?

Warnings: in this chapter there is a mention of bullying, but only for plot reasons for a short time

Please enjoy this very much self indulgent multi chapter fic! :D

*

The first time I heard of this town, I was confused. Barely any people living in there, why would anyone move there? The city is so much better!

The second time I heard of this town, I had just finished a terrible day at the office and wanted to hide forever. There was just something so terrible about bullying, a thing that should have been left behind in middle school.

The third time I heard of this town, I decided to call it quits. It was one “prank” too much, one mean comment too much. The 2 week notice was more of a 2 minute notice, and with tears streaming down my face, I sat in the bus. The world seemed grey and the people around me frozen. On one stop, a man dropped his newspaper as he left and didn’t bother to pick it up. That’s what I did, and an ad caught my eye.

“Baker wanted - Starting point as soon as possible. Call Bessie Busybody for more information.”, and her phone number was added.

A few phone calls later, I sat in the train heading towards LazyTown.

I managed to cancel my lease rather quickly as the landlord already had a different person in their eye, someone whose rent they could charge up. Within days, I had everything packed, just two suitcases full of my stuff. I never needed more, as the apartment hadn’t felt like a home but just a place to stay in. And the rent in LazyTown wasn’t high, so maybe my bank account could relax for once.

The further I got away from the city, the more colour seemed to paint the landscape. The trees weren’t grey, if one looked left and right they saw mountains and sometimes even animals, not only the walls of yet another building. It felt like I could breathe for the first time in months, if not years. The train was nearly empty apart from two other people, but at the station LazyTown, I was the only one to leave. And it was true - there was no smog, the light wasn’t coming from street lamps but from the sun actually making its way to the surface, and somewhere, there were children playing without the fear of being run over by a reckless driver.

“There you are darling!”, I recognized the voice from the many phone calls we shared - it was Bessie! I turned around and we greeted each other, a kiss on the left cheek, a kiss on the right cheek. “Welcome to LazyTown! I am sure you’ll love it here! Oh, let me show you your new place right now! Are these suitcases yours? Let me help you…”

*

A short drive later, we were at my new place. The apartment was above the old bakery. Bessie had filled me in on the details - the old owner passed away many years ago, and nobody had bothered to fill in his role, so the building had been vacant ever since. I had some baking skills from back in the day before office work was paying more money, or at least I thought it’d get me more money. Instead, all it gave me was a stomach ulcer.

Prior to my arrival, Bessie had taken it upon herself to clean the apartment a bit, at least clean enough to make sure no spiders would cozy up to me in bed. Which was…not really a comforting thought, but Bessie assured that the only spiders they had in town were these tiny jumping spiders. Tomorrow, we’d check out the bakery together for things I could still use and which needed to be replaced. The mayor had promised to come up for most of the replacements, something I’d need to thank him for as soon as I would see him. 

But on this very day? All I wanted was to get a few things put up in my new home, and get some rest. Traveling by train always made me tired, and this whole day was one constant source of nervousness and anxiety running free.

Bessie left me to my own devices an hour later after helping me put my suitcases up into the 2nd floor where the apartment was. A few things were set up, such as putting new sheets on the bed and getting some groceries into the fridge, I was thankful for Bessie’s help, but she had to leave as she needed to attend super important meetings.

The sun was slowly setting, I stood in front of the bakery, taking in the first evening in my new home town. The birds chirped in the distance, some bugs were flying around. Speaking of flying around, I had spotted a zeppelin earlier today, but forgot to ask Bessie about it.

As the wind started to blow the cold air into my face, I decided to retreat back into my new place. A couch with some cup noodles and a silly tv show was waiting for me. In the comfort of a fuzzy blanket while slurping up noodles, I wondered what my time in LazyTown would bring me. What kind of new adventures were waiting for me? Would the people in town like me?

All the thoughts and the day in general had made me exhausted, so I threw the blanket off, put the empty cup into the bin and the chopsticks into the dishwasher, and myself right into bed.

From my bed, I had a clear view through a window. I hadn’t bothered to close the curtains, but from this point of view, I was able to see the zeppelin again. A faint light was coming from there, which left me wondering - was someone living there? In the sky above LazyTown, watching over its people and whatever would come their way?

I soon drifted off into the most peaceful sleep in years, and I was not awoke by the sound of loud spinning tyres or a police car racing through the streets. It was just me and the sound of animals roaming through the streets of LazyTown, and I couldn’t wish for a better sound to fall asleep to.

[cheerscoops]

dont mind me sneaking in a request #21 with edancy <3

21 - Kissing the other's brow You're getting something straight outta the accidental pregnancy au because you know how overwhelmed I am with feels when I haven't even started writing the actual story yet <3

Eddie kicked off his sneakers as he shut the door to Nancy’s apartment. It was a little after two in the morning, so he was trying to be as quiet as possible. This was just part of their routine as co-parents. He showed up whenever his shift at the bar ended, and he did what he could to help with their daughter’s late night care.

Currently, Rose was in a phase where she refused to go to sleep if her daddy wasn’t there. While that did wonders for Eddie’s ego and made his heart swell, it was miserable for Nancy. She loved her daughter more than anything in the world, and not being able to soothe her to sleep on her own was slowly killing her. Most nights, she ended up setting Rose in the playpen and then laying down on the living room floor in the hopes that maybe the baby would fall asleep that way.

This is how Eddie found them when he came in. Nancy was asleep on the floor, and Rose was all smiles in the playpen, babbling and cooing at her stuffed puppy. When she saw her daddy enter the room, she used the sides of the playpen to help push herself up into a standing position. One hand clung to the edge of the playpen, and the other reached out for her daddy. Eddie crossed the room and leaned down to press a sloppy kiss on Rose’s cheek.

“I’ll be back to take care of you in a minute, princess,” he told her. “I’m just gonna get your mama into bed first.”

The one time Eddie had left Nancy to sleep on the floor, she’d woken up cranky with a sore back. Even though he knew it wasn’t his fault, he felt slightly responsible since the only reason she fell asleep on the floor was because their kid was being difficult over him not being there. So, he scooped up Nancy and carried her back to her bedroom. Once he had her in bed, he headed back to the living room to grab the baby.

“You have gotta stop giving mama such a hard time,” he said as he carried Rose back to the nursery. “You get to spend all day with me. It’s okay if I’m not here for bedtime, too. It won’t hurt my feelings if you go to sleep without me. I promise.”

Eddie took a seat in the rocking chair, and Rose buried her face in his chest. It didn’t take long for her to fall asleep in his arms, and once he was sure she wouldn’t wake up, he moved her into her crib and slipped out of the room.

After he changed into the t-shirt and pajama pants he kept there, he slipped back into Nancy’s room to grab the baby monitor. He figured he could bring it out to the living room with him, and that way he could wake up with Rose and give Nancy a little more rest, but she stirred when he entered the room.

“Is she asleep?” she asked, her voice weighed down from how tired she was.

“Yeah, and you should be, too,” he said as he grabbed the baby monitor.

“You can stay in here if you want. More comfortable than the couch.”

“You sure?”

Nancy mumbled a yes as she moved from the center of the bed to make room for him on what had become his side. He climbed in next to her, and she immediately curled up against his side.

There was a certain level of intimacy that they shared. It might have been weird for anyone else, but Eddie felt like maybe this was normal for best friends whose first real interaction was a drunken one night stand that had resulted in a pregnancy. They’d always been very physical in their friendship. He couldn’t count the number of times they’d fallen asleep snuggled together in the middle of movie marathons while she was pregnant. His hands had been on her belly more often than not just wanting to experience every little movement of their daughter along with her. There had never been a time where they weren’t invading each other’s personal bubbles.

But it was different now that she wasn’t pregnant. He couldn’t pretend that his unborn daughter was the reason why he wanted to be so close to her. He wasn’t sure when he’d really fallen for her, but he had, and he was never going to act on it. How could he? He was positive that she didn’t feel the same way about him, and he wasn’t going to let his feelings get in the way of their friendship and co-parenting their daughter. He couldn't risk losing what he already had.

So, he allowed her to cuddle up to him in her sleep. He let her use him as a pillow, and he pressed a soft kiss to her brow as he wrapped his arms around her. Maybe, someday, he’d work up the courage to tell her how he felt, but for now, this was enough.

[inkandiridescence]

Masked Attacker

Based on ep 4 of Hawkeye - you were Natasha’s best friend and was with her and Clint that day at Vormir

******

"Kate look what I found." You whispered as she picked up the Rolex. You grabbed the notepad and showed it to her. "Clint, somebody is taking notes on your family." You whisper urgently.

"what?"

"Clint Barton, wife Laura, daughter Lila age 14, son cooper age 16, son Nate.."

"You two get out of there now, it's Maya's apartment-" Clint's voice gets cut off and the two of you could hear grunts. Just then you hear footsteps and quickly turn around. Maya comes running at you as you throw the notepad at her. "What the fuck was that y/n?" Kate laughs while knocking Maya to the ground. "I panicked! Maya's here clint."

"I can see that."

" Then why didn't you tell us?" Kate says as she kicks Maya toward you. You grab her neck and throw her on the ground. "I did, Maya is on the roof with me."

"No Maya is definitely here," Kate says as she throws a bottle at her.

"Well, who the hell am I fighting then?" You, Maya, and kate go back and forth while clint fights the masked attacker.

You get kicked down before yelling to clint, "A little help!?" Maya then hits Kate and she stumbles over the couch.

"Incoming." You heard, "Get on the zipline." You two race towards the window, you get on kate's back as she uses her bow to slide across the line. Unfortunately, you stopped right in the middle of the line. "Uh, Kate, I'm slipping!" You squeak out as you grab onto her tighter. Just then a force hits the line and you are racing towards clint and the masked attacker. You and Kate ran right into them, knocking them off their feet. The four of you begin fighting, and soon you feel yourself getting turned around as Maya attacks you. As the two of you go back and forth, you hear kate hit the ground on the other side of the building. She quickly gets up and shoots Maya in the shoulder making her leave. Just then you get knocked down again by the masked person. They have you pinned down, but you have just enough space to move your arm and grab the mask quickly pulling it off.

You make eye contact with the blonde girl whose eyes are full of anger and sadness. She clenches her jaw and takes out a knife, but you were quick to flip her over.

"Who are you?" You yell as she struggles to get up. She just grunts and finally gets you off. She stares at you before looking at Kate who has her bow aimed t her. She slowly shakes her head, and you back up a bit, because that was really hot but she's trying to kill you sooooo....

The girl shoots her grappling hook at the ground and turns back to you again slightly smirking before jumping off the building and disappearing.

----------

there will probably be a part two when the next ep comes out

[manonblaqkbeak]

Motel Living

this idea would not leave me alone, despite me having like three other fics barely done. it is very random. i dont even know what to say lol.

2554 words

enjoy!

Today was officially the one month anniversary of Aelin moving into a three-star motel. She did not think she'd be here for long, a couple of weeks at most, but here she was a month later, and on a Friday night no less. She should have been out with her friends, but she opted to stay inside.

She had to tell herself that she shouldn't complain. That there were people that were worse off than her. Living in a motel was fine.

But it still didn't change the fact that Aelin wished she wasn't living in a motel room. Especially one that was popular with long haul truckers whose snores sounded like chain saws and blenders on the highest level. That right now, down in the restaurant/pub that was only six doors down, an important football game was playing and the patrons inside were cheering wildly.

Aelin missed the house that she had been renting the last three years. Last year she had decided to start saving so that she could purchase the house itself, since it was still on the market since the day she moved in. It was hard, but Aelin was a determined woman and she set her sights on purchasing the house—she felt like she practically owned it anyway—up until the day she received a call from the real estate agency telling her that the house had been purchased and she had to move out.

Aelin disliked crying, but the waterworks started the minute she hung up. She really did love that house. Had created a small vegetable and herb garden to make it feel more homely. Made it hers in the three years she had occupied it.

There was a tiny silver-lining, however, since the new owners were coming from the other side of the continent, she had plenty of time to pack and move out.

But that silver-lining quickly disappeared once she started her search for a new home in-between packing and work. Every apartment, every house, every unit she looked out at was taken by the time she handed in her application. Every inspection starting to become fruitless when she knew that she wouldn't be the one to live in it.

Aelin hadn't realised that the market had become so cut-throat. She knew she was the perfect applicant because in all her years renting she never missed a single day, never received a complaint. Even when the landlord dragged his ass to fix something, Aelin kept her temper in its leash and did not throttle him the way she wanted too.

And as her luck ran out and Aelin had started to truly worry about where she was going to live because while she had multiple people in her life, she quickly realised that she couldn't ask any of them if she could move in for multiple reasons:

Aedion and Lysandra were recently married, and Aelin hadn't wanted to burst their newlywed bubble.

Chaol and Yrene were brand new parents, their baby girl born the day Aelin moved out, and she knew the last thing they wanted was someone else in the way.

Nehemia was in the same position as her, but her parents had invited her back home while Nehemia looked for somewhere else. Aelin's parents were dead, and her childhood home had been destroyed in a wildfire a five years ago, and Aelin had used the insurance money to pay off her debts. She cursed herself now for doing that, but Aelin hated being in debt and she did what she had too.

Fenrys lived in a one bedroom unit and had the worlds most uncomfortable couch, so he was out. And while Fenrys was one of her best friends, she didn't really talk with Connall, his twin. Nor did she often talk with Vaughn.

Dorian and Manon were travelling all over Erilea and Dorian's younger brother Hollin was house-sitting. Aelin couldn't stand Hollin for more than a few minutes at a time and she would rather live in the motel for a year than live in with him.

And then there was Rowan. He had been a close friend for years, until five months ago they decided that they had liked each other too much to keep being friends and officially started dating (at Lysandra and Aedion's wedding, of all places). If they had been together for longer, she would have asked him—but she didn't want to rush anything, because Aelin could so clearly see a future with him and she didn't want to hurt that future by moving in far too early in their relationship.

So that left Elide, her lifelong friend that was more like a sister. Elide was purely on the bottom of the list since she knew her friend cherished living alone after living in a shit-hole with her even shittier uncle—but Aelin knew Elide and if Aelin needed a place to stay, then Elide's door would be wide open. The two had gone to lunch and Aelin had been just moments away from telling Elide everything and asking for a world changing favour.

Until Elide had excitedly announced that Lorcan was going to move in.

And Aelin's plan had deflated. Again, Aelin knew that if Elide was aware of how desperate she was, Elide would invite Aelin to stay, but since Lorcan and Aelin didn't particularly get along, Aelin kept her mouth shut and congratulated her friend for the new milestone in their relationship.

So, all her options completely exhausted, Aelin looked for vacant motels, found that this was the best out of all the options and became a long-standing tenant.

Aelin had managed to keep everyone away from her new apartment by claiming that it wasn't ready for visitors. Most knew that Aelin was house-proud, a trait that she had inherited from her late mother, so they knew that when Aelin was ready, she would invite them.

It was getting hard, however, to keep Rowan away. Each date night and hang out ended up at his apartment and Rowan was becoming curious as to how her new place was looking.

Rowan wasn't judgemental, and he wouldn't look down at her for living in a motel room, but Aelin was the problem; she was too proud to show him her new place. Even when she was at her lunch with Elide, she had to beat down her pride at just the mere thought of asking Elide if she could move in.

Tonight, however, Aelin knew in her bones that Rowan would ask to come over. He had a completely shitty day at work—one that ended up in the hospital because for the first time in his career as a carpenter, Rowan had somehow gotten his hand in the way of his nail gun and shot right through the middle of his palm and was off work until it healed, which Rowan hated the most out of the whole ordeal, since Rowan was the type of person that always had to be doing something.

So when his face finally popped up on her phone screen, Aelin muffled a groan into her pillow (because there was no way in hell she was using the standard sheets the motel provided, she needed her bedding or she wouldn't get any sleep), took a deep breath and plastered a smile onto her face.

“How's the hand?” she asked by way of greeting.

“It'd be a lot better if there wasn't a hole in it,” was his groggy reply. “I just woke up from the longest nap and thought of you.”

“That's sweet of you to say,” Aelin said, “do you want me to come over? I could cook you my world famous grilled cheese.” Please say yes, she thought, please.

“As much as I love the sound of that, I just need to get out of my house,” Rowan said, “I know that you're house-proud and if you don't want me to see it, I understand, I'll even wear a blind fold if that'll make you happy, but I just...” he trailed off and Aelin could see his pained expression even though they were miles apart.

“Seeing all your work tools is making you miserable,” she supplied. Rowan grunted in confirmation. Taking a deep breath, Aelin said, “You can come over, I don't mind. I'd be happy to see you.” And she would be. She'd just have to kick her pride in the corner. “There's a pub right around the corner from mine and the cheeseburgers they have are really fucking good, and I mean that sincerely. Do you want me to get you one? Because I only have snacks and canned food at the moment.”

“A burger sounds good, with extra tomato, please.”

Aelin smiled. “Of course, I'll text you the address, and I'll see you soon.”

After ordering their dinner, Aelin tidied up (even though the space was immaculate) and waited, and waited. When a gentle knock sounded at her door, Aelin took the food from the restaurant worker and was just about to go back in when Rowan's truck pulled up.

Even ten car spots away, Aelin could see his puzzled expression from where she stood. Placing the food on the small, round dining table, Aelin waited by the door and gave Rowan her best smile when he stood in front of her.

His puzzled expression melted away momentarily when she kissed him hello, but it was back in full force when they pulled away.

“Fireheart,” was all he said, and it said everything that he didn't say.

“I know.”

“You're living in a motel room.” There was no judgement in his voice, like she knew there wouldn't be, but it was clear that he was confused about the whole thing. She should have just told him. She loved her late mother, but really hated the fact that she had passed her pride to Aelin. She hated the fact that, deep down, she was embarrassed, even if Aelin told herself that she had no reason to. The housing market was insane, there was no where else for her to go, and that she hated herself for not saving more money to buy her home of three years.

“I am,” Aelin said, “but it's not so bad. It's affordable and clean.” Aelin invited him inside and sat him down the small dining table.

From his spot, he took in the space. Saw the bar fridge that could barely hold a bags worth of cold food, her toaster oven and the dual butane stove she had to purchase because she didn't want to have to use the toaster oven all the time. The tiny closet that held a decent amount of clothes, but didn't make a dent in her considerable mountain of clothes that she had put away in the storage unit she was renting.

None of her candles were in sight and no books either. Aelin was taking full advantage of her library apps, but it wasn't the same. Aelin loved the feeling of a book in her hands, but there was no space and it would have been silly to bring in her bookcases.

“Where's all your stuff?”

“In a storage unit. I considered living in there, but it doesn't have an air-conditioner and this place does.”

Before Rowan could say anything, Aelin turned on the TV, put on whatever movie sounded dumb enough and ate her dinner.

Aelin could see the question burning in his eyes as she stuffed her mouth to avoid answering that very question.

Why didn't Aelin ask if she could stay with him?

Aelin wanted to tell him, she really did, but was afraid that if she showed how serious she was, Rowan might admit that he wasn't as serious as her.

But Aelin knew herself, knew that she was going to tell him at one point or another. She could tell Rowan anything and he wouldn't flinch. It was her own doubt stopping her.

“That really is the best burger I've ever had,” Rowan said when he was finished.

“It really is,” was all Aelin could think of to say. Gods, she felt so damned awkward. The question was still in Rowan's eyes, even as he laughed at the movie and its stupidity. So to avoid it for a bit longer, Aelin took the take-away boxes into the dumpster outback and immediately went for a shower afterwards.

When she came out, Rowan was lounging on her bed, his injured hand laying across his chest, the other arm fiddling with her comforter. Aelin dressed in a shirt that she may have borrowed without asking from Rowan and a pair of sleep shorts.

Borrowing underneath her comforter, Aelin rested her head on Rowan's chest and the awkwardness she felt deflated a bit as he pressed a kiss on her head.

Aelin told him how she ended up here. Including her embarrassment and annoyance at herself. Rowan listened attentively, as he always did. That was one of the biggest things she loved about him, that he listened. And Aelin was in love with him, she knew without a doubt. She was certain she fell in love with him when he danced with her at Aedion and Lysandra's wedding.

When the credits started to roll, Aelin took a deep breath and decided to plunge into uncharted territories. She kept her eyes glued onto the screen.

Aelin decided to bite the bullet. If it all went to hell, she would beat herself up later.

“I don't want to fuck things up with you.” Well, that wasn't how she wanted to start this conversation, but she supposed it was the best way to start off. “I wanted to ask you if I could move in, but our relationship is just so new, and I didn't want to ruin our future, because I can see a future with you, Rowan.” Moving so that she could look Rowan in the eye, Aelin took the deepest plunge imaginable and told him, “I love you, Rowan. I'm in love with you.”

The smile he gave her was the most beautiful she'd ever seen. “I love you, too, Aelin.” Reaching down to kiss her, all of Aelin's doubts melted away. When he pulled back, Rowan said softly, “If you wish to ask, I'll say yes. Because I see a future with you too. You're the one for me.”

“Rowan, can I move in with you?”

He kissed her again. “Yes, you can.”

Aelin's cheeks were started to become sore from all her smiling. Maybe it was a good thing after all that she ended up living here.

Hours later, after another bad movie and celebrating the new milestone in their relationship (which was mainly Aelin laughing as she rode Rowan because he kept forgetting about his injured hand), Aelin and Rowan got ready for bed, and as Aelin rested her head on his chest again, she said, “Just to let you know, I'm going to replace your mattress for mine, because yours is hard as stone.”

“That's exactly why I'm letting you move in, I'm in the market for a new mattress.”

Aelin playfully whacked his chest and muttered what a buzzard he was, but soon fell asleep with a smile on her face, ready for her future with Rowan.

[juleswolverton-hyde]

Not by the Moon | 08

Genre: Smut, Romance, Strangers to Lovers, Drama, Tragedy, Werewolf AU, Supernatural AU, Bookshop AU

Pairing: Bookshop keeper!/Werewolf!JB x Reader

Warnings: Mild swearing, eating disorder (personal experience, don’t be a bloody twat), heavy(?) angst, Werewolf!Jaebeom trying to be a normal boyfriend

Summary: Every story has a purpose or goal it is dedicated to, their authors at times going to great lengths to see the project they once started to completion. Nevertheless, the things the writers swore on to see their latest art piece to completion are static.

Unchanging.

None of them swore by the Moon nor Love because they can solely genuinely swear on all that changes like themselves.

And yet, a wolf in love foolishly swore by the moon.

That is when Time truly started ticking.

Author’s Note: This chapter is from Y/N’s POV.

I am seeing a trend starting to develop where every chapter turns into a behemoth that makes me not want to edit it at all. Nevertheless, I pulled through on this one despite being in the middle of a 32-hour work week and being absolutely exhausted.

Summer holidays, you said? I only see extra shifts and little me-time nor writing time and inspiration. That said, though, be prepared for some heavy worldbuilding because the plot thickens.

Also, and this has been edited in the previous chapter, a new special someone makes his debut in this chapter. Is this also a hint about whose story is next?

Who knows?

I don’t know.

Previous Chapter / Next chapter

Masterlist

“Jaebeom? Jay!” I nudge the big man’s shoulder to signal for him to step aside so I can turn the stove off before the burned pancake catches fire. “That’s the third one in a row.”

“I’m sorry,” he mutters quietly. “I- I have a... I can’t focus.”

“Is it because of this morning?” If so, then that makes two of us. However, I tried to forget as best I could by working with timed productivity sprints instead of writing the article on Bruges in one go. It worked fairly well until lunch time came around.

That’s when I, too, couldn’t escape the claw mark.

The image of it flashes before my eyes once more, joining my thoughts with his if his blank look is anything to go by.

How did it get there? What did you do?

“Yeah. Morning. I... I’m sorry.” He shakes his head, brows furrowed. “I’m sorry, this should be a nice evening. A cozy night in. You deserve my attention, for me to,” his breath tapers as he finishes the sentence, “be here.”

The quiver in his lips makes the roof of my mouth dry up and my mind empty save for gut-stirring concern, unable to think of a proper response. Nevertheless, I look for words to say what seems best. Like I did this morning when I went to get his medication. “How about I take it from here and bake the pancakes? You already made the batter and I can’t let you do all the work.”

“I like cooking for you.”

“I know you do, but it’s fine. Really,” I gesture at the couch by the living room window, which provides a glimpse of the small balcony, “sit down. I’ll call you once dinner’s ready.”

“Y/N,” he reaches out for my hand yet only dares to hold my fingertips, “I’m sorry I can’t be more.”

The crack in his voice breaks my heart. But its the vulnerability written across his normally stoic face which tears me apart at the seams. Whatever he means, it’s nothing to do with this morning. Rather, it’s about him as a person, the wonderful man he is. 

Throat blocked by something I can’t swallow, I scan his attitude for any hint about what he truly means. “What’re you on about?”

Let’s just forget about it for a little while and be a normal couple. I promise I won’t run away despite what happened.

Unfortunately, Jaebeom dismisses the question to make a point I wish he didn’t. “We both know what’s ahead. But, sometimes it’s as if you’re avoiding the inevitable.”

I let out a deep sigh, caught red-handed. “I’m not, because I know or, rather, can guess where this is going. I just don’t know how to respond at times. And I don’t want you to feel bad so I try to keep the mood high as best I can. To, well, keep us both happy.”

“Is your avoidance of food also part of that?” he asks, carefully formulating the question while keeping a close eye on any change in my demeanour.

“Yes.”

“I hate it when you don’t eat.”

“I know, but if you knew the reasons behind it, you’d understand why it’s difficult for me. Although, I want you to know that I’m trying to keep my promise to you and eat when you tell me to.” I cup his cheek, lovingly swiping my thumb to and fro over the tanned skin. “It’s really hard to escape your determination. You’re very insistent on things.”

“Too much?” Eyes dim and glistening with withheld tears, he nuzzles my palm.

“Sometimes.” I kiss the tip of his nose and smile, a sign of happiness that’s only half a lie. “It doesn’t make me love you any less. Now, let me be a proper girlfriend and cook for you.”

Regardless of the wonderful sight of Jaebeom wearing an apron and being absorbed in his element in the kitchen, it’s equally as wonderful to have something to eat tonight. Secretly, I would rather have made a healthier and less calorie-rich dish, but we both need a bit of a reprieve from last night. Thus, for the sake of us both, I’ve decided to let go of my rules for a little while.

To enjoy something sweet.

As wholesome as the sight of the wolf man seated on the couch, knees pulled up with round gold-rimmed glasses balancing on the bridge of his nose as he reads the novel he apparently borrowed from my bookshelves. I should write a little note on the title page and give it to him as a present so he’ll have one of my books like I have his.

They’ll be on his shelves for as long as we’re here.

Be there even after he’s gone.

Then they will return to me yet still be his.

He will still be with me.

The pages filled with his love.

It’s everything that will be left of him.

His legacy.

His remains.

The thought leaving me filled with bittersweet affection, I cut the fruit to put on top of the pancakes while gradually using up all the batter. Were it not for the move to the cottage at the end of the month, I could easily be content here if he’d ask me to move in. Wherever we are, evenings like these might become a common occurrence, a splendid reward at the end of a long day at the office.

They could turn any place into our home.

The long road of the lone wolf would finally come to an end.

Because as long as he’s there, I’m home.

“Mind your head.” Despite the warning, Jaebeom nevertheless puts a hand on my head while he opens the cupboard above to grab two plates.

“I was just about to say dinner’s ready.” I let out a breathless laugh, hardly hiding the sobs at the thought of one day having to live without his touch. “Talk about timing.”

For a second, a curious expression treks across his face. It passes by too fast to properly describe it, but it seemed to be triggered by the meaningless remark about his return to the kitchen.

When a dangerously short and sharp breath escapes me, he swallows it with a kiss. Perhaps it’s the sorrow of knowing a storm lies on the horizon that makes me delusional, but a soft whine rises in his throat each time he kisses a stray tear away as he peppers my face in small pecks. 

Satisfied he has taken the sadness more or less away, the corners of his mouth curl into a lop-sided smile as if nothing happened. Notwithstanding, it isn’t hard to figure the blissful ignorance is merely feigned. “Right. Timing.”

Our gazes lock and neither of us says a word until he perks up and motions for me to step back. “Fork and knife.”

Discombobulated by the shared confusion, I indeed set a step backwards so he can open the drawer. In the meanwhile, as Jay sets the dinnerware down, I put the final pancake on the stack and set it down in the middle of the table. 

Chest puffed out, I clap my hands. “Dig in.”

Like yesterday, Jaebeom insists on doing the dishes while I settle down for the night. However, whereas I gladly did before, I now do with an uneasy mind. Arms wrapped around my knees, my thoughts run down a familiar dark path.

I ate too much. Maybe I should go home and do a workout. Then again, I really don’t want to even though I have to.

“Y/N?” The faint though surprising mention of my name breaks the imaginary stones weighing down my shoulders. I snap my head to the side, almost headbutting the wolf man who has appeared at my side. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Lips pulled into a wistful smile, I scratch him under the chin in hopes of distracting him to the degree he won’t be able to ask further questions. “I’m tired, that's all.”

Unfortunately, Jaebeom is like a guardian who somehow notices a lot despite his absent-minded demeanour. Henceforth, the topic is all but abandoned. 

Without warning, and as effortless as if he were picking up a book, he lifts me up from the couch to hold me in his arms. Instinctively, I clutch his loose black shirt to have a grip of something in case I fall. It’s an ungrounded fear since his arms are sturdy, but it’s comforting nonetheless to have something to hold on to.

My haphazard action elicits a low chuckle that makes my heart skip a beat, although it almost thumps out of my chest again as he rests his forehead against mine. “Let’s go to bed.”

“It’s only eight o’clock,” I sputter, chest tight and no breath sufficient enough to lift the sensation. “Besides, I- I don’t have any fresh change of clothes or toiletries or a pyjama.”

Did he turn the central heating up?

“Doesn’t matter. Can borrow. You. No, that’s not right. You… you can. You can borrow clothes from me. Also, I think I have a spare toothbrush somewhere around here.”

“Jay,’’ As best I can, I try to keep my tone steady though the words come out too fast and uneven regardless, ‘’I think I should go home.” 

If I don’t and I won’t get in some more exercise, I’ll gain weight and slowly go back to how I was.

And I’ll lose him.

Back to square one.

Loveless.

Despite the effort, I can’t prevent the crack in my voice as I weakly tug at his shirt. ‘’Let me go.’’

“No.’’ The gentle kindness has malformed into rough sternness, translated in a sound similar to a growl. ‘’You need to calm down.”

“I am calm!” I retort, more ferocious and sharper than intended though the equal harshness might help to drive the point home.

For a split second, he snarls and bares his teeth. Simultaneously, a flicker of a second personality passes across his mismatched eyes.

The calm ocean warps into a watery grave with high waves on a stormy night.

The hazelnut cracks to set that which it contains free.

His lashes abruptly flutter shut, as he lets out a pained gasp. Beneath my fingertips, his chest caves as if an imaginary fist has dealt him a blow in the guts.

And in mine as well.

Rippling flesh.

There’s… there’s no… Jay, what is happening to you?

I hold on tighter to the fabric, hyperventilating while trying to refrain from bursting out in tears.

There has to be something I can do! But what? What do I do? How can I make this stop?

How do I get you back?

Withal, shivering lips parted to beg for guidance, are interrupted by a shake of the head hanging low. Slowly, Jaebeom looks up, a light layer of sweat on his skin. Our gazes lock, but whereas the wolf man’s was filled with savage chaos, it’s now returned to the stern tranquility it held before the attack. Nonetheless, an uncomprehending whimper betrays the fact that whatever happened wasn’t experienced consciously.

The rage was beyond him.

Outside him.

Another’s.

Still breathless, he scoffs, the sound gruff and overtly disagreeing. “Let’s watch the moon and stars.”

There is no chance to ask any questions about the swift changes in demeanour since he promptly moves to the hallway and up the stairs towards his bedroom. The bedframe of the two-person bed also functions as a bookshelf which takes up the entire right wall, the shelves stacked with second-hand paperbacks in various conditions. An empty picture frame is placed on his side of the bed, a pair of glasses next to it.

Jaebeom puts me down on the navy wool blanket on the edge of the bed and leans in to steal a kiss, which is easy to do considering I’m too shaken to offer any protest. Nor do I feel the comfort of his lips. “Take your clothes off. I’ll go find you pyjamas.”

A tad reluctant, mind occupied by guilt and terror, I start to undress as he rummages through the wardrobe on the other end of the room.

Left only in my underwear, I sit down on the edge of the bed. Although he’s seen me naked once, I still wrap my arms around myself to hide my body. A shield to protect a fragile ego housed in equally as vulnerable body flesh.

Afraid of what might happen when those ripples grow out of control.

Terrified of who he will become.

Of who he is.

“Don’t.” Jaebeom turns around with a black hoodie and grey sweatpants in his hands, eyebrows drawn together. He closes the drawer, throws the clothes on the bed, kneels, and firmly yet gently grabs my wrists to break the walls I put up. And I let him. “Don’t hide from me.”

Not understanding where the shame originates from, he grows still as he scrutinizes my face for clues. “Talk to me. What’s wrong?”

Instead of giving an answer, I change into the makeshift pyjamas. The hoodie is oversized yet comfortably baggy while the sweatpants hang disconcertingly low on my hips. Fortunately, any skin it reveals is covered up by the top.

Continuing to avoid his gaze without saying a word, I crawl under the sheets. Face turned to the window, I pull up the blanket he drapes over me and bury my nose in it.

A wild forest and cologne with a musty hint of pages.

It’s undeniably him.

I don’t know what else to do or say. So, I let the silence speak for itself.

A language he is fluent in too despite his oftentimes loud demeanour.

The mattress dips under his weight when he lies down and rearranges the sheets to cover us both. An arm wrapped around my waist and legs tangled, Jaebeom pulls me flush against him, his chest warm against my back.

A sob rises in my throat when I feel his lips place a kiss on my crown with a sigh of contentment.

I don’t deserve this.

Us.

Him.

The fear of losing him to whatever is happening inside.

Then again, Life isn’t fair. It deals everyone the same awful hand and leaves it up to the player to make the best of it.

I guess we’re both dealt a crappier hand than others. That, or we play them wrong.

Can we win at all?

“Talk to me.” As loving and happy as the casual intimacy of the embrace is, as forgetful it could make me if only I’d manage to fall asleep, Jaebeom’s oddly sweet cooing keeps me awake.

Staring at the moon.

A woman as fickle as me.

And infinitely more beautiful.

Funny how I, too, am jealous of a celestial body.

In love with the heavens. 

He continues when he notices I won’t be the one to break the silence, his intonation laced by a whiny undertone like a dog wanting something yet being denied what it wants. “You know what I’m dealing with. But...” he digs his fingers deeper into my hips, the grip iron-like without being painful, “I hope this is okay to ask, but what is it with you and food?”

The encouraging squeeze in my side almost has me bursting out in tears again. There has to be a price to pay somewhere in the shadows, the overwhelming sensation of being genuinely loved and protected must turn out to be as two-sided as the silver goddess in the sky. After all, Life is bittersweet.

“It’s only fair I tell you.” Especially after how open he’s been. Besides, there’s no opportunity to avoid the topic since we’d arrive at it sooner or later. And he deserves to know. In fact, I don’t want him to forget my brokenness the moment I tell him about it.

We both want each other to remember our own missing pieces.

So I sigh, turn over and bald my hands into fists to rest against the warm skin of his bare chest. As I speak up, I try to keep my voice as steady as possible. “I used to be quite a fat kid, to the degree the GP advised my parents to put me on a diet. Queue high school and social pressure which led me to perhaps work out more than is healthy and left me bordering on the edge of anorexia. There are still foods I won’t eat and days I’ll worry about my calorie intake, especially on the days I don’t work out.”

I can’t help the mirthless chuckle which turns into a rueful smile. “It’s the good old cliché. Just another soul broken for the shallow enjoyment and acceptance of others.” 

Lips pulled into a stern line, the wolf man remains silent. Notwithstanding, his eyes speak volumes when I dare to look up at him, the ocean and hazelwood alight with a watery sheen. Perhaps it’s the comfort of his nearness or the familiarity of those one of a kind eyes, but he inspires a confession which I never thought I’d make. “Nevertheless, I’m getting better and it’s partially thanks to you.”

Morgan spamming me with ‘Have you eaten?’ texts and Bam making sure I finish my plate whenever we go out for food either here or abroad help a lot too. Nonetheless, it’s mostly the bookish wolf who makes me want to try.

And be a little better than before.

“What do they feel like, those days?”

“The bad ones?” Jaebeom nods. “They’re ridden with guilt and self-loathing.”

He leans in, leaving only a few centimetres of distance between our faces. His breath is warm on my skin as he bumps his nose against mine. “You’re feeling that way now.”

“I am.”

“Don’t.”

“I can’t.”

“You’re still you. Beautiful as always. And I’ll love you regardless of how you look. I like your mind, which is as weird as mine. The way you hold my hand, as if you’re afraid I’ll walk away. How you unconsciously squeeze it when you need my protection more. How you feel in my arms, soft and warm as a bunny.” He hooks his finger under my chin and tilts it upward to run his tongue over my lips and nose. “Love you. A lot.”

“I love you too.” I turn my head to nuzzle his palm, my face perfectly fitting into it.

Please, no ripples. Let us have this moment. I don’t want to be afraid anymore. Let me have him, just him as he is. At least tonight.

The secure affection of the touch transforms into something else when he glides the back of his hand over my cheek and folds his fingers over my throat. Testing the waters, eyes boring into mine to stop at the slightest sign of discomfort, he slowly closes off my access to air.

It’s funny how the body and mind react to certain situations. Whereas I normally would flinch and run in the direction of safety, there is no urge to run. In fact, the tingling in my chest travels down to rekindle a familiar heat between my thighs while my adrenaline-infused system aches for the wolfish lover. Henceforth, instead of jumping up from the bed, I spread my legs so Jaebeom can comfortably nestle between them.

“Let me prove it. Let me mate you.” The calloused fingertip journeying across the collarbone to the crook of the neck sends a pleasant shiver down the spine. Another electric shock follows at the coarse prickly sensation of his moustache rubbing against my skin as his soft lips kisses and nips at it. “It will only sting a bit, I promise. Please, the mark will look pretty.”

“No biting, Jay.” Reminded of our agreement this morning and the movement beneath his skin when his emotions seem to get the better of him, I pull him against my chest. Before he can protest I scratch his jaw exactly in the way he likes it, thus subduing his great ability to argue. “Not today.”

“It’s not... hm, k- keep go- What do- Bit higher. There. Like, hm, mhm, there. But... what normal-’’ Arms wrapped around my waist again and letting out a content hum, dark lashes flutter shut. For a moment, it seems he’s fallen asleep. However, his drowsy murmurs, while growing incomprehensible, still haven’t finished. “It’s not what couples do.”

“You’re learning,” I giggle, amused by the remark which sounds like a student recalling a piece of knowledge during a test and repeating it for himself.

Without understanding the knowledge completely. “What do they do?”

Staring at the ceiling, I run my fingers through his long dark manes as I try to come up with ideas about what we can do next. “Well, you’ve already given me your clothes. We could try jewelry next, maybe a promise ring. It’s an old-fashioned idea, but people who are promised to each other wear matching rings. 

‘’What mean? Promised?’’

I say nothing of the faulty grammar of his question. After all, speaking becomes harder once exhaustion overtakes the body and mind. I have yet to find a sleeper being able to form comprehensible sentences. ‘’They’re sort of similar to engagement rings, but without the immediate implication of getting married soon.”

“Let’s get en- enga- enge-’’ Jaebeom lets out a groan, frustrated by his lack of speech. Nevertheless, it doesn’t perturb him enough to completely give up on the effort to properly pronounce the word he’s struggling with. “En. Gage. Ment. Engagement rings instead.”

I let out a breathless chuckle, amused both by his determination and the absurd proposal. “It’s definitely too early for that.”

“It’s not!” He barks, shooting up with a pinched expression on his face.   

Scratching him like before, I manage to calm him down enough to make him lie down on my chest again. Nonetheless, his discontent shines through in the gruff scoff he lets out. “It is.”

“What if...” Prompted by the idea in his mind, Jay scrambles upright to face me once more. Lips parted, the feral sharpness in his mismatched eyes is replaced by a twinkle of barely contained excitement. However, the enthusiasm dims with a shake of the head and a low self-deprecating chuckle that ignites my curiosity. At the same time, it also tugs at the strings of my heart. “No, it’s wrong of me to ask.”

“What is?”

What were you about to say? Don’t keep it to yourself. Tell me!

“Never mind.” He lies down again, nuzzling my breasts as he snuggles up into me.

Then, he slips his hand under mine to lift and compare it to his. “Cute paw.”

Fine. Keep your secrets, you big burly bastard.

“Go to sleep.” I push him off of me, earning myself a disappointed noise which resembles a yelp. “On the other side of the bed, please and thank you.”

In the days that follow, the movement like water set astir under his skin continues to haunt my mind. In fact, it does to the extent that even the keys beneath my fingers seem to flow rather than be pushed down, causing me to flinch for the third time in a row. 

For the past hour I’ve been trying to type out the notes on an interview with a chocolatier in Bruges and compose them into a coherent article. An otherwise simple task my mind won’t allow me to complete despite the attempts to remember the good moments we had recently. The video calls right before bed, the cuddle session a few days ago when we gazed at the moon, his enthusiastic texts about and photos of new recipes Jaebeom tried. None of it prevents the likely imagined terrible from destroying our happiness.

I’m going insane. He’s a normal person. Somewhat. I was jet-lagged and therefore not thinking clearly.

That’s why I thought I felt his skin move. I was delusional.

Drunk on him.

A buzz pulls me out of my reverie, the screen of my phone lighting up with a message.

Morgan: Starving! Found a new café thanks to a friend.

Y/N: Let me guess. I have no choice but to come along.

Morgan: There wasn’t a choice to begin with :)

Y/N: Of course not. What am I talking about, eh? See you in five.

Chuckling at the woman’s classic brashness, I shake my head, pack my belongings and head to the elevators.

Outside, regardless of the November chill, it’s pleasant. The sun shines brightly and the wind blows the little bundles of fallen leaves at the roots of the birch trees lining the street into motion, scattering them over the neatly swept pavement.

Winter is around the corner. God, I hate the cold. Hopefully, there won’t be snow any time soon.

I sit down on the bench under one of the birch trees, its branches already bare. 

Autumn is truly ending now. Shame. I haven’t even had a pumpkin spice latte and cinnamon roll yet. Maybe I should ask Jay out and find a nice coffee shop where we can get them. After all, if he’s there, we can share the pastry. He’ll be happy and I won’t have to eat the whole thing. A win-win situation.

Enjoying watching the people pass by, each stranger essentially a book with a unique story that is yet not entirely different from someone else’s. Withal, the world feels colder without him, the missing part embodied in the unoccupied spot next to mine.

A delighted sigh on the right makes me snap my head around, alarmed at the notion someone has appeared out of the blue on the empty seat. 

A woman clad in a white suit and matching fur-lined coat with pale skin and brown hair glowing copper in direct light stares contentedly up at the clouds. She’s in her very early twenties, although the freckles dusting her cheekbones and rosy cheeks might simply make her look younger than she is.

For a moment, taken aback and speechless, I cannot help but blatantly gape at the otherworldly stranger.

Wow, she’s like a goddess.

A stone sinks to the bottom of my stomach as a dark thought intrudes my mind. My throat dried up, I twist my wrists, the muscles stiff beneath my fingers.

Would Jaebeom like her? If he saw her on the street, would he... would he stop and stare? Prefer her over me or even try and give it a shot by introducing himself?

“It’s a bit chillier than I’d like, but at least it’s better than rain or snow.” The woman turns to face me, her features soft. “I hope spring will come again soon, though.”

I don’t get the chance to respond because a familiar voice calls out. Not that I would be able to form a proper reply otherwise. “You’re here already?”

“I happened to be nearby,” the stranger turns away to answer as Morgan comes to a halt in front of us, a puzzled expression on her face.

“I texted you fifteen minutes ago and you said you had to clean up. I thought you’d join us later.”

“The birth and after birth went faster than I thought so here I am.”

“I’m sorry, but what is going on?” More than a little lost, I look from one to the other in hopes of being given an explanation. “I didn’t know we’d head out with the three of us.”

“Right, I haven’t introduced myself. I’m Brigid.” The dark-haired woman holds out her pale hand in greeting. “I work at the hospital as an obstetrician.”

“I’m Y/N,’’ I reply, shaking her hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“Lass,” wonder turned to a darker version of itself yet not saying anything, Morgan shifts her attention to me, “you look famished. Come on, let’s go.”

Offering a few muttered words of agreement, I get up and sheepishly tag along with the other women. As we walk out the street and round a corner, following the signs leading to the artist district nearby the university, I’m occasionally tempted to join the conversation. However, as soon as a short silence falls, I don’t chip in, unsure how to contribute to the small talk they seem to deliberately keep up in order to avoid a topic neither is keen to discuss. Thus I walk in urban loneliness, my train of thought displaced on my face as I let the ghosts of Jaebeom’s skin freely haunt my mind.

Right before the descent into the darkness of the rabbit hole, strong long fingers wrap around my wrist and hold it in an iron grip. The slightly painful squeeze interrupts my reverie.

Jaebeom?

I snap my head to the side to find Morgan standing there, leaning in a bit and her voice low. “We’re here.”

I don’t know how I’ve managed to ignore the bustle of students looking for a free spot on one of the terraces and loud conversations accompanied by the rustle of the paper bags hailing from the shops owned by self-employed artists. It’s also miraculous that I haven’t bumped into anyone by accident.

“Oh,” is all I say, looking at the café we’ve stopped in front of.

Wolf’s is spelled out in a modern font on the sign outside and above the door. A big window provides visitors with a view of the plaza. The interior is simple yet cosy, the white furniture warmed up by oak accents and the bare walls decorated with various art pieces, centered around wolves and various flowers. By the looks of it, they were all made by a single artist who likes to experiment with style every now and then. A few plants are dotted around the place as well to add a hint of free nature to the underlying strangely forest-like aesthetic.

A tall broad-shouldered man with short curly chocolate brown hair partially covering up the scar running over his left eye, strong dark eyebrows and a big koala-like nose stands behind the counter. Both of his arms and hands are decorated with various intricately designed tattoos. Whereas Jay is muscled yet lean, the tanned barista looks like a man who knows how to fight yet is a warrior in a society without combat.

As soon as we walk in, his lifts his head and turns to us. Playful lights illuminate the milky white of his left and raven dark of his right eye. A meadow of snow, its glimmer reflecting off of the smooth feathers of a wise bird. “Hi, welcome. Brigid, long time no see.”

Nobody seems to notice it, but his female colleague, a short woman with long flowy caramel brown hair tied into a ponytail who has her back turned to us and is busy extracting a shot, cringes at the merry mention of the woman’s name. Slowly, she steals a glance at us, hazel eyes sharpening when they fall on the woman in white. Nevertheless, she remains silent and quickly returns her attention to preparing someone’s coffee.

Looks like I’m not the only one envying her.

It is wrong to hate a woman for her beauty. Nonetheless, although it’s shameful, part of me refuses to associate with Morgan’s acquaintance out of a toxic mixture of spite and jealousy.

Such is the female nightmare.  

“So this is what you’ve been up to,” Brigid muses, nodding appreciatively while inspecting the coffee shop. “You’ve got a nice thing going on here, Rome.”

“Please don’t call me that anymore. It’s Christian now. Chris or Ian for short.’’ Muscled arms crossed, he grimaces and shakes his head while looking down. Notwithstanding, the stern attitude melts into casual friendliness as a bright smile forms on his lips. ‘’But I do, don’t I? However, it’s not just me running the place. I’ve had some help.”

He turns around and motions for his colleague to come over. For a second she doesn’t move, darting glances to each of us like an alarmed cat checking for danger. Notwithstanding, though clearly tense, she warily approaches and halts at the man’s side.

Her eyes nearly pop out of her head when Christian places a hand on her shoulder. “In fact, Gráinne here still helps me out every day. She’s basically the second owner.”

“I- I’m not,” she sputters in a soft Ulster accent, fumbling with her fingers and her cheeks flushed, “I just work here some days.”

“You’re a bit more than a colleague,” her co-worker remarks, shoulders lowered and his tone holding more affection than would be the case when talking to a friend. A warm glow seems to form around him, ignited by the fondness he harbours for her.

Funny, Jaebeom wears that same expression when he’s with me.  

“I’m not.” Gráinne stiffens, each word dripping with venom as she steps away, grabs a serving tray and puts the order she was preparing before being called over on it. “Get back to work.”

Lips parted, Ian watches her as she moves past us as fast and agile like a hunting cat without any further acknowledgement of our presence. I hadn’t noticed before, but beneath her apron, she is dressed in clothes reminiscent of the Victorian era. “I know she can be harsh and isn’t easy to get along with, but I’ve never seen her act like this.”

“Och, let it pass. She has every right to be pissed with you since you put her on the spot like that,” Morgan jokes though nobody goes along with it.

She likes him yet doesn’t see it’s mutual. Should I say something? Then again, this is their business, not mine. Furthermore, why would they believe me, a stranger?

So I remain silent.

And leave this to blossom however it is meant to in Fate’s hands.

The icy glare Gráinne gives Brigid behind her back sends a chill down my spine. Evidently, she is a woman not cross paths with once angered. Withal, as the fair beauty looks over her shoulder, the other woman restores her professional composure. 

“You okay?” Christian asks as he watches her retreat into the kitchen, done serving for now.

“I’m fine,” she says thickly, the next breath hitching in her throat. Her focus shifts to the moon-shaped amethyst pendant around his neck. The ghost of a rueful smile forms on her lips, but it fades as fast as it appeared. “It’s not like I’m having a vision or something. Help them.”

She waves her hand dismissively when he doesn’t move, lips parted to say something yet at a loss for words. Notwithstanding, although I can’t see his expression clearly, it’s evident her feigned nonchalance is hurting him. “Go on.”

He clears his throat and forces himself into a rigid posture, frowning as he shifts his attention back to us. Finger hovering over the tablet functioning as a till, he stares at the display with an empty and distant gaze, which is as dull as the tears threatening to roll down his cheeks. “What can I get you?”

We place our order and settle down at the table by the window, neither of us offering a word of solace or dedicated to his colleague’s behaviour. 

After a while, Christian comes up to us to serve the food and beverages. As he puts the plates with our sandwiches down, he and Brigid exchange looks like siblings telepathically conversing. Whatever it is they mentally discussed, it only leaves the barista a slight bit less worried though the grave expression plaguing him remains as he returns to the counter.

An expression which must be similar to mine since it prompts Morgan to speak up regardless of having her teeth sunk into sourdough bread, looking equally as somber. “What’s on your mind, lass?”

“Nothing.” I shake my head and stir my cappuccino with the vintage silver spoon next to the porcelain cup, smiling at my own silly assumptions of what happened now four days ago. “Everything’s fine.”

“Except it’s not.” The raven-haired woman cocks an eyebrow, far from willing to dismiss my worries. “Now tell me. Or, well, us.”

“It’s something to do with your lover, isn’t it?” Brigid remarks, head tilted to the side as she assesses me while sipping at her Irish Breakfast Tea. Her features soften when she notices she has hit a sensitive snare, evidently meaning no harm.

I pull back in my seat as I take a sip of my coffee, flustered and cursing myself for being an open book. There is no way out of this conversation since the current company is like-minded in their refusal to simply let the topic pass before it has been discussed.

I swallow, put the cup on the dish again and clear my throat. Fumbling with the spoon and eyes cast on the cappuccino’s silky milk foam, I tell them of what I think happened. The story sounds strange to my own ears, like a terrible fairy tale told by a chaotic storyteller who can’t tell it in a manner that makes sense regardless of how he manipulates the plot.

Afraid of their reaction, unable to fathom the slightest bit of sympathy and empathy, I look from one to the other. Fortunately, my silence can be excused by drinking the remainder of the coffee although it’s futile since the thirst has nothing to do with bodily needs.

“Sounds familiar.” The woman in white scrunches her nose in disgust as she glares at Morgan.

“He was different,” Morgan sneers through gritted teeth, jaw clenched.

“In essence, he was similar to her lover.’’ Brigid points at me though she remains focused on my best friend, her voice dripping with venom. ‘’Or should I say, is similar?”

“Since when does it matter what he is?” Thin lips painted plum purple curl into a mirthless smile, onyx locks shaking in discontent. “How hypocritical you’ve become. Forgetful of the past.”

“A past worth forgetting. It’s never too late to change your political opinions, Morgan.”

Great, now I’m the one to open Pandora’s box. I should have kept my mouth shut, changed the topic.

Desperate for help yet knowing he cannot do anything, I look for Christian among the other customers. Expression stern and standing as rigid as a statue, he watches our table from behind the counter. It appears he, too, feels the sense of danger increasing as the conversation carries on. Notwithstanding, as becomes clear from the apologetic shake of the head when our eyes meet, he also knows his hands are tied at the moment.

We are on the same boat, waiting to see how the situation will develop.

Playthings of Chance and Fate.

“We’re not here to talk politics,’’ the woman in question answers, covering her mouth with her hands while chewing on a bite of goat cheese and pomegranate seeds, ‘’but to have lunch like civilized and amiable women. To help our friend.”

“You’re right,” Brigid concludes. Nonchalantly, she pierces a piece of egg in her salmon salad and puts its on the bread provided with it, a bread called St Michael’s Bannock according to the menu. Then, she points her fork at me. “But the best thing you can do is leave him while you still can.”

“L- Leave?” Utterly confused, I look at the woman calmly eating her lunch. “Why would I do that?”

Who is she? What’s more, who is she to tell me to leave Jaebeom after what I told her? He needs help and support, regardless of what may or may not be there beneath his skin.

Unless she is on to something I am not and judging by the current circumstances, I won’t get an answer even if I dare to ask. Henceforth, if only not to snap, I clear my throat and swallow the vile words dancing on the tip of my tongue. 

“Morgan can tell you why. All I can say is that it’s better to avoid men like your lover in the first place.” She coughs and takes a sip of tea to wash down the salad leaf stuck in her throat while the woman with hair as black as night chuckles darkly. Luckily, it is only loud enough for me to hear and Brigid is too busy preventing herself from choking.  

“Sétan-, I- I mean Seán was the one to leave me, not the other way around. And we mutually agreed to part ways in favour of our own well-being.”

“Sure you did. Totally didn’t resort to throwing plates and other pieces of furniture because he rejected you.”

Morgan growls something under her breath, glaring at the woman seated next to me. However, Brigid doesn’t seem to notice the reaction she has provoked or is indifferent to it. “Or washed clothes at the ford where he so ‘happened’ to pass by. Funny how he died soon after.”

Ford? There are quite a few in Ireland, so where and most importantly, when was this? Then again, what are these two on about? Washing clothes in a ford, people dying, politics, lovers to leave. They’re like arguing voices from ancient times.

Moreover, there is the question of Seán’s life. Is he alive or dead? One moment she speaks of him as if he’s still here, but then why would Brigid remark he’s dead?

“You shut your whoremouth, traitor!” With a loud bang, Morgan slams her fists on the table. She stands up with an expression that makes me cower in fear despite not being the target of her wrath.

Behind the counter, Christian slowly comes into motion, carefully moving with the likely intent to inconspicuously circle our table and jump in if necessary. He flinches as Gráinne places a hand on his arm, holding him hard enough for her knuckles to turn white when he tries to escape from her grip in order to prevent the worst from happening. Notwithstanding, whatever the plan was, it goes to waste since he decides to listen to what his colleague tells him. Sighing deeply, he stands down although he continues to observe us.

Gráinne follows his gaze, which seems to be directed at the brown-haired woman in white, her personal target of envy. Her wolfishly fierce expression falters, growing as bleak as the ash of a great bonfire.

This time he doesn’t see how she comes apart at the seams.

Brigid calmly finishes her tea, daps her mouth on the napkin and stands up too. “Get over your crush. There’s no future for you with him. As for you, Y/N,” eyes oddly alight with motherly affection, she turns her attention to me, “and as a piece of advice from a friend, end this relationship while you still can. There’s only heartbreak ahead.”

“Thank you, but,” a wistful smile forms on my lips regardless of the urge to give into the savage nagging inside, “I can’t leave him because I made a promise to stay.”

“I see. Perhaps you’ll prove me wrong and the flowers will bloom in spring.”

And with those final cryptic words, she leaves the café after waving at the tattooed barista.

Or so Brigid intends, but her way is cut off by his colleague. 

While clumsily taking off her apron she storms outside, clenching it hard and shivering as if she’s on the brink of tears.

“Gráinne? Gráinne!” Christian runs after his colleague, pale and eyes wide with worry as he comes to a halt in the doorway. “Where are you going? Gráinne!”

Brigid places a hand on his shoulder, giving it a consoling squeeze. After giving him an encouraging slap on the back she sets off, leaving the man standing there like a defeated soldier.

“Poor lass,” Morgan whispers as she watches the female barista pass the window. Something in her tone hints at a level of familiarity between the two.

“You know her?” I ask, frowning.

“I don’t think she remembers me.” She glances at Chris, who has retreated behind the counter. He has his head bowed, smooth black locks hiding his face from the customers. Trembling fingers entwined to conceal his distress as best as possible, he resembles a man of religion fervently praying for forgiveness. “And neither does he. I saw him and his close friend, Finn, once in the woods. No, it was his brother, Jor… was it? When he came to the island. Was that… who was that?’’

A mist clouds her ocean blue eyes, lost in thoughts far removed from this world and time. ‘’He was there. As for Gráinne, we met… somewhere. There was smoke, a burning body. It was- It was at… where? Fuck, I can’t recall. I think it was at his fu-’’ she abruptly cuts herself short to correct herself with a strange undertone in her voice, “not long after I... saw them.”

‘’Morgan, are you alright? You’re looking awfully pale.’’ 

Instead of breaking free from the spell that has taken hold of her, the reverie only seems to deepen. Rocking side to side, she clutches her arms to her chest. Her skin, although naturally pale, grows sickly like a walking corpse.

‘’I- I’m supposed to remember. I’m one of the few that do. No, he and I are the only ones left that do. I can’t forget. If I do, everyone will. I can’t… I can’t!’’

‘’Morgan!’’ I stand up from my seat to rush to her side. Rubbing her arms, I try with all my might to bring her back to reality from the depths of deliria. ‘’It’s all right, Morgan, nobody is going to forget. Please listen to me and follow my voice, use it as a guide back to me from wherever it is you are. Please, come back to me.’’

‘’May I?’’ Christian has appeared with a glass of water, which he sets on the table before crouching down at the woman’s side as well.

Gently he grabs one of her hands and holds it, talking in a voice that is surprisingly steady and soothing in spite of what happened mere moments ago. It’s rougher and more gruff, making it hard to distinguish one word from another if you are not well-acquainted with the speaker.

In fact, it belongs to a completely different person. ‘’Morgan, as long as there are people who remember, there is nothing to fear. The past has taught us that what might seem like the end isn’t necessarily truly the end. We are still here. We remember because you do and you remember because we do. You’re safe and sound. Instead, return and help me make her remember.’’

‘’Why, of everyone, did you have to fall for her?’’ Gaze blinded by her mind, Morgan reaches out to tenderly run her fingers through the barista’s hair. ‘’What makes her special?’’ 

‘’She understands.’’ A similar fog veils the misty white and dark eyes, Chris or, rather, the stranger pulled into the same realm of consciousness as my friend. ‘’She broke the chains that bound me and doesn’t allow me to slip into the shadows of what I once was.’’

‘’You’re all the same, aren’t you?’’

‘’It’s rare to find understanding and acceptance in a world naturally turned against you. So, please help me. Help me find her.’’ His voice breaks, the begging words coming out  high-pitched like a whining wolf. ‘’Help me find my reason to stay in this world and not forget nor be forgotten.’’ 

The veil lifts, the spell broken with the whimpered plea. 

Christian falls back, but manages to catch himself before his head hits the tiles. Refusing every helping hand from the customers hurrying over, he scrambles to his feet. Fortunately, he accepts the chair I offer him when his dangerous swaying almost causes him to hit his head against the wall.

‘’Are you okay?’’

‘’Yeah, I’m only dizzy.’’ The hiss he lets out flows over into a sound akin to a growl. ‘’And a splitting headache.’’

Morgan has a better return to reality, completely fine aside from a dazed mind. ‘’What happened?’’

‘’You tell me.’’ I search her face for clues, a sliver of the knowledge she is lying. However, I find none.

She is telling the truth.

‘’I… I don’t know. It’s the first time.’’ She clears her throat, brow furrowed. As if having heard a noise, she snaps her head to the side. “I’m sorry, but I have to go. Drink your tea, eat a sandwich and go home early from work.”

She hands the glass of water to Christian. ‘’And you, you drink this and stay seated for at least five more minutes until the dizziness has faded. Are you nauseous?’’

‘’No. Although,’’ he dry heaves, ‘’never mind.’’

‘’Make it ten. You look as pale as a banshee.’’

‘’Speak for yourself.’’

‘’You’d make a pretty one, though,’’ Morgan muses when she returns her attention to me. ‘’Beauty makes suffering leading to death easier.’’

Apparently, her return to reality has left her as mad as a hatter so perhaps it wasn’t as good as I initially thought.

“Why on earth would you say that? Besides, what kind of comparison is that, us and a banshee?”

“One based on truth. Now,” she shoves the remainder of her goat cheese and pomegranate sandwich to me, “eat, rest up and get cracking again. We’ll be in touch and visit the new café I found yesterday later, alright?”

“Hey, not so fast. Where are you headed off to?’’

She can’t be serious. There is no way she is unaffected by what happened. 

“Attagirl,’’ Morgan says as if I promised to heed her words, ignoring what I actually said. ‘’By the way, ignore what Brigid said and stay with your man. It’s plain to see how he makes you feel.”

“It is?”

“You’re glowing and you come alive when you speak of him. It reminds me of how I was with Seán.” She starts as if awakened from a dream, but tries to hide her awkwardness behind a sheepish smile. “Well, then, take care.”

“You too.’’ The two simple words, otherwise casual, are now carefully chosen in order to not to trigger another ‘attack’.

My gut tight and skin prickling thanks to her inhuman behaviour, I watch the raven-haired woman leave. I hold my wrist, my pulse too rapid to be healthy beneath my thumb.

Like I am at death’s door.

The next morning, there’s an article in the newspaper. A man’s been found dead at the edge of the bogs near town. The cause of his demise is unknown, but there are witness accounts who said they heard a high screech late the night before. In the days that follow, their names show up one by one in funerary advertisements.

A week later, none of the witnesses are alive. Moreover, nobody has heard the screeching since, though everyone remembers the description of the sound.

It was like the howl of a banshee.

[the7thcrow]

indulgence | part two

~

pairing: felix x (fem) vampire!reader

summary: an indulgence grows to become dangerous, as the society of hampden college takes note of y/n’s new blood bag.

series masterlist.

word count: 5.8 k

genre: forbidden love. angst, extreme fluff, suggestive.

warnings: blood, suggestive content (sex is discussed but not described), strong language, alcohol and vampires ofc.

rating: 16+

a/n: hi everyone! thank you to anyone who read part one, and liked it enough to continue with part two hehe. the plot really picks up here, and i’m quite excited about it. once again, i love hearing feedback, so don’t be shy in leaving me an ask or message :)

previous chapter.

...

..

.

You were careful. In the beginning, at least. For the first few weeks of carrying your secret, you only met Felix after hours, and only at your home. You’d leave at different times, and you both never spoke a word of what you were doing to anyone.

It was a safe play. A smart one. But as time went on you became sloppy. It started on the day Felix’s roommates would be gone for the entire weekend.

You were both lying in your bed, the rainy Sunday morning having trickled by in a lazy, melancholic fashion. These were your favourite days, the ones in which he’d arrive just before dawn and leave near dusk. 

You’d gotten used to his presence around your apartment, his absence painfully noticeable during the days you found yourself cooped up there alone. You liked when he was there, even when you weren’t talking, lounging on the couch in silence with your feet intertwined as you caught up on your required reading. Or when sometimes he’d cook for you, baking you sweets as you were stressed out over a paper that’s due date was much closer than you’d realized. Him simply being around granted you comfort, a sense of companionship, something you hadn’t felt for a long time.

You couldn’t deny that Felix Lee had nestled himself into your life, and you’d be a liar to say you weren’t enjoying it. Being with him made you love the creature you were, seeing the way your feeding affected him, the way it set the two of you on fire. Forgetting for a moment how restrictive your life truly was, how exhausting and lonely it often happened to be. 

Looking back, perhaps that was the entire problem itself. That wasn’t something you should so easily forget, no matter how tempting it may be.

“Come on,” Felix whined, tracing shapes along the bare of your back with his finger. “They won’t be there all weekend, it won’t be any different then when we’re here.”

He was trying to convince you to come spend the following weekend at his apartment, as his roommates were leaving on a ski trip and wouldn’t be back until Monday morning.

“Well, if it won’t be any different then why should we bother risking it?” You returned. In truth, you really did want to go spend time at his place. It felt like the next step in your relationship, however strange and complicated it may be. You weren’t sure if “relationship” was even the right term for whatever you two were, but you didn’t want to overthink things too much. For now, all you wanted was to enjoy this while it lasted, as deep down you knew it couldn’t be forever. 

“Because,” he mumbled, rolling you over to face him. This wasn’t going to help your willpower, you’d come to find you just couldn’t say no to those dark, curious eyes. “I feel like I’ve really gotten to know you these last few weeks. I mean, I’ve seen your life. Your room, your book and record collections, what you keep stocked in your refrigerator. I guess I just want to share my space with you too.”

You groaned, shifting downwards to bury your face in his chest. “Well that’s not fair. How am I supposed to say no to that?”

“Exactly, you can’t,” he laughed.

“You’re the worst.”

“I know. Sorry.”

You sighed. “Fine. I’ll head over Friday night then.”

“See, I knew you’d come around,” he smiled, his voice light with enthusiasm. However, you couldn’t ignore the weight of anxiousness bubbling in your chest. You looked up at Felix, and you knew that he could see it written on your face.

“Don’t worry,” he said softly, methodically running his fingers through your hair, something he’d learned would help calm you down whenever you were stressed. “I’ll make it worth your time.”

~~~~

Felix did, in fact, make it worth your time. When you arrived at his doorstep the following weekend, you were surprised to find the door unlocked. Carefully, you twisted the knob, peeking inside.

It was safe to say you were surprised.

The apartment was entirely candlelit, the smell of rose scented candles mixing with that of whatever Felix was presently cooking in the kitchen. The table was done up in a way that reminded you of a cheesy Italian restaurant, with a checkered red tablecloth, two glasses for wine, and a rose stationed in the middle.

Felix emerged from the kitchen, a wide, toothy grin on his face. He was wearing an apron, patterned with an alarming amount of cartoon kittens, over what appeared to be a rather expensive suit.

“I feel like I’m underdressed,” you stated, unable to mask the pure awe in your voice. Nobody, not even Chan, had done anything like this for you. Not to mention the fact that you and Felix weren’t even dating… 

Were you? This seemed like an awful lot of effort to put in for someone you were only hooking up with.

“Nah, you look great. Don’t worry about it,” Felix said. “Now if you don’t mind, I’ll take your jacket Mademoiselle.”

You laughed, taking off your overcoat and handing it to him. “That’s French. I thought you were going for Italian,” you joked, attempting to hide the warmth flooding to your cheeks.

“Shhh,” he said, setting your jacket down on the couch before putting his hands on your shoulders. “Just let me have this one. Okay?”

“Okay,” you said quietly, giving him a kiss on the cheek. You felt oddly shy, surrounded by such a scene. 

“Well if you’ll take a seat, I can show you what I’ve been making in the kitchen,” he said, moving towards the table and pulling out the chair. You complied, sitting down and shifting your focus to the wonderful smell wafting in from the kitchen. 

Felix disappeared before appearing with two plates, setting one down in front of you. “Shrimp Scampi,” he clarified. You glanced up at him and you could tell he was slightly nervous. Knowing Felix, he was probably worried you wouldn’t like it.

How someone could possibly not appreciate all of this, was entirely beyond you.

You decided to reassure him. “It looks amazing, Felix. All of this,” you said, gesturing to the room around you. “This is incredible. I can’t believe you did this, it's so… unbelievably sweet.”

“Well,” he said shyly, removing the apron and setting it down on the kitchen counter. “I knew you were worried about coming over here. So, I guess I just wanted to make it the best I could. Less terrifying and more something you’d really enjoy. You know?”

If your cheeks weren’t red before, they certainly were now. It took everything in you not to lean over the table and kiss him right then and there.

He grabbed a bottle of wine from the liquor cabinet behind him, pouring the liquid into your glass. “White wine?” You questioned with a smirk. “I thought you would have gone with red.”

He chuckled, beginning to fill his own. “I thought about it, but it felt a little too cliche. Besides,” he said, corking the bottle and setting it back down on the table. “White goes better with seafood.”

You picked up your glass, taking a small sip. “Pinot grigio?”

He raised his eyebrows, smirking. “A bit of a wine connoisseur, are we?” 

You laughed. “Something like that.” 

Truth be told, you weren’t. Frankly, you’d always much preferred scotch. However, Chan was big on wine. From the two years you’d spent together, you’d managed to pick up a thing or two.

The rest of the dinner passed smoothly. The food was delicious, the wine smooth, the conversation breezy. You’d calmed down from the initial shock of it all, and had settled back into the comfortable atmosphere you and Felix had developed over the past few weeks.

After you’d both finished your meals, he rose to his feet, setting your plates down on the kitchen counter before disappearing around the corner, into the living room. You were wondering if you should follow him, when suddenly classical music started to fill your ears.

You rose to your feet, peering around the corner to see Felix stationed beside a record player. He smiled, before extending a hand out towards you. “Come on, dance with me.”

“You sure are cheesy today, huh?” You laughed, taking his hand anyway. You laid your head against his chest, the two of you swaying gently, a sorry attempt at a Waltz. 

The music from the record filled the room, the notes dancing along with the two of you, a symphony of affection. You quickly recognized the piece as The Four Seasons.

“Vivaldi is my favourite composer,” you mumbled into his chest.

“I know, you told me a while ago,” he spoke quietly.

“Ah,” you said, smiling to yourself over the fact he remembered. “I’m surprised you have a record of him, I know you aren’t the classical type.”

“You’re right, I’m not,” he laughed. “It’s actually one of my roommates.” 

“I see. What are they like?” Even with all the time you’d spent together, you and Felix had never talked about the people in your personal lives. 

“Hmm,” Felix hummed. Although he didn’t say anything, you could tell he was happy that you asked. That you were slowly breaking the barrier you’d put around yourself. 

“Well, Han- that’s whose record this is- he’s... well he’s loud, but I think you’d really like him. He’s studying music theory, wants to be something of a composer himself. He’s a bit messy, but if you harp on him enough he’ll keep his shit clean.” 

“He sounds nice,” you offered kindly. “What about your other one?”

“Ah, yeah. Changbin. His name is Changbin,” Felix said, but you could tell there was something off about his tone.

“What about him?”

“He’s… he’s going through a lot right now. But normally he’s the coolest. He’s also in music theory, so he and Han help eachother out a lot. He’s the type to bring you food when you’ve been working on a paper all day, because he knows you’ve forgotten to eat. Always there for you, you know?”

“Yeah, I get it,” you said. Talking about Changbin seemed to make Felix nervous, based on the way he wouldn’t meet your eye and the apprehension in his voice. You could bet it had to do with whatever Changbin was going through at the moment, but despite your curiousness you decided to drop it. It wasn’t any of your business.

The two of you swayed in silence for a few moments. There was nothing left to say on the matter.

“You know,” you said suddenly. “You said you wanted to show me your space, but I still haven’t seen your bedroom.”

Felix smirked. “Ah, I guess you haven’t. Why, you impatient for something?”

You laughed, looking up at him. “Get your head out of the gutter, Lix. I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“Mhm. Yeah, sure you don’t,” he returned, taking your hand and leading you down the hallway to your left. He stopped, turning to open a door that was currently covered in a rather elaborate arrangement of animal stickers. You raised your eyebrows at him.

“Oh right, the stickers,” Felix said, smacking his forehead with his palm. “Han thought it would be funny, but now I can’t get them off.” 

You smiled. Felix was right, you and Han would probably get along. 

The inside of Felix's room was oddly exactly how you had imagined it. Books were stacked neatly on the desk in the corner, ranging from academic texts to various manga. Posters hung on the walls, representing different music artists, some you recognized and others you did not. He had a nintendo switch tossed on his night stand, and plants hanging in the window. The room, while packed, was clean and well in order. An organized sort of chaos.

You laid down on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. You felt the mattress sink slightly as he laid beside you.

“Do you like it?” He whispered.

“I do. It’s very you.”

He hummed in acknowledgment, rolling onto his side to face you. His fingers wandered in the air for a moment, before finding themselves placed against your cheek. Gently he stroked his thumb back and forth along your jawbone. 

You smiled, leaning into his touch, placing your own hand in his hair. “I feel like dessert,” you stated.

Felix’s cheeks warmed. “I made brownies,” he mumbled, his gaze deepening. “But something tells me that’s not what you have in mind.”

~~~

It was not what you had in mind, and you’d gone far beyond merely explaining that to Felix. The two of you were tangled together beneath his sheets, his head resting on your chest. The room was dark, preventing you from seeing the details of his face, only the shadows and the curve of his jaw visible in the moonlight. 

“Felix?” You whispered, wondering if he was awake.

“Mmm?” He mumbled, clearly only half-conscious. 

“You know I can’t give you more than this, right? We’ll always have to sneak around, keep us a secret. It’ll never be easy.”

“I know.”

“And you’re really okay with that?”

He reached for your hand, allowing your fingers to intertwine. “If it means I have you, I’ll manage.” 

A moment of silence passed by, as you were unsure of what to say, but something inside of you stirred. Something deep and warm, coming back to life.

“Y/N?” He asked suddenly, breaking the quiet. 

“Yeah?”

“Do I have you?”

“Of course, Lix,” you smiled, finally allowing your eyes to close, putting your mind to rest. “I’m all yours.”

    ~~~~

The following morning you awoke to the sound of rain pattering against the window, Felix still sleeping soundly against your chest. Carefully, you moved his head to the pillow, sliding out from under him and emerging into the hallway.

The apartment felt eerily quiet. You never found yourself in an unfamiliar place in the mornings, and the urge to evacuate and run back to your apartment was more tempting than you would’ve liked to admit. You wouldn’t, of course. Felix had put in the effort to make you feel comfortable, to feel at home. You would honour that, no matter how slightly terrifying it might be.

You wandered into the kitchen, noticing a container full of brownies set on the counter. You smiled, those were supposed to be eaten yesterday, before, well… 

You opened the package taking a bite of the sweet, before spitting it out in shock.

The apartment door swung open wildly, a boy with brown hair and chubby cheeks storming inside, a thick cast around his wrist. He threw his backpack onto the couch, letting the ski’s he was carrying clatter against the wall.

“Felix, you will not believe how bad the hill was. There was hardly even any snow, and the amount of rocks? It was like they wanted me to break my arm! Believe me, you made the right call opting out, it was not worth the drive-”

The boy stopped, his eyes bulging as he finally realized you were in the room. His silence made you quickly realize that you were only sporting one of Felix’s shirts, and while it covered you fine, it told an obvious tale. 

“Oh, I’m sorry. Hi!” He said, his mind finally catching up on the situation. 

Alright, this was it. Clearly you and Felix weren’t a secret anymore, at least not with his roommates. Now you had to decide how you were going to play this out. Your mind was buzzing. You knew this was a bad idea. You knew this was dangerous. You fucked up. It was over for you. You were screwed. 

Attempting to settle your racing mind, you decided to make an effort at being friendly for now. 

“Hi,” you smiled, moving behind the kitchen table to cover your legs. “I’m assuming you’re Han?” 

“Yeah, how’d you know?” He laughed.

“Felix mentioned you were a tad… charismatic.” 

Han chuckled. “Did he now? I’ll have to pay him back for that. I’m sorry, but I didn’t catch your name-”

Felix burst out of the hallway, his hair a disheveled mess and shirt only half buttoned. “Han! You’re back early!” 

He looked at you, and while you wanted to be furious at him, planned to make him regret getting you to come here, the look of guilt in his eyes stopped you before you could even begin. It were as if the words “I’m Sorry” were branded to his forehead, his features solemn with remorse.

“We have to get out of here,” you thought. “We have to talk about this, figure out what the hell to do.”

“Wait, what did you do to your arm?” Felix asked, just noticing the thick cast.

“Ah,” Han said shyly, rubbing the back of his neck with his good arm. “I wiped out. Like I said, the hill was bad. Not enough snow and too much ice. I slid into a rock and, well… Doctor said I have to keep this on for the next 5 weeks, which blows, obviously,” he motioned to the cast, shrugging his shoulder helplessly. 

Before you could get a word in, he continued. “Oh, have you guys eaten yet? Changbin’s just grabbing-”

Felix quickly cut him off. “We were actually just about to go get something to eat.”

Han raised an eyebrow, glancing from Felix, who looked like he just stumbled out of a 2 year coma, to yourself, who was certainly in no position to walk out the door.  “You were?”

“Yeah!” You exclaimed, perhaps a little too loudly. “I’m just going to, uh, get changed, and then we’ll be out of your hair,” you said, rushing past them and into Felix’s bedroom.

You shut the door behind you, leaning up against the frame before taking a deep breath. Okay, you could do this. You’d make a quick exit, then you and Felix could sort out what to do next. Maybe he could tell them you were just a hookup. But would that look too suspicious? Did they notice he’d been sneaking out almost every night? If they did that would only cause more problems. 

God, this was a fucking mess. You shouldn’t have come, you shouldn’t have come, you shouldn't have come- 

“Y/N?” Felix called, knocking on the door. “Are you almost ready?”

“Y-yeah!” You called back, cringing at the waver in your voice. You had to get yourself together. You threw on your jeans from the following day, tucking in Felix’s button up and bounded towards the door.

“Alright, I’m ready,” you said, bouncing back into the living room. However, you were surprised to be greeted by someone new. The boy was standing beside Felix and Han, whispering in a rushed, as well as undeniably angry tone. 

More surprising yet, and perhaps unsettling as well, he was glaring at you. No, glaring wasn’t the right word. His eyes screamed bloody murder, his jaw locked, entire body was rigid with a stiffness only produced by vile distaste. It was that look of hatred, that familiar spiteful glaze, which immediately made you recognize him.

“I’ve seen you at the library before,” you stated, taking note of how his eyes widened slightly at the sound of your voice.

The boy cleared his throat. “I don’t think so,” he stated, which was an obvious lie. He’d visited the library several times during the dead of the night, always with that same angry, loathsome stare. You’d always found it unsettling, and always left soon after he arrived, even if you still had work to do.

“Yes, you-” you began, but Felix quickly cut you off. 

“Sorry, Changbin. We were just leaving, I’ll catch you guys later.” He said, taking your arm and quickly ushering you out the entry. You saw Han attempt to call out in protest, but Felix quickly shut the door behind him, blocking whatever it was he had to say.

You turned to Felix. “What the hell was that?”

“What, I figured you’d want to get out of there?” He shrugged, not meeting your eye as he walked ahead of you, making his way down the complex stairs. 

You scowled, chasing after him. “Not that, why was Changbin - or whatever his name is - staring at me like that?”

“That’s just the way Changbin has been lately,” Felix said, although you couldn’t shake the feeling there was something more to it. Pulling your arm away, you pushed passed him. If Felix was going to be so frustrating, there was no way you were going to be the one trailing him like a puppy.

“Well, I know for a fact he’s seen me at the library, so why would he lie about that?” You continued, opening the main doors and storming onto the street. 

Felix jogged after you. “I don’t know?” He shot back, his voice sharp. “Maybe he just forgot?”

You scoffed, turning a corner onto the main walking path, heading off campus and towards your own apartment. You needed to sort this out, and the last thing you needed was to cause a scene in the middle of a busy street.

“Whatever,” you grumbled, still keeping yourself a few steps ahead. “We’ll figure it out when we get back to my place.”

“It’s the middle of the day, I thought that was against your precious rules,” he sniped. You knew he was just angry, blowing off steam, but the jab hurt. He was fully aware that you hated the way things were, the way things had to be. It was a low blow, and it only made your annoyance spike. 

“Fine, Lix. You don’t have to come, go back home so you don’t have to be a burden to my ‘precious rules.’”

“Shit, no. Wait, Y/N!” He babbled, running to put himself in front of you. “I’m sorry, that was uncalled for, I didn’t mean that. Please, let’s figure this out. I want to, seriously.”

You stared at him for a moment, before walking past him, a sigh trailing from your lips. “Fine, come on.”

He let out a relieved breath before catching up, placing himself at your side. 

“We need to determine what the hell we’re going to tell your roommates,” you start. “Because as of now, we’ve gotten ourselves into a load of shit-”

You didn’t see the man in front of you as you collided into his chest, falling to the ground, rubbing your nose from the immediate shock of pain. 

“Woah, I’m sorry! I didn’t see you there,” the voice said, and your entire body froze. You knew that voice. You knew that voice well. It was a voice you hadn’t heard in months, the voice of the worst possible person you could stumble into at the moment.

“Hold on, Y/N?” Chan asked. You looked up to meet his gaze, petrified by the familiar look of pain in his eyes. The same hurt from the last time you saw him, or in better terms, left him.

“Hey, Chan,” you replied, your voice coming out more shaky than you wanted it to. Chan extended a hand, lifting you to your feet. “It’s been a while.”

“Yeah,” he laughed quietly, scratching the back of his neck. “It sure has.”

Then, to your complete and utter despair, his gaze shifted to Felix. It was alarming, how quickly his gaze hardened, the way any sense of past affection drifted from his eyes. “Who’s this?” He asked, his voice cold. 

“That’s Felix. He’s uh, from class, we got assigned for a partner project. We have to explain how without divine intervention, the events in The Iliad may have transpired differently,” you said. If you were going to lie, you had to at least try to make it sound believable. 

“Ah, I see,” Chan said, an edge to his voice. “Where are you guys heading?”

“Just a cafe,” you replied, keeping your voice level.

“Off campus?” He asked, his eyes narrowing, you felt your heart leap into your throat.

“Yeah,” Felix answered without missing a beat. “Figured it would be less busy, you know?”

“Hm,” Chan said, before giving the boy a smile. To Felix, it probably seemed nice, but you knew Chan. Which meant you also knew there wasn’t an ounce of genuine kindness in that expression. 

“Alright, well I’ll let you guys get to it then,” he shook Felix’s hand, his grip slightly too firm. “It was nice meeting you.”

He took a step to make his exit, and for a moment you thought you’d gotten away with it. You thought that somehow, you’d manage to evade this inevitable disaster. Foolish.

Chan stopped beside you, putting a hand on your shoulder. Turning to Felix, he smiled, his eyes glinting. “And hey, you might want to fix your collar.”

Felix’s eyebrows furrowed, a confused expression on his face as he adjusted the collar of his button-up. That’s when you noticed it. The bite marks just peeked out, visibly fresh from the following night.

Chan leaned in, his breath warm against your neck, lips brushing your ear. Your body froze, heart stopping at his words.

“You’ve got his scent all over you.”

~~~~

You and Felix spent the next few hours deciding your best course of action. In a matter of a day, your entire arrangement had been flipped on its head.

The first issue revolved around Felix’s roommates, the biggest worry being what exactly he was going to tell them. After much thought, as well as a bit of arguing, you decided to have Felix say that the two of you were casually seeing each other. This way, they shouldn’t get suspicious that there was more going on, but they also wouldn’t expect to necessarily see you around their apartment either.

There was still risk in it - of course, there always was - as there was the remaining fear that one of them might mention the two of you to the wrong person, and you’d be doomed. As much as having this as a risk pained you, there wasn’t much you could do about it, at least for the moment. For now, you had to trust that if Felix told them to keep it a secret, they would.

This was difficult, as you truthfully didn’t have faith in either of them. Han seemed nice, of course. But it was clear he liked to talk, and it wouldn’t be shocking if something managed to slip from his lips. 

Changbin... Well, he seemed to hate you, for whatever reason that might be. You tried to talk to Felix about this, but he simply brushed it off, blaming it on whatever Changbin happened to be going through at the moment. Begrudgingly, you decided to drop it, but that didn’t mean you wouldn’t store the worry in the back of your mind. Keep a watchful eye out.

The bigger problem was Chan. He knew. He knew everything. The feeding, the fucking. That Felix was something more than just an acquaintance. He could single-handedly unravel your relationship, all it would take was a quick chat with The Council, and you would be ruined. There would be nothing you could do to stop them. You didn’t know what The Council would do to you, but you knew at the very least they would force you to end your arrangement with Felix.

You wanted to believe that Chan wouldn’t do that. You really did, but you knew that might not be the case. If he saw telling The Council as a way of protecting you, to keep you away from humans that could be out to hurt you, or use you, there was no doubt in your mind that that’s exactly what he would do.

For now, all you could do was wait, and keep as low of a profile as you possibly could at the moment. It was for this purpose that you said the following words:

“I think we need to distance ourselves from each other, for at least a little while,” you said to Felix. He currently was sitting on your couch, elbows resting on his knees, head buried in his hands.

Slowly, he glanced up at you. He looked tired. “Do we have to?” He asked, his voice flooded with defeat. The last few hours hadn't been easy. There were sacrifices to make, ones that neither of you wanted to adhere to. But this was not as simple as what you did and didn’t want.

“Yeah,” you sighed, dropping down on the couch beside him, resting your head on his shoulder. “We have to. I think we could have dealt with your roommates, but Chan is a far bigger issue.”

Felix frowned, and you knew exactly how he felt.

 This sucked. 

Over the past month, you’d really come to like Felix. You genuinely enjoyed his company, his cooking, his sense of humour. The way he brightened up a room. Most of all, he made you feel less alone. Together you were a part of something. A relationship of sorts. You mattered. And while you would do what you could to make sure this farewell wasn’t forever, in the end it was still a goodbye.

And goodbye’s were always hard, no matter what lay behind them.

“Alright,” he murmured, taking your hand in his, gently brushing his thumb against your knuckles. “When should I expect to hear from you again?”

“I’ll give you a call by the end of the week. I might try talking to Chan, just to see where he’s at with all this. Try to make him understand before he decides to throw me under the bus.”

Felix hums in response, before twisting his neck so that his chin rests on top of your head. “I’m going to miss you,” he states simply. 

You smile sadly, planting a soft kiss at the nape of his neck. “I’ll miss you too,” you say, “but this will only be temporary. I’ll make sure of it.”

~~~~

You didn’t get the chance to talk to Chan, as not even a full day after Felix left your apartment, a letter slid under your door. Carefully, you arose from your spot on your couch, setting your laptop down on the coffee table. You approached the envelope slowly, as if you were to move too fast, it might combust.

You picked up the letter, turning it over to reveal the seal. Your heart sunk in your chest.

There it was. The red wax seal. The letter was from The Society. 

Fuck.

You frantically ripped off the seal, releasing the note inside with shaky hands.

Dear Ms. L/N,

We have recently been informed that you have been participating in actions that violate the terms of our Society agreement. This information has been provided to us by a source of whom wishes to remain anonymous for the time being.

However, these claims remain a serious issue. We would like to give you the chance to explain yourself, as well as clear up what may be a possible misunderstanding or simply a false accusation. If these actions happen to be true, then we will deal with matters accordingly.

You are called to attend this meeting at 1:00pm tomorrow, at the councilroom of our head district.

We appreciate your compliance. 

Our regards,

The Council.

~~~~

It’s almost funny, looking back on how hopeful you’d been. That despite everything working against you, you’d somehow thought you could best them. Somehow thought that you were more powerful than the unbeatable. More powerful than The Council.

That’s where you found yourself now, seated before the three all-powerful vampires, surrounded by endless more. You thought you’d be more terrified, more horrified of what they might choose to do to you. 

But you aren’t. You’re tired of this. Tired of it all. So let them do whatever they wanted, you would take it. You didn’t regret any of what you did.

Not a damn thing. 

“Ms. L/N,” the head councilmen repeats, voice dead of emotion. “Do you know why you’re here today?”

Of course you do. He knows damn well that you know exactly why you’re here, you can see it in the smirk playing at the corner of his lips.The question is mockery. 

So you say nothing. 

“Cooperation will make this much easier, Ms. L/N,” another member of The Council speaks from beside him. She looks far younger than he is, although they are probably around the same age. Which is to say, hundreds of years old.

As your silence continues, the head councilman sighs, rubbing the space between his eyes in frustration. “Fine. Let me explain, shall I? We have reason to suspect you’ve been… coercing with a human boy. Felix Lee.”

Your heart jumps slightly. They know his name? You weren’t expecting that, but then again this was The Council. Digging up identities was the least they were capable of.

“Is this true, Ms. L/N?”

You stare at the councilman. There’s no point in lying. He knows. This meeting was not to defend your innocence, but to determine your punishment. You can see it in his eyes. Those hollow, sunken eyes, that seem farther from humanity than you could’ve dreamed possible.

“Yes,” you state. Your eyes drift to the corner of the room, landing on Chan, who’s gaze remains firm. You want to slap him. Or yell at him. Maybe both. 

“Hm, well at least you’re honest,” the councilman murmurs, a light buzz of laughter vibrating throughout the room. This is funny to them, a joke. Irritation itches under your skin, you don’t quite see the humour here.

“Well,” the councilmen starts, a glint in his eye. “In order to reward your honesty, I suppose we won’t punish you.”

You blink. “What?” You say, your voice coming out a croak. You glance at Chan again, who looks equally confused. His eyes are wide, chest heaving as his breathing rate increases. No, he’s not confused, he’s alarmed.

Something is wrong. You glance back at the councilman, and there it is again, that glint of something awful in his eyes. Something evil.

“You heard me correctly, Ms. L/N. We will not punish you,” the last word drips from his tongue, and you come to understand the weight of his words.

“Fuck. No. No, no, no,” you can hardly hear yourself think over the ringing in your ears, your thoughts a jumbled mess of panic and pure terror.

The councilmen clears his throat, a grin spreading across his lips, fangs almost shining in the dim light of the councilroom. 

“No, Felix Lee will be the one to pay this price. Kill him, and the damage you’ve caused will be forgiven.”

~~

next chapter.

[youwerenevermeanttofeelalone]

Strangers | Joaquín Torres

✦ pairing — Joaquín Torres x female!Plus Size Reader

✦ word count — 5.8k (I’m sorry, I don’t have much self-control left)

✦ loosely based on the song Strangers by Mallory Merk

✦ request — I’d like to ask for something where Bucky and the reader are roommates but she’s younger (Joaquin’s age) and one day Sam and Joaquin are there for whatever reason and that’s how Joaquin and Reader meet and they get along (and flirt obv) and Bucky is like a protective older brother and Sam vouches for him but Bucky doesn’t loosen up until Joaquin saves reader from danger or does something nice for her

✦ warnings — angst, awkwardness, Bucky acting like a jealous brother, mentions of beverages and food, light depictions of anxious worry, fluff.

════════════════════════

Bucky and you were in the middle of discussing whether you should adopt a cat or not when a rhythmic knock on the door interrupted the urgent conversation.

“Are you expecting someone?” he asked, eager to go back to the pressing matter at hand.

“You know I am not. I didn’t order anything either...”

Bucky sighed. “I’ll check.”

“No!” You stood up abruptly from the couch. “You’ll scare whoever is behind the door off like you scared our poor neighbor.”

“Can you let that one go?”

“Nope,” you replied as you crossed the small living room.

You would never. The lady still tried to hide from him when she saw him down the hallway which was hilarious because it wasn’t due to the fact that he had famously been The Winter Soldier but because he grumpily opened the door when she needed a favor and closed it on her face.

As you opened the door, you found two attractive men standing in the doorway.

“Is Barnes here?”

“Oh, God. What did he do now?”

“I didn’t do anything!” he exclaimed in your ear, making you jump.

“Jesus, Bucky.”

“Sorry.” He then acknowledged one of the men in front of you, the one who had asked for him, “What’s wrong, Sam?”

“Can we come in?”

Both Bucky and you moved out of the way so the pair of handsome men could come inside.

“So you’re the roommate?” Sam asked.

“I am.”

“And you don’t think he’s the most annoying person you’ve ever met?”

“No. Should I?”

“Hey!”

“I’m joking, I’m joking.”

“I’m Sam Wilson,” your interrogator introduced himself properly. “And this is Joaquín Torres.”

“Nice to meet you.” You smiled at Sam, then at Joaquín who smiled back.

Bucky cleared his throat.

Sam looked tense as he ominously said, “We need your help.”

“Give us some privacy, sweetheart,” Bucky told you.

You retreated to your bedroom, wondering what the secrecy could be about. You knew who Bucky was, what we had done, and everything in between.

And sure, some people thought you were crazy for being his roommate, but you weren’t scared of him. You trusted him and cared about him. In the few months you had gotten to know him he had become an important person in your life, one of your best friends.

His visitors didn’t stay for too long. You hadn’t even gotten comfortable on your bed after having put on a tv show to have something on the background when you heard the front door close.

A couple of minutes later, Bucky knocked on your door and opened it just enough to ask if he could come in.

He sat on your bed, fixing his eyes on your desk.

”So...” you broke the silence, “should I be worried?”

“No.”

“Bucky. Look at me.”

He turned to the side, fully facing you. “What?”

“You don’t have to hide things from me or coddle me.”

“I know. But it’s nothing that can’t be fixed,” he assured you.

“Promise?”

“Promise.” He gave you a small smile. “Now, about that cat...”

════════════════════════

After a long week of work, you found yourself relieved to have the apartment just for you. Bucky was a lovely roommate, you just wanted an alone moment.

Saturdays were usually the day you had the apartment for yourself, Bucky had a strict routine until something extraordinary happened and you were comfortable with adapting to it.

To your luck, somebody knocked on the door. You hoped it was somebody looking for the neighbor or something because you weren’t in the mood for people.

Your mood, however, did a 180 as soon as you opened the door.

Joaquín gave you a small smile. “Good evening, (Name).”

Why did he have to come by when you were in sweats and an old t-shirt?! You smiled at him. “Hi.”

“Is Bucky home?”

“No. But he should be back in a couple of hours.”

“Oh. Well, I’ll wait for him outside.”

“Do you want a cup of coffee?” you asked. A part of you wanted to be polite, the other wanted to chat for a little bit. “I just started a batch.”

“Uh—“ Joaquín cleared his throat. “I would really like that.”

You motioned for him to come in. His eyes fixed on you as he did, but for some reason, you didn’t feel uncomfortable. There seemed to be no malice in his eyes.

“Free day?” he made small talk.

“Yeah. I actually don’t work on weekends.”

He shifted in order to face you and asked more about your job. You hoped it wasn’t part of his small talk anymore.

As the conversation progressed, you were sure it had been. His gaze remained on you whether he was speaking or listening, interest never wavering as he found more things to ask about you.

His eyes were such a peculiarity and you couldn’t understand why. Brown eyes were common, you had seen them thousands of times.

“I think the coffee’s ready,” he murmured.

“Right!” You abashedly stood up, smoothing your t-shirt as though it really mattered anymore.

“Do you need help?”

You shook your head. “I’ve got it.”

Glancing at him as you poured the beverages, you saw him staring at you too. Either you weren’t being subtle and were making him uncomfortable or he wasn’t being subtle either. Both options were terrifying.

You walked slowly towards the living room and put both cups down. “Sugar?”

“Please.”

As you went back to the kitchen, you checked the state of your hair on the microwave. Deciding there was nothing you could do to it, you left it as it was and took the container of sugar in your grasp along with a teaspoon.

You placed the sugar container on the table. “Cream?”

“No, thank you.”

Joaquín sweetened his coffee as you sat down next to him once again.

“You don’t like it with cream either?”

“No. I only remember to buy it for Bucky.”

Giving you his entire attention back, Joaquín lifted both eyebrows. “He takes his coffee with cream?”

“Oh, yeah.” You nodded enthusiastically. “I was as shocked as you are.”

“My grandma loved coffee with milk. She added so much that I don’t think it was coffee anymore.”

“Did you ever try it?”

“I didn’t. Well, maybe as a kid?” He tilted his head as he tried to remember. “I would prepare her coffee all the time...”

“That’s so sweet.”

He took a sip of coffee. So did you. For a moment both of you remained silent, and although it wasn’t uncomfortable you found yourself wanting to ask more about him.

You were out of practice in terms of social interaction. It was terrifying to admit, but the fear only made it truer. The blip changed and ruined lives, and while you were getting back on your feet, you still found yourself socially and emotionally stunted at times.

Joaquín didn’t seem to mind the silence. You wondered if he sought it.

Peacefulness and silence didn’t last. The front door opened unexpectedly and Bucky’s heavy steps cut the harmony of Joaquín’s and your breathing.

“I didn’t know you would be coming over,” Bucky grumbled.

Joaquín jumped off his seat. He took the file in his grasp and handed it to Bucky. “Sam wanted me to give you this.”

Humming, Bucky opened the folder. He gave the contents a quick read, then closed it again. “Well, you gave it to me already.”

“Right. Uhmmm...” Joaquín turned to the side and lightly bowed. “Thank you for the coffee, (Name).”

“Anytime,” you said, voice too enthusiastic even for your liking.

Joaquín gave you another smile before leaving the apartment, causing your face to flush.

You attempted to entertain yourself by washing the cups, but you still couldn’t believe you had spoken like a teenager with a crush.

Bucky leaned onto the wall. “I saw the way you were looking at Torres.”

“With my eyes?” you teased.

“With too much enthusiasm.”

“He’s cute,” you admitted as you twisted to look at him.

“Nope, not happening.”

“Not happening what?” Feigning innocence never worked with him, but you still liked trying. However, his glare told you this wasn’t the time to be playful. “Bucky, come on, I just admired the view. It’s not like I’m planning on running after him to ask him to marry me.”

He narrowed his eyes.

“Do you believe me capable of asking somebody I barely know to marry me?” As soon as the question left your mouth, you added, “You know what? Don’t answer that.”

“He gave you the same eyes you were giving him,” Bucky said grumpily.

“He did?”

“Can you be serious for a moment?”

“Oh, Buck, I’m being more than serious.”

He rolled his eyes. “Is this my first time seeing you with a crush?”

“Do you find it charming?”

“You weren’t this cocky with him.”

“Were you eavesdropping?!”

“I thought you had another type of company. Wanted to make sure it was safe to come in.”

“That’s such a bad excuse.”

“Not as bad as your flirting.”

“Just because you used to be a good flirt doesn’t mean you still are. Be humble, Barnes.”

“I’m still better than you.”

You stuck your tongue out. “I’ll become the best flirt in the world. You’ll see.”

“Absolutely not. And Torres is off limits!”

“Awww, do you want him for yourself? Can I have Sam then?”

“You don’t even know him!”

“Sam or Joaquín?”

“Joaquín,” he grumbled.

“Whose fault is that? I couldn’t even get his number because you had to show authority or whatever macho bullshit is clouding your judgment.”

“My judgment isn’t clouded.”

“You need to get laid so I can get laid.”

“What’s wrong with taking things slow? The last date I went on was a disaster.”

“Nothing,” you assured him. “I just think you need to de-stress, have some clarity and see I just have a mild crush.”

“Mild?”

“Yeah. I was kinda intense in high school.” You feigned a shudder. “Dark times.”

“What about college?”

“We don’t talk about that. I had terrible taste.”

“See?”

You tried another approach, “We’re acting like children and I’m pretty sure we are adults. I pay taxes, dude, I can have a crush on whoever I want.”

“Of course. You’re a big girl.”

You could tell he was only going with your flow. But you would take it.

════════════════════════

Bucky sat in front of Sam. Brows furrowed as he went through the same file Joaquín had given him a few days ago.

He didn’t like the idea of going after anybody. He had left violence to the side already. Did this count as ruining it all so soon?

Glancing at Sam, who was expectantly watching him, Bucky sighed. “What about (Name)? What should I tell her?”

“I could send Torres—“

“NO.”

“Barnes,” Sam sighed, “you know we can trust him.”

“For this type of stuff. Not with (Name). You didn’t see the way he was looking at her the last time.”

“He might have a crush,” Sam conceded, “but you’re acting like he wants to murder her.”

“He might,” Bucky said without really meaning it.

Sam crossed his arms. “Do you like her or something?”

“Not like that,” Bucky replied, almost offended. “She’s like a sister to me, Sam. I care about her, I want to protect her.”

“By not letting her see people?”

“You don’t get it.”

“No, I do. And I know damn well this isn’t the right way to do it.”

Bucky scowled, yet knowing Sam wanted to say something else, remained quiet.

“Think about this. You’re worried something will happen to her while we do this, and I’m telling you Torres could keep her safe but you’re being childish because you think you should act like a jealous brother.”

“What if he breaks her heart? Huh? What then? She likes him!”

“He’s nice, of course she likes him! You should be glad he likes her too, dumbass.”

“She’s not ready to date people.”

Sam rolled his eyes.

Bucky shifted in his seat. “I’m not trying to be a dick, Sam. She’s been through hell.”

“Something might not even happen between them, you’re jumping to conclusions way too quickly.” Sam then added, “Unless both are into fast dating in which case things would be fine too.”

“You don’t know that. He could hurt her.”

“You already managed to run a background check on him and—“

Bucky interrupted, “How do you know?”

Sam nonchalantly shrugged. “I’d do the same.”

Bucky hung his head, staring down at the file on the small table. “Can I beat him up if he does something he shouldn’t?”

“He won’t.”

“But can I?”

“Will you shut up if I say yes?”

“Maybe.”

Sam withdrew his phone, tapped the screen a couple of times and brought the device to his ear. “Torres. Are you busy?”

Bucky huffed through his nose and then went back to read the file for the hundredth time.

════════════════════════

The forecast that morning had forced you to carry an umbrella and a jacket that you ultimately had to shed. It rarely rained around your workplace; you couldn’t say the same about your apartment.

You weren’t sure what type of natural phenomenon was at play —or fault, really— but you were not happy about it.

Hoping you hadn’t forgotten to close your bedroom window, you quietly wished your coworkers a good night and made your way towards the exit.

You found a face you seemed to see everywhere. Mostly due to your daydreams, but who could blame you apart from Bucky?

Joaquín slid his right hand off his pocket and waved at you.

Waving back, you approached him. “What are you doing here?”

“You weren’t home so I contacted Sam so he could ask where you could be and Bucky said you worked here so I came here.”

You couldn’t hide your smile upon hearing his convoluted explanation. “I imagined as much. What I meant with my question is why are you here?”

“Oh! I’m making sure you get home safe.”

You frowned. “Is something wrong?”

“I don’t know,” he answered honestly. “But we don’t want to take any risks.”

You didn’t know who was we exactly although you could assume he was talking about Bucky. And about himself. The realization made your stomach flip.

“Are we walking?”

“I drove here,” he explained, hesitating to make the first move towards his car.

You gave the first step forward, getting slightly closer to him. A whiff of his cologne hit you and just like that it was gone. He started walking too.

“Had a nice day?”

“It wasn’t too bad. How about you?”

“Nothing out of the ordinary.”

You wanted to oh so badly ask what his ordinary was. Fuck, it was like you were having a crush for the first time all over again.

“So... are you staying at mine or...?”

“I’ll sleep here in the car.”

“There’s a couch right there. Kinda comfy if you ask me...”

“I don’t want to intrude.”

“Please, you’ll be there because of me, it’s the least I can do.”

“It’s no problem,” he hurried to assure you.

The streets looked different from the car. Bigger. You were so used to public transport, to see people from afar — to perceive everything from the perspective of somebody trapped in a box that had been created to make things easier for them.

You didn’t feel small per se, yet people looked bigger too. It was as though you had forgotten that people outside of your bubble existed.

Friends were almost nonexistent in a world that still was trying to recover from a once-in-a-lifetime experience.

The people you considered friends kept their distance from you and each other because they didn’t have other choice. Work, school for those privileged enough, debt, grief... all those things got in the way. And perhaps it was better that way for now. Everybody needed to heal.

An empty hallway greeted you. It wasn’t too late, but your neighbors kept mostly to themselves. Bucky preferred it that way.

You pushed the door open after unlocking the two locks, allowing Joaquín to get in first.

He shed his dripping jacket, bashfully hanging it on the coat hanger.

“Can I offer you anything to drink or eat?” you asked, placing your belongings next to the couch.

“Whatever you’ll be having.”

You tugged the fridge door open. “Are you allergic to anything?”

“Not that I know of.” He approached you, leaning on the kitchen bar. “Surprise me?”

“Oh, yeah, I will. With a visit to the ER.”

“Hey, it’d be a surprise nonetheless.”

You giggled and took a glance at him. The ghost of a smile crept into his face before he started laughing too.

“You don’t have a boyfriend that would get mad at me for staying here, do you?”

You chuckled. “No.”

“Are you even into guys?”

“I am.”

“That’s good.” Realizing he had sounded too happy, he added, “I mean... it would also be good if you weren’t, obviously.”

“I get what you meant.”

“Do you?”

“Yeah, it’s cool.”

“Cool.”

Neither of you stopped smiling. You only moved when the fridge’s door alarm interrupted.

You ended up ordering takeout and talking to him past midnight.

But not every night was lighthearted. Such a thing was true to life and to this particular week.

Joaquín was a good distraction before and after work, but the moment the time to say goodnight arrived, worry heaved on your entire body.

You tiptoed your way towards the kitchen, desperate for a glass of water. Hoping the stream of water wouldn’t make too much noise, you filled the glass and stood in the middle of the kitchen, slowly drinking it.

“Can’t sleep?”

You jumped, splashing water onto you and in consequence the floor. A couple of days or so weren’t enough for you to be completely used to Joaquín’s voice. Albeit nice, it was still new.

He turned the light on. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

You clumsily placed the glass on the counter. “It’s okay. I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

Sleep was elusive, something you had assumed was in the past. Insomnia had been your loyal friend throughout the blip, then grief joined.

Bucky was the closest thing you had to a family now. What if you had to grieve him too?

As though he had been reading your mind, Joaquín softly said, “He’ll be okay.”

“You sound so sure...”

“He’s strong and skilled. Sam is too.”

“I’m scared,” you confessed. “I don’t wanna be all alone again.”

He placed his hand on your shoulder. It almost burned you. “You won’t be.”

You pursed your lips. You had heard that one many times before.

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah, just... you know...” You started laughing instead of truly explaining yourself.

But you didn’t need to explain anything. “It’s okay, everything will be okay.”

You laughed again, louder this time, nodding because what else could you say? That you couldn’t believe him if you wanted to?

He looked at you with worry. “Do you have any tea?”

You nodded once more, unable to speak as you continue laughing and pointing to the top cupboard.

“I’ll fix you a cup.”

Crying out of laughter, you sat at the small table, leaning on your forearms as you tried to watch him — the tears didn’t allow you to truly assess the damage.

Said tears worried you. The last time you had properly cried seemed to have been too long ago to be healthy.

Then again, not many people were in a healthy position as of now.

Before you could even realize what was going on, Joaquín softly set a cup on the table. “Sorry for not adding sugar, I didn’t think it was a good idea.”

Embarrassed due to the fact that you couldn’t stop laughing, you avoided his eyes and wrapped your fingers around the cup. “Thank you,” you mumbled.

“Hey,” he said softly, “it’s no problem, okay?”

You hummed, inhaling the scent of the tea before taking a small sip.

He made you company as you drank the hot beverage at your own pace. In complete silence, trying to hide from you that he was playing with his fingers under the table.

“Better?”

“I think so.”

“Do you need anything else?”

“I don’t know.”

“You have work tomorrow...”

How could you forget? You stood up with the cup in your grasp and went into the kitchen to wash it.

“I can wake you up for work if you want,” he offered.

“My alarm is loud enough.”

“Oh, yeah,” he said as if he was just remembering, “I’ve heard it.”

You huffed a laugh. “Good night.”

“Good night.”

Before he could turn around, you called for him, “Joaquín?”

“Yes?”

“Would you keep me company until I fall asleep?”

“Of course.”

It felt strange to have somebody that wasn’t Bucky in your bedroom. Joaquín curiously eyed the room while you got comfortable in the bed — his eyes eventually landed on you.

He gripped your desk chair and took it out.

Before he would sit down, you told him, “You can sit on the bed if you prefer. That chair ruined my back.”

Considering the offer, he approached the bed, slowly as he looked at you in case you changed your mind.

You patted the empty space. “I don’t bite.”

Tentatively sitting down, he asked, “Why haven’t you changed the chair?”

“I like the color.”

He softly laughed. “It’s pretty,” he agreed. “Looks nice with your decoration.”

“Thank you.”

His hand brushed your forearm as the two of you shifted at the same time. Your face heated up, and now you wondered if his palm contrasted the softness of the back of his hand.

Joaquín cleared his throat. “Try to sleep,” he whispered, “I’ll be here.”

You took a deep breath before closing your eyes. Focusing on trying to remember what you had been thinking before falling asleep the last time you got some rest, you got lost in your own head.

The door creaked as it was pushed open. Bucky opened his mouth.

Joaquín brought his index finger to his closed lips, signaling for Bucky to not make a sound.

Joaquín looked down at your form, still fast asleep. Your head was on his shoulder, face semi-buried in his t-shirt.

Bucky watched as Joaquín softly removed your head from his shoulder, delicately making it rest onto the pillow — he then left the bed in silence and tucked you into the covers before leaving the room.

”Everything in order?”

Bucky grumbled in affirmation. “What was that?”

“She was worried about you. Couldn’t sleep.”

“Nothing else?”

Joaquín shook his head, hoping he was managing to mask his disappointment.

Bucky hummed. “Thank you, Joaquín. For everything.”

“It was no problem.”

Joaquín collected his few belongings in a minute, taking a glance at the ajar door that separated your bedroom from the lounge area.

“Bucky...”

“Mmh?”

“Could you text me when she wakes up or if she needs anything?”

Bucky stood silent for a few seconds. Seconds that for Joaquín felt like hours. “I will. Go home.”

════════════════════════

Having Bucky back at home was relieving. Except for the fact that he looked like he wanted to say something but didn’t know how to spill it.

“Is there anything you want to say?” you yelled from the couch.

He stopped chopping carrots to lift his head. “Did you get Torres’s number?”

Turning the TV off, you pushed yourself to a sitting position and eventually left the couch.

“Yeah, I did.”

“Have you called him?”

“I sent him a meme.” You extended your hand, taking a piece of carrot. “He laughed and sent one back.”

“I assumed you would have asked for his hand in marriage by the time I would be back.”

“Ha ha, you’re so funny.”

Bucky snorted. You munched on your cube of carrot.

“Maybe you’re reading too much into it. He’s genuinely nice, you know? People can be friends regardless of gender.”

“What happened to wanting to get laid?”

“I doubt it’s mutual.”

“He likes you and you like him. That’s practically the definition of mutualism.”

“You said he was off-limits,” you accused.

“He isn’t anymore.”

“I didn’t get the memo.”

“Don’t get grumpy with me.”

“I’m not grumpy.” You pouted. “But what if he doesn’t like me that way? He’s a really nice person, maybe that’s it.”

“Oh my God,” Bucky exhaled, shaking his head. “You’re impossible.”

You whined, “Buuuuuuuuucky. Don’t be mean.”

“Don’t act obtuse then.”

“I haven’t dated anybody in years. I don’t know how to do it. He’s fun to talk to, don’t get me wrong — I’m the problem.” You sighed dramatically. “We should throw a pity party for me,” you sarcastically said.

“Why do you think I’m making lasagna?”

“I honestly thought Sam was coming over for dinner.”

Bucky blushed due to his inability to be subtle which was the most shocking thing you had learned about him.

Truth to be told, Bucky’s words stayed in your mind for days. You continued casually texting Joaquín, not sure if you should ask him out or let it go.

You wanted to, and it wouldn’t be the first time you had made the first move — that didn’t bother you. What bothered you was the mere idea of asking him out too soon.

Seeing your phone light up with Joaquín’s name and a message attached to it genuinely improved your day every single time.

It was so hard not to be in his orbit when apart from being handsome he was so nice and easy to talk to.

You liked him, you really did. You also liked that things didn’t feel awkward with him when you knew they would’ve been unbearable with somebody else. It was liberating.

Are you home?

Nope.

If you were looking for Bucky, he’s out on a date.

I know. But I’m not here to see him.

You’re there?

Yeah. I’ve been here for a few minutes now.

I’m having drinks with my coworkers. Two of them are celebrating their birthday. I can ditch if you need anything.

I wanted to see you.

I also wanted to ask...

Are you busy next Saturday?

Your heart skipped a beat. I’m not.

Eyes glued to the three dots that signaled he was typing, you finished your drink in a single swig.

Would you go out with me?

You can pick wherever we go, I don’t mind.

I would love to!

Was the exclamation mark too much?

Fuck, you felt like a teenager again.

And I don’t mind if you pick.

Why don’t we make that decision later?

Sounds good to me.

Sorry for making you wait outside for nothing.

I’m the one who appeared unannounced, but it’s okay. I got almost everything I wanted.

You’re making not ditching really hard right now.

Good to know I’m doing something right.

But you should hang out with your coworkers.

And be careful. If you remember, text me when you get home.

It was stupidly hard not to be smitten by him.

════════════════════════

“For the millionth time, you look fine.”

You glared at Bucky.

“He’s right,” Sam assured you from the couch. “You look fine, and it’s just a casual date. You’ll be okay.”

“Just a casual date?” you asked in a high pitch that surprised the three of you.

“He’s seen you in the morning already,” Bucky reminded you, lifting his eyebrows. “I don’t understand why you’re so nervous.”

“I’m not nervous,” you defended yourself. “I’ve had these jeans for literal years and I’m scared I’m gonna rip them.”

“Take a jacket or coat with you just in case.” Sam offered the solution immediately.

You did as Sam suggested and carried your favorite jacket over your forearm.

In contrast to what you saw every morning, there wasn’t a single familiar face in the subway. As you checked the time to make sure you wouldn’t be late, you saw that one of your other friends had wished you good luck on your date.

The fact that somebody apart from Bucky —and Sam— openly wanted you to succeed at something outside of work improved your mood. You had lied to Bucky earlier regarding being nervous, less due to embarrassment, and more because you didn’t want to admit you were scared of still not knowing how to handle things when they went wrong.

Rejection was easier to take in comparison to the way things crumble after they seem to be going well. Rejection is quick, it eventually passes — regret and what-ifs potentially stay forever. You had the scars to prove it.

You had to walk a couple of blocks from the station to the place you would meet Joaquín at. The area was new to you, colorful and lively from what looked to be brand new businesses.

Upon arriving at the diner, you understood why Joaquín had chosen that place. It wasn’t crowded by any means, but it looked far from empty. It was the perfect middle ground for a first date.

Such observation didn’t ease up your nerves, yet giddiness couldn’t stop itself from bubbling up.

“Oh!” he exclaimed from behind you. “I was about to text you.”

You turned around. “I just got here.”

Joaquín silently stared at you, taking a shaky breath and bobbing his head open and closed.

He settled for a short compliment, easier to say than the jumbled mess of euphoric reactions he internalized, “You look great.”

“I—“ You weren’t expecting that. “Thank you. You look really nice.”

You might have been selling it short, he looked as handsome as ever and more — but you didn’t want to sound intense or say too much and scare him off.

He looked down for a moment, trying to fight the warmth crawling up his skin. “Thank you,” he said quietly before looking up once again.

His bashfulness was a good sign, it would be less awkward if both of you felt the same way about the prospect of a first date.

“I found this place by mistake a few weeks ago,” he told you as he opened the door for you. “Their coffee is great.”

He let you choose the table, arguing that it was your first there and he wanted you to have the best experience. You appreciated his effort.

Bucky and Sam mentioned you could come across as being uncomfortable around others, he must’ve been under the same impression.

In all fairness, it was less about being uncomfortable and more about being scared of oversharing.

“Are you a big coffee guy?”

“Kind of. I’m used to instant coffee even though I don’t like it so I try a different one every time I can.”

“I have a coworker who is obsessed with that stuff.” You chuckled. “But they drink it cold.”

Joaquín huffed a laugh. “It might taste better like that.”

The conversation deviated from mindless small talk to work, and then to your interests — it was refreshing to know you shared a few and even more so to find he was open to giving things he didn’t know a try.

After eating, the two of you decided to take a walk just so you could talk some more.

Your hand brushed his by mistake. Joaquín looked down. He pressed the back of his hand against yours, momentarily pushing his fingers between yours.

“Is that okay?”

“Yes.”

He pulled away then slid his hand under yours. Clasping his palm against yours, he stared at your face in search of your reaction. “How about that?”

“Also yes.”

He smiled. “Good thing I listened to Sam when he said I wasn’t imagining things and you were into me too.”

“You know, I almost made the first move.”

“What stopped you?”

You shrugged. “Maybe I would have drunkenly asked you out if you hadn’t beat me to it.”

He hummed yet made no further comment.

“You don’t believe me?”

“I do, I do!”

“Buuuuuuut?”

“It took us a while to exchange phone numbers. Imagine if it had taken us the same to go out?”

“Oh God, we would be stuck third-wheeling Sam and Bucky.”

“I’m so sorry you have no escape from that,” he joked.

“I just hope they never have sex when I’m in the apartment or I will need therapy I can’t afford.”

He lightly squeezed your hand. “I’ll rescue you, don’t worry.”

It was your turn to smile. “I’ll take that as a sign that I’ll be seeing you again.”

“As long as you don’t see it as a threat...”

You giggled. “I would never.”

According to the blog posts you read online, guys seemed to like it when the other person assured them they had a good time with them. You hoped he had gotten the hint.

In case he hadn’t, you said, “There was this coffee shop near my childhood home that I used to love... They had the best chocolate cake I’ve ever tasted and the coffee was delicious too. I heard it reopened...”

“We should go there next time.”

“Sounds good. I haven’t visited the neighborhood in a while.”

“Any reason in particular?”

“I don’t know anybody around there anymore.”

It was getting late and you knew your time together would be over. At least for tonight.

He walked you toward the subway station, swinging your intertwined hands. The conversation didn’t seem to end, he could thread on any topic and you would’ve listened to him until his voice was hoarse and his throat dry.

You couldn’t leave without properly telling him what a great time you had. It was too soon to know what would happen, you weren’t naive, but you also really fucking liked him.

“I had a great time,” you reassured him. “Thank you.”

“Me too. I hope it repeats soon.”

You did too. All those nerves had thankfully paid off.

He scratched the back of his head with his free hand. “I’m sorry if I’m being too forward, but... can I kiss you?”

“You’re not being too forward.”

“Is that a yes?”

“Yes.”

Joaquín licked his bottom lip and cupped your cheek with a hand. His other one tightly held yours, giving you time. You wetted your lips too. Then he leaned in and kissed you.

You basked in the kiss’s bliss. Short, sweet, perfect in every single aspect. The kind of human contact you had longed for years and had been too scared to look for.

His eyes were on you as you opened your own — shining with a happy glint.

“You’re even prettier from up-close,” he commented lowly, hand still on your face.

Your gaze fell to his wrist for a second. Then you held his. “I could say the same to you.”

“Thank God.” He giggled.

“You said you needed to wake up early tomorrow...” you said, much to your own dismay. You didn’t want to be selfish.

“I’ll wait for your train to get here.”

And so he did, and you almost cursed the stupid giant can when it arrived.

You reluctantly let go of his hand. “Text me when you get home just so I know you arrived safely, yeah?”

He nodded. “Promise.”

“Goodnight.”

He kissed your cheek. “Goodnight.”

[potrix-the-queerschlaeger]

joy in my heart - chapter 1

Or; What if Johnny had been forced to step up? [On AO3.]

 February 5th, 2002

“What do you mean she’s gone?” Johnny glances away from the awkwardly shifting nurse, over to the empty hospital bed. The sheets are rumpled, one of the tabloids Shannon loves to hate lying open on the pillow. Her favorite mug, the tag of the tea she’s started drinking against the morning sickness hanging over the rim, is sitting on the bedside table. “To the bathroom? The cafeteria?”

“Mr Lawrence,” Shannon’s doctor speaks up, and the pity in his voice that he doesn’t quite manage to hide makes something heavy settle in Johnny’s stomach, “your girlfriend left the hospital earlier this morning—”

Johnny’s shaking his head. “No, she—she gave birth a day ago? She—”

“Ms Keene discharged herself, against medical advice, about an hour ago.”

Before Johnny can even begin to wrap his head around any of that, there’s a soft knock on the door. The nurse goes to open it, gesturing for the woman on the other side to come in. She’s got a clipboard under her arm, and a no-nonsense expression on her face.

“Ah, right on time,” the doctor greets somberly. Then, addressing Johnny again, he says, “Mr Lawrence, allow me to introduce you to Mrs Porter.”

“Mr Lawrence,” Mrs Porter says, with a curt nod. “Francis Porter, Child Protective Services. Why don’t we take a seat?”

In his crib, Robby starts crying.

(Watch out for the break!)

 February 14th, 2002

They won’t let him take Robby home.

Johnny’s sitting on the old, dirty carpet floor in their—his, now, he supposes, with Shannon fucked off to who knows where—shitty little one-bedroom apartment, his back against the couch, and a mostly empty bottle of the cheapest whisky the gas station had to offer on the coffee table in front of him.

The foster family they’ve lined up has experience with babies like Robby, they’d said.

It’s too early to tell if there is going to be lasting damage, they’d said.

We can refer you to people who know how to help, they’d said.

No one is trying to take your son away from you, they keep saying.

Yeah, right.

Johnny reaches for the bottle again.

“Happy fuckin’ Valentine’s Day, Shan.”

 April 21st, 2002

Robby is asleep. He’s asleep in some strange woman’s arms, tiny chest rising and falling steadily, looking so damn peaceful—

Johnny turns around and walks away, ignoring Mrs Porter calling after him.

 June 13th, 2002

“Please, Mr Lawrence,” the guy who stole Robby, who’’s telling him he can’t see his own fucking kid says, blocking Johnny’s view into the house, “you can’t be here, not unsupervised. You know you can’t.”

Johnny takes a step forward, swaying on unsteady feet. “I just—I just wan’ to—only for a minute. One minute, okay? ‘S all I’m askin’, okay?”

In the distance, Johnny can hear sirens.

He blacks out before the cops arrive.

 July 8th, 2002

 “Fetal alcohol spectrum disorders (FASDs) are a group of conditions that can occur in a person whose mother drank alcohol during pregnancy. Symptoms can include an abnormal appearance, short height, low body weight, small head size, poor coordination, behavioural problems, learning difficulties and problems with hearing or sight. Those affected are more likely to have trouble in school, legal problems, participate in high-risk activities and have problems with alcohol or other drugs. The most severe form of the condition—”

Johnny doesn’t bother putting  the book back before he stalks out of the library.

 July 9th, 2002

“My name’s Johnny. I’m—I’m an alcoholic? That’s what you’re supposed to start with, right? My kid, uh, Robby? He’s the reason I’m here, I guess? He’s not staying with me right now. For obvious reasons. His mom’s not in the picture. I—look, I don’t really know what the hell you want me to say? I just—I just want to see my kid, man.”

 August 4th, 2002

Robby is six months old. He looks at Johnny with big, curious, familiar blue eyes, thumb jammed into his mouth. He’s drooling all over his sleeve, wispy blond hair sticking up wildly from the nap he’s just woken up from. He’s still got pillow creases on his chubby little cheek.

“He’s been doing really well lately,” Helen tells Johnny, with a soft little smile. She bounces Robby, smoothing back his hair. “Isn’t that right, honey? Are you ready to say hi to your daddy?”

Johnny’s heart is in his throat.

His hands fumble, for a moment, when Helen passes Robby over, before he manages to settle on under Robby’s butt, and the other on his back. Slowly, carefully, Johnny lifts him out of Helen’s hold, pulling him close against his chest.

Robby makes a cooing baby noise, still staring at Johnny, and curls his free hand into the collar of Johnny’s shirt.

Johnny is holding his son.

For the very first time.

He is never letting go again.

Ever.

 October 25th, 2002

“—crying for, like, forty minutes now? That can’t be normal? Right? I’m—what the hell am I doing wrong, he won’t stop—”

“Johnny.” Helen, in Johnny’s less than expert opinion, sounds way too calm, considering the situation at hand. “We knew this was going to be an adjustment for him. First overnight visit with you, in an unfamiliar apartment, a complete deviation from his usual routine. He’s probably just a little confused.”

Confused because he’s staying with his deadbeat, piece of shit father.

Right.

“He’ll be fine, Johnny. You’re doing great,” Helen reassures him, as if reading his mind. Johnny squints suspiciously. “You’ve bathed him, fed him, changed him—”

Whatever she says after that, Johnny doesn’t hear, since Robby decides to add flailing to his sobbing, and yanks the phone right out of Johnny’s grasp.

“—some calming music,” Frank is suggesting, when Johnny manages to jam the receiver back between his ear and shoulder. “Helen is partial to ‘Stuck On You’, but anything slow will do, in a pinch. Put on some music, walk him around, bounce him. You’ll be fine.”

Music. Yes. Okay.

That’s definitely doable.

Only.

“Wait, Lionel Richie? What the hell have you been teaching my kid, oh my god, and they let you be foster parents? Unbelievable—”

“Johnny.” Helen’s clearly trying to hold back laughter, and not doing a very good job of it. And that, somehow, is enough to finally make Johnny listen. Really listen. She wouldn’t laugh at him if Robby was in actual danger. “You will be fine. Both of you. All right?”

Johnny doesn’t own anything Richie, obviously, but one of the boxes he hasn’t unpacked yet is stuffed full of all his mom’s old tapes. He rummages through it one-handed, while Robby attempts to make him go bald prematurely, until his fingers land on an old, well-loved copy of ‘Rumours’.

“Definitely beats Richie,” Johnny murmurs, and pops the tape into his cassette player.

Robby is probably just startled, when it starts in the middle of a not exactly slow song, but he does finally, blessedly, stop crying. He still looks like he’s thinking about it, though, so Johnny hugs him a little tighter, and starts singing along.

All I want is to see you smile. If it takes just a little while. I know you don't believe that it's true. I never meant any harm to you.

 February 4th, 2003

They’re celebrating Robby’s first birthday at Helen and Frank’s house.

There isn’t a huge crowd present, but Johnny had still been surprised at how many familiar faces were there to greet him.

“Like we’d miss this,” Tommy had scoffed, elbowing him in the ribs, while Jimmy’d nodded along. “Nowhere else we’d rather be, man.”

Bobby had just pulled him into an almost bone-crushing hug, and whispered quietly, “I am so proud of you, John.”

Because making someone cry at their kid’s birthday party was, apparently, a thing priests did.

Johnny is sipping his apple juice, squished onto the couch between Bobby and Tommy, when there’s a dull thud from the other side of the room. Helen is standing right by Robby, who’s looking mostly confused as to why he’s on the floor instead of toddling towards the gift table, frowning down at the carpet as if it’s personally offended him.

Then, his lower lip begins to wobble.

Helen is right there. Frank not five feet away.

Robby looks up at her, at Frank, then over at Johnny. Lifting up his arms, eyes wide and wet, he demands, “Dada?”

Johnny’s never moved faster in his life. “I’m right here, buddy. I’ve got you.”

[2dmenenthusiast]

Warmth - a Bakugou x Reader Christmas special

its finally done hhhhhh I love how I was just like “Oh yeah I’ll do a short little fic for Christmas” and then I ended up typing this long ass fic. I mean, its not that long but it took me days to write cuz I lack motivation always so it feels long lmao. Anyways, haven’t wrote for my explodey boy bakugou yet so here it is! Let me know if I gave the reader any specific pronouns or features by accident and I’ll fix it right away! I hope you all enjoy! Please feel free to reblog if you wanna give my fic more exposure, I'd really appreciate it 😚

Summary: You get caught in the middle of a snowstorm, and when you get home, you’re desperately craving the warmth of your exploding, ragey boyfriend. 

Word count: 3.3K

Warnings/other info: swearing, itty bitty reference to sexy times, spoiler for Bakugou’s hero name, just a lot of fluff (you guys are so mean to each other tho lmao)

You hated winter. Actually, scratch that. Let’s rephrase. You hate snow. No, you had nothing against the actual season. Winter brought you cute Christmas movies and catchy songs, as well as the gift-giving holiday itself. However, snow was a demon, and it could fuck right off. Especially when it was blowing directly into your face like it was now, your snow-covered boots trudging through the thick snow as you held grocery bags in each of your gloved hands. Even though you were wearing a thick winter coat and hat, and had your scarf covering half of your face, you felt like you were about to shiver out of your own skin and god you could barely fucking see with all of this snow going directly into your eyes.

“‘It’s right down the street, y/n, just walk there.’ What am I, fucking stupid?” you muttered.

You had figured it would be better to just walk to the store rather than using up gas or spending money on transportation, and fuck were you dumb for making that decision. Bakugou had warned you too, taking one look outside and telling you it would be better to just go get groceries tomorrow. But noooo, you just had to get it done today. And honestly, it looked like the roads were gonna be shitty for the next few days, so better now than later. Speaking of the roads, there were barely any cars driving on them, which was expected. The plow didn’t look like it had come through yet. However, a vehicle slowly came towards you, going under the speed limit to avoid sliding on the road, and you could hear The Christmas Song playing loudly from inside as it passed. Chestnuts roasting on an open fire? Yeah, the only thing going to be roasting on an open fire was your ass the second you walked through the door. And by an open fire, you meant the heater, which Bakugou better have on full fucking blast, or else you swore you were going to wring his neck.

As your apartment building became closer in view, you doubled your efforts and tried to speed up your pace, but the snow made it almost impossible when it was almost past your shins. Still, you grit your teeth and pushed through, letting out a relieved groan when you walked through the front door of your building and felt heat blast you in the face. Releasing a sigh, your grip tightening on the grocery bags as you traversed up the stairs to your apartment, and when you jammed your keys in the lock and pushed through the door, it was just as you suspected. Too fucking cold.

“He’s dead. He’s a dead man. He knew I was going out in the fucking arctic tundra that is the city right now, but he chose to keep the thermostat at fucking 70 degrees?!” you thought, grumbling to yourself as you set the bags down in the kitchen and marched over to the thermostat.

“Hey, take your fucking boots off, will you? You’re tracking snow.”

You raised your middle finger in the direction the voice came from, not even looking back

at your boyfriend as you turned the dial of the thermostat and watched the numbers go up until you were satisfied. Turning to look at Bakugou with a glare, you said something that he could tell was filled with frustration and anger, but he could barely hear you when you were talking through your scarf, raising an eyebrow as if to silently say, “what the fuck are you saying?” Rolling your eyes, you toed off your boots and hung up your coat, taking off your gloves and hat next before unwrapping your scarf from around your face and neck.

“I said you’re a fucking maniac. How are you not freezing?” you asked, hurrying past Bakugou to your shared bedroom so that you could change into something warmer.

Bakugou just scoffed, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest as he watched you change. “You remember what my quirk is, right?”

Slipping one of Bakugou’s large hoodies over your head, you let out a sigh. “Oh right, I forgot that along with the ability to blow shit up, you’re also a walking heat box,” you said, throwing the hood over your head as you turned to your boyfriend with a small pout.

He just looked at you with an amused smirk, a single eyebrow quirked as he looked you up and down. He had to admit, he’d never get tired of seeing you in his clothes. Though he quickly became worried when a mischievous grin appeared on your face, and he had no time to react when you were running forward and slipping your hands underneath his shirt, wrapping your arms around his bare torso.

“Gah! Shit, you’re fucking freezing!” he yelled, trying to push you off of him, but you just tightened your hold as you buried your face in his chest. “Hey! Don’t you get comfy, get the hell off of me.”

“But you’re so waaarm,” you whined, looking up at him with cute puppy dog eyes. You weren’t lying, he was very warm, and you’d be damned if you pulled away from him anytime soon.

Letting out a growl through clenched teeth, Bakugou gripped your thighs in his hands and suddenly lifted you, and you let out a noise of surprise, not expecting your feet to come off the ground as your legs automatically wrapped around him so that you wouldn’t fall. Carrying you back into the living room, he threw you on the couch and pinned you with a glare when you tried to move, not walking away until he was certain you wouldn’t get up from that couch. Once he turned his back to you, you sat up on your knees and looked over the back of the couch as Bakugou walked into the kitchen, bending over the reach into one of the bags, and holy fuck his ass in those sweatpants was downright fucking sinful. As the cool kids would say, he was, “double cheeked up on a Thursday afternoon.”

“It’s Saturday, and stop staring at my ass, you damn perv,” Bakugou grumbled without looking back at you, and you pursed your lips as you raised your hands in surrender.

“Not my fault you’re so dummy thicc.”

“For the love of god, stop watching TikTok.”

You just laughed and stood from the couch, walking into the kitchen and leaning against the counter as you watched your boyfriend put the groceries away. “You don’t have to do that, you know. I can put them away.”

“Nonsense. You were just out freezing your ass off in the snow. Now get back on that couch before I throw you on it again,” he said.

You smiled at the kind gesture. While Bakugou was often rude and uncouth, not making an effort to hide his frustration or disdain for certain people or things, there was a soft spot deep down in there, and you were lucky enough to be one of the few people he showed it too. Of course, it was hardly willingly. You were persistent as hell, getting under his skin the moment you started going to UA with him. However, he’d be lying if he said he didn’t like your persistence.

Letting out a small hum to yourself, you leaned over and pressed your lips against his cheek, his skin warming up under your touch. “You’re cute.”

A light pink dusted his cheeks as you walked back to the couch and plopped down onto the soft cushions, grabbing the fluffy blanket hanging over the back and draping it around your shoulders. No, if anyone in this relationship was cute, it was you. With the way you stole his clothes and just seemed to always make them look better, or made him his bento lunch with cute little notes inside that he secretly kept in his desk and would look at whenever he needed a little pick-me-up. You probably didn’t realize how much he noticed every little thing you did, but he did, and it made him fall more in love with you every day. Of course, he wasn’t very eloquent and it was hard for him to express how he felt with words, but he was a believer in how actions spoke louder.

“Hey, dipstick! You almost done? I’m about to freeze my ass off over here and I need my cuddle buddy,” you yelled from the living room, and Bakugou’s eyebrow twitched as he scoffed, running a hand over his face. You just had to ruin it, didn’t you?

“Yeah, yeah, wait a sec, would you? Not my fault your body can’t regulate temperature like a normal fucking human being.”

Your head popped up, looking over the couch at your boyfriend with an incredulous look on your face. “‘Normal?!’ What about you is normal, Mr. I-get-unnecessarily-ragey-and-blow-shit-up? Hm?”

“Oh and you think you’re so normal when you bought fucking ice cream in the middle of goddamn winter,” he said, holding up the tub of ice cream you recently bought on your trip to the store.

“Ice cream is good for any time of the year! And you have no room to judge me. It could be a hundred degrees out and you’ll be scarfing down a bowl of spicy ramen like it’s your last meal.”

“You don’t hear me complaining about it though, do you?”

You huffed, crossing your arms over your chest as you pouted. “Jerk. you know, I hope your quirk just one day combusts and you blow up your own face.”

“Fuckface.”

“Asshole.”

“Dumbass.”

“Mama’s boy.”

Eyes widening, he dropped the last grocery bag on the floor and stomped over to the couch. If you were any normal person, you probably would’ve been cowering in fear just from the pro-heroes intense stair. But you had been with Bakugou for a while now, and what “normal” person would date someone whose first draft of their hero name was Lord Explosion Murder anyway? He placed his hands on the top of the couch, looking down at you as you stared up at him with a shit-eating grin on your face.

“What the fuck did you just say?”

“Oh, I think you heard me.”

“Take it back or I’m blowing up all of your Deku shirts.”

You gasped dramatically, placing both of your hands over your heart as you gaped at your boyfriend before narrowing your eyes. “You wouldn’t.”

He didn’t say anything, simply raising an eyebrow at your challenge before walking towards your shared bedroom without another word. Oh. Oh, he was being serious. Scrambling off the couch, you ran after him.

“No! Nononono, wait. Ugh, All right!”

He turned to look at you, one of your shirts of the Pro hero Deku held tight in his fist and a smirk on his face that meant trouble. You sighed, crossing your arms over your chest as you looked at the nearby wall, not wanting to see that stupid little grin on his stupid face.

“You… You’re- not a mama’s boy,” you muttered under your breath, coughing to make the words more unintelligible.

“I’m sorry, what did you say? I think I feel my hand warming up a bit.”

“Ugh, fine! You’re not a mama’s boy. Happy?”

Grin widening, he dropped the shirt and walked over to you in long strides, closing the distance quickly and placing his hands on your waist. “See? Was that so hard?”

“Absolutely teeth-pulling,” you said, dropping your head on his chest as he chuckled, bringing a hand up to gently pat your head. Of course, there wasn’t a lot about you two that was so different from each other. You both had a mutual hatred for backing down. He then looked over at the bed where the green-haired hero’s smiling face stared back at him, and he scowled.

“Why do you have so many shirts of that damn nerd anyway?”

“I don’t have that many, Katsu.”

“You have like ten. You don’t have any merch of me.” His grip on you tightened possessively, and if he wasn’t aware of it, you certainly were, smiling against his chest before lifting your head.

“Why would I need merch when I have the real life thing right here?” you asked, poking at his abs. “Besides, it’s not like I bought them. They were gifts whenever he had new designs come out.”

“And you couldn’t just refuse?”

“Even if you have some weird tension with him, that doesn’t mean I can’t be friends with him, dummy.” You lightly flicked his forehead and slipped out of his grasp as you walked back out to the living room, and he followed close behind with furrowed brows.

“Weird tension? The hell’s that supposed to mean?”

You just looked at him with raised eyebrows and shrugged, dropping down onto the couch before pulling out your phone. It took him a second to understand what you were getting at, and when he did, he wanted to vomit up his lunch.

“Oh, you’re sick.”

You threw your hands up. “I’m not saying I ship it! Your Twitter followers certainly do, though.”

“Yeah well, they’re all weirdos anyway,” he said, sitting down next to you and throwing an arm around your shoulders, and you immediately relaxed into him, content with the warmth he seemed to produce 24/7. “The only person I wanna be…” he grimaced, shaking his head, “shipped with is you.”

You smiled, looking up at Bakugou as you placed your hand on his chest. “I think people would if we didn’t constantly insult each other while we’re out in public. And you know, if you were actually affectionate with me.”

“I’m affectionate!” he yelled, arm tightening around you. “Those damn extras don’t need to see that shit anyway. Not like it’s any of their business.”

You chuckled and moved to straddle Bakugou’s thighs, hands taking their time as you dragged them up his muscular torso and splayed your fingers over his chest. You admired the man below you with a small smile on your face, his hands moving so that they rested on your thighs, giving them a small squeeze, and you watched his tongue swipe over his bottom lip as he seemed to look at you with that same red-eyed intense stare that he always did. Leaning down, you placed a slow kiss against his lips but pulled away before he could deepen it, and he chased your lips with a quiet growl as you let out an amused huff.

“Would you…” You could tell he was hesitant, never knowing how to properly express what he wanted to say, especially when he was feeling vulnerable. You placed your lips against his cheek, gently holding his face in your hands to try and reassure him. “Would you like me to be more affectionate in public? Would that… make you happy?”

Brows furrowing, your lips formed into a frown as you sat back, hands slipping into his. “Katsu… we’ve been together since our high school days. If I had any complaints, wouldn’t I have voiced them by now?” He opened his mouth, but you didn’t give him the chance to respond, grabbing his face again. “Listen to me for a second. Despite what people think about your rough edges and your unpleasant attitude-”

“Watch it.”

You smiled. “I wouldn’t change a damn thing about you. Your random outbursts, your sailor mouth, your shitty nicknames for all of our friends. Those things are what make you Bakugou Katsuki. Not some shitty tabloid with that stupid headline that’s like “Ten things to know about Pro Hero Dynamight!” or whatever. They’re all bullshit. No one sees the side of you that I get to. No one sees the big softie that you really are.” You lightly poked Bakugou’s chest with a giggle, and he swatted at your hand.

“Hey, I’m not soft, you dumbass,” he grumbled, and you just laughed as you leaned into him and wrapped your arms around his neck, resting your forehead on his shoulder.

“Keep telling yourself that.”

You heard him sigh and felt his arms wrap around you, happy in his strong embrace. There was nowhere you felt safer than in Bakugou’s arms. They were always there to hold you at night, or to pull you into a hug when you were feeling upset. You loved his arms, but you loved him in general. Everything about him always had butterflies fluttering around in your stomach. When he would gaze at you like you were the only other person in the world, or when he’d come home after a particularly rough day, and you’d offer to help him relieve some stress, but he’d insist that the only thing on his mind at the moment was you underneath him while he memorized and tasted every inch of you. Yeah, you were a love-struck idiot, but so was he. Maybe even more so.

You were brought out of your thoughts when the lights started to flicker before going out, and you waited a few seconds for them to come back on, but they never did. Are you fucking kidding me?

“Um… Katsuki?”

“Hm.”

“Please tell me our power didn’t just go out.”

“Our power didn’t go out.”

You smacked his chest. “Don’t be a smartass.”

“Then don’t say stupid shit.”

You let out a groan before whining out his name, and he sighed as he lifted you off of him and walked into the kitchen to grab his phone. It was like you could already feel the cold seeping back into the apartment through the cracks in the doors and windows, and you shivered as you grabbed the blanket from before and wrapped it around your body. Bakugou then came back into the living room, letting out a sigh and tossing his phone onto the couch.

“Some idiot driving in this shit-storm hit a pole and took down a transformer. Power won’t be back until the morning.”

Great. Just magnificent. Who the fuck decides to drive in a snowstorm? Letting out a huff, you stood and went to the kitchen to find a lighter before lighting every candle you two had, hoping they would provide enough light for the night. After making sure at least one candle was in every room, you went back to find Bakugou gathering all the blankets he could and raised an eyebrow.

“What? We both know our comforter won’t be enough to warm your shivering ass.”

“But I have you, don’t I? My personal heater,” you said, rocking back and forth on the balls of your feet as you smiled.

Bakugou scoffed. “Yeah, can’t wait for you to suck all the heat out of me.”

“Oh piss off. You love my cuddles.”

Before he could give you another snarky remark, you turned on your heel and walked to your bedroom, pulling back the covers and immediately tucking yourself underneath them. But of course, it wasn’t warm enough. When Bakugou walked into the room, you stuck a hand out from under the blanket and made a grabbing motion, and he just chuckled at you before throwing an extra blanket on top of you and climbing underneath the covers to lay next to you. You immediately sought him out, desperate for his warmth as you wrapped yourself around him and nuzzled into his chest, and his arms looped around you as he tangled your legs together.

“Christ, you’re fucking freezing,” he grumbled.

“Shut up and hold me tighter,” you said voice muffled as you spoke into his chest, and he did as you asked, his arms tightening around you as you let out a content sigh. 

Relaxing in the silence, you felt yourself begin to grow more tired with each second that passed, and your boyfriend seemed to relax as well, which was rare for him. You both were perfectly content, dozing off in each other’s embrace.

“... So should I get a mistletoe for the apartment?”

“Dear god, shut the fuck up and go to sleep.”

[thearvariblues]

And They Were Roommates - Chapter 1

Slimmer Than Yennefer’s Waist

***

“I just wish he just fucking did it already, you know?” Lambert muttered, leaning against the bar counter.

“Yeah, I know,” Eskel nodded, wiping another glass dry. “He’s like a lovesick puppy.”

“And you don’t have to live with him,” Lambert groaned as he watched Geralt “help” Jaskier pack his things on the tiny stage at the back of the bar. The help consisted of Geralt doing all the work while Jaskier just stood there and watched, smiling like an idiot.

“Yes, every fucking day I see them like this, I thank all the gods I know for that,” Eskel agreed.

“Hey, Geralt!” Lambert yelled. “Aren’t you fucker supposed to be helping us close the bar? Or are you too busy playing a roadie?”

Geralt lifted his middle finger, not even looking up from Jaskier’s things.

“Fucking unbelievable,” Lambert snorted.

“By the way, aren’t you supposed to be helping, too? Because it seems to me like I am doing all the work here.”

“I’m giving you moral support or something, jeez,” Lambert sighed, rolling his eyes.

“And that prevents you from doing anything else, or…?”

“Ugh, fine. Whatever. Whose bright idea it was to close almost right after Jaskier’s gig ends, anyway?”

“You mean whose bright idea it was to plan a gig that ends at midnight,” Eskel replied. “Although there were so many people here tonight that I’m starting to think Jaskier’s really good. Probably.”

“If you have any doubts about that, don’t mention them to Geralt. He’ll gladly explain to you that Jaskier is the best thing that happened to rock music since fucking Queen.”

Eskel paused.

“Doesn’t Geralt only listen to death metal? Power, if he’s feeling particularly soft.”

“Yeah, I said rock, not metal,” Lambert chuckled. “Besides, Jaskier loves Queen.”

“Oh. I see.”

“Yeah, it’s absolutely disgusting.”

“That he loves Queen?”

“No, I mean what Geralt’s doing.”

“Well… Yeah,” Eskel chuckled, but then he suddenly paused, blinking. “Uh-oh. I think he told him something.”

“What?!” Lambert turned back to the stage, his ginger curls whipping around his head.

Jaskier was just standing there, utterly baffled, staring at Geralt with his mouth wide open. Geralt, meanwhile, was red as a beetroot, clearly trying to come up with something to say and failing.

“Oh, no, don’t you dare,” Lambert muttered. “Don’t you dare back off now, I won’t spend the next two years listening to your lovesick bullshit!”

“You don’t even know what he told him,” Eskel remarked.

“Don’t care,” Lambert shrugged. “Oh. Oh, yes. Can you see that? Jaskier’s coming closer!”

“Oh, fuck, it’s happening,” Eskel gasped, leaning against the counter next to Lambert. “It really is happening.”

“No no no, Geralt, don’t you fucking dare run away, you moron.”

“Yes, Jaskier, stop him, that’s a good boy.”

“Of course he was gonna stop him, that queer bard has been madly in love with him for years.”

“Are you allowed to say queer?”

“Jaskier calls himself that!”

“Fair point.”

“Besides, I am… Oh, god. It really is happening!”

“Jesus Christ, I can’t believe it.”

That was the moment when Jaskier and Geralt’s lips finally met in a careful, almost shy kiss.

“Yes!” Lambert yelled, jumping up and down. “Fucking finally, you hare-brained dickheads!”

Geralt pulled Jaskier closer with one arm, using his other hand to give Lambert another middle finger.

“You gotta admit they’re kind of sweet, though,” Eskel chuckled when Jaskier jumped up, wrapping both his legs around Geralt’s waist.

Lambert rolled his eyes.

“Whatever. But if I ever start being sappy like this, just promise you’re gonna kill me.”

“Oh, Lambert,” Eskel sighed. “With pleasure.”

*

Precisely six months later, Lambert was sitting on his couch, staring at Geralt in utter disbelief.

“What the fuck do you mean you’re gonna move out?!”

“I’m sorry, I really am,” Geralt sighed, taking another sip of his beer. “But we knew this roommate situation wasn’t gonna last forever, didn’t we?”

“Oh, fuck of. We’ve been living together for how long? Since your divorce. That was what, four years ago?”

“Five.”

“Even better,” Lambert snorted. “Not forever, my ass!”

“Look, Lamb, I can give you… three rents. So you have time to find another roommate or… a cheaper apartment to live in, I don’t know.”

“You know where you can shove your fucking three rents, don’t you?” Lambert growled. “Am I really that insufferable a roommate, Geralt?”

“No. Well, you’re very… yourself,” Geralt smiled.

“Thanks a lot, mate, really appreciate it.”

“Lambert. It’s not you. I just… I just want to live with my boyfriend, really.”

“Yeah, and I get it, but I…” Lambert sighed. “I fucking love this apartment, I really do, and now I’m gonna have to give it up. I could never afford a place like this on my own.”

“You just need to find another roommate, Lamb.”

“Hate to break it to you, honey, but chances that I find another person willing to put up with my bullshit are slimmer than Yennefer’s waist.”

“You know, you could just say you’re gonna miss me,” Geralt smiled.

Lambert sighed again, but then he raised to his feet and went to the kitchen. When he came back, he was holding a bottle of scotch and two glasses.

“I am gonna miss you, Geralt,” he said, placing the glasses on the table with a soft clink. “Wanna get utterly wasted one more time?”

“With you? Always,” Geralt nodded, finishing his beer.

*

Geralt’s task to speak with Lambert was a walk in the park in comparison to what Jaskier had to go through.

“So… You want me to move out, basically,” his roommate said.

“I didn’t say that, dear heart,” Jaskier sighed, pouring them another glass of wine. “You’re more than welcome to stay, it’s just…”

“It’s just that I’d have to live here with you and your boyfriend. No, thanks.” He ran his fingers through his long black hair. “It’s fine, really. I’m sure I can find a place to stay.”

“Geralt’s not gonna move in immediately, of course. I was thinking… perhaps next month?” Jaskier shrugged. “I can even help you with the apartment hunting, if you want.”

“That’s sweet of you, Jaskier, but there’s no need. I’m sure I can do it on my own,” he said, adjusting his long skirt to cover his feet. “Damn, it’s fucking cold today, isn’t it?”

“Just put on some socks.”

“You know I hate socks.”

“Fine, freeze to death, then, if you want. Just… Listen, I want to help. To compensate for kicking you out!”

His roommate smirked.

“You just wanna ease your conscience, that’s all, babe. Stop it, for fuck’s sake. I’m gonna be fine. I’m just gonna miss my friend, that’s all.”

“Oh, honey, but you can still see me whenever you want!” Jaskier said quickly. “Just stop by for a glass of wine, or we can meet at Geralt’s bar!”

“You mean Geralt and those other two’s bar.”

“Eskel and Lambert. Geralt’s adoptive brothers.”

“Yeah, those two. The scarred one and the asshole one.”

“You could meet them if you wanted, you see.”

“No, thanks. Knowing Geralt is probably enough, I don’t need to meet his family, too.”

“Well, you’re gonna meet them at the wedding whether you want it or not, so–”

“What fucking wedding are you talking about? Jaskier! Did he propose and you didn’t tell me?!”

“Relax. I meant a… potential future wedding I absolutely haven’t already planned every detail of.”

“Jesus, you’re incredible, Jaskier,” his roommate laughed. “Hey, I have a question. Couldn’t you like… you move in with Geralt and leave this apartment to me so all I’d have to do would be to find another roommate?”

“I wish,” Jaskier muttered, licking his lips. “But I told you Geralt lives with his brother Lambert, remember? And he insisted on leaving that apartment to him.”

“Lucky bastard. Think I could convince him to let me move in with him?”

Jaskier blinked, mouth falling open.

“Aiden!” he gasped. “That’s a fucking brilliant idea!”

Aiden groaned finishing his wine in a single one gulp.

“Oh, well. Looks like I’m gonna meet one of Geralt’s brothers, after all. Lucky me. Just remind me, Lambert is…”

“The asshole one.”

“Fucking great,” Aiden said, lifting the hand holding his glass. “In that case, more wine, please. I don’t want to face that idea sober.”

[novelconcepts]

You saying more childhood AU is possible with the right prompt is just...

More Tess. All of the Tess. Tess the morning after the party, lives in my brain rent free. The teasing. The knowing looks. The Jamie and Dani being so in love and unashamed and also oops we forgot the roommate. And Tess being the wonderful person she is and not letting them get away with anything.

It’s the fact that they think they’re subtle, that really gets her. 

Not that Tess is upset to find Jamie crashing with them the week following graduation. Of course Jamie is crashing with them. Where else would she go, now that Dani “it’s important to grow up and change and learn who you really are, or some such bull” Clayton has finally snapped up the hot gardener of her dreams? Honestly, if Dani let her walk out that door--especially after that first night, which, hello, gardener; these walls aren’t half as thick as they apparently think--she’d have forfeited all rights to sanity, and Tess would have no choice but to make her move instead.

No, she isn’t upset to find Jamie still here the following morning. Or at all. She loves Jamie. What’s not to love? 

Honestly, so much to love. If she didn’t love Dani even more, she might have to really test the bounds of this friendship. Particularly when she opens her bedroom door to find Jamie--hair rumpled, dressed in a half-unbuttoned flannel and a pair of boxer shorts--at the kitchen counter. Like, warn a woman. 

“Warn you about what?” Jamie looks blank, her hands prying open each cupboard with evidently-mounting disappointment. “You really don’t have any tea?”

“Warn a woman,” Tess repeats, hip-checking her gently out of the way and scrounging the supply of English Breakfast out from behind the stoner snacks. “Before you turn up in her kitchen looking all sex-rumpled. I haven’t even had coffee, Taylor, Jesus.”

Jamie blinks, taking the box from her hands. “O...kay. How was the rest of the party?”

“Not nearly as engaging as your night,” Tess informs her pleasantly, delighted when Jamie’s sleep-muddled expression lights up with embarrassment. “But an extravaganza in its own right all the same. Where’s my girl? I know you railed her into next week, but it seems bad manners to leave you to breakfast alone.”

“I didn’t--we--”

“Thin walls,” Tess sing-songs. “Like paper. Or, what, you’re English--parchment?”

“We have paper,” Jamie deadpans. Tess pats her shoulder, working around her to fill the kettle. 

“Good fortune really does smile upon you. Ah! Sleeping Beauty arises!”

Dani, looking only slightly more functional than Jamie, is emerging from the bathroom with an expression that suggests she, at least, is very aware of the acoustics of their apartment. It’s so tempting to tease her about it--Dani has this truly adorable habit of looking like she might combust if pushed too far, the red of her face complimented nicely by the gold of her hair--but Tess figures some things can wait. Lord knows they’re going to walk right into it soon enough.

But like--so soon. Like, she goes off to take a shower, and comes back to find they still haven’t left the kitchen soon.

“Seriously?” She laughs, watching them leap apart. It’s too clear Dani has forgone the idea of coffee and bacon for the much-more-invigorating art of pushing Jamie against the refrigerator. Not that Tess can blame her. 

“We--were just--”

“Right in front of my cereal,” Tess says gravely, shaking her head in faux-disappointment as she stretches over Jamie--whose hands are still rooted to Dani’s hips, the hem of Dani’s shirt dropping hastily back over her stomach--to retrieve a box of off-brand Lucky Charms. “No shame.”

They’re both making noises of disagreement, as though Tess hasn’t had her share of groping in the kitchen experiences to call on. She snorts. 

“Look, far be it from me to stop your, ah, young love in its tracks. Just. Keep it out of my bedroom, is all I ask. Unless...” She wiggles her eyebrows. Jamie clears her throat so violently, it sounds as though she might fracture something.

“Shower. Should. I.”

“That sentence normally goes in the other direction,” says Tess helpfully. Dani swats her back, grinning. 

“Got that out of your system yet?”

“Oh, not nearly.” Tess beams. “By all means, Clayton, show her where the shower lives.”

“I know where the,” Jamie begins to protest, but Dani is slipping both arms around her middle, pressing against her back to urge her toward the bathroom.

“That’s her polite way of saying if I don’t go with you now, she’s going to spend the next half hour fishing for details.”

“You still owe me those,” Tess calls after them. “Every last filthy one.”

***

They think the shower is noise-cancelling, too, Tess realizes about four minutes later. Jesus, these beautiful useless idiots. 

***

It’s the lack of subtlety masquerading as Chill, really. The fact that every single time Tess leaves a room, she can count slowly to ten, poke her head back out, and find they’ve picked right back up where last she interrupted. 

Step into the bedroom to change her clothes? Come back out to find Dani straddling Jamie on the couch. 

Take a quick smoke break on the stairs out front? Glance through the window to find Jamie shirtless, the unmistakable tread of scratches running down her back beneath her bra. 

Offer to run out for lunch? Spend an extra five minutes idly counting clouds, because fuck only knows the sounds Dani is making isn’t karaoke. 

“You two,” she announces, tossing the pizza box onto the counter with a flourish, “are going to break something if you keep this up. I mean, you’re at least taking hydration breaks, I hope? Do I need to bring you a power bar?”

Jamie has the decency to look slightly ashamed of herself, though there’s a definite grin beneath the hunched shoulders. Dani, selecting a slice of pepperoni-and-banana-peppers, shrugs. 

“Consider it payback?”

“For who?” Tess demands, delighted. Dani raises her free hand, ticking her fingers down toward her palm.

“Tyler, whose butt I saw like ten minutes before you introduced us. May, who you used to desecrate the kitchen floor. Carlos and Beth--”

“Liz,” Tess interrupts, “she goes by Liz these days.”

“--Liz, with whom you conveniently forgot I needed to shower before my presentation and took up the bathroom for three hours--”

“Okay, okay,” Tess snorts, groping for a dishtowel in some shade of off-white to wave. “Truce.”

“And that’s just this apartment,” Dani says cheerfully. She tilts her head to look at Jamie, whose face can best be described as aghast. “Back in the dorm, she used to sneak girls in after I was asleep.”

“You were a sound sleeper!” 

“No one is sound enough to ignore a bed frame breaking, Tess.”

“I...avoiding college was the right choice,” Jamie says weakly. Tess bats her eyes.

“You’re saying you’ve never dreamed of breaking a bed frame with me, Taylor?”

Jamie darts a look around at Dani, her eyes just shy of screaming. Tess is having the best time of her life. 

***

“Tell me honestly, though,” she says. Jamie gives her a sharp look, uncertainty obvious even as she reaches to accept the joint Tess is passing her way. 

“Really don’t think Dani wants me giving you a play by play.”

“Dani, beloved of my soul, was fool enough to schedule a doctor’s appointment while you were still in town. She knows what I’m about.” 

To Jamie’s credit, she doesn’t choke this time. She puffs once, twice, holding the smoke in her lungs an impressively long time before craning her head back and exhaling. "What am I telling you honestly?”

“You’re going to keep an eye on her, right?”

Jamie looks surprised. “Yeah. Not that she needs it, mind. Just. Yeah. Always.”

Tess sighs. “She doesn’t need it, but you know as well as I what that woman is like. Too good. Too fucking good for her own good, you know? Forgets, sometimes, that she can come first, too.”

Jamie offers a smile nearly wicked in its amusement. “Oh, I take care of that.”

“Yes,” Tess drawls, “darling, I can tell. You know, really relieved she never brought anyone home before now. I’m not sure my beauty sleep could have taken the abuse.”

Jamie laughs, leaning back and pulling a throw pillow into a loose embrace. “She doesn’t need anyone taking care of her. But...”

“But you can’t help wanting to, anyway,” Tess guesses. When Jamie nods, she takes another hit, lets the smoke burn in her chest. “She has that effect on people. Our girl would take a bullet for anyone, and it’s...impossible not to love her for it.”

“She’s the reason,” Jamie says softly, “I didn’t run. Reason I did a lot of things, some of ‘em really, really stupid. Sometimes I think everything I’ve ever done can be traced back home to her, one way or another.”

“That, my dear,” Tess says, “is what fools and songstresses alike call love, I think. Just...do me a favor, keep her from killing herself for those kids.”

Jamie nods. “I will. Promise.”

“Good,” Tess says lightly. “I like you, Jamie. You’ve got the hands of a sinner and the smile of a saint. I’d really hate to have to track you down and kill you for doing her wrong.”

***

For all the sex, and all the blushing that follows, it’s late nights like this one that really say it all. Nights where cards fade into lazy conversation fade into this: Jamie, asleep on the couch, her head resting in Dani’s lap. Dani, looking down at her like she’s never felt so at home in her own skin. 

And Tess, watching them both, astonished by the lack of fear in the room. The lack of distance. The lack of uncertainty. 

Dani, who has always been a nervous sort, whose panic attacks are so predictable on bad weeks, Tess came back from that first Christmas break with a laundry list of coping methods to offer--looks perfectly at peace. Her fingers stroke back Jamie’s hair, tracing her forehead, her nose, every brush of contact only seeming to sink Jamie deeper into dream. Dani has never looked like this before. 

“You’re happy,” Tess says quietly. Not a question. Not a challenge. Dani smiles.

“Part of me thought she’d get sick of it, you know. Waiting for me.”

“Who could get sick of you?” Tess asks, and means it. No one in the world stacks up to Dani, on a list of favorite people. No one in the world ever could. If Jamie really did fall ass over teakettle for this woman when they were barely old enough to know what love was, she couldn’t be blamed for it. Not for a second. 

“You’ll invite me to the wedding, of course,” Tess says, when Dani--eyes closed, fingers still tracing aimlessly--says nothing for a while. One blue eye emerges, her nose scrunching up. 

“Jumping ahead, aren’t you?”

“She’d do it here and now, if you asked. Shit, I could get ordained, do it for you. Always thought I’d look nice in a little suit.”

“You’d be gorgeous,” Dani says, without a hint of deprecation. Tess blows her a kiss. “And...yes. If and when, I can’t imagine doing it without you.”

“As officiant?”

“I was thinking maid of honor,” Dani laughs. Tess leans back, smiling. 

“That’ll do.”

The silence creeps in again, the sleepy indulgence of post-midnight living that feels so perfectly suited to the college experience. Nothing else, Tess suspects, will ever be quite this again--the quiet feeling like peace, the weariness feeling earned, not crushing. Jamie breathes out in her sleep, one hand drifting to gently grasp the hem of Dani’s shirt.

“Gonna miss you,” Tess says softly. “And this one, too.”

Dani smiles, a hint of sadness in her eyes. “It won’t be the same again, will it?”

“Nope.” And maybe that’s a good thing, she thinks. Maybe that’s exactly how it should be. Growing up. Changing. Learning who they ought to be. “But you’ll call.”

“And write,” Dani agrees. 

“And send me pictures of your hot gardener,” Tess adds. “Lord knows, it’d be a crying shame to forget that.”

Dani laughs. “Never.”

“You did good, Clayton. Took you a minute, but--you did good.”

She lets the silence settle for real, lets Jamie sleep and Dani doze, lets herself sink into the armchair. They aren’t subtle, it’s true--she’ll probably wake tomorrow to find they’ve opted for a quiet round of the most wall-shaking sex she’s ever heard in Dani’s room--but that feels right, somehow. Good, to see Dani refusing to make herself small. Great, to see Dani refusing to temper an emotion this grand.

“I love you idiots,” she says softly. “You’re going to be just fuckin’ fine.”

[thiswasinevitableid]

57 sternclay nsfw? i can see stern complaining to a stranger that his ex complained about how weird his kinks were while dumping him

Here you go! 57: “we’re fighting over the last box of half-off valentine’s day chocolate and end up in a “who has it worse” battle.

For being in a mountain town in the slow season, the seasonal candy shelves of the Kepler Walgreens are bare. Were it 10 am on Valentines Day, Joseph would be in a panic. At 10 p.m, it feels like yet more proof this trip is utterly doomed.

But he didn’t become one of the top agents in the Department of Unexplained Phenomena by being unobservant. On the top shelf, pushed towards the back, is a bag of Reese's hearts and a bag of M&Ms. Thank you, years of training.

Being six feet tall helps too.

He’s so locked onto his target that he doesn’t notice the other person in the store until their hands smack into each other en route to the bags.

“Sorry, uh, lemme just get these and I’ll get out of your way.” A voice as deep and sweet as summer honey reaches his ears.

“I’m sorry, but I was going to buy these.” He starts pulling the bags towards him, only for the other guy to grab them. Joseph glares; the man trying to relieve him of his last solace looks like the kind of lumberjack you see in recordings titled things, “Log Pounders IV” or “Bear Hunting.”

“Look, buddy, I really need these so can you, like, find some other bags?”

“These are the last two. And I guarantee I need them more.” As long as he keeps a pleasant voice and gives no ground, this should go smoothly.

“Unless you got dumped this month, I don’t think you do.”

“I got dumped seven hours ago.” He says through an increasingly tight-lipped smile.

“At least your ex isn’t tagging you in a bunch of photos bragging about his new boyfriend.”

“He can’t, because he probably only just got back to his apartment in the rental car. The one I’m now stranded here without.”

“Pfft, just call an Uber or something.”

“It’ll cost several hundred dollars to get home!”

“You look like you can afford it.” Brown eyes flick from his hair down to his shoes, “some of us have to use half-price candy to soothe our wounds. You’re probably staying at the kind of fancy B&B where they have complimentary booze.”

“I would be, except their was a fuck-up with the reservation. Which my ex took as proof this was time to end things, and is the reason I’m dragging this all over town.” He kicks his ergonomically designed, rolling suitcase hard enough that it bumps into his adversary.

“Better he gave you some bullshit reason than the truth, which mine was all too happy to tell me. You can have these when someone you tried to make happy tells you he thinks you’re ‘too soft’ and that if only you’d manned up he woulda stayed, whatever the fuck that even means.”

Goddamnit, Joseph is not about to lose this argument--and his candy--on top of everything else.

“I’ll trade you that for being told you’re: too exacting, far more uncool than your job implies, too anxious, too invested in your work, that your whole personality is flawed and, just for extra fun, that your kinks are too weird and no one in their right mind would ever want to sleep with you if they knew them ahead of time.”

The other man’s hold on the bags loosens. Then it returns, stronger than before, as he grumbles, “Please, no one’s kinks are that weird.”

“You have no idea what mine are.”

“Then how about you give me a demonstration, huh?” Lumberjack snaps.

Joseph's common sense finally catches up with his thirst for comfort and, apparently, conflict.

“I, I’m sorry, did you just offer to fuck me in the middle of a fight over discount candy?”

“I....” the man lets go of the bags, chuckles, “yeah, I did. Fuck, I’m sorry, it’s been such a shitty day that my mouth decided it was gonna do whatever it took to stay in that fight.”

Joseph laughs a little, slumping against the shelf, “I guess it’s nice to know I’m not the only person in town whose Valentine’s Day didn’t go to plan.”

“No kidding. Though, uh, I didn’t get dumped this month. It was three months ago. He did tag me in all those photos today though.”

“That’s so rude.”

“Not as rude as leaving your boyfriend stranded in the mountains.”

B-grade pop hits fill the awkward silence between them.

“I, uh, this might be way outta line, but I got an idea; if you buy the candy, I can take us back to my place and bake something with it. That way we can both enjoy it, and you won’t be stuck wandering around in the cold.”

He runs a quick is-this-a-serial-killer scan of the man in front of him.

“Sure. But just so you know, I’m opening the Reeses in the car.”

-----------------------------------------------------

“Feeling better?” Barclay, his host, wipes stray cupcake crumbs from his lips.

“Much.” He polishes off his second coffee-cocoa cupcake with M&Ms in the batter, lifts his coffee cup, “this place is lucky to have you.”

Barclay blushes the same way he has every time Joseph compliments his cooking, home, or taste in books. They’ve spent the last ninety minutes in the kitchen of Barclay’s small, A-Frame cabin, one of eight laid out in a half circle behind Amnesty Lodge. The cook explained that the cabins were for staff or long term residents, and that while the Lodge sometimes had vacancies, this week had seen them swamped.

The rain alternates between pleasant pitter-pats and drops that could kill a small bird, so Joseph is incredibly grateful to Barclay for giving him a place to shelter. When he thanks him, the cook shrugs with a little smile, “you shouldn’t leave nice things out in the rain.”

As they’re cleaning up the dishes, Barclay passes him a plate and says, “You can stay here tonight. If, uh, if you want. The couch isn’t much, but it’s dry and I’ve got a bunch of spare blankets.”

“That’d be great, thank you. And, um, thank you for being so nice to me, given how we met.”

“Eh, no one who’s in a Walgreens after ten is in a good mood. And, uh, it’s nice to have someone to talk with. I’m kinda the quiet one of my friends, and work is mostly calling orders and stuff.” He pulls the coffee pot from the heat, “can I top you off?”

“Yes, please.” His caffeine tolerance is so high a few cups late at night doesn’t mess with his sleep. Barclay is sticking with tea, something scented like cardamon and comfort.

They move to the couch that’s clearly been re-covered a dozen times, Barclay only getting up to turn on some music; delta blues, if Joseph’s ear is right. It’s not until the clock strikes one thirty that Joseph notices they’re sitting so close that their knees bump whenever one of them turns to talk.

“Okay, I gotta ask” Barclay’s brown eyes shine sweet and playful, “what exactly was so weird about your kinks that your dickhead ex went out of his way to mention them?”

He thinks a moment, scanning his body and noticing he’s more relaxed than he’s been in weeks, including all the times he spent with his ex. Something about the faint scent of dish-soap on Barclays hands, the gentle smile that makes Joseph certain that--for all his bulk--if Joseph told him to roll over and show his belly, he’d do it in an instant, the way he doesn’t rolls his eyes or shy away when Joseph talks, all of that makes him calm. Which makes him bold.

“Wait right here.” He hops up, grabs his bag from the door and pulls it over to the rug by the couch. All he has to do to reveal his secret is lift his pajamas.

“Holy fuck.” Barclay leans forward, “you really came prepared.”

“It was supposed to be a romantic getaway. I...we’d never used any of this together, but I hoped we might this time. It’s, it’s not his fault, I know my tastes aren’t for everyone, and we had plenty in common in bed. But he went through this whole thing where he said we should share our deepest fantasies. Apparently wanting to be choked is fine, but wanting to fuck Mothman is not.”

“That’s what this one is.” Barclay picks up one of the two dildos, black with lots of swirling ridges.

“That’s actually my dragon one. Um.” he holds up the ovipositor toy, “this one is supposed to be mothman.”

Barclay squishes one of the silicone eggs, “that feels kinda nice. What else did you bring?”

His genuine interest is not helping Joseph keep his hopes under control.

“The other toy is the ‘bigfoot’ model. And this is, um, this is my newest one, I was so excited I pre-ordered it. It acts like a cock-sleeve, but this part here is supposed to mimic a, um, a knot.”

“Like the idea of getting knotted, babe?” The cook’s voice is a little deeper than when he last spoke, and rather than pulling away he’s inching into Joseph’s space.

“Yes. I, um, I’m getting the sense” he shifts so his hands are on Barclay’s knees, “that we might have something in common besides our taste in leftover candy.”

“I packed all this so carefully” he brushes their lips together, “it’d be a shame to let it sit unused.”

Barclay scoops him into a kiss, growling happily when Joseph instantly parts his lips. His beard is soft and tickly under Joseph’s palms, and his mind takes the thought of getting beard-burn on his thighs and runs so far with it that he almost misses what Barclay says next.

“In that case, you better decide if you want me to open your ass up so I can fuck you with a knot, or if you wanna do it yourself.”

“I prefer to do it myself.”

A second kiss, a bit gentler this time, “bedroom’s at the end of the hall. Get naked and wait for me there?”

“Roger that, big guy.”

When Barclay growls this time it’s rougher, jumping out of his chest and seeming to surprise him.

Joseph undresses as Barclay stops off in the bathroom, rifling through the medicine cabinet while Joseph folds his clothes. He’s down to his boxers when he remembers there is a conversation he needed to have before it hit this point.

“You trying to get me to rip those off with my teeth?” Barclay grins as he sets some condoms and lube on the bed and starts taking off his pants.

“I, um, there’s something you should be aware of. We don’t have the same, um, set-up.”

Barclay furrows his brow, gets his meaning, then nods, “no problem. If you’re okay with that part of you being involved I, uh, I just got a really, really good idea for what to do.”

“It’s not always the case, but tonight I definitely want it involved. I want you inside me as many ways as possible.”

“Fuck yeah.” Barclay tosses his shirt into the laundry, “get your ass open enough to take that knot.”

He slips the condom on, douses it with lube, and presses the first finger in, discovering that he's unable to stop complimenting Barclay for even five seconds while he finishes disrobing. The flush under his dark chest hair is unendingly charming, as is the little whine he makes at Joseph telling him he likes how big he is.

“I, I’m serious, ahhn, it’s rare to find someone taller than me and I really like it.”

“Feeds into the monster thing?” Barclay crawls beside him, laying down so he can kiss him as he works the second finger in.

“In a way.”

A deep, rumbly chuckle that has Joseph fucking himself hurriedly, “Don’t be coy, babe. You like the thought of something big and hairy getting a hold of you and not letting you go until you’re dripping cum.”

“Holy shit, yes” he gets the third finger in, sighing as Barclay nuzzles his neck.

“Well, I’m not bigfoot, but I’m betting I’ll do just fine.”

“More than fine.” Joseph kisses him, feels him smile in a way that melts his heart like cheap chocolate.

“Got some other theories about you, babe, but you gotta wait until you’re on my dick to hear ‘em.” Barclay sits up, stroking his cock in time with Joseph’s hand, “fucking-A, can’t believe your ex didn’t wanna stick around for this. You look like a fucking porn star; we oughta record you getting fucked in your suit and sell if for big bucks.”

He moans, pulling his fingers free, “Fuck me now. Please.”

“Fuck that’s hot.” Barclay works the sleeve down over his cock, sits up against the wall, “come sit in my lap, facing away.”

Joseph straddles him, gasps when the head of his cock presses in. He prepped well, but all the same he has to take his time wiggling his way down. Barclay caresses him, grunting and whimpering whenever he moves, breath prickling the hairs at the base of his neck. It’s heavenly.

When he hits the knot, Barclay rubs more lube on it, but it stays outside of him as he grinds on it. Between moans, the cook manages to say, “want me to start the next part?”

“Yes, please.”

Barclay loads the ovipositor with the three eggs, praises Joseph for being a good boy when he spreads his legs to accommodate the head of the toy.

“I, I thought you had more you were going to tell me?” He tilts his head awkwardly to kiss Barclay’s shoulder.

“Uh huh.” Barclay slowly works the toy in and out, doing his best to sync it to the rolls of his hips, “I think you’re the kind of guy who doesn’t just want one monster; you want ‘em all.”

“Variety is, ohgod, part of a healthy sex life.”

“I don’t mean one monster on one day and a different one on another. I think you want them all at once.”

“Oh yes, oh! Ohohoh” he kicks his legs as the first egg pushes in, “fuck, Barclay, please keep going.”

“Whatever you want, babe.” He nuzzles Joseph’s hair, “that’s how I came up with this plan; seeing all those different dicks made me think you’d, fuck, you’d like me to pretend there was more than just me fucking you.”

Joseph nods, clinging to Barclays arm and bearing down on the knot.

“Can just see it now; you got yourself lost in the woods out here, go looking for help only to find a whole bunch of monsters waiting for you. Spend the rest of the night pressed into the dirt and leaves while every cryptid from, fuck” he bucks his hips, “from here to Canada had their turn.”

“Shit, shit” the knot starts pushing in, “y-you’ve got my number, big guy.”

“Yeah?” Barclay squeezes the base of the toy as he talks, causing the remaining two eggs to push their way in, Joseph’s body clenching around them, “you want a night where all your good for is being fucked, where if you beg for a break you get a bigfoot fucking your throat and werewolves cumming on your chest instead of them all mobbing you at once?”

“Shit, yes, YESohfuck” the knot enters him as Barclay shoves his hips down, “ohmygod that’s good, fuck, I feel so full, you’re so smart, this was genius, fuck you know how to treat meAHannnfuck, shit.” He holds on to Barclays arm’s as the other man fucks him with abandon.

“Oh I know, babe. Know I was fucking right. You wanna be claimed, wanna be owned, wanna be bred by a whole fuckin pack-”

“Jesuschrist” it’s hard to breathe at the pace Barclay sets, his body aching to cum but not quite able to get there. He squeezes his eyes shut, rubbing frantically at his dick as Barclay loses himself in the fantasy.

“You’d be so cute, leaves in your hair and cum on your chin, taking it all and begging for more. Good thing you’re so needy, you could tear a pack apart with folks fighting over who gets to fuck you, fuck, Joseph, baby, you’re so fucking good, gonna be so fucking good to you, fuck, fuck” he shoves as deep as he can while he cums, and in the haze of pleasure Joseph swears claws prick the skin of his chest. Just the thought of that sends his own orgasm coursing through him, his body tensing and twisting on Barclay’s cock, making them both moan from sudden overstimulation.

“S-sorry” Barclay pants.

“Nothing to apologize for, just physiology, here, let me ow, ow, okay maybe I should have relaxed more first.” He’s free of both toys, but that was right on the edge of too painful. He waits for Barclay to take off the sleeve, then rolls the bigger man so his head is on his chest.

“Your ex didn’t know how good they had it.”

“Thanks, babe.”

He smiles, “I like that. No one ever calls me something that informal.”

“Call you it whenever you want. Babe.” Barclay kisses his arm, “you can, uh, stay in bed if you want. We don’t have a ton of time together so I’d, uh, well, I’d like to spend as much of it with you as I can.”

For the first time, Joseph wishes his vacation would last longer.

“Agreed, big guy.”

--------------------------------------------------

“You said you had my new assignment, sir?”

“Yes. Agent Stern, you will be going to the town of Kepler to investigate the events described in this file.” Agent Hayes passses him the folder.

“Understood, sir.”

Joseph manages to keep his smile to himself all the way to his desk.

[lokis-army-77]

If You Please

Chapter twelve

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 2588

This is technically a reader insert but without the (y/n) and all that. She also has no name mentioned so feel free to imagine as you please.

Follow the reader through the events of the Captain America movies and experience her love for Bucky Barnes.

Warnings: none

Note: Normally I am the type of person to be date accurate when writing things and if you are too, I'm sorry. I messed up on the dates, so the battle of New York happens like a month after it should. This is also a short chapter because it's a filler and I'm trying to just get to the Winter Soldier but have everything make sense.

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Masterlist

A few days later I had received a small archivist job in the WWII department of the Smithsonian. Thankfully the made-up resume and a few fake SHIELD recommendations came in handy. I would officially start the following week after a few background checks were cleared. In my free time until then, I unpacked all the boxes in my apartment. It started to feel more homely and warm when all of my things filled up the space. When I didn’t feel like unpacking anything, I started taking long walks to the VFW building. I hadn’t joined in on any of the meetings yet, I just stood by the doorway and watched, listening to the stories people told.

One day that week as I stood back in the hallway after the meeting had ended, a man came up to me. He was a little taller than I was and had the brightest smile I had ever seen. I had watched him in the meetings before, he was usually the one hosting them, giving advice to all who needed it.

“I’ve seen you standing out here for the past three days, why don’t you come have a seat next time? It would be more comfortable than standing out here for an hour.” He said as he leaned his back against the wall right next to me.

“I have thought about it, but I tend to get here after you have started. I don’t want to interrupt anything by just barging in.” I said over my shoulder at him.

“You won't interrupt anything, just come on in next time, we’d be happy to have a new face around,” He pushed himself off the wall and walked down the hall.

After that, I ended up joining the meetings and even spoke a few times. I learned that the man who came up to me that day was Sam Wilson, pararescue, who had served two tours in Afghanistan. From the first day he came up and talked to me to now, we quickly became friends.

The days had turned into weeks and I was finally able to live relatively by my own means. The Smithsonian was great, in the archives, no one was really around and I could spend a whole day without any interruptions, which allowed me to just concentrate on what I was doing. After closing, I normally walked to meet Sam, who was usually way too excited to see me, even though we saw each other almost every day without fail.

“You’re late today.” I jumped, startled out of my thoughts at the sound of someone talking to me. I looked up, spying Sam standing next to one of the small trees outside the VFW building.

“What do you mean late?”

“I mean you usually get here at three-thirty. It's four right now.” He said looking down at his watch.

“Oh sorry, I didn’t realize. I've just been lost in my thoughts lately.” I sighed.

“I know we’ve only been friends for what? A month? But I already know when something is bothering you, What is it?”

“Nothing really, just my brother. Since moving here he's called at least twice a week to check up but it’s been radio silence for the past two weeks, he doesn't even answer when I try calling him. I'm just a little worried that something bad is going on, considering his job.”

“Well, maybe he’s just really busy at the moment, or he's somewhere he can't call you. You know how it is being out on those military missions.”

“I know, it’s just the last time we were apart on a mission,” I trailed off and looked up at Sam, he raised his eyebrows, quietly waiting for the end of the sentence. “Someone close to us passed. It’s still fresh in my mind like it happened yesterday. I was there that day and I was too far away to even know what had happened, now my brother and I aren’t even in the same vicinity as each other, there is no telling what could happen and it makes me nervous.”

He gave me a small apologetic smile and patted my shoulder before leading me from the tree where we stood to where his car was parked. “What do you say we hang out at mine and just watch some tv? Get your mind off things? Or we can talk about it, either way, it’s better than dealing with it alone.” I nodded my head and grabbed onto the car door handle as he unlocked it.

Walking through the front door after him I took a quick look around. It was cozy, way more decorated than I thought it would be for a man in his early thirties living alone.

“Make yourself at home. Do you want anything to drink?” He asked neck-deep in the fridge.

“Okay, I’ll just have some water,” I called out as I made my way further into the living room. The couch was backed up to the wall a few feet away from the dining room table. I sat down on it and scooted as close as I could to its right arm. A few moments later Sam came over with two glasses of water and a bag of chips. He handed me my drink before crashing down into his own seat. “Thank you,” I said before taking a long sip.

He nodded as he said “No problem.” Before he got himself really comfortable he searched around for the TV remote. As he pressed the ‘on’ button the TV came to life. “What in the world is that?” He sounded concerned so I quickly looked at the screen.

“Breaking: Attack on New York City. This afternoon at 2:15 several unidentified aircraft descended onto Earth's surface. Strange beings, some are calling aliens, Accompanied these ships and are causing havoc in Manhattan. Eyewitnesses have stated that they have seen Iron Man, and what seemed to be Captain America, leading a team of three others fighting back against the invaders. The battle seems to be over but updates are still coming in, let's take a look at some footage of the downtown destruction.” My eyes went wide and my heart stopped as I listened to what the reporter was saying. I kept my eyes glued to the screen as it changed to show a destroyed street. As the camera panned around I spotted Steve fighting against two of the creatures, before the clip quickly changed to show one of the large ships crashing into the New York skyline.

“Oh God Steve, what did you get into?” I murmured to myself.

“You say that like you know him personally.”

“Uhh.” I just gave him a wide-eyed look of surprise. “I do, he’s my brother.”

“Now really isn’t the time to be joking about things,” He gave me a pointed look.

“I swear I’m not joking, he really is my brother. I can explain later, I need to try and get a hold of him.” I pulled out the small flip phone from my pocket and dialed the number for Steve's cell phone, it rang and rang but no answer. I hung up quickly and dialed the number Fury gave me at the beginning of the month. After two rings he answered.

“I assume you are looking for Captain Rogers.”

“Where is he? Is he okay?” I tried to keep the worried tone from coming through in my voice.

“He’s fine. He is in the middle of a debriefing. I’ll tell him you called.”

“Okay, thank you.” As soon as the words left my mouth he gave a quick hum and then hung up. I looked over at Sam whose eyes hadn't left me at all. “Everything is fine, he's in a debrief so that means that whatever happened in New York is definitely over.”

“That’s good to hear, hopefully, those things don’t try to come back again.” He shook like a shiver ran down his spine. “Now please explain how Captain America, a man from the 1940s, is your brother.”

“I can hear the skepticism in your voice.”

He held his hands up in defense, “Hey, I'm not the one saying I'm the sister to a 90 something-year-old man.”

“Look, it’s a long story that I would rather not get into now but the short version is that I was born in 1921, Steve is my older brother, we both ended up taking the super-soldier serum and fought against HYDRA in the second world war. We ended up crashing a plane into some Ice in the Atlantic ocean and were found and unfrozen last October.” “If you are really Captain America’s sister, then why are you never mentioned in anything?” I looked at him and shook my head.

“Well for starters it was the forties and I was a woman fighting on the front lines. Credit is never given where it is due. But there is also the fact that I was a part of the SSR, which was very secretive, after I died.” I put my fingers up in air quotes, “They should have erased most, if not all the files on me, per protocol. The only reason Steve is well known is because of his time going cross country selling war bonds.” I paused for a second before quickly adding, “I’m sure if you look hard enough, you’ll find me in the history books somewhere.”

Sam just sat there not really saying anything. This was the first time I think he had ever been quiet for more than five seconds. I let out a deep sigh and stood, grabbing my bag from the floor. “Thanks for having me over, but I think I need to go. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He stood and walked me to the door.

“Don’t be late. I’ll see you.” Sam waved me off and I headed down the street.

About half a year later while sorting through some archive files, I came across Peggy Carter. I felt a pang in my heart as I stared at the photo of her standing next to Howard Stark. Other than Steve and Bucky, those two were my closest friends. I fell down a rabbit hole after that, finding any information on the two that I could find. They had both helped found SHIELD in 1965, they had both gotten married and had children of their own. Peggy's children had stayed out of the public eye, but in true Stark fashion, Howard’s son evidently took over the family business and was living the high life. I pulled out a newspaper from the stack I had on the table in front of me and was shocked at what I saw. The title read ‘Howard and Maria Stark Die in Car Accident’, I knew Howard most likely wasn’t alive anymore but seeing the photographs of the wrecked car in the newspaper cast a somber mood through the room.

I laid the paper down on the table and ruffled through more of the papers before determining that we had no information on if Peggy was alive or not. That sent me into a frenzy of looking through phone books to try and find her and calling every retirement home in DC that I could. The only lead I had to go off of was a small interview from a newspaper, talking to Peggy about the seventieth anniversary of V-E Day, stated that she was living in Washington, DC.

After eight failed calls, finally, on the ninth, I had finally found a home which had a Peggy Carter as a residence in room 204. I rushed to pack up my things and left my office early. I ran down the back hallways as fast as I could without drawing too much attention. When I made it out of the building I ran full speed to the road to hail a cab.

Amazingly the traffic was almost nonexistent and I made it to the retirement home in only ten minutes. I fumbled out of the cab and I raced through the front doors of the building. I must have startled the women at the front desk because as soon as I rounded the corner to the staircase, they were yelling after me. I took the steps three at a time in my haste to get to the second floor. I stopped running when I was outside of room 204. I couldn’t see anything clearly through the frosted window so I knocked hesitantly and slowly opened the door and stepped in.

There in the middle of the room, against the wall was a single bed. A woman laid there quietly with her eyes closed. The closer I came to her the more familiar she looked. I let out a relieved gush of breath. There she was, older now, but still the Peggy I once knew. I nervously grabbed one of the chairs in the corner of the room and brought it over to her bedside so I could sit. Gently I gave her a small tap on the hand before just holding it in mine. She stirred but her eyes never opened.

All of a sudden one of the nurses from downstairs came into the room, with an angry and shocked expression.

“Ma’am, You can't be in here. If you want to see a patient, you have to sign in.” I ignored her, my eyes trained on Peggy's face. The commotion of the woman barging into the room had made her open her eyes and look around. I just watched as she scanned the room, first to the door on the left, to the wall in front of her, past me sitting on her right, then to the window behind me.” Her brows raised and she lifted her hands to her eyes to rub. The shock on her face was evident as she turned her head to stare directly at me.

“Hey Carter, long time no see huh?” I gave her the biggest smile that I could.

“Is it really you?” She reached her hand out to mine and grabbed hold.

“It is, it’s really me.”

“Ma’am, I mean it, you can't be here.” The nurse tried again, this time Peggy shot her a glare.

“Ms. I’ll have you know this is one of my best friends and she can be in here if she wants to. Now leave us alone.” The young nurse nodded her head and rushed out, even in old age she could still put on that commanding tone that struck fear in every man. She slowly turned back to me, almost like if she looked back for me, I would be gone. “How? How are you here?”

“It’s a long story Peg, are you sure you want to hear it?”

“Look where I am, I have nothing but time.” She laughed out and I let out my own small laugh as I shook my head.

In addition to what I had been doing, like hanging out with Sam, after that first visit, I made it a priority to see Peggy once or twice every two weeks, depending on how she was doing. Dementia had put a lot of stress on her, and seeing me after almost seventy-five years and looking relatively the same as I had when frozen took out a giant toll on her.

And that's how the next 10 months went until Steve eventually moved into an apartment directly under me.

Tag List: @ginger-swag-rapunzel @underc0vercryptid-reads @geek-and-proud @intothesoul @leyannrae @starkleila

[sapphiics]

Didn’t we almost have it

a/n: I heavily suggest listening to Dammit by Jana Kramer while reading this, it is where I got the entire plot from.

dt: to my dear @morcias because who else just loves morcia so much. plus I asked her a million questions to help me figure out details for this.

word count: 3k

content warning: it’s angsty(?) and quite sad but with a very happy ending.

-----

God did Penelope hate driving through Illinois.

The only reason she was coming back was for the bridal shower of a girlfriend from college, otherwise she would’ve stayed in California, where she was at least a good thousand miles away from this place.

All it did was make her nostalgic, almost painfully so. The entire state serving as a physical reminder of her old life. One she had not a chance in hell of getting back.

The urge to race her car to the nearest ‘Leaving Illinois’ sign coming over her yet again, Penelope makes a right turn onto Commonwealth avenue. Christina’s house was only five minutes from where she was.

It was the walkway that first drew her eye. A stone path, small flowers lining it. She could almost hear his heavy footsteps getting louder as he jogs to greet her, meeting Penelope in the middle with a chaste kiss as she hauls grocery bags under her arms, enough food for four. 

As she nears closer, her eyes travel up the length of the two-story building, it’s utter perfectness painfully pressing into her like a stab to the gut. It took every ounce of restraint that she possessed not to slam the brakes and just gawk at the vision in front of her.

That was the house.

The dream house. The one the two of them fantasized about back in college. Penelope can practically see the late nights they spent in her dorm, cramped together on her twin bed, their fingers intertwined. His free hand running over her head, pushing her hair back behind her ear and tilting her into his shoulder. Hushed planning of their happily ever after. She can hear his voice whispering in her ear, about how they would have two perfect daughters. He would be a FBI agent, and she would work for a nonprofit organization. He’d cook, she’d clean, he would take care of the lawn, she’d do the laundry.

That was the plan. Their own special, simple, linear plan.

Until real life happened, essentially taking those plans and throwing it off a cliff. That’s all it was now, a pretty daydream to keep Penelope from having to accept the fact that nothing in her life is going like she hoped, and she’s probably going to end up alone.

None of that stopped her from turning into the lot of the house, the door slightly cracked open. A large ‘For Sale’ sign hung on it. 

Giving her the perfect opportunity to see what she could’ve had. To spend a few fleeting moments dreaming of the life she would’ve had with him.

Finally found that dream house, and yet the dream guy was long gone.

Her hands shakier than she would’ve liked, Penelope slowly steps out of her car, the two story home everything she ever envisioned.

The path up to the house was lined with daffodils, she could see as she passed them. The front door was a smooth dark brown. Solid wood, contrasting with the otherwise creme exterior of the house.

That would’ve been his touch. He always liked that building and renovating stuff, she could almost hear him begging her to let him remodel the place. To really ‘make it their home.’

The entrance didn’t nothing to deter her, the arching ceilings and oak floors straight out of her most vivid dreams. The arches reminded her of college. Charles Deering Memorial Library, to be specific. She had always liked the gothic architecture, and even he could admit that the towering building’s medieval influence was well executed. And that chill day in March, the ninth, to be exact, when they first met. She was working there part-time, and he needed something from the football archives.

It was his smile that drew her in, his eyes drawn up real small as he flashed her two rows of perfect teeth. 

What she would give for one of those smiles right about now.

An embarrassingly loud gasp left her mouth as she walked in further. Ahead of her were a pair of large black couches, perpendicular to each other. A grand fireplace in front of them, an open space perfect for a nice big flat screen.

Hockey. That’s what would be playing. He was huge on the sport, and her mind drifted to an image of the two of them sitting on the couch. Him in a worn out jersey and his lucky socks, her in his beat leather jacket, feet propped up in his lap. She has headphones and her knitting, he has a beer she steals sips of and has a loose grip on her ankle, his fingers pressing against the small tattoo she got the day she turned eighteen. Just like old times.

Without even glimpsing at the side door that led to the kitchen, Penelope could already visualize him sitting on the counter. A soft white tee and some sweatpants, strumming on her ukulele and singing some old 90s ballad off key while she chopped vegetables. Later that night, after their girls went to bed, the two of them dancing together to her parents’ old record player. An old Bee Gees song softly in the background as they sway.

Her mind racing, she’s already thinking of summer barbecues. Her and JJ drinking margaritas in the shade, their children’s laughter bringing a grin to her face. Him talking it up with Rossi about god knows what as he mans the grill. The sun setting as he takes a seat next to her, tugging her into his side and placing a small kiss on the side of her head.

The overwhelming realization that Penelope is never going to get that future, never going to have the future she so desperately wanted with him, hit her harder than ever in that moment.

And next thing she knows she can feel tears running down her cheeks. Alone, in the middle of an open house in the one state, the one city she vowed to never return to, and she’s sobbing like a baby.

“Well Hello Miss!” ,a kind old woman steps out, shocking Penelope back to reality, “You here for the house?”

 “Yes,“ she says softly, hastily wiping at her face,  “Yes I am. Just a quick look around.” Her hands swipe at her dress, trying to regain even a semblance of composure, “You have a beautiful home.”

The woman casts her a sympathetic smile,

“Thank you. Me and Sarah have lived here for over forty years. We raised our five children in these very walls,” the lady beams, a smile coming over her face as she looks around the room, 

“We figured that with them all gone and us not getting any younger, we could downsize just a bit.”

Penelope let out a polite laugh, but stayed silent otherwise.

“You stay for as long as you like! My name’s Carolyn by the way. Let me know if you need anything!”

“Penelope, and thank you,” she smiles at her, Carolyn returning to the back of the house.

Penelope’s eyes catch onto the grand staircase, passing over the perfect crème walls and carpet flooring.

Her feet moved towards it, the view before her so accurate to her vision that it was like somebody reached into her brain and pulled out the design themselves. She needed to have this place.

Right before she can take a step on the stairs, she sees Carolyn return, a dimmed smile on her face.

“I’d like to buy the house,” Penelope states confidently. She couldn’t possibly leave here without having it.

It didn’t matter that she lived across the country, with decent enough friends and a steady job. This was the house, and if she had the chance to get at least one part of the dream, she damn sure was going to take the opportunity.

Carolyn winces, a regretful look on her face. “I’m so sorry Penelope, we just had somebody place an offer for it.”

“Oh,” Penelope’s eyes widen slightly, and she can feel the tears pushing their way to the surface. For just a second, she let herself get entranced by the home, and it hurt more than she was willing to admit that she couldn’t have it.

“Are you looking for a similar house ? There’s one just in Fullerton Road, and I believe it is on sale.”

“No I… I just got caught up,” Penelope waves her hand around the side of her head, her cheeks turning red, “It’s okay, an amazing family deserves this home.”

“Actually, the young man who purchased the place is with Sarah in the back right now. He’s already thinking of renovating the place.”

“Sounds great,” Penelope mused, wanting to be anywhere but here. At least a loving family is getting this house. She just hoped they were as happy as she once imagined she would be.

“Here they are,“  Carolyn announces, adding to Penelope’s discomfort. She had to leave, and fast. The last thing she wanted to see was the happy husband who bought this place to catch her, essentially a random stranger, crying in his kitchen.

“Is your family nearby? Why didn’t they come?” A woman, Penelope could only assume was Sarah, Carolyn’s wife, was talking to the new owner of the house. Penelope stiffened, the awkwardness of the situation palpable.

A deep laugh comes from the other person, and she could hear the two people approaching. “Nope, I’m a single man.”

“What the hell did you need such a big house for then?” Sarah quips.

“Just,” the guy takes a resigned breath, “Just wishful thinking I guess.“

Penelope could hear her heartbeats, the sound thrumming loudly in her ears. She shut her eyes, squeezing them to the point of something akin to pain. This couldn’t be happening. This could just be a terrible dream, and when she opened them, she would be waking up in her apartment. Back home, where she was away from her old life here. Safely away from the love of her life, whose voice she just heard for the first time in five years.

“Sarah, this is Penelope. She just stopped by to look at the house.”

Penelope reluctantly turns, peeling her eyes open. To her disappointment, she was still standing in the swept sold house. Still back in her college town.

Still right in front of her ex-fiancé, one she’s just as irrevocably in love with as she was the day he proposed.

“Derek,” she lets out quietly, drinking in everything about him. He’s only gotten better-looking, and Penelope has always been attracted to him.

It was his face, his eyes to be specific, that captured her in this moment.

Because instead of the resentment and anger she had expected, she had deserved, all that was there was a small shimmer of hope. A sliver of hope that she almost cried tears of relief at seeing. Hope she had given up on ever having until she saw it in his face. The same look reflected in her own eyes.

“Penelope.” 

His voice usually stern, she can hear the small waver in his tone. Like he’s just as affected by her as she is him.

Even after all these years, she can’t help but melt when it comes to Derek. It was like her innermost self just knew him, recognized that he, no matter how far apart they were, was always going to have a part of her heart. A power over her that she would never give to any other person.

Yet looking into Derek’s eyes, the only man to ever capture her heart, Penelope could’ve sworn he was feeling the same way she did.

“So, um, we’ll just leave you two for now,”  Carolyn’s eyes clearly wide as she drags her wife outside of the kitchen, leaving the pair alone together.

Derek walks a couple steps closer to her, the smell of nice cologne wafting to her nose as he moves near.

He opened his mouth, almost as if he were about to start speaking, but Penelope catches his small sigh and the twitch of his hands.

They were so close, closer than they had been in years, yet that short distance felt wider than the thousands of miles she had made sure to have between them for the past half a decade.

The lack of touch. That’s what was halting them.

They were always touching one another. It was an unspoken language, just for the two of them to understand. 

To be so close yet not touching, it felt so inorganic to Penelope, so abnormal.

Penelope looks just a little off to the right of him, his presence too overwhelming. He was examining her, and the quiet was anxious.

“Why didn’t you take the ring?” Derek spits out, his low voice subdued by the hurt she could just hear in his voice. “ I could handle how you left, no note or calls. But you left me your ring Penelope.”

She thought she was prepared for this, the anger he would have for her. But hearing the words in real time, from Derek himself, made her stomach turn. A ball of nausea tossed in her stomach, Derek’s pain something that never failed to physically wound Penelope.

“Derek...,” her heart breaking at how much she affected him.

“Did I,” he pauses, sucking in a shallow breath, “Did we mean that little to you?”

“No.” She locks onto his eyes at that, holding his stare. “You- us, that was everything to me.” A fierceness was in her voice that shocked her, and at the look of his slightly widened stare, she wasn’t the only one. The idea that Derek for a second could fathom the idea that he wasn’t the love of her life, her soulmate, was a stake to the heart.

“Was it marriage? Was it not wanting to be married? Because you could’ve told me.”

Surprising her own self, she moves in a half-step, her hands enclosing one of Derek’s clenched ones. Her fingers act on instinct, sliding through his, rubbing her thumb on the back of his index finger. Five years and his fingers still naturally close around hers .

Her teeth firmly sunk into the flesh on the back of her lip, she peers up at Derek, his expression unreadable. He was always better at the reading people thing, it was like second nature to him.

“I promise you, Derek Morgan, there is nothing I have ever wanted more than to marry you.”

Feeling his hand tighten around hers, glancing up to see his brows pulling together, she pushes on, needing to express to him her every feeling. “ You didn’t deserve what I did, and there hasn’t been a day that’s gone by when I didn’t feel like the luckiest person in the world to have such an amazing guy.”

“ I am so,” words that she’s been practicing for years suddenly getting clogged in her throat, making every word come out like a croak, “ so sorry for ever hurting you.”

Tears burning behind her eyes, nothing stuns her more than when Derek cups her face, his large palm enclosing her cheek as he runs his fingers lightly through her hair. 

“Is it the house?”

Taken aback, Penelope jolts her head upward. “What?”

His hand now on her shoulder, he turns her to the right, giving her a wider view of the home.

“Is it the right house?”

“It’s the perfect house.” Her voice trailing off at the end.

She faces Derek, his lips pressed together like he’s trying not to say something.

“We could- we could still have it.” His eyes looking at their hands, in a way that was so unlike him, Penelope didn’t dare try to assume anything about what his words meant.

“Have what?” her attempt to keep her voice even failing miserably. Averting his stare, her eyes land on his neck, where a thin gold chain rests.

A chain that had something that looked dangerously similar to a ring hidden under his shirt.

He looks to where she’s staring, a bald-faced look on her face, and his fingers pull out the necklace to reveal a gold wedding band. The one she bought for him, with the special engraving on the inside.

Through the tears rapidly coming to her eyes, she could see Derek’s face. And the vulnerability and love that shined from him to her 

Because he kept it. Even in his clear anger and hurt, the heartbreak she put him in, he kept her ring. 

“The plan.” Derek reaches behind his neck, his fingers reaching to the clasp of the necklace. “The big wedding, the two girls,” He slides the ring off of the chain, twirling it round in his hand. “Our dream.” He finally places the ring in her hands, gently closing her fingers around it.

Her mouth falling slightly open, Penelope slowly blinks three times. The words that just came out of his mouth so unbelievable that her brain was taking some time to catch up. She pulls her lip sideways into her mouth, too nervous to say anything.

His hands come up on each side of her face, a tender clasp that lets him turn her head up towards him.

“I never gave up on you, on us.” He lets out a sad laugh, “ Hell, I’m here about to buy a house just to try and get a piece of that dream.”

Penelope bobs her head slightly back, the shock of what’s happening still getting to her. “You really still want it?”

And Derek, bless his sweet soul, just looks at her with a small smile resting on his lips. “There is nothing, absolutely nothing babygirl,” the sound of his old nickname for her better than anything she’s heard the last few years, “that I want more than to be with you for the rest of my life.”

A matching smile coming to her mouth, she brings Derek’s left hand down to her own, and slides the wedding band on to his ring finger.

A soft cry breaks from her lips, and she feels nothing other than pure joy when he leans down, taking her lips in a sweet kiss.

Maybe, just maybe, they can have it after all.

————

taglist: @alexandrablake @lavenderbau @suburban--gothic @altsvu @rem-ariiana @vhsrights @spelleaway @willlemonheadsupremacy @ssaevie @literatekayla @criminalswifts @hotchshoney @moreidsdaughter @reidtheprettyboy

[roanniom]

Happy Friday Issa! Today I am thinking about Paterson, and what it would be like to end up on his bus one day by happenstance. It would be impossible not be smitten at first sight. I can't stop picturing the way his eyes would just bore into ours when he catches us staring in the rearview mirror. The blush that spreads over him would be just unreal. 😍🥺💜 Thanks so much for sharing nyour imagines with us!

Lovely Claire, as you know I’ve been excited to get to this one. Partly because I love Pat with all my heart and partly because I looked forward to bringing such a beautiful idea to life in that calm Paterson style. I hope you like this little story <3

Three Stops, Five Regulars, and You

Word Count: 2,152

Warnings: Really just sweetness, the slightest angst from ~yearning~

Paterson drives the same route every day. He knows the people who get on, where they board, and where they disembark. The sweet old lady who gets her groceries at the corner store on Tuesdays. The recent emigrant from Nigeria who sits in the front and practices English with the local florist as they both commute to different jobs in the same strip mall. The high school baseball player who acts rowdy in the back of the bus with his teammates until the teammates get off on Maple Street and he remains on for eight more stops, always moving to sit shyly with a girl Paterson has gathered to be the boy’s old English tutor.

But never you.

When Paterson opens his folding doors and you walk in, he is immediately struck by your newness. The way the planes of your face reflect no familiarity back onto him unsettles Paterson as you pass him by to take your seat a few rows down. He inhales the scent that wafts in your wake, trying to place it but, as with your features, he draws a blank. Freesia? Gardenia? Paterson blinks at the expanse of windshield before him in an attempt to ground himself in the here and now.

It’s a Friday afternoon, almost early evening.

He’s on 5th and Potomac.

Three more stops till he’s done with his shift.

Done to go home to a microwaved meal and a comfortable couch.

Five more regulars to get to their destination.

And you.

Paterson looks up then into the rearview mirror only to meet those unfamiliar eyes. Beautiful eyes, he registers somewhere in the back of his short-circuiting brain. Eyes that take him in through the mirror. Appraising him. He wonders what they see in him, these eyes that can’t possibly know him any more than his know you.

“Hey Pat, we outta gas or something, buddy?”

The good-natured tease comes from Ollie, the auto mechanic, sitting in his usual seat in row six. This does nothing to stop Paterson from jumping a foot into the air and muttering his apologies before clunking the bus into gear.

It takes Paterson several minutes of silent driving before he works up the courage to glance at the rearview mirror again. He argues with himself internally before he does so.

You’re probably not even looking anymore. No, it’s much more likely you’ve become engaged in polite conversation with another passenger or pulled out a book or lost yourself looking out the window, taking in the outside world with those beautiful eyes…

Or, less likely but much more anxiety-inducing, you could still be looking. Looking at the lanky bus driver with the goofy ears who stared like an idiot instead of doing his job. He kicks himself at the thought of the way he’d gaped at you. Openly and so out of character.

What he should have done was averted his eyes when you’d entered, waited a respectable amount of time, and then peered back a few times to catch a glimpse. He could have taken in the curve of your jaw, the arch of your brow, the turn of your nose, all without detection from the comfortable anonymity of the driver’s seat. Gone home and written a poem or two about the ethereal creature who’d gotten lost and found herself on his bus route, a sprite or a fairy who would disappear tomorrow like some Freesia-scented vapor, perhaps never really there to start.

But no. He’d looked. And you’d looked.

And now he looks again.

His eyes dart back to the road immediately and his pulse races.

You were looking.

Paterson takes a few deep breaths and minds a stop sign before he hazards a glance again.

Yes. Still looking.

But this time he notices the smile on your face. The lips he hadn’t noticed, being so far below your eyes as they were, your eyes which had been just about as far as he had gotten to this point. The smile is soft but amused. Your hand lifts up in a small wave and Paterson feels himself heat up all the way down to his sensible shoes. His ears burn and he brings his eyes back to the road by force of habit and in order to do his job of steering this bus full of people but for absolutely no other reason. Because now he has two different things that require his attention – your eyes and your lips. Both deserving of equal consideration.

When his eyes revisit the road he realizes the next stop is upon him. When the bus pulls to a halt and deflates down steadily to allow passengers to climb out, Pat counts the seconds with his heartbeat. Wondering if this is your stop. Knowing which stop it is for all other riders but you. Knowing Mr. McKinney will get off to see his nephew and that the kind goth boy whose name he doesn’t know is off to the library with music blaring in his ears. Paterson nods to each of them as they pass, but does not look up to see them, opting instead to stare straight ahead.

When his peripheral vision doesn’t show him your retreating figure Paterson looks up to find you still in your seat, this time sitting lower. More comfortable. But still looking. Still smiling.

Involuntarily, Paterson feels a smile spread across his own face. He closes the folding doors and shifts back into gear.

Two more stops and three more passengers.

And you.

As Paterson navigates his way into the middle lane to avoid construction, he tries to settle his racing thoughts. He’s confused by this reaction, mental, physical and otherwise. It’s not like he’s never had a pretty passenger before.

So why does your face look like nobody he’s ever seen but everything he’s ever looked for?

“What’s your favorite thing about being a bus driver?”

Paterson inhales sharply and he jerks his head around at the unfamiliar voice to see that you are now sitting in the seat directly behind him. Your smile larger than ever.

Paterson swallows thickly, searching for the first words best to say to you.

���Passengers shouldn’t move about while we’re in motion.”

Wrong words.

“So is it that? The authority?” you joke, your smile becoming more lopsided, Paterson’s thankful to be able to see. Even with you right behind him he can still see you in the rearview mirror.

“No! No I didn’t mean to…I mean it’s really not that big…we’re only going 30 –” Paterson’s stuttering is cut off by your laugh.

“Ok if not that then what is it?”

“Um, what is what?” Paterson asks, looking back up after yielding to a bicyclist.

“What’s your favorite thing about being a bus driver?”

“Oh.” Paterson looks back at the road.

He’s never really thought of it. Mainly because nobody had ever asked it before, so he hadn’t bothered to ask it of himself. But it only takes another second of thought before he has his answer.

“It’s a weird limbo.”

“Come again?” Judging by your expression this was clearly not an answer you’d anticipated.

“Being a bus driver you are part of people’s daily lives. You go with them to work, you take them home after a long day. You see them with their friends and family. Or alone.”

“I’m alone,” you point out with a nod. It’s a simple statement, as if corroborating his assessment. Paterson grins and nods.

“Exactly, you’re alone. It’s very personal, in a way. Being there for these moments in between where they are coming from and where they’re going.”

“Intimate?” you offer. Paterson feels his throat go dry as he nods again.

“Yes. Intimate.”

“But you called it limbo?”

“Well it might be intimate, but it’s from a distance. A bus driver is only a small part of someone’s day, but my passengers are my day.”

“Oh,” you exclaim, voice softer than before. “I guess I never thought about it that way.”

The next stop, the penultimate one, comes into view and Paterson eases to bus to halt. A single mother known for jogging around the park in the evenings bids Paterson good night and Ollie claps him on the back as he heads out for dinner with his kids. Upon their exit, Paterson’s eyes seek out yours in the mirror once more. Wondering again if this is the place where you get off.

You lean against the back of your chair. Still very much seated.

Still very much a passenger.

It is then, as Paterson closes the folding doors once more, that he realizes the rest of the bus is empty. This startles him, as usually there is one more regular on the bus for this last upcoming stop. A man, very quiet and not unlike himself. Though Paterson doesn’t know much about him, he’s always wondered just how similar they are. Wondered if the man who enters a residential complex across the street from this last stop also has an empty apartment waiting from him. A lukewarm meal and a cold bed.

Paterson spares a moment to wonder where the man is, feeling a tinge of hope burn through the usual pity – perhaps the man is not alone, wherever he is, and perhaps tonight his dinner will be hot.

The folding doors hiss as they close for the second to last time tonight and Paterson pulls back into traffic. A glance in the rearview mirror reminds him that, not only are you still there, but that the absence of his final regular means that you two are very much alone.

The thought makes blood pound in his ears and he finds his eyes darting between the road and the mirror, not wanting to miss a second of whatever you may do, whatever you may say.

And you don’t make him wait long.

“That man called you Pat earlier,” you say in that lilting voice. “Is your name Patrick?”

“Paterson.” He says it wearily, bracing himself for the inevitable exclamation sure to come about how his name couldn’t possibly be what he says it is because no, that’s the name of the town.

Instead he sees you nod in the mirror as if this is the most rational name he could have given. Of course his name is Paterson.

The silence that follows is heavy with a lot of things, chief among them the things he wishes he could bring himself to say. Questions mainly, ones to counter the questions you’ve lobbed at him. After a block passes he opts for a simple one.

“What do you like best about being a bus passenger?” The question is timid and he hates himself for it, but the sound of your laugh is an pleasantly unexpected reward.

“I like the bus drivers.”

Paterson laughs with you then.

“Now you’re making fun of me.”

“No, I’m not!” you say with mock offense. Paterson flexes his fingers on the steering wheel, starting to feel them tingle. Probably a symptom of a long day of driving.

Or a symptom of you.

“Ok maybe you’re not making fun of me, but there’s no way that’s your answer.”

“You’re right, maybe it’s not the bus drivers,” you say then, leaning forward to rest your chin on your arms as they fold on top of the ledge separating the first row from the driver’s seat. Paterson can practically hear your breath as you speak your next words. “Maybe I just like you.”

If Paterson hadn’t already been pulling up to the final stop he’s pretty sure he would have slammed on the breaks. When the bus eases into motionlessness, Paterson’s hand automatically opens the folding doors, something he probably wouldn’t have thought to do if the action wasn’t so tied to muscle memory at this point.

Paterson’s mind is reeling. He needs to ask you out, or at least as you your name.

But his tongue is tied and you’re standing up and reaching for your bag.

You step down the one step that brings you to the level of the driver’s seat and he gets another good look at you, eyes skittering up and down in a vain attempt to take in every detail incase this was both his first and last chance.

“Good night!” you say cheerily as you move to the door.

Paterson’s heart is sinking faster than the hydraulics on his bus when suddenly you turn around once more, almost as an after thought.

“Oh and Paterson? You were my day.”

And with that you step into the night.

Perhaps to continued tangibility.

Perhaps to vaporize into thin air.

He’s not sure which possibility scares him more.

Paterson allows himself to sit still for a few more moments, not bothering to close the folding doors so quickly this time. Allowing the cool air to flow in. Air that contains the remnants, and potential, of you.

~*~

Tagging some lovely people (please let me know if you’d like to be tagged or untagged in future work!) @mariesackler @direnightshade @safarigirlsp @sacklerscumrag @paper-in-ashes-fanfiction @historyandfandoms50 @clydesfavoritegirl @wayward-rose @hopeamarsu @thegreenmatt @barbers-glimmerin-darlin @finn-ray-nal-beads @fizzywoohoo @maybe-your-left @aliveandlonely @han-not-solo @morby @emeraldsiren20 @maryforyou @aloneandsleepless @jynzandtonic @renmaulxo

(AND PLEASE LET ME KNOW IF YOU ARE GETTING NOTIFIED ABOUT THIS TAG, TUMBLR HAS BEEN WEIRD LATELY that is all, love you guys <3)