#but the scarf after that is gonna have like a heart pattern me thinks

[springweaver]

People… its time. I finally have a floor loom. It has 4 shafts and 6 treadles and Ive warped it up for the first time today. Look at it!! Im so exited c:

[zae-heeyyy]

Chiaroscuro

Summary: You're very fond of silk scarfs and Arthur Morgan. Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Female!Reader Word Count: 1,555 Tags: fluff, developing relationship, Horseshoe Overlook, kissing, affection

a/n: It's been 10 years since I've written and published any type of fiction, so I'm a bit out of my comfort zone. Also learned that they mostly used "scarfs" instead of "scarves" in the 20th century so I wrote accordingly. Let me know if you enjoy; thanks for reading!

( ´˘ᴗ˘)♡(´ ❥ `✿)

chiaroscuro: an Italian term used in art to describe the contrast between light and dark, often associated with dramatic lighting.

You let yourself indulge in one of the few simple pleasures you could afford: silk scarfs. Your clothing trunk was full of them; they were light and didn’t take up a lot of space, something you had to think about in your line of work. The often patterned and bright pieces of fabric were soft and delicate, two things you frequently wished you could be if your life had gone differently. You didn’t want to admit it, but you cared about looking pretty. You didn’t like to go out of your way to style your hair or put on makeup daily, so you settled on scarfs. Still, you didn’t feel like you were easily noticed, like Mary Beth or Molly, but you’d caught the attention of the only one you’d care to, Arthur Morgan. 

Arthur had started to notice your growing collection. He invariably knew when you were wearing a new one, always taking the time to acknowledge it. “New scarf?” He’d ask with his brows raised, or “That’s a nice one.” Sometimes, he’d tease you, “We’re gonna have to get you a whole wagon for all those scarfs.” More seriously, he had started complimenting you, “looks mighty fine, miss,” he’d say, tilting his hat. You’d flush and thank him shyly, and the two of you would go about your separate ways.

Then, the cowboy started seeking you out in the mornings, leaning casually against the wagon where your clothing trunk and scarfs were stored. The two of you would share small talk while you picked out your scarf for the day. He would smile and nod in approval of your choice, no matter what it was, and then he was gone again, disappearing like a whisper in the wind. Once, he leaned over you, grabbed a specific scarf from the pile, and held it out, “That one’s my favorite,” he’d say, making you work to maintain your composure when you were beaming inside. 

After a week or two, your communication was much less vocal. It was intense eye contact and shy smiles and nods. He’d silently look through your scarfs, pick one, and wrap it around your neck for you. He seemed so confident in the moment but would scratch his chin and look away right after, finding some excuse to swiftly depart. His sudden lack of confidence embarrassed him, but you found it endearing.

Finally, the tension had built. Arthur was wrapping your scarf around you like he’d started to do, and you grabbed onto his hands as he finished tying the knot. Both of you paused, staring intently at one another. You lifted up on your toes just as he bent to reach you. It was hard to say who kissed who first, but you’d never been kissed so gently and tender. You wondered if you’d made him want to be that way-- gentle and tender, words no one would usually use to describe the outlaw. You could’ve kissed him forever, but you had to breathe, and he had a job to do. But you’d been giddy, and your heart would flutter whenever he was around; it also ached for the following day when you’d have your moment with him again. 

Some mornings, he’d be there waiting before you’d even gotten completely dressed, still in your shift and bloomers from the night before. He’d hand you a metal cup of coffee, and you’d stand close together, shoulders touching, and you two would go on about whatever came to mind. When you couldn’t waste any more time, he’d pick out your scarf and tie it around your neck. You’d share your anticipated kiss before he went off on whatever errands Dutch wanted him to run for the day. 

You’d found him sitting alone another day, seeking solace from camp with his back against a large rock. His head was dipped into his journal, sketching so intensely that he didn’t notice your approach. You’d only caught a glimpse of pencil markings on the page when he looked up, saw you, and closed it. You’d wonder what he was always writing in that thing, but you respected him enough not to ask. He reached out for your hand and pulled you down to sit with him, not letting it go for the entirety of your conversation. You and he would spend hours behind the boulder, lost in conversation. The mystery of the leather-bound book’s contents would fade away, consumed by memories he’d share with you.

But you’d find out sooner than later by accident. Arthur hadn’t returned to camp in a few days, which was typical. However, it wasn’t normal for him to stalk straight to his tent on his return. His routine usually involved stopping by the donation box or sitting by the fire and, lately, seeking you out. You discovered him in his tent, digging through his satchel, his brows furrowed in frustration. His face softened as you approached, and he looked at you, scratching the back of his neck.

“Lost my damn pencil,” the brooding man murmured, looking around his tent.

You helped him look around his tent and through his satchel, taking the leap to dump all its contents onto the cot. Cigarette cards, documents, herbs, feathers, and his journal fell onto the bed. You’d started to give up when you noticed the gray tip of the pencil sticking out of the journal. You flipped the book open without thinking, too caught up in being the solution to his problem to realize you were about to invade his privacy. As you went to grab the pencil from the crease of the journal, your eyes fell on the bookmarked page. The markings on the paper were so detailed and intricate that you couldn’t help but draw your eyes to them. You’d gone quiet, and he turned to face you. His eyes landed on the open journal briefly before you closed it hastily. Handing it back with the pencil on top, you murmured a quick apology. You looked away from him, putting the contents of his satchel back and going to stand. He gently grabbed your wrist as you tried to leave, making you stop in place. Without resistance, you found yourself guided to the cot, where he sat down, pulling you beside him. His face was soft but riddled with thought as he opened his mouth to speak.

“I—“he paused, searching for the words but decided to show you instead. In your full view, he opened the book, smoothing the pages over his lap. Above an inscription, he’d drawn a flower. You recognized it instantly as a printed flower from a scarf you wore a few days before. Your fingers reached to absent-mindedly touch the fabric around your neck. Then the words caught your eyes and made them almost fill with tears, “That girl and her scarfs bring color to my dull, dull life.” You laughed and wrapped your arms around him. As surprised as he was, he wrapped his around you and held you close for a while

The gunslinger had been less shy after that, keeping the journal open when you’d come to sit beside him behind the rock. He’d sometimes tear a page out and hand it to you or leave it for you to find. You’d started finding them all over the camp. He’d leave one in your clothing trunk, caring to leave several if he knew he’d be away from camp for a while, or you’d find one tucked under your pillow when you went to lay down for the night. The sketches were always so identical to your scarfs that you knew exactly which scarf he was thinking about when he drew it. You’d study the drawings, noticing all the elaborate lines. You wondered how the images stuck in his mind so easily, but he’d confessed to you that every part of you stuck in his mind, always. 

You woke and walked to the wagon one day, but he wasn’t there. In his absence was a small box wrapped in twine with a bundle of English mace sticking out of the top. Your name was scrawled across a tag in his handwriting. You opened it to a pool of plain white silk. “Pure as you” was written on a piece of torn paper on the inside. You beamed but left it in the box and tucked it away with all your other scarfs. 

Arthur returned to camp in the evening just as Pearson had served the stew. As he approached, he smiled at you, but his smile fell when he noticed your unusual lack of a scarf. 

“Did you—“he started to ask, but you threw your arms around him and cut him off with a kiss. 

“‘Course I did,” you pulled him to the spot at the wagon and held the box to him, “Just been waiting for you to tie it on.”

His mouth formed into a slight grin, his chest rising and falling with a deep chuckle.

“Wouldn’t have it any other way, darlin'.”

He enveloped you in the scarf, sealing his gesture with another affectionate kiss. As you sat together at the fire, you were engulfed by another type of warmth–– your feelings for Arthur. Though neither of you had said it yet, you knew you loved him, and he loved you too.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Hi hi! Have you seen the new Rook and Jade cards?

TWST REALLY SAID HAVE A MERRY CHRISTMAS AND A HAPPY NEW YEAR (they dropped these card designs when it was still Christmas day in my time zone www) 🤡 IMAGINE THE PURE DISTRESS AND TERROR I FELT WHEN I SAW THE NEWS FOR THE FIRST TIME, I ALMOST CHOKED ON MY BREAKfAST The New Year Attire card artwork looks fantastic this year!! zs,j bdhjvkas3t77135f38odwOYdtSIvyiadiyisa I THINK THE tHIRD ANON SAID IT BEST, TREY, ROOK, AND JADE LOOK LIKE YAKUZA DRESSED NICELY TO USHER IN THE NEW YEAR 😭 and Ortho's there to be their cute and innocent errand boy nephew (when in reality he's committing just as many crimes as they are); I KNOW this kid's not above pulling out a laser beam and threatening people to get what he wants.

Trey finally gets another event SSR (man deserves it after like 4 Rs OTL) and not gonna lie, he kinda looks like my grandpa in that outfit... I really like the pattern on his rose print scarf and the flowerpiece though; you can also see the classic Heartslabyul solid sleeve-checkered sleeve combo. The parasol he's holding is nice too, it makes me think about him whimsically twirling it around as he walks through confetti.

This isn't one of my favorite looks for Ortho, but again I really appreciate how the designers and artists used their creativity to reinterpret the traditional NY garb into robotic parts! You can tell Ortho's "clothes" are more blocky and rigid than the others', yet it still retains the festive feel of the line. There seem to be cables and wires attached to the piece pinned to his chest, and, of course, three doggos at his waist to symbolize Cerberus~

Trey and Ortho being on the same banner... It feels like Ortho was dropped off for Trey to babysit, and Trey's the kind old grandpa who dotes on his grandkid.

... Okay, that's enough of being civil 😇

t315751vAUVgddfiyCUvILNDADFFIYAIBFQEOBNABHOACsdaafjkuc??F<>>Mw/q12yft7BLINJZ>?????m,A'PSCPK[QJNsn;nbegquo PLEASE, I'M SCREAMING AND CRYinf aG ON THE GORUNDA RN OTL Of course TWST would release a new Rook SSR not too long after I said Rollo has replaced Rook in my heart as the superior pseudo French anime boy, OF COURSE. WHY DiD THE YM HAVE TO GIVE hiM SUCH A SMYSTERIOSYF SMU g FACE TOO..... . . . ........ . . . .... . . . . AND THAT LIGHTING??//????? ? ?? ? ?hELLO??? ?? ? ?? ? ????? ? GORGEOUS 😭 THE FAN??? ? ?? ? ? ? ?? ? ?? HOW HE's POSED AEJQWHLBIWQ WIHT IT, weL,Ccopmaifn G YOU INTO YHTE SHOP... I'M GOIBNG TO DUCKIUFN G CHEW HSis FINGNERS OFF, HOLD ME BACK BEOFRE I DOn kqw fhgutiuqfvwofueiyviHnsoguewtqtbwipFFQEGFVIVOQE8?>vLM;N;AEGFLQMJEINP I'm not super into Rook's outfit though; the peacock imagery incorporated into his robes and stuck in his hat are kinda... too much for me? The colors are also weirdly blocked out; it looks odd to have the hat as being the one prominent part of the outfit in red. I would have expected... I don't know, more red throughout the entire outfit? BUT IT'S OKAY, ROOK'S FACE STILL LOOKS GOOD AND THAT'S ALL THAT MATTERS HERE

ADKJBLBSLiyfiysafvoyvgad8fVEFQGIYUOVBVADLM;vsomjvsM,.38920TH??:vL;,AD'PGDMA'PFSm J WORD, NEW YEAR'S J WORD IS HERE 🤡 I'M SO GLAD HE';S NOT THE SSR, I CAN EAISLYR MAX HIM OUT BLESS YOIU MCIUAHRD MOUSE 🙏 ABSHLDVUYADVOQDWADOLBIPfsp ip BIG FAN, HUGE FAN OF HIS POSE HERE OTL rUBINGNG HIS HANDS TOGETHE R AND BENDING SLIGHTLYT FORWARD, INCLinING HIS HEAD TOWARD YOU...... .. ............ . .... . .. . . . . . . .... I CAN SMELL THE USED CAR SaLESMAN ENERgy COMING OFF OF HIM it's working on me He looks like he's still wearing a suit and threw extra shit on top... THAT'S LITERAELLY THE SAME HAT HE WEARS FOR HIS OCTA dORM UNIFORM, HE JUST SLAPPED ON A DIFFERENT HATbaND ACCESSORY. AND SAME WAY OF weARING THE SCARF, JUST USED A DIFFERNT SCARF THIS TIME

I love the fact that Rook and Jade are on the same banner this was made specifically to target me/j, shady bitches deserve to be next to other shady bitches 🤣 Imagine how much pettiness and fake smiling will be had between them????? ???? ??? ? I’ve been dying for more interactions between these two, so this is really a treat for me!! 😋

To summarize: yeaaaaaah uh my rolls are in trouble come 2024 🪦

[benwvatt]

memories painted in much brighter ink

A Charlie/Nick Heartstopper fic! In which Harry Greene realizes how awful he's been to Charlie and Nick, and he apologizes to them after some deep thought and realization about what an cruel person he's been.

Also, Nick learns how to knit, Nellie steals popcorn during movie night, and Sarah Nelson is amazing as usual.

Read on AO3 here! Rated G, 4000 words, completed story.

“I mean, Harry did apologize,” Charlie sniffs, “but I just hate him. I don’t like him talking about me. Not after everything he already said when-”

His voice sinks.

“Back then.”

“You can hate him if you want to.” Nick isn’t exactly sure what to say. He doesn’t know what it’s like to be the only gay kid at school. He might not ever know. Can he even relate to Charlie? “You can feel whatever feelings you like.”

“What if I have, like, too many emotions? Like I wanna throttle him sometimes, but also thank him for - for this?” He throws the letter from Harry on the ground. It floats, rather unsatisfying, like a leaf on the breeze.

“You can feel that way.”

Charlie groans. “I hate having to go through this.”

Nick wraps his arms closer and rests his head on Charlie’s shoulder. “It’s really shitty,” he whispers, “what he did to you. He used to do it to everyone. I’m not gonna defend him, but I think he’s learning… at least a little. And if you’re really mad, you can text my mom and she’ll vandalize his house for you.”

“What?”

“She’s… it’s a long story.”

“Uh, I need to hear all of it!” Charlie screeches like a baby dinosaur would. “Right now!”

Nick makes Charlie a playlist with heart emojis in the title, and knits him a scarf with crooked blue-and-yellow patterning for the wintertime. Charlie wears it every other day.

He keeps the letter (well, ‘letters,’ plural) from Harry pressed into his books. Seems about fitting. They used to swap copies of Horrible Histories every day on the bus, tucked away in the corduroy safety of their backpacks.

Nick finds himself again in the rest of the world. He learns which films to suggest and which to mock at Tao’s film nights, and learns about Elle’s food allergies and the musicians Darcy likes (it’s literally just Taylor Swift and Fall Out Boy. Not a very difficult list to memorize.)

And he finds himself in the soft webbing of the scarves he makes. Charlie tries to guide his hands 一 his dad taught him how to knit 一 but Nick’s a little aimless and the needles move slow and cumbersome in his grasp. He can’t exactly make them click like Char does.

AO3 link!

[bratkook]

cozy thief. (m) jjk

pairing. jeon jungkook x reader genre. smut, fluff, mutual pining word count. 5.1k warnings. roommate!au, cuteness!! lots of kissing & heavy petting, hand in pants action and messy/needy humping from jungkook lol  summary. a rainstorm knocking out your power is the small push needed for confessions to come tumbling out author’s note. requested for #30 from this prompt list! thank you for sending this in 🖤 (requests now closed)

The bubbling water is the only thing you focus on as you rest against the countertop, hands tightly holding onto your fluffy blanket of choice to trap all of the warmth in before it could escape. The rhythmic pattering of rain against the windows has become background noise now, already accustomed to the sound that woke you up hours ago.

It’s therapeutic really, your fuzzy socks sliding along the floor as you pull out your favorite mug, grabbing the hot chocolate mix and mini marshmallows from their rightful spot in the pantry. You don’t even think about the ridiculous electric bill you’ll be getting from how high you currently have the heater cranked up, freezing to death was not worth saving a few bucks. 

Jungkook would agree, loving the fact that he didn’t have to worry about walking around the apartment in a snow coat and scarf. Sure you were currently bundled up as if the place wasn’t maintained at a steady 75 degrees, but from the time spent living together he had grown to learn that the minute there was rain or snow you would pull out the coziest blankets regardless of temperature. 

“Can you make me one too?” He speaks up as he leans against the mini island, smiling when your blanket clad body jumps at the unexpectant sound of his voice. 

The spoon clanks against the mug as you stop stirring the hot chocolate, turning your head back to take a peek at your roommate. “Don’t scare me like that.”

Jungkook laughs now, pulling up the sleeves of his shirt as he rounds the island to grab himself a mug. “What, should I wear a bell around my neck to let you know when I’m nearby?”

“Yeah actually, you sneak up on me all the time. You’re gonna give me a heart attack one day.” 

You eye his mug of choice, a Friends one that actually belonged to you, a little hard to believe considering it was the one he always used without fail. It was admittedly your fault for forcing him to binge watch the whole show on Netflix before it got taken off, but for someone who claimed he couldn’t stand it all he sure did cradle the themed mug with utmost care. 

“You’re easy to scare, can’t blame me for seeing an opportunity and taking it.” Sliding the mug in your direction he rests on his elbows, observing you as you pour in the hot water, mixing the cocoa powder and smiling when you get the first inhale of it. 

“Scare me some more and I’m revoking this mug privilege.” Jungkook knows it's an empty threat, the roll of his eyes calling your bluff so you just sigh, clutching the bag of mini marshmallows and bringing them close. “Yay or nay for the marshmallows?”

“Yay, what do I look like, an animal?” He scoffs, hand urging you to top off his drink with more sweets, a charming smile spreading out onto his face when you slide the mug over. 

Just as he’s about to take a sip you walk off, both hands cupping your drink as you slide your way out of the kitchen. “Wait, where are you going?”

You freeze at the doorway, turning around with a confused face, “To binge watch some movies in the living room? The vent by the couch makes it the best place to get toasty.”

“Mind if I join you?”

The audacity of him to ask as if he didn’t regularly crash your binging parties, still you nod your head before turning back around and continuing your trek, hearing the soft patter of his bare feet against the floor. 

“Why did you beg me to get you those cow slippers for your birthday if you refuse to wear them?” You wonder as you settle onto the couch, adjusting your blanket to circle around your lap as you bring your knees up. 

Jungkook sighs dramatically as he sits beside you, bringing his bare feet up and shoving them underneath the pile of blanket around you, laughing loudly when you yell at the feeling of his cold feet against your silk pajama pants. “Because they’re cute, besides I don’t need slippers because my roommate has the best blankets.”

Accepting your fate you simply glare at him, detesting the way he could look as good as he does while attempting to push your buttons. The smug smile against the rim of the mug shows that he knows he can get away with it, a playful wink being the icing on top as he reaches for the remote. 

You ignore the way your heart skips as he clicks onto your profile, already sorting through your favorite movies, knowing they were starred and saved under your list. As he passes Legally Blonde you gasp, almost undetected but he had been waiting for any reaction to know what to pick. 

“You know, this has become one of my favorite movies now.” He quietly confesses, pressing play and setting the remote down onto the coffee table. 

“Seriously?”

Jungkook hums as he takes another sip, eyes focused on the beginning scenes of Legally Blonde. This was definitely one of your comfort movies, even if he didn’t end up crashing your movie night he could still hear each scene from his bedroom, almost knowing every single line from how often you played it. 

He proves his point as the movie continues, the two of you slowly sinking further into the couch, no longer caring about him using your blanket as makeshift slippers as you laugh each time he recites a line, adding his own commentary as he goes. The mugs of hot chocolate are drained dry, pushed onto the coffee table, freeing up his hands that somehow wind up playing with your own in a mindless motion, slowly tracing down your fingers to gently clasp them together before pulling apart and repeating. 

Just as Elle Woods takes the floor to question the witness, the entire room goes black, Jungkook’s hands freezing on top of yours as you wait for a moment. With the loss of power you instantly feel the warmth begin to fade away, the vent right beside the couch no longer providing you the toasty escape you wanted. 

“It was getting to my favorite part.” He groans out, resting his head back onto the couch, something you can just barely see in the darkness. 

“Fuck is the whole block out of power?”

Jungkook pulls his hand away from yours as he stands up, knocking his knee into the coffee table and laughing as he tries to navigate through the dark living room. His silhouette makes it to the window, peering through it to see if maybe it was just your building that was shit out of luck, but the entire block is in fact dark. 

“Yup, it’ll probably come back soon though.”

After two more hours and another mug of hot chocolate it became very clear that the power wouldn’t be coming back any time soon. Both of your phones lay screen down with the flashlight on as you finish up your drink once more, tightening the blanket around you now that the cold is becoming more prevalent. 

“We’re gonna freeze to death.”

“No we’re not, it's a rain storm not a blizzard outside. We should probably call it a night though, the floors are getting cold as fuck.”

He had still refused to put on his slippers, allowing the cold tile from the kitchen to turn his feet into icicles. “You act like you don’t own socks or slippers.”

Jungkook merely waves you off with a laugh, grabbing his phone from its spot on the counter. “Let me live, good night!” His flashlight sways with every step, illuminating the trail before he disappears behind his bedroom door, leaving you with no other option than to retreat into your own room. 

The door shuts behind you with a soft click, the rapid pattering of the rain against the window filling up the space and its no longer as therapeutic as it used to be now that you can feel the cold it brings with it.

Lighting up the candle on your nightstand, hoping the smell of gingerbread will convince your mind you’re not freezing, you settle into your bed. The feeling of your cold sheets against you has you whining, quickly pulling up the blankets at the end of the bed to warm you up as you ball into yourself. 

It's only a few minutes later that you hear the gentle knocking against your door, the top of your head just barely peeking up from the mountain of blankets as Jungkook peers inside your room. The words he wants to say leave him when he takes note of the way you're being swallowed whole by different patterns. 

“Holy shit, can you even breathe?”

“You wish you were this comfortable.” You laugh, tightening your grip on the blankets and pulling them snugly under your chin. 

He shuts the door behind him as he steps further into your room, smiling when he gets the whiff of your candle. “That's actually why I’m here, can I steal a blanket?”

The idea of parting with even one of your blankets sounds like a sin, a frown etched onto your face as you contemplate it. “If you think I’m gonna give you one of these after you refused to use the slippers I bought you, you’re crazy.”

“C’mon,” he whines, sitting on the edge of the bed and toppling over to bury his face against the warmth, fingers clutching on when you try to wiggle him off of your legs.

“No, if you take one you’re gonna fuck up the balance I have going on right now.”

“Fine,” he grunts, but just when you think he’ll give up he starts to crawl over you, long limbs making their way to the other side of the bed. You feel the cold instantly as he peels off the comforter from the right side, making himself right at home as he slides underneath it in search of warmth. “We’ll share then.”

With the way he shimmies around, finding the best position to get comfortable, you know there's no way you can shake him. He smiles into the sheets when you grumble out a fine and turn over, not trusting yourself to be able to stare at his face from a close proximity and do something you’d regret. 

A soft exhale leaves your lips as you force your eyes shut, ignoring the pounding in your chest as he inches closer so his legs don’t slip out from the blankets. You and Jungkook were roommates, and friends now underneath it all, but before you had crossed into friendship territory you realized you had a teeny tiny crush on him. 

When you had first moved in he had a girlfriend, a girl you rarely ever saw since he preferred to go to her place, so it helped tame down the crush. But once they broke up and he began spending all of his time at home, the small bursts of his personality you would see lit that crush back up. It was always hard to tell if the way he behaved around you was just the way he normally acted or if he maybe had a small interest in you as well. 

Forcing your mind from wandering deeper into fantasyland you nuzzle further into your pillow, pulling more of the blankets with you as you try to fall asleep. Jungkook feels the cold nip at his exposed ankle, huffing and flipping over to look at you with a small smile, the stolen blankets bundled around you nice and tight. 

“Steal the blanket again and I’ll put my cold feet on you.” Is the threat he makes as his fingers clutch onto the top layer of blanket and tug it back. It's a threat you don’t take lightly, gaze narrowing as you turn your head to glare at him. 

“You wouldn’t…”

His brows raise up at the challenge, jaw ticking out as he looks at you and before you can even react, he’s attacking, maneuvering himself around until he’s skillfully slipping his cold ass feet underneath the hem of your pants. You feel the cold instantly, a squeal of protest leaving you as you try to kick him away. 

“Who the fuck sleeps with no socks in this weather!”

“Me, which is why I need the blankets you thief!” He laughs out, continuing to try to yank the blankets back now that you were distracted, pulling the soft fabric out of your fists as you start to admit defeat. With a small cheer of success he pulls the warmth up and over the both of you like a little fort, his eyes crinkling up in a smile as he stares at you, now positioned right on top of you. 

Small pants escape your mouth as you slow your breathing, wide eyes blinking up at him as he refuses to move. The bed dips on either side of you as he holds himself up, lips still spread out in a smile, getting wider when he sees the way your eyes flicker down to them before looking back. 

You wanted to kiss him, he knew this, had known of your crush since the very beginning. Jungkook had taken note of the way you would stumble over words whenever you spot him leaving the bathroom with just a towel around his waist, enjoying the flustered look on your face, that being the main reason he did it so often. 

You thought you were slick, letting your eyes trace over the lines of muscle until it slipped behind the towel, but he simply let you get away with it, meeting your flustered gaze with that bunny smile you had grown to love. But as he hovers over you now there's no way he can pretend he doesn't notice the way your starry eyes stare at him, how you subtly lick your lips over. 

With a small tilt to his head he finally breaks the silence, whispering gently inside of the little cocoon he had made. “I really want to kiss you.” 

That gets him the reaction he wanted, the small gasp filling the air as your mouth drops open a tiny bit. “What?”

“Your lips look so soft, wanna kiss them.” His voice drops to a murmur, slow and husky as the words drawl out. 

He wants to kiss you, something you’ve been dreaming of for months, and now your mind is betraying you as it struggles to unscramble the words needed to respond. 

“Can I?” He asks, soft eyes looking directly at you and when you nod your head he tsks in disapproval, “Need to hear you say it love.”

The pet name makes you melt into your sheets, finally giving him a response as your brain releases your voice, “Y-yes, please kiss me.”  

Jungkook smiles in appreciation before slowly inching forward, nose gently nudging against yours as he swoops in. Your eyes flutter shut when the softness of his lips press against yours, kissing back instantly at the first touch, your mind whirling at the intoxicating feeling. Jungkook can feel his heartbeat quicken when you let out a small sigh, your shy hands gaining courage and sliding up his sides until you’re cupping his face. 

He winces at the icy feel of your fingers on his cheeks, the soft breaths of his laughter making you smile in between kisses, teeth knocking together as it begins to turn messy, the two of you just wanting more of each other now that the line has finally been crossed. 

Jungkook lets you bring him in closer, balancing on his elbows as he slots himself between your thighs, the soft smacks of your lips blending in with the light crackle of the candle and the rain from outside. 

A gentle nip of your teeth on his bottom lip earns you the first groan, the second coming when you trace your tongue along the seam of his mouth, slowly licking your way inside until it’s gently tangled against his own. Jungkook can feel his heart thrumming in his ears now, the realization that he was finally kissing you making his entire body warm up. 

The way you had behaved with him, calling him bro, punching his shoulder whenever he told jokes in an act to force yourself from ruining the friendship, made him believe that this would never happen. He didn’t want to come across as the typical cocky boy who swore he could win everyone over but the way you’re gasping into his mouth, fingers moving to grasp around his neck to bring him even closer when he unconsciously rolls his hips into yours makes him feel like he just did. 

Your wishful thinking had been true, the sweet gestures he did in day to day life stemming from the small inkling of a crush, something that had been planted the minute he started spending more time at home and around you. At first he thought nothing of it, chalking it up to enjoying spending time with his new friend, but soon enough he discovered he preferred to stay in with you, join you on your random quests to hunt for a new place to eat at, ignoring any other girl who showed any interest in him. 

As the two of you continue to kiss inside the small makeshift fort, the air becomes stuffy, Jungkook pulling away with a small laugh. “Wait, can’t breathe.”

You let go of his neck and paw the blankets off your faces, the cool air of your bedroom finally being welcomed as you catch your breath. 

“Better?” you question, smiling when he nods at you. “Good, now kiss me again.”

He doesn’t need you to tell him twice, lips cutting off the end of your sentence urgently, feeling the way you smile against him, your leg hooking over his hips like second nature. Jungkook feels like his head is spinning, the way your fingers move to rake along his hair, the soft gasps and sighs passed between you, he feels like a goner, the tipping point being your hips rutting up into his. 

Both of you pause at the sensation, Jungkook moaning into your mouth as your clothed core grinds along the slowly growing erection pressed against you. “Y/N, don’t tease me.”

“Why?” you breathe out, pressing kisses along the side of his mouth and jaw as you repeat the motion, the usual fear of him not feeling the same long gone from your mind. 

He drops himself further until his face is buried in your neck, goosebumps flaring out as his breath hits your skin when he speaks. “I’m trying to be sweet.” he murmurs, kissing your neck softly. 

“You are being sweet,” you whisper, tightening your grip around his hip, smiling when he groans while you once again rut up into him. “Am I not being sweet? Just wanna make you feel good, Kook.”

Of course you were sweet, you always have been, it was the main reason his heart started to skip around you, why he clung onto your mug like a safety net, wanting to keep a small part of you with him. If you wanted to make him feel good he was in no position to refuse, wanting to reciprocate the sweet gesture instead. 

Jungkook lifts his head up, dark waves falling over his face as he stares at you, wanting to see the look on your face as he gives the first roll of his hips into yours. He sees the way your teeth bite down onto your lower lip, pillowing the soft flesh out, mouth opening up to let out a gasp as he repeats the motion. There's never been a time where he’s been more thankful for a power outage than right now. 

“Keep going,” you urge him on, sighing beautifully when he rocks against you again, hips nudging the leg hooked around his waist higher up with each slowly thrust. 

“Fuck, you’re so pretty.” He sighs, taking a moment to fully admire you laid out underneath him, eyes sparkling as you stare up at him, mouth slightly parted as you groan at the small tingles of pleasure starting up inside of you. 

“Wanna feel you.” The confession hangs in the air for a second, the trailing of your hand down his covered chest, fingertips tickling along the sliver of exposed skin above the waistband of his sweats, is what finally brings him back. His moment of admiration being broken as your hands slips past and gently grasps his hardened cock, the expected feeling of his underwear nowhere to be found because not only did Jungkook refuse to wear socks he also refused to wear underwear. 

Your eyes widen at his size, already a nice handful and slowly growing the longer you hold it in your palm. As you give him a small pump you feel the exhaled grunt he lets out fan across your skin, his eyes falling shut as he pants out your name. 

Jungkook gasps as your palm rolls over the head of his cock, thumb rubbing along his slit and dragging the beads of precum down his length. With a shaky hand he trails down your chest, slipping past your pants and underwear. A pleased hum escapes him as he feels how wet you are, fingers sliding along your folds, collecting your arousal before coming back up to circle around your clit. 

“Fuck,” you gasp, hips jutting up at the tiny jolts of pleasure that spark each time his fingers circle around your bundle of nerves. This was definitely not how you thought your night would play out, still partially thinking you’re dreaming with your roommate asleep beside you but each time you blink the visual of his face inches from yours only gets clearer. 

“How's this?” he whispers, eyebrow cocked up as he waits for a response, the tantalizing motion of his hands making your mind scramble once more, back arching up towards him as he applies a bit more pressure. Jungkook knows what he’s doing, the way his fingers find the right rhythm to leave you whimpering only to slow down right after, just because he likes the frustrated look etched onto your face. 

A pout forms on your lips, your hands tightening their hold on his cock as you give him the same treatment, and as you slowly glide your palm down and back up, fingers refusing to go near his tip he groans in vexation. 

“You’re not being nice.” Is what you manage to gasp out just before he picks up his pace once more, lips coming back down to yours in a hungry kiss, swallowing each moan as you let them out. Each pant through his nose is felt against your cheek as your own hands pick up the pace, the two of you working in tandem as the desperation starts to grow within you. 

Jungkook wishes he could see you fully, not cocooned under a mountain of blankets, and for a split second he wants to suggest pulling them off entirely but the way the cold nips at your faces kills that idea on the spot. This would just have to do until the power came back. 

“Ah shit,” he keens out in between sloppy kisses as your hands trail further down to fondle his balls, the beginning feelings of his climax creeping up embarrassingly fast. He couldn’t help himself, for months now he had wondered what it felt like to kiss you so this whole situation put his mind into overdrive. 

You were on the same boat, the warm sensation spreading throughout you as his fingers continue to pinch and roll around your aching clit. “Wait, fuck I’m close,” you whimper out, chest rising and falling rapidly as you pull away from his mouth, a small string of spit connecting you together. 

“Really?”

“Shut up don’t make fun of me,” you protest, gasping when he starts to kiss and suck along your neck. 

“I’m not,” he mumbles, his hips rutting into your palm, fingers fisting the sheets beside you. “I’m close too.”

The whiny tone to his voice has more wetness gushing out, further ruining your underwear and Jungkook feels it as he fingers glide against your skin. That's enough to spur him on, quickening his pace with just the right pressure until your limbs are tightening up, back arching as your free hand clutches Jungkook’s shoulder. 

“Don’t stop,” you plead, and he has no intentions to, smiling against your neck as your hand stutters along his length as the pleasure you feel coursing through you. Each roll of his fingers has you seeing stars in your dimly lit room, whines getting breathier each time until you’re finally coming undone with a cry of his name. 

Jungkook feels the mess you make against his fingers, gently biting your skin as he starts to rut into your palm, the small twitches your body makes as he continues to tease your sensitive nub only making his need to cum grow. 

“Y/N,” he mewls, pulling his hand out of your pants once you hum at your name, your palm trailing up his shoulder and into his hair to gently run through it. “Wanna cum.”

You bite your lips at his words, pulling your own hand out of his pants and he cries out at the loss of contact, face lifting up from your neck and the prettiest pout on his lips that you kiss away. “Cum, use me Jungkook.”

He eyes you for a moment, a subtle nod of confirmation being all he needs to slide down his sweats a bit until his cock slips out, a small sigh filling the air at being released from its confines. He licks his lips over as he grasps his cock, resting it along your core and sighing at the smooth feeling of your pants, the silk slightly cold against him, the small wet patch along it only making him shut his eyes. 

When you widen your thighs for him to slot more easily he starts to rut forward, leaning back over you with his palms beside your face once more. Jungkook pants at the sensation, the gliding of his cock against your covered pussy, the small whines you let out each time he nudges against your clit, it kickstarts his climax once more. 

“Feels good,” he grunts out, head bowing forward and pressing against your chest as he picks up the pace, hips knocking into you each time, beads of precum dampening your silk pajama set and mixing with your own arousal. 

Jungkook doesn’t care how needy he looks right now, humping you like a desperate teenager because that’s exactly how he feels. 

“Yeah, are you gonna cum for me Kook?” you whisper, caressing his hair until he’s looking at you once more, face screwed up as he teeters close to the edge. 

When he nods eagerly you hook both legs around his waist, his mouth dropping open as he moans out unabashedly. “W-wanna feel you fully next time,” he grunts, jostling your body from the force of his thrusts, your pants wrinkling up around your thighs. 

“You will,” you confirm, wanting nothing more than to actually feel his cock without the confines of clothes and blankets. “Once the power comes back.”

He chuckles at that for a second, smiling at you through the dull glow the candle provides but then his face twists up, brows pinching and jaw going slack as his hips grow sloppy. 

“F-fuck,” he drawls out as his orgasm washes over him, hips rutting against yours with less grace than before, spurts of his warm cum splashing along your pussy and onto the small patch of skin above your waistband as he works himself through it. You sigh at the feeling, cupping his cheeks as your thumbs soothe him down. 

Jungkook continues to rock against you until he’s whimpering in overstimulation, panting as he stares down at you with the dopiest smile. He turns his head to kiss at your hand by his cheek before bending down to press his lips against your in a gentle kiss. 

“Did we just get to third base?” he whispers against your lips after the two of you fully come down, laughing when you swat at his side playfully, your own laugh filling the air as he pulls back to stare at you once more. 

Suddenly your room fills with light, the two of you squinting at the brightness, the sound of the heater kicking back is followed by the warmth from the vents beginning to flow through. 

You don’t even have to look at him to know what face he’s making, your promise of letting him fully feel you once the power came back flooding his mind. “No Jungkook,” you laugh, pushing his face away from yours as he inches closer like a child. 

“Why not?”

“Because you ruined my favorite pajamas.”

He laughs freely now, kneeling up until the blankets slide off his body, his eyes staring down at your pants and analyzing the mess the two of you made. “I mean, you ruined them first.”

Okay he has a point, but instead of agreeing you simply raise your foot up and nudge it against his chest until he topples to the side, allowing you to stand up from bed with no fear of the cold attacking you. Jungkook smiles against your sheets as he watches you grab new pants and underwear before slipping into your bathroom, emerging a few minutes later with a pair of snowman printed pants instead. 

“You wanna go finish Legally Blonde?” he asks, head perched up by his hand as he lays on his side, that charming smile on his face. 

“It’s like two in the morning.”

He shrugs, not caring about the time at all, just wanting to spend more time with you, already knowing the two of you would most likely end the night having a discussion about more than obvious feelings after what just happened. 

After staring at him for another moment you smile too, reaching your bed for the same trusty blanket you hand earlier and wrapping it around your body. But as he stands up from your bed you extend your covered up out for him to join you, a smile of success gracing his face. 

“Wow, you’re actually sharing with me.” he coos, leading the two of you back out into the living room. 

“Watch it, I’ll take it back.”

Jungkook simply wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you into his side before you sit onto the couch. “I know you will you cozy thief.”

[l4verq]

sundays | b.b

bucky barnes x reader

in which you buy him furniture

warnings : fluff

fic : one shot

it was a joke at first.

horrified when you’d learned he slept on the floor, had one tv that would turn on three out of five tries, you’d bought him a rug right there in that little run down shop.

it was the fuzzy, plush kind that your body just sank into.

see this? it’s a rug, people use this to decorate their houses.

to which he’d rolled his eyes, i’m fine with how i’m living.

but he let you stuff it in his bag anyway.

send me a picture of it.

he lazily reached into his pockets, taking out a flip phone?

he’d snickered at your shocked expression as he waved it back and forth.

you were surp- no, you were just disturbed.

apalled. confused.

see this? you have to press these buttons to use it.

you’d flicked him off, rolling your suitcase around to leave.

it’d been two long weeks undercover and all you wanted was to get home to your bed.

that night bucky couldn’t sleep.

he couldn’t decide just where to place the rug.

maybe he should sleep on it? but it also looked nice at the doorway.

his phone chimes as he settles on sleeping on it.

ﾶﾶ did you place it??

oh wait you cant see the emojis

:D

emojis?

no, it’s hideous.

- bucky

he falls back on his pillow, hitting send.

the rug was pretty comfortable.

:( it’s not

and ur doing it again -.-

right, the name thing.

sorry, old habits

where was that damn colon.

:d

the next afternoon, he’s standing in front of a porcelain vase, floor covered in package filler.

it’s murky black with little ridged patterns running across.

why is an amazon prime

delivery at my house

:)

he sets it next to the tv, scarfing down a bowl of oats for lunch.

technically it was breakfast for him cause he just woke up.

but he can’t focus on watching tv cause something’s off.

it’s too empty, the vase.

so he reluctantly gets up, stares at it one more time before reaching for his jacket.

fishing out crumpled notes from his pockets, he counts them.

how much did flowers cost nowadays?

the gifts started coming in weekly.

fake plants, a hanging mirror, a frame with a picture of a cow dancing.

each time he’d come up to you with that same look on his face.

a baking tray? what am i going to do with that?

“bake?” you shrug, flaunting your sparkly acrylics at him, “pretty, right?”

after that one nasty brawl in romania, you’d been walking around with sad, ugly nails beds for far too long.

“we’re literally leaving for the quinjet in an hour,” he sighs, taking a seat next to you, “you’re gonna break them again.”

you pull your lower lip, “all i want is pretty nails.”

he pouts too, “life’s so hard, isn’t it?”

“you don’t know the pain i go through when i have to literally fish them out from the ground.”

he chortles, eyes wide.

“you mean, when you force me to look for them too?”

“that’s what friends. are. for.” you punctuate by poking his hand with your nail.

“we’re co-workers.” he gruffs, nodding to the pages sprawled on the table.

it was the day you two dreaded most, writing mission reports.

“i wrote most of it last time so it’s your turn now.” he slides over a pen.

“co-workers? i thought we were besties by now.” you cross your arms, narrowing your eyes at him.

“you’re not my bestie.” he rolls his eyes at the onset of just pure offense on your face.

“who is it then? sam? john?”

you knew just how to annoy him to the point raynor’s rules flew out the window.

but god were you endearing with that little smile peeking through.

“i’m a hundred and nine years old. i don’t have besties.”

of course you’d get him to say that godforsaken word twice in ten seconds.

and he saw it every sunday now, on a new delivery like clockwork.

when your sunshine’s (me) not around

- bestie xx

he grabs the exacto knife, he’d gotten specifially for opening said packages and slits through the taped sides.

it’s a bedside lamp, an old man sleeping soundly on the packaging.

he cracks into a smile, something he’d been doing every sunday recently.

setting it beside the rug, he looks around his apartment.

he could barely recognise it now.

it looked... homey?

“hey.”

it’s a slight pause before sam replies with a suspicious hey back.

“how’s.. your day?” he crumples his face in cringe, hand clenched over his forehead.

he hears a chuckle.

“what do you want?”

“why would you assume i’m calling you because i want something?”

“because this is the first time you’re calling me.”

okay, fair enough.

he slowly phrases his question, “hypothetically speaking, if i were to get something for someone, a woman, what should i get her?”

“what does y/n like?”

he furrows his brows, “how do you know it’s for her?”

“she’s been sending you furniture for two months now, i think it’s long overdue.”

“i don’t know what to get her.” he sighs, tilting his head back against the wall.

he’d tried but everything he thought you’d like just ended up in the spare room.

“maybe you don’t get her something, maybe you do something, put that apron to use.”

he rolls his eyes, “you’re not making any sense.”

sam has to physically hold in a tiny scream.

“i’m talking about a dinner date, you do know how to cook right?”

bucky frowns, “date? i’m not gonna ask her on a date.”

he’d never see a day without you teasing him if he ever asked you out.

“why?” sam asks, flatly.

bucky shrugs, “i don’t know, what if she says no.”

“well, have you tried asking?”

countless times but he’d always back out the last second.

kinda what he’s contemplating doing right now as his finger hovers over the send button.

did you have dinner?

it’s an agonising ten minutes before your reply pings.

it’s 11 in the morning!?

fuck, he just sounds like an idiot now.

haha i meant breakfast

he groans, sinking into his couch.

haha?

yea

also, you like the lamp?

he looks over at it propped up next to his sleeping... situation.

it looked perfect.

it clashes with the

walls

if only i knew your

house’s color palatte :(

i could describe it

his heart races as he types.

or you could come over

time seems to slow down as he waits for that ping!

why did he listen to sam? you probably think he’s stepping over the lines.

no, you’re probably crafting a sarcastic rejection right now and it-

like a date?

;)

no

super casual dinner

:(

ok...

he smiles at the little colon and bracket, how could two random symbols be so endearing.

-

a/n : idk how i feel about this one lol🥴🏃🏻‍♀️🏃🏻‍♀️

[honey-milk-depresso]

TWST Vice Dorm Leaders with an s/o who likes Bohemian Fashion

JJDDJDK OK I HAD TO RETYPE THIS PART- Hello! I have at least 14 more drafts left after I finish this one so AHHHHHH I’ve been procrastinating a lot and my drafts are literally piling up.

Bohemian fashion is, according to google “ artistic, relax and liberated”. It’s a really elegant yet casual style which I think is really pretty! But, all fashion senses are all equally good in their own way, and if you have your own one, then own it! Flaunt it! Okay, now onto the headcanon!

Trey Clover

He thinks that’s super cool!

You look really pretty with that thin, detailed long coat of yours, or your detailed dress.

You introduced him to all the stone beaded jewelry you have, and he thinks that’s really cool as well!

Maybe he can have some inspiration from your fashion senses into his pastry decorations!

He just gotta be a lot more diligent to add in the details properly.

Wa lah!

You made Trey decorate the cupcakes like artistic mozart wtf-

It’s beautiful.

B E S U S-

“Y-you decorated it similar to my jacket patterns??? That’s really cool, but difficult to do.. You don’t have to make it for me like that..”

“S/o, I really do like your style. Thus, I decided to style my own cupcakes. I love doing it, especially when it reminds me of you~”

Heart attack 2.0

Damn, I’m indulging into Trey lately

I mean, who doesn’t like baker boi-

Ruggie Bucchi

Did- 

did Crewel made a Savanaclaw female uniform???

It looks very Savanaclaw aesthetic-

You explained to him that you love bohemian fashion, and that you liked those jackets with tassels and stuff, with all the details coming in.

Wow-

You are dead drop gorgeous s/o

And he’s gonna cherish the look of you in that jacket

that dress

Basically anytime you wear your bohemian fashion and like

flaunt it hun

FLAUNT IT-

You are absolutely dashing in his eyes-

Anyone who dares say you look stupid are gonna be laughing so hard 

they die

of fun

miserably.

Like damn Ruggie-

Ooh we gonna do yandere Ruggie???

Shishishi-

Nah-

Jade Leech

Oya?

How elegant.

He loves that you have an eye for artistic patterns and details

You look like royalty he swears-

Especially the one with nature prints-

You look like a royalty or nymph of the woods or some shit-

Your fashion sense is not something you see everyday!

It’s totally unexpected and refreshing!

He loves it!

OOH-

WhY NOT-

ahem

why not try making him where one of your scarves to work??

Eh?

EH????

Welp, looks like he threw away that purple scarf everyone’s suppose to wear

With one of your much more fashionable scarves~

“Jade, take of that scarf, it’s not part off the dress code, WHERE’S YOUR NORMAL SCARF-”

“Azul, please. That scarf is so plain, we need something a little more... exotic.”

“You’re only wearing it because it reminds you of s/o, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Yeah he doesn’t know what you’re talking about-

Jamil Viper

You thought he has no time to notice your cool fashion?

Cuz Scarabia gotta a lot of your type of detail going on?

Wrong.

You are absolutely W R O N G-

At first he thought you were one of those guests that were friends with the al asims.

And oh he was absolutely

W R O N G

He thought you look like frickin’ royalty

LIKE DAMN

YOU LOOK BREATH TAKING AND ELEGANT-

With all that artistic patterns

How could he???

Anyways-

He loves your fashion

and he *shyly* (oooh~) asked you if he could-

ya know-

maybe-

if you could give him one of your hoodies-

like the one with your bohemian patterns-

Yeah that be great-

He swears he’s not a pervert, but he’s just busy all the time and can’t see you often,

so just having an article of your clothes makes him feels like at least your there.

I mean, that’s unless you are free and wanna come to Scarabia ya know-

He’s not forcing you-

Please visit him he needs it-

Rook Hunt

Oh my!

How exotic!

So dashing!

So refreshing!

Such an apple of the eye!!

Literally just showers you with compliments.

He can’t help it!

He just loves your fashion senses!

It’s just so elegant and casual at the same time!

You just cut it flawlessly with that style!

MMMMMMMMMMMM

I think he’s the type to observe the style of your jewelry,

and somehow find the right stone beads to make necklaces and bracelets that are Bohemian fashion.

I don’t know how-

But-

It’s sweet-

And he just adores how you look with the jewelry!

Anyone who makes fun of your fashion senses

are in for some serious beating-

Like-

They’re in trouble-

You don’t even know what Rook did to make them shut up-

But it doesn’t matter

He loves his mon cheri’s fashion and of course,

the mon cheri themselves!

Ortho Shroud (platonic)

WOW

Although google in pretty much installed in his brain-

I wanna think he never really thought about fashion

Like the only ones he sees are goth and stuff cuz-

Idia-

Which is WAY TOO COOL-

He thinks yours is absolutely pretty!

WOW BIG WOWS

He thinks your dresses and jackets with those cool boots make you look so pretty!

You should show this to big brother Idia!

Maybe you should lend him your scarf and see how he looks like?

Don’t worry, he’ll return it!

Spoiler, you gave him your scarf cuz he looks so cute in it wtf-

He’s gonna show this scarf to big brother!

He’s gonna love it! He knows it!

He loves you no matter who you are!

And he’s sure his big brother loves you for who you are too!

Lilia Vanrouge

Oh?

How refreshing?

I think he’s come across some bohemian fashion himself-

and has maybe a piece of article or two

But he thinks al the same,

it’s certainly exotic!

You look striking in that dress!

You go rock it!

Maybe he have some sort of fashion runaway strut in Diasomnia-

and like you two just dress up and show off to each other your dresses and stuff-

Lmao Sebek just like whining over the fact he’s doing this-

Silver probably like meh-

And Malleus is so confuse-

I also like to think that you two just bring the entire Diasomnia gang to dress up with you guys-

And like just strut your stuff!

Show off them boots and necklace!

Lilia surely is having so much fun!

I think he’d also cheekily steal your boots-

He just loves them!

Obviously gives them back to you-

But no matter what fashion you like,

He thinks your beautiful no matter what!

[lemonhobgoblin]

A Casual Night

Mothman x human reader (gender-neutral)

Word Count: 7k

(I remember saying I would have a fic done the same week I posted my other fic. Well, that was a lie. After dealing with work, creating new wips, and editing what started as a 2k fic became this long-ass post. I tried to keep this gender-neutral, but if there are any parts thats not gender-neutral, or if something doesn't make sense give me a message and I'll fix it. Anyway hope you enjoy!)

The faint sound of your car running and the sound of the wind whipping against the surface was muddled out by old tunes playing from a random radio station filling the lonely ride home. Your eyes trained on the dark empty road ahead, your headlights on full beam, lighting your way. The subtle notes of a box of cooling pizza wafting in your direction every so often.

You were driving from a city over from where you lived, coming back from a friend’s home who was having a small get-together. It was a great time, unwinding from the stresses of work and life in general, with games, movies, playful banter, and sharing a couple of drinks. As the night progressed, things began to slow down, one of your friends passed out on the couch while everyone else turned to some lighthearted conversation. Leading the host to pipe up if they were willing to spend the night given how late it has gotten and mostly due to how much some people drank.

While everyone was willing to stay the night and continue their night of merriment. You on the other hand as well as one other person had to leave for the night due to work obligations you both had tomorrow morning.

Regretfully, you made your exit not without being offered leftovers for the ride back. But halfway home, you received an email detailing how you were not needed for work tomorrow as you were getting gas.

With this newfound information, you had the choice of making a U-turn back or continue straight home.

Rather than driving back to your friend's home, you were just going to continue your way home. You already said goodnight to them, and you were almost home even though it was still quite a ways to go. Nevertheless, they probably turned in for the night by now, and there was always next time to make it up to them.

So driving down an empty two-way road, with no lights fixture to light the road. With no other cars passing through, keeping you company. Only the trees crowding around the road giving you some sort of haunting looming audience. This was a normally busy road; however, by how late in the night it was, it was understandably dead.

Fortunately, enough, you saw your first signs of life up ahead. It seemed to be a herd of deer passing by. You honked your horn to scare them away from the oncoming danger that was your car.

Except instead of dispersing, they stayed in place, it didn’t seem out of the ordinary why else did they have the saying 'a deer in headlights.'

But what was odd, was the closer you approached the herd of deer they seemed to be floating off the pavement, apparently, they were one entity and not a group and had a pair of red glowing eyes. It stirred an unpleasant feeling in the pit of your stomach.

Promptly, an undiscernible screech erupted all around, jolting you in your seat, feeling a pang of sudden fear washing over you. Convincing yourself it was only the radio going off the fritz, peeling your eyes away from the road you scrambled to shut off the device. During your haste to bring an end to the blaring otherworldly sound, you didn’t realize how fast you were driving.

"What the fuck?!" Seeing a flash of a large dark mass smashing against your windshield - shards of glass flying around and onto you.

Swerving your car over to the side of the road, feeling the right side slope down, the bumps of the grass making you rattle and jostle in your seat. Putting your car to a complete stop.

Frantically, you scrambled to free yourself from your seatbelts, ripping yourself from your constraints, you busted out your car. Not giving a single care to the state of your car or your frazzled state. Only concerned about what or who you hit.

Jogging down, you saw a crumpled figure on the ground, he was a good distance away from where you parked. "Oh my god," You exclaimed.

“I didn’t see you coming, I’m so sorry," you yelled, hurrying to aid the individual. You didn’t get a response or see any movement - he did hit your car pretty hard.

Scared for their wellbeing you slowed down and fished for your phone in your back pocket to call for help. But before you could dial for help, you saw something that put halt to your actions. You starred in disbelief as your phone locked out.

From the figure, a wing stretched out toward the sky before folding back in itself.

What the hell did you hit?!

Cautiously, you crept forward to get a better look, you could see he was wearing a fur jacket. No. He was furry everywhere, dull in color but with an interesting print on what you believed was the wings, the pattern was similar to a moth's wing. A costume perhaps? His legs were a digitigrade structure and his feet are similar to a bird's foot arrangement. The talons of which were scraping against the road like an animal in pain.

"A moth?" Perplexed at what exactly you were looking at, it still seemed human, but it was too large in stature given it curled up on the ground. This had to be some large person in a very convincing costume. Assuming it was someone dressed up, as what you could only think of as Mothman. A random tall person dressed head to toe in an extremely convincing Mothman in the middle of an isolated road, for reasons you couldn't conjure but there had to be a rational reason as to why.

The closer you approached, the more of your rationality began to slip. Carefully you squat down, putting your hands on its back, it felt real. Too real.

The wings felt warm, stroking your hand down, you felt the ridges, bumps, and what felt like a pulse, in the wings. You noticed it had a plush ruff around its neck that could’ve been mistaken for a scarf. And there were antennas on its head, it was featherlike and twitched every few seconds. You had no desire to investigate further, yet you had a gnawing sense of curiosity that compelled you.

Besides what if was someone who was severely injured and needed immediate help. And what kind of person would you be if you just drove off without a second thought, leaving them to die. You couldn't live with yourself if that was the case.

This is too unreal. But all the signs suggested otherwise.

Bracing yourself, you gently turned him over to face you, the moment you caught a glimpse of his face, you felt instant regret surge through your veins. You stumbled backward, landing on your back, trying to push yourself away from the massive creature with your legs.

"MOTHMAN!!" You screamed.

This in turn alarmed the cryptid, flapping his wings erratically in response to your sudden outcry. It was emitting these indiscernible sounds that you had heard earlier in the car, it provoked that familiar immense fear within you.

Except, this was louder than when you were in your car, the sound reverberated through you, chills traveling up your spine. You could feel your heart palpitating within your chest, your trembling limbs growing numb. You felt your senses heightened at an alarming rate it was nauseating that you felt your mind blur. If these disquieting sounds alone could trigger your flight or fight response, without the presence of the monster. It was nothing in comparison to the full show that was in front of you, it was overwhelming in all the senses, inciting you to get far as possible.

"Holy shit!" Pulling yourself from your state of shock, you turned over onto your hands and knees, pushing yourself up and away, making a straight beeline to your car without delay.

The screeching stopped behind you. Glancing back toward the monster curious if it was making a move towards you. But all you saw was a poor incapacitated being, pitifully attempting to lift itself away. One of its wings was flapping while the other was barely moving at all. When it tried to move its stiff wing, it wouldn't fully extend before retracting it back, making what sounded like a pained low screech.

In all honesty, even in your fear-driven state, it pained you to witness this distressing scene. Pondering back and forth between taking the car and leaving, or taking your chances with the monster.

Inching toward the car, all without removing your eyes from the scene. Then you heard a more distressing shrill, stopping you dead in your tracks. You couldn't leave him.

He still needs help.

Inhaling a deep breath, you shakily walked back, each step was challenging you felt so weak in the knees and you felt lighter than usual. Your mouth desiccated of any moisture but persisted in swallowing nothing. It felt as if you were walking down to your execution and it might as well be. You couldn't predict what it would do or what it was capable of doing if you got any closer. Regardless, you tried to push your fears aside and help him, even if it killed you.

"Hold on, I'm not gonna hurt you. Just don’t hurt me please." Easing yourself onto your knees, mindful of not doing any sudden movements to provoke it any further for both of your sakes.

Bringing a hand back to where you had it before, you delicately brushed your hand up and down in small strokes on its wing. Focusing on his state and not his appearance, you saw cuts and scrapes littering its wings and body.

You grazed over an open wound, causing the creature to flinch, silently apologizing to him in a hushed tone before continuing to pet him while avoiding any more wounds.

Its breathing began to slow, quelling its jitters. You took this as an indicator of the creature growing at ease at your presence. “See I just wanna help." You whispered as the Moth creature peered up, gazing into your eyes in a sort of mutual understanding. Ensuring a feeling of reprieve within you and within him, or so you thought. It was soon to be proven wrong. The moment was short-lived when the cryptid began to thrash around again, this time trying to keep you away from him.

"Wait I thought we had an understanding there." Pulling yourself into a ball to avoid the cryptid's violent flapping wing and arms recklessly whipping around. "The eye contact we had! The eye contact!" you screamed after being betrayed by this false sense of amicable trust you thought you both had shared at that moment. But this ineffectively did nothing to fix the dilemma, merely adding more to the chaos.

"Please I want to help you." Reaching your hand out to calm him once more, without the screaming and flailing this time. "This was my fault, I wanna help and then you can go on your Mothman way, okay?" You tried to coax. Once more the monster began to quiet down, its quick shallow breathing slowed. Weary of his soothed behavior, you waited a bit before wrapping his arm over your neck.

"Okay, I'm gonna pick you up or at least try to." You said, guiding him upward into a standing position.

"Christ, you’re heavy!" Bending under the weight, propping him against your frame, so you could get a proper footing and grip on him. You struggled to the car, trudging over, but not without one of your legs giving out from under the weight occasionally. What caught your eye was how his head lulled forward or side to side, he might be disoriented from the blow. Not wanting to move his head much, you trudged much slower than you already were and stopped every few seconds.

Arriving at you your vehicle, you rested against your car, before opening the car door and easing him inside into the backseat. Tucking in any stray limbs and wings fully inside the car. Shutting the door you looked at the heavily cracked windshield. It was damaged pretty well, you summarized that you had to slowly drive all the way home. Wait home.

"Wait, I can't just bring you to my house." You said, bringing a hand to your mouth, realizing a new issue. "Someone's gonna see you." Remembering you lived on a busy street near pubs and shops, and it was Friday night you could only assume there were still people out and about enjoying the nightlife. Peering inside your car, your eyes locked on your jacket in the front seat.

"Maybe I can disguise you, and it is Friday night maybe people would be too drunk to notice."

"As long as we don't draw too much attention." You said, getting into your seat and starting up the engine. But something about saying those words aloud, felt like it was going to bite you in the ass but what’s the worst that can happen, you had him handled.

….

Here you were driving back home with the low-volume melody playing like before. However, this was different, before you were alone and you welcomed the tranquil ambiance you had riding home. But now you were riding back with an elusive creature. Creating an unsettling silence within the vehicle. What was maddening was that you were unsure what he was thinking, making you unsure of what to do besides drive. Maybe you were overthinking this but you felt you had to do something to break this disorienting atmosphere because this was too hard to fathom as reality.

"D-Do you want gum? L-Leftover pizza?" Your voice cracked, quickly clearing your throat asking again in a stronger confident voice.

No response. You tapped your fingers on the steering wheel, sucking in your cheek prompting you to purse your lips in your endeavor of finding what else to say. Flitting your eyes back and forth from the road to looking around your car on what else to offer.

"My coat?"

No response again.

Looking at your rearview mirror to get a glimpse of the cryptid only to be met with its red eyes staring directly back at you. Hastily looking back to the road and sinking into your seat, alarmed. How long was he staring at you? Why was he staring? At least he seemed less disoriented now, but you didn’t need that right now, maybe you could draw his attention onto something else other than you.

"How about some air?" you asked, hoping he would stare out the window or put his head out, anything but him staring at you all the way home. Gliding your left hand over to the window control panel on the side of your door, you pushed down a button making his window rolled down. This captured his attention, redirecting his gaze towards the open window, watching the trees and road signs passing by. O thank god. but just as he turned his head to the outside, he took this as an invitation to spread his wings to catch some air.

"That doesn't mean you can start flapping, put your wings down." Whipping your head back and forth from the creature to the road, drawing a hand at him, swinging it around to get him to fold his wings down. "PUT YOUR WINGS DOWN! PUT YOUR WINGS DOWN!" Veering your car off to the side of the road.

.....

Back on the road, after sorting out the matter. "Okay, no rolled down windows." You remarked. Mothman looking like a perfect angel in the back tapping at the rolled-up window while you were in the front with your hair messed up and arms lightly scratched. You weren't a mother, but you now had a vague idea of what it would be like and further respect and admiration for them.

Needless to say, you rode the entire way back in silence without a single word being uttered.

…..

Steering your car on the side of the street in front of an apartment complex, you placed your car in park. You turned off the engine. Street lamps and other building lights were illuminating the street. The neon signs from the local business started to shut off, looked like some of them are turning in for the night.

You snatched your jacket from the passenger seat before slipping out and making your way to open Mothman’s car door.

"We need to move, quickly." Throwing your coat over him to conceal him in the event of someone walking by. Mothman pawed at the coat and clutching it closer to get a better look and smell of the material. After gathering your phone and keys, you whirled back toward Mothman. Fussing at him to not move the jacket, readjusting it over his head. You surveyed the streets for anyone coming down or seem like they are heading out in your direction.

Once more putting his arm around you, you strode as quickly as you possibly could to the complex without either of you falling over. Mercifully, you got to the door with no problem at all or bumping into anyone.

Until you heard something you’ve been dreading on the way home, something that made your heart sank down into the deep trenches of your stomach

"Holy shit! Is that Mothman!?!" A male voice exclaimed.

You whirled your head toward the stranger who was slowly approaching you two. Fuck!

Where did he come from and what made him so confident that he’s looking at Mothman. You glanced back over to Mothman noticing that the jacket that was covering his face, was now draped over his shoulders. Drastically you scoured your brain for an excuse or some sort of explanation to counter how this wasn't a cryptid. But he beat you to the punch before you had a chance to find a solid response.

"Dude sick costume!" He said excitedly.

O fuck. Relieved that it wasn't the worse, but you were surprised he didn't question any further especially how close he was to you both. Even you would've questioned, the details and just the overall realism of said 'costume'. It didn't take long for the answer to hit you square in the nose. When a waft of alcohol invaded your nostrils, the man was drunk, and you never were more grateful.

"Thanks." You nervously laughed.

"That’s crazy good man, you did this all yourself?” He asked enthusiastically towards Mothman, beholding every bit of intricacy on the creature.

"He can’t talk right now; he drank too much to function." You interjected. “We just got back from a party.”

"I gotcha, but is it okay if I get a photo though?"

FUCK! you blurted internally, but externally with faux delight, you said "Sure!"

" 'Chad' you cool with that?" you sheepishly asked your moth friend with the first name you could think of for him. And why were you asking him? As if he could make a cohesive verbal response. But you were hoping at this moment he could magically talk, alas all he did was blankly stare.

"I'm not hearing a no." You heard the man say and you woefully agreed.

"Gimme a sec." The man pulled out his phone and tapping it unlocked.

"Okay," your heart was racing in your chest and you could feel a layer of sweat beginning to form and pool in places. But by some sweet grace of some higher being, a miracle happened right before your eyes. You heard a melodious chime sweetly ring through the crisp early fall air.

"O dang getting a call, hold on" the man answered the call, turning his back towards you.

Maybe there was a god, after all, a fucking sadist with a sick sense of humor. Either way, you were not about to pass up this chance for a free getaway.

You took this God-given opportunity to jam your key into the lock swiftly to get the both of you inside. Twisting to unlock the entrance, you could overhear the man to what sounded like him wrapping up his conservation. Turning the knob, you ushered Mothman and yourself inside the apartment complex, but not without throwing a quick apology to the stranger. Slamming your back against the door shutting it closed, a wave of relief washed over you.

"Aw man, that was too close." leaning your head against the door, desperate for a quick breath from your ordeal. You hadn't felt this much adrenaline since, since. You were so winded you couldn't even recall a memory.

Peeling yourself off from the door, feeling ready to make the final steps home. Deceptively though your body wasn’t as ready to move just yet.

"Nope wait." still trying to catch your breath. Doubling over, leaning forward, and resting your hands on your knees. Mothman all the while just tilted his head at you, confused. While you were over there feeling like you were going to be sick. The wave of nausea quickly fading away allowing you to straighten yourself out.

"Okay, we're good." You said as you grabbed his hand leading him up the stairs. Unbeknownst to you, the large creature was zoning in at the unfamiliar contact.

During his entire time with you, he was just as wary of you as you were with him. He wasn’t one to present himself to people, only as a forewarning of what was to come or an indication that Mothman will be the very last thing they would see. He trailed and stalked others like you in your car but was never hit, that was a first for him. Albeit though, him getting hit with your car, leaving him cut up and bruised did give him another reason to be extremely defensive and antsy around you.

Yet, you were gentle, loud but gentle with him when he wasn’t. Risking your safety in an effort for him to get mended. Lightly ghosting his thumb over the soft skin of your hand, tightening his hold on you. But you didn't notice, you were too preoccupied with climbing higher up the stairs, vigilant for any neighbors.

"Come on we're almost to my place." Giving a reassuring hand squeeze.

"Try to stay quiet a little longer." Peering back at the cryptid flashing him a quick warm smile, before looking back straight ahead. The creature looked directly at you, then to stairs, and back to you again. He came up with a grand idea to help with your effort. But first, he had to gain your attention and for this to work, he had to disregard everything you told him not to do earlier. The cryptid started to emit his screech directly at you to get your attention. And to you, he was making a ruckus, that was echoing through the entire stairwell and halls.

"What part of stay quiet do you not understand?" Grimacing at the noise. You stopped your movement, aiming to cover his mouth with your free hand, you felt his mandibles tickling underneath your palm.

The creature pulled your hand away and into his own, clutching both of his hands close to himself, bringing you into him. This gesture was unexpected and left you feeling warm in the face by how close he was pressing you into him. But it didn't last long when he began to bend his knee and flap his wing readying himself to fly up.

"Wait don't" Pushing yourself away from him, you freed yourself from his grasp to stop his actions. He was still injured this would only cause more harm to him and to you if he tried doing what you thought he was about to do. In your effort to stop him, Mothman tried to reach out for you again, only for his wing to smack into you causing you to land on the hard edge of the concrete stairs; headfirst. “Shit."

Groaning, "Well, I deserved that." you brought your hand to your head, you winced at the touch. As you yanked your hand away you caught a glimpse of red in your peripherals. Bringing the hand in your line of vision you saw blood smeared on the tips of your fingers.

Mothman immediately brought his actions to a halt when he saw what he had done to you. His antennas drooped down, he came close, giving you a hand up. Gladly accepting the gesture, he brought you up to an upright position, he felt bad for what he had done to you. Tentatively, he brought a hand up, lightly swiping his claws over your forehead making a low pained screech.

“It’s okay, you just wanted help didn’t you.” He nodded in response, you pressed a hand to the wound preventing the blood from dripping down. You couldn’t be mad at him he didn’t know better, and you did hurt him first, it only felt fair. Disrupting this tender moment, you heard yelling and heavy footsteps approaching one of the doors on the floor you were on.

"Let’s go!" you rushed up the stairs, luckily for you both it was the final flight of stairs. Reaching the top of steps in record time when you heard the front swing door open.

"What's with all that commotion!?" A neighbor yelled upward toward the sound of your feet stomping up. Coming to an abrupt halt at your door, you whispered for Mothman to stay where he was, while you dealt with the matter below. But he decided to follow behind instead, not wanting to leave your side.

"Sorry I was just goofing" You admitted, showing your face over the rail, outing yourself to your neighbor.

"Sorry my ass, I got work early tomorrow, you expect me to sleep with this fucking racket outside, and now this." They argued back, and rightly so, who wouldn’t complain about an unearthly ear-piercing screech penetrating through the halls along with banging sounds hitting all around the walls. But you couldn’t help but feel annoyed

"I’m sorry, it won’t happen again, promise." You leaned forward resting against the rail while one leg was kicked up behind you, preventing Mothman from coming toward the railing. You exchanged a few more words with your neighbor to avoid the landlord getting involved. Finishing up, you pulled yourself away calling it wraps on the conversation as the individual below continued spewing profanities at you and about the building.

You unlocked and opened your door “In! In! In!" You shoved the imposing cryptid inside, already getting peeved by the neighbor's continuous rambling. It wasn’t anything new they hated everyone in the building, but it wasn’t something you grew used to though.

"Jesus Christ finally." you sighed, kicking the door behind shut.

Slipping off your shoes, leaving them by the entrance, your feet ached in relief from its constructing confines. Dragging yourself through the small hall leading the way to the main part of your home, it was small but cozy.

"Here we are home sweet home." you chimed, leading Mothman further into the living room, grabbing the jacket from him and tossing it to the couch. As well as turning on a lamp to properly illuminate the room. It didn't take long for Mothman to be drawn to the light fixture like the moth he was. He grabbed the lamp hugging it towards him, looking directly at the bulb. Chuckling at the sight, you could’ve given him a flashlight on the way home if he was going to be this mesmerized. You proceeded to make your way to the kitchen for your first aid kit.

"You can make yourself comfortable, but don’t wreck anything please," you shouted from the room over, but Mothman was unbothered, he was solely transfixed on the soft light, eyes wide and grabbing at the lampshade. "I'm gonna go find my first aid kit to fix you and my cut." You really hoped nothing else gets broken, there was already enough screaming and thrashing for the night.

Shuffling through the kitchen, trying to remember where you last placed the kit. You rested and slid a hand over the cool smooth linoleum counter, looking between cabinets for any sign of a small box. Coming to the last cabinet, you rummaged through before finally pulling out your first aid kit.

But you couldn’t help but stop and think about tonight’s events. It started as a fun night, then filled with pure dread, mothering, and now what felt like taking care of a drunk long-time friend. Except, what really dominated your mind was this odd feeling you started to feel, you recounted back in the hall the way he held you close. It made you feel bashful, to say the least. Up to now, you saw him as a friendly harmless dare you say, an unexpected friend. But that didn’t accurately describe what you were feeling. Shaking your heading, you had other pressing matters to attend to.

"Got it, let's see." And not to your surprise you saw the tall cryptid sitting on the couch, clutching the lamp close to him as if it was his lifeline. You contemplated whether you should take the lamp away. But he looked to be enjoying the light source, hearing faint happy chirps emitting from him. Sadly, you decided to ruin his fun, seeing as there were wounds you needed to tend to on his chest and you needed the light to properly see them.

You attempted to pull the lamp away so you could have better access to examine his injuries. In response, he chittered in objection to his lamp being taken, and nothing was going to separate him from his precious lamp. He was going to soon learn that the lamp was barely holding onto the outlet. Hugging it closer to himself, the plug came out, extinguishing the light. Perplexed as to where his light disappeared to, he presented the lamp towards you hoping you would bring the light back.

“I’ll bring it back, but only until I get a look at you.” He nodded vigorously as you grabbed the lamp and setting back on the mini table, blindingly trying to find the plug and inserting back into the outlet turning on the lamp again. You sat on the couch next to him, motioning for him to come closer so you could get to work.

......

"I don’t see any major cuts or anything broken." Scouting out the state of the injuries, they were honestly not that bad, you guessed it was probably due to the now dried flaky blood around his cuts gave the appearance that they worse than what they were. He got pretty lucky but it was probably due to his build that he was capable of taking on more than a couple of hits.

"Only just a sprain and a couple of cuts, that’s a relief" Thinking to yourself glad it wasn't any worse, you couldn't imagine the stress of trying to keep him at your apartment while he heals, and away from your neighbors’ eyes. The fear of him getting caught and taken away and dissected. Being bombarded by officials and Mothman lovers. And getting questioned or probed, maybe even both. You didn’t know if they would, but you knew deep in your heart they would probe you for answers. Stopping your paranoid-filled train of thought from delving any further. You finished tying up a couple of loose ends and sticking on on salve on minor areas.

"See all better. Don’t move too much, it'll heal quickly that way" Gathering any trash to throw away. Everything is fine now; you don’t have plans tomorrow so you could probably sneak him back out the next night.

Huh.

Letting him go. The idea of it should have given you some relief and yet you couldn’t help but feel conflicted. Would he come to visit again? No that would be reckless. Or you could convince him to stay longer to heal, no that would be irresponsible and selfish of you. He deserves to go back, and you're going to help him get back on his feet and let him be on his way. You walked back to the room.

“Feel much better?” you inquired to Mothman who busy was playing with the bandages on him.

He looked directly at you and nodded in response.

"That’s good, the sooner you get better the sooner you can leave," you told him, seating yourself back next to Mothman who hasn’t kept his eyes off of you. You peered up to catch a glimpse of what he was doing, only to capture him looking directly at you with his head tilted.

Not this again. you thought.

He’s certainly not making this any easier. You looked away trying to focus on anything else in the room before you resorted to looking at the floor.

"You know it’s still kinda crazy, that this is even real. Like I feel like I’m going insane," you jokingly confessed to Mothman, laughing to yourself. But you thought about it more, maybe you were, "O my God is this what a psychological break is?" You looked back at him, having an unfazed look on him.

"Can I?" you asked reaching a hand forward. He stared at your hand for a bit, until he leaned forward giving you permission to proceed.

"So soft" allowing yourself to fully feel him, combing your hand through his dark fur and traveling up his ruff. It was surprisingly plush for how it looked, it felt you were touching a cloud but with some tiny debris within it. You gathered more courage to let your hand wander up to his face, giving a couple of brushes before stopping your motion, cupping the side face. His eyes were a brilliant red color comparable to a lustrous gem.

"You really are real." You muttered, stroking a thumb over his cheek.

Mothman brought a clawed hand to your face in a likewise manner, curious of your own features. Where for him he found them peculiar and to other individuals such as yourself they found it normal. The universe was messed up, making it much harder for you to separate yourself from him when the time comes for him to leave, but you allowed this, forgetting your initial plan.

Feeling a sharp claw gliding up against your skin, perfectly capable of nicking you or doing so much worse to you than you could imagine. But he had no intention to do so, merely entranced by you.

His hand wandered up to your forehead, where your gash was, flaky and dried the blood was chipping at the edges. His antennas lowered and chirped in response, for what he did to you back at the stairwell, he didn't mean to. Even if you said it was alright, it still didn’t make him better, bringing a hand to skim the wound, you flinched at the sharp pain of your forgotten injury, knocking you out of your trance-like state.

Mothman drawing back in his seat, alert and worried thinking he hurt you again.

“It’s okay, you did nothing wrong.”

You reached a hand out to calm him, you aimed for his arm but managed to miss and land your hand on his thigh. Wow, that’s great! you internally cringed feeling a blush rush over you, instead of pulling back you still tried to alleviate him by patting his leg, telling him it was the injury that was hurting you not him.

Instead of defusing his concerned mindset, he only tried to push away from you to avoid causing you any further harm. Hand still anchored on his thigh, you launched yourself trying to stop him from hurting himself more.

Fortunately, with your luck, you ended up top of him, Mothman laying on the couch while you hovered over him, with both of your legs planted on either side of his thigh. Your left knee was alarming close to his crotch if you moved an inch closer you would be bumping your knee right into it. Your hands rested squarely on his chest, finger splayed out as you looked down at him with a similar wide-eyed expression.

You gotta be fucking kidding me.

Maintaining your effort of trying to console Mothman, you coughed to clear your throat and your mind of any dirty thoughts from springing up. “Hey, I know you didn’t mean to, and if you did, I would tell you and- and I’m sorry that I gave you the impression that you hurt me and I’m sorry for hitting you with my car, I feel like saying it doesn’t do justice for what I did.” You panted after your long-winded speech.

“Also, I’m sorry for tackling you down that wasn’t my intention. So, you good? I didn’t hurt you?”

He slowly shook his head, as a response that you didn’t hurt him. Startled yes. Hurt no. Bobbing your head in understanding, you carefully crawled off him.

"Well, I guess I should go get the blood washed off, I'll be right back." You informed the still cryptid who made no effort of getting up, just continued to lay on the couch staring straight ahead in shock.

Walking off to clean off the blood and to regain your composure. You were just going through too many emotions than you should for the night. On your way to take care of your problem, you could’ve sworn you heard something akin to a cat purring where Mothman was. But you blew it off and justified it as hearing the blood rushing and the beat of your heart pounding in your ears.

Striding down a hall and into the bathroom you turned the faucet on allowing the water to flow into the sink and onto your hands. Water pooled in your cupped hands before splashing the cold water onto your face, the water, and dried blood dripping together down around the curves and grooves of your face into the porcelain bowl below. It was a satisfying contrast to your heated face, splashing another round of water at your face but an intrusive memory replayed the moment that happened a few seconds ago. Leaving your face buried in your hands, groaning from sheer embarrassment. Fucking hell why am I like this?!

Unwillingly you slid your hands off and look at yourself in the mirror you looked like the accurate personification of a hot mess. You weren’t going to think too much into this, you are going to pretend what happened didn’t happen, you were going to disinfect and stick a bandage on your cut and not dwell on your emotions around the situation at hand. Allowing him to leave as soon as he is better and not have any other affiliations with him again.

Opening the medicine cabinet for an alcohol wipe and unwrapping the wipe from its small packaging.

"Now for the worst part." Quietly hissing at the contact with the antiseptic. Finishing up on cleaning the wound, you foraged through the cabinet looking for a bandaid. Noting there wasn’t one to be found, you sighed.

Guess I need to go find one.

Turning toward the door to walk out, you looked up and saw Mothman standing at the doorway, watching.

How long was he standing? And how the hell is he so silent for such a big guy and why wasn't he like this before? You were about to question him what he was doing here or if needed something when you noticed he was fiddling with a band-aid in hand. Slowly he brought it up, placing it over your cut.

"Thanks." Laying a hand over the band-aid, feeling not just your cheeks warming up but now a butterfly feeling in your stomach, solidifying your emotions for him.

So much for my plan.

Weaseling past him, before enthusiastically asking him, "Well, we got time to pass, so what do you want to do?"

…..

The sun rays bled through the curtains lightening up your home, the light seeping past your eyelashes and into your eyelids forcing you to wake up. Blinded by the light, you groaned in discomfort, pushing yourself up hearing a couple pops in your back. Rubbing a hand up and down your face trying to wipe away the sleep.

What the hell happened here? Why was there glass everywhere? Looking up you saw your window smashed in with only a few jagged pieces in place around the sides. Turning your attention away you looked around the room, wasn’t there someone else here. O yeah.

But the question was, how did you end up falling asleep on the floor, and where was the large cryptid. Wait a minute.

…

"No, you can't go out, you're still hurt." Trying to hold him back from going through the window. Everything was fine, you both were sitting on the couch, watching whatever, and snacking on fruit, and next, you found yourself asleep but woke up to a ruckus, the tv still on, and seeing Mothman trying to rip the curtain off the window nearby. Jumping to action to stop him, he successfully pulled off the curtains along with the rack, you assumed he was trying to leave even though he wasn’t better or so you thought.

And here you were struggling to hold him back, you thought he was difficult before but now that he fully adjusted and patched, you fully experienced that he was pure indomitable power.

"At least wait till the street is clear." You insisted, noticing some people walking or jogging down the street in the dark early morning. But he didn't listen he was adamant in making his exit. So, you made the decision to let him go.

"Okay, okay at least let me get the window, I don’t want glass on the floor." Racing in front of him to slide the window open. A quick gust of wind whipped against your face, causing you to squint your eyes in response.

"There! AH-!" the last thing you saw was Mothman coming at you and the last thing you felt was his frame bulldozing you down by fast approaching torso.

…

"O right." That explains how you ended up on the floor and the glass strewn all over the floor. More incredibly, even when you opened the window, the creature still managed to break the window in its haste to leave. Your head was pounding, he really is a force to be reckoned with. Bringing a hand to your head, you winced at the contact to your forehead but noticed something else. Delicately raising a hand back to your forehead and skimming along the surface. There was the band-aid from the stairwell and on the other side was another. You didn’t remember adding when did you?

Oh.

……

"My window," you muttered groggily, your vision fading out not before the moth creature gave his assistance to you for the last time and a thanks to you by sticking a band-aid on your sure-to-be bruised noggin as you lulled into an unconscious state.

……

At least bug boy was nice enough to get you another band-aid when he put you out cold, before making his exit. Slowly standing up to get started on assessing the mess and knowing full well that you needed to inform your landlord of the window. You peered out the window, curious of any indication of Mothman to spot, unfortunately, all there was to see the was hustle and bustle of the city around and below.

Turning your attention back to the mess, maybe you could make a fib of some large man drunk man pretending to be Mothman breaking into your home believing it was his. Sighing, you went to grab a broom to clean up the mess, at least you were able to encounter a real living and breathing legend. Made you wonder if other cryptids exist, but you’re pretty sure handling one creature was enough for now after last night.

Finishing up, you gathered all the shards and brought them to the trash. You didn’t have work for today, which gave you the opportunity to get a breather and get things done. Making your way to your room and getting ready for the day.

As you were getting clothes on and getting a good look at yourself in the mirror. There square above your eyes and your right eye was a bruise evident from last night's escapades. Shaking your head, laughing to yourself you weren’t going to be able to cover up the contusion. Bringing a hand to your head, you couldn’t help but smile at the cryptids' cute gesture. Walking out of the restroom deciding to let the shiner shine, ready to do some damage control.

Grabbing your keys, and heading out the door, and yet you couldn't stop thinking of that little moth guy. What are the chances of seeing him again? Probably unlikely, a mere once in a lifetime chance but you were grateful to encounter a sweet bug boy like him.

[farfromsugafanfic]

Sutures - Chapter Eleven: Right Place

Genre: Soulmates AU, Idiots to Lovers, slight Enemies to Lovers

Pairing: Yoongi/Named Reader

Warnings (chapter specific): mentions of anxiety (sort of), exes who won’t leave you alone, family hospitalization, mentions of death

Synopsis: “A person often meets his destiny on the road he took to avoid it.” –Jean de la Fontaine

There was only one thing you and Min Yoongi had in common that night. You were both brokenhearted. You only intended to be together for one night, but when you both end up in the hospital the next day you discover that you are soulmates. It could kill you to be apart. As you and Yoongi attempt to sever the bond between you, will another be formed?

Previous | Series Masterlist | Next

You swung your legs towards the seat across from you, but they were just barely too short and they fell straight back down which caused Yoongi to chuckle. He sat diagonally from you with his feet resting on the seat beside you. He wore headphones and had his laptop in front of him. You hadn't even realized he was paying attention to you. 

You held your knitting needles and your creation was nearly done. Yoongi had told you about his family dog--Holly--and you remembered seeing his picture in Yoongi's studio. You were knitting a small scarf that would tuck easily around his collar. You wished you had more time to make him something like a jacket, but Yoongi had sprung the trip on you, planning and taking on a large project like that took weeks to complete. 

The scenery on the train flew by so quickly you could hardly make it out and it made your head spin if you tried for more than a few seconds.

"You seem quiet," Yoongi said. He hadn't taken his headphones off and you laughed at the thought that he simply had them in as a habit.

"You were working. I didn't want to disturb you."

Yoongi shrugged and lowered his laptop screen and allowed his headphones to fall around his neck. "You seem nervous." His gaze lowered down to your fingers that continued knitting as you spoke and looked into his eyes. You hadn't even noticed the way your fingers continued the pattern. 

"I mean, I want to make a good impression on your family. I know we're not really together or anything, but I'm your soulmate and if they don't like me--"

"Exactly, you're my soulmate," Yoongi said. "Finding each other was less than one in a million. Almost less than one in a billion. And, don't they say that soulmates are often not just compatible with the person, but their family as well?" 

"That's been the case so far," you said, remembering reading the Wikipedia article on the handful of other soulmate couples. "But, soulmate science is new and imprecise. And, I imagine for those who are different from their families or don't have good relationships with them, that can't always be true."

"I have a feeling they will like you," Yoongi said. "You don't have to worry."

You didn't get a chance to respond as the train lurched to a stop and announced its arrival in Daegu. The doors opened and you stood up. You and Yoongi had had the train car to yourselves, so you were able to stand up and grab your suitcase immediately. 

"Are the press gonna be here?" 

"I don't know," Yoongi said. "We didn't officially announce this trip, but I wouldn't be surprised if someone is following us."

You nodded. It was becoming familiar to see camera flashes and your face used as a cover photo. The thought of growing used to it sent a shiver down your spine as you extended the handle on your suitcase.

Yoongi stood beside you and your eyes met briefly causing his lips to turn upwards in a small smile. He reached up and pulled the mask you'd forgotten was looped around your ears and hanging around your chin up over your lips and nose. 

"Just in case," he said.

---

You hadn't seen a single camera as you neared Yoongi's parent's place. You weren't sure if it was a blessing or a curse. Just because you couldn't see the cameras, didn't mean that they weren't there. You half expected to see a picture of you and Yoongi getting off the train in Daegu pop up in your newsfeed. 

"We're here," Yoongi said. The car stopped and Yoongi was immediately out and walking around to open your door. You stepped out and gripped the handle of your suitcase, the bones of your knuckles feeling like they were about to burst through your skin. 

Yoongi walked slightly in front of you and opened the door. The first thing you heard was a high-pitched barking and before you could catch sight of Holly, the brown full-sized poodle was jumping up on you in greeting.

"You must Holly," you said, crouching down and allowing the dog to rest its front half on your lap. "I've heard a lot about you." 

"Ah, I'm right here." Yoongi's face contorted into a look of simultaneous amusement and jealousy. 

You laughed as you ruffled the dog's ears and crouched down so he could lick your chin. "Oh, you're so sweet." You reached into your purse and pulled out the scarf you finished on the train ride and carefully tied it around his neck. 

"Oh!" you heard someone exclaim from the other end of the room. "I wasn't expecting you two for another hour. Dinner isn't done yet." 

"It's fine. We have to get settled anyway." 

Yoongi's mother's eyes widened as she met yours. It was as if she had just noticed you. She stood just a few inches shorter than Yoongi and you could see they shared many features. From the slope of the nose to the way her eyes seemed to narrow in on you, the same way Yoongi's did in certain moments.

"You must be Sumi," she said. "It's so nice to finally meet you." 

She reached out and pulled you into a hug. You tensed as she wrapped her arms around you. From everything Yoongi told you about his family, they were not outwardly affectionate people and so you had expected at most a firm handshake. 

"I'm sorry," she said. "I just feel like you're part of the family already." She glanced over at Yoongi and back at you. "I haven't seen Yoongi this happy for a long time." 

"Oh," was all you could get out. Yoongi had told them you were trying to sever the relationship, right?

---

Yoongi met his mother's gaze. Her eyebrow slightly arched, a look Yoongi had seen many times. Holly broke the silence with a bark signaling for you to reach down and pet him again. You crouched down so your face was level with his and allowed him to lick your chin. 

Yoongi couldn't help but smile as he watched you. Your hair was ruffled from the train ride and he noticed the way your shaking hands calmed as they ran through Holly's fur. He crouched down next to you and met your eyes, a small smile simultaneously appeared on both your faces. 

"I've never seen him warm up to someone so quickly," Yoongi said, ruffling the dog's ears.

"I guess he just likes me." 

"Yeah," Yoongi said, his voice an octave quieter. "I guess he does."

Yoongi's phone buzzes in his pocket. His hand reaches for it, but he doesn't want to leave this moment. It wasn't like he was reliant on his phone, but with an upcoming album and the other members working on it in his absence, he couldn't ignore it.

Jihee's name appeared on his screen and his widened. He hadn't blocked her number purely because the texts after the break up stopped and with the whole soulmates thing, he'd honestly forgotten.

Yoongi opened the text and found a screenshot from Instagram where she'd posted a picture of herself laying on a bed with her legs straight up in the air. It wasn't the familiar slope of her calves or the arch of her back that caught his eye, but rather the black pumps she wore. 

He recognized them instantly as the ones you'd worn and abandoned the night he'd met you and the ones you'd failed to get back from Minki. Yoongi had no idea how Jihee got a hold of them, or how she even knew their significance. 

He screenshot the text and emailed it off to the legal team at BigHit. He knew the post would probably gain some attention, but he trusted it would be seen for what it was, an attempt to seek attention. 

Blocking her number, he slid the phone back into his pocket. Yoongi knew he should tell you, but watching the way you adjusted the scarf around Holly's neck, he decided he'd tell you later.

---

Yoongi was starving and watched as each dish was placed on the table. His parents had made a bit of everything and as soon as everything was set he quickly reached for braised pork and his mom's homemade kimchi. 

You grabbed a bit of everything and mixed it together with your rice. Yoongi reached out and grabbed a few more pieces of meat and set them in your bowl. 

"You didn't eat much this morning." 

Your eyes widened and Yoongi thought he caught your lips curl into an embarrassed smile.

"Sumi," Yoongi's mother said. "I'm so happy you came into Yoongi's life. We were getting a bit worried Yoongi would never find someone who made him truly happy." She glanced over at Yoongi's father. "Even in his past relationships, I never saw Yoongi like this." 

Yoongi felt the heat rush to his ears and his feet fidgeted under the table.

You--despite Yoongi seeing the way you fiddled with your chopsticks indicating your nerves--smiled. "Well, I didn't really have a choice." You laugh, which normally made Yoongi's heart jump, this time made it fall. 

While it was entirely true that you and Yoongi hadn't a choice in getting to know each other, there was a part of Yoongi that didn't want this to end. He wanted to see you play with Holly, see your hair splayed over your face in the morning, and your small smile when he gave you more meat. 

"I am happy I met Yoongi though," you said. "Even if we can't spend the rest of our lives together and this is all some weird biological thing, these past few weeks getting to know Yoongi have convinced me that we are truly soulmates. I don't think soulmates always have to be romantic or end up together, we just get each other."

The table fell silent. But, it was content and for the remainder of the meal, the only sounds heard were light conversations and the sounds of eating. Yoongi couldn't help the swelling feeling he felt in his chest. He worried he would suddenly float off the seat like a balloon if he didn't try to stifle it.

You set down your chopsticks. "Thank you for the meal. I'll clean up my things and head to bed." 

"Oh, no need to clean up. You're our guest. Yoongi, why don't you show her to your old room? I'll set you up a bed on the couch." 

"Ah, mom, we're soulmates. Is that really necessary?"

"Yes," his mom said. "Maybe the poor girl wants a break from you." 

His mom's quip made you laugh and he let out a sigh. "All right," he said. "Come on." 

---

Yoongi led you to his childhood bedroom. When he opened the door, you were met with Epik High posters and notebooks lining the shelves of his bookshelf. You smiled at how distinctly Yoongi it felt. While it obvious his room hadn't changed much from when he first left home, you could still see hints of the man Yoongi would become. From the basketball trophies to the books about music production. 

"Hey, I need to talk to you about something." 

Yoongi's demeanor changed as he closed the door. "I got a text from Jihee earlier. She somehow got ahold of your shoes and posted with them. I sent everything to the company and I'm sure they will take care of it. I just wanted to warn you in case this blows up--" 

"I trust you, Yoongi," you interrupted. "They've already said everything they could. It can't get worse than it already is and I know you'll do your best to take care of it."

You flopped down onto the bed and patted the bed beside you. Yoongi laid beside you. Your bodies were centimeters apart, but you didn't touch. 

"Your parents didn't like Jihee, did they?" 

Yoongi shook his head. "No," he said. "They tolerated her because I liked her, but they said they never pictured her as part of the family." 

"Mine never liked Minki either." You were silent for a moment. "Maybe they knew somehow." 

"Maybe," Yoongi said, his fingers brushing against yours. You turned and noticed he was still looking up at the ceiling, seemingly not noticing how his hand wandered to find yours. You wondered if it was a side effect of being soulmates. Your hands would always find each other.

The moment was severed when your phone rang. It was your mom and your stomach turned as you realized it was 5 am there. 

"Hello?" You didn't care that Yoongi was in the room anymore. In fact, something kept you clinging to his hand. 

"Sumi? You need to get here. Grandma's in the hospital and they don't think she has much time left. We're gonna leave her on life support until you get here because we know she would want you here. I don't know if it's possible without risking your own health and Grandma will understand--" 

"No, I'm coming. I'll find a way. Give me a couple days. I'll be there, okay?" Your eyes were filled to the brim with tears and after you said your goodbyes, they rushed out. You weren't cognizant, but when you opened your eyes, you were folded into Yoongi's chest. 

"Did you hear everything?" 

Yoongi nodded. "I've already called a car to take us back. We'll be back in Seoul in a few hours." 

"Yoongi, what are we going to do? You have a comeback soon. You can't just come with me to California." 

"Shh, we'll figure it out. Just get your things together, okay?" 

You nodded and got off the bed to collect your things. "Yoongi," your voice was still hoarse and barely there. "Thank you."

[flamehairedwritings]

Happiest Season Of All

Characters: Chief Jim Hopper x Female Reader

Rating: M, 18+ ONLY

A/N: Happy Holidays! Phew, it’s been a while. Here is a kind of drabble, and also kind of a sequel to Pain In My Heart? Set the year before S1, there’s no mentions of family, no use of Y/N, and it’s just a gentle, kind of angsty little story.

This story contains broken hearts, swearing, alcohol and embarrassment.

I hope you enjoy and have a lovely week!

Summary: Broken up with just before Christmas? Fantastic. The only thing that can help is returning to your home town, old friends... and an old love.

Masterlist

Please don’t copy, steal or repost my work; credit does not count.

—

23rd December 1982

‘... There'll be parties for hosting, marshmallows for toasting, and carolling out in the snow...’

You quietly hum along absent-mindedly to the cassette someone’s playing from a boombox, gazing out of the window. Usually, you’d have been annoyed but, hey, it’s the holidays.

Besides, you haven’t had much of a chance to get into the festive spirit or mood recently. With the classic Christmas song playing, the train rumbling gently and the twinkling lights in the darkness slowly growing brighter, you’re finally starting to feel it. Inhaling a breath, you lean your temple against the cold glass, your fingers lacing together in your lap as you gaze at the lights.

Hawkins, Indiana. Your hometown.

It’s been a few years since you were here for longer than a weekend but, oh, boy, this year you just need to be here. You’re retreating, you’re not too proud to admit, coming home to lick your wounds and be surrounded by all things familiar, cosy and boring.

You almost laugh. You’d left this place because it was so damn boring and now here you are, craving it. If teenage you could see you now. She’d be giving ‘that’ look which you’re told you still give to this day. 

Ah, well. Time’s a bitch, baby.

The train slows as it pulls into the station and you start to gather your things while a few others around you stand and pull their bags down from the overhead racks. You pull your suitcases down as the train comes to a stop, all three of them, with their different colours and patterns. Pulling on your scarf, coat and rucksack, you haul the suitcases down the aisle as best as you can single-file, muttering under your breath as they catch every few steps against chairs.

The wheels clatter onto the concrete of the cold platform when you step down, one suitcase twisting onto its front and tangling with the others as it nearly falls from your hand. Muttering under your breath again, you right it and continue walking down the platform, two small groups of people reuniting having to part for you. Making eye contact with a grateful smile, you’re relieved you don’t recognise any of them; you’re really not in the mood for your own reunion right now.

“There she is!”

Well, just the one.

A smile spreads across your face as Karen Wheeler trots down the platform in her heeled boots, grinning and her arms open wide. The suitcases drop from your hands as you throw your arms around one another, rocking from side to side slightly.

“Oooh, hello, sweetheart,” Karen murmurs, pressing a big, wet kiss to your cheek.

“Hey, Karrie.”

Your smile lingers, and it’s the first genuine one you’ve had in a while. Karen has worn the same perfume since high school and it puts you at ease instantly. God, you just love her. You talk on the phone every other week and have done since you moved out of Hawkins; she’s been the most consistent friend in your life and you love her with all your damn heart.

“C’mon, give me those, let’s get out of here, it’s freezing...” Pulling back, she takes two of the suitcases from you before you can protest and starts striding down the platform.

You have to do a quick little jog to catch up with her, marvelling, not for the first or even fortieth time, how she can go so quickly in those heels. It’s a short walk to the exit, made shorter by Karen’s pace, and she’s parked right outside. Wonderful. Opening the trunk, you both bundle your suitcases in, tossing your rucksack on top of it, and then do a speedy little walk to the doors, yanking them open.

“Oof, coldest winter we’ve had in years,” Karen shivers dramatically in her seat as she rubs her gloved hands together before buckling her seatbelt.

Buckling your own as she eases out onto the road, you blow out a breath. “Yeah, definitely feels that way.”

“So, how was the journey?”

“Oh, the usual, long but fine. It was a lot emptier than I expected.”

“Well, we keep hearing there’s gonna be a blizzard, so some folks have come home a little earlier.”

“Well, that’s smart.”

“Yeah. Means I keep bumping into people at the store that I wish I could avoid, though, and on the street.” She snorts as she glances at you. “Ugh, I bumped into Peggy Dawnes the other day, remember her? She would not stop talking about her perfect life on her perfect farm with her perfect husband and her perfect kids and her perfect lawn. Well, there were ten bottles of wine in her cart and I know for a fact her mother doesn’t drink and her perfect husband only likes neat whisky, so, there.”

“Oh.”

You cringe internally at your short reply, but you really can’t think of what else to say. Karen glances at you again, pausing. You look over at her and find the sympathy you’ve only been able to hear during the last few weeks. She reaches over and pats your knee gently before returning her hand to the wheel.

“Oh, sweetheart... How are you doing?”

You release a breath, raising your eyebrows slightly. “Better for being here, already. But, y’know...”

She gives you a sympathetic smile as she pats your knee again. “Don’t worry, toots, like I said you can stay as long as you want, it’s no trouble at all.”

You return her smile, relieved that you find you don’t have to force it. “Thank you.”

“No worries.” Her smile widens as she tilts her head. "The kids are looking forward to having you with us, you know how much they love you. It’ll do us all some good.”

You don’t ask about Ted because you know not to.

“I can’t wait to see them, too. How have they been?”

You gaze out of the windshield as she tells you how Nancy and Mike are doing at school and how many words Holly can say now, your eyes flitting from house to house. Decorations are out in full force, as they should be, they’ve probably been up since the 1st of the month, and it makes you smile to see them, remembering how you and Karen would go from house to house when you were younger and rate them out of 10 candy canes.

Ah, the simple life.

She’s still chatting about Mike and his friends when she turns down onto their long drive. It’s lined with various Christmas lawn ornaments, most lit up. Lights line the inside of some of the many windows of the house, too, making it look gorgeous and cosy and warm. A curtain is yanked back suddenly and Mike’s face appears, grinning. He waves frantically and you smile instantly, waving back with your eyebrows raised.

My favourite, funny little kid.

He’s already at the wide open door when Karen parks, still grinning. Unbuckling your seatbelt, you open the door and step out only to have him nearly slam into you before you can straighten, hugging you tightly.

“You’re here!”

You laugh, wrapping your arms around him just as fiercely. “Hey, buddy. You okay?”

“Yeah. C’mon, I wanna show you this book I got...” He’s already out of your arms and waving you towards the door, which Karen is muttering about the heat being let out of.

Chuckling to yourself, you help her with your suitcases and rucksack, feeling vastly different to how you did ten minutes ago; they never fail to raise your spirits. Nancy greets you as you enter, smiling widely and also ready for a hug. You give it gladly and just as fiercely as you had with Mike, asking her how she is. She shrugs and just says “Fine,” with a smile as you remove your shoes and coat, and you marvel at how she’d once been as talkative as Mike when she was younger. You hear the boy himself calling from the basement, telling you he can’t currently find the book but it’s around here someone and you’re gonna love it! You follow Karen up the stairs to the guest room with a wide smile, calling back your thanks to him.

Passing walls lined with family photographs, it’s a short walk down the hall to the room you’ll be staying in for... well, who knows. Karen opens the door with a trilled, “Ta-da!” and you laugh as you take in the sight before you. It’s completely decked out in Christmas decorations; tinsel on every bit of furniture, snow-globes on the window sill, a polar bear stuffed toy on the bed, fairy-lights around the headboard. You’d roll your eyes at the excessiveness of it if it wasn’t so damn sweet.

“Wow, it’s like Santa’s Grotto in here...”

“Eh, close enough, I wanted fake snow on the ground but Ted vetoed that idea pretty quick.”

You snort, hauling the suitcase you’re carrying onto the bench at the end of the bed and dropping your rucksack onto it before sitting on the bed, your fingers running over the blanket Karen’s mother had crocheted. Nancy lingers in the doorway, and after leaning your other suitcases against a chest of drawers, Karen turns to her, making a shooing gesture.

“All right, go on, Nance, us hot young things need to get ready.”

“Ugh, Mom...” Nancy just about manages to stop herself from rolling her eyes as she turns away and heads back down the hall while you stare at Karen.

“Uh... Ready for what? Bed?”

“No,” Karen laughs, and you suddenly notice she’s going through your suitcase on the bench, rifling through and pulling various items out. “We’re going out, to the bar.”

“The bar?”

“Yes, the bar.”

You’re still staring at her. “Where everyone we know goes?”

Karen shrugs, looking at you like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Yeah, ‘cause it’s still the only good bar in Hawkins.”

“I thought you wanted to avoid everyone.”

“Eh, yeah, but... y’know, only good bar in Hawkins. And...” Oh, no, she’s looking sheepish, her head bowing slightly as she glances from you to some of your clothes she’s pulled out. “... Uh, we’re kinda having a party here tomorrow, anyway, so...”

“What?”

Her eyebrows shoot up, her hands raising. “It just kinda happened. It’s been years since we’ve had one and Ted and I were talking about it and then I saw Mary-Lou at Mike’s school and I just happened to mention it and she got so excited and then I got excited and it just, it suddenly happened.”

Your lips press together as you exhale a short breath. “Well, they were fun...”

“Yeah, they were, weren’t they?” Karen sits beside you with a nostalgic sigh, shaking her head. “We had some of the best times of our lives at ‘em.”

“Yeah... I remember the one after you gave birth to Nancy, I thought I was gonna have to take you to the hospital.”

“Ha! Thank God my Mom came over to look after her. What about the one where you set fire to the tree?”

“Oh, please don’t remind me, and that wasn’t actually my fault, you know,”

“Ha, yeah, sure, that was great...”

You both sigh together, a smile finding its way onto your lips at all the memories that come flooding back. They had been fun. You hadn’t been able to attend every one over the years but the ones you had had been so great they’d almost made you want to stay in Hawkins. Maybe... Maybe a return to a beloved tradition is exactly what you need.

Turning your head to her, you arch an eyebrow. “You didn’t think to tell me it was happening, though?”

Karen shrugs as she smiles. “I didn’t want you to talk yourself out of enjoying it before it had even happened. Same as tonight.”

“Oh, Karrie...” You huff out a breath. “... You know me too well, it’s so annoying. Ugh, I was so looking forward to just curling up on the couch, drinking and watching some of the classics.”

“I know.” She pats your knee, nudging her shoulder against yours. “And we’re gonna do that the day after Christmas, and every day that you want to while you’re here. But tonight, we’re gonna get fancy and go out and get a little bit drunk. It’s Christmas, c’moooon.”

You just can’t help but smile. “All right. All right! Fine. How long have I got?”

“An hour.”

 “What—”

She’s already on her feet, pointing at you as she heads to the door. “Take a shower while I cook us and the kids something up, and then we’ll get ready. okay?”

You know you have absolutely no choice in the matter. “Okay, fine.”

 “Great!” she beams, reaching for the door handle to close it behind herself. She pauses, though, resting her weight on one foot as she clears her throat. “Oh, and uh... he’s probably gonna be there.”

You don’t have to ask who she’s referring to.

Staring at her, you manage to keep your features expressionless. “Oh. Really?”

“Yeah.” She’s watching you carefully, teeth grazing over her lower lip. “He is nearly every night, apparently, according to Marian.”

Raising your eyebrows slightly, you smile. “Well... maybe he won’t be.”

“Yeah, maybe he won’t be...” She’s still watching you, a gentle smile pulling at her lips. “Shower, toots.”

“Okay, okay...” You wave your hand as she pulls the door closed, hearing her move down the hallway.

The moment you hear her heading down the stairs, you release a long breath, lying back on the bed.

Oh, shit... 

Well.

You stare at the ceiling as the realisation suddenly dawns on you.

I might see Jim Hopper tonight.

James Hopper. Jim. Hopper. Hop. Chief, also now, not that you’ve ever been around to call him that.

You’d been friends since you were kids, best friends actually, at one point closer than you and Karen had been, and then feelings had developed when you'd become teenagers and then you’d taken the leap and had started dating and then...

You’d broken up.

And you’d been the one to initiate it.

And you’d done that because, well... It was because of a lot of little things. Mainly, though, you hadn’t known what route you wanted to take, college or work, you hadn’t even known what you wanted to do, but you knew you wanted to get out of Hawkins. And Hop... hadn’t known what the hell he wanted to do either, but he hadn’t even thought about it. He’d spoken once or twice about joining the military, or just starting a job, too. College hadn’t even crossed his mind. The conversation had come up and, well, it hadn’t ended well. 

In fact, when it ended, that has been the last time you’ve spoken to him. As you’ve returned home over the years you’ve heard he did join the military, fought in Vietnam, came home, married, and lived in New York the same time you had. You’d been heartbroken to hear from Karen that his daughter had died, and he’d divorced and moved back home.

Now, he’s Chief of Hawkins Police and, well, you’d love to avoid seeing him at all costs. There can come a time when, having not seen someone in decades, you can’t even have a casual conversation because all both parties are doing is screaming in their heads.

Well. Like you’d said yourself. He might not be there.

Hey, as Chief of Police this is probably a very busy time of year and he’ll be off doing something.

It’s gonna be fine.

Absolutely fine.

After showering, you throw on some clean, comfy clothes and head downstairs to eat with Karen and the kids.

Holly sits at the table in her highchair, silent as ever, well, being two years old she only knows a handful of words, but she just stares at you as she has done since she was a baby. Mike talks non-stop about school and his friends while Nancy chimes in every now and then to talk about her own friends, saying names of people in her class that you take a moment or two to remember, and to mutter insults at him while he mutters them back.

Karen half-heartedly tells them to stop in between telling you what she might wear, and you somehow manage to keep up with all conversations. Frankly, it’s also quite nice after being surrounded by mostly silence for the last few weeks.

Whipping your plate away from you seconds after you finish, Karen is up and striding to the kitchen, calling over her shoulder.

“C’mon! Let’s get sexy!”

Your lips twitch as Mike and Nancy groan, the only thing they can agree on right now being that their Mom is a complete and utter embarrassment.

She practically shoves you up the stairs, trying to get you to move faster, and from then on the next 30 minutes feels like a whirlwind. She tries on six outfits before settling on her usual favourite, and changes in your room while you rifle through what you’ve brought. Luckily, even though you can’t really remember packing, you’ve brought some of your own favourites, and, after scrambling to find some shoes to go with them, she helps you decide on an old classic.

Gazing at you, her hands on her hips, she beams with delight.

“Well, look at you, huh! Fancy lady!”

You give a twirl as she whoops, and then her arm is looping through yours and she’s practically dragging you towards the door.

“Bye, guys, we’ll be back late!” she calls out, though no one answers, too busy doing their own thing. 

You haven’t seen any sign of Ted and, once again, you know not to ask.

“Late? How late is late?” you ask with an arched eyebrow as she hurries you down the stairs.

“Oh, come on, not that late, we’re not gonna get wasted, we’re not teenagers anymore.”

—

“... God, I hate it...”

The stall door slams against the cubicle wall as you pull it open a little more forcefully than you had intended. Holding it for a moment, you exhale a short breath before moving towards the sinks, only swaying a little. Washing your hands, you glance up at Karen, watching her try to reapply her lipstick as neatly as possible.

“And did you hear Julian is engaged? And Andrea has a new boyfriend? Is it me or is everybody getting into a relationship?”

She snorts, rubbing her lips together. “It’s that time of year, folks hate being lonely at Christmas.”

You scoff, turning the tap off and drying your hands. “Just sleep with people, then, doesn’t mean you have to get into a relationship and hog someone all to yourself.”

She laughs, slipping her lipstick back into her bag before turning to you, a hand on her hip. “Oh, babe... C’mon, let’s find you someone to have meaningless sex with it.”

“Okay.”

The bar has been heaving from the moment you’d arrived. It usually is, but tonight the place is rammed, perhaps because of the time of year, but maybe more because, it turns out, there’s an offer on drinks, it being the holiday season and all, and happy hour has lasted more than one hour. More than two. It’s nearing three now.

Each sip has helped you relax, even as Karen gasps and points out old high school classmates, filling you in on every detail of their lives she’s learned. So far, incredibly gladly, she’s not pointed out a certain Chief.

Returning to your table, which a guy you don’t recognise has been guarding for you, as in literally guarding, he has his hands behind his back and is saying, “Nah, move along, this ain’t free...” to anyone who looks like they’re going to swoop in. At spotting you both, he grins and holds his arms out wide, gesturing at the table.

“All free for you, m’ladies.”

You’re unable to stop a smile because there’s something so weirdly charming about this absolute goofball of a man. He takes a seat beside Karen as you sit, the two of them having been exchanging small talk that verged on flirting. Heck, it was flirting. Sipping from your drink as you watch them, you feel a small, familiar twist in your stomach.

Karen is more like her teenage self when she’s with you, but when you see her with Ted, no longer Teddy as he had been in high school, and the kids, she’s Karen the mom, like she’s caged her personality in and doesn’t quite know how to bring the two parts of herself together. When she’d come to visit you once last year, you’d gone out to a bar and you’d watched her flirt with a couple of the men there. You’d thought it was harmless at first, just a bit of fun for her, she’s a charismatic lady, but then something had changed and, as a guy had held her hand, stroking it, and she hadn’t pulled away, you’d felt a twist in your stomach.

She’s gonna have an affair one day.

The thought had come to you so suddenly and so sharply that you’d shoved it away with all your might, horrified with yourself. No, Karen wouldn’t do that... Would she? Since then, you’d become more and more unsure. You’ve stopped asking about Ted when you talk because she’d just sigh heavily and spend the next ten minutes pointing out every flaw he has, how the romance has gone, how she’s tried and nothing happens. You know she’s unhappy, but you just can’t see her doing it. You hope not, anyway.

Looking away from them, you watch a few people dancing, Christmas music flowing out of the speakers above.

Karen laughs at something the guy says, and in the corner of your eye you see her place a hand on his arm.

“Oh, that’s too funny! You’re really funny... Sorry, what’s your name again?”

The man is unfazed, still grinning. “Callahan. Phil Callahan.”

He says it with such an atrocious Sean Connery accent, making Karen burst out laughing again, and it makes you smile, too.

“Oh, big James Bond fan, huh?” she says, her elbow on the table, chin in her hand.

“Oh, yeah, it’s why I became a cop.”

Your gaze darts to him. “You’re a cop?”

He raises his hands as he laughs. “Yeah, but, hey, you go on and drink as much as you want, I’m off duty now.”

Karen laughs and you make yourself join in, but your heart has started to beat a little faster.

Oh, stop it, he’s not here.

You take a quick sip of your drink again to cover the fact you aren’t laughing anymore, and then Callahan looks up, his grin widening somehow as he waves his hand frantically.

“Hey, boss, over here!”

Boss?

Boss.

The entire room seems to slow down as you turn your head and see a man, who’s stopped for a moment to shake hands with someone, with brown hair and a neatly clipped beard, wearing a brown leather jacket, plaid shirt and jeans, his eyebrows raised—

Oh, God.

Oh, shit.

Oh fucking Lord in the manger.

Callahan is slapping his hand against the vacant seat at the table, that happens to be close to you, practically shouting, “Hop’, here, saved ya a seat!”

You swiftly turn back around, staring at Karen. She’s frozen, staring at you, and for the next three seconds you somehow communicate an entire conversation with just your eyebrows and eyes.

Both of you seem to agree on fuuuuuuck.

You can’t just get up and leave, that would be the most obvious thing in the entire world. What if he doesn’t recognise you? Yeah, maybe you’ll be so incredibly fucking lucky and it’ll be a Christmas miracle and you’ll somehow have just disappeared from his memory.

Swallowing hard as you hear him move past a group behind you with an “Excuse me,” you rest your hands on the table, gripping them together.

“Hey, Callahan, where’s everybody else?”

Oh, his voice has changed. It’s deeper, rougher.

“Oh, well, Powell said he and his wife are gonna come later when he finishes his shift, and Jones, Davids and Williamson are over there, they’ve been waitin’ to get a drink for ages.” Callahan laughs delightedly, and Karen joins in, giving a slightly nervous one.

It draws Hopper’s attention and you don’t dare look up to see his expression but there’s a note of surprise in his tone.

“Karen, hey, you doin’ okay?”

“Yes, thank you.” And then she panics. “We’re just having a night out.” And then she panics more when she realises what she’s said, and that she’s gestured at you, her eyes as wide as her now somewhat manic smile.

Oh. God.

Lifting your head, you automatically smile, your features frozen.

“Hi.”

Hi.

He looks from Karen to you, and you’re suddenly subject to the full force of Jim Hopper’s gaze for the first time in decades.

Oh. God.

You can’t help it; the memories of the last time you saw him flood your mind.

“Hop’, are you even listening to me?”

He swiftly puts down the ball of rubberbands he’d been picking at on your desk, his eyebrows raised as he looks to you.

“Yeah, yeah, course I am.”

Your own eyebrows rise even higher, your hands lifted. “What, then?”

He tilts his head slightly, grazing his teeth over his lower lip. “’What’, what?”

“You weren’t fucking listening—”

“No, I was,” he quickly says at your weary sigh, leaning forward in the chair and resting his elbows on his knees, an easy smile pulling at his lips. “C’mon, just repeat the last part.”

You’d once found this all charming and endearing.

Your hands going to your waist, you exhale another breath before folding your arms, managing to calm yourself.

“What are you gonna do after school?”

Hop’ shrugs, leaning back again. “I don’t know. What are you gonna do?”

It was just the answer you’d feared, and expected. Licking your lips, you glance down at the carpet before steeling yourself and meeting his gaze again.

You can do this.

“I’m thinking of moving.”

He nods, his smile returning. “Okay, where?”

“I don’t know. New York, maybe. There’s jobs there and I have a friend there, I could stay with her for a bit.”

“Or we could get a place together.”

You stare at him, feeling your stomach twist.

“So... you’re, you’re just gonna follow me where I go.”

“Yeah.” His brow dips slightly, the smile still there, though it’s hesitant. “Aren’t girlfriends supposed to be happy when their boyfriends say that?”

“Yeah, but... What do you want to do?”

Hop’ shrugs again. “I don’t know. I know I wanna be with you, though.”

You’d once have quietly swooned at that and given him a fond smile. Now, though... You want more.

“Hop’, I don’t... I don’t wanna be one of those high school couples that just sticks together because they’re together. I want you to actually want this.”

He’s frowning again, confusion starting to set in. “I do.”

You say it quietly. “I don’t think you do.”

He stares at you, all traces of his smile gone. Then, he scoffs, leaning back in his chair a little more as he folds his arms.

“So now you’re tellin’ me what I do and don’t feel?”

“No, I just, I want you to have some drive, some ambition, not just go along with what I say and do.”

“I go along with it because it’s what I want.”

You can feel tears stinging at your eyes but your mind has also been made up.

“I don’t think it is, I just think it’s easy and safe for you.”

“Stop tellin’ me what I’m feelin’!”

His voice raising makes yours, too.

“Am I wrong?”

He looks at you like he has no idea who you are, and for some reason that really pisses you off because you don’t really recognise him anymore, either.

“Why are you pushing me away?!”

“I’m not, I—”

“Where has all this come from, then?!”

“I don’t know if I want this!”

Silence falls.

You swallow thickly as he stares at you, your voice cracking slightly.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, but... y’know, Karrie and Teddy, they... I look at them and at Joyce and Lonnie and they’re so happy, they know what they want, and they can’t wait to get married and settled down, here, but...”

“You don’t want that,” he finishes for you, quietly.

You speak after a moment, your tone matching his. “I don’t.”

“You don’t want me.”

That sends a knife through your heart because honestly? You have no idea. 

Shaking your head, you close your eyes for a moment. “No, yes, I... I don’t know. I care so much about you, but... I just think we’re on different paths.”

His gaze drops as your words linger in the air. Clearing his throat, he glances up at you again.

“What if we just take a break, for a bit. Or I can come up and visit you, in New York.”

He’s just a boy, you suddenly think, your heart breaking.

Biting at your lower lip to stop it from trembling, you give a small shrug. “I think that wouldn’t be fair on us both.”

He nods slowly, his jaw moving, and you’ve never seen him this distant. Raising his eyebrows slightly, he stands.

“Seems you already had this all figured out.”

“No, no, I didn’t, I just don’t want to be unfair to you—”

“Could I have said anything that would have changed your mind?” His quiet words silence you, and you have to stifle a sob.

“... No.”

Hop gazes at you, and after several moments he nods. “Good luck with everything.”

You’d burst into tears the moment he’d left your room. The front door had slammed shut and as you’d sat on your bed and cried and cried you’d heard his car door slam, too. You’d cried for days, going between telling yourself you’d made a huge mistake, and then that you’d done what was best, that he didn’t appreciate you like he used to and it wasn’t your job to fix him and coach him through life and that... yeah, you’d fallen out of love with him.

You hadn’t just lost a boyfriend that day, though, you’d also lost your best friend.

You loved Karen but there was just something different about Hop’, something that made you feel safe and like you could tell him anything and he wouldn’t judge. As you’d moved away and the months had gone on, several triumphs and bad days had happened, and all you’d wanted to do was just pick up the phone to call him and tell him. You’d stopped yourself every time.

Then, at some unremarkable point, you’d just stopped getting that urge, and life had moved on.

Oh, it certainly had moved on.

You stare at him, trying to look without looking. You can still see the face of the teenager you once knew, though with the beard and the lines at the corners of his eyes he’s very much a man now.

God, is he a man.

He was tall when you’d known him, but is he taller now, somehow? Had he had another growth spurt in his twenties? His hands are huge, too, and he’d been confident back then but it had come from cockiness whereas now he just seems quietly so, more sure of himself.

And you have absolutely no idea what he’s thinking. He’s staring at you so expressionlessly that you believe for a moment or two he actually has forgotten you.

Then, he speaks

“Hey. Been a long time.”

Hey. Been. A. Long. Time.

Said like you didn’t once whisper “I love you” to each other and share every single secret you’d ever had.

Then again, all you’d been able to muster up was a ‘Hi’.

You’re still smiling and you don’t know how to stop.

“Yeah, it has.”

“How are you?”

“Fine, thank you, you?”

“Yeah, good. You home for the holidays?”

“Yep.”

He runs his fingers over his mouth as he nods, and oh my God, he’s attractive. Is he, or is it the alcohol?

Wanting to banish the thoughts from your mind and distract yourself, you quickly continue.

“I’m staying with Karen.”

“That’s nice.” It��s said absolutely expressionlessly. “Just ‘till the new year?”

“Uhm, indefinitely. I’m, I’m working, uh, going through, uh, I’m moving, at the moment.”

“Okay. Well, I hope it goes okay.”

Oh my God, he’s winding down the conversation. He’s gonna go.

And you’re still smiling.

“Thank you.”

Nodding, he glances at Callahan. “I’m gonna go and check in with the others, see how they are.”

Callahan just nods once, his gaze flicking from you to Hopper and back again with utter confusion.

Rising, Hopper glances from Karen to you.

“See you around.”

“Yeah, bye, happy holidays,” you answer, Karen possibly unable to speak.

His lips move slightly, possibly into a faint smile. “Yeah, to you, too.”

And then he walks away, heading for the bar. Staring at where he’d just been sat, a slightly strangled sound releases from the back of your throat.

“Oh my God, oh my God...”

Looking to Karen, a whole range of emotions are flashing across her face as she tries to find the most comforting one. She fails.

“Oh, babe, oh God, that was horrible.”

“I know, I just, I forgot how to have a conversation, my voice got so high.”

“It did, I don’t know why you did that.”

“Neither do I, oh my God...” Putting your head in your hands, you then quickly lift it after a moment, pressing your lips together as you raise your hands. “Whatever. It’s fine. Let’s just, please, move past it. It’s over, I got it out the way, it was civilised, it’s done.”

“You’re right, you’re so right, please let’s forget it. Let’s drink.”

“Yes, please.”

You tap your glass against Karen’s as she raises it, and both take a long drink.

Oh, God.

That had been... so uneventful you don’t quite know what to do with yourself. In all the times you’d thought about how this exact moment might go, you’d never thought it would be uneventful. You’d imagined yelling, or crying, sometimes even laughing, but this...

Well. It was really like it had meant nothing at all.

You don’t know why it’s getting to you so much. You broke up with him. Of course he’d have moved on and left it all behind, God, you have as well. You’ve both lived your lives, gone through so many things and come out the other side and... A break up when you were teenagers kind of pales in comparison.

Yeah. It’s all fine. In fact, you know what, you’re relieved. It’s mature. It’s done. That’s it. You don’t have to be best friends with him again, for fuck’s sake.

Lowering your drink, you don’t realise your internal monologue has played out on your face, eyes widening and narrowing. Looking up, you find Karen and Callahan staring at you.

Licking your lips, you shrug. “It’s fine. It’s fine. Who wants another drink?”

You’re out of your seat and heading to the bar before they can respond. Karen sits back in her chair as she blinks, watching you stride away.

“Can someone just please tell me what’s going on?” Callahan bursts out, his hands raised.

“Oh, God, sweetie...” Karen sighs, reaching for her drink again. “... I have no fucking clue.”

—————————————————————————————————

24th December 1982

“Ughhh... Oh, God...”

It’s not your own groaning that wakes you, but that of someone else.

Cracking open an eye, you stare up at the ceiling as the groaning continues.

Uh, my mouth is so dry...

Licking your lips, you turn your head and find Karen on the other side of the bed, her hair bedraggled and spilling across the pillow, mascara halfway down her face, lipstick smeared. Turning her own head, she looks at you and groans again.

“Am I alive?”

“I think so,” you rasp, and she groans mournfully.

“Ughhhh... I don’t even remember how we got home...”

Closing your eyes, you scratch at your forehead, trying to remember yourself.

You’d gone to the bar, drank, drank a lot, maybe danced a little, spoken with your old classmate, Jessica? Justine? and then... Oh, what was his name again...

“Callahan,” you murmur, your throat aching. “Callahan brought us home.”

“Oh, yeah... Didn’t we ask him to turn on his lights?”

Your lips twitch as you recall how you’d both screamed with joy and whooped and cheered as he’d turned on the lights, waving your arms from side to side.

You snort and she glances at you. A laugh escapes you as you think about the absurdity of it all, and then she’s laughing, too, her cackle loud and delighted.

“Oh my God... Ugh, that was fun...” she sighs, her smile lingering.

“Yeah...” you murmur, stretching your legs out.

“We’ll have fun tonight, too.” She pats your hand, exhaling a breath. “If we just... If we just sleep ‘till noon, and then we can start preparing the house... Maybe even two, it won’t take long...”

You hum, closing your eyes, and, yeah, sleeping a little longer does sound like a good idea... Besides, when you’re unconscious, you don’t have to think about a certain embarrassing event that happened... 

Perfect.

You focus on the softness of the bed as Karen snores lightly beside you, already fast asleep... Yeah... the joy of unconsciousness...

—

“... Jingle bell, jingle bell, jingle bell rock... Jingle bells swing and jingle bells ring... Snowin' and blowin' up bushels of fun... Now the jingle hop has begun...”

Adjusting a plate on the table, you straighten and blow out a breath, trying to stifle a yawn.

I really can’t handle a night out anymore.

Brushing your hands together, you turn, surveying the party that’s in full-swing. It’s only a couple of hours in but it’s already a success. People are talking, laughing, dancing, singing, eating, drinking, having a merry old time in general really. You feel more proud than you would have thought as your gaze drifts across the room.

You’d had to shake Karen awake at half one, both of you practically dehydrated and feeling not so fresh. After drinking copious amounts of water, showering, changing and finally eating, realising you were both starving, you’d flown around the house together, tidying, cleaning, cooking up food, putting drinks out and decorating. It had been another whirlwind but a wonderful whirlwind. You’d had so much fun, and hadn’t thought once about The Incident. An hour before the party was due to start, you and Karen had gotten ready, selecting slightly more festive outfits than the ones you’d worn last night.

Now, she’s in the kitchen, laughing at something a neighbour is saying, while Mike and Nancy talk in separate corners with some of their friends who have turned up, and Ted, who’d you’d finally bumped in to and greeted, was sat in his armchair, talking with a guy who looked slightly desperate to get away.

The doorbell chimes and you catch Karen’s eye, waving your hand and mouthing, “I’ll get it,”, as you’ve done so for the last few chimes.

You have to carefully push your way past people on the way to the foyer, which is surprisingly empty. Moving to the door, you grip the handle and pull it open, a smile already on your lips.

“Hey—”

You cut yourself off, pausing as you stare up at the man.

Hopper stares back at you, shoulders slightly hunched from the cold, hands in his pockets.

"Hi,” he says, glancing behind you briefly.

"Hey,” you repeat, your heart pounding.

... Whaaaaaat is he doing here?

As if he’s somehow heard your thought, he clears his throat and raises his eyebrows a little. “Uh, Callahan said we were invited.”

Oh, fuck, yes, you’d forgotten Karen had insisted he come, and you, jokingly, had said, ‘Hey, why not invite Hopper, too?’

Haha. Ha. What a hilarious joke. What a hilarious little joke that Callahan clearly hadn’t taken as a joke so it is now real.

Just as you realise you haven’t answered him, he clears his throat again. “Should I—”

“Oh, no, God, sorry, come in.” Holding the door open, you step back, gesturing with your other hand into the foyer.

He steps in, glancing at the party beyond before he turns to you as you close the door, looking up at him.

You’re staring again.

Swallowing, you point at the stairs. “Uh, coats are up here, I’ll show you.”

Before he can answer, you stride to the steps and ascend, gripping the bannister.

Ooh... Ooh, what’s happening... What am I doing...

You’ve shown the last few people up to where the coats are being kept, just in case you can’t see them out, but this is... This is rather intimate.

You hear him behind you, following you up, and you make yourself exhale a long breath to try and calm your heart.

Be an adult.

The coats are being kept where they usually would at a Wheeler party; the guest room, AKA your room. It’s one of the reasons you’ve been basically escorting people up to it, not wanting them to linger in there or have a stranger possibly go through your things.

Pushing the door open, you step in to the dimly lit room and gesture at the bed that’s piled high with coats, scarves and jackets.

“Just here, leave it anywhere.”

He stands in the doorway, hands back in his pockets.

“I’m actually not stayin’ long, I’ve got a shift soon.”

Your hands drop. “Oh. Okay...” You can’t stop a slight frown from crossing your features. “Why did you come up, then?”

Hopper meets your gaze, his jaw moving minutely. “‘cause I want to talk to you.”

“Oh.”

Oh.

You’re sweating, your fingers flexing by your side.

Okay, here we go, he’s gonna yell at me and tell me everything he’s been holding back, here we go...

Shifting his stance, he leans against the doorframe, his gaze holding yours. “Listen, last night, I... I’m sorry I left so abruptly. That wasn’t, uh... polite of me.”

... Well, that’s not what you’d expected.

Your lips parted, you gaze at him. “Uh, no, no, no, it’s fine, I, I completely get it. It’s, uhm...” You pause, swallowing. Then, you smile faintly, and just say it, your voice dropping slightly. “... It’s weird, isn’t it.”

“Yeah. Fuck, yeah, it is.” He lets out a laugh, and for some reason the sound of it warms you. “I was a little taken aback when I saw you, I was totally unprepared.”

“Oh, me, too.” You exhale a laugh, your smile easing. “I wanted to say so many things but my brain wasn’t quite connected to my mouth.” You laugh again, though it’s more nervous this time, because you know if you don’t say it now, you never will. Your tongue gliding across your lips, you raise your hands a little. “Look, Hop, I...” Fuck, it feels strange saying his name again. “... I’m sorry for how things ended between us.”

Hopper’s already shaking his head before you’ve finished, a slight dip to his brow. “Don’t be. I think it was the kick up the ass I needed, and I knew you were right. Took me a little while to admit that, but, yeah.”

“Still, I could have given us a chance—”

“We were kids,” he cuts you off gently with a light smile, shrugging. “Neither of us knew what we were doin’ or how to handle somethin’ like that.”

You snort. “I still don’t.”

A corner of his mouth lifts a little higher. “Yeah, me, too.” Grazing his teeth over his lower lip, you watch him as he seems to consider something, your cheeks heating slightly at his intense gaze. “... Stop me if I’m, uh, treadin’ where I shouldn’t, but, and I’m just connectin’ the dots here, you said you’re stayin’ in Hawkins indefinitely, is that because something similar has happened?”

You give a faint smile, pointing a finger at him as you raise your eyebrows. “Yeah, you got me. I, uhm...” Here we go... “... I broke up with my fiancé. Or, he broke up with me, actually.” Your smile widens a little more. “Good connecting, you must be a great Chief.”

“Well, I do my best.” He looks sympathetic in a way that is mercifully not pitying. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Thanks. I feel like shit every day, but, it was for the best. He was an asshole. I just didn’t want to see it.”

“How come he did the breaking up, then?”

You fold your arms, exhaling a breath. “He met someone else. Didn’t even bother to hide it or save my feelings. Just told me.”

“That sucks.”

“Yeah, it really did.”

“Still,” he nods his head at you, “you seem much better off.”

You feel a little proud at that, because, actually, you feel like a mess. “Thanks. Karen’s letting me stay here until I figure out what I wanna do. I don’t even know if I like my job anymore or if it’s just everything that’s going on making me feel like I hate it, or maybe I have hated it for a while and I just don’t want to admit that to myself either.” You catch yourself from continuing, releasing a sheepish laugh. “I’m sorry, I’m just rambling on now, you can go back down—”

“Nah, it’s okay, I like listenin’ to you.”

He says it so sincerely, holding your gaze, that you don’t quite know what to do. Biting at your lower lip briefly, you look away for a few moments, your fingers twisting together.

“Well... Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

You can hear the smile in his tone, so you look up, and God...

You’ve missed that smile.

His expression is so soft, too, so gentle and...

No, no, no, no... No, it’s just because you’re sad and it’s Christmas and—

Clearing his throat, he leans an arm against the chest of drawers beside the door.

“Y’know, I... I’ve thought about you over the years, thought about reachin’ out. I heard from someone years ago that you were in New York and I... I told myself I was gonna look you up but... I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. Didn’t know if you’d even want to see me.”

A smile pulls at your lips, your chest aching slightly. “I think I would have.” Biting at your lower lip again, you take a breath. “... I’ve thought about you, too. Sometimes I think about if I made the biggest mistake of my life in leaving you.”

He blinks, before quickly smiling, shaking his head. “Like I said, we were just kids. We didn’t know any better.”

“I know.”

You’re gazing at each other again, quietly.

Don’t.

Clearing your throat, you make yourself smile. “I’m so sorry, I should have offered you a drink, I—”

“Would you like to go out for a drink?” he asks, so swiftly that it’s as if he’d been waiting to. “So we can catch up properly?”

Staring at him, you feel something quietly ignite within you. He looks somewhat nervous, and for some reason it calms you instantly.

A softer smile returning to your lips, you nod. “I’d like that.”

One corner of his mouth lifts a little higher than the other as he straightens, his hands falling to his sides. “Good. Okay. I’ll call. I gotta head out now, sorry, I just wanted to drop by before my shift.”

He wanted to drop by... to see me.

Trying to contain your smile, you move towards him, heading for the door. “It’s okay, I’ll walk you out.”

“Thanks.”

You head down the hallway and stairs in silence, your heart fluttering wildly. You’re suddenly very aware of your body, and of his right behind you, and oh my God, when was the last time I felt this way?

Pulling the door open, you hold it for him as you smile.

“Well, I hope your shift goes okay.”

“Thanks.”

He’s stood before you, a hand in his pocket, and he doesn’t move.

Then, his other hand moves to rest on your arm gently as he lowers his head and presses a soft kiss to your cheek.

Oh, fuck.

His lips brushing against your skin makes your heart stop and every inch of your skin warm. It’s brief, far too brief, and when he pulls his head back to look at you, you desperately hope you don’t look as flustered as you feel.

Giving a slightly breathless smile, you hold his gaze. “Merry Christmas, Hop’.”

The smile he gives in return has you feeling a way you know you haven’t in years.

“Merry Christmas, sweetheart.”

—————————————————————————————————

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[arrowflier]

arrow!!!!!! the x-men AU idea! yes, yes, yES. 🙌

Twisha my dear, thank you for giving me an excuse!  This got a little dark (warnings in tags), but it was fun to try.

Spikes and Quills May Do Me Ill (but your hands never hurt me)

“The fuck are you lookin’ at?” the hedgehog boy growled at Ian, and Ian backed away, hands raised.

“Nothing,” he said quickly, then hesitated.

“Well?” the kid pressed, quills perking up in agitation.  “What is it?  Spit it out!”

“Your neck!” Ian blurted out obediently, and immediately closed his eyes with a wince.  He shouldn’t have said that.  He should not have said that.

He waited for the blow to come.  Hedgehog guy was notorious for his short temper, and the only thing Ian was unsure of was whether he’d be getting a fist to the face, or a spike to some other part of his body.

Probably his eyes, since he’d been caught looking.

He just couldn’t help it, though.

Ian had always sort of had his eye on the other boy.  He didn’t even know his name, but he’d seen him around school.  The guy would show up wearing like fifty layers of clothes—long sleeves, cut-off gloves, a hat and scarf no matter the weather—and he always stripped off as soon as he was in the door, shedding clothes like a snake sheds skin, until he was down to a sleeveless tee that showed off all his most unique attributes.

And unique they certainly were.

The first time Ian had seen him, he’d almost thought that they were tattoos.  Some sort of major piece that covered his back, his shoulders, and his neck, carrying down the backs of his arms but fading away from the front, from his chest.  He’d been trying to get a better look at the pattern when some idiot had come up behind the guy and tapped him on the shoulder, resulting a sudden flare of quills that had everyone around them stepping back in alarm.

It was beautiful.

That wasn’t the only beautiful thing about him, but it might be what Ian liked most.  Plenty of other boys had dark hair, or blue eyes, or a muscular stature.  Plenty of other boys walked through the halls like they owned them (even though none of them did).

But there was only one boy in school with all of that and more, only one boy that Ian wanted to touch.  To see if those spikes felt real.

Only one boy who…still wasn’t hitting Ian?

Ian squinted one eye open, then both.  The other boy was just staring at him, lips pursed, eyes narrowed.  He looked angry, but also…curious?  That couldn’t be right.

“The fuck did you say to me?” hedgehog boy asked quietly, the kind of quiet that was dangerous.  The kind before he threw that other kid across the bleachers last year for calling him a mutie to his face.

Ian wondered if that kid had ever regained the full use of his legs.  Or his facial muscles after they got all the quills out.

It had sure been something to see that happen.

But now wasn’t the time to reminisce about watching this fine specimen in front of him picking up some asshole like it was nothing, quills rippling down his muscled arms and back as he tossed him aside like a bag of potatoes.  Not unless he wanted the same thing to happen to him.

Well…

No.  Never mind.

“I said I was looking at your neck,” Ian muttered quietly, torn between answering and self-preservation.  He wasn’t really sure which one won.

“And what,” hedgehog boy hissed, stepping closer, “is wrong with my neck?”

Um.  Was he serious?  Ian had been able to tell from the across the room that something was wrong, even under the flickering hallway lights.  The other boy’s neck was red, and not in the fun, blushing kind of way.  

No, it was red like a bloody bruise.  In fact, now that Ian got a closer look, it actually was bloody—smears of dried blood covering an oddly smooth area that looked wrong next to all the quills spiked up around it.  

It almost looked like he had been plucked.

“What happened?” Ian asked instead of answering the question.  “Did you do that to yourself?”

“No, I didn’t…” the other boy sputtered and paused, clearly caught off guard.  He eyed Ian warily for a moment, but whatever he found in Ian’s eyes must have calmed him, because then he was backing away again, quills smoothing down into his skin.

“What’s it to ya?” he asked, glancing around.  There were only a few other people left in the hallway, most having already made it to class.  

It made Ian weirdly brave.

“I could help,” he offered, and tried not to shrink back when those ice-blue eyes fixed on him again.

“Yeah?”  Hedgehog boy stepped closer again.  “How you gonna do that?”

“I, um.”  Ian paused, swallowed.  Tried again.  “I can heal?”

The boy’s eyes rose.  “That a question, tough guy?”  He sounded incredulous.

Ian shook his head.

“No, I mean, I can,” he confirmed.  He lifted a hand awkwardly, reaching for the other boy, who pulled back out of reach before Ian could touch him.

“I just need to…” Ian trailed off, reaching out again.  With another glance around the hall and a shallow nod from his companion, Ian stepped forward.

He got his hand on that reddened neck, soft under the skin of his fingertips.  After a single breath of hesitation, when he wasn't pushed away, he flattened his palm against it focused.

It started as a warmth under his skin.  Almost soft, not unpleasant, just a brush of heat to tell him it was working.

Then came the pain.

Ian hissed between his teeth at the first sharp feeling, like a pinprick on his own neck.  If he looked, he knew it would be red like the other boy's, a tiny fleck of blood rising to the surface.

"Hey, wait," came that boy's panicked voice.  "What are you--"

"Shh," Ian urged, and pressed his hand tighter to that injured throat.  "This is how it works."

The pain kept coming.  Pull after pull of quills that didn't exist coming free of his skin, each one sharper, more real than the last.

And with one particularly rough pang, the visions started.

Come here, Mickey boy

Fear.  Anger.  Shame.

No son of mine...

Heightened heart rate.  Breath catching. A hand on his shoulder.  Around his throat. Pain.

Get that from your no good mother...

Pain.  Pain.  Tweezers in a gnarled hand, plucking.  Cold eyes, staring.  A girl cowering in the corner, watching, crying.

"Stop!" the boy cried, yanking back out of Ian's hold.  "The fuck are you doing?"

I’ll teach you to...

A door opening, hands dropping.  Metal instrument falling to the floor.  His neck is sore, but his legs burn more as he runs, runs, runs.

He sounded frantic, afraid, but Ian was too far to stop.  There was more healing to do.

He ignored the now raw wound on his own neck and reached out again.  The other boy went to slap him away, but hit his palm instead with his own, and Ian was once again lost in pain, and memories, and feeling.

His neck was healing, now.  But his palm was bleeding, crescent shaped marks from untrimmed nails digging in as he saw his own eyes staring at him across the hall.

Bright green eyes.  Pale skin.  Red hair.  Lips that looked like--

"Get offa me!"

Ian let go, panting, disoriented.  The eyes he gazed into weren't green like his own, but blue and sharp and wide.

"Mickey," Ian breathed, and the boy bolted.

🦔🦔🦔

Ian didn't see Mickey for the next two days.  Not at school, and not around the neighborhood, either.

He wanted to see him.  Wanted to apologize.  It was how his mutation worked, and he wasn't sorry for that--he had to feel something to heal it, take it into himself, live through it.  But he should have warned Mickey of what that meant.

That it meant he would see everything.

Ian was walking home after school, starting to wonder if Mickey would ever show his face again, when they jumped him.

Two older boys and a girl, all wearing anti-mutant propaganda shirts with bandanas over their faces, tugged Ian back into a narrow alley by the straps of his bag and threw him up against the rough brick wall.

"Heard about your little stunt with the Milkovich brat," one of them hissed in his face.  His breath was rank even through the cloth covering his mouth, and Ian tried to twist away.

Another one punched him in the gut, hard enough to make him wheeze.

"Don't you look away while he's talkin to you, mu--"

He was cut off by an arm wrapped around his throat.  An arm covered in bristling, sharp quills.

"You wanna say that again?" Mickey growled behind Ian's attackers, voice low and dangerous.

"Shit!" the third one yelped, and took off running, nearly knocking her own companions over as she ran for the opening of the alley.  Ian fell to the ground as his first attacker followed close after, and rubbed a hand over his ribs.

"Uh, hey there man," warbled the boy Mickey still held up.  "Just a misunderstanding, I swear, we were--"

"Shut the fuck up," Mickey ordered, shaking the arm around the boy’s neck so the longest quills rattled dangerously close to his face.

Ian wondered what he was going to do to him.  And whether he should care.

Mickey looked at him over the other guy’s shoulder.  Whatever he saw in Ian’s eyes had him relaxing his arm, and shoving his prisoner away so hard he stumbled.

“Don’t let me see you again, asshole,” Mickey said to his back, aiming a kick at him on his way to the street.

“What made you come back?” Ian asked from his position on the ground once they were alone.  Mickey turned to look at him, raising an eyebrow.  The quills along his back flared once and settled, calm.

“Why do you think?” he returned, like it was obvious.

Maybe it was.  But Ian needed to hear him say it.

“Thought you were avoiding me,” Ian challenged, and watched Mickey roll his eyes.

“Yeah, well.”  Mickey rubbed a hand over his lip, the quills on the back of it sticking out over his fingers.  “Us muties gotta stick together, right?”

Ian smiled.

And though he’d definitely deny it later, Mickey smiled back.

[thiswasinevitableid]

Demonic Intervention (Indruck)

Prompt for the 7th: “Hell is empty, and all the devils are here.” - The Tempest (William Shakespeare). This fill is NSFW

It can't get much worse. 

Indrid is barely scraping by. He can count his friends in town on one hand. He’s gay in a tiny, rural community and one of the few men like him is a goddamn priest. His house is a mess. And his every waking moment is filled with the demons of his past or the devils lurking in his future. There are so many of them in his present too, roaming the streets of Kepler. 

What’s one more in the mix?

He lights the stubby black candle by the bed, scratches the symbols on the floor, and retreats into his cocoon of blankets to wait.

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

Duck hates when it’s his turn on the summoning shifts. All this ancient knowledge and power and he’s stuck waiting to see if some yahoo in a graveyard or a wannabe cult leader will call him up into the world. 

He has brambles that need pruning, damn it. 

His name isn’t well known among humans, so he only gets summoned if someone is just rooting around for a demonic entity without caring who they get. He’s only been summoned twice in the last hundred years. The tingle in his horns tells him it’s about to be three. 

The room he arrives in is gloomier than any graveyard; the lights are off, the curtains are shut, and the place looks like it got hit by a tornado with a grudge. By the light of the candle, a pale-haired head emerges from the blankets of the small bed. A hand reaches for the floor, comes back with a pair of red glasses.

“Greetings, infernal one. Thank you for answering my summons.” The man’s voice is flat.

“Even demons got manners. So, uh, what’s the job?”

“There are so many dishes in the sink that the thought of doing them is an insurmountable task. Please do them for me.”

“...You realize I’m takin somethin’ from you for this, right? Like a piece of soul or a month of your life?”

“Mmmm” The man rolls over and says nothing else. 

“A day of your life for this.” Duck feels like he should haggle more, but then he’d had to pretend he actually thought a higher price was fair. 

“I accept your terms.” A crackle of green and black electricity flickers in the air in the form of  Duck’s signature and the other man’s name: Indrid Cold.

“Pleasure doin’ business with you.” 

Indrid says nothing. Duck is sure to wash and dry before he goes. 

The next day he’s summoned to the exact same room, in the exact same state of depressing mess. 

“Greetings, infernal one. Please clean this room.”

“Same terms?”

“Mmhmm” Indrid is just staring at the ceiling. 

“You gotta say you accept.”

“I accept.” 

Duck snaps, turning on the light, and gets to work. Technically he could do all this with a wave of his hand. But then he’d lose his chance to learn a little more about the guy who’s settled on demonic deals instead of a maid service. It’s the opposite of the usual problem he has in these kinds of situations, where the humans reveal their deepest secrets, desires, and fears within five minutes of meeting him. 

The records he stacks near their player, the clothes all go in the hamper to be magicked clean, then are hung in the closet; they’re loose and soft, not a scratchy fabric to be found. Tarot cards and candles abound, as do art supplies, and under a pile of drawings he finds magazines featuring muscular, hairy men in various sexual positions. Some of them even look like his preferred human form, the one he’s wearing now. 

He glances at the bed; Indrid is on his side, facing him, must have been watching him at some point but has dropped into a restless sleep. The blankets are slipping, showing a The Sonics tank top hanging off skinny shoulders. Right, that was one of the bands in the record stack. 

Duck doesn’t tend to pry into souls or auras or shit like that; there are whole heaps of trouble that lay that direction. But as he flicks the dust from the bookshelf covered in paperbacks, he feels the edges of Indrids and nearly falls on his ass from the wave of exhaustion and loneliness. 

When it’s time to go, he pauses to pull the blankets back up around him, sets his glasses on the bedside table, and turns the calendar on the wall from “September 1974” to “October 1974.”

When he’s summoned right back to Indrid’s room the next evening, he spots the same tank top on him as he sits up in bed.

“Greetings infernal one.”

“You can just call me ‘Duck’. It’s a nickname.” 

“Oh” Indrid blinks, perplexed, “very well. I, ah, there are some bills that need to be paid to keep the lights on.”

“You need the money for them?”

“No, just for someone to fill out the forms and checks and put them in the mail.”

“Okay. But my fee’s a little different this time: you gotta tell me when you last ate.”

“I accept. I ate this morning.”

Duck snaps his fingers

“Two days ago!” Indrid yelps, then slaps his hands over his mouth. He glares, “why does it matter?”

“Because while I’m payin those bills, you’re eatin’ dinner.”

“Everything in the fridge is disgusting and I can’t go to the store.” 

Duck takes the short trip out to the kitchen, opens the fridge to the new sound of Indrid’s footfalls behind him. 

“You got lots of decent stuff in here; could make you some eggs?”

“No, thank you.” Indrid shakes his head, looking a bit ill. 

“Well, what do you want? I can summon it up.”

“I’m out of Lucky Charms.” The humans says sheepishly, staring at his bare feet. 

A fresh box of cereal appears on the table, Duck pulling out the half empty bottle of milk. He thinks back to the drawings he saw yesterday and conjures a bowl covered in a pattern of brightly colored moths. 

He gathers the stack of bills of while hearts, stars, and horseshoes rattle into the bowl. After a few moments of crunching he hears, “May I ask a question?”

“Shoot.”

“Why is your nickname Duck? Does that word mean something else in demonic speech?”

Duck stuffs paper into envelopes, “Nah. It’s, uh, kinda silly but, uh, most demons learn how to take on an animal form. When it was my turn, they asked me which I wanted and, uh, I said I wanted to try bein’ a duck. Liked it so much I stayed that way for three months.”

There’s an odd, strangled sound that makes him look up; Indrid has one hand over his mouth and is shaking with little squeaks. He’s laughing. 

“I’m, I’m s-sorry but, but I, I cannot get over the image of you as a little, feathery waterbird.”

Duck smirks, “Only part that ever gave me trouble was the quackin’; always came out too deep.”

He just manages to pull the envelopes back as milk comes out the human’s nose and he giggles uncontrollably. 

“Ow, ow, heeh, oh g-goodness, I’m s-sorry I, I just haven’t laughed in so long, ugh, there’s milk on my shirt-”

“Guess you’re gonna need to shower now too.” 

“Nono, I can just change-”

Duck waves the bills back and forth, “Uh uh, if you want me to actually put these in the mailbox, you gotta agree to shower.”

“But that’s changing the terms!”

“Demon.” Duck grins. 

“Very well. Let me finish my dinner first.” Indrid scarfs the rest of the cereal, pads back towards the bedroom while Duck cleans the table. He waits to hear water running before going to the mailbox. When he gets back he sticks his head into the steamy bathroom.

“I’m gonna go now.”

“Oh, alright. Thank you again.” Indrid pokes his head out from the shower curtain and Duck resists the temptation to make the whole barrier disappear just for a peak. What can he say? He’s always liked his humans a bit unique looking. 

He draws a special sigil in the steamed-up mirror and heads for home. 

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

Indrid sets the candle on the table, lights it, adds the symbol he found in the mirror, and then starts unpacking his groceries. 

“Lookit you doin’ chores.” The whiff of burnt pine needles accompanies Duck’s voice and draws the tension from Indrid’s shoulders. 

“I’ll have you know I swept today as well.” Indrid turns and crunches the bag of potato chips in his fists; Duck hasn’t put his horns or claws away, and his shirt is half unbuttoned. 

“Caught me while I was gardenin, which is why I ain’t as put together as normal. What can I do for you?”

“This may sound strange but, ah, what is the fee for just talking with you?”

Duck’s eyebrows shoot up and then he chuckles, “You’re full of surprises, little moth.”

Indrid touches the luna moth on his shoulder; how much had Duck studied him when he was here? Did he like what he saw? Does he give everyone he makes deals with nicknames that come out in a drawl like summer honey?

“Hows a little nibble of the old soul sound?”

“I accept. Ah, would you like some cookies? A friend of mine brought them over to me.”

“Sure. The fella on the fridge bring ‘em?” The demon indicates the picture of himself and Barclay, the one he can’t bring himself to throw away. 

“No. My friend Dani, she’s in charge of the gardens for the little co-op in town and when the bakery has seconds she often drops them off for me.” 

He really needs to stop staring at Duck’s chest, even demons probably find ogling rude. Duck’s eyes--one blue, one brown-- catch his own and suddenly claw tips are undoing the remaining buttons. Indrid goes pink but manages to get the cookies and two glasses of water on the table without incident. 

“You know, you never told me why you stayed a duck for so long.”

“It’s the least demonic thing you’ve ever heard but, uh, I just thought it was nice. Bein’ out in the woods, paddlin’ on the lake and watchin the world go by. Sleepin under the stars. Just makes you feel like you’re part of somethin’ bigger than yourself. Now, I got a question for you; why go to all the trouble of summonin’ me just to do your chores?”

Indrid bites his lip, “I knew I was in the kind of mental place where I could not manage it myself. And it felt safer to ask you than to ask my friends. Not that they wouldn’t help me. It’s just, when my mind is like that it turns so inward I can’t conceive of a world that might contain things for me.”

The demon says nothing for a moment, sips his water with a thoughtful look. Then he sets down the empty glass, “Glad you’re feelin a little better.” He tilts his head to indicate the sketch on the counter, “that new?”

“Yes” excitement bubbles up in his chest, “I was reading about--ah, well, it’s, it’s sort of a long story, I don’t want to bore you.”

Duck kicks his feet up on the spare chair and gestures for him to continue. So he does, tells the demon about reading every book he could find on the mythology and folklore of the Mexico and the American southwest, about his new inspiration for a series of drawings, his worries that no one will like them or purchase them and he’ll be stuck running his little psychic side business until he dies 

Duck, in turn, tells him about life as a forest demon, about his hellcat, and about the fact he routinely comes up to the human world for french onion soup because the stuff made in his realm never tastes right. When Indrid next looks at the clock, it’s well after midnight. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to keep you so long.”

“No complaints here. But I oughta get home and feed Winnie before she shreds my cabinets again.” The demon stands, rounding the table, “gotta get my fee first.”

“Right. How should I…” Indrid stiffens as Duck bends forward, wondering if the sharp teeth that smiled at him all night are about to pierce his skin. 

Warm lips meet his forehead and he sighs at the tenderness in the gesture. Duck, however, moans as he pulls back, then quickly covers his mouth.

“Uh, that, that’s a totally, uh, totally not, uh, un-normal reaction, uh, fuck, see you around.” 

He’s gone with a campfire crackle, leaving Indrid to wonder how a demon can be such a terrible liar.

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

“Sweet fuckin hell.” Duck gasps as his living room forms around him. His lips still tingle from kissing the human’s forehead, from the sheer force of the want and yes that came when he took that sip of soul. It’s never like that, never comes so willingly and eagerly, like the soul is searching for someone to look after it. 

Technically, there’s nothing stopping him from zipping right back up there and pinning Indrid to his bed while he takes what the human seems so happy to give. 

Duck takes five deep breaths, then ten, and then goes to retrieve Winnie from the cabinet she clawed her way into.

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

When Barclay suggested Indrid find someone to confide in, Indrid’s going to guess he didn’t mean, “routinely invite a demon into your house to play cards or listen to music.”

Most times, Indrid isn’t even summoning him; they have two standing dates a week, plus a game night with Dani and her new girlfriend, Aubrey (who Duck seems to know but refuses to say more about how). Duck will sometimes drop by unannounced, and he hardly ever collects a fee these days. When he does, it’s always a taste of Indrid’s soul, taken via a kiss on the cheek. 

Indrid would let him take it any way he wanted. He’s well past denying the fact Duck is type in all his forms, that he’s gentler than most humans, and that he’s so charming Indrid would eat out of his hand. 

Duck even goes out with him, like the boyfriend he wishes he had. When he puts on his human form to accompany Indrid around town, he radiates enough residual, demonic energy that the people who normally make Indrid’s life a living hell stay far, far away. In fact, tonight is the first night in months he’s had something close to a disaster, and it was mostly an accident. He’s peeling his beer-soaked shirt over his head when he feels mis-matched eyes on his back.

“Have a little too much fun bartendin’ tonight?” Duck holds out his hand, rendering the shirt fresh and clean when it touches his palm.

“Some caveman hit on one of our regulars and would not back off when asked. She threw a full pint of beer on him and I happened to be standing right behind him when she did.” He wiggles out of his jeans, let’s Duck give them the same treatment he gave the shirt, “ugh, I need a bath, I smell like Rheingold.”

“Allow me.” Duck waves his hand and steam wafts from the bedroom, goes into it and grabs the bubble bath from under the sink as Indrid follows him in his underwear. Duck’s constant glancing at his crotch and legs makes him bold. 

“What’s the fee for such excellent service?”

“No fee, little moth. I’m just doin’ a favor for my friend.”

“And what if your friend wants to repay you anyway?”

When the demon looks up from the tub, his eyes are glowing, “Only if he’s doin’ it because he wants to and not because he owes me.”

“I want to, so very badly.”

In a flash Duck is in the tub, beckoning Indrid to join him. Indrid tests the water with his finger just to be safe.

“Mmm, nice and warm.”

“Hellfire, sugar. Now get your cute ass into the tub or--oh fuck yeah.” Duck growls as Indrid strips and climbs in with him, drags him into his lap and traces his claws up his sides while Indrid yanks him into a kiss.Curious, Indrid reaches one hand up to rub the base of his horn, the dark brown curls like smooth bark beneath his fingers. 

“Fuuuck” Duck groans, “feels like gettin a back-rub.”

“Then I better keep at it. Oh, oh my” Indrid sits back to admire the vines of green appearing in Duck’s skin, “you’re absolutely beautiful.”

“Kinky little thing, you like that I’m a demon.” Duck scrapes his teeth along Indrid’s shoulder, “that really why you summoned me? You were hopin I’d have my, uh, demonic way with you?”

“N-no, I, I, it’s no secret I’m attracted to you but I, you make me feel so happy, I’m so safe when I’m with you, and, and if all your care and affection towards me has been part of some malevolent plan please, please just tell me because I, I think I’m falling in love with you.” He kisses Duck with far more force than before, forestalling the inevitable confession that this was all just a game for his soul and his own, pathetic admission that he’s not sure that changes anything. 

“Oh, sugar” Duck keeps brushing their lips together as he speaks, “First time I tasted your soul I knew I was fucked. Knew I wanted to keep seein’ you, even if you never gave me another goddamn thing.”

Indrid buries his face in Duck’s shoulder, letting out shuddery sighs as Duck pets his back. He’s never leaving this spot, Duck is just going to have to carry him about while he does his infernal business and his housekeeping.

“Tell me what you want, little moth.” Duck kisses the shell of his ear. It still tingles, even when his soul stays put.

“Please fuck me? Oh! Oh that’s very efficient and extremely strange.” He squirms in Duck’s lap as his ass turns slick and stretched, like someone has pulled four fingers from it.

“Do it the traditional way some other time” The curved head of a cock bumps his ass, “you wanna feel just to be sure you can take it?”

He flails in the water a moment, finds a warm, responsive shaft with four, bumpy ridges leading to the head. It’s no bigger than the one toy he splurged on during his last trip to the city.

“Yes, certainly, oh, oh, AHHhnnnn yes.” The cock is hotter than his body as it slides in and he wonders if it will just melt him from the inside out, if Duck’s cum will be just as warm, how it will feel on his tongue and down his throat when he drags the demon into his bed.

“That’s it sugar, take it all the way. Fuck, been jerkin off to the thought of you on my dick for months.”

“Nnngh” Is his eloquent reply, the ridges of Duck’s cock making his toes curl and his fingers dig into Duck’s skin. 

“You like that idea, little moth? Knowin I could be out temptin anyone I wanted to and instead I was in bed thinkin’ about you?”

“Mhhmmm” He whines, the desire pouring off the demon wrapping around him and soothing his insecurities. 

Duck slows the thrusts of his hips and his voice is gentle when he whispers, “Course I did; no one can compare to you, ‘Drid.”

“Ohgod, Duck, please, please, please, want to be yours, always yours-”

“Careful,sugar, that sounds like you’re anglin’ for an infernal marriage.”

“A, a what? OHhhhnnyes” He moans as claws knead his ass.

“It’s a special kind of deal where a human agrees to marry a demon. Soon as they’re dead, they go straight to their spouse, no other options provided.” Duck cups his face, holding it steady so he can look into his eyes, “but there ain’t no need for that right now; way I see it, we can do this like we were just two normal fellas for now.”

“But it sounds fun.” Indrid offers a teasing pout and gets an adoring kiss in return. 

“Yeah? What if I tell you a lot of demons mark their spouses by piercing these” He pinches Indrid’s nipples, the pain making him bounce more determinedly on his dick. His demon growls, drops one hand down to thumb at the head of his aching cock, “pierce here too. Won’t even do it in public like you’re supposed to; do it at home so no one else will see just what a sweet, needy thing you are for me--whoah, fuck, did not expect you to cum just from playin with this nice dick a little.”

“V-very sensitive” Indrid gasps against the green swirls in Duck’s shoulder, his orgasm such a surprise he’s still registering it, hips twitching and tongue threatening to loll out of his mouth.

“Keep that in mind for next time. Might even bring a cage so you don’t cum too early and spoil my plans. Now, hold tight, little moth.” 

Indrid clings to the warm bulk of Duck’s body as his cock pounds up into him, the demon easily holding his hips up and his ass open so all he can do is whimper and writhe on it. When he cums it’s hot enough that Indrid squirms

“Don’t hurt does it?” Duck pets his sides, concerned. 

“Nono, it, it’s nice, just very strange.” Indrid winces as Duck pulls out, watches him wave his fingers to clear away the mess. When the demon makes no move to let go, Indrid looks up, “you really meant what you said? About wanting me as a boyfriend?”

“Damn right I do. Now c’mere, lemme get the beer outta your hair.”

Indrid hums as Duck scrubs his scalp and runs warm water over his skin, talking all the while about how they should go camping as a first date so no one will bother them, says he’ll even turn into a duck to make Indrid smile. 

Indrid says he knows just the spot, let’s his boyfriend dry them off and bundle them to bed and then, for the first time, falls asleep with a devil in his arms.

[haloud]

things we could burn in one go (eminence) - chapter 9

also on ao3

Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Isabel Evans & Max Evans & Michael Guerin, Michael Guerin/Alex Manes, Forrest Long/Alex Manes Additional Tags: post-s2, Canon Compliant, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Hurt/Comfort, Starts Forlex Ends Malex, Other Characters May Appear, Tags Subject to Update, Mutual Pining, Breaking Up, Getting Together

Chapter Summary: Michael and Isobel reckon with the fallout from Michael’s choices; Maria and Max catch up with him post-recovery.

Excerpt:

Maria sat on the steps, an old CD radio of Rosa’s beside her playing a classic Rosa mixtape, a Third Eye Blind track Michael only half-remembered flowing around her, her humming running under it, glittering minerals in a riverbed. She was surrounded by papers, pinned under painted rocks to keep them from being snatched away, her hair tied back by a rainbow scarf, and she bent over to write in a binder propped on her knees.

Michael rapped on the pillar behind him to get her attention, and when she looked up she smiled and set the binder aside.

“Guerin! You’re up! What brings you here with the sun in the sky?”

“Where else am I gonna go to get my sea legs back?”

“Well, come pull your ass into port and sit with me.”

She patted the low stair beside her and Michael did as he was told, swiping his hat off his head as he approached her. For her it was wordplay, but Michael cradled to his chest something more true than maybe she’d intended—Maria was a safe harbor, a port in a storm. No matter how bad things got, her warm heart and practical mind were a reminder to never give up. Just sitting beside her was enough to make him smile, even though he sat with a good six inches buffer between them, still unsure what boundaries were appropriate, still navigating the uncertain waters of being friends with an ex who meant something.

 (Wednesday, 11:00 am)

  Michael flipped Alex’s key over and over in his fingers, running it along his knuckles, pressing his thumb into the teeth until they left a locking-imprint on his skin, then doing it all over again. At some point, maybe it would start to feel real, if he reminded himself of the thing often enough.

The repetition and stimulation of the rough teeth, the cool, smooth metal, soothed him as he waited on Isobel’s porch. She’d called him here in the first place, so eventually she’d open the door. Until then, he waited. And as he waited, he thought of Alex, because what else was there to think about these days?

(A thousand things, like Jones and Project Shepherd, Max and Liz, and all the work piling up at Sanders’s, but Alex had a way of blotting everything else out, and, no matter how much his brain tried to get him to feel stupid or naïve or childish for hoping yet again, he was going to let himself bask in that shade for once in his life.)

He hadn’t left Alex’s house, still, except to go to work and get things from his own place. At Alex’s, he was still sleeping in the guest room, the both of them afraid that they’d fall back into their old patterns too fast if they fell right into bed. But during the day they shared that space, a kitchen, a den, existing alongside each other as they read or cooked or composed, and the routine wasn’t so different from the tense and quiet days right after Michael’s injury, but at the same time they were nothing alike, not when each tiny glance could mean so much, not when fingers on the soft rasp of turning pages were fingers he could touch, that could touch him.

Everything was different. It was terrifying, and exhilarating, brand new and nostalgic. It had only been a day; it had only been half their lifetimes.

“Ew, you’re glowing.”

Isobel’s voice started Michael out of his thoughts, and he jumped, shoving Alex’s key into his pocket. She was glaring at him, but still he relaxed, because Isobel’s snark was a form of love and her turning scorn in his direction was a sign things were getting back to normal between them.

“It’s all natural,” he drawled as she stepped aside to let him inside.

“Right. Did something happen, or is this just some lesser known side effect of being brought back from the brink of death.”

“Uh…”

In a way, sort of, if only because Michael’s own stupidity had driven him and Alex closer together, but that wasn’t exactly a direct correlation or anything admirable.

“Nope,” he said, popping the ‘p.’ “Just…”

He fell silent. How was he supposed to talk about being in love? He’d never done it before, and this was a first he hadn’t anticipated facing.

“Alex and I…” he tried again, but found himself only able to smile, still without words, and he raised his arms in a helpless shrug.

Isobel’s eyebrows raised. “Oh my god.”

“Yep.”

“I’m still pissed at you, but if Manes is making you his side chick after everything, I’m going to rip his spine out through his—”

“Isobel, no! It’s not like that,” Michael laughed, shaking his head.

“Well what’s it like, then? I cannot handle him breaking your heart again when we’re already dealing with Max.”

He replied, “My heart is fully intact,” as he headed in and dropped down on her couch, throwing a hand over his heart for dramatic effect. “No, uh, Alex and Forrest had a fight, which sucked, but it led to us getting a chance to talk more about, y’know, us, and what we wanted, and each other, so…”

“So this is rebound,” Isobel snipped.

“Can you stop?” Michael said, half-laughing. Even her pessimism on the subject of love couldn’t pop the bubble around his heart right now. He patted the couch beside him, and she hesitated for a few seconds with her arms crossed, before capitulating and joining him.

“Oh, fine,” she groused, leaning against the arm of the couch farthest away from where he was sitting. “Your funeral.”

The words landed like a lead balloon, and Michael winced as her face grew stormier.

“I’m—”

“Don’t,” Isobel held up a hand in his face. “Don’t you dare say you’re sorry. I don’t want to hear it.”

“Well, what do you want to hear?”

“An explanation, Michael! What the hell were you thinking? Why would you do that? What if he’d just straight up killed you, did you want us to find your body in a cave somewhere or, or never, blown to smithereens by a man who literally breathes fire! You’re so stupid, and selfish, and—” She cut herself off, furious tears welling in her eyes even as the rest of her face didn’t change.

“I know! I know, you’re right, it was stupid. I wasn’t thinking, or, well, I was thinking, but my head was all messed up.” He rested his forehead in his hands and running his fingers through his hair. “I don’t think any explanation is going to make any sense now, out of the moment, but I just…everything was going to shit, and I couldn’t do anything for Max, and I thought Jones might have answers, or could help me unlock new powers like you’ve done on your own. So I could protect everyone.”

Isobel threw her arms up and got to her feet, pacing around the couch; Michael tracked her, anxiety dipping and spiking every time she circled him. Her anger pulsing when she passed behind him made his skin crawl, and he shifted in his seat.

“I don’t even know what to say to that,” she finally spoke, stopping in front of him.

He kept his head bent forward, staring at his knees.

She continued, “I really don’t. I’ve been trying for twenty-one years, but I still don’t know how to get through to you. How to convince you that you’re not alone, that people want to protect you. To help you. But I’m not Max. I’ve never pushed or pried or fought to cling onto you when you shook us off. I just hung around because I knew you’d always come back.” She took a deep breath. Her voice stayed steady and deliberate. “But Michael, this has gone on for too long, and you went too far this time. You have to let us help you. Otherwise—I don’t know. I just don’t. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do anymore.”

Drops of water speckled the tops of Michael’s knees, and he sniffed, swallowed, mouth dry, throat tight and aching. His sister’s gentle hands threaded through his hair, cradling both temples, right hand over Max’s lingering handprint, but no matter how careful that touch was, he flinched.

Isobel tipped his head up so he had to look her in the eye and said, “You’re my brother, Michael. I love you so much. And I would do anything for you, just like you would—and have—do anything for me. But you need to let me! From here on out, I need you to fucking work with me. We’ll figure this out, okay?”

Tears trickling down his face and dripping from his chin, Michael nodded, not trusting his voice, and Isobel fell forward, his arms opening up to catch her, and they stayed like that for a long time, Michael rocking her back and forth, her clinging desperately to his shirt.

“I’m sorry,” he finally croaked, wiping his eyes with the heel of his hand. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. Or Max. I just, I can’t stop myself, sometimes, I know it’s not an excuse, I know it was stupid, I know—”

“I know,” she interrupted his stream of self-loathing, sitting back to look him seriously in the face. “I was in your head, remember?”

She’d found him beneath a vaulted ceiling, stained glass in shifting, alive, alien colors, walled in with his demons. Defining himself inside the devouring maelstrom by the battles he understood. His whole life, he’d sewed himself back whole, and his work wasn’t pretty, but the patterns made sense, and they kept him sane even when the odds demanded otherwise. The image flashed behind his eyes, but that’s all it was, an image. He shook his head.

“Not really.”

“Well. I didn’t really go snooping, no matter how tempting it was,” she said with a self-deprecating roll of her eyes. “But let’s just say…you don’t owe me any explanations you aren’t willing or ready to give. Those belong to you. I know I haven’t always understood that in the past. We both have things to work on, okay?”

“Okay,” Michael rasped, squeezing her tight again. “I…want to work on them with you.”

“Then it sounds like we’re going to be okay,” she softly replied.

(3:00 pm)

Isobel didn’t let him leave the house until both their eyes stopped being red and puffy from crying; It took multiple episodes of some Food Network show he’d never heard of before she agreed to let him out of her sight, and, in deeply un-Isobel-like fashion, she followed him to the door and pulled him into another hug for the road before she let him leave.

The drive from Isobel’s to the Wild Pony wasn’t really long enough to fully ruminate on how bad he must have scared Isobel to warrant this level of reaction. Logically, he’d known, but emotionally it was just beginning to sink in.

Over the past year, he’d been faced with losing Isobel and with losing Max multiple times—had lost Max, in fact. He knew how it felt. Why should the loss of himself be any different to them? In low moments, sure, thoughts shifted beneath the murk of his mind, lurking demons from childhood, that they didn’t need him, they had each other, a more special bond, he was the odd one out, outside, out in the cold. But on the day to day, he didn’t devalue himself like that, not in so many words, did he? But—

To be surprised? That Isobel was afraid, that Max was afraid, that the both of them stood on the precipice of grieving him and had to process the horror of that fall after snatching themselves back at the last minute? It was a slap in the face, a rude awakening. A lesson that for all these years he’d resisted learning.

The first step to protecting those who loved him was to protect himself. He couldn’t keep shelving it as the lowest priority. They were one and the same.

It sounded fake to his own ears, but he’d just have to say it until the lesson sunk in.

With the windows rolled down, the idle breeze tugged Michael’s hair across his face and cooled the late-summer stickiness from his skin. It was just after lunchtime, a little early for Max to be at work, but since he wasn’t at Isobel’s house, it was faster to check for him here than to drive all the way out to his own place.

If there was one positive to his near-death, it was the way Max was invigorated by a purpose. The healing drained him, of course it did; it could have killed him, and that weighed on Michael’s conscience, but afterward, after it worked and he’d pulled Michael back from death, he smiled. He slept. He bustled around Alex’s house babysitting Michael while Alex was at work, and now, with a little distance from fragile death, that didn’t chafe as badly.

Max deserved a better thanks than Michael had thus far been able to render, and with Isobel’s words still ringing in his ears, there was no better time than now.

He pulled up to the Pony, the fairy lights strung across the patio dancing in the wind, the wood of the old building all pale and real in the sunlight. The old, familiar sign above the door was off as long as the bar was closed, but Michael still took a moment to glance at it nice and long, remembering the feel of fixing it under his hands so the whole place felt less liminal, less like a mirror vision of the beating heart that was the Wild Pony glowing under the night sky, lit from within rather than from the sun.

Faint music played as Michael parked and left his truck, so he rounded the corner of the building to suss it out and smiled at what he saw, leaning against one of the trellis supports.

Maria sat on the steps, an old CD radio of Rosa’s beside her playing a classic Rosa mixtape, a Third Eye Blind track Michael only half-remembered flowing around her, her humming running under it, glittering minerals in a riverbed. She was surrounded by papers, pinned under painted rocks to keep them from being snatched away, her hair tied back by a rainbow scarf, and she bent over to write in a binder propped on her knees.

Michael rapped on the pillar behind him to get her attention, and when she looked up she smiled and set the binder aside.

“Guerin! You’re up! What brings you here with the sun in the sky?”

“Where else am I gonna go to get my sea legs back?”

“Well, come pull your ass into port and sit with me.”

She patted the low stair beside her and Michael did as he was told, swiping his hat off his head as he approached her. For her it was wordplay, but Michael cradled to his chest something more true than maybe she’d intended—Maria was a safe harbor, a port in a storm. No matter how bad things got, her warm heart and practical mind were a reminder to never give up. Just sitting beside her was enough to make him smile, even though he sat with a good six inches buffer between them, still unsure what boundaries were appropriate, still navigating the uncertain waters of being friends with an ex who meant something.

“What are you working on?” he asked.

“Oh, you know me.” She gestured vaguely to the arrangement of papers and tucked her feet up beside her, leaning toward Michael, cutting the space between them in half like it wasn’t worth noticing. Some of the tension in Michael’s chest unwound at her ease around him.

“Hustling?” he prompted.

“Yep. I’m just organizing the events I have planned for the upcoming season and making sure I have space set out for scheduling, details, budgeting, the works. High school me would die with envy; my system was never this good when I was trying to study.”

“I’m definitely impressed. Let me know if there’s anything I can help with, anything you need built, or an extra set of ‘hands’ for decorating.”

“How is that going?” she asked, brows furrowing.

“I’m still getting my strength back. Just gotta keep pushing through and hope whatever Jones did didn’t mess me up for good.”

“I’m sure he didn’t.”

Her hand extended but stopped before touching him, until he turned his hand palm-up, asking her to take it. She did, squeezing him.

“You’ll figure it out,” she said. “And the TK aside, have any of the other powers cropped up? The light, the teleporting? Those were the ones Alex told me about.”

“That’s all I remember, really. And no. I haven’t even tried, honestly.” He looked at their joined hands, her wrist bare of the pollen bracelet he’d promised her and wasted, thrown away like trash in a corner of Jones’s cave. This is blasphemy…

“Do you think you will? Try?” Maria asked, head tilted.

“I…hadn’t thought about it. Been focused on getting back to square one with the TK, but…”

Was doing more with his powers still an option? Was he willing to try, and fail, and fail again, without folding and submitting to all the voices in his head that told him every failure was proof positive of the erstwhile adage that he was worthless?

“Well, you have time,” Maria said, squeezing his hand again.

“What about you?” Michael asked. “Any visions?”

Her face shut down. She let go of his hand to smooth both hers down her knees then fold her arms around herself, turning her head away. “No. Still nothing. A few dreams, but it isn’t always easy to tell what’s a normal dream and what’s a vision, and with you out of the woods, the most dire ones are already Jossed.”

“What about Mimi?”

“Huh.” Maria pursed her lips for a second, then said, “I haven’t noticed any change in her? But I’ll have to ask and see what she says. I’m not even completely sure our powers work identically, with the things she’s said about being unstuck in time…I don’t always get that same feeling.”

“We’ll figure it out,” Michael promised her. “Even if it means having to go back to Jones and ask what he knows—”

“No!”

She wheeled on him and smacked his arm lightly.

“Absolutely not! Michael!”

“Not alone, obviously!” He defended.

“Not at all. Jesus Christ. I’ll tell Isobel you said that—I’ll tell Alex—”

“Maria, c’mon,” Michael whined, taking her hand again in an attempt to connect them and calm them both down. “I just don’t want to rule out that he’s meddling in more ways than we know. I still think he’s fucking with Max. You deserve answers, if that’s what’s going on.”

“Not at the cost of your life. Not ever. It could be a hundred other things, too. Stay away from him, Michael, I’m serious.”

“I will. I promise.”

“Good,” she said firmly, wrapping her arm around his again and leaning into him. He let out a long, slow breath as she relaxed.

“You know, in Jones’s cave…”

“Mm?”

Michael carefully encircled her wrist with his fingers. “I lost the bracelet I made for you. The backup one I promised.”

“Are you feeling guilty about that? Because please, don’t,” she replied, covering the hand on her wrist with her other. “That is the last thing on my mind.”

“But I—”

“Hush. I’m glad you had it with you, whatever happened to it. It’s good that you opted to protect yourself, even if it didn’t work.”

“I thought your powers were offline.”

“The visions, maybe. But I don’t need to see the future to read you, Guerin.”

“You are something else, DeLuca.”

“Oh, I’m aware.”

“Hey, Maria—oh! Michael!”

The two of them turned toward the backdoor at the sound of Max’s voice.

“Hey, Max,” Maria said. “Is the inventory finished?”

“Yeah, I was just coming to report back.”

“No need to be so formal,” she teased, standing up and brushing dust from the seat of her pants, looking at the papers around her with her hands on her hips. “I was hoping to get your opinion on some plans, Number One, but someone interrupted, so they’re not quite ready yet.”

“Guilty as charged,” Michael drawled.

Max reached out a hand, and Michael took it to humor him, letting him haul him to his feet.

“I’ll let you off the hook this time,” Maria said as she led the way back into the bar, cool and dim in the daylight. “You can sweep up to say you’re sorry.”

“My pleasure,” Michael said, reaching out a hand, hoping he could summon the broom as nonchalantly as he once could. It sat unresponsive until a spike of formless frustration zipped through him, at which point it flew to his hand fast and hard enough to sting his palm when he caught it. Great. Just what he needed right now—puberty flashbacks.

“I need to run,” Maria said, stowing her binder behind the bar. “Late lunch with Rosa. I’ll see you later, Max—Michael, it was so good to see you. Say hi to Alex for me, okay? I know you’re gonna see him before I do.”

She left with a wink while Michael was still pink and stammering. Maybe Alex had told her already—or maybe that was just Maria, putting him so at ease it was easy to forget how much she saw. His chest glowed so warm he couldn’t stop blushing at that casual acknowledgement, that easy validation, that he and Alex—that Alex and he were what they were to each other, now, again.

“Wait, is she talking about you staying over there, or does she mean—dude!” Max grinned ear to ear and bounded out from behind the bar to pull Michael into a back-slapping hug. “Congratulations!”

Old, brotherly habit had Michael squirming out of Max’s affections, but it didn’t dent his exuberance; he retaliated with a swipe through Michael’s hair, making him duck further out of range, huffing and laughing all at once as he tried to fix it again.

“Yeah, um, Forrest and Alex broke up, and then one thing led to another, so.”

“I’m really happy for you, man.”

“I—thanks. I’m…I’m really happy, too.”

The sudden urge to comfort Max gripped him, a strange survivor’s guilt that things would be working out for him and Alex and Max and Liz would still be so far apart. But it wasn’t his place to throw that in Max’s face now, so he bit his tongue and basked in Max’s honest happiness for him.

“Could you feel, uh, any of my emotions through the handprint?” Michael asked. He ran his hand through his hair over the spot on his temple where Jones had held him, erased by Max’s healing hands, then dropped it back to his side abruptly, flexing away the phantom stiffness that still plagued him, that probably always would. He gave it a shake as if to chase away nervous tingling.

“Nah. But it’s not like I’m looking; I respect your privacy, man.”

“’preciate that,” Michael snarked, and Max just shrugged.

“Any particular reason you ask? I don’t need to know what you and Alex are up to,” Max joked.

Michael considered his answer for a little bit as he made his way between the tables. After all, it wasn’t as if this was the first handprint Max had ever given him. The ones on his neck and hand cut off by his death aside, dozens of times over dozens of years, Max had practiced healing on him and they’d explored that connection. Michael was always the guinea pig; he never wanted for injuries to work on, after all.

But there’d been a lot of handprinting over the past year and change. Max felt something from Liz; Liz felt something from Noah; Rosa and Max had a connection strong enough to tether Max to the world of the living. And then there was Michael, with Jones’s voice in his ear, dripping condescending words about his lack of psychic ability being phenomenal, considering.

At various times in his life, Michael had looked up at the stars and wondered in the silence what it was in him that was irreparably broken.

“Just curious. It’s been a while, and all juiced up like I was, I was wondering if anything felt different.”

“Nothing different. Just you.”

Max smiled like that was a good thing, a comforting thing. And you know what? In between the adrenaline of change, good and bad, in between the rock of Project Shepherd and the hard place of Jones, on an afternoon in a closed bar, a home to both of them, alone with his brother, Michael let it be.

He cleared his throat. “Good. So there’s no…interference or anything? Nothing weird lurking around up there?”

“Not that I can tell; Isobel would probably know better than I would. Whatever he did to you was bizarre, man. It wasn’t like the way, uh, the way I’ve killed people before. Or the way Noah killed.”

“I don’t think he was just trying to kill me.”

Michael made his way over to a booth and beckoned Max over; he lingered over his work for a glance at the clock and then came and joined him.

He continued, “He kept going on about teaching and knowledge and this being the wrong way but the most efficient. He knew it would hurt me, but maybe it would have worked better if he did it to someone more, uh, receptive than me.”

“What are you talking about?” Max leaned over the table, brow furrowed. This close up, the dark circles below his eyes were more noticeable. “Michael, what he did to you wasn’t in any way your fault—”

“I know, I know, that’s not what I mean. Just…look, I saw the security footage from Caulfield, from the day of the Valenti incident. The way that alien approached Jim Valenti and put his hands on him was identical to what Jones did to me, and I think maybe that guy was just trying to communicate but it fucked up a human in a way he either couldn’t expect or was too out of it to realize. And, well,” Michael gestured to his own head. “I’m the most human of the three of us up here.”

“I…huh.” Max sat back and drummed his fingers on the tabletop as he processed that. “Well, whatever the case, it proved you and Isobel were right about him. He can’t be trusted. Nobody should have any more contact with him. We’ll start doing our monthly drop offs contactless until we all figure out what should be done with him.”

His voice was firm, businesslike. Traffic Stop Max was Michael’s least favorite version of his brother and he’d hoped that his turn to the civilian would’ve put that guy to rest, but he had a tendency to rear his head in a crisis.

But in this case, he saw through him, and that façade was hiding something.

“How do you feel about that?” Michael asked, leaning back and slouching, reflecting Max’s rigid body language the way he had for a decade, cops and robbers style.

“It doesn’t matter how I feel about it. He almost killed you; we’ll do what has to be done.”

“Uh, it definitely does matter. You’re the closest thing to a next of kin he’s got, as far as we know. If anyone gets to decide what happens to him, it’s you.”

“That’s what I’m doing.”

“Is it? ‘Cause, look, I know I fucked up a lot of stuff running off to Jones half-cocked like I did. I don’t want to set off a chain reaction of more bad mistakes that rips us apart again when we’re just startin’ to…” Michael trailed off with a self-conscious shrug. It was realer than he’d intended to get, but it was the root of the issue, wasn’t it?

Max’s face softened, and Michael slumped lower in the booth.

“You’re not. You won’t.”

“You’re just saying that—”

“Michael.”

That tone was always a coin flip if it’d get right under Michael’s skin or if it’d shut him up. It landed on the second one this time, to Michael’s relief.

Max said, “No chain reactions. What we were doing before wasn’t working, okay? I knew I wanted something from Jones, but I couldn’t bring myself to reach out and take it. All you did was force us to make a choice when I would’ve dug my heels in and not been able to for a long time otherwise.”

“The answers you’re looking for, though, you deserve to look for them if it’s what you need,” Michael forged on, battling his clumsy tongue. “I should’ve said that before. You deserve to know who you are and to learn who that is in whatever way you can. Everybody deserves that.”

“Thank you. I mean that. But I was getting so desperate—the things I was thinking of doing—I scared myself, okay? I didn’t think—I don’t think I am that person. And being this person I am right now and who I want to be right now is more important than any answers about the past, if that’s what it means to find them.”

Michael sat with that, looking Max up and down, sitting with his own feelings as much as Max’s words. Parsing his own reactions to Max was something he took steadier, more carefully than most other things in his life. It was a set of muscles he needed to practice with as much as he needed to get power back to his telekinesis.

“Okay, man. I respect that,” he said finally, leaning over the table to punch Max in the shoulder. Max made a face and rubbed that spot.

“Ow, man, thanks, I guess.”

“Damn, did I get you in your writing arm?”

“Try my drink-mixing arm. If I’m off tonight, I’m ratting you out to Maria.”

Michael let out a scandalized noise and slipped out of the booth.

“Where are you going?” Max laughed, dark eyes shining with life in a way Jones’s never could. For all they were identical, Michael barely saw the resemblance.

“To lay low, what do you think? You’re makin’ me a fugitive.”

“Uh huh. Good luck; you know she’s just going to ask Alex.”

“Damn it. The things I do for love.”

A smile on his own face as soon as he turned his back, Michael was almost at the door when Max called his name and he turned to face him again.

“Michael? Thank you.”

“For what?”

“Asking. Listening.”

Those two words held a lifetime of desperate loneliness between them, and Michael would be sitting with that, too, as long as he was holding it in his head, making it a conscious decision, to do right by his brother.

“You don’t have to thank me,” he said.

“I wanted to,” Max replied simply.

“Well in that case…I guess you’re welcome.”

Michael’s phone buzzed in his pocket, not the single pulse of a text but the longer jangling of a phone call. He fished it out, smiling when he saw the name, and he didn’t even wait to get privacy from Max before answering.

“Alex—”

“Thank God. Where are you, Michael? Are you okay?”

“Alex? I’m fine, I’m at the Pony, what’s wrong—”

Max hurried to Michael’s side.

Alex repeated, “Thank god. Don’t come home, do you hear me? Do not come back to the house until I give you the all clear. Stay with Max and Maria.”

“What? No!”

But the line cut off midway through his protest, leaving him with nothing but the dial tone.

[extremelyblackandwhite]

handmaid - 19

PAIRING: mob!sebastian stan x ingenue!reader

WARNINGS: age gap

A/N: hope you enjoy this chapter xxx

NEXT CHAPTER

Y/N was submerged up to her neck up to the bubbles in her bath tube. She wanted to be mad at Gwen, mad that once again she had lost something over her own selfishness but most of her mind was telling her to be forgiving, Gwen could’ve never predicted a blizzard and if she had known she would’ve probably taken one less bag so Y/N could accompany her. Nevertheless, she couldn’t help but feel a ting of sadness as it dawned on her she would probably spend Christmas here. It wasn’t like she didn’t enjoy Sebastian’s presence, she absolutely loved to be around him when he wasn’t putting up a facade for his associates. However, it was different. It wasn’t the same, there were no fireplaces, no big kitchens in flames with every single scent related to winter and Christmas, no playing chess with Mr. Forrest or telling Gwen to wait for present opening. At the same time she was rather nervous to be left alone with Sebastian. That’s just like freeing a child in a candy shop without parent supervision and an unusual amount of money. No restraints and how was she supposed to have any restraints when Gwen wasn’t around to be the constant reminder that being in love with a promised man is wrong?

She sighed, lowering her body down til her nose touched the bubbles of the bath tube. Was the universe testing her? Yes, it was. She kissed a promised man and now she doesn’t get to spend Christmas like she normally does. What else is gonna happen? She hoped there was no mistletoe laying around the house. 

     - Miss Y/N? Are you okay? - she heard a light knock on the door followed by Amelia’s voice. Noticing the water had begun to cool down, she stepped off the tub, wrapping herself in one of Sebastian’s monogramed fluffy robes. 

The handmaid creaked the door open, peaking to see the maid holding a folded red jumper and black pair of sweatpants. Being in those soft materials sounded like a good idea. Being surrounded in soft materials was always a sure way to make her a bit happy.

    - I got you some nice and warm clothes and afterwards I can do your hair into something pretty. - Y/N nodded clearly not in the mood to disobey and quickly got dressed up in the freshly washed and dried garments. In no time she was sat in front of her vanity while Amelia brushed her hair and braided it along with a red velvet string. 

    - You know, Miss Y/N, we haven’t had a nice Christmas in this household in ages. Maybe with you here, we can have something nice. - she placed the brush back in the table. - There we go. Don’t you look pretty?

    - Thank you so much, Amelia. - she smiled. - Don’t you want to go home to your family?

    - This is my family. I’ve been taking care of Mr. Stan since he was as tall as a hobbit. However, I don’t think he needs someone to look after him anymore.

Before Y/N could question Amelia over her riddle speaking pattern, she was already rushing her down the stairs. Much to her surprise, the fireplace that wasn’t really a fireplace was on, there was a smell of apples, cinnamon and nutmeg in the air. She looked around wondering where the smell came from and judging by the amount of people in the kitchen along with bodyguards cooking various things, she wondered it came from there. She tried to suppress her smile as she walked barefoot to the kitchen, the little bells on her velvet red string jiggling.

   - It smells lovely. What are you cooking? - she asked Elias, her bodyguard, who had an apron over his suit. 

   - I have no idea, Miss Y/N. Some sort of pudding like thing. - he continued to whisk the dough. - Do you happen to know how to cook a Christmas Pudding?

   - I think you might me missing some brandy. 

   - I would love some brandy. - Elias mumbled.

   - Stop mumbling. When you applied for this job you said you could cook so cook. - Sebastian spoke from further into the kitchen which intrigued Y/N. He barely even stepped into the kitchen unless he needed his beloved coffee as other than that he got his meals in his office. Y/N bite her lip, walking further into the kitchen to find the perfectly polished mob boss struggling with whatever he was doing. - You know, angel, I can hear your bells. 

   - What are you doing? - like a curious child, she took over to his side. 

   - Sugar cookies. 

   - That is not sugar cookie dough. - she pointed at the bowl he was mixing which had a liquid like dough on. - Besides, I thought you said you didn’t cook. 

   - Well ... it is my fiancée’s fault you’re not at home having some sugar cookies so I thought I’d dust off my mother’s recipe ... It’s not working very well, angel. 

   - Yeah, cookie dough shouldn’t be liquid. 

   - The fridge will fix it. - he placed the bowl down, staring at the once straight but now crooked whisk caused by his lack of gentleness when cooking. Sebastian couldn’t cook and that was a fact. The only thing he could sort of make and turn edible was chicken breasts which he had learned during university and even that was somewhat questionable.

   - No, Seb, I don’t think it will. - the nickname escaped her mindlessly and, while she didn’t notice, Sebastian couldn’t help but smirk at how comfortable she had made herself around him. At least comfortable enough to give him a nickname. - Do you have the recipe? I’m sure we can make a new lovely batch. 

  - If you can understand my mother’s handwriting. - he handed her a rather old piece of paper which looked like a child’s tea paper. Y/N held the paper with both hands, chewing on her lip as she read it through. 

  - Alright we need sugar, flour, vanilla extract, butter, and eggs. - she scanned through the sea of ingredients that were standing on the table. - Why ... why are there chocolate chips here?

  - I thought I could put chocolate chips on it. - he rubbed his neck sheepishly and Y/N smiled. - I used to do it with my mum. It’s probably wrong.

  - You know, my nanny always said you bake from the heart. - she handed him an unopened pack of white chocolate chips. - Besides, I think we might make it work if we add it at the end. We start with butter and sugar in the bowl and then we mix it ... with an electrical mixer. 

  - You youngsters and your electronics. - he joked and Y/N rolled her eyes. If Gwen was to be trusted, Sebastian was 14 years older than both her and Gwen making him almost a decade and a half older than the two girls. She creamed the butter with the sugar and added the flour, eggs and vanilla. - Can I turn it on now?

 - Sure, just be caref ... - before she could warn him, he turned the mixer up to his highest speed sending a cloud of flour towards both of them. - ... with the speed. 

She looked at his surprised flour covered face, holding in a laugh as she bopped his nose. He looked so helpless in the kitchen she wondered if his associates knew the best way to get his weakness would be by making him cook. 

    - This is why we start with slow to medium speed. - she turned it off on medium, watching as the flour was incorporated with the flour. - Should I put a scarf on you and you can become the snowman?

     - You’re trying to be funny, angel? - his hand ran down her side, subtly ending on her bum. - Don’t forget who you’re speaking to. 

     - I won’t. - she handed him the glass bowl, successfully occupying his hands with something else. - I hope you know how to roll dough. 

It was nice and she had to admit it. Baking Christmas cookies with the mob boss engaged to her friend was nice and she didn’t know if to feel guilty or to relish on the memories that would probably haunt her at night time or whenever she thought of Gwen. She was stuck in her own conflict until she felt something run down her cheek. 

    - Sebastian ... - she cleaned her cheek, noticing the red icing. - Stop it. 

    - I always thought you were sweet angel but I think you might just taste sweet too now. - Sebastian kissed her cheek making her widen her eyes, looking around if any of the staff had noticed. To her luck, they were much too busy looking at a video on youtube on how to properly cook a turkey. Guess they shouldn’t have given the chef an early holiday. 

   - Stop it, you’re engaged. - she took a step to the right and handed him a bowl where she had placed the chocolate chips on. - Go on, decorate your cookies. 

   - They won’t say anything. - Sebastian observed as Y/N’s pipped some icing onto her cookies making them look like small pieces of art. Surely his cookies were not gonna be displayed. - Besides Gwen isn’t here. 

   - You could look a bit sad that your fiancée isn’t here. - she grabbed the tray of cookies and placed it in the oven, cleaning her hands against her apron. - You don’t need to mean it. 

   - Admit it, you’re also happy she isn’t around. 

   - I am not. We’ve spent Christmas together since we were kids, it’s sorta of odd that she isn’t around. 

   - C’mon, angel. Do you even have a day in your life that’s just for you? Your birthday perhaps?

   - Me and Gwen have the same birthday and besides, I don’t know what I would do with a day just for me. - she could possibly spend the whole day reading but other than that it would sound a bit weird not to have Gwen barging into her bedroom with her issues. - You spend Christmas with family and the ones you love. 

   - Alright, angel, if you say so. 

   - We should go outside. 

   - Outside? - he looked over the window, noticing the soft fresh snow on the ground. It looked way colder than the warmth provided by his heaters inside the house. - Are you sure?

   - We could go to the Rockefeller Centre, see the Christmas tree or even go to the ice rink.

   - You wanna walk all the way there?

   - It’s not that bad. C’mon, it’s gonna be lovely. - her eyes sparkled in a way that didn’t allow anyone with an once of a heart to say no to her. Sighing he just smiled and that wasn’t for her to kiss his cheek and rush out of the kitchen to grab her coat.

She returned in a few seconds in a white faux fur coat which most likely used to belong to Gwen and matching winter hat and gloves. He thought she looked adorable all in white like some sort of snow angel with the robin necklace in gold shinning with the reflection of the Christmas lights. In odd comparison, Sebastian was wearing his traditional signature long black coat, sunglasses with a Burberry scarf. As they stepped outside, she seemed to light up with energy, her hand wrapping around his as they looked at the other house’s outside decoration.

People couldn’t help but smile as they saw the two people contrasted with colours and with expressions. Sebastian himself would’ve gone home but his heart would skip a beat every time her gloved hand touched his pulling him along. In what felt like hours and hours of walking and looking at various lights, they reached the Rockefeller Centre and even Sebastian had to take off his sunglasses to look at the Christmas tree. 

   - Let’s go ice skating. - she grabbed his hand, smiling. - It’ll be fun.

   - No, angel. You can go, I’ll just watch.

   - It’ll be fun besides, I’m sure none of your associates are here to see you ice skating. 

   - Do you ever take no for an answer, angel? 

   - You’re gonna like it. 

   - Alright. - he gave in and walked over to buy the tickets and rent the skates. Mindlessly, she put her skates off and went off onto the rink, turning around to see Sebastian still trying to look as polished and stoic as he could. - What?

  - You can’t be holding onto the rail all the time. - she crossed her arms. - That’s cheating. 

  - I never said I would do the skating part of ice skating. 

  - You could always use this as an excuse to hold my hand. - she skated over to him, extending her hand towards him.

  - I don’t need an excuse to hold your hand, angel. But ... I’ll take your offer. 

tag list: @lilya-petrichor @xoxohannahlee @irespostthingsiwanttoseelater @nikkipea @madisonpillstrom @cevans98 @thelostallycat @sideeffectsofyou @anxiousdreamersworld @captainchrisstan @lookiamtrying @sarge-barnes-sir​​ @stuffforreferences​ @thebadassbitchqueen

[passivenovember]

If Snow Loves the Trees and Fields.

Billy's job at Willowbrook Elementary is the only reason he puts up with this weather at all.

His hatred for winter, a season which hardly existed when he taught in the Valley, morphs and becomes something violent on the first Monday after Christmas break.

He wakes up feeling like his toes have gone missing, frozen black and blue with the cold, and after his phone tells him it's below zero outside, with wind-chill, his heart stops beating.

Hawkins is -10 degrees, to be precise.

And it leaves him feeling like that's gotta be illegal, or. He could for sure call all the scientists on Earth and have a law passed that clarifies: those born and raised in a Southern climate get a free pass on days when Hell is actively freezing over.

But it's not snowing today. And all the ice on the street has been scraped into terrible, disgusting drifts that block his driveway, and Hopper would immediately call bullshit. All, gonna have to suck it up if you wanna live here, buttercup.

So Billy decides to be an adult, or whatever. He spends another five minutes on his phone definitely not stalking his ex Instagram before rolling out of bed to get dressed.

And, like.

Even his underwear drawer is stiff from the cold so Billy decides to bundle the fuck up--a trick he learned from Max last fall, during the coldest year Indiana had ever seen. He manages to stack five layers in total; one pretty pink thermal set just brushing his his skin and a button down shirt to stave off the goosebumps. A sweater and jeans for professionalism. One Grateful Dead hoodie, because it makes him feel like he's not a total sell out, and a thick winter coat, sent special from the snow capped mountains of California this Christmas.

It still smells like his mom's pikake lei perfume.

Billy tries not to think about that, of home, on a day when he'd give his left nut for a ray of sunshine.

Instead, he spends ten minutes filling his thermos with coffee. Boiling the rice milk more than once so it'll stay warm on the ride across town. He sticks his pinky under the lip after his third go, and fuck that shit is so hot it will burn his mouth tomorrow, before checking the weather app again for closures.

Hoping against hope that something has changed in the last five minutes.

Of course, nothing has.

The superintendent believes that everyone in Hawkins is somehow used to temperatures that makes their eyelids freeze shut in the thirty second walk to the car in the morning. Billy jams a knit cap on his head and seriously considers calling in.

A last ditch effort to quell the rising fury in his veins, that like.

He's gonna have to scrape his windows, and freeze his dick off, and deal with the neighbor.

The one who looks like he doesn't mind the cold so much because he carries the sun with him, fucking asshole.

People shouldn't be wandering the streets when their eyelids could freeze shut, right?

Billy checks his phone one more time, frowning at a text from Joyce to pick up some coffee on your way in, and tosses his bag over his shoulder before he can change his mind.

--

It's so much worse than expected.

Billy's lungs seize up on his second intake of fresh air because no one should be huffing sulfur or gaseous ice or whatever the fuck this shit is first thing in the morning. On a Monday. The first one after Christmas break, and.

"God damn, holy shit, holy shit,"  Billy bounces the whole way to the Camaro, breath coming in short, comical bursts of steam that make his nose run. He swipes dramatically at his face, struggling to get his keys into the lock while balancing his thermos on one arm and his messenger bag on the other.

Billy's in the middle of forcing the door open, its hinges are frozen solid with ice goddammit, when Steve fucking Harrington appears like a cloud on the wind.

"Howdy neighbor," Steve says. Like they're cowboys in a shitty film from the 1970s. The wind kicks a lock of brown hair into Harrington's face and he shivers. "Wow, it's really blowing out here, huh?"

Midwesterner's love doing that.

Pointing out the obvious.

Billy grumbles a response, flinging his car door open and jamming the keys into the ignition.

Steve's saying something.

Talking like always, about his cat or maybe the beer they keep saying they'll have together, and generally Billy puts up with it but not today. He isn't going to freeze to death for a pair of legs.

The Camaro roars to life, clearly pissed at having to work on such a disgusting day, and. Alright. Letting your car "warm up," is something so Midwestern Billy can't even talk about it.

It takes him all of two minutes to scrape his windows, electing to carve holes in each wall of ice rather than clear the whole thing. The metal handle of the scraper Max got him feels like the ninth circle of hell against the peachy skin of his fingers.

He should've bought some mittens.

Joyce is always saying he needs mittens, he should've asked for some--

Billy tosses the scraper into his back seat and climbs in, slamming the door shut behind him and cranking the heat up to high. Steve's watching from next to the fence in a fucking pea coat, and a scarf with care bears on it and.

Nothing else.

Fucking asshole.

Steve waves at him, like; hey I'm talking to you. Frantically, like the mouse Mr. Bane caught last week is important.

But Billy's too busy trying to back out of the driveway with five layers of shit restricting his movement. He cranks the music up and cautiously pulls onto the street. Nice and smooth like he's seen Steve do effortlessly, even with three inches of ice on the ground. Fucking asshole.

Billy makes it halfway before he hits something.

The wind kicks hair into his face as he assesses the damage.

"You should've scraped your driveway last night." Steve says helpfully.

He's got a cigarette hanging from his lips, stark in contrast to the weird home made scarf he's got folded around his neck. Billy tries not to think about Steve's lips as he makes his way to the back of the Camaro to see that, yup.

Of course.

His baby is stuck in the snow. Billy kicks the tire. Like that'll fix anything.

"That's not gonna fix anything." Steve says, leaning against the fence.

"Jesus, fuck. I know, Steve." Billy scrubs a hand across his face, gesturing to the Care Bear scarf. "Why the hell are you wearing that thing, you look like a fruit."

"I am a fruit."

"Well you look like the whole goddamn bowl, pretty boy." Billy digs around for a cigarette. "My kindergarteners don't even fuck with the Care Bears enough to own scarves." Billy squints, assessing Steve from head to toe, delighting in the awkward squirm of his limbs. He clicks his tongue, disappointed. "Couldn't look any fruiter if you tried."

Steve shrugs his shoulders, like. Don't yell at me, this isn't my fault.

And okay.

He's cute.

Billy gets struck by that every time he sees the guy, all over again, like. His profile is perfect. Sharp nose, pretty eyes. Thick lips.

Steve holds out a cigarette.

Billy takes it.

"One of my residents made it for me. He's learning how to flat pattern." Harrington says shyly. "Well, he made it for his grand daughter, but. It turned out worse than he expected so I offered to take it."

Billy squints. "The fuck does that mean?"

"Just means I was trying to be nice--"

"No, the." Billy grins in spite of himself. "The flat patterning, what's that?"

Steve shrugs again. "I'm not sure, I think it's like. A sewing term. Or something." A pretty blush the color of Steve's scarf spreads across the bridge of his nose. It looks like strawberry ice cream and Billy.

Has to look away.

"My mom sews," Billy says gruffy. "I've never heard her say that."

"Well, maybe she drapes?"

Billy squints again. "What?"

"Draping. That's another thing people do--"

Billy stamps the cigarette out and kicks his tire again. Steve jolts, like. Billy tried to kick him or something, which just makes the situation worse.

"God, they should've cancelled classes." Billy states. Well, screams, to no one in particular. "Who wants to go to work in the snow, who fucking. Likes this white bullshit?"

Steve leans against the fence and looks thoughtful. "I love the snow."

"You're not helping."

"You asked."

"No, I didn't." Billy shoots back. He digs his cellphone out and shakes his head. "Why are you still here, Harrington? Don't you have old people to take care of?"

Steve chuckles again. Light, like Christmas bells. "Don't you have screaming brats to teach?"

"My car's kinda stuck in the snow, you fucking dick." Billy's so focused on trying to order a lyft that he doesn't waste time on pleasantries. He expects that to be the end of it, when the wind picks up and he swears again, but. Steve just moves closer.

"Let me drive you." Steve says.

And.

The moment sort of hangs there.

In the two years that Billy's lived next to the guy, they've never hung out. Never house sat for each other, never spoken outside the occasional could you make sure your idiot friends don't block my driveway, and empty promises to grab a beer sometime.

So the offer catches him off guard.

Billy glances up from his phone, confused, to find Steve looking everywhere but at him. Harrington's shifting his weight, like. He's fucking nervous, or something.

Or maybe hoping Billy will say no because he's just being polite.

Billy glares.

Of course he's just being neighborly. Charitable. That's what Midwestern assholes do.

Billy waves his phone in the air, like, "I'm ordering a lyft." And it comes out sharper. More aggressive than he means it too, but Steve doesn't seem to notice.

"Just ride with me, it's on the way."

Billy points at the screen. "Jason will be here in ten minutes."

"What's Jason got that I don't have?" Harington quips, and.

Billy just wants shit to go back to normal. He shakes his head again, "Nah, 's okay, pretty boy. Thanks anyway." Before turning back to his phone like he's got important shit to worry about.

Steve stands.

Stares.

Waits, for longer than is necessary, before clearing his throat. "Okay, well. Happy first day back." He says.

And if Billy didn’t know any better he'd say Steve sounds almost.

Disappointed.

--

When Billy gets off of work that night the snow is gone from his driveway.

--

Billy still has bad days.

They always start before dawn. With the claws of his nightmare leaving scratches down the lining of his throat. It's like Billy's carrying an anchor around his neck, or his veins are filled with playdough the color of the sun on those afternoons. He feels lazy and sluggish and like if someone looks at him for too long he'll break. Snap and crackle, like an open flame against fresh skin.

Billy still has bad days but they don't come unless he's been slipping for a while. Like forgetting to take his medication, or not writing his letter every night before bed.

The one to Neil, that his therapist says will help him work through the last of the road blocks that stand in the way of, "ultimate healing."

Billy used to think it was horseshit.

But Neil. Everything that happened, everything that still happens--when Billy goes home for Christmas, or when Susan calls and he can hear the slur of hate on the other end of the line--is standing in the way of something.

There are so many letters.

So much he wants to say.

Written on anything Billy can find, like. Napkins and the backs of take out menus--old drawings that the kids send home with him after Art class on Fridays.

The pages are kept in a binder.

His therapist says it's important to decorate the binder with, like. Stuff that makes him feel good. Words and phrases, stickers, pictures of the people he loves and drawings of all his favorite things. The folder is supposed to act as a visual reminder of the blanket of love that surrounds him, or something.

Melvalds only had brown folders when he went to pick his up, so.

The folder is brown. Disgusting.

And so far the only decorations he's been able to stomach are one of those fancy stickers from Redbubble that depicts his favorite episode of Daria, and a picture of him and Maxine with underwear on their heads.

Billy thinks it could be sad to some people.

That a poor, little abused boy only has two things in life that protect him from the shadow which falls with the setting sun, but it's the truth. Life is hard and fucked up. Billy has trouble letting people close, letting people in, so he sticks with the basics. The tried and true.

Maxine and his gravity bong.

Billy Hargrove is a simple man.

--

So it's two weeks after Steve shovels his driveway and Billy tells his therapist, like. "This fucking guy just. Did something nice for me."

And she clearly wonders what's wrong with him. "Did you say thank you?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because," Billy tries not to get defensive about shit these days, because. It's only a hop-skip-and a jump from defensiveness to downright aggression and Megan, his well meaning shrink, doesn't deserve that even on her most annoying days.

His leg bounces under the table, thwacking against its mahogany edge loud enough that Megan can hear it over the fucking phone, so she says, "Billy. Stop."

Because they have a deal about nervous ticks.

Billy is supposed to say his safe word when he starts to feel anxious, but.

He fucking hates that shit. Hates being babied. Hates feeling like he's a goddamn basket case that needs to be rooted in reality when his trauma rears its ugly head. Billy smiles, the whole thing falling flat against his face. "I'm stopping."

Megan sighs. "Why haven't you thanked Steve for his act of kindness?"

"Because, like." Billy's shaking his leg again. Softer this time; it's a secret. "How do I know he isn't trying to, fucking. Get information out of me. Or out me to the community, or. Make fun of the way I'm a grown man who can't shovel his own driveway after a snowstorm--"

"I think you're internalizing your fears, Billy."

"Yeah, no shit." He snaps. Billy feels bad for half a second but then she's giggling, like she always does, which makes him feel less like the big bad wolf and more like one of the three little pigs. The guy with the straw, maybe?

Billy sighs, scrubbing at his face. "What does that even mean?"

Megan makes a noise on the other end of the line, like. In the six months that Billy's been in therapy he should've learned this by now.

Dude's got a short attention span, sue him.

And, sure enough. "Twice a week we meet over the phone and you don't know that internalizing your fears means you're trying to write the ending to a story you haven't even read yet?"

"Like, uh," Billy says intelligently. "What's that shit you're always saying? About seeing a book on the shelf and--"

"Guessing the ending. Yup, that's right." Megan sounds pleased. Billy ignores the bloom of happiness in his chest, because like. He doesn't really deserve it. She doesn't give him time to dwell, though. "Steve did something nice for you. Maybe he has suspicious intent--"

Billy sucks in a breath, like.

Dramatic. Loud enough that Megan snorts and says, "Hold on, you're jumping to conclusions again."

Billy really fucking.

Hates how perceptive she can be.

Megan keeps talking and Billy listens, because he pays her after all. "If you're really worried that his intentions are cloudy, do something nice for him in return."

"Something nice," Billy repeats. Like he's never heard of such a concept. "Something nice, like. Buy him flowers?"

Megan snorts. "Do you want to buy him flowers?"

"No, why would you think that?"

"Because you--" His therapist sighs. Billy embraces the feeling it gives him, yanking her chain a little bit. "Listen. I don't know this Steve person, and I've never heard you talk about him beyond this beer you're supposed to have together, like. Never. But has he ever given you a reason to think he's out to hurt you?"

Billy thinks back over two years and a million one-dimensional interactions.

Steve never loses his temper.

Not when Billy calls to have the cars that block his driveway towed, not when Billy bitches about the daisy bushes shedding into his yard in the fall, and Steve always picks up Mr. Bane's cat shit from Billy's front porch when the Gremlin actually goes outside.

Always with a smile and a sweet little, I think Mr. B likes you.

And, like.

It was pretty nice of Steve to offer Billy a ride that morning.

And shovel his driveway after work, just because he knew Billy probably wouldn't do it.

The whole thing, it. Fills Billy with something he can't quite express, a warmth he only ever feels when Max calls a dozen times to remind him to eat dinner when he sends a few intense messages.

Megan takes his silence, as always, like a breakthrough.

"So," She says, clearly satisfied. "Same time next week?"

--

Billy spends three days waiting for Steve to make it easy for him.

Because Harrington's a home owner, and there's always something, right? A problem he needs help with, like. A leaky pipe that needs fixed, a cup of sugar for a recipe that he didn't account for, ghosts in the attic. Typical HOA bullshit.

Billy stares out his window at the lovely split level next door and decides he'll take anything, do anything, to get this fucking anchor of guilt off his back for the whole driveway situation. The opportunity never presents itself.

The ducks never fall in a row.

Steve just leaves the house every morning, same time as Billy, same as always, with a gentle Howdy neighbor. And a smile tugging at his pretty pink lips, hair perfect and windswept because he's a fucking asshole and it only takes two days.

Forty-eight hours before Billy's hatching a plan to pay Harrington back and inventing problems to solve, like some sort of demonic Bob the Builder.

He calls Max on Thursday and comes up with a list. Something tangible, like breaking Steve's garage window with a ski ball. Or trapping Mr. Bane in a sweater and pretending like he's gone missing so Steve will have to round up a search party, but.

Billy knows Megan would call that instigating, antagonizing, and causing trouble, which Billy's trying not to do anymore.

So he brings up flowers again, because.

Fuck it--maybe he's wanted to see Steve behind a bouquet of Lilies of the Valley for months now.

And Max goes all soft.

And quiet, too, before whispering, "I'm really proud of you, you know? For getting better."

Then suddenly Billy can't breathe because there's a lump in his throat.

Because he is trying to get better. To live honestly, to lead with love--whatever hippie-dippie bullshit Megan is always spoon feeding him, so.

With Max's blessing, Billy's about to, like. Knock on Steve's door with a plate of pot brownies and a shitty thanks for being a decent human card when Mr. Bane leaves a dead bird on Billy's porch, the third one in a month, and Billy hatches an idea.

--

Steve's front door is yellow.

Like. Sunshine yellow. Valley girl yellow.

Which Billy used to think was charming but now thinks is kind of annoying, when coupled with Steve's perpetually sunny disposition. And okay. Maybe it sort of pokes and prods at that piece of him that's always missing home.

Maybe it makes him a little bit sad, like. He'll never really feel at peace anywhere else.

But before Billy can dwell on it, or raise his fist to knock on the door, Steve's opening it and preparing to step through. He's using his foot to stop Mr. Bane from running out into the yard so he doesn't see Billy right away, which.

Also means he's going somewhere.

Which inherently means Billy's caught him at a bad time. Billy holds the paper bag closer to his chest and feels the words bubbling up before he can practice his breathing, or. Stop them. Because this is his third biggest fear after arguments and spiders.

"I've caught you at a bad time, I'm sorry, I'll just come back la--"

Steve breaks out into a grin so big. So bright, that it rivals anything Billy's ever seen before.

"Howdy, neighbor!" Steve says.

And Billy shifts nervously from one foot to the other, like. "Is this a bad time?"

"No, it's not a--"

"Because I can come back later." Billy nods, already turning on his heel to escape, and like. Fly into the sun. "Or not at all. I can just mail it to you, that's. Yeah, I'll just stick it in the post or something."

Steve grabs his elbow.

Billy looks at the hand on his elbow, and down at Steve’s feet. There aren’t any shoes or anything, so.

Billy's overreacting.

Fuck. He swallows, raising his eyes with caution to see Steve smiling again. Even wider than before, if that's possible.

Harrington licks his lips. "Whatcha got there?" He says, nodding to the bag, and Steve.

He's wearing glasses today.

Billy feels like someone hit him on the back of the head with a ski ball. Steve looks so soft, in white stripped overalls and a green sweater, that Billy doesn't know whether to fluff him like a pillow or fucking.

Punch him in the face.

Billy holds out the paper bag. "It's for you."

Steve looks at him strangely but he's still smiling, which.

Is good.

Billy thinks it's good but then he knows its good when Steve giggles. "I gathered that. What is it?"

"It's a, uh. You know." Billy tries. "You know one of those things? Where it's, like, a thing but you aren't supposed to know what it is?"

Steve blinks at him, cheeks turning pink like they always do. "A surprise?"

"That's the one." Billy snaps his fingers, like. Ah-ha. Except it isn't a surprise, it's just. "It's a way to say thanks. For the whole," Billy concludes, gesturing vaguely to their front lawns, to. "The driveway."

Steve blushes even harder. "You didn't have to get me a present--"

"It's not a present."

"That was just me trying to be nice." Steve leans against the door jam, eyes searching. "It doesn't call for a--"

"It's not a present." Billy says again. Steve doesn't look like he believes him, so Billy, like. Shoves the paper bag to his chest. "Look, open it now or don't. Fucking, throw it away for all I care, it's fine."

Billy turns on his heel because fuck this.

Fuck trying to pay back nice with nice and fuck Steve for starting this whole debacle to begin with. Billy makes it down one step and then Steve is laughing so hard he can't stand up straight.

Which just makes Billy feel worse, because.

"You're laughing." Billy gapes. "I bring you a present to say thanks for not being an asshole, and you're laughing."

Steve doesn't answer, he just.

Keeps on laughing, and okay.

This is Billy's third greatest fear. After abandonment and fighting. Fists covered in blood--his or someone else's, it doesn't matter. He frowns, turning to leave again when Steve straightens and coughs once into the palm of his hand.

"Thought it wasn't a present," Steve quips, and he's looking at Billy with, like. Sparkly eyes. He shrugs. "I'm not sure what it means."

Billy doesn't get it. "It doesn't have to mean anything--"

"No, like." Steve peers into the bag again, clearly holding back tears. "Why did you get me a bag of dead mice?"

"You can get them at the pet store." Billy says, because. You can, alright? He fiddles with the sleeves of his winter coat. "They're for Mr. Bane."

Steve just stares at him, eyes twinkling like two polished diamonds in his head.

And he's not saying anything, or. Laughing anymore, he's just. Watching Billy fall to pieces on his walkway as he tries to defend himself.

Billy focuses on the clouds that inch across the sky. "Mr. Bane, he's. He's always catching shit, like. Dead shit and leaving it on my porch. I just thought if he wants to eat dead things I can just. Buy him a pack or whatever. Like a normal person."

Steve grins. "You know they do that because they think you can't feed yourself."

Billy wrinkles his nose. "Well I fucking appreciate it, but I don't want to eat dead mice and birds and shit."

Steve chuckles once before staring again.

Like he's memorizing Billy's face, or like. They're having a competition that Billy doesn't know about.

Billy gestures to the bag again. "Would you just accept it, Steve? Please?"

Harrington looks down at the mice in his hands and nods slowly, like the decision is really requiring some thought.

Billy feels stupid.

This was so fucking stupid--

"Sure, Billy." Harrington says. Soft, and. Sweet. "No one's ever given me such a thoughtful gift before, so. Thank you."

And Billy feels like the tin man getting oil on his joints after a year of rusting in the forest, when Steve accepts his weird ass gesture. He nods, mouth lapsing into a thin, unamused line. "Okay, then. See ya 'round," Billy says.

And then he's turning, and.

Leaving.

Before Steve can say anything else.

The clouds inch like caterpillars across the bright winter sky and Steve's walkway seems so much longer on the journey home.

[bentforkent]

to the moon and to saturn - chapter three

spencer reid x fem!reader

navigation and summary

there is a version of this story featuring my sweet oc on my wattpad and ao3! 

word count: 1,446

content warnings: very brief smut mention, lots of hickeys, cursing because i have a limited vocabulary   

previous chapter | next chapter

don’t look up the translation to the russian in this chapter! a.) it’s a plot point that requires some mystery, and b.) google translate translates it poorly. 

illicit affairs 

“so you speak how many languages?”

“a lot.”

y/n hums, and crawls into spencer’s lap. they’re sat on the floor of his apartment, the party from earlier in the night long forgotten, the footsteps of spencer’s teammates long receded. they’re surrounded by pillows and blankets that y/n had shamelessly tornado’d around spencer’s apartment to find. she’s hung them over the couch, over the tv. it’s a fort.

the only light source is the flickering of a nature documentary playing in the background, volume turned all the way down. a lion meets a gazelle onscreen.

y/n presses her lips to spencer’s neck for what feels like the hundredth time that night. “teach me,” she mumbles, sinking her teeth into his supple skin in a gentle bite.

spencer shakes his head. “Я вас любил: любовь ещё, быть может,” he says softly.

“ooh, russian,” y/n replies, taking her complete lack of understanding in stride. “what does that mean?” she kisses down to his exposed clavicle, sucking a tiny mark against it. it’s miniscule compared to the other crimson spots littering his neck and chest.

again, spencer shakes his head. “i’m not telling you,” he says, stifling a moan. y/n lays her head against his shoulder and looks up at him with a bat of her thick eyelashes, totally teasing him. when he looks down at her, completely immune to her tricks, she purses her lips into a joking scowl and pokes one of his hickeys with her index finger. he winces and jerks away from her touch.

they’re both silent, soaking in the romantic moment. with her head against spencer’s bare chest, and his hands in her hair, y/n focuses her attention on the interaction between the gazelle and the lion. spencer’s breathing is steady under her, and she knows he’s got his eyes trained on her, just as content as she is. the lion should eat the gazelle, she thinks. why isn’t the lion eating the gazelle?

“y/n,” spencer says to get her attention. she looks up at him and her mouth forms an involuntary grin at the sight of him. his lips are swollen, his eyes are glazed over, his hair is messy. she’s ruined his perfect little pretty boy face, and she all she had to do was kiss him.

a lot.

she kissed him a lot.

spencer is tender, completely vulnerable to her. he’s the gazelle, she realizes, and her face falls a bit. does that make her the lion? will she inevitably eat him?

“you can spend the night,” he says quietly, like he’d been pondering it for a while. “if you want,” he adds quickly. “no pressure.”

“i’ll stay,” y/n replies immediately, then holds a finger up in warning. “but i never put out on the first date.”

spencer shifts uncomfortably, and y/n’s suddenly aware of her position perched on his lap. she scrambles to get off of him, and he stretches his legs out next to her. “this was a date?” he asks with a shy smile, leaning back on his hands.

“of course it was, dr. reid,” she says, using the honorific in jest. amidst their prolonged make-out session, the pair had found some time to catch up on the past twenty years (and to catch their breath). spencer had asked y/n many questions about her job, how she met penelope and how the hell she ended up in dc, but y/n thought spencer’s life had been far more interesting. she knew spencer was smart. he’d been teaching her complex prose before she could hardly even read silently in her head, for crying out loud. but three phds? sounds impossible to y/n. she wanted to listen to him talk about everything, all day.

she’s endeared by the way he drops facts in conversation, just as he did when he was a child. she’s endeared by the way he runs his tongue over his bottom lip, but she doesn’t think she’d ever noticed that before. she’s endeared by the way his hands run all over her, like he missed her, even though she knows that he probably hardly remembered her after twenty years. she knows she hardly remembered him.

more than just wanting to catch up with an old friend, y/n had found herself utterly entranced by spencer. and that was going to be a problem, y/n knows, because neither one of them had spoken about their childhood yet, and she isn’t quite keen to divulge the information that she knows. god, spencer’s dad fucking sucks.

y/n doesn’t want to be the lion, and she doesn’t want to be closed off to spencer...but that seems like the only option for her right now. but she’s getting ahead of herself. it’s her first night with spencer. and while she thinks it’s going well, he could just be a really good actor. but the adoration in his eyes when he looks at her....

spencer seems to notice the wheels turning in y/n’s head, and lifts her chin into a gentle kiss. “i’m really glad you’re here,” he says sincerely, and y/n melts, every worry and insecurity on her mind floating out of her brain and into the vents of his apartment, where the AC unit carries them away.

when they finally decide to migrate from spencer’s living room floor to his bed, they lay on their sides, facing each other. y/n’s wearing spencer’s old caltech t-shirt and nothing else, yet she’s never felt less exposed. she’s safe with him, she knows.

spencer lets his eyes trace her features, from the curve of her nose across her cheeks. he meant it wholeheartedly, that he’s glad she’s here in his typically lonely apartment.  this was better than anything he could have fabricated in his mind. y/n is better than anything he could have fabricated in his mind.  he senses some hesitation in her, but he knows he’s all in. he hopes she feels the same. is that naive of him? sure, he thinks, but there is just something so alluring about the girl in front of him that he throws all caution to the wind.

they had talked and kissed and been generally giddy around each other so much that the pair was exhausted. spencer’s eyes are heavy, but he desperately wants to make his feelings even clearer to y/n. “if you stayed every night like this, i wouldn’t mind,” he murmurs, tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear.

y/n turns to snuggle against his chest, pulling his arms around her. spencer’s heart grows three sizes. “mm, you’re cute, baby,” she replies, hardly loud enough to be heard over the hum of the ceiling fan whirring. but he hears her. baby, she said. baby, baby, baby. he presses his lips to the top of her head, and drifts to sleep before he can internalize the pure sweetness of the nickname.

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

“dr. reid, you’re a fucking vampire,” y/n says plainly.

“i am? you are!” he exclaims in response.

they’re standing side by side in spencer’s bathroom, fluorescent light highlighting the patterned bruising littering each of their necks. spencer makes eye contact with y/n through the mirror, and they laugh.

“i’m gonna get picked on at work so much today,” spencer remarks with a pout, and y/n traces her finger along the curve of his spine.

“just tell them you got attacked by a spider, or something,” she says.

“they wouldn’t buy it. did you know that most humans never even have a reaction to a spider bite? the amount of venom a spider has is miniscule compared to the size of our bodies.”

“well…you could just tell them the truth? that i spent the night?” y/n swings herself up onto the counter, perching herself next to the sink. she kicks her legs out and wraps them around spencer’s hips, pulling him toward her.

“mmm,” he replies skeptically, and y/n captures his lips in a kiss before he can say anything else.

when they pull apart, y/n presses her forehead against his. “i know you don’t want to mix work and play, spence, but i’m definitely telling penelope.” she punctuates her words with a goofy grin and a kiss against the tip of his nose.

spencer saunters into work an hour later, purple scarf wrapped around his neck, beat-up satchel gripped tightly in his hands. he feels like everyone is looking at him, but there’s only one set of intent eyes on him. penelope. he catches her gaze, and feeling emboldened by his past night and morning, he shoots her an exaggerated wink. penelope bursts into shrieking laughter that fills him with warmth and rings in his ears for the rest of the day.

----

unofficial tags: @differentkettleoffishalltogether​