#New here.. waiting for someone to pass me a cookie and glass of milk

[fiteclub1999]

woe, mechs upon ye !!!

[be-ready-when-i-say-go]

Anklets and Necklaces

Inspired by this tweet.

@5-secondsofcolor I’m not sorry.

Female Reader insert. NSFW Content (18+). My smut writing is hella rusty. So I do apologize, whoops.

_______________

Calum plays at the anklet, spinning it around and around her joint as her legs are crossed and resting in his lap. The gold jewellry is hardly ever taken off since he gave it to her. In return, she gifted him a chain with a tiny pendant with her initial etched into the back of it. The front of it is an arrowhead. He wears it so often now, that when it’s off, he feels a little incomplete. It’s an easy gesture to carry her everywhere with him.

“Okay we gotta decide what to eat for lunch like now or I’m going to get hangry,” she states.

Calum glances up from his phone, to see her still scrolling on hers. “Oh no. Not hangry,” he teases. But he knows she means it. Her warnings have about a thirty minute window, just enough for a delivery if they get something simple. Or if they want something more complicated, they need to find a snack now while the main course is cooking. “What do you want? Thai? Mexican?”

“Would you hate me if I said I really just wanted nuggets from McDonalds?”

The pout on her lips makes him laugh, “No, I could never. Usual then?”

“Yes, please.”

Stretching across the length of her, Calum pushes his lips together, trying to ask for a kiss. She laughs in return and squeezes his cheeks. “Be lucky you’re cute,” she states before lifting up slightly to meet his lips. “And squishy.”

“Ain’t nothing on me squishy,” he huffs, straightening back up to put her order into the app.

She sets her phone down on her stomach, gazing up over the sharp line of his jaw that his plump cheeks sit atop. And while it’d be easy to return with a poke and a verbal jab about his cheeks, she just watches him. His fingers deftly work over the screen. The white tank sits as a stark contrast to the depth and glow of his skin. “I think all the right things on you are squishy.”

“Yeah, what are those?”

“Your cheeks. And as much as you and your trainer kick your ass, I know happy weight when I see it.”

Calum grins, a chuckle shaking through him as he sets his phone down on the arm of the couch--the order completed on his end. He pinches at her thighs. “Take that back.”

She shakes her head. “No, I don’t think I will. I like it--just like I like my cookies. Hard on the edges gooey in the middle.”

Standing for just a moment to let her legs fall onto the couch, Calum kneels onto the cushion, hovering above her. Her eyes glitter just a little as she talks and the soft easy smile on her face lets him know that it’s all out of love--what’s she’s saying. The pads of his fingers run along the side of her thigh. “Be lucky I love you.”

“I am already lucky, so say what you gotta say. Roast me, my love. It’s not like we don’t do that anyways.”

And truth be told, Calum had no response. Not when he looks at her, because God all he sees is the person that’s been with him on his bad mental days. She’s been there when Calum was sure there was no lower low or higher high. And what do you say to that person that’s been there, seen all of you that there is to see? With a gentle and chaste kiss, Calum settles for silence.

“Cat got your tongue now, huh?”

This--this Calum can respond too. It’s all too easy. “I know what else my tongue can have.”

“I know something your tongue can have too.”

“Really now?” Calum asks, dragging his fingers over the top of her thigh and tracing the line of her lounge shorts. “Food will be here in fifteen minutes though. So that’s up to you.”

“Not nearly enough time to savor it. Besides,” she starts and takes a pause. Her lips pull into a side smile and Calum knows what that means. One brow quirks in anticipation and Calum watches her. The silence settles for a little too long.

“Besides what?” he prompts again.

“Besides, I need the mail to be delivered first.”

“What did you buy?”

“You’ll see later. I promise. It’s really not even supposed to be used for lingerie. But I’ve wanted these for a long time and I specifically have a set I’m trying to complete.”

There’s the black mesh set that she’s slowly been building out. The main piece came in weeks ago, at this point it might even be months ago that that came in. He was privy to it then and gave it the christening that it deserved. But there wasn’t any other lingerie set that needed expansion. Not at least to his recalling. “Which one is it?”

“I’m not saying.”

“Oh please,” he whines, dropping his head into her neck. His lips softly and slowly seal kisses into her warm skin.

“No, Calum. I’ve been waiting on this package for weeks. It got held up in customs and I-” she sighs at his lips sucking at her skin. Not hard enough to cause a bruise, but just enough to make her spine tingle. “You’re going to have to do better than that.”

Calum pushes up, with a huff, sitting back down on the opposite end of the couch. “This is killing me, you know?”

“Well, you ain’t dead yet. So I think you can tough it out for a little bit longer.”

“Begrudgingly--I want you to know that.”

She sits up, swinging her feet to the floor. “Your sacrifice will be duly noted. The mail will be here before you know it.” The couch releases her weight and Calum watches her pad into the kitchen. “Do you want anything?” she calls.

“I’m good,” he returns, knowing that he will be counting down the seconds until the mail comes. She returns with a glass of water, sitting back down on the couch, but bringing her feet up underneath her as she motions to the TV. “You watching that?”

Calum answers with a shrug. He wasn’t anymore. He originally turned it on mostly for the weather and some news. He found himself bored and flipping through channels before settling on the sports channel while he took care of Duke in the morning. Noise to fill the space since his brain needed the distraction. He hadn’t slept all that great the last few nights, decent sleep. The closer and closer the band got to putting out music the more his nerves kicked in--sometimes they were sneaky. The nerves come up faster than Calum had anticipated. And right now, they won the first round. But Calum was working hard to combat them so he could get about his daily life.

“Go crazy,” he finally verbally responds. And she picks up the remote, changing channels too fast for Calum to even understand how you could process what was on before decking it was a no. She eventually settles for HGTV--not quite caring what show was on. 

The first knock that comes to the door is the food that Calum ordered for the two of them. He answers it, popping up in the hopes it’s the mail. When it’s not, he sighs just a little but places the bag down onto the coffee table. “Your nugs, my queen,” he teases.

“Thank you, my good sir,” she returns with a grin, opening before divvying out what is for who. “You wouldn’t have happened to shot up like a bat outta hell because you wanted that to be the mail?”

Calum feels the heat in his cheeks, but bumps her shoulder gently. “No, why would I ever want that?”

“Oh I don’t know,” she scoffs in return, dunking a nugget into the sweet and sour sauce. They share a soft bout of laughter before turning their gaze back to the TV. Duke’s paws click as he ventures into the kitchen for a drink of water from his bowl. The lapping and splash of his tongue echoing just slightly as the screen goes dark between the show and the commercial break.

Calum lifts his gaze, taking in the soft angle of her jaw. She curls up around the carton of fries, eyes glued to the screen. Does she even have the slightest clue what she does to him? It’s not even the involved things like dressing up for him, or comforting him. It’s just her, when she’s munching on fries. Or when she sleepily walks behind Duke in the mornings. It’s when she hums as she cooks. It’s the dancing she does when she’s cleaning. It’s the pouts when she messes up on something and her brow furrows in as the determination settles onto her face.

It’s when she fucked up a birthday cake for him once--not greasing the sides of the pan enough and then adding a tad too much milk--called him crying about it and then in a minute flat resolved to make him brownies instead. Because she said she’d be damned if she didn’t make him something sweet to nibble on or pass along to the guys. And Calum’s not even that much of a sweets guy, which she knew, so she only settled on giving him half the batch she made. She, of course, saved the other half for her and her friends.

And it’s just the moments that she’s not even trying that makes Calum melt. Like when she paints her nails, she offers to do his first. Or when she lays down next to Duke, and in their shared silence, they seem to communicate everything with each other.

“I love you,” he states.

She turns, eyes widening for a second before grinning around her sip of iced tea. “I love you.” Her brows furrow just a little. “You okay? You’ve hardly touched your food.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine.”

“If you didn’t want McDonalds, I could’ve done something else. Literally anything else,” she continues on almost as if she hadn’t heard him.

“It’s not the food,” he giggles. Calum reaches out to caress her cheek. “I’m okay.”

She nods. “Okay.”

“I just love you, that’s all. Wanted to share it with you.”

Her grin is soft as it lifts her lips. “Good because you’re not getting rid of me that easy.”

“I wouldn’t dare dream of getting rid of you.”

Another silence envelopes them. Calum finishes his food and takes the empty containers to the trash. Another episode starts up from the speakers and just above it, he hears the chime of his phone. “Do you want me to screen it for you?”

“Yes please!” If it’s one of the guys, they won’t mind her answering. If it’s someone important, he doesn’t want to miss the call.

“Calum’s phone,” she answers but he can already hear her feet shuffling to him in the kitchen. “Okay, Ash. I’ll keep that in mind.” Her voice comes closer and Calum shakes his hands just a little to get rid of the excess water before drying them. “No, I can’t say what it is without taking a look. Did you use the soil I recommended last time?” Another pause comes from her and when Calum turns, he finds her leaning up the kitchen counter, phone halfway pulled down but not fully away from her ear. “Yeah, I definitely think you should consider changing soils. But I can take a better look tomorrow for you. I’m going to pass along the phone now.”

She hands the phone over. “He said it was important.”

“Thank you,” Calum says in a whisper, pressing a kiss to her forehead and then placing the phone to his ear. “Yeah, Ash?”

Calum’s not even sure how long the conversation goes on. At first, it is important information that Ashton’s trying to confirm--a date and time for a meeting that they had later in the week. He says he wrote it down where he writes down all their meetings but it’s not there. And Ashton’s trying to make sure that he doesn’t miss it. So Calum shuffles to his office and verifies in his calendar the time for the meeting.

But then the conversation diverges--they start talking about everything and anything. So much so, they’re laughing. Calum doesn’t even hear the knock at the front door. But he does notice her scurrying off into the bedroom. The door closes with a soft click. Duke comes trailing after her but notices the closer door and then keeps down the hall to the office. Calum reclines back in his seat trying to get another angle at the door. But it’s closed fully.

“You okay, gramps?” Calum asks Duke.

“Oh fuck off, mate!” Ashton laughs.

“Not you, you fucking egg. Duke--I was talking to Duke.”

“Oh!” Ashton giggles. “Sorry, I thought you was trying to talk shit.”

“I don’t have to try and do that to you.”

“Oi, don’t start something bro.” The two of them laugh and Calum bends down to scratch behind Duke’s ears. “Alright, thanks for confirming that meeting. I’ll see you tomorrow in the studio?”

“Yeah--bright and early. Talk to you later.” The call ends and when Calum spins around in his desk chair, his jaw drops as she steps out from the bedroom. It’s not exactly something new--as in something that she’s never worn before. But it doesn’t mean he ever gets tired of seeing her like this.

The white bustier pushes her breasts up and almost over the cups. And he travels the look down, taking in the baby blue skirt, fishnet knee highs. And he goes back up, taking in a black strap wrapping around her thighs. She notes the lustful gaze and steps right on the line of the threshold to the door.

“So,” Calum starts, trailing his gaze down and then back up to her face. “Not the black lingerie I was anticipating.”

“No, I’m waiting for the heels I want for that lingerie to go on sale. Besides, you didn’t like the collar I liked so I’m still searching.”

“It wasn’t that I didn’t like it. It’s just too similar to one we already bought.”

“You’re right, but still.”

Calum cracks a smile at the reluctant confession. “But enough about that. This--this is a cute outfit.”

She nods, smoothing out the pleated mini skirt. “It’s less about the outfit and more about these,” she says, tapping at the thin black band.

“And those are?” Calum asks. It’s one step closer into the room and Calum think he can make out a heart shaped metal loop in the middle of it. She takes a second step closer and Calum can see clearly it’s some sort of thigh garter--leather or something related as the material. “Oh,” he breathes.

She continues slowly to approach Calum and when she’s just in arms reach, she lifts the skirt up. It goes up inch by inch and Calum’s entranced. Watching more of her thighs revealed to him. And soon it’s black panties--mesh and if Calum remembers correctly crotchless. But wrapped around her waist is another band of leather. Two pieces hook to another metal hoop right on her hip bones and then one trip connects the top piece to the bottom.

“A harness garter belt--what do you think?” she asks in a whisper.

Calum exhales, desire stirring in the pit of his stomach. He reaches out, wrapping his fingers around her thighs and pulling her into him. He kisses in the spaces between the leather, gingerly, lips hardly touching her skin. “I think you look beautiful,” he hums, dropping his head on his neck to look up at her.

Her eyes are still closed and Calum softly runs the tips of his fingers up her thigh, tracing the lines of the harness. With a deep exhale, she finally blinks back to reality. “Not too silly?”

His brows meet in the middle of his face. Why would she think it’s too silly? There’s nothing silly about her standing in front of him, clearly excited about her own purchase. “Angel--I’ll be damned if I ever think this is silly.”

Swinging her leg over and settling onto his lap, she grins. “Thank you, love.”

Calum holds onto her hips, rubbing his palms down to her ass. “So you said this technically isn’t lingerie?”

“No--I don’t think so. But I think they could be--a small accessory to something I already have.”

They share a kiss, much too quick for Calum’s liking so he pulls her back in for more. And her arms wind around his neck as he continues to palm her ass. Here, he doesn’t really care what it is technically or not. She looks absolutely amazing. “I like it. In fact,” Calum starts, moving to grip her thighs before housing them both up and then plopping her down on the desk. “I really like them.”

Calum stands between her legs, nose brushing and bumping against hers. Here, she can feel her core aching as Calum’s fingers trail closer and closer to her heat. It’s feather light--his touch, but it makes her feel electric all the same. “Cal,” she hums.

“Yes baby?”

There’s nothing that comes out of her mouth but a small huff, a rushed and harsh exhale at the feeling of his fingers dancing across her skin. He grins pulling back just a little to see the way her face goes slack, almost as if she’s at peace with him between her legs.

“Was there something you wanted to say, darlin’?” Calum tries again, taking just a half step back away from her.

With her eyes still closed, she smiles. “I want to know,” she starts, exhaling softly to counter the thud of her heart in her chest, “if you’d so kindly want to make love to me?”

Calum can’t help his own small tuft of laughter. “Darlin’, I’d do so happily.” They don’t always wind up in bed like this--but it’s nice, to be comfortable even to be this forward with this and this open.

Calum takes her hand as she hops down from the desk. “Give me a twirl,” he asks. She obliges, turning in a circle for Calum, punctuating the back view by lifting her skirt up. “Silly girl,” Calum laughs, giving a firm but playful tap to her ass.

Facing Calum again, she wraps her arms around his torso. “But you love it.”

“I do. I love you.”

They share another kiss and she slowly walks backwards out of the room. They get lost in each other--Calum in the way she fits against him and her in the way Calum holds her, palms spanning across her back and tight enough that she wonders if he thinks she’s going to disappear but gently enough at the same time that she’d love nothing more than staying here forever in his hold.

Calum finds the zipper to the top and slowly drags it down. The material exhales, slowly falling away from her body and when it falls to the floor, he kisses her neck, down to the swell of her breast. Her moans are soft, just above a hum that makes just enough noise for him to hear. And it goes right to his gut.

Here there's very little need for words. When Calum gives, she takes happily. But when she tugs at his hair, Calum knows to step back, lets her give something to him. Her kisses are soft against his skin, but make him feel like it’s being set on fire. One that he’d happily stay in, let the blaze consume every inch of him, if it meant that she was always the one to take him.

His shirt goes to join hers. Her mouth teases his nipples as she descends further down on him. Calum thinks he sighs, all he can do is just shut his eyes and let go into the feeling of her teasing the cut of his hips beneath the sweatpants. She’s always like this, teasing him. At first, it used to annoy him. But now he loves it, loves just how close she’s willing to push him to the edge, push his buttons but always delivering at the end of it.

Her meticulous work, to watch him jump at every scratch of her nails and nip of her teeth, is enjoyable. But Calum blinks open his eyes to cup her jaw, which stops her. When her gaze lifts, Calum motions for her to stand. “Yes?” she grins standing to her full height.

Calum presses their foreheads together. “I missed you.”

“Well how dare I keep a man like you waiting?” With a slow kiss, tongues just barely dancing, Calum walks the two of them to the bed. The back of her knees hit the edge of it and she buckles just a little. Calum catches her from falling. “Turn around,” he whispers into her ear, “please.”

The instruction is obeyed and she spins to face the bed. Calum finds the zipper to the powder blue skirt and almost doesn’t want to take it off her. In the end, he does-- Calum lets the skirt fall onto a pool at their feet. Without even prompting she falls to her hands, ass grinding against his hips. He traces her spine with the pads of his fingers, following all the way down, over the curve of her ass and down to the opening in the panties. His fingers gather a bit of her arousal.

“Oh,” he groans. “So wet for me,” he hums with approval.

“Always for you,” she sighs. Calum teases her clit--a featherlight touch as he dances over her core. She lets herself fall a little bit more into the mattress--another moan leaving her lips when Calum takes one finger down from her clit to teasing her entrance.

Calum pulls away, bring his wet fingers to his lips and sucking them clean. “Taste just like heaven,” he hums. He gingerly guides her back to standing and uses her hips to get her to face him again.

More kisses are shared before they fall onto the mattress. Calum takes hold of one of the straps around her thigh and tugs her down, closer to him and she laughs. It gets caught off and morphed into a moan as Calum’s tongue licks a wide stripe up her. He’s careful of the mesh material of her panties, but knows that carefulness won’t last long. Not when her arousal coats his tongue. Not when her nails scratch over the muscles of his shoulders or tangle into the curls on his head.

She melts under the work of his mouth. The mattress merely becoming the vessel to hold the mess she’s bound to make and become. The room echoes the moans and slurps. Fingers gripping at the sheet, she chants Calum’s name. His tongue working magic over her core and just when she thinks she couldn’t possibly handle anything more, she notices the stretch at the addition of his fingers.

“Fuck,” she whines, lifiting one leg and he slips in even deeper, curling his fingers and hitting just the right spot.

Calum hungers for her pleasure--the high-pitched whine and groan as she releases. Some days it’s just the sound he needs to ground him. She gives short and breathless huffs, and quivers underneath him. “Gonna be a good girl?” Calum asks, fingers still pumping at her.

“Yes, oh yes, I will.”

“Gonna cum for me?”

“I want to, yes I’ll come for you. Make me your good girl.” Her voice sounds far away, as if she’s not fully cognizant of what she’s saying. Not quite babbling, but definitely talking so fast words bump into each other and slur together.

Calum grins, sucking at her clit again and she groans, head throwing back against the pillows. Her toes are curling--her whole body growing warmer with the passing second. The heat coils in her lower gut and she’s pleading. Though, she’s not sure who she is really meaning to plead to, but she wants to cum so badly.

Then it finally happens, one moment she’s sure she’s nearly in tears and the next, the coil snaps. She squeezes, hips raising off the bed and Calum continues to ride out her orgasm, gently pressing her back down into the bed. She hisses and starts to push at his shoulders, the signal that it’s too much. So Calum places one last kiss to her clit before pulling away from her glistening core.

Beneath him, eyes fluttering close, she looks angelic. Calum holds himself up above her and just watches the way she tries to collect her breath. “You’re beautiful, you know?” he whispers, not wanting to shatter the silence.

“No kidding?” she teases, winding her arms around his neck. The necklace dangles just a little in her face and she takes one hand to trace the chain. Hooking her fingers into it, she tugs Calum down to her. The taste of her arousal on Calum’s tongue makes her head spin. Calum caresses her side and stomach as the kiss deepens. Here is all they need--the soft and deep kisses, the moans that they swallow from each other.

Her hands leave from around his neck and begin to push down his sweatpants and underwear. And he lets her, even pulls back to kneel on his knees as she sits up. Their kiss hardly breaks and she’s quick to tug the cotton material down, hands wrapping around his length.

He groans at the squeeze--nothing too hard just enough pressure to make his whole body ignite. Her hand pumps him, once, then twice slowly and teasing him. “Baby,” he sighs, relishing the feeling of her hands working over him. The stay like that only for a minute or two before Calum pauses her to step down and full disrobe.

When he climbs back onto the bed, he crawls over her. “Welcome back, handsome,” she greets.

“Oh, it’s so good to be back,” he returns, grinning.

She runs her fingers over the tattoos decorating his chest, out of habit, out of something to ground her for a moment. There’s no way he’s real and it shouldn’t ever shock her like this. But sometimes it sneaks up on her and the realization of how madly in love she is with his man hits her all over again.

“What are you thinking about?” Calum asks.

“How much I love you,” she answers softly.

“I love you too,” he returns, bending down to kiss her. It’s soft and sweet--the kiss. For a moment, they just inhale the breaths of the other. It’s a tender moment, one that neither one wants to interrupt, so they let it linger, smiling at each other. She stretches up to kiss him, one hand trailing between their bodies and Calum catches the hint all too quickly when she traces along his length.

“I haven’t forgotten, love,” he exhales in a breathy laugh. “Trust me, I could never forget.” Once lined up, Calum’s slow to sink into her. One, he wants to drag this out, enjoy every inch of him that she grips of him. And two, because he wants to make sure that even in the lull that she’s ready to take him.

Her head falls back, hair pushing into the pillow and neck exposing itself to him. A tempting sight but Calum loses himself in the feeling of her wetness. He’s slow, pulling out just a bit before sinking further back into her. Her sighs and words of encouragement are soft from beneath him but they fuel him.

The pace quickens and both of them groan at the ecstasy. Out of reflex, she lifts one leg to readjust her hip flexor and Calum brings it up, resting her ankle on his shoulder. He kisses over the joint and the anklet, savoring just how much of her he can feel like this.

The chain dangles in her face, brushing in the valley of her breast and she revels in the feeling of Calum reaching the full depths of her body. She digs her nails into his flesh, more curses falling from her lip. But some of them get lost in the groans that win out. “God,” she huffs. “You’re everywhere.” And though it’s a bit of strain to get the words out because Calum’s pace is relentless as he snaps his hips into hers, she pushes the words out.

“You always take me so well,” he praises, watching the way her face contorts. “Oh, so soon, love? You’re going to cum again for me so fucking soon, like a good girl.”

Her whine slips out first but she nods, feeling the coil tightening yet again in her lower abdomen. Her body is hot, and she can already feel the prickle of sweat on her forehead. “Please, baby, please,” she begs.

“As you wish,” he hums, his own orgasm approaching faster than he anticipated. His body humming as the warmth spreads. The bed rocks just a little, hitting the wall and the sounds echo around them as they sigh and moan to each other. But the only thing that really matters to them, is each other.

“Fuck, baby,” he whispers, voice straining as she orgasms. No noise comes from her, but her mouth opens like if she had the breath she’d definitely be screaming his name. This time the quakes last longer, her whole body shaking. “You’re okay, you’re okay,” he hums, bumping his nose against her jaw, still riding through her orgasm.

“Shit, oh my god,” she shudders, wrapping her arms around his neck.

There’s a slight hiss when Calum moves again, and he kisses over her face, starting with her nose and then moving to her cheeks. Another quake takes her and Calum, not anticipating it, groans-- his orgasm now right on the edge. It won’t be much longer, but she nibbles at his earlobe. “Thank you,” she whispers. “Made me feel so fucking good. I want you to cum in me. So fucking deep,” she hums.

And while Calum’s trying to get his own rebuttal to the tip of his tongue, she squeezes around him. “Fuck,” he yelps just a little, his body erupting with his orgasm. His body shudders and he’s so blindsided by the feeling, his slips just a little, more of his weight settling onto her than usual.

She doesn’t say anything, just hums at the feeling of him succumbing to the pleasure. “Oh, that’s what I wanted,” she encourages. It leaves her throat like a purr and Calum shivers again at the sound.

They lay together, for a moment, her nails scratching lightly at the muscles in his back. Calum sinks into her, body going heavy. Her slight shift squeezes around him and he groans, sensitive. “Don’t--I can’t,” he laughs.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to.” Even her own voice sounds heavy and slurred. She kisses his temple and Calum pushes up. He’s slow to pull out, enjoying the drips that follow of his own release spilling out of her. With one finger he gently scopes it back up and into her. The familiar twinge of desire pulls at his lower gut and it’s almost enough. She even shivers, but Calum watches the way her eyes stay closed.

“You okay?” he asks.

“Sleepy now,” she returns.

“Let’s get cleaned up first and then we can nap.” His voice sounds farther away towards the end of the sentence and she assumes he went to the attached bathroom. The rush of water from the sink confirms it. Something wet and warm presses against her--no doubt Calum with a warm washcloth.

The clean up is swift as both of them share a shower and then under the sheets, they curl up around each other. Calum kisses the top of her head as she nuzzles in closely. “I want pancakes after our nap,” she mutters.

“I think we still have some blueberries.”

She pops up onto her elbow and grins a little. “It’s like you can read my mind.”

Calum laughs. “Maybe just a little bit.”

[mhysa-leesi]

му вℓσσ∂у ναℓєηтιηє

{Gif Source} {Gif Source 2}

Pairing: Dark!Steve Rogers 𝒳 (femme) Reader 🩸.

Summary: "Steve Rogers is madly in love with you and he'll do anything for you to see that--no matter who gets in his way."

Word Count: 4,765 (Sorry, this is a long one!)

TW‼: Non-Con, Smut, Stalking, Yandere Themes, Murder (Description of Side-Character Death), Blood, Description of Gore, and Strong Language. 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI‼

AN: This story contains adult and dark themes, please do not proceed if you are under the age of 18 or if ANY of these warnings upset you! I am not responsible for your media consumption–you and only you are. Also, I used one of the prompts from (@the-modern-typewriter) to describe a character's death, ALL CREDIT GOES TO THEM. 𝒯𝒽𝒶𝓃𝓀 𝓎𝑜𝓊.

AN Cont.: If you or anyone you know has been a victim of sexual violence, please reach out for help. I do not condone ANY of the actions described in this story, this is merely a work of FICTION.

The first love letter was delivered on a gloomy Friday afternoon. The clouds above the city were dark and full of frigid torrents of rainfall. Gold and scarlet autumn leaves whispered against the chilly winds as acorns scattered about; rolling and cracking underfoot as you made your everyday walk to work. You had chosen to stray from your usual route that day, deciding on a new corner coffee shop instead of your normal stop.

You remembered that day clearly, as if it had happened just yesterday. The new coffee shop was a small, hole in the wall with plastic vines of ivy and fairylights rimming the framework of the inside. You ordered rich and dark coffees, with creamy oat milk for you and your coworkers, and an apple pecan oatmeal cookie for yourself.

Your workday was seemingly the same as any other. Pam was gossiping with Susan, and Scott was hiding from Mark, your manager, in the breakroom. You remember you were seated at your cubicle when things turned, staring at the rain against the window, and tapping your pen against your notepad, when you were startled by the mail carrier. He handed you a single, pink envelope with a heart stamp on its flap and left with a mumbled “you’re welcome”. You frowned as there was no return address or other name besides yours. You had opened it anyway.

You remembered how your frown had deepened as your stomach dropped. The paper trembled in your hands as you stared at the small heart sketched at the bottom. You frantically looked around the office for any sign of a joke, hoping to see one of your coworkers giggling at your shocked reaction. But everyone had their noses deep into their screens, typing away at their work. You turned the letter over, looking for a name or a clue as to who had sent it. But it was blank.

And you remembered how you had crumpled up the letter and tossed it as you refocused and finished the rest of that workday.

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Weeks passed before you got another mysterious love letter delivered to your desk, a small bouquet of roses and baby’s-breath with it. And again, you crumpled it up and threw it away; leaving the flowers in the breakroom. You had made a mental note that day to talk to the mailman about the delivery of these letters.

For a time they stopped and you thought you were out of the woods or thought your secret admirer had lost interest at the very least. But you were wrong. Your third envelope had been waiting for you in your mailbox when you had gotten home from work one Monday evening. You didn’t bother opening it as you sent it straight to the garbage.

You were growing paranoid and antsy as you constantly looked over your shoulder. You’d freeze every time you came across an envelope, even if it was just your monthly rent notice or bank statement. You had refused to live like this, in a constant state of anxiety and fear, so, that’s how you found yourself moving into a new apartment across town.

You were met with months of peace, you were finally readjusting to life before the letters. You had even moved in with someone you had been seeing from your new job, Chris. He was perfect, someone straight from a romance novel; tall, dark, and handsome, with a taste for adventure and romance. You were happy with him--you were in love and had long since decided that if Chris were to ask you to marry him, you’d say yes in a heartbeat.

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

Today was your anniversary with Chris, and the two of you had an entire evening planned. Dinner at your favorite restaurant, a surprise showing of your favorite movie at the corner cinema, and then home, where you’d give him his gift. A red lacy lingerie set with fuzzy handcuffs, and a silk blindfold to match.

Your heart skipped and your stomach alighted with butterflies as you touched up your makeup in the bathroom mirror. The evening had been absolutely perfect and it was about to get even better. You stepped out into the bedroom, dressed in nothing but red lace and a bathrobe. A spritz of perfume here and a mint there, and you were ready to go surprise your man.

You walked out into the living room and seductively leaned against the wall, watching as he poured two glasses of red wine. He turned and froze, swallowing hard as he abandoned the drinks on the kitchen counter. You smirked as he pulled you to him by your hips, instantly locking his lips to yours. He looked down at you through his eyelashes, his deep brown eyes darkened with lust, and you couldn’t help but bite your lip. You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him down to your lips once more.

Your eyes closed and moaned as he peppered kisses along the curve of your neck, tilting your head back to give him better access. His hands roamed your body hotly, squeezing and caressing your dips and curves. Chris entangled his hands in your hair as he moved you to the counter, lifting you up as if you weighed nothing. He pushed your robe down your shoulders to reveal the red lace hidden underneath, and with a groan, he bent to trace the rosette lacework that covered your breasts with his tongue. You hummed and wrapped your legs around his waist, your hands running down his back to toy with the bottom hem.

Chris gently pushed you down to an angle as he kissed down your body, stopping just below your navel to wink up at you. You bit back a laugh as you wiggled your hips impatiently as you leaned back on your hands. With your fingers splayed against the wooden countertop, your touch met something smooth and waxy--like the waxy seal of an envelope. You reached behind you and grabbed a pink envelope, with a wax stamp of a heart on its flap. Your heart seemed to stop as you stared at the envelope in your hands.

You vaguely felt Chris’s lips on your inner thighs, kissing and nipping at your skin. When he heard no reaction from you, he looked up, his brows furrowed and eyes full of questions.

“What’s that?” he asked, “You wrote me a love letter, too?” he winked as he reached for it.

You jerked it away from his grasp, your heart hammering in your chest as you ripped open the flap; ripping the waxy heart in half.

P.S. You should really lock your windows, doll. You jumped off the counter and ran to the windows, each one was locked--except for one. You locked it and double-checked its strength, fighting against the lock as you tried to open it.

“Babe? (Y/N),” Chris said sternly, snapping you out of your trance.

You looked at him now. You didn’t know what to say, you couldn’t think of how to form the words. You wanted to say everything was fine and okay, but it wasn’t--it was far from it. Whoever had been writing and sending you these knew where you lived now, and that scared you. After months of trying so hard to move on from this, you felt as if you were right back at square one again.

The rest of the night was unclear to you. You moved like a zombie, your brain on autopilot as you crawled into bed to hide under the covers until the morning sun rose. Chris asked questions, of course. But you had no answers for him. You had no idea who had been writing them and had absolutely no clue how they had found you again.

Chris had suggested going to the police, but what could they do? No one had physically harassed you, and although creepy, the letters weren’t threatening. And not to mention, you had thrown away most of your evidence. You were at a loss. Chris was supportive, always there to comfort you during the night when you were restless, but that never kept you from feeling alone.

Your paranoia increased tenfold by the end of that week. You changed your daily routine every few days, hoping that’d throw your stalker off your trail, but it never did. They always seemed ten steps ahead of you, whereas you struggled to even think to keep up with them. Your breaking point was reached on Sunday evening as you met with one of your old friends from high school for breakfast-dinner--an old tradition you two had decided to revive for the night.

Things were going good, and you even dared to forget about your own issues as you cut into your syrup-soaked pancakes. Madison was telling you about her newest fling and how good he was in the sack, and you genuinely found yourself happy to listen to the vulgar details. After painting you a vivid picture of her sex life, Madison excused herself to the restroom; leaving you alone with your pancakes and empty cup of iced coffee.

You saw a head of electric blue hair and you perked up. Your waitress came with a smile and handed you a paper cup of steaming coffee and a single napkin.

“Oh, I didn’t order this,” you said with a polite smile.

“A gentleman ordered this for you,” she winked before walking away.

You frowned as you looked at the writing on the napkin. Refusing to even acknowledge the cup of coffee in front of you.

Your mouth went dry as you stared at the familiar handwriting. Brown dress, he knew what you were wearing--he was here. You shot to your feet, the chair scraping loudly against the floor, as you looked around frantically, ignoring all of the judgemental looks and hushed whispers you were getting.

“You okay, (Y/N)?” asked Madison, her brows knitted in concern.

“Yeah,” you lied, “I just… I’m sorry, but I have to go. I’ll call you later, Mads.”

You dug through your wallet and gave a twenty to your waitress on your way out, only stopping to yell over your shoulder for her to keep the change. You practically ran home from the restaurant as your anxiety started to settle in your bones, making you heavy with unease. You called Chris, but were only met with his voicemail. The elevator ride up to your floor was tortuous as you watched the floor numbers slowly light up one by one until finally, they stopped at your floor. You panted as you slammed the door shut behind you, sliding the lock and chain in place as you dropped your head to rest against the wooden frame.

You sniffled as the words from his letter were seared into your eyelids. You just wanted him to leave you alone, you didn’t know what you did to catch his eye, and worst of all, you didn’t know how to make it stop. You choked on your hiccupped breaths as tears streaked down your cheeks. When you finally calmed down you switched on the lights and finally turned around…

You stared at Chris in horror. Blood drenched the entire living room, his corpse sat limp in a chair like a broken, bloody doll. His throat and wrists had been slashed. You tried to hold your hand over the open wounds as you screamed for help, but no matter the pressure you applied, the blood still gushed and seeped through your fingers, oozing down your arm, and dripping from your elbow. The gore of it all brought waves of nausea that went beyond physical retching, the sickness you felt was indescribable. But the smell, the smell was something much worse. Metallic, iron, copper… Your ears started to ring. You couldn’t hear, couldn’t breathe. You could only stare at the bloodstain on your hands and scream.

You left that following weekend, abandoning the big city to move back in with your parents and younger sister. You spent most of your days locked in your room, hiding from the world under the comfort of your blanket and drawn curtains. Days turned to weeks, and weeks to months. You’d look at yourself in the mirror and cry as you no longer recognized yourself as the woman you once were. You knew it was time to move on, but you couldn’t, not when you’d see Chris’s bloodied body every time you’d close your eyes.

You started small by taking baby steps toward your recovery. It started with family meals, then a cashier job at your local supermarket, shopping trips with your mother and sister. Then you eventually graduated to therapy, where you’d stare at a forest green ceiling as you reclined on the chaise longue. Therapy helped and it was admittedly one of the better moments of your monotonous days, you felt heard, seen, as you walked through your own thoughts and nightmares. Your appointments even inspired you to reach out to Chris’s parents for closure, to go with them to visit their son’s grave. It was bittersweet, leaving behind a bouquet of roses for the man you had loved so deeply instead of a kiss goodbye; but it was something you knew you’d have to come to terms with. It wasn’t your fault, that was the mantra you’d tell yourself when you’d catch glimpses of his blood on your hands.

Before you knew it a year had passed since the incident, and in that year, you had not received one letter. You had made a resolution for the first time that New Year’s Eve as you waited for the midnight ball to drop. You told yourself you’d forget, to start fresh, and become an even better version of yourself. You were a flower that was fighting against all odds to blossom.

You cut your hair, got bangs and highlights. Saved up for a brand new, off-the-lot car. And moved into a cozy apartment with your sister. Things were looking up for you and you truly believed that you had finally found your way out of the woods. But life had a habit of playing cruel tricks on those who were naive enough to believe such a thing.

It was mid-February, just a few days before Valentine’s Day, when things started to go to shit. You had just come back from the gym with your sister when you saw it. A pink envelope with no return address or any other name besides yours, with a wax seal in the shape of a heart on the back flap, sat on your pillow. It felt like it weighed a thousand pounds as you held it in your hands. You debated on throwing it away, on pretending you never received it. But you wanted to know what more this twisted bastard could have to say. You ripped it open and read.

You didn’t hesitate as you ripped the letter to shreds, throwing the pieces into the garbage with an angry grunt. Delusional piece of deranged shit, you thought. You raked through your brain for the millionth time since your first letter, trying to figure out who the fuck could possibly be the sender, but you came to the same conclusion you had been coming to for years--nothing. It was agonizing, not knowing who your torturer was. It was your shadow, how could you not know who was living in it? But, no matter how hard you thought, you kept drawing blank after blank.

Your sister comforted you with a glass of wine and dumplings from the takeout place up the street. She was going out tonight, but offered to stay home with you instead.

“No,” you shooed, “I’ll be fine, I’m a big girl.”

“You sure?” she frowned, “It’s no big deal, Girls Night is every Friday night, I can always go next week.”

“I’m fine. Go and have fun for the both of us,” you said as you waved her away.

She left a few minutes later, dressed in heels and a short skirt. You ate the rest of the dumplings and finished the bottle of wine before calling it a night. You undressed down to your underwear and threw on an oversized t-shirt and plopped down onto the bed with an unceremonious bounce. The wine coursing through your system made it easier than usual to fall asleep, and the next thing you knew, you were in a deep sleep, dreaming of a life with Chris--of a life without the letters. It was one of those good dreams you wished you’d never wake from.

Which was why you were so annoyed when a loud noise startled you awake. You looked at your phone and the time read “1:00 AM”, you frowned, it was too early for your sister to be back already. You padded along the hallway, rubbing the sleep from your eyes as you called out for her, worried she might’ve passed out drunk on the floor or something. You stopped as you reached the front room--the very empty front room. Your heart started to pound as you stood frozen, staring at the empty room before you. A shuffling from behind caught your attention, then. And against your better instincts, you turned around slowly to see a shadowed silhouette of a man standing at the end of the hallway.

You stood there for what felt like an eternity, just staring dumbstruck at the man. With every step he took toward you, you took one back. Inching closer and closer to the front door with every backward step.

“Doll, don’t,” he warned, his voice striking you with fear like a bolt of lightning.

Without a second thought, you ran toward the door, fumbling stupidly with the locks in your panicked state of mind. The man was on you in a flash, easily dragging you away from your pathetic attempt at escape. His arms slithered around you like snakes, their hold constricting as he locked an arm firmly around your neck, silencing your screams as you struggled to breathe. You slapped and clawed at his forearm as he pulled you back to your bedroom.

“Please be a good girl for me, (Y/N). I don’t want to hurt you, baby,” he said against your hair.

With his arm still wrapped around your neck, he threw you down onto the bed, quickly straddling you before you could scramble to your feet. He pinned your arms above your head with one hand and forced you to look at him with the other. His face was illuminated by the moonlight. The silver shine highlighting his familiar eyes through the holes of his helmet. You froze as he pulled off his blue cowl.

You were beyond confused, to say the least. You stared up at Captain America, your brain working overtime to try and put the puzzle pieces together. What was Captain America doing in your apartment? And why had he called you “baby”? What the fuck was going on? Were you lucid dreaming? You must’ve looked as confused as you felt because he smiled down at you, gently promising you answers to the questions that you hadn’t yet asked.

“You’re even more beautiful up-close, doll,” he said as he brushed away hairs that fell in your face from your struggle.

Your eyes widened. Doll. The nickname sent chills down your spine as the word flashed against the pink color of the envelopes, against the red of spilled blood.

“You…”

He ran a finger down your cheek and nodded, “Me.”

You paled under him, your bottom lip trembling as you shook your head in disbelief. He frowned and hushed you, caressing your cheek and wiping away the tears that fell.

“Shh… Don’t cry, baby,” he cooed, “I’ll take good care of you, you don’t need to cry.”

“W–Why?” you hiccupped through your sobs, “Why are you doing this?”

“Because I love you, (Y/N),” your stomach dropped as he answered you as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

You shook your head, “No. No! You’re Captain America. You’re supposed to be a hero!”

You fought against his grip, flailing and kicking wildly as you tried in vain to get away from him. You trashed against him, kicking against his thighs with all of your strength, but it was nothing to him--nothing but an annoying inconvenience.

“Stop,” he said, his jaw ticking with simmering anger.

But you refused to stop. You whined and fought against him.

“Stop,” he repeated, his anger coming to a rolling boil.

You shot up and headbutted him. He reeled back and glowered down at you, his jaw clenched and nostrils flared.

“I said stop,” he shouted as he finally stilled you with a sharp slap.

The sound was as sharp as the feel of it. You sobbed as the pain stung your skin, the right side of your face becoming numb from the harsh impact of it.

“Why are you doing this, Steve?” you asked again.

“Because I love you,” he answered again, “I know you love me, too, (Y/N).”

“No,” you exclaimed, “I don’t love you! I don’t love you! I don’t love you!” you sobbed.

“You will,” Something seemed to change within his eyes. No longer were there hints of green in his blue eyes, but something much darker… Something more sinister. You swallowed as you shrunk under his intense glare.

You exclaimed as he forced his lips against yours. Squeezing your jaw until he could slip his tongue into your mouth. You pushed against him, beating on his shoulders as he shoved his tongue further down your throat. He pulled away, breathless and flushed, a ghost of a content smile on his face. You gasped and tried to wiggle away once more, rolling onto your stomach as you did so. A yelp escapes you as you feel him grab your hips, pulling you back under him.

Steve puts his weight on you, trapping you underneath him as he begins to undress you. You try to roll onto your back, but his knee keeps you in place. You fight to keep your shirt on, knowing you wore nothing but your panties underneath it. But you were fighting blind. You kicked up, the heels of your feet hitting the backs of Steve’s strong thighs. He manhandles you easily as he rolls you onto your back, finally ridding you of your cotton shield.

Your hands went to your chest before he could. He pried your arms away, baring your breasts to him with a jerked jiggle. He licked his lips as he cupped and squeezed your breast. You flinched as if his touch had burned you, and in some sense, it had. Your eyes widened in shame as Steve blew on your nipples, the skin hardening into pointed peaks. He brings his lips to them, circling them with his tongue. Sucking, licking, pinching. You press your lips together to keep you from whimpering, and you close your eyes in hopes you can will him away. But your feeble defense attempts don’t last long.

Your eyes snap open as you feel his lips leave your breasts to trail kisses down to your navel, stopping at the band of your underwear.

“Please…” you beg. You bite your lip to keep it from trembling as fresh tears begin to form at the corners of your eyes.

Steve smiles against your skin, “I’m going to make you mine, (Y/N). ‘M gonna make you feel so good, doll.”

You stifle a sob as you feel him slide your panties off past your ankles, his fingers scorching your skin as they explore back up between your thighs. Instinctively, you try to close your legs around his hands. But he doesn’t stop. Steve digs his fingers into the soft skin of your inner thighs as he forcefully spreads you wide. Your pussy on full display to him. You stiffen under his gaze, your face burning with shame as he stares in awe at your spread folds. He runs a finger from your clit to your entrance, dipping knuckle-deep into your channel. Your thighs flex as your body tenses at the intrusion. He adds another and languidly pumps them in and out, curling and scissoring them. You fight against the blossoming heat within your belly. Your shame grows as you hear the squelch of your wetness around his pumping fingers.

Steve presses a firm thumb to your clit and you cry out before you can stop yourself. He pumps his fingers into you harder, faster, as he pulls more moans and cries from your lips. You sob as you feel that coil deep within your belly begin to unravel with every stroke and pump. You fight against your own body as you keep yourself from teetering over the edge of pleasure, refusing to let yourself submit to him. But Steve had other plans for you. Suddenly, before you could register his movements, you felt his tongue against your most intimate area. You mewled and curled your toes as he fucked you with his tongue, his thumb never stopping their firm and fast circles against your clit. You sobbed as your body convulsed with white-hot pleasure, and before you could stop yourself, you came on his tongue with a loud, dragged out moan.

You sniffled as you cried, but whether it was from the intensity of your orgasm or your shame and fear, you didn’t know. The lines were starting to blur for you.

Steve gently kissed around your folds before crawling up over you. He held your face and forced your lips to his once more before he began to undress, leaving the taste of yourself on your tongue as he pulled away with a wet smack. He unclothed himself, then. Stripping himself of his spangled-stars and red and white stripes. He looked down at you with dark, lust-filled eyes, and a breathless quirk of his lips.

You were limp as he folded you to his needs. Bringing your bent and spread knees to your chest as he took himself in his hands. His length stood tall and proud, the tip swollen and leaking down this thick shaft with anticipation. Your legs flinched as they tried to close on their own. You choked on a sob as he wrenched them apart. Your heart hammered in your chest as you watched him tap your pussy with his cock, running the tip up and down your folds as he wet himself with your soaking arousal until finally, he pressed himself into your entrance. You let out a strained whine as he slammed into you.

Steve’s eyes were shut and mouth slightly agape as he hisses at your tightness. His hips thrust in excitement as you clench around him. You whimper again as he slides out, just to slam himself back in. Your body jolts with every lust-driven thrust. He slides his hands under you and brings them to hold onto your shoulders, bringing you down to meet his every forceful thrust. The sound of skin slapping and lewd moans fill your bedroom, your sweat sheen bodies glowing under the moonlight. Steve speeds up, mercilessly hammering that hidden sweet spot that makes you scream and clench around his cock. You spasm and shake as Steve forces another orgasm from you.

“Tell me you love me,” he pants.

You shake your head, pushing on his shoulders as the realization of your situation comes crashing back into you.

His hand wraps around your throat as he pounds into you harder than before, “Say it, (Y/N).”

You scratch at his hand as your vision begins to dot and blacken, “I–I love you…”

“Louder,” he demands, “‘I love you, Steve’, say it, doll, I wanna hear you say it.” he moans.

“I love you, Steve,” you choke out.

He releases his grip on you then, and you cough and gasp for air. His rhythm becomes erratic as his hips drive into you with renewed vigor, “Again.”

“I love you, Steve,” you moan.

His body jerks as his hips stutter to a stop. Steve comes with your name on his lips, and you whined as you felt his warmth flood inside of you. He panted above you, his hips languidly thrusting as his abdomen clenched with his drawn out release. He pulled out of you and collected the spunk that leaked from your weeping cunt on his fingers. He brought them to your lips and forced you to suck them clean.

“I love you, too, doll. Forever and ever,”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*тαgℓιѕт*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧: @hoosier-daddi

[watchmegetobsessed]

VALERIE - Part VI. (Harry Styles)

part 6 omg!!! ahh, these christmas chapters are my favs, i hope yall will like them asmuch as i do! as always, feedback is much appreciated!

word count: 4.1k

SERIES MASTERPOST

masterlist

“So how did you two exactly meet?” your dad asks over the dinner table. You are all sitting around the long pine table, the tremendous amount of food lining in the middle as the plates are going around, getting filled.

“Oh, um, we were set up, actually. It was all Rosa,” you admit with a soft chuckle, sharing a look with Marcus beside you. 

“I just thought they would be a good match, guess I was right,” Rosa grins, clearly satisfied with the work she’s done.

“What do you do for a living, Marcus?” Jeremy chimes in while helping Margaret cut her meat beside him. She is the youngest of the cousins, only five, but she can boss around anyone as if she was Meryl Streep in The Devil Wears Prada. 

“Oh, I work in sales. We had a project with Steven’s company, that’s where we met.”

“That sounds interesting,” Joe nods, but at the same time you hear Harry huff on the other end of the table. Looking in his way you see him with his eyes fixed on the plate. He hasn’t said a word since Marcus arrived and his silence is quite worrying if you’re being honest. You haven’t seen him be silent for this long ever, you’re afraid he might be plotting something. 

“It’s so weird that all four of us are here with a significant other this year. I remember when we were all just kids, running around in our backyard,” Etta sighs with a nostalgic smile.

Your eyes wander over to Harry, who is still relentlessly staring down at his plate, as if he wasn’t even there. 

“Yeah, now there are just two single people sitting at the table. Aunt Monica and Harry,” you say and his head finally snaps up, eyes meeting yours, but you can’t read them. 

“You’re single?” Lily asks Harry, leaning forward a little so she can see him since they are sitting on the same side of the table. 

“I, uhh--I am, yeah,” he nods, clearly uncomfortable he is being discussed all of a sudden.

“Would have sworn you have someone waiting for you at home.”

“No, it’s just me,” he shakes his head. “Maybe I could pair up with Aunt Monica so there wouldn’t be any single people,” he jokes, making everyone laugh at the table. Aunt Monica looks up from her plate and winks at Harry.

“I’ll leave my door open for the night,” she cheekily comments and Harry almost chokes on his wine as another round of laugh runs over the table.

“Monica, he is not a lonely soldier,” your mom tells her, but she just shrugs her shoulders grabbing her glass and downing the rest of her wine. Joe is quick to refill it for her, knowing well she was about to ask someone to do that for her. 

“Thanks for the offer though,” Harry nods shyly and you think it’s hilarious how his cheeks have turned red from a nasty comment your aunt made. 

His eyes find you again right when Marcus reaches over and squeezes your thigh gently under the table and you catch Harry’s grimace before you turn to your boyfriend and share a short peck on the lips. 

For your biggest surprise Harry doesn’t try to drop any nasty comments about you during dinner, not even after, when all adults gather in the living room while the kids leave to play video games in their room. Rosa is sitting on Harry’s thigh as he is supporting her back, letting her curiously look around in the room. You’re sitting on a loveseat with Marcus, curled up to his side and he has an arm around your shoulders. Occasionally you catch Harry’s eyes on the two of you, but you try to pay little attention to him and just enjoy the evening.

“I should get going soon,” Marcus tells you, checking the time. It’s past ten and he has to leave early in the morning.

“Why don’t you stay for the night?” Teresa asks when she sees the two of you getting up from the sofa.

“Oh, I didn’t want to bother too long, it’s my first time meeting you all, thought a dinner would be just enough,” Marcus chuckles and you bite into your bottom lip. Does he believe this or did he want to stay, but only tells this everyone because you didn’t invite him to stay the night? You’re not sure if you want to know the real answer...

“Silly, you don’t bother,” you mom huffs. “Isn’t it too late to drive home?”

“I’m fine, but thank you. I didn’t bring my stuff so I would have to leave extra early in the morning to make it in time. But thank you for having me, it was wonderful meeting you all.”

Marcus goes around and says his goodbye to everyone before the two of you head to the front door. 

“Drive safe, text me when you get home, alright?” you tell him as he throws his coat to the passenger seat before turning to face you. 

“Yeah. Have fun with your family and I’ll see you in a few days.” A genuine smile stretches across his face and it immediately triggers your guilt. He could have stayed the night avoiding to drive back to the city so late, but even now, standing out on the driveway you don’t feel like you want him to stay for longer. 

What you keep telling yourself is that it’s all because you haven’t been together that long and it would have been a too big of a step just yet. Seemingly Marcus is fine with your choice, but something is telling you that it bugs him deep inside. 

Leaning down he kisses you softly, a hand sliding to your waist and pulling you closer before you part your ways. Standing on the side you wave at him as he backs out of the driveway and disappears in the darkness of the woods. 

You stay out there for a little longer, the spicy coldness of the night feels numbing in a soothing way. Chewing on your bottom lip you contemplate if you’ve made the right choice by not inviting him to stay. You don’t find an answer for that before you head back inside.

Not much has changed since you left, but you notice that Valerie is back in Rosa’s hands and Harry is nowhere to be seen.

“Where’s Harry?” you ask sitting on the ground next to your sister, eyes on Valerie as she is adorably babbling at you.

“He said he’s tired, went to bed.”

You look in his room’s way. That sounded like absolute bullshit, but you don’t have a right to question it. Maybe he truly was tired, he probably had to wake up quite early to pick you up and be here in time.

Nodding you reach for Valerie and take the little girl into your arms, making yourself busy with her.

***

Tossing once again in the bed you growl in annoyance. You haven’t gotten an ounce of sleep since you’ve come to bed hours ago. Turning to your side you tap on the screen of your phone and it shows you that it’s already past two in the morning. No position feels comfortable anymore and you’ve flipped your pillow way too many times, there are no cold side anymore. 

On cue, your stomach growls and you let out a sigh staring up at the ceiling. Maybe if you had a late night snack your body would finally relax and let you rest. Kicking the covers off you put on a pair of fuzzy socks and throw a hoodie on before heading out to the kitchen to find something you could feast on. 

You stop in your way surprised when you see that the lights are on in the kitchen and someone is clearly out there, probably with the same intention as you. Walking down the hallway you hear a plate getting placed on the kitchen island and soon enough the person starts eating, the fork meeting the plate.

Harry is sitting at the kitchen island in a plain white t-shirt and checkered pajama pants, a plate of mashed potatoes and meatloaf sitting in front of him. His head snaps up immediately when he hears that someone has joined him and you stop at the door.

“Hey,” you smile softly. “I see I’m not the only one having trouble with sleeping,” you chuckle shuffling your way to the fridge. 

“I don’t sleep too well at new places,” he admits, eyes following your frame as you pass by him before he turns his attention back to his plate. 

Grabbing the milk you are about to close the fridge when your eyes lay on the absurd amount of eggnog. Hesitantly you grab a bottle and take it out as well, thinking that a few sips might help you fall asleep easier. Then you grab the cookies the kids decorated this afternoon and sit on a stool next to Harry.

“Woah, in need of having some fun?” he chuckles seeing the eggnog and you just shrug your shoulders, pouring milk into a regular glass, then some eggnog into a smaller one in hopes you won’t go overboard with it. 

“I’m just… having a hard time falling asleep.”

“Empty bed?”

“What?” you ask taking a bite from a cookie.

“I mean, Marcus left. You must be used to sleeping next to him,” Harry explains and you look back at him with furrowed eyebrows. 

“Well, I do sleep better with someone next to me, but it’s not like I’ve done that a lot with Marcus,” you admit, turning your attention back to the cookies.

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing,” you shrug, not really in the mood to get into it, because it’s a whole spiral that would bring you down into depths you definitely don’t want to talk about right now. 

“You haven’t slept with Marcus?” he asks, and you notice how it could mean two versions. Either he is only talking about just sleeping or he is nosily trying to find out if you’ve had sex with him.

“That is… none of your business,” you tell him with a soft chuckle. Harry holds his hands up innocently before returning to his plate. 

A few minutes pass by in silence, just your munching and Harry’s chewing breaking it. As you pour a little more eggnog to yourself Harry stands up from the stool upon finishing his food, and after putting his plate to the sink he gets a glass for himself and sits back, holding the glass in your way.

“Want to have some fun too?” you ask, but pour him some eggnog anyway.

“Might help me fall asleep too.”

“Sometimes I feel like mom is right saying that I have a drinking problem,” you snort finishing up your cookie.

“Don’t think that’s true,” Harry tells you with furrowed eyebrows. 

“Well, you have seen me drunk quite a few times, but it’s nice that you think it’s alright.”

“What’s wrong with having a few drinks occasionally? It’s not like you blackout every other day.”

“My mom would want me to never blackout in general, but I don’t seem to know my boundaries with alcohol,” you tell him with a sigh.

“Happens to everyone, I don’t think you have anything to worry about.”

“Thanks, but I’m sitting here at two in the morning, drinking eggnog for no specific reason, because it surely won’t help me sleep, so... Maybe there is some truth to it.”

Harry thinks to himself a little before pouring some more to himself and some into your glass as well.

“I literally just said that I should stop,” you say, giving him a puzzled look.

“It’s fine if you have a reason,” he answers with a cheeky smile. “We’re gonna play never have I ever.”

“Oh hell no!” you chuckle looking at him with wide eyes.

“What? Are you afraid I might find out something nasty about you?” he challenges you, clearly trying to push you to play. “I don’t think you can surprise me with anything.”

“Excuse me? That’s pretty hurtful you think I don’t have surprising secrets,” you say putting a hand to your chest. “I think I’m the one who can’t find out anything surprising about you.”

“Hah, we’ll see, Y/N. All you gotta do is play,” he smirks and you already know you’re fucked. Sighing you take your glass and look at him with a murderous look, but the corners of your mouth are curling up. “You can start, just so you see how generous I am.”

“Oh, what a gentleman,” you mock him. “Okay. Never have I ever… gotten into a physical fight,” you say and watch Harry raise his glass to his mouth, but at the same time you do the same, already sure he is gonna be shocked.

Just as you expected, he freezes seeing you take a sip from your eggnog.

“Alright, rule is that we gotta explain them, because there’s no way you’re leaving without telling me about who you got into a fight with,” he tells you pointing a finger at you, but then adds: “Fighting with your sister does not count, Y/N.”

“It wasn’t Rosa,” you chuckle. “I had a huge fight with my best friend in third grade and we somehow ended up kicking and punching each other in the middle of the gym in class. We were both sent to the principal’s office.”

“Who would have thought you were a feisty little kid!” Harry chuckles and you just shrug with a proud smile.

“See? I told you I can surprise you. Your turn.”

“Okay. Never have I ever had a threesome,” he easily says and brings his glass up to his mouth as you stay put this time.

“If you think I’m surprised, I’m not. It’s literally written on your forehead that you’re the kind who enjoys that kind of stuff,” you scoff.

“Oh, please. Don’t pretend like you haven’t even thought about having one.”

“I’m not admitting anything outside the game. You have to ask that next if you are that interested,” you smirk, but you’re certain your eyes give you away, because Harry is chuckling and shaking his head. “Never have I ever cheated on someone,” you say and watch Harry’s glass stay on the counter.

“I’m not that bad of a person.”

“Never said you are, I was just curious,” you shrug and nod at him letting him know it’s his turn again.

“Never have I ever had a crush on a teacher of mine.”

You both drink.

“My finance professor, junior year in college,” you inform him.

“English teacher, senior year in high school,” Harry replies and you are already picturing him sitting in the first row just to be close to her during class.

“Did you write poems to her too?”

“You said no questions outside the game!” he retorts laughing and you roll your eyes at him.

“Alright, I have thought about having a threesome before, now your turn, spill the tea!”

“I wrote a song about her,” he admits and you raise your eyebrows at him. “Even planned on showing it to her, but my friends talked me down, luckily.”

“It’s kinda sweet and romantic.”

“Yeah, and very inappropriate,” he adds chuckling. “Alright, enough of Miss Hastings, your turn.”

“Never have I ever stolen something.” You both raise your glass and you smile at him swallowing the alcohol. “Virginities do not count,” you tease him, earning a laugh.

“Still would have drank. I was a little kleptomaniac when I was a kid. Liked to steal small things in the store just to see if I would get caught.”

“And were you ever?”

“One time, yeah. My mom was so mad at me, I got grounded for a week, never stole anything again,” he admits chuckling. “What about you?”

“It wasn’t regular, but I definitely have stolen candies when I didn’t have enough money to pay.”

“What a rebel,” he teases you and you just smack his upper arm jokingly. “Never have I ever snuck out.” Only Harry drinks and you roll your eyes at him.

“Again, not surprising.”

“I just wanted to know if you have ever snuck out, chill,” he smirks. “Guess you were a saint.”

“Never have I ever said the wrong person’s name while having sex.” A devilish smile sits on your lips as you watch him drink while you do the same. You see his eyebrows rise over the glass.

“Nasty,” he huffs. “When did that happen?”

“First year of college. I was casually seeing a guy, but I wasn’t really over my last ex from high school and accidentally called him Ethan.”

“And what was his real name?”

“I don’t even remember,” you admit with a laugh, clearly feeling the alcohol slowly kicking in. Harry’s mouth hangs open before his expressions turn into that iconic ‘not bad’ face.

“Never have I ever had a wet dream about a friend of mine,” Harry asks and you feel your cheeks heating up right away, eyes snapping down at your glass. Unwillingly, but you drink as Harry does the same. “Who was it?”

“I’m not answering this one,” you shake your head. 

“Come on! I promise it’ll stay between us. Was it Steven?” he grins at you, clearly enjoying your embarrassment. “I bet it was Steven.”

“Shut up, it wasn’t!” you snap at him rolling your eyes.

“Okay, then who? I won’t sleep tonight if you don’t tell me!” he begs, but you shake your head stubbornly. “Do I know him?” Oh, all too well, you think to yourself. “Is it someone who was there at the bar last time?”

“Can we move past it?” you sigh painfully.

“No, no way. I’m not leaving you alone until you tell me!”

“It was you.”

The words slip out fast and a little quiet, but he hears them clear. His lips part, a truly stunned look pulls on his face and you just wish you didn’t say a word.

“Happy? Now you know,” you snap running a hand through your hair.

“Was I any good in your dream?” he then cheekily asks and you gasp at the nosy, nasty question.

“Now that I won’t answer.”

“I have to know if I did good!” he protests and you laugh.

“It wasn’t even you, well, not your real version, why does it matter?”

“I’m a maximalist, I have to know if my dream self did good,” he pushes further and you can’t believe this is really what you’re talking about.

“Jesus fucking Christ, it was good!” you admit throwing your hands into the air, giving up to keep anything to yourself. He is just too damn annoying and stubborn to ever have anything other than his way.

“If that makes you feel better, I’ve had a few about you as well,” he admits with a straight face and the heat is back in your cheeks immediately.

“A few?”

“I didn’t count, but yeah. And you were awesome, if you’re interested.”

“Thanks, but I was not,” you say with a meaningful look, but he just smirks at you. “You’re such a pig, Styles.”

“Says the girl who was probably moaning my name in her dreams.”

“If you keep talking about this, you’ll be the second person I get into a physical fight with,” you warn him and he chuckles, but takes the hint and finally moves on. 

You easily forget about time as you keep playing for quite long. Question after question, some shocking and surprising things come up, but there are some absolutely ridiculous facts too. You’re definitely over the line of being tipsy, but you’re not at the drunk state yet. 

Harry clearly enjoys asking questions that make you nervous, but you don’t shy away from risky questions either. By the time the bottle empties out you are both laughing on something he said, your eyes are teary and you gasp for air, holding onto the edge of the kitchen island.

“Oh fuck!” you breathe out when your gaze wanders over to the windows and you see that it’s starting to brighten out there. “The Sun is coming up, what time is it?” you slur, having a hard time to get off the stool and keep your balance at the same time. Harry fishes his phone out of his pocket and his eyes widen.

“It’s six in the morning!” he whisper-yells and you almost faint.

“Shit, mom is usually up around six thirty, she can’t find us here like this! Quickly, we have to clean up!”

Harry takes care of the empty eggnog bottle while you wash the dishes and then the two of you head back to your rooms, but you just really don’t want to go to bed alone. Alcohol tends to make you clingy and you need the presence of someone next to you.

“Harry,” you whisper as the two of you stop in the hallway.

“Hm?” he hums, looking back at you with glassy eyes.

“Can I… sleep at yours?” you shyly ask.

Part of you expects a smart comeback, something dirty, but he looks down at you for a long moment as if he is debating what he should say and you start to think he is about to reject you, but then he takes your hand and pulls you in the direction of his room.

“It’s strictly friendly, okay?” you tell him once the two of you are in his room and the door is closed behind you.

“Like the dream you had about me?” he cockily asks grinning at you and you’re quick to smack his hard chest, making him chuckle.

“Shut up! I just really don’t want to sleep alone.”

“Chill, it’s all good,” he chuckles and stepping to the nightstand he plugs his phone in to charge as you crawl up to the huge, comfortable bed.

Tugging a pillow under your head you turn your back against him, only hearing as he lies down next to you, tugging some of the cover off you since there’s only a big one. He shuffles a bit more until you both stop moving, but you still have your eyes open. 

Knowing that he is right there behind you irks your mind and the urge to cuddle to his side is stronger than you will to stay still. You want to feel his body heat, his touch, hear his heartbeat under your face as you curl up to his side. You are dying to listen to his steady breathing from up close and your self-control is slowly but surely dissolves. 

Before your rational side could talk you down, you find yourself turning around and snuggling to his side, a soft chuckle emitting from his lips.

“It’s totally friendly, wipe the satisfied grin off your stupid face,” you mumble as you lay your head to his shoulder, bringing a hand up to his chest. One of his arms curl around your shoulders as he stays silent, letting you snuggle up to him all you want. 

It’s even better than you remembered. Last time the two of you were like this, the morning ruined everything and it had a whole different antecedent than now. You can only hope history doesn’t repeat itself and you don’t have to go through the same embarrassment like last time.

“Y/N?” he whispers and your eyes open at his voice.

“Yeah?” There’s a short pause before he speaks up again.

“Do you really… think that… there was not much Etta was missing?”

You can’t stop yourself from smiling at how self-conscious he just sounded, still thinking about the joke you made in the car on your way here. For a split second you think about lying again, but it’s clearly been bothering him, so much he felt the need to ask after several rounds of eggnog.

“No. I was just joking,” you admit and he lets out a relieved sigh. “Harry?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you really think I have a fat ass?” you ask referring back to the time the two of you encountered at the hospital when Valerie was born. You feel him huff as his hand on your shoulder squeezes you gently.

“You have a great ass, Y/N. The best I’ve ever seen.”

“Are you just exaggerating?” you ask, lifting your head up and narrowing your eyes at him in the dark.

“No,” he smiles. “Swear to my sister’s life it’s the truth.”

Knowing well he wouldn’t bring his sister into it if he wasn’t telling the truth, you put back down your head, finally closing your eyes.

“Good night, Harry,” you mumble, feeling yourself drifting to sleep.

“Good night, Pretty Eyes.”

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[helaintoloki]

Three’s Company

pairing: Ben Hargreeves x reader

warnings: tons of fluff, dad!ben

a/n: i had two requests for this prompt as well as for some dad!ben content so i combined them together. also his daughter is named after the french feminist renaissance author & poet Christine de Pizan bc i feel like he’d name his child after someone important in literature

* #10: building gingerbread houses // taken from this prompt list

The sound of Christmas music drifts through the hallways of your home accompanied by the smell of freshly baked gingerbread as you delicately cut the slices into your desired shapes, looking towards the opened Pinterest app on your phone every now and then to reassure that you’re properly following the directions. It’s your first time using such a recipe and you want to make sure you do it just right, otherwise a whole afternoon’s worth of work will be wasted. Sitting across the way from you with a glass of milk and a plate of discarded pieces of reject cookies is your four year old daughter Christine, her gaze permanently glued to the window as she waits for the arrival of her father. Ben had promised a night of family fun, and the young girl intended to make sure he saw it through.

“When’s daddy coming home?” She asks with a purse of her lips, prompting a smile from you as the little face she makes is the exact same one that your husband makes (a face reserved mostly for his brothers).

“Any minute now,” you reassure her, “he went with Uncle Diego to help grandma pick out a Christmas tree.”

“Is Uncle Diego coming?” Christine asks, nearly bouncing out of her seat with excitement.

“Not today,” you say only for her to deflate with a frown, “but he’s coming over on Christmas to spend the day with us, and he’s bringing Lila.”

Christine’s head peeks up curiously at the mention of her Uncle’s new girlfriend, but she doesn’t say anything other than, “I like Lila. She’s pretty.”

“She certainly is,” you nod in agreement, deciding to leave out the part where you mention that she also packs a pretty hard punch. Your jaw still aches when you think about your first encounter with the woman, but you were a firm believer in second chances, so you decide to let bygones be bygones.

The sound of keys jingling in the doorway pulls both of your gazes towards the living room door where Ben emerges, fresh snow coating his jacket and dropping onto the welcome mat below him as he kicks off his shoes with a tired groan. However, the sight of Christine scrambling down from her seat and rushing towards him quickly brings a smile to his face as he crouches down and catches her in his arms.

“Hey, kiddo!” He exclaims, pressing dozens of kisses to the crown of her head and beaming with pride at the giggles the act elicits from her. “Gosh, you smell like gingerbread.”

“Mommy let me eat the leftovers,” she boasts proudly, draping her arms around her father’s neck as he carries her back into the kitchen.

“Is that so?” He asks with an amused smile, his eyes softening when he reaches you at the counter. “Well, hello my gorgeous wife.”

“Hello handsome husband,” you reply with a giggle, smiling as he captures your lips in a sweetly chaste kiss. You’ve been married for six years, but you’ve never really quite moved out of the honeymoon phase— not that you’re complaining. “How was it?”

“It was good. Mom got the tree she wanted and we got a pretty good deal with the price. God, you have no idea how great it is seeing her so happy. Dad never let her do anything, but now that he’s gone...”

“I can’t wait to see how she decorates the house,” you say with a small smile. Ben’s love for his mother never fails to warm your heart.

“We’re going over Christmas Eve, then everyone will come here for Christmas Day,” he explains. “I didn’t want to overwhelm her, and we all agreed mom deserves a day off where she can just relax and have fun with the rest of us.”

“Grace is a sweetheart, she deserves it.”

Christine squirming in Ben’s arms reminds you both of her presence, and with knowing looks shared between the two of you Ben carries her out into the dining room to clear off the table and make space for your festivities.

“I’m going to build the bestest gingerbread house,” Christine brags only for Ben to raise a brow at her.

“Wait a minute, I thought I was going to build the bestest gingerbread house,” he says, feigning mock surprise with a frown. Christine giggles.

“It’s okay daddy, you can help me make mine.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

Ben seats your daughter in her designated chair while you set out the supplies to make your houses; bowls of gumdrops, peppermints, and various holiday candies line the table alongside your gingerbread pieces and tubes of frosting. Christine looks on at the display with excitement, wriggling around in her seat impatiently as Ben carefully ties her hair up and out of the way in order to avoid a mess.

“Okay, I think that’s everything,” you say, rolling up the sleeves of your sweater and securing your apron before seating yourself across the way from your husband and daughter. “I see you’ve decided to tag team me.”

“It’s nothing personal,” Ben says with a shrug, laughing at the way in which you roll your eyes.

“I spent nine months carrying my daughter around only for her to come out as a daddy’s girl.”

“It’s okay, honey, I’m sure you’ll get the next one,” he jokes in response, helping Christine frost the walls of her house to keep them in place.

“Guess we’ll have to wait another nine months and see,” you shrug nonchalantly, stealing a quick glance at your husband immediately after.

“Yep,” he replies, only half paying attention to your statement in the moment as he’s too focused on attaching the gumdrop buttons to his gingerbread man. A beat passes before the words finally register in his mind, and much to Christine’s dismay the gingerbread house is knocked over by his sudden movements. His eyes are wide, head shooting up to look at you, actions causing the table to shake slightly.

“Dad!”

“Wait, what?” He breathes out, eyes already welling with tears.

“Oh, yeah, did I not tell you? I’m pregnant,” you reply as casually as possible, but you’re unable to hold back the large grin that spreads across your face. Ben is on you in an instant, showering you with kisses as you laugh before pulling both you and Christine into the tightest family hug you’ve ever had. Your daughter, too young to understand what’s going on in the moment, is just happy to be included.

The gingerbread houses are momentarily forgotten as your little family rejoices in the news of a new member. By this time next year you’ll have a new baking buddy, and Ben couldn’t ask for anything better than that.

[greymantledlady]

you are my sweetest downfall

Adam squeezes Michael’s hands again, reassuring. 'Remember – back down there – how we agreed to talk to each other if anything bothered us? This is like that, okay?’

Michael looks stricken. ‘Oh,’ he says in a small voice. ‘Oh. I didn’t – it really isn’t anything worth your time – ’

My second fic for @midamweek! People seemed to really enjoy Adam calling Michael 'sweetheart' in the previous fic in this verse, so I decided to expand on it. Michael is a dork, honestly.

Read on AO3 or below the cut:

Having an archangel as your boyfriend is really good, actually. Better than good.

Adam, in all his years of (largely) calm and resigned pining in the Cage, had never actually, truly believed he had a chance of anything like this with Michael, anything so soft and domestic and - well, astonishingly, normal, really. It still hits him sometimes, that warm rush of astounded happiness when Michael can't stop looking hopefully down at his lips until Adam simply has to press in close and kiss him, when Michael flushes at Adam making the mildest and most low-hanging of innuendos, when Michael asks him what would be the best gift to give Adam for St Valentine's Day. 

The last incident had occurred in July, because Michael had thought Adam would probably forget all about the conversation by the time February rolled around, and he had been so endearingly pleased with himself over this plan that Adam had started laughing and pulled him down onto the couch by the fire and kissed and sucked all the way down his neck until it bruised.

Given that Michael was at the time a metaphysical projection of grace shaped into a copy of Adam's own body and existing in a dimension faintly to the left of the mortal plane, it probably didn't actually need to have bruised, but Michael had warmed extremely quickly to the concept of hickeys, apparently. He likes them a lot, likes to keep them and nurse them and admire them in the mirror when he thinks Adam's not looking, and Adam thinks it's kind of the best thing ever.

Right now, though, Adam's a little worried.

Michael has been - off - for a little while now. Not worryingly so - nothing like the shaking bouts of grief that Adam had held him through when he'd first gotten back, when he'd been mourning the asshole father who'd never loved or deserved him. Nothing like that, it's just - a sort of odd wistfulness that seems to fall over him sometimes, at the strangest of moments, and Adam is determined to work out what’s causing it.

***

They're in bed, Adam happily boneless and tired out and curled around Michael, stroking his hair while Michael smooths his hand up and down Adam's back in the firm way that Adam likes, his grace-formed body firmly anchored to the physical world this time, as warm and solid as Adam's own. Adam nuzzles his cheek affectionately, smiling against his skin when Michael hums with contentment. 

'Hey,' he says quietly, squinting a little to focus on Michael's face.

'Adam,' Michael says, just as soft. He looks hopeful for a moment, as though he's waiting for something. Adam's not quite sure what it is. He traces his thumb gently over Michael's collarbone, waiting to see if he'll come out with it, but eventually Michael just sighs quietly and turns his face to press it into Adam's hair.

***

Adam, before he’d been killed and resurrected, had enjoyed baking.

Of course, that had been more than a thousand years ago, but – well, time was weird that way, when it came to being trapped in an archangel cage in Hell. It wasn't that he'd forgotten any of it, of course, and he valued those memories, the way Michael had softened, increment by increment, until somewhere along the line he'd become someone Adam couldn't live without.

It was just that, once they'd gotten out, the memories seemed condensed, so that you weren't sure at all if it had been ten years or a thousand. Adam wondered sometimes whether that was what Michael's billions of years of existence must feel like to him, too.

Anyway, he'd liked to bake. When he'd come back, after the first long pain-filled months of negotiating with the Winchesters to bring Michael back too, and after the first whirlwind of joy of finding out Michael wanted him the same way, he'd started again, searching up recipes online on his phone and writing them out in a notebook if they turned out successfully.

Today, he’s craving choc chip cookies, so he looks at the pantry and pulls out flour and sugar and chocolate chips, opening the packet immediately to sneak a few to nibble on as he starts to measure everything out. They need a medium-sized mixing bowl; he needs to put that on the list for the next time they go grocery shopping. The big one is fine for today, though.

‘What are you doing?’ Michael asks, coming up behind him. He touches Adam’s elbow with a soft hand as he passes, leaning on the counter to watch.

‘Baking!’ Adam says. He bumps his hip gently against Michael’s. ‘I’m making choc chip cookies.’

Michael shifts a little closer so they can stay connected, and leans over to inspect the ingredients, poking a finger into the well of flour Adam has measured out, leaving a little dent. He’s always been surprisingly tactile, liking to touch new things, test them on his fingers.

‘Don’t eat that,’ Adam warns. ‘It tastes awful raw. Choc chips are better, here.’ He picks out a single chip – no need to overwhelm Michael’s still-developing sense of taste – and says, with a grin, ‘Open your mouth.’

Michael raises an eyebrow, looking at him, soft-eyed and so in love that it makes Adam’s heart pulse with warmth. ‘Okay, kid,’ he says, and opens up.

Adam puts down his spoon, buzzing with affection, and presses closer, leaning up against Michael’s chest and delighting in the way Michael’s arms come up to circle his waist. ‘Hey,’ he murmurs, up close, and runs his thumb along Michael’s parted lips, just to tease him a little.

Michael sighs, soft, bending forward, only to be foiled by Adam’s hand. ‘Choc chip,’ Adam reminds him, and pops it in.

‘Mm,’ Michael says, nibbling. He looks so surprised at the small burst of sweetness that Adam grins again.

‘Good, yeah?’ he says. ‘Do you want another one?’

Michael licks his lips. ‘It was good,’ he says. ‘I don’t want another one, though.’ His eyes dip downwards, his hand stroking a hopeful little circle on Adam’s back.

‘I can’t imagine what you do want,’ Adam teases. He snuggles himself a little more firmly against Michael, runs his hands down his sides and around to fit into his back pockets, enjoying the way Michael shivers. ‘Oh, get over here.’

‘I am here,’ Michael says, but then Adam kisses him, slow and sweet, smiling against his lips before pulling back. ‘Oh,’ he says softly. ‘Adam.’

‘Michael,’ Adam says, just as softly, and leaves another tiny kiss at the corner of Michael’s mouth, the moment drawing out soft and gentle; the kind of moment that you could live in forever. Michael’s eyes are soft and hazy, leaning into him, and Adam reaches up to run his knuckles over his cheek.

Michael exhales, and strokes his hands gently across Adam’s back, watching him closely. He has that odd, hidden wistfulness in his face again, as though he’s waiting for something, and Adam wants to do something about it, wants Michael to tell him what it is so he can give it to him.

‘What is it?’ he says gently, and holds back the endearment that wants to spill out, absurdly tender. He’s pretty sure it will only make Michael more embarrassed.

Michael sighs again, very soft, and glances away. ‘No, it’s nothing,’ he says.

Adam’s pretty sure it’s not nothing, but he doesn’t press. They have all the time in the world, after all, and he has cookies to bake for them. Michael will come out with it eventually.

***

Except Michael doesn’t come out with it, and it keeps happening, and Adam is honestly starting to worry. They’ll be together, and happy, so happy – he knows Michael is happy, can feel it in the grace that’s constantly twined around his soul. They’ll be kissing, or snuggling, or making love, and it will be a perfect moment, the kind of moment that makes everything worth it, like a warm soft blanket to lose yourself in.

And then suddenly Michael will be looking all wistful, like a sad little puppy wanting a morsel, and disappointed, and Adam is beginning to really, really not like that at all.

He’s tried everything – more kisses, cuddling, even that one thing that Michael really likes during sex but gets incredibly flustered and blushy over, so Adam saves for special occasions. And Michael loves it all, he really does, Adam can feel it, but none of it manages to soothe that particular, wistful little ache in his grace.

When he was small, and he’d had a problem, or felt bad, or unhappy, or guilty, Mum had always managed to coax it out of him eventually. She would sit him on the couch and give him a glass of milk, and tell him that it was always better to talk things out, not hold them inside of you till they hurt. Bad feelings were like appendicitis, she’d say, they’d make you very sick if you left them inside.

Adam thinks Michael has the equivalent of emotional appendicitis at the moment, honestly, and he’s pretty sure he needs to do something to fix that.

***

When Adam comes to find him, Michael is sitting at their kitchen table, inspecting a small pile of rocks. Months ago, he’d read a magazine article about gemstone tumbling, and then read it again, and again, and again, until the pages were dog-eared and Adam couldn’t help but notice. So he’d gone online and bought him a little tumbling kit on Ebay, as a surprise, and Michael had been hugely and gratifyingly pleased about it. Now every time they go for a walk, he comes home with his pockets full of bits of quartz and such, and their house is filled with shiny little piles of gems, like some kind of dragon’s hoard.

(‘It reminds me of creating planets,’ he tells Adam once, softly. ‘I used to polish them until they were so beautiful and round.’)

Now, he looks up as Adam comes up behind him, leaning his head back against Adam’s stomach as Adam slides his arms over his shoulders. Adam kisses his ear. ‘Hey, you,’ he says. ‘You got a moment?’

‘Of course,’ Michael says immediately, at attention. ‘What do you need, Adam?’

‘Just you,’ Adam says, and gives his shoulders a little squeeze before pulling out the chair next to Michael’s and sitting down, swivelling towards him. Michael puts down the rock he’d been inspecting and turns to face him, the full force of his attention directed onto Adam’s face.

‘Okay,’ Adam says, and reaches out to take Michael’s hands in his own, squeezing. ‘I need to talk to you about something, Michael – oh, no, don’t look at me like that,’ he breaks off, running a comforting thumb over Michael’s knuckles. ‘It’s nothing bad.’

Michael nods, still looking rather worried.

Adam decides to get it over with. ‘Look, I’ve noticed that there’s something bothering you,’ he says gently. ‘Something that you want, that you’re not telling me. I can feel it in your grace – like last night, when we were falling asleep, and when I made cookies, and other times, too.’ He squeezes Michael’s hands again, reassuring. ‘Remember – back down there – how we agreed to talk to each other if anything bothered us? This is like that, okay?’

Michael looks stricken. ‘Oh,’ he says in a small voice. ‘Oh. I didn’t – it really isn’t anything worth your time – ’

‘Oh, sweetheart,’ Adam says softly, because he can’t help it, ‘of course it is, it always is – ’

And suddenly, bizarrely, Michael’s grace is going wild, elated, looping and twining, wrapping around his soul with little, soft, shuddering ripples of happiness. He looks as though he’s about one step from breaking down, swaying a little towards Adam with his eyes shiny and his lips a little unsteady.

Okay, what?

‘Okay, what?’ Adam says, and reaches out to touch his face. ‘Michael, what was that? What happened? That was it, wasn’t it?’

Michael swallows, his grace still buzzing with happiness, turning his face into Adam’s touch. ‘You said it again,’ he says, closing his eyes for a moment like he’s basking in Adam’s warmth.

‘Said what?’ Adam says – and, ‘wait, ‘sweetheart’?’ His heart feels like it’s melting. ‘That was all you wanted? For me to call you pet names?’

Michael is going pink now, avoiding his eyes. ‘You must think I’m foolish,’ he mumbles.

‘Of course I don’t,’ Adam says, overwhelmed with sheer fondness. ‘Well, maybe just a little bit, for not just telling me, honestly.’ He knuckles gently at the corner of Michael’s eye, and it actually comes away a little damp. ‘Oh, sweetheart,’ he says, knowing he sounds ridiculously tender, and that pulse of sheer bright happiness ripples through Michael again, through his grace.

‘It was the first thing you said,’ Michael says softly. ‘When you brought me back. My name, Michael, and – and you called me that. And I asked about it, and you kissed me and I was happy, but you never said it again. I,’ he swallows. ‘I don’t know why I. I wanted you to say it.’

‘Okay, you need to come here right now,’ Adam says, and climbs directly into his lap. He brings his hands up to hold Michael’s face, looking down at him. ‘Fuck, I love you,’ he says helplessly, and Michael’s whole face twitches, his hands coming up instinctively to fit at the small of Adam’s back.

‘I love you too,’ he says immediately, honestly. ‘Adam.’

‘Yeah?’

‘I – would like it if you said it again, please.’

‘Yeah, sweetheart, okay,’ Adam murmurs against his lips. ‘I’m never going to stop.’

[honeymoonjin]

𝘱𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 namjoon x reader ~ 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵 18k 

𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘳𝘦 fluff, thriller ~ 𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘦 crime!au, detective!reader, candle shop owner!knj

𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺 with a serial killer on the loose that uses artisan scented candles as inspiration for murders, now is not the time to be falling in love with the man who made them.

𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 non-explicit descriptions of murders. one incident of injury, and mentions of blood. cursing. while this involves a serial killer and the causes of death are mentioned, there’s no scenes involving actual murders taking place, or crime scenes. extremely long discussions of scented candles because i can’t help myself. make-out scene but no smut.

𝘈/𝘕 dedicated to the darling @mind-of-a-hardstan​. it’s been a pleasure being your secret santa, and from the bottom of my heart i hope you enjoy <3 thank you to my dedicated team of supporters: my beta reader @honey-boyyoongi​, my partner in crime @hobisgorgeousass​, my resident namjoon stan @jamaisjoons​ and finally the first person to read it in all its entirety and my amazing friend @but-kimnamjoonpersona​. you’re all magnificent and i love you.

Kim Namjoon looks guilty.

That much is immediately clear to you, but it’s not the type of guilt from someone who’s done something wrong. More so, it’s the type of guilt you hold for something out of control, the empathy you feel for others. You can see that it tears him up inside that someone this evil and twisted has drawn inspiration from his store.

The police force didn’t know it was a serial killer. At least, not at first. At the beginning, the murders were so far apart that nobody ever thought to connect them. Almost seasonal, there was one in April, another in late August, one in September and, most recently, the middle of November, last weekend.

You were the one who initially noticed something strange. Perhaps it was your bad habit of lumping all your unsolved cases into one pile of failure, but the more you thought about them together, the more you realised something was odd about them.

In each location, there was a single candle, sometimes melted down to the base, sometimes still burning, and the different causes of death seemed to relate pretty directly to the scent or name of the candle.

And all those candles came from one store. Moni’s Candle Shop, the boutique store that exclusively sold handmade candles. The store owned by one Kim Namjoon.

“It’s so awful that all of these are connected, I… I don’t understand why my candles have anything to do with this.”

You smile softly, though your eyes are dancing around the store. “Nobody blames you, Mister Kim. All serial killers like to have a calling card. At the end of the day, they want credit and attention for their crimes, they want to show off what they’ve done. Deep down, they want to get caught, and it’s my job to use these candles as my path to the killer. To make him face justice for what he’s done.”

Namjoon tips his head, dark locks shifting across his brow. “You’re referring to the serial killer as a he. Do you have a suspect?”

Your eyes dart back to him, ducking your head with a rueful smile. “Force of habit, I’m afraid. Statistically, it probably is a male due to the brutality of the murders, though we’re definitely not ruling out a female yet. We...still don’t have any leads, really.” We have jack shit, you think to yourself, no fucking clue. Coughing lightly to clear your throat, you scratch at your collarbone where the freshly cut lanyard of your ID rests. “If you have any in stock, I’d love to get a closer look at those candles, Mister Kim. The ones from the scenes have been taken into the forensics lab for re-inspection so I’m unable to get my hands on them.”

He seems mildly surprised, eyebrows lifting behind thick black frames. “Oh! Of course,” he sits up and sucks in his stomach to wiggle around the edge of the desk, only pausing once he reaches the doorway to the store floor. “Wait. I don’t actually know what scents they were. I think they might have told me, but I don’t recall…”

You nod shortly and lean back in your chair to free your front jeans pocket, reaching in for your small notepad, flicking a few pages back. Standing up, you join him. “Ah, let’s see… Spring Day, Blue Side, Autumn Outside the Post Office, and Winter Bear. Are they still in stock?”

He hums in consideration, ducking through the low doorway to peruse the aisles. It’s a narrow store, narrow but relatively deep, with two long aisles running down the centre, rows upon rows of candles on every available surface. Towards the front, there are small, tiered tables with layers of gift boxes, and he beelines towards them, sifting through. “Now,” he murmurs under his breath, “those are seasonal candles, so our best bet would be…. Here!” He draws out a squarish cream box with gold detailing. Behind a layer of clear plastic are four mini glass candles, and he lifts up a leg to balance the box on as he delicately pulls off the sticky round tab at one end, pulling out the sleeve inside. “The Four Seasons gift box. I don’t know if your killer used the full size or gift size candles, but these are all I have left. We have a full range every season, and on holidays too, but these are the big sellers so I put them together for our combo deals.” He passes them over to you, using the back of a finger to push his glasses back up his nose. “He has good taste; they’re great candles.”

You glance at him sharply. “He murdered four people. That we know of.”

He cringes at himself. “Sorry, I… I just meant I, uh, I recommend these a lot, sell them a lot. If he bought them off me, I wouldn’t be able to pick him apart in a crowd. It’s hard to keep crack of faces, especially before special holidays. That’s all.”

You drop your gaze to the cardboard sleeve, heavy with the four glass jars. “This is only three of them,” you reply. “Spring Day, Blue Side, the autumn one… this has Serendipity as the winter scent.”

He pouts in surprise. “Oh! Sorry about that. Serendipity is a nice one too. Smells like Christmas cookies.”

“I need Winter Bear,” you remind firmly, though not unkindly. You see the faraway look in his eyes, like he’s recalling the scent, smelling it in his mind, and you understand just how much this craft means to him.

“Of course,” he laughs sheepishly, “come with me. You’re in luck; we only just last week released our full winter range. It’s to the front.”

“That’s interesting,” you muse, mind whirring as you follow him. “So that means our guy must have been in here recently.”

Namjoon stops short, almost causing you to walk into his back. He continues after a shocked pause. “That’s a really good point, I didn’t think of that.” He sends you a dazzling smile, eyes soft. “You’re really good.”

You try to stay professional and neutral, but you can’t help the smile that breaks across your face with a breathy laugh. “Thank you. But maybe save the praise until after I got the guy. You got security cameras?”

“Oh, of course, can’t be too careful!” He deftly plucks a full-size, heavy hulk of a jar from the main display, holding it in his wide palms. His smile freezes, falters, falls. “Well, that is, uh… I have a camera in the office out back and a camera over the front door. So we could pull the records and see everyone that’s come of left, but we wouldn’t be able to see what they got inside the bag.”

You suppress the bubbling of irritation in your chest with a strained smile. “Can’t be too careful,” you repeat with a sour undertone of sarcasm lacing your voice.

He looks put out for a moment, staring silently down at the large glass jar, a milk chocolate-shade of wax poured inside with a thin layer of christmassy red on top. His thumb swipes slowly over the paper label pasted across the front, and shakes his head like he’s breaking a fog. Smiling again, his eyes crinkle warmly behind his glasses. “Winter Bear,” he announces, “here; smell it.”

You wait patiently for him to open the lid, tugging against the friction of the rubber seal, before he holds the wide opening up to your face. You raise an eyebrow, and delicately edge your nose closer to take a sniff. Immediately, your mouth drops open and your eyes widen.

The smell comes in stages, every sniff a brand new experience. First is a hit of cocoa, rich and lush, with a slight complexity that you can’t put your finger on. The smell warms, richens, and finally as you exhale the final hit of tartness lights your senses. You have the sudden urge to reach out and grab his hand as he begins to pull away, the want to hold it closer so you could inhale further, but he lowers his hand and presses the glass lid back into place. Your nostrils flare when they return to the vague honeyed scent of the store, which seems still comforting but so dull compared to that candle.

“That’s incredible,” you admit, “what is that, chocolate and raspberry?”

“Cranberry,” he corrects, a fingertip dragging along the outside of the thick glass, outlining the red layer on the surface. “It’s chocolate, brown sugar, a bit of spiced vanilla, and then that cranberry to round it out a bit, something to cut through the richer scents.”

“And you make these yourself?” you question, eyeing up the sleeve of four smaller jars you were still holding, wondering at what point would be a good time to open them.

He cracks a crooked smile, a dimple poking out of one cheek. “I certainly do! If you’d like to, sometime I could show you my little workshop where I make all these.”

You return the smile, although your eyebrows are knitted in confusion as you turn to look around the store. “I thought it was just the store floor and your office in this building.”

“It is,” he clarifies, delicately removing one of the candles from the box you’re holding, looking over the label as he speaks. “My workshop is at my house. I live about twenty minutes outside of town, a little farmhouse in the middle of nowhere. Seemed a shame to use all that space just on me, so I repurposed some rooms so that I could store more ingredients and melt more wax at a time.”

“Ah,” you say lamely as he cracks open the Blue Side candle, lifting it to his own nose. Your eyes, slightly lidded, stare deeply at the bright ocean blue candle wax. You squint at the label, though it’s behind his tanned fingers and you can’t get a good read. You wait, almost in a trance, for him to stop sniffing and offer it to you.

When he sees you staring, he laughs quietly, a soft puff of air in the otherwise-silent room, and hands it over. Instead of taking it, you rest your hand on his lightly and pull it closer, leaning in. This one’s refreshing, like a summer day on some island, fruity, floral and bright. Your fingers tighten around his unconsciously as your eyes flutter shut for just a moment, inhaling deeply. He coughs, interrupting your refreshing sniff of the candle, and you remove your hand from his hastily, standing back upright with a light pink stain high on your cheeks.

“What scents are in there? It’s very, um, light,” you stutter, cursing the divine scents for scrambling your thoughts.

Namjoon corks it up again and takes the sleeve off of you to replace it. “Some aloe vera and lily of the valley, but mainly its lotus blossom and melon. You like it?”

That’s an understatement. “How do you even come up with these combinations?” Without giving him a chance to answer, you reach out and pop out the spring fragrance, pressing the open jar right up to your nose as he speaks.

His eyes dance at your enthusiasm, and his tongue slips out the corner of his mouth to swipe across and wet his lips. “Half of it is experimenting,” he shrugs, waiting patiently for you to finish huffing Spring Day.

You reluctantly pause your sniffing to look up at him. “And the other half?”

“Trawling through the entire Yankee Candle website.”

You snort, hand jerking in surprise and causing the lip of the glass to bang against your top teeth, pinching your lip painfully. You squeak and pull it away frantically, pushing the little glass lid back on like it’s personally offended you, handing it to Namjoon to put away.

The owner sends you a bemused smirk and returns it to its rightful place in front of the summer fragrance. “I know they smell good enough to eat, but you’re not actually supposed to,” he jibes. “Spring Day is especially delicious though, I must admit. Peach, white tea, freesia and some rosewood for that darker note baseline.”

You nurse your sore lip with your tongue, hoping it doesn’t look too flirty. Or perhaps secretly hoping it does. “I might as well complete the set, then,” you remark, dropping eye contact to take a try of the autumn scent.

“This one’s a heavier scent,” he explains, “Autumn Outside the Post Office is all about those fall fruits and trees. Pomegranate, maple leaf, some juniper berry and orange blossom. This was one of the first seasonal scents I attempted, a good four-ish years ago when I opened, and it’s still going strong.”

A weird, invisible curtain falls, or a coin drops, or a string is cut. Whatever it is, that heady entrancement in the scents vanishes the moment you put that last one back. You feel your face muscles drooping, eyes turning gloomy. “Did the DI tell you what actually happened to those people?”

Namjoon doesn’t need to ask what you mean by ‘those people’. His smile falls, and he sets the sleeve of four candles down on the winter display, pushing aside some white, candy-stripe, and festive red candles to the side as he does so. Morosely, he shakes his head. “All I know is that my candles were found near the scenes. Does the guy just, I don’t know, have a sensitive nose?”

Your eyes are distant, unseeing. You shake your head. “The-” Your voice fails you; unsteady. No matter how many years you have been in this line of work, the sheer grimness of it all never left you. “The murders were very clearly inspired by the scents. That last one, Autumn Outside the Post Office?” You take a deep breath, reaching into your satchel, pulling out a manila folder with several glossy photographs. Handing them over, you watch the disgust, shock, and misery play out on his face. “A postal worker. Clocked out forty minutes before he should’ve. Poor timing, I guess. He was knocked out via a blow to the head with some unclear blunt weapon, probably metal, and maple leaves were shoved down his throat. He suffocated to death just metres away from the staff exit out back.”

The candle shop owner’s voice is soft, almost inaudible. “Oh my god.”

You barrel forth. “That was the third one. The very first murder was originally written off as an accident. A banker who often spent his work breaks in the peach orchard down the street from his workplace was poisoned by the cyanide found in peach stones. One of his colleagues noted it was odd that he didn’t come back to his office after lunch even though he left a candle burning on his desk.”

“Spring Day,” he murmurs, flicking over to the following photo.

“Spring Day,” you confirm. “The next wasn’t for another three months. A lifeguard drowned in the community pool after hours-”

“The lifeguard drowned?”

“He had been let go from his job for arriving to multiple shifts under the influence of alcohol, and that night when he went to collect his belongings after closing, he fell in the pool and drowned. Reports showed a slow-acting tranquilizers in his system. That same drug was found in his apartment, injected into the cut up melons and pineapple slices in his fridge. He must’ve eaten before he left or something, cameras showed him stumbling around too close to the edge of the pool when he got to work, and… well. Authorities were alerted when a smoke alarm went off in the early hours of the morning. A candle from your store was found burning next to a small fire that had been lit inside a metal trash can.”

“Jesus. All three had my candles there?”

“All four,” you correct, “I noticed the connection after the fourth murder.” He’s reached the bottom of the pile of photographs now, his face washed out. Maybe you shouldn’t have shown him, but he needed to know that there were real consequences at play here. You see a flash of red in the picture just below the one he’s currently looking at, and hastily take the stack back off him. There were some things he shouldn’t have to see. “The Winter Bear candle. We’ve managed to keep the gory details from the public, but I’m sure you’ve heard about the head of Gingco Corporate.”

“The business mogul? I thought she passed away at home?”

“She was found slashed up in the bear enclosure at the zoo just outside the main town centre.”

He narrows his brows, black frames slipping down his nose again. “Wasn’t Gingco buying that zoo? It was all over the news.”

“They wanted to demolish it and build a mall, yes. It seems our killer didn’t like that so much. She died from bleeding out. Multiple cuts, in rows to look like bear claws although forensics tell us it was actually a switchblade. Dropped in the bear enclosure post-mortem.”

Namjoon wavers on his feet slightly. “And the candle?”

“On one of the picnic tables facing the enclosure. Burnt down to the wick, so it had been there for a while. Longer than she had been dead, actually. That’s when I started to think it was premeditated. That’s when I began to connect the dots.”

He lets out a shuddering exhale, hand on his sternum, rubbing in a self-soothing pattern. “I don’t understand what my candles have to do with any of this. I just give them interesting names, I don’t…”

“This isn’t your fault, Mister Kim,” you assure, slipping the manila folder back in your bag. “It’s good news, actually. It means that all we need to do is keep an eye on your customers and see if any suspicion people frequent the store. Which is where I come in. My higher-ups suspect the killer might get spooked if you install security cameras inside the store, so we want to avoid chasing him or her away from our one lead. I’ve offered to pose as an employee to keep an eye on things myself.”

“Y- what? I usually work here alone…”

“And now you won’t be.” You reach out your right hand for a handshake. “I’m looking forward to working with you, Mister Kim. I’m confident that we’ll catch this son of a bitch in no time.”

His eyebrows lift at your curse word, but he finds himself nodding instinctively. “Okay, yeah, I can- we can do that. I just need to make you a name tag. Let’s go to my office.”

“This is gonna be easy,” you promise, bottom lip resting on the edge of a takeaway paper cup, inhaling the steam that rises through the thinning layer of foam. “You have so few customers that statistically the next one is probably the murderer.”

Namjoon doesn’t seem to be suffering the same boredom as you. “Oh, it’s not that bad! It’s always slow on a Thursday morning.”

“It’s been slow every morning.”

“Well.” Namjoon sips at his water, eyebrow twitching. “It’s not slow in the afternoons.”

You place your cup down with a thud. “You close in the afternoons.”

He stares at you blankly. “...yes, but that’s just because I’m so busy back home in the workshop making more candles. Anyway, we get more customers on the weekend, just wait and see.”

You can’t keep a stern face, softening at the way his eyes glimmer behind thick glasses. “You still haven’t shown me your workshop.”

“Seems a little forward to already be asking my beautiful coworker to come home with me.”

Blushing, you shake your head and pull up a hand to cover the cheek closest to him. “Very funny,” you deflect, “I bet you just don’t want any girl cooties in your mancave.”

He lets out a loud peal of laughter, one that’s harmonised with the jingle of the overhead doorbell as a customer enters, slipping in and cutting Namjoon short. You curse the timing, wishing you could hear that joyful sound again.

“Hi there, you need any help today, or just browsing?”

Instead of replying, the elder lady simply nods at him and shuffles slowly down the room, going to the ‘florals’ section on the left wall, birdlike posture hunched under several layered cardigans.

Namjoon lets out a breathy laugh. “That’s old Mrs. Chin, she wouldn’t hear a gun if it was shot beside her ear.” His face falls, furrowing his brows. “Poor choice of metaphor. She’s deaf as a bat; anyway, she always comes in to buy a new set of tealights each week.”

“Tealights?” you question in a considering tone, finger lazily running up and down the metal hoops of your spiral bound notepad.

He spots this, and gently rests his palm over your hand, halting your absentminded movement. “If anything tells you she’s not a suspect, it shouldn’t be the tealights, it should be the fact that she’s in her nineties.”

You scoff at yourself, staring at the way his hand dwarfs yours, your wrist peeking out past his thumb. “Case closed!” you announce, putting on a TV-news producer voice. “The Wickerman has been taken into custody, and you won’t believe who it is!”

He chuckles warmly, eyes crinkling, and squeezes your hand once before removing it. As Mrs. Chin comes up with a set of six frangipani and gardenia tealights (Jamais Vu, the eggshell-white packaging says), Namjoon rings it through, chatting away to her like they’re old friends, like she can hear him. Even as she fails to hear what he’s saying, she beams, thanking him profusely as she accepts a receipt and her purchase with slightly shaky, age spotted hands.

She turns, slowly making her way down towards the exit. You reluctantly take your hand off the table, the top of it cold after being let go. “You’re really good with people, you know?”

He shrugs. “She’s a very kind person. Treats me like a grandson even though she sees me once a week at most.” Once she leaves, the door jingling again behind her, Namjoon checks the time. “Just about 1pm; that’s us done for the day. Do you mind getting the door? I’ll go take the cash till out back.”

As you stand to go lock the door and switch the hanging sign to CLOSED like you’d done every day this week with Namjoon, you feel fingers wrap around your wrist.

He looks up at you, still sitting. His eyes search your face, hand tightening on you subconsciously. “Today,” he says softly, reverentially.

You furrow your brows. “Today...?”

He swallows. “Come over to my house. I can show you the workshop. I’m in the last stages of planning a new scent, and I want you to try it.”

You fight the urge to pull back your arm slightly, just enough to that his fingers slip between yours instead of on your wrist. You smile softly and nod. “Today.”

Instead of driving your car behind him, you end up taking him in your passenger seat, him pointing out directions at the last second as every last detail of his surroundings distracted him. As it turned out, he didn’t have a licence, and would simply bike back and forth most days, hiring a moving truck to transport candles to the store once weekly.

It worked out well, the two of you enjoying amiable silence for the most part, the drive only about twenty minutes up a slight incline, becoming gravel roads in the last couple of minutes, winding around sectioned farmland and wind turbine plants, before pulling up a long driveway, wheels crunching the loose stone and coming to a stop in front of a rustic but sturdy-looking farmhouse, complete with a swing seat on the porch, and sills of yellow and pink flowers underneath the windows.

“This way,” he guides the moment you turn the key to switch the car off. Following him as he hops out and scuffles energetically down the side of the house, you hastily lock your car and race to catch up.

Instead of the front door, he takes you to the back, unlocking it with an old-fashioned heavy iron key. It’s equally cosy inside as it looks from the driveway, though the carpet is worn thin and the light he switches on is a little wan. As he takes you down through a small laundry and into what you expect to be a garage, you marvel as he shows you inside.

Clearly all his money has gone into his business. While the rest of the house is homely and humble, his workshop looks like a romanticist version of a mad scientist’s lab. Custom-made shelves that reach the wall display mason jars of every type of ground spice, flower, essential oil and concentrate that you could imagine. From vibrant red freeze-dried raspberry to warm brown nutmeg to the deep purple of pressed violet petals, he had it all. Two full walls were taken up this way; a third was for boxes of finished product, as well as stacks of the empty glasses he poured them in, bundles and bundles of wicks in wooden cases, and rolls of black paper stickers, ready to be stamped with the newest creation.

Directly beside the doorway you came in was a desk teeming with papers and plans, above which a corkboard is hammered into the wall, countless scraps of paper and scrawled phone numbers and dates. It’s chaos, but beautiful chaos.

“Wow…” you breathe, unable to put into words just how magical it is. Even the smell is like nothing you’ve experienced before. Not overpowering, but certainly full-bodied, it’s based in the rich, slightly caramel scent of soy and beeswax, but every sniff, every inhale, is a different shade made up from all the components. Some moments it’s fruity, from a tiny leftover beaker on his desk that has dried wax caked onto a glass stirrer and a delicate wafting of sweet lemon and the tartness of raspberries. As he leads you towards a wide bench of scattered bowls, measuring cups and portable stovetops, you uncover lighter floral scents, heady wood tones, and sensual spices, a harmony that’s addictive the longer you smell it.

“I apologise for the mess,” you hear his soft voice cut in, his hands filling your vision as they group together tools and open mason jars in some semblance of tidiness. “I don’t usually have guests.”

“It’s okay,” you shrug, still overcome with the entrancing nature of the room. “It’s amazing, honestly. Which one of these is the one you said you were almost finished with?”

His face lights up, pulling his glasses off and resting them on a spare spot on the bench, blinking as his eyes adjust. He reaches for a somewhat smaller bowl, about as tall as a coffee mug and a little wider, and wiggles it back and forth in his hand with a flick of his wrist, disturbing the viscous, deep purple syrup inside. “Here,” he offers up, “tell me what you think.”

Taking a hold of the glass bowl but preventing yourself from sniffing at it just yet, you gesture at his face. “Ditching the glasses?”

“Hm?” He pats his face dumbly for a moment before his eyes glimmer in recognition. You can see them a lot better without the frames’ obstruction, and you want to melt at the rich brown of them, slightly slanted but widened with enthusiasm as his cheeks pinken. “Oh! No, I just… I read on the internet that if you take away one of your senses the others get better. So I thought- I thought maybe if I couldn’t see so well, I’d be able to smell better. It’s stupid, really, but I think it’s helped so far. I’ve always been a little prone to placebo, maybe.”

You grin. “It’s cute.” He laughs shyly, ducking his head to rub at his heated cheeks. You take mercy on him (and give in to your own temptation), bringing the glass mixing bowl to your nose and breathing in deeply, stopping short when the relaxing, nostalgic scent of lavender fills your nose. Not just lavender, though. There’s plenty of comforting notes that you can’t quite put your finger on, ones that give complexity to this concoction. You hold it with both hands, sniffing audibly. “Namjoon, this is incredible!”

The conversation moving back to something he’s confident discussing, he looks back up at you with a broad smile. “Isn’t it? I’ve been trying to get a lavender scent ever since I opened, and I just couldn’t find the right balance. Everything was too sickly sweet, or smelt like soap or my grandparents’ house. But just in the last couple of days, I was struck with inspiration. Instead of going for more florals or light scents, I used ylang ylang oil and tonka absolute to darken and round out the smell. Makes it less like hospital disinfectant and more like comfort. You like it?”

You smile softly, voice bouncing weirdly as you keep your face directed towards the purple syrup. “Mm, comfort. That’s totally it. It reminds me of like, in the holidays when you have nothing to do so you have a bubble bath at 4 o’clock in the afternoon and it just feels like life is peaceful and perfect and you have all the time in the world.” You let out a deep breath. “What are you gonna call it?”

He has an unreadable look in his eyes. The tiniest quirk to his lips, the softest smile. “4 O’clock,” he answers.

The friendly, dimpled customer-service smile stays on Namjoon’s face long after the door jingles, the group of high school girls tittering away down the street. While he’s distracted tidying up the supplies for gift-wrapping, you let your eyes wander over him shamelessly.

Most of the time, when you spoke to him or thought about him, he was this soft, gentle man with a goofy smile and glimmering eyes. And while that was true, it was only in moments like these that you realised just how large he was. His tender demeanour often had you forgetting his tall frame, broad shoulders and strong hands. It was a juxtaposition that endeared you to know end; the corded body that rested under unassuming sweater vests and plain trousers. But at the same time, all that strength was channeled into his craft; the ease at which he’d lift crates of glass candles wasn’t lost on you, but he’d just sheepishly smile and say you get used to it.

Surely he didn’t have the thickest chest you’ve ever seen just by stocking a candle shop? There was so much you still didn’t know about him, and while your job was focussing on the serial killer, not your temporary coworker, you can’t help that weird bothered feeling in your chest.

Your eyes wander around the inside of the checkout desk. It’s organised chaos, with printed receipts mixed with fresh rolls mixed with notepaper on one end, haphazard piles of business cards and loyalty cards in the middle tucked behind the cash register, and three drawers filled with samples, returns, and stationery to the right.

Hearing him come back and place two fresh cups of tea on the countertop, you reach out to pluck a business card from the top pile. It’s classic off-white with warm bronze lettering embossed on it. You note with humour at the long list of roles between Namjoon’s name and contact details. Owner, creator, manufacturer, manager, storeperson. On the flip side is the friendly, manuscript letting, same as the sign above the door. Moni’s Candle Shop.

“What is Moni?” you question absentmindedly, only half-aware you’re speaking aloud.

“Moni,” Namjoon murmurs from behind you, correcting your pronunciation on the first vowel. “It’s nothing.”

You turn to him with a doubtful smile, eyes teasing. “Oh, come on, it’s your entire brand! It can’t be nothing.”

“Yes, it can,” he defends with a pout, blowing away the steam that emanates from his cup. “Just like FILA is a random word.”

You furrow your eyebrows. “FILA is an acronym. It’s like, the name of the company in French or something.”

He sets his tea down delicately, without having taken a single sip. “Yeah, well, maybe Moni is an acronym.”

“What does it stand for then?”

He turns up his nose petulantly. “I don’t want to tell you.”

You raise your eyebrows dubiously. “Because you don’t have one.”

“I do,” he counters, eyes darting upwards. “It stands for...Mmmmany Objects N-need...Interest.”

You can’t hold your unimpressed stare for more than a few seconds, breaking into a bout of laughter, reaching out to punch him lightly on the arm. “You’re such a dork,” you make out, though your grin certainly removes any bite from your words.

He lets you shove him, smiling down at you fondly. Your laughter slowly fades as he waits for you to finish, eyes crinkling and dimples showing.

“What?” you murmur, cursing how quiet your voice has become, a strange fluttering in your chest making your breath weak.

Namjoon rubs the base of his neck self-consciously. “Moni was my childhood dog. I didn’t have a lot of friends, so he really meant a lot to me.”

Your eyes widen. “Oh, Namjoon…” Now that you think about it, even though he’s charming and charismatic to his customers, you’d never seen or even heard him mention any friends or family. Plus he was the only worker in the whole business, if the impressive resume on his business card was anything to go by.

He laughs, eyes shining. “Don’t look at me like that, I’m not a charity case,” he teases warmly. “I’m happy. I’m happy now.”

You curse your overactive heart for reading too much into his words. This is a job. Stay professional. Forcing a stabilising breath into your lungs, you nod. “That’s good.”

His smile turns strained, but you only see it for a moment before his attention is caught by the jingling of a bell, a middle-aged gentleman in a business suit, rushing towards the counter even as he loudly chatters away on his phone.

“I’m happy now too,” you admit softly, letting your words be swallowed up. Namjoon’s eyes dart to you with an unreadable look, but he turns back. You don’t think he heard you.

After three days of working beside Kim Namjoon, he names a candle after you. After a week and a half, you begin to realise you have a crush on him.

After two weeks and one day, there’s a fifth murder.

It twists your heart, to see the red and blue flashing lights flooding the windows to Moni’s Candle Shop, illuminating Namjoon’s face and reflecting off his glasses as he squints and holds up a hand to protect his eyes.

You’re the first to get out of the car, rushing over. The sign is twisted to CLOSED as Namjoon exits; with a coat on and a shoulder bag, he looks like he was on his way out. Good timing, you suppose.

He’s too frazzled to greet you, hair already disheveled from running his hands through it nervously. “What’s going on, Y/n?”

“Silver Spoon,” you rush out, “who bought Silver Spoon?”

“Huh?”

You sigh and push past him, opening the front door and cringing at the ring of the overhead bell, once for you and a second time as he follows closely behind. “There’s been another one,” you explain bitterly, “I need you to write down a list of all the customers you can remember that bought Silver Spoon.”

Namjoon lets out a shuddering breath. “God, okay, um…” You watch impatiently as he searches behind the desk for a scrap of paper, settling on the back of a receipt as he scribbles, eyes lifting skywards every time he has to try and think.

“Is there anyone that you remember that’s bought the other candles too?”

“I- I don’t know, just let me write th-”

“Well, think, Namjoon, people are getting murdered!” You’re too heated to pay attention to the crack in your voice, though he pauses and looks up with furrowed brows.

He hands over the receipt with eyes, dark with hurt. “You think I don’t know that? You were the one that was here this whole time to try and find the guy. So tell me, Y/n; did you notice anyone strange buying Silver Spoon?”

Your eyes prickle. Maybe that’s why your blood is boiling now, as you stare at the shop owner across from you. No, you didn’t. You were too busy enjoying your time with him, too busy marveling at the warmth he exuded with his customers and his craft, too busy falling for him. You swallow the rising lump of self-hatred at the back of your throat. “Thank you for the names, Mister Kim. I’ll be in touch.”

His face changes, wounded puppy-like eyes replaced with concern in a fraction of a second. “Y/n, are you-?”

“Have a nice day.” You’re out of the door and back in your car before tears of frustration slip down your cheeks.

Namjoon fidgets in the corner of your vision. It would irritate you, only you’re determined to ignore him completely as much as possible for the sake of your job. You keep your head low, focussed on your work, trying to find links between the locations, the motives, the choice of candles, anything.

“So, you won’t even look at me now? All because I couldn’t write down all the names.”

You exhale, staying silent for a moment as you finish your scrawl, refusing to look up even as you reply. “I’m not looking at you because I’m trying to do my job.”

“You were doing your job earlier. You looked at me then.”

You feel your spine stiffen. “And then somebody got stabbed to death by a tree branch.”

He baulks, visibly flinching even out of the corner of your eye. “Cypress or birch?”

You sit up slowly, narrowing your eyes at him. “That’s your fucking question? Silver birch. It was a snapped-off branch of silver birch. She was found in the forest about 20 k north of here.”

“She?”

You throw your pen down and sit back in your chair. “Im Jee-hwa,” you spit out. “I trust you to keep your mouth shout because the Im family certainly don’t want it getting out, but she was the fifth victim.”

Namjoon frowns. “The chaebol? Last I heard, she was in jail.”

You shrug. “Last night, she got bailed out by her father and spent the night at their family residence. According to various witnesses of relatives and staff, she left before ten in the morning and was discovered less than two hours later by a hiker. Stabbed to death with a broken off branch - no prints, of course - and a silver spoon lodged in her throat, deep enough to damage her vocal chords.”

Namjoon’s hand rises up to his neck, wincing in sympathetic ache. “God, and she was only in her early twenties.”

“Twenty-two,” you specify glumly. “God, the poor girl. Who knew being in jail for tax evasion wasn’t the worst part of her week?” You lean forward, rubbing your face tiredly. “Nobody apart from the residence staff, some of the Im Corporation partners and Im’s family knew about her release the night before. Silver lining is that we can narrow our suspect down to that pool of individuals. Bad news is that her mother estimates it at around eighty to one hundred people because of the likelihood of the news spreading amongst more of the Im Corporation’s workers overnight. Miss Jee-hwa was quite the hot topic, it seems.”

“Jesus.” Namjoon pauses for a bit, like he doesn’t know what to say. “Still, I don’t see why this means you need to ignore me completely. Wouldn’t it be better if we worked together?”

You turn your head again, breaking away from his hopeful eyes. Even just seeing his hand resting on the table beside yours, fingers flexing slightly like he wants to reach out, makes your heart tug in ways you just can’t afford to indulge in. “We’re going to have to create a promotion. Something irresistible that inspires all the customers coming through that door to sign up their name and contact details.”

His voice is lost. “Y/n?”

“While I try and find the connection, and the tech team start pulling background checks on everyone at the house and the Corporation headquarters that night, we’re going to keep track officially of every single person who purchases a candle. Hopefully we can track somebody down before another incident, but if not… There’s no way we won’t be able to find our guy if we compare your list, the people that knew about Jee-hwa, and the customers from now on. There’s no way,” you reiterate, unsure whether it’s you or him you’re trying to convince.

“That sounds like a good plan,” Namjoon agrees. “I usually run a Christmas competition anyway. I’ll whip up a sign-up sheet. Let’s hope they use their real na… Y/n?”

The use of your name brings you back, and you turn to him, eyes wide. “Tax evasion,” you profess in a hush.

“Sorry?”

“Tax evasion. Im Jee-hwa had all the money in the world, and she was still selfish. Our killer put a silver spoon her throat, just like that old insult about rich people born with a silver spoon on their tongues. Yes, it’s like the candle, but it’s some sort of… of sick irony that relates to the victim.”

His eyes are wide, brows poking over the top of his thick frames. “He’s playing god.”

“He’s playing the judge and jury,” you correct. “Fuck, I can’t believe I didn’t see it until now.”

Namjoon hunches over your shoulder as you begin to flip through the pages of your file, going through the details of the previous murders. “Do the others fit?”

You squint. “Some. The drunk lifeguard being drowned, for instance. But I bet if we went digging in their personal lives a little more, we’d find links. The candles aren’t just the method, they’re the motive. Give me a second, I need to call my superior and get the investigators on this."

"O-Okay, I'll sort out the Christmas stuff," Namjoon hurries out, standing as you do.

You're already dialling when his hand comes into your line of vision, gently wrapping around your forearm and squeezing reassuringly.

"We'll get him, Y/n," Namjoon promises, "you're an amazing detective."

You soften, flicking him an appreciative smile as you raise the phone to your ear, but your heart sinks. Maybe that's not enough.

Things return to the way they are, for a while. With every name you write down, every candle you sell (far more than the previous weeks as Christmas grows nearer day by day), and every suspect your investigation team crosses off the list, you loosen up, feeling more positive.

Nothing stops the dread you feel checking your phone every morning, and there's nothing better than the overwhelming relief you feel when there hasn't been news. It's illogical, you know; if there was another murder, your superiors wouldn't hesitate to wake you. Part of the gig. But still, it was nice to clear your notifications and breathe easy for a few moments.

Namjoon was doing good on his end of the deal, persuading all the customers to sign up for the Christmas prize pack, no matter how reluctant, and you siphoned photocopies off to the investigators, adding to the backlog more background checks to run and alibis to clear.

"God," you groan, stretching out your limbs with a guttural noise that morphs into a wide yawn. "So busy yesterday, and suddenly it's dead quiet. How can it be this slow on a Saturday?"

"It's a Sunday."

"Is it?" You consult your phone with another groan. "Fuck, I'm reaching the drop-off point."

"The what?"

You let out a tired smile at Namjoon's comical look of confusion. "The drop-off point," you repeat. "It's something my friends and I came up with in school. Apparently, most cases go cold right when the police or detectives or whoever get compliant and lazy, thinking they have a perfect net placed out. They're convinced that they'll catch the sucker, so they sit back and wait, only for a hole to form right under their noses and the suspect to get away. That's the drop-off point. Aren't you bored?"

"Hm?"

"Bored. We think, 'oh, we just need to keep writing down names and we'll get 'em.' But maybe we're so focussed on writing names that we're missing something really obvious that we'll regret for years to come. Don't you think?"

Namjoon raises his eyebrows, letting it sink in for a moment. "I think you're worrying yourself over nothing. This whole time our first major in was that the person is a customer. They can't have bought all the candles at once; not only would I probably remember someone coming in and ordering five or so specific candles, but some of the later candles weren't even released when the first murder happened. So we know for a fact they're coming back to get candles multiple times. And nobody has left here with a candle without writing their full name and contact details down, so we're fine. You're fine."

You stare at Namjoon for a few moments, eyes roaming over his face. The dimple that's emerged with his soft smile, the warmth of his eyes and the earnestness in his expression. Your heart aches at the sight, mouth filling with a million things you wish you could say to him. "Thank you," you settle on. "I needed that."

His smile widens, and his mouth opens to reply, but instead of his caramel voice, you're greeted with the metallic buzz of your phone vibrating on the desk.

"Fuck," you interrupt, snatching it off the counter and feeling your good mood sour with dread at the ID. You answer it with a worried frown, gnawing at your bottom lip. "Please don't tell me there's been another," you ask of your superior.

The line is silent for a moment. "We need you down here, Y/n. Bring any names you have so far. The gap between has shortened yet again; he's getting impatient. Or addicted. Desperate, perhaps, if he thinks we're onto him. Either way, you better have something. I'll see you at the station."

Your stomach turns when the line goes dead.

Namjoon's hand rests on your shoulder, but you have to shake it off to stand and reach for your coat. He takes it back, flexing it awkwardly. "There's been another," he says, more of a statement than a question.

"The drop-off point," you confirm bitterly, "he's slipped through the net yet again. I was careful this time; not a single person that seemed out of place, or with odd behavior. Nothing."

"Hey," Namjoon soothes, eyebrows knitting in worry as a customer enters, a young child in a school uniform and backpack, preventing him from saying any details. "It's okay. You have the names now, it's time to compare them and like you said last week, there's no way we won't be able to narrow it down. You've got this."

A headache forming between your temples, you grab the clipboard of Christmas prize signups, and leave out the back, glancing behind you at Namjoon's tensed form as he puts on a smile for the young customer.

"It's him, it's fucking him, I know it," you rush out as you hustle down the corridor, your boss pacing to keep up.

"Are you one hundred percent certain?" Kim Seokjin, the man you'd been reporting to on this case, halts you with an arm across your chest. "We haven't finished going through the other suspects. There could be others that match better. We don't even know that he knew all of the victims."

"It's him," you promise, eyes bright with conviction. "Cha Giho. In-house chef at the Im residence. So he knew Jee-hwa was out. And he frequented the shop, I sent Namjoon a text of his ID photo and Namjoon recognised him as a regular."

Seokjin's face twists in disapproval. "Jesus Christ, Y/n, you can't do that, it's private information. Besides; you said you remember speaking with him. You didn't get any serial killer vibes?"

"I didn't speak with him; Namjoon did. I was just with him at the desk. He wanted Namjoon to recommend a candle for a forest getaway, Jin, it's fucking him!"

Seokjin sighs out slowly, eyes closing for a moment to maintain composure. "Okay. I'll go with your gut on this one, Y/n, but only because I trust you. We'll go to his place tonight and take him in for questioning on suspicion of multiple murders. If you're wrong on this, Y/n-"

"I'm not wrong," you promise, "I'm not." Your face softens, staring up at the man that you had developed a close working relationship with over the past few years. The man you had begun to see as a personal hero, or an older brother. "Jin. Thank you for trusting me on this. Keep me posted."

"Of course." He pulls you into a brief but tight hug, pressing a kiss to your hairline, and pulling you back by your shoulders to hold you at arm's length, staring intensely. "Now listen to me. You go home and you stay home. Lock the doors, bolt them, everything. On the odd chance that he's not at home or that he finds out we've singled him out, I don't want him to freak out and go against his own sick brand of justice and seek out revenge instead. The last thing we want is a dangerous man like him becoming spontaneous. Understood?"

You nod. "Understood."

He doesn't let go. "And don't be stupid and go track down Mister Candlestick Maker either. We've given him a call to lock up and go home, he's safe. Please; be selfish for me and stay home and stay safe."

You pout playfully for a moment, but sober up when his expression doesn't changes. "You too, Jin. Send the SWAT team. I need you alive to bother me."

He scoffs, but his eyes twinkle with fondness, and maybe a little teary sentiment. "Okay, kid, off you go, I have a suspect to detain."

"Aye aye, Captain."

"What are you doing here?" "Being stupid," you answer through the crack in the door, "now let me in."

Namjoon sighs, shutting the door to remove the chain and opens it back up again, ushering you inside with a cautious look outside after you. Closing it securely behind him, he turns to you. "Why are you here?"

You push past him, grabbing his woolly sweater by the sleeve to pull him after you. "I saw you burn yourself with your own candle wax last week because you wanted to read the label on the base right after you poured it. There's a serial killer on the loose, I don't trust you to keep yourself safe." "Thanks," he says flatly as you sit him down on his plushy couch, standing beside, knees almost touching his. "To be fair, there's been a serial killer on the loose this whole time."

"All going well, he gets detained and know we found him out. All going poorly, he manages to evade the authorities and goes on the run, knowing we found him out. I don't like those odds."

"Don't you have faith in your own colleagues?"

You whirl around with a glare, arms crossed tightly. "Aren't I allowed to be scared for you?" you ask in a small yet biting voice, hating the way it trembles. "Can't you just let me take care of you? Keep you safe?"

He nods slowly. "Sit down," he instructs gently. He waits until you do as he says. "Now," he begins, "what's really bothering you? There's something else going on here and both you and I know it."

You purse your lips, tucking your legs up, resting your chin on your knees and wrapping your arm around them. "Crystal Snow."

"Sorry?"

"I never told you," you answer, though deep inside you know full well this isn't what he meant, "I never told you what candle the last murder was based off. It was Crystal Snow."

He clears his throat lightly, eyes dull as you dodge his true question. "That's Christmas release candle just like Silver Spoon. Another woody one, too. Pine needles, fir, white musk, rosemary and cedar. Hard to get it totally white with those ingredients, but... That's beside the point. Was it in a forest again? I know we have pine trees in the area."

You shake your head numbly, only just noticing the warm fireplace to the left of the couch when it crackles. Somehow, you hadn't felt any of its warmth since arriving. "Father of two young children. Found by the older one that morning when he went outside to play in the snow. His father was buried in it, frozen. His head and shoulders were stuffed into a kennel."

"A kennel?"

"It's from their dog. Wife says it wasn't used anymore. The victim used to always make the dog sleep outside in the kennel, but it wasn't properly insulated. Just got back from the vets after getting pneumonia last week."

He lets out a heavy sigh. "At least we've got him now, Y/n. It's over." He stands up suddenly, and you look up at him. "Do you want a cup of tea or something?" he offers. "Now that you're here, I'd rather you not go back outside, so we might as well get comfortable."

You try to push your worries from your mind, simply giving him a soft smile. "Tea sounds nice, thank you."

As you listen to him tinker away in the kitchen, you shuffle further across the couch in the direction of the fireplace, occupying the space he left warm. There's a window to the left, and you rub your forearms through the fabric of your long-sleeved top, looking outside as flakes of snow pile against the sill, partially blocking your view of the white abyss beyond, vaguely hilly like the terrain of Namjoon's backyard. If nothing else, it's much more peaceful here than at your place. More quiet.

You straighten up suddenly, a shiver running up your spine. Too quiet.

You jump up, rushing into the kitchen and feeling dread shock your system like a splash of cold water when it's empty. Surely he didn't leave a door unlocked... "Namjoon?"

"Yeah?"

You jump at the voice behind you. "Fuck, Namjoon, where were you?"

He stands in a now-open doorway, one hand behind his back as the other grips the doorknob. "In the workshop," he answers, jerking his chin back to gesture the room itself behind him, adjoining to the kitchen.

You sag in relief, but frown a little. "I don't remember coming through the kitchen last time."

"Two entrances," he explains. "This actually used to be a walk-in pantry but I knocked down the doors so there was some extra space." He shakes his head as if he's clearing it, then coughs lightly, eyes focussing in on yours intensely. "Y/n, I have something I want to give you-"

"A heart attack," you interrupt, smacking his chest. "Seriously, Namjoon, you disappeared and I thought something had happened!"

He smiles widely, and you fight to stop from instinctively returning it. "You really do, huh?"

Your face crumples in confusion. "I do what?"

"Care for me," he finishes in a touched voice, brown eyes soft like butter. "I...I thought so for a while, but I never..." He clears his throat again, and whips his hand out from behind his back so quickly you jump, brandishing a glass jar. "Here," he declares, "I made this for you."

You look down in wonder, seeing a familiar shade of purple fill the glass. "Namjoon..."

"4 O'Clock. The lavender candle. Years, and I couldn't perfect it. And then you came along and I found myself thinking about you every minute of every day and it just... it just came to me thanks to you. Everything just makes sense now. I finally mixed the scent with the wax, and I want you to have the first one."

You let him place it in your hands, and you look down at it, stunned. Your thumb runs over the paper sticker, pressed with a stamp. Just three lines, in varyingly sized font.

"So?" Namjoon takes a deep breath, eyes brimming with emotion, with affection and hope. "I kept telling myself I was being delusional, or just convincing myself and seeing what wasn't really there, but after today... You really care for me. And I care for you too, so much, Y/n. I've totally fallen for you."

You swallow thickly, delicately setting the unlit candle down on the kitchen counter beside you.

Namjoon's face falls, his whole body deflates, brows knitted in confusion. "Y/n?"

You can't bear to hear the hurt in his voice. "Namjoon..." you breathe, chanting it like a prayer. Perhaps in some ways, it is. A plea for salvation. Namjoon. "I came to you for my work. And... now that we know who it is, I'm going to have to leave tomorrow now that my work is done. For the integrity of the case, I have to remain professional. Whatever my feelings are-" you break off, heart breaking at the way he looks up in renewed hope. "Whatever my feelings may be, I can't act on them."

Namjoon nods slowly, trying to keep his face neutral as he looks down at the candle sitting abandoned on the kitchen bench, but also at the way your hand hovers, fingers resting on the edge like they can't bear to leave it completely. Finally, he lifts his eyes to your face, searching for an emotional vulnerability that you can't help but imagine is clear to see.

Silently, with only the blanketed hush of the snow outside to surround you in this moment, Namjoon takes one step forward, so that you would have to crane your neck to keep his gaze. So that your bodies almost touch. So that he can rest his palms on your cheeks, cupping them gently and tipping your face up to meet his. "Then please," he begs, voice barely more than a low whisper, "let me act on mine."

The lightest gasp leaves your lips before he bends down and kisses the sound away, warm and sweet and desperate, cradling you like he's scared you'll turn to dust beneath his fingers if he's not perfectly gentle. A murmur comes from his throat, something you think may be your name, and a wall inside you breaks, a cord snaps.

Reaching up, you wrap one hand around his wrist and the other in the fabric of his collar, pulling at it to deepen the kiss, and he melts, taking short steps forward as you shuffle back, until the small of your back presses against the kitchen counter and you arch over it a little with the deepness of his kisses, growing more fevered after receiving a positive response.

You shouldn't be doing this. But god, it feels too good to stop, your heart beating so fast that you feel it where your chests press together, senses going haywire until you feel drunk on him, like the only oxygen in the world is inside Kim Namjoon's mouth, the swipe of his tongue against your lower lip like a burst of euphoria, a gasp of fresh air that saves you from drowning.

One of his hands slips back further, winding into your hair and cupping the back of your head, and you tremble as he presses you so fully against him, even his leg slipping between your thighs so that not a single millimeter of space keeps you apart.

His skin is so hot where it touches yours that you feel on fire, and you have the sudden urge to rip off your top so that you can bare yourself to him, even simple layers of fabric too much separation to handle.

He pulls away reluctantly to pant, lips pink and swollen, pupils blown wide, and you follow suit to catch your breath.

"Y/n," he finally makes out through gasps, thumb rubbing mindlessly at your cheekbone, "if you're going to regret this in the morning, please stop. I can't- you can't give me everything only to take it away again. I'm willing to wait. Until they arrest Cha Giho, until they convict him, until you hand in your final report, I don't care, I'll wait for you. When we do this it can't be a mistake." He stares at you earnestly, openly, hopelessly.

Your eyes widen, taking in his words. "Namjoon, I... Are you sure? I promise I want you, but... if they call you up as a witness and we've been sleeping together, it could totally invali-"

"I know, I know, it's okay," he reassures. "I understand." He gives you a fond smile. "Just knowing you feel the same is enough for me."

You nod, a strange blend of relief and regret mingling inside you. "Thank you, Namjoon. I'm sorry."

He lets you stay entangled like this for a few more bittersweet moments, before gently slipping his hand out of your hair and letting his other fall from your face, stepping away. "Don't apologise, there's no need. Now; I think we've both had enough excitement for one night. I might skip the tea and get straight to bed."

You stand up straight again on slightly shaky legs. "I can take the couch."

"You could," he jibes with a grin, "or you could just sleep in the spare bedroom."

You laugh, poking his rumpled sweater. "What a gentleman."

He shrugs with a warm smile, turning to lead the way. "And just because we aren't sharing the same bed," he calls out over his shoulder, "doesn't mean you can leave without saying goodbye."

"I would never," you promise.

The call comes in the early hours of the morning. Enough for you to be unceremoniously ripped from unconsciousness, the deepest sleep you ever remember having. You’ve purposely set your boss’ ringtone to be the most annoying, whiny preset tune you could find so that it would wake you when needed, and you regret that decision now as the sharp blue light causes you to wince.

“What is it?” you croak, forgoing pleasantries.

“Can you contact Kim Namjoon? He’s not answering his phone.”

You frown, mind feeling two steps behind as you struggle to process his words. “Answering his pho- What’s going on, Jin?”

“He left a note,” your boss explains. “At his house, Cha Giho left a note. I need to speak with Mister Kim.”

You sit up like a bolt. “He what? It’s him, then, it’s definitely him? What did it say?”

Jin lets out a little breath of forced patience. “Can you pass on a message to Mister Kim?”

The Mister Kim that was currently sleeping just down the hall. “I could probably work something out,” you answer. “What did the note say, Jin? Is Namjoon in danger?”

“Namjoon,” Jin repeats blankly. He goes silent for a moment. “...You didn’t go straight home when I asked, did you?”

You huff, jaw tensing. “Now’s not the time, okay? If Cha Giho is still out there, then I need to know what he said in that note, Jin. We don’t need another body.”

Even through the phone connection, you hear the reluctant clicking of his tongue. Jin clears his throat and begins to read. “‘All these months I had hoped you would recognise me. You were always happy to recommend me a candle every time but yet you never asked me my name or how I was doing. I’m sick of taking justice out on them, treating your word like God. I want this to end tonight. I’m going to take my justice out on you.’ That’s it, that’s all he wrote. So wake up Mister Kim or don’t, but whatever you do, make sure the house is safe and that you two stay there. Got it?”

“Of course,” you reply, but your mind is already whirring, getting up and tugging on your shoes with one hand. “Listen, Jin, I’ve gotta go, I want to wake up Namjoon so he knows what’s going on. Better to stay alert and aware. Thanks for the call.” You hang up before he can respond, and break into a hasty jog the moment the call ends.

You didn’t know if Cha knew where Namjoon lived. You didn’t know how or when or where he was planning to strike. But you knew the one thing that could tell you.

You write a note for Namjoon in rushed but legible handwriting, instructing him to stay inside and stay safe, that you just needed to visit the store quickly to check up on something. After making sure all the curtains in the house were drawn, the windows were firmly shut and the doors locked, you leave, the front door clicking and locking with a finality that steels you.

You drive in tense silence, eyes flitting all over the road in front of you, at the milky pools of yellow your headlights cast onto the gravel. Part of you is expecting the middle-aged man to be crouched behind a bush with an old-timey revolver, or screaming down the road with a bloody butcher knife. Years you’ve been working this job, and still these fantasies have a tendency to overtake you. The entire drive, only a few cars go past you, none looking particularly unusual.

You realise your mistake the moment you pull up across the road from the silent row of stores that house Moni’s Candle Shop. You also know it’s too late to go back.

Each one of those stores are dead quiet, totally black. In a town this small, there weren’t even any neon lights that would illuminate the streets all night. You can barely see by the wan glow of the streetlamps, few and far between, but even if they weren’t there, your eyes would be drawn to Moni’s anyway.

Easily visible through the glass of the door, sitting on the front display, is a single candle with a warm flickering flame.

You flick your engine off, and slump backwards in your seat, kicking out with a cry of frustration. He wasn’t going to Namjoon. He was going to let Namjoon come to him.

And now that you’re here - and there’s no doubt in your mind that he’s watching out - even if you turn around and leave, there’s nothing to say he won’t follow you back.

Not for the first time in your career, directly disobeying and lying to your boss hadn’t worked out as well as you had intended. You had thought that checking out the list of customers’ names and their purchases would aid you, that perhaps if you looked up the latest candle Cha Giho had bought that somehow you could predict what move he’d make, but it seems it’s too late for that.

You stay like that, in your car in the dark, for about twenty minutes, trying to figure out a game plan. You didn’t fancy calling your boss and having him chew you out and suspend you, but at the same time it wasn’t like you could wake Namjoon and get him to bike all the way down at four in the morning. If Cha saw police sirens, he’d definitely split and then you’d be no better off. And the longer you waited, doing nothing, the more vulnerable you were, just a sitting duck in your car.

With a steeling breath, you throw open the car door, stumbling out into the frosty air, cursing as a cutting breeze saps the heat from your body. As you cross the road, you keep an ear out, ducking your head to send a text to Jin anyway, just a GPS location marker, immediately putting your phone on Do Not Disturb afterwards. As much as he knew how to bite your head off when you fucked up, you’d rather be on his grumpy side than six feet under. You were reckless, not stupid.

The front door is unlocked. It shouldn’t be, but you suppose Cha was courteous enough to make the way easy enough. The bell jingling is noisy enough to make you jump, and you warily hold up your arm in a protective stance, eyeing the shadows.

Luckily, you aren’t immediately assaulted by an attacker, and the door closes behind you, still unlocked. The moment you take a breath, a rich scent fills your nose; caramelised with a warm spice to it. Even as you need to stay alert, it begins to relax your tense muscles. As you breathe it in, you take a moment to let your eyes adjust to the dim inside of the store. Orange plays across your eyes from the warm flame of the candle, but it doesn’t reach far, and you can’t see very deep in the store. There’s no one immediately in your vicinity, but that doesn’t mean Cha isn’t somewhere in the store.

“Come out,” you call, relying on your experience in the field to keep your voice stable. “I know you’re there. Let’s do this the easy way; we already have your written confession, so you might as well cooperate with me now.”

You wait for a moment, but you can’t hear anything, not even a rustle of fabric or a breath. He was going to do this the hard way.

Sighing, you move forward with cautious steps, approaching the display table that houses the candle on one of its upper tiers, right at easy arm’s reach. Taking care not to disturb the melted wax inside, you lift it, trying to make out the paper label. With light coming from within, its shadowed in black, and you huff, reaching in your pocket to pull out your phone, using the light to see.

You suck in a breath. So he had planned on killing Namjoon here, then.

“Very funny,” you announce flatly, “Magic Shop, huh? Did you pick this one yourself?”

Still, the room stays silent, and you frown. Normally by now the killer would have either grown defensive, smug, or aggressive. You weren’t prepared for the total lack of response. A niggling thread of doubt begins to knot itself inside your chest. You glance down at the candle one more time. The wax itself is a glossy tan, but almost the entire top third, if not half, is molten, tipping around the sides. This candle has been burning for hours.

With the cold splash of realization running down your spine, you slam the candle back on the display table, cursing when the wax spills out, pouring over your hand. You recoil like you’ve been stung, rubbing at the burning over your knuckles, an angry red welt already rising on the skin.

Doing your best to ignore it, you turn your phone flashlight to the rest of the store, forcing yourself to investigate the whole interior just to confirm Cha isn’t still there, or hasn’t left anything behind. Even though your heart is screaming at you to leave, you dutifully look in every human-sized nook and cranny, taking just enough time to confirm what you already know.

Cha isn’t here.

Magic Shop was never Moni’s, it was Namjoon’s workshop.

And you’d left Namjoon alone there.

It’s a good thing it’s the middle of the night and there aren’t many cars around. You floored it like never before, very nearly careening off the road on several turns on the windy road back to Namjoon’s house, and you just about crashed into his house with the speed at which you approached it, not even bothering to fully turn off your car as you rush to the front door, banging on it wildly.

As you whack your fists against the solid door, numb to the sharp pain of your burned skin impacting on it, you scream Namjoon’s name, loud enough for your throat to go raw. After a minute with no reply, you push back tears and begin to run around the perimeter, swearing in terrified frustration as all the windows and doors are as securely shut as when you’d left them.

Cha was long gone when you arrived at Moni’s Candle Shop; there was no way you had beat him here, no way he wasn’t already inside. Barely aware of the tears blurring your vision, you reach into your pocket for your phone, shakily dialing the one person you knew would pick up without delay.

“Jin,” you sob out the second the other line picks up, cringing at the loud noises of police sirens that floods his end, “I was wrong, he’s not at the store, he’s here, he’s-”

“Y/n, where the fuck are you?”

You freeze your frantic pacing around the back of Namjoon’s house at the harrowed tone in your boss’ voice. Even as you threw around the f-word like crazy at work, Jin had never once sworn, not at you, not at anyone. “I’m- I’m at Namjoon’s house, Jin, I just got back here after-”

“You went to the store right after I told you to stay put, you reckless fucking girl, do you have any idea how terrified I was when I got here and couldn’t find you anywhere?”

“Got here? You went to the shop?”

The piercing noise of sirens fades away slowly, like Seokjin’s walking further away, and you can hear him puffing into the phone, shallow breaths. “Of course I went to the shop, Y/n, because I knew how stupid you can be and I was fucking right! You’re just lucky you didn’t get hurt.”

Your eyes widen. “No! Jin, no, Cha hasn’t disappeared completely, he’s here, at Namjoon’s house, I know it! I’m stuck outside, Namjoon isn’t responding, I’m-” you break off, voice cracking violently as a sob bubbles to the surface. You let fresh tears run hot tracks down your face. “God, what if he’s dead already, Jin? I can’t-”

“We’re going to come down there, Y/n, I’ve already sent out the rest of the squad cars that stayed at the station, they should get there first. Just stay safe, okay? This isn’t what you want to hear but if Cha and Namjoon are both in there, then he’s probably already dead, Y/n. You know that, it’s what your training tells you, so it would be foolish of you to break in without backup…” He trails off with a sigh. “But you’re not going to listen to any of this. I don’t know why I bother.”

You hiccup, using the light of the moon to try and spot some rocks that would be of use in breaking a window. “I can’t wait outside, Jin. I can’t.”

Jin goes silent for a moment, the only sound a muted thud of a car door opening and then closing again. “...The profiling team have kept researching Cha. The pulled medical history shows he had surgery on his right knee in March of this year.”

You use your other arm to chuck a heavy rock at one of the back bedroom windows, ducking and turning away to protect your face from any stray shards. You hear Jin sigh at the noise. “Thank you, Jin. I’ll keep it in mind. I have to go.”

“Don’t get yourself killed, kid,” Jin jokes, but his voice falls flat, unconvincing. “Please don’t,” he adds weakly, the line going dead right after.

You straighten back up, shaking off the few pieces of glass that had landed on your back and in your hair, and take off your coat, hissing at the cold air as you lay it over the jagged edges of the smashed window.

Climbing in is easy enough, and you emerge in an unfamiliar room, one that, even just by the pale glow of the moon, is visibly lived in. Namjoon’s bedroom.

Giving an apologetic wince as you crunch over the broken glass littered all over his carpet, you quickly pick up the nearest thing you could possibly use as a weapon, which happens to be a massive hardback book on his nightstand, an intricate and heavy edition of The Odyssey. Even as your heart races enough to bang against your ribs, you spare a fond smile at the man’s reading choices, holding the hulking thing in front of you like a barricade.

It feels strange, slinking down the carpeted hallway towards the kitchen. Every second of silence you’re expecting to be filled by a guttural scream or a thud of impact or a gunshot. Every shadow seems to shift and move, more dark in the house than light to see by. It feels like wading through shark infested waters with nothing but a pair of floaties as protection.

You pause, just for a moment, when you enter the kitchen, squinting at the light pooling out of a crack in the door to the workshop. It takes a moment for your eyes to adjust, fireworks bursting behind your eyelids in vibrant yellows and neon pinks, split seconds of colour with every blink. Once you think you can see without wincing, you take a quiet breath, tiptoeing closer and closer, cringing at the barely audible tap-squeak of your boots on the linoleum floor.

When you gingerly peek around the corner, into the room, you have to clap a hand over your mouth to prevent your gasp from being heard.

The first thing you see is Namjoon.

Arms and torso bound to a chair with the thick industrial packing tape he used for his online orders, Namjoon has his eyes squeezed shut, not in pain but in fear, and his glasses are askew, one lens cracked. He’s rendered mute with more tape, but the edges are lifting from where his tears have slipped between.

That’s not what causes a dark bolt of fear to run through you, though.

Namjoon’s drenched. Absolutely soaked through his clothes, his dark blonde hair sopping. His nose flares at the stench, and you can smell it from here.

Lighter fluid.

For his final masterpiece, Cha had drawn inspiration not from the ingredients, but from the candle itself. You jerk as a wave of bile rises in your throat, managing to swallow it down.

You crane your head more, looking through the tiny gap to make sure Cha isn’t already lighting a match. You spy his silhouette browsing the shelves of ingredients, a few steps away from Namjoon. His hands are empty, and that’s enough for you.

You kick in the door, receiving a gratifying jump from Cha as he whirls around with widened eyes, before they lower again into a lazy grin. You glare at him, eyes darting over to Namjoon, calculating if you’d have enough time to run to him without Cha intercepting. With a tense jaw, you remain in the doorway.

The serial killer laughs, an off-kilter, grating noise. He’s quite handsome, dark hair and sculpted face, but there’s an unsettling gleam in his eyes that revolts you. “I’ve been expecting you,” he announces in a sing-song voice. “Though you took so long. Namjoon and I have been growing bored, quite frankly.”

You let your eyes return to Namjoon, who shakes like a leaf, chest rising and falling in little pants, unable to get enough air through his nose. Rage wells inside you at the sight, but deeper than that, true fear. You almost feel like falling to your knees in tears, begging to exchange your life for his. Anything to get him out of the hot seat, quite literally.

“It’s over, Cha,” you say instead, “the cops are on their way, it’s only a matter of time before they storm the place. Even if you somehow slip away, every police station in the country has a picture of your face on their Wanted board. Every airport, train station and bus terminal won’t let you through. And in the morning, the Wickerman’s true identity will be blasted all over the news. No matter what you do, it’s over. Don’t make any rash decisions.”

His face curls up angrily at this, marring his fine features. “Rash decisions? Tell me, Detective, has there been anything I’ve done so far that has struck you as a rash decision? You wound me.”

You refrain from rolling your eyes, the irritation at his blase behavior welling inside you with no outlet. Keep him talking, you think to yourself. If he won’t give up, just distract him long enough for backup to arrive. “Well, I can only imagine this whole crackpot scheme of yours was borne from a rash decision. Scented candles? It’s a joke.”

He recoils visibly, eye twitching. “It’s inspired,” he spits back venomously, “something nobody appreciates these days. It’s not your average pointless slasher, it’s hard work and it’s art and it’s for the greater good. Those people I killed, all of them, were monsters.”

“They were only human,” you disagree firmly, “just like you.”

He shakes his head slowly, eyes wavering. “I’m not human. I’m a god.”

“I thought Namjoon was the god,” you retort drily, forcing yourself to ignore Namjoon’s brows furrowing in confusion. “Or was that note of yours bullshit too?”

“You read it?” Cha blinks suddenly, nose flaring as he collects himself. “I was wrong. I thought I was acting on his behalf, fulfilling the prophecy of each candle. Carrying out justice. Killing bad people.” Cha turns to where Namjoon’s sitting with a glare. “He recommended every single one of those candles to me personally. They meant something.”

A strange, wounded gurgle sounds from behind the tape over Namjoon’s lips. It sounds like a denial. Or maybe an apology.

“He recommended them because they smelt good, Giho,” you explain through gritted teeth. “But those murders? The children without a father now? The zoo that has to close down because of its shot reputation? That is all on you.”

The skinny man buries his face in his hands for a moment, roughly rubbing at his eyes with a confused moan. “No, I- I was doing it for the betterment of society, these people were leeches, they were abusers, they were lazy, they were selfish.”

“And you’re a murderer,” you reply simply. “Who’s worse off?”

That seems to shut him up. Opening and closing his mouth like a fish, he takes a shuddering breath and turns to the shelf of ingredients, keeping you in his peripheral, but focusing on the rows and rows of jarred powders and liquids and other items.

You slowly edge closer to Namjoon, aware that Cha is much closer than you, and you can’t imagine you’d be able to get to him in time without Cha freaking out and pulling out a lighter or a match. There’s a bulge in his pants pocket that gives you pause.

“It’s over,” Cha mumbles slowly, picking up a half-empty jar of ground nutmeg, watching the layers shift as he turned it. “Only, it’s not. Not yet. Not quite over.”

He holds the jar in one large palm, but you spy his other hand sinking lower, slowly like he doesn’t want you to notice. With a rising heart rate, you turn your head to Namjoon, widening your eyes at him to catch his attention. Knee, you mouth, as widely as you dare. Cha doesn’t catch it, too busy trying to be subtle himself.

Namjoon’s eyes frown at you behind cracked glasses, before he straightens up slightly in realization. His eyes flick over to Cha’s legs, and back at you, raising his brows in question. Your head lifts in the tiniest nod. Then, you tap your right leg twice. Namjoon breathes in deeply through his nostrils, hands flexing on the arms of the chair.

Not wasting another moment, as Cha’s fingers begin to dip below the edge of his pocket, you rush forward, quickly enough to get his attention but slowly enough that he easily overtakes you, lifting out his hand again to hold them both up in front of you defensively.

Your eyes dart behind him, to Namjoon. He’s still too far away for Namjoon to be able to kick out and reach him, so you take a bold step forward, internally cheering when Cha frowns and reflexively backs up in response.

“There’s no need for this nonsense,” you declare, barely aware of what you’re saying, your mouth on autopilot as you take a step closer. “I don’t want to take you down with force, but I will if it comes to that. Resisting will get you nowhere.” You step forward again.

Cha keeps shuffling backwards, eyeing you with a warning in his eyes. “I’m going to prison anyway, then,” he reasons, “it’s only right that my work is completed before I do.” His hand lowers again, and your heart races, body bringing you two steps forward in quick succession without thought.

The man stumbles back in shock, recoiling like you had jumped him, but frowns when his clear footsteps change sound, a tiny wet slap echoing in the workshop instead. He looks down dumbly, to where the excessive puddle of lighter fluid has splashed up his pant legs and soaked his shoes.

His eyes widen, and he looks up again at you in something akin to betrayal.

You wish you could signal to Namjoon that now was the time, but for some reason Namjoon’s foot ekes forward gingerly, like he’s testing out if he could reach. Instead, you keep your focus on the murderer. “Now you see, Giho? If you set the fire, you burn too.”

A second after it comes out of your mouth, you know it was the wrong thing to say.

His face curls up in a snarl, and he shoves his hand in his pocket, pulling out not a lighter or a box of matches, but a switchblade. You gasp and jump back reflexively at the glint of the blade, but he raises it with a growl, bringing it down faster than you can move out of his range for.

A line of fire runs across your forearm as you throw it up to defend you, and you let out a cry through gritted teeth at the deep cut. Cha lifts the dripping blade to charge at you again, but suddenly his hand goes lax and his mouth opens with a pained howl, sinking suddenly to the floor as his knee gives out from underneath him.

Once he hits the puddle of lighter fluid, sending drops all over your clothes, you look past his writhing body to Namjoon, whose leg is still held out in front of him, panting with worried eyes.

Frantically, you pick up the dropped knife, slippery in your grasp from your own blood, and you rush to Namjoon’s chair, slicing through the thick layers of tape, keeping one eye behind you at the man sobbing on the floor in agony, yelling intelligible insults and guttural curses.

The moment his hands are free, Namjoon rips away the tape over his mouth with a pained hiss, massaging the stinging skin. “Y/n, you-”

“Not now,” you interrupt brusquely, finally freeing him from the chair and grabbing his hand, tugging him away as fast as you can go.

Once the two of you leave into the kitchen, you shut the door to the workshop, dashing into the dining room to find a chair to slot under the doorknob, jamming it closed. In less than a minute, you’re out of the house and collapsing onto the frozen grass, cradling your injured arm and doing your best to maintain pressure on it, Namjoon ripping off his shirt and tearing it at the seams to form rough strips, which he binds and ties around the wound, apologising breathlessly when you scrunch up your face at the pain.

“Goodness, I’m so sorry, I have to, you’re bleeding so much, oh Jesus…”

Perhaps it’s the blood loss or the adrenaline that’s making you a little loopy, but you giggle hopelessly at the frightened look on his face.

Namjoon, with lips looking raw from the ripped tape, huffs down at you. “This is serious, Y/n, you could die, don’t laugh at me when I’m helping you!”

This strikes you as even funnier in your hazy mindset, and you keep giggling, hiccuping on dried tears, shivering violently under his gentle touch as the cold air wraps around you more tightly than the bandages on your arm.

“God, I… That was fucking wild in there, I can’t even...process it right now. But I- Are you with me? Y/n?”

You smile dopily at Namjoon, nodding. The rest of the scenery around him is swirling and your stomach lurches with a sickening voracity, but it’s okay when you look deep into his kind eyes and his open face. It’s okay when you have Namjoon beside you, because no matter how cold you are, your heart is burning like a furnace when you look at him and feel him.

He lets out a slow exhale, sitting down beside you with a strong palm on your back to stabilise your wobbling. “I’ve never been that scared in my life, I really thought I was going to die. And when I did, all I could think of was how much I hoped you’d still be okay. Because there is nothing I wouldn’t do to have you stay safe, to keep you safe. That guy pulled a knife on you, Y/n, he stabbed you, and all I could think of was how I wished it was me instead who got hurt. I don’t ever want to see you get hurt, I don’t think my heart can take it again. I- When I was in there, and he was waiting for you, and all I could smell was gasoline… I thought I was going to die, and it gave me a certain type of clarity, I guess. I could think clearly for the first time in a long time. And all I could think about was you. I’m in love with you, Y/n, hopelessly in love with you, and I know I said I’d wait until the case was fully closed and done with, and I will, of course I will, but I just couldn’t wait that long to tell you how deep my feelings go, I- God, am I even making sense right now? It must be the adrenaline, I feel- Y/n?”

You lean forward unsteadily, balancing yourself with a hand on his knee. He stares at you with wide eyes, caught off-guard by your sudden movement. Your grin has disappeared, replaced by a look of wonder. “Case closed,” you announce warmly.

He cocks his head. “What?”

“Case closed,” you repeat insistently, “just for now, case closed. So quick; kiss me before I pass out again.”

A smile tugs at his lips, and with no further persuasion needed, he dips his head forward, joining your lips in a tender kiss, foul-tasting from the lighter fluid but still so sweet. You feel yourself melt into him, pressing your upper body against him, and your eyes slip closed so that all of your other senses come to life with Namjoon, only Namjoon, everything Namjoon.

His hand rises to cup your face softly, and you grip his forearm like it’s an anchor, his lips moving against yours like the tides; constant fluidity with a calm power just beneath the surface, and you’re lost to it, caught in his riptide with no hope or desire to ever get out.

Colours swim behind your eyes, and your arm begins to go numb, fingers falling slack and dropping off his forearm. As an enveloping nothingness creeps into the corners of your mind, slowly pulling you from Namjoon, the last thing you’re aware of is the worried call of your name, before you fall into that black ocean.

TWO MONTHS LATER

Jin glances up at you with a start as you drop the heavy manila folder on his desk. His widened eyes drop to it, the fresh red ink stamped across the top, a thick rubber band holding countless slips of paper, photographs, typewritten transcripts and photocopies, all the written evidence and reporting of the case.

Your boss straightens up, like in the presence of someone important. “This it?” he questions simply, though his tone belies the significance of the item on his desk. You give a short nod, tamping down the smirk that threatens to tug at your lips. “And the online report?”

“Submitted,” you answer, unable to control the smug warmth in your voice.

Jin pats the top of the thick file fondly, eyes darting back up to you. “The families?”

“Notified,” you respond dutifully, though something keeps you slightly fidgety, absentmindedly massaging your forearm, feeling the raised line of the scar you were left with.

This doesn’t go unnoticed by the man swaying side to side on his office chair. His face softens, a tender smile emerging. “And young Mister Kim?”

Your hand goes still as you break his knowing gaze. “I- Well, I figured it would be best if I did a courtesy visit, just to, you know, talk it through properl-”

“It’s okay,” Jin cuts in, “I’m not going to lecture you. I really appreciate that you put this case first and kept...that on standby, but your obligation is over. As much as I hate to admit it, he’s a good one.”

You smirk, tilting your head playfully. “Is that your way of giving me permission, Kim Seokjin?”

A light blush tints the tips of his ears red as he splutters defensively. “God, no,” he scoffs, “if it were up to me, you’d stay pure and innocent forever.”

He breaks off to send you a salacious wink to let you know he’s joking around, and you laugh, turning to leave. Your hand rests on the doorknob of his office door before he speaks up again. “Y/n?”

“Yeah?” you reply without looking, opening the door and letting yourself hover half-inside, half-out.

Jin’s voice is warm, full of tender fondness that could only be cultivated by years of working side by side. “You’re my best girl, you know that?”

You flick him one last grin. “Right back atcha.”

He beams happily, and you’re already out of the office before you hear the offended cry of him processing your words.

Namjoon’s front door is open when you pull up, gravel crunching below your feet. Your first instinct is alarm, especially considering what went down the last time you were here, but it doesn't seem like anything ominous.

In fact, as you approach, you realise it's quite the opposite. A rich smell wafts out the open door, somewhat familiar yet unique scent that you can't quite put your finger on. You take a step inside, calling out his name, but recoil when, instead of the glossy wood of the entryway, your shoe lands on something soft and springy. You look down, eyes widening in bewilderment at the sight that greets you.

Piled at the front door and winding down and around the hallway are countless fresh rose petals, the same dusky pink shade that you recognise from his flower garden outside. Did he have someone over?

You call his name out again, but instead of a response, you strain your ear to hear a faint melodic hum, a honeyed tune that invites you in.

Leaving your coat and shoes at the door, you follow the trail of petals, careful not to step on any more. You find yourself smiling as you notice some of them with rips and tears at the base, others squished or bent, like he was in a hurry when deflowering the rose bushes.

Both the enticing smell and the dreamy humming crescendo the further along you follow the path of rose petals. They're leading you towards the workshop, through the living room and kitchen, but part of you knew that the moment you walked in the door. It was the heart and soul of the house, and it didn't surprise you that he was in there.

In fact, as your socked feet slip slightly on the smooth tiles of the kitchen, you pinpoint one of the delicate fragrances that fill the air. It's the scent of roses.

"Namjoon?" This time, as you call his name a third time, you open the door to the workshop further, and step inside, eyes searching. Although it's a strange mirror of the last time you were here, your heart is beating out of your chest for a different reason.

When you see him, it's like you're falling in love for the first time, though you've long since accepted over that long two months apart that you had been totally head over heels with him for a lot longer. But still, your heart swells, and you can't help but beam warmly at the sight that greets you.

Namjoon's so entirely engrossed in what he's doing that you don't think he even heard you, still lost in his own melody, something you begin to recall is from a romance movie or a ballet, classical and moving.

His tall figure is bent over the central island bench, using a massive tub with a spout to pour a dusky pink wax into several glass jars, the long, uncut wicks held upright with little metal rods that lie across the top of the jar. His biceps strain under his messy green t-shirt, and the hulking tub is almost the size of his torso, yet his hands don't shake the slightest, and he manages to fill each jar to the same height, about a couple centimetres below the rim, without pouring any over those metal rods. He works quickly, but even if it took him an hour you're convinced you would've happily stood there in awed silence the whole time, unwilling to disturb him.

His hummed tune stops, and he pours a single sample candle in focussed silence, before picking up a new train of notes, a composition you recognise as a Chopin tune, Nocturne-something, but a much lower version, coming from the resonance of his throat. As you watch him closely, his eyebrows move with the music, knitting together and lifting on the higher notes, a subconscious smile tugging at his closed mouth.

As he reaches the end of the rows of empty glasses, the molten wax in the tub running low, he loses track of the rhythm, diverting into his own stream of haphazard runs and melodies, something that's even more endearing to you. Fuck, you're smitten.

Finally, as he puts down the heavy tub on the concrete floor with a sigh, rolling his shoulders back and wiggling his fingers to relax the muscles, you clear your throat loudly, making him jump in his spot and whirl around, eyes widening at your presence.

"Y/n? You got here fast!"

Your smile falters, replaced by a look of confusion. "I... what?"

Namjoon seems to realise belatedly what he said, wincing at himself with a sheepish laugh. "Uh, maybe I got a call from a certain someone...saying to expect you..."

Jin. You nod. "Figures." But then, a thought strikes you, and you glance back the way you came, at the path of rose petals that leads away behind you like the tail of a comet. "So this is all for me?"

Namjoon's eyes are bright, no glasses to obstruct them. You tamp down a grin at the fond memory of his theory about not wearing his glasses while in the workshop, that his sense of smell was better with poor vision. It is so clear to you that every atom in him, every moment and every thought, was filled with nothing but love for his craft.

You want that love yourself, even just a fraction of it. To see if his hands would take as much care with you as with the production of those candles. To know if the sounds that left his throat then would be as melodic as his absent-minded humming.

You squeeze your eyes shut for a moment to return your mind to the present moment, where Namjoon's tender gaze is on you, eyes searching your face with an open vulnerability.

"Of course it's all for you," he says simply, and the casual intimacy of his comment runs shivers down your spine. "It's done, isn't it?" he questions. "It's over."

Your eyes crinkle with the warmth of your smile. You nod, not trusting your voice.

"Come here," he instructs gently, tilting his head down at the slowly cooling candles. As you approach the bench, he darts away, returning with a paper sticker stuck to his pointer finger. Picking a candle at random, he holds it level so as not to disrupt the wax, and wraps the sticker around the side of the glass, ensuring the corners are flat and snug against the curve. "Here, smell this. It's what I've been working on while the store was closed for the trial."

You're sure to handle the glass jar with as much care as he does when he gives it to you. You couldn't deny the hours you had spent at your desk, or in court, wondering what Namjoon was doing. Your higher-ups, the men Jin reported to, had deemed it necessary to temporarily shut down Moni's Candle Shop over the period of the trial, knowing the unsavoury publicity it might receive, and while increased footfall and news coverage proved them right, you knew it must have bothered Namjoon immensely to be separated from it for so long. It seemed at least he had been productive.

Without reading the label, you lift the opening to your nose, recoiling slightly when the overpowering scent hits your nostrils.

Namjoon laughs, placing a warm hand over your much smaller one, pressing down so that your face was at a safe enough distance from the candle. "Wax smells a lot stronger when heated," he explains with a laugh in his tone, "so maybe don't dip your nose in it."

You flick him a dry look, though you can't keep serious for longer than a moment, too focussed on the heavy weight in your hands. Sniffing, more delicately this time, your eyes slip shut in bliss as you breathe in the enveloping scent. Just one inhale eases your muscles, relaxes your brow, and brings a soft smile to your face.

The first thing you recognise is that perfumed sweetness of the rose, but it's deepened with hints of something incredibly familiar, something you just can't put your finger on, even as it makes your heart swell in your chest.

"What is that?" you question with a confused lilt to your voice, tentatively raising it higher inch by inch in the hopes that you'll finally get it.

Namjoon's eyes glitter; like he's forgotten until now, his hand suddenly shifts from resting on top of yours to cupped below, as he pulls your hand further away from your face, stretching your arm out and up. "Read the label," he replies instead, turning the glass jar around within your grasp, until the paper faces you. You feel his eyes on you as your expression changes with the carefully handwritten words.

"Namjoon..." you breathe, feeling yourself tear up a little, overwhelmed with the emotions that flooded your senses.

His fingers cover the corners, but you can still easily make out what it says.

He’s pulling the candle out of your hand gently, placing it back on the counter top, but you don’t look away from his face for a second. He’s avoiding your gaze like he’s shy, fiddling with a patch of dried wax on the hem of his shirt, but he looks up in surprise when you take a large step forward, enough for his hands to be trapped between you. He wiggles them out, where they awkwardly hover at his sides like he doesn’t know what to do with them. He looks so unsure of himself, yet his eyes are so earnest, that it melts you.

“Namjoon,” you repeat softly, “can I ask you a question too?”

He blinks once, taken off-guard. He nods silently, a tense, jerky movement.

A warm smile breaks across your face as you look up at him, at the man you’ve irrevocably fallen in love with. Your voice is barely louder than a whisper, but it doesn’t matter when you stand so close. “Will you kiss me?”

There’s a single moment that separates the two of you. A single moment where all the tension floods from his body. Where his mouth drops slightly open and his eyebrows lift in surprise. Where an involuntary sigh of relief leaves his parted lips.

And then those lips are on yours, and you’re apart no longer.

Namjoon kisses you like you’re more delicate than the glass of those jars, like you’re more precious than all the ingredients that line his shelves, like you mean the world to him, and it takes your breath away.

He kisses slow, every sliver of contact cherished and savoured, your face cupped between his palms, thumbs rubbing soothingly at your cheekbones as he tips your face up higher towards him, so he can breathe you in. With languid yet fevered movements, Namjoon deepens the kiss until your nerves are on fire, his body heat against you only adding to the blaze, the occasional slip of tongue sending jolts of electricity down your spine. You feel alive, more now than you have for years, and his scent and his taste and the murmur in his throat are the anchors that tie you to him, to this feeling.

Desperate to be closer, you reach up and fist handfuls of his shirt in your hands, the fabric warmed by his body, and tug him more securely against you. He reflexively drops a hand from your face to wrap his arm around your back, and tilts his head to the side slightly to intensify the kiss even further, raw need quickening the pace even as his lips stay soft and sensual against yours.

When he eventually pulls away to take a breath, the two of you are panting, and you can see his eyes are blown wide with desire, nothing but a narrow ring of rich brown around his dilated pupils.

You heart leaps at the way he keeps you pressed to him, cupping your face with a tender smile playing at his lips. “Yes,” you announce warmly.

His head tilts to the side. “Yes…? Yes what?”

Your grin stretches. “It’s the answer to your question.” You gesture with a tip of your chin to the slowly-solidifying candles. “Yes, I’ll be yours. So; will you be mine too?”

You think you could stay in this moment forever; snug in his warm embrace, lips still tingling from where he’s kissed you, cheek hot where his large palm rests. From the way he looks down at you, you imagine he feels quite the same.

“Oh, my love,” he assures softly, “I’ve been yours all along.”

[justahopelessssromantic]

A/N: Hey everyone! Thank you for all the love ☺️ Here’s part one ❤️ I hope you all enjoy. Again if you want to be added to the tag list for this story just let me know and I will do so!

Monica followed behind Maddie as she ran to her grandpa jumping into Hank’s arms as she did every time she greeted her grandpa. She giggled as he threw her over his shoulder tickling her. Monica smiled watching them as she caught up to the two.

“Hey kid,” Hank greeted his daughter, pulling her in for a kiss to her temple just as he had done since she was a little girl. “How are my two favorite girls doing?”

“We’re good.” Monica smiled back at him. “Someone couldn’t wait to see her grandpa.” She teased giving her daughter a tickle as well resulting in a shriek. “Are you sure it’s okay for me to leave her here for a little while today?”

“Of course it is.” Hank reassured Monica. “We could use an extra hand today anyways.”

“Hey, I thought I heard the little squeals of our little gremlin.” Angel teased coming out of the clubhouse.

“Angel! I’m not a gremlin!” Maddie giggled, wiggling out of Hank’s arms to run over to Angel playfully swatting at him.

Maddie ruled here at the clubhouse and scrapyard. She had all the Mayan men wrapped around her little finger and she knew it. She may not have her father exactly in her life but all the guys made up for that.

“Chucky made cookies.” Angel told Maddie getting her to settle down on her attack. He chuckled ruffling her hair before extending his hand out. “How about we go sneak a few.”

“Oh yes!” She beamed taking his hand. “Bye Momma!” She called back to Monica before skipping off into the clubhouse with Angel in tow.

Monica laughed watching the two. Once they disappeared inside she turned back to her father. “Call me if you need anything.” Monica told him. “And please, please don’t let her have everything she wants.”

“Okay, I promise, but I can’t make any promises for the other guys.” Hank chuckled as Monica gave him ‘that’ look. The very same look her mother used to give him all the time before she passed. Hank held his hands up. “Okay, I’ll make sure they get the same message.”

“Thank you Dad.” Monica kissed his cheek. “I will only be gone for a couple of hours.”

“Just take as long as you need. We can handle it."

Angel closed the door behind them as he and Maddie entered the clubhouse.

“Good morning Coco and Riz.” Maddie sang as she entered with Angel. “How are you this lovely morning?”

The men smiled at the lively young girl who lit up their lives. “We’re doing fantastic.” Riz smiled at her. “And how is our Maddie doing?”

“Amazing! Angel told me Chucky has cookies!”

“I sure do!” Chucky exclaimed coming out of the kitchen carrying a tray of cookies. “Do you want chocolate chip or oatmeal raisin?”

Maddie held her chin thinking about her decision for a minute. “How about both!”

Coco smiled sitting back as he took a swig of his beer. Maddie was lucky. She was the spitting image of her mother, nothing like him, at least nothing noticeable.

A little over five years ago he and Monica had a sort of friends with benefits relationship. No one knew and that's how they preferred it. Monica had just gotten out of a relationship and needed a rebound and Coco welcomed the company in his bed. It was simple, no strings attached.

But then Monica found out she was pregnant. She decided she was going to keep the baby and they both came to the agreement that it was best if he wasn’t involved in her life, at least not as her father.

In the long run Coco felt it was best to be involved as little as possible in his children’s lives. Monica was different from his other baby mama’s though. She was family, a part of the club. He couldn’t just avoid her and Maddie and he couldn’t ask her to leave. They made their odd situation work.

All that really mattered was their arrangement worked for them. She was a great mother and the club helped her raise Maddie. Coco got to watch his child grow without the fear of fucking up her life.

It was a win win all around.

Maddie sat at the bar with her plate of cookies. Her feet dangled off the stool as she kicked them back and forth. "Can I have some milk, please?" Maddie asked through a mouthful of cookie.

"I'll get it." Coco said as he was heading towards the kitchen anyways.

Angel reached for the other cookie on Maddie's plate which resulted in her slapping his hand away. He chuckled, ruffling her hair as he reached over to grab his own cookie. He loved picking on his little gremlin.

Maddie glared at him as she took another bite of her cookie. Her scowl immediately turned into a smile as wide as her tiny face when Coco set the glass of milk down in front of her.

"Thank you Coco!" She grabbed the cup guzzling the milk in record time.

"Wow, you must be thirsty." Coco commented as he watched her set the now empty cup down.

"So thirsty." She sighed, wiping his mouth. "Can I have some more please?"

Coco chuckled, taking her cup to get her some more milk. "Of course princesa."

****

Monica set the last of the bags in the back of her suv before shutting the door. One of her best friends Alex had come with her to shop for Maddie's birthday party. She hadn't stopped talking up this guy who was a friend of a friend who she said would be a great match for Monica.

"I'm just saying you aren't getting any younger Monica. Would it really be so bad to go on one date with him?"

Monica crossed her arms. "You know how I feel about blind dates."

"Just give him a chance at least." Alex wasn't going to back down on this. "You're free Friday aren't you? Maddie is already going to be at your father's for the night. You might as well take advantage of the night off."

"My definition of taking advantage of my night off is catching up on my shows and having one too many glasses of wine."

"I get it, I do. Dating isn't exactly the easiest thing when you're a single mother but that doesn't mean you just give up entirely." Alex just wanted Monica to take a chance.

Monica knew Alex understood. They both were in the same boat. Monica met Alex in a single parents group and instantly became great friends with her. What was even better was their children got along as well so play dates were a breeze.

"I just don't think I'm ready for another guy to get scared off the minute I mention Maddie." It's not that she hadn't tried dating after Maddie was born.

"You don't have to worry about that with Luke. He already knows about Maddie. I can tell you anything you want to know about him too, that way you feel prepared."

"I don't know Alex." Monica sighed leaning against her car. "It's been a long time since I've had any dates."

Alex scratched the back at her neck as she looked down. She knew Monica would not be happy with what she was about to say. "I may have... kind of already told him you were in." Alex gave Monica a half smile hoping to lighten the blow of her confession.

"You're kidding me right?"

"You and I both know you'd never go through with it on your own. I'm just trying to help give you a nudge in the right direction.” Alex looked at her pleading, “Come on Mon, just give him a chance."

Monica ran her hands over her face groaning. Peaking out of her fingers she saw Alex standing there with the same pleading look she gave her still upon her face. Fine, she would do this, if only to put an end to this topic. "Fine. I will give him a chance, for you."

"Great!" Alex grabbed her hand pulling her to the front of the car. "I will give you all the details on the way back to my place."

Having just dropped Alex off Monica was finally back at the scrapyard to pick up Maddie. Alex gave her an overwhelming amount of detail for Friday's date. She was feeling a bit overwhelmed but tried to push the anxiety to the back of her mind for now. She couldn't wait to see her baby girl, she always managed to make her feel better.

Maddie picked her head up from where she was watching Creeper work on his bike and caught Monica walking into the yard heading her way.

"Momma!" She shot up leaving Creeper there as she ran for her.

"Oh my, what happened to your dress baby?" Monica crouched down eyeing the new makeshift dress Maddie was wearing out of one of the Romero work shirts.

"I got a new one! Isn't it pretty?" Maddie twirled around showing off her outfit.

Creeper wiped his hands on his jeans as he walked over to the two. "Someone found a mud puddle." He said ruffling Maddie's hair.

"Of course she did. I knew I should have packed a spare change of clothes."

"She's just like another little girl I remember always playing in the mud and getting into trouble." Bishop commented grinning as he stood up from the picnic table putting out his cigarette.

Watching Maddie grow was like getting a glimpse in the past to the days when Monica was running around the clubhouse carefree. After Madison, Monica's mother passed away, the club stepped up to help raise her along with Vicky and the girls just as they had done now for Monica with Maddie.

They do say it takes a village and there was no better village than that of the club.

“Me? Getting into trouble?” Monica played innocent smiling, “Never.”

Creeper pulled Monica into a side hug giving her a kiss on the head playfully. “Definitely not our sweet angel.” He chuckled. “Maddie must get that from her father.” He reached down ruffling her hair again.

Maddie ducked out from under his hand. “My father?” She asked looking up at the three adults.

“Shit,” Creeper muttered under his breath realizing he fucked up. “Sorry.” He mouthed over to Monica who just gave him a smile reassuring him that it was alright and she wasn’t upset.

She knew eventually the father subject would come up.

“Hey that’s a bad word!” Maddie scolded Creeper forgetting all about her father for the moment. “You owe a quarter to the jar!”

Ever since Maddie uttered her very first curse word which then turned into her having a very bad potty mouth, maybe even worse than them, the guys realized they needed to watch their language better, at least when Maddie was around. To do so they set up a swear jar that at the end of each month the money would go towards a special treat for Maddie.

“You heard the boss, cough it up.” Bishop motioned towards the clubhouse where the jar was located. Creeper made his exit heading towards the clubhouse to deposit his fee.

Monica held her hand out to Maddie. It was getting late and they needed to be heading out. “Alright, it’s getting late. Are you ready to go home now?”

“Do we have to?” Maddie pouted jutting her bottom lip out as the tears threatened to pool in her eyes. She wasn’t ready to go, the clubhouse was her favorite place. “Can’t I stay a little longer and go home with grandpa?”

Monica crouched down cupping her little face in her hand. “Not tonight baby, you’re staying with grandpa on Friday night remember?”

“Yeah.” She sighed, rubbing her eye with her little fist. Monica knew it didn’t help that she was tired.

Straightening up Monica took Maddie’s hand in hers. “Come on, we’ll see everyone again tomorrow I’m sure.”

“Goodnight princesa,” Bishop bent over giving her a hug. “You be good for your Momma okay?”

“Okay.” Maddie gave him a smile. “Goodnight Bishop.”

“I’ll bring the shirt back tomorrow.” Monica told Bishop.

“Don’t worry about it.” They had plenty of shirts around the yard. They weren’t going to miss it. “She can keep it.”

Maddie’s smile grew as she began playing with her new dress again, twisting back and forth so it would flow around her.

“Thank you.” Monica gave Bishop a quick hug before they left. “Goodnight Bishop.”

“Goodnight.”

Later that night after dinner, bath, and a bedtime story, Monica snuggled close to Maddie in her small bed. She tucked her in making sure she was snug and handed her her favorite stuffed unicorn.

“Goodnight my love.” Monica murmured, kissing Maddie’s head. “Sweet dreams.”

Maddie hugged her unicorn tighter as she prepared to uttered the words Monica had been dreading since she was born. “Momma, where is my father? How come I don’t have a daddy?”

“What do you mean baby?” Monica turned so she could face her better. She had a feeling this was coming tonight but she had hoped Creeper’s statement would be forgotten by now.

It wasn’t just Creeper that had Maddie’s mind on her father but also that of all the other kids she saw who all seemed to have a father but her. “Sarah from the park said that everyone has a daddy and Oliver’s daddy doesn’t live with his mommy but he still goes to see him on the weekends.” Oliver was Alex's son and Maddie’s best friend. “How come I don’t get to go see my daddy? Where is he?”

Monica sighed. She knew this would come some day but she wasn’t prepared to have this talk right now. The biggest thing she had learned as a parent was that most things she couldn’t prepare for.

Monica ran her hand through Maddie’s soft dark hair soothingly. “Sarah is right everyone does have a daddy but not everyone’s daddy’s are a part of their lives.”

“How come mine isn’t in mine?” Maddie looked into Monica’s eyes awaiting the answer to her question.

“Your daddy and I decided together that things would be better this way.” Monica said carefully.

“Did he not love me?” Maddie’s eyes began to well with tears breaking Monica’s heart.

“Oh baby, of course he loves you. He loves you so much that he did one of the hardest things a person can do, he put you first." Monica pulled Maddie close holding her tight. "You know even though he isn't here, he's always with you."

"How?" Maddie looked up at her.

"It's kind of like how grandma is always with us." She explained.

Maddie didn't have the chance to meet her grandma so Monica made it a point to keep her alive through stories not only for herself but for her daughter as well. She didn't remember much of her mother but she would recall everything she did to Maddie and share the stories others had told her through the years as well.

Monica wanted her to know about the woman she was named after. She wanted her daughter to know her grandmother.

"In our hearts?"

"Exactly." Monica smiled down at her. "He's a part of you and always will be. Just like grandma is a part of me and just as much a part of you even though you never met her. You may not have a daddy like everyone else but that’s okay because all that matters is that you are so so loved and always will be.”

Tag list: @carlaangel86 @starrynite7114 @mayans-sauce @capnsaveahoe

[captainsimagines]

Titanic || H.S

Part Five || “No Me Queda Mas”

Disclaimer: I do not own the pictures I use for title cards. Obviously. 

Warnings: This book contains mature themes and discussions, such as gun violence, emotional and physical abuse, attempted suicide, mentions of blood, character deaths, heavy sexual content, and reference to the real maritime disaster of the 1912 cruise liner Titanic.

“Exactly. But if you jump, I’m gonna have to jump in there after you.“

         Both Harry and Drake were up by seven in the morning, energetic and absolutely starving. They made sure to dress as quietly as they could, careful not to wake their other two roommates. They were men of the same age, around their late twenties, heading to the states to escape religious persecution. They had arrived later that day after they had picked up the remaining passengers from Ireland, both men talkative and equally as excited to start a new life. The four men chatted into the deep hours of the night and discussed a variety of topics. Perhaps the funnest topic they covered was women.

The two men were traveling with their girlfriends and since they were not legally married, they had to bunk in separate living quarters. Except their boyfriends had splurged what money they could to give them the best comfort as possible, and Harry learned their girlfriends were staying as second-class passengers. Drake made the joke about how first and second class weren’t all that different, and that these boys were living every poor man’s dream of being with a woman of practical royalty.

“They scream louder than any woman.”

“What do you mean?” Harry questioned.

“I mean,” Drake nudged his shoulder playfully, “they’re so touch-deprived that they practically melt from any man’s touch.”

“Man, shut the hell up!”

Everyone continued to joke and tease, and Harry wondered if that was indeed true. He had only been with two other women before - his first when he was seventeen and a woman he thought he loved at the age of twenty-four. He prided himself on the noises he caused, but he didn’t quite understand what Drake meant. Did upper-class women really not experience pleasure as often as women in love? Did upper-class women even fall in love? Do upper-class men not know how to perform? He understood the point of the joke, and although slightly misogynistic, Harry pondered on the societal gossip that sometimes proved true. It wasn’t like he was ever going to experience it to compare.

He and Drake tip-toed outside their room and locked it behind them. Breakfast was available until ten, but they wanted first dibs on the freshest stuff there.

It was a buffet style breakfast. They stacked their trays up high, first come - first serve, with buttered bread, sugar cookies, chicken noodle soup, and milk.

“They’re holding out on us. I saw them lugging buckets of grapes and strawberries up to first-class.”

Harry chuckled and sipped his milk, “Because they’re first-class.”

“Either way, this bread is delicious.”

And over breakfast they chatted about their past trips, skills, family, and aspirations. If it was possible, Drake spoke more than Harry. Once a conversation reached its end, Drake would easily glide into a new one. It was quite refreshing to speak to someone who didn’t shut you down or didn’t know how to carry a conversation. Harry paused Drake, however, when he mentioned that he was a trained carpenter.

“You build things?”

“Buildings. I build buildings.”

Harry shoved him, “That’s what I meant!”

Drake laughed along, “Yeah, my father was a carpenter. I built my Montana ranch from the ground up with my own two hands.”

Harry felt like meeting Drake was fate. Now he didn’t have to grovel and beg some New York carpenter to oversee the construction of a London business. If Drake agreed to help Harry build his bakery, he would at least trust the process more. A few sips of soup and some sugar cookies later and Harry considered Drake a closer friend than those he met on the playground.

“I have a proposition.”

“Well, Mr. Capitalist, I’m all ears.”

Harry grinned, “Would you like to help me build my family’s bakery? I would pay you generously and provide you housing during your extended stay in New York.”

Drake mimicked the act of deep thought, leaning forward and swishing around his cup of milk. “Hmm, a generous offer.”

“Or do you have to be back in Montana immediately?”

Please don’t. Please don’t. Please don’t.

“My brother has the ranch covered. I can write to him and let him know I’ll be bringing in a little extra cash.”

Harry jumped in his seat like an excited child, “Is that a ‘yes’?”

Drake chuckled and tried not to spill his milk as Harry shook his shoulders excitedly.

Drake was around five years older than Harry, thirty-two and thriving, so it made sense that he had this feeling of being an older brother to Harry. He was actually the youngest of his siblings, having older brothers at his side since birth. It was a blessing, and in a weird twist of plot, he felt like an attentive older brother sat here at breakfast. The way Harry’s bright smile lit up any room and the way he acted as if everything happened for a reason - he was almost tempted to give this kid the rest of his sugar cookies.

“Sure, man. I trust you’ll pay me.”

Harry nodded and while overflowing with joy, he slid his sketchbook in front of Drake and began reviewing the first couple sketches of the type of building he had in mind.

     You had been kept up late by your mother’s final walk-through of your stay room, complaining there were not enough towels and not enough space for your accessories on the bedside table. She acknowledged the vastness of the ship and its wonderful hospitality, but there was always something wrong in her mind. And all you could do was nod your head as you sat impatiently in the side chair as she worked the midnight crew through each fix.

So excuse your slow responses and tiny yawns at breakfast. The tables were beginning to clear out, with many still entering for early tea or a late meal. The breeze passed through the open doors and nipped at your cheeks, waking you up slightly from the boring chatter.

As the others spoke, you couldn’t help but think about yesterday and what weird a kiss you and Cal had shared. Was it supposed to feel good? You knew Cal had other women before as he was turning thirty-six just a week after your scheduled wedding. He was never so playful, especially not in front of waiting staff, so you pondered what that change in attitude could possibly mean. Or perhaps you were thinking too much, and he really just had a lapse in judgement.

You could make out talk about the weather, America’s current stock market, and ideas about what the cooks were going to prepare later today. Speak on topics that never interested you and never will interest you carried on for a few more minutes before everyone began ordering their second course. You pulled a cigarette and its holder from your handbag, expertly placed the cigarette inside the silver and inhaled the cooled, mellowed smoke. It woke you up instantly, also calming any nerves from the night before.

You didn’t like when Cal smoked and dusted your flooring, but the presence of a holder made all the difference. No mess, no stains on your fingers - just tranquility.

Your mother cleared her throat quietly as to only alert you, watching the other occupants of your table carry on with their conversation. She unfolded her napkin and placed it carefully across her lap. “You know I don’t like when you do that in public.”

Instead of rolling your eyes at her absurd worry, you inhaled the smoke deeply and exhaled across her view, clouding her face in your personal stress release. It was a power move, a move that you were allowed to execute since she was in control of literally every other aspect of your life. A little smoke shouldn’t anger her as much as it did, but any ounce of independence you still displayed could be interpreted as plain disobedience. And disobedience of your own family meant it resulted in disobedience within a marriage. But before you could establish dominance in one area of your life - your own body - Cal reached over to pull the cigarette from its holder and extinguished it on one of the side plates. You narrowed your eyes, ashamed of the control he proved he had.

“She knows,” Cal chuckled, ignoring your look of embarrassment and instead calling over the waiter who was making his rounds.

A woman you had met briefly yesterday as she boarded from Ireland, Molly, was invited to sit at your breakfast table by one of the men here, yet you couldn’t remember which one. She was a small woman, dressed in a comfortable dress that didn’t quite match the occasion of a late breakfast, but she wore it proudly. She was sweet, strong-willed, and almost always proved louder than anyone else in the room. You liked her personality as it was entirely different from everyone else you had ever met. Although your mother called her “new money” with a nasty grimace on her face, you only saw her for what she was - independent and vocal.

But here you were now, being dehumanized in front of practical strangers, and you looked up to see Molly’s surprised expression. She lowered her arm to extinguish her own cigarette on her ashtray. To continue smoking freely after you had been refused your tiny refuge seemed wrong, improper even. But you didn’t acknowledge her action, ears perking up as Cal restated your breakfast order.

“We’ll both have the lamb, rare, with very little mint sauce.”

You absolutely hated lamb. Any type of meat, really, and the thought of having to stuff it down so you wouldn’t starve maddened you.

“You like lamb, right Sweetpea?”

You plastered a thin, wide smile as you turned to your fiancé, your face almost comical and proving so as Cal took it as a real ‘yes’.

By now your little squabble had gained attention from all at your table. Molly began laughing loudly to cut through the tension, raising her water glass to take a quick sip.

“You gonna cut and chew her meat there too, huh Cal?”

Your mother turned to her sharply but Molly was unmoved, deciding to change the subject to something more interesting. Cal interlocked his fingers together and rested his hands above his belt buckle, looking across the table at Molly with a more calm look compared to your mother, but still hardened with displeasure.

“Say, who thought of the name ‘Titanic’? Was it you, Bruce?” Molly asked.

Bruce Ismay, the chairman of the White Star Line, seemed ecstatic to receive questions about the ship. As of that month, it was his greatest accomplishment and current world wonder, his newborn creation that deserved any and all praise given. He nodded happily and swallowed the piece of fruit hurriedly to answer Molly’s question.

“Yes, yes,” he answered, cleaning his mouth with a napkin. “Mr. Andrews here built her from the ground up!”

Thomas Andrews, a shipbuilder and main architect for Titanic, was shy with any compliment he received, deciding to accept the praise quickly and return the attention back to Ismay. “But the idea was all Mr. Ismay’s! He envisioned a liner so grand in scale...”

You began to drown the conversation out. Cal insisted on dining with specific groups of people. From your point of view, it worked almost like a ranking. Ismay and Andrews were certainly important people on this ship and had first hand experience with such social circles, but they were no John Jacob Astor. The most Cal and your mother did was share morning greetings with Astor, who dined with his wife in a more private section of the same dining hall. Cal had always maintained your titles of royalty, saying that only a few dollars here and there separated you from a higher connection. And at dinner time your group expanded, including around ten others who were just as respectable.

“I wanted to convey sheer size with her name! And size means stability, luxury, and above all, strength,” Ismay spoke.

You sucked in a low breath, ready to make a select few laugh and others seethe. “Do you know of Dr. Freud, Mr. Ismay?”

Mr. Ismay turned to you in silent astonishment, surprised by the first complete sentence you had spoken all breakfast. But he smiled and shook his head ‘no’ at the name. You felt your mother reach her hand under the table to cup your arm.

“His opinion about the male preoccupation with size might be of particular interest to you.”

Your mother’s fingernails dug deep into your forearm. “What has gotten into you?”

But Molly and Mr. Andrews enjoyed your comment, laughing under their breaths.

You smiled sweetly and tore your arm away from your mother, standing and excusing yourself from the table. Both Mr. Ismay and Mr. Andrews stood out of respect for your departure. You exited the room to walk out on deck.

Cal took in slow breaths to steady his rising anger, avoiding other’s eyes so that they wouldn’t notice the effect you had on him. But Molly, with her rapid wit and steady toughness, wouldn’t let Cal live this down.

“She’s a pistol, Cal. Hope you can handle her!”

Cal crinkled his eyes and chuckled as to brush off your misbehavior. “I might just have to mind what she reads from now on, don’t I?”

Mr. Ismay sat down and readjusted his tie. “Freud, who is he? Is he a passenger?”

     It was bullshit that third-class passengers were barred from touring certain areas of the ship. All Harry wanted was a better view of the ship’s structure so he could outline it. He mainly drew portraits but he had promised his mother he would show her his drawings of the best parts of the ship, like the grand staircase, fashion, the giant steam funnels, even the food. But third-class passengers weren’t allowed in first-class areas without the proper approval, having to eat from a choice of about four foods each day and reduced to simply imagining what the giant clock looked like.

So Harry doodled anything he found interesting - the dogs who traveled down to third-class to take a shit, the coast of Ireland as Titanic sailed past, and third-class passengers with their children, card games, and instruments. He was currently drawing a man holding his daughter up against the railing to see the water, focusing on the detail of their clothing and their happy expressions. Drake watched Harry work his magic, grinning every single time Harry drew the next precise detail accurately. It wasn’t exactly common knowledge, but Drake swore that every human wanted to have this specific talent. Anyone who disagreed wasn’t human.

“I can’t believe you got the eyes right,” Drake scoffed, inhaling smoke from his reduced cigarette.

Harry grinned at the comment, smudging the charcoal over the two foreheads to create the shading. Looking from the models to his paper, he completed another detail that impressed his friend. He was almost finished, brushing his index finger over certain parts. Drake greeted some friends he met at last night’s dinner as they walked past and rested in the surrounding benches. He motioned them over to Harry’s work.

Drake nodded in approval at all the compliments Harry received, “Do you make any money off your drawings?”

It’s quite possibly every artist’s worst nightmare, to scribble incorrectly over a good drawing, completely ruining the fine detail it took too long to accomplish. But as Harry’s pencil scraped over that crumpled piece of paper, the air around him and the water under him spoke to his artistic desires, telling him to wreak havoc on his flimsy sheet and to never stop. The somewhat endless black line did indeed stop once it reached the edge and to the fabric of his tan pants, leaving a light but visible charcoal mesh on his only pair. His eyes, as well as his clouded mind, ignored his major mistake and instead focused on the yellow fabric that begged to flap higher in the cool, ocean breeze.

His eyes traveled through every detail- the white lace clinging to the base yellow, the pearls hugging your waistline and wrapping around your backside to function as buttons, the baroque beauty of your neck and the lace wrapped around it, your brown skin glistening underneath the sun, and your red lips sculpted into a memorable pout - all of it entered Harry’s viewpoint in what seemed like forever but only took a mere second. One glorious second for Harry to stumble into a world he knew he could never abandon. The curl in your hair, the frown on your face, the gentle nature of your grip on the forbidden first-class railing - all of it a disastrous craving that would for sure develop into a blister on the lip if Harry didn’t get a smell of your lavish locks and accidentally brush the tip of his nose against the priceless diamonds draped through each curl, or get a taste of the red syrup staining your plump lips and accidentally bite it a little too hard to muster a moan of pleasure rich women kill to produce, or get to feel the touch of your fingertips against his palms, his face, his chest, his back as you left streaks of bright red. These prohibited images knocked against the padded confines of his thick skull and he felt like he completely violated the law with such an absurd idea.

But as you furrowed your eyebrows and focused on another focal point - Harry himself - he felt as if every inch of your being was worth being imprisoned for. His forbidden sweet creature.

You stared at the stranger briefly before looking back at the waves beyond the bow of the ship. Yet, you continued to feel his powerful gaze. You didn’t feel uncomfortable with his locked stare, but you wondered if he was possessed, spiraling through a trance that you had become a victim of. Was his gaze good or bad? Was he seriously entranced or judging your physique? Walking away would break the spell, but you stayed glued to the railing for some reason, watching the waves make way for Titanic’s many entrances.

You heard the voice in your head instruct your view to stay on the water, but you disobeyed for once, unaware of such a lovely decision until you locked eyes with your third-class admirer. You have always gotten attention from anyone you encountered, both pleasant and unpleasant, but attention nonetheless. And the waves of this particular admiration traveled through the misty breeze and onto your blushed cheeks, pinching them with a silent yelp, a plea, an almost beggarly request for your consideration. So you obliged its want, gazing across the third-class gatherings to the man sitting on one of the few benches on deck, surrounded by confused and teasing passengers who looked between you and him, wondering if you were going to break first from the rare situation. A situation that many never considered legitimate, possible, or even appropriate. But the lot of you were on the blue waves and the bubbly foam and the impressive craft of a thousand good Irishmen that welcomed the rare and extraordinary.

He was attractive - his short hair dancing in the air one curl at a time, his broad form rising to sit up straight when he realized you were also admiring him, and his eyes never blinking as to not miss anything you might do. And he had this magnetic pull, almost as if he was screaming at you to come down and speak with him. You felt somewhat disgusted with yourself, imagining a normal conversation with a normal person, a very handsome person, whose gaze alone made you feel a tingle at your fingertips and caused a tiny grin to break on your face. It wasn’t appropriate to be thinking of another man this way when you had never felt this way for the man you were to marry. And yesterday’s kiss did not equate to the powerful senses you were currently experiencing.

You hoped he didn’t see your grin, but Harry did. He caught it instantly, his heart pounding and his hands instructing him to quickly sketch the curve.

By now Drake was waving a hand over Harry’s face to see if that broke off his view, but Harry simply leaned forward, unaware of the obstruction and oh so enchanted by that tiny grin you hadn’t dropped.

“Oh, forget it, Harry! It’s like angels flying out your ass to get next to the likes of her.”

To be seen, thought of, recognized as a human being and not glossed over as some extra - the recognition of plain existence excited you to new extremes. And just as your mind told you to unlock the first-class gate and venture over to your admirer, real life interrupted in the form of Cal’s tamed grip on your upper arm.

You dropped your gaze quickly, hoping Cal did not realize your original viewpoint, and looked down at the unwanted physical connection between you.

"Why must you defy your mother’s orders and misbehave in front of friends?”

You pulled yourself away from his tightening grip. “I have already received this lecture from my own mother. I do not need to hear it again.”

Cal let out a low chuckle, “Then why must you not listen? You embarrassed me.”

You fought the urge to yell and relay yet another disapproving tone. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. I’m not feeling well this morning.”

And with that fake apology, Cal hummed in sympathy and tugged you in for a short hug. “Why didn’t you just say so? It could have saved us the humiliation.”

You sucked in a harsh breath at his choice of words to avoid the frustrated tears, pulling away and patting his chest as you excused yourself to your stay room. He groaned as he suspected he had done something else wrong, but did not dare to follow you this time.

Drake shook his head in discontent, “A man like that should be grateful to have a woman like her.”

Other passengers shared their agreement, whistling and all. They teased Harry and shoved him playfully, congratulating him for the impossible. And as you walked from Harry’s eyesight back into the ship, he rejoined the conversation briefly before he began a simple illustration of your eyes.

Drake sat back down on the same bench as Harry as all the chatter died down, looking over at Harry’s paper. He rolled his eyes and smiled.

“She really did a number on you, huh? I’m all for going after the unreachable but this is truly unreachable, boy-yo.”

Harry stopped his tracing to look up at Drake, “I know… but she saw me, too.”

Drake furrowed his eyebrows, wondering if Harry was simply awestruck or serious. And with a slight chuckle of disbelief, Drake muttered, “that she did.”

A moment passed before Drake spoke again, deciding on letting Harry live in his little fantasy for the rest of the day. He tapped Harry’s stack of papers with his index finger. “I’m sure you’ll do her justice.”

And Harry did.

     If you stood in the middle of the room and screamed at the top of your lungs, you were certain no one would even look up. Because besides your impressive attitude you were known for, your problems seemed minuscule compared to others. No one seemed to piece together why you were the way you were, opting for society’s sexist explanations instead of simply asking you.

Just a few hours ago you were seen and not looked over quickly - you felt appreciated and noticed. Now, even in a room with hundreds of people and many sat at the same table as you, you weren’t even acknowledged. Perhaps it was because you never spoke - you couldn’t blame them for not noticing you then. But then again, when you did speak and Cal silenced or interrupted you, discrediting even opinions, no one minded.

They were the same endless parties, the same narrow people, and the same mindless chatter. Like they flipped a switch each night and wiped their slate clean, ready for the same routine the very next day with no complaints at all. And it frightened you that this would remain your routine, the same routine you had already lived for twenty-two years, with no way out and no ‘off’ button.

You felt as if you were floating away, heavy and lightweight at the same time, feeling yourself blink every few minutes. Your eyes focused on one point - the ashtray in the middle of the rounded table, even as people from surrounding tables came to greet your mother and Cal. You kept track of time by the impressive height of the gray ash, some landing outside the tray and onto plates. It grew higher… and higher… and your food was barely picked at, Cal was reaching over you every so often to tap his cigarette on the tray, and your mother was on her fourth glass of champagne.

They didn’t see that you weren’t eating. How does someone not notice that someone isn’t eating at a dinner?

You reached over for your champagne glass, your hand shaking slightly as you downed the rest of it. Everyone’s voices were becoming silent, like you were covering both ears or going deaf, and as Cal reached over to give you a kiss on the cheek, your eyes were suddenly heavy.

“Please, excuse me, Cal. I need to run to our room really quickly.”

Cal paused his conversation with Astor to turn to you. “Are you alright? Would you like me to escort you to the cabin?”

And you smiled, “I’ll be fine.”

It was a really nice gesture, but in Cal’s mind it was simple chivalry.

You stood up, your feet sore and the nerves bunching together throughout your legs. The laughter seemed to grow as you exited, and now those nerves shocked you into running.

You barged into your stay room, ignoring the obvious worry the staff gave you, their questions of tea or more blankets flying over your head. You simply speed-walked past them, hiding your face behind your curls so they would not see your very real tears, staining the powder on your cheeks and leaving visible streaks lighter than your natural color. You leaned back on the door and tried to drown out the drunken laughs and loud violins. Controlling your breathing was easy at first until you opened your eyes and saw a mass explosion of gold, the intricate designs of each piece of cloth, the carvings in the wood encasing your mirror, your freshly made bed that Cal had jokingly suggested he’d crawl into late at night. You swallowed the itch in your throat, walking to the make-up table to drop the pins you began tearing from your hair. One-by-one you let each curl fall to your shoulder, their lost weight causing your headband of diamonds to fall to the floor. You silently deliberated what the name of your maid was, cursing yourself for forgetting when she had so nicely introduced herself last night. But then her name slid from your tongue, and you almost cried from the sudden joy.

“Trudy?” you called, starting to hyperventilate. “Trudy?”

You reached behind you to unbutton your dress, but your shoulders just wouldn’t bend far enough. Suffocated, you clawed at the loose hanging jewels instead, pinching and stretching the skin on your back that you could reach.

“Trudy!” you began to choke on your breath, yelling louder each time you called the maid. So you tugged and ripped the silver necklace from your neck, threw your jewelry box across the room, and tossed a few perfume bottles you had packed so delicately against the wall.

“I can’t... I can’t,” you cried, knees partially crumbling beneath you as you leaned against the chair. You lifted your head to witness your disheveled look, hair a mess and mascara smudged just below your water line. Lips quivering, an intense wave of self-pity and self-hatred drowning your thoughts, exclaiming the few words that actually made it through your sore skull. You listened to them, repeated and mean, basically ordering you to listen and to follow.

“Ya no queda mas.”

There is nothing left.

You were indeed a follower - and you were going to oblige.

And so you abandoned everything, opening your room door and running through the crowded hallway full of oblivious passengers who swam in the bliss of a full stomach and buzzed fingertips and toes.

You ran across the deck to the stern of the ship, careless as to who or what you toppled along the way. Of course everyone took an interest, calling out to see if you needed assistance. But as you left their eyesight, their worry diminished and they assumed someone else would offer a hand. One right after the other, they allowed you to cross their paths and leave it in an instant.

Harry lay on a third-class bench, staring up at the starry night. With a cigarette in one hand and the other stuffed away warmly in his coat pocket, he wondered just exactly where in the hell that damn ‘Big Dipper’ was. Or the little one. Hell, any constellation for that matter. He loved watching the night sky, but the city smog hid most of the stars. Now, with only the steam from the funnels blocking his view, he focused on every star individually, losing track of them as time passed, each one beginning to look the same in size but different in brightness. They formed all kinds of shapes in Harry’s mind, but he could not find those documented ones the astronomers raved on about.

He could have sworn he saw the rectangular shape slightly, its handle coming into existence as the sound of sobbing arrived and left in a flash. He lifted himself up, cigarette hanging from his pink lips and eyebrows scrunched in confusion. He watched as you continued running, pausing to catch your breath at one of the benches.

He recognized that beautiful brown skin anywhere.

His feet hit the deck floor immediately once he saw that you weren’t stopping, instead walking towards the stern railing and looking over into the water. He jogged lightly, careful not to make much noise as you contemplated such a drastic decision. Perhaps you were going to change your mind, step away, take a deep breath and go back to your endless desserts and musical concerts. But he quickly hid behind a pole when you checked to see if anyone had followed you, slightly disappointed in the fact that no one did, and stepped onto the railing and swung a leg over.

“Fuck,” Harry whispered, his mind racing and thinking of a way to calmly and safely get you back onto the deck without frightening you. If he were to jump out now, you were for sure going to let go.

You turned around once more and back toward the water, this small gesture of goodbye to the ship and all on it finally settling within you. The waves were dark, not light blue like they were during the daytime. And they sounded louder and more angry, taunting you instead of offering tranquility. The thought of jumping when the sun was out danced around in your head, a more vibrant suicide seeming better suited for your needs.

But maybe you deserved to die in the dark with no other sound besides the unnerving crashing of water and massive propellers in a never ending motion of slicing. You thought about Cal and almost immediately recoiled, the last thought before you died an unhappy thought and not at all what you wanted it to be. Perhaps your mother or your father. Trudy. No one seemed to properly fit, so you settled on the image of your famed racehorse as you leaned away from the railing, hanging off and ready to fall. Your racehorse, dark brown and majestic, waiting for you to come home.

“Don’t do it.”

You gripped the railing tight, unaware that your initial hold was so loose, and you were moments away from leaving your misery behind.

You whipped your head to see who had followed you, stunned that this person was not from the first-class - the class that prides themselves on their selflessness and courage. He was from the third - the class that truly embodied all things selfless and are crucified for it.

“Stay back,” you begged, raising one hand up as if to physically stop him, but you quickly regretted it as you felt the tough winds push you ever so slightly. “Please don’t come near me.”

Harry contemplated his next move, inhaling some final smoke from his cigarette and stepped closer. He showed you the cigarette, stepping towards the railing to throw it overboard.

It was smart, you thought. He was going to come closer, you knew that. But to do it so discreetly as to not scare you - you were kind of grateful.

“Please just leave me alone,” you sobbed, looking back down to the rushing water. “I’ll let go.”

Harry stood dumbfounded, hands in his pockets and worry etched into his face. He remained calm, however, trusting in himself to sweet talk you back over the railing.

He cleared his throat, “No, you won’t.”

You scoffed, newly formed tears threatening to leave your eyes. “What?”

“You won’t do it.”

This time you looked up to the starry sky to gain clearance in thought but were intrigued nonetheless. Either you could snap at him and jump, or you could listen and come back over the railing. All you wanted to do now was sleep, as your head began feeling heavier by the second.

“What are you going on about? Don’t presume to tell me what I will or will not do! You don’t know me.”

Harry cleared his throat awkwardly, still trying to calm the situation down as easily as he could. But as your hands turned whiter as your grip strengthened and your voice began to crack, Harry knew he had to convince you this was not the answer.

He didn’t quite understand it - wanting to end your life at such a young age. By the look of your clothes and make-up, Harry could tell you had most material things the people in third-class would kill for. But there were sparkly tears on your waterline, contradicting the image of glory and wealth you so effortlessly portrayed, and the sounds of crashing waves waiting to gobble you up - the sense of you, the mere idea of that glory and wealth, - it absolutely bombarded any quick wit or joke Harry’s mouth was thinking of spitting. All rational from here on out.

“I’m sorry,” Harry spoke, bringing his hands up to breathe warm air into them. “I just don’t want you to experience the dip, is all.”

You stayed silent, staring at him as he stared at you.

“You know the water’s freezing. If you were to survive the fall, the cold would probably hurt more.”

Now your bottom lip quivered and the sudden realization of how cold the night air actually was hit you at that exact moment, and you internally begged for the stranger to step closer. “How cold?”

Harry shrugged, still trying his best to remain casual. “Most likely a couple degrees over.”

You stared at the black abyss beneath you, “I bet that would hurt.”

Harry chuckled lowly, taking the risk and stepping closer to you that a simple turn of the head was enough to see his whole face. And it dawned on you, swiftly and surely, that this was the boy who could not seem to stop staring at you earlier. He was much more handsome up close, and his voice was the final piece of the puzzle. “Exactly. But if you jump, I’m gonna have to jump in there after you.”

You laughed dryly, “You’re crazy. Absurd. The fall alone would kill you.”

Harry smirked to himself, focused on the way your wavy hair flew in all directions. He was getting you to speak more. He was buying time. So, he removed his jacket and warm vest to prove his statement.

“Yeah, it would hurt,” Harry shrugged, finally stepping close enough to hang across the railing with you. He glanced down to your shivering feet, fearful that the heels would unlock themselves and send you free falling. “Trust me, you don’t want to do this-”

“And how do you know that? Maybe I want to… die.” It resonated as a question in both your minds, the sinking sensation overwhelming your chest.

“We all die someday. I think the best part is not knowing when.”

You observed the boy’s face, studying his expression to somehow gain a better explanation as to what he possibly meant. You swallowed more tears, this time speaking in a low whisper.

“I can easily predict when.”

Harry actually felt his stomach clench.

You continued, “It’s probably already planned, with as many as two-hundred guests in attendance, and an open bar.”

Harry shifted his weight from his right foot to his left, his eyes never leaving yours. “It’s difficult to respond to that.”

You gave him a small smile, “I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”

Whether you meant that in a sincere or disrespectful way, Harry was hurt by the comment nonetheless.

“I know you’re angry, but trust me,” he redirected, an attempt to forget suicidal intentions and reasons and focus on the actual present moment itself. “Water that cold, like right down there… it hits you like a thousand knives stabbing you all over your body. You can’t breathe, can’t think-”

You closed your eyes, eyebrows scrunched and suddenly so very cold. “Okay, please stop.”

Harry watched as your skin produced goosebumps and your grip tightened even more. It was a sign of victory, he thought. “I’m just hoping you’ll save me the swim by coming back over the railing.”

You sighed deeply, the air you expelled turning into the cold breeze itself, mixing with the shaky breaths of the one person on this whole damn ship to hear your screams. And you didn’t even physically cry out.

“Come back with me. Trust me, you don’t wanna do this.”

You reached your arm over to prepare for the turn, but instead of gripping the railing like you expected, a warm hand gripped yours instead, tightly, and his thumb immediately began rubbing your knuckles in a soothing motion. He helped you turn back toward the ship, hands now gripping both of yours.

He smiled up at you, his eyes almost watering from the unnoticed stress that was building within him. You grinned slightly, giving a small shrug of the shoulders as the silence broke.

“I don’t want to go back.”

Harry grasped your hands tighter, “Hey, me neither. Do you know how many rats welcomed me in my cabin yesterday?”

You laughed (somewhere between a laugh and a snort), forgetting momentarily that the two of you were standing in dangerous positions exchanging quiet words.

“Thank you.”

“It’s no problem. I’m Harry Styles.”

“I’m-”

“An absolute blooming rose.”

Your eyes widened momentarily, the moment passing with an awareness of peace from the sudden declaration of recorded beauty. You told him your real name anyway, absolutely loving the way it sounded in a british accent, his british accent, but the ‘blooming rose’ reference remained number one. There, with your body still on the wrong side of the ship and his hands now clutching your upper arm and elbow to begin pulling you over - there you were actually content with your current life.

“Up you go.”

You raised one leg to step up a rail, unaware that the beaded lace part of your dress was longer than the rest. It caused a severe slip, and before you knew what was happening, you were falling. You screamed, one hand barely catching the railing and the other arm suffering Harry’s grip and digging nails.

“Harry!”

Harry cried out in distress, almost going over himself. He locked his feet to the ground and against the ship, thighs pressed against the railing, and attempted to pull you up.

“C’mon, you can do it! You gotta climb, too!”

You followed his instructions, trying to climb the railing like a ladder with your free hand. But as you got higher and your legs remained swinging mindlessly against the wet ship, you slipped lower.

“Help me! Help me, please!” you yelled, to Harry and to anyone else who would hear, the ocean now loud with the outrage of your absence.

Harry could feel his heart exploding from the adrenaline spiking as he looked down at your terrified face, relying solely on him to save your life. The whole time he spoke with you he was frightened of the possibility of you letting go or accidentally falling, but now that he could visibly see that you most certainly did not want to die this way, he was mortified.

“I got you, okay?” Harry waited to shout again until you looked back up to him. “I got you.”

You nodded the best you could, the tears still dripping from your eyes and nose, determined to hear his frightened voice.

“I won’t let go! I promise. Now, pull yourself up!”

It took everything in you to support your own body weight with a corset strangling you at the same time, but you gripped the rails and then Harry’s shoulder. The corset made it more difficult to breathe, but you compiled the last pinches of energy and strength within you and aided Harry in your rescue. You groaned as your knees stabbed into the top bar, but the feeling of Harry’s arms wrapping around your waist to pull you over fully eradicated that pain. You two toppled over onto the safe deck, rolling over each other with a loud thud. Harry stayed glued to your waist while you gripped the deck with your nails.

In such a climactic moment, the two of you didn’t notice three members of the crew running toward you with no clue as to what just occurred.

“What’s all this?”

Your dress had ripped slightly, and due to your bedroom tantrum and the high winds, your hair was in absolute disorder. You had no coat on, tears streamed down your face, and a third-class man was hovering over your trembling body. And the crew failed to detect the similar shaking of Harry’s large frame or his scared expression, instead pointing a finger at him and labeling him the guilty party.

“Don’t you move an inch,” a crew member warned, stepping toward Harry and dragging him away from you. Two of the men swooped in to scoop you up, checking for signs of harm.

Your frantic eyes searched for Harry, but he was already looking at you, slightly disappointed and eager to prove himself innocent without throwing you into the cold water himself by revealing the truth.

- 

Finally, they have met lol. xxMoni

[vindicatedvirgil]

in the library / logicality

for those of you who don’t know, i’m in a master’s degree program studying to become a librarian right now. so, yeah, i spend (or, you know, spent, before coronavirus) a lot of time working in public libraries and learning about libraries and studying.

so, here, a logicality human au. Patton is a Children’s Librarian and Logan brings his two sons, Roman and Remus, into the library. wanna know more about librarianship and how it’s actually a really hard thing to do? i’m always happy to answer questions. i am so Patton here.

includes: dad!Logan, eventual logicality, adopted kid!Remus and kid!Roman trying to get the two together, lots of fluff so please prepare your hearts

wordcount: 5133

(masterlist)

Patton looked down cheerfully at the child he was helping. His biggest joy in life came from helping young kiddos find their perfect book; whether it’s because they’ve read all of the popular stuff and need something new or if they are reluctant readers who need something to pull them in to reading as a hobby, Mister Patton always has something for them. And when he wasn’t doing reader’s advisory, he was trying his darndest to diversify their collection, run storytimes for the littles, and set up a book club for those almost-teens. Sure, most days he went home completely exhausted, feet aching in his sneakers, a dull headache poking at the back of his eyes, but it was all worth it. Even on the days that he had to deal with parents who tried to force their kids to read their childhood favorites or parents who complained about Patton’s Pride Month book display (which he was very proud of) didn’t deter him from doing what he loved.

He never turned away a question or passed it along to a coworker. Sometimes he would ask for recommendations from his fellow librarians but for the most part, Patton stuck to his guns and did his best for every single patron that came in, regardless of what they wanted.

One afternoon, a tall man with glasses and a dark blue tie came in with his twin sons, one dressed in red and the other in green. Patton gave them a warm smile.

“Hello there! Is there anything I can help you find today?” He asked cheerfully, looking between the three. The boy in red spoke up first.

“Do you have any new fantasy books that have dragons and princes?” He asked excitedly. The boy in green rolled his eyes, and the dad set a hand on his shoulder.

“Roman doesn’t judge you for what you like to read, Remus, don’t judge him,” He said. Patton stood up from his seat behind the desk.

“Have you checked out our new books display?” He asked, walking the three over. “These three books right here are some incredible new fantasy books, perfect for kids your age who love knights and dragons. I’d take them all, give them a try. Always read the first few pages and if you can’t get into it, set it down and try something else. It’s never good to force yourself to read something you don’t want to, unless it’s for a school assignment,” Patton explained. Roman smiled brightly, taking the three books in his hands, turning towards his dad.

“Thanks!! Dad, can I go sit on a chair and start reading?” The man nodded and Roman leapt towards some of the reading chairs. Patton turned his gaze to the boy named Remus.

“Alright, and what are you looking for, kiddo?” He asked, smiling. Remus frowned, crossing his arms.

“Got any horror comics?” He asked. His dad sighed, but gave a nod to Patton, who led the two over to the graphic novel collection. He selected a few of the best comics for his age, and suggested some other ones. Remus went over to sit and read, and the dad smiled weakly.

“Thank you, er-”

“Patton,” He smiled, holding out his hand. The man took it and shook it once, the firm grip startling the librarian. “Or Mister Patton, whatever you’d prefer.”

“Logan,” was all that the tall man said, glancing over at his sons. “They’ve needed a distraction lately. I just adopted them. They’ve had a rough time at school, Remus especially. He can be… eccentric.”

“They seem like good kids. Probably a sign of their good father,” Patton said cheerfully. “They might be interested in our Dungeons and Dragons group, our writing club, or our book club. It could be a good way to help them meet kids who have similar interests.” Logan nodded, looking down. Patton started walking back to the desk. “Here, I’ve got a flyer with all of our kid and teen activities coming up for the next month. If you have any questions, my email address is on the bottom of the flyer.” Logan took it, smiling lightly.

“Thank you, I’ll see if they’re interested.”

-

“Alright, let’s pause the campaign there for now, kiddos,” Patton smiled, closing his DM notebook. “We’ll meet again next week to finish it off.” A chorus of thanks Mister Patton rang out throughout the meeting room as most of the kids left to go home. Patton glanced nervously at Remus and Roman, who left together but were chatting with a few other kids. He cleaned up the space and exited the room to see Logan standing there, waiting for his sons to finish chatting with their new friends. He had a faint smile on his face. Patton held the notebook and tote bag with his materials close to him and approached the man.

“They seem to be… doing well, now,” Logan mused, eyes focused on the twins. Both were talking animatedly, smiles on their faces. “Programs like this… it’s amazing.”

“Yeah,” Patton sighed happily. “That’s why I push so hard to have programs for the kiddos. Everyone needs a place to belong, even two kiddos who share the same face and DNA. And who have a pretty neat dad.”

“You put a lot of effort into these things, it’s amazing. So many kids show up and are interested in all of the programs you do, I don’t think it’s just that they need a space to fit into, but I think, in large part, it’s because you provide them with a welcoming space,” Logan watched as Remus walked over to the two. “You have a good time?”

“Yeah,” Was all that the boy said, watching his brother. “Can we go now?”

“Sure thing, go get your brother.”

-

Patton was walking the aisles of the grocery store, handbasket in tow, trying to figure out what he would make himself for dinner. He didn’t always love living on his own, especially when it meant lots of silent nights in front of the television, but at least he didn’t have to argue with anyone about what to eat.

“Mister Patton!” A voice rang out behind him. Patton spun around on his heel to see Roman dashing toward him, Remus pushing a cart and Logan not far behind. The dad waved a hand in greeting. “Mister Patton, are you shopping for your family’s dinner, too?”

“Oh, um,” Patton smiled weakly. “I don’t have a family, Roman. It’s just me. I’m doing my shopping for the week’s dinners.” Remus approached him, peering into the handbasket.

“Lots of microwavable meals in there,” He pointed out. Patton stammered, his face turning red. Logan sighed, adjusting his glasses as he turned to examine the poultry.

“M-Mostly for my lunches,” He explained. “Don’t worry, kiddos, I get my nutrients all good and well.” Remus raised an eyebrow. Roman looked to be deep in thought.

“You should have dinner with us, Mister Patton!” Roman finally exclaimed, then he ran over to Logan. “Dad, can we invite him over for dinner? Please?” Patton was at a loss for words.

“I don’t want to impose, really, I’m okay with making myself dinner,” He tried to make his voice as clear as possible but it wasn’t every day that he got invited to have dinner with someone other than his television. Logan sighed, nodded, and Roman bounded back over to Patton.

“Please, Mister Patton?” His eyes twinkled, and Patton’s heart gave a gentle tug. Kids asking him things with eyes like that was his biggest weakness, he could never turn down a kid with a soft voice and hopeful eyes. “We’re making roast chicken and veggies, and I’m going to try to make some cupcakes!”

“Thank you, Roman,” Patton smiled, “I’d love to join you, if it’s not too much of an issue.” He glanced over at Logan, who was setting some chicken in the cart.

“It’s no imposition. You’ve done great things for my sons thus far, and… cooking is sort of our way of thanking you, I suppose,” the tall man responded. Remus took a pen out of his pocket, grabbed Patton’s hand, and scribbled down their address and a phone number onto his palm.

“Here, now you’ll know where to go,” He said, tucking the pen back into his pocket. Patton smiled down at him, then at the writing on his hand. “I wrote my dad’s phone number, too. Just in case.”

-

“I’ll get it!” Roman exclaimed, running to the front door to open it. Patton stood there, changed out of the clothes he was wearing earlier and holding a gift bag. “Hi, Mister Patton!”

“Hi, Roman,” Patton smiled kindly, stepping inside. “Thank you for inviting me for dinner.” Remus came around the corner and hesitated, then waved at Patton. “Hi, Remus.”

“Hi,” He said before he walked into the kitchen. Patton followed Roman into the kitchen as well, and saw Logan chopping up some vegetables. Remus hopped up to sit on one of the empty counters. “Roman, what kind of cupcakes are they?”

“Lemon cupcakes, and I still need to make the raspberry frosting,” Roman responded, opening the fridge to take out some raspberry jam, butter, and milk. Patton set the gift bag on the table, watching the interactions in the kitchen quietly. “Mister Patton, do you like lemon and raspberry?” He went to the pantry to get the powdered sugar sugar and vanilla.

“Oh, yes, I do,” Patton responded. “Do you often bake cupcakes, Roman?”

“Not always cupcakes. I want to bake more. I like making cookies the most, I think, but last weekend I made a coffee cake for breakfast and it was really good,” Roman mused, starting to put the ingredients in a bowl to make the frosting. Logan put the veggies on a pan and put the pan into the oven, then turned around to look at the boys.

“It was a really good coffee cake,” Logan said, leaning against the counter. Patton glanced at the fridge, noticing all of the photos that had been put on it, the magnets around. He noticed a photo of the twins with a mom and a dad, but next to it was a photo of the twins with Logan, all three of them in suits, and a sign that said Adopted Today! held in front of them. Patton tore his eyes away from the photos and turned to Logan.

“I brought a small gift, as a thank-you for letting me join you,” He said, gesturing towards the gift bag. Logan raised an eyebrow and picked up the bag, opening it. He pulled the bottle of wine out. “I don’t know if you’re much of a wine-drinker, but it’s a pretty good bottle.”

“I do, actually. I’ll pour some for us to have with dinner.” Logan asked. He turned around and opened one of the cabinets, pulling two wine glasses out. 

-

“These cupcakes are so delicious, Roman, I could have three more,” Patton said, licking the frosting off of his lips. “You really are an excellent baker.”

“Thanks, Mister Patton,” Roman smiled, a pink blush coating his cheeks. “Dad, we should make sure to send him home with some leftovers!” Logan nodded, taking another bite of his cupcake.

“Alright, it’s getting late, you two should both go finish up any homework and then go to bed,” He said, earning a groan from both of the twins. “No grumbling, boys.”

“But we have a guest,” Remus muttered, wiping the excess frosting off of his chin. “Can’t we stay up a little longer?”

“Now, kiddos, your dad is right. Homework is very important, and you can’t do well in school without a good night’s rest. I’ll be in the library tomorrow if you want to say hello,” Patton smiled. The boys both nodded, and Roman stood up, dashing up the stairs. Remus got up slower, hesitating, then he gave Patton a hug before running up after his twin.

“They seem to have taken quite a liking to you,” Logan mused, standing up and beginning to clear some of the plates. “Remus never hugs anyone, not even his friends.” Patton also stood, grabbing the plate with cupcakes. The two went into the kitchen and quietly put the food away, and Patton watched as Logan loaded the dishwasher.

“Can I ask… what happened to their parents?” Patton’s voice was hesitant, but Logan turned around, a firm look on his face.

“They were my students last year. Smart, good kids… and then their parents died in a car accident on the way to the school play.” Logan sighed, eyes trailing to the photo on the fridge. “They didn’t have any other family, no aunts or uncles, no grandparents, no close friends who could take them. I started fostering them, and after only a few days I put in the request to adopt them. And, a few weeks ago, they legally became my sons.”

“You’re a very kind person for doing that,” Patton said, wiping a tear from his eyes. “And… you don’t have a partner. You’re doing it all on your own.”

“The boys make it easy to love them and care for them,” Logan smiled. “When I found out they were going to be sent away, I just… something in me screamed no, you have to take them in, and so I did.” He crossed his arms, watching Patton carefully. “Remus was hesitant, at first, as expected. He didn’t have many friends before the accident, and after… a lot of the other kids avoided the two of them. They really only had each other.”

“And you,” Patton pointed out. “They’re very lucky to have someone who cares for them so deeply, Logan. My mom raised me on her own, and when I was 18 she passed away. I didn’t have anyone. You gave these boys a second chance, you know.”

“Is that why you went into children’s librarianship?” Logan asked. He sat down at the table and Patton sat next to him.

“I went into it because books were my saving grace as a kid. I didn’t have a lot of friends, but the characters in books… they were there for me,” Patton twisted his fingers together. “The librarians who helped me find those books quite literally saved my life. And I figured that there are kids now who need that same thing, and that I want to be that person for them.”

“That’s why I became a teacher,” Logan was still watching Patton’s face very carefully. Patton reached his hand out and took Logan’s in his. “Despite all of the things about teaching that are hard, helping kids figure out their passions and seeing them grow into awesome humans… it’s all worth it.” He squeezed Patton’s hand. 

Outside the kitchen, Remus and Roman were in their pajamas, peeking in. They shared a glance and went back upstairs quietly and into Roman’s room. Roman sat on the bed and Remus on the floor.

“You think Dad likes Mister Patton?” Remus asked hesitantly. Roman nodded. 

“I like him a lot, Re. Maybe… maybe he could be our other new dad.” Roman pulled a notebook out from under his bed along with a pen, and opened it. “We should figure out ways to get them together.”

“...what if Mister Patton doesn’t like Dad back? Or… what if he doesn’t want us around?” Remus’ voice was wavering. Roman shook his head. 

“I think they like each other. Or… they will, once we push them together.”

-

“Okay, so here’s the plan for today. You’re going to leave your bag behind after the book club meeting, so that Mister Patton has to call Dad,” Roman and Remus were huddled together outside the meeting room. Roman’s notebook was open and in their hands, a complicated timeline plotted out. “When he drops off the backpack, we’ll invite him to join us for dinner. Get them to drink some wine, maybe try to encourage a movie night…”

“This seems kind of obvious and cliche, Ro,” Remus muttered, crossing his arms. “What if we invite Mister Patton to join us for our Sunday morning hike? Or… lock them in a closet together?”

“I like the hike idea, maybe we can suggest that at dinner,” Roman said, scribbling it into his notebook. “We should start slow and simple, and then work our way up to the more intense, more thorough methods.”

“What if the simple methods work really well, though? I want my ideas used, too,” Remus pouted, watching as the other kids filed into the meeting room. Patton approached the room, books and materials in tow. 

“Hey, it’s my two favorite twins!” He said cheerfully. “How are you boys doing today?” He stepped into the meeting room, the twins following close behind. The room slowly filled up, the meeting began, and at the end of the meeting, Remus “forgot” his bag. 

-

Logan was startled to feel his phone buzz in his pocket. He was making dinner, some baked potato soup. He pulled the phone out of his pocket to see an unknown number calling, but he picked up anyway. “This is Logan Crofters, how can I help you?”

“Hey, Logan! It’s Patton Hart from the library. It seems like Remus left his bag at the end of book club today,” The voice rang clearly from the other side. Logan sighed, running a hand through his hair.

“Okay, I can come by to pick it up from the library later–”

“Oh, well we’ve already closed for the day, but I have the bag and I can drop it off at your house if it’s not an issue,” Patton responded. “It’s no problem, really, your house is on my route home.”

“If it’s not too much of a problem, then yeah, that would be really great, thank you,” Logan eyed the twins carefully as they stepped into the living room. “Thank you again.”

“See you soon!” Patton hung up the call, and Logan stuffed his phone back into the pocket of his jeans. He crossed his arms, giving a firm look to the boys.

“What was that all about, Dad?” Roman asked, an innocent twinkle in his eyes. Remus sat down at the table, head down.

“It was Mister Patton. Apparently, Remus left his bag in the meeting room after book club today,” Logan said. He turned to stir the soup. “You’re not usually one to forget things, Remus. Is everything alright?”

“I must have just been… distracted. By our new friends,” Remus said, voice low. Logan raised an eyebrow at him, and he looked down.

“Right. Well, he’s going to come by and drop off the bag, so when there’s a knock at the door, you need to be sure to apologize to him for going out of his way to bring it,” Logan instructed. Roman hopped up on one of the counters.

“Can we invite him inside for dinner again?” He asked, twirling a strand of his hair between his fingers. “It’s been a few weeks since he joined us that one time.” Logan sighed again, but nodded.

“Only if he agrees, don’t beg him to join us this time, okay? He does have his own life,” Logan reminded him.

A few minutes later, there was a knock at the door, and the twins went to go and answer it. Roman smiled cheerfully at Patton, who was holding Remus’ bag carefully. “Hey, kiddos. Here you go, Remus.” Remus took the bag gently.

“Thanks, Mister Patton. Sorry that you had to come out of your way to bring it to me,” He said, head down. Patton just smiled.

“It’s no problem at all,” He said. Roman noticed that the librarian peered a little bit around the two, and he wondered if he was looking for Logan. “Well, I should get going. Tell your dad hi for me, okay?”

“You don’t want to come in to say hi? Or you could join us for dinner, we’re making baked potato soup for dinner, and there are some brownies that I made last night,” Roman started, but Patton waved his hands in denial. 

“No, really, it’s okay kiddos, I have to work tomorrow and today was kind of a long day,” He smiled still, glancing down for half a second. Logan stepped out of the kitchen just as he was looking back up, and the librarian gulped. Logan’s tie was loose around his neck and the sleeves of his dress shirt were pushed up. His glasses sat on the top of his head.

“Boys, I told you to not beg him to stay if he didn’t want to,” Logan reprimanded them, then turned to look at Patton. “Sorry, Patton.”

“I-um, well… I suppose I could stay for a bit…” Patton’s face reddened and he looked down. “I was just going to have my lunch leftovers for dinner, anyways.” The twins shared a knowing glance.

“But you just said you had a long day and have to work tomorrow,” Remus muttered, raising an eyebrow. Patton stammered, his words not coming out clearly. 

“Well, come on in, Mister Patton!” Roman said cheerfully, stepping aside to allow the librarian to enter. They all went into the kitchen, and the boys each hopped up on the counter spaces, raising eyebrows. “So, you work on Saturdays, Mister Patton? What about Sundays?”

“The library is closed on Sundays, so that’s the day I usually get things done around my apartment, run errands, and the like. I don’t usually work on Saturdays, but we have an event tomorrow,” Patton explained, taking a seat at the table.

“You should join us on our Sunday morning hike! We hike every week, and it’s really nice,” Roman suggested. Logan turned away, tending to the soup again, making Remus raise an eyebrow. “Do you like hiking?”

“Oh gosh, I haven’t had the time to go on a hike… in a really long time,” Patton mused, resting his chin on his hand, his elbow sturdy on the table. “I used to hike a lot in my college days, but it’s not as fun on your own.”

“Then you should definitely join us,” Remus piped up from his spot on the counter. “It’s such a beautiful hike. We all leave our phones at home and just talk and look at nature. It’s pretty great, right Dad?”

“It is a really great hike,” Logan replied. “Soup’s done. Remus, would you get me some bowls, please?” Remus did so, settling the bowls down next to the stove. Logan began ladling the soup into each bowl, handing them to Remus to set on the table.

“Yeah, I’d love to join you, then.”

-

“Alright, here we are,” Logan said, turning off the car. The twins scrambled out of the backseat and outside, and Patton got out from the passenger’s seat, putting his sun hat on. Logan got out of the driver’s seat and locked the car, watching as the twins ran to start the hike. The two men followed close behind.

“It’s beautiful out here,” Patton said quietly, looking around, a smile on his face. Logan watched him carefully, the smell of sunscreen emanating from the librarian, his polo and shorts flowing gently in the wind. 

“Yeah…” Logan mused, turning his direction back to the twins. “Don’t go too far ahead, boys!” Roman continued walking but turned around, giving two thumbs up. Patton giggled a little bit, startling the teacher.

“They’re quite energetic kiddos,” He said, meeting Logan’s eyes. “But they’re really great.” Logan nodded but said nothing as they continued walking up the hill. Up ahead, the twins were nudging each other, kicking rocks, and laughing, and Logan smiled. 

“Sometimes I wonder if I’m enough for them. Maybe they need more than just me.” Patton wrinkled his nose at this.

“Why wouldn’t you be enough for them? You’re such a great father, and it shows,” Patton said, twisting his hands together. “Sure, they had two parents before, but not every kid needs two parents. I had a single mom, and I turned out okay.”

“More than just okay,” Logan said under his breath, so that Patton couldn’t hear him. “I don’t know, it’s just… they’re very touchy, and I’m… not. They want to hug and snuggle, and I can’t provide that for them, at least not in a way where I’m also comfortable.” Patton looked over at Logan, who was wearing his button-up with the sleeves rolled up and workout pants, his eyes focused, facing forward, and he gulped a little. Logan also had a backpack with snacks, water, and a first aid kit, just in case.

“I think that they can understand that,” Patton responded, finally turning his gaze back to the path in front of them. Remus was giving Roman a piggyback ride up the hill, and the two men could hear the boys pretending to be a knight and a horse in battle. “They have each other to snuggle with, at least.”

“Do you have any siblings, Patton?” Logan asked, also watching the boys. “I’m an only child, but I have a few cousins who I was close to in childhood.”

“I’m also an only child, and I didn’t have any cousins, at least that I’m aware of,” Patton said, eyes drifting down. “My dad left when I was three, and I don’t know much about him. I’ve been trying to find him for years, for medical record purposes, but I can’t seem to track him down. I don’t think he wants to be found.”

“He’s a fool, then,” Logan sputtered out, then he covered his mouth. Patton raised an eyebrow, giggling softly. “Sorry. I know he’s your father. But anyone who doesn’t want anything to do with you is an idiot, and they don’t deserve to be in your life.”

“That’s very kind of you to say, Logan. Thank you.” Patton said, and the two fell into a comfortable silence, climbing the hill steadily, the twins always in view. Logan, deep in thought, glanced back over at the librarian. 

“I mean it, Patton. You’re an incredible person, not just in your career but in how you are around the boys,” He smiled at Patton, who blushed and looked down. The librarian stumbled over a branch, falling forward, but he was caught by two strong hands. His hand still scraped the ground, and he winced. “Whoah! You alright?” Logan sat down on the ground, pulling Patton down too, and inspected his palms. “You’re a little scratched up.”

“I’m alright,” Patton said, looking down, face red. He couldn’t get the feeling of having Logan’s hands on him out of his mind. Logan shook his head, removing the backpack and digging in it for the first aid kit. He got some sanitizing wipes, and took Patton’s hands in his own, wiping off the pebbles and dirt. Logan was focused as he put a bandaid over the scratch on the librarian’s palm. The twins came bounding up to them.

“Mister Patton, are you okay?” Roman’s voice was concerned, and Remus got on the ground next to them watching carefully as Logan made sure everything was okay with Patton’s hands.

“I’m fine, boys, don’t worry, just a little stumble. If your dad hadn’t caught me…” Patton’s words trailed off, and Logan put the first aid kid back into the backpack. The teacher stood up first, and then held his hand out to help Patton up. He took it, and their eyes met, a blush covering both of their faces. Roman coughed a little, pulling Remus away, and the twins walked a ways away, but kept glancing back. Logan still hadn’t let go of Patton’s hand, though. “Um…” Patton looked down, his blush deepening. 

Logan hesitated, then decided that he needed to do or say something, because not saying or doing anything was eating him alive. He couldn’t hide it anymore. He didn’t want to hide it anymore. So he took Patton’s chin in his spare hand, tilted his face up, and kissed him gently. Patton gasped, but didn’t pull away; instead, he wrapped his arm around Logan’s neck, pulling him closer, their kiss deepening.

The twins were losing their minds, cheering and jumping for joy.

-

several months later...

Patton unlocked the door and stepped in. He closed the door quietly behind him, then peeked into the kitchen to see Roman stirring some cake batter and Remus chopping some fruit. He stayed quiet, going into the living room, where Logan was putting up a sign that read “Happy Birthday!”

“Hey,” Patton finally spoke, startling the teacher. Logan set the banner down, then approached the librarian, hugging him close and kissing him.

“Welcome home, babe,” He said, leaning down to kiss Patton again. “Happy birthday.”

“You didn’t need to do all of this, Lo…” Patton’s face was bright red as he glanced at all of the decorations and the pile of gifts on the coffee table. “But… thank you.” He leaned up to kiss Logan again, but was nearly knocked over by the force of two preteens joining the hug. 

“Patton!” The twins cheered in unison. “Happy birthday!” Patton laughed, hoping that Logan would be able to keep all of them from losing their balance.

“Thanks, boys,” Patton said. The hug finally broke, and the twins went back into the kitchen to finish the cake. The librarian took a breath and sat on the couch, watching Logan carefully. “Hey, Lo?”

“Yeah, what is it?” Logan asked, going to finish putting the banner up. He didn’t look back down at Patton until the banner was up, and when he saw his boyfriend next, the man was on one knee, holding a ring out. Logan gasped, then fell into a fit of laughter as he took a ring out of his pocket, getting on his knee in front of Patton.

“I guess that’s a ‘yes’, then?” Patton giggled, tears trickling down his cheeks. 

“I had a huge thing prepared,” Logan sighed. “The twins were going to play a song for you.” He scooted a little closer to Patton, then kissed him. “But yes, of course Patton. Yes.” A flash startled the two of them, and they glanced over to see the twins. Roman had his phone in his hand, taking pictures. Remus was pouting a little.

“Aw, man, he ruined the plan!” He said. Logan and Patton laughed, kissing again, then they stood up, sliding the rings onto each others’ fingers. The twins bounded towards them, and they fell into another group hug. “Does that mean we can call Patton ‘Papa’ now?”

“Of course, kiddo.” Patton smiled. Logan wiped a tear from his fiance’s cheek, and held his family close together.

“I love you,” He whispered into the librarian’s ear. Patton smiled, kissing him again.

“I love you too, Logan.”

[the-shiftshop]

Hey Diary - Part 2

PART 1 of the Hey Diary Series

Monday came and I can finally experience my new life at school. It’s been about 3 days since my transformation from a total nerd into this campus crush, and my last usage of that Diary App in this phone. My heart is beating fast at the thought of how people would think of me in this new body. I’m super excited yet nervous of what may happen.

You see, I may have gained this heavenly figure and this new reality, but I did not get any memories for it. I have no idea who my new friends are. Still, I need to get to school and I should at least try and keep an act until I know what the heck is supposed to happen, but before that, I need to keep my online fans updated. I took a snap of myself in the mirror and posted it on my feed, then I went straight to school.

Stepping into the gate already gave a new feeling. Everyone was looking at me and every time I look back, they would shy away. There were other people who waved at me but I have no idea who they were.

I went to my locker to grab my stuffs for our first class. As I do so, I saw Keith on the other end with his friends, Peter and Tom, glaring back at me.

He have my phone in his hand. It’s still the same bully but without his daily routine of pushing my face to my locker door.  He walked pass me taunting me with my phone, then proceeded into our room.

I bit my lips in annoyance. Guess, I still have to deal with this guy.

“Heeeeeeey, Felix.”

Someone tapped my shoulder and I jumped on my place. “Ah-” I almost screamed.

“A little jumpy today, aren’t we?” The guy asked as I turned around.

I was kinda expecting it was Keith but when I looked, It was Alex, my new friend. Well actually, he’s supposed to be my friend since the first day in this school, but in this new reality. I remembered his name because he was the one who kept bugging me last Saturday night in my DMs. He has a bit stocky body, but its not that bad. He wears thick square glasses that enlarges his deep black eyes. If I could comment, I’d say he’s almost the same level as my old body but that’s only basing on his looks. As for what I saw in his timeline, he’s not really that kind of a nerd. He barely even studies and complains on his feed too much. He’s a very friendly guy in my class, actually, but that didn’t make him an easy target for Keith.

He smiled at me and was sucking in air as if he’s trying to pull some question out his chest.

“You’re bout to ask something?” I raised my eyebrows and he nodded.

“Well... Apparently there’s this thing online... It’s uh...” He kept cutting his words, hesitating to ask me something.

I guess I know what it was. I gritted my teeth and looked away.

“Lemme guess. There’s a rumor spreading about me, right?” I said.

“Well... Yeah...”

“Damn, dude. Whatever that may be, do you think I’ll do that?” I said. My body cringing when I tried to act cool and say “dude”. “Anyway. Let’s just get in class”

We started walking to our classroom door. He kept on talking to me, mostly about trying to workout to get rid of his belly. I also learned that he happened to befriend me because he thought I could give him a few advice in working out.

When we entered the room, everyone was also looking at me. Not with disgust but admiration. Everyone said hi to me except Keith and his crew who were laughing to themselves.

“Yo faggot.” Keith called me. “Did you get your morning suck today?”

He and his crew laughed louder. Where did they get that from? I never wrote that in my old phone? I furrowed my eyebrows at that thought. They’re probably just making things up without really basing on my old diary.

“Hey idiot. Do you think anyone’s gonna believe that?” A girl raised her voice at Keith.

“Well, I don’t know. Why don’t you ask Felix himself if what I’m saying ain’t true.” Keith laughed, making everyone look more annoyed than myself.

I sat down to my chair with Alex now sitting beside me. Our first professor went in and began his lectures. As for me, I was busy tinkering with the Diary App. If the Diary App helped me last time, I bet it can help me more today.

With my eyebrows still furrowed, I began to stealthily type without the teacher noticing.

Monday

Hey Diary,

I wish whatever that thing about me that Keith and his crew tried to spread would backfire to them.

I tried to save this in hope that the changes would happen immediately, but a pop up appeared.

ALERT: Input too short

I tried to type again but this time, I tried to lengthen my sentence. Still, the alert kept appearing.

I heard our professor clear his throat and my attention jumped to him. He caught me using my phone. I smiled and chuckled.

“Phone.” He said, pointing to me.

“Yeah, I’m sorry Mr. Dew. I-”

“Put it back to your bag, now.” He ordered and I quickly followed.

I was lucky enough that it didn’t get confiscated. I put my attention back to his lectures and jotted down notes.

Why wont my log work though? What does it mean by “Input too short”? Whatever it is, I might need to fix that when I have free time. I shouldn’t go back to that in class or I might lost my new phone too.

--

Lunch break. I was with Alex in the cafeteria. Some other girls wanted to sit with me but Alex kept on telling them that he seats are taken. He would eventually chuckled at me and ask if I never get tired of people following me anywhere I go. I would just laugh back, remembering that this is my first day in this new life. As I tried to take a bite on my food, I saw Keith his friends across the cafeteria. He was still looking at me. Glaring at me. I then looked away, showing a bit of annoyance again. I then pulled my phone out my pocket and came back to my Diary App.

Input too short, huh? Well let’s put all our hearts in this log.

Monday

Hey Diary,

Keith and his friends are spreading fake news about me again, although I have no idea on what that is about. They might’ve been spreading news about me being gay or a cocksucker. Whatever that may be I don’t think I can’t stand them this time. I’d be fine if they spread something real about me, something I’d be too guilty to fight back, but if they spread something I never did, I might not get a grip of myself.

I wish whatever they told everyone would backfire to them. I wish Keith and his friends would live the rumor they had spread.

I clicked saved and went back to my food, but as soon as I try to bite, my vision started to blur once more. Alex seemed to notice what’s wrong and tried to shake my shoulders while calling my name in panic. I tried to shake my head and blink fast but it made me lost my sight much faster. Soon, I blacked out once more.

--

I groggily opened my eyes and rose up where I was lying. Then I realized I was back in my bedroom. It was night time and my lights were dim. I looked to my right and saw dad sitting on my chair.

“Dad?” I called.

“Oh you’re awake! This friend of yours called me to school telling me you passed out. The nurse said you probably ate something bad and passed out. You were puking hard in the clinic this afternoon and I was super worried. I thought I’m gonna lose you too...”

“Dad. I’m okay. Don’t worry.” I tried to comfort him.

“I’m glad you are...” He came to me and gave me a hug.

“Is Alex still here?” I asked.

“Alex? Oh, well... It wasn’t Alex who helped you. He probably coward out when you fainted and-”

“Wait? Then who-”

Before I ended my question, someone entered the room.

“Keith?” I looked at him with confusion. He was carrying a glass of milk and some cookies which were probably from my dad.

He looked at me back with this dumb grin on his face and put his glass on my table. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I’m just gonna leave you two be. Enjoy that cookie, Keith.” Dad went out my room, leaving me and Keith alone together.

My eyes widened at the sight of Keith. Out of all people, Keith was the one to help me? I puffed out air in disagreement. I just looked away from him as he munch on his cookie. He then pulled a chair and dragged it near my bed. He first finished his food before he talked to me.

“Dude. I just can’t leave you dying there. I saw everyone just standing around you. Admiring you instead of actually helping you.”

“Like I should believe you. Alex could’ve tried to help me.”

“Alex? Dude was so paranoid he can’t even dial your dad.”

We were silent for a while as I try to ignore him. I grabbed a schoolbook from my nightstand and pretended to read, wishing him to go away.

“Felix. I know I did a LOT of bad things that not only affected your physically, but that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t help you when you need it.” I noticed that his tone was a lot different than how he used to talk to me. “And... I just wanna say I’m sorry.”

I closed my book hard at those words. He’s actually apologizing...? He grabbed my arm and shook it slowly.

“Could you take my apology?” I pleaded.

“What do you want? Is this some sort of a prank? What? Are you trying to film me and use this for blackmail? Where’s your camera?”

“Felix can you just listen to me? Do you think I’ll go this far just to bully you?”

“Yeah? Why not? Just tell me what you want and let me go for fuck’s sake.”

“Let me suck your dick.”

My eyes widened. Bigger than what I did when I saw Keith enter my room. Did he just ask me to let him suck me off? I whipped my arm to make him let go. I looked at him with my face clenching. What he said just made me mad.

“Fuck off Keith. I’m not gonna be a part of your show. Get rid of your camera and get out.”

He shook his head and laughed. His laugh isn’t those typical sinister sounding one that you’ll hear when villains get exposed for their crimes. It was more of a sad chuckle when someone gets rejected. He reached for something in his jacket’s right pocket. From there he pulled out my old phone and gave it to me.

“If there was a hidden camera here, what would I use it for? To stain my reputation too? I’m sucking you off then what? Tell everyone that: Hey guys! Felix let me suck his dick! Dude... I'm the one desperate here.” He tried to convince me. His eyes looked different from before. There were stars in his them. There’s seriously something wrong. “Do you still think I’ll go this far just to ruin you more? I’m sorry if I spread false rumor about you. I’m really sorry... Now if you still can’t accept my apology, I guess this would make you feel much... much... much better.”

Before I knew it, he was already grabbing my crotch as he tried to unzip my jeans with his other hand. I moaned and my cock is already hard. He unbuttoned my jeans and proceeded to caress my pole. His eyes are locked with mine. He was so close and I can feel his hot breath on my cheeks. He’s too near and it looks like he’s about to kiss me. He pulled the garter of my boxer and without any second thoughts, he pulled my rock hard cock out and started jerking it off. I realized that I wasn’t stopping him at all. I then moved my hands to his arm, trying to get it off.

“Keith... Stop.” I moaned when he squeezed it hard. My back tried to arch forward but he pushed me back by diving his lips onto mine. He removed his jacket off, probably because he was in heat.

Keith moved on top of me. My legs in between his. His right hand was still stroking my shaft while his left hand is under my shirt, moving it from my abs up to my chest. When he reached my chest, he pinched my right nipple which made me open my mouth. He took the chance to push his tongue in my mouth, trying to intertwine with mine.

My hands are still trying to stop him, but this time I placed them on his chest. I tried to push him away but he’s too strong. That’s when I noticed how muscular his body was. By some chance, my body was moving on its own. My left hand slowly moved down to his abs, feeling his cobblestone collection. My body start to relax as he continued to kiss me. There’s something therapeutic about what Keith’s doing to me. I can’t stop him anymore. My body already gave in as if it wants Keith without my own accord. Before I knew it, I was already kissing back with my tongue, although a second after that, he broke our kiss and proceeded to stripping my shirt off. He started worshiping my body. Giving each muscle a peck from my neck, to my arms, to my chest, to my abs, then finally to my crotch. Without any hesitation, Keith placed my cock on his mouth and started sucking me off. My hips responded by thrusting into his mouth. My hands on his shoulder. My breath became heavy. My arousal skyrocketed. Every time my cock grinds on the wall of his mouth was euphoric. This made me realize that my body is very sensitive. Every time he pulled and dove back down made my body twitch in every direction.

“Faster.” I can’t believe I’m saying this. My body is enjoying Keith so much. I can feel my balls starting to churn.

“I’m near.” I whispered. My hands migrated to his hair, pulling it as my body tensed.

“I’m gonna cum.” I said.

I released my load into Keith’s mouth. I came with what seems like a much bigger load than what I can originally do. He then swallowed them all and took a a big exhale as if he just took a soda. He smiled at me and placed my softening cock back in my pants. He zipped my jeans back up and buttoned it. He left me topless, recovering from my euphoric phase.

He gave me one last kiss and I kissed back. He chuckled and moved back.

“Guess you forgive me now?”

He then got off me and picked his jacket from the floor. He walked back to the door and grabbed his glass of milk.

“Thanks for the milk. See you tomorrow.” He opened my door. “Oh and... Can we still go back to me being your bully? But I guess this time... We can call ourselves frenemies.”

With that, he went out my room. He didn’t grab anything else. That means he meant that... He meant that!?

My new phone suddenly pinged. I grabbed it and saw the notification from the Diary App once more.

Wish was completed. Please take a picture and attach to the log to confirm change and to keep the new reality.

I didn’t know what to do aside from standing up, going out my balcony and aiming my camera to Keith who was already walking away from home, but I wasn’t able to take a picture of him since he was already too far to be seen.

Maybe tomorrow, unless this all reset when I sleep. This might be a problem.

[janeyseymour]

Quaran-queens

someone prompted this a while ago, but i just got around to it now... so sorry for the late post but.... it’s here? enjoy?

Anne is not handling quarantine well and Lulu isn't handling not being able to see her girls.

13 days. It had been 13 days since the world shutdown, and the third queen was losing it. In desperation for some sanity, she called her baker friend.

“Hey girl!” Jenna’s chipper voice rang through.

“Hey there,” Jane sighed as she plopped down on her bed.

“Oh you don’t sound too excited. What’s goin on?”

“It’s been 13 days since I’ve been out of this house, and I don’t know if I’m going to be able to survive anymore.”

“I told you you’re always more than welcome to come quarantine with us.”

“And leave my house for Hurricane Anne to destroy?”

Jenna bit back a chuckle. “I suppose you’re right. What’s hurricane Anne done today?”

“Oh boy, are you in for a story...” Jane recounted the story with a heavy groan.

“Anne Boleyn! How many times have I told you to stop heelying around the house? You’re going to break something, and that something could be yourself!” Jane’s shrill voice could be heard throughout the house from her spot in the living room.

“Janey, lighten up a little. I haven’t broken anything yet, and I’ve been super caref-” the sound of a vase shattering could be heard followed by a very quiet, “shit.”

“That better not be my vase shattered on the ground!” Jane stood from her place on the couch and marched herself in the direction of the crash.

“I’ll clean it up! I’ll buy you a new one!” the green queen promised before the blonde could even round the corner.

When her eyes set upon her favorite vase in shards on the ground, she yelled, “Catherine! Come deal with Anne. I can’t right now.” The third queen walked down the hallway to her room, eyes glued to the ground. Had she looked at the woman with space buns, she might have lost her temper on the shorter woman.

“Jesus Christ Anne,” the gold queen could be heard sighing as Jane closed her door. Sighing, she sat on her bed and pulled out her phone.

About an hour had passed when a notification had come up on her phone.

AnnieBoleyn started a live video

Perhaps against her better judgement, she clicked on the live. She still wasn’t quite happy with her predecessor after the incident earlier in the day.

“Hey queens! It’s Annie again. I’m bored out of my goddamn mind, so I thought I would just tell you all about my day!” The green queen giggled a little bit. “I woke up this morning thinking ‘ oh my god I’m stuck in this house again with Lina, Janey, Cleves, Kat, and Cath again. What can I do to piss any of them off today?’ I hadn’t even really done anything yet, but turns out, just by being me, that happens. I was bored and heelying around the house when I accidentally broke one of Janey’s vases. I cleaned it up, but she still got pissed.”

That comment pissed Jane off.

JaneySeymour: Anne, I’ve told you a thousand times not to heely in the house. I don’t know why you can’t just listen.

“But I cleaned it up!” the woman on screen remarked. “And, I already ordered you another one!” Anne adjusted the camera a bit to show off the kitchen. “Now, I’m trying to make some cookies as an-” a door could be heard slamming shut in the background followed by a frustrated-

“Anne Boleyn! Get out of my kitchen! You are not making cookies!”

“But I’m making them for you as an apology! Some are already in the-” the smoke alarm went off.

Jane could be seen in the background opening the oven door, a cloud of grey smoke infiltrating itself into the kitchen. The look she shot Anne was no look that anyone wanted to be at the other end of.

“I’ll fix this!” Anne said hurriedly.

“I’ll fix this!” Jane roared back. “You’ve done enough for the day. Please, just... I don’t know. Go find Cathy to annoy or something. Just get out of my kitchen.”

“I heard that!” Cathy yelled from her room. “Do not come in Anne! I’m working!”

“Jane, honest, I can help clean this up.”

The green queen turned to her phone that was still recording them. “Queendom, I have to go. Janey is about to lose it.”

“‘Lose it’ is putting it lightly,” The blonde huffed as she opened various windows and the smoke wafted out of the room. “Alrighty then, get to scrubbing.” She situated herself at the island counter and gestured towards the mess.

RoseAmongstTheThorns: wait... can you keep the video on? We wanna watch anne clean lol

Jane laughed lightly at that request, her voice immediately going soft as she addressed the audience. “It's pretty boring really. Anne’s just going to be scrubbing things until they’re sparkling again.”

“It’ll just be Janey telling me ‘keep scrubbing! It’s not clean yet!’ and ‘I still see some cookie dough!’ No one needs to hear that but me.”

“Alright now queendom. We’re going to sign off and clean the kitchen. Maybe, just maybe, one of us will go live later tonight to show you Anne’s cleaning skills. Have a good day now. Love you!” Jane ended the live.

“And then, 20 minutes later, Annie told me that the kitchen was clean. So I went live to show the queendom her version of clean,” Jane shook her head the image.

“Hey Queendom! It’s Jane here and-”

“Janey, they know it’s you! It’s on your account!” The green queen playfully rolled her eyes.

“Anyway,” Jane drug out. “Annie over here thinks that the kitchen is clean. Can the queendom help me out and decide if it’s clean or not?”

Immediately, comments came pouring in.

Theroseamongstthethorns: uhhh sorry anne, jane’s gonna have u cleanin for a while

Sixqueenswalkintoabar: ...it’s cleaner than it was before?

Hausofholbein: jane’s standards have to be higher than that.

“Hausofholbein would be correct,” Jane muttered as she glanced over the comments. “This is not up to my standards.”

“Oh come on guys! It’s pretty okay, right?” Anne tried to worm her way out of tidying up.

“Do you think we should let the queendom see more in depth?” The third queen raised an eyebrow and folded her arms over her chest.

“No, no,” Boleyn rushed out, knowing her work wasn’t done. It didn’t hurt to try to get out of it though. “I’ll just clean it up.” The second queen got back to scrubbing the pans in the sink.

“Alright guys, I better help her out some. Thanks for your help queendom!” Jane smiled into the camera and waved.

Right before she ended the livestream, Anne could be heard mumbling, “Yeah. Thanks a lot queendom.”

“You know I love the girl, but she’s a lot sometimes. Thankfully, she’s off and annoying Lina. Anyway, enough about my own personal hell; how is Lu handling all of this?” The blonde turned the attention away from herself.

“I’m sure if you decided to quarantine with us, it would make my daughter’s year,” Jenna laughed. “She had a full on tantrum today because she couldn’t have some ‘Janey and Lulu’ time. Kicking, screaming, crying- the whole nine yards.”

“Oh jeez. I’m sure she’s happy to be able to spend time with you and Jim though?”

“Oh, she is. But uh, she wants Janey and ‘her girls’. She wants all of us together. So...” the brunette dove into her story.

“Lu honey, come on,” Jenna pleaded with her daughter.

“No! I’m going to see my Janey!” the little one protested, halfway through putting her shoes and socks on. “I don’t care if I have to walk there myself, but I am-”

“Little miss, you know you aren't to leave this house unless there’s an adult with you.” The baker’s husband came walking into the room with a cup of coffee in his hand.

“Daddy, not you too!” Lulu whined.

“Sweetpea, it’s not mine or Daddy’s fault we’re stuck in the house. Janey’s got to stay at her house too. She wants to see you too baby,” Jenna tried to reason.

“Then, let’s go see her! I want to see my girls!” the young one continued as she put on her second shoe.

“I want to see the girls too, but we just can’t,” the baker paused. “Ignore the law.”

“A little white lie,” Jenna sighed. “I don’t like doing it, but I had to think of something other than ‘we can’t.’ You know that doesn’t work on her.”

“Daddy says we break little laws all the time, like when we cross the street without being at a corner!” the girl pointed out. “Let’s just break this one too!”

“Hun, I said no.” Jenna’s voice lost a small bit of softness.

“Daddy? Please?” the girl with pigtails looked at the doctor with puppy dog eyes.

“Mama-” Jim caught a glance at the glare his wife was giving him. “Mama and I have talked about it. We just can’t go see them right now. It’s too dangerous. We all have to stay healthy.”

“And that sent Lulu into hysterics. She told us she didn’t want to live with us anymore and that you and the girls would take her in and-”

“Which we would,” Jane chuckled lightly.

“And she told Jim that he was a meanie and told me that she couldn’t believe I would keep her from seeing you.”

“Oh jeez. I’m over here struggling with Anne, but you have a small child. Can't even imagine what that’s like.”

“Anne is like a small child,” Aragon opened the door and let herself into the gray room Jane occupied. “Sorry for listening in. I just wanted to let you know that Anne and Kat are downstairs fighting over the last glass of chocolate milk. Anne screamed something about, ‘Viva la choccy milk’. Do you want to intervene, or should-”

“Please. I think if I go downstairs right now, I might lose my temper.”

“And Anne might lose her head,” Aragon chuckled. “I’ve got it. Sorry to bother. Tell Jenna we all said hi.” The first queen made her way out of the room and could clearly be heard yelling at the two cousins.

“The girls say hi,” Jane giggled a bit.

“Tell them we say hi back.”

“Anyway, where were we?”

“Lulu couldn’t believe I was keeping her from seeing you.”

“Ah yes.”

“I had to walk away from the situation because I knew if I stayed, I might’ve lost it on her or Jim. Jim also walked away after parking Lulu in her room for ten minutes. And then...” Jenna continued on with her story.

“Lulu, you can come out of your room now,” Jenna said gently as she knocked on her door. She heard shuffling in the little girl’s room and opened it.

“Louise, what on Earth are you doing?” the baker questioned as she watched her daughter stuff her backpack with a stuffed animal, clothing, and a pack of oreos. Her daughter looked at her briefly but stayed silent and only continued to pack her bag.

“Jim!” the brunette yelled. “Get up here!”

“Huh?” Jim poked his head into the hallway. At this point, the small girl had finished packing and marched her way over to her father.

“Daddy,” Lulu paused. “I mean, Jim?”

“No Lu. I’m Daddy.”

“Not anymore. I’m running away to go live with Janey and my girls. But uh, Ma- I mean, Jenna told me I’m not allowed to leave the house without an adult, so will you help me run away to Janey’s please?” The little girl stared up at her father with big blue eyes as she clutched onto her backpack.

“I’m afraid not Lu. Quarantine is affecting all of us,” Jim laughed lightly as he patted his daughter.

“At least she didn’t try to run away by herself,” Jane commented.

“Yeah,” Jenna sighed. “I’ll give her that.”

“So I’m stuck here?”

“‘Fraid so kiddo. Can we be your parents again?” Jim asked gently.

Lulu mulled over this for a few seconds. “I guess so,” she finally sighed. “But only until quarantine is over. Then, I’m going to run away to live with Janey. Maybe she’ll help me escape.”

“Whatever gets you through this quarantine,” Jim laughed quietly before leaving.

“You’re kidding,” Jane couldn’t even stifle the laughs that were bubbling up inside of her.

“Nope. So, I was thinking maybe we should do one of those video calls tonight. It’ll keep Anne from doing anything mischievous for a little, and Lulu will be happy because she’ll at least get to see all six of you for a little bit.”

“That sounds like a great idea.”

Quarantine turned out to be much longer than any of them hoped, but the video chats did keep “Hurricane Anne” from destroying the house (well, not completely, but it helped), and Lulu was happy to be able to see her girls, even if she wasn’t able to shower them in hugs and kisses.

And no, Lulu did not try to run away to the queens’ house again. Not after she saw the aftermath of Anne’s baking catastrophe that almost lost the six their house.

[audreyandherocs]

Thea's Cave: Chapter 6

<Previous Chapter>

“I’m so sorry” Wilbur groaned in his hands, his elbows resting against the table. Thea just snickered quietly while sliding Wilbur’s his plate of breakfast. Tommy and Tubbo already digging in without shame.

“It’s fineeee, next time I’ll put you in the blue bed” noted Thea and found it highly entertaining at hearing Wilbur groan once more. Thea snorted, pushing Wilbur’s plate towards him a bit more, a silent message for him to eat.

As soon the boys had finished eating, Wilbur immediately grabbed Tommy and Tubbo, quickly giving their goodbyes and thanks before rushing out of the door. Thea stared out the open door, listening to Tommy’s yelling fading.

Her wolves looked at her, cocking their heads as she hummed and finished off her breakfast.

Now they were gone, she could get back to her original plans.

After tending to her farm, Thea grabbed her materials before making her way out. She walked until she was a far distance away before making her fireworks, before loading into a crossbow. She took a few shots, her ears filled with the sound of explosions before popping into the distance.

Thea hummed, doing some more experimentation when she heard footsteps behind her just as the last firework went off. She turned, lowering her crossbow as she did, before noticing Fundy and Niki.

“Oh hello!” greeted Thea, “Don’t worry, I’m just experiencing fireworks for the first time and wanted to try them out.”

“Oh, oh” sighed out Niki before she gave a nervous smile. “We were looking for someone and heard it and thought-“

Thea let out an ‘ah’ and nodded. “Fair enough. My name is Thea.”

“Oh! You’re Thea?” said Niki as she and Fundy approached the girl, who put away her crossbow.

“That’s me” she nodded and smiled. “Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too! My name is Niki and this is Fundy.”

Thea waved at them, “nice to meet you both….so who were you looking for? If it’s Wilbur or Tommy, they left a while ago.”

“Oh, we were looking for you!” said Fundy.

“Oh?”

“Yeah, we heard from Tommy and the others that someone new arrived and set up a place just outside of L’manburg. It was strange seeing Tommy being pulled away and he wasn’t exactly-“

“low-key?”

“Yeah”

Thea snorted but smiled, “Yeah, should’ve expected it. Placed a bed away in my home and everything.”

“You don’t mind that?” asked Niki, tentatively.

Thea shrugged, “Not particularly? Then again, I’m probably starved off anything so it’ll be a while before I go back to my introverted ways.”

“Uh…what do you mean by that?”

Thea let out a breath and nervously chuckled. “Probably should take this to my home before I unload my story.”

Niki and Fundy gave her a confused look before following her to her home. As they did and were served tea and snacks, The moment they took their first sip and bite, Thea waited until they had swallowed before she explained.

Like every other time, Niki and Fundy yelled in shock and stared at her in disbelief. Thea had a tired yet amused look on her face with the hint of exasperation.

“Wait, wait, so how much do you know? Like world-wise?” asked Fundy.

Thea sipped her tea. “Enough to know how to survive but man, so much has changed. It’s fun to learn but it’s like being a fish in a pond. You’ve spent your entire time there and then you’re suddenly released into the ocean and there’s so much to deal with. I’m just…swimming.”

“Oh, are you alright?” asked Niki, concerned.

Thea shrugged, thin forming with a stressed line. “I mean, I’m here? I haven’t exactly had time to take it all in yet. Now I have a place, I will but like…it’s just…hm I don’t how to say it.”

“Well, if you need anything, we’ll be happy to help!” said Niki cheerfully.

Thea smiled, “Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind.”

“So, what are you going to do next?” asked Fundy.

“Long term or like today?”

“Uh, both?”

“Long term, try to see if I can understand more of my circumstances. Short term, uh, I guess get better gear and clothes in general?”

“Better gear?”

Thea gave a defeated laugh, “I’ve been using iron armor but like I really want diamond but I haven’t been able to not enough diamonds. Not sure if I should save it for armor or use it for tools.”

“HOW ARE YOU STILL ALIVE?”

Thea threw her hands in the air, “I WANT DIAMONDS, I NEVER HAD DIAMOND GEAR DAMNIT-”

“YOU DEFEATED A DRAGON!”

“WITH MY BROTHERS! EVEN THEN, now that I think about it we were all wearing iron armor mostly. We had some diamond gear but like we were sharing it.”

Fundy screamed and Niki just laughed as Thea looked utterly torn between laughing to exasperated at her own circumstances.

“What were you talking about, with the clothes?” asked Niki between giggles.

Thea pulled at her sleeve, “Oh, these are my only clothes.”

There was a hush silence that fell as Niki and Fundy jumped out of their seats and Thea just stared at them wide-eyed, “Ah.”

The day went on as Niki had taken Thea’s measurements and asked question after question on clothing items. Then Fundy dragged Thea to a mine and were looking for diamonds.

Fundy looked at his communicator as it pinged a message from Niki.

“Oh, Niki says she has some clothes for you to try out.”

“Oh nice!” grunted Thea as she broke another stone pickaxe and drew out another one, continuing to mine. They had managed to find some diamond, which Thea made Fundy to take half as payment.

“She also wanted to know your communicator cords-“

“Tommy did mention that but I don’t have one” commented Thea, yelling back.

She faintly heard Fundy let out a scream as it bounced off the tunnels. Thea snorted as she checked her inventory.

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU DON’T HAVE A COMMUNICATOR?”

Thea peered out of the tunnel and rose an eyebrow, gesturing to her entire self.

“Oh right-“

“Anyways, I think we got enough diamond for the day, at least enough to make a chest plate or a couple of tools.”

“You can have it all you know? I’m fine taking just a few.”

“Nah, diamond armor is important.”

“I mean, diamonds yeah but nothing beat netherite.”

“….netherite?”

Fundy’s ears and tail were slowly lowered as the fox realized the implication of his words.

“You don’t know what netherite is.”

“Nooooo? Fundy, I discovered there were other types of wood existed. If that is not the an indication of my knowledge, then I don’t know-“

Fundy sighed before he slowly explained and watched Thea’s eyes bulge.

“WHAT?!”

“Thank you for having us for dinner” said Niki as the three were gathered at Thea’s table.

“Please, it’s the least I could do” replied back Thea, as she served some cooked mutton with honey glazed carrots with a bowl of mashed potatoes. “Besides, I can’t wait to try out the cookies!” referring to the cookies that Niki offered to teach.

“I can’t remember the last time I had a meal like that” said Fundy as he took a bite of the mutton, his tail wagging. “Or with other people either.”

“I find that concerning” Thea grimaced, sipping her soup.

“It’s nice! We should have this again!” cheered Niki as she scooped her mash potatoes.

Thea hummed, cutting her mutton. “Tommy, Wilbur, and Tubbo were here for last night’s dinner and breakfast. You two are like the 2nd group to share a meal with, at this rate I might be a social eater.”

“Wait, Wilbur was here?” asked Fundy, wide-eyed.

Thea hummed. “Passed out and everything a bit after dinner. Had to carry him up to bed and then the boys slept over, and of course, couldn’t let them leave without breakfast-“

“Oh, that’s good. He hasn’t been…himself lately.”

Thea’s eyes sharpened, noticing Fundy’s and Niki’s eyes shifting to look at each other; a knowledge that these two knew and one that Thea wasn’t privy to. She took a bite of her mutton. “I can see that. I did tell him he was welcome to come over if needed. Besides, I don’t think I’m going to give him the option either.”

Fundy and Niki gave her a bewildered look, the former’s ears drooping slightly in worry. “Uh, what do you mean by that?”

Thea smiled as she raised her glass, sipping it without a word.

“WHAT DOES THAT MEAN?!”

Thea cackled and it shattered the incoming tense atmosphere. Dinner went off smoothly and with plates of cookies and milk for dessert. They gathered around Thea’s fireplace, the three getting to know each other while also Thea learned more around.

“So, there’s that many people here?”

Fundy nodded, chewing another cookie. “Yeah, but everyone is pretty much doing their own thing. The election is the only thing that has been drawing people together.”

“This election is starting to sound pretty serious” commented Thea, noting her stomach twisting at the idea of it. The need for order and harmony was good for the people, but based on what she was hearing about the election, it was starting to sound more for a reach for power.

“And you two are running?”

“Yup! Coconut 2020! Be sure to vote for us!”

Thea gave a polite smile, hiding the fact she wasn’t going to vote at all. She didn’t think she could anyway plus…

“I’ll think about it” she commented. Not fully elaborating that Wilbur and Tommy also asked her to vote for them and now there would be a conflict of interest based on people she knew; not on their policies.

Fundy’s ears drooped in disappointment but Niki nodded, seemingly understanding her choice. Thea looked outside and noted how late it was, hearing monsters hiding just outside of their perimeter.

“It’s late, you guys want to stay the night?” asked Thea, getting up to either escort the two out or set up the beds, depending their decision.

“Oh, I need to go! I have to open my bakery in the morning” said Niki as she got up. Fundy too, “I need to go and do some things too.”

Thea nodded as her wolves gathered at the door. “I’ll see you guys out.”

“You don’t have to!”

“You sure?” asked Thea, leaning against the doorway as the other two stood outside.

“We’ll be fine. Thank you though!”

Thea nodded and smiled. “Nice to meeting you two. Thanks for everything and the impromptu help…” she laughed nervously.

“It’s fine, it was fun!”

Thea squinted her eyes, humming under her breath at which part of fun was Fundy talking about but she didn’t comment on it. She watched the two walk back to their homes and Thea didn’t miss the white glint in the shadows. Her finger itched for the crossbow but didn’t as whatever was there disappeared.

Thinking it was a skeleton, Thea walked back into her home and went to the basement, moving onto her next order of business.

She grabbed her pickaxe and begun to hum as she mined and mined. As she dug, only coming up to deposit materials and for food. At some point, the deeper she got, she built a little room in the mines, creating a bed inside with furnaces and chests for materials, she didn’t know how useful it would be in the future.

<Next>

[mymoodwriting]

Perfect Love

Bang Chan/Jisung, Bang Chan/Felix, Felix/Jisung

Genre: Yandere AU

Warning: Electroshock, Medication, Nightmares, Manipulation

Words: 2.3K

Chapters:

One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven | Eight | Nine | Ten | Eleven | Twelve | Thirteen | Fourteen | Fifteen | Epilogue

Prompt: When Jisung started dating Chan it was a lot of fun, but that’s all it was and he wanted more. It was a mutual break up, or at least he thought it was. He had no idea what Chan was capable of, that is until he finally went to his house, carried into it actually. A second chance at love is entirely out of his control, and he might not have been the first of Chan’s lovers to be in this position.

 “It’s really early Sungie, you should go back to sleep.”

 “No! No…” Jisung was still shaking. “I don’t want to…”

 “Alright, alright, how about something warm? Make you feel better.”

 “Please… that would be nice…”

 “Let’s go then.”

       Chan helped Jisung up, he couldn’t really stand cause he was still shaking, so Chan carried him upstairs. He sat him down in the living room, deciding to warm up some milk, getting some honey from the cabinet too. He grabbed a tray, putting everything on it and going over to Jisung. He set the tray down on the coffee table, grabbing a blanket to wrap around Jisung, kissing his head.

 “How much honey do you want?”

 “I… I don’t know…”

 “You’re very sweet, so I think you can have a lot.”

       Chan poured some honey into the warm glass of milk, he stirred it, giving it a little taste before handing it to Jisung. His hands were shaking and it was obvious he’d end up spilling it, so Chan helped him out instead. The drink made him smile.

 “It’s good.”

 “I thought so, it was my favorite to have after a bad night too. My mom always made it for me.”

 “Thank you…”

 “You wanna talk about it?” Jisung shook his head. “That’s okay, I’m here when you need to talk.”

 “Can I… can I ask you something…”

 “What’s on your mind?”

 “Felix… Felix said… I was special… to you.”

 “You are.”

 “Why?”

Chan scoffed and took a moment. “When I first saw you… I was so… fascinated. You danced without a care in the world, just enjoying the moment. I figured your whole life was like that, didn’t actually check till after we broke up.”

 “Did you… did you stalk me?”

 “No, I was looking out for you. Wanted to make sure you were okay.”

 “That sounds-”

 “Why did you work at that restaurant?”

 “What?”

 “They treated you horribly, especially that one costumer who threw their drink in your face.”

 “You… you saw that…”

 “Yeah, and that’s when I realized you needed me. I was so stupid to think everything was okay for you.”

 “Chan-”

 “All I ever did when we were together was make you happy, that’s all I wanted to do. I didn’t know the rest of your life wasn’t like that. I should have taken better care of you then and I’m sorry I didn’t.”

 “That’s not-”

 “Sh, finish you milk and take some medicine, it’s for your throat. I’ll be right back.”

       Chan went upstairs leaving Jisung alone. He had stopped shaking, drinking the rest of his milk comfortably. He glanced out the window, the outside still dark. After a moment he thought he saw something move outside, he screamed and hid behind the couch, wrapping the blanket tight around him.

 “Jisung? What are you doing?”

       When Chan returned he saw the boy on the floor. The other mumbled about something outside, he didn’t ask anymore questions though.

 “There’s nothing there, come on, take the medicine and you can go up and lay down with Felix, maybe get some sleep. Would you like that?”

 “Yes…”

 “Alright, medicine so your throat doesn’t feel bad later.”

       Chan gave the boy some proper medicine, then carried him upstairs putting him in bed with Felix. Jisung felt better, curling up on the bed.

 “Sh, don’t wake Felix okay. I’ll be right back.”

       Jisung nodded, looking sleepy. He went back down to clean up, putting everything away. He grabbed a beer, grabbing the phone, Jisung’s phone, from the medicine cabinet, turning it on. He sat down on the counter, checking the comments on the post of Jisung he had made earlier. They were mostly compliments, although what caught his attention was a comment from the user Lee Know.

     It started as a compliment, but hours later there was another one from them, asking where the photo was taken. It was a rather stupid question, the background was grass meaning it could have been taken anywhere. He paid it no mind, the phone catching up with service and showing him the missed messages and calls, all from the same person, Minho.

     He read through the messages. They started out simple, checking in, see what Jisung was up to. Then they started asking where he was, talking about the empty apartment. He wasn’t too happy about that, finishing his beer and tossing the can, going upstairs. Jisung had fallen asleep, he was glad but he needed him awake for a second.

 “Jisung, baby, wake up.”

 “Chan…”

 “Hey, I need you to take a picture real quick.”

       Chan removed the collar, setting it down, pulling Jisung away from Felix. The boy was still half asleep, his grip on his phone not that strong. Still, he managed to take a selfie, a sleepy smile on his face. Chan looked it over.

 “Good boy. Neck.” Jisung lifted his head up so Chan could put the collar back on. “Go back to sleep now.”

 “Okay…”

       Jisung laid back down, snuggling with Felix. Chan went back downstairs, messaging Minho, saying he was moving in with a friend, been busy unpacking and too tired to do much else. He added the picture afterwards for assurance then turned the phone off and put it back where he found it. Whoever this Minho guy was, he really hoped they wouldn’t become a problem.

 ♥♥♥♥♥

 “Jisung…”

       Felix woke up cuddled up in Jisung’s embrace, he was being held tight. He found it adorable, gently shaking the other.

 “Jisung, wake up.”

       Jisung whined, burying his face in the other’s back. Felix laughed, resorting to laying back down instead. He could just wait for him to get up, so he laid back down. He didn’t know how much time had passed before Chan came up to get them.

 “What’s this? Breakfast in bed?”

 “Jisung seems really sleepy.”

 “Yeah, but he can’t be a bed bug now can he. Wake up, Sungie.”

       Chan pulled Jisung away from Felix, the boy whining and try to keep hold of the other. The two laughed, Chan resorting to tickling Jisung to wake him up. He couldn’t resist, bursting out laughing, trying to get Chan to stop.

 “And he’s awake, do you want me to stop?”

 “Please!” Jisung was still laughing. “I can’t breathe!”

 “Okay, okay.”

       Jisung was panting, staring up at Chan, smile still on his face. Felix had already gotten out of bed to wash up for the morning. Chan pulled up the boys shirt and kissed his chest, building up for a deep kiss to leave Jisung a little more breathless.

 “Wash up and then come down, I made pancakes.”

       Jisung nodded, staying in bed to catch his breath and wait for Felix. After he washed up the two went down together, sitting at the table and taking their morning meds. The pancakes were tasty as expected, the whip cream and limitless syrup making it sweeter. It felt like someone’s birthday.

 “Is it your birthday, Felix?”

 “What? Me? No.”

 “Chan?”

 “No.”

 “Is it my birthday?”

 Chan laughed. “No, why do you ask?”

 “This all really sweet, just wondering what the occasion was.”

 “No need for an occasion, we can have pancakes whenever you want.”

 “Really?”

       His comments had brought smiles to the others. He started to feel embarrassed over what he had asked. Back at his apartment he mostly ate takeout, or something from the restaurant, rarely having a home cooked meal, let alone a tasty breakfast.

 “Yeah, of course, anything for you.”

 “Can we… can we have pancakes tomorrow?”

 “Oh, can we?” Felix chimed in. “Pretty please.”

 “Well when you both ask so nicely how can I refuse. I was gonna suggest we do some baking today too.”

 “Can we make cookies!”

 “What about donuts?!”

 “We can do both, but you have to promise to clean up the mess.”

 “We will! Promise, right Sungie?”

 “Yeah.”

 “Good. Then you guys better clean up the kitchen now. I don’t really have all the ingredients for cookies and donuts but I’ll go out and get some.”

 “Okay.”

 “Then stay out of trouble. I won’t be gone long.”

       Chan excused himself from the table, giving them both a kiss before heading out. The two were excited, the days activities were gonna be a lot of fun and have a tasty outcome. They set out the ingredients they had, discussing the type of cookies and donuts they could make. When Chan returned they eagerly took the grocery bags, overjoyed with all the new ingredients. If they learned one thing that day, cooking doesn’t equal baking, especially from scratch.

       It’s an understatement saying they made a mess. At some point the ingredients were used in a food fight, most of their hair was white due to the flour in the end. The store bought cookie dough was a mistake as it never got into the oven. It was a backup, in case making cookie dough from scratch failed, so they could still have cookies, but that quickly disappeared. At least they did manage to make cookies. The donuts were a whole other story.

       Neither of the two were allowed near the stove, they were very impatient. Chan had to keep them busy by having them clean up the mess, again, and clean themselves up a bit too. The kitchen was maybe a fourth cleaned when the cookies and donuts were done, they couldn’t just let them cool down and get hard. So with some milk they enjoyed their goodies, maybe not as delicious as something they’ve had before, but good nonetheless, they vowed to do better next time.

 “Well, I don’t want to clean another mess in the house, so I’m hosing you both down in the garden, let’s go.”

 “What!”

 “Just to get the flour off you, Lix. You can take a bath with Sungie after.”

 “Oh, okay!”

 “And you both can hose me down after.”

 “Awesome!” Jisung cheered. “I call first!”

       They went out to the back, the sun almost setting. Chan soaked them both with the hose, getting all the flour and all other ingredients off them. Jisung eagerly took the hose after to soak Chan, Felix yanking it for himself after, they certainly went overboard.

 “Alright, alright.” Chan yelled, spitting out water and laughing. “I don’t want either of you catching a cold, let alone me, who would take care of you then?”

 “We could take care of you for a change.” Felix said.

 “Maybe, but I like looking after both of you. Now go dry up a bit and go take a bath, I’ll be up after I finish cleaning.”

 “We were supposed to clean.” Jisung mentioned.

 “Did I say that? Well I lied, now go before I douse you again!”

       He let the hose go off and the two ran inside. They did their best not to track too much water through the house. Jisung was a bit nervous about taking a bath with Felix but the other assured him it was fine, filling the tub with plenty of bubbles. Once they were in the water any doubts faded, both taking turns cleaning each other, playing with the bubbles.

 “And are my boys clean?” Chan peeked into the bathroom. “Or do they need help.”

 “Help!” Jisung laughed.

 “Really, I thought-”

       When Chan got close enough Felix and Jisung both grabbed him and pulled him in, clothes and all. They laughed, splashing him with water. He fought back as best he could but it was two against one, eventually he surrendered.

 “Alright you win, you win. Good job. Can I take a bath now?”

 “Can we help?”

 “Um… fine, but dry up okay.”

       They did so, putting on a bit of clothes, helping Chan out of his own. Felix was used to helping Chan with a few things, like a bath, he knew what he liked, Jisung was fairly new but a quick learner. Afterwards they all needed to dry off and put on clean clothes.

 “Is Jisung sleeping with us tonight?” Felix asked.

 “Hm… sorry baby, but no.”

 “Please! Please I’ll do anything!”

 “I know you would Lix, I know, but Jisung needs his proper rest.”

 “Oh… right.”

 “Don’t worry okay, eventually he’ll get to sleep with us every night.”

 “Okay.”

 “I’ll be up in a little bit okay.”

 “Night Sungie.” Felix gave him a little kiss. “Sleep well.”

 “You too.”

       Jisung took Chan’s hand and went downstairs with him. The kitchen still had a faint smell of cookies and donuts, it brought a smile to his face as he went into the basement. Instead of going to his room Chan tied him down on the table.

 “Chan…”

 “Sh… we had fun today right?”

 “Yeah.”

 “And that’s how it’s always going to be soon enough, okay, just smiles and happiness. Would you like that?”

 “With you… and Felix…”

 “Yup, the three of us. You like the sound of that?”

 “Yes…”

 “Good, good. Glad to hear it.”

       Chan gently administered his medicine, petting his head, then placing the electrodes on. It didn’t take long before Jisung started pulling on the restraints, squirming and screaming.

 “Easy, easy, you’ll be just fine, Sungie.” He kissed his forehead. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

       He hit a button on the machine, sending a jolt through the younger boys body. It was set up to do so every half hour, just a small voltage, nothing too damaging. He locked the basement door, going up to Felix, the boy already laying in bed.

 “Come on, up, you know you won’t get a goodnight sleep without your medicine.”

 “I know.” Felix sat up. “I heard Sungie… is he okay?”

 “You’re using pet names now?”

 “Can I not?”

 “You can, it’s so cute. Ask me again.”

 “Is Sungie okay?”

 “Yes, he will be, just like you. You remember how it was, right?”

 “Yeah.”

 “Then you know it’s for his own good. Now, show me your neck.”

       Felix did as he was told, drowsiness quick to set in. Chan put his headphones in, sweet music filling his ears, he snuggled under the covers, getting a kiss. He leaned into the older boys touch, happy to be in his arms, and he looked forward to having Jisung around too.

[thirsty-x1]

Birthday Wish | Han Seungwoo

Request:

would like to request a one shot fluff where you celebrate christmas with your best friends aka hyung line and you guys held a birthday surprise for seungwoo

↬ Pairing: Seungwoo x Reader

↬ Genre: Fluff

↬ Warnings: cringy gift exchange.

↬ Word Count: 2k

↬ A/N: THIS IS SO FUCKING SOFT. Happy Seungwoo Day!

The smell of cookies filled the air as you took them out of the oven, the heart shape being satisfactory enough. Not even a second later, Seungyoun grabbed one, burning his fingers and eating it only to later complain about them being too hot with a mouthful of crumbs, making a mess in a flash.

“Of course they are hot, I just finished baking them!” You poured a little bit of milk in a glass and passed it to him.

“They taste pretty good though. Good job.”

Yohan popped out the corner of the room. “Cookies?” Another cookie was taken, this time he grabbed it with a napkin, sticking his tongue out at Seungyoun. “Oh wow, they really do taste good.”

Wooseok and Hangyul groaned from the living room, still putting up the finishing decorations. The apartment seemed even smaller with five people in it, so you could only imagine how crowded it would feel when Seungwoo got home. You pulled the little check list, checking the things that were already done and slapping Hangyul’s hand when he was about to grab a cookie.

“But they had one too!”

“These are not even for you, guys. At least wait for Seungwoo to come.” Even if you weren’t looking at him, you knew he was making a mocking face at you. “By the way, when is he coming, Wooseok?”

He checked his phone. “According to the manager, he will be here in like ten minutes?”

It was less than what you were hoping for but still enough time. Walking into the living room, everything looked nice: a “Happy Birthday Seungwoo” was hung up, which you had to insist to get a new one and not just reuse Seungyoun’s and change the last part, his favorite candles, a few Christmas things here and there since most of the boys celebrated it… Everything was just in place, including the gifts that were on top of the table, ready to be exchanged a little bit later.

Since the younger ones were going back to their hometowns to spend Christmas with their family, you and the rest of the oldest guys agreed on having a small birthday party for Seungwoo and exchange some gifts too, the leader being excluded from it since, well, it wasn’t quite fair.

“So… Are you going to confess tonight or not?” Seungyoun looked at you with a funny expression, trying to grab another cookie but failing.

“Shut up… I don’t think so. It’s his birthday, it’s not the right moment.”

You didn’t want to steal the spotlight from him, and if he rejected you, at least he wouldn’t have to do it on his birthday. The rest of the guys nodded in agreement, exposing that they were all actually paying attention. A soft knock on the door was heard, cutting with the awkward atmosphere that was in the air and you had to shush them all, turning off the lights as you went to open the door for Seungwoo, giving you the a smile that sent a wave of warmth down your spine.

“Thanks for coming.”

“Where are the rest of the boys?” He whispered right next to your ear, his closeness making you blush, his sweet perfume making you melt. “Should I act surprised?”

“Ah… It would be for the best, they tried really hard to set everything up.” Of course he would knew, Seungyoun wouldn’t stop talking about buying the cake when Wooseok was on the phone with the manager so he must have heard.

He gave a slight nod, still having a happy smile. As you two walked in the living room, multiple screams were heard and also someone hurt their knee with the table whilst getting up, muttering a swear word before Hangyul appeared with the cake on his hands, all singing the typical song, Seungyoun screaming around as Wooseok put the birthday hat on Seungwoo, struggling a little with his height.

“Were you surprised?” Yohan’s puppy face was impossible to resist.

“Yes! I wasn’t expecting it at all!” You couldn’t help but to face palm at the terrible acting he put up, giggling lightly and the rest followed.

“Now blow the candles and ask for a wish!”

Seungwoo looked at all of you, lingering a few seconds on each one and finally blew them out, everyone cheering and screaming. Just like the last year, he threw away the candle with the number two, a slight glint on his finger catching your attention but quickly forgetting about it as he left the six one only and making the “I’m six years old” joke. To try and hide your blush, you decided to bring the cookies, taking some time in order to calm your heart. Offering the plate, everyone grabbed a cookie, except for Hangyul that took two, mocking you.

“Oh? They taste awesome, where did you guys buy them?”

“Y/n baked them just for you.” Wooseok’s comment made you clench your teeth, all the emotions you were trying to suppress showing in a second. It was to be expected from Seungyoun or even Hangyul, but Wooseok betrayed you while watching straight into your eyes.

“Did you?”

“Well, uh, I read somewhere that it was what some Buddhists ate for Christmas and so…” He laughed at your reason and you wished the floor would have split open right then and there to swallow you whole.

“Thank you.”

Next followed drinking and eating, soon the chit chat becoming a mess. Everyone was on the verge of being drunk except for you and Seungwoo since you were taking care of the rest. It felt nice, like you didn’t want to be anywhere else. At some point, this group became not only your best friends but also a little part of your family, or at least people that you wanted in your life for a long, long time. It was comforting to see everyone laughing, singing songs in a way that made it look like it wasn’t what they did for a living, playing games and spilling secrets.

After the food ran out, everyone sobered a little, and when the clock hit midnight it was time to exchange gifts. Hangyul had bought a “thing” for Seungyoun’s studio, he got a game that Wooseok was dying to try out, Wooseok literally gave clothes to Yohan and he gifted Hangyul a weird, huge box with multiple toys so that he “could master them all.” Seeing this, it was quite obvious that the only pair left was your gift to Seungwoo and you would have been the one to receive his. You had been wondering if Wooseok manipulated the results, considering that he came up with the idea and also prepared the pieces of paper…

You build all the courage you could and gave him a small box, nervously waiting that it wouldn’t be too little. He gave you a sweet smile before opening it, staring at the bracelet inside and then to you again, eyes a little bit too wide.

“I wasn’t sure about what I should get you so I just thought that… That maybe it wasn’t that much of a bad idea?” You showed him your wrist with the matching piece. “I have one too.”

The bracelet looked so extremely delicate between his slim, long fingers, his touch careful as if he was afraid to break it, the expression on his face being one that you couldn’t quite define… Something like adoration? He put it on immediately, moving his hand around.

“Ohhh, isn’t that one of those soulma–!” You kicked Seungyoun before he could continue.

“Ah yes, friendship bracelets. They are cute and very popular, indeed.” Your blabbering made that the rest of the guys held back their laughter, afraid of ending up like Seungyoun, but Seungwoo didn’t seem to notice at all being too focused on your gift.

“I like it a lot. Actually…” He turned around and searched in his bag, pulling an even smaller box out of it. “Since I got you, I bought a gift anyway.”

A collective “awww” was heard from the rest, the leader’s cheeks tinting pink as he denied all the assumptions, shaking his hands and laughing. He gave you the box, and it was his turn to get nervous, biting on his lip and finger waiting for your reaction. As you saw the gift, your heart started beating a little bit faster, eyes going straight at his fingers.

“Oh, a ring?” Hangyul wiggled his eyebrows up and down, everyone bursting into laughter at your panicked face.

“It’s a matching one.” The older showed the one he was wearing. “I have one too.”

Wooseok rolled his eyes, sipping on his wine. “Get a room.” Yohan’s laugh ended up spreading to the rest, Seungwoo and you being the only ones that stared at the floor with the most stupid smiles on your faces.

The celebration continued for a bit until the manager called and asked them to go back. Everyone helped tidying and cleaning up, which it was a surprise because any other day they would just leave without even saying goodbye. As the rest got ahead, Seungwoo walked much slower behind you when accompanying to the room, Yohan’s little nod giving away some kind of signal that the leader must have made for them. You turned around quickly and he bumped into you, blushed face again before both giggled.

“Well, uh, happy birthday, Seungwoo.” Looking up at him, your heart fluttered for the hundredth time that night. You didn’t want to say goodbye, not at all.

“Ah, yes, thank you… And thank you for the soulmate bracelet.”

“It was nothing–” You froze, blinking a few times, your blood burning your whole body. “W-what?”

“They really are popular. I saw them before.” He chuckled a little, and it was confusing whether you wanted to kick him out of your apartment, run away or hug him. “I like it.” His eyes were fixed on you, and it seemed like he wanted to add something but was holding back.

“I liked your gift too. It’s really… really pretty.” You were afraid to put it on, simply holding the box, but he suddenly took it and slid the ring on your heart finger.

“It looks prettier like this.” As if he had just realized what he did, he stopped holding your hand, eyes wavering before taking a deep breath. “Thank you.”

“Y-you already said that, there is no need to thank me again…”

“Not for the gift. Or the party. Thank you for making my wish come true.”

You were almost sure that he could listen to your heartbeat. For a second, you couldn’t even focus on anything he was saying, only thoughts running around your mind and not letting you think rationally, spitting out the words without thinking them through.

“I like you.” The astonishment on his face brought you back to reality. “The ring! I really like the r–”

“I like you too.”

There weren’t no more words after that, only two dumb hearts that couldn’t calm down at the sudden confessions. You fidgeted with your fingers, now having the ring to play with whilst he did the same with the bracelet. It was so stupid, but it felt incredibly comfortable. Seungyoun’s high pitched voice popped the bubble you two had built, telling Seungwoo to hurry up.

“Right! You should go…” Having a tight schedule wasn’t easy, but it wasn’t easy to let him go now either.

Suddenly, he leaned in and kissed your cheek. “Merry Christmas.”

As he turned around and ran towards the car, you were left with the most dumbfounded expression, listening the cheering from the rest of the guys as if it was very foreign. Your skin went numb, eyes almost drying for not blinking, and you didn’t even feel your heart beating anymore. Despite all that, you gave them the biggest grin, and especially to the shy boy that tried to hide behind his bangs.

“Merry Christmas, Seungwoo.”

I AM: SOFT. I FUCKING LOVE SEUNGWOO. What a cute, fluffy baby. I’m going to go and cry. Also, Merry Christmas, babies! And happy birthday to Capricorn babyboy ♥

~Nani

unedited

[dammitadolfnomorecake]

Once bitten, twice stupid prt.42

Dinner was loud. It was chaos. And it felt like a weight off of Lance’s shoulder once they were done. No one had stabbed anyone. Nothing was broken. Matt and Rieva ate like civilised people, with Rieva even offering to help with the dishes. Sending the group off to relax in the living room, Shiro picked up the tea towel and Lance knew he was about to get “the talk”.

Filling the sink with water too hot for a normal human to withstand, Shiro at least let him get through the plates before breaking the silence

“So you and Keith?”

Lance cringed. He understood Keith didn’t want to lie, but with things so new, he’d kind of hoped he would... for a little while

“Yep”

“How did that happen?”

“I’m not really sure...”

“He didn’t see to know either”

Lance felt the dig. Shiro almost asking that question

“I guess it really changed when he drove me to Platt. My mother, well, you know she’s old. I was in... I was pretty upset and he drove me there. That’s when I turned into a bat”

“I remember that. He was freaking out”

“I gathered. I don’t remember what happened, but Coran made him see I hadn’t turned him. He looked after me for three days, then took me to see my Mami again. I know he’s your brother, but did you need to raise him to be so damn stubborn?”

Lance attempt at humour fell flat, much like he wanted to do. Kind of drop to the floor then crawl away from the conversation

“He was like that when I met him. I don’t know if he told you...”

“That he hasn’t had the greatest life because kids are cruel and he never felt wanted? There’s a lot Keith says, and a lot in the things he doesn’t say. He’d frustrating, stubborn, and quick to act before his brain catches up. His people limit is pretty much two, and if he doesn’t have his coffee he can’t human... but he’s got a big heart”

“I thought you’d bring him out his shell... I didn’t think this would happen”

Shiro didn’t have much right to complain. He had left Keith there

“Neither did we. We both thought Coran and Allura were daydreaming. Then Curtis started calling us soulmates... I’ve tried avoiding relationships all my life, then he comes in with his mullet and bad mood..”

“I don’t approve. And I’m not impressed that you didn’t take him to Coran when he started complaining about chest issues. Coran would have said something if he’d noticed anything during the checks he did on him... I haven’t been allowed to help him that much...”

“Yet you took him down an abandoned mine”

“In my defence, he climbed down after me. After I told him not to. He took plenty of photos down there”

“You really bought him a camera?”

Why did Shiro sound so shocked? He not only had a lie to sell, but Keith’s identity to protect and the man had been a lost puppy without his brother.

“Keith’s been stuck out here with nothing to do, and nothing of his own. It wasn’t fair he was left behind, so I wanted to do something nice for him. Coran told me I shouldn’t be training or pushing myself, which doesn’t give him a whole lot to do. He’s been doing plenty of normal human things. We went to movies in Platt. Hunk finally asked Shay out. Pidge roped him into one of her planning afternoons for a hunt that was not fun at all. We went drinking and he actually sang karaoke. He also tried to get into a fight, then threw up everywhere when we got home... but he’s been doing better. He’s not as angry when he first got here”

“No. I can see that... He’s my family...”

Lance cut Shiro off. Yeah. He got it

“I know. That’s why I told him that you two needed to talk. That he didn’t have to return my feelings and he should talk to you before we decided to date. I don’t have a good relationship with my siblings, so I’m not always going to get what goes on between you. But I don’t want to see him hurt. I don’t want him to feel obligated or pity because his blood triggered this change in me. I want him to live a good life and die old and happy. We’re not rushing things. We don’t want to rush things. But I’m serious in supporting him the best I can. He’s a grown man. He has his own job, money, and life. I don’t want him to be some pet kept on a short leash. All I want is for him to know he can be himself when he’s here and that I’m not about to judge him for it”

Shiro sighed, placing back down the plate he’d picked up to dry

“I need to know. Will having Matt and Rieva here endanger him?”

“Vampires have an evolved sense of smell. That’s why we don’t mix much. The same goes for werewolves. We have egos. A vampire who’s out of control is a vampire who’s let his ego go. I’m not in any hurry to start anything with Matt or with Rieva. Pidge is like a sister to me. You’re vouching for them, so I’m taking your word that this won’t become something. For his safety and yours, don’t come around when it’s a full moon, not the day before or the day after. If something happens, I can protect one of you, but I don’t know about both of you. Not from two werewolves, especially in a new environment. Curtis... it’s complicated. We didn’t get off on the best foot, but Coran sent him. I suppose because I’m closest thing to cursed and don’t want to harm anyone if I can help it. As for dating, we already know my teeth get in the way. We’ll treat it like anyone with a contagious blood disease does. If things cool off, then we’ll have an answer to what’s between us”

“And what if you lose control?”

“Even when I do, I seem to know Keith. I don’t remember anything from turning into a bat the first time. But it seems I clung to him. I’m sure Coran would say it’s due to our quintessence. I know when I shouldn’t be around him, and when to distance myself. I don’t know how many other ways I can swear I don’t want to hurt him”

“Accidents happen”

“I know. That’s part of the reason I didn’t want to admit how he makes me feel”

“And how’s that?”

“Almost alive... You should go join the others. Keith’s going to come marching in here expecting the worst. He gets a bit protective”

“He does that”

“One day it’s going to get him hurt”

“That’s why I can’t give you my full blessings”

Shiro wouldn’t be much of a brother or hunter if he simply rolled over on his human brother dating a monster

“I get it. I really do. Still, for Keith’s sake, I don’t want to fight with you. He loves you, and he needs you. No matter what he says”

“Keith’s isn’t like most people. When his heart breaks... he gets hurt ten, twenty, times worse than normal”

“I know. Like I said, there’s a lot in what he doesn’t say”

“I would prefer you waited before your relationship turned physical”

“We are. My body is going through changes and he respects that. Just like I respect him and nothing happened that night he was drunk, no matter how handsy he got”

“Drunk Keith is a bit...”

“Drunk Keith is a slut. Those are his words. That’s why I won’t do anything to break the trust he has in me. I don’t want him to live a life of regrets”

“I keep forgetting you’re older than us”

“Don’t remind me. I don’t enjoy looking barely legal”

“Coran can’t help?”

“Even if he could, I’d rather he help Curtis first. He’s struggling with his curse and it’s so cruel that he can’t control the things he says. His life’s been put on because of it. I’m sure he’s happy to have you here because he finally has someone who can reach out their hand to him. More importantly, do you know when Matt intends to reach out to Pidge? I’d like to let Hunk know so he can be there to support her”

“Matt was thinking of waiting a few days”

Great. He didn’t want to keep lying to his friends for that long... Pidge also wanted to go back and explore under the pub...

“Alright. I’ll work things out with him. I’ll finish up here”

*

Lance nearly didn’t head into the living room when he’d finished the dishes. Keith hadn’t come to check on him, he could hear Shiro attempting to draw his boyfriend into conversation with the others. Keith’s poor people skills must have been at their limit. Being the amazing host he was, Lance made up a batch of Hunk’s hot chocolate, making sure that Keith’d have enough milk for his morning coffees as he did. Feeling a little fancy, he got out his Mami’s favourite serving tray. It’d been a gift from all of them as kids. Well loved and well mended. All their names scrawled across the back. The “L” in Lance’s name drawn backwards. The “I” in his older sister Veronica’s name had a heart instead of a tittle. Rachel had a smiley grave. Marco had always had a flare for the dramatic, his name taking up nearly the whole back. Luis name was the neatest of all. Lance wasn’t so much of a dick as to scratch Luis name off... Not when Mami still loved the serving tray.

Loaded up with the twin jugs, cups, and cookies, Lance carried the lot into the living room. Rieva and Matt were cuddled on the rug. Keith had Blue in his lap, with Curtis and Shiro taking up the rest of his sofa. Hearing his voice, he found the group were watching Pidge’s videos. Lance felt more than a little embarrassed. Strangers watching were one thing, a group of people in his house watching him... was something else. Carrying the tray to the coffee table, Lance set it down carefully

“Thanks, Lance. It looks good”

Lance gave Curtis a thin smile, pained at hearing his voice droning on

“Hot chocolate made with lactose free milk and Hunk’s recipe. Help yourselves”

Nervously pouring a glass, Lance backed away, standing by the arm of the couch so he wasn’t in the way. Matt shot him as thanks as he got two glasses organised for him and Rieva. At least Matt didn’t think he was trying to poison him, not like a certain mulleted hunter the first time he gave him coffee

“Lance, wanna sit?”

Lance turned too look at Keith over his shoulder. Blue had been passed to Shiro, not looking happy about giving up Keith’s lap

“I’m good”

Keith might have told Shiro they were dating but they didn’t need to rub it in his face

“If Shiro moves over there’s enough space”

Now that Keith’s lap wasn’t offer, he felt strangely rejected. Warmth started creeping up from his belly... Now was not the time

“Actually, I’m going to head to bed. Yep. Goodnight all, see you in the morning”

Fleeing the room, the cup of hot chocolate made the trip up stairs with him. Slamming his door a touch too hard, Lance rushed to place his cup down on the bedside table. Downstairs Matt was making a comment about something sweet in the air, Shiro joking about it being the smell of the hot chocolate. Rieva agreed with Matt, adding how the smell made her hungry... Her tone saying what kind of “hungry” she meant. Lance seriously doubted they’d do anything to him, but the idea of two horny werewolves scared the fuck out of him. Striding across to his window, he opened it as wide as it went. He didn’t understand why these heat flushes had to keep happening. He’d made up with Shiro, and he’d made up with the others over dinner. Werewolves and meat was kind of a no brainer. Now he was supposed to be relaxing and getting to know them all better.

Stripping himself down, he was too hot for a pyjama shirt and opted for pants only. Given his naturally cold state, and the cool wind through the window, he should morgue slab corpse cold. He’d spent years witching his body would be warm, now he cursed it. The sun had barely been down the better part of an hour, and here he was going off to bed like a loser. Climbing into bed, didn’t help. Keith’s scent cling to his sheets, but the man himself wasn’t there.... and his stupid body want okay with that. The aching throb between his legs drew a whisper from him as wetness dribbled from his arse. Even with the distance, Matt could smell him. Matt colour smell him and the damn stupid mutt was growling over it. If he dared lay a finger on Keith, Lance was going to snap off the insulting digit, force it up Matt’s urethra then snap his dick off and feed it to him like some kind of “fingdicken”, operating on the same principle as a turducken. Maybe he could use bacon as an outer wrapping... kind of borrowing the spirit of “what’s in the box?”.

Slightly horrified by his own thoughts, he curled up up. He didn’t necessarily hate Matt. He just didn’t want Keith to be hurt. Shiro wouldn’t let Keith be hurt. Meaning his twisted thoughts never needed to form. Keith could take care of himself. An involuntary whimper escaped as the first cramp of need hit. Covering his mouth quickly, he listened for a response downstairs. Rieva was busy scolding Matt, the sound seemed to have escaped their attention. With his body like this, he was going to be forced to have a conversation he really didn’t want to have. They whole “hey, I’m not a werewolf but I kind of go into fits of heat” thing was going to make it complicated. Right now he wanted it to piss right off and never come back. He wanted to be downstairs with everyone else, getting know them and not seeming like a dick. Now he was hiding in bed too scared to jerk off in case he was heard. This vampire thing sucked.