#but this is an AU and honestly the romance between them falls flat without all their parallels

[harmonicaorange]

spoilers but that little hint of tolya and inej… i’m not mad about it

[golden-pickaxe]

Coffee (Part 5)

Fandom: Vikings

Paring: Ivar x Reader

Type: Modern AU, Office AU

Wordcount: 3619

Warnings: reader drinks wine casually

[Coffee - All Parts Here]

A/N: Here is part 5!

Tagged: @youbloodymadgenius​ @punkrocknpearls @mootiemoose​ @istorkyou @dini73​ @heavenly1927​ @hashimily​ @peakywitch​

Summary: You are a graduate student at the University of Oslo, and have applied for a job as a personal assistant at the Lothbrok Corporation, without really knowing much of the position advertised. When it turns out you are going to work for the (in)famous Ivar Lothbrok, your whole life is turned up-side-down.

With Ivar just wearing a t-shirt, instead of his usual well-cut suits, you could very clearly see the strong muscles in his arms, as you watched him pushing his wheelchair out of the pedestrian zone, towards the street. You had to swallow at the sight, hating yourself for the effect this man had on you.

 You walked along side him, finally realising what you had done. Just like a year ago, when the coin had dropped that you had really applied at the Lothbrok Corporation, it now dropped that you had just accepted his invitation to come to his home and let him cook for you. Him, one of the most influential businessmen of Norway. With his own fucking Wikipedia site.

Your heart was pounding rapidly in your chest at the thought, and you bit your lower lip, not quite knowing what this whole thing would mean now. And if it would change anything between you. You hoped not, but in the same way, you did hope.

 Getting your private life mixed up with your job probably was not a good idea. On the other hand, this whole situation kind of freaked you out, but in a good way. It was exciting.

 You and Ivar had reached the street, next to the national gallery, where a few minutes later the taxi arrived. Personally, you would never get a taxi in Oslo, as it was just insanely expensive, but with a lot of public transport, such as the tram you had taken to get here, not entirely being accessible to someone in a wheelchair, you could understand why Ivar had called it.

 Ivar maneuverered himself into one of the back seats, while the driver put his chair into the trunk of the car. You felt Ivar’s blue eyes watching you, as you rounded the vehicle to get into at the other side.

Even though he always successfully overplayed it, you saw that he was a bit self-conscious about his legs, often cursing them underneath his breath when they once again got into his way. He could move them a little bit, and also seemed to have some feeling in them, was even able to stand up for a few moments, if he could support himself with his arms. But in general, they did not really seem to be working.

In the office, Ivar hated to use his wheelchair, often just dragging himself from his desk to his sofa, his immense upper body strength enabling him to pull himself up with not much of an issue.

 Now, sitting next to you in the taxi on the way to his apartment, he readjusted his legs a bit with tight lips, appearing a bit nervous once more. You still could not quite wrap your head around what was happening right now, it all felt a bit like a dream to you. Just so, you managed to resist the urge to pinch yourself.

 Your boss, your grumpy boss, the infamous Ivar Lothbrok had just casually invited you to go out for coffee with him, had questioned you about almost every aspect of your life, paid for your drink, and now took you to his home to cook for you. It almost sounded like a very bad rom-com, like a romance story some bored, lonely woman would think up. Not that you expected it to end that way, of course. Even if you honestly wished it would.

 Until now, even if you sometimes chatted on business trips, your relationship had been purely professional, and you had only been over to his flat once, when you had brought him a set of suits to his home, when there had been issues with his dry cleaner. It had not really surprised you, finding out that he also lived in Majorstuen, actually not very far from you, although it had been a stress factor for you. Of course, he did not live in one of the old buildings, like you did, with paper thin walls, no elevator and wonky doors, no. He lived on the top floor of one of those new, fancy apartment buildings, costing a few ten-million krona, overlooking Frognerparken.

 When you had brought the suits up to his apartment, you had also met a famous Norwegian actor in the lift, so it was clear what kind of people occupied the other flats of the building. You had never been inside his home, had only delivered his suits to his door, but even the entrance and the lift had been very fancy and expensive looking. Admittedly, you had taken a stupid selfie in the mirror of the lift and posted it to Instagram.

 As Aker Brygge was, as stated, not far from Majorstuen, the drive was quite short, and the few minutes of silence were only broken by far too relaxing music coming out of the car radio. The taxi stopped in front of the apartment building Ivar lived in, and he paid the driver, while you got out, retrieving Ivar’s wheelchair from the trunk. You set it up and positioned it next to the car, for him to climb into.

 Ivar clenched his jaw a bit, obviously annoyed at something, even though you were not quite sure what exactly it was that he was annoyed by now, only hoping that it was not you. Well, at least you would have not far home now.

Ivar climbed out of the car, moving himself over to sit in his chair, before unlocking the breaks and rolling towards the door of the building, while the taxi behind you departed.

 Just as you remembered, the entry hall of the apartment complex was very posh, and you were reminded that this was a completely different world from yours. A different world from your shitty apartment, where you could hear almost every conversation your neighbours were having, and where you had push your full body against the bathroom door to get it to close properly.

 Following Ivar to the lift, the two of you got in, and Ivar pressed the button of the top floor. As soon as the doors had closed, Ivar’s eyes were on you, mustering you intently. His gaze was a tad intimidating, you had to admit, once again looking like a predator looking at his prey. Still, you managed to look back with a smile.

 “Are there any things you don’t eat, before I work my magic?” he asked, a smirk on his handsome face. You had to laugh at his choice of words, but told him about any dietary restrictions or things you didn’t like, and Ivar nodded.

 “Alright. I think I know what to make, then.” He leaned back in his chair a bit, biting how lower lip, a move that made your knees feel very weak.

 “Thank you.” It came out of your mouth, earning a very surprised expression from Ivar.

 “What for?” he asked honestly a bit confused, tilting his head at you.

 “For the coffee. And for inviting me over, and for cooking.” You studied his face, hoping to find something there, something that would give up his intentions, something revealing why he was doing this. You just needed to know, needed to know if you could get your hopes up or not. Was this really just a social call because you had been working for him for a year now, or was it something else?

 “Thank me after you’ve tasted my glorious food! Then I will gladly accept your thanks.” Ivar winked, and the elevator doors opened. Ivar left the lift, pulling his keys out of his pocket as he stopped at his front door.

 His flat was the only flat up here, and you guessed it had to be gigantic, covering the whole top floor. You were sure, his flat probably also had a roof terrace.

 You had to admit, this was another thing you found kind of intimidating about this man. The sheer amount of wealth he had, the wealth his family had. While you lived in a flat share with an old kitchen and horrible, tiny bathroom, with just a wet room and not even a proper shower, he lived in this extremely modern, borderline futuristic building, overlooking Oslo.

 Ivar opened the door, and pushed himself into the flat, with you following close behind, walking past him before he closed the door again behind you.

 Obviously you had imagined this place to be huge and expensive, but what you were seeing in front of your eyes was just.. something else.

It was less of a normal flat, and more of a large loft, most of the rooms merged into one big space. There was, similar to his office, a gigantic glass front overlooking the famous park, and West Oslo. The sun was still in the sky, the sunset not being for another one and a half hours or so.

 In the centre of the room was a big, beautiful white sofa, the kind where one could just stretch out like a starfish and not fall down. In front of it was a coffee table made out of driftwood and glass, the dark wood in stark contrast with the sofa. On the right of it were large, metal, urban looking bookshelves, filled with many thick books, some leather bound and old looking, dividing the living area from the ‘bedroom’, and there were a few doors opposite of the windows, that seemed to lead into extra rooms, probably the bathroom and other rooms.

 Behind the bookshelf you could see a large bed at the wall, so large in fact that you were sure that it could comfortably fit three to four fully grown people. It was covered and surrounded in white and grey furs, sheep and reindeer as far as you could tell from the distance. Furs also covered parts of the marble floor of the flat.

 There were many more furs on and in front of the sofa, and in general it seemed that grey, white and black, together with different shades of brown were the only colours in the whole apartment, making it look very sophisticated.

 On the left-hand side was a giant, very modern kitchen, seemingly equipped with everything a cook could wish for, with a large kitchen isle and a big table in front of it, a rustic looking piece of furniture, made of wood and carved with beautiful knot patterns, probably hand made by a very skilled Scandinavian carpenter knowing a lot about medieval woodcarving.

 The kitchen itself, you noticed, was lower than what you were used to, and while it confused you for a moment, you quickly realised that it was built so that Ivar could easily reach everything from his wheelchair, without having to get any help.

 “Welcome to my humble home.” You heard Ivar’s voice behind you, pulling you out of your thoughts. You swallowed and turned to him, looking at him as he watched you with a knowing smile on his lips.

 You could not hold back a laugh.

“Humble?” you simply asked, slipping out of your shoes and walking further into the big room, looking around.

 The whole flat was modern and elegant, yet had such a rustic and clearly Scandinavian aesthetic, it was truly impressive. Whoever was the interior designer, was truly a genius, and showed an amazing appreciation for medieval Scandinavian design. Similar works you had only seen in the Folksmuseet in Bygdøy.

 The walls that were not made out of glass were covered in picture frames, displaying either old Viking artwork or photographs of Norway and Iceland, of runestones and old temples. Somehow, it fitted in perfectly with the rest of the decoration.

 There was a door in the glass front of the flat, leading out, just as you had assumed, onto a large roof top terrace, furnished with even more rustic, wooden, and probably handmade tables and chairs, and, as cliché as it sounded, a beautiful hot tub. It was built into a frame, reminding you of a Viking ship, with a set of carved stairs leading up to it, probably so that Ivar had an easier time to get in and out of it, without requiring any help.

 “Alright, I admit, not so humble.” Ivar chuckled. “It was a present from my father when I started to officially work in the company. He had his friend Floki and his wife Helga design and build this whole thing.”

 That made you turn around to him once more. You knew these names.

“The Floki and Helga?” you swallowed.

 Floki and Helga were very, very famous, highly awarded architects and designers, often hired to design important landmarks and museums. Houses planned by them costing up to a hundred million kronas. They were famous for being able to combine the traditional aesthetics of their ancestors with the modern designs of this century, creating masterpieces that were rewarded all over the world. Now, looking around Ivar’s loft once more, it seemed obvious that this was their handy work.

 “Yes, The Floki and Helga.” Ivar chuckled. “The two of them almost raised me when I was a kid. With my parents busy all the time and me being bound to.. this.” He gestured at is chair. “Floki made all the wooden furniture himself. I am very lucky.”

 “Indeed you are.” You shook your head, unable to believe what you had just heard.

 Obviously, he had been raised by the two of them. Obviously, they had made his home for him, being like family to him, and being friends of his father, the most powerful businessman in Norway, and probably even all of Europe.

By now, you wouldn’t even question, if Ivar casually told you that he was descended from Odin.

 Ivar just shrugged at your words, although the expression on his face was a mixture of amused and pride. He bent down to slip out of his shoes, before moving his wheelchair over to a spot next to the door, where another wheelchair was waiting for him, this one looking a bit different, similar to the ones used by disabled athletes. Easier to navigate and probably a bit more comfortable. Ivar heaved himself up from his chair, navigating himself into the other one, a sigh leaving his lips.

 “I don’t fancy the dirt from the streets in my home.” He explained at your confused face, before he pushed himself towards you.

Oh yes, that made sense. Just as both of you had taken off your shoes, it would only be logical for him to also ‘change wheels’.

 A faint smile was on his lips, as he looked up and into your face, his expression soft and open, something you were not quite used to from him. His body language was relaxed too, his arms simply resting in his lap, as his head was once again tilted slightly.

He was truly a beautiful man, you had to admit. It was difficult to ignore, and sometimes you caught yourself staring in meetings, hoping that no one had noticed how your eyes had been practically glued to your boss. Solveig had made fun of you even more, when you had told her about it.

 “I think I’m going to start to cook now, before we starve to death. So, sit down, get comfortable.” He winked at you, before moving his chair towards the kitchen, in the process letting the wheelchair roll a bit, while he pulled his long hair into a tight bun at the back of his head. “Or would you like to help?” he looked back at you with a raised eyebrow, looking at you from underneath his long eyelashes. You had to swallow.

 “Well, I am still your personal assistant. So, I will assist you.” You smiled, following him into the kitchen. You hoped that reminding yourself that you were still his employee would calm your nerves.

 “I had hoped you’d say that, dove.” There it was again, that nickname. Your nerves were certainly not calm now.

 Ivar started to pull out pans and a cutting board, gesturing at the fridge for you to take out certain ingredients and washing them in the sink.

 You were not entirely sure what he was going to make, but you were positively surprised that his fridge and his whole pantry was stocked very well. You had to admit, you had taken him for one of those bachelors who had never touched their kitchen in their lives, and with all the money they had always ate out.

 But, as Ivar casually explained while you were preparing food, he enjoyed cooking for himself, and did so almost every evening.

While you were washing some vegetables, and he was skilfully cutting up an onion, he casually told you about the cooking schools he had visited when he was younger, and about the occasional dinner parties he threw for his close friends and family, where he cooked up five course meals for them all by himself. He moved around his kitchen as if he knew every millimetre of it, knowing the layout like the back of his hand.

 You enjoyed this far too much. You rarely saw Ivar this casual, only on business trips when he was not in the mood to talk about work anymore. And though you did not like to admit it, you were keen to know more about his personal life, to know more about the man behind the name Lothbrok.

 It was nice to see him here, in his home. He seemed so at ease, so open, the usual anger and annoyance he often seemed to carry around with himself in day-to-day life completely absent in this moment. This was his space, where he did not have to worry, to think about what upset him.

 This flat truly seemed to be his place, and his place alone. His kingdom far from the influence of other people. Here he was himself, independent of everyone else, everything built in a way that he did not need help from other people.

 Whatever else would come of tonight, you were just happy that you could witness this. You would see Ivar differently now, you knew. And would probably fall even more for him.

 You noticed it getting a bit darker out, and a quick look at your phone told you that it was already half past nine PM. It had not seemed that long, getting to Ivar’s home and starting to cook, as you had not even finished the preparation for cooking yet, but frankly, you didn’t even mind. The setting sun tinted the whole apartment in a magical, golden light, making it look even more beautiful and magical. Ivar’s face turned away from his work for a moment, his blue eyes wandering over the horizon, where the sky was slowly tinted in orange, pink and purple. A faint smile appeared on his face, before he returned his attention to the food.

 Absently minded you put your phone on the kitchen isle, before you grabbed a jar of mixed spices, which Ivar had instructed you to get for him while he was still cutting up vegetables. You read the label, not surprised that he had not purchased them in Norway, but in Spain, turning around, eyes still on the jar. Thus, you only noticed too late that Ivar was right behind you, his chair almost inaudible on the marble floor.

 With a slightly embarrassing yelp escaping your throat, you lost balance, tripping over Ivar’s wheelchair, falling over and landing straight in his lap. His strong arms were suddenly around you to keep you from completely falling to the floor, and your face probably had taken on a crimson shade.

 “Careful there, dove. I’m usually not that hard to miss.” He smirked, to your surprise not even remotely angry with you.

 You had once, in your third month at the Lothbrok Corporation, seen a small clerk run into him in the office, who had been a bit late and had not really paid attention. After Ivar had yelled at him for good twenty minutes, he had never been heard of again.

 “Gods, I’m so sorry, I..” but you stopped, swallowing, not knowing what to say. You tried to get up, the jar of spices still in your hand, but Ivar’s strong grip around you firmly held you in place.

 The man tilted his head, eye flickering to the glass container you were holding. He let go of you with one of his arms, while the other one was still around you, taking the jar from your hands and placing it on the counter next to him. His blue eyes mustered you once more. Your heart was pounding. In the light of the setting sun he looked even more handsome than he had already.

 “I have told you, that you look good today, right?” he asked, his voice low. His hand had returned to hold you again, and you noticed his fingers carefully caressing your back, which sent a shiver up your spine.

 Your mind was racing, as was your heart.

You could not but stare into his piercing blue eyes, not sure what to say, how to respond to him right now, or if you should say anything at all. You were unable to think even one coherent thought, as you felt his strong arms around you, his firm body below you, and his hot breath against you skin.. wait. When had he gotten this close to you?

 Before you could really comprehend what was happening, you suddenly felt Ivar’s lips against yours, not firm, but soft, almost shily moving against yours. In that moment, it was as if your mind just gave up, and turned itself off.

[keepmeinthedark]

To The Top || A Marauders Band AU

Chapter Two: You Gotta Not

Read here on A03

So Lily Evans brought a big asset to the band?

Only if you consider Remus Lupin to be a big asset, which I do.

Did Lily introduce them?

In time.

What happened in the meantime?

Before Remus joined the band there was just James, Sirius, and Frank. They lived together in this house called Maxwells house. It belonged to these twins Fabian and Gideon and they opened it up to anyone who needed a home. 

And what was Remus doing? What were you doing?

I was in Germany at the time, Remus was at university. But he had been friends with Lily since they were young and even though he was staying in a student accommodation he wasn't too far away for their friendship to change in any way.

//

Lily and Remus had spent New Year's Eve together. One of Remus' classmates held a party which they attended and stayed until the clock struck midnight. By the time they had made it back to his accommodation, it was three in the morning. They had both slept in Remus' bed without bothering to change their clothes or even take their make-up off, which then lead to one of the worst mornings in both of their lives.

It was eight in the morning when Remus's phone went off. He groaned when he saw his twin brother's name appear on the screen and held the phone to his ear.

"Hello?"

"Re, where are you?"

"What do you mean?" he paused. "Am I supposed to be somewhere?"

He could practically feel Rom rolling his eyes. "You and Lily both promised Mum that you'd help with the fate. Remember? The fate? The one that Mum has been stressing over for weeks?"

Shit.

"Ohhh yeah, yeah I completely remember god who do you take me for? Yeah me and Lils are on our way now, well be like five minutes tops I promise." and with that, he quickly hung up.

Shit Shit Shit Shit.

"Lily come on, we have to go," Remus said quickly as he shook his best friend awake.

Lily only groaned as she lifted her head off the pillow, she watched Remus rush around the room to grab the makeup wipes and cleaned off the smudged eyeliner he still had on. 

Lily didn't wait for an explanation, she just got out of the bed and found her way towards the nearest hairbrush.  It wasn't until they were waiting for the bus that Lily had asked where they were going.

"My mum's thing, remember? We said we would help."

Lily didn't look like she remembered but she nodded anyway. 

 "How long do you think we'll be?" 

Remus shrugged, "No idea. Why? Got somewhere to be?"

Lily rolled her eyes, "Got a hangover to cure is more like it."

 They had gotten to the fate twenty minutes later and immediately regretted not faking a sickness to get out of it.

Hope Lupin was a powerhouse and an amazing mum, she was loving and caring, and gentle. But she was a single mum who had raised three boys and was in the middle of raising another, which made her incredibly scary when she was stressed.

"There you two are!" she exclaimed when she saw Remus and Lily making their way down the field where the fate was being held. "I was about to send Petunia off after you guys, honestly why are you so late?"

Remus panicked, "Headache," he said.

Hope placed her hands to her hips and raised an eyebrow, "Is headache code for a hangover?" 

They both nodded.

Hope sighed, "There's coke, bananas, and water in that tent over there. Go and tip half of the water out of a bottle, fill the rest with coke, drink that, and eat a banana. I don't have time for this." she told them, quickly adding, "Its a hangover remedy," after seeing their confused faces.

"Where was this remedy all the other times we've been hungover?" Lily asked, acting offended.

Hope shrugged, "You never asked." 

"Still could've been useful." 

"How am I supposed to know that you're hungover if you never tell me!?" Hope exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air and turning her back on them in order to do other things.

"You're Mum!" Remus yelled back. "You know everything!"

"Two minutes! Get a move on!" was all that Hope yelled back.

 As Hope had promised the flat coke and bananas had helped their hangovers but unfortunately didn't make them any more prepared for the long day ahead of them. Remus' parents had divorced three years ago when Lyall had admitted that he had fallen for someone else. Remus doubts that his parents have ever been in love. They had his older brother, Lycus when they were in their twenties and before they were married. They did get married not long after he was born and three years after that they had Romulus and Remus, the twins also weren't planned. Neither was Macca, Remus' younger brother who was only 2 years old at the time of the divorce. 

His father's new girlfriend didn't last very long and got intimidated by the fact that he had four sons. Romulus has always said that he was certain that there was no girl, to begin with, they had never met her and their dad wasn't exactly someone who had luck when it came to romance. Romulus swears that he made her up to use as an excuse to get a divorce. Lycus believes him. Remus doesn't. 

Hope and Lyall still remained close friends and the boys are allowed to stay with either one of them as much as they like, but they spend the majority of their time with Hope, or at least Lycus, Romulus, and Remus do. Macca, who is now five, spends Monday to Thursday with Hope and Friday to Sunday with Lyall in hopes that he will grow up to have a close relationship with both parents.

Remus had nothing against his father, he was a good dad and never failed to make Remus feel loved. But he wasn't yet out to his dad yet and wasn't sure if it would go well if he did come out to him. He likes to think that his dad would try to be supportive but still doesn't want anything to change between them. Not only that but he preferred his mum's cooking.

Lyall worked as a teacher for a primary school near where he lived and Hope owned her own florist in town but would always pop into the other shops there to see if they needed any help when she had the time, which is what led to her helping out with the local coffee shops fate in order to help raise money for cancer research. This wasn't the first time Hope had dragged her children out of their usual routines to stand in a field in the middle of winter and most certainly won't be the last. But they always came, Remus would never admit it but he quite enjoyed these things. Hope had always wanted to help with certain school and church events and Remus was proud to have a mum who was so loved in the community, even if she was scary when she got into her boss mode.

By the time Remus had finished their drinks and properly woke up, there was already a crowd of people going around each stall, Remus had seen Romulus surrounded by little kids. He called them over when he saw them.

"Remus! Lily! You two are captains get over here!"

"Oh bloody hell," Remus said under his breath, noticing the football that he had in his hands.

  Sirius felt like his figures were going to fall off. It was January 1st, who set up an outdoor event on January 1st.

They had only just got there and he already wanted to desperately go home, he didn't dream his parents irrelevant and leave his whole family behind at the age of 22 just to play in the freezing cold, but James had insisted that this would be worth it and he seemed so excited for every gig Sirius could never say no.

It was during their first set that Sirius had seen her.

She had been all that James had talked about since their gig at the pub on Christmas eve, he could recite her description by memory.

Dark red hair that reached her chest.

Emerald green eyes.

Plus size

A smile that glows.

Exactly a head smaller than James.

Two piercings in her ear lobe and one in her cartilage.

A tattoo of a small tattoo of a wolf behind her ear.

And she was wearing white Doc Martens.

Yep, that was her. It had to be, she ticked every box (apart from the tattoo as she was too far away for Sirius to get a proper look. But she looked like a girl that would have one.)

Sirius' heart leaped. James was going to be so excited, all he could talk about throughout Christmas was how much he regretted not asking for her Instagram. He had to tell him.

He was going to tell him.

He had it all planned. He was going to give James that smile that only James got, the one that said "I know something you don't know," James always got so excited at good news. 

Then he was going to ask James once more how Lily Evans looked, and James would go on a ramble, giving out as much information about this girl that he could remember. Then he would spin James around and point her out and knowing James he would probably scream. Sirius couldn't wait, he was a hopeless romantic after all.

As they went through each song he couldn't take his eyes off her, he had to make sure that he knew where she was when he told James. And he was going to tell him, he was certain of it.

That is, he was certain of it until he saw him.

Now that's a sight that he will never be able to get out of his head.

Short blond curly hair.

Tall.

Thin, yet still had a bit of muscle.

Crooked nose. 

Amber eyes.

And a large scar going across his face, from his right eye down through his nose and ending just before his lips.

God his lips!

As they played on Sirius began to notice more and more about this mystery boy. He seemed to be friendly with Lily, they were playing football with a group of kids and it was obvious that he was pretending to not be good for their sake. There was another boy with them who had similar features. Must be a brother, Sirius thought.

The boy was dressed in a Queen t-shirt, a white one with a long-sleeved black shirt underneath, and his jeans were ripped. He wore eyeliner, his nails were painted black and he had multiple rings on his figures.

Sirius had never been more turned on until he saw him take a five-minute break to smoke a cigarette.

Sirius could never date a smoker. James was enough trouble, Sirius had lost count on how many times he had told him that he ought to quit but he never listens. Smoking kills everyone knows this so why did some people think that by some miracle they could be the exception.

Sirius was about to give it all up then and there, make his eyes go back to following Lily around, or maybe even have his brain focus on what he was actually supposed to be going. But once the boy had put out his cigarette and rejoined the group of kids one of them had fallen over and hurt their knee. The boy crouched down to their level and talked to the boy until he laughed while Lily got a wet paper towel and a plaster.

Damit, Sirius thought. Why do guys with kids always have to be so damn attractive?

 For the rest of their set, the only thing Sirius could see was him.

He had forgotten all about Lily Evans until they had finished. When they had gotten off the stage James had been bouncing up and down. His smile was the widest he had ever seen it. 

"It's her," he said quickly.

"Whos her?" Frank asked, looking at the crowd confused.

"Her, her. That girl I met a the pub last week. She's here."

"Go talk to her then." And while you're at it get me her mate's number?

James began to pale, "I can't just go up and talk to her," he told them shaking his head. "What if she hates me?"

Frank raised an eyebrow, "Why would she hate you, I thought you hit it off?"

"We did!"

"So go talk to her!"

James looked at Lily and then back at Sirius and Frank. He had now started picking at his figure nails, slowly picking one off and throwing it onto the ground.

"What do I say?" He asked, desperately. 

Frank seemed very confident. "Mate, you've just played for the entire day she surly noticed that it was you at one point. She's probably begging for you to go and talk to her."

James looked confused, "Then why hasn't she come up to me?" His eyes suddenly widened. "What if she really isn't interested? I mean I know I didn't ask for her Snapchat or anything but she didn't ask for mine either!" he said in one breath. Sirius was sure he may faint if he thought anymore.

Both James and Sirius looked at Frank who rolled his eyes. "She's the girl. You're supposed to be the one to ask her out and make the first move. Most girls are scared to ask out guys cause guys suck." He said it as if it was the most obvious thing ever. "Just take a deep breath, channel your confidence, and swipe her off her feet. You've got this."

James took a breath and nodded before making his way towards Lily who was having a conversation with a much taller boy. He looked a bit like Sirius' mystery boy but older, taller, and with darker hair and no scar. Maybe another brother.

Sirius and Frank both watched James approached Lily in silence. They watched him ask to talk to her, Sirius didn't miss the smile that appeared across her face. Unfortunately said smile began to slowly disappear once James began talking and before anyone could realize that this was indeed a bad idea, Lily had slapped James across the face and had begun to walk in the other direction. 

James all but stomped back towards Sirius and Frank, his glasses had fallen to the tip of his nose and his face had gone nearly bright red, though Sirius couldn't tell if it was from anger or embarrassment. 

He mumbled a "Let's go" and grabbed all of his belongings before making his way towards the van. All Sirius and Frank could do was stare at each other in disbelief.

"This is why we don't leave him alone unsupervised," Sirius mumbled. 

[ashtheshortstack]

Cold Brew

Rating: G Ship: Kristoff/Anna Entry for Frozen Monster Mash Zine @frozines! Check it out here!

Tags: Modern AU, Coffee Shop AU, Witch!Anna, Halloween Fluff Fic, Love Potion Shenanigans! 

Happy Halloween!

Read on AO3

Winters were harsh in the town of Arendelle. Anna was almost certain that was Elsa’s doing. Her sister loved to experiment with her ice spells. Elsa had even gotten so powerful that she didn’t even need a wand to cast them. But sometimes her elder sister’s exploration of her abilities went arie and sent Arendelle into another harsh cold snap without any warning. The citizens made jokes about it, often joshing about how you never really knew what the weather forecast would be in their town. But Anna knew the truth… 

Anna was quite the opposite of her sister. While Elsa liked to cast spells and conjure snow, Anna took the potions approach. She wasn’t sure what it was about finding the right ingredients to mix the perfect spell that excited her so much, but it did. That’s why Anna decided to take a job at the local coffee shop since she loved to mix together concoctions so much. 

Besides, she loved coffee. 

It was during the end of October that the chill set over the town. Often there’d be more and more patrons coming in for warm pumpkin spiced lattes or even skipping ahead a holiday to the peppermint mochas. Anna could understand--she was a sucker for any type of warm cinnamon flavors herself. 

And most of her coworkers--Ryder and Honeymaren--were in agreement with that. But Kristoff… that man’s taste in coffee was atrocious. He liked it black. Hardly any sugar. Despised when anyone put vanilla in his drink. 

Anna thought he couldn’t be human… and she wasn’t even one. 

While working at the coffee shop, she’d met a lot of valuable customers. She often had regulars who’d ask how her day was going but there was always one that stood out amongst the rest: Hans. 

The gingered haired man always flashed her a winning smile, complimented her appearance, and just made her weak at the knees. Anna had never had a boyfriend before. She’d always been more shy around boys. Besides, their parents had kept them pretty sheltered from people because of their abilities they’d inherited from their mother. When their parents died, Anna and Elsa had to make it on their own. So, she’d never really had a real chance at romance. 

Hans at a table, sipping at the coffee she’d made him. Anna hummed dreamily, leaning on her palms as she rested her elbows onto the counter. She couldn’t help but be entranced by him. 

The sound of someone clearing their throat made her jump. 

Anna looked up at Kristoff with a yelp. “What?” she hissed. 

The blond smirked. “You got a little drool…” he motioned to the corner of this mouth.

Humiliation flashed through her, only when she reached up to her own mouth, she found it dry. Ugh! Why was Kristoff like this!? Always joking and teasing her…

He barked a laugh at her reaction as she pouted up at him. “C’mon, Anna, if you’re going to thirst after customers I’m going to give you a hard time about it.” 

She scoffed. “But why?” 

Kristoff rolled his eyes at that. “Because you don’t even know him?” 

“Of course, I do!” 

Giving her a flat look, the blond leaned onto the counter. “What’s his last name?” 

“Uh.. it starts with a W.” 

“Eye color?” 

“Dreamy, obviously.” 

“Best friend’s name?” 

“Probably John.” 

Kristoff snorted. “Anna, seriously? How do you even know he likes you? How can you be so hung up on a guy who doesn’t even know your name?” 

“Sure, he does! I have a nametag!” 

“Bet he’ll pronounce it wrong.” 

Kristoff shook his head with a sigh. “Honestly, Anna, you’re a witch … don’t you think you could do better than that guy?” 

Hushing him, she glanced around. “Keep your voice down! Jeez!” 

Ever since Kristoff caught her doing magic and she had to explain to him that yes , she was a witch and they did exist, he’d agreed to keep her secret. But somehow… she thought it made him more protective of her ever since he’d found out. While she appreciated the sentiment, she didn’t get why he made such a big deal out of things. 

He patted her head. “I’m just trying to look after the most magical girl I know,” he said with a grin.

Anna groaned, pushing off the counter, ignoring the flush rising on her cheeks at his complement. “What are you? A love expert?” 

“Well, no. But I bet I know more about love than you do.” 

With a harumph, she crossed her arms and shot the blond a sour glance. “Fine. We’ll see about that.” 

  Anna intended to prove Kristoff wrong. She’d show him! When she arrived home from work, she pulled on her cloak and stomped down to the basement. Elsa appeared surprised to see her sister stomping over towards the caldron. 

“Anna?” 

She hadn’t been trying to ignore her sister. But she was just so hung up in her own thoughts. Anna couldn’t believe how negative Kristoff was being about her love life. She’d never heard of him talk about a girlfriend! Only his interest in fixing cars and his dog, Sven. Which Anna did find interesting, of course, because Kristoff was her friend despite it all. 

Anna quickly flipped through her spellbook, probably too aggressively, as she muttered to herself. All she wanted was for someone to love her… in a romantic way, that is. 

“Anna, what’re you doing?” 

She didn’t even look up when Elsa spoke, continuing to glance through the pages. “Looking for a love potion recipe… ah-ha! ‘Lover’s Brew’ that’s it!” 

Elsa sighed, pinching her brow. “Why are you looking for a love spell?” 

“So that I can prove to Kristoff that Hans likes me!” 

“By casting a spell? Isn’t that cheating?” 

Scoffing, Anna shook her head. “Of course not,” she replied with a wave of her hand. 

Elsa shook her head with a knowing smile. “Just… please be careful. Taking a love potion into work seems a bit risky.” 

Anna had already begun the process of scouring through their shelves to find the ingredients she needed. She stacked the bottles into her arms before laughing at her sister’s doubts. “Oh, please, Elsa… I’ll be completely careful--ooh!” she nearly dropped her essence of frog, but was able to regain her balance to catch it. That would’ve been a nasty mess to clean up. Essence of frog smelled awful. 

The grimace on her elder sister’s face spoke volumes, but Elsa was completely used to her sibling’s antics at this point. So, she just left Anna to it and crossed the room back to her own spells. But Anna noticed the occasional glance of Elsa checking on her. 

Anna followed the directions of the spell word for word. Pouring in each ingredient with precision, sprinkling the powders, and stirring with her wooden spoon. She winced when she had to yank out a strand of her hair so the potion would have a specific love interest. Usually with potions she was able to do a test run… but there wasn’t any way to test this love spell. So… she’d just have to hope for the best. Luckily, she’d check and there weren’t any that were detrimental. The spell would only last twelve hours unless made permanent with true love’s kiss. 

Perfect. 

  Anna smuggled the potion into work in her pocket. The day was normal… except for the anxiety egging at her chest knowing what her ill conceived plan was. This was a bad idea. She knew it was a bad idea to force someone to fall in love. Besides, she only had the next twelve hours to kiss Hans so he’d be permanently in love with her. And then they could get married and live happily ever after, right? 

When Has approached the counter at his usual time, Anna felt her heart flutter. Today was the day. This man she’d been pining after for so long… she could finally have him. But Hans didn’t seem to be his usual self. He wore a frown and as he scrolled through his phone. 

“Hello, good morning,” Anna began in her practiced chipper tone. “Would you like your usual?” 

With a sigh of annoyance, Hans glanced up from his phone. “Not today. Just large, black with two sugars.” 

Huh. Interesting. That was Kristoff’s usual. She’d always called him plain and shamed him for it, but if Hans liked that too… maybe she’d been too hard on her coworker. 

“Yes sir, coming right up,” she chimed. 

Hans was looking down at his phone again only giving a hum in response before moving to the side to wait for his order. Anna went to work preparing the order. It wouldn’t take long to do such a simple drink. Or it shouldn’t have, at least. Anna sprinkled in the two sugars before glancing around to make sure no one was around. She took the vile out of her pocket and quickly poured it into Hans’ drink. 

“What’re you doing?” 

She yelped. “Jesus Christ, Kristoff! Will you stop doing that?” 

His scowl only remained as he crossed his arms. “What’d you just pour in there?” 

“J-Just some sweetener that I made.” 

Kristoff glared at her. “And you just happened to want to test it on that guy? To what? See if he likes it?” 

“W-Well, yeah! If he thinks this is the best coffee he’s ever tasted then maybe he’ll like me, right?” 

“Anna…” he pursed his lips looking between the drink and her face. “That’s a love potion, isn’t it?” 

Anna sputtered, rearing back. She hated how easily Kristoff could figure her out! How did he do that!? “Psht! What?? No! Of course not. That’d be entirely unethical and--” 

“Yoo hoo! Anna!” Oaken called from his office. “Can I speak to you for a moment?” 

Dread washed over her as she looked between her boss and the coffee. Kristoff seemed to reluctantly take the cup. “Go. I’ll give it to him.” 

Blinking, Anna stared up at him. “Really?” 

“Yeah. I’ll do it.” 

  After her meeting with Oaken (about maybe becoming assistant manager with Kristoff which was mind boggling!), Anna practically skipped out of the office. She looked over at Hans and noticed him sitting in his usual place. He would have to drink most of the cup for the potion to take effect, so she’d just have to wait until he threw the cup away. 

She looked around for Kristoff to check with him if he gave the drink to Hans, but she couldn’t find the blond anywhere. It worried her a bit… Had he not given him the cup? Surely, Kristoff wouldn’t lie to her. 

But she didn’t have time to think about it. When she saw Hans throw away his--hopefully empty--coffee cup, it was time for Anna to strike. It would take five minutes for the potion to take effect. So, she kept her eyes on the clock as Hans scrolled through his phone at the table. Anna stalked over there as soon as she could. Smiling sweetly at him as she walked up. 

“Uh, hi,” she said. 

Hans gave her a once over. “You made that first cup of coffee, right?” 

First cup…?

“U-Um, yes.” 

He glared up at her. “It was absolutely awful. I made your broody manager drink it to prove a point.” 

Blinking, Anna gaped. “You--You what? ” 

Hans scoffed. With each annoyed look that graced his features, Anna felt her heart chipping in her chest. 

“The coffee you made was bad. It had an awful after taste. I didn’t know it was possible to mess up black coffee, but you did.” 

Anna’s fists balled at her sides. “Are you this rude to everyone? ” 

Hans balked. “ Rude? Please, you’re the one who can’t make coffee correctly. It’s a shame really… and here I thought you were cute. But it’s true, pretty girls are always dim.” 

The slap rang out through the coffee shop. She hadn’t meant to… Hans seemed surprised, jaw ajar as he gaped. There was already a red mark on his cheek. Anna knew as soon as she got home… she was putting a curse on his ass. She couldn’t believe this was the guy she’d been fawning over for two months. 

Honeymaren and Ryder were there in an instant. Honeymaren grabbed Anna by the arm and started to tug her backwards away from the man. “Come with me, Anna,” she said quietly. 

Ryder assisted Hans out the door, where the ginger haired man shouted profanities and flailed wildly outside the door as her coworker did his best to defuse him. 

Anger fueled through her. Anna’s chest was tight as Honeymaren led her into the break room. Well, that’s where Kristoff had been hiding apparently. The blond seemed stunned to see her being dragged in by their coworker. 

Honeymaren sighed as she led Anna to the couch. “What happened?” 

“He called me dumb,” she blurted out. 

Pursing her lips, Honeymaren nodded. “Okay… I’ll start on damage control. We’ll talk in a bit. You two just--relax a bit.” 

Anna heard her grumble something about how weird this day was as she headed out the door. When Anna looked up, Kristoff’s cheeks were pink when he stared at her. 

“You drank it, huh?” she asked. 

“He made me.” 

She tilted her head. “What do you mean?” 

Letting out a sigh, he looked away from her. “He threatened to go to Oaken. Apparently, his father knows him. Told me he’d have you fired for making such a disgusting drink. I reminded him that you’ve made all of his drinks before and never had a problem, but he didn’t care. He told me if I drank the whole thing--because he had to taste it and someone else should to--that he’d let it go. Ugh, what an ass.” 

“I’m so sorry, Kristoff. I’m so dumb… This is entirely my fault. I-I’ll have to fix it.” 

“Fix it?” 

“Well, Oaken just offered me a promotion and then I went and slapped a customer. I guess a memory wiping spell would be best.” 

“Ah… I think Oaken would understand. If he knows Hans’ father, I’m sure he knows what kind of man he is.” 

Anna just smiled in response, unsure if she actually believed that. But the way Kristoff was staring at her made her heart leap into her throat. Fiddling with her thumbs, she glanced up at him shyly. “A-Are you okay?” 

“I drank a whole love potion that tasted like fish coffee… Not really. All I can think about is how much I want to kiss you--” he blurted before smacking a hand over his mouth. 

A blush spread across her cheeks. “Really?” 

Kristoff groaned, flopping his head onto the small table. “Yes. And how close I want to be with you. How much I want to hug you and touch you. How happy you make me--and how stupid you make me too. God, I love you.” 

An ‘eep’ left her lips. “Kristoff, I-I’m so sorry. It’ll wear off in twelve hours and you won’t feel this way anymore.” 

He scoffed in response. “Oh, please. I feel like this every day. It’s just amplified. Maybe, your love potion is more of a truth serum when the person already loves you.” 

“Wait, what?” 

Kristoff shook his head. “This is bad. I have to get back to work,” he murmured. The blond sat up, eyes making contact with her own. Suddenly, those honey-brown eyes glazed over. A pink hue spread along his cheeks. Locking eyes had apparently distracted him from his mission. She hadn’t meant for this to happen… 

He was entranced it seemed as he slowly meandered over towards her. Kristoff sat on the couch beside her. He was staring right at her. “I love you.” 

Anna plugged her ears. “Stop. No, you don’t. It’s just the spell.” 

Kristoff’s gentle fingers were pulling her hand away from her ear. “No… Anna, I’ve felt like this since I’ve met you. The stupid potion is just making me say it.” 

“You--You love me? Even though I’m a witch?” 

He snorted. “What difference does that make? You’re Anna. Being a witch doesn’t matter. If anything, it makes you even more special. I had feelings for you before I found out. It didn’t change anything.” 

“W-Why didn’t you say it before…?” she asked timidly. 

“Because…” he ruffled a hand through his shaggy, blond locks. “I could see how much you really liked that guy. I just knew you’d reject me.” His hand was suddenly on her thigh. Anna jumped at the contact. Kristoff grimaced as he yanked his hand away. “Crap, I’m sorry. This spell sucks.” 

She wanted to agree. But… she couldn’t. Had she been so focused on her stupid infactuation with Hans that she couldn’t see what was right there in front of her? Kristoff claimed that he had feelings for her before he drank the potion. What if that were true? Had she been friendzoning him? Quietly rejecting him without realizing it? 

There were so many wonderful things about Kristoff. She loved hearing about his life… about his big family and Sven. How much he loved fixing cars as a hobby--even offering to help her out for free any time she needed it, despite knowing she could easily afford it. He kept her secret when he found out she was a witch. Granted, he was really freaked out at first, but who wouldn’t be? 

Instead of avoiding her, Kristoff was curious and supportive. He asked questions regarding her magic. Wanted to know more about her… 

When she was down, Kristoff cheered her up with his jokes, his teasing, his smile…

Oh… She was an idiot. 

How had she not realized how much Kristoff meant to her? How his stupid grins made her chest ache. How he sent butterflies fluttering inside her? 

Anna chased after his hand, catching his much larger palm in her own. “No, it doesn’t. I’m the one who sucks. I’m so sorry, Kristoff. You’ve been here all this time, and I was too blind to see it. I had no idea of your feelings. And now, I’ve basically forced you to spill them out.” 

He gave her a dopey grin. “I’m pretty sure even if I wanted to agree that this is your fault, the spell won’t let me.” 

Snorting a laugh, she smiled at him. “Promise me… In twelve hours when this spell wears off, you’ll still say you love me.” 

“Only if you say it back.” 

She giggled at that before scooting closer. “I can arrange that.” 

Kristoff was leaning in, almost unconsciously it seemed. But he paused, leaning back and shaking his head. “Sorry. This is really hard to resist.” 

“Good thing I didn’t make the stronger one, huh?” 

“There’s a stronger one? ” 

Anna nodded. “Mhmm.” her lids drooped as she glanced at his lips and to his eyes. 

“I want to kiss you…” he muttered. “May we…?” 

“We may…” 

Cupping her cheek with his large palm, Kristoff tugged her in. Anna’s eyes fluttered closed as he kissed her. Her heart danced in her chest, pounding wildly against her ribcage. How could she have been a fool to deny this man? His lips were so gentle and soft against her own. His thumb brushed along her cheek. Anna couldn’t help but wind her arms around his shoulders, pulling him closer. 

Yeah… she could get used to this. 

When she pulled away, her lips barely left his. “We’re probably at about eleven hours, right?”

The breath from his short chuckle teased her skin. “I’d guess so.” 

“So, in eleven hours��� you’ll tell me you love me and kiss me like this?” 

“I promise.” 

[spiderman-homecomeme]

day five - the baby-sitters club

ROOMMATES AU

A/N: DAY FIVE WOO!!! get ready for some softness!! This fic was very strongly inspired by the fact that for quarantine, I’ve been watching my sister’s two kids for her while she works from home. But instead of giving MJ a two year old and a nine month old, I thought I’d give her a baby and Peter. So two babies. 

Thanks @spideychelleweek​ again!!

Enjoy 5.1k of FLUFF, BABIES, and oh my GOD they were roommates

Read here or on AO3

-

come home

baby 

The text messages stare back up at him, taunting; the three words laughing maniacally as he tries to figure out what it all means, what his roommate of nearly two-and-a-half years MJ means when she sends him something so straightforward, yet still so cryptic.

There’s no chance in the world that she means what he’s thinking she means… that the gutter his mind immediately swan-dives into is in any way the right place to be. MJ, blunt and honest as she is, isn’t someone who just puts herself out there so forwardly.

He’s seen her flirt, and frankly, she’s almost as bad at it as he is. 

Granted, she’s been successful a few more times than he has, but still. 

In the area of romance and relationships, MJ might as well have that same Parker-Luck.

He realizes mid-swing that he still hasn’t sent any reply. He responds with an appropriate amount of question marks—three to be exact—before his body seems to move on its own accord, cutting off his early Saturday-afternoon patrol short by about half-an-hour and swinging him home at an almost embarrassing speed.

When, his phone pings again.

please I need you

At that, he clumsily misses a shot, forgetting who and where he is, stomach flipping as he hits free-fall for a fraction of a second before catching himself. 

His next thought is that this all has to be some accident. Perhaps it’s for someone else; perhaps she knows another Peter, another person she has under “Loser” in her phone. And, weirdly enough, the thought of someone else being so lovingly given that title brings with it a strange feeling in his chest. 

Or maybe he’s just completely misunderstanding the statement, which wouldn’t be all that unusual for him. After all, it’s damn near impossible to get someone’s true meaning in a text message. Sarcasm can fall flat when read. The difference between a period and an exclamation point can be monumental. The list goes on. 

Though, Peter likes to think in his years of being MJ’s friend, plus the two-and-a-half of being her roommate, that he’s come to know her pretty well, that he’s got all of her phrases and mannerisms tucked away in the “MJ” file in his brain. 

Still, after years of friendship, he’d be dumb to think she’d have run out of ways to surprise him. 

But what would he even do if a) MJ meant everything literally and b) it wasn’t some accident and she actually, honestly, truly meant it for him?

Really. What would he even do? He has no idea.

He starts to wonder if maybe it’s code for something else when he nearly splats face-first into his fifth-story window, almost losing himself completely in his thoughts. Sliding the window open as quickly as possible, he practically falls into his room, not caring about whether he’s being silent  or not. (MJ found out his secret years ago, even before they were really even friends.) He nearly trips over his suit as it flies off, and he stumbles as he yanks on a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt from the night before. 

Without another thought, he bursts out of his room, following the sound of pots and pans clanging in the kitchen. 

What he finds, however, isn’t something he’d ever considered in a million years. 

MJ’s there alright, standing in front of the open fridge, searching through the various fruits and vegetables. A perfectly normal occurrence. Nothing to be concerned about. 

Only there’s a slight difference. 

There’s a baby resting comfortably on her hip, one of its tiny hands reaching out to grab at the stray locks of hair falling from MJ’s ponytail as she ducks her head. 

“Uh…” Peter starts, the confusion just coming right out of him. “Hi?”

MJ barely even registers that Peter’s even there. “Oh hey, man.” She’s the very essence of nonchalance as she places some deli-sliced turkey and pepper jack cheese on the counter, her other hand instinctively coming up to stop the baby from grabbing any of it. 

At his bewildered silence, she finally meets his gaze, ignoring the infant in her grasp desperately trying to get its chubby hands on the jar of mayo. “What’s up?”

come home

baby

Peter opens his mouth to speak, but finds that nothing comes out at first. He blows out a puff of air through his lips. “I was—I was gonna ask about… your... text…?” He pauses again, his brow furrowed as he glances between her and the tiny human on her hip. “...But I think I understand now.” He huffs out a laugh. 

“Oh,” MJ nods, adjusting her grip as she closes the refrigerator door with her foot. “Yeah. That.” 

Peter eyes her expectantly. A beat passes. 

“What?” She asks innocently, as if she wasn’t just holding a random baby in their kitchen. 

“You wanna…” Peter gestures to her, his finger going back and forth between her and the infant. “Explain… The baby?”

“Oh, yeah. Sorry, my bad.” She goes to the pantry to grab the loaf of bread before turning to look at him again. “This is my son,” she deadpans. “I didn’t tell you?”

“MJ—”

“—you’re the father.”

Peter only returns with an unblinking, unimpressed stare. 

“I adopted him this morning.”

Peter blinks.

MJ waits a moment before apparently giving up the joke. “Okay, fine.” She rolls her eyes. “This is my nephew, Oliver. He’s eight months old, and my sister asked me to watch him for the day. I thought the text I sent was pretty clear, though.” There’s a faint smirk on her lips as she says that last bit, an expression that never fails to make Peter’s face warm. 

“I mean, it wasn’t,” Peter responds, returning her joking expression, his mind flashing back to the panic he was in not five minutes ago. “But it’s whatever.” He looks down at the baby in her arms, his smirk melting into a wide, easy smile. “Hi, Oliver!” 

Little Oliver stares blankly for a moment before turning to bury his face in MJ’s shoulder. 

And it’s the fact that Peter doesn’t immediately get a smile in return that makes him feel like literal human garbage. 

MJ seems to notice his disappointment. “It’s okay,” She says, bouncing the little one slightly. “Oliver’s kinda iffy with strangers at first. He’ll warm up to you.”

Hmm, sounds familiar, Peter thinks. 

A stretch of silence falls over the room, Oliver breaking it with a string of babbles consisting of only “guy” and the occasional “buh,” as he smacks at MJ’s shoulder, his other hand reaching for her hair once again. 

“Need any help?” Peter asks, remembering her last text to him, and also seeing the pained expression on her face as Oliver successfully gets a fistful of her curls and tugs it toward his slobbery mouth. 

“Um, yeah, actually,” MJ puts her sandwich makings down before walking over and holding her nephew out to him, simultaneously trying to free her hair from his tiny, vice grip. “Can you take him while I make my lunch?” 

Peter pauses a moment, eyeing the two of them before carefully holding his hands out. “Uh, sure...” 

MJ doesn’t miss the trepidation in his tone, but she also doesn’t seem to address it. Instead, she just hands him the baby, not waiting to see if he’s ready or anything. 

Luckily, Peter’s reflexes are fast, and he’s able to hang on to little Oliver, even if it is slightly awkward. Both of his arms are wrapped around the small torso, the eight month old pushing back against his chest, letting out a frustrated whine. The pleading expression on Peter’s face as he turns to face MJ again causes her to huff out a sudden laugh. 

Peter moves one of his hands to support the head, though he feels more and more that he’s losing control of the baby in his arms that desperately wants to look around the room. 

Again, MJ puts her ingredients down, making her way back over. “Just… hold him under his butt.” Gently, she guides Peter’s hands with her own to a more comfortable position, a touch under any normal circumstances would make him question his sanity. “He’s old enough to hold himself up, so you don’t need to like, support the back of his head or anything.”

Having never had much experience with babies—no little siblings, cousins, or his own nieces and nephews—this is entirely uncharted territory for Peter. His only interactions with littles have been through his work as Spider-Man. While it’s true that he’s saved one or two from burning buildings, this is something entirely different. 

And it becomes abundantly clear that Oliver can still sense the insecurity, even as Peter’s hold improves, when he starts letting out quiet, fussy whimpers. “Ahhh,” Peter panics for a moment, eyes wide as he looks to MJ for help, before adjusting his grip again, allowing the baby into a more natural position. 

“See? Super easy,” MJ says as she cuts her sandwich in half. 

Neither boy seems completely at ease with the other.

“I guess,” Peter replies, lightly bouncing on his feet. “Need any more help besides this?”

“Sure.” MJ looks up from her lunch before taking a bite. “But don’t think this means you’re getting any of my paycheck,” she jokes through a mouthful of turkey sandwich. “This isn’t some Baby-Sitters Club shit, alright?” 

Peter gives a firm nod. "Understood."

“Okay, well. Here’s the rundown,” She says as she finishes her lunch and begins to make her way into the living room. “My sister will be back tonight at 6:30. Before then, he needs to eat and sleep about every three hours. Last bottle was… thirty minutes ago? So he’ll need another one at about… two-ish, and then a nap right after.”

While she’s talking, rattling off the to-do list, the softest smile forms on Peter’s face as he listens and follows her. 

“And then, of course, we’ll have to change his diaper a lot, give him a new one before and after his nap and…” She notices her roommate staring, his eyes tinted with humor. “What?”

Peter coughs, clearing his throat, the tips of his ears turning an embarrassing shade of pink, though his smile never leaves. “Oh, uh, nothing. You just… you seem to have this down to a science. Like you care. A lot.”

She jerks her head back in mild surprise. “Well, yeah. He’s my nephew. And I told my sister he’d be back in one piece.”

“That’s fair,” Peter concedes.

“Plus, I’m not you,” she teases. “I don’t half-ass jobs.”

“Hey!” Peter’s eyes narrow at her, and he brings a hand to his chest, wounded, but he can’t seem to drop the dopey little grin her teasing brings. 

“In the meantime—” MJ sits down on the ground, motioning for Peter to follow suit. “—we can just play with him.”

Peter nods, though he struggles to find a way down that’s comfortable for both him and Oliver. He wonders if he should put the baby down first? Or if it’s completely safe to just sit. And again, his hesitation is clear, both to Oliver and to MJ. 

“Dude, just put him down.” She says, as if it’s the simplest thing in the world. 

“Yeah—Yeah, I—” Peter shifts on his feet. “I got that part.”

Oliver lets out the beginning of an anxious cry.

With another awkward side-step, Peter seems to figure it out, either from actually piecing it together or from not wanting the tiny human in his arms to start screaming, he’s not sure. He gently—and perhaps with an overwhelming amount of caution—places the eight month old on the ground. Oliver, still crying, glances around frantically. His wails stop almost immediately, his face lighting up, positively beaming when his eyes meet MJ’s. 

Michelle only gives him half-a-smirk and there’s a big, happy grin on his chubby face.

Oliver’s eyes move from hers after a beat, darting around the room curiously before landing on Peter. 

Peter puts on a silly smile. “Hey, buddy!” He greets in his best impression of a baby-talk voice. 

Though Oliver seems to be mildly fascinated by this new stranger, his expression shows that he’s less than impressed at the attempt.

And looking up, Peter sees the same look on MJ’s face.

Michelle, however, seems to take pity on her poor roommate, swooping in to rescue him from further embarrassment in front of a literal eight month old child. “He really likes when you blow raspberries at him,” MJ offers. “He’ll either laugh or do one back. It’s cute.”

Peter nods, though he doesn’t try.

MJ sits forward, getting her nephews attention, sticking her tongue out and letting out a harsh puff of air. As if on cue, Oliver lets out one of quite possibly the cutest sounds Peter’s ever heard. The baby’s eyes widen first, mouth forming a tiny little circle before he breaks into giggles, eyes barely open, his smile wide and gummy. When she does it a second time, his hands fly to his face, curled into tiny little fists. 

Peter has to physically hold back the audible awwww that threatens to just come right out of him at the sight. 

It takes a third time for Oliver to blow a raspberry back at MJ. It’s clumsy, and a bit of his drool flies out everywhere, but even then, Michelle’s unable to keep the small grin from tugging at the corner of her mouth. 

It’s when Peter tries, tongue stuck out with some forced air, that little Oliver’s smile slowly fades, his tiny features now fixed into a calculating expression. 

Almost instantly, Peter deflates. 

MJ starts to stand, putting a toy in front of the baby before giving Peter a gentle pat on the shoulder. “It’s okay, tiger. You’ll get ‘em next time.” She stretches her hands high above her head, the action earning another squeal of delight from Oliver. 

Oh, come on! Bare minimum, Peter thinks. 

In fact, almost everything Michelle seems to do gets the same reaction. She’s not a particularly sunny, bubbly person—far from it—but even her blank, impassive stares seem to incite rounds and rounds of uncontrollable giggles from her nephew. 

“Hey, can you watch him while I run to the bathroom?” MJ asks, already walking in that direction. 

“Yeah—yeah,” Peter nods, pressing his lips together. “Totally.”

Oliver doesn’t immediately notice when she’s gone, and he sits there, happily chewing on the soft toy that Michelle had placed in front of him. Though, when he realizes that he’s been left alone with the stranger, he grows restless. 

Peter sees his opportunity. “Hey! Hey Buddy! Hey Oliver!” He says with an overdramatic excitement. Again, he blows a quiet raspberry at the little one, feeling just slightest bit of success when one of the corners of Oliver’s mouth quirks upward for the briefest of moments. 

But the feeling quickly dissipates when Oliver’s attention goes back to the clearly more interesting toy. 

It does rattle, after all. 

Peter sits back on his hands, his mouth pressed into a thin line as he tries to come up with another way to get this dang baby to smile. If he could get him to laugh, bonus points. But now, all he needs is the teeniest, tiniest smile, and maybe he’ll feel like he can actually succeed in life. 

He doesn’t take a second to think about how he’s banking all of his future self-worth on whether or not a baby thinks he’s funny enough. Much less likes him.

But something catches Oliver’s curious eyes, and he turns to look at Peter—or rather, Peter’s hands. Turning his gaze downward, Peter sees that the simple bands of his webshooters—though the ‘shooty’ part of them is put away—are still on his wrists, and the dark silver metal is shining in the pocket of sunlight on the living room floor. 

Oliver lets out an excited, intrigued coo. He leans forward, tiny little noises of exertion coming from his as he starts army crawling to Peter’s place on the floor. 

And really, Peter can’t help himself. He picks Oliver up again, placing him back in a sitting position before taking one of the bands off his wrist. “You wanna see this, buddy?” Peter asks in a gentle tone, holding out the webshooter to the infant. “It looks cool, huh?”

Oliver takes the metal band into his tiny, chubby hands, his mouth set into a little circle, his eyes wide as he shakes the new toy furiously. 

“You like ‘em, little dude?” 

Oliver answers with a loud, excited “Ah!” In the same breath, he brings the webshooter to his mouth. 

And although Peter’s reflexes are fast, he can’t stop the eight month old from chomping on the cold metal between his gums. 

“Oliver!” Peter says, surprised that there’s a laugh underneath his tone. “You’re not supposed to chew on it!”

“What is he chewing on?” MJ’s voice is behind him again as she walks back into the room. 

Peter barely turns around to look at her as he responds. “My webshooter.”

“Oh, my God! Peter, I leave for one second—” Michelle instantly moves to her nephew, taking the metal band from his tiny grasp, setting it on the coffee table before joining them on the floor. “You let him put that in his mouth?”

“He seemed interested in it!” Peter defends. 

“He’s a baby, dude.” MJ stares at him. “He’s interesting in literally everything.”

“Not me…” Peter mutters under his breath before speaking at a normal volume again. “All I did was hand it to him!”

She blinks at him. Once. Twice. “You let him—a baby, who you saw earlier trying to eat my hair—hold your webshooter, not thinking he was going to want to chew on it?”

Peter tilts his head, bottom lip poking out as he shrugs. She has a fair point. He did not think that through. Upon this moment of realization, he flinches, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. “Sorry.”

And at that, at his evident regret, she seems to soften. A sigh escapes her. “It’s fine, dude.” She laughs. “I’ve definitely let him chew on things that were just as bad before I learned. It was one time, but… I’ve been there.”

“Thanks,” Peter says, holding his head back as he looks at her from the corner of his eye. 

Her gaze shifts around the room, avoiding his for some reason. “No prob.”

The moment, tiny and seemingly insignificant as it is, is ending with another excited, incoherent, attention-demanding yell from the baby in front of them.

They play with Oliver for the rest of the early-afternoon, Peter still never getting anything more than a half-smile, if even that. Michelle always getting them effortlessly, without even trying, her nephew clearly smitten with her. 

And it’s not like Peter’s stopped trying. In fact, he might even say—or rather, he might be influenced by MJ saying—that he’s trying a little too hard maybe. He has tried everything though, it seems. Once he’s more comfortable holding the baby, he tries swinging him up into the air, but that only gets a few, ever so faint, single laughs. Nothing like the giggles that MJ gets out of him. 

Oliver’s even grown to be more comfortable around Peter, no longer glancing around frantically, looking to be rescued when placed in his arms. The baby even holds onto him, something MJ says is one of his little signs that he does indeed “like you.”

So, in theory, Peter should be able to make this baby smile. Make him laugh. 

But, it’s much easier said than done. At least for him. 

When one-thirty rolls around, MJ gets a call from her boss. Nothing to worry about, she says, but one she needs to take outside. 

Peter being much more confident, thinks nothing of it. In fact, he finds it to be the perfect opportunity to really master this whole baby thing. Even with no experience, he’s finding this easier than he’d ever thought. It just comes more naturally to him the more time he spends with Oliver. 

It’s weird in the coolest way. 

There are various, multi-colored blocks on the floor in front of Oliver, one of them between his drooly, chubby hands and in his mouth. He spares a few glances at Peter, once again, only a corner of his mouth quirking upward, though this one does seem to reach his eyes. 

Peter will take that as one of the many steps of an actual win. 

But nothing else seems to come out of it, Oliver just chewing on his block while Peter sits there in silent contemplation. Not wanting to try anything new, Peter goes back to the initial method. The classic, farty raspberries. 

Peter blows one at him, Oliver taking the block out of his mouth to flail his arms the slightest bit. 

Now, that’s something, Peter thinks. 

Peter does it again, earning the same, cute reaction; arms waving a little harder this time. At the third time, he doesn’t get the giggle he’s looking for, but an energetic squeal before Oliver sticks his little tongue out and blows a raspberry right back at him. 

In Oliver’s excitement at the fourth time, he flails a little too hard, losing his balance and tumbling over to the right and onto the soft carpet. His head just barely bumps the bright green block, and at first, his expression is blank and slightly confused. 

And then, there’s a second; one where Peter hears the sharp, deep intake of breath.

Oliver lets out a scared, long wail. It trails off, hiccuping as he lets out another scream. Peter instantly moves to him, taking the baby into his arms and holding him to his chest. His hand rests at the back of his small head, and he softly shh’s him, murmuring gentle, if not a little bit panicked, words of reassurance. 

“It’s okay, buddy! You’re okay!” Peter’s attempt at comforting the crying baby is valiant, but it doesn’t pay off. His voice comes out too shaky, no matter how quiet it is. 

When the door opens, MJ shutting it behind her, Peter looks up as if to thank whatever higher being that graciously decided to take pity on him. 

MJ’s brow is pinched together, her expression concerned. “What happened?” 

Peter’s heart seems to have fallen into his stomach, and his stomach into his butt. “Uh…” He takes a breath. “He—he fell and... hit his head on—on one of the blocks.” 

MJ holds her hands out to take the baby that’s too distracted by its own crying to even notice. “It’s okay,” she says to Oliver (and to Peter). “It happens sometimes. That’s how he learns to keep his balance.” She rocks back and forth, speaking softly to little Oliver as he clings desperately to her shirt, crying into her collarbone. “Auntie MJ, I fell over,” She speaks for him in a gentle tone, quiet enough that Peter probably wouldn’t be able to hear without his super senses. “It was so scary!” 

The crying soon turns to quiet whimpers that line up perfectly with her rocks from side-to-side; it’s almost as if he’s telling her all about what happened. 

Peter watches, a smile forming on his lips at the gentleness coming from his friend before him in spite of the near-crippling fear he’d just experienced moments before. He’s never really seen MJ this soft before, speaking with such tenderness. A few times, maybe, when she’s seen an animal; a dog, a cat, a bumblebee, a dragonfly, even the wayward spider, but nothing like this before. 

The crying eventually stops, and little Oliver looks up at MJ. She smiles down at him, lightly squeezing his sides under his armpits, and a tiny grin breaks across his features as he reaches his chubby hands out to her cheeks. 

MJ can feel Peter’s eyes and smile burning into her. 

“What?” She asks, perhaps a little defensive. 

“Nothing!” Peter says immediately, eyes wide, hands raised in surrender. “Just… Interesting—Nice, I mean, seeing you… with him.”

She raises a curious, almost judging brow, still rocking on her feet. 

“I mean—” Peter huffs out a laugh. “You don’t really like people all that much.”

“I mean… I don’t know. When you think about it, babies aren’t really people yet?” MJ reasons, scrunching her face playfully at the baby in her arms. “Like, of course they’re physically people, but… They aren’t terrible, yet. And I think they should be rewarded for that.”

Peter laughs again, not able to stop the fond shake of his head as MJ blows another raspberry at her nephew. 

Not long after, two o’clock comes. MJ once again leaves Peter to watch Oliver while she goes and heats up a bottle. Thankfully, nothing happens this time around. In fact, it’s pretty uneventful. Peter sits across from the baby, showing him how to stack a set of colorful rings on a wooden stick. 

Of course, he still doesn’t get a smile, but… it’s fine.

MJ returns just minutes later, Oliver’s eyes going wide, cooing in excitement, when he sees what’s in her hand. He seems to dance in place, his limbs flailing about when she goes to pick him up. “Alright, my dude, let’s get you some milk and then a nap.”

“He doesn’t seem super tired, though?” Peter asks rather than states.

Again, as if on cue, even amidst his sheer excitement, Oliver lets out a yawn, bringing his tiny fists up to rub at his eyes.

MJ raises a brow that speaks volumes. 

Peter shuts up. 

Peter gets a much need break as MJ feeds her nephew, both of them scrolling on their phones as the little one practically inhales his meal. But soon, as he gets to where there’s about a fourth of the bottle left, his small eyelids seem to grow heavier and heavier, and he struggles to keep them both open. And even sooner after that, as he finishes the last drop, little snoozes can be heard as he falls fast asleep on his aunt. 

Peter looks up then, just a few moments later, having not been paying attention, seeing that MJ’s shifting to laying down on the couch, her nephew cuddled up beside her. Her own eyes are closed, her arms above her head as she starts to drift off. 

And at that, he takes a chance, moving as quietly as he can to go stand above the slumbering duo. He pulls his phone out, swiping to the camera, taking a single picture, when MJ cracks an eye open, feeling his presence. 

“What are you doing?” She asks sleepily. 

Peter barely looks up from his phone, lips pulled back into a mischievous grin. “Getting blackmail. In case I need it.”

“Oh?” MJ questions, unable to keep from closing her eyes again.  

“Yeah.” Peter puts his phone away. “Imagine what everyone would think seeing big, tough, mean Michelle Jones cuddling with a baby.”

MJ rolls her eyes. “Come on. You’ve done way more embarrassing things. This is nothing.”

Peter nods. “Fair.”

“Plus,” MJ continues, though she can’t stop the playful smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. “I can just murder you if you ever show that to anyone. No biggie.”

Peter covers his mouth as he lets out a surprised snort. 

--

“Thank you so much for watching him!” 

Peter hears a new voice from the living room. He steps over the threshold, seeing Michelle’s sister standing in the front doorway, empty baby carrier next to her feet, Oliver happily on her hip. 

MJ shrugs. “No problem.” Out of the corner of her eye, she notices Peter. “Oh, Lara, this is my roommate, Peter. He helped out.”

Lara’s smile widens as she reaches her free hand out to shake his. “Hi Peter. Thanks for helping my dear sister take care of this little monster.” She punctuates that statement with a tickle in her son’s side, earning a hiccuping giggle. 

Peter can’t help but grin. “Anytime.”

“But just because he helped doesn’t mean you should pay him,” MJ cuts in before throwing a teasing wink to her friend. 

Lara ignores her sister’s comment. “Peter, just find me on facebook, send me your venmo, we’ll figure it out. Simple.”

“No, no.” Peter waves her off. “That’s really—that’s okay,” he chuckles nervously, gaze flitting between the older sister and his roommate. 

Lara shrugs. “We’ll figure it out,” she repeats. She takes one of Oliver’s hands in hers. “Alright, Oliver. Wave bye-bye to your Aunt MJ and… Peter.” She shrugs again, this time more apologetic. 

MJ waves back at her nephew, moving forward to give him a little boop on his chubby cheeks. “See ya later, bud. Till the next time.” 

The baby grins, wide and happy. 

Peter waves, too, putting on his best, biggest, most genuine smile yet. “Bye bye, Oliver!” 

And finally.

FINALLY.

The wonderful, adorable, gummy little grin of validation that Peter wanted so badly stretches across the little one’s features. Oliver turns his head, bashfully burying his face into his mother’s hair. She smiles, putting her son into the carrier. 

“Thanks, guys,” Lara offers with a final wave, closing the door behind her. 

The apartment is quiet, the click of the shutting door echoing between the two roommates as they stand there. Peter’s the first to look over; he doesn’t turn his head, sneaking little glances from the corner of his eye. 

And he sees MJ do the same once. 

“Well, that was fun,” he offers lamely, rocking back on his heels. “We made a good team!”

“Yup,” MJ agrees, pressing her lips together. 

He turns to her. “For real, though. I had a blast,” he says earnestly. 

She turns to him. “Me, too,” she replies, and he swears he can detect a hint of shyness to her tone. 

And for a moment, they just stare at each other, neither one of them saying anything. The words unsaid hanging between them like a thick blanket. 

Peter clears his throat. “MJ… Today… Kinda got me thinking—”

“—Oh my, God. Yes. We should have a baby together.”

Her words nearly knock him right out of his head and into the astral plane. If he were a cartoon, he’s sure he’d have those damn stars and cuckoo circling his head like a giant anvil had just landed on top of him. 

“What?!”

She breaks, her laughter filling the apartment. “Dude, I’m kidding. I’m kidding. Geez.”

Peter breathes out a laugh, nodding slowly. 

He really had been right, he thinks as she playfully ruffles his hair and walks past him into the kitchen, asking what he wants to do for dinner; he’s right that even after all the years he’s spent with MJ, she never fails to run out of ways to mess with him. 

“Yeah…” His mouth twists as he tries to hide his smile, glancing briefly at the door, then at the toys that had been left at their apartment just in case there was another day of babysitting. He laughs, mostly to himself. “We’d be horrible parents anyway.”

[eilonwiiy]

Bookends ; A Witchlands AU

Chapter 9

An innocent trip to the library takes an unexpected turn.

Summary: Iseult det Midenzi never expected to go to a top university, so when her mother falls ill and she is forced to drop out to make ends meet, life has never seemed so unfair. But when she starts working at the local library and is unexpectedly assigned in the Children’s Room, a certain monosyllabic man and his thrice-damned demon child start showing up and Iseult begins to wonder if the threads of fate have a plan for her after all.

Previous chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8

Ships: Iseult/Aeduan, Safi/Merik, and more… stay tuned!

Tags: modern AU, college setting, family, friendship, humor, fluff, slow-burn, romance, eventual smut

Read on AO3: here

Tag list: (please let me know if you’d like to be added!) @lseultdetmidenzi @twilightlegacy13

*   .   *   .   *   .   *   .

When Iseult woke up the next morning, she thought maybe she had dreamed the previous night.  But no.  Aeduan had texted her.  Twice.  First, with an all too unsatisfying Ok while she was still at work.  Then, again a whole hour later as she was getting ready for bed telling her that he’d be coming to the library tomorrow.  Which was now today.  The gap between texts - the “lost hour” as Iseult was now referring to it - was doing an exemplary job of keeping her busy.  She thought about it all through her shower.  While brushing her teeth.  There was a brief pause while she picked out an outfit (sweater, suede skirt, ballet flats), but then it was right back to obsessing over those missing 60 minutes.  

What had happened to cause Aeduan to go from monosyllabic man to someone with a firm grasp of the English language?  Had it been a full moon?

The ruckus of the usual morning hustle and bustle could be heard from Jitters as Iseult descended the stairs, coat already on and a messenger bag slung over her shoulder.  When she brushed through the divider curtain, the sight that met her brought her to a full stop.

“Wow.  Someone woke up in project mode,” she said, taking in Safi - awake and fully dressed on her morning off - and the stacks of books and magazines spread across multiple tables pushed together.

“Yes,” Safi agreed, looking proud.  “I thought I’d finally try turning that weird corner no one likes to sit in into that book nook we’ve always talked about.”  

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

Iseult stared at Safi, expression flat.  

“Safi?”

“Hm?” she replied, flipping breezily through a page in her magazine.

“What are you doing?”

Safi didn’t look up.  “I told you.  I’m making the book nook.”

“Yeah, I heard you the first time.  But see, it’s 8:30 in the morning.”

“And?”

“And,” Iseult continued, slowly approaching her mini fortress of books, “there’s a perfectly useful bed upstairs wondering where you are.”

“Well, tell it it might get lucky and see me tonight.”

“Safi,” Iseult said bluntly.

“Yeah?”

“What are you doing?  And if you say ‘book nook’ one more time I’ll kill you.”

Safi said nothing.

“Spill,” Iseult ordered.

Safi sighed and made a face.  “Is it so hard to believe that I actually wanted to do a good thing and get moving on this project that you’ve been talking my ear off about for months?”

“It is when it’s 8:30 on your morning off.”  Iseult eyed the nearly full mug of coffee on the table.  “Is that your first cup of coffee?”

“Maybe.”  Safi’s eyes narrowed suspiciously.  “Why?”

“Nothing.  Just a concerned citizen, that’s all.”  Iseult pulled up a chair and lowered herself onto the seat, clapping her hands on her knees.  “Look, as tempting as the prospect of playing 20 Questions with you this early in the morning without caffeine in my system is, can we maybe skip to the end of this conversation where you tell me the truth about why you’re really up so I’m not late for work?”

Safi pursed her lips like she didn’t want to talk.  Then, she grabbed a massive tome off the top of one of the piles and held it up in the air.  

“I tripped over this.”

“Ok…” Iseult said slowly, eyeing the book.  “Are you okay?”

“Physically, yes.  Spiritually?  That remains to be seen.”

Iseult sighed.  “Safi, did you miss the part where I said I don’t want to be late for work?”

Safi let the book drop from her hand with an obnoxious thud that shook the table.    

“As you know, I worked until close at The Cleaved Man last night.  When I got home at 1 o’clock, per usual, I tripped and fell over this,” she said, giving the offending book a scathing look.  

The smallest of frowns formed on Iseult’s otherwise smooth face.  “How is that even possible?  That’s my freshmen geology textbook.  I’m not exactly reading up on pyrite in my spare time.”

“Oh, well, I knocked into the bookshelf while I was fumbling through the dark trying to find the light switch.”

“So really you tripped over the bookshelf.”

Safi gawped at Iseult.  “You’re not taking this seriously.”

“I would if I knew what the heck this has to do with you waking up and deciding today’s the day you’re going to be a carpenter!”

“That apartment is too small!” Safi burst, gesticulating wildly to the ceiling above.

“Safi,” shushed Iseult, glancing around at the early bird customers who were now looking curiously at them.

“No!  That place is too small and I’m so tired of barely having enough room to breathe let alone walk through the door without having to map out some sort of detour route to avoid collision!”  She shook her head.  “The books had to go!”

Iseult grabbed for Safi’s hand before she could point a rude gesture at the ceiling and covered it with her own.  “Look I know we got our hopes up for the apartment,” Iseult said, careful to leave out Chiseled Cheater’s name or supervillain moniker, “but you need to let this go.”

“I don’t want to,” pouted Safi, pronouncing each word defiantly.

“I know.  But you’re driving yourself crazy and me by extension.”  She paused.  “Our shoebox does have its perks.”

“Like?”  The word dripped with incredulity.

“Like,” Iseult ventured, “we don’t have to walk far to get to work.  We can even open the bakery in our pajamas.”

Safi’s face remained unchanging.  Iseult went on.

“We don’t have to deal with some seedy landlord.”

Nothing.

“Late snacks are a flight of stairs away.”

Still nothing.

“And there’s always an endless supply of free coffee on hand.”

“Except for that time we forgot to place the order and we went a whole three days having to tell customers we didn’t have coffee,” Safi pointed out.

Iseult shuddered from the memory.  “I thought Mathew and Habim were going to kick us out.”

“Maybe they’d have done us a favor if they had,” Safi muttered.

Iseult made a face at her and, for a moment, they held each other’s gaze.  Then, finally, she folded.

“I’m sorry,” Safi moaned, flopping back in her chair and looking at the stacks of books dejectedly.  “It just kills me that he’s living in our dream apartment while we’re stuck smelling like coffee for the rest of our lives.”

“It won’t be for the rest of our lives.  And besides,” Iseult added as an afterthought, “think of how much money we save living here.  I doubt I would have been able to afford that place now anyway.”

From the way Safi immediately sobered, Iseult knew she had driven the point home.  After all, it wasn’t Safi who couldn’t afford to live wherever she wanted.  She could leave their shoebox apartment anytime she wanted.  But she stayed for Iseult.  

Iseult fiddled with her hands and dropped her gaze, not wanting to look at the somber expression on Safi’s face.  She almost looked ashamed.  

“I’m sorry,” Safi apologized again.  She waved to the piles of books.  “Obviously, I lost my mind.”

“Does this mean you’re not going to build the book nook?”

Safi’s expression stiffened and Iseult saw a flicker of hesitation in her eyes.  

“No, I’m going to do it,” she eventually said, sounding resigned to the prospect, but determined.  “You’ve been bugging me about it long enough.”

“You said you liked the idea!”

“Yeah, but that was before I ordered those damned bookshelves,” argued Safi, nodding to the back office.  “Honestly, those assembly instructions are in a different language.  How can they expect the average person to put them together without a contractor?”

“Or an interpreter.”

“Exactly.  It’s all a bunch of gibberish made to con you into hiring a professional to assemble it for you.  It’s a money making scam.”

They sat in silence for a moment, Safi stewing.  Iseult side-eyed Safi.  She didn’t want to break the happy truce they had just struck, but...  

“You know who would be great at putting together those shelves?” she asked.  “The C-word.”

Safi gave a most unlady-like snort of disbelief.  “Cam can barely hold an entire tray of cookies without toppling over let alone a plank of wood.”

“I’m not talking about Cam and you know it.”

Safi shot her a piercing look.  “I am not calling Caden.”  She paused.  “I’ll call Leopold.”

“For what?” Iseult laughed.  “Moral support?”

“Hey, your boyfriend’s more handy than you think.”

Iseult’s stomach flipped.  “He’s not my boyfriend.”

Safi rolled her eyes in exasperation.  “You’re right.  He’s not, but he could be!  If you would stop avoiding him.”

Iseult’s stomach vaulted again, but this time for an entirely different reason.  “Did he say that?” she asked, not sure if she wanted to know the answer.

“That you’re avoiding him?  No, but I can tell by the way he asks about you.”  Safi studied Iseult for a moment.  “Do you like him?”

“I…” Iseult didn't know what to say.  She didn’t know what she felt.  While she had spent a good deal of time telling herself that Leopold’s flirtatious advances towards her were a figment of her imagination - I mean, look at the guy.  He basically waltzed right out of a Disney movie - she knew in her gut that they were real.  She’d be lying if she said she hadn’t thought about what it would be like to date him.  To kiss him.  Would she burst into a puff of smoke when his lips touched hers and reappear a beautiful princess?  It all seemed so ridiculous to her.  They were like night and day.  But even so, there was no denying that they shared a bond.  She trusted him.  With him, she felt safe.

With that thought in mind, she ended lamely, “I don’t know.”

Safi nodded, eyes soft and understanding.  “That’s fair… Maybe seeing him tonight will help,” she said encouragingly.

Right.  Tonight.  Vaness’ little shindig.  Iseult hadn’t exactly been crossing off the days on her calendar in anticipation.  

Safi’s face went serious again.  She hesitated.  “Hey, so Alma called while you were in the shower.”

Shit.  “She did?” Iseult asked, trying to keep her voice light.  It wasn’t like this was the third time Alma had called this week and she hadn’t gotten back to her or anything.

“Yeah.  I picked up…” said Safi, sounding apologetic.  “I figured it could be about something important.”

“I’m assuming if you’re just telling me now that it wasn’t?”

Safi shook her head.  “No.  Just asked if you could call her back.”

“Ok… Thanks.  I will.”  Iseult swallowed the lie and let her eyes wander to the mess around them.  “I take it this means you’re not reading the book for the book club?”  She picked up a copy of Sisters of Sight from the top of one of the nearby stacks.  

“No,” Safi was quick to say, snatching the book away from Iseult and holding it to her chest possessively.  “I added that to the pile by mistake.”

“Of course,” Iseult said without much confidence.  Sierra, one of the baristas working the morning shift, came over and offered a steaming to-go cup of coffee and a paper bag that, judging by the heavenly smell, was her favorite cinnamon crunch bagel.

“Such service” she commended, taking them from Sierra and thanking her.

“This place ain’t half-bad,” Safi chimed in, watching with approval.

“Not half-bad at all,” Iseult agreed, then took a sip of her coffee.  She made a face as she swallowed.  “Well, the coffee definitely falls into the half-bad category.  Real Marstoki coffee my you-know-what,” she grumbled under her breath.

“You can say ‘ass’ in front of me,” Safi goaded, smirking.  “I won’t tell anyone.”

Iseult shook her head and stood up from her chair.  She was officially running late now.  “Well, thank you for an eventful morning.  Your neuroses never fail to entertain.  I’m only working a half-shift, so I’ll be back this afternoon.  Try to be nice to Cam before I get here,” she added with what she hoped was a convincingly stern look.

“Remind me again why we hired him?” Safi asked, crossing her arms and leaning back in her chair.

“Because we’re all about helping the little guy,” answered Iseult as she wrapped her scarf around her neck.

“I didn’t realize we meant that literally.”

“You know what I mean.”

“You broke our no high schoolers policy.  I hate high schoolers.”

“Cam’s different.”

“He has no work experience.”

“Everyone has to get their start somewhere.  We didn’t exactly have much work experience when Mathew and Habim hired us.  Besides,” Iseult added, looking around and gesturing to the cafe, “this isn’t exactly a high-stakes operation.  I think Cam can handle pouring coffee.  Just be patient.  Not everyone learns at the same pace.”  She tugged on her beret cap and picked up her coffee and bagel.  “Well, I can’t wait to see you and the book nook when I get back.”

Safi’s face tightened and her smile froze in place.  “Me too,” she said as one of the book piles toppled over.  “Me too…”

*   .   *   .   *   .   *   .

Aeduan was not having a good morning.  

The news that they would be making a trip to the library that day was not received with warm reception from the four-year-old.  At first, Owl just frowned, not understanding why they were going if they weren’t going to see Evrane.  The concept of the library existing even when they weren’t there was a shock to Owl - an unpleasant one judging by the horrified look on her face - and Aeduan did his best to explain that the library was open to more than just the two of them, and that they were welcome to visit any time they wished, even when they weren’t meeting with Evrane.  He thought this would clear up the matter and put to rest Owl’s apparently very serious concerns about the library.  He was so incredibly wrong.

Owl had been possessed by the devil - Aeduan was sure of it.  

The nightmare started with her bath.  Aeduan could have skipped his shower if he had known how wet Owl would get him with all her thrashing, suddenly violently adverse to water.  By the end of it, there was more water on him than in the tub.  He’d had to change - but only after he managed to wrangle Owl into her own clothes (another Olympic feat).  At breakfast, she threw her Cheerios on the floor and the moment Aeduan finished picking up every last O, she spilled her orange juice.  By the time they left the house, Aeduan was so preoccupied with Owl squirming in his arms, he didn’t notice Blueberry sauntering across the porch and he tripped over the damned thing, sending himself - and Owl - toppling into a snow pile.  She’d started sobbing then.  Not for herself or for Aeduan, whose hip was throbbing in pain.  No, no, no.  She was upset that he may have hurt the cat.  It took 20 minutes for him to assure her that Blueberry was ok, another 20 minutes searching for the little cretin when it became clear she needed physical proof of the fact (he was hiding under the porch wedged behind the recycling bin), and by the time her sobs had turned into sniffles, he was so discombobulated that he didn’t even bother to go back inside and change out of his now soaking wet pants.  Again.  He was too worried he’d never get Owl out of the house again if he did.  He wasn’t taking any chances.  He skipped the car altogether, even though it had just snowed and the sidewalks probably weren’t all cleared yet.  Barring performing an exorcism, getting Owl to sit still long enough for him to fasten her into her carseat seemed inconceivable and - with his ears still ringing with her last screaming meltdown - he wasn’t looking for an encore.

Owl was deathly quiet by the time they reached the library.  Maybe she had run out of tears.  Aeduan certainly hoped so.  He wasn’t sure what he’d do if Owl fell apart while they were inside the building.  Possibly breakdown and cry himself.  Evrane would love that.

Shit.  Evrane.  In all the chaos, Aeduan hadn’t even thought about what he’d say if they happened to run into her.  He hastily ran through some quick excuses in his head while he crossed the library’s main hall, eyes darting around the open space for a splash of white hair and listening for the tell-tale sound of clattering of silver… which was precisely the moment he ran into Iseult.  Or rather, Iseult’s book cart.

The cart went toppling over, taking Iseult along with it, and crashed to the floor with a bone-rattling BOOM.  The sound echoed unforgivingly through the voluminous hall.  Aeduan stared at Iseult sprawled out on the floor covered in books, stunned, then snapped into action.  

“Are you alright?” he asked, hastily depositing Owl on the ground and kneeling down beside Iseult.  She looked shocked, eyes frozen wide, like she didn’t know how she had ended up on the floor.  He hastily began pulling books off her.

“You should be more careful,” Aeduan admonished gruffly.  He gathered and stacked the fly-away books into a pile off to the side while Iseult just sat there, silent.  Annoyed, he opened his mouth again when he picked up a tattered volume off her leg.  

His movement stuttered and his eyes locked on a jagged rip in her tights.  The pale skin shone like a tear in the night sky.  He swallowed thickly and he tore his eyes away.  

“Someone could have gotten hurt.”  He got up, leaving Iseult on the floor, and walked over the fallen cart.  He pulled it upright, the wood groaning with the motion.  He braced his hands on either end and gave it a firm jostle.  It seemed sturdy enough, despite its obvious wear.  Satisfied that it was safe, he started transferring the books back on its shelves.  

A strange sort of hiccup from behind him caused Aeduan’s head to snap up.  He’d had enough tears that morning.  This whole day could fuck off into the void if Iseult was going to start crying too.  He jerked around, not sure what he would do if he saw a single tear on her face, then stared.  

Iseult was laughing.  He’d never heard her laugh.  Or truly seen her smile.  It transformed her whole face that was always so emotionless.  Even as confusion shot through him, he couldn’t help but appreciate the sight.

He offered a hand to her.

“Are you alright?”  The question came out more reserved this time.  Less like an accusation.

Iseult nodded, her soft laughter fading to nothing, and accepted his help.  Her hand was cold against his.  She let go when she was back on her feet and offered him a small smile in appreciation.

Aeduan pointed to the tear at her knee, if only to distract himself from the feeling she’d left in his empty hand.  “That looks like it hurts.”

Iseult ducked her head and gave her leg a quick once-over.  Aeduan found himself looking too, but when his gaze began to roam to other places, he quickly looked away.  

“N-no, it’s fine,” Iseult stammered.  “I’m just out a pair of tights.”  

Aeduan frowned, not sure what to say to that.  Iseult bit the inside of her cheek and shrugged.  “I-I have a hundred pairs, so it’s f-fine.”

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Aeduan asked for a third time.  The tremble in her voice was making him uneasy.

“Mhmm,” was all she responded with, nodding her head.  She fidgeted with the cuffs of her sweater.  “I’m sorry I almost ran you two over.”

Two?  Oh, right!  Owl.

Aeduan looked down at Owl next to him.  The look she was giving them was downright murderous, if that was possible.  Owl had proven on more than one occasion that she was capable of extraordinary things - even if she was only four.

“You didn’t,” Aeduan replied, looking away from her and back at Iseult.  “I should have been paying attention.  I’m sorry.”  He didn’t know where the words were coming from, but they were out of his mouth before he could give them any thought.  They seemed to be the right thing to say, though, because Iseult’s face relaxed and he thought he caught a faint smile.

“I’m glad you’re here,” she said, looking up at him shyly.

Aeduan swallowed, heart stuck in his throat.  “You…. are?”

“Mmm,” Iseult confirmed.  She wet her lips, the pink tip of her tongue darting out and capturing Aeduan’s attention fully and wholly.  “I was just about to drop these off and get my things to go.  I have your book.  One of the other librarians would have been able to get it for you, but…”  She trailed off, ducking her head and looking down at her feet.

But, what?  Aeduan thought frantically.  He’d never felt more desperate for someone to finish a sentence.

Instead, she abruptly announced: “I’ll go get it now,” then pivoted on her heel and glided away from him.  He watched her go, eyes carefully trained on the manner of her gait.  If she was hurting, she hid it well.  Every stride of her legs was poised and measured, much like her personality.  However, when she was about ten feet away from him she paused and turned around.  Aeduan noticed how she hesitated when she saw him watching her, but, subtly, she squared her shoulders, and proceeded to make the short trek back to where him and Owl stood by the book cart.  

Oh.  The book cart.

Aeduan made no comment when Iseult reached them nor did she.  She simply rotated the cart on its wheels and ushered it away.  The rickety contraception left a trail of unwelcomed noise, earning her several annoyed looks from nearby patrons.  As if it was Iseult’s fault that that ancient piece of craftsmanship made such an infernal racket.

Aeduan glared at them.

It didn’t take Iseult long to return.  When she appeared, she was buttoned up in a coat and wore an old-timey looking beret on her head.  On anyone else it probably would have looked childish, but on her it was cute.  Aeduan shrugged the observation off by focusing on the book in her hand.  

“I hope you don’t mind that I looked up your account to check it out,” she said as she handed Elmer and the Dragon to him.  A boy in a red and white striped shirt and blue cap playing a flute to a circle of yellow birds looked up at him from the cover.  “We’re not supposed to do that without the patron present, but... well... I figured you’d probably want to get in and get out.”

Aeduan looked up with the faintest of frowns.  “Why do you say that?”

Iseult blinked, and though nothing else moved out of place on her face, Aeduan could tell she was surprised.  “Well,” she said slowly, “whenever you come in you always seem like… like you don’t want to be here.”

Aeduan tensed.  That wasn’t true.  Maybe it had been before, but now… now he wasn’t so sure.

He assessed the facts.  Today was Friday.  He’d defied all logic and come in on a day he wasn’t obligated to.  He’d triggered the second coming of Judas just to be here by facing off with an irritable 4-year-old and a demonic cat.  He’d even risked Evrane’s unsolicited judgement.  All that he had done to pick up Owl’s book.  To make Owl happy.  The wet jeans frozen to his ass were proof of that.  

“I wanted to be here today,” he said, tucking the book under his arm.  The truth of that statement almost distracted him from the pink blush that rose on the apples of Iseult’s cheeks.  Almost.  

She cast her gaze down to her hands and busied herself with pulling on her gloves.  ���I have to go to my next job.”  Her voice was muffled somewhat by the thick scarf wrapped so high around her neck it obscured some of her chin.

“The coffee shop?”

“The coffee shop.”  She let her hand fall to her sides - gloves secured - and with nothing left to keep her occupied, she looked at him.  

“Well...” she began.  The suggestion of her departure was obvious in her tone, but Aeduan interrupted her.  

“We were planning on heading there after.  After coming here.”

“You were going to go to Jitters?”  Iseult’s eyebrow actually bounced and Aeduan relished the satisfaction of getting a reaction out of her.  It was becoming something of a game between them - though, he wasn’t sure she was aware she was a player.

“Yeah.  It’s what we do on Fridays.”

Iseult peered from Aeduan to Owl.  Unconvinced maybe.  “You go to Jitters every Friday?”

“Well,” Aeduan backtracked, feeling his insides freeze up a bit, “we have been for the last month.  It’s… a new tradition.”

He hoped that didn’t sound weird.  Iseult was still staring at him with that blank stare of hers, her eyebrows having recovered from their brief surprise.  It was all so maddening.  He never knew what she was going to say.  It made everything he said all the more nerve wracking… and exciting.  

He realized something then, something that made the corner of his mouth curl up.  Just like that, he wasn’t afraid of what to say next.

“Shall we?”

*   .   *   .   *   .   *   .

Iseult was getting coffee with Aeduan.

Scratch that.  Iseult was getting coffee for Aeduan.  Or at least, she would be once they got to Jitters.  

They were walking.  Outside, Aeduan had apologized and muttered something about not being able to use the car in the morning.  He did that a lot.  Mutter.  But Iseult didn’t mind.  Especially when there was an apology buried in there - which, there had been that day.  Twice.  That wasn’t so bad either.  (Not that she was keeping track, of course.)

The sidewalks were icy, and several times, Iseult nearly slipped.  Each time she noticed the way Aeduan’s hand shot out to grab her out of the corner of her eye - but only just.  He never quite made it to touching her.  His hand would hover in the air - she could practically feel it - waiting for her to recover, and after, it would fall back to his side, wrist rolling.

The three of them walked side by side, Aeduan in between Iseult and Owl.  There was no way of knowing for sure, but Iseult suspected that he had put himself in the middle to act as some sort of buffer.  The contempt radiating off of Owl back at the library hadn’t gone unnoticed by Iseult.  She could have imagined it, but she thought she even saw a smidgen of smugness on the child’s face after she had fallen.  While Iseult admired Aeduan for fighting for custody of the child, there was no ignoring it: Owl was strange.

Aeduan held on tight to Owl’s hand, setting the pace for the three of them.  Unlike Iseult, she hadn’t slipped once.  So strange.

Nothing was said for the first ten minutes of their trek.  Eventually, Iseult worked up the nerve and broke the ice in a way that didn’t involve falling on her ass.

“You said you started coming to Jitters every Friday?” she asked, giving Aeduan a side-long look.  He nodded, keeping his eyes ahead of him.  

“Before we pick up my sisters from school.”

Sisters.  Interesting.  Iseult instantly latched onto the topic.  “Do they live around here?”

Aeduan shook his head.  “Arithuania.”  

“That’s not too far,” Iseult commented conversationally.  “How old are they?”

“Lisbet’s 12 and Cora’s 8… They're my half-sisters.”

“Oh.”  Iseult mulled over that.  It was a seemingly small detail, but it invited a whole host of questions about his family.  Lisbet and Cora were younger than him, so that meant he had a stepmother… which meant something had happened to his real mother.  The desire to not to lose momentum of the conversation almost pushed Iseult to ask… but then she thought about Gretchya.  If the roles were reversed and Aeduan had asked about her mom, she wouldn’t have wanted to answer.  Her mom was about the furthest thing away from what she would want to talk about, now or ever.

So instead she said, “I don’t have any siblings.  But I have Safi.”

Aeduan’s head turned to her.  “Who’s Safi?”

“My best friend.”  Iseult’s face broke out into a smile like it always did when she thought about Safi.  “She’s the closest thing I have to a sister.”

“That… must be nice.”

Iseult nodded in agreement.  “We live together.”

A pause.  “Do you get along?”

“Most of the time.  But even when we disagree, we’re always in sync.  We’re always on each other’s side.  It’s... hard to explain.”

“Hn.”  That was all Aeduan had to say to that and then silence fell between.  Iseult really felt like it was his turn to pick up the conversation.  She’d done a decent enough job carrying it so far; a two minute run was pretty good, she thought.  A record, maybe, for Aeduan.  But now it was his turn.  Or so she thought.  Because the silence stretched.  And stretched and stretched.  She even heard Owl sigh at one point.  She wouldn’t be surprised if she fell asleep by the time they made it to Jitters.  

“Do you live around here?” she finally asked, then groaned inwardly.  What a stupid question.  Of course, he lived around here.  They walked to the library all the time, dumby.  

“Yes.”

The single word struck a match on Iseult’s nerves.  She might as well have said nothing at all if that all she was going to get back in return.  She wasn’t great at making conversation on a good day, but Aeduan - Aeduan was like a monolith.  There was no breaking through to him.  He just stood there like a constipated brick, not saying a word, with those ridiculously blue eyes and ridiculously long lashes, and just glared at her making her feel like a complete idiot for even trying to talk to him, like she was the one with the problem!  

Well, she silently seethed, it was no secret to the Moon Mother that she was ripe with issues, but she was not the problem here.  She peeked at him out of the corner of her eye, and the white winter sunlight caught on the lobe of Aeduan’s ear.  

“Why do you wear that thing?” she blurted.  

Aeduan’s head whipped to her, his eyes slightly widened, like he’d only just realized she was there.  Before, Iseult might have been scared as to how he would react to such a brazen question.  But her fears had nothing on the deep satisfaction of seeing the crimson blush that fanned out high on his cheeks and crawled to the tips of his ears.  She half expected him to trip over himself for how long he gaped at her.      

“Why do you care?” he snarled - he actually snarled!  

Iseult stood her ground.  In that, she kept walking, head held high.

“I didn’t say I cared,” she said smoothly.  “I’m just curious.  You don’t see a lot of guys walking around wearing gemstones in their ears.  It says alot about a person.”  

Aeduan’s jaw locked so tightly it looked like it might never unhinge ever again - which, Iseult supposed, wouldn’t make much of a difference seeing as he never said anything worthwhile anyway.

But then he did something that surprised her.  He came to a full stop.  He swiveled to face her directly, and when Iseult looked into his eyes, some of the fear she’d pushed aside rushed back.

“This gemstone,” Aeduan said venomously, pointing a sharp finger to his ear, “belonged to my mother.”  He glared at Iseult and she swore she heard her heart stop entirely.  Strangers milled about around them on the sidewalk, but in that moment nothing else existed outside of her and Aeduan.  All she saw were his eyes.  Cold as ice, yet burning with hatred... and grief.  Even though Iseult was petrified of what he might say next, she realized that she felt like she was seeing him for the first time.

“I wear this to remember her.”  Aeduan’s chest heaved.  Icy air puffed from his lips with every labored breath, and Iseult suddenly noticed how close he was to her.  Just another step and their noses would be touching.  And their lips…

“If you’d ever lost a mother, you’d want to feel close to her too.”

This time Iseult’s heart did stop.  With a disgusted look, Aeduan swung away from her and left her standing alone on the sidewalk, staring at the empty space where he used to be.

“I don’t think I would.”  

Aeduan froze and looked over his shoulder.  Iseult stood rooted to the spot.  

“I-I d-don’t know if that’s t-true.”  She shook her head, not sure where the words were coming from.  Not sure how her heart could be beating so fast and not feel like it was working at the same time.  Like it was malfunctioning and pumping out thoughts she would otherwise never say aloud.  Not to anyone.  Maybe not even Safi.  

“My m-mother is sick and I d-don’t call her,” she stammered.  “I never see her.  I make excuses all the time about why I can’t visit her or why I don’t return her calls and even though I know I’m being a horrible daughter, I just can’t stop.  I can’t bring myself to be better for her.  I don’t know who your mother was or what she was like, but I do know mine.  I don’t know what I’d do without her, I’ve never not had a mother, but… I don’t know if I’d want to feel close to her b-because I don’t feel c-close to her now.  I… I don’t know if I’d miss her.”

The weight of everything she just admitted lifted off Iseult and she was able to breathe again, heartbeat retreating under the cool blanket of stasis she kept shrouded around her at all times.  Pumping blood, not feelings, doing its job.  She took a gulp of cold air.  Her limbs felt foreign to her, the tension she always carried ebbing away, and a fierce exhaustion hit her with the force of a speeding train.  She didn’t think she could bring herself to look at Aeduan after everything she just confessed… but she did anyway.

His expression was painstakingly emotionless.  Not even a scrap of red tinged his cheeks.  During her speech she hadn’t really registered him there.  Even Owl at his side was looking at Iseult with something different.  There was no repulsion, not judgement.  Just… curiosity.

Iseult took another deep breath of air.  It didn’t matter what Aeduan thought of her now.  She needed to go to work.  She needed to move forward.  Her eyelids fluttered close briefly.

Stasis, Iseult.  Stasis.  Stasis in your fingers and in your toes.

When she opened her eyes, she was moving.  She was brushing past his shoulder.  And then-

Something stopped her.

Iseult looked down at the hand firmly gripped on the strap of her book bag, then slowly, tipped her chin up to look at Aeduan.  The white winter sun behind him was a halo around his head.

“Can I buy you a muffin?”

*   .   *   .   *   .   *   .

Somehow Iseult ended up on the green couch at Jitters.  There had been scant elsewhere for the three of them to comfortably sit, so while Iseult had made a beeline for the couch before anyone else could snatch it out from under them, Aeduan headed to the counter to fetch them some coffee.  Caffeine was probably the last thing Iseult needed right now - not after what had transpired on their walk - but when Aeduan had asked her how she took her coffee, she couldn’t find it in herself to refuse him.

There was an air of relaxed cheerfulness about the shop, the place bustling with people getting a jumpstart on their weekend, college students done with classes for the week.  When Iseult spotted Cam alone scrambling behind the counter and Safi nowhere in sight, her first instinct was to rush over and give him a hand, but the second Aeduan stepped into her line of sight and instructed her to find a seat, she’d forgotten all about him.

It felt strange sitting and being waited on in her own coffee shop.  It was like being served in her living room.  She sat spine rod straight on the edge of the couch with her hands absently twisting her gloves in her lap.  She hadn’t even bothered to take off her coat or scarf.  They felt like protective armor now, like needing a blanket to fall asleep regardless of whether it’s cold or not.  Right now, it was admittedly too hot, what with the fireplace crackling by the couch.  She could feel herself growing uncomfortably warm.  She resolved to loosen her scarf, but only a little bit.  

Aeduan wasn’t alone when he reappeared carrying two mismatched mugs of coffee.  Cam followed behind him, his face pinched in concentration, moving with caution as he balanced three small plates of pastries perilously along his spindly arms.  Iseult tried not to make a show of watching him as he approached, but she held her breath, praying for him not to fumble.  It would be exactly the kind of thing he would do, the poor kid.  The second hand embarrassment alone would cause Iseult to combust.  

The second the plates made contact with the low coffee table, she was able to breathe freely.

“Cam,” Iseult said, peering over the back of the couch and looking around the shop, “where’s Safi?”

Cam put down the last of the plates and wiped off his brow, relief evident on his face.  “She ran out to the corner store.  The delivery guys must be running late and we ran out of creamer.”

“That’s the second time this month,” Iseult muttered more to herself than to Cam.  She sighed.  “I’ll have Safi give them an earful when they get here.”

“Aye aye, sir.”  Cam gave her a dutiful salute.  He made to turn away, then stopped as if only just realizing that he had just served pastries to her.  “You are working today, right?  Safi seemed to think you were.”

“In another half hour,” said Iseult, checking the clock on the wall for good measure.  “Don’t worry, I’ll be on by the time you need to leave.  You won’t be late for your Big Brother meeting.”

Cam’s cheeks went a little pink and he rubbed the back of his neck.  “Ok, thanks,” he said sheepishly.  “I’m really sorry he called last week.  I told him it wasn’t your fault, I swear.”

A memory of Safi hunched over the desk in their cramped office in the storeroom, red-faced, holding the phone to her ear flashed across her eyes.  Safi’d endured a very heated discussion with some guy that claimed to be Cam’s Big Brother - didn’t even bother to properly introduce himself, the loser - and accused them of letting Cam off his shift late so that he was late for their meeting.  Judging by the 30 minutes hate-rant that followed after she’d hung up the phone, it had not been a productive conversation.

“I believe you, Cam.  It really wasn't a big deal,” she lied.  It had taken forty bucks worth of take-out and a bottle of wine to convince Safi not to fire him on the spot.  

“Ok,” Cam said again, shoulders relaxing.  He surveyed the spread on their coffee table and glanced at Aeduan and Owl seated next to her.  “I just wasn’t sure what this was.”

“Oh ah…” Iseult glanced at Aeduan who was helping Owl peel the paper wrapping off her muffin, not paying the least bit of attention to their conversation.  “We’re just having some lunch.”

“Alright,” Cam said, eyeing Aeduan skeptically, if not fearfully.  But he didn’t pry further.  “Well, I’ll see you in a bit then.  Enjoy your, uh, lunch.”

“Thanks,” Iseult said, watching him leave.  Stealing herself, she shifted in her seat to face lunch.  

Aeduan hadn’t touched his food.  He was too busy fussing over Owl.  She sat between them, contentedly munching on a muffin that was almost as big as her head.  Much like before when they had been walking together, she felt like Owl was acting as some sort of barrier now, like Aeduan had put her there to keep some space between them.  Iseult wondered if she should read into it.  Maybe he was trying to tell her that this wasn’t anything special.  Just two people having coffee.  Nothing put the lid on romance faster than a four-year-old who, as far as Iseult could tell, hated her.  And then there was the issue of the 6 months worth of guilt she’d word vomited all over the sidewalk just 10 minutes ago.

“Is everything alright?” Aeduan asked as he put down Owl’s juice box on the coffee table and picked at his own muffin.

“Oh, it’s nothing,” Iseult said, almost breathless.  “Just a problem with our delivery guys.  I’ll have Safi handle it when she gets back.”

Aeduan popped a piece of muffin in his mouth and chewed methodically as he studied her.  He swallowed.  “No, I meant with you.  Your face.  It’s all red and splotchy.”

“Oh,” Iseult breathed, hands flying to her cheeks.  The skin burned under her fingers.  “I… I’m just a little warm, I guess.  The fire…” Aeduan continued to stare and she looked down helplessly at her coat.  “I suppose I can take this off,” she mumbled, reaching for the buttons and beginning to undo them.  She tried to steady her fingers as she continued down the line.  She shrugged the peacoat off and her entire body seemed to sigh with relief at the feeling of being able to breath again.  She chanced another glance at Aeduan as she unwound her scarf, noticing that he had already taken his jacket.  How she hadn’t noticed until was a mystery.  The white t-shirt stretched across his chest made it devastatingly clear that he didn’t need any protective armor for their not-date.  

Iseult had always been so preoccupied with what was going on inside Aeduan’s head that she never really wondered what went on with the rest of him.  His signature leather jacket masked how lean he truly was, but it also hid everything else.  Everything else being, well, everything.  And boy, there was so much to see.

Not being much of a fashion guru, Iseult had never considered what was so special about the plain white tee.  That singular item of clothing had transcended decades of trends despite being, as its title suggested, plain.  Now, however, its reason for persevering was evident.  Embellishment would only distract from the main attraction.  The attraction being, the person who wore it.

Aeduan was, for lack of a better word, stacked.

The shirt left nothing to the imagination.  Iseult could see the contours of his muscles, starting with the hard plane of his chest, traveling all the way down to map the outline of his abs.  His arms were on full display in all their glory, pale and strong looking and - oh my gosh - was that a tattoo peeking out from underneath the hem of his sleeve??  There was nothing unsightly about him.  He was built in a way that told her that he must be well-acquainted with the benefits of hitting the genetic lottery.  This wasn't the work of protein powder.  Somehow he had fallen into Moon Mother’s good graces.  He looked healthy and strong and 100% out of Iseult’s league… It wasn’t until now that she’d ever even considered joining a league.  

She didn’t own a bat.  

She didn’t own a ball.  

She’d never made it to first base before, nevermind hit a homerun.  

She was so woefully unequipped in every way for the living Michaelangelo statue sitting across from her that it suddenly hit her that no wonder he didn’t talk much.  Who needed words when you had a body like that to do all the talking?

Except Aeduan was talking for once.  Now, in fact.

“Are you going to leave that on?” Iseult barely heard him ask.

“What?  Oh-” She followed his line of sight to the beret on top of her head.  She hastily peeled it off and awkwardly tried to smooth out her hair.  She was uncomfortably aware of Aeduan’s eyes on her.  She wished she hadn’t worn the silly thing.  It had been a gift from Leopold a couple Christmases back.  He had insisted that it was chic and retro and, no, it wouldn’t make her look like Mary from The Secret Garden, but now she would have liked nothing more than to toss it into the fire and watch it shrivel up into a pile of ash.

“Thanks,” she forced herself to say as she reached for the mug on the table.  “For the coffee and- oh.”  She examined the muffin beside it, then tilted her head questioningly at Aeduan.  “Did you know cinnamon was my favorite?”

Aeduan, who was mid-sip, paused.  Iseult caught the corner of his mouth curled up behind his mug.  Then he tipped his coffee back and it was gone.  “Lucky guess.”

Iseult allowed herself to smile, a little one, before ducking her down.  She began to break apart her muffin… but there was only so much eating and drinking she could do before there would need to be some exchange of words.  She decided to take a stab at it.  

“You said you come here every Friday?”

“Pretty much,” Aeduan said, reaching for a napkin and dabbing a smear of what looked like blueberry off Owl’s cheek.  She looked like she wanted to resist but didn’t.

“You do know there’s a Starbucks right around the corner, right?”

“So?”

“Well, why come here when you could go there?”

Aeduan thought about it, then shrugged.  “I like the coffee.”

Iseult snorted into her mug, sending a couple errant droplets of coffee flying.  Both Aeduan and Owl stared at her.  Iseult surreptitiously wiped her mouth, but when she noticed that they were still staring, Aeduan clearly confused by her reaction, she sent the same nonplussed look right back.

“Are you serious?” Iseult asked deadpanned.

“I believe I am,” Aeduan replied, a little defensive, which made Iseult want to laugh again.

“It’s not actually real Marstoki coffee,” she said, gesturing to his mug.  “You know that, right?”

Aeduan peered into the contents of his mug.  “It’s not?”

“Not even a little.”  Iseult gave him a bemused look, enjoying the curious way he was examining his mug, almost indignant.  Eventually he accepted the truth and put it down.

“You said hazelnut makes it better.  I guess you were right.”

Iseult’s heart skipped a beat.  He ordered his coffee that way she had brewed it for him the first time she saw him in the shop?  She didn’t know why that made her feel all gooey inside but it did.

A soft chime sounded and Aeduan reached into his back pocket.  The movement stretched his already too tight shirt even tighter across his chest and Iseult launched into an aggressive excavation of her muffin as to avoid ogling him.  When she eventually got a grip and looked back up, Aeduan was frowning at his phone.  

“Something wrong?” Iseult asked, hoping that he didn’t have to leave.

He shook his head.  “It’s nothing.”  He started to put it away, then stopped.  “Well,” - he shifted again and slid it back out - “do you know what this means?”

He leaned across Owl and showed the screen to Iseult.

“My sister likes to send me these… things,” he explained, watching Iseult carefully as she looked at the picture on his phone.  “I never know what the heck she’s talking about.”

“Oh!” Iseult exclaimed with a laugh.  “It’s a meme.  See, that’s Kermit the Frog.  Kermit is-”

“I know who Kermit the Frog is,” Aeduan ground out like it pained him to say the goofy green muppet’s name out loud.  “But what does he have to do with her trying to decide whether or not she wants to sign up for the school’s annual spelling bee?”

“Well,” Iseult began and boldly took the phone from his hand and pointed to the Kermit hooded in a black cloak.  “That’s Kermit’s evil persona.  He’s like the devil on his shoulder whispering in his ear and egging him on.  Your sister-”

“Lisbet,” provided Aeduan.

“-Lisbet said she doesn’t want to sign up because she has too many other extracurriculars going on right now and doesn’t want to overload herself.  But she also wants the satisfaction of wiping the floor with her peers’ asses because she knows she’ll win.”

Aeduan frowned at her.

“My words, not hers,” she clarified.  She handed the phone back to him.  “She was using that picture of Kermit talking to his sinister self to emphasize her evil instincts.”

“I wouldn't exactly classify competing in a spelling bee as evil,” Aeduan said, studying the meme again.

Iseult plunked a bit of muffin in her mouth and chewed.  “Sounds like she's a pretty outgoing kid.”

“She is,” Aeduan said, clicking his phone off and tucking it away.  “But she’s quiet about it… Humble in a way the most overachieving 12-year-olds aren’t.  To her it’s not overachieving, it’s just her being her.”

Iseult watched the faint smile that spread across his lips, warming his usually cold face.  “Cora,” he continued without prompting, “is a lot like her, but sillier.  She’s younger, of course, but she’s always been a little more mellow than Lisbet.  More carefree.  I don’t think school means the same to her as it does to Lisbet, but she’s a good girl.”

“They both sound like they’re good girls,” Iseult said.  

“They are,” Aeduan nodded.  “They are.”

A comfortable silence passed between them in which they both indulged in a few bites of their muffins.

“So what are your plans for this weekend?” Iseult asked.  

Aeduan stiffened, looking slightly uncomfortable.  “Uh, sorry, but I’m busy.  I have the girls all weekend.”

She blinked.  “Right, I know... what are your plans with them?”

“You weren’t...?”  Aeduan’s face went red and he absently tugged at his pieced lobe.  “Oh.  Well.  Uh…” He tried to mask his embarrassment with a cough.  “Nothing special.  Lisbet likes to get her homework out of the way on Fridays and Cora likes to do what Lisbet does, so we usually spend the rest of the afternoon doing school work.  Saturdays are a mixed bag.  Lisbet’s does a lot of extracurriculars, so depending on what she has going on, Saturday is our day to just hang out and relax.”

Iseult had a hard time picturing Aeduan “hanging out” and wondered what that would entail.  Before she could ask, a noise sprouted between them and they both looked down.  Owl sipped on her straw like she was sucking the life out of her juice box.  Aeduan gingerly pulled it out of her mouth and placed the exsanguinated carton on the coffee table.  

“What about you?” Aeduan asked, like nothing had happened.  “Do you have any fun plans?”  It sounded like he struggled to say the word ‘fun’.

“Well, I wouldn’t exactly call my plans fun.  Or call them plans at all,” Iseult confessed, tucking her hair behind her ear.  “I mostly work.  And read.”

“And hang out with Safi.”

Iseult smiled, nodding.  “And hang out with Safi.”

It took her a full 5 seconds to realize that Aeduan was smiling back at her.  Not just with his mouth but with the little dimple that winked out from his cheek.  It was the most brilliant thing she’d ever seen.  

“Actually,” she spoke, looking down at her hands, “we’re hanging out tonight.  Our friend Vaness is having a little get-together with some people.”

“Vaness?”

Iseult’s ears perked up, catching the sharp familiarity in the way he spoke her name.  “Yeah.  Do you know her?”

Aeduan opened his mouth to respond, his smile and the dimple noticeably missing, but at that moment, the bells over the entrance door jingled and in walked Safi.  

“Iseult,” she breathed, nose and cheeks rosy from the cold.  A paper bag was clutched to her chest with what Iseult guessed was creamer.

At the sound of her name, Aeduan’s head instinctively turned to look over the back of the couch.  Safi froze as the door closed behind her.

“S-Safi,” Iseult exclaimed, taken aback by the stutter over her best friend’s name.  That was a first.  But Safi didn’t seem to notice.  Her feet seemed glued to the floor with her stare pinned on Aeduan.

“This is Aeduan and - oh!” - Owl was turning in her seat and pulling herself up with the back of the couch to see what the fuss was about - “this is Owl.”

Owl gave Safi a shrewd look that lasted all of 5 seconds before sinking back down onto the cushion and returning to her muffin.  Clearly, she was unimpressed by Iseult’s choice in best friend.

“Aeduan, this is Safi,” Iseult told him, nearly choking on Safi’s name when she saw the frosty look he was giving Safi.

Neither of them said anything.

“We were just eating lunch,” Iseult explained, grappling for words.  She looked from Safi to Aeduan waiting for someone to explain why on earth she’d been transported to the arctic tundra.  They seemed to be locked in some sort of Vulcan mind meld; she had a feeling her limited knowledge of Star Trek trivia wasn’t going to do much to break it.

Thankfully, Aeduan was the one to do the deed.  He sent a downward jerk of his head to Safi in acknowledgment that might as well have been a punch to the face for all the friendliness it had, then turned to Iseult.

“We need to get going,” he said, his voice carrying none of the warmth or depth it had had in their conversation moments ago.

“S-sure,” Iseult faltered.  She was unable to ignore the sinking disappointment buoying in the pit of her stomach.  “I w-wouldn’t want to keep Lisbet and Cora waiting.”

Wordlessly, he pulled on his jacket and helped Owl into hers, then bundled her up in her hat, scarf, and gloves.  He started to stack the mugs and plates.

“You don’t have to-” Iseult tried to stop him, but he continued anyway.

“I got it,” was all he gruffed out.  When everything was piled up, he stepped around the coffee table and transported it all to the counter by the waste bin.  When he came back he held out his hand to Owl, who slid off the couch and placed her fuzzy mittened hand in his, then glanced at Iseult.  She couldn’t read his expression, but she didn’t have much time because the next second he was turning his back on her and leaving.

Safi, who hadn’t budged, didn’t say a word as he sidestepped around her and pushed through the door.  The second it rattled shut, her head whipped to Iseult.  She whizzed over to the couch like time had stopped and was suddenly speeding to catch up.  She threw herself down where Aeduan had been sitting and carelessly let the paper bag drop to the floor, barely giving it any mind.  Disbelief was written all over her face.  Iseult was glad that her expression was finally readable, but was still very much bewildered as to the reason behind it.

“What was that all about?  Are you crazy?” Safi whisper-hissed.

Iseult blinked rapidfire in response.  “What are you talking about?”

“Him!” Safi exclaimed, shooting a look over her shoulder.  “That guy!  Why on Earth would you hang out with him?!”

Iseult was so confused.  She was barely able to form words.  “He’s just a patron at the library.  We’re friends.”

Safi gave her a flabbergasted look.  “He’s not just a patron.  Iseult,” - she leaned forward and brought her head close to hers - “do you seriously not recognize who he is or do you not remember anything from that night?”  She pinned her with a stare, eyebrows high, as though waiting for a response, but Iseult shook her head smally, her mouth clamped shut.  Nothing Safi was saying was making any sense and it was making her more and more nervous.  

Safi sucked in a breath through her nose and her hand covered Iseult’s in her lap.  She squeezed it bracingly.  All it did was send another shot of fear through Iseult.  She stared into Safi’s blue eyes.

“Iseult,” she said in a low voice, “that’s the chief of police’s son... the cop that crashed Vaness’ end-of-the-year party.”

*   .   *   .   *   .   *   .

The moment Aeduan stepped outside, he felt like he could breathe again.  It had become too hot in there.  And then when Safi walked in…

Of course - of course - Iseult’s best friend had to be the impossible barista.  But she wasn’t just that.  Because just before she’d interrupted them, something that had been out of place had slid home and he’d realized something: he knew Iseult.

A memory of a hot summer night that started with a noise complaint rushed back to him.  Being in the Domestic Violence Unit, it wasn’t something his squad typically covered, but staff was stretched thin that night, what with the non-stop partying shaking up the college city, and Aeduan didn’t have much choice to turn his back on the call.  It had been one of the last runs he’d made before turning in his badge.

Iseult probably didn’t even remember it.  But he did.

Owl tugged at Aeduan’s hand and felt her curl into his leg.  He peered down at her questioningly.

She lifted a mittened hand out in front of her.  “Dog,” she said.

Aeduan looked to where she pointed and, sure enough, there was a dog leashed to a lamppost, most likely waiting for his owner to return from getting a coffee.  At the sight of the two of them, he lifted his shaggy head from his front paws, attention piqued.

Annoyance tugged at Aeduan’s gut.  He hated when dog owners just left their pets tied up unattended.  It was just notch below leaving them in the car.

Owl let go of his hand and clutched herself to him, hiding behind his leg.  Wide brown eyes peeked out from behind him at the dog, who looked cold and miserable.

“Tail not moving,” she said, her words muffled by the fabric of his jeans.  Aeduan nodded and gave the dog a pitying look.

“That’s right,” he told her.  “He’s probably not happy being left out in the snow by his master.”

Owl tucked herself even closer to him and a small whimper bubbled out of her.  Aeduan moved to sidestep away from her to show her the dog wouldn’t hurt her, but she only whimpered again, more loudly.

“It’s ok,” Aeduan shushed her, gently extricating her from his leg and lifting her up in the air like she weighed nothing.  “I got you.”  

Her arms wrapped around his neck the moment she connected with his chest and the warmth of her enveloped him, anchoring him, pushing thoughts of his old life his mind.  He held her close, humming soft comforting words to her and rocking her gently.  

From the snow-covered sidewalk, the shivering dog’s watery, mournful eyes watched him and Aeduan stared back.  He thought about Iseult and her sick mother.  He thought about Owl’s tear-stained face from that morning and her arms around him now.  And then he thought about what it would take to lose a child and what it would feel like to not be missed.

[guksauce]

~TickledPink!~

Part Four

Pairing: Jjk x Reader Pregnant AU

Word Count: 3,028K

Rated: M

Book Warnings: Mentions of Sexual Assault, Mild Smut, Adult Language, Fluff City.

Author: @guksauce

Notes: Thank you to those who show this story and myself love 💖 PM me if you would like to be added to the Tag List 😊

Tag List: @jamkookies @jk97luv @1-in-abillion

Sweaters, t-shirts, rain jackets, coats. Chanel, Saint Laurent, Gucci, Giorgio Armani. You could have climbed the mountain of expensive clothes on Jimin’s bed to the God’s right now. “Let’s raid my closet!” He said. “It’ll be so fun!” He promised. And it was. Of course, it was! How could it not be when you were practically swimming in a sea of brands you’d never even seen with your own eyes before? As a single adult living in a run-down apartment in Sangdo-dong and making low wages at a crappy diner, just LOOKING at the clothes strung around Jimin’s bedroom was a dream.

“Here try this one. It’s too short for me now.” Honestly, you’re afraid you’ll ruin the high dollar fabric if you even so much as breath on it as he hands it to you. For a moment you just let it rest in your hands and stare at it, imagining it melting between your fingers before he notices you thinking too hard about trying it on. “Y/n. Its just a shirt.” He says, giggles accenting every syllable.

“This is NOT just a shirt Jimin. It’s a Gucci shirt. It probably costs more than my rent. I-I’m not even sure how to hold on to this, let alone wear it.” It’s so pretty, you try to persuade yourself, and you can imagine how the cotton would feel as it caresses your skin, but it’s entirely too much.

“Well I could help you if you want me to.” Winking, Jimin struts over to you, the jokingly seductive tone under his words making you both erupt into a fit of laughter before he even makes it all the way to you. Taking the shirt away, he replaces the home it claimed in your hands with his own and squeezes. “Forgive me if I’m overwhelming you. I just thought you would like some of the things I had.”

“No way! Don’t be sorry. I’m the one that should apologize, I’m being a brat. I do love these things. I’ve just never had anything so nice so I’m just wrapping my head around how…well…blessed I am.” You start, rolling the fabric between your thumb and forefinger. “It isn’t like I’ve never had anything nice but you’re just throwing nice things at me without asking for anything in return after I’ve made a rift in your family home. I’m beyond grateful to you and the others. But I’m also feeling wildly…undeserving.” Really you should probably stop while your head. You want to stop, not wanting to fill up Jimin’s time with your fears, but you can’t stop yourself. The glitter dancing in his eyes certainly doesn’t help how already approachable he is. “I know I probably sound like a broken record talking about how much trouble I’ve caused already and how guilty I feel but it truly makes me feel terrible for you and the others.” It doesn’t come as a surprise to Jimin that this is how you’re feeling. From the moment you stepped foot into the living room last night, he could see the guilt oozing out of you. He’s struck with a sharp desire to squeeze it out of you before it swallows you whole.

“I admire how honest you are.” He says, rubbing the backs of your hands with his thumbs. The action paired with his words finds you falling into his chest by how comforting he’s being. Chuckling, he wraps his arms around you and nuzzles his cheek into the top of your head. “Namjoon brought you to us because he thought you deserved to be taken care of. I don’t know why you’re here or how long you will be but I just…we just want to take care of you. That’s just who we are. You may not think you belong here, that you don’t have a place here, that you’ve ruined things but, none of that matters because…how would Joonie put it? You-You’ve planted a seed in all of us. Even Yoongi who may look like he doesn’t care but I can promise you he does.” He pauses as if trying to convince himself with his own statement. “There. Was that poetic enough?” He asks, making you huff out a soft laugh and nuzzle your face into his chest a little further.

“It was perfect.” You say, pulling back to look at him and he’s just as you imagined he would be, smiling like the angel he is, sparkling eyes and all.

“Wait until I show you my jewelry collection.” The atmosphere changes in an instant for the better and all over again you’re reminded of just how rich these boys are when Jimin, without skipping a beat, gallops over to a small wardrobe and swings the doors open. “And you thought the CLOTHES were expensive.”

Inside hangs rows and rows of silver, gold, and gem encrusted necklaces. Some are obviously Gucci and Chanel, their emblems clear as they glint in the light. Others you guess as being true Swarovski Crystal and handcrafted gems as they glitter beautifully. Beneath them lay tray after tray of rings both frosted with diamonds and engraved with initials and quotes. Jimin drenches himself in your reaction; mouth ajar and eyes twinkling. It makes him smile a smile you’d never seen him wear before as he drinks it all in and it makes you squeal at just how pretty his is. Who needs all this when you’ve got Park Jimin?

Seriously, forget the crystals.

Its quiet in the house now as you wander the halls, glancing proudly at plaques and awards hung in frames on the walls. In the minutes you’ve avoided sleep you’ve thought about having a bowl of cereal, running a bubble bath, and escaping back to Jimin’s room to force yourself to do something that resembles rest. Instead, your mind keeps picking out details of Jungkook’s affections from your new purple room; his fond smiles, the way he wiped the paint from your face, and the ever so pleasant way your name slides off his tongue.

“Y/n?” You turn to the voice growing from the other end of the hall and smile to try and contain the blush the thought of Jungkook had caused.

“Namjoon.” You sigh out, finding a comfort in his presence you didn’t know you needed. You hadn’t spoken to him since before the argument yesterday and quite frankly, you were uncertain of what to say to him. “Can’t sleep?” You asked, the question more of a statement as well as an answer.

“Nope. You know how I get when I start writing stuff. I can’t seem to stop until I’m absolutely drained.” Its dark in the long hallway, the only source of light bleeding out of an open closet at the end. It’s a flickering, dull, and harsh and it threatens to blind you the closer you get to it. But from here it illuminates half of Joon’s frame as if he were cast in moonlight. You think about telling him how pretty it makes his freshly dyed silver hair look but you are content watching it glitter as he stumbles down the hall to you.

“Ah yes. The ever-poetic workaholic. I’ll never let you live down falling asleep on my bed.” The memory brings a smile to both of your faces that shatters the tense air that surrounds you.

“I worked hard that day. Wouldn’t have been able to if it weren’t for you though.” He’s right.

That night the rain fell for the first time in months. The two of you had spent the entire day sheltered by the shade of the tallest tree in the neighborhood, trying desperately to escape the Sangdo-dong heat. Two sets of hands were sticky with popsicle juice, t-shirts dampened by beads of sweat as you lay flat on your backs searching for animal shapes between the leaves. By the time the breeze started to pick up, you’d found a whole heard of elephants, but Namjoon…was distant and silent.

“Jeez Namjoon. Can you shut the hell up for like three seconds?! Damn!” Finally, after an hour of lying there, his stoic features cracked into a smile that deepened his dimples.

“Shut up.” He teased and jabbed an elbow into your side, to which you feigned serious pain with dramatic ‘Ouch’s’.

“I can’t see them.” Namjoon’s dimples disappeared again, leaving behind a distressed expression.

“Can’t see what Joon?” At the time, the frown that settled on his lips didn’t break you as much as you think it should have.

“The shapes. The animals.” You don’t say anything, afraid you’ll break his carefully controlled emotions. “I feel like I’m losing my creativity Y/n. I see the leaves clear as day but the longer I look, the less they say.” It had been funny to hear him say that seeing as how poetic he had been. A giggle you don’t mean to let free, dribbles from your lips and he closes his eyes.

“And why, exactly, are you laughing at me?” He asks, defeat swimming in his deep voice.

“Because you’re an idiot.” You reply, lifting to face him on one of your elbows as he cracks open one of his eyes. The annoyance is written on his face in the form of heat flushed cheeks and a subtle grinding of teeth as he challenges you to say another word. You simply smile, looking away from him to the grass.

“I always love listening to your hardships most because its where you become the most cadenced.” You say matter-of-factly. His gaze softens, admiring how long your eyelashes are as they bat at your sun kissed cheeks every time you blink. Romance had never really been a part of your friendship, but sometimes when he knew you weren’t looking, he would indulge in your presence. The way you looked, the way your voice rose when you were excited, the way your lips only puckered when you were sad. You were precious to him. You ARE precious to him. But he always left things exactly as they were; respectfully just friends.

He turned his gaze back to the high terraces of foliage and repeated the word ‘cadenced’ in his mind. One by one, the ability he feared he’d lost bloomed all over again as the view above him began to shift and morph.

“I see it now.” As soon as the words left his lips, a single drop of rain fell between the leaves and splashed right on the tip of his nose. Rolls of thunder sounded from above, warning you both to leave.

“I think I’ve got two cups of coffee with our names on them waiting at my place if you want to come over?” Asking him to come over had become second nature. At this point in your lives as Seniors in high school, the reality of having to attend different universities made hanging out all but every day a priority.

“I don’t even know why you ask anymore. I’m coming over whether you want me to or not.” He teased, holding out a hand to you as he stood, helping you up. You only lived at the end of the street, but as the wind picked up and the rain came down harder, you could hear it sizzle on your skin as it drenched you both. Together, hand in hand, you ran as fast as you could to the porch of your childhood home. The heat died and the humidity rose but the laughter you shared made being soaked to the bone worth it. After changing into old pajamas and Namjoon into some of your dads lounge clothes, you both curled up on your bed. The power had since gone out, a couple candles on your nightside table being the only source of light in the room. The rain was loud and filled the silence as you watched Namjoon write viciously in his journal that had somehow survived in his backpack on your run home. Through the steam of your coffee you would steal glances at what he wrote, trying your best to give any input you deemed appropriate. But for the most part you just let him work, and work, and work until the lightning had subsided, leaving behind distant rolls of thunder and light rain that tapped gently at your bedroom window. When you’d returned from disposing of your mugs in the sink, you found Namjoon with his journal in his lap and his head tilted to the side, asleep. You’d thought about waking him to move him to a better position, but you were suddenly afraid that he would leave if you did. You wanted him to stay while it thundered, while his mind crawled with creativity. This was the way you enjoyed being with him most, so you’d crawled under the blankets beside him and laid your head on his stomach. And slept.

“I don’t think it had anything to do with me. You’ve always been talented, and it shows.” He shakes his head at your response and stands next to you with an arm wrapped around your shoulder as you both stare at the award framed on the wall.

“You never could just take a compliment.” The teasing easiness in his voice makes the muscles in your body relax and you lean into his side. “How are you holding up?” He asks as softly as he possibly can.

“As much as I want to leave so that I don’t come between you and your family anymore-.”

“Stop. You are my family as much as the rest of them.” Joon clutches both of your shoulders in his hands and turns you to face him, the crease between his eyebrows deep with reassurance as he speaks. The tiny mole right at the edge of his hairline highlights his features; so familiar and endearing as they glow still in the harsh light at the end of the hallway. As though he might shatter into a million pieces, you reach out and cup his cheeks to keep him held together.

“Joonie. Everything about being here makes me want to stay. The whole time I’ve been here I haven’t once thought about my apartment or my job or all my old stuff. Instead I’ve stood in a dark hallway with my best friend reminiscing about the day it rained, and he saw the shapes, talked endlessly with Jungkook, painted with Taehyung, and had a whole friggin montage with Jimin. Which, by the way, that boy has more clothes than I’ve ever had in my whole life. It’s alarming, but amazing.” Both of you erupt into small giggles, breathing a new life to the quiet hallway.

Carefully Namjoon reaches up and wraps his hand around your wrist, running through his words as quickly as he can. “And what about Yoongi? I know he said some hateful things, but I know for a fact he doesn’t mean them. I’m so sorry for the way he treated you.”

“Don’t. You’re the third person who’s told me that and I believe you. But Namjoon…what im trying to say is finally, after some time talking with the guys and just hanging out with them…I want to stay.” His palm warms your skin and his features soften, the worry he’d been feeling since bringing you home dissipating. He leans into your hand before pulling you into a hug, burying his face in your hair as he squeezes you. It’s a happy place he’s missed more than words can say, but he tries anyway.

“Good, because I wasn’t going to let you leave anyway. Call me selfish but I’ve really missed you and the thought of being able to hang out with you again like we used to, makes me feel feelings I thought I’d never remember.” You nuzzle your nose into his shoulder, reveling in the feeling of being close to your best friend again.

“Yeah well, you went and got all famous on me before I could get out of there.” Under you, Joon’s body stiffens. A lifetime of friendship made leaving you one of the hardest things he’d ever had to do. He remembered the morning of his drive to Seoul, a meeting with his new manager already arranged and set in stone before he even had time to think about it. The night before, he’d dolefully informed you of the situation and promised you countless times that he would come to visit as often as he could. But little did he know that being a part of BTS would take up all his time for the next 10 years of his life. Phone calls and video chats made up little for the way he had left you crying in your bedroom.

But you understood.

You always understood.

“If I could have taken you with me, I would have. I’m sorry for never coming to visit. I…I’m sorry for not being there for you.” His tone drops low as he rests his chin on top of your head. You know by the way he says it, what he means. How he feels. And you just shake your head and pull away from him far enough to lock eyes with him.

“There you go with that cadence again.” The sadness in his eyes turns to the taunt reflected in yours and he chuckles lightly with a pinch to your side.

“Shut up.” Though the years have passed and the two of you have been away from each other, the amount of love he feels for you has never faltered. Standing here with you curled up in his arms, a giant smirk peppering your lips, it alights a spark in him. You study his face for a moment, noticing a change in his demeanor that feels more like the past than the present. Though when he speaks again, the words come out like the lyrics he writes, genuine and prudent. And you realize…it’s a little bit of both.

“I see them again Y/n.” He says, gaze fixated on you and the way you gaze back as though he’s seeing you for the first time all over again, and smiles.

“The shapes.”

Part Three

Master List

Part Five

[eat0crow]

Chase the Wind

Hello all!! This was written for day four of the Movie Week AU’s event hosted by @lukacouffaineappreciationmonth .  My ETERNAL gratitude to my lovely co-mother @nottesilhouette for betaing this. She takes my writing and makes it soo shiny! ___________________

“Okay, don’t freak out,” Marinette says from her place beside the massive red and black speckled nadder. 

“Oh my gods, oh my fucking gods,” Luka breathes, stumbling back against the rock wall he had just snuck through.

Marinette takes a step toward him and raises her hands in a placating gesture. “I said don’t freak out.”

“I’m not freaking out.” The words fall flat as they leave his mouth and he can hear the edge of hysteria creeping in.

Apparently, the dragon must be able to hear his impending breakdown as well because it lets out a low hiss, narrows its eyes, and goes to move forward. Marinette extends one arm out in front placing it on the nadder’s head and halting its progression toward Luka. It bucks and chirps, and thankfully stays back.

 “Luka.” Marinette’s voice is lost somewhere in the sea of self-denial Luka is liberally trying to pour over his brain because there is no way, none whatsoever that Marinette has really been hiding a dragon just a few miles away from the village this whole time.

Marinette is a lot of things and subtle is not one of them.

“Really, I’m good.” He stands up a bit straighter, dusts his pants off and takes a singular step forward. “I’m very firmly not freaking out.”

He reaches out to Marinette but drops his hand quickly back to his when the dragon lets out an ear-splitting roar, ducking around Marinette’s outstretched hand and rushing forward with its head lowered to the ground and spikes furled up.

He has never been happier for Marinette’s quick reflexes because she is nose to nose with him in less than a second, throwing her arms out behind her and holding the irritated creature back. For all that the dragon is still thrashing and wild, it doesn’t cross the barrier Marinette has created with her body. Instead, it raises its head again and screams with all its might. The writhing is short lived and subsides a bit as the dragon relaxes back behind Marinette, its spikes still clearly on display.

Luka stumbles back once again and presses against the wall trying to make himself smaller in the vain hope that the dragon who clearly is not his biggest fan will let him leave and live to see another day. “Yup, this is fine. Perfectly fine!” He winces at the way his voice cracks and pitches high at the end.

“Luka!” Marinette’s voice breaks the carefully constructed paper wall that has previously been holding back the panic Luka is very firmly trying to avoid.

“Okay, I’m freaking out. Kill me, Marinette, but there’s a fucking dragon behind you, come on!”

“You shouldn’t have followed me.” Marinette has a point. He really shouldn’t have invaded her privacy and followed after her without her knowledge.

But Marinette has been disappearing from the village for months now and what was previously just being written off as another one of her strange quirks was now raising eyebrows. People were starting to talk especially as winter drew ever closer and her absences not showing any signs of slowing down.     

Several rumors have already been spreading around the village. It didn’t take anyone especially clever to hear them and after his first time stumbling into a conversation about his best friend, Luka has made a point to listen. He’s heard any number of different tales at this point. And while the majority of them are harmless, the most popular being speculations of a hidden romance, there are those that will be dangerous if left unchecked. 

His name has cropped up a number of times amongst various circles and is far from the only one. Felix and Adrien are both popular contenders. Kagami’s name has even been mentioned once in dark whispers and disapproving tones. Luka’s heart always feels a sharp jagged pang go through it whenever he happens to overhear such talk.

Because he would like to think that Marinette has been his friend long enough to realize that he would support her in anything regardless of who she chose. His friendship isn’t conditional. No matter what her decision is, he would stand by her side in support. 

“Oh, well, forgive me for worrying about you,” Luka says and his voice is loud and angry and upset. He has been worrying for so long, months, and to be denied the right feels like a punch to the stomach.

Marinette is just as angry and she all but spits, “What did you expect to find when you followed me?!” 

“Not fucking this, that’s for sure,” he says, as he gestures vaguely in front of him. Toward Marinette and the dragon. Toward the entire mess they have found themselves in. At this point he isn’t picky. “I thought you were hiding like a secret boyfriend, not a secret dragon.”

A secret relationship was one thing. It was hardly the worst thing he has heard whispered about her, and while he did his best to protect Marinette and has gotten into more fights than she would ever know of over it, he can only do so much.

Lila works unspeakably quickly and efficiently. She has been whispering in the ears of anyone that would listen about how Marinette was courting bad fortune for weeks. She has spun tales of Marinette making deals with witches and inviting hoards of dragons down on them. And while Luka has never been one to put much stock in anything she that comes out of her mouth, the same could not be said for everyone else.

It had been a bad year for them all, dragon raids had been frequent and brutal. Most of the cattle had been carted off and the lakes were already showing signs of running sparse. It promised to be harsh winter with small rations, a winter that the more superstitious amongst them are eager to pin on Marinette.

There are those that whisper of banishment.

Worse yet, there are those that will call for a trail.

And Luka knows that if Lila is given her way, if Marinette is taken before the elders and tried for witchcraft, she will be convicted and banishment will be the last thing she is sentenced with.

“Do you have any idea how dangerous this is,” Luka yells, he’s not referring to the massive reptile behind her but the situation as a whole.

He knows that Marinette has hardly been around the village. He barely sees her outside of her parent’s bakery and can honestly not remember the last time they bumped into each other at the market. With such little time spent interacting with anyone, it’s hardly surprising that Marinette is ignorant of the rumors going around.

“I know what I’m doing!”

Luka has little doubt that Marinette knows what she’s doing with the dragon. It’s plain to see to anyone looking that the nadder trusts her and more than that respects her authority. He has every confidence that between the two of them Marinette is the only one with even a shred of hope of leaving this encounter with all limbs attached.

No, the dragon isn’t what Luka is scared of.

He knows that monsters aren’t the creatures just trying to survive. Real monsters are far more ruthless.

Luka would take his chances entrusting his life to Marinette’s dragon before he would turn his back to Lila.

 “Honestly, Mari, the dragon eating us is the least of our worries,” he sighs.

“Tikki would never,” Marinette huffs, her voice indignant.

“Oh no,” Luka moans and doesn’t even try and resist the urge to bury his face in his hands. “Oh, no.”

“Luka, what’s-.”

 He cuts her off and gives her the blandest look he can muster. “You named it.”

Just like that, all Luka’s hope of the situation magically fixing itself disappears. 

Marinette has a big heart. She always has, and always will. It’s what Luka loves most about her. Nevertheless, he can’t help but wish that it wasn’t big enough to fit an entire dragon. You have to draw the line somewhere, and Luka would like to think it should have been drawn at large predator who can bite you in half without even trying.

Of all Lila’s stories to be true, it just had to be the one that would get them killed for treason.

“And that’s so bad because…” Marinette wonders, her voice trailing off and confusion clouding her eyes.

“Once you name it, you get attached to it. Everyone knows that!”

Hell, Luka still remembers trying to hide Whiskers and his many many relatives when he and Marinette were eight. He thinks some of the offspring are still living in his family’s storeroom. If she’s named it, she’s adopted it and Luka isn’t entirely sure how he feels about a nadder in the family.

No one could convince her to get rid of her pet rats. He highly doubts he could convince her to get rid of her pet dragon.

“People are starting to get suspicious, Mari, we need a plan.” He takes a moment to look into her eyes and strengthen his resolve. This is by far the craziest thing he’s ever done. The craziest thing they have ever done. “If the elders find out, we’ll be lucky to be banished. It’s more than likely we’ll be burned or hung.”

“We?”

“You don’t actually expect me to leave you to deal with this all on your own, do you?”

The smile that lights up Marinette’s face is blinding as she throws herself at him and squeezes for all that she is worth. Luka may be a fool but at least he’s a fool in love. He would do anything, he realizes as he tightens his grip on her and feels Tikki come to sniff his hair, absolutely anything to make her face light up like that.

He would help her hide a hundred pet dragons all to see that smile permanently etched onto her face.

She pushes away a moment later, taking a step back into the dragon’s chest, keeps her hands on his shoulders and holding him at arm’s length. Tikki backs up with her, letting out chirps and coos as she inspects him.

Tikki must find something she likes because she lets out a happy trill and rubs her head against Marinette’s back. Luka has never thought a dragon could be gentle but can hardly find another word to describe her. Marinette doesn’t budge an inch and shows no signs of the horns having hurt her.

“Luka.” Marinette grabs his hand and looks him in the eye. “Do you trust me?”

“With my life.” Luka means it with every ounce of his being.

She nods in acknowledgment, and that one action has more confidence in it than anything Luka has ever seen from Marinette before.

“Luka, I would like you to officially meet Tikki.” Her movements are slow and precise as she carefully places their conjoined hands down onto Tikki’s snout just between her eyes. Luka is hypnotized by the pair of large slitted eyes that stare back into his own and hardly registers Marinette slipping her hand away and angling herself toward the dragon. “Tikki, this is Luka.”

[juleswolverton-hyde]

Word by Word | 01 (Bangchan x Reader)

Genre: Fluff, Romance, University/College AU

Pairing: Graphic design student!Bangchan x Literature student!/Irish!Reader

Warnings: Swearing (but what can you honestly expect when dealing with an Irish person?)

Summary: An ancient saying dictates that polar opposites attract, which is proven once again once an introverted whiskey-loving aspiring author meets a fairly extroverted boy initially proposing to survive the loneliness brought about by academic administration together.

But soon the meaning of ‘together’ expands as personal creative worlds are explored and understanding stirs up hidden emotions.

Masterlist

Next Part

For anxious people, friendly support from strangers oddly turning into companions is often needed to get through the day, finding solace in the kindred spirit of the bond has been established despite being not worth a dime. The previous semester could only be survived thanks to the small group of friends that made the seminars more bearable, huddling together and always having at least one to have as a research partner or discuss a primary source with. Withal, the university administration has different plans for the second half of the year, resulting in the complete split from familiar faces which will now only be seen on Monday for the start of the academic week with lectures.

Henceforth, yesterday was only the misleading silence before the storm, chatting and fooling around with curiously close relationships during the day. As per usual, multiple pairs of shoes found themselves to the habitual café by the canal to go for lunch together in between lectures, but a lonesome soul listening to the vivid chatter only settled for a cup of coffee since the stomach could possibly not handle more because of the all-nighter working on the next chapter of the attempted novel and composing a few more poems for a to-be-published-someday poetry bundle.

A chip off the old block, taking after the grandfather who raised a timid girl to become like this: full of too many voices and writing them down since that is the only acceptable form of schizophrenia in today’s society. Fortunately, it is while enjoying the company of Dante, a Birman with hellishly blue eyes of an extremely distrustful and arrogant nature except when being with an aspiring author rivalling with a relative. He mostly lies on the duvet on nights filled with the self-inflicted torture of bleeding behind a typewriter, occasionally jumping on the desk beneath the attic window where often a raven nicknamed Edgar settles down and demanding to be pet whenever a repose is taken for a glass o’ Irish whiskey when threatening to fall on hard creative times. Otherwise, dirty bean water is grand as well. Whatever the case, Dante conveniently though perfectly times it each time.

In the meanwhile, Virgil is likely functioning as company for Charles, who is also known as “Grandfather” during formal events of which most relate to publishing houses and to which he always has to be dragged while muttering unintelligible Gaelic profanities. Alternatively, it is the first full name whenever competing with one another or simply “Charlie” when the old balding man with a snow white moustache reviews the latest result of typing on the historic sidekick of every author. According to the in-house editor and occasional enemy, a typewriter is the sole source of ‘’pure writing’’ and imprinted the habit of working with the old school machine as soon as hands were able to write the letters formerly merely read in books.

For those unfamiliar with the cats, it is impossible to draw a distinction between the two, but those who look closer notice that Virgil does not share the same eye colour with his brother, the ocean grey betraying the fact the fluffy bastard is indeed that. 

A bastard. 

Exactly like his owner and the owner’s granddaughter who was also born out of wedlock. 

However, even in Dante there is a trace of being not a full blood Birman since his slender skull hints at a Ragdoll influence though the selective sweetheart would never admit to it even if the ability of speech had been given to cats. 

All in all, all of us are outcasts so it has become the running joke beneath the roof of the outskirts mansion we are glorious bastards. Honestly speaking, it has a nice ring to it because if being separated from others for whatever reason counts as a qualification for becoming this, then the lack of pals in primary and high school is not minded. The same goes for the adoption by a loving howbeit harshly critical grandfather because the son who should have been a proper father could not bear the sight of the offspring originating in a scandalous affair with a secretary who had no mother instinct at all, thus sharing in the shallowness with her one-time lover.

Whiskey story nights filled with almost empty pens, digits stained with ink, reading breaks and lots of swearing in frustration or joy have come to form a steady aspect of life, Charlie clearly in a better mood when settling down to shape the rough paper diamonds in each other’s company despite the exchange of insults pertaining to manuscripts or in a loving manner. An Irishman can leave Ireland, but the Irishness will never leave the individual and the island tales that at times seem mere fantastic fancies create a bond with a heritage that would otherwise have never been known.

It is because of Charles, his upbringing that has not been without it struggles, and Dante and Virgil I am still here, exerting power as an author on the Internet after creating a manuscript on the typewriter that once belonged to the moustached man’s close American friend who, too, had a taste for liquor and a talent for writing. 

Apparently, one night at a party, this comrade was hit in the face by a drunken accountant who tried his hand at poetry nobody understood and insulted the boxer’s manhood, causing the offended party to strike the provoker down in drunken rage. Fortunately for the injured, the American was willing to forgive the insult after being offered an apology and the next day the papers reported the incomprehensible poet fell down the stairs, the accident resulting in a broken hip alongside other injuries, thus covering up the truth of being beaten black and blue.

When asking why nothing was done to stop the fight from escalating, the answer is always the same. ‘It was too much fun to see that idiotic sod being beaten up. Furthermore, he had it coming sooner or later because he was a fecking racist prick, Y/N. It was more of a service than a true crime.’

Basically, Granddad sat back with a bowl of popcorn and cheered his boxing buddy on.

Truly a gentleman bastard.

As proves to be an inherent characteristic, judging by the rage coming from the classically furnished writing room on the east side of the house bought with the royalties from writing pieces critical of the human condition and problems rooted in society under the guise of a cleverly composed story. ‘Virgil! For fuck’s sake, ye bloody gobshite!’

‘Charlie, how’s she cuttin’?’ Not so well, judging by the look of pure horror in fast passing stone-toned irises with elated pupils framed by deep earthy brown fur and liquid onyx paw prints creating a trail on the freshly mopped floor. What a way to leave the house before facing the horror of being left alone at the university because everyone has been placed in a different time slot. ‘Although, never mind.’

In the faux leather spinning chair behind the intricately designed baroque desk, agitated calloused fingers run through pale thin hairs while lips are pulled into a snarl at the sight of the obsidian pool of ink staining the pile of blank pages meant to be engraved with poetry. ‘Well, this is just fucking grand, isn’t it?’

‘Think about your blood pressure, ye aren’t all that spry anymore and your fans will not like it if you kick the bucket already.’ Grinning like the purple cat in the favourite story to listen to while sitting by the hearth during childhood, dark flats wander the afromosia floor to the stout big man with an irritated iron gaze that slightly softens at the sight of the lass raised as a daughter rather than a granddaughter, the pupil who has turned more and more into a peer as time went by. ‘And Virgil isn’t as graceful as Dante, prone to causing accidents yet you love him all the same.’

‘Ah, feck off.’ An eyebrow raises in question when settling down into the fauteuil in front of the bureau, casually crossing one leg over the other and endeavouring to suppress the pressing yawns as best as possible. ‘It’s yer first day of university after a week of being a dosser and you pulled an all-nighter while having to show up early. You’re not the full shilling, are ye?’

‘No. No, I’m not, but you are what you eat. I’m fine, Charlie. And I worked on a couple of poems, mind you, and also wrote two more chapters for Paper Wonderland. Furthermore, I read ahead for this block’s course so, overall, I’ve been productive.’

‘You haven’t been until I’ve seen the first drafts.’ It is a house rule: there are no actual original versions of a part of a tale unless the stern editor has seen it and given feedback. Otherwise, it is nothing more than stained paper. 

‘Oi, I want to keep some element of surprise to blow you off yer socks when you read the full result. Where’s the fun in being spoiled beforehand when it can become the reason I’ll finally conquer the throne you’re currently sitting on. One day, one day I’ll finally be recognized as more than mere family.’

The mentor stands up to walk around the chaotically ruined heavy piece of furniture to put an encouraging hand on the shoulder and give it a little encouraging squeeze, which gets nullified by a comment that makes the characteristic need for rivalry flare up. ‘Keep dreaming about that day, ye wee chiseler, and maybe, just maybe you’ll manage.’

A sarcastic mirthless chuckle functions as a nullifying factor for the elder’s smugness while standing up from the oddly comfortable espresso brown chair to head for the door. ‘You really like throwing shapes, don’t ye, gramps?’

‘As much as any grand man.’ The old great man matches the pace to the young feet eventually coming to a halt at the entrance of the writing office. 

At the double doors, on the edge of a casual temporary farewell, all devilishness fades away into fatherly concern due to the realization a difficult social challenge has to be faced, having had many conversations about the introverted anxiety of a mask-wearing lass who merely acts like a young professional while working as a barista to earn a little cash on the side. ‘Take that puss off yer face, Y/N. You’re gonna be grand because you’re a full-grown woman with an Irish background. We’re tough people made of iron who don’t take anyone’s intimidation.’ 

Two big wrinkled hands wrap themselves around upper arms clad in a neatly-ironed alabaster collared shirt as a moustached mouth places a familial hope-giving smooch on the forehead before giving the right cheek a weak playful slap. ‘Now, go, you fine thing. Maybe you’ll catch the eye of a proper laddie.’

‘Feck off.’ A playful punch on the shoulder undoes the intimacy and grants the opportunity to crack on to catch the bus towards doom after putting on a khaki trench coat and slinging the stone-grey laptop bag over the shoulder.

‘I don’t recommend effin’ and blindin’, though. Tends to give a bad image,’ is the last piece of laughingly uttered advice which is seemingly also disregarded howbeit with an absently-minded waving hand wandering down the sandstone cobblestone path towards the main road. 

And before taking an immediate right out of the gate towards the nearest bus stop, the other one holds the habitual saviour in the form of a book already.

An opportunity to escape the nervousness brought about by cruel reality that is taken away when bumping into someone, an accident which still tends to happen despite the mastery of avoidance skills, and the account of the life of a bookseller falls onto the concrete. 

Eyes as big as a doe’s when caught in the headlights of a rapidly approaching car stare in horror at annoyed molten chocolate irises above an admittedly adorable big nose, irritated by an ignorant daydreamer under the constant scrutiny of the world, which quickly gain a weird gentleness when truly looking back. ‘I’m so, so fe- sorry. I should watch where- no, watch my footing. Again, I’m so sorry.’

Please, don’t get mad. Grand job, Y/N. The day’s barely begun and you already messed up.

‘It’s alright.’ Bleached short locks clad in an onyx leather jacket squat down to pick up the paperback on the ground, long pale fingers dusting off the little dirt the impact of the fall has caused to stain the cover before handing it back. ‘You dropped this.’

Trembling hands accept a small piece of peace of mind, gaze averted from the small fading kind smile on the young man’s face to stare with burning cheeks and a raving heart at dark flats aching to flee the situation. ‘Thanks.’

‘Miss? Are you alright?’ The lost distant type of contact from just a second ago is futilely tried to be re-established, unable to connect thus to a soul with a thousand voices within now all rendered to a flustered whisper. 

‘Yeah, I’m fine. I’ll- I need to go. Don’t want to miss the bus.’ A curt nod ends the conversation abruptly, turning away as fast as lightning while muttering a form of apologetic goodbye as the walking pace enhances to a speed barely shy of running. ‘Again, my apologies.’

However, as Fate or mere coincidence would have it, this meeting is not the last as tracks are silently retraced by foreign sneakers as blasting songs from various genres disclose the world from a never tranquil consciousness.

A few minutes more the blissful unknowing continues, reading irises stuck in the sceptic description of a man able to do what wants to be done in case becoming a writer does not work out.

A few minutes more the wind has the possibility to play freely with locks without it being noticed nor minded.

Then all changes with the approach of the awaited vehicle. 

The loudness comes back with the bus.

And an ink-black leather jacket.

[local-anon]

A-Z for Will

This is a thirsty ask but I respect it. Haw yee.

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex) He is very into aftercare and taking care of his partner. He loves to help and wants to make sure who he was with is happy and satisfied.

B = Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s) He’s proud of his arms, mostly the muscles there, he put a lot of effort into them just so he can carry his partner, who ever they are. On a partner he likes necks, not like finding them attractive but he likes them because he can put his face there easily and they usually like when he kisses them there.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person) He likes to cum inside his partners but won’t if they don’t want him to of course. It’s mostly just the enjoyment of seeing it leak out of them.

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs) He likes to be used to get his partner off. He loves to sub for them as they ride either his face or his dick just as long as they’re happy he’s having the time of his life.

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?) Honestly he’s pretty experienced in like any universe I put him in. He’s attractive and a top lots of people are into that. He’s open to fucking nearly any person which is how he got so experienced.

F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual) He likes being ridden. Even if he’s domming he likes making his partner ride him. That’s not to say he’s lazy he just really likes the visuals of someone bouncing on him.

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc) It really depends on the situation. He can be funny if the fucking is lighthearted and happy. But if he’s like in a sub mindset, or like angry fucking, or in a dom situation he’ll be more serious.

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.) Will takes his hygiene very seriously. He always tries to be clean and wash his hair. Hair? Soft/clean. Beard? Soft/clean. He tries to manscape and it works bc he actually wants to be able to see his balls ya know. His ass prolly hairy tbh, how dude with beards work.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…) Again this depends on the situation. He LOVES romance and soft things like that, so when he’s on a cute ass date it’s easy to get him flustered bc he’s just happy. But yea if you ask him to make love bruh he will do that in a heartbeat and be all cute. But if u ask him to fuck you he can just as easily switch and fuck you into the bed.

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon) He edges himself. Builds him up for as long as he can before he cums hard over himself. He claims it’s to build stamina, I just say he’s a sub.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks) This boy is an exhibitionist. Likes fucking in public spaces, not in front of people, just in public. He finds the adrenaline makes it feel better. Another one he likes to mark his partner. It’s truly a lovely thing when his partners are into it as well. He has a lot so I’m not gonna say all of them but just know, there’s a l o t. He also has a big praise kink btw.

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do) Outside. Like either against a wall hidden somewhere or like in a field. He likes them places. He also likes to get ridden on the couch so he can easily press his mouth places while they ride.

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going) Teasing him can get him going pretty fast. Like denying him touch or not allowing him to touch makes him want to touch more. Confidence also turns him on. (I’m not saying insecurity turns him off let me explain) Like if his partner jumps him and is like “I’m ready to fuck are you ready?” And if he’s not in a depressed mood he will be ready in like 5 seconds flat.

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs) He hasn’t really tried anything that is a no yet so he isn’t sure of something’s that would turn him off. He doesn’t like knife or shock play, traumatic reasons. He doesn’t really like degradation too much, like humiliating him he doesn’t like (You can call him a toy/tool that doesn’t bother him)

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc) Please sit on this man’s face he deserves it! He doesn’t have as much experience (ik this is shocking) with sucking dick as he would like to have but he’s very good with his tongue. He does love getting his dick sucked tho, he’s never been rimmed before so he doesn’t know if he likes it.

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.) Depends on what his partner wants but usually he’s fast and rough. He can slow down though especially if he’s tired and is sleepily thrusting or if he’s just worshiping his partner.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.) He prefers proper sex with fore play but like if he’s frustrated and his partner wants to fuck now, then he’d willingly rips some pants open and just fuck them over a bar is they so desire. (Speaking from experience of course)

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.) He wants to try a lot of things. Hell he even found a bondage book to try out. He’s willing to be taught new things as well so he’s always open to constructive criticism.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…) He can do two rounds as long as he’s given time in between them for his dick to calm down a bit. He lasts pretty long during unless like every single button is getting pushed then he can shoot of pretty fast. He doesn’t mind oversensitivity play just don’t make fun of his tears if it gets too much for him.

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?) With the universes I’ve put him in there’s not much access to toys (Rdr & fallout) But he makes do with his imagination. He’s used rope pretty liberally and he has tied ribbons around cocks as a makeshift cock ring. Will in a Modern Au is a Will of peak confidence.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease) Boy he is a big tease. He will rub his cock over his partners hole till they’re demanding/begging him to fuck them. He loves to flirt as well so if he sees his partners face is red from something he said he will milk it.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make) Loud. He is a loud top with moans and groans and dirty talk. When he’s subbing he’s whiny and let’s out cries and moans even whimpers if given the right stimulation. It’s really unfortunate for an exhibitionist to be loud but what’re you gonna do? Gag him? (Do it)

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice) He’s never bottomed before, mostly cause he isn’t sure he’d like it plus it doesn’t turn him on as much as topping. I believe the only time he would ever bottom is if the top were in complete control and had steel confidence.

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words) A good sized dick. Not hung like a goddamn horse but long and thick enough to stretch his partner good. I’m thinking about 8-9 inches (19-23 cm) and a good thickness to it. He also has a nice ass.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?) Very high. He really likes sex and he’s able to do it a lot.

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards) Once the aftercare is done and his partner is happy and most likely asleep already then he’ll relax enough to sleep. Unless they’re on the ground then he can’t sleep and will probably move them to a bed.

This was rlly fun. Behold thy best boy.

[drabblers]

Three months late

Prompt: Mystique Fandom: Rurouni Kenshin Setting:  Modern AU, Actors. This is part two continuation for the one-shot: “A Comedy of Romance.” The last part was “Goodbyes aren’t always final“. Characters: Kenshin Himura, Kaoru Kamiya, Misao Makimachi  Word count: 3307

<…and if you would like to see more about my interpretation of the character, I would be pleased to do also demos from other scenes. Looking forward to hearing back from you. Respectfully yours, Kamiya Kaoru.>

Kaoru frowned at the email she had written, gnawing on her bottom lip thoughtfully. No, it was as good as it could get, she decided and pressed send. The email left, leaving her to stare at her depressingly empty inbox. Twenty-two applications send, only two replies – and both of them nicely worded versions of “sorry, not interested.”

It sucked to be an actress between jobs, with no good prospects waiting.

True, it was the same for all the starting actors and yes, she knew the industry was extremely competitive. But still, if she just got a chance, a real chance to play a significant role in an action movie… She sighed deeply. Sometimes her dream just felt too distant. Unreachable. Like a mission impossible. But Kenshin had told her that she just had to keep trying and to differentiate herself from her competition the best she could. For example, when she had an option to choose scenes to do a demo for, she should select ones that suited her strengths instead of going for the popular choices.

The thought of Kenshin drove her to check her mailbox’s spam folder, just out of habit. Ads for sunglasses, bags, online shop adds, and nothing else. Just typical.

It had been twelve weeks since the last shooting day party, since that night with Kenshin… since he had left for the Gobi desert. She hadn’t heard anything from him since then. No phone call. No email. No message. Nothing. His shoots for his next movie had supposed to take six to eight weeks, but now… it had been three months. Had she just dreamed that night? Maybe she had been too drunk and just come up with this elaborate make-believe memory and fooled herself into believing that Himura Kenshin had asked her to date him?

Or maybe, there was no self-deceit or mystique to it at all and it was like Misao said, that her co-actor had just made promises to get into her pants and after he had succeeded, he had fucked off to his merry ways and left her reeling.

She shook her head.

No, Kenshin wouldn’t do that. He was not the sleazy type, thank you very much. Which she had tried to explain to Misao as well – but given that her secrecy contract forbid her from mentioning Kenshin’s name until it was officially announced – her explanations had fallen on flat ears.

Kaoru groaned to her hands. She was frustrated and angry at herself, at Misao and most of all – at Kenshin. Why hadn’t he contacted her? It was the Gobi desert, not Mars! They had some form of communication down there, hadn’t they? Even if they didn’t have reliable phone lines or internet, there had to be old-fashioned snail mail or a courier or... something? Surely, If he wanted to, he had to have some way of contacting her?

…If he wanted to.

Gods, that was the one thing the devil on her shoulder kept whispering her. That she had understood the whole dating thing wrong and it was like Misao claimed, that he had just wanted one night’s fun.

No. Nope. She slapped her cheek, as if to drive away the poisonous thought, and rose, heading to her kitchen. Misao should be coming back any minute now and she had promised to cook tonight. Nothing fancy. Just something simple even a kitchen disaster like her could throw on a frying pan and call it dinner.

She lived in a two bedroom apartment in downtown Tokyo with her roommate since University days, Misao Makimachi. It was a useful arrangement for both of them. After all, freelance reporters and actresses shared the same problem: they got paid per project basis.

Kaoru had just gotten the frozen dinner on a pan when out of a sudden, the doorbell rang.

“Wait a minute!” Kaoru yelled, dumping tofu and frozen vegetables on a pan and setting to heat to hot. It should take several minutes to warm up anyways. She huffed, sweeping her hair aside and looked down at her comfortable pajamas. She had not bothered to dress up for the day, after all, it wasn’t like she was going anywhere. Should she change clothes to answer the door? Nah, no need. It was just Misao.

The doorbell rang again.

Kaoru growled. Seriously! Was Misao carrying something large, or just being lazy that she was not using her own keys to open the door?

She pulled the door open, about to say something rude but the words died on her tongue and she blanched in realization…

...and slammed the door shut right in front of his face.

———————————————–

“Oro?” Kenshin blurted, too stunned for more cohere words.

Something slammed against the door with a thud. Her back? Then, her shaky inhale echoed in the silence.

Kenshin lowered his hand and wetted his lips. “Miss Kaoru…?”

“Why didn’t you send a message?” She asked softly. “Even a letter? You had to have some form of communication available, even down there in the middle of nowhere.”

“I… I, ah… Um, one is sorry, that he is.”

“Sorry…?” She asked, taking a pointed pause. “I waited for you. Week, four weeks… twelve weeks and nothing.”

There was hurt in her tone: bewilderment, pain… but also anger. Kenshin squeezed his hands to a tight fist. God dammit! He should have known that man couldn’t keep things professional between them.

He took an inhale, finally gathering himself enough to speak. “This one did send you messages. Every day, in fact. But it seems that they got lost in transit, that they did. This one is sorry, that he is. Miss Kaoru – please, forgive this one.”

Clothes rustled, and something hit the door – her fist? No, her forehead?

He heard her drawn breath. “What happened?” She asked, her voice wavering only a little. “If what you say is true, how can you lose over a  hundred messages?”

“That’s… Um, it’s a long story. A very personal story, that it is.” Kenshin cringed. “But in essence, this one’s interpreter… well, Enishi has a reason for being angry with this one, but this one honestly assumed that he could put his feelings aside and maintain a professional relationship.”

“…your interpreter?”

“Err, yes,” Kenshin said. “This one doesn’t speak Chinese – more than few words, that is – and whenever one does movies with Chinese one needs help with the language.”

The lock twisted, and she opened the door.

He stared at her, drinking in every detail of her. Her hair was in a messy bun, and she was wearing her pajamas and under her eyes, she had dark spots, like she had been trouble sleeping. Yet, despite everything, she looked like home and something in his chest ached. He wanted nothing more than to pull her close and tell her how he had missed her.

“Let me get this straight,” she started, gnawing on her bottom lip. “Your interpreter had a grudge against you? And he took it out by not sending your messages? Did the guy never want to have work in the industry or what?”

“Um, that’s… well, most likely he knew this one wouldn’t rat on him.” Kenshin hazarded, “As this one said, Enishi has a good reason for his anger, that he has. You see, this one, well, one was, but...” He stopped abruptly and looked aside, clearly trying to find the words but failing miserably.

She blinked slowly. “Um…”

Instead of continuing his stammering, Kenshin shook his head and dug into his shoulder bag and pulled out a stack of letters with a huge red stamp with Japanese text for "Return to sender" on them. “This one picked these up at the mail office in China. See the address?”

She took the stack gingerly, turning the unopened stack of letters in her hands. “That’s my name but… what the hell?”

“Enishi did send the letters as this one instructed him to, that he did. He just misspelled the address and when the letters did not reach a proper destination, they were returned to China – and given the distances, this one only found out about this last week, that one did. Note how small the error is?”

“Are you sure it was deliberate?” She asked. “I mean, even to me – it looks like a human error.”

Kenshin exhaled, relieved that she seemed to believe him. “I… Well, could this one come in?” He asked, glancing over his shoulder where a neighbor was peeking from the doorway. “One will tell you, but as it relates to personal history, one would prefer to keep it between the two of us, that he would.”

Miss Kaoru followed his gaze and blanched. “Err, yes – of course.”

She opened the door, wordlessly inviting him in… into an apartment with visible puffs of smoke floating around.

Kenshin stared. “Um-“

Which was, of course, the moment when the fire alarm blared to life, filling the apartment with ear-splitting beeping.

“Oh fuck.” Miss Kaoru said, pressing her hands to her ears. “Wait here!”

And she ran off to where the smoke was coming from.

Too curious to his own good, Kenshin followed her to – kitchen? Miss Kaoru had pushed a frying pan onto the kitchen sink with its contents and all and was staring at the fire alarm fixated to her ceiling like she wanted to smash it to pieces.

No wonder why, like him – she was on the shorter side and the kitchen did not have a convenient a ladder or step-stool. Well, not a stool most people would use to reach high places.

Kenshin grinned and without a second thought, grabbed a chair from next to her small dining table, stepped on its seat, tilted it on two legs and climbed to stand on the backrest, balancing it while reaching to the offending fire alarm.

And there!

Blessed silence.

Miss Kaoru stared up at him, her mouth falling open. “So you really do your own stunts—“

Kenshin covered his mouth with his hand, but couldn’t quite contain his snort in time.

She pouted at him.

And then he really couldn’t help it, but burst into laughter. Gods, her expression! He knew it wasn’t polite – no, it was downright rude but she had an unparalleled ability to make him laugh and forget his worries and stress. It was amazing. Just for that, he would have fallen in love with her…

“Mou! It’s not that funny,” she grumbled. “And get down here before you fall down, break your neck and force me to cart you down to hospital.”

“Sorry,” He straightened and jumped down. “It just seemed to be the fastest way to solve the problem, that it was.”

“I was not complaining.” She grumbled, turning to the offending attempt at dinner.

“Kaoru…”

———————————————————

His voice was soft, gentle when he whispered those syllables. He always said: Miss. He had never called her by her bare name. A shiver raced down her spine and something fluttered at the pit of her belly.

She didn’t turn around. Because if she did… she wasn’t sure what she would do.

Footsteps behind her, and then he stopped, close enough that his breath tingled at her neck. “I… This one missed you.”

She swallowed. “I missed you too.”

He laid his chin on her shoulder, resting his arms around her waist. Not forceful. He was simply there. Warm. Solid. And there. For her. She inhaled deeply, turned around in his embrace and asked, “are we still dating?”

“I… This one…” He frowned. “Aren’t we?” He finally asked. “One means, if you don’t want to…”

“I do!” She hurried to assure him. “I want to. I just, it happened so soon an then I didn’t hear anything from you-“

“One is sorry about that, but there was-“

“I believe you,” Kaoru hurried to interrupt him. “I know you said the whole thing with messages and interpreter spiraled out of your control and I want to know all about it, but before that… I just, are you sure that you want to date? With me?”

He blinked slowly. “Why wouldn’t one want to date with you?”

She looked aside, gnawing on her bottom lip. “It’s, well, you are you and I am…“ She waved her hand, directing his gaze to take note of the apartment’s small kitchen and all signs of student lifestyle style therein. The difference to the standards he was used to had to be obvious. After all, even when discounting the fact that he was a celebrity, he was exceedingly well of man and she… she was just a rookie actress starting in her career with a whole bunch of student loans to pay for.

He took his time studying her apartment from his spot, still holding her in his embrace. Finally, he noted out loud, “It’s homely, that it is. A lot cozier than the apartment this one used to live when he was just starting out, that it is.” He smiled at her, a hint of mischief sparkling in the corner of his eye. “Did you know, this one afforded to purchase a futon only after the Legend of Hitokiri Battousai was published and started breaking the box office records? Before that, one used to sleep curled against the wall.”

“…huh?” Kaoru gaped. “You mean…”

He shrugged. “This one knows very well how difficult it is to start out in this career, that he does.” He drew his arms a little tighter around her and looked at her seriously. “One knows how very proud and self-reliant you are, that one does. But if you ever feel that you could accept introductions or some other assistance one could offer…”

“No!” She yelped. “No, I’m fine. Thanks for offering though.” She mumbled, feeling the heat to rise to her cheeks. Gods, did he think she was asking for help? She wasn’t about to take advantage of him! “I was just…” She paused, and thought through what she had been about to ask which really came down to the question: are you sure that am I good enough for you? And suddenly, she felt very stupid. “It’s nothing”. She mumbled, pressing her face into his shoulder.

The whole time she had known him, Kenshin had been very consistent in his appreciation of her. His glances at her, his constant smiles, the way he always took her questions and concerns seriously and offered any help he could… No, even if she had no idea why he had decided to like her, it was obvious that he did enjoy her company.

“Kaoru…” He hesitated. “Is everything alright?”

“Yes,” She mumbled. “I just feel stupid, that’s all.”

He huffed fondly, stroking her cheek, wordlessly asking her to look up. “You are amazing.” He smiled. “You are funny, charismatic and if one could, one would never again leave your side.”

That last line! Only he could repeat his character’s line at her like they hadn’t spoken those words to each other in front of cameras and five dozen people three months ago!

She grinned, and replied her part, “Then stay.” And rose on tiptoes to kiss him.

He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her back, drawing her to his embrace like they had never parted. They kissed and kissed each other again…

“Kaoru, you are never gonna believe this, but the neighbor’s old lady said she saw…“ A female voice called out, only to turn to a shriek: “Oh my god.”

A shopping bag dropped to the floor.

Kaoru froze and turned to look at her roommate staring at them. Blushing, Kaoru untangled herself from Kenshin’s embrace and swallowed, “Um… Hi, Misao-chan.”

“Kaoru, you…” Her roommate stared. “That’s…”

Kenshin rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “Um... Hi, I don’t believe that Miss Kaoru has mentioned me.” He smiled awkwardly, stepped closer to Misao and offered his hand for a handshake, “I am Kaoru’s colleague, Himura Kenshin, that I am. It’s nice to meet you.”

Misao took his hand and shook it. “Uh, Misao. Makimachi. I have heard quite a bit about you.”

“You have?” Kenshin asked, guileless.

“Uh huh.” Misao nodded, her eyes lighting up with unholy glee. “But more importantly, what was with that kiss? Do you kiss all your colleagues like that?”

Kaoru felt like face-palming. “Misao…”

“Hey, hey,” Misao protested. “It’s a valid question! A girl’s gotta know these things.”

Kenshin stiffened. “Uh… No. That’s not the case, that it isn’t.”

“Then, what’s with the kiss?” Misao’s smile had teeth. “Because if you step in Kaoru’s life just when it suits you and end up hurting my friend…”

Kenshin looked at Kaoru, a question in his eyes. Clearly, he wasn’t about to say anything if she wasn’t okay with it.

Kaoru’s heart melted. She smiled, and stepped to his side and wrapped an arm around his waist. “We are dating.” She said to her friend. “It’s a little bit sensitive information, so please could you keep it to yourself?”

Misao blinked. “Okay, if you say so… but, uh, what about the three-month long disappearing act? Weren’t you angry about that?”

Now Kaoru did cover her eyes and groaned into her palm. How often had she talked, ranted and whined about her mysterious colleague that had left of to shoot his film in China during the last three months to Misao? She couldn’t even venture a guess. “Yes I was, but there was a bit of trouble with the interpreter and...” She trailed off, noting how tense Kenshin seemed to be. Hadn’t he said it was private? Given his habit of understating things, it really had to be something he wasn't comfortable at speaking about. She looked at Kenshin and said decisively, “It’s all fine now.”

He shot her a relieved little smile that spoke more than a thousand words.

She had made the right choice then. She exhaled in relief, spun around and grabbed her phone from the kitchen counter. “But before that, perhaps we could order something to eat?”

Misao glanced at the kitchen sink. “Don’t tell me you burned the dinner again.”

“This time it wasn’t my fault!” Kaoru protested, holding out her phone. “Is Chinese fine for everyone?” She froze, realizing the faux pas as soon as she said it. He has just been three months in China. He had to be sick and tired of Chinese after that.

Kenshin grinned sheepishly. “Or perhaps this one could cook?” He volunteered. “You seemed to have planned on having a homemade meal tonight.”

Kaoru’s stare turned to shock.

Even Misao boggled. “You cook…?”

“Sure,” Kenshin quipped back and leaned down to gather the groceries Misao had dropped to the floor.

“Kenshin…” Kaoru hesitated.

“It’s fine.” He smiled at her. “This one enjoys cooking. It’s one of his hobbies even to this day, that it is. Besides, one did interrupt your cooking rather badly, that one did...”

"That's..." Kaoru cringed.

"Please, Miss Kaoru." Kenshin smiled at her. "Let this one do this small thing for you."

What could she say to that? Wordless, Kaoru nodded at him.

In silence, She and Misao settled down to sit around the dinner table and stare the spectacle of international action mega-star, Himura Kenshin unpacking Misao's groceries with quiet efficiency, and them rummaging through their fridge, pantry, and freezer for supplies to cook a dinner for them.

It was quite obvious that he knew what he was doing.

Kaoru gnawed on her bottom lip in silence, and Misao leaned over to whisper to her ear. “Forget everything I said and hold to him for your life. You and him... It's obviously a match made in heaven.”

AN: Happy new year!

[jinterlude]

Two Faced (Ch.2)

↳ gif header is made by © @softjeon. Please don’t try and steal it and make it your own.

➵ Pairing(s): Gang!Jungkook x Female!OC & Gang!Mark Lee x Female!OC x Gang!Seokjin

➵ Genre(s):  College!AU, Mafia/Gang!AU, Angst, Romance, Friendship, Humor, Love Triangle & Slight-Fluff

➵ Warning(s): None for this chapter

➵ Words: 4.9K

➵ Co-writer: @softjeon

➵ Summary: Two girls. Two gangs. One craved absolute control over the city of Seoul. While, the other simply craved sleep and good grades. Now, what do these two ladies have in common? Simple. They have nothing in common—or so they think. Everyone knows the saying, “never judge a book by its cover”, so maybe there is something more to these two than meets the eye…especially when one of them is suddenly thrown into the underground life. Loyalties will be tested. Romance will blossom. Yup. Sounds like an average college day…

« Previously | Next Time »

Chapter 2 - Being Watched

A few days later, Sumin barely slept a wink. The dark undertones that decorated her eyes. The tiny bags that formed on her under eyelid. Honestly, it appeared as if she had went without rest for months. Why?

Well…

It was all because of her damn roommate.

Ever since she saw Sowon sneak out the window late at night, so many questions swarmed Sumin’s mind. More specifically, questions about Sowon’s well-being haunted her to the point that she couldn’t get a good night’s rest knowing that her mysterious roommate was out there doing God knows what.

Maybe something happened to her...or maybe she’s doing something that she wasn’t supposed to do.

Honestly, Sumin’s nearly at the point of developing like a conspiracy theory board, just so she could figure out what in the Hell was Sowon up to—especially—around midnight.

Currently, on the hunt for Sowon, Sumin walked down the brick pathway, silently admiring the trees and how the leaves would slightly shake from the wind.

Her eyes scanned every direction, slowly losing hope as the minutes rolled by.

“Where could you be, you stubborn woman?” The aggravated woman muttered to herself as she continued her journey.

On the other side of campus was where Sowon remained hidden. Not because she feared her cute little roommate’s wrath but because she wanted to spend a little one-on-one with her lover. Forcing to hide because of a rising, rivalry gang sucked, but she understood why her members demanded that she posed as a college student.

Their leaders safety was their number one priority...

“Thank you,” Sowon mumbled, as she put her arms around the man she called her boyfriend.

“I got you, babe,” Jungkook caught her chin and kissed her, a kiss meant to reassure her that she could count on him. As he’d hoped, she gripped the front of his leather jacket fiercely, dragging him against her as she kissed him back, pouring all the worry and love into it. To say that everything has been quite a mess in her life lately, would have been an understatement for Sowon—but at least she had her boys and Jungkook. He locked his arm around her back and kissed her hard and deep. He absolutely loved the feeling of her body against his, of the way she was leaning on him for comfort and strength. He pressed a kiss to her hair, when his gaze locked onto another girl. One that he wasn’t familiar with yet seemed like she knew Sowon with the way she stomped right over to them. Jungkook let go of his girlfriend, leaning back against his motorbike as he squeezed Sowon’s butt once, earning an eye roll from her.

“Go and study, baby girl,” Jungkook teased her and before Sowon could say anything back, Sumin’s voice was already scolding her only a few steps away.

“Calm down, sunshine,” She said and swung her arm around the younger girl, “Let’s go and get to our lecture…”

“…it’s over…you missed it! It’s lunch time now!” Sumin mumbled angrily, wanting answers to why the other girl had sneaked out of the window and not come back. She had been staying awake almost the whole night, waiting for her. 

Curse her caring nature…

“Oh well, then let’s go and eat something,” Sowon said happily and rubbed her belly, “I’m hungry anyways.”

Sumin gawked; anger bubbled within the pit of her stomach. If she was bold, she would strangle her roommate for not only missing classes but keeping her up for the entire night. She could not stress the importance of getting full night's sleep. Sleep was considered to be wonderful brain food. If her brain hadn’t gotten its much needed fuel, she would be failing all her classes and more than likely act like Sowon.

Now, that was a disturbing thought.

“Fine...we can get food, but you are going to your next lecture!” Sumin shouted, stomping away from the big-breasted woman.

Sowon snorted, finding the younger girl quite hilarious. Though, it just occurred to her that Sumin knew what and where her next lecture was. What made that thought funnier was that she never told Sumin her “schedule”.

Yup. Her roomie kept piquing her interests.

“And how do you know what and where my next lecture is?” Sowon questioned, smirking.

Sumin, unbothered to glance over her shoulder, answered,

“I just do!”

Sowon laughed. Not because of Sumin’s short answer but because of what happened next. Sumin collided into someone causing the poor girl to trip over her feet and fall flat on her ass.

“Oh shit. Are you okay?” asked the person, not knowing that certain lady was merely a few feet away.

A faint groan escaped her lips as she debated whether to remain on the sidewalk or suck up her pride and get up. Right now, she wanted to remain lying down and pray that someone steps on her.

“This is why you need me, my little innocent ray of sunshine!” shouted her roommate as she jogged up to her side. Sowon then kneeled beside her and offered a hand.

“No. This is why I don’t need you.” said Sumin, emphasizing a certain word.

Sowon rolled her eyes. Though, as she did, she caught glimpse of a certain pretty boy that so happened to be also a member of her gang. The fuck was Seokjin doing here?

Quickly shaking off the feeling of familiarity, Sowon feigned ignorance and ignored the man. She stood up and pulled Sumin with her, much to the girl’s dismay.

“I think you almost tore my arm out of its socket…” Sumin muttered as she rubbed her shoulder.

Sowon only smiled, shooting her a playful yet flirtatious wink.

Looking over her shoulder, she furrowed her brows at Seokjin, mouthing the words that could mean something like “the fuck are you doing here?” but Seokjin didn’t even care and kept a few feet away.

Sowon turned her attention back to Sumin, “So…what about some late night studies tonight, huh? We could get us some coffee and see for how long we can stay upright on our chairs in the library, sounds like fun, right?”

Eyeing Seokjin, who sat himself a few tables away from the two, Sowon bit into the sandwich she had bought herself, not caring about any etiquette, as she leaned her arm over her leg, that she had put up on the chair.

“We could meet up after seminars and shit,” The older girl said with a mouth full off food, reaching for her cup of coffee right after.

Sowon had absolutely no interest in studying, but with Sumin around, no one would expect anything, if she would do some of her business right there. Taehyung had wanted to inform her about the whereabouts of some certain gang anyway. And no one would suspect anything there. In the library—between shelves and an endless amount of boring books.

“So, what do you say? Want to do some power studying?” She asked in a questioning tone as she silently berated herself for not coming up with something more convincing.

Sumin hummed in response, playing with the few pieces she had left of her grilled chicken salad.

“I guess I can use a change of scenery! Besides, my mom always told me that the best place to get your school work done is at the library.” Sumin said, agreeing to Sowon’s idea.

Sowon scoffed yet she had a playful smile painted on her lips.

“Do you always do what mommy dearest says?” She teased before taking a sip of her coffee

“Not all the time…” muttered Sumin as she held her drink to her lips. The straw rested nicely against her bottom lip.

“I find that hard to believe, but alright.” Sowon shrugged as she glanced around the dining hall. In doing so, she had instantly picked up on not one, not two, but three familiar faces. What the fuck?

“It’s true! One time, I typed up my four-page essay just two days before the due date. My mom says to never leave your work until the very last minute.”

“Ooh….what a naughty girl you are.”

Now carrying a bunch of books about famous court cases, Sumin continued to struggle; her arms trembled from the combined weight of the seven books she carried. Tiny groans escaped her lips as she tried her hardest to maneuver between the people, that apparently thought it was a good idea to stand in the aisle way. 

Faint, “excuse me”, came out of her lips as she successfully pushed past her fellow students. The gap between her study table and her body decreased with each step. Sumin saw the light at the end of the tunnel as her arms were milliseconds from giving up.

“Come on...you can do it...almost there…” She groaned as she hurried her little shuffles.

Unfortunately, her books weren’t cooperating. Just as she increased her pace, the organized tiny tower of books began to topple slightly.

Not wanting to create a huge ruckus, Sumin thought to pick up her pace even more. However, before even taking two steps towards her table, two of the books toppled over. The height of the fall would be enough to create a loud bang, echoing throughout the silent library.

Great...she was bound to be kicked out...might even be banned…

Sumin instantly shut her eyes; a few whines left her lips. She embraced herself for the thunderous bang from the impact and being scolded by the librarian.

Seconds passed and there was no loud bang.

Instead, she heard a voice. The same voice she had heard hours earlier.

“I believe this belongs to you, Miss.”

Her eyes trailed up, examining the features of the person who saved her from being eternally banned from the library.

“Thank you so much...um...” She said softly, not wanting to disrupt the students who had their noses buried deep in their books.

“Seokjin, and it’s no problem,” He replied; the softness in his tone matched hers. His intense gaze bore into her innocent ones. He took note of how hypnotic her doe-like eyes were. “Say...has anyone told you that you are incredibly beautiful, and that your smile gives me princess-like vibes...um...” Seokjin added, flashing her his signature smile.

The sudden compliment caught the poor girl off guard. Her cheeks instantly heated up, no longer dawning the signature rosy hue. Her mind became a muddled mess. She couldn’t come up with any coherent sentences.

This alluring, intrigued smirk slowly formed on the handsome man’s face. He had grown used to leaving both men and women a mindless zombie just by flashing a sweet smile, but how Sumin behaved, it was definitely a new one.

Wanting to be nice, he decided to give the nervous woman a few more minutes to come up with a response before he resumed flirting with her.

Whether it meant something or not had yet to be determined.

Just as the time limit was about to expire, the little lady spoke,

“Sumin, and I’m no princess,” She shifted her eyes towards Sowon’s direction and then back to Seokjin, “But you, sir, are quite handsome enough to be a prince.” She finished.

Seokjin chuckled and simply shook his head.

“Well, if I’m a prince, then that means I would need a princess so…” He took a step close, closing the gap between their bodies, “Mind being mine?” He whispered; his tone dripped with charisma and alluringness.

“Mind stop following me?” Sowon stepped up from behind and threw an arm around her roommate, “Why are you so obsessed with me? Ugh.” She took some of the books out of Sumin’s hand and turned around, walking into the opposite direction. “C’mon Sumin, we don’t want to be seen with obsessed lovers with tiny dicks anyways,” Sowon said happily, skipping ahead while she could feel the stare from Seokjin piercing right through her back. She would probably will be lectured by him later on how she was always ruining his chances with girls, wanting her to stay quiet—but where was the fun in that?

As she was dragged away from the handsome stranger, Sumin couldn’t help but peek over her shoulder. Her gaze locked with his; her soften stare contrasted his currently irritated ones. Feeling her stare onto his, Seokjin switched focus and lightened his stare. A warm smile formed on his face as he playfully winked at the innocent lady.

This short, soft squeak emitted from her lips as Sumin once again blushed from the sudden flirtatious act. Not wanting him to see her blush for the nth time this afternoon, Sumin swiftly turned away and tried to focus on what her friendly roommate babbled about—keyword tried.

“He’s bad news, little sunshine.” Sumin heard Sowon say, “We dated for like a couple weeks and in those few weeks, he always already telling me that he loved me and all that jazz.” Sowon finished, releasing her hold on Sumin’s shoulder.

Sumin couldn’t help but gasp with wide eyes as she placed her hill of books on the table; finally, giving her arms a much needed break.

Sowon nodded, gently forcing her studious roomie to her chair.

“Yup…” She trailed on, taking the time to walk over to her seat, “Here’s a piece of advice for you, if the guy or girl, I don’t judge, starts saying “I love you”, and the two of you haven’t even been dating for very long, it’s time to cut them loose.” She said, using her fingers to form a pair of scissors and cut the air.

This time it was Sumin’s turn to nod as she opened one of her many law books, keeping eye contact with Sowon.

“Good,” Sowon then propped her feet up on the table, “Now, wake me up when you’re done being a good noodle. I’m going to take advantage of the peace and quiet to catch up on some sleep.” She kindly stated, closing her eyes and finding a comfortable position.

Sumin couldn’t help but frown at Sowon’s disrespectful behavior, there was nothing she could do about it. Sowon seemed like the type to take any warnings that she received with a grain of salt. She simply did not care.

With a heavy sigh, as she shook her head, Sumin got out her favorite pair of headphones and scrolled through her many playlists until she found the one that said, “when studying at the library”. She lowered the volume, not wanting others to hear a muffled version of her songs, before pressing “shuffle”.

A soft hum escaped her lips as Sumin began jotting down some notes, making sure to cover every single topic about the case studies.

Now, while Sumin did that, Sowon had other plans. She honestly did not plan on taking a nap while the little sunshine studied. No. She had some important matters to attend.

Sowon peeked one eye opened and swiftly yet silently removed her feet off the table. Once again, Sumin’s absolute focus played to Sowon’s favor.

The gang leader waited a few more seconds, not wanting to seem suspicious to Sumin, before getting up. For added measure, she silently gestured towards the direction of Philosophy section of the library. Sumin nodded briefly before focusing her attention on her book once more.

Sowon smiled but soon dropped it once her back was turned towards Sumin.

“Alright...now where are you fellas hiding…?” She said softly with a cunning smirk painted on her gorgeous face.

Walking into the library a little deeper, it almost seemed like the bookshelves were slowly closing in on Sowon. The girl stopped for a second, looking over her shoulder, when suddenly someone jumped her from the side, his hand wrapped around her neck, pushing her up the shelf.

“Oh, hello Jinnie,” She said happily, knowing that he wouldn’t harm her, “That’s not how you say hello to your favorite leader.” Booping his nose, she continued her blinding smile, while the boy in front of her was almost hissing the next words.

“Why are you so fucking annoying?” Seokjin said as he instantly released his rough hold on Sowon, who then rolled her head around once, loosening up the muscles in her neck, “What did you tell the girl this time? Why can’t you let me get one fucking girl���just one!”

“Because you can’t keep it in your pants,” Sowon shrugged her shoulders and got out a book from the shelf to look at it nonchalantly. Pursing her lips, she quickly placed it back. Way too boring for her liking.

“And I want you to find a real girl…Sumin is too pure for you!” The leader said and leaned back against the shelf, “I won’t let you ruin her…so now, tell me...Where the fuck are the rest?! And did you get any new information on NCT! They are fucking getting on my nerves since they attacked us at the harbor. I don’t want to hide here forever. It’s getting fucking annoying.”

“You’ve been here for only a few days, Sowon!” Seokjin rolled his eyes, earning a slap from Sowon on his arm, “It’s crowded enough here, they wouldn’t come here. You’re safe until we know what’s really going on with the loser club.”

Sowon gawked, feeling a tad offended by his choice of words. Was this gorgeous fool seriously suggesting that she remained hidden, especially for her own safety?

That’s cute…

She’s the leader of the most infamous gang in South Korea, and to make it even more entertaining, Seokjin worked for her. Not the other way around.

With a devilish smirk, Sowon pushed herself off the bookcase and patted him on the shoulder.

“Well, you and the rest of the guys better hurry and find out because I’m getting bored, and I’m pretty damn sure that you don’t want me to get personally involved.” She whispered; the warmth from her breath lightly fanned Seokjin’s ear.

Seokjin’s body couldn’t help but shiver. A reaction that any men would do whenever came to his boss. She just had that type of affect. Seductive yet deadly. Two of the most dangerous traits that a women could have.

“You got it, boss…” He muttered as his line of focus followed Sowon, watching her hips sway back and forth. A soft scoff escaped his lips as he noticed every single men snap their heads towards her direction, secretly admiring her second best feature.

“Now, where’s my favorite princess…?” He thought with an amusing grin as he searched the library. Just because Sowon told him that Sumin was too pure for him, it didn’t mean that he would give up. After all, he always wanted to corrupt a sweet little angel.

Back with Sumin, her arms were going into overdrive. She flipped through every single book, looking for a specific court case. Her brows furrowed. Tiny crinkles formed on her forehead. Soft profanities escaped her lips as she searched and searched.

Where was that damn case?

Then, it hit her. As if someone drove a truck filled with bricks straight into her petite body.

Sumin hurriedly pushed away the books, and just as she reached out for the one she needed the most, she gasped. Her heart rate increased in speed. Her eyes nearly fell out of their sockets. Her breathing grew sporadic.

Who was this person that currently sat in front of her?

She quickly pushed down her headphones to the point that they now hung nicely around her neck.

“Uh...hi…?” Sumin said in a questioning tone. What? Just because she was scared, didn’t mean that she could forget her manners.

The intruder simply stared at her; his cold gaze pierced hers. It was if he tried to murder her with his gaze alone.

The person continued to stare with an emotionless expression written all over his face.

The more he stared, the more Sumin grew confused. The more she became confused, the more she became uncomfortable.

“So...um...what brings you to the library?” She asked with a nervous smile, trying to make small talk.

The unknown person simply looked at her. His mouth remained shut.

Well…

Until a certain roomie came into the picture.

“I honestly can’t leave you alone for more than ten minutes. Can I, little miss sunshine?” both Sumin and the stranger heard. The gang leader cocked her head to the side when she noticed who was sitting right in front of her roommate.

Why was everyone here?

Was anyone even taking care of the headquarters right now?

Sowon sighed inwardly, knowing that her boys were always a little lost and confused without her. Well, at least she could always count on her boyfriend. Standing right behind Yoongi, who focused his gaze back onto Sumin, staring at her coldly, she allowed her hands to rest on his shoulders.

“That’s Yoongi,” She introduced the other, “Don’t worry, he won’t flirt with you like ‘small dick’ Jin over there did. So don’t be scared.” Sowon winked at her playfully, loving the confused expression on her friends face.

“Since when do you leave little Jiminie alone, hm?” The leader directed the question at Yoongi, who shrugged his shoulders, seemingly uncaring, when Sowon knew exactly how much the other meant to him.

“So, did you learn something new already?” Sowon said when she didn’t get an answer from Yoongi. Her voice had been a little too loud as she earned herself a glare from the librarian. Leaning in a little more, Sowon let one of her hands glide down Yoongi’s chest. She had noticed the small chain around his neck. Yoongi never wore necklaces. He hated them.

Sowon’s eyes were focused on Sumin’s, while the rather innocent girl was gulping against the lump in her throat as she watched her dip down her hand in Yoongi’s shirt—who was still staring at her. How could she? Why did she? Didn’t she have a boyfriend? To say Sumin was utterly confused would have been an understatement.

Using the little confusion of Sumin where she tried to focus back on her book, Sowon wrapped her hand around a key that settled on Yoongi’s chest. With a quick tug it was off his neck and in her grip.

“Thanks, babe,” She whispered and ruffled the other’s hair, when out of the corner of her eyes, Sowon could see Seokjin appearing again, his eyes solely focused on Sumin. Oh, no….

It wasn’t the last time either, Seokjin was suddenly around a lot. Sowon saw him on her way to classes, in the library and basically everywhere she was with Sumin. Not because Seokjin wanted to protect his leader, but because of her roommate. If something happened he probably saved her first, and then...maybe...just maybe...if she got lucky….then Sowon would be saved. She laughed inwardly, imagining the scene in her mind. Not that she needed any saving.

What interested Sowon was that it was rare for the elder member of her little gang to be this smitten—practically obsessed—over someone he barely met. However, once Seokjin had found something he liked, he would never give up until he has claimed it. What made the journey even more exciting for him was that since he had noticed that Sowon would do anything and everything to protect her innocent little roommate, it merely aroused him. Not sexually, but something else. It stimulated his senses to know that Sowon had stopped every single of his attempts at contacting Sumin.

Oh, well…at least he got to keep a watchful eye on her...

Later that night, Sowon embraced Jungkook; her hold on him tightened as if she was afraid that he would leave. Almost every night Sowon sneaked out of the room again, most of the time through the window, meeting up with Jungkook somewhere. She just couldn’t stand to be apart for him for too long. Tracing the line’s of each tattoo on his arm, the features of his face, She could stare into his eyes forever.

“Did you get some more information?” Sowon sighed and leaned her head onto Jungkook’s chest, who had made himself comfortable, leaning against the brick wall. The wind was howling around them, making the woman scoot a little closer to seek the warmth of her boyfriend, but not before whining about the gun that made it uncomfortable to sneak closer to him. With a laugh, Jungkook took it out from his holster and placed it aside. He wouldn’t go anywhere without it.

“Yeah, we did,” Jungkook finally spoke up, playing mindlessly with her hair, “But they are good....we still don’t know how their leader looks like. They keep him hidden so well.”

“Maybe he’s just super ugly….” Sowon suggested with this snarky tone. 

“Yeah, maybe,” Jungkook said with a low chuckle, “We’re close. I can feel it.”

A sight of content left her lips as Sowon snuggled in Jungkook’s chest. Honestly, she wanted their intimate moment to last just a while longer. However, she looked at the bright side. The moment they put an end to NCT, the sooner she could return to the underworld life.

It was quite exhausting pretending to be a goody two-shoes all the fucking time...

Now climbing back through the window, Sowon sneaked under the covers of her bed quietly. Turning towards Sumin, she watched her roommate snore quietly, mumbling something in her sleep. A smile formed at the gang leader’s lips. It wouldn’t be too long until she had to say goodbye again.

A few hours later, Sowon, currently putting her hair up as she walked over to her bed, smiled. Why? Well, it’s because that she rarely got enough sleep due to these nightly tours that she had taken upon herself to do. As she neared the bed, she took the opportunity to literally jump into it. She was truly ecstatic to finally rest her tired body. She pulled up the covers, slowly embracing the comfortable warmth that it had to offer. She quickly found a good sleeping position as she closed her eyes. She relaxed both her body and mind.

Just as she felt the sleep slowly take control, she was suddenly shook awake by her roommate. Or...well… Sumin tried, because the second she touched Sowon, the other girl jumped up, switched her around, swung an arm around her neck to keep her in place. It took her a little while, being still half asleep, to notice that Sumin was trying to fight her grip.

“Oh, fuck,” Sowon exclaimed, “You can’t scare me like this!”

Sumin continued to squirm under Sowon’s iron grip. How was it possible that this woman was incredibly strong? She’s started to think that there was more to her roommate…

“I didn’t mean to! I just heard some strange noises outside, and I thought that maybe a burglar decided to choose our room as his or her target and—” Before she could continue her rambling, Sowon covered Sumin’s mouth with her free hand and told her to be quiet.

“I will let you go, but you have to stay here, got it?” Sowon demanded, keeping her eyes fixated on the window. She went full alert.

Being unable to talk, Sumin nodded as she breathed heavily through her nose. Sowon smiled and released her hold on Sumin’s arms.

“Good girl. Now, wait here. I’m going to check it out.” Sowon said quietly, patting Sumin on the head.

Sumin swatted Sowon’s hand away, though, was too late since Sowon was already out of reach.

Sowon quietly stepped towards the window; her hand gripped her phone tightly, ready to call for backup just in case things go south.

As she neared the window, Sowon crouched down, making sure her body was out of view. She continued her journey until her left hand touched the ledge. She slowly stood up, but her other half still remained in the crouched position.

The second her eyes stared out, Sowon smiled. This familiar gleam twinkled in her eye.

However, how was she going to sneak out? Sumin was now awake and a bit scared out of her mind.

Sowon glanced over her shoulder, establishing eye contact with Sumin briefly, before looking at her boys.

She focused her attention onto Jungkook and mouthed, “I’ll be right there.”

Even though he was on the first floor, and the dorm room was on the third floor, he got the jist of what his woman said. Having a great bond came in handy sometimes…

With a sigh of relief, Sowon stood up and dusted off the dirt of her pajama pants. The one time she actually did not plan on sneaking out.

Sumin eyed Sowon with nothing but curiosity. Her mind flooded with endless questions. Like, “who was outside?”

“Okay, I’m going to go out there.” Sowon said vaguely, alarming Sumin, as she quickly changed clothes. There was no way in Hell that she was going to sneak out in a loose top and pajama pants.

Minutes later, Sowon emerged. Now dawning black leather pants, biker boots, and a dark purple shirt, she walked back to the window, winking at Sumin as she glided past her.

Sumin’s mouth slightly parted but soon closed again. Her eyes followed Sowon’s movement as she once again opened her mouth to say something but soon closed it. It was if she wanted to tell her roomie to not leave since there could be dangerous people lingering around to prey on innocent women. Yet little did she know. Little...did...she...know…

Without a second thought, Sumin latched onto Sowon’s arm, just as the more confident woman had one foot out the window—literally.

Sowon’s brow cocked up as her eyes trailed down to Sumin’s hands.

“What are you doing?”

“I can’t let you leave!”

A/N: Hi everyone! What did you guys think of this update?  I think Sumin is slowly having an inkling as to why Sowon sneaks out a lot, but knowing Sowon, she probably already has a lie concocted to deflect Sumin and her questions lol Also, what do you guys think of the appearance of BTS? :) I would’ve been startled if Yoongi were to do the same to me. Just throwing that out there. 

Anyway, stay tune for more updates and one crazy adventure! In regards to Our Second Chance, I will update that story when I can and/or feel the motivation to do so. Please be patient with me! ^^

Don’t forget to leave a comment/like/reblog/and an ask in mine or Jey’s inbox! We love hearing your thoughts!

- Kim

[carnationbooks]

Fandom features: Author Wendy Qualls

To kick off a series of fandom-focused posts, we’re chatting with author Wendy Qualls (aka wendymarlowe on AO3) about fanfic, Johnlock, getting published, the intersection of fanfiction and original fiction, and a little dash of DragonCon! We so enjoyed learning a bit about Wendy’s fandom experience, and are so glad to share her insight with all of you! Don’t miss the amazing rec list she wrote for us after the jump (it’s so good). Thank you so much for talking with us, Wendy! 

Thanks so much for chatting with us! How can our readers find you?

I write fic as wendymarlowe (Marlowe being my middle name), but I write my original male/male romance under my real name, Wendy Qualls. (www.wendyqualls.com)

So what inspired you to start writing fic?

I write in the Sherlock fandom with brief forays into Harry Potter, but my first ever fandom was Dragon Age. I played Dragon Age: Origins and went through the love story with one of the characters and immediately thought "I want to experience exactly that again, but different" and I remembered something called fanfic my sister used to read so I looked some up. The one I found was awful, but then I found my way onto fanfiction.net and eventually onto AO3. The fics got better :-)

Now that you’re writing mostly in the Sherlock fandom, what about Johnlock is the most appealing to you?

Honestly? I love what fandom has done to the characters. The Sherlock and John on the show would both be horrible people to be in a relationship with, but the general fandom version sort of rounds the edges off a bit. Sherlock is abrasive but not cruel, John is competently BAMF without being violent and angry. The show has throwaway lines like how John “lost an entire Wednesday once” and I know Moftiss put it in there because they thought it was funny but SERIOUSLY? Drugging your flatmate is not okay! I’d much rather read (and write) about characters who are capable of healthy relationships :-)

What is your favorite thing you have written so far?

My most popular fic, and the one that was the most amazing to write, was Dear John (https://archiveofourown.org/works/2647979). Summary: "With Sherlock dead, John eventually (under duress) makes a profile on an online dating site. And falls into a long-distance relationship with an enigmatic partner who reminds him of Sherlock in all the right ways. (Hint: it turns out to be Sherlock.)" 

It was inspired by a friend trying a dating website and me realizing that sense of waiting for replies and not knowing when they're coming could be replicated by AO3's subscribe feature - I posted the fic in "real time." (As in, back and forth according to when the characters would have been writing each other). It had a pretty modest following at the beginning, but by the time John and Sherlock shared their first sexting right before Christmas it kind of blew up on Tumblr and the comments section started to be longer than the chapters :-P 

It was amazing to see a mini-fandom develop right there and see everyone debating what they thought John and Sherlock were up to that very minute. By the time the fic got to the big dramatic face-to-face meet, the comments/replies were coming in faster than I could read them! I'm told it's still fun to read now, all at once, but the shared waiting experience was something I wish I could replicate for another fic and I don't know that I ever could.

When I started submitting around to find a literary agent, the popularity of Dear John and my other AO3 fics was a strong point in my favor with the agent I ultimately signed with :-) There's a LOT of overlap between romance authors and fanfic authors, actually, even if not all of them are public about it.

Speaking of your work as a published author, do you have any words of wisdom for the fic authors out there who are hoping to get published one day?

Everyone—every published author ever—has a few manuscripts “under the bed” that just didn’t work. Often it’s because their writing needed to get stronger before publishing, sometimes it’s because they hit a crowded market exactly wrong or just never connected with the right editors/agents. Only around 10% of people who attempt to write their first novel make it to the end, and less than half of those get to the point they’re submitting it for professional consideration. 

The thing is, though, the only way to get better at writing is to write. I don’t care how many books and blogs you read about the craft (although those help too), you’re not going to get your book out there for money if you’re not willing to write something imperfect first.

Fanfic, I believe, is an amazing way to practice writing for low stakes. You get your pick of pre-developed characters and settings to choose from, there are no deadlines, and 99% of fanfic readers are supportive. AO3 says I’ve had 11,549 comments on my works - I think I’ve had only one or two readers who were critical. The rest are positive and make me excited to write for them. There is no doubt in my mind that fanfic has made me a better writer. Anyone who dreams of being published someday, my advice is this: write a book. Then write another. Write fanfic along the way and pick up people to cheer you on. The difference between published and unpublished is mostly luck, persistence, and confidence.

Do you ever get writer’s block? What do you do to combat it?

I do absolutely get writer's block, in big part because of my depression. (Depression sucks, btw.) Writing fic has made me comfortable having multiple works in progress at once, though, so often if I'm stuck on my "real" book I can write fic instead. I can't turn out fic as fast as I could before I started actually being published and having deadlines, but it's still a totally different feel writing for no stakes versus "how are my agent and editor and readers going to judge this?" Positive comments on AO3 pretty much balance out the negative energy in bad book reviews :-P

While we discussed this interview, you mentioned you’ll be in attendance at DragonCon this weekend. What are you most excited to do at con?

The panels and the people! There are several friends I only see at DragonCon, and it’s always fun to reconnect. The panels, though, are the heart of the convention. Science vs. Movies (10 PM Sunday in the Hilton Crystal ballroom) is always a highlight - it’s a panel of real, actual science experts forced to watch terrible Hollywood scenes and then argue why the scene was actually 100% scientifically plausible :-P Sometimes they break down and cry. It’s awesome.

You’re on some panels, right? When can folks catch those?

Friday at 10 PM: "BritTrack After Dark - British Fanfic/Slashfic Panel!" in Hilton Galleria 5 and Saturday at 10 PM: "We Do the Weird Stuff!: NC17 Fanfic" in Marriott M301

And finally, do you have any fic recs to share with our followers?

(Ed. Note: Y’ALL! Wendy wrote us an amazing rec list which is under the cut - Click for some Sherlock-y goodness!)

Favorite crack-premise-but-serious-fic: The Midas Touch (E) by flawedregina (https://archiveofourown.org/works/2479868) John Watson has a medical condition that means everyone he sleeps with is instantly healed of all illness and injury. This causes complications when Sherlock breaks his arm, and even more complications when Sherlock falls in love with him. Yes, this is a story where John has a literal magic healing cock. It's a lot less cracky than you're probably imagining. I love this for the "literal magical healing cock" premise, but it's also a beautiful look at ethics, personality, and the dynamics of sex. John is caught between feeling like he ethically HAS to use his rare gift because it saves people's lives and feeling the very human need for privacy and having control over his own life. Sherlock is a brat because he's always a brat but he GETS it and supports John and seriously, it's wonderful. 32K.

Favorite crack-premise-but-serious-fic without all the smut: A Magnificent Instrument (T) by mycapeisplaid (https://archiveofourown.org/works/7452193) A series of vignettes set in an AU in which Sherlock plays the tuba instead of the violin. This does have some brilliant takes on the idea (my favorite is Sherlock playing "oompah oompah" elephant steps in time with Mycroft leaving the flat) but it's also got an amazing connection between Sherlock and John. 6K.

Favorite fantasy AU: Here There Be Dragons (E) by Leloi (https://archiveofourown.org/works/786378) When Lord John of the Umberland Watsons volunteered to his lord father to deal with a dragon, this was not what he had in mind. Instead of using his sword and shield to deal a deadly blow he found himself trussed up like a festival goose sans armor and small clothes, naked as his birth day. This is sweet and hot at the same time and thanks to a certain Tolkien movie, we don't have to imagine very hard to envision Sherlock as a dragon :-D 8K.

Favorite short, kinky smut: Performance Art (E) by thisprettywren (https://archiveofourown.org/works/208374) “I have to say, John, I really just. Well. I can’t see the appeal.” That wasn’t precisely true, of course. At the moment, the appeal lay in the way John was blushing and licking his lip, avoiding Sherlock’s gaze, thoroughly discomfited. This one is so sexy and so Sherlock in how he thinks and gah, just read it! 6K. Favorite AU: The Bang and the Clatter (M) by earlgreytea68 (https://archiveofourown.org/works/744242) Sherlock Holmes is a pitcher and John Watson is a catcher. No, no, no, it's a baseball AU.   I learned a ton about baseball from this fic - it's very educational :-P It's also clear that earlgreytea is an AMAZING writer and a true baseball fan. 137K.

Favorite D/s verse: Shames and Praises (E) by s0mmerspr0ssen (https://archiveofourown.org/works/573019) Unable but desperate to find a dom who will put up with him, Sherlock swallows his pride and turns to Mycroft for help. Shortly after, John Watson steps into Sherlock's life.   Kinky as hell with a wonderful caring top!John. D/s done right. 52K.

Favorite Mystrade: The DI and the Spy (T) by chasingriver (https://archiveofourown.org/works/558609) Greg is an early-morning runner. Mycroft is an early riser who happens to live on Greg's running route. Hilarity ensues. Written for MystradeDoodles' prompt: "Greg is a runner. Rom-com." Exactly what it says on the package - a sweet rom-com story about how Mycroft and Lestrade get a crush on each other before even knowing who the other is. 44K.

[phoenixmakeswords]

Dented AU

Chapter 4 of the AU. Gotta say Kris is generally less of a butt.

Ransom’s already waiting at the Cajun place for me. It has the best crawfish etouffee in the city, and it reminds me just enough of Home to be nostalgic without being painful.

“You had a bad day. It’s all over your face,” he remarks by way of ‘hello.’

“Horrible. How was yours?” I pad after him into the restaurant. There’s no point in trying to keep up with him.

“It was good. I, um, I have something to show you when we get inside.”

“Do I wanna know?”

“I got my first tattoo.” He pauses at the hostess station. “Booth for two please.”

The hostess leads us to a booth near the bathroom. I don’t miss the way she ogles him. He doesn’t notice.

“What’d you get?” I ask, sitting across from him.

He holds his right wrist out, letting me see the black bird cage with a bird in flight leaving it.

“I like it. Who did it?”

“Kaiden. It’s to symbolize coming out.”

“Your family knows now?” I know he’s been waiting to tell them. He’s been afraid to tell them. Being adopted means he’s afraid of disappointing them.

“Yeah. It went over decently. I need to have a talk with my mom, though. She, uh, has the mindset that my being gay means instant shopping buddy. And girl talk. And that I'm automatically into any other gay or bi guy. She does not know about you or any other guys. As far as she’s concerned, I'm still her innocent little boy.”

“She does realize you’d rather have teeth pulled than go shoppin’, right? And that attraction doesn’t work like that? Your mama’s gonna kill you when she finds out you lied.” I tap my short nails lightly against the tabletop. I do everything in my power not to lie to Mama. She’s very scary when she’s mad.

“I think she forgot that. I know, right? I mean, she’s not into every guy she sees, so why would I be? What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.”

“What she doesn’t know might put you in an early grave.” I nudge his hand playfully.

“Kristoff, what’re you doin’ here?” Mama calls, startling me. “Is this your friend?”

I might be imagining the extra emphasis she puts on ‘friend,’ but, judging from the way Ransom arches a thin brow at me, I don’t think I am.

“He’s my tattoo artist,” I explain. “Ransom, this is my mama, Elena.”

Mama grins like the Cheshire cat as she shakes his hand.

“So, where’s your person?” I ask before she can say something embarrassing.

“Bathroom. If things go decently tonight, we might have a dinner with his kids and you three.”

“Family dinner? With Regan? I thought I was good son.” Why am I being punished for her finding a guy?

“You can bring a date. She’ll be bringing her boyfriend.”

Oh, yeah, bring Ransom to family dinner with my sister who went off on him and called him a racial slur. Even if Ransom was my least favorite person, I wouldn’t do that.

“Um, I'm gonna be out of town that day,” I tell her quickly.

“You don’t even know what day it is.”

“Put me and Regan in a room with knives right now and one of us is gonna get stabbed and it ain’t gonna be me.”

“Kristoff, that’s your sister!”

“Not accordin’ to her.”

The waiter’s arrival pauses our conversation. I order the same thing I always get: Cherry Pepsi, the shrimp and grits appetizer, and the crawfish etouffee.

“I’ve never been here before,” Ransom whispers, glancing hurriedly over his menu.

“D-did you pick this place ‘cause of me?” I ask. I don’t have words for how happy his slight nod makes me. “Um, they have really great gumbo. The jambalaya is good too.”

He orders the vegetarian jambalaya.

Mama and her date have been seated at the booth behind ours. Great.

“Have they done anything with Regan’s app?” I ask.

“They’re not hiring her. Thankfully.” Relief lights up his green eyes.

“I'm glad.”

“So, what happened today?”

“Eight hours of being harassed. He thinks it’s fun. My boss knows. She doesn’t care. She thinks I'm makin’ it up. That it’s not that bad.”

“You don’t lie about stuff like that. I know you. Are you okay? I mean, I know you’re not in the greatest place right now.”

“Honestly? I wanna move far away from him and start over.”

“Can I go with you? Start my own studio. Be my own boss.” He smiles shyly.

“You wanna run away together?”

“Yeah. Whatcha think?” He grins easily.

“Why does this sound like you’re tryin’ to romance me?”

“Can’t two gay guys run away together platonically?”

“Platonic, huh?”

“We could be.” He smiles pleasantly when the waiter brings our food. “Your shrimp and grits look really good.”

“I’ll share. You can have shrimp, right?”

“Um, shrimp sorta falls under the ‘meat’ category. Thanks, though.”

Their shrimp and grits are like none I’ve ever had before. For one thing, the grits are formed into patties and fried. And the shrimp are breaded and fried. It’s the bomb.

“Okay, how ‘bout I share my dessert?” I offer.

“Which is what exactly?”

“Their hot fudge beignet sundae. With extra whipped cream. Vanilla ice cream, surrounded by fresh beignets, drowning in hot fudge, and with whipped cream and cherries on top. It might actually be better than sex. Well, maybe not sex with you.”

“I'm not saying anything.” He has the biggest grin, though. “I'm completely down to share. Are you feeling better?”

“Fake it till you make it, right?”

I wince when Mama asks the waiter if they can move to our table. I don’t want them to join us. I am not having a double date with my mother. This isn’t even a date! But, if it was, that would be weird. I mean, it’s weird now.

Ransom scoots to sit next to me, leaving the opposite side of the booth for Mama and her date. Ransom looks as thrilled as I feel.

“Ransom, did you say you know my daughter?” Mama asks.

“I, um, I did a tattoo for her.” A careful edge slips into his voice. “We don’t get along.”

“One more kid and you’ll have tattooed all of mine. Not a lot of people do get along with her.”

“I thought we were the only ones.” He gestures between the two of us. “She pushes Kris’s buttons really bad. Which is why his kitchen has been overrun by bread.”

“It’s not that—Okay, it is that bad. But who doesn’t love bread?” I respond.

“You bake bread when you’re angry?” Mama’s date queries curiously.

“It’s cheaper than a punching bag. I'm Kris, by the way. I wasn’t tryin’ to be rude.” I reach across the table to shake his hand politely.

“Grant. I’ve never heard of someone doing that before. Now, what do you do?”

“I work at a bakery. But I might be quitting to work with Ransom.”

“I do tattoos for a living. I, um, I'm not into drugs or anything. I just like making art on people,” Ransom explains. “I’ve done all three of Kris’s pieces. He’s actually my favorite customer. Especially compared with his sister.”

“What’d Regan do?” Mama asks resignedly.

“Your daughter called me a racial slur. Told me I was stupid. My boss stepped in.” He toys anxiously with his necklace.

“She knows better. I didn’t raise her to behave like that. Kristoff doesn’t, I hope.”

“Do you think he would’ve done three tattoos for me and been staying with me if I had?” I retort. And now it sounds like we’re a couple. Or at least having lots of sex.

“How long have you been dating?” Grant asks. He doesn’t sound judgmental, which is more than I expected.

I glance at Ransom, hoping he can come up with something, because I'm freaking out. I feel like they’re all expecting me to say we’re a couple. I'm almost wanting Ransom to say we are, even though I know we aren’t and we wouldn’t work anyway because I'm too much of a mess. But the lie would be better than the truth. I don’t want Mama’s potential boyfriend to know what happened.

“Not long. We, uh, kinda rushed at first, but we’re taking things slow now. He’s pretty special to me,” Ransom replies easily, squeezing my hand gently.

“You look good together. Are you happy, Kristoff?” Mama says this like it’s the most important thing in the world. I don’t think she realizes I can be happy and depressed at the same time.

I smile and nod the best I can with a mouthful of grits.

“I thought you guys weren’t going out until Friday?” I ask once I can speak again.

“We were both able to get time sooner. Why’re you leaving the bakery? I thought it was your passion,” Mama replies.

“Because my boss doesn’t care I'm bein’ sexually harassed. And that it escalated today. She laughed at me. Said I was lyin’. Called me an attention whore. Felt like I was dealin’ with my sister.”

“Wait, escalated? You didn’t tell me that.” Ransom touches my hand gently. I don’t like how worried he sounds. I don’t like worrying him.

“I was gonna tell you at home.”

“Are you okay?”

“You’re funny.”

“Do you mind if we stay at my place tonight? It’s the first night of Hanukah.” He smiles uncertainly, like he thinks I might say no. Or might rip into him.

“No problem.” I brush my fingers lightly over his.

It’s a relief when we leave. I’ve never been to Ransom’s apartment before.

“You’re not upset with me for lying, are you? If you are, I get it. Will the futon work? I don’t have a spare room,” he says in his Blazer after picking me up from my apartment. I can barely hear him over the rumbling engine.

“Not really. I can sleep just about anywhere, as long as it’s flat. Bathtub, table, doesn’t matter.”

“What happened today?”

“He assaulted me. And I almost walked out, but I didn’t because I need the job and I don’t want you to think I'm some spoiled, lazy rich boy who doesn’t wanna work.”

“I’ve never thought that.” He grimaces when the car jerks into gear.

“Just put gas in, didn’t you? We could’ve taken my Mustang.”

“Yeah, and I would’ve had a dead battery. Kris, I meant what I said back there about you being special to me.”

“I know. And I know you think us dating would work and we’d be happy and all that, but my life’s never been a fairy tale. Maybe I don’t get a happy ending. I’ve never planned on one.”

“So, what, you’re not even gonna try?”

“Why bother? Hurts less. You’d get attached and I’d fall for you and something would happen and it’d fall apart. That’s what happens when I get settled and comfortable. It goes to crap. And I don’t wanna lose you.” And none of that was supposed to come out of my mouth. It’s all true, but that doesn’t matter. He wasn’t supposed to know.

“Things are falling apart now and I'm still here. I'm not going anywhere, okay?”

“Yeah, well, right now you’re afraid I’ll kill myself. What about when I get through this? When I'm not some tragic excuse of a human being? Because the only time a guy has ever given a fuck about me when we’re not sleeping together has been to play the hero. Because screwing and rescuing are all I'm good for.” My voice trembles with anger. I'm so tired of being seen as pitiful. Of being used and thrown away. I'm not angry so much with Ransom as I am with his idea that he’ll be different.

“I was planning on asking you out when you got through this. I'm not shallow, Kris. You know me better than that. Or you should. If I wanted a guy to boost my ego, I’d be at a bar.” He sounds as angry as I feel, but I don’t turn to look. I can’t look at him right now.

“Why do you want me so damn much? There’s better guys out there. Not-broken guys.”

“I never thought you were broken. More like a dented can at Wal-Mart. You’re a little bit banged-up, but you’re still so good and so deserving and amazing and I’d give you the world if you’d give me half a chance.”

Banged-up fits. I feel battered. Like I’ve been through a hurricane. Made of lava.

“I think you need your eyes checked ‘cause that ain’t what I see.”

“I’m not the only one that sees you like that.”

“Mama doesn’t count.”

“Have you always been this stubborn?”

“Yes. You just haven’t been around me long enough to notice.”

[francoeurs]

Something Real

AO3 link · . · . ·

Rating: T.

Words: 2,100.

Status: Complete.

Warnings/Content: Modern AU. Established Relationship. New Relationship. Tooth-Rotting Fluff. Romance. Comfort. Sharing a bed.

Summary: In which Jaime has a nightmare and overreacts just a bit.

— • —

Brienne was in the middle of a gruelling sword fight with Paddington Bear when her phone rang and startled her awake.

She scrambled for it in the near darkness and almost knocked her bedside lamp to the floor. A growl of frustration rumbled in her throat as she sank back into her pillow and held her phone above her face. 3:14 glowed bright white and made her sensitive eyes water.

A wave of alarm flooded her chest when she saw Jaime’s name on the screen.

She quickly answered the call. “Jaime? What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” she asked in a rush.

The line was silent.

Alarm turned to panic. “Hello?”

“Brienne! Hi,” Jaime finally said, startlingly loud and chipper. “Nothing’s wrong—I’m fine. What are you doing?” he asked lightly, as if they were having a regular conversation.

Brienne sagged in relief, then glared at the ceiling, willing her heart to slow down. Her fingers tightened around the phone.

“Not. Sleeping,” she answered, drawing out the words for emphasis.

“Good. I was afraid I’d woken you up.”

She closed her eyes and counted to five. “Of course you woke me up, Jaime. It’s three in the morning on a weekday.”

“I know,” he said somewhat defensively. “I just wanted to see how you were. You’re all right... right?”

Brienne’s tone changed to one of indulgent exasperation. “I’m annoyed, but yes, I’m fine.” She squinted at the ceiling. “Why?”

“I, ah...” The line went silent again. Jaime cleared his throat. “I had a dream.”

She blinked a few times. “You had a dream,” she echoed flatly.

“A bad one. Ghastly, really. The kind of dream that stays with you for a while.”

Brienne rubbed the sleep out of her eyes. “A dream about...?”

“You.”

Her hand flopped down and hung off the edge of the mattress. “Oh.”

Jaime exhaled long and slow. “I just needed to hear your voice, that’s all. I’m sorry for waking you.”

“Oh,” she repeated dumbly. “It’s fine. I—I’m fine. I’m here.”

“Good.”

There was another long silence.

Brienne picked at a loose thread on her duvet cover. “Are you still there?”

“Yes. I—” He groaned softly and lowered his voice to a near whisper. “I’m standing in your building’s lobby... in my pyjamas. Your scrawny doorman keeps giving me funny looks,” he admitted, embarrassment colouring his words. “What’s new, Dick?” he asked loudly. His voice was muffled, as if he had covered up his phone.

Frowning, Brienne sat up and turned her head to the window. She could see even through the closed blinds that snow was falling heavily outside.

She shook her head in disbelief when a strong gust of wind rattled the window. “You drove for fifteen minutes in this weather in the middle of the night... because you had a nightmare?” she asked as delicately as she could.

“It was a very vivid nightmare,” he said weakly. “I panicked. You weren’t answering my calls.”

Panicked? Her heart flipped. “You called more than once?”

“I did. You sleep like the dead.” A huff of breath came across the line. “Fucking hell, bad choice of word,” he said quietly, as if talking to himself.

Brienne swallowed against the lump forming in her throat. Her bed frame creaked as she tossed the covers aside and got to her feet. “Give Dick your phone for a second.”

She told Dick to let Jaime up. Less than a minute later, he was knocking on her door.

She opened it slowly, letting in a draft of uncomfortably cool air. She fought back a shiver as she felt goose bumps rise on her bare legs.

Jaime’s face brightened at the sight of her. A sheepish, relieved smile quirked his lips.

“Hi.” He closed the door behind him and locked it before leaning forward to give her a quick kiss.

Brienne stifled a sigh when his lips left hers. She dug her short nails into her palms, swallowing down the urge to ask for more. “Hi.”

She took a small step back and skimmed her gaze over him. He hadn’t lied—the foolish man had actually run out into the snow in his pyjamas. A pair of light grey pyjama bottoms and an old, faded black shirt under a stylish pea coat that probably cost more than her rent. At least he remembered to grab a coat on his way out, she thought.

His hair was flat on one side and sticking up on the other. He still had faint pillow-wrinkles on one cheek.

He looked uncharacteristically rumpled and Brienne didn’t hate it.

She gave herself an internal shake and met his eyes again.

“Are you wearing fuzzy slippers?” she blurted out, at a loss for what else to say.

“Yes. I left in a hurry.” He kicked his wet slippers off, then looked down and grinned. “Cute shorts.”

She followed his gaze to her polka-dot flannel shorts. Had they always been so tiny, or had she somehow had another growth spurt in her twenties? She self-consciously tugged on the hem of her sleeveless cotton top... which had the unfortunate effect of reminding her of how flat and broad her chest looked in it.

She crossed her arms protectively over her barely-there breasts. “Do you want anything to drink? Some herbal tea, maybe?”

Jaime shrugged off his coat and turned to hang it in the closet. “I just want to sleep, honestly,” he said, glancing at her over his shoulder.

Brienne’s thoughts briefly went to her couch. Jaime had convinced her to buy it because it looked gorgeous. Unfortunately, it was also the single most uncomfortable piece of furniture she’d ever owned.

She wasn’t cruel enough to make him sleep on it. He could sleep with her. They’d had to share beds a few times before… before. They hadn’t slept in the same bed since they’d become whatever they were now.

A little over two weeks had passed since his accidental, vague confession of maybe-love and her equally vague and cautious response to it. They still hadn’t gone beyond innocent kisses and fleeting touches. They touched less now than they did when they were merely friends. It was as if they were both afraid one wrong move would tear this new, fragile thing to shreds and ruin their relationship—their friendship—forever.

It was maddening.

But at this moment, Brienne didn’t care how tense and timid and just plain awkward things had been between them recently; Jaime needed her. They could get over themselves and share the damned bed.

“Come on, then.” She turned off the hallway lights and walked back to her bedroom. Jaime followed her without a word.

Once there, Brienne lifted the duvet, then went still and peeked at his bare feet. “Are your feet cold? Do you need socks?”

He waved his hand dismissively. “They’re fine.”

Brienne climbed into bed and lay stiffly on her back. “If you say so.”

Jaime slipped in next to her. Close. Close enough that she could feel his heat and smell the fresh citrus scent of his shampoo. She took a breath through her mouth to steady herself.

One of his feet touched hers, and the tension Brienne was holding in snapped like a bowstring.

She jerked away and bit back a curse. “Your feet are like ice! I thought you said you didn’t need socks?” she hissed, curling her toes.

Jaime rolled onto his side, his lips twitching with amusement. “I don’t. It’s nice and warm in here.” He cuddled up closer to her and wrapped one leg around hers, rubbing his cold foot against her calf.

She let out an offended squawk and tried to squirm away, but he locked his arms around her and pulled her to his chest. “Jaime!” she grunted, clutching his T-shirt in her left fist and seriously considering pushing him off the bed. It would be so easy.

He had the audacity to chuckle as he released his hold on her. “Hey, you’re the one who’s wearing boxer shorts in the middle of bloody winter. Your heating bills must be horrendous.” He made an appreciative sound in the back of his throat and patted her thigh under the covers. “Not that I’m complaining.”

Brienne stopped squirming. She licked her lips and felt heat flare in her face and lower belly when his gaze flickered to her mouth. “I should have made you sleep on the couch.”

“You don’t mean that.” He ran his fingers lightly over the freckles that covered most of her upper arms. They were clearly visible even in the faint light coming from outside.

Brienne wasn’t sure why Jaime was suddenly being so affectionate and carefree instead of hesitant and skittish — not that she’d been much better — but she was almost as pleased and relieved as she was surprised. She felt like she could finally breathe again after weeks of suffocating.

She relaxed into him and gave him a mock glare. “It's the least you deserve after convincing me to buy that torture device they call a couch.”

He leaned toward her conspiratorially. “It was all part of my plan to get an invitation into your bed. Lannisters know how to play the long game.”

“How Machiavellian of you,” she said, only slightly embarrassed by the hint of breathlessness in her voice. “Was the bad dream also part of your scheme?”

His smile slowly faded. He leaned back and rubbed his scruffy chin. “Ah, no.”

Brienne frowned and combed her fingers through his unruly hair. Jaime tipped his head into her touch. “What did I do in your nightmare?” she asked, her curiosity getting the better of her.

“You didn’t do anything; something was done to you.” He swallowed and raised his hand to her cheek. He traced the strong lines of her homely face in an almost reverent caress, his eyes unusually intense.

Brienne stared back, torn between wanting to hide her face in her pillow and wanting him to never stop looking at her like that.

“There was fire,” he continued. His face clouded with uneasiness. “I couldn’t—” He cut himself off and closed his eye briefly before offering her a tight smile. “It doesn’t matter. It was only a dream. This is real.” He watched her for a moment longer, then slid his hand to the back of her neck and pulled her closer until their lips met in a sweet, lingering kiss.

She leaned into it, her eyes fluttering closed. When she parted her lips on a sigh, Jaime took it as an invitation and deepened the kiss. Finally was Brienne’s last coherent thought for the next few minutes.

His teeth grazed her lower lip when she finally pulled away for air. Warm tingles shot up her spine and spread across her scalp, making her shiver and tighten her grip on his hair.

Jaime was clutching her thigh. She didn’t remember him moving his hand there.

She didn’t remember throwing her leg over his hip, either. Brienne’s face flushed again.

Jaime stole one last kiss before relaxing into his pillow, looking tired but happy. He squeezed her knee. “I’m sorry I bothered you for something so silly.”

“You didn’t bother me,” she said, still half-dazed from his kisses.

He snorted. “Your tone on the phone said otherwise.”

“That was before I realised you were terrified.”

“Terrified is a strong word,” he protested feebly. “I was worried.”

She fixed him with an unimpressed look. “My apologies.”

Jaime huffed, but the corners of his mouth turned up.

Brienne studied his expression closely, her thumb brushing the soft skin behind his ear. She could see the exhaustion on his face. “Do you need anything?”

His eyes grew soft and heavy-lidded. “Just let me hold you,” he said quietly. “Or hold me, I don’t care. I just want you close to me.”

His casual admission made her heart melt and her head spin. She lifted her arm to make room for him against her chest. He snuggled close and wrapped his arm around her waist, burying his face in the crook of her neck. She stroked his arm soothingly and rested her cheek on the top of his head.

Jaime nuzzled her neck and placed a feather-light kiss on her collarbone. “I’ll make you breakfast in the morning to make it up t’you,” he mumbled, already half asleep.

Brienne smiled into his hair, knowing he was no cook and she’d probably be eating burned toast and dry, rubbery eggs. She could picture him in her mind, dishevelled and stressed and squinting around her kitchen with bleary eyes.

“Sounds perfect.”

{ · · · ♡ · · · }

[allwaswell16]

Annual Writing Self-Evaluation

*All answers should be about works published in 2017. 

I was tagged by @fullonlarrie and @letsjustsee ! Thanks, Lauren and Rachel! <3 <3

1. List of works published this year: In the order that they were posted

Don’t Need Permission

Email Chain Part 4

Now That I Found You

For You I’d Bleed Myself Dry

On a Day Like This You Know It’s Meant To Be

Screaming (OT4 Email Chain)

Won’t You Please Come Around

Let Me Kiss You

The Brits & Always You (Email Chain)

I’ll Be There

You Really Got Me Now

Looking Through You

You & Me

but tonight (you’re on my mind)

We Know Where We Belong

Is Neil Available? (Email Chain)

How Could I Ever Forget

That’s How I Know

And I Could Hear the Thunder

Sound Like a Song

Look Like a Movie

One Day You’ll Say These Words

Let You Lick the Lollipop

This is Halloween, everybody make a scene

Do You Smile To Tempt a Lover

Paper Houses

Staring Across the Room

We’re Dancing On Tables

Be My Homeward Dove

Today’s the Day (Winter Drabble Series)

2. Work you are most proud of (and why):

Probably Looking Through You. I spent the most time and effort on that one. When I was writing it, it just felt like I had to spend a lot of time getting things a certain way. Usually I don’t get so hung up on word choices...I’m more of a dialogue and story person. But for this one, I couldn’t seem to keep going forward until I had things just right. 

3. Work you are least proud of (and why):

I wouldn’t say I’m not proud of anything I published this year. Let’s just say there are some fics I wrote that I like better than others. I won’t say which or I’ll get defensive messages again from people and/or @juliusschmidt teasing me.

4. A favorite excerpt of your writing:

Harry tries his best to walk in normally, but the last time they were here Liam literally had to step between him. He sees Liam tense up in his chair first because he can’t bring himself to meet Louis’ eye. He opens his mouth to say hello or anything really, but he glances Louis’ way and is struck mute by the way Louis looks. He’s wearing the same clothes he left their flat in the night before. He clearly got about as much sleep as Harry did based on the darkness beneath his eyes and the taut lines around his mouth, his hair ruffled haphazardly. He looks exhausted and wounded and yet so lovely it hurts to look at him, and Harry just wants to go home. 

He wants what they once had and the fragile beginning of something that he can’t seem to get right. This is what home means to him now, maybe what it has always meant to him. It means Louis in the flat making tea, it means Louis’ voice calling out his name with a laugh, it means Louis borrowing his t-shirts and never returning them, it means staying in curled up on the sofa with Netflix, it means kissing him with the desperation of a man who just wants him to stay. It means all of it and everything that Louis is to him. And while these are all the things in Harry’s heart, he doesn’t see any sign of the same written on Louis’ face.

(This was the worst trying to find something. But I’m also going to include this next one so @bangiebbelievesinlarry doesn’t come for me.)

The monster shrugs again. Louis really wishes he didn’t look so damn attractive when he’s shrugging. “Well, have fun sitting here waiting for your non-existant trick-or-treaters.”

Louis glares at the monster’s very appealing broad shoulders as he walks away. The monster mainly stays in Niall’s circle, but at one point Louis sees him chatting with Liam and a few minutes later with his lab partner, Lissie. He’s showing them his dimples, too. Probably shows everyone his dimples. He’s a ho. A dimples ho. It’s fine. Louis doesn’t care anyway. He can show his dimples to anyone he wants. Louis just doesn’t want any part of them.

5. Share or describe a favorite comment you received:

Ohhhh, too many to share here. I’m a comment ho. I love every single one of them. I’m utterly delighted every time I get the ao3 email that says I have a comment. I’ll say my proudest moment may have been seeing one of my fics on @magicalrocketships ‘s rec list. If I could go back in time and tell the me that first started publishing fics that someday sunsetmog was going to read and like one of my fics, I would have told my future self to gtfo. 

6. A time when writing was really, really hard:

See all those fics up there? Almost every one of them had a deadline attached to it. I spent the first part of the year signing up for every damn thing that crossed my dash, and I spent the last part of the year regretting all my life’s choices. I’d say by early fall I’d begun to get burned out, which was unfortunate seeing as how I had many fics due November 1. lol. And then I thought, why not do nano in November on top of it? Because I’m an idiot. 

7. A scene or character you wrote that surprised you:

Darcy the Parrot? I dunno. lol. I had no idea when I was writing That’s How I Know that Darcy the Parrot was going to be such a thing. That fic is my fic with the most kudos at this point. Who knew people were going to like troublesome parrots? Not me. 

8. How did you grow as a writer this year:

Well, I apparently wrote a hell of a lot of fic this year. 286k words actually. I’d say I tried out a lot of different genres, so I guess I was adventurous at times with what I was doing. I wrote construction workers, vampires, mischievous cats and parrots, a Regency era romance, librarians, pop stars, songwriters, models, actors, farmer’s markets, and high school aus. I wrote fics set in Rome and Vegas and New York City and Chicago and of course, London. I wrote enemies to lovers, friends to lovers, strangers to lovers, meet-cutes, exes to lovers, and established relationships. I wrote humor and fluff and smut and angst. And I wrote Tomlinshaw and Drarry in addition to all the Larry fics. So yeah, tried out a lot of things this year. 

9. How do you hope to grow next year:

Next year, I’d like to focus on writing more what I want to write rather than write for everyone else, which is what I did this year. I think it was really great for me to do that and stretch myself, but next year I have some things planned that I really want to see through. 

10. Who was your greatest positive influence this year as a writer (could be another writer or beta or cheerleader or muse etc etc):

Forever and always @taggiecb. I don’t know how I’d write without her, honestly. At this point we talk in our own fic shorthand that we’ve been speaking for the better part of 3 years. Sometimes I have to ask her to really look through something and tell me what’s wrong with it, and she always has the best insight into what could be the problem, but she always does it with such love. I’m so grateful for that because I know she hates to pick apart my writing. She’s the person who loves my fics the most, so she has to fight herself to give me things to fix. lol. 

11. Anything from your real life show up in your writing this year:

Hoo boy. Well, for one thing, I have been sometimes intentionally, sometimes unintentionally, writing myself into my Harry characters. And one of my fics this year is almost completely autobiographical. I’ll leave to your imaginations as to which one that might be. 

12. Any new wisdom you can share with other writers:

I think the best advice that I’ve experienced is reaching out to other writers. Writing doesn’t have to be a solitary experience if you don’t want it to be. I love having groups of writer friends to go to when I need them for support or to give some fresh eyes to something I’m writing. 

13. Any projects you’re looking forward to starting (or finishing) in the new year:

I still need to finish my wip And I Could Hear the Thunder. I’m a bit stuck on it at the moment. 

I’ll be publishing one right away in the new year for the 1000 Feelings challenge/ @nottooldforthisship ‘s birthday. It’s based on a great manip from @melmanpur! 

I am writing a fic for the Moodboard Larry fic challenge, but that’s supposed to be anonymous. So I won’t say too much for now on that. 

I have a fairly ambitious longer fic planned. I don’t know how much I want to say about it. I’ll just say for now that it’s historical. And it has a pretty big twist to it. 

14. Tag three writers/artists whose answers you’d like to read.

I would like to read any and all writers/artists/creators who want to do this! Please say I tagged you, so I can read them! I’ll list a few people though to add some pressure to do this: @juliusschmidt @magicalrocketships @akai-coat @daisyharry @softgolfdaddy @polkadotsvstripes @writsgrimmyblog @flamboyantommo @rainbowninja @turnyourankle