#I said hey this is my favorite brunch place but I’m down to cook! and then Chloe said cool I’ll bring toads in a hole :)

[meteortrails]

guys what the fuck do you bring to a brunch potluck. goddamn it.

[bokutosworld]

seasons change, our love remains the same | miya o. 

pairing: timeskip osamu x f!reader  word count, genre: 1.8k words, established relationship, fluff.  warning: none summary: a story of how osamu’s love for you began and how it will never end. a/n: this is a piece for the haikyuu-cafe x hqhangout collab! 

It was springtime when words of love flowed out of him. 

“What are you looking at?” 

Osamu peers over your shoulder to get a glimpse of the yearbook in your hand. His eyes land on a younger version of himself who was barely smiling at the camera. He grimaces internally, shaking his head at the memory of the day when the picture was taken.

Sitting down on the floor, he slings his arms around you and brings you closer. “Where did you get this?” 

“Unlike you, I actually kept our yearbook. It’s a nice memento of the past,” you laugh, turning the page and going further down the memory lane. You reach a section containing different pictures—montages of photographs from the sports day, the cultural festival, and, the one that caught your eye, the graduation ceremony. 

“Hey, do you remember this?” Osamu follows where you were pointing at. There, at the middle, was a blurred image of some Class-1 students, his and your class, under a cherry blossom tree. Though the colors were muted, he could vividly remember that moment when the pink petals were dancing around in the air, everyone dreamily looking up at the bloom, but all he could focus on was you standing by his side as the teacher captured the photograph. 

He remembers how his heart was beating so crazily at that instant. And what followed then was the moment that he’d been preparing for. 

“Of course, I do. What do you take me for?” His arms encircle around your waist, he kisses the top of your head. “That’s when I confessed to you.” 

You chuckle, “Wrong. You haven’t confessed to me here yet.” 

“Oh, right,” he rests his chin on your shoulder, looking straight in your eyes. He narrates the past to you, “After we took that picture, I asked if you could come with me at the back of the gym.” 

You hum and he continues, “You awkwardly followed behind as we walked together. Then when we arrived, I brought out a single carnation flower. You stared at it with wide eyes for minutes and I was so scared that I would get rejected right there and then.” 

“Well, that’s because you weren’t saying anything! How was I supposed to know you were confessing when you were just standing there with a flower?” 

“I’m pretty sure I said I love you,” he teases. “You just didn’t hear it.” 

You put down the book on the table and turn to the side so you could face him. “You’re lucky I’ve been in love with you since middle school.” 

He chuckles, bringing one hand to cup your cheek and the other to brush away some hair on your face. “I really am lucky.” And before you knew it, soft lips touch yours and it makes you feel warm and tingly. “Being with you is like a dream that I don’t ever want to wake up from.” 

Summer when you found yourself running to him for comfort. 

The front door to Onigiri Miya chimes, alerting Osamu of a new customer. He looks up momentarily from his task of rolling sushi to greet the person who’s come in, only to be surprised to see it was you. 

“Hi.” You smile weakly and take the usual spot at the counter, right at the front where you could watch him cook.

“What are you doing here? I thought I’d see you at the apartment.” 

“I’m tired. And it was so hot, I couldn’t take another minute of commute,” you groan as you drop your head on the table. “The trains were jam-packed and I didn’t want to be sandwiched between people and feel their sweat on skin.” You imagine the scenario if you didn’t walk your way towards his shop tonight, and the thought had you shuddering in your seat. 

“Anyway, I went here and thought we could go home together.” You peek at him from behind your arms. “Also I just really, really wanted to see you already.” 

Osamu instantly softens. At the moment, he wanted nothing more than to close shop, take you home, and lie on the bed with you in his arms. All the time in the relationship, he felt like he’s been the one who’s constantly relying on you. But right now, you were running to him and he wanted to be there to catch you. 

“There’s only few customers left but I think can finish this in twenty minutes.” He slides over a glass of iced tea to you. “Can you wait for me?” 

You nod and he leans to give you a quick kiss before returning to his work. You watch in awe as he skillfully moves around his area, hands deftly making the customers’ orders. And not before long, he’s standing beside you, already changed out of his work uniform to his usual beige polo shirt (the one you gifted him and his obvious favorite). He holds out a paper bag with his shop’s logo. You take it with a curious look. 

“It’s not gonna bite you,” he jokes and it makes you roll eyes. “I figured you haven’t eaten dinner yet so I made yaki-onigiri. You can eat it at home.” You’re silent as he takes your hands and guides the two of you out of the store, waving to his employees and reminding them to close. 

“You remembered my favorite food.” 

He squeezes your hand and brings it to his lips, “Of course, I remember everything about you.” It’s his beautiful smile that makes you weak at the knees and instantly chases your exhaustion away. 

In autumn, he made a promise. 

“Hold my hand so we don’t get separated.” Osamu insists after having lost you for the fifth time in a row. The two of you were in Kyoto for a long overdue out-of-town vacation. After some time, you were both fortunate to finally free up your busy schedule and Osamu had planned a five days and four nights trip to the region. 

“I’m not a kid, Osamu,” you whine but still lace your fingers with his and move deeper into the park. Osamu lets you take the lead as you stroll along the path in Arashiyama Bamboo Forest, the one place you’ve always wanted to visit. 

The moment you stood at the entrance of the grove, you were struck at the beautiful, soaring green stalks that seemed to welcome you to another world. Osamu could feel the excitement radiating from you and whenever you smiled, whenever you turned to him to gush about the scenery, he finds himself falling in love with you all over again. He’s smiling as he watches you take photo after photo, unaware that he’s also taken his phone out to capture a picture of you. 

As you’re standing in the midst of the crowd, looking like you’re having the best time and so beautiful with the way the faint light from above falls on you like a spotlight, Osamu has a fleeting wish that he could be the one to make you happy for the rest of your life. 

You suddenly stop admiring the view in favor of searching for your boyfriend who seemed to have stopped moving for minutes. The two of you stare at each other, neither one making the move to walk closer. Osamu tilts his head to one side as he mouths at you, “Hi.”

Confused, you mimic him. “Hey.” 

It takes him five big steps to close the distance. He grabs your face, thumbs grazing at your cheeks as he stares affectionately. Time slows down but your heart races when he says, “Let’s get married.” 

You thought you heard wrong. But that was until he brought out a box that’s been hiding at his coat pocket. You gasp audibly, tears pooling in your eyes, as he takes the ring out and holds it in front of you. 

“I love you more than life itself. I want to stay by your side and keep you happy for as long as you’ll let me.”

You’re crying as you say yes and his vision is also blurry when he slips the jewelry on your finger, a symbol of his commitment and love for you. 

And in winter, the two of you were home. 

It’s well past morning. The clock reads 9:58 am but somehow you could not find it in you to get up from the bed. You move your body but it proved futile when you felt a pair of arms tightening around you, refusing to let you go. 

You feel hot breaths fanning your neck, craning to look back at the person sleeping behind you. Reaching a hand to stroke his hair, you feel Osamu only nuzzle closer and seeking warmth from your body. 

“Good morning,” he hums. 

You turn around, wrapping your arms around his waist and pressing a kiss on his lips. “It’s always a good morning waking up next to you.” 

He chuckles, the low voice sending goosebumps on your skin and causing the blood to rush on your face. He takes you by surprise by suddenly flipping you over, trapping you in a bear hug while you laid above him. 

“Wait, Osamu, let go!” Your voice muffled on his chest. 

“I don’t want to.” He loses himself in your sweet scent and he feels slowly being lulled back to sleep. “It’s cold. Let’s stay here longer.” 

Your struggle did not last for long, eventually giving in to your husband’s grip and you lay peacefully, hearing the calm beating of his heart. A glance to the windows and you can see the trees covered in thick white, making you excited as you realized the snow has made its fall overnight. 

You look up at him, “We should get breakfast.” 

“You mean brunch.” 

Giggling, you begin to sit up which only makes Osamu groan and reach out for you. “Come on, I’ll make your favorite hot chocolate and we can look outside at the snow.” 

At the mention of hot chocolate, he slightly peeks his head from the blankets, catching you before you exit the door. “With marshmallows?” 

“Of course.” You tease, knowing how much he loved his hot drink with those soft, pillowy white confections. 

This makes him smile and finally, he gets out of the bed and makes his way to you. He slips hands into yours before walking with you out of the room. 

Mornings with Osamu were the best. And as much as you looked forward to spending every day with him, he is also anticipating what’s in store for the rest of his years with you. 

[samuel-de-champagne-problems]

The Moment I Knew My Future Was Sweet

pairing: spencer reid x fem reader

summary: spencer Reid plans a surprise birthday for his best friend/love of his life, Y/N. the one hang up though is that Ian, y/n’s boyfriend does not show up. 

warnings: crying, kissing, love, another taylor swift inspired fic because she’s a lyrical genius and i’m obsessed...

word count: 4315 

author’s note: i was listening to the moment i knew and was thinking that it would make a good fic! 

masterlist: (click <-) 

The Moment I Knew My Future Was Sweet

Spencer was completely lost looking for purple and white birthday party decorations. He’d searched at least three different stores for Y/N’s favorite shade of purple. Penelope had been helping him plan her surprise birthday party and it was Spencer’s job to get the decorations. 

“Hey! Reid, look what I found,” Penelope shouted as she ran up the aisle to meet Spencer. 

She was carrying what looked like colorful cardboard picture frames that had “Birthday Girl” and all sorts of Happy Birthday messages and funny sayings written on the edge. 

“Don’t you think Y/N will just love these?” Garcia asked as she tossed them in the cart. 

“Oh, I’m not really sure what those are but, I’m sure she’ll love it!” Spencer said. 

“It’s for taking pictures,” Garcia explained. “You hold them up to your face and take cute photos”

Spencer nodded in understanding. Y/N loved to take pictures and even though Spencer would rather not be photographed, their smiling faces littered her Instagram page. 

“Thanks for helping with this, Garcia. I really just want to make this special for her. Y/N is just so amazing,” Spencer stopped himself because out of the corner of his eye he noticed Penelope’s raised eyebrows. His cheeks turned slightly pink at her reaction. 

“Come on, Spencer! You should just tell her that you love her,” Garcia said waving her hands in the air. 

“She has a boyfriend, Garcia,” Spencer snapped.

“I know, but Spencer, who's the guy that’s planning her surprise party? Who’s the man that’s in every single selfie that she posts Instagram? Who’s the team member that she always rooms with?”

“Garcia, she’s with Ian. I’m not going to ruin our friendship by telling that I love her. She’s with Ian and I’m not a home wrecker”

“You just both deserve to be happy, Spencer. She loves you. I just know she does,” Garcia and Spencer walked over to the cashier to pay for the decoration. 

“If she’s happy, then I can live with it. Even if it feels like it’s breaking me” Spencer said at the constant beeping from the register rung in his ears. 

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“JJ, is that the food?” Garica called as she walked out of the kitchen into the small living room. 

“Yes, Will’s coming in with the rest of the food from the car. Any word from Spence yet on where he and the birthday girl are?” JJ said as she placed down a tray of food onto the kitchen counter top. 

“Spencer mentioned that he’s going to drive her over here. He should be getting there soon. She’s got no idea!” Garcia said excitedly. 

“That’s sweet. What did Ian think of that?” JJ asked with a questioning tone. 

Garcia threw her a look that caused JJ to raise her eyebrows.

“Spencer and Y/N are in love with each other. She won’t do anything because she feels like she’s with the kind of person that she deserves. Y/N is stuck in a loveless relationship because Spencer doesn’t think that she loves him. They love each other, Jayge,” Garcia said. 

“And you aren’t the profiler,” JJ teased. 

“I spend my days and nights with you all, it’s time that I picked up on all that profiler nonsense.” Garcia said, swatting JJ on the arm playfully. 

“That or my obsession with period dramas. Jayge, the pinning is so strong with those too.” 

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Spencer knocked on the door to Y/N apartment at 11:32 AM. The time was important because he calculated that it would take her 45 seconds to walk from her couch, look through the peephole, unlock the door and open the door. In those 45 seconds, it would turn 11:33 AM, which was the time that Y/N was born. 

Sure enough, the door opened and Spencer was greeted by a smiling Y/N. 

“Happy Birthday, Y/N. Happy Birthday!” Spencer yelled from across the doorway. 

“Oh my god! Spencer, how, I can’t,” Y/N said looking quite startled. 

Launching herself from the inside of her apartment, Y/N threw her arms around Spencer’s neck. He seemed to forget himself and allowed himself to enjoy the feeling of her in his arms. Even though he was the one holding her, he never felt as safe as he did then in that moment. 

“Thank you, Spencer. And you even came at the time I was born! Ah, what do I do to deserve you, Spencer. You’re-” Y/N starts. 

“Hey, none of that. It’s your day. Your birthday, Y/N. Oh, I got you flowers. Um, but I think that we may have crushed them” Spencer said sheepishly.

Y/N looked at the purple and yellow flowers that Spencer held in her hand, along with a small package with purple wrapping and green ivy decorations. 

“Oh, come inside, Spence and I’ll put those in water,” Y/N said, leading him in by the hand.  

They walked into her kitchen and she reached to the third shelf of the cabinet and grabbed a vase. Spencer watched as she filled it with water and crushed up a baby aspirin to dissolve in the water. Y/N fluffed out the semi-crushed flowers with a small smile plastered to her face. She looked up at Spencer, who was a little embarrassed to be caught staring at her. 

“I love them, Spencer. They are so beautiful,” Y/N said walking over to tug slightly on his jacket sleeve. 

“I’m glad. Have you heard from your parents, or uh,” Spencer stops for a second, calculating if he should go down that road, “or Ian?” 

“My mom called me, but no, I haven’t heard from Ian. He’s never been big on birthdays or holidays anyway, you know. He’s relaxed like that, I guess” Y/N reasons, more with herself than with Spencer, who just stares at her trying to figure out why in the world her boyfriend would not be here spending her birthday with her.

“Well, we have the whole day to ourselves, Y/N! We can go get brunch or take a walk in the park, anything you want to do, we’ll do it!” Spencer said, smiling at her.

“There’s any other way that I’d want to spend my birthday, than with you, Spencer.” 

There it was again. A palatable tension in the air between the two of them. It wasn’t awkward, necessarily, just so apparent and thick that it could not possibly be ignored.

“I have something else for you,” Spencer started as he grabbed the package from the counter and handed it Y/N. 

“Oh, Spence! You didn’t have to do that” Y/N said with an excited look on her face. 

She opened the carefully wrapped package and tossed the paper on the flood with an eager grin on her face. Inside the small white box was a gold ring with intricately woven vines attached to a delicate chain link necklace. Y/N ran her fingers over the ring and necklace, almost like she couldn’t believe that it was real. 

“Spence,” She started, but a small tear pooled in the corner of her eye and she tried to wipe it away with the hem of her cardigan. 

“You really didn’t have to do this, I can’t even think of how you found this. It’s exactly like her’s! Oh, Spencer” Y/N said reaching forward to clasp her hands with his. 

“Will you put it on for me,” She asked him, pulling her hair from her neck and moving closer to Spencer. 

Spencer grabbed the necklace, a replica of her grandmother’s engagement ring, and tenderly latched the clasp. She felt her heart flutter slightly with the sensation of Spencer’s warm breath against her neck. His fingers burned against her skin as he moved her hair back from her shoulder to it’s familiar spot. 

Spencer was very aware of the fact that if she’d lean back, her head would rest perfectly in the cook between his chin and neck. He’d feel her soft hair under his skin and be able to hold her close and safe. She moved much sooner than he’d like and faced him once again. 

Y/N closed her eyes, just taking in the quiet moment between them. Spencer wished that he could reach out and put his hand to Y/N’s cheek. Maybe she’d melt into his touch. They could play pretend that, for even a moment that they aren’t just best friends, but maybe this is her engagement ring. It’s enough for him, for now at least. They just sit in silence, but he aches to rub thumb along her knuckles. Still, neither of them need to speak, the unsaid words are poetry in itself. 

“Thank you, Spencer. This is so beautiful, I can’t even imagine the trouble it might have caused you.” You're worth it, Y/N, he wants to scream. You’re so worth it.  

But instead, he just settles on giving her a small smile. Spencer will forever have to contend with his silence. He’ll resign himself to standing by her side and watching as she loves another man. 

“Let’s go, Y/N starving”

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“I can’t believe I fought my wallet, Y/N! I’m so sorry that we have to go all the way back to my place,” Spencer feigned an apology and shot Y/N a side glance as he sped down the road towards his apartment. 

“It’s okay, Spencer. You know that I wouldn’t mind paying for brunch, it’s not a big deal that-”

“No way, am I letting you buy brunch on your birthday, Y/N” Spencer said putting on the blinker as he pulled into his parking spot. 

“Is that JJ’s car, Spence?” Y/N said as Spencer walked around to her side of the car to open the door for her. 

“Yeah, her and the boys park here sometimes to go to the park down the street. Henry loves to feed the ducks,” Spencer said, not making eye contact with her. 

“Look at me Spencer,” She said, reaching out to grab his sleeve. He kind of wished that her cold hand would slip into his and he’d be able to walk into her party in front of everyone she loves, holding his hand. 

“Are you lying to me?” Y/N remarked playfully. 

It took everything in Spencer’s being to look her straight in the eyes and tell her that he’s not lying. Especially when she’s looking in his eyes with that look on her face that just makes him want to scream that he loves her. 

“Ha! Y/N, I’m completely offended that you’d suggest that I’m lying to you,” Spencer said as he walked up the stairs to his apartment. 

“Hmm, I’m going to hold you to that, Mister” 

“It’s Doctor for you, Y/N. Why don’t you just open the door?” Spencer said, handing her the keys to his apartment. 

She gave him a suspicious look before she turned the key into the lock and stepped into Spencer’s apartment. 

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!” Penelope jumped out from her hiding spot behind Spencer’s sofa. 

The rest of the guests all chorused many Happy Birthdays as Y/N looked around in shock. Derek and Emily stood up to give her a hug, as JJ and Will stood holding balloons with Henry and Michael. 

“Oh my god! You guys! I can’t believe you all,” Y/N said jumping up to hug a beaming Penelope. 

“It was all Spencer’s idea, Y/N” JJ mentioned giving her friend a big hug and a kiss on her cheek. 

“Spence,” Y/N started as she looked up at her friend. 

“You really didn’t have to do that! Thank you,” She finished almost shly. 

“I wanted you to have the best birthday, Y/N. We’ve all had a rough year, you deserve it,” Spencer said to her. It was almost like they were the only two people in the room, he thinks. It’s like that a lot, whenever he’s in a room with Y/N. They can be in a pack stadium with screaming people, but the only person he’d be able to hear is her. The only person he’d want to pay attention is her. 

“I know you don’t like hugs, Spence, but it’s my birthday and I don’t care!” She said launching herself into Spencer’s already open arms. 

The pair hugged and Spencer forgot himself for a moment. He grabbed her by the waist and spun her around the room as she laughed. 

“Spencer!” She giggled. He put her down and looked at her smiling face. 

“Thank you,” She said quietly, just to him. 

“Of course, Y/N” He told her. Anything to make you laugh like that. Anything to allow me to hold you like that. Anything to make you happy. 

He might have stared too long, because Derek camed and clapped him on the shoulder. It was a reminder that they were not the only people in the room. 

“I’m going to go say hi to everyone,” she said before she left. 

Spencer watched her leave and gave a longing stare in her wake. He felt Derek’s eyes on his face and couldn’t even bear to look him in the eyes. Besides Y/N, Derek knew Spencer more than most people. He’d be able to read his face, his feelings, and his love for Y/N in a moment. And that terrified Spencer. 

“Penelope told me, you know.” Derek said, handing Spencer a mimosa. 

“Hmm, did she know?” Spencer replied tight-lipped. He glanced over to where Y/N had walked over to, but he only saw Emily and Penelope talking with flutes in their hands. 

“Also, Reid. That necklace she’s got on?” Derek questioned with a cocked eyebrow. 

“Yeah. I got it for her. For her birthday. It’s a replica of her grandmother’s engagement ring” Spencer confessed. 

Derek looked at Spencer in disbelief. He was in denial. They both were. 

“You got a girl who’s got a boyfriend an engagement ring for her birthday?” Derek asked factiously. 

“It’s a birthday present for my friend, Morgan.” Spencer said, taking a big gulp of his mimosa. The acid from the orange juice was unusually sour down his throat. 

“Friends don’t get friends engagement rings, Reid.” Derek said before he left Spencer to ponder over this predicament. 

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“Why don’t you let me or Derek call him, sweetie. I’m sure he just got stuck somewhere. Let me call him for you, please Y/N?” Penelope said calmly as she rubbed both of Y/N’s arms lovingly. 

“Penny, he’s not going to come! He missed this on purpose. I’m so done with him-” Y/N said between sobs. Between the champagne and jello shots, she was not drunk but happily buzzed, that quickly turned into an emotional buzz. 

“What do you want me to do, honey. Tell me and I’ll make it happen, okay. I’m so sorry, Y/N” Penelope told her, handing her a paper towel to wipe her tears. 

“I just want to go home,” She cried. 

“Will you get Spencer to take me home, he-” She got out before her shoulders were overtaken by sobs. 

“He drove me here. And he won’t mind leaving, he hates parties. We were planning a sleepover anyway,” Y/N turning to hug Penelope. 

“Hey, you don’t need that jerk anyway, Y/N,” Penelope said “I’m going to tell Spencer now, okay honey, I’ll be right back” 

Y/N stared at the drink in her hand thinking about what should have happened. The pain of the moment was too pungent, so she settled on taking a swig of the rest of her drink. Those problems can wait till tomorrow, she thought. 

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“Spencer! Reid, I need you over here,” Penelope called over to Spencer, who was entertaining the boys with a magic trick, much to their enjoyment. 

“It’s Y/N. She’s heartbroken that Ian never showed up” Penelope said, filling Spencer in. 

“That asshole!” Spencer whisper-yelled as Garcia led him to the kitchen. 

“She just wants you to take her home,” Garcia said as they made their way to where Y/N was perched on the countertop. 

“Y/N, I’m so sorry, he doesn’t deserve you. You know that right?” Spencer said looking at her teary face and glazed eyes. She didn’t look like herself. She looked faraway and sad; he’d do anything to make her feel better. 

“I just want to go home, Spencer, please. Just take me home,” Y/N said with fresh tears falling down her cheeks. 

“Come on, Y/N” He said holding her hand as they walked out the door, down the stairs and into his car. 

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Neither of them talked on the way home. Y/N looked out the window, just staring at the passerby in an almost wishlike state. 

Spencer split his attention evenly to the road ahead and Y/N sitting next to him. Her head rested against the window and her feet were tucked under her legs in a crouched position. It was like she was trying to make herself look as small as she was feeling.

“We’re here, Y/N,” Spencer said softly. 

“We’re home, Spence?” She asked, not even wanting to open her eyes yet. 

“We’re home, Y/N.” He answered, putting a comfortable hand on her shoulder. 

They walked upstairs to her apartment on the third floor just as quiet as their car ride was. She opened the door of her apartment and walked right into her bedroom. 

“I’m just going to get changed, Spence” She said before shutting the door and shutting him out of her thoughts for a moment. 

Not really sure what to do, Spencer sat on the couch. Was it really just a couple of hours ago that they sat here together? All of the sudden, Spencer heard what sounded like music coming from her bedroom. Spencer recognized that he wasn’t the best at modern popular culture, but Y/N choosing to play music at a time like this caught his profiler instincts. 

And what’s a profiler without a genius tech expert, he thought as he dialed Garcia. Spencer placed his ear to the door and started to hear Y/N sob-ridden voice mix with an artist who he did not recognize. 

“Garcia,” Spencer whispered. 

“Oh Spencer! How is she doing,” Garcia asked. Spencer imagined that the whole party stood huddled in his cramped kitchen listening to every word. 

“Ah, she’s singing?” Spencer said with a questioning tone. 

“Oh, boy. Hold the phone so I can hear please, this is very important Reid,” Garcia ordered. 

Spencer placed his flip phone so it’s speaker would pick up the sad notes echoing from the bedroom. 

“Did you get that?” Spencer asked, returning the phone to his ear. 

“She’s listening to her ‘cry her eyes out playlist’. This song is about a girl who’s boyfriend skipped out on her birthday party, so it’s hitting home right now, Spencer” Garcia explained. 

“That’s a little on the nose, don’t you think?” Spencer asked. 

“That’s the beauty of Taylor Swift, my dear. She’s got a song for every emotion. So maybe you can convince her to listen to her “this makes me believe in love” playlist. And maybe you can tell her how you feel, you know that you love her? That has Taylor Swift written all over it G-man,” Garcia finishes. 

“We’ll see about it, Penelope,” Spencer said, trying to figure out a plan to make Y/N feel better. He hung up on his friend and put his ear back at the door. 

Spencer felt a little bit uncomfortable pressing his ear up to the door. It was like he was invading a very private moment. As he strained to hear the song playing in the bedroom, Spencer’s legs  were rubbed against by a fluffy orange Maine Coon. 

“Hey Mabel,” He said crouching down to pet the cat. “Our girl is really sad right now. You always make her feel better though, right May?” He said. Spencer thought that he really must be losing it if he’s having a conversation with her cat. 

Suddenly, the music stopped and Spencer quieted himself to be able to hear what Y/N was doing behind the door. He heard her voice, maybe she was talking to her sister or Penelope. Spencer’s heart twinged with sadness that he wasn’t the one she went to when her heart was broken. 

“Hey, Ian. We need to talk,” Her voice was muffled between the door. Spencer’s breath was coming heavier with the realization that she was talking with Ian. Ian her boyfriend. 

He was not able to hear the other side of the conversation, not that he really cared what Ian said to defend himself. Spencer tried to make due by listening to Y/N’s quiet voice. 

“Ian, you really hurt me-” She said, her voice getting high. Spencer knew that was a sign of Y/N getting ready to cry. 

“No, you are going to listen to me. Then I am going to hang up and I’m going to toss all of your shit that you leave in my apartment in the trash!” she yelled on the phone. 

“You really hurt me by not coming to my party, Ian. But what I realized, sitting here, that I don’t need you anymore. I feel like I’ve given this relationship everything I had. And you don’t even give me the time of day! Spencer was here for me today. He planned this! He was the one who want to make my day special and I love-”

Spencer, who was listening intently to the conversation behind the door, ran as far away from the door as he could. He did not just hear what he did, he tried to tell himself. She does not mean it. Ian will probably call her in the morning and she’ll forgive him. There’s no way that she means that she means that. The silence coming from her bedroom is only broken by her quiet sobs. Spencer was counting the seconds before he could barge into the bedroom and tell her that everything is going to be okay. If he was more like Derek, he’d open up that door and just hold her and tell her how much he loves her. But Spencer Reid is not like Derek Morgan, much to his disappointment. 

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Y/N sat on the carpeted floor of her bedroom, mopping up her leaky eyes with an old t-shirt. The initial heartbreak from Ian not coming to her party was gone. It was a strange feeling, she almost felt light. Like breathing was a little easier or the world was a little clearer. The thing was, that if she thought about it, she really did not even miss him from her party. Spencer was the one who planned this, she thought. He was the one who gave her a thoughtful gift. He was the one she went to when she needed to go home. Spencer was the one.

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Spencer was broken from his internal thoughts when the door cracked open. Y/N eyes were puffy and red from crying. She made a motion to Spencer to come into her bedroom with her. Y/N led him over to the balcony window seat that overlooked the city street. It was still early in the evening, so the street was busy with passerby, bikers, and shoppers. 

Spencer sat down tentatively next to Y/N, who made a movement to grab his hand. She intertwined her fingers with his and Spencer could not help but think of how warm her hands were in his cold ones. Or how her light blue nail polish reflected light. 

“Spencer,” She said nervously. Y/N looked up at him with a shy look on her face. 

“Do you love me, Spencer,” She asked him, looking him dead in the eyes. 

“Of course I love you, Y/N. I love all of you guys. Penelope, Derek, JJ, Emily-” he said, regretting his answer almost immediately due to the look on her face. 

“No, Spencer. I mean do you love me?” she asked, daring to make eye contact with him. 

“I have loved you for years, Y/N.” Spencer answered. He lowered his gaze, fearful that maybe she would reject him, fearful that she’d think him loving her is a ridiculous notion, fearful that she’d realize that he’d never be the one for her. 

“Spencer, you mean so much to me. And I think that today-” She started, putting her hand to his cheek in an affectionate manner. 

“I think that today, I learned that you are always a constant in my life, you are always the person that I want to hold me when I cry. You are always the one who I want to make laugh. Spencer you are the one for me.” She professed. 

Spencer sat there looking dumbfounded. Part of him wanted to believe her, believe that she could possibly love him like he loves her. 

“I love you, Spencer. More than you can ever imagine.” She told him, dancing her fingers down his incredibly sharp jaw and down his neck. 

Spencer, who seemed to come back to Earth, fixed Y/N’s necklace. He looked back at her, like it was the first time that he was actually seeing her. 

Tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear, Spencer kissed her forehead saying “when I look at you, Y/N, I see something that I never really thought I’d ever get. I see a future, a happy one. I love you so much, Y/N and-”

Spencer’s confession was cut off suddenly by a pair of soft lips pressing up to his. His shock wore off quickly as Y/N kissed the corners of his mouth, up his cheekbones, and all the way to his eyelids. Her overzealous affection caused Spencer to belt out a high pitched laugh. Kissing her tasted like the future. And the future had never tasted so sweet. 

[criminalrambling]

It Only Takes a Taste pt. 1

When things got stressful or you needed to take your mind off of things, you would bake. Pulling out a favorite recipe or trying a new one was a way to open a door to somewhere else… maybe a Parisian patisserie with some pain au chocolat, or your grandma's kitchen with her famous blueberry pie. It helped you escape for a while, and you loved to share the treats with friends and family.

Your neighbor Penelope Garcia was one common recipient of these goodies, in part due to proximity but also because you knew her job required her and her colleagues to deal with some super gruesome stuff… she hadn't shared too many specifics, but you knew that she helped catch serial killers, and that was enough to get the gist. She would sometimes come by when she returned home to sit in your kitchen with a mug of tea, talking about anything but work!

You'd tell her about the books you'd read that week, your latest craft project and what was happening with the planning for your brothers wedding. She would share about what she and her co-workers had gotten up to on girls night, and her favorite blogs for fashion tips and cute puppy photos. And you'd send her home with a tupperware or Ziploc bag full of baked goods to take to work. You hoped she and the team enjoyed them, plus it felt nice to share with others.

---------------

The entire team loved when Penelope would stroll in carrying a stash of treats, but none quite as much as notorious snack-fiend Spencer Reid.

He'd stop what he was doing every time he heard Penelope's heels clatter across the floor towards the empty desk that had become a congregation point for the team.

"Greetings, earthlings! I have sustenance!" She would chime happily, clapping her hands together after setting the bag or tray down.

"What do we got, li'l mama?" Derek asked, turning his chair towards Penelope, eyebrows raised.

"There's a toffee crunch blondie for the tame ones, or an espresso fudge brownie for those who like it dark and smooth." She replied with a wink.

Mouth watering, Spencer selected one of each to go with his coffee. JJ joined him, taking a bite of her blondie.

"Oh my god, Pen, these are great. Thank you!" JJ exclaimed.

"Any time I am gifted with sweets, I am always happy to share the wealth!"

"Who were they from? New boyfriend?" Derek asked, accepting the brownie that Penelope passed him.

"Nope. As usual, my neighbor and confidante Y/N."

"You should hang out with her more often. And bring us the spoils!" Emily argued, waving to Penelope in thanks before heading back to work.

Spencer silently agreed. Anyone who could prepare something so balanced and special had to be a wonderful person. She was clearly generous, since she always shared with Penelope… he found himself wondering about Y/N every time his bubbly colleague brought her up. Not what she looked like, that was irrelevant. Would she listen to jazz as she baked? An audiobook or podcast? Who were her favorite authors? He hoped someday they would all have an occasion to meet Y/N so he could find out.

------------------

You were on your way home from a pilates class when you felt your phone buzzing in your bag. Yanking it out, you saw it was Penelope and grinned as you answered.

"Hey Penny, what's up?"

"Hi! Not a lot, well, I mean a couple things with the work and the volunteering and stuff but not really that much! Any way, I wanted to invite you to this brunch party that my boss is hosting at his ridiculously gorgeous house. I'm making my famous marg-mosas!"

"That sounds great! When is it?"

"Next Saturday at 11:00. The weather looks nice so I think it will be outdoors for at least some of the time."

"Ok, awesome, I'm free. Is there anything I can bring? Some bubbly or cinnamon rolls?"

"I don't think anyone would say no to more of your baking, but whatever you feel like bringing or not bringing is totally fine. We can carpool? I'll come by and grab you at 10:15, his place is a bit of a drive."

You agreed to her plans and said your goodbyes. What a fun idea! Garden brunch at a mansion, who could say no to that? You hoped Penelope's friends were as great as she was. Now… what would you wear? And more importantly, what would you bake?!

-----------------

Spencer had been looking forward to the team brunch at Rossi's even more than usual once Penelope had mentioned that Y/N would be in attendance. He'd arrived unfashionably early, and sat at Rossi's kitchen island with a cup of coffee while his host made the final adjustments to the various dishes that would be served.

Soon, JJ, Will and the boys arrived, followed by Derek and Savannah. The group of them caught up on the patio, and while he was definitely curious how Henry was doing in school he couldn't help losing his focus every time the doorbell rang. Finally, he heard Penelope's loud greeting to Rossi and a softer introduction of her friend. His eyes widened in anticipation of seeing Y/N, who he'd wondered so much about.

The first thing he noticed as they rounded the corner was her bright smile and shiny, soft-looking hair. She was dressed casually, wearing a white tee that was tucked into a floral print skirt that ended a few inches below her knees and a slim pair of sneakers. Rossi was clearly enamored with her, finding plenty in common with another accomplished home cook as he welcomed her to his home. She carried a large tray covered in foil wrapping, and he wondered what she'd brought.

He soon didn't have to wonder, as Penelope ushered her friend over to the group on the patio.

"Friends, this is Y/N! My neighbor, friend and beloved source of baked goods. Y/N, meet Derek and his girlfriend Savannah, JJ, Will and their boys, and Spencer."

"It's so nice to meet all of you!" Y/N said, sounding genuinely pleased but looking a little more reserved. As the conversation continued she seemed to become more comfortable, making a couple of jokes and sharing more about herself. Spencer felt she was even better than he'd imagined… her favorite musician was either Etta James or Taylor Swift, and she'd gone into great detail about a podcast she'd listened to recently about medical malpractice in a Dallas-area hospital. It was clear she was someone with strong opinions and intelligence, but a bright outlook on the world around her. Spencer thought he could use some of that optimism in his life.

Rossi and a couple of hired servers ushered them over to the dining table that had been set up, asking everyone to take their seats. Miraculously, Spencer was able to get a seat close enough to Y/N that he knew they'd be able to talk throughout the morning. Mugs of coffee and champagne were passed around, and then Rossi proposed a toast.

"To this family of the BAU, and to friends old and new. For you I am thankful and blessed. Saluti!"

Spencer clinked his mug of black coffee to Y/N's own, with a small smile that he hoped was appealing. New friends indeed!

[sweetyyhippyy]

Part of You. Spencer Reid x OC! Character. Chapter 6.

Chapter 6: Birthday

(not my gif)

Summary: The morning after last chapter. Spencer and Bridgett spend the day together, being cute, having breakfast, and talking about the future. 

Pairing: Season 6 Spencer Reid x OC! Plus size character, Bridgett Mendez.

TW: Small talk about the night before, start of sexy time, a cuss word I think? 

Word count: 2.4k

A.N.: I’m really sorry, this chapter is filler so it’s not the best. There is some fluff sprinkled throughout the chapter so hopefully you’ll like it! This is still season 6 Spencer! Also, if you reblog this chapter I will follow you!! 

______

Spencer turns over, stretching his body and opening his eyes to see the back of Bridgett’s head next to him, her hair tied up on her head. She managed to push the covers down from around her body to her hip, her entire back exposed to him while she was sleeping away. She ran hot most nights, especially when Spencer was cuddled up behind her.

Spencer wraps his arms around her, moving closer to her naked body. Bridgett was cold to the touch as he hugged her close. His fingers trace from her hip bone, up her curves and across her back over a red bite mark on her right shoulder from last night, then around to the side of her neck to the hickies he had left on his girlfriend, kind of concerned he had hurt her. Bridgett’s body shutters next to him, a low moan coming from her as she stirs next to him.

“Shhh, go back to bed.” He whispers in her ear, rubbing her shoulder lightly.

“That tickles, I can’t go back to bed.” Bridgett mutters despite her eyes still being closed. She lets out a laugh feeling how softly his fingers were touching her bruised skin, feeling the dull soreness on the side of her neck.

Spencer leans on his arm and drops down to kiss her cheek multiple times. She hums in happiness finally opening her eyes and laying on her back to face Spencer. Bridgett lightly touches Spencer’s exposed collarbone with her fingers, making him shiver in return. Spencer moves to lay his body on top of Bridgett, resting his head in between her shoulder and neck, leaving little kisses on her skin.

“Good morning.” She smiles, grabbing the sheets and pulling them up over both of them. “I’m cold.” Bridgett says, playing with his hair.

Spencer wraps his arms around her and holds her tight, giving her a squeeze. “Probably since you slept naked.” He teases.

“Or because you weren’t cuddling with me.” She pokes back. Spencer laughs, kissing the top of her head twice.

“You’re right, you’re cold because I wasn’t touching you.”

“I’m glad you agree.”

Brat.

“Hey,” He starts, picking his head up to look at Bridgett’s face. “Did I hurt you last night?”

Bridgett cocks her head to the side, giving him a questioning look. “No? Why?”

Spencer moves the necklace over carefully and lightly runs his hands over the two bruises on her neck, his eyes not leaving hers.

“Oh, Spence, baby no.” Bridgett coos, touching his cheek lightly. “No you didn’t hurt me. I like when you leave marks on me. It’s a pain to cover them up, but I do like them.” Bridgett can tell Spencer isn’t 100% content with her answer, he still felt a little guilty leaving such ugly purple-black bruises on her. She grabs his face, making him look at her. “Hey, don’t make that face at me. I’m telling you I’m okay. Plus, I would have used the safeword if I wanted you to stop.”

“You hate using the safeword.” He says, furrowing his brows.

“Because I can handle a lot more than you think I can, doctor. You think I’m a fragile little flower who can’t handle you being rough and nasty to me.” She smiles devilishly.

He bites onto his bottom lip to hide his smile, rolling his eyes playfully at her. “So do you want to go into town and get some stuff to make breakfast and some dinner? I’ll make waffles, eggs, and bacon. And you could make that fajita pasta tonight?”

It was Spencer’s favorite thing to eat that she cooked.

“Only if you give me a kiss.” Bridgett says, puckering her lips. Spencer kisses her back with a smile, lingering a little longer than he should have.

“Okay, let’s get showered and let’s go.” Spencer throws the covers off his body and rolls out of bed.

“Shared shower?” Bridgett questions, smiling at her boyfriend, making grabby hands up at him.

Spencer cocks his eyebrow at her, not being able to keep his smile in. He holds his hand out while she gets out of bed, grabbing his hand and heading off for their shower.

***

A few hours had passed, they got enough food for the rest of the night and some snacks for the next day.

They ate brunch in bed, Spencer trying to steal strawberries off Bridgett’s plate because he ate all of his. Bridgett yells jokingly as Spencer weasels his fork across her plate, impaling 2 of her strawberries.

“Excuse me!” Bridgett complains. “You should have cut yourself more strawberries if you wanted them, these are mine.” She taunts him, moving her strawberries away from close to him.

“Couples share!” Spencer says, shoving the whole berry in his mouth.

“They do but I don’t share strawberries. Just like you don’t share your jello. I learned that lesson the hard way.”

Spencer laughs, remembering when he basically interrogated Bridgett when he saw a jello cup missing from the fridge. The one freaking time she craves jello and Spencer turns bad cop on her.

“I have a question.” Spencer says, stuffing his face with a piece of waffle.

“Okay.”

“Is there any fixing the relationship you and your parents have? Or is that broken beyond repair?”

Bridgett stops chewing, looking over at Spencer, completely taken back by his question.

“Where is this coming from? Before I answer.”

He shrugs his shoulders, “I dunno, I was curious about if you would ever take me home to meet your parents.”

Bridgett sighs, thinking about the answer to her question. To be honest, she hadn't even thought about Spencer meeting her parents. Mostly because she didn’t want them to scare Spencer away.

“Well, I don’t know. I haven’t given it thought until 5 seconds ago if I’m being honest. If my parents weren’t… how my parents are, and we had a good relationship, I would have taken you to meet them a long time ago. I know how they are and I don’t want them to do or say anything that’ll make you uncomfortable or upset you.The only person I can see you meeting is my sister, Celeste.”

“Upset me how?”

“I never told you, but there was a boy back when I was a junior, I had a huge crush on him, his name was Cruz, and we weren’t ever boyfriend and girlfriend or anything, but he took me out on a few dates. Anyway, my mom saw us out one night at a mall, and she started tearing him to shreds. Calling him a ‘hoodlum’, ‘gang banger’, any other insensitive name she could call him because he had a tattoo and his ears were pierced. And she said all of that to his face. I was mortified, he was pissed, and we never went out after that. I just don’t want them to treat you horribly. You don’t deserve that.”

“I get it, it’s okay if it doesn’t happen, but you know I can handle it, right?”

“I know, babe, but then I’m going to get mad and it’s just going to end in the three of us yelling and I don’t want that. I’m not counting it out completely just… not yet. And since you brought it up, have you ever thought about me meeting your mom?”

“Yeah of course. It might be further down the road, but yes I do want you two to meet. You two are both very important to me.”

“Unfortunately neither of us have a normal family.” Bridgett jokes.

“We can make our own normal family.” Spencer says nonchalantly, making Bridgett turn her head quickly toward him. Spencer feels her eyes on him, making him look back at her. “What?”

“You know what you just said right? You’ve thought about us having our own family?”

Spencer breaks eye contact, his cheeks getting a little red. “Well yeah. I’ve thought a lot about marrying you, us having kids. We’ve both talked about wanting families one day, and it was before we got together that we had that conversation, but it still stands at least for me.”

Bridgett smiles at him, kissing his lips, a hint of strawberry on them. “What’s stopping you from marrying me right now?”

“Not much, honestly. But we’re only in our 20s. I think we should wait a little while longer before we get married.”

“I’m imagining you in a nice tuxedo,” Bridgett grabs both of their plates of food, placing them on the nightstand, and climbs onto Spencer’s lap, straddling him.

Spencer raises his eyebrows, resting both of his hands on her hips, and a peaceful smile on his face.

“Your hair combed back, looking like SuperMan in your glasses, because you know what your glasses do to me.” She whispers, kissing him again.

Spencer pulls back from the kiss first, a smile on his face. “Actually, Clark Kent wore glasses to cover up the fact he was SuperMan. But glasses aren’t much of a disguise, if I put glasses on you I would still be able to tell that it was you. Even if he was a strang-“

Bridgett kisses him again, lingering for a few extra seconds before pulling back. “I love when you info drop, I think it’s very cute and I love hearing you go on about stuff you know a lot about, but I was trying to be sexy.”

Spencer laughs, cupping Bridgett’s face in his hands. “You don’t have to try hard, my love.”

***

Bridgett’s body shutters, making her wake up. She grabs for the blanket that she pushed off her body during the night. As she pulled the blanket it wouldn’t come up further than her stomach, making her whine.

“Spencer you’re on the blanket. You’re being a blanket hog.” She mumbles, turning around to lay on his chest to wake him up but the spot next to her was empty. Bridgett opens her eyes, lifting her head up off the pillow and looking at the empty bed.

“Spence?” Bridgett calls out, sitting up on the bed to find her discarded clothes on the floor. She slips her underwear on, putting her long sleeve sweatshirt over her bare torso to go find Spencer.

She walks around the cabin, finding a yellow heart shaped balloon and a birthday cake balloon swaying back and forth on the counter in the kitchen, the ribbon tied to the handle of the overhead cabinet. Bridgett smiles as she sees Spencer sitting on the couch, bringing his coffee mug to his lips. She walks up behind him, leaning down and runs her hands down both sides of his chest and enveloping him in a hug.

“Good morning, hermoso.” Bridgett whispers in his ear, kissing the spot below his ear.

“Good morning.” Spencer smiles, putting his coffee down on the table next to him. He motions for her to come over to him, holding his arms out.

Bridgett rounds the couch, sitting next to him, and placing her legs in his lap, kissing his cheek.

“Happy birthday, babe.” He says, giving her a peck on the lips.

Bridgett gives him a kiss back, smiling into his lips as they pull back. “Thank you. I love my balloons.” Kissing him again. “And you.”

“I love you too. I have another present I want to give you. Well technically it’s two, but one is more symbolic. Well, symbolic is the wrong word, one is romantic, and the other is a gesture. I don’t know if that’s the right wo-.”

Bridgett laughs, grabbing his face and making him look at her. “Your brain is working faster than your mouth baby. Relax.”

He presses his nose against hers and reaches behind the pillow next to him. “The romantic gift first.” He says, handing her a CD case with a yellow piece of construction paper taped on the inside with the words written in his chicken scratch, “Songs That Remind me of You” with a heart on it.

Bridgett pouts her lip out and makes soft eyes at him. “Babe!” She says in a whiny voice, hugging his waist.

“This can be our playlist for tonight. And I have something else for you.” He says, handing her a key.

Bridgett smiles at him, raising an eyebrow to him. “What’s this for?”

“I could say something cheesy that I had seen on the internet when I was looking up cute ideas for gifts for you, but it’s a key to my apartment. I figured you’re already at my place more often than not so, yeah.” He smiles.

Bridgett takes his face in between her hands again, bringing his face close to hers and kisses him passionately. “I love you so much, Spencer. I’m so lucky.”

“I was nervous that giving you the key was going to freak you out.”

“Why would it freak me out?”

Spencer shrugs his shoulders, looking down at the coffee table trying to sort through the thoughts in his head. “I’ve never done the relationship thing before. I don’t know how soon is too soon to do things, and I don’t want to hold off on doing things because I get in my head about rushing into things… but I don’t want to freak you out and make you feel pressured into something you don’t want to do just to make me happy.” Spencer clears his throat, narrowing his eyes. “You can tell me to stop talking.”

Bridgett giggles, bringing his face closer to hers, her thumb rubs his cheek lovingly. “You know that I would tell you if things were moving too fast, right? Plus, we’ve never had a normal moving relationship in case you haven’t noticed. And I kinda like it… just like I kinda like you.”

Spencer lets out a deep laugh, his eyes scrunching up as she smiles. “You just like me? That’s it?”

“Yup. A strong admiration.” She giggles, bopping her nose against his. “I’m fond of you.”

“Alright, let’s see how fond you are.” He says, shifting his body against the couch and making her lay down on her back against the cushions.

Bridgett wraps her legs around his waist, putting her hands on both sides of his face. “First one to say I love you loses.” She says.

“What's the punishment for losing?”

“The loser has to give the other head… twice.”

“I love you. I love you so much. The love of my life. I love you.” Spencer says, kissing all over her face.

[slapshot-to-the-heart]

When We Went From Friends to This - a. beauvillier

One day late, but here it is! I’ve been studying for the LSAT, but finally took it today, so I’ll have some more time to be writing more regularly now. Title is from Taylor Swift’s Paper Rings. I loved getting to write this, so please please let me know what you think, my inbox is always open! Reading the tags is one of my favorite things to do, and reblogs help me know people are liking my work.

word count: 7.7k+

September 18 (sat)

Astride Leclair was the kind of person you always wanted on your side. She’d drop anything for a friend, always be the first to reach out, and would never give up on something — or someone — without a fight. She was also incredibly stubborn. Astride had also always had a penchant for adventure, which is how she found herself in a new job 600 miles and one international border from her hometown. And she hated asking for help, it really didn’t matter the circumstance. Which is how she found herself alone, trying to heft an armchair up the stairs of her new apartment building after being very rudely informed by the width of the elevator door that it wasn’t going to fit. 

The lump sum her firm gave her for relocation was enough to cover a fair amount of the furniture for her new place and she tried to bring as much as she could on the drive down, but it wasn’t like she was about to rent a U-Haul and there was only so much a Honda Civic could hold. And Astride was still her father’s daughter, still would rather step on a rusty nail than pay Ikea for assembly, so by God she was going to do it herself. And “doing it herself” apparently meant dragging an 80 pound box up three flights of stairs in 90º heat in September, when New York City seemed to have not quite yet gotten the memo that the rest of the Northern Hemisphere was now in fall. 

Astride finally managed to get the chair in the door, propping the door open with one of her moving boxes, unceremoniously pulling the box through the entryway as she scooted backwards into the living room. The 600 square foot expanse of her apartment was covered in boxes, more boxes, and for good measure, extra boxes. There were moving boxes, furniture boxes, shoeboxes filled with anything except for actual shoes. There was her guitar leaning against the microwave, three suitcases worth of clothes in the barely-assembled bedroom, and her dog in a crate in the corner, who had started to whine. 

“I know, baby, I’ll get you out soon,” Astride said, shooting a sympathetic glance towards the beagle mix. She had adopted Poutine a little over a year ago, soon after starting her first job out of university. It was never a question whether or not she would make the trip with Astride, and thankfully it was much easier than she anticipated to find a dog-friendly apartment in Brooklyn. It wasn’t too long a walk to Prospect Park, a little under a mile, and she was looking forward to getting out with Poutine later in the day. If, that was, she actually finished unpacking enough boxes to function like a normal human being. She had picked up her mattress-in-a-box earlier in the day, but it was still sitting in the corner of her bedroom and she wasn’t particularly looking forward to a night on the hardwood floor. 

---

Three hours later, Astride had finally gotten all of the boxes out of her car and began to make decent headway on assembling the chair, finally having let Poutine out of her crate. The beagle trotted around the apartment, sniffing the baseboards, boxes, and single bag of groceries Astride had picked up from Whole Foods earlier in the day. The rest of her Ikea order was coming the next day, the actual bedframe and couch along with a couple of other larger furniture pieces that she had had to leave in Montréal. Whatever she couldn’t order online she’d find at a thrift store. 

Astride looked tiredly over at the kitchen. She really wasn’t in the mood to cook, and was in even less of a mood to dig through all the boxes until she finally found her set of pots and pans. She really should have taken her mom’s advice and labeled everything, but Astride was stubborn as a mule, and once she was stuck in her ways, there was precious little anyone could do to convince her otherwise. Pulling out her phone, she navigated to her Uber Eats, feeling a tiny pang in her heart as she switched her location to New York. Not the language, though. Astride was so hungry that she literally clicked on whatever place could get there the fastest, which ended up being a Chinese place a mile or so away. After placing her order — she got an extra box of chow mein so she wouldn’t have to deal with breakfast the next day — she settled back into the hair, the only fully-assembled piece of furniture in the whole apartment. Her finger hovered over her Instagram for a moment before she clicked on it, liking a few photos before going to post one of her own. It was a picture of the Brooklyn Bridge as she crossed it that morning, Poutine’s head lolling out the front window. One tap and one caption later, it was posted. 

---

Anthony flopped onto his bed, his duffel landing with a satisfying thump on the floor beside him. Training camp had just ended, and while he’d certainly been keeping up on his workouts over the summer, the hours upon hours of skating had nevertheless made him more than a little sore. He grabbed his phone, opening up Instagram and scrolling through the new posts, only half paying attention. Astride’s new photo caught his eye.

Sometimes, needing a change means a new haircut. Sometimes, it means a new country. Very excited to start this next chapter in my life. Salut, New York! Anthony quickly clicked onto her profile page and read her bio. International economics analyst. Eating my way through the world one pancake at a time. BCom McGill. MTL-NYC. He read the last line over and over again. MTL-NYC. He swiped back to the photo; she had tagged herself in Brooklyn. Brooklyn. She was less than an hour away, not even thirty if the traffic wasn’t bad. But she hadn’t told him, she hadn’t said anything. Anthony felt a pang in his heart. Astride knew who he played for — obviously — and she knew that of course he’d want to see her any time they were even remotely in the same place. She knew that. Right? 

He spent the next twenty minutes typing out a message to her. Then deleting it. Then retyping it. Then continuing the type-delete-retype cycle until his head was spinning. This was his best friend. Why was he so nervous to talk to her? Because she was his best friend, and as much as he hated to admit it, he really wasn’t sure where they stood. He hadn’t been sure for a long time. Hey Asty! He internally cringed at himself at the use of her old nickname. I saw you moved to New York, that’s amazing! I’m over on Long Island, so I’d love to catch up with you for coffee or something when you get a chance. It’s been too long :) 

It might have been a little petty — scratch that, it definitely was petty — but Astride didn’t respond to his text that night. She didn’t have read receipts on, thank God, but it sat in her messages, without response, like something she was too scared to confront. And she didn’t even know why. Okay, fine, she knew exactly why. She had moved and suddenly they were in the same city for the first time since they were kids and he was, had been, her best friend, but why now of all times? It’s not like he was never in Montréal during the year, or like they couldn’t have committed to a weekly FaceTime or something, or at least texted more than once a month. He could have done something. And that something, that lack of a something, was what kept her from responding until the next morning, tapping out a text as she halfheartedly made her way through a bowl of oatmeal. Hi, Tito, just saw your text! Lie. I did, an opportunity for a transfer came up and I decided to take it. I figured you were pretty close by, so it would be great to catch up. I don’t start at the office for a week, if you’re free any time between now and then. That much was true. She wasn’t stupid, she knew the Islanders played on, well, Long Island, and as much as she wanted to still hold a grudge against him, her heart ached at the prospect of finally being able to see him again. 

Anthony responded almost instantly, Astride having just closed the door to the dishwasher — a luxury in New York, she was told — before seeing her phone light up with the telltale bubble. I’d love to, we just finished up training camp so I’m more or less free aside from practices. A second later. Is brunch still your favorite meal?

Astride laughed. It didn’t surprise her that he remembered, but it was still touching to see him say something about it. It is.

How about Tuesday? I’ll send you the directions. It’s this little café in Flatbush, I think you’ll love it. 

I’m counting on it. 

September 26 (sun)

Brunch had turned into dinner, which had turned into going to a Broadway show — Anthony had insisted the moment she told him she’d never been — which had turned into him coming over for Saturday night movies, an old habit of the pair’s from their days back in Québec. Which had turned into two movies and two bottles of wine, which had turned into Tito sleeping over on the couch instead of driving the thirty-odd minutes back to his apartment. Poutine sniffed him curiously, nudging one hand with her head. Astride stifled a giggle, opening the door to the balcony. “He’s very sleepy, Poutine. It’s not good manners to wake up your guests.”

“Even when they fall asleep on your couch and steal all your blankets?” Anthony said sleepily from behind. 

Astride wheeled around, greeted by a half-awake Anthony Beauvillier, who was indeed bundled in all of the blankets she owned that weren’t actively on her bed. “Tito! Oh my God, you scared me. How’d you sleep?”

He shrugged. “Not bad, about as well as can be expected.” He tapped his phone, cursing when he realized it was dead. “Do you know what time it is?”

She glanced down at her watch. “8:52, why?”

Anthony jumped up, throwing his shirt back on and grabbing his still-dead phone. “I’m supposed to meet Mat for breakfast at 9:30, and the place is,” he paused for a moment, running through the grid system in his head, “probably half an hour away? I’m never the late one, can’t break that streak now.” 

“Gotcha.”

He grabbed his keys, looking back at her. “Why don’t you come? You’re already dressed, and you remember Mat, right?”

She wiggled her hand. “Kind of?” She crossed the room, letting Poutine back in. “You only want me for my charged phone and navigation system.”

“You got me,” he said, laughing. 

---

“You named your dog Poutine?” Mat snickered, taking a bite of his eggs. 

“Would you rather I named him Tim Horton?” Astride deadpanned. “He’s a good Canadian boy with a good Canadian mom. He needed a good Canadian name.” 

Mat raised his coffee mug, tilting it over towards her. “Touché.”

Anthony waved his hand in front of Mat’s face, trying to catch his attention from where he was utterly preoccupied with destroying his sourdough toast. “Hey, Mat.”

“Mmm?” He glanced up. 

“Did you know that Astride lives right by Barclays? Like, right by Barclays?” 

His eyebrows rose. “No way?” Astride nodded. “That’s a great area, would have been awesome if you were here a couple of years ago. Short walk to the games.”

“That’s what I told her yesterday,” Tito responded. 

---

“You’re kidding,” Anthony said, looking up at her building, then across the street to Barclays, then back to Astride, one hand tangling through his hair. “We used to play right across from here.” 

Astride laughed. “I thought about that,” she said. “You know I still watched your games, right? Even after we fell out of touch?” Anthony shook his head. “You were still someone I cared about, are still someone I care about, even when we only talked a few times a year.” 

Beau stood there, unable to formulate a complete sentence. As far as he knew, the last Islanders game she watched had been the 2016 opener, his NHL debut and her first year at McGill. Why did he assume that? Why did he assume the worst? You can care about people even when they’re not in your life anymore. And sometimes, if you get really, really lucky, they come back. 

October 9 (sat) 

“Ebs is having a barbeque thing over at his house this weekend, just stuff to celebrate the beginning of the season if you wanted to come. No pressure if you’ve got plans already, though,” Anthony said over the FaceTime. 

Astride nodded enthusiastically. “That sounds great, I’d love to come! Just let me know when to show up and what to bring, and I’ll be there.”

 It was almost a fifty-minute drive for Astride from her apartment in Prospect Heights to the house in Garden City, but there wasn’t too much traffic and besides, she had always liked driving. So she set off in her Civic, plugged her music in, and headed down 495. Anthony met her outside of the house, greeting her with a warm hug and a kiss on the cheek as he cocked his head towards the backyard. “Party’s this way. Come on, I’ll introduce you to everyone.” 

Astride dutifully followed, trying not to let her nerves take hold of her. Everyone might have already been Beau’s friends, but she didn’t know them, or the dynamic of everyone’s relationships, or really, what to expect at all. 

He noticed her apprehension, stopping her with a feather-light touch on her arm just before walking through the back gate. “Hey, Asty. What is it?” 

She let out a little huff, still upset that he could read her like a book even after all this time. “I’m just worried that I’ll feel like I’m intruding on everything, like everyone already has their friends and a group and everything, and here comes some random Québécoise who’s a friend of Tito’s—” 

He laughed, turning her around to face him. “Astride, they’re going to love you. As long as you’re the hilarious, witty, caring person I know you are, they’re going to love you as much as I do, and you’re going to fit in just fine. Do you trust me?” 

She gave a tiny nod. “Yeah.” 

He smiled, squeezing her hand. “Good, now come back, everyone’s waiting.” 

They walked through the gate, greeted by a crowd of smiling faces as Anthony brought her around to everyone to make their rounds. There was Anders, he was the captain, and his wife. There was Jordan and Lauren, and she already knew Mat, and JGP — who was excited to have another person to speak French to — and a dozen or so others, along with their respective partners and children. Anthony had gone over to talk to Mat and some of the other players, while Astride had wandered over to the drinks table. Some of the other women were chatting nearby; one of them caught Astride’s eye and waved her over to join them. 

“Beau didn’t tell us he was bringing anyone!” one of the women said, pulling her over to the group with a bright smile and handing her a glass of sangria. 

“Mhm,” she replied, taking a sip of the drink. “I’m new to the city, obviously, so I think he wanted me to have some people I know outside of just work.” 

They all nodded. “How long have you two been together, though?” another asked. “I didn’t even know he was seeing anyone, did you?” She looked around at the others, who shook their heads as Astride’s eyes bulged. 

“Together? No, no, we’re not together. We’ve been best friends for ages, but,” she shook her head. 

“Could have fooled me,” Lauren said with the smallest of winks. 

Astride suddenly became very interested in the floating berries in her sangria. She looked over at Anthony, who was throwing his head back, laughing at something one of the rookies had said, and smiled. But Lauren’s words kept lingering in the back of her mind. Could have fooled me. Okay, it wasn’t like it was the first time they had been mistaken for a couple; whenever she’d make the trip up to Shawingan to visit him when he was in the QMJHL, more than once she’d have to explain to his teammates that no, she wasn’t Beau’s girlfriend, they were just best friends who had known each other forever. Just best friends. 

Astride had always equated her lingering feelings for Anthony to the nostalgia of a childhood crush, the safety and security that came with remembering something from a time that seemed so simple and so easy. But childhood crushes didn’t last for ten years. And that wasn’t something she hadn’t wanted to come to terms with, something she’d been putting off for years if she was being honest with herself. 

“You didn’t tell me Astride was coming,” Mat commented, seeing her mid-laugh in conversation with the other girls. 

Anthony nodded. “Yeah. She didn’t have any plans for the weekend and I thought it would be nice to introduce her to everyone. I remember how shitty it felt to be in a new city away from your family, don’t want her to be lonely. Plus, I genuinely think she’ll fit in great with everyone.” 

Mat hummed his agreement. “She’s changed since Switzerland, don’t you think?” he asked appreciatively, referring to over five years ago, the last time he had seen her in person.

“Don’t even think about it,” Beau mumbled to Mat, seeing his eyebrows go so far up they were hidden in his hairline. 

“I see a hot girl, I appreciate a hot girl,” Mat shrugged. “But don’t worry, I won’t try anything. I know she’s off-limits.” 

The rest of the afternoon passed quicker than she would have thought, and after a few hours and more good conversations, it was time for Astride to leave. “Have a safe drive back,” Anthony said, giving her a hug. 

“I will,” she responded. 

He opened the driver’s side door for her. “I’m really glad you came, you know. Everyone liked you, you fit in great.” 

“It wasn’t all me,” she said, sliding into the seat, turning her head to Anthony to continue the conversation. “Everyone really did seem to go out of their way to make me feel included, I think they understood the feeling of moving to a whole new place without a big support system and wanted to do what they could to help mitigate that for me.” Astride consciously left out Lauren’s little comment, four words that had been bouncing around in her head for hours since they had been said. He didn’t need to know. She didn’t need him to know, it could confuse him and complicate things when they were just getting back into the rhythm of friendship, of being each other’s person. 

Anthony tapped his fingers on the car door. “I’m glad.” 

“Me too.”

Beau went to sleep that night, Mat’s words bouncing around in his head. “I know she’s off-limits.” It’s not like Cass was his sister or something, someone who would inherently be barred from his best friend’s dating pool. But Mat seemed to know right away, without having ever been told, that she wasn’t someone he could ever even consider pursuing. Why? And what did Mat seem to know that he didn’t?

November 12 (fri)

It was early November, and Anthony and Astride had just settled down at a table in Prospect Park, coffee cups warming their hands through the late fall chill. “How do you feel about last night?” Astride asked teasingly. He had a three point game, two goals and an assist in a 4-1 win over the Canes, so there really wasn’t any question that he was still riding on the high. 

Beau rolled his eyes. “Good, obviously. It would have been nice to get a hat trick, but I know that’s asking for a lot and I didn’t want to tempt fate too much. They made a really good push late in the second.”

“But you won,” she said, poking his shoulder with the hand that wasn’t wrapped around her mocha. 

“But we won,” he agreed. He suddenly got quiet, the kind of quiet where, if you know the person well enough, you can tell that something’s up. That they’re thinking of something. And Astride was right. “Do you ever think about Switzerland?” he asked. 

Astride looked at him from the side, knowing right away that he wasn’t asking about the country. “All the time,” she admitted. 

---

It was the spring of 2015, and they were in Lucerne. By they, Astride meant her, Tito, and the rest of the 2015 Canadian U18 World Cup team. And by in Lucerne, she meant crowded into someone’s hotel room with no adult supervision. Anthony wasn’t sure where any of the coaching staff had gone, but if he was being honest, he was riding on way too big of a high to even care. They had clinched the bronze medal earlier that day, celebrating with the family and friends who had made the trip out, gotten dinner, and then packed into the first team room they came to. Well, technically, Astride, Tito, and Mat had made a stop at the grocery store before meeting everyone else back in the room. The drinking age in Switzerland was 16 for everything but spirits, and everyone was planning on taking full advantage of that. The cashier gave them a look as she took her and Anthony’s French licenses and Mat’s English one, but the charge went through just fine, and fifteen minutes later they were walking back through the doorway with three cases of beer and a few bottles of sparkling wine for good measure. Astride had never been so grateful to have her own checking account. 

“You ever drink before?” Mat asked her as they opened the cases. 

Astride shrugged. “Not really. A glass of wine every now and again back home with my parents, but nothing too crazy.” 

He held out a bottle for her, fishing around in his pocket for the bottle opener they had picked up at the store. “Have fun.” 

And have fun Astride did. She had finished off two of the beers, and one of the younger teammates — she didn’t remember who — had popped open the wine. In his slightly inebriated state, it took longer than it should have to twist off the muselet, which then led to foam all over the floor and fifteen sixteen and seventeen-year-olds running to the bathroom to grab towels to try and mop it up with. And then running back to the bathroom to get the water glasses because they needed something to drink it out of, right? And then to everyone else’s rooms because they quickly realized that two cups definitely wasn’t enough to go around, and then everyone was back in the room, on the beds and around the beds, finally letting themselves celebrate. Astride was just finishing her glass when Mat spoke. “Anyone up for never have I ever?” Nobody said otherwise, so two minutes later, they were all arranged in what could very generously be called a circle, fresh drinks in hand. After a solid five minutes of repeating the rules — there was always at least one person who seemed to genuinely struggle with the idea that you drank if you had done the thing, not if you hadn’t — they were slowly but surely making their way around the circle. 

Questions ranged from the mundane — “Never have I ever gotten detention” — to the raunchy — “Never have I ever had my parents walk in on me” — neither of which Astride or Tito drank to. 

By the time it was Mat’s turn, he had had plenty of time to think, looking around the group with a conspiratorial grin. “What is it?” Tito asked skeptically. 

He shrugged. “Never have I ever...kissed anyone in the circle.” As expected, nobody drank, but apparently that wasn’t expected, not for Mat, at least. He looked between Anthony and Astride incredulously. “Seriously? You two have never kissed?”

Anthony shook his head. “Nope.”

“How? You’ve been friends for, like, a million years, not even when you were little or anything?” he asked. 

“Never,” Astride said. “Kind of hard to kiss your best friend when you haven’t kissed anyone before.” She barely even realized that everyone was still listening in. 

“You’ve never kissed anyone?” Anthony asked, surprised. 

Astride looked down at her hands, sipping her beer. “Nope.” She gave him a brief smile. “I know it’s nothing to be ashamed of, but no. Just hasn’t happened yet.”

Maybe it was the alcohol talking, or maybe it was feelings buried so deeply in Anthony’s mind that he didn’t think would ever see the light of day, let alone have to be confronted, that made him say what he did next. “I could—if you wanted—you don’t have to, but—” he stammered.

Astride laughed, looking at him curiously. “What is it, Tito? You’re not normally one to stumble over your words like that.”

He picked at his fingernails, an old nervous tick from his childhood that his mother was never quite able to get him to break, keenly aware that the whole room had decided to listen into their conversation. “I was just trying to say...I could do it, if you want. Kiss you, I mean. If you just wanted to get it over with, or whatever. I just figured. You know me, you trust me, you’re comfortable with me. Better that than some idiot at school who doesn’t care about you.”

Her cheeks burned as she looked over at him, but even though it took her nearly a minute to respond, she had her answer after five seconds. “Why not?” Astride flashed him the purest, gentlest smile, the kind that let him know just how much she cared about him and how deeply she trusted him. And the look on her face meant the world to him. 

Anthony leaned in, his hand coming up to rest on her shoulder, his fingertips just barely touching her cheek as their foreheads leant together. “You sure about this?” He needed her to be sure. 

She nodded. “I’ve had a couple of drinks, and I never imagined my first kiss would be in front of an audience,” she paused to giggle at the rest of the team, who were giving the scene their full attention in a way that somehow wasn’t uncomfortable at all, just wholesome and supportive, “but yeah. I’m sure.”

That was all the permission Anthony needed to lean forward, pressing his lips against hers, in a kiss that was soft and sweet and somehow everything Astride needed all in one. He pulled back after a moment, a goofy smile on his face. “How was it?”

Astride couldn’t help but let out a laugh. “Good, it was really good, Tito. Thank you for that.”

“What are friends for?”

---

“Friends are for kissing each other, apparently,” Astride giggled, leaning into Anthony on his couch. 

He laughed, wrapping his arm around her shoulders, absentmindedly rubbing his thumb over her arm. “Did you ever think something was going to happen between us?” Anthony asked curiously. 

Astride shrugged. “At some point, yeah. I think it was kind of hard not to, with our parents and literally everyone we spent time with saying we were destined to fall in love.” She looked down at her hands, trying not to give away the fact that at one point, she had believed them. 

November 30 (tues)

“Do you want to come over Friday?” Anthony asked, sprawled out across her couch on one of his rare nights off. He had made the drive over to Astride’s apartment, cooking salmon and roasting vegetables while she took the much more daunting task of picking what to watch on Netflix. She settled on Back to the Future. “I can order in Thai, I know we’re trying to work our way through the Mission Impossibles.” 

Astride grimaced. “I actually...kind of have a date Friday night,” she admitted. 

Anthony made a hum of surprise. “You do?” 

She rolled her eyes. “Don’t act so shocked, Tito. There are men in this city of nine million who want to take me out.” 

He sputtered. “It’s not that that shocks me, Asty. You’d have men lining up around the block for you if you’d give any of them a second glance. It’s just that. You never seem to bother actually going after any of them. What made this one different?” 

“I mean, honestly hour?” Astride said, shrugging. 

“Honestly hour.” 

“I haven’t been on a date since I left Montréal, you know that. It had been a few months there too. And I’ve loved hanging out with you more, getting to know Mat and the team and everyone’s partners, but...I needed something different, too. Something that felt like a part of my life that wasn’t directly connected to the team. Which, don’t get me wrong,” she added hastily, “I love them, and it’s been so nice to be a part of that group, I just…” Astride trailed off. 

“You can’t let that be the only part of your life. I get it,” Anthony added helpfully.  

“Yeah,” Astride agreed. “So enter Cole. He works in a different division of the IE department, I’m obviously Europe and he’s Asia, mostly does work with Taiwan and Singapore. Um,” she said, her eyes turning towards the ceiling, “he seems really nice, did international business at UPenn, which is a great program. Speaks fluent Mandarin, uh, I think he mentioned he’s got a few fish at home.” 

Anthony snorted. “What’s wrong with fish?” Astride asked defensively. 

“Nothing, nothing’s wrong with fish,” he said. “Just seems like an odd choice. Maybe his building doesn’t allow pets or something.” 

“Maybe,” Astride responded. “I wouldn’t know, he lives in Manhattan, over in Tribeca. Bikes to work.” 

Tito laughed again. “I don’t trust people who bike to work in New York City, Asty. They have zero regard for their own lives or safety.” 

She giggled. “That might be true. But I’m looking forward to it, the date, I mean. I really am. It’s been a while since I’ve really put myself back out there, and I’m ready for something good. Something real.” 

He gave a half-smile from his side of the couch. “I’m happy for you, Astride. I hope you have a great time, and I hope he treats you right. If he doesn’t, just let him know that you can sic an entire professional hockey team on him with a single phone call.” 

“I will,” she said. “I’ll call you when it’s over, tell you how it went.” “

I’ll be waiting,” he said. 

Anthony thought back on the conversation as he sat on the corner of his bed that night, about to go to sleep. He turned his phone over and over in his hands, his eyes fixating on the chip in the crown molding that he hadn’t gotten around to fixing yet. He wasn’t lying to Astride when he said he was happy for her. He was, of course he was, who wouldn’t want their best friend to be happy? But while he wanted nothing more, nothing more, than to be able to give his full-throated support for her date, and the potential the future held for her and this Cole guy, he couldn’t do it. There was something stopping him. And the worst part of it all was that Anthony was starting to realize what it was. 

---

Astride had said that their dinner reservation was at 7, some brasserie in the West Village. “That’s a French thing, right?” Cole had asked. 

“It is,” Astride responded, gearing up for her translation skills to be used for the first time in months. She spoke almost exclusively French around Tito, and with JGP and Brassard, but the majority of her day was spent in English. Cole said that the restaurant had come highly recommended from one of his Wall Street friends, something that should have been the first red flag. 

“Never trust the finance bros,” Reese, a German specialist and one of her friends at the office, had said. “They all think they’re God’s gift to mankind when I can guarantee you they ain’t shit.”  

She had said it was at 7, so Anthony wasn’t expecting to hear from her until much later; honestly, he would have been surprised if she had called before 10. He tried not to think about what it could mean if she didn’t call at all that night. She had said it was at 7, so when he heard a knock at his door at half past nine, he practically jumped out of his skin before scrambling to open the door. His eyebrows rose when he saw Astride on the other side of the door, then his face contorted into a look of sympathy as he saw the sad smile on her lips, her jacket slung over one arm. 

“Can I come in?” she asked. He nodded without question, holding the door while stepping out of the way. He padded to the kitchen, bringing out a bottle of Moscato and two glasses. Astride smiled gratefully at him as he uncorked the bottle and poured. He knew that she couldn’t do red wine when she was upset, and she was upset. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked tentatively. 

Astride shrugged, sipping the wine. “Not much to tell other than it was probably the worst first date I’ve ever been on.” 

That piqued Anthony’s interest. He’d never be happy that she was upset, but something told him the story wasn’t quite that simple. “What about it was so bad?” 

“Where do I begin?” she sighed. “He was on time, but that’s pretty much the only thing Cole did right the entire night. He was rude to the waitress when we had to wait all of ten minutes until our reservation was ready, because the couple ahead had gone long. Then he ordered the most expensive bottle of red wine they had, without even asking me to see what I wanted. He really just was trying to show off that he could afford it. And it was a Sangiovese, and you know I hate dry wines, so I was just trying to choke the whole thing down. And then he insisted on ordering for me, which is probably the most chauvinistic thing I could think of, I mean, who does that anymore?” she asked incredulously. 

Tito shrugged. It was disrespectful, absolutely, but more than that, it was just weird. If women have mouths that work, then they’re more than capable of doing something as simple as ordering their own food. 

“And he kept trying to pour me more wine after the first glass, even when I told him a million times I was good.” Anthony’s grip on his glass tightened. Astride rubbed her temples with her free hand. “He just kept going on and on about work, and this big promotion he’s insisting he’s going to get even though I know for a fact that they want Maria for it. I could barely get a word in edgewise. That’s when I just decided I couldn’t take it anymore. I faked that Jean-Claude was calling, grabbed my jacket, and caught a cab over here.” She looked up at him, the same disappointed expression she had worn when he opened the door. “I was really hoping this one would pan out, Tito.” 

He felt an ache in his heart. He may have been less than thrilled about the prospect of Astride going out on a date, but that didn’t mean it hurt any less to see her so despondent. He leaned over, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear that had fallen loose. “I know, Asty. And I’m sorry it didn’t.”

December 13 (mon)

Anthony and Mat were the last ones in the locker room after a morning practice. “I found this new place nearby last week that’s got great smoothie bowls, want to get one after you finish packing your stuff?” Anthony asked, looking over at Mat. 

“Yeah, yeah. Sure, Sounds good,” Mat nodded, half-listening. 

Anthony glanced over at him, a weird look on his face. “You good, dude? You sound distracted.”

Mat spoke abruptly, looking over at Tito with a laser-focused expression. “How long have you been in love with Astride?” 

Anthony’s eyebrows jumped a foot. “In love with Astride? Why would you think that?”

Mat gave him a look, the kind of look that let Anthony know he was dead serious about what he was saying, and more than that, that he believed it. “Tito, I’m dumb, but I’m not stupid.”

Anthony leaned forward, elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. “It’s that obvious?” 

“Yep,” Mat said, popping the p. 

“Do you think she knows?” His voice had dropped to barely above a whisper. 

“I don’t know,” Mat said, shrugging. “I don’t think so, she doesn’t seem like the type of person to really be able to know about something as big as that and not address it. Doesn’t like to keep things bottled up, it’s not really her style.”

Anthony nodded. “It’s not.” He raked one hand through his haid, his head still leaning on the other one. “God. How do you tell your best friend you’re in love with her?”

Mat put one hand on Beau’s back, comforting him as best he could. “I don’t know, Tito. I wish I could help. What I do know,” he said, “is that you’re going to have to eventually. Because it’s going to tear you up if you don’t.”

December 18 (sat)

Astride tossed one final empty can into the garbage bag. “I think that’s it,” she said, giving his living room a cursory look. What had looked like a warzone only less than an hour before now more closely resembled the somewhat-messy but perfectly respectable bachelor pad of a man in his 20s, like it should have. With the holidays approaching, Anthony had decided to take it into his own hands to host a party — alongside Astride, who he had practically begged for help — intent on showcasing his newly-acquired skills by playing bartender the whole night. He was surprisingly capable, Astride had thought, if her Sazerac was anything to go by. 

He smiled at her. “Thanks, Asty. And thanks for staying and helping clean everything up, you really didn’t have to.” 

She tied the bag off and set it by the door with the other one. “I wanted to. And besides, I’m staying over,” she said, looking over at Anthony, “so what did you think I was going to do? Lock myself in the guest room while you cleaned up the whole apartment by yourself? What kind of a woman do you take me for?” she asked in mock offense. 

Anthony laughed, sitting down on the couch with a satisfying thump, pulling Astride into his side when she settled next to him. 

“I’m so glad we got back in contact,” she said, muffled against the fabric of his hoodie. “I’m so glad we’re friends again.” 

He felt guilty; more than that, he knew that the guilt, at least some of it, was deserved. “I should have done more,” he lamented. “I should have done more to keep in contact, more to show you I cared, more so you’d know that your friendship is one of the things I value most in my life.” 

Astride gave a small smile. “It’s a two-way street, Tito. Sure, I won’t lie and say that you really put all that much effort into keeping in contact. You didn’t.” He winced, she shot him a sympathetic look. “I love you, but you know me. I don’t mince my words. But I definitely could have done more than text you congratulations or leave a thirty-second voicemail on your birthday. We both could have done more. We both should have done more,” she said, correcting herself. “What do you think happened, though? Where did we go wrong?” As much as she might have hated it, Astride was that kind of person. She went through every bad decision in her life with a fine-toothed comb, needing to know what went wrong, needing to know what she could have done differently. 

“I think,” he began, “that it was just so easy to get distracted from ‘back home’ things. From our friendship, from my relationships with my family. From the important things, the things that I should have made an effort to prioritize even when the season got hectic and games got hard. And I’m not trying to make excuses,” he added quickly, “but there was just something about where I was, physically and mentally. I was 19, a rookie in one of the biggest cities in the world, and I think I just lost sight of things. Between the practices and games and going out and community events and trying to get in more than five hours of sleep a night, it was a lot,” he admitted. “It was stressful, probably weighed on me more than I wanted to admit. And I don’t want to sound ungrateful, because I’m well aware I was — and am — living a life thousands of kids would kill for, but there’s a lot that goes on behind the scenes that you don’t really understand unless you’ve been through it. I don’t have many regrets from my rookie season, or really many in my career so far. Don’t regret moving for minors, don’t regret going to the Isles, don’t regret any of the contracts I’ve signed or plays I’ve made. Well,” he smirked, “maybe a few. But the one big one? The only real regret I’ve had? Letting you go.” 

Astride swallowed hard, choosing her next words carefully. “What do you mean, letting me go?”

Anthony let out a hard sigh. He’d put it off for long enough. He couldn’t do it any longer. “Never telling you how I feel.”

“How you feel?” Her voice had dropped to a whisper, her fingers tangling in the fringe of the fleece blanket that was slung over the couch cushions. 

“Like I love you so much my heart could burst.”

Her breath caught in her throat. “How long have you known?”

He looked at her with a soft smile. “Ever since Switzerland.”

“Six years?”

“Six years.” He reached out slowly, so slowly, pushing a stray piece of hair behind her ear when she didn’t move back. They sat in silence for a moment, and when Anthony spoke again, his voice wavered. “Asty? Say something.”

Astride’s lifted her head, finally meeting his eyes. “I knew since I was 15.”

His face split into a grin, wider and wider until she was sure she’d never seen a bigger smile. “You did? You do?”

She nodded, leaning forward so their foreheads were touching. She put her hand on his chest, feeling his heartbeat fluttering butterfly-fast underneath her fingertips. “I’m pretty sure I’ve been in love with you since I knew what love was, Tito.”

He pushed forward, pressing his lips against hers for the first time since 2015, the first time since Switzerland. It was gentle and meaningful and somehow communicated all of the love and emotion that had been built up between the two of them in the past six years. Anthony pulled back after a minute, his lips pink and slightly puffy. “Tell me where your head’s at, Astride.”

“Is it too cliché to just say that this might be the happiest I’ve been in years?”

He shook his head, smiling. “Not at all.” But there was something that she wasn’t quite letting go of. “What is it, Astride?”

Astride sniffed. “I want this. You and I, I want it so mad it hurts. I just hate the idea that we’d turn into some sort of cliché. Childhood friends who grow up and fall in love, but something goes wrong and they split up and suddenly the dynamic of everything is messed up and I don’t want that, Tito. I don’t know if I could deal with you hating me because of how things ended.” 

“But things don’t have to end, Asty. Every broken heart, every date where some asshole has stood you up has led you to know that you deserve more. You deserve so much more, Astride, you deserve the sun and the moon and someone who would hang them in the sky for you. It doesn’t have to end in heartbreak. It doesn’t have to end at all.” 

Astride had always been someone who was cautious, someone who thought before she acted and never spoke without thinking through every possible outcome. But this was one of the times that she couldn’t do that, one of the times when, as much as she may have hated it, she needed to take a leap of faith. And so she did. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Anthony asked, his voice lifting. 

She nodded, the happiness on her face unmistakable. “Okay.”

And as Astride and Anthony FaceTimed her parents to break the news, her mom slapping her dad’s shoulder, claiming that she had “called it” back in 2014, Astride was filled with a sense of undeniable, irreplaceable joy. The kind of joy that the poets write about and artists put brush to canvas trying to depict, the kind that most people go their whole lives only hoping to get a glimpse of. The kind that made Astride more certain of one thing than she had perhaps been in her entire life. It didn’t have to end in heartbreak. And this one didn’t have to end at all. 

And as they stood two years later in a little church in their hometown, promising in front of their family and friends and the entire New York Islanders to love each other for the rest of their lives, Astride finally believed it.

[obxfics]

Birthday Surprise

summary: it’s John B’s birthday, and you and the Pogues have something up your sleeves.

pairing: john b x reader

word count: 2,342

requested by @libby-rose-2016​

a/n: i hope this is okay! you didn’t have anything specific and this is actually the second idea i tried out lmao. hope you enjoy it!

“Does everyone understand their missions?”

You, Kie, and Pope all nodded in response to JJ’s question as the four of you huddled together in the van. JJ was taking his job as mission leader very seriously, and had surprised everyone by printing out agendas from the computers at his job at the Country Club. You all had snuck out and met up in front of the Chateau earlier in the morning to brainstorm, and every minute of it you were afraid John B would wake up and catch on to what y’all were planning.

“y/n,” JJ whispered, catching your attention again from where it had been drifting. “Stick to the agenda, okay? We’re on a tight schedule which means no macking unless I specifically wrote it in, got it?”

You stifled a laugh and saluted him, your game face unwavering. Today was important, and you couldn’t afford to fuck things up. You all had a job to do.

“We’ll be waiting here for your signal,” Pope said as he gave you an encouraging pat on the back. “You’ve got this.”

You and Kie clasped arms for a second, communicating good luck with your eyes, before you stood up and quietly rolled the door open. You offered the other three on last salute and set off towards John B’s porch. You carefully hopped around on the creaky ass wood, having done this enough times during your late night rendezvous with John B when JJ had been passed out on the couch and you had to sneak past him. Finally you slipped through the screen door and you were inside. You gave yourself a quick victory fist bump before getting back to business and tip-toeing to John B’s room. As you opened the door, you felt your gaze soften at the sigh of your boyfriend’s sleeping form. He looked so cute and peaceful, so you felt a little bad about what you were about to do.

A yell left John B’s throat when you leapt onto him and screamed, “HAPPY BIRTHDAY!”

There were a couple seconds when he flailed around thinking he was being attacked, but he quickly calmed down when he realized it was just you peppering his face with kisses.

“What the hell was that?” he asked as he wrapped his arms around you to prevent you from pulling back.

“A birthday surprise, duh.”

“Hell of a surprise, sweetheart. I thought someone was trying to murder me.”

“Nope, just my cute ass!”

He grinned at you and gently smacked your ass, causing you to roll your eyes.“I love your cute ass.”

Your eyes fluttered shut as he dragged you down into a kiss, the sweet, lazy sort you loved to receive when the two of you had just woken up. Had it been any other time, you would not have hesitated to deepen it and spend the next hour in bed with him, but you forced yourself to remember you were on a mission. John B let out a cute whine when you managed to pull away and slip out of his arms.

“Why’d you stop? It’s my birthday,” he whined, crossing his arms and giving you a little pout. “Don’t I get a birthday present?”

“Oh, sweetpea, you get to spend the whole day with me. We’ve got plenty of time for your present later,” you promised with a wink. “As for right now, we gotta get you ready for brunch!”

“What do you mean?”

You grabbed his hands and started pulling him up, happy that he decided to help you instead of being difficult. You smiled up at him once he was on his feet, wrapping your arms around his waist and preening under his soft gaze.

“My dad’s making you a birthday brunch, and even managed to rope in my brothers to help.” You reached down to pat his butt and said, “Get your ass dressed so we can eat some food!”

He pressed a kiss to your forehead and moved back to get to his dresser. You sat on his bed, doing your best to somewhat make it while not getting up.

“What about the others?”

“JJ’s got work until six, Kie is under lockdown until tonight when she can sneak out, and Heyward has Pope delivering shit all over the island. We’ll hopefully meet up tonight, but the boys will be exhausted so who knows.”

You bit your lip to hide a smile when you saw John B grumpily pull a shirt over his head.

“But it’s my birthday.”

You walked up to him and wrapped your arms around his waist to press a kiss against his clothed back.

“I know, JB, and they would all be here if they could, but JJ could lose his job if he missed, Kie’s parents would probably kill us if she tried to leave right now, and you know how Pope gets when he disappoints his dad.”

John B sighed, but you saw him nod. He understood what you were saying. At least you could be here, and damn did your dad know how to cook.

Your parents ran a restaurant that was especially popular with the Kooks for their weekend brunches, and although your mother had been raised in the Figure Eight as a Kook, she didn’t marry rich. Your dad had a humble upbringing down on the Florida Gulf Coast, but had moved here once he was married to your mom. Your mother, and surprisingly your grandparents, had long ago given up the whole Kook vs Pogue mentality, and your whole family loved the boys. There had even been a few times when JJ had gone to sleep at your grandparents’ place instead of the Chateau; the allure of a soft bed, warm shower, and home-cooked meal was too strong for him to resist.

Your two older brothers had both graduated and were off in college doing their own thing—the oldest studying hard and the middle enjoying the party scene—but y’all were still close, and when they were in town they both on occasion would take the time to surf or fish with the Pogues. Your family had all but adopted your friends, and it showed in the effort they put into celebrating each of their birthdays.

“What’s on the menu?” John B asked as he let you lead him out of the house by his hand. “Is Papa y/l/n making those bomb ass waffles and pancakes he made for Pope’s birthday?”

“Would you just be patient and wait until we get there?”

“You have no idea do you.”

“…Bitch.”

John B laughs and squeezes your hand. As the two of you pass by the Volkswagen, you whistle, signally for your other friends to sneak into the house and get started on their mission. You quickly dragged John B down for a kiss when you thought you heard the van door slide open and grass rustle as your friends ran for the house. You knew from experience that your boyfriend had a habit of drowning out the world around him when you kissed. He tried to follow when you pulled back, causing you to laugh and push him towards the driver’s side of the van.

“I don’t think it’s fair that you keep teasing me on my birthday,” he grumbled after starting up the Volkswagen. “You should be nicer to me.”

“I’m sorry baby,” you cooed. “I promise that I’ll stop teasing you. I just don’t want to be late for brunch, and have my brothers tease you on your birthday more than I’m teasing you right now.”

“They’ll still tease us. They always do.”

“Well you are dating the baby of the family.”

“Are your grandparents going to be there?”

“Of course! I think they might be gifting you a weekend at their vacation home down in the Keys.”

You laughed at the look on John B’s face. “I keep telling y’all that they love you more than they love their actual grandkids.”

“Fuck, I love your grandparents.”

“What about me?”

Now it was his time to laugh at you. He chanced a quick kiss to your lips before focusing completely on the road.

“You know you’re still my favorite, sweetheart.”

John B let out a low whistle when he pulled up to your family’s restaurant. Your dad couldn’t afford to close the place down for the day no matter how much he wanted to, so the balcony was filled with Kooks in their Sunday best. Your boyfriend felt immensely underdressed for his own birthday celebration. Sensing his discomfort, you slipped your hand into his and laced your fingers together.

“Come on, love, let’s go eat so much we explode.”

He couldn’t help the huge smile that grew on his face or the tears that formed in his eyes when he walked into the restaurant and saw your family waiting for him. They popped a few confetti poppers and rushed to hug him. You took a step back to allow your family to completely surround John B in their love. Your mother and grandmother kissed him on his cheeks, and your dad wished his “son-in-law” a very happy birthday. John B received firm pat on the back from your grandfather who couldn’t keep the fondness from his eyes as he grinned at your boyfriend. And then of course your brothers teased him for the look on his face when he walked in.

You walked up to him after your family had dispersed, feeling your heart melt at the watery smile you received. You cradled his face in your hands, kissing away any tear that managed to escape.

“Are you happy?” you asked.

He brushed his nose along the bridge of yours and let out a soft sigh. “I am so happy. Thank you for all this.”

“I mean, my parents did most of it.”

“No, thank you for bringing me into your family.”

His eyes closed as you ran your fingers through his thick locks and tugged lightly. “Of course, honey. I love you so much.”

“Believe me, not as much as I love you,” he whispered, bringing his lips closer to yours.

“Hey, lovebirds!” your oldest brother yelled. “You gonna eat or what?”

“I’ll kill him,” you promised, causing John B to laugh.

“Come on, sweetheart, let’s get some food.”

You spent most of the afternoon with your family. Like you had predicted, your grandparents had gifted John B with a weekend getaway at their place in the Keys, and he had met your eyes, the promise of a romantic trip hidden in the hazel depths. You had left him with your brothers and mother as you went to go help your father wash the dishes.

“He looks happy,” your dad observed. “He deserves it, all the shit that boy has gone through.”

“He likes the family, thank god. I think he’s still surprised Kooks like him.”

“What’s there not to like? He’s smart, polite, and he treats my baby well.”

“Dad, thank you. For, you know, accepting the Pogues.”

“God only knows the shit they get from everyone else,” your dad sighed. “They’re good kids, and I’m glad I can offer them a safe place to eat and stay when things get tough.” He reached out to touch your cheek. “And they make you happy.”

Your phone buzzed on the counter. You dried off your hands to check and saw a text from Kie. It was time. You rejoined the rest of your family and bent down to whisper in John B’s ear.

“I think it’s time for your birthday present, don’t you think?”

Suddenly he was sitting up straighter, causing you to laugh. You knew that would work to get him to leave without him getting suspicious.

“We have to go meet up with the others,” you explained to your family.

Your family were quick to say their goodbyes and send the both of you off with hugs and kisses. You almost felt bad seeing how eager John B was to get home, but you knew he would still like the surprise waiting for him.

The sun was low on the horizon when the van finally pulled up to the Chateau, and you hurried to cover John B’s eyes, causing him to let out a scoff.

“What’s this?”

“Just keep walking, will you?”

“I can’t see anything, honey,” he drawled.

“Don’t get sassy with me, John B. You’ve made this walk plenty of times drunk off your ass, so I think you can manage it now.”

Finally you managed to get him to move forward until he was standing right where you wanted him. A giddy feeling rose in you when you removed your hands from his eyes and hurried to join JJ, Kie, and Pope under the large tree in the yard. You watched as John B took in his surroundings.The other three had spent the whole afternoon covering the branches of the tree and lining the roof of the house with string lights, but the main point of the whole surprise was the picnic all set up beside JJ’s jacuzzi. A whole feast (prepared by your family) was spread out, and you were impressed with how the “Happy Birthday, John B” sign had turned out. It wasn’t anything fancy, but John B could see how much effort was put behind it.

“You guys are insane,” he breathed out. “You assholes actually planned something like this? What are we, Kooks?”

You could hear him start crying as the four of you embraced him. He loved you guys; you all were his family, and his family had done all this for him. He realized that it took the whole afternoon for them to do this, and that’s why you had dragged him out with your family the whole time.

“I love you guys,” he whispered.

“Aw, shit, we love you too, John B,” JJ said.

“We’re family,” Pope added.

“And this is just what family does,” Kie laughed.

“Happy Birthday, John B,” you finished.

[justoneday-namjoonii]

Don’t Breathe | 3.5

»Genre: hitman!au || stalker!au ||

»Warnings: kidnapping, stalking, obsession, themes of potential Stockholm syndrome, mono-phobia, mature elements, manhandling, breakdowns, yandere (? i think ), he thinks it’s cute when she cries, eventually they fall in love, Disclaimer: I do not condone nor suggest stalking/kidnapping or anything of that nature, this is pure fiction ok, kidnappers and stalkers DON’T love you.

»Summary: He doesn’t get shaky hands, he never forgets his gloves and he never leaves a trail. He was paid to get rid of everyone who witnessed the exchange between a gang lord and a politician, they were picked off, one by one. He found out a month later, he missed one. A young writer who attended the event where the exchange took place. He has to kill her. Can he do it?

✤ pt.1 - pt.2 - pt.2.5 - pt.3 - pt. 3.5 - pt.4.0 - pt.4.5

A/n: enjoy 💜

⇢ 6 years ago ⇠

“Don’t forget us when you’re a famous writer,” 

Your mom brings in the third meal she packed for you, she insisted on making you a week worth's of your favorite meals. She said you were gonna miss home and her cooking would cure that longing in a heartbeat. 

“Mom stop it,” You smile, unwrapping the electric kettle they bought you after graduation, “you two are everything to me, I’d never forget you guys,”

She packs the fridge, making sure you don’t starve due to your inability to look away from your computer when you’re writing. After graduating with a bachelor's in communications, you were able to get a position as a writer after interning at The Auburn Times. Your dreams were finally becoming a reality. You have a high-paying job that you love, a nice apartment, a boyfriend—life is perfect.

“We love you, Y/n,” Both your parents walk over to you and give you a big hug, this is it, “you’re gonna do great.” 

Their embrace feels like love and reassurance, you’re so grateful for everything they’ve done to get you here. With a few more goodbyes, you walk them out as they drive away to get home, hours away from where you are now. 

Your apartment is perfect, your kitchen is perfect, everything is just as you imagined. After a few hours of tucking in your bedsheets and setting up your bathroom, you order a large pizza and rightful gorge yourself to a messy reality TV show on your new couch.

On the other side of the city, he waits patiently, the large and lavish office. The chair is stiff under him, but he’s calm, composed.

“Hi, Mr. Kim,” The man with dark brown enters the room finally, a beige folder in his hand as he takes a seat in the chair across from him, “sorry for the wait.”

Taehyung tilts his head a bit, not upset or impatient by any means, “You’re fine,”

“So, you have an interesting profile,” Minho sits back, the folder sitting on the desk between them, “not a lot of kills under your belt but the jobs you have done, not one slip up. But tell me a little bit about your personal life, your background.”

Taehyung’s eyes drift from the desk to the man in front of him, “I moved here when I was eighteen, joined an organization but I just quit recently. I was born in the countryside, lived in a foster home for most of my childhood. My birth mom was strung out on drugs and my dad, don’t know a thing about him. That’s about it.”

“Any close friends? Do you live alone?”

“I have a friend, but other than him, I don’t know anyone here. And yes, I live alone.”

“Good, you’re perfect for off the grid jobs,” Minho takes out a pen and pad to write down a few things, “okay, you’ve got the job.” He takes out the contract and hands Taehyung a pen.

He reads over the official paper, finding the X where he’s supposed to sign at the end of the paragraph of terms and agreements, “When do I get my first assignment?”

“I’ll have one to you by the end of the week. But let’s go over the rules: first, don’t come in contact with the target. That’s guaranteed screw up. Secondly, keep your observation time at a minimum, if not, you’re at risk for developing an obsession with the target, that’s never good. And lastly, one of the most important rules of all; under no circumstances should you form a bond of any kind with the target. The contract you’ll sign to secure this job states just that, a target is a target. If you accept, you get the job done, no exceptions. Got it?”

“Not a problem,” He signs his signature, swearing his life to this organization for a full 7 years. 

“Good,” He takes the pin and tucks the contract back into the folder, “Welcome to the guild.”

It’s noisy.

You’ve been awake for a few minutes, but you’ve heard little movement upstairs—he must be getting ready to go out. Staring up at the ceiling, you keep thinking of that night. How he looked when you hit him, his face flushed, and his eyes tender, he wasn’t angry.

The urge to scratch him when he’s near has lessened, you scold yourself for that. There should be no reason for you to feel anything more than hate for him, so any positive feelings you might have, you have to push down. He kidnapped you, you hate him—you need to hate him.

The door opens and you shyly sit up and gaze at him, he’s dressed nicely in a beige knit sweater and his hair looks freshly washed. He slips the key out of his pocket, “I’m going out today,” Taking your wrist into his hand, he sticks it in the lock and the cuff falls off, “I want you to shower and eat something before I go.”

You can feel him looking at you, waiting for your compliance. But you refuse to move or even look him in the eyes, your attitude will be your downfall one day.

“Hey,” He grabs your arm a little tighter than usual, making you frown, “get up,”

You spare him a halfhearted glance before standing up and walking past him, eager to get to the shower and away from his overbearing presence. 

Surprisingly, he lets you walk upstairs and he follows you to the guest bathroom where you’ve been showering since you’ve been here. He shuffles you into the bathroom as if to tell you you’re walking too slow. You stumble a little, why is he handling you like this?

“Um,” You bite your bottom lip when you only see a towel and washcloth on the counter, “do you have any clothes for me?”

“Just take a shower, I’ll be right back,” He answers flatly, closing the door in your face. He’s so moody right now, you know you can be pretty cold to him, but he didn’t have to slam the door. That won’t keep you from indulging in a nice shower though. You’re grateful that he at least gives you this luxury twice a day. Taking off your clothes, you sit them on the counter and hop in the shower. A few minutes go by and your stomach twists when you hear the bathroom door creak open.

“I need you to hurry up,” He glances at the curtain, trying not to think of you being completely bare behind it, “I have to be somewhere in an hour,” 

“I’m going as fast as I can,” You mumble. When you hear the door close, you get out and quickly dry off so you can get dressed. You notice that nothing he brought you to wear is yours, aside from your underwear and socks, which you choose to not to think of how he picked them from your drawers. There’s a baby-blue hoodie with gray sweat pants, these are definitely not yours, are they his? You cringe, but slip them on anyway. Ugh, you chastise for liking how the clothes fit, it reminds you of how Jin’s clothes used to hang on you. 

It’s comforting to think of him, you haven’t thought of him in a while. He used to be your everything, you two were partners in crime for a majority of your life in the city. But things didn’t work out and you have no negative feelings about it. If anything, you’re grateful to have had the time you had to figure out what you really wanted. Now, look at you, your free lifestyle just a distant memory. 

When he hears your light footsteps he looks at the end of the stairway to see you, his mouth opens to speak but nothing comes out. Damn it, why do you have to look like that? He forgot to do your laundry last night, now he has to live with the image of you like this for the rest of his life. Not paying any mind to his gawking, you glance at the delicious-looking plate and try not to look too excited from it. The sandwich and chips with a large bowl of fruit have become normality, knowing he’d have it prepared every day was one of your only joys.

“I didn’t get the chance to wash your clothes last night, so I had to give you something of mine,” He breaks the silence with a firm voice. He walks up to you and holds the plate in front of you, gesturing for you to exchange it for your dirty clothes. “you can take that downstairs,” He vanishes into the laundry room. 

No need to tell you twice. You hold the plate gladly and head back to the basement or what you mentally refer to as a cave. It doesn’t take long before you’re perched on the cushion and picking at the bowl of fruit.

He makes an appearance once again, this time he stands at the stairs, not fully entering the space. “I’ll be back in a couple of hours,” With that, he locks the several locks on the door and seals you into your dungeon for however long he pleases.

Music, you hear music. You assume it’s from his speaker, but you’re just not sure from where. You listen and you can hear the song clearly, Fly Me to The Moon to be precise. A tune you often hum mindlessly at home. You think, he had probably heard you humming it several times. There’s no telling how many nights he watched you prance around your home as if no one were watching. Unbeknownst of his presence, oblivious of your nearing future. The thought alone makes you sick to your stomach. You push the plate to the end of the cushion and lay down, dying to return to the peaceful realm of sleep.

The brunch spot isn’t as packed as he thought it’d be. He sits at the table, drinking his second cup of water as he glances at his watch, Yeosang should be arriving soon. Yeosang was the only friend he had in this city when he first moved here, they go way back. About a year ago, he got a job offer abroad and he hasn’t seen him in person since. Today he’s back to visit family and he made sure to schedule a time for one of his best friends.

“Taehyung!” A cheerful voice calls his name, “Long time no see,”

Taehyung greets his blond-haired friend with a and he insists that he takes a seat. “Man, how long has it been?” 

“Too long,” When the two finally sit down, the waitress brings Yeosang a menu and says she’ll be back to see if they’re ready to order, “Berlin is nice, but my social is suffering, I work too damn much,”

“Tell me about it,” Taehyung stares at the menu, debating over the green tea latte or an americano, “it hasn’t been the same since you left.”

“Yeah?”

Yeosang has always been the one person in the guild that he fully trusts, something about him that 

“Yeah, I went on a job with Park Jimin, can you believe I actually agreed? if you were here you probably could’ve talked me out of it,” He sighs, finally deciding that the green tea latte is the best option. When the waitress walks by, he waves her over gives her his order. Yeosang puts his orders in as well and the two go back to their conversation, “the payout was too good to pass up,”

It’s not long before their food is on the table and they’re reminiscing on the good times they used to have. Taehyung was great support for Yeosang and vice versa. They used to get jobs and split a hefty payout for their services as a team, it was nice to work with someone he trusted. But even working alone had its perks, larger pay, less loose strings, no one to debate with. 

“So,” Yeosang peeks at him, noticing how his hair is threatening to grow past his eyes completely, “have you found anyone special? Or are you still living in that huge place of yours all alone,” 

Tugging his bottom lip into his mouth, his feline eyes drift to the window beside him, he has to answer this carefully or it’ll become obvious that he’s hesitating, “No, there’s no one,”

He pries, smirking because he just doesn’t fully believe that, “You should broaden your horizons, Kim. Go out, date, have a little fun,”

Tae sits his drink down and sighs, deciding not to entertain that, “Where are you staying?”

“A hotel, I won’t be spending too much time there though, I have a packed schedule,” HE tilts his head in thought, “maybe I can crash at your place this weekend?”

He smiles, “Sure,”

“Agh!” You slam your body against the door for the third time, but to no avail, it stays locked. If he’s nothing, he’s smart when it comes to keeping you from trying to escape. There are no windows down here and the door isn’t budging for anything. 

After your shoulder began to throb from the constant impact, you decide to give up and sit on the floor in front of the cushion. It’s been days since he’s let you out of here and you think he’s doing it on purpose. Aside from getting you up to bathe and eat, he hasn’t taken you to his room or come down to sit with you. It’s not something you want to miss, but he’s proving to be right about what he said when you were first brought here—you’re feeling isolated. He hasn’t threatened to starve you, he hasn’t made threats of any kind actually, it’s starting to seem like he’s trying to spite you? Whatever he’s trying to do, it’s creating a distance that’s starting to make you feel more uneasy.

Everything feels scary. Not him, but what he’s doing to you. You feel so alone, isolated. When human interaction becomes nonexistent. That’s what he once said but you ignored it at the time, brushing off as a threat to keep you afraid. But he was right, it’s starting to get to you, these four walls. You’re beginning to have a hard time telling what time it is, it’s messing with your senses. You can’t remember the last time you’ve seen another human being beside him. He hasn’t given you crossword puzzles, a notebook to draw in, he doesn’t even let you watch TV. You do nothing, every day you just do absolutely nothing. 

And at night, you’ve developed a bit of insomnia. You stare into the corners of the dark space, telling yourself that there aren’t dark figures staring back at you.

Sometimes, you find yourself thinking of him in the dead of night—his face, his voice, the way his hands feel. Knowing he’s probably the only person you’ll have for a while. There’s something so warm about him, the way he looks at you, those eyes... That’s what gets you the most, those deep brown eyes that you can’t look straight into without your mind wandering. It doesn’t even occur to until now that you don’t know his name, you don’t know anything about him. 

Maybe you could learn, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to get to know him. You’re conflicted about it, but what choice do you have? The only other option is to sit down here and go crazy. He’s proven to have a mild obsession with you, why not use that? It’s not so shameful to switch it up and make him think you’ve changed—anything to get you out of this hellhole. 

That’s your decision, seduce him. Get close, if you can get him to trust you, even just a little bit, that’s one step closer to getting out of here.

In your hours of isolation during the day, he’d wait to the late hours of the night and peek down into the basement, seeing that you were asleep. He’d creep down there and sit next to your cushion, eyes trained on you when you’d toss and turn. Sometimes you’d pull on the cuff on your wrist, and he’d get the urge to take it off, but that thought wouldn’t last long. When he’s not working, he’d dedicate himself to learning about you from a distance. Lately, he's dedicated some of his time to painting when the need to see you becomes unbearable. It’s a good distraction. Right next to his room, he goes into his little art studio. He hasn’t been in there as often because he’s been so busy, but he’s thought about letting you occupy yourself in there. Being able to express yourself creatively might put you in a better head-space.

“Are you sure he’s legit, Jungkook?” 

Jin looks over the card, still not too sure about all of this.

“Of course, he’s ex-FBI, very legit, best PI I know,” Jungkook speaks muffled over the phone, “man, he’s a genius when it comes to stuff like this, he finds wat the cops miss.”

Jin sighs, “I hope so. I never liked her living alone, and this was why, just thinking about it makes me sick to my stomach,” The silence piques concern in his friend, knowing he’s hurting, “I know we’re not together anymore, but I care about her, I’ll always have love for her, we’re like family,”

“I hear you, just take it one step at a time, she’s a strong girl, always has been” Jungkook tries to comfort him, but he can’t blame Jin’s concern. He’s a lawyer. There are so many cases that he’s come across with missing victims who haven’t come out alive. He only hopes that he’ll never see a case file with your name in it.

Jin looks up when he hears a knock on the door.

“I’ll talk to you later, he’s here,” He hangs up, straightening up his dress shirt before opening up the front door.

“Kim Seokjin? I’m Min Yoongi, Jungkook connected us,” The man stands relaxed, dirty blond hair and a pair of soft eyes, surprising for a man of his reputation.

“Yes, please come in,” He gestures him inside and Yoongi obliges, eyes discreetly checking the place out, “I prepared the folder last night, was there anything else you needed?” Jin closes the front door and grabs to the beige folder off of the kitchen bar.

“Let me see,” Yoongi extends his hand, taking the folder and opening it up. With narrowed brows, he reads over your address, social media, your workplace, little things like that, “this is good. What is your relationship with her again? Boyfriend or-”

“Ex-boyfriend, but we were on good terms, we’re friends. Her supervisor, Suzy, called me, she’s the one who found out she was missing. I was on her emergency contact list, she must’ve forgotten to update it when we broke,” He bites his cheek to stop himself from rambling, “anyway, she hasn’t answered any calls or texts,”

“It says here she’s a writer for The Autumn Times,” He nods to himself, “I think I’ve read a few of her articles. Do you think there would be anyone out there who would have any reason to abduct her? I heard there was a briefing that some of the attending reporters started vanishing from, is she connected to that in any way?”

“No, not at all,” Jin couldn’t anyone would ever target you, “well, now that I think of it, I wouldn’t know.”

“How about new friends, family, a new boyfriend, an old flame, anything like that?”

“No- Well, I wouldn’t know that either, we haven’t talked for a while, but I don’t think so. She’s very career-driven, after me there was no one else that I knew of, and she’s never had a huge social circle,” Jin furrows his brows, a bit taken aback by the thought you getting with someone else who would potentially put you in harm's way.

“Well, I never rule that out, so I’ll do a little digging to see if it’s possibly someone of that nature, but who knows, she could have run off on her own accord, could be a lot of different things,” He closes up the folder, “anything else I might want to know?”

“No, I think that’s everything, if there is anything Suzy finds out, I’ll contact you immediately.” 

“I appreciate it, it’s nice meeting you Mr. Kim,” He shakes his hand, “and I assure you, I’ll carry the burden of worrying about her, you just relax, okay? I know it’s easier said than done, but you’ve gotta stay calm somehow.”

“Thanks.”

With about as much information as Jin could possibly gather on you, he decides to go to your home first. Assuming it’s under police investigation, it might be blocked off, but he knows the department well, so getting in won’t be a problem.  One call and he’s given permission to investigate. It takes roughly an hour to get to your apartment, and sure enough, when he approaches the front door, it’s untouched. At least it appears that way. Taking the liberty to survey the home, he pops the lock and walks inside. 

You have a nice place and there’s no immediate sign of forced entry. If it was an abduction, there’s no sign of it being violent, maybe you were unconscious? The said necklace was no longer at the scene, so that was probably confiscated as evidence. With his blue rubber gloves, he starts to plunder through the house. First, he checks your bedroom. The first thing that catches his eye is the bed being made. In theory, if you were taken in the night, why would your bed be made? As he enters your room further, he opens a few of your drawers, nothing looks unusual so he closes them up.

“Hm,” He furrows his brows, if you were kidnapped then your abductor is good. The home looks virtually untouched. For a moment, he’s about to go to his car to grab his camera so he can take pictures of the place, but he hears a beep that comes from the window.

The open window.

Curious, he crouches in front of it and looks it over. There’s no way someone with enough skill to, in theory, make up the bed after taking you, leave fingerprints on the window, but that's not what he’s looking for.

Grazing the window pain, he looks for dirt, gravel, anything that could fall from the bottom of a shoe. Nothing. “Damn.” He sighs, opening the window further.

Just when he thought there would be nothing, he sees the alarm lock. It’s been tampered with. He takes out his phone and snaps a quick photo before writing this down on a notepad. “We’re getting somewhere,” He mumbles, pushing the window down. He’ll come back later for prints, now he has to make a few phone calls.

He’s at the grocery store and he tasked himself with purchasing personal items for you. Soap, razors, lotion, things of that nature. He avoided the impressed looks from women who probably assumed he was purchasing these things for a girlfriend. One particular woman was watching him, pitying his indecisiveness.  He was seriously having a hard time choosing a razor, he forgot what he saw you use at your house.

“Hi,” She smiled, moving into his line of vision, “this one of better for sensitive skin, it’s the one I use,” She points to the one that was fairly priced between the least and most expensive.

“Thanks,” He was relieved to finally just put one in the basket.

“No problem, I’ve been shopping for my boyfriend before, I know how it is,” She winked and went off into another aisle.

After running a few more errands, it was almost sunset and he decided to head home. Instead of checking on you like usual, he showers first. He’s been thinking about you, it’s been a while since you’ve gotten any real interaction. The only time you’ve been seeing him the last few days is to get food or use the restroom, the distance was necessary. He wasn’t kidding when he said you were tempting him, he needed to step back. When you were scared because of him and cried for a while, it was interesting to see that he frightened you that much. He’s got emotional control over you, that much is true. But he’s not sure he’s controlling the emotions that he wants to control. Coming out of his thoughts, he dries off and slips a shirt and sweats on. 

Meanwhile, you can hear his piddling upstairs and you start to lose confidence in your plan. If you could get him to a point where he trusts you enough, you would have a better chance of escape. It seems cruel to deceive him and wrong to want to get close to him just because you don’t want to live in a basement anymore. But if you stay down here any longer you’re going to lose your mind, it’s already happening.

The door suddenly opens and you sit up to see he’s dressed in a white tee and gray-sweats, his hair jet black and fluffy, his expression soft. 

“Come up so you can shower and eat,” The same line you’ve heard for the last few days. 

Testing your boundaries, you don’t move. You continue to sit curled up on the floor, knees pressed to your chest and head hung low. Without a word, he calmly walks down to you.

He crouches in front of you, “Why are you being difficult?”

“I’m just not hungry...” You lie.

“Yes, you are,” He sees right through you, “it’s been hours since I’ve been home.” He tilts his head. Insistent on going through with your experiment, you stay where you are. He scoffs, an amused grin on his face, “You want me to carry you?”

You look up at him, your confidence wavering. “No...”

“Then get up.” His tone isn’t soft like usual, he sounds impatient.

Reluctantly, you stand up, trying to push yourself to your feet. Hoping you can muster up the courage to go through with your plan, you shyly follow behind him.

It’s the same routine, he tells you to get in the shower (his shower this time) and disappears to get your clothes. This time is a bit different, in the shower you notice a few extra thins. A lilac-colored razor, floral smelling body wash that you’re so used to buying for yourself, he bought this stuff for you? Either way, you take the time to shave, there’s no telling when you’ll get the chance to do it again. 

When you turn off the water and wrap yourself in a towel, you see that he put some clothes and underwear out for you, as you expected. Again, his clothes but your underwear and socks. This time, he gave you a dark green shirt and sweats, similar to what he’s wearing now. 

He’s standing in the kitchen, making your plate and his. Dumplings, rice, and a few other sides, one of his favorite meals. When he hears the bathroom door open, he looks up at the banister to see you walking to the stairs with your clothes bunched in your hands. 

“Let me see,” Taking your clothes from you, he gestures to the table, “go sit down, I’ll get you something to drink after I put your laundry in the washer.”

You do as he says, and your stomach growls, debunking your lie from earlier. Taking a seat, you wait patiently until he emerges from the laundry room. 

When he comes to the table with two cups of tea, he glances at you, wondering why you haven’t eaten yet. “Go ahead and eat,” Casually, he picks up a dumpling and starts to eat, “it’s gonna get cold.”

Gazing down at your plate, you hesitantly pick up a dumpling at bite it—it’s actually really good. So, even though you were trying to seem uninterested, you end up eating a little over half of your plate. He grins when he sees your chewing the last dumpling on your plate, now he knows what food you can’t resist.

“Are you finished?” You nod. He takes your plates and takes his time putting the dirty plates in the dishwasher.

Oh god, this isn’t working. How are you supposed to get on his good side when you can barely function when he’s around? You can barely speak you’re so nervous.

“Let’s go, you’re going back to the basement.” 

No no no no, you can’t go back down there. Say something, do something. But nothing comes to your mind and you freeze. Before you know it, you’re walking back down to that dark abyss and you start to feel hazy.

“It’s gonna get a bit cold tonight,” He thinks aloud, “I’ll bring you an extra blanket,” 

You take a seat with a sigh, dejected and disappointed in yourself. This was supposed to be easy. But now that you’re back down in the basement, you’re starting to feel it again. The dread, the isolation that you know he’s trying to make you experience. It’s overwhelming. Why is he doing this? Maybe he’s upset about that night when you hit him, he may resent you for that. But how could he blame you? You’re the victim, you’re the one suffering, being treated like a prisoner, and then he tries to kiss you. Warm tears stream down your cheeks and you don’t try to hide it, there’s no point. Softly, you sob into your hands, you’re sure you look pitiful.

“Why are you crying?” His voice breaks you from your train of thought and you look up. He’s holding a blanket and standing in front of you, more so curious than concerned. Not expecting you to have broken so soon, he takes a seat beside you, eager to hear your reasoning. “What’s wrong?”

“I-” You sniffle, trying to get your words together, “I hate it down here, I see things at night, it’s so dark and- and I see things...”

“You’re just imagining things,” He reasons, not an ounce of sympathy in his words, “there’s nothing down here.“

“But it’s scary, it’s hard to sleep at night,” You wipe your tears, “I keep think you’re going to let me drown like last time, that’s what I keep thinking...” He finds your accusation interesting, given he told you he had that problem fixed.

“No, that’s not gonna happen again, I got that problem fixed,” He grabs the cuff from the wall and you keep a steady eye on his hands. “You’re sleeping down here, give me your hand-” 

“No,” You scoot away, holding your wrists behind yourself so he can’t grab them, “please, it hurts when I sleep...” 

“I really don’t care, you should be used to this by now,” He tries to grab your arms again but you pull away—you’re really testing your luck. “Stop it, I’m not in the mood. Give me your hand.” 

You bite your lip and your eyes glisten with fresh tears, you don’t budge. Being as skilled as he is, he grabs your arm anyway but he regrets it as soon as your deafening cries meet his ears.

“No! No,” Whining at the top of your lungs, you roll your body onto the floor, “p-please,” You sit back on your butt, heart beating out of your chest. You really weren’t planning to lash out like this—but you couldn’t take it anymore.

“You’re really pushing it,” He stands up, glaring down at you. “I swear to god I won’t say it again. Get up.”

When you look away, he takes that as your final answer, you just don’t want to listen.

“Fine,” He picks you up with a strength you didn’t realize he had and tosses you onto the cushion. He easily straddles your waste to pin you down and that’s when you really kick into fight or flight mode. You pull him back to the ground with you and you’re a mess of tangled limbs for a moment. You get the opportunity to crawl away, but he grabs your ankle and yanks you back, making you collapse onto your stomach, “Agh- L-let go,” 

“Stop acting like this isn’t what you asked for,” He pants, “I tried to be nice to you,” He’s trying to get you to stay still. Realizing your difference in size, he gets the idea to press himself against you, smothering you to the hard floor to get your arms without you sitting up, “didn’t you want to be down here? What happened to that? You don’t get to change your mind and do what you want,” He seethes, pressing the side of his face firmly into the crook of your neck while he busies himself with trying to get a hold of your erratic moving arms.

“Get off!” You cry out in a high-pitched squeal, kicking and squirming, trying to get him to give up.

“Stop moving,” He warns through gritted teeth, “what the fuck is wrong with you?” He sits up to look you in the eyes but that doesn’t last long. You violently kick your legs which causes him to lose his bearing, giving you the freedom to move your upper body now. You quickly turn onto your stomach and hold your hands to your chest, sobbing into the hard floor. It’s no use to keep going with you, you’re relentless.

“Okay, I get it, calm down,” He sits up a bit out of breath, now straddling your lower back. Your eyes squeeze shut when you feel his hands run down your sides, extremely slow. 

“There you go, just calm down,” He rubs your shoulders and drags his hands down your sides down to the dimples in your lower back, where he remains. He does this over and over, relishing in the way you seem to become pliant, less rigid. When you let out a small exhale he withdraws his hands and pushes his hair away from his face, “I get it now.” 

“What?...” You whisper.

With a deep sigh of relief, he lays down on your back in a bear hug. What is he doing? You whimper at the extra weight and heat but there’s nothing you can do to get away. He lays on top of you comfortably, not moving or saying anything, he just breathes in sync with you.

“I understand,” He groans against the shell of your ear, “you have to get this out of your system, I know you’ve got pent up frustration against me.” 

“I can’t stay down here, I can’t,” You bite your bottom lip, too confounded physically and emotionally to say anything more comprehensive, “I can’t...”

“Do you want to sleep upstairs?” He asks softly, lifting off of you so you can look back at him. When you nod, he gets up and pulls you to your feet. He can’t help but coo at your flushed face from all that crying, he brushes your cheek with his index finger.

“Come on, take my hand,” He looks at you with earnest eyes, urging you to take his extended hand, “it’s okay.” Carefully, you take his hand and you let him walk you upstairs, freeing you from that dark and lonely place. 

Thinking he’s going to take you to the spare room, you look to the left as he takes you further up the stairs. To your surprise, he turns right and your heart sinks straight into your stomach, you grow farther from the room and closer to his room. Not knowing how to react, you follow him, trying your best not to look terrified, you didn’t expect him to do this.

He leads you inside and closes the door, noticing your shock, he lets go of your hand. As if your feet were bolted to the floor, you stand where you are and watch him walk to his closet. 

“Where-...Where do I sleep?” You ask like a mouse, your voice barely coming to his ears.

“The bed.”

You breathe in and breathe out, it’s okay. You walk towards to the bed and sit on the edge, not undoing the bed-sheets or even getting near the pillow. You know you look awkward but you don’t feel comfortable. When he emerges from the closet, your eyes direct to what he’s holding, handcuffs? Not again.

When he sees that alarmed look in your sleepy gaze. He holds his hands up to show you that he means no harm, “It’s okay, don’t worry, I have to take extra precautions,” With one hand, he pulls the sheets back and stares at you with warm eyes. You start moving, but a little too slow for him, he drags you to the middle of the large bed by your arm like a rag-doll. 

“Lay down,” He pulls the sheets over you and then gets under himself, “I won’t do anything while you’re sleeping, I promise.” 

Taking his word, you do as he says and scoot further under the sheets to lay on your side, facing away from him. 

You’re so impossible. “Face me,” You feel his hand on your shoulder as he turns you over. He grabs your wrist, clicks one cuff on you, and the other on himself. 

Confused, you look at him then at your left hand and his right hand that is now bound by the metal restraint. 

“Don’t try anything stupid. I don’t trust you enough to let you roam free while I’m asleep.” He yawns, scooting a bit closer so that you’re not pulling his arm uncomfortably. “Sorry, you lost that privilege a while ago.”

This didn’t go as planned. He wasn’t supposed to take you to his bed, you weren’t supposed to have a breakdown and fight him, you were hoping it would go smoother than this. Now you’re laying in his king-sized bed, cuffed to him as you face each other.

His eyes are open and prying, enjoying being so close to your pretty face, he’s been waiting for this moment. You’re so entertaining to watch, he smirks when he notices you struggling to stay awake. Every few seconds, your eyelids would flutter a bit and you would frown, trying to keep them open despite your fatigue.

“I know what you’re trying to do,” You swallow the lump in your throat, feeling caught, “you should go to sleep,” He mumbles, rubbing your arm with his free hand, “I won’t go to sleep until you do, so we could do this all night, but I know you’re not gonna last.” He murmurs with a sleepy grin.

“Why did you break up with Jin?” His question is so sudden, it catches you off guard and you stammer, trying to figure how he knows that and how you should respond.

“How did you know that?...” 

“Just tell me why.”

“We were good friends, an- and it should have stayed that way,” You pause, a little shy to explain further, “we had two different lives that just weren’t compatible anymore, that’s it...”

He makes a sound of acknowledgment, satisfied with your answer. 

“I know you’ve been living alone for the last few years, I’m sure you got lonely after the breakup, you don’t have a lot of friends,” He keeps his hand on your shoulder, still rubbing gently, “but you seem okay. You do a lot of things to busy yourself, your job, volunteering, things like that...That’s good, you function well by yourself. But here, you seem so small and your independence is gone, you have to rely on me, you hate that don’t you? I’m sorry, I know you do...But I’m all you have, you’re starting to understand that,” 

His hand is warm, and you find yourself leaning into the feeling when he scoots even closer, your face now centimeters from his, “That’s good, you’re so good Y/n...” He praises you, nuzzling his head against yours.

“Hey, you know what’ll be fun? How about you ask me a question,” Sleepily, you shake your head no, and he frowns.

“Come on, there must be something you want to know,” He pries, pushing your hair aside so you can look up at him, “Ask me something, I’ll answer one question, then you can sleep.”

“Um...” You rake your tired mind for a question and one suddenly comes to mind, “What’s your name?...I- I don’t know your name...” 

“Good question,” He coos, “my name is Taehyung.” Finally, you know something about him, rather than him telling you any and everything you’ve ever done in your lifetime. You breathe in and shut your eyes, squeezing your fist and exhaling against his skin. 

You relax in his heavy embrace, you let him hold you and he sighs when he feels you succumb to sleep. He knows this isn’t real. He’s been in his line of work far too long to be played, even by someone he adores as much as you. Unbeknownst to you, he knows exactly what you’re doing but he’s letting you do it anyway, for selfish reasons. He knows the drill, become friends with the enemy, sleep with the enemy, and your chances of defeating the enemy increase. Despite being aware that you’re deceiving him, he doesn’t care. If it means he can hold you close and not be pushed away, it doesn’t matter how real or fake it is—he wants it anyway. 

[trillian-anders]

grilled cheese

pairing: chef!bucky x plus!reader

warnings: fluff, fluff, fluff, a little self-depreciation. mostly fluff.

word count: 2746

Description: chef!au; you can tell a good chef by how he makes his grilled cheese.

for @captainscanadian​;; the cbc 1k writing challenge 

just a taste masterlist

“May I have the… king burger and a side of the Parmesan truffle fries please?” This food truck was your favorite in the city, it just so happened to be parked right outside of your job, and definitely served up some spicy creole flavors. It had gumbo and jambalaya by the cup, a burger that shouldn’t work as an ode to kings bread but it did and fresh beignets straight from the fryer if you had a sweet tooth. 

“Would you like something to drink?” The men who worked it were just a plus, the two of them both terribly handsome, the one currently taking your order was smooth. Impossibly smooth. The gap in his front teeth was incredibly endearing, but the wedding band on his finger and the sweet tone he usually used with you led to you believe his marriage was a happy one. 

“We’ve got the Big Shot Pineapple back in,” A sweaty bottle placed on the ledge, “I know that’s your favorite.” And you did love some pineapple soda, but you’d been trying to eat healthier, and ignoring the fact that you were ordering a burger and fries you fought yourself for a moment on whether or not this soda would be too much. 

“Stop pressuring her, Sam.” The man behind him joked, “She’ll get the soda if she wants it.” A smirk on his lips. Your heart skipped a beat. It was no secret to your coworker behind you, Nat, that you had a crush on Bucky Barnes. His strong jaw and bright blue eyes, that tight bun on the back of his head and his fucking biceps. Those strong arms that were wrapped in colorful tattoos. You’d sat near the food truck every Friday since it’d started parking here two months ago and watched him work. 

The kind smile he’d give people, the funny remarks as he cooked their food. The sweat dripping down his face as he lifted the lid off the pot of jambalaya to spoon out a portion. You’d drool over whatever you’d ordered that day watching him work. 

“You should ask him out,” Nat popped a fry into her mouth. “He likes you.” You rolled your eyes, taking a sip of the cheap pineapple soda that was just so fucking good. 

“He’s nice to me because I tip well,” You wiped your fingers on a napkin, watching him powder beignets and hand them to a sweet little boy, icing sugar still on his fingers. You sighed, looking down at your burger. “Maybe once I lose some weight.” The burger was half eaten as you stare at it with despair. You had been doing so well today, but the sign on the side of the truck said they were only making it the week of Mardi Gras so they wouldn’t have it next week so you HAD TO get it. 

It was a very good reason. 

“What’s wrong with you right now?” The red headed goddess asked, being someone who hadn’t been a pound overweight her entire life. You rolled your eyes, “No seriously, you’re the same person whether you’re overweight or not. And I can tell when someone likes you and he likes you.” 

“I know I’m the same person,” You took another sip of soda, “I’m just….” How do you say it? “Guys have to be into my body type, I guess. I can’t just go out and approach anyone for a date.” You popped a fry in your mouth, “They have to like fat girls.” 

“I hate when you say that.” Nat shook her head.

“Say what?” You licked the parmesan truffle flavoring off your finger. 

“Fat.” You laughed, rolling your eyes.

“Doesn’t mean I’m ugly.” You took a glance over at the subject of the conversation, Sam must have said something funny to him because he was laughing. That head thrown back, grab your belly laugh. Fuck he was so hot. His eyes met yours across the pavilion. And he winked. He fucking winked. 

“Just go ask him.” Nat stole another fry. “He always gives you extra fries, he practically pays for your lunch,” There was always something they ‘forgot’ to charge you for after they swiped your card. 

“No big deal.” Sam would say, he would elbow his buddy, “It’s on the house.” It happened more often than would be normal. 

“I’m just saying, instead of thirsting over him, at least go give him your number.” Maybe next week. This week you’d spilled some juice from your burger all over your blouse. 

“Next week.” You agreed, “New week I’ll give him my number.” 

You’d been on track with your diet all week, the salads, protein smoothies, healthy snacks. That way, you reasoned, on Friday when the ‘Connect Nola’ food truck parked on the pavillion you’d be able to treat yourself with something good. 

And something better than good. 

He was wearing a black t-shirt today, his hair in a high bun on his head, strands framing his face. A clear plastic poked out of the back of his shirt on what looked like fresh ink he’d gotten since last time you’d seen him. The special was a boneless fried chicken breast and red pepper jam on a biscuit. 

“That’s what you should get.” Bucky said from his place over the flat top. Two fryers working hard next to him. “It’s my recipe, so it’s good.” 

“As opposed to mine?” Sam smacked his friend, scooting himself around him to pluck the pineapple soda from the cooler. Bucky laughed. 

“I’ve got some fried green tomatoes for you too if you want them.” He winked. Your mouth watered. 

“You’re going to kill me.” You sighed, “Of course I want them.” Bucky smirked, 

“Good cause they’re almost done.” He was stirring some kind of sauce in a metal bowl that after he placed the four thick slices of fried tomato in the paper container he poured over top. The two paper containers were placed on the counter, pineapple soda sweating next to them. You pulled out your card, flipping it between your fingers when Bucky stepped in front of Sam to hand you your food. 

“How much do I owe you?” Your voice was breathy, heart racing at the sight of him so close. He leaned over the side, crossing his arms on the counter. 

“Dinner, tonight maybe?” A charming smile, almost bashful. Your heart skipped a beat. 

“I was going to ask you out.” You laughed. His smile widened. 

“Well now you don’t have to… so?” His number had already been scribbled on the take out container next to him. “I’ll see you later.” Nat elbowed you to respond. 

“Yeah… yes!” You took the warm containers from him, his fingers brushing yours. “Yes, later. Okay.” You bumped into Nat as you stepped backwards. “Bye.” 

He smirked in response, “Bye.” 

“I have nothing to wear.” You groaned over the phone. Nat laughed from the other side, 

“What about that black dress with the flowers?” The one you’d bought from the flea market in the summer. “Wear that.” 

The doorbell rang and your heart dropped. “Fuck, he’s here. Hold on.” You quickly shifted through your closet finding the dress she was talking about. “Just a minute!” You called to the man behind the door. “I’m so fucking disorganized.” You said to your friend on the phone, “Where are those heels?” 

“The black ones with the thick strap? They’re under your bed. You kicked them off when we got back from brunch last week. I’m sure.” She was right. The dress was soon slipped over your head, heels buckled. “Use protection, be safe, and if you need anything call me.” Your face flushed with the thought. 

“Hey,” You panted, opening the door. Bucky stood on the other side, nice slacks and a dark blue button down. “Sorry, I was just…” You gestured behind yourself, catching your breath. 

“It’s okay,” He laughed, “I uhh…” He raised a brown paper bag he’d been holding. “I figured I’d cook you dinner, if that’s okay?” So you put on the shoes for nothing, he laughed, “I’m sorry, but yeah, you put on the shoes for nothing.” 

“Shit,” You covered your face with your hand, not realizing you’d said it out loud, “Sorry.”

“You’re fine,” Bucky lowered the bag, “Can I come in?” You stepped to the side,

“Of course, I’m sorry.” Being an adult you’ve taken a lot of time perfecting your living space enough that you didn’t need to go out if you didn’t want to. You were fairly proud of your home, the apartment you’d spent the last couple years in slowly collecting items to finally make it yours. From the soft velvety throw down to the little knick knacks that didn’t make it too minimalistic. 

“You’ve got a really nice place here,” He put the bag down on the kitchen counter, he pulled out a bottle of wine and what looked like the ingredients to, “Grilled cheese,” He shrugged sheepishly, “You can always tell a good chef by his grilled cheese. I hope you don’t mind.” 

“Not at all,” You dug through the silverware drawer, pulling out the wine key. “I love grilled cheese.” Two stemless glasses joined you on the counter as you poured the red wine, Bucky opening two different cabinets before finding your pans. 

“We’ve got to get you better pans than this.” He joked, waving your cheap Walmart nonstick pan in the air. 

“That pan does exactly what I need it to do,” You laughed, “Sit and gather dust.” He rolled his eyes, quickly rinsing the pan out and drying it. You took a sip of your wine as he started. 

“Have you always wanted to be a chef?” You asked, stealing a piece of cheese off the cutting board. It was a sharp cheese, tangy on your tongue. He cut another slice. Three different cheeses he had for this sandwich. Along with sun dried tomatoes and a slab of uncut bacon. 

“My Ma was a really good cook,” He begins, “When I was a kid I would always be in the kitchen with her, cooking and baking.” A thick bar of chocolate, eggs and other baking ingredients had been set off to the side for later. A dessert he was going to make that he said would be a surprise. 

“Cooking has always been love for me. It’s a good way to bring people together and a good way to show someone you love them.” His fingers stopped slicing the cheese, looking up at you through his lashes he backtracks, “Not that I love you, not that I don’t care about you because I care about you, but I don’t love you, but not like—“

“I get it.” You laughed, taking another sip of wine, the red in his cheeks in a full flush. He took a steady sip of wine, 

“Have you always wanted to work for Stark?” The cheese was set aside, the thick crust bread sliced, he lay the slab of bacon on the cutting board, working your knife that he’d very expertly sharpened, down the slab, cutting thick slices. 

“Not always,” You mused, “I kind of just fell into this job. My roommate from college, Natasha, had done an internship there during our last year and I originally wanted to go to graduate school, but I haven’t quite decided if I wanted to stick with my major or not, so she helped me get a job just doing clerical work and overtime I’ve just worked my way up a bit. Now I run my own department. So I guess I’m not going anywhere.” He nodded, laying the thick pieces of bacon on a baking sheet, the oven already preheated. 

“What did you want to do?” He asked, placing the bacon in the oven. You sighed, 

“It’s dumb,” He turned to you with an incredulous look, 

“Try me.” He started making a batter for the dessert. 

“I wanted to be a writer.” You shrugged, “Like books.” You gestured to the small library you’d collected for yourself. Stacks of books in your living room next to the shelves of books on your walls. “I have drafts of things, but nothing serious.” 

“You should pursue that.” He poured batter into two medium size ramekins he’d brought himself, tapping the bottom against the counter. “You seem like you’d be an amazing writer.”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “Not good enough.” To tell the truth you’d sent out a couple chapters to some publishers and had nothing but rejection letters, you’d all but given up on it. 

He told you more about his family, his sisters, how his parents were still very much in love. “Sam and I with our buddy Steve had all enlisted at the same time.” He flipped the grilled cheese revealing a perfectly crisped brown bread. “Steve decided to have a military career so he’s working in DC right now, Sam and I decided to own our own restaurant, right now we’re going the food truck thing until we have enough to buy our spot in the city, then hopefully we will have the truck and the home store.” 

The grilled cheese was fragrant, the three cheeses melted together on a spread of the sun dried tomatoes, thick cut bacon in between. He took his chefs knife and cut the sandwiches down the middle, plating them with ease. “This is so fucking good.” You moaned, the first bite, the crunch, the cheese, the tang from the tomatoes, the bacon perfectly cooked and melty in the middle. Bucky smirked at you from across the table, finishing off his first half. 

“I’m honestly surprised you asked me out.” You popped a piece of crust that had fallen onto the side of the plate. Bucky looked at you confused. 

“Why do you say that?” Fuck it was the wine, making you feel a little shitty. You were a little drunk to be fair. 

“You’re just…. You.” You gestured towards him, “So fit and handsome and like… I don’t know.” Bucky shook his head. 

“You’re gorgeous,” He scoffed, “You’re literally the whole reason we even started coming to the pavilion every week. I don’t want to hear that shit.” You sat back in your chair watching him take another sip of his wine, stunned. “Guys really fuck me up because someone probably treated you like you needed to be a certain way to be loved and it’s just not true. I’m attracted to you, you’re kind and funny and smart.” He wiped his fingers on his napkin, “Doesn’t matter to me either way.” Your weight. Didn’t matter. “I like you.” 

His eyes were intense and sent a shiver down your spine. “I’m sorry.” You said quietly, “I didn’t mean to—”

“You didn’t.” His hand gently grasped yours, pulling it up to his lips. “I just wanted you to know I like you, no matter what.” Okay. Okay. He leaned in, shifting in his chair to lay an arm over the back of yours, taking the hand he held and placing it on his cheek he softly pressed his lips to yours. 

Your lips parted and met again. And again. And the timer went off on the counter. His phone shrill and loud letting you know dessert was done. “Hold please.” He whispered against your lips. You felt cold when he removed himself from you, puttering around in the kitchen you heard the stove being turned off and he returned a moment later. “Careful they’re hot.” Two perfect chocolate molten cakes, icing sugar and white chocolate sauce drizzled on top. 

“Thank you for tonight.” The two of you stood in front of your open door, his shoes had been slipped back on, hair no longer in a messy bun it hung loose around his shoulders. You were sure it had been your fingers that had worked it loose, but you couldn’t be sure. 

The hot and intense make-out session you’d just had on your couch, tongues mixing and tasting of chocolate. Heavy breaths and soft moans melding together, and just the appropriate amount of wandering hands. 

“No,” He said, twirling a strand of your hair around his fingers, “Thank you.” A breath away he pressed his lips to yours again, slowly. Savoring it. “Breakfast tomorrow?” He breathed, resting his forehead against yours in your doorway. You grinned, running a hand down his arm, 

“Same place?” He grinned before taking your lips once more,

“It’s a date.” 

.

.

.

taglist//  @bookish-shristi​ @saturnki​ @jennmurawski13​ @geeksareunique​ @the-soulofdevil​ @tinmunky​ @captainscanadian​ @albinotigerpython​

[slusheeduck]

Binding Resolution

https://slusheeduck.tumblr.com/post/626433636773838848/binding-resolution[Chapter 1] [Chapter 2]

Chapter 3

              The backpack falls from your hands with a loud thud, and the lovey-dovey exchanges come to a screeching halt. Queen Vanessa’s head snaps over to look at you, ice-blue eyes narrowing suspiciously before she puts on a stiff smile.

              “Darling, who’s this?” she asks through her teeth.

              The Prince—should you start thinking of him as Snatcher? But that’s so weird—looks over at you. “Hey, kiddo, welcome back to the world of the living,” he says with a smile, though it fades as he pulls away from Vanessa to crouch down in front of you. “Well, maybe I spoke too soon. You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

              You laugh. You know you shouldn’t, but like, come on.

              Despite the fact that you did not actually find his comment that funny, he relaxes. “Well, that’s more than you’ve said all day.”

              “Darling, who is that?” Vanessa’s voice is much more clipped, and her smile seems frozen in place. You don’t like that.

              The Prince, however, is unphased and pats your hat. “An urchin I picked up off the street, obviously. Getting ready for a life of indentured servitude.” He smiles down at you. “Do I have to tell you I’m joking now, or are you catching on?”

              You manage a weak laugh. These jokes of his weren’t really that funny to begin with, but now they make you a little sick. He pats your hat again as he looks back to Vanessa.

              “She’s just a little visitor. Got lost in the woods, so we’re getting her rested up before finding out where home is.”

              Vanessa’s stuck smile finally disappears, now replaced with an exaggerated pout. “But…but I came home early so we could spend a whole extra day together.”

              “And we will, my love, we will.”

              “But…I don’t want anyone bothering you today! I mean, apart from me, of course.” The pout becomes even more exaggerated. “After all, we’re getting married soon. We should be spending every moment possible together to get ready.”

              The Prince shakes his head with a fond smile, then walks back to Vanessa and presses a kiss to her forehead. “We have plenty of time, my princess, don’t you worry.” He takes a step back, keeping his hands on her arms. “Look, I’ve already had the Dwellers cooking up some food, and I’m sure you’re exhausted after fast-tracking it home. Why don’t you…” He taps her nose. “…go freshen up, and I’ll take care of some business I got behind on thanks to our visitor, and then we’ll all meet up in a bit for brunch. Deal?”

              Vanessa giggles. “Deal,” she says, leaning forward to kiss him again before jumping up to give him a tight hug. Over his shoulder, her bright smile drops as she looks down at you, something in her eyes sending a chill down your spine.

A moment later, she bounced back out of his arms. “I’ll miss you every moment we’re apart, my prince,” she coos.

              “And so will I, my princess.” He kisses her again, then pulls away to walk down the hallway.

Vanessa watches him go, then sighs before stomping her way up the stairs. From your spot, you hear the door open. “Why are you in here?” you hear her ask the Dwellers. “My bedroom should have been UNTOUCHED.”

              You decide now is a good time to see what the Prince is up to.

~

              You find him in an office, tucked away in the back corner of the mansion. You don’t think you ever got this far, but then again, you might not have been able to recognize it if you had. The Prince is crouched over his desk, quill scratching quickly over paper.

              You’re willing to bet pons to donuts that he’s writing out contracts of some sort, but probably ones of a less soul-stealy nature. And, since he’ll one day be legally obligated to be your BFF, you figure you might as well take a look.

              “Oh, hey, kid. You looking to be put to work?”

              You hesitate for a moment, looking at his desk. Pages upon pages of letters are scattered all over it.

              “I won’t turn down the help, pull up a chair and grab a quill.” He pushes his pot of ink so it sits between the two of you, then puts his hand over it. “Wait. You can write, can’t you?”

              You send him a flat look and nod.

              “Just checking! Someone is definitely feeling better, isn’t she?” He pulls his hand back, picking up his quill again. “Anyway, I’m just writing letters to the Dwellers, so don’t worry about being too fancy. It sounds sappy, but…we’re pretty isolated out here, so I like sending them some mail every now and again. They’re always over the moon to get some from the ‘outside world,’ even if it’s just a smiley face.”

              You smile a bit as you start to write. This is much nicer than outright stealing mail and redelivering it. Huh, Snatcher really wasn’t that bad of a guy before everything happened, was he?

              A thought crosses your mind, a kind of terrible one. Generally speaking, trying to change the past is a BIG no-no, even bigger than dropping a Time Piece. But…if…and this was a BIG if…but if you could stop the break up from happening, then maybe Vanessa and the Prince could stay normal, and Subcon Forest could stay happy. In that case, it’d be better for everyone involved, wouldn’t it?

              The Prince interrupts your thoughts by cracking his knuckles. “Jeez, writing this much makes my hands cramp up. Back in school I would have actual dreams about being able to write up contracts with just my mind. But I suppose that’s the life of a prince, isn’t it?” He takes up his quill again, then pauses. “Well, technically, that’s the life of the Grand Duke of the Subcon Forest—actually, technically Grand Duke and District Attorney of the Subcon Forest. But that’s a mouthful, isn’t it?”

              Attorney? You knew it.

              The Prince catches your smug look and grins. “Bet you haven’t heard of a noble lawyer, have you, kid? Well, I haven’t, either. But lawyers who are minor royalty are also pretty rare.” He laughs at his own joke, and you politely laugh with him. “Anyway, I thought it’d be a good thing to have in my pocket, you know? But—and contain your surprise at this, kid—there’s not much in terms of legal settlements out here in Subcon. But who knows, maybe it’ll come in handy when I’m king. There’s all sorts of treaties and stuff to take care of, and I won’t have to worry about Subcon when it’s not my domain anymore.” A strange expression crosses his face at that, and he abruptly sets the quill down. “Anyway, I think that’s enough letters for this round. I’ve got ribbons in the drawer there, we’ll just roll these up, tie ‘em off, and then pop them into some mailboxes.”

              You nod, then open up the drawer. You don’t find ribbons, but you do find a very official-looking piece of paper with the word “Contract” embellished at the top.

              Really, you’re surprised it took you this long.

              You pull it out, looking it over. It’s much longer than the ones Snatcher gave you, with a lot of big words and sentences that seem to go on forever. But you do pick out “Queen Vanessa” and “marriage,” so it’s probably…

              “Heyyy, hey, hey, that is definitely not ribbons.” The contract is plucked out of your hand, and the Prince puts it back in the drawer in a hurry before slamming it shut. “Anyway, you don’t want to read that. It’s all boring marriage stuff. Did you know there’s a whole bunch of legal processing when you get married? No, wait, of course you wouldn’t, you’re, like, six. Annnnyway…”

              “My Priiiiince!”

              This time, the Prince looks downright relieved at the squeal, and this time he’s prepared for Vanessa to launch herself at him, deftly catching her and setting her in his lap.

              “I was wondering when you’d be coming in,” he says, leaning forward to rub his nose against hers.

              “Oh, I’m sorry to keep you waiting, darling,” she replies, giving him another pout. “It was those Dwellers. Someone apparently messed up my bed while I was gone.”

              For a moment, you and the Prince lock eyes over her shoulder, both of you fighting grimaces. The Prince breaks away first, putting on a mock-serious face as he cups her chin.

              “Well! I’ll be sure to get to the bottom of it, my love. We can’t have your bedroom getting messed up.”

              Vanessa giggles before snuggling up to him. “It’ll be so much easier when we’re married. I’m not letting you out of my sight, ever, and so I won’t even need a visiting room out here in Subcon! Just think, no more incompetent Dwellers demanding your attention and messing up our beds.” She lifts her head. “Speaking of, have they finished brunch yet? I’m starving.”

              The same strange expression crosses his face, but only for a moment before his smile’s back on. “I’m sure they are by now. Why don’t we get going?” He helps Vanessa to her feet, then, keeping a hold of her hand, presses kisses up the length of her arm as he stands up himself.

              Jeez. You knew the two of them were in love, but this is just gross. But you’ve already decided you’re going to try and help, and “gross” is much more preferable to “murderous.” Even so, you’d almost prefer having them be their current selves if it means no more baby talk and gratuitous smooching.

              “Hey, kid, come on. Bet you’re starving after the morning you’ve had,” the Prince says. He doesn’t seem to notice when Vanessa grips his arm tighter, nor the icy look she sends your way before giving a sharp smile.

              “Of course. Wouldn’t want our guest to go hungry.” The smile drops, and she tugs the Prince out the door, much more roughly than she needs to.

              You get the feeling she doesn’t like you much. But much more important is the feeling that your stomach is empty, so you shake it off and follow them.

~

              You haven’t had brunch before, but you’ve decided it’s now your favorite meal of the day. At least, it is in Subcon Forest.

              There’s eggs and sausage and biscuits and fruit and, most importantly, cookies! For BREAKFAST! Time travel is notorious for making you hungry, and you’re pretty sure you’ve inhaled six of these breakfast cookies before you’ve even sat down properly.

              You realize halfway through your second sausage that you’re probably not behaving the way you should when having  brunch with royalty, but the Prince doesn’t seem to mind all that much.

              “Careful, Vanessa,” he says as you reach for yet another cookie. “Looks like we might have someone who loves cookies more than you.”

              “Not possible.” Vanessa’s voice is flat, and she hasn’t so much as touched her fork yet. Instead, she’s just staring at you. Her face is composed, but you still get the impression she’s imagining some not very nice things.

              The Prince doesn’t seem to notice, instead stirring his coffee with another laugh. “You really ought to come back when Vanessa’s the one in the kitchen. Her cookies? Ugh, to die for.”

              Suddenly, you don’t want to eat anymore cookies. Possibly ever again.

              “Oh, if you’re looking for jam, try this one.” The Prince nudges a small jar toward you. “Here, I lo—” He catches himself. “It’s my favorite.”

              You’re not sure what’s weirder: the way he corrected himself, or the fact that you’re getting jam recommendations from Snatcher. Either way, you decide you might as well try it. As you’re spooning it onto some toast, another heavenly smell comes from the kitchen. This one seems to pull Vanessa out of her one-sided staring contest with you, but she doesn’t seem any happier. In fact, she looks outright angry.

              “What is that?” she snaps at the Dweller who enters the room with a covered dish.

              The Dweller pauses, their masked face going between Vanessa and the Prince. “It’s, uh…actually, I think it needs to go back to the kitchen.”

              “Show me what you’ve brought,” Vanessa says through her teeth.

              “Vanessa, love…” The Prince tries, but she holds up a finger to shush him. The Dweller is visibly shaking as they lift up the cover on the tray.

              “Bacon?!”

              You swear you see the lights flicker, and you sink down in your seat as she continues to shout at the Dweller.

              “You know bacon is not allowed at the table!”

              “Vanessa, darling, it was a mistake.” The Prince is immediately on his feet, turning Vanessa around to face him. The Dweller took the chance to bolt back into the kitchen. “I mean, you dropped by much earlier than planned and…”

              “I don’t care! I won’t have you loving something more than me first thing in the morning!” She gasps suddenly, then narrows her eyes up at him. “Have you…have you been eating bacon when I’m not here?”

              “No, no! Of course not, dearest. And anyway, you know I could never love anything more than you, especially not some cured pork.”

              “I don’t want you to love anything but me!” she snaps back at him, pushing him back before crossing her arms in a huff. “Not bacon, not this stupid forest, nothing.”

              Immediately, the Prince is behind her, hugging her tightly despite her stiff pose. “Don’t be ridiculous, love. You know I love you more than anything, Vanessa.”

              For a moment, she stays stiff, but then she leans against him with a sigh. “I just…after my last relationship…”

              “I know.”

              “And I get so worried…”

              “I know, I know. But I’m not like him.”

              Vanessa lets out a shaky sigh, then turns and buries her face in his chest. The Prince strokes her hair silently for several minutes, then lifts her head and rubs her cheek with his thumb, smiling gently.

              “Better?”

              Vanessa nods.

              “I think, love, that you’re exhausted.” He leans down to kiss her cheek. “Look, I’ve still got some Dweller business to attend to. Why don’t you take a nap, and then by the time you wake up, I’ll be right back.”

              She looks up at him with big, blue eyes. “Promise?”

              “Promise.”

              Vanessa nods, then pulls the Prince down to give him a very long kiss right on the lips. Finally, she lets him go. The Prince blinks a few times, looking stunned, then shakes his head.

              “C-C’mon, Kid. Can’t keep the Dwellers waiting for their mail,” he says, smiling woozily.

              You quickly hop down from your chair, all but running to the Prince’s side after witnessing all that. Despite everything telling you not to, you look back at Vanessa. She’s not smiling as you two go, and as a shadow crosses her face, you swear you can see a trace of red in her ice-blue eyes. You pick up the pace and turn back around, sticking as close to the Prince as possible as you both exit the house.

              You’ll be the first to admit that you don’t know the first thing about relationships. After all, you’re just a kid. But what you’re seeing doesn’t seem normal, and maybe your goal here shouldn’t be trying to keep the two of them together.

              Maybe it’s keeping them far, far apart.

[Chapter 4]

[empyreanwritings]

The Cure to Heartbreak

Pairing: Biker!Bucky Barnes x Reader, Ex!Peter Quill x Reader

Word Count: 4.7k

Warnings: loads of language, break up angst, mentions of alcoholism, suggestive themes

Summary: An impromptu road trip with your neighbor is exactly what you needed to get over your ex. 

A/N: Y’all, I watched Someone Great on Netflix and then I somehow ended up with 4k words worth of Biker!Bucky. It may be a little all over the place, but I wanted to place emphasis on the reader realizing her worth outside of a relationship, ya feel? Let me know what you think! x

Waking up to your best friend pulling the curtains open and blinding you wasn't the way you wanted to start your day. In fact, you didn't want to start your day at all. You planned on wallowing in your bed all day - avoiding all responsibilities and pretending like you didn't get your heart ripped out of your chest the night before.

Peter Quill was supposed to be the love of your life. You two met at a party your freshman year of college and hit it off quickly. At first, you didn't see him as anything more than a one-night stand. It was your chance to be slutty! You had just moved to the city far, far away from your parents, and you wanted to be a little reckless. But reckless never worked out for you.

When Quill brought you breakfast in bed the morning after, you knew you were a goner.

Five years. That asshole let you be in love with him for five whole years before he told you he met another woman, who he just "connected" with at work.

Thing had been rocky for the past few months. You got one of the editor positions at Stark publishing, and you let it take over most of your life. But could anyone blame you? Being an editor was something you worked for your entire college career. It was all you ever wanted to do besides becoming an actual author.

But you didn't think rocky meant you were pushing him into someone else's arms.

As much as you wanted to hate him, you couldn't do anything besides blame yourself. You let work become a priority, and somewhere along the way, you stopped showing Quill how much you truly loved him. Maybe it was all your fault, but you liked to think he could have stepped up and said something. He could have tried to save what you two had before falling in love with another woman.

Another woman with a stupid name, you might add.

"Not today," you groaned and pulled a pillow over your face.

"Oh no, you are not wallowing today!" Wanda scolded as she ripped the pillow away from you. "Get up, we're going to brunch with Carol and Peter."

"Tell them I'm too sick."

Wanda rolled her eyes. "You are not too sick. You're just a big baby."

You tried to fake cough for emphasis, but she wasn't having it. She grabbed your ankles and practically threw you off your bed. And when you glared up at her from the pile of blankets you grabbed in surprise, she just stared back at you completely unfazed. The woman was persistent.

"I brought you bagels from your fave," she held up a brown paper bag but kept it away from your reach, "You get them once you've taken a shower and gotten dressed! And I mean it on the shower, girl, you look crusty."

You glanced down at your hair, which still had hairspray in it from last night. You had meant to take a shower, but you were so distraught that Quill broke up with you at your anniversary dinner, you forgot. Well, you didn't forget, per say - you were a little too drunk to figure out how to work your own shower.

A shower sounded terrific, but you barely had any energy to stand, let alone clean yourself. Thankfully, Wanda could see your hesitation and pushed you towards your bathroom. She even made sure your face wash and favorite body wash were on the edge of the tub for you to use, which brought a small smile to your face. Sometimes, you forgot how great of a friend Wanda could be when you needed her most.

You decided halfway through your shower that your sadness would go down the drain with your shampoo. Being miserable wouldn't change the fact that Quill no longer wanted to be with you. Being miserable did nothing except make you look pathetic, and you refused to be the pathetic one in this break up.

And when you stepped out of the bathroom, towel wrapped around your body and steam pouring out from behind you, you felt yourself smile. Even if it was a little forced.

---

"If I drink another mimosa, I swear I'm going to puke OJ all over Carol's shirt," you moaned, giving your stomach a small pat. "But damn, they went so well with that French toast."

Peter nodded as he stared as his half eaten Belgian waffle. "I want to eat it, but my stomach might burst."

Carol looked between the two of you and shook her head, making it a point to snatch the waffle off Peter's plate and stuff it into her mouth. She managed to eat all her food, drink four mimosas, and she still wasn't ready to quit. When she committed to a brunch outing, she committed. And you didn't miss the way she called you babies through her mouthful of food.

Brunch started out more emotional than you cared to admit. By your second mimosa, you were spilling all the details of your breakup. How everybody gave you sympathetic looks when you stormed out, and how the hostess gave you a free meal voucher on your way out because she felt terrible for you. She probably cringed when she saw the mascara running down your cheeks, but you didn't care. Free food was free food.

You teared up. Your friends listened until you started crying into your egg's benedict - that was when Carol smacked the back of your head.

Once all the emotional shit was out of the way, you had a nice time. The four of you ate more food than your stomachs could bare. Peter talked about his date with MJ, which he didn't want to do at first (he claimed he didn't want to make you feel bad, but your baby boy was dating! How could you be upset?) And all was good.

Until Peter fucking Quill walked into the café with his new girl.

Not even a full twenty-four hours after your break up.

"Do you want me to kill him?" Carol asked, her glare on full display.

"I'll clean up the evidence," Peter added.

"And I'll help bury the body," Wanda said with a coy smile, clinking her glass against Peter's.

You shook your head. "No. If he wants to be with that woman then let him. She's got cheap pink streaks in her hair, so who's really thriving?"

While your words were confident, you could feel yourself breaking down. The urge to down an entire bottle of champagne crept right back up, and you hated yourself for it. Drinking wasn't a bad thing but drinking when you were emotional was. You always did it at the worst of times, and it was why your sister thought you were an alcoholic to this day.

You sucked in your cheeks and excused yourself quietly, trying not to bring too much attention to your table. They wanted to follow you out, but you reassured them you'd be right back. You just needed to get some air.

Your heart beat so rapidly, you could feel it jump to your throat. You were almost certain you were going to burst into tears at any moment, and you weren't sure which one was more embarrassing: crying over your ex or crying over your ex next to a dumpster that reeked of sun-cooked booze.

The rumble of a motorcycle pulled you out of your thoughts. You peeked around the corner of the alley and saw Bucky Barnes, the only normal neighbor on your floor. You hadn't run into him on your way in last night, but you were sure he heard you shamelessly singing Lizzo at the top of your lungs.

Oh god, you were a terrible neighbor.

"Y/N?" Bucky called out before you could retreat towards the dumpster.

"Hey!" You heard your voice crack, and you quickly cleared your throat. "Sorry, hey. What are you doing here?"

"Were you crying by that dumpster?"

You let out a watery laugh and tried to run your fingers through your already tangled hair. "Whaaat? No way! I-I…I totally was."

He hummed, trying to hide the smile creeping up on his face. "Does this have anything to do with the concert I got last night?"

"Fuck, I am so sorry about that. I was drunk - the kind of drunk that sings Truth Hurts at three in the morning."

"It's okay, really," he laughed. "I had gotten home only a few minutes before. Me and Steve were out celebrating with Sam on his new promotion."

You released a relieved breath. So, you weren't a terrible neighbor, just an obnoxious one.

Bucky's gaze flickered to the inside of the café, and you almost questioned what he was looking at when you turned and saw him staring right at Quill.

They weren't big fans of each other. Quill always got insanely jealous when he found out Bucky was hanging out at your place for a movie night or a game night, which Bucky wasn't a fan of. He thought it was childish.

He didn't ask what Quill was doing with another woman. He didn't ask what prompted you to get drunk and sing last night or cry by a dumpster just a few minutes prior to his arrival. He didn't need to. It was obvious what was going on, and he hated Quill for treating you like that.

You deserved so much better.

"Get on," he said as he held out his helmet for you.

"What?"

"Get on," he repeated with a shrug. "I wanna take you somewhere."

"I can't just leave. My friends are-"

Someone tapped on the window behind you, and you laughed when you saw it was Peter practically smushed up against it. He gestured to the hunk of a man behind you and made a waving motion that resembled something along the lines of "Go, crazy bitch! Don't say no!"

And you weren't sure if it was the encouragement of your friends or the fact that now Quill was looking directly at you from the counter, but you turned around and took the helmet from Bucky without another thought.

You wanted to ask where you were going, but you knew he wasn't going to tell you. Bucky seemed like the type who enjoyed being mysterious way too much.

Spontaneous adventures weren't your forte. You liked planning your trips out as much as you possibly could. When you and Wanda took a road trip down to New Orleans, you made sure every minute was planned - even what rest stop you were going to stop at. You liked knowing, you liked having a schedule.

You learned very quickly that Bucky wasn't that type of person. He had no idea where you were going when he asked you to get on his bike, and you started to realize that when he took random exits that didn't lead to the same place.

Every now and then, you found yourself standing and holding your arms out, letting the wind wrap itself around you. You had no idea where you were going, but you were going to make the most of it. You thought about pulling your helmet off at one point just to feel the wind in your hair, but Bucky reached back and pinched your thigh the second your fingers touched the straps.

He was a stickler for motorcycle safety, apparently.

It didn't feel like a long drive, though. It wasn't until you started to see signs for Atlantic City that you realized you had been driving for at least two hours. You should have been more aware of where you were going, but you enjoyed the ride too much. It was easy to lose yourself a bit.

"What the hell are we doing here?" You gasped once Bucky found a spot closest to the boardwalk. "You seriously drove us two hours away from the city!"

"Do you want to go back?" He wasn't asking to be mean. If you genuinely wanted to go home, he would turn right around and not complain.

The mist coming from the beach hit your face, and you could smell the fried food from some of the pier vendors. You weren't hungry by any means, but something about the smell of fried Oreos always made your mouth water.

"No," you replied after a moment, "No, I don't want to leave."

"Good." Bucky smiled over at you, and you couldn't stop yourself from smiling back at him. Something about that man's happiness was contagious. Every time he smiled, you had to fight the urge to smile as well. But today, you weren't going to fight it. You were going to be happy. Spontaneous. Definitely not sad over Peter fucking Quill.

He took your hand and led you down the boardwalk, assuring you that he knew where he was taking you now. You didn't believe him for one second, but you let him lead you nonetheless.

"I know the couple who owns this casino," he stated as he pulled you towards Ocean. "I did maintenance here before I moved to the city, and they really took care of me. I know they can give us VIP access to the rooftop party."

"How do you know there's a rooftop party already?"

He looked over his shoulder at you, "Cause it's Atlantic City. They're always partying here."

---

Your first year of college was something you thought you'd never be able to experience again. You were able to party without needing to get drunk. You danced like no one was watching because you were young, and it didn't matter what other people thought! All that mattered was you were with your best friends.

Today you got to feel that way again.

The pool was filled to the brim with bubbles, and even though you didn't have your bathing suit, that didn't stop you from at least going in ankle deep and tossing some bubbles at Bucky. People crowded the deck, and you constantly squished against his chest just to get through to the other side, but neither of you seemed to mind. And the best part? You had no desire to drink.

Well, you had one shot, but Bucky offered to let you do a tequila shot off his very chiseled, very tattooed physique. How could you turn that down?

But, other than that, you didn't need to drink. You enjoyed every second of the rooftop party, and you planned on remembering it all. It wasn't often you decided to get on someone's motorcycle and drive all the way to Atlantic City with said person.

"I got us a room, by the way," Bucky yelled over the music into your ear.

"You didn't have to do that!"

He scoffed. "You deserve to have some fun, Y/N. This is a city that never sleeps, you need to embrace it!"

You were about to respond to him when you felt your phone vibrate. You held your finger up, letting him know that you were willing to continue the conversation, but you froze when you saw Quill's name flashing across your screen. You hadn't changed his icon photo yet, so a picture of you two kissing was staring right back at you.

"Wow, cold bucket of reality," you mumbled.

Bucky wanted to take the phone away from you - to tell you not to answer - but he didn't have the right. You needed to work through your heartbreak however you needed to. If talking to Quill was what you needed, who was he to stop you?

It helped knowing Quill saw you leave with Bucky. He had to keep himself from smirking the second they made eye contact. And maybe that was what he was calling about.

You shook your head and quickly declined the call. The last thing you wanted was to hear whatever Quill had to say. Whatever excuse he had for moving on so quickly, or whatever issue he had with you hopping on Bucky's motorcycle - you didn't want to hear it. It would only dampen your mood. You deserved better than that.

"Do you want to dance?"

Bucky grabbed your hand and twirled you around. His arm wrapped around your shoulders, pressing your back against his chest. You held back a shiver the second you felt his lips against the shell of your ear.

"I would love to dance," he whispered, eliciting another shiver you couldn't hold back this time.

Being pressed against Bucky, moving to the beat of the music, felt…almost surreal. No one else around you really mattered. Someone could have elbowed you straight in the back, and you wouldn't have noticed. You focused on Bucky's hands on your hips; his fingers occasionally brushing against your exposed skin; or his lips that constantly grazed the side of your neck. It was hard not to lose yourself in the moment.

You didn't want to make Bucky a rebound. You made that decision before you took a shot off his abs.

Bucky was someone you knew you could fall for. You already spent a lot of time together, spent a lot of nights just getting to know each other. He knew things about you that no one else besides Wanda knew, and he wasn't afraid to share the darker parts of him. The first time you had a movie night, he told you about the scarring on his left arm that he covered with tattoos. And he listened when you opened up about leaving your parents behind.

What you two had was special. If it was meant to be something more than platonic, you couldn't ruin that by sleeping with him in the middle of a heartbreak. No matter how badly you wanted to.

"I want to kiss you right now," you confessed once you had a moment alone.

You two escaped the party and moved to one of the indoor pools. Everyone was at the party, so it gave you two the opportunity to enjoy some peace and quiet.

"But I'm guessing you're not going to?" Again, he wasn't malicious when he said this. It was almost as if he understood what you were thinking before you even said it out loud. He was far too understanding, and that made it even more difficult for you.

"I can't."

"I know."

You swirled your feet around in the water, keeping your eyes on the ripples at all times. Looking at him would make you crack right now.

"I can't be upset at Quill for moving on a day later if I do the same," you sighed. "Plus, I know I'm not ready. I want to be, ya know? I don't want to be miserable and think about how much my life is going to change now. I mean, I spent five years of my life with this guy - I had my future based on where we were supposed to be - and now…"

"Now you have to figure out who you are outside of those plans - outside of a relationship."

You nodded. You spent important parts of your life with Quill. You grew up and grew into the relationship with each other. You had no idea who you were by yourself. Single Y/N could be completely different from Quill's long-term girlfriend Y/N.

And you wanted to get to know who she was.

"If you ask me to wait for you, I will."

You quirked an eyebrow at him. "Oh?"

"I mean, I already have been," he chuckled. "And I don't mind waiting a little bit longer."

You pressed a kiss to his cheek, letting your lips linger on his skin a little bit longer than necessary. It was your way of telling him to wait without saying it out loud. You'd never be selfish enough to ask him to wait. If he met someone while you were trying to find yourself, you'd be happy for him. A little disappointed but happy. But if he genuinely wanted to wait and be with you, you would love it secretly.

He linked his fingers with yours and smiled to himself as you rested your head on his shoulder.

"You know," you turned your face up to look up him, curious as to what was about to leave that man's mouth, "I'd be okay with you using me for one night. No strings attached."

You laughed, not sure if he was serious or not. He stayed quiet, but he leaned in less than an inch closer to your face. It wasn't much, but it was enough to get your attention. He was serious. And you weren't sure if that turned you on or terrified you.

"Bucky, I don't want to hurt you," you exhaled shakily.

He shifted next to you and gave you a small smirk. "You can't hurt me, darlin'. I'm a big boy, I know what I'm getting myself into."

The air shifted between you; the electricity was undeniable, you could feel it tingling on your lips. You shouldn't have moved closer. You shouldn't have kissed him, and you definitely shouldn't have slept with him. It was a terrible, terrible idea. The angel on your shoulder warned you about how bad of an idea this could be. But the devil…she really wanted to get laid.

Bucky's thumb brushed your bottom lip, and all your inhibitions flew out the window. You could think about the consequences in the morning.

---

"Make sure to ice that ankle," you teased as you dropped Bucky off at his door.

"You weren't kidding when you said you were going to hurt me, huh?"

You gasped and punched him lightly in the shoulder. Never in your life had you accidentally twisted someone's ankle in the middle of sex. You thought he was trying to mess with you at first - playing around with the whole "you can't hurt me" bit - but when you woke up, it was swollen and blotched with purple.

You were appalled, especially when Bucky started laughing about it. He was never going to let you live it down, and you were dreading it already.

Hey, remember the time you almost broke my ankle during sex?

Hey, do you wanna try that thing again? Oh wait, that's how we sprain ankles.

And here you thought you'd regret the sex because you were using the man. Who would have thought this would have been what you regretted?

"Before you walk through your door, and we go back to being just neighbors," Bucky grabbed the front of your shirt and captured your lips in a deep kiss. You hummed, letting him take his moment to explore every inch of your mouth again. When you pulled away, you were both breathless and staring at each other with lust blown eyes. "Sorry, I had to get one more in."

"Talk about-"

"Y/N?"

Your heads snapped towards your, now open, apartment door. Quill stood there staring at you locked in Bucky's embrace, and you knew by the way his nose flared that he was irritated. He wasn't allowed to be pissed, but break up or not, it probably stung a little bit. Good.

"Remind me to take your key back," you spat at him.

Bucky asked if you wanted him to get rid of Quill, but you shook your head. You appreciated the gesture, but this was what you needed to do. Neither of you got the closure you both clearly needed after your break up. Quill moved on, but it was obvious he didn't want to see you with anyone else, especially Bucky. And part of you was still a mess. A long, mature talk needed to happen to make everything seem a little bit better. Just a little, teeny bit.

You gave Bucky a kiss on the cheek and waved Quill back into your apartment. Bucky reminded you he was just one wall away if you needed him, and you nodded. Thank god for your scary biker neighbor. You always felt safe with him.

Quill waited until the door was closed to turn and look at you. You held out your hand, a look of annoyance written all over your face. He knew what you wanted; you wanted the key to your apartment back, but he wasn't ready. He was the one to end it and fall for another woman but seeing you with Bucky made his stomach twist. He wondered if he was ready to move on after all.

"I think we made a mistake calling it off," he muttered.

You barked out a humorlessly laugh. "Oh, do you?"

"Is that your way of saying you don't want to hear what I have to say? That you're choosing him over me?

You clenched your fists at your side. Hot breath left your lips. You could feel the anger burning at the pit of your belly, and part of you wanted to lunge across the living room and punch him in the throat. A good fist to the throat always seemed to help situations like this. But you stopped yourself from doing so.

Violence wasn't exactly your thing.

"I am not choosing him over you or you over him," you seethed behind clenched teeth. "For once in my fucking life, I'm choosing me because I fucking deserve it."

"What the hell does that even mean?!"

"It means I'm going to be able to make decisions without wondering how you're going to react! It means I'll be able to find out what I love doing outside of a relationship. Maybe pick up a hobby or two, I don't know! There are so many possibilities for me, and I don't know who I'll end up with in the future - emphasis on the future, Quill - but I do know it won't be you!"

He stared at you, the words you said swirling around his mind. He wanted to call you selfish. Your life didn't have to revolve around him, but you could have at least thought about including him in it again. Things had a chance of working out if you wanted it to, but he realized you weren't going to change your mind. No matter how much he wanted you to. Begging was pointless, and he hadn't really thought through coming here in the first place.

He, technically, stood Gamora up to be here. Which would cause him trouble later.

"So, that's it then?" He croaked. "You won't even give us a second chance?"

"When have I ever believed in second chances, Quill?"

"Good point."

You ran your fingers through your hair. The odds of Bucky hearing this entire argument were high. You already had this conversation with him. It wasn't nearly as intense, and you definitely didn't close any romantic doors between you two, but you made it clear you needed to choose yourself for once.

You deserved to love yourself before you loved another person again.

Quill stepped towards you, and you quickly moved back two steps, making sure to keep as much distance between you two as possible. Despite his "I want you back confession," you knew he still had Gamora waiting on the sidelines. He'd be able to go back to her now that you rejected him, but you hoped she came to her senses and left his ass behind, too. The two of you would be able to form a fun ex-girlfriend's club.

"I guess I should go," Quill relented.

You clicked your tongue. "Yeah, I think that's best."

"I'm sorry…for everything."

"Me too, Quill, me too."

A small tear slid down your cheek when he closed the door behind him, and you quickly wiped it away. You didn't want to cry. You didn't want to let yourself admit the conversation affected you.

Less than twenty-four hours ago, you would have jumped for joy knowing Quill wanted you back. If Bucky hadn't whisked you away, you may have gotten back together with him, too. But time away did wonders for a woman's self-worth. You actually owed Bucky a thanks later.

A knock came from the wall that separated your kitchen and Bucky's apartment. When you two were too lazy to walk through the hall, you often did this to talk with each other. It was one step above physically talking in each other's presence and one step below face-timing or talking on the phone.

"I'm proud of you," Bucky said loud enough to hear through the walls. You could hear the smile in his voice, and you smiled too.

"Thanks, Buck," you hummed. "I'm proud of me too."

[dcbbw]

After our conversation last night/early this morning? I just randomly thought of this, and had to ask. Is there any sock that SGL absolutely refuses to wear? 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣

Thanks for the ask, @bebepac! This is just a quick SGL x Penelope drabble, that answers your ask and gives us some insight into SGL’s thoughts towards his relationship with the one who is not Riley B.

All characters belong to Pixelberry.

Thanks so much to pre-readers @ao719 and @burnsoslow! And a special shout out to Burnsy for knowing/remembering future plots and storylines better than me!

Song Inspiration: Open Your Eyes, Snow Patrol: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=30buQ1jEDas&list=PL4gAMikm-cPhkzvcBNPo0bV7l3YrwgyJR

Liam gently pulled his bedroom door closed behind him before heading into his kitchen. He wore a wife beater, his boxer briefs, and his socks adorned with dancing Care Bears and the phrase: “heart full of dumb.”  He called them his Penelope socks.

It was Saturday night; early-ish on a Saturday night: 9:30pm. It was warm and humid outside, cool and comfortable inside. Liam was pulling a tuna and pasta salad out of the refrigerator when his eyes landed on the reason he was indoors eating dinner alone, instead of sharing Thai food and sushi with his girlfriend at Regent Thai: a pair of Indianapolis Colts socks, still on their hook.

The abomination.

Liam kissed Penelope lightly on her lips as she entered his apartment. She wore a semi-sheer blue maxi dress that matched the color of her eyes. Her dark brunette hair was brushed away from her face, falling in soft waves about her shoulders. She and Liam were spending the weekend together: Saturday night dinner, followed by a play and brunch on Sunday.

“I still don’t know why you never want to spend the weekend at my place,” Penelope complained as she walked past Liam, enveloping him in a cloud of Flower Bomb perfume.

“Because you live in a sorority house,” Liam explained as he went back to mixing the tuna and pasta salad together.

Penelope shared a three-bedroom, two-bathroom row house with two other ladies, Annabelle and Katie. Annabelle was dating a guy named Ernest Sinclaire, and Katie’s boyfriend was named Rashad Domvallier. Liam had met them all on several occasions, usually when the men were waiting in the living room for their girlfriends to finish getting ready for their respective dates.

Between shrieks and giggles from the women as they ran up and down stairs wearing slips and hair curlers, Liam discovered that Ernest was a property manager for several commercial buildings in downtown DC, and Rashad was co-founder of a technical security start-up. The men had exchanged business cards and phone numbers and met up monthly for drinks and dinner.

Penelope dug in her oversized tote and pulled out a plain brown bag. She held it out to Liam. “I brought you something!” she said brightly.

Liam raised an eyebrow at his girlfriend. “A present? For me?” Penelope was not known for her gift giving ability.

He held out the mixing spoon and let her taste the tuna. Her eyes widened. “It tastes …. delicious! And different!”

Liam smiled proudly. “I added avocado lime ranch dressing and crushed red pepper flakes to it!”

Penelope reached for a fork to scoop more tuna and pasta while Liam took the bag from her, opening it eagerly. His expression fell when he pulled out the pair of cobalt blue socks decorated with white horseshoes.

Penelope had brought him the socks of his sworn NFL rival team. What the hell was wrong with her?

“I’m.Not.Wearing.These,” he gritted out between clenched teeth.

Aside from obviously feminine hosiery, and children themed socks (except Sesame Street characters … one was never too old for Sesame Street), Liam would be hard pressed to name a sock he wouldn’t wear.

Leave it to Penelope to find the ones.

Penelope looked at him with surprised eyes. “What? Whyyyy?” She whined.

“Because if you knew me AT ALL, you would have known to buy me Patriots socks! Or ANY other NFL team except the Colts! I CANNOT STAND the Colts. They are the sworn enemy of the Patriots, and I refuse to support that team in any capacity!”

Penelope’s hand slammed on the counter. “It’s SOCKS, Liam! A fucking pair of socks! I saw them; I know you well enough to know you love football and socks! I THOUGHT YOU WOULD LIKE THEM! Instead, you are biting my head off because you don’t like the team!”

She wiped away angry tears that were beginning to fall. “You’re an ass. And I wasted my time and money even thinking you would appreciate ANYTHING I do for you!”

Penelope picked up her bag which was sitting on the counter and tossed her fork into the sink. The clattering of the utensil against the stainless steel seemed especially loud. Liam had his hands splayed against the kitchen island, his head down.

“Pen, don’t go. I’m sorry. Please stay.” He looked up at her, his dark eyes remorseful.

Penelope stood at the edge of the kitchen, her blue eyes filled with anger and hurt.

“I’m trying, Liam. I thought you would like them.”

“I know you are. Come here.” He held his arms out.

He spent a few minutes reassuring Penelope that she was a good girlfriend as he kissed her hair. He gave her soft kisses on her lips which quickly deepened; he willingly followed her into his bedroom where his lips, tongue, and manhood apologized in ways words couldn’t. Afterwards, there was cuddling, and before Penelope drifted off to sleep, she told Liam she loved him.

Liam didn’t respond.

Now he was sitting in his living room, eating a solitary dinner as a thousand thoughts went through his mind: Penelope didn’t know him, not the way he knew her. She didn’t know Liam’s favorite color, book, holiday, or movie. She didn’t know his favorite drink, or favorite meal. Obviously, she had no idea about his favorite football team. She barely knew when his birthday was.

She was not good girlfriend material; at least for him she wasn’t. She was clingy, needy, and always had a crisis going on, usually financial or emotional. She was jealous and insecure. She had no skill set and no job stability. She was not supportive of his professional goals and not understanding of his ambition.

Liam exhaled a long breath as he watched the Housewives of Atlanta spill tea; he reached for his phone and dialed Riley B. The phone rang four times; Liam was about to hang up when she answered with a breathless hello.

“Hey, Riley B. Were you busy?”

She responded with a loud shriek, followed by giggles.

“Are you okay?”  Worry laced Liam’s tone.

“Drake is kicking my ass in a water gun fight!” Riley explained.

Liam’s expression was a myriad of happiness, sadness, and jealousy. That could be him having a water gun fight with her, but she didn’t see him that way. Hell, it could be him and Penelope having one, but she was so anal about her appearance.

“Sounds like fun.”

“Whatever!” Liam could hear the eyeroll in her response and chuckled lightly. “Did you miss the part where I said I was getting my ass kicked?”

Another shriek, and then her berating Drake for almost getting her phone wet. “Are you good?” she asked Liam.

Liam nodded, even though Riley couldn’t see him. “I am. Just wanted to check on you.”

“Hey, let’s get together Monday after work, okay? I can tell you where I buried Drake’s body.”

“Monday. You got it!” Liam hung up while Riley was yelling at Drake that he was gonna get it!

He finished his dinner, and washed dishes. His eyes kept glancing at the socks. Penelope’s I love you reverberated throughout his brain. When he placed the last dish in the rack, he rinsed the sink and then wiped his hands. After a moment’s hesitation, he grabbed the socks and carried them with him back into the living room.

He cut off the television before removing the Care Bear socks. He wiggled his toes as he stared at the Colts socks. The material felt nice against his hand. He closed his eyes and tensed his jaw as he pulled one sock over his foot and pulled it up his calf.

Forgive me, Tom Brady.

He pulled the other sock on swiftly, drawing in a deep breath as he stared at his outstretched legs. The socks fit well and felt good against his skin. His thoughts turned back to Penelope.

Penelope was trying. She was cute enough, and she made a mean drink; topless, at that. They had some things in common. They had good sex. She liked his cooking. She brought him a present. Aside from Riley B., no woman had ever brought him present. His mother didn’t count.

Riley B. and Drake were happy and having fun. Riley B. and Drake were in a relationship that was still going strong after two years.

Liam wanted a relationship. Liam wanted love.

Penelope loved him.

He turned out lights as he made his way back to the bedroom. Penelope stirred when she felt Liam press up against her back.

“Where’d you go?” she asked sleepily.

“To put on my new socks.”

Penelope snuggled closer to him. “Do you like them?”

Liam bit his lip and swallowed over the lump in his throat. “I love them. And you.”

Tagging: @sirbeepsalot @wannabemc2 @jared2612 @katedrakeohd @hopefulmoonobject @custaroonie @jovialyouthmusic @thequeenofcronuts @amomentofsinclairity @bobasheebaby @ao719 @sashatrr @marietrinmimi @ladyangel70 @gardeningourmet @umccall71 @angi15h @romanticatheart-posts @drakeandcamilleofvaltoria @blznbaby @tabithacarlisle @emceesynonymroll @bbrandy2002 @ab1901 @janezillow @debramcg1106 @radlovedreamer @jessiembruno @lodberg @thecordoniandiaries @ramseyandrys @caroldxnvxrs @princess-geek @burnsoslow @annekebbphotography @merridithsmiscellany-blog @queenjilian @emichelle @indiacater @loveellamae @forthebrokenheartedthings @kingliam2019 @texaskitten30 @glaimtruelovealways @zaffrenotes @bebepac @liyanin @dibberdipper @choiceslife @ac27dj @yungnayque

[jbbuckybarnes]

Time Stops

Pairing: Bucky x Reader Desc: This is for @ussgallifreyfics​  #gallifreys500 writing challenge. Not beta read. Prompt: “They say when you meet the love of your life, time stops, and that’s true.” - Big Fish Warnings: FLUFF

MASTERLIST

They say when you meet the love of your life, time stops, and that’s true. You’ve seen it with friends that had met their soulmates the day they were ready to. They stopped aging. When you turned 18 you could find your soulmate and never age again. While that was beautiful, it also put a lot of pressure on you and a lot of pity on people growing old. Usually people would just feel who their soulmate is, but there also were soulmate marks. They weren’t big or anything to brag with, but yours was a little heart-shaped darker spot on the back of your right hand. Right between the thumb and the pointer finger connection. Definitely a space you massaged a lot when you got nervous.

Right now was one of those situations. You were waiting in line to get onto a plane to New York City. A trip you made once or twice a year to meet your friends. While you loved New York, you hated flying. The many alien attacks and whatnot of the last decade weren’t helping with your anxiety. The plane being delayed on top of that was even worse for your mind going in circles. A big man sat down next to you, putting down a duffle bag and getting out a book with the title, “Love, Simon.” Wasn’t that a book about a closeted teenage boy? Didn’t match up at all with the giant frame the man had, but you smiled to yourself. You scrolled through Instagram, created a new collection for cute cat pictures and went on about your anxiety soothing. When you were finally boarding, your anxiety went through the roof again. Thankfully you had downloaded a whole documentary for the flight, otherwise you’d go insane. When you were situated in the plane and had gotten out your headphones, the giant man found his seat, the one which just so happened to be next to you. It was about to get cozy, but you weren’t complaining. You’d rather have a giant man with a good taste in books next to you than a creep or a family with a newborn baby. After your heart almost jumped out of your chest while you took off you finally could relax and start watching your space documentary. Every now and then you felt him flip a page in his book very delicately. Your hand landed on the little table your phone was situated on to give him more space, which is when you started to feel the stare on you. Well, now it WAS a little creepy. He tapped your shoulder and you stopped the show and looked at him. Woah, wait, you knew that face. That was Bucky Barnes, wasn��t it? “Sorry for interrupting, I just...I saw you like space and, uh, could you tell me what documentary that is? It looks awesome.” he gave a shy smile before looking away, right hand going through his beard. Wait a damn second. “Huh?” he looked back at you confused. “I said that out loud.” you stated to yourself and closed your eyes. “Yes, you did.” Now he was grinning at you, eyeing your slightly flustered face. “Uh, your soulmate mark. Are you…?” your eyes went from his eyes to his hand. “What makes you think that?” “You didn’t really age but you also were in cryo a lot, so it’s quite difficult to tell.” you grinned. He smiled wide and looked down on his hand before shaking his head, “No, haven’t found them. I don’t think I ever will. 70 years is quite a lot-” He saw your right hand come into his field of vision and his eyes went wide and back up at you. You were amused at the weird situation you had just put each other into and you couldn’t deny that you liked how he turned into a soft dorky man. But maybe that was just him outside of the news. “So...uh...wow.” Another time that he went through his hair. “Yeah,” you looked up at him with shimmery eyes. You respected the man in front of you so much for what he went through and that he was still here. But that giant dork that looked illegally good was your soulmate? That must be a dream. “So...would you like to go on a date anytime soon? I’d love to get to know you.” he got a little confidence back and gave an unsure smile to you. “Of course, I know this really great brunch place in the Upper West Side.” you smiled a little giddy. “Spring Natural Kitchen?” he asks. “Spring Natural Kitchen.” you nodded chuckling. “Wanda told me about it. She loves testing new places whenever she’s not on call.” “Sounds like I’d get along great with her.” “So...why are you flying to New York? You live there?” he finally asks and you shake your head. “I live near Denver and come here sometimes to meet friends and have a good time for a week or two.” “Which city’s better?” he smirked. “I like both, but I have a job back in Denver that I love. I’m working in a very laid back modern restaurant, café kinda establishment.” you explained. “Well, if you’re my soulmate, you might as well open up a second one of those in New York City, cause that sounds great.” By now he was so deep in your flirting battle that he totally forgot that he just met you. “You just want that cinnamon cupcake goodness.” you laughed. “I’d never say no to any food, I think that gets very clear when you look at me.” he looked down on himself. “Hm, yeah, a little.” You grinned, “Hungry giant.” “Oh, we’re already starting pet names, huh?” his brows went up. The giggle escaping you widened his big smile. ___ *You ready to get picked up and judged by Sam Wilson?* *Why not by Wanda? Or literally anyone that’s not Sam?* *I ask myself that every single day, darling.* *I’m ready by the way...and ready to fight Wilson if I need to.* *Sure, darling.* you could practically feel him grinning at his phone screen. *And by that I mean, if he dares to, you’ll defend me anyway, cause you’re cute like that.* Not too long after the AirBnB’s doorbell rang and you ran to the door in your comfy outfit. It was a brunch date, not a fancy gala. When you opened the door you were met with his audacity to wear a leather jacket. “Aw, come on. Really? A leather jacket? Like you don’t know that it’s super hot?” you pouted and were pulled into a hug. “You look cute. Is that Totoro on your sweater?” he held you and looked down on you. “Old man knows Totoro, check.” you grinned. “Hey, I’ve been catching up for 4 years. There needs to be SOME stuff that sticks.” “Could the lovebirds that both can’t drive please move their asses a little faster?” you heard out of a car behind Bucky. “Could the angry bird please chill?” Bucky answered without even looking at him. “C’mon, let’s go and give the man a break.” you chuckled before taking his hand and dragging him towards the car. “So, tell me about yourself. Anything that I don’t already know from social media and our chats.” he grinned. “I stress bake, my favorite shows are all documentaries, I’d love to have a cat, I’m into astrology, I love to draw and paint, my music taste is a literal dumpster fire and I really like sneakers.” you counted a few that you found to be relevant to yourself. “I’m still learning to cook new foods. I actually have a cat, her name’s Alpine, she’s an absolute whirlwind but she’s the most loyal little thing ever.” he smiled. “What kinda cat is she?” you asked excited. “British Shorthair and white.” he beamed. “I already love her. I’d love to get a completely black cat.” you leaned onto your hands. “We could.” he squinted with a cheeky smile. “You’re already thinking about moving my ass to New York, aren’t you?” you chuckled. “You’re my soulmate, why not? It’s not like you’re a shot in the dark or anything like that.” That made you feel warm inside, very very warm. “Yeah, guess you’re right.” you looked at the table flustered. “So, assuming you would stay here…” he got your attention back and god were his eyes sure of you staying here, “...would you actually open up a cool place like this?” “I’d love to but...renting a place like this in New York City? Making it look nice and advertising it? That’s so hard.” “Hi, you’re sitting in front of the longest prisoner of war. If you think Sam didn’t sue the shit out of the military to get me paid for that, then you’re wrong.” he grinned accomplished. “Bucky, you can’t-” “I can, tell me what you’d want to do.” he smiled at you softly, grabbing your hand. After a few moments of grasping the moment you continued, “Well, similar to this place, but with cakes, pies and cookies. And with a completely different color scheme. Very bright, like white and some pastel colors. I’d try to find tons of recipe’s online and let you try them until I have like 12 good and special ones that work. I’d always have a jar of triple chocolate cookies and a chocolate bomb cake. Maybe even sweet ice cream in summer? I’d have chessboard tiled wall behind the counter and hang nice art work in the rest of the place. I’d probably have someone bring in dog cake every week so they also get some good food. I’d make milkshakes, have a barista working and would create some special hot chocolate mix. Maybe I’d do something themed after you. Like little cookies with the- wait, do you hate the red star on your old arm? I know it’s very much a connection to the Sowjets, but I don’t really look at it like that.” “I’m neutral about it. I write autographs on cards with red stars all the time.” he shrugged. “Then there will be red star cookies. Maybe something themed after your bird friend?” you grinned. “He needs to work for it.” he laughed. “I make a mad cinnamon banana milkshake. That would sell very well.” you mumbled before taking a sip from the drink in front of you. “Cookies with red chocolate melted into it...that’s a good one for Wanda, isn’t it?” you smiled shyly, trying to not misjudge his friends. “I love that idea. Maybe something egg based for Sam, you know, cause he’s a falcon. I’ll shut my mouth…” he grinned and watched you snort laugh. The waffles you ordered were set down in front of you and you continued talking about the interior of your dream place. “I don’t know if I’d do it in Manhattan or Brooklyn. I mean Brooklyn literally has cute food places as its elevator pitch.” “I guess it depends where you’d find a place.” “Yeah, forgot, we’re in the ultimate place of renting stuff.” you grumbled and heard him chuckle. ___ “Finally!” you jumped around in the empty space that was about to become your own little store. You’d been with Bucky for three months now and your old boss was more than happy to have a new venture. And you were more than happy to have gotten such a great soulmate. He even got his driver's license to drive you around and go on little trips with you when he wasn’t working. Brooklyn Heights, right next to the Brooklyn Bridge, with an apartment right above. “Let’s measure and buy a nice kitchen for you to bake cupcakes in, darling.” he grabbed you close. “You just wanna eat, honey.” you pouted. “Of course, I eat everything you make.” he planted a kiss onto your forehead. “Hm, okay, let’s measure and drive to Home Depot too.” you smiled content and got another kiss. “You know, I think I found you at the right time. I like how you look. Not a day too young or too old.” you mumbled. “I would have loved you at any age I could’ve found you.” he hummed. “Yeah, that’s because you’re a hopeless romantic.” you giggled. “Only for you, darling.” “Love you,” you mumbled before pressing your lips against his, “so much.” “Let’s get your dream kitchen,” he said while lightly slapping your ass. “Hey! Watch your hands, Barnes.” you playfully scolded him. “Yes, ma’am.” he rolled his eyes before picking you up and carrying you to the damn car himself.

[halequeenjas]

You’d Be Surprised || Alain & Jasmine

TIMING: Current PARTIES: @carbrakes-and-stakes & @halequeenjas SUMMARY: Jasmine follows through with her offer to help Alain clear up some packing clutter before grabbing some photos of his home. 

Upon pulling into the driveway of Alain’s home, Jasmine had no doubt she’d be able to market this well and get it sold at a good price. Even though she didn’t like the idea of being remote in White Crest of all places, she could actually see the place as being cozy. In a like, flannel pajamas and pancakes kind of way. It appeared Alain had done a nice job restoring it as well. She could spot shoddy repair work from a mile away and this wasn’t it. All in all, this was looking like it would be a pretty good commission. The fact she didn’t feel the chilling presence of ghosts was also good. She’d still have to sneakily place wards up before having any sort of open house so Larry Bob didn’t try anything funny. Though she was a bit regretful of the fact she signed herself up for somewhat physical labor, Jasmine had decided to look on the bright side. This meant she’d be more easily to rearrange things how she’d like for staging the home. All in all, it could be worse. On the way up to his front door, she took a moment to appreciate the garden. Even as the things were starting to day away with the fall weather, there were still some vibrant shades of reds and oranges to be seen. It must have been stunning in the spring. Still looking up at the house, she gave a firm knock with her hand that wasn’t trapped by a cast and waited for indication she could come in. “Hey, Mr. Babineaux,” she greeted as the door opened, “Hope you don’t mind, but I brought along some coffee and pastries.” 

“...” Alain greeted her with a tight-lipped smile as she told him she’d brought pastries and coffee. He had just made a fresh pot, and the place smelled of the pain au chocolat he had been baking earlier in the morning. Perks of being a slayer who could not go out, baking at 3 am was actually not a problem. And he liked being busy, as it stopped him from having too many thoughts crossing his mind. “Well, I always felt like there never was such a thing as too much food,” he pushed himself away from the doorway with the crutches, and led the way to the living room, where he had started to pack a few things while the dough rose in his kitchen last night. He had tried to be thorough with putting away all of his questionable belongings were they : books, weapons, or, even more questionable, a tooth or a bone he’d kept from a creature he’d killed, in case he would need it later. Even now, as he knew that he would most likely never fight again, he could not bring himself to get rid of those things. They might be of use to someone else, he told himself. Those things were just too valuable for him to throw. “You can put it down on the dinner table…” He eyed over at the cluttered table and frowned, “I mean, if you manage to find a spot,” he looked around the room to find a more suitable spot and sighed. He had never been a tidy person, but this was something else. “I suppose the kitchen might actually be your best chance. You can grab a viennoiserie there if you want,” once again, he led the way. And well, this was another room he wouldn’t have to visit on the tour of the house. “It’s not the biggest kitchen, but as you can see, it’s been put to use,” he picked one of his chocolate croissant for himself and gladly accepted one of her coffee cups. Slayer or not, he would need this much to get through this day.

The quiet greeting and the smell of baked goods throughout the home indicated that maybe bringing something had been a bad idea. As he said there was no such thing as too much food, Jasmine shook her head. “Oh no, whatever you made smells way better than what I brought. I can just bring these to the office and we can enjoy the good pastries,” she said with an ever bright and reassuring smile. In truth, she hadn’t expected someone who just lost a leg to be quite so mobile. There was definitely evidence he had been packing and clearly baking. It really did smell amazing in here. With a laugh, she blurted out, “If this is what your baking smells like, I don’t even need to bring candles. What’d you make?” She’d looked over the table and didn’t see a solid spot to set the box down. She briefly thought over how she could rearrange some of the boxes before he directed her to the kitchen. Much better. She set the box of pastries and cups of coffee down on the countertop. When she saw the pastries he made, her jaw dropped as she turned to face Alain. “You made those?” Her voice conveyed her shock. She hadn’t seen pastries that looked that good anywhere outside of France. She took one of the chocolate croissants and as she took a bite out of it, was immediately transported back to her last trip to France. “Oh my god,” she exclaimed, “These taste like I’m on vacation.” As much as she loved French pastries, she never gave them a go. Cooking and baking weren’t her thing. Her luxurious kitchen would have gone almost entirely to waste if it wasn’t for Bea. She laughed a bit and added, “Clearly it’s been put to good use if you can make pastries this good. I have this super nice kitchen in my house that my best friend uses entirely more than I ever have.” She paused to look around at the clutter that she had advised against her better judgment that she’d help clean. “So any place you’d like to start first here?” 

 “It does cover the smell of dogs,” he agreed. Alain had a look through the kitchen window. Speaking of them, they were messing around outside in the garden. He never asked whether she liked or were afraid of dogs. “You don’t mind dogs, do you?” Now might as well be a good time to worry about it, “I made pain au chocolat,” he said it in French, because clearly something that did not have the shape of a croissant should not have been called a croissant. “Too much time on my hands these days,” he forced himself to smile. This could not be as suspicious as spilling iron rods and salt, could it? Certainly not. And obviously he would not tell her either that his injury was far from as old as it seemed. “I’m glad you appreciate them. It’s the least I can do for someone who is willing to help me do that one thing everyone hates doing,” unpacking seemed like an even worse moment, but he was not there yet. Sure he had already seen a few houses, and he would have to pick one, but he was not there yet. 

“It’s not for everyone,” he gave her a shrug. “But if you ever want to use your kitchen and need some tips, well just let me know,” cooking could get frustrating and people being discouraged was always what ended up stopping them. 

Either way, she did not come here to discuss food or cooking, as much as he appreciated compliments on his baked goods. “Well, I’m done with most kitchen utensils. Only kept the essentials,” he rubbed at the back of his head, putting down the cup of coffee to lead the way back to the living room. “I’ll start emptying my closets I think. Not like I’ll need much since I barely go out,” he observed. “If you wish, you can empty the bookcases? Or if you are brave, you can wrap the things I put on the table with newspaper or bubble wrap.” 

 “That it does,” Jasmine agreed with a smile and a slight head tilt as she pondered how best to sum up her feelings on dogs. “I’ve never had one personally, but I don’t mind them. Always figured I’d get one once I have kids. You know, American Dream and all.” That also meant there’d be kids and likely a husband to help with said dog. As it stood, she worked far too much to reasonably have any sort of pet. She took another bite of her pastry and said, “Seriously, these are amazing. I haven’t had pain au chocolat this good since my last trip to France.” She could practically envision her favorite little pâtisserie in Paris that she’d stop at before a day of shopping. “This is definitely a good use of free time.” She finished up her pastry and opted to go for another. As much as she hated the idea of packing, she brushed it off like it was no big deal. If she wanted a nice review on her website, she’d have to remain polite and professional. Plus, the pastries did bring mentally back to vacation mode. “If favors are followed by baked goods this delicious, I may be inclined to offer more of them.” She smiled easily and grabbed some coffee to bring out to the living area with her. 

“You offer that now, but you haven’t seen just how hopeless I am in the kitchen,” she said with an amused grin on her face, “But if you’re really offering, I would for once like to make something nice for our brunch days.” In part, because she knew it would annoy Bea, but that was hardly the point. It could be nice to make something for herself on a night where she wasn’t feeling like company. 

When given an option for where to start with packing help, she immediately knew she’d go for the bookcase. A person’s taste in books said a lot about them and Jasmine was nothing if not nosy. “I’ll go for the bookcase, I’m a pretty big reader so that sounds like the most fun.” Given her book taste ranged from trashy romance novels to books on exorcisms, ghosts, and other spectral creatures. But hey, a girl was allowed to have layers. She began grabbing books off the shelf and started placing them in a box. For the most part, they all seemed to be older books with a focus on mythology. Interesting. It raised her suspicions, but not enough to call it out. That was until she saw a book in Latin that appeared to be about the undead that caught her attention. “You know Latin. too,” she called out with the question evident in her tone. Was he an exorcist, too? Or perhaps a spellcaster? Not too many bothered with learning the language these days. “You don’t meet too many other people who know a dead language.” 

 “Ah, yes, the American dream,” Alain  had yet to meet someone who actually had experienced it. Perhaps if he had been born a generation sooner… “Well, as you can see, you don’t actually need to have children to get a dog, or two…” If he said it with a smile, he had a hint of nostalgia in his eyes as he thought about why he had gotten them. As a child, he never had pets, and living with Audrey, they ended up getting a dog, not even a hunting dog, just an aging one they had found at the pound. And when Frida had died, a few years after Audrey, Alain couldn’t handle staying alone and decided that he did not have to be. First came Orion, and a couple years later, Procyon. He chose them sturdy, hoping that they would be here for a while, that they wouldn’t abandon him. 

Her compliments brought a red tint to his cheeks and he turned to look away, telling himself that she might not notice this way. He had never known how one was supposed to react to these. Saying thank you meant that he agreed, brushing it off would come off as falsely humble. Far from confident, the hunter prefered to look away. “I would agree. Although these days, time seems to stretch a lot. I read a lot, I used to never have time for it,” he took a long sip of coffee, and left his cup on the counter. With his crutches, it was probably the best option. As agile as he was, now was not the time to try things. “Well, I have to admit to promising pastries in exchange for help quite often,” or offering pastries in general. There were worse habits to have.

“Look, I’m sure it cannot be that bad. There’s hope in everyone, right?” Smiling back at her, Alain was headed toward his wardrobe when she asked if he could help her with brunch recipes. “Can’t have brunch without eggs benedict and some proper avocado toasts, can we? I could help with that,” he promised, sitting down on a stool as he started transferring clothes from shelves to boxes. 

“Really? Well like I said, I don’t usually have time for reading, but most of those I’ve read,” documentaries for the most part, comics from France and Belgium, and a handful of classics, both French and American. “What do you like reading?” Perhaps they had books in common, who knew. Her question brought a frown to his face. Too. So whatever it was she held in her hands, she could understand the subject. Oh well, it was totally normal to have books on undead creatures, just like it was normal to carry around salt and iron. “You don’t, do you? My parents always said that it was important to know where” things “words came from.” And of course this book was an essential of latin literature. Not. Always a shitty liar. He grimaced, and looked through the bedroom doorway to see if she had moved from her spot. 

 As nice as company on a quiet night at home sounded, Jasmine figured she could do without the added responsibility of a dog at this moment. Between her paid job and all the ghost related research she’d been doing as of late, she didn’t quite have the time to dedicate to a pet. She opted to not explain herself any further on that front and shifted focus to how well he took a compliment. The way his cheeks turned a rosy tint was not lost on her and she had an amused grin on her face as he agreed with her. That was a good sign. If you were good at something, you had to own it. “Well, I think they’re well worth helping for. Seems like you have some pretty productive hobbies to say the least.” She supposed hers had become more so productive than fun as of late. One of these nights, her bubble baths would include Pinot Noir and a romance novel and not coffee and books on poltergeists. Reading ancient texts was hardly what one would consider light and leisurely reading. 

“You say that now,” Jasmine responded with a laugh, “You haven’t tried my attempts at cooking.” Though maybe with a lesson or two, she could actually pick something useful up out of it. She did love avocado toast after all there was just that delicate stage of not overcooking or undercooking the eggs she’d yet to master. She found she enjoyed their easy conversation as well, so she added, “But if you’re offering, I’ll be taking you up on that. Avocado toast is one of my favorites. If you partake, I’ve been told I make a great mimosa.” 

“Well, I love Alice Walker and Zora Neale Hurtson, so anything they’ve written is something I’ll always enjoy. I’m not above admitting I love romance novels so of course I enjoy Nicholas Sparks… everything else I read is a bit obscure. What about you,” Jasmine answered and opted to let Alain decide what obscure meant for himself. She wasn’t about to come out and say she read books on ghosts, poltergeists, exorcisms, and spectral beings. In this moment, he probably was under the impression she had her sanity intact, no need to ruin that. At least, not until curiosity took over. “Right,” she said looking at him as he peeked over to see her, “I’m sure a recount of the undead is how most people learn the basis of words.” Her emphasis on the word dead was hard to miss and she had a feeling her hunch was correct by the tone in his voice. “If this is the kind of reading you like to do, I think I actually have a few books in my collection you’d enjoy.” Maybe her own little hint that her book collection shared some similarities would put him at ease.

 “I mean, I also used to do rock climbing and running, there’s nothing productive about the latter, unless you consider staying in shape someth-. Okay fine, there’s always something productive about my hobbies,” Alain corrected himself before she could. He was starting to notice that she was quite witty and quick with her remarks, and he doubted that she would appreciate not being able to be witty about this too. And now that he was stuck at home, he did have time for less productive hobbies, hobbies that he had dropped out of over the years. Tidying up his attic, he had found old puzzles in their boxes, and while it was tempting to open them to start those 1000 pieces puzzles over, he was meant to move out of here soon, and he had decided against it. He still gardened a little too. Even if he was leaving, the next person would appreciate it. He also had re-potted the plants Nell and Evelyn had given to him, as well as some others he wished to bring over to his new home. Either way, knowing that he would not go back to the cemetery unless it was to bury someone came as a relief, it was quite an odd thought to have, as he really did not want to bury anyone he knew, and yet, to him, this did not feel like an exaggeration. His level of exhaustion had just gone up over the past few years.

Alain shook his head, not willing to believe that she could be so bad. In his eyes, no one was. But if you had never been taught things, of course there were things you just could not guess. “You’re right, I haven’t, and yet I can assure you that you can get good at it. Yes, good,” just like him, she’d never be a chef, but she could definitely cook nice things. Alain, who had never been a talkative man, seemed to enjoy their conversations enough to be willing to spend more time with Jasmine. That did not happen often, but he did not regret his offer. “Avocado toasts, deal. See, you can teach me about cocktails, because I know absolutely nothing about those,” wine, he knew quite a lot about, but cocktails were not something he knew a lot about, aside from their names.

“Alice Walker… Oh I think I have her book in there, somewhere,” he almost corrected himself to add well, one of her books, but stayed quiet instead. Alain guessed that Jasmine would know which one he meant. “Oh, well you probably would love Maupassant then. Not my favourite but I read a few of his books…” His voice trailed off as she mentioned liking more obscure literature. She did not summon demons, did she? His eyebrows raised a little as she looked back at him. Clearly he had not been convincing with his interest in etymology. How surprising. “Is that so, well if you wish, I have a whole collection of books like those already in a box.��� Some might have not been in latin, some others were his journals, but the choice of words was too careful for this to be completely innocent. “Alright fine, what are your favourites then? Or least favourites?” He cleared his throat. He fell silent for a few, picking up the tape to close his box and catching a new one. “I’ll start if you want, I particularly dislike vampires. Can’t trust a species that hates garlic, can we?” He scoffed, shaking his head. Well, if he was wrong, this was going to be awkward.

 “I was going to say, those all sound productive. The primary reason I run is to stay in shape. Actually, no, that’s definitely the only reason I run,” Jasmine joked with a playful grin on her face. It dawned on her that having such active hobbies had to be a bummer with the whole losing a leg thing, but she wasn’t about to ruin the good mood that was going on here. Somehow the easy conversation seemed to make the fact she was packing not as annoying as it should have been. She’d almost daresay she was enjoying herself, especially as she picked one of the more interesting things to pack. As much was evident by the book on the undead in Latin of all things. 

Realistically, Jasmine knew she could probably cook decently if she put some actual effort into it and didn’t hate touching anything raw, but alas, she did and always got distracted somehow. Any time they had any sort of gathering, Bea always wanted to cook anyway so she just rolled with it. Cooking lessons didn’t sound so bad though. She laughed and joked, “You must be really confident in your abilities as a teacher then. I’ll do my best to be a good student.” She had to admit, the thought of not having to order takeout or leave the house to get avocado toast was appealing. Not as appealing as having an attractive man cook her breakfast every morning, but hey, she was nothing if not independent first. “Perfect,” she said brightly, “I am pretty good with cocktails though I do generally prefer wine for myself. I do make really good margaritas. They’re a personal favorite for pool days. Different varieties of mimosas are fun and go better with brunch though.” 

“The Color Purple?” Jasmine asked even though she knew that was likely the book he was talking about. It was one everyone knew, especially since the movie had come out which was fair. It was iconic. “Maupassant,” she mused, “I don’t think I’ve ever read anything by him. If you have a recommendation you’d like to let me borrow, I could do for some more leisurely reading. I promise I’m not an animal who rabbit ears the pages instead of using a bookmark.” Now she watched carefully as she questioned the subject matter of the Latin text at hand. An eyebrow raised at the mention of having more books like this one already packed up. That definitely only furthered her suspicion that he was somehow more involved in the supernatural aspects of this town. Hopefully, in a good way given she was alone in his home with him. Nothing about him screamed axe murderer so she tried to withhold any reservations. “You do? May have to check your collection once you unpack at your new home.” His next question left her unsure of how to answer until he mentioned disliking vampires. Okay, maybe they were on the same page here. Her head tilted slightly with a hint of grin on her lips. “Hmm,” she started, “I’m not very well acquainted with vampires. I’m not a big fan of ghosts though. Poltergeists in particular are a real pain in the butt. Plus, the movie was so cheesy.” It was becoming pretty damn obvious they both knew what was going on here so she blurted out, “So, I guess we both know what’s up in town then.” He could probably put together why all the salt and iron bars fell out of her purse now. 

 “No one is that bad,” he rolled his eyes, and with a smile, shook his head. Alain had always been enthusiastic about cooking, and while her enthusiasm about it was not his, she still seemed interested in learning. “Ah? Well if you like wine, there’s the cellar to pack later,” he offered. His collection was nothing amazing, far from it, but he had quite a few old bottles that had acquired an excellent taste over the years, and a few others that would have to wait another decade. “I had no idea there were multiple kinds of varieties for one cocktail, really not knowledgeable about those,” he admitted with a small shrug. To each their strength. “Do you think I should learn those when my new house won’t even have a pool?” His smile brightened up, and he looked back to his boxes. It took him a moment to recall what it was that he wanted to do. Ah yes, the sock drawers. Putting only one sock in the washing machine was new to him, and not something he wanted to do in the long term. As ridiculous as it may have been, he’d probably put one on his prosthetic leg. 

“...Yes, that’s the one. The movie is quite nice too,” literature had been taught to him and his sister at about the same time they started to tackle more difficult vampires. Alain was thankful for the education he had received, even if his childhood had only very few fond memories. “He wrote a lot of romance, but he wrote horror too. I believe The Horla inspired the myth of Cthulhu,” he commented, as he neatly arranged socks in the cardboard box. “I think you would like Une Vie more, though.” He put the box down and moved to the livingroom to get his hands on his copy. “You don’t read French, do you?” He looked over at her, leaning against the shelf to reach over and hand her the book. If she didn’t read French, she could always have a look at the cover, he told himself, and he would be happy to read the back cover to her. Her remark about how evil it was to fold pages brought another smile to him, and another shake of his head. “I usually settle for a slice of cheese. Makes a perfect bookmark,” he nodded, as if he approved of this. 

“You are welcome to stop by,” he was curious about the kind of books she might have been reading in Latin herself. Clearly they shared an interest for the undead, but the subject was broad, although the salt and iron rods made more sense now, not that he ever suspected that those were for staging a house. “That is a cheesy movie, although you never had to suffer through a decade of vampire craze,” Twilight, Vampire diaries and God knows what else. He often pretended having never heard of them because they were just unbearable. Not that he liked Dracula a lot more, but nothing could reach the level of abomination modern vampire stories did. “I suppose so. Glad to meet a ghostbuster at last,” he held out his hand as if he was meeting her another time. 

 Jasmine simply waved off the remark about her not being able to be that bad. Surely, with some proper effort she could make something halfway decent with his guidance. At the mention of a wine cellar, she perked up. Not only was that marketable, but that meant he had a decent wine collection. Two totally amazing things in her book. “A wine cellar,” she asked somewhat incredulously, “I definitely want to help pack that up. And you know, peep that wine collection. I’ve got a fair number of bottles myself that I’m letting age.” One was actually due to open in a few months. She had every intention of saving it for her birthday. “Oh yeah, most cocktails have different flavor variations. I’m a big fan of adding rosemary to things.” She smiled to herself as she pulled more books off the shelf and placed them into the box on the table beside her. She noted there were a lot of books on astronomy. “Pools are not necessary for margaritas. They also pair perfectly with a good number of dishes… primarily Mexican dishes, but I stand by my statement.”

“It is,” she agreed with a smile as she pulled more books from the shelf. There were quite a few nonfiction ones that seemed educational. Even though Jasmine found her body to still be a bit sore, she did like the insight she was getting on her new client here. She could admit she liked him more than most of her clients though she’d remain perfectly professional. A sale and a new purchase was entirely too good to miss out on. “Definitely prefer the romance to the horror. This town has enough horror. But I’ll have to check out Une Vie.” He’d come over to pull his copy up and she looked over the cover. Seemingly romantic appearing book in French. “Actually,” she said brightly, “Je parle et lis le français.” She took the book from him and looked over the back cover. “I make a point of going to France at least once every couple of years. Used to go regularly with my family when I was younger, too.” She laughed as he joked about his bookmark habits, “I gotta say, that’s pretty cheesy, Mr. Babineaux.” 

“Thanks,” Jasmine responded and figured she may have to do just that. She shook her head over the vampire craze, “You mean, you weren’t into the sparkly stalker vampires?” She feigned shock and started clearing out the last of his books. “I never got the appeal personally. Edward? Total stalker. I don’t get how women weren’t creeped out by the whole showing up in the middle of the night and watching her sleep thing.” She shuddered a bit and added, “But yes, I’m your resident ghostbuster. Though I’d venture to say I’m much better looking than any of the original cast.” The next book she pulled down had an intriguing cover filled with stars. Cosmos. She peered over the cover and noted, “You really like astronomy, huh?” She’d open the cover to reveal a note from whoever had gifted the book. Her eyes fell on the name signing it. Evelyn. Was this the ex she’d been all sad over before? She quickly closed it despite the urge to be nosy and read the note. “I didn’t realize you know Evelyn,” she blurted out without quite meaning too. Tact outside of basic business professionalism had never been something she had much interest in. What was the point in not saying what you meant? He’d seen her glance at the note. There was little reason to hide her curiosity. 

 “It’s nothing special, the house was a farm in the past,” Alain explained. And the cellar possibly had other uses then. His carrots and potatoes seemed to also live forever in the darkness of that room, and that was something he would miss. He would have to purchase a wine cave for his new house as he doubted his new basement would have the same quality as his cellar. “Really? That’s nice ! There are not a lot of people around here who seem to care about wine. I would have to say that being raised in a French household where they serve wine to kids did not preserve me from becoming interested in this,” it did not happen at each meal, but he remembered that he and his sister had always had a bit of wine or champagne to have a taste, as apparently, any self respecting French had to develop a palate for wine tasting early on. “Rosemary? I have a bush or two in the garden if you want to take some home,” he offered with a raise of his shoulder. He was really going to miss this place, he thought to himself, nostalgia drawing his eyes toward the doors that led to the garden. He stared in the distance for a moment. “Mexican food? Not my speciality. Tex-mex I’ve done a bit, but nothing authentic,” he scratched at his cheek as he thought of more recipes he might have tried, but he mostly cooked French, American or South Asian cuisine. 

“Ca m’apprendra à juger un livre à sa couverture,” quite proud of his pun, he gave her a bright smile, letting her have a closer look at the book. Alain listened to her speak of her travels to France, and told himself that she truly was a woman who was full of surprises. Of course, he wondered, curious as ever, how many other secrets she hid up her sleeves, and while he was eager to know more, he did not want to appear as odd or rude, and so, he remained quiet. “I have not gone in a few years,” he wondered when he would ever go back. With his new expenses, travelling would have to wait a little, and he really did not see the point of doing so until he was completely mobile. Hiking was always part of his trips and he could not quite do that now. “I’ve been told I can be quite cheesy, yes, I know,” he had a small smile.

“No problem, we should trade information, although I might not be able to physically help in a little while,” he glanced down at the missing limb and could not help but frown. He just could not get used to it, and he felt less for it too. After spending his whole life trying to look and seem normal, there was this relique of his past that would always remind him of who he really was. “I’m afraid so, never been too fond of glittery things. Excuse me,” he left the room for a moment to go get some coffee in the kitchen, from there, he spoke louder, “I think some people like the idea of having someone watching over them, but this is a bit too literal if you ask me,” he had not read those books, and from what he had heard about them, from her and others, it was not like he was missing much. Moving back into the living room, he stopped by the dinner table to start sorting the mess, watching her take his astronomy books out one by one. “Oh, yeah, I have always liked that. Been part of the astronomy club for over two decades,” he admitted with a smile, that faded as he noticed which book she was holding. “I did not realize you knew Evelyn either,” he replied, perhaps a bit too fast, and wishing he had said something else instead. There could not be only one Evelyn in town, right? He could have said something like that. And yet the blank look on his face told a lot.

 “The fact you’d even think to have a wine cellar is special in itself,” Jasmine responded with a hint of awe in her tone. At first glance, she wouldn’t have thought him the type of man to have a wine cellar though maybe the last name should have been a giveaway. Paired with the baking and book collection it all tied together nicely. He was a man with good taste and she could appreciate that. “Oh yeah, typical small town that way. We’re not exactly in a wine region. Growing up in a French household, it’s be like sacreligious if you didn’t have good taste in wine. I just travelled a lot from a young age so I had a chance to develop a proper appreciation for good wine.” She’d gone to a lot of wine tastings as an adult as well. Maybe in part it was a pride thing, but she enjoyed the wine and learning about it all the same. At the mention of fresh rosemary to take home, she perked up a bit. “Really? If you don’t mind, I’d love some.” She found herself genuinely smiling and remarked, “There’s some decent Tex Mex here, nothing particularly noteworthy, but they have a good Taco Tuesday. All of those  sound delicious though.” 

“Oh yeah, I’m full of surprises,” Jasmine said with a bit of a laugh. Clearly so was he. 

They were all pleasant so far at least. It did leave her wanting to learn more about him though she supposed they’d have plenty of time for that if he held to his word on the whole cooking lesson thing. It already surprised her that she found she was looking forward to it. Cooking of all things though she could be honest with herself and admit the company played into it. She could pick up on a bit of wistfulness in his voice. It was evident he was going to miss his home and she could hardly blame him. Though a bit small, it did have a welcoming feeling to it. His leg injury must have been fairly recent, but she hoped he’d be well enough for travel soon. “I went this past spring,” she mentioned without thinking, “I did bring home some wine I may feel inclined to share during that cooking lesson.” 

“Well, you do have my card. Though you’re not the only one out of commission for a bit,” Jasmine answered calmly, barely biting back the urge to ask how he’d lost a leg. Knowing his distaste for the undead, she could almost piece it together anyway. No need to make him relive a bad and likely still fresh memory. “I prefer only my clothes or shoes to be sparkly. Not my men,” she joked as he excused himself to the kitchen for more coffee. Her eyes glanced over the note again. What were the odds it was the same Evelyn? The handwriting seemed vaguely familiar which only led her to believe her hunch was correct. She called out as he spoke, “Okay, I get being watched over can make someone feel safe… but not when the person doing the watching literally let themselves in through a window. That’s just stalking. Nothing romantic about it.” God knows she’d whack the hell out of someone who came into her bedroom or home uninvited. The astronomy was much more interesting though she hardly knew much about it. Alain really had some interesting hobbies. “Hm,” she started, “I like looking at the night sky, but couldn’t tell anyone much about it.” She watched the smile fade from his face and mentally cursed blurting out her question about Evelyn. “Small world,” she said coolly as she tried to brush the whole thing off. “I helped her find her house, too.” 

Jasmine had no desire to linger on the clearly awkward topic, so she piped up, “Why don’t you show me that wine cellar of yours? The books are pretty much good to go.”  

 “Oh, well,” his brows furrowed as he tried to reflect on how many people he knew who happened to own a cellar or a cave for wine. There weren’t many. Alain’s eyes shone a bit brighter, the wrinkles at the corner of his eyes another hint of him being pleased with her company. Things were rarely so easy, and he wondered when things would turn sour, as things always did. But for now he had decided that he enjoyed her company and if she enjoyed his as well, even though knowing of him being a hunter, then perhaps things would not go sour, as they always do. Still, she was pretty spot on about the French and why this place didn’t have many people who cared for wine, and he nodded in agreement. “That’s pretty lucky indeed, I look forward to sharing thoughts on the subject,” he agreed with another smile, reaching out to grab the bubble wrap and start cutting pieces to wrap plates and other items. “Please, I just hope whoever buys my house will not tear it out,” he had a frown at the thought, as he saw himself, many years ago, getting started on that damn garden. The whole parcel was abandoned then, covered in what seemed like the remnants of a potato field. The hours spent clearing it all up, and the first flowers, the first fruits and vegetables, brought a smile to his face. In his nostalgia, there was happiness too, and there he was beaming like an idiot as he reflected on this episode of his life. It was not much, but it was his and that was all that mattered. Having made the recent choice of putting himself first at last, Alain was learning slowly, that it was those little moments that had made him truly happy, those when he was himself. 

Her laughter drew him out of this stream of consciousness, softly. “Never been fond of surprises, but some are actually nicer than others,” his hand reached for his cheek again, scratching at it as he thought about it some more. He just could not wait to get to start new things at his new house too. The place did not need much work, but he probably would still bother with a fresh coat of paint here and there. Unpacking, installing, settling in, those were things he was excited for. Perhaps he just wanted to think about anything that did not concern his leg, or perhaps it was something else, but he did look forward to it, as much as he was already counting the time he had left in his beloved home. “Oh, that’s quite recent,” he considered her offer with a raise of his eyebrow, which he followed with a grin. “I think I can agree to that, although making the teacher drink is not very conventional of you.” Amused, he looked back at his bubble wrap and noticed that he had not gotten much done. Talking and working at the same time, when you were not used to it, was one hell of an exercise.

“I suppose that’s one way to put it,” he did not ask how she actually hurt her arm. As far as he was concerned, those injuries were so common for people like them, that how did not matter as much as why. You could not afford making the same mistake twice. Besides, he could guess what had happened easily, as there must have been a hint of truth in what she had told him, back at her agency. “And I prefer no sparkle in my life,” he did not mind it that much, although he had never had to use any in his life. Otherwise, he would have been aware of how terribly hard it was to get rid of, much like the mara who haunted him for weeks, if not months. The image of someone climbing through the window to watch him sleep just drew him back to those fearful days, and he was thankful when she changed the subject. “Astronomy is something I’ve enjoyed ever since I was a kid, so I’m afraid impressing me with your knowledge on this is… going to be a challenge,” the conversation once so light had gotten more tense with her question, and he was relieved to see her change the subject. “This way please,” he agreed, trading his bubble wrap for his crutches once again, and leading the way.

[absoluteindulgence]

Illuminate (Server Collab Prompt)

A/N: This story has been curated thanks to the lovely people of Discord. We all worked with the dialogue prompt “Pay Attention to Me,” Here’s my twist with my Sunshine boi~ ALSO, I NOW HAVE 300+ FOLLOWERS! AGAIN, THANK YOU ALL FOR LIKING MY WORK. I HAVE SOME NEW PIECES IN THE WORKS AND’ CAN’T WAIT TO SHARE THEM WITH YOU, STAY TUNED! 

As time stood, you were eager to get home. The weekend was among your stressed, tired body. You felt the cool breeze come to tickle the back of your neck as you waited for the bullet train to take you close to home. Awaiting you, there would be your beloved boyfriend, Mirio. Earlier, you sent a message letting him know you would be working late, and as you figured, he didn't message you back. Recently, he's been distant. Not in the way of ignoring you, just that he's been pushing himself too much at work, and when he's home, he goes straight to bed.

Eager was an understatement as he gave you a sleepy kiss in the morning telling you he'll be free the same days as you. Working seemed to be pushing you both to exhaustion, and yet being heroes put the biggest smiles on your faces. Meeting each other during the top high school in Japan was what brought you two on to continue your goals of reaching the Top 10. You witnessed most if not all of Mirio's struggles with his quirk and his dedication shone brighter than the sun when mastered. He saw the downfalls and triumphs of yours. You pushed your body to be way more resistant and flexible. Agility would be best suited for what your quirk needed to progress.

Everyone knew of your friendship as the epitome of shut-up-and-date-already. The way you lightly grazed his arm and smiled after he finished his training, set him into a fiery, flustered frenzy. He knew you were bold, but just your fingertips on him were enough to turn him into a strawberry. After catching on that you liked him, he would tease you back just to see what you would say. You were either speechless or daring to say something just as sweet. From there on, it became a battle of compliments and kind gestures. Mirio always made a habit of lighting up the room with his laughter after your rebuttal.

In the end, Nejire pulled you to the side to make a move to ask him out. You laughed as she stressed how agonizing it's become watching the turtledove warfare. You told her, that would change very soon. The next day, you came into class with a packed lunch. Anxious but ready, you hand the lunch to Mirio. Watching his expression as you gave it to him made the window in your eyes light up. The only time you could say you scurried away from him. You anticipated his reaction to your home-cooked meal, but his grin was unbearable. He ran after you immediately and grabbed your hand. You turned around to stare at his big, warm, and callous hand compared to yours. With his gentle hold, you felt his thumb caress the back of your hand. It ran shock waves through your body.

"H-hey (____-chan), you didn't have to run." He laughed as he stretched his arm for his free hand to rub the back of his head.

"I know but-"

Mirio's lips met with yours before you could say anything more. Your eyes widen as he cradled your face close to his. The way he massaged his lips with yours caused you to shut them and melt while igniting a fire within your soul. It took restraint not to faint in his embrace as he tickled the tip of your nose with his. Pulling out of the kiss, your eyes flickered, staring into Mirio's glorious hue of blue. The honest smile paired with the tender gleam was enough to leave you breathless.

"T-thank you (____-chan), I've never had anyone do this for me." He held both of your hands.

From there on, you established your relationship. Ironically enough, you were known as the power couple. Pushing the limits of what it meant to have authentic teamwork and understand your partner's quirk.

As you reached home, you unlocked your front door met with warmth automated from your thermostat, highly refreshing from the bitter cold. As you settle in, you notice you're home alone. Sliding your favorite fuzzy slippers on, you double-check each room. Confirming your first thought, a sigh escapes your lips as you make your way back to the living room.

Maybe I'll watch TV until he comes home.

Making a choice, you prepared yourself in the best unwind fashion. Gathering your favorite drink and snacks while changing into loungewear. You looked through your streaming services to binge-watch a show that's been on your mind for some time. You snuggle into the blanket Mirio bought on a whim before Christmas and remained attentive to the show. Close to finishing the season, you end up drifting off to sleep.

Waking up in what felt like a fifth dimension, you noticed you were no longer lying on the couch, but in the bedroom, you shared with your boyfriend. Your body protested, leaving your king-size bed as you turned to face him but met with an empty side. You groaned immediately, expecting a text or a note left. As you shuffled to sit up, you scope the room for your smartphone, located on your nightstand. Bracing your tired eyes to the harsh LED lights, you squint roughly at your incoming text messages. As suspected, Mirio left you a message saying the agency called him in, and to go to the kitchen.

Finally, moving your strained limbs, the walk to the kitchen is slow and sluggish, yawning every other step. Reaching down the hallway, you turn your head left to a surprise of none other than all your favorite breakfast and brunch foods. A note left on the island in a solid white color of paper, written with blue ink, and signed with his name:

I know you didn't get to see me come in, but you looked too cute to wake up! Please enjoy this as a truce until I get back. I love you, My Sunflower.

How could you be mad? He knew the way to your heart and your stomach. With your eyes hungry and your mouth-watering, you took your time picking out your plates and entrees. Part two on the couch, you binged the rest of your show, and as you reached the end, you heard the jingle of keys. Half dazed, you wait until he entered the living room. As his thick build met at the entryway leading into the heart of the home, the room was completely illuminated. He smiled as you laid sleepily on the couch, snuggled up.

"Hi, my Sunflower." He rested his coat on the back of the kitchen chair, trotting the rest of his buff body over to plop onto the couch with you.

He cradled close to your burrito wrapped body, placing kisses over your cheeks, lips, and nose. "Did you miss me?"

"No, not at all. I was enjoying the attention of my TV Husbando."

"Oh, really, How are they doing?"

"Not well actually, they're going through an existential crisis."

Mirio mimics an 'o' shape with his mouth, "Oh man, that sounds terrible. Let's hope he makes it through."

Mirio lightly chuckled as he wrapped you in his arms tighter. He relishes in the scent of your hair, nestling close to your neck. An abundance of delight rushed through your body. "I'm so happy to be home."

You hid your smile under the blanket, "I'm happy too."

Mirio pulls away to look at you, "Listen, Sunshine, I know that you've been annoyed with me these past two weeks. You haven't been able to see me enough for us to relax together. But there's a reason why."

You watched his shoulders tense when speaking, "I've been working hard because I know sooner or later, you might get bored with me and think I'm not serious about you. When truthfully, I'm scared to lose you."

He took a slow breath making his words come out clear to you, "Being a hero has taught me the valuable lesson of taking care of the ones you love. And not to only tell them how much you care but to show them. That's why I-"

With a quick shuffle of his pockets, he pulled out a small, black velvet box.

"(Your whole fucking government name/desired full name) I've loved you since High-school, way before you made me that lunch. Way before you even looked my way in year one, really. Knowing that you've been by my side through high school, internships, college, and agencies have given me the power to overcome all trials head-on. Whether to deck a villain straight in the face or to let you know when we run out of toilet paper while I'm still on the can. The sun can not shine without the moon, and so, with that said, will you be my Moon?"

Immediately after he popped the question, you wiped your eyes. Streaming of tears and nodding excessively. He opened the box and showcased the exact ring you saw at the jeweler's. You originally went to get something simple for an evening gala full of pro heroes when your eye caught it. You guys were in a rush that day, so you didn't even know Mirio saw you take a glimpse.

"Babe, I wanna hear you say it." He chuckles as he places the ring on your right ring finger.

Your giddiness shows how overly excited you are, you take a deep breath and grin while looking into his big, blue gaze, "Yes."

"Great, now get ready."

"Wha-what are we doing?"

"Well first, we're going to the spa and then shopping, after that I’m taking you to every upscale restaurant in Tokyo so that we can get free food off our engagement."

You laughed instantly, "So you're a scammer now?"

"I'm just kidding, but I do want the dessert to be free!"

[olliethealright]

Three Steps From Home - Update #3

Hey everyone, I guess I’m back again. Today, I’m gonna update on the next two chapters of my current WIP. This will be about chapters nine and ten, AKA 3558 words of an honestly stupid amount of food description, Jude being emo, and Aaron deciding if he’s amused or horrified. This is a long one, so the update is under the break.

TRIGGER WARNING: homophobia, emotional abuse, religious content, mentions of conversion therapy

ALSO: these are all my personal words, characters and ideas, please do not use without my consent.

chapter nine - how you met my mother - 1944 words

theme song - let you down - NF

Okay so this chapter is kind of emo and every much a mess, sorry in advance. I’m going to rework this chapter because Aaron is just kind of there and he doesn’t pull his weight (or literally any weight oops), so keep that in mind.

Summary: Aaron and Jude meet Jude’s mom for brunch, and this chapter is basically just the drama that goes down at the brunch and then the fallout that happens afterwards.

excerpts:

Jude VS his mother feat. Aaron just trying to be nice

Maybe once a month, my mother remembered she was a competent cook and there’s more food to be eaten than microwave dinners and cheap takeout. She had recalled her cooking skills that day, and apart from her eggs, which were notoriously near-poisonous, the meal was almost enjoyable. 

My mother sat on one side of the table and we occupied the other, she served beans, fried potatoes, corn tortillas, and those damn eggs. We held a casual enough conversation, but your knee was already pressed into mine in case things went off the deep end. You wanted to feel my muscles contract, you wanted to drag me out before I said anything I would regret.  

“Why him?” my mother finally asked in Spanish when she had enough of our bullshit and pleasantries.

“Because,” I answered in English. “He’s a good guy, he looks out for me. We’re a good match, Ma, he makes me happy.”

You beamed at me as I avoided my mother’s gaze, and for a moment, I thought that would be the end of it. Across the table, she sighed as if I was the nurse who told her that her only son died. To be fair, I may have done the equivalent; in her universe, you weren’t supposed to make me happy, and nothing would have shattered that world, not even my smile when I looked at you.

and... Jude’s mom bringing up his MAJOR daddy issues

“Get rid of him, before he abandons you like your father did,” she hissed in Spanish the second you were gone. “No one can love you when you are like this, especially not that boy, and especially not me.”

I bit the inside of my cheek so hard I tasted blood and tried not to look like a kicked animal. “You don’t know Aaron, Ma,” I said carefully, finally answering her Spanish with my own. “He’s not Dad. He likes me as I am, just like you should.”

Her eyes shone, and I knew I had set her up to say exactly what she wanted, I had given her the perfect setup, the gasoline for her fire. “He’s worse than your father. He will always make you feel like an outsider, you will never know how he really feels. But, if you go now, the pastor will still take you. He agreed that you’d be a tough case, that you’re almost beyond help, but he can help you, Jude.”

The way she said it, the proposal almost sounded fair. Thankfully, you cut her off with desert balanced on your arms in a way that only a barista would know how. You set cups of caramel custard in front of us and I dug into mine before I said anything I shouldn’t have.

I’m not going to share anymore because I don’t really like this chapter, but essentially what happens is Jude’s mom is unpleasant, Jude and Aaron leave and Aaron almost talks about his mother, but doesn't (and no one is surprised). 

chapter ten - x (I cannot figure out what to call this one haha) - 1606 words

theme song - TALK ME DOWN - troye sivan

I actually don’t mind how this chapter turned out. I love the dynamic between Jude and Aaron in this one, it makes me strangely happy even though it’s not necessarily a happy chapter.

Summary: This one takes place a few months after the last one, Jude and his mother haven’t really talked and he’s finally starting to feel more free of her. Aaron surprises Jude on his birthday with breakfast and fake Amtrak tickets, and the two decide to move to Seattle together. There is a small flashback of the boys after the events of chapter ten where Aaron gets upset. 

excerpts: 

Aaron and Jude joking about the brunch with Jude’s mom (featuring my favorite piece of Aaron dialogue because he would totally become Gordon Ramsey if he thought he could pull it off)

Your breakfast was excellent. The pancakes were fluffy and sweat, they carried the telltale taste of Krusteaz mix, the kind my dad had made on special occasions. The sausages were as good as frozen supermarket sausages could get, and your eggs were miles better than my Mother’s, which were essentially my only point of reference.

“These might be the best eggs I’ve ever had,” I said.

“That’s only because your Mother’s eggs are, no offense, horrible. I think I saw her put cinnamon in those things. Cinnamon! That’s like the first rule they teach you at cooking school: don’t put cinnamon in your fucking eggs.”

A week later, it was decided. You wanted a place we could discover together. I wanted to get away from churchgoers who talked about Jesus like a cult leader and called me a sinner when they passed on the street, just loud enough for me to hear. I wanted to hold your hand without looking over my shoulder.

I insisted on buying the cardboard moving boxes, but you stole my computer when you saw the Amtrak website open in my browser, refusing to let me buy my own birthday present. We decided on Seattle because you wanted to smell the sea breeze wafting from the Pacific, the only ocean you’d never seen. Seattle because I had never seen an ocean or a big city, because I wanted to go to the top of the Space Needle every weekend, because it was far away from nowhere, Montana.

Our apartment was packed within a week, we didn’t have many possessions to speak of; most of yours were books that stacked neatly into boxes, and I barely had a trash bag’s worth of clothing to call my own. We surfed the internet until we could find an apartment we didn’t hate on a street that wasn’t claustrophobic, but was still close enough to the bustle of the city that we would still be able to hear the noise and taste the gasoline on every street corner. In another week, we would be gone, in a month, we would be forgotten altogether. 

Okay, well there it is! At this point, updates will probably all be 1-2 chapters each because I’ve almost caught up with myself. I hope you enjoyed this update, send me an ask if you have questions! Thanks for reading if you’ve gotten this far, and remember: don’t put cinnamon on your fucking eggs.

-ollie