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shemarmooresfedora · 4 years ago

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Rebuilding Family

Summary: Y/N and Spencer were college sweethearts at Cal-Tech but once Spencer got accepted to the FBI Academy, he ended things deciding it was not fair to make Y/N wait for him. When they meet again years later, he discovers something unexpected.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

A/N: THIS IS THE MOMENT YOU ALL HAVE BEEN WAITING FOR. PURE FLUFF AHEAD!!!

Masterlist

Chapter 24

The doorbell rang Friday night as you were popping popcorn in the microwave for family movie night.

“I’ll get it,” you called out, walking to the front door.

You opened it to see Penelope standing there. She immediately grabbed your hand and started tugging.

“You’re coming with me, soon-to-be Mrs. Reid,” she tried to drag you out of the house.

“Spencer! Code pink! Code pink!” you yelled.

You heard Spencer dashing towards the front door.

“You’re not taking her anywhere,” Spencer wrapped his arm around your waist.

“It’s bad luck for the bride and groom to see each other the day of the wedding,” Penelope stomped her high heel in protest.

“Yes, we knew you would say that so we bought these,” you and Spencer held up sleep masks, “Me and Spence will put these on before we go to bed. I’ll set my alarm 15 minutes before his so I will be up and out of the room, headed to Rossi’s before he even sees me. No bad luck and I still get to sleep with my fiancé, everyone’s happy!”

“I should have known you guys would find a loophole. You even had a whole code name,” Penelope huffed.

“I’m sorry, Pen,” you laughed, “I will see you in the morning.”

You gave her a big hug before she returned to her car.

“A brilliant idea if I do say so myself, Dr. Reid,” you grinned.

He leaned down to kiss you as Jo shouted “you’re missing Nemo.”

Beep. Beep. Beep.

You fumbled to swipe your phone alarm off without actually being able to see it.

Once you got it off, you felt Spencer’s arms tighten around you.

“Keep that blindfold on, mister,” you demanded.

“Don’t go,” he mumbled.

“Do you not want us to get married today?” you teased.

You felt Spencer’s arms slowly retract from around you after giving you one final squeeze.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” you giggled.

“Bye, love you,” he tried to kiss you but ended up kissing your nose.

You put your hand flat on his face to find his lips and then guided yourself to them.

“I can not wait to marry you,” you whispered after pulling away.

“10 hours,” he whispered back and you could feel his smile as you went in for another kiss.

You slowly got out of bed and crawled towards the door to avoid hitting anything. However, you slammed your head right into the door.

“Ouch!” you rubbed the top of your head.

Spencer sat up in bed, still with his blindfold on, “Love, are you okay?”

“Yep, I found the door,” you laughed, “I will see you at the aisle.”

“I can not wait to be reduced to a blubbering, crying mess in front of my closest friends and family,” Spencer smiled.

You felt around for the door knob and opened it, taking off your blindfold once you were out of the room. You picked up your bag that you had set outside your door with all of your skincare and makeup before heading out the door to Rossi’s.

By the time you had gotten there, the driveway was full of trucks and vans dropping off decorations and setting up the canopy and tables.

The second you rang the doorbell, you were pulled inside by JJ and Emily who were already in their dresses.

“You both look gorgeous!” you exclaimed as they dragged you up the stairs.

“Here’s a muffin,” JJ said as she sat you down.

Emily was already assessing your hair and combing it out.

“Penelope told us what you did last night,” Emily smiled, “I think it was extremely adorable.”

JJ nodded in agreement as she pulled the makeup products out of your bag.

“I would just feel weird if I was away from him for a night now since we are so used to being right next to each other. Speaking of Pen, where is she?” you asked.

“She needed to make sure they put the lattice trellis in the right place so the sun would set directly behind it,” JJ informed you.

You and Spencer would be getting married in front of a lattice trellis covered in vines and an assortment of flowers right at sunset.

“What would I do without her and you guys?” you laughed.

Spencer groggily answered the door to see Derek standing there, holding both of their tuxes.

“Ready to get married, Pretty Boy?” he grinned.

“Yes,” Spencer rubbed his eyes to wipe away the tiredness, “Let me wake Jo up.”

Spencer walked back up the stairs and opened Jo’s door, sitting at the edge of her bed.

“Time to get up, Princess,” he whispered, “You get to wear your new dress today.”

Jo’s eyes shot open and she got out from underneath the covers, revealing she was already in fact in her dress.

“You got up already?” Spencer laughed, picking her up.

“I tricked you, Daddy,” she giggled.

“Yes, you did,” Spencer smiled, “There’s someone here to see you.”

“Uncle Derek!” Jo exclaimed.

“Jo!” Derek shouted, accepting the little girl into his arms, “Well, don’t you look nice. Auntie Penelope was telling me how excited she is to do your hair later.”

Jo nodded enthusiastically.

“You get ready,” Derek pushed the tux into Spencer’s arms, “I’ll get Jo breakfast.”

You stood at the back of the line in front of the glass double doors leading out to Rossi’s backyard.

As the violins and piano began to softly play, you heard Penelope say, “Jo, go see your Dad.”

The doors opened to let Jo out, holding her basket of white rose petals.

You sneakily watched from a nearby window as Jo took her job very seriously, throwing a handful of petals every other step and then taking a seat in the front row next to Henry and Will.

JJ, Emily, and Penelope all proceeded down the aisle one by one, standing on the opposite side of Derek and Rossi who were standing next to Spencer.

You ran back from the window to in front of the doors, grabbing your bouquet from the table. You had decided to walk down the aisle alone. Your parents were in the audience here to support you but you were your own woman, you didn’t need to be “given away” to Spencer.

The doors opened for the final time and you stepped out. Spencer turned to face you and you could see the tears already glistening in his eyes.

You smiled and mouthed ‘I love you’ as you walked down the aisle and he mouthed ‘I love you too’ as the tears quickly began to form in your eyes as well.

You took your spot in front of Spencer and Jo waved to you both which elicited a small chuckle from the crowd.

“Hi, baby,” you waved back.

You don’t even think Spencer noticed because his eyes were laser-focused on you.

“Shall we begin?” Hotch asked and you both nodded.

“I would like to thank everyone for being here to help Y/N and Spencer celebrate this special day in which they attest to their love for one another. Spencer, would you like to read your vows first?”

Spencer nodded, “I have never admitted this to her until now but the first time I spoke to Y/N is because I offered her a sweatshirt. I actually brought that sweatshirt to the library with me that day, hoping the pretty girl who was always shivering would finally have a reason to acknowledge me. That was the single best decision of my life. Unfortunately, a little over a year later, I made the single worst decision of my life by letting you go,” Spencer started to get choked up, “I honestly think my ‘genius’ title should be taken away for that alone. Somehow, I was graced with the opportunity to come back into your life even though I didn’t deserve it. And your life now revolved around one particular little girl that I grew to love more than I thought was ever possible. So, I just wanted to say scientists learn from their mistakes so while I can’t promise I won’t make any more in the future, I can tell you for sure that I will never let go again.”

“Oh wow,” you sniffled, taking a kleenex and your little journal from Penelope, “How am I supposed to top that?”

“I really don’t care what you have to say, you marrying me is more than enough,” he whispered.

“Oh my god, you’re still coming up with better vows than me on the spot,” you whispered back.

“Much like Spencer, I also wrote about our first encounters in college. Spencer and I quickly formed an unspoken agreement that we would always meet at the same table in the library. One night, when he was taking the time to repeatedly explain to me a calculus concept I just wasn’t getting even though I knew he had a paper due tonight, I thought to myself ‘this one is too good to let get away’. So at our next meeting, I ordered takeout from his favorite restaurant and set up a little dinner for us. It was all worth it when I saw him walk in with his textbooks only to be soon lost for words when I asked him if he would go on a date with me. I never really dated anyone in the time we were apart, I just had this feeling that our story was far from over and I’m so so glad that feeling was right. I promise I will never stop loving you, no matter what, because I don’t think I could even if I tried” you stated.

“Spencer, with this ring, do you take Y/N to love and to hold, to cherish and respect her in sickness and in health, in sorrow and in joy, from this day forward?” Hotch asked.

“I do,” Spencer smiled as you slipped the band on to his ring finger.

“Y/N, with this ring, do you take Spencer to love and to hold, to cherish and respect him in sickness and in health, in sorrow and in joy, from this day forward?” Hotch repeated.

“Absolutely I do.”

Spencer slipped the ring on your finger.

“By the power vested in me by the state of Virginia, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may now kiss the bride,” Hotch smiled.

Spencer cupped your cheeks, pulling you as close as he could and kissing you deeply. Everyone cheered as you both interlocked your hands and headed down the aisle.

As soon as you were inside, Spencer pulled you in for a more passionate, sloppy kiss.

“I didn’t want an audience for that,” he grinned, pulling you back in.

“Bleh,” you heard Derek say, who had Penelope on his arm, “Do you guys need to go home already?”

“No, we can wait a few more hours,” you giggled but Spencer whined.

JJ and Will had offered to take Jo for the night so you and Spencer had the house to yourself. You had opted for just spending one night away from Jo rather than a long honeymoon. You were going to take a family vacation all together instead.

A few minutes later, you heard Penelope and Derek announce on the microphone, “Now introducing for the first time ever, Dr. and Mrs. Reid!”

You exited the glass doors once again, holding you and Spencer's interlocked hands up in the air as everyone cheered under the big white canopy with fairy lights.

“Please clear the dance floor for their first dance together as husband and wife,” Penelope smiled.

Bloom by The Paper Kites faded in as Spencer’s arms wrapped around your waist. You rested your head against his chest and wrapped your hands around the back of his neck.

You felt him rubbing small circles on your side with his thumb as he planted a kiss on the top of your head.

“I love you so much, my husband,” you whispered.

“I love you more, my wife,” he smiled.

You swayed gently back and forth until the music faded out. Spencer leaned down and kissed you as you stopped swaying. You completely forgot you were in front of an audience until you pulled away from Spencer and the crowd erupted into a cheer.

You looked into the audience to see Diana twirling Jo around in a circle. Luckily, an aid was able to bring her on such short notice.

After everyone had enjoyed the banquet, Hotch and Emily took the microphone this time.

“Time for the cutting of the cake!” they cheered.

You and Spencer both stood from the main table to go get the first pieces. You both held the knife together, cutting out two pieces.

You grabbed the plate that your slice was on and gently shoved it into Spencer’s nose, laughing as he pulled the plate away, his face covered in white frosting.

“You think that’s funny?” he grinned, grabbing his piece and pressing it into your face.

You continued your giggling fit as he cut another piece.

“Princess, come here!” he called out.

Jo ran up, eager to get a first taste of the cake and you and Spencer pressed another piece right into her face.

Jo stuck her tongue out and licked some off her face, “It tastes good,” she smiled as you and Spencer continued to laugh.

#spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x you #dad!spencer #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer x reader #reid x reader #spencer reid #cm fanfic

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luxekook · 5 years ago

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chapter three.

⇥ pairing: ot7 x reader (insert gif of elmo with flames behind him here)

⇥ genre: college au with fluff, smut & angst

⇥ summary: a series in which the reader meets (and falls for) seven members of the Beta Tau Sigma (BTS) fraternity

⇥ word count: 2.3k

⇥ warnings: 18+, cursing, dirty talk, jimin propositions the reader accidentally, taehyung is a menace, noona kink jumps out A LOT, chaotic ot7, talk of poly relationships, overall kinda smut free (the next chapter should quench fuel your thirst)

Chapter Three

“It means that we’re going to date the shit out of you.”

We’re going to date the shit out of you.

We’re. Going. To. Date. The. Shit. Out. Of. You.

Those words play on a constant loop in my head for the rest of the week. After Namjoon had dropped that bombshell on me, I’d kind of freaked the fuck out, faked an immediate illness, and ran at full speed.

When I had told Luna about it later that night, she had been just as shook as me. Surprisingly enough, she had also given her full support of whatever I decided to do but “would have her banana slicer on standby and would order six more if need be”.

It appears that she had drunk-ordered a banana slicer off Amazon when the last boy she talked to pissed her off. I had apparently drunk-approved the decision. Rad.

Jenni’s reaction had been even better. We’d been in the library on Monday and her screech of “he said what!?” had led to multiple events:

An abundance of shushes from every student within a 50-yard radius

Her continued rant: “Your own personal harem! Can you say goals? Maybe I should infiltrate EXO and collect my own...”

Us getting kicked out by our ancient librarian

For the rest of the week, I had Luna and Jenni both giving me shit about the BTS boys. It had helped that I hadn’t run into them at all on campus between classes. But I had known it wouldn’t be long before my luck would run out...

Quinn Library – 2:31pm

Typically, I don’t spend my Friday afternoons deep within the stacks of the library’s quiet floor. Yet, here I sit typing frantically due to my incapability to stop procrastinating. My fingers fly over the keys of my aging MacBook in hopes that whatever spur of productivity I had going on is captured in its fullest.

General education classes could burn in the pits of hell as far as I'm concerned. If I wanted to be a psychiatrist, why did I have to take – and pay for – an art elective that I would likely never utilize in the workforce? Plus, the only class within the category that fit my schedule ended up being “Writing About Dance”.

Yeah, I’m still a tad bitter, but in all honesty the class isn’t that bad so far. It mainly consists of watching different dance performances and learning how to write about them in different styles.

Today’s assignment is to write critical commentary on videos of the university’s dance team that the professor provided for us. Sighing, I finish my review of the second to last dance video provided by the professor, take a quick second to stretch, and then open the link to the last video on the assignment page.

“Park Jimin – Final Performance Solo, Spring 2019”

Slack-jawed, I fall into wonder as Jimin moves through his routine flawlessly. He dances like it’s easier than walking to him. His movements are somehow precise and fluid all at once. I barely realize a few tears have run down my cheeks until the video cuts off, signaling the end of Jimin’s performance.

Jesus, (y/n), get it together. I laugh lightly as I dig in my backpack for a tissue. How could I possibly capture the ethereal beauty that Jimin exuded into words? Am I even worthy of commenting on such exquisiteness?

Definitely fucking not. And before I can second guess myself, I type: “Park Jimin is art in its purest form. Watching him dance is like watching the sun rise over the ocean – raw beauty accompanied by the hopes brought with a new day. His performance left me wanting for nothing except an encore.”

Boom. Submit Assignment.

As my email pings with the confirmation that my assignment is turned in, my eyes widen in realization. Park Jimin of BTS is a dance god, and he – allegedly – wants to date me? That is just ridiculously unfathomable.

Namjoon must be off his rocker.

Closing my laptop, my phone suddenly vibrates with an incoming notification from snapchat...

President_RM has added you!

Before I can even comprehend the absurdity of Namjoon adding me, my phone bursts into a series of buzzes. Cursing, I switch my phone to silent and check my screen.

minsuga93 has added you!

jhopeworld_ has added you!

handsomeJIN has added you!

JKookie97 has added you!

vantae_BTS has added you!

95jiminie has added you!

Are they serious? How did they even get my SnapChat username?

vantae_BTS has added you to a chat!

Curiosity wins out over aggravation as I swipe to open the chat.

Heart pounding, I fight the urge to chuck my phone into the depths of the bookcases winding around the room. What did those idiots want with me?

(y/n) & Luna’s Apartment – 9:45pm

“What do those idiots want with me?” the decibel my voice has risen to is shocking even to my ears.

Luna cringes, accordingly, “I can’t tell if that’s a rhetorical question...”

I steamroll onwards, “And don’t even get me started on how they could have even gotten my snapchat. It’s a complete invasion of privacy!”

“You could just ask them,” Jenni’s voice cuts through my rambling tirade.

I pause, “No, I couldn’t—”

...Or could I?

Turning on my heel, I rush into my room and head straight for my closet. Grabbing the nearest sweatshirt and pair of leggings, I tug them on and then grab my keys from my nightstand.

Whirling back into the living room, I storm past a dumbfounded Luna and Jenni, “Be right back.”

Opening the apartment door, Luna shouts, “Wait! Where are you going? You’re not even wearing shoes!”

Whoops. I glance at my feet and note that she is, in fact, correct.

Jenni bounds over to me holding my Doc Martens, “Here, babe. You’re going to the BTS house, aren’t you?”

I nod grimly and salute my two best friends as if I'm going into battle. “I won’t be long. I just have a small errand to run.”

“Well, you’re not going alone,” Luna declares, pulling on her sneakers.

Jenni snorts and shoves her feet into her beat-up Converse, “No way am I missing out on this action.”

As we head out the door, I link arms with Luna and Jenni, “Have I mentioned I love you both recently?”

“Right back at you, bitch,” Luna laughs.

Greek Row – 10:17pm

Ten minutes later, we reach Greek Row. Fraternity and sorority houses dot the street on both sides. Personally, I think of this street as home to the chaotic rich, and I tend to avoid it at all costs – except tonight.

The line to get into BTS is so long it wraps around the block. Students dressed in the latest fashions converse as they wait, huddling together in their groups. I glance down at my outfit of a worn university hoodie and leggings.

“Well, shit. We’re underdressed, huh,” Jenni deadpans, causing all three of us to burst into laughter, “Do you think they put you on the list, (y/n)?”

Pondering that thought, I shrug, “Maybe,” and begin marching past the line of waiting students towards the front door of BTS, “But I sure as fuck am not waiting in that line.”

“Hey, there’s a line here!”

“Yo, bitches! What are you doing?”

“What the fuck?”

Paying the hecklers no mind, I saunter right up to the BTS pledges guarding the door, “Hi, I need to talk to Kim Namjoon.”

The pledge on the right rakes his gaze over me incredulously and then makes the same assessment of Luna and Jenni, “You know this is a party, right?”

I don’t deem that comment worthy of a response and instead cross my arms over my chest. He shrinks under the collective glare of me, Luna and Jenni.

The pledge on the left awkwardly clears his throat, “Names, please?”

My answer barely escapes my lips before the pledges visibly straighten, looking at me with new eyes, “You’re (y/n)? Why didn’t you just say so?”

And before I can answer, the front door swings open for us.

People are everywhere. A haze of smoke looms in the air, and rap music blares from the speakers. The bass is turned up so loud that the beat seems to take over the rhythm of my pulse. That cannot be healthy.

Turning to my friends, I do my best to communicate, shouting, “I’m going to find them! Are you going to be here?”

Luna and Jenni exchange a look and nod. Jenni shouts back, “We’re going to get some drinks. Might as well capitalize on free booze! Text us when you’re ready to go.”

And with that, we part ways.

Maneuvering around the sea of gyrating bodies in the main living room area, I scan around for any signs of my seven menaces.

“Do my eyes deceive me? Or is that my future wife?” The deep voice booms from behind me.

I sigh, recognizing the voice, and turn around.

Kim Taehyung is striding towards me with his arms outstretched, smiling like the damned fool he is and looking like he just stepped off the runway for Gucci. “Come to daddy.”

An idea forms. I smile sweetly and walk to meet Taehyung halfway. His boxy grin widens and just as he thinks I'm going to let him wrap his arms around me, I grab him by the ear.

“Ouch!” He cries, “Devil-woman!”

Ignoring him, I drag him behind me towards the stairs.

“If you wanted to get me alone, you could have just asked—OW!”

My hold on his ear tightens as we arrive on the second-floor landing, “Where are your brothers?”

“I don’t know, n-noona!” Somehow the honorific coming from Tae sounds divine, but I file that thought away for another time.

Removing my hold, I corner him against the wall of the hallway, “Okay, Kim, here’s what is going to happen. You’re going to point me in the direction of your room, go find your six idiot brothers, and then report back here so I can finally understand what the fuck is going on. Got it?”

My chest heaves as my directions conclude and I realize how close together we are. Taehyung stares at me with an indecipherable expression before breaking into a slow smile, “Noona is bossy.”

“Noona is going to shove her foot up your ass if you don’t get moving,” I growl.

“Kinky,” he laughs, backing away from me and my brewing anger, “Last door on the left is my room. I’ll be back with the six idiots.”

As he thumps back down the steps, I close my eyes and count to ten, trying to steel my nerves and rein in my anger. When I open them, my eyes are met with the amused gaze of Min Yoongi.

Slapping a hand to my heart, I wait for my pulse to settle from being scared out of my wits, “Motherfuck—how did you even move that silently?”

“It’s a skill,” Yoongi drawls, nodding towards to end of the hall, “So, group meeting in Tae’s room?”

Shooting him the best side-eye I can muster, I stalk past him, steadfastly ignoring the chuckles and light footfalls that follow behind me.

Throwing open the door which Taehyung indicated was to his room, I pause, taking in the horde of photos and art taped to the four walls. The light blue wallpaper barely peeks through the absolute massive amount of artwork.

“It’s overwhelming at first, isn’t it?” An angelic voice shyly breaks through my reverie, “Tae likes to collect pictures and things he finds beautiful.”

“Ah, so that’s why we’re friends.” The joke is followed by a laugh that can only be compared to the sound of a windshield wiper squeakily moving back and forth.

I shift my eyes from Taehyung’s walls and onto the two newcomers – Park Jimin and Kim Seokjin.

Meeting Seokjin’s gaze first, I cannot help but agree that he is a very, very beautiful man. With pushed back dark hair, mischievous brown eyes and impossibly broad shoulders, Seokjin can easily be mistaken for an idol. And, oh fuck, I’m still staring.

Shooting my eyes back up to his, I crinkle my nose at his shit-eating grin. Before he can even comment, I turn and lock eyes with Jimin.

“Your dancing is gorgeous,” I blurt out and immediately want to crawl under a rock and live out the rest of my life as Patrick Star.

Yoongi and Seokjin are cackling as Jimin’s face lights up at my embarrassing compliment, “You really think so?”

“There's no shutting him up now,” Yoongi is in tears, “Watch out, (y/n). Jimin loves his fans.”

“Shut up, Yoongi-hyung!”

Jimin looks ready to swing, but luckily Taehyung chooses the right moment to return, “What have we missed? Why is Jiminie about to fight Yoongi? I’ll put $10 on hyung.”

Gasping in betrayal, Jimin sits on the edge of Tae’s bed and pouts.

The rest of the boys file in behind Taehyung as he flops down onto his bed and reclines like he doesn’t have a care in the world.

“Hi, (y/n). Good to see you again. I’m glad you’re here,” Namjoon greets me with a slight bow, a crooked smile and wicked eyes.

He’s followed closely by Jung Hoseok, the only BTS boy I hadn’t met thus far, “(y/n)! It’s so nice to meet you in person! Wow, you look so pretty tonight!”

“Noona always looks pretty,” Jungkook cuts in, throwing an arm around Hoseok’s shoulder, “She’s bae.”

A collective groan arises from the rest of the boys. “Sit your ass down, JK,” Yoongi grumbles, “(y/n)’s going to break up with us before we even start dating.”

“Dating—!” I break off that train of thought. Other matters need to be attended to first, “No, I didn’t come here tonight to say ‘hi’ or to be your ‘bae’. I came here to get answers.”

I take my time making eye contact with each boy.

Taehyung is still spread out on his bed and Jimin has now joined him. Seokjin, Hoseok and Jungkook are sprawled out on the floor at the foot of the bed, while Namjoon and Yoongi slouch against the opposite wall of the bedroom facing me.

“Alright,” Namjoon lifts his chin, meeting my stare head on, “What do you want to know?”

a/n: sorry for the cliffhanger, hehe. i wanted to get something up for y’all! hopefully next chapter won’t take too long to finish/edit :)

taglist:

@hazeljrz @sessi03 @catsandstrawberries @h5naaa @meowmeowyoongles@leftflowerprunedonut @rjsmochii @athletes-of-god @karissassirak @weallhavesecretsinthebestway @cvbachacbitch @bewitch3dforivar @honeyspillings @xxonyxpearlxx @fivesecondsofsarang @oii-f-eli-x2 @joonsroses @theevilyouknow @jooniescupcakes @expensive-grl @i-dont-even-know-fck @doingmybestalltheftime @elraeee @fangirling-all-the-way-tbh @laced-brds @aokay1010 @breeeeh17 @lpayne612 @peachyharmoney @rilakoya @chulchuchi @tabula-rasa0 @guccishookv @nomimits7 @i-like-puppy-mg @s-noir @anna-sorel @valiantcollectorofsandwiches @cage7241

blogs that wouldn’t let me tag them for some reason:

@awkwardhumambean

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mopeytropey · 4 years ago

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a beer buds series: chapter 10

author’s note: When I originally told my wife of the idea for this series, she immediately suggested an entire rewrite of 'a pleasant undoing' but told from Lexa's perspective. So I'm counting chapters 9 and 10 as honoring her wishes. The continuation of this series will reprise our almost strictly Lincoln + Lexa formula, but I'm not naive enough to think that at least 99% of you weren't going into this also hoping for some premium Clarke + Lexa content. (Forgive me for the deviation ... and the smut)

Timeline: essentially, we're just picking up where chapter 9 left off ...

Beer: Lil’ Heaven: Two Roads Brewing (Stratford, CT) SESSION IPA

Made with three exotic hops - Azacca, Mosaic and Equinox. Taste is of tropical fruits, specifically passion fruit, grapefruit and apricots. Finishes with just enough toasted malt character to balance.

ABV 4.8%

Posted on AO3 here, or below the cut:

:::

“Hey, don’t I know you?”

“I saw you two days ago.” Lexa affectionately rolls her eyes, nevertheless smiling while accepting an exaggerated hug from Lincoln as if they are reuniting after a long separation.

“Work doesn’t count. You’ve been completely off the radar for a week, socially speaking.”

They’ve met for an impromptu breakfast at a local diner not far from Lexa’s apartment. She’s back in her neighborhood for practicality reasons, having left the idyllic bubble of Clarke’s bedroom in order to do some loads of laundry. But, it’s also a nice excuse to see her friend.

Lincoln has already procured them steaming cups of coffee and a pair of red vinyl stools at the breakfast counter that faces the busy griddle top. He is grinning at her as they sit, awaiting her response.

“I’ve just been … busy,” she says, not even able to curb the bashful smile that follows as she removes her coat and hat.

Lexa pretends not to blush, knowing full well her time spent with Clarke has superseded any other social obligations as they have begun a long overdue exploration of new and exciting facets of their relationship.

Namely sex. A good portion of her week has, in fact, been absorbed by unspeakably good sex.

“Uh-huh,” Lincoln laughs warmly. “I wasn’t even sure you two had remembered how to physically separate at this point. Thought maybe Clarke would be joining us as well based solely on the fact that you two haven’t surfaced for anything other than work responsibilities in a full week.”

Lexa sips her coffee through a growing grin to prolong any acknowledgement of Lincoln’s playful accusation.

“Morning, hon’.” A familiar waitress says in passing, leaving two menus beside Lincoln’s coffee cup. “Let me know when you’re ready to order.”

“Thanks, Helen,” Lexa smiles. It’s not often that she indulges in big breakfast meals, preferring her protein smoothies or avocado toast, but Lexa has nevertheless fallen into a routine of frequenting the diner as a way of establishing new roots.

In her old Brooklyn borough it had been the Chilo’s taco bar where she and Anya would meet every Friday to decompress from the work week over carnitas tacos and cheap beer. In her new portside life in Massachusetts, it’s Angie’s Diner. The coffee is palatable, at best, but the atmosphere is welcoming and Lexa has always enjoyed seeing familiar faces when forced to dine alone. Helen’s gruff, New England endearments in a seasoned, smoker’s voice, have consistently been a comforting presence.

When the woman shuffles off to tend to the other, early morning diners, Lexa turns to see Lincoln still watching her expectantly. “Clarke had some tasks at Dockside to attend to, and I really need clean clothes.”

“And, you’re functioning okay in her absence? Breathing okay and everything?”

Lexa laughs at his continued teasing, but easily concedes to an honest answer. So much uninterrupted time spent in Clarke’s company, sharing the myriad truths about their feelings, has apparently begun to bleed into her other relationships as well.

Lexa has almost always been able to leave herself unguarded in Lincoln’s presence anyway.

“I’m probably more dysfunctional when she’s around, actually.”

Lincoln stifles a laugh around a sip of his coffee. “That sounds like a fair assessment. Everything’s going as well as expected then?”

“Yeah, it’s—” Lexa tries, and instantly fails, not to picture Clarke lathered and laughing in the shower while Lexa fights to stand beneath the warm, steaming spray; Clarke pressing her against the kitchen countertops with hands roaming while the coffee steeps; Clarke cuddling into her on the sofa with the lights dim and the TV volume low “—it’s been really good.”

“Oh no.”

“What?” Lexa smiles unsurely, eyes widening at Lincoln’s grave expression.

“What’s with the hesitation?”

“What hesitation? I did not hesitate.”

“I know that hesitation.” Lincoln narrows his gaze at her, dark eyes assessing for signs of Lexa’s concession. “What are you in your head about now?”

She really needs to stop associating with people who can read her like a book.

“Okay, fine,” Lexa exhales. She flips open the worn menu, its once glossy, laminate pages now dulled from years of loyal patronage. “I’m just adjusting to the intensity of it all.”

“You’ve made a major life change. Totally normal to feel overwhelmed,” Lincoln shrugs.

“I know. You’re right. I haven’t even slept at my apartment in almost a week.”

“And, this is somehow a bad thing?” Lincoln laughs.

“No, I have absolutely zero complaints,” Lexa clarifies. “But, we’re spending literally all of our free time together—and portions of our work days, too.”

Lincoln chuckles after another sip of coffee. “Also totally normal. In the beginning, Octavia used to impose all of these ridiculous sleepover schedules—like, spending three nights a week together is the maximum, or whatever—only to completely abandon her own, dumb rule and would end up sleeping at mine for weeks at a time.” Lincoln thinks better of it a second later and warns, “Don’t ever tell her I told you that.”

The legitimate fear she can see in his eyes makes her laugh, and suddenly she doesn’t feel quite so overwhelmed. “I’ve always considered it wise not to let on that I know just how obsessed Octavia is with you.”

“Smart woman,” Lincoln winks. “So, other than acclimating to new sleeping arrangements, what is it that’s stressing you out? You think you’re spending too much time together?”

“That’s the thing—I like being able to be with Clarke as much as possible. This past week, spending time with her, I’ve felt calmer and happier and more settled than I have in ages.”

Lincoln smiles so warmly, Lexa can feel it in her chest. “Don’t you think Clarke feels exactly the same way?”

“I’m pretty confident that Clarke enjoys having me around, yes. It’s not like she’s trying to kick me out of her house or anything yet.”

“But?”

“But, I keep wondering what the long-term implications are. Because the way that everything is changing between us: it feels … significant.”

“Yeah. That’s because you’re in l—”

Lexa looks away with a groan that drowns out the rest of Lincoln’s statement, rubbing a hand against her forehead. “Oh my god, please stop saying that.”

“Okay, okay,” Lincoln laughs. And then, after a moment while clearing his throat, he not-so-subtly reiterates: “But, you are.”

Lexa studiously ignores any truth in Lincoln’s playful accusation and further expounds, “I guess if anything is stressing me out, it’s not knowing if Clarke is experiencing something similar to what I am right now.”

“Knowing Clarke like I do, and having had the pleasure of a front row seat to all of this from day one, I can confidently assure you that she is right there with you. That being said, have you ever considered—I don’t know—asking her yourself instead of sitting here having a hypothetical conversation about it with me?”

“I do plan to speak with her about this,” Lexa assures an openly skeptical Lincoln. “I do.”

“I mean, you’re in the first week of a new relationship, Lex. I get it. That is usually not time that’s predominantly spent talking.”

Lexa is saved from her sudden flush of embarrassment by the return of their waitress, Helen, who kindly disregards the red tint on Lexa’s cheeks as she orders her scrambled eggs and rye toast.

“The point is,” Lincoln continues once their orders have been placed, “you guys have this really solid and established friendship going into this thing. In my experience, that can sort of push you ahead at a faster clip than you’re probably accustomed to in relationships.” He drains his coffee, placing it back onto the counter with a dull clink. “So, what would make you feel better about the rate at which you and Clarke are headed?”

Lincoln has a uniquely comforting way of simplifying Lexa’s life. He’s so genuine and forthcoming, and she could hug him again for all his supportive logic. Instead, she takes a deep breath to clear her head and pledges to hug him later.

“I want to be up front with her about where I see this going, to determine whether or not she and I are on the same page. I want her to know that I’m—”

“—in love with her?” Lincoln grins.

Lexa punches him, with unintentional force, and regrets it only when Helen—a middle-aged woman with salt-and-pepper curls and kind eyes—glances at them in mild concern as she refills their coffee. “I would ask if he’s bothering you, hon’, but I have a feeling you’re more than capable of handling yourself.”

“Don’t worry, I deserved that,” Lincoln assures their waitress, laughing at Lexa’s menacing scowl while rubbing his arm.

“I was going to say, I want Clarke to know that I’m not interested in dating anyone else.”

“Oh, right, right,” Lincoln nods, still smiling. “See, I just keep forgetting you two haven’t already been dating exclusively for, like, six months.”

“Why do I hang out with you again?”

For all her feigned exasperation, she is instantly wrapped up in an embrace, not unlike an older brother might lovingly harass his younger sibling. “Because you love me.” He pulls her in closely for a monstrous hug—right there at the diner counter—despite Lexa’s sharp elbow to his abdomen as she playfully fights against the forced affection.

:::

Clarke emerges from her silver Saab just as Lexa ambles across the snow-dusted gravel of the marina, icy rocks crunching beneath her boots. Cars are parked at odd, misfitted angles wherever they can find space between the boats set up on large blocks in their bright white winter wrappings. Clarke is wearing her plaid scarf and bulky winter parka, and Lexa’s chest tightens with equal amounts of excitement and trepidation at seeing her again after a short span apart.

“You should have let me pick you up,” Clarke says by way of a greeting.

“It’s not a bad walk from my apartment.”

Their breaths dissipate in the air between them after briefly appearing in frozen clouds. Lexa can feel her teeth about to chatter because the air on the water is properly freezing, but she attributes the chill along her spine to the nervous energy of being near Clarke.

Clarke’s gaze narrows in judgement. “Stubborn.”

“Those in glass houses,” Lexa counters, arching her brow in a way that brings that pleasant tint of blush to Clarke’s cheeks.

It could very well be the wind; except Lexa knows that it isn’t.

“Okay can we further reprimand each other once we’re inside where it’s warm?”

Clarke’s gloved hand wraps around her coat sleeve and tugs until they are both headed towards the blue front door of the coffee shop. A welcomed gush of warm air envelopes them instantly, and Lexa’s skin begins to tingle where the harsh winds had chilled her face. There isn’t much of a line, nor is the shop crowded with other people. The moderately-sized open room is sparse with patrons, enjoying their steaming drinks under natural lighting and softly playing music.

It’s been six days—not that Lexa has been meticulously keeping track, but it’s been six days—of near-constant kissing and unrestrained touch; of perpetual orgasms and an intentionally precise exploration of Clarke’s body; of general sensory overload when it comes to redefining her relationship with her best friend. Hardly a week has transpired since they began testing the waters of this mutual attraction, which has nevertheless consumed Lexa entirely.

Maybe it’s only been six days, an insignificant length of time under normal circumstances, but it feels much more weighted than that.

Between the kissing and the touching and the orgasms, nevermind the sudden influx of unveiled honesty, she can hardly keep her head above water. Her mind hasn’t stopped spinning since that first kiss on Clarke’s doorstep, and she’s only slightly concerned with contracting vertigo if they don’t stop and address what is happening between them sooner rather than later. Lexa needs to sit in a familiar, public space in the light of day with her best friend to discuss the implications on their relationship as it progresses at full tilt.

Lincoln’s advice rings in her ears as they enter the shop: just talk to Clarke.

“Hey, strangers!” A barista greets them happily as she and Clarke approach the cash register. Her name slips from Lexa’s memory, but Clarke returns her greeting for them both.

“Hey, Morgan.”

“Oh my god, I thought you two got lost at sea or something. We haven’t seen you in ages.” Morgan is young, perhaps just out of college, with bright pink hair and a septum piercing.

Clarke’s head shifts so that she can give Lexa a strange look, which Lexa promptly returns before offering a brief smile. “Oh, um, yeah. Just busy during the holidays,” Clarke answers.

Lexa gives her order and Clarke pays, brushing off Lexa’s insistence on paying her share. In seven months, if she’s learned anything, it is not to question Clarke’s generosity. They move to a deserted sofa beside an old wood stove fireplace to wait for their drinks and begin removing their coats and hats. Lexa’s toes begin to tingle and thaw within her leather boots as the heat from the fire permeates.

The harborside shop is the same as always: natural light streaming through the windows facing the water; a smattering of locally produced art hanging on brightly colored walls; and, a handful of other patrons sitting in mismatched furniture with computers or paperbacks. Everything is the same, except for her and Clarke.

They sit closely, quickly finding small, innocuous points of contact. Clarke tucks into one end of the sofa so that her knees rest gently against Lexa’s legs. Their hands seek touch as the barista delivers their drinks, separating only briefly to accept the steaming mugs and offer their gratitude. Once Morgan leaves them to attend other customers, Lexa falls into the comfort of their secluded, sun-drenched pocket of the shop.

“It’s so cold outside. I think my feet are still thawing.”

“It feels nice in here,” Lexa responds, smiling because Clarke inches closer to her anyway and she was only outside for under two minutes as it is.

Lexa senses a buzzing from her coat where it sits beside her and reaches into one of its deep pockets to check her phone. A text from Lincoln confirms their plans to meet up later for drinks. She types a quick, one-handed response before replacing her phone and returning her full attention to Clarke.

“Lincoln,” she explains, although Clarke doesn’t look poised to ask.

“Does he miss you already?”

Lexa laughs, shaking her head. “No, he’s not nearly as codependent as you.”

Clarke attempts to withdraw her fingers from where they are slotted between Lexa’s, but Lexa tightens her grasp with a widening grin at Clarke’s dropped jaw and feigned affront.

“Are you still hanging out later?”

“Yeah, he was just confirming the time.” Lexa’s thumb smooths across the back of Clarke’s hand in a slow, repetitive arch. “Are you sure you don’t want to come with me?”

Clarke shakes her head firmly. “No, this is your sacred time together—I can’t encroach on that.”

“It’s beers and appetizers, Clarke. I wouldn’t call it sacred.”

Clarke’s eyes widen dramatically. “I’m gonna tell him you said that.”

The empty threat makes Lexa smile again. They’ve always had a particular talent for banter, and the added layer of their recent sexual experiences makes it all the more delightful to trade taunts and harmless barbs.

“How was your laundry adventure?” Clarke asks while reaching for her coffee, and Lexa smirks.

“Thrilling.”

Despite her instincts to stay within reach of Clarke at all times as much as physically possible, there is also the issue of personal hygiene. In this case, it was Lexa’s growing pile of clothes that needed attending.

“And breakfast with Lincoln?”

She can’t tell Clarke how she is actually reconsidering a lifelong friendship with Lincoln because he had spent a majority of the morning brutally teasing her. To reveal that would require Lexa to also elaborate on his specific proclamations about her feelings for Clarke.

And so, Lexa tells her, “It was good.”

“You can always do laundry at mine, you know.”

“Is this just another ploy to keep me tethered to your house for longer intervals?”

An exasperated look flashes across Clarke’s face while she swallows down a mouthful of steaming coffee. ��Yes. Have you not been paying attention at all over the past week?”

Lexa swallows through a grin of her own. There’s really only one, notable thing they’ve been engaged in over the past week, and to think of it now has Lexa’s face warming as she becomes acutely aware of Clarke’s proximity in a public space.

“I’ve been a little preoccupied lately.”

Light laughter escapes her as Lexa’s right hand fiddles the ribbing of Clarke’s sweater between her fingers. She is dressed in something off-white and oversized that cuts at a low vee below her neck so that Lexa’s eyes begin to wander to its shadowed opening. It’s a sweater she remembers from the time before—when all of Lexa’s cultivated interest in Clarke (including her wardrobe) was something unspoken and dutifully ignored.

Lexa remembers that Clarke had been dressed for a dinner at her mother’s house, and Lexa had been granted a chance encounter for quick minutes in which they danced around a thrumming attraction. She can feel it sparking in the air between them now, their pocket of relative privacy threatening to implode from the calculated looks Clarke is giving her.

“Busy week?” she further teases, eyeing Lexa’s blush over the rim of her coffee mug as she takes another sip.

Lexa purses her lips and narrows her gaze at Clarke’s self-satisfaction. “Exactly how much joy does it bring you to torture me?”

“So much,” Clarke laughs. She slips her fingers between Lexa’s so that they are loosely held together. “But only because you’re so adorable when you’re exasperated.”

“Flattery is supposed to absolve you?”

“Obviously.” Clarke rolls her eyes, bringing Lexa’s fingers to her mouth and brushing them quickly with a kiss.

With affections such as this, Lexa would forgive her of almost anything.

“So,” Clarke says through a sigh while bringing their joined hands to rest again on her knee. “What did you want to talk about?”

Now that Clarke has given her the floor, Lexa practically swallows her tongue in nervous vacillation. She had strategized a few, well-devised talking points during the process of cleaning her clothes, not to mention procuring some sound advice from Lincoln over breakfast, but sitting here in front of Clarke has made Lexa forget how to string together words and phrases to construct complete thoughts.

In a desperate attempt to find her resolve, she reaches for the cup of english black tea she’d ordered. Lexa takes her first sip, wishing she’d asked for a pinch more sugar but nevertheless hoping it will soothe her racing thoughts.

“I just wanted to … check in.”

Pathetically underwhelming start. Lincoln would be so disappointed. She takes another sip that is more like a gulp.

Clarke nods slowly. “Okay.”

“About us.”

“Okay,” Clarke repeats, her smile looking apprehensive at best.

“Our friendship has evolved significantly over the past week, and rapidly, at that. I just thought we should—” Lexa wavers and Clarke comes to her rescue.

“Check in?”

“Yeah,” Lexa nods.

“Okay. Are you—are you feeling okay about everything?”

Lexa begins to tangle her fingers around Clarke’s more fervently. “Things with you are almost too good.”

Clarke’s smile changes instantly, full and bright and genuinely pleased. “I feel the same. I’m actually feeling incredibly, fucking lucky, to put a finer point on it.”

“Good,” Lexa smiles, exhaling a modicum of relief. “I do too.”

“Oh my god, you had me scared.” Clarke leans back into the couch, dislodging their hands to run her fingers through her hair. “I thought you were going to say you want to date other people or something.”

“What? No.” Lexa’s breath has been lost to a vacuum of panic so that her ask is hardly audible. “Do you?”

“No! No. I’ve dated, Lexa. I’ve dated plenty,” Clarke laughs lightly, reaching for a surer hold on Lexa’s fingers. “But, you—I mean, you’re single for the first time in over three years. You must have thought about it.”

Not single, Lexa says to herself before thinking better of it and rephrasing aloud:

“Clarke, I could date a hundred women and none of them would be you.”

“Yes, I am fairly certain I’ve yet to be cloned.”

“Are you going to stop being a smartass so I can say this?” Lexa smiles in mock irritation.

“Sorry, sorry.” Clarke pinches her lips together, attentive. “Continue.”

“What I mean is, no one else would compare. I’ve never met anyone like you—this connection I feel with you, I’ve never experienced anything like it.” Lexa takes a breath, licking her lips before forging onward. “I can’t say where this is going, but I can say, unquestionably, that I have no interest in dating anyone else for the foreseeable future.”

The words leave her in a rush of honesty. It feels like she’s said too much too soon, but Clarke leans forward with a smile and Lexa interprets the gentle press of her lips as having said exactly the right thing.

“Do you think we can take these drinks to-go and finish this conversation elsewhere?” Clarke’s voice is pitched low and seductive, and Lexa senses a chill tingling at the back of her neck.

She resolves to stop doubting her honesty, if also to reconsider hanging out with Clarke in public spaces for a while until they can get their rampant sexual urges under control long enough to enjoy a cup of tea.

“Did you have a specific location in mind?” she grins in response as if the gleam in Clarke’s eyes isn’t a clear enough indication.

:::

Part 2

:::

The sex is consistently noteworthy, and Lexa had never really doubted that she and Clarke would be compatible in that way, but so is the intimacy alongside it. Lexa has never before distinguished between the two so markedly. But, with Clarke, the intimacy is so distinct. When she is coming around Clarke’s fingers, letting her watch the strains of pleasure in her face and shoulders, Lexa registers the vulnerability of being caught in Clarke’s gaze as an orgasm ricochets through her.

Ordinarily, a week into any new relationship and Lexa would still be clinging to well-practiced safeguards. She would be withholding some parts of herself for safekeeping and ultimate preservation should things go sideways.

But, not with Clarke.

She likes that Clarke watches her so carefully. The way that she feels when held by Clarke’s gaze is a kind of certain safety that Lexa hasn’t known before. She kisses Clarke fully, holding nothing back as the pulsating aftershocks of her orgasm begin to ebb. When Clarke slowly removes her fingers, Lexa bites Clarke’s lip, swallowing the soft moan that follows.

“Does this mean you want to be exclusive?” Lexa asks, still breathless, when their lips have parted.

She feels Clarke’s laughter against her face before she’s being kissed again. “Yes, you idiot.”

“Good. Because I want to take you out.”

“Tonight?”

“Not tonight. It’s going to require some planning. I’d like it to be a proper date.”

Clarke’s elation is instantly visible. “Okay. I’m going to be honest, I’m highly intrigued to find out what a proper Lexa date looks like.”

Lexa kisses her again and considers, not for the first time, if she’ll be able to stop now that she’s started. Clarke’s warm tongue and soft lips are now vital to Lexa’s existence. She craves the sensation of their mouths sliding together at random intervals throughout her days.

“Kissing you has not been a disappointment,” she says, bringing more of Clarke’s bright laughter as they shift their limbs to reposition against the mattress.

Clarke’s leg wraps around her waist as Lexa brushes stray hair from Clarke’s face where they now lay facing side-by-side. “Oh, my god, I’ll second that. I knew you would be a good kisser.”

“Did you?” Lexa smiles at the confession. She likes that Clarke had thought of her in similar ways. She had not been the only one lost in questionably scandalous daydreams over the course of their friendship.

“Yes. I may have thought about it, once or twice.”

“I had a pretty good feeling about your talents as well.”

It’s such a simple, shared admission that nevertheless makes Lexa’s heart trip in its rhythm. “And now, I think about it constantly.”

For that, she is rewarded with another press of Clarke’s lips. “Me too. I’m pretty sure I’m regressing into a terrible excuse for a restaurant manager as a result of constant distraction.”

“And the bar for your professionalism was already set so low as it is.”

“Hey!” For that she gets a finger plunged sharply between her ribs, and Lexa squirms away from Clarke’s violent tickling.

“I’m kidding. You are an elite and respected paragon of your field.”

“You’re damn right I am,” Clarke affirms with pride.

“Honestly, I was so lost in thought the other day, I dropped a six pack on my foot.”

“Lexa!” Clarke laughs, kissing Lexa again anyway. “Oh no.”

“No permanent damage,” Lexa smiles. “Can I tell you what else I really like?”

Clarke could not look more delighted. “Yes, please.”

“I really like your sweater.”

“Wait—which sweater?”

Lexa props up onto an elbow, separating their warm skin as she casts her eyes around the room before locating the sweater in question. It sits near the foot of the bed where it had been discarded moments before. “That one,” she says. “It looks really good on you.”

Clarke seems both surprised and amused by the compliment. “Come here.”

Lexa allows herself to be pulled closer when Clarke wraps both hands around the back of her neck and their limbs slot back into place. They kiss lazily as if time doesn’t exist while Lexa’s hands begin to drift along the pathways she has started to chart across Clarke’s skin.

“I like seeing you in such a good mood,” Clarke eventually tells her.

“The effect of midafternoon orgasms cannot be underrated.” The frank sentiment makes Clarke laugh again as she rests their foreheads together and begins smoothing over Lexa’s skin with the tips of her fingers. “Also, I like being able to tell you things—things I wouldn’t have been able to say before.”

“I like when you tell me things.” Clarke tucks a strand of loose curls around Lexa’s ear. “Anything else in that busy head of yours you feel like sharing?”

Three words ring prominently in Lexa’s ears, and she fully blames Lincoln’s stupid taunting for the sentiment being at the forefront of her mind. It has nothing to do with the soft, swirling blue of Clarke’s eyes, or the subtle tilt of her mouth, or the fact that Lexa has memorized the sound of Clarke’s laugh. She swallows roughly and presses her lips to Clarke’s, sealing the unspoken words between them for good measure.

She instead tells Clarke a different truth, “I’m feeling much better since we talked.”

“I’m glad,” Clarke smiles. “I feel better, too.” She runs a hand down Lexa’s arm, finding her fingers.

“I was sort of anxious to say anything,” Lexa admits, feeling brave while cocooned in Clarke’s bed despite her earlier insecurities. She had worried, yet again, about saying too much. There was always the risk of Clarke pulling away if Lexa revealed too much. “I spent at least two days debating with myself.”

Clarke’s exaggerated surprise results in Lexa’s quiet giggles. “No, you did? You tortured yourself for days with unnecessary internal debates? That is highly out-of-character, Lexa.”

“You really are a lot more like Lincoln than I ever realized.”

Clarke’s laughter somehow brings them closer together, and Lexa shifts her legs where they are staggered between Clarke’s. “I’ll take that as a compliment. And, I’m glad you finally talked to me about this. I mean, I wasn’t totally expecting you to propose in the way that you did, but—”

“Clarke.” Lexa buries her face into the pillow and clenches her eyes to stave off her creeping mortification. So much for embracing her honesty.

Of course, Clarke is endlessly humored by watching Lexa suffer and only continues her assault on Lexa’s heartfelt admission. “I mean, correct me if I’m misquoting, but you said: ‘for the foreseeable future,’ which basically translates into asking me to date you, but like, forever.”

“Oh my god,” Lexa mumbles, her face still pressed into the soft cotton of Clarke’s pillowcase.

Clarke is not deterred by Lexa’s mounting humiliation, pressing kisses full of laughter into her neck and shoulder until Lexa finally turns to face her. Using the leverage of her leg wrapped around Lexa’s hips, Clarke has since wrestled her onto her back.

“See?” she says, running an index finger down the slope of Lexa’s nose and effectively smoothing the furrow of embarrassment between her eyebrows. “So adorable.”

It’s hard to keep hold of her ire when Clarke is naked above her and straddling her hips. Perhaps Clarke knows this as well because even as she shifts imperceptibly, Lexa feels it straight through her core. Her hands come to rest on the tops of Clarke’s thighs, and though she senses a residual scowl tugging at her lips, most of her regret for being too honest has faded.

“I’m sorry for making fun,” Clarke says while her thumbs rub circular patterns on Lexa’s ribs.

Lexa has never seen anyone look less apologetic in her life. “I would be more inclined to believe you if you weren’t actively trying not to laugh.”

“No, no, I’m serious,” Clarke reiterates, although she is fully laughing now. She clears her throat, aiming valiantly for composure. “What you said was so sweet, and, I mean, in case you couldn’t tell, I sort of plan on dating you for a really long time, too.”

Lexa fights her own smile rather poorly. “Well, that’s very convenient.”

��Yeah, I thought so,” Clarke nods.

It’s the perfect segue into more unrestrained fondling, more languid kisses, and Clarke seems to be on the same wavelength as she leans her weight onto her hands and begins to roll her hips. It’s easier falling into this rhythm when for six days they have perpetually cycled the same routine: intimate talks bookended by multiple orgasms that are interspersed with brief intervals reserved for sleep and nourishment.

Lexa gasps into their first kiss from their well-timed movements—the feeling of them sliding together in that way has a heated sensation building quick and low. Just the pressure of Clarke on top of her and the way her slow, purposed movements are hitting Lexa in the all the right spots, has her close to a second orgasm in minutes.

She can hear Clarke’s breathing accelerate as well, the forced puffs of air through her nose that Lexa feels against her cheeks as their kisses grow more urgent. Clarke’s hand moves first, skating down Lexa’s abdomen as she lifts her hips to slide her fingers towards Lexa’s clit. It’s been no more than twenty minutes since her last orgasm, but Lexa’s body instantly responds to the circulating pressure of Clarke’s fingers moving against her.

They are still figuring things out, learning how the other responds to physical arousal, but this—Clarke on top of her, easily working her towards climax with deft fingers and filthy, open-mouth kisses—will do the trick every, single time. Lexa could probably come with much less stimulation at this point, when brushing touches while fully clothed are sometimes too much for her to function. Never mind the visual currently hovering over her—Clarke’s bouncing chest, grinding hips, and blown pupils. An image of her fingers sunk into Clarke in this position is enough to send Lexa over the edge. Her back arches off the mattress as the orgasm rolls up her spine, and Lexa catches her breath only after Clarke starts kissing her again.

A familiar dilemma has Lexa torn between using her hands or her mouth as the tingling sensations of her own orgasm have barely begun to fade. In the end, her urgency to feel Clarke’s arousal, and see it to completion, has Lexa moving a hand between their bodies to slide eager fingers into Clarke’s folds. There will always be time later to bury her face between Clarke’s legs.

Her breath always stutters at that first touch—it’s slick and warm and Clarke groans appreciatively when Lexa extends two fingers just as Clarke sinks onto Lexa’s hand. That she is open and intimate with Clarke in a way she never thought possible has not fully registered as her new reality, and for a brief second, Lexa’s mind goes blank.

In another breath, Lexa shifts, guiding Clarke to change her position just enough that she can take one of Clarke’s nipples into her mouth. The quick suction and slow laps of her tongue produce a groan from Clarke that Lexa will be thinking about days later.

“Fuck, Lexa,” Clarke pants, her hips now thrusting quicker against Lexa’s hand, pressing harder against her fingers as they slide in an out.

Clarke’s arms shift, palms flat against the mattress on either side of Lexa’s head where she is still holding her weight.

“Are your arms getting tired? Do you want to switch positions?” Lexa absently moves her hand that had been massaging one of Clarke’s breasts to lightly hold her bicep.

“No.” Clarke smiles and kisses her softly, in direct contrast to the way she is currently riding Lexa’s fingers. “You’re very sweet, but I’m good.”

“Okay, good. Because I’m really appreciating this view,” Lexa grins, moving her hand again to swipe a thumb across Clarke’s nipple.

“Do you think you can—”

She doesn’t let Clarke finish, relying instead on her still-developing intuitions, and takes the other nipple into her mouth.

“Yes, fuck.”

Lexa celebrates her victory of predicting Clarke’s needs by altering the position of her hand to reach Clarke’s clit with her thumb, the result of which has Clarke nearly collapsing onto her as her elbows buckle and her hips jerk forward. Lexa finds a well-practiced rhythm after that and works Clarke all the way to climax until the movement of her hips becomes erratic and she is no longer able to string together coherent profanity.

The comedown is soft and fun, quiet giggles and breathless kisses. Clarke collapses onto the mattress beside her, arms and legs finally relieved of their tension, and Lexa curls onto her side so that she can rest a hand onto Clarke’s stomach where she lies flat on her back.

Lexa is so content, she feels like her body might levitate in a boneless mass above the bed. Clarke’s breathing is still coming to rest, and Lexa watches her hand rise and fall with each inhale and exhale.

Into the greying stillness of the bedroom, Clarke asks, “Hey, what time are you supposed to meet Lincoln?”

The serenity Lexa had felt shatters in an instant. “Oh shit!” She flails about for a moment in search of her phone, having completely forgotten about her plans. “What time is it?”

She locates her phone before Clarke can answer. It’s already half past three, and Lexa’s stomach plummets. The text from Lincoln says: where you at?

“Are you late?” Clarke has come to sit behind her where Lexa’s legs hang off the mattress near the bedside table where she’d found her phone. Lexa feels soft kisses against her shoulderblade. “What did he say?”

Below Lincoln’s text is a picture of two full pints of beer sitting on a bar counter. She holds her phone at an angle so that Clarke can see Lincoln’s texts.

Lexa runs a hand through her hair as her heart hammers from the sudden jolt of adrenaline. “Shit.”

More than the shame of accidentally standing up one of her closest friends, Lexa dreads the fallout of this enormous misstep because Lincoln is never going to let her live this down. Worse yet, there is a good chance that he’ll share the story with Anya, which will mean, essentially, Lexa can never again return home.

“Why don’t you get dressed and go? I can drop you off,” Clarke offers sweetly, still pressing reassuring kisses along her back.

“I’m going to ask him if we can reschedule,” Lexa decides.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” Lexa answers, turning her head to smile at Clarke over her shoulder. “I don’t

really feel like putting on pants at the moment.”

Clarke kisses her shoulder cap and grins in return. “You’ll get no argument from me there.”

“Let me give him a call really quickly.” Lexa reaches for a shirt on the floor—something of Clarke’s she’d worn to bed the night before—and stands to slip it over her head. Something about calling a close friend while completely naked and still coming down from an orgasm makes her slightly uncomfortable.

“Take your time,” Clarke tells her, also rising from the unkept sheets and blankets to pull her hair back into its messy bun. “I’m going to go downstairs and reheat our drinks from earlier.” She tugs at the hem of Lexa’s tee shirt and places a kiss at the corner of her mouth on her way to the bathroom. “Do you want a snack, too?”

“Okay.”

Lexa grins, following after Clarke’s lips as she starts to move away. A soft hold on her wrist is enough encouragement for Clarke to lean up into another kiss, reminding Lexa just how shaky her legs still feel from their exertions in bed. Perhaps sustenance to replenish her blood sugar is necessary instead of relying solely on a steady drip of oxytocins.

Lexa appreciates the view of Clarke’s retreating backside even in the fading light of the bedroom as the sun has started to move towards the horizon. She runs a hand through her wild curls and exhales, preparing to make her phone call while perched on the edge of the mattress.

Lincoln answers on the first ring. “Hey, buddy. Did you get lost?”

“Something like that,” Lexa says. “Clarke and I went for coffee, and then I sort of … lost track of time.”

“Say no more,” Lincoln laughs. “It’s your turn to ditch me for a girl now, right? I hope the sex was worth it.”

The fact that she is wearing nothing more than a thin tee shirt has Lexa covering her face with her hand. “Lincoln, I didn’t—”

His laughter persists, and Lexa wonders how loud it must be within the confines of the bar. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding. It’s totally fine. Honestly, I’d be more upset if you weren’t standing me up for time with Clarke right now.”

“I’m really sorry, Linc. I can be down there in like fifteen minutes.”

“Don’t you dare.” For the first time since he’s answered the call, Lincoln’s voice takes on a serious tone. “I swear to god, if you show up here, I’m frogmarching your ass right back to Clarke’s house.”

“Okay, fine,” Lexa laughs. “Let’s hang out early next week though. Beers on me.”

“Don’t even worry about it. I’m serious. I actually ran into some people from the gym plus the rep from Two Roads is here doing a tasting—I’m good, I promise.”

“I’m going to make this up to you,” Lexa reiterates. Despite Lincoln’s assurances, her guilt does not fully dissipate.

Clarke chooses this moment to step out of the bathroom, wearing just as much clothing as when she’d gone in, and Lexa’s brain lags at the sight. Her expression seems to be asking if everything is okay, and Lexa smiles in response.

“Lex, would you stop? Tell Clarke I said hi, and I’ll see you at work on Monday. Oh, hey, ask her if she’s tried the new session IPA from Two Roads. It’s intensely enjoyable.”

“Okay. I will.” She smiles up at Clarke, who has stopped to stand in front of her after slipping into a tee shirt and sweatpants. Lexa’s hand settles on Clarke’s hip like a magnet snapping into place. “Clarke says hi, too.”

“Sorry, Lincoln!” Clarke says, projecting her voice towards the receiver while tucking strands of curls behind Lexa’s ear. “It’s all my fault.”

There is more laughter down the line before Lincoln reiterates that everything is fine and he could never actually be angry with either of them.

:::

“So, since when do you source your unhealthy caffeine intake from elsewhere?”

“Huh?” Clarke smiles.

They’ve taken up seats at Clarke’s kitchen island with their reheated drinks from the coffee shop and Clarke’s version of a snack: smoked turkey and cheddar sandwiches on toasted potato rolls with homemade aioli.

They’re both wearing slightly altered versions of the same outfit—soft tee shirts and loose sweatpants, Clarke’s cut off into shorts so that Lexa’s fingers are continuously tempted to trail across all of the exposed skin within reach.

She sips her tea and returns Clarke’s smile.

“The barista at the coffee shop seemed shocked to see you,” she clarifies. “Don’t you practically pay rent there by spending so much of your time buying their coffee?”

For a brief moment, Clarke can’t seem to find her voice. She practically chokes on her sandwich, taking longer than expected to swallow her first bite. Lexa raises an eyebrow expectantly as their drinks emit swirling strands of steam into the air between them.

“I—I could ask you the same,” Clarke volleys back, not unkindly, as she dabs the corner of her mouth with a napkin and reaches for her coffee. “Morgan seemed just as surprised to see you there.”

Lexa bites her lip and looks away. She had asked out of genuine curiosity and confusion, and now it seems yet another bout of confessions is forthcoming.

She clears her throat. “Do you have any beer, actually?”

Clarke laughs lightly before shifting her expression into something like mild offense.

“Um, hi. My entire existence is practically centered around craft beer—do you even know me?”

“Right,” Lexa laughs. “Stupid question. Would you like one?”

“Again: do you even know me?”

Lexa starts to slide off her stool with a bright smile that belies the low buzz of nerves she is withstanding as an unspoken conversation simmers between them. Clarke is dislodging their legs from where they had sat in a close tangle at the island. “Stay,” she directs her, brushing a kiss to her temple. “I’ll get them.”

Once Lexa has pulled open the fridge door, she turns to look at Clarke over her shoulder. “Do you have a preference? Lincoln was asking if you’d tried the new IPA from Two Roads.”

“Are you actively avoiding answering my question by distracting me with beer inquiries?”

Lexa pinches her lips together to ward off a sheepish admission, and Clarke rolls her eyes affectionately. “Look on the left hand side, bottom shelf.”

Lexa ducks down to retrieve two brightly colored cans of IPA before closing the fridge door and returning to the island. “Not to split hairs, but technically, you avoided my question first.”

“Okay, fine,” Clarke sighs dramatically. She takes one last dreg from her coffee before shoving it away in favor of the can of beer Lexa has just opened for her. “I was—” Clarke actually ducks her head so that Lexa can see her thick eyelashes fluttering “—I was afraid I would run into you during the, uh, when we—”

“Broke up?” Lexa supplies. She is still holding a small smile for Clarke when blue eyes finally snap up to meet hers.

It had felt like that. A relationship ending—a significant one at that. And, Lexa had been left broken in the aftermath.

“I was going to say when we stopped talking,” Clarke continues. “But, it was more than that. It did feel like a break up. And, we didn’t decide anything—I cut communications all on my own.”

“Clarke—”

“I’m really sorry, Lexa.”

Lexa is already shaking her head, part disbelief at what she’s hearing, part exasperation that Clarke has mistakenly absorbed all of the blame.

“Clarke, I know you have this bizarre obsession with always being right, but I can assure you—what happened in November was all on me.”

“I just vanished, Lexa. I didn’t even tell you why or allow you to explain anything.” Clarke’s eyes are downcast and her voice softens in unmistakable regret as she fiddles the silver tab on her beer. “I freaked out and hid away. And, it was really shitty.”

Lexa can’t help the way her mind creates distinctions between Clarke and Costia—the contrast of Costia’s distance from their relationship to Clarke’s sudden disappearance. With Costia, it had often felt like abandonment and disregard. The space between them had been a disappointment, a mild discomfort that Lexa sustained over time. Losing Clarke—and it had felt like that, as if she turned around one day and panicked to find Clarke had vanished—left her devastated and painfully bereft.

“Not seeing you was horrible. Not being able to talk to you was even worse. But, I’m glad you stepped back and took that space. It was shitty, but not because you did anything wrong.”

“I hated not seeing you, too,” Clarke admits, and they share another small smile across the kitchen island, tinged with a distant, remembered sadness.

“I couldn’t avoid Dockside, contractually, but I—I didn’t want to encroach upon your other spaces.”

“So, you stopped going to the coffee shop.”

Lexa confirms with a short nod and takes the first sip of her beer. She’s glad they’ve had this talk, but she’s also more than eager to segue out of November’s gloom that is better left in the past. She takes a cleansing breath and sets down her beer.

“In the end, I was glad you created that barrier between us, Clarke. I was miserable, and Lincoln will tell you that I was insufferable to be around, but it made me realize what a massive idiot I’d been.”

Her admission elicits an actual laugh, and Clarke shakes her head fondly. “So much for that Ivy League education.”

There’s a lot more that could be said, and it’s a much longer conversation that they will likely parse out at some point. But, today has been exceptionally good, and Lexa isn’t quite ready to lose the momentum of their good moods. Even for the sake of honesty.

“I’m a slow learner,” Lexa shrugs.

“Based on the activities that occurred in my bedroom this afternoon, I can attest to that being entirely untrue,” Clarke says, voice pitched low and taunting.

At the return of Clarke’s brazen flirting and sly smile, Lexa ducks her head as her cheeks warm. Because, despite the fact that they have spent a good portion of the afternoon swapping orgasms, she still sees Clarke as her best friend, in many ways, who she has only recently had the distinct pleasure of seeing naked.

“I’m sort of a quick study in that department,” Lexa smirks.

“I’ve noticed,” Clarke laughs. They sip their beers in weighted silence for a few beats, sharing glances as they drink, and then Clarke adds to the mounting tension by asking, “So, when do I get to hear more about this date?”

“The details of the date itself are highly classified,” Lexa explains in all seriousness, despite her stomach swooping.

“Classified, huh?” Clarke laughs into another sip of beer.

“Do I honestly strike you as someone who is going to halfass a first date?”

“You don’t strike me as a person who has halfassed anything in their entire life.”

“Correct,” Lexa smiles. She shifts smoothly along the island’s edge until she is again stood on the same side as Clarke, who accepts Lexa’s proximity with a slow-spreading smile. “You know, I could potentially be persuaded to provide a sneak peek of some post-date activities,” she offers, already moving to enter Clarke’s space more fully as their drinks are gingerly slid a good distance away.

She slowly spins Clarke’s stool just enough that she can slot between her legs, and Clarke is already leaning into the touch as Lexa’s hands curve around her jaw. The kiss is like regaining breath after being submerged under water. Their conversation on past events hadn’t been strenuous, by any means, but Lexa registers a sense of relief to have resumed their previous activities all the same.

She sinks into the warmth of Clarke’s lips and tongue, exhaling after several, languid moments. When her hands move to slide up the length of Clarke’s thighs, eliciting a distinctly strained exhale as Lexa teases her fingers beneath the cut-off edge of Clarke’s shorts, it’s abundantly clear where they’re both headed.

They make it as far as the sofa.

Lexa can’t be bothered to maneuver the stairs when there are so many other available surfaces on which to make Clarke slowly shake apart. She does so on her knees while making good on her earlier intents to spend a long stretch of time between Clarke’s legs. The last shards of sunlight are nearly gone, leaving them in golden shadows and dim light from the kitchen while Clarke moans soft encouragements and cards her fingers through Lexa’s hair. There is no rush, no urgency, hardly a sense of time moving at all. Lexa feels calm and confident, content to bring Clarke closer to release at a measured pace as she begins to gently rock against the pressure of Lexa’s tongue. Everything feels languid and slow, like running through water.

It’s not lost on her, as Clarke’s orgasm eventually echoes through the quiet house, heels pressing into her back and Clarke’s fingers threaded into her hair, that this very sofa had been the impetus for their time apart. The innocence of that encounter, as she and Clarke gave in to the comforts of shared sleep, had propelled them toward a shift in their relationship. Looking back, everything that has transpired between them since that singular event seems inevitable.

Falling asleep with Clarke that first time had been rife with implications that they would eventually end up right back here: a cozy, nondescript, weekend night spent on Clarke’s couch with nowhere to go.

The insignificance of an otherwise mundane Saturday is outweighed by the way Lexa’s mouth curves into an easy smile as she kisses the warm skin of Clarke’s inner thigh. Clarke is coming down from the aftershocks of a slow-rolling orgasm when Lexa registers a sharp uptick in her heart rate as they lock eyes while Clarke is still catching her breath.

And, this too holds weight—for all their recent honesty, there are still things Lexa has left unsaid.

“Get up here,” Clarke gently demands. Lexa complies without pause.

Clarke’s sated and satisfied groans melt into scratched laughter that dovetails with their kiss, and the magnitude of what Lexa feels is underscored as their mouths meet.

“I’m going to be honest with you,” Clarke tells her some breath of time later, when Lexa has moved from the floor to the sofa at Clarke’s urging. “If this type of activity is in the cards for date night, I don’t really give a shit what the actual date itself looks like.”

They lay along the length of the sofa, limbs over lapping at certain intervals, and Lexa’s hand flat against Clarke’s stomach beneath her tee shirt.

“Good to know I can scale back my efforts,” Lexa smirks, feeling no less satisfied that she has reduced Clarke’s expectations with one, albeit exemplary, late-afternoon orgasm.

Clarke’s laughter echoes Lexa’s contentment, and her smile grows. She can feel the subtle shaking of Clarke’s diaphragm beneath her fingertips.

“This has been such a good day,” Clarke says, adding further reinforcement to Lexa’s equally satisfied mood. “I really like having your here. Have I mentioned that?”

Lexa grins into Clarke’s close gaze and presses her lips to the edges of Clarke’s smile. “Once or twice.”

“Lincoln is the kindest, most-deserving creature on the planet, but I’m really glad you stayed here instead. Just this once.”

Lexa’s contented smile slips and she nearly groans as her head falls onto the armrest. “I’m never going to hear the end of it.”

“What do you mean?” Clarke laughs.

“I pride myself in being reliable—no excuses. If I say I’ll be there, I’ll be there. Especially when it comes to Lincoln or Anya.” Lexa exhales and glances up to find Clarke’s eyes. “The fact that I neglected our plans for—”

“The best sex of your life?” Clarke supplies with swagger. Lexa’s smile returns without her consent. “I mean, you looked like you were about to say: the best sex of your life.”

As laughter bubbles up from her chest, it vanquishes Lexa’s lingering criticisms about her snap decision to break plans with Lincoln. Clarke’s commentary is a reductive synopsis, at best, but also not entirely untrue. “Yes. Something like that.”

A beat of silence passes and then Clarke says, “If you’re worried he’s going to give you a hard time about breaking plans, wait until you tell him you proposed.”

She buries her face against Clarke’s shoulder to the delighted rasp of Clarke’s giggling laughter and concludes, yet again, that it is the absolute best sound in the world, even at her own expense.

:::

#a pleasant undoing #brewkru!#a beer bud series #clexa fic

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max-is-tired · 4 years ago

Note

bad things happen request: A1 + roceit? -ren

Remember me (for centuries)

Pairing: the AU is queerplatonic Roceit and romantic Analogicality, but the ships are not very prominent in this installment

Characters: Roman Sanders, Janus Sanders, Remus Sanders, Patton Sanders, Virgil Sanders, Logan Sanders

Words: 3.835

Warnings: superhero AU, implied morally grey Janus, Remus and Roman, superpowers, swearing, a muzzle is used, fighting, there’s a character (OC) that has very black and white views and definitely goes too far because of it, if I need to add anything else please tell me

Notes: guess who’s back babey!!!!! After two months of writer block, I’ve managed to churn out this little monster in less than 3 days and I’m honestly lowkey real proud of it sjkcndjkscn it’s inspired by this idea I had the other day and after I remembered this specific prompt I just went full feral writer mode. I even have a few ideas for a sequel, so there’s that I guess!!

First fic for the @badthingshappenbingo!! The red squares are prompts that have already been requested, feel free to send more in though!! I don’t know how long it’ll take me to get to them but hopefully you won’t have to wait too long. Hope you guys like the fic!!!

Commission me!! Buy me a coffee!! Join my Discord server!! AO3!!

Once upon a time, there was a King.

He was as regal as he was mysterious, powers so strong he might as well have been able to make literal mountains kneel before him. Everyone knew of him, from the filthiest criminal to the richest man. He saw everything, heard everything, nothing and no one could escape his power. He was the judge and the executioner, protected the city in the way he saw most fit with the Puppeteer and the Duke standing at his sides.

The government called him dangerous. The people secretly called him a hero.

Once upon a time, there was a King. Until one day, he was no more -exactly how Roman had wanted it to be.

+++

Parting ways with Janus and Remus hadn't been easy. They'd been at his side since the very beginning, from the first appearance of his power to his decision to do whatever it took to protect those who couldn't.

"I'm always down to fight the government," Janus had said with a smirk, easily slipping into his Puppeteer alter ego as Remus simply swung his morning star around with a feral grin.

In the end, though, the King had had to go, and even then those two had supported his decision. What Roman had done to deserve his brother and his partner, he still had to understand. And besides, it wasn't as if he had had to cut them out of his life or anything! They still hung out lots during the day, either at the twin's apartment or at Janus' penthouse (being the only heir to a very rich family could have its perks, he supposed).

But at the end of the day, when the sun left the sky and the cover of the night fell over the city, it was the Puppeteer and the Duke who patrolled along the dirty rooftops, taking on those crimes Lady Justice seemed to overlook -Roman was nothing but a college student now and could only watch from afar, some part of him stubbornly longing for days that had since come to an end.

Or at least, that had been the plan. Then, well, Patton had happened.

They had met during a Psychology class they were both taking -for Patton, it was for his major, while Roman was just there for the credit. They had hit it off almost immediately, the both of them bonding over the pain that were morning classes and bemoaning how much money they were probably going to spend at the local coffee shop in order to survive the semester.

As much as he prided himself of being way smarter than people gave him credit for, Roman couldn't say he had figured his classmate's secret identity out immediately. It had taken him a few weeks and even then, he had needed Janus' help for his brain to click the dots into place.

Well, actually, it had been thanks to the recordings of one of the Puppeteer and the Duke's patrol sessions, during which the two had managed to stumble upon the new ragtag trio of superheroes, Storm, Heart and Logic, taking care of a small robbery downtown.

Janus and Roman had been analyzing the video, with Remus unhelpfully chucking pieces of popcorn at the back of their heads, when video-Heart had thrown his head back and laughed, grinning from ear to ear as Logic seemed to pinch the bridge of his nose in frustration.

Roman had frozen, the laugh ringing clear as day in his head as the last piece of a puzzle he hadn't known had been there slid into place -he knew that laugh, heard it every Tuesday and Friday morning before class as he sipped at his coffee and watched Patton try to fit as many puns as he could into a single sentence.

Patton was Heart. His friend was a superhero. Well, shit.

So yeah, Roman had figured it out and immediately started panicking about the newfound information. Janus and Remus, of course, had found the entire thing hilarious, teasing him about having somehow managed to stumble upon and befriend a superhero without even knowing it.

In the end, though, what exactly could he do? Roman was only a college student, and it wasn't like Patton was doing this alone -he had Storm and Logic by his side, keeping him safe and watching his back. His friend would be fine.

Then, of course, in came Virgil and Logan, the infamous roommates Patton had wanted to introduce him to since day one. In less than an hour, Roman had managed to help Pat gently bully Virgil out of his binder for the night and start a debate with Logan about the scientific accuracy of Elsa's powers and just how theoretically powerful she could have become based on the abilities she had showed in the movies.

(Olaf's existence had sparked a whole other tangent about conscience and the existence of souls on a metaphysical level, but Roman was not going to think about it lest he ended up having another existential crisis).

The real plot twist had happened much later into the night, when Roman had woken up to frantic whispering and soft rustling coming from somewhere to his right. Still keeping his eyes shut, he'd managed to catch the words "robbery" and "be careful" before hearing one of the windows gently slide shut.

Making sure to not alert anyone about his eavesdropping, Roman had waited until all he could hear was steady, even breathing before quietly sitting up, eyes shining gold into the darkness for a second before spotting Logan and Patton's figures on the ground -as for Virgil, he seemed to be nowhere to be found, the apartment being completely silent beside the two sleeping soundly beside him.

Roman had a suspicion. A very nagging suspicion in the back of his mind that was probably going to bother him until he got to the bottom of his. So, in the morning, he'd said goodbye to his new friends and headed to Janus' place, pondering over alternative explanations on the way over. Not that it would have been of any use since Janus did confirm that a robbery had taken place the night before, and that it had been halted by no other than Storm himself.

So. Virgil was Storm. Which, by taking the most logical leap, meant Logan was no other than Logic. Cool cool cool. No doubt no doubt no doubt.

… There was no way Roman could sit back and watch, was it?

And so, Prince stepped into the light, flames dancing on his fingertips and on the blade of his katana -a gift from Janus, who had reacted to Roman's sheepish smile with an eyebrow raise- and a bright red sash crossing his chest.

Logan and the others had been rather welcoming to the new superhero amongst their group, if not a little skeptical about his motives -Roman could not quite tell them he was doing all of this to give them an additional layer of protection, since he knew from experience just how dangerous the superhero gig could be. They thought all he wanted was to protect the innocents like a knight in shining armor, and he just never bothered to correct them. It wasn't like that was a lie, anyway so he didn't really feel guilty about it.

… Okay, maybe he felt a little guilty about keeping his former identity a secret. So what? It wasn't like he could go to his new friends and say "Hey, remember that one dude that scared the shit out of everyone? Yeah, that was me, fun times am I right??". And besides, it wasn't like King was going to do a comeback anytime soon, if ever. Right?

Wrong. So very, very wrong.

+++

It had started as a normal night-time patrol around the outskirts of the city. Roman had been joking around with Virgil, jumping easily from rooftop to rooftop as they exchanged dry remarks and teasing nicknames with Logan and Patton watching on in amusement.

Then, suddenly, an explosion.

They'd all frozen, exchanging quick glances as a cloud of smoke started to rise into the distance. Without a word, the four had bolted, the easy atmosphere that had surrounded them up until that moment gone in an instant as they prepared themselves to deal with whatever was expecting them.

They reached the plaza in a few minutes, immediately setting out to assess the damage. Strangely enough, there didn't seem to be much out of order -there were no civilians around, the few that had been around at that time of the night having been probably startled away by the explosion -which had probably gone off at the center of the square, judging by the debris and fairly-sized hole. Though the cause of it didn't seem to be anywhere to be found.

At least, until an amused chuckle resounded from behind the four.

They turned around, ready for a fight, only to be met with a grinning Nautilus.

"Oh, how nice of you guys to drop in!" the hero chirped, his grin only widening even more -Roman did not like the crazy glint in the other's eyes, his hand moving to hover a little closer to the hilt of his sword as a bad feeling started to pool in the pit of his stomach.

"Hello, Nautilus!" Patton greeted, his smile now a little tense around the edges -Roman couldn't help but feel glad he wasn't alone in his distrust, not missing the way Logan and Virgil also seemed to be a little more on guard.

It wasn't like Nautilus was a villain or anything, at least not for the public opinion. He meant well, Roman knew that, but the way he viewed the world -black and white, good vs evil with no space for anything else in-between those extremes- was something Roman just couldn't trust, knowing all too well how such a way of thinking could very easily skew someone's morals way too close to ruthlessness and self-justified cruelty.

So yeah, Nautilus might have been a hero, but Roman wouldn't trust him with the life of the most innocent of kittens.

"Nautilus, do you know the cause of that explosion?" Logan spoke up, his expression unreadable.

"Oh, that was me, nothing to worry your pretty brain about my dear Logic," Nautilus responded, waving the concern away with way too much nonchalance for Roman's liking. "I was just taking care of some little pests, nothing to worry about."

"By making the fucking square blow up?" Virgil asked, scoffing.

The other simply shrugged, once again dismissing the remark. "Sometimes you gotta do some harsh things to get rid of a problem, don't you agree?"

Oh, Roman did not like that smile one bit.

"What do you mean?" he asked, forcing himself to keep his voice neutral as his grip on his sword tightened.

Still smiling, Nautilus snapped his fingers, a water tendril appearing from behind him. And in its grasp, a familiar figure uselessly struggled for freedom, brown eyes glaring daggers at the hero's back. Faintly, Roman could easily picture the snarl currently adorning the Puppeteer's lips.

Lips he could not see, because Janus' mouth was currently being covered by a muzzle.

"Pretty cool right?" Nautilus grinned, stepping onto another tendril to let himself be carried at Janus' level. "A friend of mine made it, perfect to stop our local charmer from using his nifty powers."

Ignoring the way the other heroes were staring at him in various stages of horror, he grabbed Janus' chin, tugging his face forward until they were barely inches apart.

"Not so cocky without that silver tongue of yours, uh?" he purred, before pushing him back. "It's high time you face the consequences of your evil doings, you slimy snake."

But the Puppeteer's eyes were no longer glaring at Nautilus. No, they were trained on Roman's form, on his clenched fists and the way his eyes kept flashing a familiar golden color.

"Well, look who's gone and fucked up!" a voice chirped from above, attracting everyone's attention to the top of one of the surrounding buildings. The Duke gave the heroes a toothy grin and waved, legs swinging into the air with his signature morning star resting idly on his shoulder.

"Ah, the Duke," Nautilus hummed, crossing his arms with a cocky smirk, "I was wondering when you'd show up. Are you here to rescue your dear teammate? Please, do try, I'd love to bring down two villains in one day."

For the surprise of almost the entire square, the Duke let out a hearty laugh, throwing his head back as his whole body shook with the force of his cackles.

"Oh, please! As if I'll need to do literally anything," he said, amusement lacing every word. "This is your funeral, dude. You really angered the wrong royal."

Nautilus frowned, opening his mouth to reply -probably to ask what in the world the other was talking about- but all that left his lips was a startled yelp, fighting to keep himself steady as the earth started to rumble and shake beneath his feet. Because of the sudden distraction, all the tendrils of water broke off, included the one holding the Puppeteer. Without missing a beat, Remus jumped down and grabbed Janus before he could pummel the ground, holding him bridal style while sporting his best shit-eating grin.

"Told ya!" he sing-sang, sending Nautilus a mocking glare. Not that the hero was looking at him, mind you. He was more focused on his fellow "hero" standing just a few feet to the center of the square, his eyes blazing golden.

"Duke," called Roman, his voice clear and authoritative as it carried all around the plaza, "get him out of that damned muzzle, would you?"

"Aye aye sir!!" Remus chirped, easily ripping the piece of metal away. "Do you think you could leave a few bones intact for me to break? I wanna have some fun too!"

"Sorry, Duke-" the other chuckled, the sound sounding almost haunting to everyone else's ears- "but I don't know if I’ll have enough self-control left to do that."

A circle of golden light appeared at Roman's feet, rising up in the air and enveloping his body as it went. And then it was gone as suddenly as it had appeared, leaving behind a vision no one had ever thought they'd see again.

Bright, golden eyes. Hair as dark as the night. The uniform of a royal, a burgundy sash crossing his chest from shoulder to hip. In his hand, a familiar sword glinted under the artificial light of the street lamps, the hilt the same golden as its owner's irises.

The Prince was gone, lost in a circle of golden light. And at his place stood a very angry-looking King.

"That- that can't be!" Nautilus exclaimed, taking a step back. "You're gone, you can't be here!"

"Can't I?" The King -Roman, the King was Roman- asked, cocking his head to the side. "Who are you to tell me where I can and cannot be, Nautilus?"

"I'm a hero!!" the other snapped, his words laced with the desperation of a man who is standing face to face with his impending doom. "I'm a hero, you rotten king, and I after tonight I will be remembered as the one who wiped you and your villainous reign out of this city!"

Roman hummed, looking absolutely unimpressed as he calmly inspected his sword.

"You call yourself the hero… and yet, you are the one using downright torture-like methods to try and squash down those who don't fit your narrow view of good. All the Duke and I did was rescue our companion form your grasp. So tell me, Nautilus -are you really sure I'm the one you should call "villain" here?"

The hero growled at those words, eyes flashing in barely contained rage as tendrils after tendrils of water rose up behind him. "By the time I'm done with you, you'll be begging for forgiveness at my feet."

"Oh honey," the King drawled, lips stretching into a feral grin, "at the end of this, I won't be the one begging for their life."

And off they went, crashing into each other in a whirlwind of water and metal.

Taken as they were with each other, the two supers barely spared a glance to the huddle of five people looking on from the side of the square.

"What the fuck." Storm whispered, staring shell-shocked at the scene in front of him. "What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck-"

"I know, right?" the Duke exclaimed, completely ignoring the hero's obvious growing panic.

"Duke, play nice," the Puppeteer drawled, with the heat of someone who had had to deal with the other's antics for way too long to really care anymore.

"Storm, please take some deep breaths for me," Logic said, stepping into Virgil's line of sight. "Do you remember your breathing techniques, yes?"

Storm nodded, visibly trying to get his breathing under control to do just that. Heart, obviously worried, moved to sit beside him, resting one hand on his shoulder to tap a regular rhythm there.

Virgil looked up at him with a small, grateful smile, raising his own hand to cover Patton's before closing his eyes to focus on his breathing.

Once it was clear Storm's panic wasn't going to advance any further and risk affecting his powers, Janus let his eyes wander towards Logic's standing figure, the hero's gaze fixed on the ongoing fight.

"You don't seem too fazed with the revelation," the Puppeteer pointed out, arching an eyebrow. "I mean, it's not every day you find out your teammate is actually the very ex-vigilante that used to terrorize the city."

"If I remember correctly, the people targeted by the King's actions were almost all corrupt politicians and crooked cops," Logic pointed out, turning his head to look at the vigilante. "And besides, I already had my suspicions."

Janus couldn't help but let out an amused chuckle. "What was it that tipped you off?"

"Honestly, I started growing suspicious during the Prince's first day on the field," the hero shrugged, pushing his holographic glasses up his nose. "He looked way too familiar with fights involving supers to be a newbie. Add in the pseudo he chose, plus the somewhat similar outfit… once the doubts started creeping in, it was relatively easy to connect the dots."

"Roman," the Puppeteer piped up, "I know you guys know him outside of the mask, so we can use his name -all the royal pseudonyms can get real old real fast."

Logic gave the vigilante a long look before nodding, letting out a soft sigh. "I suppose that makes sense, since you all were allies prior to the King's disappearance. I suppose you won't be sharing the reason of that, by the way?"

Janus shook his head. "It isn't my story to tell -I'm a keeper of many secrets, Logic, and I'm not about to go divulge them without a valid reason to. If he wants to tell you, he will. In his own time."

"Normally, I would point out that we cannot be sure that Roman will even be able to tell us, since he's currently going against one of the heroes with most raw power," Logan pointed out, "but I have heard enough stories about the King's power to be fairly optimist about his odds in this fight."

Janus chuckled, nodding in agreement.

"Case in point-" he said, gesturing back towards the square- "it looks like the winner has just become clear."

Just as he finished speaking, Nautilus came skidding on the pavement towards them, bruises and cuts covering his whole body as he struggled to get up again.

"Told you I wouldn't be the one praying for mercy on my knees, hero," the King drawled, his uniform looking barely crumpled by the fight.

"I will never bow to you, villain," Nautilus growled, fighting to keep himself upright.

Roman arched an eyebrow, an infuriatingly amused smirk tugging at his lips. "Are you sure about that? because you look just about to fall over."

"You may have defeated me, but soon the entire world will know the truth!" the hero shot back. "Their beloved Prince, hiding such a rotten secret… how do you think they will react? Every hero will not rest until you and your companions are locked shut behind bars. Your time is coming to an end, King, and I'll make sure to save myself a front-row seat for the day you'll finally be kicked down from your throne of evil."

"A very poetic imagery, I'm sure," the Puppeteer drawled from behind them, gathering everyone's attention on himself, "though I'm afraid you won't be able to reveal jack shit, you pompous asshole."

Nautilus frowned in confusion until he felt a slight tugging at his hand. Eyes widening, he snapped his head down, eyes zeroing on the yellow string wrapped loosely around his wrist.

"Sleep now, and forget," Janus ordered, eyes flashing bright yellow, and down Nautilus went, knocked out cold.

Silence fell, only interrupted by the faint sounds of sirens approaching from afar. After a few seconds, Heart went to open his mouth, hand outstretched towards the King's back, only for the vigilante to suddenly bolt without a single word and disappear into the night.

Janus and Remus exchanged a look, obviously debating something between themselves without using any words.

"Go," Logic called, catching their attention. "We won't tell, we promise."

The two vigilantes looked at the trio, watching as both Storm and Heart nodded in agreement. Then they smiled, saluted, and took off.

"Do you think Ro will come back?" Heart asked worriedly, eyes traveling from the direction the three had taken to the quickly-approaching blue and red lights in the distance.

"He better, or I'll go and find him myself," Storm muttered darkly, biting at his thumb.

"Only time will tell, there is no use in worrying about that now," Logic sighed, just as the first police car drove into the square. "For now, we better come up with a believable story. They'll want to know what exactly caused the square to blow up in the first place."

"Why lie?" Heart asked, giving his friend a small smile, "after all, Nautilus was the one who did it, wasn't he?"

Logic smirked lightly, nodding. " I suppose that is true."

"You know, sometimes I forget just how much of a little shit you can be," Storm commented, tone laced with amusement. "Then you go and pull things like this, and I get reminded all over again."

"Kiddo, language!" Heart gave an exaggerated gasped, eyes twinkling in mischief. "I just don't like lying, you know that."

Logic watched as the two snickering heroes approached the police, shaking his head with a small smile. Tonight might have raised quite a few questions, but he had no doubt the answers would come, eventually.

All in due time, he supposed.

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silvxr-speedster · 5 years ago

Text

Be There

A/N: Hi, it’s me again :) I hope you enjoy that I’m back haha. I know the world is scary rn but I’m hoping we can all be together for each other! Honestly please request anything you want!! I love writing and it feels amazing to be back. Thanks for all the support! I love you all with my whole heart and I promise I never forgot about you. Also welcome to all the new people!! Anyway, enjoy :)

Warning: Sad, mentions of injuries and death, swearing

Prompt: based on “I should have been there!”

“So, here’s the mission,” Cap spoke. His hands rested on his hips while he spoke to the Avengers. You stared back at him. This was the first mission that the team was allowing you to join and you couldn’t have been more excited. It had been months of training and begging, but everyone finally agreed.

You had the ability of telekinesis, but it took a long time for you to be able to master it and you were still working on it. Bucky, your best friend, sat next to you. You looked over at him and grinned. He knew how excited you were for this. The two of you had spent each day training for hours and hours. You had a lot in common when it came to your fears and worries. Both of you had abilities that could be dangerous if uncontrolled and you were both scared of hurting someone unintentionally.

Bucky smiled back at you. He’d been on a few missions before you, but he still trained with you saying that you could never have too much practice. He found his stare lingering on you after you looked away, however. Bucky always thought you were magnificent. You never failed to make him smile and to make him feel as though he was worthy of being on the team. Never once had you been afraid of his powers and never once had you shied away from his nightmares.

“It’s super low risk so we’ll be letting Y/N accompany. Bucky, you can stay back. You could use the rest,” Steve spoke. As glad as Bucky was to be able to rest, he was worried about you going on your own. He’d been your support ever since you stepped foot in the building, looking terrified. Bucky nodded at Steve and looked back at you. His heart fluttered at the sight of your concentrated face. Your eyebrows had a small crinkle in the middle and your lips were pursed. He let out a small sigh and forced himself to listen to Steve. “It should be in and out. We’re going to infiltrate a small compound that has been trying to rebuild HYDRA. It shouldn’t take much effort and all reports sound as though it’s a small threat. Any questions?”

“Yeah,” you spoke. “When do we start?”

Two hours later, you were suited up and standing in front of Bucky on the landing strip. He was grinning at you, but you could see a hint of worry in his beautiful blue eyes. “I’ll be okay, Buck.”

He sighed, but continued smiling at you. He knew that you were fully capable of this mission and then some. He shouldn’t worry, but there was a nagging feeling in his chest that he should be there too. “Are you sure? I can come too. For moral support, of course,” he spoke, slowly.

You chuckled. “I'm sure, Bucky. Plus, you heard Steve. You need the rest. We’ll be back tonight and you can pick the movie.”

Bucky nodded at you with a soft smile. After missions, you and Bucky always watched a movie and ate snacks as a way to decompress. He cherished these times with you. Bucky pulled you into a tight hug. You smiled into his chest, taking in his scent and hugged him back.

“C’mon, Y/N. Time to go,” Steve spoke from the helicarrier. “We’ll be back in no time.”

You pulled away from Bucky with a big smile. “You know I’ll kick ass,” You giggled at him.

“I know. Just come back. Promise?”

“I promise, Buck,” you whispered. You gave him one last smile and ran towards Steve.

Once you sat in your seat, buckled and ready for take off, Steve gave you a smirk. “You know if you guys date, no one would be mad.”

You groaned. Steve loved to tease you about your friendship with Bucky. You’d confessed to Steve one drunken night that you had a crush on Bucky. Despite promising that he wouldn’t hold it over your head forever, Steve had done exactly that. Steve secretly knew that Bucky had feelings for you just as you had for him and as much as he supported the two of you being together, he didn’t want to force anything. Steve chuckled at your groan and looked out the window to see Bucky still standing there, arms crossed. “He cares about you, a lot,” Steve whispered.

You nodded. It was no secret that Bucky would take a bullet for you just as you would for him. The two of you had leaned on each other for so much support throughout the months that you had known each other. You’d been there through all of his nightmares and episodes and he had done the same for you. It was the perfect friendship, but you didn’t want to scare Bucky off. You looked away from the window and tried to ignore the weird feeling in your gut. “He cares about you, too, Steve.”

Steve patted your knee with a sigh. Steve was like the dad of the compound. He took care of everyone, especially you and Bucky. “I know. C’mon, let’s go over the mission again.”

A few hours later, the helicarrier landed a mile away from the base you were infiltrating. You slowly concentrated on your powers and formed a bubble around you, Steve, Nat, and Tony. You took a deep breath as you moved the bubble quietly towards the compound. Once you made it closer, you set everyone down and dissipated the bubble.

Steve grinned at you. “Great job! C’mon, let’s get inside,” he whispered.

You nodded and followed him. The mission was really simple. Sneak in, steal some files, fight some bad guys, and walk out. At least, that’s how it was supposed to go.

Hours had passed and the sun had long set over the city skyline. Bucky sat on the balcony of his room. His arms rested on the railing as he watched the stars, hoping to see the helicarrier come into focus. He hadn’t heard much from anyone, but that was typical. However, he couldn’t stop himself from worrying and overthinking.

A knock came from his door, making him turn, hoping he’d see your happy eyes bouncing to tell him how the mission went. He was greeted with Sam’s brown eyes. His eyebrows were furrowed and a frown sat on his lips. “Hey, Buck.”

Bucky crossed his arms. The sinking feeling in his chest somehow grew stronger. He felt the worry anchor his feet to the ground. “What happened to them,” he whispered.

Sam looked at the ground and sighed. “Everyone is still alive,” he murmured. “Y/N got hurt pretty bad though. She’s in the infirmary.”

Bucky’s arms dropped to his sides. He didn’t know how to process what Sam had said. The gut feeling he had in his chest crawled its way up his throat. He swallowed the lump, hoping to prevent any tears from falling down his cheeks. You were the only person to ever see him cry. “Is she...is she okay?”

Sam dragged a hand down his face. Bucky saw the red rimming his eyelids and Bucky began to panic. “She’s, uh, she’s in a coma, Buck.”

“W-what?”

You walked into the base, slow and quiet, just as Steve had described. You snuck towards the computers and silently knocked the guards out. Without hesitation, you began typing away on the computers, trying to break into the database. You’d had practice and training in hacking technology and Steve wanted to see what you could do.

He wasn’t too far behind, or at least he wasn’t supposed to be. Unknown to you, Steve was held up. He’d found past paperwork on Bucky and without thinking, he was going through each paper that detailed the suffering Bucky endured. Steve was glued to the spot that he stood with tears cascading down his cheeks.

Before you knew what was happening, you registered the ticking sounds of a bomb. You quickly withdrew the flash drive and started to run away from the beeps, but you didn’t make it far.

Steve heard the explosion and felt the building shake. After the building calmed down and his senses picked up, Steve heard you let out a cry. “Shit,” he hissed. He tucked the papers into his pocket and ran towards the sound.

When he made it towards your body, he collapsed next to you. He shouted into the communicators, hoping that someone would understand what he was saying. The guilt started filtering through his blood. He checked your pulse and found a slow, soft, beat on your wrist. Your face was covered in soot and blood. Steve slowly lifted you up and assessed any other injuries. “Fuck, I’m so sorry,” he whispered.

It wasn’t long before Tony arrived in the suit with Nat trailing behind him. “Steve what the hell happened,” Tony barked.

“I-I don't know. I wasn’t here.” Steve wiped at the tears that were flowing down his face. “It’s my fault,” he muttered.

Tony walked up to you and used FRIDAY to assess injuries. “She needs to get to the infirmary right now, Steve.” Tony bent over and picked your body up.

Nat walked up to Steve and rested a hand on his shoulder. “You can’t kill yourself over this. C’mon Steve. We have to get back.”

“What am I going to tell Bucky?”

Bucky pushed past Sam and ran towards the infirmary. He didn’t stop until he made it to the outside of your room. He looked at Steve, who sat outside. Steve’s head was in his hands, jaw clenched, and hands grabbing fistfuls of his hair. “Steve what happened?”

Steve looked up at Bucky, eyes burning. “It’s my fault Bucky. I wasn’t there to help her,” he rasped. “It’s all my fault.”

Bucky’s blood boiled and his cheeks flushed. He clenched and unclenched his fists, trying to calm himself down. “You were supposed to protect her,” he spoke, evenly and slowly.

Steve nodded, guilt coating his entire face. “I know, Buck. I saw paperwork on you. Things they did to you and things you went through. I couldn’t stop reading it. I-I heard this explosion and then I heard her,” he whimpered.

Bucky couldn’t have given a shit about what he went through. He could have lived all of his days without hearing of the things he endured as long as it meant that you were safe. He shook his head at Steve and before he could stop himself, punched a hole in the wall. “I should have been there!” Bucky’s yell rang through the halls, causing Tony to open your room door and emerge.

Tony looked at Bucky and ran a hand through his hair. “Look, I already chewed Steve’s ass out. What’s done is done.”

Bucky shook his head. He couldn’t let himself speak because he knew the words that left his mouth would cut deeper than any punch could have. He glared at Steve and watched as he stood up. Steve sighed and rested a hand on Bucky’s shoulder. Bucky quickly shrugged it off. He could see the pain in Steve’s blue eyes. “I’m sorry, Bucky.”

Steve walked down the hall, leaving Bucky alone with Tony. Tony looked at the ground. “You can come in and see her. I cleaned the dirt and...well, she’s clean,” Tony murmured.

“Is she going to make it,” Bucky croaked, looking at Tony.

Tony fiddled with his fingers. “It’s hard to tell right now. Give her some time. We both know how strong she is.”

Tony walked away from Bucky. Bucky sighed and stepped foot into your room. You lay on the bed, peaceful. A ventilator was hooked up to you, helping you breathe. Bruises were already forming on your face and he saw numerous cuts. Bucky sat down next to you, terrified. Casts were covering your arm and leg. Bandages were wrapped around different parts of your body. He couldn’t tell what was underneath them, but he knew it wasn’t good.

“Please come back to me, my love,” he hummed, as tears fell from his burning eyes. “Please don’t leave me.”

Days passed with no word on whether or not you had improved. Bucky hadn’t left his side, even when members of the team urged him to get something to eat or get some rest. Steve had slowly started showing up with a few snacks and sat with Bucky. Bucky wasn’t as mad at Steve, not after Steve had expressed his guilt. Bucky knew the soft spot the two men had for each other and knew that Steve wouldn’t have moved if the bomb went off next to him.

On the third day, they were finally given word that your condition was improving. Bucky shook his head, wishing he could just see you smile or hear your voice, but there was no telling when either would happen.

On the fifth day, your vitals changed. Bucky was terrified that it meant you would die, but instead, it meant that you were starting to come out of the coma. The doctors that Tony had brought in were the best of the best. They monitored every change in your body or vitals. They informed the team that you should be waking up soon.

On the eighth day of waiting, Bucky began getting impatient. Your vitals were getting better and better, but you still weren’t waking up. On this day, he grew convinced that the doctors were lying.

It had been hours since the sun rose, but Bucky had no idea what time it was. He wasn’t sure when the last time he left your room was, but he didn’t care. He wouldn’t leave or rest until he could hear you say that you would be okay. He sat back in his chair and flipped through the newspaper that Steve brought to him. He found an article on the explosion and shook his head at how wrong some of the facts were.

“Fuck,” a soft croak came from behind the newspaper. Bucky slowly lowered it and gasped when he saw your beautiful eyes blinking the sleep away. “What the hell happened and why do I feel like I was hit by a bomb.”

Bucky chuckled, tears in his eyes. Without thinking, he stood up and pressed his lips to yours. He felt you stiffen for half a second, but with tears in your eyes and your heart in your throat, you kissed him back with all the energy you could muster. Bucky pulled away and rested his forehead against yours. “I missed your voice so much, darling,” he hummed.

His beautiful blue eyes were staring into yours. You watched a tear slither down his cheek and you winced as you lifted your hand to wipe it away. “I told you I'd come back, didn’t I?”

Bucky laughed, a full, hearty laugh. “I guess we need to be more specific next time, don’t we?”

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doof-doofblog · 4 years ago

Text

"Right!"

Friday 11th December 2020

Hello again everyone! Hope you've all had a good weekend. I apologise this post is late, I feel over the weekend the news about Barbara Windsor's death got me more than I had expected and I just didn't feel up to writing anything, also working 2 jobs as well can get in the way of writing this blog. But I'm now going to focus on getting this blog up to date. Hopefully come Thursday this week, I will all up to date with the blog and EastEnders. Thank you all for your on-going support and patience.

So let's jump into the episode - oh my it was another jam packed one wasn't it! Firstly, I just want mention Bobby and what such a brilliant actor Clay Milner Russell is! The beginning of the episode I found really intriguing. Bobby stood in the police station, waiting to be questioned, he is absolutely convinced that he's to blame for his Father's attack. At first you seem to think it really was him - he confesses by basically saying that it's his fault that his Dad got attacked. However as Jack continues to question him, it becomes aware that Bobby truly isn't the one to blame for the attack on his Dad. I don't know whether it has something to do with his mental health or OCD or religion, but he truly believes that because he didn't count the correct amount of numbers, he's to blame for his Dad's attack. I can't applaud Clay Milner Russell enough, having to come into a new role (even though he's been in the soap for a while now) without having any previous acting jobs, and to have been given such a gripping storyline - it's pretty impressive I have to say! I think it's easy to say that Bobby can be cleared a suspect, as it's come to clear to us a viewers and to Jack, being a police officer, Bobby is mentally unwell and maybe needs to be assessed, why does he think he's to blame? Just because he's gotten into a ritual of counting and he firmly believes that if he counts to a certain number, everything will be okay. It must be his OCD making him believe it? I hope he'll eventually get the help he needs as it's quite clear he needs it.

The second thing I want to mention is Rainie!! She's finally returned to the Square after disappearing for about 48 hours (or maybe more)! Her poor husband has been going out his mind with worry, leaving her countless phone calls and text messages, you can understand his relief when he's finally reunited with her. However it's not long before a police officer approaches them and inform them they're needed at the station for questioning. Firstly, Rainie appears to have no idea what has happened on the Square in her absence, she appears to be shocked after hearing the news about Ian. Only the interesting thing is, later on in the episode, she's on her own walking to the Cafe, when Callum spots her and hurries to have a word with her. When they're sat together and Callum is asking her all sorts of questions, it becomes clear that she's knows more than what she's letting on. She informs her Brother-In-Law that she told the police that during the night Ian was attacked, she was in fact at home with her husband watching Deal Or No Deal - (Is that even still on TV?!). But when Callum asks her further questions she responds with "No Comment!" - as if she doesn't want to give out any more information, or maybe to hide the fact that she does know something? Later on in the episode, Rainie appears to have cleaned herself up and had a wash as Stuart returns home from the police station. Rainie starts to beg forgiveness from her husband after leaving him in the lurch the way she did, and also not responding to his messages, I think we can all tell that she simply hasn't been with her Mum's - had she been sleeping rough? Or maybe gone to a hostel of some kind? Her face is in complete worry and concern as she panics her husband might've thrown her under the bus. Stuart softly questions her statement to the police, about them being home together, she nods tearfully. He then drops the bomb that he in fact gave the police the exact same statement - he was at home with his wife watching Deal Or No Deal! They both jump for joy in unison as they believe that they're alibi's are clear and that they've helped each other.

This episode seems to be all about alibi's doesn't it? Another person who's fretting about their alibi is Max. After pleading Linda to tell the police that they were together on the night in question, he seems to be having second thoughts? He visits her at the laundrette and she informs him that she told Jack that Max with with her. However, Max reveals the one thing that we didn't know earlier, that they didn't spend the whole night together, just part of it. So in all fairness, what did he do for the rest of the night? Where did go? Who did he see? As much as he seems grateful to Linda for giving him the alibi, later he informs his brother Jack, not to listen to a word she has said. It's quite interesting that he's chosen not to accept her alibi, as Jack states, the whole entire Square will be pointing at him and questioning him! Max admits that he can live with being looked at and gossiped about. Part of me is thinking is he doing this for Linda?! Is he doing it for her sake as he doesn't want to be the reason for her and Mick to call an end to their marriage?! It is an interesting one - why would Max not snatch up the alibi whilst he can? Or is he really a proud man and is certain that he has nothing to hide - so why would he need one? I don't know, I am simply guessing at this point. I'm just simply giving out my thoughts on what Max could be thinking.

Meanwhile, whilst all this is going on in the Square, sweet Honey has come up with an idea to hold a community Christmas dinner for those who have very little on Christmas Day. After what happened with her son, Will, shoplifting for his poor friend, she feels that maybe this should be the time when everyone rallies round together and help the community. She pulls in Jay and Isaac to help and even Billy agrees to help by asking Max if they could use the restaurant as a venue. I think this is a lovely idea and it seems only perfect for Honey to be the one behind it, as Jay explains she can cook and she seems to be the only one who cares. If this community Christmas Dinner takes place, it'll be very interesting to see on Christmas Day, that's for sure. Either way I'm looking forward to seeing it come together and have Honey be right in the centre of it, as she well deserves to be after what she's recently been through! Could this Christmas Dinner in fact be the start of her blossoming romance with Jay? (Yes! I'm still convinced it's going to happen - sooner or later!)

Looks like there are still people who are still needing an alibi, specifically Tina and Ben. Even though Tina admitted to hitting Ian, the main thing is is that their encounter happened at the Beale household and not the Vic. After being questioned, it was revealed that Tina went straight home after her punch up with Ian and the only person who will be able to vouch for her for would be a pizza delivery boy who delivered pizza to the wrong house. Since then, Tina has been trying to track down the pizza boy but to no avail. She spots Jack on the Square and asks him about Ian's condition, which we then find out is that he survived his operation, much to her relief. However it's then that Jack states that Ian isn't out of the woods yet, plus the main fact is, if Tina can't find the pizza boy for give her the alibi she so desperately needs, she will remain a suspect. Whereas Ben's story hasn't been mentioned yet - as far as we're concerned, no one knows when Ben was when Ian got attacked, the only thing that's known for sure, is that Ben did leave the pub that night - but did anyone see him? Will anyone really be able to give him an alibi? Callum perhaps? If it comes to it that Ben doesn't have an alibi, will Callum fight for his boyfriend and possibly give him a false one? Who knows? Things still yet remain to be seen when it comes to Ben, what do you think?!

Does anyone else think Sharon is acting very shifty?! Since agreeing to marry Ian, I am so convinced that she has something to do with Ian's attack - or maybe she knows more than what she's letting on. the thing that really stood out for me was when she and Kathy were talking to Ian just before he was due to go in for surgery. She happened to mention something along the lines of "I'm waiting for my wedding ring!" - what a thing to say just as someone is about to go into theatre! The thing that pops into my head as soon as she says that, is that as soon as she gets the ring on her finger, she'll basically own half of what Ian has - I'm guessing. I am still SO convinced that she's learned the truth about Ian's involvement in Dennis's death, that she is definitely out for revenge. If killing him hadn't worked, she will go to the next best thing and take him for everything that he's got! Even later on the in episode, Kathy questions whether Sharon will have their marriage annulled, as everyone knows she doesn't love him the way he loves her. However, interestingly, Sharon admits to Kathy that after seeing Ian pleading to her to marry him, she explains that it's become clear how much they need each other, and especially him during this tough time he's having. For her it's not a case of she won't annul the marriage, but she can't. In all seriousness - what's the difference?! Or am I just missing something? Don't you guys agree though? Why on Earth would she marry her best friend after just a few weeks prior to rejecting him?! She must be out for revenge or something?!

Right so, the Panesar's are also looking shifty! On the Square, it looks as if a van has some interesting with regards to Ian's attack. Kheerat is walking along the street as he watches with great suspense at the police investigating the vehicle. However it's only later on when Jack visits the shop to question both Suki and Kheerat about their whereabouts on the night in question, Suki reveals that she was at Ruby's club. Which, I guess is try - as we saw she was sat at the bar, but how long was she there for? Could she and Kheerat have cooked up the plan to attack Ian together?! However, when Jack takes an interest in Kheerat's whereabouts, Kheerat reveals that he wasn't even on the Square at the time of the attack and just happened to be out of time in a meeting. But then, to his surprise, Jack questions the vehicle in which he drove to the business meeting and whether there was some kind of accident. He then drops the bombshell that the van has been taken for testing as there had traces of blood found on the vehicle. Instantly you can see Suki and Kheerat have a panicked look in their faces, as Jack leaves the scene, Suki seems to lay into her son about being careful, however Kheerat informs his Mother not worry as he will sort it. Later on in the episode, we see a hooded figure enter some type of building after entering it in some kind of alley way. As Kheerat enters his office we see a hooded figure sat in a chair waiting for him, he mentions to the unknown figure that the police are sniffing round and asking them dodgy questions. Suddenly the figure removes his hood and we see that it's actually Peter!!! He asks why the police would go the Minute Mart, but as their conversation continues it looks as if Peter and Kheerat are more involved together as they are in the attack than we first believed. They agree to give each other alibis!

So what the heck does this mean?! The only thing I can think of is that both Peter and Kheerat had it out for Ian and they both went to the Vic for the same reason, but maybe things got out of hand and one witnessed the other attacking Ian? I'm unsure. I don't think they would've planned anything together, I do think they crossed paths purely by accident and because of their mistakes of getting caught, they basically have no choice but to give each other an alibi. So - who do I think attacked Ian?! Sharon, Peter and Max are on the top of my list. However I could be wrong, as we still yet to hear/see Ben's encounter of the evening. My opinion could change over the coming episodes, I do not however, think it was either Bobby or Tina - I feel I can positively rule them out! I'm feeling a little unsure when it comes to Stuart and Rainie, I'd like to think it's not either of them, but like I said - who knows? My views could change.

Do you guys have any thoughts or theories as to who could be Ian's attacker?! I'd love to hear your thoughts and opinions! Please feel free to leave me a comment or message I'll always find the time to respond. Enjoy the rest of your evening folks and I'll be back again tomorrow evening! Love you all xXx

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scretladyspider · 5 years ago

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Hey, if you could help me file for bankruptcy, I’d really appreciate it. If not, please share this. Thank you.

From GoFundMe:

Okay so, some of you who know me know that life recently has been pretty rough, and that it isn’t getting much better. I feel weird asking for any more help, but the fact is any money made right now is having to be put towards immediate living expenses, and as a result I still have all the medical bills and such that I want to pay on, but well, can’t in interest of eating and getting my medications regularly. Let’s back up. I am 26, I have ADHD, DPDR, anxiety, endometriosis, and have been hospitalized 6 times for depression. I know, right? Like, how is that all stuff that’s wrong with me? I was diagnosed with ADHD at 25, last October, and it’s really made a difference in my life to be able to get treatment. I’m queer, I’m a spoonie, but I’m also very creative, writing regularly and making art videos. You may know my face from here and there across the internet, but you might not know why I’m starting a gofundme. So what led me here? In April, I was fired without notice or communication from my job. I had never been fired before, and again, there wasn’t any communication. It was also a job where I couldn’t get health insurance, I was only paid $8 an hour, and I was required to work 9 hour shifts without breaks because no one else could take the position for me to take a lunch. I also wasn’t given anything to do regularly. It was altogether an unprofessional environment, which is sad because I really do believe the organization can do good for the community. Next, I was offered an online job at a company called Loans for Amazon, who claimed they needed me to collected information and estimates about what products sold in order to assess whether or not loaning to certain companies and start ups would be worth the risk. My landlord wanted the house empty and so I moved in with a couple of friends. My parents are housing my cats, and also two of my dad’s friends because one of them also needs to stay in the area while he looks for a job, so me staying there as well would not truly be doable. So I work this job for a few weeks and then we find out it’s a very elaborate scam. I was devastated, but began to apply for jobs immediately. Before all this, I was getting mental health treatment for what my psychiatrist believed was bipolar disorder, as well as therapy. I asked several times if I had copay for the visit and was told I did not, only to get bills in the mail later that were for thousands of dollars. I also have money out for bills for hospitals, emergency rooms, and more, and while I’ve tried to keep up with them, being told that you suddenly owe people hundreds of dollars you weren’t told about before is jarring. I’ve called and been told that the bill is correct and that they would work with me on billing but they have not been willing to actually let me pay things that would let me eat, drive to work, etc. I’m working now, and have interviewed recently for a job with more hours. I’ve only been working for about two weeks, and it’s only about 15 hours a week. It isn’t enough to live on. In addition to this, the people I’m staying with are having concerns with money, and I would really like to be able to pay them back as much as possible. They aren’t rich and their acts of kindness have kept a roof over my head. This week I got a letter saying that I would be taken to court for some of my debt in August, and I’ve just had enough at this point. Many debt collectors don’t leave voicemails and don’t take no for an answer, even if you are technically homeless, disabled, and honestly trying your best. I really am trying my best - I’m working as well as putting out content on YouTube, writing, and applying for jobs that would allow me to have the money to live on my own. The rent for the apartment I’m at now is around $600 a month before utilities. Here is where the money would go from this campaign: Around $500 would go towards filing for bankruptcy at a place where someone else I know filed for around this price. $500 would be put aside in order to help with the downpayment on a new apartment - after all, you have to both pay for the apartment as well as the first month’s rent, and that can take time to save up for. $1000 would go towards the people who have been kind enough to house and help me through all this. They deserve this, and more. They are two of the kindest people I’ve ever known, and while sometimes living with them is a little annoying, I am beyond grateful for their help. I need these funds soon, not just to move out, but also because I don’t really need my wages to be garnered because I’m chronically mentally ill. It’s ridiculous, and very American, that I have to say that. I’m beyond grateful for everyone who has helped me eat these last few weeks. I’m finally getting paid this Friday, and hopefully will be either a full time creator on Patreon or another platform or have a job to live off of soon, but I’m in the now, and in the now… I have to ask again.

Thank you for reading my story. If you are unable to help out, please share this. Thank you. It is 7/30/2019. This is new. Thank you for sharing.

#thank you

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ravenbrenna09 · 5 years ago

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Unattainable - Chapter Three

AO3

...

bold = sending; italicized = receiving*

*This is more to remind me because of Tumblr only having text on the left side of the text box :)

...

Important Note from me: (and slight spoilers)

There is a scene in this chapter where they refer to this version of the ending clip from Episode 4 of Wtfock (in this case between Robbe and an original character named Nick). There are no direct references to dialogue from this scene and I do not mention what Robbe called him (however, I think it’s similar or word-for-word what Robbe said the exact same thing that he said to Sander in this clip) and I do not want to have that piece of dialogue in this story because I know that it can be triggering for some members of the LGBT community.

But, as the author of this piece and as a person who can’t imagine the pain inflicted by these words, I tried to give Robbe the ability to apologize to the person he hurt to his face (in this story) just like he was able to in the original WTFock scene with Sander. I know this scene was controversial, but I felt like Robbe needed this interaction. However, while the character is no longer angry at him, I want to stress, if you have been called those words or you have been attacked for loving who you love, you are under NO obligation to forgive that person. These words are not okay to use (as both Robbe and Nick will point out), but this situation is based solely on the experience of Nick, not anyone else’s.

The basis of this interaction is largely inspired by my own troubles with my former best-friends where I would become so angry that I would be incapable of doing basic functions. Naturally, these two are nowhere near the same (and I’m not saying that they are), but I had to learn that my anger was harmful to me and my life so I had to let go of the anger to move on with my life. This was my basis of this interaction that comes up later. I hope you guys understand (if anyone wants to talk to me about this scene, send me a DM here on Tumblr and we can talk about it).

Because of this scene, I’m actually really nervous about posting this chapter so I hope that you all enjoy!

Either way, I love all of you so much. Thank you for all the support.

...

Messages to Sander

Robbe IJzermans sent an image.

You with David Bowie.

Seriously? How did I not find you sooner?

You’re literally perfect.

Also, aren’t you supposed to be studying for your test?

No.

I am studying. I’m just taking a break.

I’m not perfect.

Besides, it’s might be a good thing that we didn’t find each other sooner.

How so?

When I was in school, I kissed a guy and I was terrified because…

Well, a lot of reasons, and so I said somethings that I regretted.

I called the guy something I shouldn’t have and accused him of something that he didn’t do.

I don’t know.

I just… I knew that it was something that I wanted.

But, my brain just… went Chernobyl and I couldn’t think straight.

I’m sorry.

Hey, don’t apologize. I just hopped in the shower.

You aren’t the same person, Robbe.

Do you feel that way with me? Like Chernobyl?

No.

Well, yes I do, but not in the same way.

See?

When’s your test?

An hour.

And you’re coming over after you meet with your friend right?

Yes?

Why are you making me worried?

It’s nothing to be worried about.

Just in the middle of unpacking.

When you get here, I want to give you my full attention ;)

You don’t have to do that.

You’re right.

But I will.

I will be more than happy to help you unpack.

Absolutely not.

My boxes can wait another day.

You can’t.

Sander.

If you do good on your test, there may be a reward.

;)

Robbe?

Sorry.

You’re distracting.

Lol, I’ll let you get back to your studying.

Good luck.

Thank you.

I’ll see you later.

…

Sander’s apartment, which was on the sixth floor of the apartment complex, was a lot like Robbe had predicted. There were moving boxes all over the living room, propped up on counters and the coffee table with large, bold letters that accompanied them to show where the contents were to go. There were a handful of pots and pans in the kitchen, plates were placed in the corner of the counter which had not found a permanent home in the cabinet, and a smaller, partially open box labeled Spices.

The only room that seemed to be completely done was the guest bedroom which Sander had turned into a makeshift art studio. There had been an easel propped up near the large window in the room, canvases and paints and charcoals placed strategically around the room. There was a small desk with a sketchbook and dozens of more art supplies that Robbe couldn’t name let alone attempt at deducing. There were large, thick black drapes that hung on either side of the window that might’ve blocked out the sunlight.

“It can double as a darkroom,” Sander supplied, his eyes watching Robbe’s features assess the room. He ran a hand through Robbe’s hair, watching gleefully as Robbe’s tilted his head towards the palm of his head. “The one at my other apartment was a little bigger. But, it’ll do just fine.” He wrapped an arm around Robbe’s shoulder, pulling him flush against his chest and closing the door with another, before pulling him further down the hallway.

“Ah, I see,” Robbe mumbled. “This was all a ploy to get me in the bedroom.”

“Yes,” Sander teased, his lips brushing against Robbe’s ear. The brunet gulped, reaching up to cling at Sander’s hand in his own. The artist willingly surrendered his hand, intertwining their fingers together flawlessly, and grinned brighter. “As long as I have the bed up, I’m able to sleep and not have to sleep beneath my desk again.” He bit down on Robbe’s ear and unexpectedly pulled back. Robbe should’ve expected it, letting out a sigh as he clung. It was so on brand. “So, what do you want to do? Watch a movie? I’ve got a little bit of everything and a Netflix account.”

Robbe groaned as Sander sat on his bed, glancing up at him expectantly. “You’re such a tease.”

A playful grin spread across Sander’s features and the gleeful glint returned to his eyes. “If you think I’m teasing, that means you’re expecting more.”

Robbe rolled his eyes because he definitely was, crossing his arms over his chest as he stepped closer to the side of the bed. Once Robbe was within an arm’s length of Sander, the latter’s hands reached out, hooking on the belt loops of his jeans and pulled him closer to him. Robbe stepped on the bed, his knees digging into the bed before he settled down on Sander’s lap. His hands settled against Robbe’s thighs, his hands warm even through the fabric of his jeans. “And, if I was?”

Sander grinned up at him, his tongue darting out to wet his lips before he was leaning up to press his lips against Robbe’s. Sander’s kiss was as dizzying as it had been the night before. Robbe kissed him back, digging his fingers into the soft strands of Sander’s hair, leaning over him and pushing him lightly to fall back. Sander leaned back at Robbe’s touch, bringing him over his body and coaxed younger man’s mouth open with his tongue.

Sander lifted Robbe off of him, grinning at the whine that the latter emitted. “Be patient,” the former whispered, pressing a featherlight chaste kiss to Robbe’s lips again, before sitting up and lifting Robbe off of his body. Robbe let out a groan, extending his legs over his lap, as Sander dragged one of the boxes over to his feet, rummaging through it for movies. “Come on, let’s find a movie.”

…

“Who’s your favorite actor?” Sander mumbled, his eyes half-closed as Robbe ran his fingers through the wisps of his blond hair. The use of his voice had surprised Robbe, who had presumed that he had fallen asleep, his eyes closed and being unresponsive to Robbe’s mumbled speech for about fifteen minutes. He doesn’t remember how they ended up like this, feet in opposite directions on the end of Sander’s half-finished bed, heads resting on the other’s elbows, as the movie that they had finally picked was playing on the television across the room.

“Leonardo Dicaprio,” Robbe admitted, turning towards Sander.

Sander looked at him incredulously, his fingers idly playing with the stud earring in his left ear. “Seriously?”

“Yeah,” Robbe admitted, smiling. Sander breathed out of his nose, a light scoff breathed out of his mouth, and Robbe rolled his eyes, returning his gaze to the ceiling. “You never saw Romeo and Juliet?” Sander shook his head, staring over at him as Robbe nuzzled against the crook of Sander’s arm. “It’s fucking beautiful. My mom and I used to watch it every Friday. It’s her favorite movie.”

Sander smiled, staring back up at the ceiling. His thumb rotated Robbe’s earring in his ear and the brunet subconsciously leaned into the touch, closing his eyes. “You know,” Sander spoke up. Robbe opened his eyes to see Sander’s green ones, glancing towards the television. “Life is a bit like a movie sometimes.”

“What do you mean?” Robbe questioned, turning on his side to face Sander fully.

“You’re in charge of directing your own life. Deciding what it is and what it isn’t, and what your life will become,” Sander explained. “You get to choose your own destiny, carve out what it is that you want to do with it.”

Robbe thought about it, twirling one of the longer strands of Sander’s hair around his finger. “No, I don’t believe that.”

Sander’s green eyes flickered over to him, connecting with his brown ones. “No?”

“Do you know… the multiverse theory?” Robbe questioned, nervous.

Sander raised an eyebrow. “Like in Spiderman?”

Robbe laughed, grinning at him. “The theory is based on the idea that time is just a dimension,” Robbe started, tracing patterns along Sander’s scalp. The man’s eyes fluttered shut, but Robbe knew that he was still listening. “And so, aside from this universe, there are also a bunch of other universes. Whenever you make a choice, the universe splits.”

“So, The Flash?” Sander whispered.

Robbe grinned brighter. “Did you watch The Flash?”

“Guilty pleasure from my youth,” Sander explained, waving his free hand around. For a brief moment, he sounded like a senile old man, who had just explained something about forty years ago not less than a decade old. But, Robbe presumed that Sander was an old soul trapped in a young body anyways with his love for David Bowie and leather jackets and affinities for 80s movies. Somehow, it made Robbe’s heart swell as he watched him, his nose twitch as he bumped his nose.

“But, so then, you know you can exist in every universe,” Robbe continued, realizing that Sander’s green eyes were on him. “But, it’s just slightly different each time. For example, there could be a Sander and a Robbe lying here in the exact same position that we are right now, except there’s a different poster on the wall or the curtains are a different color.”

“So, like yellow curtains?” Sander piped up, his eyes flickering over to the black curtains that were lying over a box.

“For example,” Robbe trailed off, turning towards him. “Have you never thought about that before?”

Sander sucked in a breath, his eyes trained up to the ceiling. “I have,” he admitted. “But, then, I start to feel lonely.”

“Why?” Robbe questioned, propping himself on his elbow so he could see Sander’s full face.

The man was staring off into the ceiling like he had stopped being aware that Robbe was even there. There was a dark, vulnerable look in his eyes that reminded Robbe a little of how his mother would get when she spiraled into her own thoughts, consumed by them all. Robbe ran his hands through Sander’s hair, trying to convey that he was here, that he was listening.

“Just,” Sander started, swallowing. “Doesn’t that ever happen to you, that you find yourself thinking: how come I’m thinking this exact thing? Then you go back, retrace your thoughts step-by-step, and you take a look at how one thought morphed into the next, and you’re left wondering: why does it do that? What if I’d gone from this one thought to a completely different thought, then I wouldn’t be thinking what I’m thinking right now. It just keeps going and going and going, and it doesn’t stop.”

His voice cracked.

“Hey,” Robbe spoke, hovering over Sander. He ran his hands through Sander’s hair, trailing his thumbs across the blond’s cheekbones, and his green eyes fluttered, glancing up at Robbe.

Sander paused, looking up at him with a dark look in his eyes. “You know, thoughts never stop. Not even when you’re sleeping. The only way you can stop your thoughts is by dying.”

Robbe’s stomach sunk. “That’s dark,” he whispered.

“Never thought about that before?” Sander questioned. Robbe shook his head, reaching out to take Sander’s fingers in his own. A gentle smile formed back on Sander’s face, twisting his hand so his fingers slotted together with Robbe’s. Robbe would do anything to make that smile stay on his face. “I sometimes forget how young you are.”

It’s a joke, an attempt to brush off the seriousness of what happened, but Robbe doesn’t let it phase him. He knew what he had witnessed in front of him. But, he was also aware that Sander didn’t want to talk about it and Robbe wasn’t going to bring it up unless he wanted him to. So, Robbe laughed, pretending to be offended before he leaned forward, pressing his lips against Sander’s.

Robbe tried to pour into the kiss that he was here should Sander ever need to talk. The blond was receptive of the kiss, pressing his lips back against Robbe’s, oblivious of the brunet shifting upward and moving until his legs were on either side of his hips and their lips disconnected so Robbe could fully turn around and straddle him.

Sander’s eyes watched him, playful and secretive, but he was laughing as Robbe settled on his hips and ran his hands along the length of his chest, feeling every muscle beneath the thin fabric of his David Bowie shirt. So, Robbe could deal with that for now, file the incident away for later when Sander was a bit more receptive to talking about whatever it was. “Woah, what are you planning?” Sander questioned, an inquisitive look in his green eyes as his hands gripped Robbe’s waist.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” Robbe replied, settling down against his hips and swallowing Sander’s groan as he kissed him again.

…

Sander’s kisses were intoxicating.

Robbe already had a basic idea about how intoxicating they were last night. Sander had dropped him off at his apartment and gave him one long goodnight kiss that was meant to satisfy both of them until after Robbe’s test and plans with Yasmina. But, Robbe wasn’t satisfied, pulling him beneath the shadows of a tree for nearly thirty minutes, relishing in Sander’s kisses and being wound up in his arms, until they literally had to pull themselves apart. Sander had been worried that he waited too long, but his hair remained the pristine bleach-blond that it had been before their pool fiasco.

(Which was good because Robbe would’ve felt really guilty.)

But, now, lying on the bed with the movie long forgotten, his kisses were on a different level.

Maybe it was because they were in the safety and security of Sander’s room, unable to be bothered by random strangers walking by, or maybe it was because they had all the time in the world now, but Sander’s kisses were more heated than they had been last night. His lips pressed a little harder, his tongue slipped into Robbe’s mouth with more fever, and his body weight on top of Robbe’s made his head spin a little faster. Each kiss melted into the next and into the next and into the next, moving and melding together like one cohesive long kiss that made Robbe’s entire world shift on a new axis.

Sander’s hands slipped beneath the fabric of his shirt, his fingers tracing the muscles and defined abs of Robbe’s torso. Then, his hands moved upward, taking the shirt with him until it was up to their chins. Sander separated the minimum distance enough to get the fabric over Robbe’s head before his lips are back against his own, attacking his lips with much more intention than before. Robbe reached for the hem of Sander’s David Bowie shirt, pulling it up to his shoulders. As Sander separated their lips to slip it off, Robbe let his hand roam across the other’s bare chest, his finger finding the outline of black ink on his chest.

Located directly over his heart, the prominent, beautiful tattoo depicted a wolf. It looked so lifelike that Robbe wondered if he could pass it off as having been screen printed onto his skin. The wolf stared at Robbe, fierce and protective of Sander and his heart. Robbe glanced up to Sander, who was watching him closely, before reaching out to touch the tattoo gently, running his fingertips over the skin. As the tip of Robbe’s finger felt a bump amongst the tattoo, along the wolf’s face, Sander’s hand was on Robbe’s chin forcing him to look up and colliding their lips together again.

Robbe breathed deeply into the kiss, opening his mouth without Sander needing to ask. Sander reached for Robbe’s right hand, interlocking their fingers together and pinning it against the sheets of the bed. Robbe clung to his hand like a lifeline, feeling his stomach flip as Sander squeezed back. Robbe hooked his hand against Sander’s shoulder blade and his ankles on the backs of Sander’s knees, squeezing Sander’s waist with his thighs. The blond’s hand was on his chest and he dragged his lips from against Robbe’s, down the curve of his jawline, drawing a path to his throat and-

One of their phones gave a shrill ring.

Sander pulled back, letting out a deep, resigned sigh, as he dropped his head against the pillow that Robbe was half-lying on, grumbling beneath his breath. Robbe pressed a feather-light kiss to his temple and Sander leaned against his lip for half a moment before he started to sit up, twisting away from Robbe. The loss of Sander’s skin on his was too much, Robbe realized how cold the room was. He reached out to grab at Sander’s shoulder, pulling himself up from the bed.

Without thinking, Robbe scooted closer to where Sander had gone, perched on the edge of the bed. Robbe opened his legs, flanking Sander’s own legs. If Sander minded, he didn’t say anything. Robbe wrapped his arms around Sander’s chest, pulling him lightly against him, and pressed a kiss against the exposed flesh of Sander’s shoulder before resting his cheek against his flesh.

It was only when Sander lets out a frustrated sigh that Robbe glanced down at the phone.

Britt

There were several messages above it, full of angry texts back and forth, but Robbe doesn’t try to figure out the message that they hold, only spotting the red-faced emojis from Britt. He didn’t want to invade Sander’s privacy more than he already had. “I’m going to get some water,” Robbe mumbled, reluctantly detaching himself from Sander’s back and climbing off the bed. As Robbe left the bedroom, he bent down, fetching his shirt from the floor and slipping it on as he walked down the hallway.

By the time that Sander joined him in the kitchen, the blond had put his shirt back on as well. Robbe had a glass of water in his hands and his eyes were trained on the rim of the glass, having barely taken a sip of what he had gotten. Sander stepped around the kitchen counter, leaning against it with one hip and staring at Robbe. “Hey,” Sander spoke, his voice soft as he tilted Robbe’s chin up so he was forced to look at Sander’s big, confused green eyes. “What’s wrong?”

Robbe swallowed, the question knawing at the back of his head. “Why does Britt still think you’re dating?” he whispered.

“Because she’s controlling and can’t come to terms with the fact that I don’t want her,” Sander replied, instantaneous and direct. His eyes were on Robbe the entire time and that made the brunet feel like he should hide, or apologize, for doubting him. Sander reached out, taking the glass of water from his hand and placing it on the sink, before taking Robbe’s face in his hands. “She thinks that she’s the only one who can be there for me and that I’ll come crawling back to her when I need her, but I’m not.”

Robbe swallowed, leaning forward to press his forehead against Sander’s, wrapping his arms around the other man’s shoulders.

“Robbe,” Sander whispered. “Look at me.” Robbe glanced up at him, his brown eyes finding determined green eyes that were boring into his own. Sander’s thumbs trailed across his cheeks before he was placing a fleeting kiss to Robbe’s lips. “Maybe there’s a universe out there where that Sander is with that Britt, but that isn’t this one. Britt is history, okay?” Sander spoke, his voice determined and precise. “We’re the future.”

Robbe smiled, angling his face to kiss Sander again.

The blond grinned, wrapping his arms around Robbe to pull him closer, but then he halted, inches from Robbe’s lips. Robbe opened his eyes, realizing that Sander was staring at him with a smug look on his face, and let out an involuntary groan. Still on brand. “Hold on a second,” he spoke, untangling himself from Robbe’s arms and rushing off to the art room.

“Sander,” Robbe breathed out, reaching out to grab his water and take another drink.

Sander returned with his hands behind his back. “Put the drink back down,” Sander ordered. Robbe gave him a look and placed the glass back down on the counter, turning towards Sander who stepped around the counter. “Don’t freak out,” the blond whispered, reaching out to hand him a sheet of paper.

Robbe took it gingerly in his hands and stared down at the sketch on it. It was him. The sketch depicted a large heart-shaped hole with Robbe in the center. It was a beautiful sketch, one that didn’t even seem like it was him, but he felt his own heart swell in his chest. Was this how Sander saw him?

“Is this how you see me?” Robbe questioned.

Sander nodded his head, reaching out to wrap his arms around Robbe’s shoulders. He brought him against his chest and pressed a kiss to the top of Robbe’s head. “I got the idea this afternoon when you told me about Chernobyl,” Sander admitted. “I was already drawing you so it ended up working out. And, it’s not finished quite yet, but imagine it on a big wall with all these intense colors.”

Robbe twisted in Sander’s arms, cradling his head and pressing his lips against Sander’s own. It was hard to kiss with the way that Robbe was smiling from ear-to-ear, but they managed. Sander’s hands dropped down to Robbe’s waist, fisting the fabric that bunched up there, and Robbe pulled him impossibly closer, letting Sander press him against the counter.

Then, there was a knock on the door.

Sander tensed against him, nervously eyeing the door. Robbe opened his mouth to speak, but Sander shook his head, raising his hand up to press a hand against his mouth to prevent him from asking. The blond moved towards the door, stepping up against it to glance at who was outside. After a few moments, Sander let out a relieved sigh, opening the door and fishing out his wallet.

“Keep the change,” he told whoever was at the door before taking a pizza box from him. Once the pizza delivery man stepped away, Sander closed the door, swiftly locking it behind him. “I hope you like pepperoni,” the blond beamed, moving to the kitchen and placing a lingering kiss again Robbe’s lips.

But, even as Robbe kissed him back, reaching up to place his hands on Sander’s chest, he could tell that the blonde was still tense. “Is everything okay?” Robbe questioned, rubbing gently at his shoulders.

“Of course,” Sander spoke, giving him another kiss as he placed the pizza on an open spot of the kitchen counter. Sander’s hands returned to Robbe’s waist, snaking around to pull the smaller man against his chest, and Robbe laughed, snuggling into his chest. “I’ve got a handsome man in my arms,” he spoke, tilting Robbe’s head up so he could kiss him. Sander backed him up against the counter, using his hips to lock him in place, “and, a large pepperoni pizza.”

He placed a long kiss against Robbe’s lips, needier than the one before, and the latter whined when their lips separated again. “What more could I ask for?”

It’s another deflection, but Robbe let him, tilting his head up and greedily accepting Sander’s next kiss. “You know,” Robbe started. Sander glanced down at him, his bright green eyes seemed a little sad, and Robbe wanted nothing more than to kiss the sadness away. “I’m always here when you want to talk.”

Sander smiled, a small sad smile. “I know, Robbe.”

Then, they’re kissing again.

…

The iron gate shut behind him, locking in place. With one final pat-down to confirm that he had gotten all of his belongings, Robbe moved to his bike which was locked against the bike rack. After finding his own, he bent over, twisting the combination to fit his mother’s birthday, and unlocking it with a simple tug. As he wound up the lock and slipped it into his bag, he heard the sound of his own name being called out.

He turned, expecting to find Sander with something that he had inevitably forgotten about.

But, it wasn’t.

“Nick?” Robbe questioned.

There was a reason that Robbe had fallen so hard and so quickly for the black-haired man that approached him all those years ago. Even in the dimly lit street outside of the apartment complex, Nick still managed to be as handsome as he was all those years ago, back when Robbe was questioning his sexuality. He felt like throat run dry with guilt, the words that Robbe had thrown at him running through his head, bouncing around in his head as though he had just said the words yesterday.

“Hey,” Nick replied, a soft grin forming on his expression, lighting up his brown eyes.

Robbe bit down on his lip. “What are you doing here?”

Nick pointed towards the apartment complex, sticking his hands in his pockets. “I live here.”

“Oh,” Robbe exhaled.

“What are you doing here?” Nick questioned, taking a step towards him.

Robbe scratched behind his ear, avoiding Nick’s questionable gaze. “I was meeting someone,” Robbe mumbled.

“Oh,” Nick exhaled, a small grin on his face. Robbe spotted the quick look of grief that ghosted over his features. The brunet felt the pang of regret in his chest, that he had been the one to spit those words at Nick when he had given Robbe the only kiss that ever truly mattered at the time. The man stepped towards the iron gate, digging his keys out of his pockets and avoiding his gaze. “I’m glad that you managed to get past whatever was holding you back.”

“Nick,” Robbe spoke up, stepping towards him.

The man stopped, turning to stare at Robbe.

“I know that there’s absolutely nothing that I could ever do to change what I said to you and what I accused you of when you were just trying to figure out what was going on with me,” Robbe spoke, swallowing nervously as he glanced around the dimly lit road. “But, I just want you to know that I really am sorry. I was stupid and I was scared and absolutely terrified of what I was feeling. I took it out on you because it was easier to believe that was what happened than the fact that I liked guys.”

Nick turned towards him, sticking his free hand back in his pocket and staring at Robbe.

“I took it out on you because I thought that maybe you were the only guy I liked and you were the cause of it all. But, you weren’t. I liked guys well before you and that terrified me. You didn’t deserve any of what I did to you,” Robbe spoke, trying to keep his voice steady and firm. He didn’t realize how much he had kept bottled up about this, about Nick and what he had done to Nick. He had always deserved better than Robbe could’ve offered him at the time. “So, I’m sorry.”

Nick breathed.

“I know,” Nick replied. His hand that was still gripping on the iron bar of the gate dropped to rest against his side. Robbe blinked up at him, confused, as the black-haired man turned fully to stare at him. “Robbe,” he started, “You didn’t have to tell me sorry for me to know that you were. I could tell from the moment that you said the words, but that doesn’t mean that I wasn’t angry that you said what you said.”

“I know,” Robbe replied. “You have every right to be angry at me, to still be angry at me.” He bit down on his lip, looking down at his feet. “Once I talked with my friend and I realized how much I had fucked it all up, I tried to reach out to talk to you, but you had blocked me which I don’t blame you. At all.”

“Robbe,” Nick spoke up, stepping toward Robbe and effectively cutting him off. “I’m not angry at you for what you said. Not anymore at least. I spent far too long being angry at what you said and it consumed me and it wasn’t healthy. Once I let go of that anger that was holding me back, I was able to see that you were scared and that you were lashing out. But, that’s on you.”

“I know,” Robbe replied, hanging his head. “I’m still sorry though.”

Nick smiled. “I know,” Nick replied. “Maybe, at the moment, you didn’t mean to say it and that won’t change the fact that you did say those things. But, I know that you had probably internalized a lot of what your friends were joking around with, right?”

“Yeah,” Robbe replied, scratching behind his ear. “But, that doesn’t make it right.”

“You’re right,” Nick spoke, digging his hands back in his pockets. “It doesn’t make it right. But, I think both of us are acutely aware of that fact. If we keep living our lives based on something that happened years ago, all we’re going to end up doing is going in circles. So, the only thing that either one of us can really do Robbe is to remind yourself that what you said was wrong and never say that to anyone else again or else all you’re going to end up doing is drag yourself down.”

“Yeah,” Robbe mumbled. “I’m never going to say that to anyone else again and I shouldn’t have said it the first time.” Nick smiled. “Are you dating anyone?” Robbe questioned. He wanted to make sure that the man that he had hurt so much had been able to move on, find someone who wouldn’t say those words to him, and find the person that he deserved to find.

“I was, his name was Owen,” Nick admitted. “We had been dating for almost two years and broke up a couple of months ago. It just wasn’t right, you know?” Robbe did know. All of Robbe’s past relationships made him feel nearly as much as he did for Sander, Nick included. “I’m not really on the dating scene quite yet,” he admitted.

“Take your time,” Robbe replied. “You deserve it.”

Nick grinned. “Yeah, well, I hope that your,” he gestured towards the iron gate and Robbe laughed, thinking of Sander and his platinum blonde hair and heated kisses, “ends up working out for you. You deserve to be happy too. We should meet up, have a beer, catch up. You can always bring Jens and the guys. I miss hanging around them too even if our time together was brief.”

“Alright,” Robbe replied, grabbing ahold of his bike and placing it on the curb. “Thank you, Nick.”

“Have a good night, Robbe,” Nick spoke, disappearing into the shadows of the courtyard with the iron gate swinging shut behind him.

…

“Oh, you’re finally home. Where have you been, mister?”

While Jens was one of his best friends in the entire world, Robbe felt like the older man had regressed to treat him like a little brother in the years since Jens had moved out of his house. Despite the fact that Jens regularly (repeatedly) was out of the house out late or missed parties in favor of being with Lucas, the man walked into the foyer with his arms crossed and looking every bit like a disapproving older brother.

“Have you been out with your boyfriend?”

Robbe blinked, furrowing his eyebrows and getting strange flashbacks to Senne, “Uh…”

“I knew it!” Jens shouted.

“Jens,” Noor’s voice came from the kitchens. Robbe stepped towards the kitchen, searching out the woman who had long since become one of his closest friends. He found the black-haired woman sitting at the dining room table with a cup of tea, dressed in pajama pants and one of Moyo’s old shirts that she had long since claimed as her own. “You know that Moyo is meeting his mom in the morning, right?”

“Oh, sorry Moyo,” Jens whispered in the direction of Moyo’s room. There’s a muffled groan. “But, no seriously,” Jens spoke, turning back to Robbe, who sat down at the table with Noor. “Who is he? What does he do and when are we all going to meet him?”

“Who are you? My dad?”

Noor scoffed, nearly spitting tea out over the counter.

“Who is he? Is he nice? Are you being safe?”

“Need to be having sex to be playing it safe. What’s with the two-hundred questions?” Robbe countered.

“Why are you responding to all my questions with more questions?” Jens replied, his eyes narrowing at Robbe, who raised an eyebrow.

A moment later, Lucas came padding into the room, glaring at the back of Jens’ head. “Is this really why you left me in bed all by myself?” Jens paled, quickly moving to pepper kisses down the side of Lucas’ face. “You are going to have to better than that, Stoffels.” Jens pushed him back in the direction of the former’s bedroom and Lucas gave Robbe a wink over his shoulder.

Robbe was thankful.

He did not want to deal with Jens and his two-hundred questions.

“Is it serious?” Noor questioned, leaning towards him and taking a sip of her drink.

Robbe sucked in a breath. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I want it to be. But… I don’t know. I think he’s holding something back. I don’t think it’s anything bad like a girlfriend or boyfriend or something like that, but it’s something that he wants to keep a secret from me.”

Noor nodded her head, rubbing his shoulder and kissing his cheek as she stood up from the table to place her cup in the sink. “I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about,” Noor replied. “But, you like him right?”

Robbe nodded his head. He didn’t need to think about that one.

“Then, it’s all going to work out,” she spoke. “Just give him space to think on his own. He’ll come and talk to you whenever he’s ready. If you rush it, that will only result in him pushing you away.” Robbe nodded his head, moving to stand up. Noor met him, wrapping her arms around his neck and hugging him. “Goodnight, Robbe. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Goodnight, Noor,” Robbe spoke, moving towards his room. Once he was inside, he dropped his bag off by the door, quickly changed his jeans for sweats, and climbed into bed. He barely managed to fire off an I made it safely home. Roommate gave me 200 questions. Goodnight text to Sander before his eyes were drooping and he was out.

In the morning, he woke up to shouts from his roommates and found:

Goodnight, angel. Sleep well.

…

The hospital had looked the same as when Robbe used to visit his mother in high school.

The receptionist was different, of course, her dark-blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail on the back of her head, her black-framed glasses on her nose. She glanced up at Robbe with slight indifference, but the student spotted a textbook sitting out to her right. Oh, he thought, she was stressed about school too. When Robbe had asked what room his mom was in, the girl beamed, seeming a little bit happier, and proceeded to gush about how his mother had made sure that she keep to her studies, making sure that the receptionist took breaks so to not overwhelm her.

Robbe had smiled.

That sounded like his mother.

Luckily, his mother’s room wasn’t far, down the hallway and around the corner. By the time that Robbe had found her, his mother was standing outside her room, talking to one of the nurses that stood outside of her door about her pregnancy. The nurse in question looked like she was due any day now. Robbe smiled as he approached the two women, catching the tail end of the conversation, “-and I had cravings with Robbe up until the moment that I went into labor.”

Robbe reached out, touching his mother’s shoulder. The woman turned towards him in surprise, beaming up at him.

Marine IJzermans beamed at him, grinning from ear-to-ear in a smile that lights up her entire face. Between his parents, Robbe had gotten the majority of his features from his mother. He had gotten her narrow face, slender frame, and her nose. Another thing that he got from her was her brown hair. His mother’s hair was long, cascading past her shoulder blades when down. Currently, it was trapped up in a ponytail which was messy and slightly lopsided. Her hazel eyes twinkled at him as she gripped onto him tightly.

“Robbe!” she practically exclaimed, throwing her arms around his neck and holding him tightly. “You made it!”

“Of course, Mama,” Robbe replied. “I told you I was coming.”

His mother looked bashful, pushing back a strand of her hair. “I know, I know, but I know that you’ve been stressed with school and projects. I didn’t know if you were going to be staying at home to study a little bit more.” Suddenly remembering that she had been in a conversation, the woman quickly turned back to the nurse, “Just make sure you take care of yourself, Emilie. You’re going to be a wonderful mother.”

“Thank you,” Emilie replied, beaming. “I’ll let you two catch up. It’s so wonderful to meet you, Robbe. Your mother talks a lot about you.”

His mother smiled, grabbing his arm and guiding him into her room.

Her room was simple. There was a single bed that was pushed up against the wall, the sheets messily folded along the corners, and her pillows haphazardly placed against the headboard. There were two notebooks on her nightstand that she seemed to be messing with endlessly. One was for her ideas, what she wanted to do with the swirling thoughts in her head, and the other was a journal that her group sessions always kept. Robbe knew that his mother never shared out her entries, but she always kept them close in case she needed them.

“You look stressed, sweetheart,” his mother noted, reaching up to press the back of her hand against his forehead.

Robbe laughed. When Robbe had gone to see Sander on Friday, the man had commented the same thing before proceeding to press kisses along Robbe’s repeated frown lines until he was giggling. “It’s just school work,” Robbe replied, running a hand through his hair. “Yasmina and I have a project coming up in one of our classes that has an essay and presentation component to it. It’s not due for another month though.”

“Sounds frightening,” his mother commented. “But, I know that you and Yasmina will get through it together. You guys always have before. I’m surprised that your teachers still let you be project partners.”

Robbe laughed.

“So, how are the rest of your classes been going? Have you made any new friends?”

“Uh,” Robbe started, but before he could even figure out what he was going to say, his phone rang shrilly in his back pocket. Robbe dug it out of his pocket, spotting the notification from Messages, and hurried moved to silence it.

“Do you need to get that, sweetheart?” his mother questioned.

“No,” Robbe replied, slipping his phone in his backpack where he would be less tempted to check it. Right now, he was his time with his mom. No phones, no friends, nothing. His roommates were already aware that he was here. They knew that their messages wouldn’t be read until Robbe left the hospital. “The boys know that I’m with you so it isn’t important.”

“Are you sure?” his mother replied. “You know that I don’t mind…”

“Mom,” Robbe spoke up. “It’s okay. They can wait a couple of hours.”

His mother listened intently as Robbe explained what he was learning in his classes. He could see the clouded look in her eyes like she couldn’t quite understand the topic of his Thursday morning class, but he could see that she was trying and listening intently, eagerly pressing Robbe to talk about it more. He told her about Sander, leaving out some of the finer details of how they got together (his mother did not need to know about him skinny-dipping in a pool that they broke into and fleeing from the nightguard), about how Robbe was worried about him and his reactions, and his mother had told him the same thing that Noor had.

“Give him time,” his mother had advised, leaning against her headboard as they shared the dinners the nurses had brought them. “If he wants to talk about it, then he’ll talk about it. There’s no reason to try and push for an explanation that he isn’t willing to give.”

“I know,” Robbe had supplied. “I just… I want to help him.”

His mother had smiled, reaching out to cup his face. “You’ve always had a gentle heart, Robbe.”

It’s only hours later when his mother’s medicine kicked in and she started to get sleepy that Robbe started to consider pulling out his phone. However, he decided against it, talking more about Yasmina’s boyfriend, who would show up between classes with coffee for Yasmina, had started regularly showing up with Robbe’s normal coffee order after Yasmina asked him to pick it up for Robbe after a tough day in class. His mother was dedicated, listening to the story for as long as she could.

But, in the end, she slipped into sleep, her breath evening out and her eyes closing. Robbe smiled, standing up to pull her blanket up around her. She snuggled into it and Robbe left a quick note for her, pinning it on the top of her notebook, before flipping off the light and leaving the apartment. Robbe left the hospital, wishing the receptionist good luck on her test and getting a grin in response. It’s only after he arrives at his bike that he remembers the text message, pulling out his phone.

His eyes found Sander’s name on the screen, sliding it open with ease, and he’s halfway through thinking about his response before his message registers in his brain.

Hey Robbe, I’m sorry but things are moving too fast. I need to take a break. I’m sorry. Forgive me.

When he gets home, trudging through the living room and making a beeline for his bedroom, his roommates noticed the change in his mood. But, no one can get out a word to question about Robbe’s depressed mood before the man was safely locked in his bedroom, throwing his backpack to the ground (and knocking over his skateboard in the process), discarding his clothes (save his briefs) onto his desk chair, and climbing into the bed, wrapping his sheets around him like a cacoon.

Finally, Jens knocked on the door. “Did something happen with your mom?”

Robbe blinked back the tears that he hadn’t formally registered against his cheeks. “No,” he replied, his voice soft and muffled by the sheets wrapped around him. He could tell that Jens was going to say something else, to ask another question. “Jens. I just need some time. Please?”

Jens was quiet. “Okay, but you know we’re always here for you, Robbe,” the black-haired man spoke. The man hesitated at the door, his shadow barely visible from the crack under the door. But, the man eventually moved off, back to the living room and leaving Robbe alone, silent, confused tears slipping from the corners of his eyes.

He got an Instagram notification.

earthlingoddity has added to his story

It was a completely black photo with a simple message for the world to see, spelled out in bold white letters across the screen.

I’m sorry.

#wtfock #wtfock fic #my fic #sobbe fic #rosander fic #robbe x sander #sobbe #rosander #robbe ijzermans #sander driesen #unattainable fic

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