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radioactivechoirboy · 2 years

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Where Have You Been? Ch 1

'9/13/2022’

‘We were on a rollercoaster, then we weren’t. There was so much singing, and one of those fortune telling machines that called itself the great karnak. A girl was missing her head. There was something about cat aliens. Nothing went together, but at the end we were on a rollercoaster again.’

River rubbed her eyes again, staring at the words in her notebook. The paragraph repeated, again and again. The details written down varied, but it was close enough that she could tell that it was the same dream nightly. If she bothered to check her older notebooks, the dream would be repeating there too. Years of notebooks filled with the exact same dream.

To date, she had figured out these consistent details:

Everyone was wearing St. Cassian uniforms, the uniforms of the high school she went to

There was a fortune telling machine with an attitude problem

There were six people involved, herself included.

They had all died and this was some sort of purgatory

She seemed overly stressed about the entire situation

There was one girl with no head

There was a rat playing the bass.

Smaller details changed every time, but the larger ones stuck around. One of the girls in her dream reminded her of her friend from middle school, Cadence, but even that was a bit of a stretch.

She closed her notebook and set it to the side, placing her pen on cover. She sat in the dark for a moment before clicking her phone on. It was 2am.

“Time to start the day, I guess,” she kicked her legs over the side of her bed and started walking towards the kitchen she shared with her roommates. If she wasn’t going to sleep, it was time for coffee.

It was one day until her birthday, her 20th birthday, to be exact.

She couldn’t put her finger on why, but it always made her anxious.

Honestly though, a lot of things made her anxious. The sound of metal on metal, roller coasters, her birthday, those weird fortune telling machines, heights, the list kept going.

She told herself that she didn’t let these anxieties rule her life, but if she was honest with herself, she avoided amusement parks and fairs like they were the plague (another thing that made her anxious).

She didn’t bother changing out of her pajamas just yet, figuring she’d wait until the sun was up at the very least. She did, however, bother to grab one of her decaf peppermint coffee pods from the stash she built up every December to last her through the year.

It took her less than 10 seconds to get from her door to where River kept her coffee maker in the kitchen. Everyone knew it was River’s because she had all of her items in one cabinet in the shared space. She had never told her roommates to not touch her items, but it was heavily implied, mainly by her keeping all of her items separate, even going as far as to hand wash everything she used so it didn’t get mixed up with everyone else’s stuff.

The process of making her coffee was equally careful.

River got down her one good mug, reserved for nervous mornings and decaf peppermint coffee, she had bought it from a thrift store when she was in middle school. It was a rich blue color with a white rim and had the word ocean painted into the bottom, which was fitting, it did remind her of the ocean.

After that, she’d add a half teaspoon of peppermint extract and a full teaspoon of vanilla syrup to the bottom of the mug. She’d put her coffee pod in the maker and let it fill to about six ounces. After that, she’d add in 3 ounces of oat milk and 3 of coconut cream before giving the drink a stir.

She had gotten so used to making the drink that she didn’t even need to use measurements anymore, but she did just to be careful.

Better safe than sorry.

River took the drink back to her room to enjoy while reviewing her schedule for the day.

Her daily organizer sat next to her computer where she did all of her editing. It made the most sense over there. Too close to her bed and she’d be too anxious to sleep. Too far from her bed and she wouldn’t think to look at it.

She carefully opened the page to September 13th and found that both her work and personal life had events listed.

Not one, but two events she had been dreading.

Neither could be avoided.

She had a new roommate moving in and she had to go photograph the fair for the town paper.

River gripped her coffee with white knuckles and stared at her journal with a level of shock and betrayal.

It was a good thing she had also scheduled a therapy appointment.

#ride the cyclone #ride the cyclone fanfiction #ride the cyclone musical #ocean o'connell rosenberg #river #Where have you been?#musicals #fanfic

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solastia · 4 years

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Tuqburni: Finale - Heartbreak

Pairing: Yoongi X Reader, Hoseok x Reader

A/N: Here you go with an alternate ending where she DIDN’T choose to go back to them. Angst, with a bit of hope (hyuck). Please remember, in my mind the other ending is canon and I will be releasing an epilogue eventually of them together in the future. Until then, enjoy this. It really hurt me to make my Yoongichi cry.

*******************************************************************************************

You sat on your tiny patio in the beat-up rocking chair you’d bought from a thrift store as you waited for Namjoon to come by. You probably could have waited inside, but it felt too big and empty for your liking. A familiar knock rattles your very wobbly-sounding door and you get up with a sigh, closing the sliding glass behind you as you head to the front door.

You open it without checking, knowing that there were only two people in the world who knew where you lived now.

Namjoon and Seokjin are standing there with hands brimming with equipment.

“Come on in. The room’s mostly set-up now.”

They kick off their shoes somehow and scuffle towards the second bedroom that was mostly sparse beyond a desk holding your computer, a chair, and soundproofing foam panels on the walls. In the pair’s arms were the rest of the recording equipment you’d need to establish the room as your official workspace.

Namjoon mumbles that he can take care of the setup so you let Jin pull you to the tiny kitchen and put on some tea while you wait.

“So...how was your first night as an independent woman?” Seokjin asks while he pulls down your new mugs and turns on the kettle.

“...Alright, I guess. Quiet,” you murmur softly, putting bags in the cups.

He nods in understanding. You’d moved out of their place after staying there for nearly a month. You’d tried leaving earlier, but Seokjin and Namjoon had been adamant that you needed to stay and let them watch out for you for a little while before you decided. Personally, you’d suspected that they’d probably thought they were on suicide watch, but you were fine. Well, perhaps not fine, but nowhere near thinking about that kind of thing.

“I wasn’t sure if I was going to tell you or not, but you should know that Yoongi didn’t take it well,” he sighs and sets down his cup. “There was...a lot of yelling. A lot of...you know...him puffing up and getting angry at us to hide how devastated he was. He blamed us and said we were turning you against him and that setting up a studio in your apartment so you’d never have to see him again was obviously something that I came up with because you would never do that. He even started saying some stuff about how Namjoon was obviously using this as a chance to steal you away because of the tiny crush he had on you back when you all first met.”

“Oh, Jesus,” you huff and rub your eyes. “I’m sorry you had to deal with that. He’s...that’s just always been his fighting style. He zeros in on the one thing he can say that would hurt you the most and stabs you with it. Please don’t hold it against him.”

He reaches over and pets your hair softly. “I know. It’s...it’s going to take a while but he’s going to need us too when this starts to settle down a little more. Right now you are our priority because you’re the one that’s been wronged, but...he’s still our marshmallow Yoongichi and we’ll need to pick him up too. Even if we are incredibly disappointed in him. Both of them.”

You nod, closing your eyes. “He...did he look...bad?”

“Yeah, I’m not gonna lie. His clothes were all messed up and he’s gotten really skinny. Don’t think he’s eating much either. But...you don’t need to worry about that. That’s not your responsibility. He made his choices. Jimin made his choices. Now it’s time for you to have your turn.”

You nod silently, knowing he was right. That didn’t make it any easier.

It felt almost like you’d been in a trance since that night Yoongi had ordered you to leave. You remembered driving to Jin’s and sitting in their guestroom, staring at the ceiling blankly once your chest hurt too much to cry any longer.

When the knocking started, there had been one tiny spark of hope that Yoongi had finally come to his senses and was there to apologize. To drop to his knees and beg you to come back. That he would do anything…

But the high tones of Jimin’s begging squashed that final dream. Yoongi couldn’t even be bothered to come even now. He had to send Jimin to do the talking for him. And finally...FINALLY...you were overcome by rage.

No more. You were done.

You shook your head no to Namjoon’s silent question over whether he should let Jimin inside, and then you just stood there listening to him trying to talk through the door. He said some things that surprised you and some that didn’t. You’d known he was developing some sort of feeling for you - whether that was actually love or that he just liked having sex you didn’t know, and really you weren’t sure you cared anymore.

He’d managed to stick around for an hour, which had impressed you, but you hadn’t been surprised when he finally gave up and left. That had also been the last time you’d seen or heard from either of them. Yoongi hasn’t tried to call and you certainly weren’t going to be the one to beg for him to take you back. You had absolutely nothing to apologize for. You’d done nothing but love that man with everything you had - and it still hadn’t been good enough.

It was with that thought in mind that you essentially set up camp in the Kim household while you tried to figure out your next steps. They’d been kind enough to go get some of your belongings. Apparently, Jimin had cried while he helped them pack up enough for now and promised to have everything else ready for them to come back for later. Namjoon put you on official leave from work and with a few changes on social media you were now almost officially completely severed from your life with Yoongi. The house had been in his name, you’d never combined accounts, your car was your own. Honestly, it seemed almost too easy. Your lives were now entirely separate beyond the tears in your soul that would last forever.

Namjoon had convinced you to keep your job, promising that you could work from home and the company would cover the costs of converting your second room into a studio. It was incredibly indulgent on his part but you didn’t even think of turning him down. You loved your job and you definitely needed the financial comfort it would bring as you started over. The rest of the apartment was still kind of shabby since you’d been worrying about the studio first, but eventually, you’d get around to making it feel like a home.

Namjoon struts from the studio with a grin, wiping his hands together. “All done! Just waiting for you to set up passwords and stuff now. Kinda jealous now. Jin, can I set up a studio at home? I like the idea of working in my underwear.”

Seokjin scowls playfully. “Don’t even think about it.”

You huff lightly, but don’t miss the way they seemed to be discussing something with their eyes before they both turn to you.

“There’s...uh...something else that you should probably know. You might not want to know or care but we thought we should at least tell you,” Namjoon begins, his eyes constantly flitting between yours and Jin’s.

“Just tell me, Joon.”

“They, uh. Yoongi and Jimin, they...broke up? I guess. Don’t know the whole story yet but apparently, Jimin’s been staying in a hotel near the company. We’re all watching Yoongi closely to make sure history doesn’t repeat itself, but, yeah. Thought you should probably know,” Namjoon says quickly, cringing like he expected you to go on a rampage despite the fact that you never have before.

Instead, you simply scoff, because wasn’t that just perfect. All that pain you went through, all the fighting and sacrifices, and in the end, it was all for nothing.

“Are you okay?” Seokjin asks softly, bumping your shoulder with his.

You smile up at him, though it doesn’t meet your eyes. “I will be.”

******

“I can’t believe you’ve done this.”

You sigh angrily into your phone as you walk towards the cafe, wondering for the millionth time why you let Kim Seokjin order you around so much.

“It’s been six months, sweetie. It’s time and he perfect for you, I promise! He’ll be a drooling mess at your feet in no time.”

When you’d gotten ready for the café, you’d thought you were simply meeting your friend Jin for coffee and gossip, like usual. Only he’d called you when you were only a couple minutes away to inform you that it was actually a blind date. Surprise, bitch.

“Does he at least know why he’s there?”

“Of course! He was really excited too. Seems he’s had the hots for you for ages.”

You were thankful he couldn’t tease you for the blush on your cheeks. “No one calls it the hots anymore, grandpa.”

“Nevermind. Date canceled. I’m not saddling my Hobi Hobi with someone so disrespectful…”

“Calm down. Fuck, I’m not dressed for a date, Jinnie. I thought it was just going to be us so I’m just wearing jeans and a hoodie.”

“It’s not my fault you don’t dress up for me.”

You finally reach the café and stare at the sign like it would give you courage. “I can’t do this…”

“Breathe. You can. You have no reason to feel guilty or undeserving. I picked the best one I can find for you, but if it doesn’t work out that’s okay too. There is no pressure. All I want is for you to be happy.”

Your heart swelled, remembering that, oh yeah, this is why you kept Kim Seokjin around.

“I really love you a lot, you know that right? You are the best friend I could ever ask for.”

He chuckles happily. “I’ll remind you that you said that the next time you get mad at me. Good luck. Call me if you need to escape. Treat Hoseokie with care, too. He’s like one of those Gremlins. Don’t put him in water or anything high, and he turns into a weird sex demon after midnight.”

“Should I ask how you know that?”

“I know everything about everyone, my dear Y/N. Everything.”

You’d call him out on his bluff if you were more certain that it actually was one.

“Alright, I’m going in. Love you.”

“Love you. Be nice to Hoseok.”

You close the call and stuff your phone in your pocket, taking the chance to brush out any wrinkles and calm yourself. You just wished that you were wearing something cuter than a pink hoodie that you were pretty sure belonged to Jin at one point. At least your converse were pink to match and you’d done your hair.

You enter the café, the stupid little bell making everyone’s heads turn toward you like you weren’t nervous enough. You think you spot the guy in question sitting next to a window, but you buy yourself some time with getting your drink first, peeking at him out of the corner of your eye.

It wasn’t that you didn’t know him at all, you’d just never really talked to him. He worked at the company as a choreographer so naturally, you’ve seen him around. It was merely that producers like you were usually goblins that cooped themselves up in their studios and didn’t really get around to meeting everyone. It was impossible to not notice Hoseok though. Beyond the fact that he was handsome, he was also incredibly bright. Both inside and outside. You were sure you’d seen every color of the rainbow on his head at some point, and it was currently a flattering shade of orange that not many could pull off.

Once you had your drink in hand, you turn and head towards the table. Hoseok is already standing to greet you, his smile wide and unabashed, and you finally begin to feel the first tingles of excitement. And maybe a few nervous butterflies.

“Hi, Hoseok,” you smile shyly and sit when he gestures to a chair, trying not to laugh when he nearly tumbles trying to sit back down.

“Hello!” he practically yells, and you finally notice that he just might be nervous too. He clears his throat and tries again. “Hi. Thanks for coming.”

“Yeah, I...uh. I’m going to be honest - I only knew this was happening a few minutes ago. I thought I was meeting Jin,” you smile awkwardly, chuckling.

He cringes and seems to droop before your very eyes. “Oh, sorry. I...I don’t want this to be a forced thing. I’ll just...uh. See you around?”

He gets up to leave and you’re not sure what makes you grab his jean jacket to stop him.

“No, please. Stay? I...I’m going to be bad at this because it’s been a long time but...I can try?”

His smile is the happiest thing you’ve ever seen in your life. “Yeah? Okay. Alright, let’s do this.”

You laugh and settle back into your seat, watching him as he does the same. He’s so expressive and vocal as he starts telling you a story about his day (one of his new kids fell and made the other ones fall like dominos and now his best dancer was out with a sprained ankle). He asked questions about your life, your interests, asked about your work. He was so beautiful and yet he looked at you like you were something awe-inspiring. It had been a long time since anyone had seemed so genuinely interested in you. Before you knew it an hour had flown by and your stomach was beginning to hurt from laughing so much.

“So, I was thinking if I hadn’t scared you off yet, maybe you’d be willing to continue this date? But like, somewhere else because if I drink another cup of tea I’m going to burst,” Hoseok wrinkled his nose and sent you a shy smile, a single tiny dimple poking out.

“I’d like that,” you grin, surprised yet again that you actually meant it. That you were actually excited to spend more time with him. “Maybe we could just walk around for a while and talk. There’s a park across the street and lots of people play music and stuff. And then maybe you could take me dancing tonight. Show off those moves you keep bragging about.”

Where had this confident woman come from?

Thankfully, his grin widens and he nods eagerly. “That sounds perfect. But first...little boys room. Be right back.”

You giggle and settle back into your see as you watch him scurry frantically to the bathrooms - no surprise since he’d downed three cups of peppermint tea. You turn to observe the room to pass the time and that’s when you spot him.

He’s standing near the pick-up counter with an iced americano in his hand, the condensation and half-melted ice suggesting he’d been there for a while. His haunted gaze is locked right on you and you meet it even as your stomach clenches with a myriad of emotions.

Six months. Such a short time in the grand scheme of things but still so long since you’d last seen him. He’s as beautiful as ever, even if he’s obviously been losing weight that he didn’t need to and his lounging around the house clothes he was wearing in public gave off the IDGAF vibe.

Yoongi seems to finally come to a decision as he saunters closer, eyes wide and unblinking like he’s afraid if he looks away for a single second you’ll disappear. He finally reaches your table and you fight the instinct to make a run for it.

“Hey,” he says softly, his hand clenching tightly enough around his drink to make the plastic crinkle.

“Hey,” you answer softly, unsure of what else to say.

“You look beautiful,” he continues with a soft tone like he’s speaking to a spooked rabbit. Perhaps he was.

“Thanks.”

He nods silently, continuing to stare. “So...you’re on a date with Hoseok?”

“Uh...yeah,” you swallow nervously. “Blind date. Seokjin set it up.”

He nods again and licks his lips. “Yeah? That’s...good. Hoseok’s a good guy.”

“Yeah. He seems nice.”

“Yeah.”

“You’re...doing okay?” You’re not sure what prompted you to ask. Perhaps there will always be a part of you that worries about him - you already know that there’s always going to be a part of your soul that belongs to him.

He shrugs, “Alright. You?”

“Yeah. I’m good. Have an apartment and going to counseling.”

He flinches as if you’d just slapped him. “Sorry.”

“It’s not just...because of you or what happened. It’s, you know, the past and all that too. Just needed to work things out. I think it’s helping. Maybe...maybe you could try it too.”

“Maybe,” he responds noncommittally, his eyes finally falling to the floor. “I miss you.”

Your heartbeat quickens. “Yeah. I miss you too.”

“Do you think...maybe we could try…”

You cut him off before he can even finish that sentence. “No.”

That was maybe too harsh because he looked like he wanted to melt into the floor straight to hell.

“I...will always miss you. And a part of me will probably always love the Yoongi I had before, but no. I don’t quite have the gift of words that you do, but I just know that we weren’t right for each other. I mean, I was technically just a very long rebound before you got your chance with Jimin again, in the end.”

“That’s not how it was. I loved you. I love you,” he grits out, his eyes taking on a steely edge as he looked back up.

“Yeah. I know you did, just maybe not the right way. And I loved you, but I let you bulldoze over me. So maybe we could have been good, but you got greedy and I needed to learn to not be a doormat.”

He nods and once again looks like a kicked puppy.

You sigh and tap on the table nervously. “But for those years that we were together - I will always love that Yoongi. I will look back and remember that once upon a time there was a man and a woman who were crazy in love and built a home together. Who had dreams of building a lifetime together. I will hope that Yoongi has a happy life and that he finds what he needs. That he can find a companion who makes him want to fight for what they have together.”

The tears streaming down his cheeks make you pause, realizing you’re fighting back some of your own.

“I love you, Min Yoongi. But you weren’t right for me. Now it’s time for me to find my place in this world. Maybe Hoseok is it, maybe he isn’t. I’d like to think I don’t need another person to help me feel complete. Whatever it is, I’m learning how to speak up and fight for myself. I hope you can learn to be happy for me.”

He nods, sniffling. “Whatever you want. I just...I just wanted you to know. I love you. I really did. And...I’m sorry. For what I did. I’m sorry I hurt you. I’m sorry I hurt Jimin. Do you think...you’ll ever want to at least talk to me?”

“I don’t know yet. Maybe someday. I don’t think you’re ready.”

“Okay. I’ll be here.”

“Yeah. I...you have to go home now, Yoongi. I’m on a date.”

His watery eyes widen again, and he nods slowly. “Right, yeah. Sorry. Again. And...please. Call me or whatever if you ever need anything. I...won’t expect anything else. Just know that I’m here if you need someone. Can I ask for that, at least?”

You nod, “Yeah. Thank you, Yoongi. I’ll...see you around.”

He gulps and backs up. “Yeah, see you, Y/N.”

He turns swiftly and practically jogs towards the entrance while you try to memorize what could be your last glimpse of the man you once loved.

“Everything okay?”

You jump and your eyes fly over to meet the sympathetic ones of Hoseok.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you. I saw him talking to you and thought it was best to let you have privacy. Was that okay?”

“Yeah,” you sigh. “He just wanted to talk. And...it was good. I think I finally feel a little more closure.”

“So...I’m not like a rebound, right? Like, I know that you guys were dating and I heard some of it from Seokjin but...”

“Uh...you’re the first time I’m trying to actually date since Yoongi. If that clears things up a bit,” you answer with a blush. You were not about to go into detail about those couple months of desperate hookups you’d used to try and gain your confidence back before you’d started therapy.

Thankfully, he seems to not mind that bit of news judging by the wicked grin that paints his lips. “Oh?”

“Shut up,” you growl, playfully swatting him.

He chuckles and reaches out a hand to you. “Do you still feel up to continuing our date? If not, I’ll totally understand and we can reschedule. I’ll only cry and stress-eat a tiny bit, I promise.”

You snort and accept his hand, letting him help you up. In a moment of bravery, you lace your arm in his and tug him towards the entrance.

“Just you try to get away from me now, Jung Hoseok.”

He giggles and lets you lead the way, both of you exiting the café and feeling hopeful about the future.

#bts #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #tuqburni #solastia #bts angst

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girlfriendsofthegalaxy · 2 years

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documenting the current state of the lair bc i will miss this place, the office will be one of the last things to be packed but i realized almost nothing in this weird office nook was bought new on purpose. bolded is shit i bought new. if u keep ur head on a swivel and beg borrow and steal eventually you will have a serviceable patchwork workspace. i need a wider and longer desk but that’s a problem for future me

chair + PC + webcam + headphones + air purifier: scammed out of work

enamel top table: craigslist, same sale as the kitchen table and chairs ($50?)

dented pink garbage can: stolen from my housemate two houses ago

black fake anglepoise lamp: stolen from same housemate

filing cabinet that holds tools: salvation army ($10, i don’t want to talk about how much the tools inside cost)

brass fake anglepoise lamp: amazon ($40?)

pillow: friendsmas gift

milk crate foot rest: stolen from my dad who stole it from my mom when they got married, my grandpa probably stole it at some point from a local dairy

spider plant: stolen cutting from umass

birdsnest fern, air plant: Home Depot ($6 total?)

baby Boston fern: gift from my sister

carnival glass goblet: uhhh idk probably a thrift store in high school?

my diplomas and a postcard from the museum of sex are usually hanging up but they’re packed bc i would prefer not to dox myself, did have to buy new frames so they all matched (i don’t want to talk about how much my degree cost)

posters, out of sight of webcam

maplesoft, APS: freebies

space tourism, think galactic: justseeds ($20 total?)

desktop

moon map keyboard mat: Etsy ($25)

blue apple keyboard: fished out of a dumpster at umass

drawn and quarterly hardcover serving as a monitor stand: goodwill

round brass enamel-topped stag box what holds my dice for ttrpgs: goodwill? along with the carnival glass this is something ive had since high school

planner: moleskine; stickers; Etsy ($30 total?)

mug: gift from a friend i dropped and glued back together bc im a sentimental bitch

mouse, monitors, backlights: scammed out of work

out of sight, a little 3D printed clippy thing that keeps charging and headphone cords up off the floor, scammed out of the makerspace

the step-button extension cord that turns on and off all the backlights and the black anglepoise lights at once: did have to buy this one myself ($10)

#frames are the home decor thing i spend the most money on i think #and i buy very cheap ones #i do want them to mostly match and it’s been hard to hit up thrift stores lately for weird sizes #evil lair llc #we r gonna see if i can scam a gamer chair out of work bc i think we have an extra lying around #and this one has well reached the end of its useful life #the arm is missing on purpose i have discovered i prefer an armless or one armed chair #i refuse to do a house tour bc i hate how my voice sounds so this is what happens instead

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ashintheairlikesnow · 3 years

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Vince and Nat bonding time? can we have what that’d theoretically look like? their friendship interests me

When she opens the door, it's eight a.m., overcast, and Vincent Shield is wearing sunglasses. He leans against the doorframe, head resting on the ancient, warm brown wood, giving her a half-cocked smile that is as much an act as any of the smiles in his films. "Hey."

"Good morning, Vince." Nat's exhale isn't quite a sigh, but only because she holds back her quiet disappointment through sheer willpower. "You want to tell me why you're on my front porch?"

"Not really. Can I come in?"

"Vince-"

"I already know Kauri's not here, I checked with Jake first. Please? Just a cup of coffee for the road?"

The tone of his voice, very slightly wheedling, is entirely too much like Kauri. Nat steps back, gesturing him inside, and watches him walk in in shoes that cost more than a mortgage payment. She tries not to think about what his entire outfit - casual white shirt, black jeans, black jacket - must cost, to look so carefree. How tailored it must be to look like it isn't tailored at all.

"Thanks," He says, slightly shy, and Nat can't fight her smile. For all that they aren't that far apart in age - at least, not as far apart as she is from most of the people she interacts with on a daily basis - he still has something boyish and young about him. As if some part of him is still frozen in time.

"I'll pour your coffee," Nat says, walking briskly back to the kitchen, Vince at her heels. Upstairs she can hear Chris, muffled, humming a happy tuneless sound as he plays some videogame Jake bought for him, and Antoni is in the backyard with a book. With Jake gone for classes all day and Kauri gone... wherever it is Kauri goes - and without Krista and Leila living in the house any longer - it's a quiet, calm morning.

Except, of course, for the sudden appearance of Vincent Shield.

He takes a seat, but he doesn't take off his sunglasses, and Nat knows what she'd see if he did - red-rimmed eyes, bleary from his hangover, darkened with circles underneath from lack of sleep. He and Kauri might as well be twins.

"Okay, Vince," Nat says, setting his coffee down in front of him, a little green mug with a raccoon painted on it and EAT TRASH LIVE FOREVER written on the side that Nat had seen in a thrift store once and simply been unable to refuse. She takes her own - in a thermos, keeping it hot as she repeatedly forgets it in every single room she enters all day long - and sits down across from him. "Why don't you tell me why you're here?"

"You live here," Vince says, feigning light-heartedness, taking a slow sip. "Oh, hot."

"Yeah, freshly brewed coffee will be that," Nat replies, voice dry.

He laughs, not the laughter he's known for in his films, but his own natural laugh - much quieter and softer. "Fair enough. Honestly, I was just in the area-"

Nat raises an eyebrow. "You're a multi-millionaire. You were not simply just in my neighborhood."

He pauses. "I was nearby the area?"

"You live three hours away and there is literally nothing in this city you would ever need to do."

There's a long silence, and Vince drinks his coffee like it's a liferaft in the middle of the ocean. Nat doesn't look away from him, waiting him out. Just outside the window, she hears a bird singing. The kitchen light is yellowed, but warm, and it's peaceful even if she is interrogating someone who absolutely isn't her responsibility.

But he is her friend. As weird as that is.

"Last night was... bad," Vince says finally, shoulders slumping a little. He gives up on the last of the act, leaning forward to rest his arms on the table, head in one hand. "I was up too fucking early and I started driving and somehow I drove here."

"From your house?" Nat whistles, long and low, when he nods. "Damn, Vince. Why here?"

"I don't know. I just-... I guess I just needed to be somewhere where there's life, you know? When I'm not working, all I do is work out and sit around my house thinking too much, and I just. I keep thinking... I just kept thinking about-... Owen."

"Yeah." Nat's voice is soft. "I figured. You can't drink him away, Vince."

Vince gives that soft rare laugh again. "I know. But I keep trying anyway. Can I just... stay here, for a while? Just for a couple of hours, then I'll leave again. Just. Can you just talk to me?"

Nat looks down into her coffee cup, then back up at him. "I can't run errands with a movie star, Vince."

"Sure you can. I'll put on a hat and change into somebody's clothes, nobody'll even know it's me. Hell, last time I was here I went to a bar and like four people thought I was Kauri."

It's Nat's turn to laugh, then. "This might be the only place where in the world where you get mistaken for him. Okay. I've got some things I need to do, you can come along if you want. We'll have lunch somewhere. Do you want to talk about what you were thinking about last night? About Owen Grant?"

He shakes his head so fast his hair moves with it, and Nat has to hold back her sigh again. "No, thanks. The less I say about Owen, the better."

Maybe not, Nat thinks. But she just tips her coffee mug to her lips again.

#vincent shield is not a hero #vince asks #alcoholism tw #trauma survivor tw #abuse survivor tw #referenced past abuse #whump #whump oc #caretaker and whumpee #oh vince

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keelywolfe · 3 years

Text

FIC: Knick Knack Paddy Whack (BAON)

Summary: As far as Stretch is concerned, there's only one solution when you're addicted to thrift stores. Selling all the crap you bought so you can buy more!

Notes: Stepping outside of the main storyline for a moment, we'll get back to the aftermath we're all expecting in a moment. 😁

Tags: Spicyhoney, Established Relationships, Domestic Fluff

Part of the ‘by any other name’ series.

~~*~~

Read it on AO3

Read it here!

~~*~~

Stretch was a bonafide thrift-a-holic, he honestly was, and he knew it. It was an important thing to know about yourself, really, because certain problems arose from bad case of oooh-shiny-itis.

Sure, one ceramic zombie hand thrusting up from the dresser to hold his rings and change was an awesome thing to behold, but an entire collection of zombie hands was a tough sell to the person you were living with, especially if that person was Edge. Not that he’d managed to find a collection of zombie hands and if he had, that thrift store would have been on the weekly check list, for sure. But the same premise applied to ‘zombie hand plus an entire horde of other bizarre ceramics surrounding it’.

Stretch wasn’t bitter about the limitations when it came to his collection, nah, he got it. There were certain things you couldn’t ask for from the person you love, and a house filled up with weird tchotchkes that looked like they belonged to the grandmother of the chainsaw massacre family was a step too far. Plus, asking Edge for more space would be unfair. He’d either agree because he didn’t want to tell Stretch no, or he’d say no and feel bad about it. Nah, the set of porcelain dragons playing instruments in a rock band he’d found wasn’t that important, not if it gave Edge a case of the guilts.

Problem was, Stretch really couldn’t resist sometimes. How was he supposed to turn away a wedding painting of Yoda and Kermit the frog? Or a coffee mug with a penguin orgy on it? He couldn’t, that’s how, but his allotted space was filling up in the house proper and soon he’d started to amass quite the collection in his lab, too. It was when the overflow expanded enough to start infringing on his erlenmeyer flasks that he decided he needed a new strategy. Science waited for no one and definitely not anything with the word ‘taxidermy’ included.

That’s when Stretch came up with the plan. Okay, it wasn’t a plan, exactly, more like a flash in the pants of brief inspiration, but hell, he’d been flying by on those his entire life, why stop now?

One of the places he frequented was an antique mall, which was a fancy way of saying one rung on the ladder above actual thrift store, except they rented stalls for people to sell their stuff, so maybe it was more like a glorified garage sale. People carted in their junk for other people to buy and the cashier up front handled all the transactions. Minimal time, minimal effort, that was exactly what he and his kitsch needed, so Stretch went ahead and rented a stall of his own.

The not-exactly-a-plan worked out pretty well. He could buy something at the thrift shop and proudly display it for a while around the house, and then when it came time to replace it with a new find, he’d add it to his stall and whatever money came from it, he donated to the local kid’s charity that the Antique Mall supported. That meant he got in his kicks and joy without looking like a prequel to a Hoarders episode and Edge only had to deal with the octopus tentacle ashtray for a few weeks.

Seriously, it was a win-win all the way around.

A few things did take up permanent residence, of course; he couldn’t give up his zombie hand. But so long as it wasn’t a clown, (clowns were disposed of by Edge immediately and with great prejudice), he was allowed things like his nested Matryoshka dolls of Nicolas Cages for a time.

About once a week he went down to add new things to his stall, mostly during the weekday hours when the buses were on the empty side and he could take up an extra seat with his box of additions. It wasn’t exactly a secret, Andy came along a few times to help, but he never really mentioned it to Edge. Not until today when Stretch realized he’d let things go a little too long and he had some extra boxes to haul down.

Better to take care of it while he was thinking about it, otherwise it tended to turn into an endless cycle of ‘oh, I should do that today’ and him forgetting, but aside from the extra lugging required, it was also Saturday and the bus would be loaded. Hitching a ride would be required, plus a little extra muscle, and his husband was his favorite source for both.

He found Edge in the kitchen, sitting at their temporary table with his laptop and yeah, it was Saturday, time to drag him away from whatever bullshit work he was doing. Stretch put on his best wheedling face and asked, “babe? can you give me a lift today?”

“Of course.” Edge didn’t look up, what a total waste of Stretch’s beguiling charms. His gloved fingertips were soft against the keyboard as he finished whatever he was typing before glancing up at Stretch, and maybe his schmoozing wasn’t entirely wasted; the way Edge closed the lid on his laptop spoke of a guilty conscious for working on his day off. “Where are we going?”

“downtown,” Stretch tucked his hands into his pockets and rocked on his heels. “i need to hit up my junk and disorderly shop.”

That got him a pause, “Your what?”

“heh, you’ll see.” Stretch curled a finger at Edge in a ‘come hither’ motion that his husband didn’t follow, only watched suspiciously. “c’mon, i need you to help me carry some stuff.”

“This ride is starting to sound less like transport and more like a chore.” But Edge followed him to the basement for the boxes, and, surprise surprise, his willingness to help went up a few notches from wary to eager when he figured out what Stretch was doing. Eh, couldn’t blame him. At the top of the pile was a plush frog with the top hat that played ‘hello my baby’ whenever you pushed on its foot, something Red did every single time he walked past it, plus anytime he’d felt like shortcutting in for a quick press. Time to let it damage the sanity of another family.

The boxes were tossed into the trunk of Edge’s car, frog and all, and soon they were on the road, heading downtown. Truth be told, Stretch wasn’t sure what Edge would make of the place. He tolerated thrift stores well enough, but the antique mall was a different kind of beast. An entire building of obscure collections cluttered together into eclectic displays that others were trying to barter and sell.

There were stalls filled with milk crates of old records, shelves and shelves of antique glassware and dishes. Some stalls had vintage clothing, feathery boas mixed in with disco pants and ruffled aprons. Old instruments, rusty farm equipment, strange kitchen gadgets that looked more dangerous than useful, this place had everything and then some.

Plus, the mall had a certain sort of smell, a musty, dusty scent verging on decay that settled into the sinuses and hung around for a while. Stretch thought it was the smell of a life well-lived and he kinda liked it; after years of thrifting, he associated it with finding treasures, but who knew if Edge felt the same. His tastes in smells (heh) ran more to clean and green, not old-timey funk. Could be it reminded him of shower mildew.

Whatever his opinion of the odors, Edge kept it to himself. He helped with the box carrying and checked out Stretch’s stall curiously but didn’t say much. Probably recognized the stuff on the shelves as having once been on a table or Stretch’s nightstand, until the glee wore off and it ended up gathering dust in the basement. He wandered off at some point, heading into the depths of the mall, and left Stretch to restock his meagre wares.

It took longer than he’d expected. Since he’d opened up his stall, not everything Stretch found thrifting found its way into the house proper anymore. Some of it he bought as a straight-to-video option and he was getting pretty good at finding interesting doodads at the thrifty places that might sell better here, location, location, location, that was the ticket.

Stretch always priced his junk reasonably, usually not much more than he’d paid for it. Wasn’t like he needed the money, and besides, Stretch knew himself pretty damn well, therapy did that to a guy. At the end of the day, he knew what this was really about; all an elaborate scheme to satisfy the inner packrat in his soul that struggled sometimes with giving things away.

Bartering had been built in him before he could say the word; in the Underground, he’d gotten damn good at getting deals for what he could scrounge at the dump. This was the same thing, really, just with slightly different stakes. Dinner wasn’t riding on his latest stash of dvds anymore, always a plus, and these days he could simply look at the empty shelves, content in the knowledge that his Smeagol cardboard cutout had found a new home.

Hey, therapy wasn’t the only way to work out a few kinks in your internal lines.

When the last box was emptied, Stretch wandered up to the front desk to give the lady who ran the front register his new inventory list. That was when he heard it.

There was an old piano up front with a sign on it that said, ‘Do not ‘play’ if you cannot play’. Most of the time it sat silently but someone up there was giving it a good try today. The notes were slower, with obvious hesitations as the player searched for the correct keys, but the song was one Stretch knew. Gently melancholy, a match to the cautious playing.

His curiosity piqued, Stretch wandered over to watch and he wasn’t entirely surprised to see Edge sitting on the piano bench, his attention on his hands as he slowly played. It was a tough choice between watching him play and simply listening to the song and Stretch found himself trying to do both. The uncertain skill in hands he knew so well as they coaxed the music free.

When the last note faded, a faint smattering of applause came from the different stalls around them. Stretch waited for it to end before sitting on the bench next to Edge.

Quietly, Stretch said, “i didn’t know you played.”

“I don’t,” Edge said. He smoothed a hand over the keys, not pressing down, simply touching them. “Not really. I can’t read music, but I know a song or two by rote. A friend of mine pushed me to memorize them.”

Welp, Stretch didn’t have to ask what friend, now did he. An old friend back in another world, and people weren’t replaceable even if they wore the same face. He didn’t say anything, didn’t need to; Stretch understood in a way only a few people could, and he settled a hand on Edge’s leg, squeezing his knee gently.

“that was really good,” Stretch offered, “you have a good memory, babe.”

“Some of my memories are better than others,” Edge said. The words were more contemplative than sorrowful, and he didn’t look at Stretch, only touched the back of his hand briefly with his gloved fingertips. “You tend to feature in the best ones, love.”

He reached for the keys again and started to play. The song was more confident this time, bright and cheery, with only the occasional missed note. A handful of other people drifted over, some pausing to watch and some moving on, going about their day with a song to carry them along.

Stretch only tapped his toes and listened as Edge played, more than willing to let him go on until he was ready to stop. If Edge wanted to take a brief dive into the past, then the antique mall was a place for it, where memories and times past mingled with the present.

Besides, a new memory to take home was better than any knickknack.

-fin

Note: The first song Edge was playing was 'Clair de Lune' by Debussy and the second was 'The Entertainer' by Scott Joplin. In case you were wondering. 😁

#spicyhoney #papcest #keelywolfe #underfell #underswap #underfell papyrus #underswap papyrus #by any other name

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mollymauk-teafleak · 4 years

Text

where you go I'm going

My very first ThanZag fic!! It’s Modern AU and its soft and it has Mort!!

Huge thanks to @minky-for-short who this fic is written for and also to my girlfriend @spiky-lesbian who knows absolutely nothing about this game but her review was ‘SOFT BOYS’

Please consider reblogging and leaving a comment!

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Thanatos finds himself moving into his boyfriend's cramped little apartment with all its leaky pipes and street corner furniture and damp.

It's going to be a bit of an adjustment.

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When they had announced they were moving in together, everyone had automatically assumed they’d be moving into Thanatos’ place. His neat, well kept, painstakingly decorated apartment in the heart of the city with it’s sunken living room and immense kitchen and windows that opened up onto a stunning vista of the skyline, all of it near new and barely used. Plenty of room for both of them, everything they could need, people didn’t think to ask and simply assumed that they would be starting their lives together there.

Thanatos had rather assumed the same.

But here he was, standing in the closest thing he had to casual clothes, surrounded by cardboard boxes into which his neat, well kept life had been hastily bundled, looking around the battered, cramped little apartment his boyfriend owned and trying to think of it as home.

His home. Their home.

Zag was darting around the place, full of energy as he always was when he got nervous, trying to help Than unpack but making a rather bad job of it. The moving truck had left half an hour ago and already two mugs had been broken and they’d bumped into each other six times, with less than one box worth of stuff actually being put away.

Not that Than was paying much attention. He was moving through the shoebox of an apartment, with it’s tiny kitchen and the living room with the sagging, patchy leather couch that he knew Zag got off a street corner, the bathroom barely big enough for one person let alone two, the bedroom that had less than an inch of space around the double bed Than had bought. Or, rather, it would when they finally got around to putting it together.

He got back to where he’d started in less than twenty paces. Standing inside this claustrophobic chaos, Thanatos took a very slow, very careful sigh.

“You’re not happy, are you?”

Than turned to see his boyfriend standing in his- their- bedroom doorway, finally stopped and, in doing so, letting his anxiety catch up with him and show clearly on his face.

Thanatos chided himself sharply and moved towards Zagreus, cupping his face in his hands. He was perpetually cold and Zag always ran a few degrees hotter than usual so, together, they were always perfect. They always gave each other what they needed.

“I am deliriously, completely happy, Zagreus,” Than murmured softly, surprising himself with how much he meant the words, “And that is because I am getting to share more of my life with you.”

“But we should have gone to your place, this was a ridiculous idea,” Zag sighed but they’d had this conversation before and Than knew what to say.

He’d not always felt that with Zagreus, as their relationship had shifted awkwardly from childhood friends to what they had now, as the words had stuck in their throats and refused to come. But now he could hardly remember a time when he hadn’t loved this man with all his heart and he hadn’t felt completely himself around him. Not Death, not the son of Nyx, not the Reaper. Just Thanatos. Than, even.

“It will take some adjustment,” he smiled and kissed his forehead, “But I know just how much this place means to you. It’s your freedom, it’s your independence. I know how hard you fought to break away from your father and I...well, I’m just glad you brought me along.”

Finally Zag relaxed into his hand and a smile tugged at his lips, “Could argue that you followed me…”

Than chuckled, “The one time I ever broke the rules and look where it’s got me.”

Zag laughed with him, his eyes lighting up with a new frantic energy, a happy one this time. He responded to most emotions like a child who’d had too much sugar.

“Come on, I think I’ve figured out how I can fit your insanely big mug collection into the cupboard,” he was already off, dragging boxes out and ripping them open, “Or books! We could start on your books, I know you have that weird system…”

“It’s the Dewey Decimal System, Zagreus, libraries have been using it for centuries…” Than rolled his eyes, aware that his boyfriend wasn’t really listening, allowing himself to be pulled along in Zag’s rushing currents as always.

They worked quite happily for a while, Zag kicking his old radio to life and blasting some cheesy classics that somehow made the job more bearable when you sang along to them. For hours they sorted through the boxes, pulling out things Than had forgotten he even owned, finding the strange and amusing ways their very different personalities and very different lives fit together.

Before too long the closet was stuffed with alternating neat pinstripe suits and gym clothes, expensive black peacoats and hoodies plucked from thrift stores with incomprehensible slogans printed on them. There was suddenly more than two plates in the kitchen and more than one fork, knife and even spoons of different sizes. The edge of the bath held a neat regiment of seek products, each with a specific role in putting the physical embodiment of Death together, crowding out the bottle of five-in-one soap with the peeling label.

They were finally on to the bedroom, Than having wrestled Zag into at least tackling the rooms one by one. Putting the bed together was proving a real challenge, Than had been squinting at the instructions for ages and was one more unidentifiable screw away from calling Aphrodite and getting her to put Hephaestus on the phone, however insulting he’d find the request. He’d lasted longer than Zag, at least, who’d moved off to poke through the last few boxes.

Than was wondering why he could only count six bed slats when he was meant to have ten when he heard Zag gasp and burst into delighted laughter.

“What?” he frowned at him over his square rimmed glasses.

“Look who it is!” Zag cackled, turning and holding out what at first looked like a tattered scrap of cloth covered in dust but Than’s cheeks immediately flamed.

“I...look, I meant to throw him out a while ago but…”

“It’s Mort!” Zag was beaming wildly, holding the little felt mouse up like a trophy, “Gods, I haven’t seen him in ages, I had no clue you still had him.”

“Um...neither did I…” Than spluttered, well aware that he was a terrible liar when it came to Zagreus.

He was about as fooled as he expected him to be, tsking playfully and wagging his finger, “No, no, no. I remember how much you loved this little guy when we were kids, you’d carry him around everywhere! Oh! Did you still sleep with him all tucked up under your arm? Do you still take him in the bath and cry when he gets wet?”

“You sleep in my bed with me, asshole! And we’ve bathed together,” Than made a grab for him but Zag was quicker, he always had been.

“Aw, looks like I have some competition for your affections then, eh darling? Aren’t you just the sweetest, little god of Death still playing with his childhood toy...”

“My mother made him for me!” Than finally burst out, cheeks redder and voice louder than he’d meant, “Of course I kept him! Now stop acting like a jerk and give him back!”

Zag froze, his teasing chased away from his face instantly. Meekly he dropped the arm holding Mort and let Than snatch him back, silent as his boyfriend turned his shoulder and hunched down sulkily.

“I...I’m really sorry,” Zag said quietly after a moment’s awkward silence, “I thought I was just playing with you but...I went too far, I’m sorry I upset you. I remember how important he was to you.”

“Well…” Than swallowed, face still smouldering, “It is foolish. To still have him around I mean.”

“Aw, no love, come on…” Zag slid closer, putting an arm around his shoulders, “What, you’re going to start listening to me all of a sudden. I’m an idiot!”

“You are,” Than murmured, finding himself coaxed up out of his sulk, “But you’re mine.”

That made him chuckle happily, stealing a kiss to the inch of his cheek he’d revealed, “And it is so cute that you still have Mort. I mean that, I really do. You’re adorable and a little soft and that’s completely okay.”

“Well. As long as it doesn’t leak into my work.”

He wasn’t looking at Zag’s face but he could tell he was rolling his eyes.

“Hey,” he tucked a strand of white hair away to kiss Than’s ear, “Remember that time you really did lose him? When we were six years old?”

Than smiled coyly, “I do. You missed your bedtime and got yourself grounded going off to look for him just so I would stop crying. Everyone else had given up but...you didn’t.”

“I didn’t,” Zag hummed, kissing just below his ear now, then lower, then lower, down his neck, pulling back the shoulder of his jumper to get at his shoulder, “I don’t give up, not when it concerns you, my dear.”

Than sighed, muscles unwinding under Zag’s lips, “Love, you might notice we don’t have a bed yet so I’m not sure where you think this is going?”

“Ah, my cherished parter...” Zag rumbled, hands slipping down to gently put Mort to one side and give him access to his boyfriend’s lap.

Than found himself being turned, his back pressed to the floor, felt a crooked grin blooming on his face as Zag threw his leg over him and bent low until their noses were brushing.

“I think we can manage, eh?” his boyfriend purred.

Afterwards, Than sat up and stretched the kinks out of his shoulders, sighing in satisfaction.

Zag stayed on the floor, his head pillowed on the jumper his boyfriend had been wearing as he sprawled out contentedly, eyes drinking in the play of Than’s muscles, “I really am happy you’re here, my love.”

“I’m happy to be here,” Than looked back at him with a soft, loving smile, lightly brushing one cheek with his fingertips, “I think I understand what you mean when you talk about how free it makes you, finding your own place. It feels like everything’s started again. And this time it will be better.”

“It will be,” Zag caught his hand and kissed his knuckles.

An idea came to Than then and an easy kind of certainty settled over him. He reached over and snagged Mort where he’d fallen to one side as they’d become more occupied in each other.

“Here,” he smiled, holding his cherished childhood toy out to Zagreus, “Here, I want you to have him.”

“What?” Zag blinked, not understanding. He pulled himself into a sitting position, “Mort is yours, you love him.”

“And I love you,” Than still held him out, “So I want him to be yours now. You’ve given me a place here, in the only space that had ever really been your own and...well, this seems like a good way to repay you.”

“You don’t have to repay me!” Zag insisted, shaking his head, “I mean, gods, you’re going to be putting up with me twenty four seven-”

“Gladly,” Than cut across him, knowing the thoughts in his boyfriend’s mind would grow too loud if he let them, “I will do it gladly, Zagreus. Please, he’s yours now.”

Chuckling softly, Zag relented and took Mort gently. He held the battered old toy with a kind of tenderness, brushing some dust from his ear, “Thank you, Than. I promise I’ll look after him.”

“Well,” Than smirked playfully, “I’ll still see him every day and I will check.”

“Oh, I’d expect nothing less, my love.”

When they eventually did get the bed put together, a longer time later than either of them would ever admit, Mort would take pride of place in the centre of it.

Than would see him nearly every day with his happy stitched smile and, when he did, he would think of the apartment he’d left behind. All it’s expensive minimalist furniture, it’s sleek metal and black leather and unlived in neatness.

And Thanatos wouldn’t miss it in the slightest. He knew he was home.

#thanzag #hades #thanatos #zagreus #modern au #moving in #fluff #some light smut #would love some feedback!!#please reblog and comment #requests always open too #wanna write more of these boys

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triptuckers · 4 years

Text

Lover of mine - Calum Hood

Song: Lover of mine Pairing: Calum Hood x reader Summary: Based off the lyrics of lom Warnings: none except for this isn't proof read so probably full of mistakes Word count: 1.4k A/N: the lyrics “when I take a look at my life, and all of my crimes, you’re the only thing that I think I got right” is probably in my top 10 of all time favourite 5sos lyrics. and it should be in yours too. lol enjoy reading! :)

On the sixth day after you left, the guilt and sadness within Calum is eating him away like never before. The apartment is quiet. Your laughter has faded, as has your singing. Calum can’t dance with you anymore when the two of you can’t sleep.

He’s lost you before, but you always made it work. Always come back to each other. But there’s something that just feels different this time. Maybe it was the fact he didn’t expect it this time. One day he just came home and you were gone. Took a bag or two with your belongings and just left.

Calum hates it. The silence of your absence. And he blames himself. Though he isn’t sure why you left this time, he blames himself. The past few days he’s been overthinking, not eating well. He can’t imagine life without you.

He wanders around the apartment. Looking at your favourite mug that’s on the kitchen counter. You found it in a tiny thrift store when you joined the boys on tour. The flowers on it caught your eye and Calum had bought it for you. You left in on the counter and Calum doesn’t have the heart to put it away. It is as if he’s erasing that you ever lived in the apartment. And Calum is not ready for that reality just yet.

For way too long, he stares at the mug. The longer he looks at it, the more the guilt inside of him grows. He needs to get you back. Or at least try to. He cannot live without you, and the past few days have been proof of that.

Without a plan, he grabs his keys and leaves the apartment, for the first time in days. He gets in his car and mindlessly drives around the area. It isn't until he recognises the street name, Calum realises he drove to Michael’s place without thinking about it. Maybe Michael could talk some sense into him. He parks his car and gets out. They’re not working on an album, since they all agreed to take some days off, so he must be home.

Calum knocks on the door and a few seconds later it opens to reveal Michael. ‘Calum!’ he says, a bit shocked. ‘Didn’t expect you here.’ ‘Hey mate.’ says Calum. ‘Mind if I come in?’ ‘Uh no, no, of course not.’ says Michael. Calum thinks he’s acting a bit weird, but it could also be his own mind fooling him. Michael steps aside to let his best friend in. Calum takes his time to pet the dogs jumping around as Michael gets him a drink.

The two band members walk to the couch where they sit down. For a moment, they drink in silence. ‘So, how are you holding up?’ asks Michael cautiously. ‘Haven’t heard from you in like a week.’ ‘Yeah, sorry about that. Needed some time.’ says Calum. ‘I get it. Are you okay, though?’ asks Michael. ‘No.’ says Calum truthfully. He takes another sip of his drink and thinks for a while. ‘It’s quiet. Without her.’ says Calum after some time. ‘Yeah, I can imagine that. She was always so present when in the room. In a good way.’ says Michael.

Calum and Michael drink in silence. Michael occasionally tries to talk to Calum, but he doesn’t show signs of wanting to start a proper conversation. Once they both finish their drink, they stay silent.

‘I miss her.’ says Calum out of nowhere. Michael nods. ‘I know.’ ‘It’s just- we always work it out. You know that. And this time she just leaves. No text, no note, she just leaves me behind.’ says Calum. ‘And I don’t know where she is.’

‘Hey, Mike, I found this burger recipe I want to try out tonight. You okay with that?’

Calum looks at his friend, eyes widened at the sound of the voice. The voice he knows so well. Her voice. He’s still looking at Michael when you enter the room. You freeze when you see Calum on the couch. Calum is looking from you to Michael, a puzzled look on his face.

‘No.’ he says. ‘No, no, no! You two? You’re together?’ Now it’s yours and Michael’s turn to look puzzled. ‘Michael and I are not together.’ you say. ‘So you’re staying at his place because..?’ says Calum. ‘Because he was the first person to come to my mind.’ you say. Which is the truth.

When you left the apartment you were completely broken. You really didn’t know how you were going to fix your relationship this time. So you went over to Michael’s place, who was not only Calum’s best friend, but also yours. Michael offered you could stay at his place for as long as you wanted, and you gladly accepted his offer. You figured you’d reach out to Calum when you were ready to.

And now he’s sitting on the couch next to Michael. He’s eyeing you intensely. ‘You can’t seriously tell me you’ve moved in with Michael because you’re friends.’ says Calum. ‘I didn’t move in with Michael. I’m just staying here for a while.’ you say and Calum laughs. It’s a different laugh than you’re used to, there’s no joy in it. ‘Yeah, right.’ says Calum. ‘Michael, could you leave us for a moment?’ you ask Michael and he gets up, glad he has an excuse to leave the room.

‘If you’re thinking I left because I want to stay with Michael, I’m asking you to think again. Michael’s my best friend, that’s all.’ you say. Calum leans forward and rests his arms on his legs. ‘Why’d you leave in the first place?’ he asks. You slowly walk over to the couch and sit down on the edge. ‘Because I thought I was bad for you.’ you say, not being able to look him in the eye. You feel how Calum shifts next to you.

‘That’s bullshit and you know it.’ he says. ‘Why didn’t you just talk to me like you always do?’ ‘I didn’t think I was worth it. To try and save this relationship yet again.’ you answer. Calum sighs and moves closer to you. You look at the wall as Calum slowly gets a hold of your hand and intertwines his fingers with yours.

‘We always work it out.’ he says. ‘What makes you think we wouldn’t this time?’ You shrug. ‘I don’t know. Just a gut feeling. I needed some time to get my head straight. And I figured you needed some time as well.’ you say. ‘The only thing I need, is you. You know that. My life’s messy. I’m messy. But when I take a look at my life, and all of my crimes, you’re the only thing that I think I got right.’ says Calum.

You finally turn your head to look at him. Looking him in the eyes made you realise just how much you need him. Calum makes you a better person. The best version of you without even knowing it.

‘Can we just talk? Work it out? I let you go once, and I’m not going to make that mistake again.’ says Calum. You nod. Calum lets out a sigh of relief. He’s right. You always work it out. You didn't know why you thought this time would be different.

‘So, do you want to come home? The apartment is quiet without you and I don’t like it.’ says Calum. You smile at him. ‘Yeah.’ He brings your intertwined hand up and kisses the back of your hand, glad you could save the relationship yet again.

‘Hey Michael?’ you say and he pokes his head around the door. ‘That burger recipe is going to have to wait. I want to try it out tonight but at my own place.’ Michael smiles, knowing you and Calum talked about it. ‘I expect a review.’ says Michael and all three of you laugh. ‘We’ll make sure to send it through.’ says Calum and you nod. ‘I’ll come get my stuff the next upcoming days.’ you say to Michael and you and Calum get up. ‘Need to spend some time with this one first.’ you say and you squeeze Calum’s hand softly. ‘Well, you still have a key.’ says Michael jokingly. ‘Swing by any time you want.’ You nod and you and Calum head out, on your way home.

Maybe your relationship had its ups and downs, but doesn’t any relationship have those? And given the fact you always work it out, that must mean you’re doing something right. Right?

A/N: This is part of my 5sos special. Check out my post about it for more information! Please don’t repost my work, as I spend much time and effort on it!! Thank you for reading!

Much love, Jo

#carliehansonwya #jo's 5sos special #calum hood #Calum Hood blurb #Calum Hood x reader #Calum Hood x you #Calum Hood imagine #Calum Hood one shot #Calum Hood angst #Calum Hood fluff #calm #lover of mine #5sos calm #5sos lover of mine #5sos blurb #5sos blurbs #5sos imagine #5sos imagines

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beckzorz · 5 years

Text

Chips and Crack and Jacket 2

Pairing: biker!Bucky Barnes x f!Reader Warnings: Swearing, mentions of cocaine Prompt: “You’re safe now.” with biker!bucky. 1.45k A/N: A follow-up to Chips and Cracks and Jacket, thanks to another fun prompt from @littledarlinhavefaithinme! It’s another over-the-top drunk drabble for @the-ss-horniest-book-club <3 Hope you enjoy!

You’ve gotten good at talking to strangers over the years. Well, more not talking than talking, you suppose. Easy enough to catch someone’s eye, see them nod. Harder to get a sense of what they want when they’re disguising it all with words, words, words. Those conversations with the chatty ones, about sports or the weather or a party you’d never be invited to—all that layered over the top of a deal, sometimes it’d throw you off.

Not anymore.

This morning, you’re free.

Debt all paid, hands finally clean—well, maybe not clean, not quite, but they’ll be clean, from now on. No more selling, no more stuffing cash in your bra, no more dropping coins in your shoe and dressing like a hoe for a job.

The paint cracking on the wall is bright and ugly now you’ve pulled your cheap-ass window blinds up all the way. It’s been months since you let all the light in. Maybe even years. You don’t care much. Chipped paint is the least of the bullshit in this place. At least you haven’t got cockroaches anymore. Thank god for tenant protection laws and exterminators.

The mouse that haunts the kitchen is another story, but it’s not like you have much food in there anyway.

That’ll change soon.

It better, anyway. You might look good, but you feel every damn bite you should be eating missing in your knotted gut.

At any rate, today you can at least dress for yourself. Ripped jeans, a nostalgic band shirt from your younger years soft against your skin, and a hoodie you’d nabbed for a buck at a thrift store. And socks. Last night, with your extra cash leftover from what you’d needed to make, you’d bought socks.

You fiddle with your phone in the hoodie pocket. There’s a napkin in front of your crossed legs, spread out as smooth as it can be with the wrinkles. You glance at the leather jacket hanging with your ratty towel on your door, a sliver of the star patch on the far arm visible..

Well, you’re free.

And Motorcycle Man’s been waiting.

—

Seven texts between you, and you’ve got a—a date? An appointment? Who the fuck knows. All you know is that Motorcycle Man sure as hell doesn’t waste his words, and he’s a lot less flirty in writing. If he even had been flirting back at the sub shop. You’re not sure anymore.

Fuck him if he was just being kind.

—

There’s a coffee shop not too far from where you’d met, just enough blocks away to be respectable and not decrepit, creepy, illegal, whatever. Big windows, tinted glass, artsy font. Even a chalkboard sandwich board out front with puns on it. Inside, clean tables, clean floors, even with the crowd with their fancy laptops and books and handbags. There’s nothing for sale under two bucks. Except maybe a pad of butter, but even that’s pushing it.

You haven’t bought anything in a place like this for…

Forget it. You don’t know. You don’t want to think about it, either.

You spot Motorcycle Man just as he spots you—he’s at a little rickety round table, a round mug steaming, two fingers hooked absently in the handle. He looks as delicious as when you’d met, even if he’s not wearing a leather jacket or motorcycle gloves and his expression is more shocked than sexy. When he stands up you’re impressed he doesn’t knock the chair over. But he’s careful, even if he is a hunk and a half. Impressive. And—he’s got a splint on his left hand. Interesting, if irrelevant.

“Well hello,” you say.

“Hey,” he answers. His eyes skim you up and down, and your nose twitches.

What was he expecting? You’re not dressed like when you met. No, you’d gone to the thrift store, gotten a few new things. Well, new to you. Some jeans, not ripped for a change, and a sweater that’ll be enough if he wants his jacket back. Because of course you’re wearing his jacket. It still smells like him.

But that look, that up and down, that scan without any sort of feeling behind it… Yuck.

“Can I get you a drink?” he asks.

You shrug. “If you like.”

There’s no line, and all you have to do is rattle off the name of your favorite hot drink. He gives his own name—Bucky, of all things, what the hell kind of name is that?—and his own cash. Six damn dollars, minus the change, just for something to warm your bones.

Well, if he is just being kind, you’re gonna eke it out for all it’s worth. God knows your next job won’t be much better than your last one. Even if it will be legal.

He doesn’t make small talk as you wait, and neither do you. A heavy awkwardness settles between you. What are you even doing here? This guy might’ve thought you were cheeky in your sexy outfit last week, but now that you look like a regular person…

Well.

It’s pretty damn clear he doesn’t think so anymore.

Well, if Bucky—god, what a weird name—thinks you’re just a pity case, you’ll walk right the fuck out, even if it means taking your enormous hot mug that smells like absolute heaven with you.

If the smell is heaven, that first sip is paradise. Indulgence isn’t exactly familiar territory these days, but damn. No matter how sanctimonious this Bucky turns out to be, the drink’s made it worth it.

When you open your eyes again, once the warmth from your drink has settled in your belly, Bucky’s grinning at you.

“Good?” he asks.

You can’t help but smile back. “Delicious. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” He settles back in his chair—he’d been leaning forward to look at you, hadn’t he?—and takes a swig of his coffee. “I’m glad you texted.”

Ah, here it comes. You steel yourself, muscles clenched.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Bucky says. He looks into his coffee, his lips still quirked up. “Is it weird if I’m glad you’ve still got my jacket?”

“Why, do you want it back?”

“Not really.”

You pause, eyes narrowed over the rip of your mug as you take another sip. When you respond, your tone is only chilly, not murderous. “Why, ‘cause I’m clearly a charity case who needs all the help she can get?”

He narrows his eyes back at you. “No-o,” he says slowly. “Cause it looks good on you. And that patch on your sleeve means you shouldn’t ever get bothered, least not in this neighborhood. You’re safe now.”

“What? Why would I get bothered? Why would I need to not get bothered?”

Bucky leans forward, elbows on the table and his blue eyes boring into yours. “We both know what you do,” he whispers. He’s just loud enough to hear.

“Not anymore,” you tell him. He scoffs, and you sigh. “I mean, I’m done with it. All my debt’s paid off.”

“Wh—really? You’re not just shitting me?”

You roll your eyes. You’re not answering that. Like hell. He wants to drag you out, keep you safe like it’s his job or something… He can damn well do with some humbling. You drink until your mug is just about empty as Bucky tries to decide whether to believe you or not.

The thunk of your mug back on the table has him sitting back, face pinched.

“Are you serious?” Bucky asks.

“Ugh, yes, I’m not a fucking liar, Bucky.”

Weird name, but it still rolls off your tongue easy as pie. You’d like to say it again, maybe without twenty shades of annoyance.

“Okay.” Bucky lets out a breath between his teeth, shakes his head, and looks at you with a fresh glint in his eye. “Good.”

You suppress a shiver at the sudden hunger in his gaze.

“Yeah,” you breathe. “Good.”

“Very good.” Bucky’s smirk is just as heart-stopping as it had been in the sub shop. “Cause now I don’t have to worry about taking up your valuable work time to ask you for a proper drink. If you drink proper drinks, I mean.”

“What if I didn’t?” you ask, skin prickling all over.

He leans close again, and the look in his eyes has you leaning in too. He curls his hand round your neck and turns your head until his breath is hot in your ear.

“I’d suggest we skip the formalities and go straight to bed.”

You tilt your head, hum. The warmth from your drink still lingers, but it’s got nothing on the heat tingling in your cheeks, your belly, your chest.

“Whaddya say?” he murmurs.

You sit back just enough to look him in the eye. “I say yes.”

#hbc drunk drabbles #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky x you #bucky barnes x y/n #winter soldier imagine #becca writes #biker!bucky

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lovelyirony · 5 years

Note

'i’m the best worst thing that hasn’t happened to you yet' - for winter13 please? :)

Winter Soldier is a freelancer now. It’s surprising given the ironclad grip that Hydra had held over him, but it was...nice. To escape from their grasp, to be on the run and choosing jobs for himself. There was no RSVP checkpoint, no orders that had to be exact.

He got a job, executed it well (forgive the pun), and sometimes had coffee afterwards.

Of course, he took jobs from all over. As long as payment was discreet and so was the job, people were happy to pay a man who had once been a machine.

Jobs from all over meant that there were always requirements. He had no problem disposing of members of Hydra, but SHIELD was a bit trickier. Winter Soldier reserved the right to refuse a job, and had countless times now.

(Countless. Almost made him giddy.)

Agent Thirteen. The newest assignment.

The hit came from someone inside SHIELD. Which isn’t as suspicious as most would think. SHIELD is many things, but thorough is not always one of them. There are people that slip through the cracks because they get a second chance, something that Barnes thinks they could learn from ever since Jasper Sitwell has become...ill-disposed of. And Pierce has died mysteriously with files about Hydra’s involvement plastered to his chest.

But Agent Thirteen is born-and-bred into SHIELD. Her great-aunt was the leader of it all, and she ruled with iron in her bones and a heart that cared genuinely. She stayed late nights at the office, kept a knife on her at all times, and was...surprising.

There was a reason Hydra laid as low as it did throughout the years.

He had heard that Agent Thirteen lived up to the expectations set upon her. But he wasn’t sure that she was deserving of the fate that someone else had in store for her.

So he decides to move next door. Whoever was living there has moved out, so he’s moving in as Jim Wetzel. Typical first name, not last. SHIELD is the absolute queen of taking generic names, having a “just-moved-in” neighbor that’s a little too tense, a little too observant.

Jim Smith wouldn’t do. Jim Smith is too generic. No one names their kid Jim Smith anymore, it’s like sirens wailing loudly.

So he’s Jim Wetzel. He shakes with his right hand, smiles at the woman who says her name is Kate--it most definitely isn’t--and they exchange pleasantries.

“When did you hear about the place? It seemed awfully...fast,” Thirteen says.

“A friend of a friend knows some people a couple floors down, got the message from them,” Jim says with a shrug. “And now here I am. How long have you been here?”

“Almost a year now,” she responds kindly. “Keep an eye out for the washer on the left, I don’t trust it.”

“Good advice,” Jim says with a laugh. “See you around, Kate.”

Kate. What a bad name in the mouth. He’s not sure if it just sounds fake or if it’s because he knows she’s not a Kate.

He has never really moved in before. Not at this level, not for this long. He has furniture, and he went to the thrift store and bought an eclectic collection of plates and mugs, most of which are very weird. One mug might be cursed, he’s not sure yet.

Then he sets up shop. SHIELD’s hours run from six a.m. to about eight at night, or later if you’re a very good employee. Or a very bad one. Either way, Sharon may stay later. So he has ample time to place bugs.

The problem is that she will know all the typical places. Under the television, underneath the bed. (Which he wouldn’t do anyway, because you get...interesting noises.)

So he has to be sneaky with places, think outside the box.

Her apartment really is quite nice. Tasteful decorations, small portraits that are obviously faked. He finds her guns and knives, and one set of poison darts that are innocuously disguised as toothpicks in a jar. He thinks it’s cute.

Meanwhile, “Kate” is pretty fucking sure that her next-door neighbor is either a spy or a model. Potentially both. But no one that hot just “surprise” moves in, and no one can hold two boxes with one arm unless they’re Natasha, but Natasha would be smooth if she was struggling. This guy didn’t even look like it was a problem.

So she is suspicious.

But she is also interested in this guy. He’s her type: a little bit dangerous, nice smile, and probably looks good in navy blue.

So when she comes home at eight-thirty, she does check her home.

She finds one bug. She’s sure there are more in places that she would never check, and this means that this guy has been in the business a hell of a lot longer than she thought. It also means she’ll have to run facial recognition on any chance that he’s recognizable, and those chances are slim.

But she cannot dismantle the bugs yet. She has to leave them there until she has enough evidence to be a nice neighbor and confront him with a nice dish of brownies.

It’s odd, living in a place that you know is bugged. She knows that he didn’t touch the bedroom. Hmph. She would have.

She smiles at him in the hallway when they wake up the same time.

“Where you off to, Jim?” She asks, holding her briefcase.

“Gym,” he answers. “Gotta get it in somehow, you know? What about you, work?”

“Boring office job,” Kate answers easily. Kate does have a boring job. It’s all paperwork and accounting and the classes she would have failed if she had taken them in college. “Where do you work?”

“Private security firm,” he answers. Which is kind of true. He is independent. “Just making sure people stay safe from threats.”

“Important work,” Kate says lightly. “Ever go wrong?”

“Rarely.”

She nods, stepping forward as the elevator door opens. “Good luck today, Jim. Hope the workout goes as planned.”

Okay. Bucky knows she’s onto him now.

Shit.

Sharon has important shit to do.

But she is not an art student.

So she is trying to convince Agent Jenson to draw someone for her.

“I will buy you the good donuts,” Sharon begs. “You know I wouldn’t be doing this for any other reason.”

“One time when you were bored you made Thea on third floor photoshop Clint into a McDonald’s ad just to see if you all could get it to Times Square and you did,” Jenson says, deadpan. “I’m not sure how Barton doesn’t get recognized, he’s gotten on national news twice.”

“The marketing team describes him as a Florida man, we got lucky,” Sharon argues. “And Barton isn’t involved in this.”

Agent Jenson cannot be convinced.

But Sharon gets lucky because Coulson loves history.

James fucking Barnes.

Jim.

Goddammit. She’s screwed. And it’s only Thursday.

When she comes home at ten o’clock (yes she did procrastinate going home, it’s not like you can’t procrastinate death), she has a gun trained on her door.

Right on Jim, who has a knife raised.

“You know, why aren’t we both rational about this?” Sharon asks. “I’m sure you can talk diplomatically, Barnes.”

“I can. But I find more truth in threats and statements rather than diplomacy. Politicians aren’t known for telling the truth.”

“Good thing I don’t have a plan to go into politics,” Sharon says. “So let’s sit down. I’m not gonna hold this gun for twenty minutes.”

And then they sit. That’s awkward.

“I need to know something,” Barnes says. “And I’ll know if you’re lying.”

“Of course you will. I’d be concerned if you didn’t,” Sharon says. “So. Why were you sent to kill me?”

“There are rumors of you being disloyal to SHIELD. I need to know if you’re working for anyone else.”

“No. Not ever.” He nods.

“Who hired me?” she asks.

“A man who goes by Crossbones,” Bucky says.

“Oh my god,” Sharon groans. “Of fucking course it’s Rumlow...”

Bucky freezes. He knows that name. He remembers that man.

“New plan,” he says. “You’re gonna help me get rid of Rumlow.”

Sharon blinks.

She’s used to decisions being made over a series of days. This is...this is new.

“This is personal, isn’t it?”

“You’re smart,” Bucky says bitterly. “He’s an asshole. And I hate him a lot.”

“Got it,” Thirteen says. “Then let’s switch it up. Draw him to where I am. I’ll take care of the rest. You’re on clean-up.”

“I’ve never had a team-up before,” Bucky says. “But I usually think we know each other’s names.”

“Sharon,” she says. “Bucky, right? Or do you seriously go by Jim?”

“Not like Bucky is any better,” he mentions. “But yeah. Bucky. Pleasure doing business with you, Sharon.”

“Better get started,” she says.

(Oh, he’s in love.)

#lovelyirony writes #winter13 #sharon carter #bucky barnes #buckysharon #i love them.......they #sharon #bucky #winter soldier #agent thirteen #they are both capable!#and a little bit too good for their own good!

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all-or-nothing-baby · 5 years

Note

D & Destiel! 💕

For the mini-fic ask game. D is: Subtle Kindnesses.

@stardustdeancas, this got kinda long for a mini fic at 2093 words, #woops xD ...sOoo, I'll post most of it here, then a link to ao3 for the rest.

_____________________________

It's The Little Things

_____________________________

Way-too-early on a Sunday morning—after yet another late night of thundering music and cheap spirits, at yet another randomer's messy house party—a slightly delicate Dean placed a cup of hot, black caffeine on top of a stack of old N-Photo magazines. Cas had unceremoniously dumped them on his nightstand weeks ago.

"Mornin', Sunshine."

Cas made an odd-sounding noise into his mattress. Something akin to a Truffle hog, Dean imagined.

Dean, smiling ruefully, now plopped himself onto Cas' bed and ruffled his roommate’s hair in a hopefully-irritating manor.

"Unghf. Stop. Dean, why are you making me interact at this ungodly hour?" Cas now mumbled, voice a rasp, not a single limb moving from his sprawled-out position on his belly. "It's Sunday. Do you really want our heavenly father to forsake us, Dean? I, for one, do not wish to suffer His wrath on this holiest of days and will, therefore, be going straight back to sleep. A-fucking-men." He pulled a pillow over his head as the sarcasm settled in the air.

Dean chuckled. "Yeah, well, to be honest I'd love to kowtow and join you, buddy. But you've got that thing with your Mom and brothers at eleven, and I knew that you'd probably forget, so—"

"Oh, shitfuckshit! What time is it?" Cas flew up like a bat out of hell, almost knocking Dean over and half-falling out of his bed, legs all caught up in his Van Gogh Starry Night sheets. "Naomi will not let it go if I'm late! You know how she loves to torture me."

Dean tried his best not to laugh as Cas fought against his short-sightedness to find his glasses. Foreseeing the panicked act, Dean had already found the thick-rimmed lenses in the bombsight that was Cas' room. He handed them to his friend with a raised brow and a smirk. "Dude, it's okay. I know what your Mom's like for punctuality and shit. S'why I woke you in plenty of time… see?" he said, throwing a thumb towards the nightstand and Cas' ancient clock.

Cas' rubbed at his crazed eyes. Drinking practically a whole liquor store, getting only four-hours sleep while still wearing last night's eyeliner, made for a pretty unearthly look. He stepped forward, head cocked to one side, squinting to checking the time.

Dean now couldn't help but smile.

It was only just passed nine am. Getting ready and travelling the half-hour to his Mom's house for the family thing was definitely doable.

"You should really just buy a new alarm clock, dude," Dean said, glaring at Cas' ancient, thrift store, too-loud ticking clock with disdain, already knowing Cas' answer.

"What, and go back to being awoken by a deafening, unnatural and purely evil sound created by Lucifer himself? I'd rather burn out my own eyeballs, thank you very much."

Dean's mouth twitched infinitesimally. He'd already bought Cas one of those natural-light-with-birds-singing-and-shit clocks for his birthday in two days time—and was going nuts having to wait to give it to him.

Cas noticed his coffee. "Dean Winchester, I could kiss you."

"Well, go brush your teeth and I'm all yours, Cas..."

"Ugh, you're such a fucking hygiene-hero. Of course I'm going to brush my teeth. But only after I've had my fix." Instead of Dean, Cas kissed his chipped but favourite Little Miss Vegan coffee mug.

Dean sighed internally.

"Yeah, well, I might be a clean-freak but you're a fucking drama queen." He pouted at Cas.

"Eat me. Actually, don't. I have got to go shower," Cas exclaimed, sniffing at himself. "Shit, is there any—"

"Hot water? Yeah. Made sure of it. 'Cause I'm awesome."

Cas was now the one trying not to smile. "S'pose you're a little bit awesome. And pretty damn righteous, come to think about it. Oh, and oh-so-modest, too."

"Fuck you, you are so full of shit. You think I'm adorable."

Cas knocked back some of his coffee, sweetened with honey, just the way he liked it. "Like syphilis. But you know the deal still stands, right? If we're both single when we hit thirty…" Cas called over his shoulder as he made his way to their apartment's tiny bathroom, taking his coffee with him.

"...we'll buy a condo and a cat in the Keys. Yeah, yeah, I know." Dean shouted after Cas, finishing his sentence with a small, sad smile on his lips now his roommate was out of sight. "But, baby, I'd be there tomorrow if you'd only say the word..." Dean added to the empty living space.

He went to pour another cup and make Cas some toast with that weird rye bread he liked so much.

Dean ached every day for Cas to know how he felt. And he'd say something to Cas, he really would, if he thought he actually had a shot.

Dean shook his head, reminding himself, "Only in your dreams, Winchester."

_____________________________

...read the rest on ao3, here:

#destiel #destiel fic #deancas #deancas fic #friends to lovers #idiots in love #adorable assholes™#ask prompt #(gone long)#it's the little things #my writing #all-or-nothing-writes #all-or-nothing-baby

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