#but then one day a year I’ll be able to smell the butter chicken being cooked 8 blocks over

[thoughts-on-bangtan]

What do you think of JM’s updated Spotify? I don’t normally read into things, but his song choices makes me sad. “At my worst” “I can’t be myself (excuse me while I cry) & “When was it over?” With the lyrics “was it that fight we didn’t have when I came in? Was it the first time you saw me drunk? Second time I said I’m sorry?” It sounds like a replay of Vmins dumpling incident and it worries me. JM looked off in the recent live, almost sad and pouty lately. Do you think I’m over analyzing it?

Admin 1: The short answer to this would be: yes, you are over analyzing things.

The longer one would be that, for example, Pink Sweat$'s At My Worst isn't a sad song, it's actually the exact opposite. It's a very cute and romantic song. Just look at the first verse:

Can I call you baby? Can you be my friend? Can you be my lover up until the very end? Let me show you love, oh, no pretend Stick by my side even when the world is caving in, yeah

I'd actually argue this kinda sounds like a mixture between Sweet Night and Friends when it comes to the sentiment of those words. I’ve seen some people even claim that this will replace Ed Sheeran’s romantic songs that have so far been used at every wedding ever because of how sweet it is.

Then we have Justin Bieber’s I can’t be myself which I believe you probably only looked at the title and jumped to conclusions because, again, this isn’t a sad song either. The lyrics are more about how Justin (or whoever) cannot be himself when you (I’d guess he likely means his wife) isn’t by his side, thus wanting to say that he is happiest and most himself when they are together. It’s sweet and lovely, not sad.

I could travel any place But without you, it's just runnin' around (Girl, I'm just runnin' around) They could open Heaven's gates But without you, I'm just stuck in the clouds (Yeah, yeah)

Lastly, from the songs you specifically highlighted, is Sasha Sloan’s when was it over? which yes, I’ll admit this one is a sad song about not being able to let go even though you know there is nothing left. The song though has a very calm sound, something you’d listen to in the evening, and something I could see both him and Tae like listening to, not because Jimin relates to the lyrics but because it’s simply a pretty song.

On my current playlist I have Stromae’s Formidable, a song about a heartbroken man getting wasted after a breakup. I’ve neither gotten my heart broken nor am I sad and yet I still love this song because it’s just a really good song. Sometimes that’s the only reason we need to listen to a song. Nothing more to it.

All that to say that I don’t believe there is any correlation whatsoever to be made here, especially since Tae and Jimin look more than happy in recent months (did you notice Jimin happily smiling at Tae during their most recent performance of Butter for Colbert at the beginning of their subunit dance?) and there is nothing that could indicate to us that something went wrong between them, or that Jimin could be sad or something bad going on with him. I mean, look at JKs playlist and the fact that he has Billie Eilish’s Your Power on it, applying your thought process, does that mean that JK is trying to tell us he went through something similar to Billie? That he is sad? Or do you think he simply recommended that song because he likes Billie’s music? The last one seems the most likely, doesn’t it?

So, to sum it all up, there is absolutely no need to worry, seriously.

Admin 2: In the evenings, when it's very quiet and my big city has fallen asleep, I really enjoy listening to Sweet Night. I also like to go back to 4 O'Clock from time to time (although I know I will cry). Does that mean I missed my chance in life to be with my beloved? No and no again! I've never been in a situation like this, I wasn't unhappy or "fragily" in love, no one abandoned me or cheated on me. I listen to these songs because I love them. They match the mood of the evening and calm me down despite the sad lyrics and let me fall asleep peacefully.

I am a person who listens to a lot of songs from the past; Songs that remind me of situations, remind me of years of studying, enable me to relive certain situations.

Dear Anon, thank you very much for your question (confession), but I admit that I see it as "looking for some kind of backdoor" so to speak, a way to create a loophole and deny everything after all.

I don't know who you are, I don't know if you really are a Vminnie, but I think you are clinging to any possibility of a situation to undermine the reality or existence of Vmin. That's how I see it, if I offend you, I apologize. The more we get new materials about Tae and Jimin every day, like them being cute in the McDonald's behind the scenes, the more such "sad thoughts" we get sent to us through asks every day.

Firstly, I'm not sure if Jimin (and Taehyung) is fluent enough in English to capture the accuracy of the lyrics and understand its message. Of course, you can translate it, but for that to happen first the song has to catch your attention, and usually it's the melody and the overall feeling of a song that does it, and not the lyrics. And that is the point!

I think Jimin picked these tracks because he simply likes them. Perhaps he first paid attention to the melodies and the mood and only then understood the lyrics sometime later.

A lot of people (including me) hear some kind of song instead of another because they are intrigued by the melody or the association with a particular situation. The mood that fits the moment, the weather, the time of day or many other things which lead us to choose this song and not another.

Maybe Jimin and Taehyung were driving at night and listening to the song on the radio, maybe they were in a romantic mood back then, just having dinner together or taking a half bath together. Ha ha, I know I am deceiving and romanticizing what I am saying to reflect the vast possibilities and reasons why you listen to music like this and no other. Jimin putting together this list of songs for his spotify playlist doesn't mean he listens to it all the time, every day, but that he has the songs he likes on his list and chose the ones he wants to hear right now, or that he thought ARMY could like.

Of course, I'm sure he listens to very different songs during exercising than the one lying in bed before falling asleep. Maybe he's listening to this list, just like we hear the songs from BTS? We know individual words after repeating them several times, and we generally know (as we decide to read translations) what is going on in a particular song, but we don't understand all the words accurately. Not all of us are in the same situation as described in a particular song, but still we listen to it because we like it, because BTS sings it, because we are waiting for a solo from Suga etc. etc. etc.

For some time now we have been seeing (I see) Vmin happy, even very happy, as if "after the night the day came and after the storm came peace" (by the way, these are the words of one of my favorite songs), I have the impression that Vmin have finished fighting all their fights and they are just happy now, finally. Taehyung looks like a million dollars, he's literally glowing and far more lively than he was a year ago.

To him, Jimin is like smooch like butter and someone he likes the most. Taehyung is a handsome and hot chingu for Jimin who he also likes him the most as well. Tell me dear Anon, where is there room for fear and doubt in the love they share? Why and on what basis do you suspect that Vmin has broken up, or is having problems, or that either of them is unhappy? Besides, if one of them has an off day or is simply tired after a packet schedule and thus doesn't look as animated, why is that immediately read as "Jimin and Tae aren't together anymore" or "they are drifting apart" when chances are far more likely that it has nothing to do with their bond? Based on the playlist, or based on Vlive, or maybe based on both of these events, what is the correlation?

I've seen the Vlive. To tell the truth, I didn't see a sad and pouty Jimin there. Instead, I saw Taehyung smiling and content, and Jimin smiled and admired Tae's new hairstyle. I watched the latest BTS interviews. Vmin stared at each other, Jimin stared at Tae with a big smile that only grew in size and the two communicated with their eyes.

Jimin caressed Taehyung's back/butt in the Butter MV making Episode and said there’s butter here (though it wasn’t translated in the subs).

In the McD ad they were together and standing next to each other, even with Jimin resting his head on Tae's shoulder and then Jimin eating Tae's chicken nugget from his hand.

Honestly, I don't know what else Vmin would have to do to keep people from doubting their bond and happiness. They have shown us so much, I think they have reached the limit of what can be said without saying it bluntly.

Most importantly, this is a very interesting situation as we have never had as much "dubious news/content" (not meant negatively at all) as we have now after Taehyung's interview with his ‘confession’/clarification about Sweet Night. To me it smells a bit like someone wants to cause fear or plant the seed of doubt, or be like a trojan horse with the underlying idea of course being that "well...we must be wrong" even though there’s no reason for us to believe/think that.

[prettyinlimegreenboots]

It’s been a long time since I’ve put fingers to keys. I’ve had some amazing cheerleaders here on Tumblr who have helped me get out of my writer’s block and actually put pen to paper. As always, feedback is most appreciated!

Warnings: cursing

Prompt: my neighbor’s at my door asking if everything is alright because it smells like something is burning and I was only trying to cook for once and this is embarrassing but they decided to help me fix this mess.

The fire alarm blared as he opened the open to check on the chicken. Smoke billowed out as a cuss word escaped his mouth. Between the blare of the alarm and the choking smoke, his heart beating loudly in his ears as the panic started to creep up his back.

Grabbing the pot holders, he reached into the oven, grabbed the glass pan, dropping it on the stovetop with a groan. “Great.” He muttered, shaking his head as he made his way over to the blaring smoke alarm.

Waving the pot holder in front of the blaring alarm, he sighed as silence enveloped the apartment.

The silence was interrupted by a hurried knock on his front door. Another groan escaped his mouth as he tried to figure out who could be on the other side. Mrs. Wilson was a crotchety old woman who lived two doors down from him and always tried to bring him stale cookies and always told him he could stand to “eat a bit more”. Or it could be the cute boy who moved in the month before. Albert didn’t want to get his hopes up but he was praying that it was the latter rather than Mrs. Wilson.

Walking over to the door, he hurriedly yanked it open as the cute stranger quickly lowered his arm. Albert pushed a sheepish grin onto his face as he leaned against the door jam. “Hi!”

“Everything okay?” The cute boy asked, raising an eyebrow in question. “It smells like something is burning and those fire alarms do tend to blare pretty loudly.”

“Just trying to attempt to cook dinner.” Albert scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. “Sorry about the disturbance.”

The cute boy smirked. “I’ve seen food being delivered at all hours of the day. Why mess up the system you so clearly have down pat?”

“Do you have a name? I can’t keep calling you cute boy in my head. And for your info, I was told by a very important person to quit wasting my money on takeout and learn how to cook.” Albert shrugged. “Clearly it didn’t go well.”

The cute boy chuckled, shaking his head. “Cute boy, huh? It’s Thomas but all of my friends call me Finch. And for the love of everything holy, don’t quit your day job. Also, if you need help, I could help you - that’s kind of my job.” Finch rambled on as a smirk crossed Albert’s face. Finch grinned, shifting his weight to hold out his hand. “And cute neighbor boy, what’s your name?”

“Name is Albert, but a lot of my friends call me Red.” Reaching over, he put his hands in Finch’s, shaking it. “If you’re offering, I’d love some assistance.”

Pushing open the door wider, Albert waved his hand as Finch slipped past him. “So what were you attempting to cook that ended in this disaster?”

“Chicken - thought a nice meal of chicken, mashed potatoes and broccoli. I wanted something that reminded me of home. Didn’t know this whole cooking thing would be so hard.” Albert groaned. “Why do you enjoy it so much?”

Finch chuckled, leaning against the cupboard. “It’s relaxing and you can create a good meal and afterwards appreciate your hard work.”

“Whatever you say.” Albert rolled his eyes as Finch rolled up his sleeves and quickly washed his hands before raising an eyebrow in Albert’s direction. “What are you in the mood for? I’d say your chicken isn’t salvageable.”

Hopping up to sit on the countertop, Albert smirked, giving him a challenging look. “What’s your favorite meal to make?”

Reaching to open the cupboard next to him, Finch chuckled. “Well, now I know why you like to order food in so frequently.”

“Grocery stores scare me. They’re overwhelming.” Albert shrugged. “And most of the time I don’t know where half the items I’m searching for are located within the store.”

Finch nodded, continuing his search for whatever was going on in his mind. “Make sense. That’s why I use a grocery app to get food delivered - problem solved. But you don’t have much here. Let me go grab some supplies from my place and I’ll be right back.”

Albert watched him walk out of his apartment with a shake of his head. He tried to figure out what the hell had just happened and if his life had just changed for the better. Before he could move, Finch was back with some items in his arms, dropping them on the counter to Albert’s right.

“Now where are your pots and a strainer?” Finch asked, looking over at Albert.

A wicked grin crossed Albert’s face. “Why do you assume I have pots and a strainer?”

“Well in my search, I found a zester so if you have that fancy piece of equipment, I’m assuming you have pots and a strainer, smartass.” Finch raised an eyebrow. “Now where do you keep them hidden?”

Pointing to the cupboard below his hip, Albert smirked watching Albert crouch down, ruffling through the cupboard for the requested items. “So . . . uhhh do you have a significant other?”

Filling the pot with water, Finch snorted. “That’s the best conversation starter you could come up with?”

“I mean, I hate awkward silence so yes.” Albert defended. “My brain is all mushy since you’ve taken over my kitchen. So . . .”

Finch put the pot on the stove with a nod of understanding. “Painfully single for the last three months. I had a bad breakup which left me searching for a place. You?”

“No, I haven't had one for a while. Constantly looking though.” Albert grinned, eyebrows raised. “So, what are you making me for dinner?”

Finch rummaged through the cupboard again, coming out victoriously with a grater. “Figured you can’t go wrong with mac and cheese . . . unless you’re allergic to cheese or wheat?”

“Nope and nope. You’re good there. But I am allergic to shellfish.” Albert grinned, as a phone dinged with an incoming text. They both moved to look at their phones. Albert groaned, letting his head hit the cupboard behind him.

“Duly noted. You okay over there?” Finch said adding some salt to the pot watching lazy bubbles bubbled in the water.

Albert threw his phone down on the counter with a sigh. “Big family to do this weekend that I’m slightly not looking forward to.”

“Big family?” Finch asked, opening the box of noodles before pouring them into the boiling water.

He nodded, flipping through the photos on his phone before stopping at a family photo, showing it to Finch. “Adopted family. Jack and Race are my older brothers. Romeo is my younger brother and Smalls is the only girl and my younger sister. Jack and Race’s significant others will be there as well. It’s pure mayhem and craziness.”

“Wow big family. Any nieces or nephews?” Finch asked, quickly stirring the noodles before turning the heat down slightly. “Also, make yourself useful and grate the cheese.”

Albert grabbed a plate from the drying rack before starting to do what he was told. “Jack and his wife Katherine have a little girl named Emmie and they’re pregnant with their second; they’re not finding out the gender because they want to be surprised.” Albert rolled his eyes. “Race and his husband Spot are in the process of adopting a little girl named Noelle. They’re hoping to finalize the adoption in the upcoming weeks. So it’s even more mayhem with littles around.”

“That’s gotta be fun. It’s just me and my younger sister so there’s not much mayhem when we all get together.” Finch shrugged, watching Albert for a second. “I don’t even want to ask but you do have butter in the fridge, right?”

Smirking, a chuckle escaped Albert’s mouth. “Yes, I have butter and milk as well for your info.”

“So when you referenced that a very important person told you to stop wasting your money on take out, who were you referring to?” Finch asked as he drained the noodles in the strainer before dumping them back into the pot. He quickly grabbed the milk and butter from the fridge before adding a bit of both to the pot as Albert dumped the cheese in.

“That would be my sister-in-law, Katherine.” Albert said with a roll of his eyes. “She stopped by last week and couldn’t believe all of the takeout containers in the trash and fridge. One hastily worded text message was sent to my momma and I got a strongly worded lecture on how I’m 25 and should be able to cook and fend for myself.”

Finch threw his head back laughing loudly, taking a brief pause from stirring the mac and cheese together. “Well, I’m 26 and I get the lecture all the time about dusting and vacuuming.”

“So you feel my pain.” Albert exclaimed with a grin. “But I’m thankful for all that momma has done and will happily take her strongly worded lectures on any given day, even if they’re a lil intense and leave me a little bit frightened for my life.”

Finch nodded, and with a final stir, he clapped his hand together. “Alright, I think this is ready. Bowls?”

Albert grabbed two from the drying rack. “Alright, here’s the truest test - fork or spoon?”

“Spoon, why kind of heathen do you think I am?” Finch exclaimed as Albert shook his head.

“The kind that uses a spoon in mac and cheese rather than a fork.” Albert deadpanned, giving him a look as he drew out both a spoon and a fork from the drawer. “You’re an absolute heathen and I’m almost ashamed to know you.”

Finch dished some up in each bowl with a smirk, handing one to him as he grabbed the spoon from Albert’s hand. “Almost ashamed? You mean our beautiful friendship might live to see another day?”

“I mean, we’ll see how you did with the mac and cheese but I’d say this could live to see many days, weeks, and possibly years.” Albert said, stabbing several noodles with his fork before putting them in his mouth. He wasn’t ashamed that the most ungodly moan escaped his mouth. “Holy shit, this is amazing.”

Finch laughed, spooning some into his own mouth. “Want to amend your words about keeping me around?”

“How about you go on a date with me first and we’ll see where things go from there?” Albert raised an eyebrow in a challenge.

Finch nodded. “That can be arranged. What are you doing tomorrow night?”

“Apparently not getting take out and going out with you somewhere?” Albert bit back, before stabbing additional noodles and continuing to eat.

Finch grinned. “It’s a date.”

Thank you for reading! Many thanks to @cutesiewooren for being the ultimate cheerleader! So what did you think? If I was to continue this, what would you like to see? Any feedback would be lovely and would make my day!

[stillebesat]

Catch Me (If You Can) -Part 1

December Drabbles Day 17 Sanders Shorts: Remy  Sanders Sides: Logan  Blurb: Remy would not allow himself to be seen as needy and helpless in front of the general masses. He had an image to uphold. One of perfect health, snarky comebacks, and general sassiness. He didn’t get sick. Fic Type: Sick!Fic, Guardian!AU Overall Fic Warnings: Sickness, Fainting, Mentions of Religion Taglist in reblog. 

He tried to push open a pull door. That’s how Remy knew he was in trouble. 

“Gurl. Seriously?” He rasped, wincing at how his voice sounded like he’d been stranded in the Sahara Desert for twelve years. 

That wasn’t good. 

He needed to sound perfect. Perfectly uncaringly carefree that is. No one needed him sick. No siree. No. Remy would not allow himself to be seen as needy and helpless in front of the general masses. He had an image to uphold. One of perfect health, snarky comebacks, and general sassiness. He didn’t get sick.

The fact that the words ‘PULL’ were dancing right in front of his bloodshot eyes and he’d still tried to push open the freaking door was beside the point. 

Remy swallowed in a failed attempt to soothe the fire burning his throat to a crisp as he drew up his flagging energy to pull open said door. Pushing would have been so much easier. Taken less energy. Energy Remy was barely managing to keep above empty at the moment. No, if the cool glass door had only allowed him to let his weight fall against it in order to gain access into the local cafe that the interwebs claimed had a cure-all chicken based chili that could fix any illness within the hour, they both would have been much better off.  

Hopefully this was more of a fifteen minute cure. Remy would be spending the last of his money on this soup. He didn’t have an hour to feel better. Not after being laid up in his closet sized bedroom for the past two days with nothing but water in his apartment. He had places to be, a midterm exam to nail and a delightful after party to attend.

Adjusting his sunglasses, Remy walked-he did not stagger!-inside and paused to take in the place as the first nauseating wift of eggs and bacon hit his nose.

Quaint. 

That was the first word that came to his spinning mind. A quaint little cafe that practically screamed fifties country diner. Warm. Inviting. Probably run by a white-haired grandmother who adopted all the college kids as her precious grandchildren and piled their plates high with food to ensure that they got a ‘proper meal.’ 

At least that’s what he thought normal grandmothers did. His old hag had lived off of bread and butter for so long Remy doubted the creature masquerading as his granny knew other food existed. She certainly hadn’t when he’d been forced to stay weekends there as a kid. 

Focus.

Remy tugged at the collar of his jacket, already feeling sweat running down his back and prickling on his forehead. Too Warm. Grandma needed to turn on the AC. 

Focus.

There were far more of his peers hanging out here than he’d expected, doubling vision to be ignored, and he did not want to make a fool of himself by throwing up two steps inside the building. 

Remy took a shallow breath to avoid smelling more eggs. This soup better be heaven sent, because if it smelt anything like whatever was currently cooking...he doubted he would be able to keep it down.

“--lp you?” 

Remy blinked, lowering his sunglasses as he turned to the singular cadentic voice that cut through the buzzing in his head and promptly forgot that his lungs worked. 

If the soup wasn’t angelic, the help certainly was. 

Tall, lithe, with sharp sapphire eyes accentuated perfectly by a pair of glasses. The man standing at the counter was like the handsome stranger one meets in a romcom. That or one of those cherubic angels -minus the tropey golden locks- he’d been forced to stare at whenever the old hag had dragged him to church.

Remy pushed his shades back up, hiding his bloodshot eyes. What sort of deal with God had this Grandma made to have such a dark haired handsome glass of yesness working for her?

The man raised a singular perfect eyebrow. “Can I help you?” He repeated in that same melodious voice.

Remy nodded, not yet trusting himself to speak without sounding like a harpy in the face of such a wonderful tone. 

Focus.

First approach. 

Sticking his hands in his jacket pockets, Remy sauntered -he did not sway not at all, he was in perfect control of his balance thank you- up to the counter and leaned against it, offering his most dazzling smile to the man. 

Moment of truth.

“Hey, honeycakes.” He said keeping his tone low to prevent the rasp in his voice from being heard. “Where’s your Halo? Cus you, my dear, are quite the Angel.” 

Nailed it.

The man pursed his lips in a thin line, his head moving in the slightest of shakes. “Unfortunately, we’re out of honey cakes, sir.” He said, tilting his head to the display of desserts in the glass next to him. “But our triple death by chocolate cake will send you,” his hands moved to form air quotations -who did that anymore?- “over the edge.” 

Ooo was that a threat or an invitation? Remy flashed another smile, tugging at the collar of his jacket. So warm in here. “So long as you’re there to catch me, Honeybee. I’ll gladly leap over any edge for you.”

The man adjusted his black rimmed glasses, moving to the register. “So you want the cake then? That’ll be $3.58. For here or to go?” 

Seriously? Remy gaped before clicking his tongue in exasperation and straightened, only to grab the counter to keep himself from falling backwards as his legs nearly buckled. 

Focus Darlin. Get in. Get out. Get healthy. Flirt later. 

“Actually.” He flinched as his voice grated in his ears. He swallowed, again lowering his tone to hide the soreness of his throat as he rested his elbows on the counter. “I came for your ah--”  He flicked his eyes up to the menu overhead, briefly lowering his shades to squint at the wiggling letters. “Chicken Chili a la Cluck.” 

A spark of recognition flashed in the Angel’s eyes. “Ah, you are under the weather?”

“Wha--NO!” Shoot. Was it that obvious? “No, ma’am!” His voice cracked as Remy jerked his hand up in the scout salute. “On my honor it's for a….” He trailed off. Well that was a pretty pickle. How the blazes could he lie if he was promising on his honor? 

The man crossed his arms the faintest of smiles appearing on his lips. “Let me guess? A friend?” 

Was that excuse used a lot then? He shrugged, shivering as a chill ran down his back. Geez, Grandma had cranked the AC up a little too high now. The place was going to freeze over any second. “I just wanted a taste of home-made soup is all.” He managed, rubbing his arms. “To go.” 

Handsome remained silent, seemingly staring straight into his soul, bright blue eyes analyzing him like a hawk about to swoop down upon a rabbit.

Geez. He was no rabbit! Remy fixed a smile on his face, ignoring how his gums ached. Don’t show weakness. Not in front of his peers. He was fine. He totally didn’t feel like his knees were going to buckle at any second. Not at all. He could hold it together for a few minutes longer.

Abruptly the man nodded, releasing Remy from his analyzing stare as he pushed his glasses up so that the glare of the lights overhead on the lenses hid his eyes.

A pity. He could stare into those glorious eyes all day long.

“Of course, Total is $4.78 for the half size.”

Perfect. He only had a five anyways. “Ah, Sugarbee, truly you are an angel to provide me with such an affordable price for homemade goodness.” He purred, shifting slightly to fish out his limp wallet from his back pocket. This soup better be divine. If he kept up this conversation much longer his throat truly would catch fire. 

The man raised an eyebrow, holding out his hand. “I am not the one to thank for deciding prices, sir.” 

Sure sure. Grandma was the one who did, sweet soul that she was, making things affordable for all her poor adopted college children. 

“I’m sure if such an angelic being such as yourself set the prices then they would be even more heavenly.” Remy swallowed wishing the soup already was in his grasp as he finally pulled out the crumpled bill, fingers betraying him by trembling. “Even so, you can keep the--” 

The Angel’s cool fingers brushed his own, feeling like a breath of fresh air on a hot summer’s day. Remy’s breath caught in his throat, hazy mind short-circuiting at the unexpected touch. How he wanted to take those hands and-- GET A GRIP REMY! “--change.” He choked out, dropping his hand to the counter before he did something even more stupid than pushing on the pull door. 

Smooth. Real smooth. Geez Gurl. Keep it together! 

But that didn’t stop his fingers from tingling, nor from the room suddenly feeling like a sauna. What had happened to the arctic temperatures freezing him two minutes ago? 

The man huffed, slipping the five into the till. “Your soup will be out momentarily, sir.” He said, dropping the coins into the nearby tip jar with an all too loud clink. “If you could step aside so I could help the next customer in line?” 

Remy glanced behind him, lowering his glasses. Internally he cursed as he took in the gaggle of people he could barely focus on. Shoot. When had they come in?! He usually was more aware of that sort of thing. 

“Relax, Specs.” Said the guy right behind him, wearing a simple red shirt that showed off nicely toned arms.

Specs? What an ugly nickname. The Angel behind him was far more than his glasses.

 “I don’t mind the wait.” Red flashed a smile to Remy. “It’s not everyday I get to witness someone flirting with you.” 

Really? He had to have misheard that. “Who wouldn’t flirt with him?” Remy asked, casually straightening slowly enough that his vision wouldn’t tunnel. “Honeybee here is absolutely…” He gestured to give himself a chance to swallow back the agony rising in his throat. “Divine.” 

Red’s grass green eyes sparked with humor as he looked beyond Remy. “So I keep telling him.” 

“You tell me yes, and we both know you’re prone to drastic exaggeration.” His Angel stated, barely twitching as the chef rang the bell, placing a to-go bowl within range for ‘Specs’ to reach if he would simply turn around and grab Remy’s food. “Now are you going to order or are you just here to antagonize me at work again?” He asked. 

“Mmmm. Gurl. No. No.” Remy shook his head, whirling to fully face his cadentic Angel and promptly regretted it, placing a hand on the counter as his knees almost buckled. Hold on. Hold on. He was fine. “Ah--” He forced a smile to his face, fighting to see through his darkening shades, to look into those wondrous eyes. “Red here---no---doesn’t lie. You are an….an….ange--” The words suddenly felt heavy on his tongue as the diner tilted, the pressure of the cool marble top fading from his fingers as he fell backwards. 

“HEY!”

A band of ice wrapped around his wrist, jerking Remy upwards. His eyes fluttered open enough to see his Angel lunging over the counter, one hand holding his, the other clenching onto his jacket, saving his head from hitting the tile floor.

Well how about that? 

“You…caught me.” He whispered in stunned disbelief as his Angel’s bright blue eyes seemed to fill his entire world before everything went black.

To Be Continued Part 2

[sif-the-tsunami]

Sometime the best present is presence.

Hey y’all. Happy holidays guys, this is my participation in @toomanystoriessolittletime​ Christmas story challenge. I am not a super happy happy joy joy kind of a holiday person, so I hope maybe some of my fellow “I can’t handle forced holiday cheer” people can relate to this a little bit. 

The prompt is with Henry Cavill and last Christmas by Wham.

Pairing: Henry Cavill x OFC Ellie

Word count: 2600

Content warning, language, adult situation, the least smutty smut I could manage, talks of infertility treatment, pregnancy, depression, I’m sorry if I missed anything.

Picture found on google

There were two things that Henry knew for certain to expect from his lover once the Holiday season rolled around, the first was that he knew that their shared kitchen would almost always smell like sage and cinnamon, and that her depression would take a nose dive. This was going to be their fourth Christmas together and he was prepared. Every year since she moved over to the UK to be with him,  Christmas Eve, they would go out and grab a pizza, come back to the house, and spend the evening watching Christmas movies in new pajamas. Henry would keep the hot cocoa flowing and the snacks supplied. Christmas morning, Ellie would make the most amazing breakfast, things from his childhood and hers, the three of them (including Kal) would open presents and the afternoon would be spent in Middle Earth with take out for dinner. Boxing Day was spent with his mom and dad. The break would be carefully planned for as few social obligations as possible.

Life was running full tilt in its normal chaos, Henry was filming for the next few weeks and Ellie went back to working on her novel. One of the techs on set told him about a game that he and his friends were planning on playing this holiday season. Henry looked up from his phone and asked about the rules. It seems simple enough. The game will be just enough of a distraction to keep her mind off the doctor’s appointment pending that he knew she was concerned about. And maybe his mum would come up for a couple of days to help keep her occupied. The matriarch was nothing, if not considerate of his partners mental health.

When he came home that night, the smell of her cooking hits him like a ton of bricks. The warm earthy scents of caramelizing onions, roasting garlic and he knows some kind of bird… it wouldn’t be duck. Is it Cornish game hens? But there are definitely potatoes involved as well. He swears that he can get some kind of hint of apple pie.

“Baby, I don’t know what I did to deserve you.” He asks as he comes into the warm kitchen. Out from the oven, she pulls out Brussel sprouts with thick batons of pork belly, seasoned with roasted garlic, and another serving dish of crispy potatoes was sitting on the counter. On the stove top, was a concoction of apples and onions, browning together in butter and fennel. On the table, making Kal ignore Henry all together, was a beautifully roasted chicken, spatchcocked on her favorite wooden cutting board, the skin was a deep golden brown. Had anyone else made that array of of food, he would have thought they were crazy, however he had thought that Ellie had the Force or something like it when it came to cooking. She could pull a bizarre array of foodstuffs together and create a hero’s feast. She had managed to turn instant noodles into a meal fit for a king before his eyes in their early dating months. Amazing meals were her super power.

Her face lit up as he walked into the kitchen. “Well, it was a good brain day.”

“I’m glad, my darling,” Dinner was set a few minutes later. Sitting together at the table, they dug into their feast.

“I will never understand how you can get the skin so crisp, but this meat is so juicy. What kind of witchcraft is this?” He asks after half the chicken has been picked clean by him alone. “And you have absolutely ruined me for other peoples sprouts, you know that right?”

Ellie leaned back in her chair, smiling like the cat who caught the canary. “I’m glad you like that, it was the last of my smoked pork belly though. Some time in January, I want to make some more again. Maybe cure my own bacon again.”

“That sounds like a good idea.” Knowing that if she was planning on smoking other meats that he could probably talk her into smoking some ribs for him. “So speaking of good ideas. I want to challenge you to a game.”

“A game, you say? What kind of game?” She raised her eyebrow in curiosity.

“A survival game, the best kind of survival game in fact, because we can challenge our friends to it and this will go on in perpetuity.”

“Go on.” Looking at him like he’s going mad, but loving watching him get animated like this.

“It is called, wait for it… Whamagedon.” He says with the biggest smile.

“Whamagedon?”

“Yes, Whamagedon. Do you remember Rick Rolling? It is like that, but with the song “Last Christmas,” by Wham.”

“What are the rules?”

“I want to set a group text up, me, you, my brothers, fuck it we can even add Ben to it. Maybe even your sister. When we go out and about, the idea is if we hear the song we are out of the game. And the best part is after you are out of the game it is called Whamhalla and we can try to sabotage the others. And it can only be the Wham version.”

“It would get us in and out of the stores faster, probably.”

“I view that as a bonus.” He said leaning back, satiated by dinner and the idea he had been brewing all evening. “What do you say?”

“Sounds good to me, but we can not sabotage each other.”

“Absolutely not. Although I might make an Instagram post if I’m out of the game before Christmas Eve.”

“You are a chaotic goblin, you know that right?”

He just nods, his face is lit up like a child in on a secret. “Now what do you say if we go run ourselves a nice hot bath before bed. I feel like this cold is seeping into my old man bones.”

***

It was the beginning of December when Henry came home from the grocery store that afternoon, he heard the sobbing as soon as he dropped off the bags in kitchen. He rushed through the house to find her in the bathtub, Ellie was cradling her head in her hands. Kal whined, nudging her with his cold wet nose and slowly wagged his tail as she whispered, “I know bud, I love you too. Mommy is just sad today baby, it’s okay.”

Kal looked at his daddy in the doorway, he looked like he was trying to say ‘Dad, fix her.’ Ellie soon looked up too. The face he adored more than any others was puffy from crying. “I’m sorry hun, I didn’t want you to see me like this.”

“Elle, what happened?” he asked, sitting down on the floor next to her. Henry smiled a little at her, he planted kisses on the back of the hand that he held.

Ellie tilted her head down, and the tears started again. She said it so quietly that he almost didn’t hear her. “Miranda just found out she’s pregnant.”

“Your friend from back home?” Without looking at him, she nodded once. “Do you know how long they were trying?”

“They weren’t. She called me this morning and told me the news. She’s so happy, its all she’s ever wanted. And I really am so happy for her.” Her voice cracked again. Henry rubbed her back as she struggled to take a deep breath. “About two minutes after she hung up I started cramping like I’m about to start my period. I… I feel like I’m failing you. My body is failing you. I even do the fucking thing that I was made to be able to do.”

She started to sob, curling herself into a ball, and wrapped her arms around her knees. His heart ached for the woman he loved.

“My darling, my sweetling, you have not failed me. Your body has not failed me.” He lifted himself up off the floor, “I’m going to go put the things that need to stay cold away, and I will be right back.”

Moments later he was back and stripping off his clothes from the day. Elle gazed upon him in love and awe. “Get that water nice and hot again, I’m coming in.”

She started draining the currently tepid bathwater right away. Henry handed her cold bottle of her favorite beer, and had one for himself. She then stayed in the middle of the tub as he climbed in behind her. He dropped a lavender, chamomile and vanilla scented bath bomb between her legs as he settled in.  She leaned back against his body, as her ran his fingers against her soft skin.

“What if I can’t give you a baby, Hen?”

“We could steal one. We will find a mummy with more kids than she can keep track of, and I’ll drive the car by really slow and we will lure one of them in with the promise of sweeties and puppies.” He teased her. The resulting giggle was worth the dark humor occasionally.

“I’m being serious, ya dick.” Her laugh was always magical to him. She took a long swing of her beer.

“Who said I wasn’t being serious. Would I love to have a mess of children, yes. However, I love you more than whatever hypothetical situation I’ve had before we met. You make me so incredibly happy.”

“Even on the bad days like this...”

“Yes, even on the bad days. Are you worried about going back to the clinic?” He kissed the back of her head. This would be the fourth round of IUI treatments. The shuddering breath she let out let Henry know he was correct. “We don’t have to do it again if you don’t want to.”

“If we are not successful this next time, I think I want to take a break from trying. At least for a while. I need to do something to help myself. I don’t think I can handle it on my own.”

“Okay, my love. We will get you the help you need.”

“I hope so. But in the mean time, I want to just spend the night being bummed out. Is that okay?”

Henry lathered up her wash cloth with her favorite smelling soap, getting the silk smooth suds down her back, tracing her shoulders and down her chest. “Does that mean we are having Chinese for dinner?”

“You know me so well.” She sighed, resting her head on him as he ran his hands up and down her body. She had stopped shaking but the tears still ran down her face. She nuzzled her face into his neck so he decided to rest his cheek on her head.  He lovingly washed her body and while the water was still steaming she rolled over to face him. Straddled on his hips, she ran her hands over his body, leaning into giving him hungry kisses.

The love he poured into her was always returned to him. His body asked hers to show him how much she needed him, the tears on her cheeks this time were from pleasure as she came. He followed her into bliss shortly after.

“I need more of you,” he whispered between kisses. They drained the tub, and dried each other off with soft fluffy towels. He picked her up from her hips and carried her to the bed, placing her down on their bed. If the first session was strengthening their connection, this time was carnal pleasure. Throaty I love yous whispered to one another, sealed with passionate kisses.

Afterwards, still a tangle of legs and sheets, they placed an order for their favorite take out. The two cocooned themselves from the world until their dinner arrived. Ellie, although absentmindedly pushed her food around with her chopsticks, seemed alright for now.

My love, please don’t go where I can’t follow. He thought.  Please, don’t push us all away while you suffer by yourself again.

***

Since the beginning of December, his plan worked. She would tease him about close calls. They would go in and out of stores as quickly as they could. The group chat they had going would go off sporadically and half the family was out within the first week. When he wasn’t working, he noticed that Ellie was sleeping more than normal, but he didn’t want to say anything to her. She sometimes wouldn’t text him back for hours if she took a nap in the middle of the day. Her publisher however seemed happy with the revisions they were making towards the high fantasy novel. Her second book would be published that coming spring. His mom had come up and visited, helping Ellie get some of the house ready for them to go back to Jersey until after the new year. They ran errands together, she helped Ellie with her annual purge for donations around the house, and generally just tried to keep her busy.  

Their last day in London was also their appointment with the fertility doctor. Getting all set up in the exam room, Henry held her hand. A nurse came in to take a blood sample and made small talk. Very faintly in the back they could here Christmas music coming from the reception area. Henry could already tell that the next half an hour was going to drag, and Ellie’s hands were starting to shake harder from the anticipation. It was maybe ten minutes in when suddenly his lover groans in disgust.

“Well fuck...” She mutters. And then the lyrics of some of the music starts registering to him.

With a note saying, "I love you, " I meant it Now, I know what a fool I've been But if you kissed me now I know you'd fool me again

Last Christmas, I gave you my heart But the very next day you gave it away This year, to save me from tears I'll give it to someone special

“oh, of fucking course it plays now.” He chuckles at her. Henry starts to giggle a little bit. Seeing him lose composure, Ellie starts to as well. The giggle morphs into laugh then into hysterics. The two of them were cackling like hyenas when the nurse popped by in, wiping tears from their eyes and he knows one of them snorted.

“The doctor is running a little late, she wants you to get into this paper gown, she’s going to have to do a pelvic exam.” The nurse tells them quickly, dropping the items off, clearly not impressed by the two of them.

“I don’t I have had an exam for one of these before.” Ellie thinks out loud still laughing. She undressed quickly, throws on the gown and sits on the exam table. “We needed that laugh, though. I feel a little better.”

“Oh yeah, this has been stressful.” he nodded.

The doctor came in and did her formal greetings. “So I have a sinking suspicion but I want to take a look at you first.”

Henry politely averts his eyes while the doctor performs the exam, until she started talking again. “Well it looks like we aren’t going to be giving you the injection to stimulate your ovaries today, Ellie. The blood test showed that you are pregnant, I want to feel your uterus and yeah, you have a fetus in there. You are about three weeks pregnant. Congrats guys, you beat the odds.”

Ellie and Henry sat in the exam room in shocked silence until the doctor left.

[onyxiana-is-obsessed]

p-please could you please please make a part two of tamaki x reader soul mate au? it was so sweet and made me so happy and comforted me so much... i understand if not!! just wanted to ask you and congratulate your wonerful work, reading it meant the world to me 💞

I LOVE YOU! You’re so freakin sweet, thank you!!!! Originally, I wasn’t going to make a part 2 because I didn’t know what to do, but you’re lovely words just… I had to! Now, like I said, I didn’t really know what to do so this thing’s pretty much all over the place and it doesn’t really make sense, but the general idea is that you’re seeing your relationship progress. Honestly, I’ve already taken so long with this! So! I hope you like this one Anon!Length: 1.7k

Part 1! Part 3!

Your Name: (y/f/n)

Quirk: (y/q)

Age: 19

It had been a little over a year since you and Tamaki found out you were soulmates. He had graduated and was now Fat Gum’s sidekick and although he was extremely busy, he did his best to find time to spend with you. He always left you little cute messages on your wrist in the morning, something cute and short. Every single time, the messages brought a smile to your face. They were a great way to start the day.

Tamaki always talked to you on the days he was stuck doing paperwork. He couldn’t as much during patrols since his hero costume covered his arms, however. Your conversations were always so cute and random, for example, the other day when you were at work, you felt a tingling sensation on your wrist. When you looked down, you almost burst out laughing in the absolutely silent room.

Butter is food lotion

You needed to go to the bathroom and for the next thirty minutes, proceeded to laugh until you were in tears. After the half-hour “break”, you responded by asking what brought that on.

Coworker gave me lotion that smelled like berries but it looked like butter. Wondered what would happen if I used butter instead and then realized butter is food lotion

I love you so much, Tamaki. You know that?

I love you too, bunny

**

When you two got home, you’d often text or talk on the phone. On the days he was free, he’d invite you out or you’d go to each other’s places. It didn’t take long for Tamaki to miss you so much that he asked you to move in. 

He later admitted that it took two and a half weeks of courage-building for him to ask you. You found it adorable and you loved your new life. However, one thing you missed was how little you both used your soulmate connection. Now that you lived with each other, you didn’t need to as much. Sure, when he was at work he still wrote to you sometimes, but that was it. You also no longer received those little messages in the morning since he’d just kiss you on the cheek instead before leaving for work.

“You know,” you started one night during dinner. “I miss those little messages you used to write to me before I woke up. They were always so special and cute.”

“Well… I can always keep doing that. I do wake up before you.” He mentioned, taking a sip of his drink.

“Is that too much to ask?” He shook his head.

“Not at all, I always did it before, so why not now?” All you could do was smile at your boyfriend before you took another bite of your food. Tamaki was a great cook, something you’d always suspected, but hadn’t experienced till much later in your relationship.

Tamaki is undoubtedly shy, therefore, he was too scared to let you try his food, in fear of you not liking it or him messing up. However, one day, you’d been a little late to work and hadn’t been able to eat breakfast and were too busy to eat lunch. Fat Gum’s agency was only a few minutes away from your workplace and Tamaki just happened to be patrolling nearby. So, he decided to bring you the lunch that he’d prepared for himself. You were thankful and almost died and went to heaven when you took your first bite.

He almost fainted at the compliments you threw at him. It had been a while since you saw his face that red, however, he did point out that he was extremely happy you had been able to eat.

~~***~~

Tamaki got comfortable on the couch with a bowl of strawberries as he scrolled through his phone. After a few moments, he grabbed the remote and pressed play to continue watching his movie.

A couple of minutes later, he felt tingling on his wrist and pulled down his long-sleeved shirt. A gentle smile graced his features when he saw the message.

Do we need milk?

Yes, you could have texted him or called him. Or, you could’ve used your soulmate connection. Tamaki put the bowl on the coffee table before he stood up and walked to the kitchen counter, where you often kept a pen nearby. Once he’d found it, he quickly wrote down his response.

No, but we do need tomatoes and eggs

What about onions? Fish? I think we need some chicken.

Yes to onions. Also, Chicken and beef.

Tamaki returned to the couch with the bowl of strawberries on his lap and continued to respond to all of your questions until he needed to get a wipe to make more room.

~~**~~

“Hey, bunny?”

“Yes, my love?” You asked dramatically, turning to Tamaki. His cheeks were red and he seemed quite uncomfortable but he decided to keep going.

“Y-you know th-that I l-love you, right?”

“Right, what’s up?”

“I l-love you so much an-and I love every little thing a-about you. I love your smile, your eyes, your hair, your face, your cheeks, your nose… I love your laugh, your giggles, I love the way you hug me when you get super excited, I love the way you get excited over your favorite things. I love the way you glow when someone compliments you, the way you talk about your passion and hobbies. I… when I was about to turn 18, I was terrified to meet you. I was scared that you may be someone I couldn’t let along with or that maybe you were a villain. I was scared about whether you’d like me or not. I-I know soulmates fall in love at first sight, b-but no one ever said soulmates didn’t fall out of love. I-I was scared you’d th-think I wasn’t worth it… or that I wasn’t good enough,” His hands grabbed yours and his determined eyes gazed into yours.

“T-Tama-”

“Now that I think b-back to those ti-times, I wonder why I was ever scared. You’re so perfect, you know that bunny? You’re perfect for me. I love everything about you, all your flaws and everything. Those little imperfections you hate, I love those too. I’m so happy I met you.”

Your eyes were wide and your cheeks were bright red. You could feel your emotions piling due to his words. You knew Tamaki loved you, yes, but when he threw his feelings into words like that. When he explained it like that, you couldn’t help but feel so goddamn lucky. 

“I-I’m happy I met you too!” You hastily respond, tightening your grip on his hands. “I love you too!”

“(f/n)…” He gently pulled his hand away from you and grasped your left wrist. He pulled down the sleeve of his long-sleeved shirt you were wearing, making your (e/c) eyes look down. Your heart almost leaped at the words you saw on your wrist.

Will you marry me?

When did he have time to write that out?! Your eyes shot back and forth from the words on your wrist to his eyes multiple times. Finally, as if you were pulled out of your trance, you nodded.

“Y-yes! I-I- yes! Yes, yes, yes!” You exclaimed, throwing yourself at him, repeatedly kissing his face. His angelic laughter filled the room as a tear slid down his warm cheek.

“Thank god, I would’ve died if you said no.”

“I love you! I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you!”

“I-I love you too! You have to get off though.” He said, his hands landing on your hips.

“Why?”

“Because I have to give you the ring.”

“Y-you g-got me a ring?”

“Of course. I proposed through our connection because I know it means a lot to you, instead of the whole get down on one knee thing.” You slid off of him, sitting on your legs while you watched him walk to the closet and reach up into the corner. Your closet had this extremely small ledge at the very top, Tamaki was tall enough to reach it, but you weren’t. That’s where he chose to hide the ring. He grabbed the small, velvety, black box and returned to you on the bed.

He slowly opened it and let you take the box to look at the beautiful ring inside, (insert description of your ring). He slid it out of the box and took a hold of your left hand, letting it slide onto your ring finger.

“Perfect fit,” You whispered, gazing down at it. Finally, your eyes returned to meet his indigo ones. “I love you so much, Tamaki.” You pressed your lips against his in a short but sweet kiss.

“I love you too, bunny.”

***

“Mr. Amajiki!” You exclaimed as you entered your bedroom with your hands on your hips. Tamaki turned to you with a gentle smile on his face.

“Yes, Mr./Mrs. Amajiki?”

“Have you eaten?” His smile fell instantly and he leaned back in the chair a little as your eyes glared at him.

“W-well, y-y-you s-see, I-I go-got busy wi-with this p-paperwork an-an-”

“Excuses!” You interrupted, crossing your arms. “Eat, right now.”

“I will, bunny, I-I just need to finish this.” He murmured as he turned back to the paperwork that came with him being a hero. You walked up to him and placed your hands on his shoulders before sighing.

“Well, Suneater. You think you can go about a week without kisses?” His head turned and his eyes widened immediately.

“Wh-what?!”

“Maybe two weeks?” He shot up from his chair, making you back up. His face had a look of horror, almost as if you’d collapsed in front of him.

“Wh-why?! P-please do-don’t!”

“Well, you won’t eat. There’s gotta be a punishment if you’re gonna neglect your body like this.” His look of horror melted into a rather adorable pout.

“Bunny…”

“Eat and I’ll revoke the punishment. Plus! You need a break, you’ve been up here for almost three hours now.” He gently took your face in his hands and gazed at you lovingly. His thumbs slid across your cheeks as he studied every inch of your visage. 

“Ok, bunny. I’ll go eat.” He pressed his lips against your forehead, before letting go and walking ahead to go downstairs to the kitchen. You quickly grabbed a pen and wrote something on your wrist before following after him.

You saw him stop at the bottom of the steps and turned to with a bright smile. One that made your heart soar and your cheeks turn red. Your soulmate connection was extremely important to the two of you. Most people didn’t really use theirs after meeting each other but you two weren’t like that. You’d always find a way to use it somehow and this time was no different.

“I love you too, bunny.” 

[searchingwardrobes]

The Convenient Groom: 10/14

Well, here it is everyone! One of the chapters I have been really looking forward to! There’s no kissing, but I give you platonic bed sharing plus emotional hurt/comfort with a side of jealousy. Enjoy!

Summary: Killian Jones just happens to be there when Emma Swan gets the phone call that changes everything: her fiance is leaving her at the altar. The thing is, it could also mean the end of her career. Convenient that Killian has nothing better to do that day. Convenient that he’s secretly in love with her. Not that Emma has to know that. Written for @spartanguard​​ .

Rating: M

Words: about 5k in this chapter

Also on Ao3

Tagging:@snowbellewells​ @whimsicallyenchantedrose​​ @kmomof4​​ @let-it-raines​ @teamhook​​ @bethacaciakay​​ @xhookswenchx​​ @tiganasummertree​ @shireness-says​​ @stahlop​​ @scientificapricot​​ @welllpthisishappening​ @resident-of-storybrooke​​ @thislassishooked​​ @ilovemesomekillianjones​ @kday426​​ @ekr032-blog-blog​​ @lfh1226-linda​​ @ultraluckycatnd​ @nikkiemms​ @distant-rose @optomisticgirl​​ @profdanglaisstuff​ @carpedzem​ @ohmakemeahercules​​ @branlovestowrite​ @superchocovian​ @sherlockianwhovian​​ @vvbooklady1256​ @hollyethecurious​​ @winterbaby89​​ @delirious-latenight-laughs​ @jennjenn615​ @snidgetsafan​

Emma sighed as she polished off another piece of toast. She brushed the crumbs from her lap and relaxed into the comfortable chair on the back porch. She enjoyed the view of the ocean and the soothing sound of surf. It felt wonderful to be out in the fresh air after days cooped up inside sick. She contemplated going back to the kitchen for something more substantial, but she had given Killian her word. Besides, she’d already pushed her luck by spreading an extremely thin layer of butter on her toast.

Her cell phone started ringing on the patio table, and she jumped as if Killian had some sort of sixth sense about the butter. It was Ruby calling, however, not Killian.

“Hey, Rubes.”

“Hey, Ems,” Ruby’s simple reply was laced with meaning, “sooo, how’s it going being married to Mr. Hottie? Please tell me he leaves crumbs in the bed or smells really bad when he first wakes up in the morning. Otherwise I’ll be depressed over the state of my love life.”

Emma laughed as she flicked a few more errant crumbs off her pajama pants. “Well, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but he’s annoyingly neat. As for what he smells like when he wakes up, I wouldn’t know.”

There was a fumbling sound on the other end and a muttered curse from Ruby. “I’m sorry, I almost dropped my phone. How the hell do you not know? Please tell me you’re not -”

“Making him sleep on the couch? Well, yes. This isn’t the fifteenth century where I sold my body for a goat or something.”

“So the poor man has to sleep on the couch indefinitely?”

“Well, technically, I’ve slept on the couch the past couple of days. I had some sort of stomach bug.”

“That sucks, Ems, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. Killian took good care of me.

“Did he?” Once again, Ruby’s voice was laced with unspoken meaning.

“Don’t start, Ruby, he was just being nice.”

“If he took care of you when you were sick, I personally think you should let him back in the bed.”

Emma rolled her eyes. “I can’t let him back in bed if he was never in it to begin with.”

“Girl, I would change that arrangement ASAP.”

Emma just laughed and shook her head. “Ruby -”

“Emma,” her friend countered, “if you’re going to be married to that for a year, you might as well enjoy it.”

“And the purpose of this call is exactly . . . “

“Fine, fine,” Ruby muttered, “straight to business, if that’s what you want.”

“Yes. Please.”

“Okay, well Regina asked me to call and go over your itinerary for the book promotion.”

Emma rose from her chair to go back inside and find her laptop so she could pull up her calendar. “That’s good. I feel so out of the loop. I mean, I’m back to normal at my practice, but the new book has honestly been the last thing on my mind.”

“I don’t blame you with that fine piece of -”

“Ruby,” Emma cut her off, “focus.”

“Right, right, okay . . . so, we’ve got that interview set up on The Tiana Show. And Regina did tell you that will also have a Q&A segment with the audience, right?”

“Mhm,” Emma said as she scrolled through her calendar, “yeah, I made a note of that.”

“They also requested that Killian be there, and Regina okayed it.”

“Wait - what?”

Ruby’s voice was reassuring. “They just want him in the audience. You know, so they can pan to his reactions and stuff.”

Emma slouched back on the couch and wearily rubbed her forehead. “Ruby, how could the two of you not check with me first? Killian has a business to run. He might not be able to take off to New York in the middle of the week.”

“I don’t know, the man seems pretty willing to come running when you call.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing, never mind,” Ruby said hurriedly. She changed the subject to the next item on Emma’s itinerary, and Emma didn’t press it. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know what her friend meant by the comment.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Killian came home from work, he had a huge pot of chicken noodle soup that Elsa had made. It made Emma wonder if the woman cooked anything but soup. She was also grateful for something to eat that wasn’t toast. Personally, she could go for a cheeseburger, but she doubted Killian would agree.

He did, however, agree to eating outside on the back porch. He also said nothing when Emma slathered a hunk of French bread with butter. The bit she had at lunch hadn’t bothered her stomach, not that she would tell Killian that.

“Why do you look so nervous?” Killian asked her after blowing on a spoonful of soup.

Emma jabbed at a chunk of chicken with her spoon rather than looking at him. “I just have to ask you something, and I’m a little nervous you’ll be pissed.”

His forehead creased. “Why would I be? Emma, seriously, you can ask me anything.”

Emma gave him a tentative smile. “That’s sweet, but it’s just . . . well, my agent kind of agreed to something for you.”

Killian rested his elbows on the table. “Okay, I guess that was inconsiderate of her, but I’m not going to blow up about it or anything. Especially not at you.”

Emma let out a breath of air. “Good, and I told Ruby that they need to ask first from here on out.”

Killian tore a piece of bread from the loaf and dipped it into his soup. “So, what is it? I may have to tell them no, depending on what it is, but . . . “

He trailed off and shrugged as if to say he would have an open mind about it.

“They want you to go with me to do a talk show in New York City in a couple of weeks. Not to be interviewed or anything,” Emma rushed to add, “just to be in the audience. The show wants you there for like, reactions or whatever while they’re interviewing me.”

Killian nodded, completely calm, and it honestly threw her more than if he’d gotten pissed. “That’s fine with me. When is it?”

“A week from this coming Wednesday?”

He shook his head at her as a smile lifted the corner of his mouth. “You don’t have to phrase it as a question. I don’t bite, love. Unless you ask me to, that is.”

He punctuated the innuendo with a wink, and she rolled her eyes as she laughed. “You think you’re cute, don’t you?”

“I try.”

“So can you do it?”

“I don’t see why not. I don’t have any plans.”

“But isn’t this your busy time of year? I mean, with all the tourists around.”

He reached out and took her hand. “Not so much that I can’t take one day to support your career.”

Emma felt her jaw drop slightly, and her gaze flicked to where his thumb was caressing her knuckles. When he saw her expression, he quickly pulled his hand away and cleared his throat.

“I mean, that’s the whole reason for this arrangement, aye?”

“Right,” Emma said with a nod, “to save my career.”

Silence fell between them as they continued eating their soup. Emma drained her bowl with a sigh, almost embarrassed at how ravenously she had eaten.

“Did that hit the spot?”

“Definitely,” she replied, patting her stomach, “I just hope I don’t regret it later.”

“I’m sure if your appetite has returned that you’ll be fine. Besides, it was soup.”

She nodded, regarding him thoughtfully as he continued to leisurely eat his own dinner. “So,” she finally worked up the courage to ask, leaning her elbows on the table, “your half of the bargain was that I would casually help your brother out with his marriage. But from what I see, they’re fine.”

Now it was Killian’s jaw dropping as he paused his eating, spoon held in midair. Emma arched one brow at him.

“Well,” he finally said, resting his spoon on the table, “they do love each other tremendously, and Elsa’s good for Liam -”

“But?”

“But, there’s been some tension lately.”

Emma searched his face intently as she rested her chin on her clasped hands. She didn’t know why in the world he would lie about his brother needing her help, but it felt like he was grasping for words. “Tension?”

“Aye, tension. Elsa’s ready to start a family, you see, and Liam -”

“Doesn’t want kids?”

“No, no, it’s not that. He does. It’s just . . . he wants to be sure they’re ready. Financially speaking.”

“That’s wise. Having children isn’t something you do lightly.”

“And Elsa understands that, but she -”

Emma lifted a hand. “If you say anything about her biological clock, I might dump the rest of that soup over your head.”

His eyes widened at that. “Okay, I sense a touchiness -”

She gave him a withering glare. “I just don’t like women being treated like they have a shelf life, that’s all.”

Killian leaned back in his seat, his arms crossed, his brow furrowed. Uh-oh. “So you’re going to deny basic biology?”

“What basic biology?”

“That there are a certain number of years -”

“Choose your words very carefully, buddy.”

His hands dropped to the table, and she noticed that his hands were now clenched in fists. “All I’m saying is that Elsa’s waited the first five years of their marriage for something she wants deeply, and my brother is being way too practical. As usual.”

“You have to be practical - it’s a lifetime commitment!”

“But no one can ever be one hundred percent prepared!”

This had quickly gotten out of hand, both their voices rising slightly, and Emma wasn’t even sure where the conversation had gone off the rails. She took a deep breath and when she spoke again, she used her professional therapist voice.

“It’s a big decision that you shouldn’t rush into.”

Killian leaned across the table, his eyes flashing. “Or it’s something that scares you to death, scares the hell out of you actually because you never had a good example of what a father should be. So even though you want it more than you ever wanted anything, that fear holds you back. So you wait, then wait some more, until one day you’ve waited too long!”

He rose from the table then, so forcefully that the chair behind him flew backwards and wobbled, almost toppling over. Then Killian turned and left, the screen porch door slamming behind him as he headed down the beach.

Emma just sat there for a moment, processing what the hell just happened, and suddenly understanding dawned. She didn’t have a phD in psychology for nothing.

This had nothing at all to do with Elsa and Liam.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Killian came to a dead stop halfway down the beach when he realized what he was doing. He leaned over his knees, taking big gulps of air. It wasn’t from the exertion of his run - he was in better shape than that - it was the sudden fear washing over him. How could he be this stupid twice? And Emma was just getting over being sick. What if she tried to follow him, got dizzy, and . . . and . . .

He couldn’t finish the thought. Instead, after one more deep breath, he raced back the way he had come. The fear was even worse when he saw how far he’d run. The house seemed so far away . . .

Finally, he slowed down right at the back of the house. In the distance, he saw Emma by the fire pit talking to Anna. Relief flooded through him, and he suddenly felt like he’d run a 10k in less than a minute. Once again, he was leaning over, bracing his hands on his knees. Emma turned towards him, but he couldn’t tell from here if she was angry or not. Then she turned back to Anna, gesturing in his direction. Anna nodded, then turned around and went back into the house.

Killian straightened as Emma drew closer. Her arms were crossed, holding a sweater around her frame, and the ocean breeze tugged at her hair. Even when she got close, her expression was unreadable.

“I’m sorry.”

Seemed as good a place as any to start.

She tilted her head at him. “I’m sorry too. I didn’t know.”

Killian blinked, then looked back over Emma’s shoulder at his brother’s house. He sighed, “Anna told you?”

Emma nodded, then her expression changed, and her eyes widened. “Wait - did you race back here because you were worried about me?”

Killian ran a hand wearily over his face. “It was just so eerily the same. A fight, me running off -”

Emma stopped his words with a gentle hand to his arm. “Her death wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t anyone’s fault. It was just a senseless accident.”

“You don’t understand, Emma. We fought about . . . “ he swallowed the sudden lump in his throat. “We were renovating our house, on the other side of Storybrooke. We added on a new master suite, giving us three bedrooms instead of two, and then Milah suddenly starts referring to one of them as a nursery.” He turned to look out at the water, his hand raking through his hair. Emma said nothing.

“I always brushed her off with a joke or something. Finally, we talked about it, and I told her I wasn’t sure we were in a good place financially. The truth was, I was scared.”

“Of what?”

He turned to look into her green eyes. “Of failing. As a father. My dad left us when we were kids, you see, and . . . well, how was I supposed to know what a good father looked like?”

Emma just nodded. “I understand that fear.” She settled down in the sand and motioned for him to join her. He did, knowing she might still be weak from being sick.

Killian shook his head and sighed before continuing. “But it meant so much to her. Her first husband never wanted kids either, was really volatile about the issue, and it got to be a touchy subject between us.”

Emma said nothing, just looked at him with an expression that made him feel it was safe to go on. No wonder she was so good at her job.

“One day, we were in the middle of working on the house, and she confronted me about it, wouldn’t let me deflect. We ended up getting into a huge fight, and I took off in anger. Just like I did tonight.” He struggled to go on, lowering his head so she couldn’t see the tears starting to form.

“You don’t need to explain the rest if you don’t want to. Anna told me.”

“If I had been there, she might not have fallen off that ladder.”

“You don’t know that.”

“She might have lived.”

“Killian,” she said in a soft voice, “Anna told me what the coroner said. She broke her neck. Even if you had been there, you wouldn’t have been able to save her.”

He shook his head, clenching his jaw. “But she might not even have been on that ladder if I hadn’t taken off. She might have been more careful. She was probably so distracted . . . “

“Killian look at me,” Emma knelt down in front of him in the sand and took his face in her hands. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“I was only gone for ten minutes. No one expects their life to change that much in ten minutes.”

Emma gave him an encouraging smile. She had also started to stroke his face, and he wondered if she even realized she was doing it.

“Exactly. Ten minutes. How could you have possibly known what would happen? You left for a few minutes to calm down. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“I . . . I didn’t . . . it wasn’t my fault.”

Emma nodded. Liam had told him the same thing a thousand times. So had Elsa. And David. Yet for some reason, here on the beach with Emma’s soothing voice and gentle hands, the truth of it finally washed over him like the waves crashing against the shore. Something broke inside of him, and his head fell forward onto Emma’s shoulder. She wrapped one arm around him while she stroked his hair with her other hand. He waited for tears to come, for sobs to shake his body, but instead he felt lighter somehow. He supposed he’d shed an ocean of tears for Milah over the years, and nothing but a shaky sigh was left.

“She wouldn’t want you to blame yourself,” Emma told him.

He pulled back and took Emma’s hands in his. “You’re right. She wouldn’t.” He stared down at Emma’s hands for a minute, rubbing his thumbs over her knuckles. The sound of the ocean surrounded them, and he slowly breathed in the salty smell of it, then exhaled.

“Better?” Emma asked.

He nodded, feeling slightly sheepish all of a sudden. He rose to his feet and offered Emma a hand, which she took. Once she was up, he turned towards the house, but she didn’t relinquish his hand.

“You know,” he told her, “I never scheduled a session.”

She laughed. “Lucky for you I had an opening.”

“How much do I owe you?” he teased, bumping her hip.

“This one’s on the house, Jones.”

Despite their fight and the intense conversation on the beach, they spent the rest of the evening the way they normally did - on the couch with Netflix. Around eleven, Emma stretched and yawned.

“You’ve got me falling into the sleeping habits of an old man,” she told him, poking his leg with her toe.

“Hey, I may have a few years on you, but I’ve retained my youthful glow.”

She laughed and rolled her eyes as she rose from the couch, wrapping an afghan around her. “What about you?”

A yawn cracked his own jaw as he rubbed at his tired eyes. “I think I’m ready to turn this couch into my bed for the night.”

Emma chewed on her lower lip as she regarded him carefully. “Why don’t we just share the bed?”

He arched a brow at her. “Seriously?”

She shrugged. “Yeah, why not? I mean, we’re both adults.”

Killian rubbed at his jaw as he thought it over. He wouldn’t lie, he was sick of the couch. And as long she was comfortable with it . . .

“Come on,” Emma said, giving him a playful kick, “don’t make a big deal out of it. You know you miss sleeping in a real bed.”

“Well, if you’re sure -”

“One hundred percent.”

“Okay then.” He tossed aside the remote, got up, and followed Emma down the hall. She had already changed into her pajamas, so she brushed her teeth while Killian changed in the bedroom. He went ahead and slipped under the sheets and flipped off the light before Emma came in. Why was his heart pounding like a fifteen year old?

He heard Emma shut off the faucet and flip off the bathroom light. “Whoah, it’s dark!” Emma cried as she stepped into the room. “Why are you hiding? Do you sleep in the nude?”

“No,” Killian protested, “well, not totally. I mean, I’m wearing boxers.” Shut up, he reprimanded himself, you sound like a nervous idiot.

Emma swore under her breath as she tripped over something on her way to the bed. Knowing her, it was a pair of shoes. He felt the bed dip as she got in and wrapped herself up in the covers. He tried to make her out in the dark, but all he could see was her hair.

“Good night,” Emma whispered.

“Good night,” he whispered back.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Killian was awakened the next morning because something was tickling his nose. It was Emma’s hair - spread all over her pillow and his. He brushed it out of his face as he rolled over. Emma was curled up on her side, her back to him. He took the opportunity to admire her creamy shoulders on display. One strap of her tank top had slipped, and the sight had him getting hard. He was just about to slip out of bed before she noticed how - er - excited he was to see her, when she suddenly rolled over to face him.

“Hey,” she said groggily.

“Hey,” he answered, his voice strained. He tried to inch farther away from her without making it obvious.

“You don’t have to be embarrassed.”

He blinked. “Uh, why would I be embarrassed? Like you said last night, we’re adults.”

“Exactly,” Emma replied through a yawn. She arched her back and stretched both arms over her head, which definitely didn’t help his erection. “And I’m also an adult who counsels couples and has extensive knowledge of sexual physiology and psychology.”

“Are you bragging, Swan?”

“No. I’m just trying to explain why I understand your situation. After all, it’s extremely normal for a healthy man to wake up with an erection.”

She smirked at him as he coughed. He wished he had control over the red creeping up his cheeks. He quickly recovered, however, and winked at her.

“That confident that I’m happy to see you?”

She shrugged, that damn strap still teasing him. “Guess it’s good I’m not a cuddler, or there would be no doubt.”

“Oh trust me, love,” he told her, dropping his voice an octave, “when I jab you with my sword, you’ll feel it.”

Now she was the one blinking rapidly as a blush stained her cheeks. He laughed as he flung the sheets aside.

“Now look away, darling, unless you want an eyeful. My boxers have never been able to contain my prodigious manhood.”

She didn’t respond at first, and he chuckled again. But when he reached the door of the bathroom, his pillow hit him in the back of the head.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sharing a bed was changing Emma’s sleeping habits. She was getting up earlier for two reasons: one, she had lied to Killian. She apparently was a cuddler. Every morning her eyes flew open before the sun was up when her body sensed something warm, solid, and hairy beneath her cheek. She always extricated herself from his embrace before he woke up. Second, Killian had convinced her to ditch her treadmill and join him on his jogs. She had to admit, she looked forward to her morning workout more with the combination of the gorgeous setting, Smee’s encouragement, and Killian’s company.

He wasn’t chatty on the morning runs, for which she was grateful. She preferred getting in the zone when she exercised. However, they were talking over breakfast and coffee each day. Now that she was up earlier, she had time for more than a bagel as she dashed out the door. She could honestly say that they were friends now, and she enjoyed his company. She had hopes that things wouldn’t be weird after all this was over, and they could still hang out. Especially since they worked in the same building.

Emma was far more aware of the sounds coming from below her than she used to be (heavy metal music aside). She now knew the difference between the sound of the table saw versus the sander, for example, though both were faint by the time they reached her ears. Her clients probably didn’t even notice.

She also knew when he was meeting with a client. The sounds in his workshop ceased and the pleasant timbre of his voice drifted up through the vents. Not enough for her to eavesdrop, but enough to bring a smile to her face. He was talented at what he did, and she wanted him to succeed.

Right now, she could hear the buzz of his table saw as she listened to her current client talk about finally setting boundaries without apologies with the man she had just started dating. Emma was encouraged by her progress, and honestly proud of the young woman. When she first started seeing Emma, she was broken and filled with social anxiety after going through a very public breakup. It had taken a year for the woman to even accept a date from a man who had already proven himself as a good friend. Now, here she was speaking up for herself without apology.

“You know, Jasmine,” Emma told her, “I think you are at a very healthy place. How about we try meeting every six weeks instead of monthly?”

“Really?” the woman asked, beaming. “I think that would work. Does that mean I don’t need the citalopram anymore?”

“No, I think you should still take it. Talk it over with your doctor, but it’s a really safe medication, and ten milligrams a day is a very small dose. Besides, remember what I always say?”

“Medication is just another of my tools to help me cope and nothing to be ashamed of.”

Emma grinned. “Exactly.”

They both rose, and Emma showed Jasmine to the door at the top of the stairs. Over the brunette's shoulder, she saw Killian welcome in a smiling redhead. The woman flipped her hair over one shoulder as she laughed, then she laid a hand on Killian’s bicep. Killian smiled back, then - Emma’s breath caught - he reached up and scratched behind his ear! Emma’s lips pressed together in a thin line. That was his tell when he was nervous - usually sexually nervous. Emma barely heard Jasmine’s goodbye as her head spun. She leaned over to try and see the pair, but Killian led the redhead further into his shop and out of sight.

Emma went back into her office and started pacing in the small waiting area. Ariel! That was the woman’s name. Killian had made an arbor for her wedding to Eric, similar to the one he had made for her. Well, this Eric might want to know that his wife was flirting with other people’s husbands.

As soon as the thought entered her brain, Emma tried to put on her therapist hat and remind her subconscious that the woman’s red hair had triggered memories of Walsh’s infidelity with Zelena.

Her subconscious was hearing none of it.

Emma stilled her movements and cocked her head as she tried to make out the low voices from the first floor. Were they laughing again? The woman sure was smiling a hell of a lot.

Maybe she always smiles a lot. Therapist Emma tried to say.

Her subconscious ignored Therapist Emma.

Emma marched over to the floor vent near the door so she could hear better. All she could make out was Killian’s accent and Ariel’s more bubbly voice, but not what they were saying. She rolled her eyes and let out a huff of breath before getting down on her hands and knees. Wait, was that more laughter? She leaned closer, turning her ear to the vent and concentrating. She thought she heard Ariel say Killian’s name. In her mind’s eye, she saw her smiling brightly at him, flicking that unfairly beautiful shade of red hair over one shoulder, and gushing, “Oh Killian, you are just so funny.”

Emma snapped back to reality and realized that it had gone quiet. Why were they quiet all of a sudden? What were they doing? Emma’s ear was practically pressed to the vent at this point, and -

“What the bloody hell are you doing?”

Emma let out a strangled yelp as she jumped up from the floor. Killian was standing there in her doorway, looking at her with confusion etched on his brow and barely contained humor teasing the corners of his lips. She blinked and suddenly wanted the floor to open up and swallow her. She had been acting like a complete fool!

“Umm . . . I was . . . looking for something. What are you doing up here?”

He arched a brow at her and struggled to keep a smile at bay. “It’s lunch time. We were going to go over to Granny’s - remember? What did you lose?”

“Lose?”

“You said you lost something,” he said, gesturing to where she’d been on all fours like a dog.

“My earring,” she lied quickly, “I thought maybe it rolled into the vent.”

“Oh,” he said, “well let me help you -”

“No that’s okay!” she told him hurriedly. “I found it, see?” She held up an empty hand with the fingertips pinched together as if she were holding something, then she pretended to fiddle with her earring. Thank God she wore studs!

Killian arched a brow at her, then sauntered close. So close, his chest almost brushed hers. She had to tilt her head to look up at him. He leaned down, his lips almost brushing her ear.

“You mean this earring, love?” he purred. He reached up and caressed the ruby stud with his calloused fingers. “The one you were already wearing when you first stood up?”

He pulled back just enough so he could look her in the eye, and the sinful smile upon his face should have made her furious.

But it didn’t. Damn him, it almost made her melt into a puddle of goo on the floor.

HIs eyes scanned her face, and for one thrilling moment she thought he would kiss her. Kiss her with absolutely no one watching. But then he pulled back and walked backwards towards the door.

“You coming, love? Grilled cheese at Granny’s?”

“Uh . . . yeah,” she muttered.

Emma wanted a way to wipe that shit eating grin off his face, but she couldn’t figure out how to do it.

“Oh and Emma,” Killian said before she could head down the stairs, “Ariel was smiling and laughing because she and Eric need me to make them a cradle. For their new baby.”

His satisfied smile as he sauntered past her down the stairs made her want to kick him in the ass as hard as she could. Mostly. But another part of her was too busy being relieved about Ariel’s order.

[imaginingsoftly]

4 Times You Cooked, and 1 Time He Did - Kevin Hayes

Type: friends to lovers, Y/N insert shorts, 4 + 1 story

Requested: No

Warnings: swearing

(Y/N = Your name)

1. The day we met

Your hand was curled into a loose fist, ready to knock on the door in front of you. Your new neighbors had moved in the day before, and, from the sounds coming from the apartment as the move-in occurred, it was a group of very rowdy boys. That meant you made cookies as a welcome, hoping that it would butter them up so they’d be a little nicer if you needed them to quiet down in the middle of the night. Of course, in order to drop off the cookies and say hello you needed to actually knock on the door and introduce yourself. So far the shyness was winning on that front. 

Just as you finally steeled yourself to knock, drawing in a deep breath in the process, the door you were standing in front of opened suddenly. You stepped backwards in shock, stumbling slightly. An incredibly kind-looking face stared down at you in surprise as a hand shot out to grip your elbow. “Sorry, I-”, “Shit, are you-” You and your neighbor stared at each other in silence as you both spoke at the same time. Your neighbor smiled, nodding his head at you. “Go ahead.” 

Well this wasn’t how you wanted the conversation to go at all. “Sorry. I’m Y/N. I’m your new neighbor.” You gestured at your apartment door, maybe a little needlessly, as you were the only other door on this part of the hallway. “I just wanted to introduce myself, and welcome you to the building.” The guy looked at you seriously as you spoke, like what you said was the most important thing on the planet. He was cute, in a friendly kind of way. He also looked familiar, though for the life of you it was impossible to figure out why. 

“And you brought cookies?” He smiled down at you when you nodded slowly. “I’m Kevin. If these cookies are as good as they smell, I think I’m going to be happy I chose to get an apartment instead of a house.” He chuckled lightly at his own joke, and you smiled gently at him. Kevin. It was a fitting name for him. He let go of your elbow suddenly, like he just realized he was still holding it. Honestly, you had forgotten as well. “I’m sorry to meet you and run, but I’m unfortunately late to a meeting. Thanks for coming by though!” You started to back out of his doorway when you remembered the cookies. “Here,” you said as you held the plate out, “these are for you. Welcome to the building!” Kevin stared after you for a couple of seconds as you backed away before responding quickly. “Thanks, Y/N. It was nice to meet you.” His smile followed you into the apartment and stayed in your thoughts for hours after the meeting. 

You worked through dinner to try and get ready for the upcoming playoff push. As a marketing manager for the Phillies, the playoffs were your favorite part of the season. It was a time where you could change up the content from your usual stuff, and this year’s playoff ad video was going to be great. One of your summer interns had come up with the idea of using fan videos of some of the highlights of the season to create a mashup, and the video her and the rest of the crew had designed was coming out beautifully. The slogan was going to have something to do with the fans being another part of the team. You watched the video over again and marveled at how well it had come out. The intern needed to become a full hire after this season.

A knock at your door made you jump, though when you opened it there was no one. Your plate, however, sat on the floor outside with a sticky note attached. Thanks for the cookies, it read, my teammates really enjoyed them. I barely got to eat one. The handwriting was slightly messy, clearly boys handwriting. You smiled at the note, and then at the door across the hall from you. It would appear you had a new friend.

2. Dinner and a show

“You know,” Kevin said as he walked through your front door, “I think you’re going to get me cut from the team if you keep feeding me cookies.” He said that with a mouth full of cookie so you took it with a grain of salt, rolling your eyes at him from your position in front of the crock pot. He looked good, dressed in his game day suit, though the tie sticking out of his pocket and the curls still damp from the shower ruined the effect a little bit. These nighttime dinners had become something of a tradition over the last couple of months, after Kevin had come home from a preseason game right as you were returning from a playoff game. You’d ended up sprawled on his couch with a pizza between the two of you, and a tradition was born. Tonight it was tacos, and the steak you had slow-cooked while you were in the office getting ready for the upcoming winter meetings made the entire apartment smell like what you pictured heaven to be.

Kevin dropped onto one of your counter top stools with a heavy sigh, and you slid a beer across to him along with an ice pack. He took the beer thankfully, but then raised an eyebrow at the ice pack. “I saw the hit,” you said as a means of explanation. “I turned the game on when I got back from work. Ice your face so I don’t have to look a black eye for the rest of the week.” Kevin raised his middle finger at you, but did as you asked. Your time together had become a nice way to wind down after your work and game days. Both of you spent so much time in the chaos of professional sports that sometimes it was nice to just slow down and enjoy a meal with someone that understood why you sometimes wanted to sit and eat your meal in silence. Kevin understood that more than you had ever expected. Accurate to your first impression, Kevin and the boys could get extraordinarily loud at times. He was the loudest person in the room, minus when he was with his shorter friend that fought so much, Travis something, but he could also be so quiet on these nights. 

The tacos were delicious, and Kevin ate his body weight in home cooking like usual. It wasn’t that he was incompetent in the kitchen; you’d seen him cook pasta and a few other basic things, but he wasn’t one for just throwing something together unless he’d made it a thousand times before. “You know, I think I’m going to have to keep you around just for how well you cook.” You rolled your eyes, like you always did, but you also couldn’t ignore the tug in your chest that your heart gave when he said he would keep you around. Joke or not, you were becoming pretty attached to Kevin. He was sweet, and goofy in an awkward and not at all athlete-like way. Couple the awkwardness with the math skills and you would peg him for a math professor, not a hockey player. “So,” Kevin began, talking around chunks of yet another cookie, “how was work? Did you revolutionize baseball today?”

You laughed out loud at the thought. Like offseason meetings were ever that exciting. “Planning for contract announcements, actually. I wanted to have the guys returning or just signing on make a little video either thanking the fans for their continued support or introducing themselves, depending on where they played last year, but everyone vetoed it.” You rolled your eyes at the memory. Greg, who thought he should have gotten your job despite your better qualifications, very loudly made his dissent clear. In the end, everyone else followed suit. 

Kevin, thankfully, was on your side. “I would have loved something like that! Especially for the new guys; you’ve gotta get the fans on your side before they have time to hate you.” You chuckled at his statement, even as you nodded in agreement. Getting Kevin amped up about any subject was your favorite thing to do. His accent wasn’t always clear, but times like now the Boston really came out. 

“Thanks for the support, Kev. It’s nice to know at least somebody is on my side.” He leaned over to squeeze your hand reassuringly, and you only had one thought: you were in deep trouble.

3. The one where you made his date dinner

Kevin’s voice was frantic as he threw pots and pans around his kitchen, smoking something sitting black in the sink. “Y/N, please! I need help! She’s gonna be here soon, what do I do?” The panic was new, and you swallowed to joke that almost came out of your mouth in response. He really did look stressed, and the hair you knew he had meticulously styled was now running wild around his temples in frizzy curls. He stared down helplessly at what you thought was supposed to be spaghetti. You sighed, walking over to stand in front of him. 

“We’ll make something else.” Kevin’s face still looked panicked, and you reached up to grab his face with both hands. “Kev. It’s gonna be okay.” He nodded. You smiled slightly, and he smiled back. “I’m going to go get a couple of things from my kitchen. Get out a couple of beers, trim the chicken, and I’ll be right back.” You patted his cheek gently and hurried out of the apartment. Hopefully you would be able to get rid of the smell before she got there. Kevin had a date, a girl he’d been dating for a few months, and you had shown up with the flowers he forgot to buy right as the pan of burnt spaghetti went into the sink. You were still trying to figure out how in the hell a box of spaghetti had turned into the black brick sitting in his pot, but that was a question for another time.

With minimal time and a general lack of great ingredients, you settled on beer-battered chicken and a salad. Thankfully you’d gone to the farmer’s market that morning, and had made Kevin go with you. There were tons of fresh vegetables sitting on his counter that would now get some good use. The only thing you needed from your apartment were cashews and some flour, which you grabbed before hurrying back across the hall again. Kevin was still panicking, though slightly less so, and the chicken was almost ready for the batter. You shouldered Kevin out of the way, throwing the beer, flour, eggs, and a couple of other ingredients into a bowl. Kevin hovered over your shoulder anxiously, at least until you elbowed him in the ribs. “Back up, Kev, I promise I’ve got your back.” He sighed, and finally sat on the counter out of your way. 

He didn’t speak until you threw the chicken into a pan of oil, and even then he spoke so quietly you almost didn’t hear him. “Thanks for always having my back, Y/N.” You smiled over at him, though the chicken spitting oil quickly grabbed your attention again. The past year and a half had been nice. Kevin’s exodus from Philly for the summer came right around the time that the Phillies occupied most of your time and visits with Kevin were limited to late night meals, especially as he and the girl started dating. Kelsey, maybe? Or Karly? You hadn’t actually met; honestly, you weren’t sure she’d met any of his teammates either. It was weird no one had really met her yet, especially for a relationship that had lasted for at least two months. “Spring training is soon, right? When do you leave for Florida?” 

“In a week. When do you guys play in Tampa?” He answered the week after next, and you nodded. You had gone to their game in Tampa the year before when it fell during spring training, and it looked like you would be doing so again. The chicken was finally finished, and you threw together a small warm salad with a fresh cashew Caesar dressing. The plates looked good, and Kevin was already washing the dishes when you turned around. “I can get these, Kev, go fix up your hair.” 

He turned around teasingly, flicking water in your general direction. “What the hell is that supposed to mean, Y/N?” You shrugged. He raised an eyebrow, and you were saved from a response by the sound of knocking at his door. Kevin quickly dried his hands, and you gathered your flour container. Kelsey/Karly stopped short when she saw you in Kevin’s kitchen, and you held out your free hand with a smile. “I’m Y/N, I live across the hall. it’s nice to meet you.” She raised an eyebrow like she was unimpressed, and your hand dropped to your side slowly. Her next words told you enough about what kind of person she was. “Why the fuck are you here?” So she was going be like that, then. Kevin stood behind her awkwardly, and you hurried towards the door before it got any more weird. He held out a hand to stop you, but said nothing when you turned your head up at him. 

You closed the door behind you softly, knowing that an echo from the door slamming would make the entire interaction even weirder. It wasn’t until the door had almost clicked closed that you heard a soft “thank you” from Kevin. A loud argument and a slammed door later the date was over, and you waited for most of the night for Kevin to come over for comfort food. He never came, though you woke up to a sticky note on your door with two short sentences.

I’m sorry. Thank you for everything.

4. Taco Tuesday

It wasn’t just the fact that there was about half the roster sitting in her apartment, or the fact that they were all halfway hammered. It was the fact that Kevin hadn’t bothered to tell you the ‘couple of guys’ he’d invited to dinner was every member of the team not married with children. Nolan was the only mostly sober guy of the group, and that was only because he was coming off of a stomach bug. Thankfully, that stomach bug meant he was the one designated to help you prep for dinner. The guys had begged for your steak tacos after hearing about them for Kevin and then Travis, who had suckered his way into one of you and Kevin’s post-game dinners. Right now, your main concern was having enough meat to feed everyone. 

Hands slid around your waist, squeezing slightly when you jumped. “I’m sorry for all the guys. I didn’t think they would all be so interested.” Kevin had to lean in close to your ear in order for you to hear him, and not for the first time you were thankful he was your only close neighbor. The people you shared a wall with were only around for about two months out of the year, and it wasn’t quite that time of year yet. “I promise I’ll keep them mostly chill, and we’ll get out early. I know you have an early call time tomorrow.” Oh, yes. First big road trip of the season. The early April roadies were your favorite, because the thrill of the travel hadn’t worn off yet. 

Voices sounded from behind you both, someone commenting on how close Kevin was standing, and he jumped away from you with an impressive amount of speed. You lamented the loss of his body heat, though your next thought was a mental slap on the wrist for thinking about Kevin that way. No matter how into him you were, you couldn’t think like that. You were just friends. Travis slid into the conversation then to make more comments about the two of you, though you knew he meant well. Kevin had finally broken up with Kelsey/Karly, and Travis felt bad because he had been the one to set them up in the first place. 

“So Y/N, how come you never bring a guy around to the bars with us?” You could have killed Travis for making that comment. He knew you had a crush on Kevin, had guessed it one night after a particularly rough day, and you were waiting for the day he decided to tell Kevin. “I might bring one around soon,” you said, much to the delight of the crowd around your apartment, minus Kevin. His head snapped up in a mixture of hurt and confusion, and you almost wished you hadn’t brought it up. “I have a date next week with a guy from your marketing department, actually.” Groans of disgust mixed with teasing met your ears at the same time Kevin slammed his beer bottle onto the counter. You would have to explore that outburst at a later date.

Kevin was distant for the rest of the night, and you had a feeling it had something to do with your date. The look on his face and the knowing smirk on Travis’ followed you into your sleep that night, and you tossed and turned until you finally went on a run around the city as daylight broke. A sticky note was waiting on your door when you got back, three brief sentences that made you release tension you hadn’t realized you were holding. 

Have a great trip. Revolutionize baseball. You’re the best.

+1. Kevin finally says it

The date had been awful. There were really no other words for it. No matter how many times you dated someone involved in sports, their misogyny never ceased to amaze you. Jake had spent most of the little time you’d dealt with him mansplaining his job and hockey to you, no matter how many times you’d explained you understood both. If he worked for the Phillies, his position would have fallen under your management. In other words, you would have been his boss. You knew what his job entailed, but he couldn’t seem to get that. 

But really, the icing on the cake? When he asked if you’d gotten a job with the Phillies so that you could marry some baseball player. As if you could see those boys as anything but loveable idiots. Like hopeless little brothers. You’d gotten up and left then, dropping enough cash on the table to cover your tab and then some before storming out. The text you sent Kevin was angry, a request for beer and a friend, and then you’d walked the mile back to your apartment in heels that were starting to give you serious blisters. The blisters and the red you were still seeing almost caused you to miss the sticky note on your door. Two words, and a scrawl that was very clearly Kevin’s. My place, 8 pm. That note made you smile despite what was quite possibly your worst date ever, and you hurried into your room to change into something more comfortable before heading to Kevin’s.

You walked right in after a knock, and the sight waiting for you almost made you wish you had waited. Soft music was playing from the speaker on Kevin’s kitchen counter, and something in the kitchen smelled heavenly. Kevin looked soft, the Kevin you were used to, in a worn Red Sox t-shirt and some sweatpants that hugged him just right. You were thankful you’d gone with leggings and a long sleeve shirt, especially when Kevin turned around and saw you. His eyes lit up, and you didn’t miss the subtle up-and-down he gave your body. It all felt incredibly domestic, though you didn’t want to drop too deeply into your feels before you’d even had dinner, so you quickly shoved those thoughts away. “Wanna talk about it?” Kevin passed you a beer as he asked, and you shook your head. 

“Guy was a dick. Acted like I didn’t know anything about hockey, and then tried to mansplain his job, which is my job, to me.” Kevin snorted in disgust. He mumbled something that sounded like ‘dick’ under his breath, but the oven timer drowned him out. You jumped onto the kitchen counter as Kevin pulled on a couple of oven mitts. He had baked a lasagna, clearly homemade, and you took a deep breath as he placed the dish next to you. Kevin gave you a knowing smirk, and you knocked your beer bottle against his head gently. He knew you too well. His mother had cooked that lasagna when she was around for the mom’s trip, and you’d fallen in love with both the food and his mother. “Kevin, I love you.” He ducked his head, busying himself with scooping you a heaping plate of food. “That was the idea,” he mumbled under his breath. You chose to let it go, although the comment was filed under your list of things to ask him about at some point. 

Kevin handed you a plate of lasagna and offered up a slice of fresh bread, which you took gratefully. He scooped himself a matching plate, though his portion was definitely smaller and more diet-approved, and nodded you towards his couch. Rizzoli and Isles was set up on the television, a drama that you and Kevin had been slowly working through together. It was fun to watch him pick apart the locations and inaccuracies, as well as pointing out places that he had grown up terrorizing. He didn’t ask any more about your date, for which you were grateful. The silence was peaceful, minus the occasional comment about the show, and you devoured your food in an amount of time that impressed even Kevin. 

It wasn’t until later, when you were cleaning up his kitchen together, that you brought up his earlier comment. “Kev, what did you mean earlier?” He shot a confused look in your direction, and you sighed. “When you said ‘that was the idea’. What did you mean?” Kevin didn’t respond as he finished washing a plate, and he turned off the faucet after he handed you the plate to dry. You were patient, putting away the plate and then dropping the towel as you waited for a response. He would get there, in time. 

“I’ve liked you for a long time, Y/N.” Wait, no. Kevin? Liked you? You were frozen, unable to form a sentence. It was like he’d watched your dreams and decided to play a sick joke. Kevin ran a hand over his face and through his hair at your lack of response. “I always knew I didn’t have a chance with you, so I figured being your friend was just as good.” Now it was really just like the Twilight Zone. Either that, or Kevin was reading your mind. It was the exact battle you’d had with yourself several times in the last year-and-a-half plus. Your head spun as you tried to come up with a response, but the only one you came up with was to surge forward and kiss Kevin. 

It was like nothing you’d imagined. Kevin was a lot taller than you, enough so that it made kissing him a little difficult at first. After he got over the initial shock of you jumping him he crouched a little, and you wound your fingers through the curls at the nape of his neck. Kissing Kevin felt right, like the one thing you had really been missing over the last couple of years was him. He smiled as you drew back for a breath, and you couldn’t help but smile back. “Yeah?” You laughed at his question. “Yeah,” you repeated, leaning in for another kiss. Kevin obliged, and you melted against him. 

You finally left Kevin’s the next morning, rushing out the door so that you could shower before heading in for another game day. Kevin’s kiss on your cheek and a promise for an actual conversation followed you out, though the smile on your face lasted all day. You returned to your apartment that night to see a sticky note on your front door, in Kevin’s writing like always. 

My place, 10 pm. Kiss for entry.

[thiswasinevitableid]

Apple, Delight (Sternclay)

Prompt for the fourth was: Apple Orchard

Barclay has cinnamon sugar in his pores, he’s certain of it. The first of October means the crowds arrive in earnest to Amnesty Farm which, from late September to mid-November, becomes a center for fall fun. They don’t serve tons of food, but Barclay is in charge of what they do offer, his pride and joy being their apple cider doughnuts, which he’s made by dozen since eight that morning.

He’s ready to settle in for the night when he discovers he has less firewood than he thought. Ah well, Sass needs to go out anyway, a trip to the wood pile won’t kill him. 

Except, as he’s gathering an armful of chopped logs, Sass goes tearing off towards the orchards, dark fur disappearing into the shadows under the trees.

Barclay sighs, sets the wood down and starts off after him. It’s not like he can get too lost, since the farm is fenced in on all sides, but it’s supposed to rain tonight and he’d hate for him to be out in it. Plus, if he gets into the garden display again, Dani will be pissed. 

He passes the petting zoo, then the goat and sheep pens, smiling when soft clucks come from the chicken coop. They’re on a country road, so at night there’s no traffic to drown out the sounds of the farm and the nearby woods. Maybe some people find it eerie, but hes’ grateful for the relative quiet after a day of being in the kitchen. 

Skirting the end of the U-Pick Pumpkin Patch brings him to the apple orchards. There are also pear and cherry trees, but the apples make up the bulk of what they grow, and visitors are welcome to pick from designated sections. 

Now if only he could spot a wagging tail or hear a jingling collar in the midst of them. 

“Sass!” He whistles, but no shape comes bounding towards him. Usually when the dog fails to come when called, it’s because he’s chasing some poor squirrel or rabbit into the underbrush.

Which is why, when he hears a  distinctly human cry of alarm, Barclay jumps out of his skin before taking off towards the subsequent barks. 

He finds Sass directing his deep woofs at a man about Barclay’s age, with dark hair that was slicked back at some point but is now mussed, and a sweater and jeans that are far too clean for him to be a farmhand. When he gets closer, he realizes he recognizes the guy; he’d been in with his family earlier that day, and Barclay had just enough time to think he was hotter than the fryer before a new wave of visitors came to the counter. Given that he was there with a woman and  young girl, he’s gonna assume the guy is off-limits for flirting. 

“Sass, c’mon boy, heel.” 

The dog turns, lopes over to Barclay as he steps to the man and offers a hand. 

“Sorry, he’s a surprisingly good guard dog for something that gets distracted by butterflies.”

The man takes his hand, stands and brushes leaves from his sweater, “and he's terrifying to have bolting towards you out of the darkness.”

Barclay raises an eyebrow, “that's kind of the point of a guard dog. Y’know, keeping intruders out?”

“I’m not an intruder, I am a visitor who misplaced something.”

“We’ve been closed for two hours.”

“I’m aware. But the front gate was locked and I couldn't get anyone’s attention.”

“Because the staff who live here live out towards the back. That's why we put that phone number on the gate. '' He turns them back towards the cottage, Sass trotting happily in front of them. 

“Which would have worked perfectly. If the thing I was missing wasn't my phone.” The man holds up a smartphone.

“I mean, guess it’s good you found it, but you coulda used someone else's and let us know to look for i in the lost and found. Folds are good about bringing dropped stuff back to the main farm.”

“I considered that option but I might not have a job come morning if I did it that way.”

“Jesus, where do you work?”

“The FBI.”

“Ah.”

“Yes, pretty much.”

“That how come you were able to scale the fence so easily?”

The man nods.

“What kind of work do you do in the FBI?” He may as well make the most of having a cute guy walking with him. A little practice flirting can’t hurt. God knows he needs it. 

“I work for the, um, the UP.”

“....Holy shit, I didn’t know that was real, I thought they made it up for the X-Files.”

“No, though it involves far more dead ends than that show portrays. Oddly, Twin Peaks is more accurate to what I do.”

“Man, that’s fucking cool agh, shit” rain patters on the leaves, “please tell me you moved your car away from the gate?”

“Only a little.”

“Shit. Okay, you probably figured it out from wandering around, but we are literally on the other end of the property right now, and the golf cart is in the shop.”

“It’s, um, it’s alright, if you get me to the main route through the farm, I can walk back on my own and climb the fence. Again.” His tone suggests he’s already working through the logistics in his head. 

“Uh, if you aren't in too big a hurry, at least let me swing by my place and get you a raincoat?”

“Oh. Um, that’d be great. Thank you.”

They veer right and soon the cottage comes into view. He grabs some dry firewood while Sass waits on the step and the man rubs his hands together. 

Once they’re inside, the man turns to him and Barclay has to work to keep his focus on his words rather than the blue eyes and handsome face.

“May I use your restroom? I got a bit muddy.” He holds up his hands. 

“Just down the hall.” 

The man smiles, and Barclay starts building a fire as he walks away. There’s a ding, and he goes to check in case Mama needs something. But it's not his phone, it’s the other man's, glowing where he set it on the table. 

Hayes: I expect better than technical mishaps from you, agent,

Shit, he wasn’t kidding about work. And his other notification is showing thirty unread emails.

The water shuts off in the bathroom and he hurries back to the fire, is just getting it caught when there’s a groan behind him. Turning, he sees his guest running a hand through his black hair, staring defeatedly down at his phone. 

“I’m moving to the bottom of the sea.”

Barclay chuckles and the man looks a little embarrassed at being heard.

“If you want something closer to home, we're hiring seasonal help.”

“I’m sure it’d do wonders for my physique, if you’re anything to go by, but I doubt I’m cut out for it. I’m white-collar through and through, unfortunately. Sorry” he looks at the hardwood floor, “probably shouldn’t whine about my job, since you’re helping me stay dry instead after I committed at least two misdemeanors on your property.”

“It’s Mama’s, I just work here. And it’s okay. Though, uh, kinda surprised you wanna talk to some random dude on a farm about it instead of, like, your wife.”

“Wife?”

“The woman who was with you today? You came into the restaurant at one point.”

“Oh! No, that’s my sister, I came with her and my niece. Her opinion on my work troubles is to get a boyfriend so I’ll have someone to complain to.”

Barclay closes the fire grate slightly harder than he means to at that last sentence.

“Did, uh, did you all have a good time?”

“Very. Ellie, my niece, adored all the animals, and Lily comes here every year to pick out pumpkins for decorating the house. I, um, my favorite part was the food. Those doughnuts were amazing, as were the pumpkin scones.”

Barclay blushes; a cute guy complimenting his cooking tends to make him all fluttery.

“You thought those were good, then I got something you need to try. Uh, I mean, if you want to stay a little, if not I can get the coat and we can go.”

The man looks at his phone, then back to Barclay, “what the hell, things are under control until the morning. I’d love to stay. Um, may I dry my sweater by the fire? It got pretty wet just in the few minutes we were out.”

“Sure thing uh, Mr-”

“Joseph is fine.”

Barclay smiles, heading for the kitchen, but not before watching Joseph's shirt catch on his sweater and ride up, revealing honest-to-god cut muscle. Instead of asking if he can lick apple butter off his abs, he grabs the jar of said butter, the loaf of bread, and starts a kettle for tea. 

Soon he’s setting a plate and a cup of cranberry-apple tea un front of Joseph, who inhales appreciatively.

“Let me guess; you made all of this?”

“Yep, the apple butter is an old family recipe.”

They eat in silence for a few moments until Sass, roused from his spot by the fire by the smell of food, pads over to sit in front of Joseph and stare. When that fails to produce treats, he turns his puppy-dog eyes on Barclay. The cook makes him sit and shake before tossing him a small piece of bread.

“What kind of dog is he?”

“Bernese Mountain Dog and Rottweiler, we think.”

“Is his name short for something?”

Barclay smiles, “Sasquatch. He had huge feet as a puppy.”

“We have similar dog-naming habits.” Joseph pulls out his phone, “this is Nessie.” When he turns it, Barclay almost snorts tea out his nose, unprepared for the sight of a greyhound in a sweater decorated with tiny Loch Ness Monsters. 

“Believe it or not, she adores that sweater. Last time I took it off to be washed, she whined for an hour.”

“Awww” It’s an adorable image, but not quite as adorable as the thought of Joseph on laundry day, in pajama pants and one of Barclay’s shirts, hair still relaxed from a shower. 

“She’s a good girl.” He tucks his phone away, “I feel terrible whenever I have to travel for work; my sister can’t take her so I have to board her somewhere, and it’s just infrequent enough that she forgets the staff and is terrified of them anew each time.”

“We could always get her used to me and board her here, assuming she and Sass get along.” The offer is sixty percent out of the goodness of his heart and forty percent wanting to see Joseph smile. 

“You’d really do that?”

“The farm is secure, she’d have a playmate, and there’d be lots of people here looking after her. She’d sleep in the cottage, of course.”

Joseph gives him an inquisitive look, then glances down at Sass, who’s wagging his tail so hard he’s sweeping the floor.

“Sure, what the hell. Assuming they get along, the next time I have to go, she can stay here.”

They chat for awhile longer about books, cooking, and various farm mishaps, before Barclay reluctantly fetches the spare raincoat so they can get Joseph back to his car. 

“Doesn’t quite bring out your eyes the way that sweater does.” He murmurs, then tries to correct for the come-on with, “because it’s such a, uh, a nice sweater?”

Joseph stays close to him as he replies “I’d offer to trade, but I’m not sure any of my clothes could survive that broad chest.” He ghosts his fingers across Barclays shirt, “Though it could be fun to see them try.”

The walk to the gate isn’t nearly long enough, and he blushes when Joseph once again thanks him profusely for his help and his company. The walk back, however, feels like an eternity, one that gives him time to doubt the other man had any interest in him at all. 

But all that evaporates when he gets home. Because sitting on the table is a slip of paper with a phone number and a short message. 

For arranging dog playdates. And dinner next Friday if you’re interested.

-Joseph

And sitting just below the message is a small, precisely drawn heart.

[janeyseymour]

Made With Extra Love

Hello! A while ago, I made this silly headcanon, and this idea has been nagging at me for quite some time, so here we are! 

Can also be found here!

Since being reincarnated, the queens had fallen into many habits, some good, some not so good. Catherine of Aragon had made it a point to read the newspaper every morning. Anne Boleyn had discovered shoes with wheels connected to the bottom. She could be often found cleaning up a mess after she accidentally rolled into something- mostly Jane’s various flower vases scattered through the house. Jane Seymour had quite a knack for baking, always calling all the queens into the kitchen to try some of her newest desserts. Anna of Cleves went on shopping sprees quite frequently, sometimes dragging along Anne and Katherine. Katherine Howard tended to stick with Jane, always the first in line for a delicious new treat. If she wasn’t with the blonde, she was causing trouble with the second and fourth queen. Catherine Parr often stayed in to work on a new piece of writing, even when her writer’s block hit.

While the queens all developed habits of their own, that’s not to say they didn’t all spend time with each other. Catherine, Jane, and Cathy had all made a habit of going to church on Sunday mornings together. Anne and Kat had a knack for pranking the others, sometimes roping Anna into the chaos. The mothers of the group often stayed up at night to discuss their little ones.

When it came to being in the kitchen though, each queen had their own habits. Here’s how it goes:

Jane Seymour cooked practically gourmet meals from scratch every time she entered the rather large kitchen. The third queen, before becoming queen, had been taught how to be a doting wife. While the blonde wasn’t the sharpest when it came to scholarly subjects, she was certainly the best cook and baker of them all. She had figured out how to properly use all of the appliances in their kitchen rather quickly, and it wasn’t uncommon for any of the queens to walk into the house to an aroma that left their mouths watering and their stomachs growling.

“Janey, what are you making?” Anne wheeled into the kitchen.

“Out. You are not going to eat all of the food before it’s ready,” the blonde tutted.

Anne wheeled herself to just outside the kitchen archway before yelling, “I’m out! Now what are you making!”

“We’re having a casserole, and I’ve already made a pie for dessert.”

The third queen had set out dinner and called the others to take a seat. The five other queens bolted into their seats, quickly said grace, and dove into their meals. Various moans could be heard through the room.

“How do you do it?” Kat asked through a mouthful of food.

“No talking with your mouth full,” Catherine chided gently.

“It’s made with extra love,” the blonde replied casually.

“You should open your own restaurant Seymour,” Anna chimed in. “Lord knows I would be there every day.” Jane looked a bit shocked at such high praise. Her food surely wasn’t that good, was it?

“Well, right now we’ve kind of got our hands full with the show, but maybe someday.”

Ten years after their show had closed, Jane Seymour opened a quaint little diner a few blocks from where their theatre was. Her five queens were the first five in line at the opening. Catherine Parr, now a known columnist, wrote a five star review.

-

Catherine of Aragon could cook. She just wasn’t one to create her own recipes. Instead, she took others’ and added her own flair to them, oftentimes making foods just a tad too spicy for her fellow queens, aside from Anna who devoured every bite.

“Lina, you know I can teach you how to cook? There are only a few rules, and the rest comes from the heart,” Jane would say.

“I know you could Jane, but that’s kind of your thing. Besides, it’s fun to take your food and add some flair to it.”

“Is my cooking not good?”

Aragon flushed. “No no, that’s not what I mean love. It’s just that, I like to add a bit of heat to my food, and you aren’t much one for spice.”

“Oh! I’ll keep that in mind the next time I make something new.”

The next night, Jane was in the kitchen preparing a chicken for dinner when a stroke of genius came to her. She brought all of the spices she had collected in the time they had been back and set them on the counter.

“Lina? Could you come here for a second?” The first queen looked rather surprised when she saw all of the spices set out.

“What on Earth?”

“Well, I was going to make dinner by myself when I thought, why not have the next best cook help me out? Add some of your flair to it!” The blonde seemed excited, so the first queen set about adding different spices to the dish.

As the family sat down for dinner that night, Jane made sure to tell all of the queens that Catherine of Aragon had added her special Hispanic flair to the food. While the dish had a bit of a bite, it wasn’t anything the others couldn’t handle. And besides, Catherine added some extra spice to hers and Anna’s plates.

After that night, it wasn’t an uncommon occurrence to see the first and third queen collaborating on new dishes.

-

Katherine Howard was capable of cooking; she just never quite felt like it and often opted for boxed meals instead. The queens hardly ate out of boxes, but that didn’t mean they hadn’t stocked up.

On this particular night, Jane had been out of town for interviews about the show, and the rest of the queens had nominated Katherine to provide dinner. She had made several packages of ramen noodles and a box of macaroni and cheese. The pink haired queen was rather excited as she called down the others, feeling as though she had a purpose in the house.

“Tonight, we feast like queens!” She grinned, handing each of the four other queens a bowl of ramen and a bowl filled with orange mac n cheese.

“This looks wonderful love,” Catherine lied through her teeth. She didn’t exactly have a taste for the boxed meals Kat loved.

“Thank you!” Kat’s eyes sparkled with excitement as she took a bite of her noodles.

“Why don’t you ever cook anything?” Anna of Cleves asked through a mouthful of cheesy noodles.

“You’re one to talk,” Cathy remarked with a smirk.

“I do cook, just from a box! But if you insist on asking,” Kat sighed dramatically. “I’m preparing for college!”

“You’re planning on going to college?” Anne asked with wide eyes. “Does Jane know about this?”

“Yes she does, but that’s besides the point. When I walk by the university down the street, I see loads of kids eating this kind of food, so I’m preparing by learning how to make the foods I’m going to be eating when I’m there too!”

“You do know Jane isn’t going to let you go to college without popping in at least once a week with a home cooked meal, right?” Cathy had to point it out. There was no way Jane would let her adopted daughter survive off of crappy boxed meals when she could provide a home cooked meal “made with extra love”, as Jane so often liked to put it.

“Can't hurt to be prepared,” Kat shrugged and continued eating her noodles.

-

Catherine Parr was happy to eat whatever the other queens laid out in front of her, but she was just as happy to create meals herself.

“It’s going to spark my creativity Jane,” she would explain to the blonde. Oftentimes, it did spark a bit of creativity in the writer too.

“Cathy, would you mind preparing dinner tonight? Jane’s been exhausted lately, and I’d rather not wake her to make dinner,” Catherine whispered.

“Can’t you? I really have to finish this piece by Friday.” The gesture towards the sleeping queen that Aragon made was enough of an explanation.

“I guess,” she sighed. “Maybe it’ll help me come up with some more to write anyhow.”

“That’s the spirit.” Catherine watched her goddaughter make her way to the kitchen.

“Dinner’s ready!” The sixth queen called sometime later. The smell that wafted through the house was different, although not unwelcome.

Catherine woke a slumbering Jane who replied with, “Oh lord, are we in for some strange concoction tonight.” The others stifled laughter, Cathy feigning hurt.

“So tonight I made chicken and added some ranch seasoning with breading. Here’s to hoping you all don’t find it terrible.” The first five queens looked at the chicken rather scared. Was ranch seasoning meant to go on chicken? Only a bite would tell. Jane would be the first to adventure into the new food.

“This is,” she continued to chew her food. “different. A good different! Well done Cath.” The compliment from the head cook in the house allowed for the others to set their fears aside. This wasn’t going to be like the last time the writer had offered them pickles with peanut butter slathered on them. Surprise washed over their faces as they dined on this interesting food combination Catherine Parr had invented. It would certainly become a dish Cathy would use again in the future seeing as the others were able to stomach it. It was almost as if they enjoyed it.

That night, Cathy was able to finish her article.

“I told you cooking strange food combos cures writer’s block!” the writer would tell Jane in the morning.

-

Anne Boleyn wasn’t allowed in the kitchen after a certain mishap. The queens had been expected to go on a group outing together, but that was quickly dashed when Anne woke up that morning with a migraine.

“I’ll be fine,” she grumbled at the five concerned queens in her room, more than ready to stay by her side for the day. “Go have your fun.” The others hesitantly left the green room and made their way out of the house.

Some time had passed when Anne’s stomach began to rumble. Knowing she was far from the best cook in the house, she settled for some microwavable macaroni and cheese. Even I can’t mess this up, she thought to herself.

Oh how wrong she had been.

The second queen had forgotten to add water to the cup before shoving it into the microwave and turning the appliance on. The next thing she knew, the cup had caught on fire, and she was coughing at the absurd amount of smoke clouding the room. The cup on fire wasn’t going to put itself out anytime soon, and Anne couldn’t find the cursed fire extinguisher in her panicked state. She grabbed the phone and called the emergency line and Jane.

Within minutes, the police and fire department had come to save the woman in clear distress. Since the firemen had come, she had made her way outside and was now relaying what had happened to the men in blue. As the men were walking away from the scene and getting into their cars, the family car pulled up.

“Anne Boleyn! What the hell?” Jane got out of the car before Catherine could even throw the vehicle into park.

“I’m pretty sure the first question you should ask her is if she’s okay,” Cathy muttered from the backseat.

“I wasn’t trying to burn the house down! I was just trying to make macaroni!” The second queen was gesturing wildly at the now black container on their sidewalk.

“This is absurd! How could you mess that up?” The blonde was not thrilled, clearly.

“That’s what I thought!” Anne shouted back. “My dumb ass forgot to put water in the cup! I didn’t know it would catch on fire!”

Anne Boleyn wasn’t allowed in the kitchen anymore without supervision. Jane had made that quite clear.

-

Anna of Cleves could hardly be bothered with cooking her own food. In her past life, there was always someone to make her food, and in this life too, the other queens were more than happy to place food in front of the fourth queen.

Once, Jane had asked the red queen to provide dinner for the group that night with the explanation that she had to work on something for the show. Anna had agreed, and the silver queen seemed content. The fourth queen didn’t know that she was expected to cook.

“Dinner!” she called out.

“Pizza?” Jane was rather confused. She thought she had asked her successor to cook.

“Yeah? You asked me to get dinner.”

Another time years later, both the first and third queen had caught the flu. Katherine was away at college, so she wasn’t able to cook. Cathy was holed up in her room working on yet another article, and the fourth queen knew she wouldn't be able to convince her to cook. Anne still wasn’t allowed in the kitchen after all this time. It looked as though Anna would have to provide dinner again.

When she showed up with McDonald’s, only Anne would be excited.

Once, while Jane was cooking, Anna decided to keep the blonde company.

“Hey Anna?” Jane looked up from the pot that she was stirring.

“Yeah?”

“Why don’t you ever cook?” Anna shrugged at the question.

After supper that night,  “Why cook when you can pay others to do it for you?” Anna replied smugly, slipping Jane a crisp ten dollar bill for making dinner that night.

-

The queens certainly had quite a strange dynamic when it came to providing meals for themselves. Catalina was more than happy to assist in the kitchen. Kat was satisfied with “feasting” on various boxed meals. Cathy used the kitchen as a way to cure her writer’s block. Anne understood why she had been banned from the kitchen, happy to munch away on already made things. Anna of Cleves was more than happy to pay for the other queens to dine. Jane Seymour was more than happy to provide her family with home cooked meals, “made with extra love”. The money Anna threw her way, although completely unnecessary, was appreciated.

[lovemesomesurveys]

Thought I Couldn't Top It, Huh? OVER 2000 Questions! (Truly the Longest!) Created by distortedcognition

Part 4

.Favorites. Color: Pastels, rose gold, sea foam green, coral, yellow. Number: 8. Store: Boxlunch and Hot Topic. Book: I have way too many. Story: Uhh.

Magazine: None. Television program?: I have several of those, too. Movie: Those as well.

Series: I’ll tell you the authors of the several different book series I’ve been into/read the past couple of years, which are Willow Rose, AJ Rivers, Mary Stone, and Elle Gray. Apart from AJ Rivers, they each have a few different series and from what I’m read so far I’ve enjoyed them all. If you’re into the murder mystery and psychological thriller thing, you should check some of ‘em out. Poem: I don’t have one. Onomatopoeia: I don’t have one. Verb: Sleep.

Paradox: *shrug* Idiom: Noun: The beach. Adjective: Blah. Adverb: Bleh. Work of fantasy: Classic work: Contemporary work: Writer: The authors I listed previously are some of them. Fairy tale: Is Alice in Wonderland one? Dictionary brand: Webster is good. Summer scene: The beach. Winter scene: Snow. Spring scene: Rainy days. Fall scene: Orange, yellow, red, green leaves. Season: Fall and winter. Planet: Earth. Space feature: None. Thing about summer: Being able to go to the beach is like the only thing I like. Thing about winter: The weather and Christmastime! Thing about spring: The rain. Thing about fall: The weather, the smells, and ~spooky~ time. Mammal: Giraffes. Insect: NONE. Arachnid: NONEEEE. Fish: I don’t have one. Reptile: None. Amphibian: None. Science: Psychology. Thing to do during summer: Go to the beach. Type of weather: Fall and winter weather. Bird: I don’t have one. Thing to do during winter: Celebrate Christmas and enjoy the coziness. Thing to do during spring: Enjoy the rainy days. Thing to do during fall: Watch scary movies. Nature sound: Rain. Real location: The beach and Disneyland. City: San Francisco is one. Culture: Hmm. State: Out of the ones I’ve been to (California, Idaho, Arizona, Georgia) I’d choose California. There’s several states I’d like to visit that could possibly take that spot. Island: I don’t have one. Landscape: Beaches, mountains, lakes, streams. Place to go in your neighborhood: I don’t go anywhere in my neighborhood except for my house. Italian food: Pasta. Mexican: Burritos and quesadillas. Indian: None. Chinese: Chow mien, potstickers, egg rolls, chicken in foil. American: Chicken tenders and boneless wings. French: Some pastries. Snack: Chips and dip. Pasta: Pesto and spaghetti. Desert: Milkshakes, ice cream, donuts, muffins, cookies, cupcakes. Ice cream flavor: Strawberry, mint chocolate chip, birthday cake, cookies and cream. Soup: I’m a ramen gal. Salad: Caesar. Pancake: Blueberry. Restaurant: I don’t have one, unless Wingstop counts. Fruit: Bananas. Vegetable: Spinach, potatoes, broccoli, green onions. Dinner: Wingstop, spaghetti and meatballs, other pasta, salisbury steaks, pizza. Lunch: Chicken tenders, sandwiches, pasta salads, pizza. Breakfast: Over-easy eggs, waffles, eggs and country gravy, hash browns. Cereal: All the sugary yummy ones, basically. Pop tart: The frosted strawberry and brown cinnamon sugar. Candy: White chocolate. Artificial flavor: Banana and strawberry. Cookie: Sugar, shortbread, Oreos, peanut butter. Yogurt: None. Clothing store: Boxlunch and Hot Topic. Outfit: I like my graphic tees and leggings. Shoe: Adidas. Shirt design: Hmm. Brand name: Adidas. Top: All my graphic tees. Pants: My leggings. Skirt: None. Pair of socks: My Baby Yoda ones. Color [of clothing]: Black. Subject in school: English. Music: I like variety.

Tree: Pine. Flower: I don’t have one, but so many are pretty. Quote: I have many. Scent: I have a lot of those as well, like the smell of rain, coffee, the ocean/beach-y air, coconut, garlic, fruity scents, sweet scents, vanilla, cinnamon, pine, peppermint, sandalwood, cedar wood, patchouli, my favorite foods, desserts, autumnal scents from Bath & Body Works, that wood/fire smell during the fall... Adage: I couldn’t choose just one. Television channel: My TV is usually either on The Hallmark Channel, CMT, MTV, UPtv, or TV Land. Day of the week: They’re all pretty much the same for me. Perfume: I like ones with patchouli in it and some sweet ones. Radio station: I don’t listen to the radio anymore.

Cologne: Ones with sandalwood and cedar wood. Sound: The ocean waves crashing in and out, rain, fire crackling, various ASMR sounds, music. Feeling: ASMR, that first sip of coffee, that satisfying feeling from a good meal, the beachy air on my face, the feel of fall in the air. Emotion: I mean, feeling happy is a nice emotion. Haven’t truly felt that in a long time. :/ Song: I have a lot. Music artist: I like several. Month: October-December. Religious holiday: Christmas. Fun holiday: I think Christmas and Halloween are fun. Obscure holiday: Hmm. Videogame: Mario Bro games. Computer game: The Sims. Sport: None. Athlete: None. Instrument: Piano. Composer: I don’t have one. Singer: I have several. Website: YouTube and Tumblr. Word: Hmm.

Slogan: *shrug* Commercial: I don’t have one. Shampoo: I’m currently using Dove shampoo. Conditioner: I’m using the Dove conditioner as well. Body wash: I don’t use body wash, I use bar soap. Soap: Caress body soap. Lotion: My current favorite is Into the Night from Bath & Body Works.

[elfenbensord]

GOODBYE, STRANGER / CHAPTER 1

GOODBYE, STRANGER / CHAPTER ONE / OBLIVIATE

SERIES MASTERLIST

3-10.8.20

A/N: This is a new series I started a bit randomly one night. Enjoy some sad  Remus and chaotic Y/N content

Warning: A Sad™ time.

Word count: 3.8 k

It was an early morning yesterday

I was up before the dawn

And I really have enjoyed my stay

But I must be moving on

---

October 31st, 1981

On a train to London

Remus could see tiny stars on a black infinity as he looked up at the sky through the dingy windows of the train. He was all alone in the carriage, something which reflected his current life situation very well. In his mind, a series of panicked questioned were playing on repeat.

What had Dumbledore said? That the hiding place had been compromised? That the Dark Lord had personally gone after Lily and James?

And where was Sirius in all this? Where was Peter?

Were his best friends still alive?

The stars above granted him no answers. 

---

October, 1982

A year after

Remus woke up early. He always did. For a few hours, it was just him and the early morning sun. He hated it. Once, he could’ve given anything for just an hour of silence, a minute of calm. Now he felt himself suffocating on this endless expanse of nothing. The silence acted as yet another confirmation of one of his many dreadful suspicions - that he was lonely. Perhaps he always had been. He probably always would be. 

Breathing in deeply, he couldn’t help but turn his nose away in distaste. His entire flat smelled of old stains and neglected dishes. Sunlight peeked through the curtains of his bedroom window, illuminating a gentle storm of dust for an instance. After shining in a quite naturally magical way, it settled into his clothes, into his lungs. Looking down, he saw the same shirt and slacks he’d worn the night before. And the night before that.

I’m not even hungover, he thought. 

He wasn’t. He hadn’t touched a drop of alcohol in months. The thought of drowning his sorrows in brown liquids and vile smells had never been appealing to him. Not even now. ‘Now’ being the end of everything. Well, maybe not everything. But the end of him, at least. It had already begun, deep in his mind. He just hadn’t come to the right conclusions just yet. 

The sun smiled at him from its rightful place in the sky. After giving it a dirty look, Remus closed the curtains.

---

His morning coffee tasted way too bitterly. With every sugar, it only seemed to turn darker. Nothing tasted quite the same anymore. Sweet was often exchanged for bitterness, and vice versa. Whenever he wished for one, he got the other. If anything, it made eating an awful business to him.

That night a year ago constantly lingered in the back of Remus‘ mind. That final night. When his entire fate was turned upside down. 

He’d lost so many things that one night. Went to bed one day, to discover it all gone the moment he woke up. He’d had a home. Grimmauld Place 12 had been a wonderful place back then, always full of volunteers and members of the Order, old and new. And there was a constant lingering smell of Molly Weasley’s roast chicken, companionship, and too much firewhiskey now and then.

And he’d had friends. Best friends. “Cross my heart and hope to die” friends. 

He’d had a purpose, or something like it. The war had given Remus a meaning. Where it to so many others had taken lives, it had unusually granted him one.

It was a life he did his best to take good care of. A life he’d spent years building, repairing, and desperately ensuring. He was even making plans to enroll in studies at a university nearby that hopefully one day would become a degree in teaching. He’d known where he was, and where he was going.

And over one night, nothing was left of that. 

He still remembered arriving to Grimmauld Place, only to see it empty and abandoned. And that recurring question - Where were his best friends? 

Gone. He’d discovered in the morning. No one had bothered to tell him - instead, he’d had to read all about it in the Daily Prophet.

James and Lily Potter dead. Their son, Harry, somehow survived. 

The Dark Lord defeated.

Peter Pettigrew - dead at the hands of Sirius Black. 

Sirius Black - the damned traitor! - a life sentence in Azkaban.

Remus was the only one left. Without friends. Without a home. And without purpose.

---

“Mr. Lupin, are you listening?”, the Healer inquired. 

“Hmm?”

“Did you hear what I just said?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Then what did I say?”

“I- I don’t… I don’t know.”

Remus felt like he was being scolded, like a child who’d nicked candy from the Christmas shelf. A heavy knot of tears started to settle in the base of his throat. Like a child. Pathetic. 

The Healer smiled in a, what he thought, sympathetic way. To Remus it simply looked like pity. A lot of things looked like pity to him now. “No worries, I’ll go over it again…”

Please, don’t, he thought. 

“As I said, I need you to keep coming back for checkups at least once a month…”

Great, another thing to dread.

“... and I’ll have your asthma medication ready next time…”

Not only are all my friends dead, now my lungs are giving in as well.

“... and I really think it’d be good for you if you started making some new friends.”

New friends?

“Did you hear me this time, Remus?”

“Loud and clear. I’ll be back in a month.”

“Looking forward to see you.”

I’m not.

---

New friends?

Remus wasn’t even sure how to do that anymore. Friends were something for the past him. He hadn’t had anyone since that final night, a year ago. He didn’t even consider himself to be his own friend. Because what other friends than his first and last could he possibly ever have? And he even felt like a traitor to them. Most days, he tried to think as little of them as possible. Hoped to eventually forget them, in an attempt to soften the pain. Tried to stay in the present. But nothing worked. Nothing would grant him a single second of relief.

How could it? His best friends had died. 

And now… Now he was someone else. He suspected he’d become unrecognizable to the ones who’d known him. He hadn’t cut his hair in a year. It hung around his ears in sorry curls. He hunched in a new way now, something which might’ve granted him a sense of anonymity and security during the war, but now only hurt his back more as each day passed. Sometimes he felt like he was still in the thick of it. Still in the middle of a wizarding war. Like he’d forgotten it was all over. That’s why he still couldn’t walk without casting cautious glances over his shoulder every other minute. That’s why he awoke soaked in sweat, terrified and confused, in the middle of the night. 

They were always there. In the back of his mind. Their screams. Their final words. 

And as he failed to forget them, he started to forget himself instead. His existence before this seemed more and more like a dream for each day that passed. He existed in an endless vacuum. Only ‘now’ existed. Nothing before or to be. Nothing ever would. 

And he could never forget the night that made him want to forget himself. But Remus wanted to forget. For real, not just for a moment.

And he knew just the spell.

---

“Bloody fuck”, he whispered, eyes locked at the grey cobble street by his feet. The wind tugged at his hair. He added a curse for himself, and for not realizing he should’ve worn a hat. His ears burned in that cool way, when warmth and cold seem indistinguishable. He drew his worn-out tweed coat tighter around him. It’s unusually cold for July. Is it even still July?

Before him was his well-familiar grocery shop. In one of the big glass windows hung a sign, ‘Sorry, we’re closed!’ and a handwritten note, stating that the shop was to close permanently because of family troubles. 

For Remus, that meant he’d have to walk two more blocks to get to the next shop. Or disapparate. But he hadn’t tried to teleport in so many months, he was scared he might’ve forgotten how to. And if he messed up, who would he call? 

What he’d have to do was to walk. And he’d come to despise walking. He muttered a few swears, before beginning his journey. 

It took one block, before his lungs started to burn. Remus had come to despise the wheezing sound they - his lungs - made after the smallest kinds of exercise. His airways only seemed to close in tighter, in their wild ambition to strangle him. He found that even if he did arrive at the shop, he wouldn’t be able to get home. And then the whole thing seemed rather pointless. 

All this resulted in him turning around, and accepting the fact that he couldn’t have dinner tonight. It wouldn’t be the first time. Sure, his Healer had said that any more skipped meals would eventually result in some sort of wicked starvation, which could get him a place at St. Mungo’s. And another month at St. Mungo’s wasn’t something he wanted. He thought he’d wasted enough time lying in a bed, being fed and dallied with.

Remus didn’t know what to do. His lungs burned. He could’ve killed for Molly Weasley’s roast chicken. With buttered potatoes and steamed green beans. Only a year ago, he had killed for Molly Weasley.

His lungs wouldn’t stop gasping for air. He pulled his arms around himself, and let out an ill-sounding cough. The sorry sight gained him a few looks from the people passing by. 

Pull yourself together!

Then he remembered - a few weeks back, he’d bought far too many instant soup packs after finding a coupon in the Daily Prophet. Maybe he could find one of them, preferably mushroom-flavoured, somewhere at the very back of his kitchen drawers. It was a shot in the dark, he admitted that. But it was a shot at something, at least.

---

Coughing and wheezing, he finally arrived home. Well, perhaps ‘home’ wasn’t the right word. He arrived at the place where he’d been hiding away for the past year. How homely that was, he didn’t want to judge for himself. 

As he held on to the wall beside the staircase for his dear life, he noticed how the front door opposite his own was hanging opened. 

Someone’s in there! His mind went haywire, hand cramping around the wand from his inner pocket. Breaths became shallow, inaudible. Steps softened. Time seemed to slow down. He could feel the seconds moving past him.

The top step creaked under the weight of his right foot. 

Remus moved closer to the open door. Meanwhile, he rehearsed the most useful spells for attack and defense.

But the scene before him was nothing like he’d imagined or rehearsed for.

“Hello there, stranger!” A girl half-shouted from inside. She was surrounded by moving boxes, but already looked quite at home. There was a happy look plastered upon her face. 

No Death Eaters. No ‘fight or flight’. Just a girl.

Remus was taken aback. “Good evening”, his voice sounded like an unfamiliar croak. “... stranger.”

At the presence of another human being, Remus also found himself quite self-conscious about his looks. He knew he hadn’t showered in ages, and he couldn’t remember if he’d brushed his teeth this morning. Only Godric knew the last time he’d combed his hair. He made a half-hearted attempt to calm his disorderly brown locks, before tucking his arms into his sides. He felt the sharp end of his wand dig into the flesh of his hips, and hoped he wouldn’t accidentally turn his insides to jelly. 

There was a stack of bowls wrapped in old newspapers in her arms, and a cheery smile on her lips. She hurried to put them down on the floor, causing Remus to cringe at the clinking sound they made. Surely something must’ve broken. She got up from the floor, standing in her full length. She still didn’t reach past Remus’ shoulders. “I’m the new neighbor.”

New neighbor?

“I’m Y/N”, she handed him her name. And, judging by the smile on her lips, a piece of her heart as well. She looked so effortlessly happy. It stirred something in Remus, making him wanting to return the smile in the best way he could.

He got lost in her happiness, and forgot himself for a moment. “I’m…”, an idiot. “I’m Remus Lupin.”

“Nice to meet you”, another goddamned smile. Wide and white-teethed. “I guess we’ll be seeing a lot of each other. I mean, sharing a whole corridor and all.”

Remus had never once given that corridor a single thought. “Yup. An entire corridor...”

Another smile. “It’ll be fun, won’t it?”

Fun? “Sure.”

He realized he still had his wand in his hand, and quickly put it away as to not look like he’d just been planning an attack on a devotee of the Dark Lord. 

“I better get back-”, he mumbled.

“I need to keep unpacking-”, she said.

She reached out a final hand. A final smile. “Nice meeting you.”

Remus took it. It was softer than he remembered hands could be. His lips were forced into a strained smile, “Same.”

Nose crinkled, eyes sparked. “See you around, Remus.”

Her door was still hanging open when Remus turned his back on her to return to his own nest. Careless girl. 

All of this made Remus unsure of how to feel. This exceeded all his expectations - but to be fair, pretty much anything did now a days. He felt himself thrown off his usual dull rhythm. This was... new. He threw a last look down the corridor, and noticed he could still see her through her open door. 

Anyone could walk through an open door. Shaking his head, he closed his own door with a loud ‘thud’. 

---

FRIDAY

Remus had made sure the door was locked at least three times now. He got up from the coach to check again. Locked. Like it’d been the first time.

Satisfied, he returned to the coach. Looking around him, he made sure to check that everything was in order. He’d written himself a note, containing his name and birth information. He didn’t intend to forget every thing, but he knew that these sort of spells could be incalculable. ‘These sort of spells’ being spells for desperate fools. Such as himself. 

The note was in place on the coffee table in front of him. He figured he better sit down. It wasn’t impossible that a erasing your past could make you a bit fussy. 

It’s probably best to just nap it out, he thought to himself. Just… fall asleep old and wake up brand new.

The familiar wood of his wand felt like an old friend. Not that he particularly knew what those felt like anymore. The slender stick was the only thing linking him to his past. It started heating up slightly against his hand. Almost as if it knew what he was about to do. Begging him not to. His wand hand started shaking more. He needed steadier hands for this. The truth was, he needed someone else’s hands for this. Someone else to pull the plug. 

He had no one. Nothing. 

His lungs wheezed as he took a deep breath, steadying his hands. Another breath, and he braced himself.

His lips begun to shape the word, but his voice wouldn’t produce a sound. He tried again. Nothing.

Then, there was a sudden pain. The ever present ache in his head became more apparent; it turned into a sharp pain. His hands started to shake, dropping the wand like it was burning his skin. His airways closed in, there suddenly was no sair for him to breath. He could feel his head starting to spin, his vision becoming fuzzy. He felt like he was melting away.

Then there was nothing. 

---

SATURDAY

Remus woke up late. Judging by the way the sun was burning into his eyes, it must’ve been past noon. He’d been passed out for more than 12 hours. 

His mouth felt like sandpaper. Head was still fuzzy, and hands and limbs not feeling quite like they should. He was alive. And he didn’t know whether to be disappointed or not.

A shower, he thought. A shower and I’ll be fine. Well, ‘fine’ was an overstatement. 

Looking into the bathroom mirror, he barely recognized himself. Who was this man? With sunken in, dull eyes, gazing back at him. There was an angry red mark on the bridge of his nose, probably caused by his metal-rimmed glasses digging into his face all through the night. And most of the day. His face was nothing more but a pale complexion in a dirty mirror. 

I used to be covered in freckles, he remembered. Little delightful brown spots everywhere. Now, his face was laid bare. 

The hot water from the shower hurt and pricked his fragile skin. But it was a good hurt. It was an ‘I’m alive’ hurt. Remus rested his head against one of the tiled walls, feeling the water pour down his back. He still couldn’t understand what had exactly happened last night. He’d tried to forget. He’d ended up passing out. 

“Shit”, he mumbled. The water ran a little hotter. His fist punched the hard surface of the tile wall. “Shit, shit, shit, shit!”

Through the small window of his bathroom, the sun kept pouring in. It burned his eyes with its brightness. 

He cursed the sun. He cursed the moon and the stars. He cursed himself. Himself and his incapability. Himself and his naivete - had he really thought he could just forget?

A cold, frosty feeling started to settle into his insides. The water from the shower head turned freezing cold. Out of hot water. 

“... Shit.”

---

There was a knocking at the door. Three quick beats. At his front door. Remus was still standing in his hallway, towel wrapped around his middle and hair in a wet mess. He muttered a series of curses and swears, as he tried to find a clean shirt in his mess of a bedroom. Finding no such thing, he retorted to one of his coats from the hangers next to the door. It’d have to do. He’d fought off Death Eaters - one time even the Dark Lord himself - with worse dress sense. 

The knocking continued, followed by a voice. “Hello?”

The last syllable was dragged out far too long for Remus’ liking. Realizing a Death Eater most certainly would never use the word in such a comical way, he let himself relax just a little.

“Anybody home?”

He opened the door an inch, casting a cautious look outside. 

The new neighbor. The girl. Whatever her name was.

“Good afternoon”, followed by a wide smile.

Was it really that late?

She noticed the coat. The damned coat. “Are you going out?”

He crossed his arms around himself, in yet another attempt to hide himself. “No. Not particularly.” 

Remus’ confused face clearly amused her, for a bubbling laughter fell out of her lips. 

“Were you out for a bit too long last night?”

Was that a joke? “Yeah, something like that… Sorry, did you need anything?”

“No. I was just wondering what you were up to right now.”

A small smile started to involuntarily form on his lips. “I’m not doing… anything. Ever.”

At least that’s true.

“Good. ‘Cause I need a companion.”

“Companion?”

“You know, like a friend.”

Friend? “Oh. Right.” Friend? “Me? Am… Am I your friend?”

Another smile. “Of course. You’re the closest friend I’ve got in London at the moment.”

Friend? Remus wasn’t anyone’s friend. The thought both thrilled and concerned him.

“Okay. Sure. I can be your”, he cleared his throat, “companion.”  Then he remember, the damned coat! 

With his easiest smile, “Could you give me just a quick minute?”

“Sure. I’ll just wait inside.”

Before Remus could say or do anything she halfway forced, halfway snuck into his sorry excuse of a flat. This was not what he was expecting. But then, what had he really been expecting? From minute one, she’d been completely… unexpected. 

Whatever-her-name-was looked around, inspecting his dirty dishes, the clothes that had been on the floor for months. The layers of dust covering almost every area.

A small nod, another dawning smile. “I like what you’ve done with the place.”

Remus could only try to keep up, “... Thanks?”

“You’re welcome. Oh, and you should probably put on some clothes before we head out.”

Remus looked down. His stomach dropped as he saw how his coat was hanging half open, revealing the towel around his waist. “Sorry! I’ll see to that right now.”

---

Dressed in his only clean button up shirt and a pair of almost clean jeans, Remus now walked side by side with his new acquaintance. He didn’t dare call her a friend yet, partly because of his own doubt, partly because of her (so far) unpredictable ways. The terms and conditions of this so called “friendship” were still a mystery to him, like so many things about her. 

“Excuse me for asking, but exactly where are we going?” He turned around to look at her, only to be met with a smile. Didn’t she ever stop smiling?

“Didn’t I tell you?”

Didn’t her mouth ever get tired?

“No, I don’t think so.”

Yet another smile. She seemed to have smiles for everyone. “How silly of me!” Her lips only widened. “We’re going to a marketplace.”

Marketplace? “Is there such a thing here?”

“I guess we’re about to find out.”

Right. Of course. 

“Right… And why did you need me to come with you?”

“So I don’t get lonely, obviously.”

Who was she? “Right. Sure. Obviously.” 

He realized a rather embarrassing fact. “I’m sorry, what was your name again?”

A smile. “You must have a really bad memory.”

“Well, no, I’d actually argue my memory’s quite good, but I was… distracted when I met you.” 

Another smile. “I’m Y/N Y/L/N. I’m your neighbor.”

“Yes. Right. And I’m Remus.” He stuck his hand out, “Very nice to meet you.”

She grabbed his hand in an unexpected way, and sped up her pace. “Come on, this’ll be fun!”

A strangled noise forced its way out of his throat. Chest begun to feel warm and slightly shaky. He was laughing. She soon joined him.

Looking up, Remus saw how the sky was clearing up. The sun still strained to reach through a fading curtain of clouds. He closed his eyes, and felt the sun smile on his face for what felt like the very first time.

---

taglists

permanent: @rocking-like-a-ravenclaw​ / @kapolisradomthoughts​ / @siriusement​ / @classy-sith-lady​ / @hermione-who / @theseuscmander​ / @sleepingalaska​

remus lupin: @writingwitchly​ / @serenefreakgeek​ / @spideyfan456 / @un-nouveau-soleil​ / @evyiione​ / @reggieblck​ / @bookworm0123​ / @deathbyramennoodles​ / @cedricisnotonfire​ / @allauraleigh​

[cagestark]

-Defender//3-

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six

Longest chapter by far...enjoy. ;) let me know what you think.

warnings: rape is mention in a strictly theoretical sense, but non-consensual groping is referenced.

read here on AO3.

-

‘Whatever kids do’ (I’m twenty fucking years old, Peter thinks to himself) turns out to be just sitting in his room, climbing the walls. Literally. Unfortunately, there aren’t any spiders making nests in the corners of the room, but at least he tried to find kin.

He takes the plastic bag out of his backpack, the one that hold his trackphone and charger. Now with an increased paycheck, he’ll be able to afford a real phone, one that he doesn’t have to risk turning on just once or twice a day to preserve the battery. There aren’t any messages, but Peter hadn’t really expected any different. He turns it off and tucks it back into the waterproof bag.

After a time, Peter begins to feel like maybe he’s hiding in his room. He’s hungry—and he lives here now, right, so why shouldn’t he just go out into the kitchen and make himself a sandwich? But every time he reaches for the doorknob, he chickens out. What if Mr. Stark is out there? Peter’s dressed in the only casual clothes he owns, a pair of warm sweatpants and a long-sleeve flannel shirt. Hardly appropriate attire to be seen in by a billionaire. By Tony Stark.

But the hunger wins out sometime around eight in the evening. So he carefully nudges the door to his room open and slips out.

He swallows a gasp, heart hammering when he spots Tony sitting on the leather couch with his socked feet up on the coffee table. Schematics are scattered everywhere, and his StarkPad is displaying something in 3D—fuck that’s so cool. The television is on, muted, the History channel playing a documentary on Ancient Egypt. A glass of mostly empty whiskey sits perched in one of the man’s tanned hands.

Quiet as he tried to be, some noise must slip out because Tony’s head turns. He looks wide awake for the late hour. “Hey, kid,” Tony says, eyebrows lifting. “You’re so quiet in there, I honestly forgot you were here.”

“I get that a lot,” Peter mumbles. He points to the kitchen, one hand absently trying to pat at his curls and decide if he looks like a hot-mess or just a mess-mess. “Can I get something to eat?”

“Mi casa es su casa, now. Literally. Help yourself to whatever you like, and if you want to keep me from eating something, put your name on it or hide it behind the vegetables.”

Peter snorts. “Noted. I just didn’t know if I was like, supposed to pay for my own groceries first. I don’t have any money.” He’s been spending his SI checks on motel rooms so that he’s not sleeping outdoors, but the other man doesn’t need to know that.

“Nobody pays for their groceries,” Tony says absently, already looking back to the hologram projected by his StarkPad. He prods at something with the end of his pencil. “Just eat what you want and let me know if you want me to order you something special.”

“Nobody pays for their food?” Peter mutters, looking into the refrigerator. It’s stocked with everything he could possibly want, and several things he can’t even name: fruits of strange shapes and colors, cheeses that smell nothing like cheese, milk that doesn’t come from a cow. “You just buy all the Avengers food, all the time?”

“I am the Avengers’ wallet, kid,” says Tony. “I house them, I buy them whatever they need, I upgrade their suits and weapons, provide any special technologies my brain can cook-up. I provide most of the paycheck—but SHIELD does help. Truth be told, the risk of the job isn’t worth what it pays, so if that’s why you said yes, you might want to rethink things.”

“No offense,” says Peter, sitting at the stool by the marble countertop. He has three peanut butter and jelly sandwiches in front of him made with crunchy peanut butter and organic raspberry jelly and wheat bread that is thick and brown and fragrant. His mouth waters. “But you’ve spoken like a true billionaire. Money and security? That’s worth everything.”

Tony stops what he’s doing. He puts his StarkPad down to rest in his lap, and the look on his face—Peter can’t pin it down, but it makes his shoulders hunch. Did he say something wrong?

“No offense, but you’ve spoken like a Dickensian protagonist. It’s worth everything?” Tony repeats. “Worth dying for?”

Peter shrugs. “If I’m dead, who cares. It’s worth almost dying for, though. Or at least—it is to me.”

Tony’s expression makes him look ten years older than he is, Atlas with the weight of the world on his shoulders. “Peter, if you need financial security—I can take care of that. Look, I can fill in a lot of the blanks when it comes to your past and how you’ve had to rough it, but here at SI we take care of our own. You don’t need to be an Avenger to eat, to have a place to sleep, to get healthcare. Jesus, you’re only twenty years old; you have your whole life ahead of you. To be honest, kid, this business doesn’t really guarantee longevity. There isn’t a retirement plan.”

Peter stares. His eyes burn but he isn’t a crier. He cried at May’s ‘funeral’, when he couldn’t afford to bury her and they’d cremated her instead—and he’d promised himself that it was the last time he’d cry for as long as he lived. So he doesn’t cry now, but he kind of wants to. In his mind he sees Ben, sees the man who killed him, feels the helplessness and the guilt all over again.

“Thanks, Mr. Stark,” he says. He pauses to clear his throat so it doesn’t sound choked. Peanut butter is sticky; that’s all. “But you don’t know everything about my past. I’m not just doing this for the money.”

The silence lays thick between them, broken only when Tony nods and says, “That’s fair. Would you do me a favor and bring me a beer while you’re over there? Bottom shelf. Behind the quinoa.”

Peter has no fucking idea what quinoa is, but the refrigerator isn’t Mary Poppin’s purse or something, so he finds the beer towards the back eventually and grabs a bottle for the older man. There aren’t many left, and Peter sees that it’s because several empty bottles are sitting in a row by Tony’s feet. The stuff looks expensive, has a foreign label in a language that Peter can’t even identify, much less read. He crosses the room to deliver the bottle to the man’s waiting hand.

Tony goes to drink it and bumps the cap against his lip. Peter snorts.

“Cut me some slack,” Tony says around a smile. “I haven’t slept since your little nighttime creepy crawly act on my building. This takes a bottle opener anyway—no, no, I’ll get it, you just sit and eat, you’ve done enough for me—”

Peter takes the bottle and pops the cap with his bare hands. All the beer he’s ever seen were cheap screw-off tops, or he would have rummaged through the drawers for a bottle opener for the man earlier. It isn’t until he’s handing the bottle back and sees Tony’s wide-eyed expression that he realizes not everybody can pop a bottle cap with their thumb.  

“You weren’t kidding about how strong you are,” Tony says.

Peter just shakes his head, slow.

Tony points to the sandwiches on the counter. “I was just about to order in Chinese. What do you think? Better than PB&J?”

Mr. Stark clears the coffee table of his work and orders Chinese from a place he swears is the most authentic place in NYC. Then they spend fifteen minutes arguing about whether to start watching the Star Wars movies at the prequels or originals (because the documentary on TV is a snoozefest, which is why Tony was trying to watch it while he worked). Tony finally concedes to Peter’s persuasion, but Peter sees him smiling around the neck of his bottle as he takes a generous sip.

They put on the Phantom Menace.

“So tell me about yourself,” Tony says after the Chinese has arrived, sitting in various boxes scattered across the glass coffee table. He ordered an inordinate amount, and Peter plans to make sure that absolutely no grain of rice goes to waste, thanking the older man between bites. “I know more about your scopulae than I do you—and that’s not a weird metaphor.”

Suddenly Peter’s stomach isn’t used to being so full, and it rolls a little with nausea. He sets his plate down to let it settle.

“You made it sound like you already knew everything about me. What do you want to know?” he asks. He’s keenly aware of how painful his life has been. It sounds like a Shakespearean tragedy when he plays it out in his head: his parents’ untimely deaths, seeing his Uncle murdered (his fault, all Peter’s fault—), then his aunt passing away from illness. Losing the apartment. Living on the streets and in shelters and in any buildings he could scale or break into.

“Whatever you want to tell, kid,” says Tony. “It’s not an interview or an interrogation. FRI says you’re a native of Queens.”

“Yeah,” Peter says. “Yeah. I’m from Queens.”

“I’m sorry,” says Tony gravely.

Peter smiles. “Queens isn’t bad, really.”

“Any family?” Tony asks. He stares at the screen where Qui-gon Jinn and Obi-Wan are bickering and takes a swig from the long-necked bottle, casual as can be, like he knows the answer is heavy but they have to get it out of the way.

The smile slips from Peter’s face. He shakes his head. “I’m alone.”

“No, you aren’t,” Tony says with conviction. “You’re an Avenger now. We’re all assholes, but we watch out for each other. It really is a family of sorts. A dysfunctional family, with an aunt who’s great at murder, a centennial grandfather, and an uncle who drinks too much, but such is life, right?”

“Who are you in that scenario?” Peter laughs. Something settles in Peter’s stomach, warm, like hot chocolate after coming in from the cold. Tony is so fucking nice. How does this man have everything? Looks, brains, money, and kindness.

“Wasn’t it obvious?” Tony holds up the beer bottle. “I’m the uncle who overindulges.”

At that moment, a noise pierces the air. Peter jumps, heart hammering. “What’s that?” He asks.

“Just the bell, kid, no worries. FRI, who is it baby?”

“Captain Rogers, sir.”

Both of them go stiff in their seats. After a moment, Tony relaxes again, but Peter can’t let his guard down, not when that name makes his muscles clench in anticipation for a fight, when it makes his scalp prickle with anxiety and warning. “Let him in,” Tony says, standing. By the time Captain Rogers appears, Tony has a beer out for him.

Steve stops when he sees Peter sitting on the couch. The blond takes it all in: the movie on screen, the mostly-eaten food, the empty beer bottles on the table (which he eyes with disapproval). It must look like Peter and Tony are very familiar with each other, Peter in his pajamas, Tony in just his jeans and the wifebeater that was under his t-shirt while he worked down in the lab.

“Hey, Cap,” Tony says. He holds up the bottle. “Drink?”

“No thanks, Tony. Can I talk to you outside?” The look he gives Peter is apologetic enough. “Sorry kid, you aren’t an official Avenger yet until your induction, or I wouldn’t bother with all the secrecy.”

“It’s fine,” Peter says stiffly.

“I’ll be just a minute, Pete,” Tony says. They step outside.

-

Peter hears everything through the walls from his seat on the couch. The television plays but does nothing to disguise the raised voices from beyond the door. Peter wishes he could see their faces, but (no matter how cool it would have been) he didn’t develop x-ray vision from the spider bite. Maybe it’s for the best—maybe Peter couldn’t be held responsible for his actions otherwise.

“What’s going on between you two?” Steve asks.

“What are you talking about? We were eating Chinese and watching Star Wars.”

“Don’t you think it’s a little inappropriate?”

“I sure as hell did, but he insisted that we start with the Phantom Menace and not A New Hope—”

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it. Are you grooming him?” Steve sounds horrified at the thought, and Peter can’t assess his face to tell if he’s sincere or not. “A homeless kid you found, and suddenly you’re giving him a room in your penthouse, a job, you’re spending the day with him in the lab? And now, what, you’re plying him with alcohol?”

“I am not grooming Peter,” Tony says. His voice sounds firm. Good! Peter thinks. “He’s in there drinking a goddamn Coke. To be honest, I’m shocked that you even know the term, I didn’t think grooming officially existed in the Stone Age—”

“I take all the classes SHIELD requires of me to lead the team and keep people safe, even from attacks that aren’t always with fists or alien tech. Grooming has always existed; as long as there is prey, there are predators looking—”

“Peter is not prey, he could fucking snap me in half—!”

“But not if you make him like you, is that it? Not if he thinks he owes you—”

“Jesus fucking Christ.”

The silence after that lasts a moment too long, and Peter shuts his eyes. Because he can hear more in that silence than he did in Tony’s exclamation—Tony is beginning to doubt himself. He’s beginning to believe the worst in himself. They’ve only known each other for forty-eight hours, but Peter already feels like he knows Tony better than the people around him: the painful vulnerability, the intense self-criticism.

“Look, if it will make everyone feel better, I’ll move his room—”

“God damn it,” Peter hisses.

“—maybe Vision wouldn’t mind rooming up here with me. I’m practically his father, or—something.”

“I think that’s a good idea,” Steve says magnanimously.

“I bet you do, asshole,” Peter mutters.

“Is this all you came up here for?” Tony asks. “To read me the riot act over treating the kid like I’d treat any of you—if any of you liked me enough to invite me to your get-togethers or to accept my offers to join me up here—”

“I had a reason. Here,” something is exchanged hands, the rustle of paper. “Fury’s background check on Queens in there. It’s very thorough and enlightening—”

“And not my business,” Tony says. “This is confidential even by SHIELD standards—do I have clearance to have this?”

“I thought there was something in there that might be important for you to know. The kid used to work for Hammer Industries.”

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Well, this is it. It was lovely, folks! Peter should just pack his bag now. Maybe the windows in his room open so he can slip out and scale the side of the building. For a moment he thinks about how it might feel to just let himself fall. Now that he’s tasted this bite of a better life, returning to his old ways will be even more painful. But Peter doesn’t even know if the fall would kill him—

“Hammer Industries?” Tony says at length. “He definitely upgraded.”

“I want to look out for you, Tony,” Steve says.

Peter doesn’t believe a word of that.

The worst part of all is that he has to sit there on the couch and pretend like he hasn’t heard the entire conversation. How can he explain—how he’s always had a passion for tech, how he never even dreamed of being able to work at Stark Industries, so he’d shot for the moon instead of the stars, settling at Hammer Industries. Only the place had been a shitheap with a perverted boss and Peter saved up enough to cut his losses, and then Stark Industries had accepted him! Even working on machines in the maintenance department…it was more than Peter had ever dreamed.

But Tony doesn’t know that. The look on his face when he comes back in the room is grave.

“Hey kid,” he says. “Sorry I missed some of the movie.”

“It’s okay,” Peter lies.

Tony sits back down on the couch, as far away from Peter as he possibly can. He doesn’t take a single sip more of alcohol, and while he is friendly enough when Peter asks him a question, he doesn’t let himself be roped into conversation anymore. He stares at the television screen like he’s seeing through it, and Peter feels it slipping away—his chances at being close with Tony crumbling like sand through his fingers.

What he decides to do is to say something. Anything.

What he does is scoot across the couch and climb into the man’s lap, straddling the strong thighs. Tony looks at him like two separate heads have sprouted from his ears. Instinct has him pushing at Peter sharply, and it’s only Peter’s enhanced sense of balance and grip that has him twisting to avoid being pushed flat onto the glass coffee table. He lands like a cat in the slim space between the sofa and the coffee table.

“Get off of me—”

“Please let me explain—”

“Explain what?” The man swallows, heavily, staring down at where Peter kneels between his thighs. The sound is loud to Peter’s ears; he can hear it all, the pounding heart too. “Jesus Christ, you don’t need to be in my lap to have a conversation with me, do you?”

“I did work for Hammer Industries,” Peter says. “But I worked maintenance for them, too. They were shit, they treated us like shit, Hammer was a creep who used to grab my ass in the hallways, and I quit before I even had another job, that’s how desperate I was to get away.”

“You heard all that?” Tony asks, eyes wide enough to show white all around the dark iris. “Fuck, kid, eavesdropping—?”

“I have enhanced senses,” Peter pleads. “I can hear everything if it’s close enough. I can hear the Avengers on the floor below us when they’ve got a movie turned up too loud, I just, I didn’t want to say anything because it’s so creepy, but I can’t help it, and, and—”

“Hey, calm down. Here, will you get up? You’re going to give me a heart attack. Come sit on the couch, we’ll talk.”

They resume their seats on opposite ends of the couch. Peter looks down at his shaking hands, clenches them tight until his knuckles go white, but it’s not just his hands: his whole body shakes. Peter has never been gifted with words, something that has only became worse after the passing of his aunt, when he had no one to talk to. If all of this—the chance to be around Tony, the penthouse, the Avengers—if it all relies on Peter talking his way into it…then he’s doomed.

Tony scrubs at his face with a weathered hand. He looks exhausted. “I’m really sorry that you heard all of that out there,” he says at length.

“None of it was true,” Peter blurts. His blood thrums when he remembers all of Steve’s words. “You aren’t grooming me. Not to mention, I’m a fucking adult.”

“A vulnerable one,” concedes Tony.

“So are you,” Peter says through his teeth. “Everybody is vulnerable to something. You want to pity homeless youth, go find one who is really suffering. I’m enhanced! I can climb walls even in the rain to get somewhere safe and dry. I don’t have to worry about anyone mugging me or, or raping me, because I could just pull their arms and legs off. I’m not vulnerable. I’m just—”

“Just what,” asks Tony, motioning with a hand when the younger man’s words cut off. “Go on, kid. I’m listening to you.”

“I’m just a guy who—who is finally getting everything that he wanted,” Peter says. All the anger is sapped from his veins now, and he feels old and heavy and tired, his eyes burning traitorously until he blinks them clear and dry. “I’ve wanted to work with science since I was old enough to go to school. But I don’t have an education, I don’t have a degree. I didn’t even finish high school. Places only hire me for grunt work, but I’m good with machines. I figured maybe I could, could work my way up. To something. Working at Stark Industries was just a pipe dream. I never thought I’d get a chance, but my Aunt May…she used to say that I’m too pessimistic, and I should open myself up to good things, because good things will happen.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you right away Mr. Stark.”

“Peter—it’s okay. I wasn’t worried about you working at Hammer Industries as it was. Hammer isn’t clever enough to infiltrate my building, and even if he were? My secrets are a lot harder to steal than anyone might think. If FRIDAY had seen you doing anything suspicious, she would have notified me in a heartbeat. That’s all shit; I know that.” Tony clears his throat. “But Cap was right about one thing. I don’t want you getting ideas in your head, that you have to treat me a certain way to stay on the team and in the Tower, or that I expect any treatment like that.”

Peter groans. “I don’t think that. I’m not twelve. Besides, the other Avengers treat you like shit, and you keep them around—”

“Hey,” says Tony, raising his voice a little. “They don’t treat me like shit, so knock it off. Having you up here in the penthouse does give the wrong impression. I don’t want you or anyone else to think I’m trying to take advantage of you.”

“What—what if I want you to?” Peter asks. He dares a look at the older man; God, he’s so handsome, even looking stunned as he is. His mouth is open like he wants to say something but isn’t sure what to say, and Peter takes the chance to continue. “I know I’m young, and I’m not the best looking guy around, not even the best looking one in the Tower, but I’ve had a crush on you since like, 2008. You’re everything I’ve dreamed of, Mr. Stark, and somehow I’m here in your penthouse and we ate Chinese together and I don’t want to let it go.”

“Peter—” Tony looks stricken, face pale.

“It doesn’t have to be anything serious,” Peter amends quickly. “I know you’re busy, and I’m going to be too, I guess. No pressure. You could just let me know when—when you wanted me and I’d be there for you.”

“Kid,” says Tony. “Stop. That’s not the way I work, and that’s not the way I want you to work. You shouldn’t let anybody treat you like that—”

“I wouldn’t let anybody treat me like that,” Peter promises. “Just you, Mr. Stark.”

That does something to the man. Tony groans, reaching up to palm at his eyes. “You don’t make it easy on me, appealing to all my seedy kinks, kid. If I’d met you ten years ago—yikes, not ten-year-old you, twenty-year-old you but, yeah, alright, you catch my drift. If I was the same man now that I was ten years ago, I wouldn’t hesitate Peter. You don’t give yourself enough credit.”

“Besides the spider bite, I’m really not that special,” Peter says. “But I’m okay with that. Most people aren’t special.”

“That’s not true,” says Tony. “I’ve got three emails in my inbox from my head of Maintenance begging to have you back, saying that you’re a wunderkind with the machines and that the HVAC hasn’t been in such good shape since it was first installed. You’ve made quite an impression down there—and on me, too.”

“Really?” Peter asks. He can’t help but sit up straighter, buoyant butterflies in his stomach uplifting him.

“Really,” Tony confirms. “I like the way you listen, kid. The hero worship thing, too. You’ve got to know that that plays right into my ego. Fuck, Steve’s right. I’m really not a very good man.”

“I don’t care what Steve Rogers thinks,” Peter breathes. He shifts up onto his knees, edging towards the man at the other end of the couch. By the time he stops, his feet are tucked underneath him, knees touching Tony’s thighs. Peter reaches out to put a hand on his bicep, and the older man flexes instinctively. “I can hear that, you know. The way your heartbeat just picked up.”

Tony swallows. “Not something I usually have to hide.”

“You don’t have to hide anything from me,” Peter says. “Mr. Stark?”

“What, kid?”

“Would you kiss me?”

“That wouldn’t be fair to you. Because after this conversation ends, I’m going to ask you to switch rooms with Vision.”

Peter can sense the weakness in Tony’s will, and he uses it to shift himself onto the older man’s lap, back where he was when this conversation began. Only this time Tony doesn’t push him away, just leans his head back against the couch cushions and closes his eyes. Peter stares, awed. Something about him is attractive to Mr. Stark, something that has the man barely hanging on to his control. The power is a heady thing, makes his body sway forward the way it does when he’s standing on a tall building too close to the edge. This power over the man is just as great a responsibility as his spider senses, and he would never, never misuse it.

“I don’t ever want this conversation to end, then,” Peter admits, letting his fingers drift up from where they’re resting on the man’s bicep, up along the t-shirt he’s wearing and to his neck where his pulse is hammering away. Peter presses, so gently on that carotid artery, and Mr. Stark’s mouth opens, a silent sound that deafens Peter. The younger man’s cock is rapidly hardening, but he keeps his hips pulled back lest he be too tempted to grind on Tony’s abs.

“Everything ends, kid.” The rumble of Tony’s voice reverberates through Peter and makes him shiver.

Peter carefully lets his weight down—and yes, he feels a distinct bulge in the other man’s pants, hears the way that heart stutters, resumes its beating in double-time. Tony sucks in a breath through his nose and holds it until his lungs must be aching. “I’m going to kiss you now,” Peter warns.

Tony tilts his head back up until there is nowhere to look but at each other. Slowly to give the man time to pull away, Peter ducks his head in until their panting breaths are mingling between their open mouths, and Peter decides that if Tony didn’t want Peter to, he wouldn’t have his eyes closed this way, wouldn’t have let his hands grip at Peter’s thighs to pull him further down on the man’s cock.

“One kiss,” Tony says, their lips brushing. “And then you have to go downstairs, Peter. So make it count.”

“I will,” Peter promises.

And he does. Their mouths are open when they meet, and Tony’s mouth feels better than Peter might have ever imagined it to be: soft and firm and eager, coming to life like a live wire beneath Peter’s less experienced lips. But what Peter lacks in experience he makes up for in exuberance, letting both hands come up to tangle in the older man’s dark hair, letting his hips rest heavy on that hard cock beneath him just to feel the way Tony’s groan makes them both vibrate. Peter reaches out blindly and uses one hand to brace himself on the back of the couch so that he can grind down on the cock beneath him.

“Jesus, kid,” Tony breaks apart to breathe.

“I won’t let you cheat me; I’m not done with my kiss,” Peter says, pulling him back, their mouths raw and red. He sucks on the clever tongue and then pulls away to feel the burn of Tony’s facial hair against his oversensitive mouth, keeping the contact (still counts as one kiss, right? If Peter never completely pulls his lips away?) until it leads him down to that pounding pulse that he can lick and suck at. When he plants his teeth there, Tony hisses, hips thrusting up reflexively to drive his hard cock into the hot cradle of Peter’s hips.

“God, I’ve wanted this forever,” Peter says, scraping his teeth against the warm skin of Tony’s neck. “How am I supposed to stop, Mr. Stark? I—I don’t think I can.”

“Peter—one of us has to—has to—fuck, your mouth—!”

“If one of us has to fuck my mouth, I hope it’s you—”

“Christ, don’t say shit like that,” Tony gasps. “Who knew you had such a filthy fucking mouth.”

“Wait until you see what my filthy mouth can do,” Peter says, desperate fingers tugging down the collar of Tony’s t-shirt to suck a bruise onto his collarbone, and it makes the man’s hips stutter beneath him. Peter finally pulls away (this has been far more than one kiss, but he doesn’t think Tony minds much anymore) and stares at Tony’s face. His eyes are closed, lashes long and dark where they brush his cheeks. He has the loveliest mouth, full and expressive and a little swollen from the way Peter nipped at his lips.

Their mouths are drawn back together, two magnets always seeking each other out. This kiss is better, a little more experienced. It’s give and take, both of them swaying into each other like sails caught in the breeze, the lap of warm tongues like waves against a ship’s hull, their ever present arousal being driven higher and higher. Peter reaches down to slip one hand beneath Tony’s jean-clad ass and pull the man up, harder, the friction on their cocks so painfully good that he can’t help but whine in the back of his throat.

“I can’t believe a tiny thing like you is so fucking strong,” Tony says through his teeth, slipping both his hands down into the back pockets of Peter’s jeans. When he squeezes Peter’s ass, he can’t help but jump, cock spitting precum in his boxers.

“Does—does it turn you on?” Peter asks, already suspecting the answer, the dark flash of Tony’s eyes when Peter popped the bottle cap with his bare hand replaying in his mind. “Knowing how much stronger than you I am? If I, If I wanted to, I could snap you in half just like you said to Steve. But I’d never do that. Maybe I’d just hold you down so that I could climb on top of you and ride your cock just the way I wanted to—”

“Fuck—kid, you keep talking like that and I’m going to blow in my pants.”

Peter’s breath catches. He slows his frantic grinding, turning them into long, deep strokes. “That’s what I want,” he whispers. “I want to see you cum, please, Mr. Stark? You make it sound like this might be my only chance. That would be a crime though, because there’s so much I want to do to you, suck your ridiculous brain out through your cock and swallow your cum and rim you and pin you flat to whatever surface we’re closest to—whatever works—and ride your cock, or, or give you mine—”

Tony’s back arches, cutting off a strangled shout. He stays that way, head back, eyes squeezed shut, mouth open in ecstasy for an endless moment, and then his hips drop back down to the couch as he groans, burying his face in Peter’s neck, content to let Peter hump him through his orgasm until he is shaking, oversensitive, heart pounding far too fast for a man of his age and cardiac history. It’s all the most sexual, incredible experience of Peter’s short life, and he knows that it’s not the end. It can’t be.

Even though his cock aches, balls protesting the lack of orgasm, Peter gently shifts himself off the man’s lap, wiping the dark hair from Tony’s forehead, slick with just the beginning of sweat. He places a last tender kiss on the man’s cheek, just above his trimmed facial hair.

“I’ll get my bag,” Peter whispers. “Just give me five minutes.”

Then he stands and disappears into his room, leaving behind the billionaire.

-

Peter stands in what was once Vision’s room feeling bereft. Apparently the man(? cyborg? Peter isn’t sure of what to call him) didn’t care much for decoration, because the room looks as the room upstairs did with all the impersonal warmth of a fancy hotel room. The bed is large and comfortable, sheets clean. The bathroom is black marble, shining and sleek. He should be comfortable here. There’s nothing very different—

—except for the company.

Steve Rogers knocks and then looms in the doorway, leaning against the frame. His face is pleasant enough, a little pitying maybe, but Peter is willing to admit that his own feelings on the man might be clouding his perception. “Hey, Peter. I wanted to see how you were settling in.”

“Oh, hi, Captain,” Peter says. It’s easy to slip on a naïve persona, all guileless wide eyes and timid cracking voice. He just plays up all the characteristics he naturally has, though they all seem to melt away when this man is near. “Would you—would you come in, actually? I have some questions.”

“Sure—”

And when the door closes behind him, Peter is there, a hand flat against it so that try as he might, Steve can’t open it. Any pleasantry saps itself from both of their faces until they regard each other with trepidation (from Steve) and undisguised dislike (from Peter).

“I heard everything you said upstairs when you were talking to Tony,” Peter says through his teeth. He barely recognizes his voice, the darkness in it, the disgust. It feels like possession, like his own anger is a demon inhabiting his body and he’s just along for the ride, staring through the holes of his eyes like they are far away windows. “Do not ever, ever mistake me for prey. I might be in the web along with the flies, but that’s because I am the spider. Tell me: what do you know about spiders?”

“Not much,” Steve admits. He doesn’t look scared, though the tense stance says more than his expressionless face; maybe he isn’t afraid, but he isn’t underestimating Peter either and that’s good. Peter can appreciate that.

“I read all the books in the New York City Public Library about them during the summer I turned fifteen. Did you know that jumping spiders can jump almost 40 times their own length? They can hold up to 150 times their own body weight, too. For their size, they are one of the strongest, fastest animals in the world. Maybe those statistics don’t carry over to me; maybe the mass makes things different, maybe since I don’t have an exoskeleton, maybe since I only have four legs and not eight—but maybe they do reflect my abilities. And maybe I am that strong. And I don’t want you to forget it.”

“Are you threatening me Peter?” Steve asks solemnly.

“No,” Peter says. “I’m defending myself, and I’m defending Tony. Remember that.”

Steve looks at him, serious. “I will. Is that all, kid?”

If he thought that he’d find any satisfaction in threatening Steve Rogers, he was wrong. All he feels after the door closes is empty, angry, a pot with the lid on tight even though the pressure builds and builds, desperate to boil over. There’s no relief to be found; his fury is so impotent. Nothing he can do would change Tony’s mind (and he doesn’t want to change Tony’s mind, he wants Tony’s mind to change on its own).

For the first time, he feels scared of himself.

But all he can do is persist, exist, like a weed coming up through the crack of the Avengers’ concrete.

Peter undresses and lays in the comfortable bed, staring up at the darkness of the ceiling. For a while he tosses and turns (can a bed be too comfortable? Too soft and yielding to his every curve? Talk about first-world problems), but then he sits up in the dark.

On the floor above him, Mr. Stark has started playing music. Loud. Loud enough for Peter to hear.

He takes one of the fluffy pillows and tucks it between his arms where (ideally) another body would rest. Closing his eyes, he falls asleep to the sounds of Led Zeppelin’s greatest hits. He dreams of rain on the windows.

[heauxplesslydevoted]

As The Dust Settles (Chapter 1)

Pairing: Thomas Mendez x MC (Marissa Day)

Summary: Settling into their first year of marriage, Thomas and Marissa are prepared for everything life throws their way...or so they think.

Tags: @princess-geek @chetachisblog @dorishi-desu@hatescapsicum@annekebbphotography @drakewalkerfantasy@seriouslyices @zambazeus @loilko @blackcoffee85@randomchoicesblog @fortunatelywaywardsandwich@canknot@lapisreviewsstuff @akacalliope @senseofduties@badchoicesposts @ao719

As always, enjoy! And let me know if you want to be tagged/untagged.

~~

Six months into this married life, and Thomas and Marissa still find it to be extremely blissful. After swearing off of love after the death of his first wife, falling for Marissa Day was a complete surprise, but it’s something that Thomas is grateful for every single day. She’s a breath of fresh air in their stuffy little town, his solace, his source of comfort. And Marissa feels the same way about him. Thomas is the complete opposite of her ex in every way and sometimes, she wants to punch herself just to make sure she’s not dreaming and she didn’t conjure him up in her imagination.

They settled into an easy routine after getting married, thankfully able to avoid the growing pains of blending a family together. It helped that Luz and Ivy were best friends and now being sisters was the best thing on earth to them. Their mornings were filled with bustling energy, everyone getting ready to start the day, their nights ended with everyone gathering together around the dinner table, sharing stories about their day.

It’s a quiet Monday morning in the Day-Mendez household. The sun is just starting to rise, birds are quietly chirping, and everything is peaceful.

Until Thomas is woken up by a horrible wrenching sound. His eyes snap open and he turns to see his wife isn’t in bed next to him. “Riss? Is that you?”

There’s no response, so Thomas pulls back the thick comforter and sleepily crawls out of bed. He walks to the connect en-suite and finds it empty. 

Following the sound of the commotion, Thomas heads out of the master bedroom and walks down the hallway. The light is on in one of the bathrooms.

He finds Luz hunched over the toilet, throwing up while Marissa rubs soothing circles on her back.

Panic settles in his blood as he sees his baby crouched down on the floor, sick. “Lulu baby, what’s wrong?”

“Don’t...feel good,” Luz replies slowly.

“I heard her in here throwing up,” Marissa says. “And she has a fever.”

Thomas sweeps Luz’s hair away from her face and touches her forehead. She’s burning up. “Oh no. You think it could be a stomach virus?”

“I think so.” Marissa grabs a towel from the counter and runs it under some cool water. She places it firmly onto Luz’s head. “She can’t go to school like this, she’ll be miserable.”

“You’re right. I can stay home with her.”

“You have a huge case to prepare for,” Marissa says. “I can stay with her.”

“Are you sure? You’re still pretty new at work, I don’t want you to get into trouble.”

While Thomas and Marissa were engaged, she was able to complete her schooling and get her degree in social work. Right after they got married, she got a job working with the county, as an advocate for people leaving abusive relationships and connecting them to different available resources.

After her tumultuous relationship with Guy, she felt like it would be a good way to give back and help other people. She’s been there for 5 months now, and she loves every minute of it.

“I’ll be fine. I can take a sick day.”

“Okay.”

“I can handle it in here, you just go wake up Ivy and start getting ready,” Marissa softly orders. Thomas walks out of the bathroom, after giving Luz a soft kiss on the head. Once he’s gone, Marissa turns on the shower. “Why don’t you take a shower and change into some cooler pajamas. And once you’re done, I’ll get you some ginger ale.”

“And crackers too,” Luz adds.

“Of course. Ginger ale and crackers coming right up.”

Marissa leaves Luz alone in the bathroom to freshen up, softly closing the door behind her and she pads back to her bedroom. Thomas steps out of their walk-in closet once he hears her return. 

“Hopefully I won’t be in the office too late tonight,” he says, watching his wife plop dramatically onto the bed. “I’m handling a pretty ridiculous civil case right now.”

“Anything interesting?”

“Two greedy sisters fighting over their late father’s assets. They’re so ridiculous, it’s actually amusing.”

“Why can’t they just split everything down the middle?”

“Because that makes too much sense,” Thomas jokes. Marissa’s phone beeps and she blindly reaches the bed until it hits her fingers. “Who’s calling at 6:30?”

“No call, it’s an email,” Marissa answers. She scrolls through the message and chuckles humorlessly. “It’s the school. They wanted to inform us that there is a stomach bug going around and we should be cautious.”

Thomas snorts. “Well, they’re a day late and a dollar short.”

“Got that right.”

“”You think you and Luz will be good for the day?”

“Of course. We’re going to lay in bed, watching soap operas and daytime talk shows.”

“Sounds like you’re getting a vacation day.”

“Please, I wish.”

Thomas walks back over to their bed and braces his arms on either side of Marissa’s head so he’s hovering over her. He leans down and gives her a short kiss. “I don’t think I said good morning to you.”

“You didn’t, but it’s okay, we were pretty distracted.”

“Well, good morning beautiful.”

“Morning.”

He nuzzles his face into the crook of her neck, inhaling softly. She always smells good, like vanilla. “You know, all four of us could take a sick day. You and I can stay curled up in bed.”

“Are you trying to get out of work?” Marissa teases.

“Just thinking of how nice it would be to spend the day with my girls, and no crazy clients.”

Marissa rolls out from under Thomas and tugs his hand. “You’ve got a job to do, Mister Hot-Shot Attorney. Go to work.”

“Fine,” Thomas relents a pout. Marissa rolls her eyes and gives him another kiss, but before she can pull away, Thomas wraps an arm around her waist. “Give me one more.”

“You’re so demanding sometimes. I like it,” Marissa murmurs against his mouth. She leans into him, kissing him with much more fervor this time around, a hand reaching up to tug his hair.

Thomas grabs hold of her waist, pulling his wife even closer to him. He feels her shiver as he kisses up her jaw. “Don’t start what you can’t finish, Missus Mendez.”

“Can you guys stop eating each other’s faces for five seconds?” Luz asks, causing the adults to spring apart like two teenagers.

“Luz!” Thomas’s cheeks turn bright red. “Honey, we did not see you come in.”

“Come on, I need to get my ginger ale and crackers and I can’t reach the top shelf in the pantry.”

“Sorry sweetheart. I’ll be down there in one minute,” Marissa promises. Luz rolls her eyes, mumbling under her breath and walks away.

“We have to get a lock on that door,” Thomas says with a groan. “I’m tired of getting interrupted.”

“And the kids will still find a way to get in,” Marissa jokes. “Come on, go finished getting dressed. I’ll put on a pot of coffee for you.”

“You’re the best.”

“I know. It’s why you married me.”

~~V~~

Later that afternoon, Marissa and Luz head down to the grocery store. With Luz having an upset stomach, Marissa decided that it would be the perfect opportunity to make her famous chicken noodle soup.

She scans her list as they walk idly down the aisle. “Okay Luz, do we have our chicken?”

“Check.”

“Onion?”

“Check.”

“Celery, carrots and garlic?”

“Check, check, and check!” Luz exclaims.

“Perfect. Now time for my special ingredient. It is absolutely imperative that you keep it a secret.”

“What does imperative mean?” Luz asks.

“Super, super important. Do you think you can keep a secret?”

“I am the best secret keeper.”

“Good.” Marissa scans the produce section until her eyes land on what’s she’s looking for. Running over, she plucks a few ingredients and drops them into a tiny plastic bag.

“The secret is jalapeños?”

Marissa nods. “Yup. That’s why my chicken soup is better than everyone else’s. It adds a little bit of umph.”

“Awesome. I love spicy food.”

“Me too. That’s why you and I go together like peanut butter and jelly.”

“And Oreos and milk.”

“Perfect comparison, kiddo.”

They continue their stroll down the aisles, picking up different food items, happily chatting along the way.

So caught up with their conversation, their shopping cart accidentally bumps into someone else’s. “Oops, I’m sorry–” The apology doesn’t on her tongue once she realizes it was just Vanessa. “Oh. Hello, Vanessa.”

“Marissa, hi.” Vanessa plasters on a fake smile. “You weren’t at the PTA meeting this afternoon.”

“Sorry I wasn’t able to make it. Luz got sick, I’m sure you received the email about the stomach bug going around, right?”

“Yes.” Vanessa’s eyes flicker over to Luz for a brief moment. “Hello, little one.”

“Hi,” Luz mutters, never meeting Vanessa’s gaze. She didn’t like the older woman and made no attempt to hide her disdain. Marissa envied that about her, her lack of poker face. 

Instead of looking at Vanessa, Luz spots a small kiosk on the other side of the aisle. There’s an older lady passing out samples. “Ooh, Marissa, can I try a sample?”

“Are you sure it won’t upset your stomach?”

“It won’t, I swear.”

“Just one,” Marissa insists. Luz happily skips off, Marissa keeping an eye on her until she makes it over to the kiosk. When she turns around, she notices that Vanessa is still standing there, staring at her. “Did you need something?”

“Since I’m here, I might as well give you a synopsis of the meeting. We’re holding a fundraiser the school’s art department later this month. And since you were so...good with the last one, I figured you should run this one as well.”

Marissa barely had time to pull off the last bake sale. But with how busy things get at work, she definitely can’t commit to planning another bake sale. “I can’t. Work has me pretty swamped right now.”

“Surely your night shifts at that dingy little bar don’t keep you that occupied.”

Marissa’s eyes narrow at the dig. Vanessa knows perfectly well that she doesn’t work at the bar anymore. “I haven’t worked at Drafthorse since I graduated last year. You know that.”

Vanessa feigns ignorance. “Silly me, I must’ve forgotten.”

“You’re too young to be losing your memory, V. You might want to get that checked out.”

“Funny.”

“I can’t plan the bake sale, but you can put me down for rugelach again. And I can give a donation from the Mendez household.”

“Oh how nice, Thomas lets you use bank account.”

It’s no secret that the members of the PTA resent Marissa, for a multitude of reasons. But her marrying Thomas was icing on the cake. Not only did she snag one of Goldcliffe’s most eligible bachelors, he was rich to boot. And while Marissa isn’t one to flaunt her husband’s wealth, she’ll absolutely rub it in Vanessa’s face.

She just smiles politely. “My name’s on the account. What’s his is mine. That’s how this marriage thing works, not that you’d know.”

Vanessa’s eye twitches at the insult, but she recovers quickly, her icy facade slipping back into place.

Before she can respond, Luz rushes back over, a tiny cup in her hand. “Marissa, I got you a sample! It’s ravioli and it’s really good.”

Luz shoves the cup in Marissa’s face and the smell invades her senses. She recoils instantly and her stomach churns uncomfortably. She covers her mouth takes a step back. “Luz, get that away from me please.”

“What’s wrong?”

“That smell is–”

She can’t even finish the rest of her sentence before she turns her head and empties the contents of her stomach...right onto Vanessa’s shoes.

“My Louboutins!” Vanessa shrieks. “You’re going to pay for my these, you cow!”

Marissa groans and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, barely registering what Vanessa is going on about. She turns and glares at Luz, who’s staring back sheepishly.

“I think I got you sick.”

“Yeah, I think so too.”

~~V~~

It’s a few days later, and thankfully Luz recovers from her stomach bug and is able to return to school. Marissa is not so lucky, the virus taking her down swiftly and without mercy.

Her third day off from work, and Alma is over, keeping her company as Thomas is at work and the girls are at school. They’re sitting in the living room, curled up on the couch, watching trashy court tv. 

“Wait, wait, tell me the story again,” Alma says in between laughs. “You threw up on her shoes?”

“All over them.”

Alma’s laugh only grows louder. “Man, do you know how much money I would’ve paid to see that happen? Top dollar, Marissa. Top. Dollar.”

“Well, I have to buy her $800 shoes now, so I hope you enjoy the story,” Marissa grumbles.

Alma wipes a stray tear from her eye, a side effect of laughing too hard. “Trust me, the laughter and complete joy this story has given me is priceless. Easily worth the pair of Loubs. You are my queen for doing that do her.”

“It was a complete accident, Alma.”

“Sure it was. You don’t have to lie to me, Riss.”

“I swear, I didn’t do it on purpose. I got so sick all of a sudden and I couldn’t move fast enough.”

“What the hell type of superbug do you have?”

“Who knows. Elementary schools are a breeding ground for germs.”

“Maybe I should go home,” Alma suggests. “I do not want to get sick.”

“No! I will go crazy in this house all by myself.”

“Fine, I’ll stay. But only because you’re my best friend and I love you.”

“Thank you. You have carte blanche to the television and the fridge.”

“You really know the way to my heart. I’m going to get a snack.” Alma slides off of the couch and into her seat. “Do you want anything?”

“Saltines, please. And a cup of ice.”

“Coming right up.”

A few minutes later, Alma heads back to the living room, a bowl of popcorn, a pack of crackers, and a large cup of ice. 

Marissa sits up and eagerly rips open the pack. She stuffs a few into her mouth and she instantly regrets it. Jumping up from the couch, she runs to the downstairs bathroom and thankfully makes it to the toilet before she throws up on the floor. Her throat burns and her stomach clenches tightly from the exertion.

It feels like forever before she’s finally done vomiting–she’s sure it’s just bile at this point considering her stomach is empty–and it takes all of her remaining energy to wipe her mouth clean.

She knows there’s no way she can walk back to the living room, so Marissa curls into a ball on the bathroom floor. The room is spinning, her entire body is trembling, and she’s pretty sure she’ll have to spend the rest of her life on the floor because getting up is not an option.

“Are you alive?”

Marissa instantly recognizes it as Alma’s voice. “Barely.”

“Do you think you should go to the hospital? Because no offense, you look horrible.”

“No, no. I’ll be fine eventually. I just need to lay on this cold floor for a few more minutes and collect my bearings.”

“Are stomach bugs usually this horrible? Should you be throwing up this much?”

“I don’t know.”

“What if you’re pregnant?” Alma muses.

Marissa scoffs at the suggestion. “Alma, don’t be ridiculous. I’m not pregnant.”

“What, are you celibate?”

“I’m a newlywed, of course not.”

“Then it’s a possibility.”

“I can’t be pregnant because I just got my…” Marissa’s words falter. Holy shit. When was the last time she got her period? Wasn’t it supposed to be this week? Or was it last week?

“Oh my god.”

[nachtgraves]

Fic: Lotta’s Boys

Started this when episode 3 or 4 came out and got my shit together to finally finish it. It is... much longer than I thought it would be.... woops.

Read on AO3

Pairing: Jean Otus/Nino Word Count: 8.500 Warnings/Tags: G. Post-canon, sick fic, lotta’s pov, fluff, obvious and oblivious boys. Summary: Lotta loves her brother and his best friend, she just wishes they weren't so oblivious.

Lotta loves Jean, she really does. He’s a good brother, and a hard worker even if he complains about how his transfers never go through. He always brings back presents from the other districts, delicious treats to make up for the time he’s away.

She also loves Nino. He indulges her in exploring bakeries and restaurants and he gave her candy when they first met. He watches out for Jean when Lotta manages to ask him for a favor first.

She loves them both, dearly. If only they weren’t so stupidly oblivious.

Lotta’s making breakfast when Jean stumbles out of his room and into a chair at the kitchen table. Eggs and sausages sizzle in the pan and the toaster is set to go off in another minute.

“Morning,” she calls to him. “Did you sleep well?”

Jean nods but he looks exhausted. He’s been away again for work, ACCA in a bit of a mess after Furawau’s secession, and only returned late last night. At least he has the day off, and even if he didn’t, one call to Owl would make sure he did.

“What do you want to drink?” Lotta asks, moving easily between the stove, toaster, and fridge. She has a system and when the toaster goes off, she is ready with a knife slathered with butter, jam standing by on the side. “I can start a pot of coffee, or we still have some of the tea you got from your last trip.”

“Coffee,” Jean mumbles. He rubs his face and stands up, bracing himself on the kitchen table. “I’ll make it, you want some?”

“Sure, thank you!”

Before long, breakfast is ready and plated. Lotta sips at her coffee and watches Jean eat as he skims the paper. His posture is lax and his eyes are glossy and droopier than usual and she wasn’t blind to the way he stumbled around the kitchen nor deaf to his attempts at covert sniffling.

“Jean, how long have you been sick?” Lotta questions. She sees the moment Jean tries to deny the accusation, but he’s learned in the past few years and only sighs.

“Not long. I think it’s just exhaustion and I should be fine after some rest,” he concedes. “I’ll be good to go back to work tomorrow.”

Lotta isn’t having it. “Well that’s tomorrow. Today, and right after you finish eating, you’re going right back to bed.”

Jean smiles and shakes his head in amusement. “Yes, ma’am.”

He doesn’t manage to finish his plate, barely able to do more than nibble on the toast and sip at his coffee. The eggs and sausages are barely touched. Lotta ushers him back to bed when he can’t make himself eat much more.

“I’ll make some porridge and see if we have any cold meds.” She brushes his hair from his face and worries her bottom lip. “You’re a little warm.”

Taking her hand in his, Jean links their fingers. “I’ll be fine, Lotta. I just need rest. There’s no use in you worrying yourself sick.”

Lotta pouts but she sighs and agrees. “Let me know if you need anything. I’m going to find medicine and make that porridge.”

Or so was the plan, but Lotta discovers that they’re out of any sort of cold medication. Lotta could pop out to grab what she needs but she doesn’t want to leave Jean home alone. He doesn’t fall sick often, but when he does, he falls hard.

“Ah, what to do…”

Her thoughts and contemplation are interrupted, however, by the buzz of a phone, her phone, sitting on the kitchen counter. She picks it up and sees that Nino’s sent her a bunch of photos. They’re all of a cat with gold fur. It’s asleep in the first picture but Nino must have woken it up since he catches the moment it blinks open blue eyes and yawns. Then it looks bored and unimpressed, but in the next picture something out of frame catches its attention. Its head is tilted and its tail is up and looks loose, not tight and puffed out in fear. Its blue eyes are wide and it stands facing Nino head on. In the next photo it’s munching on a small piece of bread, eyes shut in pleasure and Nino’s fingers rubbing its tiny head.

If Jean were a cat is the only accompanying text. It makes Lotta laugh because it’s far too accurate, and then she realizes her current dilemma is easily solved, and she can move on the solution to another one as well.

She calls Nino and he picks up almost immediately.

“Nino! Are you free right now? I need a favor.”

The doorbell rings and Lotta makes sure the chicken and ginger porridge won’t burn while she gets the door. Nino has perfect timing.

“Nino, you’re a lifesaver!” Lotta grins up at the photographer.

“Hi, I got some other things as well,” he says, holding up bags from the pharmacy. “Some energy drinks, pudding, jello. And some fever patches, because you know he runs high whenever he’s sick. They’re also good for headaches. And…what? Why are you looking at me like that.”

Lotta shakes her head, “Nothing! Nothing. You’re a really good friend, Nino.”

“Ah, thank you?” he replies.

“Thank you,” Lotta says. “Oh! Almost forgot about the porridge. I’ll take these, could you go check on Jean for me?” She doesn’t wait for a reply, taking the bags out of Nino’s hand and hurrying back to the kitchen. She quickly checks the porridge before putting away Nino’s shopping, noting he got all of Jean’s favorites, smiling when she hears Nino knock gently on Jean’s door and low murmurs follow.

Lotta’s just finished putting everything away and stirring the porridge when Nino comes out of Jean’s room. “Smells good.”

“I made extra if you want to eat with Jean,” Lotta says. She dips a spoon into the porridge and tastes it before frowning and adding a bit more salt. “It’ll be done in another five minutes. How’s he doing?”

“He’s definitely got a fever and needs a box or two of tissues within reach. If he tries to get out of bed, I’d suggest tying him down, duct taping if you don’t have any rope. There’s not a chance he’s going to be well enough to work tomorrow.”

“I know. The only person Jean is fooling is himself. I was going to call Owl later.”

“Good thinking,” Nino laughs. “You and Owl are the only people he’ll listen to.”

“He listens to you,” Lotta says casually, keeping her smile down when Nino scratches his cheek and looks away.

Nino clears his throat. “That’s debatable. You’re his beloved sister, Owl is like his second father, even if he doesn’t realize it yet.”

“And you are one of the closest people in his life,” Lotta says. “And if you say anything less, you don’t get any porridge. Speaking of, get me two bowls. Oh, and there should be a tray in that cupboard over there.”

Nino does as bid and Lotta ladles porridge into the bowls while Nino fills up a glass of water and grabs the medicine he bought. Lotta puts everything on the tray and hands it off to Nino. “I already ate and have a couple things to do. Take this in and keep Jean company? There’s nothing worse than being sick and having to eat alone.” For good measure, she looks up at Nino with with a slight pouty frown.

Nino takes the tray from her. “As you wish, your highness.”

Lotta lightly smacks Nino’s arm. “Hush. Go feed your prince.” When Nino’s cheeks pink, Lotta has to turn her back on him in a pretense of being busy cleaning up to not give anything away.

She hears him walk away and the low murmurs pick up as he elbows Jean’s door open to walk inside. Lotta can’t help herself, far too curious and very invested. She sneaks over to the door and peeks through the crack. Nino’s got his back to her, bent over Jean’s nightstand to set the tray down. Lotta catches him smack Jean’s hands away with a spoon.

“Food first. And then you get two pills.”

“I’m not hungry,” Jean sulks, and if he’s being so openly pouty he’s definitely running a fever. “I want drugs.”

Nino laughs and Lotta presses her hand to her mouth to keep herself from being noticed. Jean’s turned towards Nino, all of his attention on the blue haired man.

“Just have a few bites. For Lotta, at least.” Nino puts one of the bowls in Jean’s hands and settles on the edge of the bed with the other bowl. “You’re not getting any drugs until at least a quarter of that is in your stomach.”

Jean huffs but he spoons a bite. “Don’t you have work today?”

“Being my own boss means I can take the day off whenever I want,” Nino replies. “Lotta called me and I know how you always overdo it when you’re sick. Lotta will guilt you into resting, but I have no qualms about manhandling you into bed.”

Jean’s flush becomes more pronounced and Lotta sees the moment Nino’s words registered to his own ears. His ears go pink and he freezes, back ramrod straight and tense. Even Lotta feels her cheeks grow warm at the easily misunderstood declaration.

“To force you to rest,” Nino hurriedly tacks on, clearing his throat. “You’ve got at least another day or two of bed rest with the state you’re in.” He swallows down a few bites of porridge while Jean just stirs his. “Your confinement will only be longer if you don’t eat something, Jean. No food, no drugs.”

Jean rolls his eyes. “I forgot how mean you are when I’m sick. Aren’t you supposed to be nicer?”

Lotta wishes she could see Nino’s face when he says, “What? Want me to feed you or something?”

Jean’s however, she sees clearly. Even his fever can’t explain how red he gets in the face, up to his ears, and his jaw drops, eyes wide. But he picks up his jaw by shoving porridge into his mouth and chewing, choking out a, “No.”

Lotta has to back away from the door so her barely restrained laughter doesn’t out her eavesdropping.

Lotta’s trying to work on an assignment for one of her classes on the couch when Nino comes out of Jean’s room.

“Nino!” She hops up, maybe a bit too eagerly. She looks for any sign of, she doesn’t even know what. Just a sign of something. She almost wishes she had continued to eavesdrop at the door.

“Lotta,” Nino returns, brows furrowing in wary confusion.

It’s incredibly hard to control her expression. She nods towards Jean’s bedroom, trying to change the subject. “Did he eat all the porridge?”

Nino gives her a suspicious look but doesn’t press. “Yeah. Once he started, he managed to get it all down. I gave him the pills and he was asleep by the time I finished stacking the bowls. ”

At the mention of bowls, Lotta goes to reach for them. “I can take those.”

Nino lifts the tray out of her reach and walks on to the kitchen. “It’s fine, I got it. What were you working on?”

“Readings for one of my classes.” Though she had kept looking up at Jean’s door and didn’t get much done. She follows Nino to the sink and despite his insistence grabs a bowl he finishes washing and dries it before putting it away.

“You have class tomorrow?”

“Yeah. My first class is at 11 and I’m usually gone through lunch until just before Jean gets home from work. I’ll just make something easy for Jean to grab and eat while I’m gone.”

Nino lingers with the spoons under the faucet. “I can come over again, if you want,” he offers. “I can cook and keep an eye on him, make sure he eats and doesn’t try and go to work while you focus on school.”

“But you’ve got work, don’t you?”

“I have two memory cards of photos to go through and then editing,” Nino says, dryly. “And you guys have a better coffee machine than I do.”

Lotta laughs. “If you don’t mind, that’d be great, Nino.” She wraps her arms around his waist, pressing her cheek against his chest as she squeezes him tight. “Thank you. I don’t know what Jean I would do without you.”

Nino hugs her back and ruffles her hair. “Don’t know what I’d do without you two, either.”

The next morning, after showering and getting dressed, Lotta checks in on Jean. She finds him out of bed going through his closet. Over his arm is a familiar black and red jacket. He’s reaching for one of his ties when Lotta clears her throat. He freezes and turns to meet her frown.

“I was going to shower?” he says and sniffles.

Lotta stares him down with her hands fisted at her hips until he sheepishly moves away from the ties and puts his jacket back on its hanger.

“I’ll call in sick,” Jean concedes. “But I’m still taking a shower.”

“Nino said he’ll be by in an hour,” she says, satisfied. “Do you want to eat in bed or in the kitchen?”

“Kitchen,” Jean answers. “Am I allowed coffee?”

“If you’re good,” Lotta teases and leaves to start a pot.

When Jean comes out of the shower, he’s dressed in lounge pants and an old shirt that swallows his frame. Lotta rewards him with a steaming mug of coffee and a bowl of oatmeal with chopped strawberries and blueberries. His appetite’s improved and he even asks for some toast and jam as Lotta makes some for herself.

“You know, I don’t need a babysitter,” Jean says once Lotta’s settled at the table, spreading jam on her toast.

“Maybe,” Lotta replies. “But it’s nice to have someone take care of you when you’re not feeling well.”

Jean smiles into his coffee. “Yeah. Nino’s been taking care of us for a long time now.”

“Mhmm.” Lotta peeks up at her brother. “When I was a kid, I thought I wanted to marry him.”

Jean startles, so surprised he starts coughing, and Lotta’s glad she waited until he had swallowed his coffee before throwing that at him. Even though it might be a bit of a test, it was true. She’d thought herself in love with her brother’s best friend who charmed her with candy when they first met and helped them through the loss of their parents while dealing with the loss of his own father. And even knowing the truth of how Nino came into their lives, Lotta is grateful for Nino’s presence. He might have been assigned to watch over them, but it was easy to see that his feelings went far beyond an assignment.

Lotta hands Jean a glass of water and Jean takes a few steady swallows and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. He clears his throat. “And, uh, do you still?”

“Oh no.” Lotta is quick to shake her head, laughing. “Not at all. I quickly realized I don’t love him like that. I love him like I love you.” She pauses, looks down, and adds casually, “But I do wonder who Nino would ever get married to. I’ve never even seen him in a relationship before.”

With perfect timing, the doorbell rings. Lotta all but bounces to the door to let Nino in and Jean mull over her words.

Nino’s running a hand through his hair, almost as if he were fixing it, when Lotta swings the door open. In place of his usual camera bag is a laptop bag slung over his shoulder, and he’s got a plastic bag from a nearby convenience store in hand.

“Morning. Jean ate all the jello yesterday so I bought a few more,” he says. “They had a different flavor I thought he might like.”

Lotta just beams at him. “I’m sure he will. He’s in the kitchen finishing up breakfast. There’s extra oatmeal and fruit if you’re hungry.”

“I already ate, but thanks,” Nino says, toeing off his shoes before following Lotta to the kitchen to where Jean waves as Nino approaches.

“Morning.” Nino reaches over and puts the back of his hand against Jean’s forehead. Jean closes his eyes and sighs at the touch. “Your hand’s cold.”

“That’s because you’re burning up. Finish this and back into bed,” Nino tuts.

“Yes, sir,” Jean mocks, but he doesn’t move away from Nino’s hand and Nino lets his hand continue to rest against Jean’s skin.

Lotta hurries to put her back to the two so they don’t see her pleased grin.

When Lotta has to go, Jean’s convinced Nino to let him huddle on the couch with some jello instead of in his bed and Nino’s on the floor in front of him, laptop on the coffee table and the TV turned on to a baking show, the volume low.

She comes back several hours later to playful arguing in the kitchen. Jean’s wrapped up in a blanket at the kitchen table and Nino’s at the stove with his sleeves rolled up, heating up leftovers from their lunch. She’s just in time to be the tie-breaker on the matter of which bakery had the better tomato bread.

Neither boy is even close to being right and when Lotta provides the correct answer, they move to argue but pause, thinking, before admitting that she may be right.

“Of course I am,” she says, before coming around to kiss Jean’s cheek and see what Nino’s cooked because it smells delicious. They eat together, the boys filling Lotta in on what they did and Lotta talking about her classes. There’s laughter and smiles around the table and Nino and Jean keep looking to each other when they think no one else is watching.

Jean seems to be doing better the next day, but he’s still running a fever and overfilling wastebaskets with snot-filled tissues. Lotta’s only class is in the evening but she says she has a group project meeting during the day and Nino offers to come by again. She feels a little bad about lying but it’s for a good cause and is only validated when the doorbell rings and Jean insists on getting the door.

Lotta tiptoes after him and watches on as Nino’s expression softens as he greets Jean and Jean sways into Nino’s touch when Nino checks his temperature with his hand like the day prior. Nino’s face turns pink at Jean’s sigh, his smile soft and affectionate. “You seem better than yesterday.”

“Lotta won’t let me go to work though.”

Nino chuckles and brushes Jean’s hair back. His hand lingers before he takes it back and stuffs it into his pocket. “I said better, not fully recovered. Going to let me in?”

Lotta hurries away to not get caught and greets Nino when he’s passing the living room where she’s finishing up packing her bag for the day.

“What’re you two going to be up to today?” she asks.

“Finish a show we started yesterday?” Jean suggests, looking to Nino who makes no objections. “Will you be home for dinner?”

“I might be a little late, but yes,” Lotta answers. “But you don’t have to wait up for me if you get hungry.”

“I can cook something again. Save some for you when you get home so you don’t have to either,” Nino offers.

Lotta beams. “That would be great, if you don’t mind. We owe you, really.”

Nino shakes his head. “It’s nothing. Now you better get going or you’ll be late.”

Lotta pushes down the touch of guilt that spikes up. She’s just going to be going to a cafe near her school that she’s been wanting to try out with a few friends. But it’s for a good cause. “I’ll see you both tonight, then. Listen to Nino, Jean!”

She closes the door on Nino’s laughter and Jean’s mock-indignant shout that turns into hacking coughs and Nino’s worried alarm.

When Lotta gets home, she walks in on Nino coming out of the kitchen, which isn’t unusual but for the fact that he’s carrying Jean, one arm under Jean’s knees and the other supporting his back. Jean’s asleep, head pillowed against Nino’s chest.

“He fell asleep at the kitchen table,” Nino says quietly. “Just taking him to bed.”

And that’s all fair and innocent. It’s not the first time Lotta’s seen Nino carry Jean, especially after their nights out drinking since Jean’s never been able to hold his liquor well. But Nino’s ears are red and he isn’t meeting Lotta’s gaze, and he’s never carried Jean like this before.

“I’ll get the door,” is all Lotta says and she leads the way to Jean’s room, holding the door as Nino maneuvers through it sideways so Jean’s legs don’t hit the door frame.

Lotta hurries after to pull back Jean’s sheets and Nino gently lays Jean down. They both freeze when Jean grumbles, rolls onto his side facing Nino and grabbing onto Nino’s arm. Nino almost falls on Jean but catches himself against the headboard, braced over Jean who shifts around, ends up hugging Nino’s arm to his chest before he’s finally content and relaxes.

Lotta bites her lip to keep from giggling. Nino looks like he can’t pick between being panicked and thoroughly endeared.

Nino waits a beat before he slowly wiggles his arm free. Jean frowns, whines in the back of his throat but Nino frees himself and Jean doesn’t wake up. Only grumbles before turning over onto his other side and nuzzling into his pillow. He looks upset for a moment before his face smooths out in sleep.

Lotta and Nino quickly and quietly leave Jean to it, Lotta closing the door behind them with a quiet click.

“I’ve never seen him do that,” Lotta says innocently, glancing up at Nino.

Nino scratches the back of his head, his cheeks dusted light pink. “He’s just sick.” He sounds like he’s trying to convince himself of the matter. Lotta doesn’t do anything to help.

Day three of Jean’s cold he’s doing a lot better. His coughs aren’t as harsh and his sneezing and sniffling has reduced considerably. He’s still feverish and tired though but will probably be well enough to return to work by tomorrow. Lotta’s somewhat impressed he didn’t fight so much to go to work earlier but she has a feeling she knows the cause.

Nino comes over again in the afternoon with a bag of the best tomato bread in Badon and a sheepish smile. Lotta had only had a morning class and Jean had still been asleep when she got home. There weren’t any plans for Nino to come over and help again, but like with Jean, she isn’t all that surprised.

“How’s Jean?” he asks, following Lotta to the kitchen so she can cut the bread and make some tea to go with it.

“Much better,” she replies. “Oh can you get me a plate? And a small bowl? But yes, his fever’s almost completely gone.”

Nino grabs a large plate and Lotta arranges the sliced bread on it. She goes into the fridge and grabs what she needs to make a quick salsa to go with the bread. Nino helps, getting olive oil and salt and helping her chop the vegetables. They work together and Nino asks about her class that morning and Lotta asks after his work and any upcoming assignments for the newspaper he’s freelancing for.

He’s talking about a work trip he’s going on next month to Dowa and then Suitsu, in the middle of promising to bring back regional specialties, when Jean stumbles into the kitchen. “Lotta, have you seen my—Oh, Nino?”

“Hey, J—!” Nino cuts himself off with a bitten back curse. Metal clatters and alarm blooms on Jean’s face.

Alarmed, Lotta turns to check on Nino and the first thing she sees is blood. It’s all over Nino’s fingers, the cutting board, and the cilantro he’d been chopping. She quickly ushers him to the sink and tells Jean to go and get their first aid kit. Luckily, the blood had made the cut look worse than it actually was and doesn’t look like a trip to the emergency room.

“Hold this to the cut,” Lotta says, handing Nino a paper towel. She has him sit at the kitchen table just as Jean returns with the first aid kit.

“Here.” Jean sets the kit on the table and opens it up. He takes out the packet of antiseptic wipes and a box of waterproof bandages, pulling out a strip and removing the wrapping.

“You’re sick, why are you running around with wet hair and no shirt?” Nino doesn’t look at Jean.

“I was looking for the flannel shirt you got me a few birthdays ago.”

Lotta knows exactly which shirt Jean’s talking about. It’s the softest thing he owns because of how often he wears it. It’s about two and a half sizes too big and always sliding off one of his shoulders. Nino’d offered to exchange it for a size that fits but Jean said he was happy with it as is. And he has been. He’ll always wear it when he’s not feeling well or wants to have a comfy, lazy day. Lotta’s also noticed he tends to pull it out when Nino’s away for work and they don’t see him for a while. She’s not sure Jean’s aware of that particular habit.

“It’s in the dryer, I haven’t had a chance to fold up the laundry yet. Take care of Nino, I’ll go find it.”

Jean’s in the middle of saying no but Lotta’s already up and heading to their laundry closet, leaving Nino with Jean. She finds the shirt quickly, shaking out the wrinkles, before returning to the kitchen. She hides for a moment at the corner before revealing herself.

Jean’s taken her seat and is in the middle of applying a bandage to Nino’s finger. Nino’s looking everywhere but at Jean, or at least trying to. His flushed face is angled to the side but his eyes keep drifting back to Jean bent over carefully applying the bandage.

“There.” Jean sits up and Nino takes his hand back.

“It’s really not a big deal, I could have taken care of it myself,” Nino says. “Seriously, where’s your towel, you need to dry your hair. And put on a shirt.” There’s a hidden please, tense, just shy of desperate.

Lotta makes her appearance then, brandishing Jean’s shirt. “Found it. Here. And Nino’s right, you should to dry your hair. It’s still dripping, Jean.”

“Okay, okay.” Jean takes the shirt. “I left my towel in the bathroom.” He heads back to his room while tugging the shirt on.

Lotta and Nino share a fond, commiserating look at Jean’s behaviour. There’s no one else he’d behave spoiled and childish in front of, whether he was sick or not.

While Jean dressed and dried his hair, Lotta returns to the almost finished salsa. She cleans up the bloodied cilantro, staring Nino back into sitting when he tries to get up and help. They still have plenty of the herb left and Lotta quickly chops enough to finish up the salsa, adding a squeeze of lemon as a finishing touch.

Jean returns with his shirt buttoned up but the neckline hangs low on his sternum and the sleeves inch just past his fingertips. His towel is hanging around his shoulders and while his hair looks more ruffled than it had been, it’s still visibly damp.

“Oh come here,” Nino says. He pulls the towel from Jean’s shoulders and shepherds him to a chair, sitting him down and standing behind him. He drops the towel on Jean’s head and starts properly drying his hair.

“I’m sick, not a child,” Jean grumbles, but he laughs and he tilts his head to make it easier for Nino and Nino’s got a smile of his own. Lotta finishes the salsa and heats slices of the tomato bread for a few seconds on the stove, just to lightly toast them before setting them on a large plate around the bowl of salsa.

Nino’s done with Jean’s hair when she sets the snack on the table. “There we go. Oh, what do you boys want to drink?”

“Sit down, Lotta,” Nino says. “I can make a pot of tea for all of us.” Lotta goes to argue, but Nino folds Jean’s towel over the back of Jean’s chair and rounds the table to gently guide Lotta into a chair, his hands on her shoulders. “I cut my finger, barely. Just, relax.” He goes to fill up the kettle and pull out three mismatched mugs, Lotta’s favorite, Jean’s favorite, and the one the Otuses bought specifically for Nino. “How’s that project going?”

“Oh, uh, good.” The question catches her off-guard, takes her a moment to remember the little lie from earlier. She busies herself from the lie by helping herself to bread and salsa. “We’re pretty much done.”

Jean’s watching her from across the table, a brow slightly raised. “What’s it about again?”

“Just something for my poli-sci class.” Lotta takes a large bite of bread so she can’t talk anymore. Jean’s eyes narrow slightly and Lotta widens hers innocently.

When Nino joins them, tea brewed and made to each person’s liking, he looks between the two siblings. “Did I miss something?”

“Just the bread. Told you it’s the best tomato bread in the city,” Lotta chirps. She doesn’t respond to Jean’s suspicious look over his mug.

With the exception of a few sniffles and the odd cough, Jean makes a full recovery and is back to work by the end of the week. He could have used up another sick day and just gone back in on Monday, none of his coworkers or Owl would mind and in fact encourage it, but as much as Jean complains of his transfers never going through, he’s got his fair share of workaholic tendencies.

Lotta’s preparing dinner when Jean gets home.

“Hey! Wash up and help me with dinner. I’m making pasta.”

“Hey, yeah, give me a minute,” Jean replies. His gaze drifts around the apartment, looking for someone, and Lotta can tell it’s an unconscious action. She doesn’t say anything until Jean’s swapped his uniform for comfy pajamas and is by her side grilling chicken.

“Got used to having Nino around,” she says idly. “Reminded me of the past.” Even though she has ulterior motives, it’s an honest comment. Nino and Jean were attached at the hip when they were in high school and even through college despite their different departments. Granted, Nino had an agenda, but the relationship he forged with her and Jean and even their parents was authentic.

Jean laughs. “If Nino wasn’t over, I’d be at his.”

“And he always brought me treats or sent you back home with them.”

Jean hip checks her gently. “So easily bribed by baked goods and sweets.”

Lotta checks him back. “At least I get something in exchange. Nino just has to smile at you and you’ll do whatever he says.”

It may have been too direct, but Jean flusters and nearly flings a piece of chicken breast into the wall. He composes himself, or at least tries to. “That’s—he’s my best friend.”

Lotta could continue to press, but fast-tracking a decade of mutual pining and obliviousness is a delicate matter and she can’t push too much too quickly. “We should do something to thank him, though, for helping out this past week.”

“You know Nino’ll brush any thanks off.”

“Yes, but we could treat him to dinner or something. It’s been a while since we all went out for a nice meal anyway.”

She can tell Jean’s considering it, more than considering it. His hesitation is from trying not to seem too eager, but his unconscious smile and excited energy betray him.

“True.” His lips purse in thought before he seems to recall something. “He mentioned a hotpot place near the park he wants to try. Early dinner on Sunday?”

“We haven’t had hotpot in forever! I’ll invite him.”

“No!” Jean rushes. His ears warm as he collects himself, “I mean, I can tell him. I was the one he, and you, had to deal with. Let me handle everything.”

Lotta bites back her grin. “If you insist. Why don’t you call him now? I can finish up here.”

Jean hesitates for a moment but hands over the spatula and goes off to get his phone. Lotta lowers the heat to medium and keeps her ears open when Jean’s call connects. She stifles a laugh when Jean’s voice cracks at his first attempt at hello.

“No, I’m fine,” he says after a pause. Lotta can imagine him rolling his eyes by his tone. He clears his throat. “Actually, I was, uh, well, Lotta and I were wondering if you were free Sunday night, say six? It’s been a while since we went out to eat together and you said you wanted to try that hotpot place. Yes, I know. Doesn’t mean I can’t want to thank you anyway. Let me—us—treat you to dinner.”

It’s almost painful listening to Jean stumble and stutter and correct himself while doing something he’s obliviously done for years, but all Lotta wants is to hear Nino’s side of the conversation. She can imagine he’s doing no better than her brother.

“We’re treating you, Nino, whether you like it not.” After a pause, Jean’s voice softens. “Yeah, see you Sunday.”

Lotta and Jean walk up to the hotpot place to find Nino already there by the entrance. He’s in his usual turtleneck and jeans, but his combat boots have been swapped out for shiny leather loafers and he’s thrown on a fitted blazer. And he’s not alone. There are two girls giggling around him. Nino doesn’t seem as interested in whatever their conversation keeps glancing at his phone. Jean starts slowing down.

Lotta is not about to have silly misunderstandings detract or even slow down her progress with the two boys, especially when they’ve been doing so well. Jumping up and waving, she calls out, “Nino!” and hurries over. Nino’s face lightens in a sincere smile and he excuses himself from the girls.

Lotta runs into Nino with a full bodied hug, wrapping her arms around Nino’s waist. She peeks around him to the girls who are looking on in disappointment and barely holds back from sticking her tongue out at them as they turn around and walk away. She looks back up at Nino. “Did you wait long?” They aren’t late, but they’re not early like they usually plan to be. Jean had a crisis over what shirt to wear, though he won’t admit it. But the shirt Lotta helped him pick brings out his eyes and accentuate his waist and Nino’s eyes are fixed on him.

“Just got here myself,” Nino says almost absently. Lotta pulls out of the hug and waits for Jean to catch up to them. When he does, the two just stare at each other after saying quiet ‘hi’s like they’re high schoolers on their first date. Lotta considers pretending to have an emergency and have to leave the two alone for dinner. But they’ll have plenty of time for dates without a little sister third-wheeling in the future. Besides, she read the reviews for the restaurant and had been looking forward to trying several dishes all weekend.

“I’m starving,” she chirps, jarring the two out of their little world. “Let’s go in? I looked them up and they have rolled ice cream.”

The two laugh at that, Nino ruffling Lotta’s hair. “That’s how I heard about this place. A client recommended the matcha.”

“Let’s have dinner before we start thinking about dessert,” Jean says. He leads the way into the restaurant while Lotta shares a knowing look with Nino. They never leave without ordering dessert, even if they have to take it home for later.

They get a booth against the wall, glossy black with cushioned benches. Nino takes a seat on one side, Jean slides into the other, and Lotta beside Jean. Nino tries to keep his orders simple and towards the cheaper end but Jean orders all of Nino’s favorites for him, Nino glaring from across the table and Lotta laughing at their antics. They end up with a spread that’s more than enough for three, maybe even four. Nino takes charge of cooking until both Lotta and Jean bat his chopsticks away and Jean threatens to confiscate Lotta’s to preside as designated hotpot cook.

At first, there’s visible awkwardness between Nino and Jean, the two taking turns at being flustered and sneaking glances when the other isn’t looking. It’s adorable if ridiculous. But eventually, conversation flows smoothly as they argue over when a vegetable or meat is done and Jean forgetting to give himself food once it’s ready. Jean gripes about trips, talks fondly about the new addition to his team even though the new kid makes Jean feel like he’s a hundred years old.

“Imagine that,” Nino says with wry grin.

Jean kicks him gently under the table. “You could pass for being younger than me.”

Nino laughs like it’s a joke, but Jean’s right. Ever since he revealed the truth, he’s stopped hiding the signs of his age but Lotta still thinks he looks of an age with Jean, and not nearly a decade older. He’d looked closer in age to Lotta when he spiked his hair and hid the creases around his eyes. Even the bits of silver coming into his hair didn’t age him much. Jean’s grays were just better hidden in his blond hair.

They steadily eat and soon there’s nothing but the broth left. Nino finishes his glass of water and wipes his mouth with his napkin. “That was great. Thank you both.”

“This was our thank you,” Jean says, “So no thank yous from you tonight.”

Nino rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling wide enough his crows feet he’d worn glasses to hide make an appearance.

Lotta leans back and sighs happily. “I’m so full. One of you will have to carry me home.”

“Too full for dessert?” Jean teases. But when he flags down their waiter to ask for their bill, he asks for three orders of their rolled ice cream to-go.

When they step outside, Nino walks with them to the curb to flag down a cab. They catch one fairly quickly, it was still early enough in the night on a Sunday, and Jean slides in first, Lotta right behind him.

“What’re you doing, get in,” Lotta says when Nino bends into the open door and tries to say goodnight. She lightly shakes their bag of take out. “We’ve got ice cream to eat.”

Nino seems to hesitate but he looks past Lotta’s shoulder and his mouth quirks into a reluctant smile before he gets in and closes the door behind him. Lotta looks up and catches Jean’s expression in the rear view mirror, a pleased little grin, as he tells the driver their address.

When they get home, they make their way to the living room to enjoy their dessert. Lotta hands out the three plastic boxes—strawberry for Jean, chocolate for Nino, and matcha for herself—and the packed plastic spoons and get settled along the couch. Lotta takes the corner and grabs the TV remote. She puts on an episode from a food documentary series she’s been watching after Jean and Nino say they’re fine with anything and gets comfortable.

The three watch the episode, which takes place in Rokkusu, and eat their dessert in a comfortable, cozy silence with occasional commentary on something the show covers. Nino recognizes an area in one of the b-roll footage from a freelance job a while ago and Jean asks someone to remind him to check out one of the places the show mentions the next time he’s in the state for work.

They lose track of time, or at least Jean and Nino do, ending up more invested in the series than Lotta, her scheming aside. Ice cream long finished, empty containers left to be dealt with later on the coffee table, the two had sunk into the couch, and, as time went on, seemed to drift towards one another. Nino’s arm is stretched along the back of the couch, a hair’s breath from Jean’s neck and Jean’s drawn his legs up, knees directing his body towards the photographer. Neither seem to notice the way the space between them has been gradually diminishing. Lotta almost doesn’t want to disrupt the moment, but it is a Sunday night. Besides, there’ll be more nights.

About a quarter of the way through a third episode, Lotta yawns and stretches, and makes startled noise when she makes a point to check the clock on the wall. “I didn’t realize it had gotten so late.”

Nino looks up. “Oh wow. You’re right. I should get going.” He sits up and pulls away from Jean, starting to clean up.

But Jean stops him, reaching out and catching Nino’s arm. “It’ll be even later by the time you get back to your place,” he says. “Stay the night.”

Nino starts to shake his head. His eyes flash down to Jean’s hand curled around his bicep and he wavers.

Lotta goes for the second of weakness. “You’d have to wait for a cab and everything. Here. I’ll take care of that. Jean, get the blankets and prepare the couch and find something for Nino to sleep in.”

Before either can say another word, Lotta sweeps up the take-out containers to dispose of them in the kitchen. When she walks by the living room on her way to her room, Jean’s got an armful of blankets and Nino’s arranging pillows and cushions. She hides around the corner, just to observe.

Jean drops the collection of blankets on the coffee table, says, “I can sort this. Grab something of mine and take my bed tonight.”

“I’m perfectly fine with the couch.”

“It’s not good for your back,” Jean counters.

“Couch isn’t any good for your back either.”

“But you’re much older than me, remember,” Jean teases. Nino throws the pillow he’s holding at Jean, who catches it just before it hits him in the face. He’s grinning as he lowers it and hugs it to his chest. “But really. We dragged you out and brought you here.”

Nino walks over and reaches for the pillow. “I didn’t do anything I didn’t want to,” he says softly, Lotta almost can’t make out the words. Louder, her says, “Now give me that. One night on the couch won’t kill me. Besides, your couch is comfortable.”

Feeling guilty, like she’s intruding (she’s aware she’s being nosy and spying already) Lotta quietly makes her way to her room to get ready for bed.

An hour or so before her alarm is set to go off, Lotta wakes up, thirsty. She considers just going back to sleep but gets up and shuffles out of her room to go grab a glass of water from the kitchen. All the lights are off, only the faint glow of the sun rising bleeding through the drawn curtains lighting the apartment. She gets her water and makes to head back to her room to read for a bit before getting ready for the day, makes a slight detour to check in on whoever ended up taking the couch for the night.

She’s careful to tiptoe as she nears the living room but notices a distinct lack of blankets and middle-aged man on the couch. The bathroom door is cracked open, lights off, unoccupied. Frowning, she detours to the front door but all shoes are accounted for, Nino’s loafers lined up neatly next to Jean’s.

Confused, she walks back to her room. The boys will turn up for breakfast. As she passes by Jean’s door, it quietly swings open and Jean comes out, already dressed for work, coat folded over his arm. His eyes widen at seeing Lotta and he closes the door quietly behind him. “Morning,” he whispers. “You’re up early.”

Lotta shakes her glass of water, matches his quiet tone. “Thirsty.” She doesn’t point out that he’s up and dressed earlier than usual as well. “Where’s Nino?”

To Lotta’s surprise, Jean’s ears turn bright red and he glances off to the side. “He’s, uh. We argued about who would take the couch last night. Comprised and shared my bed.” He adds, almost a little defensively, “It’s big enough. He’s using my bathroom.”

Lotta does her absolute best not to betray her thoughts on her face. Jean’s bed is big enough for two, but only just. Especially when the two people are men over 180cm. “I was thinking pancakes for breakfast? We have chocolate chips, I think. I just need to wash up.”

Jean seems relieved that Lotta doesn’t comment on what he’d revealed. “ I got it, you go get ready for the day.”

“Okay, thanks. Start some coffee too, please?”

Jean nods with a smile and ruffles her hair before heading off to make breakfast for everyone. When Lotta’s done getting ready, she comes back into the kitchen to Jean pouring pancake batter into a pan and Nino nursing a mug of coffee at Jean’s side, looking down at her brother with the softest, fondest expression as Jean talks too quietly for Lotta to make out the words.

She quietly tiptoes back to her room. She can take a little longer to get ready.

The next week or so go by with nothing too unusual. Jean ends up appointed to staff a recruitment table at a local high schools’ career fairs for the next week or so with the new kid and ends up coming home earlier than usual. Nino’s out of town for a job and swinging by Jumoku to get some photos of a local festival that will coincide with his travels. And Lotta prepares for her upcoming exams. She spends more time at school or the library, her food science class has a standing study group session twice a week before the final, coming home late enough that Jean’s taken charge of meals so Lotta can focus on school.

After the last study session that had ended up running later than usual since they all decided to treat themselves to dessert crepes as a reward for all their studying, Lotta cheerfully makes her way home. She can’t wait to tell Jean about the food truck, knowing he’d love the strawberry cream with lemon drizzle option and Nino the double chocolate brownie.

“I’m home!” Lotta calls out, closing the door. She toes off her shoes and puts them away, noticing a familiar pair of boots. “Nino, I didn’t know you—!”

Clapping both her hands to her mouth, Lotta stares at the scene in the living room, lit by the soft golden late-afternoon sun, doing her best not to make any further noise.

Cuddled up together on the couch are Jean and Nino, fast asleep. Jean’s wrapped up in his favorite blanket and curled up against Nino, using Nino’s shoulder as a pillow. Nino’s got his arm around Jean, his cheek resting against Jean’s head, his breath gently fluttering Jean’s hair with each exhale. In the late afternoon glow, they look soft and peaceful and Lotta’s grateful she didn’t accidentally wake them up.

She means to quietly leave, go back out and kill some time at the bakery or a cafe. Let the two continue their nap, wake up without interruption, have some time to themselves. Knowing Jean, knowing the both of them, really, if Lotta were home, any further progress would be halted if not undone.

But the scene is too sweet to not capture for the future.

Doing her best to be as quiet as possible, Lotta digs out her phone from her bag, wincing at every little sound that seems to echo ten times louder than usually. She quickly pulls up her camera app and lines up the shot, zooming in to frame the two men perfectly. She takes the photo and freezes in horror when she realizes she forgot to make sure her phone was on silent as the shutter sounds.

For a long second, Lotta holds her breath. Jean’s forehead creases in a frown. His nose scrunches up. But he turns his head, snuggles further into Nino’s and his expression smooths as he lets out a light snore and his chest rises and falls in slow, even breaths. Lotta closes her eyes, breathes a sigh of relief.

When she opens them, she meets Nino’s gaze.

Lotta fumbles her phone but just manages to catch it and hug it to her chest. Nino’s lips quirk into a held back laugh. In his arms, Jean shifts and mutters a quiet groan. To Lotta astonishment, Nino murmurs to her brother, words too quiet for her to make out, and lifts the arm that’s around Jean’s shoulders to stroke Jean’s hair. Jean smiles, mumbles something back but it must get lost in Nino’s shirt. When he’s settled again, Lotta’s heart is full and she can’t help her smile even if she wanted to. Nino looks up at her and there’s a light flush on his cheeks. He brings his other hand up, holds his index finger to his mouth. Lotta returns the gesture, grinning wide, and tiptoes back to the door.

Lotta is all smiles when she goes to her favorite cafe. She just shakes her head, lips sealed, when asked if anything happened by the familiar cashier. She orders a slice of her favorite cake and drink and fights the urge to text her grandfather, Owl, and Maggie. She can’t wait for Jean to tell her. Wonders if Nino will tell him Lotta saw them.

Almost an hour later, she gets a text from Nino asking if she would be fine with curry for dinner. He was spending the night and wanted to cook for them.

Lotta is more than happy with curry, and tells him so. She also says she’ll bring dessert. When asking for her check she asks for a to-go order of one of their small chocolate cakes that’s easily shared between three people, though Nino could polish off more than half on his own if he let himself.

Looking forward to it. See you soon, he replies. He also asks if she can send him a copy of the picture she took.

Nope! she replies, without any explanations. She’s already decided to get the photo printed and framed as part of her engagement gift to them. Hopefully that doesn’t take another fifteen odd years.

[fanfics4all]

1950's Are Back

Request: Yes / No  Hi! Can I request a couple things for the prompts thing? If not, you can just choose from either one 🤷‍♀️ 10 with Reid from Criminal Minds Thank you 😁 ~ K-pop anon

Request are closed <3 Have a nice day/night

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader 

Word count: 3295

Warnings: It’s Criminal Minds, so murder, rape, ya know all that dark stuff. 

Y/N: Your Name 

Prompt: “Just hold on a little longer.”

PLEASE DO NOT STEAL MY WORK, I WORK HARD ON MY FICS AND IT’S NOT COOL TO STEAL SOMEONE ELSE’S WORK! 

If you want to be on the tag list for anything (My series fics, specific character fics, or just all of them) All you have to do is send me an ask and I will add you! 

Masterlist 

(Not my photo, credit to whoever made it!)

I had been with Spencer Reid for two years now. We had moved in together after the first year and I thought it would ease my worry about him leaving for work, but it didn’t. If anything it made me worry more. I missed him more when he wasn’t home, but I also was so incredibly happy when he did come home. Part of me wished he didn’t have such a dangerous job, but he was helping so many people and keeping those dangerous people off the streets. 

I woke up in the morning and turned to see Spencer sound asleep. I smiled and quietly got out of bed. I did my morning routine and then set to making breakfast. I made french toast, Spencer’s favorite. 

“What’s that amazing smell?” Spencer asked wrapping his arms around me and kissed my cheek. 

“Aww, I wanted to bring you breakfast in bed.” I said with a slight frown. 

“Sorry, I just couldn’t stay asleep with that amazing smell wafting into the room.” He said turning me around to face him. He had a huge smile on his face and I couldn’t help but return it. I wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled him down for a kiss. He pulled me closer and the kiss deepened slightly. I pulled back and turned back around. 

“I’m almost done, could you get the butter and syrup?” I asked and he nodded. I placed the finished french toast on the plates and turned off the stove. I bragged the plates and placed them down on the table we had near the window. Spencer came over and sat down with the butter and syrup. We each made our french toast the way we liked it and got to eating. 

“So, do you have a case today?” I asked and he nodded. 

“Yes, but it’s local, so I’ll be home when I can be. We could even grab lunch some days.” He said with a smile. 

“Local? I haven’t heard of anything.” I asked confused. He looked down at his plate, he didn’t like talking to me about his cases. It always made him feel better to talk about them, but he was always worried that I would be in danger like one of his cases. That’s always a big problem we had. I would bring up the fact that the rate of murders have decreased here over the past few years and he would bring out how the fact that I’m a woman means I’m more likely to be a victim of murder. He wasn’t wrong, but the chances of me being chosen are slim. 

“Spencer, please?” I asked gently grabbing his hand. 

“Four women have gone missing and found dead in the past two weeks.” He answered. 

“How long did the unsub keep them?” I asked. 

“Can we please not talk about this…” He asked and I sighed. 

“Why is this one bothering you more than usual?” I asked and he checked his watch. 

“I have to go. Thank you for breakfast.” He said getting up and kissed my lips. He walked to the door and started getting his stuff ready. 

“Spencer Reid! You answer my question right now!” I said getting up and following him. 

“I’ll talk to you later Y/N.” He said putting on his coat. 

“If you walk out that door without answering me, then you can sleep at the office tonight.” I said crossing my arms. I was honestly so sick of him tiptoeing around his cases. Of course I understood why he was so worried, but he acts like I wasn’t. I was just as worried about him as he was about me. He paused in the doorway and stood still. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” He said and then left. I stared at the open door for a minute with wide eyes and then sighed. I walked over and shut the door, locking it. I then went back to finish breakfast and clean up. I had off of work tonight and decided since I wasn’t going to be spending that time with my boyfriend I would go out. I walked over to one of the large bookshelves and picked out two books, spending the day at the park and reading sounds nice. I packed a few snacks and then left to the park. Maybe I’ll go to that cute little cafe for dinner. 

Spencer’s POV

I was late to work, not by much, but I was still late. I rushed into the bullpen and sat at my desk. I could feel people’s eyes on me, but I didn’t care. I just wanted to focus on the case. 

“Wow boy genius is late? What, did Y/N keep you busy too long?” Morgan asked with a wiggle of his brow. I ignored him and just kept looking through the case. 

“Don’t listen to him Spence.” JJ said and I just nodded. 

“I sense some tension. What’s wrong Reid?” Garcia asked. I looked up and saw them looking at me with concern. 

“Y/N didn’t break up with you did she?” JJ asked worried. 

“No.” I answered. 

“Oh thank God! I would like my ship to keep sailing!” Garcia said. 

“So what’s wrong?” Morgan asked. 

“We had a fight…” I answered looking back down. 

“About what?” JJ asked. 

“This case. She asked about it and I didn’t tell her anything but four women went missing and found dead within the past two weeks.” I said and they looked at me confused. 

“So?” Morgan asked. 

“She kept pushing! She said if I didn’t answer and left that I can sleep here.” I said and they looked at me shocked. 

“So she kicked you out? Damn…” Morgan said. 

“You can stay at my place, Will won’t mind.” JJ said and I gave her a smile. 

“Thanks, but I think I’ll just stay here and work.” I answered. 

“Guys, he’s got another one.” Hotch said walking out of his office. We all got up and went into the round table room. Emily and Rossi were already sitting in the room. We all sat down and Hotch looked at me sadly. 

“Unlike the other women, he took her in a public area. No one was able to describe the man that took him because he was wearing a mask, but they were able to describe the girl, some even took pictures.” He said and a picture popped up on the T.V. My heart dropped. 

“Is that..?” Emily asked.

“Y/N….” I said and felt tears well in my eyes. Everyone looked at me sadly. 

“We have to find her Hotch.” I said and he nodded. 

“Well if he keeps to his previous actions, he’ll keep her for four days.” He said and I nodded. My brain was firing off thoughts a mile a minute, but one thought was always there. I have to find her. This man was a monster. He rapped and tourchered these women for four days and then killed him, presumably because he was bored or they wouldn’t work with his fantasy. 

“She’s a smart girl Spence, she’ll do what she needs to do to survive.” Rossi said and I nodded. 

Y/N’s POV

I woke up with a massive headache. I don’t remember falling asleep, maybe I hit my head or something. I sat up and looked around. I definitely wasn’t home or the park… The room I was in was dark and there were very small windows at the top. I was in a basement. It was cold, but not unbearable. I looked down and I was in a dress and heels? I definitely didn’t put these on. I stood up and saw there was a full length mirror leaning against one of the walls. I walked over to it and looked at what I was now wearing. I looked like a 1950’s housewife. I was in a red polka-dot dress with white heels. My hair was tied up and my bangs were curled, there was a white bandanna tied around my head as well, and I had some black stud earrings in.

 I heard footsteps and then a flood of light came in. I looked at the stairs and saw a man, about 6’2, he wasn’t built but he was still visibly strong, he was white and had green eyes. He was wearing a suit and had a fake designer watch on his left wrist. He wanted to be seen as powerful, but probably didn’t have the job to match. 

“Honey, you’re awake.” He said with a smile. 

“You forgot to put your makeup on again? I told you I want you looking pretty for me.” He said. So he thinks I’m his wife, this must be the man that’s been taking women. If I play along I’ll have a higher chance of surviving and Spencer finding me. 

“I’m sorry dear. Should I go put some on now?” I asked walking over to him. 

“That would be a good idea, now wouldn’t it?” He asked pulling me closer to him. 

“Yes dear.” I said with a smile. He lead me upstairs and to the bathroom. I saw some old makeup on the counter and picked up the lipstick. I painted my lips with the bright red, then put on some eyeliner and blush.  I turned to look at the man and he smiled. 

“Now, it’s almost dinner time so you better get cooking.” He said and I smiled. 

“Of course dear. Is there anything you would like?” I asked and he smiled.

“I think you have time to make my favorite. Roasted chicken with carrots and mashed potatoes.” He said and I nodded. 

“Coming right up dear.” I said and then went to the kitchen. I passed the front door and noticed the amount of locks, there were four normal locks and also a padlock. 

“What are you waiting for?” He asked slightly annoyed. 

“Sorry dear, I have a bit of a headache. I’m not sure what happened.” I said turning to face him. 

“You fell in the basement. I was going to carry you up to our room, but I read somewhere you’re not supposed to move a knocked out person.” He answered. 

“Oh, well I’m sorry to trouble you like that dear.” I said and he smiled and walked over to me. 

“Don’t worry about it honey, you can make it up to me tonight.” He said and he had a dark glint in his eyes. 

“Well I better get working on dinner.” I said and he let me go. I walked into the kitchen and it looked like I walked right into a picture from the 1950’s. Just do as he says and you get through this. Spencer please hurry…

Spencer’s POV

It’s been two days. If he keeps with what he’s been doing she’ll be dead in two days… We haven’t really found anything more that would lead us to him. He hasn’t even sent me anything like he has with the other’s women’s boyfriends. I actually wish I got something, at least I’d know she was alive… 

“Here you go.” One of the interns said placing an envelope on my desk. I looked at it confused and flipped it to the front. My eyes widened, it was the same exact thing the others received. I opened it with shaky hands and in it were pictures of Y/N, but they were different to the ones the others got. She wasn’t beaten badly like the other women, and she wasn’t tied to a bed like the others had been. She also wasn’t in the same setting as the others, she was somewhere else. She was in a kitchen making dinner, dressed just like how the others had been, just a different color. She was in red, it was her favorite color, but I doubt he knew that. She looked happy, but I could see some fear in her eyes. She was scared, but she knew what to do. If she did as he wanted she was more likely to live to see another day. I went to the next picture and saw her serving dinner. Then the next which was her cleaning. The next was her sleeping with her make up messed up, I could see streaks of tear stains on her cheeks. He must have done something to her, but there weren’t any physical marks on her. I knew what that meant. He raped her. He raped my Y/N… I placed them all back in the folder and rushed to Garcia. 

“Garcia, I need you to look at these.” I said handing her the envelope. 

“Do I need to get my cute puppy and kitten photos ready?” She asked me before she took them out. 

“No.” I answered and she looked down at them. 

“Well this is a blast from the past.” She said looking through them. 

“Why doesn’t she look like the others did?” She asked. 

“Because she remembers what we taught her. Comply and survive.” I answered. 

“Smart girl.” She said and then started typing on her keyboard. 

“Go tell the others about these, I should be able to find something that could help us with these. With an old interior like this, it should be pretty easy to find what house this is.” She said and I nodded. I left to go inform everyone about the pictures and what Garcia was working on. Just keep it up Y/N, we’ll find you soon.

Y/N’s POV

I’m not sure how long it’s been because I don’t know how long I was knocked out for. I had learned that my capter’s name was James and he had called me Mary. He hadn’t been super violent to me yet, sure he’s smacked me a few times but nothing too serious. 

“Just keep playing this out and you’ll be okay.” I kept telling myself. Right now he wanted me to watch some T.V. with him. We were watching some old show that he really enjoyed. He had his arm around me while his other hand held a glass of whisky. 

“Isn’t this nice honey? I’m usually not home this long, but I took a couple of days off from the company since I wanted to spend more time with you.” He said and I smiled. 

“Yes dear. I do miss you all day while you’re at the office.” I said and he kissed the side of my head. Just then there was a knock at the door and he tensed up, but ignored it. The knocking happened again and he still ignored it. 

“Should I get that dear?” I asked and he smacked me in the face. 

“Don’t you dare!” He growled. He got up and walked to the kitchen. A second later he returned with a knife in his hand. 

“I think it’s time you learn a lesson, Mary.” He growled and grabbed me by the hair. 

“I’m sorry!” I screamed but he didn’t care. He dragged me off the couch and onto the floor. He got on top of me and pinned my arms down with one hand. He raised the knife and stabbed me in the stomach. I screamed so loud that I’m sure whoever was outside could hear me. He pulled it out and got close to my face with the knife touching my cheek. 

“Who’s in charge, Mary?” He asked. 

“You are James, I’m sorry!” I cried. 

“You’re never going to forget it.” He said and sat back up and stabbed me again. I heard the door crash down and he looked up, whoever it was he wasn’t happy about it. He pulled the knife out quickly and pulled me up to stand in front of him. 

“Get out of my house!” He shouted and I looked up to see the team standing there. 

“James Miller, put the knife down and let her go.” Morgan said. 

“You have no right to be in my house and tell me to let go of my wife!” He shouted back. 

“Mary, tell them that you’re fine and to leave.” He told me. 

“That isn’t Mary, James.” Hotch said. I looked at Spencer and tears fell from my eyes. I missed him so much and all I wanted to do was run to him and tell him I’m sorry for pushing so hard. 

“Mary died last year. She died in a car crash because you made her drive a car from 1950 and he wasn’t safe.” Hotch continued. 

“No… No! She’s right here! Tell them Mary!” He shouted holding the knife closer to my neck.

“That’s not her. Her name is Y/N and she’s my girlfriend.” Spencer said. 

“You’re cheating on me, Mary? With him!?” He growled. 

“If you’re not mine and mine alone, then no one can have you.” He said and raised the knife. Before he could plunge it into my chest a loud bang went off and he let go of me. I stepped away, but I was losing too much blood that I couldn’t keep standing. I felt myself fall, but didn’t hit the ground. I looked up and saw Spencer. 

“We need the paramedics!” He shouted and started putting pressure on the stab wounds. 

“Just hold on a little longer.” He said and I cupped his cheek. 

“I’m sorry Spence, I’ll never push about your cases again. You’ll tell me when you’re ready…” I said and my eyes felt heavy. They fluttered shut and the last thing I heard was Spencer begging me to keep my eyes open. 

I woke up to bright lights and immediately shut my eyes again. I heard voices around me, but they sounded muffled. I kept my eyes closed until they got clearer. 

“Y/N? Y/N, wake up, you’re safe now.” Spencer’s voice filled my ears and I opened my eyes to see him and the rest of the team around me. 

“Hey girly, glad to see you again.” Morgan said with his usual smile. 

“We should give them some privacy.” JJ said and everyone nodded. 

“Glad you’re okay kid.” Rossi said and then they all left the room, except for Spencer.

“I’m sorry.” We both said at the same time and I giggled. 

“You first.” I said and he took a deep breath.

“I’m sorry I let this happen to you…” He said and I looked at him confused. 

“Spence, you didn’t let this happen to me. I was in the wrong place at the wrong time.” I said grabbing his hand. 

“No, this guy was stalking you. That’s what he did with the other women and he did it to you too. That how he knew to send me the pictures he took of you.” He said and my eyes widened. 

“It’s still not your fault Spencer. The only person who’s at fault is the psycho that did this.” I said and he sighed. I lifted his head up to look at me and I smiled. 

“I’m here safe with you.” I said and pecked his lips. 

“You’re not safe with me. What if someone targets me and uses you to get to me?” He said and I shook my head. 

“I told you a million times that I want to be with you no matter what. Spencer I love you so much and I’m not going anywhere.” I said. 

“But-” 

“No buts Spencer! We’ve been over this before. If someone uses me to get to you then you’ll save me. Like you did today.” I said with a smile. He sighed but pulled me close to him. 

“I love you too, Y/N.” He said and kissed my head. 

“I’m right here Spence.” I said and held him tighter.

Tag list: @pettyjayy @les-bio-lie @tashy-bear @xrosesareredx @herokyolachan @ashwarren32 @hollie-blogs @schisbro87 @lover-of-books-and-teas @nerdygaloresposts @alex--awesome--22 @teenwolfbitches2 @genius2050 @drw0301bieber @pharaoh-of-time-and-space @marveloverdcsstuff @lady-of-lies @simonsbluee

[therainroguefanfiction]

🎃 Frightful October Act III, #8 ~ What I Want (Wonho / Hoseok Lee)

📑 Table of Contents

Genre: Crossover, AU, Angst, Fluff, Romance, Supernatural, Halloween, Autumn

Word Count: 2,327

Pairing: Reader x Hoseok

World: Monsta X feat. Supernatural

───── ⋆⋅🎃⋅⋆ ─────

Your eyes fluttered open and you took in your surroundings. It was dark, the only light coming from a small window near the tall ceiling. You could hear drops of water hitting the ground every few seconds and the smell of mold and dried up blood made your stomach turn. The room was large, the walls made of metal. It was empty, aside from a large piece of machinery behind you and chains hanging from the ceiling.

You struggled against the thick rope binding you to the metal chair, but all it did was constrict tighter around you. Where the hell were you? How in the world had this happened? You let your head fall back, closing your eyes.

TWO DAYS EARLIER

You worked as a waitress at the local diner in town. It wasn’t an ideal job, but your co-workers were friendly and the regular customers were kind. Though it frustrated you sometimes, most days you enjoyed the simplicity of it all. It was mundane, boring, but that’s how you liked it.

The bell on the door chimed and you looked up, greeting the two men that entered. “Welcome! Would you like a booth or a table?”

They answered simultaneously, but their answers were different. “Booth.” “Table.” They glared at each other, seeming to have a silent conversation.

“Um, would you like a minute to -”

The tall one rolled his eyes. “A booth, please.”

The shorter one smirked in triumph, sending you a wink. You chuckled, “Right this way! What can I get you to drink?”

“Water,” the tall one answered.

“Coke.”

“Coming right up!” You scurried back to the counter, grabbing their drinks before returning. “I’ll be back in a few minutes to see if you’re ready to order.” You went around the diner, checking on the customers, refilling drinks and cleaning up the empty tables.

The bell chimed again and you looked up with a smile which faltered only slightly. This one was a regular customer, one that visited every day. He was kind enough, very generous with his tips, but something about him unnerved you. Maybe it was how attractive he was, with his porcelain skin and slim but firm body. He wore all black, the clothes tight and hugging him in all the right places. His slicked-back hair was black at the roots, the length white while the tips were blue. Various piercings decorated his ears and his eyes were dark and mysterious, seeming to carry the knowledge of multiple lifetimes.

“You’re staring,” he chuckled, his voice flowing like silk past his plump lips.

You felt your face burn. “I’m really sorry! Would you like your usual seat?”

“No need to apologize,” he smiled. “The usual is fine.”

The counter allowed for several customers to sit there on stools, letting them watch the waitresses run back and forth while also getting an open view of the kitchen. His seat was near the end of the counter, towards the register.

You didn’t even have to ask him what he wanted. He had been coming to the diner for a year straight, never missing a day, and he ordered the exact same thing every time – chicken breast with white rice and a glass of ice water.

You set the glass down and made the mistake of looking into his eyes. They mesmerized you, making it hard to look away. He stirred the water with his straw, eyes never straying from yours. “How has your day been, Y/N?”

“It’s been good,” you cleared your throat, cursing him for having such an effect on you. “What about yours?”

“Better now that I’m talking to you.”

You tilted your head curiously. He seemed… tired. You chewed on your lip, wondering if you should pry.

“Order up!”

You offered him a smile before grabbing the plate and taking it to its owner. You returned to the two men from earlier. “Ready to order?” You noticed the change in their demeanor pretty quickly. They were far more tense than they had been previously, but what had triggered the change?

“I’ll have the house salad, dressing on the side.”

“The double cheeseburger.”

“Sure, it’ll be up soon,” you scribbled the orders down and headed for the counter, passing the paper on to the chef. You turned around, expecting Hoseok’s eyes to be on you like they were every day, but today was different. He was exchanging heated looks with the two men and it was obvious that there was some serious tension between them. Your brow furrowed in confusion. You had never seen the two men before and you were pretty sure they were from out of town, so how could they have beef with him?

Sensing your concern, Hoseok turned his gaze to you, eyes softening as he sent you a smile. “If you keep scrunching your face up like that, it’s going to freeze.”

You pouted at him, folding your arms. “That’s a myth and you know it.”

He raised a brow, looking shocked. “Is it, though?”

You were silent for a moment, wondering if you should ask him about the men. They were pretty well built, you noticed. Were they troublemakers?

A hand reached out, resting on your cheek which grew warm at the contact. His eyes roped you in, leaving you breathless. “Don’t worry, they won’t be a problem.”

“Who are they?”

He was silent for a moment, “Old acquaintances.”

“Oh…” you glanced at them, their hard stares now focused on you.

“I’m afraid I have to leave early,” he stood up, leaning over the counter towards you. “I promise, you will be safe.”

You wanted to question him, but he was already walking out the door. The two men followed moments later and you couldn’t help but feel worried.

5 HOURS EARLIER

You yawned as you pulled the diner door shut, locking it. The autumn air was cold, making you shiver when a breeze blew past you. It was ten-thirty and the streets were empty save for the homeless and those that had passed out from too much alcohol. Most of your nights were spent closing up and then walking home alone. It was something you did thousands of times before and you never once felt any danger, but that night was different. It felt eerie, like you had just stepped into the plot of a horror flick. 

You shivered thinking about Jason jumping out from the darkness or Freddy appearing to tell you that you were having a nightmare. It had been a long, stressful week and you convinced yourself that it was the cause of your current sense of doom. You would soon find out how wrong you were.

You caught movement from the corner of your eye and glanced up. A chevy impala was parked on the side of the road, the short man from earlier leaning against the passenger side door. You assumed he was waiting for his friend, so you didn’t spare him any mind, but when he saw you, he pushed away from the car and offered you a charming smile.

“Hey, finally off work?”

You stopped short, brow furrowed. “Um, yeah. Waiting for your friend?”

“I was waiting for you, actually.”

“What?”

“I’m not going to hurt you, I promise. We just need your help.”

“We?” You swallowed hard, stepping back. Something firm was behind you and you squeaked when the taller of the two put a rag over your mouth and nose. You fought as hard as you could but he was too strong and your world soon went black.

PRESENT TIME

You groaned, feeling annoyance rising within you as you thought back. You wiggled again, feeling the ropes rubbing your wrists raw, but you just wanted to be free of your bonds. Why was this even happening? You didn’t understand. He said he needed your help, but how was being tied to a chair in a metal room helping?

Your blood ran cold. ‘Am I… Am I bait??’

The large metal door flung open, making a loud screeching sound as it did so. A small bit of light entered through the door, the dull yellow of a nearby street light.

Hoseok rushed into the building, his dark eyes searching frantically. They landed on you and he made a relieved sound as he rushed over to you, his rough hands grasping your face as he searched for any wounds.

You noticed the various scratches on his skin and his lip was split, dried blood covering the wound.

When he was convinced that you were uninjured, he breathed out and rested his forehead against yours, eyes sliding closed. “You’re alright… You’re alright…”

“Alright?” You scowled at him, wiggling violently. “I was kidnapped and tied to a chair! What the hell is going on?”

“Calm down, darling,” he tried to calm you down but you refused to listen, still struggling against the bonds. “Y/N!” he raised his voice, your name coming out as a demand. The weight of his tone made your body instantly still, eyes widening. He smiled sadly, rubbing your cheek. “This is all my fault.”

“Look,” you took a deep breath to slow your racing heart. “Get me out of here and then we can talk.”

He nodded, standing up to go behind you. You were pretty sure he didn’t have a knife, but he was able to easily cut through the ropes like it was butter. His eyes told you not to question. You stood up, legs shaking from the long period of inactivity.

“I’ll carry you.”

“No, I’m fine,” you responded, holding up your hand to stop him. Stomping your feet a few times, you felt the familiar pickling as they started to wake up. Your nose scrunched in displeasure, making him chuckle. “This is hardly the time, Hoseok.”

He smiled softly, “Its your fault for being so cute.”

“Don’t believe anything he says!”

You quickly turned around, finding the short man standing in the doorway, green eyes narrowed at Hoseok.

“He’s lying to you, telling you what you want to hear.”

Hoseok scoffed, placing his body between you and the man. “That’s rich coming from you, Winchester. Are you not supposed to save people? Kidnapping an innocent person is hardly noble.”

“No one ever said we were noble. We do what we have to stop monsters like you.”

“Even at the expense of others,” he shook his head. “You truly are your father’s child. Determined to destroy everything non-human no matter who gets hurt in the process!”

“Non-human?” you muttered, furrowing your brow.

The man smirked at you. “He’s a demon.”

Your blood ran cold at the thought and you quickly removed your hand from Hoseok’s back, taking a step away. “Y-You’re crazy…”

“Maybe I am,” he shrugged. “Do you want to take that chance?”

“Darling,” Hoseok’s voice was strained as he tried to hold himself back. “I want you to run and not look back.”

“I -”

“Go!” He commanded, glaring at you over his shoulder.

With fear filling you, you quickly turned and ran in the opposite direction, bursting through a side door and into a narrow hallway. You could hear yelling behind you, the sound of metal and cries of pain. It made you run faster, heart pounding against your ribcage. You were terrified and confused, not knowing what to think or believe. You always knew Hoseok was sinful, but a demon? Did they even exist? 

The hallway was long and dark, and you ended up tripping more times than you wanted to admit, but you finally came to a set of double doors. You slammed your weight into them, nearly falling out into the night. The air was cold, the autumn air whipping around your body as you ran.

You don’t know how far you had run, but your legs were burning and it hurt to breathe. You entered a park, falling onto the bench. The cold metal seeped through your pants, making you shiver. The adrenaline was wearing off and you felt exhausted, wanting nothing more than to crawl into bed and pretend this was all just a nightmare.

You felt a body next to yours and you cried out on instinct, nearly falling off the bench. A strong arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you back onto the bench.

“It’s okay, darling,” Hoseok’s soft and comforting voice reached your ears. “You’re safe now.”

“Am I?” you breathed out, closing your eyes. “Are you really…?”

“A demon?” he sighed, releasing his grip on you. “Yes, I am.” Your body tensed and he frowned. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

“How can I trust you?” you tried to keep your voice strong, but even you could hear the fear lacing it.

“I’ve had plenty of chances to harm you,” he answered, his face blank as he met your gaze. “Not to mention I was nearly sent back to hell trying to rescue you.”

“Why… why did you do that?”

He chuckled, running his hand through his hair. “You really are oblivious, aren’t you?”

“Hey!”

“I want you,” his voice was different now, filled with warmth and love that you had never experienced before. His dark eyes were burning.

“Want me for what?”

“Oh my Lucifer,” Hoseok groaned in frustration before grabbing the back of your neck and slamming his lips against your own. You could feel the cut rubbing against your lip and you caught the metallic taste of blood on your tongue. A groan escaped your throat and he smirked, breaking the kiss. “I want you to be mine, Y/N.”

“Oh.”

“Is that really all you have to say?” he deadpanned.

“I’m sorry, it’s not every day a demon tells you that they want you,” you scowled, folding your arms over your chest and turning away from him. He chuckled, wrapping his arms around you and resting his chin on your shoulder.

His lips found the skin under your ear. “Don’t worry, darling, I don’t disappoint.”

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