#I mostly kept the coat on though (except for at lunch and in one of my classes)

[captainswan618]

Looking for my Rose 🌹

(And yes, the pin I'm wearing says "gay for Rose Tyler". I made it for myself, but then I realized it definitely also applies to the Doctor lmao)

[ava-achlys]

The Boyz NSFW Scenarios

Kim Sunwoo - Hands Off [Requested]

softdom!Sunwoo x gf!reader

Request: Sunwoo likes to play with his girlfriend's breasts

Warnings: mentions of bullying, body image, underage drinking, anxiety (very brief), titfucking

Long overdue request for @ace-seventeen-world , I hope you like it! Also first time writing anything about titfucking, I hope it turned out alright. 🙏🏽

Sunwoo loves you even when you don't feel like loving yourself.

Being well-endowed since puberty hit meant you received a lot of unwanted attention from all genders. Some would pass judgement, calling you desperate for attention; and some would ogle and make lewd comments. This led to you coming to school wearing oversized baggy clothes and even turtlenecks no matter the weather. The less your body was apparent for people to judge, the better, you thought. Except the comments never stopped. You were so sick of your body being the talk of the student population of your small-town high school that you couldn't wait to graduate; and move far away to start afresh in college, where you futilely hoped that people would be more mature about these things.

Moving away for college turned out to be the best decision you made. You made a whole bunch of new, more mature friends who taught you to embrace and appreciate your body. Inappropriate comments from strangers still came your way, but with your new, reliable support system, you learnt to shut them out, and your girlfriends would even try to fight them for you, which made you feel very touched and grateful. Apparently, this sincerity didn't stop with just your good friends. That was also how you met your current boyfriend. Your friends had convinced you to come with them to a party during your first semester, and you allowed them to doll you up, upon much pestering. You were dressed in a nice blouse and skirt, which turned some heads at the party, and though you felt rather self-conscious in the beginning, you loosened up after a few drinks and dances. From there, you didn't care if people paid good or bad attention to you; all you wanted was to have fun with your best friends.

One of your friends introduced you to a gaggle of other first- and second-years, who were very loud and goofy, except for one; who had previously been laughing boisterously along with them until he set his eyes on you. He abruptly stopped laughing when you made eye contact, and you could have sworn he developed a light flush. With pouty lips and dark eyes, and a mop of fluffy black hair, he smiled shyly at you, nodding in acknowledgement and softly introducing himself. His voice was deep and had an attractive drawl and a pleasant raspiness. His name was Sunwoo, and you ingrained it into your memory easily, smiling shyly back at him. You mostly kept to yourself as the rest of them chatted, nursing your drink when a flurry of words and a loud slap shook you. You whipped around to see one of the boys, with cotton-candy hair and sharp feline eyes rubbing his arm and muttering under his breath next to Sunwoo, who was staring at you while whispering something to the boy - Eric, was it?

"Apologize!" Sunwoo hissed, nudging him. You tried to back off but Eric nervously came forward and rubbed his neck sheepishly, stuttering an apology while avoiding your eyes. He didn't specify what he was apologizing for, but you already had an inkling. All your friends were now staring at you, confused as to what had transpired. Unable to handle the stifling awkwardness, you quickly murmured "It's fine, Eric," before speedwalking away to get some fresh air, unaware that a certain dark-haired boy was scurrying after you. You turned to the nearest balcony and hurriedly gulped some fresh air to calm down, all-too-familiar feelings of panic and shame drowning you. You fought back tears, ignoring some of the smokers occupying the same space, who were looking at you with a mixture of confusion and pity. You managed to calm your breathing, and blink back tears, when a figure slowly comes to stand next to you. He doesn't look at you out of courtesy, fixing his gaze straight ahead. "Are you alright?" he asks softly. You nod firmly, trying to seem completely calm. "Eric... sometimes says things without thinking, but I know that's not an excuse. I just want to apologize again, for making you uncomfortable." His voice is gentle and soothing, and you tilt your head to face him, since he was a bit taller.

"It's not your fault, but thanks Sunwoo. And don't worry, parties aren't really my thing, I just came cause my friends were begging me to join them," you chuckle softly, to which Sunwoo gives you a lopsided grin.

"I feel you on that. I'm here to look after my idiot friends."

You share a good laugh, and spend the rest of the evening getting to know each other, but conversation comes easy, like you've known each other for years.

You and Sunwoo's paths seem to cross often, apparently because his faculty was right next to yours, and soon your friend groups merge and become one massive group, and you've even forgiven Eric. Days turned into months, casual meetups turned into lunch and movie dates, and soon you and Sunwoo are constantly switching back and forth staying over at each other's apartments.

Ever since you two started dating and you've gotten used to wearing more comfortable clothes around him, you've noticed him staring at your chest every now and then, but at least he had the decency to look apologetic and embarrassed whenever you catch him. You started to tease him, and he would bashfully hide his face and whine cutely. To get back at you, he'd purposely keep his hands cold and hug you out of nowhere, just to hear you squeal, knowing you're ticklish. Sometimes he'd be even bolder, trailing his hands up your sides and cupping your breasts under your shirt, especially when you walk around the house with no bra on. He'd do it when you're cuddling on the couch watching a movie, or worse, when you're trying to study. You didn't mind it usually, since you appreciated the support from his hands since the weight of your breasts takes a toll on your back, and you weren't fond of wearing a bra 24/7. Except the little shit likes to tease, jiggling them around and squeezing them when he's being extra playful, even grazing your nipples with his fingertips; chuckling lowly in your ear when you gasp or squirm in pleasure.

One night in bed, you confront him jokingly. Your period was on its way soon, and your breasts were feeling extra tender and swollen, something you had complained about, so your dear boyfriend very happily obliged, massaging them gently to ease your discomfort. After a while he gets bored, and starts prodding them, round eyes watching intently as they bounce. You can't help but laugh at how adorably fascinated he looks, so you ask him why he's so enamored by your boobs.

"They're just.. fun to play with, yknow? Bouncy and squishy. Can't help myself okay, you're just so perfect," Sunwoo grumbles, blushing again since he got caught.

"Yeah? What if I lose weight and they get smaller? Will you still like me then?" you ask, feeling rather self-conscious, irrational worries that he only likes you for your assets filling your mind. You try to ignore them, knowing your relationship with Sunwoo was much more than superficial, but trauma and bad memories keep causing you to doubt yourself.

"Of course I would!" Sunwoo gasps, reaching up to hold your face urgently but with such a tender gaze in his eyes. "It's still you, and you'll always be perfect, and I love you no matter what."

Tears welled up in your eyes when he said those words. Few people had treated you with such genuine kindness and you were so grateful to have him as your partner. You squished his cheeks together and pressed a kiss to his lips, surprising him. "I love you too, Sunwoo," you whispered, a small smile on your teary face. A cheeky grin slowly replaces the shock on his face. "Shall I show you just how much I love you?" he drawls, crawling on top of you, making you lay down on the bed. Sunwoo positions you to nestle comfortably against the pillows, helping you take your shirt off afterwards.

Your cheeks start to heat up at Sunwoo's intense gaze raking over your body, and your arms habitually come up to shield your breasts, but he's quick to catch them, gently pulling them away. "Don't be shy. You're the most beautiful girl I've ever met, inside and out," he murmurs, making you blush even harder. He kisses you deeply, before trailing his lips down, pressing light kisses down your neck and across your chest, gently nipping at the skin just above your right nipple. He resumes massaging your breasts, admiring the way your face scrunches up cutely in pleasure, his warm hands on your skin making you sigh happily. He leans down again, tracing a circle around your areola, making you shiver. He teases you a little more, flicking your hardened nub with his tongue before finally latching on and suckling on it, rubbing it periodically with his tongue. His hands are still massaging your breasts, twisting and tugging on your other nipple.

He pulls off with a satisfied 'pop' when you whine, pleased with how raw and puffy your nipple has become, glistening with an abundance of his spit. He dives back down to subject your other nipple to the same treatment, but this time, his free hand creeps down your tummy and between your thighs. You moan when he grazes your clit with his fingertips, and you can feel his plush lips smirk into your skin, obviously proud of himself. You willingly part your legs, and he dips his middle finger straight into your folds, your juices coating his finger instantly. He raises his head to look at you, eyebrows raised cheekily. "So wet already, babe? Always knew your nipples were so sensitive," he chuckles, slowly pumping his finger in and out of you. You shut your eyes, the stimulation of his mouth on your chest and his hand on your pussy clouding your mind. He inserts another finger and pumps you faster while he drags his teeth against your puffy nipple, making you shiver and moan even louder.

He starts leaving hickeys and bites all over your decolletage, looking forward to seeing those pretty marks bloom purple tomorrow morning. Finally, he eases up on his ministrations on your chest, and focused on fucking you hard and fast with his fingers, slamming three digits into your core, gleefully watching the way your breasts jiggle from the impact. He glances up at your face, finding your head tossed back, soft mewls and moans falling from raw, bitten lips. You're clutching the bedsheets in a death grip as Sunwoo starts sucking on your clit as he fingers you. He sucks hard, nudging it with his tongue every so often as he slows down his thrusts, opting to scissor you open and drag his fingertips along your walls, rubbing hard against your g-spot when he finds it, indicated by your shrill yelp. "B-babe, gonna c-cum," you gasp, still writhing in pleasure. "Go on, love, cum for me," he mumbles against your core, and soon you're clenching on his fingers, coating them with your cum, and he continues to fuck you through your climax.

Gasping for air, you wince as he pulls his fingers out, pussy clenching on nothing as you watch him idly put them in his mouth, sucking them clean. He smiles lazily at you, telling you how sweet you taste and even gives you a kiss, making you taste yourself. Your cheeks turn crimson again, and you decide you want to return the favor, having felt his hard cock pressing against your thigh when he leaned down to kiss you. You eye the tent in his jeans, and start unbuckling his belt. He looks at you in alarm, grasping your hands to stop you. "Baby, you don't have to do that, this is about you," he smiles gently. You pout at him. "But I wanna help you too! I have an idea that I always wanted to try with you…" Sunwoo takes a moment to consider, making sure you were genuinely comfortable doing so, and his eyes glimmer with anticipation when he nods in agreement. You beam wordlessly at him, helping him out of his jeans and boxers. You can't help but lick your lips at the sight of his erect cock.

Sunwoo's dick always made you feel good, whether it was fucking your pussy or your throat, but you always wondered what it would feel like sliding between your bountiful breasts. You pull him up to straddle your chest, and his eyes widen when he realizes what you want him to do. "Really?" he gasps, dick twitching with excitement when you readily nod. He chokes on a moan when you swipe your finger up his cock, gathering his dripping precum to slather it between your breasts. He slowly slides his dick into the valley between your breasts as your hands push them together, making it even tighter around him, and he groans lowly. Sunwoo thrusts shallowly, loving the way the smooth skin of your breasts feels around his aching cock. He begins to take over, his larger, warmer hands replacing yours, squishing your tits together as he rocks his hips faster, becoming addicted to the the feeling. It wasn't much physical stimulation for you, but you felt yourself getting hot again watching his face contort in pleasure, his tightening grip on your tender, sensitive breasts rather arousing. You can't look away, mesmerized by how good he looks with his lower lip caught between his teeth, grunting softly as he uses your tits to get himself off.

"You look so hot like this Sunwoo," you murmur, your hand resting on his thigh as he continues to piston his hips. He barks out a breathless laugh, "Have you looked at yourself properly? You're fucking gorgeous, babe, don't you ever forget that. Although, I'm down to remind you all the time." he winks. You smirk at him, and your hands come up to squeeze his muscular ass, the same way he likes to squeeze your boobs. He's got a nice butt, you had to admit, toned and sculpted from years of various sports, and it was your weakness the same way your breasts were his. He moans louder when he feels you groping his ass, hips stuttering as he approaches his climax. He throws his head back as he fucks erratically, squishing your tits even tighter together and you keen at the rough treatment. You coax him in a soft whisper to cum all over your tits, and soon he does, painting your chest white as his hips slow down, and he's gasping for air. A little bit of his cum has spurted onto your lips, but you willingly lick it up and smile up at him, your hands still soothingly rubbing his cheeks as he comes down from his high.

You grab some wet tissues from your bedside drawers and clean up your chest as best as you could, wiping away all the cum before Sunwoo flops next to you, resting his head on your chest the way he usually loves to. You lay there in comfortable silence for a while more, stroking his hair and you feel him smile into your skin, his finger absentmindedly tracing the hickeys he's left across your breasts. Maybe going to that party all those months ago was the best decision you ever made (second only to moving here for college), and maybe you and Sunwoo finally get out of bed to shower, and maybe you go for a second round in the bathroom, filling the steamy air with echoes of wet skin slapping and soft proclamations of 'I love you's.

[lazarettta]

The Babysitter

Characters ( Ally Mayfair-Richards x Reader )

Rating (T) Word Count ( 2.9k) Warnings ( None, bad flirting, writing while intoxicated)

“For dinner! I'd love to come home with you for dinner.”

“Well what else would you be coming for?”

“Dessert.”

It was another late night studying on the living room floor of the Mayfair-Richards household. It wasn't uncommon for you to spend a majority of your nights here during the week and sometimes the weekend if you were needed and you usually weren't. Not that you would've minded anyway, your weekends weren't busy—mostly spent either dead asleep or trying to get out of plans you didn't want to be a part of anyway to get more sleep.

But it wasn't everyday that you were able to work for a Senator either, so even if you were busy, you weren't going to tell Ally Mayfair-Richards that. Not that she was a mean boss or anything, she was the Senator for crying out loud. And...okay yes, maybe you idolized the woman a little though it may be because you're studying law but honestly who wouldn't idolize this woman? She went through so much shit getting to this point in her life and career.

And she was hot. She was really hot but you kept it in your pants, but your eyeballs? Different story. You were just grateful that she chose you to watch her son when she was away, especially after you knocked over your entire cup of tea in her living room on the very carpet you were sitting on, and you were just a hot mess.

You thought you blew the whole thing, but the moment she produced the NDA to you a few days later when she called you back for a 'second interview' which included Ozzy this time, you'd been ecstatic and nearly knocked over another fucking cup but Ally was faster than you that time.

The giant TV was playing in front of you across the room but it was just the news channel but the volume was pretty low because Oz was asleep upstairs and you weren't really watching it anyway, you had your airpods in listening to Beyoncé and trying to create a decent scenario for one of the ten theories your professor assigned. It was due the next day so you thought picking the easiest one would work in your favor but it was turning out to be your worst nightmare—and you'd regretted choosing sleep over this, kind of.

You'd been so engrossed in your work, and music, you didn't hear the front door open and shut somewhere behind you or hear Ally quietly talking on the phone, her high heels click clacking on her polished wood floors as she came into the living room. Ally paused slightly at the sight of you and her coffee table, your books and yellow pads scattered everywhere, your head bopping slightly to whatever you were listening to as you scribbled away.

Ally smiled softly, and continued on her way upstairs to check on Ozzy knowing that she was going to find him safe, clean and fast asleep with a full belly. You'd been his nanny for four months now and you were such a blessing for Ally, she'd been reluctant to hire and trust another person with her baby boy but her career was too demanding and Ozzy was only ten. He could stay home alone for a few hours maybe, but not days or even a week or two.

After everything, Ally did have cameras around her home on the outside and she had one directly over the stairs because it overlooked the foyer and parts of the living room from an angle. She didn't want too many camera's inside of her home in case they were hacked but she wanted something at least.

Ozzy's room was dark except for his nightlight by the door and Ally quietly made her way inside, carefully sitting on the edge of the bed and pushing his curls from his face. She was ever thankful that he finally stopped having those horrible nightmares, it meant that she wasn't wasting her money on therapy sessions.

When Ally came back downstairs, you were predictably in the exact same spot you were in and Ally finally did away with her coat, placing it over the spine of the sofa and she stepped out of her heels before coming around and plopping herself down, careful not to knock over your stack of books.

The sudden movement startled you out of your skin and you quickly pulled out your airpods and looked at your boss, “Hey! Sorry, how long have you been home?”

Ally smiled down at you tiredly, practically sinking into the sofa and you could feel her exhaustion rolling off of her in waves, and you couldn't help but sympathize because damn, and you thought you were tired.

“I just got in, I'm sorry I didn't call earlier, things got busier than I expected and then everything went into chaos.”

You smirked when she threw her hands up half heartedly with a roll of her eyes, “Would a glass of wine help?”

“No, but it would definitely be a start if you join me for a glass?” she raised an eyebrow, and as much as you wanted to say yes you've already procrastinated enough and you really didn't need alcohol in your system around her lest you say something you absolutely shouldn't.

“I would but I have to finish this and it's getting late. Do you mind waiting up until my Uber gets here?”

“It's really late, you should just stay the night, (Y/n).” Ally sat up then, waving away your comment, though now she was closer and hovering over you a bit, “I'll take you home tomorrow after breakfast, that sound fair?”

It wouldn't be the first overnight stay but it would definitely be the first time that she'd be home too and you just couldn't say no to that even though you probably should have insisted more that you go home, but you accepted her offer without further debate. You'd gone back to your assignment, minus the airpods this time, and Ally got up to go to the kitchen and you could hear her fixing herself a glass of wine.

Ally set a bottle of water next to you on a coaster before settling back in her spot and finding something to watch on TV, and of course you noticed that she was a hell of a lot closer than she was before.

Your pen had paused on the yellow paper and your eyes glanced over the same sentence three times before your mind processed that you could practically feel the heat from her legs next to your arm through her slacks, and if you leaned just an inch you'd be touching her. You fought the urge to look back over your shoulder, but instead you looked up from beneath your lashes and saw that she was browsing the movie channels at a snail's pace.

Behind you, Ally was sipping her wine in one hand and flipping channels with the remote in the other but her eyes were nowhere on the TV screen. But she noticed the moment your pen stopped moving and your shoulders tensed more than usual, she'd been watching you closely and curiously.

“You okay, honey?”

You turned around to answer her with what you hoped was a calm smile and wished that you hadn't, really. Ally was going to kill you sitting the way she was sitting, her energy screaming big dick and the top three buttons of her shirt were undone and her hair was a little messy. Either she was going to give you a heart attack or your libido would.

“Sweetheart?”

You blinked, coming back to reality so fast you would’ve gotten whiplash, “Uh, yeah...maybe I guess I’m just tired too.” Yeah right.

You chuckled nervously, embarrassed really, and licked your lips again and Ally tracked the movement with rapt attention not that you would've caught it because you were busy being mortified being caught staring like a creep.

“Are you sure? You look flushed, drink some water,” you smiled at Ally, ever the mom.

“I’m not—” not what? Thirsty? Yeah you were but not for some water.

“You’re not what?” Ally pressed, still holding you hostage with her eyes alone.

“Not thirsty for water.”

Ally raised an eyebrow, the corner of her lips twitching and you hate that you noticed, “Oh? Then what would you like to drink if it’s not wine or water?”

Good question. One you didn’t have a good answer to. Not trusting yourself to formulate words into an appropriate sentence, you just nodded and turned back around and grabbed the water she brought you. You were determined to ignore until you were finished with your work—for the sake of your sanity and dignity.

Fuck.

Still watching you, Ally laughed quietly into her wine glass and finally settled on a movie, keeping the volume low as she got comfortable. Deciding to let you off the hook for not answering her question. (This time.)

~~

A few days later...

It was another late night for you but you weren't working for Ally tonight, so you went to the gym instead after studying. You were still wearing your tights and sports bra when you left, only throwing on a jacket because the night air and sweat weren't a great mix.

You didn't have anything at home to eat that wasn't expired or so frozen it came from the ice age...it all went in the trash so all you had left in your fridge was a case of water and cheese sticks. It wasn't surprising though, you spent a majority of your free time at Ally's home and you just ate lunch and dinner there usually. So you went straight to the grocery store after your workout with your trainer.

“Hey (Y/n)!” you looked up and internally groaned, rolled your eyes and threw a whole bitch fit.

You offered Sean a tight near sarcastic smile, “Sean. What is up.”

“Nothin',” he said, leaning against the counter he was standing behind with a cheesy smile, his eyes leering—and it made your skin crawl, “Just working...you?”

“Uh,” you were already over this conversation, “Same, anyway—”

“You still work for that crazy killer lesbian?”

You stopped, pivoting back around slowly to see if he was joking or not, of course it was hard to tell because he was looking at your ass, but the minute he turned around his eyes laser beamed to your chest. Specifically your pebbled nipples and the bars pierced in them. You moved the labels of your jacket to cover them fucking pig.

“Uh, my eyes are up here and two, that 'crazy killer lesbian' is your Senator.”

He shrugged, “I didn't vote for her.”

“I'm...okay, it was nice talking to you but I have things to do.”

“Well, wait,” he moved in front of you, stopping your escape, “That's not what I wanted to talk to you about actually, uh, but listen...do you maybe wanna go to dinner with me this weekend? My treat?”

You raised an eyebrow at him, completely unimpressed with his audacity, “You literally just called my boss a crazy killer lesbian and now you're expecting me to go to dinner with you?” as if, you wanted to add but held yourself in check—barely.

“I'm sorry about that,” Sean only shrugged but he was bashful about it but it only served to irritate you further because it was obvious that he didn't quite mean it and you were mentally slapping yourself for just not ordering that damn pizza.

“Whatever, goodnight Sean.”

you tried to move around him but he shifted, keeping you in place and you knew you could've just turned around, you should've but he would've just followed you, “Well wait, you never answered my question. About dinner?”

“No.”

“Well, wait a minute...why not? The lesbian thing? It was just a joke. You can take one, can’t you?”

“And I'm not laughing, get the fuck outta my way Sean—”

“You—”

“I believe she told you to fuck off.”

Sean's eyes snapped up over your head slightly, and you would've laughed at his stupid face had you not been pivoting around yourself, your eyes meeting a very familiar chin and you looked up, but Ally's eyes weren't on you but instead glaring daggers into Sean. He'd be ten feet under if she got her way with that look. You wouldn't want to be on the receiving end of it. (Maybe another version of it...)

“S-senator?”

“Oh, I'm not the crazy killer lesbian anymore? How disappointing.” when Sean could only stare at her like a fish out of the water, Ally stepped forward—a lot closer to you and you didn't have the strength to move or even look away, “I believe you were told to leave. Oh and if I even hear that you looked at or said anything to (Y/n) incorrectly, you're going to have a lot worse than a harassment complaint from a Senator to deal with.”

You didn't see him leave but you heard the squeaks of his sneaker and in seconds flat you and Ally were alone in the cereal aisle and you had absolutely no idea how to even breathe at the moment, much less process that she just saved you from...whatever that even was.

When Ally was satisfied that Sean was gone, she finally looked down at you—there was still a fire in them that you couldn't place but her brown eyes were softer than they were a few seconds ago, and you felt your shoulders relaxing slightly.

“Are you alright, (Y/n)?”

You cleared your throat, taking a small step back—but you still felt exposed under her unblinking stare though not in the same way you felt with Sean, it was the complete opposite, “Yeah thanks to you, so um thanks...a lot. Your timing is impeccable, but what are you doing here so late? Where's Oz? Is he okay?”

Ally smiled at you, shaking her head disturbing her always perfect hairstyle, “Oz is fine, or at least he will be, he must've ate something today at school and it's not sitting well with his stomach,” Ally rolled her eyes but not at the fact that her son had food poisoning but that he had food poisoning from the school lunch. She could only imagine that other children—reforming school lunches was already on her agenda but now she was seriously considering moving ahead of schedule.

“Oh no, how bad?”

“Not too bad...he'll be okay, I'm just here for medicine to stock up on,” Ally reassured you, her eyes flickering over your shoulder for a second, “What are you doing out so late?” and wearing that? She mentally added, but held her tongue because she knew that it wasn't her place to comment on your attire—not that she was complaining about it, but Ally just didn't like the way Sean was leering at you either. She was a hair away from showing him how she earned her title.

Suddenly aware of how much skin you were showing, and that your jacket fell open again but unlike with Sean you didn't feel the need to really cover yourself (even though you knew that you should've). You appreciated her eyes more than his...and probably anyone else's.

“Oh, I went to the gym and since I don't have any food at home...”

Ally chuckled, “Is this your way of asking for a raise?”

“No! No, no you pay me plenty...I'm just too busy to cook is all and then I'm just too tired to eat sometimes. College life.”

“I was teasing, welcome to adulthood. It doesn't stop,” you laughed along with her but you both knew there was truth behind those words.

“I shouldn't keep you, I know you have things to do.”

“You know, I doubt you're going to get a decent nutrient meal here tonight, especially shopping while you’re hungry...” Ally hummed, seemingly thinking hard about something before opening her mouth to carefully speak those words, “You're more than welcome to come home with me for a late dinner if you have nowhere else to be. I'd be more than happy to feed you.”

Heh. Feed me what? You blinked, mildly surprised with how fast your mind went straight to the gutter and you felt your face heating up faster than a house fire, and you had no doubt in your mind that your boss knew exactly what she was doing to you.

But she didn't, Ally didn't have one clue to what was happening in your mind because her own mind was a pile of scrambled eggs while forcing her eyes to stay above your neck. You were both very much still in public.

And the last thing Ally wanted to do was make either you a cliché, especially with her being a public figure in a male dominant career field, both in politics and her restaurant.

“Unless you had your sights set on cereal?” Ally coughed lightly, suddenly nervous and you realized that you'd been standing there staring at her like a moron this whole time.

“No, I'd love to come home with you,” you said cheerfully, meaning every damn word for different reasons, and you smiled at her, before your eyes widened when realizing how forward you sounded, and suggestive as hell, “For dinner! I'd love to come home with you for dinner.”

“Well what else would you be coming for?”

“Dessert.”

Direct result after two blunts...sorry if it's kinda lame tho lmao I went in thinking I was writing smut and gave up somewhere

[sweater-daddiesdumbdork]

Real Life Tasks With Ransom Drysdale

An Advent Calendar Of 24 Normal Human Tasks As Performed By A Huge Man Baby

Day 20: New Fashion Trend Ransom? 

Warnings: Bad Language Words

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x Reader

A/N: Everything is Ransoms enemy. @what-is-your-plan-today​, @jennmurawski13​ and I have proved that. No matter how hard he tries. 

Series Masterlist

Ransom had just poured himself a scotch, kicking his feet up on the coffee table while he used the remote control to flick through the thousand stations on the TV. Of course it seemed like every single one was blasted with commercials of some kind, making him scowl at the predicament. “Fucking 200 stations and not a god damn thing on.” He sputtered till he hit a game, which made him pause. 

Lakers vs Celtics, he had money on this game so he decided he might as well see how it played out. Of course the money he put on the Celtics would be going straight into the kids college fund, he already promised that any gaming money was going to college funds, private school funds, that whatever his kid needed funds. Didn’t bother him any, it made you happy and he still got that gambling thrill that he sought from his old lifestyle he mostly had given up. 

Sure it mellowed out, his playboy lifestyle since he met you. But would he give it up? Fuck no, you were probably the only person who ever gave a actual damn about him and once he accepted it, well he found he really liked it. Liked mattering to someone, and not just be some asshole prick people tolerated. 

Plus now you were pregnant, which he couldn't get enough of honestly when you were feeling good. To watch the little changes happening, knowing you were growing his son, well at first it scared the shit out of him, not going to lie. Ransom Drysdale a father? His own had been a disaster, he was just striving to be better than any of his family. To actually give a shit. 

That's why he tried to do as much as he could for you, attend all the appointments, make sure you wrote down the chores you needed taken cared of. He even attempted cooking for you, but that was proving a challenge. He would get it though, cause fuck it he wanted to spoil you. Another first for him, wanting to make someone happy before he was.

Soon he was engrossed in the game, sitting on the edge of the seat while waving his hands. “Come on, down the court! Down the court!” He yelled and you crossed through the room, slipping on your coat. 

“Hey Ransom, whoo hoo, Ran.” You called to get his attention, and he sprang up, hitting the off button quickly almost like he got caught watching something he shouldn't have been. 

“What's up… where the hell are you going?” He asked once he faced you, taking in your appearance. 

“I got a check up Ransom.” You say as you double check your purse for the things you needed, one hand resting against the over sized bump stretching before you now. 

“Oh, I can drive, let me just get some shoes on and a coat.” He started and you shook your head before he could walk away. 

“Oh you don't have to go to this one Ransom. Dr.Sitwell is just giving me some information and diet restrictions for the pregnancy.” 

Ransom seemed to stall, unsure about letting you go alone. “You sure? Cause I promised you Princess I would go to all the appointments and such. Plus you are huge now and what if something happened?” 

You scowled at his comment, flipping him the bird. “Don’t forget who did this to me. Fucking huge?” 

Ransom rolled his eyes, hands falling to his hips. “You know I didn’t mean it like that. You are so far along now, I don’t want anything happening to you.” 

You shook your head at your idiot husband, knowing his mouth spoke typically before his brain had the sense to process his words. “Remind me why I married you again Ransom? I appreciate the offer, but I have a small honey-do list I really need help with instead. And besides, I promised to go out to lunch with Meg afterwards.” 

“What does the little liberal bitch want to complain about now?” he said with zero affection in his voice towards his cousin. 

You scoffed and smacked his chest slightly. “Ransom that is your cousin, be nice.” 

“What? I was being nice Y/N.” he rubbed at his tee shirt he was wearing, scowling at you. 

“She invited me, and I said that I would love that. If you're lucky, maybe I will bring you back something.” You walked away towards the door to slip on your shoes, Ransom following right behind. 

“You don’t have to.” He started and you gave him a look while shouldering your purse and slipping your feet into your sneakers. Ransom immediately went to a knee to tie them for you, knowing bending down was almost impossible for you now. The move itself made you smile softly, carding your fingers through his hair. He really was trying, more then you had thought he would. 

“I will surprise you Ransom. And I already sent an email on what I need done.” You said as he moved back to a stand, going to tiptoes to peck him on the lips. “Love you, don't destroy the house while i'm gone.” 

“You know… this place was just fine even before you lived here.” Ransom scoffed at the insinuation, and you were out the door laughing and cringing at the same time. 

“I don't even want to know what went on here before I lived here with you.” You climbed into your car and Ransom watched while leaning in the doorway, recalling a time before you. 

“Yea, you really don't wanna know Sweetheart.” He said to himself while going back inside while pulling out his phone to check on this list you emailed him.

1.Bleach the bathroom

2.Wipe down counters and stove

3.Take out garbage

The list went on from there, all easy tasks except for one. The bleaching the bathroom he cringed at. That was work you hired someone to do, not get on your hands and knees to do it yourself. He contemplated seeing if he couldn't get Harlan’s housekeeper over, he was sure a hundred bucks she would do it. But that would almost be more of a hassle in case she mentioned anything to someone like Meg who would just LOVE being a snitch and ratting him out to you. No, might as well just do it himself. First the easy stuff though, get it out of the way. 

It was an hour later and Ransom was actually feeling pretty good about it all. No major mishaps happened, and the house actually did look a lot better then when he started. But the bathroom loomed on his mind, and even after a break to check the games scores could he not put it off any longer. 

“Fuck my life…” He muttered to himself while stepping in the bathroom with his hands to his hips, looking it over. The downstairs bathroom wasn't huge or fancy, but in this moment one of the smallest rooms in the house seemed huge, daunting, like it was laughing at him. 

This just set his resolve more, as he stepped into the bathroom. “Pay people to do this? Fuck they are ripping us off.” He muttered while digging out some bleach and bucket from under the bathroom sink. “Y/N is right, waste of money when we can just do it ourselves.” He ran the tap in the tub and filled the bucket, sure to add way to much bleach to the solution. Lifting it out, he grabbed your yellow elbow high gloves and a folded up hand towel (one of your good hand towels) and knelt on the floor to start washing the floor. It went smoothly at first, shuffling back and bringing the bucket with him, he didn't notice the little splashes from when he was plunging the towel into the bucket and wringing it out. It wasn't till he happened to jump hearing the door slam shut, and unknowingly he smacked his hand into the bucket, the water sloshing over the edge of it and landing in his lap that he cursed out.

“Fucking Christ!” He sprang up the water running down his leg, and almost immediately the dark blue of his jeans started to turn bleached white almost, all up and down his legs the spots kept appearing. 

“Ransom?” You had wandered through the living room and was staring down the hallway towards the bathroom where you saw the light on, and there you saw him. His yellowed gloved hands were on held out to his sides, his head dipped down as if in utter disgust, looking at himself. You couldn't help the giggle that escaped you, which you covered your mouth to try to stifle it when his head tilted up enough to see you standing in the doorway. 

“These were brand fucking new jeans.” He said hostilely, and that just made you bust out in a laugh, wrapping an arm around your side and gripping the door frame to keep from doubling over at how ridiculous he looked. “What's so funny.” 

“You, you wore high end jeans to bleach the fucking bathroom. Ransom, why would you wear nice clothes?” 

“I only have nice clothes Y/N! Why would I keep shitty old clothes?” He said while peeling off the gloves and tossing them in the sink, thoroughly done with his ‘Honey Do List’ now. 

“For moments like these Ransom, when we have to do the messy shit.” You looked him up and down once more, a giggle escaping you again. “I mean, maybe you will be the one to bring back acid wash jeans?” 

“Right in the fucking garbage is where these are going. Who in their right mind would wear shit like this.” 

“Your parents probably did?” 

“Just give me another reason Y/N to hate this all that much more.” He glared at you while brushing past you to go change. “I told you we should just hire someone.” 

“We are not hiring a maid for the thousandth time Ransom.”

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

HASO, “A Ship Named Infinity.”

Hope you all enjoy your morning :)

Geea and Beatrice made their way from the underground bar as the music was still playing. Beatrice had one of her arms hooked through one Geea’s lower left, and together they sauntered slowly up through A136 and towards the docking area. Beatrice flipped a knife between her fingers as she did, “I don’t see why you are trusting this guy.” Beatrice grunted, “He could just as easily hail the Omen as soon as we got close and tell them that they have been hijacked.”

Geea shook her head, “No, he wouldn't, and i will make sure of that.” 

Beatrice looked up at her and she hummed rather smuggly, “If he tries anything, I release all of his criminal activities to the GA and UNSC. there is nothing that he can do about it, besides we are going to have our crew on his ship as well, and they should be able to keep him in line.

Beatrice nodded, though she didn’t seem entirely reassured.

Together the two of them made their way up through the winding passages, and clattering stairways until they eventually made it to the main docking bay. The room was filled with twenty or so docked shuttles, and looking around they found captain Kell sitting with some of his crew members outside a waiting shuttle.

The men and women that stood behind him were….. well , they were no joke.

They seemed fit and capable, though most of them sported some sort of metal attachments.

Captain Kell stood to greet them, and in this lighting the two of them were able to give him a more thorough once over.

The man was still wearing his long brown coat, and the black hood was still resting on his head though it didn’t shadow his face so much in this room. She saw strands of tawny hair peeping out from under the front of his hood. As she had seen before, one side of his face was covered by mechanical components, primarily the right eye, the cheek and down onto the lower jaw. His remaining good eye was a muddyish brown.

Walking up to stand before him it was clear that the man was tall, over six feet to be certain and well muscled, which Geea couldn’t help but find odd in a pirate. Sure pirates did some hard work, but mostly they followed the motto of work smarter not harder, and their life of heavy drinking didn’t exactly lend to people with bodies like his.

Under his jacket he wore a white shirt and a chin around his neck with some sort of arrowhead attached to the end.

His boots were high and tall, making her wonder if he was trying to make himself look taller than he really was. 

She could still see the glittering metal of his right hand as he moved to greet them.

The men behind him eyed them suspiciously. One was shorter and darker than the captain but just as well muscled. He was wearing heavy cargo pants, though his chest was mostly bare except for some sort of bandelier he carried over one shoulder, though it was his honey gold eyes that made it very clear he had no issue with  beating them up and stealing their lunch money.

The woman just off to his right was short and bald with extremely pale skin and bluish eyes, but she had the look of someone who you didn’t fuck with no princaple.

Geea noticed Beatrice eyeing her and tried to ignore it. B was always trying to make her jealous, and she didn’t want to give her that sort of satisfaction.

Captain Kell stepped forward, “Ladies.” He nodded before turning to wave a hand at his two bodyguards, “This here is Angelo.” He said pointing first at the man and then at the woman, “And that is Mace.” The two didn’t even nod their heads in acknowledgement, but looked on at hem in suspicion and distrust.

That was the way of the pirate though.

There was a sharp thudding, and out from behind the shuttle came a tall hulking figure at nearly nine feet tall.

The large Drev wiped grease from his hands as he stepped into place beside his three human companions. His carapace was a muddy black color with a red undertone. Geea raised her head in mild disdain for his coloring, though he didn’t seem to care what she thought.

“And this is our associate Noble.”

The Drev crossed two of his arms over his chest as he looked them over.

“The shuttle ready?” the captain asked.

The Drev nodded, “Yes, the components are clear to fly. That shake was from our right underwing stabilizer, though it was just a little loose.”

“Good.”

He motioned the two of them to follow him into the rusty little shuttle, and they strapped into the seats behind the pilot’s chair buckling in across from Angelo, Mace and Noble, all who eyed them with more than a measure of mistrust and suspicion. The captain for his part, seemed the most pleasant and sociable out of the groop, though he took his seat in the captain’s chair and called in to be let into atmosphere .

The group of them felt it as the struts gifted off the ground, and they hovered slowly over to one of the landing tubes leading up to the surface of the planet.

The doors to the docking bay opened revealing a long, water stained tunnel before them.

“Thirty minutes until the next fire wall comes, so you should be safe.”

He acknowledged the radio, and slowly began to lift them up through the long dark tunnel.

As they approached the top, the heavy steel door that kept them safe from the elements of the A1 death plant opened up. 

There was a heavy mist outside causing condensation to appear on their front windscreen as they rose into the night. In the distance, the sun was just beginning to rise, and from here thre group of them could see the fast approaching firewall on the horizon.

The ground below them was still wet, but that would change soon as rising temperatures caused the water to burn off into steam and return to the atmosphere to start the cycle again.

However, they didn’t stay long enough to watch the spectacle, and Captain piloted them easily upward through the cloud cover.

Geea had to admit that the man was a handy pilot. That was the steadiest flight she had ever had from the surface.

Either that or he just got lucky.

When he exited the atmosphere, he hurriedly made contact with the bridge of his ship. They approached slowly, and she could see the small ship with its sharp lines and black painted hull, better to blend into the background of space. It wasn’t a large ship by any means but it was still a good enough size that she expected it to have at least a class B warp drive.

They docked some minutes later, and the soundless environment around them was suddenly sucked away as a rush of air flooded the airlock. Red lights highlighted their faces as the Captain began powering down the ship. The others unbuckled their seatbelts  and the back ramp opened up for them.

The captain followed last from the ship, stepping onto the deck as the airlock doors opened into the docking and cargo bay.

It was…. Almost exactly how she expected it to be.

The ship was small enough that most of the rooms doubled for something, and men and women lounged around the small cargo space just as they might on her own ship. A few of them were tying down tarps over piles of unknown goods, while others were taking manifest from inside open crates with the UNSC seal stamped on them.

She was surprised to see that, thinking that the man was too much of a coward to pirate goods from the UNSC itself, but it seemed that she was mostly wrong.

The captain spread his hands wide and turned to look at them, “Welcome to the Infinity.”

Men and women in the cargo bay sat up and turned to look at the newcomers, and immediately Geea could see that the crew was a diverse one with Tesraki Celzex Drev, and even the odd Burg, though this  one was one of those strangle Male burg with the gossamer wings.

He turned to look at the crew, “And crew say hello to our new employers for the next month or so.”

The room shifted rather uncomfortably.

“Since when did we do mercenary work?” Someone shouted from the crowd.

The captain grunted under his breath, “They made me offer I couldn’t refuse.” Then he straightened up, “Either way play nice, and don’t get into fights or I WILL shoot you out the airlock. We should be expecting more of their crew boarding soon, so make room, and get to know each other.”

He walked past the group of them without another word, and marched off towards the font of the ship.

Geera and B followed after him their boots clattering on the floor underneath them.

“I am not instilled with a great amount of confidence that your men will behave.” Geea said 

The captain turned to look at her, and the appriture of his robotic eye narrowed, “Look lady, you are the one who came and threatened ME. If anyone here shouldn’t be trusted it is YOU.” He turned on his boot heel and marched up the next hallway, pushing through the doors and  onto the bridge, where he took his seat in the waiting captain’s chair.

The ship itself was a bit old and rickety, and the chair had a bit too much glowing neon on it for her liking, but when he ordered his men to get to work, they worked seamlessly as if they had done it thousands of times before.

Geea had to admit, grudgingly of course, that it was the most disciplined pirate ship she had ever seen. There was no arguing or backtallking or arguing or people trying to shirk their duties, the men and women here worked as if they were trained for it, like those fancy crews she had seen aboard some of the GA and UNSC ships.

This was probably why the captain came so highly recommended.

The Celzex on his shoulder hopped down from his position and into a small seat just off to the side of the captain’s chair. From over the top of his furry head, she could see that he was busy running diagnostics on the weapons systems.

That made her smile.

To think that they would have Celzex weapons on their side was rather thrilling. She, and no one else she knew had ever been able to acquire weapons from the fuzzy little creatures. They may have been willing to join pirating crews, but most of them were still loyal to some stupid and unknown code of honor that didn’t allow them to just spread their technology around, so they kept their mouths tight shut to the annoyance of everyone.

She wondered how this particular human had gained the trust of the Celzex enough to acquire their weapons. In fact, she had never seen a Celzex wit on a man’s shoulder like that, and doubted that was something the Celzex had been willing to do on their first meeting.

This human was becoming more and more interesting the more that she watched him.

He reached out with a gloved hand and flicked the switches on the console before him. He piloted this craft with the same ease in which he had piloted the shuttle.

The Com burst to life just then, “Infinity this is War preparing to dock.”

The captain turned to look at her over his chari, “You named your ship war?”

B snorted at the derision on his face, “She just likes being able to say ‘ This is war” whenever she goes to dock.”

Geea ground her teeth, and Captain kell rolled his eyes as he turned back to initiate the docking sequence, “Waar, this is infinity, please move to docking port A and standby for confirmation.”

He let go of the transmission and looked over at Geea skeptically, “You name your ship like an idiot.”

She didn’t like that much hands balling into fists though B traced a consoling hand over her back.

“Watch your mouth.” She growled, low in her throat.

The man did not seem at all worried by her denouncement of him, “Naming a ship is an art. You have to know her, to feel her. You have to walk around and fly in her to get a real understanding for what she means. It isn’t just about slapping a word on her. Just like you would name your son or your daughter you have to know what she iis about BEFORE you name her.”

Geea rolled her eyes at the sudden fervor in the man’s voice.

She honestly couldn’t give a shit what a ship was named as lng as it worked.

There was a sharp thudd through the hull as her ship docked, and she turned to go and greet her men down in the cargo bay leaving the Captain to contemplate his stupid philosophies on how to properly name a ship.

Making eye contact with him one last time, she couldn’t help but notice the strange fervor she saw in his eyes when he spoke about ships. This was a man, she thought, sho loved being in space.

She herself didn’t mind it so much, but when she looked out the window of a ship, all she saw were stars.

There was nothing particularly beautiful about it.

Together her and B walked into the cargo bay where her men were slowly filtering onto the ship

She only need around twenty of them, sure that that would be enough when paired with captain Kell’s crew.

They didn’t plan a big complex assault after all.

Hopefully, all of this would be done while most of the crew of the Omen were sleeping and they would be on and gone before the shit hit the fan.

Geea spent the next few hours helping her crew settling onto the ship warning them that if they caused any trouble she was going to hurt them. Of course they would listen to her, they were afraid of her and that is what a good leader needed to keep her men in check. Fear was generally the best way to control people she found, and while they didn’t like being ordered around, they would rather do what she said then suffer the consequences.

From there she went to find Captain kell again , and found hm in some sort of meeting room just off the bridge perusing a star map with some of his men and women from the bridge .

“UNSC channels indicate their last known location to be in this area.” A woman was saying zooming in on a cluster of stars as he did, “Now It seems to me that in this area.” she motioned with a wide circle, “We can send out scanning probes to look for his ship. It shouldn’t take too long and the probes aren't likely to catch the attention of a ship that big. I would suggest using a distress beacon to lure them into the nearby nebulae and then use that as a distraction to dock quietly.. Now the Omen is so large that it actually works to our advantage. It has multiple cargo bays and multiple docking bays, all of which have their own set of airlocks.”

There was a sharp blip in the image as the woman pulled up a schematic of the ship.

She heard B mummer in surprise from behind her.

“How did you get that.”

Captain Kell turned to look at her, and the woman crossed her arms seeming rather annoyed to have been interrupted.

Captain kell motioned to the schematic, “What, you think we only deal in goods.” he shook his head slowly, “No no, schematics and information are easy enough to get your hands on if you know where to look.” He nodded towards the hologram, “I bought these schematics off a guy at the Europa station a few years after it was launched. The guy was drunk, but he had been an engineer that worked on it before it was deployed.”

He turned back to the woman, “You were saying?”

She huffed and continued, “Well, from the information I have been able to gather, the primary cargo bays are here and here below the ship, they would be easy enough to bring a small ship up and usie the hacking equipment to open their airlock without being noticed and send a small team inside.”

She turned to look at Geea, “We only need a small team to do what you are suggesting.”

She glanced back at the map, “The only problem with this plan is that the safest place to board is also the furthest location away from the Admiral’s quarters which would be on the top deck right here.” She jabbed a finger at the upper deck, so we are going to have to plan this and our rout up if we want to avoid being spotted.”

Geea nodded, “The maintenance tunnels should be our best bet.’

Captain Kell tapped his chin, “Both yes and no I think. There will be less security there, sure, but the people most likely to be up are those in engineering, and they would spend most of their time in the maintenance tunnels.”

There was a nod of agreement from the others.

“Better to deal with a few nerdy engineers than highly trained marines patrolling the halls.” Geea said 

Captain kell nodded slowly and behind him Angelo snorted rather derisively as if the idea of a well-trained marine struck him as funny somehow.

Across  the table from him Mace was smirking right along with him.

Geea didn’t like those two, there was something about them that made her want to punch them in the face, but she kept her cool and continued to listen to the plan as the group gathered around each other .

She was mostly surprised at what she saw. The crew of this ship was well functional, worked well together, were relatively professional, followed their captain and even seemed to admire him. It was something she had never seen on a pirate ship before. The way they worked together was almost militaristic, but she supposed that is why they had survived so long and gotten so good at what they did.

She frowned as she thought about it wondering why her crew didn’t behave this way. Her crew tended to be lazy slackers most of the time, only working when they wanted to which was hardly ever

But these people did their jobs as if…. Well as if they actually liked them and respected their captain.

See eyed Captain Kell doubtfully. 

They must have been REALLY afraid of him to follow him like this.

She wondered what he did yo people who disobeyed him

[voiceless-terror]

Hi ily and I love bothering people with prompts, so I'm requesting "a character who’s so exhausted his hands are trembling, his eyes are dull/unfocused, he’s starting to hallucinate… and his team needs him to stay awake" with Jon and literally anyone at any time (except s5 because it's too emotionally taxing for me to keep up with oop-)

Hello there, Shannon! Here you go! This takes place in Season Two, when all is not great with the Archives team. Hope you like! <3

“And you’re sure this requires all four of us?”

“Yes, Jon,” Elias sighed, his annoyance clear even through the phone. “Believe it or not, I am trying to help you. You’ve managed to alienate almost all of your staff, so perhaps this will do you some good. You seem to enjoy ‘following-up’ these days, unlike in your first months in the position.”

That stung a bit.

It wasn’t his fault someone had died in the Archives, and that someone happened to be his predecessor. It was a natural reaction to feel some paranoia, though he will admit he might have gone a little...overboard, in some of his investigations. Tim certainly thought so. Sasha was her usual cool, aloof self avoiding him as much as possible. Martin was the only one that treated him the same, probably better than he deserved after accusing the man of being a possible murderer. He dragged him out to lunches and hovered in the evenings when Jon stayed late. He was the one who accompanied him to the clinic after his incident with Michael. Jon couldn’t help the ache that went through his chest when he saw Martin still in the lobby, waiting to take him home and fussing over his bandages. 

Walking him to his door.

And now Elias, of all people, was deciding to be more ‘hands-on’ after the intervention. The intervention where even Martin held him at arm's length, though he was still the friendliest face in the room. If this meant keeping his job, he would do it. 

Though he wasn’t so sure he even liked his job anymore. But Jon kept pushing forward. He needed answers. 

Telling his assistants was another story. 

He stood in front of them, knowing he looked a mess. He’d seen himself in the mirror this morning after another failed attempt at rest. His hair was a mess, the dark circles under his eyes were turning a lurid purple. He looked waxy and gaunt and nothing he could do now would fix it. So he kept drinking his tepid black coffee and cheap energy drinks; frankly, they were the only thing keeping him going.

Nevertheless, he didn’t exactly inspire confidence.

“Seriously, Jon?” Tim wasn’t fond of using ‘boss’ anymore, not unless he was feeling particularly vicious. “It would be fine with two of us. Me and Martin can go and take shifts. You look like the living dead.”

“Tim,” Martin admonished, shooting him a look. “He’s right, though. You don’t look well, and I don’t think an all-night stake out is what you need right now. I mean, why are we even following up on this? It’s just some ‘vampire’ sighting that’s not going to pan out. Don’t we have more important things to be focusing on?”

“Elias insisted,” Jon tried for apologetic but must have missed the mark, judging by Tim’s narrowing eyes. “I’m- I wouldn’t make you do this, but I’m afraid-”

“Why does Elias even care about this?” Tim interrupted, slamming his drawer shut dramatically. The sound made Jon flinch- that wasn’t hard to do these days. “Did you even try to get out of it?”

“Of course I did,” Jon bristled. “I know- I know the last thing anyone wants to do is spend time with me. This wasn’t my idea-”

“That’s a bit hard to believe, Jon,” Sasha’s voice was mocking, though it remained light and easy. Sasha was always ready with a barb or a joke, mostly at Jon’s expense. “I’d think you’d enjoy this sort of thing- stalking, investigating. Or is that just with your co-workers?”

Tim snickered. Even Martin had a bit of a smile on his face, though he tried to hide it. Jon felt his face flush red. 

“That’s not,” Jon began a defense but quickly backtracked, knowing it would be futile. “Elias wanted us to go tomorrow night. It’s about thirty minutes away, so if you don’t mind driving, Tim-”

“Anything for you, boss,” Tim muttered. “If you could try sleeping before then, that would be great. I filled my quota on catching you collapsing on the job.” The words were unnecessarily sharp and hurt Jon more than he cared to admit. He remembered a time when Tim was always around to lend him a hand, conscientious and kind. But he’d gone and ruined that now, hadn't he?

“I’ll be fine,” Jon straightened his back, refusing to meet anyone’s eyes. Tim snorted and turned back to his desk, Sasha did the same. Martin just stood there, giving Jon an appraising eye. It made him feel like he failed an exam or came up short on an examination.

This should be fun.

_______

Sleep eluded him for all but an hour that night. The face that greeted him in the morning looked even more horrific than the day before; Tim wasn’t far off in his assessment. He said as much as Jon entered the office.

“Christ, this is going to be fun,” Tim rolled his eyes and leaned back in his chair as Jon hunched in on himself, defensively clutching his extra-large coffee.

“I did sleep,” he bit out, avoiding the man’s eyes. It was true.

“Sure. Just try taking a fucking nap this afternoon, okay?” The words sounded almost concerned, but Jon knew better. “I’m not listening to you snore in the backseat all night.”

“I’ll try,” Jon grumbled as he exited the room. A sudden sting hit his hand and he hissed; coffee had spilled from the lid of his to-go cup and was now running a scalding stream down his arm. His hand was shaking, a steady and insistent tremor that refused to calm despite his best efforts. 

I’ll sleep this afternoon, he promised himself. Something’s gotta give eventually, right?

_______

Jon was wrong. Just my luck.

After two fruitless hours of tossing and turning, he finally gave up, leaving the office to grab a couple of energy drinks that he could hide in his bag. And now he was loaded in the backseat of Tim’s car, his heartbeat erratic and his chest tight. Martin had provided them all with coffee, though he handed Jon his with some reluctance.

“Are you sure you’re okay-”

“For the last time, yes, Martin!” The words came out harsher than he intended and Martin flinched back, avoiding Jon’s eyes as he got into the passenger seat beside Tim. “Don’t yell, Jon,” Tim commanded as he started the car. “God, you always were a right bastard when you’re sleep-deprived.”

“M’ sorry, Martin,” he mumbled to the ground. It was easier to focus on something stationary- whenever he looked out the window, his vision blurred and nausea churned in his stomach. And that’s why you don’t have energy drinks on an empty stomach. Stupid, stupid.

“It’s fine, Jon.” It didn’t feel fine.

By the time they arrived at the park where the supposed sightings took place, it was already dark. Tim had the radio playing softly in the background as he and Martin murmured in the front seats, a low sound Jon couldn’t hear. He wondered if they were talking about him.

Not everything’s about you. He shivered in his seat, drawing his coat tighter around his body. Sasha shot him a glance; she always had the hint of a smile on her lips, cold and calculating. As if Jon’s situation was amusing to her. Maybe it is.

He wished Martin was back here with him. Martin was warm, solid, and steady; Jon craved that, embarrassing as it was. But Martin likely didn’t want to be around him; unsurprising, with how Jon’s behaved.

The steady drone of sound was pleasant, a nice background hum that relaxed him incrementally. The occasional heart palpitations were starting to slow, and Jon felt himself relaxing for the first time in days. It was a sweet, blissful relief- surely a small nap wouldn’t be terrible, just enough to keep him going through the night-

A sharp jab in his side jolted him awake. He shot up with a yelp to find Sasha smirking, her face unreadable. “Don’t sleep on the job, boss.”

“Sorry, sorry,” he whispered, rubbing at his eyes and wishing for just a short reprieve. But the blurriness was worse now and his heart was back to its erratic rhythm- Sasha’s rude awakening had done its job.

“Maybe try looking out the window,” Tim suggested sarcastically. “We are here to do a job, you know. Not so you can zone out and sleep.”

“R-Right.” Jon didn’t mention that nobody else seemed to be doing the same. Still, he focused on the dim light emanating from the one streetlamp in the park. It was just an empty field at the edge of the woods. It would be hard to miss anything.

This went on for an hour, Sasha continually nudging him awake whenever he started to drift off. She was probably doing him a favor- who knows what horrors lurked in his nightmares, and the last thing he needed was to wake up screaming like a lunatic. He imagined word getting round to Elias that he was falling apart, even more unstable than previously thought. 

And then something moved out of the corner of his eye- a small, dark shadow was standing in the middle of the park, barely visible by the light of the streetlamp. Jon let out a choked gasp as he leaned forward, hitting the back of Tim’s seat.

“L-Look!” he whispered urgently, pointing ahead. “Someone- someone’s there?”

“Where, Jon?” Sasha’s voice beside him was amused, playful. “I don’t see a thing.”

“Right there!” He insisted, and as if on cue the figure began moving forward, edging closer to the light. “It’s moving!” 

“Jon,” Tim started, looking back at him with an inquisitive gaze. His voice was slow and measured. “What are you talking about? There’s nothing there.”

“There is!” He was aware he was begging now, a pathetic plea to just look, it’s right there, can’t you see?

Martin reached a hand to his shoulder, all concern and worry. “Jon, I promise you there’s-”

And that’s when the figure revealed itself, standing clear under the light. It was a woman, tall and sad. Her long hair was pulled back from her face with a headband, and she had round glasses and looked so, so familiar-

Sasha, his mind supplied. That’s not right. Sasha’s right beside him.

Sasha. It was insistent this time. Jon put a shaking hand to the door handle and wrenched it open, practically falling out of the car as the others protested behind him. But he paid them no mind and stumbled forward on weak legs. There were footsteps behind him but it didn’t matter because Sasha’s there Sasha’s there-

And then she was gone.

The park was silent and still, almost serene. And Jon stood under the lamp, his chest heaving and his heart racing until he collapsed in the soft, dewy grass. Sasha was in the car. Sasha wasn’t here. But it doesn’t make sense. He gagged, hands and knees digging into the earth as nothing came up but a small amount of bile and coffee. A hand went to his shoulder but he wrenched it off, a frustrated moan bubbling out of his throat as his eyes filled with tears.

“Sasha was here,” he wailed, no longer caring if he made a scene. “Sasha was here!”

“Jon? Oh fuck, oh God what do we do, something’s wrong-”

“Just pick him up, Martin, get him back in the car!”

Jon was hauled to his feet but his legs were shaky and useless; Martin cursed and scooped him up instead, unbearably gentle. He tugged at Martin’s shirt, desperate for someone to listen. “Sasha,” he hiccupped but Martin just hushed him, squeezing him tighter to his chest. 

“Sasha’s in the car, Jon,” He whispered soothingly as Tim opened the car door. “See? Right there!” Sasha, with her wrong smile and her wrong face and her cold, cold hands-

Jon let out a shriek, thrashing and kicking as Martin tried to place him in the backseat by that thing. “No no no,” he cried and tugged at Martin’s jumper. “I don’t want to I don’t want to-”

“Get in the front, Sash,” Tim commanded, something unreadable in his eyes. “He’s not going to stop freaking out until you do. Martin can sit in the back.”

“So fussy,” she said mildly as she opened the door and did as Tim said. “Is he going to be okay?”

Jon could barely follow the conversation as Martin awkwardly crawled into the backseat and tried to maneuver him into his seatbelt. But Jon couldn’t let go because Martin was real and there and the only thing holding him together at the moment. 

“Just drive,” Martin’s voice was hard and unlike him, but he squeezed Jon tighter to his chest and that was all he needed to finally give into the darkness at the edge of his vision.

_____

When he next woke he was tucked into a bed- his own, strangely. Light filtered gently into the room and Jon felt like he’d been run over by a truck several times over; every part of him aching and groaning as he attempted to sit up. 

“Jon?”

Martin stood in the doorway, the picture of anxiety and worry. “God, I thought you’d never wake!” He hurried over to the side of the bed and placed a hand to his forehead that Jon leaned into. “You don’t feel warm. You’ve been asleep for almost sixteen hours. Are you okay?”

“Define ‘okay,’” Jon croaked, leaning back into the pillows. Sixteen hours but he still felt like hammered shit. “What- what happened? Why am I here?”

“You don’t remember?” Martin’s voice somehow managed to sound more worried. “God, you were- you were really out of it, Jon. Ranting about Sasha- you wouldn’t get near her. I thought we should take you to the hospital but Tim insisted you wouldn’t like that.” Tim was always the one who knew him best. “He had a key so we dropped you off, but I thought someone should stay behind- I mean, is that okay? I don’t want to overstep or anything, but you were really bad and I couldn’t-”

“It’s fine, Martin,” Jon cut him off gently. It was touching, in a way, that Martin would want to look out for him after the fit he apparently threw. “I, uh- thank you, I guess.”

“Really, it’s no problem,” Martin said, leaning back on his heels and fiddling with his hands. “I-I didn’t want to leave you alone, and I didn’t think you’d want to wake up to Tim or Sasha-”

“God,” Jon groaned and slumped over in bed, shame coursing through his veins. ‘“I’ll have to apologize to her tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” Martin agreed, though not unkindly. “But I think she’ll understand. You were exhausted, it’s not like you meant it.” I suppose that’s true, he thought. Just my paranoia out of control.

“I’ll make us some tea. You stay in bed, okay?” 

“A-Alright.” Martin turned to leave the room but a thought logged itself in Jon’s brain and he reached a hand out to stop him. “Did you stop anywhere beforehand?” he asked. “Like the institute, o-or maybe Tim’s place?”

“No,” Martin replied, a puzzled look on his face. “Why?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Jon closed his eyes and leaned back into the pillows, feeling utterly drained. “It’s nothing.”

Martin exited the room and Jon tried not to think about the key he gave Tim ages ago, back when they visited each other with some regularity. 

And the idea that it was still on his keychain, waiting to be used.

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27457939

[duck-writer]

Sickday

Summary: Huey's sick with a fever. Donald sends the boys to school, even though they're worried about their brother. Donald tends to Huey, worries, but is reminded that as alone as he feels...so long as he has his kids, and Goofy as a friend, things will be okay.

Donald knew from personal experience of being in the Navy and dedicating his life to the sea for a time, that being out near the sea while it stormed could easily lead to getting sick.

Though he warned the kids not to jump in the puddles on their way home from school or to spend too much out in the rain, it would fall on deaf ears. Asking a duck not to interact with water? It was hard because it was part of nature.

Still, when Huey sneezed the first time, Donald narrowed his eyes a bit. But for the rest of the evening, no other telling signs showed up. Maybe he was being paranoid. According to some people, when it came to the triplets, that tended to happen a lot.

Except the next morning, only Dewey and Louie came to the table for breakfast. That made Donald frown since it was usually Huey who woke up first and prodded his brothers to get out of bed, especially Louie who always took the longest.

“Where’s your brother?” Donald asked the other two.

“Sleepin’,” Louie replied.

“Yeah! We’s tried to wake him cos it’s usually him who turns off da clock! But nopes! I had to do it today!” Dewey exclaimed.

That parental instinct from last night grew from suspicion to concern.

“Breakfast is ready, eat up!” He told them as he went into the triplet’s room and checked in on Huey.

Even before reaching his side, he could see that Huey’s cheeks were dusted with a rosy hue. Pressing the back of his hand to Huey’s forehead, he hissed and muttered a cursed when he felt how hot it was. He immediately rushed to the bathroom where he kept the first aid kit and came back fumbling over his own two feet. At Huey’s side again, he placed the thermometer under the young duckling’s tongue and waited impatiently for it to beep.

When it did he frowned deeply. 100.1 degrees. No need for a hospital visit yet, but definitely meant that he had to call in for work to tell them he wasn’t coming. And call the school to tell them that Huey wasn’t going to be attending. And call Goofy to come and ask if he could come and take Dewey and Louie as he dropped off Max in middle school.

First, he rushed back to the bathroom, before he cursed to himself again and rushed to the kitchen. He checked the other two’s foreheads in the guise of forehead kisses as he got a bowl, and went to the bathroom to fill it with cool water. Grabbing a small cloth, he went back to Huey’s side and dipped the cloth in the cool water, wrung it, and placed it on his forehead.

He took a moment to stare at his boy. Donald hated it when they were sick or hurt. It made him feel incompetent and like he wasn’t doing everything in his power for them. Shaking his head out of his thoughts, he went to the phone and called Goofy first. He explained the situation as best and quickly as possible and thankfully his friend was able to not only take the other two to school but also pick them up after.

Then he called the school to tell them Huey had a fever but that his brothers would be taken there by Goofy. With how his luck affects his job and availability, as well as the school sending forms at the beginning of the year to fill out with possible emergency contacts, the school was more than used to Goofy dropping off and picking up the boys as much as they were used to Donald.

Next came the part he dreaded most. His current job wasn’t exactly new but he hadn’t been there that long either. Though most places were understanding when it came to people’s kids being sick...some places weren’t so kind. Hopefully, Huey got better soon, but Donald was already making mental math notes about how to move money around. He might need to get medicine for Huey if he couldn’t bring this down on his own or if it got worse. A trip to the hospital would be expensive. He might have to beg the dock’s manager to give him some time to pay the rent, and he might have to go to a food pantry to make sure the boys had food, even if he himself skipped a few meals.

The call...went better than expected. Mostly. Donald could hear the tone of his manager. He’d allowed it this time, if only because if Donald complained to HR or a hire up they could get in trouble. But he’s heard it before as well. If it happened too much, Donald would be asked to part ways with the company because things just weren’t working out.

“Unca Donald?”

Donald forced a smile when he saw Dewey looking at him with a slight frown.

“All finished?” Donald asked about breakfast.

Dewey nodded and rubbed his tummy as he said, “It was really yummy!”

“Huey’s got cold though. Where is he?” Louie asked as he came to join his brother.

“Uh, we’ll save it for him later. Now go and put your coats on and get your umbrellas. Your Uncle Goofy will be here soon to take you to school.”

Dewey and Louie shared a confused look together before they looked back at their uncle.

“Are you late for work?” Dewey asked.

“No. But Huey’s sick. He’s staying home.” Donald told him.

“What? I wanna stay home too!” Louie exclaimed.

“Me too, me too! Wait, how sick is he?” Dewey asked, jumping from excitement to concern. Which Louie then caught as well.

“He’s got a fever. I don’t know much more but I don’t want you two to catch what he has. So go to school.” Donald told them.

“But...we’s three! We can’t be separated when one of us needs the others!” Dewey cried out.

“Yeah! We can help you take care of him, Uncle Donald!” Louie added.

Donald smiled at their loyalty to each other. Even if they both had an underlining desire to just not go to school. But they were going to go. Not just because they shouldn’t miss out on education...but because it was a good source for them to each lunch.

“I’m sure Huey will appreciate it, but he needs rest. And he’d feel bad if he made you two sick. So get ready. Maybe make him a card if you have some free arts and crafts time, okay?” Donald suggested.

There was then a knock before Goofy let himself in wearing a poncho since it was still raining. He had a bag with him, that he placed on a table nearby.

“Hiya kids! All ready to go?”

“Hi, Uncle Goofy…” Dewey and Louie said in unison. They gave their uncle one more pleading look, their best puppy eyes, but their uncle was set. They went to put on their rain gear.

“Thanks for doing this, Goofy.” Donald thanked his friend.

“Nothing to it, Donald. Oh! I brought you some Campbells. Chicken noodle.” Goofy said as he gestured to the bag.

Donald peeked into the bag and saw not just one can, but a good ten! “You didn’-”

“They were on special last time. Max loves them, but he insisted you have him. So...enjoy the soup, okay Donald?” Goofy was aware of his friend’s struggle at times. As well as very aware of his friend’s pride. So he helped in ways he knew the duck would allow and appreciate.

Donald felt like he wanted to argue a bit but knowing the current contents of his cabinets, and with how the clouds outside didn’t seem like the rain was going to let up...he accepted the gift. He didn’t want to leave Huey on his own, and much less take him out in the rain to find food.

He hugged Goofy tightly, “Thanks.”

Goofy returned the hug just as tightly.

“We’re ready...but do we have to go?” Louie asked as they came back with their gear and backpacks on.

“Awe come on, kids. School’s great! All your friends are there.” Goofy told them with a smile.

“Yeah, but Huey’s here…” Dewey mumbled.

“He’s going to be just fine,” Donald promised.

“And how about we plan a Goof-Duck family weekend thing for when Huey’s all better? Family movie night maybe?” Goofy suggested.

“With soda?” Dewey asked with wide eyes.

“And pizza?” Louie added, just as excited.

Goofy first looked at Donald to see if that was okay. When the duck nodded, Goofy gave the boys two thumbs up.

Donald made sure the kids had everything they needed. Kissed and hugged them goodbye, and watched them off before returning to Huey.

He grabbed a notebook and jotted down the time he took the first temperature and what it was. He redipped the cloth into the cool water, wrung it once more, before reapplying it. Huey groaned and woke up a bit. “Unca Don’l?”

“Hey, Huey...it’s okay...I’m here…” He soothed.

“No feels good…” Huey grumbled, almost whimpering.

Donald pulled him into his arms, careful to keep the cloth on his forehead, and rocked him gently as he sang him the lullaby Della wrote them.

Goofy came back to the boat after dropping off the boys and Max, with a bottle of children’s flu and cold medicine.

“You’re doing a lot, Goofy,” Donald told him but accepted the medicine. Goofy followed behind Donald to the boy’s room and helped Huey sit up as Donald filled the little plastic cup with the needed amount.

“You’re forgetting all you did to help me with Max when he was a baby. This is more than just paying back, this is what family does, Don.” Goofy said quietly.

Even though he wasn’t fond of the medicine, Huey was the most mature of the triplets and knew it was good for him. After he took it, Donald jotted it down and got Huey comfy.

Moving the conversation out of the room to let Huey rest, Donald scoffed a bit, “Don’t know about all families...but…”

“The family we make up. Found family is just as powerful and important. Looking out for each other. Anyway, I gotta get going. But call me if you need anything else, okay?”

“Thanks, Goofy. For everything.”

~~~~

Around noon, Donald woke Huey up after making some of the soup that Goofy brought over.

“When are Dewey and Louie coming back?” Huey mumbled as he spooned more soup into his mouth.

“Soon. After you eat, we’ll get you back in bed. Next time you wake up they might be already home.” Donald told him.

“M’kay. Do you think they’ll remember my homework?” Huey asked.

Donald smiled, it was such a Huey thing to be concerned about homework. “I’ll call Uncle Goofy to have him ask the teacher for it, okay?”

“Kay. Thanks, Unca Don’l. ‘m full.”

Donald nodded as he picked him up and carried him back to his room.

~~~~~~~~~

“Uncle Donald!” Dewey and Louie cried in unison as they rushed through the door.

“Hey, boys! How was school?” Donald asked after their hug.

“It was soooooo long! How’s Huey?” Dewey asked.

“Uncle Goofy says he’ll call later. Max’s needed stuff for his science project. Is Huey better?” Louie asked.

They both reached into their bags and pulled out a ‘get well’ card they each made for Huey.

“We made these for him!” Dewey explained.

“Aren’t they awesome?” Louie inquired.

Donald look at them and smiled, “They’re amazing!  He’ll love them. His fever went down, and he’s rested. But he’ll be a bit tired still, so let’s remember that, okay?”

“Kay!” The boys exclaimed, before sheepishly covering their beaks and quietly repeating the word, “kay!” And rushed to their room to greet their brother.

~~~~~~~~~~`

When Donald checked Huey’s temperature that night, he was glad to see that it was normal. He saw that Huey had his homework hugged to his chest along with the cards from Dewey and Louie. Donald smiled as he carefully pulled them away and stacked it gently on the dresser.

He kissed each of their foreheads before making his way to his own bed. He’d get up in a few hours to check up on the kids again.

[forasecondtherewedwon]

Hi I would love it if you wrote a fic on Harry and Benny finding out about the other’s relationship with Beth

All Hope and No Pawns

Rating: T Word Count: 1382

Summary: A missing scene from Benny's apartment after the phone call to Beth in Moscow.

“Go beat him,” Benny urges.

When he drops the receiver back into its cradle, he unconsciously continues to grip it. His adrenaline’s spiked, his head’s lowered—for all his corporeal clues, it might be him about to face Borgov. There’s even a chessboard before him, styled with the final permutation he and the boys teased out from Beth and Borgov’s positions at the time of adjournment. Only so many ways this can go now. Damn, he just wishes he could watch it happen.

With a final squeeze, he releases the phone and steps away, rubbing a hand thoughtfully across his chin. He’s still uncomfortable moving too far from the phone. Crazy, since it could be hours before the match is decided. As Benny emerges from the depths of his own thoughts, he can hear the others, talking lowly and pacing while the excitement of blurting strategy down the line to Beth burns through them. It won’t last; soon, they’ll be crashing while he makes himself yet another cup of coffee, determined to stay awake. Another of today’s senseless notions: that his ability to remain sharp will somehow help Beth do the same.

He returns. He resets the board and plays out one possibility, all the way through to the fallen king. It makes him feel better. To drown out a skeptical note in Matt’s voice behind him, Benny collects the pieces in his hand and rolls them around, listening to the wood knock. He puts them in formation and plays through another version, searching the arrangement for gaps and his brain for the memory of Beth’s instincts. During their time together, starting with training and turning into… well, she learned to beat him faster and more soundly, but he learned a thing or two as well. Although the way Beth plays is still opaque and elusive, Benny has a sort of feel for it. He studies the board and tries to grip that old conviction of his—she sees things the same way he does.

“Will she call herself, do you think?” Hilton asks, tone as buoyant as ever.

“No,” Benny sighs. He turns away from the board. “She’ll be swarmed when it’s over.”

He doesn’t specify an outcome. The fucking Soviet players make him superstitious.

“She’ll have that asshole from the State Department with her too,” Mike says. “He’ll keep her on a short leash.”

“He’ll try,” Benny counters, provoking chuckles.

“Well, maybe Townes’ll stay between them,” Matt theorizes. “He managed it this morning.”

“Maybe Mr. State Department thought they were doing something he would’ve blushed to interrupt,” Hilton says.

“Beth and Townes?” Benny asks scornfully.

There’s no chance. He and Townes spoke before Townes flew out there, when he agreed to smooth the way for Benny’s call to get through without interception by Beth’s official government handler. Townes didn’t try to pull any bullshit territoriality where Beth was concerned—and he didn’t flinch when Benny did. (He hadn’t meant to, but a whole string of things had left his mouth as he verbally worked through his tips and encouragements for Beth, immediately afterwards hoping that Townes wouldn’t pass any of it on.)

“Aren’t they… close?”

“We shouldn’t be talking about them like this,” Harry says firmly. “Especially Beth.”

“If either of them has feelings for the other, it’s Beth,” Mike says.

“It’s true,” Matt adds, backing his brother up. “We were there when they met, more or less. She had such a crush on him.”

Benny frowns.

“Guys,” Harry pleads.

“Nobody’s saying anything against either of them! But don’t you think Townes is her type?”

“No.” Benny and Harry speak the same adamant syllable at the same moment.

Benny’s never wanted attention less than he does in the seconds immediately following, when the others’ eyes bounce back and forth between him and Harry. He twitches his wrist so his bracelet slides around it.

“Early lunch?” Matt tactfully proposes.

The rest of them mumble their assent and file towards the door, grabbing hats and jackets, stomping feet into shoes. Even Harry takes a couple steps. Just a couple.

“Are you coming?” he asks.

“Absolutely not,” Benny tells him, holding his ground.

Harry turns and nods to Mike, relieving him of the task of holding the door open. It’s a strange jerk of the chin, almost mournful, like he’s signaling to someone to go on ahead to the funeral reception while he lingers by the grave as the diggers fill it in. Now, Benny doesn’t have any plans to put this guy six feet under, but the implications of Harry having such a ready opinion on the sort of man Beth goes for aren’t exactly the kind to make Benny leap joyfully around his apartment. He exhales steadily from his nose.

“I heard you were training her,” he begins when they’re alone.

Harry—to his credit—doesn’t cower. He straightens his back and faces Benny directly.

“For a little while. Of course, she’d eclipsed me before we ever began, but I’d read more books.” He laughs softly to himself. “Not many more. A few.”

“I told Beth she needed a more mature trainer to get her ready for Paris.” Benny cocks his head as his teeth grind together. “Obviously, your time with her was plenty mature.”

“That’s not any of your business.”

Where Benny would keep his gaze trained on his (he hesitates to use the word ‘rival’) guest as things teeter between polite and heated, Harry looks away. It’s unnerving, actually, how he glances calmly around the apartment like a prospective renter. Must be seeing the space they’ve all been sequestered in for hours with fresh eyes.

“She’s been here,” he concludes.

“After Ohio.”

“Ah. After she beat you. And when she got here, I’m sure she kept beating you.” He doesn’t seem to mean it maliciously, so Benny doesn’t interject. “She beat me a lot too. It made her frustrated with me. I got over that. Mostly.”

“I’m not even close. To getting over it,” Benny clarifies.

He meets the stare of Harry’s round eyes with his hands on his hips and wonders if he’s just put himself in a bad position, presented a vulnerability to be exploited. Harry could miss it, like he missed his chance to take the Lexington final back from Beth when she castled. But then, Harry could also be more sensitive to human interactions than he is to astute pawn placement.

“That makes sense,” Harry allows. “You two are much more evenly matched.”

So, he is aware that they’re not really talking about chess.

“What was your mistake?” Benny surprises himself by asking. Harry looks surprised too, but Benny shrugs.

“It was a… visualization problem. I never knew what was coming with her and gave my own plan away too early. Do you love her?”

Benny places a hand on the table to anchor himself against the blunt question. Jesus, Harry does have an issue with subtlety.

“Yeah,” he admits after a solid minute. “I might.”

“Does she love you?”

Blow after blow with this guy, trying to take him to the canvas like he’s Muhammad Ali! Best Benny can guess, it’s a petty hit from someone who knows he’s already lost. Harry doesn’t want Beth because he knows he’s not gonna get her, but his question has this insulting presupposition—there’s just something in his tone that assumes a certain answer. It’s a last wild swing at the man who could still have a shot at the happiness Harry wanted for himself. Though Benny watches him warily, there’s nothing he can do, no way to regain his mystery. They’ve circled each other and determined the major weaknesses.

Benny shakes his head.

“That’s the one thing I don’t know.”

Harry regards him too long, then shrugs his coat on. He climbs the stairs unhurriedly and goes out after Hilton and the other members of Beth’s emergency chess contingent. A group of fools who are probably deceiving themselves to think they’re providing her with anything she couldn’t figure out on her own. She’s exceptional. She’s beat them all before; that’s why it’s her over there in Moscow and not one of them. So many, many invariable miles and possible outcomes from here.

Benny makes a fresh pot of coffee and takes a seat by the phone.

[rebsrams]

Cinnamon Girl (Ethan x F!MC)

Book: Open Heart

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Dr. Rebecca Valentine)

Warnings: none. Don’t really know what this is, though. Not fluff, not angst... It just came to my mind as it is. 

Summary: Rebecca totally loves cinnamon. Ethan remembers everything about her and treats her to a hot drink in a cold November afternoon.

Prompts used: #8. Buying them something unrequested because it made you think of them. Took it from this amazing prompt list over here.

Word count: <1k

Song: Cinnamon Girl by Lana Del Rey

There were things capable of driving her utterly mad.

Anyone who knew her well enough could know that she had an incredibly resilient self-control, but when it came to certain matters, she just couldn’t resist.

Most of the time, at least.

Sometimes she was forced to keep a straight face and stay focused, for her and her job’s sake.

For example, there were days in which being able to keep her mouth or even her eyes from Ethan’s stunningly sharp jawline was draining all the energy out of her.

And she was known as an-incredibly-filled-with-energy girl.

Ethan knows better, she thought mischievously to herself, leaning on the cafeteria table, shaking her head as if to reject the thought that was slowly creeping through the depths of her mind.

But still, there was something that in 28 years of life couldn’t resist once.

She liked, to put it mildly, cinnamon.

Every morning she took her coffee double, with no sugar, covered in frothed milky foam with two or three sprays of cinnamon on top of it all.

Ethan knew this, too.

She remembered telling him once, while tasting his coffee and regretting the decision shortly after.

“You know, you’re the one who should try what real coffee is. What’s in this thing anyway? Lemon?”

“I bet your tastes will improve with time, Rookie. What do you usually drink anyway? Unicorn latte with stardust sprinkles?” he arched an eyebrow, waiting for her to answer.

“Negative. No sugar at all, actually. Double coffee, just to be sure my brilliant mind doesn’t have the yips during the day”

At that point, she winked at him.

He rolled his eyes, but was unable to contain a low chuckle coming straight from his broad chest.

“Then, you cover everything with frothed milky foam and then, just then, you complete your masterpiece with a pair of cinnamon sprays. Perfection.”  She continued, sending him a chef’s kiss.

“I think I always underestimated the power of cinnamon. I should definitely re-evaluate it.”

While saying these words, she noticed he was looking in a way that vaguely recall fondness and longing at her hair, tucking a strand of it behind her ear.

“The Power of Cinnamon. I like it. Think I officially found the title for my recipe book.”

She said, mostly to break the tension between the two of them.

Awaking from her reverie, she took her phone from the wide pocket of her white coat and decided to exorcise her penchant once and for all.

She opened Pictagram and posted a pic from that morning, her usual breakfast in a cute striped mug that Elijah gave her last Christmas.

Letting out a sigh, she was storing her phone back in her pocket when it buzzed, revealing a Pictagram notification from @drethanjramsey, commenting on her last upload.

At first her heart remained stuck in her throat, as every single time he approached her, virtually on in real life.

It wasn’t the first time she almost unconsciously regretted the insane idea she had of putting him on social media.

One of them being, for example, a couple of weeks before, with him posting thoroughly good looking pics of him, on a boat, shirtless and glittering from the little drops of salty water scattered all above his torso, glowing under the sun beams.

Plus, they still had not defined what exactly was between them and the thing was frustrating her immensely.

With all the problems they were facing, the upcoming ending of Edenbrook on top of them, it seemed like it was the last thing to think about.

Or, at least, for him.

She, for her part, spent an entire evening cursing him for posting the infamous boat pics.

And the night that followed, she was still cursing him.

On his bed.

She shook her head vehemently, focusing on the notification on her phone.

This time, he just commented with two simple words, “Hold still.” 

As if she had another way to go.

She let out a long sigh, trying to clear her mind out of every thought regarding a certain tall and dark doctor, only waiting for her lunch break to inevitably end and her day to slip back into routine.

Except that, for what she could see from there, standing at the entrance of the cafeteria was the statuesque figure of Dr. Ethan Ramsey himself, hair lightly disheveled from the windy drizzle outside and scarf securely tied around his neck, also keeping his mouth and nose from the bitter cold.

She could definitely tell he was holding something still in his hand, as to protect it from the blowing wind that was becoming to rage outside.

She couldn’t see what exactly was, though.

“Ethan Jonah Ramsey’s delivery at your service, ma’am.” He said in a thick british accent, sliding a cup of coffee to go across the table and making her heart jump.

The unmistakable and heavenly smell of what the cup contained made her senses stir, making her inhale sharply, closing her eyes in sublime contentment.

What could possibly be more satisfying than having a cup of cinnamon latte on a cold November afternoon?

She opened her eyes, instantly founding the answer to her question.

Ethan was sitting across the table, a slight smirk on his lips after seeing her reaction once she smelled the nectar from heaven he brought her.

She startled just for a second, trying to regain her composure.

“You didn’t have to. Didn’t think my post would actually look as a real distress call. Thank you, Ethan.”

“It was no bother. I was just about to order mine, you know that I usually prefer not to drink the dirty water they serve in here.”

She took his still cold hand lying on the table and gently caressed inside his palm with her thumb, the soft strokes sending waves of affection through both of them.

After quite some time, the realization of them being in a public spot of the hospital kicked in and he took his hand back with a cough, moving the attention on the coffee once again.

“I’ve decided to try it too today. Who knows I may not find another drink to treat myself to after sixteen-hours shifts.”

She smiled weakly, still dizzy from the warmth that his hand was beginning to spread through hers due to their brief contact.

“Long live to cinnamon!” he said, raising his cup way too ceremoniously, the gesture almost making him look comic.

There were so many things she wanted to toast to.

So many things she just wanted to say.

But she knew that there were moments meant to be left alone and just kept, stored safely in her heart’s folds.

As I said earlier, I don’t really know what this is. Maybe just my personal Ode to Cinnamon.

Anyway, hope you like it! This Pictagram thing really amuses me a lot, I have more fics in store featuring PG screenshots and shirtless pics of our beloved Dr. Ramsey.

Also, I’m looking forward to use as many autumn related prompts as possible until November comes to an end. Write me if you have any suggestions!

P.S.: That’s really the way I drink my coffee each morning. And, just so you know, Ethan didn’t like it one bit. But he loves her like crazy, so who actually cares?

taglist: @openheartfanfics​, @choicesfan10​, @schnitzelbutterfingers​ 

(please let me know if you want to be added/removed from this list!)

[sonicgetsrawed]

Put it on Repeat, Don’t Let it Stop

Basically a fic with the boys as exes in a ghost hunter au!!! Warning for blood, violence, temporary character death, emotional angst, actual death but in the past it’s a ghost hunter au someone had to be deaded!!!! There is a happy ending though!!! Enjoy!!!!

It had been six months, two weeks, and three days since Varian left. Five months, one week, and four days since Yong returned to school. Four months on the dot since Nuru accepted an internship at some tech company and quit. Three months and five days since his last case. And back to six months, two weeks, and three days since it all fell apart.

Hugo dragged his feet across the floor as he poured himself another cup of coffee before promptly sitting back down at his desk. The sunlight barely shining through the blinds on the windows of the dingy studio apartment. It was a temporary arrangement he kept telling himself, just until he could get back on his feet, but that temporary arrangement somehow quickly turned to half a year. Hugo sighed as he propped his feet up on the desk, scrolling through job searches as he sipped at his coffee, still hoping his work phone would ring, the outdated phone sitting on the corner of the desk, the screen covered in a thin layer of dust. His lips curled in disgust as he scrolled past yet another add for a dog walker, just how many dogs were there in this god forsaken city? He reluctantly clicked on it, he was almost out of money and he was fairly certain Donella wouldn’t excuse his rent again. He was halfway through the application when he heard his work phone ring.

“Fuck.” Hugo cursed under his breath, jumping at the sound, some of his coffee spilling from the mug and onto his shirt. He eagerly reached for the phone that had remained dormant for the past three months, his breath hitching when a familiar name and picture flashed across the screen. Babe, with hearts on both sides of the name, Varian’s freckled face and buck tooth smile staring back at him, his blue eyes captivating even in the picture. Hugo’s heart stopped, his finger hovering over the answer button, he hadn’t heard from Varian since they broke up. He’d pretty much erased all existence of the boy from his life, burned photographs, deleted pictures off his phone, he’d even gone as far as to delete his contact information, the only thing he didn’t have the heart to toss out was that stupid plush raccoon Varian had somehow left behind, which now was stuffed into a box and shoved underneath his bed. He thought he’d purged Varian from all places except his head, heart. Obviously the only thing he missed was clearing out his work phone. But this had to be a work call or else Varian would’ve just called his personal number. He wasn’t petty enough to scream at him through his work phone, and as much as Varian could hold a grudge it wasn’t likely he was calling to argue after six months. With only another moment of hesitation Hugo accepted the call, shakily bringing the phone to his ear.

“Hello?” He could hear the sharp intake of breath on the other side of the line. It made his heart stop, all the memories he had since locked away of their two years together came rushing back, the nights they spent together, the arguments they had, the tears they shed. Even the small moments they shared, Varian starting his day with a cup of hot chocolate instead of coffee, the way he’d pack Hugo’s lunch with two apples because he always seemed to skip breakfast, and the random kisses to his cheeks whenever Varian got particularly excited about something. He almost missed it, but it was all tainted with the memory of their breakup. The hurtful things Varian said, the things he said in return, when Varian packed his things and left with nothing more than a slam of the door. How he spent day after day waiting for a call, a text, anything that might hint at there still being a chance at salvaging their relationship, but nothing ever came, and as many times as he typed out his own apology, his finger hovered over the call button, he never had the guts to actually go through with it, so the best thing to do, the only thing to do was to move on.

“Hi.” Varian answered, his voice soft, hesitant, shaking slightly from what had to be nerves. Hugo bit his tongue fighting back the urge to both comfort him and yell at him for the things he said. Varian spoke again before Hugo could calm himself enough to address the call rationally. “I, uh, I need your help.”

This time Hugo’s breath hitched. They had worked together once upon a time, Varian knew just as much about this kind of stuff as he did, if he was asking for his help it must be pretty serious. “What did you do?” Hugo asked, not caring that his annoyance slipped into his words. Varian always seemed to push the boundaries further than he should, it was only a matter of time before it bit him in the ass, and now Hugo had to help clean up the mess.

The silence on the other side stretched out longer than it should’ve, Hugo’s patience wearing thin. He was about two seconds from just hanging up the phone when Varian spoke again, something odd in his voice, was it fear? “It’s probably best if I show you.”

Hugo pinched the bridge of his nose, letting out a sigh. He didn’t really want to see Varian in person, but he had to if he wanted this case, if he wanted to get paid. “Okay.”

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

Two hours and a lot of cleaning later, not that there was a lot of cleaning to be done, it was mostly surface cleaning and trying to hide the peeling paint, the hole in the floor that he’d thrown a rug over, although there was nothing he could do about the terribly outdated appliances. He was just trying to make it look like his life hadn’t fallen apart the moment Varian walked out of it. A soft knock rang out through the apartment. Hugo mentally cursed himself for not changing out of his pajama bottoms and coffee stained tank top. Reluctantly he swung the door open, the creak of its hinges almost deafening, the cold air biting his exposed skin.

He felt sick, it was almost like he was looking at a ghost, ironic given his line of business, but Varian looked the same as the day he walked out. Those infuriatingly adorable front teeth sticking out from his slightly parted lips, the splash of freckles along his nose and cheeks, his dark hair sprinkled with white from the snow, that odd blue streak sticking out amongst the dark locks, and his eyes, his eyes, the same beautiful blue that he could easily get lost in, even though they had lost some of their sparkle, their wonder.

“Can I come in?” Varian asked, his voice sending shivers down Hugo’s spine. It was so different seeing him in person, hearing his voice loud and clear without the static of the phone line. The younger shaking slightly as he pulled his too big coat tighter around his frame, the patchwork on it making Hugo think it had to be a hand me down from Eugene.

“Yeah.” Hugo answered, his throat feeling unusually dry all of a sudden as he stepped out of the doorway to let Varian in. Hugo quickly shut the door before anymore warm air could escape, taking a moment to examine his ex a little more closely. He looked thinner than he already was when they were together, his ribs poking out slightly against the fabric of his shirt, he looked paler too, his dark hair only making it more evident, and then there were the dark circles underneath his eyes, it looked like he hadn’t gotten a good night's sleep in six months. The more bitter part of him was happy that Varian seemed to be doing as poorly as he was, but the more compassionate side wanted to see Varian thriving, doing better without him, to come back stronger.

“Nice place.” Varian said, startling Hugo out of his thoughts, his eyes narrowing at the comment. Although he wasn’t entirely sure if it was a jab or not, Varian’s tone even and neutral.

“Thanks.” Hugo replied flatly. His eyes momentarily locked with Varian’s, something flashing across Varian’s face before he shook his head, settling in the seat across from Hugo’s. Hugo frowned, taking his seat and pulling out a notebook to write on. “So, why does the great Varian need my help?”

“Can we please not do this?” Varian said with a roll of his eyes. He was hunched in on himself, defensive, nervous, spooked even, Hugo refused to believe it was solely from having to come to him.

But ever the asshole he was Hugo feigned innocence, curious as to how far he could push Varian’s buttons. How much did he actually need his help? “Do what?”

“Thi- never mind.” Varian sighed in defeat, slumping back in his chair, eyes closing for a brief second. He looked downright exhausted, guilt welling in Hugo’s chest at trying to push him. “You know the castle my dad was hired to renovate?”

“No shit. I’ve been trying to get in there for years.” Hugo said. He remembered Varian showing him the blueprints he sketched just a few weeks before their breakup, he was surprised they hadn’t started renovating yet. The castle was a major tourist attraction, and it was rumored to have supernatural activity through the roof. Hugo had never gotten to see it though, the castle had been closed to the public for the past five years, which just so happened to be when he moved to New Saporia. There had been a tragic accident at the castle, the public was told, someone died and it needed to be shut down. However it seemed that time was coming to an end. He knew the tourist industry had taken quite the hit when the castle shut down even though the main island was still open, the castle had been the main attraction.

“Well, today’s your lucky day. A few of the workers complained about some odd activity and my dad asked me if I could check it out and, well-“ Hugo raised an eyebrow at Varian’s unexpected pause, the younger rolling up the sleeve of his jacket and presenting his arm.

“Shit.” Hugo mumbled underneath his breath, his fingers ghosting over the angry red mark on Varian’s forearm, a crudely drawn Coronan sun etched into his skin by what he assumed to be a nail. It was strangely warm to the touch, almost as if he were sticking his fingers close to a flame. There was only one way he could’ve gotten that mark, only one spirit that was known for using the last symbol of the Coronan reign. “Varian, what did you do?”

“I summoned the Princess.”

Hugo’s breath caught in his throat, his heart beating rapidly in his chest. It was no wonder Varian needed his help, this was way out of his league, hell it was way out of Hugo’s league. There were books, a shit ton of books, on the history, the legends, of the last princess of Corona. On how her life ended unexpectedly and it led to the fall of Corona, and more importantly how she never seemed able to move on from the castle, left wandering the halls waiting for her loved ones to return for all eternity. Which is why he moved here in the first place, to catch a glimpse of the Princess, if he could prove her existence he’d finally be taken seriously for once. It was a dangerous task, the few people that had supposedly gone looking for her turned up dead, all sporting the mark that Varian now had on his arm. And apparently his stupid ass ex-boyfriend had decided it was a good fucking idea to do the same.

“What the fuck were you thinking?” Hugo ground out, his jaw clenched in anger, frustration, definitely not concern.

“I thought I could handle it. I thought I could help her.” Varian shot back, pulling his arm out of Hugo’s grasp.

“Help? You can’t help her! She’s a fucking ghost! This is why I always have to clean up your messes! This is why you can’t handle it!” Hugo shouted, slamming his hands down on the desk. He hadn’t even realized when he stood, but he was damn well aware of when Varian did. The chair he had been sitting in clattering to the floor, the shorter’s lips pursed, eyebrows furrowed, the small twitch of his nose that happened only when he was particularly worked up over something. They were nose to nose, so close he could feel the soft puffs of Varian’s breath. It was enough to send him spiraling, forcing him to take a step back, his expression softening when he realized Varian was more than scared, he was terrified.

“Fuck off! I was just- forget it. I don’t have to explain myself to you!” Varian huffed, turning on his heel, a determined look on his face as he marched towards the door.

“Varian, wait!” Hugo protested, grabbing Varian’s arm before he could get any further. He released him immediately, a burning sensation shooting up and down his arm as soon as he came into contact with Varian’s skin. Varian pulled away as well, tugging his sleeve down, his eyes wild in fear. Hugo looked down at his hand, the tips of his fingers an angry red as if he’d touched a hot stove, but the rest of his hand fine due to the gloves he wore. He frowned at it, it was an odd effect but they could figure it out. If the Princess really had been the mythical Sundrop he supposed it made sense for her mark to burn.

“Hugo, I’m-“ Varian started, stopping himself before he could say that word, the word they both had trouble saying, because if he said it now, here, why couldn’t he say it then? When he needed to hear it.

Hugo swallowed thickly, placing a fake smile on his face as he waved his hand through the air. “Don’t sweat it, Goggles.” Hugo froze, Varian stiffening at the nickname. He hadn’t meant to say it, it was a stupid slip of the tongue, but he’d said it nonetheless. It could’ve been worse he could’ve used an actual pet name. At least Goggles he could work with. Still, it didn’t help the already awkward situation, Varian seemed more on edge, his ears tinted pink from embarrassment, anger, annoyance? He wasn’t sure which, but none of them would do him any favors. And they needed to be able to somewhat work together to figure this out.

“This was a bad idea.” Varian said finally, an odd look crossing his face as he took a step back, looking ready to run. Hugo’s stomach flipped as he was hit with the overwhelming feeling of deja vu, it was so much like that night, so much like it. Every part of his mind was screaming at him not to let Varian go again, he couldn’t lose him again, he wouldn’t let him slip through his fingers, he couldn’t, he couldn’t.

Hugo took a deep breath, it wasn’t the same, it wasn’t like that night, this was strictly business. He had to push aside personal feelings and do his fucking job. “Varian.” The name felt odd on his tongue now, bitter almost, but Varian seemed to take more kindly to it than nicknames, relaxing just the smallest amount. “I’m- let me help you. This isn’t something you can do on your own, obviously.”

He expected an argument, something to hint at that attitude that he used to love so much, but Varian simply nodded, and maybe that was the scariest of all. “Okay. I- thank you.”

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

Varian’s car was exactly as he remembered it. The beat up leather seats peeling, the scratch on the left side from that particularly bad accident Varian had been in last year still had yet to be patched up, the car still taking three turns of the key to actually turn on, even the passenger's seat was adjusted just the way Hugo liked it, so if he had to guess Varian hadn’t had anyone in the passenger’s seat since their breakup, or at least anyone that cared to adjust it. Hugo scrolled through the radio stations, looking for something to fill the suffocatingly awkward silence, it was an hour drive and he really didn’t want it to be miserable. Hugo froze, an eyebrow raising as he realized all the preset stations were still to the ones he liked, and he knew for a fact Varian did not like them. They always had vastly different music tastes, usually sticking to instrumental music when they were working on projects together.

“I haven’t had time to change them.” Varian said, casting a sideways glance at Hugo, his shoulders tense.

“Naturally.” Hugo said, settling on a station and sitting back in his seat, eyes focused on the passing buildings.

“I’ve been busy.” Varian explained, his grip tight on the steering wheel.

“I believe you.” He didn’t.

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

“We’re here.” Came Varian’s soft voice, Hugo jolting awake.

“Fuck.” Hugo mumbled, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. A lot of good that coffee did. Hugo unbuckled his seatbelt, scrambling out of the car, Varian already out and unlocking the gate that surrounded the island.

“We’ll have to walk to the castle.” Varian said, pushing the gate open. Hugo nodded, grabbing his equipment from the backseat. “I don’t think you’ll need that.”

Hugo frowned at that, pulling his bag closer, the chill of the night air sending shivers down his spine, or perhaps it was something else. “I’d like to be on the safe side.”

“Suit yourself.” Varian shrugged, gesturing for Hugo to follow him to the other side of the gate, locking it behind them, a strange feeling washing over Hugo. For better or for worse things were going to be drastically different once they left.

The walk to the castle was just as quiet as the car ride, perhaps more so. There was something bone chilling about the empty streets at night, just the two of them, the echoing of their shoes on the cobblestone, and the white puffs of air in front of them. It stopped when they got to the castle. Usually spirits gave off a colder aura, but it was strangely warm the closer they got to the castle, Hugo even shedding his winter coat by the time they reached it.

“Why is it so fucking hot?” Hugo groaned, trailing behind Varian as he led them into the castle, their flashlights their only guide.

“You’ll see.” Varian said, his eyes darkening. He had opted to keep his jacket on, shivering even in the overbearing warmth of the castle. Hugo placed his jacket around Varian’s shoulders, averting his eyes as soon as it was on. Varian didn’t say anything but he could tell he was grateful by the way he pulled the jacket closer.

Something was very wrong and it was affecting Varian.

Hugo moved his flashlight around, looking at all the various paintings that lined the wall. He recognized a few from history classes, stopping briefly at the portrait of King Andrew the first ruler of New Saporia. His rule hadn’t lasted long, the man dying an untimely death somewhere in his first year of rule. There was something disturbing about the man, much of the history before the rise of New Saporia had been erased, no one but the man in the picture knowing the truth. He wondered what secrets he kept, what the truth actually was about this place. Why had Corona actually fallen?

“This way.” Varian called, Hugo tearing his eyes away from the portrait and following the sound of Varian’s voice. Varian was half sticking out of the wall, a large tapestry covering the hole in it.

“Of course there’s a secret passage.” Hugo huffed, quickly making his way inside the dark tunnel. Somehow it got hotter still. Hugo could feel the sweat starting to form on his brow, Varian shivering more intensely. He was really starting to get worried. As much as he’d claim that he hated the younger for breaking his heart he didn’t want anything bad to happen to him, he didn’t want him to die.

“This is it.” Varian said, stopping in the middle of a circular room, various items lining the walls as if they had been put down here for storage. One item in particular caught Hugo’s eye, another portrait but this time of the last Princess of Corona. She sat in a chair, her parents on either side, one side torn, the other faded to time, only the Princess really recognizable. Her smile was bright and kind, her green eyes welcoming, her long blonde hair done up in an intricate braid. There was nothing that screamed wrong about her, and yet she was the source of all their current problems.

“Hello!” A female voice called, the painting suddenly lighting up as a golden transparent figure came out of it. Hugo let out a yelp, dropping his flashlight as he scrambled back, not that he needed it anymore, the whole room lighting up at the Princess’s arrival. “Oh, I see you brought a friend!”

Her laugh filled the room, bouncing off the walls in a tone that was far too high to be human. In fact she looked almost nothing like her portrait. She glowed a golden yellow from her chest, the color fading the further it moved away from the center, her hair was loose, the strands moving through the air as if she was under water, her feet not even visible, not that she needed them she hovered in the air, dangerously close to Hugo’s face. He couldn’t help but stare into those soulless golden orbs she had for eyes, her smile stretching her face too wide, her lips too thin, just the edges of her sharp teeth visible in her smile. And she was warm, so terribly warm.

“He’s not a friend.” Varian said, sounding weak. Hugo would’ve turned to look at him but he was terrified to let the Princess out of his sight.

She frowned as she tapped her nails together, her too long nails, almost as long as her fingers themselves. In fact it didn’t even look like there was a separation from her fingers and her nails. “Oh, dear.” She said, a pout forming on her face as she gave Hugo a once over, clicking her tongue in distaste before she flew over him and to Varian. “Did he hurt you?”

She floated upside down, watching Varian with a sick sort of amusement in her eyes. The gold aura pulsing in time with the mark on Varian’s arm, which was now glowing. Hugo cursed under his breath, so that was how she was killing them. She was draining their energy until they dropped dead, for what he didn’t know, but he didn’t really care to find out. Hugo swung his bag around fully intending to pull out the ghost banishing plasma gun they had developed early on in their ghost hunting careers, but a small shake of Varian’s head stopped him. Hugo froze, listening for now. He could watch wait for a better moment to blast the bitch to hell.

The Princess’s head snapped towards Hugo, the rest of her body not even moving with it, a questioning look on her face before turning back to Varian. And then she laughed, it was a different laugh than before, while it previously had an almost playful tone to it, this one only spoke of ill intent, almost like nails on a chalkboard. Every inch of his body screamed to run to leave Varian to the fate he chose, but he stayed, this time he stayed.

“He did hurt you, didn’t he?” She asked, her nails dragging along Varian’s face, his complexion getting paler still. He looked like he might drop at any second, the only thing keeping him upright being her clawed hand and her golden locks cocooning him. He watched entranced as her eyes glowed brighter, Varian’s taking on the golden hue for just a second, a gasp escaping his lips, a tear rolling down his cheek. What the fuck was happening? What the fuck was she doing? “I won’t tolerate people hurting my friends.”

In an instant it felt all the warmth was sucked from the room, leaving nothing but the biting cold air as her hair started to change from golden to pitch black. She let go of Varian and he dropped like a stone, his knees hitting the cold floor with a thunk, blood dripping from the newly acquired cuts on his face from the Princess’s sharp nails.

“Varian!” Hugo called, running towards the younger, the mark on his arm glowing a bright blue, the middle of the Princess’s chest matching. Hugo threw caution to the wind as he pulled out the gun, fully intending to put himself between the ghost and boyfri- ex, he meant ex. He didn’t get the chance, the Princess intercepting him before he could reach Varian, her soulless black eyes staring into his terrified green ones.

“Wither and decay.” Her words rolled off her tongue, her hair filling the entirety of the room, blocking Varian from his line of sight, the air draining from the room. He couldn’t breathe, as much as he tried he couldn’t get any air into his lungs, the steady drip of blood coming from his nose, it felt like his insides were being torn apart and rearranged. And if this is what he was going through he couldn’t imagine what Varian was.

“You’re the one that’s hurting him, you bitch!” Hugo shouted, pointing the gun in her direction, his finger on the trigger. He didn’t pull it faster enough, the Princess surging forward her claws digging into the flesh of his arm, the gun clattering to the floor, Hugo slamming into the nearest wall. Ice spread through his veins, his chest throbbing with the effort to breathe, to get any intake of air into his lungs. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t fucking breathe. She smiled that wide toothy smile, all her sharp teeth on full display, her hand raised poised to strike his heart. Hugo squeezed his eyes shut as her hand soared through the air, he didn’t want to see it, he knew the pain would be unbearable, he just hoped it would be quick and Varian got out alive.

“Stop! Princess, please, stop this!” Varian shouted, and to Hugo’s surprise she had stopped, her claws just centimeters from his chest, but stopped nonetheless. She screamed, ear shattering, blood curdling, more shrill than anything he’d heard before.

“No!” She shouted, trying to move her claws closer, but she couldn’t, some invisible force holding her back. Her hair dropped to the ground, gravity affecting it in a way it hadn’t before, clearing the way enough for Hugo to see Varian standing behind her, his arm with the mark outstretched like hers was, the other holding it back, blood coating his hand as the mark freely bleed. Hugo gasped as he was suddenly able to breathe again, greedily gulping in air as the Princess put all her effort into fighting against Varian’s hold on her. “Let me go! Let me help you!”

“This isn’t helping! This isn’t his fault, I walked out, I broke his heart, I was selfish, I was stubborn, I refused to apologize. This is my fault, all my fault. So, please let him go. Please, Rapunzel.” Varian cried, tears mixing with blood as they rolled down his cheeks. Despite the situation Hugo’s heart soared, Varian still cared about him, enough to admit that he was wrong. It was almost as if a switch flipped, all the pent up rage and anger melting away into relief, happiness, at the fact that after this was over they had a chance to properly fix things.

“You called me Rapunzel.” The Princess said, her hair flickering back to gold for a second as she turned to face Varian.  

“Yeah, yeah I did.” Varian said, his voice rushed, desperate, his eyes darting between Hugo and the Princess. Hugo taking the opportunity to inch closer to the gun.

“So you remember?” Her voice was low, dangerous, deadly. Varian’s mouth opened slightly as he fumbled for words, only able to provide a shake of his head. “You remember how you tried to tear my family apart? How you tried to kill my mother? How you tried to kill me and anyone who stood in your way?! I apologized to you and still you threw my apology back in my face! Do you remember that?!”

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Varian stuttered, stepping back as the Princess moved closer, her hair swirling around her again. Hugo’s fingers brushed the gun, trying desperately to get a hold of it with his slick blood coated fingers.

“Of course you don’t! But I won’t let you hurt anyone else, you don’t deserve my friendship, you don’t deserve forgiveness! Why did I have to die when someone like you got to live?!” She screeched, lunging towards Varian just as Hugo grabbed the gun and fired a shot.

He was a second too late, an inch off his mark, her claws digging deep into Varian’s chest, a strangled gasp escaping from his lips. The Princess removed her bloody claws, as Hugo forced himself to move. And for the second time that night, Varian dropped. Hugo discarded the gun, skidding on his knees to catch Varian before he hit the ground, blood already bubbling from between his lips. Hugo shook as he cradled Varian close to his chest, tears blurring his vision.

“‘M sorry.” Varian forced out, his eyes glassy, unfocused, his hand clinging tightly onto Hugo’s as his body jerked in pain.

“No, no, no. You have nothing to be sorry about.” Hugo said, smoothing back Varian’s bangs. His own voice shook with tears. “I should’ve called, I should’ve gone after you, but I was scared you didn’t want me to, I was scared you didn’t love me anymore.”

“I wanted you to.” Varian said, looking like he wanted to say more but a bloody cough wracked his body. “I-I-“

“Don’t strain yourself. You need to save your strength. I’m going to get you out of here, we’re going to get out of here.” Hugo reassured, placing a shaky kiss to Varian’s knuckles. He glanced around the room looking for something to help, he wasn’t sure if he could carry Varian with his torn up arm, hell he wasn’t even sure if the Princess was still here.

“Hugh.” Hugo turned his attention back to Varian, the younger’s voice softer than he’d ever heard it before. There was something strangely peaceful in his eyes, a soft lopsided smile on his lips. “‘S okay. I love you too.”

And with one more jerk of his body Varian’s eyes went dull.

“Varian? Please, I need you. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I- I can’t lose you, please don’t leave me. I love you, I love you so much.” Hugo pulled Varian’s body closer, sobbing into his shoulder. “Come back, please, come back.”

“You really did love him. Why?” The Princess asked, her feet padding against the cold stone floor for a second before she dropped to sit across from Hugo.

“Why?! You- you want to know why?” Hugo snarled, pulling Varian’s body as far away from her as possible, nothing but hurt and sadness in his green eyes. “I loved him because no matter how shitty life got, no matter how shitty people were, he always saw the bright side of things. Sure he was stubborn as hell about it, but he never let people down. He was selfless, kind, he had such a wild imagination, and his dreams, damn they were impossible, but he made you feel like anything was possible.”

“Dreams?” She repeated, testing out the word as if it were something completely foreign, something long forgotten.

“Yeah, dreams. Haven’t you ever had a dream before? ‘Cause Varian he was mine.” Hugo said, wiping a few stray tears away, not caring about the blood he smeared on his face.

“I didn’t know. I guess I spent so long here, alone, I forgot all about my dreams. Thank you, for reminding me.” The Princess said, her face softening as she stood, her teeth becoming less pointy, her smile more natural, her claws shrinking into normal fingers, her gold eyes turning a bright green, she became so much more human.

“Where are you going?” Hugo asked, watching her as she smiled at the ceiling.

“To find my new dream. I’m sure he’s out there waiting for me.” Rapunzel said, her hands clasped over her heart, her golden hair separating from her choppy brown hair. “Tell Varian I’m sorry.”

Hugo’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion, the gold swirling around the two of them. “I don’t understand.”

Rapunzel simply smiled, a single tear rolling down her cheek as she started to fade into the golden light. “Flower gleam and glow.”

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

“Hugo? Hugh, are you okay?”

Hugo forced his eyes open, Varian’s blurry face coming into focus. “Hey, Sweet Cheeks.” Hugo drawled, a lopsided smile on his face.

Varian laughed, a few relieved tears rolling down his cheeks as he wrapped Hugo in a tight hug. “I was so worried about you.” He mumbled into the crook of Hugo’s neck.

“I was worried about you. You’re the one that died.” Hugo said, holding Varian as tightly as possible, for once not questioning the logic of how Varian was alive, just grateful that he was.

“What happened?” Varian asked.

“I don’t know, but I think she’s in a better place now.” Hugo answered, placing a soft kiss to the top of Varian’s head. “And I think we are too.”

“Yeah. Hugo?” Varian lifted his head, his eyes searching Hugo’s, a thoughtful look on his face. “Did you mean what you said? When you thought- when I-“

“Every damn word.” Hugo interrupted, smiling widely as he cupped Varian’s face, pressing their foreheads together.

“I’d like to give us another try.” Varian said, his smile matching Hugo’s.

“It’s going to be a hell of a lot of work. I’m not that easy to get along with.” Hugo said, stroking Varian’s cheeks, trying not to question how every injury he had acquired was now gone.

“I know.” Varian responded with a small laugh.

“Then me too.” Hugo closed the distance between them, capturing Varian’s lips in a passionate kiss. It wasn’t going to be an easy road to repair their relationship, but this time he was going to fight for it.

[jemelle]

these are ties that bind (7/8)

you can also find this story on ao3!

fandom: criminal minds

rating: t

(chapter) word count: 2,671

story masterlist / all writing

summary: emily and hotch must pretend to be in a long-term relationship in order to foster carrie. shenanigans and serious conversations alike ensue.

a/n: just the epilogue after this!

seven.

The state of Virginia gave them two day’s notice for the first home visit. Emily cleaned the house from top to bottom the day before, not wanting a single thing to seem out of place. Aaron caught her in the hallway, making sure all the picture frames were hung perfectly straight.

“Emily, we live here.” She stopped fiddling with the frame long enough to look at him. His expression was mostly one of concern, though she could see the occasional flash of amusement.

“I know.” She also knew what he was implying, but the Elizabeth Prentiss-like voice in her head was strong. He was going to have to say it outright.

Aaron, as always, delivered. “They’re not going to expect the house to be perfect.” But my mother always does, she didn’t say. Truthfully, she didn’t think she had to. 

He sat down on a stair, motioning her to join. Emily obliged, leaning absentmindedly towards him once she was settled.

“What’s important to them is that Carrie is healthy and happy. And trust me—“ he said, looking meaningfully in the direction of Carrie’s bedroom. “If she weren’t, she would tell us.”

And wasn’t that the truth. Carrie’s frankness was one of the things that Emily loved most about her. Emily had always been like that, except that only a few had ever cared about what she had to say.

“Okay?” Aaron asked, letting his hand drift over to rest lightly on hers. Emily took a deep breath, silencing the thought that they would be judged for anything less than perfection. The social worker wasn't her mother, and neither, for that matter, was Emily. She had to stop trying to live up to impossible standards.

“Okay.”

Jack came up to the two of them, then, asking for someone to admire his Play-doh creations. Aaron agreed, standing up and glancing at Emily over his shoulder as he was led away, Jack’s small hand clasped in his. Emily sat on the steps for a moment longer, caught in the memories of every time her mother had deemed her lacking. When she rose, it was with the determination that it would never happen again.

(If she caught Aaron meticulously fluffing the couch cushions some hours later, she didn’t say anything.)

~

The social worker’s name was Meghan. She was young, mid-twenties, with honey colored hair and a periwinkle scarf that matched her winter coat. She sat in Emily’s favorite armchair, clutching a mug of tea. Emily had laid out cookies as well, though nobody but Jack had touched them. She might have let go of perfection, but that didn’t erase the need to be polite.

“Can I show you around?” Aaron asked, breaking the silence. Emily knew the whole visit was a formality unless Meghan found something damning, but she couldn’t stop herself from worrying. The smallest thing could give them away, and the state would not be as forgiving as Carrie had been.

“I'll do it,” she found herself saying. She flashed her winningest smile as both Aaron and Meghan turned to look at her. “You stay here and look after Jack and Carrie, honey.”

Aaron’s eyes crinkled slightly at the pet name, which was practically a full-on laugh from him. She smiled openly at him, standing up from the couch and motioning Meghan out of the room with her.

Meghan paused on the stairs, looking at the photos Emily and Aaron had hung there one Sunday. Emily was suddenly painfully aware of the lack of family photos. There were plenty of Jack, of course, and Carrie had allowed some of the photos from her scrapbook to be framed, showing her progression from giggly child to sullen teenager. There was even a photo of Haley holding a baby Jack, but none of the four of them together.

As much as she wanted to offer some excuse about busy schedules and photo-shyness, Emily forced herself to stay quiet. It was the kind of detail a non-profiler wouldn’t necessarily notice, and bringing attention to it might even raise suspicion.

Indeed, Meghan simply resumed climbing the stairs, allowing Emily to take the lead as they toured the second floor. 

“When did you and Aaron meet?” she asked as they exited Carrie's bedroom.

“Aaron and I work together… well, he’s my boss technically,” Emily amended, watching Meghan’s face carefully for any signs that this would count as improper behavior. Seeing none, she went on. We didn’t get along at first, but once we sorted that out the rest was history.”

In reality, Emily wouldn’t describe their problems as history. The two of them were still working on their relationship every day, but that only made it stronger.

As Emily led her around the house, Meghan kept up a steady stream of questions, mostly about Carrie and how she was adjusting. Emily responded as succinctly as possible, though she couldn’t keep the emotion from her voice when describing how they truly had become a family. Eventually, they ended up back in the living room, Emily’s heart melting at the sight of Carrie and Aaron playing with Jack on the floor.

Meghan sat back down in the armchair, refusing Aaron’s offer to bring her another cup of tea. They chatted for a little while longer, Emily suppressing a smile every time Aaron’s answers to Meghan’s questions lined up exactly with hers. Who would have imagined that Emily Prentiss and Aaron Hotchner would one day have a bond like this? Not Emily, that was for sure.

For once, Emily felt secure. They would pass this test, not because they had cheated, but because they really were the best place for Carrie to be. She let herself tune out of the conversation, mind wandering until Meghan leaned slightly out of the chair and said something that snapped her back to reality.

“I hate to ask, but where are your wedding rings?” Shit. Perhaps she was more observant than Emily had given her credit for.

Aaron stepped in before Emily, mind racing, could come up with an explanation. “We’re both federal agents who deal with highly dangerous criminals. Wedding rings would make us an immediate target.” Like any good lie, it was grounded in the truth. Though he had worn a ring when he and Haley were married, it was quite another thing to be married to another agent. A canny unsub who figured out their relationship could put the whole team in jeopardy.

Meghan nodded sympathetically, though Emily wasn’t sure she was totally convinced. “That must be difficult, having to hide your relationship.” 

Emily found her voice: “We have Jack and Carrie and each other, and that’s what really matters.”

It was terribly sappy, but also the truth. 

If she didn’t believe them, Meghan was smart enough not to say anything, simply nodding before moving to the next topic. “I just need to speak to Carrie alone in the hallway, and then we’ll be finished!” she chirped, and the two of them exited the room, Carrie holding the door on the way out. 

The moment they were gone, Emily turned to Aaron. No wedding pictures and no rings. If one slipup was dangerous, two seemed to guarantee failure. Still, Meghan was looking for abuse, not marital fraud. They could still pull this off. They just needed to take the final step.

In an almost laughably perfect demonstration of their connection, Aaron, without prompting, voiced her thoughts exactly: “We need to get married.”

~

The wedding day dawned bright and cold, a light dusting of snow covering the ground. For once, Emily was the first one awake, though she was content to lie in bed, Aaron’s solid warmth next to her. When he began to stir, opening and closing his bleary eyes, she slipped out from the under the covers, heading for the kitchen.

Carrie was already there, eating cereal and reading the Sunday comics. Emily bustled around the kitchen, making conversation and coffee and trying to ignore the small knot in her stomach. Getting married was just a formality, a legal recognition of what they already had.

Coffee ready, Emily poured mugs for her and Aaron and sat down at the kitchen table across from Carrie, taking slow sips while she waited for it to cool. Eventually, Aaron and Jack joined them, and the four of them sat together, enjoying the silence before splitting up to get dressed.

Emily had already picked out her outfit, pulling an unworn sky-blue dress from deep within her closet. She thought wearing white might have been a little too on the nose with regards to the sanctity of their marriage. Aaron, in contrast, was wearing a tuxedo that Emily strongly suspected was the same one he had worn to his first wedding. 

Jack and Carrie were dressed in complementary outfits they had bought on a recent trip to the mall, the navy blue polka dots of Jack’s socks and bow tie matching the pattern of Carrie’s dress. 

“Do a spin?” Emily asked when they had reassembled in the living room, and Carrie obliged, her skirt flaring out as she laughed.

JJ met them at the courthouse doors, passing a wrapped present over to Emily before she could protest. Though they didn’t technically need a witness, JJ had been invited nonetheless. She was still the only one who knew the true circumstances of their situation, though Emily supposed it was only a matter of time before someone else (probably Penelope) figured it out. 

Even if the team had known, Emily wasn’t sure she would have wanted to invite the entire team. They were family, more than her own had ever been, but it would inevitably transform the wedding into an event of epic proportions. Neither her nor Aaron were much for parties; the current plan was to be in and out as fast as possible, hopefully early enough to have lunch somewhere in Arlington.

When their names were called, they entered a small courtroom. JJ and Carrie and Jack sat down on the first row of benches as Emily and Aaron approached the magistrate. Emily reached out and wrapped her hand lightly around Aaron’s. His answering squeeze grounded her, a reminder of why they were there. 

The magistrate began speaking. “Ladies... and gentleman,” he said, inclining his head towards Jack, “we are gathered here today to witness the joining of Emily Elizabeth Prentiss and Aaron Arthur Hotchner in the bonds of matrimony.”

Arthur as in ‘Arthur Sullivan of Gilbert and Sullivan’, he had admitted when she’d asked while filling out the wedding forms. Haley and I picked it out when I changed my name after college.

Elizabeth as in ‘I carry the weight of my mother with me wherever I go,’ she had responded, only half joking.

“Marriage is a matter that should not be entered into lightly,” the magistrate continued, looking at each of them in turn. “I trust the two of you have thought about what marriage means to you, and that you stand now, ready to offer a life-long commitment based on love, trust and respect.” 

Emily glanced back. Jack was focused on swinging his legs against the bench, but Carrie met her gaze and smiled softly. Emily returned the smile. She knew for the first time in her life what commitment really meant to her, the promise to be there for the good days and the bad.

“I would ask you to please join hands, but I can see that you’ve jumped the gun a little with that one.” He chuckled slightly at his own joke, pausing briefly before beginning again. “Do you, Emily, take Aaron to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness or in health, to love and to cherish, until death do you part?”

As he spoke, Emily saw first Hotch and then Aaron in her mind’s eye. She saw the man who rarely cracked a smile and the one who would do anything for Jack and Carrie. The one who would never admit to weakness, and the one she had found passed out on the bathroom floor. They seemed to have nothing in common, and yet they both cared so deeply, so selflessly, even to the point where it began to hurt them. Even when she was in the wrong, he cared, expecting nothing in return except a promise to try and do better next time.

When Emily said “I do,” it was a vow to Aaron Hotchner, the sum of all his parts and nothing less.  

The magistrate repeated the vows, looking expectantly at Aaron when he finished. Emily had a brief vision of Aaron refusing to say the words, deciding that he was finished, that enough was enough, but she pushed it away almost as soon as it appeared. He had earned her trust, proven time and time again that he would be there.

“I do,” Aaron said, turning to look at her with that signature Hotch intensity, the sternness all but replaced with warmth.

“The rings?” 

Aaron produced the velvet box from his jacket pocket, opening it to retrieve the rings. They were a matching set, plain silver bands that they had picked out together. No rings in the field, of course, but Emily had wanted one nonetheless, something to remind her of their partnership even while separated. Aaron had agreed, and though Emily had watched him carefully for signs that he was simply conceding to make her happy, she had found none. 

The bands were inscribed, the one sentimentality they had settled for. As well as being a fitting quote, it also came from one of Emily’s favorite movies, one she had watched over and over. Almost cloyingly sentimental, it still never failed to move her deeply to hear the words come out of Robin Williams’s mouth: “But if there's love, dear... those are the ties that bind, and you'll have a family in your heart, forever.”

a family in your heart, forever. That was the etching on the rings, and those were words Emily hoped would always ring true.

Aaron slipped the ring on her finger. It was cool against her skin, the feel of it making her unexpectedly emotional. Blinking away tears, Emily slid his ring on in turn, looking down briefly at his hands before returning her gaze to his face.

“With this ring I marry you and pledge my love, honor and devotion,” the magistrate prompted. They repeated the words dutifully, knowing that all those things had been promised long before this ceremony.

“By the authority vested in me by the laws of the State of Virginia, I pronounce you husband and wife. You may now kiss the bride.” Once upon a time, Emily would have recoiled, but she let Aaron pull her close, knowing he wouldn’t do anything she wasn’t comfortable with. Sure enough, he simply pressed a chaste kiss to her cheek.

“You did it,” he whispered. Emily leaned back so she could see his face fully, his smile filling her with warmth.

“We did it,” she said. This time, she didn’t try to hide her tears.

 JJ snapped a picture of them on the courthouse steps. Emily held Jack in her arms, letting him pull at her dress, while Aaron stood next to her, arm around a beaming Carrie. The snow began to fall again as they stood there, a picture-perfect wonder.

Years later, Emily was trying to find a file that she was sure had been on JJ’s desk when her elbow caught one of the framed family photos. When she propped it back up, Emily realized it was the wedding photo, tucked in between a picture of Henry on his first day of school and a photo the whole team had taken on Halloween. She was touched by the fact that JJ thought it had been a moment worth remembering in and of itself; Emily had always loved the photo because she knew what it had taken to get there.

taglist: @robins-gf @catgrantknows

[mor-beck-more-problems]

The Best Little Pit-Stops in Texas || Morgan & Deirdre

TIMING: Current

PARTIES: @deathduty & @mor-beck-more-problems

SUMMARY: Morgan shows Deirdre her old haunts in Houston. You really can’t go home again, but sometimes you leave good behind.

CONTAINS: Houston vibes, softness

When the El Real Mexican Restaurant built itself out of an old two screen movie house, they’d kept the neon marquis intact, equal parts nostalgia and kitsch. In college, when Morgan was wringing out a day’s worth of food from $10 tacos al carbon and endless chips, she had enjoyed making a point of admiring the puns and jokes posted under the neon lights: We’re jalapeno these spicy tostadas! We’re nacho kidding, $5 margs when you order new loaded nachos! When Morgan brought Deirdre there on their second night in town, it read: In Queso You Didn’t Know: Closing Dec 26. We’ll cilantro you again someday. Guess you really couldn’t go home again. “And here I thought it was packed because it’s a local institution,” she mumbled.

They parked across the street between a Half Price Books and a Jack in the Box. Houston was still twilight blue at six o’clock, and she could see the shift changes at the local eateries: aprons going up, textbooks and phones coming out. In the other parking lots in sight and on the eating patios of other restaurants, clubbers strolling for a bite to coat their stomachs before hitting the streets and rainbow flags dangling limp and content from shop windows. Morgan slid into Deirdre’s side as they picked their way along the crawling traffic. She had envied those young people so much, almost in tears with how badly she wanted to be a part of them. She would never know what it was like to be that young and alive and free. But with the woman she loved pressed close, she felt a piece of what she had been aching for. It wasn’t their stuff, or even their numbers, though she did miss knowing that she had enough people who cared about her to fill a room. It was something else, something like the love they grew between each other, but not quite. “I would bring girls out here and get them to buy me entrees I could take home to refrigerate. Even if nothing came of it besides a kiss or an hour fumbling around, it was nice to have a hot dinner I wouldn’t have to cook later. And we were pretty safe out here. Girls didn’t get the same kinds of looks as guys, and this part of town is designated as the gayborhood. As long as you weren’t walking alone and looking obvious, it was fine for me. I’d cover the cheap drinks, obviously. Sometimes with magic counterfeit money but--” she put her finger to her lips. “And if things were going really bad, I could pretend to be really riveted by whatever they were screening up on the wall.” Morgan pointed, in case the projection was getting lost in the organized chaos of evening rush. “Besides having the best tacos for your buck, it was a good spot my dad liked to take me to. Not when it was like this, but when the place first opened and the lunch special had everything even cheaper and we could pass by all the fancy shopping centers on the way home. We can too, it’s really close to the hotel, actually. This time of year everything is decked out in the most incredible lights. It’s like something out of a movie. Anyways--” she smiled thin, not sure what she was trying to get at with all this local geography discourse, “It’s only fair I bring my actual best girl here, while it still exists.” She did feel a little hollow, knowing this would be the only time they were going to be here. None of her childhood homes were still standing, and the apartments she had lived in weren’t worth driving to as far as she could reckon. What else was left of the place she’d been bound to for most of her life but these transient commercial spaces? Morgan frowned as they were seated and the chip bowl was put in front of them. Despite not feeling the November warmth, she had been too preoccupied with her family drama to brood over her life being over completely. Here or anywhere else. What was she planning on doing here besides playing tour guide to her old shadows? Morgan reached for Deirdre’s hand, trying to get a read for how she felt about being here. “How are you doing…?” She asked.

Deirdre’s eyes raked over a labyrinth of people. She didn’t like crowds, usually; noisy, chaotic things. It was a sea to get lost in, a force to feel small under. But there was one tiny delight in that. She could watch the humans flutter about their lives; she would know them, their fear, and happiness and anger, and they would never notice her. All her life, she had been stuck as the observer. Though it was not a role she chose, it was one that suited her. For all the charm that rolled naturally off her tongue, there sat her own fears and insecurities, inscrutable to the fellow watcher. Things changed when she met Morgan, and she wasn’t so much a shell floating through the lives around her as she was someone living for once. “I’ve never really been to a Mexican restaurant before,” she explained on the walk there, “I’ve never really been anywhere, I suppose.” And she hoped that in the quiet of her voice, Morgan would realize just how much she’d given her. It was in that way, that despite the loss that rattled in her chest, she could summon warm smiles and enthusiastic bouts of affection. Her life began with Morgan, after all. She would not let her girlfriend’s end with old, bitter memories. For every reminder of them she could find, she held Morgan closer, kissed her longer, gripped her tighter.

The restaurant’s closing date, announced brightly with a joke in neon lights, wasn’t something she could love away.

She pressed herself firmly to Morgan. It was one part imminent closing, another part restaurant. They never visited any after Morgan’s death; Morgan couldn’t taste anything and Deirdre never ate much to begin with. And though days of stealing fries off Morgan’s plate were replaced with longer walks and frequent picnics, Deirdre wasn’t so oblivious that she didn’t know what this meant for them. What it meant for Morgan now, entering a restaurant she loved, and couldn’t enjoy fully before it would be gone forever. Though Deirdre was caught up in the spectacle of the crowd and the interior, her mind wouldn’t drift from what must have been plaguing her love. The lights above were warm-tinted, strung delicately across the old ceiling, just one scream away from littering the heads of everyone below. “Well, now I’m offended I’m not the only girl you bought drinks for with counterfeit money,” Deirdre feigned a huff, chuckling as her eyes followed where Morgan was pointing. Sure enough there was a movie playing, one she couldn’t recognize or hear, but she was mesmerized by the moving shapes beyond her anyways. Action she didn’t know the plot to, logic she had yet to unravel. There was something odd about stumbling into a movie halfway, played as a backdrop, that she couldn’t put her finger on. By the time they got their table, she still hadn’t quite figured it out. Morgan cut across the table, hand against hers, and Deirdre snapped from her daze. “How am I…” She breathed, incredulous. Then she softened, turning her hand so their fingers could intertwine. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that…?” She smiled gently. “This place is special to you, uneventful dates for free dinner aside...or perhaps, even with those. A place you came to with your father. And it’s…” Deirdre glanced around, then back at the entrance. “I could buy it back, from whoever they sold it to. I could make them keep it open. I’ve tried it before…” She turned back to Morgan. “That old antique store in my town. The place I saved up my allowance for, the place between all the pubs and houses? I tried to---well, it doesn’t matter now, I suppose. It closed. But I could save this place, if you wanted that.”

Morgan heard the quiet notes in Deirdre’s voice, a shy admittance she didn’t know how to read. Would it be better if they had some perfunctory appetizers and left? Was she overwhelmed, or unhappy? Morgan pressed Deirdre’s knuckles to her lips and scooted her chair close so they met nearly side to side in the corner. “I’m...a lot of things, but mostly fine.” She hadn’t been thinking about what it would be like to be here when she called ahead for a table, only that it was already by the Menil Art museum and the Rothko Chapel she’d shown Deirdre earlier and that whenever she thought of the Montrose area, all cramped and flourishing and safe, she always tasted the char of perfectly seasoned chicken fajita meat and the sour tang of tequila on her tongue. From here. It had seemed essential, and she’d never had a bad time there, even when she and her dad guiltily brought Ruth along for their early lunches a few times. Why wouldn’t she make room for something that had always been reliable and good? But now they were here, and Deirdre didn’t like crowds, and Morgan didn’t get anything out of the tortilla chips except crunchiness and pointy ends poking the roof of her mouth. The inside was just like she’d remembered. Rainbows of margaritas, salsas, and November ‘winter wear’ spilled all through the open eating space. The usual cowboy movies and Bonanza specials had been traded in for Christmas-y movies, even though it wasn’t even Thanksgiving yet. Morgan recognized Jimmy Stuart in The Shop Around the Corner at once. He was one of Ruth’s favorites, and this was one of the few films they had been able to agree on. It should have felt like she was falling back into old, comforting steps.

But all the workers would be out of work after Christmas. The red and green paper garland would be thrown away or sold. The building would become something else. Everyone eating here would funnel into other places, some to boring franchises, some to mom and pop places still surviving under the radar. And all the energy Morgan had shed in this place on dates and lunches and lonely comfort outings would be cut loose and aimless, a ghost of their own. And Morgan couldn’t taste anything or smell the full potency of the steaming skillets passing by or even tell how much hotter it was inside. She didn’t know who she felt more sorry for, the El Real or herself.

“You didn’t answer my question, babe,” she said gently. “If this wasn’t such a great idea in practice, there’s plenty of other places we can go and ways we can spend our evening. Or if I can do something-- I’m just checking in, and I don’t want all of this to be about me.” If not out of kindness, then for this: the more she lingered on herself, the more she felt like a ghost herself.

She softened at Deridre’s half-told story, releasing what little determined resolve she’d been holding onto. “You don’t have to do that,” she murmured. “That would be...I mean what would we even do with the place, except give it back to the old owners, I guess…” Which was a thought that did make her happy for a moment, enough that she couldn’t hide it. “I could never ask that, and it’s not like we’d get to enjoy it often…” But that wasn’t the point. The point was to let Morgan get to keep something, some place that had mattered to her. Even the schools she’d gone to were no longer standing as they once were. Was keeping it something she wanted? “Tell me more about that place of yours. I want to know, even if I can never see it. Especially because I can’t see it.”

“I’m worried about you, my love.” Deirdre replied easily, sighing with relief as Morgan scooted next to her. As soon as she could, she took Morgan’s hands in hers, firm and steady. “We haven’t really been to any restaurants since…” As her sentence trailed away, she offered a small smile, her brows furrowed with worry. “Maybe I’m just thinking about it too much. Tell me if I am, but I know how much you’ve lost in your life, and how hard things are now and I just...worry, I guess.” And it was frustrating, that they had to be seated in two separate chairs, half-blocked by a table. Al’s had booths, at least. And pie. “I’m okay. More than okay, really. I get to spend time with you, in your home, and all the places you love. I get to fill and color my understanding of you, and that’s magical to me. Knowing you always is. I’ll be okay, no matter where we go or what we do. But if I can do something for you, Morgan….” Her eyes drifted to the movie again; the action had shifted, new actors showed their faces. She knew less than she did before, and the strange, unnamed feeling crept back into her stomach. She slumped and turned back. “This doesn’t have to be about you, if you don’t want that. You know I like you…” Deirdre grinend and nudged her. “And you know I like hearing about you, but if you just want to eat some tacos and have fun, we can do that.”

In a show of good faith, Deirdre reached across and plucked a chip from the table. And then she ate it, slowly, as if it might bite her. There were a lot of things she had never tried before, and she was embarrassed that tortilla chips existed somewhere on that list. Not drenched in nacho toppings, at least. Though nachos themselves were something she only just tried this year. “These don’t taste like potato crisps, I suppose.” She swallowed, trying to dust the salt from her fingers. “We could give it to someone who wants to run it,” she offered, debating on another chip. “We could talk to the owners, talk to other people. And it isn’t really about visiting it…” Deirdre turned her attention away from the so-called “endless” chips, which seemed like they really did have an end to her, several, in fact, and looked to her girlfriend. She knew that she understood, and so she didn’t elaborate on metaphors and symbolism. “If you want that,” she whispered, “change is inevitable, I know. But sometimes you can keep something just as you knew it, just as you loved it. There’s nothing wrong with wanting that.” The story of her little store, a world of its own mysticism, was one of less hope. “It’s not interesting,” she began, “I-I told you about the old books I bought, haven’t I? The ones my mother burned. I got them from there. It was...well, I wasn’t allowed out, much or at all. But this store wasn’t so far from the farm, and yet not too close either. And the few times I had errands, I had just enough time to spare to duck inside and get lost among the trinkets. The owner never complained about seeing me there, or letting me stay.” She knew some kids who were yelled at for accused stealing, more that turned up their noses at the dust and smell. But the old man never paid her much attention, and that, she figured, was a kindness. “I never visited it much when I started highschool, but I passed it one day and noticed a sign and...I-I thought it was money problems. I stole some cash from the family--they never noticed it was gone anyway--and left it inside for the owner.” Deirdre shook her head, “he just used it to retire. Now there’s a bookstore there. It’s not a...thrilling story. Or one I like.”

Morgan bowed her head. She couldn’t bring herself to lie to Deirdre, and she wasn’t ready to say, no, I’m sad, because restaurants make me sad now, because there’s nothing for me in them and I feel awful goading you into ordering enough to make the effort of going out feel worth it. But Deirdre already knew. Maybe it was just common sense or maybe it was some deeper sense she had discovered from spending so much time with her, but Morgan was certain even hiding her face wasn’t going to fool Deirdre for a second. “Since I stopped being able to taste anything I used to, yeah,” she mumbled. Was she spoiling the evening? Was there a version of them that was already laughing and cuddling and making the most out of the tortilla chips? Watching Deirdre try one for herself almost made Morgan cry. She was trying, even with what she was carrying from the past month and a half, she was trying for her. Couldn’t Morgan try a little more too?

“You might...be right,” she admitted. “I wasn’t really thinking practically when I got the idea. And I’ve missed this place ever since I left so maybe I wasn’t even really thinking at all with my new normal brain. I’ve wanted you to see it for yourself way before I… I could’ve been more thoughtful, more careful about this.” A waiter passed by balancing three cast iron fajita skillets on his tray and Morgan imagined her mother’s disappointed face behind her, shaking her head. You know better.

She kept her fingers locked in Deirdre’s as she told her story. She didn’t speak much about her teenage years, Morgan only knew the story of the boy and his dog, her first kill, and that she took her vows at fifteen and only after was she allowed to go back to school. It seemed to Morgan like those years didn’t really exist, but had been corded and knotted around steps and demands and expectations, and Deirdre herself was tucked away somewhere, too numb and hurt to come out. But of course it wasn’t that simple. Of course she had summoned the will to be kind for someone else as long as it was a secret. She had tried, even then. “Oh, my love,” Morgan whispered. “It was still kind and worthwhile, you know that, right? You know--”

Their waiter appeared, holding his pad awkwardly, clearly torn between interrupting a moment and having to do his job. Morgan flashed him a perfunctory smile and ordered a white chocolate pina colada, the shrimp street tacos, and 2 tamales a la carte, rattling off some alterations that would make it safer for Deirdre. Then she asked for the check to be brought as soon as he had the time, even if that happened to be before the food was ready.

When he was gone, Morgan slid her arms around her girlfriend. “I’m coming up with a plan and I want to know what you think,” she said into her shoulder. “You tell me what else is bothering you, because I know there’s something. And we talk it out or we put it aside, and you tell me what you think about how everything tastes, and we don’t even have to finish if you don’t want to. And then…” She hesitated. “I know nothing is ever going to be the same for either of us, we can’t get those places or those feelings back all the way. But there is a place I had that was like yours. One that we can actually share equally. It’s a little more of a drive, but I want to show you, and be a part of it with you,  if you’re still up to it. But you tell me what’s making you sad or worry besides me first. I’m just gonna wonder anyway. How does that sound?”

“No, it’s not like that--” Deirdre groaned in annoyance at the space between them. Swiftly, she  pushed their chairs together, wooden bottoms clashing and finger pinched between them. She hissed in pain, drawing her purple fingertip to her mouth as her other hand settled for resting on Morgan’s thigh. “It’s not like that,” Deirdre repeated. “I don’t care about practical thinking or--Fates, Morgan, I was just worried about you. Of course I want to visit all the places you love, even if we can’t enjoy them together just the same as we would have some months ago. I’ve just been worried about you.” She swallowed thickly, fraught with concern. Was she thinking about it too much? Maybe it hadn’t even crossed Morgan’s mind until she brought it up. But, no, she knew her girlfriend well enough, she hoped. And how could she ignore small frowns or wilted sentences? Wasn’t this whole town just one big reminder of everything Morgan had lost? Was she okay with playing the tour guide, or did she muster the energy to walk just because Deirdre wanted to see everything? Or was it her mother; the meeting still stuck in her mind? Deirdre swallowed, and remembered that she didn’t need to be the silent thinker anymore, tasked with finding her own answers, she could ask. But the story of the stupid antique store lodged in her throat, her questions jammed under. “Probably not. He didn’t care as much about that store as I did, and he didn’t recognize me when I asked. It was a pointless endeavor and I spent months sick with guilt and worry about the money.” It would have been better if she left it, and slowly, the thought occurred to her about her questions too. Maybe Morgan didn’t want to talk about it or---

How long had that server been standing there? Deirdre shifted in her seat, she hadn’t even looked at the menu. It was by miracle, or the power of how well they knew each other, that Morgan ordered for her. Better, because she both didn’t know how to pronounce anything and didn’t know what she would be mispronouncing in the first place. As she’d learned recently, it wasn’t just acceptable to ask for the best thing on the menu, accompanied by their most expensive drinks. As he left, her eyes fell back on to the movie--in a new place, someone was crying now. Deirdre reached across and popped another chip into her mouth, shocked again by the crunch. She considered Morgan’s plan as she tried to chew respectably. “If you’d like me there, I’d love to go,” she turned to her girlfriend with a small smile, “but it’s not like that. Not for me. It doesn’t matter that I can’t steal the food off your plate while you’re gone to the toilet, or that we don’t do breakfast at Al’s anymore. That doesn’t---I miss it, in a way. But not like that. Not like you’re saying it. It’s not gone for me, it’s not lost. Time spent with you, my love, is always the most precious thing to me. It’s never so much mattered where or what we were doing, as long as you were happy, and I’m with you.” Her attention shifted back to the damned movie, and she frowned as she searched for the words to explain it better. “It’s worse for you, because you know what’s missing. Like a...movie met halfway. There’s dialogue and story and characters and I only know half of it. I’ll only ever know half of it. And the people…” She glanced around the crowd, caught in their own worlds, as humans so often were. “...don’t really care about the movie on the wall. Which is a shame, I bet they’d really get it if they watched it all the way through.” Deirdre sighed, slumped against her chair. “There is something on my mind, but it’s about you. And we don’t have to talk about you if that’s not what you want; if it’s too hard. We don’t have to do that. And it’s not like you’re making me sad, nothing like that at all. It’s just how badly I wish I could...fix it all for you.” She sniffled, suddenly aware that her eyes had begun to water and leak and she turned away to blink it gone. “Sometimes, I love you so much I cry about it, I guess.” Her laugh was shaky, and her humor weak. “Sorry, I’ll just, uh---”

“No, it was. It was still kind. It says nothing about you that it didn’t take, and everything about him, the part that’s wonderful is that you tried…” Morgan whispered, her words coming all out in a rush, slipping in before the subject closed. She fixated on Deirdre, letting everything else fade. The world released itself from her so fast, like it was always waiting to. She followed her gaze and listened to the crunch of more tortilla chips (so addictive, no matter what mood you were in), completely absorbed. Deirdre wasn’t far off and Morgan didn’t know if she was pained or relieved that the wrinkle knot on her forehead was because of her and not some cursed memory or dreadful epiphany. She was sniffing and blinking back tears of her own by the time Deirdre was doing the same. She untangled herself so she could wipe her cheek and the corner of her eyes.

“We don’t have to pretend. It’s okay,” she said softly. “And you’re right. It’s...I used to be in the movie. I was part of the story and everything was loud and close and intense, or, at least that’s how I understood it was supposed to be. Because I didn’t let myself act like anything more than a second string player in my own life because I was so cured and afraid. But even second string people get to have coffee and look at their special someone for a coat because they’re cold, and I’m just...not a part of that anymore. And that’s been true for the last—almost seven months now? But I was getting used to that in White Crest and I at least have people I’m a part of. Well, a couple, maybe—” Her mouth pulled into a grimace as she thought of Remmy and Nell. She pushed them away, this was hard enough already. “But everyone I used to have here died. The places I lived in are gone. Hell, my first elementary school is Costco now! I barely had an existence here, and yet that sad hopeful life seems so far and so much better than whatever it is I’m doing here right now. But it’s not just that. That would be easy. I could just tell you I made a stupid, terrible mistake and I want to go home. But I can’t, because I really do want you to have this. I don’t have a lot of anything, but what I do have feels special, because it’s mine, and I love you, of course I want to give you whatever I can offer. And you have been so deprived and shut away from the world, and look at you now, in the fourth largest city in America!”

The waiter returned with the drink and the food, and flourished out the check. Morgan caught it before it met the table and slid in her card, urging the young man to wrap things up.

“And you’re finally having tacos! Real Tex-mex tacos! And Christmas tamales, I don’t even know why they’re a December tradition, but they are! People look forward to getting bags of these like they look forward to those red Starbucks cups. You’re not just having everyday Houston nonsense, but something seasonal and special too. And I want you to be a part of it and I want to make it good. I didn’t really get to find out where all the good things are in the world when I was alive, but I know these places, I know when my lonely, miserable life was just a little better for having something hot and nice, and being surrounded by tables so crowded or just the right kind of sparse that I could trick myself into feeling like I belonged somewhere for an hour. I just—” She cut herself off and waited for her body to still, for her voice to loosen up again. She wouldn’t pretend to be okay when she wasn’t, but she wouldn’t make them a point of interest in a busy restaurant either. She waited, tears coming loose from her eyes. She waited some more, taking Deirdre’s hand into her lap. At last, with all the control she could muster, she confessed, “I don’t know how to explain the way I want to share all of my good here with you. I want you to be in the movie too, and I want to know where it’s the same and where it’s different, so it all becomes new. I feel like you understand what it’s like to be stuck on the outside, in the audience, a beat behind everyone else. And I want to show you something more and better than that. We deserve that, especially with how much shit is following us back home, if there’s anything left in me that can work my will into the world, I will show you that we can have more than watching from the fringes. And I need to be able to work my will somehow. I was born a witch and I need to know what I want counts for something and what I want is that. But I can’t share something I’m not a part of. And as horrible and selfish as it is, I hate feeling left behind. It shouldn’t even be possible, to be left behind in your own hometown, in a place you love. But I am dead to at least half of my tiny slice of world here, and that’s just what’s still standing. And I hate it. I’m finally brave enough to embrace everything there was around me and now it’s...it’s something I can only get through a screen and I hate it.” She paused again. Waited again. “But there might be something we can save, and share, and someone who would appreciate it. And when you were telling me that story, I just thought, if I can’t be alive or make this as good as I wanted, maybe I can at least save something with you. Something I can almost be a part of.” Her voice lilted up, watery with hope. “I like the idea that doing something outrageous and kind is something that we could do together.” She sniffled and smiled through her tears. “I don’t mean to be such a baby. We can talk about what’s on your mind, whatever you want to tell me or ask me. But you um, you should tell me if you like how anything tastes.”

Deirdre’s brows knit together with concern, brown eyes glistening at the mercy of new tears. She listened, and she nodded, and she opened and shut her mouth like a fish out of water as she tried to find the magic words to send the pain away. How was it, that for as powerful as a declaration of love was, the words ‘I love you’ could be so meager? Love was all she had, and yet, not enough. Her food had arrived, and their check taken care of, but Deirdre’s attention did not stir. She held Morgan’s hand tight, pressed the back of her knuckles to her cheek to take care of any tears, and paid no mind to her own crying. She shifted her fingers and cupped Morgan’s cheek; suddenly, the bustling world around them dissolved in her senses. She didn’t say she loved her, she didn’t want to interrupt, but she spoke it clearly with her body—from the warm gaze of her eyes right down to her legs, twitching to entangle with Morgan. “Houston is the fourth largest city in America?” She said eventually, lamely. And embarrassed by her inability to find the magic words, the restaurant rushed back into feeling and she turned to her food. She needed two hands to eat, just another way this restaurant foiled her; first the chairs, now the fork and knife. She took up the respective utensils in her hands and started cutting into the yellow rectangle on her plate. “I love you,” she looked back at Morgan as she swayed her food, “so much. A lot. The most. More than I know how to say, more than I can fathom. More than you can. Just—“ She sighed with helplessness, giving up on the food. “So, so, much. It means everything to me that you’re here, that you try, that you want to.” She dropped down the fork and knife, and wrapped her arms around Morgan, where they much preferred to be. “I wish I could do more for you.” Deirdre buried her face into her neck. “I wish I could go back in time and pluck you away from all that terribleness. I wish I could fix it now, with just the right words. I wish I could do more than love you. And I know that means a lot already, I know because your love means the world to me, but I just wish there was more I could do for you. I could feel it, when you were showing me around. It was like only a part of you was there, and the other was some place too far to reach—a place I can’t go. And all that time I just kept wishing I could do more, and none of that is your fault, and I promise I don’t blame you in the slightest, but by Death, I just wish so badly.” She sniffled. “You gave me life, Morgan.” And lifted her head up to meet her girlfriend’s eyes. “A real one. A good one. One I’m proud of, one I look forward to, one I can tell people about. And you’re right, I’m not in the audience anymore, I haven’t been for some time now—long before we ever landed here, and even right now. And I owe it all to you, my love. The world is so alive to me, for once. And it means something to me now. And that’s you, you did that.” She breathed with happiness, fluttering a wet laugh. “Is it bad that I almost wish it was half-dead to me too? I don’t want to be any place you’re not, even the world of feeling.”

Loss was inevitable. Deirdre knew Morgan’s life didn’t have to be ruled by it, but it would be stained. An immortal, she would lose everything all over again, all the time. And Deirdre was pained to think about it, as if her own heart had been thrust out. “I’m sorry,” she swallowed, “about everything. I love you. I want everything to be better for you, and this feeling isn’t new. When you were alive and cursed I wanted it so badly I...Fates, even if you were normal, whatever that means, I’d worry about splinters. Curse all the wood, it attacks my girlfriend, doesn’t it know she hurts?” She laughed shakily, pressing her forehead to Morgan’s. “You make everything good, my love. Always. I know your life has been unkind to you, and I don’t know how to make it all better, but we’ll figure it out together. One day at a time. Whatever we can do today that’s good, we can give whatever you want. Do whatever. I love you.” And so she kissed her, fierce and desperate and stopped only when she remembered where they were. Chased by another quick kiss, she turned back to her food and resumed her sawing.

“I know I say it all the time, but just being with you is perfect for me; more than, even. I’m so thankful that you want to share this with me, and I’m so excited for it, but just in case you don’t feel like it...or if you’ve felt like you’re doing a bad job or something...I just wanted to make sure you know the truth: I love you. Any moment with you is good and perfect, and everything I could want and more. All of this has been amazing, every second. That’s that. And, actually, if you won’t think me too dramatic to say it, there was something on my mind—“ Deirdre frowned, interrupting herself. “Why is this so hard to cut?” Bite finally freed, she stabbed it with her fork, astonished at the strangely tough exterior. “I suppose I should taste this first.”

Morgan melted into all of Deirdre’s words and touches so readily she had to stop herself from mewling out loud and climbing into her girlfriend’s lap so they could be as close as she wanted. “I don’t want you to miss out on anything, I want to feel things with you and be...alive. Somehow, just a little more. I don’t want to be where you’re not either, I just don’t know how,” she whispered, clinging to Deirdre as much as she could. If she squeezed enough, she could get the right sense of Deirdre’s back and shoulders, she could press back enough to feel her forehead. “But I am so happy that you are here, and your world is alive. I can’t tell you how much I’ve been wanting that for you, my love. It doesn’t feel like it’s as much as you deserve, I want you to have more, I am so happy that you have this.” She had just hoped that they would be able to inhabit that world together. When Deirdre kissed her she returned with even more fire and longing. She could at least pull and suck and pinch hard enough to be brought a little closer to life. “I love you too, with all I am,” she whispered, feeling lightheaded as they parted.

She was so entranced by Deirdre’s face, the gentleness in her eyes, the devotion in her smile. There was no doubting her sincerity, not after the year they’d had and the honesty they nurtured between each other, but it still seemed like a strange violation of universal order that this love in all its tender, articulate wonder could be hers. So entranced, in fact, that she didn’t realize that Deirdre was about to put the tamale into her mouth, corn husk and all, until she asked. “Oh!” Morgan startled herself out of her crying. “Babe, no, let me help.” She took the fork and prised off the shredded husk and popped the piece into her mouth. The texture was soft and familiar, even hot, still, despite how long they’d spent talking and crying and gathering interested stares. Morgan unwrapped the rest of the tamale from the husk and laid it out. “The husk is just part of how it’s cooked and served. You don’t eat it, babe. Although you could re-wrap the  tamale in it and inch it down as you eat, but that’s more trouble than what it’s worth.” She leaned over and kissed the corner of Deirdre’s mouth, right where she smiled. “But when you try the shrimp tacos, I’m gonna have to insist that you eat them with your hands the way the good mother of earth intended.”

She watched as Morgan unwrapped the food, staring at the revealed insides. That would make more sense, she figured, and chewed the piece Morgan offered her. The flavour was new, but the texture was nice, pie-like, even. “I’ve never had food that required stripping first. It seems like a—“ Deirdre was going to call it a hassle. But then she chewed. Wordlessly, she cut another bite off and brought it to her mouth. She chewed, and swallowed, and went in for another again. “This is good,” she breathed. She hadn’t been expecting bad food, but she hadn’t really been hoping for much at all. She swallowed another bite, eventually putting down her utensils—as if they got in the way of her explanation. “No, this is really good. I—“ Her eyes drifted to the tacos; Morgan had made those a few times, and so she was no real stranger to them. But she had always tried to eat them with a fork and knife. It was how her family had raised her to eat; her mother didn’t like using her hands to eat, she said it was barbarian, like the humans. There was some superiority woven into using a knife to cut into toast, instead of doing what was logical and grabbing it with her hands. But that was her mother, of course. And she wasn’t here. “Right. With my hands. Like how you’re supposed to eat it.” But she’d only just gotten used to eating pizza with her hands. Deirdre contorted her hand awkwardly above the plate, alternating between various claw shapes as she tried to guess at what would be the best way to pick one up without spilling everything inside. “The only thing I’ve really eaten with my hands is fruit, and then only because I plucked it off branches, and it’d be odd to bring a fork outside. But meals, real meals, were always a fork thing. My family enjoys their etiquette.” Which, though she had explained to Morgan once before in less words, she felt like it might absolve her from embarrassment at her display of confusion at the taco. “Which was weird—“ she gave up and turned to the drink instead. “Because all other fae I knew were a lot more wild in their dining habits; they lived in the forest. It’s like my family wanted to be better than everyone, even their own community.” The piña colada was good, naturally. And bolstered by its sweet flavour, she finally picked up a taco and bit into it. “This is also good.” By the time she finished it, her smile had doubled in size.

“What I was trying to say…” Deirdre began, eager to get the words out before the food distracted her again, and it was very distracting food. “...was that I don’t want to be something else for you to lose. I know I can’t help it in some regards but...as long as you want me, Morgan. I imagine I can do that. Even if that’s more than 500 years, I could find a way to stay. If you wanted me to.” And no longer able to ignore the call of tacos and tamales, she dug back into the food.

Morgan dabbed at her eyes as Deirdre went on, occasionally shooting a wave or a thumbs up at a spectator from the surrounding tables. The attention always made them self conscious, and by the time Deirdre had her first proper bite of a taco, the world had rendered them invisible once again.

She itched to take her banshee into her arms and kiss her greasy fingers and carry her off to bed, but the surprising joy in Deirdre’s smile stopped her. Deirdre’s smile was always a little mischievous, whether it was tender or impish, there was a little curve in the corner that hid just how wide it might stretch, like a delicious secret. Even when Morgan made her laugh by surprise, that curve stayed coiled up. But now Deirdre’s smile spread like it had an appetite of its own. Looking at Deirdre enjoy her plate was like seeing her face new. “I guess this means we’ll have to make our own table rules and split the difference,” Morgan said. “I wouldn’t mind picking fruit with you sometime. You must know all the best spots back home.”

Morgan couldn’t help but reach for her banshee as she gave her reassurances. Even more than five hundred years. Even as long as Morgan might last on the face of the earth, Deirdre would wait until they might be together. When Deirdre paused to wipe her mouth between bites, Morgan took her face between her hands instead and kissed her, firm and steady as a promise. “I won’t hold you to that, if only because there’s a chance I’ll never stop wanting you, however many years I last. But thank you.” Kissed her again. “Thank you, my love. Now come with me. I know just the place I want to save with you.”

The bookstore was an hour away from midtown. Morgan cruised through the eight lane freeway with ease, slipping off and taking the quieter back roads when she sensed traffic getting heavy without distress or comment. The night sky blazed orange with light. Even when they’d left the construction zones and the sentinel lines of streetlights on 290, every grocery store, shopping center, and movie-plex had its own cluster of lamps blasting away the shadows. The commercial strip Morgan took them to was small, with no lights save for the ones inside and two flickering orange poles from the city. The names of the shops were all painted on the windows and awning, personal and to the point: Kelly’s Tea Room, Macey Family Fitness, Acre Wood Hunting Supply. The one Morgan parked in front of was named Twice Told Tales.

Like any good second hand bookstore, the charm of Twice Told Tales was in the mess. Wooden shelves, clumsily constructed, bowed and slumped against the walls, their over-stuffed shelves dribbling paperbacks out the middle. They looked like sleeping old men whose shirts had come loose. Toys from the children’s section at the back corner littered the floor: plush dolls and generic blocks from the dollar store, mostly, with the occasional donated Disney princess or superhero action figure, fists raised, ready to light up as soon as you stepped on them. There was an old fashioned bell rigged to the door, chiming happily as they entered. Morgan laced her fingers through Deirdre’s hand and started weaving through the shelves on her old route, fiction first, then fantasy and science fiction, then romance, then the children’s corner, and back up through science, math, and then art and art history. There was no one else shopping and the woman who ran the store was nowhere to be seen, probably doing office work in the back, but Morgan kept her voice hushed all the same, as if she might shatter the place if she spoke too loudly.

“See, my family had this idea to conserve the energy we put out into the world as a family as much as possible. I thought it was because they valued being intentional with your actions, a lot, but it was probably just a way of trying to minimize the curse. Like, how much can you suffer if you don’t have that much going for or against you, right? The answer turned out to be ‘still a lot’, but they tried. And, anyway, the part that affected me was no buying books new. Or many books in the first place. Fortunately inter-library loans are a thing so I wasn’t completely deprived or anything, but getting to have a book I got to love and keep for as long as possible was a…stars, ‘treat’ doesn’t cover how excited I was. Yes, it was a special occasion, only a few times in the year. Birthday and Yule, and maybe one more time if I could prove and argue that I had been really, really good and had earned it and swore up and down not to let it become too much of a distraction.” Morgan sighed, her eyes reflecting the streetlamps like tiny stars full of wishes. “One of the books was Anne of Green Gables, I remember it because the copy was leather bound and there was this incredible, full color illustration of Avonlea inside and it was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen, and I’d bring the book to bed with me just to look at the picture and imagine being there. Literally falling asleep with my head on the cover. And I got that one, and any other books from that period of time here and… Frankie!” A young looking tabby, about Moira’s size, leapt down from its roost on a shelf and presented itself for them. Meowing so calmly, it seemed to be offering customer service. “It’s not the same Frankie I knew, obviously, but the lady here just keeps adopting tabby’s and naming them the same.” She looked up at Deirdre, giving her hand a squeeze. Was she really here with her? Did she feel how special this place was? Did she like it?

“I’d like it if you never stopped wanting me, I hope you won’t. Because there’s a good chance I won’t stop wanting you either.” Deirdre smiled softly. The food was done, delicious to the late bite, and she welcomed the Houston night air into her lungs. She didn’t know where they were going, she never really did. But it wouldn’t have mattered if she knew the place by heart or in casual passing, her excitement bubbled and overflowed like milk in a pot. Her version of simmering down was trying to read road signs as they blurred past. Morgan drove like she was going home, even in White Crest there was still some double-checking of street names, trying to decide if it was a left or right turn. She peeled off the giant freeway into an exit Deirdre hadn’t even noticed, though she had occupied herself with softly commenting every odd observation—some witty, some nonsensical, some common sense. She wasn’t so much talking to Morgan as she was letting her brain run loose. Beyond them, her pot continued to boil.

For all that she imagined of the place, their destination was better. Their destination was always better. Her eyes danced over every book spine, every dusty shelf. She almost wanted to tell Morgan to walk slower, she needed to commit it all to memory first. She needed to think about where Morgan stood before, what books she touched, and if they were still here for her to run her fingers over. In her awe and excitement, she hadn’t even remembered the name of the establishment. They should go back out, and come back in, let her revel in the chime of the door. How many times did it jingle for Morgan? Could she know? The store was cramped, every inch filled with something. She thought of the massive freeway, and tried to figure how many of these stores could fit in there. Then she listened. She looked to Morgan, and then back around the store. Between the shelves, did a younger Morgan skip with excitement through the sections? Did she look up, brows furrowed in concentration as she tried to pick out the perfect book—the best book. If she only got just one, it had to be good, didn’t it? But how could she pick, faced with options that literally fell off the shelves for her. Deirdre imagined Ruth in the corner, impatiently tapping her foot. Or maybe it was Hector, as excited as his daughter. Did he pick titles off the shelves that he thought his daughter would like? Did he marvel at how something so simple, so inconsequential, sparked such innocent excitement in her? Did he feel guilty? Deirdre turned back to Morgan, just quick enough to catch the expression on her face. Guilt, she decided. He could have made a world where she made that face all the time. Deirdre felt herself wanting to herself, she couldn’t imagine anyone feeling any different. What monsters those creatures must be, that would ever deny Morgan this.

Frankie interrupted them, which was all the better for Deirdre, who knew her eyes were watering. She laughed shakily, turning her head to hide a sniffle. “You’re so happy,” she sniffled again, trying to cover this one up with a cough as she met Morgan’s eyes. “It’s the most beautiful sight.” She greeted it with a kiss, as if thanking her lips for smiling. And another kiss to her temple; for her eyes, which glittered with brilliance. And then another, to her lips again, simply because she enjoyed kissing Morgan and wanted one more. She reached out slowly to the orange cat with a soft smile, letting it sniff her fingers. “I like Frankie,” she proclaimed, the cat hadn’t done anything in particular to earn such praise, but Deirdre had long since forgotten that she wasn’t supposed to like animals. Whatever happened in White Crest, whoever she was there, whatever she was under the thumb of rules, it was as if that woman’s skin had been lifted off her shoulders. She felt free, happy. “So I have Anne of the Green Gables to thank for the fact you’ve read the same old books I have.” Though Morgan had read more, obviously. “How did you pick books out?” She asked finally, pulling one off the shelf for herself, knowing she’d never be able to stuff that thing back in. She flipped through its slightly worn pages; someone had dog-eared a passage, and Deirdre stopped to look at it, wanting to know what someone thought was special there. “There’s so many books,” she continued, “how did you pick? Was it the prettiest cover? Did you read a couple of pages tucked away in the corner?” Show me, she was asking, in much more words. She wanted to know. She wanted the place where Morgan was happy, and the only problem she had was picking a good book, she wanted that world to be the one they knew best—like a full-color illustration of Avonlea. She wanted the gentle strokes, the soft greens, the wide fields and the old-fashioned house that always looked warm and cozy. She wanted to say they could have that. “My mother always thought second-hand books were tacky. Like the humans didn’t even care enough to keep them in the first place. The books I got from that antique store were all previously owned, just like everything else in there. That, itself, was a story. When it was replaced with a bookstore, even if I spent my time there, I never wanted to take a book home.” For various reasons, some that included an angry mother, hateful of personal possessions, others that could be summed up by the dog-eared corner that she pointed to. “People do care, don’t they?”

Morgan wiped Deirdre’s cheek and took her hands once again. “I am unspeakably, dangerously happy,” she said. Laughter bounced on the edge of her lips as she kissed her back. “It’s this place. And maybe a little bit you. Or a lot a bit you.” Frankie padded over to them and brushed against Deirdre’s legs, giving them a polite meow of inquiry again. Morgan scratched the cat’s ears and let it get a sniff of her, beaming as it purred and asked the same as Deirdre. “Frankie likes you too, I think. There’s something about bookstore cats, they just know how to develop an excellent sense of character. Maybe it’s the place.This is a room where things that are lost or unwanted go to belong together and find new homes. It feels nice because anything can have a space here, even people, just by turning up. I think people who don’t get that are just missing out. People do care, yeah…” Her voice trailed off in a whisper, awed and thrilled by the wonder bubbling up in Deirdre. The emptiness and the drab fluorescent lights and the cheap peeling tile under their feet transformed themselves just by being reflected in her face.

Morgan came back to herself with a sheepish grin. “If I can tear you away from your new best friend Frankie, I’d like to show you how I picked out my books….” She reeled her tight into her side and laid their hands against one another, hers on top, guiding it toward the spines. She walked them back to the front of her path, in generic fiction and literature, and hopped onto her toes to steal another kiss. “So, it may be shallow, but I did, to a certain extent, look at their covers. But I also--don’t laugh--tried to feel them. Their textures, their softness, but also their energy. I’d look, and I’d brush my fingers along the spines, up and down and zig-zagging to make sure I got the ones turned sideways too.” She guided Deirdre’s hand as she spoke, teaching her fingertips how to glide over the different shapes and sizes. “I knew I had something promising when my eyes and my hands aligned. Like when you look at someone you love, when you spark inside. If the energy is right, it feels like that, but quiet, it’s just a possibility of that, there’s something inside that wants to become a part of you, but you don’t know if you want it back yet. So then, and only then, I’d pick it out and read a few pages.” She looked at the shelves around them and the steady path of Deirdre’s fingers, and back to her love again. “What feels good to you, Deirdre?”

Deirdre put her book down, she felt guilty for not slipping it back in its place for a moment before her worries—big and small—were swept away by Morgan. “Oh, my love,” she laughed, kneeling down to give Frankie better attention. She was rewarded with the cat weaving between her legs. “You said that about the shelter cats too.” She glanced up, beaming. “And those strays that followed us around that one day. And, just about any animal we come across together.” It occurred to her then that Morgan had never really been speaking to the wisdom of the animals, but of Deirdre’s character. She flushed, and continued to dote on the taby. “But maybe it’s this place. I like this place.” It smelt questionable, like dust and books and something kind of like mold—maybe a byproduct of the Houston humidity. It looked like it’d been robbed; upturned, downturned, spread out like a sloppy storage room. The walls, shelves and floor were as worn as the books. And yet, charming. It wasn’t carelessness that led this store to its current state. It was worn by touch and love, claimed by time, plagued by too many treasures to fit between its shelves. It did need a little saving, a little fixing up, then it’d be just right.

“Mm, I don’t know. Frankie and I are getting along so great.” Her lips curled with mischief, easily awash with eagerness at Morgan’s offer. Even she couldn’t keep up her teasing under the promise to be shown—led—into Morgan’s world. “Okay,” she brushed herself off and stood up. “Show me.” Deirdre smiled and listened. “I’m no witch though. The only energies I feel are death, and I’m not so sure I want to pick a haunted book…” Now, one with a bone stuck between the pages would be nice, but human bookstores usually didn’t offer that. Though she didn’t think it would work for her, she followed Morgan’s steps. She imagined herself as the little girl, beyond excited to have something of her own. What would she pick? Her fingers brushed over the spines of dozens of books; soft, smooth, wrinkled. Some with indented titles, carved into their covers. Others with the embossed kind, some with glitter. All of them wanted attention from her, not unlike the threads of death she could feel at a cemetery. The glory of stories was that she could tug on any one, and be led into something new and exciting—a different world. Books and visions had that in common. So, she waited, she ran her fingers carefully along more books, considering each one. What feels good to you, Deirdre? She paused, fingers pressed to the spine of a humble book. Its title was not long or flashy, not indented or embossed. The book was not thick, though not so small it got lost sandwiched between larger company. What stood out to her most was where her fingers had landed: they obscured the rest of the title, leaving only a red M. There was only ever one thing that felt good to her, every time, without fail. The book was unassuming, but Deirdre grinned as though she found treasure. She pulled the book from its place, flipping it over in her hands so she could look at the cover. From there, she knew she’d chosen the right one. “She looks like you,” Deirdre commented, tilting the book to show Morgan the little girl on the cover. She had brown hair, a blue dress and stack of books, sitting as though she knew more about the world than she ought to—possessed of great, Morgan-esque quality. “Matilda,” Deirdre read. “This one feels good.” Good felt like Morgan, after all.

Morgan squeezed Deirdre as she picked out her treasure and melted with delight just looking at it. “She looks like you,” Morgan said. “Straight hair, dark eyes, and so rapturous and intense in her expression. It’s kinda like your face right now.” She brushed her fingers over Deirdre’s features as she spoke, caressing each corresponding piece of evidence to her argument. Confident she’d made her point, she jumped up to kiss her girlfriend’s cheek again. “Matilda had to hide her books from her parents too, you know. They didn’t appreciate how kind or thoughtful she was, so she--” Morgan caught herself, biting her lip. “If you don’t know the story yet, I won’t steal the satisfaction of the ending from you. But it’s good. My copy was a lot more heavily used than this one, practically falling apart, but it was one of my favorite books growing up. I actually committed myself to learning levitation spells because I wanted to be just like her. And you know--” she brushed her hands over the book cover. “I can feel the good vibes from this book too, even like this. Come on.” She rushed them to the counter and rang the service bell, fighting back delighted giggles. “Hello! Mrs. Benson!”

The woman who came out the back was decidedly not Mrs. Benson. She was around Morgan’s age, with a suburban mom bob and clear frame glasses. “Can I help you?”

“O-oh.” Morgan’s smile fractured and she thanked the universe for her lack of blood flow. “I just um...we’re ready to check out, if that’s okay. I’m sorry I yelled I just, I used to come here a lot. I didn’t know Mrs. Benson super well, and I guess she had to retire eventually, but she was a really nice old lady and I was just hoping to say hi or something.”

The woman’s face broke into a laugh. “Morgan the Gorgon! I’m sorry, that’s so inappropriate of me, but it’s you, right? It’s me, Shelley! We had Chem together!”

While Morgan remembered that name being chanted at her as she was chased down the stairwell and pelted with cans and paper balls, she didn’t remember Shelley, exactly. Was she and academic rival? Had she been someone Morgan had tried to impress with tarot readings and custom crystals? The high school girls blurred together, and the innocence of that time mingled with the pain, like indigestion flaring up in your throat after swallowing a cheesecake. “Hey!” She said. “How--wild! Seeing you here! What made you pick up the torch for this old place?”

“Well, my mother, bless her heart, doesn’t have a head for business, but the last thing Memaw wanted was for the only used book place out here to get bought up or disappear. Lucky for me, I managed to learn a thing or two from her before she passed.”

“I’m so sorry for your loss,” Morgan murmured.

Shelley scoffed. “She’s smiling down from heaven at us. I mean look at us. Look at you! That’s a high fallutent city girl if I ever saw one. Both of you!” She reached out to take Deirdre’s hand and shake it, reintroducing herself as if the last minute didn’t count on account of not being personable enough. “Memaw would be so pleased,” she went on. “You were her favorite of all the regular kids.” Shelley nodded towards an exposed wooden post filled with polaroids and printed pictures of smiling children through the ages. Only two had managed to get frames on them, one that was clearly a younger shelley, posing with her grandmother, and one that made Morgan gasp: unmistakably her. She clutched Deirdre’s arm tight. The girl in the picture was so cringingly embarrassed, not just at the occasion (The Best Reader of the Year award, which amounted to a cheaply printed certificate from Office Max and a free book) but at her own happiness. The promise of a free book, a gift that had been earned in the structure of rules and work had filled her with so much excitement. It was as certain as a spell. Better, even, because she hadn’t even needed to believe, she just had to max out her library card reading more than the other kids and report everything to Mrs. Benson. It didn’t occur to her until she saw the apathetic faces in the gathering that this wasn’t a very enviable achievement. But by then it was too late, and however much she tried to stay aloof as the other eleven and twelve year olds, she failed, miserably. “That’s me,” she whispered. “Deirdre, it’s me.”

“Simpler times, huh?”

Morgan nodded, her attention still stuck on the picture. The attempts to make a slightly oversize shirt look cool, the sweatshirt tied around her waist, the permanent stains on her thrift store jeans. It was all so wrong and brought her so much trouble then, but from here, she just looked like a child. A girl still growing, twisting herself crooked trying to get something right.

“Would you like this gift wrapped or anything, ladies?” Shelley asked.

“But that sounds like you,” Deirdre argued with a soft whine. She eyed the cover again, unable to see anyone but Morgan, with her books, underappreciated for all the intelligence and kindness that existed within her. But Deirdre’s argument leapt out of her in a yelp before it had formed, swept away by Morgan. She laughed her surprise, placing the book on the counter. Though she’d been reading more with Morgan around, she had never felt excited to read a book she picked out since she was a child. She ran her fingers along the fraying edges and thumbed the pages. In a different world, she might have been embarrassed to be reading a children’s book. In this one, she was thrilled. Deirdre bounced on her heels, grinning as she waited.

Her smile gave way to one more tense, more confused. No one told her what a Memaw was, but she managed to put it together herself. She shook Shelley’s hand, momentarily considering snapping a finger for her revisiting of a clearly tasteless nickname, and introduced herself quickly. “Deirdre,” she managed, before Shelley was off to the next thing. Her eyes followed Morgan’s, and Deirdre nearly forgave her for mentioning the gorgon thing. “It’s you,” she whispered back, reaching up to pluck the picture off its nail. Matilda was fine in her cartoon form with her long hair and book pile, but this was the real Morgan. Deirdre’s grin grew back. “Can we get a copy of this?” She asked, interrupting Shelley. “Or keep it, I suppose.” She turned to Morgan, asking silently for her opinion. “It’d be nice if Morgan could be up on that wall forever, reigning over all the other children. But original photos have a particular charm.” She continued to smile at her girlfriend, held close to her. “What do you think?” She whispered, exhibiting great restraint in simply squeezing her arm instead of kissing her like she wanted. There was another question, about how much exactly Shelley should know about their relationship, or if Deirdre should make it a point that she came out of this interaction thinking they were just really good friends. “Don’t worry about gift wrapping it,” she finally addressed Shelley’s question, leaning across the counter. “I did want to ask something about, hm, donations.” Her eyes trailed over the peeling tile, the chipping paint, the books overflowing into disorganized stacks. Then it settled on the emptiness; book stores were not the most popular visit during the night, but she could almost reason it wasn’t the most popular visit full stop. “For the store.” She offered Shelley a bright, winning smile. “If Morgan wanted to put something forth, in her name. She could do that, couldn’t she?”

“If you want it it’s yours!” Shelley said. “All the kids in those pictures are old like us or moved away. Not much to appreciate. And I’m running out of room for the new kids…” Shelley went on longer, explaining who these children were and how often they came and what her ideas were for posting their pictures, but Morgan didn’t hear. She picked up the framed photograph, fingers brushing over her frizzy hair and her sloppy oversize shirt tucked into her stiff jeans. She didn’t wear grunge well, but at least the 90’s were kind to her Goodwill wardrobe.

“Thank you, Shelley,” she said. She tucked herself close to Deirdre, leaning her head on her arm as she broached the subject of donations. “We would,” Morgan tacked on. “It could be anonymous, of course, but what my girlfriend is trying to say is that we would like to give you something toward keeping this place open for another generation or two, and maybe even a facelift, or a more advantageous location?”

Shelley’s eyes widened at the mention of girlfriend, but Morgan forgave her when she didn’t comment. Shelley gestured to a donation jar, admirably half full but not exactly promising for the long term. “We’re always accepting donations at Twice Told Tales. Check is fine, if you, uh, ladies are feeling extra generous.”

“Perfect!” Morgan said. “But what would it take, do you think? Would sixty thousand help you guys out? Or a hundred thousand?”

Shelley blanched, trying to figure out if Morgan was being serious. “Are you...Well, it would certainly go a long way, a very...if mean, if you’re serious, then...I could check the books and give you a more comprehensive estimate, but I couldn’t possibly…”

“We’ll start with the book--” Morgan fished seven dollars out of her wallet and handed it to the woman. “Keep the change. And I’ll set you up with a hundred thousand now, and you can email me about what’s best for the store.” Morgan happily wrote out a check and stuffed it into the jar. “And, well,” Morgan looked hesitantly at Deirdre, trying to ask for her approval in advance, “If you don’t mind, babe, I’d like a plaque or something, with both our names on it. You can call us donors or patrons, I don’t really care, but I want people who come in here to think of Deirdre too when they think of this place.” She stuffed the check in the jar. “Can we make it a deal? A little extra funding for the store in exchange for its continued upkeep and care, along with a little recognition?” Her eyes flitted to Deirdre again, adding emphasis on the deal. They could make this different. They could make this one good thing stick, and for once, a legacy didn’t have to be something shrouded in pain and suffering.

“We?” Deirdre blinked, eyeing Morgan. She didn’t correct her, or argue, but in her silence she asked if that was okay, if Morgan was sure. This place was special to her, and it would be kept alive through her kindness. Deirdre thought herself an accessory, at best. But when Morgan didn’t correct herself, Deirdre stood up straighter and nodded. “We would,” she repeated, and pressed a kiss to Morgan’s temple as she so desired. If Shelley had any real issue with it, she certainly couldn’t after their hefty donations—and maybe that was a justice of its own sort. “Think of…” her voice caught, and she looked at Morgan for the second time with confusion. “A-a plaque would be nice,” she swallowed. Nervous not because she disagreed, but because the generosity of it, the thoughtfulness, had made her heart warm in a way that always startled her. “If that’s good to you, Shelley.” She smiled, “it sounds perfect to me.” All she had on her was a few hundred she planned on paying for the food with, and so she simply stuffed that into the jar, careful to avoid the cheque. Her gaze fluttered to the different places their plaque could lay; on the wall where the picture once was, by the door, in the corner where people would wander to read. They would know this place was special, if they didn’t get that already. They would know two women cared deeply about it. This place was good already, it didn’t need their money for that. But it would be better because of them, and it wouldn’t face financial struggle in a way so many other businesses fell victim. They could leave good in their wake. “You know, Shelley the smelly—” Deirdre grinned; and maybe some petty revenge too. “Did they ever call you that in highschool? Terrible name, really. Anyways, I know you have a lot of great ideas for this store. So why don’t you figure out how much they all cost and we’d be glad to finance them. The next time you visit your grandmother, will you put some extra flowers in for us too? Tell her we said thank you? I know she’s already been able to rest easy with her store in such good hands.” Her gaze raked one last time over the tiles, the walls, the shelves and the messy books; whenever they returned, there was no telling what this place would look like. Her heart throbbed for the scenery to be lost, but not all loss was bad. Some of it was merely change—like the tides of life and death.

Deirdre pulled closer to Morgan. They could save something, they could make it good, and she kissed her girlfriend, free. She repeated, “do we have a deal, Shelley?”

Shelly nodded, stammering out her agreement. She was so stunned, the dig at her name didn’t even phase her. “Yes, that’s, sounds great. Deal!” She didn’t have any sense for the magic threads wrapping around her words or the delight that burned through Morgan as the agreement was sealed.

“You’re a good woman, Shelley,” Morgan said. “Thank you for letting us help. You take care now, alright?” Her voice drawled softly as she picked up the old parlance of her childhood. She spared Shelley one more smile, more than a little satisfied with her own magnanimousness. She left on Deirdre’s arm, keeping her cool sense of superiority until they got back to the car. When they were safely inside, Morgan took Deirdre’s face in her hands and kissed her hard. “I love you. Thank you for doing that with me. I know it’s just one little store, but it’s part of my home now it’s a little bit mine and a little bit yours too. Something good is ours.  Not the worst way to end the night, right? How do you feel…?”

“Thank you for sharing it with me,” Deirdre breathed as they parted. “You didn’t have to, but I’m so glad you did. It’s a special place, it really is.” She reached for Morgan’s hands, eager to take them in her own, tight in her grip. “I feel happy,” she confessed, unafraid of what it meant. To them, happiness was a dangerous thing, even as often as they felt it. They knew how easily it could be taken from them, how the robbing of it could come disguised as righteousness. But there, right then, Deirdre was happy despite it all. If Ruth was somewhere, scowling at her daughter for such flagrant displays of selfish delight, Deirdre hoped she could see how much they didn’t care. “Thank you,” she repeated, “for everything, for all of tonight. For bringing me to the restaurant, for showing me this store...for letting me come along for this trip, even. I’ve loved seeing your home, Morgan.” She grinned, reluctant to part but aware that at some point, they really had to get back to their hotel. Not for rest, but because there was love she simply couldn’t share stuffed at the front of their rental. “Fates, I’d be fine if you had more planned, but I’d really like to take you back to the hotel…” She leaned across and kissed Morgan earnestly, in a way she thought might make Shelley blush if they were still inside. Parted, she grinned with a tease. “...to do some chaste reading.” She waved their new-old copy of Matilda around. “And to make love to you, either-or.” Deirdre leaned back into her seat, gripping Morgan’s hand. Whatever laid beyond them, and back home in White Crest, they’d done good here. And with luck, they could do good elsewhere. A legacy that was more than loss and pain was suddenly something Deirdre wanted, and something else she felt like she could have. She had Morgan to thank for that, she had Morgan to thank for a lot of things. “I love you,” she smiled; for now, those three words would have to carry the weight of it.

[httpjeon]

— 03. bunny blues: insecure | yoongi & jungkook

yoongi/reader/jungkook | angst | hybrid!au

wordcount: 2.2k

― synopsis: feeling insecure in yourself, yoongi picks up on the change in your behavior.

contents: doctor!seokjin, rlly soft concerned caring yoongi, jungkooks still kind of a dick, doctor visits, insecurity, crying, mentions of depressive behavior

note: reader is a bunny hybrid, kook is a dog hybrid, and yoongi is a human!

blog masterlist ɪɴᴅᴇx: 01 | 02 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08

© httpjeon 2019. do not repost, modify, or translate.

It was killing you inside, keeping to yourself. Every time you blew Yoongi off when he wanted to pet your ears or you ignored him holding out his hand for you to take, you pretended not to notice the sad smile he offered you after you rejected him.

He just felt sorry for you and he was indulging you. Once he got used to the new you, he'd be happy.

That's what you thought, what you believed.

It had been over a week since you began working on yourself and to your surprise, Yoongi called you to the living room expressing he had a surprise. When you wandered into the living room, you found him building a vanity for you -- it was white with a big mirror and pretty lights around it.

"How about you go pick a place for this, yeah?" Yoongi grinned, messing with a couple of screws.

Before long it was in your bedroom, nestled beside your window which also allowed for lots of natural light to seep in.

"Do you like it?" He asked, placing his hand on your head.

"Y-Yeah," You ducked to get away from his touch, even though you desperately wanted more.

You missed the fleeting look he gave you as he wandered out of your bedroom with his head hung.

Once he was gone and your door was shut, you took a seat at the vanity on a little stool he had given you. Staring at yourself in the mirror, you heaved a sigh at how sad you looked. You wondered if Yoongi could notice it as well.

Yoongi wandered back into the living room and sat on the couch beside Jungkook, who immediately rested his head on his lap.

"What's the matter, Hyung?" Jungkook asked, smiling when Yoongi began to scratch his ears.

"_____ is acting strange," He sighed, missing the way Jungkook stiffened.

"What do you mean?"

"She's really withdrawn and she won't let me touch her much," Yoongi muttered before suddenly moving forward, making Jungkook whine. "I'm gonna make her an appointment with the doctor,"

"Hyung, she's probably fine don't overreact," Jungkook pouted, making Yoongi pause.

"You think I'm overreacting?" He whispers, carding his fingers through his pup's hair.

"She probably just needs some space, yeah?" Yoongi nodded, finally settling into the couch with a sigh.

When you woke up the next morning, you could hear Yoongi and Jungkook laughing from down the hall. You crept from your bedroom and found your way to Yoongi's bedroom -- a place you hadn't yet ventured into. It didn't feel right to enter his space like that.

Inside, Jungkook was rolling around on the plush, white duvet on Yoongi's bed while he other laughed. Yoongi's grin was beaming, eyes bright as he playfully tugged the hybrid's ear.

He's mine, not yours.

Jungkook's words rang through your head, reminding you that you weren't truly part of this family. Feeling tears prick at your eyes, you scurried back to your bedroom and climbed back into bed to hide from your feelings.

You were awoken again, having fallen back asleep, to soft knocks before Yoongi poked his head inside.

"Hey pumpkin, I made some lunch, you hungry?" He asked softly, not fully entering the room.

"Lunch?" It was lunch time?

"Yeah, I didn't want to wake you for breakfast since you were still sleeping," He explained.

Yeah right, he probably just didn't want you there.

"I-I'm not hungry," You replied, hurt by your own ugly thoughts. This wasn't Yoongi's fault -- it was yours. You couldn't be mad at the kind man who looked after you, who took you in.

"Are you feeling alright?" He asked, finally meandering fully into your room. Your back was to him but you could hear his bare feet on the wood floor as he approached.

"I'm okay," You whispered, rolling onto your back to look up at him.

He was frowning, gazing almost suspiciously down at you. You nearly jumped when his hand found your forehead. He sighed before moving it to cup your cheek.

"You don't have a fever. Do you feel nauseous?"

"I-I...just don't have an appetite..." You whispered, grabbing his wrist to pull his hand away from you. It was almost impossible to muster the courage to do that -- you just wanted to nuzzle into his touch so badly.

"Alright, if you say so," You mentally cringed as you realized he didn't believe you.

You weren't exactly lying, you didn't have an appetite but you also mostly just didn't want to go out there with them. You'd be faced with Jungkook's glare and having to watch them be close as you could only watch from the outside -- never able to get in like you wished to.

He shut the door behind him, leaving you still curled up in bed all alone. He stormed into the kitchen, where Jungkook was.

"I'm calling the doctor," Yoongi said, leaving no room for argument as he walked into the kitchen.

"But--"

"I'm not overreacting, something's wrong. Maybe she's depressed or something, I'm worried," Yoongi huffed, ignoring Jungkook's arguments as he picked up his cell and made the call to Jungkook's doctor, figuring they could use the same one.

You had been to the doctor many times -- during the winter, you frequently got colds and Namjoon would rush you to the doctor at the first sight of a sniffle.

You sat in the waiting room, swinging your feet mindlessly while Jungkook chatted eagerly with Yoongi. You weren't sure what about, you chose to ignore them for the most part.

"_______?" A nurse called out, smiling when Yoongi stood immediately.

"Stay here, Kook. We'll be back in a minute," The pup nodded but the budding smile vanished when Yoongi took your hand. You attempted to pull your hand away but he held on tight until you two entered the examination room.

You both sat in an uncomfortable silence after getting your weight, height, and blood pressure measured by the nurse. She told you that the doctor would be in soon.

"Hello," A handsome man with pretty lips walked in several minutes later, dressed in a white coat. "I'm Kim Seokjin, your doctor, and I understand I have a little bunny who needs to see me,"

You couldn't help but smile at his charismatic attitude. Yoongi patted your head softly but you were too mesmerized by the doctor to react.

"Hi Dr. Kim," Yoongi greeted as the taller man sat down -- elegantly you might add.

"What seems to be the problem with the bun today?" He asked with a pretty smile.

"Well, when I first got her she was really open and really happy but the past week and a half, she's become completely withdrawn," Yoongi explained, and as he continued you sunk deeper against the examination table where you laid.

"I see, and you're worried about the cause of the behavioral change?" Yoongi nodded as the Doctor completed his thoughts. Seokjin stood up, putting his stethoscope to his ears and smiled at you. "I'm going to need you to sit up so I can listen to your heart and your breathing,"

You did as you were asked and with a small warning of the cold metal as he put his hand up the back of your shirt, he pressed it against your bare back. You followed all his instructions, breathing in and out and coughing a couple times. As he listened to your heart, you realized you were enjoying this contact. You really were becoming starved for attention at that point.

"Are you feeling alright, bun?" He asked, finally pulling the stethoscope from his ears and pulling out a little pen light.

"Yes," You answered simply, wanting to keep your answers short in fear you might let something slip.

He checked inside your ears, checked your pupils, and checked your throat. After finding no abnormalities, he sat back down and opened a manila folder he had brought in.

"Well, she seems to be in good health, Mr. Min," Seokjin hummed, looking over the papers. "It says here that you own another hybrid,"

"Uh yes, Jungkook -- he's a dog hybrid," Yoongi explained.

"Have you ever owned a rabbit hybrid before?" The doctor looked up at Yoongi now, who squirmed under the intense stare.

"N-No, she's my first one,"

"Well, bunnies are one of the more...attached hybrids," Seokjin explained, smiling almost fondly over at you.

'Attached is just another word for needy,' you thought.

"They are very loving and absolutely thrive under attention," The doctor continued. "It could be that she feels she's not getting enough attention at home because she has to share you with another hybrid,"

"I-I've been making sure she gets as much of my attention I can give her," Yoongi defended himself. "Kook knows that I need to give her special attention because she's still adjusting to a new home and environment,"

"I see, you haven't had her long?" Seokjin asked, scribbling something down in the folder.

"No...not too long but I thought I was doing good..." Your heart ached at how disappointed Yoongi sounded in himself.

"Is is possible she misses her previous home and owner?"

"I...I guess it's possible, she didn't really want to leave him," Seokjin nodded, writing something down on the papers.

"I suggest maybe having a little personal chat with the two hybrids and see if you can figure out what she's thinking," Yoongi nodded at the advice and stood up, finally signalling for you to get up as well.

"Thank you, Doctor," Yoongi muttered, taking your hand again except this time you didn't fight it.

"No problem," The doctor ruffled your hair and smiled. "There's some lollipops by the desk, you can grab a couple for you and Jungkook, okay?" You nodded.

You were sure to grab two flavors -- watermelon and strawberry. You kept the watermelon to yourself -- it was your favorite flavor. You were also pleasantly surprised that Jungkook took the one your offered him -- thought he didn't extend a thank you at all. You didn't really mind in the end.

You wanted to hide away in your room once you got home but Yoongi practically begged for you to eat something. At the mention of food, you realized you were actually quite hungry. So you sat down and silently ate to yourself, choosing to block out the two men in the room.

"Before you go to sleep," Yoongi caught you by the wrist before you were able to escape after finishing your salad. "Can we have a talk? All of us?"

"I-I...I'm really tired," You whimpered, reaching up to tug at your own ear out of anxiety. "Can't I just go to sleep?"

"I guess you'd be worn out from the doctors, huh?" Yoongi sighed, slowly releasing you.

You stood there for a moment, taking in how sad he looked in front of you. He seemed to have expected you to leave by now because he began to eat once again -- much slower than he had. Jungkook barely paid you any mind, not even looking up from his burger.

He looked happy. Why shouldn't he? He had an owner who adored him and he had a true family. You wished you could feel even an ounce of that but instead you were cursed with the needy, clingy nature of your hybrid. It had cost you a family before and you certainly didn't want it to cost you another one.

Quiet as you could, you scurried out of the kitchen and to your bedroom. You felt safe in there -- with your stuffed animals on your bed and the dim lights from your new vanity casting a gentle glow.

Guilt ate away at you as you thought back to how sad Yoongi had begun to look as the days passed. Did your change in behavior really hurt him or was it pure worry because he didn't want to be known as someone who mistreated their hybrid?

He treated you so nicely, he really did. He bought you so much nice stuff and even built a vanity for you. He told you he even ordered you a new dresser and a rug so you wouldn't be stuck with the hardwood floors you currently had.

He got you the nicest, softest pink sheets and let you have as many pillows as you wanted.

Briefly, you thought back to the way he checked for your fever and that night he gave you a little forehead kiss. You didn't realize you were smiling at the thought and once you did, you shook your head to banish it from your head.

Resolutely, you climbed into your cozy bed with a sigh. It felt like there was a lead weight in your chest.

That night, as you laid in bed you felt like everything finally caught up to you. Every emotion, every negative thought finally poured out of you and instead of sleeping, you cried.

You cried over the fact Namjoon didn't want you. You cried over the fact Jungkook didn't like you. You cried because you didn't want to burden Yoongi and because you feared losing your home again.

You didn't mean to be loud, but as you sputtered and sobbed, you failed to realize the sad puppy-eyes peeking in from the hallway after being awoken by your cries.

Once the door was shut, you couldn't see his head hung and his tail limp behind him as he stood outside.

[masked-buffoon]

Chapter 14: Truthful liar (Part 1)

Warnings: none

Author notes: after some delay, finally, here is the 14th chapter! I hope you’ll enjoy that short case...!

The Sapporo Okadama airport in Hokkaido was crowded when we arrived in the morning. Many people spoke a language I did not understand; they were most certainly tourists who came to visit Japan during their summer holidays. Why, Dazai and I were not there for sightseeing. Besides, it seemed to me that Hokkaido would be more impressive in winter, when a thick layer of snow would cover the entire prefecture, leaving very few places devoid of the white and bright coat. I checked my phone as we were waiting for our suitcase to arrive. We would stay there for a week, in a traditional ryokan with onset. In a way, this mission in the Northern prefecture of Japan felt like a well-deserved vacation, except for the fact I would actually have to protect a man who threatened to destroy the beautiful nature surrounding us. Pollution had not yet damaged that place, it would be a shame for any industrial business to cover the azure sky in thick dark smoke…

"So, do we begin today?" Dazai asked.

"I don't have any news from the client…" I sighed "Let's go to the inn, we'll manage from there."

"Sure~"

Our suitcase in hand, we went out of the airport to call a cab which would take us to the ryokan. My first time in a plane had been quite pleasant; it was amazing how fast the trip to Hokkaido had been. Then, since it was also my first time out of Yokohama, I made sure to take a good look around to engrave in my mind the images of Sapporo which unfolded before my eyes. Except for the mountains surrounding the town, it did not look that different from what I was used to, but there was something… Peculiar, about the air. So that was what travelling felt like… It was so exciting…!

"Do you like it?" My friend asked me, an amused smile on his face.

"Absolutely...!" I answered immediately, before regaining composure "I mean… Yes, I like it…"

The driver at the front burst out laughing, and I blushed in embarrassment. Why did I have to sound so joyful…?

"Is it your first time in Hokkaido?" He questioned.

"It is…" I admitted "I'm sorry for being so loud…"

"Don't apologise…! As a local, I'm proud that our region can trigger such reactions…! Besides, the ryokan you'll stay in is the perfect place for a honeymoon~"

"Is that — wait, what…?" I breathed out, heat burning my cheeks "We're not… We're not married…!"

"No, we're not." Dazai chuckled "We're friends, and coworkers. We came for work."

"Oh really? My apologies, then…! What kind of work, if you forgive my curiosity?"

I narrowed my eyes.

"We have to protect the businessman who wants to implant a research centre about petrol nearby…" I mumbled "As displeasing as it sounds, we were hired because of the many assassination attempts he had survived…"

"Come on, Ogawa, you don't sound enthusiastic at all~"

"I'm not going to lie. That job will be done against my will." I crossed my arms.

"We did hear about that case…" The driver sighed "It doesn't please us either, but we would never want the man to be killed. By the way, young lady, your last name is Ogawa…?"

"Um, yes… Why…?" I frowned.

"Well, they're quite an important family here…! Are you perhaps related to them?"

"In no way." I answered curtly "I am not related to these people."

I already knew that the Ogawa family had settled down in Hokkaido around twenty years ago and that they had taken care of Ruriko-chan ever since the massacre of the family in Yokohama. Even so, I would not see my sister during my stay in Sapporo. This was not the purpose of my trip to the North, and, anyway, I did not feel ready to face her yet. I had no right to intrude her life and call myself her sister, not when I had cold-bloodedly murdered her and destroyed her peaceful life. Looking back on my deeds, I perhaps should have killed her… She would have been happier without shouldering the trauma of that day. I had been too selfish and had kept her alive nonetheless… What a terrible older sister I was.

"We're arrived…!" The driver stopped in front of our inn "Enjoy your stay, and greet the host for me…!"

"Thank you…!" I smiled at him.

"She's there, and you know that." Dazai told me "How are you going to refrain yourself from wanting to see her?"

"Well…" I paused to take the suitcase "I simply won't give this matter too much thought."

"The real question is, will you resist the temptation?"

"You and I both know that I am disqualified as a member of her family, as her sister. She doesn't need me, and, mostly, she mustn't see me. I know that she has a proper and stable life now, I don't want to ruin it again."

"Disqualified, eh…? Nice pun~" He grinned "But, what if she wants to meet you?"

"She doesn't want to. She never even looked for me, in the first place." I shrugged.

"Let's be honest though, she had no way to know where you were. Unlike us, she doesn't know any informer." He noted.

"True enough… But I don't want to believe she would like to see me."

"You're not ready."

"I am not. That's why I'd like it if you could stop pushing the matter any further, please."

"Sure. I won't annoy you any further~" He promised.

"For now, let's just go in and rest while waiting for our client to message us…" I pushed the door of the inn open.

The inside felt warm and quiet. A rather old lady welcomed us with a large smile and showed us our rooms. I was pleased to notice that the Agency had booked two separate ones; I would thus be able to enjoy quiet nights without being disturbed by my sometimes annoying companion. The issue resided in the fact we had taken a single suitcase, since none of us owned many clothes, anyway. I volunteered to unpack my things so he could keep it.

"Oh, you should have told me you two were —"

"We're not…!" I cut her before she could make any wrong assumptions.

It was the second time, this day… I did not usually interact with older people, but how in the world could they believe Dazai was more than a friend…?

After laughing and apologising, she left us to prepare lunch. I glanced at Dazai, who was having a hard time maintaining a serious expression.

"That's not funny…" I muttered, crossing my arms.

"Why, is the idea that repulsive to you?" He snickered.

"Come on." I rolled my eyes "Besides, we know each other too much for that to ever happen."

"True enough…" He agreed "On second thought, I think I'll leave the suitcase to you, by the way."

"Why, so suddenly?"

"Well…"

Once I had taken all of my clothes out, only three examples of the same shirt remained. He was right, I needed to take the suitcase.

[96harmony96]

Chapter 2

Just before I exited the elevator into the vestibule of Waters Field & Leaman, the advertising firm I worked for on the twentieth floor, Lauren whispered in my ear, “Think about me all day.”

I squeezed her hand surreptitiously in the crowded car. “Always do.”

She continued the ride up to the top floor, which housed the headquarters of Jauregui Industries. The Crossfire was her, one of many properties she owned throughout the city, including the apartment complex I lived in.

I tried not to pay attention to that. My mom was a career trophy wife. She’d given up my father’s love for an affluent lifestyle, which I couldn’t relate to at all. I’d prefer love over wealth any day, but I suppose that was easy for me to say because I had money—a sizable investment portfolio—of my own. Not that I ever touched it. I wouldn’t. I’d paid too high a price and couldn’t imagine anything worth the cost.

Megumi, the receptionist, buzzed me through the glass security door and greeted me with a big smile. She was a pretty woman, young like me, with a stylish bob of glossy black hair framing stunning Asian features.

“Hey,” I said, stopping by her desk. “Got any plans for lunch?”

“I do now.”

“Awesome.” My grin was wide and genuine. As much as I loved Cary and enjoyed spending time with him, I needed girlfriends, too. Cary had already started building a network of acquaintances and friends in our adopted city, but I’d been sucked into the Lauren vortex almost from the outset. As much as I’d prefer to spend every moment with her, I knew it wasn’t healthy. Female friends would give it to me straight when I needed it, and I was going to have to cultivate those friendships if I wanted them.

Setting off, I headed down the long hallway to my cubicle. When I reached my desk, I put my bag and purse in the bottom drawer, keeping my smartphone out so I could silence it. I found a text from Cary: I’m sorry, baby girl.

“Cary Taylor,” I sighed. “I love you . . . even when you’re pissing me off.”

And he’d pissed me off royally. No woman wanted to come home to a sexual clusterfuck in progress on her living room floor. Especially not while in the middle of a fight with her new girlfriend.

I texted back, Block off the wknd 4 me if u can.

There was a long pause and I imagined him absorbing my request. Damn, he texted back finally. Must be some ass kicking u have planned.

“Maybe a little,” I muttered, shuddering as I remembered the . . . orgy I’d walked in on. But mostly I thought Cary and I needed to spend some quality downtime together. We hadn’t been living in Manhattan long. It was a new town for us, new apartment, new jobs and experiences, new partners for both of us. We were out of our element and struggling, and since we both had barge loads of baggage from our pasts, we didn’t handle struggling well. Usually we leaned on each other for balance, but we hadn’t had much time for that lately. We really needed to make the time. Up for a trip to Vegas? Just u and me?

Fuck yeah!

K . . . more later. As I silenced my phone and put it away, my gaze passed briefly over the two collage photo frames next to my monitor—one filled with photos of both of my parents and one of Cary, and the other filled with photos of me and Lauren. Lauren had put the latter collection together herself, wanting me to have a reminder of her just like the reminder she had of me on her desk. As if I needed it . . .

I loved having those images of the people I loved close by: my mom with her golden cap of curls and her bombshell smile, her curvy body scarcely covered by a tiny bikini as she enjoyed the French Riviera on my stepdad’s yacht; my stepfather, Richard Stanton, looking regal and distinguished, his silver hair oddly complementing the looks of his much younger wife; and Cary, who was captured in all his photogenic glory, with his lustrous brown hair and sparkling green eyes, his smile wide and mischievous. That million-dollar face was starting to pop up in magazines everywhere and soon would grace billboards and bus stops advertising Grey Isles clothing.

I looked across the strip of hallway and through the glass wall that encased Mark Garrity’s very small office and saw his jacket hung over the back of his Aeron chair, even though the man himself wasn’t in sight. I wasn’t surprised to find him in the break room scowling into his coffee mug; he and I shared a java dependency.

“I thought you had the hang of it,” I said, referring to his trouble with the one-cup coffee maker.

“I do, thanks to you.” Mark lifted his head and offering a charmingly crooked smile. He had gleaming dark skin, a trim goatee, and soft brown eyes. In addition to being easy on the eyes, he was a great boss—very open to educating me about the ad business and quick to trust that he didn’t have to show me how to do something twice. We worked well together, and I hoped that would be the case for a long time to come.

“Try this,” he said, reaching for a second steaming cup waiting on the counter. He handed it to me and I accepted it gratefully, appreciating that he’d been thoughtful about adding cream and sweetener, which was how I liked it.

I took a cautious sip, since it was hot, then coughed over the unexpected—and unwelcome—flavor. “What is this?”

“Blueberry-flavored coffee.”

Abruptly, I was the one scowling. “Who the hell wants to drink that?”

“Ah, see . . . it’s our job to figure out who, then sell this to them.” He lifted his mug in a toast. “Here’s to our latest account!”

Wincing, I straightened my spine and took another sip.

* * *

I was pretty sure the sickly sweet taste of artificial blueberries was still coating my tongue two hours later. Since it was time for my break, I started an Internet search for Dr. Terrence Lucas, a man who’d clearly rubbed Lauren the wrong way when I’d seen the two men together at dinner the night before. I hadn’t gotten any further than typing the doctor’s name in the search box when my desk phone rang.

“Mark Garrity’s office,” I answered. “Camila Cabello speaking.”

“Are you serious about Vegas?” Cary asked without preamble.

“Totally.”

There was a pause. “Is this when you tell me you’re moving in with your billionaire girlfriend and I’ve got to go?”

“What? No. Are you nuts?” I squeezed my eyes shut, understanding how insecure Cary was but thinking we were too far along in our friendship for those kinds of doubts. “You’re stuck with me for life, you know that.”

“And you just up and decided we should go to Vegas?”

“Pretty much. Figured we could sip mojitos by the pool and live off room service for a couple days.”

“I’m not sure how much I can pitch in for that.”

“Don’t worry, it’s on Lauren. her plane, her hotel. We’ll just cover our food and drinks.” A lie, since I planned on covering everything except the airfare, but Cary didn’t need to know that.

“And she’s not coming with us?”

I leaned back in my chair and stared at one of the photos of Lauren. I missed her already and it’d been only a couple of hours since we’d been together. “she’s got business in Arizona, so she’ll share the flights back and forth, but it’ll be just you and me in Vegas. I think we need it.”

“Yeah.” He exhaled harshly. “I could do with a change of scenery and some quality time with my best girl.”

“Okay, then. She wants to fly out by eight tomorrow night.”

“I’ll start packing. Want me to put a bag together for you, too?”

“Would you? That’d be great!” Cary could’ve been a stylist or personal shopper. He had serious talent when it came to clothes.

“camila?”

“Yeah?”

He sighed. “Thank you for putting up with my shit.”

“Shut up.”

After we hung up, I stared at the phone for a long minute, hating that Cary was so unhappy when everything in his life was going so well. He was an expert at self-sabotage, never truly believing he was worthy of happiness.

As I returned my attention to work, the Google search on my monitor reminded me of my interest in Dr. Terry Lucas. A few articles about her had been posted on the Web, complete with pictures that cemented the verification.

Pediatrician. Forty-five years of age. Married for twenty years. Nervously, I searched for “Dr. Terrence Lucas and wife,” inwardly cringing at the thought of seeing a golden-skinned, long-haired blonde. I exhaled my relief when I saw that Mrs. Lucas was a pale-skinned woman with short, bright red hair.

But that left me with more questions. I’d figured it would be a woman who’d caused the trouble between the two men.

The fact was, Lauren and I really didn’t know that much about each other. We knew the ugly stuff—at least she knew mine; I’d mostly guessed her from some pretty obvious clues. We knew some of the basic cohabitation stuff about each other after spending so many nights sleeping over at our respective apartments. she’d met half of my family and I’d met all of her. But we hadn’t been together long enough to touch on a whole lot of the periphery stuff. And frankly, I think we weren’t as forthcoming or inquisitive as we could’ve been, as if we were afraid to pile any more crap onto an already struggling relationship.

We were together because we were addicted to each other. I was never as intoxicated as I was when we were happy together, and I knew it was the same for her. We were putting ourselves through the wringer for those moments of perfection between us, but they were so tenuous that only our stubbornness, determination, and love kept us fighting for them.

Enough with making yourself crazy.

I checked my e-mail, and found my daily Google alert on “Lauren Jauregui.” The day’s digest of links led mostly to photos of Lauren, in black tie sans tie, and me at the charity dinner at the Waldorf Astoria the night before.

“God.” I couldn’t help but be reminded of my mother when looking at the pictures of me in a champagne Vera Wang cocktail dress. Not just because of how closely my looks mirrored my mom’s—aside from my hair being brown, long and straight—but also because of the mega-mogul whose arm I graced.

sinu Cabello Barker Mitchell Stanton was very, very good at being a trophy wife. She knew precisely what was expected of her and delivered without fail. Although she’d been divorced twice, both times had been by her choice and both divorces had left her exes despondent over losing her. I didn’t think less of my mother, because she gave as good as she got and didn’t take anyone for granted, but I’d grown up striving for independence. My right to say no was my most valued possession.

Minimizing my e-mail window, I pushed my personal life aside and went back to searching for market comparisons on fruity coffee. I coordinated some initial meetings between the strategists and Mark and helped Mark with brainstorming a campaign for a gluten-free restaurant. Noon approached and I was starting to feel seriously hungry when my phone rang. I answered with my usual greeting.

“camila?” an accented female voice greeted me. “It’s Magdalene. Do you have a minute?”

I leaned back in my chair, alert. Magdalene and I had once shared a moment of sympathy over Corinne’s unexpected and unwanted reappearance in Lauren’s life, but I’d never forget how vicious Magdalene had been to me the first time we’d met. “Just. What’s up?”

She sighed, then spoke quickly, her words flowing in a rush. “I was sitting at the table behind Corinne last night. I could hear a bit of what was being said between her and Lauren during dinner.”

My stomach tensed, preparing for an emotional blow. Magdalene knew just how to exploit my insecurities about Lauren. “Stirring up crap while I’m at work is a new low,” I said coldly. “I don’t—”

“she wasn’t ignoring you.”

My mouth hung open a second, and she quickly filled the silence.

“she was managing her, camila. She was making suggestions for where to take you around New York since you’re new in town, but she was doing it by playing the old remember-when-you-and-I-went-there game.”

“A walk down memory lane,” I muttered, grateful now that I hadn’t been able to hear much of Lauren’s low-voiced conversation with her ex.

“Yes.” Magdalene took a deep breath. “You left because you thought she was ignoring you for her. I just want you to know that she seemed to be thinking about you, trying to keep Corinne from upsetting you.”

“Why do you care?”

“Who says I do? I owe you one, Camila, for the way I introduced myself.”

I thought about that. Yeah, she owed me for when she ambushed me in the bathroom with her catty jealous bullshit. Not that I bought it as her sole motivation. Maybe I was just the lesser of two evils. Maybe she was keeping her enemies close. “All right. Thank you.”

No denying I felt better. A weight I hadn’t realized I was carrying around was suddenly relieved.

“Something else,” Magdalene went on. “she went after you.”

My grip tightened on the phone receiver. Lauren always came after me . . . because I was always running. My recovery was so fragile that I’d learned to protect it at all costs. When something threatened my stability, I ditched it.

“There have been other women in her life who’ve tried ultimatums like that, camila. They got bored or they wanted her attention or some kind of grand gesture . . . So they walked away and expected her to come after them. You know what she did?”

“Nothing,” I said softly, knowing my man. A man who never spent social time with women she slept with and never slept with women she associated with socially. Corinne and I were the sole exceptions to that rule, which was yet another reason why her ex sent me into fits of jealousy.

“Nothing more than making sure Angus dropped them off safely,” she confirmed, making me think it’d been a tactic she’d tried at some point. “But when you left, she couldn’t chase after you fast enough. And she wasn’t herself when she said good-bye. she seemed . . . off.”

Because she’d felt fear. My eyes closed as I mentally kicked myself. Hard.

Lauren had told me more than once that it terrified her when I ran, because she couldn’t handle the thought that I might not come back. What good did it do to say that I couldn’t imagine living without her when I so often showed her otherwise with my actions? Was it any wonder she hadn’t opened up to me about her past?

I had to stop running. Lauren and I were both going to have to stand and fight for this, for us, if we were going to have any hope of making our relationship work.

“Do I owe you now?” I asked neutrally, returning Mark’s wave as he left for lunch.

Magdalene exhaled in a rush. “Lauren and I have known each other a long time. Our mothers are best friends. You and I will see each other around, Camila, and I’m hoping we can find a way to avoid any awkwardness.”

The woman had come up to me and told me that the minute Lauren “shoved her dick” in me, I was “done.” And she’d hit me with that at a moment when I was especially vulnerable.

“Listen, Magdalene, if you don’t cause drama, we’ll get by.” And since she was being so forthright . . . “I can screw up my relationship with Lauren all by myself, trust me. I don’t need any help.”

She laughed softly. “That was my mistake, I think—I was too careful and too accommodating. she has to work at it with you. Anyway . . . I’ve taken up my minute. I’ll let you go.”

“Enjoy your weekend,” I said, in lieu of thanks. I still couldn’t trust her motivation.

“You, too.”

As I returned the receiver to its cradle, my gaze went to the photos of me and Lauren. I was abruptly overwhelmed by feelings of greed and possession. she was mine, yet I couldn’t be sure from one day to the next whether she’d stay mine. And the thought of any other woman having her made me insane.

I pulled open my bottom drawer and dug my smartphone out of my purse. Driven by the need to have her thinking as fiercely about me, I texted her about my sudden desperate hunger to devour her whole: I’d give anything to be sucking your cock right now.

Just thinking about how she looked when I took her in my mouth . . . the feral sounds she made when she was about to come . . .

Standing, I deleted the text the moment I saw it’d been delivered, then dropped my phone back in my purse. Since it was noon, I closed all the windows on my computer and headed out to reception to find Megumi.

“You hungry for anything in particular?” she asked, pushing to her feet and giving me a chance to admire her belted, sleeveless lavender dress.

I coughed because her question came so soon after my text. “No. Your choice. I’m not picky.”

We pushed out through the glass doors to reach the elevators.

“I am so ready for the weekend,” Megumi said with a groan as she stabbed the call button with an acrylic-tipped finger. “A day and a half left to go.”

“Got something fun planned?”

“That remains to be seen.” She sighed and tucked her hair behind her ear. “Blind date,” she explained ruefully.

“Ah. Do you trust the person setting you up?”

“My roommate. I expect the guy will at least be physically attractive, because I know where she sleeps at night and paybacks are a bitch.”

I was smiling as an elevator car reached our floor and we stepped inside. “Well, that ups your odds for a good time.”

“Not really, since she found him by going on a blind date with him first. She swears he’s great, just more my type than hers.”

“Hmm.”

“I know, right?” Megumi shook her head and looked up at the decorative, old-fashioned needle above the car doors that marked the passing floors.

“You’ll have to let me know how it goes.”

“Oh, yeah. Wish me luck.”

“Absolutely.” We’d just stepped out into the lobby when I felt my purse vibrate beneath my arm. As we passed through the turnstiles, I dug for my phone and felt my stomach tighten at the sight of Lauren’s name. she was calling, not sexting me back.

“Excuse me,” I said to Megumi before answering.

She waved it off nonchalantly. “Go for it.”

“Hey,” I greeted her playfully.

“camila.”

I missed a step hearing the way she growled my name. There was a wealth of promise in the roughness of her voice.

Slowing, I found I was speechless, just from hearing her say my name with that edginess I craved—the sharp bite that told me she wanted to be inside me more than she wanted anything else in the world.

While people flowed around me, entering and exiting the building, I was halted by the weighted silence on my phone. The unspoken and nearly irresistible demand. she made no sound at all—I couldn’t even hear her breathing—but I felt her hunger. If I didn’t have Megumi waiting patiently for me, I’d be riding an elevator to the top floor to satisfy her unvoiced command to make good on my offer.

The memory of the time I’d sucked her off in her office simmered through me, making my mouth water. I swallowed. “Lauren . . .”

“You wanted my attention—now you have it. I want to hear you say those words.”

I felt my face flush. “I can’t. Not here. Let me call you later.”

“Step over by the column and out of the way.”

Startled, I looked around for her. Then I remembered that the Caller ID put her in her office. My gaze lifted, searching for the security cameras. Immediately, I felt her eyes on me, hot and wanting. Arousal surged through me, spurred by her desire.

“Hurry along, angel. Your friend’s waiting.”

I moved to the column, my breathing fast and audible.

“Now tell me. Your text made me hard, camila. What are you going to do about it?”

My hand went to my throat, my gaze sliding helplessly to Megumi, who watched me with raised brows. I lifted one finger up, asking for another minute, then turned my back to her and whispered, “I want you in my mouth.”

“Why? To play with me? To tease me like you’re doing now?” There was no heat in her voice, just calm severity.

I knew to pay careful attention when Lauren got serious about sex.

“No.” I lifted my face to the tinted dome in the ceiling that concealed the nearest security camera. “To make you come. I love making you come, Lauren.”

she exhaled harshly. “A gift, then.”

Only I knew what it meant for Lauren to view a sexual act as a gift. For her, sex had previously been about pain and degradation or lust and necessity. Now, with me, it was about pleasure and love. “Always.”

“Good. Because I treasure you, Camila, and what we have. Even our driving urge to fuck each other constantly is precious to me, because it matters.”

I sagged into the column, admitting to myself that I’d fallen into an old destructive habit—I’d exploited sexual attraction to ease my insecurities. If Lauren was lusting after me, she couldn’t be lusting after anyone else. How did she always know what was going on in my mind?

“Yes,” I breathed, closing my eyes. “It matters.”

There’d been a time when I’d turned to sex to feel affection, confusing momentary desire with genuine caring. Which was why I now insisted on having some sort of friendly framework in place before I went to bed with a man. I never again wanted to roll out of a lover’s bed feeling worthless and dirty.

And I sure as hell didn’t want to cheapen what I shared with Lauren just because I was irrationally scared of losing her.

It hit me then that I was off balance. I had this sick feeling in my gut, like something awful was going to happen.

“You can have what you want after work, angel.” her voice deepened, grew raspier. “In the meantime, enjoy lunch with your co-worker. I’ll be thinking about you. And your mouth.”

“I love you, Lauren.”

It took a couple of deep breaths after I hung up to compose myself enough to join Megumi again. “I’m sorry about that.”

“Everything all right?”

“Yes. Everything’s fine.”

“Things still hot and heavy with you and Lauren Jauregui?” She glanced at me with a slight smile.

“Umm . . .” Oh yes. “Yes, that’s fine, too.” And I wished desperately that I could talk about it. I wished I could just open the valve and gush about my overwhelming feelings for her. How thoughts of her consumed me, how the feel of her beneath my hands drove me wild, how the passion of her tortured soul cut into me like the sharpest blade.

But I couldn’t. Not ever. She was too visible, too well known. Private tidbits about her life were worth a small fortune. I couldn’t risk it.

“she sure is,” Megumi agreed. “Damn fine. Did you know her before you started working here?”

“No. Although I suppose we would have met eventually.” Because of our pasts. My mother gave generously to many abused children’s charities, as did Lauren. It was inevitable that Lauren and I would’ve crossed paths at some point. I wondered what that meeting would have been like—her with a gorgeous blonde on her arm and me with Cary. Would we have had the same visceral reaction to each other from a distance as we’d had up close in the Crossfire lobby?

she’d wanted me the moment she saw me on the street.

“I wondered.” Megumi pushed through the revolving lobby door. “I read that it was serious between you two,” she went on when I joined her outside on the sidewalk. “So I thought maybe you’d known her before.”

“Don’t believe everything you read on those gossip blogs.”

“So it’s not serious?”

“I didn’t say that.” It was too serious at times. Painfully, brutally so.

She shook her head. “God . . . listen to me pry. Sorry. Gossip is one of my vices. So are extremely hot women like Lauren Jauregui. I can’t help but wonder what it’d be like to hook up with a gir whose body screams sex like that. Tell me she’s awesome in bed.”

I smiled. It was good to hang out with another girl. Not that Cary couldn’t also be appreciative of a hot guy, but nothing beat girl talk. “You won’t hear me complaining.”

“Lucky bitch.” Bumping shoulders with me to show she was teasing, she said, “How about that roommate of yours? From the photos I saw, she’s gorgeous, too. Is she single? Wanna hook me up?”

Turning my head quickly, I hid a wince. I’d learned the hard way never to set up an acquaintance or friend with Cary. He was so easy to love, which led to a lot of broken hearts because he couldn’t love back the same way. The moment things started going too well, Cary sabotaged them. “I don’t know if he’s single or not. Things are . . . complicated in his life at the moment.”

“Well, if the opportunity presents itself, I’m certainly not opposed. Just sayin’. You like tacos?”

“Love ’em.”

“I know a great place a couple blocks up. Come on.”

* * *

Things were going well in my world as Megumi and I headed back from lunch. Forty minutes of gossip, guy-ogling, and three awesome carne asada tacos later, I was feeling pretty good. And we were returning to work a little over ten minutes early, which I was glad for since I hadn’t been the most punctual employee lately, even though Mark never complained.

The city was thrumming around us, taxis and people surging through the growing heat and humidity as they crammed what they could into the insufficient hours of the day. I people-watched shamelessly, my eyes skimming over everyone and everything.

Men in business suits walked alongside women in flowing skirts and flip-flops. Ladies in haute couture and five-hundred-dollar shoes teetered past steaming hot dog vendor carts and shouting hawkers. The eclectic mix of New York was heaven to me, stirring an excitement that made me feel more vibrant here than anyplace else I’d ever lived.

We were stopped by a traffic light directly across from the Crossfire, and my gaze was immediately drawn to the black Bentley sitting in front of it. Lauren must’ve just gotten back from lunch. I couldn’t help but think about her sitting in her car on the day we’d met, watching me as I took in the imposing beauty of her Crossfire Building. It made me tingly just thinking about it—

Suddenly, I went cold.

Because a striking blonde breezed out of the revolving doors just then and paused, giving me a good, long look at her—Lauren’s ideal, whether she’d been aware of it or not. A woman I’d witnessed her fixate on the moment she’d seen her in the Waldorf Astoria ballroom. A woman whose poise and hold over Lauren brought out all my worst insecurities.

Corinne Giroux looked like a breath of fresh air in a cream-colored sheath dress and cherry red heels. She ran a hand over her waist-length hair, which wasn’t quite as sleek as it’d appeared last night when I’d met her. In fact, it looked a little disheveled. And her fingers were rubbing at her mouth, wiping along the outline of her lips.

I pulled my smartphone out, activated the camera, and snapped a picture. With the proximity of the zoom, I could see why she was fussing with her lipstick—it was smeared. No, more like mashed. As if from a passionate kiss.

The light changed. Megumi and I moved with the flow, closing the distance between me and the woman who’d once had Lauren’s promise to marry her. Angus stepped out of the Bentley and came around, speaking to her briefly before opening the back door for her. The feeling of betrayal—Angus’s and Lauren’s—was so fierce, I couldn’t catch my breath. I swayed on my feet.

“Hey.” Megumi caught my arm to steady me. “And we only had virgin margaritas, lightweight!”

I watched Corinne’s willowy body slide into the back of Lauren’s car with practiced grace. My fists clenched as fury surged through me. Through the haze of my angry tears, the Bentley pulled away from the curb and disappeared.

[chipsandwaffles]

bad for you

Synopsis: You meet Johnny, a guy who just won’t leave you alone with your bad habits. Member: Johnny/Reader Word Count: 2,712 Notes: i’ve gone back and forth on this fic and she isn’t even that long like the fuck. not even sure i love it anymore but i gotta post it so enjoy. Warnings: smoking is heavily mentioned

-

“You know, smoking is bad for you.”  

You place the cigarette between your index finger and middle finger, inhale, and bring it away from your face before turning around to look at the person who was intruding your quiet time.  

Then, you exhale.  

“As if I’m not aware of that,” you say, putting it to your lips again. “Are you my mother or something?”

“...no, I guess not.” The intruder enters the room you’re in and walks over to you, standing next to you on the balcony. “Why are you up here by yourself? Don’t you want to be at the party?”  

You laugh and quickly snuff your cigarette against the ashtray that was sitting on the balcony railing, knowing it wasn’t very kind to smoke in front of other people who clearly didn’t. You look over at the guy right after. “Not really one for parties. What about you? Why are you up here?”  

You watch the guy lean against the railing, placing his elbow on it and pressing his cheek to his fist as he stands before you.

Then, he smiles.  

“Came looking for you actually.”

“Me?”

“Yeah. I thought you were cute, so I wanted to talk to you,” he says. You look away from him, the honesty of his words making it hard for you not to blush. “Clearly I was right. You’re really cute right now.”  

You turn away from the guy completely and shake your head. “You’re dumb. Do you usually go around calling random girls you don’t know cute?”

He laughs, and you hear him move behind you until he’s standing right in front of you again. “Nope. Only you.”

“...weirdo.”

“It’s Johnny, actually. And you?” Johnny asks. You frown up at him and turn away once more, this time towards the door. You begin walking, but, immediately, Johnny stops you. “No name then?”

You pull your hand away and look back at him. “It’s Y/N. Goodbye.”  

And you leave Johnny by himself on the balcony.  

-

“Fancy meeting you here.” You look away from the cigarette and lighter in your hands and at the familiar voice, eyes wide when you see Johnny standing there in front of you. You hadn’t seen him for weeks, and suddenly, here he was again.  

“…it's the laundry mat,” you quickly say. You look away and flick at your lighter a few times before the flame comes out. It touches the tip of your cigarette, turning red as you light it up. You set your lighter down before placing your fingers around the cigarette, inhaling, pulling it away, then exhaling.  

“Still smoking, huh?” Johnny asks, still standing there. Wasn’t he going to go in and do his laundry?

“It’s a bad habit, so, you know.” You pocket your lighter and stand up, walking over to the bench farther away from Johnny. Even if he was being dumb and not going inside, you still weren’t going to be the jerk that was going to blow smoke practically in his face.  

“Ah, thanks,” he says. You watch as he walks inside, and you’re left by yourself for a few minutes. It’s not enough time to finish your cigarette, and eventually, Johnny comes out when you’re in the middle of knocking off the ash from the butt. He sits next to you as he speaks.

“You know, there’s other things you can do to pass the time besides smoking.” You roll your eyes and debate for a second whether you wanted to continue your cigarette, or snuff it out to appease Johnny. Some part of you wants to keep smoking, just because he didn’t want you to.

“I’m just saying though.”  

“Do you usually go around telling people that their bad habits are bad or?” You say, sighing as you bend down to place the end of your cigarette against the concrete, rubbing it out until it was extinguished.  

“Well, if they’re my friends or something but- really! We could do other things while we wait for our laundry,” Johnny says. You raise an eyebrow at him and sigh.  

“Like what?”

“Well...” Johnny leans close all of a sudden, and you blink at him, confused, until he gets too close that you gasp and push him away. He looks at you, just as confused for a moment before grinning.  

“Like play cards,” he says, pulling out a deck from his coat pocket. Then, he laughs. “What, did you think I was implying something else?”  

“I- no, of course not- shut up! Let’s play cards then,” you say, taking the deck from his hands and picking off the rubber band he kept around it. He laughs again, a low one, and takes the rubber band from you.

“You’re cute when you’re embarrassed.”  

“You’re cute when shut up,” you say, not sure of what else to say.

Johnny just laughs again as you shuffle the cards.

-

“Hey.” You blink up from your lighter, nearly dropping it when you see Johnny standing outside of your car, grinning at you like he’s supposed to be there. Except, he definitely wasn’t because you were parked outside your work, taking a quick smoke break before you ate your lunch, and him appearing out of nowhere was just weird.  

“What- why are you here?” You ask, quickly snuffing out your cigarette before you accidentally blew some smoke right into Johnny’s face.

“They say when you like someone you start seeing them everywhere,” Johnny says, still grinning. You frown.

“Yeah, sure, but this also feels like you're stalking me!” You say. “I mean, what are the chances you’re here while I’m in my car?”  

“Actually, you parked your car outside where I work. It's really just coincidental.” Johnny points to the building across the street from where you were, and you frown even more.  

“Are you kidding me?”  

“Nope. Why?”  

“We… work right across from each other. That's weird. You're weird,” you say, looking away from Johnny. You don't know what to do now that your cigarette was gone, and you weren't going to light up another one with Johnny around. You sigh.  

“It’s a small world, you know. I find it funny though,” Johnny says. You shake your head. Seven billion people in the world and yet here you and he were.

Maybe it was kind of funny.  

“Are you on your lunch break?” You ask.

“Yeah, I was just about to go get something- why?”  

“You make me waste all my cigarettes when we meet so buy me lunch. I'll drive.”  You hear Johnny laugh loudly and you look up, seeing that same familiar grin on his face.  

It makes your heart skip a beat.  

“Yeah, sure. Let's get lunch then.”  

-

“Hey, instead of lunch today, let me make you dinner.” You frown up at Johnny as he leans against your door, that big goofy grin on his face again. You’ve been noticing it a lot more lately; whether that was a good or bad thing, you didn’t know yet.  

You weren’t even sure if wanting to hang out with him and actually doing it was a good or bad thing yet either. If it meant something more to you, you weren’t entirely sure. Your brain was all over the place when it came to Johnny.

“How do I know you can even cook?” You ask, skeptical at his suggestion. He rolls his eyes and leans in closer.  

“Just trust me. I’ll cook you up something delicious and then afterwards I have a treat. You’ll like it, I promise.”

“If I don’t, then what will you give me?” You ask. Johnny purses his lips and leans back a little, crossing his arms. “What? If I have to suffer through bad cooking, I feel like I should be given something in apology.”

“You’re really a glass half empty kind of person, huh?” He asks. You frown and mimic his body language.  

“It’s a bad habit.”

“And bad habits are meant to be broken. So look forward to dinner, okay? Just for me,” Johnny says. He smiles at you with that stupid, beautiful smile and you roll your eyes.  

“Fine. I’ll look forward to it.”

“Good. Meet you after work.”

Johnny does in fact meet you after work, and even though he told you to look forward to dinner together, you really weren’t. Johnny didn’t seem like the type who really knew how to cook, and you wanted to eat something good, not something some boy who liked you thought you’d eat out of pity and adoration.  

You pause before you step through Johnny’s apartment, shaking your head.

Okay, maybe Johnny was right. Maybe you were really negative. Maybe it wouldn’t be that bad. Mediocre was better than absolute trash after all.  

“You coming in?” Johnny asks. You nod and step through his door, allowing him to shut it behind you. The two of you slip off your shoes and into slippers before heading towards the living room together. Johnny’s place was small, but humble. It was cute for a guy like him.  

“You can wait here, okay? Bathroom is down the hall if you need it. I’ll just be in the kitchen.”

“What? I can’t join you as you cook?” You ask. Johnny shakes his head and steps away from you.

“I’ll definitely mess up if you watch me, so just wait here,” he replies.  

So you do.  

You play on your phone for a while, and look through the books Johnny has, and even use the bathroom, but eventually end up bored and antsy. You start playing with the box of cigarettes in your jacket pocket, itching for one in nervousness. You could probably go outside and have one, but then you know Johnny would just interrupt you and you didn’t want to waste any. He always managed to pop up right as you started one. Whether it was coincidental or not, you didn’t know.  

“Hey, I’m almost done, so if you want to help me real quick,” Johnny calls from the kitchen. You quickly get up and head to him, thankful for the distraction.  

“What do you need me to do?”

Johnny mostly has you set the table, bringing out plates for the two of you, along with side dishes for your dinner. You bring out drinks as a finishing touch, and Johnny sends you back to sit down. The food doesn’t smell bad at all, and sitting there, waiting for Johnny, your stomach starts growling.

Luckily, he comes out only a few moments later with the main dish, setting it in the middle of the table. He sits across from you, and smiles.  

“Doesn’t look bad, right?”

“...I guess it looks okay,” you say, not wanting to admit it looked tasty. He laughs and begins digging in, you following after.

By the end of the meal, you have to admit it’s as delicious as Johnny said it was. Johnny smiles at you from across the table and begins picking up the empty bowls. “What did I tell you?”

“Shut up. It’s probably like, the only thing you can make.”  

“...wow, how’d you know?” He asks. You roll your eyes and pick up the bowls he leaves behind, walking to the kitchen after him. He places the dishes into the sink, so you do the same before turning to him.  

“So, what’s this treat you mentioned?” You ask.  

“Oh, right!” He puts his hand out and you look down at it, frown and look back to him. “You’re supposed to take it. Come on, it’s not dangerous.”  

You hesitantly take his hand and ignore the butterflies it disrupts in your stomach. “You never know. Could burn my hand off.”

“As if I’d be holding your hand if they did that.”

Johnny leads you to his door, and the two of you put your shoes back on as you head into the hallway. He leads you to the stairs and takes you up them, skipping floor after floor until you reach a final door. He opens it up and gestures you through onto the roof of the apartment building. There’s a small garden up there, and within the garden is a few blankets and pillows laid out that you can only assume is Johnny’s treat for you.  

“...what is this?” You ask.  

“Don’t you know? There’s a meteor shower tonight. I didn’t feel like making you drive us somewhere, so this is the next best place to see it.” Johnny walks over to the blankets and immediately sits down, leaning back to look up at the sky.  

You stare at him for a long moment, the feelings in your chest inflating as you do. This was so awfully sweet of him. Making you dinner and then inviting you to watch a meteor shower with him was something you’d never expect from anyone who liked you.

The whole thing really made you happy.  

“You coming?” Johnny asks, now looking at you. That same smile is on his face, the one you decided you really liked, and you nod your head, walking over to him. You sit down next to him, maybe a little too close for two people that were friends, but if he notices, he doesn’t say anything. He instead leans his head back, and you do the same, looking at the stars above you.

“Wow... Even with all the light pollution you can see so many stars.”

“Right? I told you this is a great place. But, you know, I think all the stars came out just to see you.” You laugh and shove at Johnny, knocking him down onto the blankets.

“That is so fricking cheesy. Are you made of cheese?”

“No, but I hear the moon is.” You laugh, shaking your head, before laying down next to Johnny. It's quiet between the two of you as you watch the sky, a feeling of peacefulness running through your body as you lay there. Being with Johnny made you feel good, and happy, and comfortable. Something you haven’t really felt in a long time.  

You let out a breath and open your mouth to speak, but Johnny speaks first.  

“Why'd you start smoking?” he asks. You turn your head to look at him, only to see him looking back at you. You frown, and shrug.  

“Had a shit partner who gave me some bad habits. What else?” you say. Johnny nods in understanding.  

“Habits are always meant to be broken; you know.”  

“You said that before. As if you’re going to break them for me or some shit,” you say. You watch as Johnny shifts next to you so that he’s on his side, and he leans in a little closer.

You can’t help it when your eyes flicker to his lips.

“I just think there’s more productive and fun things to be doing with your mouth,” Johnny says. You know exactly what he’s talking about. This whole thing is nothing short of a date, and Johnny hasn’t really made it a secret that he likes you.  

It’s been obvious the whole time.

That doesn’t mean you still don’t blush at his words.

“Aren’t you real smooth?” You move your hands up to your face, trying your best to hide the blush Johnny has caused. He just laughs before gently pulling your hands away, a big smile on his face.

“You’re so cute when you get shy. Can I kiss you?” Johnny asks. You stare at him for a long moment before nodding your head and closing your eyes.  

There’s a brief moment as you wait, and then you feel one of Johnny’s hands entwine in yours, and his other coming to rest at your cheek. His breath is on your lips for a short second and then he’s pressing his own against yours.  

It’s soft and sweet and nothing you’ve ever really had before, and you can’t believe Johnny was right.

This is way more fun than smoking.  

You pull away quickly and look at him. “You do know I’m not going to stop smoking anytime soon though, right?”

“Yeah, I know. But I’ll just kiss you anytime you want to. Sound good to you?” Johnny asks. You laugh at his words.  

“Sounds good to me.”

And once again, your lips find each other.