#anyway he’s going home Monday so if I AM staying in this flat I’ll be able to cook bc man

[exopelagic]

my new flatmate just put raw uncooked spaghetti in a hot frying pan. no water. I can still smell it burning from my room. what

[multiplefandomfics]

Everything happens for a reason

Pairing: Bucky x reader (Former Steve x reader)

Warnings: cheating, angst, pregnancy, semi-public sex, Steve’s an ass in this one,

Words: 5213

A/N: Well this escalated quickly! When you have too much time at work stuff like this happens :D!

I have no idea how they do a c-section or any medical terms of that field other than the stuff I’ve seen on Grey’s Anatomy so forgive me when the birth is wrongly described.

“Babe? You home?” you called out to your fiance excited to tell him the news. No response, so you ventured further into the dark hallway.

You could see light coming from under the bedroom door. Thinking nothing of it because it was already relatively late, you walked to the room and opened the door.

You had not expected the sight before you though. You’re husband to be in the throes of passion with not one but two women.

Shocked, you slammed the door shut again which caused the threesome to startle.

“Honey? Why are you home already? I thought you were gonna go for a drink with your friends.” he called out to you while ripping the door open again…..

“That’s your excuse to cheat on me? That I was not going to see it? WHAT THE FUCK STEVE! We wanted to get married!” you screamed at him and then threw the engagement ring towards his head.

You stormed past him into the bedroom, grabbed some clothes and necessities from your closet and stuffed them into a suitcase. He tried to reason with you, that he wanted to feel free one last time and could pass up the opportunity of a threesome. Like that was actually an excuse.

Everything he said was ignored and so 5 minutes later you sat in your car and that was when the dam broke. You wanted to cry and yell at the same time. How could you have been so stupid as to think someone as honorable and good looking as Steve Rogers was not gonna follow the temptation of so many willing women at some point? You wiped your tears away and contemplated where you could be going for the night.

After thinking for a while you had figured out that most of your friends were also Steve’s you didn’t know if they were going to take his side or yours.

Natasha was not the right idea, she would probably break into his house and kill him in his sleep if she found out he cheated on you like that. And maybe you were in the right mindset to let her do it right now. Wanda and Vision were out of town and Tony would only tell you “I told you so”. That left only one other person in the world you liked enough to see right now. Bucky Barnes. So without further notice you drove to his apartment complex and rang his doorbell at 1am with a packed suitcase in your hand.

“Yes.” you heard a groggy voice through the speakers at the entrance.

“Ehm, hi Bucky. It’s Y/N. Something happened, can I come up?” you were already close to tears again. He must have noticed so he was immediately wide awake and buzzed the door open.

You took the elevator up to the 4th floor and he was already standing in the doorway to his flat only in boxer shorts and a t-shirt.

“Hey, doll. What happened? You look worse for wear.” he looked concerned and let you inside.

“I feel awful for disturbing you in the middle of the night. But I didn’t know where else to go.” you fell into his embrace after he had opened his arms.

“It’s okay darling. Now tell me what happened please.” he inquired.

“Of course. Where do I start?” you frantically searched for words.

“Best if you start at the beginning.” he smiled encouragingly.

“Yes, sure. So tonight I wanted to go for a drink with a few girls from work but didn’t feel alright after work so I rainchecked last minute and went home. But when I stepped into our bedroom, oh Bucky it was terrible, Steve wasn’t alone. There were two naked girls in bed with him.” you had fat tears streaming down your cheeks.

“Impossible. Steve is not a cheater. You sure you saw that right?” The doubt in his voice made you angry.

“I know what I saw Buck!” you got defensive.

“Okay, I believe you. It’s just that I never saw Steve disrespecting someone like that. I’m so sorry for you doll.” he looked genuinely affected by the whole situation and he could understand how Steve could hurt you like this.

“But that’s not the worst part yet… The reason I didn’t feel great and didn’t go out with my friends is… I’m pregnant Bucky and Steve doesn’t know.” you looked downwards.

“Fuck! That is getting more and more complicated. But congratulations doll. You will be a great mom.” he hugged you close. “How about I’ll make you a cup of tea and then you try to sleep a bit.” he suggested.

“Alright. Thank you Bucky. You are my best friend.” he smiled sadly at that statement. He wished you were more than just friends. Maybe now he would have a chance somehow.

Before he could get up though his phone rang.

“It’s him Y/N. You want me to ignore him?”

“No, then he knows I’m here for sure. Tell him you haven’t seen me.”

“Okay, will do.”

“Steve? Do you know how late it is?” Bucky asked with his best impression of a just out of bed voice.

“I’m sorry pal but I need to find Y/N. I did something stupid and she left. Do you know where she is?” you could hear Steve through Bucky’s much too loud phone.

“I’m sorry Steve. I haven’t heard from her. You just woke me up.” he lied.

“Damn! I need to make this up to her. I’m so sorry. If she comes to you, could you tell her I need to speak with her, please? I love her too much to lose her.” you swallowed more tears threatening to escape.

“Sure, buddy. You wanna tell me what happened?” Bucky feigned cluelessness.

“Maybe later Buck. I have to call the rest of our friends.”

“Alright, but don’t do anything stupid.” Bucky said and Steve hung up.

“You heard him, didn’t you?” he asked you.

“Hmm.” you confirmed.

After you had drank your tea he left you the bed and slept on the couch. When you snuggled into the covers they smelled so delicously like Bucky. A mix of soap, coffee and something uniquely Bucky. For one split moment you had thought about asking him to sleep next to you but that would have probably sent mixed signals and you didn’t know what you wanted at the moment.

You woke up feeling cold. Shivering slightly you opened your eyes and noticed that the blanket had fallen off your body onto the floor. Sitting up you rubbed the sleep out of your eyes and the realization of what had happened struck you a moment later.

“Chin up! You are a queen! Don’t let that idiot make you cry again. He’s not worth it!” you told yourself and got up to get some food.

“Good morning, Bucky.” you greeted him while he was standing at the stove making scrambled eggs and bacon.

“Good morning to you too. How did you sleep? And do you want some breakfast?” he asked cheerily.

“I slept like a baby and hell yes I’m so hungry.” confirming his suspicions.

Bucky and you ate together in comfortable silence. Until he spoke up: “So Y/N you know you can stay here however long you like and I don’t mind kicking Stevies ass for what he’s done to you but you should at least tell him that you are with me. I can’t lie to him forever.” he really had a point.

“I know. Thanks again for taking in a stray in the middle of the night. And I know I will have to talk to him eventually. He hurt me so bad but I’m more afraid I will give in again when I see his puppy dog eyes although I can’t trust him anymore.” you looked so lost. Bucky wanted to wrap you up in a blanket and never let you go again.

That week you called in sick. You couldn’t stand the people at work.

And when you came back on monday, guess who was standing outside our office building with a exagerrated flower buquet.

“I’m sorry babe. I shouldn’t have done that to you. You are the best thing that has happened to me. Please don’t leave me.” he begged. You had to admit seeing Captain America beg was a sight for sore eyes.

“Hello Steve. You are correct you shouldn’t have cheated on me and I am deeply disappointed in you. Thank you for apologizing but I won’t come back to you. You have broken my trust and I can’t just give it back to you. I will be over in the next few weeks to get the rest of my stuff out of your apartment and leave my keys. Now I have to go work. Bye Steve. Oh, by the way, you will have to call all our friends and family that the wedding is off. I’m not doing that.” and with those words you turned away from him and clapped yourself menatlly on the shoulder at how confident and sovereign you had handelt that situation.

If you had thought the deal was over there you had definitely celebrated to early.

Of course Steve found out you had been staying with Bucky all along and was mad as hell.

He suddeny stood inside the apartment, however he got in there, and started throwing insults at Bucky and especially you.

“Here you are you little slut! Have already replaced me, hm. How long has this been going on? You preach something of trust and here you are fucking my best friend behind my back! I should have known.” he raged.

“Calm down you idiot. There is nothing going on between Buck and me. He has just been a friend when I was hurt needed one.” you yelled back enraged at the accusations.

“Who do you wanna tell that, Y/N. Do you think I haven’t seen the way you two look at each other?” he was still so angry. You had nevern seen him this full of rage.

“So what it is none of your business anymore anyways.” you knew you couldn’t bring him to believe you anyway. He needed to find a different cause of why you wouldn’t come back to him than the simple reason that he had cheated. He wanted to blame you, not himself.

“Could you please leave now? I don’t feel so good.” you suddenly felt your lunch coming back up to greet you and ran to the bathroom.

The men heard you puking. One knowing the reason the other not.

“What’s going on with her? She sick?” Steve asked Bucky.

That was your clue to burst through the bathroom door.

“I’m pregnat you ass! You cheated on your pregnant fiance!” you yelled and stormed into Bucky’S bedroom, jamming the door shut behind you.

Steve looked aghast at Bucky “did you know?”

“She told me the night she came to me. She had wanted to tell you then. That’s why she didn’t go out with her collegues.”

“Fuck! I destroyed everything, haven’t I?” he asked Bucky in defeat.

“Give her time. She probably won’t want to marry you, maybe not even be your girlfriend again but maybe she will at least let you see your kid.” Bucky stated matter of factly.

“But I wan’t more Bucky. I want her.” he whined.

“Well, you had everything, pal. But you destroyed it. I better go talk to her. You should really leave her alone for a while.” he clapped Steve on the shoulder, maybe a bit harder than necessary and went after you.

“Y/N? He’s gone.” Bucky carefully stuck his head into the room. You were lying on the bed, on your back staring at the ceiling.

“Good.” you muttered. “I couldn’t stand him anymore. I’m afraid Bucky.” you confessed. “I can’t raise a baby on my own and I don’t know if I want Steve involved.”

“I can understand your worry but I don’t see any reason. You are so caring and selfless you will be a great mom. And if you let me I can help you. Kids seem to like me apparently.” he encouraged you and smiled.

“Thank you, Buck. I definitely will need your help. I am going to be a single mom and that’s completely okay.” you smiled at him.

“That’s what I wanna hear. Now, you hungry after everything just came out?”

“Yes. I’d like Pizza please.”

“Alright, princess I will order some.” he stroked your cheek and got up to get the delivery running.

“So he actually cheated on you? I would have never expected that from Steve. He always seems like a gentleman. Unbelievable.” Wanda exclaimed.

“Yeah. Absolutely insane. But congrats on the pregnancy though. You will be a rockin’ mama.” Nat hugged you. “And we will help you with whatever you need.”

“Thanks, girls. You are amazing. You know I want you to be godmothers, right?” you asked.

“Hell yes. We’re in.” Nat squealed and you never heard her squeal.

Weeks ticked by and you really searched for an affordable apartment somewhere close to your workplace. That was harder than you anticipated though.

After 3 months of moving in with Bucky you had still no place of your own and you constantly thought you were overstaying your welcome.

“How are you two doing today?” Bucky asked you as he came home.

“We are fine. Had a lot to eat and listened to some music. By the way my OB was able to find out what we are having. You wanna know?” over the past months Bucky had become more a father to the baby than Steve had been. Steve rarely called or wanted to now anything about you or his baby. Bucky seemed more than content to take up the role of its father.

“Hell yes I wanna know. Tell me!” he ordered exited.

“Alright, drumroll…. It’s a…. girl.” you announced.

“Oh, wow. Great. A mini you not a mini Steve.” he laughed and you had to laugh too.

“Buck?” you asked suddenly.

“Hm?”

“I want you to be in this girls life. As more than just her mommys friend. More as a rolemodel. A…” you stopped to think about your next words carfully. “More like a dad.” and out it was. Now you only had to wait for his reaction.

“You want me to be her father? Hmm. On the one hand I would love to. I feel so close to her already but on the other hand I don’t want to affront Steve. Even after everything he is my friend. Can we talk about what there is between us first? Maybe if we have that settled all will slip in place.” he suggested.

“Maybe you are right. What is there between us in your opinion?”

“Look Y/N, I have always felt a connection between us. Although I would have never acted on it because you were Steve’s girl, it hurt everytime I saw you with him. And when you got engaged I seriously considered moving abroad so I wouldn’t have to see you building a life with him. If I could imagine myself as the man by your and your daughters side? Of course. There is nowhere I’d rather be. And we are practically living together already anyway.” his confession only superficially shocked you. You knew there had always been feelings from your side too. That’s why it had been so easy to confide in him. He took your silence as hesitation and became insecure “I mean if you don’t feel that way I will accept that. I swear I can be just a frien….” he wasn’t able to say more because you had already stopped his rambling with a bruising kiss.

“So you do feel it!” he observed.

“Of course I do you dummy. You have always been there for me. I’m sorry it took me so long to realize it was actually you who I should be with.” you apologized.

“The most important thing is that we have that figured out now.” he kissed you again and you melted into it.

“Yes, we do.” you smiled.

Another few months flew by and you had started to stay at home because you were constantly feeling dizzy or nauteous when you moved.

“Bucky come here. Now!” you yelled for your boyfriend one snowy december morning. Alarmed he stormed into the livingroon where you were parked in front of a movie with a cup of hot chocolate and a really big blanket over one of Bucky’s hoodies.

“What’s wrong? You okay?” panicked he jumped onto the couch next to you. “No nothing is wrong. Here- Give me your hand.” he gave you his right hand and you pressed it to the place on your belly were you had just felt her kick. When she did it again he almost jumped out of his skin. “Woah, what was that? Was that a kick?” he asked astonished.

“Of course Buck. What else was it supposed to be?” you laughed.

“She is strong. Damn so cool.”

“And she keeps kicking even more when she hears your voice. Maybe she likes it if you sang to her.” you smiled expectantly.

“Oh, no. No one wants to hear me sing. I have a terrible voice.” he refused.

“Steve told me differently. He said you were in church choir together as boys.” your smirked at him.

“He told you that.” he sighed.

“Oh, yes he did. So come on. Sing something for our daughter.”

“Our daughter?” he asked, you realized what you had said and blushed.

“I like the sound of that.” he grinned from ear to ear and that was the moment you were 100% sure that he was it for you.

“I love you so much.” he whispered and kissed first your protruding belly and then your mouth.

You were speechless. “I love you too Bucky.” you replied.

Your daughter grew everyday. Everytime you went to an ultrasound at your OB Bucky was by your side and although the doctor knew he wasn’t the babys biological dad she said that he was doing so much better than most fathers to be. He took so much pride in your baby girl that you almost burst with love for him.

After 9 months of carrying her it was finally time to let go. When the contractions started Bucky rushed you to a hospital and although he didn’t want to he called Steve. And Nat and Wanda of course.

The doctor and midwife did their exam of you and the baby quickly before figuring out that something was wrong.

“She is lying sideways. We can’t deliver her naturally. We need to get her by c-section or you will both die.” the OB made clear. You knew things like that could happen. You had mentally prepared for anything but now that it actually came to that you were more than afraid.

“Wo should stay with you? Only one person can.” the doctor informed you.

Steve, who had just entered the room and had heard everything of course assumed immediately that he was gonna be invited into the OR with you.

“I want Bucky to stay with me.” you whined. Steve got pretty angry and almost ripped the door off its hinges when he left. “Bucky I’m afraid.” you whispered to him. Uncaring of Steves abrupt departure.

“I will stay with you, doll. Through everything. You two will get through this.” he encouraged you.

“Thanks Buck. Let’s get this baby into the world.” you said.

“Good attitude.” the doctor approved.

They rushed you into the OR. Bucky never leaving you and holding your hand the whole time. During the procedure itself you were awake but you got a spinal anesthesia to numb everthing from your belly downwards.

“I will keep a pretty ugly scar Buck. Don’t you mind that?” you asked him a little drunk on meds.

“No sweetheart. I love you so much I don’t care about scars. You don’t care about mine either, do you? Scars are just proof of what you have gone through and survived. That’s what you always used to say. Isn’t it?” he quoted you.

“Yes maybe.”

“Plus it will always remind of our beautiful daughter. That’ll be worth it, don’t you think?” he asked.

“Yes, sure. I love you Buck.”

“I love you too and you are doing so great. Isn’t she doc?” he asked the OB.

“Oh, she’s doing great. Everything is perfect.” she answered but by the nervous facial expression she had on her face and the rushing nurses surrounding her Bucky knew that something was wrong.

Suddenly a baby cried. Relief flooded through Bucky. “Look there she is.” he pointed to your right and you rolled your head over and smiled. Then you passed out.

“Y/N? Y/N!!!” Bucky yelled. “What happened?” he asked the doc full of panic.

“She lost a lot of blood but we are giving her donations now. Go see your daughter and we will do everything we can to save her.” she explained to him. But Bucky would not be Bucky if he left your side.

They sewed you up and 3 hours later you awoke in a brightly lit room. Beeping machines by your head. You looked around, complketely confused until you saw the cutes thing you had ever laid eyes on. Your angel of a boyfriend was sitting next to your bed in an armchair, holding your baby daughter to his chest and singing softly to her.

You started weeping immediately. Still high on drugs and hormones.

“Baby what’s wrong? Are you in pain?” he asked worried.

“No, I am just so happy. You two really are a sight for sore eyes. I can’t contain the love in my heart.” you kept crying happy tears.

“Would you give me our baby?” you asked politely.

“Oh, of course honey.” he got up and placed the blanket wrapped burrito into your arms. When you saw her crystal blue eyes and slightly dirty blonde hair you had to hold back new tears.

“What should we call her?” Bucky asked you.

“I always loved Autumn as a girls name or maybe Freya. What do you like better?”

“I love them both. Double name? Or keep one for the next baby?” he suggested.

“You are already thinking about a second child?” you laughed. “Give me a bit of time to recover and then I would love to have another one with you.”

“Sure so Autumn or Freya?” he asked again.

“Let’s go with Freya. It’s such a unique name. And strong as hell. I think it suits her.” you chose.

“Great. I love it. And I love both of you.”

“Has anyone been in here yet?” you asked him.

“Not yet. I wanted you to see your daughter first before the others came barging in. Steve nearly broke down the door when I refused him to come inside. I handled him and security told him if he didn’t calm down he needed to leave and he wouldn’t be allowed back inside.” he broke down the events of the past few hours for you.

“That sounds so not like the Steve I know but seems like that is who he became. I think if you hand me a glass of water for my parched throat first you can let the others inside.” you instructed him.

After downing the entire bottle of liquid the whole party came trampling into the room. Steve pushed the rest rudely out of the way. But instead of asking how you were doing after losing so much blood he just grabbed your daughter out of your hands to look at her. It didn’t take 3 seconds before the infant was crying like crazy. Steve startled and immediately handed her back to you. “Why is she always crying? She’s definitely yours.” he commented. Bucky gotreally angry at that comment while you tried to calm your baby.

“I think you should go, pal. You are irritating her with your attitude.” Bucky suggested nicely.

“Who do you think you are? You are not her father. I am.” he turned beet red.

You finally had enough. Handing Freya over to Nat who took a step back, you sat up a little and faced Steve. “In the past 9 months Bucky has been more a father to her than you could ever be. He was there when I hung puking over the toilet bowl. He brought me the strangest snacks without asking twice about it. He always had the nicest words to say to me no matter how depressed I felt. And where the fucking hell were you that whole time?” you asked him angrily.

That made him stop still. “You left me!” he tried to defend himself weakly.

“GET OUT!” you yelled at him.

He obeyed because he knew he couldn’t say anything to make the situation better.

“Wow, that was intense.” Wanda commented.

“He needed to hear that.” you said.

“Yes, he did. And now to you and your daughter. She is adorable. What’s her name?” Nat changed the topic.

“Thank you Nat. Her name is Freya. I have always loved that name.” you answered.

“That’s a beautiful, strong name. Fitting!” Wanda commented.

“So when will you be able to get out of here?” Nat asked, still holding your baby.

“I don’t know. Haven’t spoken to a doctor yet.”

As if on cue the door opened and your OB entered.

She told you that everything was healing and that you needed to stay for another day and then you and your baby could go home.

Three weeks later you had already accustomed Freya to her crib. You went on walks everyday. Bucky always by your side. Protecting you both like a wolf protects his pack.

Six months ticked by like nothing. Suddenly Freya was already playing with her mobile which was hanging over her bed. She was very attentive. Crawling all over the apartment fast enough that you almost couldn’t catch up.

It was fulfilling to be a mom but also tiring. You needed a day off so as the nice godmothers that your friends were they took her from you for 24 hours. At first you slept in. You would have happily stayed in bed all day but Bucky had other plans.

So you took a shower and put on a nice dress but you forwent the high heels cause you still had swollen feet sometimes and couldn’t walk in them anyways.

“Where are we going Buck?” you smiled.

“You will see, doll.” was his cryptic answer.

He drove out of town until you reached the hills. Parking the car somewhere in the middle of nowhere you got out of the car and he pulled a picnic basket out of the trunk.

“A picnic? That’s so sweet.” you swooned.

“I thought that would be nice.” He seemed somehow really nervous.

When you had found a clearing he put everything down and you two sat and ate. Sandwiches, fruit, cheese, crackers, chocolate covered strawberries. Everything was so delicious. “Thank you for this Bucky. It’s the best date I have ever had.” you complimented.

“It is wonderful. And I would like to ask you something.” he turned so he was kneeling in front of you and pulled a box out of his jacket pocket. You clapped your hand in front of your mouth and tears sprang to your eyes.

“Y/N I have loved you for so long. We have a great life together, a wonderful daughter. I would like this to hold forever. Will you marry me?” he asked.

You threw yourself into his arms and he crumbled underneath you “YES! Of course I will marry you Bucky. I love you so much!” you confirmed.

He put the ring onto your finger and you kissed deeply. The kiss turned heated quickly. You, still lying on top of him, wriggled your hips. He turned you on so much you wanted him right that moment.

“Woa, hold on doll. You sure you want to do this here?” he mumbled against your lips.

“Don’t wanna wait any more. Waited too long.” you mumbled back.

His hands immediately went to the zipper on your back and pulled it down. You sat up so you could wriggle your arms free and pulled the dress over your head, leaving you in your panties and bra. “So beautiful.” he groaned and buried his face in your boobs, nipping and sucking hickies only he would be able to see later.

All the while you frantically ripped at his clothes, pushing the jacket off his shoulders and unbuttoning his shirt. Then you roamed your hands over his muscular chest intensely. Grinding down on his growing erection got you so wet. You hadn’t gotten any action in over a year and you knew he hadn’t either so this was likely going to be over way too soon. You had to savor any moment that it would last.

With his help you got him out of his jeans and you saw that he was not wearing any underwear. “Naughty boy. No underwear?” you commented, smirking.

“More comfy that way. Why don’t you make it even more comfortable and sit on my dick, doll?”

“With pleasure.” you moaned and sank down on his massive cock. “Fuck!” you groaned at the slight discomfort. You felt like an inexperienced virgin again. “Shit. Don’t stop.” he moaned lustfully.

You rocked your hips sensually and he met you with every thrust.

He hit all the amazing spots deep inside you and you felt your high approaching way too fast. “‘m so close, baby.” you moaned with your eyes closed. Just lost in the pleasure of every stroke inside you.

“Me too. Wanna come together. Open your eyes, darling.” he panted.

So you did as he had asked and when your eyes met his baby blues you lost it and came all over him. That in turn triggered his orgasm and he spilled inside you.

Breathing heavily you slid off of him and cuddled into his side while he pulled a blanket over you.

“That was so great.” he said.

“Hmm, and you know what? I’m still not on birth control again. Maybe… we’ll soon have a mini you running around.” you smirked.

“I would like that very much. Life is always better with a sibling.” he kissed your head.

Well and what can I say- 9 months later you gave birth to a healthy, dark haired baby boy which you named Ben. Your family became the most important thing in the world. You didn’t even want to think about a scenario where you hadn’t found out that Steve cheated on you. You were the happiest when you were with Bucky. That’s where you belonged.

[football-rambles]

Spaces - Mason Mount

Based on One Direction - Spaces. For the One Direction Series, which can be found here.

Disclaimer: This is all fictional purposes. Also some swearing :)

‘Hey, you reached Y/N, Sorry I’m missing your call. Leave a message and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can, bye!’ Beep.

Monday 17:35 ‘Hey, it’s Mase…Can you give me a ring? please.’

Wednesday 20:00 ‘Hey, it’s me again…Mason. Haven’t heard from you in a couple of days, five me a call back?’

Thursday 12:03 ‘Y/N it’s Mason again, I just want to talk to you, you weren’t serious last week…were you? Please just call me please.’ Beep.

Thursday 17:50 ‘Y/N, where are you. Please pick up.’

Still nothing, Mason went out with some of the lads from the club Saturday night after the game. Luckily, he was benched today, he knew he wasn’t in the right frame of mind to play a full football match. It was the early hours of Sunday morning, Mason was slightly intoxicated and strayed away from some of the lads, taking his phone out of his pocket.

Sunday 01:41 ‘I am sorry, okay? Just talk to me please. Just talk to me, I know I fucked up, please Y/N ring me!’ He shouted desperate for you to pick up.

Sunday 01:58 ‘Okay, I think I’m slightly drunk, but please just call me. I miss you.’

That was the last time Mason rang that night, he ended up going home and waking up next morning with a slight headache as he sat up on his sofa, drinking a cup of coffee he made that was starting to cool.

Sunday 13.26 ‘Okay…I fucked up again, and I know that I’m sorry for the messages last night. But please can we talk? I want to talk to you. Please…I love you’

Sunday 14:20 ‘I miss you, Y/N’ Mason sighed as he hung up, telling himself that this was the last time.

It was somehow you knew that he would stop calling but it wasn’t long before Y/N sent a text back.

‘Please. Stop. Calling.’ It read.

“You know, you’re going to have to talk to him eventually” A voice spoke from the other side of the room where you she sat. “He’s a right mess, Y/N.” He continued, as you looked over at where Declan was sat. You were curled up in the corner of the sofa with Raffa curled by your feet.

Avoiding Mason, you came over and stayed with Lauren who said you was more than welcome to stay which left Declan in an awkward position especially when he’s best friends with Mason you felt bad.

But Dec promised his girlfriend he wouldn’t say anything where you were, and you would be forever grateful for that.

“No, I don’t, I said what I needed to say and to be honest. It hurts the first-time round. It’s not my fault he didn’t get the message.” You said bitterly finishing the glass of wine.

Declan tried to reason with her, backing his best friend corner while trying to understand from both point of views but he just gave up and sat back and tried to get into the film that you and Lauren was watching.

It was the morning after, you sat at the breakfast bar finishing a slice of toast you made. You washed it up and placed it back. You we’re the only one up, Declan had already got up as he had to be at an early training session and Lauren was still in bed. You decided to leave a note and go back home.

You hauled yourself up flights of stairs, grateful as you reached your floor. Where you noticed Mason sat outside the door, you stop for a second. Fiddling with the door key in your hand.

“How long have you been here?” You asked, avoiding eye contact.

“Since you text last night” He spoke, voice straighten it was clear from the bags under his eyes that he was tired. You sighed.

“Mason – “

“You told me to stop calling, so I wanted to talk to you in person.” He cut you off as he stood up, he stood in the position he didn’t move towards you. He kept the distance between the two. “where were you last night?” He asked curious.

You stayed silent for a moment, wondering how to answer “Lauren and Dec’s” you mumbled.

“What, and he didn’t tell me? He’s supposed to be my best friend.” Mason started to get defensive.

“Because Lauren told him not to tell you! Don’t go blaming Dec, he’s trying to help! You in fact.” You snapped back, looking at Mason who backed down.

“Besides, it’s not your business where I stay anyway. We broke up.” You reminded him, annoyed, that he wanted to know where you were.

Dating Mason was great, for so long. He was the most understanding person, and you knew his job was intense and demanding and it had the high and lows. But it also put a massive strain on the relationship. You knew that even though you loved Mason more than anything, you knew you had to break it up. So, you were the one to do it after he came back from international duty last week.

It didn’t end well; Mason refused to listen and went out with his team mates instead after yelling at you.

“You can’t break up with me, it’s my job! You can’t make me choose between me and the ball.” He yelled pulling a shirt over his head.

“I’m not asking you too. I’m doing it for you1” you say back, both of you arguing back and forth, until Mason stormed out.

“What happened between us Y/N?” Mason sighed; his voice so sad that you wanted to cry at the sound of it. Head hung forward as he tried to give a small smile, something he’d do not to cry himself.

“The space, has been between us now for a while.” You say, emotions in your voice, you were the one to respond to Mason. “and the space got bigger.” You say softly.

Silenced echoed, no one said anything for moments.

“I don’t want to be the one to say goodbye.” You say lump in your throat. “But I have to be.” You took a deep breath.

“Goodbye Mason.” You say, holding back the tears as you kissed his cheek and walked into your flat. You let out a small sob as the tears we’re streaming down your face, you waited for a moment to see if he’d protest, or yell after her but as you looked through the peep hole, you saw him walking away, for the last time.

[misterghostfrog]

39 FOR THE PROMPTS PLEASE AAAAA

LOOK OK, i’m going to start by saying this one... got away from me a little bit. And I didn’t originally mean to combine the prompts, and neither are technically correct. BUT consider you can’t stop me

39. Kissing tears from the other’s face.

30. Pulling away from a kiss, whispering words of love against each other’s lips.

Cw; This takes place after the unknowing but before Jon wakes up in canon, and Martin starts in a rough headspace. Also accidental compulsion.

(This is actually a sorta part-2 to the pre-unknowing ficlet I did! Tho u don’t gotta read it to understand it works as a standalone too. Anyway welcome to the AU ZONE)

EDIT: fixed a typo

Martin usually visits Jon on Thursday.

He used to visit every day. But the nurses began to give him looks after the first month, and it was hard to balance checking on Jon with regular life things like groceries, laundry, and work. So he’s cut back. If only to preserve his sanity.

He considered Sunday. But Sunday is the day he visits his mum, another thing that has been hard to balance with- well. Everything. Besides, it’s hard to stack that much heartbreak into one day.

The receptionist gives him a funny look. He would give himself a funny look too, he looks a wreck, he knows it. She knows him, so seeing him on a wednesday looking like he crawled out of the back end of hell. Or maybe just hasn’t done any laundry for a few days. Or showered. And got in a fight and lost.

He’s already waited too long though, he thinks. He... well. It’s his last chance, he supposes. If Jon isn’t coming back, then...

Yeah.

It’ll be for the best.

He turns the knob on the door, he knows what he’ll say. Even if he’s talking to a dead man he needs a speech apparently. And-

He bounces off of something- or someone. Who trips back a step in turn.

“Oh god- I’m so sorry-” He says almost automatically.

“No, don’t worry about it I wasn’t-”

“I wasn’t even looking where I was going a-and-”

“Really it’s fine-”

The man isn’t a nurse, Martin’s sees that much. He’s tall-ish. Handsome, certainly. Definitely no-one he’s ever met. And certainly no-one he thinks might have a reason to visit Jon. Not that Jon shouldn't get handsome visitors, but- well. He doesn’t- didn’t? Have many people outside of the institute he ever talked about. And so this guy turning up out of the blue is... well.

“Er- I’m sorry, but who... who are you?”  He’s not- he’s not upset. that this random stranger is visiting Jon. It’s just weird is all. Yeah. Really weird, actually.

“Oh! I- I’m- I’m a friend of Jons.” The man says with an awkward smile, his eyes darting down to his shoes for a moment as he says it. “Er- Antonio.” He tacks the name on like an afterthought. This time his gaze flicks somewhere around Martin's shoulder, he shuffles on his feet.

Martin’s never been an expert at picking up on lies, not to say he’s bad at it. He just doesn’t find it something to worry about generally. But it’s hard not to notice when ‘Antonio’ is basically holding an imaginary blinking neon sign that says ‘I AM LYING’ with accompanying metaphorical Morse code with the same message.

He swears he’s heard that name before though.

“Oh. Er- he’s never um, talked about you?” he says carefully.

“Oh, yeah. Very old friends. Haven’t um- talked in a while.” ‘Antonio’ waves a hand awkwardly. And casting consistent looks towards the elevator.

“Uh-huh.”

“Anyway! I’m uh- I’ll be going now. Visits over stuff to do y’know.” He’s already walking away as he says it, backing up for a moment and casting a quick wave before trotting away down the hall.

“Oh, y-yeah. Sure, bye?” Martin waves- though ‘Antonio’ isn’t looking. Watching as he basically runs down the hall.

“Bye!” ‘Antonio’ throws over his shoulder as he turns the corner to the elevators.

Well then.

“Huh.”

That’s not how he thought this visit was going to start.

He pauses for a moment. He’d been working off of something of a momentum. Check in with the nurse, make his speech. And be ready to say his goodbyes. But that... whatever just happened. Well, it threw him off.

He sighs.

It doesn’t matter. Weirdo visiting Jon. Seems about right, actually. If he thinks about it. Probably left a statement somewhere too, just to complete the weird weird picture.

The word ‘weird’ is starting to sound less like the a word the more he thinks about it.

He pushes the door to the hospital room open, he knows he’s imagining it. But the air feels heavier. The dread of the situation. The finality. Jon is still there, unmoving in his hospital bed. There's several machines tucked into the corner, they’d unhooked him from everything after the first month when it became clear that this is simply his state of being. That’s also about the time the nurses started telling him Jon probably wasn’t waking up.

He’s not going to wake up. Martin knows he’s not going to wake up. He’s been fooling himself for so long but now with the flesh attack he needs to do something. Or at the very least stop feeling like he’s doing nothing. But being miserable isn’t a solution either. 

Maybe there is no solution. Maybe it’s just, problems. Stuff he can’t fix or deal with and just- has to let it follow him until he dies.

He shifts, and his ankle twinges.

He’d tripped. It’s so stupid, it wasn’t even the monsters. He’d just- fallen and ended up hiding in a side room while everyone else dealt with meaty things crawling out of the floorboards. Just sat and hid and did nothing.

He’s tired of doing nothing.

Jon snores, interrupting his train of thought.

Martin smiles, god he’d forgotten Jon did that. Those little snorting snores- he’d only heard them a few times, back at the institute. It had scared the hell out of him the first time he’d been living-

Wait.

What?

Martin blinks. And watches as Jon scrunches his nose, making a small irritated noise- and turns over.

What.

His head skips, rewinds. Plays what he just saw back. Jon is breathing, how long has he been breathing? Doesn’t matter, he’s breathing which means he’s alive but what-

That weird guy. “Antonio”

He’s gone, Martin knows he’s gone. But he checks anyway. Even running all the way to the elevators. But he’s gone.

And Jon...

Jon is alive.

The thought hits his brain, and then slips away like a wet fish. There’s no guarantees. This could be a fluke, this could be a trap. It might not even be Jon. Just... something that looks like him, and snores like him. And-

A nurse taps him on the shoulder. And he realizes he’s been staring at the elevators for, well, he doesn’t know how long. Long enough to catch several concerned glances from passers-by though.

“Are you alright sir?” She asks, politely. He recognizes her, he chatted with her once when visiting Jon. She’s nice. She does the check ups a lot of the time, one of the few who’ll actually do it.

“He’s alive.” He says flatly, instead of answering. Because he’s not sure what the answer to the question is anyway.

The doctors do tests, though not many. According to them he’s fine. Fit as a fiddle aside from some fatigue and a little confusion. Which clearly makes them uncomfortable. Which he understands. A man wakes up from a three-month coma like he’d just rolled out of bed on a Monday morning? It makes him uncomfortable too, he thinks.

Basira drops off a statement. ‘Just felt like I should’ she’d said when he asked why. And neither of them felt particularly good about that answer.

After the statement he’s fine, not even fatigued. He’s alive.

He keeps looking at Martin.

Martin isn’t sure why he doesn’t want to look back.

Maybe it’s because it still feels like a trap, all of a sudden he comes back with no- no fanfare no effort. Right as rain and just... there.

Nobody else wants to deal with him right now- not after he just pulled a Lazarus like that. Jon wants to go to the institute. But Martin isn’t having it. He just woke up from a three-month coma. He’s going home. And yes- his lease apparently expired before the unknowing, so he doesn’t have a place to stay. And yes the only person willing to give him a place to stay is Martin. And Martin... well, it’s Jon. and even if it wasn’t, in the wake of losing three months of his life- and a friend. Or someone who had been a friend at a point before this all went to hell. He wouldn’t leave him alone for anything.

Martin tries to force himself to come to terms with it as they both climb into his car- this is what he wanted. He should be overjoyed. But it feels... it feels like if he looks at Jon for too long he’ll just... disappear. Or stop breathing again. Or stop being Jon.

“Good to see not too much has changed while I was gone.” Jon says wryly as he wrestles with the seatbelt. Which squeaks as he struggles to pull it out far enough to actually fasten it.

Martin just hums in response. Not trusting his voice not to betray whatever it is he’s feeling right now.

The drive to his flat is mostly quiet, aside from a few awkward attempts at conversation from Jon that all fall miserably flat. Eventually he gives up, and the rest of the drive is spent in silence. 

It’s not too far from the hospital to his flat. So before he knows it he’s leading Jon up the steps to his home.

It’s not much, he knows. Can’t afford anything truly fancy when carrying medical bills around. But it’s nice, homey. He hopes.

“Home sweet home.” He says, dropping his keys on the table by the door and hoping he sounds cheery. Because he doesn’t know what else to be right now. He’s figured out what emotion he’s feeling, though he’s not sure it counts as an emotion honestly.

Numb. 

Stupid, isn’t it? 

“The bathrooms down the hall- I think your stuff’s all in storage at the moment,” his voice wobbles at that, he swallows “so we’ll have to go get that soon. You can help yourself to anything in the fridge-” He’s stopped by a hand on his wrist. Familiar, too-thin, and cool.

“Martin.” Jon says. “Did I... did I do something to upset you?” It’s a question, small and helpless. Martin just wants to brush it off, he’s fine. He just needs time-

“You died, Jon.” He says instead. The words coming out unbidden.

“I- I came back.” He tightens his grip on Martins wrist for a moment before loosening  “In one piece even. I believe that was a part of our agreement” There’s a note of teasing in that last part, Martin wishes it was funny.

“I said come back safe Jon, not ‘come back from the dead’” Jon's hand drops from his wrist.

“Do you not... Are you not glad I’m back?” He sounds- sad. Of course he sounds sad Martin basically just said he wished he'd died.

“Of course I’m glad your back, I just-”

“Then what’s wrong?” The words are just- they’re just words. But Martin feels something pull in his chest.

Martin looks at Jon for the first time since the hospital.

“I’m scared, Jon! I You were dead for three months, Y-you didn’t even have a heartbeat and I-” He brings a hand upland runs it through his hair, Jon doesn’t need to hear this. He should be resting not listening to Martin dump his issues like this- “you were dead and I was the only one left. A-and yeah you came back, but- god what even is this! You’re just, fine. A-and I’m- I don’t want you to not be fine but I- I can’t even prove to myself that you’re real and not- I-I don’t-” He forces himself to stop. clamping his jaw shut around the words that suddenly feel like they’re pushing at the back of his throat like bile. Jon stares back at him, eyes wide and confused and hurt. He’s disheveled and still wearing the pajamas Martin had brought for him in the first week. Small and tired and maybe even real. He looks at Jon until he can’t because his vision begins to blur and his eyes begin to burn.

“Martin, I- I’m- I’m sorry I-” Jon's blurry form moves, and Martin shuts his eyes. Shaking his head. He should be the one apologizing, Jon didn’t need to hear that and he just- threw it at him.

“I’m-” Martin tries to apologize, but it comes out as little more than a croak. Cool hands cup his cheeks, and he opens his eyes. Jon's face is closer now, eyes scanning desperately over Martin's face.

“I- I’m not- I don’t know what I am but I’m- I-I’m me. I-I promise, I don’t know how to prove it to you but I-” Jon starts, and Martin can see his lips move to form the words-

Jon is here, he’s alive. He’s awake. His hands are on Martin's cheeks and he’s running his thumb through the tear tracks, fumbling over awkward reassurances. and looking so, so earnest. Hell, he made a joke about a conversation nobody else heard. Something just between the two of them, nobody else. And to fear entities, maybe that doesn’t matter. But for now, with Jon so close and acting so perfectly imperfectly Jon. Martin can let- no. Make himself believe. Jon’s not dead, it’s not a trap. Not right now, not yet. Just for right now, Martin isn’t alone anymore.

It doesn’t take much to lean forward, pressing their lips together. Jon makes a small, cut-off sound of surprise before melting into it, letting a hand move to the back of Martin's hair and the other fall to his shoulder. Martin's arms wrapping around Jon's waist.

Eventually they have to part for air. Martin doesn’t open his eyes, but he can feel Jon's breath on his face, and his hand in his hair and it’s all just another reminder he’s alive. And so wonderfully real.

He feels Jon move after a moment, using the hand he’s left on the back of Martin's head to guide him down. Pressing now-warm lips to the wet patches on his cheeks. Martin tries to laugh, he’s not sure why. It all just seems a little absurd all of a sudden. but it comes out as sort of a wet hiccup. Prompting Jon to tilt his head, and lock their lips together again.

Martin doesn’t know how long they stand in his entryway, trading kisses and just... being in each other's arms. But it’s long enough he’s run out of tears for Jon to try to kiss away, and the strange wired feeling has faded. Leaving him tired and heavy and in desperate need of a lie-down.

He pulls back, though not far. He can still feel Jon's lips against his as he speaks.

“Please don’t die again.” He says softly.

Jon sighs, pressing a small, chaste kiss against his lips.

“I’ll do my best,” he says, and Martin can feel the words as Jon's mouth brushes his as much as he hears them. And then he kisses Martin again, like he’s trying to seal the words there with his lips.

And, Martin supposes that promise was enough last time. It might be more than enough for him now.

[maneskinrollercoaster]

~ And All That For a Lighter ~

Pairing: Damiano David x Naomi (fictional character)

Word count: 3035

Warnings: none

Summary: Naomi meets Damiano in a café for the first time.

Naomi entered the café all soaked, her cheeks red from running and her hair messy and wet from the rain. It was pouring outside which was the thing she despised the most. Surprisingly tho she felt good. Fresh. She loved walking around Rome in the morning and for the first time in her life she admired this rainy weather. Little drops of water flowed over her cheek. Her life was a big mess and you could say she needed something new.

When a month ago she found her boyfriend cheating with her best friend she felt like her whole life collapsed. That’s when she decided to change something. Start a new life. She started admiring things she’s never liked before, she started dressing differently, she became more confident in her own body. She even started working out which was the most unexpected thing since physical education was her least favorite subject in high school.

Naomi always thought love was the most essential part of everyone’s life, but a sight of Alessandro having fun in their bed with Sofia made her hate love more than anything. She decided to move on and live life completely and only for herself.

- Buongiorno Joey - she said reaching the bartender standing behind the counter.

- Buongiorno piccola, what can I get for you?

- One espresso please, and one brownie - the bartender nodded and started preparing her order.

She decided to sit down since she would probably spend a lot of time working on her laptop and enjoying this rainy morning. The inside of café was warm and welcoming, comfortable couches, puffy pillows and a lot of plants. She visited this café every day for the past two weeks and she found herself enjoying this place maybe even more than her new flat.

Naomi went to sit in the corner on a cozy red couch. She took off her soaked jacket and pulled out her laptop with a couple of notebooks. She was a student of economy and since she had to find herself some more things to do she decided to actually try harder to have a better degree at her college. She wasn’t so fond of the direction she chose but she knew it’s gonna bring her a prosperous life. In fact her favorite thing in the world was art. She started painting when she was 8 years old. Since then she really enjoyed staying all day alone in her room painting everything she could, from beautiful portraits to mesmerizing landscapes. She had a huge talent but she was too afraid to chase her dreams.

When she met Alessandro he quickly bashed her ideas of becoming a professional painter, saying that it’s not something she will build her life on and that she will be only wasting her time. She was mad at him for a couple of days but then she quit her painting dream and chose economy for her main subject.

- Ecco a te, one coffee and one brownie - said Joey bringing her order to the table and putting it right in front of her.

- Grazie mille - Naomi answered and smiled to him.

She took a sip of coffee and smiled. It was delicious. That was another reason why she kept coming back here every day. They made the best coffee she’s ever drunk.

Two hours passed and Naomi was still working on her assignment she was supposed to give in till next Monday. It was about lunch time so she decided she will pack her things in an hour and she will go find a place to eat something. She took the last sip of the coffee and finished her first task when someone pulled her out of her little trans.

- Ah shit! I’m all wet! - she heard someone saying and moment later she saw a guy reaching the bartender.

He was tall and had slightly longer, dark brown hair. She could only see his profile but only that was enough for her to admit that he was really handsome. He was wearing black trousers, black Dr. Martens, white tank top and an oversized black jacket. He looked good and Naomi couldn’t take her eyes off of him.

- Damiano! It’s so good to see you man! - Joey said and shook hands with the new guy.

Damiano. The name really suit him. Naomi didn’t take her eyes off him even once.

- Ciao, ciao, Joey! - his voice was attractive as well. Raspy and deep but really calm.

Naomi didn’t know what was happening. Usually she didn’t pay attention to any guys after Alessandro but he was different. He looked edgy and bold but he seemed nice too. She was staring at him. And not in a polite way. She was literally eyeing him from up and down and she didn’t even realize.

- Give me an espresso man, I’m so tired, I just woke up. Yesterday we had so much fun. Victoria came up with this new idea of the song and we all stayed up late till 4 am trying to figure out how to pull it up together. - Damiano said.

So he’s into music. Nice. Naomi was still staring at him so rudely but she didn’t care at this point. Music is also art - she thought and smiled slightly not letting go of his person.

- Typical you, Dam, you’ve never slept a full night, did you? - Joey said and they both laughed.

- Do you have a lighter maybe? I forgot mine. - Damiano said and started searching his pockets.

- I don’t man, sorry. Let me make your order. Anything else for you?

- No, no that’s all. I’m gonna go search for a lighter and I’ll be back.

He turned around searching for people but at this time the café was empty. Only Naomi sitting in the corner. He started walking towards her. Oh shit, he’s coming here, stop staring, stop staring, stop staring - Naomi thought and looked at her laptop trying to pretend that’s she didn’t just checked him out for 10 minutes straight.

- Scusi, I’m.. - he reached her table and started speaking but stopped when she looked at him. - I’m sorry to interrupt but do you have a lighter maybe? - he said after a second.

- No, I’m sorry. I don’t smoke. - Naomi blushed and smiled lightly.

- Okey, grazie. - he smiled and started walking away.

- But there’s a store at the corner, I think they might have some. - Naomi said

- Grazie, grazie. - he laughed slightly and waved at her.

Naomi went back to her tasks still blushing not knowing why. 15 minutes passed and Damiano entered the café again carrying two bags. He came up to Naomi smiling.

- I uh.. Sorry to interrupt again but.. Do you want to maybe eat lunch with me? I just thought that it’s lunch time and you’re sitting here alone and since you helped me with the lighter.. - he couldn’t stop speaking and Naomi blushed again laughing. He looked a bit nervous.

- Of course, I would love to eat lunch with you. - she said interrupting him.

- I’m Damiano - he said pulling out his hand.

- Naomi - she said and grabbed his hand to shake it but he turned it and kissed the top of her palm.

She felt something weird in her stomach, like butterflies but she pushed them aside and only smiled to him. Damiano sat on the couch opposite Naomi and put two bags on the table.

- I didn’t know what you like, obviously because I don’t know you, yeah very clever Dam, whatever.. - he started speaking and Naomi couldn’t stop but laugh at him loudly

- Don’t worry, I’m not a peaky eater - she said sending him a reassuring smile.

- Alright, well, I ordered pasta with shrimps and some pesto and cherry tomatoes. - he said taking out the box with food from the bag. - I also got you a cherry smoothie but we can switch if you’d like.

- Wow, and that all for a lighter? You really didn’t have to. But thank you so much, I was about to go for lunch anyways. - she said grabbing the box that he handed her.

- Yes well, you’re really beautiful.. I mean, no.. I mean you are beautiful but I just wanted to say that you’re really nice and yeah I don’t know I just thought you might like to eat something.. Not that you look like you’re starving but yeah..

- Heyyy, thank you, really, that’s so nice of you. - she said smiling widely.

Naomi took the first bite of her pasta and it was delicious. She remembered her grandmother cooking shrimps every Saturday and all her family gathering together for a family dinner in the garden. It tasted just the same.

They ate everything and after two hours of talking and laughing and getting to know each other it was time for Joey to close the café. Naomi stood up and packed her things, said goodbye to Joey and together with Damiano they stepped out of the café. It stopped raining and instead there was a full sun and a fresh breeze.

- So what are you gonna do now? - he asked standing in front of her.

- Umm.. I think I’m just gonna go back to my flat, make myself some snacks and watch Netflix till I fall asleep - Naomi laughed.

- Alright well, do you mind if I walk you home? - Damiano asked steeping a bit closer to her.

- Sure, why not, we can take a walk.

That day Damiano walked Naomi to her house and they exchanged numbers, planning to meet again. He kissed her cheek for goodbye and squeezed her hand and Naomi has never felt like that in a long time. She was happy and Damiano, even tho she met him today, made her feel really good. Naomi couldn’t sleep that night still thinking of him and wondering why she felt so different around him.

*3 months later*

- What do you mean you don’t like Star Wars! - Damiano shouted to Naomi while they both walked towards the beach where they were supposed to watch sunset and have a little picnic.

Since the day they met they spent almost every day together. Damiano surprised her with multiple occasions to go out together, either for lunch or dinner or even breakfast when he woke up earlier than usual. He found himself falling for her. In fact he realized he fell for her the day he first laid his eyes on her. He found her funny, spontaneous and really kind and caring. When she told him about her painting dream he was so shocked she gave up, that he argued with her till he convinced her to chase the dream even if she thought it was too late. Naomi really enjoyed his company, he made her feel really happy and safe and most importantly - loved. She knew she developed some feelings and she didn’t want to admit it but at the back of her head she knew she fell in love. He made her laugh and supported her when she was having bad moments. He became her best friend at some point. Both of them were taking things a bit slower tho, they were both afraid, broken-hearted after rough ended relationships.

- I just don’t, I don’t understand how they made so many movies out of such a lame plot. - she said defending herself.

- How can you even say that! The plot is amazing! The space action scenes, come on! - he said offended but smiling.

- Yeah I just don’t see the point of filming it, that’s all.

- I don’t know how Victoria can still be friends with you, we’re both huge fans of Star Wars! You’re lucky I like you - Damiano started laughing and put his arm around Naomi’s shoulders.

She got to meet Victoria, Ethan and Thomas. Bassist, drummer and guitarist of their band Måneskin. Naomi wasn’t really into music so she didn’t really know them and didn’t know they’re pretty known here in Italy. Victoria was the kindest person Naomi could ever see. When her and Damiano stepped into the studio where they were recording, Vic was the first to reach out to her. She hugged her tightly and was clearly really happy to meet her. She then introduced Thomas and Ethan to her. Thomas started joking around that Damiano finally found himself a girlfriend and Ethan was really polite, he kissed Naomi’s hand and hugged her too, smiling really kindly. They were all so nice. They started inviting her over for dinners or just to hang out by the pool. She also listened to them playing and recording their new songs. Damiano told them that she wanted to be a painter and they all started reassuring her even more, that chasing her dream is the best thing for her and that she should never give up. Naomi really felt like she finally found her place.

Naomi and Damiano reached the beach, they put the blanket on the sand, put out all the food from the basket and they sat opposite each other. They were both smiling widely and chatting about everything. They drank some wine, ate some pasta and then they sat next to each other admiring the sunset.

- I really like you, you know? - Damiano said glancing at Naomi. - And I mean, I like you a lot. You’re really an amazing person with so much talent and you’re just so caring and loving. You really make me happy. - he said not taking his eyes off of her.

- Dami.. - Naomi started but she was interrupted.

- What I want to say is.. - he took her hands - I fell in love with you Naomi. I fell for you hard and I’m pretty sure since the day I saw you at that café. I care about you so much and any time with you is my favorite time in the world. So if you want to.. We could try, you know.. Being together, like, in a relationship. - he said in one breathe.

Naomi was speechless, her stomach was squeezing and she felt her cheeks turning red. She never would have though that someone will make her feel like this again. She knew that he cares for her but she didn’t know that he would feel the same way she felt about him.

- Dami.. Of course I do want to try, you make me the happiest, and honestly I didn’t know you feel the same way, that’s why I didn’t say anything. And also because.. - Naomi wanted to tell him about Alessandro but she was scared that Damiano will back off, saying that he will give her time.

- What’s wrong, bella? - he said gently squeezing her hand.

- I was in a relationship before. His name was Alessandro and we met before I started college. We were together for 3 years and everything was going just fine. But then.. One day when I came back home earlier than usual I found him cheating with my best friend, Sofia. Since then I just decided to not get into any relationship and live only for myself because I was too afraid to get hurt again - Naomi said looking down at their intertwined hands.

- Oh bella.. - Damiano pulled her into a tight hug.

He stroked her back and her hair and he was whispering to her ear. A single tear fell down her cheek but not because she was hurt but because of how gentle and caring Damiano was. He hugged her and made her feel better and she couldn’t find herself with anyone else right now than with him. He pulled away, looked into her eyes and smiled slightly.

- I was in a relationship too a while ago. It turned out we didn’t match and our life goals and perspectives were so different that we decided to end things. Maybe it wasn’t as harsh as your breakup but I felt awful for at least a month. I didn’t go out of my room and I lost all will to write music. Victoria brought me food every day but I just didn’t want to eat. But it all passed.. Listen, if you need more time it’s all good, I’ll give you space and I’ll wait till you’re ready.

Naomi was silent for a couple of seconds. In her head there was a battle. She wanted to let go of bad memories and trust Damiano completely, start a relationship with him, but on the other hand she was scared to get hurt again.

- No Dami. I don’t need time, I know what I want and I know how you make me feel and that’s why I want to try. - Naomi said hugging him tightly.

She knew she just overcame her fear and she felt free. Like a huge stone fell off of her heart. She felt amazing and she wanted to live this moment as long as she could. Damiano pulled away and cupped her cheek with his hand. He pulled her closer and she could feel his breath on her face. Slowly, but slightly Damiano leaned in and brushed his lips against hers. Naomi touched his cheek and pulled him even closer. And then they both intertwined their lips in a gentle, yet passionate kiss.

Naomi felt her stomach squeezing when Damiano put his hand on her back. It was their first kiss and the sunset was almost turning into the night. They pulled away after seconds and smiled widely at each other.

- I promise, I’ll always take care of you. - Damiano said leaning his forehead against hers.

- Always. - Naomi said grabbing his hand and intertwining their fingers together.

That’s when they both knew that they found soulmates in each other.

[mistflyer1102]

in a bind

Summary: Q is just having a really, really bad day.

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

Q quite honestly could not believe his luck today.

His day had started innocently enough, with Toby and Missy getting underfoot in the kitchen and causing him to lose his morning tea when he accidentally stepped on one of the cat’s tails. Then he successfully locked himself out of the flat, having left the key on the small table beside the door and the new security system locking the door behind him. Bond wasn’t home either, which meant that Q couldn’t wake him up by pounding the door and yelling to be let back in. The first two events meant that Q was five minutes late to his Tube stop, and so he missed his train. Despite his general dislike of taxis, he’d hired one to take him to Vauxhall only to be kidnapped enroute by an ambitious driver who (correctly) guessed that he was a MI6 employee. He was grateful that he’d at least had the presence of mind to at least activate his distress signal on his mobile phone. Now, he was tied to a chair somewhere in what he suspected was an unused tunnel that had once been part of the Tube, or may have been intended to be part of it given that he could see train tracks from where he was seated.

And it was a Monday.

He had hoped this was a random ransom case. His bad luck held out longer when he realized that this was in fact someone who was seeking revenge for a lost employer that MI6 had taken out months ago. That hadn’t taken long to figure out because the kidnapper told him right off the bat why he planned to kill Q, eventually. Q really tried to remain serious. It was a serious situation, he could see the gun, but he still couldn’t help the small groan when the kidnapper began to go into his reasons, and how he planned to do so. Q just closed his eyes, trying to remind himself that the longer the man kept talking, the more time the agents had to find him. Q hoped the agents would be quick, he could see his mobile sitting on a crate beside his kidnapper a few meters away from where Q was tied.

He finally shook his head. “Ah, excuse me?”

The kidnapper stopped, blinking at Q. “Did you just interrupt me?”

Q said, “Yes, I did. My wrists are chafing, but I just wanted to let you know that as unfortunate as it was that your employer died, I had nothing to do with it as I am a low-level employee who does not get paid enough for the tech support I have to do. You would not believe the amount of calls I get about frozen computers, pulled plugs, and on one memorable occasion, a virus that wiped out an entire floor of computers. My point is, I’m not the person you want, I don’t get paid enough to put up with half of the shit I actually deal with.” He was careful to keep a placating tone while still allowing a little exasperation.

The kidnapper eyed him. “No...you work for Six, you definitely work with the agents. I remember hearing your voice over the phone during the attack. You were annoyed, I think.”

Q stared at him, wondering if Bond had lost his damned earpiece sooner than the agent reported, and/or if Q himself had miscalculated his initial assessments of this kidnapper. Unless the kidnapper had somehow hacked the phone line during the mission, which was also possible in the miscalculation theory. Q slowly shook his head, mind racing as he scrambled to think of another excuse. “I don’t know what you’re--”

“No, no, it’s all  right, Quartermaster, like I said, I don’t want you anyway. You’re just bait, and I won’t hurt you. I prefer the bait to stay alive…for now,” the kidnapper said, pulling up a chair and turning it around so that he sat on it backwards. “When your employers find you missing, then I imagine that they will send someone after you. I’ll just keep collecting employees until James Bond arrives,” he said, resting his arms on the back of the chair.

Q nodded, not quite believing the man. He knew it would end quickly, given that his lack of appearance, followed by a check of the GPS on his phone, would tip someone off that there was a problem. And when they realized there was a problem, they weren’t going to send Bond because Bond was out of town (granted, he was on his way home, but last Q checked, he wasn’t in London yet), but they were going to send another Double-O, thus ensuring the problem would be resolved and cleaned up before the end of the business day. Q did not, of course, tell the kidnapper this, instead deciding to let the man figure that out on his own. The one thing he decided to hedge his bets on was to ask “Want me to call them so we can move this along?”

The kidnapper arched a brow. “Did you not call them while I was kidnapping you?”

Q winced. The kidnapper did not need to know about Q’s latest tech and the distress signal. “Ah, no, I didn’t. I wasn’t really paying attention when you were kidnapping me.”

The kidnapper stared at him. “How are you still alive, in such a high position and I was just able to snatch you off the streets?”

Q dryly said, “I am willing to bet a quarter of my salary that my boss will be asking me the same question once I am sitting in front of his desk again.”

“Really?”

Q nodded.

The kidnapper huffed, and then relaxed in the chair again. “Well, we don’t have to make it too easy for them, so no phone call for you,” he said, resting his chin on his hands.

Q blinked, and then sighed. He then adjusted his position in the chair. If I’m going to be here for a while, I might as well get comfortable.

He didn’t realize he’d dozed off until the scraping of wood against stone woke him up. He blinked groggily, watching as his kidnapper stood up and walked away towards where the old entrance to the platform was. “Uh, where are you going?” he asked, stifling a yawn as the kidnapper glanced back at him.

“Your rescue has arrived. I’m going to deal with them, and keep you here so that when I am done with them, we will move locations so that they cannot keep up with us,” the kidnapper said before jogging up the stone stairs and out of sight.

Q just stared at the place where the kidnapper disappeared. “But...but that’s not how it works. They’re not going to send the junior agents,” he muttered under his breath, leaning back in his chair with a huff. His spine felt stiff from leaning back on the chair for so long, his wrists were chafing from the rope, and he could feel aches in his joints. He was also hungry, but given that he had a tendency to block things like that for hours on end when he was otherwise focused and busy, he didn’t see that as a good indicator of how much time could have passed by now.

He leaned back in his chair, and closed his eyes again, wincing when he heard faint gunfire.

It didn’t last long.

He looked up, brow furrowing as a familiar pair of shoes and trousers appeared at the top of the stairs. “Dare I ask how long it has been since I was reported missing?” he asked dryly as James Bond appeared, holstering the familiar Walther PPK. “And you brought your equipment back, I am touched.”

“You’re welcome. For the rescue, that is. I had to stop at Six to grab another Walther, lost the first one in the Thames,” Bond said as he stepped down onto the platform. “Started receiving the texts about your capture as soon as the plane landed, lost the Walther as I was rushing back to Six for a situation update, and here we are,” he added as he approached Q.

Q was quiet, his brain still caught at trying to imagine Bond losing the Walther in the Thames. “Is the kidnapper is still alive?” he asked as Bond walked around the chair and began to work on the ropes around Q’s wrists.

Bond nodded. “We have questions for him,” he said as the ropes came free. “And M has questions for you.”

Q huffed as he gingerly stood up. “Well, at least I didn’t shake on that bet,” he muttered under his breath as he rubbed his wrists. He looked up as Bond as the agent moved to stand in front of him. “I missed you, dear,” he said, smiling as Bond leaned forward and kissed his forehead.

“I missed you too. Now, you can accompany me to Medical where O’Reilly can check us both over, and then go on to M, while I go to R? I’m sure M will be all right with letting you take the rest of the day off, it’s almost noon,” Bond said as Q looked up at him. “He just might insist on an escort.”

Q groaned. “I just want to get back to work. I’m fine, I just sat here and talked to him about a phone call that ultimately he did not let me have.”

Bond snorted. “Well, M first and then have at it. Do you need help walking?”

Q shook his head. “I’m not hurt, I’m annoyed.”

“Of course you are.”

Q scowled, and then elbowed Bond as he passed him to begin the walk back to the  stair that would lead back to the street level.

[moldisgoodforyou]

lost time (chapter five)

MASTERLIST

pairing: rafe cameron x oc

warning: cursing, underage drinking

wordcount: 2.4k

a/n: bear with me on those title gifs/images there is not much out there lmao

CHAPTER FOUR

______________

She pressed a hand against his chest to keep just enough distance between the two of them, lowering her voice a bit. “That’s not why you stopped me.”

He leaned closer, raising his eyebrows. “Enlighten me, then.”

She stayed quiet, only able to think about his heartbeat racing underneath her touch. As he bent his head down, closer, she fisted her hand in his shirt, her voice low with a warning tone. “Rafe.”

“Sophie.” He murmured back, lips hovering inches away from hers.

Sophie made the first move, reaching up and curling a hand around the back of his neck as she pulled him into the kiss. He met her lips without hesitation, his hands instantly going to her waist. She leaned into his touch, up on her toes. “M’ so glad no one’s out here.” She breathed out, keeping one hand splayed against his chest.

Rafe tried to ignore how much that hurt, like he was some secret to be kept.

They kept kissing for a while, Sophie lazily toying with the ends of his hair. After a couple minutes, he started kissing along her jaw, sucking just enough at a spot on her neck to elicit a soft moan from her. “I wish I came as your date.” He murmured against her skin as he traced his thumb back and forth over her hip.

She froze at his confession, her head clouded without clear thought. “You’re drunk.” She mumbled back, hand falling from his neck.

“I’m not.” He argued, kissing her again.

She could taste the rum on his lips, betraying his words. “Well, I am.” She replied softly, hesitating again until he went in for another kiss. “And I’m still mad about your stupid death cup rule.”

He scoffed, softly, but sounded more amused than anything. “You can’t call house rules when it’s not your house.”

Sophie scowled and pressed her hand a little harder against his chest. “It’s more my house than yours. Can’t you just follow the rules?”

He chuckled, trailing his hand higher and ran his index finger lightly along her spine. “Do you ever stop arguing, Soph?”

She shivered at his touch, willing herself not to move closer. “Not with you.”

“Can we…?” He asked with a broad grin, tipping his head toward their houses, just a short walk away.

She laughed at the proposition, harshly. “I’m not hooking up with you, Cameron. I’ll be surprised if I remember this tomorrow.”

He faltered and the grin fell from his face right away as he dropped one of his hands from her waist. “Damn, tell me how you really feel.” He choked out a sore laugh, trying again to mask his bruised ego.

She stepped back out of his grip, pressing her fingers against her swollen lips in a feeble attempt to hide any evidence of what had just happened. “I’m going to go, tell Julia for me?”

“Wait, you’re just - that’s it?” He questioned, disappointment evident.

“Yes, that’s it.” She paused, reading his expression - and laughed, again. It sounded cruel to his ears. “You didn’t seriously think something was going to happen between us, did you?”

Rafe stiffened and ran a hand through his hair, his voice flat. “No. Of course I didn’t.”

She turned, going to leave. He caught her hand in his and she turned back for a moment, caught off guard by his gentle touch. “You can’t walk home alone, Sophie, it’s dark.”

She rolled her eyes and tugged her hand out of his grip. “It’s fine, it’s literally like five-ish minutes. There are people out walking home from the bars, it’s alright.”

Rafe frowned. “Sophie…”

“Go back to your date, Rafe.” She shook her head, walking off with her head held high.

_

Sophie woke up a few hours later to Allie and Julia peering over her as she was sprawled out on one of the couches in the sorority’s formal living room. “Soph, wake up, let’s go to our room.” Allie nudged her softly, tugging gently on her wrist.

“Huh?” She mumbled, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

Julia laughed and helped pull her up. “Bedtime, Sophie. You gotta stop crashing on these couches, you’re gonna get in trouble. Did Rafe take you home?”

“What? No, I think I walked.” She replied, still half-asleep and still somewhat drunk.

“Oh. He left after you did, I figured he brought you back here.” Julia shrugged, the three of them walking up to their room.

Sophie just shook her head, trying to recall the rest of her night. “I dunno where he went. You’re not going to see him again, are you?”

“No, he was nice, but. Didn’t seem interested. In me, anyways.” Julia replied, sounding unaffected.

Allie held back a smile, knowing exactly what she was hinting at. “C’mon, Soph, let’s get ready for bed. You’re gonna hate me if you wake up in a halter top.”

Sophie nodded sleepily, following along. “Prob’ly right.”

The girls made their way upstairs and Sophie was coherent enough to change into pajamas, barely sitting up on the edge of her bed as Allie dragged a makeup wipe over her face. “He’s so fucking handsome. I hate it.” She slurred, allowing herself to feel the full effects of the alcohol with the two people she was comfortable around. 

“Who is?” Julia asked, playing dumb. Allie shot her a warning look as Sophie flopped back onto the bed. 

“You know who I’m talking about. I didn’t know he was such a good kisser.” Sophie mumbled, crawling under the covers. 

“Wait, what?!” Julia practically shrieked and Allie immediately shushed her. She lowered her tone just slightly. “You two kissed? Finally!” 

Sophie groaned at the loud noise, pulling a pillow over her face. She spoke again, muffled into the pillow. Allie raised an eyebrow at Julia as they whispered in hushed tones back and forth to each other. 

“Did you know?” 

“No I didn’t know! But it took them long enough!” 

“She was drunk! She probably didn’t mean it!” 

Sophie lifted her head again, annoyance lacing her tone. “I can hear you. Shh, I’m sleeping.” With that, the two girls took the bathroom to discuss the rest of the night in private. 

_____

Rafe couldn’t get the thought of her out of his head all weekend. 

Instead of meeting up with his friends at the bar that night like he had promised, he made a quick exit from the party, giving Julia a short apology then heading out the door. Sophie was right, there were quite a few people out making their way from the bars to house parties or wherever, but he used it as an excuse to follow her home from a distance. He felt a bit creepy, admittedly, but told himself he just happened to be going home to Delt, two houses away from where she lived at Theta. (Plus if he had heard something had happened to her, he would have never forgiven himself.) 

He had never been more grateful for a lecture day in class on Monday. He could feel her gaze on him several times throughout class, wanting nothing more than to meet her eyes, but kept his head down as he scrawled notes into his notebook. At the end of class, he packed his things hurriedly, trying to rush out the door, but she was quicker and waited just outside the doors for him. “Rafe, hey!” She caught his arm as he was walking out, head down.

He slowed, stepping aside in the hallway with her and tried his best to play it cool. “What’s up?” 

She smiled like nothing had ever happened between them. “I tried getting your attention all class, you were ignoring me. I’m pretty sure we’re supposed to sit together now?”

He shook his head and tugged down on the bill of his hat, backwards as always. “Oh. Didn’t know. I was just taking notes.”

She nodded, unfazed. “Right. I just wanted to be sure we were still on to meet tomorrow night? I think our first debate is soon, I don’t want to be unprepared.” 

He grimaced, having completely forgotten. “Right, yeah. Is the library cool? Er, fine? I can reserve a room.”

Sophie waved her hand. “I already got us one. Second floor, I’ll see you at six.” She paused, giving him a once-over then a sheepish grin. “I meant to ask, did you have fun at the party with Julia? I honestly don’t remember much after the bus back to Theta.” 

Rafe’s blood ran cold and he had to stop himself from openly gaping. True to her word, she hadn’t remembered. “Um. Yeah. She’s nice, but, uh, not really my type, you know.” He tripped over his words, glancing at her neck to see if there was any trace of the mark he had left, but it was either completely healed or well-covered.

“Oh.” Sophie nodded again, completely oblivious. “Okay then, I’ll see you later.” She left him standing there, shaking his head in disbelief. 

The second he got back to Delt, he found Colin right away in their room, playing video games with James. “You can’t ask her out.” Rafe declared, standing right in front of the TV. They both ignored James’ protests and Colin pulled the headset down, confused.

“What?”

“You can’t ask her out.” Rafe repeated, arms crossed. His face was stony, jaw set. 

Colin raised his eyebrows. “Why, did something happen? This why you’ve been a space case all weekend?” 

Rafe grumbled something under his breath. “No, just - you can’t. She’s off-limits.” 

James just rolled his eyes, reaching out and kicking his leg to get him out of the way of the TV. “You can’t claim a girl that doesn’t even want you in the first place, dumbass.” 

Rafe groaned, grabbing his ankle and shoving his leg aside. “I’m serious, Colin. Delt code. And if you already asked her out, you have to tell her plans changed or something, don’t be a dick about it -” 

“Chill, chill, I haven’t said a word to her.” Colin raised his hands in surrender. 

Rafe exhaled, nodding slowly. “Right. Good. Carry on, then.” He missed Colin and James exchanging confused looks as he left the room with a huff. 

_ 

If she was going to just pretend nothing ever happened and be nice, he could deal with that. They could be friends, Rafe told himself as he swiped his card at a local coffee shop in town before his meeting with Sophie that Tuesday night. He ignored the way his stomach twisted as he first caught sight of her alone in the study room in the library, a pencil tucked up and twisted into her hair. 

“Here, Soph.” He slid into his seat across from her, pushing a cup of coffee across the table. She glanced up, ready to make a snarky remark about it being too late for caffeine, then paused as she saw the cup from Sweetwaters, her favorite coffee. Rafe pulled out his laptop, logging on, then glanced up at her. “What, something wrong? You like it with vanilla, right?”

She nodded quickly and brought it to her lips, then took a small sip and gave him a wry smile. “Yeah, um, just didn’t know you noticed. Thank you.” 

“No biggie.” He waved it off, then pushed the laptop to her and started walking her through the argument he had prepared in advance. She was totally unfocused, distracted by running every single possible meaning of what his kind gesture could have meant. After a couple minutes, Rafe caught on. “And that’s exactly why I’m taking credit for all of the project. Right?” 

Sophie nodded quickly, snapping out of it. “Right, yeah, totally. Um. Let me just read back over this real quick…” 

He laughed and leaned back in his chair, lacing his fingers behind his head. “Were you listening?” 

Never willing to admit her faults, she scowled at him. “Of course I was listening.” 

He grinned. “Sure, Soph.” 

“Why do you call me that?” She interrupted. 

He shrugged. “I’ve called you that since high school, it’s nothing new.” 

“But...my friends call me Soph. And only some of them.” She pointed out. 

His lips quirked up into an amused smile. “You really think we’re not friends? Hit me where it hurts, Flint.” 

She raised her eyebrows, confused, and pulled her hand back. “You hate me.” 

He shook his head. “Not quite.” After a momentary pause, he pushed the laptop back to her. “See, like I was saying…” 

Sophie nodded at his admission, trying to hide a smile as she took another sip of her coffee. The rest of the meeting was productive, and they were both quiet as they packed up their things an hour later. “Is your family coming in next weekend? For parent’s weekend?” She broke the silence, trying to make friendly conversation.

Every third weekend in October, Columbus was flooded with parents reliving their college days and buying their kids’ meals at fancy restaurants normally frequented by locals. All of Greek life had the same time of year reserved for parent’s weekend, and with Sophie’s parents as proud alumni and her older brother now a grad student at Ohio State, her family hadn’t missed one yet. 

“Uh, no. My dad doesn’t really have time to come out with work and whatever, and.” He shrugged and preoccupied himself with zipping his backpack, head down. “You know.”

Sophie frowned, biting her lip. “Right, sorry, I shouldn’t have asked. Do you have plans, then?”

He rubbed the back of his neck, shaking his head. “No, I’ll probably just head to the game alone. Don’t really want to crash my friend’s weekends, you know.” 

“Come hang with me.” 

He glanced up at her. “Isn’t your family coming in?” 

Suddenly emboldened, Sophie sent him an earnest smile. “Yeah, but it’s basically just a frat reunion for my dad, it’s nothing special. Come to our tailgate, I’m sure they’d like to see you.” Her dad was a golf instructor at the country club back home. He had taught Rafe in private lessons all through high school, and always spoke fondly of him. 

“I wouldn’t want to intrude…” He hedged, though he wanted nothing more than to accept the offer. 

“You wouldn’t be. At least consider it?” 

“I - yeah, I’ll think about it.” He settled.

She grinned, pulling her backpack over her shoulder. “Good. Thank you, again, for the coffee.” 

“It’s no problem.” He allowed a smile, giving her a small wave as she left.

taglist: @obx-saltlife​ @dontjinx-it @butgilinsky @oopsiedoopsie23 @taiter-tots @annedub

[missaudreyhorney]

Afterschool Special

Again, I am shocked and delighted that people are enjoying the beginning of this series as much as I’m enjoying writing it. I cannot thank you all enough for your kind words and encouragement. In this third installment, Hopper and Reader get to spend some “alone time” together. That’s all I’m going to say about it 😊

Content warnings: Rated M for more age gap, Daddy kink, physical intimidation, over the clothes touching, and a new addition of under the clothes kissing. Female Reader, modern AU, 2.5k words.

You call Jim Hopper on Monday afternoon in between classes. His voice is even deeper and sexier over the phone than you remember it sounding the night before. He seems happy to hear from you and you try to hide how giddy you are about it. Sensing that the attraction between you two is very mutual, you don’t hesitate to set up a meeting. He tells you that he has Wednesday off from work, and for a second, you seriously consider ditching all your classes to spend the entire day with him. Instead, you agree to meet up at his house at four o’clock, which gives you enough time to go home and change after school.

Normally on a date, you would prefer to wear a dress but the winter chill in the February air sadly prevents that. Hopefully you won’t feel out of place wearing a heavy sweater and a pair of jeans to wherever it is he wants to take you.

The address he gave seems to be out in the middle of nowhere and multiple times you wonder if the GPS navigation is telling you to go in the wrong direction. Eventually, you find the place and it’s not so much a house as it is a cabin in the woods. It almost looks abandoned except for his car parked out front.

Any misgivings you have about the place are dispelled when you see Hopper standing on the porch and smoking as he waits for you. All your friends complain about guys who smoke, and that they hate the smell, but not you. You think it’s sexy and you even enjoy the smell.

A smile spreads across his handsome face when he sees you and it gets wider when you step out of the car. “Come on in, sweetheart,” he greets you with a white cloud billowing out from his mouth.

Anticipation rushes through your veins. When you last saw each other, and when you spoke on the phone, there seemed to be a promise of more, a promise to finish what he started when he came up to your room. You know that something will happen today, you’re just not sure how or when.

Once you reach the top of the steps, he says “It’s open. I’ll be in in a minute” as the unfiltered cigarette dangles between his lips.

Opening the door slowly, you let yourself in then put your purse down and look around. The cabin is…rustic. None of the furniture matches. Some of it looks to be as old as you are. There’s a decent red sofa but it’s covered in a patchwork quilt. There’s a plaid chair against the wall and it too has a blanket draped across the top, one that’s knitted or perhaps crocheted. The only things to indicate that you haven’t arrived here in a time machine are the flat screen tv on the wall and a new Apple computer on an old wooden desk.

Hopper steps into the room a moment later. “Why don’t you take your coat off and stay awhile?” He touches your back as he walks past you to go into the kitchen.

“Oh, um, okay.” You suppose he wants to talk a little bit or perhaps finish something up before you leave. Hanging your coat up on the rack, you notice a small pair of tennis shoes on the floor. “Do you live here alone?”

“No, my daughter lives here with me.”

His daughter? Gosh, Hopper really is a DILF. You follow him into the kitchen and your brain starts to connect some dots. “Is she the reason why you left so suddenly on Sunday night?”

“Yeah, sorry about that,” he says as he takes an ice tray out of the freezer.

“It’s okay. I’m just glad it wasn’t your wife.”

“Oh no, I’ve been divorced for a long time now,” he assures you.

Your eyes roam over Hopper’s large frame while you watch him pop the cubes out of the tray and fill it back up again. He’s wearing jeans and a blue flannel shirt, with the top two buttons undone, and a navy henley underneath. His scent of cigarettes and soap makes it seem as if he must have smoked immediately after getting out of the shower.

For a brief moment, you entertain the idea of ripping his clothes off right here and now, forgoing any previous plans you might have for your date. That’s where you’re hoping this will all lead anyway so what’s wrong with cutting to the chase?

In an attempt to restrain yourself, you bring up the one subject that will take your mind out of the gutter. “How did you meet my parents?”

“They brought one of their cars to my shop. I’m a mechanic.”

The attempt proves feeble as your mouth instantly begins to water at the mental image of Jim Hopper bending over the engine of a car, sticking out his cute butt in his Wrangler jeans, his hands and his face getting all dirty and sweaty.

“Can I make you a drink?” he offers, getting a glass off the shelf. “You are old enough to drink, right?”

You playfully roll your eyes. “Yes, I’m old enough.”

“I don’t have to check your ID, do I?” He winks at you and it’s as charming as it is corny.

“You can if you want to,” you respond.

“No, I believe you.” He opens a bottle of Jack Daniels and lifts it above his glass.

“Wait, you’re making a drink now? When are we gonna go?”

He puts the bottle on the counter. “Go where?”

“Is this it?” you ask, slightly stunned.

“Is what it?” Deep ridges form on Hopper’s forehead as he raises his eyebrows in irritation.

“I thought we were going to go on a date,” you explain.

His features soften as he chuckles at you. “We’re not going anywhere, sweetheart.” He gleefully pours the whiskey into his glass.

“So we’re just going to stay here and…?”

“Yeah,” he confirms with a smug grin. “We are.”

Suddenly your idea of tearing his clothes off seems like it would be more welcomed than you had anticipated.

“What’ll it be?” he asks, getting himself a can of Coke out of the refrigerator.

“I’ll have a water.”

Hopper pulls out a bottle of water and hands it to you. “You know this was your idea, right? You didn’t mention anything on the phone about a date.”

“I know, I guess I...assumed we’d go out.” You take a much-needed sip.

“You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to,” he offers in a considerably softer tone than you’ve heard from him thus far.

“No,” you smile at him. “I want to stay.”

He smiles back at you then takes a drink.

“It just would have been nice if you took me out somewhere,” you remark before raising the bottle to your lips again.

“Why beat around the bush? We both already know what we want.” He takes another drink then sets his glass down. “Unless of course, you want us to be seen together,” he adds, moving directly in front of you, with mere centimeters between your bodies.

Your heart starts racing as Hopper glares down at you with a storm churning in his deep blue eyes.

”Maybe you want people to look at us and know that I’m twice your age.” He leans in closer, backing you into the corner of the wooden counter. “Maybe you want to hear them say ‘what’s that dirty old man doing with that beautiful young girl?’” He enunciates every word in a biting tone as if he’s scolding you.

Your bodies are so close together that you can actually feel the heat radiating off of him.

“If that’s what you want, I can take you anywhere. We can leave right now,” he offers in a slightly more casual voice. “I just don’t see any point in wasting time when it’s so obvious what you came here for.”

“What’s that?” you accidentally say in a whisper.

Hopper takes a step back from you. “Go in the bedroom and I’ll show you.”

With a deep inhalation, you slip away from him and run out of the kitchen then immediately run back. “Which one is your bedroom?” you almost shout.

“The one on the left,” he answers, trying not to laugh at your over the top enthusiasm.

You pull the curtain in the doorway so hard that it feels like it might rip away from the rod. Yanking your sweater above your head, you kick off your shoes at the same time.

Lying back on the bed, you can feel how wet he’s already made you. Your body is practically vibrating with excitement as you hear the heavy steps of his boots as he approaches. A shiver runs through you when he enters the room.

“Where were we?” Hopper asks, kneeling onto the foot of the bed.

“You were on top of me,” you recall.

“Uh-huh,” he nods, positioning himself between your open legs.

“And I think you were going to unhook my bra?”

He runs his hands under your t-shirt and up the sides of your body. “You’re not wearing a bra.”

“I thought we could skip that part.”

He pulls your shirt up over your chest. “Good thinking.”

Without missing a beat, his lips are on your breasts, kissing both of them with his warm, wet, open mouth. Your left nipple hardens as Hopper swirls his tongue around it, making you push your hips into him. His lips close around the bud and begin to suck.

“Oh, Daddy,” you moan, using the title with no regret this time.

“That’s what I like to hear,” he pauses long to speak then immediately begins sucking on your other nipple.

Just like on Sunday, his mouth is rough. Not solely the texture of his scruffy beard against your soft skin, but the ferocity with which he sucks on you and teases you with his teeth. Also just like Sunday, he moves his hand in between your thighs and pushes his palm against the center seam of your jeans.

You hiss when he bites down hard into your flesh, clearly not holding back this time. It’s an exquisite pain that you could easily become addicted to. Your fingernails claw at his shirt when he rolls your nipple between his teeth.

Hopper is working you into a frenzy with the way his hand presses into your jeans, rubbing your pussy through the denim. All the different sensations he’s causing in your body are starting to become too much and you need a release.

“Daddy, please,” you beg breathlessly.

Your nipple pops out from between his lips with a vulgar sound. “Please what?”

You’re unable to answer him as your mouth is too busy moaning while his hand brings back that familiar ache.

“Tell me what you want, baby,” he instructs between licks.

“Your f-” you interrupt yourself with another moan. “Your fin-”

“You want my fingers inside you, is that it?” Hopper asks as you grind your crotch into his palm, desperate for all the friction you can get.

“Yes, Daddy!” you finally manage to force out two coherent words.

He unbuttons your jeans and you hear a noise coming from the living room. You both ignore it while he ever so slowly starts to pull down your zipper. Until you hear another noise. Not a noise actually. A voice. Two voices.

Hopper’s hands fall from the zipper, landing on your sides, while his head sinks down in defeat. Your body tenses with worry that whoever it is might come into the room as there’s no door to keep them out.

The two young voices are arguing about something but your brain is far too preoccupied to be able to comprehend the subject of the argument. The only thing you can manage to infer in your current state is that it must be his daughter and one of her friends from school.

Hopper gets up from the bed, leaving your chest fully exposed, and you tug your shirt back down. He has you throbbing with need, and exactly like the last time, your hopes for satisfaction have been quickly dashed by an intrusive family member.

When he goes into the living room to mediate the situation, you sit up and see something on his nightstand that you were in too much of a rush to notice before. Magnum XL condoms, not one but three, the edges of the gold foil still attached to each other.

“For Pete's sake, what’s going on out here?” Hopper demands above the sound of their bickering.

“Mike was staring at Stacey Albright,” his daughter explains.

“No, I wasn’t!” the boy interjects.

“Who’s Stacey Albright?” Hopper asks.

“A girl at our school who stuffs her bra,” she answers.

“She does not stuff her bra,” the boy disputes.

“How do you know that if you weren’t staring?” she raises her voice.

“I was not staring!” the boy yells back.

“Both of you calm down, alright? Jesus.”

Hopper opens the curtain, walks in, and closes it behind him. “Listen, I’m sorry but I gotta-” he begins to apologize in a dejected tone.

“No, I understand,” you reply, cutting him off as you stand up from the bed before pulling on your sweater and shoes. “I should go.”

When you turn to walk out of the room, he grabs onto your upper arms. He doesn’t mean to startle you, it happens solely by accident because he’s so strong. “Look at me,” he suggests, trying to get you to make eye contact.

You gaze up into his gorgeous blue eyes and he starts to smile.

“I still want to see you again,” he says warmly.

“Me too,” you agree, reciprocating his smile.

The kids resume their argument and Hopper rolls his eyes. “Please call me,” he adds before letting go of you.

“I will,” you confirm.

You open the curtain and both of the kids’ mouths fall silent as they watch you emerge from the bedroom. They look to be about fourteen or fifteen-years-old. The girl has brown eyes, long brown hair, and the most perfect skin you’ve ever seen on a teenager. She forces an awkward smile to be polite. The boy is tall and pale, with sharp cheekbones and curly black hair like a rockstar from the ’70s. He glances back and forth between you and Hopper with a confused expression on his face.

“This is my daughter, Elle,” Hopper introduces.

“Hi,” she says.

“Hi,” you say back, your voice sounding squeaky with nerves.

“And her boyfriend, Mike,” Hopper continues.

“Ex-boyfriend,” Elle corrects.

“What? That’s not fair!” Mike exclaims.

They start bickering once more and you shoot Hopper a sympathetic look as you grab your coat and purse then slip out the front door. It feels like the universe is conspiring against the two of you, trying to keep you from having sex with each other, like a cosmic cockblock. As you drive away from the cabin, you silently pray that the next time will provide the relief you’re yet again so desperate for.

Tagging: @t-u-m-s @girlwiththenegantattoo @ottosuricato @im-not-great-at-making-up-names @misshawkins1993 @emilyyblackkk @hopperlover @kingphillipblake @kate110199 @david-harbour-arg @manawhaat @helena-mrs-murder​ @zombiesnips-blog​ @chiefharbour​ @flamehairedwritings​ @s-h-e-w-r-i-t-e-s​ @strawberry-fields-f0rever​ @mrs-geuse​

Let me know if you would like to be tagged or untagged. 

Image credit: HarbourSource on Instagram

[wistfulcynic]

where none intrudes

SUMMARY: Emma has been in love with Killian for a long time, but it takes a pandemic and eighteen hours of panic when he’s not answering his phone for her to realise it. Now they’re quarantined together and sharing a bed and she needs him to know how she feels. If only she could find a way to tell him. 

Killian has been in love with Emma for as long as he’s known her, but he knows the quickest way to send her running would be to tell her how he feels. Now he’s waking up every morning with her in his arms and all he wants is for this to be his life forever. If only he could find a way to tell her. 

-

SO here it is, the AND THEY WERE QUARANTINED fic. I realise this is a sensitive subject for some people, so please do be forewarned that there is some discussion of the coronavirus here, though it is primarily a soft and fluffy idiots-in-love story with much emoting and sharing of beds and very little angst. If you choose to read it I hope it brightens your day and helps get you thorough these challenging times. 

Copious love to @ohmightydevviepuu for stopping me from banging my head against the wall ❤️❤️❤️

-

Rating: a soft M Words: 4.7k

On AO3

-

where none intrudes: 

Killian pulled up in front of the tall brick building, slipping neatly into a parking spot he could barely believe he was lucky enough to find. Normally he had to park several blocks away from Emma’s place—his old place—and drag his loaded satchel or his groceries or now his suitcase through the streets of the neighbourhood trying not to feel self-conscious as curtains twitched in the windows as he passed. 

He whistled a little tune as he took his suitcase out of the trunk, his heart racing in anticipation of seeing Emma again. It had been far too long. Just over a year ago he’d moved to Chicago for a job opportunity far too good to turn down, and since then he’d only managed to see her twice. The last time was Christmas, when they’d both been so busy with the rest of their friends and their family obligations that they’d barely had an hour together to catch up. 

Killian wasn’t sure if that was better or worse than it had been before, when they’d lived across the hall and had seen each other every day, spending most evenings at one or the other of their apartments cooking together and watching TV. As much as he missed just hanging out with Emma—as much as he missed her—he didn’t miss the ache of longing that had pretty much permanently taken up residence just below his heart. It was less acute in Chicago, or maybe it was just different—an ache born more of missing than of wishing—wishing for things he knew could never be his. 

He dragged his suitcase up the steps to her door and rang the bell. It swung open immediately and he barely had time to catch a glimpse of Emma’s pale face before she was in his arms, her own wrapping tightly around his neck as she buried her face in his shoulder. 

“Oh my God, Killian,” she whispered. “I was so worried.” 

“What?” His arms had come around her automatically and now his hand stroked her back soothingly as she began to tremble. “What’s wrong?” 

“What’s wrong?” she snapped, pulling away and punching him in the arm. “What’s wrong? Haven’t you been watching the news? Why aren’t you answering your damn phone?” 

“I’ve been driving for the past eighteen hours!” he protested, rubbing his arm. “You know I always turn my phone off in the car. Safety—” 

“Don’t you dare say ‘safety first,’” she hissed. “Not when I’ve spent the past eighteen hours wondering if you were dead!” 

“Why would you wonder that?” 

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“No, I—” 

“Look, would you come inside?” She grabbed his arm—the one she’d punched—and pulled him into the apartment. He barely had time to snag his suitcase and haul it in behind him before she’d slammed the door and locked it. 

“Go wash your hands,” she said. “I’ll be in the living room. Leave that!” She scowled as he reached for the suitcase handle again. “We’ll disinfect it later.” 

“Disinfect—” 

“Hands, Killian. Living room.” She turned on her heel and stalked away. 

Frowning in confusion, he retreated to the small bathroom off her kitchen and washed his hands thoroughly. This must have something to do with that virus, he thought. He may not always pay as much attention to current events as Emma thought he should, preferring to give his attention to his books and his research, but he did work in a university library and though his role wasn’t normally student-facing he was aware of the recent hand-washing and social-distancing edicts designed to protect them all from its spread. Still, Emma’s reaction seemed extreme. 

When he entered the living room she was there, pacing back and forth with her arms crossed tightly over her chest and a frown still creasing her forehead. 

“What is all this, love?” he asked, resisting the urge to pull her close again and soothe her obvious upset. “What’s going on?” 

“It’s the coronavirus,” she said. “You are aware of that, right?” 

He ignored her sarcasm. “Aye, of course I am.” 

“Well, it’s been officially declared a pandemic. The number of cases in town has more than doubled overnight. Businesses are shutting down and we’re all being told to self-isolate. No going outside except to get food, and even then we have to stay six feet away from each other. People are hoarding toilet paper and you weren’t answering your damned phone and I thought…” Her voice broke and Killian strode across the room and wrapped his arms around her. It was a sign of how deeply upset she was that she didn’t hold herself stiffly as she often did in hugs but melted against him, fisting her hands in his sweater and pressing her face against his neck. 

“I’m fine, love,” he said softly. “I was driving, that’s all. I had my phone turned off and I wasn’t listening to the radio. I’m so sorry I made you worry.” 

“It’s okay.” Emma sniffed and his heart broke a little as he felt tears leak from her eyes and dampen his collar. He hugged her tighter. “I’m just glad you’re safe,” she murmured. “And here.” She swallowed audibly and snuggled against him. 

“Aye, love,” he agreed. “Me too. And we have a whole week to spend together to catch up.” 

“Um, yeah. About that.” She pulled back from his embrace and reluctantly he let her go. She crossed her arms again and shot him a wary look. “The thing is, we’re basically quarantined now. No going outside. For um, the foreseeable future, they say. You might—have to stay a bit longer.” 

He frowned. “I can’t stay longer, I’ll have to get back to work.” 

“Your university’s closed. All the schools and universities are closed. You can maybe work from home, but you’d have to talk to your boss about it.” 

He shook his head. “I don’t think that’s really something I can do. I work with rare books and they can’t leave the library. Maybe I should call Belle now—” 

“Do it on Monday,” said Emma. “You’ve just driven a thousand miles, you must be exhausted.” 

“I am, actually. But love, I don’t want to impose, I can get a hotel.” 

“Hotels are closing too. You’ll stay here.”  

“Are you sure? You really wouldn’t mind having me here, possibly for weeks?” 

Emma smiled, the soft, warm smile he loved so much. “No, of course not. Stay as long as you need.” 

—

It was remarkable how quickly they fell into a routine—a quarantine routine, he said, nudging Emma with his elbow as she rolled her eyes—though actually, Killian thought, it wasn’t really that remarkable at all. They had always meshed so well together, fitting so easily and so naturally into each other’s lives. He hadn’t realised how much he’d missed that in Chicago until he had it again, even more of it now than when they were neighbours. Back then they’d seen each other every day but always within the boundaries laid out by their friendship. Now, though… now he saw Emma all the time, in ways he never dared imagine he would. Fresh from the shower with her skin pink and dewy and her hair wrapped in a towel leaving her long neck bare, or blinking sleepy eyes and grunting in response to his cheerful greeting when he poured her a cup of coffee every morning. And then a week into his stay both the best and absolute worst way of them all—curled up in bed with him, sound asleep and snoring softly with her head on his chest. 

Naturally he had insisted on taking the sofa. That had been their plan anyway for the week of his visit, and though Emma reminded him multiple times that the sofa was so old the upholstery in the armrests had worn down thin and flat and there was that one broken spring that always seemed to know just where to poke him, he’d waved away her concerns, reminding her that it was only a week and he’d manage. He’d slept in far less congenial circumstances during his navy years. 

And manage he did. The spring gouged holes in him and the armrests put a crick in his neck no matter how many pillows he wedged beneath it, but though he never uttered a word of complaint after a week of watching him wince as he rubbed at the ache in his neck each morning Emma confronted him, hands on her hips and wearing her most no-nonsense scowl. 

“You’re sleeping in the bed tonight,” she said. “No arguments.” 

“Love, I—” 

“I said no arguments, Killian!” 

“You can’t expect me not to argue when you try to give me your bed!” he protested. “That sofa is considerably less than ideal and I won’t allow you to—” 

“Oh, I’ll be sleeping in the bed too,” said Emma lightly, as though she hadn’t just dropped a metaphorical anvil on his head. “We don’t know how long you’re going to have to stay here and if you sleep on that sofa much longer it’s going to permanently disable you. We can share the bed.” 

“But—” Killian gaped at her. “I—I mean—are you sure?” 

She shrugged. “It’s not like we’ve never fallen asleep together before,” she pointed out. “It’ll be fine.” 

It was true. Many nights they had dozed off on her uncomfortable sofa while watching a movie, curling around each other to avoid the poky spring and resting their heads together in lieu of pillows. Each morning after Killian would wake slowly, taking as long as he dared to enjoy the soft weight of her against him and to indulge in a reckless fantasy or two, letting himself imagine, just for a moment, that things were different and he could wake her with a kiss. He would imagine kissing her, softly at first and then gradually deeper until she was desperate and trembling beneath him and then—and then he would remind himself firmly that she was his closest friend and the best and surest way to fuck that up would be to act on his feelings for her. Then he would pick her up and carry her to her bed, and go home. 

Waking with her on the sofa like that had been difficult enough, but as he discovered the following morning, waking in her bed with her curled tightly against his side, her hand on the bare skin of his stomach beneath the t-shirt he didn’t normally wear was considerably worse. Unlike the mornings they’d woken on the couch they were both stretched out comfortably and it would be easy… so easy… far too easy to roll her beneath him and kiss her awake just as he had dreamed of doing for so long. It would be so easy and the idea of it was so tempting that he couldn’t even allow himself the indulgence of fantasy. Instead he held his breath as he eased Emma gently back on her pillow and slipped from the bed with a sigh of relief. Her bed may be more comfortable than her sofa but it was also seriously dangerous and Killian knew that he would need to be on his guard. 

Just keep it together for a few more weeks, he told himself firmly as he put the coffee on and scrolled absently through the news on his phone while it brewed. All you have to do is not tell her you love her, and you’ve been doing that successfully for five years now. 

Of course, he’d never been completely engulfed by temptation before, never offered this tantalising glimpse of what his life could be if they were together. He couldn’t stop himself from thinking about it, the longing lodged beneath his heart fiercer then ever. This was what he wanted of life, him and Emma and all those tiny intimacies you only come to know when sharing space with someone. He wanted his toothbrush in the same cup as hers, their clothes all jumbled together in the dryer. He wanted mundane conversations about whether they needed milk and what kind of bread they should buy. He wanted that so badly, had wanted it for as long as he’d known her and always managed to keep it contained, but now that he’d had a taste of paradise he had no idea how he could ever give it up.

With a groan he let his head fall against the cabinet above the coffeemaker and banged it softly. How was he ever going to go back to Chicago and resume his life there, now that he knew what it felt like to spend the night in Emma’s bed and wake with her in his arms? How could he leave the woman he loved a second time?

—

Once the bedroom door had closed behind Killian Emma curled up on her side, hugging her pillow tightly and wondering what the fuck she thought she was doing. They were friends, she reminded herself. He was her best friend, the only friend she’d ever had that she felt completely comfortable with, yet here she was doing her best to fuck that up by trying to sleep with him. Even wanting to sleep with him already had her so much on edge that she didn’t know how much more of it she could take. 

It wasn’t like she’d never noticed before how ridiculously handsome he was, or taken advantage of the occasionally blurry boundaries of their friendship to snuggle up to him as they watched TV and fall asleep secure in his arms with her head on his shoulder. It was that she’d always been able to compartmentalise the attraction she felt for him, to lock it away where it couldn’t endanger their relationship. 

The people Emma loved always left her. If she never loved Killian, she told herself, then he would never leave. They would always be friends, slightly too-close friends maybe but still just friends and that meant she could keep him, have him in her life forever. 

Too bad it was too fucking late for that now. 

She had not been prepared, not anywhere near prepared for the sheer chest-gripping, knuckle-whitening terror she’d felt the week before as his phone had again and again and again gone straight to voicemail and she’d begun to imagine him not just struck down by the virus but in all kinds of dire scenarios. 

If Killian died, she’d realised in a single blinding flash, it would break her. She very literally did not know how to live without him. Even this past year when he’d been in Chicago she’d known he was always on the other end of the phone and that no matter when she called or what he was doing he would drop everything to talk to her. And if she didn’t have that—didn’t have him—she would be completely, utterly lost. 

She couldn't deny her feelings any longer, and so now here she was with that ever-present simmer of attraction brought to a full rolling boil by the stupid, inconvenient, seriously annoying fact that she was in love with him. She was in love with him and all she could think about was touching him, her hands on his skin and in his hair, wrapping herself around him and never letting go. This past week she’d woken in a cold sweat every night, heart pounding and tense with anxiety, and each night she had snuck silently into the living room to make sure Killian was still there, still breathing, letting the sight of him soothe her frantic heart as she trailed her fingers gently over his face, the familiar beloved features softened by sleep. 

She couldn’t let him stay on the sofa, not just because it was uncomfortable but because she needed him close enough to touch. Close enough that she could slip into his arms as he slept, snuggling into them and enjoying the way they tightened around her, hoping that maybe if he woke and found her there something might happen. 

Exactly what she didn’t know. Something. Anything to ease this unbearable tension, this endless itch beneath her skin. 

With a sigh she dragged herself from the bed and slipped a cosy sweater on over her pajamas, then trudged to the kitchen. Killian was there of course, already pouring her a coffee. Her heart skipped several beats then soared when he looked up with that bright smile he gave her every morning. 

“Morning, love,” he said. “How’d you sleep? I didn’t disturb you, I hope?” 

“Huh uh,” she muttered, accepting the mug he offered her and taking a generous, delicious gulp. Killian’s coffee was always just right. Not too hot or too strong and the ideal ratio of creamer and sugar. It was perfect. He was perfect and she was so, so fucked. 

“Eloquent as always,” he teased, though a small frown creased his forehead. “Are you sure? I can always go back to the couch if I bother you—” 

“No,” she said firmly. She wanted him in her bed, even if it was just to sleep. She needed to be able to reach out and feel him there beside her, needed to hear the gentle rhythm of his breathing and know he was here and he was safe. “It’s fine. I slept really well, actually. Um, did you?” 

“Aye, I did.” 

They sipped their coffee in silence for a moment. 

“So,” said Killian with a wry smirk. “What shall we do today?” 

Emma emptied her cup and smirked back at him, finally feeling caffeinated enough to form coherent sentences. “Well,” she said. “It’s hard to choose given our wide range of options, but I think we should start with a movie. Then maybe we could have a few episodes of a TV show, and after that you’ll probably want to read something—” 

“I can’t stare at a screen all day, love.” 

“—and at some point we’re going to need to have something to eat and I’m pretty sure we’ll dance around the kitchen and sing along to terrible music as we cook it, and then, I don’t know, maybe another movie. Or three.” 

“Quarantine, eh?” grinned Killian. “What a life.” 

Later, as they sat snuggled together beneath a blanket, cosy and contented, those words rang through Emma’s mind. What a life. 

—

They did of course occasionally have to pause in their movie watching and bad song singing to do some actual work. Killian had journal articles to write and a project to digitise the special collections library he ran, and Emma had case files to read and emails to answer, and traces she could run in preparation for hunting down her skips after the lockdown was finally over. Every few days one or the other of them would venture out to buy groceries from the newly replenished supermarket shelves, carefully maintaining the required social distance and washing their hands thoroughly when they returned. Each night they cooked together—a healthy meal at Killian’s insistence, which Emma pretended to hate but secretly loved—and watched one final thing before heading to bed. 

Every night Emma waited until he was asleep before easing across the bed and snuggling into him, relaxing against his chest when she felt his arm curl tightly around her waist. And every morning she woke up back on her own side of the bed, to the sounds of Killian whistling cheerfully in the kitchen as he made coffee. He never said a word about waking up with her wrapped around him, and neither did she. But as the days went by she felt more and more strung out, antsy and aching and growing increasingly desperate. 

So caught up was she in her own struggle that it took far longer than it should have for her to notice that Killian too was growing tense and restless, with lines of strain around his eyes and his smile gone brittle at the edges. They still cuddled on the sofa but now he seemed to brace himself before opening his arms to her, holding very still as she curled against him, his breathing carefully even. When it was time for bed he changed into his pajamas in the bathroom, never emerging until she was safely tucked beneath the blankets and with a strange, unreadable expression on his face as he slid in beside her and wished her good night. And each night she waited longer for him to fall asleep.

Emma knew she should probably stop what she was doing, should stay firmly on her side of the bed and quit tormenting herself and possibly Killian as well, but as much as she tried she couldn’t do it. She craved that nightly contact, needed it, more than she could remember needing anything in her life before, and she looked forward to it with equal amounts of eagerness and dread. 

Still, they couldn’t go on like this forever. Something needed to break, to change, before she lost her mind completely and simply threw herself at him. Emma knew how she wanted things to change. She wanted this life, not the quarantine specifically but this intimacy with Killian, sharing everything with him from food and clothes to her bed and her body. She wanted it all but expressing feelings had never been her strength, and cuddling him each night was the only way she knew of to tell him how she felt.  

—

One sunny Wednesday morning just over three weeks into the quarantine Killian came awake slowly, as was his new custom. All his life he’d been an early riser, bright and alert the minute he opened his eyes, but since opening them now meant facing the reality of untangling himself from Emma and leaving her bed he tried to keep them closed for as long as he could manage. 

Waking up was the best and worst part of his day. Best because it was wonderful, to start the day with her soft warmth pressed against him and the sweet scent of her hair in his nose, the way her hand always found his bare skin and made him ache. Worst because he knew even before he opened his eyes that none of it was truly his and all too soon it would end. 

That morning they were more entwined than ever, and as consciousness, unwelcome as it was, began to break he became aware that his leg was between hers, wedged so tightly she was basically riding his thigh. His hand was splayed on the small of her back, spread across the warm skin beneath her tank top while hers rested on his chest, her head tucked into the curve where his shoulder met his neck. 

Her skin was so soft, like silk beneath his fingers, and Killian tried to move his hand away, he truly did, but it did not obey. Instead it stroked up her back and then down again, slipping under her pajama shorts to curl around her ass and pull her hips more tightly against his. 

Bad idea, Jones, his brain screamed at him, pointing out that she could hardly fail to notice his erection at that angle, but his body still refused to listen, and when Emma moaned deep in her throat and clenched her thighs around his leg he gave up thinking altogether. 

He rolled her onto her back, pressing his leg harder against her core and glorying in her gasping groan and the helpless way her hips bucked up as her eyes fluttered open. For a breathless moment their gazes met and held and Killian waited for her to realise what was happening, to push him away. Instead her hand trailed up his chest to curl around the back of his neck and pull him down into a kiss that fulfilled every dream he’d ever had of her and more. 

Her mouth opened beneath his and he groaned, losing himself in her taste and the softness of her tongue against his and the dizzying pleasure of finally kissing her. He wanted to kiss her forever but he also wanted her naked, and when the second desire was impeded by the first he actually snarled in frustration.

Emma shoved him back and yanked his shirt off followed by her own, and at the sight of her bare breasts his breath stuck in his throat and he stared for a moment, still struggling to believe that this was really happening, still unsure it wasn’t all another dream. Then she was pulling him back down again, kissing him hard and frantic as they fought their way free of the rest of their clothing. And then—oh God, then— he was nestling between her legs, sinking deep into her heat and softness and wondering if it was possible to die from sheer bliss. 

She gave another little moaning gasp as he began to move, the sweetest sound he’d ever heard, and locked her legs around his waist, her fingernails digging into his skin as she clutched at him and rocked up to meet his thrusts. They fit together in this as in all things, so naturally it seemed inevitable, and Killian knew as he felt her begin to flutter around him, her climax sparking his own, deeper and more intense than ever before, that their friendship was over. There was no way he could go back to it after this, no way he could live with something so tame when this fire and beauty could exist between them. 

He collapsed onto his side and pulled her against him, and when she hummed in pleasure as she snuggled close his feelings overcame him. 

“I love you,” he murmured, wincing internally even as his mouth formed the words. He waited a beat and when she didn’t reply tried to recover. “I’m sorry, I—” 

“I love you too.” 

“—shouldn’t have said—wait, what?” He pulled back, just far enough to gape at her. 

She flushed and bit her lip, not meeting his eyes. “I said I love you too.” 

“You… do?” 

“Yeah.” She nodded, still not looking at him. “I think I have for a while, but I didn’t really know that’s what it was until that day when I couldn’t get ahold of you and I just kept thinking terrible things, like what if you were sick or hurt or—or dying and I couldn’t get to you and I never saw you again—” She blinked rapidly and drew a shaky breath. “And I realised—I mean, I always knew it but it really struck home how you’re the most important person in my life and I don’t know what I’d do without you. I don't ever want to find out.” 

“Emma.” He tightened his arms around her, tucking her head against his shoulder. “I’ve loved you for so long... I never imagined you might feel the same.” 

“I did. I just couldn’t admit it. I always lose the people I love—” 

“You won't lose me.” 

“You can’t know that, Killian.” 

“No, I suppose I can’t. But I’m a survivor, as you know, love, and I will never, ever leave you. Not as long as you want me to stay.” 

“I want you to stay. I want this life. Not the quarantine—” 

“The quarantine routine.” 

“—oh my God you’re so annoying,” she sighed, and he could almost feel her eyes roll. “Not the quarantine routine, if you insist, but just—this. Us, together like we’ve been these past few weeks.” 

“I want that too. It’s all I’ve ever really wanted.” 

“What about your job, though? It’s your dream.” 

“Well, how would you feel about moving to Chicago? It doesn’t have to be forever, but for a few years maybe?” 

A small smile curved her lips. “I could consider it. People jump bail in Chicago, right?” 

“I’m certain they do.” 

“Well, then.” She snuggled closer, her fingers tracing patterns through the hair on his chest. “It’s a plan. Just as soon as they let us out again.” 

“No rush, then,” he murmured, nuzzling her cheek. “Now that we’ve discovered these more enjoyable activities I find I’m not all that eager for the quarantine to end.” 

“Me neither. And we’ve got a lot of time to make up for.” 

“Very true." He stroked his hand down her body, fingers teasing at the tops of her thighs. "What do you say we get started on that?”

-

title taken from this lovely poem:  “There is a pleasure in the pathless woods,  There is a rapture on the lonely shore, There is society, where none intrudes, By the deep sea, and music in its roar: I love not man the less, but Nature more” ― Lord Byron

-

@thisonesatellite @katie-dub @mariakov81 @stahlop @kmomof4 @teamhook @artistic-writer @darkcolinodonorgasm @imlaxdris71 @therealstartraveller776 @shardminds​

[eldritchteaparty]

Chapters: 8/20 Fandom: The Magnus Archives (Podcast) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist Characters: Martin Blackwood, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Tim Stoker (The Magnus Archives), Sasha James, Rosie Zampano, Oliver Banks, Original Elias Bouchard, Peter Lukas, Annabelle Cane Additional Tags: Post-Canon, Fix-It, Post-Canon Fix-It, Scars, Eventual Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, I'll add characters and tags as they come up, Reference to injuries and blood, Character Death In Dream, Nudity (not sexual or graphic), Nightmares, Fighting

Summary: Following the events of MAG 200, Jon and Martin find themselves in a dimension very much like the one they came from--with second chances and more time.

Chapter Summary: Following their misadventure at Hill Top Road, Jon finally takes some time off; Martin remembers something disturbing about the archives’ collection of books.

Chapter 8 of my post-canon fix-it is up! Read at AO3 above or here below.

Tumblr master post with links to previous chapters is here.

***

“Jon, take the pills.”

Jon, wrapped in a blanket and staring out over the railing of the flat’s small balcony, stayed silent.

“Fine, I’ll just wait.” Martin set the vitamin bottles and the glass of water on the sturdiest-looking part of the railing, and shifted the second chair enough so he could sit down.

“You’re going to get cold,” Jon said.

“Yeah, probably.” Martin was dressed in a light jumper with only a t-shirt beneath it. It had been warm enough earlier in the day—the weather was getting nicer—but as the sun started to go down it was cooling off.

“Your choice.” Jon picked up his lighter from the small table between them and lit another cigarette, and they sat together as the sun continued its journey below the horizon. It really was beautiful, Martin thought. He hadn’t taken the opportunity to observe any part of nature in a long time. It hadn’t ever been much of a priority to him, but there was something nice about taking in the colors that spilled across the sky—deep yellows and oranges that gave way to pinks and purples, and eventually a dark glowing blue that was only barely distinguishable from black.

Martin wrapped his arms around himself.

“At least get a coat,” Jon said.

“At least take those pills.”

“God, you’re stubborn.” Jon readjusted in his seat to pull his legs up under the blanket a little more.

“Pot and kettle, Jon.”

“Why should I take them? You heard the doctors, there isn’t anything actually wrong with me. They’re just grasping at straws.”

After an hour or so on the porch at Hill Top Road, Martin had calmed enough to make the decision to go to A&E. Although Jon had protested, the fact was that he had been too weak to do anything about it, and Martin only felt a little bad taking advantage of that. As he’d said then, he couldn’t believe he hadn’t insisted on doing it before; he’d become so used to not being able to get help, that he hadn’t really considered it until then. He wasn’t going to mess around anymore, though, especially now that he realized he might not always be able to help on his own.

After hearing about Jon’s recent fatigue and his fainting episode, the healthcare staff had run a lot of tests. They’d hooked him up to monitors, measured things, done blood draws. Martin had to admit Jon’s description of their conclusions wasn’t far off—they didn’t find anything explicitly wrong with him. There was no diagnosis they felt comfortable giving, although they had pointed out a few possibilities that they should monitor. And they’d recommended the vitamins, of course.

“They did say you have nutritional deficiency—”

“—minor nutritional deficiency—”

“—and your vitamin D levels were actually quite low.” Martin shivered involuntarily in the cool night air.

“God damn it, Martin.” Jon fidgeted with the lighter on the table, but didn’t actually reach for another cigarette. “Will you take the blanket, anyway?”

“Will you take those pills?”

“They won’t help with anything,” Jon protested. “We both know that. This is ridiculous.”

“Speak for yourself,” Martin countered. “I’m not assuming anything about what will help. Beyond that, given how you’ve been eating, they can’t hurt. And finally, yes, I am being ridiculous, and I don’t care.”

“I didn’t say you were being ridiculous.”

“No, I said it. I’ll own it. I am being ridiculous, because I don’t want to lose you, and I’m scared. I don’t want to lose you now any more than I did when we were walking through an apocalypse together, or when you were being kidnapped by actual monsters every week, or when you were taking unannounced holidays in coffins or whatever.” Martin shivered again. “Look, it’s just not that hard to take them, Jon.”

“Well, when you put it that way, I’m behaving like an ass,” Jon sighed.

“Now I didn’t say that,” Martin replied. “I’m not trying to ignore what you’re feeling Jon, and I know there’s not a quick fix for any of it. It’s just that it’s—it’s such a small thing, and if it helps, at least it’s something.”

Jon grumbled.

“And not to bring this up again, but—I mean, it might help if you would just talk to me?”

Jon shook his head. “I can’t. When I try to put it into words, I—it never comes out right. I sound like a—well, a monster.” Jon seemed to shrink back into the blanket even more. “Or maybe I am one, and I can’t face you knowing it.”

“Jon…” Martin hesitated, but decided to finish the thought. “I’ll be honest with you. I’ve asked myself if—if you are.”

Jon turned to him. “And?”

“And I don’t think so,” Martin said simply.

“Why not?”

“To be completely clear, it’s not the most rational reason. I just don’t think I could love you like this if you were. You’re just not bad. You’ve only ever wanted to do the right thing. You’ve only ever wanted to protect people, to protect me, even if—” Martin cleared his throat. “Even if we haven’t always agreed on what that looks like.”

“I see,” Jon said softly, turning to look over the railing again.

“So, if you don’t want to talk, that’s fine.” Martin leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees, blowing warm air into his hands. “But in that case, it’s vitamins and freezing myself.”

“May I ask a favor first?” Jon said, eyeing the glass of water warily.

“Depends on the favor.”

“Will you make me some tea?”

“Of course.” Martin was relieved; that was one thing he imagined he’d always be happy to do. “But you’ll take those pills if I do?”

“Yes,” Jon said. “You’ve made your case.”

He reached down to kiss Jon’s head before he walked back into the kitchen, and noted with comfort that Jon leaned into him as he did.

***

That was Sunday evening. Since they’d returned from A&E, Jon had spent most of the time before that afternoon sleeping. He’d been restless, and Martin had slept on the couch for a few nights to try to let Jon get as much sleep as he could. Of course, he had woken anxiously every few hours needing to check on Jon, so he was more than ready to go to bed after their discussion on the balcony. He ended up turning in before Jon, so he was a little surprised to find him already awake and sitting back against his pillows when he opened his eyes on Monday.

“Hey,” Martin said, moving closer to rest his face against Jon’s hip, throwing an arm over his legs.

“Hey.”

“Did I keep you up?” Martin asked.

“No.”

“What time did you get in bed?”

“I don’t know exactly. Not that long after you. I’m just not that tired. Maybe I finally slept enough.”

“That makes one of us.” One night of sleep hadn’t done Martin as much good as he had hoped.

“I’m sorry.” With his eyes still closed, Martin felt Jon’s hand come to rest on his head, gently rubbing his scalp just above his ear.

“I’m going to have to cut my hair soon.”

“I like it,” Jon said, gently tugging at a few strands. “I mean, I like it shorter, too. I guess I just like your hair.”

“Flatterer.” Martin yawned, then pressed his face into Jon even harder for a moment before rolling back to his side of the bed. “Just so long as you know it’s not getting you out of those pills. Do you want to shower first?”

“Actually, I was thinking I might not go in today.”

“Really?” Martin sat up to look at Jon. “How are you feeling?”

“Better.” He picked at an invisible spot on the quilt. “It’s more that I’d just—I’d like some time to think. If you’re ok with it.”

“Yes, of course I’m ok with it. I’ve been trying to get you to take it easy ever since we got here. We can—” He stopped when he saw the look on Jon’s face and realized what he was actually asking. “Oh, you meant—just you. Yeah, no, of course that’s fine. That’s great.”

“Are you sure? I mean—if you want to stay too—”

“No,” Martin interrupted. “No, it’s really fine. It’s not a problem. I mean, I know I’ve been really irritating with the—”

“That’s not it,” Jon said reassuringly. “It’s really not. I’m—I’m glad you’ve been here for me. It’s just my mind’s been so cluttered, and it finally—I feel like I can gather my thoughts.”

Martin nodded. “I get it. I do.” He did, mostly. “Would it be ok if I called to check on you?”

Jon smiled. “I’m sure I’d worry if you didn’t.”

So Martin went in by himself. He told Tim and Sasha the truth, mostly; Jon had blacked out after therapy, of course, not in an abandoned house in Oxford where there existed a possible gap between dimensions and realities, but the part about going to A&E and Jon staying home to recover was straightforward enough.

“Glad something slowed him down,” Tim said, and Sasha gave him a look. “Well, something was bound to happen, and at least Martin was there. It could have been worse. He was pushing himself too hard.”

“You’re not wrong,” Martin agreed, and Sasha patted him soothingly on the shoulder.

He went in by himself the next day, too. Jon seemed to be doing well enough. They didn’t talk much; Martin was tired and Jon seemed lost in his thoughts. Martin wasn’t sure what Jon was doing most of the day, though it didn’t seem to be much of anything. He was eating—well, drinking the nutrition shakes Martin had picked up for him—and Martin suspected he was sleeping a little, based on how the bed looked when he came home. Jon managed to eat solid food at supper again that second night, and reached protectively for his half-empty plate when Martin assumed he was done.

“Sorry,” Martin said with his hands up in apology, leaning back into the couch. “Does that mean—maybe you’re feeling better?”

“I think so. Starting to.” Jon stretched out his feet to rest them on the bottom ledge of the coffee table. For an instant, Martin already missed the feeling of Jon falling asleep against him—but this was better, he knew. He pushed the mournfulness away.

He went in by himself again on Wednesday. A little after noon, Sasha joined him and Tim in the assistants’ office.

“Want to come to lunch?”

Martin assumed she was asking Tim, but when he didn’t hear an answer, he glanced up to find both of them looking at him.

“Oh—me?” Martin asked.

“Yes,” Tim replied, grabbing his jacket off the back of his chair. “Might be nice to take up some old habits again.”

Martin didn’t have to think for too long to figure out what Tim was referring to; memories from this world came easy now. Not long after his mother had died, they’d started going out for lunch together once a week. It had almost certainly been for his benefit, but no one had ever admitted that to him; instead, they’d all acted like it was a spontaneous idea that for some reason had never occurred to any of them before. Martin had been so grateful for the company that he’d simply accepted it without thinking about it too hard.

“We’ll miss Jon, of course,” Sasha added, “but he can come with us next week.”

“Oh, whatever,” Tim said, elbowing Martin good-naturedly as they left the office together. “This just makes up for those times Jon couldn’t wait and stole Martin out from under us.”

Martin remembered that, too; there had been a few times when, despite their best intentions, he’d been overwhelmed by the thought of lunch with the whole group. Jon had somehow understood and anticipated those days, and had come up with some reason he had to go early, asking Martin if he’d wanted to join. They hadn’t said much when it had been just the two of them, nothing important, but that had sort of been the point, hadn’t it? It was a nice memory, anyway, and Martin was glad he had it now. He wondered if Jon had remembered it yet.

***

Lunch was pleasant enough, if a little bit awkward. Martin hadn’t spent much time with Sasha, at least not compared to how much time he’d spent with Tim, and he could tell she was being careful with him. She was polite, keeping the conversation easy, deliberately avoiding topics that held anything other than surface interest. After he finished eating, he decided to ask her some things he’d been wondering about, and hoped she’d chalk up anything strange about it to him being a little thrown off from last week.

“Sasha,” he asked, setting his fork down, “do you—like being the head archivist?”

“What do you mean?” she asked, leaning toward him slightly over their table.

“Do you like it? Is it a good job? Is it—is it how you thought it would be?”

Sasha crossed her arms in thought. “Well, I’m not really sure how to answer that. I mean, the Magnus Institute has its issues, I suppose. It’s an academic joke, of course, but it’s not like the respect of my peers was ever that important to me.” She laughed at herself. “And some of our benefactors are… well, a bit full of themselves? But I suppose that’s true anywhere. I am quite happy with the job security, and it pays well enough for what it is. Plus I’m actually using my degree, which is more than I can say for most of my classmates.”

“Have you ever—wanted to leave?”

Sasha frowned slightly. “No—no, not really. Why?”

“No reason,” Martin said as casually as he could. He couldn’t exactly say just wondering if you’re trapped here. “Just been doing some thinking, I guess.”

“Well,” Sasha said, “I’ll admit the job’s felt a little bit different lately. Hard to say exactly how… I guess I’ve been struggling a bit with—well, I’m still not sure how to handle the—incidents, I suppose? It doesn’t make any sense, but it feels like I’m responsible for the people who come here to talk to us. Like I should be keeping track of their stories, somehow. I just don’t know what to do with them. Honestly, I’ve just started asking them to write everything down. I feel bad, but I just can’t listen to some of them. I’ll have nightmares.”

“Oh. They’re still coming in, then?”

“Sometimes. Not every day, but enough.”

“I—I didn’t know. Does Jon know?”

“He’s been there for a few, yes.”

Martin took a few sips of water. Jon hadn’t mentioned that specifically, but it probably wasn’t anything.

“What about—what about Elias? He doesn’t seem too fond of the Institute. Why does he stay?”

“You’ll have to ask Tim,” Sasha said, poking at what was left of her salad with her fork again. “They’re best friends.”

Tim laughed. “We are not best friends. However, I do think you should spend a little more time with him outside of work. You’re missing out.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Oh, come on.” Tim poked her arm playfully with the tines of his fork, and she batted him away. “He and Allan are a trip.”

“Exactly,” she replied.

“What I meant was, they’re funny. Especially Elias.” He turned to Martin. “Now the key to understanding him is to recognize that he has money—and also that he hates money, even though he has no idea how to function without it. And people with money, he especially hates. But at some point, I suppose, his father wore him down, and he has now accepted his position in life with as little grace and composure as he can.”

Martin thought back to what little he knew about Elias Bouchard, the actual Elias Bouchard, from his own world. “That… makes sense, actually.”

“And it makes him a pain in the ass when I need something,” Sasha added. “But on the positive side—he does leave me alone to do my job, for the most part.”

Martin remembered Allan’s name too; Martin remembered he had died after finding an old book. “So Allan is—his roommate?”

Tim raised his eyebrows. “That, Martin, is none of our business.”

“What?” Martin was genuinely confused before he realized what Tim was getting at.  “Oh—oh god, no, I didn’t—”

“However,” Tim interrupted him, “if you find out let me know, because I believe Sasha will owe me 10 quid on that day.”

“Doubtful,” Sasha said, grinning over the phone she was now scrolling through. “Very doubtful.”

Martin could feel his face turning red, so he was grateful for the distraction when Sasha leaned forward with her phone.

“Speaking of working at the Magnus Institute—look at this,” she said, attempting to angle the phone so both Martin and Tim could see at once. “I cannot get over how much she’s enjoying her retirement. I never thought she’d leave, but then it was like she was just up and done one day, and she never looked back.”

It took Martin a moment to understand what she was showing them, but it was a picture of Gertrude Robinson—a Facebook picture. He might not have known it was her, if it wasn’t for the name posted above it. The biggest difference was that in every picture he’d ever seen of her, she’d been wearing her hair in the same tightly-pulled grey bun; here, she was wearing her hair down, and it flowed softly past her shoulders. The next most obvious difference was he didn’t think he’d ever seen her smiling in a picture before, and she looked quite happy in this one, drink in hand, next to an equally-cheerful looking older man who had been holding up the phone to snap the photo. The caption read catching up with an old friend.

Sasha pointed at Martin to emphasize his surprised reaction. “See, that’s what I’m saying. I guess you just never know.”

“Who—who’s in the picture with her?” Martin asked.

“Oh right, I forget you never met him in person. That’s Jurgen Leitner.” She shook her head. “I didn’t think she was that fond of him, really. Must be another retirement thing.”

Jurgen Leitner—what was his connection to the Institute here? It’s not like he would have been living in the tunnels, there was just no—

The realization hit him like a ton of bricks. The Leitner Room. In this world, the Magnus Institute was home to every book Jurgen Leitner had ever collected. He had collected them, of course, only his library had never been destroyed because there was nothing to make that happen. When he’d decided to downsize in his later life—when he didn’t feel quite the same sense of pride in them—the archives had been the perfect home for his books. Of course, up until now, it meant nothing except a new collection and a nice endowment for the Institute.

What did it mean now?

“Are you ok?” Sasha asked. “You look—”

“You look like you just got run over,” Tim finished.

“Sorry.” Martin pulled his hand away from his mouth; he hadn’t even realized he had put it there. “I just—I just remembered something. It’s, um…”

“Do you need to get back?” Sasha asked after a moment of silence.

“Yeah,” Martin answered, apologizing with his voice. “Yeah, if you don’t mind. You can stay, if you want���”

“No, I’m done.” Tim took one more drink to empty his glass. “Sasha?”

She shrugged. “I’m ready.”

“Thanks,” Martin said. “I—there’s something I need to take care of for Jon.”

***

After they got back, Martin tried to look busy at his desk, hoping they’d think that he was taking care of whatever it was online. He took the opportunity to review the records in the system, and was comforted to note that nothing in the Leitner group currently had any special notations connected to it. All of the books were, at least in principle, on the shelves, and no one had requested access to any of them. He’d been hoping that was why his attention hadn’t been drawn to any of them previously, and it seemed like he’d lucked out. It was an obscure collection, and there were a lot of restrictions on them at Jurgen Leitner’s request; not just anyone could come in and browse them, and only a very specific set of research purposes qualified for special permission to remove them from the library.

He relaxed a little, and then waited for an opportunity to leave the office without attracting attention. He had to wait a while, but eventually Rosie came in with something for Sasha to review. A moment later Sasha called Tim in to her office, and Martin took the opportunity to leave. He just didn’t see a reason to risk drawing anyone else’s attention to the Leitners, especially since it seemed they were all but forgotten as they were.

He walked out past Rosie’s desk and back into the stacks; the room really was quite out of the way, buried deep in a corner of the shelving units. It wasn’t a large room, and if you weren’t looking for it, it would have been easy to miss. Even the sign above the door, emblazoned with the word Leitner, was barely distinguishable from the metal door frame behind it. The room was kept locked, but as an archival assistant Martin had a copy of the key. He held his breath and turned it.

Walking into the room was anticlimactic; it didn’t feel like much. There was no threatening aura; there was no sense of danger. It felt like nothing more than a small room full of musty old books, like many other small rooms of musty old books Martin had been in before.

He took a quick look at some of the titles on the shelves. At first glance, he didn’t see any he had heard of before, but of course he hadn’t heard of most Leitners. He continued to look, straining his eyes at words written on faded spines, occasionally pulling one gingerly off the shelves to check the front cover; he just needed something to prove to himself he wasn’t overreacting. Finally he found one he knew: a thick, black paperback labeled The Boneturner’s Tale. Martin felt a shiver run down his back as he involuntarily jerked his hand away from it.

He closed the door to the room, locking it behind him, and pulled out his phone. Thankfully, he had service, and he immediately dialed Jon’s number.

“I ate,” Jon said when he picked up.

“No,” Martin said. “Well, yes, I’m glad, but—”

“Martin, are you—what’s going on?”

“I—I don’t know how to tell you this. I’m…” Getting Jon to remember for himself was going to be much easier than explaining it.

“Are you ok?”

“Yes, I—well, all right. At lunch, Sasha showed us a picture of Gertrude Robinson. On Facebook.”

“Oh,” Jon sounded puzzled. “I knew she had retired, but I hadn’t thought to—”

“Well, that’s not it. She was with someone in the picture.”

“Who?”

Martin took a deep breath. “Jurgen Leitner.”

There was a prolonged silence before Jon spoke again. “Oh. God.”

“Yeah.”

“You’re there, aren’t you? Right now.”

“Yes. I’m—I’m not sure what I should do.”

“First, don’t touch anything.”

Martin didn’t respond.

“Ok—don’t touch anything else, then.”

“All right,” Martin said.

“Damn it. I should be there. I should be there with you.”

“No—no, it’s fine. I just—what should I do?”

“I don’t know.”

“Can I—ok, can I destroy them?”

“What do you mean?”

“Like—” Martin swallowed. “Ok, I’m sure this isn’t the best idea, but—what if a fire were to start in here? Or—something?”

“Do not,” Jon commanded. “Martin Blackwood, I have never been more serious in my life, do not do anything of the sort.”

“Ok, ok,” Martin said. “I said it probably wasn’t a great idea—"

“Some of those books would—let’s just say burning them would not have the desired effect. Or wetting them down, or chopping them up, or—”

“All right, all right. I get it. I mean—that’s not surprising, I guess. So what do I do?”

“Did you check the system? Are any checked out, or reserved, or—?”

“No,” Martin answered. “I mean, yes, I checked the system, and they’re all—they’re all here, in theory. No one’s asked for any of them.”

“Ok.” Martin heard the relief he’d felt earlier echoed in Jon’s voice. “That—that’s good.”

They sat in silence for a moment, before Jon spoke again.

“You’re—you’re not going to like this, but—I think you should go. For now.”

“And just leave them all here?”

“Yes. Believe me, I’m just as frustrated as you, but I don’t think there’s another option just yet. They’re relatively protected there, and hopefully they’ll continue to not draw attention.” He paused, and then added softly, “Right now, I just want you out of there.”

Martin sighed. “Right. Ok. Um… I guess… I can at least set up an alert so I get notified if anyone puts in a request?”

“That’s a good idea. And I’ll—I’ll keep thinking. Are you leaving yet?”

“Right after we get off the phone. Just in case. I don’t want to attract attention if someone else is down here.”

“All right. Message me when you’re back at your desk.”

“Sure.” Martin hung up, disappointed there wasn’t more to be done, but Jon was almost certainly right—it would be much too easy to do damage instead of prevent it, if he acted rashly.

Before he left though, he had one more thing he wanted to do.

***

That night, when Martin got home, he found Jon on the small balcony in back again; that was what he’d been hoping for. He grabbed the small metal trash bin out of the toilet in the hallway and stepped outside, closing the door behind him.

“Martin,” Jon said, stamping out a cigarette in the ash tray on the small table as he stood up. “You startled me. You’re a bit early—we can go in.”

“Sorry, didn’t mean to—I should have said something. Actually, I wanted to catch you out here. I brought you something.” He set the bin he’d brought out with him on the balcony, between the two of them.

“It’s a trash bin,” Jon observed.

“Well, that’s only part of it.” He picked up the lighter Jon had left on the table and handed it to him.

“If this is commentary on my smoking habit, I think the ash tray is big enough. Besides, I don’t plan to keep—”

“No—no, that’s not it. I don’t care about the smoking. Well, I don’t love it, but that’s really not it.” Martin sighed. “Look, I know you said not to touch anything in the Leitner Room, but—well, here.”

From behind his back, he brought out a small, square book; he could see Jon didn’t need to read the title to recognize it in the dim evening light.

“Martin,” he whispered. “I—”

“Don’t say anything. Don’t think, don’t open it. Just—take it. Burn it. This one should be fine. I can do it if you don’t want to.”

Jon reached a hand toward the book, running his fingers hesitantly over the scribbled black spider webs illustrating the otherwise plain white cover. He spoke as if he were in a dream. “Yes. I imagine this one would be ok.”

“Light it,” Martin encouraged him, reaching for the hand that held the lighter to pull it closer. “Now.”

It seemed too easy; he was afraid it wouldn’t catch, or that Jon would change his mind, or any number of other things would go wrong—but nothing did. The cardboard cover caught beautifully, the yellow-orange flame spreading elegantly out from the corner in less than a minute, swallowing the book front and back.

“Now let go,” Martin said, as the flame began to spread, and Jon nodded. They dropped it together into the trash bin, and Martin watched as the title words A Guest for Mr. Spider were consumed, slowly, letter by letter. They watched together, transfixed, until the fire burned itself out and all that was left was a smoking pile of ash.

“You shouldn’t have done that for me,” Jon said quietly. “Going through the shelves—taking it out—it could have been dangerous.”

“Yeah, well, you said the web was probably still weak, and—” Martin reached for Jon’s arm. “Anyway, it’s done now.”

“Thank you,” Jon stepped carefully around the trash bin, and then his arms were around Martin’s waist and his face was in his chest. “Thank you.”

[adenei]

Always A Bridesmaid, Never A Bride - Chapter 6

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Hermione

It was official. I’d agree to anything if it meant I had a chance to spend time with Harry outside of work. I knew it was a problem, and it was blatantly clear when Jenny called me in a rush this morning. She thought she’d scheduled an appointment to set up her registry at John Lewis  for Monday, but her days had gotten mixed up and she took the only open slot for Sunday. 

Of course, I knew she’d already booked herself at the bridal salon and florist, and couldn’t fit it in as she was explaining her mix-up. I was going to suggest she reschedule, but then I heard her mutter about sending someone else, and thinking she was going to send Harry, I offered to go, too. So, despite telling myself numerous times to just call her and cancel, I still forged ahead, even though I knew my ulterior motive was despicable.

Jenny had slipped her list of items under my door while I was in the shower. I thought it was odd if she was sending Harry, but then maybe she didn’t have time to stop by his place before her first appointment.

I took the list and caught a taxi to take me to the department store in the city. My phone buzzed and I checked it to see I had a text from Jenny. Your reinforcement should be there soon. Thanks so much for doing this again! I decided to go in and get started at the registry desk since I knew the set-up process would take a while. Finally, after I finished the paperwork, I was ready to begin. 

“So, here’s the scanner!” the clerk said. “This is all you’ll need to choose the items that you’d like. Once you hear the beep, you’ll know it’s been added. If you scan something by mistake, just scan it again to take it off. I’ll be here if you need anything, and if not, just drop the scanner off before you leave.”

“Thank you,” I said as I pulled the list out from my bag and determined where I should start first. 

I was paying so much attention to the list, I didn’t notice someone joining me. 

“Fancy meeting you here.” I looked up to see Ron standing next to me.

“Jenny sent you?” I asked. Surely, this was a joke.

“Are you surprised?” Ron asked me innocently.

“Yes, actually, I am. What writer helps with menial wedding tasks like this?”

“When I cover a wedding, I cover the whole wedding,” he explained as I shook my head. “So, where should we get started?”

“Probably housewares,” I said with a sigh.

I handed Ron the list to check things off as we scanned them. If he was here, I was going to make sure he was helpful. Maybe it’d make the job go by faster.

“Who needs all this useless junk, anyways?” he asked as I scanned a beautiful set of ivory candlestick holders. “Don’t they both have separate flats already? Surely, they have enough stuff between the two of them to outfit one apartment.”

I rolled my eyes in his direction. “When you’re starting a life with someone, you want to pick out items for the home you’re going to share together. You know, to make it both of yours instead of a mix of two people’s things,” I explained.

“So you’re telling me if you were to get engaged, you’d chuck all of your current stuff just to ask for new versions of the same stuff because you’re marrying someone else?”

“Well...not everything, but I’ve been inside Jenny’s apartment and it’s rather bare in there.”

“What about Harry’s stuff?”

“It’s okay, but he is a bachelor. He only has half the stuff he does because of Teddy,” I said.

“Harry has a kid?” Ron asked, his eyes wide.

I chuckled. “Not exactly. Teddy’s an orphan that’s part of the Boys & Girls Club. Harry’s his big brother. Though, I wouldn’t be surprised if he really does try to adopt Teddy after he and Jenny are married.”

“And how does Jenny feel about that?”

“Why do you care so much?” I gave him an odd look. 

“N-no reason. It’s just an interesting dynamic, that’s all.”

“Well, when we went to Teddy’s football game, Jenny seemed really taken with him. She’s surprisingly good with kids,” I mentioned offhand.

“Surprisingly? What’s that supposed to mean?” Ron asked curiously.

“Oh, um, I suppose she probably has several nieces and nephews if four of her brothers are married.”

“Ah. Well, that’s good, then. I’m sure they’ll make a beautiful family,” Ron said. 

“Yeah,” I said distantly. It was hard not to think about it, even though I really didn’t want to. 

Ron was looking at me curiously. “You know what I think you want?”

“What? Please bestow your infinite wisdom about me, a person you barely know, to me,” I scoffed.

“I think you do all this because you just want a wedding for yourself. Not an actual marriage, but a wedding.”

I stared incredulously at him. “How can you even say that? You don’t know me! Of course I want a marriage! Who wouldn’t want someone to spend the rest of their life with?”

“Well then why aren’t you looking harder for your ‘one true love’?” he said in air quotes. “You spend all your extra time helping brides and attending weddings, and it seems like you barely date.”

“I do too date!” I retorted.

“Yeah? When’s the last time you dated someone? I don’t count,” he said pompously.

“What do you mean you don’t count? Of course you don’t!” I argued.

“Oh, you wound me,” Ron said, his words dripping with sarcasm. “Are you going to answer the question?”

I stopped to think about it. Was it bad that I really couldn’t remember. Ron took advantage of my distraction to steal the scanner from me and started scanning random trinkets.

“What are you doing?” I asked as I tried to take the scanner back. 

He used his height to an advantage to block me. “Oh, come on, it’s all in good fun. Every couple deserves some random trinkets that they open and have to fake a smile for, don’t you think?”

There was a mischievous glint in his eye that made me laugh even though I should be scolding him. I was still mad at him for his accusations, but I was willing to play along so I didn’t have to answer the dating question.

“Is that what you think?” I said with a smile. “You’d want to open random gifts you didn’t ask for because someone thought it would be funny to play a joke on your registry?”

“It’s never going to happen for me, so it doesn’t matter what I’d do, now would it?”

Ron was smiling, but it wasn’t reaching his eyes. I stopped to contemplate his words for a moment. “Something must have happened to make you resent love so much. So, what is it?” 

I snagged the list from his hand to see how we were doing as I began walking again. We needed to get to the linen section next. Ron still hadn’t answered me, so I decided to push his buttons a bit.

“Did your parents get divorced? An ex-girlfriend cheat on you with your best friend like in those cheesy romantic comedies? Or, were you left at the altar or something tragic like that?” 

“Yeah, actually.”

I froze. I wasn’t really serious. I turned around to look at him. “What?”

“I was engaged a few years ago, but about two weeks before the wedding she called it off. Apparently she was more interested in my brother instead, and only realized it when she came home to meet the whole family.”

“Oh, my God, Ron, I’m sorry. It was—I didn’t mean it,” I apologized. That was awful and I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.

“It’s fine. I was too blinded by love to see that we weren’t a good fit anyways. My brother saw right through her shallowness and told her to fuck off. So, I guess there was a silver lining.”

I handed him the scanner. “Scan all the ugly things you want. I’ll feign ignorance as long as all the stuff on this list gets added.”

He let out a weak laugh. “Thanks.”

“Are you close with your brother, then?” We hadn’t discussed anything personal yet, aside from my involvement in weddings, but I found myself wanting to learn more about him.

“As close as we can be. He lives in Africa on a wild nature preserve.”

“And your ex was more interested in a—”

“Zoologist? Apparently. Guess my career as a writer wasn’t adventurous enough for her. Or it didn’t make enough money for her lifestyle.”

“If she’s more interested in money than love, you’re better off. You’ll find the one someday, I’m sure.”

“So will you...maybe,” he smirked.

“Good to see you being so supportive,” I said sarcastically. 

Just like that, the moment had passed. Maybe I’d been a little too quick to judge Ron without knowing his backstory. First impressions were typically a good indication of a person for me, but now I was starting to think that maybe I’d misjudged him. Even though he reverted right back to his sarcastic ways, I was fairly certain that it was all a cover. I couldn’t help the feeling churning inside of me that yearned to know more.

Ron

I was sitting at my cubicle on Wednesday when Rita stopped by my desk. “How’s the article coming?”

I knew she was talking about the perpetual bridesmaid one. “It still needs work; still a rough draft,” I told her.

“I want to see what you’ve got. Email it to me,” Rita said bluntly before walking away.

“But—” It didn’t matter what I was going to try to say, she was expecting it and I needed to send it along.

I didn’t understand why I was hesitating, though. This was going to be my big break, and yet I had this nagging feeling in my stomach. 

Sure, Hermione was strong minded and opinionated, but she was always so interesting to talk to. I found myself craving her company and wanting to learn more about her. Hell, I’d even admitted my darkest secret about Romilda that no one knew outside of immediate family.

The last time I put love ahead of my career I lost the section for my contributing investigative pieces and landed my arse firmly in commitments. I needed to stay focused so I shook the thoughts of Hermione from my head as I carried on with cleaning up the article. It’d been so long since I let anyone into my life, and I just didn’t know her well enough yet to trust her. 

I did make one small concession, deciding not to use her real name because of the business. So I called her Hermione Wilkins in the article. No one needed to know, and it was my feeble attempt at protecting her identity. Satisfied with the draft, I pressed send on the email and moved onto my next task.

On Friday, Rita called me into her office. “This is really good, Weasley. You should be proud.”

I looked at her in slight confusion, not exactly sure which article she was talking about.

“The perpetual bridesmaid article! We’re running it on Sunday. You’re on the front page of the Styles section. And you’re out of commitments for good after you cover that Warrington/Potter wedding, of course.”

“Er, right. Yeah, thanks!” I tried to fake excitement over it, but the knot was pitted even deeper in my stomach.

“Why aren’t you more excited?”

“I just think it could use some more time, that’s all. She’s in that wedding, too. The one next weekend. Let me wait and see if I can learn more. You know, to add—”

“Ron, this is perfect as is. Isn’t this what you wanted? Or has someone taken a fancy to Ms. Wilkins?” Rita gave me a knowing smile, but it wasn’t a genuine one. It made me uncomfortable.

“Can we please just push publication one more week?” I asked once more.

Rita sighed dramatically. “I’ll see what I can do, but if you have started to care for her, you might want to tell her. You can go now. I’m sure you have things to accomplish before the weekend.”

I nodded slightly as I turned to leave. I had to find a way to tell Hermione. I wasn’t ready to lose whatever dysfunctional new friendship we’d created, but after she’d already accused me of lying to her, I had no idea how I was going to spin this. No matter how I looked at it, it was totally deceitful.

 Not to mention my sister and all of her lies, too. No matter how annoying I thought Hermione could be, I knew she didn’t deserve that. She needed to know this was coming. I had to tell her.

~o~

My phone rang on Saturday afternoon. It was the first Saturday where I didn’t have to do anything related to weddings and it was brilliant, until I saw Ginny’s name on the caller ID.

“What?” I answered.

“I need your help.”

“Aren’t I already helping you enough?”

“Never,” Ginny said through a grin that I knew was undoubtedly plastered on her face.

“Well?” I asked, pretending to be annoyed.

“I just got a call that the favors are done and ready to be picked up in Brentwood. Harry was going to do it after the dinner tasting, but I’m worried that won’t give him enough time to get to Andover for dinner with Mum and Dad since it’s in the complete opposite direction!”

“So, you’re asking me to pick up the favors, then?”

“Unless you wanted to come to dinner—”

“Nope, I’m good. I’ve got to try and get a hold of Hermione tonight for something anyways,” I told her.

“Hermione?” Ginny’s voice sounded intrigued.

“Yeah, but it’s not what you think. It’s not like I’m into her or anything,” I said a little too quickly.

“Sureee,” Ginny teased. “Well, you’re in luck. She’s with Harry right now for the tasting at the Winchester in Putney. She offered to go to the tasting since I was wrapped up with things back home. Maybe she could go with you?”

“Yeah, maybe…” I had to admit that Ginny came up with a good idea.

“Listen, I have to go, we’re getting ready to leave now. Hopefully Harry will be hungry enough. I did reserve a later dinner, but Mum and Dad wanted to get settled at the inn beforehand since they didn’t want to drive home tonight…” Ginny trailed off.

“Okay, tell them I said hi, and I’ll take care of the favors for you.”

“Thanks, Ron, I owe you!”

“Yeah you owe me for a lot of—” I stopped talking once I realized she’d already hung up the phone.

“Doesn’t she believe in saying goodbye?” I said out loud as I shook my head. 

I could be at the Winchester House in fifteen minutes. Grabbing my wallet and keys, I headed out the door and hailed a taxi.

When I arrived at the hotel, the maitre’d pointed me in the direction of where Harry and Hermione were seated. It was a relatively nice day. Warm and partly cloudy, but I could tell by the way the sky was changing that a rainstorm was coming in.

I walked through the main area to the outdoor seating section where I stopped near the doorway to look for them. I spotted them on the other side of the terrace overlooking the Thames at a small table. My first thought was of how gorgeous Hermione looked when she was smiling. She normally only reserved scowls for me, and I hadn’t realized how attractive she truly was until that moment.

The thought terrified me. I wasn’t sure if I was even ready to let someone else into my life like that. I’d sworn off love, convinced it wasn’t in the cards for me. If things were meant to look up, there was no way it could be her. Especially not after that article dropped. At least Rita was giving me more time to explain it to her.

I refocused on the two of them and began to take a few steps toward their table. That’s when I saw it. The look I’d seen on every bride who was hopelessly in love with their soon to be groom. How had I never realized it before? The way she smiled and leaned across the table. 

All the unabashed flirting. Everything was making sense now. Why she was so upset at the club that first night, why she was so dejected when she called me, and why she wasn’t sure if she even wanted to be part of my sister’s wedding. Hermione was in love with her boss, who was also my sister’s fiancée. I wasn’t sure what was worse. Her pining over a man who had no interest in her at all, or Harry’s complete obliviousness to the entire situation. I’d seen him around my sister long enough to know he only had eyes for her.

I was feeling a mix of hurt and anger that I hadn’t felt since Romilda left me, and I didn’t understand why because it wasn’t like I was in love with Hermione or anything. I just enjoyed her company and was keen on the prospect that she might be a good friend if we could get past her constant accusations. 

At that moment I lost all my ambition to tell Hermione about the article, and even to ask her along on the wedding errand. I was about to turn and leave when Harry happened to look in my direction and called me over. Shit.

“What are you doing here?” Hermione looked at me in surprised annoyance.

Of course she was annoyed, I just ruined the probable fantasy she was currently living with this whole situation.

 “Jenny called and asked if I could go pick up the favors with you before the shop closes.”

“Oh, I thought I was going to take care of that,” Harry said.

“Yeah, Harry and I were just getting ready to head to Brentwood now,” Hermione said pointedly.

“Well, the bride is worried that it’ll make him late for some dinner that’s past the other side of London, so…”

“Hmm, she does make a good point. And it looks like the rain is heading in, which would make travel conditions worse,” Harry said. “Are you sure you don’t mind?”

“Not at all. Hermione’ll ensure everything is sorted as the maid of honor, right?” I asked, raising my eyebrow in question and knowing she couldn’t say no.

“I—I guess,” Hermione sounded deflated as she shot me a death glare as Harry was finalizing the menu.

Good. Someone needed to pop the bubble because she was holding onto a dream that would never come true.

“Great, thanks again, you guys. I better get going if I have to stop home before heading to Andover.” 

Harry got up and clapped me on the back as he took off toward the exit. I smiled widely at Hermione, who looked like she was going to murder me. I couldn’t wait to reveal what I’d found out about her little secret.

[creatively--challenged]

Is It Time? // BestFriend! TH x Fem!Reader

Pairing: Tom Holland x Reader

Warnings: Swearing, teeny bit of angst, alcohol, underage drinking, smut, unprotected sex, and unbearable fluff x

Word Count: 11.7k

Summary: Tom is finally home and Y/N needs to tell him how she feels. She’s buried it for so long but it doesn’t want to stay buried any longer. Tom is finally home and he needs to tell her how her feels before he misses his chance and finds her unattainable. 

Author’s Note: So, this ended up being way longer than I anticipated! It also took me a while to post since I’ve been so busy with work but I hope you all enjoy it! Please send all the good/constructive feedback! ♥

  It had been months since you’d seen him. When you saw the text from Harry light up your phone, your face had lit up just as much and you immediately called your boss to book that day and the next off work. There was no way you’d miss it.

Tom was finally coming home for more than a day here or there, which he always spent with family, and he was throwing a little party on Friday in his shared house with the boys to celebrate the final wrapping of his new film, ‘Cherry’, with his friends. It had been a while since you had been in your best friends’ house, what with him off filming, Harry off gallivanting with him, Harrison being in Liverpool to film his own new project, and the other boys busy with their own lives and needless to say you were beginning to feel a bit lonely. Not that you didn’t have your own group of friends – you had been finally catching up with the girls since Tom wasn’t taking up all of your time – but you still missed your best friend and he was almost always too busy for more than a ten minute chat, not to mention the differences in time zones. Of course, it wasn’t all his fault, you were definitely guilty of neglecting your phone for hours on end and getting wrapped up in your writing as well as spending most nights and weekends working in a restaurant in the city.

As you pottered around your apartment, purposefully ignoring the mess your roommate, Anna, had left behind in her rush this morning – she could clean her own mess up when she got home – your phone buzzed from the coffee table in the living room. Scooping up the cup of tea you had made yourself and trying your best to speedily walk to the living room without spilling it, you saw Tom’s contact picture, a goofy selfie he had sent you from the set of ‘Far From Home’.

 “Wow, you don’t even personally invite your best friend to parties anymore, you have your brother do it? Fame has changed you, Holland.” You can hear Tom chuckling down the phone.

 “Oh, shut it! I told him I’d call you but he sent the text anyway, he’s almost as excited to see you as I am… almost.” His voice was raspy, as if he’d just woken up, and it just added to his attractiveness, the part of him you’d been trying to ignore for years. “You’re coming, aren’t you? I miss you so much I was even thinking of asking you to come get some lunch with me tomorrow before the party and we can grab whatever we need for the night while we’re out?” You beamed to yourself, but then mentally scolded yourself for thinking that it could be more than just a simple mate-date, strictly lunch with your best friend.

 “Of course I am! Did you really think I’d miss it? Even took the Saturday off so I can be hungover and wallow. I’d love to meet you tomorrow, where and when?”

 “I’ll pick you up at 1. Bring a night bag, we’re having a lazy day on Saturday. I gotta go, Tess is desperate for a walk but I’ll text you when I’m on my way tomorrow. See you then, love.”

 You threw yourself onto the couch with an exaggerated sigh, smiling wistfully at the pet name he quite often called you. You and Tom had been friends for years, usually inseparable when he was home. You first met when you were about 16, he was 17. You had both snuck into a club with your respective friends, pretending to be of age and experience the dancing and drinking your older friends constantly ranted about come Monday morning, when you, very drunkenly, bumped into each other, knocking his drink all over the both of you. You apologised profusely but he had waved you off, brought you to the bar and grabbed a load of napkins to help wipe the beer off your dress as much as he could, all the while laughing giddily. You two became fast friends after that, spending the rest of the night non-stop chatting and swapping stories and found you had a lot in common with him. You could see your friends from across the room wiggling their eyebrows suggestively at the good looking boy in front of you but kissing a boy you just met in a club you weren’t supposed to be in just wasn’t how you wanted the night to go. Instead you swapped numbers and made plans to meet up for coffee the next day to talk when you could both hear each other clearly.

You had always thought he was cute, and as he got older you knew he was becoming more and more attractive. Not to mention, you knew he was the sweetest, caring, and most compassionate man there was but there was always that nagging in the back of your mind that said if something was supposed to happen between you two, it would have already. Besides, he had introduced you to Harrison with the intention of setting you up so it was clear there was no way Tom had mutual feelings for you. You were just supposed to be best friends, nothing more. So, you tried even harder to push the way you felt about him away and focused instead on being a friend, even dated Harrison for a few months before he had suggested you were better suited to being friends – story of your life, apparently – and while you were initially upset, you did agree with him.

              Grudgingly, you got up from the couch and started to put yourself together for your shift that night. It was definitely going to be the longest shift of your life so far.  Just as you were throwing your hair up into as neat a bun as you were going to get, Anna came breezing through the door. You greeted her cheerily as she set her things down on the kitchen table.

                “Well you’re definitely in a better mood than you were when I woke you up this morning, is there someone else here?” She asked, peeking her head around you towards your bedroom door with a cheeky grin on her face.

                “Give over, there’s no one else here. Tom is home, he’s having a party tomorrow night.”

                “Ahhhh, that definitely explains the chirpy mood you’re in. Are you going to make a move?” She teased. Anna knew well what the situation was with your feelings for Tom and yet she relentlessly pushed you to tell him how you felt, even going so far as to make suggestive comments in front of both of you, especially when she’s had a few drinks, something you’d argued about in the past. Though she knew that your feelings for him were blooming again recently and that you find yourself losing yourself in daydreams about what could be more often than you had before and she was determined this time to make you confess to Tom.

                “Ans, you know I’m not, he’s my best friend… However, I’m definitely feeling lonely so maybe if there’s someone that catches my eye I’ll have another reason to be in a chirpy mood,” you winked as you grabbed your bag and car keys, “anyway, I’m running. Text you when I’m on the way home and for the love of God can you please clean the mess you made this morning?” She hummed in response as you ran out the door and down the stairs of your flat.

You were running towards the train station, checking the time on your phone to make sure you weren’t going to miss the train, when a loud beep made you jump about 6 feet in the air, almost dropping your phone in the process. You turned quickly only to see Tom pulling in alongside you in his Audi, laughing wildly at your reaction. You scowl at him and quickly hop in the passenger side of the car.

 “You ass! I almost died! What are you doing here?!” He’s still chuckling to himself as he leans across the seats to engulf you in a hug as best he can and place a soft, chaste kiss on your cheek.

 “Hello to you too! Jesus, I’ve been away for months and the first thing I get is you calling me an ass? That’s no way to treat your best friend who’s about to drive you to work, is it?” He’s charming, and he knows it and he sends a wink your way before putting the car in drive and pulling out. Getting over your shock of seeing him, you feel a wave of admiration and love hit you for the man beside you and you gently rest your head on his shoulder as he drives.

 “Thank you,” you laugh, “You didn’t have to drive me, I could have gotten the train! Although I admit this is so much better, I’ve missed you loads! How are you?”

 He talks animatedly about his journey home from Morocco, explaining that he will tell you “all the good stuff” from the past few months over lunch tomorrow. He confesses that his decision to surprise you with a lift to work came from him not being able to wait until tomorrow to see you after hearing your voice on the phone, a fact that melts your resolve to not tell him how you feel just a little. You listen to him talk about how proud he is of the work he’s put into ‘Cherry’ and how delighted he is with how it turned out, pausing to apologise for the lack of time he had to talk over the past while. All too quickly, he’s pulling up outside the restaurant and you let out a heavy sigh. He turns to you and there’s a sympathetic smile on his face.

 “Hey, in no time your writing will take off and you’ll get the satisfaction of handing in your notice here. Plus, you’ll have me for the next two whole days AND I’ll be home for the next few weeks too!”

 You nod at him and put on a smile as you pick your bag up from your feet, “Yeah I know. Thanks so much, Tom. I’m so glad you’re home.” You reach across the car and wrap one arm around him, he does the same and places another quick kiss to your cheek. “See you tomorrow, let me know when you’re picking me up!” You get out of the car, sending him one last quick smile before going into the restaurant and beginning your countdown to the end of your shift.

                *                            *                            *                            *                                                     

Tom smiled to himself as he drove to the train station to pick Harrison up. He was just getting in from Liverpool for the weekend, perfect timing to have a break in shooting. He had meant it when he said he missed you. He had wanted to call you every single time he had a break in filming but had to stop himself. You were his best friend, not his girlfriend. He didn’t call Harrison or Tuwaine every time he had a break so why would you expect him to call you? You wouldn’t. You didn’t think of him that way and he knew it. He had always wanted more, since you knocked his pint over both of them and you met up for coffee the next day. He was too shy back then to tell you how he felt and then felt blessed enough just to call you his best friend that he definitely did not want to scare you away by telling you. He’d even tried to get over you and started dating other girls, though they never lasted long. They weren’t funny enough, didn’t laugh at his jokes like they were the funniest things in the world, they didn’t get along with his friends so well, they didn’t text him the morning of every audition he’d ever had to wish him good luck, or call him in the middle of the night when they felt lonely, they weren’t you. He’d set you up with Harrison, thinking that if you were unavailable, he’d learn to move on. And he did! For a little bit. It was easier to accept that you were just his best friend because you were good together, Harrison treated you well and you really enjoyed his company. Although, listening to you both in Harrison’s room after you’d come home from a date never got easier.

 It was after one of those date nights that Harrison realised. He’d come down to the kitchen to make coffee and Tom was sitting at the counter on his phone, red rimmed eyes, loosely holding a cup of coffee that had long gone cold. He hadn’t expected Haz to be up so early and had planned on going to visit his parents as soon as he’d finished his coffee but he had been caught. Harrison hadn’t let up until Tom told him why he was upset and disregarded every bullshit answer Tom could make up on the spot. “You’re a great actor, Tom, but you can’t expect me to believe that. Don’t bullshit me.” So Tom’s floodgates burst and he told Harrison everything; how long he’s felt that way, why he set you up, how he felt at the time.

 ~ “You can’t keep torturing yourself like this, Tom. If I had have known you felt this way, I would never have asked her out!” Harrison eyed his heartbroken friend as he silently cried. He was debating what to do, he really liked you and you were getting on great, but he could tell straight away that he didn’t like you in the way that Tom did, not even close.

 “No, Harrison, I know what you’re thinking. Don’t do it. Don’t hurt her just because I wasn’t man enough to tell her how I feel. That’s not fair.” Harrison then hugged him, told him not to worry, and walked back to you with coffee. ~

 He had broken up the you the following week, telling you he thought you were better suited as friends, and he did believe that but he was also thinking of Tom and how heartbroken he had been that morning. Tom was ready to pick up the pieces when you told him Harrison had broken up with you but you were surprisingly okay? A little disappointed but you said you thought Harrison was right and it was that that lifted the guilt off Tom’s chest, while also instilling the slightest bit of hope in him. He still had a chance. Yet here he was 2 years later still pining after his best friend who still had no idea about his feelings.

Tom’s train of thought was broken when Harrison opened the boot of the car and threw his bags in before jumping into the passenger side of the car.

 “Am I interrupting something? You look like you’ve been having an extreme internal debate.” He laughed as he cleaned the raindrops from the lenses of his glasses, shooting Tom a questioning glance, though Tom had a feeling Haz knew exactly what was plaguing his mind.

 “Sorry, I was in a world of my own. How are you, man? How’s filming going?” Tom avoided Harrison’s questioning looks, which was duly noted by the blond man but he dropped the subject. Instead, Harrison talked relentlessly about his new project and how excited he was, before quizzing Tom on ‘Cherry’. The boys chatted back and forth about their careers and how their families were until they got back to the house. As soon as they walked through the door Harrison and Harry immediately engaged in a roasting match, going back and forth verbally tearing shreds off each other. Tom grabbed a beer from the fridge and threw himself on the sofa, watching the two with amusement until he was dragged into their play fighting and had to fend for himself. They continued like that for a while; roasting each other, playing a couple of games of Fifa, demolishing bottles of beer, until eventually Harrison put a movie on Netflix and settled down on the sofa beside Tom while Harry went to his room to edit some videos of their trip in Morocco.

 “What is it? You’ve been off all day” Harrison asked without even taking his eyes off the screen. Tom shuffled uncomfortably and looked down.

 “S’nothing. Just me being an idiot, as usual.” That was more than enough for Harrison to confirm that he was right about why Tom was off. He let a heavy sigh and turned to face his best friend.

 “Look, mate, you need to stop being such a div and just tell her, yeah? Because this shit isn’t healthy for you or for your friendship. You have a chance here, she’s not going to be single forever and –“

 “I know!” Tom snapped, a little too loudly. Harrison looked taken aback for a moment, then turned towards the tv and took a long drink from his bottle of beer. “I’m sorry, Haz. I shouldn’t have shouted. It’s just that… It’s all I’ve been thinking about the past couple of weeks. It comes and goes, y’know? Sometimes I can live perfectly content with having her as my best friend - other best friend”, he added when Harrison gave him a look, “- but since I’ve been away these past few weeks, I just can’t stop thinking about her. No amount of work can take my mind off it. I missed her so much it was almost palpable and the thought of her moving on with someone else makes me so angry at myself. I feel like I’m running out of time but I’m also terrified of saying something only for her to be absolutely horrified and ruin our entire friendship!” Tom hadn’t realised he was crying until he felt the tears drop from his chin onto the hand holding his beer.

 “Tom, don’t you think if you keep these feelings to yourself it might ruin your friendship? Also, why do you think she’s stayed single all this time, same way you have? Maybe she feels the same? Maybe she’s holding out for you. Just… think about it, Tom. If you want this, take the chance. Either way, I’m going to bed. I need to get my beauty sleep if I’m gonna pull tomorrow night. Y/N’s roommate is coming and I’ve had my eye on her since I met her last year.” Harrison winked and Tom laughed at his attempt to flex his muscles.

 “Alright, fuck off, you div. See you in the morning.” Harrison waved in response and began walking to his room. “Haz?” Tom heard his steps stop and saw his head poke around the corner, left eyebrow raised. “Thank you. For everything.” Haz shot him an award-winning smile.

 “You’ve got nothing to thank me for, I’m here for you, mate. Goodnight.”

 Tom sat by himself for a while, finishing his drinks and running through different scenarios in his head of how tomorrow could go. How he could tell you. He could say it over lunch, but then if you didn’t feel the same it would be awkward for the rest of the day and it there would be no way he could throw a party if it all went sideways. He could tell you at the party, but then you might think he was a coward for not telling you alone. He could tell you the next day, while you were just hanging out, but what if you hit it off with someone at the party and he misses his chance? He was working himself up into a panic again and decided to call it a night. He busied himself with cleaning the beer bottles from the living room, tidying the kitchen, and having a long shower to calm himself down, before climbing into bed and hoping that whatever he decided to do, he would still have you one way or another; either as his best friend or as someone who loved him as much as he loved you.

 *                           *                            *                            *                            *        

                You woke up filled with a sense of dread. You’d had a nightmare and the more you thought about it the more you convinced yourself it was a premonition. Tom was definitely going to hook up with someone tonight. He was going to stand right in front of you and lean in to catch her lips in a kiss so intense and shameless that you would have to look away to avoid throwing whatever drink you were holding at the two of them. Then, when you look back, they would look at you and sneer, laughing at how fucking pathetic you were and you’ll see him leading her by the hand towards his bedroom, towards his bed. It’s going to happen; your mind’s eye has foretold it.

              You roll out of bed and trudge towards the kitchen. Anna is already there, scrolling through her phone and pushing a cup of tea in your direction.

              “I was just about to call you. Hey, would you mind if I tried it on with Harrison tonight? I know you two had a thing but he’s really hot and you guys are just friends now, right?” You held up a hand and took a long sip of your tea, eyeing her over the top of your mug. She stopped scrolling and looked at you expectantly. “Bad night?” You sighed contentedly and lowered your hand.

 “I really needed that tea, thank you. Yes, bad night. Nightmares, to be precise.” She frowned, about to ask but you cut her off, “No, I don’t mind you trying it with Harrison. He’s a great guy and you’re just his type. Just please, if you bring him home, keep it down. He has a tendency to be quite vocal.” Anna’s face went beet red and she choked on her green tea.

                “Noted. Moving on, do you know what you’re wearing tonight?” She wiggled her eyebrows at you and you groaned. You were really not in the mood of her tactics of trying to get you and Tom together and you know that’s exactly where this conversation is going.

                “I was thinking of just wearing my black skinny jeans and that green top I got 2 weeks ago? Maybe with black boots?” She rolled her eyes then shook her head at you.

                “Any outfit that you say you’ll ‘just wear’ instantly isn’t good enough. No. You haven’t seen Tom properly in months! You have to wow him; you have to look so jaw-droppingly good that it’s not even a question in his mind. Why don’t you buy something new today while you’re in town?” You considered what she said as you scrolled through your Instagram. You supposed she was right; it was the first time you’d seen Tom in months, plus you hadn’t bought yourself a full new outfit for anything in a while.

                “That’s not a bad idea… Do you need anything while I’m out?” You called out to her as she had started moving towards her bedroom.

                “Maybe some condoms? Who knows which one of us will need them?” She said with a wink and a cheeky grin. You had to bite back your laughter just as your phone pinged. Tom was letting you know you had 30 minutes before he was coming to pick you up. You quickly rinsed your cup and sped to your room to shower and kind something decent to wear for your lunch date. Lunch mate-date. For mates.

                                                             *

              “Table for two under Holland.” Tom spoke with a smile to the host of a very fancy brunch place in the city. If you had known Tom would take you somewhere like this you would have, at least, put on some makeup. As it was, you were wearing blue jeans, a white blouse, and low top Converse, and you had your still-damp hair thrown into a messy bun. Not the worst look but compared to the businesswomen around you in their 2-piece suits and elegant office dresses with heels you felt a bit out of place. But then, Tom was clad in just a hoodie, loose black jeans, and a baseball cap so maybe you didn’t look too bad.

                “I didn’t realise you would take me somewhere so nice. I thought we were just grabbing lunch in a café or whatever?” You whispered to Tom as your waiter handed you a menu and poured your water.

                “We are just grabbing lunch in a café or whatever,” he smirked, mocking you, “just wanted to treat you. This place does great French toast and they serve the freshest mimosas, my treat,” he told you with a wink.

He began looking through his own menu while you admired him from across the table. His hair had started to grow back after he’d shaved it off for his role in ‘Cherry’ and he had the slightest sprinkling of freckles across his nose; a gift from the Moroccan sun, no doubt. He looked happier than he did when you saw him before Christmas, when he had been losing weight dramatically and putting himself in the mindset of the complex lead role. You could clearly see, even through his hoodie, that he had been back at the gym since, the sleeves straining ever so slightly around the muscles in his arms and his frame looked wider than it had been.

                “I’m afraid I’m not on the menu, darling.” Tom interrupted your train of thought without even a glance from his menu, though he had a cheeky smirk on his face. You scoffed in response and tried quickly to come up with an excuse as to why you were practically undressing him with your eyes.

                “Come off it, I was just… I haven’t seen you in a while. That’s all.” You thought you saw his smile falter for a split second but then his attention was diverted and he was beaming at the waitress that had come to take your orders.

                                                             *

              “I told you the French toast was incredible.” Tom smiled at you from across the table. He had been telling you all about the past couple of months filming. How rewarding it felt to branch away from the roles he had been doing previously and getting the opportunity to flex his acting skills. He was now listening to you recount your tale of the past few months; catching him up on the drama of your life and the progress you had made with your writing. You told him about a meeting you’d had with an editor and he swelled with pride at hearing you were chasing your dreams as well as he was.

He had thought before you had been subtly checking him out but he quickly shook the thought from his head when you’d brushed him off. He promised himself he’d tell you today but every time he tried to start the speech he had prepared on the drive to your house his stomach did flips and he felt slightly nauseous. Is this the right place? Is it time? He tried to focus on what you were saying again, he really had to get a hold on himself.

 You had stopped talking and were now looking at him expectantly.

              “Sorry, I completely zoned out. What was the question?” He laughed and you scowled at him playfully. “I’m sorry! You’re just so captivating,” he half joked, pretending to swoon.

                “I suppose you’re off the hook, then,” You winked and his heart did another flip, “I was saying, when we’re shopping for stuff for the party I also need to find something to wear so I can do that while…”

                “I’ll come with you; help you find something.” You paused as he interrupted you. He hadn’t meant to jump in so suddenly but the thought of you wearing something to the party that he had helped pick out for you sped his heart up a little bit.

                “Better get a move on then, shouldn’t we?”

                                                             *

              You left the car where it was and strolled from shop to shop idly picking up the things you needed for the night. You filled two trolleys full of beers, spirits, mixers, bags of Doritos, microwave popcorn, and anything else you might need. Tom had just filled the car up with the supplies when he looped an arm through yours and pulled you towards boutiques of women’s clothes and fancier looking stores.

              “No, Tom, we’ll just head to th–“ Tom was already shaking his head and tugging on your arm with more insistence.

                “Nope, my treat” was all he said. You knew by the look on his face that he wasn’t budging so you willingly went into the shop that looked far too expensive for you. You were idly admiring different dresses and outfits, still unsure about Tom spending so much money on you when he slid his hand into yours and pulled you around to face him.

                “I want you to pick 5 outfits you like, without looking at the price tags and go try them on.” He held your gaze and didn’t look away or let go of your hand until you nodded. You sifted through the rails and shelves of clothes, holding some up to Tom for his approval and he’d give you thumbs up or down. A handful of times he would suggest something for you and you were surprised at just how good a sense for fashion the man had, for someone that usually only wore shades of black.

                Eventually, you had the 5 things you liked and were on your way to the changing rooms to try them on. The first; skinny black jeans with rips in them and a cropped, burgundy jumper that wrapped around the back, exposing a lot of skin. You pulled back the curtain and twirled around for Tom to see. You both agreed that while it was a lovely outfit, it wasn’t apt for the blazing house party he had planned. You tried on the rest of your outfits; a flowy cream dress with buttons from the bosom to the hem, a strappy, black, sheer top with a black denim skirt, and an elegant, red jumpsuit that really accentuated your hips and your waist but the show stopper was the emerald green velvet dress you tried on last, the one Tom had picked out for you. The colour complimented your eyes and you skin tone perfectly, long sleeves to hold back the January chill and it came down to mid-thigh. You had paired it with black tights and high chunky heeled leather ankle boots which brought you almost to the same height as Tom. You stepped out and Tom didn’t say anything as he stared at your form. Your head tiled slightly and you opened your mouth to ask if it was too much when Tom’s eyes finally met yours.

                “Yes. That’s the one. Wow. I- Wow.” You were blushing, you could feel it. You could also feel Tom’s eyes all over you, especially where the velvet fabric clung to your chest and your hips. You didn’t feel insecure or self-conscious though, the way you would when other men would stare at you the same way at a club.

                “Definitely, I really love it!” You told him as you eyed yourself in the mirror one more time.

 “Okay, go on, get dressed again and pass the other things out to me so I can put them back.” He told you and you obliged, changing back into your blouse and jeans and making your way over to the cashier with your chosen outfit where Tom was waiting. He took the clothes and passed them over the counter while you busied yourself with your phone, trying not to hear the amount the clothes came to so you wouldn’t have a heart attack, when you noticed you had a text from Anna.

 Anna: Hey, how was your lunch? Did you tell him? Did you find something to wear? Is it hot?

 You chuckled to yourself, typing a speedy reply, reminding her to behave later on and telling her about the outfit you’d picked out.

                You looked up just as Tom thanked the cashier and took the bag from her. He beamed at you and you both walked back to the car, chatting animatedly about the night ahead. When you got to Tom’s house you had about an hour and a half to get ready before everyone started arriving so you shouted a quick ‘hello’ to Harrison and Harry who were arguing in the kitchen about what drinking games they should play before heading into Tom’s room to get ready for the night. Tom followed you in with more bags and you looked at him confusedly.

He placed them down on his bed and looked at you like he was in trouble

.

              “They all looked so good, I couldn’t help but get them…” He said with a small smile as you slowly understood what he was saying. You stepped forward and peered into the bags he had set down. The other 4 outfits you had tried on were folded perfectly in the bag.

                “Tom!? Why would you get them all?! Where’s the receipt? I need to know. You- Thank you, Tom, but you shouldn’t have!” He laughed slightly as you scrambled through the bag before he took your hands in his.

                “It’s not in there – Stop Y/N!” He laughed, “I took it out already. Listen, I haven’t seen my bestest friend in months and I wanted to treat her. I never get to buy you anything and you know I can afford it so stop worrying. Plus, you can’t look me in the eye and tell me you didn’t love how you looked in all of them.” You eyed him faux-angrily but it didn’t last. You couldn’t help but break under his puppy-dog eyes.

“You’re a div. But, thank you. I don’t know what I’ll wear these outfits to but I love them, thank you.” He let go of your hands and mumbled about letting you get dressed. “Wait, Tom,” you suddenly remembered the nightmare you’d had the night before, still convinced it was a premonition, “where can I put my things when I’m done? You know… in case…Don’t wanna be interrupting anything to get my toothbrush in the morning” You gave an awkward chuckle and made a motion with your hands since Tom looked at you like you’d grown another head before realisation dawned on him.

                “Oh! What? No, leave it here! There’s no one- I thought- Aren’t you staying here?” He asked and you thought there was a shadow of disappointment on his face.

                “Oh, well sure I can but- Just in ca- Only if you’re su..-“

                “I’m sure.” He cut you off and there was a twinge of annoyance in his face before it was gone and replaced by a small smile. “You always stay in my room after a party, why would that change?” You both stared at each other for a few moments, unsure of what to say before he broke eye contact and headed to the kitchen, shouting over his shoulder that he’d bring you a drink while you got ready.

                You stepped into Tom’s shower in the adjoining bathroom and let the hot water run over you while you got your thoughts together. You knew Anna was going to cause some sort of trouble tonight, maybe even get Haz in on it, and you knew she was right to. You were just hurting yourself by trying to push how you felt away. Maybe if you just told him it would be easier? Even if he didn’t feel the same way, you were being honest with him and you could work out a way to keep being best friends. Would that work? Or would he just start avoiding you until you were just strangers. You huffed in frustration, stepping out of the shower and wrapping yourself in a fluffy towel. You waltzed out into the bedroom and saw that Tom had left a Gin and Tonic on his dresser for you, you smiled and took a sip before getting to work on your hair.

                Just as you were halfway though the process of putting on makeup Tom stepped into the room.

                “Hey, you mind if I start showering and whatnot? I’ll knock before I come out of the bathroom in case you’re getting changed.” He was standing at his wardrobe, pulling out different coloured articles of clothing before pulling out black jeans, a black t-shirt, and black studded jacket. You laughed under your breath at his ‘daring’ choice of colour as he was heading for the bathroom and shutting the door.

  You continued getting ready, finishing your makeup and donning your new outfit before spraying a bit of hairspray to keep your waves in place. You had about 15 minutes before guests started arriving and you were just zipping up your boots when Tom came out of the shower, t-shirt straining against his muscles, jacket in hand, and stopped dead, watching you stand up to adjust the neckline of your dress.

                “I thought you were going to knock.” You said teasingly. He made an ‘O’ with his mouth and put his hand over his eyes.

                “I’m so sorry! I was in a world of my own and completely forgot. You look incredible, darling.”

                “Not too bad, yourself.” You told him. He seemed to be deliberating something for a minute. His mouth opened and closed a couple of times and you looked at him expectantly before he seemed to decide against what he was going to say.

                “Shall we?” He mocked in a goofy accent and you took his arm that he had proffered for you. As you walked into the kitchen you heard a loud wolf whistle come from Tuwaine who was already about 4 bottles of beer down.

                “Damn, Y/N. You’re looking well! Who’s the lucky guy?” He asked with a wink and you felt the blush creeping up your neck, causing him and the other boys to laugh. With the exception of Tom, you failed to notice, who gave Tuwaine a hard, disapproving look that he simply waved off.

  Just then the front door opened and Anna came strutting in, looking like a model as usual with her strawberry blonde waves falling down around her shoulders, long legs that went on for days, and perfect little figure, with Harrison hot on her heels. She quickly engulfed you in a hug as Harrison gave you a nod and a smile.

 “You look incredible! Did Tom have anything to do with that outfit?!” She asked lowly so the boys wouldn’t hear.

“More like everything! He wouldn’t even let me pay for it or the other outfits I liked!” Her eyes widened and mischievous smile appeared on her face.

 “Well, now I know I was definitely right about how he feels,” she winked obnoxiously at you, “Haz picked me up! I was about to order a taxi when I got a text to say he was outside. Such a gent! Has he said anything? Do you think you could find out what his intentions are? Would that be weird? Thank you so much for giving me your blessing!” She whispered at a million miles an hour. Once you might have found it hard to keep up with the sheer amount of questions she asked in one breath and how quickly she jumped from topic to topic but now that you were used to her you laughed and waved her off for the most part.

                “I’ll subtly talk to him as long as you promise not to say a word to Tom about me, deal?” You held out your pinky. She eyed you narrowly but eventually she took it in hers and let out an exasperated sigh to show you she wasn’t happy with it, but it was a deal.

                Soon enough, the party was in full swing. The front door had opened and closed about a dozen times, spilling people you hadn’t seen in ages, and some you had, into the house. You weaved in and out of conversations, catching up with friends and introducing yourself to a couple of people you didn’t know. Your hand was never without a drink in it, whether it was Tom handing you a goblet of Gin & Tonic with a soft “Here ya go, darling”, or one of the twins keeping you topped up without you even noticing, or Anna insisting you two did shots of whatever looked like it would fuck you up the most – you had managed to fake taking most of those shots and she was already fairly tipsy so she had yet to notice.

              It was close to 11pm when you caught Harrison standing alone on his phone in the kitchen. You sidled over to him and bumped your shoulder into his. You two had drifted slightly after the breakup, feeling a bit awkward around each other but after a while things went back to the way they were before you dated and he ended up being another one of your closest friends.

                “Whatcha doing?” You asked him and he smiled at you. His eyes fleeted around the room for a second before landing on Anna who was dancing goofily with Harry.

                “Trying to get my act together and ask her out. Every time I try and think of what to say I end up sounding like an idiot in my head.” He groaned and rubs a hand over his face. You gave him a sympathetic look and threw your arm around his shoulders.

                “You never had any trouble asking me out, did I not make you nervous enough?” You put your hand on your chest, feigning offense, and he laughed loudly at you.

                “Come off it, you might not have thought I had trouble but believe me, I did.” His eyes caught something across the room and he coughed slightly and took a step back from you while turning his body towards you. “So, do you think I have a chance?” You glanced around the room to see what had caught his eye but all you could see was Anna now begging Tuwaine to dance with her and Tom talking closely to a girl you didn’t quite recognise, something that narrowed your eyes slightly and forced a small frown on your face, which Harrison did not fail to notice.

                “Yeah, definitely. You should go for it, ask her out. You two would be great together.” You mumbled to him distractedly, finally tearing your eyes away from Tom and the mystery woman. Harrison was looking at you with concern etched across his face, no longer worried about Anna.

                “Y/N? Everything okay?.” You forced a smile onto your face and nodded too quickly. You turned towards the counter and began refilling your drink while trying desperately to dismiss all thoughts of the nightmare you’d had the night before. It couldn’t actually happen, could it? He did say that he wasn’t bringing anyone to his room that night… What if he’d changed his mind?

                “Y/N. You need to talk to him.” Your eyes snapped to Harrison who had a kind yet worried smile on his face. “This isn’t good for either of you.”

                You gasped, “You know?!” He laughed slightly and nodded. “How long?!” You were slightly worried. If he had known, was that the real reason you broke up?

                “Have for a while. I kind of always thought it but was never sure.” He smiled at you and then when he saw your horrified expression he rushed to explain, “That’s not why we… y’know? You were amazing and I didn’t think badly of you. I genuinely did, and do, think we are better as friends!” It was your turn to laugh as you put a hand on his shoulder.

                “Good, because you weren’t just a second choice, Haz, I did really like you. But you are also right, we’re much better as friends. Friends that can be each other’s wingmen?” He laughed loudly again and nodded enthusiastically.

                “Absolutely! Now, how do I ask Anna out?”

                                                              *

              Tom had been bouncing from person to person, catching up on their antics while he was away and he was having the time of his life. He had been sneaking glances at you all night and you also looked like you were having a great night. He was beginning to feel the effects of the alcohol in his system, a lot faster than he used to as a result of having not drank in a while with how busy he’s been. Haz had cornered him in the kitchen while you were getting ready and quizzed him about your lunch together. After telling Haz he didn’t tell you about how he felt, Haz had made him promise he’d tell you tonight and so that’s what he’d do. A little bit of Dutch courage in him made him feel a bit more confident in how things would go after he told you. He supposed he had better tell you before either of you were too far under the influence of alcohol but you looked like you were having such a good time and he didn’t know when the right time was to interrupt and tell you.

              Just as he had decided to go for it, a familiar face appeared in front of him. One he hadn’t seen in a long while, so long that he almost didn’t recognise her, not to mention her once short, blonde hair was now long and a deep brown colour.

                            “Hi Tom, long time no see. You know, every time I see you it’s like you get better looking.” Sophia, the last girl he had dated, about a year and a half ago, before he had caught her in the lap of another man while they were out on Tom’s birthday and swiftly told her to get lost. He had been getting annoyed by her before that anyway, she treated Y/N like absolute shit, wasn’t interested in getting to know his brothers, and when she thought he couldn’t see her, she rolled her eyes whenever he made a joke. However, he would be calm and polite to her now. Nothing was going to ruin his mood.

                “Sophia, hi. How’ve you been? I didn’t know you were coming tonight.” He smiled as warmly as he could, while looking around her to see that Y/N hadn’t moved. Sophia moved in front of his view again, tossing her long brunette hair over her shoulder.

                “I’m here with Jack, we’ve been seeing each other and he invited me along. We’re not exclusive yet though.” She added with a wink as she ran her hand along his arm. His insides squirmed at the action and his temper flared a tiny bit, though he kept his face civil and polite.

  As he thought of a way to get away from her, he heard a loud laugh from the other side of the room. He glanced towards the kitchen and saw that you had your arm thrown around Harrison, the two of you standing close to each other in conversation, laughing at something between the two of you. Haz caught his eye and Tom couldn’t help the hard, unimpressed look he shot him. Jealousy was a raging storm inside him and he couldn’t for the life of him think rationally. Sophia had watched the interaction and instantly began beaming, a sly glint in her eye. She stepped in closer to Tom and drew his attention back to her, hand delicately placed on his chest.

 “I’ve really missed you, you know. I really hate myself for letting you go.” She drawled, trailing his hand along his chest, dipping lower and lower, while the other hand circled his bicep. His temper flared and suddenly he was seeing red.

 “Get your hands off me and get out of my house. You really think you even have a sliver of chance after what you did? And now you’re trying it again when the guy you’re seeing is sitting not 10 feet away? Pathetic.” He ripped his arm from her grasp, grabbed another drink from the kitchen table, and stalked out of the room in a rage. He sat in his room, calming himself down and taking long gulps from his drink. He knew in the back of his mind that Harrison would never go behind his back and that you two were just friends but he just couldn’t get the idea out of his head that you still had feelings for Harrison.

 There was a light knock on the door which Tom decided to ignore. The door opened slowly, and a mass of strawberry blonde waves popped around it. Anna hesitated in the doorway, head around the door as her eyes fell on Tom sitting on the floor against the wall, taking steady swigs from his drink. He raised his eyebrows are her in question and, in response, she held up two shot glasses in one hand and a bottle of tequila in the other. She got a small smile out of him as he motioned for her to sit beside him.

 “I saw what happened back there with Sophia and when you didn’t come back out to the party after 15 minutes I decided to bring the party to you.” She beamed at him while handing him a shot of tequila. He chuckled lightly and took the drink from her eagerly. “She’s a real piece of work. Though, I didn’t think you cared enough about her to let her upset you.”

 “I don’t.” He grimaced as the shot went down his throat. “She pissed me off, yeah, but… That’s not why…” He let out a long sigh. “Y/N’s not interested in Haz, is she?” He nibbled on his bottom lip and kept his gaze to the ground until Anna burst out laughing and Tom looked at her in utter confusion.

 “I’d hope not if she gave me the green light to get with him! No, she’s not interested in Haz, she’s currently putting a good word in for me with him.” She laughed and downed another shot, Tom followed her lead. His hopes that had been shot were now recovering and he started to feel eager to speak to you as soon as possible.

“I have to talk to her… It’s definitely time to tell her how I feel.” He started as he moved to stand up.

 “Tell who how you feel?” Your head popped around the door that Anna had left ajar and suddenly Tom didn’t feel so confident anymore. As he got to his feet the room began to spin and the tequila mixed with the nerves in his stomach were not helping his current state. Anna’s eyes were as wide as saucers as she quickly scooped up the bottle of tequila and slipped out of the room as quickly as she could.

 “You. Tell you.” Tom was frozen to the spot and words were beginning to fail him. The room was spinning faster and faster and his stomach did not feel so good. He tried to take deep breaths but that only made him feel worse. You were looking at him expectantly, maybe even hopefully? Or was that just his inebriated head giving him false hope?

 “Tell me what, Tom? Are you okay?” You stepped forward and put your hand on his arm.

 “Tell you… I feel sick…” Tom slurred. You furrowed your eyebrows at him and then watched his face blanch.

 “Okay, let’s go. Come on.” You quickly guided him into the bathroom, half supporting his weight as he stumbled over his own feet. As soon as you got him into the bathroom the floodgates opened and Tom was heaving over the toilet; beer and tequila and whatever else he had drank being purged from his system. “Oh, you owe me big time.” You tried to rub his back while also not get sick yourself. When he was finished he turned around and sat on the tiles of the bathroom floor, regaining a bit of colour in his face. “Okay, get yourself cleaned up and I’ll be right back.” You told him, leaving to grab water and the pain killers he would inevitably need before he could protest.

When you got back to him, he was lying shirtless on his bed, clad only in a pair of sweatpants with his arm thrown over his eyes. You notice that he had cleaned himself and the bathroom up already. You giggled at the state he was in as you set the water down and one eye peeked out from under his arm, eyebrow raised, and the ghost of a smile on his face.

 “What’s so funny? Are you laughing at me while I’m in this vulnerable state? I can’t believe you.” He whined which only increased your giggling. You set yourself down on the bed beside him and his arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you into him.

 “Tom, if you get sick on me I will kill you.” He sniggered and held you closer, burying his nose into your shoulder and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t 100% okay with this.

 “I feel better now.” He told you, letting out a very content sigh.

 You listened to his breathing getting deeper, slower. “Tom? Were you actually just going to tell me you felt sick?” You questioned. Your heart was pounding in your chest. Could you be right? Was he really going to say what you thought he was? Except, there was no answer from him, his breathing was deep and calm. He was fast asleep. “Because… Well, I was hoping you’d say something different. That maybe you’d tell me that the way you felt about me was more than a friendship… The way I feel about you…” You mumbled to yourself, slowly following his lead and drifting off to sleep.

 Tom had chickened out. You gave him the perfect opportunity to tell you how he felt but instead he had pretended to be asleep but it didn’t matter anymore! You felt the same way! He fought hard to keep the smile off his face as he eventually drifted off to sleep.

                                                              *

              Sunlight streamed in the window of Tom’s room as you slowly began to wake up. Your head was pounding, your mouth dry. The first thing you noticed was that Tom wasn’t beside you anymore which wasn’t all that strange, he was always the first to wake up between you two. You grimaced as you remembered you were still wearing the dress you had worn last night, Tom having not given you a chance to change before he engulfed you in an iron grip. You slowly got to your feet, holding your head in one hand as if to stop it falling off. Rummaging through Tom’s drawers you took out a pair of joggers and a baggy t-shirt that smelled exactly like him and made your way to the bathroom to shower.

                When you were finally clean and fresh, feeling much better already, you went back to Tom’s room only to find him sprawled on the bed scrolling though his phone, two steaming mugs of tea and copious slices of toast stacked on a plate sitting on the bedside table.

                He jumped up when he noticed you, eyes scanning your body and smiling appreciatively at the fact you were wearing his clothes. “Good morning! All the clothes I bought you and you still wear mine?” He teased. You rolled your eyes playfully ay him and plonked yourself on the bed beside him.

                “What’s all this? What did I do to deserve tea and toast in bed?” You took a bite out of some toast and watched Tom as he seemed to be sorting through words in his head.

                “Well, it’s not a grand spread of breakfast in bed or anything… Just wanted to do something nice for you since I cut your night short last night, being sick and that…” He trailed off, not quite meeting your eyes. You were about to answer, tell him that of course you would look after him when he’s not feeling great when he cut you off.

                “I can’t skirt around the truth anymore, Y/N, and this is something I should have said ages ago. It’s time to just tell you, because I don’t think I’m being fair to either of us.” He took a deep breath and finally looked up to meet your eyes, making your breath stop in your throat as you were utterly captivated by his chocolate eyes, unable to look away. “I am completely in love with you. Always have been, I just never knew how to tell you, or when it would be time to tell you. But… I think it’s time. And I heard what you said last night but I kind of chickened out… and also I felt that I shouldn’t say anything because I was quite drunk and I –“ You cut him off as you quickly but gently pressed your lips against his, the slice of toast you had been holding long forgotten. His hand came up quickly to cup your cheek and he immediately kissed you back. You both broke apart for a moment and rested your forehead against his.

                “I never, ever thought you could possibly feel the same. I’ve tried so hard to not fall in love with you for that reason but I definitely failed.” You giggled and he held you close.

                “Oh, how wrong you were.” He laughed as he leaned in again, catching your lips in his in a far more intense and passionate kiss. One hand grasping for your waist as the other one tangled itself in your hair. You were both barely aware of any of your surroundings, utterly lost in each other as his tongue swiped across your bottom lip, prompting you to part your lips slightly, allowing him access.

You had imagined this for years, always thinking that if you ever got the opportunity your head and heart would combust, yet now you felt at complete ease, almost as if your lips belonged right there attached to his. You could feel him smiling into the kiss as he pulled you impossibly closer. Eventually breaking apart from your lips and tracing light, open kisses from your jaw down your neck. You could feel the heat pooling between your legs and you tried your best to ignore it. It was better to take things slow, right?

                Tom’s hand had the t-shirt you were wearing balled into his fist, trying to keep his hands from your skin until the temptation was too much. He tentatively slid his hand under the shirt, resting it just above your hip bone as his thumb gently brushed the skin there. The action was in complete opposition to the kisses he was placing along your neck which were becoming hungrier by the second, teeth nipping ever so slightly. You involuntarily let out a quiet moan which didn’t go unnoticed by Tom who laughed breathily against your skin. He pulled away and your eyes met, silently questioning how far you wanted to go. You could see the undeniable want in his eyes and you knew yours looked the same by the way Tom nodded slightly, silent understanding passing between you both as he latched his lips onto yours and both of his hands slipped under your t-shirt, holding your waist close to him.

              You ran your hands under his shirt, fingers rippling over his abs as you pulled the offensive garment up over his head, breaking the kiss to allow for the movement. Tom took this opportunity to also tug your t-shirt off you, leaving you bare on top since you hadn’t put on a bra after your shower. His sharp intake of air brought your attention to him as he gazed at your half naked form appreciatively. His eyes worked their way up your body to your eyes and he pulled you close again.

                “Always knew you were the most beautiful woman I’d ever known but Christ, that seems like an understatement now.” He pulled you into another breath-taking kiss as his hands worked up your body, one hand cupping you breast, the other one lightly brushing over your nipple making your body arch into his. He played with your boobs until your nipples were stiff peaks and the core between your legs was dripping and aching for attention. Tom wrapped an arm around your waist and gently lowered you onto your back, positioning himself over you as his mouth dipped to lightly suck on your nipple, the sensation going straight to your core. You squirmed and rubbed your thighs together for any sort of release, prompting Tom to lower one hand down the waistband of your joggers. He teased you for a bit, ghosting his fingers over the skin just above until you whined in his mouth. His hand then dipped under the waistband and cupped your heat, the sudden change in feeling eliciting a whimper from you. His fingers danced around both your clit and your entrance, teasing you until you began whining and in retaliation, you very softly palmed the prominent bulge in his sweatpants forcing him to grind down on you to get more friction.

                He turned and dipped his head into your shoulder. “Okay, I get it. I’ll stop teasing.” He laughed as he ran a finger through your folds, making you shiver in anticipation, before dipping one finger slowly into you, moving in and out. Your hand found his length and pulled him free of his sweatpants, matching his pace and slowly moving your hand up and down. He tried to keep his hips still but ended up thrusting into your hand slightly each time you purposefully moved a bit slower than he wanted. He inserted another long finger into you, pumping slightly faster now and using his thumb to massage circles around your clit, brushing against the bundle of nerves every so often until you were writhing beneath him. He hovered over you, marvelling at every movement you were making, his eyes full of admiration as he slowly withdrew his hand. You whined slightly until you realised what he was doing. He lowered himself down, hooking his fingers into your joggers and underwear and pulling them off in one motion. He sat back on his heels for a moment, admiring the view before pulling his own pants and underwear off allowing you to see his cock for the first time; longer than you’d thought it would be, and you’d thought about it a lot in the small hours of the night when you needed a release, and definitely thicker. Before he’d had a chance to move, you sat forward and leaned down, wrapping your lips around the tip and swirling your tongue around it, before you lowered your mouth down, painstakingly slow, earning a gasp followed by a low groan from the man above you. One hand steadied himself on the bed while the other tentatively rested on the back of your head.

                “Fuck, darling. Always imagined you’d be good at that.” His words alone sent shockwaves to your core and you whined slightly around his cock, bobbing up and down and using your hand to massage whatever you couldn’t get with your mouth. “As much as I love this, princess, I’m not gonna last much longer.” You eased off him and he pulled you up for a kiss before gently pushing you back on the bed. “You sure you want this?” He asked before placing sweet kisses along your jaw line.

                “Are you serious? I honestly don’t think I’ve ever wanted anything more.” You told him honestly. He beamed at you and placed his hands underneath your thighs to pull you down the bed towards him, but then hesitated.

                “I don’t have any… Ugh, I have no condoms. I can go ask Harrison but that might be weird.” He scratched the back of his head and you giggled.

                “I’m on birth control and I’m clean so if you are too? I’m good with it.” He grinned eagerly and leaned down to press a chaste kiss to your lips as he lined himself up against your entrance.

                “You ready, love?” You whined against his lips and he took that as a ‘yes’, slowly pushing himself into you until he had bottomed out. You both groaned lowly in unison and he pressed his forehead against yours until you signalled that he could move. He started to thrust into you, building speed as he was going. From your view, he looked like a God. Toned arms holding himself up over you, sunlight bouncing off his already slightly tanned, toned body, eyebrows furrowed in absolute pleasure. You wrapped an arm around his bicep while the other hand found purchase on his shoulder, scratching at the skin ever so slightly. It was tentative; neither of you really knew what the other liked in bed but you were eager to learn what got him going.

                “Fuck, you’re taking me so well, love. Such a good girl.” You groaned at his words and tightened around him. “Oh, does someone have a little praise kink?” He sniggered and picked up the pace of his thrusts, pounding into you harder and faster than before, causing you to moan out, a mantra of his name falling from your lips only encouraging him to go harder still until he pulled out, leaving you empty and confused. He flashed you a smile and a wink before flipping you over and pulling you back by the hips, forcing you to hold yourself up by your arms as he entered you again from a different angle, hitting that sweet spot inside you and making you cry out in pleasure again.

                “Fuck, Tom. Right there, don’t stop.” Your words encouraged him to pound faster, drawing breathy moans out of you.

                “How do you feel so good? So tight around me.” His fingers were likely leaving bruises on your hips as he held onto you for dear life. Your arms were buckling underneath you until you couldn’t hold yourself up any longer. You let you arms fall, keeping your ass in the air, deepening the angle further causing Tom to groan loudly. “Fuck, love. I can’t… You gonna take my cum?” You were a mewling mess underneath him.

                “Tom, please…” Words were failing you as his thrusts sped up until he gripped your hips as if they were the only things keeping him grounded and his movements started getting sloppy. He gave out a loud grunt and you felt him release inside of you with each thrust until he collapsed on top of you, placing open mouthed kisses on your shoulder. You giggled and twisted around the face him, both of you breathing heavy and looking at each other in awe. You sighed contently and placed a kiss on his nose.

                “Oh, don’t think for a second that I’m forgetting about you, love.” He smiled wickedly as his fingers attach themselves to your clit again. You threw your head back in pleasure as Tom laughed and began placing wet kisses all the way down your body before licking a long stripe up your folds causing you to let out a high-pitched moan. He started slowly lapping at your clit, alternating between kitten licks and delving his tongue into your folds, tasting both himself and you. You run your fingers through the short hair on his head, trying your best to tug him closer to your aching core. He sucks at your clit, making you wild as you start your climb to the pique of an orgasm. You’re thrusting your hips upwards, trying to get the most friction possible until he wraps a strong arm around them and holds you down, his eyes meeting yours as he laps devilishly slowly and he uses his other hand to pump two fingers in and out of you simultaneously. Your eyes are rolling in the back of your head at the absolute heavenly sensations and you can feel yourself nearing your orgasm, building and building. The hand that Tom was using to hold your hips down comes up and intertwines his fingers with yours. You squeeze his hand gently, your thighs beginning to shake as your orgasm reaches its zenith and you feel absolute euphoria as Tom continues to lick and suck and graze his teeth along your clit. Eventually, the area becomes so sensitive that you have to push Tom’s head away from you, laughing and whining when he refuses to stop licking. You scramble to get away from him, sending you both into fits of giggles and laughter. Tom crawls back up the bed and pulls you to his chest, both of you catching your breath. You turn towards him to find him already staring at you.

                “I suppose now is a good time to ask you out to dinner?” He asks and you both burst out laughing again. “As my girlfriend, this time?” He adds when the laughter subsides.    

                “Yes, please. Only if you continue to call me that.” You lean up to kiss him gently. It was then you hear the banging coming from down the hall. And the moans.

                “Is that…?”

                “Haz and Anna. Yep.” He answers you. Which only starts the laughter up again.

  ��             Eventually you both calm down, looking into each other’s eyes and holding each other close. Tom’s hand is running through your hair and you’re running your hand along his arm.

                “So much for the cups of tea.” Tom eyed the now freezing cold mugs on the bedside table. “And the hangovers.” He laughed.

              “How did it take us so long to do that?” You ask him earnestly.

                “Until now, it just wasn’t time, love.”

 Taglist:

rachaeldonnaspiteri1

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[ollieofthebeholder]

leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall): a TMA fic

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Chapter 23: Tim

Sasha at least has the decency to call Saturday afternoon to say that her “appointment” ran late and she’s spending the night in her own flat, which is closer, but Tim’s a bit more upset about it than he really has any right to be. Martin and Jon seem to understand, though, or at least not to blame him, and he falls asleep tucked between them on the sofa. He wakes up Sunday morning a bit stiff and sore, but feeling safe and comforted for the first time in a while, and for the first time actually stays where he is rather than getting up immediately. Sunday night, when she still doesn’t come back, the three of them pile into Tim’s bed.

It makes him feel a little better come Monday morning, although he still doesn’t completely relax until Sasha stumbles in with her coffee and a box of pastries as a peace offering. He’s happier to see her safe than to see the box of doughnuts, but he’s not going to complain about those, either.

They spend the first few minutes of the day sharing Sasha’s doughnuts and telling her about the house they toured on Saturday. She’s politely enthusiastic, but in her eyes there’s a hint of don’t ask, don’t ask, don’t ask that makes something sink in Tim’s stomach. She’s not interested in sharing a house with the others, no matter how much space of her own she could have. She’s vague about what she was doing on Saturday, and Tim decides that pressing her isn’t going to be a good idea. As a result, at least in his opinion, Monday is a bit tense, especially compared to how things have been in the last two months. He’s a little bit anxious and agitated when she insists on going home after work again, so Martin makes grilled cheese sandwiches because they’re a childish comfort food of Tim’s. They end up sitting around the kitchen table going over their finances, and Tim forgets his worries about Sasha in favor of being horrified at how much of Martin’s paycheck is going to his mother’s care home bills, but the overall end result is that Tim makes an appointment for them to see a banker on Thursday.

Sasha is enthusiastic for them, even if she’s not planning to be a part of things, so the mood on Tuesday morning is high. Martin goes on the warpath against the cobwebs cluttering up the corners of the Archive shelves while Tim pours on the charm to try and wheedle records out of people who shouldn’t give them out and Sasha coaxes secrets out of the Internet. Jon shuts himself up in his office, presumably to do whatever digital recordings he can; the statements might not be genuine encounters, but since Elias doesn’t know they know what’s what, they have to keep up appearances, at least for now.

All that changes when Sasha’s desk phone rings.

“Archives, Sasha James speaking,” she says, her voice crisp and professional. A look crosses over her face that Tim can’t identify, but her voice never changes. “Of course. I’ll be right up.” She hangs up and looks over at Tim. “That was Manal at Reception. Someone’s here to make a statement.”

“And we can’t send them to Research because…?” Tim prompts.

“Don’t know why it doesn’t work that way, honestly, but one of you better let Jon know someone’s coming. I’m on escort duty.” Sasha closes her laptop and heads for the steps, coming back briefly to retrieve her shoes.

Tim sighs and goes over to Jon’s office, since Martin is still back in the stacks, so to speak. They’ve all grown comfortable enough with one another, especially in the last two months, that Tim doesn’t bother knocking; anyway, digital statements are easy to edit, or even re-record, if the sound quality isn’t the best. He just pushes open the door and sticks his head in. “Hey, boss, just a—” he begins, then stops. Dread rushes through him.

The office is empty.

“Jon?” Tim calls, just to confirm Jon isn’t ducking under his desk for some reason. He already knows it’s useless, though. The pile of statements next to his desk are neatly arranged and closed, his laptop is shut, and most importantly, his mug of tea isn’t sitting on the end of the desk.

Tim uses a string of words that his nonno wasn’t supposed to use in front of the children and ducks out of the office, trying not to panic. He knows it’s ridiculous. Nothing’s stalking them at the moment, there’s no imminent danger. There’s no reason to worry. Jon’s probably fine. He’s probably getting a cup of tea from the break room.

Except that they have a tea station in the Archives now, so he doesn’t need to go that far. And Tim’s noticed that Jon never seems to finish his tea unless Martin makes it, which he probably wouldn’t have spotted if not for the fact that he’s kind of the same way. And Jon’s usually good about telling them when he’s ducking out.

“Martin!” Tim calls, pulling the door shut and trying to keep the hysterical edge out of his voice. “Have you seen Jon?”

Martin pops around the edge of a shelf, a slight frown on his face. “Isn’t he still down in the tunnels?”

“The tunnels?” Tim feels his heart begin to slow down, and he wonders if the doorknob is going to be strong enough to keep him upright when his knees buckle. “I didn’t know he went down there.”

“Yeah, about…” Martin twists his wrist and peers at the inside of it. He’s the only person Tim knows under the age of thirty who still wears a wristwatch. “Forty-five minutes ago, maybe? Did you not notice?”

“I was…probably on the phone with someone,” Tim admits, feeling embarrassed. “God. But he did let you know?”

“Not sure he would have if I hadn’t caught him,” Martin says, a hint of disapproval in his tone. “He promised he wouldn’t be long, though.”

“Well, it’s time to come up. Someone’s coming to give a statement,” Tim tells him. “You want to go fetch him? I don’t think there’s much service down there.”

Martin hesitates, then, to Tim’s surprise, shakes his head. “You go get him. I’ll…is Sasha fetching whoever’s got the statement?”

“Yeah, why?”

“I’ll stick around. Make tea. It’ll probably help. You go get Jon.” Martin catches Tim’s raised eyebrow and smiles slightly. “I know what panic looks like, Tim. You’re not going to relax until you’re sure he’s okay. Am I right?”

Tim manages a smile in reply. “You’re not wrong.”

“So go get him. I know where he is, more or less, so I’m not worrying. This time,” Martin adds. “I’ll try to keep things under control until you get Jon back.”

“You’re the best, Martin.” Tim kisses Martin on the cheek without thinking as he passes by. He realizes what he’s just done a second later and almost trips over his own feet, but then decides, at this point, he’s better off pretending that never happened and moving on with his life, so he heads over to the trapdoor without looking back and hopes Martin can’t see him blushing. Mentally, he runs through a few more of those words that would have Nonna applying a wooden spoon to his backside had he said them aloud.

At this point, they’ve all been down at least once, so Tim knows by now which room the Primes are staying in. He raps lightly on the door and calls, “Jon? It’s Tim. You in there?”

“Come in, Tim,” someone calls. Tim thinks it’s one of the Jons.

He pushes open the door and is relieved to see his—their—Jon talking to the Primes. Jon looks honestly confused as he glances down at his phone. “I swear I was watching the time,” he protests. “And I did tell Martin I was coming. I didn’t want to interrupt you.”

Tim decides not to pick that fight. “I believe you. Sorry to cut this short, but someone’s here to make a statement.”

Jon’s shoulders slump. “God,” he says under his breath. “Did they say what it was about?”

“Dunno. Front desk called. Sasha went to fetch whoever it is and I said I’d give you a heads-up. Martin said he’d stall until I brought you back.”

Jon glances at the Primes. “I don’t suppose it’s a false alarm.”

“I don’t think I took a live statement I could record on the laptop after the first six months,” Jon Prime says apologetically. “It’s probably…Christ, what was the…? I swear I only had three live statements on tape before Jane Prentiss attacked. There was Naomi Hearn, then Melanie King, then…”

“That surgeon,” Martin Prime supplies. “The one whose students all had placeholder names.”

“Oh, God, yeah, the apple.” Jon Prime shakes his head. “It’s a Stranger statement.”

Jon sighs heavily and starts to stand. “I suppose I ought to take it,” he says reluctantly. “It’s a shame…never mind.”

“No, what?” Tim insists. “If there’s anything we can do to help…”

“Unfortunately, I’m not sure I’ll be able to justify all of you sitting in on the statement. The live ones are the worst, energy-wise. And I’d hoped to—” Jon meets Tim’s eyes, then looks away, obviously embarrassed.

Tim gets it. Even sleeping between Jon and Martin last night, he’s sure his nightmares were bad. They all know the only way for it to stop is for him to make the statement, and he wants to tell both of them about Danny. But if Jon takes a live statement today, it’ll probably be another week before he can take another, and that’s assuming nobody else comes in with a real one.

“If I may make a suggestion?”

Tim and Jon both turn to look at Jon Prime, who looks up at them with a curious expression. “I’m open to any,” Jon answers.

“If Sasha is escorting your statement-giver downstairs, that means it’s only the four of you down in the Archives,” Jon Prime says. “And as he’s never met you, he has no idea what to expect you to look like.”

“Are you suggesting—what are you suggesting?” Jon narrows his eyes at his counterpart.

Martin Prime pinches the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger, closing his eyes as if he has a headache. “He’s suggesting that he go up there with Tim and take the statement for you.”

Jon Prime gestures at Martin Prime grandly. Tim and Jon exchange looks. It’s not actually a bad idea. It’ll keep Jon from sinking any deeper than he already has, at least not yet, and he still doesn’t want that much power. And as Jon Prime said, nobody other than the four of them will know Jon Prime isn’t Jon…as long as Elias doesn’t come down.

“That…could work,” Jon says cautiously. He glances at Tim. “You’ll let the others know why we’re doing this?”

Tim nods. “’Course. And if it’s fake after all, Jon Prime can eat him.”

“I don’t eat people. Only their fear.” Jon Prime kisses Martin Prime’s cheek, the same way Tim accidentally did Martin, which he tries very hard not to think about. “I’ll be back. Half an hour, tops.”

“Be careful.” Martin Prime squeezes his hand, but lets him go. Jon offers Tim a weak smile and sits back down as well.

Tim leads Jon Prime out of the room and into the corridors. As they reach the foot of the steps, Jon Prime says casually, “Care to tell me why you’re blushing, Tim?”

“No,” Tim answers promptly. “No, I would not.”

Jon Prime’s chuckle follows Tim up the steps. He pointedly ignores it.

Martin’s good at this. He and Sasha have positioned their guest—a tall, austere man in a tweed jacket with patches at the elbows and a thick head of salt-and-pepper hair—with his back to the trap door. He’s cradling a steaming cup of tea and listening to Martin explain something. Martin’s eyes drift over the man’s shoulder, not enough to be obvious, and meet Tim’s. Tim flashes an OK sign and stands aside to let Jon Prime out, then carefully closes the trapdoor behind him.

Jon Prime takes a moment to collect himself, like an actor preparing to go onstage. His head goes up, his shoulders go back, and a cold, professional veneer drops over his face. In an instant, he’s put on the persona Jon wore up until Jane Prentiss attacked, and now only trots out for special occasions, like Elias dropping by to “make sure things are going well”. Tim hasn’t seen it in weeks, and he’s never seen it on Jon Prime. It’s somehow even more impressive and intimidating, between the hair, the scars, and the fact that Jon Prime is usually so expressive. He’s looked amused, fond, exasperated, tender, panicked, and utterly besotted, but never blank and stern. There’s just the faintest hint of annoyance in his expression, and Tim finds himself bracing to apologize to the older man who’s about to have to face Jonathan “This is a complete waste of time” Sims.

“May I help you?” Jon Prime says as he strides over, every word crisp and distinct, holding himself like a respectable academic and not an eldritch horror from outside of time and space piloting a battered meat suit.

The man turns around and starts slightly at the sight of Jon Prime, but rallies and offers him a wary nod and a smile. “I certainly hope so. Are you the Head Archivist?”

“Jonathan Sims.” Jon Prime extends his hand. “And you are…?”

“Dr. Lionel Elliott. I’m a professor at Kings College, London.” Dr. Elliott accepts Jon Prime’s hand and shakes it. An odd look comes over his face. “That’s a rather nasty scar. Surprised it didn’t do more damage to your hand.”

“It’s a rather old injury at this point, and I’ve had extensive physical therapy,” Jon Prime says curtly. “I appreciate your concern, however. What may I help you with?”

“Ah.” Dr. Elliott takes a breath. “I was hoping to…make a statement. I had a…deeply unpleasant experience with a class over this last term, and…I hear this institution makes a collection of such things? I—I was hoping you could tell me…that you could help me with it.”

“I see,” Jon Prime says, as if this is news to him. “Well, we’ll certainly see what we can do. If you’ll step into my office?”

He escorts Dr. Elliott to Jon’s office. The second the door closes behind them, the other two turn to look at Tim, Sasha’s eyes curious and Martin’s worried and pleading. Tim holds up his hands to stave off Martin’s concern. In a low voice, he says, “Jon’s fine. We just thought…doing it this way might mean Jon doesn’t have to start sinking so deep. And, well, it’s one less nightmare for him.”

Martin exhales heavily. The worry doesn’t really disappear from his eyes, but it at least shifts its focus, Tim guesses. He can understand that. They’ve all slept in proximity to one another enough to know that Jon’s nightmares are bad and Tim’s aren’t much better. If Martin has nightmares, they’re silent, which isn’t necessarily a point in their favor.

Sasha heads back to her desk. “So this is a real one, is it?”

“Apparently. Jon Prime thinks it’s the Stranger. Not the doctor,” Tim adds quickly as all the color drains out of Martin’s face and he turns towards the office. “Whoever he came in contact with. We’re safe enough. I think.”

Martin inhales, holds the breath for a few seconds, and then lets it out in a slow hiss. “I’m going to go finish digging out those statements. Maybe we can get started on dividing up the work while…he handles that.” He stalks back into the shelves. Tim watches him go, then sighs and thumps into his seat.

A minute or two later, Martin comes back with a stack of files and drops them on his desk. Tim reaches over and snags about half of them and scans the labels. Now that he’s familiar with Gertrude’s numbering system, such as it is, he can see that all but one of the files he’s grabbed are from within the last ten years or so. The other…

“Jesus, is this from the 1800s?” Tim opens the file. It contains nothing except a letter on old, yellowed paper, scorched in places and written in very shaky handwriting that fades in and out. The date at the top is clearly legible, however: November 10, 1845. “1845. Anything important happen that year?”

Martin shrugs. “I mean…depends on what you consider important?”

“Well, what do you know happened that year?” Tim almost asks what do you consider important, but he doesn’t want to diminish anything Martin might know.

“Edgar Allen Poe published The Raven. Elizabeth Barrett and Robert Browning met, and she started writing her Sonnets from the Portuguese. The Yarmouth suspension bridge collapsed and killed eighty people, mostly children. First year of the Great Famine in Ireland. And I think it was the year the rubber band was invented, or at least patented, but you’d have to ask Jon about that.”

“He’d know.” Tim carefully picks up the first page. “Let’s see what our spooky correspondent has to say.”

He’s quickly absorbed in the story. Despite the faded and patchy ink, it’s surprisingly easy to read, once he gets into it, and the woman’s tale grips him in a way he can’t explain. Absently, he picks up a pen and slides over a notebook to begin jotting down notes to follow up on, inasmuch as he can follow up on something almost older than the Institute itself. It’s a challenge, and Tim likes a challenge.

“Christ,” he says on a sigh, setting down the last page of the letter at last. “That’s a weird one. Gonna be fun to follow up on. Whatcha got there, Marto?”

“Ah, it’s a statement regarding a—deep-dive, somewhere in Canada. Looks like a lot.” Martin angles the page towards Tim. “And look who’s involved.”

“Simon Fairchild,” Tim reads. “Didn’t…they mention him being related to one of the entities?”

“The Vast. I never thought about the deep sea being part of that, but…makes sense.” Martin checks the list he made. “Few names to follow up on. What about you? What’ve you got?”

“Cannibalism on the Oregon Trail. I thought it might’ve been the Stranger at first, but now it’s pretty obviously the Flesh.” Tim looks over at Sasha, who’s typing away on her computer. “Might need you to get on some of this, Sash.”

“One of these days I will get used to the two of you discussing these…things like you’re talking about what you watched on television over the weekend,” Sasha says without looking up. “Today is not that day.”

Martin winces. “Sorry.”

Sasha waves him off and holds out a hand. “Give me the names. Both of you. I can at least get started on that while you two dissect more statements.”

Tim rips off the top page of his notebook. Martin hesitates. “Are you sure?”

“Positive. Everything else I had for today is done.”

Martin shrugs and hands her his notes, then grabs the next file and flips it open.

They’re both about halfway through their second files when the door to Jon’s office opens. Tim looks up and for a minute is genuinely startled to see the scars dotting Jon’s face and hands, until his brain catches up with the fact that it’s Jon Prime. His eyes scan the group for a moment as he emerges behind their guest. “Sasha, can you escort Dr. Elliott out of the Archives, please?”

“Oh, no need, it’s a straight shot, after all.” Dr. Elliot balls something up in his hand. “Thank you for your time. Do let me know what you find.”

“Of course,” Jon Prime assures him, a bit stiffly.

They all watch Dr. Elliott stride up the stairs. Tim mentally counts off the number of steps to the main floor of the Institute, and once he’s sure Dr. Elliott is out, he turns to Jon Prime. “Was it real?”

“Oh, yes, it’s exactly the statement I thought it was,” Jon Prime says, a bit absently. “There won’t be much follow-up you can do, honestly. The names of all the students were basically the official placeholder names in several countries. They’re definitely creatures of the Stranger, anyway. You can speak to Elena Bower in the Kings College administration office if you’d like to confirm that the class actually happened, just for the form of things, but beyond that, a dead end.”

“Good, maybe Jon’ll let us focus on these,” Tim grunts, looking down at the paper in front of him. I also started to notice, on some of the pages, a faint scorching around the edges, though it would be some time before my own attempts to burn it proved how resilient it really was. “I know how much he loves anything involving Leitners.”

“You’ve got one, too?” Martin looks up from what he’s reading. “I’m assuming this is a Leitner in this one. Haven’t finished yet, but it’s definitely a book, and he—he mentions a library sticker that’s mostly missing.”

“Nobody’s said anything about a library sticker in this one, but it’s a creepy book full of eerily detailed stories of dead people, so I’m assuming,” Tim drawls.

Jon Prime peers over Tim’s shoulder. “Yes and no. Leitner really didn’t have…he was simply a librarian, of sorts. A—a collector. Not every book involving one of the Powers passed through his hands. I don’t believe that particular book was one of them.”

Tim looks up at Jon Prime. “The End?”

“I believe so, yes…Martin, which one do you have?”

“Um, Tales of a Field Hospital. I thought it was the End at first, but the things he talks about these soldiers dying of…it reads more like the Corruption to me.”

Jon Prime looks pleased, like he’s just received an answer from a prize student. “John Amherst. I remember that one. I think it was the third time I’d come across the name at that point.”

“It’s a new one by me,” Martin says, then pauses. “Wait, no—that nursing home we’ve been looking into, Ivy Meadows. Wasn’t John Amherst the man who took it over?”

“Mmm-hmm,” Sasha says, still absorbed in her computer. “Can’t find much about him, though, which probably should have been my first clue. The harder these people are to pin down, the closer they are to the entities, seems like.”

“You’re not wrong about that,” Jon Prime tells her. “The entities protect their own, and the longer-lived ones are quite good at covering their traces, for the most part.”

Tim snorts. “I would be, too, if I knew the Ring-Maker was going to scrutinize every possible reference someone else made to me and try and track me down.”

Martin points his pen at Tim, his face almost comically stern. “If you start calling this place Barad-dûr, I will dump you in a volcano myself.”

“You even got the accent right,” Tim says, unaccountably pleased.

“Nerds. You are both nerds,” Sasha announces, as if this is a great revelation and not the culmination of several years’ worth of observation.

Jon Prime shakes his head as if in exasperation, but he’s dropped the Head Archivist mask and he looks amused. “Right, well, that ought to keep me going for a bit. I’ll head back and send out—”

“’Scuse us.”

The voice startles Tim, and he looks up sharply to see two men standing in the Archives. He has no idea where they came from, or how they got into the Archives without any of them noticing, since they’re both big men. They’re dressed like typical delivery men, but there’s something about them that makes Tim’s blood run cold. One of them is carrying a clipboard. The other is carrying a package.

“Looking for the Archivist,” says the one holding the package. He has a Cockney accent, but it sounds a bit fake, like someone who’s watched Mary Poppins six hundred times and thinks Dick Van Dyke is actually British.

“I’m sorry, are you two meant—” Martin begins, standing up, which Tim thinks is rather brave of him. He stands, too, instinctively wanting to protect Martin and Sasha but not quite sure how he’s going to, especially since Martin seems to be trying to protect him.

“Won’t take up your time,” says the man with the clipboard.

“Just got a delivery,” adds the man with the package.

“Right, but you shouldn’t—” Martin tries.

“Package for Jonathan Sims.”

“Says right here.”

They toss the words back and forth, not exactly finishing each other’s sentences but definitely sounding as though they’re one person divided in two. It’s a bit dizzying and a lot disconcerting and Tim is unaccountably scared.

“I am the Archivist,” Jon Prime says. His voice is low and dangerous as he steps forward and physically puts himself between the two delivery men and the three assistants. It shouldn’t be intimidating, considering he’s literally the smallest person in the room, but he radiates an aura of power and subtle menace. For the first time, Tim truly understands what the Primes have been talking about…and what their Jon is afraid of becoming.

“Sign here,” the man with the clipboard says, thrusting it towards him.

“For the package,” the man with the package clarifies.

“Something else upstairs for you.”

“Lady at the desk signed for it.”

“You don’t need my signature,” Jon Prime says, and holds out his hand for the package.

“Sure we do.”

“That’s protocol.”

“Really,” Jon Prime says, sarcasm dripping from his tongue. “You thrive on anonymity and you won’t respect the desires of others to remain that way?” Static crackles in the air, and Tim finds himself taking a half-step closer to Martin, who reaches out and presses a hand flat against his back as if in comfort or support. “I Know who you are. I Know who you work for. I See you.”

The static rises in pitch, almost as bad as when Jon Prime tried to look into the Eye back in Tim’s living room. Tim winces and shrinks against Martin, grabbing for him without conscious thought. Martin grabs him back, evidently gritting his teeth against the pain. The two delivery men look upset, uncomfortable—scared. Tim almost sympathizes with them.

“What’re you doing?” asks one.

“Stop it,” the other orders, or tries to.

“Leave the package and go,” Jon Prime orders, and his voice has an almost hollow echo to it. “And leave them alone.”

The one with the package practically throws it at him. Jon Prime lets it fall to the ground at his feet and stares at the two men as they practically stumble over one another trying to get to the steps.

After a moment, the static vanishes as abruptly as it began, and Jon Prime’s shoulders slump as he takes a deep, shuddering breath. Tim realizes he’s clutching Martin like a drowning man, but he’s not particularly inclined to let go.

“You know, those statements won’t sustain you for long if you immediately expend all the energy you obtain from them,” Sasha observes. Tim blinks at her in astonishment. He has no clue how she can be so…calm after that, but there’s an intensity to her gaze and a brightness to her face that he doesn’t think was there before. “Who was that?”

“Breekon and Hope,” Jon Prime says softly. He bends down to pick up the package.

Martin eases up his death grip on Tim’s shirt, but doesn’t let go completely. “Are you okay?” he asks, his voice wavering.

Tim’s not sure who he’s actually addressing, but Jon Prime answers. “I’m fine. I only scared them a bit. Put the fear of the Eye in them, I suppose, not that that’s entirely difficult.” He turns around and studies Tim and Martin, and his face softens. “Are you all right?”

“I-I think so.” Martin sounds uncertain. “Tim, are you…?”

“I don’t know,” Tim lies. He does know. He’s definitely not all right. He’s shaken to his core and he’s not sure if it’s from Jon Prime’s display of power or from the presence of the two delivery men or from Sasha being so into it or some combination of the three.

Martin tries to help Tim sit down, but Tim clings to him. He doesn’t really have it in himself to be embarrassed by it, either. Martin, thank God, doesn’t force the issue, just shifts his arms to comfort him a little better, even though Martin probably needs the comfort, too.

Jon Prime reaches out like he wants to put his hand on Tim’s shoulder, but stops just before he makes contact and draws back. Quietly, he says, “I’ll send your Jon up. I—I am sorry. I didn’t mean to…”

“It’s fine,” Tim says, and means it. He’s not afraid of Jon Prime, not really. What he can do, possibly, but not of him.

Jon Prime does touch his shoulder lightly, then Martin’s, before disappearing in the direction of the trapdoor. Tim closes his eyes and tries to focus on Martin murmuring soothing nonsense at him in the hopes that it will actually soothe him.

“Tim? Tim! Oh, God.” It’s Jon’s voice and suddenly Jon is there, awkwardly hugging Tim from behind. “Jon Prime told me—a-are you all right?”

“Getting there,” Tim mumbles. He frees one hand and grips the nearest one of Jon’s—it’s cold as ice, he’s got terrible circulation—and tucks his chin onto Martin’s shoulder.

The three of them stand like that for a few minutes, until Tim stops shaking and he feels his breathing even out. He takes a deep breath and slowly eases his grip on Martin and on Jon’s hand; obviously understanding, the other two let go of him, but they don’t go far.

“Better?” Martin asks gently.

Tim nods. “Thank you,” he says, his voice a bit hoarse, as he looks from Martin to Jon. He catches Sasha’s eye, from where she still sits behind her computer; she gives him a slightly guilty look, and he tries to smile to let her know he doesn’t judge her. He’s not sure he pulls it off.

Jon takes a half-step back and bunches the cuffs of his cardigan up in his hands—it may be July, but the climate control system in the Archives maintains a steady temperature to preserve the more delicate documents and it’s usually kind of chilly down here, so they’re definitely used to wearing sweaters or jackets year-round by now. “What happened? All Jon Prime said was that ‘the delivery came’ and he thought you might—” He breaks off, his eyes flicking back and forth between Martin and Tim, with a side trip to Sasha.

“Right after Dr. Elliott left, a couple of delivery men showed up,” Sasha tells him. She pushes something on the edge of her desk towards Jon, and it takes Tim a second to realize it’s the package the men threw at Jon Prime. “They delivered that, and also something upstairs that I think they had either Rosie or Manal sign for, probably Rosie. It’s addressed to you, anyway. Jon Prime stared them down and drew a bit on the Eye’s power to tell them to go away. I mean, they were a bit creepy, but they didn’t seem that bad. He said they were Breekon and Hope.”

“Bree—? Oh, God, the table,” Jon says softly, his eyes going wide. “It must have been the table. They said—oh, God.”

Sasha holds up a finger and pushes away from her desk. Tim watches her go, then turns to Jon with a little bit of trepidation. “What’s in that one?”

Jon opens the box gingerly, as if it might contain a bomb. What he pulls out, however, is an old lighter. It’s gold, or at least Tim thinks it’s gold for a second before he realizes it’s probably actually brass, and there’s a design on the front that looks like it might be a spiderweb. Jon holds it gingerly, like it might be going to attack him, which makes sense; the Web probably terrifies him as much as the Stranger scares Tim, and for a similar reason.

Martin’s face goes almost paper-white beneath his freckles. “That’s the—Martin Prime gave me that same lighter to set the fire when Jane Prentiss got in. Christ.”

Jon’s fingers curl lightly around the lighter, and he takes a deep breath, then slips it into his pocket just as Sasha returns with two folders. She waves the one in her left hand in Jon’s direction. “Leanne Denikin’s file, containing crime scene reports for both Joshua Drury and Henry Winchester.” She waves the right one. “Amy Patel’s statement, complete with description of the table. Do you want to run these up to Artifact Storage or do you want me to?”

“I—I probably ought to. It might carry more…emphasis coming from me, and after all, the table was addressed to me. In theory.” Jon takes the folders and frowns at the spines. “What’s this?”

“Oh, um, actually, I did that,” Martin says. “I’m starting to, anyway. I—I found all these colored labels in one of the filing cabinets last year, and, well, we weren’t using them so I just left them, but after—after everything, I just, well, I thought it might help us a bit if we could look at the files we’ve already done and know right away if they’re real or not and what they deal with, so I’ve been sort of trying to color-code them. There are only ten different colors, but I’m just combining for the higher numbers.” Jon actually smiles, for the first time since coming up from the tunnels. “That’s brilliant. Would you write out what your system is so we all know to start using it? I’ll—I’ll be right back.” His smile fades a little bit as he looks at Tim. “Are you all right now?”

“As all right as I will be, I guess.” Tim summons up a smile. “Thanks, boss.”

Jon pats his arm, a little awkwardly, then turns and heads for the steps. They all watch him go for a minute, then Sasha turns to Martin. “Right, explain this system of yours.”

It’s at once simple and ingenious, a basic combination of numbers and colors that nevertheless paints a vivid picture. Martin even designated the zero alone for those statements that are demonstrably false. It does mean they’re going to need a lot of zeroes, but Martin’s right, it will help a lot. And it’s not like they have to publicize what those labels mean. On those rare occasions that researching students need the files, they can just say it’s an internal filing system and leave it at that. Once Martin’s explained it, Sasha offers to start putting labels on those files they’ve already researched and recorded while Martin and Tim go back to sorting through the files Martin Prime evidently gathered for them.

Jon returns with the two files under his arm, looking a bit peaked, and Martin immediately sets aside the file and gets up to make tea. Tim offers him a crooked grin, which he actually returns, then turns to Jon. “All right?”

“I don’t know.” Jon sits on the edge of Tim’s desk and sets the files down carefully, out of the way of Tim’s work. “Elias turned up while I was trying to convince Dr. Bradley I wasn’t playing around. He agreed with me that the table was dangerous, but suggested it ought to be destroyed. I—I don’t know if I made much sense when I said I wanted to be sure it could be done safely. I hope I didn’t let on that I know more than I ought to.”

Tim doesn’t want to say it, but he feels like he has to. “If he can read minds…”

“I know. I’m almost positive that’s why he came in when he did. Dr. Bradley did at least promise not to have any of his practical researchers touch the table.” Jon sighs heavily, then accepts the cup of tea from Martin with a quiet thanks and a smile. “What are you two working on?”

“Martin dug out the files Martin Prime gathered for us,” Tim informs him. He turns to Martin in surprise when Martin hands him his own cup of tea, then takes it and lets the warmth soak into his palms. “We’ve been reading through them and trying to get an idea of what we’re dealing with. Sasha started running down some of the names we came up with, but right now we’re just…skimming, I guess.”

“What have you found so far?” Jon asks, sounding both interested and cautious.

“We’ve gone through two each and just started our third,” Martin says. “One Vast, one Flesh, one End, one Corruption. And then…these two.” He gestures at the file in front of him and the one open on Tim’s desk. “I’m…actually still not completely sure about this one. She’s talking about insomnia, and it does seem…odd? But I can’t figure out which one it falls under. Not yet. I’m only just getting into it, though…what’s yours, Tim?”

“Actually, I don’t know either.” Tim frowns at the statement he’s been reading. “I think this one might be a dud. I mean—he’s blind, and he’s not…he said it was just what he felt was real. He could be wrong, right? This looks like an old soldier playing a prank. It’s going on about the devil being part of the British army, and I’m pretty sure that’s an Irish folk song, but—” He turns the page and blinks. “Hang on, this isn’t—this is a different handwriting. What the…?” He skims the second page quickly, then his eyes widen as it hits him. “Christ, I think this is more from Trevor Herbert.”

“The vampire hunter?” Martin asks, startled, setting aside his papers and coming to look over Tim’s shoulder. “I could’ve sworn he—I-I mean, I never met him or anything, but I thought they said he lay down and never woke up.”

“Maybe they only meant he should never have woken up,” Jon says, peering over Tim’s other shoulder. “Or—well, it’s dated the same day as the earlier statement, look. Maybe he just lay down later than you thought he did.”

“Maybe.” Martin sounds vaguely distressed.

Tim squeezes his hand. “It’s okay. You know we don’t expect you to know everything about what goes on at the Institute, right? I mean, there are like two hundred people working here. Even after ten years, you can’t know them all.”

Martin manages a smile in reply. Jon nods and reaches for the papers. “Here, I’ll—do you mind if I take those? Since they don’t go in this folder, after all.”

Tim hands the pages over. “I really do think the rest of this is fake, though. Probably got mis-filed. I no longer doubt Martin Prime’s statement senses, but I’m guessing that those pages there were what he sensed in this file.”

“You’re probably right. Set that one aside for now.”

Tim closes the remains of the file and grabs another. He opens it, glances at the first page, sees the words urban exploration, and can’t help the sudden, sharp intake of breath. He waves off his friends’ concern, though. “It’s fine. I’m fine. I’ve got this.” For now, anyway, he thinks but doesn’t say.

Maybe he doesn’t have to. They all go back to what they’re doing, but Jon stays out with the rest of them until it’s time for them to start lunch breaks. And they don’t let Tim go anywhere alone for the rest of the day.

He’s more grateful for that than he would have thought.

[dailydaydreamings]

Best in the Worst Way, Part 7

The Reader has been having a love affair with two Avengers and gets caught in a sticky situation. She’s suddenly faced with life decisions she’s not prepared for, including who to love, what she wants, and is this all worth it?

“Let’s think lay down the facts,” you say, bracing your face on your elbows, critically eyeing both the boys.

The three of you sat down at your kitchen, you at the head of the table, and the boys on either side of you.

Steve looked down sheepishly, his eyes still shinning and red. Bucky looked ready to strangle him.

“You’re done being a dick?” You asked Steve.

He nodded.

“Despite everything you put us through in the last couple weeks, and begging me to get an abortion, you want to be a father?”

He looked you in the eye, reaching for your hand.

You snatched it away from him.

He looked hurt, but said, “If you’ll have me, I’d do anything to be part of their lives.”

“Come on,” Bucky rolled his eyes.

After he highjacked your appointment and started bawling his eyes out, Bucky tried to usher him out of the room. It turned into a screaming war in the hallway. Doctor Laurence gave you a speech about being in a stressful environment and needing to stay calm. It did nothing for your nerves.

The three of you yelled at each other the entire car ride home.

Bucky was still very upset, as were you, but screaming about it wasn’t getting you anywhere.

So the three of you sat, hot tea and tear stained eyes staring each other down. Your hearts twisting and wrenching in your chests with hurt and uncertainty.

The only way to go was forward, and none of you knew how.

You wanted to take Bucky into the next room and talk, see how he was feeling, but it had always been the three of you. It only seemed right to talk through this together.

“No,” you pointed a finger at Bucky. “We said no sarcasm, snide comments, or talking out of turn.”

Bucky’s hands clenched into fists, “Fine.”

You looked back at Steve. You wanted to strangle him, honestly.

“Why?” You demanded.

He looked down at his hands in his lap, “I love the two of you more than anything. And I thought I didn’t want more, but seeing them...they were never real to me before. And thinking I’d lost you when Natasha called...”

You ground your teeth. Natash was a fucking liar. She meant well, you knew that.

“I feel,” Bucky started, you turned to him in surprise, “that if you really loved us, you wouldn’t have left us in the first place.”

Steve ran a hand through his hair, “I was scared, Buck. I’m still terrified. But I’ve decided I want to try it, for you two, for them.”

You felt your emotions coming up to the surface and you tried to swallow them down, but pregnancy was making it hard.

“I feel the same way as Bucky,” you declared. “You’re allowed to feel scared, but you shouldn’t have left for weeks and then asked me to choose between you and Bucky, and you and our kids.”

Steve nodded, tears forming in his eyes again. You wiped your own away, swallowing the lump in your throat.

Bucky reached for you, and you gripped his hand with a vice grip. He had tears running freely down his face.

“Steve,” your voice broke. You covered your mouth with your hand as a shattering sob ripped through your body.

Bucky got up and stood behind you, enveloping you in a hug from behind. You leaned into him for comfort, but you just felt so empty.

This was supposed to be such a happy day. Seeing your babies for the first time, how had it come to this?

“I’m sorry,” Steve murmured. You watched through blurry eyes as he desperately wiped his own eyes. “I am so so sorry. I never wanted to cause you this much pain.”

“Then you shouldn’t have left,” Bucky’s voice was a growl and you didn’t need to see him to know he was giving Steve a death stare.

He nodded, “I want to repair what I’ve done. Please give me a second chance.”

Bucky didn’t answer. You knew his heart was shattering just as much as yours. He loved Steve just as desperately, just as much as you. He had been dreaming about Steve saying these words just like you had.

Because you both loved him even though he’d walked away.

“You can be part of their lives,” you managed. “But not ours. Not yet. I don’t want you in my home or making decisions for our kids. We can discuss what this will look like later.”

Steve looked shellshocked.

Bucky’s arms tightened around you, “She’s right.”

Steve swallowed hard, “Okay. I guess I’ll go.”

With that, he left.

“You could have told him to fuck off,” Bucky sat back down beside you.

You nodded wiping your tears and pulling yourself together, looking at the door that Steve had just walked out of. “Yeah, but we have a big problem.”

“What?”

“Paternity,” you looked Bucky in the eyes. “If they’re his kids or one of them is his, and I tell him to fuck off, we could be in a legal pickle when the kids are born and he claims we’re keeping his kids from him.”

He frowned, “What are you saying?”

You squared your jaw, “I don’t know if I want him back at all. But I think we need to play nice until the kids are born, and we know their paternity. And we might need to consult with a lawyer before that.”

———

Monday morning, nearing the end of your 11th week of pregnancy, you walked into work at 9am. It was two hours later than you were used to and you were loving it.

Bucky said you were positively glowing.

You swore when you stood in front of a mirror you could see a bump, Bucky said it wasn’t quite big enough to be noticeable.

You and Bucky were chatting about the news when you walked into the building and you were greeted by Steve.

“Good morning!” He greeted, cheerfully.

You stopped dead, frowning. What was he doing here?

He raised his hands slightly, which held two cups of take out coffee, “I wanted to bring you guys coffee, but you are much later getting to work than you normally are and they’re cold.”

You looked at Bucky quizzically, to make sure he was seeing this too. He stood there rigidly, his mouth in a tight line. You turned to Steve and said, “I’m taking it easy, I start at nine now. Plus I can’t have more than one cup of coffee and I’ve had my fill for the day.”

Steve’s face fell, “Oh, okay.”

“We’ll see you later, Steve,” you patted him on the shoulder and walked past him. Immediately, you gripped Bucky by the arm and whispered, “Was he sitting there for two hours?!”

He shrugged, “I bet you fifty bucks he was.”

“What the actual fuck.”

That wasn’t the only surprise that day. You walked into your office, turned on the lights and dropped your bag in shock.

It was full of roses.

Not just a couple bouquets, but every surface conceivable was covered. And if it wasn’t covered in roses, it was roses pedals.

“Oh my dear lord, no.”

This was too much and so not okay.

You called Bucky immediately. “You should see what he did to my office.”

“Well,” Bucky said from the other end, “if it looks anything like my locker, I can image.”

You frowned, “Roses?”

“Yep.”

You rolled your eyes, sitting behind your desk, realizing there was literally no room on it. “Does he think this makes up for anything? That’s it magically fixes what he did?”

Bucky sighed, “I think he does.”

Groaning you said, “Hey Friday?”

“Yes Ms. Y/n?” The voice in the ceiling asked.

“Could you find me a women’s shelter or a hospital that will take flower donations?”

———

An hour later, you were packing up the last truck and walking about to your office. So much for a productive morning.

You kept a single, simple bouquet on your desk and that was it. To play nice with Steve so he couldn’t accuse you of throwing out his gift.

The guys from the hospital had died laughing when they came in and saw your office. They seriously didn’t believe you over the phone when you said your office was full of roses.

The whole time they teased you, “so what did he do?”

You just scowled.

It put you into a very poor mood and you wanted a coffee so bad. And it was only ten. You dropped your head into your hands and groaned before opening your email.

At 1, you were surprised by Steve knocking on your door. Trying your very best not to visibly sigh, you waved him in.

“Hey,” he said, walking towards you with a takeout cup. “What’d you do with the flowers?”

You pursed your lips, folding your hands in front of you, “Steve, hun, I really really don’t want you to take this the wrong way, but that was a lot of flowers. Like a lot. I donated most of them.” You motioned at the vase on your desk.

He ran a hand through his hair, “Right, right, right. You know, I thought it was a lot. And then she offered me a deal on rose pedals. She as in the girl from the flower shop, Jenna I think. She said it was part of some package she offered. They were basically free.”

You blinked at his little rant. You twisted your pen, “Are you ok?”

He nodded, “Yeah yeah. I’m just,” he took a deep breath, “I want to fix this y/n. I know I’m probably not doing a great job but I’m trying.”

You didn’t let yourself feel your heart pang at his words. You just squared your jaw.

“Anyways,” he said, “I know that this is when you get a caffeine crash and you like to have a cup of coffee but you can’t. So I brought you a tea, decaf, but I thought the placebo and having something in a stupid takeout cup might help.” He placed the cup in front of you.

Slightly shocked at his attention to detail, you gingerly took the cup and said, “Thank you.”

He nodded, “I’ll leave you be.”

You sipped your tea and tried not to moan in satisfaction. This would do but it didn’t make up for anything.

———

Bucky came to your office after 5 and signaled you that it was time to go.

You stood, groaning at your slightly swollen feet. Flats would be worn tomorrow.

You walked out of your office, Bucky taking your bag from you as he pecked your lips.

“Good day?” He asked.

You nodded, “Steve brought me a tea at lunch. Did you see him?”

Bucky frowned at that, “Not once.”

You wiggled your eyebrows at him, “You jealous, Barnes?”

He wrapped his free arm around you and murmured in your ear, “Is Steve going to make your toes curl tonight? Because I have plans for you tonight, baby, that are going to make you forget him.”

You smirked, already shiver slightly at his husky tone and then he nipped at your ear and you nearly took him right there. Fuck these hormones were making you crazy.

But then Steve was waiting for you at the exit.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Bucky asked so low only you heard.

“Hey guys,” he greeted. “Any big plans tonight?”

Bucky’s grip tightened around you protectively, “No.”

You pinched him, hard, to remind him to play nice.

“I think we’re going to make dinner and finish Love is Blind, have you seen it?” You smiled politely.

Steve shook his head, “Is it any good?”

“We love it, if it were up to Buck we’d have finished it the day we started. He kept hitting the Next Episode button,” you weren’t sure why you were still talking.

Bucky seemed to be hiding behind you now. He definitely didn’t want to admit loving the show to Steve, but you’d caught him and Bruce gushing about it the other day.

“Anywho,” you said, “We should be going.”

“Yeah, of course,” Steve stepped out of your way.

You squeezed his shoulder as you passed, “Have a good night, Steve.”

Bucky didn’t say a word. Not to Steve. And not about the encounter.

———

The following two weeks followed in the same pattern.

You showed up at nine, Steve was waiting to say good morning. He brought Bucky coffee the first couple of days, which Bucky plainly refused.

At 1, Steve brought you a tea and asked how you were doing. He usually stayed for all of five minutes, which you appreciated.

At 5, Bucky knocked on your door and you left. Steve asked if you had any evening plans and you made small talk as Bucky scowled at him from behind you.

From what you’d heard, Steve had made no move to contact Bucky outside of those two interactions. You knew for a fact it was driving Bucky crazy, either from jealousy or rage. Maybe both.

You didn’t care either way, as long as Steve saw you as the good guy and wouldn’t make any claims against your kids once they were born.

The second Friday, you walked into work and smiled at Steve and as you walked by, you turned and said, “Oh yeah, before I forget Steve, I have an ultrasound today at 2 if you want to come.”

He looked surprised, “So soon? Is everything ok?”

You nodded, “Yeah, because of their DNA the doctor wants to keep a very close eye the entire pregnancy.”

No to mention you were supposed to call the moment you felt something was wrong/you had any weird symptoms.

Stave smiled brightly, “I’ll be there.”

Once you’d left, Bucky’s grip tightened on your arm and he hissed, “Seriously?!”

You glared at him, “We talked about this, Buck. We’re playing nice until we know if he’s a father or not. Which means, he has to have the option to go to these things, trust me I’m not happy either.”

Especially considering how the last ultrasound had gone, you were already on edge and verging on dread. This really should be happy but you weren’t.

But everything went according to plan and you went home that night with Bucky, giggling as you admired your children.

That night, you laid in bed with a good book and looked up as Bucky walked in and smiled at you. You couldn’t help the butterflies in your stomach at that stupid smile.

“You know,” Bucky said, unbuttoning his shirt and tossing it in the bin. “The babies are the size of lemons.”

You smirked, “Oh, yeah? Where’d you learn that?”

“Baby books,” he dropped his pants and crawled into bed beside you. You marked your page and put away your book as Bucky’s hand slid up your belly, lifting your shirt. “You’re starting to show.”

You looked down and smiled lovingly at your belly. It wasn’t obvious, but it was there. You just looked bloated honestly, but you didn’t say that.

Not as Bucky stroke your belly and looked at it adoringly. Not as he leaned forward to press two small kisses, each where the doctor said your children were.

“I can’t wait to meet you,” he whispered. “You are going to be so loved and safe.” He pressed another kiss. “Always safe, I promise. Your big scary dad will make sure of it.”

You ran your fingers through his hair, “They’re going to think you’re the coolest. They won’t even think to be afraid of you.”

He propped his head on his arm and looked at you quizzically.

You smiled sadly, “My dad was six foot five. Big guy, all muscle and tattoos. I just saw him as the guy who watched princess movies with me and took me on walks through the Hundred Acre Woods, which was just really the forest by my house.”

He leaned over and kissed your forehead. “You don’t talk about your parents a lot.”

You shrug, “I’m good really. It’s been a really long time since they’ve been gone. I was alone for a long time but my family is growing.” You placed your hand on top of his, still on your belly. “I love you.”

He smiled. You did say that very often either. “I love you too.”

He pressed on more kiss to your belly before layning back in the pillows. “Do I need to set an alarm for tomorrow? Are you working?”

You thought for a moment and shook your head, “I’ll take the weekend off.”

Bucky’s eyebrows rose to his hairline. “You? Weekend? Never!”

You rolled your eyes, “Only because we didn’t do any laundry this week and we desperately need to catch up!” You didn’t mention that was typically Steve’s job. “Besides, I’m expecting you to keep me up all night.”

His smirk grew somehow. “Is that so?”

You bit your lip, “These hormones. I’ve been having crazy day dreams about you all day.”

He shifted so he was straddling you and kissed up your neck. The pulled at your ear lobe and your toes curled. And then he growled on your ear, “Tell me.”

———

Saturday and Sunday flew by. When Monday rolled around, you tried not to fight against Bucky as he urged you to get out of bed.

You dressed as Bucky snuck kisses. One on your shoulder as you put your bra on. Another on your neck as you put makeup on. Several on your cheeks as he made breakfast.

You felt so incredibly happy and lucky in those moments. But it had to come to an end as you walked into work.

When you saw Steve, Bucky turned ice cold beside you. You could feel his disdain as you made small talk in the lobby.

You joked with Steve about some headline and he told you he’s started watching Love is Blind. You laughed and told him to tell you his favourite couple when they got the resort.

Mundane would be the only way to describe the interaction. Mundane and utterly forgettable.

As soon as Steve was out of sight, Bucky said, “He’s trying to win you back.”

You rolled your eyes, “I know Buck. I have eyes. But I promise. I’ve chosen you, and you don’t have anything to worry about.” You pecked his lips as you went separate ways, not before quickly squeezing his ass.

He looked back, slightly shocked before smirking.

“Besides,” you said, “he’s really not even trying that hard.”

Bucky laughed and went to the gym. You walked into your office and put away your things before sitting down.

You frowned as you noticed a wrapped box on your desk. Perfectly packaged and even with a bright red bow.

You reached for it and stopped. Should you open it? There wasn’t a note, so it could be anything for anyone. But really, there was a short list of plausible people responsible.

You knew there was a protocol for unmarked boxes but you opened it anyways. You immediately dropped it when you saw the content.

“Oh for fuck’s sake.”

Inside was a framed picture from your ultrasound with a handwritten message in silver sharpie across the glass that read: Love Steve.

Tags (I hope I got everyone, dm me if not!)

@just-the-hiddles @fading-mentality-bouquet @a--1--1--3 @broco8 @yougottalovefandoms @hailqueenconquer @tazzi-baby @imaginebeinlovedbyme @amiets2 @prettyblueskylark

[mldrgrl]

Another Woman’s Treasure

by: mldrgrl Rating: PG Summary: Set somewhere in season 7, Mulder and Scully intend to spend their first weekend apart after taking the plunge.

“So, I’ll see you Monday,” Scully says, folding her blazer over her arm and adjusting her grip on her satchel.

“Yep,” Mulder answers, nodding slightly as he leans back in his chair.

They stare at each other.  He taps the eraser-end of a pencil against his jaw.  Going home for a weekend, alone, is different now.  Though they spent seven years going their separate ways, three weeks of spending nights together has made saying goodbye feel awkward.  

He wants to kiss her, even just on the cheek or the corner of her mouth, something friendly and casual, but he knows he won’t be able to stop at that, and so he keeps himself firmly planted in his seat.  He can’t help it if his gaze drops to her lips.  He also can’t help but notice that she does the same.

“Okay then,” Scully says.

“Have a nice weekend.”

She gives him one last glance over her shoulder as she walks out the door and he sighs quietly when he hears the elevator ding.  Mechanically, he prepares to leave for the weekend.  Though he told her he’d be staying to finish a report, he’d merely been avoiding walking out with her, knowing how weak-willed he was and he’d look for an excuse to keep them together for the night.  

They’d been over this though and they agreed.  They didn’t want to rush things.  It couldn’t possibly be wise to go from friends and partners to all but cohabitating overnight.  They needed to just slow down, take the weekend, find a new normal.

Without giving it much thought, Mulder ends up at his favorite bar a few blocks from the Hoover building.  It’s never crowded there, it’s dark, it’s quiet, and the barmaid always looks put-out when she seems him coming.  It’s perfect.

“What’ll it be this time, Spooky?” the barmaid says as he straddles a barstool.

“Got any Shiner Bock?”

“Not on tap, just the bottle.”

“That’s fine.”  He takes off his suit jacket when she goes to get his beer and drapes it over the empty barstool beside him.  While he waits, he rolls up his shirtsleeves, loosens his tie, and unbuttons his collar.

“Global conspiracies got you down today?” she asks, dropping a coaster onto the counter and placing an open beer in front of him.

“Not today.”

“Something’s troubling you though.”

“You really wanna know?”

“I’m sure you’ll tell me anyway.”

He chuckles and takes a sip of his beer.  The only other patrons at the bar are a couple at the other end, engrossed in conversation and sipping wine.

“There’s this woman,” he says.

“Ah.”

“She’s…”

“Married?  Seeing someone else?  A lesbian?”

“No, nothing like that.  She’s my partner.  We’ve been together for seven years, actually.”

“You’ve never mentioned a partner before.”

“I haven’t?”

“Usually you’re too busy feeling sorry for yourself.”

Mulder narrows his eyes a little at the barmaid and takes another sip of his beer.  He can’t argue with her about that one, but he’s surprised Scully’s never come up before.

“So, what’s the problem?” she asks.  “You ask her out, she turn you down?”

“Why do you assume it has something to do with relationship stuff?”

“Well, you didn’t say you had an issue with your co-worker, you said ‘there’s this woman,’ which implies ‘relationship stuff.’”

“You’re good.”

“I’ve been doing this a long time.”

Mulder nods, takes a long pull of his beer, and starts talking.  Because his current state isn’t so easy to explain, seven years of backstory spills out of him, the ups and downs of his partnership with Scully, the mess he was when she was abducted, went through cancer, battled against the infertility, amongst other things.  The barmaid, whom he realizes at a certain point that he’s never known her name, listens passively, stopping him occasionally to take orders or clear glasses, but she always comes back and lets him prattle on until he’s finally able to move out of the past into the present.

“...and I don’t really think things are moving too fast,” he says.  “I went along with it because...because I can’t go rocking the boat so soon, you know?  I mean, we disagree about enough, but this can’t be one of those things.”

“Sounds like the global conspiracies are easier to deal with,” she answers.

He smiles and scratches at the label on his beer bottle.  She wipes a glass with a hand towel and then places it upside down on a shelf behind the bar.  Throwing the towel over her shoulder, she runs a hand through her short, blonde hair and then leans closer to Mulder.

“You’ve been nursing this same beer for…”  She glances at her watch.  “Just over an hour.”

“You can charge me by the hour if you want.  By the half-hour, even.”

“How about the quarter hour?” she counters, raising her brow at him.  “What I’m saying is, you’ve been nursing this same beer for an hour, rambling on and on about how great this woman is, how perfect, how there never was nor ever will be another so magnificent as she-”

“Well, I never said perfect.”

“Do you interrupt her too?”

“All the time.”

“And yet, she puts up with you.”

“But, for how long?”

“Tell me something, Spooky, if you think so highly of her and her intelligence and her intuition, what makes you think she’d be with someone that doesn’t deserve her?”

“Is this a trick question?”

“Is it?”

Mulder sighs.  A corner of the label on his beer peels off under his thumbnail and he rolls the tiny shred of it between his fingers.  “I don’t know,” he says.

“Have you asked her?”

“Now why would I go and do that?”  He snorts lightly and shakes his head.  “You could fill a room with the things we don’t talk about.”

“Hm.”  The barmaid shrugs and picks up another glass to wipe dry.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

She shrugs with one shoulder and circles the rim of the glass with her towel.  Mulder frowns and finally finishes the beer he’s been brooding over since he first sat down at the bar.  He slams the bottle down with more force than he intends to and slides it over in the direction of the barmaid.

“Another?” she asks.

“She isn’t perfect.  You know, she has her faults, too.  But, she’s brilliant and capable and beautiful and...and…”

“A whole host of other adjectives?”

“Yes.  All of them.”

“Do you trust her?”

Mulder gapes at the woman, his mouth flopping open and shut as he fumbles for an answer.  “Implicitly,” he finally says.

“So trust her.”

A tendril of fear swirls up from Mulder’s gut and steals his breath.  He pulls at his already loosened collar.  He does trust her.  He trusts her more than he even trusts himself, there is doubt there.  So, why then, is it so hard for him to believe that Scully wants this?  Wants him.

“It’s not her, it’s me,” he says, weakly.  The barmaid stares at him like that’s been obvious the entire time.  He sighs and taps the counter with his index finger.  “Another,” he says.  She disappears for a few moments and returns with another bottle, popping the top off before she places it in front of him.

She leaves him alone with his thoughts, either because she’s grown tired of of his brooding or because she needs to help someone else.  He’s not sure.  He watches the condensation form on the neck of his bottle and then draws a tiny heart in it.

It’s not that Mulder considers himself a fatalist, but he’s known for some time, the same way he’s sure of the existence of extraterrestrial life, that the demise of any relationship he enters is a foregone conclusion.  He doesn’t want that for him and Scully.  It’s one of the reasons it took him seven years to kiss her.  He’s been terrified, even before he finally made his move, that the beginning of something more would also spell the end of everything.

And now, he’s back in that rut of pessimism.  The seed of doubt has been planted and taken root, and unless he can cut it off immediately, it won’t be long until it blossoms into something ugly and poisonous.  

“Dammit,” he mutters.  His suit jacket is draped over the empty barstool next to him and he pulls up the lapel to fish inside the pocket and pull out his cell phone.  He speed dials number one and props his head on his fist, elbow on the counter, as it rings.

“Scully,” she answers.

“It’s me,” he says.

“I know.”

“Where are you?”

“Where am I?  At home.  You know that.  Where are you?”

“Casey’s.”

“The bar?”

“Yep.”

“Is everything alright?”

“Do you think you could come down here and meet me?”

“I thought we were taking the weekend to-”

“I know,” he interrupts.  “I know, I know, I know.  I just…”

He can practically hear her thinking over the phone.  The silence makes his stomach burn.  He scrunches his face and closes his eyes, feeling stupid and embarassed.

“Nevermind,” he mumbles.  “You’re right.  I wanted to tell you something and…”

“You can’t tell me over the phone?”

“Not really.”

“It’ll take me half an hour or so.  I’m not dressed.”

“Oh?”

“You know what I mean.”

“You’ll come?”  

“I’ll come.”  She hangs up.  He slips his phone back into his pocket and swallows hard, suddenly feeling queasy.

For the next twenty minutes, every time he hears the door open, feels a rush of cool air against the back of his neck his heart speeds up and then his shoulders slump when it’s not her.  He’s only half-way through his second beer when she finally walks in and he bites his bottom lip to hold his smile back when he sees her.  She’s changed into a pair of light-colored jeans, a white t-shirt, and a navy blazer.  She’s got flats on instead of heels and her face is make-up free, freckles on full display and cheeks pink from the spring air.

“Hey,” she says, coming up next to him and resting her hand lightly between his shoulder blades.

“Hey,” he responds, glancing at her only out of the corner of his eye.  “You want something?”

“Not really.”

He swivels on the barstool and shifts his knees so that he can bring her closer, between his legs, and then he brings his arms around her waist and locks his fingers together at the small of her back.  She braces her hands on his thighs and tips her head in question.

“What do you want to tell me?” she asks.

“Sure you don’t want anything?”

“I’m sure.”

“Then let’s get out of here.”

“You brought me all this way and now we’re leaving?”

“Just outside.”  

He waits a few moments and then lets her go.  She takes a step back to allow him to stand and while he takes a last sip of beer, she curls a finger into the belt loop at his hip.  Something flutters inside of him and he bites his bottom lip again.  As he takes his wallet out of his pocket, he catches the eye of the barmaid who raises her brows at him and subtly makes an ‘okay’ hand gesture at him from the other end of the bar.  He throws two twenties onto the counter and then picks up his jacket and folds it over his arm.  When he offers his hand to Scully, she takes it, and as their fingers slide together, she moves in closer and wraps her free hand around the inside of his arm, just above his elbow.  

There’s a park just around the corner that he intends to take her to.  He walks slowly and she keeps pace beside him.  If she’s impatient, she isn’t letting it show.  It’s gotten foggy out and a little chilly, but it feels good and helps him to keep calm.  The park is deserted and quiet.  He stops under a streetlamp and turns her under the dim glow so he can see her face.

“I don’t want to ruin this,” he says.  “And I’m afraid that I’m going to just by being myself.”

“Mulder…”

“No, listen.  I will find a way to screw this up because when I’m this happy, I’m always looking for the other shoe to drop.  It’s what I do.  I...I sabotage every good thing in my life to try to get to the inevitable that much quicker.”

“And so, what?  You want to end things now just because you-”

“No!  No, I don’t want to end things at all, that’s what I’m trying to tell you.”  He grabs her face with both hands and has to step even closer to her so his jacket doesn’t slip off his arm.  

“This is it for me.  You’re it.  I don’t want you to let me make the same mistakes I’ve made in the past.”

“What mistakes?”

“I...I’m needy and obsessive and single-minded and...and I can be too intense sometimes, and…”

“Mulder.”  She reaches up to hold his wrists, rubbing her thumbs back and forth across his palms.  “That’s just who you are.  I know you.”

“But…”

“Do you think I’ve never considered what being with you might be like?  WIth your drive and your passion and sometimes narrow focus?”

“You have?”

“I’m sure you thought about my shortcomings as well.”

“What shortcomings?”

She raises her brows up at him and he chuckles and then nods slightly.  Her flaws never really felt like flaws to him though, just things that made her Scully.  He’s loved her because of them and he’s loved her in spite of them for years.

“I love you,” he says.  

Her eyes grow wide and she opens her mouth, but hesitates.  He shakes his head at her and rubs the apples of her cheeks.

“I just needed to say it,” he says.  “And...I do need to hear it from you someday, but...not until you want to say it.”

“I do want to.  It’s just not an easy thing for me to…”

“I know.”

She squeezes his wrists and presses her lips together into a thin line.  She shifts her weight from one foot to the other and blinks up at him like she’s exasperated in some way.

“Mulder, if...if you want me to hold you accountable for what you think might hurt us, I need you to do the same with me.”

“So, if you’re upset about something and I ask if you’re okay, and you say you’re fine, I should call you out on it?”

She nods and swallows.

“And if I ask you, straight out, how do you feel about me, and you say nothing, I shouldn’t let you off the hook so easily?”

“No.”

“How do you feel about me, Scully?  How do you feel about us?”

“I…”

“Tell me,” he whispers.  “Just say it.”

“I thought...I thought I’d been in love before, but now I know it...I’ve never felt the way I feel about you with anyone else.”

“Me either.”

“Which makes it all the more terrifying because…”

“You don’t want to lose this.”

She shakes her head.  He nods.  His attention is drawn to her mouth where her tongue darts out to nervously swipe at the curve of her upper lip.  He wants to kiss her, badly, but so far their relationship has progressed within the privacy of their respective homes.  She looks up at him though and he knows by the steady calmness of her gaze that it doesn’t matter to her right now that they’re under the spotlight of a streetlight.  They could be at home or this park or the bullpen of the Hoover Building, she wants to be kissed as much as he wants to kiss her.

“Why are you so short?” he whispers at her.

“Why are you so tall?” she whispers back.

He bends towards her and she lifts up onto her toes.  He can feel her grinning against his mouth and for a few moments, they don’t so much kiss as they just meld their matching smiles together.  And suddenly, the good humor dissolves into a hungry ache and pulls a whimper from her and a groan from him.  She reaches up to wrap her arms around his neck and he wraps his arms around her back to pull her tight against him.  He thinks about his jacket, briefly, held up by the press of their bodies, when his cell phone digs into his hip.

Scully pulls away first, breathless and flush.  Her tiptoes are barely scraping the sidewalk before Mulder loosens his hold and lets her slide back down to her feet.  She catches his jacket before it slips to the ground and then they just stand together quietly, staring at each other.

“I don’t think we’re moving too fast,” he finally says.

“I...don’t really think that either.”

“Come home with me.”

“When I left work today I was hoping you’d ask.  I was surprised you didn’t.”

“You have no idea the sheer amount of willpower it took not to.”

“Are you okay to drive?”

“I had a beer and a half at the bar.”

“Still.”

“My car’s still in the parking garage though.”

“So, I’ll drive.”

“We’d have to drive in together on Monday morning, then.”

She shrugs.  He slips his jacket on.

“People might talk,” he says.

“More than they already do?”

“Are you okay with that?”

“If I wasn’t…”

She doesn’t finish, but she doesn’t have to.

The End

[kayteewritessteve]

Beautifully Unfinished - 6/8

Description: One foolish outburst, one moment of weakness at the worst possible time, and everything goes up in smoke. Who knew finally voicing your true, deep-rooted feelings, would lead to the complete destruction of your most cherished friendship?

Masterlist HERE.

Word Count: 3,450 ish.

Pairing: Modern!Steve Rogers x Reader.

Rating: PG.

Warnings: Curse words. Lots of angst. But if you’ve read my stories before, then you know how this will end.

A/N: I sadly don’t own any of these characters. And no beta reader, so I do proudly own all the errors and this story, so there’s that.

Adulthood.

You make your way down the long hall to your suite door, it’s a little later than usual, as you stayed at work late to finish up a few things. Not wanting to leave them for Monday You to have to suffer through. It’s Friday night now, AKA BFMMN™, and the last few months your traditional friends group night has been going full force. None of you missing a single Friday in the last 6 months.

It’s been 9 months since you all graduated and started your careers. It took you all about 3 months to fully settle in and get the swing of things. But after that initial transition time, you all had more free time and were able to pick up your Friday night plans again. Plus you were all able to see each other more in general during the week as well, it was wonderful to have your guys back again. You’d missed them, and little updates here and there via text just wasn’t cutting it for you.

You approach your suite door, and instantly hear muffled voices on the other side. Now most people would probably freak out if they returned to their apartment after work, and heard voices behind the door. Especially if they lived alone like yourself. But you know those voices entirely, and knew the guys would be here when you got home, as they both have a key to your place and this was how every Friday night went. Except normally you’d be here when they arrived, but today, not so much.

You open the door, knowing they’d have left it unlocked for you and are just about to yell hey when you hear the hushed voices a little more clearly. Your words halting in your throat at the tone both men are using, it’s their pissed off tones and your curious what they are bickering about now.

They bicker like an old married couple, they always have, both guys being far too outspoken and comfortable with each other. Plus both are ridiculously stubborn and bullheaded, in their own ways, and when they want to be. It’s rather frustrating for you, when you have to go up against one of them in that state. But if you’re being totally honest, it’s hilarious when they go head to head with each other. You normally stay all the way out of it, and just sit back to quietly allow them to work it out on their own.

Though sometimes you’ll step in, if you feel the issue is going nowhere and they will just end up at an angry stalemate. Or the odd time that you side strongly with one of them, then you’ll pipe up and voice your opinions on the issue. But it’s a pick your battles sort of situation, and they always work it out, with or without your help or say on the matter.

You quietly close the door, locking it and tiptoeing to just before the living room entrance, not wanting to give yourself away just yet. At least not before you can figure out what the issue is this time.

“Just drop it, Buck,” Steve exasperatedly whispers. “It’s done, and I’m happy about it. I’m not going to put a damn grenade in the middle of my life, just because you have these unfounded and unrealistic beliefs. I love her, end of story.”

“You may ‘love’ her, but you aren’t in love with her. And you never will be, we both know it. And don’t give me this ‘I’m happy’ bullshit, we also both know that you aren’t, you’re just lying to yourself,” Bucky quickly fires back. “Why are you doing this? Why are you letting it go this far?”

“I am happy,” Steve growls, which doesn’t really prove his case and flat out contradicts his words. “But I can’t stand this shit, we always fight about this. Why can’t you just let this go already. Why can’t you see that this is what I actually want?”

“Because it’s not, and don’t act like I don’t know you inside and fucking out,” Bucky scoffs, clearly offended. “We both know what you really want, Punk, I’ve only said it about a thousand times. And marrying that woman ain’t it,” he bluntly says. “Give ya damn head a shake, she ain’t right for you. She’s never been, and she never will be, and you know damn well exactly why.”

“I can’t have this fucking conversation with you anymore. I’m marrying her and either you get on board with that, or you don’t, but keep it to ya damn self from here on out. Because it isn’t going to change anything, I already proposed and she already accepted. It’s done, now just drop it. Please.”

You freeze at his words, your heart plummeting to the hardwood floors beneath you—no, further than that! Plummeting to the damn ground floor of your apartment, 8 whole stories down. You feel your eyes start to prickle, Steve is engaged. Fuck, you didn’t even know he was planning to propose. Shit! You didn’t even know he was thinking about it for crying out loud.

You blink quickly and take a few silent steps back, quietly unlocking the front door and slipping back out into the hallway. You’ve heard enough—too much, actually. And now you just need a moment to collect yourself before you face your two best friends, head on.

They have no idea you were eavesdropping, and you want it to stay that way, so you have to get your emotions in check, and fucking fast at that.

After a few moments, and some deep breaths that do little to quell your shattering heart, you force yourself to plaster on your best fake smile and re-enter your suite. Promptly slamming the door just enough for the guys to hear and know you are ‘just getting home.’

“GUys?” You call out, your voice cracking on the vowel and you cringe. Ugh! Like who even still suffers from voices cracks this long after ending puberty! You, clearly. You clear your throat as you remove your jacket to hang it and your purse, up on the coat hooks by the door. “You both here already?” No voice crack this time, thank God.

Your ears pick up a few rushed, and hushed voices going back and forth, but you can’t make the words out this time.

“Yeah, Doll. We’re in the living room,” Steve hollers back, and then the hushed voices start up again. The guys are clearly still arguing about Steve’s engagement, obviously they weren’t quite finished but you’ve already inserted yourself into the mix so they will just have to be done for now. Unless they continue it on with you present, which is highly unlikely from what you can gather, and you thank fuck for that. You don’t want to be apart of this topic, not one fucking bit.

Well, at least not tonight anyways, you need some time for the news to sink in first. You need some alone time to cry and come to terms with it before you are forced to comment or partake in this topic. Now all you can do is pray they drop it and leave it the fuck alone for tonight. God, that’s all you ask for in this moment.

You remove your shoes, and take a deep breath before venturing into the war zone—eer, you mean your living room. And as you do, you see Bucky sitting up on your couch, leaning on his knees, and Steve standing by your large living room window. Both guys look towards you as you enter, the blonde giving you a smile that you know is forced, but you ignore that. And the brunette looking at you sceptically, as if he can tell you heard something you weren’t supposed to. As if he can read your currently dazed and frazzled mind.

But you just ignore that as well, and pretend you are perfectly fine. You aren’t supposed to know a damn thing, so you’ll just run with that cover.

“How’s my guys today?” You ask, as you force a smile of your own.

“Good,” Steve says quickly.

“Yeah, fine,” Bucky says right after, still giving you the side eye.

“So convincing,” you say sarcastically with an eye roll, but you don’t give them a chance to comment back and quickly go to change the subject. “What are we thinking for food? Chinese? Thai? Pizza?” You ask hopefully, as you move towards your kitchen to grab your various take out menus. “If you can’t tell, I’m freaking starving,” you say with a giggle, trying your best to lighten the awkward and gloomy tension.

Bucky chuckles, “you’re always starving.”

“Ain’t that the damn truth,” you sigh, returning to the living room and plopping down on the couch by Buck, menus in hand. “So. Food. What’s it gunna be?”

Steve smiles and shakes his head at you, as he makes his way towards your arm chair. “Whatever you feel like, Doll. You know we ain’t picky.”

“At least not like you are,” Bucky grumbles, playfully elbowing you.

“I’m not that picky, ya Jerk,” you defend, elbowing him back. “I just like what I like. So sue me.”

“I just might, I could use some extra play money,” he says through a grin as he elbows you again.

You scoff, “why, so you can buy more ridiculous clothes? You’re worse than a woman.” And because of who you are as a person, you also elbow him again, but more forcefully this time.

He flinches, and shoots you an indignant glare. “Wanting to look good isn’t ‘ridiculous’, Y/N,” he defends, then pokes your shoulder. “And I’ll have you know, that many men take their looks more seriously these days. Not just me. Be more open minded, would ya?”

“Awe, did your therapist tell you that, to ease your troubled mind?” You chuckle then poke his shoulder in return, “and I am completely open minded. Thank you very much.”

“No, but she did tell me that donating my time to the less fortunate would make me feel better about myself. And she was right, I do feel better about myself afterwards.” He gives you a once over, before pointedly locking eyes with you and smirking, “with that said, want to get coffee tomorrow, ya closed-minded little asshole? I need the ego boost.”

You give him a dry look, “no, you don’t. At this rate I’ll have to get a bigger apartment, just to fit your whole damn ego into my,” you trail off, your eyes locking onto a part of his hair. Fixating on that one spot.

Bucky narrows his eyes at you, asking suspiciously, “what are you looking at?”

You snort, snapping your eyes away from his hair, “nothing, nothing.”

“Spit it out, Y/L/N.”

“You been a little stressed lately, Buck?”

“What does that matter?”

“Oh, ya know, you just got a few rather juicy grey hairs coming in,” you point to the spot you were looking at before. “I like that you’re so okay with having them on display at your age. But the salt and pepper look really works for you, and the girls must really dig the whole ‘Daddy’ vibe.”

Bucky gasps and goes to snap back, but Steve beats him to it with a loud, overly dramatic sigh. “Would you both quit it? You’re like freaking siblings. One minute you’re all lovey dovey, and the next you’re shooting to kill. I’m getting fucking whiplash over here.”

You glance over at Bucky, barely able to contain your smirk and holding your hand out. “Pay up, fucker. I won this round.” He groans loudly, but pulls out his wallet and hands you 5 buckeroos, as is the deal.

Steve scoffs, “You guys still play that stupid game?”

You laugh, looking back to him as you tuck your newly acquired fiver into your pocket. “As long as we can continue to piss you off with it, we’ll continue to play it.”

“Plus someone has to fund her damn coffee addiction,” Bucky playfully adds, slinging an arm over the back of the couch behind you.

You laugh, then focus back on the real issue here. Food. “So, Chinese then?”

Steve snorts and Bucky hums, tapping a finger on his chin, “I dunno. I was kind of feeling Indian.”

You gasp, “I didn’t even think of Indian! Oh no,” you groan, then whine out, “now I can’t decide!”

“Way to go, Jerk,” Steve says playfully as he shakes his head.

Bucky bursts out laughing and picks up the Chinese menu, “on second thought, Chinese sounds best.”

You think that over for a second, then nod, “yeah, you’re right. Chinese, it is.”

Once you’ve called and placed your order for delivery, you pick out a movie. Well, Bucky does as it’s his turn to pick one, regardless of how much Steve or yourself bitch and groan about him always picking the same movie. You’ve all watched it so many damn times that you literally know every word off by heart. For the whole freaking movie, start to finish.

“Space Jam is a damn classic!” Bucky defends his choice. “You uncultured swines!”

“It is a classic, no one is refuting that!” You quickly say. “We have just watched it so many damn times! Can’t you pick something else for once? Please, for the love of all things that are holy, pick a different movie!” You aren’t above begging at this point.

“Y/N’s right, Buck,” Steve agrees. “We’ve watched that movie once a month since it came out, let’s watch something else this time, maybe?”

Bucky glares daggers at you both, before sighing loudly. “Fine! Then we will watch Fight Club.”

“Ugh, I hate that freaking movie,” you groan, “but I’ll take anything over Space Jam, at the moment. Even fucking Fight Club.” You narrow your eyes at the brunette standing on the other side of your living room looking at your wall of DVD’s. “You just have the worst taste in movies. You know that, right? You’re aware of that?”

He scoffs, “not as bad as your taste in them. Pretty Woman, really? Ya know, I used to have dreams with Julia Roberts in them. And not because I found her hot, but because we watched that movie so many times that her face was etched into my mind.”

“Take that back!” You gasp.

“I won’t,” he crosses his arms, “I meant every word.”

“Pretty Woman is a fantastic fucking movie! It’s the best ‘two worlds collide’ love story that there ever was! And Julia Roberts is a damn fox! So don’t pretend like you wouldn’t have had dreams about her anyways. We all know how depraved your little mind truly is.”

He opens his mouth but you don’t give him a chance to speak, “and furthermore, you are comparing a true 90’s classic romcom, with 2 hours of Edward Norton talking about his shitty life, and Brad Pitt shirtless? I mean, I’m okay with that last one,” you trail off, making an overdramatic ‘Oooh, got it’ face. “Never mind, I just figured out why you like that movie so much, you perv.”

“Okay, okay, wave the white flag already,” Steve sighs. “Geesh you two, break it up before someone gets hurt. Or ya know, I lose what little sanity I have left,” he grumbles the last part quietly, but you hear him anyways.

You grin and stick your hand out at Bucky once again, causing him to groan loudly and drop his head back in exasperation. “Stevie, buddy, come on already! You are gonna make me poor! Can’t you pipe up just once after I say something!” He picks his head back up to look at Steve. “Just once, that’s all I’m asking for here. It’s like you two are working,” he trails off as he shoots a glare at you, then your still outstretched hand, then Steve before his eyes land back on you and narrow. “You’re working together to doop me out of my hard earned money, aren’t you?”

“What? We would never!” You feign shock just to bug him, and truth be told, you weren’t actually working with Steve. That would have been a fantastic idea though, had you thought of it first! But now that Bucky put it out there, it’s no longer an option, he’d be too suspicious now. “But no, seriously, I’d never cheat against you,” you say honestly, then smirk, “because I wouldn’t need to, I’m naturally just better at this game than you are. Face it.”

“I’m not paying you this time,” Bucky says adamantly, with his stupid arms still crossed.

“Fine,” you grumble, pouting as you drop your hand back down. But then your smirk returns tenfold, “I’ll just add it to your tab then.”

“Like Hell—“

Steve groans loudly, cutting Bucky off as he gets up and takes the Fight Club DVD out before putting it into the player. “Okay, that’s enough of this game for tonight. Both of you are driving me insane with this shit.” He grabs the remote and gets to the movies main menu before looking pointedly between the two of you, “I’m pulling a temporary Rule Card, no more ‘Stevie Snappie’ for tonight. Got it?”

You gape at him, “wait, you know the name of the game?” Then you look up at Bucky and narrow your eyes, “you told him the name!?”

“It wasn’t me,” Bucky shakes his head. “It must have been you!”

“Jesus Christ. It was neither of you,” Steve says exasperatedly. “I overheard you guys arguing about it back in grade 10.”

“You’ve known this whole time?” You question, wide eyed. “And you’ve never said anything about it before tonight?”

“Don’t act surprised, you both aren’t very stealthy about hiding the game from me. You ask for payment right in front of me,” he shakes his head. “Every time.”

“Oh, we don’t care if you know about the game, Stevie,” Bucky says and he comes to retake his spot beside you on the couch. “But the name was sacred. We both vowed to take it to our graves.”

“Well, you failed, because I’ve known all along,” Steve says as he pushes play. “Now both of you zip it, and watch the damn movie.”

“The damn shitty movie,” you correct, but one glare from Steve has you snapping your mouth shut and nodding to tell him you’ll keep your mouth shut from here on out.

The rest of the night went off without a hitch, at least while the guys were still here. The food had arrived shortly after you started the movie. You and Buck had abided by Steve’s temp Rule, and ceased on the fake bickering for the remainder of the night. But just for the night, you both secretly needed this game to keep you sharp and on your come back toes, so it would pick back up. Just on a different night, as Steve’s wrath was no joke, and neither of you wanted to be on the receiving end of it. Not even a little bit.

You had kept all your groans and mumbling insults towards the shitty movie to yourself, and once it was over you all had decided to watch Home Alone. That movie was a fan favourite for the three of you, and never caused any bickering arguments. Why you didn’t just start with a movie like that, was beyond you.

After that one ended, around midnight, the guys called it a night and both headed out. And the moment the door closed behind them, you locked it and promptly flopped down on your bed. You spent the rest of the early morning hours crying, and feeling sorry for yourself. Which was a first in a while, you hadn’t actually cried once in the last 9 months.

But the news of Steve’s engagement took all the wind out of your sails. No, wrose than that, it ripped your heart directly from your chest, and then just for good measure, it stomped all over it. Ya know, just to ensure it was truly and completely broken beyond repair this time.

You ended up spending the entire weekend in bed, once again. But come Monday morning, you dragged your ass out of your makeshift hidey-hole, showered and band-aided your heart back into one piece. And as you opened up the door to your suite, you plastered that all too familiar fake smile on your face, and continued to pretend like you were okay. Like you were fine. Like you weren’t in love with your, now engaged, best friend.

I know that I should not hold on, so why can't I let go?

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