#art so good i want to put these men in a little jar and shake them around to see how they react

[twinktor-frankenstein]

I love these fuckers so much I've never been this invested in someone else's ocs

fills up ur dash with a Valentine’s Day comic that took me a long time

[serenelystrange]

Summary:

“And deprive the fine citizens of Los Angeles the chance to ogle the infamous Firehose?” In which the LAFD is recruiting their queer members for a Pride Parade Float, and nobody understands why Buck wants nothing to do with it.

Rating: G

Words: 3,086

Getting Together. Evan "Buck" Buckley Has PTSD. Evan "Buck" Buckley Needs A Hug. Evan "Buck" Buckley Gets a Hug. Pride

Pride Parades. Fluff and Angst. Fluff and Humor

Light Angst. Emotional Hurt/Comfort

men once again talking about emotions in a way that is probably unrealistic

but once again we are here for vibes not realism

At Ao3, or under the cut!

Canon? Timelines? Pride month schedules?? We don't know her! This all about the vibes, babes, all about the vibes.

-

“I expected you to be the first one to sign up, what’s this face?”

Buck looks down at the sheet on the clipboard that Chim’s handed him and gives a little frown.

“I dunno,” he says, eyeing the cheerful Clip Art rainbows on the page surrounding the sign-up list. “It’s cool and all to have a queer firefighter float in the parade, but I don’t know if I want to actually be on it.”

“And deprive the fine citizens of Los Angeles the chance to ogle the infamous Firehose?” Chim teases. “For shame, Buckley. For shame.”

Buck rolls his eyes at Chim’s playful teasing and hands the clipboard back, thumping Chim’s chest with a thwack.

“I’ll think about it,” he says, gesturing towards the entrance where Ravi has just come in. “There, your next victim just got here, go get him.”

He flees before Chim can reply, leaving a befuddled looking Ravi in his wake as Chim spins toward him with determination.

“Is it because of Tommy?” Chim asks later, when only he and Buck happen to be in the kitchen for a mid-day snack.

“Is what because of Tommy?” Buck asks, carefully alternating mini pretzels and m&m’s into a bowl on the counter.

Chim sighs.

“The parade float,” he explains. “It’s your first Pride as an official member of the LGBT, and you’d usually be all about the festivities. I thought maybe Tommy wouldn’t want to participate, so you’d feel bad about doing it without him.”

Buck snorts a laugh and shakes his head.

“We broke up like a month ago. Even if he would care if I was in a parade, it wouldn’t matter now.”

“Why didn’t I know that?” Chim asks, “did I know that and just forget?”

“Wasn’t a big deal,” Buck says, shrugging nonchalantly. Satisfied with his bowl of snacks, he closes up the bag of pretzels and the Costco-sized M&M’s jar and puts them back up in the cabinet before giving his attention back to Chim.

“We had fun, and he’s really cool, but I guess I just wasn’t ready for something serious again.”

“Ahh,” Chim says, nodding in pretend understanding at the serial Relationship Guy before him. “Do we hate him now? I know I met Tommy first, but only one of you is my stupid tall little brother now, and it’s not him.”

“Aw, Chim,” Buck drawls exaggeratedly, “I didn’t know you cared!”

“Shut up,” Chim huffs, reaching out and stealing a handful of Buck’s candy pretzels and shoving them in his mouth.

“My perfect balance!” Buck says, glaring at Chim for a moment before softening.

“We don’t hate him,” he says. “It was actually the nicest breakup I’ve ever been through. I think we’ll be friends eventually, which will definitely be new for me.”

“Good,” Chim says, speaking around a crunchy mouthful of snacks. “Cuz I don’t think I could win that fight. Unless I got Hen and Eddie to help. We could take him.”

“Oh god,” Buck groans, “don’t give Eddie any ideas. He already wanted to kick Tommy’s ass right after he dumped me. I had to talk him down.”

“You saw Eddie right after you broke up with your boyfriend?” Chim asks, in a carefully neutral tone.

“Well, yeah,” Buck says, shrugging as if it’s obvious. “Where else would I go to whine about being dumped if not my best friend’s house?”

Chim thinks about Maddie, who practically raised Buck. He thinks about Hen & Karen, who could give Buck more insight into queer relationships than either he or Maddie could provide. And about Bobby, who never fails to make Buck feel at least a little bit better about his life when he’s having a crisis.

“Right,” Chim says, instead of voicing all of that. “I guess that makes sense. And Eddie took one look at you and decided he needed to cause bodily harm to Tommy?”

Buck laughs a little at that, looking vaguely smug about it.

“No,” he says. “He took one look at me, and shoved me into the kitchen to pull out the liquor.”

At Chim’s surprised eyebrows, Buck drops his voice low, just in case.

“This was before Chris came back,” he explains. “I think Eddie needed a reason to be miserable with company.”

Chim remembers the exhausted and pained expression on Eddie’s face for those long couple of weeks, and nods.

“Well,” he says, stealing one more pretzel from Buck’s bowl. “It’s a good thing you two have each other.”

Buck grins wide at that, before holding the bowl against his chest protectively.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “It really is.”

The alarm goes off before Chim can respond, and Buck puts the bowl back down mournfully, conversation temporarily forgotten as they rush into gear.

Hen tracks Buck down a few days later, standing in front of the couch where he and Eddie are sitting and talking about potential weekends to go to the beach with Chris.

“You sure you don’t want to sign up?” she asks Buck, pointing the now nearly-filled parade form at him.

“Nah,” Buck says, easily, shrugging off Eddie’s curious look. “There’s plenty of people from the different houses, I’m good.”

“Karen & I are going to do a few streets,” Hen says, “the kids, too. It’ll be fun. You’re sure?”

“I’m sure,” Buck says, giving her a tight grin. “But take pictures? I’m sure you guys will have a blast.”

“Of course,” Hen says, giving Eddie a quick look before shifting back to Buck. “You need me to slash Tommy’s tired or something?”

Eddie laughs in delight at that and Buck just groans.

“I love you all, but Tommy has nothing to do with me not wanting to be in the parade. I just don’t want to.”

“Fine, fine,” Hen says, still chuckling as she leaves them alone for the time being and heads back downstairs.

“I didn’t know about the parade thing,” Eddie says once they are alone again. “Seems like your kind of thing.”

“Maybe years ago,” Buck agrees easily enough. “But I’m not feeling it.”

Eddie frowns, giving Buck a contemplative look.

“Is it because… I mean, have we not been supportive enough of the whole bi thing? Are you embarrassed or something?”

“Hey, no,” Buck says, smiling at Eddie’s alarmed face. “Nothing like that, you guys have been so great. I have no issues with my sexuality at the moment. I just don’t want to be on a parade float. It’s not that deep, I promise.”

“OK,” Eddie says, “if you’re sure. You’d let me know, right? If I was being like… accidentally homophobic?”

“You’re ridiculous,” Buck says, laughing.

“Your face is ridiculous,” Eddie retorts, smacking Buck’s knee for emphasis.

“Yes, Eddie,” Buck says, indulgently, “if you were being accidentally homophobic, I would tell you.”

Eddie leans back and nods. “Ok, good,” he says. “I only want to be an asshole if it’s on purpose.”

Buck cackles at that, and leans a little closer to Eddie, until their shoulders are just barely brushing.

“I think two Thursdays from now could work,” he says, going back to their beach discussion. “Chris doesn’t have any appointments or anything.”

“He might want to bring a friend that’s ‘not my girlfriend, dad, ugggh’” Eddie says, snickering around the impression.

Buck shrugs and gives Eddie a soft smile.

“I think we can handle two teenagers.”

Eddie finds himself smiling back, unaware of the world beyond the open fondness on Buck’s face.

“Yeah, I think we’ll be just fine.”

“You know,” Maddie says to Eddie as they watch Jee attempt to climb all over Chris instead of playing with the impressive set of big block Lego’s Buck had bought her. “The Pride parade is this weekend.”

“Yeah,” Eddie says, only half paying attention as Buck swoops in from the other room and grabs Jee into a hug before she can truly bother Chris. “I think me and Chris will watch if we can find a spot that’s not too crowded for his crutches. Karen said she’d paint his face if he wants.”

“Good, Maddie says. “We’re gonna go with Jee. You should see her little outfit, it’s so cute. I think she’s most excited for the free candy though, Howie told her about it days ago and she still asks about it every night before bed.”

“Ha,” Eddie snorts. “I miss when all it took to make Chris happy was a piece of candy.”

“I don’t know,” Maddie says, looking over at the now pile of Buck, Chris and Jee as all three of them giggle about who-knows-what. “He seems pretty happy to me.”

Eddie watches the scene with soft eyes and nods in agreement, completely missing the fond yet exasperated look that Maddie is directing at him.

“Maybe we can just go to the movies instead?” Buck suggests.

Eddie looks up from where he’s packing his insulated backpack with water, snacks, and sunscreen.

“Buck,” he says, “Chris has been looking forward to this parade all week. He’s even letting Karen paint his face when we get there. He’s not going to want to see a movie instead.”

Buck sighs, before nodding resolutely.

“I know,” he says, uncharacteristically quiet. “I’m just being dumb, it’s fine. It’ll be fun.”

Eddie zips up the bag and yells out a five minute warning towards Chris’ room, before moving to stand in front of Buck where he’s leaning back against the sink.

“I don’t know where this sudden fear of crowds came from,” Eddie says gently, “but you absolutely don’t have to go to the parade if you don’t want to. Chris and I can take care of ourselves for one afternoon.”

“I know,” Buck says, looking down at the floor to avoid Eddie’s concerned gaze. “I want to go, I want to be there, especially with you and Chris. I just…”

Eddie waits him out, even as his anxious mind is screaming at him to fill the silence with assurances.

“Ever since..” Buck begins, before shaking his head. “I mean, I just.. it’s so visible, you know?”

Eddie frowns as he thinks and gives Buck a confused look.

“I thought you were feeling good about coming out?”

“I am,” Buck says, frustrated with his inability to voice the jumble of thoughts in his head correctly. “It’s not about the bi thing, it’s about being there in a crowd of people with no way to see what’s coming.”

“What are you expecting to happen, Buck?” Eddie asks, concerned.

“Nothing, really,” Buck says after a moment. “It’s just my brain. I can’t stop thinking about what could go wrong, and how we’d be stuck in a packed crowd that could turn into a stampede, and Chris could get lost, or hurt, and I wouldn’t be able to..”

“Buck,” Eddie interrupts his thoughts before they can turn into a full-on spiral. “We wouldn’t let anything happen to Chris. As if you wouldn’t carry him through literal hellfire if you needed to. He could not be safer than with the two of us, no matter the situation.”

“I know,” Buck says, and to Eddie’s horror, tears spring up in Buck’s eyes as he tries to compose himself.

“What..” Eddie says, hands fluttering uselessly with the urge to reach out and comfort Buck.

“You got shot,” Buck says in a small voice, looking anywhere but at Eddie. “You got shot in broad daylight for no reason other than being a firefighter, and I couldn’t do a damn thing but watch you bleed out.”

Eddie freezes. Of all the things he thought Buck might say, this isn’t even in his top five guesses.

“That was years ago,” Eddie says slowly, mouth moving ahead of the brain that is desperately trying to catch up.

“Not when I dream about it,” Buck says, laughing brokenly. “When I dream about it, it happens over and over again, and it’s always right now. I watch you die lying five feet from me on the pavement. I wake up and I’m drowning in blood until reality sets back in.”

“Jesus,” Eddie says, giving in to the urge and wrapping himself around Buck in a tight hug. “You saved my life, Buck. I didn’t die on that pavement because you dragged me to safety. You got me into the truck, you kept me from bleeding out. You are the only reason we still have this family, ok?”

Buck shakes against him, silently crying into Eddie’s shoulder, but he nods.

“Hold on,” Eddie says, pulling one hand away from the hug to grab his phone and call Karen, asking her to pick Chris up for the parade.

“You don’t have to do that,” Buck croaks after Karen agrees and Eddie hangs up. “I just need a few minutes to get ahold of myself.”

“Nope,” Eddie says, giving Buck one last squeeze before pulling away. “I’m not subjecting you to a landmine of PTSD just for a parade. Karen and Hen are more than capable of watching Chris for a few hours.”

To Eddie’s surprise, Buck just gives him a wobbly smile and nods in relief.

“Ok,” he says. “Thank you.”

It’s significantly more than five minutes later when Chris ambles out of his room, the inclusive Pride flag draped around his shoulders like a cape, and he gives Buck and Eddie a confused look as he picks up on the weird atmosphere.

“Are we leaving soon?” he asks Eddie, “my friends are already there.”

“Buck’s not feeling well,” Eddie says, calmly. “Hen and Karen are going to pick you up instead. You can still see your friends as long as you follow the Wilson’s rules, ok?”

“Oh,” Chris says, giving Buck a concerned look. “Do you want me to stay and help take care of you, Buck?”

Buck nearly bursts back into tears at the gesture, but composes himself at the last moment.

“It’s ok, bud,” he says. “Your dad’s gonna keep me company. You just have so much fun and be safe out there.”

The doorbell rings and Chris’ face lights up as he takes the backpack from Eddie and heads towards it.

“I’ll just walk him out,” Eddie says, leaving Buck to have a moment of privacy to decompress.

He appreciates it.

They spend the afternoon watching reruns of the Golden Girls, which Eddie secretly thinks is at least as embarrassing as his Telenovela marathons, but doesn’t dare to voice the thought to Buck when the show makes him happy.

They order pizza for dinner after Chris asks to stay the night at Hen’s to hang out with Denny and play some new videogame. A quick facetime call to assure Buck that everyone had gotten home safely goes a long way towards calming his nerves, and the beer they’ve been steadily sipping the whole night does the rest.

“Hey,” Buck says, nudging Eddie’s leg with his foot to get his attention.

“Hmm?” Eddie asks, turning his head away from the tv to look at him.

The last bit of sunlight is slipping into night, casting Eddie in a golden orange glow from the windows, and suddenly Buck can’t quite breathe.

“You called us a family, earlier,” Buck says. Quietly, as if he’s afraid Eddie will take it back if he speaks it too loudly.

“Yeah?” Eddie asks, confused. “We’ve been family for years, Buck. You know that.”

“No,” Buck says, shaking his head. “Not family like the 118. Or like a childhood best friend, or something. You said it like… you said it like Maddie is Chim’s family, like Karen is Hen’s.”

“I..” Eddie says, eyes wide and frozen in an emotion that Buck wants more than anything to call hope.

“Like Cap and Athena,” Buck continues, swallowing around the nervous lump in his throat. “You said it like a husband, Eddie. Like there’s no difference between us and them.”

“Fuck,” Eddie says, quietly, dropping his head down into his hands and groaning.

“If I’m wrong, just tell me,” Buck says, all at once done with the half-hopes and yearning. “Tell me so that I can try to get over you.”

“Don’t,” Eddie says, reaching out to grab Buck’s ankle before he’s even registered what he’s doing.

“Don’t what?” Buck asks, face flushing with mortification that he may have gotten this all so very wrong.

“Don’t get over me,” Eddie says, quietly. “Please.”

Buck can’t help it, he smirks at the dumb jokes that flash though his mind.

“Idiot,” Eddie says, fondly, no doubt knowing what he’s thinking. “I didn’t want you to find out like this.”

“What’s wrong with this?” Buck asks, genuinely. “It’s you and me, and nobody is dying. It’s perfect.”

“Yeah?” Eddie asks, grinning as Buck just nods. “I didn’t think you felt the same way,” he confesses. “I just figured you were being too nice to point out my pathetic crush.”

“I couldn’t see the trees in the forest or however that saying goes,” Buck says, laughing. “I didn’t think you could possibly love me the way I love you.”

“Buck,” Eddie says, suddenly serious. “You are the love of my life. Whatever happens, even if you walked out that door and never looked back, you’re it for me. I’m just sorry it took so long for me to figure out.”

“I don’t even have you yet and you’re talking about me walking away?” Buck asks, eyes wide as he tries to process what he’s just heard. “At least kiss me goodbye before you kick me out.”

Eddie laughs and shakes his head, crawling up the couch until he’s seated in Buck’s lap like he’s thought of so many times.

“How about I kiss you goodnight instead?” he asks, linking his fingers behind Buck’s head and tilting his pretty face up to look at him.

Buck grabs Eddie’s waist in both big hands, skimming his fingers just under his tshirt against the warm skin there, and nods.

“Only if I can kiss you good morning tomorrow,” he bargains, already looking at Eddie’s mouth with hunger.

“Deal,” Eddie says, as he lets out a breath of relief. In the next breath they’re kissing, over and over until their lips are tingly and red, and nothing else in the world exists besides the press of their bodies together and the shared air between them.

They break apart just long enough for Eddie to grab the remote and click off the TV, before Buck pulls him back into another heated kiss.

As great as the Golden Girls are, the re-runs have nothing on his brand new show.

The End

[twinklelilstarkey]

Stopping You - Michael Gray [Part 9]

Words: 8.2k+

Summary: When finally able to leave the hospital, memories awake buried feelings in both Y/N and Michael.

Warnings: Female!Reader. Mentions of wounds and physical pain. Emotional Cheating. A very slight mention of smut. A character being touch-starved. Being horny [ :) ]. Self hate (discrediting their own sadness and feelings; hateful inner voice). 

Prologue    Part 1    Part 2    Part 3    Part 4    Part 5     Part 6    Part 7   Part 8     Part 9     Part 10

It has been 2 days ever since you woke up.

The doctors don’t seem to be planning on letting you go home this soon since the wound is supposedly still “too fresh” and because “you’re too at risk of ripping stiches”. Which to you, what they are actually trying to say is “you can’t stand still so we will force you to sit the fuck down until you’re good enough to go back home”.

It does sounds more accurate, doesn’t it?

You’re already able to sit up on your own even though it still hurts like a bitch. And you’ve been playing more and more chess with Michael now that Finn and Polly are back to work.

It, honestly, hasn’t been that bad.

It’s still a little tense between you two when stuck in silence but can anybody blame you after all that happened?

But tense or not, you still like his company, nonetheless.

You know, also, that Gina has been making some visits at the hospital. Not to see you of course, but to see him. They always talk to each other behind the doors of your room, in the hallway, whispering and shutting up whenever a nurse or doctor would walk by.

You would’ve been lying if you said that you weren’t curious. But still, it is not your place to make questions about personal matters. So, behind the glass of the doors you stay.

The door of your room swings open again, letting a wave of cold wind hit you and you look up to see Michael, who is staring at the ground.

“Please, Michael. You have to listen to me, this makes no sense-” Gina says loudly, making Michael turn quickly and glare at her.

You look at the two of them confused and Michael whispers something at his fiancée before turning to walk back out of the room, but he doesn’t, he just stands by the door. Gina looks through the glass in the doors at you and you lift an eyebrow as if to question her glance.

She looks away and you grin while looking back to the papers in your lap.

“Go home, Gina” Michael whisper yells at her and you try your best to act as if the conversation is not making curiosity crawl under your skin.

The blonde, standing behind the door, sighs and takes a step back. And after that, all you can hear is her thick heels sound over the stone of the hospital’s hallways.

Michael sighs as her steps echo through the empty side of the hospital and he turns back to you, seeing you smirking while reading whatever is there to read in all the family’s money withdraws.

“Trouble in paradise?” You poke, not even lifting your eyes at him.

He doesn’t answer at first, he just walks towards the chair he had been previously seated and sits down ungracefully.

You chuckle under your breath at his silence and flip over the page, reading the handwritten numbers of everything that has been gained and wasted over the name of the Shelby family.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” He pokes back.

You finally look up from the papers and he has a teasing look over his eyes, now.

He’s already comfortable enough to make jokes and tease you back, and, honestly, he almost doesn’t seem like the same Michael from the day after the event.

You don’t hate it. At all.

“Anything is more entertaining than this” You admit, looking back down to your papers.

“I don’t doubt it” He agrees.

You two stay silent again. Minds focusing on two completely different things.

Michael’s travels to Ginna’s words while yours goes back to the numbers.

Gina had just tried to make him follow the plan again. Hurt the prey while it’s weak, she said. But again, he doesn’t agree at all with her words.

Her tone is not understanding anymore, or even slightly sweet. Her tone is what seems to be a way to try and achieve an authorial one. Her words carry venom as she spills the, so, simple task of overthrowing Tommy Shelby.

Michael’s not even sure if she always talked like that and he never noticed, or is it just sounding different now because he can’t stop comparing his fiancée with you. 

He honestly deeply hopes that he could just erase that plan from Gina’s mind, she almost seems obsessed over it. Judging by how tired she looks every time she visits, she must have not been sleeping lately.

How and why did this plan even seem good at all? As Michael always been so power-hungry? As he always been so thirsty for success, or felt pleasure over imagining himself sitting on the family’s throne?

No human doesn’t love success, that is the truth. Especially if it all is signed at the bottom with your family’s last name. But what Michael was planning with Gina is nothing of the sort. This was not about making your own money and achieve your own success. This was taking somebody else’s and claiming it as yours.

And that is nothing but dirty and foul. How could he have thought that this was good in the first place?

Fuck the American companies who shamed his family’s business over the not being the ideal business partners. His family is serious and hard working. They came from absolutely nothing. Unlike all those men, who swim in their, nothing but dirty, money.

He must talk to Tommy, to let him know about what they said. The news are going to be old, and he should’ve just told him everything when he had just talked to them. But he didn’t. And he regrets it now. Deeply.

Better late than never, right?

“When’s the wedding?” You ask, breaking the silence in the room.

Michael blinks his thoughts away and looks back up at you to already find you staring. You look curious.

“We- Uhm… we haven’t decided yet” He answers, short and simple.

You nod while pursing your lips forward in thought.

“And have you decided on where is going to be?” You ask, “At least in what country?”

“Gina wants to marry and live in America” He replies, fidgeting in his seat as his hand reaches his pocket.

Michael moves slowly to grab his cigarettes and his lighter from his pocket as you stare.

You don’t exactly know how to react. You’re quite disappointed with his answer, but you’re sure you’ll be able to accept it with time. At least to slow the bitter truth that is Michael finding love and moving abroad. Again.

But why should you care?

It’s true that you haven’t found love in another someone, but you also haven’t tried. In the time Michael was away, you occupied your mind and your heart with work. With papers just like the one’s that rest over your lap now. But you could start all over again with another person. Right?

But do you even know when you stopped loving him? When you gave up in love?

The answer is no. You don’t remember, nor do you feel it missing in your chest. You care for many people, yet you love less. You can count in your fingers how many people you would actually shed a tear if their life came to an unfortunate ending.

It would consist in people like Polly and Finn. People who took care of you at your lowest but also didn’t let you go when you stood in your own feet.

Michael moves forward to tap down the ashes of his cigarette on the ashtray beside you and you force yourself to look back at your papers.

Is Michael one of them?

(…)

“What’s with that face?” Michael asks as walks out of the bathroom.

You look up from your plate of food, the disgusted scowl still in your face.

“This is horrible” You tell him, cringing as you hold your fork in your hand.

Michael chuckles and you look back down, your fork pokes the small pile of overcooked rice and you swear to God that it just jiggled.

How is that even physically possible?

As you’re too ingulfed in your horrible meal, Michael walks to stand next to you and eyes your food from up close. You look over at him and the same exact features of disgust fill his face.

He looks at you as amusement overcomes your emotions and you giggle before looking at the food again.

“That looks…” He starts and you look up at him as he stands straighter, “Delicious” He says, trying his best to motivate you to eat.

You look at him with both a smile and a frown, and he looks at you, biting his lip to contain his other possible descriptions of your so wonderful meal.

“It could honestly be worse” He says, and you gasp.

“Worse?” You ask, smiling in amusement but also confused with his words.

“Yes…?” He answers, “I ate worse when I was here”

“You did not” You disagree.

“I did!” He defends himself.

“You did not!” You repeat, shifting in your seat.

“Y/N, it was way worse. You threw it at the wall once and it stuck!” He emphasizes the last word.

You bite in your laughter at the memory and shake your head.

“Still think it’s worse”

“Then…” He breathes in, serious look on his face, “You’re blind” A small smile cracks at the end.

You laugh a bit and look back at the metal tray. You poke the rice again and it jiggles one more time, making the man beside you chuckle through his noise, under his breath.

“It’s horrible, Michael” You say, slightly upset over this being one of the only meals you have today.

“It is” He finally agrees.

You sigh and put down your fork, falling back against your bed and your pillows.

“You should still eat-”

“I prefer to starve” You answer with a deep breath.

Michael grabs your tray from the small table in front of you and walks over to put it on the counter next to the door. He grabs the apple and throws back to you, landing beside your legs.

“You could’ve hit me” You say.

You grab it and let it rest over your lap as he walks back to the bed.

“Excuse my horrible aim, your highness” He teases, and you roll your eyes, “You’ve done worse to me before”

“Did not” You defend yourself.

“Yes, you did”

He sits down on the side of your bed, next to your legs.

“Like what?”

“You hit me with a jar once, with a rock back in the field, almost stuck a fork on my hand-”

“Those were not on purpose!” You say with a smile.

He smiles back.

“Don’t care. If I was as a careless as you, I could’ve been decapitated by now” He continues, and you giggle at him.

“Decapitated?” You repeat.

“Yes!” He says loudly, “Don’t you remember when you had that machet-?”

“Excuse you?” You ask, sitting up, “That was nowhere near your face!”

“Because I pulled away!” He says as loudly.

You let out a fit of giggles at the memory and the sight of his widen, terrified, eyes back on that day, and Michael stares at you with a smile.

“Good to know my suffering is that amusing”

You giggle away your worries but all of a sudden, you stop laughing abruptly. Your hand rests under your chest as pain starts to spread over your torso. The painkillers probably exceeded their ability to work, over not being able to cover all the pain since you kept on moving.

“You okay?” He asks, worried, smile completely disappearing.

“Yeah, yeah” You say, a small smile of reassurance on your lips, “I think so”

“Want me to check?”

You think for a second and your mind starts overthinking, what if you just popped a stitch?

“No… I think I’m okay”

He looks at you for a little longer and you lean forward a bit.

“I’m good, Michael, don’t worry”

He stays silent while eyeing, worry filling his thoughts, just like yours, and you sigh.

You bring your hand under your hospital gown and touch the thin bandage carefully. Michael watches as you do it, and you almost sigh in relief as you don’t see any blood on your fingertips.

“See? I’m okay”

He nods and you sit up straighter.

“No more laughing for you, then” He says, patting your leg, and another smile starts appearing in your face.

God, you missed this.

(…)

Michael reenters your room as silent as he can and closes the door slowly. The room is now back to its natural darkness of the night, as it is just 5 past 11pm.

You’re still laying on your side in bed, in a deep sleep, just like when he left you to get something warm to drink.

He walks towards you at slow pace, cold fingers wrapped around his paper cup, holding a fresh and hot coffee. He sets it down by your nightstand, letting the steam lift off the liquid into the cold air of the room.

Michael stares down at the vacant part of the bed by your side and lets himself sit next to you.

His mother had just left. You slept the whole way through her visit, but she didn’t seem to mind. She had a lot to talk with him, mostly business.

“She looks so peaceful while she sleeps.”

That’s what his mother had told him as they stared down at you, sleeping under all your blankets before she had to leave. He didn’t answer her. But he agreed.

“You care for her, Michael?”

“Of course, I do.”

The smile she gave him at the sound of those words was unexpected. It was sweet and loving, just like the look she used to give him back when she saw you two together. Back when you were truly together.

It reminds him of all the memories of all the times you would try to annoy him in family dinners.

He doesn’t know why those memories specifically, but he remembers a lot.

The way he would stare at his mom just to try and ignore you further, all because he was “mad” at you. As if he could ever be mad at you. You wouldn’t even hurt a fly at the time. You wouldn’t even screamed back in arguments.

His mother would only smile at him from the other side of the table while seeing you sigh dramatically and lean back on your chair over the lack of response from your pokes and pinches.

Your distressed feelings wouldn’t last long since you would go back to whispering his name right as the family would restart a loud conversation.

You would give up by dessert. You would just grab his hand and lay it over your lap to play with it, obviously bored with all the business talk.

So many things have changed now.

Without even acknowledging it, Michael brings his hand to your cheek. You flinch a little over how cold his fingers are but after that, you give no other reaction. He moves your hair out of your face and smoothly caresses it.

Michael almost feels like his fingers are vibrating. It’s been so long ever since he had touched you like this. Your skin is almost like silk under his calloused fingers.

His finger traces your eyebrow, brushing it carefully as he stares at you, scared to awake you with any sudden movements.

You look so peaceful while asleep, like everything potentially bad in this world had vanished and you were left to just live all there’s good.

He pulls his hand away after some seconds and looks down at you. He grabs onto the top of your blankets and brings them all the way up to your neck, covering any of your exposed skin from the cold wind that is forcing its way in by the small cracks of the windows.

His hand goes back to your face almost at the same second, almost like he misses touching it. It has been so long since the last time he had done it, it almost feels unreal.

In your deep and peaceful sleep, you move your head over the pillow as his movements slow, making his fingers graze over your skin again. Michael doesn’t move, he just lets you do whatever so you can lay comfortably without any interruptions.

The sound of the harsh wind surrounds the room in that same second, hitting and whistling its way against the old windows.

You dip your head a bit under your covers and Michael chuckles through his nose, under his breath. It was almost like watching a cute little chipmunk hiding back inside its tree over the cold.

Without even realizing, in the moments of silence his brain used to create an alternative reality, all he can think of is how much he wants to hold you right now.

His thoughts are completely oblivious to his reality. The one where you two share as much physical touch as two roosters, both fighting for dominance in a chicken filled world. But he can’t help it. He misses you and your touch. He misses your sweet and long hugs, and how warm you always were.

Not even 2 hours ago you two had been playing chess and everything was so… different. He can’t quite understand why, but something in your interactions was pulling the strings of his heart.

It was like 3 days ago when you were discussing your disgusting lunch, where you laughed so hard you two freaked out over ripping a stitch.

Those moments felt unreal to him. Made him feel warm on the inside.

A few hours ago, maybe it was the way you would laugh at his struggles to win the game after his complete horrible plays, or the way you would smile as he looked down at the board thinking.

But it was something.

You’re staring down at the board, chin resting on your fist as you look down at the chess pieces. Your mind going miles a second with all the plays you can imagine, repeating over and over again to see if they made any sense.

You’re surely slow at this game, slower than you were before, but Michael isn’t complaining.

He leans back on his chair, his victory smile already spreading over his lips while you struggled.

“Stop that” You whisper at him, not looking up.

“Stop what?” He asks, humor thick on his tone.

“Stop thinking you’ve already won” You explain.

You look up with a smile on your face as the competitive bones in your body vibrate for you to be able to win this and show him that you’re more than capable to win him 2 times a night.

Michael is already staring. Your gaze meets his almost immediately, it’s both warm and welcoming as the soft and playful nature of your conversation floats in between you.

You bite your tongue and force yourself to look away and back to the board. Your mind is back to blank, you can’t remember the play you had been repeating in your mind.

“The clock is ticking” Michael teases, making your smile widen.

“Stop” You say waving your hand in the air, so he shuts up.

“Better get ready to lose” He sings his words, and you sigh dramatically.

You cover your ears with both of your hands and force yourself into going back to the “chess mentality”. Michael continues to smile down while looking at you and you bite your lips to try and stop yours.

“Ten seconds left”

You glare at him playfully.

“You’re lying”

“Am not, look at the clock”

You ignore him and go back to the board.

“6… 5… 4…” Michael counts down dramatically.

In the middle of the stress and pressure forced upon you, you move one of your pieces without a second thought. As you place it down, Michael shuts up.

You look up at him and he is just staring you amusingly.

“Are you sure about that one?” He asks and you frown.

You look back at your piece and your eyes widen. Why would you do that? You just handed him the whole game in a gold platter.

“No!” You exclaim, hands flying to your face in embarrassment.

Michael’s laughter feels the room and you hear him move his own piece. Your heart swells at the sound of his cackles and you uncover your face to check the board again.

“I’m not playing anymore” You say, voice muffled by your hands.

“Are you officially giving up?” He teases.

You look at the board again and a fake sad look overcomes your face.

“Yes” You sigh.

Michael laughs again and you can almost feel your lips pulling up again. He starts rearranging the pieces and you stare at him as he does it.

“No need to be that sad over this, you’ll eventually get better” He teases.

“Fuck off” You curse.

He smiles widely at your words and you smile back. You continue to stare at him as he carefully places everything back, both of you silent.

As he finishes, he looks up at you.

“Ready to lose?” You ask him and he leans back in his chair.

“As if that will ever happen”

You smile at him while shaking your head and move your first piece, his eyes still on you as you do it.

The fall from those thoughts back to reality is as harsh as one can be.

He shouldn’t even be touching you right now, you probably don’t even want him to. All you’ve done lately is talk and make jokes, doing this will ruin everything.

Michael, right in that same second, retracts his hand away from your face and stands from the bed’s side. He breathes in sharply as he looks down at you and snatches his coffee back from the nightstand.

He shouldn’t be doing this.

He walks away and takes his seat back against the window.

He can’t do this.

(…)

Finally. The day of your freedom. Well, at least some of it. The day you’re finally leaving the hospital.

Polly is not working for the day, but Finn was forced to stay put and do as told. So, it’s just you and her.

You don’t know where Michael is, honestly. He stayed these past few days and nights with you at the hospital, always present in the room whenever you would fall asleep or wake up.

Whenever you would awake, he would be sitting close to the window, smoking and deep in thought. But not today. Your room was empty, with no sight of life except for your own. It was insanely cold there too. Everything felt different, and also extremely uncomfortable.

Polly appeared 2 hours after you woke up and sat up in bed, and many talks with the nurses later, they give you the good news of finally being able to go home.

You know that Polly is in the hallway talking to someone and it has been doing so for some good minutes since she left.

And since she ditched you for whoever that person is, you are now left alone in the bedroom to try and find a way to get dressed. She had brought you clothes from your house, and those same ones were a suit, and, of course, underwear. Some large suit pants, heels, and a silk dress shirt.

She picked those clothes without probably even realizing that you can’t really move at all. And because of that, you can’t stop cursing her enough.

You love that woman, but she does some things that make you question that same love.

You stand over the cold tiled floor with your wobbly legs and shivers run through your body. Why is everything so cold today?

You strip your hospital gown and put on your underwear, hands, or should you say, body shaking in both cold and, of course, pain.

You’ve now learned how you use your torso for almost every movement in your daily life, and you can’t hate this experience more than now.

You take a seat back on the bed and throw your dress shirt over your shoulders, carefully moving your arms, that feel sore, into the sleeves. The white fabric is freezing against your skin, which just makes you want to get dressed faster.

You button some of the buttons at the end of it quickly and grab your pants, pleading that they will bring you some warmth.

Now, how the fuck are you going to get them on?

Putting on your underwear already hurt as it did, and you did it quickly. But what about something like pants? You know, what you need to adjust a thousand times, so they sit well, and that are baggy enough for them to just slide down your legs when not buttoned at your waist.

Where is Polly when you need her?

Right in that same second, the door of the room opens, and you sigh in relief. Polly must have finally remembered the fact that you struggle to even sit for too long.

“Shit, sorry” Michael’s voice sounds behind you and you throw your head back in disappointment.

“It’s fine” You say, annoyance in your tone, but not over him. “It’s not anything you haven’t seen before”

You lean your head back forward and don’t even care to look over your shoulder at Michael, it’s not like you were naked, so it’s not like he’s seeing anything too bad.

You hold your pants in your hands, thinking deeply of every possible way of how you can get them in both of your legs without leaning too forward, like you did with your underwear (and now regret), and quick enough so they don’t just slide off and fall back to your feet.

“Do you need help?” His voice again.

You sit silent for some time, thinking. You could ask him to call over his mom, but what if she’s talking to someone important?

“Yes, please” You admit, giving up.

You hear Michael’s steps behind you, getting closer to the bed, and as soon as he appears next to you, at the end of the bed, you notice that he’s wearing a full suit, unlike any other day. Coat, blazer and vest. His, now, usual way to wear suits.

“I can’t put these on without them falling or hurting myself” You explain with a hint of embarrassment.

He doesn’t say anything, he just lets his eyes fall to your hands and to your pants. Without making you wait any longer, he stands in front of you and takes the piece of clothing from your hands, exposing the skin of your thighs to him and to the cold room.

He crouches and carefully slides each leg of yours into the pants, you don’t even have to do anything, he’s just doing it all.

“Can you stand?” He asks, his voice deep and low, almost in a whisper.

You nod, not looking away from his hands as they rest over your knees, and he takes a small step back for you to have enough space.

As your feet touch the ground again, Michael pushes the rest of the pants up to your torso, where the mostly unbuttoned shirt is. His fingers drag over your skin as they move to pull your pants up, and you almost gasp.

His blue eyes travel from his hands for the first time to your exposed skin. To your stomach, mostly visible over the unbuttoned shirt, to the bandage and to your chest, partly covered by your bra. His eyes almost feel heavy and his breathing quickens at just the sight. You notice it before he even can.

You look up at his face and right on that second, Michael lets go of your clothing. You don’t say anything at first, still feeling his eyes on you, and you swallow harshly as you feel the familiar tingles travel down your torso to the end of your belly.

God, you don’t remember the last time you, actually, felt turned on. It has been so long. But this surely is not when you expected this feeling to come back.

His gaze is so familiar that you almost have to slap yourself to not let your mind travel to so unholy memories. But, deep down, you would be lying if you said that you wouldn’t want him close to you again.

You clear your throat and finally look away.

“Thank you” You whisper.

Michael snaps back to reality and looks up at you. He gives you a small nod and takes another step back, this time, a bigger one.

You lean against the bed, so the baggy waist of the pants can rest over it and not fall, and you bring your shaking fingers to the buttons of your shirt.

You aren’t shaking over the cold or pain anymore. You’ve never felt so hot in your life. You’re shaking over how many emotions you’re feeling all at once.

You struggle a bit at the beginning, but you finally get the hang of it after some embarrassing seconds. Michael watches as your skin disappears under the thin fabric, as well as the small white bandage that covers your wound.

You don’t care that he watches, honestly. You don’t trust your voice all that much right now, so you can’t hide your emotions by teasing him about it, but he surely knows that he shouldn’t be looking.

He has a god damn fiancée.

You finish adjusting your clothes and quickly grab the blazer from the top of your bed, sliding it over your shoulders quickly.

You walk over past Michael to the small mirror in the corner of the room and you do what you can with your hair, since you seem like a mad woman with this much frizz on it.

The door of the room opens again, and you look through the mirror to find Polly.

“You were able to get dressed on your own?” She asks surprised, sparing her son a quick look of confusion.

“I’m a big girl” You answer before Michael can even open his mouth.

You turn back around and walk towards the bed, letting Polly laugh slightly at your comment. You pay attention to your feet as you put on your heels and Polly decides to talk to her son.

“Are you going to talk to Tommy today?” She asks while walking closer to him.

“Yes”

“When?”

There’s a slight pause.

“In an hour” He answers.

You look over your shoulder confused, and they notice it, looking at you with two different looks.

Polly looks like she’s seconds away of explaining to you what this conversation is about, but Michael, god, he looks like he’s about to plead you on his knees to not even ask.

“Can we go home now?” You ask, fulfilling Michael’s silent wishes.

“Of course,” Polly answers.

She’s the first one to start walking out of the room, yet Michael only moves when you start walking after her.

You look over your shoulder a few times to make sure you’re not forgetting anything behind, and Michael does the same, helping you out with an extra pair of eyes.

You follow Polly through the hallways you do not remember walking down before, and you can’t help but feel a little lost and overwhelmed with how long they are. They all look the same, same paintings, same number of windows, same color of the walls. It’s like a maze.

Some nurses stop to look at the three of you and you look down at the stone under your feet, not wanting to show any sort of discomfort or pain over moving, to anyone but the people close you.

Polly opens the crowded hallways of the hospital with her presence as you reach the actual part of the hospital that everyone is using.

Michael stands now beside you, both hands on his pockets while carrying himself with as much confidence as his mother. You almost feel uncomfortable over how different the energy is between them and you.

As you three move around a turn in the hallways, all types of people move as quick as they can out of your way, but a man is not quick enough.

His shoulder hits yours and you look up at him as a reflex. His eyes are filled with worry as they meet yours, his lips read inaudible apologies as you walk away.

Michael’s hand rests over your shoulder that just got hit, and he pulls you in closer to him, away from the crowd. You look away from the man as he shifts his eyes over to Michael, and you move your gaze back to the ground.

Michael glares at the unknown man and holds you in closer protectively, making the man almost cry in apology.

He looks away and looks down at you, finding you staring at the ground. You feel a slight squeeze over your shoulder, but you don’t look up at Michael, you just look up to look at Polly’s figure in front of you.

You all reach the front door of the hospital and a man, who doesn’t even work at the hospital, opens the door for you three. Michael lets you walk in front of him, letting go of your shoulder, and you wait for him by the door before following Polly to the car.

Most of the things you’re doing right now are not even controlled by you, your body is doing them before you even realize. Leaning against Michael, walking close to Michael, letting him touch you, waiting for him so he can stay beside you.

You don’t know what’s going on, but you’re in too much discomfort to even question it.

You reach Polly’s car and Michael opens the door for you. Polly walks around the car to go to the driver’s seat. You struggle a bit to climb up the seat, but you feel Michael’s eyes on you as you do everything.

You finally sit and the door closes beside you. Michael takes his seat at the passenger seat, beside his mother, who starts the car right in the same second.

You lean your head back and sigh under the loud noise of the car, your eyes closed at the soreness of your whole body and the slight pain of your torso.

The drive to Polly’s house is quiet. Nobody dares to open their mouth to ruin the silence as you suffer from the lack of painkillers in your system on the backseat.

You ended up halfway through the drive finding yourself not looking at the road or outside of your window but looking at Michael. He is at a fair distance for you to see his side profile just right, while you’re hidden from Polly’s eyes in the review mirror.

Your mind is blank as you do it, no memories come to hunt you, nor does any other negative feeling. You are at peace for these minutes. Something you haven’t felt for some time.

As Polly’s car comes to a stop in front of her house, you look away from Michael, careful so he wouldn’t notice.

You wonder what has gotten you so focused on him lately.

It’s weird and rather unfamiliar to look at him and not feel some kind of hatred. Maybe it is the fact that he saved your life, a few days ago. But it’s hard to say. There’s surely something else.

It could honestly be anything at this point too. It could be your way to say that you’re thankful for what he did, or even your way to show yourself that you don’t hate him anymore. But do you?

The door beside you opens and you jump in your seat for being so rudely awaken from your thoughts.

“You alright?” Michael asks from beside you.

You just nod.

He steps away from the door and you see Polly already walking inside the house, not even waiting for you two.

You slide slowly off your seat and stand aside from the door so Michael can close it. He does that and you both walk silently inside his mom’s house.

“Are you staying for lunch, Michael?” Polly screams all the way from the kitchen.

You take your jacket off and he looks over at the kitchen to look at his mother, who awaits his answer.

“Uh, no” He answers, also taking his jacket off. “I’m having lunch with Gina, today”

You swallow hard as you turn around and hang your jacket on the wall. Michael is quick to do the same and you keep your distance from him, walking towards Polly.

“Alright, it’s just us then, Y/N” Polly says with a smile to you and you give the same exact smile.

“Guess so” You say, trying to mimic her excited tone but failing horribly.

Michael looks over at you as you answer with an annoyed tone, but you can’t see him over your back being turned to him. He glances at his mom confused and she just gives him a quick shrug.

“I can stay if you want me to” He says, looking at his mom.

“Oh no, don’t worry about us” Polly says, waving her hand in the air to dismiss him, “Y/N is going to be working for most of the day anyways”

Michael does a quick nod, and you walk in the kitchen, leaning against the counter.

Your heart is beating faster than normal, you really weren’t expecting him to offer to have lunch with you two. Was it because of your tone?

Polly walks over to a cabinet and starts to grab the things she will need for whatever she’s making for lunch.

Michael appears next to you and takes a seat on one of the highchairs next to you. You ignore his presence and lace your own fingers together over to counter to hide your sweaty palms.

What is going on with you?

(…)

“Can you please let go of that and eat?” Polly asks you and you look up from the papers in front of you.

“Sorry” You say with a slight smile.

You grab your fork and eye the freshly made meal in front of you. Your mind is heavy with so many thoughts that it’s hard to even want to stop to work. You need to distract yourself, or else you’re going insane.

Could you be liking Michael all over again? Is that what’s happening?

He will hurt you again, you know. He has a person that he loves, now. Gina. You’re nothing to him anymore, just a friend… Oh… Can you even be considered a friend?

Have you even forgiven him yet?

You’re jumping to conclusions just because he is close to you. He has no interest in you anymore, Y/N. Grow out of it. Stand your ground. You’re being ridiculous. Since when are you this weak?

You bring a hand over your forehead in frustration and you rub your skin to try and make the thoughts go away.

“What’s wrong?” Polly asks as she looks up from her lunch at you.

“Nothing” You say, shaking your head a little.

“You lie to me now?” She comments, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms over her chest. “Be honest, come on”

“It’s nothing bad, Pol, I swear”

“Just tell me what it is about” She asks, curious, “You’re supposed to be relaxing, and you’ve been all tense since you got here”

You lean back on your chair as well and put your fork down.

You’re falling in love again. You want to forgive him. After so many years of fighting for your worth. Everything in the garbage now. All because he showed you the simplest of human empathy over being shot.

Your heart is beating rapidly against your chest as your gaze shifts over to the ceiling, your body seeking comfort in the memories that rest so deep and distant in your mind as your negative thoughts fight for dominance.

“I feel weak” You comment, “It’s ridiculous, it is. But I can’t help it”

Tears water your eyes in that same second and you sigh loudly at how ridiculous this whole thing is. You shouldn’t be crying. There’s nothing to cry about.

“Why do you feel that way?” Polly asks softly, worry heavy on her tone.

You wipe your tears away quickly and sniffle shortly, not wanting to show how upset you really are.

“I don’t know. I was okay before all of this. All I could feel was anger in me, or I just felt normal, and now-” You gasp for air as a sob fights its way to your mouth, “And now all I feel is sadness. It’s like… It’s like everything is crashing down on me”

Polly stares at you confused. Yes, you haven’t been your so happy self with her since you got home, but she just thought it was because you were tired.

You looked just fine back at the hospital yesterday when you were playing chess with Michael.

She stands in her chair and walks over to you as you wipe your tears forcefully, hating to be this distraught over something you don’t even fully understand.

“What is this about?” She asks, resting her hand over your cheek.

You shake your head, and you swallow your tears quickly. You’re stronger than this.

“I just feel like everything is going backwards” You admit, staying silent for some seconds, “I’m not healing anymore” You breathe in, “It’s like the wound is reopening again and it’s all my fault.”

You don’t use the actual words of what you are feeling. You’re too embarrassed to admit it out loud. But, at the same time, you’re scared that Polly might think you’re weak, or even ridiculous. Just like you do.

You’re at fault here, nobody else is. You made your bed by acting all nice and sweet with him, and now look at what you’ve done. You ruined everything.

Polly eyes you as she rethinks your words, not taking them literally and not thinking about your actual wound, and leans over at you, eyeing you eye to eye.

She frowns a bit as you calm down slowly after your confession and her thumb smooths your skin away carefully.

“Is this about-” She stops herself about instantly. It has to be.

You look away from her embarrassed and she eyes you sweetly. Her other hand coming up to cup your other cheek as she makes you look at her.

She understands it.

It’s like love is crushing you. Crushing your every little bit of strength all over again. Like it’s destroying you and destroying everything you’ve built in these 2 years.

As if your walls are falling, and all its bricks are laying on top of you. Punishing you for not fighting whoever attacked them or threatened to destroy them.

Polly continues to stand silent and pulls you into a hug, you lean forward in your chair and wrap your arms around her, right away. She wraps hers the same way and squeezes you close to her.

Kisses lay over your head as she hugs you close to her and you feel your chin start to shake again.

You’re falling again.

(…)

“Are you listening to me?” Gina asks and Michael looks up at her.

“No, sorry” He says shaking his head a bit, “I was thinking about work”

“It’s okay,” She forgives, “I was saying that I talked to some people back in America today…”

Michael holds a frown almost instantly.

“-And we’ve talked about all sorts of wedding venues” He tenses up, “The price range changes a lot from whether we want an outside reception or not”

“Hum…” He itches the back of his neck, “Yo-you’ve already decided on a date?”

“Of course!” She answers with a smile, “You said back at the ship that the sooner the better and I’ve checked with a lot of people and…” She stops to add suspense to her speech, “We can get it done next month” She announces.

Her excitement is not even slightly mirrored by her fiancé.

“What?” She asks, smile falling off her features, worry in her tone, “Do you not like the idea?”

Michael opens his mouth to answer but closes it right away, so she continues.

“I thought it would be a good thing.” She explains, “Since we’re not doing- what we were supposed to be doing, for now, and it’s always better to come back home earlier than expected- Do-do you not agree?”

“I uhm… I just thought we would have a longer engagement, that’s all” Michael says quickly. “But uhm…”

There are a few seconds of silence until he rethinks her words.

“For now?” He repeats confused, “Gina, god. We won’t be doing our plan anymore. You know that better than anyone.”

“Michael let’s not talk about this, please” She says as she brings her glass of wine to her lips.

“Gina, just listen to me.” He says calmly, “We’re not doing anything. I’ve talked to Tommy today and he’s already dealing with all of this”

“What?”

“I’ve talked to Tommy about-”

“Our plan?!” She asks scared.

“No.” Michael says in a scowl, “I told him what they told us, that they didn’t want to work with us. That’s all”

“Why would you do that?” She asks, disappointment and anger being the only expressions readable on her face.

“Because Gina… We are not doing this anymore” He repeats.

“You shouldn’t have done that” She says, shaking her head, “You should’ve asked for my opinion, for my side on this. You can’t decide everything on your own, I was in this too”

“I had to. It feels wrong to betray my family” He explains, feeling helpless, “How can you not understand?”

There’s a quick silence between them.

“I can’t understand because it was so sudden, Michael. I don’t know what happened when I wasn’t with you here, but we came into this country with a plan. A perfect plan that would only help us both. And now…” She sighs, “You just don’t want to do it anymore?”

“I’ve said this before. It doesn’t feel right to take everything out of my family’s name and put it in mine.” He answers calmly, “I can’t do it to them”

She shakes her head disappointingly.

“We can still live our lives after this plan, Gina. We did it for a year. We can still do it now” He insists. “Our relationship wasn’t about this before, and surely isn’t now”

His words didn’t sound right to him. It didn’t sound like he was convincing Gina anymore; it was like he was convincing himself.

And she noticed the hesitation on his words.

“Why did you say it like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like you are actually thinking twice if our relationship was just about business”

“You know that’s not true, Gina” He says disapprovingly.

“Well, it sounds like it” She says, anger on her tone, “I don’t know what has gotten into you Michael. Or what girl got on you, but you have to remember who really is on your side here.” She emphasizes the world ‘girl’.

“What are you talking about?”

“When we came here, she laughed over what happened with you at the Crash. Laughed, Michael. She wasn’t on your side” She exclaims.

He looks down at his food.

“I was always by your side. I was there when we saw all the numbers go down. Where was she? Here, probably cursing you and blaming you for everything that happened”

“It was my-”

“No, it wasn’t. We’ve talked about this. The warning that your cousin gave to you to pull out could’ve been just a false warning, you did what was right-”

“I don’t get where you’re going with this.” Michael interrupts.

He looks back up.

“She is not your fiancée, Michael. I am. I get it that she was in your past, for whatever reason, and that she got hurt. But we came into this country for a reason. Our. Plan. And she made everything stop.”

He stays quiet.

“There shouldn’t be sides for you to pick, Michael. I should be your priority.” She scoffs, “If we’re not here doing anything, then we might as well just leave.”

He stays quiet, again, but this time he shakes his head.

“See? You’re picking to stay here. Again.” She nods. “She’s your priority, Michael. And you should feel disgusted with yourself”

She looks away from him as Michael doesn’t agree or disagree, he just stares blankly at her in silence.

She breathes in deeply and grabs the napkin off her lap.

“I’ll see you back at the hotel. We can talk about this later” She whispers at him.

She rises from her chair and walks away from the table, leaving her dinner not even half eaten and most of her wine still on her glass.

He watches her as she walks away and out of the restaurant, yet his heart doesn’t budge, not even a little. He feels relieved as she walks away, but this new conversation is still difficult for him to process.

There is something stopping him.

Stopping him from disagreeing with her words. Something that is keeping his mind clogged in these situations. Something that whenever close, it makes his heart speed up and question his loyalty. As horrible as that sounds.

He knows what, or rather who, that something is. He doesn’t want to admit it, but it’s there.

And everything is coming back with it. Whether he likes it or not.

Taglist: @ohhersheybars @woodland-mist @onlythechicagoway @soleil-dor @finn-shelbys-bulldog @oh-theres-a-woman @peakyxtommy @ms-reader @beautycinders @lovemissyhoneybee @graceedwards @jadesbabylon @marvelismylifffe @a-dorky-book-keeper @peakascum @shanetoo @hufflemendes @cherrytop02 @http-cherries @burnitup @livingforbarnes @iccyyyybitch @ravennaofasgard @carezzesuigraffi @fernweh-fangirl @hufflepeople @huskyhunny @desertgremlin @fireawayxx @lemur46 @sugarcoated-lame @i-sneeze-to-appease @gabytodd​ @cococola-cocaine​

If you’d like to be apart of the taglist, let me know.

Hope you enjoyed this! If would like to make any questions about the characters or when the next part will be available. My ask box is always open.

[peepeepotter]

Hogwarts: New Girl AU

A/N: Warning, some canonical changes were made for plot reasons, the biggest being: Harry and Ginny never dated; Harry, Neville, and Draco are all professors; George has a new WWW store in Hogsmeade. Also, she starts off living with the four guys whereas in New Girl she only lived with all four for about a season. I just thought it would be fun!! Also, when I wrote this it felt a lot longer than it ended up being—so let me know if this is too long or too short or just right!! P.S.: I do NOT condone transphobia (I’m LGBT and will defend trans people until the day I die) and obviously I feel JKR is a shitty person, I write because I like writing and we’ll all agree that 5 year old Daniel Radcliffe wrote the HP series :)

Chapter 1: Who’s That Girl?

Pairing: George x Female Reader

Warnings: Cursing

Words: 3k

Series Masterlist

-

“So, you know in horror movies when the girls are like "Oh my god, there's something in the basement. Let me just run down there in my underwear and see what's going on in the dark", and you're like "What is your problem? Call the aurors!", and she's like "Okay" but it's too late because she's already getting avada kedavra’d. Well, my story's kind of like that.” y/n said, remembering the borderline traumatic moment that happened two weeks ago.

-

Y/N sat in the back of a muggle taxi, on her way to her shared apartment with her boyfriend Cormac McLaggen. Only, incredibly uncomfortably, she was completely naked under a trench coat.

“It’s a surprise for Cormac. I’m just gonna walk in and drop my coat, like BAM. There it all is. He said he has this fantasy that I’m a veela with a heart of gold.” Y/N attempted to whisper into the phone speaker.

“You added the ‘heart of gold’ thing, didn’t you?” Ginny asked, chuckling and knowing full well that McLaggen wasn’t exactly a thoughtful person, and wouldn’t have included that in a sexual fantasy.

“Yeah. I wanted to really get into the character, you know?” Y/N tried to get into the fantasy more, hoping it would make her less uncomfortable.

“Oh really? What’s your veela name?”

“Uh...Fleur?”

“That ones taken, Y/N.”

“Whatever, I don’t need a veela name.”

“Either way, I’m so proud of you for getting out of your comfort zone! Good luck babe.” Ginny encouraged.

As Y/N walked into the apartment, she was trying to position herself sexily in the living room. She laid on her side on the couch. Too cliché. She propped herself on the back of the couch. Too masculine. Eventually Cormac entered the living room from the bedroom wearing only his boxers, making Y/N panic about the fantasy.

“Y/N! You’re back early! I wasn’t expecting you—“

Y/N dropped the trench coat. Immediately after a girl, Pansy Parkinson she recognized, followed McLaggen out of the bedroom. Their bedroom. And she was only wearing her underwear.

“Oh.”

-

“So that’s what happened and why I really need a new place to live. Anyway...what was the question?” Y/N smiled at the four men in front of her. They all looked traumatized by her story.

“Um, do you have any pets?” George asked.

“Oh, no I don’t. Sorry,” She chuckled awkwardly.

“You know what’s funny? When I saw your ad on DumbledoresList I thought you were women.” Y/N laughed. “Crazy, right?”

“Hold up, why would you think that?” Draco spoke before the other two could.

“Just some of the vocabulary used. Like sun-soaked and exposed brick daydream.”

“Draco you wrote exposed brick daydream? Oh my god,” George was nearly in tears with laughter, Harry and Neville following quickly. “Jar, right now, dude.”

“Yeah, jar, seriously. Five galleons.” Harry agreed, pointing to a jar on the mantle of he fireplace with a neon green post-it note labeled “Prick Jar.”

Draco rolled his eyes, getting up and putting the galleons in the jar.

Y/N coughed, trying to refocus the attention. “Look, I really like this apartment. I also really don’t want to live with my friend anymore. She’s a quidditch player...all her friends and roommates are quidditch players. They get into some real weird shit.” Y/N felt like she was pleading with them. Just let me stay here!

“Look I still don’t feel like we know enough—” George was interrupted by Draco.

“Oh, quidditch players? When can you move in?” Y/N grinned, hoping the promise of these three men meeting hot quidditch players would help.

“No, no, loft meeting. Bathroom.” Harry ordered, leading the way down the long hall to the bathroom at the end. When Y/N heard the door shut she quickly and silently followed, eavesdropping on the conversation.

“Come ON guys, she’s friends with quidditch players. Next to veela’s and the girls at Beauxbaton, that’s like the hottest girls in existence.” Draco begged the other two.

“The fact that you’re a professor now and you said that is like...incredibly disturbing.” Harry glared at Draco, George and Neville shaking their heads.

“Yeah, and my sister is a quidditch player so I don’t know about that.” George shuddered.

“I’m not going to lie to you guys, I don’t want a girl living here. Sometimes, I get home from a long day of teaching and I just want to strip and lay on the couch. Let the boys chill.” Harry casually shared. Y/N gagged at the thought, but the other three men in the bathroom made noises of agreement, or at least understandment of his statement.

“I am...actually neutral on this one.” Neville shrugged, causing Draco to scoff.

“You would be neutral on this.” Draco rolled his eyes, but directed his attention toward their fourth roommate. “Alright George, tie-breaker. It’s up to you. Is she in or out?”

“You guys know I don’t do well under pressure like this. Just give me a minute let me think.”

Both Harry and Draco started arguing with each other, putting George under more pressure to make a decision. He slowly backed himself into the stall in the bathroom and locked it. Neville watched everything play out, arms crossed with a smile on his face.

“Oh, now look what you’ve done!” Draco said, gesturing to the hiding George.

“What I’ve done! You started it—” Harry replied.

“Whatever, executive decision—she’s in.” Draco announced.

“YAY! I’m in!” Y/N exclaimed, not able to contain her excitement on the other side of the bathroom door. Draco opened the bathroom door.

“Nobody decided putting a silencing charm on the door would be a good idea?” Harry asked the boys in the bathroom.

“Oh you guys have a stall and urinals? Like a public bathroom? Okay, yeah I guess I can get used to that.” Y/N said, looking around the bathroom that reminded her a little too much of the bathrooms at Hogwarts.

“What do you do for a living anyway? Why do you want to live out here in Hogsmeade?” Draco asked as the group of five made their way back to the living room.

“I just became a professor at Hogwarts! I spent a really long time in both the muggle world and the magical world studying creatures. So, I’m taking over for Hagrid.” Y/N smiled, very excited to be doing her two favorite things in the world: working with animals, and teaching bright young minds.

“Oh, Harry, Neville and I are professors at Hogwarts too. I teach potions, Neville teaches herbology, and Harry teaches...Harry what fucking subject do you teach?” Draco crooked an eyebrow at Harry, purposely acting like he didn’t know what Harry taught.

“Defense against the dark arts.” Harry glared at Draco. “And George here just opened a new Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes shop in Hogsmeade.” Harry said, clapping George’s back. George sheepishly smiled at Y/N.

“Oh that’s awesome! I loved pranks at Ilvermorny. Cormac hated pranks.” Y/N started to tear up, staring off into space.

“George gets it, he was dumped, too.” Draco took his turn to clap his hand on George’s back this time.

“Yeah. Dumped,” George scoffed.

-

“George I just can’t do this anymore!” Angelina pleaded with George as he covered his ears, despite only the one really working.

“LALALA I CAN’T HEAR YOU! WE CAN’T BREAK UP IF I CAN’T HEAR YOU!” George yelled.

-

“Yeah, I was dumped.” George shrugged. “What about it? It was like eight months ago Draco! Move past it. Pfft, dumped.” George got very heated over...seemingly very little, Y/N noticed.

“Ignore him, he’s still fragile. Which, you aren’t too fragile, right?” Draco asked.

“Pfft. I’m so tough. Don’t even worry about it.”

-

“We’ll always have Paris. We didn’t have, we, we lost it until you came to Casablanca. We got it back last night. … And you never will. But I’ve got a job to do, too. Where I’m going, you can’t follow. What I’ve got to do, you can’t be any part of.” Y/N was screaming the words of the monologue from Humphrey Bogart in Casablanca at the television, the four men staring at her from the kitchen.

“Feel like we’ve made a mistake yet?” Harry asked Draco, who rolled his eyes and approached Y/N.

“Y/N, stop.” Draco turned the television off. “C’mon, you can’t be like this! You’re a strong woman! Strong women don’t cry over men who clearly didn’t deserve them in the first place! Strong women go out and hook up with strangers in the bar in Hogsmeade to get over their ain’t-shit exes.” Draco pulled Y/N up from off the couch. “Go take a shower. We’re going to the Three Broomsticks tonight and you’re hooking up with someone.” Draco pushed her in the direction of the bathroom.

“And that gentleman is how you take care of a crying woman. Not that any of you know how to handle women at all.” Draco snipped at the three men, who—to be fair—did not know how to deal with women at all.

-

At the Three Broomsticks, the four men watched Y/N absolutely fail at flirting with any even remotely viable man in the bar. Eventually Draco called her back over to the booth where the four men drank and talked about their days.

“Honey, you’ve got to stop doing whatever it is you were doing out there. In fact, you’re going to stop doing anything. You are going to go sit at the bar and look pretty until a man approaches you, and then you are going to smile and nod and agree to go out with him.” Draco nagged. The three other men were chuckling quietly as Y/N trudged to the bar, hoping for men to approach her.

“Anyway, what is this shit we’re chaperoning on Friday night?” Draco turned to Neville and Harry, hoping one of the two would know.

“I think it’s a school dance but like...not fun for the kids at all. Like I don’t think there’s actually any dancing at all.” Harry summed, confused as well. None of them had ever been to muggle high school, and did not understand what a “homecoming” dance was. The Muggle Studies professor suggested it might be fun for the first Friday back to school, and McGonagall agreed as long as the kids didn’t have too much contact on the dance floor. The Muggle Studies teacher explained to the three men that it was “middle school rules, no touching below the shoulders, room for Merlin in the middle.” if dancing were to be allowed. Neville, Harry, and Draco were clueless as to what that meant.

“Glad I won’t be in on that shit show.” George laughed, taking a sip of his drink.

“We actually signed you up.” Draco said nonchalantly, drinking his beer. George spat his beer out violently.

“Excuse me? I have to spend my Friday night watching a bunch of kids...do what? Drink butterbeer and sit on opposite ends of a room?!” George was clearly pissed off, wanting to have done literally anything else with his Friday night.

“I mean, you’ll see your brother.” Harry offered, which actually eased George’s tensions a bit. He smiled, missing his family.

“Oh, alright. Harry, you charmer, you always know how to get me.” George winked at Harry who waved him off.

“How are things going with you and uh...Loony?” Draco asked Neville. The three other men rolled their eyes, annoyed at how Draco still seemed to live in his own little world.

“Luna. And things are going...they’re going.” Neville shrugged, clueless to his own love life.

“Just as expected, he doesn’t know anything.” Draco shook his head at George and Harry, as if Neville’s cluelessness was their fault.

“Are you blaming—” Before Harry could finish accusing Draco of exactly what Draco was doing, Y/N came back from the bar, squealing about getting a date.

“What did you do?” Draco asked, smirking, just knowing he was right.

“I did what you said! I just smiled and nodded and said I wanted to hookup and he gave me his number and now we’re going out Friday night!” Y/N jumped up and down in tiny jumps, starting to fist-pump.

“This American is so weird sometimes.” Harry whispered.

“It’s endearing, I think.” Neville commented.

“Naive, maybe.” George rolled his eyes, the only one who seemed to notice that she blatantly told the man she would have sex with him.

-

When the night of her date rolled around, the four men found themselves with an unexpected floo guest.

“Ginny, what are you doing—” George stood.

“Who told her it was a good idea to get back out there again? That’s not your job, that’s my job. I’m her best friend, you guys are just some weird adult men living together. No offense brother, dear.” Ginny was in the living room, pointing an accusing finger at the men sat on the couch while Y/N was in her bedroom getting ready. Ginny was clearly ready to go out clubbing for the night, and was dressed in a short dress and very tall heels.

“None taken.” George rolled his eyes, plopping himself back on the couch.

“Now I’m going to go handle the mess you all created, thank you very much.” Ginny glared, walking over to Y/N’s room and walking in.

Y/N laid on the ground surrounded by clothes. Her hair and makeup was clearly done, but she seemed stumped on what to wear. She was currently wearing a witch hat, a crop top, sweatpants, and cowgirl boots.

“Y/N,” Ginny sighed. “What were you going for with this?” Ginny gestured up and down Y/N’s body.

“Witchy space cowgirl.” Y/N shrugged. “It seems like something you’d find in a porn anyway—”

“Here, let’s find you clothes that will actually get you laid.”

After about half an hour, Ginny emerged from Y/N’s room first, dressed in a crop top and sweatpants.

“Now presenting, the new but not improved, still absolutely perfect Y/N.” Ginny gestured towards Y/N’s bedroom, where Y/N emerged. She was wearing the short black sleeveless dress and tall heels Ginny had been wearing when she emerged from the floo. Draco let out a whistle, Harry and Neville started clapping, and George was sat, stunned. Well, until Y/N started fist pumping again, then they all started booing her.

“Don’t let me keep you guys, I know you have plans with a bunch of 11 to 17 year olds tonight.” Y/N giggled, watching as the men stood up at the reminder.

“Don’t worry, we’d rather be anywhere else. Even here watching your weird dancing.” Draco puffed, the other men agreeing.

-

“So yeah, that’s how we got a new roommate.” George explained to Fred, who’s hazy, ghostly form nodded.

“Believe it or not, I actually know her. I was her first friend here.” Fred grinned, pointing to himself. George wasn’t surprised. Ever since Fred died and became a ghost, Fred frequently felt lonely, and George knew that. Besides Peeves, he really didn’t have many friends. He couldn’t interrupt teachers while they were teaching, but since Care for Magical Creatures was not a required class, Y/N had a lot of free time. They bonded over pranks, baked goods, and George. “She’s so cute! You totally would’ve dated her a decade ago.” Fred teased his younger twin.

“Yeah, well, things change I guess.” George felt his phone vibrating in his pocket, and looked at the caller ID to find it as Madam Puddifoot’s store number. “One second.” He told his brother. “Madam Puddifoot?” George asked.

“George dearie, your friend Y/N here was stood up by her date. I figured someone should know, she’s in my shop crying and I have to close in,” she paused, clearly checking the time. “In a half hour. Do you think you could help?” George stood, already walking towards the school’s exit.

-

“Oh hello there.” Y/N sniffled, eyes red and puffy as she looked up to see George taking a seat in front of her. “Don’t you have a school dance you’re supposed to be chaperoning.” She furrowed her eyebrows, pointing a finger at him. She meant for it to be accusatory, but with red puffy eyes, George mostly found it (as Neville said) endearing.

“Some things are more important than watching boys and girls stand on opposite ends of a room.” He shrugged, reaching across the table and grabbing his friends hand. “Listen, real men don’t treat women the way you’ve been treated the past few weeks. I’m sorry you’re going through this. If it makes you feel better, sometimes I still call my ex and leave voicemails in a country accent.” George offered, making Y/N giggled, wiping lone tears.

“Well, you can always call me and talk to me in a country accent instead.” She shrugged, in an attempt to help him the way he’s come to help her. “Do you want to go home and watch—”

“Literally anything other than Casablanca, okay? I will watch whatever sad chick flick you want, but you have watched Casablanca like twenty times this week.” George puffed, standing up and reaching his hand out for Y/N. “Let’s go home and get drunk and cry.” He smiled. Y/N grinned, grabbing his hand and letting him walk her out of the shop. She was still embarrassed, but her heart felt a lot better knowing someone came to help her out of this feeling. She’d never admit it to George, but it was probably the nicest thing anyone had ever done for her.

-

When Draco, Neville, and Harry returned home, their suit jackets thrown over their shoulders and looking rather tired from dealing with teenagers all night, they found quite the sight for their sore eyes. George and Y/N were stood in front of the TV, clearly drunk, singing along to Heath Ledger’s character serenading Julia Stiles character in 10 Things I Hate About You. Draco, Neville, and Harry all looked at each other, shrugging. They dropped their suit coats and joined in, feeding the fire that was drunken George and Y/N.

And that was the end to Y/N’s first week in the loft above the Weasley’s Wizards Wheezes store in Hogsmeade.

Taglist: @yllwtaxi @ememseay

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[lovely-necromancy]

A Cure for Insomnia CH. 10

Even with the fatigue you felt after your laughing tic, you couldn't go to sleep at all last night. Which isn't a big deal, after all you are a chronic insomniac who has had an on off sleep schedule this week.

After twelve fifty-two hit and you still weren't tired or even close to doing your tired tics you did the only thing you could think to do on this technical Saturday morning. You started on your weekly tidy of the house. Bless whatever powers at be that you ended up in this cottage outside of town rather than an apartment unit surrounded by neighbors. The amount of complaints you would've gotten would have surely gotten you evicted.

It's not like you could stop this behavior, well you could but if you start doing nothing when you have spurts of insomnia you'll get lazier when you need to be productive. Banking on the fact that you'll just do it when you have insomnia. It happened all the time when you were in school, and while that worked for a while it wasn't a healthy way to cope with your sleep disorder.

You've found doing productive things or anything you would do when the sun was up typically helps you regulate you circadian rhythm faster than it ever did when you just laid in bed praying for sleep to take you.

It isn't at all surprising when you finish your chores around two forty that morning. With nothing better to do and not being at all in the mood to do any attempt at art or reading. You decide to settle in to watch a movie. It starts with scrolling through Netflix and seeing Coraline, then that turns into Paranorman, which turned into Corpse Bride, several episodes of the old Twilight Zone.

By the time you were finished with the fourth episode it was already one in the afternoon. You really needed to start baking if you wanted fresh cookies for the movie tonight. Setting up your monster movie hard drive to play a movie for background noise you set out on baking.

It's a super simple recipe you started using back in high school but it's always a hit at parties. Maybe it's because you fold candies, chocolates, nuts, or whatever topping into each cookie individually. You can't say for sure but everyone loves them, and you think that's nice.

Creaming butter while the sounds of a woman screaming in agony as a zombie eats her lower intestine seems very much on point for you. However, you soon find yourself drowning out the movie as you hyper focus on the mixing of ingredients. You tripled the recipe, hoping to make a mixture of mini sugar cookies, mini chocolate chip cookies, and mini mini M&M cookies. If you had thought about it more you might have grabbed a jar of maraschino cherries to add them to the mix. Although you think three batches of mini cookies might be a little excessive so four may have been overkill.

'Oh well, no turning back now.' you think preheating the oven for four hundred degrees and roll tiny half inch dough balls while you wait.

After about fifteen minutes you assume the oven is hot enough to start baking. You line the first tray up all with sugar cookies. You only get two thirds of the bowl down on that tray. It was your biggest one too. Setting a timer for ten minutes so you could turn the cookies to let them bake for another three after that, you turn your attention to folding a handful of chocolate chips into the next bowl's dough balls. Placing the new chocolate chip dough into the bowl holding the rest of the sugar cookie dough as you go. You nearly finish that when the timer goes off to spin the tray. Honestly at this rate all your dough will be ready before you even have one bowl down. You hope you can finish baking in time for the movie.

It's five o' two by the time you put the last batch in the oven. You've been cleaning as the cookies baked and now your kitchen is nearly clean once more. Just a few more dishes to do after that batch comes out and you pack up the cookies.

Letting the most recent batch have a chance to cool you start placing all the cookies in your three largest containers. You'll need to grab a fourth container for the last of the cookies, but all the cool cookies are now ready for transport.

And with how early in the evening it is you should eat something now so you can have some room for snacks later. Time to finish off that pizza. Taking a slice out to the bins and placing it neatly on the ground for Chonk, whenever it is he decides to come and claim it, you turn back around to finish baking and get your dinner. After pulling the cookies out and setting them to cool you reheat your dinner for tonight.

Sitting down, plate in hand, you're just able to catch the shift into the next movie. Teen Wolf 1985 starring Micheal J. Foxx. Not a scary movie by any means but you keep it in the storage drive for rainy days. And even though today isn't raining you think it'll be a good watch.

You can not believe how utterly painful that was to have just watched. It was so average that it might as well not had the werewolf aspect at all! The acting was average, makeup was ok for the time, but the writing was just the worst. And the ending basket ball scene? It felt like a cheesy early 2000s Disney Channel original movie. You're pretty sure if you combined several Disney movies you'd have that exact plot. Hell Don't Look Under the Bed was scarier than that, and it was a better story too.

Checking the time you see you have about the average length of a Disney Channel movie before you have to leave. Good because you really want to watch Don't Look Under the Bed now. Switching over to your Disney+ account you find said movie and rush to put everything up as it runs through the beginning credits. With cookies packed away and the containers stacked and ready you plop back on your couch to immerse yourself in the early 2000s “horror”.

Just as the hand comes from under the bench to caress Fran a knock rings through your home, effectively startling you. Your eyes shift over to your front door, it's nearly eight thirty on a Saturday who or what is all this far out? Getting up from the couch you make your way over to your door, unlike every horror movie you have your phone and contacts pulled up and ready to dial. Phone behind your back and thumb hovering over Hollis' contact you open the door. Where three figures greet you.

Tim stands in front of the other two, dressed in dark jeans a gray tank top and red flannel with the sleeves rolled up past his elbows. Brian stands behind him and to his right, he's wearing regular jeans and an olive v-neck. Jesus fucking Christ is it 2012 and no one told you? Toby off to Tim's left is in black jeans a black t-shirt with a green short sleeve button up that has a little alien head pattern. Well, they don't look like they're here to murder you with an ax, so you move the hand from behind your back and let it rest by your side.

Missing the two tense gazes as you move the appendage.

“...Um, hi?” what would normal people do in this situation? Was this even a normal situation to find yourself in, what with three men you've just met at your front door.

Tim seems to be looking for his words, he must be out of his element as well. On the other hand Brian seems content to let Tim flounder around for a bit, all the while Toby wrings his hands together. You can't tell if it's from nerves or his tics.

“Hey..uh, so you mentioned Saturday Dead. But we're new so..and we..” Tim is even worse with human interaction than you are.

“We were wondering if 'stop it' if you wanted to ride with us and give us directions.”

Oh that makes sense.

“Yea sure thing, c'mon in. I'll go get ready.”  You give the men some space to enter your home. Then lead them to your living room,

“Make yourselves comfy.” you say as you leave them to change.

Once in your room you lock the door, although you believe you have a good reading on Toby to not be the type you can't be too safe around new men.  You opt to change into the first shirt you grab from your closet, black t-shirt with several flatwoods monsters on it along with the phrase 'squad goals' and a pair a black joggers. Perfectly comfy for a chill movie night at the crypt.

“That was fast.” is the first thing you hear when you reenter the living room.

Toby had no problems making himself comfortable in your home, since he is sitting on the couch, seemingly watching the movie with your fidget cube in hand. Brian and Tim, on the other hand, were leaning on the wall separating the living room and kitchen.

“What d'you mean?” you asked Tim confused, tilting your head to the side.

“Well, uh” he seems embarrassed by this for some reason, “women normally take a long time changing is all.” Ooooooh now you get it he's a misogynist.

The room goes quiet with Tim's stupid opinion. Toby ceases all fidgeting, Brian however looks as though he's a cat that caught a canary. He must enjoy the pain and embarrassment of others, the dick.

“Mmmh I don't think that's true,” you'll let this one slide but Tim's on thin ice, “Anyway I'm not a woman. I'm trans agender.” Tim has the decency to look embarrassed for stuffing his foot into his mouth. But it isn't really his fault you never mentioned your pronouns or lack of gender to him, and you mix and match your masculine and feminine days. Understandably you won't blame him for not knowing your pronouns but that misogynistic comment will still be marked as a red flag.

“I am so sorry.” and he truly does sound sorry for the slip up.

You shake your head and shoo away his apology, “It's good, you didn't know.”

“We ready to go?” you ask looking around the room. Tim and Toby nod, the younger man moving off the couch to stand with you all when Brian speaks up.

“Actually, Toby don't you have to use the restroom?” Said man pauses on his way over to your little group, “No.” voice laced with confusion and irritation.

Tim jumps in with a stern, “I really think you should.” Toby cuts his eyes at Tim and Brian.

As weird as it is for one grown man to tell another to go to the bathroom, let alone two grown men, you quickly remember Toby's CIPA.

“Dude the drive itself is gonna be nearly an hour plus the two hour movie. The Cryptonomica only has one bathroom and like thirty people will be there tonight.” You assumed you'd also get a glare for insisting on the matter. But you only get Toby's furrowed brow in response and he looks uncomfortable right now, not intimidating. He's probably embarrassed that his new acquaintance...friend? Is also present for the topic of his bathroom habits.

With another glare to Tim and Brian, Toby pushes past you and down the hallway. Normally this would leave you in an awkward situation but thankfully you have escape tasks!

Marching over to the entertainment center you turn off the TV. Spotting your fidget cube on the table where Toby left it, you decide to pocket it just in case he'd want to use it for the movie.

A loud thud startles you and you look up to see Tim picking up a few books that fell from the bookshelf.

'Weird...' you think as you watch him place them back onto the shelf they fell from.

“A...sorry.” as he places them back you notice one side of the shelf is tilted downwards. It must've just lost that little nub that holds the shelf up in that corner. You probably have a few spares floating around in one of your trinket holders.

You give Tim a small 'it's fine' as you pass him on your way to the kitchen. Cookies all set on the counter you go over to your fridge and grab the popcorn bag off the top. Opening the fridge and retrieving the Surge for Kirby you are all set on your snacks for tonight.

Placing the Surge and popcorn on top of your cookie containers you go back to the living room to join the boys in waiting for Toby. Who is already coming out of the bathroom, drying his hands on his jeans....He knows you had a towel for that right?

“We should be good to leave now.” Brian says turning from Toby to you.

“Ok yea, after you guys.” you side stepped  back into the kitchen doorway to let the men pass you.

“Want some help?” Toby asked as he walked closer. And as much as you wanted to say no you had it, you really didn't want to drop the Surge and have a big mess everywhere.

Nodding to him, thinking he was just going to take the things at the top or even the top container with them. Toby reaches out and barely brushes your hands at the bottom before taking the entire load into his own arms.

It felt like someone rubbed sandpaper across your knuckles and fingers where his hands touched. The burning sensation persisted even long after his hands had moved away.

It's the first time you've gotten bad vibes from Toby's touch. He's probably in a bad mood, his touch hasn't held much intention before but this hurts. Or you could totally be reading too much into this with too little sleep and you just aren't having a tactile day. You never have tactile days really just small windows where if someone is lucky they can squeeze a pat on the shoulder or a high five out of you.

“Hey, that's not helping.” you call out following the men out of your home.

“It's not?” he asks, “Then what is it?” why's he have to sound so smug about this.

“Condescending.” Toby blinks in surprise at the no nonsense tone of your voice.

You weren't harsh with your words...at least you don't think so. You were just stern in how you said them, wanting to get your point across.

Turning from the men you lock your door and check twice to make sure. When you turn back to face them you grab the top two containers of cookies, and subsequently the popcorn and Surge laying atop it, from Toby.

“This is helping. I could do this much at least.” Toby nods dumbly as you pass them and make your way to the cars.

“We can take ours, we'll drive you back.” Tim says unlocking their little sedan.

That seems fine, after all if you ended up wanting to stay later Kirby would totally let you crash on the couch in the basement and take you home in the morning. Or whenever he woke up tomorrow. And that way you wouldn't be keeping the boys too late. It is their first Saturday Night Dead and first time meeting most of the young adults in town. The night was bound to get draining.

You agree and hop into the back seat on the driver's side, Toby sliding in from the opposite side, leaving Brian to take the passenger seat and Tim to drive. You and Toby place the cookies in the middle seat and you thank him for his help. He quickly nods and looks out the window, knee starting to bounce slightly.

“Where am I going?” Tim asked as you all got buckled in.

“Ok, so we can either drive all the way through town or drive through the forest and across the river.”

“Which is faster?” Brian chimes in as Tim bristles.

“Forest.” You do catch Tim's reflection rolling his eyes at your reply.

To be fair with this group you wouldn't chance getting stuck in the forest on your way to a horror movie night. Like that's kind of a horror movie cliché right there. You and Toby are young enough that you're sure someone would mistake you two for late teens, in fact you know it's happened to you several times in the past week alone. While you're fine going into the forest at night by yourself it's only because horror movies don't center around one person dying in a forest by some ancient entity.

'But they do start that way.' that thought almost makes you want to cut back on your nightly hikes, unfortunately you have no other coping mechanisms for your insomnia other than hiking or driving. So you'll ignore that thought for now.

The car is quiet as everyone waits for someone to respond. Toby's knee bouncing is more obvious as it begins to jostle the car. He's also staring down at his hands, still red from his picking yesterday, wringing them together. Clearly the stationary car is getting to him, he breaks the silence.

“Will someone fucking say something?”

“Sorry,” you say gently to him, “Yea we can just go through town. Tim do you know where Whistle's Auto is?”

“Uh yea,” you catch his quick glance towards Toby in the rear view mirror.

“Cool just head in that direction and keep on Highland Street.”

That's all you had to say before Tim was shifting gears and driving off. You notice quickly that he's a faster driver than Toby was. It's yet to be seen if that should make you uneasy, you'll have to see how well he breaks.

When you guys had made it through town and Tim came to a stop in front of a sign proudly stating 'Welcome to the Cryptonomica' they were understandably concerned by the lack of a building or any other cars. You get out of the car and grab two of the cookie containers, when you made a grab for the other two and the snacks on top Toby kept them out of your reach and exited the car as well.

“So where is...everything?”

“Oh we have to hike. The shop's further in the forest.” you say as you walk on past Tim.

“You said people were gonna be here.” Brian chimes in.

Right this now looks like you have dragged them to a parking lot in the middle of no where in a small town that they don't really know people in. Great going YN. Way to look like the bait for a weird cult looking for sacrifices.

“Yea the Hornets. They're the local “biker” gang.” the stunt group probably had the dirt bikes out today, it was nice enough for it.

Understandably the men hesitated before following you. Toby was the one who quickly caught up with you, perks of longer legs, and matched your speed to the shop. It didn't even take five minutes before you saw the shop and a few Hornets out front smoking or just plain loitering.

A chorus of “YN!” “Hey we missed you last week.” “Yo, did you hear..” rang through as you greeted the group. Upon seeing the containers of cookies the chorus was replaced with cheers and you were given excited praise as they made way for the four of you to be let in. So embarrassing, you flush under the praise getting a little energy boost from it as well. Your mood however changes when you lock eyes with the person running the booth tonight. Keith Warren, second in command and assistant manager of the Hornets. Despite having no beef and all the same friends you two have never clicked. It's almost your thing to be completely rude to each other when you do interact.

“Warren.”

“LN” his disdain is clear too, “Ten dollars bucket.” he hadn't even looked at you the jerk!

“Forty tonight, brought friends.” you placed the containers you had on the table as you dug the money from your wallet to pay for you all.

Keith does look up at that, literally the only time more locals come in is during Halloween when they want to get into the spooky season. So he's surprised to see three new faces attending Saturday Night Dead.

“Hey there, name's Keith.” you roll your eyes as he introduces himself to the group, you'll just slip away now since you already paid.

“Rude!” Kieth calls out, “Small talk!” you respond. You vaguely hear the rest of the introductions and Keith waving off the guys when they try to pay again. Oh maybe you should have actually told them you'd pay for their tickets, you thought it was obvious you invited them and they even drove you here. It's just polite that you cover their tickets this week.

Soon Toby is back by your side, you have a feeling you won't be able to loose him tonight if you tried, as you walk through the shop and towards the trap door in the back. The trap door that leads to the panic room converted into movie theater on Saturdays. Once you get down you bee line for the table in the back that is already half filled with snacks and some sodas. With Toby still following you he copies your moves of opening the containers and placing them on the table. You take the Surge and popcorn away from Toby, throwing the popcorn over in the direction of your corner seat and bring the Surge over to the man working on the white screen set up.

“Present.” Kirby pays no mind to you as he struggles with the screen. So you wait silently for him to just kick the thing and move on. Like clockwork Kirby kicks the bottom cover and the rest unravels perfectly.

“I need to replace this.” he says, just like he does every week.

“Oooh thank you.” he grabs the battery acid marketed as a beverage and spirits off. Weird guy.

“That's Kirby, he runs this place. Normally very chill but between the Picnic and movie night he ….just needs a break.” it's the nicest way you can put it. Toby just nods and scans the room wringing his hands together uncomfortably. You've noticed he hasn't ticced once since leaving the car, maybe he's suppressing them despite how anxious he clearly is.

Doing your own scan of the room you see that Tim and Brian haven't made their way in yet, Keith probably talking their ears off. Better them than you, you suppose. You're about to ask Toby if he wants to find them when the local power couple walks in.

“Party starting soon my dudes sit tight!” Jake announces as he and Hollis walk in to take their usual seats.

“Op spoke too soon babe, YN's here.” Hollis let out a chuckle when you rolled your eyes.

“Came without a soap box, hope cookies are suitable.”

And both are already grabbing a few of your mini cookies before they've even sat down. You really are glad you made them. Remembering Toby's with you, you introduce him to your friends.

“Tobais these are my friends Jake,” the blonde smiles warmly, “and Hollis.” They cover their mouth and toss a peace sign up as their mouth is still full. “And this is my friend Tobais.” he raises a hand to greet them.

“Hey, you're the new guy over at Auto right? You fixed Katrina's bike up quicker than Lewis ever does.” When Toby nods Hollis continues, “Man she's been saying how much smoother it rides now. Think I can stop by this week and get you to take a look at mine?”

“Yea, that should be fine.” and with that the two began to talk shop, literally. They just started talking about Hollis' bike. Normally all the Hornets do their own maintenance on their bikes but their motorcycles still need inspections and what not. This is really working out for you, your friends all getting along.

Thankfully it seems the topic calms Toby down a little, and you can see a head twitch or two make it's appearance as the two speak. Hollis being the chill person they are, and being used to your own brand of tics, makes no comment or acknowledgment of his tics.

Jake pulls you into a conversation about plans for a hang out at H2Woah that was fun, later after all the picnicing was done. Said he wanted to try surfing in the wave pool, you aren't sure about it but you agreed you'd teach him at least the basics of surfing if he taught you how to snow board. Didn't take much for the deal to be sealed.

Tim and Brian finally made their way down to the basement and you raised a hand so they could find you and Toby. Really it wouldn't have been too difficult but with everyone starting to pack in you didn't want anyone to be out of the group. Introductions had been made and everyone took to their seats.

You were already in the corner opening your popcorn when Toby sat down on your left blocking you from the rest of the room. Thinking on it if Toby wanted to eat he'd probably be too self conscious of his scar to take his mask off.

“Hey...actually would you mind if we switched?” he just gave you a lazy look before standing up and letting you scoot into his previous spot before sitting down in your spot. This way you could in theory block the view of his scar later.

You notice how his eyes dart in the room, despite Brian and Tim being just behind you two Toby still seemed on edge in the space. He has looked a bit uncomfortable all night, maybe that's why he was sticking to your side. You're way less outgoing than Brian is and Tim seems content to let him do his own thing. You feel bad, like you pressured him into coming and now he's paying for it. Toby looks a few minutes away from ripping the skin around his nails off again and you don't want a repeat of that.

“Here.” you whisper as the lights go off, handing Toby the cube from your pocket.

It's a quiet moment between you two as the trailers of the DVD play out and Toby focuses in on the cube. You note how he gravitates to the marble and joystick sides the most, always moving his thumb across each in a counterclockwise motion before reversing for a beat. Counter counter switch counter counter switch counter counter counter switch.

Once he found his rhythm with the toy you see tension leave his shoulders a little. Is he even able to feel the tension in his muscles?

You shift focus to the screen as the opening credits play out. And if you weren't sitting so close to Toby you'd missed the clucking sound coming from him. Knowing he'd get more anxious about his tics in this “quiet” setting you opt to ignore them and focus on the movie. After all the more relaxed he is the less likely he is to tic meaning the less anxious he is and more he can enjoy himself tonight.

About a third of the way through the movie you catch Toby sliding his mask off one ear, letting it shield his scarred cheek, and grabbing a handful of popcorn. You can't hide the giddy grin on your face from the action. To say you were worried about Toby not enjoying tonight was an understatement. But he had to have felt some comfort to slide his mask off in public, right? Your reassurance comes in the form of another handful of popcorn, as Toby pays no mind to you and only to the demon currently dancing on the screen.

With a terrible movie playing and a less anxious friend at your side you settle down a bit more yourself. Barely noticing when your head falls on Toby's shoulder as you slip into unconsciousness.

You wake up to the roaring of Kirby's snores and popcorn in your hair. A typical Sunday morning for you since arriving in Kepler.

[cherry-gemz]

The City by The Bay: Part II

Summary: Fates push you and a handsome and known stranger into each other's paths. His chilvary and good looks make you take a leap into his world and more.

Chapter Summary: You and Keanu get to know each other better.

Word Count: 2100 +/-

Pairing: Keanu Reeves x Y/N (F!Reader)

Rating: PG, fluff

A/N: First time taking a try on a Keanu fic, be nice, please! This little ficlet will have more chapters, hope you enjoy.

Who might be interested: @whiskeyslullabye​ @marissat1998 @aestheticallywinchester​ @fookingbitch​

Last chapter recap:

"Yeah...just around the corner. Did you...did you want to hang out for a bit? I mean, I didn't know if you were headed somewhere before I spilled your drink. What am I thinking? Of course you were off somewhere…"

"Are you always like this?" You giggle as you turn to head to the hall. 

"Like what?" 

"Nevermind, I'll be right back," you reply coyly. "And...I didn't have any plans today...I'd love to hang out."

"Really? Cool," Keanu responds and a grin appears on his face. 

"Yeah, I can't stay very long, however. I have a meeting with a client for lunch," you reply and he looks deflated. 

"Yeah, okay...well..hmmm," he says lost in thought. 

You feel stupid, you can't believe he wants to hang out with you and you're choosing work. You're really kicking yourself for even mentioning it. This opportunity will never happen again. 

"Well, I tell you what," he pipes. "I still owe you a cup of coffee. I happen to make the most amazing cappuccino. How about I start off with that?"

"Sure, that sounds lovely," you smile and his expression changes in a light-heartedness. 

"Great. Great, Y/N, head over to the kitchen after you change your shirt and we can get to know one another better."

You beam and head to the immaculate restroom. It’s very contemporary and the natural light from the ceiling windows are pretty to look at. As you unbutton your blouse you look at yourself in the mirror: you have a goofy grin and you can’t believe in you’re in Keanu’s house. Let alone, changing your shirt and going to hang out with him a bit. This is all surreal. 

You grasp his shirt and give it a sniff, clean. And you quickly put it over your head and leave the room with your blouse and book in your hand. As you turn the corner, you see him fiddling about and admire the open floor planned kitchen. You run your hand across the white, granite counters as he ushers you to have a seat at one of the barstools where you place your bag, the book he offered, and blouse down.

He claps his hands and rubs them as a cheshire cat grin appears on his face. 

"Okay, be ready to be blown away at these magic hands," he waggles his brows and holds out his large hands as you stifle a giggle. 

You'd watch interviews of him and he always seemed so genuine, and while he still does, there's a more childlike, goofiness that melts your heart a little more. You try not fall so quickly, but he really is quite loveable and easy to be around. Much different from the men you're accustomed to in the city. Their grittiness and quick paced talk tends to exhaust you. You're more in your element with one on one, in an intimate setting like today. It's ideal. 

Keanu grins and turns steadfast to the counter by the fridge and beelines to the espresso machine. He grabs a new bottle of water from the upper cabinets and places it in the boiler of the machine. You sit taller and try to peer over. You're never really that fancy with your coffee and it's usually due to the nature of your work and how quickly you need that caffeine fix, but you appreciate the art and look forward to his recipe. 

He continues his task at hand and opens a canister that's unmarked and pours two shots of ground espresso into the portafilter. He turns to you, to make sure you're watching as he plays along as if he's a magician and you're watching his act. 

"Secret recipe," he beams.

"What is it?" You ask inquisitively. 

He holds up his index finger and shakes it, "Na uh. If I gave that away, we could no longer be friends."

"Oh, we're friends are we?" You flirt and he blushes. You got him to blush!

He holds out the tamper he pulled out of the side drawer and presses the coffee three times to ensure it's packed tightly. 

He then places the portafilter into the espresso machine's group head and locks it in place by turning it to the right.

He continues his stride and places the tiny, white cup under the head for about 30 seconds. 

"Voilá!" He exclaims and you clap. He grabs a carton of cream from the fridge and you give him a puzzling look. Even as a chef, you're quite aware of the complexities of cream, so you're curious if this is part of the plan. He pours the cream into a small metal pitcher and inserts the steam wand. 

"Ah! Almost forgot…" he smacks his forehead with his free hand and goes to the cupboard and pulls out a jar. You notice it's sugar and he pinches a good handful in the metal pitcher and continues.

As the milk foams, he starts to pour it atop the cappuccino and walks over to give you the cup. 

"Mmmm, smells amazing. Thank you," you graciously accept the cup and take a sip. An explosion of the dark, roasted bean excited your taste buds. It's most likely hands down the best you've had. 

"Omigosh, Keanu. This is beyond good. I don't think I can ever go back to normal coffee again!" 

"Aw shucks, you'll give me a complex now," he teases. 

"Well if you ever decide to quit acting, I say you'd make a hell of a living doing that. Why, my bookstore would have lines out the door to see Keanu Reeves make them a cappuccino!"

He laughs heartily, "That would be a sight wouldn't it? Ah that's fantastic." 

You bring the cup to your nose as you try to make out the ingredients. You can tell there's a hint of spice and earth, and you take a guess of what he has mixed with the grounds. 

"Is there cocoa powder?" You look directly at him and he bites his lip.

"What are you doing?" He asks and shakes his index finger at you playfully and walks over to you. 

"Trying to figure out this recipe. You don't go tell a chef that it's a secret and expect them to not figure it out. I saw you toss in some sugar for the cream. And even noticed you use cream instead of milk. But I think it's cocoa...maybe even a hint of cinnamon?"

"What are you? Some super chef-dectective?" 

He dabs the frothy cream from your cup and places it on the tip of your nose, making you giggle. He licks his finger off and gives a sly smile.

"Maybe I have a profitable future ahead of me?" You lightly rub off the cream and gaze into his eyes.

"I think so Y/N, I think so." He shyly turns his eyes away and taps the side of the cup as if he's pondering a thought.

"So tell me," you gain confidence in speaking with him. "If you can make such a delicious cappuccino like this one, why were you at Saint Frank's?"

"Hah," he replies as he turns to start his own cup. "Flattery will get you everywhere."

You smile in-between another sip and notice he's flirting back.

"Well?" 

You prod and arch your brow as he leans his back against the counter. His black  shirt hugs his biceps as he crosses his arms, and the blue jeans he pairs it with fit him perfectly. His medium length hair seems to always get in his face, but it's endearing and he swipes away some strands. He's handsome without any effort and you slightly blush as your mind wanders about how his lips would feel against yours. 

"Honestly, I went out for a ride and needed to clear my head. I found myself just being pulled in that general direction and decided I needed a cup of joe," he says as he pours the cream for himself. 

"I guess it was you pulling me in or something,” he adds.

"So then what, it's like fate that we happened to be at the same place at that exact moment? And you happened to bump into me and make me spill my drink, therefore resulting in me jumping on your motorcycle with you. And then visit the home of a mega movie star and try the most fantastic cappuccino?" You laugh and he tilts his head earnestly. 

"What, you don't believe in fate, Y/N?"

"Not exactly," you reply. 

"Why not?" He walks over and sits next to you on the other barstool. 

"I mean, if it wasn't me, it'd be some other woman you'd be inviting over instead."

"No…" he replies as he takes a sip of his drink. "No, I don't think I would."

You both sit in silence for a minute, you sigh and then turn to look outside at the view. 

"I'm sorry, Y/N if I've seen to offend you. I can drive you back if you'd wish…" his voice softens and you can tell you hurt him a little. 

"What? No, Keanu. I'm...I'm sorry," you place your hand on his. His knuckles are worn and rough. He looks down at your hand and a small smile appears. 

"I...I want to be here, really I do. I guess I'm trying to make sense of it all. You're Keanu Reeves. And I'm just me. Why do you want to know me for?"

“Why wouldn’t I want to get to know you, Y/N? I am very glad we met. You're funny and kind... I'd like to get to know you further. Let alone, you're beautiful."

You blush and look away, he's not coming on strong, but could he be sending you signals that he's into you? Did you die and just find yourself in limbo with the angel before you?

"Do you want to go for a drive before I take you back?" He asks as you both notice you haven't lifted your hand on his. You quickly remove it and place it in your lap. 

"Sure, but this time please wear a helmet. I was worried sick thinking if something terrible might happen." 

He softly chuckles, "Of course, I have many in my garage to choose from. Curious though, is it because you care about me, Y/N?"

"Oh believe me, more than you know," you quickly cover your hands over your mouth as you realize what you've said. 

He kicks his lips and tries to brush it off. 

"I'm sorry," you apologize. "I really should use my filter from time to time."

"No need for apologies. Your truthfulness is refreshing."

"Well I have a lot of that. Probably more than I should. I bet you find in your line of work it's difficult to find people you can trust."

"Yeah, I definitely have a close knit of friends through the years. Do you have family here?"

"Yes, born and reared in the Bay," you say with confidence. "I went to culinary school in New York for a minute, however. But there's something about this city that's magical."

"So you believe in magic, but not fate?"

You laugh, "Okay, you got me there."

He finishes off his cappuccino and motions to ask if you're finished, which you nod and hand him your cup. He walks over to the sink and rinses out the cups. It's fascinating to watch him do mundane things like wash dishes. 

"I am beginning to enjoy the city. There is much richness to it and the landmarks are beautiful. I will be honest though, I haven't had much time to explore like I usually like to do when I'm on location." 

He places the cups back in the cupboard and dries his hands with a cream colored terry cloth. 

"You did mention you had a project up here. Mind if I ask what?"

His eyes light up as if he were a kid on Christmas Day expecting all the joys of the morning. 

"Oh well it's not for a movie. I'm not filming yet...least as far as I know. My agent, Meredith keeps me up on that."

"If not a movie, then…?"

"A book," he replies. 

"You're not giving me much here, buddy," you laugh as he joins you. 

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I...it's just something dear to me that I've been working on and haven't really announced anything yet."

"Look, I get it. Don't worry, no pressure, you reply as you start to get up.

"Well it's not that," he gestures a stopping signal with his hand. "I... I really don't know what it's about it. I'm collaborating with a friend of mine, a photographer. And we are in the early stages, that's all."

"Oh well it sounds great," you say enthusiastically. 

"Yeah...I feel good y'know? I feel like I'm doing something different and that I can connect to people on a different level."

"Keanu...the influencer," you say as you raise your hands up in the air as if an imaginary marquee is right before your eyes. 

"Haha, I wouldn't go that far. But, I'll have to keep you posted." 

"Yeah, that would be great," you cringe. Great. Everything is great. Why are you being such a spaz?

He doesn't notice, but he gets quiet again and you don't know what to do next. Silence sometimes makes you feel awkward and now throw in the ridiculously nice and dreamy man in front of you and you're a ball of nerves.

He seems relaxed, however. In tune with himself and surroundings. 

He smiles and holds out his hand, "C'mon. Let's get going on that ride. I'll take you to one of my favorite spots in the house besides the library...the garage. Oh, and don't forget your book."

You nod as you place it in your bag and accept his hand and hope to never let go.

[shijiujun]

tell me baby

A gratuitous sick fic for Inspector Qiao, and he finally eats from the spoon Lu Yao offers him because third time’s the charm - Inspired by this gifset

===

It’s a slow day at the station today with all their leads dried up, but Youning and Lu Yao are investigating outside right now and Chusheng doesn’t doubt that the both of them will turn up with new evidence soon enough, if not have the whole case solved when they return at the end of the day.

There isn’t much to do but to sign some papers and ensure everything is properly documented. When Boss Bai first asked him to be Inspector, Chusheng hadn’t quite thought about the ridiculous amount of paperwork that passes through his hands every single day. 

Still, his tasks for the day don’t take much physical activity, but seated in his chair at his table, it takes everything Chusheng has to concentrate.

His limbs are numb for some reason, and every single movement makes some part of his body ache. It’s not like they’re in the deep of winter or even anywhere near autumn, so there’s no reason for him to be feeling this cold.

Exhaling shakily, he wonders just what the hell is wrong with him today.

Chusheng swallows with difficulty, his throat bobbing with the action. Glancing at the empty mug at the corner of his table, Chusheng is certain he just took a large gulp of water, so why is his throat this parched?

“… Inspector? Inspector Qiao?” asks Ah Dou, who’s standing in front of him with a confused look on his face, “Are you… okay?”

He doesn’t feel okay, but Chusheng doesn’t know why he would feel anything but.

“Hnn,” he makes a noise of assent, clearing his throat with a frown. “Just leave it there, I’ll look at it later.”

He’s finding it a little hard to breathe and with frustration, Chusheng tugs at his tie, loosening it. Ah Dou still hasn’t left, staring at him with his brows furrowed.

“What’re you still doing here?” asks Chusheng, leaning into his chair. “Don’t you have work to do?”

“Yeah but… Inspector, you really don’t look so good,” Ah Dou persists, which is very unlike him. “I think you should go to the hospital if you’re feeling unwell-“

“You’re not usually this nosy,” sighs Chusheng, sounding more tired than reproachful. “I just have a headache. Don’t worry.”

“I’ll get you a cup of warm water then,” Ah Dou says, oddly considerate today, but Chusheng isn’t lying about the headache, and all he wants is to be left alone.

Standing as Ah Dou picks up his mug and starts to walk in the direction of the coffee table where the water flask is, Chusheng begins, “Ah Dou, I don’t need-“

He doesn’t get the chance to finish his sentence because he’s keeling over in the next moment, nearly braining himself on the surface of the table if his hip didn’t strike against its edge first, and he lands in a messy pile on the floor instead. The ceiling slants above him, and gosh, he’s so fucking thirsty-

Someone is calling for him, but he can barely hear anything outside of the ringing in his ears. As dark spots fill his vision, Chusheng thinks maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to skip a trip to the hospital yesterday night after that ambush at the docks.

Right before he slips under, all he remembers is promising Lu Yao that he would pay for five baguettes today.

===

“Are you an idiot? Did you not bring your brains out to work today?” is the first thing he hears when he wakes up.

Disoriented, Chusheng blearily surveys his surroundings, dazed. He’s floating a little and everything seems overly yellow and green, and it feels like he’s been asleep for a little too long. He doesn’t usually sleep in, always up at the crack of dawn to train and keep in shape.

Turning to the side slowly, that’s when Chusheng sees San Tu seated in a chair next… next to his bed.

The man looks displeased, his arms crossed over his chest and looking more petulant than angry, and Chusheng knows he’s in trouble.

If he tells anyone that he, Qiao Chusheng, one of the Eight Martial Arts Masters of Shanghai, is a little cowed by Lu Yao’s frown, they would surely laugh at him.

Memories of how he landed in the hospital resurface in his head. Chusheng looks towards the glass pitcher at the bedside table, and luckily Lu Yao isn’t too angry to ignore him. The man pours him a glass of water, before helping him to sit up a little, fluffing the pillows behind his back as Chusheng drinks slowly but liberally, because he’s really, really thirsty.

“How long have you been doing this?” Lu Yao asks then.

Confused, Chusheng blinks, “Doing what?”

“This is just like that time, when Zhi Qing-ge kidnapped me and you rescued me but refused to tell me!” Lu Yao snaps, and Chusheng winces. “At least you went to the hospital then with Youning. Guess what the doctor said to me earlier? That the wound on your right side was infected because you didn’t treat it properly and it was continuously bleeding when it needed stitches!”

“You said you didn’t get hurt in last night’s raid,” Lu Yao says, glaring at him.

“I-“ Chusheng begins, but Lu Yao cuts him off, “And then the doctor says you’ve got other scars on your body that look rather recent, ones that even Youning didn’t know you had. How long has this been going on?”

“San Tu,” Chusheng sighs, “It’s okay. This is nothing-“

“Nothing? Ah Dou freaked out when you fainted on him earlier! What were you thinking? He said you looked unwell all morning and refused to listen to him when he asked you to rest. Qiao Chusheng, do you think this is a joke?”

It’s not the time or place for this, but hearing Lu Yao utter his full name for the first time, Chusheng feels a chill run down his spine. No one has ever dared to call him out like this.

He likes the way his name sounds on Lu Yao’s lips and how angry his San Tu looks right now.

Clearing his throat, Chusheng musters a smile instead, “San Tu… I’m used to this. I just miscalculated and I’ll be more careful next time. Don’t be angry. I’m the patient here, you know.”

“Next time?” Lu Yao asks, incredulous. “You’re thinking of a next time?”

Knowing that Lu Yao will probably go on if he doesn’t do something, Chusheng reaches out and tugs at Lu Yao’s arm until the man sits down quietly.

“I’m sorry,” Chusheng repeats, and frankly, part of him is a little touched that Lu Yao is so angry at him. He’s never had anyone angry at him for something like this.

“San Tu, if you don’t stop yelling, the nurses are going to come in and-“

“Chusheng-ge!” a yell comes, and both men flinch.

Lu Yao sits back and relaxes as Youning storms in. Chusheng pales, and his hand raises as if to facepalm, but Youning is quicker. She looks ready to give Chusheng hell on Lu Yao’s behalf too, and that she does.

===

Lu Yao, when he’s not distracted by antique wares or expensive restaurants or his English books, is a pretty self-sufficient person who can take care of himself. He’s a little vain, timid and dumb on some counts, but the man can cook very well, knows how to clean up after himself in a way that Youning still forgets to sometimes.

Chusheng himself can cook, but he eats takeout or heads back to Boss Bai’s house for the occasional meal more often than not, so when he wakes up next to the aroma of pork ribs and old cucumber soup, he has to pause for a moment.

“You’re awake,” Lu Yao says, glancing at him with narrowed eyes, probably still pissed off that Chusheng tried to hide his injuries from him. “Eat up. The doctor said you should have some soup.”

“Where’s Youning?” he mumbles, still groggy from the drugs and this is exactly why he hates hospitals.

“She went back home first, she’s got a draft to rush out tonight. This soup was on the stove for more than four hours. Man-jie told me that I should cook it under a smaller fire for more than three hours, so you should try it.”

Lu Yao scoops out a spoonful and blows gently at it, before bringing it to Chusheng’s lips.

When the man simple stares at him, Lu Yao glares, “Why would you- you don’t want to eat again? I cooked this myself when I could have been sleeping and even Youning helped to stare at the fire for an hour, and you still don’t want it-“

Chusheng cuts him off mid-rant, leaning forward and eating from the proffered spoon obediently.

“… how is it?”

“Hnn,” Chusheng hums, looking at anything but Lu Yao, “It’s passable.”

Suddenly, Chusheng realizes how close Lu Yao is next to him seated on the bed. He’s not used to being in Lu Yao’s care- or anyone’s care for that matter, and this whole thing is jarring, to say in the least.

“Passable?” Lu Yao scoffs, but scoops up another spoonful for Chusheng anyway.

Chusheng bends his head to reach the spoon again, and at the last moment, it dawns on him again how strange this whole thing is. He moves back, saying, “I can eat on my own-“

His eyes go wide as Lu Yao ducks in and kisses him, cutting him off. Chusheng can swear his mind goes blank.

When Lu Yao finally pulls away, there’s a hint of a blush on his cheeks, and he’s not looking at Chusheng either. Clearing his throat, he puts the bowl into Chusheng’s hands.

“You should finish the soup,” Lu Yao says, picking up his jacket from where it is lying over the chair, “I’ll settle your discharge with the doctors.”

Chusheng looks up, blinking, “San Tu-“

“And you better not do this again,” Lu Yao finally meets his eyes again, though the blush doesn’t go away, “Youning and I are going to check you over after every fight. You better not hide another injury from us again, and I’m dragging you over to the hospital if you so much as have a cut!”

That seems a little of an overkill, but Chusheng can’t help but smile.

“And if I don’t listen to you?”

Lu Yao blinks. “Then- Then I’m never-“

“Never going to kiss me again?”

“Never going to make soup for you again,” Lu Yao enunciates firmly, but his ears are now red too as he turns on his heels quickly to escape the room.

Chusheng laughs to himself, shaking his head. Licking at his lips, he wonders if Lu Yao would give him a repeat performance later, but he supposes they have all the time in the world for that now.

===

The next time they get caught in a shootout, as promised, Lu Yao and Youning (and even Ah Dou, hovering a few feet away and trying not to get caught looking at him) make him take off his jacket, roll up his sleeves and lift his shirt a bit to show that he’s fine.

The rest of the officers pretend they’re not looking, even though a shirtless Chusheng at the station is nothing new.

Of course, when they get home, Chusheng lets Lu Yao do a close-up inspection.

In the privacy of their room of course, so that Lu Yao can inspect every inch of his body thoroughly.

[multmilk]

Strawberries and Cigarettes | l.t

Pairing: idol!Taeyong x idol!reader

Genre: angst

Warnings: Use of cigars/smoking, character death, a bit of smut

Word count: 2.6k

He was from SM and you were from JYP. He was a member of 3 boy groups and you were a solo artist. His genre was more of pop while you make rnb. The two of you were working on opposite sides of the world so when you received the news that the two of you were collaborating, you were bewildered.

Now you were sitting alone inside a coffee shop waiting for Taeyong. You knew he was a talented man—a rapper, a composer and a hell of a good dancer. You’ve watched a lot of fancams out of pure curiosity and you were surprised that you had the pleasure of getting to work with him.

“Y/N?” a rich and foreign voice said, looking up at him you felt your heart skip a beat at his appearance. His hair was brown and it had some streaks of gray to it, it was a little disheveled but it still looked good. He was wearing a black long-sleeved shirt that made the veins in his hands more prominent, a dangling earing on his ear that added more charisma to him.

“I’m Lee Taeyong,” he smiled. Ooooh fuck he looks good, his voice sent shivers down your spine. You gestured for him to sit down across of you. This is going to be interesting, you thought.

----

It’s been a month since the two of you worked together. You mostly worked in his apartment, though his members lived there with him, they respected you and treated you like their family. They leave when the two of you work so that you could focus and they wouldn’t create ruckus.

You weren’t fully comfortable with him yet and you know he felt the same way too. You always sat on the edge of his bed while he sat on his chair across you. It was hard to work with someone so new, someone who’s a stranger. You had to be careful with every step you take—and although that being cautious is good, it’s difficult to not voice out your ideas to him because you’re afraid of him judging of what you thought.

You two were working on an album that focuses on the issues of society today. You had two solo songs, he had two solo songs and then there were two songs that features the both of you.

Your first song tackles about the beauty standards of men and women of our generation. How men aren’t allowed to wear make-up because it makes them look more feminine and how women should have this petite figure and if they don’t look what society expects them to look like, they do not belong in this place.

Your next song focuses on gender roles. Women can have a job that is expected to supposedly be for men and vice versa. Also, how people should be respected no matter their chose of job. Whether they are sex workers, drag queens or a waitress—each should be treated equally.

Taeyong’s first song is about corruption in politics and the politicians that don’t uphold the values and  morals of a good leader and how in turn, makes a country incompetent and their people ignorant.  

His next song is about the challenges faced by the mass. Poverty, treated unequally, high medicine fee and all things in between. What the two of you have worked on alone is a masterpiece.

Right now you were stuck inside his room, diverting your attention towards anything but making the music together. You’ve asked him for help and he did that but working on two whole songs together just seems a bit out of your comfort zone.

“What about pizza?” he asks “I don’t think pizza is a good top-“ you got cut off with his laugh. It was a hearty one too, not the chuckles you hear he lets go once you accidentally do or say something funny.

“I meant maybe you want me to get a pizza delivered? Maybe it’ll help remove this,” he gestured to the space between us, “Tension?” you just laughed, probably because you felt stupid and embarrassed for not catching his drift but you agreed to get pizza.

You and Taeyong are now seated on each side of his bed sharing a box of pizza. For the past hour, you two have been sharing stories and jokes like childhood friends catching up. You’ve learned that he has a passion for understanding arts, he’s really good at playing video games and he likes listening to Drake.

Neither of you initiated to start working on your songs but you liked the time you were using to get to know him. He was kind, gentle and warm.

There were numerous spotlights surrounding Taeyong. The photographer asked him to try different poses and to relax but for some reason, his shoulders were too tense and his hands were shaking a bit. You and Taeyong started hanging around a lot when you two decided to write your music. You two hung out in his apartment where his members stay and spend time with the two of you, you hung out in the convenience store eating ice cream and telling jokes. You didn’t have many friends in the music industry and now you consider Taeyong as your best friend.

He looked good, you thought. He was sporting a gold glittered blazer with a black top beneath it, 3 layered chokers and he was wearing the dangling earrings you loved so much on him.

You walked towards Taeyong and said, “Yong, look at me,” he let out a breathy laugh but kept his head down. Putting your fingers under his chin and tilting his head upwards you ask, “What’s wrong?” he closes his eyes and exhales “I smell strawberries,” your eyes widened at his statement. “S-strawberries?” “Yes, strawberries,” he then looks at your eyes and continues “Before my best friend died, she asked me to fetch her strawberries. So, I went to the hospital and see her having a seizure. Doctors were all around her, her boyfriend was frantic and I dropped the jar of strawberry jam. It was the last time I ever associated myself with the fruit,” then he laughs. You apologize and say that it probably was your perfume but he tucks your hair behind your ear and says that it was fine.

This whole time you were talking the photographer took candid photos of you and Taeyong and claimed that it was good for the album cover already. Taeyong kisses your cheek and feel blush creep in on your face.

You were going to sleep well today.

---

The both of you were in Amsterdam to film your music video. You were dressed in a black laced bustier top paired with black flared pants and Taeyong is wearing a white button up top.

It’s been an hour of filming and Taeyong has been showering you with compliments. Your relationship has gotten to the point where you two flirt shamelessly and honestly, you didn’t have any complaints.

As the crew and directors all were huddled to talk about the next scene, you were out smoking looking at the museums and buildings surrounding you.

“You didn’t tell me you smoked,” Taeyong stalks toward you and keeps his hands inside of his pockets. “You never asked. Want to join me?” “No thanks. I quit after she died,” you nod.

“Do you believe in heaven and in hell?” you ask and then he stands beside you, “Move away from me Yong, you’re going to get cancer from second-hand smoking you know,” “I believe that if we die, we’re just going to live a life with eternal darkness and quietness and loneliness,” he answers your question and ignores your previous statement. “I do believe in God, yes, but if we die and then that’s it. Do you believe in it?” he asks, “I believe that we do go to heaven or hell based on the actions and choices we’ve made in our borrowed time living here,” you say.

“What separates the people who will enter heaven to those who will enter hell? I mean, humans make pretty bad and wrong decisions. If hurting a person, unintentionally and intentionally, is just the basis for us to live a life in paradise or in damnation then I guess we’re all fucked huh?” you both laugh. You throw your cigarette to the trash can near you and stick your hand out for Taeyong to hold.

---

The first time you and him kissed was after your comeback stage.

It was hot, it was messy and you felt like flying. He told you you tasted like strawberries mixed with the after-taste of cigars. You just laugh and continue kissing down his neck.

He tugged at your hair and removed the strap off of your dress. You got on your knees and unbuckled his belt.

As the night went further and your relationship progressed, he had told you that he loves you and that you indeed smell like strawberries. And as much as he dislikes the fruit and what comes with it, if loving you means he has to smell and taste like strawberries for the rest of his life then so be it.

You slept with a smile on your face, head on Taeyong’s chest and his arms caging you for protection.

---

You were hysterical.

You had rushed Taeyong into the ER as soon as your comeback stage had ended. You were supposed to go out and celebrate with him, announce the tour you were having but all your plans had ended once you saw the he had coughed up blood and was having a hard time breathing.

Machines and tubes were stuck in his body, his unconscious body. You held his hand for the longest time that day and you weren’t planning on letting go.

You woke up with Taeyong speaking to the doctor and you saw that they were having a serious conversation. “Taeyong?” he looks at you, a little startled. He ushers the doctor to leave and says to you, “Hey, you should go back to sleep,” you ask what the doctor said and he just simply says that it was a bad bad bad case of food poisoning. You were apprehensive but you didn’t want to push it any further, he needed his rest after all.

That was the first mistake you made.

---

The second mistake was smoking around him. You wanted to stop but it had helped you through the sleepless nights and when you were overthinking.

The third mistake was pushing through with the tour. It was his idea, saying it was the least you two could do for your fans but it was your fault for supporting it.

The last straw was watching him being taken away by the paramedics and staying kneeled and glued to the stage as they rushed him into the hospital.

You arrived seeing doctors moving everywhere and getting paddles and shouting ‘clear’. You couldn’t stand to watch him as they revived his body. So, you took your pack of cigarettes and went outside.

By the time you finished three sticks, you decided to see how Taeyong was doing. Every step you took felt like it weighed tons, like your world was crashing but seeing and hearing the doctors call the time of his death? You felt that the world has ended.

You were screaming and crying and questioning everything and anything. You screamed and screamed until your cries had taken over and seeing Taeyong lying on his bed cold and lifeless, it shattered you.

---

Months after his death, you continued on with the tour.

Today, you were in Amsterdam and was about to finish the last song.

Right before you sung though, Taeyong’s voice rung around the concert hall. Everyone was quiet.

“Hey Y/N. If you’re hearing this it means that I’ve died. I have a few things to say so please listen.

From the first day I met you, I knew that I was going to fall in love with you but the minute I smelt your strawberry scent? I knew I had to distance myself,” he laughs.

“It was hard to though. It was the boys who pushed me to hang out with you more. It would benefit our work after all. Hence, the pizza mistaken as a song topic incident. From that moment on, I found myself liking you much more than I intended to.

Fast forward to all of our shared jokes and stories. Late night ice-cream stops at the convenience store. Breakfast dates. Coffee-stained sweaters and deep conversations while you smoked.

I knew that I fell in love with you the moment that your lips brushed mine. It was special, magical, felt like I was floating on cloud nine. I just let myself fall deeper until the moment you rushed me into the ER when I coughed up blood.

I needed you to stay away from me because I knew that it would happen. I am sorry, I am very sorry, that I didn’t tell you the truth.  Maybe if I had told you the truth you would’ve really stayed away from me but I just couldn’t bring myself to tell you and hurt you.

I am a smoker. I quit because my best friend died of second-hand smoking. It was my fault she died, it was my fault I hated strawberries and it’s my fault now that I left you without ever explaining the truth about me.

I don’t want you blaming yourself for not noticing the signs or for keeping on smoking. None of this is your fault Y/N.

I just didn’t want to lose the time knowing that you’d be so cautious around me. No, I wanted us to be as normal as we could ever be. I wanted more time with you but I guess this is for the best.

You deserve so much more this world could ever offer. You are a great person with a great personality, great talents, great body and a great heart.

I want- I need you to keep on using that talent and heart to inspire people all over the world to fight. We have achieved so much together and I want you to use this pain into art.

I loved you and I will love you even if my soul ends up in a cold and dark place. I will love you even if you choose to love another guy. I know, I know that I will be in your heart and that I will always have that one piece saved specifically for me.

I love you and your cigarettes. Your strawberry-flavored perfume scent, your strawberry-flavored shampoo and your taste when I kiss you after you smoke.

Your strawberries clung on to my shirts and sweaters, and it did hurt me at first because it brought back the memories of her but you gave me a new reason to love strawberries.

I love you, Y/N,” as he sings, the whole crowd were in tears and you were sat on the stage clutching your microphone near your heart.

You smile and look up at the ‘heavens’ as he sings,

“Strawberries and cigarettes always taste like you,”

(A/N: This is my first taeyong one-shot and i hope you liked it. i tried to be very angst-y haha. please send in requests aaand feeback is always appreciated!)

[all-the-love-harold]

Chapter 11- Hang in there, Baby

Master Post 

August 15th 2021 

 Emily 31 Weeks 

Poppy 27 Weeks 

 The summer sun shone brightly through the bedroom curtains as Poppy’s eyes flashed open.  A sharp pain in her back had jolted her out of a deep sleep. The pain subsided and she gently rolled over to check the time on her phone, 6:36am. Oli would be awake soon so  there wasn’t much point in trying to go back to sleep. She sat up a little, wincing at the pain in her back that was more of a dull ache now and her movements awoke Harry. 

 “ ‘s the time?” he groaned, still groggy with sleep. “It’s almost twenty to 7,” Poppy whispered. “And Oli’s still asleep so shhhh!” she hushed. 

Harry rolled over so that he could see Poppy and placed his hand gently on the swell of her belly, “and how’s our little girl?” he asked softly, smiling as he always did when he talked about his daughter. 

“I think she’s still sleeping too, had her mother up at 3am kicking like a mad woman!” 

“No doubt she’s your daughter then,” Harry laughed 

“I don’t kick in my sleep,” Poppy said, sounding very sure of herself, arms crossed over her chest in defense.

“Yes, you do” he sighed, still laughing, resting his head on her chest “but it’s ok because I love you anyway.” 

“I love yo-”  Suddenly Poppy stopped talking  and inhaled sharply, grabbing onto her back as another sharp pain  hit her like a tonne of bricks.

 “Are you OK?” Harry asked, sitting up properly now, his eyes narrowing as he watched her.

Poppy didn’t answer until the pain subsided into a dull ache again, “Yeah,” she nodded,  I’m fine, it’s just my back...” 

“Roll over, I’ll give you a massage.” 

She groaned a little as she turned onto her side, careful not to land on her pregnant belly. 

“Where’s it sore?” Harry’s hands hovered over her back.Poppy pointed to her lower back “Near my bum.” 

Harry began massaging the spot where she had pointed and it instantly started to feel better. But before it had the chance to really help, Oli toddled through the door. 

“Are we still having a baby party today Mum?” He asked, sliding into the bed next to her, ignoring everything else going on around him as though this question was the most important thing in the world right now.

“We are buddy, not until lunchtime though”... 

“But the baby’s not coming today?” 

“No, not today Ol, not for a while yet” Harry said, continuing to massage Poppy’s back, while also dropping a good morning kiss to his son’s forehead. “Is Emily’s baby coming today then?” he asked 

“No, still another few weeks until Emily’s baby is here too.” 

Oli sighed deeply, “I’m never gonna be a big brother!” he huffed dramatically, folding his arms over his chest, in an image of his mother about ten minutes earlier.

Harry and Poppy both giggled, which only sent another shooting pain up Poppy’s back. Harry felt her wince, the muscles seizing under his hands.

“Why don’t you go and have a hot bath, love? I’ll get Oli breakfast, come on mate.” 

As much as she wanted to say no and have breakfast together which was their tradition whenever Harry was home,  all she could really think about was how soothing the hot water would be rushing over her back so she nodded and pulled the covers back. 

“Oli, why don’t you go on Daddy’s side, so Mum can get out of bed?” 

Sometimes Poppy forgot that Oli was only four and didn’t think about things logically so instead of climbing out of bed and walking around to cuddle his dad, he rolled over his mother, making her groan in pain. 

“Oliver,” Harry said sternly, “Next time, please walk around, remember there’s a baby in Mummy's tummy, you need to be gentle with her...” 

“Sorry, daddy,” he sighed 

 Poppy tuned them out, focusing on her breathing to try and stop the pain in her back as she walked to the bathroom and turned on the hot water. She knew what this could be and she wasn’t willing to accept that possibility yet…

  The steaming hot water washed over her and her body felt lighter and less painful. The baby must have felt it too because she started kicking as soon as the water covered Poppy’s belly. 

“You can’t do this today, miss” Poppy breathed, trying to keep her voice calm,  hands on her belly. “You’ve got to stay in there for a few more weeks yet. Okay?..... I can’t have another Violet.” 

 ***

 Whatever Poppy did that morning must have helped because by the time everyone arrived for the baby shower, her back was feeling better, which she was unbelievably thankful for. This shower meant a lot to her, and to Em, who had invited her entire family. It was a little chaotic with everyone there, Em’s brother had a son the same age as Oli and the two of them were running around like mad men, not at all bothered by all the baby related games that were going on in the garden. 

“So... you got my baby sister pregnant?” Emily’s brother said to Harry as they both poured themselves a drink.

“Ahhh,” Harry laughed nervously “I guess I did…. Technically” 

“Sorry,” the brother giggled, “I’ve always wanted to say that - I’m Peter.” 

“Harry,” he held out his hand to shake Peter’s. 

“I know,” Peter said, “My husband is a big fan!” 

Harry couldn’t help but smile, “Sorry?” he said in a sarcastic tone .“No need,” Peter shook his head, “I’m a fan too,  even more so since I heard how wonderful you’ve been to Em through this whole thing.” 

“How could I not be?” Harry shrugged “She’s doing the most incredible thing for us and she's so graceful about it all!” 

“She always has been, has she told you that surrogacy is how we had our little Henry?” 

“She has,” Harry nodded “She told us that from the start, she said that’s why she wanted to do it.” 

“We never did anything like this for our surrogate, she’s had no contact with us since actually... I don’t want that for Em, I want her to see this little boy grow up.” 

“Em will always be a part of this family” Harry said “As long as she wants to be, everything here is on her terms.” 

“You and Poppy are good people,” Peter nodded. “I have to admit though, when Em told me that Poppy fell pregnant, I was worried that you two were in this for the wrong reasons and I told her to be careful, but you’ve really proven me wrong. Thank you.” 

“We didn’t know,” Harry sighed “When Poppy fell pregnant we didn’t know that we’d get to 27 weeks. We still don’t know how far we’ll get, we’re terrified all the time, but Em makes it easier, she keeps us focused on what we have right now, which is two babies and Oli.” 

“You’ve got a very sleepless few months ahead of you,” Peter said, feeling a little awkward 

“That we do,” Harry giggled. 

 On the other side of the garden, Poppy sat with Anne, Emily and her mum, Patricia, comparing pregnancy notes. 

“When I was having Gemma, all I wanted was mash potato, I ate bucketloads of it...” Anne said when the topic of cravings came up 

“Me too!” Em said, “My best friend makes the best mash, it’s so creamy. Shit. Now that’s all I can think about..”

“All I want is Vegemite,” Poppy said. “Harry’s perfected the art of Vegemite on toast this time around!” 

“I tried that once,” said Patricia, “It’s awful stuff, I don’t know how you eat it.” 

Poppy shrugged, “It’s an acquired taste, I’ve eaten it since I was a baby, so has Oli and he loves it too.” 

“All I wanted when I was having Pete was feta cheese, I ate so much of the stuff and now Em tells me that you’re not supposed to eat soft cheeses! Explains a lot about Pete now that I think about it, actually,” she laughed teasingly.

“It’s just what they recommend, Mum,” Em said. “Soft cheeses can contain the listeria bacteria - there’s a very small chance they can make you sick, and to avoid harming the baby, they say not to eat it at all.” 

“It pays to have an OB/GYN student around when you’re having a baby,” Poppy smiled. “Especially when she’s having a baby too!” 

“Speaking of,” Emily smiled, placing her hand on her belly, “Your little boy has been kicking like a mad man today!” 

“So has his sister,” Poppy giggled “feels like she’s doing backflips in there.” 

“They’re going to be such good friends,” Anne said, a wide smile stretched across her face. “I wonder if they’ll have that twin telepathy thing...” 

“They’re not twins,” Poppy said teasingly with a half smile stretched across her face.

“Let’s just wait and see,” Anne said, not giving up on the idea. 

“Alright”, Gemma clapped getting everyone’s attention and drawing the conversation away from twin telepathy. “it’s party game time, I need everyone to come over here, we’re about to name a baby!” 

The whole party gathered around the table that Gemma had set up, that was covered in onesies to decorate, a jar full of name suggestions, and some baby themed cupcakes and biscuits.

“Harry, Pop and Em, you get to sit here, right in front of everyone and take these red and green paddles. if you like the name, show us the green side, if you don’t, show us the red. You’re adults you probably could have worked that out for yourselves but anyway...” Gemma laughed 

“Thanks Gem,” Harry said sarcastically as he sat down where he was told to

 “Hey, it’s not my fault you can’t name your own child!” 

“We’ve named one of them...” Poppy said defensively.  

“You have,” Gemma said, “which brings me to the point that these are girls names only, since Baby Boy has been named.” 

 The pain in Poppy’s back returned, sharper than ever just as she sat down. She winced, while she waited for it to subside again, and tuned the rest of the conversation out.

  Breathe. 

That’s all she had to do right now. 

A few big breaths and it will all go away.

  But it didn’t and when Gemma started rambling about the ridiculous names that everyone had put in the jar, Poppy took the opportunity to tell Harry. 

“Harry,” she whispered leaning over so that only he could hear, “I think I need to go to the hospital...” 

His eyes widened, “What’s wrong?” 

“I think the back pain is contractions.” 

He nodded,  already springing into action -“Are we being subtle about leaving? Or are we just going?”

“I think we just need to go” Poppy said breathlessly, another wave of pain taking over her body. 

Harry stood up and laughed nervously, as everyone stopped talking and looked at him. “Poppy might be in labour...” he announced running his fingers through his hair “We’re going to go to the hospital.” 

At that moment everyone ran over to crowd Poppy, which only made her feel worse. 

“Are you having contractions?” Emily asked

“Back pain,” Poppy said through gritted teeth “it’s sharp and it comes and goes every few minutes.” 

“That sounds like early labour,” Em nodded “Have you had any bleeding?”

“No,” Poppy shook her head.

“That’s good,” Em smiled “That means your mucus plug is still ok.”

Peter and his husband scrunched their noses at the thought of a mucus plug. 

“What does that mean?” Anne asked, voice filled with concern.

“It means the doctors have a better chance of stopping it. “Ok we should go then,” Harry said immediately. 

 London traffic had never felt slower. They were barely out of their street before they were stopped and it took them five minutes to get to the main road that led to the hospital, which usually only took them 2. Poppy took the extra time to call their doctor and let her know that they were going to the hospital but even after that they were still 10 minutes away.

 “Harry,” Poppy sighed. “I’m scared,”  her voice broke a little as she admitted how she was feeling. 

“Me too, Pop.” He grabbed onto her hand and squeezed it tight before bringing it up to his lips and placing a gentle kiss to it, “We’re going to be ok Pop.” 

“She doesn’t even have a name yet!”

“She doesn’t need one,” Harry said optimiscally. “Her due date isn’t for another three months.” 

“Harry, I don’t carry babies to term, her due date could very well be today!” 

“They stopped it with Oli”, Harry said, turning his head towards her. “There’s nothing to say they won’t be able to stop it this time.” 

“I was 28 weeks with Oli”, she sighed “I’m only 27 this time.” 

“28 tomorrow,” Harry added, 

“One day does make a difference H”. 

“I know it does”, he sighed “But I’m trying to stop myself from thinking about what might happen if she arrives today. Let’s try and stay positive until we know more, ok?” 

“OK.” Poppy nodded, that’s what she loved the most about Harry. He always looked at the bright side, sometimes to a fault, but today he was right, there was a chance that their little girl might arrive today, but there was an equal chance that she wouldn’t, and why not focus on that?

 They pulled into the hospital driveway and Harry headed straight for the underground parking. 

“Wait,” he said just before he got a ticket “are you going to be able to walk there if I park down here? Or do you want me to park near the entrance?” 

“Harry’s it’s 1pm,” Poppy said reasonably, “There won’t be any parking up there, I’ll be fine to walk.” 

“I can go up and get you a wheelchair,” he said, driving the car down the ramp 

“I can walk H, I just want to get in there.” 

“OK,” he said calmly, pulling into a free space and turning the car off. “Let’s go then.” 

 They entered A&E to chaos. The waiting room was filled with ill and injured people and Poppy felt a bit out of place until another wave of pain took over her while they waited in the queue to check in. 

She squeezed Harry’s hand in an attempt to ease the pain and he asked her if she needed to sit down

“No, I’m OK,” she said, gritting her teeth, “I  just want to talk to the nurse.” 

 “What brings you to A&E today my dear?” The nurse asked as they stepped up to the counter 

“I think I’m in labour...”  Poppy said 

“How far along are you?” 

“27 Weeks” 

The nurse waved nonchalantly, “It’s probably just Braxton Hicks contractions dear, go home and rest”.

Poppy took a deep breath, not caring as her voice rose in volume, “This is a high risk pregnancy, I went into labour early with my son, and I lost a baby from early labour last year. This is not Braxton Hicks!”

The nurse looked stunned “OK. I’ll call the maternity ward and have one of the midwives come down and assess you. Take a seat.” 

 “Old Cow,” Poppy muttered to Harry as they took their seats. Harry giggled, “hey hey hey, treat people with kindness now Pop.” “I will when I’m not in labour” she half laughed and half winced at the pain of another contraction. 

 They didn’t have to wait long, only 10 minutes passed before a midwife came rushing in calling Poppy’s name. They were taken into one of the small examination rooms in A&E to be assessed before they could be admitted to the maternity ward. “How long ago did the pain start?” 

“I had a dull ache in my back yesterday afternoon and this morning it turned it to sharp pains every so often,” Poppy said 

“And have your waters broken?” 

“No,” Poppy shook her head 

“Good,” the midwife replied with a smile “any bleeding?”

“No.” 

“Great,” she was taking notes on her clipboard 

“Did you bring your pregnancy notes with you?” 

Poppy looked towards Harry who had been holding them under his armpit the whole time. 

“They’re here,” he said handing them to the midwife, who blushed when he smiled at her. 

“So this isn’t the first time you’ve gone into labour in the second trimester?” 

“No,” Poppy shook her head “It’s the third...” 

“OK, well we’ll do a quick exam, see where your cervix is at and go from there, but I’d say given your history we’ll be admitting you. I’ll get you a gown so we can go ahead,” the midwife left the room

“She doesn’t seem too worried,” Harry said 

“She doesn’t seem not worried,” Poppy countered. “She thinks I am in labour.” 

“We knew that though,” Harry placed a kiss on Poppy’s forehead “I think we’re here early enough to stop it.” 

“I hope -” 

The midwife walked back in and handed Poppy the gown -  “Put this on and lay down on that bed just there. I’ll be back in a few minutes. Dad you can stay or if you’re squeamish you can go back out to the waiting room.” 

“I’ve seen it all before,” Harry smiled referring to the examination that was about to happen although he was sure the midwife thought he meant something else because she started blushing again as she walked out of the room. 

“Someone’s got a secret admirer!” Poppy said as she unbuttoned her jeans 

“It’s not very secret,” Harry added 

“Either she’s in love with you, or she’s feeling weird about having to look at Harry Styles wife’s vagina!” 

“Maybe both,” he shrugged. 

Poppy pulled the gown on and laid down on the table like she was asked and a knock came on the door, right on cue. Harry sat down in the chair next to Poppy head and grabbed hold of her hand. 

“Alright, I’ll make this quick,” the midwife said, pulling on a pair of gloves as Poppy winced her way through another contraction. Poppy hated this part, not only was it uncomfortable, but for the next few minutes she didn’t know what was going to happen. Maybe it was just Braxton Hicks contractions and everything was going to be ok, or maybe she’d meet her baby girl today and spend the next few months in the hospital with her.

  Or maybe they’d also be saying goodbye to their little girl today. 

 “You’re only 1cm dilated,” the midwife finally said after what felt like hours. “Normally I’d send you home and tell you to come back if the pain gets worse, but given your history, I’ll admit you and we’ll do a few more tests and go from there. We’ll also give your doctor a call and let her know you’re here.” 

 An hour later they found themselves in a private room in the maternity ward. An ultrasound had shown the baby had dropped into the right position for birth, and now the shape of Poppy’s uterus was affecting her growth. Now they were nervously waiting for Dr Marshall to come in and tell them that she could somehow work some magic and fix the problem. They waited in silence. Poppy stared at the wall wondering what on earth could have made this happen and Harry sat on his phone, texting Anne and Gemma. 

 H: Poppy has been admitted, baby girl has dropped, waiting to see the doctor for more info. How is Oli?” 

 A: Praying for good news xxx. Oli is OK, he keeps asking where you went… What should I tell him? 

 G: Has anyone told Addie yet?

 H: You can tell Oli that we’ve come to the hospital to make sure the baby is ok, and I’ll be home with him as soon as I can. We haven’t told Addie yet, I’ll wait until we know a bit more, don’t want her thinking she needs to jump on a train from Bath if everything is ok.

A: Good idea. Em and her family left about half an hour ago, they said to let them know if you need anything.

 H: They’re very sweet, I’ll send Em a message and let her know what’s going on. I’ll try and be home for Oli’s bedtime and then I’ll come back to stay here with Pop

 Dr Marshall was surprisingly fast, Harry and Poppy had been expecting her to take hours, but it was only about 20 minutes after they got to their room that she popped her head around the corner. 

“How are we doing?, she asked, picking up Poppy’s chart. “contractions every 10 minutes still?” 

“About that,” Poppy nodded .

“So what we’re going to try and do is get Baby to turn back around.” 

“How do we do that?” Poppy asked, confused. 

“Well, if you were more than 1cm dilated we’d do it the simple way, but since you’re not, we’ll try a massage on your belly, we usually do this when a baby is breach, I’ve only done it once or twice for this situation, but it’s a simple procedure, I promise.” 

“That sounds much more pleasant than the other way,” Poppy laughed nervously 

“It is,” nodded Dr Marshall with a smile.“We’re also going to give you a shot of progesterone to try and put a stop to those contractions.” 

“That sounds lovely too,” Poppy half smiled 

“And you know this means you’ll be on strict bed rest until you give birth?” Dr Marshall said sternly raising her eyebrows. 

“Do I have to stay here?” 

Dr Marshall thought for a moment “No,” she hesitated “I’ll let you go home to your little one, but I need you to promise that you’ll be taking it easy” 

“I’ll make sure of that”, Harry said a stern look falling onto his face too. 

“Good,” the doctor smiled “You’ll be here a day or two while we make sure the labour has stopped and we get Baby Girl turned around.”  

Poppy and Harry both nodded 

“I’ll order that injection now and once those contractions stop we’ll start the massage.” She put Poppy’s chart down at the end of her bed and turned to leave the room.“Thank you,” Harry and Poppy both called after her .

 Once she was gone Harry placed a kiss onto Poppy’s forehead and breathed a sigh of relief “This is good,” he said 

“I have a name” Poppy said quietly 

Harry sat down on the bed next to her “Hmm” he cooed “I’m listening” 

“Florence Anne...” 

Harry nodded. “It’s beautiful. Florence, Oscar and Oliver,” he sighed “I like it” 

“Flori, Ossie and Oli,” Poppy said. “For short.” 

“And Violet,” Harry added 

“Always.” 

[blessedbucky]

money power glory

pairing: skinny!steve x plus size!reader

summary: it’s 1921 and prohibition is in full swing. there’s an overwhelming demand for alcohol and steve, one of new york’s most notorious mobsters, wants to cash in. you and your product present the perfect opportunity

warnings: steve’s a mobster and reader is a bootlegger so obvious mentions of illegal activities, alcohol, oral (female receiving), squirting, daddy kink (if you squint really hard)

a/n: please be kind to me this is my first ever reader insert. anyway @gagmebucky said give me mobster!steve and my brain went HOLD MY FUCKING BEER. it’s mostly just me being a history buff and spiraling out of control with plot and having little smut. tagging @strawberrylovessebby and @angel-fire and @genderfluiddiscogay because they asked and i'm a weak bitch for them

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The very first time that Steve meets you, you’re on the back of a massive stallion. The enormous beast is barreling toward Steve and you don’t seem to be making any attempt at reigning the horse in to either make it slow down or move in another direction that’s not straight at him. Steve assumes this is a ploy your father’s come up with to intimidate him and Steve hasn’t gotten to where he is by tucking his tail between his legs and backing down in the face of danger and death. So, while his men curse and scramble around to the other side of the car that’s out of the way of your warpath, Steve straightens, squares his chin, and stands his ground.

Steve Rogers is one stubborn son of a bitch and if he’s going to be working with your family the way he wants to, it’s best you all know that now up front.

Your horse is probably about a foot away from Steve when you finally command it to stop. You’re dramatic and it one last show to intimidate Steve, you make the horse reel back on its hindlegs, kicking up dirt and neighing so loud it echoes. The animal’s hot breath fans out across Steve’s face for a moment before you tug at the reins, make a noise, and the horse dutifully turns to the side allowing Steve a better look at you.

Down here, hidden away in the slopes and hills of the Appalachian Mountains, you’re the opposite of the women that try to flock to the sides of Steve and his men. You’ve kept your hair long, going against the modern fashion. There’s a bandana around your head, keeping your hair out of your face. There’s sweat on your brow and smudges of dirt on your plump cheeks. Even dressed in your dirtied work overalls, he can see you’re all curves—wide hips, thick thighs, soft stomach, plush ass, and he could wax poetry about your oh-so-generous chest.

Steve’s bullheaded, but he’s not stupid. Atop your horse, staring down at him with a raised brow, he’ll admit that you’re the most gorgeous woman he’s ever met. And…he has to unfortunately also admit to himself that you’re off-limits. He really can’t drop the ball on a potentially lucrative business deal by fucking a partner’s daughter.

Steve thinks you’ve both sized each other up enough, so he breaks the silence with a polite, “Ma’am.”

“It’s nice to finally meet you in person, Mister Rogers,” you reply with your southern drawl. Your voice is also sickly sweet. “I hope the trip wasn’t too hard on all y’all.” I hope the trip wasn’t too hard on a skinny little thing like you, you don’t say but Steve hears all the same.

Steve shoots you the same grin he wears when he’s smashing men’s skulls in. You’re a fighter. As much a hellion as that horse you’re riding. Guess Bucky’s been right all these years, saying Steve gets his rocks off on danger.

“Girl,” your father’s voice booms. He’s in a matching pair of overalls, a pitchfork over his shoulder, storming toward you and Steve. “Lord, you’ve got your momma rolling in her grave, treating guests this way,” your father scolds and you duck your head like a proper, chastised southern belle. Your father can’t see the mischievous twinkle in your eye, though. “The hell’d you get that horse out for? You want to break your neck? He ain’t trained enough. Go put that horse back in the barn, wash up, get started on supper, and then you’ll meet this fella you asked to come down here.”

“Yes, daddy.” Steve’s eyes glaze over at hearing the word daddy leave those sinfully beautiful lips of yours. He’s thinking with his dick too much to completely process your father’s words and their meaning. His eyes are still locked on you as you dismount the horse. You flash Steve a smile, dangerously sharp, and he thinks he might be in love.

When you’ve disappeared into a nearby barn, your father claps Steve on the shoulder. “Aw, hell, I’m sorry, Rogers. I swear that girl’s got manners. She’s probably tired. We’ve been workin’ all day to get this corn picked. Way she was making it sound, you got here faster than she thought you would.” He gives Steve a slap on the back now. “Well, go on inside and make yourself comfortable. She’ll talk details with yah over supper.”

Steve blinks, confused. “Sir?”

Your father gives Steve a shit-eating grin. “Ain’t you heard, Rogers? You’ll be talking to my girl. She’s the one that handles the business. All I do is go up in them there woods, sit around with my buddies, drinking while we wait for the moonshine to cook. She sets up all the deals, handles the bookkeeping—” your father pauses and innocently asks, “Didn’t she say all this in them letters she’s been writing?”

No. No, you did not and your father knows that. It looks like troublemaking runs in your blood.

You’re waiting for Steve on the porch—face washed clean, dirt scrubbed away from your hands, bandana stripped from your hair that’s now pulled back with a white ribbon, and wearing in a simple yet pretty cornflower blue dress. You hold the door open, stepping to the side, still smiling at Steve in that predatory way. “Why don’t you come on in the kitchen and we’ll talk business while I’m cooking?”

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A year ago, in 1920, Steve had watched the high and mighty people clamor out onto the streets of New York to pour out and smash their bottles of liquor on the ground. It’d marked the official start to Prohibition and all Steve could think about during the whole spectacle was potential.

Of course, it wasn’t Steve and his crew alone who tried to cash in on the overwhelming demand for booze that was declared illegal. People are always going to get their hands on what they want. There have been tales of men who pass out miniature stills that allow people to make their own gin right there in their homes. Bathtub gin, he hears it’s called. You scoff and turn your nose up at the mention of it and call it exactly what it is—rotgut. You and your father are craftsmen in the art of alcohol. You give people what they want. Quality.

Slowly but surely, you’ve been working to spread your family’s name around. You explain to Steve that your father has been making moonshine since you were a child to make extra cash on the side. When your mother unexpectedly passed, he decided you were old enough to learn how to do it yourself. But like any small-town girl, you want more.

“And once Prohibition hit, cousin, business was a-booming,” you cheekily remark.

Steve wants to come to the rescue. He wants to make you a partner. You’ve got a high-class product that people will scramble to get their hands on. It’s not that watered-down shit he’s had to swallow down at speakeasies. He’ll pay to bring your business to New York. That, you argue, is not as easy as he makes it out to be, and shit goes downhill from there.

You and Steve spend hours arguing. Steve thinks you’re just wanting to be difficult for the sake of being difficult, but you bring up a lot of fair points. Stacking up problems that Steve assures can be tackled with enough money. There’s a reason you and all the other bootleggers are stranded where you are—you need good, dry corn. The hard waters of Kentucky, rich with limestone and other minerals, make the process of making moonshine easier. What about the copper stills you need? Plain steel just won’t do for you.

It’s getting late in the night. You and Steve are both red-faced and as spitting mad as you were at the start. Your father had left you two alone hours ago, shaking his head and snickering, knowing you can handle your own. “Jesus Christ,” you snarl suddenly after staring out the window at the nighttime skies. You stomp over to grab his upper arm. “Keep running your mouth, I don’t care, but you’re gonna have to do it while I’m working.”

By working, you mean speeding through the dark and winding roads of Appalachia in your pride and joy, a Ford car, with a crate of mason jars between you two. Before it gets hot, you explain that local coppers have been trying and failing for years to catch your father in the act. Steve knows the cops don’t think a little thing who looks and talks as sweet as you could possibly be the brains behind the operation. The cops show up on your tail and you cackle before you put on the speed. Steve forgets all about his anger, watching you drive like a maniac under the moonlight, wind whipping your hair around your face. With his backroom deals, greasing the hands of cops with money, he’d forgotten the thrill of this. The chase.

You swerve off the road, parking your car on a little remote trail the cops obviously have no idea about. You both watch as the cops speed away, chasing nothing but a ghost. Well, with how expertly you’ve been driving, they’ve been chasing ghosts all night long. After you both come down from the adrenaline high, you say, “I don’t think this’ll work, Steve. I want it to, but…it ain’t a good move. It’ll be more trouble than it’s all worth.” And you sound genuinely upset about that.

Steve’s not ready to let a woman like you slip out of his fingers just yet. “Why don’t you come up to New York with me?”

You scoff. It’s a bitter sound. “I’m not some blushing virgin that you can get one over on. I know good and damn well what a kept woman is and that ain’t the life for me. I won’t lay around in your bed and spread my legs for you while you take over what I’ve worked hard at building my whole life.”

Steve slides a little closer to you and pushes some hair behind your ear. The late hour makes him brave…or stupid, if he’s been reading your signals wrong. “Sweetheart, I’d love nothing more than to have you in my bed.” You turn your head toward him and he can feel your burning glare more than he can see it in the moonlight. “But that’s not what I meant. I didn’t lie when I said I wanted you as a partner. I want you to come to New York and see what I have and what I can do.”

“I know this may be hard for a city boy like you to believe, but not everything is better in the city.”

“I can show you a few things we do better in the city,” Steve suggests lowly.

Slowly, you turn your head and your nose brushes past his. He can feel the warmth of your breath on his lips. “You usually this friendly with your partners?”

“My best friends, Bucky and Sam, they’ve both fucked me a few times over the years. You’ll learn this fast, honey, but I may have a thing for pretty people that can put me in my place.” He wants to pretend he didn’t hear the hitch in your breath. He leans back and gives you some space. Oh, well. He’s not going to lie about who he is. “You can tell me to fuck off.”

“I think we need to talk about your business practices there, Rogers. I was buried between Minnie Dean’s legs and you don’t see me giving her the recipe to daddy’s moonshine.” Steve breaks out into a fit of quiet laughter. You try to be serious, but you instantly cave and giggle along with him. It really is a beautiful sound.

“You win,” you breathe out after the two of you have gotten control of yourselves. “I’ll go with you. I can bring some corn. You can get a copper still. We’ll see what we can do with the water up there.” You reach out, playfully tap his cheek once, but your hand lingers on his skin. “Get out of the car, Brooklyn. Let’s see what you got.”

Steve lures you out of the car and into the cool autumn night. You two don’t stray very far. Steve leads you around to the front of the car and presses you down against the hood. He tugs at that pretty little ribbon in your hair and you sigh so beautifully when he runs his hand through your locks. Your hair fans out across the steel, glinting in the moonlight.

Pretty words won’t work on you, but you look like a fucking angel. Then, finally, he’s leaning down and kissing you. It doesn’t surprise him your kisses are biting, stinging, a warning that you’re as dangerous as him. Here you are, looking like an angel, but you’re so obviously a serpent underneath the surface. Father Donahue would have some words about a woman like you. Lucifer, a fallen angel, the vile snake come to lead a lamb astray. Steve hasn’t been an innocent lamb in a long time, though.

His mouth drops down to nip at the delicate skin of your neck and you tilt your head back, baring your throat. “Minnie Dean ever return the favor?”

“That asshole brother she’s got came too close for comfort and spooked her off.” You chuckle dryly. “If what you really wanna know if anyone’s ever had their mouth on me down there, answer’s no. I’d hate to suffocate someone with my thighs and have ‘em die on me before I get mine.”

Jesus, Joseph, and Mary, isn’t that a fucking crime? On one hand, yeah, he’s going to be puffing up with pride after tonight because he’s the first person to ever get a taste of that sweetness between your thighs. On the other hand, he wants to kill the people who haven’t treated you like the treasure you are. “Even if you could do something like that, I think I’d still die the happiest man in the world.”

Then, Steve sinks down to his knees in front of you. He carefully settles his hands on your calves and you hiss at the touch of his icy fingers on your flesh. It’s a common complaint. He’ll let your skin warm him up. He slides his hands up your legs, teasingly slow, and begins pushing the fabric of your dress up and out of the way the higher he goes. Steve greedily takes it all in, watching and touching all this smooth, soft skin that’s slowly revealed to him.

Being a good, helpful girl, you take the bunched fabric of your dress from Steve, clutching it tightly in one hand. Your other hand fists in Steve’s hair when he tugs your panties down your legs. He pats one of your thighs and guides you to drape it over his shoulder, giving him more room to play, and he sucks a bruise onto your skin. He takes a deep breath, catching the heady scent of your sex, and he groans.

Steve spreads the lips of your pussy, getting his first taste of you when he places a soft kiss to your clit and his lips tingle. It’s a tease, but it has you sucking in a sharp breath and it’s got him reaching down to press the heel of his hand against his hard cock. He drops his head down a little lower, grinning at the little squeak you give when his nose bumps at your clit. It’s too dark to see, a shame. Teasingly, he presses his thumb against your hole and you squirm restlessly. He replaces his thumb with the flat of his tongue and he moans because you’re so sweet. Sweet and tangy.

Steve slides his tongue up, through your folds, moving right back to that bundle of nerves. It breaks your silence and you moan lowly, sound echoing in the darkness. It only spurs Steve on and he proceeds to devour you. Feasts upon your pussy, cherishing and savoring it almost the same way he used to do with those rare pieces of fruit Bucky would steal when he and Steve were poor, starving kids. His eyes roam up the wide expanse of your body, watching the rapid rise and fall of your chest, the way your back arches off the car the closer you get to the edge.

Never let it be said that Steve Rogers isn’t a man of his word. You wanted to see what he’s got and he’ll fucking show you what he can do with his mouth. He eases your trembling thigh back down so you’re on steady ground, braces a forearm against your midsection, nurses at your clit, and slides two fingers inside your soaking pussy. He crooks them, searching until he presses against that ridged area.

“Steve!” You slap a hand down on the hood of your car. Your other hand is about to tear a chunk of his scalp out with the grip you’ve got on his hair. “Sweet fucking Lord.” His lips curl deviously. “Steve—oh, God bless—it’s so good. Steve, I—oh, Jesus fucking Christ!”

Steve starts rubbing furiously at that spot inside you, firm and steady pressure. He matches the pace with his tongue, circling and lapping at your clit. You scream when you reach your peak, entire body convulsing, and Steve quickly lowers his head. He moans like a whore when your come squirts into his waiting mouth. He can’t catch it all, though, and the rest soaks your thighs, the front of Steve’s shirt, and your panties. And, fuck, he’s already a mess, anyway. So, he shoves a hand down the front of his pants, takes himself in hand, and furiously strokes until he’s coming himself, coating his hand in thick, sticky white.

Steve makes sure to keep his hands on you, even as he stumbles to his feet. You’re still shaking all over, trying to catch your breath, furiously blinking the stars out of your eyes—or so his ego hopes. “I hope you know how to drive,” you whisper hoarsely. “Because you’re the only way we’re getting home now.”

“And that’s how we do it in the city,” Steve teases.

“Shut the fuck up and help me back in the car.”

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You’re perched on the edge of Steve’s desk. He watches as you take small, careful sips of the moonshine. After a few minutes of rolling the product around on your tongue, you sigh dramatically and turn to look out the window at the looming Brooklyn Bridge with a pinched expression. “It still ain’t Kentucky water,” you grumble. He waits until you reluctantly add, “But it’ll do.”

A smirk plays at Steve’s lips. “Want me to remind you of how I celebrate a new partner?”

[skeptiquewrites]

Beauty

For reader G, who asked how Draco got all of his art in his Muggle flat in Iustitia & Prudentia. It’s fairly standalone so you don’t have to read I&P but I think it is lovely and complementary. 

☆☆☆ The first time Draco took his rubbish to the bin in the back of the building, he had noticed there was a careful pile of things left outside, free to take. He had never seen such a thing in Wiltshire and in any case, it’s not like the family would have stopped on the roadside to look on a carriage ride. Malfoys picked up their second hand crap in expensive stores in Knockturn Alley by appointment as was proper. And yet, here it was. A nightstand that looked to be made out of particle board and a wish, an absolutely filthy mattress, a muggle device he was sure was called a whirler that had metal teeth, several glass jars, a tatty grey lampshade without its lamp, a children’s painting on canvas and a single book. The book looked clean enough, so once he had thrown in his refuse, he wiped his hands on a patch of grass and reached for it. Agatha Christie. He knew that one! They were mysteries and very popular with middle-aged people who came into the store. He liked the idea of having something on his walls, but the painting was sinister. He took the book. In the beginning, Draco listened to Eustace intently. He would ask questions about people’s likes and dislikes, then sometimes whether they liked a particular genre and then would pop out with a book like Ollivander. People didn’t always love the book, but they found it interesting or challenging. Sometimes they would come back to talk to Eustace about it. “Do you do the thing he does?” A customer asked. She was around his age, but he thought he could detect an accent. She had come in on a slow afternoon, after Eustace had gone to pick up his grandchildren from...something. Draco hadn’t been listening then. There was only so much his brain could process. “You mean, recommend books? I can try,” Draco said. “What are you looking for?” “Poetry. But modern, you know,” she said. He was suddenly sure she spoke French, but he was probably too rusty to communicate well. He wasn’t sure he really liked poetry, but some had stuck out to him. “Have you ever read Auden?” Draco asked. She said no and followed him to the poetry section. “Looks like we have one copy.” He handed it to her, and she flicked through. She also accepted the Langston Hughes book.   She came back at the same time of day about a month later with two friends.“I liked your recommendations,” she told him. “What about fiction?” Draco loaded her up with three books and each of her friends with three books after asking a few questions. It wasn’t an exact science, and he was now familiar with books even if he hadn’t had the time to read them all. “It’s getting to be quite busy here,” Eustace remarked. “Maybe you were right about the shelves.” Draco was getting out of the habit of gloating. He didn’t have time for it anyway, and Eustace hired Chike to help on weekdays. “How do you do?” Draco said, shaking her hand. “Posh cult you were in?” Chike said. She laughed a little at his expression. Eustace didn’t really ask for details. Chike was one of those people who just was endlessly curious. Draco had to work daily to remember what he actually couldn’t say around her, which was more than he was used to. “You’re an artist,” Draco said abruptly one slow afternoon. Chike would sketch things all the time on napkins, the back of receipts, and on the signs for the store. A little cartoon girl waved from the children’s section. “Yeah, kind of,” Chike said. “Not kind of. You are an artist,” Draco said insistently. The evidence was all around them. Why was she being stubborn about it? Draco couldn’t do much beyond a botanical sketch and nothing he’d ever drawn looked as alive as the abstract patterns she’d drawn on the back of her own forearm in sharpie. “Tell that to my mum.” She snorted. “Can I pay you for something?” Draco said. “My place has nothing on the walls.” Chike gave him a long, considering look. “Absolutely the fuck not. But we can go to Spitalfields on Saturday.” True to her word, Chike showed up in front of his flat at ten am sharp. “You don’t even own a hoodie, do you?” Chike said by way of greeting. They made their way south into Central London. It was even busier than the places he had been in his neighbourhood and Draco found his attention darting all over the place. The Market wasn’t much better but by then, Draco had learned to focus more. “I like this,” Chike said, looking at a sculpture of a woman lying down and weeping that could have fit in her palm. It was so exquisitely detailed. Draco checked the price and frowned. He couldn’t buy it for her. He wasn’t yet used to that feeling. He hoped it wasn’t all like that. “What else do you like?” Draco asked. Chike pointed things out. It turned out she liked everything from abstract paintings to mixed media modern sculptures (“That is not fucking art,” Draco whispered furiously. “It makes me angry to look at.”  “Good! That reaction means it’s art!” said Chike.) They left with three prints for Draco’s walls. Draco took her to his local, because it was the only place he ever ate out. “The Prince has arrived!” One bartender shouted as he came through the door. Draco blushed. “Will you fuck off?” He said, in his crispest accent. They smiled, and he smiled back. When they finished their meals, Draco carefully counted out at least double the cost of the bill. “Are you serious?” Chike said. “You know that’s twice what it cost.” Draco got up and left the pub and she followed. “When I was a child, my father never tipped at restaurants. He said that if people — ” Draco cleared his throat. “If people wanted more money, they should make better choices.” “Ah,” Chike said. “Fucking Tories.” “Tories,” Draco agreed. Draco decided to try to use the National Art Pass that had come in his welcome package. It took a month to get up the courage to brave transit again, but he made his way down to the Tate and he walked around. It wasn’t any different from Wizarding Museums except most things didn’t move but he...liked it. He took his time, spending the entire day wandering in and out of exhibitions. Draco even thought a few things might be Wizarding. Draco bought five postcards to show Gabriel. Gabe had smiled and cast an engorgement charm with his wand until they were big enough to put up on the walls. “I was just checking if the magic monitoring still worked,” Gabe said. But he left them gallery-sized. Draco put them up alongside the prints he had bought with Chike. He even moved his favourite to his bedroom. Draco still went to other museums in search of more art, but now he was conscious of the fact his walls weren’t bare. He looked at graffiti murals and small galleries and even tried one drawing class at the community centre. It was at a small community exhibition Draco found himself staring at a photograph of a man cradling a ball of bright white light in his arms. The artist had probably made it with some muggle trickery. It reminded him of...well, he wasn’t sure, but he stared at it. “The queer art exhibit is quite something, isn’t it?” A museum worker said. Their pin said Holly (they/them!) with a little rainbow beside it. “The artists are from all over the world. Make sure you pop into the room on the end.” Draco did. Someone had created a whole garden there, lush and green indoors. Instead of carved hippogriffs and nymphs like the Manor, the sculptures were all lovers. He stopped in front of two men entangled in a passionate embrace. Draco almost couldn’t believe it was marble, he could see the indents of the first lovers grip on the second’s hip. He was so overwhelmed with emotion he almost turned around and walked straight out of the building but he forced himself to take in every expression, every statue. He had learned he couldn’t buy things like that. Muggle museums evidently did not work like the ones in the Wizarding World where anything could be bought for a high enough price. And his Galleons to pounds conversion skills were strong enough that he knew he was of significantly reduced means. But Draco wanted, wanted so badly to have some piece of them. He went to the gift shop and bought two big coffee tables from artists in the exhibit, even though it would wipe out his takeaway coffee fund for a month and he definitely would not be getting any ready-made meals either. His flat started to feel like a home, though.

[dbhilluminate]

DBHI: Equilibrium, ch. 13 - “Periapsis” (pt. 3)

Characters: Noah / “Erwin Yvonne”, Gabriel / “Vincent Sharp”, Director Thomas Falken, Priya Davies, Diego Serrano Word Count: 2,813

A drunk and jealous Noah makes an attempt to recapture Gabriel’s attention, but everything goes to hell in a hand basket when the Inquisition shows up to interrupt his heartfelt serenade.

***For a glossary of world-building terms relating to this series and chapter, click here.

(Chapter Art by ozaya, Co-authored by @grayorca15​)

• Chapter Index • Characters • Glossary •

——

December 23rd, 2041 - 10:35 PM

Noah’s fingertips traced over the lapels of his jacket and absently brushed across the sigil pin as he ascended the short flight of stairs at the front of the room. It was fortunate he had made sure to bring spending change besides the few thousand waiting to be deposited into the Zion Founders’ coffers, courtesy of Javier. Between the valet, the bartender and the musicians, he would be out a couple hundred regardless of how this foolish stunt went; but if the outcome turned out in his favor, the reward would be worth any price. Noah made his approach with perfect timing as the last chords of Silent Night faded out. The interruption wasn’t half as jarring as it could have been, but the pianist still stumbled over her last few keystrokes when she noticed the newcomer climb up onto the stage. Both her airbrushed eyebrows shot up to her hairline in alarm, and eyes went wide next to the spinning yellow LED on her temple. The rest of her human colleagues spared them both a collectively bemused stare, lowered their bows, and politely kept their disbelief in check a few precious seconds as Noah smirked and held up a card flush of folded fifty dollar bills. “Evening, all. Lovely job so far, but do you mind if we change things up a tad for oh, say, five minutes?”

“S-sir, you- t-this isn’t part of the program,” the cellist needlessly pointed out, as he turned to the conductor to make his request. Even with his reluctant agreement, their hesitation in accepting a little extra Christmas tip didn’t prove strong enough to keep their hands at their strings. “There’s more where it came from if you’ll humor me for one measly request,” Noah promised as he put on the most innocent face he knew. “It’s nothing that isn’t already on the roster, anyway. Last Christmas is a true classic by now, isn’t it?” Already the band’s delay in proceeding to the next song was drawing a few curious stares from the crowd. Drinks were put down, feet shuffled closer. The conversations droning on just beyond the stage’s edge stalled, interrupted with mutters of ‘who is that’, ‘why did they stop’ and ‘it’s not last call for donations for another thirty minutes’. None of which sounded particularly hostile, so- so far, so good. The pianist -an AX400 wearing a long green gown, with bronze eyes and matching shoulder-length hair parted and pinned in place by a holly-leaf hair clip- was the only one who side-eyed him with open suspicion. She didn’t lift her hands from the keys as he offered a bill for inspection. Instead of asking aloud, she pinged a question over the commlink.

You’re a friend of Mr. Sharp? What gave it away? ‘Yvonne’ teased back. He made a quick show of folding the bill up into a neatly-rolled stick before brushing her hair back to stash it behind her ear (since her hands were presently occupied), and made quick work of scanning the information gleaned from brief contact. Trust me, Miss O’Rourke, this is on the level- I’ve only a few words to say beforehand, no harm, no foul. Vince will understand. I’m just helping him break in a sense of humor. Best gift he could get this holiday, don’t you think? The wink did the trick. ‘Sally’ scoffed and failed to hide half a smirk at his reasoning, reached over and swiped a few pages ahead in the holographic sheet music. The gesture was entirely for show, but a visual confirmation she was game for the idea was more fun than a simple ‘sure, why not?’ He patted her shoulder in thanks. “Much obliged. Rest of you, skip ahead. This’ll only take a minute.” With a loose gestured wave to indicate her colleagues should do the same, Noah wheeled the mic stand out of his way and plucked the mic off the cradle. The device whined almost forlornly at being removed from its nest, and Noah cringed at the high pitched whine as it projected throughout the room. “Test-testing,” he dribbled with a few taps to the head of the device, “One, two- oh, for- is this thing on? Where’s the-“ After a few fumbled attempts, his fingers found the slider switch and dialed it up to full volume. The dual set of speakers situated at either end of the stage boomed, followed by a few scratchy puffs of static. “There it is- signal is good, yeah? Okay!”

This was worse than worse. Ill-timed didn’t even begin to cover it. Not even a minute prior, Director Falken had passed on some disturbing news that had left every Agent on the premises reeling. If Noah couldn’t already tell which of the staff members around the room were part of the undercover team, the sudden halt in their planned routes and turning of heads all around at each other gave them away. Gabriel made eye-contact with at least three of those Agents before he looked back at a man fast approaching the bar from behind the east side of the stage while Noah made his introductory greeting.

“Hello, folks. Good evening. Everyone hearing this okay? Yes? Can I get a few nods? Oh, come on, don’t look so confused. We’re all friends here, right?” If they weren’t, they soon would be. Nothing livened a party up like an impromptu bit of karaoke. Even politicians could agree interruptions were welcome if they were amusing enough and, more importantly, harmless; although, not everyone was on board with the change of pace. Gabe’s boss was every bit the grizzled mood-killing type he looked, he needn’t even identify himself- it was painfully apparent in the way he shouldered his way through the crowd with a shoulder-check type swagger that sent bystanders shuffling aside or knocked over like bowling pins. Like a scratched-up fuzzy bowling ball. Noah couldn’t help but grin with a few barely-contained chuckles as he drew the comparison in his head. Almost as if he‘d heard him, Director Falken tossed Noah a stern ‘I’ll deal with you later’ glare as he passed, and made a beeline for Gabe at the bar, who looked like he was about ready to implode. The burly Android’s face had flushed red right to the tips of his ears. His alias hadn’t even been called out by name, but the inference was clear enough- who else was possibly to blame for taking their eyes him for a minute too long? Despite their clear disdain for the situation, Noah grinned and shrugged with an exaggerated hike of one shoulder. “Well, I should rephrase,” he corrected with a small gesture to the grumpy Director, and redirected his amplified words to the rest of the room. “We aren’t friends yet, are we? Hello there! Name’s Erwin Yvonne, nice to meet you, everyone.”

If there was one thing he had going for him that none of the other undercover agents did, it was that even half-drunk and less than on top of his game, he still knew how to command a room. All the stage lacked was an overhead spotlight to really help sell it. “Our dear Vincent was going to get around to introducing us sometime next week, at the rate he moves, but I doubt you all planned on camping out here that long, right? Sleepover in the auditorium isn’t how I’d want to spend the holidays, either. That’d get expensive pretty quick, if I’m doing the math right.” More bemused murmurs and a few uneasy chuckles met his introduction not quite halfway, none of which resulted from ‘Vinnie and company’, who were too wrapped up in whatever it was he hadn’t bothered to tell him about to offer so much as an annoyed glance.

Still leaving me out of the loop...? I see how it is, he huffed indignantly back at his would-be partner. Don’t worry, I’ll keep them distracted for you. Noah, this is really not the time, Gabriel tried to warn with a silent shake of his head, as Serrano greeted their new guest. Falken met his kindness with a curt nod, then turned his attention to the disguised Gabriel, leaned in, grabbed his arm and whispered in his ear. Sharp’s jaw flexed as he grit his teeth and nodded in understanding, then turned back to his mark and passed along the information. A moment later, Falken escorted Serrano and his men out a door to the left of the room- an odd play indeed, but he didn’t make much of it in his current state. Instead, Noah rolled his eyes, shifted his weight onto one foot, and draped his free hand over the empty microphone stand to tilt it away from himself. He was far from being in a falling-down-drunk state, but having something to lean on just in case wasn’t completely unadvisable. There were more tasteless crutches to rely on.

With a frustrated shrug and a sigh, he brought the mic up again. The last ramble hadn’t been all that funny anyway, better to dismiss the joke as a flop and keep going, regardless of the new secrets Gabe wasn’t sharing. “Anyway, my point is- all this finery, good drinks and food and better company, and he couldn’t even be bothered to find us some lyrical accompaniment? Does he find the classics so torturous?” Please, Gabe insisted in a worried tone that went right over the inebriated Android’s head. Come down from there, we need to get you out of here. Yvonne only scoffed in response and wagged a finger back at him as he pushed his way through the crowd toward the stage. “Tsk tsk, I see now why you even put my name on the list at all, Vinnie dearest. If that’s how it’s gonna be, I hope you don’t mind the first pick on my list. I think we can all agree it’s an old favorite, with or without context.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw one of the violinists tightening a loose string; a few random chord plucks from behind him indicated the quartet had finished tuning for the next number. All drew their bows across the necks of their instruments and cast him a mute look of uncertainty that received a thumbs up in return, just in time for Vincent to grab at his ankle and shake him to get his attention. “Erwin… you’re drunk, don’t do anything you’ll regret-“ “No, no, don’t try and stop me now, this is happening,” Yvonne insisted with a shake of his leg as he pulled it away, tossed his hair aside, and took a couple of steps back from him. “Sally, boys- whenever you’re ready. ”  

Whatever their doubts, confidence counted for something, and Yvonne wasn’t a guy to shy away from challenges, much less those of his own making. The conductor tapped his baton against the edge of the music stand a few times, then gestured with a large sweeping wave- the band started right up as if they had practiced the song a hundred times before. Gabriel attempted to shoot him one final warning as the instrumental introduction finished its first round without lyrics, but Noah met it with a snarky brow pop and set his gaze on the man’s deep brown eyes so there was no mistaking what this was about.

Last Christmas, I gave you my heart, But the very next day, you gave it away. This year, to save me from tears, I'll give it to someone special.

Last Christmas, I gave you my heart, But the very next day, you gave it away. This year, to save me from tears, I'll give it to someone special.

The stage didn’t offer much front lawn space to strut around on. Even if it did, the song was more catchy than a number to dance to. Substituting the keyboard with a concert piano hadn’t turned out terrible, thankfully, and the cello plucked to mimic the percussive beat complimented the higher-pitched violinists. By the second repeat of the first chorus, he could see the crowd was sold. A few faces lit up in new interest, the nervous chatter died down. One man, phone held to his ear, ended whatever call he was on to turn the video camera on him. Most important, though, was that the flustered look he’d been dying to see again had resurfaced on Gabe’s face, even if it was tainted with latent anxiety.

Once bitten, and twice shy, I keep my distance, but you still catch my eye. Tell me, baby, do you recognize me? Well, it’s been a year so- it doesn’t surprise me.

It wasn’t as though there was a real crowd to play to, but past the first few verses, Gabriel’s transfixed gaze and reddening cheeks were all the motivation he needed to dial the performance up to eleven. Noah found himself so lost in relating the lyrics to his current problem, a few extra words slipped in seamlessly without having to put much thought at all into keeping the tempo.

Merry Christmas! I wrapped it up and sent it With a note saying, "I love you," I meant it Now, I know what a fool I've been, oh- But if you kissed me now, I know you'd fool me again!

One hand reached to claw at the layers over his chest as his eyelids fluttered, and Vincent took a backward stagger away from the stage as ‘Yvonne’ repeated the chorus twice more. He didn’t have time to deal with this frivolousness at the moment, not with (what was most likely) the Inquisition on the Mellon’s doorstep, set to raid the fundraiser any moment. The strength returned to his eyes as the morbid pre-constructions of Noah’s death reminded him of his objective. He had to get him off that stage, lest he became a target. Vincent reached for Yvonne’s leg again as he moved a little too close to the stage’s edge, then reached up to pull him down to his level, demanding he get-down-from-there; rather than convincing him to oblige, however, it backfired. The gesture nearly yanked him off balance, but Noah took a knee instead to smoothly cover the stumble and delivered the next chorus directly at him. If he had been trying to keep this from turning into a real embarrassment, nothing would be worse to him than having a song dedicated to him.

A crowded room, friends with tired eyes, I'm hi-ding from you, and your soul of ice. My god, I thought you were someone to rely on. Me? Heh, I guess I was a shoulder to cry on. A face on a lover with a fire in his heart. A man undercover, but you tore - me - apart. Oh, hoo. Now-

LISTEN TO ME! Gabe growled angrily, finally letting the snarl show through his cover, as the band played on and Yvonne fell behind. I’m serious, something is very wrong. All of our other teams on site have gone silent- three of the four missed their quarterly check-ins, and Falken found the fourth dead in the nest a few minutes ago-

The gravity in his words sunk like lead in his gut as a gunshot echoed through the auditorium from the entrance of the ballroom and silenced the band, replaced with a wave of simultaneous screams. Two more shots fired off and injured a couple of guests as a small group of ten to fifteen armed androids, dressed to the teeth in riot gear, fanned out through the hall and trained their automatic weapons on guests trying to escape. Noah -instead of dropping to the floor like any sensible person had by that point- crossed the stage a few steps to look around the tree, just in time to get a front-row seat as the body of one of the guards who had let him in was flung down the stairs like a carelessly delivered package. A lump rose in his throat as the corpse landed beside one-armed thug, who spared it only a kick further into the room, and all thought of singing died off. He couldn’t look away, not even to glimpse the face of the Android who had entered the room dressed in a skintight black dress, the train of which slithered down the steps behind them like the tail of a viper. But the voice was familiar- cool and calm, flowing like a river of milk and honey. It was a voice he only remembered from Purgatory’s recovered audio logs. Priya Davies -better known by the general public as the Horseman, Pestilence- raised one gently folded hand to silence the startled gasps that swept the room.

“Good, evening, ladies and gentlemen. My, don’t you all just look pretty as a picture…”

[noprodigalson]

“ if your blood has been shed in my name, i shed mine for you.”

voices kept echoing off the walls, throbs of pain pulsing through his head with each ricochet of sound. it wasn’t uncommon for him to wake to yelling or aggressive tones. tempers ran high when a business was under attack, when one’s fortune was crumbling around them. dean had to laugh, find humor in the situation, because what did one expect going up against the great roman rourke ?  that it’d be easy ?  the hunter knew well enough that roman’s syndicate never made life easy for those who wished them ill will.

his head rolls slightly off to the side, eyes opening just barely to get a glimpse of whatever was going on this time. the view wasn’t anything new, hadn’t been for the past few days. if anything, the same repetitive and ostentatious scenery was the worst torture of all. one could only stand to look at the same ugly painting for a  few hours before getting completely bored out of their mind. the small cuts into his skin, threats about loved ones, broken bones and bruises?  those were easy, those were things dean had become comfortable with. maybe that was why those around him had gotten so mad. dean had sensed pride when he received an introduction to his most recent ‘caretaker �� . it hadn’t been more than an hour before the luster had worn off, dean giving up the act of helpless and clueless prisoner. 

the painting that had been the hunter’s object of attention rocked on its setting, wall shaking under some sort of pressure that dean couldn’t figure out. energy had left his body, a pall weighing down the limbs of his body. green eyes stared blankly ahead, light thrumming as the hunter did his best to focus. that was the problem with the real world, with earth. there was no quick reanimation, no instant recovery after your lung had been squeezed through the rib cage like a water balloon peeking between the cracks of a clenched fist. 

“ you never did appreciate the beauty in my art until it was too late, did you?  ” 

the drawl of their voice seemed so close, yet dean knew it was impossible for deceased demon to be in the same room as him. forcing his head to turn, his breath heavy as just the slightest of movements were laborious for the hunter, he met the white eyes with the strongest glare he was able to muster. “ art?  fuck off.” 

“ language, my dear boy. besides, why deny it?  even after all these years, you still know whether or not someone has good taste with the knife. ” the form had a small shimmer to it, as if the body of the demon wasn’t quite within this realm, occupying a space it couldn’t hold on to. as they walked closer, dean couldn’t help but to let his head drop once more, darkness fading in and out of the corners of his vision. “ look at you, blood dripping down the side of your face, soaking into your clothes ––  tch. there’s even some muscle poking out here along the sides of your arms. they put you through quite a lot didn’t they ?  but you stayed strong. had to be just like your daddy. even as they broke a few fingers, snapped a few ribs, cut into the side of your pretty face, you had to be that good little soldier boy. ”

hands pressed down against his shoulders lightly, comforting almost, before dean could feel the heat of their breath against the side of his face. he continued staring down, looking at the white button-up shirt that had been soaked in his blood, torn apart to give bare to more flesh and skin to cut away at. there were more reds and purples covering his body at this point than the normal sun kissed tone he was used to seeing. “ now, i’m rooting for ya deano. once you get out of here, we’re going to find the same people who claimed to have skill when it comes to torture. i want you to prove to me that you’ve at least learned something in that wonderful years we had together. teach them what it means to cause pain, to make such skillful cuts that you fear it’ll last for years and years. ”

revenge ––  the word seemed so sweet in the moment. each words, even through the white-eyed demons drawl, were enunciated so perfectly as the rest of the world struggled to make itself clear. trapped in a bell jar with only the devils left hand to give him company. dean groaned as a new wave of nausea hit from being awake for too long. “ alistair … ”

“ our time is up boy. i know how you carry the expectations of your superiors on your shoulders, how so good you are with following orders. don’t disappoint me. ”

“ hey ––  hey !  ”

dean tried his best to yell out, to call back the torment that had been hovering over his shoulders. instead it was echoed back by a different voice, doors opening to a face dean hadn’t expected seeing. they weren’t unwelcome by any means however, a grin forming on the hunters face as he sees the kingpin rush to his side. “ hey …  ”

there’s the small question of who he was talking to, dean looking at the worried face as thoughts seem to roll in. were they worried about someone still being in the room with dean ?  it had been hours since the owner of this house had last tried to beat some answers out of the winchester. however, that answer didn’t seem to get the comforting reaction dean had been hoping for as there were a string of expletives coming from roman’s mouth. there were a few more sweet nothings, things took in and found sweet, but inherently meaningless. towards the end, as a few of roman’s men began to unbind dean from the chair, roman’s last words weighed heavily on dean. 

“ if your blood has been shed in my name, i shed mine for you. ”

“ get a fucking move on !  ” dean yelled through the radio, sound of water hitting the wood and concrete in rhythm with the sound of bullets as the two factions faced off against each other. the hunter had a hunch someone had been leaking information, trying to play both sides of the board and reap the benefits, but that didn’t sit right with the winchester. you picked a side and you stuck to your guns till the very end. 

this mess of a stint was proof that someone was undermining their operations though.

unfortunately, it also meant that dean knew who was behind it, and roman wasn’t going to be happy. they allowed this man be allowed in at the clubs, invited them in the rourke household, had a fucking birthday party of all things for them. dean wondered just how deeply this double crossing agent had dug into their system. like all things, dean knew the best way to get rid of a pest was to burn it at the source. you didn’t just kill the problem, you uprooted it. you salted and burned the ground it was once living in, and then you found any others that looked just the same and removed them as well. you didn’t just kill the problem ––  you wipe it from existence. 

dean paced along the bridge as people from roman’s syndicate ran to cover, dean having already placed crates and boxes strategically in advance so they would have the advantaged. dean watched from the freighter, eyes picking up on the muzzle flashes winding between the cold metal and wooden crates, trying to claim the prize that was dangled so temptingly in front of their faces. like cheese hiding in a steel spring trap, it had only taken a slip in calculations for dean to let the metal bar come crashing down on the rodents neck. dealing with crime families was one thing, but now that the police were involved ? dean bit at his lips, thinking about possible ways to maneuver out of this particular situation. he had insisted on roman not taking part, something he was quite pleased about now that things had gone to hell in a hand basket. the rourke name would stay clean however, whatever promise of illicit drugs and weaponry that this snake had heard wind of wasn’t here. it was simple food and alcohol, supplies for their bars, and nothing that’d get them in trouble with the law. the shootout wasn’t planned, but already dean was planning on pinning that on another group. most of the people with him were hired, a gang from a neighboring city that wanted to get into the kingpins good graces. none of them were going to be left alive in case they tried to sell the syndicate out if dean had any say in the matter. 

fingers tapped against the metal, feeling eyes on him as they stood in an uneasy quiet. dean sometimes wondered how it came to be that people in one of the most profitable crime syndicates looked up to him for direction, but he couldn’t let that distract him now. there was no time to get consumed by his thoughts. he knew that the faction trying to undermine roman’s legacy would end up self-destructing before them, putting up a fight till the very end as dean’s group retreated to safety. all he had to do was find the leader who’d been trying to out maneuver the kingpin in the midst of the chaos.

“have the men on the boat stay there, no weapons, and do not, at any point, provide assistance. got it ?  you’re in the clear. them people out there shooting ?  not so much. put all weapons back in the lockbox incase questions are asked, we not looking for trouble. ” 

dean would make sure that roman’s people were safe, but that still left the fact of chasing down their little mole. “ hold the fort. or boat. or ––  yeah you get the picture. ”

he had left without anymore words, those who remained knowing exactly what to do and how to remain calm in such situations. the sounds of gunfire was becoming more sporadic, longer intervals of silence before once more shouting out into the cold night air. he traveled effortlessly between the nooks and crannies, following twist and turns that were planned out so carefully. following a blood trail, dean happened across one of the gang members, hunched over with a bullet wound in their gut.

“ hey, oh god, hey, don’t worry i’m here to help, ” dean said, shuffling over quickly, getting down on one knee to listen to the other’s voice.  “ what happened, suddenly there were two groups of people ?  ” 

there was a worried hand placed on their shoulder, question asked as if dean had no idea what was going on. maybe if the person wasn’t currently bleeding out, they’d notice dean had no weapons on him, no blood either. moments of life and death were always fueled with panic and inattention luckily. dean watched their breath hover faintly in the frigid air as they spoke, rambling about the who’s and what’s and thank you’s for saving them. the last one resulted in a laugh that was almost impossible to contain.

“ yeah, don’t worry, i got help on the way. just stay put. ” where nobody can find you, was the unspoken part of the sentence. a painful way to die, bleeding out with a bullet lodged in one of your lungs, but dean had a job to do. saving people wasn’t part of it this time. 

the words led dean not too far away, a small caravan of black suv’s and sedans lined up against the road. dean sent off a quick message on his phone to roman, telling him the details. it wasn’t going to be too hard to track down the bugger that sold him out, especially since dean had names and license plate numbers, but it was better to be safe than sorry. besides, dean could just picture the man worried sick, pacing in their kitchen, checking their phone twenty times a minute. there was a small chuckle, one that was cut short however as dean felt a small pressure to their back.

“ is that a gun, or are you just happy to see me?  ” 

if there was a witty retort, he lost it in the haze of jumbled memories he had after waking up with a pounding headache, the butt of the gun having left a significant gash in the back of his head at impact. 

[moteloleander]

A 30 Day Art Prompt Challenge For Someone Trying To Get Back In To Drawing

It does not matter if it takes way more than 30 days.

It does not matter if a prompt leaves you cold (there are alternates at the bottom of the list)

If you want to make it fandom, make it fandom. If you don't, don't.

There are no limitations. Just do the thing.

Day 1: Start small. Take 20-30 minutes and doodle things you can see. A glass on the table or flowers in a vase or a dog outside a window or the elderly drunk chef on TV. It doesn't matter in the slightest if they're a mess

Day 2: Tighten up a bit. Take one doodle and try to make something you're happy with. (Happy-ish, I never met a creative who was happy with anything)

Day 3: Draw an animal walking a tightrope. You were serious yesterday, you don't have to be serious today.

Day 4: Sketch your left foot. If feet are hard, just do the big toe. If toes are hard, pick a wrinkly knuckle and do that (hairs and all)

Day 5: Draw something you'd like to eat. OP accepts no responsibility for Tumblr bans incurred by creative misinterpretation of this prompt.

Day 6: Get a knife from the kitchen (or some other utensil if you're not to be trusted with knives). Do little texture studies - of a shiny blade or a rubbery grip or a wood handle, whatever you've got. It doesn't matter if the page looks like a patchwork quilt rather than a knife.

Day 7: A whole week's worth of good arty fun! Today draw somebody telling a joke! It's up to you if they are confident or desperate, if they've already made themselves laugh. If in doubt, go tell a joke and take note how you feel.

Day 8: Don't try to draw the room you're sitting in, you'll break your brain. Take care of yourself. Pick one corner or one little image. Draw that.

Day 9: Make something complicated really, really simple. You might suggest a brick wall just by sketching one or two bricks, or suggest the lacy pattern of leaves on a tree by just outlining the empty spaces. Plaid, fur, a shelf full of books - invent a shortcut!

Day 10: Speaking of a shelf full of books - get a book. Go to page 46. Eight lines down, six words along. Draw that word. (If the word is 'the' or otherwise uninspiring, practice lettering, or illuminate it, or do something with the letters themselves)

Day 11: Get out of the house and doodle. I don't care what you doodle. Streetlights, drain covers, a billboard, a terrifying black-out drunk dude nodding out at a bus stop, just so long as it's not indoors.

Day 12: Break time! Take your favourite holiday and your favourite non-human creature and put them together. The St Paddy's Day Siren. The Chinese New Year Mutant Abomination. The Alien Of Christmas Past.

Day 13: Sketch a wall. With graffiti on it. In an art gallery. Shelves with interesting things. Covered in overlapping posters. Idk. Find a wall and draw it, k?

Day 14: Today we are looking at age. It doesn't matter if you make a complete drawing or just texture studies. A cracked stone step. Chipped paint. The worn corners of a notebook that's been knocking around the back of your desk for a year. Or ask the bus stop weirdo if he'll sit for you again. Make a friend, hey, why not! (Please don't.)

Day 15: Stretch out your legs and draw them. You can leave out the feet if those are still hard. Pay attention to where they touch or don't, to where they get squooshed out of shape, to the creases and seams in any fabric.

Day 16: Chill. Draw a complete freakin cliche. A nerd with big glasses and ink stains. A heroic collie posing on a hill. A fat chef. An old hill ffs just draw something you've seen a thousand times. That doesn't mean it's bad. Enjoy it. Be happy-ish with it.

Day 17: Look at something melting - candle wax, chocolate, that bacon grease you forgot to wash off the tray starting to burn because you need to use the oven again...

Day 18: Watch something via streaming or DVD. Look at a particular character for five or ten minutes. Then fastforward. Pause just as soon as you see that character again. And I don't care how weird that face is, draw it. If faces are daunting, just try and space out the features, get a curled lip right, or a squinting eye.

Day 19: Get tied! Tie some knots in string or in the cord of your jim-jams or the belt of a bathrobe, you could even braid your hair, and sketch how things tie together and wind through each other.

Day 20: It's time for hands! (Sorry! Tomorrow will be chill, I promise). Draw whatever hand isn't holding your pen/pencil/scalpel/quill. You can pose it however you like. If fingers are tough, ball up your fist

Day 21: You're on your damn way! Relax today. Doodle something from a movie you love. It doesn't have to be good. If all you've got in you is a stick man being tackled by a Blob Of Unusual Size, just tag it Princess Bride and we'll tell you it's beautiful and put it on the fridge.

Day 22: Look at some sports people, irl or on TV or online. Try and sketch some muscle form. A big thick football neck, a sinewy female MMA shoulder, a sprinter's calf

Day 23: Let's look at liquid - a puddle, a running tap, how milk kind of clings to a glass, the dregs of a cup of tea with biscuit crumbs. Just some kind of damp, k?

Day 24: Shiny shiny! Shiny things and light! Gather some shiny things together - glittery costume jewelry, a compact mirror, that bit of sea glass you can't part with, put everything in a glass jar, whatever, just S H I N Y - and draw what you see. Don't worry if it makes sense. Little reflections and flashes of light like you're drawing a treasure chest. It's all about how light hits and bounces.

Day 25: Okay, remember the sports day? Well, this time you're going to look up some dancers. Look at the whole body this time. Find the strangest, most contortionist poses. Draw exactly what you see and try to understand how tf they got their leg up there

Day 26: NEARLY THERE! Today your theme is cheese! A cheesy grin! A little mouse trying to get cheese out of a trap! A monster made of radioactive cheese! The moon, made of green cheese, complete with Clangers and Soup Dragon!

Day 27: Sketch out your favourite room in the house. You don't have to get the kitchen counters exactly level, you don't have to draw the fish tank if you don't want to, maybe there's just a lamp you're particularly fond of. Just draw a background from your own home. It can be the garden if you like!

Day 28: Try and draw some interaction. Use stick-men if you want to, or simple outlines. Make them shake hands or get in a fight or slow-dance. Or all three, in sequence. Cute couple.

Day 29: Look at two buildings next to each other and sketch what you see. Is there an alley between them? Is it overgrown? Do they butt up against each other? How do the two surfaces meet?

Day 30: IDGAF what you draw today, bunny, because it's thirty days and you made it and you did all these stupid little exercises and you did good! You're happy, right? Happy-ish?

*

Here are some loose alternates you can sub in if you don't like any of the days above.

Alt 1: A Sad Piano

Alt 2: A Friendly Ghost or Monster

Alt 3: A Fruit In Love

Alt 4: A Battered Fish

Alt 5: A Nun/Priest Of An Alternative Religion

[silreads]

Esmeralda’s Bakery

This is an IronStrange fanfic that completely ignores Infinity War and its sadness. This fic ignores a lot of canon.

My first writing ever posted.

Context: monsters popped up in New York, but are quickly defeated through the efforts of the new Avengers. The team dispersed after the threat was neutralized. However, Tony and Strange lingered after the battle, and Tony’s mind wondered.

Tony regretted calling Stephen and himself ‘Awesome facial hair bros’ for 2 reasons:

1. ‘Goatee bros’ was easier to say

2. He didn’t want to be his bro

Bros often don’t want to kiss their fellow bro. After this realization, Tony never used the term again, and a few months later had hoped it was forgotten. However after a very close call on a very difficult mission, Tony thanked Strange for his help and got ‘of course, we’re awesome facial hair bros’. It was cool that he remembered and Tony expressed that. But he wanted to be more that bros for a number of reasons.

The most obvious was that the man was gorgeous, even without the awesome facial hair. Strange challenged him in the best of ways, made him look at the mystic arts in a more serious light. He made him laugh and feel relaxed, safe. Most importantly Strange didn’t see him as Iron Man: the hero, or as Tony Stark: genius, billionaire etc.; he saw him as Tony: a man who wanted to save people because he knew how shitty it feels to be dying and helpless. Tony would like to kiss him for that.

“How ‘bout we think of another name for us?” Tony joked.

“Us?” Strange asked. His eyes subtly looked Tony up and down.That made Tony’s stomach twist in a very familiar way. He refused to admit to butterflies.

“Yeah like our duo name, Bruce and I call ourselves Science Bros.” At least, he thought Bruce gave in and started doing so. Tony needed to test that later.

“Yes, well I’m sure you can figure that one out. As much as I know your ego is overfed already, I must admit you create fun nicknames.” He was right that shot straight to his ego. Tony also chose to believe that meant he actually enjoyed being called the wizard.

Strange opened up a portal to the Sanctum and the Cloak of Levitation went through, it just wanted to rest after the fight. He made to leave as well but Tony stopped him asking, “Have you tried that new bakery down the street? Esmeralda's? I know they’ve got great tea and if anything disastrous happens you can just magic yourself to the Sanctum.”

The sorcerer looked surprised at first but smiled fondly at Tony and told him to lead the way. They made their way down the ruble covered street and the sweet smell of baked goods became clearer the closer they got. The owners were actually an older couple and they were overjoyed to see two Avengers enter their shop.

“Oh two of the Earth mightiest heroes! This is wonderful! Just tell me what you’d like and go ahead chose any seat you’d like!” The white haired woman exclaimed.

“Your best herbal tea, my usual coffee, and whatever you think would go with them, Ms. Aurora.” Tony answered. While she made the drinks, another woman stuck her head outside of the kitchen with a wrinkled smile on her face.

“What was that, love? What are you yelling about?” She asked as she looked out to the front and saw Strange and Tony sitting at a booth by the window. “Wow no wonder you were yelling, Darling.” She said as she wiped her hands on her apron. “My name’s Esmeralda and the lovely woman making your drinks is my wife Aurora. It’s nice to meet you Dr. Strange, Tony mentioned last week he’d bring you by.”

Strange was visibly surprised and Tony did very well at keeping up a jovial smile while embarrassment simmered underneath. He was on a first name based with these two kind women, but somehow had forgotten that he expressed his interest in Strange in front of them. Tony and Strange talked a lot outside of work and most of that talk strays away from work fairly quickly. Strange began saying Tony instead of Stark, but Tony still flipped between calling him Strange and Wizard. Maybe Tony would be on first name bases with Strange by the time they left.

“Sweetheart, could you hand me the jar of lavender from the top shelf?” The taller woman did as her wife asked and handed off the jar with a kiss on the cheek. Esmeralda turned her attention to the men in the booth and said,

“We felt the ground shake for a good two hours. It stopped a little before you two got here. I assume we have your team to thank for that.”

“A few monsters but nothing we couldn’t handle. Tony was able to use some new equipment he made.” Strange smiled and recalled Tony’s intrigued muttering when something didn’t work quite right. It sounded like he already knew how to fix the mechanism before he even got back to the lab which he admitted was impressive.

“Indeed I did but the Wizard seemed to have had a grand old time practicing his new spells.” Tony described to them the shapes and sparks to them in a way that was meant to be teasing but came out as admiring. Aurora handed them their cups of coffee and tea, and brought over a mini fruit tart and mini cheese cake. They thanked her and Strange felt the need to ask,

“Why did you stay in the store? If you felt the ground shaking as much as it was you both knew it was a dangerous area.”

“That’s a fair question and the simple answer is that we know we’re safe. With people like the Avengers around there’s no need to fear.” Aurora answered. “It also helps that I called in a favor from an old family friend to put a protective seal on this place. Maybe you know him Dr.Strange he goes by Wong he practices the mystic arts as well.” Strange grinned and confirmed he knew him. She gave they a few lovely stories of Wong as a child, because she was his mother’s friend and baby sat some times.

Esmeralda and Aurora excused themselves from the conversation to tend to the oven and customers respectively. They started eating their desserts with half of their drinks left and Tony offered some of cheese cake to Strange.

“You know in some cultures offering cake is a form of flirting.” Strange said

“That’s nice cause in our culture it’s a bit difficult to tell the difference between flirtation, teasing and good old platonic friendship.”

“Nothing more platonic than being ‘bros’ right Tony?” It was odd, Strange didn’t have that same tone of confidence he usual had when he spoke. For once Strange sounded like he wanted to be wrong. Tony was more than happy to prove him wrong.

“Yeah that’s why the duo name just doesn’t fit. Boyfriends seems like a nice and easy to say duo name, but we more accurately fit the duo name of ‘two dudes dating’. However, that’s if you want to count this as a date.” They stared at each other for a bit to process what just happened and Strange began to chuckle.

“Alright I will count this as a date if you call me Stephen instead of Strange.”

Tony smiled wide, leaned forward, and gently put his hand over Stephen’s and asked, “So I can still call you the Wizard?”

Stephen shook his head and rolled his eyes before he leaned forward and gave Tony a kiss.

[dictionarywrites]

Like The Sun Married The Moon

4.5k. Complete. Rated T. DashingFrost. 

A little 5+1 style story: five times the Avengers noticed Loki maybe had a secret, and one time it came out.

Then going back through the six in reverse.

My Ao3 | Send requests | Tip jar!

One: Tony Stark

It’s not that Tony’s interested. He’s not.

It’s just that Loki’s been here on Earth for what, nearly a year now? And he’s so comfortable. So confident. Sure, he’s under whatever spell that stops him from hurting people, and that’s the only reason they can really trust him, but the guy is just such a card.

Tony watches him as he laughs, taking a slow sip from his wine glass: the party’s buzzing, and Tony knows who invited him, because, yeah, Tony’s known all across New York in all the rich circles, and as much as he can get annoyed with stuffed shirts and demanding rich girls, a party is a party. But who the Hell invited Loki? This is an event with some of the richest, most upper-class people in New York, and Loki gets an allowance from SHIELD, but it’s nothing super impressive.

Loki can see Tony watching him, and he arches one dark eyebrow, raising his glass.

Tony strides across the room, and Loki murmurs quiet words to the men he’s speaking to, all fashionable guys with coiffed hair and floral shirts, and he comes closer. Loki’s well-dressed for the occasion, at least: he wears a suit in some kinda pastel lilac, the white shirt open and baring the column of his neck to the room at large. And the hair… God, Loki’s hair had been gross when they’d first seen him, greased back from his head, but now it’s well-washed and healthy, tied up in a loose bun with a few strands hanging around his face, the style effortlessly graceful. A new piece of jewellery shines through the shell of Loki’s ear, and a silver stud shines through the side of his nose.

(“Ooh, loving the new look, Reindeer Games. What, taking the time to rebel now that you’re out of the house?” Loki had laughed, the sound loud and wild and free.

“No one pierces anything on Asgard – even earrings are clipped on or held with magic. I could never do this before.” And that… That’d been wild, to hear from a guy nearly three thousand years old. Still new experiences to be found, even at his age.)

“You look like you’re having a good time,” Tony says mildly.

“I am,” Loki replies. He holds his wineglass like the prince he is, his grip delicate on the glass stem, and when he swills the liquid inside, the motion is practised and almost thoughtless, as if it’s pure instinct that makes him do it. “I like parties.”

“Really?” Tony asks, leaning back slightly. “Didn’t have you pegged for a big occasions guy.” Tony’s sarcasm only makes Loki smile, and he takes a slow sip of his drink. “What, you looking for a rich girl to take you home?”

“No,” Loki murmurs, slowly shaking his head. His gaze is momentarily far away, a little sadness shining in his eyes. It’s weird – Loki’s been planet-side for ten months, all-in-all, and he honestly avoids every single one of the Avengers when he’s not at work. Tony keeps vague tabs on him, knows that he keeps himself to himself in his little apartment in Brooklyn, knows that he uses his allowance just to get groceries (guy’s a health food nut, who knew?) and saves the rest, but Loki… It’s not easy to track him. Tony knows he goes places, and meets people, but it’s all but impossible to keep a surveillance on him, and yet he never wants to hang out with the guys from work. Tony doesn’t feel like he knows much more about Loki than he did when the guy first attacked New York. “I don’t partner myself with women these days.”

“Oh,” Tony says, feeling his eyebrows raise despite himself. Shit. “That, uh— How is Asgard? On the whole, um, the whole gay thing?”

“Not good,” Loki answers plainly. “But Asgard isn’t so good on me. It never has been.” Tony reaches up, dragging his fingers over the side of his mouth, feeling the warmth of his own hand against his lips. Loki’s hot. Tony knows Loki’s hot, and he knows damn well that he’s hot himself, and really, there’s no shame in trying—

“You know, uh, I’m not— We could always, uh…” Loki is staring at him, blinking slowly, and then he chuckles. The sound begins low in his throat, dark and slightly foreboding, and when he reaches out, patting the side of Tony’s cheek, his fingers are freezing cold. The condescension should piss Tony off, but instead it makes heat burst in his chest.

“I think not, Stark,” Loki murmurs.

“You know, it’s been nearly a year. I think Tony works. Or— Anthony, right? You wanna call me Anthony?”

“Anthony,” Loki repeats softly. His smile is nothing but fond, despite how patronising his tone had been a second ago, and he draws his hand neatly back, drawing his hand over his hair, tucking a loose strand of dark hair away from his face. “Don’t take this as an insult, but Midgardians… You are so fragile, and all of you so young. Such an interspecies union might be something Thor would take to easily, but not I.”

“We must all seem like babies to you,” Tony murmurs.

“Not babies,” Loki murmurs. “You are adults, each of you. But… Different. As a wolf is different to a fox.” And then Loki is moving across the room, taking up a conversation with a pretentious artist Tony always tries to avoid talking to himself: they greet each other like they’re old friends, touching one another’s arms, and it’s—

Weird.

Loki’s weird. But in a good way, Tony thinks, rejection aside.

Two: Steve Rogers

Loki isn’t a good man. Steve knows that. He’s also not as bad as Steve had thought in the beginning.

Loki is weaving magic upon the air, and every single kid in the classroom is watching raptly, every one of them staring up at the shimmering energy that gathers between Loki’s hand, making up the petals of a shining, transparent flower of gold and silver. It’s artful, poetic – it’s one of the most beautiful things Steve’s ever seen, and he still thinks of it an hour later, when the Avengers are done with the school visit, and when everybody else has started splitting off in different directions. And yet Loki… Loki has a faraway look in his eyes, a kind of sadness, and Steve falls into step beside him.

It’s funny – Loki works with the Avengers, and he’s one of them, sure, but Steve never sees him outside of their official appearances, or when they’re dragged into a fight. Loki’s a solitary kind of guy, it seems.

“You want kids?” Steve asks. Loki turns to him, surprise showing on his face.

“I have children,” Loki says. Steve stares at him, and Loki gives him an awkward smile, shrugging his shoulders. “I am once widowed, once divorced, Captain Rogers. Four of my children yet live, and two are long-since dead.”

Jeeze. No wonder the guy’s sad and distracted.

“Sorry,” Steve says. “I didn’t, um, I didn’t realise.”

“It’s alright,” Loki murmurs, his hands in his pockets. He’s comfortable in Earth clothes, it seems to Steve – more comfortable than Steve feels sometimes, with the subtle differences to the clothes he grew up with. “Perhaps I shall have more, one day. I don’t know.”

“You got anyone in mind to settle down with?” Steve asks, and it comes out so quickly, the flirtation hanging on the air. Loki smiles.

“Yes,” he says, and Steve reaches up, rubbing the back of his neck. Every time he thinks he knows something about this guy, it seems like he’s proved wrong.

“God, really just putting my foot in my mouth again and again today, huh?” Loki reaches out, and his cold fingers gently pat the side of Steve’s shoulder. He says nothing, and walks away.

Thing is… What, the guy’s got somebody in mind? Who?

Three: Clint Barton

“You ever gonna tell ‘em?” Clint asks. They’re in the laboratory in Avengers Tower, and Loki glances up from where he’s bent over some engineering schematics, making adjustments to some old designs they’d dug out of the SHIELD archives. Loki’s an engineer, it turns out – as good an engineer as Clint himself, even if he’s not gonna be patenting a million inventions any time soon.

“Tell them what?” Loki asks. He keeps his distance from Clint, and Clint likes it that way. It’s… Weird. The connection to Loki has been broken, Clint’s sure of that, but sometimes it’s like there’s a lingering instinct hovering in the back of his mind, to fall into step beside Loki, to obey orders…

Clint hates it. He hates following orders, hates the way he feels like he should be swearing fealty to Loki some days, but Loki doesn’t rub it in. He’d apologised, a few weeks after getting thrown down to Midgard, and offered Clint whatever “boon” he wanted, and Clint had just said to leave him alone – and Loki had.

“There’s— I don’t know what it is, who it is,” Clint says. “But there’s someone else. Someone you’re connected to, not Thor, not your mom. Someone else.”

“I’m not going to tell them,” Loki says at length. Clint reads the words on his thin lips, and inexplicably, they make him sad.

“No one hates you, you know,” Clint says. “Not even me. You can trust the Avengers. They’ll all have your back.” Loki’s lips twitch, and he looks up from the schematics, looking at Clint seriously. There’s a short pause as Loki seems to think over what Clint’s said, and then he brings his fingers up to his mouth and chin before bringing his palm outward: Thank you.

Clint didn’t know the guy could sign.

Four: Natasha Romanov

“Truth, or dare,” Nat says, leaning back in her seat, and Loki watches her for a long few moments, his lips quirking into a little smile. The party’s chilled out – sitting around the table, it’s Nat, Loki, Thor, Bruce and Clint, and it’s… It’s almost normal. Almost normal. It’s weird, to settle into the American lifestyle and just hang out with people after work, but today… Today had been pretty rough.

Maybe that’s why they’re all getting drunk together, playing stupid college games, so that none of them has to be alone with their own thoughts – maybe that’s why Loki had stuck around instead of slinking home like he usually does; maybe that’s why Tony had latched onto the excuse of Thor being down on Earth to celebrate.

“Truth,” Loki says.

“How do I know you’re telling the truth?” Nat asks, mildly. “You’re a God of Lies, right?”

“Equally, I am a God of Truth,” Loki says. “I am worshiped for deceit on three planets, but for honesty on three more.” Nat glances to Thor, wanting to judge if this is true on his face, but there’s something pinched about his expression, as if Thor doesn’t know if this is true or not. Loki isn’t looking at Thor; Thor is looking right at Loki, a kind of tired melancholy in his eyes.

“You’re worshiped on more planets than Earth?” Clint asks. “How many?”

“I believe it’s Ms Romanov’s turn to ask her question,” Loki murmurs softly. Thor stands abruptly from the couch, walking across the room to join Sam and Steve in the kitchen, and Loki presses his lips loosely together, closing his eyes for a second. He looks hurt. So does Thor.

Something easy, then – something simple.

“How many times you been married?” Nat asks.

“Three,” Loki answers cleanly, and then he walks away.

Five: Thor

“Is that true?” Thor asks quietly. “You are worshiped as a deity of honesty, on some worlds?”

“Yes,” Loki answers. It ails Thor, to see his brother so easily settled upon Midgard – he ought be glad, to see his brother finally so comfortable in his skin, to see Loki look almost content, but—

He hates it. Hates having Loki so far from Asgard, exiled forevermore; hates to see Loki with pieces of metal piercing through his ears and his nose, hates seeing Loki in foreign clothes and looking comfortable in them. Thor thinks of the times Loki would disappear from Asgard for years at a time, for decades at a time… He thinks of the time he had sought Loki out on the strange planet known as Koom, where Loki was lecturing in applied mathematics, and how Loki had reluctantly returned home with him after nearly eighty years; he recalls finding Loki in a flour mill on the planet Jafara, alone and unfriended, and how Loki had slunk back to Asgard as a cowed dog; he recalls the most recent time, on the golden sands of Hashtor, where Thor had said “Come home,” and Loki had laughed, and retorted, “I am home.”

“I wish you could come home,” Thor says softly.

“This is my home now,” Loki says. The two of them stand on a balcony, overlooking New York City, and Thor feels his heart ache. “How fare the Warriors Three?”

“Well,” Thor says quietly, thinking of how different it is, to travel the Nine Realms without Loki amongst them. It is preferable, in some ways – there is no mischief to be found, but in others… It feels stilted, unnatural, as if there is a part of them missing. Even Volstagg had agreed.

But it can never be the way it once was.

“And your parents?” Loki asks. The words cut Thor like a knife.

“Our parents,” Thor says, sharply. Loki draws away from him, and then he delicately shakes his head.

“No, Thor,” Loki says softly. “Your parents.”

“You would isolate yourself from all who love you,” Thor snaps, feeling fury flare within him. “Here you are, amongst these people, and do you allow any of them to be your friend? Once more, Loki, you have made yourself alone, and to what end?”

“Have you ever considered that I like my solitude?” Loki asks, his voice unerringly calm and cool. “You are glad to be a member of a rollicking band: I prefer to be alone.”

“You lie so much,” Thor mutters. “You deceive even yourself.”

“Perhaps,” Loki murmurs. “Sometimes a lie is kinder than the truth.” Thor cannot take it, and he stalks away, and when he returns, Loki is gone – back to his apartment on the other side of the city, where no one will speak to him, where no one will ask things of him.

Of course. Such is how it is.

There is no limit to how many secrets Loki will keep, if he is able.

Six: Bruce Banner

Loki lies very still in the infirmary bed, laid on his back. His eyes are closed, and Bruce leans over, gently patting the god’s face to try to get him to wake up. Loki groans in quiet pain, and Bruce presses his lips together, leaning away from him. Whatever Loki had done to win them the fight – and yeah, it had definitely been Loki who got them out of it, because he’d turned the damned demon to dust, and then dropped to the ground like a stone – it had taken a lot out of him.

Bruce knows it, because he can see all of Loki now. His true body is showing: the skin is a deep blue, with indents and markings on the skin, and there are scars all over his body. Dappled wet scars that must have been caused by acid are visible around Loki’s eyes, and there are pockmarks and tears around his lips, where once somebody sewed them shut.

But the weirdest thing isn’t that Loki doesn’t look like an Æsir anymore, or that Loki has scars. The weirdest thing is on his right hand, where a golden band shines on his ring finger, catching the light.

(“You’ve been married before, right?” Bruce had asked once. “Do you guys wear wedding rings?”

“No, that is a Midgardian tradition,” Loki had said quietly, but a little smile had caught on his lips, and he’d kept it for the rest of the day.)

The doors to the infirmary burst open, and Bruce presses his lips together. Loki is just beginning to stir into consciousness, and Bruce had hoped to get him awake before Thor arrived – but there’s a reason Bruce had sent word to Asgard as soon as Loki had gone down.

“Thor, I’m pretty sure he’s gonna be fine,” Bruce says. “He just—” Bruce freezes. The man striding into the room, his armour clinking, is not Thor. He has a muss of blond hair around his head, and a moustache and a little beard. “Uh, you can’t be—”

“Fandral,” Loki whispers, and he weakly raises his head, leaning into the gloved hand that cups his cheek. The stranger – Fandral – is leaning over the bed, and his expression is tortured, his brown eyes shining with pain. “I’m fine, you needn’t… You needn’t fuss so.” Loki is speaking hoarsely, and it looks like just talking is hurting him.

Bruce pours him a glass of water, taking a step forward, but before he can offer it out, Fandral has thrown both of his gauntlets messily onto the ground, and he takes the glass with a surprisingly soft hand, tipping Loki’s head up to take a sip of the water. Bruce doesn’t miss the glint of silver on his left hand, a ring…

God. Fandral turns away from Loki, giving Bruce a serious, consternated look.

“Healer,” he says quietly. “What ails him?”

“Best guess?” Bruce asks, awkwardly. “Magical exhaustion.”

“Correct,” Loki mutters. “I just need rest.”

“And you shall have it,” Fandral murmurs. Setting the glass aside, he moves to cup Loki’s cheek, tracing over the blue skin with gentle fingers. “I was so— Thor and Sif are abroad in Muspelheim, so t’was I that received the missive before it was brought to your mother… I ought to have come sooner.”

“I was your king,” Loki says quietly. “And you betrayed me.”

“And you didn’t betray me in kind?” Fandral demands, his tone harsh even as his fingers brush featherlight over his cheek. “Throwing yourself from the Bifrost like that, disappearing… I thought you dead. I mourned for you, in silence, knowing no one else could know the grief I bore.”

Bruce feels like he’s intruding, but he really has nowhere else to go. He can’t exactly walk out: there isn’t another doctor around just now, and he doesn’t want Loki on his own. He makes himself busy, looking at charts and Googling basic shit on his laptop, but beside him, it continues.

“And then when you were sent here, to Midgard, as punishment… I ought have resigned my commission immediately,” Fandral whispers. “I ought have retuned to Midgard once more, to be with you.”

“You can’t give up Asgard for me,” Loki whispers. “I can never go back.”

“Then I shan’t either,” Fandral promises, the words ringing through the room. And then he kisses Loki, soundly on the mouth, chaste but full of feeling, and Bruce wonders when the best time would be to interrupt them. He decides to wait until they stop kissing.

It takes a while.

Six: Bruce Banner

“Secretly married, huh?” Bruce asks a few days later, and Loki looks him in the face, taking in the lines of his expression, the uncertainty as he offers Loki a pill to take. Loki swallows it, tasting its bitterness on his tongue.

“I never imagined he could still love me,” Loki whispers. “After all that had happened.”

Bruce glances at him, and he hesitates for only a moment before he says, “Doesn’t seem like he’s the type of guy to back down once he loves something.”

“No,” Loki agrees. “That he is not.”

Fandral is arm-wrestling Sam Wilson, and the two of them are both as charming as the other, exchanging easy, comfortable words over their sport. The two of them seem evenly matched, with their strengths – Loki knows this is but another layer of charm on Fandral’s part, pretending himself to be weaker than he is.

His heart feels warm in his cool chest.

Five: Thor

Loki stands in between Fandral and Thor, shielding Fandral’s body with his own: he can feel Fandral’s heavy breathing against the back of his neck, feel himself shake, and he looks Thor in the eyes, unwavering.

The rage on his brother’s face is unspeakable, indescribable, and Loki stiffens further, keeping himself in place.

“How long?” Thor asks – nay, demands.

“Around a century,” Loki says. “We— You recall when I was gone for five years, and you retrieved me from Hashtor, the planet with the golden spires, and Fandral had been on a sojourn to Midgard? Fandral was with me. The whole time.”

“We couldn’t tell you,” Fandral says from behind Loki’s shoulder, but he isn’t foolish enough to step out. “Asgard would never accept a marriage between two men, least of all of its prince, and a member of its nobility.”

“So you hid it,” Thor growls. “So you hid it, from me, your brother, and you, Fandral – I thought us the greatest of friends!”

“And if you thought I was using our friendship to abuse your brother?” Fandral asks, his charming voice surprisingly sharp. “You would not have jumped to such a conclusion?” Thor freezes, for a second, and a little of the rage seems to fade from his eyes. “Thor… I love you, my friend, but we could not risk being discovered. There was no way to predict how the people of Asgard, how the Allfather, would respond.”

“Now, of course,” Loki says softly. “Such things are immaterial.”

“You mean to stay here, then?” Thor asks, looking past Thor, to Fandral himself. “With him?”

“Yes,” Fandral says. “A century in secrecy, and here… Honesty.”

“A shame, Loki, that you no longer consider us brothers,” Thor says at length.

“Who says I don’t?” Loki demands, surprised by the emotion cracking in his own voice. “We are brothers, Thor, through bond if not in blood.” Thor smiles, softly, his eyes glittering with warmth.

“Why, then,” he says in scarce more than a whisper. “Fandral is my brother as well.” Relief bursts in Loki’s chest like a Midgardian firework: he turns his head, catching Fandral’s eye, and when they laugh, it is as one, full to the brim with relief, and understanding, and love.

Four: Natasha Romanov

Three times married, he’d said – three times. Once widowed, from a Jötunn named Angrboða; once divorced, from a Vanir woman when their children had died – Sigyn. And still married, now, to an Æsir: Fandral.

Nat watches as Fandral and Loki sit on a couch together in the common room of the Avengers Tower, Fandral’s boots on Loki’s lap and one of Stark’s tablets in Fandral’s, the two of them playing either side of some game that looks suspiciously like a two-man version of Candy Crush.

Happiness radiates from Loki like heat, and Nat’s never seen him so happy.

He doesn’t avoid the parties any more, or the times when they chill – him and Fandral both come, and when Loki feels like going silent, Fandral talks instead. The guy is bright and flirtatious, always telling a joke, always telling stories, always full of vim.

It’s like the sun and moon have married each other.

Three: Clint Barton

“He’s hot,” Clint says quietly. “Kudos.”

Loki laughs, and he signs and speaks at the same time: “Thank you.”

Two: Steve Rogers

“You know,” Steve says mildly, “You always told me you thought nationalism was stupid.”

“I do,” Loki murmurs, amusement ringing in his tones.

“Oh, so you make fun of me being a patriot,” Steve says, his hand on his chest, “But him—” He gestures to Fandral, who is telling some cock-and-bull story of Asgard’s founding, a story Loki has heard a thousand times before. Loki’s lip twitches.

“No, I think his patriotism is ridiculous as well,” Loki murmurs. “Asgard and America aren’t so dissimilar – in their flaws, or their strengths. In an ideal world, melting pots of culture; in practice, colonial super powers, feared as much as they are loved.”

“He gave it up for you,” Steve points out. He doesn’t say it unkindly – if anything, it is intended as a kindness, and despite the discomfort within him, despite Loki’s uncertainty… Loki nods.

“I am to be worthy of that sacrifice,” Loki whispers: it is a vow.

One: Tony Stark

“You love him?” Tony asks.

“With all my heart,” Fandral murmurs. The two of them stand together, and Tony glances across the room, watching as Loki holds a group of real estate moguls spellbound in some story or other, gesticulating as he speaks. Fandral… Fandral’s a pretty cool guy. Tony had liked him right off the bat, liked his spunk and his easy manner, liked his sense of style.

They click.

“He said before… Asgard isn’t so good on gay people. Men who’re with men; women who’re with women.”

“No,” Fandral murmurs. “Others in the Nine Realms are like Midgard – Alfheim has no issues at all with such things, and Nidavellir couldn’t care less who you might bed. But Asgard has its traditions, its long-held prejudices…” Fandral is watching Loki like Loki is the greatest piece of art he’s ever seen, like he’s forever picking out new details he loves. Fandral’s glittering brown eyes are full of warmth, and his lips curve into a soft smile. “We married on a foreign planet, in the dead of night, beneath the light of two bright moons. We knew it would be a secret for the longest time, and it didn’t matter at all. So long as we shared our bond, all would be well.”

Fandral is turning the silver band on his left hand again and again, in circles around his ring finger’s base with his thumb. On his middle finger, there is another ring, this one made of gold with a red ruby carved into a coat of arms – a signet ring.

“I have been to Midgard once before, you know,” Fandral says softly. “T’was many years ago, many centuries… I fell to England, and could not get home, so I formed a band of good friends, and I married a princess then, too – her name was Marian.”

“Marian,” Tony repeats. “Like— Like Maid Marian?”

“Yes, that was her,” Fandral confirms, like it’s nothing. “They called me—”

“Robin Hood?” Fandral’s eyes widen slightly, and he leans back.

“Yes,” he says.

“Jesus Christ,” Tony says. “You know you’re… Famous, right? Like, I know that’s not the same as being a god, but everybody knows who Robin Hood was. You two—” Tony laughs, running his hand through his hair. “God. You really are made for each other, huh?” Fandral smiles, showing his dazzlingly white teeth.

“Yes,” he agrees easily. “I suppose we are.”

Loki is gesturing for Fandral to come over, and Fandral pats Tony’s shoulder as he slips across the room, putting one hand around Loki’s waist and easily falling into conversation with the moguls, like he’s meant to be here. And don’t they look a pair, Loki in his grey suit and Fandral in his gold, don’t they look—

Honestly, is it so bad that Tony could kinda go for both of them?

Huh. Maybe it’s a… Maybe it’s a thought.

FIN.