#at seven fucking a.m. without any sleep

[janexromantic]

they did it. they really did it. they pulled the endless summer card on us. i'm out.

[jodilin65]

Bye-bye abortion in Florida. At least that’s what it’s looking like now. Some assholes want to get the Florida Supreme Court to keep it off the ballot and if they succeed in getting their request to them, it’s gone. That’s a no-brainer since the Supreme Court here is quite conservative.

I’m at the point where nothing surprises me anymore yet it still blows my mind how much we continue to step back into the Dark Ages as the attack on women worsens. Well, not just them but the gay community as well. I saw a headline about a bill being introduced to actually charge women with getting an abortion in some other state. It’s just fucking ridiculous. It really is. I dread the day this craziness eventually affects us in some manner. I fear it’s only a matter of time. The more these extreme control freaks get the upper hand and the citizens don’t do anything about it, the further into insanity will be pushed. I get that people’s hands are tied as far as ridding the system of the sick twists that are currently in power because they would have to be physically removed in order to be stopped and no one wants to go to jail. But if they’re really that bothered by what’s been going on in this country then they need to stop voting Republican. The next election will indicate just how much society aligns (or doesn’t) with these delusional extremists.

Got up shortly after 1:00 a.m. I’m having my green tea now and the dishes are chugging away in the dishwasher. Now that we’re cleaning it regularly, it’s been running like a champ. I should have known better even though we never cleaned our old dishwasher in California and it never had a problem. That one was just a much better dishwasher overall, though. I like this oven better but that was the better dishwasher.

I was aware of my snoring a couple of times and the next time I sleep I’m gonna try taping a tennis ball to my back as was recommended and see if that will keep me off my back. I don’t always snore when I’m on my back but sometimes I do.

The light I saw in back could have been ours flickering on. I went back there yesterday and Toni and Ray do have lights on the back of their places as well. All the houses probably do. It’s just that we never use it because we’re never in back at night.

Even though I’ve always cringed at the thought of ever having any kind of eye surgery as many cringe in fear of dentists, the blinder I get each year, the braver I am when it comes to looking into getting my vision corrected. I am so fucking blind that even glasses only help me so much. When I was just a little to moderately farsighted it was a simple fix but not anymore because I can’t see anything near or far. Hell, I can’t even make out some objects in some cases.

It’s going to be a while though because we’re going to have to find an affordable insurance plan that covers it next year or I’m going to have to save for it. You’re talking three to six grand per eye. It would be totally worth it! I would literally gain weight to be able to see without glasses! Glasses are uncomfortable and such a pain in the ass to have to deal with. It was just so much more convenient when I could live without them. Everything is so horribly blurry without them it’s almost dizzying. I hate to think of what my vision would be like in another decade or two if it’s not corrected. I didn’t start noticing myself having to pull back when reading things until I was 34 years old. Well, I’m not going to live for 34 more years so if we can set me back to 20/20 vision, I should be dead long before I ever needed glasses again. That is assuming that’s really how it works and I’m a candidate for surgery. I’ll ask our eye doctor when we see her in a few months. My vision has definitely been declining rapidly. Six or seven months after getting a new prescription things start blurring up again.

[theficblog]

YOU KNOW I HATE THIS

JEONG JAEHYUN

Prologue: Being wedded to a mafia boss isn't easy, and neither is being pregnant while under high levels of stress.

Genre: Angst + Established relationship AU + Fluff + Mafia AU

Wordcount: 1,062

Prompts: If you die, I’m gonna kill you.” + “There’s blood everywhere.”

Warnings: Blood + Pregnancy

You opened your eyes unexpectedly, blinking a few times to acclimate to the darkness as you sat down, raising yourself by your arms. You were wide awake way too early in the morning. The clock light suggested that it was 3:14 a.m. You still had five hours of sleep to catch up on, but the slight sliding and shifting noises had jolted you awake.

You slowly shift your gaze, seeing your empty bed, to the right of the bedside. An expensive Rolex watch made of platinum and an exquisite wallet of handmade leather that was left open, exposing a tiny polaroid picture of yours, were placed on it, indicating your husband was home.

Since the previous month, he had made it a habit to return at this ungodly hour. It was not like he wasn’t around; he still managed to devote his time to you and his baby, whom you had been carrying for the last seven months. It was his work that demanded him to be present, without any scheduled corporate meetings or planned events. Dealing with illegal weapons, substances, money, and lives wasn’t a job that would be recorded on paper. No matter how soft and warm he was to you, and his loved ones, Jaehyun was a mafia.

Lifting up the duvets, you placed your feet on the ground as you decided to go and see him. After all, it had been a whole damn week since you last saw his face properly. You helped yourself out of bed, the bulging little bean that had replaced your toned abs made it a little more difficult. As you approached the closet, you illuminated all of the lights that had been turned off.

There he was standing, unbuttoning his shirt. You could not see him clearly still, but his perfect silhouette and the light metal jewellery that adorned his body gave it all away. Eyes still partially drenched with sleep, you drove yourself closer to his body. Your arms engulfed his bluff torso as you shoved your face into his back. "Jaehyun, you’re back home." You murmured. "Hmm, shouldn't someone be in bed at this hour?" He asked in his soothing voice as he turned his body, now facing yours. "Love, I’m sorry to wake you up." He regretted. "I guess in very little time from now, we’ll have to be used to it anyway." You said, sleep still taking over your body as you burry yourself in your husband’s arms again.

You were quickly brought back to your complete senses by feeling something on your skin. Jaehyun’s shirt felt damp and drenched, and so did your hands when they made contact with it. This was strange, and it prompted you to immediately turn on the lights in the closet, only for your jaw to drop at the sight before your eyes.

"There’s blood everywhere!" You shouted at him naturally, out of reflex. You took a glance at your palms, which had embodied the blood on them, as if it was some decalcomania art. You raised your eyes to see Jaehyun’s white shirt, which was almost red, soaked in blood. "What the fuck is this, Jaehyun? Did something happen to you?" You were frightened, just like anyone would be. You knew the business your husband dealt with, but blood and killings were something that always made you rage at him.

"Listen, Y/N, Calm down first. This- this blood isn’t mine, let me explain." Jaehyun, who was probably more afraid than you, was trying to calm you down. "You killed someone!" You cried as your husband stood there, he was at a loss of words. What could he even do? "Y/N, please this isn’t good for you right now." He kept on uttering the same cry relentlessly.

"You know I hate this." You blurted out, now calmer than before. "I’m sorry", reverted your husband with his eyes that were now wailing. "Get of these clothes, and fucking throw them off." and with these words you went back, leaving him still standing there, motionless.

-

You were back in your bed, eyes wide open, as your slumber had vanished following the incident. Layed on your left side, as the doctor had advised. You felt shuffling in the sheets as Jaehyun joined you. He smelled so perfect, your progressed sense of smell during pregnancy made you notice it at an instant.

He faced towards your back, gently trying to spoon you and win your attention. "Tssk!" You pitched as you yanked his hand away. "I’m sorry, Y/N, so sorry." He apologised for the hundredth time in the mere span of half an hour or so.

You tried to shift your body towards his, and he helped you with the task. You had been needing him for the tiniest of things ever since the last stage of this baby making commenced, and he had been there always-other than for when he had to play the role of the mafia and not the husband and daddy-to-be.

He planted a gentle kiss on your forehead as his hands moved towards your belly, caressing it. "Do you think we would be able to live if something ever happens to you?" You question your husband. "I-I.." he sighs, failing to answer your question. You did not need any verbal answer, his eyes held emotions that satisfied your query anyways.

"This- this won’t happen again." He asked for forgiveness yet again, but it wasn’t something you needed from him. "Jaehyun I don’t need these sorrys, I just want- want you to fucking live." You expressed. His face was exactly like a kid who was being scolded for breaking the house rules.

"Now do I not even get a kiss or something? Oh, and by the way, you smell so sexy right now" you went on, and his face lit up immediately. His smile, dimples and damn! those whiskers were so contagious.

He shoved himself closer to you, squeezing your body, keeping in mind your bump, of course. You rubbed his back and uttered "If you die, I’m gonna kill you!" You warned him, a warning filled with giggles.

"That doesn’t even make sense." He teased you back, rubbing his nose against yours. "Shut up!" You whispered as you kissed him. He kissed you back, and then kissed his baby inside you right before you let the sleep take over you.

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[lucidreamsxx]

One task too much An Obey Me! Fic

Disc: Fem MC used (she/her)

TW: Fainting, fatigue, mild cursing, and all of that period jazz

(Im in need of some desperate comfort so here yall's go)

Supposed to be an all demon bros thing but ended up being Mammon fluff, anywho, enjoy the fic my lovelies♡

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

"Ughhhh...." you groaned, as you sat up, pulling your DDD off from the bedside table,

"2.30 a.m...of course it just HAS to be now.." you gruffly muttered as you pulled yourself out of bed, a sharp sting going through your abdomen.

Your period had decided to come a whole week early, thank the seven rings that you had a gut feeling it might come and stocked up, but still who would be ecstatic about getting a blood waterfall and hellish cramps at 02.00 in the morning? Not you that's for sure.

So far you've only told one brother of your monthly cycle. A certain narcissistic fifth born, who was the first person you turned to when you started. Being transported to the DevilDom without any supplies you turned to him and obviously he had asked Lucifer for help to get them, and you were sure the others knew what a period was, afterall how could they not after living for millenia. But you knew better than to wake up Asmodeus from his beauty sleep, much less at 02.00 in the morning.

You dragged your body to the bathroom and sure enough there were red stains in your underwear, you groaned again as you took it off and slipped a new pair on, putting in a pad and cleaning yourself up. Then you ran the stained ones under the tap and and washed them out, and left them there to dry, too lazy to use the dryer which was all the way down. You dragged yourself back to bed but sleep wouldn't come, the sharp stabs of pain in your abdomen distracting you from the sweet relief of sleep.

"Well, fuck...." you muttered as you got off the bed and decided to spend your night revising the subjects for the next day. It really was hard to concentrate, and you finally getting to bed in the wee hours of the morning only to be awoken a couple hours later by the rambuctous second born.

"OI MC, WAKEY WAKEY, TIME FOR RAD!!!" Mammon hollered as he pulled the sheets off of your body,

"alright, ALRIGHT I'M UP!" you yelled back,

"Yeeesh, no need to shout, now get up human" Mammon said as he ruffled your hair and walked out,

"Ughh...why..." you muttered as you mentally face palmed,

You looked in your medicine cabinet in the bathroom and realized you were out of ibuprofen, only two sad little pills remaining, you sighed as you grabbed them and unscrewed the top,

"I'll just have to find out if DevilDom has any alternatives or not.." you muttered to yourself as you set the pills aside on your table,

You got ready as you cleaned yourself up, threw on your RAD uniform and popped in the last couple of painkillers hoping they'd kick in soon and stay until classes was over.

*TIMESKIP*

You came down the staircase as you made you way to the dining table. Normally the smell of breakfast would be enough to wake you up, but now the cloying smell of maple syrup and coffee was enough to make your stomach turn. You turned away and walked towards the door,

" MC, don't you want breakfast?" Beel asked as he stopped munching on the waffles, catching the others attention as well,

"Ummm, it's okay guys, i've had a stomach bug so maybe not" you said as you smiled sheepishly, and somehow your answer seemed to convince them as they all went back to munching on their toast and waffles.

"Isn't MC acting kinda weird?" Levi asked as he looked up from his DDD,

"Yea, just this morning her mood was sorta off" Mammon added, as he watched her retreating back out the door,

"Look, MC mentioned that it was a stomach bug, if she weren't fine she would have told one of us, and since she hasn't, fret not." Lucifer said as he downed the final drop of his coffee of melancholy, the brothers all seemed satisfied at this as they pushed the worry out of their mind.

You began walking to RAD, the painkillers finally kicking in as your back straightened with ease, you got to RAD and you dropped you bag on your chair as you sat down as well, happy that the pain has finally subsided thanks to the wonderful creation of painkillers.

*TIMESKIP*

You somehow made it through the day and were finally in your last class of the day. Unfortunately it was DevilDom Law and as your lecturer droned on and on and on. That day you decided to sit in the back row, as to not be bothered by anyone and thank diavolo you did because you could feel the pain slowly creeping it's way back into your body.

"Oh shit...oh no no no, not now, please not now!" You muttered to yourself as one of your hands left the table top to clutch around your waist hoping to decrease the pain even a little, but it was to no avail. You just decided to soldier your way through it, after all you will be home in a few more minutes.

Finally after that infernal class was over you grabbed your bags and got out. Mammon was waiting for you outside the gates of RAD as you quickly made your way to him the cramps getting worse with each passing second added with the backpain and nausea you felt, yea no, it was NOT a good combination.

"Oi human, you looking really pale, your stomach hurt or sum'? " Mammon asked noticing you clutching your stomach while walking out.

"I'm fine Mams, just tired.. can we get back to the HoL?" You said almost pleadingly,

"U-uhh, right, if you say so MC..." Mammon responded as he scratched his head, unconvinced about your current condition,

You and Mammon started walking back. Normally you walk back next to each other, chatting the entire way, but today the second born was walking up front and had to occasionally stop to make sure you caught up to him cause you were slowing up behind him. "Hey MC, you doin okay back there? Need some help?" He asked,

And that's when it happened...

You doubled over in pain and dropped your bag. Both arms wound around your middle as an extremely painful cramp hit you and your vision started to get blurry from the tears. Your knees starting to shake, looking like they're about to give out as Mammon hurriedly dropped his things on the sidewalk and held you panickedly.

"Hey, HEY MC what's wrong???" He started panicking as tears continued to pour outta your eyes. Mammon held you up by keeping his arms around your shoulders as you passed out right in his arms. Completely exhausted from the internal torture you were receiving.

Mammon started panicking even more when you passed out in his arms but he pushed his anxiety down as he lifted you up bridal style grabbing your bags as well as he changed into demon form and swiftly flew you back to the HoL.

"Hold on treasure, we're almost home" he muttered as he tightened his grip on you as he finally landed on the front steps of the House of Lamentation as he hollered for the eldest.

"LUCIFER! LUCIFER, HELP, ITS'S MC! LUCIFERR!!!" He yelled,

It was a good while since any of the brothers have heard Mammon that panicked and they all rushed down, fearing the worst as they bounded out and their eyes grazed over your small figure in Mammon's arms.

"Mammon first calm down and explain what happened." Lucifer asked him gently, his voice strong and neutral but his eyes giving away his worry and fear as they trembled lightly at the sight of you.

Mammon started explaining as the all brought you up and put you on your bed and tucked you in. Once Mammon was done explaining all the brothers grew extremely concerned, all but one.

"Guys i think i know what's going on with our MC" a certain fifth born voiced out,

All of his brothers looked at him as he continued, "i'll tell you but first we gotta get out of her room. We don't wanna disturb her" he said softly as his eyes grew soft over your form on the bed.

*TIMESKIP BROUGHT TO YOU BY ASMO EXPLAINING THE ENTIRE HUMAN FEMALE ANATOMY SYSTEM AND ALOT OF LEVI'S FLUSTERED SCREECHES LATER*

"So everyone clear on what's goin on?" Asmo asked as he finally sat down after explaining,

"Yea, but one more thing tho, how do you know all of this?" Levi asked as he hugged Belphie's cow pillow,

"Oh Levi, it comes with being the avatar of lust, i can sense these things plus i've had MANY human lovers over the decades~" he said with a wink, "now yall know what to do?"

"Yep" they all said in unison followed by a few nods as well.

You slowly wake up, the stabbing pain in you stomach dulling abit as you registered your surroundings. It was your room in the HoL. The last thing you remember was a sharp cramp and blacking out on the sidewalk. Did Mammon bring you home? You thought to yourself as your door slowly creaked open.

"Hey MC, you awake treasure?" You heard as tufts of snowy white hair appeared in your doorway followed by Mammon's body coming in as he held a tray.

"Hmm..." you hummed slightly in response as you blinked the tiredness out of your eyes, "Sorry about earlier, did i pass out on you? Sorry for worrying you, i'm um ... i'm on my period...." You said as your cheeks flushed and you looked down to your hands which were on your lap, as Mammon walked to your bedside table and put the tray down,

"No human, don't apologize for it, it's not like ya can control it and besides I...I should have noticed that you were uncomfortable from the start...didn't know you were hurting so bad.." he said as his head hung low, due to the fact that not only did he not notice but that he also couldn't help you.

"Hey, Mams it's okay, it's not your fault. And if you were wondering, yes, it always has been this bad for me and it isn't the first time either" you said as he lifted his head up in surprise,

"You mean you..."

"Well it does happen every month and i didn't wanna bother anyone so..."

"You dealt with it on your own?" He asked worriedly as his hands reached for yours, his thumb comfortably rubbing the back of your hand,

"I mean, i wasn't gonna make it an issue and disrupt everyone, i thought i could handle it, until...it got too bad..." you said gently as tears started pricking your eyes, hating the feeling of being so vulnerable as you squeezed the second born's hand, who in turn squeezed yours back as a show of comfort,

"Well human, ya need to know one thing, from now on you should always, ALWAYS, tell The Great Mammon whenever your hurting, wether it's because of your cramps or something else ya can always come to me got that? No more suffering by yerself, and passin' out on me!" Mammon said his cheeks flushed as he gave you a playful nudge and reached for the tray he brought,

Your smile only getting wider as he handed you a glass of water and a couple of ibuprofen from the tray as you looked at him in surprise,

"Mams, this is ibuprofen, how did you..?" you asked surprised, you were pretty sure there weren't any in the DevilDom the last time you checked,

"I...I stopped by the human realm and picked some up for ya... gotcha some other stuff as well..." he said, blush spreading to his ears,

"Other stuff?" You asked as you gratefully swallowed the meds ajd took a gulp of water,

"J-just uh..more p-products and uh..s-stuff, can't have ya runnin out of it...Hey-" his blush deepened so much he looked like a bright cherry, only to get cut off by you flinging yourself into his arms and giving him the biggest hug you could muster right now,

"Thank you Mams, you're indeed the great Mammon" you said softly as you felt his arms wrap around you, only to let go as your door opened gently to the view of six heads,

"Ah MC darling you're awake, we're here to keep you company my love♡" Asmo said as he dragged in his spa kit, followed by Levi and Belphie grunting while bringing in eight consoles and a bunch of games,

"Mammon quit hogging her all to yourself, we want to spend some time with her as well you know!" Satan said as he plopped down with a huff on your bed putting a smallpile of books next to him as well,

"What's all this guys?" You asked surprised by the sudden intrusion of all the demon bros,

"Yea what's the big idea? Me and MC were havin a moment ya know!" Mammon huffed as he plopped back down on your bed pulling you in next to him,

"Well MC, since you aren't feeling up to par we thought we'd cheer you up with a sleepover " Beel said as he set down a bunch of snacks,

"And i got you a week off from RAD so that you will not be stressing yourself out again, goodness knows how worried we all were" Lucifer added as he walked in and gave you a good natured ruffled on your head, earning a bunch of 'yeps' and 'uh huh's from around the room,

"Thank you all so much it really is thoughtful and sweet but you really didn't have to guys" you said as Levi pulled you down and handed you a console as DevilKart's loading screen started on your tv,

"No, MC you are family so like it or not we will take care of you darling" Asmo added as he started braiding your hair with sparkly beads,

You couldn't help but feel so happy and overwhelmed at the thought that you were so loved and cared for. It really was turning out to be such a wonderful day despite the previous situations. You thought happily as you looked around to see your seven most favourite demons in the whole wide universe scattered around you in pj's and face masks holding game consoles, as you settled comfortably with a content smile on your face.

[just-here-for-the-moment]

Tell me about Reader who’s only dated assholes (arrogant tech bros, flaky politicians, unfaithful artists, ghosting athletes, etc…) from different walks of life until she meets Frankie 👀 maybe pure FILTH ensues after a while, maybe… 👀 like. Pure fucking nasty filth. Also, beaches. 😊 maybe not at the same time tho sounds painful tbh

Ok this may have ended up softer than "filthy" but not by much!! Hope you enjoy Frankie and his magic hands, dude. Those Hands

Word count: 1200+

Rating: explicit, 18+ only

Outline: Frankie Morales x “You” (cis/het female reader, “blank canvas”/no physical description/no name/no use of “Y/N”)

Warnings: coffee shop meet-cute; beach vacation; oral sex/F receiving; vaginal fingering; P/V sex; shower scene; mentions of food and alcohol

It was the hands you noticed first. Work-worn and calloused, but somehow also soft-looking. Big hands, nice hands, they held the door of the coffee shop open for you to enter as he left, and you almost tripped over the threshold with how distracted you were. You didn’t know you could be attracted to hands until you saw his, but somehow they were different from the soft, manicured hands of all the men you had dated before. Guys who only worked at keyboards in nice offices, who played golf or maybe drew sketches for upscale galleries, guys who didn’t mow their own lawns. Guys who got bored and left you after five days or seven weeks or four months. You hoped you would see him again.

And a week later you did, and then a few days after that, and then again the next day. And then one day you timed it just right, or he did, and you actually ended up in line together. And when you both picked up your orders, you ended up sort of fighting to give the other person the last open seats, a little two-top table, until you both just laughed and decided to sit with a stranger. Well, a nice stranger anyway. And there’s no way to sit at a tiny 2-person table like that without talking, and so it was very nice to find out that the pair of nice hands belonged to a nice man who finally gave you his name, and by the end of the conversation, his number. And so that’s how you ended up with ‘Frankie Morales’ listed in your phone and a date for the following Saturday.

And oh, wow, what those hands could do. Over the next few weeks you found out how warm they felt holding your hand, how well they fit around the side of your hip as you walked, how good they felt cupping your jaw for a kiss, and how thick they were when he slid them inside of you while he worked magic with his talented tongue.

Weeks turned into months turned into a year, and then suddenly there was an anniversary weekend to plan and a beach vacation to arrange, and you found yourself laying on a white sand beach holding one of those big hands in yours as you napped under an umbrella. You were just drifting off when Frankie’s big hand gave yours a squeeze. You cracked your eyes to watch him walk away, because you never got tired of that particular view, the broad shoulders and the golden skin and the easy confidence he carried himself with. Your Frankie.

And then he came back and offered you a cold drink and you sat up and brushed his fingers with yours as you took the cup and smiled at him over your sunglasses. And when he smiled back little stars burst behind your navel, better than butterflies because the starbursts were backed up by 365 days of knowing what those hands and lips and body could do, to you and with you and for you.

And the afternoon passed in lazy naps on the beach blanket interspersed with squealing moments in the water, Frankie splashing you or carrying you piggyback into the waves. And one big wave knocking your sunglasses loose into the water, lost forever until Frankie gives you his to wear, and tells you how cute you look with his big aviators on. And then the sun sets and it’s time to go wash up, have a romantic dinner, take a bottle of wine back to your beach view room. And when it’s dark you turn off all the lights and let the moon stream in through your open balcony door.

Frankie takes his time with you that first night, working you open with his lovely soft lips and tongue, licking and swirling you up into knots of desire until his fingers push you over the edge and you burst into pieces, moaning wordless sounds into the salt-scented night air that’s rolling through the room. And then he does it again, one more time just to feel you squeeze his fingers hard before he strokes himself and slides into you with hardly any friction at all. You cling to him with your arms and legs wrapped as tight as you can until he chases his own high and pins it down inside of you, thrusting into you and releasing his own deep groans, then making you sigh with contentment as he tucks you under his big arm to sleep.

The second day passes in a blur of laughter and a boat trip, sightseeing and catching a few precious glimpses of dolphins, and then more beach time and dinner. And another long night of lovemaking in your room, but this time with Frankie taking you on your hands and knees, feeling him pound deep inside of you, hitting that ticklish spot over and over as you gaze out the balcony door over the moonlit ocean. And then again at 1:00 a.m. when you wake up and feel Frankie’s cock hard against you as you snuggle, and you shift your hips back into him, and bump him playfully until he wakes up. And then you straddle him and he cups your breasts with those big hands as you grind against him and make him moan in the near dark.

And you wake up the next morning and he’s absent from the bed, but you hear him in the shower and you sneak in to join him. And Frankie puts those hands to good use one more time, scrubbing your back and rubbing suds all over you, tip to toe, and then rinsing you off before he makes you come on his fingers. He wraps you tight with your back to his broad chest, one big hand under your ribs and the other rubbing tight circles into your clit and dipping up inside of you by turns until you collapse and shatter for him and then come back to yourself. And then you kiss him and tell him you love him and he says it back, and you know he means it.

And you wonder how you did this before, without Frankie. How you put up with the arrogance and the dullness of the disinterested men that you dated. How you ever believed that they were worth your time. Because now you see it, the way that Frankie uses his hands and his whole heart to love you. How he listens to you and sees you, how you won’t ever be alone as long as he’s there.

And you dress and go down to breakfast and intertwine your fingers with his beside your orange juice, and you lift his hand to yours and kiss his magic fingers one by one. And he just looks at you, glowing at you like you’re the sweetest thing he’ll ever see. And then he tells you how soft your lips are, and how much he’s looking forward to tonight. And you tuck into your breakfast and you swear nothing has ever tasted this good in your life, because you’re finally with the right person, and that makes all the difference in the world.

--- Frankie "Catfish" Morales character masterlist Just-here-for-the-moment’s main masterlist

The only tag list I have for fics: @quica-quica-quica @anaaaispunk @justanotherblonde23 @gracie7209 @nicolethered @honestly-shite @driedgreentomatoes @dihra-vesa @1800-fight-me @the-queen-of-fools @juletheghoul @kesskirata @honeymandos @silverwolf319 @mourningbirds1 @greeneyedblondie44 @spacedilf @maxwell–lord @anxiousandboujee @cevvie @sherala007 @writeforfandoms @libellule2001 @deadhumourist @mandoalorian @javierpinme @eri16 @mandocrasis @pilothusband @bastillealmighty @eri16 @jitterbugs927 @babiiface95 because Frankie!!

[theesteemedladydebourgh]

foreigner’s god is magic

so I’ve decided that reviewing fics that fucked me up is like discount therapy! I had so much peace after doing IWNMA...so now it’s time to tackle the one that literally broke my heart and made me want to slump into a puddle of tears. (edit: i wrote this intro paragraph sometime in early January and upon doing this at the end of Jan/Feb...there were tears in real time. in case anyone was wondering). Happy seven months, Foreigner’s God! 🥳❤️

first of all, if anyone hasn’t read this you are wrong and your life choices are bad. i’m sorry, just saying. your life is empty without it. 

@clare-with-no-i​ u incite violence daily and you terrify me even if I love you 😘

so.

Oh my god. This fucking fic. It’s the kind I can only read once because it only needs to be read once to irrevocably change you. Lots to address in that sentence: a. yes. Change you. That is not an exaggeration. Clare’s jily in general will physically change you, because she writes love like some people eat potato chips—is that a shit metaphor, probably, but do not expect me to be as coherent as I was with IWNMA because I just cried for half an hour reading this. so. b. somehow I decided it was a sound mental decision at 9 o’clock at night when I have multiple life stressors going on to read this fic. Don’t know what that was about, I’m a mess. c. reading it once is totally effective because uh. there is literal magic in this because it is never going to leave my brain. it’s stuck in ther.

There’s a lot of good-natured ribbing in the jily fandom, and tbh I don’t even remember what I said seven months ago when this came out but I’m pretty sure there was screaming. And while screaming and crying adequately cover my emotions, I’m going to attempt to be coherent because this fic deserves it.

*all emotions and thoughts represented in this are real and not dramatized in any way. i am just a dramatic bitch with a lot of feelings and Clare is clearly a woodland witch who sold her soul to the fairies for stingingly beautiful wordsmithing

Lily startles awake at the sound of her seven a.m. alarm with an absolute certainty that she’s supposed to be dead.

Not that she wants to be, or that she has some sort of petulant wish to die instead of going about her business for the day, but rather a hollow ache that spreads through her ribs, something ancient and searing and corrosive. Her first waking instinct—or maybe it’s not even that, maybe it’s some vestige of her sleeping mind, murky and overcast with dwindling dreams—is to bring her hand to her chest and press it to her pounding heart.

I’m dead, she thinks, even as she feels the steady thump-thump against her ribs, I’m dead. I’m dead. He found us. We’re dead.

The first line alone makes me cry, because we already know what’s coming. It’s the agonizing pain of a life that was reached for, and didn’t last. The reason I can’t read Jily death fics is because I’m so attached to them as characters that it physically pains me, but it’s almost worse to consider how they felt after. When they know they’re missing their son’s life, when the world goes on without them.

idk man I’m not okay.

It’s not even that Clare’s prose is gorgeous, that she can weave words into a blindingly beautiful tapestry that you just become lost in, it’s the characters behind them. Behind the beautiful words, the tender adjectives, is a love story that just absolutely ruins you because of how genuine it is.

She raises her arms high above her head and pulls, stretching out the cricks in her back, letting sunlight wash over her face and pajama-clad body. Her eyes slip closed as her back bows.

But instead of the comforting darkness of the inside of her eyelids, what accosts her vision is a yellow-painted bedroom, books scattered and toys littered across the floor as though it’s just been through an earthquake. She hears footsteps plod outside the battered wooden door, but they’re wrong, somehow, she knows this—the footsteps are wrong, and they’re coming closer, and she knows that they shouldn’t be, and she has to get someone out, out, out, even if it means that this is it, it’s all over.

There’s a baby’s cry—get him out, get him out, get him out—behind her, but the door blasts open before she can turn, and she’s screaming and crying and the footsteps are too close and too wrong.

“Not Harry! Please, have mercy! Not Harry!”

Lily’s eyes fly open and she staggers backward, nearly losing her footing over nothing but hard wood floor. “What the—”

As she stumbles, the door to her room creaks open, and on some base, animal instinct, she nearly rushes forward to slam it shut—get him out, get him out, get him out—when Eloise’s head pops through the door. Lily’s steps melt into an awkward lurch.

Eloise peers at her curiously. “Er…you alright, babe?”

I don’t know. “Yeah,” Lily waves a dismissive hand. “Fine. Just a bad night’s sleep.”

The absolute disorientation of the back and forth, the past mixing with the present is just…I feel whiplash reading it.

I know this is a long chunk, but it needs to be read word for word. The red to green traffic light. The ache of losing your child. The not knowing any of it, but we know and so it’s a thousand times more painful. Red to green, a whole set of lives lost. Red to green, and we’re here.

That is, until the taxi comes to a red light, and on a passing glance out of her window, Lily sees a young mother putting her toddler into a pram.

Her breath catches. The window of the taxi has suddenly, inexplicably transformed into a wall closing in around her, stifling and suffocating. She plants a lone, futile hand against it and presses hard on the glass.

“—And so I told him,” Ava’s parroting into her phone from the seat next to Lily—a story she’s already heard, minimum of four times. “I want that on record, do you hear me? I want that on record—and I don’t care how many copies you’re selling to them.”

Lily can’t look away from the mother and her child.

Unbothered and oblivious to her gaze, the baby wriggles happily, little arms and legs heaving to and fro as the mother coos and smiles. It’s a little boy—his eyes match his mother’s.

Get him out of here, Lily thinks desperately, which is absurd, because the child is both fine and already in his pram, and the mother is beginning to push him across the street. The thought bears no relevance to the scene in front of her. And yet, like a pulsing up her spine, she thinks again: get him out of here.

“—This idiot has the audacity to ask me where I went to school! I know. I know—”

A jagged piece of Lily’s dream comes flying back to her. It’s a blunt force to her brain.

A name.

Harry.

“Harry…” Lily murmurs the name to herself, and it rattles around her ribcage, something broken and yearning casting a stammer to her heartbeat. She doesn’t know anyone named Harry; no friends, no family, no passing acquaintances. Not even a particular fixation on the now-abdicated Duke of Sussex. There’s no reason the name should haunt her, neither in her dreams nor—as it’s happening now—in the clear light of morning.

Not Harry! the voice had been screaming—her voice. Have mercy! Please! Not Harry!

The stoplight switches from red to green, and without knowing why, Lily flinches.

And HAHAHA I’m resuscitated because Clare’s. fucking. James. I have things to say about Clare’s James, okay. Namely, he is the most attractive thing to ever be written. This is not an opinion, it’s fact. He’s…no words. No words, except when a fictional character makes me swoon and blush and feel overwhelmed just from three paragraphs, you know you’ve got peak man-written-by-very-smart-woman.

The opposing counsel is a prick. A gorgeous, intolerable prick.

He sits languid and damn near lounging in a large conference room chair, smug like he owns the whole building they’re sitting in. To be completely honest, he just might—Lily has enough posh friends with questionable spending habits to recognize a Jaeger-LeCoultre watch when she sees one. That thing could pay her rent for the next three months.

She spots him as soon as she gets of the elevator, her client shuffling along in tow, and is immediately struck by multiple things: hopelessly messy black hair; strong, handsome features; and a smirk that, for some reason, looks uncannily familiar.

So, although her first thought is fucking hell, you’re sex on legs, all of that is categorically blasted to pieces the second he opens his mouth.

“Hello,” he says smoothly—can one word even be smooth?—as he stands and buttons his suit jacket back up, “James Potter. Representing the defendant. Pritchard and Glick.”

I feel like I can’t even get this across in snippets and pieces so everyone who hasn’t just needs to read it now, but the overwhelming feeling of this fic is how brilliantly it’s done. Every little inference of something familiar, something lost, something found again. Every bit of pain and longing that Lily feels, and the way it all comes together in the end, the way you want to cry because it didn’t end perfectly, but it ended with them together. (And now I’ve begun to cry again, thank u Clare I have an essay to write about Russian serfdom after this what am I going to do ffs)

Their fingers brush as his hand retracts, and before her eyes, the world flickers.

All of a sudden, the conference room has blinked out of existence, and in its place is a hallway of timeworn grey stone, walls littered with antique portraits and broad, detailed tapestries. As her vision focuses, Lily realizes that Potter’s—he’s here as well?—hand is still outstretched to her, and hers to him, but this time he’s not wearing a pristine Armani suit and instead some sort of private school uniform covered by a large, billowing cloak. His gaze is unmistakably fond as he looks at her; his eyes are crinkled like he’s either about to start or has just recently finished laughing. She takes him in briefly and notes that he’s much younger than he just was, build a bit thinner and features still clinging to post-adolescence.

“Well?” He prompts her, and she’s startled—for some reason—by his voice, by the way his effusive happiness seems to have tinged it unrecognizably from the man he was in the conference room. When she doesn’t respond, he continues: “Are you going to take my hand, or what?”

Lily hears her own voice as though someone else has commandeered it: “What?”

“Evans,” James chuckles warmly, “it’s my first official day as your boyfriend—I plan to spend as much time holding hands as is physically possible. I’m afraid you’re about to be subject to a great deal of public scrutiny.”

She watches, a spectator and an actor all at once, as her own hand closes the final centimeters of distance between them, and she feels the phantom heat of his palm caressing her own, but her eyes can’t stop wandering back to his expression, the way his smile cuts his face into impossibly beautiful sections—

The world flickers again.

There is no palm in her hand; only thick-printed paper.

Crying, screaming, the only thing I can say is that Clare’s jily is so fated and matched together, that they’ll always end up in love. They’re just not built to be any other way.

I don’t know if the intent behind James’s email was to make him ridiculously hot, but that is what it’s achieving.

like.

We will be asking for punitive damages or a sum reached by settlement. Attached are evidence files A-F to be submitted, along with the formal complaint and summons.

Regards,

James Potter, Esquire

Pritchard and Glick Law Office

🥵😵

“I have a feeling you’re going to be a massive pain in my arse.”

“Says he who filed a countersuit on a tiny piece of commercial litigation that’s bound to have a minuscule payout.”

“…Fair play, Evans.”

Is he having some sort of trouble with the Miss Evans thing? Does he have short-term memory loss? For fuck’s sake.

He hangs up before she can ask.

Enemies to lovers makes me go feral. This has added a new element to it and made me discover my true obsession, which is enemies to lovers but they’re actually already lovers just kiss.

Make no mistake: it’s definitely a sex dream. That part is clear from the first, very unclothed moment—but what takes her aback is the cresting wave of tenderness that she rides into the scene, a steady swell of affection and care that threatens to choke dream-Lily up with emotion, to spill out of her on little noises and soft-spoken words.

Dream-Lily’s hands are entangled in dream-James’s hair, brushing errant strands back from his face as he moves above her, watching as his expressions contort and relax as his pleasure ebbs and flows. It’s nearly overwhelming, to confront how beautiful he is; to see it up close instead of safely from a distance; to reconcile the concept of his beauty with the feel of it beneath her hands. Her fingers skirt over skin as though afraid to linger too long in one area.

“I love you so much,” dream-James gasps into her neck, and she feels this more than anything, the responsive crawl of I love you, too from her chest up to her lips and into his ear. It is the most prominent sensation of the dream, and therefore, the most off-putting.

At least—it will be, she thinks mutedly, when the dream ends.

Which it does. Painfully.

To be specific, it isn’t so much that she’s pulled into consciousness as this dream is wrenched out from under her, and in its wake, there is nowhere to fall but into the waking world.

ah the wild ride that reading this has me on, because I’m beaming and cackling about hot lawyers and sex dreams, and then I’m hit in the gut with an emotional punch that’s going to have me out on the sidelines for 4-8 business days. AND THEN HE CALLS HER. And this was the moment that I just. Stopped working. Honestly, I don’t know that there’s much I can say about FG, because what it does is entirely internal. It’s somewhere up and behind your ribs, and it hurts and it makes you feel hopeful and saddened and maybe like you ate a chili pepper and are about to have indigestion. It pulls at every yearning string that makes up jily, two people who always are at odds until they collide like burning stars. (edit: i literally forgot about the splintering stars bit until i read it down the way, so...FG jily give off celestial energy pass it on!) I just. am not working anymore. I’m crying a lot tho.

Black turns to Potter, and the two exchange grins. […] “I can see what you meant about her, mate.”

The way I can just see this as such a good fic about hot, angry lawyers if there wasn’t the tragic longing in the background and like. You know it’s inhumanly good when there are TWO incredible fics happening at the same time and they’re utterly cohesive but also they could be standalones.

Without question, she knows that the voice belongs to James. She could pick it out in a raucous crowd.

The touching of her back, the memory of touch 🥺 some things can’t be erased. they can’t be erased.

I feel both cosmically confused and excited reading this fic, and it highlights my very favorite thing about fanfic. We already know the characters and the story, and so when someone walks on screen we go !!!!!!!!!!!!! probably something to be said for the human nature of loving excitement even when we know the outcome, of caring so much that the enjoyment is not negated by the knowing. I know the people, the place is unfamiliar, so I feel slightly off kilter as I pick my way through the story, but then I see something known—Remus Lupin, Sirius Black, memories—and I latch on and everything becomes brighter, one step closer to them being together again.

Oh also, James Potter the bloody do-gooder 😭 my fav 😭 I love him 😭

HE SENT HER FLOWERS. it’s like I haven’t even read this before, wow. My heart is still surprised. Tumblr is shit at finding non porny memes (how does happy cat lead to bare asses and pouting??????) so insert someone collapsing from sheer overwhelm and being lowered onto a fainting couch.

This is my favorite line in the entire fic, and I stared at it for five minutes when I got to (and I stared some more when I edited this).

Lily feels the press of James’s lips onto the crown of her hair, and she feels a love sitting in her chest that could stop her heart, and distantly she knows that this—all of this, this feeling and this moment and the press of his palm on the small of her back—will be gone when she wakes up. She leans a little closer to his chest. They sway a little slower. Outside, greying branches grasp at tumbling orange leaves.

True, good characters are the most important, but good prose physically builds a scene, builds the emotions, until you get something like this. A little piece that’s been lost, but still lingers and…you have to sit in the moment with them, where it’s so impermanent but so never-ending. The orange leaves and greying branches continue to exist in the world, so it stands to reason that somewhere they’re still dancing to Paul McCartney in the kitchen, and they’re still alive and in love. (Well. Alive. They could never not be in love, not even after).

After them comes James, finally, and he barely makes it in the door before she’s seizing his face, slanting her lips over his and pressing him up against the closest wall. His hands scramble at her waist, her back, clutching at her hair. He pulls back for a dragged breath.

“I’m here, baby,” he murmurs, and a shudder runs through her, possibly because of his tone, even more possibly because of his words and the weight they carry. “I’m here. I’m alive.”

“I was so worried, James, I couldn’t see you, I thought—”

I definitely blocked this out so I wouldn’t have ptsd. Of course Clare would insert my crack of choice, Written-by-Clare-Separation-Anxiety-Order-Jily. OF COURSE. suing you.

Whenever he calls her 😭 the panic, the love 😭 (I would sell my soul for this fic from James’s POV, just saying 👀 just saying 👀)

Splintered star. (This was when I got up and made myself a nice cup of tea so I could steel myself to read the rest because im going to be honest, I was in a rough place at this point)

HAHA the argument at the bar. HAHAH HAHA I’m so sad.

“What happens now?” She whispers.

“Now, we wait.” James takes her hand in both of his and strokes her palm softly with his thumb. “Either for him, or for the train to leave.”

Dream-Lily seems to know who he is, because she doesn’t ask, only lays her head on dream-James’s shoulder and listens to his breathing. When the whistle blows and the train departs, he clutches her hand and they both begin to weep, and Lily jolts awake to a tear-stained pillow.

I literally cried at this bit. The parts with Harry in this fic hit so horrifically hard, because there’s something about children that just…they’re innocent, and a parent loves them so much, and I can’t imagine how losing one would feel.

Even if he’s falling for her the way she already has for him, it will be loving her incompletely, and that—she thinks—might be worse.

I’ve decided from this point forward I’m just going to restate Clare’s name with varying degrees of capitalization and formatting to show emotional destruction. I’ve run plum out of words. (Plum run out? what is the proper order for that no clue) Thank you for your understanding.

“Happy Halloween,” she whispers to him, and the words send a shock through her, though it’s unclear which her receives it, real Lily or dream-Lily, or if it lies somewhere in the nebulous space between.

CLARE

No, she wants to scream, you can’t, James, you can’t—he’s not allowed to leave her this early. He’s not allowed to go before her, to leave her here without him.

The world tilts and shifts. She clutches Harry to her chest and sprints up the stairs, a sob clawing its way up her throat that she has to fight to push back down. Where is her wand? Why can’t she find her wand?

“Da-da!” Harry wails, squirming in her arms, and she has barely the breath to shush him; Godric’s Hollow feels cavernous, and somehow her steps barely make progress, because the hallway seems to extend out for miles and miles and miles.

There’s an echoing voice that sounds like death, and the sound of a body hitting the floor. The scream Lily suppresses is a dagger’s cut to the inside of her throat.

I’ll find you, Lily thinks as her vision tunnels to Harry’s bedroom door.

In any world, James, I’ll find my way back to you.

cLArE

I just need to see him, she thinks desperately. I just need to make sure he’s alright, and then it’ll be over. I swear.

Her fingers close around the front doorknob. A clap of thunder makes her jump, but she presses on anyway. Weather be damned. This entire world be damned.

I just need to see him…

Logically, Lily knows that there are no witches or wizards or wands in this world, understands that whatever earth she lived in for her past life was built on different fundamental elements than this one, but when she throws the door open, she decides that there must be some sort of dormant, kinetic magic swimming below levels of dirt and magma, running subterranean pathways that sizzle and spark.

Because there he is. Like she’s conjured him.

James is standing outside of her flat, soaked through from the rain, white dress shirt sticking to his chest and hair flattened to his forehead. He’s breathing heavily out of his mouth; his shoulders heave with it. His glasses are clutched tightly in one fist—presumably useless now, with the downpour—and his other hand is pressed to his side, fingers flexing like he’s suppressing their movement with the last vestiges of his will.

A gasp shocks out of her. He looks up.

Their eyes meet, and it’s a star in supernova, the Big Bang, the creation of the universe. Suddenly there are entire galaxies within her, constellations of loss and longing and joy that crystallize under his eyes, shooting to the surface of her skin and attempting to take flight from her body.

A splintered star, Madame Arnaud had called her. A splintered star, looking for its lost fragments.

But to look at a star is to see it burned out, to stare at its ghost as the lightyears of distance trick the eye, and this, too, is true as she look at James; she doesn’t just see him, but the ghost of who he was, the mirror image of him forged from a life of war and magic, one they shared together, a stellar collision in a different cosmos.

Her head swims under the intensity of his gaze, because he’s never—not in this lifetime, at least—looked at her like this, like the entire world could swallow itself around them, and he’d not spare it a single glance, so long as she stayed within view.

It’s intoxicating. It’s foreign. It’s long overdue.

I can’t even talk at this point, but this jily might be my favorite ever written, because…they’re every jily. Clare writes the jily in my head, the jily I can’t even express with hundreds of thousands of words. 

“I remember everything, my love.”

RIP. I’ll be lying in my grave, clutching my laptop to my chest while I sob.

“Do you hear that, Harry?” She whispers. “Your mum and dad have been waiting for you.”

What the fuck. What the fuck Clare.

James leans up and presses a kiss to her abdomen. “We’ll do it right,” he says softly, to her or to Harry or both—she can’t be sure. “We’ll have more time.”

Yes, Lily thinks, they will. She looks up through the bedroom window. The London lights are dimmer than usual tonight, and above them, the sky is twinkling with stars.

Truly, who even comes up with something like this? Sometimes the power of art astounds me, because out of a line someone tossed into her inbox, Clare built something that makes everyone who reads it overwhelmed with feeling. It hurts so beautifully that I don’t need to reread it often to remember it (and I don’t know that I can I’d just be a constant mess. It gives you a literal hangover I’m going to be useless tomorrow); it’s just imprinted somewhere in my memory, an archive of all the art that has moved me, or made me think about love and life in the real world.

Clare—love you, you’re a shining star of a person and friend, and a witch of a wordsmith. Never stop making magic ❤️

[flourgirl]

Sleepyhead

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Summary: Peter will try just about anything to help out the very pretty insomniac from his math class.

Work Count: 11.2k

Warnings: Just some sweet, pure fluff with a few curse words every now and then.

A/N: Either the tags aren’t working for me or you guys just didn’t like it, but the final part of “Even If It’s a Lie” has been out for a few days now if anyone’s interested in reading it 🥺 Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy this super long piece I’ve been working on to help me get through finals <3

“Touch you softly I call you up late at night No doubt it isn't right But you could be my one and only” -Softly, Clairo

Peter had seen you around campus a few times, but it wasn’t until you started sitting two rows ahead of him in his linear algebra class that he really started to notice you. 

He thought you were really pretty, and he liked how cozy you always looked in the puffy winter coat you kept on in the perpetually freezing lecture hall. You took a lot of notes, which told him that you cared about the class, and never showed up without a giant cup of iced coffee.

You’re being a creep, Peter told himself. He had thought about switching seats to somewhere in front of you, so he could actually listen to his professor discuss permutations instead of staring at how you chewed on the end of your pen when you were thinking.

It was even worse when you started sleeping in class, your soft hair falling around your shoulders as you leaned your head against your desk. It seemed like all the coffee in the world couldn’t keep you awake, and Peter wondered if he should ask if you wanted to borrow his notes or something. But that would mean him admitting to looking at you way more than he needed to, and that was weird, so he quickly dropped the idea.

Still, he was worried about you. So when he came back from patrol in the middle of the night and bumped into you outside of the dorm kitchen, he figured it would be the perfect opportunity to introduce himself and maybe even find out why you were so tired all the time. 

The only problem was that he had accidentally knocked your pan of banana bread out of your hands, and you were currently staring at it laying on the floor with your sleepy eyes, not saying anything.

“Shit, uh, I’m so sorry,” he told you, crouching down to scoop up the remnants of your late-night snack into the pan. “Were you really up baking at 3 a.m?”

You blushed a little, starstruck that the cute guy from your math class was talking to you. “Um, yeah. I couldn’t sleep, so I figured I’d come down to the kitchen while nobody else was here and make something. Baking always helps me calm down, and so here I am. And here we are. And there’s my bread, all covered in whatever kind of dust the custodians refuse to sweep down here.”

He offered a soft smile, and it made you feel better about the fact that you were rambling way more than you wanted to.

“I’m Y/N,” you continued, gently taking the pan from his hands. “You’re in linear algebra with Professor Meyers, right?”

“Yeah, you, um, you sit right in front of me. Well, not right in front of me. Two rows in front of me. Shit. I’m not creepy, I promise. It’s just… uh… My name is Peter and I’m going to stop talking now.” 

That couldn’t have possibly gone any worse, he thought. You were probably thinking he was a serial killer or something.

“It’s okay. I know you sit behind me,” you reassured him. “You answer a lot of questions.” He was cute and smart, and you hoped he couldn’t notice how flustered you were to be this close to him.

“What are you doing up so late?” he asked, which made you laugh at how ironic his concerns were, considering he was also wandering around the dorm basement at this hour.

“I could ask you the same thing,” you replied, sitting on one of the benches that jutted out of the walls of the corridor. “I mean, you’re here too. At least I was baking. What’s up with you?”

You had a point. “I had an emergency… with my internship. I work for Stark Industries, and Mr. Stark rang me in the middle of the night to come to the lab immediately for something, so, yeah. That’s why I’m awake right now.”

“Okay,” you said, not buying his story. “So that’s why you have a black eye and you’re lurking in the basement hallway? Did Tony Stark punch you?”

Fuck. Did he really have a black eye and not notice? He didn’t think that Doc Oc’s stupid mechanical arm had punched him that hard, but apparently, he was wrong. And now he had to come up with some reason as to where it came from, although he could already tell that you were about to call his bluff.

The only solution he could think of was to change the subject. “Why are you always asleep during class?” he blurted out, causing you to give him a funny look before frowning down at your slippers.

“Isn’t it obvious,” you yawned, stretching your arms out in front of you. “I’m an insomniac. It’s actually kind of funny. I never really had any problems with falling asleep until I moved here. Maybe it’s the cold weather or the constant pressure to get good grades, but I just can’t sleep anymore. It sucks.”

Normally, you’d never tell this much about yourself to somebody, let alone a complete stranger. But somehow, you felt really comfortable around Peter. There was just something about him that made you feel warm and fuzzy inside.

Peter caught himself staring at you again, your baby pink pajamas a far departure from how put together your usual outfits were. Even without your makeup or hair done, you were still the prettiest girl he had ever seen. For some reason, even the dark circles under your eyes were really cute to him.

“You never answered my question,” you reminded him, hoping that he’d say something to fill the awkward silence. “What’s with the black eye and wandering around in the middle of the night? Are you some kind of superhero?”

“What? No! That’s crazy. Me, a superhero,” he laughed awkwardly, wondering if you had somehow figured out his secret identity. Had you spotted him that one time he made sure that you and your friends got home safely from a late-night study session? Even so, you totally couldn’t have known it was him, right?

“Relax, I’m just joking,” you giggled, thinking about how cute he looked when he was flustered. “Although my friend did tell me she thought she saw Spider-Man a few weeks ago on her way back from a party.”

“Haha, yeah,” he breathed out, a wave of relief washing over him. It was times like these that he really started to appreciate how well-hidden his muscles were underneath all of his oversized sweaters.

“Does that hurt?” you asked, bringing your hand up to lightly brush his lip, which was bleeding. He flinched instinctively before settling under your touch, your eyes focused on the small cut. “I have a first aid kit in my room if you want some help cleaning it up.”

“Oh, no, it’s cool. I wouldn’t want to bother your roommate,” Peter told you, scooting further away on the bench, nearly falling off the edge of it. Ned hated it when he stumbled in at some ungodly hour after patrol and woke him up. 

“Don’t worry about it,” you said, standing up and gesturing for him to follow you. “I have a single.”

Peter looked at you in awe. Freshmen never got rooms to themselves, and yet somehow you had one. “Okay, fine. But only because I’ve never actually seen a single in this building before.”

“That’s cool with me,” you smiled, reaching for his hand so he could keep up with your pace. He noticed that you were chewing some of the banana bread, which he really hoped was from the part that didn’t fall on the floor. To be fair though, it did smell really good.

Not only did you have a single, but you lived on the first floor. Peter couldn’t believe how lucky you were, considering the building that the two of you lived in didn’t have any elevators to traverse its seven floors.

He was even more shocked when you opened your door, revealing the coziest dorm room he had ever seen. How on earth did you transform the glorified prison cell into something that felt so... comforting? From the twinkling lights that were wrapped around everything and the soft rug under his feet, Peter found it really hard to believe that you had trouble sleeping here.

“Sorry, it’s a bit messy,” you apologized, piling your many throw pillows and blankets into a basket to clear up some space on your bed. “You can sit here.”

If this was messy, then Peter and Ned’s room needed some serious help. “No worries,” he said, watching as you rummaged around your drawers in search of your first aid kit.

Eventually, you found it hidden under a bunch of graph paper and colored pencils, untouched ever since your overprotective grandparents had helped you move in. “Here we go,” you mused, now looking inside it for alcohol wipes and band-aids.

He winced as you rubbed the little cloth against his lips, and you made sure to be more gentle as you cleaned up the other cuts on his face. Thankfully, nothing was bad enough to require stitches, something you were seriously under-qualified to do.

All Peter could focus on the entire time was how close you were and what it would be like to just kiss you right then and there, but he knew that was way too forward of him. Plus, he didn’t even know if you liked him like that. Surely you were just being nice.

Still, the way he caught you staring into his brown eyes after smoothing a band-aid on his forehead made him think otherwise.

“You’re going to have to tell me eventually who beat you up,” you sighed, gathering up wrappers to throw away and tucking the first aid kit back into its place in your drawers.

“It’s a long story,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck and avoiding your stare.

“I’ve got time,” you replied, climbing onto your lofted bed to sit next to him, innocently brushing your bare leg against his jeans, which made his breath hitch. “Tell me about it.”

“Uh, how about another time?” he stammered, hopping off the bed and running his hand through his hair. “After class tomorrow, or something. It’s getting pretty late. We should, um, go to sleep.”

“You can stay here if you want,” you offered, his eyes widening at your invitation. “On the bean bag, I mean. It’s actually really comfortable. You mentioned something about bothering your roommate and I figured that maybe you’d like to avoid the trouble tonight.”

“Oh…” Peter hesitated, looking for a reason to say no. He knew he’d never be able to sleep knowing that you were in the same room as him. “I don’t have any pajamas.”

“True,” you agreed, a little disappointed that he wasn’t interested in sticking around.

“I don’t actually even wear pajamas to sleep,” he continued, making you look back up at him instead of playing with the hem of your shirt. “It’s just… I sleep in my boxers.”

“I’m sorry for asking. I didn’t mean to put you in an uncomfortable situation,” you sighed, your face hot with embarrassment.

“It’s not that! I mean, I do want to stay here. But, uh, you… well, you make me really nervous, Y/N,” he muttered, his glance bouncing around the room.

“Why?” you asked, your brows furrowing. “Did I do something?”

“No, no! Nothing at all. I promise, okay?”

“Okay. You can, um, get ready for bed, I guess. I promise not to look,” you assured him, turning on your side to face the wall.

“Thanks. Yeah, alright.” You heard him fumbling with his clothes, his sneakers making a soft thud on your floor. You did your best to resist the urge to glance back at him.

“Can I just use any of these?” he asked, although you had no idea what he was talking about.

“Peter, I’m not looking, remember? You’re going to have to be a little more specific than that.”

“The blankets. Do I just pick one, or are you particular about them?”

“Oh. You can use whichever one you want to. But the coral one’s the softest and my personal favorite.” Peter stared at the basket in confusion. To him, they were all just pink. But based on touch alone, he pulled one out that he figured was a little more orange than the others.

He walked over to the light switch and flipped off the overhead fluorescents, letting the room be illuminated by the warm glow of your fairy lights, which weren’t too bright, but still twinkly and beautiful.

“Goodnight, Peter,” you whispered, snuggling into your comforter in the hopes that your heartbeat would slow down and let you fall asleep for once.

“Goodnight, Y/N.” In a matter of minutes, you could hear his soft snoring, and you figured that it would be okay just to take a quick peek since he’d probably be bundled up in one of your blankets.

His hair was perfectly messy, and he looked so cozy wrapped up in the blanket you had recommended. Still, as much as you could stare at his adorable face all night, you were exhausted. Burying your face under the covers, you did your best to calm your nerves and get some rest before class tomorrow.

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

“Peter,” you whispered, jostling him lightly by the shoulders in the hopes of waking him up. “Uh, we have an hour before class. I was thinking that it would be enough time for you to go shower and change, and then we could go get coffee or something.”

He blinked back up at you, amazed at how well he slept on your bean bag. You had already gotten ready for the day, doing your makeup and picking out one of your many fluffy sweaters to keep you warm in the New York snow.

“Thanks, that sounds awesome,” he yawned, accepting the hand you held out to help him up. The blanket fell, and you stared at each other in shock, having forgotten that Peter was in nothing but his underwear.

You dropped his hand as fast as you could, covering your eyes. “Oh my god! I’m sorry. Shit, I completely forgot, Peter. I’m so sorry. I’ll let you get dressed.”

Peter watched as you stumbled around the room, your eyes squeezed tightly as your hands attempted to guide you away from him.

“Y/N,” he started, catching your attention as you nearly ran into your bed frame. “You can open your eyes. Really, I don’t care if you see me like this if it means I can keep you from breaking your nose.”

You hesitantly opened your eyes, relieved that Peter had already managed to pull his pants back on. Still, he was completely shirtless, and you found yourself staring at the abs you would have never expected to be hiding underneath his clothes.

Moments later, you averted your gaze, although you knew that he probably noticed you looking at where was now covered by his plaid button-down and dark blue sweater.

“I’ll, um, be right back,” he muttered, before practically sprinting out of your room and up the stairs. You groaned in embarrassment, burying your face in a pillow before attempting to take a quick twenty-minute power nap.

Peter couldn’t believe it. Sure, he had thought one time about you seeing him without clothes on, but this wasn’t how he thought it would go at all. Still, the image of you staring at him shirtless, your face flushed, made him feel like he was going to have a heart attack.

“Dude! There you are,” Ned screamed, startled at his roommate’s unexpected entrance. Peter panted, having run up four flights of stairs as fast as he could. “Wait a second. Did you finally get laid? Is this a walk of shame?”

Before Ned could praise him any further, Peter was grabbing a change of clothes and sprinting towards the bathroom. Don’t think about her, he begged himself.

The memory of your leg touching his last night immediately came to mind, and Peter was so angry at himself for being this starved for physical intimacy. To be fair, though, you were the most beautiful girl he had ever seen, and so he cut himself some slack.

Shit, he told himself, making sure the water was set to cold. He needed to calm down, but instead, his thoughts were stuck on how good you looked in your pajamas, but also how good you would look without them and—fuck it. 

Peter liked you a lot, and if thinking about you like this in private kept him from being a complete weirdo in person, then maybe he just needed to get his feelings of desperation over with.

When he came back down to your room about thirty minutes later, you were still super tired. You trudged your way towards the door, your hair now noticeably messier than earlier, but at least that meant your nap had been a success.

His hair was still damp and this time he was wearing yet another blue sweater, which made you wonder if he ever wore any other color. He had his backpack slung over one of his shoulders and a nervous smile on his face as he locked eyes with you.

“Hey,” he said, pushing some of his hair out of his face. “Are you ready to go?”

You leaned against the doorway a little bit, letting out a yawn that was literally the cutest noise Peter had ever heard in his life. “Yeah, let me get my backpack.”

“It’s so heavy,” you continued, rightfully complaining as the weight of all its contents practically pulled you downwards. “I think it’s so stupid how almost every professor bans computers from class. Like, it’s not fair that I have to lug around three textbooks every day. I don’t have time to run back to my dorm in between classes like some people!”

Peter frowned. Three textbooks were nothing to him, but he knew that you didn’t have spidey-strength and that you were also pretty tiny compared to him. It must’ve been hell on your back to be carrying all that stuff around every day.

“I can carry it for you,” he offered, holding out his hand to switch with you. “Here, you can take my backpack if it’ll make you feel better. I have a lot of programming classes today, so I’ve only got my laptop and a notebook in there.”

You gave him a look of gratitude as he traded bags with you, literally taking the weight off your shoulders. He was right. His backpack was much more manageable for you, even if the dark grey contrasted with the light colors you always wore.

In contrast, it looked kind of odd for him to be walking around with a backpack that was covered in a soft pink floral pattern, much like everything else you owned, but the sight of him carrying your books brought a smile to your face. 

It was one of the sweetest things a guy had ever done for you, and Peter wasn’t even your boyfriend. He probably didn’t even think of you in that way.

“Uh, where do you usually get coffee?” he asked, slowing his pace so you could keep up. He felt bad seeing how tired you were, no doubt due to the lack of sleep you got last night.

“The Starbucks next to Hendrie Hall,” you replied, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes. “You?”

“I don’t drink coffee,” he admitted. “I’m actually more of a tea person.”

“Oh,” you hesitated, wondering if it was worth it to walk all the way across campus just for a caramel ribbon crunch frappuccino. “We could go somewhere closer then.”

“It’s okay,” Peter reassured you, grabbing your hand and pulling you along to your destination. “I like walking.”

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

You hadn’t really talked to Peter since that morning before class, but sometimes you would peek behind you and catch him stealing glances at you. Eventually, he had started to feel brave enough to give you a little wave whenever you caught him looking at you. Well, at least the times when you were awake.

One day, not even the loud shuffling and growing chatter of your classmates exiting the lecture hall could wake you up, and Peter figured he better do something before you got chewed out by one of the TAs.

“Y/N?” he said, leaning closer so that you could hopefully hear him. “Y/N. You gotta wake up. Class ended three minutes ago.”

He shook you a little bit, nervously hoping that you wouldn’t mind him touching you. Your eyes fluttered open, and you smiled softly as soon as you realized it was Peter. 

“Oh. Thanks,” you said, standing up to slide your empty notebook into your backpack. Your hand brushed the side of your mouth, making sure you hadn’t drooled onto yourself.

“You can borrow my notes,” he offered, glancing at you sheepishly as you gathered up your coat and fixed your hair. “If you want to.”

“That’d be great,” you sighed, wondering whether you should skip your next class and just go take a nap. At this point, you weren’t even bothering to put on makeup and you basically wore whatever clothes you had that weren’t already sprawled across your room.

“Are you alright?” Peter asked, walking close to you to make sure you didn’t fall over. He knew you were an insomniac, but you looked seriously sleep-deprived today. “Have you been sleeping at all lately?”

“Nope,” you huffed, lugging your perpetually heavy backpack along. “But I’m skipping the rest of my classes today. I’d rather lie that I’m sick through an e-mail than have to explain to my professors why I was sleeping during their classes.”

“Fair enough,” he agreed, stopping you in your tracks to take your backpack from you. “I’ve actually got some time before my next class. I can walk you back to your room and give you my notebook if that’s okay with you.”

“You don’t have to do that,” you told him, reaching to take your bag back from him, although he didn’t let you. 

“Y/N. Come on, you’re exhausted. At least let me carry your stuff, alright?” He had such a kind look in his eyes, and you certainly didn’t have the energy to keep arguing for no reason.

“Okay.” You crossed your arms, the cold air slowly waking you up as the wind hit your face. Your ears were super cold, but you were glad you had pulled your hair into a quick braid to keep it from flying everywhere.

It wasn’t long before you were kicking your boots off in your dorm room, your teeth chattering as you wrapped yourself in a blanket. 

“Do you want some tea?” you asked Peter, inviting him to sit down wherever.

“Sure, but I thought you drank coffee,” he reminded you, watching as you pulled an assortment of tea bags for him to choose from.

“I do,” you said, handing him the box and running to your bathroom to fill up the electric kettle. “But you drink tea.”

Peter’s ears suddenly felt hot. You had gotten tea just for him. Or maybe you were just a really good hostess and kept some around for all of your visitors. Probably the second option, he thought.

“Are you even allowed to have one of those?” he asked as the two of you waited for the water to boil.

“No,” you laughed, sitting next to him on your bed. For someone with so much space to themselves, you really needed to invest in more places to sit. “But you can’t have candles or fairy lights either, so I guess I’m just a rule breaker.”

“Guess I’ll just have to report you to the RA,” Peter teased, getting up to make himself a cup of earl grey. “Do you have any sugar?”

“Top drawer on the right,” you replied. “Do you have a sweet tooth?”

“Yes.” You watched as his lips blew on the tea to cool it down before remembering that it was weird to stare.

“You should let me bake something for you. What’s your favorite dessert?” You were kicking your dangling legs, suddenly feeling a lot more awake than this morning.

“Chocolate cake. With chocolate frosting,” he said in between sips, walking back over to you. With you on the tall bed and him standing, your faces were level with each other.

“I’ll have to make you one to thank you,” you smiled, peering into his eyes. Peter felt your heartbeat quicken, and the grin on your face as you stared at each other made him weak in the knees.

“Can I get those notes?” you asked, making him remember that people don’t just look at each other and say nothing like that.

“Oh! Yeah, definitely.” He quickly set the mug down on your nightstand to rummage through his backpack, flipping one of his notebooks open before handing it to you. “There are the ones from today, but all of the ones I’ve taken this semester are in there too.”

“Wow,” you laughed, making a worried expression form on his face.

“What’s wrong? Are they not good?”

“No, it’s not that. They’re just, uh, very thorough.” He had basically transcribed your professor’s lectures onto the pages. “You must write really fast. But thank you, Peter. I really appreciate it.”

Peter nodded before nervously gulping down the rest of his tea, not even noticing how hot the liquid still was as it nearly burned his throat. 

“I should go now,” he started, looking around the room for his things. “I want you to get some rest, Y/N. Please.”

He had this look in his eyes that was so genuine—so full of care and concern—that it made you want to do whatever he asked you to.

“I’ll try,” you told him, awkwardly rubbing the top of your arm in the hopes that you could actually fall asleep after he left. “Have a nice day, Peter.”

“Bye, Y/N. I’ll stop by later,” he said, already halfway out the door. “For the notes, I mean! Uh, bye. Again. Okay. I’m going to go now.” 

You giggled, giving him one last wave before he left. Like magic, the more you thought about how Peter was worried about you, the easier it was for you to drift off into a peaceful sleep, finally feeling at ease for the first time in weeks.

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

You woke up later that day to Peter knocking on your door, this time standing next to some guy in a brightly colored Hawaiian shirt.

“Hi, Y/N,” Peter greeted you. You looked a lot less tired than when he saw you this morning, which relieved him. “This is my roommate, Ned. He just wanted to know who I’ve been hanging out with, so I hope it’s okay that I brought him here to prove you’re real and not a figment of my imagination.”

Ned leaned closer to you, your hair still a little messy from your nap. “Blink twice if he’s paying you,” he whispered, causing you to giggle. Peter looked on nervously, unsure of what his best friend had just said to you.

“What did you say!?” he asked, lightly pushing Ned on the arm, knowing that it was probably something meant to embarrass him.

“Ow! Okay, now I’m really not telling you,” Ned replied, rubbing the spot where Peter had just hit him.

“Y/N, what did Ned say to you?” He turned to you, a worried look on his face as you and Ned held back your laughter. Peter’s face turned as red as a tomato, making you instantly feel a little bit bad. 

“It was nothing, Peter. Really,” you said, pulling him into the room with you. “It was nice to meet you, Ned. I’ll make sure he’s back before curfew.”

Ned laughed, offering a quick thumbs up and mouthing “I like her” to Peter before you shut the door on him.

“I knew that was a mistake,” Peter sighed, his back against the door. You were still a bit giddy from the exchange, giggling softly as he slowed his breathing.

“You don’t need to be embarrassed around me,” you reassured him. “We’re friends, right?”

“Yeah, of course. It’s just that…”

“What?” You could barely hear him as his voice trailed off.

“Well, uh, not all of my friends are, you know…”

“Spit it out, Peter,” you said, leaning closer so that you could hear him better.

“They’re not as pretty as you,” he muttered, making you blush at his words. Did he really think you were pretty?

“Oh. Thanks,” you smiled, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. Peter lifted his head up, relieved that you didn’t think he was a creep or something.

“Your notebook’s on my desk,” you continued, stepping back a little to give him some space. You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding as the distance between you and him grew. “I just took a bunch of pictures, so I can look at them on my computer whenever.”

“Alright, awesome,” he said, walking over to collect it before turning back to you. “How’d you sleep?”

“Pretty well, actually. The best I’ve slept in a while. I think you’re some kind of good luck charm.”

“Really?” he asked, a little surprised that he had been helpful.

“Really. You know, I’ve been thinking…”

“Yeah?”

“Maybe it’d be nice if we hung out somewhere that wasn’t my room all the time,” you said, a hopeful look in your eyes. “If you want.”

Peter had never noticed it before, but the two of you really did spend most of your time together in your room. It really was a nice room, but it made sense that you’d want to get out of it every once and a while.

“I’d like that. What did you have in mind?” Play it cool, Parker, he told himself. You can freak out with Ned later.

“How about ice cream on Friday?” you suggested, which came as a bit of a surprise to him.

“In the middle of winter?” As far as Peter could remember, you were always cold.

“Yeah. I really love ice cream,” you added, smiling up at him.

“Okay, then. Ice cream it is,” he agreed. There was absolutely no way he could ever say no to you when you looked at him like that.

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

“May! No, it’s not a date. She’s just a friend. Yeah, I got it. Open the door, pay for her, don’t be an idiot!” Peter sighed into his phone, hoping his aunt’s unwarranted crash course on first dates would be over soon. “Yes, I’m wearing the green sweater. Thanks, love you. Bye!”

“I have no idea who told her I had a date tonight,” he groaned, slumping down onto the couch next to his best friend.

“I texted her,” Ned replied nonchalantly, not even looking away from whatever video game he was playing. “Knew you’d need some kind of pointers. Y/N is way out of your league.”

“Hey!” Was he right? Yes. Did Peter need to be reminded of it right before his not-a-date date with you? Definitely not.

“Come on, you know I’m right. It’s Liz Allan all over again. I have no idea how you keep pulling all of these pretty girls, but hey, credit where credit is due.”

“You’re so mean.”

“I keep it real and you love it. Good luck, man.”

“Bye,” Peter grumbled, slipping on his coat and walking out of their room. Four flights of stairs later, he was at your door.

“Hi!” you squeaked, wrapping your arms around him. This was the first time the two of you had ever hugged and Peter was not going to forget about it anytime soon. “Come in. I have a surprise for you!”

“Here,” you continued, holding out a blue and white beanie for him. “I made it for you. To match all those blue sweaters you wear all the time.” Except this time, he was wearing a forest green one, which brought out the slight hazel tinge in his eyes.

“You made this for me?” he asked, eyeing the different stitches you had used and fiddling with the pom-pom on top. It looked store-bought.

“Well, yeah, silly. I just said that,” you replied, hoping that he liked it. With all the time you didn’t sleep, you were knitting anyway, but this was a special present for him. “Try it on.”

“I didn’t get you anything,” he sighed, pulling the hat onto his head. He looked really cute, the ends of his wavy hair peeking out from underneath the brim.

“Don’t worry about it,” you said, pulling him out of your room and towards the front of the dorm building. “Getting to hang out with you is good enough for me.”

“Where’d you learn how to knit?” Peter questioned, walking alongside you on the snow-lined sidewalks. With how cold it was, and considering he didn’t have a hood on his coat, it seemed like perfect timing that you had given him a hat.

“My grandma taught me,” you shared, taking in the twinkling of the streetlamps and how they bounced against the snow. In New York, that was practically the closest you could get to stargazing. “My, uh, grandparents actually raised me.”

“Oh. I was raised by my aunt and uncle,” Peter confided. It made you feel not so alone to find out that he didn’t grow up with his parents either, even though you knew firsthand just how hard it was.

“Do they live around here?” you asked, stealing glances at him and how rosy his cheeks were in the cold air.

“Yeah, my aunt lives in Queens,” he told you, staring at his feet to both avoid eye contact and make sure neither of you accidentally slipped. Not that he wouldn’t catch you, but he wanted to be safe. “My uncle actually passed away a couple of years ago.”

You stopped walking, immediately feeling a sense of regret. “I’m sorry, Peter. I shouldn’t have asked.”

“It’s okay, Y/N. There was no way for you to have known that,” Peter reassured you, his warm breath coming out in clouds, and he reached for your hand to run his thumb across your knuckles. He gently pulled you along, keeping you from dying of embarrassment in the middle of campus.

“What about you? Are you from around here?” he asked, hoping to break the silence and make you feel a little bit better.

“No, I just moved up here for college. I grew up in Texas but moved to North Carolina when I was 13, so I finished school down there,” you explained, Peter suddenly noticing a slight Southern twang to your voice. “I just really wanted to go to school in a big city and not next to a farm for once in my life.” 

“That makes sense,” he laughed, wondering what it would be like to live somewhere else. “I’ve only ever lived in New York City.”

“Do you like it here?”

“I love it. Wouldn’t want to be anywhere else, to be honest.”

“Me either,” you sighed, squeezing his hand tighter as the two of you enjoyed your walk in the snow.

It seemed like forever before you reached the ice cream shop, but you didn’t mind. That just gave you and Peter more time to get to know each other better. Turns out you both competed in academic decathlons, although you were more of a math person and he preferred science.

“Okay, you’re wrong. Night at the Museum 2 is so much better than the first one. I mean that kiss between Ben Stiller and Amy Adams? The Jonas Brothers as little cherub angels? Name one thing from the original that tops that,” you ranted in between spoonfuls of peppermint ice cream.

“I just really like when the little cowboy and gladiator are driving that toy car around,” he reasoned, subtly admitting defeat.

“Don’t even get me started on why the second Shrek movie—”

You were interrupted by the sound of Peter’s phone ringing, and you immediately recognized his ringtone as the Coconut Mall theme from Mario Kart. He peered down at his phone screen, sighing and mouthing an apology to you as he accepted the call.

“Uh, hey, Mr. Stark. Did you need something?” Well, at least you knew he wasn’t lying about his internship at Stark Industries. “Toronto? Tonight? I’m kind of busy.”

There was a long pause as Peter mentally kicked himself for talking back to Tony, resulting in an earful about how being an Avenger should always be at the top of his priorities.

“Okay, okay. I’m sorry. I’ll be right over… but I need a favor. Could you send Happy to pick my friend up? Yeah, it’s the ice cream shop on 1st. Thank you so much, Mr. Stark. Bye.” He frowned at you, and you could tell from what you had heard that he had to go.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. It’s just, something came up last minute and Mr. Stark really needs me to go on this business trip with him,” he apologized, pulling his coat on. “But, uh, he’s sending a car for you. So don’t worry about walking back alone, alright? I’m so sorry. I’ll make it up to you when I get back, okay? Bye!”

“Oh, okay. Bye!” you managed to call out before he was running out the doors and down the street. Lots of customers were staring as you awkwardly gathered your things and went to go wait on the sidewalk.

A few minutes later, a shiny black car had pulled up to the curb in front of you, a man rolling down the window.

“Miss Y/N? I’m Happy Hogan. Mr. Stark sent me to drive you home,” he called from the driver’s seat, before getting out to open your door for you. You stepped in, a little starstruck at how nice the car was. You had never been in anything this expensive before. 

The two of you were sitting in silence until you finally got the courage to speak up. 

“Mr. Hogan,” you started, causing him to turn down the smooth jazz that had been playing on the radio. “Do you know why Peter has to go to Toronto?”

“Yes,” he replied, glancing at you in the rearview mirror. “But I can’t tell you that.”

“Oh, okay,” you accepted, shifting to look out the window at all of the places in the city that you hadn’t yet gotten the chance to explore. 

Eventually, he was dropping you off in front of your dorm, and you were trudging inside to your room to sulk about how your not-a-date date with Peter had gotten interrupted. You stared at your ceiling all night, wondering when the next time you’d see each other would be, and whether or not he’d come back with the same cuts and bruises as when you had first met.

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

Peter had been gone for six days and counting, and you were starting to worry that he might never come back. You had already started missing him the night he left, and now it was just some agonizing waiting game for him to return.

You must have spent hours in the basement kitchen before deciding to visit the fourth floor where Peter lived. You knocked on the door and was quickly met with Ned’s shocked expression.

“Uh, hi, Y/N. Peter’s not here right now. Did you need something?”

“I know,” you acknowledged, holding up the plate in your hand. “It’s just, well, I’ve been baking a lot and I didn’t really know who to give all of these cookies to, so I was wondering if you wanted any.”

“Oh, in that case, sign me up!” You watched as his face lit up as he noticed the assortment of chocolate chip, sugar, and snickerdoodle cookies all still warm from the oven. He offered his hands out to take the plate from you, which you happily relinquished. 

“These are really good,” he complimented, his mouth full of a sugar cookie. “Can I keep the rest of them?”

“Yeah, of course,” you answered, doing your best to smile despite how much you wished it had been Peter opening the door. “I’ll see you around, Ned.”

“Hey, Y/N,” he called out to you, making you turn around on the stairwell. “Don’t worry. I’m sure Peter’s going to be back any day now.” You nodded, offering him a wave and walking back down to your room.

Turns out Ned had been right. The strange noises outside of your window were masked by how loud you were jamming out to We Didn’t Start the Fire by Billy Joel, jumping around and listing off the lyrics that had never made much sense to you. Peter knocked louder on the glass, startling you as you quickly switched off the music to investigate.

“Holy shit,” you whispered, squinting your eyes to make sure you weren’t hallucinating. “Spider-Man? Is that really you?”

You fumbled to push up your window, extremely confused as to why one of the Avengers was outside your bedroom this late at night.

“It’s me, Y/N,” he explained, his voice suddenly becoming extremely familiar. Your eyes widened as you realized who was behind the mask.

“Oh my god! PETER?” you screamed as he slipped through the window, pulling off his mask and clapping a hand over your mouth.

“Don’t freak out. It’s okay. It’s just me, okay?” he stammered in an attempt to get you to calm down before an RA heard. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I really wanted to tell you, but we were in public when I left, and I couldn’t risk it. And I didn’t want to text it or do it over the phone because it’s kind of a big deal, so I figured I’d just come to see you as soon as I got back and Mr. Stark said that you have to promise—”

“It’s okay, Peter,” you interrupted, wrapping your arms around him and burying your face into the very weird material of his spider-suit. “I won’t tell anybody.”

He softened under your touch, resting his head on top of yours. “I like your dance moves,” he whispered, making you glare up at him, your face suddenly very red.

“How long were you watching?” you groaned, dramatically throwing yourself onto your bean bag, your face covered by your hands.

“Only for about a minute,” he answered, pulling your hands down so you could see him grinning at you. “I especially liked how you used your hairbrush as a microphone. Plus, I thought we agreed to stop being embarrassed around each other?”

“Well, that was before I knew you were freaking Spider-Man!”

“Okay, fair enough,” he agreed, nudging you to scoot over and make room for him.

“So, that’s what that whole Toronto thing was?” you asked as he sat next to you, your knee touching his.

“Yep. There was this thing about aliens and these guys that could shapeshift. It’s a lot to explain.”

“Are you going to keep that thing on all night?” you asked, gesturing at his outfit, which was very tight and very distracting from whatever alien story he had to tell.

“Oh. Yeah, I guess so,” he shrugged. “I don’t have anything on underneath it.”

“How scandalous,” you teased. “Not so family-friendly after all, huh, Spidey?”

“Oh, shut up,” he quipped, rolling his eyes as you let out a long yawn.

“Have you been sleeping much?” he continued, suddenly remembering the issue that had brought the two of you together in the first place.

“Of course not. I’ve been too busy worrying about my classes and, oh, just some idiot I know that abandoned me in the middle of an ice cream shop. Pretty sure he said he’d make that up to me, by the way.”

“Okay, okay. Message received. What would you like?” Please say a kiss. Please say a kiss. Please say a—

“Can I meet them? The Avengers, I mean. It’s not like anyone else really has a secret identity except for you.”

“Oh. I mean, I’d have to ask Mr. Stark and the rest of the team and see if they’re cool with it, but I’ll see what I can do.”

“Awesome! You’re the best,” you chimed, wrapping your arms around him and planting a kiss on his cheek.

It was then that Peter decided he would just never be able to wash that side of his face again, his heart nearly skipping a beat.

“Peter,” you said, breaking the silence he had left the two of you in. “I’m tired.”

“Me too,” he sighed. “I should head up to my room. Gotta make sure Ned knows I’m still alive.”

“Yeah, of course,” you agreed, standing up to see him out. “Aren’t you worried somebody will see you, though?”

“Y/N, it’s 4 a.m. I’m pretty sure that you and I are the only people on campus that are awake right now.”

“Oh, right. Still, be careful, okay?” you told him, slightly worried at his secret identity being found out by some college kid that just couldn’t stay off Twitter.

“Will do,” he said, smiling and giving you a little salute before leaving.

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

A few days later, before you could even greet him, Peter was already walking into your room. It was 10 p.m., a little earlier than when he usually came over, but by now you were used to him showing up at your door unannounced.

He was already wearing his pajamas, a t-shirt with a science pun and some flannel pants that he had invested in to avoid any more awkward moments between the two of you. You were dressed in leggings and a sweatshirt, the clothes you usually threw on after class just in case you fell asleep on accident. There had been more times where you had woken up sweaty with your jeans stuck to your legs than you were willing to admit.

“Okay, so I asked Mr. Stark about your request and he told me he doesn’t think now is a good time, but…” he grinned, holding out a giant cardboard box with some kind of minimalist home appliance on the front for you to look at.

“Am I supposed to know what that is?” you blinked back, trying to figure out what the hell you were staring at, considering that all of the text written on it was in a language you didn’t know how to read.

“It’s some fancy white noise machine from Japan. If I remember correctly, Mr. Stark said he made Pepper order it because I wouldn’t shut up about you, and it would be in everybody’s best interest if you got some sleep, so I could stop annoying him and the rest of the team.”

“Oh. That’s pretty thoughtful, I guess,” you said, gathering things off your floor to make space for it.

He set the box down on your rug and got to work opening it. Meanwhile, you were busy translating what exactly Tony Stark had so generously gifted to you.

“Peter, wait. This thing is like $300. Doesn’t he know that you can just look up whale noises on YouTube for free?”

“Yeah, but this one adjusts its volume based on the noises around it, has a light that simulates the sun rising, and has an alarm noise that’s supposed to support healthy cortisol levels.”

Peter peered up to see your arms crossed and brows furrowed, it suddenly becoming clear to him that the things he had just listed meant very little to you.

“Plus, he’s a literal billionaire, so I don’t think it was that big of a loss for him,” he added.

“Fine. Let’s just hope this thing works,” you sighed, watching as Peter leafed through the instruction manual before tossing it behind him. “It’s a little early to go to sleep, though.”

“Y/N, plenty of people go to sleep at 10. Not everybody is nocturnal like you.”

“I guess you have a point,” you agreed, kneeling down beside him as he fiddled with all the settings.

“I know,” he said with a smirk as you rested your chin on his shoulder to get a better look at what he was doing. “What time do you want to wake up? 7 a.m. would give us time to go get breakfast before class, but we could do 8 if you wanted to sleep in.”

“We?” you mused, liking the sound of that. “I guess that means you’re staying here tonight?”

“Well, yeah. I’m not letting you have all these overpriced rainforest noises to yourself.”

“Do 7. We can go get those blueberry muffins that you like,” you decided, standing up to get Peter’s makeshift bed on your bean bag ready. “Do you actually like sleeping on this thing, or were you just trying to be polite the first time I asked?”

“Dude, that thing is awesome. It’s like I’m on this little cuddly cloud, and then you add all those warm blankets and the twinkly lights and it’s the perfect recipe for me to fall asleep.”

“Wow,” you nodded, looking around your room to see all of the things that Peter was talking about. “I wish it worked that way for me.”

“Maybe it will, tonight.”

It didn’t. You were tossing and turning for nearly an hour to the agonizing sounds of birds cawing and the occasional monkey chatter, all set against the backdrop of a heavy thunderstorm. To be honest, it was something that would’ve given you nightmares when you were little.

“Y/N?” Peter whispered from the floor. “Are you sleeping?”

“No.”

“Me neither.”

“Could you turn that thing off? It’s really distracting me.”

“Yeah, of course,” he said, leaning over to switch the noise machine off. “Can I ask you something?”

“You can ask me anything.”

He hesitated, not really sure if he should ask the question that he had been thinking about for a while now. “How old were you when your parents died?”

You had to think for a moment, not really sure about the answer. For as long as you could remember, you just lived with your grandparents. “Um, well my mom left when I was a baby. And I think my dad passed away when I was four.”

“Oh,” Peter mumbled. He couldn’t imagine what it would be like to have a parent leave you, but he didn’t want to pry just in case it was a sensitive topic. “Are your grandparents from your mom or dad’s side?”

You rolled over to rest your head on the edge of your bed so that you could see him better. He looked so cute bundled up in all of your blankets, his hair already a bit messy. “They’re my mom’s parents. It’s weird. I see a lot of pictures of her from when she was growing up, and I look so much like her, but she’s basically a stranger to me.”

Peter opened his mouth to say something else, but there was a long pause and he decided not to.

“What about you? How old were you when your parents passed away?”

“Five or six. They met while working at the C.I.A. together, but most of my memories are from the stories my aunt and uncle told me when I was growing up.”

For a moment, neither of you could find the right words to say to each other.

“Peter,” you spoke up, interrupting his thoughts. “I’m really glad I met you.”

“I’m really glad I met you too.”

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

Peter’s next plan of action involved even more advice from his fellow Avengers, and you were not looking forward to trying out any of their suggestions. 

“Okay, so, Steve—I mean Captain America—said that when he was little, you know, in the 1940s, all he had to do was drink a glass of warm milk before bed.”

“I’m lactose intolerant,” you groaned, crossing your arms.

“I just saw you eat an entire pint of Ben and Jerry’s in one sitting the other day.”

“Regular milk has almost 15 times more lactose than ice cream. You’d think a science nerd like you would know that.”

“I’m a geek,” he scoffed, clearly a little bit offended. “Not a nerd.”

“Yeah, I can see that now. It’s okay, though. At least you’re pretty,” you said, pinching his cheek.

“Just try it,” he grumbled, handing you the warm glass and waiting impatiently for you to take a sip. If anything, the milk did a better job at keeping you up that night than putting you to sleep. Not even thirty minutes after you had gone to bed, you were feeling sick to your stomach.

“I hate milk,” you gagged, Peter holding your hair back as you kneeled over the toilet bowl. “My grandpa could never get me to drink it as a kid.”

“Is that why you’re so short?” he laughed, helping you up. You glared at him as you moved to the sink to wash the acidic taste out of your mouth.

“Shut up, Parker,” you quipped, tired and grumpy from how terrible you felt. “Let’s just go back to sleep.”

“Alright, munchkin,” he smiled, pulling you out of the bathroom and back towards your bed.

Somehow, the warm milk wasn’t even the worst of Peter’s ideas, because a few days later, he was standing at your door with a bottle of some Asgardian sleep aid from the lightning god himself.

“Are you sure this is safe for me to drink?” you asked, your eyes widening as you stared at the silvery liquid that was almost shimmering.

“Uh, I’m about 87% confident you’ll live,” he said, “But I’m 100% sure that it’ll work.”

“Gee, thanks. Now I really want to drink this weird alien potion,” you sighed, looking at him nervously.

“Just drink a little bit and see if you feel anything,” Peter encouraged, leaning over your shoulder. You nodded, hesitantly bringing the drink up to your lips to take a sip.

“This stuff tastes amazing,” you mused, taking a bigger gulp this time. “Like a blue raspberry slushie.”

“Whoa, that’s enough,” he warned, taking the bottle from your hands before you could drink any more of it. “We don’t want you to go into a coma.”

“I don’t feel anything,” you shrugged, frowning back at him. “Maybe I should—”

You stopped mid-sentence to let out a loud yawn, the potion starting to take effect. Peter caught you as you slumped down in your chair, helping you into bed.

“Okay. I definitely feel it now,” you admitted, already half asleep. Peter tucked you under your blankets, placing a kiss on your forehead as your eyes fluttered shut.

“Sweet dreams, Y/N,” he whispered, turning off your lights and softly closing the door behind him. 

For a moment, Peter had thought he had finally found a solution to your insomnia. At least before you slept through class the next morning. And then the day after that. But it wasn’t until the third day that he really started to freak out.

“Where’s Thor!?” he panted, having run all the way from his class over to the Avengers Tower. Wanda and Vision stared back at him from the kitchen, very confused at what he was so panicked about.

“He’s in his room,” Bucky called from the couch, his mouth full of popcorn as 13 Going on 30 played on the big screen. “What’s going on, kid?”

“No time to explain. Gotta go!” Peter called, sprinting up the stairs towards Thor’s room. He knocked frantically until the door finally swung open.

“Greetings, young Spiderling. To what do I owe the pleasure?” Thor smiled, his long, golden hair shiny as ever.

“I think I killed my almost-girlfriend!” Peter blurted out, practically sweating from how stressed out he was. “She drank that stuff you gave me and she hasn’t woken up in three days now!”

Thor chuckled, patting Peter on the head. “Do not worry, my brother. I’m sure she will wake up given time. It was a very potent drink, after all. Calm yourself.”

“Okay,” he sighed, relieved to know that he hadn’t poisoned you to death. “Cool. Cool, cool, cool. She’s fine. Everything’s fine. Thanks, man. I’ll, uh, I’ll see you around.”

“Farewell, Peter. May we meet again soon,” he grinned before closing the door in Peter’s face.

On the way back down the stairs, Peter figured he’d give you a call and see if you were still sleeping.

“Hello?” you groaned, your throat dry from just waking up. “Peter, what the hell happened to me?”

“THANK GOD YOU’RE ALIVE!” Peter yelled into the phone, making you recoil from the volume of his excitement. “You’ve been asleep for three days, Y/N. I thought you were dead.”

“I am very much alive,” you laughed, slowly feeling the potion wearing off. “Where are you?”

“Uh. I may have run all the way to Midtown to ask Thor if I had killed you,” he admitted, feeling you roll your eyes through the screen. “I was worried, okay?”

“Now you know how I feel whenever you leave for a mission,” you countered, glad that Peter couldn’t see how much you were blushing. “Hurry up and get your butt back over here. I have the weirdest dream to tell you about.”

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

Even if you still weren’t getting a full eight hours of rest at night, it was obvious that all of Peter’s efforts had vastly improved your sleep schedule. Over the past few months, you had gone from staring at your ceiling all night to actually being able to stay asleep for small periods of time.

“Your eyelashes are so long,” you mused, playing with Peter’s hair. He was sitting in between your legs and How the Grinch Stole Christmas was playing on your TV.

“Really?” He tilted his head back to look at you, batting his eyelashes and making you giggle.

“Yes. It’s not fair that boys get all of the pretty eyelashes,” you pouted, watching as the Grinch explained his plan to steal all of Whoville’s presents to his dog.

“I think yours are pretty,” he replied, a soft smile on his face. “But there’s a rogue one just hanging out on your face right now.”

“Can you get it?” you asked, your eyes still glued on the TV screen. Peter nodded, twisting around to gently brush the eyelash from your cheek.

“Do you want to make a wish?” he laughed, holding the little eyelash on the tip of his finger in front of you.

“Okay,” you agreed, squeezing your eyes shut and blowing it away. When you opened them, Peter’s face was only inches away from yours.

“What did you wish for?” His gaze shifted downwards to look at your lips for a split second, before returning to look into your eyes.

“I can’t tell you, dummy. Then it won’t come true.” You weren’t about to tell your best friend that you wished for him to kiss you. At least not now, while the two of you were stuck in this really weird “not dating, but more than just friends” limbo.

“Fine,” he frowned, crossing his arms and pouting in a way that you recognized had been mimicked after you.

“Don’t make fun of me,” you said, mirroring his stance. Your puppy dog eyes were definitely a lot more convincing than his.

“I’m not.”

“Uh-huh, sure. You smell really good, by the way. Well, your hoodie does. I could just wrap myself up in it and fall asleep.”

“How come you’ve never mentioned that before? You could’ve been out cold every night months ago!”

“Guess I was just too distracted by your dreamy face,” you teased, causing Peter to blush.

“Whatever. Seriously, though. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I don’t know. I think it took me a while to realize how sleepy I got whenever you were really close to me,” you shrugged. “You’re not mad at me, right?”

“Of course not. But if I had known sooner I would’ve just given you one,” he said, slipping the hoodie over his head and handing it to you. “Here, put it on. You better fall asleep instantly or I’m calling bullshit.”

“You caught me, Peter. This was all some elaborate plan for me to steal one of your hoodies.”

“Just put it on. The suspense is killing me.”

You rolled your eyes and pulled his hoodie on. Just from looking at Peter and how slim he was, you never would have guessed that it would be this oversized on you.

“How do I look?” you asked, striking silly poses in front of him. Peter involuntarily licked his lips and he knew he’d be replaying this image of you in his head for the next few weeks.

“You’re going to have to keep that,” he stammered, doing his best to hide how much he really liked seeing you in his clothes. “It looks a lot better on you. I, um, have to go do my homework. And call my aunt. And walk my roommate.”

Peter stumbled to his feet, staring at his wristwatch to maintain his act that he was late for something before grabbing his things and heading out the door, making sure to hold his backpack in front of him. “Let me know if the hoodie thing works. Bye!”

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

Brushing off Peter’s strangely abrupt departure from last night, you nuzzled into your pillow, the warm morning light spilling through your curtains. Last night had probably been your best sleep in months, and you even got to wake up late since it was Saturday. Things probably couldn’t have gone any better.

Before you knew it, you were running up to Peter’s room and banging on his door. He opened the door on your fourth knock, right after Ned had chucked a pillow at him, and you were met with his sleepy eyes and messy hair.

“It worked!” you yelped in excitement, twirling around and still wearing his hoodie. “Well, kind of. I fell asleep after about an hour, and then I slept for maybe three after that. But I had to pee in the middle of the night, and when I got back into bed I couldn’t fall back asleep until 6 a.m.”

“That’s some good progress,” he yawned, stepping out into the hallway to keep your little celebration from bothering Ned too much. “If only we could get you to sleep the entire night.”

“I know right. But I’m so happy!” you cheered, wrapping your arms around him. “We finally did something right!”

“We need to celebrate!” you continued, grabbing Peter’s hand and dragging him down the stairs. “Come on. We’re making you a chocolate cake!”

You stopped by your room on the way to the kitchen, piling a bunch of ingredients into Peter’s arms from your mini-fridge and various shelves.

“Okay, eggs, flour, butter, sugar, chocolate. Damn it. We’re all out of milk.” You side-eyed him, remembering the whole Captain America induced fiasco from a couple weeks ago. 

“I think we might have some in our room,” Peter laughed. “Ned drinks a lot of milk mixed with Milo powder. It’s some obsession he picked up when his family took a vacation to Australia. I’ll go get it.”

He set all of the ingredients you had given him on your desk and sprinted back up the stairs to raid Ned’s stash, already thinking of ways to apologize for it later.

A few minutes later he was knocking on your door, out of breath, and dressed to brave the many inches of snow that had fallen overnight. 

“We didn’t have any milk,” he panted. “But I can run to the dining hall and get a few cartons.”

“I’ll go with you.” You quickly pulled on your snow boots and layered your puffer coat on top of Peter’s hoodie, wrapping a hand-knit scarf around your neck just to be safe. “All ready.”

Getting the milk was the easy part. Making sure you didn’t die of frostbite was another story. By the time you and Peter got back to your room, your nose was super red and you couldn’t feel your toes.

“Okay,” you said, your teeth chattering. “I thought I was used to the snow by now, but that was something else.” You dropped your coat on the ground and climbed into your bed, burying yourself under your comforter.

“I thought we were making a cake,” he laughed, walking over to see you peeking out of the pile.

“Cake will have to wait,” you whined, your voice slightly muffled by the blanket. “Come here. I need some of your body heat.”

“Okay,” he stuttered, kicking off his sneakers and climbing in beside you. He had sat on your bed a lot since the two of you met, but this was the first time that he was actually laying in it. You snuggled up to him, and he hesitantly wrapped his arms around you.

“This is nice,” you sighed, nuzzling your head into his chest. “Is this one of your superpowers? Spidey-warmth?” Peter let out a soft laugh. It was silly but true. Ever since the bite, he never really noticed how cold it was outside anymore.

“Y/N,” he whispered, tightening his grip around your waist. Your head was nestled underneath his chin, and he could smell the faint citrus scent of your shampoo. “I need to tell you something.”

“What is it, Pete?” you yawned, your eyelids heavy from how comfy Peter’s cuddles were.

“I love you.” He held his breath, nervously waiting for you to respond.

“I know,” you giggled, intertwining your legs. “Sometimes, you talk in your sleep. You’ve probably professed your love for me at least eight times by now.”

“Oh.” Peter had no idea how he was supposed to respond to that.

“Don’t worry. I love you, too,” you assured him, grinning and placing little kisses on his jawline. “I thought that was obvious.”

“Maybe you could make it a little more obvious,” he mumbled, his heartbeat getting quicker as you shifted up to kiss him on the lips, your hand running through his hair.

“I will,” you smiled, your forehead resting against his. “But after we take a nap, okay?”

“Okay,” Peter agreed, snuggling as close as he possibly could to you, never wanting to let go. In no time at all, he watched happily as you fell asleep in his arms, wondering how the two of you hadn’t thought of this sooner.

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

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[ao3-deviance]

Happy Birthday, Katsuki!

.....

Bakugou was a very private person. 

So it wasn't really a surprise when he woke up on April 20th of their second year to a couple 'happy birthday' texts from his parents and nothing else. It wasn't a surprise when no one in class acknowledged him any more than usual as they made their way to class. It wasn't odd that no one bothered him or made a big deal out of nothing. This was how he'd spent his last six birthdays and he was fine with it. 

Deku knew, obviously, but he'd made the nerd stop saying anything about it years ago. He guessed it extended even now that they were on better terms. Or hell, he might've actually forgotten by now, it had been a long-ass time since he'd celebrated his birthday with the other. 

But it didn't matter. Birthdays were stupid. And even if the class had gotten together for everyone's birthdays last year and done something, even small stuff for their more shy peers, it didn't bother him. Even if he'd baked the cakes for half of them himself, him and Sato alternating, he didn't care. He didn't even like cake. And like hell did he want to hang out with everyone being loud. It was a school night still, they'd have homework to deal with and he wasn't throwing off his sleep schedule. 

And it wasn't like he cared about presents either. If he wanted something, he had it. He'd worked model jobs for his parents every summer since he was twelve and, considering their caliber, those paid pretty well, so he could save up a lot. 

So he didn't care. At all.

Maybe it stung a little that Kirishima cancelled their study session to go play with Kaminari, but he was fine. And maybe he was kind of annoyed that someone had used the last of his peppers so he had to eat bland-ass stir fry for dinner, but it didn't matter. He didn't want special treatment. He couldn't blame any of them for not knowing. 

He frowned down at his finished worksheet. It was barely past seven. He clicked his pen a few times, biting his lip. 

He startled at the drop of water that fell on his desk. He stared at it for a moment, blinking as another fell, before he felt the warm tracks on his face. He shook his head, sniffling and wiping at his eyes roughly. Stupid. He didn't care. He was the one who hadn't told anyone. He didn't have the right to be upset. And maybe he'd at least had a special dinner with his parents in past years and this was his first birthday truly alone, but it wasn't like he needed that. He was used to being alone. 

But maybe after a year of making friends, he didn't want to be alone anymore. 

He shoved away from his desk. He'd just go get a bottle of water or something. Maybe his idiots had moved their games to the common room. Maybe he could just hang around. He didn't need a big deal made, he just...maybe he wanted some company.

Only, the common room was empty when he got there. He frowned, shuffling into the kitchen lacklusterly and grabbing a bottle of water sullenly. He might as well just go the fuck to sleep then. 

His room didn't feel any less stiffling when he returned, but he couldn't find it in himself to care. He sighed, dropping the bottle on his desk without opening it, crawling into bed and shutting off the light. It was almost an hour earlier than his normal time, but he didn't care. 

He didn't. At all. 

…..

Bakugou woke early, wide-awake at four a.m. He yawned, stretched. His phone flashed its notification light. He stared at it, confused. Did someone text him after he went to bed?

He grabbed it, momentarily blinded as he unlocked the screen. The group chat he was in with Kirishima, Kaminari, Ashido, Sero, and Jirou had over 30 unread messages. 

12:00 Ashido Mina

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, BLASTY!!!

12:01 Kirishima Eijirou

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, KATSUKI!

12:01 Kaminari Denki

HAPPY B-DAY, BAKU-BRO!

12:02 Kirishima Eijirou

DAMMIT, ASHIDO, I WANTED TO BE FIRST!

DELETE YOUR MESSAGE!

12:03 Ashido Mina

Snooze, you lose

12:04 Kirishima Eijirou

I WASNT SNOOZING, I JUST TYPE SLOW!

And Katsuki likes things all spelled out correctly. 

12:05 Kaminari Denki

oh rip

12:06 Ashido Mina

Not deleting, cause I was ~first~ HA! Maybe Blasty should re-think that 'best friend' title, huh?

12:06 Kirishima Eijirou

NOOOO!

Please don't!

I'm your bestest friend, Katsuki! 

Right?

12:07 Sero Hanta

Happy birthday, man

12:08 Jirou Kyouka

Yeah, happy birthday, B

12:09 Sero Hanta

So we planned a thing

But we know you don't like surprises

So we waited until the day of to tell you so it's still kind of a surprise

But maybe you won't kill us

12:10 Kirishima Eijirou

I promise, you'll love it!

12:12 Ashido Mina

And everyone agreed to come!

12:15 Sero Hanta

We just planned like a dinner tonight for you, so you don't have to worry about cooking or cleaning tonight. 

12:17 Kaminari Denki

We might have taken some of your peppers, but Yaomomo said she'd buy you some more!

12:18 Jirou Kyouka

And don't worry, these idiots didn't cook anything. Sato, Uraraka, Midoriya and Iida did most of the cooking. 

12:19 Kirishima Eijirou

BUT I BAKED THE CAKE

ALL BY MYSELF

I LOOKED UP THIS SUPER MANLY SPICY CHOCOLATE CAKE

12:20 Sero Hanta

So anyways! Happy birthday and all, and we'll see you at breakfast! 

12:21 Kirishima Eijirou

Sleep well, bro!

Bakugou stared at the messages. 

They thought his birthday...was today? 

They hadn't been ignoring him? Just trying to keep a surprise? 

They'd actually planned something? For him? Just for him? 

He bit his lip to keep from smiling like an idiot. It was stupid, he didn't care about birthdays, he didn't even know why he'd been upset yesterday. 

He glanced at his clock. He had another couple hours before class. 

4:57 Bakugou Katsuki

You guys are idiots. 

My birthday was yesterday. 

4:58 Bakugou Katsuki

So the food and shit better be good.

He hesitated. He didn't want to make them feel bad about not knowing. He didn't even know how they'd come up with today instead of yesterday, but they'd clearly put some effort into this for him. 

He heard a thump and he looked up. There was the sound of rushed footsteps before his door swung open. 

"The fu--"

"Yesterday?!" 

Kirishima had wild bedhead, eyes wide and frantic, and his clothes were sleep ruffled. He looked near tears. 

"It couldn't have been yesterday! We missed it last year, we didn't want to miss your birthday again!" He cried, coming to sit on the side of his bed. "Shit, man, I cancelled on you cause we were planning and everyone was helping so you were alone, why the hell didn't you say anything?" Oh, fuck, now Kirishima was actually crying. "You spent your birthday alone, we're horrible friends!"

"Oi! No, you're not, fuck, calm down," Bakugou said, hands hovering and not knowing what to do. "I didn't tell anyone about it, wasn't like I expected anything--"

"But you did so much for all of us last year," Kirishima argued, wiping at his face. "I'm sorry, Katsuki."

"It's fine. Seriously," Bakugou tried to assure him. He hated seeing Kirishima cry, it made his chest ache. "Kind of weird that you guys went to any effort. I haven't had an actual birthday party in years."

"We fucked up," Kirishima pouted. 

"Just impress me with this manly cake of yours."

Kirishima smiled. "It's pretty good. I think you'll like it. I tried to shape it like an explosion like they do on those cooking shows you watch so I tried some of the crumb pieces. It's like a spice cake with chocolate frosting." He dunked his head, rubbing at his hair self-consciously. "Probably not all that pretty or fancy, but I hope you'll like it. It's my first time baking a cake though, so. That's your warning and all."

Bakugou was pretty sure it was going to be the best cake he'd ever had and it would have nothing to do with how it tasted. He chuckled.

"As if Black Eyes would ever take your status."

Kirishima blinked. Then he seemed to get it. "Yeah? I am your best friend, huh?

"Obviously," Bakugou rolled his eyes. He only hesitated for a moment but continued with:  "Thanks, Eijirou."

Kirishima's face turned beet red. He couldn't hide his smile though, quickly stretching across his face. 

"You're welcome, Katsuki!"

And maybe Bakugou cared. 

A little. 

[princecharmingmendes]

Heart by Heart | Chapter II | Raul Mendes

                                          *secret agent AU*

Y/N and Raul have been friends ever since they could remember. And falling in love with your best friend can be pretty tricky and messy 99% of the times, add that to the fact they're constantly risking their lives side by side on the field since they're both secret agents, and the best team that's ever existed. Perfect recipe for disaster.

Hi, this is the second chapter of this series, you can find the first one here. Please read the warnings on this one, if you don't feel comfortable with the contents listed on the "warnings" section, please read something else, there are a lot of other works on my masterlist and on the "fic rec" hashtag on my blog. Please give me some feedback and I hope you guys like. Happy Reading!

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*Word Count: 5.2K+

*Warnings: cursing, mentions of violence/crimes, migraine due to work stress, Raul teasing the reader endlessly (for me, that’s the most important warning). Please don’t read it if any of this subjects make you uncomfortable, feel free to check my masterlist for other writings. 

*Posted: July 8th, 2021.

                                                    -*-

A week later things were back to normal. 

Sure, the night they came back, after they were checked for any injuries on the med department and were cleared, Raul dragged her back to his apartment claiming he was craving sushi and he was only ordering if she was with him. In reality, that was a way to keeping his head busy with something else so the events of that day would be coped nicely without so much suffering. And one way of doing it was keeping his girl, best friend and partner, at a close distance so he knew she’d be safe and well. 

He was extra sweet that night, making sure she had everything she needed, even agreed to put on face masks with her while watching a random movie. And she was really glad to have him near. The thought of him getting her, or worst... it just killed her a bit. But he was safe and he had his arms securely around her, and that was enough to put her on dreamland and having a great night of sleep.

Unfortunately that was not the case for Y/N today. 

Ever since Seth was back, he spent most of his time on the med bay to recover, he had to go through surgery and was finally recovering, but ever since he was back, every piece of information he had was being collected, and she was the one responsible to write it down. Most of the info he had was encoded and she was supposed to break it. Y/N’s been working nonstop for the past week, and when she had the opportunity to relax all by herself in her house, she felt restless. The main reason is that the person who had Seth was one of the most wanted man on the planet. Geonoff Reyes was capable of the vilest things without giving a second thought, and he’s been wanted for years now, and apparently Seth had the newest information of his whereabouts and new plans.

And knowing that was enough to put Y/N in restless nights of sleep, when she was even able to drift off. Most of her hours were invested on figuring out whatever she could, and several nights were only the continuation of her job during the day. And yeah, it was reckless and a bit stupid of her to sacrifice so much in a research, but Y/N knew this was a great opportunity and the biggest amount of clues they’ve ever received, she couldn’t let this all go. And she had to work fast, so Geonoff didn’t have enough time to notice some information missing or that someone outside of his limited inner circle so he wouldn’t chance anything. Or even move outside the country again, putting a massive political obstacle on their way. 

Y/N should’ve known better than to barely get any sleep in over seven days. She knew better than to barely eat or drink anything other than coffee. She knew and did it anyone. And that’s why she ended up where she was. Seven A.M. sharp on her little office on her company’s Head Quarters with a killing migraine that only got worse under the fluorescent lights. Y/N groaned softly as she basically collided on her office chair, cursing under her breath whoever thought bright white lights was a great idea. She was softly rubbing her temples when she heard a knock on her door, before someone came in without being invited, a delicious smell of coffee coming alongside the intruder. She didn’t need to look up to know Raul would be standing right in front of her desk. 

“What?” she grumbled, spinning in her chair to turn on her computer without even sparing a glance at him. 

Raul chuckled “good morning to you too, sunshine, I’m not even daring to ask how you are”

Y/N rolled her eyes and wincing at the pain the movement brought her “look, go pester someone else, I’m not in a good day”

“Yeah, that’s easy to see, gremlin, that’s why I brought you this” and a soft thud on her desk made her turn.

Raul was standing in front of her desk as she imagined, wearing his usual black outfit, a long sleeved tight turtleneck, accentuating all the muscles on his arms and back, tucked into a pair of dark grey trousers and Y/N had to hold back all her thoughts that were rather inappropriate to have on your best friend. And she wanted to be mad at how effortlessly beautiful he looked, just standing there, hands supporting his weight on the glass table as he leant forward casually to pick at her computer. He looked like a fucking runaway model at seven in the morning, his citric scent leaving her slightly intoxicated, but she knew he didn’t do it on purpose, he was just naturally hot. 

She than darted her eyes from his body quickly to not seem as if she was ogling him, which she totally was, only to be met with a steaming cup of black coffee. She rolled her eyes on the little attempts of black hearts he drew with a sharpie alongside a poorly written ‘secret admirer’ on the disposable cup. Y/N shook her head huffing a laugh as she took it.

“Aren’t you supposed to thank me?”

Y/N arched her brow at him “what for, exactly?”

“For being the best friend you’ll ever have?!” he stated as if it was obvious “come on, you look like you need it and I swear I didn’t spike it with anything”

“You’re saying you did out of your own free will? A benevolent act?” Y/N questioned playfully inspecting the cup.

Raul scoffed feigning hurt “Of course, I’m a good guy, practically a gentleman, you gremlin, how dare you think any different?” Behind all the teasing in his voice, she could see the worry evident in his golden eyes. Raul didn’t know all the details about what she was digging into since that were her boss’s order, but he knew enough to know she was probably overworking herself and getting a bit anxious. He knew her better than anyone and there were barely any secrets between them. 

“Fine” Y/N sighed taking a sip from the coffee, and it was precisely what she liked “thank you for being a decent human being once in your lifetime”

“You are very welcome, so any news?” he asked pointing to the screens of her computer. 

“Not really, I guess I was too tired to do much last night” she said opening all the images she had collected over the past week on her five computer screens “you know basically all the important stuff I gathered, I’m also monitoring the surveillance cameras on the places he might be, trying to get a glimpse of him, but till now nothing, only this car that’s been parked here for five days now”

“Weird”

Y/N giggled to herself before closing everything again “yeah, I know”

“So, I didn’t exactly came here just for the coffee” Raul said crossing his arms across his chest, standing on his full height, his biceps popping against the fabric of his shirt. 

“Of course not, I was just waiting for you order, cap”  she said as she reached into her purse for a painkiller.

His signature smirk appeared as he beamed down at her “Don’t tempt me, doll” 

“What is it then?” she asked and before Raul could reply, someone knocked on her door.

“Come in” he managed to say before her and soon enough Raul’s copy stuck his head inside. 

“Oh hi guys” Peter said before fully walking in and closing the door behind him “Am I interrupting something?”

“No, what do you need?” Y/N said turning to face him completely. 

Seeing Peter right beside Raul just made them look a lot more different. Sure, they were triplets, but they had completely opposite personalities. While Raul looked like a super model bad boy out of every romcom, Peter looked soft and gentle. He was just as handsome, his hair a bit more messy and a pair of glasses perched on his nose, adding to the soft features. He also wore light washed jeans and a very soft looking button up, a permanent blush on his cheeks. And despite the 6’3 and big muscles, he was almost like a walking teddy bear with a golden heart, specially if you got to know him. 

“I actually have some stuff for you two to test on my lab downstairs, and I thought since I was already here I could call you two to join me”

“Oh of course” Y/N said jumping to her feet and cursing under her breath, momentarily having forgotten the excruciating migraine she was still having “now right?”

“Yeah, but only if you can”

“Sure, come on, Raul” Y/N said grabbing her cup of coffee before walking to the door.

Raul chuckled lowly before following her and his brother to the elevator “whatever you say, boss”

“Don’t give me any ideas” she mumbled before pressing the button, but as soon as the doors opened, Y/N regretted getting out of her office.

Standing on the elevator was Daphne. Daphne was one breathtakingly gorgeous woman. With bright green eyes and golden soft model like waves, always dressed nicely and with paper white teeth, and to top that, she was a great agent. But she clearly had a crush on Raul and she’s been hitting on him for a while now, but he didn’t seem to care much, which made no sense at all. And for some reason she wasn’t as friendly towards Y/N, Daphne was never directly rude, but she always made sure to look her up and down and was never her friendly self. And Y/N wasn’t one to push anyone to like her, it just made situations like this a bit more awkward. 

“Oh hello” Daphne said with a warm smile.

“Morning” Raul responded as he climbed in the elevator. 

Y/N mumbled a quick “hi” before moving to the back of it with Peter. 

Daphne turned towards Raul and gently placed her hand on his bicep “I heard about the little incident on your latest mission, are you alright?”

“Oh yeah, not even a single scratch”

“That’s great, I mean, how did it happen again? Was it a failure on the planning or watching?” she asked and Y/N almost spat the coffee she was drinking, seeing Peter send a look her way.

“It was my fault actually, the team handed it pretty well” Raul replied unceremoniously.

“Oh, I see” she said pulling her hand from his arm and nervously placing a strand of loose hair behind her ear “hm, actually there was something I wanted to ask you”

God, how long could this elevator take to arrive on the last floor.

Raul only hummed in response, turning his face to the side to watch her so Daphne proceeded “Hm, there’s this new place that opened this weekend down the street and apparently the sandwiches there are amazing, me and a few other agents were planning to have lunch there today, and I was wondering if you’d like to join”

With that he truly seemed taken aback a bit “oh, I unfortunately can’t today, I’m sorry” with that he turned back to face Y/N “that’s what I wanted to tell you earlier, we have that lunch meeting today, Shawn’s in town and he wanted to invite you to lunch with us and his friends”

“Oh shit, I completely forgot” Y/N whined, her head pounding “I don’t think I can make it today, I’m so sorry”

Raul smiled softly at her “yeah, I figured, if you get any better let me know”

“Oh you’re sick?” Daphne asked turning to her as well.

Y/N shook her head, regretting it immediately “just a bit of a migraine”

“I hope you get better soon” Daphne offered a tight lip smile and Y/N just nodded in response.   

“We’re here” Peter said for the first time “Bye, Daphne” he said getting out of the elevator pulling Y/N with him. 

“Why are you running? Slow down, you’re gonna pull my arm off” Y/N hushed it as Peter kept on with the fast pace. 

“What was that?” he asked in a low tone.

Y/N then came in realization “right?! Why won’t he go out with her?”

“I think he might be just not interested at all, but I wasn’t talking about that, you know Raul can be pretty secretive about his feelings, right?” Peter asked with an archer brow, knowing look on his eyes. 

Y/N stepped into his lab alongside him “well yeah”

“I don’t know, I think I saw something there”

“Between me and Raul?!”

Peter leaned against his desk with his arms crossed “Well, more of him towards you, it’s actually something I’ve been noticing for a while”

“What are you even talking about? He’s always been like that with me” Y/N tried avoiding Peter’s gaze, afraid somehow that would give away the little spark of hope on her eyes. 

“No, I mean, yes, but I feel like that intensified a bit, just pay attention to it” he said and then looked behind her.

Y/N turned around only to be met with Raul standing at the door “sorry, got a little caught up”

“We noticed, cap, it’s okay, no important details were discussed in your absence” she said teasingly and he just rolled his eyes playfully at her. 

“Okay, I upgraded your coms a bit, so switching between channels will be easier” Peter started picking up the little earpieces up “And I also took notes about the appearance of my glasses yeah? Now would you mind approving the design of it, miss fashion icon”

Y/N laughed softly and went to check on the 3D design “thank you, I do take fashion very seriously, I only loose it to your brother”

Raul scoffed “Of course I would be involved in it somehow”

Peter laughed “come on, I need to show you this thing I want to put on your suit, Y/N can you please check the new computer I promised you?”

“Oh my, it’s ready?” She said turning to them, suddenly feeling a lot better.

“It’s on the corner right there, just feel free to explore it and adapt it to how you like it best, and then it’s yours” Peter said with a bright smile on his features as he dragged Raul away. 

Y/N sat down on the desk he pouted at, opening the super resistant protective case and being faced with a beautiful tiny computer she could use on future missions. She finished her coffee, feeling the medicine kick in as she dumped the empty cup on the trash, before sitting down in front of her new screen and starting to work on it. Y/N lost track of time as she explored the new configurations, installed the programs she used. She only noticed she’s been there for over two hours when she felt someone carefully placing a gentle hand on her shoulder and she looked up to check the time, being met with Raul standing right beside her. 

“Oh, hi” she said feeling her face warming up as he smiled softly at her. 

“Don’t spend too much time with this, you’ll have more opportunities later, sweetheart, don’t force yourself too much” he squeezed her shoulder a bit and she sighed nodding “how are you feeling?”

She looked up at him, cracking her back on the process “Better, I think the coffee helps a bit and the painkiller did a great job”

“Good, I’m guessing you still won’t be able to make it to Shawn’s crowded and noisy lunch” Raul had a little amused look in his eyes and Y/N giggled at that, shaking her head.

“Definitely not, might as well skip lunch and nap on my lunch break”

Raul nodded “It’s tempting but you need food, now how about I take you to that salad shop you like, we buy ourselves a quick to go one, eat it at your office and nao for like, forty minutes maybe? How does that sound?”

Y/N contained the urge to lunch forward and wrap him in her arms “Pretty fucking great, but what about Shawn?”

“I’ll meet him later for dinner with Peter, so he wouldn’t mind”

“Oh”

“So, are you in, doll?”

Y/N shook her head “you had me in the forty minute nap, say no more”

Raul laughed “Of course I had, know you better than anyone”

“That is unfortunately true” she mumbled grabbing the computer and getting up.

Raul stared at her quizzically “Why is that unfortunate?”

“Cause that will only feed your ever growing ego”

“You wound me, sweetheart” he said with frightened hurt, a hand clutched over his heart. 

Y/N rolled her eyes at him as they both said their goodbyes to Peter, who only threw a knowing look in her direction and a little wink when Raul wasn’t looking. She only rolled her eyes, shoving her middle finger in the air behind Raul’s back to Peter, who only laughed in response. But Raul might have felt her arm hovering his back, cause he looked down at her, throwing his charming smile down at her and throwing his arm around her shoulders as the climbed in the elevator again. 

Oh great, now Y/N had one more thing to keep her awake all night, wondering if she was crazy and Raul could be somehow interested in her and if she should do something about it. But do what? Tell him she liked him? Kissing him? Confronting someone who already has a hard time talking feelings about how he felt about her?! Only terrible scenarios played in her head with every little thing she thought about. But before she could go on spiraling, Raul gently squeezed her shoulder making Y/N look up at him. 

“Still with me, sweetheart?” he asked smirking at her and she only huffed rolling her eyes, making Raul full on laugh. 

                                                  -*-

Later that morning, they ended up following Raul’s idea. Around noon he knocked on her office again, with his leather jacket and ready to go, Y/N then just grabbed her coat and purse, ready to follow him to the elevator again. They kept a light banter, talking about conspiracy theories and random gossip, and she felt really better but was too tired to socialize with a lot of people. So they walked down the street a couple of blocks to a little shop where they bought salad bowls and iced tea “to balance things out” according to Raul about how much coffee she’s had the past week. 

They ordered to go and walked back to the HQ that looked like a very fancy business building, but instead of going back to her office, they headed to Raul’s instead. There they sat down on his couch since it was bigger as they casually had lunch, and right after, he convinced Y/N to get comfortable on the couch as he relaxed right next to her. Y/N curled into a little ball on the further corner of the couch, but he was quick to tut his tongue at her. 

“Here, sweetheart, you can lay your head on my lap and stretch your legs on the couch, yeah? And you can grab that little fluffy blanket if you want” He was quick to offer and Y/N sighed.

“Are you sure?” she asked eyeing him suspiciously “I don’t want to bother you” he chuckled softly and nodded

“Of course, we still have 50 minutes of lunch break, nap a bit, baby, come here” Raul said in such a gentle tone, almost cooing at her and how could she possibly say no to that?

She removed her boots before laying her head on his lap and pulling her legs to stretch across the rest of the couch, while she got comfy, she felt the gentle weight of the thick fluffy blanket being laid on top of her. Y/N sighed in relief as she slowly closed her eyes, allowing herself to fully relax, and feeling the soft caress of Raul’s fingers gently combing through her hair was only making it easier to fall asleep. And so she did. 

She dreamed of something random, she was stuck in a boat and it didn’t really make much sense, but it was better than the sleepless nights or the scary things her mind came up with. So waking up was not the best sensation, but Raul managed to make the experience less unpleasant. He was very softly coaxing her to wake up, by gently shaking her shoulder and caressing her cheek, slowly calling her name. Y/N could get used to it. 

Raul truly didn’t want to do it, he, himself, didn’t want to get up. He ended up falling asleep a few minutes in, but the timer on his phone vibrating on his hand woke him when he promised he’d wake her up. He almost didn’t have the heart to do it. Y/N looked so peaceful, the frown that’s been on her brows for the whole week was finally gone, but he knew if he didn’t wake her, she’d spend her day blaming herself and wouldn’t be able to sleep properly at night. So he cleared his throat and started calling her gently not to startle her.

Y/N started coming slowly back to her senses, slowly sitting up from Raul’s lap, rubbing at her eyes and checking her phone quickly for important notifications. A low chuckle brought her attention away from her phone and to her best friend beside her, to which she just truly looked at, being able to notice the throw pillow creases on his cheek, the soft curls of his hair a bit messier than usual.

“Hi” he mumbled softly. 

Y/N smiled at him before mumbling a “hi” in response. 

“Sleep well?” Raul asked as he stretched his arms above his head and she nodded “yeah? I ended up joining you in your nap”

“Don’t blame you, this is a really nice couch”

“Right? Unfortunately this was the first time I took full advantage of it” he chuckled as he got up from the couch, moving to turn on his computer.

Y/N just chuckled before nearly folding his blanket back in its place “well thank you for everything, you truly are a great friend, but I should probably leave and stop bothering you”

“You never bother me, and I know, I’m the best friend anyone could ever wish for” he said sitting on his chair as she leaned down to put her shoes back on. 

She just rolled her eyes at him, grabbing her stuff before getting up “there you go, ruining a perfectly sweet moment”

Raul laughed “that’s my biggest ability, doll, thought you knew that already”

“Should’ve guessed it” Y/N said as she opened his door “see you later, thanks again”

Raul just winked at her “anytime” before she closed his door and moved to her office shaking her head, but unable to hold back the smile from blossoming on her lips. 

Maybe Peter was wrong and just messing things up, how could he not notice the way Raul affected her? But saw the way he was different with her? It made no sense. And there was no time to go into the rabbit hole, she had better things to do, like spend countless hours uselessly trying to crack a code. 

                                                  -*-

In the middle of Y/N’s afternoon shift, she was able to spot Geonoff himself on one of the surveillance cameras she’s been watching incessantly for the past weeks. She basically tripped on her on shoes as she scrambled up to her computer to register the appearance, quickly sending it to her boss. They finally were sure where he was and maybe that was enough to set up a plan or something to get him. 

Geonoff Reyes was one of the most wanted man right now by intelligences from multiple countries. The man himself had a long list of crimes, that if there was an opportunity would be enough to sentence him for thousands of years. Most of Geonoff’s crimes were related to the mafia, he was one of the biggest and most dangerous bosses there was. He started fairly young, around 15 years old, but that was the extent of information everyone had on his childhood. Some liked to guess it was what kind of household he was raised to blame the way he had become what he became. 

He’s been chased for years now, and that’s why Y/N was quick to let her boss, Mrs. Benson, know she found him, compiling all the information she was able to gather this past week in files. So she did what she could and it took her around an hour to have everything printed and organized in a folder, letting Janet she was coming and basically running to the elevator to get to her office. 

The heavy metal doors opened on the waiting room outside of  her office, being met with Luca, Janet’s personal assistant, who winked at her and pointed at the door. Y/N smiled at him and knocked on the dark wooden doors, opening it silently as she heard people talking inside. Her office was decorated very minimalistic and was usually a very pristine place, but today, there were papers everywhere as Janet, Helen (Janet’s right hand), Dimitri (head of security department) and Raul Mendes stood there apparently discussing the same case. 

“Thank God you’re here, darling, please come out this madness to an end” Janet said with a gentle smile as she pointed towards the mess in her table.

Helen chuckled as Dimitri was quick to push their papers to a corner on the table. 

“Thank you” Y/N mumbled as she placed her folder down.

Raul silently move to stand right next to her, a careful hand laying on the small of her back in a comforting touch as she looked up at Janet to check if she could start. With a nod from the boss, she started pulling all the evidence she could. All the pictures, the surveillance images, the documents Seth was able to bring back and information he was able to remember as well.

With everything laid out on the table and presented to all of them, Janet ended up telling what she’d been discussing with Helen for the past two days. They both figured the best thing to do at the moment, since they didn’t have enough evidence to make an arrest for this crime and maybe this was a great opportunity to catch another people involved, not only Geonoff. The plan was basically getting new identities and keep a close eye on all of his activities, track down his moves and if possible get even more evidence. 

Raul was called because he was the best for this kind of jobs and would be a great leader to the team, Y/N was offered to join the team as well, being his partner and leading the strategic part of the plan. They were also told to pick other agents that they knew would be great for this specific operation, Janet only asking to keep it at a maximum of 5 people including them, the less people knowing, the better.

Of course both agreed and were also instructed to inform Peter so he could separate the gadgets necessary, and obviously intensify their physical training. Despite this being mostly and observant kind of mission, Geonoff was unpredictable and highly dangerous, so being well prepared and extra careful wouldn’t be a bad idea. They were both dismissed for the day and the early shift next morning, so they could rest and plan it as best as they could.

So Y/N was quick to bid her goodbyes as she placed everything neatly back on the folder and moved out of the room. As soon as she pressed the button to call the elevator, she heard the office door opening and closing again, rushed steps moving closer to her. She didn’t even need to look to know Raul was the one approaching her since his scent clouded every room he ever stepped into, she only shook her head and looked up at her right as he stood right beside her. He smirked at her with a little wink. 

“My house or yours, doll?” he asked as they climbed into the elevator. 

“Tonight?” she eyed him suspiciously as she pressed the button to her floor to grab her stuff and he leaned in to press the one to Peter’s. Y/N glanced at him and noticed he had all of his personal belongings with him. 

“Of course, I’ll even order from that Thai place you like”

Y/N giggled shaking her head “of course you will, am I supposed to spend the night?”

“Oh yeah, definitely, I’ll invite Peter too” he said with a smile.

Y/N folded her arms across her chest “I thought we were supposed to rest?”

“Oh but we will, I’ll make sure you’ll fall sleep at reasonable hours, eat properly and all that stuff, of course we’re gonna take a look at work, but just a little” he said with a knowing look.

“Fine, daddy” she added with annoyance, rolling her eyes, Raul just laughed and shook his head.

“You can’t just say stuff like that, sweetheart”

“What? Does it do something for you?” She asked looking up at him and he just shrugged as the doors opened at her floor.

“There’s only one way to find out, doll” he added with a smirk, a teasing tone evident on his voice as he leaned the weight of his body on the elevator doors to hold it for her, shoulders crossed over his broad chest, biceps flexing against the material of his shirt. 

Y/N rolled her eyes stepping out of the elevator, ignoring the heat creeping up her face and the stupid flutter on her lower stomach, turning to face him as she said “see you later, Mendes”

“See you, and oh, don’t forget your gym attire, we’re going running at 5:30 sharp tomorrow, bye bye now” he blew her a kiss as he stepped inside and the doors closed before she could add anything. 

He was definitely trying to kill her in all the ways possible, she just didn’t know which way would be the fatal blow. 

                                                    -*-

*Please reblog or like this post if you liked it so I’ll know.

*I’m sorry if there are any spelling mistakes.

*Please do not repost this without giving me the credit, this is a completely original piece and I do not give permission to copy this!

*Hope you guys enjoyed it!

*xoxo

-🌙

@mariamuses

[artificialqueens]

The Good Life (Group Fic) - Candy Cane

A/N: decided to write some fluffy friendship in my College AU since "Will You Make Me Believe" is so dark and i needed a bit of break from it <3 hope u all enjoy!

Summary: How Bob started living with Betty and Thorgy. 

Getting the chance to sleep in the middle of finals week is like getting a pedicure after seven straight days of nine-hour shifts at the Quik Trip. Bob has been stressed out of her fucking mind for the last two goddamn weeks, and the fact she’s standing out in the cold, rain, and wind at 2 a.m. in December because some jackass just had to burn popcorn is ridiculous. What’s even worse is that none of the other dorm buildings seem to have this issue, but she has been getting dragged out of her bed between the hours of midnight and 6 a.m. for the last two weeks and Bob is sick of it.

  Bob’s teeth are chattering violently and she pulls the robe she had barely remembered to grab tighter around her body. She very much wants to find the person who did this and wring their neck for it. There is no way she’ll pass her economics class on a disrupted sleep schedule, and at this point, she’s tempted to move out.

  “It is too early for this,” Thorgy grumbles, arms crossed over her chest. 

  Bob rolls her eyes, “Thanks for stating the obvious, really helpful right now.”

  “I’m just trying to make the best out of a bad situation,” Thorgy says with a huff. 

  “This is the worst situation we’ve been in since the 4 a.m. alarm three days ago,” Bob bites back, “Explain to me what’s good about any of this- I am begging you to try.”

  Thorgy opens her mouth like she wants to, but quickly pouts instead, “I’m too tired.” 

  “My point exactly,” Bob says, slightly smug. 

  Betty turns around sharply, “Will you two stop fucking arguing? It is 2 in the goddamn morning.” 

  “That’s what I’m saying!” Bob exclaims, “This shit is ridiculous!” 

  “And everyone here already knows it,” Betty argues, gesturing to the parking lot full of people.

  Bob rolls her eyes, “Well, I’m mad and I refuse to be quiet about it.”

  Thorgy raises her hand, “Hey, am I crazy or are the firetrucks taking longer to get here every time the alarm goes off?” 

  “You’re crazy,” Bob says without hesitation. 

  Betty frowns, “No, no, she may be onto something- Have you heard those stories of the 911 dispatchers who get so desensitized to their job that they hang up on people?”

  “...You make literally no sense to me.” 

  “My point is that maybe the firefighters are getting desensitized to our fire alarms and that’s why they’re taking forever to show up. They already know it’s just a false alarm!” Betty explains with a crazy look in her eyes due to sleep deprivation.

  “I’m adding that into my belief system,” Thorgy says sagely, nodding along to Betty’s every word. 

  Bob groans, “Y’all two are fucking insane.” 

  Betty rolls her eyes, “Maybe the next time the fire department takes ten minutes to get here you’ll change your tune.” “Just keep telling yourself that,” Bob says, rolling her eyes, “I won’t be here for this to happen again, I am fully moving out. This shit is ridiculous.” 

  Thorgy perks up, “Really? Where are you moving?” “I don’t fucking know, all I know is I need to get out of here and fast,” Bob says, pulling on her robe tie.

  “I have a friend in the apartments a block that way,” Thorgy says, pointing west of their dorm building, “I could probably help you get your foot in the door.”

  Bob glances at Thorgy skeptically, “Why would you willingly help me?”

  Betty glares at Bob, “Have you considered she’s just trying to be a good friend?” “Absolutely not.”

  Thorgy chuckles, “I mean, she’s right to be suspicious.”

  Betty grins, “Oh, no, I know that. I’m just giving you the benefit of the doubt.”

  “Awww!” Thorgy smiles, hugging Betty. 

  Bob wrinkles her nose, “Way too fucking early for this bullshit.”

  “We heard you the first thirty times!”

  “Good!” 

  Betty smirks, “You know…”

  Bob’s face falls, “What?”

  “We could always-”

  “Don’t you fucking dare.”

  “-move in together,” Betty finishes with a victorious grin. 

  Thorgy gasps, “Oh my God! That’s an incredible idea!” 

  Bob stares at Betty, unable to comprehend the words that just left her mouth. To Bob, absolutely nothing could be worse than living with these two idiots. Then again, she’s running out of options as far as moving out of this cursed building goes. 

  “Why would I move in with y’all? Give me three good reasons why I would do that,” Bob demands, crossing her arms over her chest with a huff. 

  Betty hums thoughtfully, “Well, I’m a stress cleaner, so you won’t have to deal with a messy apartment.”

  “And I’m a decent cook,” Thorgy offers. 

  Bob rolls her eyes, “That’s only two reasons. Besides, why would I move in with you two when I could move in with Monet?”

  “Monet has to live on campus until the end of next semester because she’s a freshman,” Thorgy reminds her.

  “Naomi too,” Betty adds with a smirk. 

  “Jesus, I hate it when you’re right,” Bob says, kicking the toe of her shoe into the asphalt, “Okay, well, I’ll just ask Kim.”

  Betty laughs, “She’s on a housing scholarship.”

  “Shit.”

  “So what’ll it be? Us or the fire alarms?”

  “Uh, no, I still need a third reason,” Bob says stubbornly, “Cough it up or forget the whole idea.”

  Thorgy grins like a mad woman, “I have a fantastic third reason for you.” 

  “Oh, really?”

  “We’re your only options.”

  Bob groans with the knowledge that Thorgy is actually right. She has no other options. She desperately wants out of this stupid fucking dorm building and its stupid fucking fire alarms, even if it means entering the roommate situation from hell. Bob glares at Betty and Thorgy, who are grinning like idiots. 

  Bob sighs, “Alright. Fine. Let's move into an apartment together.”

  Thorgy cheers, “Yes! This will be so fun!” 

  Betty nods excitedly, “We’re already great friends, what could go wrong?” 

  Bob rolls her eyes, “Don’t fucking jinx it.”

  Then they can hear the firetrucks coming up the street and Bob could cry she’s so relieved. She just wants to go back to sleep for the next month. As she watches the firefighters enter the building, she actually starts to get excited at the prospect of moving in with her closest friends. 

  Looking at how Thorgy and Betty talk animatedly about all the things they could do as roommates, Bob thinks that maybe it won’t be so bad after all. 

[windblooms]

topaz devices | ch. 01

if zhongli isn’t a the brightest individual blessed by the archons, then he’s socially inept, and spends his days stuck behind a desk as the heir of wangsheng incorporated.  frustrated by seeing his best friend burn through his days like paper over a bonfire, childe decides that if there’s one thing worse than a permeant desk job, it’s being converted into a corporate machine in one’s mid-twenties.  and he’s not going to let that happen to zhongli. 

gender-neutral reader x sugar daddy!zhongli.  modern au, slow burn.  chapter 1/?.  2213 words.

as usual, zhongli awakens a minute before his morning alarm goes off.  

and as he lays on the daybed, adjusting to the faint lighting of the moon that floats through the floor-to-ceiling windows of his office, the first thing he does is reach for his phone.  but when he pats down the area beside him, then above his head, and feels nothing, he begrudgingly props himself up on his elbows, and blinks the final bits of sleep out of his eyes.

this isn’t the first time he’s fallen asleep at the office.  admittedly, it’s probably over his hundredth, since he’s found it more practical to crash near his workspace than drag himself three floors up to his room.  but, oh, where did he leave his phone?  zhongli glances around, eyes no longer bleary; it’s not on the coffee table next to him, nor on the floor between it and the daybed, and for a split second he believes he left his phone at the tea station across the hall. 

and then it chimes with his alarm on the marble floor just before his work desk.

“ah,” he sighs to himself, voice still somewhat choked from the morning.  as the tone plays, he runs both of his hands through his hair, pulling back his bangs before letting them fall to the sides of his face, and takes a glance around his office: he vaguely remembers staying up until four in the morning to finish scanning over a forwarded contract, and the three empty cups of caffeinated tea that surround his desktop computer can attest to his commitment; there are reference binders on his desk that zhongli hadn’t put away after using, likely too engrossed in the project to tidy up as he worked, and the most damning evidence of his corporate devotion is easily the fact that, well – 

“conference in one hour,” his phone alarm is interrupted by the sound of its virtual assistant voice.  “conference with,” it continues in robotic fashion, “mrs. ningguang at seven-thirty-a.m.”

– he had scheduled an impromptu meeting after he finished reading said document.  as in, he intended to follow through with a meeting arrangement on less than four hours of sleep.  as in, arranged a meeting when it was three in the morning.  

as in, he also expected others to attend the conference on a four hour’s notice.  

such is the way of wangsheng incorporated, an institution where everyone involved is asked to sell their soul to the matriarch, all for the prosperity of her company.  the matriarch in this case being, of course, zhongli’s mother.

 “conference with,” his virtual assistant repeats, and zhongli hauls himself up from the daybed and onto his feet, padding over to his phone before swiping over the screen to silence all of his notifications. “mrs. ninggua – ” beep.

he inhales, stretches his arms, and then gazes out to the liyuen skyline. 

the horizon is still dark, with only hints of warmth leaking onto the expansive blanket of night.  below, however, the streets are illuminated by commuting vehicles and establishments opening for the day.  from his place on the higher floors of the company building, zhongli can only imagine the hum of life – he’s much too far up to actually hear anything.  

it’s at this moment he realizes that the last time he’s actually stepped foot out of the building was over a week ago – and a grimace becomes his first expression of the day.  archons, he didn’t think he was that busy, but begins mentally count the days regardless.  yeah, 9 days.  zhongli’s frown deepens; knowing himself, it’s probably also been 9 days since he’s left his floor on the building.

as much as he would like to leave, though, the company is more important to him.  until there’s a convenient time for him to take a break, he’ll keep working.  it’s what he’s always done – it’s what he’s good at.  

so he inhales once more, as the skyline is washed with violet.  exhales.  

the clock reads six thirty-three. 

. . . 

it’s around four in the morning when childe decides that zhongli is officially insane.

who the fuck arranges a meeting in the dead middle of the night?  granted, he’s only zhongli’s secretary, so it’s not like he has to take part in it – the gripe here is that he’s the one who manages zhongli’s entire schedule.  so when zhongli goes out on his own, arranging things without telling him first, that’s when the issues start.  

childe receives the conference notice just as the other executives do (while on a comfortable date with his bed); reading zhongli’s attached note with gunk wedged in his eyes and a screen flashing blue light directly into his irises makes him think – 

there’s no way zhongli’s in the right state of mind.  and after three whole years of working with him, others would think that childe’s used to his mercurial behavior by now.  but he would give himself more credit, insisting that he’s not that deep into the corporate mentality to put business before rationale – but maybe it’s the luxury that comes along with being a secretary and not anyone more important.

now, where was he?  oh, yeah.  plotting exactly which words to tell his boss when it’s an acceptable time in the morning.  

that means grumbling obscenities until he falls back asleep, brain power exhausted.  that means waking up at an appropriate time (read: six), rolling out of bed, then heading to the tea bar, and concluding that, well, this is just how zhongli operates.

as in, he can’t be angry at his best friend for long.

ceramic cup in hand and bedhead as thick as a haystack, childe recalls two things that were previously clouded by his indignance: one, that the business life is all zhongli’s ever known, even when he was a kid (that much was made obvious when he couldn’t even list out how many hobbies he had the first time they met).  two, the fact that, when asked, zhongli didn’t know which would be worse between losing stock investments or entire contact with the outside world. 

sheltered is probably the closest word childe can think of, but zhongli isn’t stupid either.  maybe socially inept is the better way to describe him – not like it cripples his personality entirely though.  he’s got some redeeming qualities – childe tells himself to think positively of zhongli for the entirety of his stroll down the hall towards his office – but stops short once he opens the door and realizes that, well, 

“three,” childe mouths incredulously, nearly dropping the ceramic in his hand.  “three cups of tea from last night alone?”

“good morning to you too.”

childe doesn’t have much time to gawk.  he would drag his face down with his fingers if his hands weren’t occupied, but knowing zhongli, he wouldn’t even make note of his dramatics.  absorbed into his work first thing in the morning – and childe, looking down at himself, isn’t even dressed properly.  just a dress shirt and pants, while zhongli has already decked himself out in a full-piece suit.

that’s what happens when zhongli decides that his office is where he’s going to live.

“you know,” childe starts, sighing for good measure.  the ginger makes his way over to zhongli’s desk, replacing the three cups with one of fresh tea.  glaze lily tea, to zhongli’s preference.  “staying up late isn’t good for your health.  especially when you’re high on caffeine six days a week.”

well, duh.  the words come out dumber than he intended, but it gets the point across.  it’s not childe’s job to sound intelligent, only that he knows how to manage someone else’s schedule.  

it takes a few seconds for zhongli to respond, as his fingers are busy typing away at the keyboard.  drafting another email, most likely.  in that time, childe hooks his fingers through the handles of the three cups zhongli had downed the previous night, preparing to carry them out.  “i do what i need to get things done,” the workaholic counters.  his eyes don’t leave the monitor for a second, and childe has half the mind to think that he’s a robot.  “we’ve talked about this before.”

zhongli’s not wrong, but childe’s face sours nonetheless.  “i can’t have the heir of the company sabotaged by his own toxic work ethic, and insist that you take a nap whenever possible, my liege.”

his dramatics doesn’t earn him any points.  he worries briefly that zhongli’s already gone into his own world, only able to be hauled back to the surface once the sun is far gone, and his eyebrows furrow.  but now bent on getting a constructive response from zhongli, he refuses to budge from his spot across the desk.  

almost as if he’s uncomfortable, zhongli looks up.  childe knows he’s not actually peeved, and that the brunette is just thinking of what to say.  three years of working for him taught him as much.  “if i have time to, then i will.”  the young heir averts his eyes towards the screen before meeting childe’s again.  “thanks for your concern.”

if childe were any other person, he would believe zhongli.  zhongli speaks without a falter in his voice – as if it weren’t already as smooth as velvet – and his eyes are resolute when locked onto his.  but he’s not someone else, and the closest individual to a friend that zhongli has.  it would be a disservice, both as a friend and coworker, to leave zhongli to his devices.  so childe doesn’t relent.  it’s his turn to be stubborn and set in his ways. 

he places the cups back onto the desk, and the other man looks up curiously, just in time to see childe’s eyes narrow.  “i mean it, zhongs.”

and, with just as much performative sincerity as before, zhongli says the same thing he always does, with a straight face and empty eyes.  “i do, too.”

“no, you don’t.”  childe’s scowl is as deep as his concern.  he wasn’t joking earlier when he said that zhongli would be murdered by his own obsession with work – “responsibility,” as the younger of the two would insist, but he’s blind to his own persistence, and time has made that blatantly obvious.  “i know you have a meeting soon, so i won’t stay long.  i don’t care if we’ve talked about this before,” he rushes his words, determined to get them in before zhongli quips, “it doesn’t make it any less important.”

a pause.  zhongli’s typing has halted and is instead replaced by silence.  hell, he even folds his fingers together on top of the keyboard, as if telling childe that he finally has his full attention.  but the void in his eyes hasn’t changed: amber, clouded with vermillion, and burning in coals.

childe assesses him sternly, extending the stillness of the moment, before proceeding.  “i’m going to block out your schedule tonight after eight, and we’re going to have a talk.”

zhongli tries not to look fazed.  to his credit, he really, really tries, but his posture bristles just enough to cue the secretary in on his client’s displeasure.  “no, i’m not going to watch over you for the rest of the night to make sure you sleep,” he reassures just as swiftly, half-teasing and half-serious, “but we are going to make some plans.”

both of childe’s hands are flat on the desk as the two of them regard each other.  although zhongli is the taller of the two, his position in the office chair gives childe the height advantage in the current situation.  “after you get enough rest this week, i’m going to get you out of this building,” childe vows to zhongli.  neither of them blink.  “you’re going to walk on the streets and breathe fresh air.  you’re going to spend time with people your age and eat at a restaurant.  you’re going to have fun.” 

it is at that moment, when zhongli’s face falters as if he’s being spoken to in python when his input is java, that childe realizes that he has no strategy, and that he’s just saying the things that he wants for zhongli: he refuses to believe that zhongli will continue to regard this room, conditioned with with frigid air and tailored to each tile on the floor, is his only future, and instead wants his 25 year-old boss to have some semblance of life in his days instead of bleeding through each, only to tear through the next.

childe had the choice to dream towards the life he currently lives.  on the other hand, zhongli never did.  inheriting a multi-million dollar company, especially being the son of the ceo, outwardly sounds like the opportunity only the archons could bestow.  childe would have thought the same too.  

until he realized that predestination sucks, and that zhongli is too good to wither his youth away behind a desk.  

childe has exactly thirteen hours to come up with a plan.  from the thoughts floating in his head, it can turn out in one of two ways:

one: zhongli is integrated back into society and lives a happier, more animated life than what he currently has. 

two: childe loses his job.

[bqstqnbruin]

I hate the way you’re always right

Hey y’all, here’s the next part! Sorry it’s been a hot minute, but I hope you like this! Here’s a little bit of soft smut again ??? idk who knows.

As always, this is unedited and probably riddled with types so point em out, leave em be, I’ll probably edit this tomorrow once I’m out of class knowing me but hey, somethings never change.

Read the whole series:  I hate the way you talk to me and the way you cut your hair // I hate the way you drive my car // I hate it when you stare // I hate your big dumb combat boots and the way you read my mind // I hate you so much it makes me sick, it even makes me rhyme // I hate the way you’re always right // I hate it when you lie // I hate it when you make me laugh, even worse when you make me cry // I hate it when you’re not around, and the fact that you didn’t call // But mostly I hate the way I don’t hate you, not even close, not even a little bit, not even at all

_________

“You don’t know what I mean.”

“That doesn’t even make sense.”

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

“On a scale of one to ten, how nervous are you?” Evelina asks, throwing herself down on your bed. The sound of the springs of your mattress makes you jump, no thanks to the nerves you didn’t want to be experiencing. 

You had been pacing your room for at least an hour, trying to figure out what to wear, how to do your hair and makeup, thinking about what was going to happen tonight. None of you should be nervous about going out with Matthew: the two of you go out together just the two of you all the time. You’re almost always with him when he’s in Calgary, give or take Evelina or Elias. So what about tonight was different?

Well, for starters, the last few times you’ve spent time alone together you were doing more than just hanging out. Why did you have to kiss him, or sleep with him, or fuck, even like him? 

“I’ll give myself a two,” you lie to her, walking to your closet to find shoes. 

She sits up, her eyebrows raised. “Babe, you’ve been walking the runway for the last hour. Gigi Hadid doesn’t strut this much but at least she gets paid for it.” 

‘Fuck her for being right,’ you think to yourself. “How’s a seven sound?” You hear her scoff, before finally sitting down next to her. “Why am I nervous?” you whine. 

She shrugs, shaking her head. “Because it’s Matthew. 

“It’s not like Matthew’s changed, though.”

“No, but you and Matthew have. You at least finally realized you like each other, and that messes with things.” 

You look down at your hands, covered with pen ink from work that day that was seemingly impossible to get off with any type of soap you had in the apartment. “What if this ruins everything?” you ask quietly, starting to feel overly emotional at the thought of losing him. 

“If you do you still have me,” she jokes, clearly not helping. “Come on. It’s Matthew. You’ve always meant the world to him. There is nothing you can do that would cause you to lose him.” 

“I hope you’re right,” you say, not looking at her. 

She pulls you up off the bed, twirling you around so she can get a full look at the dress you were in. It was one of hers, an open-backed red halter dress that came just above your knees, paired with nude heels. Simple, but elegant enough that Matthew would spend the entire night thinking about how good you look with it both on and off. “You look amazing. What time is he picking you up?”

“He should be here any minute,” you tell her, feeling yourself start to shake at how nervous you were for this. Evelina was probably right: it’s Matthew, it’s always been Matthew, and what could possibly happen that would mean you could lose him?

The two of you leave your room, grabbing your bag and your phone on your way out. You can hear the locks of the front door turning, sending a chill down your spine knowing that it was Matthew on the other side. 

“You’ll be fine,” Evelina whispers quickly as Matthew opens the door to let him in. 

Assuming you were still in your room, he starts to call, “Hey, I’m-” he cuts himself off when he lays his eyes on you. He swallows hard at the sight of you trying to find anything to say other than the “Wow,” he lets out. 

Seeing him calmed you down immediately. He had on a black button-down with black pants. It was simple, just like yours, but fuck did he look good. “Wow, yourself,” you tell him, pulling a laugh from his lips. 

He goes in to kiss you, suddenly becoming very aware that Evelina was right behind you, bouncing up and down like a child. “Ev? We’re good,” he says, hoping that it would give her the signal to leave them alone. 

“Have her home by nine, young man,” Evelina points at him, slowly backing away but refusing to break eye contact.

“Nine a.m., got it!” he says, taking you by the hand and leading you as Evelina changes course and starts to follow you.

“Wear a condom!” she yells down the hall, you and Matthew practically running away from her.

You stop in your tracks, gasping even if you were only kind of shocked that she would actually say that. “Ev!” 

“Love you!” she practically screams, slamming the door as the elevator opens.

“I can’t believe she just yelled ‘wear a condom’ down the hall! The guys next door must have loved that. Mrs. Rose is probably throwing up at the thought of premarital sex,” you start to ramble as the doors close on you and Matthew, your hands on your cheeks pulling your eyes open a little more.

He laughs, pulling you close to him, his warm hands against your back, you draping your arms on his shoulders.  “You can’t be that shocked she would say that.” He dips his head down to kiss you, finally saying hello the way he wanted to, his forehead pressed against yours as a lazy smile covers his face, “Hi, Mercury.” 

“Hi,” you whisper, wishing you had something like that to call him. Something that meant he drove you as crazy as you apparently drove him. “And no, I’m not shocked. But I guarantee that you’re going to have to wear one tonight,” you tease him.

“If that’s what you want,” he whispers, planting a kiss on the top of your head. 

Of course, that was what you wanted. He pulls away when the elevator door opens, leading you to his car. He doesn’t drop your hand until he opens the passenger side door for you. “What a gentleman,” you gush at him, half teasing him, half swooning over the simple action.

“Only for you,” he says, connecting with your lips as you try to sit down. Apparently, he couldn’t stop kissing you either. Not that you were complaining about it. You drive through the city in silence, his hand on your thigh while he drove, your hand placed over his. You stole glances at him every once in a while, the moonlight and streetlights dancing off his jawline, his eyes shining whenever light hit them. God, he looked so good. You didn’t see the glances he took at you, your enjoyment as you watched the city alive around you, watching people walk hand in hand down the street, laughing, smiling, enjoying life. 

You get to the restaurant, him rushing over to help you out of the car before you even have the chance to try to get out yourself. This was so different from the Matthew you knew a few weeks ago. 

The two of you are seated at a table in the corner, able to look at everyone around you. You sit in silence, but it’s not weird like you thought it would be. You look up from your menu to see Matthew staring at you smiling. “What?” you ask him as he reaches across the table for your hand. Why didn’t this feel weird? What about this made it feel so, you don’t know, so right?

“I’m just,” he starts, debating on whether or not he should say what he wants, “I’m just happy,” he settles on, not taking his eyes off you as a smile shows on your face, heat rushing to your cheeks. 

“Who woulda thought you’d be soft for a girl, Rat Man?” you tease him.

He runs his tongue across his upper lip, sucking in a deep breath before letting out, “Only for you, Y/N.” 

The two of you settle into mundane conversation after the waitress comes and takes your drink orders, the same sexual teasing ones that you would have with him before this whole thing started. 

“Oh, come on, you’ve always found me hot. Don’t act like you never thought about what it would be like if I pinned you against the wall every time you saw me,” he teases you.

“I think you were at your most attractive when you were far away from me.” 

“So, even when I wasn’t around you still couldn’t get me out of your mind.” 

You roll your eyes, hating that he was right. You thought about this boy a lot more than you would like to admit. “I can only think about how much I hate about you,” you say without thinking, biting the inside of your cheek.

You swear he swallows hard, taking a moment to compose himself. He hated the thought of you still writing out that list. He needed to ask Evelina how far into you were given that you had two more weeks to finish it. But he was already taking you out on a date, so is the list even worth it? Before he can send himself into a downward spiral, he says, “And yet, you’re still sitting across from me on a date.” 

He watches you look down at the table, trying to hide the smile you couldn’t help but flash. “You got me there.” 

The waitress returns with your food, both of you falling silent as you ate. Matthew couldn’t help but study your every movement, from how delicately your hands wrapped around your utensils. He couldn’t help but smile at the sight of the ink covering you, on your pinky from the way you drag your hand across the page, the random dots and streaks of ink on your nails and everywhere, probably from the way you twirled it in your fingers, knowing that you drop your pen more often than you’re able to keep in your hands the way you fidget with it. He was amazed by how he could watch you for this long without you even realizing it, so wrapped up in the scene around you while you watched with amazement. He couldn’t believe that this was finally happening, that he was there with you. 

The people around you were laughing, talking, enjoying the company of the person across from them. It felt so weird to be one of those people who could do that. You never thought you would find yourself in a situation where the person across from you would be Matthew. “Oh, I know what I wanted to tell you!” you say, breaking the silence between you, “Ev and I are going to be in LA the weekend you’re playing the Kings for a conference.” 

“So you being out with me is just a ploy to get free tickets?” he smirks. He was going to get you the tickets, even if you didn’t want them. 

“I mean, what else are you good for?” you ask as he takes your hand in his, putting it to his lips. 

You go back to eating, both of you with one hand available. You try not to go crazy when he rubs his thumb along your knuckles, tracing a circle around each one before moving to the next, back and forth across your hand. You’re interrupted in your fixation on his touch by a woman screaming with joy, the man across from her down on one knee proposing. You can’t help but smile at the happiness she was radiating, Matthew watching you instead, not realizing you were picturing yourself being proposed to at that moment. You couldn’t make out the face of the man on one knee in front of you in your mind, but something about the wild hair gave you a good idea of who it was.

Why the hell were you even thinking about that? You didn’t even think you loved this boy, let alone picturing marrying him?  

The two of you start clapping along with everyone else when she says yes, a forced smile covering your face as you try to calm yourself from the internal freakout that was manifesting. You look across the table to Matthew, his eyes wider than normal, his lips in a thin line. 

Before you can ask him what’s wrong, Matthew cuts in, “I can’t believe he just did that.” 

“What?” you ask him, slightly shocked. 

“Uh, I mean,” he starts, not sure where he was going. He could feel his face getting hot. That’s not how he would have proposed to you. ‘Wait a minute,’ he thinks to himself, ‘proposing to Y/N?’ When did he even start thinking about something like that? He could feel his breath get shorter, trying to figure out what to say. You see him getting restless, reaching over to take his hand in yours, whatever panic that was forming in him instantly going away. “It’s just weird to do it in a restaurant, you know? Surrounded by a bunch of strangers instead of the people you love.” 

You don’t know why, but your entire body tensed up at that word. Matthew keeps talking, but you don’t hear him. You look over to the couple, smiling over their news. She was crying, unable to stop herself from admiring the ring and the man she just committed her entire life to. You weren’t sure how long you had been staring, only snapping out of the trance you fixed yourself in when you felt Matthew pulling you up from the table. 

“Are you alright?” he asks you, leading you back to his car. Something in his voice had changed, the soft, sweet tone from earlier not entirely gone, but some of it was missing. 

“Yeah,” you lie to him, “I think the food is just starting to bother my stomach.”  

“Oh, uh,” he says, dropping your hand once you get to the car, his hand lingering on the handle of the passenger side door. “I guess I’ll drop you back at your place then?” he asks, running his free hand through his hair. 

You recoiled slightly at his words, not wanting to go home, but there you were. “Yeah, sure,” you say, ducking into the seat. 

The two of you ride in silence, this time uncomfortable in complete contrast to driving there. He pulls up to your building, neither of you moving from your seats. What the hell happened? Did the idea of marrying him freak you out so much that you ruined your date with him? “So, uh,” he starts, “I’ll see ya?” he asks.

You don’t pull your gaze away from your hands in your lap, biting the inside of your cheek as you nod. This was supposed to be a great night for you two. Why did that guy have to propose? It was really all his fault when you think about it. You feel Matthew’s hand grazing your jaw, his thumb tracing your cheekbone before pulling you close to him for his lips to connect with yours. You pull away, your foreheads pressed against each other, an awkward smile covering both your faces. Without another word, you get out of his car to go up to your place. 

He watches you walk away, letting out a groan. “Fucking hell,” he mutters to himself, pulling away once you get in the door.

-----------

“So it was bad?” Evelina asks, lying down on your bed next to you. You finally opened up to her about the disastrous date last night, from your freak out to ending with Matthew dropping you off at home instead of spending the night together. 

You let out a heavy sigh, your phone vibrating with texts from your boss about preparing for the conference. “Fuck, is he bothering you this much about this presentation?” you change the subject quickly. 

“Nope. Not a word from him since he said we were going. That’s not important right now.”

You let out another groan, not sure really what other noise to make. Words couldn’t describe how frustrated you were by the night you thought was going to be great. “It wasn’t,” you cut yourself off, tossing your phone aside and covering your face with your hands. “It wasn’t bad, it just wasn’t what I wanted it to be.” 

She turns over on her side, propping herself up on her elbow to look at you. “And you haven’t heard from him since last night?” Through your fingers you can see the expression she has on her face, scrunched up almost as if she was pitying you. 

Your phone buzzes, both of you lurching to see if it were him. Instead, it was your boss again. “Fuck this,” you say, throwing the phone on the floor. “I want it to be Matthew. It’s not like him not to text me all day.” 

“He left this morning for Winnipeg where they went right to practice and then to their game,” she tells you, relaying the message Elias probably gave her at some point. It still didn’t make you feel better. The game was over by now and you didn’t even know how it went. You thought he would have at least texted you, sent you a picture without context, something so you would know he didn’t hate you after last night. 

“He’ll text you. They’re probably still getting changed from the game,” Evelina tries to reassure you. “Do you want me to stay here or do you want to be alone?” 

You think about it, not sure how much good her company would do at this point. “I’m fine alone,” you decide, pulling out your laptop to find something to watch. She leaves you alone, your phone buzzing constantly with texts. After an episode of Gossip Girl, you finally check your phone to see a string of texts, all but one from your boss.

You let out a sigh of relief when you see Matthew’s message buried amongst those from your boss.

‘I’ve missed you, pretty girl. What are you up to?’

You could your heart racing for whatever reason as you tried to figure out what to respond with, your boss's name coming up again and again wondering why you weren’t answering him. ‘Moping, why?’

‘What’s wrong Mercury’

‘Work is a bitch’

You see the three dots appear and disappear from your screen. You stare at your phone, wondering why he wasn’t answering you when an incoming Facetime call shows up from him. Answering faster than you should, you felt relieved to finally see his face even if you had seen him the night before. “What happened to your cheek?” you ask immediately, referencing the noticeable gash that covered the right side of his face.

“I got the butt end of Johnny’s high stick at practice today,” he says, moving through what you assumed was his hotel.

“He probably did it on purpose, right?” you ask, a smirk on your face. You can hear his laugh echo through the hallway, the click of his door unlocking as he threw himself on his bed. “What were you doing?” 

“The guys and I were down at the bar in the lobby.”

“Oh, did you guys win today?”

He stares at you for a second, a brief moment in which you can’t read him. “You only pay attention to me when it’s convenient for you, don’t you?” he teases you, a smile growing on his face with every word. 

You let out a laugh, the memory of last night fading away. “My boss has been texting me nonstop about the work I’ve already gotten done, so I’m trying not to look at my phone.” You shift your attention away from your camera, knowing, not looking at Matthew for what you were about to say. “You know I always pay attention to you, Matthew,” you let out quietly, looking off to the side. 

He smiles at your words, letting out a sigh of relief. This list had to be over. There was no way you could still be writing it. “We did win. Shut them out. We were downstairs celebrating before we hit the road in the morning.” 

“Why aren’t you still with them! Go be with the guys!” you insist.

Matthew scoffs, shaking his head. “Nah, something was wrong with you. I had to make sure you were alright.”

“You left the guys for me?”

“I would leave anyone if it means making sure you’re ok.” You melt at his words, never thinking that he would be able to say something that would make you feel how you did. You missed him. You wished he was there with you. Before you can say anything, he starts, “I know how I can make you happy: tell me something. That always works.”

That always makes him happy.

“How about Dante’s circles of Hell so we can figure out which one my boss belongs in?” you joke, pausing the call briefly to finally respond to your boss to say that everything he had already texted you about asking you to do was finished and in his email. 

“I know about them but I like hearing you talk,” he says, a smile on his face. His end goes completely silent, no background noise, nothing, as if he had muted you. 

You try to recall the nine circles, starting to ramble in hopes it would jog your memory. “Dante Alighieri wrote the Italian poem between the years 1308 and 1320, the year before his death. It’s considered the first work written in the Italian vernacular, the Tuscan dialect, thus leading scholars to believe that this work is the reason why ‘formal Italian’ is Tuscan. He wrote it three parts, 100 cantos total, each canto with 33 lines: Inferno, Purgatorio, and Paradiso.”

You finally hear him again, his chest moving up and down rapidly, the camera shaking in his hand. “It’s so sexy when you speak in another language. Tell me about Hell,” he lets out, clearly out of breath from what you couldn’t see going on beyond the camera. 

You start, your mind suddenly flashing back to that day at the package store, roaming through the aisles of alcohol with his hands leaving a burning touch on your body. “The first circle is Limbo. It’s where the unbaptized and virtuous pagans go. It’s like having a tv and only getting a channel like C-SPAN on every station,” you tell him, waiting for his response. His mouth is open slightly, no sound coming from him. You close your eyes, thinking of his hand in your back pocket that day, the way his fingers tensed on your ass. 

You swallow hard, your breath getting slightly shallow as you continue. “The second circle is,” you stop, knowing that you would be right in this circle as you extended your free hand down. You knew exactly what he was doing the same thing, his eyes closing every now and then, the camera shaking as you thought about his body against yours the night after the charity event. “Is lust. Anyone controlled by their hormones.”

His eyes snap open, his voice shaking as you finally hear him again: “I guess we’ll go to the second circle together?” You bite your lip, nodding at him. “Third circle,” he demands, going back to his work as he thought you in the black dress, fitting your form perfectly, every thread, every stitch, waiting to be ripped off you.

“Gluttony: habitual greed or excessive eating, especially at the expense of others,” you tell him. You think about that dry-fit shirt he wore, every muscle he had accented in the fabric as your other hand moved faster. His camera was shaking, his chest moving up and down rapidly. Part of you was surprised he hadn’t gotten there yet. “Circle four is greed: hoarding money, and goods.”

  “Five,” he chokes out, a moan following that he cut off by muting himself. 

“Five was,” you say, gasping, “Five was anger, spending their time in hell waging war against each other.” Your eyes screw shut, hoping you could get through four more. “Unmute yourself,” you demand of Matthew.

His eyes practically pop out of his head. “Unmute yourself,” you tell him again, slowly, each syllable emphasized as he watched your eyes get ever so slightly darker. He nods, doing as you ask, now able to hear his heavy breathing. “Six was heresy,” you let out, low and slow.

Matthew gasps, getting up a little as a signal that he was finished, despite you having more circles to go through. “Don’t move yet,” you say to him, not wanting him to until you could. “Those in that circle believe in religions other than Dante’s: Christianity. Seven is violence, divided further into three levels: murderers, suicide victims, and blasphemers.” You can practically feel the memory of his lips as they would have been connecting with your body, right behind your ear. 

“Tell me circle eight, pretty girl,” Matthew whispers, a lazy smile on his face as you get close to your climax. The sight of him your first night together, every inch of him as he entered you for that perfect night.

“Eight is,” you try to get out. You stop, feeling nothing and everything going through your body as you practically scream out, “Fraud.” You look at him, trying to steady your breath even though he could see your chest rising and falling as rapidly as his was before, a smile covering his face. “Nine is treachery. A frozen wasteland where those doomed to that final circle spend eternity with Satan himself. 

You both sit there in silence, catching your breath. You see Matthew finally able to adjust himself, a small laugh escaping his lips at the mess that was over the once pristine sheets. He smirks, happy that you could hear each other for the last bit, neither of you guessing you were thinking of the other the entire time.  “I told you I could make you happy, huh?” 

You take in a deep breath, trying to stabilize yourself, getting up to change quickly. “I would be happier if I didn’t have to do it myself,” you tease him. 

“Trust me: I would do anything to be there with you right now.” 

You smile at him, letting out a yawn. “I’m gonna go to bed, babe,” you say, slightly recoiling at the idea of calling him babe. “Talk to you tomorrow?” 

He nods. “I-” you start to hear him say, accidentally cutting him off by hanging up just too soon. He couldn’t have been saying much, but you send him a text saying sorry for it. “Love you,” he breathes out, wishing you heard him finally say how he felt about you.

[jalapeno-princess]

10:34 A.M.

The sunlight was warm against your cheeks as it shone in through the windows; yet, it wasn’t the harsh rays that woke you from your comfortable slumber.

You could feel a tender gaze directed right at you along with a pair of strong arms, your favorite pair of arms to be exact—wrapped protectively around your waist.

Gentle fingers glided softly along your face; almost featherlight to the point where you wouldn’t have even noticed that he was touching you if it weren’t for the callousness of his digits connecting the dots of your scattered freckles and the cool metal on his fourth finger.

You had yet to open your eyes, but you were confident in the idea that your husband was staring at you and you didn’t want to make it known that you were awake just yet.

Honestly, it felt as though you were still in dreamland—everything was just too good to be true. Memories of the most perfect day of your entire life soon came rushing back to your mind and you couldn’t help the small smirk that was now encompassing your face—giving away the fact that you were no longer asleep.

“Good morning Mrs.Tuan.”

Hearing the excitement yet raspiness in his voice along with his last name that was also yours now sent so many emotions to your chest. You were over the moon to say the least. He let out a giggle when you hid your face against his bare chest and placed a sweet kiss on your forehead.

“Good morning Mr.Tuan.”

“Ah, I’m never going to get tired of calling you Mrs.Tuan. I still can’t believe you’re my wife. God, it’s like a dream come true—“

“Took you long enough. I’ve been waiting for over five years for you to propose to me—“

Mark let out a guttural groan at the sound of your playful complaint; dropping his head in between the valley of your breasts and earning himself a shove to his shoulder. A blush was now adorning your cheeks; only then as you felt his warm breath against your nipples did you come to the realization that you were naked. It didn’t bother you though, not like it did when you and Mark first became intimate back in the third week of your relationship.

He was your husband now and the two of you made love to each other numerous times in the duration of your five year relationship that you were no longer shy whenever you’d find yourself naked around him. Actually, Mark was very vocal about how insanely beautiful you were—and devastatingly sexy which led you to lose your timidity and gain a newfound confidence. One that you never knew existed and you owed entirely to your husband.

“Hey, we went over this on multiple occasions baby. I wanted to propose to you only months after we started dating—I knew I was in love with you after only the third date. Trust me, it was extremely difficult for me having to introduce you as my girlfriend and not my wife for these last few years. I don’t know why—I mean sure, getting to call you my girlfriend and getting to be called your boyfriend was all that mattered to me. You’re my soulmate y/n. My person—but something about the titles “wife” and “husband” is more permanent. It solidifies a relationship. But I wanted us to be finished with school and settled in to our actual careers before taking things any further. It worked out though didn’t it? Look at us. We’re both redeemingly successful with our positions at the companies we work at and we share a two story house in our mid twenties. Not that it matters, but we can live comfortably as a married couple unlike a lot of people our age. We’re a whole now. You’re stuck with me and my penis for the rest of your life—“

“Oh God. Just when it was getting so romantic, you just had to throw your dick in there. Well, you’re stuck with me and my pussy—“

“I don’t consider myself stuck at all. Your pussy is so magical—fuck, we’ve had sex at least three hundred times, maybe even more than that and every single time, you never failed to blow my mind—and my dick. But shit, last night had to be the best night of my entire life. Yesterday, was the most incredible day in my twenty-seven years of existence. You are the most beautiful person in the entire world and I’m not just saying that because you’re my wife, it’s true. Not only on the outside; which, honestly, you are a sight for sore eyes. I can never take my eyes off of you and I never want to. I’d stare at you in awe of your beauty all day if time permitted me to. But you have the most kindest and generous hearts and you are just the sweetest soul. I can’t wait to remind you every single day for the rest of our lives just how perfect you are to me.”

He brought his thumb up to the brim of your eyelids and wiped away a tear that you didn’t even know fell. God, this man was really the love of your life. You’d never be able to comprehend exactly what you did to deserve being the lucky girl who loved Mark and got to be loved by him, but you would never take your position in his life as his bride for granted.

Before you could continue to let any more tears fall at his endearing words, he was quick to continue his not so innocent speech about the many naughty thoughts taking up all the space his mind.

“I don’t know if it’s because we’re newlyweds or because you never cease to amaze me each and every time we stumble in to bed together but the sex we had just hours ago in my opinion was the best sex we’ve ever had. I know I complimented you almost the entire day yesterday on how gorgeous you looked in that wedding dress and I’m sure my never ending tears that flowed down my cheeks as you walked down the aisle and my wedding vows that were almost twenty minutes long are enough to prove my undying love for you. But God, seeing you in that dress—that dress was made for you. You looked so fucking ethereal and damn, it looked so much better on the floor once I got you alone. You know, my mind is still a little hazy from sleeping—maybe you could remind me just how amazing it was—if I knew you were this abusive, I would have made you work harder for that ring you’re wearing.”

Both his and your laughter filled the room and you couldn’t stop yourself from rolling your eyes and pinching his cute little butt. Your wedding day was everything you could have ever dreamt of and more. There were countless times in your relationship where you would day dream about what your wedding would be like. It didn’t take you too long to realize that Mark was the person you wanted to settle down and start a family with. Everything within you; your heart, your mind, your body and your soul was his. You were set on Mark Tuan; for life. Since he took his time with asking you to marry him, you developed some insecurities about whether or not he saw himself marrying you. Sure, he may have talked about your future together every now and then, but not once did he ever bring up marriage so you just assumed he had no plans on getting married at all.

It made your engagement all the more special when he did finally get around to proposing to you less than a year ago while the two of you were in vacation in Hawaii. You tried to convince yourself that you would be happy even if Mark were to confess he had no plans on tying the knot. As long as Mark was in your life, you were content with whatever title you held in his. But on that magical night when he got down on one knee and went in to detail about his undying love for you as the two of you watched the sunset go down, you felt wholeheartedly that his proposal was one dreams were made of.

“What are you thinking about?” You looked at him in curiosity and it was in that moment; looking at his blank stare did you realize you were probably mirroring his exact facial expression.

“Nothing. Just that I’m really happy. Really, really happy. You mean everything to me Mark. I don’t know what I would do without you and I dont even want to think about my life before you were in it. It was colorless and dull. Now all I see is so many beautiful colors. Just the mere thought of you along pulls on my heartstrings in such a miraculous way. I love the way you make me feel and I love the effect you’ve had on me. I’m so in love with you and I can’t wait to see what the future has in store for us.”

Your husband gave you his signature gummy smile before smashing his mouth roughly against yours. He licked on your bottom lip and took it in between his sharp teeth, nibbling all but gently while dragging his cold fingertips along your smooth skin.

“You’re my happily ever after y/n. I kind of regret not getting around to marrying you sooner. I just really wanted to give you the ring and the wedding that you’ve always wanted. You deserved the entire universe and more y/n. Truly, there’s so much I want to give you. You are genuinely out of this world; you’re practically a goddess—an otherworldly being and honestly, you deserve so much more than what this world has to offer you. I’m not stupid my love, I’ve picked up on the many wedding magazines you’d scatter throughout the house, I’ve noticed you’ve been watching a couple of episodes from that one Disney weddings show and I overheard you talking to your mom about not knowing how I felt about marriage. I’m sorry that you had to question my feelings for you, but I thought that my constant love confessions and the way I could never stop holding you, kissing you and needing to be around you was enough to prove the fact that you are my home. You own my heart y/n. You always have and you always will forever. The feeling is mutual baby. I don’t care what ends up happening to me. I don’t care where we end up living—if we ever decide to move houses, cities, states or even countries. I don’t care what my job title is, how much money I’ll end up making or what anyone other than you has to think or say about me. Life—life can be rough and there are days that I just want to scream, cry and run away. But then I look at you and I see my purpose—I look at you and see the reason for my existence. You’re the reason why I breathe. You’re the reason why my heartbeat increases—the reason why I wake up with the biggest grin on my face. You are my reason to be happy and I could never thank you enough for all you’ve done for me in the last five years. Now, I can’t wait to continue to relish in our love for many more decades to come.”

[lady-divine-writes]

Kurtbastian - “Always and Forever” Chapter 2

After the death of their daughter Grace, Kurt and Sebastian drift apart. Kurt wraps himself up in his grief so tightly he starts to push Sebastian away, and Sebastian, feeling himself shoved aside when he needs Kurt most, cheats. They make the decision to start over, to leave New York City and their pain behind, and start over again in a house Upstate. Sebastian buys Kurt a "fixer upper" and gives him free reign. While redecorating the room that will be his studio, Kurt comes across something interesting underneath the wallpaper. It starts to become an obsession for Kurt - an obsession that begins to replace Kurt's love for his husband, which Sebastian is holding on to by a thread. Can Kurt and Sebastian break through the pain and the hurt and find a way to fall in love again?

Read on AO3

Chapter 2 (5061 words)

The first evening in their new house becomes a long, exhaustive dance of unpacking and cleaning in preparation for the movers to arrive in the morning. What, in the past, would have been an upbeat two-step of flirting in the hallways while lugging in suitcases, punctuated by the occasional stop, dip, and smooch, is now a formal, boxy waltz, with Sebastian giving Kurt a wide-berth whenever he hears his husband coming, and Kurt pausing in doorways, eyes darting elsewhere when Sebastian passes by.

The rush to clear the dirt away and make things suitable for the furniture they chose to bring with them affords Kurt ample opportunities to send Sebastian on a host of errands, ensuring him stretches of time that he can spend alone to reflect and think.

Consider the past and plan for the future.

Even after the furniture arrives, they should have tons of space left. They had decided not to bring everything they own with them. They aren’t selling their penthouse. Keeping it furnished for the odd trip back seems like the practical thing to do. So, they only packed those things that they absolutely could not live without. 

They didn’t bring any of the furniture from Grace's room. That Kurt donated to the Salvation Army with the exception of one item – a Winnie the Pooh lamp that he had found in mint condition, ironically, at the Salvation Army, on the day he and Sebastian found out their surrogate was pregnant. It's ceramic, hand-painted, with Christopher Robin and Winnie the Pooh sitting back to back as the base, each holding a handful of balloons. One red balloon, larger than the rest, contains the bulb, the colored plastic lending a rosy tint to its glow. Along the bottom edge are written the words: “If there ever comes a day when we can’t be together, keep me in your heart, I’ll stay there forever.”

Kurt’s mother had read him Winnie the Pooh books his entire childhood. He could recite most of A. A. Milne’s writings by the time he turned eight.

The year his mother passed away.

He'd read those same books to his daughter. She’d had them mostly memorized, too.

Seven hours of scrubbing, sanitizing, and (for Sebastian) racing around town wipe the two of them out, to the point where falling asleep is simply a matter of inflating an air mattress and putting heads down on pillows. They had picked up a Queen size one at a JCPenney along the way. It’s nowhere near as luxurious as the custom-made King size bed currently stuck in the back of an Allied Moving Truck, waiting to take a journey on the 495. This mattress is a tighter fit than they’re used to. It doesn’t help that the thing sinks in the middle whenever one of them rolls over. With the both of them measuring six-foot-plus tall, they have to lie in the fetal position to fit comfortably, which would require them to spoon. But Kurt finds a way to keep himself out of his husband’s arms.

The material the mattress is made out of seems perpetually ice-cold, not warming up a touch with their combined body heat, which Kurt didn’t anticipate. They have the gas and electricity switched on, but there’s something wrong with the central heating. They don’t have the requisite amount of blankets to keep from freezing, which adds to the misery. Despite being pissed at Sebastian, Kurt doesn’t have the heart to send him out at one a.m. to the 24-hour Walmart, so he closes his eyes and resigns himself to suffering until dawn.

For the next five hours, Kurt’s mind stays blank. No noise, no dreams, and no flashbacks, thank God. It’s not restful, but it’s the best he could have hoped for. The last half a year has not been conducive to dreaming. The nightmares keep coming, one after the other, the next one worse than the last, shaking him to his core until he jars awake with a pain in his chest like someone had tried, in steel boots, to stomp him into the dirt. But waking up doesn’t solve the problem. He doesn’t know what he hates worse – waking up weeping in his husband’s arms or waking up weeping alone.

Kurt’s feelings for Sebastian are complicated when he thinks they shouldn’t be. Kurt should either love him and forgive him or hate him and move on. But he loves him and hates him. His hands itch to hold him, but a second later, he wants to shove him away. He wants to go, but he can’t imagine leaving.

As much as it sucks, Kurt can’t imagine living without him.

He would prefer to go back to being shamelessly and hopelessly in love with him. Hating him has become a crutch. But it’s enough to get him through. Regardless of that fact, which should tie up the loose ends, mend the hurts and cool the hate, it doesn’t, because Kurt can’t find a way to forgive him.

A well-meaning Facebook friend had told Kurt over Messenger that the problem was Kurt’s pride had been hurt by Sebastian cheating. Push the pride aside and get over it. Ultimately, the marriage is more important. Then he said something about Kurt putting on his “big boy” pants, mentioned God, and quoted the Bible.

A minute later, Kurt blocked him.

That’s another blessing of moving - leaving behind the get over it already crowd. He hates them more than the forever sorry folks. The people who tell him to move on, to get over it, to put it behind him, don’t really care about him. They want him to stop complaining, as if they’re obligated to follow him on social media, and that puts the burden on him, in turn, to make them feel comfortable.

Maybe some of them do care, but not enough to put themselves in his shoes and understand that it’s just not that easy. Being on the outside of the swamp and looking in at a man who’s drowning, yelling at him to grab a branch and pull himself free, is different than being the man stuck hip-deep in mud that feels like cement and losing a fight that’s beyond his control.

Sometimes, as a matter of self-preservation, you simply give up.

Kurt doesn’t know who Sebastian slept with. He has his suspicions, but he doesn’t know for sure, and Sebastian won’t confirm. He says it’s because he wants to put it behind him, forget it ever happened, and that infuriates Kurt. If sleeping with another man was something Sebastian would need to put behind him, why even do it? Or (and Kurt hates himself for thinking like this), if Sebastian didn’t want Kurt to dwell on it, why not take steps to ensure that Kurt wouldn’t find out? Sebastian, of all people, should have known that this would eat Kurt up inside. It’s the kind of thing he’d never let go of. Yes, Kurt would be devastated if he discovered the cheating and the cover-up years after the fact, but he’d be in a better place to mourn his marriage apart from mourning his daughter.

What Sebastian did was selfish on so many levels.

Kurt knows that sex isn’t love, but he can't help wondering – was there a moment in the middle of all of it, caught up in the kissing and the fucking, where it felt like love?

Kurt met Sebastian in high school. Kurt wasn’t just a virgin back then. Oh, no. He had created his own category of virgin for which he could have had a cape and costume custom made – Captain Super Prude. Sex was a taboo topic for him, so much so that his high school’s chastity club hated him. 

Apparently, he set the bar too high, made them look loose in comparison. 

As much as he had fantasized about finding a special someone who would sweep him off his feet, gently usher him into manhood by making soulful but passionate love to him, he preferred not to think about it too often or too in-depth. The "talk” between him and his father was a mortifying experience.

There were pamphlets involved. 

He still has some of them.

When it came to finding a boyfriend, Sebastian wasn’t what Kurt had planned on at all. Where Kurt was attracted to debonair, old-school, gentlemanly types a few years older than himself, Sebastian was crass, rude, explicit, and a year younger. On top of that, he was (to coin a phrase stolen from one of Kurt’s best friends, Quinn) the biggest French whore of them all. Sebastian didn’t care for romance and he didn’t attach emotions to sex, but he definitely had a way of making men fall in love with him. Kurt Hummel and Sebastian Smythe were the two people in the world least likely to fall in love with one another. But according to Sebastian, he fell in love with Kurt long before Kurt fell in love with him.

Sebastian claimed that Kurt was the first man he had ever fallen in love with, and at first sight, no less.

He whispered those words in Kurt’s ear the first time they made love.

He said those exact words during his toast at their wedding.

He wrote them in every birthday, Christmas, and anniversary card he ever gave to Kurt.

He said them over Grace’s crib the night they brought her home.

“Look at this little thing, Kurt,” Sebastian had sighed, reaching out to stroke Grace’s cheek. “Our daughter. Is it ridiculous that I’ve only known her for two days and I’m already in love with her?

“Technically, nine months and two days. But, no. It’s not ridiculous.”

“I never thought I could fall so fast in love with another human being before I met you.”

“Really?” 

“A-ha.” Sebastian smiled when Grace yawned, her whole mouth moving in a complete circle before she settled down again. “I fell in love with you the second I laid eyes on you. And then, well, it was all over for me.”

Those words, the memory of that happiness, breaks Kurt’s heart. Could it be possible that, after close to twenty years of marriage, after reciting those words so many times, they didn’t mean anything anymore? Had Sebastian found someone else he could fall in love with?

Kurt has asked, but Sebastian won’t answer that question. He says it’s insulting.

Whatever the answer, he probably thinks he’s doing his husband a kindness. What he’s really doing is prolonging the torture, not giving Kurt the information he needs to make a decision that he can stand behind. Every time Kurt looks at his husband, he sees touches on his skin that don’t belong to him, kisses on his lips that he didn’t put there.

Kurt doesn’t know how to make himself see past them.

Instead, he looks away.

The second Kurt feels sunlight on his face, he’s out of bed. He grabs his messenger bag and pads down the hall to his studio before Sebastian can stir.

The room looks different with blurry morning sunlight bleeding through the windows. Kurt didn’t put black-out curtains up, and the sheer curtains that came with the house let fingers of light poke through, bouncing off the wallpaper and brightening the floor. 

Yikes.

Kurt examines the floor now that he sees it clearly. It’s a mess - the wood warped as if someone had paced it incessantly. It had been varnished at one time. Spots of resin dot the boards like oily puddles. The wood itself (some variety of walnut, Kurt suspects) has blackened to a morbid pitch with age. It sucks up the light and gives little back.

“Oh, yeah,” Kurt murmurs, pressing around the brittle edge of one spot with his toe, watching it crackle into shards. “This has to be completely redone.”

He gets stuck on the idea that this room could have been his daughter’s if she were still alive. He and Sebastian had talked about raising Grace in a suburban environment, and as much as he regrets not giving her a house with a yard and room to grow, Kurt leaned heavily on the side of staying in the city. Some of his motives were selfish. He loved Manhattan. It had been his lifelong dream to end up there. He wanted his daughter to grow up with all of the things he didn’t – culture, diversity, theaters and libraries and museums a train ride away. He didn’t want her raised around the closed, narrow minds of small-town folk. He wanted her to be an independent thinker – liberated, rational, intelligent. But he also wanted her to be compassionate and kind. He wanted her to know the world, its wonders and its failings, the way it truly was, not the way it looked on a movie screen, and long to change it for the better. They participated in fundraisers, gathered donations for the homeless, and volunteered in soup kitchens.

Grace was a pure light, a driving force that, at her age, Kurt didn’t get the chance to be.

So in honor of her, he wants his workroom to be bright and colorful - a mixture of his vintage aesthetic and her fun-loving personality. He’ll paint the walls her favorite colors, put homages to her in the details, choose the furnishings she would have preferred.

Since this will be the room he spends most of his time in, he wants it to be everything about his daughter that he adored.

He opens his bag and pulls out his phone, checking the time. 6:08. The movers are supposed to arrive between eight a.m. and ten. But movers, electricians, plumbers, and cable guys never arrive on time. He fishes out his sketchbook, sits on the floor, and gets to work jotting down a layout. First things first, he decides where his drafting table will go, where he’ll store his bolts, where he’ll put his sewing machine, a spot for a work chair, marking places here and there for personal touches like his mother’s vanity, his first-ever dress form, a few of his awards...

And photographs. Lots and lots of photographs.

He didn’t keep photographs in his studio at Vogue. He had an obsession with keeping his private life private, which he doesn’t apologize for. Since he met clients there, he liked to keep that space impersonal. Nothing to get in the way, spark a conversation that might derail the job at hand. 

Unlike Sebastian, who hung candids galore. He stuffed the most Godawful photographs from their high school and college years into collage frames and nailed them to every wall of his office, squeezing things like his degrees and diplomas into far corners so that those pictures could be prominently displayed. He said that people knew the Smythes by name and reputation. If anyone wanted to see his credentials, they could Google them. But when people walked into his office, he wanted them to know that first and foremost, he was a family man.

Sebastian knew from childhood that he would become a lawyer. He never dreamed he would be a father. 

Or a husband.

Those were the two accomplishments he seemed the proudest of.

Kurt regrets not having more pictures of Grace hanging on his studio walls, her smiling face to look at every hour of every day, watching his meetings, overseeing his layouts. She was his good-luck charm, his missing puzzle piece. She deserved a place of honor.

Now, he’ll give her one.

His stomach growls as he works. A smell from somewhere tickles his nose, and he groans. Just a few more seconds of sketching on the hard ground, and he’ll grab a bite to eat… maybe. With his ass numb, he doesn’t see a reason to get up, and bedsides, he’s on a roll. Car doors closing and constant banging echo in, and he winces, his head throbbing from lack of sleep. Dammit! If it would just stop till he finishes! It’s hard enough to concentrate as is! He hopes this is a one-time-only thing. He’d hate to wake up to that cacophony every morning. If he ever decides to go outside and meet the neighbors, he’ll have to find a polite way of asking them not to do whatever that is before he has his morning coffee.

Of course, soundproofing is also an option.

“Kurt? Kurt, are you… ?”

Kurt shifts his legs underneath him. He lifts a hand to massage his shoulders. That mattress must have killed his back. His arms ache something fierce. Sitting on this floor doesn’t help, the uneven boards digging into his legs, but it’s not an impetus for him to stop.

Just one more minute.

One more minute of sketching out this room, and he’ll join the world. One more minute to get his thoughts straight. One more minute to brush aside the things that like to torture him. Forget that his mother died when he was eight, his stepbrother when he was eighteen. Forget that his father passed away three years ago and his daughter six months ago.

Not too long after, his husband cheated.

Five.

That’s how many things he had loved in this world more than himself.

Those are the things that he’d lost.

They were the things he needed to forget in order to make it through till the evening.

He’ll replace the insulation and the drywall, smother everything in a noise-proofing compound, then paint the walls in swirls of pink and gold. He’ll do the ceiling in shades of blue, indigo, and violet, like the sky at night, and cover it in crystals to represent stars the way Grace had wanted to do with her bedroom. Kurt had promised her he would the second everything was over, when they could risk her being around the debris and the fumes.

He has never broken a promise to Grace. He isn’t about to start.

He scribbles those notes in sloppy script in the margin of his paper, wipes tears with the back of his shaking hand. He tries to focus on specifics to bring himself back from the brink of a breakdown. He needs a good cry, but he doesn’t want the comforting that will go with it if Sebastian hears him. He can’t right now. Sebastian comforting Kurt turns into Kurt comforting him back, and Kurt only has the strength to handle one outburst.

“Kurt? Did you want to… ?”

Kurt waves a hand to shoo away the buzzing beside his ear, relieved when it doesn’t take much more than that.

In order to paint the walls, he’ll have to take the wallpaper down.

That brings to mind the corner of torn paper over by the window and the word written underneath.

Darling.

That corner offends him. Kurt keeps entertaining the thought that that word has nothing to do with Sebastian, that there is another layer of wallpaper underneath festooned with line art of flowers, along with quotes from various love poems sprinkled throughout, circa 1800s. But then that would make that one tear and that one word an incredible coincidence since darling is the pet name Sebastian has called Kurt since day one. When he started doing it, every time he said it, Kurt had an urge to sock him on the jaw.

He was a pain in the ass, even back then.

Did Sebastian actually think Kurt would fall for writing darling on the wall? After the things he said? After what he did?

Kurt’s hand trembles so badly, he smudges the ink on his page. He stops writing, takes a deep breath, and counts to ten. He closes his eyes and concentrates on the sun warming his face. It’s gone now when it was there a second ago, which is disconcerting, but he has to ignore that and calm down.

He has to relax.

He promised he’d give this marriage a chance, that he’d try to make this work. Sebastian, so far, has held up his part of the bargain. He’s given Kurt space. He’s listened to him vent uncontested. He’s let Kurt keep tabs on him – where he goes, when he’ll be back, with photo texts in between to prove that he is where he said he would be. Kurt has to give him the benefit of the doubt. If Sebastian extends an olive branch, Kurt should take it.

But did he want to?

“I didn’t hear you when you got up this morning.” Sebastian’s voice starts Kurt’s hand up again. He wants to look busy. He doesn’t want to be caught in a position where he has to give his husband his full attention.

He hasn’t forgotten everything yet.

“Well, you were dead to the world,” Kurt replies, distracted.

“I’m just saying, see? You won’t disturb me. You don’t need to put a bed in here.”

Kurt bobs his head back and forth, adding a place in his layout for a foldout out of spite. “We’ll see. It’s only been the one day.”

“That’s true.” The way Sebastian says it, it sounds like a challenge. A tired challenge. Like Sebastian knows he’s already lost. “So, you like the room?”

“Yeah. I think I do.”

“And what about the rest of the house?”

He doesn’t know why Sebastian sounds like he’s asking. It’s a done deal. They both agreed on a new house. Sebastian found one he thought Kurt would like and bought it. What? Are they going to back out now and magically move somewhere else?

Will moving around from house to house solve what’s wrong between them?

“It’s fine, I guess. I don’t know. I think it’s hard for me to visualize without taking the grand tour. I’ll be able to tell better when I get started decorating.”

“Are you gonna hire that guru guy to help you with the yin and yang stuff?” Sebastian jokes cautiously. “That Kung Fu guy… what’s his name… ?” Sebastian snaps his fingers as if he’s seriously trying to remember.

“He’s a Feng shui practitioner, and his name is Carl.”

“His name's Carl?” Sebastian laughs. “No no no, his name is not Carl. Carl is the name of a dentist. He’s not a guy you call to Wang Chung your house.”

“Feng shui,” Kurt corrects again. “I hired him to help me create balance in our home.” He chuckles despite the fact he doesn’t want to find Sebastian funny. He doesn’t want Sebastian to affect him. But he’s right. The man’s name irked Kurt, too, when Isabelle referred him. “Ridiculous name or not, he seemed like a knowledgeable guy.”

“Do you think that Shaolin stuff could work here?”

Kurt pauses to give the matter some thought, and that kills the moment. The levity becomes saturated by the pain hanging in the room, and Kurt coils further into his sketch.

“That remains to be seen. But I think I’m going to try doing it for myself this time. Of course, the overall effect is going to be completely thrown to heck when you hire whoever never to decorate your office.” Kurt throws a derisive scowl over his shoulder. It misses its mark when Kurt won’t look Sebastian in the eyes.

Sebastian swallows Kurt’s scowl without thinking of a comeback. They’ve had that argument before when Kurt redecorated their penthouse. Kurt felt the need to redecorate whenever something big happened in their lives, but Sebastian’s office was off-limits, so it stayed the same. Kurt tried to find one or two things to put into his design scheme that would bring a theme from Sebastian’s office out so that the penthouse would blend, but whatever the thing he chose was – a print, a vase, an ottoman, or a coffee table – it stuck out like a sore thumb, until Kurt tried less and less.

“Can’t fight City Hall,” he’d say, returning to the business of finishing the rest of the space. Things changed around them, and yet, in Sebastian’s carefully curated world, life stood still. The last time Kurt redecorated was before Grace was born. Nothing in the penthouse matched Sebastian’s office after that.

“I want you to do it.”

Kurt stops scribbling. “Me?”

“Yeah.”

Kurt almost looks back to see if Sebastian is serious. He stares at the paper in front of him, the surface more ink than white. “Are you… are you sure? You always said that we need our separate spaces.”

“That’s only because you’re a little heavy-handed with the pastels. I trust you. Just don’t go making it all shabby chic.”

Kurt is speechless. This is the opportunity he has been waiting for their entire marriage – to decorate Sebastian’s office. Once upon a time, he saw it as the ultimate gesture of trust.

Back when he was naïve and fairly stupid.

“Don’t worry. I won’t.” Kurt debates standing up and giving Sebastian a hug or a handshake. This seems like a time that would warrant it. But when he rolls an inch to his knees, his entire body screams with pain. God, he feels old. How can he be this stiff after just half an hour?

Kurt returns to his planning. Even though he doesn’t feel prepared to leave his sanctuary, he fixes on that solid mask he’s been wearing for weeks around Sebastian. Just one more minute. One more minute, and he’ll go downstairs. He thinks he says it out loud. He expects Sebastian to go back to their room and get ready for the day, but he stays in place like a statue, watching Kurt draw, huddled over his sketchbook with his back turned to him and the door.

Kurt waits to hear the sound of footsteps retreat the way they came, but they don’t. His pencil stops above a square drawn in the corner meant to represent his stereo. He can’t continue his drawing with his husband watching, so he bites the bullet.

“Was there something else you needed?” he asks.

“They’ve… uh… got the bed in,” Sebastian says. “And the TV.”

Kurt scrunches his nose and lifts his head. What does he mean? The bed and the TV are on the moving truck. Kurt looks at his phone, resting on the floor by his knee.

“What are you talking about?” Kurt scoffs. “The movers haven’t even arrived yet. It’s only 7:15.”

“That’s right.” Sebastian speaks slowly, the way he does when he’s explaining something to Kurt that he thinks Kurt might explode over. He leans forward like he wants to come in but doesn’t without an invitation. “It is 7:15. In the evening.”

Kurt's head snaps up, eyes rolling because Sebastian is crazy.

There’s no way.

He's ready to object, but with his gaze away from his page, he notices something different about the light in the room. Instead of a soft, diffused blue, it has become a thicker yellow. Shadows stretch across the floor that weren’t there before. The room is warmer than he remembers, and the skin of his left shin, folded over his right, feels hot and irritated, like he might have gotten a sunburn.

“Evening?” Kurt shakes his head. “How can it… ? But… why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you come get me?”

“I tried. I told you when the movers arrived. I asked you what you wanted for lunch. I brought you the portable heater and put a lamp in here when it started to get dark.”

Kurt looks around. In the emptiness of the room, they’re easy to see - a plug-in heater behind him, and, in the corner of the room to the left of the door, standing straight and tall like a structural support beam, a brass lamp without a shade, filling the room with artificial light.

The first two pieces of furniture in his new studio, and Sebastian put them there.

Kurt doesn’t want them. He’d rather be cold and alone in the dark.

“We don’t have WiFi or cable yet, but I set up the Blu-ray player,” Sebastian continues. “I thought I could go get some take-out, and we could have a picnic dinner on the bed. Maybe watch a movie?”

Kurt does a 180 on his sore ass and looks at his husband (which is to say he looks at a spot over Sebastian’s head) with a mildly confused expression. He’s not really thinking about the bed or the movie or dinner at all. Even though he was hungry earlier, apparently hours earlier, he’s not hungry now. He couldn’t be less hungry. His desire to eat simply evaporated. It's been waning for weeks. Sometimes he forgets to eat until Sebastian sticks a sandwich in his face. Sebastian has become devoted to keeping Kurt's stomach full. He knows better than to comment on his weight loss, but he keeps a stock of temptable foods on hand.

He’s keeping Kurt on life support.

Sebastian stuck a spear into the heart of what they had together. Now he’s keeping Kurt alive to help him fix it.

Kurt hates that he didn’t see it that way until just now.

“Kurt? Please?”

Here’s the olive branch, Kurt thinks. He has to decide whether he’s going to take it or toss it aside.

He had promised Sebastian he’d try, and Kurt has never broken a promise to Sebastian.

No matter how much he hurts, he’s not going to start tonight.

His father always said that a man is only as good as his word.

Kurt closes his sketchbook. “Alright. I’m coming.” He tries to unfold his legs, but his knees lock up on him, and he rushes to massage the beginnings of a cramp. Sebastian looks like he’s about to spring in and help, but Kurt puts up a hand. “I’ll be a minute.”

Nodding, Sebastian takes a step back. Even with that rejection, he looks happier, more hopeful. He takes his phone out of his pocket and leaves the room. The grateful smile on his lips should fill Kurt with warmth. It used to.

But it doesn’t.

After a meal of Szechuan from a questionable establishment (not questionably clean, just questionably Chinese) and The Devil Wears Prada (a movie Sebastian swore up and down he’d never watch again), Sebastian falls asleep with his head on Kurt’s chest. And Kurt lets him, even if he himself barely gets a minute of peace.

[gointothevvater]

Kloktober day 3: Werewolves or Vampires 

I’m going with vampires today, and I’m gonna use this prompt to promote my Lost Boys AU, Say Hello To The Night! 

.

The moon was high and full and red over Santa Luna, California when Nathan rode into town in his shitty old truck.

A blood moon? Brutal. This was the night he'd stop, then. This was his destination. It felt like fate.

The town wasn't an especially big one, far, far smaller than Tampa, but it was far from his family, and it was far from Abigail, and that was what mattered.

The streets were busy, and it took a few minutes for Nathan to find a motel. Hotel California played in his head when he parked the truck in the mostly-empty parking lot, and when he stepped out of it, closing the door behind him, the heat of the summer night hit him hard. It was almost as bad as Florida. He could survive it. If he could survive Abigail ripping his heart out of his chest, he reasoned as he stepped into the motel's little office, he could survive anything.

As he was entering, another man was leaving. He was dressed in an impeccable suit, his hair long and silver, his hands clawed, and as he passed Nathan, he gave him a look that could cut glass. Nathan returned it, but was oddly grateful when he slipped out the door.

A young man nearly his own age sat behind the check-in desk, sneering and giving the silver-haired man not one but two middle fingers. He muttered, "Fucking bloodschucker." Then he looked at Nathan and asked, his tone none the nicer, "Checking in?"

Nathan grunted an affirmation, then asked, "There any jobs around here?"

"Nothing legal," the desk clerk said with a curl of his lightly fuzzed lip. He had a copy of Playboy open on the desk, but he didn't seem particularly interested in it. "Payment for the night is upfront," he said without looking up. He jerked a thumb toward a sign tacked up on the wall behind him that displayed prices for lengths of stay. "Checkout is at 11 a.m."

Nathan had enough to stay for a few weeks, and he pulled out his wallet to fish out the bills, handing them over with a pang of regret. His funds were rather limited, and he'd need to get a job before long. He wondered if any of the local bars would let someone who was only nineteen perform. He had a good voice for heavier music. "Probably gonna be here a while," he said to no one in particular. He was a little out of it, honestly. He'd been sleeping in the back seat of the truck for almost a week, and not even well. He was exhausted, and he was sure it showed.

The clerk, whose nametag read Will said, "Might wanna schleep with one eye open."

Brutal, Nathan thought again, and took the room key when Will offered it.

"Room seven," Will said, still not looking up. "Good luck."

Well, that was ominous. Nathan shrugged it off and headed back outside, the humid air hitting him like a wall. He wondered if his truck would be safe for the night. His whole life was in it. He'd locked it up, and the bed cover was pretty secure. The only thing worth stealing was his dirt bike, anyway. It was a 1984 Yamaha YZ490, which he had spray-painted black the day he brought it home. It was five years old, but it still ran well. He'd spent almost a year saving up for the thing, and it was his most precious possession. It currently lay on its side in the bed of the truck. Nathan patted the bed cover and unlocked the driver's side door, darting in to grab one of the suitcases he had left in the back seat. He locked the door, double-checked that it was locked, and set off down along the front of the motel.

He followed the doors until he reached the seventh one, unlocked it, and stepped inside. The floors were beige-carpeted, but the bedspreads were green, and they looked clean, the pillows, too. At the far side of the room was the door leading into the connected bathroom, but Nathan wasn't ready to check that out just yet. It wasn't terrible; He'd certainly stayed in worse places. He took a seat on the bed, bounced a bit. It would do. He pulled his suitcase into his lap and popped the latches. Inside were a few sets of both day clothes and pajamas, his most beloved CDs, which were of no use with his boom box in the truck's passenger seat, and his address book. It was mostly empty, but his parents were listed in there, and come morning, he would need to call them. He wouldn't call Abigail, he told himself, but he wasn't sure if he believed it or not. He sighed and flopped back on the bed, the suitcase bouncing on his legs.

Well, he thought, this sucks.

His neighbors were having a much better time than he was, if the woman's near-constant screams were any indication. Her cries of, "Oh, yes!," and, "Harder!" Did nothing for him, and he swallowed down a wave of self-hatred.

The woman on the other sound of the wall quieted, her voice dropping into a little whimpering noise, and Nathan thought back to the sounds Abigail made when he kissed her. They'd never gone any farther than that, though he knew she wanted to. Did he? He still wasn't sure. He'd hoped that putting some distance between them would help to clear his head, but he was still so confused.

He flinched when the woman next door screamed. Oh, a screamer. Wonderful.

She sounded like she was being murdered, and Nathan rolled his eyes. So much for a quiet night in.

He closed his suitcase and tossed it aside on the bed, rose, and stepped outside. He gave the neighbor's door an irritable bang as he passed. The woman tried to say something, but choked on the words, and Nathan scowled.

There was a great shuffling sound inside, and Nathan bristled, ready for a fight. The doorknob jiggled, and a man slipped out. He was taller than Nathan, which was honestly impressive, and about a decade older, if the streaks of silver in his hair and his beard were any indication. He had one dead eye, and Nathan met it as best he could. He wouldn't be intimidated by whoever this asshole thought he was.

The only reward he got for his effort was a snarl and the kind of glare that could have gotten a weaker man on his knees. Nathan would not go to his knees, but it took a huge amount of discipline to resist the urge.

Without a word, the man strode away, and Nathan watched him vanish around the side of the manager's office. The air was charged and hot, but he shivered, doing his best to ignore the coppery smell emanating from behind the door of room six.

[fandomlovingfreak]

Incidentally In Love (4/?)

Charlie Weasley/Reader

Rating: T and up (Triggers: Pregnancy and maybe commitment)

Masterlist Link I AO3 Link

Summary: Sleeping with Charlie Weasley was easy. He was charming, and handsome, and was quite talented in bed... Finding out you're pregnant with your casual fuck buddies baby was not easy.

Reader's journey through co-parenting, an overbearing Molly Weasley who wants reader to marry her son to give the baby a "real family", and maybe falling a tiny bit in love with her baby daddy.

Notes: POV change (it’s Charlie’s POV) after the second *** break! Hope you enjoy! 

Enjoy

"What do you want?" he asks as he glances over the Prophet at me. I'm trying not to inhale my food even though I'm starving, and it is seven A.M. on a Friday. I'll probably be a tad bit late to work. My boss gets it, though. He and his wife have three of their own, and he's gone through his fair share of pregnancy weirdness.

"What do I want? For what?" I wipe a bit of jelly off my lip with my finger, popping the digit in my mouth, so I don't waste any of it.

"For the baby." His nose is a little red from the cold November air that always seems to creep into my house no matter how many times I fix it with magic or any of the numerous Muggle ways.

"Like, gender?" I tilt my head, wondering where this came from.

"Yeah. Do you want one or the other, especially?"

I think about it for a second. Secretly I want a boy. I want the baby to be all Charlie Weasley, but a little girl could be nice as well. Honestly, as long as the baby is healthy. That's what matters. "I don't know, really. Why? Do you have a preference?"

"I think I want a girl," his blue eyes light up, "there are just so many boys in the family already. It could be nice to have a little girl." Oh, that's a sweeter answer than I expected. I don't even know why I expected Charlie to want a boy. Maybe because of how having a son is seen as some sort of 'continuation of a name' prized by many men? I should have known better than to expect Charlie Weasley to be anything like other men. 

"That's sweet," I grin, "what would you name her if it were up to you?"

He looks thoughtful for a moment, "I don't know. If I had my way, you know, I'd choose something related to dragons."

"Hebridean Black Weasley has a ring to it, ya know?" 

Charlie rolls his eyes, "That's now what I meant, and you know it, (y/n) (y/l/n)."

"What did you mean then?" I lean forwards in my chair. I'm eager to know if he's come up with something already.

He flushes slightly, looking at his hands, "Maybe name them after one of my dragons?" The laughter spills from my lips when what he said registers. "It's not that funny!" Charlie's so red his hair blends in with the brilliant hue of his face.

"You can't expect me to tell my little girl someday that her father named her after one of the dragons he looks after, Charles!"

He grins, "fine. I guess that would be sort of odd."

Shaking my head, I rub a hand down the barely-there swell of my stomach, "Luckily, we have a lot of time to decide on names, or else you'd end up with quite an interesting name, baby." I glance up at Charlie, who's watching me intently. "What?"

"Nothing," he picks the Prophet back up, hiding behind the pages. Not like it does much to hide him.

"Well, we better be off then. I've been late already twice this week, and I can only use this pregnancy as an excuse so many times before someone's bound to question me."

***

I get through the day without any truly eventful moments. Ever since I made it known to my superiors of my condition, they've been giving me more desk work than usual. Not like I did a ton of work outside of my desk, but the paperwork seems to stack up to the ceiling nearly every day now. 

Per usual, Charlie got me for lunch, which was a nice way to stretch my legs after a morning of dull cases.

"How are you feeling?" He asked like he always did when we walked to the same muggle cafe we went to when I told him I was pregnant. It had become somewhat of a little tradition to go there at least once a week since that day.

"I'm okay. Just needed to stretch my legs. I'm not sure why they think I should sit my entire shift."

"They're probably just making sure you don't get too tired." He shrugs.

I laugh, "I feel like if anything, I'm more tired sitting there all day."

"I could talk to them?" he offers. Charlie Weasley, always the chivalrous Gryffindor.

"Thank you, but I don't think I want my baby daddy coming into my department to tell off my boss." I grin at him.

"Well, if it's bad for the baby and you, then I ought to intervene. But, if that's really not what you want, I'll just have to make it up to you at home." Home? Charlie's been using words like this more frequently than before. It sounds so--domestic. And I can't blame him, honestly. He spends more time in my tiny flat than his parent's house.

Suddenly I'm wondering if...Should I just ask if he wants to move in? Does that make this easier? We can still only be co-parents--well, co-parent's who find themselves in the same bed every night and morning--and no, this is so weird and complicated already. But, how much easier can it get than just moving in together. Charlie won't miss anything then, and we can really effectively be parents. And when the baby comes, it's not like I can be away from them.

My words move faster than my mind, and I find myself blurting out a quick, "what if you moved in?" I'm mortified by myself immediately.

"You want me to move in?"

I open and close my mouth, trying to find my words, "well, you said 'home', and I was just thinking how you practically live in my flat already? And well, logistically, it makes the most sense if you want to be around for all of the babies firsts and everything--But, if you don't want to, I understand. It's a lot to ask..."

"I want to," he clears his throat, "I mean, I want to if that's really what you want."

"Is it going to be too confusing for your family to understand we're just living together because it's easier? Not because we're involved or anything?"

I think I detect a subtle change in his face like he's a little upset that I've brought this up. "No. It's fine. I don't care what they think."

"Okay. I just don't want to give your mother the wrong idea. Cause this is for the baby and simplicity for us." Why I add the last thought...I'm not sure. Maybe I'm convincing the both of us it's not some selfish...feelings thing. We're moving in together as of today because Charlie should be around for the babies' life; living in the same space is the easiest way for all three of us. There are no ulterior reasons why he's moving in, no sir.

"If she does, I'll talk to her." He looks down at the table for a moment.

"Okay, well, I mean, do you need to move anything big in?"

"I don't think I have much more to move in. Pretty much everything I use every day is already at your place."

"Well, then, Weasley..." I try to diffuse the tension by raising my brow and grinning at him, "I guess you're my new roommate."

He rolls his eyes, "Looks like it."

***

"Mum?" I walk in the front door to find my mother hunched over her knitting at the kitchen table. I kick my boots off as she sets down her needles. 

"Charlie! Where's (y/n)?" she comes round the table to kiss my cheek.

"Still at the Ministry finishing up some last-minute paperwork." 

"What a shame. I was just about to start another hat for the baby. What do you think she'd like yellow or purple?" The image of a newborn baby in a yellow hat makes my insides feel fuzzy. 

"Yellow?" I don't actually know if (y/n) would choose yellow, but I don't think she'd object.

"Perfect. Are you staying home tonight or heading back to (y/n)'s flat, dear?"

"Heading back. That's actually what I wanted to talk about. I'm moving in with (y/n)."

Mum's head shoots up, "You're moving in with her? Are you--"

I flush uncomfortably, "No! No, we're not together. (y/n) thought it would be best. I won't miss anything in the baby's life. Plus, we've become quite close, and I don't think she wants to be alone?" Molly Weasley looks like she wants to say something, and I'm pretty sure I know what she wants to say. But, we're not together, and moving in together won't change that. (y/n) made that pretty clear.

"You're sure--"

"I'm sure. It's for the best." She gives me a look, and I know she can detect that there's at least something else there for me.

Taglist: @paigeyisme @hannah220506