#can’t close doors til I try the thing to the best of my ability

[cuddleswinchester]

Hypothetically if I don’t have a lot of (positive) experience w like. Being touched. Would it be a good idea for me to get a massage for like some practice getting used to it and figuring out if I like it or not - or would that be a mistake.

[bottoms-movie]

SAMBUCKY FIC RECS

so a lot of people seemed interested this so here it is! if ya’ll like this, i can make more parts! this is split into three categories: based on tfatws, canon divergence, and au. all fics are on ao3. all of the fics are complete. some fics do include smut, but i included the ratings, so make sure to check for that based on preferences!

also, feel free to send me asks on your thoughts on any fics or if you’re interested in another sambucky fic rec post!

BASED ON TFATWS

Fill the Hole in my Heart | Not Rated | 4,848 words

Bucky dives into the world of online dating. The girls are nice, but there seems to be something missing. When he goes to Louisiana to meet Sam and his family, he realizes what that something was.

Skip, Reverse | Explicit | 7,945 words

Sam stood in the middle of their local Target with a throw pillow in each hand. The one in his left hand was butter-soft and matched the drapes in the living room, but Bucky had walked by five seconds ago and declared the one on the right “absolutely fucking hideous,” and so now Sam kind of wanted it more than he had ever wanted anything.

Sometimes romance is just bickering with your superhero partner/roommate at several different Target locations.

just won’t do right | General | 7,524 words

Sam's eyebrows go up, impressed, and he reaches over to squeeze Torres' shoulder, "This is amazing, kid. Thanks, really."

Bucky sits and watches in utter horror as the pink darkens on Torres' cheeks.

Oh, he realizes. Oh. Fuck.

body language will do the trick | Explicit | 12,598 words

“There’s no way you’re going to win this,” Bucky tells Sam. “I am going to love language the shit out of you.”

Sam gives him a considering look. “You do seem like you’d be really good at that.”

Bucky’s cheeks flush with heat. “Thanks, pal, I—”

Sam smirks, and Bucky’s eyes narrow. He shoves his elbow into Sam’s side and stalks off, leaving Sam cackling behind him.

“Your ass looks great today!” Sam yells.

Bucky reaches up to flip Sam the bird, and he definitely does not feel grateful that he wore his good jeans today. Bucky’s ass looks great every day.

checklist | General | 4,716 words

Bucky Barnes keeps a mental checklist of things he knows to be true at any given moment. Sometimes the checklist changes, because he's learned something else about himself. It changes, for example, when he starts realizing that maybe he would like to kiss Sam Wilson. Maybe.

best laid plans | 3 parts | 26,808 words

part 1: baby you’re the wave and I’m ready for the crash | Explicit | 6,616 words

Nah, my plan’s better,” Sam declares, before clapping Bucky on the shoulder.

“I’m sorry, what plan? Was that a plan? It didn’t sound like a plan to me, it sounded like a vague intention,” says Bucky, still scowling, and Sam grins.

“We’re winging it, the plan is a work in progress! Now c’mon, we gotta make some wardrobe adjustments if we’re gonna get into that club.”

Sam and Bucky have some unorthodox methods of going undercover in a club.

He Doesn’t Deserve You! | Teen | 5,154 words

Sam and Bucky have an argument that results in Bucky being left at the bar. A group of drunk strangers assumes Bucky just got dumped and quickly adopt him for the night to make him feel better.

Reconstitution | Not Rated | 10,228 words

“I didn’t back Steve on the Sokovia Accords,” Sam says unprompted one day. They’re so close to apprehending the Flagsmashers and wrapping up this ridiculous saga.

“I don’t follow,” Bucky says.

“I was the one who refused to sign it first. Not Steve.”

Sam says it so softly that Bucky has to strain to hear him. Sam is loud and chatty and half the time he keeps up a constant stream of chatter just to get on Bucky’s nerves, but Bucky’s coming to realize that when he really wants to make himself heard, he’s soft spoken and mild. Bucky doesn’t entirely follow his train of thought, though.

Or: a breaking down, remaking, and coming back stronger than ever before

Stuck On You (You Suez, You Luez) | Explicit | 10,136 words

Sam and Bucky’s mission was simple: stowaway on a ship suspected of weapons-smuggling in the Suez, gather enough intel to report back, and hop off again in Port Said. Something gets in the way, and a day-long recon session turns into a week of chess, bickering, semi-successful movie references, and trying not to go slowly insane.

His Touch | Mature | 1,006 words

When Baron Zemo touched Bucky’s face, Sam Wilson saw red.

Bucky just wants Sam to comfort him.

rusted | Teen | 2,358 words

Bucky doesn’t grace him with a sound of acknowledgement. He’s been quiet, ever since that night with Zemo. Well. Quieter. It’s almost like. Every time he opens his mouth, he’s half-expecting the Winter Soldier to come out.

He hasn’t, yet. Won’t, ever again. Not unbidden. Sam’s sure of that. Bucky, not so much.

‘You busy?’

‘’m scouring the—’

‘Good,’ Sam cuts the idiot off, ‘I need you to help me shave.’

advanced therapy methods for large adult men | 2 parts | 11,717 words

part 1: The Gottman Method for Dealing with Conflict | Mature | 4,187 words

Bucky and Dr. Raynor have a follow-up session and two entirely different conversations about his relationship status.

Or: Let's do more couples therapy, James.

it’s always Bucky’s Fault | 3 parts | 20,089 words

part 1: Did you see it? | Explicit | 3,905 words

In which there's supposedly a viral video of the Winter Soldier on his knees sucking off Captain America.

Everything is, like always, completely Bucky's fault.

CANON DIVERGENCE

Even in the Present (I Am Living in the Past) | Teen | 16,977 words

Sometimes Sam still questions everything about his ability to shoulder the 80-year legacy he now bears. His history, and the history of his loss, sticks with him and even in healing he doubts whether or not he is able to fulfil his purpose, and whether he may find lasting peace and happiness.

Told in fluid-fragments, the story moves between his therapy sessions after his return from active duty and the post-Endgame present.

You never forget your first | Teen | 3,650 words

The story of Bucky and Sam getting together in a series of firsts.

leftovers | Mature | 19,249 words

With the New Avengers up and running, Sam finally has time to start dating again. Unfortunately, it's not going as well as he'd hoped.

Partners | Explicit | 7,235 words

Sam's not sure if he can be Captain America. He's not a supersoldier. He can't throw the shield. He's just a dude.

And Bucky Barnes is just a nuisance, albeit a pretty good-looking one.

I’ll explain everything to the geese | Explicit | 50,949 words

Bucky is so competent that it hurts my feelings is not a rational complaint to have about a person, and yet, after a year of being Captain America and partnering up with Bucky for the new and improved, post-Blip Avengers, that’s kinda how Sam’s feeling.

It’s not great. It maybe leads to Sam making some rash, ill-advised decisions like claiming he has a previously undisclosed superpower, and then getting caught in a web of lies when he ends up actually developing that surprisingly inconvenient superpower. Talking to birds had seemed like a harmless superpower, but it turns out that birds have a lot of opinions, and they don’t hesitate to tell Sam about them, especially when it comes to his supposedly subpar courting skills. Which is ridiculous, because Sam isn’t courting Bucky. Right?

Night Swimming | Teen | 2,056 words

“Come on. The princess has a new arm for you and I gotta see if there’s a barber around here willing to tackle your…” Sam waved a hand at Bucky’s face.

“I don’t want a new arm,” Bucky immediately bit out.

And then -

“I can cut my own damn hair.”

Sam just raised both eyebrows. Crossed his arms over his chest again.

Dared Bucky to prove him wrong.

AU

Cpvert Coffee & Flirtation Specialist | General | 5,542 words

The reporter says "—for Captain America to—"

And Bucky rolls his eyes. "Oh, here we go."

Sam looks at him then tips his head sideways, got a weird grin on his face. "Not a fan?"

"Not that. Just… the guy seems too good to be true, right? Wings and a shield?? Come on."

"Uh, is that why your eyes are like glued to the screen whenever he's on?" Kate says. "Is that why you call him Captain Tight Ass?"

"He's a goddamn show-off, and you know it. Tight ass or not."

Just then Sam snorts, real loud, grabs his coffee and suffers a horribly controlled laugh on his way out the door.

Stolen Moments | Teen | 98,767 words

“No,” Sam said, chuckling. “I don’t cheat,” he swept his gaze up and down James’ body, “even with guys who look like you. But, I’m bored and a little pissed, so if you wanna sit here and shoot the shit ‘til my man shows back up, I’m game.”

Never one to back to back down from a challenge - especially a challenge who looked like Sam Wilson - Bucky took another swig from his bottle and replied, “Sure, doll. I’ve got nothing but time.”

Steve has Sam. Bucky wants Sam. Sam wasn’t expecting any of this.

Such a Whirlwind Since I Saw You | Teen | 10,871 words

The Men of Letters turned Bucky Barnes into a weapon. Hunters Steve Rogers and Natasha Romanov are determined to save him, but they're going to need Sam Wilson's help.

“So you want me to ditch work, drive across America with you until you find your friend, who you thought was dead - all while avoiding some high-tech hunters who are out for blood?” Sam is asking.

Steve shrugs a shoulder, looking a little sheepish. Natasha almost laughs at the dry tone of Sam’s voice, but he's not wrong.

You Got What I Need? | Explicit | 37,588 words

Sam and Bucky are both in a bind, professionally. Nat points out a solution that neither men like. To save their careers they play along or rather, stop playing all together.

[gimmesumsuga]

Ps. I woof you

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader

Word count: 26K

Summary: The one with a happy accident of the furry, four-legged kind - “Are you calling my dog a slut?!” 

Warnings: Extreme fluff and domesticity, cursing, mild angst, smut inclusive of: fingering, oral sex (female receiving) and unprotected penetrative sex 

** Click here to read on Archive of our own (AO3) should the read more on mobile not work due to fic length **

Thank you @readyplayerhobi​ for my super cute banner and @johobi​ for the gorgeous moodboard! ^^

“Seriously?!” Sitting up with a suddenness that borders on miraculous given how fast asleep you were just a few blissful moments ago, you glare out into the darkness that fills your room.  

The wall opposite your bed may as well be vibrating, so insistent is the thud of bass that’s thumping through from the apartment next door, and if you thought you were pissed about being so rudely awakened in the middle of the night, that’s nothing compared to the indignance of your dog, Remi.  Barking her head off, you’re met by the sight of her pacing up and down the span of the wall once you turn on the light, blinking as your eyes adjust to the offending brightness.  

“This is just so not the time,” you hiss as you swing your legs out of bed and then stalk across the room to hammer your fist against the plaster, swearing under your breath.  Usually, you’re quite quick to try and stifle Remi when she gets her knickers all in a twist, but not right now - not when her yapping is perfectly justified and the dog next door then has the sheer gall to start barking back.  

“Oh, it’s on,” you grit out through your teeth, banging your fist against the wall with renewed vigour ‘til your fist is sore and Remi’s so worked up that she’s up on her hind legs pawing the paintwork right alongside you.  

Thankfully, your next-door neighbour soon gets the message and turns off his music, no doubt feeling cowed at having been met with such vehement disapproval from the opposite side of the wall.  You sigh, satisfied, but it seems Remi has no such intention of letting it go so lightly, her barking match with her nemesis next door carrying on despite the battle being over.  

“Hey, hey,” you hush as you squat down to her level, running your fingers through her fur, “It’s ok, you can stop now, Rem.  We won, it’s ok.”  She quietens slightly at the reassuring tone of your voice but, stubborn as she is, she remains determined to get the last bark in, growling low in her throat and staring at the wall until she’s absolutely sure that the dog next door has been forced to back down.  

She’s always been the same; vocal even as a pup.  She’s a canine of very few faults (or so you like to believe), but you’ll admit that she can be a little too loud at times - a little too quick to run her mouth off at the slightest unfamiliar noise despite you discouraging her from it as best you can.  

It was actually one of the reasons you and your ex broke up, as silly as that sounds.  He’d always been intolerant of Remi’s noise - of anything being anything other than perfectly perfect, frankly  - and the final straw had come when one day, in a fit of red-faced rage, he’d taken off his shoe and thrown it at her from across the room.   She’d yelped and ran off to hide, and that’d been it.  By dinner time that evening, he’d been in the process of moving out his things.  A two-year relationship over, just like that. 

Good riddance, as far as you were concerned.  Remi was your roommate years before he ever had been; your loyalties lay with her, as they do to this day.  

And boy, does she know it.  You think it to yourself now, as you lay back down in bed and she sits at your bedside with her chin rested on the covers looking up at you with her big, brown puppy-dog eyes.  

“Oh come on then,” you grumble, shifting over and patting the space you’ve made for her atop the duvet.  She leaps up, tail wagging, and quickly circles on the spot before lying down snuggled up against you, exhaling noisily in contentment as you fuss her soft, pointed ears. “You’re never going to make any friends if you keep barking at everyone all the time, you know.”  Remi closes her eyes, utterly unrepentant.  

Not that it’ll soon matter what the next-door neighbours think of you, that is - not if you don’t ace the interview that you’re due to attend in a disgustingly short amount of time.  You really should’ve gone to bed earlier, given that the ability to pay your rent is now riding on exactly three and a half hours sleep should you not manage to drift off again for what little time you have left before your alarm is set.  

Luckily, the slow rise and fall of Remi’s soft little body lying next to yours proves as soothing as you’d hoped it would, and you’re able to steal a couple of hours more of precious sleep before having to drag your unwilling carcass out of bed and into a pair of high heels.  Full of nerves, you bite your nails the whole way there and are forced to make a pitstop in a public restroom prior to your arrival (nervous bowels for the win), but despite all that, you get the feeling the interview actually goes rather well.  It’s not for anything fancy, mind - a retail position at one of the more high-end-but-not-quite-designer clothing stores in the city - but the woman quizzing you seems friendly enough, all nods and smiles and shiny white teeth.  You even manage to make her laugh, which is impressive given how lame your sense of humour can get when you’re nervous.  

She tells you that you can expect to hear back by the end of the working day, and whilst at first that sounds perfectly reasonable, by the time you’ve gotten home and changed into something more comfortable you’re already going out of your mind.  Remi seems to pick up on your unease, too, sitting dutifully by your side as you glance at the arm of the sofa where your phone lies every other second, her little ears alert and twitching.    

It’s only after you’ve checked it’s not on silent for perhaps the hundredth time that you finally decide you’ve had enough.  Decisive, you rise to your feet and slip on your shoes before grabbing Remi’s lead from where it hangs by the side of the door.  

“Who wants to go on a walk, huh?” you offer, but having already seen you reach for her lead, Remi is already beside herself with excitement.  Atop her back her fuzzy little tail is wagging up a storm, dusting back and forth across the floor once she finally calms down enough to plop her bottom down onto the laminate and let you actually attach her to the thing.  

“Ok, ok, don’t pull,” you murmur mostly for your own benefit as you open up the door and then pause to lock up, her lead looped around your wrist.  Heaven knows Remi’s not listening anyway - not when she’s this wound up.   “Jeez, I’m coming!” you complain, turning on the spot when she yaps impatiently only to take one step towards the staircase and then come to a complete stop once you realise someone’s already coming up the other way.  

That someone being Min Yoongi, your aforementioned next-door neighbour, and his dog, a little toy poodle you’re not entirely sure of the name of.  

If you’re honest, you’re barely on a first-name basis with the man himself, nevermind his canine companion.  You’re fairly certain you remember him introducing himself when you first moved in, but other than that you’ve had very little to do with each other since then apart from the one time you accidentally picked up his mail and he came knocking on your door in search of it.  You remember thinking he was cute, too, back then, but despite the smiles that you’ve offered up whenever you may pass in the hall, Yoongi has remained somewhat of a mystery.  

Is he just shy, perhaps?  Or is he really as aloof and disinterested as the perma-furrow in his brow might have you believe?  

Of course, as soon as Remi spots the other dog she starts whimpering and pulling even more with the want to go and say hello, which is ridiculous, really, because you know as the moment the poodle comes close she’ll turn tail and run - which lo and behold, she does.  Their noses have barely touched when she jumps backwards and then scampers to hide behind your legs, tangling you up in her lead as she goes.  

“Oh Remi, you big wuss!” you sigh as you fight to shuffle backwards enough for Yoongi and his dog to actually be able to get past - a task easier said than done given that the poodle seems set on chasing after her, tangling you up even more.  

“Holly, leave it,” you hear Yoongi warn as you peer down at the dogs dancing between your legs, praying for Remi not to do anything that might embarrass the both of you.  

She’s never been aggressive before - all bark and no bite through and through - but there’s always a first time… 

As if right on cue, Remi releases a deep, rumbling growl as a warning once it becomes apparent that Holly doesn’t have any intention of backing off without a fight.  You cringe at the sound, embarrassed.  

“Hey!  Be nice!” you scold as the other dog very quickly turns tail and runs back to his owner, startled.   You feel your cheeks fill with heat as Yoongi scoops Holly off the ground and into his arms, making a mental note to not give Remi any of her usual bedtime treats this evening.  

“I’m really sorry about that,” you gush despite Remi looking anything but, sat scratching herself at your feet without a care in the world.  

“It’s fine,” Yoongi shrugs, glancing down at Holly with a hint of a smile, “‘Bout time someone put him in his place.”  You can’t quite think what to say to that - caught off guard by how very different Yoongi looks when there’s a smile on his face rather than a frown.   

Yeah, he’s definitely cute.  Cute button nose?  Check.  Honey-boy smile?  Check.  Even the dye job on his hair is better than your own - a deep mahogany red to suit the changing of the seasons.  

Your silence earns you a quizzical look but no further comment, and mentally you kick yourself for being such an absolute loser as Yoongi turns and heads back towards his apartment, Holly still cradled in his arms.  

"And I'm sorry about last night!" you call after him like the unstoppable moron you are.  

Why would you bring that up?!  There's nothing but more awkwardness in-store by mentioning that, surely?! 

Still, deep down you feel obliged to offer some sort of apology.  After all, you expect Yoongi would have had the pleasure of having to overhear some of yours and your ex's more colourful arguments in the past.  Not to mention the fact that Remi decides to bark every time she sees a bicycle on the television screen.  

“It’s just… I had an interview this morning,” you explain as he slowly turns back around to face you again, one eyebrow slightly raised, “And I already went to bed late, so…” 

“Don’t worry about it.” You wonder if you’re imagining the way Yoongi averts his gaze and seems to shrink in on himself a little bit as he looks at Holly rather than you.  “I should apologise.  I didn’t realise how late it was.  Lose track of time when inspiration hits.”  

“Oh, that was you?” you enquire before stopping to think that maybe Yoongi might not want to share any further.  He appears to hesitate before answering, but when he does he offers you a small smile and another shrug of his shoulders along with it.  

“I’ve got a home studio,” he explains, exhaling with amusement before adding, “Not gotten around to soundproofing it yet.  Obviously.” 

So he works in the music business, huh?  You figure he must be pretty good, considering how you’ve always presumed it’s been mainstream chart stuff that you’ve been hearing through the walls in the past.  

“That’s really cool,” you grin, pleased to see him smile back, and you’re just about to open your mouth to keep the small talk going when all of a sudden Remi tugs sharply on her lead, jolting you off balance.  Flustered, you glare at her accusingly only to see her staring right back, impatient for the walk she’s been promised.  

Little madam would be tapping her paw on the floor and checking her watch if she only knew how… 

Giggling to mask your embarrassment, you make your excuses and bid Yoongi farewell, and you’re about halfway down the concrete steps to take you to the ground floor when suddenly his voice calls after you,

“How did it go?”  Looking up, you see his face peering down at you over the railings. The apples of his cheeks look even more pinchable from below; so smooth and sweet and round.  "The interview, I mean," he explains further when all you do is gawp back up at him, mouth hanging ajar.  

"Oh!" Could this really be real?  Is Yoongi - introverted, mysterious Min Yoongi -  taking an active interest in you?  Well, not you necessarily, but something to do with you, nonetheless.  "Yeah, I mean, I think it went pretty well."  He nods, seemingly satisfied with your answer. 

"Well, good luck with it," he says, and all of a sudden Holly's face pops over the side too, tongue lolling out.�� At your feet, Remi grumbles disgruntedly.  

"Thanks," you reply, face aching with the effort it's taking for you to try not to grin too hard.  "Keeping all my fingers crossed."  Yoongi gives you one last final nod and then disappears out of sight, keys jingling as he opens his front door, and you’re left giddy in his wake.  

Realistically, you know this whole exchange was little more than every day ordinary - some might even say mundane - but it's caught you so off guard that you very nearly fall down the stairs when Remi barks you back to reality, tugging once more on her lead.  

"Oh alright, alright, alright…"

  ****

  Turns out, your gut feeling that the interview went well was right. 

Not that you’d actually found that out until much later on in the day, mind.  Thanks to all the faffing around you’d been doing with your phone prior to leaving the house, you’d managed to leave it by the front door rather than take it with you, and by the time you’d gotten home, there were three missed calls and a rather perturbed sounding voicemail waiting for you.  Still, better late than never, eh?  You were just glad your new employer hadn’t mistaken your sudden unavailability as a lack of enthusiasm; full of spluttered apologies and excuses by the time you eventually called them back.  

That was two weeks ago, now, and you’ve been pleasantly surprised as to how well things have been going so far.  Being a high-end store, the clientele are somewhat more demanding than you’ve been used to before, but the money’s good and your new colleagues have been more welcoming than you could’ve hoped.  Everything’s been coming up roses,  and whilst you’re revelling in your newfound financial security, Remi is… well, Remi’s not been taking to it quite so well.  

It was only a month or two that you were unemployed prior to starting this job, but it seems as though that was time enough for Remi to become all too accustomed to you spending all your time at home.  You’ve no idea how she is when you’re out during your shifts, but the way she sits whining at the front door whilst you get ready for work is enough to break your heart alone, and she’s so excited to see you every time you get back that it doesn’t take a genius to assume she’s been mourning your absence every moment that you’re gone.  

It makes you feel horrifically guilty, but what else can you do?  You need to work and dog sitters are a luxury you can't afford - at least not right now, anyway.   And so of course, like every individual who’s ever suffered with ‘mom guilt’, you end up over-compensating to make up for it; new toys, tastier treats, extra-long walks.  Basically, anything Remi might ever want.  

And it’s on one of these longer walks that you finally end up bumping into Yoongi and his canine companion again, meandering through the park nearest your home.  He doesn’t spot you, at first, which gives you ample opportunity to observe the fondness with which he watches Holly chasing the autumn leaves dancing along the path with each gust of wind.  You even get to hear him laugh for the very first time when Holly abandons the leaves and opts to chase his tail instead, and the whole scene is so endearing that you can’t help but stop and scrunch your nose at the two of them, grinning to yourself from where you linger further down the path.  

Does he have any idea how cute he is, you wonder?  You can’t imagine Yoongi would be the type of guy who’d appreciate hearing it, should you ever work up the courage to tell him so.  

“Hey!” you call out once you’ve mustered up the courage to finally reveal yourself, approaching them with Remi’s lead held firmly in hand.  On hearing your voice, Yoongi looks up from where he’d squatted down to give Holly a fuss, his small eyes widening infinitesimally once he realises it’s you. 

“Oh, hey,” he greets, quickly straightening up and brushing off the leaves that’d gotten caught on the front of his long, black coat.  

“How’s it going?”  You keep a close eye on Remi as you approach, and whilst she still tugs on the lead in an attempt to rush forward, you’re glad to find that this time around the two of them are somewhat calmer as to how they go about greeting each other.  There’s plenty of sniffing, still, and plenty of bouncing around, but apparently Holly is a quick learner and knows better than to come on so strong this time around.  

“Yeah, not bad.”  You can tell Yoongi’s a responsible owner by the way he closely watches Holly as the two dogs say hello, but as he glances up you can’t help but notice that there are dark circles under Yoongi’s eyes despite his profession of good health.  

Has he been staying up late again, absorbed in his music?  If he has, he must’ve had the forethought to use some headphones, as you haven’t been awoken during the night at all ever since that fateful evening a couple of weeks ago.  

“Hey, uh, how’d it turn out with that job, in the end?” Yoongi asks, and it’s stupid but you swear you feel your insides flutter with excitement at a) the fact that he remembered and b) would care enough to ask about it further on down the line.   

“Really good!” you reply as Remi sinks down into a playful stance amongst the leaves, bottom eagerly wiggling. “I got it, yeah!  Started last week.”  Yoongi smiles mildly, though it’s nowhere near the toothy grin you’d seen him bestow on Holly earlier.  What would you have to do to earn one of those, you wonder?  

“I figured you had.”  Your brows furrow in curiosity as he slips one hand into his pocket, shifting his weight.  

“Oh?  How’d you work that out?”  He glances at Remi for a second, pausing before he answers.  

“Your dog, Remi?” You nod, growing more curious with every second. “Well, she’s gotten kind of… noisy since you went back to work.”  

Oh.  Oh shit.  

Your embarrassment must show all over your face because Yoongi’s quick to continue explaining, his own expression turning into one of worry.  

“I mean, it’s no trouble.  It’s not like I’m trying to sleep or anything and my headphones cancel her barking out anyway,” he rambles as the two dogs continue to spring back and forth between the two of you without a care in the world. “It’s just… I feel kind of sorry for her, is all.”  

And oh boy, if you didn’t feel guilty already about leaving her than you sure do now.  What must Yoongi think of you?  Does he think you’re being neglectful of her?  That you’re some horrible, conscienceless owner?  Oh god, what if he reports you for animal cruelty or something?  

“I didn’t… um…” Realising you’re on the verge of bursting into tears, you purse your lips and look down at Remi for a second or two, trying to remind yourself that no matter what anyone may think, you’re doing the best you can.  She’s in good health and she’s happy… most of the time.  “I didn’t realise she was getting so upset while I was gone,” you say, blinking back the tears and forcing a smile as you shrug your shoulders like it’s not so much of a big deal.  “Maybe I’ll have to look into a sitter, or… or…” 

“I didn’t mention it to try and make you feel bad,” Yoongi gently interrupts, and you can tell that he’s being genuine from the tone in which he says it.  Somehow, he doesn’t strike you as the sort to bullshit someone just to spare their feelings.  “I’ve just been thinking; maybe I can take her out with me for a walk in the afternoon?  I’ll be walking Holly anyway, so…”  

“Are you serious?!” you exclaim, your sheer volume and enthusiasm so unexpected that Yoongi actually takes an involuntary step back, his eyes widening in alarm.  Even the dogs momentarily stop their play,  heads cocked to the side as they stare up at you, bemused.  “That’d be amazing, thank you!”  Yoongi smiles, rubbing bashfully at his neck, and if it weren’t for the fact you’re unsure of how he’d respond, you’d have thrown your arms around him already while you girlishly squeal your thanks.  

“Really, it’s no big deal,” he dismisses, but it’s too late.  As far as you’re concerned you’re already indebted to him for being kind enough to merely suggest it.  

“It is to me,” you smile and if you didn’t know any better you’d swear that Yoongi’s cheeks turn a softer shade pinker as he glances down at the floor, clearing his throat.  

“You can just drop a key over whenever.  Whatever’s easier for you.”  He shrugs his shoulders, all nonchalance in spite of your beaming smile.  Below you, Holly’s happily letting Remi clean the inside of his ears, oblivious.    

“Thanks, Yoongi.”  He looks up, and this time you know you’re not imagining the awkward blush dusted along his cheekbones.  “I owe you one.”  

It isn’t until later on, long after you’ve gotten home and whilst you’re trying (ie. failing) to get to sleep, that it suddenly dawns on you that there may be one potential downside to Yoongi’s generous offer.  

Now that you’ve given Yoongi your spare key, he can just come moseying on into your apartment any time he likes.  Any sane person would surely be concerned about the potential security risk that poses, surely, but you?  Oh no, your anxieties are centred around the fact that this means that Yoongi will get to see what an absolute shit-tip your apartment is and suss you out as the grotty little goblin you are, and thereby conclude that he should never, ever, ever speak to you again, for as long as you both shall live.  

Unsurprisingly, as soon as you realise this you’re even less able to sleep than you were before and proceed to spend the next four hours tidying up all the areas in the apartment you figure Yoongi is most likely to see.   You make a pretty good job of it, too, though you start to question whether it was worth it when you have to spend the next following day at work feeling as though you’ve got some sort of fatigue-induced hangover - dry mouth and all.  

It was, though, no doubt.  Once you finally arrive home all blurry eyes and aching feet, Remi seems a lot less manic than she has these past couple weeks when she’s been left alone.  She’s still pleased to see you, of course, but it’s a happy tail wag rather than a desperate nipping at your fingers or jumping up your legs like before.  You notice that Yoongi has re-filled her water bowl, too, and the calmness he’s imbued in her seems to last throughout the whole evening.  She's so calm, in fact, that you can’t help but wonder if he might’ve slipped something into said water bowl.  

If he did, you’d sure like to know what it was… 

And so it continues throughout the weeks that follow.  You and Yoongi never actually cross paths - much to your dismay - but Remi continues to relish her daily adventures out and about the town without you.  And it’s not just Remi that benefits from your newfound arrangement, either; with the time that you’d normally use to walk her yourself now no longer needed, you’re free to indulge in the self-care rituals that’d fallen by the wayside once the past few weeks.  Bubble-baths, face masks, deep cleanses - your skin has never looked better! 

“This is the life, huh Rem?” you sigh in contentment, glancing over to where she’s currently lounging atop the closed toilet seat opposite your bathtub, keeping you company whilst you luxuriate.   She says nothing, obviously, but looks happy enough with her chin rested on the sink and eyes half-closed.  She yawns, showing off all her teeth, and it catches - your mouth opening in a great big yawn as you reach out of the tub for the glass of wine precariously perched on the side.  

So what if it’s only three in the afternoon?  This is what weekends off work are for, and if Remi’s not judging you then you’re not about to go giving yourself a hard time either.

“What do you say to a little nap after this, hm?” Glass now empty, your fingers are starting to look a little bit pruney as you place it back on the side, and you take that as a sign to say you’ve been wallowing in your own filth long enough.  It’s time to make a move.  

With a great big groan of effort, you hoist yourself up out of the water and stand up, grinning to yourself at the little headrush that comes with it - purely from the change in blood pressure, obviously. Nothing to do with your midday alcohol consumption at all.  Unfortunately, your amusement is short-lived once you realise that in your eagerness to soak you’d completely forgotten to bring your towel along.  

“Ah shit,” you huff, climbing out onto the bathmat and then wiggling yourself in an attempt to drip dry as best you can before you venture out to where you know you’ve left it hanging on the radiator out in the hall.  Remi watches your shuffle curiously but it’s not as though she hasn’t already seen it all before, and you flash her a grin before covering up what you can with one hand and opening up the door, shivering a little as the cold air hits you.  

Suddenly, Remi darts out from the bathroom from between your legs, barking like mad, and maybe it’s because the alcohol has slowed your reflexes - or maybe you’re just a little slow in general - but it isn’t until you hear the front door shut and Yoongi calling Remi’s name that the slow realisation of what’s happening hits you. 

Remi's walk.  Yoongi's come to take Remi on her walk because as far as he knows you’re working, and why on earth would you have been smart enough to have had the forethought to let him know that you’re not?!   

“Hi Rem,” you hear Yoongi say once she’s finished yapping, her aggression replaced by excited whining as she no doubt dances around his feet.  Like an idiot, you’re so blindsided by his sudden arrival that all you can do is stand frozen in the hallway - the hallway that Yoongi would be able to see directly down should he only think to move a few paces to the left.  “You ready for walkies, girl?” 

Oh god, why now?!  Why you?!  

Remi lets out a bark of excitement and then, to your horror, you realise she’s turned tail and decided to come and fetch you to join in with all the fun, the bell on her collar jangling as she runs towards you, ushering in your doom.  

“Where are you off to?  You don’t want to go out today?  That’s a shame because Holly-”  The sound of Yoongi’s voice coming closer is finally enough to kick you into gear, and it’s with a yelp of alarm that you reach out and snatch the towel off the radiator and clutch it to your chest just in time for Yoongi to round the corner and come into sight.  

His eyes widen comically when he sees you, his mouth popping open as he freezes in the doorway and you scramble to cover yourself.  You’re not sure how much he actually saw but you think he must’ve seen something , judging by his reaction.  Between you, Remi runs back and forth, joyfully oblivious.  Your whole body feels aflame with embarrassment, and given the rising blush you can see on Yoongi’s cheeks you’d guess he’s not faring much better. 

“Um… I-”  you stutter out, holding the towel in place against your chest in case Remi decides to jump up your legs and yank it down. “I-I’m not working this weekend and-”  

Shamefully, Yoongi doesn’t even give you a chance to finish explaining.  With nothing more than a rapid series of blinks and a stiff nod, he turns around on the spot and walks out of your apartment faster than you’ve ever seen him move before, and though you and Remi rush aimlessly after him, he’s too quick to catch.  He doesn’t even shut the door after himself properly, so eager is he to escape.  

“Poor guy must've gone to pour bleach in his eyes," you sigh whilst Remi stares forlornly at the door as you press it shut, her tail hanging sadly between her legs.  You can only hope you haven’t scarred him for life and ruined your arrangement, and you tell yourself that it’s for Remi’s sake but really, you’re not sure your ego could handle it if it turned out Yoongi had taken one look at you naked and decided never to speak to you again.  

You run your fingers through the wet mass of tangles that is your hair, sighing once more as you head towards the kitchen, uncaring that you’re likely dripping bathwater all over the floor.  

“I think it’s time for another drink, Rem, don’t you?”  

  Remi doesn’t get walked that afternoon, much to her displeasure, and the reasons for that are twofold.  One - after having chugged down another two large glasses of wine in hopes of erasing your short-term memory, you were hardly in any fit state to pry yourself up off the sofa let alone walk around the block.    And two - even if you could walk, you would’ve still had to muster up the courage to step outside your front door.  Bumping into Yoongi and having him run away from you twice in one day was far too distressing a prospect for you to even consider attempting to move. 

Instead, you’d spent the rest of the afternoon lying about on the sofa, wallowing in your own self-pity until you’d fallen asleep in nothing but your towel, drooling all over the cushions.  It’d seemed like a good idea at the time, but the you of this morning is full of remorse having woken up with the back of her hair sticking out like a bird’s backside, a headache, and a craving for fried food that just won’t subside.  

It doesn’t help that Remi’s bouncing off the walls, either, and eventually you come to the conclusion that there’s really no way you can avoid taking her out for any longer.  You’re just going to have to pull on your big girl pants and if you see him, well… then you’ll just have to cross that bridge when it comes to it.  You’re both adults.  This shouldn’t be this big of a deal.  

But oh god it totally is because he’s so cute and what if he thinks you looked gross and oh god, oh god, oh god! 

But it’s fine.  Of course it’s fine, because you tell yourself it’ll be fine, and you didn’t bump into him for months at a time after you’d first moved in so why should it happen again now?  

Thankfully, fate appears to be on your side (or taking pity on you, at least).  You make it out of your building without seeing neither hide nor hair of your unwitting flashee - if that’s even a word - and despite having forgotten your purse, you still manage to find some change in the depths of your pockets for a snack from the food cart just outside the park.  

You munch it happily as Remi leads the way, darting from one side of the sunshine dappled pavement to the other to pee on everything she can find, and you’re just thinking about what a good call it was to get out of the house for a little while when you suddenly hear a familiar voice calling an all-too-familiar name and your stomach drops with dread.

Oh, fate can go fuck herself.  Fickle bitch. 

You come to an abrupt stop, eyes drawn to where your next-door neighbour is currently frolicking through the small field a little further down the path, just to your right.  

Frolicking is probably the wrong word, really, but you’re not sure what to call the gangly waving of arms and legs you can see going on past the small group of trees that’s concealing you from sight.  Holly’s off lead, you can tell that much, and Yoongi seems like he's having fun chasing after him, letting out some strange, high-pitched laugh when he almost trips over that has you guffawing in turn - a sound you quickly smother with the napkin you hadn’t yet thought to throw away.  

Yoongi drops to his knees amongst the grass and Holly is quick to take advantage, climbing up onto his owner’s lap to lick Yoongi’s face.  He groans and he grimaces, but you can still see him smiling as he wipes away the offending slobber, and you’re just about to start swooning at the way he’s lovingly fussing Holly’s ears when Remi startles you out of your reverie with a purposeful tug on her lead. 

Just like you, she’s spotted the object of your affections and is now desperate to make her way over, whining and pacing restlessly to and fro.  

“Rem, shh!” you hush when she lets out a bark of objection at your attempt to pull her back from the treeline.  As much as you enjoy seeing Yoongi you don’t actually want to see him right now, and if Remi keeps going the way she is you won’t end up with much of a choice in the matter.  

“Again, Hol?!  Really?!” Glancing over, you see Yoongi’s expression turn to one of distaste as Holly dips into a squat right in front of him, not a shred of thought spared for dignity.  You figure this is the best time to hurry on past while he’s suitably distracted but Remi doesn’t make it easy, pulling backwards as you try to walk on and then planting her bottom firmly on the ground once she realises brute strength is getting her very far.  

“I can just pick you up, you know,” you threaten, narrowing your eyes at her, but just as you’re stalking forward about to carry out the said threat, you’re distracted by the sight of Yoongi rummaging through his pockets, lips moving as though he’s grumbling to himself.  

You’ve seen that dance before; it’s one you know well, given how forgetful you can be.  He’s either forgotten his poo bags or run out of them altogether, and now you’re faced with the moral dilemma of knowing you have a brand new roll stashed away in your pocket.   As if sensing your hesitation, Remi stares at you as you squat down to her level, hands outstretched.    

‘Really?’ her eyes say, ‘Are you really going to just let him leave it there?  What if someone steps in it?  Think of the children -'

“Oh fine!” you huff, standing up straight and marching out onto the grass before you lose your nerve, Remi trotting along happily at your side.  

Must you really be so god damn conscientious all the time?  You swear it causes you nothing but trouble.

Before Yoongi’s even realised you’re there, you’re grabbing the roll from your pocket and thrusting it into his line of sight. 

“Here,” you offer as he startles, glancing from you down to Remi in momentary bewilderment.  You hadn’t meant to sound so gruff but unless you’d forced the word out you probably wouldn’t have been able to say anything at all, so you plaster a nervous smile onto your face in time for when he looks at you again, willing your posture to relax.   

“Uh, thanks,” he says he takes them from your palm and pulls one off, quickly putting it to good use.  Rather than stand there staring you turn your attention to Remi, mortified to see she’s taken a break from dancing back and forth with Holly in favour of sitting and licking her genitals in the most unladylike fashion.   

“Why don’t you go have a run with Holly and just… not do that,” you mumble as you bend to unclip the lead from her harness, granting her freedom.  She takes you up on your offer immediately, and the moment she’s loose the two of them go bounding off across the field as fast as they can go, Holly’s ears flapping in the wind.   You let out a laugh as Remi manages to dodge and weave around the slightly smaller dog, never quite letting him catch her but keeping close enough to maintain his interest. 

If only you were so skilled at the whole ‘treat ���em mean, keep ‘em keen’ thing… 

“She’s really fast,” Yoongi comments, and as soon as he speaks it’s as though all the awkwardness comes flooding back for the both of you.  He can’t even seem to look you in the eye. “For a little dog.”  

“Yeah,” you chuckle back in the direction of your shoes, “She’s always acted like she’s twice her size.  Too big for her boots.”  

The two of you lapse into silence, Yoongi’s hands shuffling in his pockets whilst yours mess with your sleeves.  If only you could be so carefree as your canine companions who’ve now ceased their running and are circling around one another instead, sniffing each other out.  They’re having a great time, whereas the silence between you is quickly beginning to feel stifling, and you soon come to the conclusion that awkward or not, leaving things unaddressed like this is doing no good.  You’re just going to have to say something, even if it’s just to apologise and- 

“I’m sorry,” Yoongi suddenly blurts out just as you were opening your mouth to do the same.  Your eyes meet and then quickly dart away again, cheeks flushed with heat.  “I didn’t mean to walk in- I mean, I didn’t realise you were home.”  

“That’s ok,” you rush to excuse, “It was my fault, I should’ve let you know I wasn’t working.”  You brave a look at him, smiling sheepishly.  “Sorry if I… gave you a shock.”  Yoongi shakes his head, a small smile on his face as he waves his hand dismissively.  

“I’ve seen worse, believe me,” he chortles, and then as if suddenly realising what it is he’s just said his eyes ping open wide and his face fills with colour.  “Sorry, that sounded bad, I-” He stops talking when he notices you’ve startled giggling at his expense, your shoulders shaking with mirth.  What he said wasn’t even that funny - hell, some might even be insulted - but he just looks so adorable when he gets all flustered that you just can’t help yourself.  It’s either laugh or start cooing and pinching his cheeks, and you doubt he’d appreciate the latter.  Soon enough, he’s chuckling along too - albeit rubbing at the flush on his neck as he does so.  

“Is it just me or have you noticed how all of our conversations seem to end up with one us apologising?” you observe once you’ve managed to stifle your giggling, happy with how much lighter the mood feels now that you’ve aired everything out.  

“I hadn’t until you just pointed it out,” Yoongi admits, absently swinging the hand in which he’s holding Holly’s lead as he looks out across the field towards the two of them.  His profile is so pretty; such a sharp jaw for such rounded cheeks to sit on.  “I must make an effort to be more interesting.”  

“You’re already plenty interesting.”  The words are out of your mouth before they’ve even taken form in your head, and you instantly wish you could catch them and stuff them back in as Yoongi’s eyebrows rise, his head turning to look back your way.  “I mean… what I meant was-” you stammer as the smallest of smiles tugs at his delicate lips, and though you love to see it you can’t bear to look him right now, too busy wishing the ground would just swallow you up and-

“Shit!”  You sharply look up, just in time to see Yoongi take off running at full speed, and your heart starts pounding for a completely different reason as you look ahead to where he’s headed and realise what it is that has him moving so fast. 

Where the two dogs had been so happily sniffing around one another just a moment ago, Remi now seems to be in some sort of distress.  You immediately assume they’re fighting given how loud she’s whining, but as you take in the sight of Holly mounting her rear end you very quickly come to realise it’s the very opposite of fighting that’s the problem and start running after Yoongi, shouting in a futile attempt to discourage the two.  

You hadn’t even realised Remi was in heat, for Christ’s sake!  No wonder she was so keen on saying hello to Holly, today of all days!  

As luck would have it, Yoongi reaches them two just in time to intervene.  His owner’s arm-waving and shouting startles Holly so much that he dismounts without Yoongi even having to touch him, and whilst their owners are left out of breath and harrowed to the core, the two dogs go on about their business like nothing’s happened at all.  

“I’m sorry,” you gush, hands shaking you’re so flustered, “I didn’t realise she was in season.”  

There you go apologising again… 

You quickly go about putting Remi back on the lead as Yoongi does the same, and she’s all innocent eyes as she gazes up at you wondering what all the fuss is about.  

“It should be ok, I think.”  With Holly firmly back in hand, Yoongi takes a moment to straighten out his beanie that’d come all askew.  “They didn’t… uh…” 

“Yeah, no, I know what you mean,” you interject rather than have him saying it out loud.  They didn’t get stuck together is what he was probably trying to say, and really you’d rather not have a conversation about knotting right now.  You’ve had more than enough embarrassment for one day, thank you very much.  

“I think I should get this one home before we have any more near-accidents,” Yoongi muses, frowning as he looks down at Holly who’s still clearly expressing an interest, nose twitching in Remi’s direction.  

“Sure,” you agree, “And maybe we should hold off on the joint walks for a week or so?” You hate to suggest it because you know Remi’s going to be absolutely miserable without them, and you’re sure Yoongi would keep a close eye on them from now on, but it’s just not worth the risk.  “Just until her heat is over, anyway.”  

“Yeah, probably best.”  You expect that to be it, then, but much to your surprise Yoongi suddenly breaches the gap between you and bends in front of Remi, scratching her under the chin just as you know she likes.  “See you soon girl, ok?” he promises, and you swear you feel your knees weaken slightly at the way he says it in that low, dulcet tone of his.  And if they didn’t then, then they most definitely do when he looks up at you and smiles, the sunlight catching his eyes.  

“Yeah, see you later.” Starstruck, you answer somewhat robotically as he stands back to normal height with that same small smile still playing on his lips.  

“Later,” he says, making himself scarce before anything else has a chance to go wrong.  

You take a moment just to close your eyes; to collect yourself and calm your heart.  Remi's innocent little face is awaiting you once they open again, gazing up at you as though butter wouldn't melt in her mouth, and you can't help but soften as you bend down and run your fingers through her fur, sighing. 

"I know he's cute, Rem," you say, and part of you wonders whether it's Holly or Yoongi that you're talking about; Remi or yourself that you're talking to. "But you can't just go giving up the goods like that!"  She ever so sweetly licks your fingers - as if in penance - and you can’t help but wonder to yourself whether either of you is even really listening.  

At least she has the excuse of not being able to understand a word; you’re not sure what excuse your subconscious has for the numerous dreams it inflicts on you in the nights that follow.  Dreams of dark eyes, deep voices and long, wandering fingers that seem to linger on your skin even into wakefulness.  It doesn’t seem fair that whilst your sightings of the ‘real life’ Yoongi remain as sporadic and elusive as ever, you’re being haunted by his ever-so-alluring dream counterpart.  

It’s a stupid crush, really.  You know it is.  Your attraction to him is based on little more than his looks and the few short (and embarrassing) interactions you’ve had with the guy, and no-one is worth the realisation that you’re starting to resent your dog for all the time she gets to spend prancing around the park with him that you don’t. That's a new low, even for you.  

You’re just going to have to get over it, and as a couple of weeks go by with no further interaction between the two of you aside from the odd little post-it note left on your kitchen countertop once Remi's daily walks recommence, it gets a little easier to distract yourself from dwelling on the butterflies your next-door neighbour had been making you feel.  

Besides, if Yoongi was interested in pursuing something more than being your acquaintance surely he would’ve done it by now?  There’s no need for you to go messing up an arrangement that’s already working so well by getting feelings involved, especially if they’re not mutual.  Remi would kill you.  Or worse, Yoongi might start to think of charging you for his services rather than walking her out of the goodness of his heart.  Your new job may be going well, but that’s still not an option you’re in the position to afford.  

You feel as though you should do something for him, though.  You get the feeling Yoongi probably isn’t the type to appreciate a thank you card, and you’re not a good enough baker to go whipping up a batch of cookies or something else of the like.  Maybe you could splash out on a new piece of recording equipment the next time you get paid?  Hmm, but then that would require actually asking him what he wants, and no doubt it’ll be pricey if he’s using professional kit… Maybe you should just- 

“Oh, no, no, Remi, not there!  No!”  Panicked, you quickly pick Remi up off the sofa and rush her into the kitchen.  She continues retching even whilst in your arms and doesn’t stop until she’s finally thrown up this morning’s breakfast all over your laminate floor, uncaring of your whines of protest or the wrinkling of your nose.  

“See this is why-”  You groan with effort as you have to pick her up and move her out of the way to keep her from licking it all back up again.  You swear to god she’s getting heavier.  “-This is why you shouldn’t wolf everything down so fast!”  

Not that she’s ever had any issues with eating so quickly in the past.  Remi’s always gobbled down her food but it’s only the last day or two that she’s started bringing it back up again, and maybe it’d worry you if she seemed unwell in any other way, but she’s acting perfectly fine.  A little needier, perhaps, but you figure that’s just down to her missing her new playmate; she certainly isn’t shy about whining and pining after him whenever she can hear Holly next door.  

You’d even knocked on Yoongi’s door to check with him whether he thought Remi had seemed out of sorts at all, but he’d said he hadn’t noticed anything obvious either.  She’s not eating anything that she shouldn’t be and you haven’t changed her brand of food.  Sure, she might be eating a little bit extra of it lately but it can’t just be that, surely?  

Every sane person knows you shouldn’t google symptoms, but after you’ve cleaned up Remi’s mess and settled back down on the sofa, that's exactly what you find yourself doing.  With her curled up at your side, you scare yourself to death reading through all the horrible things that may or may not be the cause.  Parasites, liver failure, gastrointestinal blockages - none of them quite make sense because she’s perfectly fine - but as you continue to scroll there one possible explanation that catches your eye. 

Pregnancy.  

And suddenly it all clicks into place; Remi’s increased appetite, her cuddliness, the vomiting.  She’s pregnant!  

You twist in your seat, staring down at her peacefully sleeping form with wide eyes and a furiously beating heart, unable to comprehend that this might be true.  Your gaze strays to her stomach as though it might suddenly appear swollen now that the secret is out, but with all her long fur as covering she looks as normal as ever, leg twitching as she dreams.   

How can she be pregnant?!  You warned her about this - about giving away the goods too fast - and now look what’s happened!   Holly didn’t… they didn’t even…!  

Remi lets out a yelp of surprise as you suddenly scoop her up off the sofa and rush to your front door, in such a hurry that you don’t even bother to shut it after you as you storm down the hall.  Calling Yoongi’s name, you bang your clenched fist against his door with little care for how hysterical you might sound.  

Hell, you are hysterical!   What the bloody hell are you supposed to do with a litter of puppies?!  Your apartment is barely big enough for you and Remi, nevermind however many offspring she may be carrying!  

Yoongi’s bleary-eyed once he finally comes to the door, sleepiness adding to the bewilderment with which he squints at the sight of you red-faced and near hyperventilating.  It’s shameful that even as worked up as you are that your gaze still strays, unable to resist the lure of checking Yoongi out in his baggy tee and basketball shorts.  How is it that even his knobbly knees are so cute?!  

“Hey,” he greets, trying and failing to stifle a yawn that gives you an ever so lovely view of his tonsils.  He must’ve been up late working, and for just a moment you almost feel guilty for waking him up until Holly suddenly comes running to the front door as well.  Catching sight of Remi in your arms, he immediately starts to jump up your legs to try and reach her despite the death glare he’s greeted with. “What’s up?”  

“She’s pregnant,” you blurt out, thrusting Remi forward before placing her down on the floor so she and Holly can greet one another.  You can’t see the harm, after all.  It’s not as if he can go knocking her up again .   Yoongi’s brow furrows, head tilting as he sluggishly blinks, struggling to process this new information.  

“Sorry?”  

“Remi, she’s pregnant,” you state again, folding your arms across your chest as the words suddenly sink in and Yoongi's gaze plummets to the dogs at his feet.  “Holly knocked her up.”  For a moment, Yoongi says nothing.  All he does is stand there, rubbing the back of his neck as Remi affectionately nips and nuzzles at Holly, tugging on his ears.  

Finally, he looks up, eyebrows furrowed even deeper now.  

“How do you know it was Holly?”  Is he serious ?!  “I mean, you never know.  When they’re in heat they-” 

“Are you calling my dog a slut?!” you shriek, stepping forward so both Yoongi and the dogs are forced to move to accommodate your wrath.  He flinches, stepping back as the dogs scamper off somewhere further into the apartment.  “You were there!  We both saw them-”  Your arms flap as you search for the word, so outraged your face feels as though it’s on fire from all the red-hot blood rushing through your veins.  “- Canoodling !”  

If Yoongi weren’t so cute, you swear to god you’d kick him in the shins for the way the corners of his lips twitch at your choice of words.  

“Ok, alright,” he relents, cleverly deducing that trying to reason with you right now would be a fool’s game.  He glances over at the dogs, now cuddled up together in one of his armchairs.  “Just… how about we hold off on the meltdown until after we’re sure?”  Your eyes narrow despite knowing he’s right, unwilling to admit that just yet.  

There’s always the possibility you could be wrong.  The website you were looking at had so many different potential causes for her symptoms that it wouldn’t be impossible for it to be something else.  It might even turn out to be nothing at all.  

“I guess,” you admit after a moment has passed, unfolding your arms and letting them fall to your sides as you will your shoulders to relax.  

“The vet can do a scan, right?” Yoongi suggests, “Then we can figure out what to do if…” He glances at them again, drawing your eyes their way.  You have to admit they do make a very sweet looking couple, all curled up together like that.  “... if she is.”  

You bite your lip at the thought of the potential cost - you’ve got no idea how much it might cost or even when the right time to book it would be.  As if reading your mind, Yoongi speaks up again, rubbing at his neck once again. 

“I don’t mind splitting the cost if you want,” he offers, though he sounds a little awkward.  “You’re probably right about it being Holly…”  ‘Probably’ is a bit of an understatement, you think, but you’re not about to argue the semantics.  If you’re honest, you’re just feeling a bit overwhelmed by all of this; by the situation in itself and how level-headed and kind Yoongi has been to step up on Holly’s behalf so quickly.  

“They are a bit smitten with each other, aren’t they?” you smile, feeling a little calmer.  This could be a lot worse, you suppose.  The father could’ve just been some random dog in the park and you’d have been left facing this all alone.  

“Just a little,” he agrees, hands rested on his hips, and you swear the smile that blossoms on his face as he looks over at them is the sweetest one you’ve ever seen - your heart fluttering despite the promise you made yourself to get over this little crush.  

They’re not the only ones at risk of getting smitten, you think. 

“Anyway.”  You clear your throat in a futile attempt to get a hold of yourself. “Sorry for just barging round.  We’ll get going and let you get some more sleep.”  You call Remi’s name and she sleepily raises her head, refusing to move until you call her twice more, clapping your hands.  

“No worries. It’s about time I got up,” he says. “And what happened to us not saying sorry all the time, hm?”  Yoongi smiles crookedly, folding his arms, and god, it’s only the slightest bit of friendly teasing, so why is your heart racing so fast? 

“Whoops,” you giggle, acutely aware of the blush that’s warming your cheeks as you scoop Remi up in your arms. “I’ll try to do better.”  

“Then I'll expect your best,” Yoongi grins as he escorts you back to the door, and you swear to god you’re about to spontaneously combust any second.

“I’ll let you know about the scan, ok?”  He nods, returning your little wave as you say goodbye and then shutting the door before Holly has the chance to escape out into the hall after you.  You pause on the doorstep, willing your heart to calm down.  

“Oh you’re one to talk,” you hiss back at Remi when you notice her stare, wide-eyed and unblinking. The two of you wouldn’t be in this mess if she could’ve just kept it in her pants.  “You better hope I’m wrong about this, missus.”  

  You’re not, though.  The ultrasound scan that you attend the following week confirms your suspicions; Remi’s pregnant, about four weeks gone, and though the vet couldn’t be sure, she’d estimated her to be carrying at least three puppies.  She sends you away with her congratulations and an armful of literature - essentially the doggy equivalent of ‘what to expect when you’re expecting’ - and you spend the next hour after you leave the vets wandering the pet store aisles in some kind of daze, desperately trying to figure out which food you should buy.   

“Do you have any idea-” Yoongi looks surprised to see you when he opens the front door - Remi’s lead in one hand and a deluxe bag of dog food tucked under the other. “-How many different varieties of grain-free puppy food there are, Yoongi?”  He blinks, unsure, so you answer for him.  “Twelve.”  You can feel the bag starting to slip but you’re lacking the motivation to stop it, too overwhelmed from the morning you’ve had to want to fight anymore.  “Twelve. And not one single store assistant could tell me what the hell difference there is between any of them.”  The bag finally falls but luckily Yoongi’s right there to catch it, a furrow of concern creasing his brow.  “And it’s not even for the puppies.”  

“You… look like you could use a coffee,” Yoongi observes, stepping back from his doorway as he holds the bag against his chest.  

“Yes, thank you,” you sigh, stepping inside and bending down to let Remi off her lead as Yoongi puts the bag down by the front door and closes it.  

“So she’s definitely pregnant, then?” he asks as he reaches down to fuss Remi when she over bounds his way, tail wagging.  Holly follows quickly after but it’s not Yoongi he’s interested in - he’s too busy sniffing and licking at the bag of food.  

“Yep.  Triplets, apparently.  Or more, if we’re really lucky.”  Yoongi chuckles softly at the sarcasm in your tone, a faint smile on his face as he rounds the kitchen island and pulls out a stool on which you promptly sit, resting your elbows on the counter.

You hadn’t really taken the time to appreciate the decor the last time you got a glimpse inside Yoongi’s apartment, but now that you’ve got a minute you can’t help but notice how nicely put together the place is.  Yes, there’s some dirty dishware in the kitchen sink, and yes, his apartment is pretty much the same as yours in layout - just the other way around - but the warm, earthy tones of the place make it feel… cosier somehow.  More homely than the stark white walls and metallic countertops your ex-boyfriend had insisted you install back at your place.  

The smell of freshly brewed coffee grabs your attention, and you watch quietly as he pours you each a cup from a fancy looking cafetiere.  He’s surprisingly delicate in the way he moves - his long fingers deft and precise.  

“Milk?  Sugar?”  

“Yes.  And two please,” you mumble, still wallowing in your perceived misfortune.  At least you’ve got a nice view; Yoongi’s looking especially cute today in ripped jeans and a sweater that looks far too large, sleeves dangling as he reaches into the fridge.  

He takes his coffee with just the slightest touch of milk.  No sugar.  

“It’s not the end of the world,” he says eventually, breaking what would have been silence if it weren’t for the sounds of Remi and Holly play-fighting in the living room.  You swallow the sip of coffee you’d just taken - infinitely more flavorful than the cheap instant stuff you use at home. 

“I know,” you relent with a sigh.  You just hate feeling so out of your depth!  Usually, you research to death any kind of life choice you’re about to make - weighing out the pros and cons, thinking of any possible eventuality and most likely talking yourself out of it in the meantime - but you know nothing about dog breeding or raising puppies.  You’d never forgive yourself if you inadvertently did something wrong and Remi ended up getting sick or one of the puppies got hurt or- 

“My brother’s dog had puppies a couple years back, I can give him a call,” Yoongi says, as calm and level-headed as ever, “We go halves on everything and then split the profits afterwards.”  

“You think we should sell them?”  

“Well I hadn’t really planned on getting another dog anytime soon.”  His lips curve into a smile against the edge of his cup and you can’t help but smile in return, sighing again.  

“You think people will want them?” you ask after taking another sip and Yoongi puts down his cup to reach into his pocket, pulling out his phone.  

“I did a little research,” he says, rounding the counter to come and stand next to you, thumb tapping away at the screen.   Standing this close you’re able to smell his cologne; a soft yet masculine scent.  Does he realise how close he is, you wonder?  Or rather, does he have any idea how he’s got every single one of your nerve endings on high alert?    “Look,” he instructs, turning his phone your way to show you a picture of one of the most adorable little dogs you've ever seen.  It's got Remi's pointed little nose and brilliant white fur, but being half poodle that fur is slightly curly rather than straight, and unlike Remi's pointed ears, this dog's are long and floppy just like Holly's.

In short, it's frickin adorable.  

"Oh my god!" you squeal before you can help yourself, stealing the phone from Yoongi's grasp to get an even closer look. You keep scrolling through Google images and you swear each puppy is even cuter than the last, knees bouncing under the counter as your thumb relentlessly swipes.  

You totally miss the fondness with which Yoongi observes your excitement.  He's usually rather possessive over his tech, but you're just so enthusiastic he can't bring himself to cut your 'ooh-ing' and 'aww-ing' short - especially given how miserable you looked when you first arrived.  "They're so adorable, oh my gosh."

"I don't think we'll have any trouble finding buyers if they come out looking like that," he says, slipping his phone back into his pocket once you coyly handed it back, careful to avoid the brushing of your fingers. 

"No, you're probably right." If anything, you'll probably have trouble giving them up yourself!  Yoongi returns safely to the other side of the counter, smiling softly as he picks up his cup in both hands and takes another sip.  

"We'll figure it out," he assures you, and somehow, despite all your anxieties and doubts, there's something about Yoongi's voice that makes you put all your faith in him.  

Mind now at rest, the two of you chat whilst you finish your coffees, not just about the dogs but other things as well; his impressive home entertainment system, your plans for Christmas and various theories about the strange Mr Jung who lives alone on the floor below and yet can be heard shouting all hours of the day.  

It feels so easy to talk to him.  Familiar, almost.  Like you and Yoongi knew each other in a past life and have somehow found one another again.  

Or maybe you're just a hopeless romantic who's reading way too much into things but hey, you're not hurting anyone.  Just yourself, maybe, and you can live with that.  

"Thanks for the coffee," you smile as the conversation reaches a natural lull.  You're reluctant to leave but you'd rather not risk overstaying your welcome and turn what has been a lovely interaction sour.  

"Any time," Yoongi smiles in return.  This time you don't manage to avoid the brushing of your fingers as you hand your coffee cup back, and as your fingertips touch you end up pressing your thighs together under the counter from the thrill that runs through you.  Thank god he doesn't see it, lest Yoongi realises just how sexually deprived you've been since you and your ex broke up.  

Better leave now whilst you still have some semblance of self-control left. 

"Ok Rem, time to head on home," you call, slipping off the stool.  You pause, expecting to hear the jingling of the bell on her collar as she trots her way over to you, but nothing comes. "Remi?" You make your way into the living room only to find her curled up with Holly in that same spot on the sofa as last time, and if she heard you then she's certainly not acting as though she did.  "Rem, c'mon, gotta go."  Lazily, they lift their heads in perfect unison and yet Remi remains unmoving, yawning and stretching as Holly rolls onto his back.  

Glancing behind you, you ensure Yoongi is well out of earshot before squatting down so that you and Remi are eye to eye.  

"Look, I don't want to go either, but we don't want to overstay our welcome now, do we?" you whisper quietly, giving her fair warning before you slip your hands under her fuzzy little body and lift her from the seat. 

"Don't be sad." You almost jump out of your skin when you suddenly hear Yoongi right behind you, very nearly dropping Remi in your haste to turn around.  Apparently, Yoongi isn't a great believer in personal space (or else is oblivious to it) because he's close enough that he doesn't have to move an inch in order to reach out and stroke her fur, smiling. "We'll see each other soon," he reassures, looking up at you before adding, "Won't we?" 

"Yeah, definitely," you confirm, nodding like an idiot, and as though she understands Remi gives a little low rumble of contentment as she leans her head back against your chest, exposing her chin for scratches that Yoongi can't resist supplying.  

"I'll come fetch her for her walk tomorrow as normal." Yoongi pauses as he withdraws his affection, scratching behind his ear and keeping his eyes on Remi as he asks, "You are working tomorrow, aren't you?" 

Instantly, your cheeks flush with heat as you realise his intention for asking. "Y-yeah." God forbid he almost walk in on you semi-nude all over again… "Thanks." 

"No problem," he smiles, meeting your gaze.  You shyly return his smile, unable to think of anything more to say as he sees you to the door except to wish him goodbye, blushing once more when he quietly utters it back along with your name. 

It should be criminal for someone so good looking to have a voice so sexy.  How's a girl supposed to stand a chance?  Even when you're no longer in his presence, you can't stop thinking about him; his calm demeanour, his subtle smiles, the warmth he exudes around both Remi and Holly.  If he were just attractive that would be one thing, but now you're getting to know him more, little by little… boy, you're in trouble. 

And Remi doesn't seem to be faring much better, either.  Every small noise from next door that could possibly be her four-legged love has her pacing and whining, so eager to go to see him that every time you come home you have to be careful she doesn't dart out into the hallway between your legs and go scratching at Yoongi's door.  

Apparently, Remi's not concerned with the notion of looking desperate, which is why one evening when you come home and you're met with nothing more than silence and an empty apartment, you're more than just a little worried.  

Has she climbed her way out onto the balcony?  Shimmied across the window ledges mission impossible style in a desperate attempt to reach Holly next door?  

Unlikely, but you follow your gut instinct anyway and head over to Yoongi's as calmly as you can.  You take a deep, steadying breath as you knock on his door, trying to keep the rising sense of panic at bay.  You've already had a not so great day at work - too many customers with not enough manners.  The last thing you need now is a missing dog to add to the list.  

"Have you seen Remi?" you blurt out as soon as the door starts to open, frowning from the headache throbbing at the back of your skull.  "I just got home and she's not there and-" 

Yoongi's mouth opens but he has the chance to speak, the sound of Remi's bell does all the talking for him, jingling loudly as she comes running towards the door.  

"Hey you!" Your knees click as you bend down to fuss her, one hand on the hem of your skirt to make sure it doesn't ride up too far. "You scared me!"  Remorseless, Remi flops onto her side and cocks her leg up in invitation for you to stroke her stomach.  It's slowly starting to expand underneath all the fuzz, and despite your recent panic you still can't help but smile to feel it.  

"Sorry, should've left a note." Behind you, you hear the front door click shut.  Remi quickly has her fill of tummy rubs, and as she runs away back to Holly, you stand up straight and turn to Yoongi, endeared by the uneasy expression on his face and the awkwardness with which he shoves his hands into his pockets. "I keep hearing her whining after I've dropped her off, so I figured it wouldn't hurt for her to just stay a while longer 'till you get home." 

God, there he goes again being an absolute sweetheart. 

"Shouldn't have just assumed," he apologises but you're quick to wave it off, smiling.  

"Not at all.  Just glad she's safe." Yoongi smiles, hands coming out of his pockets, and as he walks on past you into the kitchen you're suddenly hit with the smell of cooking; onions and garlic and a sweet-smelling sauce.  

"You hungry?" he asks as he approaches the stove.  

You can't resist the opportunity to take a really good look at him whilst his back is turned; the epitome of effortless style in his open plaid shirt and skinny jeans.  He's barefoot, you realise, and you're not sure why you find that so attractive but you're not about to go analysing it now. Not when he's turned to look at you so expectantly - almost like you've completely missed something he's just said in favour of ogling how nicely the pockets of his jeans frame each of his perfect little butt cheeks.  

"Sorry?" you ask stupidly.  

"I always make too much," he says, mercifully turning back to his frying pan quick enough that he might have missed the blush on your cheeks. "Plenty to go around.  If you want." 

Wait.  Is Yoongi… Asking you to stay for dinner?  And do your eyes deceive you, or is the back of his neck turning a delightful shade of pink as he waits for you to answer?  

No.  No, that'd just be ridiculous.  You're just leaping to conclusions - presumptuous and delusional - but then… why are there already two place settings laid out on his small dining table?  Why is there an extra wine glass standing empty on the counter next to the one that's only half full?  

Did he… plan this out?  Hell, if he did, you're not about to go looking a gift horse in the mouth.  Fighting back a nervous smile, you remove your cardigan and hang it over the back of one of his bar stools as casually as you can. 

"Sure," you agree, untucking your blouse from your skirt before sliding onto the same stool to watch Yoongi plate up. "Smells a lot better than anything I could cook up." Would it be too much to go unbuttoning a couple of buttons on your blouse too?  Show a little skin?  

You're reaching to do just that when suddenly Yoongi turns around with his frying pan in hand and you promptly chicken out, clearing your throat.  From behind you, Holly and Remi come running into the room, and Yoongi gets distracted when your little lady starts pawing at his leg, vying for attention.  

"You want another treat, huh?" With his free hand, he plucks a little brown ball off of a baking tray by the sink and promptly throws it up in the air for Remi to catch, and as soon as it's within her jaws she lies down and merrily begins to chomp, crunching and munching away.  

"What's that?" you enquire as Yoongi recommences dishing up, spooning a chicken and vegetable something or other onto a bed of rice.  It's a good job you're not a fussy eater or else you might be slightly alarmed that he hasn't even told you what you're having…"The treat, I mean."  He looks up from sliding his frying pan into soapy water already waiting in the sink, glancing down at Remi.  

"Just some recipe I found online," he explains, casual as ever.  He brings over the wine glass you'd noticed earlier and offers to fill it with a tilt of the bottle, doing so when you nod.  "She needs the extra calories."

"You made them yourself?" you ask, incredulous that Yoongi would go so far and be so considerate as to go searching for homemade doggie treats.  He nods somewhat bashfully, avoiding your gaze as he carries both your plates over to the table and takes a seat. "You're unbelievable," you laugh before you can help yourself, wine glass cradled in both hands as you join him at the table.  

Perhaps it might be best not to drink too much of said wine.  Seems your tongue is loose enough already without adding extra lubrication.  

“I just mean-” You hasten to explain your brazen compliment, not missing the way Yoongi’s eyebrows lift in surprise when you reach for chopsticks rather than the knife and fork he’d placed beside your plate. “- My ex couldn’t even be bothered to learn how to use the washing machine, nevermind bake little organic dog treats in his spare time.”

Glancing over at Remi, you see her standing on her hind legs against the kitchen cupboards in desperate hope for more, and damn, now you’ve gotten a taste of Yoongi’s cooking you can totally understand why! 

“Oh my god ,” you groan around your mouthful, chopsticks clicking frantically as you gather up the next, completely distracted from whatever the hell it was you were just saying.  

“It wasn’t all organic,” you hear Yoongi mumble, cheeks pink as he takes a sip of his wine.  Is that just a little alcohol-induced flush you spy?  Or is he secretly flattered?  “Just the peanut butter.”  You smile, chewing ceaselessly as Yoongi deposits one very large mouthful into his not-nearly-so-small-as-it-looks mouth.  He fills his cheeks so full that for a few glorious seconds he resembles some kind of adorable human/hamster hybrid; so cute you just want to reach out and- 

"Always had your ex pegged as kind of an asshole, to be honest," Yoongi admits, eyes focused on his plate, and it's not so much the talking with his mouth full that has you nearly choking on your food - it's the bluntness with which he does it.  He looks up as you splutter, reaching for your wine. "No offence." He looks mildly alarmed as you cough once more. "It's just I used to hear him all the time through the walls, shouting his mouth off." 

"None taken," you wheeze, taking a sip of wine to clear the tickle that's left in your throat.  Your eyes are watering and no doubt your face is red, but that's the least of your worries right now, mortified to imagine just how many arguments Yoongi must've overheard during all the time that douchebag was part of your life.  

"Sorry if I'm overstepping the mark…" You shake your head quickly, waving off his concerns as Remi and Holly come trotting over as though to check on you.  Not that you're so naive as to really believe that - no doubt they're here to scavenge scraps off of the table rather than to ensure your wellbeing.  

"Not at all," you chuckle, "Asshole is probably putting it lightly.  Never really have had the best taste in men." Yoongi exhales a breathy laugh, smiling wryly.  

"Gotta kiss a few frogs to find the Prince, right?" You end up smiling even harder at that, snorting into your wine.   A few is probably an understatement, but that's not information Yoongi needs to know.  

"Sure he'll turn up one day," you muse, sounding ever so slightly wistful.  Your eyes meet Yoongi's from across the table and a beat passes, no words said as the two of you look at one another.  You don't dare move - even breathe - lest you risk breaking… whatever this moment between you may be. 

Unexpectedly, you feel soft fur against the bare skin of your leg and it startles you despite knowing full well what it is.  When you look down, you see Remi staring at you meaningfully, her eyes locked with yours even as she trots her way to the other end of the table to paw at Yoongi's leg, asking for a fuss.  

'I like this one, ' her eyes seem to say as Yoongi reaches down to pet her, smiling fondly, 'You should give this one a try.'

Oh, if only. 

“We can do this more often if you want,” Yoongi offers as his attention returns to his food.  “I don’t mind watching her ‘till you get back from work.”   

“Are you sure?” Once again you’re floored by Yoongi’s casual generosity.  He doesn’t even look up as he bobs his head in confirmation, his mouth too full to respond. 

“She’s no trouble,” he tells you once he’s eventually swallowed, “And Holly likes having her around.”  

“That’d be amazing,” you smile, “Thank you.”  He returns your smile - small, short and sweet - and you swear each and every time he flashes you a grin you end up falling just that little bit more.  

"Does that mean I have even more delicious dinners to look forward to?" you ask, surprising yourself with how flirty you sound.  How brave.  

Yoongi laughs at your forwardness, sputtering into his wine.  You don't really expect him to answer - assume he'll just laugh it off and not say anything at all - but Yoongi looks rather serious as he puts down his glass; his gaze so intense that for a second you actually forget how to chew.  

"If you're lucky," he promises, and oh boy, you hope you will be. "But next time, you bring the wine." 

  And so, you do.  

Every night throughout the week that follows, you pay a visit to the corner store on your way home to pick up a bottle of white, or rose, or red.  You're fairly certain the cashier might suspect you of having some sort of drinking problem, actually, but Yoongi's been so grateful that you can't stand the thought of turning up empty-handed.  And It’s not even as though you always drink the whole bottle, anyway.  It’s just a glass with dinner on Wednesday and Thursday, and then one extra on Friday and Saturday when Yoongi invites you to stay a little longer.  

And ok, so maybe he doesn’t actually ask you to stay, but when a guy starts asking whether you’ve seen this new show he really likes and turns on Netflix, what are you supposed to think?  

You end up thoroughly enjoying the hours you waste away sitting at the opposite end of his sofa with Remi in your lap, even the lazy Sunday evening that Yoongi spends watching some god-awful competitive fishing show that you pretend to like just because it makes him smile.  

It’s funny how simple a creature Yoongi turns out to be, considering how mysterious he’d first seemed.  He’s a man of few words but what he does say is always interesting, and you’d like to think you’ve gotten to know him pretty well as the week’s gone by.  He’s considerate and hard-working, introverted and yet speaks so fondly of the few friends he professes to have.  He loves music and fishing, cooking and expensive wine, and when he’s tipsy his voice gets even slower and deeper - his tone so dulcet that you could happily listen to him talk all night. 

By the end of the week you’ve spent more time in Yoongi’s apartment than you have your own, and you won’t pretend for even a second that you’ve thought that it’s a bad thing.  You’re well and truly smitten; the favourite part of your day now the moment you come home and have both Yoongi and the dogs there to greet you, even though that home is not your own.  

Picturing that - thinking of him - is the only thing that’s gotten you through the shittiness of your last few hours at work.  You really do enjoy your job, for the most part, but some days are inevitably better than others and today… today was a bad, bad, bad day.  The kind of bad day that has you searching the liquor aisle for the whisky with the highest volume of alcohol you can possibly find - the same bottle that you later slam down on Yoongi’s kitchen counter having already let yourself into his apartment, sighing every step of the way.  

“Bad day?” he asks, not yet having turned around to see the miserable look on your face.  You can’t bring yourself to say anything, too focused on trying to hold yourself together after having struggled to do so all afternoon, so you stay quiet as you give Remi the fussing she’s after.  Her tail is wagging with a glee you’re envious of, her fuzzy tummy growing more and more round by the day.  

“I can make this Irish if you want.”  You look up to see Yoongi standing beside you with a mug of coffee held in both hands and a soft smile on his face, and suddenly it’s just all too much.  The dam inside you that’d slowly begin to crack throughout the day finally bursts at the sight of him - overcome with emotion at having him treat you so kindly after having faced such rudeness and meanness for hours on end.  

“I’m sorry!” you squeak out as you burst into tears, your elbows meeting the counter as your face falls into your hands, not wanting to have Yoongi see you cry.  You can’t see anything with your eyes so tightly screwed shut, but if you could you’d witness the look of shock appear on Yoongi’s face - see his eyes widen and his lips slightly part as the rest of him freezes, unsure of what to do.  

You really try your best to stem your tears, but you’re so embarrassed to have him see you like this that it only makes you cry harder, shoulders trembling as you curl in on yourself in an attempt to hide.  

“I just h-had such a h-h-horrible day,” you sob, “This one w-woman - this bitch - she was s-so m-mean and she wouldn’t just-”  You abruptly stop speaking as an arm is suddenly laid across your shoulders, and before you realise what’s happening you’re being pulled into an embrace; your face nestled into a soft sweater.  

“Hey, hey,” you're gently shushed, and it’s not so much that Yoongi's comforting you that helps to calm you down, nor the feel of one of his large hands rubbing up and down the length of your back.  It’s more the shock of having Yoongi actually touch you that allows you to finally start catching your breath, your hands unknowingly reaching out to hold onto him.  “Whatever happened, it’s over now, right?  It’ll be ok,” he soothes.  

“Uh-huh,” you whisper into fabric, silently praying that your nose hasn’t run all over it, and although you’re no longer crying you allow yourself a moment more to enjoy the feel of his arms around you.  He smells wonderful - his slight body warm and firm pressed against you - and all you want to do is tighten your grip on his sweater and pull him even closer; tilt your head to skim your lips against his throat.  

“You ok?” Yoongi asks, and as you finally lift your head and dab away the moisture from under your eyes the last thing you expect is to feel his fingers fleetingly touch your hair.  You meet his gaze and the concern you see there is almost enough to make you start crying all over again - but then you watch as his pupils dart back and forth, up and down as he scans your face - and suddenly… suddenly you're kissing him. 

Or is it him who's kissing you? 

You're not sure who it is that makes the first move, but regardless of whoever the instigator may be, your mouths still meet in the middle.  Yoongi's lips are soft but his kiss is firm - purposeful - and utterly takes your breath away.  You make a grab for him again, clutching at the fabric at his hip to keep him close as you sweep your tongue across the seam of his lips, Yoongi's hands coming to rest upon your face.  They're so warm, so gentle as he traces your cheekbones with his thumbs, and-

All too soon he's pulling away, brought to his senses the moment he feels the moisture that lingers on your cheeks, and the quiet whine of protest that you're unable to hold back has your face burning with shame.  

"S-sorry," he rapidly stammers out as he stumbles back out of reach, retreating to the other side of the counter; a barrier between you.  His cheeks are flushed with the same heat as yours, unable to meet your eyes as he wipes at the corner of his mouth with his thumb and then rubs the side of his neck. "I didn't mean… I mean… you…" 

Oh lord, this is awkward.  So, so awkward!  What the hell did you have to go and kiss him for?!  He looks so painfully uncomfortable right now that you're sure he'd rather melt into the floor than look at you, and oh my god you're such an idiot!  What kind of moron goes snogging someone's face off at the slightest bit of physical contact?  Are you really that touch deprived?! 

"Sorry," he repeats, "You're upset-" You're already up and out of your stool before Yoongi even has the chance to finish his sentence.  

"I should just go," you blurt out as you pick Remi up off the floor and into your arms despite her huffed exhale of protest.  You're being a coward, you know that, but you're too fragile right now to go through the whole 'let you down gently' routine without sobbing all over again - especially if it's coming from someone you're so crazy about.  

No, you'd rather just see yourself out now and save him the bother.  Best for everyone if you just pretend this never happened… 

"Thanks for watching her."  You're moving too quickly for him to protest - to do anything but stand with his mouth agape as you race for the front door like the very flames of hell are licking at your heels.  

"Don't forget your-!" you hear Yoongi call, pulling the front door shut behind you too fast to make out the end of his sentence.  You scurry down the hall back to your own apartment, and it’s only as you’re struggling to get inside with Remi still balanced on your hip that you realise your hands are lightly shaking.  

“Never happened,” you mumble to yourself once you finally get the blasted thing open, relinquishing Remi from where she’d begun to wriggle and squirm in your grasp.  “Never happened.  It was just one stupid, silly kiss.”  You lean back against your front door, exhaling a sigh.  “Just… forget about it.”  

And oh, you really try.  You try everything and anything you can think of to get Yoongi off of your mind, but nothing works; not mindless trash TV, not blasting your favourite tunes while you’re in the shower - not finishing off the bottle of wine leftover from the night before last.  If anything, alcohol just makes things ten times worse.  As you lie on your bed amidst a tipsy haze, all you can think about is the way his lips felt pressed to yours and of how he tasted like the coffee you hadn’t had the chance to drink.  The low noise he’d made in the back of his throat when you’d grabbed at his clothes.  It was so hot… he’s so hot, and more than anything you just want to go back there right now and- 

You groan aloud in frustration, raking your fingers through your hair to keep them from finding their way into your pants.  God, you’re so royally fucked - and not in the way you’re wishing you were - but you’re too far tired and conflicted and just… sad to want to masturbate, no matter how fiercely Yoongi’s kiss may have made you ache.   So you ignore it, cocoon yourself in your duvet whilst Remi snores at your feet, and will yourself to fall asleep whilst silently reassuring yourself that tomorrow is another day.  

Come the next morning (which is mercifully hangover free), you ready yourself for work repeating just that.  Today has to be better - or at least it can't get much worse - and what happened with Yoongi was just… a blip.  Carelessness on your part.  And knowing Yoongi as you now do, you’re sure he’ll be far too much of a gentleman to mention it anyway.  

That’s if he doesn’t ghost you entirely, of course, which is a legitimate possibility.  

Luckily, your day does turn out a whole lot better than the one that came before; a small mercy, given how worked up you've been worrying about where to expect to find Remi once you get home.  Whether it be in your apartment or Yoongi's, you're unsure which option would be preferable.   If she's waiting at Yoongi's you'll have no choice but to go over there and face the consequences of last night's actions - a thought you by no means relish - but if she's at yours… well, you suppose that might just be even worse.    

You’re not too proud to admit that Yoongi's help with Remi has been invaluable over the past weeks, and if you're being honest, his friendship has too.  You can't imagine going back to the way it was before: barely seeing one another, exchanging nothing but awkward smiles in the hallway.  If he were to walk out of your life now you would really, really miss him - to say the least.  And that's… kind of terrifying.  

At heart, though, you’re a positive person, and you want to believe that things will just carry on the way they have before.  And maybe it’s just wishful thinking, but your hope is what has you stopping by the same old corner store on the way home and picking up a bottle of wine from a brand you know Yoongi likes, just as you’ve done so many times before.  And maybe it might be considered hedging your bets, but after the grocery store you head across the street to one of the local takeout places, too.  You know Yoongi’s all about meat, meat and more meat when it comes to food, so it’s not hard for you to figure out what to order; lamb skewers, tempura shrimp, spicy pork belly.  Some of it you don’t even like yourself, so you hope to god Remi’s waiting at Yoongi’s and not at yours otherwise there’s a hell of a lot of food about to go to waste.

You order so much, in fact, that your arms are aching by the time you get home - though that does nothing to distract you from the way your heart starts to gallop when it comes time to put your keys in the lock and open up your front door.   You hold your breath as it swings open, eyes closing for a second as you pray not to hear the click-clack of Remi’s claws on the floor, and when nothing comes you sigh with relief, never so glad to be greeted by an empty home.  

“Thank the lord,” you murmur as you place everything down on the kitchen table, figuring you may as well use this chance to quickly get changed and freshen up before heading next door.  Normally you’d just go round in your work clothes, and truthfully there’s nothing actually wrong with what you’re already wearing, but you appreciate just a little bit of extra time to mentally prepare.

Not that it helps, of course.   Whether in a skirt or jeans, you’re crapping your pants just as much as you knock on his door but you plaster a smile on your face nonetheless, holding aloft your wine and takeout bags as the door starts to open.  

“Hi,” you beam as Yoongi appears, “I brought goodies!”  He looks mildly taken aback by the sight of you and how bubbly you sound - even more so when you stride forward to enter without him yet having said a word.  “You’re not cooking yet,” you observe as you enter the kitchen and hear the front door shut behind you, Yoongi’s soft footfalls across the floor following shortly after, “Good.”  

You turn on the spot, grinning inanely as you try not to make it too obvious that you’re checking him out.  Must he really look so effortlessly stylish all the time?   He even has that whole ‘just got out of bed’ ruffled hair thing going on, and god, you hate him for how badly it makes you want to run your fingers through it to see if it’s as soft as it looks.  

“Where’s Rem?” you ask before your thoughts run too far amok, tearing your eyes away from him in favour of peering over his shoulder towards the living room.  

“Think they’re in my room,” he explains, fingers fiddling with the arm of the glasses he’s wearing and then straying into his hair to scratch at his scalp.  He must’ve been in his studio prior to your arrival - it’s the only time you really ever see him wearing his glasses.  “She’s been acting kinda weird today.”  

Frowning, you follow after him as he leads you down the hallway towards his bedroom.  You try not to focus on the fact that this will have been the first time you’ve seen it, or mourn that now that you are it’s in less-than-sexy circumstances.  

“What do you mean ‘weird’?” 

“Just… restless, I guess.  She didn’t wanna walk but I had to stop her scratching up the carpet ‘cus she keeps wanting to dig.”  He pushes open the door and immediately you gasp, freezing in the doorway.  Yoongi sighs heavily, surveying the damage before him.  “And ruin my bedding, apparently.”  

To be fair, it's not really that bad - and you're not just saying that because Remi's your dog and you're a wee bit overprotective, either.  Yes, there's one pillow that's been pulled off the bed and had its stuffing ripped out, but aside from that all that's really moved is his sheets, and whilst they've been pulled into a heap the floor there doesn't appear to be any other damage or… bodily fluids amidst them.  

"Oh Rem, what've you been up to?" you coo, kneeling down beside the heap of blankets that the two dogs are curled up amongst.  Holly comes alive at the sound of your voice, instantly perking up, and within seconds he's on his feet and visiting you and Yoongi in turn for a scratch behind the ears.  Remi, however, is somewhat lazier in her response.  She lifts her head slowly, emitting a pathetic little sound as she gazes up at you, pointed ears pressed back against the top of her head.  

"What's wrong girl?" Concerned, you're cautious in the way you put your hands on her, but you're relieved to find she's just as eager to receive affection as ever.  It's only when you run your hand across her belly that she seems to object, her small body tensing.  

"She's been in here for a couple hours," Yoongi informs you as he comes to kneel beside you on the carpet. "I tried to feed her dinner but she wasn't interested - thought it might've been something to do with her throwing up earlier on." 

"You think we should call the vet?" Yoongi shakes his head as Holly comes to reclaim his spot next to his lady friend.  Snuggling in close, he gives her an affectionate lick.  

"I thought about it," he admits, giving Remi's head a gentle pat, "But I don't think she's sick.  I think she's in labour." 

"Really?" Now that you think about it, the time frame does seem about right.  You just hadn't expected it to happen so soon… 

"Called my brother and he seems to think so." Looking up from Remi your gaze meets Yoongi's, and you figure it must show on your face how overwhelmed you're feeling because the smile that he gives you is a kind one.  

"So, what do we do?" you ask, sinking back from your knees and onto your bottom instead, crossing your legs.  Yoongi copies you, and for a second your eyes dart to the expanse of skin that's revealed to you through the rip in his jeans, right across the thigh.  

"Not much, apparently.  Not unless something goes wrong and Remi needs a hand."  You feel anxiety twist your expression and Yoongi brow furrows in sympathy, his fingers drumming against his knees.  "We've just gotta sit and wait." You chuckle mirthlessly, rolling your eyes.  

"Never really been the patient type." Yoongi smiles, rising to his feet and placing his hand on your shoulder as he goes, giving it a squeeze that makes your stomach go topsy-turvy.  

"I guess I better go get us some supplies to keep us going then, huh?" 

"That'd be good," you smile, blushing as he squeezes it once more before finally letting go.  You turn back to Remi as he leaves the room, worrying your bottom lip until you unexpectedly hear him call your name.  He lingers in the doorway, one hand on the frame.  

"Everything's gonna be fine," he assures you. "Trust me." And somehow, without question, you do.  

  It's a little odd, really, how effortlessly things have gone back to normal considering what went on between you last night.  Perhaps it's the pressure of the unfamiliar situation you've been thrust into that's redirected your attention elsewhere and thereby alleviated the tension. Or maybe it was just never as big of a deal as you'd made it out to be in your head.  Either way, you're grateful.  

That's not to say there's no tension at all, mind, but rather than making things feel uncomfortable it's more like… like there's a charge between you.  A spark.  You can feel it all the while you're sat eating dinner together cross-legged on his bedroom floor, lips tingling from how spicy (albeit delicious) the food is.  Coy smiles and stolen glances are made amongst idle chit-chat, distracting you from the waves of worry that rise and then recede with each little sound that Remi makes which turn out to be nothing.  

You've no idea how long labour usually tends to last for dogs, but you can only hope that if or when you ever decide to have children, that you handle it just as quietly and calmly as Remi.  You hope whoever you’re with is attentive as Holly, too, and you know that’s an odd thing to think but you can’t help but admire the way he is with her; laying patiently just a few feet away, his attention unwavering.  

Technically you know it isn’t the norm for the ‘daddy dog’ to be around while his bitch is giving birth (or at least so Yoongi had said), just in case his presence made Remi nervous or agitated, but these pair seem to be a bit an anomaly in that respect.  When Yoongi had tried to extract Holly from the room prior to eating dinner, Remi had gotten more restless than ever and so you’d been forced to let him back in despite all the guidance advising the contrary.  You’ll just have to keep an extra close eye on him when the puppies actually arrive, you suppose, though you know you can rely on Yoongi to keep him in line.  

And to be fair, it seems as though you’re able to rely on Yoongi an awful lot in general these days.  Having been so preoccupied with your new job you’ve done shamefully little research as to what to expect and how to prepare for Remi to give birth, naively believing that you still had plenty of time to spare. 

Lucky for you, Yoongi seems to have everything handled; the ‘supplies’ he’d previously mentioned turning out to be a heap of freshly washed towels, shiny surgical scissors and some sort of sucker device - the likes you imagine to be used for clearing snotty babies noses.  You eye it nervously as you finish your last mouthful of shrimp, silently hoping you won’t need anything other than the towels and a little bit of luck.  

“Thanks for dinner.”  You drag your eyes away from the scissors, Yoongi’s voice having interrupted your thoughts.  

“No worries,” you reply, smiling gratefully as Yoongi takes your empty plate from your hands to stack it on top of his own.  He puts them aside for a moment as he dutifully tidies everything away, putting the empty food cartons back into the plastic bag from whence they came.  “About time I returned the favour.”  Yoongi smiles wryly, no doubt too polite to point out that buying takeout and preparing a home-cooked meal isn’t quite the same thing.  

“To be honest,” he says, using his preoccupation as a good excuse to avoid your gaze, “I wasn’t sure whether you were even going to come over tonight.”  

Well, there goes the hope that you’d get through the evening without last night’s faux pas being mentioned.  

“Well, it’s not like I could just leave Remi here…” you mumble, glancing away as Yoongi sits back down beside you having finished clearing up.  You don’t want him to think that that’s the only reason you came but you’re not sure what else to say, fidgeting nervously with the hem of your sleeves.  

There’s a moment of silence - a pause long enough that it prompts you to look up, and when you do you see that Yoongi looks just as nervous as you feel, picking at his cuticles.  

“I…” He hesitates, huffing as though he’s almost frustrated with himself before forcing himself to look at you.  His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat. “I’m glad you did, though.  I wanted a chance to say I’m sorry for last night, for-” 

“Don’t,” you interrupt, surprising yourself.  His eyes widen behind his glasses, his mouth hanging open having been caught off guard, and god damn it, he looks adorable.  “We’re friends, right?  I don’t want us to have to keep apologising to each other all the time for every little thing.”  Yoongi nods, shutting his mouth. 

Was that… disappointment you saw in his eyes when you referred to him as your friend?  Yoongi smiles weakly but it looks forced - unnatural - and it disappears too fast for it to have been real.  In its wake a frown appears, one that deepens as his attention returns to Remi, and it makes you ache in your chest to see it.  Since you’ve become closer, you’ve gotten so used to seeing his smile and hearing him laugh that this just feels wrong.  

All of this - you hiding the way you feel, pretending like last night’s kiss wasn’t the best thing to happen to you in… in forever;  acting like Yoongi isn’t the best thing to happen to you in forever - it’s all wrong.  You should tell him what he means to you.  You need to.  

“Yoongi,” you say gently, calling back his attention, and when he looks at you your stomach churns so fiercely with nerves you fear you might lose your dinner.  You swallow, trying to get a hold of yourself, and bravely reach out to snatch his hand up from where it rested on his knee, threading your fingers between his.  He looks down dumbly at your conjoined hands, eyes even wider than they were before.  “I… I didn’t mind it.  When you kissed me.”  You feel your cheeks burning with heat but force yourself to continue, reassured that Yoongi hasn’t immediately pulled his hand away.  “Or when I kissed you. However it happened.”  You titter a nervous laugh, acutely aware of how clammy your palms are, and you’re glad to see that Yoongi looks just as affected by your confession as you are; every inch of his skin flushed a pretty blush pink under his normal skin tone.  “There was never anything to apologise for.”  

You flash him a nervous smile once you’ve finally done talking, giving his hand a squeeze of encouragement in hopes that he won’t leave you hanging too long before voicing some sort of reply.  A confession of undying love is preferable, obviously, but short of that just knowing he’s not totally repulsed would be enough. 

You can’t say you expect the sudden laugh he lets out - nor know what to make of it - and you’re just about to start freaking out and pull your hand away when Yoongi shifts closer to you and places his other hand over the two of yours.  The rubbing of his thumb back and forth across your skin helps to calm you, and he’s no longer laughing as he looks into your eyes, taking a breath.  He quietly calls your name, leaning closer.  

And then suddenly, Remi whines, and the two of you instantly break apart.  

“You ok Rem?” Quickly, you rise to your knees and shuffle towards her, frowning with concern.  You don’t mean to panic, but this is the first sound of obvious distress you’ve heard from her and you can’t stand the thought of your sweet girl being in pain.  

She looks up at you from where she’s nestled amongst Yoongi’s covers, panting hard, and you have to force yourself not to reach out to give her the fussing that you’re longing to.  Beside you, Yoongi watches her closely; observes the way she stops panting just for a second or two and seems to stiffen slightly before beginning to pant all over again. 

“Is she ok?” you ask, though you’re not sure why you’re presuming that Yoongi will know any more about what’s going on than you do.  

Tentatively, Yoong reaches out and lays both hands on Remi’s stomach, waiting for the next pause in her panting.  His eyes narrow, fingers twitching atop her fur.  

“Her tummy feels hard,” he says, “I think she’s starting to push.”  

“Shit,” you whisper under your breath, blushing when Yoongi chuckles in response.  He removes his hands from her, placing them back on his lap just in time for Remi to decide she wants to move, and she rises from where’s lain in the duvet all this time and begins to circle and paw at the covers, panting ceaselessly.  

“You can do it, girl.”  Following Yoongi’s lead, you reach out and gently stroke her back in reassurance, very nearly bursting into tears when Remi chases after your hand when you pull it back, nuzzling into your palm.  “We’ve got this.”  

  The next two hours pass by in something of a blur.  You all maintain a careful distance (Holly included), giving affection when it seems like she's in need of it and holding back whenever she seems agitated or restless.  She must get up and down to rearrange the sheets underneath her at least a hundred times before the first puppy is born, and you watch on with a mixture of horror and wonderment as it slowly emerges from inside her, trying your best not to cry at the sudden squeal she releases as her baby starts to crown, bottom first.  

You won't lie, it's probably one of the most disgusting sights you've ever seen, and yet you can't help but feel overcome with emotion as you watch this puppy arrive into the world, still cocooned in its amniotic sac until Remi instinctively begins to lick it clean.  She brings it to life with firm laps of her tongue, not stopping till its little body starts to wriggle and it releases the tiniest of squeaks.  Frankly, it's a good job the puppy is so cute, as it gives you something to focus on as Remi decides to chow down on the placenta, thereby separating it from her offspring.  

By the time the second puppy is born the first has already started to feed, it's head almost completely hidden by Remi's fur as it latches on.  That birth is just as straightforward, too, though Yoongi does have to shorten its umbilical cord slightly when Remi leaves it dangling just a little too long.  You're in awe of how confident and competent he seems as he does it, not a hint of hesitation evident on his face from the moment he realises what's needed to the moment it's done.  

Ah, if only you could ever be so cool. 

It’s only as the third and final puppy is being born that you start to encounter some trouble.  You almost start to believe the scan had been wrong and you were only ever expecting two puppies, figuring that Remi must be done having not pushed in almost an hour and a half.  But then all of a sudden she’s restless again and after a few minutes more another puppy begins to emerge.  The sac of waters around this one looks different - so green and dark that you almost can’t make out what’s inside at all.  

“Yoongi.”  You say his name out of sheer nervousness, already knowing he’s right there beside you seeing the same very thing.  Just like before, the puppy slides out in the amniotic sac onto the towel placed underneath Remi’s back end, but this time she doesn’t seem to pay nearly so much attention to it as she did the others - sparing it just enough licks to break the sac and then turning away, closing her eyes.  

All of Remi’s puppies so far have been just as white in colour as Remi herself, and so would this puppy be if its fur weren’t stained an unpleasant shade of green.  By Remi’s hind legs it lies limply on the towel; unmoving, unbreathing.  

“Yoongi,” you choke out, your eyes spilling over with tears, “Yoongi, it’s not breathing.  Yoongi, it-” Stifling a sob, you slap your hands over your mouth as Yoongi springs into action next to you.

Brow furrowed in concentration, he snatches up the scissors and deftly separates the puppy from its placenta just like he did for the one that came before.  He scoops it up in both hands and tilts its head down in order to help any fluids that might remain to drain out, murmuring urgently under his breath.  

“Pass me the sucker,” he suddenly demands, outstretching his hand, and you rush to obey, your own hands shaking as you place it in his palm and watch on as he precedes to suction each of the puppy’s tiny nostrils and mouth.  You pray that that will do the job.  To see some sort of response, the tiniest wiggle or smallest of sounds.  Anything!  But nothing happens - nothing at all - and you can tell even Yoongi’s starting to get desperate.  

“C’mon little guy,” he mumbles, wrapping the puppy in the towel and starting to vigorously rub its back, its stomach, its head - up and down all over, over and over again.  “C’mon, c’mon, c’mon.”  Even Yoongi’s eyes are looking glassy now, the tip of his nose turning red as he holds back the tears that you’ve long since succumbed to.  

And then, just as your face falls into your hands and a sob shakes your shoulders, you hear the tiniest, most fragile of sounds.   A squeak followed by a sharp inhale of breath, and when you sharply look up you see that the tiniest puppy of the litter so far has finally begun to squirm, its mouth opening up wide to display the tiny pink tongue within.  

“Oh my god!”  You’re half laughing half crying as Yoongi stares down at the new life down within his hands, his eyes wide with wonderment.  There are tears trickling down his cheeks but he’s smiling more brightly than you’ve ever seen before, and he’s so heart-breakingly gentle as he lowers the puppy back down to Remi’s level and presents him to her.  

“You did so good, girl,” he praises, voice thick with emotion as Remi begins to lick the puppy with renewed enthusiasm.  She only stops once Yoongi slowly moves him away to nestle him in between his siblings, encouraging him to feed with softly whispered words of encouragement, and he waits until the puppy is eagerly suckling to finally let go and back off, exhaling a sigh of relief.  

"Well, that was-" Yoongi doesn't get the chance to finish what he's saying, abruptly silenced apart from the one lone 'oomph' he grunts out as your bodies collide, dropping the towel with which he'd just been wiping his hands.  

"You-" you mumble against his lips between each frantic, urgent kiss. "You - are - amazing." He's blindsided and you can't blame him; unresponsive and unyielding.  But Yoongi soon gets with the program, his arms looping around your waist to pull you flush against his chest.  

His face is wet when you take it in your hands - just like yours - but those tears are long forgotten as the two of you quickly become lost in one another.  It feels so exhilarating to have Yoongi kiss you back so enthusiastically; makes you believe that maybe he's been thinking about this just as much as you.  To hear him sigh your name has you melting against him, your whole body aflame with molten fire, and when you gently bite his lip it delights you even more to hear the way his breath hitches. 

"You really weren't kidding, were you?" Yoongi asks as he attempts to catch his breath, your attention now focused on trailing kisses along the angle of his jaw. 

"About what?" you murmur in reply, grinning against his skin as his hands grab at your clothes when you softly nip at his earlobe.  

"About not minding about the kiss."

"Oh no, not at all," you admit, tone playful, and you're just about to begin tracing kisses down his neck when one of Yoongi's hands finds your chin and tilts your head up, bringing your gaze back to his. His lips are curved in a gentle smile as he brushes them against yours, chuckling when you attempt to chase after them as he pulls away. 

"Good to know." His eyes follow the movement of his thumb as he drags it across your bottom lip, moistening his own with a flick of his tongue.  His touch lingers at the corner of your mouth for just a second longer, and in that moment you can feel your heart racing at the thought of what he might do next.  "As much as I'd like to explore this further-" 

Beside you, you hear the sound of Remi's puppies softly squeaking, and when you look down to where Remi's lay, you see that Holly has used your momentary distraction as an opportunity to start sneaking over, sniffing at the air.  You look back to Yoongi and are met with a regretful smile as he takes his hands off of you in favour of straightening the glasses that had been knocked askew by your passion.  

"Right," you sigh, looking around at all of the surrounding mess, "We're grandparents now, huh?  Have to be responsible.  Mature."  ie. not go carrying on like a pair of horny teenagers while there are still pieces of placenta strewn about the place.

Yoongi looks up at you from where he's already knelt down gathering up some of the dirty towels.  He smirks in a way you've never seen from him before - a way that makes your insides clench with excitement.  

"For now, sure.”

  You're infinitely grateful that Yoongi doesn't put you in charge of any of the messy stuff when it comes to clearing up.  All he tasks you with is watching over the puppies and keeping a very curious Holly at bay from his new offspring whilst Remi recovers and he deals with the carnage that's been left behind.  It's not a difficult job by any means. Holly is more than happy to be waylaid by tickles under the chin and tummy rubs, and you're thankful for that given how preoccupied you are with the images of what’s just happened as they replay over and over in your head.  

You still can't believe that you kissed him.  That you kissed Yoongi and he kissed you back - kissed you back and, unless you're horribly mistaken, wanted more .   And what did he mean 'for now'?  Does he want to pick up where you left off tonight?  Tomorrow?  Maybe he's just saying that to give himself an out in the future?  Just in case he changes his mind… 

No, no, he wouldn't do that.  No one could kiss like that if they weren't really into it, and god , what a kiss.  It may have been a while, but you can't even remember the last time locking lips had you feeling so hot and heavy.  Have you ever had a kiss quite like that before?  You’re sure you’d remember it if you had.  

“How’re they doing?”  You automatically smile at the sound of Yoongi’s voice, hoping that the flush of your cheeks won’t give away the explicit nature of the daydreaming he’s just interrupted.  Stood in the doorway, you notice he’s no longer wearing his glasses, though the evidence of them remains in the pink indentations on either side of his nose.  Now that his glasses are gone the dark circles under his eyes are more evident, and you feel your brow creasing with worry as he enters the room and bends down next to you, stifling a yawn as he gives Holly a little love behind the ears.  

Whilst not being the most physically strenuous of evenings, tonight has been emotionally demanding for you both, and it’s only now as you realise that that you come to appreciate how utterly drained you feel.  You can only assume Yoongi feels similarly, given by the slightly glazed look in his eyes as he checks in on the puppies, one by one.  

“They’re doing pretty good, I think.”  Or at least, you think they are.  One by one the puppies had stopped nursing and fallen asleep next to one another, each with a full round belly.  That can only be a good thing, right?  “Remi’s pooped.”  She hasn’t moved since giving birth, as fast asleep as the puppies laid at her side.  

“She’s earned her rest,” Yoongi admires fondly, giving her a very brief pad on the head so as not to wake her.  You ‘mm’ your agreement, swallowing back the emotion that rises once more in your chest.  You’re so proud it almost makes you ache.  “I was thinking,” he continues, turning his attention to you, “Seems a shame to move her.  You want to sleep here tonight so you can still keep an eye?”  

You feel your lips part at his question, your mind automatically falling straight into the gutter.  So he does mean to continue things tonight, then…  

Seeing your expression, Yoongi grins wolfishly as he stands, letting out a chuckle.   

“The couch pulls out into a futon, so you can take the bed, if you do want to stay.  

Oh.  So, maybe not then… 

You desperately try not to let the disappointment show in your face but you figure it must at least a little seeing as Yoongi begins to laugh again, eyes full of mirth.  He extends his hand to you to help you stand and you marvel once more at how long his fingers are as they thread between yours; how delicate yet so strong.  The last thing you expect is to be pulled into his arms again so soon and so suddenly, near losing your balance as Yoongi draws you near.

“You’re cute when you pout,” he teases, taking your bottom lip between his thumb and forefinger and giving it a gentle pinch.  The smirk he’s wearing is as infuriating as it is sexy and you’re powerless to resist as Yoongi leans in to brush his lips ever so sweetly against yours, ever so fleeting.  

He’s enjoying this too much, damn it.  You should’ve never given yourself away!  Can he feel how hard your heart is beating, you wonder?  Can he feel how much you want him from how needily you grab at his belt loops?

“Let’s not rush anything,” he mumbles as you insist on kissing him once more, leaning forward onto your tippy-toes.  Sighing, you eventually pull away, eyes opening to see Yoongi looking down at you with thinly veiled amusement.  His smile is fond rather than teasing, though, so you let it slide.  He’s right, anyway, you suppose.  The two of you have only just revealed your mutual affection for one another; no need to go jumping into bed straight away.  

Ugh, being mature sucks.  

Reluctantly, you part ways for the time being and head back to your own apartment to ready yourself for bed.  You fill the small wash bag you usually take on vacation with all the toiletries you might need before embarking on the arduous task of deciding what to change into.  Do you go for ultimate comfort and opt for a baggy t-shirt and sweats, or do you dress to impress and slip on a silky camisole?  

It takes you a shameful amount of time to decide but in the end you settle on a compromise; one of your cuter, cotton t-shirts and a pair of shorts of a slightly more modest length.  After all, Yoongi’s made it perfectly clear that getting laid isn’t on the cards tonight.  No point in making too much of an effort - he might start to think you’re not coming back if you take the time to go shave your legs.  You cast them a cursory glance as you slip on your sliders ready to go back next door; they’re not obviously fuzzy from a distance, at least.  

When you get back to Yoongi’s apartment, he’s nowhere to be seen.  You figure he must be in the spare bedroom changing (and boy are you envious he has one of those) because he’s not in his own, and wherever he is he must’ve taken Holly with him as Remi and her puppies continue to sleep just as soundly as when you left.  He’s clearly been busy, though; there are fresh sheets on the bed, the corner of the duvet pulled back as though inviting you in.  Considerate as always.  

You figure you may as well carry on getting ready for bed in Yoongi’s absence, and with a yawn and a rub of your eyes, you dig out your toothbrush and head toward the bathroom, sliders slapping against the floor.  

“Oh!”  You almost drop your brush when you push open the bathroom door and find Yoongi inside, Holly sitting obediently at his feet.  You thank God he’s merely brushing his teeth and not in the shower - or worse, on the toilet - though you still stutter apologies and start to leave until Yoongi waves a hand to beckon you in, unbothered.  He smiles at you in the mirror, lips lined with foam, and you shyly smile in return as he hands you the very same toothpaste.  

Together, the two of you stand and brush your teeth; the room silent other than the rustling of bristles against enamel.  Your eyes keep meeting in the mirror and oh, how you wish you were able to ignore the way your face begins to blush and how Yoongi’s smile just grows and grows the more embarrassed you get.  It’s just so domestic, the two of you, stood side by side like this.  Like you’re husband and wife just going about your normal nightly routine; you’ll spit and rinse and then dab your mouths with matching ‘his’ and ‘hers’ towels.  

Hey, a girl can dream, right?  

“Thanks for getting the bed all sorted,” you say once you’re all done and Yoongi follows you out into the hallway with a nod and a ‘no problem’.  

“Just come wake me up if you need anything, alright?”  This time it’s your turn to nod, and you’re about to head back to Yoongi’s room when he suddenly reaches out and brushes his thumb against your cheek, smiling softly.  It grows when you lean into his touch, sighing, and you see his chest rise and fall with a heavy inhale before he reluctantly pulls away.  His hand falls back to his side and you have to resist the urge to reach out and take it in your own.

“Goodnight, Yoongi,” you bid him, his name heavy on your tongue.  

“Goodnight,” he replies, and just the timbre of Yoongi’s voice alone is enough to make your stomach flip with excitement.  It makes it hard to drag yourself away, and even harder to force yourself to relax once you finally slip between Yoongi’s sheets, knowing that he’s just down the hall.  It doesn’t help that they smell just like him, too, despite being clean, and maybe it makes you a bit of a creeper but you won’t deny that you take great pleasure in snuggling your face into Yoongi’s pillow, wishing you lying on his chest instead.   

  You don’t know exactly how long it takes you to fall asleep, nor how long you’re asleep before the sound of Yoongi’s voice awakens you.  Bleary-eyed, you look towards the door and see a slip of light shining beneath from the light in the hallway, disturbed by the movement of shadow.  

“Sorry, Hol. you can’t go in there.” you hear Yoongi whispering on the other side of the door.  “The ladies need their rest.”  Listening to them, you can’t help but internally ‘aww’.  Apparently, Holly must miss Remi as much as she does when they’re parted, and oh how you wish she could actually understand a word you say so you could prod her awake and tell her so.  “You don’t think I wish I was in there as well?”  

Wide-eyed, you stare out into the darkness on hearing what Yoongi had said, hands clasped atop your chest.  Is that true?  Does he really want to be in here with you, sharing this bed?  You can’t imagine any reason for it to be a lie; you know all your whispered confessions to Remi are always true enough.   

What should you do?  Would he be embarrassed if he knew you’d heard?  Should you - 

“C’mon, let’s go,” you hear him say, the shadows beneath the door disappearing, and it’s that sudden loss that forces you into the split decision you make that has you leaping up out of bed and flinging open Yoongi’s door before he can get too far away.  

“You can sleep in here, if you want,” you declare, ever so slightly out of breath.  You wish you’d spared a thought as to whether your hair might be a mess but fuck it, Yoongi’s already turned around and seen you now.  “If it’s easier.”  A hesitant smile tugs at the corner of his lips as he looks you up and down but there’s no such uncertainty from Holly; he happily runs right by you the moment there’s an opening, tail wagging up a storm.  

“You sure?” he checks, taking a step forward and oh jesus, of course you’re sure when he’s stood there looking - sounding - like he does; voice rough with sleep, hair tousled and half-dressed.  You can only be grateful that he doesn’t sleep topless or else you might just combust on the spot, so deliciously tight are the boxers he’s wearing.  

“He’s just gonna keep you up all night otherwise.”  You try to sound casual, you really do, but the nervous little giggle that escapes you as Yoongi enters your personal space gives you away.  He grins as he passes you in the doorway to head towards the bed, and just before you shut the door to plunge you both back into darkness you see him reach out and pull back the covers from the right-hand side of the bed.  

“You sleep on the left,” he says as he climbs in, sheets rustling, “Good.”  He must sleep on the right then, you’re guessing, and it makes you more happy than it should do to learn this, smiling to yourself in the dark.  You can hear the puppies snuffling around as you tentatively make your way over to the bed, but you're sure Remi will alert you if there's a problem.   Right now, you're too busy mustering up the courage to climb back into bed next to a man you've been fantasising about for so long.  

“Don't stand there getting cold.”  After such a long night, Yoongi’s probably too eager for sleep to have much patience for you dithering around at the bedside.  Now that your eyes have started to adjust to the lack of light, you can just about make out his face turned towards you, watching as you finally climb into bed, and it does nothing to lessen the nervous fluttering of your heart. 

You’re so tense; uncertain of how to lie or how close you ought to get.  You end up lying flat on your back for lack of a better idea, trying not to fidget as you stare up at the ceiling, and even though you’re not touching, you’re acutely aware of Yoongi’s body just a few inches away.  His breaths are slow and steady - nothing like your subtle, shallow inhales - and you lie there wishing that you had any hope of remaining as cool and calm as he always seems to be.

Eventually, though, your panic begins to wane, enough that you trust yourself to speak without giving yourself away.  

“Night Yoongi,” you whisper, not sure if he’s even still awake.  You hear a soft sigh and the rustling of sheets from what you presume must be him turning over to make himself more comfortable.  Soothed by his lack of reply, you, too, roll over in hopes of finally falling back to sleep, but when you’re met by the sight of Yoongi’s dark eyes looking back at you, you’re nothing but wide awake.  

“Hi,” he murmurs quietly, and even in the dark you can make out the subtle curve of his mouth as he smiles.  Your heart thuds in your chest, your throat suddenly dry, and even though you open your mouth to reply no sound has the chance to come out because faster than you can realise what’s happening, Yoongi’s closed the space between you and stolen your voice with a kiss.  

This isn’t a kiss like the last one you shared.  He was holding back last time - careful, gentle kisses that never lingered, never deepened - but this time is different.  This time, Yoongi kisses like he means to consume you, with a hunger so fierce that it sparks a yearning just as voracious within you.  It burns through you as Yoongi leans over your body, the weight of his own forcing you to roll onto your back as his fingers weave their way into your hair.  

Willingly, you submit to him in each way in which he asks, one by one; when he coaxes his way into your mouth with the press of his tongue, when you hook your leg over his hip when the hand that was in your hair slides down onto your ass, pulling your pelvis towards him.  

“Wha-” You gasp as he rocks his hips against you, only breaking your kiss out of the necessity to breathe, and the moment you do Yoongi simply finds another target for his lips, trailing them along the length of your jaw.  “What happened to- to not rushing anything?” 

“Fuck what I said,” he mumbles in reply, voice laden with desire.  Yoongi doesn’t curse very often but there’s something so hot about him doing it now between teasing your throat with his teeth and rubbing himself up against you.  “I’ve wanted you for months.”  

Well, that makes two of you then.  And he’s not lying, either; you can feel him growing steadily harder against your leg each time your bodies move, seeking out one another’s body heat.  

“Can I take these off?”  You feel his fingers lingering at the waistband of your shorts and eagerly you nod, pulling down one side as he handles the other till you’re able to kick them off somewhere beneath the covers.  

“Please.”  Rolling onto your back, you take Yoongi with you, seeking out his lips with your own.  While his hand reaches between your legs, you’re busy tugging at his t-shirt, baring his torso just in time for your fingernails to dig into his shoulders at the first touch of his fingers, gasping as he brushes the tips featherlight against you.  

“Baby,” he groans, and you preen at his use of the pet name, “You’re so wet.”  And you can feel that it’s true - can feel how sinfully his digits are able to slip and slide about your cunt, teasing their way between your lips.  

“Please Yoongi,” you plead, reaching between your bodies to grasp his wrist and tugging, tilting your pelvis up.  You’ve been dreaming about having his fingers inside you for so long that you’ve no shame in showing him just how much you want it.  You bite your bottom lip as he gazes down at you; watching, waiting to see your reaction as he presses one finger inside.  

“Haa!” you cry out, head tipping back into the pillow, and your eyes are too tightly pressed shut to see the way Yoongi smiles in satisfaction.  Craving more from you, one finger quickly becomes two, and you can’t help but grab at his shoulders for purchase as he so deftly stretches you open.  Each motion - each thrust and curl of Yoongi’s fingers - makes the most obscene of noises, so gratuitous is your want for him.  

Suddenly, Yoongi ceases your kissing, an urgent look in his eyes.

“Can I get a taste?”  His request has your pelvic muscles clenching around his fingers with excitement - a response you presume Yoongi rightly perceives as your consent, given the cocky smile that appears on his face.  

“Only if you’re as good as your tongue as you are with those fingers,” you tease, breathless.  You’re pleased by the way he chuckles - even more so by his reply.  

“Even better,” he promises, and though you mourn the loss of his fingers as they withdraw, you’re filled with too much anticipation to really care.  His eyes fixed on yours, Yoongi kisses his way down your body, making sure to spare time for each of your breasts along the way.  Through the material of your t-shirt he suckles and licks till the material has turned see-through, and only then does he hitch it up under your chin to reveal your chest and repeat the whole process again.  He lingers long enough to leave no doubt that he’s as talented with his tongue as he’s said, your nipples tingling long after he’s done drawing them out, stiffened into tight little peaks.  

Your hips are squirming by the time Yoong’s head is between your legs.  He holds them steady with firm hands as he kisses at your inner thighs, twice suckling hard enough for you to know he’ll have left a mark - evidence of his desire.  Your want to see him clearly is at odds with how comforting you find the dark, less self-conscious in knowing that even as Yoongi’s parts your lips with his thumb and forefinger, you’re not quite so brazenly exposed.  

“Tell me what you like,” Yoongi instructs as he makes himself comfortable on his stomach.  You mumble your agreement, heart hammering with a mixture of nerves and excitement because, in all honesty, this has never really been your favourite thing before.  You don’t want him to be disappointed if this doesn’t get you there, hoping he’ll realise that it’s more about the journey than the destination.  

He starts slow; long, luxurious laps up and down, ascending from your perineum and back again to gather your essence on his tongue.  He moans as he does it, and just hearing how much he seems to be enjoying the taste of you makes it feel all the better as he does it once more.  

“I like that,” you sigh, hips shifting to get more comfortable as you close your eyes and focus on the sensation of his tongue.  His hands are on your thighs as your own make their way down into his hair, and it’s just as soft as you imagine it to be - Yoongi near purring with pleasure into your heat every time you dig your fingers in whenever something feels particularly good.  

“Mm, o-ooh, I like that too.”  Your moans become more frequent as Yoongi focuses his attention on your clitoris, the tip of his tongue gradually gaining in speed now that Yoongi’s found his purpose.  For someone who has such a small mouth and such a dainty, kittenish tongue, you had no idea he could be so skilled with it - so deft as it wriggles beneath your clitoral hood in delicious figures of eight.  “Fuck, that feels good…”  

With each second longer that he continues, you can feel a heat gradually rising within you.  It starts right there between your legs, burning in your core, but soon you can feel the flush all the way up to your chest and your back is beginning to sweat, your mouth open so each breath is a pant - a gasping moan.  

In search of relief you tug off your t-shirt, but it does little to cool you down.  Not when Yoongi seems determined to have you falling apart on the end of his tongue, not giving you a moment's reprieve even when your hips grow restless, toes curling into the blankets.  

“Oh, oh, Yoongi,” you pant, one hand fisted in his hair whilst your other is grabbing at your own.  Your fingers wind in so tight that Yoongi responds in kind by sucking your on your clit so hard it makes you cry out, but the throb of pain it leaves behind on serves to push you even closer to the edge, begging for your release.  

“Please, please, please,” you babble, and your prayers are answered when Yoongi fills you with his fingers whilst simultaneously torturing you with his tongue.  With artful precision, his fingers crook and curl inside you to stimulate your g-spot, and though he’s gentle to start with, Yoongi is an expert at interpreting the sounds you make to know exactly how rough or fast you want it - not stopping till arousal is gushing from you with every stroke.  

“Mm, Yoongi, I’m gonna- oh, oh shit!”  Yoongi doesn’t stop as your orgasm takes a hold of you,  working you through it and savouring every drop of ecstasy he manages to coax out.   It’s only when your body begins to twitch from overstimulation that he finally begins to slow his ministrations, eventually emerging from between your legs when you weakly call his name, tapping on his shoulder.  

“Can I turn on the light?” he asks whilst you’re still basking in your post-orgasmic haze, too blissed out to do anything but nod your consent and watch as he reaches over you to turn on the lamp that rests on the bedside table over on your side of the bed.  “Wanna see you.”   

You have to throw your arm across your eyes when he first switches the light on.  When you eventually start to pull it back, Yoongi is still leaning over you, an adoring look in his eyes as he gazes down. 

“Would you look at that,” he says wistfully, cupping your cheek in his palm before leaning down to kiss you.  You can taste yourself on his tongue as it rolls into your mouth but you can’t bring yourself to care, not when he stops kissing you just to softly whisper ‘you’re gorgeous’ right against your lips.  

“You’re just saying that because you haven’t gotten yours yet,” you tease, trailing your fingertips down the length of his chest.  Yoongi chuckles, his laughter interrupted by a groan when you cup his balls through his boxer shorts and press your palm against his length.  

“Am not,” he insists, even as his hips rock forward into your hard and he nips at your bottom lip, groaning again as you squeeze.  

“Still, I think it’s about time for your turn, don't you?”  Whispered into his ear, your purr causes a shiver to run through Yoongi’s body before he abruptly pulls away and sits back on his heels.   Seeming to take a moment to collect himself, he runs a hand through his hair, and you can’t help but take advantage of this opportunity to take a good long look at your lover - to admire his slight waist and unblemished skin.  His face is flushed with desire and his eyes dark as they similarly trace your form, and you feel the very same blush fill your cheeks when your gaze is inevitably drawn to the ill-concealed erection within his boxers.  

Even hidden away beneath black material, its outline is unmistakable - as is the wet patch of material at its tip.  Yoongi catches you looking and you bite your lip at the smirk that curls his as he reaches inside his boxers and pulls his cock free, tugging them down just enough for you to make out the dark curls of pubic hair at its base.  

“There are condoms in the drawer,” he tells you with a pointed look at the bedside table, but frankly you’re too entranced with the sight of his vascular hand as it strokes the prettiest cock you’ve ever seen up and down to want to look away.  

You extend your arms towards him with a coy smile, opening them up in welcome, and Yoongi cocks a curious eyebrow as he shuffles out of his boxers before settling down on top of you, his cock laying heavy on your stomach.  

“I’m clean, and I’m on birth control.”  You hear Yoongi’s breath hitch with excitement as you place lingering kisses against his jaw, his cheek, his lips.  

“You sure?” he checks, and you can’t help but giggle because even as he’s double-checking Yoongi is already lifting his hips and reaching down to take his cock in hand, guiding it towards your cunt.  “We don’t need any more little accidents around here.”  Your insides flutter in anticipation as you feel him run the tip of it between your folds till it’s slick with your arousal, one nod away from slipping inside with blissful ease.  

“I’m sure,” you grin before kissing him again, and this time they don’t stop.  Yoongi swallows up the moan you make as he slides his cock inside you in one smooth motion, right to the hilt.  He smothers the gasp that comes thereafter when he pulls back and does it again, this time harder than the last.  With his tongue between your teeth, the two of you soon find a rhythm that has you both perspiring with effort - the sounds of your heavy breathing mingling with the slap of flesh on flesh and the slick sounds of your cunt.  

“Oh god, Yoongi!” you cry out when he alters the angle of his hips, pressing in harder, faster than before.  

“I know baby.”  He finds your hand where it lays upon the pillow and threads his fingers between yours, clasping it tight as he groans, forehead pressed to yours, and grits out, “I know, I know.”  

You pick your feet up off the bed and wrap them tightly around his waist, urging him deeper, and Yoongi doesn’t disappoint.  With renewed vigour, his hips surge forward, so deep that from this angle the tip of his cock not only kisses your cervix but grazes your g-spot on the way out as well, and even without any clitoral stimulation you can feel yourself getting close all over again.  

“Say my name,” Yoongi urges between kisses, squeezing your hand in his, “Let me hear you say it.”   You do as he asks - one time, two times, three times - and every time you do you swear your orgasm looms just that little bit closer.  

“Again, baby,” he chokes out, and you can tell he’s getting close too from the tension in his voice and how his cock has begun to twitch, his thrusts frantic now.  “Say it again for me.”   Yoongi throws his head back, lifting his chest from yours to drive his cock into you even deeper.  “Fuck, I love the way you say it.”  

There are tears forming in the corners of your eyes as his name tumbles from your lips, so close that it near steals the breath from your lungs.  Every one of your senses is filled with him - with the excruciating bliss that’s sizzling through your veins - and you can’t get enough.  Gripping tighter, pulling closer.  Kissing, touching, feeling.   It’s so much.  So much, and yet somehow you want more. 

“Please,” you choke out against the press of his lips, and you don’t even know what you’re begging for with both your hands held in his, gripping them tight atop the pillow.  You never want this to stop - never want it to end - and yet you’re both rapidly reaching the climax, tumbling into oblivion together.  

You try to hold back, you really do, but when Yoongi groans your name, pressing in deep, you’ve not a shred of willpower left.  You want to give in. 

“I’m close,” he tells you, the words gritted out through his teeth, “Feel so good around me, baby.” He nips at your jawline - nuzzles so sweetly into the crook of your neck and smatters it with kisses.  “Gonna cum with me?  So pretty when you cum.” 

“Yes,” you gasp, and you’re so close, so very, very close. “Cum in me, Yoongi, please - please .”  

With the sounds of your pleading, Yoongi, too, loses all semblance of self-control.  Driving his hips forward into you, he groans at the gradual tightening of your insides, and as his cock hardens even further, twitching in anticipation, you finally reach your end.  It’s so intense you aren’t even able to speak through your climax - unable to vocalise how incredible it feels except for the raggedly drawn breaths you take once it finally begins to fade.  

You’re disappointed to realise that Yoongi has already cum by the time you’ve returned to your senses, though from how hard he’s breathing you figure he must not have been too far behind.  His face is flushed with heat, chest perspiring, and you can feel the warmth he’s filled you with trickling out from where his pelvis sits flush with yours.   

He’s still holding your hands, you realise, and when Yoongi leans down to sweetly kiss you as he squeezes them in his own, you feel yourself blush even more fiercely than before, filled with girlish glee.  Ridiculous, really, given all that you’ve just done.  

“That was amazing,” you whisper against his lips, and his smile is just as coy as yours as he pulls away to look down into your eyes.  He doesn’t say anything but his tender expression tells you all you need to know, as does the way he can’t help but kiss you over and over again before he finally withdraws.  

“One second,” he tells you as he swings his legs out of bed and you roll onto your side to watch him go, laughing as he’s forced to shoo Holly out of the way from where’s sat waiting for attention, chin resting on the edge of the mattress. 

“I hope he hasn’t been sitting there the whole time!”  You watch fondly as Yoongi shimmies his boxers back on with a hop and a wiggle.  Gosh, he really does have the cutest little butt… “We’ll have scarred him for life.” 

“His own fault,” Yoongi dismisses, unconcerned. “I’ll just go grab some tissue.”  He leaves the room for a moment or two, and in that time you have to try very hard to resist the urge to shimmy a little dance atop his mattress - the threat of accidentally making a mess on his newly changed bedsheets looming in your mind.  At the foot of the bed, you can hear the puppies snuffling around, probably looking for their next feed, and you have to stop yourself from crawling to the other end of the bed to go look at them, too.  

As it happens, Yoongi checks on them when he gets back in your stead.  He passes you the tissues and then pre-occupies himself with Remi and the puppies whilst you clean yourself up, waiting until you climb back under the covers to finally rejoin you.  He sighs in contentment as he gets comfortable, gazing up at the ceiling with a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips, and all you can do is stare at him in wonderment as you lay on your side, hardly daring to believe that the last half an hour or so was even real.  

“I really like you,” you whisper after a minute or two has passed, still unable to wipe the goofy love-sick grin you’re wearing off of your face.  Yoongi turns his head to the side to look at you, a cocky gleam in his eyes as he takes in your expression.  

“Yeah?” he asks, eyebrow lifting.  Effortlessly cool, he extends his left arm out across the pillow to invite you to curl against his side.  You do so immediately, kissing the spot on which you then lay your head, snuggling close.  You feel his lips press against the top of your head in turn, and through his chest you hear his heart begin to gallop as he squeezes you tightly in his arms, curling them around you.  “I think I really kind of like you too.”  

****

You never intended to keep them all.  

One, maybe.  You and Yoongi had talked about it; how it’d be a shame to sell them all and not get to see how the pups would eventually turn out.  But the more time that went on - the longer the two of you spent with them and got to know and love all their little personalities - the more you couldn’t bear the idea of parting with even a single one.  

And maybe you would’ve come around to the idea of them leaving if Yoongi hadn’t been just as smitten with them as you were.  You were bad influences on each other, sending each other picture updates whenever either of you were out of the apartment ( your apartment, with both your names on the lease now, not just Yoongi’s).  As if you could’ve really brought yourself to use any of those adorable photos to place an ad that would eventually take them away from you.  You should’ve known from the moment they first opened up those beady little eyes and gazed into yours that you were done for.  

Though five dogs is undeniably a handful, you can’t bring yourself to regret the decision.   Not even now, as you hold a double lead in one hand and Yoongi holds a triple in the other, somehow still managing to keep yours conjoined as your pack pulls you along.  God help you should the whole lot of them ever spot a squirrel and decide to run, or make a mad dash for a half-eaten pack of crisps strewn across the ground.  

“Hey, hey, hey!” Yoongi warns, keeping a good grip on the puppies as they surge towards the greying spaniel that comes trotting along off-lead, his elderly owner just a little way down the path.  “Nicely, nicely.”  

You hope one day your dogs might be well enough behaved - or at least old and lazy enough - to walk so nicely off lead.  The spaniel is adorably patient despite being mobbed by three white, fluffy clouds; their noses searching out every available orifice to sniff.  You’re grateful that at least Remi and Holly have the manners to stay out of it, easily distracted by the sound of the treat packet you’re rustling inside your coat pocket.  

“Oh, what a lovely little family you’ve got there!” the elderly woman coos as she comes closer, and you thank the lord Yoongi has the good sense to hold the puppies back.  Even though they’re almost a year old they haven’t quite yet learned their strength, and you’ve no doubt they’d end up knocking her over if their overenthusiasm isn’t adequately reigned in.  “You’re so blessed!”  

Beside you Yoongi nods, his chin lifting in pride as the dogs wait to be petted one by one, tails wagging furiously along the ground.  He’s too busy watching them to notice the instinctive way your hand reaches for your stomach at the kind old lady’s words, fingers splaying wide over your lower abdomen where a little life inside you grows.  

You haven’t told him yet, but oh, you can’t help but start to grin as you imagine how shocked he’s going to be - how happy and excited.  If you closed your eyes now, you’re sure you’d be able to imagine the exact smile he’ll wear, all teeth and gums and sparkling eyes.  

Yoongi squeezes your hand in his, bringing you back to the present, and you give your tummy one last gentle rub as you return the woman’s smile, heart so full it feels fit to burst.  

“Yeah," you smile, catching Yoongi's gaze and beaming all the more, "We really are.”   

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

Your feedback is always appreciated, dear readers!  Please let me know what you think ^^ 

Also, I’m sure we all already know what Holly looks like, but just in case you were wondering about Remi’s breed, she is a Japanese Spitz who would like an awful lot like this -

And their puppies would end up look a little something like this -

Freakin’ adorable, right?  

Also, those of you who’ve followed my blog for a while might’ve now realised that I modelled Remi after my own little Japanese Spitz, Shiro.  Is that awfuly self indulgent of me?  Oh yes.  Do I care?  Not even a little bit *grin* 

[maxineswritingcenter]

You Saved Me - Derek Hale x fem!reader part 11

 -----------------

As soon as I walked into the veterinarian office, I felt it. Like a total drain of my muscles and my head started to hurt. 

“Mountain ash.” Dr. Deaton said as he came out from around the corner, “It weakens werewolf abilities so they cannot shift their form.” 

“That would explain it.” I smiled, shoving my hands in my pockets. 

“How can I help you, (Y/N).” He knew my name.

I squinted at him, “Have we met?” 

“We have, but you wouldn’t remember. You were here with some minor injuries and your parents weren’t sure if you were going to turn and just in case…the hospital found something interesting.” He said, a small smile on his face, “But I see you have finally turned.” 

I nodded, “Yeah, but I don’t know how.” 

“I believe I may have an answer.” He pulled out a book from the front desk. It was a dark leather bound book, its pages were brown with age. 

“It was a spell used by werewolf clans that were being hunted hundreds of years ago, in France, Scotland, England. In some cases, werewolf hunters would test werewolves in their human form with Mountain ash, rendering them unconscious. Et obscuratus lupum. Wolf Eclipse.” I looked at the book, seeing a drawing of what looked like a child, half human, half wolf. 

“Parents would perform this spell to cloak their child from hunters. The Mountain ash wouldn’t affect them and they would be spared and safe until they could transform. This spell would also remove any memories of werewolf behavior from beyond that point so they couldn’t give away the rest of the clan by accident.” 

I looked down at the desk, “But why now? Why did I turn now? And why am I an alpha? I’ve never killed anyone.” 

“As for your turning now, many children are given back their power by their parents. Or if their parents were killed, they usually don’t unless something triggers the change - high stress, fear, terror, torture. But I can’t explain the alpha part, the only people who could were your parents.” 

-

“Derek? Derek!” Isaac’s voice echoed through the building. 

“What’s wrong?” Derek turned away from what he was doing. Isaac looked frantic and scared. 

“My dad… I think he’s dead…”

“What did you do?” Derek asked firmly. 

“That’s the thing…It wasn’t me.”

I woke up on the couch. Not the best place to sleep all night. 

I sat up and cracked my back, twisting from side to side. I shuffled into the kitchen, seeing Uncle Noah already there. 

“Morning, kiddo.” He said, sipping his coffee. He went with the dark roast this morning. Bitter. Something serious had happened. 

“Morning.”

“We found Lydia, I don’t know if you heard.” He said. 

I nodded, “Of course, talk of the town. Stiles is gonna get an A in economics.” 

He shook his head, a small smile on his face. He was still slightly sleepy, meaning I could probably get something out of him about what’s making him leave this early. 

“What’s going on?”

He yawned and raised his eyebrows. He looked around the corner then back to me, “Promise you won’t tell Stiles. And I’m only telling you because it involves one of your players.”

“Isaac?” I asked, “Is he okay?” Uncle Noah narrowed his eyes at me, clearly confused how I knew. 

“I had my own questions about his home life. A guess.” 

“Well we found his dad dead this morning. Mauled to death in his car in an alleyway.”

“Mauled?” Great… This is exactly what we needed with this hunter situation going around. Didn’t Derek tell Isaac that humans were off limits, especially right now? Isaac didn’t seem like the type, but if he was getting abused, maybe he couldn’t take it anymore. 

“Yeah, not pretty. Oh, by the way.” He rifled through the mail, “This came for you at the station.” It was a brown envelope. It had multiple stamps and postmarks. The text was written in old English calligraphy. 

“The Lunar Circle.” I shook my head, “Never heard of it.” I looked at the return address, “Scotland?” 

“I guess so.” He looked at his watch, “Alright, gotta go.” He kissed the top of my head, making his way out the door. 

-

I got into the locker room later than usual, but in time to watch Scott and Stiles stare at a chain that was falling out of Stiles’ locker. Coach walked between the two of them, staring at the chain as it finished pooling on the floor. 

“Part of me wants to ask… the other part says knowing will be more disturbing than anything I could ever imagine. So, I’m gonna walk away.” Before I could speak to the two, Coach slipped the blind fold onto my eyes, the elastic slapping the back of my head. 

“Good looking out.” I nodded vaguely in his direction. Stiles shoved a bag in my hands, Scott and Stiles started shoving the chain into it and froze, Scott tensed up. 

Another scent. Someone like us. 

“There’s another in here.” Scott said. 

“Another what?” Stiles asked. 

“Another werewolf.” 

Once the players were on the field, Stiles pulled me aside. 

“Alright, switch Scott with Danny for goal and then you use your sniffer on the guys on the bench.” 

I raised my eyebrows at him, still not over what he said the other day. 

He stared for a minute, then closed his eyes, “The silent treatment, really?” 

I smiled slyly, nodding. 

“Oh my god.” He groaned, “Look, I’m sorry. I know you’re just trying to protect me. I get it. We can have this conversation later, please.” 

I thought about it for a minute, then nodded, “Fine. I’ll go tell Coach.” I found Finstock and told him. 

“Why would I want McCall in goal? McCall is co-captain. He needs to play offense.” 

“That’s true, but what happens when Danny gets hurt during a match. Are you gonna put in someone from second line or someone with those reflexes?” He stared for a minute, thinking about what I just said. 

“Think about it like this. Danny’s out, it’s tied and we are ten seconds from overtime. Who are you putting in? Second line or McCall.” 

He nodded and chuckled, “Good thinking.” He turned back to the other players and blew his whistle, “Let’s go! Line up!” Players made their way onto the field, “Faster! Make daddy proud.” Daddy… I hate it. I scanned the line up, there was number fourteen at the end - Isaac. 

Coach blew the whistle again, signaling the drills to start. Scott ran from the goal, tackling the player. Scott was many things. Subtle was not one of them. 

“McCall!” Coach shouted, his eyes wide and his hair seemed even wilder. 

“Yeah?”

“Usually, the goalie stays somewhere within the vicinity of the actual goal.”

“Yes, Coach.”

“Let’s try it again!”

“What the hell, man?” The player shouted. His name was…  Matt Daehler if I remembered correctly. 

Coach blew the whistle again, throwing another ball into play. Again, Scott knocked the next player down. 

“McCall!” Coach called again, “The position’s goalkeeper, not goal-abandoner!’

“Sorry, Coach…”

“Let’s go!” He blew the whistle. Again, Scott knocked the next man down. 

“Stiliniski!” Coach pulled Stiles up by his helmet. Stiles stood up from the bench on the other side of me, “What the hell is wrong with your friend?”

“Uh, he’s failing two classes, he’s a little socially awkward, and if you look close enough, his jawline is kinda uneven.” Stiles said in a rush. 

Coach and I turned heads to the side, looking at McCall. Was his jaw always crooked? Had I not noticed in all of this time?

“That’s interesting.” He said, dropping Stiles' helmet. Scott knocked over Danny next, landing on top of him. Danny was having a good year so far. 

“McCall!” Coach shouted, clearly frustrated, “You come out of that goal one more time, and you’ll be doing suicide runs ‘til you die! It’ll be the first ever suicide run that actually ends in a suicide! Got it?” 

“Yes, Coach.”

“Yeah!” Coach glared. 

Jackson looked at Scott warily, “Uh, Coach, my shoulder’s hurting… I’m gonna-I’m gonna sit this one out…” He watched out of the line and onto the bench. What’s gotten into him? Besides not the bite. Scott ran forward at Isaac. But instead of Scott taking him down, they both collided and fell to the ground. That’s when I saw Scott pause, he found his werewolf. 

“Dad?” Stiles asked. I turned around, seeing Uncle Noah and two other officers heading towards the field. They must have been coming to bring Isaac in for questioning. 

“Don’t tell them…Please don’t tell him.” I heard Isaac say. 

-

I stayed back with the rest of the team while Finstock was talking to Uncle Noah. Scott was listening in on the conversation. 

“His father’s dead. They think he was murdered.” Scott said. 

Stiles looked at me, “Is that what you and my dad were talking about this morning?”

“There may have been something Uncle Noah told me not to tell you.” I grinned innocently. 

“Come on…” Stiles sighed, “Are they saying he’s a suspect?”

“I’m not sure. Why?”

“Because they can lock him in a holding cell for twenty-four hours…”

“Like, overnight?”

“Those generally are the same amount of time, yes.” I said. 

“During the full moon.” The full moon. Not only would it be Isaac’s first turn, it was going to be mine. 

“Crap.” I mumbled. 

“How good are these holding cells at holding people?”

“People? Good. Werewolves? Probably not that good.” Stiles said grimly.

“Stiles, remember when I said I don’t have the urge to maim and kill?”

“Yeah…”

“He does.” How Scott could tell that, I couldn’t tell. Because I didn’t get that vibe.

-

I made my way through the hall, seeing Uncle Noah in the hall outside the principal's office. 

“What’s going on?” I asked, not seeing Isaac near. 

“We’re interviewing Jackson Whittemore. He’s Isaac’s neighbor, we’re just trying to see if he knows anything. I’m just waiting to meet the new principal.” 

“New principal?” I asked. Right after I spoke, the door opened. And there stood Gerard Argent. I tried to hide my shock when I saw him, since the last time I saw him I watched him cut someone in half. 

“Sheriff Stilinski, I’m terribly sorry to keep you waiting. Just a phone call from one of my teachers.” He said in his brogue, he turned to me, “And Miss (Y/N), assistant coach for our lacrosse team. I have been anxious to meet you.” He held out his hand. Oh, he was anxious? Yeah definitely. 

I blinked, a small smile on my face, “It’s good to meet you as well. I apologize for my shock, I was not aware that you had been hired.” I shook his hand. His hands felt cold, like the ice in his heart spread through his veins. 

“I understand. It was quite unexpected. But I am excited to get started.” He played his role well. An older man happy to help and be accommodating to his new surroundings. I knew the truth though, and it terrified me. But I needed to lay low and stay on his good side for right now. He declared war, no longer following the code and Chris couldn’t stop him like he stopped Kate. 

“Of course. I’m excited to work with you too, Mr…?”

“Argent.”

“Oh like Allison. She’s such a sweet girl, I always see her at games.” 

“She became a fan.” He nodded. In the distance, I could hear Jackson’ walking down the hall. How did I know it was Jackson? His brand new shoes squeaked.

“Well, I gotta head out. Delivery came to the front office for the team. Pearls and crosses. It was good meeting you, Principle Argent.” 

“Please, call me Gerard.” He smiled. 

I grinned and nodded, “Gerard.” I looked at Uncle Noah, “I’ll see you tonight.”  I made my way towards the front office, glad that the hunter couldn’t hear my heart beating out of my chest. 

“You okay?” Derek’s voice echoed in my head. 

I sighed, taking a deep breath, “No. They took Isaac into lock up, Gerard is the principal, and I am going to turn tonight whether I want to or not and I’m scared.”

“We’ll talk.” 

-

I sat on the front steps, looking over the envelope. The Lunar Circle. Was this something my parents were involved in? Just as I was about to open the envelope, I got a text from Scott to meet him and Derek at Isaac’s house. 

So I met them there, looking up at the sky. I had already cracked all of my knuckles so now I just was wearing a hole in my shoe from tapping. 

“Are you alright?” Scott asked. 

“I don’t know, Scott, were you okay when you turned the first time? Because I can recall you almost killing me the last time.” My eyes flashing red.

“Hey, I apologized for that.” Scott defended himself. 

“(Y/N), look at me.” Derek stood in my line of vision. The red left my eyes and I sighed. 

“Sorry, I’m just… anxious.” I clenched and unclenched my hands. 

We snuck into the Lahey household, making our way down to the basement. 

“If Isaac didn’t kill his father, who did?” Scott asked as Derek led us through the house. Derek moved slowly, keeping a flashlight beam ahead. 

“I don’t know yet.” 

“Then how do you know he’s telling the truth?”

“Because I trust my senses. And it’s a combination of them.” He looked at Scott over his shoulder, “Not just your sense of smell.” 

“You saw the lacrosse thing today?” Scott asked sheepishly. 

“So you saw him tackle and sniff everyone on the field, his big plan.” I added.

“Yeah.” Derek said plainly. 

“Did it look bad?” 

“Yeah.” Derek and I said together. Derek opened the door and we all looked down to the bottom of the basement, Scott and Derek’s eyes lit up the space a little, enough to see what was below. There were the usual things - chairs, dust bunnies, boxes.

“You wanna learn?” Derek asked, “Start now.”

“What’s down there?”

“Motive.” We started down the stairs. 

“And what are we looking for?”

“Follow your senses.” Derek said. I strayed from the group, seeing dust covered toys and games, covered with age and gray. It looked like a normal basement, but it felt like something terrible had happened here. Derek took my hand in his, pulling me back to them. 

“What happened down here?” Scott asked. 

“The kind of thing that leaves an impression.” Derek said in a low voice. It was kind of creepy, in addition to the spider web covered basement. As we went further into the basement, we saw chains hanging from the wall. My heart sank. I took Derek’s flashlight and lit up the floor, there were groove marks in the floor. Scott bent down and placed his fingers within the groove. Scratches in the cement floor. My attention was brought to a large freezer in the corner of the with a rusted padlock. The energy radiating from the cooler made my heart drop into my stomach. 

“Open it.” Derek told Scott as we stood in front of it. Scott took off the lock and lifted up the lid of the freezer. My mouth fell open in shock, tears burning at my eyes. Scratch marks, covering the entire inside of the freezer. The worst were the rust covered marks, meaning that Isaac was so desperate to fight his way to freedom that his fingers bled. I turned away from the freezer, feeling nauseous. Leaning over, my hands on my knees. 

“This is why he said yes to you?” Scott asked. 

“Everyone wants power.” 

“If I help you, you have to stop. You can’t just go around turning people into werewolves!” Scott had a point. It was dangerous to be a werewolf right now. That’s why my parents did that ritual on me. 

“I can if they’re willing.” 

“Did you tell Isaac about the Argents? About being hunted?”

“Yes, and he still asked.” 

“Then he’s an idiot!” Scott shouted. 

I stood back up and stared at Scott, “An idiot? He’s been tortured his whole life, Scott, and he’s the idiot for trying to save himself.” There was a growl in my voice as my anger rose. Derek put a hand on my arm.

“You’re the idiot dating Argent’s daughter.” Scott looked shocked at Derek’s words, “Yeah, I know your little secret. And if I know, how long do you think it’s gonna take for them to find out?”

Derek grabbed Scott by the shoulder, “You saw what happens to an omega. With me, you learn how to use all your senses. With me, you learn control.” He lifted Scott’s clawed hand, “Even on a full moon.” Seeing Scott’s hands, I lifted mine and saw the claws had grown in. I hadn’t even felt them come out. 

Scott pulled his hand away, “If I’m with you, I lose her.” 

“You’re gonna lose her anyway. You know that.” 

I shook my head, thinking about the night Peter was killed. The look in Allison’s eyes as she shot arrows into Derek and I was cold, no emotion at all. “Scott, don’t you remember what happened? She shot us down.” 

“That wasn’t her, that was Kate.” He defended her, like a love sick puppy. 

“Was it? You didn’t get to see her when Kate brought her down to that cellar and watched as Derek got electrocuted, over and over. She did nothing to stop her, she knew it was wrong but she didn’t stop her. Allison’s loyalties are never going to be with us.” My voice was calm but the shaking was starting to take over. It felt like my chest was going to burst at any moment. Even my gums ached. 

“Come on.” Derek said softly in my ear. He escorted me to the stairs, a gentle hand on the small of my back. 

“Wait!” We turned back to face Scott, “I’m not part of your pack… but I want him out. He’s my responsibility too.”

“Why? Because he’s one of us?” 

“Because he’s innocent.”

-

I sat in the parking lot of the Sheriff’s office, tapping my fingers on the steering wheel. I can’t do this. How can I help break Isaac out of jail when I can’t even keep myself in control. I shouldn’t be around people. I shouldn’t be around Stiles or anyone else in the deputy department. I jumped when I heard the knocking at my window. Derek and Stiles stood there, looking a little concerned. I opened my door and got out, sticking close to Derek. If anyone could stop me from attacking Stiles it was him. 

“Okay. Now, the keys to every cell are in a password-protected lock-box in my father’s office. The problem is getting past the front desk.” Stiles stared at me like I was from Mars, “I gotta tell ya, I don’t think I’m going to get used to the red eyes anytime soon.”

“Yeah, me either.” My voice had a growl too, quickly shutting my mouth. 

“Well, there goes plan A. Letting you distract the front desk.” I glanced inside, seeing a woman sitting there, sipping her coffee. 

“I’ll distract her.” Derek said, turning towards the building. 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Stiles grabbed onto Derek’s jacket and pulled him back., “You? You’re going in there?” Derek eyed Stiles hand, then Stiles, telling him to get his hands off of him in his usual way - without words.

“I’m takin’ my hand off.” Stiles quickly pulled his hand away. 

“I was exonerated.”

“You’re still a person of interest.”

“An innocent person.” 

“Ah-” Stiles blew out air, “You? Yeah right.” He sighed, “What’s your plan?”

“To distract her.” Derek said impatiently. 

Stiles nodded, “Ahuh, how? By punching her in the face?” 

Derek let out a fake laugh, “By talking to her.” 

“Is he even charming?” Stiles looked at me. Derek looked at me expectantly while I thought for a minute. 

“Compared to when I first met him, he’s very charming.” I smiled awkwardly. 

Stiles rubbed his temples, “Okay. Alright. Give me a sample. What are you gonna open with?” Derek only stared. 

“Dead silence. That should work beautifully. Any other ideas?” Stiles asked sarcastically.

“I’m thinking about punching you in the face.” Derek said snidely. Once Stiles agreed, we made our way towards the station but before we went in, I pulled Derek aside. 

“I can’t do this.” I looked up at the moon, “My body feels like it's going to fall apart and I feel so angry and-” 

“Just hold out a little longer.” He placed a hand on my cheek, “As soon as we get Isaac out, I’m gonna bring you somewhere where you can let it all out and you won’t hurt anyone. But right now I need you to get inside and make sure nothing happens to Isaac. There’s a hunter in there who’s going to kill him.” 

“Okay, I’ll try.” 

Derek led the way into the station, Stiles and I stayed low to avoid the deputy. 

“Good evening, how can I help-” She paused, looking up at Derek, “you?”

Derek gave her a thousand watt smile, “Hi.”

“Hi.” The woman said with a little tremble in his voice. She leaned on the desk. 

“Um, I had a question…” he chuckled, “Um, sorry, I-I’m a little thrown. I wasn’t expecting someone…”

“Like me?” She asked. 

“Oh, I was going to say ‘so incredibly beautiful’, but yeah, I guess that’d be the same thing.” Derek said sheepishly. Stiles stared at Derek’s back in disbelief. I shoved his side. He shook his head and we crawled down the hall to uncle Noah’s office. 

Once inside, Stiles used a code on a keypad on the wall that opened a small hatch. It was empty inside. In the next room we heard the jingling of keys.

“Oh no…” Stiles and I ran towards the source of the noise, getting closer and closer to the cells. On our way there we were stopped short by a deputy. 

“Oh, sorry,” Stiles apologized, “Just lookin’ um…” I looked over the deputy, then I saw it - an arrow sticking out of his leg. I hit Stiles' side. He looked down, then back up at the deputy. 

“Ah shhh-'' We tried to run for it but he grabbed us, pressing his hands over our mouths so we couldn’t scream. I wanted to rip his hand off with my teeth but that would be putting Stiles in danger and outting myself as a werewolf to a hunter if he got away. As we were dragged back towards the cells, Stiles pulled the fire alarm. 

Once in the cells, he threw Stiles and I into one of them. I clenched my fists together tightly, desperately trying not to turn. Sharp teeth poking at my lips. Stiles grabbed my arm, bringing my attention to the other cell, the empty cell. Isaac was loose. The hunter’s shout brought us back to see him being attacked by Isaac. He pinned the hunter to an examination table, then threw him against a wall. The hunter struggled but got up, trying to stab Isaac with a syringe but Isaac grabbed his arm and broke it. Isaac slammed the hunter’s head into the wall, he fell, dropping the syringe. 

Derek came into the room shortly after, stepping on the syringe. The sound of glass breaking turned Isaac’s attention to us. His yellow eyes took us in, his fangs and claws sharp. He stalked forward towards us. I shoved Stiles behind me, baring my fangs at Isaac as he came closer. Derek’s roar broke Isaac out of his trance, making him fall to the floor and scramble to the corner. He looked up from the wall, looking more human. He was trembling in fear. 

“How did you do that?” Stiles asked, trying to catch his break. 

“I’m the alpha.” Derek smirked, his eyes red. 

Ignoring the trembling the best I could, I walked over and kneeled beside Isaac. He was breathing heavily, eyes darting around the room like he was expecting someone to show up. 

“Isaac.” his eyes focused on me, “Let’s get you home.” I smiled and held out my hand.

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

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[heliads]

Til Death Do Us Part

There are a few things that are important to Pietro Maximoff. His sister, his home, his past. Now, there’s someone even closer to him- a mysterious S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, a woman with the ability to heal any wounds.

masterlist

Pietro sits by himself on the Quinjet, watching the ruckus about him. His foot taps impatiently while he waits for the plane to arrive back on the safety of land once more. Across the room, Wanda is conversing with Hawkeye in hushed tones. Steve Rogers and Tony Stark are bickering over something for the third time since the plane took off, Natasha Romanoff is emotionlessly prepping her weapons, and Thor is inspecting his hammer for damage.

There are multitudes of S.H.I.E.L.D. agents popping in and out of the room, sometimes checking readouts on the central cockpit and other times asking quick questions of the Avengers. There’s one woman who catches Pietro’s eye, who is currently flitting about Bruce Banner.

As Pietro watches, she hovers her hands slowly over his injuries. After Banner lost control over the Hulk and was subsequently brought back by Tony Stark, he was covered with scrapes and bruises from the fight. The woman who Pietro had noticed earlier is holding her hands a few inches away from Banner’s skin, and faint white light is spreading from her outstretched fingers to the cuts. 

Interestingly enough, the second the pearlescent light touches Banner, his wounds close up and fade away, leaving behind perfectly undamaged skin. Fascinating. The woman must have noticed Pietro’s gaze, as she heads over to him once Banner is deemed healthy once more.

She extends her hand to him. “I’m Y/N. Y/N L/N.” Pietro takes it, allowing a small smile to grace his lips. “Pietro Maximoff. That’s a nice trick you did with Banner’s injuries.” Y/N laughs lightly. “You’re not the only one with inhuman abilities. Healing people is my specialty.” Y/N gives him a once-over, checking for wounds that need her attention. She finds a series of gashes across his arms, and they continue their conversation as she begins to heal them.

“Unlike you, I was born with my powers. They didn’t show up until I was around twelve or so, and they were slow to appear. I was able to keep them hidden until I healed someone in public, not knowing any better. Next thing I know, Tony Stark’s knocking on my door and asking if I want to help out with the Avengers.”

Pietro makes a small scoffing noise in the back of his throat at the mention of Stark. Even though he’s now fighting on the Avengers’ side against Ultron, he still feels resentment towards the billionaire after his weapons were used against the Maximoff family. Y/N evidently notices this, as she fixes him with an understanding gaze. 

“I know how you feel about Tony, but he’s not all that bad. He was one of the first people to help me control my abilities for the better, instead of having to hide them. This job with the Avengers is one of the best things that’s happened to me. He regrets everything that happened with his weapons, and he’s almost killing himself trying to make up for all of the blood that was shed. It won’t make up for what happened, but I hope you know he’s doing everything he can to make up for the wrongs he’s done in the past.”

Pietro nods slowly. “I know. It’s just hard to look at him without thinking of what happened.” He changes the topic. “What exactly is your role with the Avengers? I didn’t see you out in the city with them at first, and I don’t think you’re a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent.” Y/N studies the now healed gashes on his arm, then sits down next to him, taking advantage of a rare moment to rest.

“I’m kind of in between the Avengers and S.H.I.E.L.D. I don’t fight with them because my powers can’t really help in battle, but in the tough fights I come out onto the battleground to heal the worst of the injuries on the go. It just depends on what they need.” Pietro clicks his tongue, thinking. “Does it drain you, healing all of these injuries all of the time?”

Y/N nods exhaustedly. “You have no idea. It’s easier than you’d think because so many of them have pretty strong healing processes by themselves, but the more severe the injury, the harder it is on me. One time, after the Chitauri came to New York, I healed Tony after he almost died. I was unconscious for two or three days.”

Pietro whistles softly. “Wow. Do you think there’s a limit to how much you can do?” Y/N inclines her head. “I ran some tests with Tony a few years back to see what I could do so they could clear me for the field. I can heal almost any injury, and I can even bring someone back from the dead, but only once.”

Pietro looks at Y/N, confused. “What do you mean, only once?” Y/N sighs, looking up to the ceiling. “I can make someone come back to life after they die, but it will kill me instead. A life for a life, I guess. As long as I’ve known that, I’ve lived in a state of constant stress. With all the time I’ve been with the Avengers, I’ve seen so many people who died. How can I decide to give up my life to save someone else's if I can only do it once? How will I know it’s the right person?”

Pietro takes Y/N’s hand, holding it close to him. “In the end, I think that will have to be up to you. Just know this- I think I can speak for everyone here that we’d rather have you saving people now then give up your life for just one person.” Y/N smiles at him gratefully. “Thank you. I just can’t shake the feeling that at some point, I’ll have to do it. I just hope I have enough time to really live my life before I give it up.”

Y/N and Pietro talk the rest of the journey, and quickly grow close. When it’s time to head back to Sokovia, Pietro doesn’t want to say goodbye. He’s happy to hear that she will be coming with him to the city, as the Avengers want her around when things undoubtedly go south. However, Pietro knows Ultron will be bringing his forces, and he’s afraid that she will get hurt.

Pietro tries to keep her close when they enter the city. Y/N immediately runs over to the refugees as they’re brought onto the ships, healing almost everyone she encounters. When the Avengers need her help, Pietro helps bring her to them. She looks exhausted, but she keeps going no matter what. Pietro can’t help but admire that.

Before he knows it, the fight is practically over. Almost all of the Sokovian refugees are on the ships, and they’re about to take off when Hawkeye spots a lone boy separated from the others, unable to get back to his family because of attacking robots. Clint sprints over to the boy, and the two of them are about to get back when Pietro hears the drone of engines overhead.

It’s like everything moves in slow motion. There are Clint and the young boy, almost to the rest of the refugees and safety. There is Ultron in his ship, firing away. The bullets rain down around them, inches away from the two figures. Pietro starts moving. One last sacrifice.

He almost doesn’t feel the pain. He almost can’t feel anything. His vision is starting to fade, everything disappearing into a haze. He can see Clint looking up at him in horror, and Pietro has time to utter one last sentence before he collapses to the ground.

“You didn’t see that coming?”

Distantly, Pietro can hear someone screaming. There’s this loud noise, coming again and again. He realizes it’s his heartbeat. It sounds again and again, but it keeps slowing down. It beats once, twice more, and then it stops, and Pietro Maximoff is dead.

There’s darkness.

Then, a sound.

It’s barely there, something just a decibel or two above complete silence. But it’s something. Dully, Pietro thinks that he shouldn’t be able to hear anything. Didn’t he die? Maybe he’s gone on to something else, some place after life. The afterlife.

The sound grows louder. It sounds almost like the whir of machinery. Then there’s something else- hushed voices, gaining volume until it sounds like the voices are all around him. Pietro gains a new sensation- feeling. He’s lying down, eyes shut against the world. What is happening to him?

All of a sudden, his eyes fly open. It takes him a moment to take in his surroundings, for understanding to seep into his first few thoughts. He’s in a white room, lying in a bed. A hospital bed. There are faces around him- no, people. He can recognize them now- Clint, looking relieved. Banner and Dr. Cho discussing a readout in the background. There are other people moving in the hallway outside, and starting to enter the room. Steve, Nat, Tony.

There’s a woman next to him, beaming tearfully. For a second, he thinks it’s his mother. He stares at her in disbelief, but then his vision sharpens. No, it’s Wanda, and she’s embracing him now, still sobbing. “Don’t ever do that to me again.” Pietro feels a smile slide onto his face. There should be someone else here, right? There’s someone missing.

Y/N.

Where’s Y/N?

All of a sudden, Pietro is filled with panic. He looks around the room, but she is nowhere in sight. He turns to Wanda frantically. “Where is Y/N?” She doesn’t answer him, but a saddened, almost guilty look crosses her face. A realization is coming to him, one Pietro is terrified to face.

She could bring someone back from the dead, but only once.

Clint is standing next to him. “Y/N saved your life out there.” Pietro can only repeat himself. “Where is she?” Clint sighs and looks away. “She died. We brought her body back with us.” And just like that, Pietro shuts down. The heart monitor next to him starts beeping frantically, and doctors start to pour into the room. Pietro’s eyes jump from person to person. “I need to see her. She can’t be dead. She can’t be-”

He’s cut off by a pinching sensation in his arm, and then his vision starts to slide into blackness.

Pietro wakes up an hour or so later. Tranquilizers never worked well on him- they always made their way through his system far faster than they were supposed to. Wanda is still sitting next to him, her face weary and worn. Pietro’s voice is cracked and quiet, but she still hears him. “Y/N. Is she really-” He can’t say it. Wanda nods, taking his hand. “I’m sorry, Pietro. I’m so sorry.”

Pietro just sits there dully. “Is there nothing you can do? Please, Wanda. You have to save her.” Wanda inclines her head. “There might be something- a procedure, risky, but our best bet. It’ll take the abilities of both Vision and myself. We start in a few minutes, I just wanted to be here when you woke up.” Pietro looks at his sister pleadingly. “Thank you. Please, bring her back.” Wanda smiles sadly, then stands up, gently placing his blankets back across his lap from where they had fallen down in all the commotion of earlier that day.

Eventually, Pietro finds he can’t wait any longer. He removes the IV from his veins, swinging his legs out from the hospital bed to stand unsteadily on his own. It takes him a while, but he manages to make his way out and into the hallway. 

It’s pretty easy to tell which room is Y/N’s because of the amount of doctors circulating around it. Pietro sinks into a chair opposite it. He’s never been good at waiting;  always too full of the unbridled need to get up and be active to ever sit still for longer than a few seconds. Yet now, Pietro can’t bring himself to do anything but stay here and wait.

After a while, Wanda comes out. She seems paler than normal, probably after the exertion of using her abilities to save Y/N. Pietro can only look up at her, afraid to say anything. Wanda stops in front of him. “The procedure is done. We don’t know if it will work. Only time can tell.”

Once all of the doctors have finally filtered out of the room, Pietro drags himself to his feet and shuffles unsteadily through the doors. Y/N is lying on another hospital bed, looking deathly still. Pietro stands next to her, wrapping his fingers around her unresponsive hand. 

He’s not sure how long he stayed there, but his patience is rewarded when there’s a slight twitch in Y/N’s hand. Then, her eyelids flicker open and Pietro’s tension finally leaves him. She’s alright. That is enough.

It takes her a few seconds to focus, but then she looks at him dazedly. “What happened?” Pietro smiles down at her. “You saved my life, so we saved yours. By the way, I’m going to need you to never try that self-sacrificing thing again. You’ve scared almost everyone in the building.” Y/N squeezes his hand, adopting a mock frown. “Technically, I think you’re the one who sacrificed himself first.” 

Pietro laughs, a bright sound in the midst of all the quiet of the hospital. He leans down and presses a kiss to her cheek. “Maybe so. But we’ve got each other back, and that’s all we need.” She smiles up at him, and Pietro feels happier than he has in a long time. 

[argylemnwrites]

Why Are We Still Waiting? - Chapter 3

Pairing: Drake Walker x MC (Riley Liu)

Book: The Royal Romance (It Couldn’t Wait Another Moment universe)

Word Count: ~4900

Rating: PG-13 (brief language)

Summary: A trip to meet the newest Beaumont isn’t off to the greatest start.

Author’s Note: So, since it has been ages since I updated this story, I feel like a quick recap is in order. Drake and Riley are in Cordonia to meet Savannah and Bertrand’s new baby girl, Caroline. They just met Liam’s new girlfriend, Iris, and her innocent questions about their postponed wedding made it clear that Drake is very frustrated by the fact they aren’t married yet. To catch up/jog your memory fully on this series, you can check out the It Couldn’t Wait Another Moment masterlist (link in bio).

“Oh, for Christ’s sake,” Drake groaned as Riley reached forward to start scanning across the radio stations.

“What?” she asked. He noticed her give a tiny shrug out of the corner of his eye as she leaned back after settling on a Greek Top 40 station.

“I knew it. I swear you pick this one just to annoy me, Liu.” Drake had made the mistake of complaining about this particular station on one of their first trips back to Cordonia, right before she’d gone back to university. It was all over-produced and sugary, and the DJs were just fucking obnoxious. Of course, that last point probably didn’t actually bother Riley, since she couldn’t understand a word they said.

“Maybe I just like this station.” 

Drake glanced over and took in the giant shit-eating grin plastered across her face and just rolled his eyes. “Uh huh, sure. Let’s ignore the fact that this station plays a ton of songs in Greek.”

“I’m just trying to broaden my cultural horizons.”

“Says the woman who refused to watch Parasite because it has subtitles.’”

“If I wanted to read something, I would pick up a book,” she said, but she did lean forward again to flip over to a different station. 

“Thank you,” Drake said, clicking on the turn signal as he switched into the right lane.

“You make it too easy sometimes,” she said, Drake noticing that she shrugged a little out of the corner of his eye. “If you didn’t act like that station was pure torture, I probably wouldn’t enjoy it so much.”

All Drake could do was shake his head. “You know, some people might not be so open about liking something out of spite.”

“No, it’s not spite.” Drake glanced over and raised his eyebrows at that, so Riley elaborated. “Spite is mean-spirited. I know you like my teasing too much for it to be spite.”

“Really.” Drake deadpanned, although he wasn’t able to hold back his grin and fully play along.

“Uh huh. What other explanation is there for you hanging around me after all these years?”

“I can’t think of a single one,” he said, earning him a flick of her fingers against his shoulder.

“Well I guess I will have to keep teasing you then. Otherwise I might have to settle for a guy who would have made me get up before six this morning.”

Drake looked over at her at that. Even after years together, her ability to jump from intensely sarcastic to gently sincere in an instant still amazed him. Last night, Maxwell had called and offered to pick them up from the palace after dropping off Mom and Aunt Leona at the airport, but they had a very early departure time. Drake had turned him down, feeling like it would be a shitty move to force Riley to wake up early on vacation, particularly since she never complained about using her limited vacation days to visit his family. Yet here she was, appreciative of his gesture that cost him nothing.

“Maybe I just didn’t want to spend two hours in the car with Maxwell.”

She let out a laugh at that. “Well, at least I rank as better company in your book.”

“Always, Liu. Always.”

“Seriously though, thank you.”

“Of course.”

Her left hand settled on his shoulder and gave him a little squeeze at that, but she didn’t say anything else, just glanced out the window as Drake turned off the main road and onto the smaller one that led to the Beaumont’s estate. Within a few minutes, they were pulling onto the driveway. As they climbed out of the car, they heard an excited little voice calling from the direction of the estate’s entrance. 

“Uncle Drake!”

Drake closed the driver’s door and pivoted around quickly, crouching down and extending his arms. Bartie ran across the drive and threw his little arms around Drake’s neck, laughing as Drake scooped him up and hugged him tightly. 

“We saw your car diving! I wanted to go out. Say ‘hi’ like Mommy or Daddy. Uncle Maxwell said I had to stay inside. Had to stand still ‘til you stopped,” Bartie rambled off, barely taking time to take a breath. 

“Thought that a little toddler darting in front of the car might not be the best start to your visit,” added Maxwell, strolling over to their car. “Hey, little blossom,” he added as he hugged Riley.

“Oh, you don’t get to just ‘little blossom’ me after you convinced Liam to keep me away!” she chuckled as she gave him a playful shove. “What happened to me being a Beaumont and always welcome here?”

“He told you guys?” Maxwell asked, turning to glance at Drake.

“Of course he did!” Riley said, drawing Maxwell’s attention back to her. She laughed a bit and shook her head before walking around the car to Drake and Bartie. “Hey, Bartie! Wow, you’ve gotten so big!” Drake passed Bartie over to her, watching as she gave him a squeeze, but Bartie started squirming in her arms, clearly wanting to be released from the obligatory hugs.

Riley placed him down, and he turned right back to Drake, grabbing his hand and tugging on it. “Uncle Drake, come see my new playhouse!” he said, attempting to drag Drake along after him as he started moving back towards the estate.

“Hey, my favorite dude, do you remember why Aunt Riley and Uncle Drake are here?” Maxwell said, crouching in front of Bartie. 

Bartie kicked his foot against the driveway before he answered. “Everyone wants to see Caroline. But she’s boring. She doesn’t do anything!”

Drake was trying to figure out the best way to deal with his nephew’s clear jealousy, but Riley stepped forward and bent down next to Maxwell. “I would love to see your playhouse, Bartie.”

“What do you say?” added Maxwell. “Why don’t we show Aunt Riley while Uncle Drake goes to see your mom and dad and sister?”

Bartie was silent for a few moments, but then nodded, grabbing Riley and Maxwell’s hands and heading inside without a glance back. Maxwell chuckled, twisted around, and called out to Drake, “You remember where the nursery is, right?”

Drake nodded and raised a hand in acknowledgment, taking the time to pop the trunk and grab their luggage before venturing inside himself. He went straight upstairs, pausing only to place their bags in their usual room, before heading down the hall, turning to the left and entering the private quarters, making his way to the small room located all the way towards the end of the hallway, the last door on the right.

It seemed like just yesterday he was building a crib in there for Bartie when Savannah was moving in. The room looked much the same, the walls still a pale grey, the furniture all pure white. The layout hadn’t changed much, with the crib placed against the far wall beneath a painting of stars shining over a lake with a squid waving a tentacle in the air, the changing table right next to it, and the dresser next to the rocking chair in the corner. The only thing that looked different, as far as Drake could remember, was the sheet tucked around the crib mattress. Back when this had been Bartie’s room, the sheets were covered in a variety of zoo animals, the only splash of color in the otherwise greyscale nursery. Now, they were a black and white check, much more subdued.

Laying in the center of the crib, wrapped tightly in a light pink blanket, was a sleeping baby. Drake didn’t have a lot of experience with infants, but even he had heard you never wake a sleeping baby, so he stepped further into the room carefully, trying not to make a sound. When he reached the crib, he couldn’t help but stare. This was Caroline. His niece.

He wasn’t sure how long he stood there, just taking her in, but eventually Savannah’s voice caught his attention.

“Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s a bit creepy to just sneak into someone’s home and watch their child sleep?”

Drake turned his head to look over his shoulder. His sister was standing in the doorway, her arms crossed over her chest, an eyebrow cocked. “Hey, Sav. Maxwell sent me up here.”

“I should have known,” she said, walking over to join him by the crib, wrapping an arm around his waist as she gave him a half-hug. “I see you’ve met Caroline.”

“She’s beautiful,” Drake said, looking down again at the little baby in the crib, a few fine brown hairs covering her head. His niece. She was so tiny. It was kind of overwhelming, seeing her like this. When he’d met Bartie, it had been such a total shock that he even existed. Plus, he had been so much older than this. “Congratulations.”

“You can pick her up, you know.”

He shook his head. “I don’t want to disturb her.”

Savannah let out a few little chuckles. “She is the one who disturbs everyone most of the time. Besides, she’s just about due for a feeding.”

“I don’t know…”

“Come on, Drake. Just go wash your hands, and then you can hold her.”

And so a minute later, Drake found himself being handed his niece, so small and fragile-seeming. “Is this okay?” he asked, trying to make sure he walked the fine line between being gentle and holding her firmly as he tucked her against his chest.

“You aren’t going to hurt her!” Savannah laughed out.

“I just… I’ve never held a baby this little before. I don’t want to mess this up,” Drake said. Caroline felt so light in his arms. She was blinking, slowly becoming more alert after being shifted from her crib. Her bluish-grey eyes finally seemed to lock on his. “Hey, Caroline,” he said, “I’m your Uncle Drake.” But before he could think of anything else to say, she opened her mouth and let out a piercing wail.

Drake glanced over at Savannah. “What do I do?”

She laughed again. “God, what is Riley going to do with you when it’s your kid? She’s a baby, not an alien. She’s either hungry, sleepy, or has a dirty diaper.” But before she could poke fun at him any further, she reached over and shifted Caroline into her arms. “And since she’s hungry, I’m really the only one who can handle that.”

“Oh, do you want privacy or should I…”

Savannah shrugged. “I use a nursing blanket since Barthelemy walked in on me and made things real awkward.” And with that she settled onto the rocking chair, adjusting her top, positioning Caroline, then tugging a little cover over herself.

“What did Barthelemy do?” Drake asked as he moved to the side wall, leaning against it.

“Just acted real weird about the whole thing, talked to Bert about reminding me how a duchess should comport herself.”

“What a jackass.”

Savannah let out a sigh. “Bertrand was very apologetic when he relayed the message. But using a nursing blanket is not a big deal, and if it makes things easier for Bert with his dad…” She trailed off, staring down at Caroline, reaching under the nursing blanket to adjust something before she spoke again. “Having him around here has not exactly been some big happy family. I don’t know if his illness changed him, or if my memories of him were just fuzzy, but he’s an odd duck.”

Drake glanced over to the doorway. “Uhh, Sav. Not that I care, but the door is wide open and-”

She laughed and shook her head. “He’s at his rehab and physical therapy appointment this morning.”

“Ahh, gotcha. Any more talk of him trying to regain the title of duke?” Back when Barthelemy had returned to the estate, Sav had confided that it seemed like he was hinting that Bertrand should renounce his title and return it to his father. But since their wedding, it had seemed like most of that talk had died.

“No, he and Godfrey laid on the pressure after the honeymoon, but as soon as we announced the pregnancy, he backed off. His new mission seems to be to convince Liam that either Bartie or Caroline should be appointed as heir to the throne, which is crazy to think about, but it keeps him busy, so…” Savannah tilted her head to the side and raised her eyebrows, letting the thought just hang there in the room. 

Drake was bothered by the implications of that statement, but he knew that pressing Savannah on it would not really get him anywhere. As inappropriate and concerning as he found the implication that Savannah and Bertrand weren’t shutting Barthelemy down completely with that shit, he knew voicing his objections now would not solve anything. Discussing this all with Liam would make much more sense. So he just filed the statement away and moved to change the subject.

“Is it easier this time around, knowing what you are doing?”

Savannah smiled before glancing down at Caroline. “I think it’s more that I have a support system. And yes, I know it was my choice to not have one before,” she added before Drake could interject. “I guess in some ways at least I know what to expect, but Caroline is way more cranky than Bartie was at this age. Besides, I don’t think any parent ever really feels like they know what they are doing.”

“Nah, you seem to have it down.”

“It’s just a lot of trial and error. You’ll see when you guys have a baby.”

Drake ran his hand across his jaw, glancing down and watching his toes nudge into the baseboard. “I have a feeling that’s gonna be a while for us.”

“Oh come on! Don’t you want your kids to grow up with their cousins?”

Drake swallowed before taking a breath. “Of course I do.”

“Then what are you waiting for?”

“Well, getting married to start.” Shit. “Not that I think people have to be married to raise a kid or-”

“Relax, Drake,” Savannah said, cutting off his apologetic ramble. “It’s not like Bartie was a planned pregnancy.”

“Neither was Caroline,” he thought, but kept his mouth shut, not wanting to risk offending his sister or make her feel like he was judging her and her family. 

“I know you have an old-fashioned streak-”

“Hey!” Drake interjected, but Savannah just kept on going.

“-but I think you guys should think about having kids soon. You were going to be married by now anyway! And isn’t that the modern, New York thing to do?”

Drake didn’t know where all this was coming from. Why she was so insistent about something that didn’t involve her. But man, he wished she would move on to any other topic of conversation. Because what could he say? That he was ready to be married with kids? That he would have no problem starting a family with Riley tomorrow? He couldn’t share that with his sister, at least not without sharing things about Riley he was pretty confident she would never want Savannah to know.

The fact that she had decided on a birth control option that would last for three years made it pretty clear where her head was at with the whole kid thing. She wasn’t really ready, not by a long shot. And until she was ready, there was really nothing he could do about it. Drake was just going to have to wait until she felt like the time was right, whenever that might be.

Maybe it was just that he was four years older than her. Maybe that’s why he felt so ready to take those next steps when she seemed so unbothered, so willing to just roll along. And to be fair, it’s not like they were ever going to be a couple like Hana and Catherine, who had timelines and life plans and five year goals. But deep down, Drake couldn’t help but wonder why Riley seemed so ambivalent about them getting married and starting a family. Was she unsure about something in their relationship, unsure about something with him?

It’s not that she didn’t want kids ever, as far as he knew. She’d mentioned wanting kids before. And they’d planned that first wedding without issue. But now it seemed like she was stuck. No rush to get married. Not thinking about having kids for years. And Drake didn’t know how to approach the whole topic without seeming like he was demanding things. Putting pressure on her. He was happy. They were happy. It was something his younger self would have never thought possible, and it should definitely be enough. But maybe he was selfish, because there were times where it just didn’t feel like enough.

Maybe it would be helpful to talk to someone about this, but that would feel like violating Riley’s trust. He knew Riley had her therapist she talked to, and he was sure their relationship was a topic of conversation there, but that was different. The therapist wasn’t someone who knew Drake, who was his friend or family. Anyone Drake would feel comfortable talking about this with knew Riley. Knew her well, quite frankly. 

So for now, he was just going to have to keep moving forward. Keep hoping that Riley would start to feel ready soon. And at the moment, that meant sidestepping his sister’s questions and prodding.

“Geez, Sav! We haven’t even been here for an hour, and you are laying it on really thick.”

“Sorry, sorry! I know it’s not my business! If it makes you feel better, it’s not just with you. Kiara also told me I needed to back off when I started asking her about when she and Oliver were going to have kids right after their wedding.”

“Wait, when did Kiara get married?”

“Oh, Drake! At least you have an excuse for not knowing all the news now that you live abroad.” she said, shaking her head. “They eloped maybe… four months ago?”

And then Savannah was off, filling Drake in on tons of gossip he didn’t give two shits about. But it made her happy, and it was a safe topic of conversation, so who was he to complain?

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

Riley sat crossed legged on the floor in Bartie’s room at a little table, Maxwell seated across from her. Meanwhile, Bartie was hard at work at his toy kitchen set, organizing pieces of plastic food on plates. He wanted to show off and make “lunch” for them. Riley supposed that this was probably a common way for a three and a half year old to want to play, not that she had any such memories from her own childhood. What wasn’t common, she was sure, was the formal table setting Bartie had carefully placed in front of each of them, the perfectly pressed white apron he’d asked Maxwell to help him tie on, or the fact that he was arranging his plastic lettuce, eggs, and meat on actual china.

“Looks excellent, my favorite dude,” said Maxwell as Bartie carefully carried over several plates to the table. “What’s on the menu?”

“Steak tartare with a fresh greens salad,” he said before turning and heading back towards his little kitchen.

“Wait, aren’t you going to join us?” asked Riley, trying to keep from bursting out in laughter at the thought of a preschooler preparing such a meal.

“Aunt Riley, no aprons at the table!” he said his eyes wide as he turned back to face her.

“Yeah, come on Aunt Riley, where are your manners?” Maxwell winked before twisting to look over at Bartie. “You need any help untying your apron there?”

“No, I can do it,” Bartie ground out, tugging on the ties without much luck.

“Okay, well I’m right here if you do need help,” Maxwell responded. Within five seconds, Bartie was back, standing right next to him.

“Thanks, Uncle Maxwell!” he said, happily pulling the apron off and jogging over to hang it up nicely once Maxwell had it untied.

“You’re working hard to maintain your title as best uncle.” Riley said.

“Every time you guys come to visit, he suddenly wants to go fishing and camping instead of having dance parties with me.”

Riley laughed at that. “We’re new and exciting, what can I say.”

“Easy for you to say, you’re the favorite aunt by default.”

“What does default mean?” asked Bartie, plopping down on the floor next to them.

“It means no other choices, dude.”

“Oh,” Bartie said, nodding before picking up his silverware, pretending to cut into the plastic in front of him with surprising coordination.

“So has Uncle Maxwell been hanging out with you a lot since your sister came home?”

Bartie shrugged. “I guess.”

“We’ve definitely been seeing some jealousy,” Maxwell said with a nod. “I kind of thought this might happen, so I made sure to clear my schedule for a handful of weeks around the due date.”

“That was thoughtful of you.”

Maxwell tilted his head to the side and smiled. “Hey, I’m favorite uncle for a reason.”

“Uncle Drake is my favorite,” said Bartie, causing Riley to burst out laughing.

“Dude, that wasn’t the deal! You’re gonna pay for this,” Maxwell said, leaning over and wiggling his fingers. “The squid’s about to attack.” With that, Maxwell started tickling Bartie, triggering wild giggles and Bartie rolling backwards on the floor.

“Bartie!” Bertrand’s voice cut across the room. Riley twisted over to find him standing in the hallway, his eyes scanning over the scene in front of him. “We don’t make our guests sit on the floor, do we?”

“No, Daddy.”

“Bertrand, it’s fine-” Riley started, but he held up a hand, cutting her off.

“What do we say, Bartie?”

“Sorry, Aunt Riley.”

All Riley could do was nod, accepting an apology from a toddler that felt entirely unnecessary.

“Good,” said Bertrand, “Now go wash your hands and get cleaned up for lunch.”

Bartie scampered out of the room, turning to his left in the hallway.

“I offered to play with him, Bertrand.”

“Well, he was told that you were coming to visit Caroline. He should have known better than to monopolize your time.”

Riley opened her mouth, ready to respond, but Maxwell grabbed her wrist and shook his head. 

“How are you, by the way? I apologize for not being there to greet you and Drake.”

“I’m good, Bertrand,” she said as she pushed herself up on her feet, walking over and giving him a loose hug. “Congrats, by the way.”

“Yes, thank you. Drake and Savannah have Caroline in the private lounge if you want to go meet her. If you’ll excuse me, I need to go check and make sure Bartie isn’t making a complete mess in the bathroom.”

And with that, Bertrand was off, following the path down the hallway that his son had just taken.

“Yikes,” said Riley as soon as he was out of earshot.

“Yeah, I know,” replied Maxwell, looping his arm around her shoulders and guiding her in the opposite direction. “That is another reason I made sure I didn’t have any need to be on set or in LA for any writers meetings for a few months.”

“He’s more of a tight ass than ever.”

“I think he’s very anxious because he missed this part of Bartie’s life. The amount of research he did and the number of parenting books he read is insane. But any time any little thing isn’t what he expects, he flips out.”

“What does Savannah think about that?” Riley asked, following Maxwell down the stairs.

“Either she’s too sleep deprived to notice, or she’s just pretending not to see it. I decided to give him two months to settle into things. If he’s still snapping at everyone then, well… I guess I’ll have to stage an intervention or something.”

“Wow. Well at least you’re here to look out for the kid.”

“Yup, figure I can keep things normal-ish for him. Though I will say between watching Bertrand spiral and hearing Caroline’s shrieks, any faint consideration I might have given to parenthood has gone straight out the window.”

Riley laughed, prompting Maxwell to keep going. “I’m serious! I know I told you I was pretty sure I was good being the fun uncle, but these past few weeks have really locked in that decision. Don’t tell anyone I told you this, but Bartie is right - Caroline is boring. And loud. And I am so glad she is not my responsibility.”

All Riley could do was laugh more. “Do you need me to make up an excuse for you so you don’t need to be in the same room with her?”

Maxwell nudged her with his shoulder. “Oh, laugh it up! I don’t have any issues with her. She just confirmed that fatherhood is not for me, no matter how cute she is when she isn’t screaming her head off.”

At that point, they entered the lounge, so Riley dropped any further teasing she had for Maxwell. “Hey, Savannah. Congrats!” she said, walking across the room and giving her a hug.

“Thank you, Riley. It’s so good to see you!” Savannah replied as they pulled apart. Riley moved to sit down next to Drake on the couch, who was cradling a baby against his shoulder.

“This must be Caroline,” she said, watching as Drake tapped his hand against her back lightly.

“Either that or I have a lot of explaining to do,” Drake said, glancing over at her. Riley just smiled and nudged him lightly with her elbow.

“Drake, why don’t you let Riley hold her?” Savannah asked. “She should get to meet her aunt, too.”

“Do you want to?” Drake asked, his eyebrows raised.

“Of course,” said Riley, reaching over and helping him peel the tiny little girl off his chest, nestling her into her own arms.

Caroline was awake, her eyes roving around as Riley shifted back onto the couch more fully to try and get comfortable. After a few seconds, they seemed to settle on Riley’s face. All she could really do was stare back, taking in this child, this baby girl who might not have been planned, but would certainly be loved by so many.

“Yeah, I know I’m a stranger right now. But in a couple of decades, I’ll be the one you come to when you want nightclub recommendations in New York City.”

“Hey, I want in on that invite,” said Maxwell as Savannah let out a few chuckles. Riley glanced over at Drake, expecting him to be rolling his eyes or shaking his head, but instead was caught off guard by the intensity of his gaze. He was staring at her holding Caroline with such passion, such longing, she felt almost exposed. All she could think to do was drop her eyes back to the baby, not wanting to dwell on what that meant at that moment.

Unfortunately, Savannah must have noticed Drake as well, because she said, “Oh, I see that look. ‘A while’ my ass. I bet you’ll be pregnant by the end of the year.”

Drake let out a sort of sputtering cough at his sister’s comment, but before he could say anything, could so much as get a word out, Riley felt her own mouth opening. Her own response spilled out so glibly, without a second of thought. It was almost like she heard someone else saying the words, even as she knew she was the one speaking.

“Don’t give him any ideas.”

She felt Drake stiffen beside her, saw Maxwell shifting in his seat, and heard Savannah mutter out a little apology, but all of that was just background noise as her brain screamed at her. How could she have been so fucking stupid? What possessed her to say that? Or at least to phrase it like that? There were ways to shut down Savannah’s prying without implying that Drake had baby fever and she wanted no part of it.

The uncomfortable silence in the room was broken as Bertrand and Bartie entered. “Lunch is ready in the dining room,” said Bertrand, gesturing to the door behind him. Bertrand then stepped over to Riley. “I can go put her down,” he said, gesturing at his daughter still in Riley’s arms.

“Oh, sure thing,” said Riley, passing him Caroline before standing up. Savannah, Maxwell, and Bartie had already left the room, but Drake was still seated, his eyes locked on his knee that was bouncing up and down.

“Drake, I-” she started as soon as Bertrand had stepped out, extending her hand to help him to his feet. But Drake ignored the gesture, pushing his hands into the cushions of the couch instead.

“I’m hungry. Let’s just go eat, Riley.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t-.”

“It’s fine, Riley, Really. We can talk later” He nodded at her and started walking towards the door, leaving Riley to follow after him. And more than the brush off, more than his refusal to hold her hand, the fact that he’d not called her ‘Liu’ let her know that she had made a huge fucking mess.

Perma: @walkerswhiskeygirl @octobereighth @kimmiedoo5 @mom2000aggie

TRR/TRH: @twinkleallnight @iaminlovewithtrr @mskaneko @axwalker @jovialyouthmusic @marshmallowsandfire @kingliam2019 @sirbeepsalot @texaskitten30 @princessleac1 @ladyangel70 @debramcg1106 @masterofbluff  

Drake/MC: @no-one-u-know  @iplaydrake

ICWAM: @thequeenofpixels @sunnyxdazed @sammie0220​

[acciomalfoy]

fool’s gold (cedric diggory x reader)

summary: you’ve been best friends forever, and valentines hasn’t meant much until now

a/n: GO FOLLOW @fromashescomephoenixes THIS IS YET ANOTHER COLLAB WITH HER!!!!! FOLLOW NOW AND CHECK OUT HER FICS!!!

-

“I’m still not happy with you,” I said, and Cedric only laughed. “Stop laughing!” I scowled, and he swung an arm around me.

“The tournament is well and truly over, Y/n, and you never have to go in the Black Lake again.” He grinned at me, and I only scowled.

“You could’ve gotten killed, or worse, lost the tournament!” As a member of Slytherin, winning is absolutely everything. Maybe Ced dying was a tad worse.

“But I won.” His shit-eating grin said it all, and I whacked his shoulder. 

“Get off of your high horse.” I shook my head, and he stood up. For some reason he had taken to sitting at the Slytherin table during meals, not that I was about to complain. 

“Look’s like Sprout’s about to charge me, I’ll see you in potions?” He asked, and I nodded. Potions was definitely my favourite class, and it had nothing to do with a greasy haired git, but everything to do with the golden boy I sat next to.

“See you then.” Not a second after he left Eleanor Flint clutched my shoulder.

“You’re totally dating! When did he ask you out? Was it right after Chang dumped him, or did he wait a while? Waiting is totally more classy, but I can see Diggory not wanting to wait.” Eleanor babbled, and I stared at her.

“We aren’t dating, and nor does he want to.” I said, but as soon as the words left my mouth I knew I had made a mistake.

“But you want to.” El screeched, and I quickly covered her mouth with my hand.

“No! Cedric still likes Cho, I’m certain of it.” I said, and El pushed away my hand.

“Rumour has it she broke up with Diggory because you were in the lake and not her. If Diggory liked her more than you she would have been in the lake.” El was batshit crazy, I was positive.

“I was in the lake because I’ve been best friends with Ced since first year. I’m not listening to this, El.” I stood up quickly, and before she could continue arguing with me I speed walked my way out of the Great Hall. Good thing too, since I realised that I had left my advanced potions textbook in my dorm. 

The dungeons weren’t too far from the Great Hall, and I made it there in what I would consider record-timing. My textbook was on my desk, and it wasn’t until I was leaving did I see the note on my bed. 

I gingerly picked up the note, all too aware of how the Weasley twins had it out for the Slytherin house, and froze.

I’m like a crow on a wire, you’re the shining distraction that makes me fly.

I spun around the room, as if the writer of the notes would be standing in front of me, but the room was still, void of life aside Eleanor’s plant that was bordering death anyway.

I shook my head and stuffed the note in one of my robe pockets. I really didn’t have time to contemplate shit like this. With my potions book in my bag, I turned and left the dorm, soon entering the common room and eventually the hallways of the dungeons. I didn’t have to go far, since the potions room was only a couple corridors over. I slid into my seat seconds before Snape swept into the room, and I looked at Cedric who was already staring at me.

“What?” I whispered, and he looked at Snape before replying.

“Where were you?” He asked, and I pulled out my quill, ink pot, and finally some parchment.

My dorm, why?

You left the hall in a rush. Why’d you go to your dorm?

I forgot my potions book. Besides, El was killing me and I had to get out of there.

He nodded thoughtfully, and I decided to listen to Snape for once in my life. Anything to keep my mind occupied.

Later that afternoon, we were sat in the dark, stuffy tower for divination. The scent of lavender and peppermint was already overcoming my senses to cloud my mind and make me feel extremely sleepy. According to Trelawny peppermint was meant to sharpen seeing abilities, however I’m not sure anything can sharpen the non-existent...

Luckily, this was another class with Cedric. Merlin knows why we chose to continue it after OWLs, but I suppose that’s the Slytherin in me again: proving I can do it, and do it best.

Right as I’m preparing to drift into my sleepy daze, Ced nudges me. 

“Trelawny. Five o’clock,” he mouths, nodding his head in the direction of my left shoulder.

“Hello dears!” She springs up, slightly like a jack in a box. I entertain the thought of telling her so, but she cuts me off as I open my mouth.

“Have you seen anything in your teacups yet?” She questions, staring at us in a way that is a touch too dramatic for my taste. 

“Erm, yes.” I respond, trying to save Cedric’s skin since he just saved mine. Grabbing his emerald green tea cup, I grasp the golden yellow handle, and twist it three times. I’m not sure why... it just seemed right.

I glance at my book, but decide to wing it. 

“I see a knight- or er. Perhaps a hero?” Trelawny nods, her eyelids fluttering as she rests them close and furrows her brow. 

“No, it’s a knight in shining armour.” I nod, settling on this seeing. Cedric glances up slightly at the word ‘shining’ but shrugs it off quickly. He smirks at me,

“Oh, and what does that symbolise y/n?” His eyes flash slightly with mischief.

“It means you should keep your big mouth shut!” I glare at him, but can’t help cracking into a smile after a moment in his laughing gaze.

“Well dears,” Trelawny chirps at us, grabbing for the cup. “Indeed! I see...”

She gasps as I lazily flick my wand to float the cup off of the ground. I still wish I had remembered this trick when we were working with crystal balls...

“Oh Professor!” I groan miserably, despite the traces of thick sarcasm. “Please don’t say I’m due to die,” I throw myself back in my chair while Cedric tries to hold in a snort.

“I’m afraid you are my dear, in a most unfortunate incident involving a revolving door and a popsicle...”

—

“Charms is the worst.” Cedric groaned from beside me, and I nodded. Charms was fucking boring is what it was.

“Flitwick said it was a practical today.” I remembered, and Cedric brightened up considerably.

“About connecting minds?” He asked, and I nodded.

“I think so, partners?” I answered and asked, but I already knew what Cedric was going to say.

“Howdy.” He tipped an imaginary hat at me, and I sniggered.

“Attention seventh years! I’d like you all to get into pairs, and I will form the mind connecting spell. It will last for just one minute, and there may be minor discomfort as the minute comes to a close. Jordan and Berg, you’re first up.” Flitwick began the charm on the first Hufflepuff and Slytherin duo, and they laughed excitedly as the charm went into effect.

“Diggory and L/n, let’s get to it. Face one another and stare into each other’s eyes.” Flitwick instructed, and Ced beamed at me as we stared at each other.

“Now hold each other’s hands, please.” I felt myself growing sweaty at the thought, but Cedric took my hands with ease, and without breaking eye contact.

His grey eyes were more startling than ever, and I couldn’t help but wonder what the hell the pretty boy was thinking.

“Ut copulare,” Flitwick began murmuring until out of the corner of my eye I watched a flying wand hit the professor. “Oh!” Flitwick let out a startled cry, and Cedric and I nodded simultaneously as we broke eye contact to stare at him.

“Uh oh.” He tittered nervously, and I swallowed. The last time I heard a professor say uh oh was when Slughorn brewed a de-aging potion and it exploded on one of my classmates, rendering them to infancy for a good three weeks. Rumour had it she still used the pacifier from time to time.

“Do you feel okay?” Flitwick asked, and I nodded.

“I feel fine, Professor. In fact, I’ve never felt better.” This was a lie. I had woken up with a knot the size of a rats nest in my hair this morning, as well as having forgotten to do the potions homework last night. However, my teacher looked relieved, so I smiled at him.

“Same here.” Cedric added, and Flitwick sighed.

“Just in case the spell worked, I won’t be able to perform another one on you until at least a week from now.” Flitwick said, and with that he moved to another pair.

“Well I’d say that went well.” Cedric said, and I snickered.

“About as well as your date with Cho.” I was talking about his final date with Cho, which ended in her pouring a milkshake on his head. 

“You’re going to be the death of me.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, and I stuck my tongue out. 

—

“Salazar, what’s the reasoning for all these decorations?” I asked as we left charms. Pink and red decorations hung from ceiling to floor, and it was then that I realised it was Valentines next week.

“Every year the house elves go overboard. We should talk to them about it sometime.” Cedric wrinkled his nose, and I nodded. This was just too much.

“What’s going on over there?” I pointed to a circle that had formed, and it looked like two people were in the centre of it.

“Only one way to find out.” Cedric said, and we slowly approached it. Adrian, a fellow Slytherin, nodded at me.

“What’s going on?” I asked him, and he gestured to the pair inside the circle.

“They’re trapped until they kiss, because a rose fell from the ceiling right in front of them. It’s magically binding, so we could be here a while.” Adrian explained, and I tugged on Cedric’s arm.

“Did you hear that? It’s like mistletoe, they can’t leave til they kiss. It only happens when two people are in love.” I repeated, and Cedric nodded as we walked away from the circle.

“I barely survived the mistletoe.” Cedric said with a shiver, and I laughed as I remembered the girls that had chased Cedric down while waving mistletoe. It had been a sight for sore eyes.

“It’s okay, Ceddie. Time for lunch!”

—

“Could we maybe eat by the lake?” He asked, already having dodged three eager third years. The Great Hall was as busy as ever, and I noticed I myself was subject to several glares.

“I suppose.” I dramatically consented, grabbing two pumpkin pasties and some carrots with hummus from the nearest table. “Let’s go,” I led the charge. 

A particularly determined looking Goyle stood directly in my path, stationed by a suspicious rose. I debated how best to get around, when I felt my feet lift off of the floor altogether.

“Cedric!” I shouted as I was levitated a good ten feet across the hall towards the door. I could only hear Cedric’s laughter as he ran below me, and I ducked as I saw the doorway coming straight for my head.

“Mr. Diggory!” McGonagall was heard shouting across the hall, however we were already halfway to the lake.

Dissolving in a fit of laughter, we sank onto the bank of the lake. 

“Ah, back where it all began.” Cedric grinned towards me. I could think of a great deal of memories surrounding this lake, but I wasn’t entirely sure of any that had marked the beginning of something.

“What began?” I nudged him with my elbow and took a rather ‘unladylike’ bite of my pumpkin pasty.

Cerdric shrugged, and responded by taking a large mouthful of his own. He then grinned with a pumpkin paste covering his teeth.

“Ugh, you’re disgusting!” I threw a pebble at him gently. He simply transformed it into a golden finch. And so, another calm, sunny day was passed by the lake.

••••

After lunch, I took a quick trip to the dorms while Cedric was in quidditch practise. I needed to finish this potions essay, and only one person could save me.

“Come on, Y/n! You’re so slow.” Pansy teased as she speed-walked to the dorm, and I only huffed.

“These legs weren’t made for walking!” I shouted as she entered the portrait, and the only response was the faint echo of her laughter.

By the time I stepped through the portrait, the common-room was empty aside a few stray kids from the years below. I walked through the short hallway to our dorm, and Pansy was staring directly at me as I came in, a note in her hand. 

“I’m the first to admit that I’m reckless, I get lost in your beauty and I can’t see two feet in front of me.” Pansy read it aloud, and I froze.

“What the fuck is this?” She asked, and I shrugged.

“I don’t know. I got another one yesterday, I kinda forgot about it.” I explained, and Pansy raised an eyebrow.

“That’s sus, but whatever. Come on, let’s get to the library!”

—

“Holy Hippogriff!” I jumped as I felt a hard impact in my lower back. 

“You okay y/n?” Pansy frowned as I rubbed my back. I frowned back, puzzled by this unexplained pain.

“I think so? Something just hit me in the back,” I explained, glancing around for the remnants of a prank of some sort. None appeared. Pansy shrugged and returned to her potions work. I gathered my stuff, and debated where to head next. 

It was the end of the day, and I had completed all of my homework. So I was blessed with some nice free time. In a last second decision I veered towards the Quidditch pitch to meet Cedric after his practice. 

“Hey y/n!”  A sweet voice called out as I was about to duck out of the entrance hall.

“Hello Holly!” I spun on my heel. Holly was always quite nice to me, even though most of the Gryffindors avoided me. “How are you?” 

“Swell thanks,” she nodded. “Just wanted to say congrats to you and Diggory! You two are so cute together!” I blushed all the way up to my ears.

“No I-“ she was already speeding down the hall back towards the tower. I sighed and continued towards the pitch.

••••

“Y/n!” Cedric waved across the field towards me. I noticed him limping slightly, but didn’t think anything of it. 

“How was practice Ced?” I asked, and he only shrugged.

“Managed to take a bludger to the back, but it wasn’t too bad.” He said as he approached me. 

“Doesn’t look good if you’re limping. Want to go to Pomfrey’s?” I gestured towards the various windowsills side by side that was the infirmary, and Cedric shook his head.

“I’m fine, Hooch said it would be worn off by tomorrow. Did you get all your homework done?” He asked, and I saw his face flinch.

“That’s it. We’re going to the infirmary. Give me your arm. Besides, my back has been aching since the library. Maybe I can get it checked out.” He held his arm out curiously, and I wrapped it around my shoulder so I could help him put less pressure on his leg.

“Thanks, Y/n.” He said sheepishly, and I smiled at him.

“I got all my homework done, by the way. Pansy even helped me with the last part of the potions essay that we struggled to do, so I’ll explain it tonight or tomorrow.” I said, and Cedric nodded.

“Sounds good, let’s go.” 

—

“For some reason you’ve both bruised the exact same area in your lower back. Do you two have anything you’d like to share with me?” Pomfrey stared at us, and Cedric laughed.

“It's a complete coincidence!” He said, and I nodded, but I was mentally frowning.

There’s no such thing as coincidences.

—

“One day you’re going to spill the boiling water all over yourself.” I said as I watched Cedric in a feeble attempt to pour the water from 15 inches above into his teacup.

“I’m not the quidditch captain for nothing-ow!” Cedric yelped at the same time I hissed, and I quickly inspected my wrist.

“Some of it just landed on me!” I glared at him, and he stared blankly back.

“It landed on me, Y/n. You’re across the table it couldn’t have splashed you.” Cedric said slowly, and I realised my wrist was bone-dry.

“I swear to Godric I felt it hit me.” I said earnestly, and Cedric nodded.

“I don’t doubt it. Shall we go back to Pomfrey?” Cedric asked, and I shook my head.

“It’s probably nothing. Lighten up, Ced, we’re fine. We’ve got the lovely class of charms next, followed by Sprout’s endless herbology lectures.” I nudged Cedric with my elbow, but he still seemed upset.

“Hey, what’s up?” I leaned closer and murmured, and he leant his head on mine.

“What if it’s not nothing? What if we’ve been cursed somehow?” I wished I could erase the worry from his face.

“I highly doubt that. Hogwarts is one of the safest places ever, and if someone was going around cursing people we would definitely know about it.” I tried my best to reassure him, and he sighed.

“Okay, dipshit. I guess I trust you.”

— 

“Odds on you asking Sprout what the word sex means?” I asked, and Cedric laughed.

“Ten.” I looked at him in surprise. 

“You sure? That’s pretty low.” He nodded.

“Why wouldn’t I be sure?” He asked, and I snickered.

“No reason. Three, two, one!”

“Eight!” We both shouted, and I screeched with laughter. Ced was done for.

“No! Rematch!” He said desperately, and I tried to control my laughter.

“Nope! Go ask!” I put my hand over my mouth in an attempt to control my laughter again, and Cedric reluctantly raised his hand.

“Professor? I have a question.” Cedric called out, and Sprout turned around to face us.

“Yes dear?” She smiled at him, and I nudged Cedric’s leg.

“What’s sex?” The entirety of the Hufflepuff-Slytherin class erupted into screams, and Sprout gasped.

“Mr Diggory!” She exclaimed, and I genuinely thought I was going to piss myself.

“Well, as my head of house, I thought you would be the best teacher to ask.” He said, and I noticed his cheeks were bright red. He shot a glare at me before smiling innocently at Sprout. 

“If you stay after class I might be able to explain, however, we are currently in a herbology lesson!” She looked like she was about to cry, and I slapped Cedric’s arm as I laughed.

“You’re insane!” I said, and the smile he gave me made my breath get caught in my throat.

-

The next day I ran into Cedric just before potions. He was about to trip right over his own two feet, when I caught his hand. 

"Morning, clumsy!" I smirked slightly as he brushed off the imaginary dust he had acquired during his slip. 

"Morning, y/n," he mumbled, lacking his regular enthusiasm. After chatting for a minute or two he started to back away slowly. 

"Hey, I just have to run to the bathroom. I'll be back in time for class though!" He yelled over his shoulder now. He started to run down the stony corridor, however I realised after a moment that he was heading the wrong way. 

"Wait! Ced, you're heading towards the common rooms!" I tried to yell after him, but figured he'd learn it in a moment anyway. It's not like he hadn't learned this before either. He came to the Slytherin common room almost as much as I went to the Hufflepuff one. 

I followed his footsteps, figuring I would be able to talk to him on his way back. What I didn't expect was to see a single slip of parchment fluttering to the floor, and Cedric nowhere in sight. 

I bent down quickly to pick it up, crinkling the hard corners with my anxious movements. 

I’m like a boat on the water, you’re the raise on the waves that calm my mind.

It was in the same, scrawling writing as the other notes I had received, and the paper was exactly the same to all of the other's I had received. 

Was it Cedric? I flipped the paper over and looked at the blank back. He couldn't possibly love me. Could he? 

I smiled at the message, remembering when we met up over break once. We had taken his father’s boat sailing, and had somehow managed to capsize on three different occasions. I heard footsteps coming down the corridor, and I shoved the message in my pocket.

"Hey!" Cedric called out as he came near.

“Hi, Ced. Or should I say boat on the water?” I twirled the piece of paper around my fingers as he approached, and I watched as his face fell.

“That’s not mine.” He said quickly, and I raised my eyebrows.

“Hmm. If that’s true, then I better go search for my secret admirer.” I grinned as he took the bait and grabbed my hand, tugging me closer to him.

“How long have you known?” Ced asked, and I shrugged.

“I had my suspicions on Finch-Fletchley, but you proved me wrong with this note,” I laughed at Cedric’s reaction. “I’m joking of course, Ceddie. I had no idea who it was, but I’m glad it’s you.”

“Wait, really?” He seriously was the cutest. The way he was looking at me right now made me feel like the luckiest girl in the world; then again, I just might be.

“Of course I am. In case you hadn’t noticed, I’ve been trying to drop hints for four years.” Cedric laughed at my confession, and I elbowed him.

“Oi! I was only laughing because I’ve been dropping hints for five. I figured in our last year at school I may as well confess that I’m in love with you.” My breath caught in my throat, and he raised his hand to my face only to brush a piece of hair out of my eyes.

“You’re in love with me?” I asked, and he nodded.

“It’s practically impossible not to be. Now that you know it’s me, I was wondering if you wanted to be my valentine?” Cedric asked, and a rustling from above made us look up.

A red rose had just bloomed.

-

It was valentine's day. Of course, just about everywhere was packed with starry eyed couples. We had opted to stay at Hogwarts, and have a sweet picnic together. Cedric had taken care of the setting, and I had found all of the food. 

It wasn't a bad effort. In my opinion he went slightly overboard with the pink, but I did appreciate the various hints of green he had added with the plates and napkins. Plus, I had brought plenty of food from the kitchens (which Cedric had shown me in my fourth year) 

We settled down on the edge of the lake, and I took a moment to appreciate the sunny day, and the time I could finally spend with Cedric not just as friends, but as a couple. I laid down, and gently rested my head of Cedric's lap.

"We should have done this a lot sooner," I joked, but I meant it as well. Knowing I could have been dating Cedric for months before now was a little bittersweet. I tried to remember that at least we were here now together. 

I wasn't exactly sure if I believed in soulmates, but I knew that if I had a soulmate, it would be Cedric. 

"Thank goodness you found the note I was going to hide the other day," Cedric smiled.

"That's true, you're no Gryffindor," I teased. "Thank goodness!" I stuck my tongue out in mock disgust. 

And that's when things took a turn. I watched as Cho came up to us, with a nasty frown on her face. Her frown darkened our picnic almost instantly.

“Fuck.” I breathed under my voice. What in Merlin’s name could she possibly want with me and Cedric? Obviously we were about to find out.

“Ceddie, honey!” She sang sweetly as she came closer to us. Cedric shot me a look and quickly set a reassuring, soft kiss on my lips before getting up.

“Cho. What are you doing here?” He asked, sounding incredibly confused. He rubbed his hand through his hair, anxious about her mission

“I came to rescue you!” She grinned innocently. As she reached for her hand I couldn’t help myself.

“Hey! Back off!” She shot me a burning glare, and sent a stinging spell at my wrist.

“Shit,” Cedric and I spoke in unison as we both grabbed our wrists. I muttered a healing spell or two as I glared towards Cho.

“Look, Cho, go away. Okay?” Cedric tried to kindly shoo her away. “I’m perfectly happy with y/n!” I smiled softly, glad to here Cedric say that.

“It’s okay Ceddie! I realised exactly why it was her in that lake and not me!” Cho chirrped. She sounded quite proud of herself, and I was curious what on earth she had come up with.

“Yeah, it’s because I love her!” Cedric explained. Cho let out a shrill laugh, and patted his arm.

“No silly!” She smiled sweetly, as if explaining to a young child. “You THINK you love her!” She shot another laser like look towards me.

“I’m pretty sure I know who I love Cho!” Cedric’s face began to harden as he realised this wasn’t going to be easy to brush off.

“She used a love potion on you!” Cho screeched, grabbing hold of Cedric.

“I said let go of him!” I got up off the blanket and walked over.

“She’s best in our potions class, she’s loved you since we were 13, and she’s a fucking Slytherin!” Cho explained desperately! She had small, glistening tears in her eyes now. I almost felt pity for her, but I couldn’t.

I walked over slowly, deciding exactly what I should say.

“Being a Slytherin doesn’t make me evil Cho, just like you being a Ravenclaw doesn’t make you smart!” I frowned. I hated how much the stereotypes of our houses defined us. “People aren’t able to be perfectly categorised between four groups!” Cho glared and jabbed her wand at me.

Before I realised what was happening, Cedric jumped between me and the flash of white light, but it couldn't stop the spell for some reason. I doubled over in excruciating pain that hit right around my belly button. It was as if my stomach had turned inside out and began to burn the surrounding flesh. I glanced over, and Cedric was in obvious pain as well. 

I couldn’t contain the whimper that escaped from my mouth, and Cedric met my eyes.

“How the hell did you hit Y/n with that?” He spat out, while Cho only stared at us in shock and what looked like panic. After Cedric let out what sounded like a painful groan, Cho waved her wand and relief flooded me.

“Tell me! How did you do it?” Now that he was able to stand up without pain, Cedric got incredibly close to her, towering over her. 

“I-I don’t know! You jumped in front, she must have been faking it!” I watched as Cedric lowered the manicured finger she had pointed at me, and whispered something in her ear. The effect in had on her was instantaneous; she slowly stepped away before turning tail and bolting away.

“We need to go to Pomfrey.” Cedric spoke without looking at me, though when I clasped his hand he squeezed mine tightly.

-

“I don’t know what to tell the pair of you. Have you been hit by an unknown spell in the past month or so?” Pomfrey looked tired, I noticed.

I wondered how often she slept.

“Not that I can think of.” Cedric said, and I nodded. 

“Unless someone’s hit us without us noticing, then no.” I added, and Pomfrey sighed.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with the two of you. I’ve only heard of cases like these, never seen one myself. I think there’s only been four or five documented.” She explained, causing Ced and I to exchange glances.

“Well, what happened to those people?” I asked the obvious question, since my lovely boyfriend clearly wasn’t going to. Pomfrey shifted slightly.

“One person in each pair died before a full analysis and case study could be completed.” I almost laughed at the look on Cedric’s face until I realised that one of us was totally going to die soon.

“Well, my darling, it was lovely knowing you.” I patted him on the back, and he wrapped his arms around me, encasing me with love.

“What can we do?” Cedric asked, and Pomfrey shook her head.

“Not a whole lot. Try and remember if the pair of you have been struck by a spell in the past though.” 

-

It took fourteen seconds after we left the infirmary to Cedric to slap his forehead.

“I think we’re stupid.” He said, and I raised an eyebrow.

“Speak for yourself. Personally, I’m the smartest person I know.” He snickered, and I frowned. Where was the joke?

“Flitwick hit us with that spell, remember? And the spell was interrupted halfway through, which created a new spell entirely.” Cedric explained, and I sighed.

“I think we’re stupid too.”

-

We'd spent another lovely 10 years being stupid together. Sure we'd had our ups and downs, but we always knew that we were soulmates.

 Since we had found out about the spell, we've helped Flitwick research whatever charm had put us in the situation of feeling each others pain. It was actually quite strange when I was pregnant with our son, Cedric had noticed the contractions first. 

 After spending a couple of years with Flitwick researching the spell, we'd moved to Scotland and gotten married. Life had been quite pleasant. We owned a small farm where we raised cows and hippogriffs alike. Our son was now 6 years old, and had already decided that he wanted to be in Slytherin 'Just like mummy!'  

Currently we were sitting in our favorite wizarding restaurant. I gazed over towards Cedric's kind face as he helped our son go through the maze on the children's menu. I grinned over at my two lovely boys, and nudged Cedric with my foot under the table.

"Hm?" He looked up, and our son copied him. I smiled towards them both, and silently thanked Merlin that I had these two lovely boys in my life.

"What do you want to eat?" I held up the menu, and raised my eyebrows. Cedric and our son looked at each other and then looked back towards be in sync. 

"PIZZA!" They said together. I giggled and they quickly joined in. 

Just as we share pain, Cedric and I share the multitude of joys that have bloomed in our lives. And that made the joy all the better.

[seanfalco]

Want | Priest!Kay x Reader {Part III}

Fandom: Season of the Witch Modern!AU Word Count: 2.3k Warnings: Catholicism, Religious imagery, Angst, Infidelity  (I’m also not Catholic, so hopefully I haven’t made any glaring errors.)

masterlist

Kay stood by the sanctuary doors under the pretense of greeting his parishioners, but really he was searching for one in particular.

He’d barely been able to eat or sleep since their mid-week lesson, [y/n]’s confession of feelings leaving him conflicted and distracted, barely getting this week’s sermon prepared on time.  Unsure what he would even say to her when he saw her— he knew nothing he could say would make things alright, not after he’d rejected her, but that didn’t stop him from just wanting to see her.

But when her fiance and his parents walked in, [y/n] nowhere to be seen, his heart dropped to his stomach, sharp disappointment filling him til he nearly couldn’t breathe.

“No [y/n] today?” he asked as he shook the others’ hands, keeping his voice carefully neutral.

“No, she’s not feeling well today,” Matthew answered.  “She’s been feeling off for several days now actually.”

“Poor dear, hopefully it’ll pass soon,” his mother murmured and Kay nodded, watching them as they took their seats, a frown twisting his lips.

What were the odds that [y/n] was actually sick and not just feigning illness to avoid him?  His stomach churned at the thought, but he made his way dutifully to the altar to start Mass.

If he thought it was hard to concentrate when [y/n] was out in the congregation watching him, this was even worse, his thoughts continuously straying to what she was doing, and if she was alright.

He ended up losing his place several times and by the end of the service he felt so anxious he thought he might be ill himself.  He idly thought about calling her from his office to check on her, but it wasn’t as if she’d be likely to answer, and there was no way he could just show up at her apartment — that’d be incredibly inappropriate, besides, what would he even say?

He already knew there was nothing he could say, though he wanted to.

Shaking himself from his thoughts, he noticed someone enter the confessional and he sighed, heading that way.

This is your duty, get yourself under control, Kay, he told himself, opening the door to the priest’s compartment and took his seat.  Through the latticed partition he couldn’t tell exactly who was on the other side, and his thoughts returned to the other day.

“I’ve been having… impure thoughts.”

He shivered at the memory, his mind wanting to chase that line of thought to speculate what sort of sinful scenarios she’d been imagining him in.

No, Kay, what is wrong with you? He thought frantically.  Do not be swayed by sweet temptation.

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.  It’s been, uh… well, a while since my last confession.”

Matthew’s voice on the other side of the partition jerked Kay back to the present, his gut twisting with guilt at what he’d nearly allowed himself to think about the other man’s betrothed.

“Go ahead, my child,” Kay prompted, hoping the other man wouldn’t notice how strained his voice was.

“Right, okay, uhh, where to start…?” Matthew mused.  He paused for a long moment as if thinking.  “Well, I’ve had a lot of sex… like, a lot,” he began, and Kay’s gut twisted farther at the thought of him and [y/n] before he forcefully pushed that image from his head.  “—And not just with my fiance.  There’s been others, sometimes even two at once—“

Kay frowned, interrupting the other man.

“Wait, are you saying you’re been unfaithful to [y/n]?” he asked, trying to keep the sharp bite of his anger from his voice.

“Well, yeah,” Matthew replied.  “I mean, as good as she in in bed, I don’t wanna be stuck having the same boring sex with one woman my whole life.  In fact, this whole marriage was my parents’ idea in the first place, and if I don’t go along with it they threatened to cut me off,” he explained, Kay’s anger mounting with each word.

“Does… does [y/n] know about this?” he asked, seething, his hands balling in his dark robes.

“No, I mean, she’d flip out if she did, and then she’d bail.”

Kay couldn’t believe what he was hearing, and he couldn’t even warn [y/n]— confession was sacred.  What he heard in the confessional couldn’t be revealed to anyone.  But the worst part about it was the irony.  He’d pushed her away when she’d tried to tell him she wasn’t happy, thinking he might be breaking up a loving marriage, but it was already doomed to begin with.  Of course [y/n] was unhappy.

“So… what, Father, how many Hail Mary’s do I need to do to be good?” Matthew asked, pulling Kay’s attention back to him and he scowled. 

“That’s not how it works,” he countered.  “To be forgiven, you must truly repent and feel sorry for what you’ve done, and vow to the best of your abilities to not give into temptation and repeat your sin,” he explained sharply.  “If you have no intention of ceasing your adulterous ways then you cannot truly be forgiven.”

“Alright, alright,” Matthew relented, “I promise to the best of my abilities to avoid temptation,” he exclaimed, though it was clear by the tone of his voice that he had no intention of stopping.

In a hollow voice, Kay absolved the man of his sins and sent him on his way, unable to bring himself to leave the solitude of the confessional yet.  [y/n]’s words swam in his head, guilt and desire and temptation following them, gripping him.

“I never wanted this!  I still have feelings for you.  They never went away!”

Who was he kidding?  She was still all he’d ever wanted.  And if Matthew couldn’t see just how special she was, he didn’t deserve her.  [y/n] was right, he couldn’t give her what she wanted… but maybe Kay could.

“Ah shit,” he muttered under his breath.  

Without another thought, lest he talk himself out of it, Kay pushed open the door and hurried back to his office, shedding his robe and grabbing his keys.

——

It was the insistent pounding at the door that roused you from your fitful slumber, and you rolled over to check the time on your phone.  It looked like Mass would be over by now, but you couldn’t believe that that was Matthew at the door.

Maybe if you didn’t answer, whoever it was would give up and go away.  Besides, you weren’t exactly fit to be seen at the moment—!not having bothered to shower or change for the last few days, your eyes swollen and bloodshot from crying for hours on end. 

However, when the knocking persisted, growing, if possible more frantic, you reluctantly pushed yourself out of bed and threw your robe around yourself as you shambled to the door.

“I’m comin’, hold your fucking horses!” you called, peering through the peephole while your hand rested on the door knob.

When you saw who was standing outside, looking nervously around, you jerked back, your pulse instantly pounding loudly in your ears.

For a moment, you pressed your forehead to the door, trying to decide what to do.

“[y/n], please, I know you’re in there!  I just want to talk,” Kay called through the door and you took a steadying breath, unlocking the deadbolt, but leaving the chain in place, pulling the door open only a crack.

“What’re you doing here, Kay?” you demanded, though you didn’t give him a chance to speak.  “I think you already know why I didn’t come to church today, and if you’re here to ask me to come back to do my lessons, I’m not going.  I’ll call the Parish office tomorrow and request a new teacher—“

“That’s not why I’m here!” he exclaimed hastily, cutting you off and your eyes widened.  “Please, can I come in?  I don’t want to speak through the door and I want — I need to talk to you!”

The desperation in his voice and the wild light in his emerald eyes made you pause.  Biting your lip, you considered his plea.

“Okay, just… hold on a sec.”

Shutting the door to unlatch the chain, you wondered if you’d come to regret this, but something in his voice, in his eyes had swayed you.  You’d never seen him quite so frantic before.  Opening the door fully, you stepped aside so he could enter and you noticed he wasn’t wearing his white collar.

“Thank you,” he murmured as he passed and you quickly shut the door behind him, turning to face him while folding your arms defensively over your chest.

You were about to demand why he was there again when he spoke first, rendering you momentarily speechless.

“Oh, [y/n], you look awful” he exclaimed softly, worry lacing his voice as he took a step toward you, his hand reaching out.

Quickly looking away, you wiped at your already raw eyes, hoping he wouldn’t notice the tears that were once more gathering.

“Kay… what do you want?” you asked instead, hating how your voice wavered.

He sighed heavily, his eyes going to the floor for a moment before lifting once more, his thick brows drawn down over a piercing gaze.

“Do you love him?” he demanded, his question taking you off guard and you faltered.

“I… I don’t know.  Why are you asking me that?”

At your answer Kay gaped at you in disbelief for a moment.  “Then why are you marrying him, [y/n]?” 

“I don’t know,” you replied automatically, your voice growing stronger as you continued.  “I don’t really have a choice, do I?  I need the stability Matthew can give me.  Besides, it’s not like I have much say in the matter, my parents—“

“That’s not a good enough reason!” Kay snapped and you recoiled as if slapped, knowing in your heart he was right.  “What about love?  Don’t you deserve that?” he exclaimed, a wild look in his eyes you’d never seen before.

The question stung and you bit your lip to keep from trembling.  “Yeah, well, maybe the man I love, I can’t have.  You made that clear enough the other day,” you muttered, drawing your arms around yourself and turning away so he couldn’t see the tears that filled your eyes.  “So, what does it matter anyway?”

Kay shook his head, opening his mouth to argue, but the words didn’t come.  Instead, he closed the distance between you in one stride, his hands going to your face as his lips collided with yours, taking you by surprise.

As soon as his lips found yours, his hands reverently cupping your cheeks, you froze, your mind reeling and your breath catching, and before you knew what you were doing, you were kissing him back with a desperation that nearly tore you in two.

You were dreaming.  You must be.

But no, he was real, and solid, and right there, kissing you like you’d imagined so many times.  

Clutching at his shirt, you pulled yourself against him and his hands left your face, his arms wrapping around you, embracing you tightly and you responded in kind, slipping your arms around his neck as your lips moved against his hungrily.

Gasping a hasty breath, you didn’t pull back for long, your tongue darting out to taste him, and he moaned into your mouth as he gave in.

All too soon however, he was pulling back to look at you, his long dark curls falling into his face, and you lifted your chin, your eyes finding his.  “What made you change your mind?” you asked softly, barely daring to breathe, afraid all this would be taken from you again if you questioned it.

“I...I made a mistake,” he replied uncertainly, but as he continued, the fierceness from earlier returned to his voice.  “I was a fool, alright?  I lied, when you asked if I still felt anything for you.  I’ve been lying to myself for most of my life,” he exclaimed.

“All I’ve ever wanted was you.  I never stopped loving you, [y/n],” he confessed, the ache in your heart growing.  “You deserve so much more than… him,” he nearly whispered.  

At his words a myriad of questions sprang to mind, all clamouring for attention — what did this mean?  How was it supposed to work?  You were technically still engaged.  It would look rather suspicious if you and Kay were suddenly to run off together, but—

Before you could focus on any one thought for too long, Kay’s mouth was on yours once more and this kiss, if possible, was more passionate than before, your back making contact with the wall behind you with a soft thud and all those thoughts fled.

All you wanted to think about was what was happening now, in this moment, everything else could come later.

Afterall, how long had you imagined this?

“Kay,” you murmured, whining softly as he drew back, though he still held you tightly.

“[y/n],” he sighed, affection thick in his voice as he pressed his forehead to yours, his curls brushing your face.  “I need to get back,” he continued reluctantly, and you whined louder.

“Stay,” you begged, not loosening your grasp on him.  Part of you was afraid if you let him go, he’d disappear.

“I can’t,” he choked, as if it took all his willpower to refuse you.

“But… what happens now?” you asked, reluctantly, letting him step out of your embrace.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, shaking his head as he caught his breath.  All he knew was that he wanted to stay and that was his sign to go… for now.  He was still a priest after all, even if his heart had given into this temptation.  “We’ll figure it out,” he promised, holding your face to press a kiss to your forehead.  

Watching him walk back out your door was one of the hardest things you’d ever done, but his promise echoed in your ears and you clutched to it. 

We’ll figure it out.

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

Everything Tag List: @magic-multicolored-miracle @midnightseance @etherealsxnder @iamsexytrash @orions-nebula @slutforrobbiebro @the-freckled-luba @xenteaart @gurlimtired @phoenixhits

[shieldwinter]

Walk the Line (A Stucky Marriage Fic)

A short Stucky fic, prompt coming from @magneticbucky! I hope you enjoy it! 

Bucky stared at himself in the mirror, reaching to adjust his tie for the umpteenth time that day. It continued to look crooked, skewed just the slightest bit to the right, not laying correctly down his chest. He huffed, and tugged on the fabric again, panic welling up in his chest at the idea of not looking perfect. He had to look his best. He was getting married today, after all. 

“Nat,” his voice came out as a whine, carrying over to the woman sitting comfortably in one of the various plush chairs in the changing room. At the call of her name, she stood up and walked over to him, the smallest of smiles playing on her lips.  “Have you never tied your own tie before?” She asked, a perfect eyebrow raised. He offered a shrug.

“I don’t remember how,” Bucky admitted, knowing he looked a bit lost as he glanced down at the navy blue tie, resting stark against the white of his dress shirt.  “It’s been so long since I had to dress up for any kind of occasion. Let alone… this.” His voice was strained, he was nervous. He didn’t know why, it was his wedding day after all. People always spoke about this being the best day of your life, but he was blatantly scared.  Scared of messing up, tripping over his own feet. Scared of forgetting his vows, and having Steve take one good look at him and change his mind, right then and there. 

“Relax,” Natasha piped up, tugging at the poorly tied knot of his tie, loosening the fabric so she could retie it properly. “I can smell smoke from here. You’re overthinking everything again. Steve loves you. He wouldn’t have asked you to marry him if he didn’t, James.”  Her words were reassuring. She always took perspective, and laid it out plain for him. It was why he asked her to walk him down the aisle — she was simply the best candidate. Ever since coming back to himself, Natasha had been that solid presence in his life, as well as Steve’s. He was eternally grateful to her. 

“Just, what if, after all of this, it doesn’t work?” He asked, and she sighed, looking at him with hopeless fondness in her green eyes.  “James, you two have been through hell together, and you’ve both stuck around. Sure, sometimes it was hard, but Steve never gave up on you. Don’t discredit him by thinking he’ll turn away now.” 

She was right. He shouldn’t worry so much. He knew, deep in his heart that Steve has always loved him, and he never wavered. Even when Bucky wasn’t himself, even when he couldn’t remember a lick of his childhood with Steve, and the war. Steve loved him when they were trading blows on the helicarrier, when he was chasing him across Europe.  Steve loved him. And he loved Steve, unconditionally. 

“You’re ready,” Natasha said, stepping away to take in the sight of him dressed in a white tux, a navy blue tie the only splash of colour on him. It was different — Bucky used to wearing darker colours in shades of black and greys — but it was Wanda’s suggestion for him to wear white. He thought he looked like the bride, but he was the one walking down the aisle — so maybe it was fitting.  “Am I?” He asked, reaching a hand up to brush at a loose piece of hair that had fallen from its bun. 

“You clean up nice. Now, come on. There’s a man waiting to marry you, and he’s probably more nervous than you.” That garnered a small chuckle out of Bucky, and he nodded, holding out his arm for Natasha to take. She looped hers easily through his, and led him out of the changing room into the hall — at the end stood the large wooden doors that would be opened to the ceremony room, where Steve waited for him. Where Steve waited to marry him. He could do this. It’s all he’s ever wanted, and he could do this. 

Bucky heard the beginnings of music, instrumental to an old tune that he could clearly remember playing on a beaten up radio in a run down apartment. It made him smile, and the doors were opened for him. The wedding was small, just a few rows of white chairs set up for their circle of friends — and those people rose to their feet at the sight of him. Natasha gave a squeeze to his bicep, and they began their walk together down the aisle.  Bucky’s eyes fleeted around, breathing heavy as they finally found Steve. God, were his eyes shining with tears? They looked glassy — even from here. He was dressed in a complimentary suit to his own, navy blue with a white tie. His blond hair was slicked back, away from his face and he looked beautiful. Simply beautiful. Steve was always a work of art. 

Beside Steve stood Sam, his gapped tooth smile broad, encouraging as he met Bucky’s eyes. Steve wasted no time in asking Sam to be his best man, and Bucky understood why. He was a solid presence, probably the only person who could keep Steve calm in his time away from Bucky while they prepared for the ceremony. 

“This is it,” Natasha said lowly, the distance between them and Steve closing quickly. His knees felt like they would give at any moment, but his pride kept him up right.  Soon, Natasha was handing him off, Steve’s hand stretched out to take Bucky’s metal one in his own. His grip was tight, knuckles white as he pulled Bucky up the one step to stand across from him. He was crying. 

“You look… good Buck.” Steve softly spoke, voice strained with emotion.  “Not so bad yourself,” he replied, amazed at his ability to speak without wavering. 

There was a ripple, as everyone sat down, and the minister they sought out to marry them opened a book.  “We are gathered here today to witness the joining of two hearts, two souls in matrimony. The couple have decided to write, and speak their own vows here today, so Steven, go ahead and begin.” 

The deep breath Steve took was visible by the rising of his shoulders. He stood straighter, and gazed down at Bucky with the softest look in his eyes. “Bucky, James,” he began, Bucky’s real name sounding odd coming from his lips. “You are… the light of my life. You have been for as long as I can remember, and I remember everything. You were a beacon, and I was just a moth seeking out that flame. The day you waltzed into my life, with all the swagger a boy on a schoolyard could possess, I knew you were the one I wanted by my side.  When we were young, it wasn’t possible. The feelings I had for you were looked down upon, were labelled as wrong. But how could love be wrong? How could my desire to stay by your side, fight by your side, be wrapped up in your embrace be unjust?” Steve’s eyes drifted closed, a pained expression fleeting across his face, and Bucky wanted nothing more than to kiss that pain away — but he held firm, and waited.  “When you died, I realised how much of my heart truly belonged to you. I didn’t have any direction anymore, no one to point me north or south, no one to be that beacon.  But then, somehow, we found each other again. And it was hard at first, knowing the pain you went through, knowing I wasn’t the man you needed then and there. But Bucky, my love never wavered.”

“Bucky Barnes, I vow to you that I will protect you. I vow that whatever hardships come our way, I will traverse them with you. I vow today, and forever more that I will love you unconditionally, through thick and thin.  You are my beacon, you are the love of my life, and I’m with you ‘til the end of the line.” 

He couldn’t breathe. God, he couldn’t breathe through the tears that welled in his throat, that clouded his vision. Steve just spoke everything Bucky had ever wanted to hear, and more.  He loved this man. He loved this man so much, it was painful, it was monumental. 

“Steven,” his voice cracked, and he had to swallow heavily before he could even begin getting the rest of his sentence out.  “I made a promise to myself that day on the schoolyard that this little twig of a boy would be the one I would go through hell for, and pal lemme tell you — I did. But I wouldn’t want it any other way.  You were the personification of hope, and belonging. You welcomed me, and all my roughness with a grace only an angel could possess. You were no angel though, don’t let that go to your head. You fought things twice your size at least once a week, and I really thought you’d be the end of me, but I’d go down with so much love in my heart that I could never be mad.  I loved you, through sickness and health, quite literally.  When I went to war, my heart felt like it was gone from my chest — because that heart is you. It’s always been you.”

“The day I should have died I came to grips with it quite quickly. I was grateful, because it was me and not you. I was grateful that you would get to go on, and live for the both of us. But now, standing here with you, I understand that it will never be one or the other, because Steven Rogers I vow that everything we do, we do together. I vow to protect you, and support you through the worst of times, and the best. I vow to be on your six, through whatever wars we face in the future. I vow, that when we do reach the end of the line, it’ll be together, because I can’t imagine a life without you in it.” 

Steve’s tears left steady tracks down his cheeks, but he made no motion to try and wipe them away, and Bucky was grateful — his cheeks wet as well. 

“Do you, Steven Grant Rogers, take James Buchanan Barnes, through sickness and health, until death do you part, to be your husband?”

“I do,” Steve’s words held such conviction, it rocked Bucky deep to his core. 

“And do you, James Buchanan Barnes, take Steven Grant Rogers, through sickness and health, until death do you part, to be your husband?”

“I do,” Bucky said, offering a nod, as if that’ll make the confirmation more firm, more real. 

“Then by the power invested in me, I now pronounce you husbands. You may now share a kiss,” the minister said, and it was Steve who surged forward, cradling Bucky’s face between his hands and pressing a firm kiss to his lips. It was tear soaked, and the most joyful thing Bucky had ever experienced. 

“I love you. God, I love you so much.” Bucky said when they pulled apart, the cheers around the room drowning out as he gazed into Steve’s baby blues. “‘Til the end of the line Buck. I mean it,” Steve whispered, arms wrapping firmly around him. 

FIN. 

[snowbellewells]

CSSS20 Fic: “One Little Ray of Hope”

Merry Merry Christmas @let-it-raines!!! Can you believe we ended up being each other’s Secret Santas?!?  It was all I could do not to spoil the surprise yesterday when you posted your amazing story gift for me, but here I am finally with yours in return, and I truly hope you will enjoy it.

You mentioned that you like friends-to-lovers and mutual pining, which I genuinely tried to do to the best of my ability. However, I discovered neither of those things are actually types of fic I have done much.  This comes out more like bantering crushes, and Emma-in-denial-finally-admitting-what-everyone-else-already-knows. I did set it in the Enchanted Forest for you, and I tried to mix in the humor and the feels so it has a bit of everything. And there are Christmas touches but it isn’t holiday overwhelming. I got to the stopping place I envisioned though, and it just wasn’t enough. I hope you will forgive me if I say this is only Part One and there will be a Part Two coming shortly once the holiday hoopla dies down. (In all honesty, I was anxious that my story was for you - I love your writing so much, and I am not at all sure this measures up! And then I read your gift and was even more blown away.)  Still, here’s hoping this brings a smile to a shipmate like you who has been so friendly and kind and made me smile with your writing all year long!  Part Two - and hopefully some fic cover art - to follow soon!)

“One Little Ray of Hope”

by: @snowbellewells

               Though the fire in the stone hearth was blazing merrily, the lights from their lamps combatted the dark sky and frigid wind blasting flurries of snow outside their windows, and the jovial voices of many of their regulars mingled on the air to make things cozy inside the little inn and tavern, Emma Swan still shivered at the winter's chill. There, was some hint of frost that wouldn't go away, forming small icy crystals inside her chest - one particular voice that always stood out from the rest to her ears, was missing. She cursed herself for noticing, cursed him for being so unmistakable, and slammed an empty tankard onto her tray as she cleared the just-vacated table more violently than she had meant to.

               Naturally Ruby would be passing by just then, on her way to wait on some exuberant new arrivals, and she playfully arched one of her dark brows with a teasing smirk. "Looks like someone's a little frustrated this evening."

               From over her shoulder, where Emma hadn't even realized anyone was nearby, Tink tittered with a playful little giggle to Ruby, "Well, you know, we do seem to be short some of Emma's favorite guests this evening…" pirate was not her special anything. Honestly, she was just tired, overworked, overheated, and ready for some fresh air away from the evening crowd. It didn't have anything to do with the fact that Captain Killian Jones, with his unfairly blue eyes and his stomach-flipping accent wasn't here pestering her and getting in her way. What did she care if his farewell to her before he set sail nearly two months' back was that he would return in time for the Yuletide festivities? False hope and nonsense, all of it anyway…

               And yet… tomorrow was Christmas day, her traitorous mind whispered as she plunked her heavy tray of dishes on the counter where the Widow Lucas - the proprietor of their inn, and 'Granny' to all of them - was serving up orders and Ashley was doing dishes as fast as she could to serve warm bread and hearty stew on them once more. Again, her approach was none too gentle, as she huffed out a breath of air and pushed her hair from her face impatiently.

               "Careful there, my girl. Any dishes you break will be comin' from your pay," the widow threatened idly. Granny put on a tough front - one had to in a rough and tumble harbor town - and she meant business if she had to bring out her crossbow from where she kept it close to hand beneath the counter, but she was a soft heart beneath the necessary bluster and hard shell. She loved all "her girls" and most of her patrons dearly, wanting them to know they were welcome and cared for in her inn - and while many like she and her granddaughter had little in the way of blood-related family, she aimed to give them a feeling of home in her place.

               Emma smiled slightly, acknowledging Granny's words without comment, despite knowing the older woman would do no such thing. She unloaded the dirtied tankards and bowls more carefully into the soapy water for Ashley and forced herself to draw a couple of deep breaths as Granny loaded her up with the next order.

               Just as Emma moved to lift the tray and move off again, Granny placed her own hand over Emma's kindly, keeping her there until Emma met her eyes. "Don't let Ruby irk you. She means no harm," was the quietly offered advice, to which Emma nodded sagely, already knowing as much. It was only when Granny winked and added, "Of course, if you're awaiting some handsome sailor, I wager he'll be here soon," that Emma let out an exasperated huff and spun away to the sound of her boss and pseudo-grandmother's laughter at her back. Shaking her head, she seethed, 'Everyone thinks I'm waiting for Jones…. Well, I'm not!'

               The night went on without much further interruption; the snow fell in continued flakes, swirled and eddied by the window and pilling up on the windowsills. Inside their crowded tavern, however, the cozy warmth continued to rise right along with the songs and laughter of those gathered within. Soon Emma found her face flushed, cheeks pinked from the heat and close quarters. Even as the gathered crowd began to dwindle, slowly trickling out the door and homeward in twos and threes, as she, Ruby, Tink, and Ashley began to wipe down empty tables and see to storing up leftover food and seeing drinks stoppered and sealed for the night. Granny had gone upstairs nearly an hour before as the midnight hour had come and gone, claiming her old bones needed the rest, and Mulan, who did not appear the musical type, but who had once confessed when more than a bit tipsy on dwarf mead that her parents had seen that she was learn all sorts of marriageable skills in the hopes of seeing her matched with a smart, dashing husband before she had left hoe to make her own way - had switched from plunking out bawdy sea shanties and reels for the gathered revelers and lighting begun pecking out chords to a few softer and slower Yuletide carols as a background accompaniment to the cleaning and the quieter murmurs of those who still lingered in conversation over their last drinks.

               Not long after, Ruby silently slipped out the kitchen exit in back with the solemn huntsman who came every night to break bread and drink not at all other than to drink in her presence and bask in her company had stood and followed her like a silent shade as she beckoned from the doorway. Ashley had headed upstairs herself for some rest in her own apartments, as had Tink, saying the last town gazette's gossip section was calling her name. Mulan had paused at the door before heading to her own house a couple streets over, telling Emma she would make rounds of the block first, to see that all stragglers had gone home, and no trouble was lingering about them before she left.

               Emma thanked the beautiful warrior sincerely, knowing that it was no more or less than the other woman did every night, determined that these friends who took her and all others at face value, welcoming all lost and weary travelers without trying to change them were safe and secure. She would see no harm come to the Widow Lucas and her adopted "sisters" on her watch; Emma knew Mulan took that charge upon herself as a sworn duty. The rest of them would never have put such weight on her shoulders, but each one of them also slept easier knowing Mulan was nearby. The slim build, shining curtain of silky black hair and delicate features could have long ago earned Mulan the hand of any prince, pirate, or nobleman who laid eyes on her, but those physical attributes all deceptively hid her strength, speed, and core of deadly steel if anyone threatened harm to those she loved.

               "We'll be alright," Emma assured again, as Mulan bid her goodnight. "Everyone was in good spirits this evening. No fights, no trouble. Please rest easy once you get home. I can't imagine anything should happen until we see you again tomorrow."

               "As you say," the raven-haired woman replied simply, and with a slight dip of her head in a bow, she turned and slipped into the night with such soundless agility and grace that she seemed to melt into the darkness - unseen in mere seconds.

               Closing the door at last, Emma latched it securely, making certain the tavern and rooms above were locked properly for the night. She then began to move about the large, open main room, blowing out the candles still left aglow on scattered tabletops and snuffing out the wall sconces as well as she made a final pass around the main space. At last her final chores were complete, one last lit candle in her hand as she stood before the front window, looking down the moonlit street toward the docks for a moment longer. Captain Jones and his crew had yet to be seen in town, and while she could tell the others she didn't care - could even tell herself that in the light of day - here alone in the silent frosty night, Emma couldn't help wondering where he might be, and if he were well.

               "Jones, if you're out there," she murmured, hoping only the snow and ice and the Christmas star would hear her, "Take care or yourself… and be safe 'til we meet again."

               She had crossed the darkened room, placed her hand on the stair rail and was on the first step up to the second floor, when she heard the lightest rapping at the side door into the alley. Pausing there, Emma held her breath, listening uncertainly for the knock again, hardly daring to hope. She only had her candle in hand, the shadows long around her. Were Ruby and her huntsman still outside keeping each other warm despite the winter's chill? Could there be a prowler who had lain in wait until their self-appointed guardian had left for the night, or might it be the visitor she had been promised? The face she had looked for in anticipation every time the inn's door had opened to welcome a new patron that night? She would deny it to anyone, but those dark brows arched up into his windswept hair in challenge or jest, over eyes as blue as his beloved ocean, had been sorely missed; she had hoped to see him home again for Christmas more than she wanted to allow herself.

               She drew nearer to the side entrance, not wishing to give any her presence if the person on the other side bore ill intent, but straining to hear all the same; seeking some sign she was right and to confirm the feeling she had about who awaited on the other side. Gathering her courage, Emma reached for the fireplace poker beside the large stone hearth. Its embers were now dead for the night, but only a short while ago it had been blazing hotly, heating the entire space. She was not some frightened child at any rate; she'd hold her own against any intruder if the opened door led to a nasty surprise.

               Sure enough, the rapping came again, more firmly and with the added hushed entreaty, "Swan? Are you still about, Lass? Emma Swan! It's Captain Jones if you're still about and wish to see your sailor!"

               Her concerns brushed aside at the tones of that voice she could not mistake, Emma let the metal of her makeshift weapon clatter against the stone as it dropped from her fingers. With an exuberant little cry, she was at the door and lifting the latch in a second. The candle in her hand flickered and nearly went out with the stunned breath that left her upon glimpsing his handsome form once again after so long away.

               To his credit, Jones didn't tease; instead looking rather stunned himself as his gaze appeared busy drinking her in as well. Soon, he slipped inside out of the blustery chill and, seeing that her hand holding lighted taper was shaking considerably, he took it from her with care and reached to light the nearest sconce, casting their immediate surroundings with enough warm glow by which to see.

               Finally, she regained enough of her faculties to speak, and Emma stuttered, "It seemed you were not coming, Captain. Ruby mocked me all day for my foul temper and Tink joined in of course to say it was due to my missing and certain pirate and his crew. The busybodies!" she scoffed. But then she reached across the space between hem to catch his hand. "I did worry you might have been arrested, or hurt, or wrecked…or lost…any number of things. Or perhaps I gave you no clear assurance, and instead you had moved on, not to return."

               Killian shook his head just barely, looking troubled that she could even think he would abandon or fail her so easily. "Hardly Lass," he stated fervently, a sort of fiery glow in his eyes she had not seen before. I did say I would return by Yuletide, did I not? A pirate I might be, but I still have my honor.  It would take more than the increased vigilance of the Evil Queen and her forces to keep me away."

               Emma sucked in a worried breath at the cause of his delay. They all hoped to keep far under the notice of the usurper monarch - as cold and cruel as she was darkly attractive, she would end a life as easily as snapping her fingers, and at the slightest provocation, real or imagined. Life had been all the harder and more fraught with danger since Regina had wrested the crown from her kind and gentle stepdaughter Snow White, the rightful heir to the crown. If Killian were wanted by Queen Regina and had snuck back into her borders only to keep his promise, Emma could not bear to consider what would happen if he were discovered.

               Now was the moment of truth, before anymore needless time slipped past. It was time she told him what she had realized while no teasing friends or rowdy onlookers were listening in. "I missed you," she finally managed to croak out around the lump in her throat. "Thank you… Killian…for keeping your word."

               He dipped his head to look into her eyes where she had dropped her gaze to her feet. A strong, calloused hand, warm and gentle in its intent, tipped her chin back up to stare into his searching gaze. "Of course, Swan - Emma. All I could have wished for this holiday was…" he paused, his tongue darting out to wet his lips nervously and a hand coming up to worry the spot behind his ear - gesture she had long ago noticed signified nervousness. But he plunged on determinedly, "was to see you again, to see you and give you this."

               Pulling a small pouch from some inner pocket of his long leather jacket, he held it out to her with sparkling eyes, appearing almost boyish for a moment in his eagerness to see her open his gift, and whispering "Happy Christmas, Emma," as he placed it in her upturned palm.

               Emma's mouth formed a surprised "O", having not expected or hoped for anything more than his safe return. Opening the ties, she tilted the soft material until the item within spilled out in her hand. Holding up a long, golden chain with an exquisite stone of lovely pale green, near to jade in color, swinging from it, she was enchanted by the pendant he had brought her. "Oh, it's gorgeous," she breathed, rather stunned at how nice the piece of jewelry was.  She wore (or even owned, to be honest) little of such finery.

               "It's sea glass," Killian explained, taking the piece back in nimble fingers when she offered it, then turned, lifting her long hair so he could place the chain around her neck and fasten it for her. "Though sailors believe sea glass is good luck, that it keeps the wearer safe, and I would always wish you to be so, I knew it had to be yours because of the color. It reminded me vividly of your eyes…" Though the necklace was secured, his fingers still grazed featherlight along her skin, causing prickles of awareness to course throughout her body, and his own voice had turned decidedly husky.

               At last, Emma turned to face him once more, breaking the trance between them, but needing to thank him, and for him to see how touched she was by his gift, even if her voice was breathless and her words trembled with emotion. "I don't know what to say. You shouldn't have, but I adore it all the same. I'll treasure it, Killian. Truly." And without further hesitation or pausing to think and second guess, Emma threw her arms around him, squeezing him tightly to her. "Thank you," she whispered against his chest, breathing in the salty, spicy essence of him and nuzzling against his chest. She realized with a force that almost knocked her off her feet that she never wanted to let go.

               She felt Killian Jones' fingers thread through her hair, stroking gently, reverently as they stood there wrapped up in each other, swaying slightly in the candle glow and the howl of the wind outside. Emma felt they might indeed stay that way forever, and that neither of them would mind at all, until more rapid knocking interrupted their silent moment. The door handle rattled urgently, and she heard a nervous voice she recognized as Killian's first mate's speaking in hurried words. "Cap'n, you told me to summon you when an hour had gone. I've already seen one patrol of black guard go by. If they notice the Jolly in the harbor…"

               "Aye, Smee," he gritted out, stopping the anxious flow of words. "Head back and make ready to sail. I'll follow in a moment."

               He sighed as he turned back to Emma, tracing his thumb over the apple of her cheek and pausing to caress the dimple in her chin as he cradled her face in his hand.

               "You have to go," she acknowledged reluctantly; hating it, but understanding and wanting to see him safe, just as he did her. Her words were wistful, wishing he could stay there with her - or that she could run away with him - but it was too much, too quickly, no matter how she dreaded being parted again so soon.

               "I must, for now," he affirmed, the regret lacing every syllable of his words. "But I hope that now you know I will return."

               She nodded mutely, her mind trying to memorize every detail of his face, his voice, his touch, until she could see him again. "And I will be here waiting for you," she promised with equal intent.

               Bending slightly, Killian brushed his lips against her cheek, his stubble tickling her skin and again making her shiver at the sensation. It was the lightest and most gallant of kisses, and yet it only served to make her burn for more - for him to take her in his arms, for those firm lips to kiss her everywhere, for him to take her to her own apartments, or back to his cabin. It would keep her burning for however long they might be kept apart.

               As he had to leave, heading out again into the dark night, Emma stood at the door watching until the very second his vanished from her sight, no longer able to deny how anxiously she would await his return.

[scullydubois]

Only the Light: Ch. 7

7/? | AU where Melissa moves in with Scully after Scully’s abduction | angst, msr slow-burn, some fluff | currently: s2, ep 12, Aubrey | T (for now?) | 3.7k | previous chapters | read on ao3 | tagging: @today-in-fic

A dubious figure from Scully's life visits her in a nightmare; Mulder tries to distract her with breakfast and a philosophical conversation.

[I’m getting a clearer picture of what I want this to be...thanks for bearing with me!]

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She’s entering the motel room again, just as she did only hours before. This time, something is wrong. She hears it as soon as she closes the door. Ragged breathing, like a dog worn out from a walk. She doesn’t have a dog, and she sure as hell hasn’t just taken one for a walk.

“Mulder?” she asks the darkness. She tries to think: was he just with her? Did he enter his own room, like she did hers? She cannot remember. For the life of her, she cannot remember.

The room’s silence is the unwanted answer to her question. A shadow moves in the darkness. Scully reaches for her gun with one hand and the bedside lamp with the other. Her hand slides over her belt, comes up empty. Her gun, what happened to it? She cannot remember this either. An act of faith will have to do. She sucks in a breath, clicks the light on.

There’s BJ, illuminated. Scully’s mind races to fill in the inconsistencies. This isn’t the BJ who left her in the bathroom earlier. Fear has written itself on her face and frozen her too. This phantom woman’s stomach bulges under her sweatshirt. She is heavily pregnant and... bleeding. That’s what it is. Blood, sickeningly red, trickling down BJ’s front like she’s starring in a low budget horror film.

“BJ!” Scully rushes toward her without a second thought. But BJ puts out her hands, backs toward the bathroom.

“No, Agent Scully, don’t!” she pleads. “He got me. It’s too late. He’ll get you too if you don’t leave.”

As Scully gets closer, she sees that the collar of BJ’s sweatshirt has been ripped. Beneath it, letters are inked in blood quite clearly across BJ’s chest: SISTER. Just like the crime scene photos of those women years ago.

Scully stops moving so that BJ will hold still. “Who, BJ? Who did this?”

“Him, he did.” A hand emerges from the shadowy bathroom, grips BJ by the rip in her collar, and slams her into the doorframe. A fresh spurt of blood glides down her and puddles at her feet. “Go, Scully, go!” she cries. “Please.”

But Scully won’t go, she could never abandon a situation like this. She moves closer to the bathroom, desperately wishing she had her gun and trying to piece together a back-up plan that might get both her and BJ out safely.

She puts on the most intimidating voice she possesses. “Let go of her now!”

“Let me have you and it’s a done deal.” The hand steps out of the shadows, becoming a body, becoming a nightmare. It is not possible, and yet it is happening. The delusional eyes of Duane Barry stare into hers.

Scully loses the ability to breath, to scream, to do anything except fear death. A thought pings in her brain. There’s something she does remember that revives her. Duane Barry’s dead. Mulder killed him. He told her that very day. Mulder wouldn’t lie about a thing like that, she is sure of it.

She is not quite sure what this means for the situation. She throws her shoulders back, lifts her head high. She is the survivor, and she will be victorious this time.

“No. You can’t have me, or BJ either. Go back to hell.” She steps toward BJ, holds out her hand. Duane’s fist is still clamped on BJ’s sweatshirt, right over her collarbone. She will not move.

“Duane Barry can have whatever he wants,” the man’s gritty voice says. “Duane Barry got eternity.”

“Eternal damnation,” Scully growls. “Now give it up.”

Duane Barry laughs. It’s hollow, devoid of any real emotion. The laughter of a dead man. He pushes BJ away from him, releases her shirt. She catapults into Scully, who steps in front of her like a shield.

“Go, BJ,” Scully orders.

“I can’t leave you.” BJ’s voice is the shakiest it’s ever been.

“You’ll bleed out. Go.”

Scully doesn’t hear her leave. She glances behind her, and BJ is not there anymore. It is just her and Duane now, like in her apartment, and the car, and though she doesn’t remember it, the field too. Mulder tells her he caught Duane there. That her necklace was in the trunk, and her blood. But not her.

She snaps back into the moment. This is something she will remember, and she needs to be present for it. Duane moves toward her. A gun appears in his hand. Her gun. Her weapon, somehow in his hands. He didn’t pick it up or pull it from his belt, it appeared. Just as abruptly as BJ disappeared.

“You think they’ll let you into heaven looking like that?” he sneers. He’s coming closer and closer.

“That’s not for me to say,” Scully replies, holding her ground.

“I’m not talking hypothetically,” Duane’s voice booms through the room. “Look at yourself!”

She’s not sure why, but she listens; maybe he’s an alien, maybe that’s why they kept coming after him, maybe they just wanted him back. It sure feels like he’s controlling her mind.

She looks down and immediately dissociates. This is not her. This is a trail of blood. How could someone call this a body?

SISTER is scribbled across her chest too. She doesn’t have to check to know. She has fallen victim, just as she predicted.

And then...she lurches out of bed, the cheap motel sheets strewn across the floor in her wake. She is on her knees against the cracked tile before she can put two and two together. Her stomach contents spill out of her like they’ve been waiting on a cue. If this is confession, the porcelain is her priest.

When her stomach can’t possibly spew any more, she flushes the toilet, then crawls over to the towel rack and pulls down her still drying towel. The tile has made creases on her hands. She lays the towel against her cheek, then rests her head against the edge of the toilet. This is what her simple night has come to.

She stays in this position while her strength finds its way back. She is just about to doze off when someone knocks on her door. She sighs, lifts her head, puts it back down again. At the sound of the second knock, she glances into the other room. Stray beams of light stream through the edges of the curtains. She hadn’t had time to glance at the clock in her mad dash to the bathroom. It’s morning already.

This suspicion is confirmed by Mulder’s concerned voice on the other side of the door. “Scully?”

She pushes herself up off the floor, hangs the towel back on the rack. “I’m here,” she calls. It comes out strained and raspy.

She shuffles toward the door, unsure of how to explain this situation. The clock reads 7:18. Mulder makes up for all the times he’s late to the J. Edgar Hoover building by getting an early start during their travels. She’s aware of this and usually beats him to the punch. Not today. She wonders why her alarm didn’t go off, then realizes she never set it.

She unlocks the door and opens it a crack, embarrassed by her silk pajamas and undoubtedly messy hair.

“Hey, sorry. I forgot to set my alarm.” Her voice is still not right.

“Are you okay?” His tone indicates that she must not be.

“I had a bad dream, that’s all.”

“You don’t look so good.” He lays a palm on the door, pushes it open to get a better view. Scully’s always been pale, but usually it reminds him of marble, like a statue of a Greek goddess. Right now she’s looking more like a ghost. Or like she’s seen one. “Can I come in?”

She closes the door so that just her face is visible. “I have to get dressed,” she protests. “Then we can get going. We’re meeting BJ at 9, right?”

“We have time,” Mulder insists, putting his hand on the door so she can’t shut it without smashing his fingers.  

“If we leave early enough, we can get breakfast on the way.”

Mulder wonders who she is trying to pander to, then lets go of the door. He knows how this goes. He’ll let her off easy now, she’ll be more willing to talk later. Their version of compromise.

“Okay, fine. You get ready, and we’ll stop for breakfast.”

“Great.” She presses her lips into a thin line that he thinks is supposed to be a smile. “I’ll be out in a few minutes.”

“I’ll start the car.”

She nods after him, watches him go. Their partnership, like all relationships, is an act of give and take. She gets the feeling that she has been taking too much lately and giving very little back. He deserves better, she knows this. It does not make her feel good.

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

Their car rattles along Aubrey’s main street. It’s classic Americana with narrow sidewalks, quaint storefronts, and altogether too much traffic for such a small town. While sitting at a redlight, Mulder taps the steering wheel absentmindedly and takes the opportunity to do some sight-seeing. He looks past Scully and notices a sign in the window of the building next to them claiming that it is an “authentic 1950s mom-and-pop diner.” “Best in Aubrey!” it brags. He smirks, then checks his mirror and enters the right-turn lane. Scully, who had been watching the light, glares at him.

“What are you doing?”

He takes the right turn. “You promised breakfast, remember?” He pulls into the small lot behind the cafe. “Whaddya say we go back in time? I can’t picture you in a poodle skirt, Scully.”

“Good.” Her bluntness makes Mulder laugh. His hearty chuckle is chicken soup to her soul. She tries to power through the flutter in her heart. “Is this place gonna have 1950s prices too? Cause if not, you’re paying.”

Mulder parks, cuts the engine. “I’ll take the risk.”

“And I’ll hold you to that.” She unclicks her seatbelt and opens the passenger door. Her heels hit the pavement with fervor. She’s trying to shake off the nightmare by putting on an extra tough, confident exterior. Fake it til you make it, right? She struts away from the car, hears Mulder click it locked behind her. How often is he the one lagging behind? She waits for him at the sidewalk, watching as he jogs toward her a bit like he’s running down the beach on Baywatch. She can’t tell if he’s doing the sexy slow motion thing on purpose or if that’s just his natural state.

“Do you think they’ll have a jukebox?” he asks, amused with himself. “Cause I forgot to bring my roll of quarters.”

“That’s too bad,” Scully intones, humoring him as she often does.

As he falls into step beside her, Scully is tempted to touch him. Nothing inappropriate, just a gesture that says, we are here walking together. She can’t think of an innocent way for a woman to do this to a man, and this annoys her. After all, he does this to her all the time, and she’s pretty positive it’s the only thing keeping her from becoming completely touch-starved. Sometimes he guides her by the small of her back, sometimes it’s more like a gentle hand on her elbow or shoulder. It reminds her of when she was a little girl and her father would let her take the lead in a crowd, whether it be a department store or a 4th of July parade. It built her confidence, having to cut a path for herself through what felt like skyscrapers of people. She could feel her father there the whole time, and so she knew she was safe. Not so easy these days.

To Scully’s left, Mulder wonders what his partner’s love language is. Not that he’s read a book on love languages or anything. I mean, it was just the one time. Now it sits on his shelf and gathers dust with all his other books! Nothing odd about that. He did manage to take the quiz in the back of the book before he put it up, though. He got mostly C’s, which meant that his love language was physical touch. This was not surprising to him, though not anything he’d ever thought deeply about either. Maybe it stems from the fact that his father was never very affectionate? Who can say, really?...It’s times like this he wishes he didn’t have a psychology degree.

“Hey, Scully,” he pipes up, figuring the topic can’t hurt. “Have you heard of the five love languages?”

“You mean the stupid self-help book?” she goads. “Yeah.”

He opens the diner door, a chirpy bell announcing their arrival. He holds it open while Scully steps into a recreation of a by-gone era complete with a long red counter with retro barstools, black-and-white tile on the floors and the walls, and, yes, a jukebox. Mulder points to it and glances at Scully, who simply shakes her head. Behind the counter, a waitress with pin curls and an apron dress addresses them.

“Welcome in, folks. Seat yourselves anywhere you’d like.”

Mulder thumbs toward the counter (because how else would you get the whole 50s diner experience?) but Scully, who has finally found an occasion to touch him, lays a hand on his bicep and pulls him over to a red leather booth.

They settle in, their eyes scanning the laminated menus and realizing that these are not, in fact, 1950s prices.

“Have you read it?” Mulder asks.

“I’m reading it right now, Mulder,” Scully says, stating the obvious.

“No, I mean the love languages book.”

“We’re still on this?”

Mulder lays his menu flat on the table, lifts his hands in surrender. “I just thought it would be an interesting thing to talk about.”

Scully sets her menu down too. “I’ve never read it, but you know who did and loved it? Melissa. She told me all about it.”

“Oh, really? What’s hers?”

“Uh, I think it was acts of service. Is that one?”

Mulder nods. “It’s acts of service, words of affirmation, quality time, receiving gifts, or physical touch.”

The waitress comes over with a steaming pot of coffee and asks if they’re interested. They both nod, and she fills two mugs to the brim. The liquid shivers as Scully blows on it.

“What’s yours?” she asks over the rim of her mug. “I’m assuming you’ve read the book.”

“Read the book and taken the quiz,” Mulder brags, topping it off with a smile. “I got physical touch.”

“Nice.” Scully files that information away for later. “Do you think that’s accurate?”

He shrugs. “It’s not wrong.”

“How can something be not right, but not wrong?”

His eyes, a caramel brown right now, brush over her. “I don’t know, Scully, how can something be not right, but not wrong?” he challenges.

She swallows, understanding what he is getting at. Some things are hard to justify. To yourself, to others. But when you take all the thinking out of it and just rely on the feeling...there are certain things that refuse to be resisted. She knows. She has tried to resist, and the universe has raised hell.

She rests her hands on the table. “What would I get?”

“What do I look like, a psychologist?” Mulder teases.

Scully giggles, looks at her hands. She disregards object permanence and figures that if she can’t see him, he must not see her. He doesn’t say anything, so she takes this to mean he doesn’t notice how most of the blood in her body has rushed to her face.

He does, and he thinks it’s cute how she’s at mercy of her trivial embarrassments. She reddens at the smallest things: dropping her keys, forgetting her jacket, adding up the total on a restaurant tab incorrectly. It’s refreshing actually, the way her feelings show on her face, especially since she so rarely puts them into words. She’s a beacon of sincerity in his otherwise insincere life.

She gathers herself enough to look him in the eyes. “Quiz me. You’ve read the book, so quiz me.”

Mulder mouth has gone dry for reasons he cannot quite explain. “Okay.” He rips open a packet of sugar, pours it into his coffee. He doesn’t even want it, he just needs something to do with his hands.

“Um…” he can’t look at her. “Which sounds more fulfilling to you: being served breakfast in bed, or being given, say, a box of chocolates, as an anniversary gift?”

“Breakfast in bed. But the chocolate would be good too.” She sips her coffee while she watches him process that.

“Okay...would you rather hear someone say ‘I love you’ or have them show it by holding hands or putting their arm around you?”

She has to think about this one. Her gut reaction is neither, frankly. Both are positive things, she wouldn’t be mad at either of them, but she’s looking for something more. Something deeper than words spoken millions of times or public displays of affection. She wants love that transcends the ordinary. Love that is bigger than love.

“The second one, I guess. But only under the right circumstances.”

“You have provisions to your love, do you?”

“Yes,” she says without wavering. “I do.”

Mulder wonders if the waitress might come over and defuse the growing tension before it manifests elsewhere. Like in a place that would make the situation incredibly embarrassing for him.

Scully lets her gaze fall over him. The sight of Mulder on the opposite side of a restaurant booth is one that has become very familiar to her, but it’s never any less satisfying. She holds on to the consistencies in her life now more than ever. This is one of them.

She follows his eye line toward the counter. “So do you have another question?” she asks, a purposeful break in his concentration.

He comes back to her. There are so many things he could say to her right now. So goddamn many. Following the theme of the morning, he picks one that feels neither right, nor wrong.

“Do you really care about your love language, or are you just humoring me?”

“I’m always humoring you, Mulder.”

Mulder chuckles. She smiles at her own joke and at the fact that it made him laugh. She literally was humoring him.

“But I am actually curious,” she clarifies. “I don’t see how an informal love language quiz could truly have detrimental effects.”

“Well, clearly. I’m the one coming up with it, so it’s foolproof.”

“No, it’s just so unscientific that I could never take it seriously enough to let it dictate my decisions.”

Mulder rubs his chest like he’s just been shot in the heart. “Ouch.”

“It’s a cute metric, nothing more,” she says lightly. “But keep going, two questions can’t be enough to determine my result.”

Mulder smiles. She’s a tricky one, his Scully. He opens his mouth, intent on getting into the deep stuff when the waitress finally shows up with her notepad and pencil.

“What can I get y’all?” she asks with phony cheer.

Scully orders first. Always.  “I’ll have the oatmeal with berries. Just the small bowl, and that’s all.”

The waitress nods, doesn’t even bother to scribble the order down. “And for you, sir?”

“I’ll have the scrambled eggs and bacon. And can I get that in 1950s prices?” He can’t resist.

The waitress chuckles, but in a tired way like she’s definitely heard that before. “You invent a time machine, then you sure can.”

Mulder nods, wonders if he might one day be able to do that. He doesn’t say this out loud, of course, and the waitress takes up their menus.

Scully turns her attention back to Mulder with the look of an embarrassed teenager.

“You just had to make that joke, didn’t you?”

He slurps his coffee. “Yes I did. And here’s your next question: have you ever really been in love?”

Scully’s jaw tightens. Has she?

“I don’t know, Mulder,” she remarks, weary. “What is love, exactly?”

She doesn’t mean for him to give a legitimate answer. As far as she’s concerned, that’s about as unanswerable as questions get.

He leans his elbows on the table, gets the twinkle in his eye that shows up when he’s stimulated. “In my mind, it’s defined by the extremes. The limits you would push. How far out of your comfort zone would you go for the person? What’s the most dangerous thing you'd be willing to do for them? That’s what love is to me. Going out of yourself and out of safety for the comfort of someone else.”

Scully is rendered speechless by how concise this explanation is. He’s given it some thought, definitely. But what he’s come up with...it’s like he verbalized the feeling she’s been looking for her whole life. She’s never understood why she had never fallen, what with the fairly decent guys who have prostrated themselves at her feet. She had never been willing to die for them. Or to forsake any piece of herself for them, really. That was the problem. That’s what makes this--she never thinks of it as anything but this, it’s a feeling too daunting to force into the confines of language--different. Before, she wasn’t willing to change when it was demanded. Now she is not asked to, but chooses it at her own will. She wants to, because it doesn’t feel like changing, it feels like coming closer to her authentic self.

“That’s a very philosophical answer,” she says, trying not to let on that her understanding of life was just sharpened. “I like it.”

“Mhmm.” He wants to. God, he wants to. He wants to do everything with her, every activity in the whole world. Even the unpleasant ones. Maybe that’s another symptom of love.

He clears his throat. The tension has clearly built. He tries to counter it by thinking of the way she looked this morning when she opened that door. Like a caved-in version of herself, like someone had scooped out the substance. She was hurting, and she wasn’t sharing her pain. This hurt him. Yet she wasn’t willing to talk about it, she wasn’t ready to take the risk. He had just given her his definition of love, and she agreed. Yet her actions are not representative of it. Clearly they aren’t in the same place. He can do nothing about this.

“You know, forget love languages,” Mulder declares. “They are stupid.” You either love, or you don’t love; that’s the part he keeps to himself. It’s a choice you have to make.

[cozy-the-overlord]

Okay, so yesterday when I woke up the first thing I saw was this post from @lokistan, which as you can see from my reblog made me immediately think of “gold rush” by Taylor Swift. It made me realize that out of all the folklore/evermore songs I’ve annotated and analyzed, I had yet to do “gold rush.” So I decided to remedy that immediately (I actually started writing this yesterday, but then my computer glitched and I lost all my work and I was too mad to start over again right away). And yes, I am aware that I just spent the last two hours of my life on something that probably no one will read, but I don’t care-- I love doing stuff like this so much. Here’s my interpretation of “gold rush”!

“gold rush” is the third track off of Taylor Swift’s ninth studio album evermore. It immediately stands out from the rest of the album sonically due to its ethereal production and Taylor’s lilting, dreamlike vocals. This is fitting as Taylor described this song as taking place “inside a single daydream where you get lost in thought for a minute and then snap out of it" (x). The daydream in question revolves around a person the narrator comes across and is so enchanted by that she begins to picture a life with them, while still being very aware that such a life can never really exist.

Gleaming, twinkling

Eyes like sinking

Ships on waters

So inviting, I almost jump in

The opening to the song also serves as the opening to the daydream with an immediate departure from reality—the narrator sees this person as a magical thing, thinking of sparkling, shining imagery in regard to them. The “gleaming, twinkling” serves a double purpose: gleaming inspires thoughts of shining metal such as gold, which makes sense as this is the person around whom a gold rush is about to begin, while twinkling evokes images of stars and stardom (twinkle twinkle little star anyone?), which serves to show that this person is both incredibly popular and totally out of reach.

In the second two lines, Taylor plays with enjambment, a poetic device in which the sentence continues even after the line break, which can be utilized to give the sentence a double meaning. “Eyes like sinking” sounds like a version of the common love song trope of being so fascinated with the beauty of your lover’s eyes that you could drown in them (Taylor herself has used this trope many times before, including in reputation’s “Gorgeous”: “ocean blue eyes, looking in mine, I feel like I might sink and drown and die”). This continues to show that this person is incredibly captivating and that the narrator especially is entranced by them.

However, the song continues so that the full sentence reads “eyes like sinking ships on waters,” which completely changes the image. A sinking ship is something that’s irrevocably doomed, something that you need to escape from in order to save your life. By using enjambment in this way, Taylor gives us an image of this person while simultaneously giving insight into the narrator’s internal struggle: this person is captivating, fascinating, enchanting and the narrator is undeniably drawn to them, but she also realizes that trying be with this person would not only never work, but would probably hurt her more in the long run. In other words, she’d go down with their ship. Even so, she still finds this churning water inviting, so much so that she almost jumps in—almost, because she does know better.

But I don’t like a gold rush, gold rush

I don’t like anticipating my face in a red flush

I don’t like that anyone would die to feel your touch

Everybody wants you

Everybody wonders what it would be like to love you

In the chorus, we have the lilting vocals and ethereal strings of the opening replaced with a conversational tone and a firm backbeat. While the opening was the daydream, the chorus is something closer to reality as the narrator giving her reasons for not wanting to get involved with this person.

The main reason is that she doesn’t like a gold rush, which she repeats several times throughout. A gold rush occurs when gold is discovered somewhere, resulting in a horde of people rushing to the site hoping to stake a claim and get rich. However, there’s never enough gold to go around, and with the perilous journey to the gold mines and the amount that the miners have to give up to get there (in the California Gold Rush of 1849, people on the east coast of the United States were leaving behind their entire lives to either travel across the country by wagon or to sail around the tip of South America in order to get to California for a chance at some gold), people actually tend to end up losing far more than they gain.

To the narrator, this person is the recently discovered gold. They’re gleaming and rare, and now everyone is in a mad scramble to get a piece of them. She realizes that she is not the only one who is desperate to be with this person, and that chances are she’d be one of the miners who loses everything should she try to go after them. She wouldn’t be in control—she’d only be “anticipating my face in a red flush,” anticipating embarrassment, getting flustered over a person she could never have.

Walk past, quick brush

I don’t like slow motion double vision in a rose blush

I don’t like that falling feels like flying ‘til the bone crush

Everybody wants you

But I don’t like a gold rush

The second part of the chorus imagines the overwhelming nature of any relationship she would have with this person. She emphasizes how just a quick brush with this person is enough to mess with her abilities to comprehend reality: being with this person would cause “slow motion double vision” and make her think that “falling feels like flying” until she hits the ground and the bones crush (a visceral image). She ends the chorus with an adamant “I don’t like a gold rush.” However, her daydream is far from over.

What must it be like to grow up that beautiful?

With your hair falling into place like dominoes

I see me padding cross your wooden floors

With my Eagles t-shirt hanging from the door

The lilting vocals are back as the narrator once again allows herself to ignore the elephant in the room and just focus on how entrancing this individual is. She goes as far to imagine a life with this person, where there’s a sense of intimacy and familiarity (also, apparently there’s some debate about whether the “Eagles t-shirt” references the band The Eagles or the Philadelphia football team? It doesn’t really matter, as the point of the line is to show that she’s imagining a place with this person where she feels at home and safe with them, but for the record I assumed it was the football team because Taylor’s from Pennsylvania).

At dinner parties

I’ll call you out on your contrarian shit

And the coastal town

We wandered round had never seen

A love as pure as it

And then it fades into the gray of my day-old tea

Cause it could never be

She continues to imagine a life with this person, focusing (as Taylor does best) on the simple moments. “Contrarian” describes a person who goes against popular opinion often just for the sake of going against popular opinion, and the narrator imagines a level of closeness with this person where she could call them out on it. She also conjures up grander memories—visiting a coastal town where their love is the purest thing within it. However, she seems to wake up from this daydream before returning to the reality-steeped chorus when she allows it to “fade into the gray of my day-old tea”—a image that certainly contrasts with the gleaming, twinkling gold of the person she’s dreaming about. I especially love that she specifies that the tea is not just gray, but day-old—it shows how her life is mundane and emotionless. The tea’s gone cold and she hasn’t drank it yet, because she’s wistfully dreaming about something else.

Because the chorus is exactly the same as the first, we’re going to skip to the next verse.

What must it be like to grow up that beautiful?

With your hair falling into place like dominoes

My mind turns your life into folklore

I can’t dare to dream about you anymore

Again, she’s allowing herself to fall into this daydream, but there’s a heightened sort of awareness this time. Instead of imagining an intimate, peaceful relationship, the narrator admits that it’s all in her head—she’s turning his life into folklore. Folklore, besides being the name of evermore’s sister album, also refers to “the traditional beliefs, legends, and customs, current among the common people” (“folklore, n. 1.” OED online), stories that are often passed down orally through generations and change slightly with each retelling. She’s realizing that her dreams about this person are nothing more than stories that she’s changing in order to live vicariously through them. Here, she admits that it’s useless to continue doing so: “I can’t dare to dream about you anymore.”

At dinner parties

I won’t call you out on your contrarian shit

And the coastal town

We never found, will never see

A love as pure as it

And it fades into the gray of my day-old tea

Cause it will never be

Here we have the same daydream as before, only modified to fit reality. She’s not going to call this person out on anything, because they don’t have that level of familiarity. They’ll never find this magical coastal town, and both they and it will never see this pure love because it doesn’t exist. This time, when the daydream fades into the gray of her day-old tea, it’s not with the wistful “it could never be,” but with a firm “it will never be.”

Gleaming, twinkling

Eyes like sinking

Ships on waters

So inviting, I almost jump in

We end where we begin, with the reminder that she could jump into this beautiful disaster, that she almost does, but she stops herself because she realizes it will never work out the way she wants to—she’ll only end up hurting herself. She spares herself from the gold rush.

[captainsuke]

Yusuf should be asleep, he should be wrapped around his husband's body, taking strength from the warmth he's never quite felt anywhere else.

Instead he's in the kitchen, the cool metal grip on his pistol warmed by his hand wrapped white knuckled around it.

He'd heard a noise.

He'd dreamed he'd heard a noise.

It doesn't matter. It's late and the little cottage they are currently calling home is empty, except for his sleeping husband, and Joe, standing vigil in the dark.

(rest of fic under the cut for all you ao3 haters)

There's a small gap between window and wall, and the wind flows through it with a whispering wail. Once all houses creaked and swayed and whistled with the wind, little leaks with pots that were emptied in the morning, a row of fine dust along the window sills and under the doors gifted from a night of wild wind. Now these things are considered nuisances, problems to be torn down and rebuilt new and unremarkable. His heart feels heavy tonight, the feeling of long years catching up on him and curling it's fingers around his soul.

Joe looks out the window of his and Nicky's little Maltese cottage, the moon shines bright enough behind shifting clouds that even the slivers of light allow Joe to see the branches of the apple tree in the front garden sway with the cool night's breeze. Many summers ago they'd laid in the shade of that tree, eating the sweetly tart fruit until they'd made themselves sick. He has a sketch - or eight - of the passing shadows dappling Nicky's face as he'd laid back, full and content.

A memory stacked upon another memory from the days they'd done the same with Andromache, years and years ago, four, five hundred years ago, filling their bellies with overripe apricots after several long hard years of fighting and barely being able to tell if they had even made a difference, let alone actually helped anyone. Even now Joe can close his eyes and see Qýuhn's hair blowing free in the cooling winds coming up along the Peloponnese peninsula. Andromache's fingers sticky with pasteli, her cheeks rosy where she laid them on Qýuhn's thigh. Nicolò, sunbleached and glowing in the golden of light of a Mediterranean sunset.

He remembers retelling the apple story when they'd all met up again, Booker with his ever present flask, Andy sharing long drinks from it, all them tired but smiling, leaning heavily of the heavenly taste of crisp apples and the folly of gorging on enough fresh fruit to upset their stomachs. Because it made Booker laugh. Because it gave them all something to laugh about, to distract themselves from the weather turning and Sèbastien's eyes growing cagey as the winter's teeth started to bite.

Nicky had stoked the cottage's fire til they'd been sweating in front of the tiny hearth, toasty and ridiculous in their undergarments, with thick woolen socks on their feet in respect for the wild weather that battered at the windows. He'd felt happy that they'd managed to turn that haunted look to smiling eyes that crinkled at the edges. Had that moment meant something? Anything? Nothing? Was the glow in his eyes merely momentary? A trick of light and the gleam of drunken eyes?

Would this be the rest of his days? Questioning every moment, desperately searching for where he went wrong, where he should have noticed Booker's pain. Looking for the moment that had been Sèbastien's last straw.

It's funny, Joe can joke, he can laugh, he can make vague reference and yell angry accusing words, he can recite a bit of original poem he's writing as he speaks, but he can't work out how to open his mouth and say the words why did you hurt me?

He's always horribly envied Nicky's ability to put his hurt away, to shelve it for later, or never if he feels it best. Even as he's pulled his hair out in frustration as his other half willfully tears himself to pieces in an effort to find a way to please everyone.

Oh, he knows they're both different shades of Not Dealing Well, both of them like a purpose to distract themselves.

Foolishly, stupidly, for a wild moment Joe wishes for someone else to try for them, to attack them, just so he can slip back into the head space of being a unit, a simple moving part in a machine much larger than himself, Nicky and him working hand in hand, two halves of a whole.

He desperately wishes for that feeling, for anything other than devastated, tearing, hating hurt that sits on his lungs like peine forte et dure, each time he feels like the worst of the pain has occurred he remembers some other occasion, some other memory now colored by betrayal.

He can forgive, he can sympathize, he can hold his brother close and cry for the losses he's suffered.

But anger stabs through at the thought of him not returning that empathy. Like he and all the kin before Booker haven't suffered days of death and nights of death. Day after day, month after month of unimaginable loss, not knowing how to stop it, how to help it, just enduring as time pass uncaring of the pain felt.

He's held Nicky as he begged for the end, for them to finally (please, please, please) be released from the unrelenting years of horrors, just as Nicky has pulled him close while he cried, screamed, wailed for even the slightest chance of reprieve. From the widow with dead eyes and fevered blush, burying her last child and going back to work at the sick houses, for the children with nothing – nothing - yet who could still muster a smile, for Nicky spitting blood, choking, drowning, dying, then coming back to do it all over again. Never ending and relentless.

This is stupid.

He is being stupid.

Awake in the middle of the night, stalking around their Malta house gun in hand, the most unnatural state of himself, but unable to rest, convinced that if he relaxed, if his guard dropped for a moment, he would lose it all.

He places the gun on the table, sits down, there's no peace or answers to be found in an old cottage kitchen by the sea at midnight.

All there is, is the long shadows of moonlight between furniture, the evening dishes neatly washed and drying on the sink, a glass full of pens on the table, Joe's gun now sitting atop Nicky's latest writing attempt. Never long, never complicated, Joe found himself devastated by each small letter his husband left for him, even the three thousand that merely read I love you ♥♥♥♥, he held each one to equal esteem, though Nicky barely seemed to remember writing them, he would just smile and say I was thinking of you.

you unmake me.

you remake me.

everyday

Doodled across cheap lined notepaper, tucked under his dinner plate. They'd shared that meal just a few hours ago, Nicky's eyes had been tired but he'd kissed Joe's curls with a soft smile as he'd served dinner.

A meal that had taken more than half the day to create because if Nicky had the time he found peace in simmering oil and tomatoes, in adding all the extra ingredients that might make an Italian swear but had delighted them so when they'd first tasted them, that now they'd add them to whatever meal they could.

It'd been less than a week and Nicky was already on first name basis with the halal butcher a few blocks away, and many a day they stroll the streets, collecting fresh produce from the little garden markets, stopping by Zakaria's so he could wrap the evening meal with a only my finest cut for my favorite customers and a wink, despite having claimed the same to the little Italian grandmother before them, blushing and waving her hands in a flustered, delighted stop motion.

Joe closes his eyes, feeling suddenly overwhelmed, like his heart would be beat out of his chest, fall out onto the floorboards that they'd sanded and placed lovingly when they'd first started rebuilding this little cottage. Nicky could live his life with just Yusuf and the sea and be happy, but Joe needed people, needed to see people living their lives no matter how mundane. No matter how out of sorts he's been since they arrived, exhausted and devastated from London, Nicky hadn't forgotten that.

And so Nicolò knows the butcher by name, and, in turn, Zakaria's fisherman boyfriend, who stocks the butcher shop with the freshest of catches and shies away from company, with deep sad eyes and ankle bones that jut out like he needs a Nonna to fuss over him.

And so he's befriended the old ladies from the markets who give him unsolicited advice on his roses, on his apple tree, on the lush green vine that flowers bright bursts of color, on how to keep That Nice Young Man He's Always With happy.

And so each of these people is a friend of Joe's as well.

Joe takes one last long look out the window. Daring anyone who might be out there to take the moment. To give him a reprieve from his thoughts.

But the apple trees branches are the only thing moving. Wind rustling leaves the only sounds to be heard over the soft ebbing crash of waves in the distance.

There's no respite to be found tonight, he thinks as he put his pistol away. Part of him aches to remain armed, to keep vigilant, because last time, last time, but he won't walk into their bedroom with a loaded gun in hand. Not tonight when he feels like his very soul has been twisted, not when he still feels as if unseen eyes are watching him.

As Joe closes the bedroom door behind him, eyes open slow but sharp, immediately awake, perhaps awake before Joe came in. His Nicky is a light sleeper, more prone to 3 or 4 hours sleep before waking alert and ready to face the living hours,.

Nicky's eyes go soft, the faintest of gentle smiles curling his lips as he focuses on Yusuf.

“Where are you, my love?” he asks with quiet rasping voice of someone newly woken.

He doesn't know, he feels adrift, but Nicky's hand moves, reaches out and Joe crosses the room to take it as the lifeline he needs.

“What do you need?” His voice is steady and calm and ready to promise anything in his power to Joe.

And Joe feels his heart constrict, he can't live without this man, he thinks wildly

(a flash, a dagger in the dark, Nicolò on the ground, a halo of his blood, his beautiful skull, his precious brains scattered across the floor without second thought)

he wants to know Andy's okay, he wants her and Nile here immediately so he can see for himself that they're safe, he wants Qýuhn in his arms so much it physically aches. He wants her dark humor and her sharp eyes. He wants to hear her screech like stepped on cat whenever something delighted her. He wants Booker snorting into his wine at some stupid joke, he wants to know he's alive, that he hasn't thrown himself into another stupid situation.

In the morning, he thinks, in the morning he'll speak to Nile, her occasional furtive texting isn't quite as secretive as she perhaps thinks but none of them had felt the need to tell her to stop.

In the morning, he can wait til morning to soothe the lies and worries that his anxiety haunts him with. Til then, he threads his hands tighter with Nicky's, lets him pull Joe to bed, lets him rearrange them til he's flat on his back with Joe's head is resting on his chest, Nicolò's heartbeat in his ear.

He keeps a hold of Joe's hand, brings it up to his lips, presses a kiss to where they're joined, then curls it close to Joe and his chest, as if shielding it against the rest of the world.

“You, just you.” Joe tells the darkness.

“You have me,” Nicolò says, his breath, his lips, his jaw moving against Joe's curls.

“What do you need?” He asks again, free hand coming to rest, cradling Joe's head, gently gently he feels fingers move lightly in tiny soft circles.

“Tell me something.”

Joe pulls their joined hands close, presses his own kiss against Nicky's long fingers, holds it close enough for his breath to warm skin “Please. Tell me something good.”

It's a hard ask, he knows, he knows, every good moment of their lives can be tied to a bad one, the past could be a minefield with no directions or signs. But Nicolò rarely shied from a challenge.

“Did I ever tell you of the time Qýuhn demanded to know my intentions with you?”

“But she loved you!” He mumbles against their joined hands.

“Yes she did, but she loved your heart just as fiercely.” Nicky's chest moves against Joe's cheek as he snorts, amused, “We'd had to have been intimate for almost a year by this time, but she had me feeling like a sham of a man standing before the most beautiful man's guardian, offering a pauper's dowery.”

Joe starts shifting to argue but the hand on his head keeps him still, gentle but firm.

“It was good. To be reminded that you had someone else who would fight for your happiness, that my love for you was visible enough to be challenged, a reminder that we both still had family even if it looked very different to what we'd been born with. It'd been nice to know no matter how much I felt I didn't deserve, I'd been ready to fight for the right to let that be your decision.”

“You do deserve me,” the gentle circles on his scalp are making him sleepy but he puts a token argument, the principle of no one was allowed talk shit about Nicky, not even Nicky, one he was always ready to defend.

“Hush, you asked for a story, this is my story.”

“Scusi, scusi,” he kisses Nicky's hand again, “tell your story, tell me how you convinced me that Qýuhn you were worthy of my hand in marriage.”

He swears he can hear Nicky smile in the dark.

“I didn't, Andromache came in and declared they should leave us to make our mistakes and then stab which ever of us was most in the wrong.”

Joe can't help but laugh. “Qýuhn like that?”

He feels Nicky's soft laughter vibrate through his skin, he wants to die like this, in a moment like this, just the two of them entwined.

“No, she called Andy soulless and unromantic, they went outside to spar. We didn't see them again til morning, and Qýuhn never mentioned it again, so maybe Andy had a little romance in her.”

“How have I never head of this story?”

Nicky's answering chuckle is a delight.

“You came back and we had the house to ourselves for the entire night.” The hand on Joe's head flexes, like he wants to hold Joe as tight as he is can but its as much as their position allows. “It was a good day. We were loved, we are loved.”

He wants to crawl inside Nicolò, live forever embraced by his heart, to feel every lung full of breath press against him

“Sleep my love,” Nicky says leaning low to press his cheek against Joe's curls, to place an unaimed kiss to his forehead.

Sleep.

Nicky’s heartbeat is a sure and steady thing against his ear

(a monitor screaming as his lives hand falls limp against restraints)

Joe squeezes his eyes tightly shut then forces himself to relax, to hear the beat that's been by his side for a thousand years. He thinks of crinkles at the sides of Qýuhn's eyes when she grinned, the way she'd look to Joe when she found something fun to share.

He thinks of the way Booker's face grew soft in the late of the night when the game had long ended and everyone had gone to sleep and it was just the two of them, keeping the sleepless night company.

He thinks of the glow of Nile's face when they walked the halls of the National Museum, her excited but obviously knowledgeable commentary, how he itches to draw the lines of her joy over and over til he gets it just right.

He thinks of Andy in Marrakesh, the feel of her ribs reverberating with the force of her laugh as he swung her around. She's mother, weird aunt, odd stranger, honored elder, pain in the ass know-it-all older sister and so many more things he can not think to name, but she's theirs, and it's going to take a lot more than mortality to take her from them.

He swears it.

Finally he thinks of Nicky.

Nicky with long hair in his face, of the ever changing color his eyes across the firelight, of the weight of his body passed out, sated atop Yusuf, of the weight of his body lifeless as Joe pulled him somewhere to revive safely. The heaviness of his gaze and the weightlessness of even his smallest smile. Of his hands as they held Joe together, the gentleness of his touch as he put him back together. Of the unique light in his eyes, the fire that burns brightest when his sword is out. He thinks of words freely given when speech was hardest, he thinks of the uncountable I love you's, the innumerable languages he's learnt just to speak them and hear them back.

He thinks of hot blood spattered across his face and the way Nicolòs eyes would fight to meet his own when the end was coming. He thinks of the tightening of hands before they became unbearably limp. He thinks of the bad deaths, of eyelashes glued together with tears as hes gasped alive and the watery smile that followed. He thinks of Nicky moving, his sword swinging, on broken ankle, spitting blood and still moving.

His head, his heart, his life is full, and sometimes it feels like he'll drown with all that's in it.

Nicky's hand moves from his head, moves to stroke down his spine, long and slow in repetition.

Sleep he says again, his own voice thick at the edge of sleep himself.

Joe hugs a small breath, then slows his breathing to match the deep level breathing of Nicolò asleep. He thinks about the first time they slept like this, arms around each other, tangled and holding tight. He thinks of the countless times he's rubbed his nose against the back of Nicky's neck as he tried to catch just a little more sleep time.

There's a heaviness growing in his limbs as he half dreams of Nicky as he wraps himself around and burrows himself closer to Nicky. Slowly, steadily and then suddenly all at once, the sense memory of nine hundred years in this man's arms lulls him into sleep.

[occasionalfics]

touch every star (6)

main masterlist | thor masterlist | ao3 | previous 

Pairing: Thor X Cinderella!Reader AU

A/N: This is it! It’s sort of a miniseries but yup, this is the final chapter! Thank y’all so much for reading! Let me know what you think 💖💖💖

Warnings: Lots of angst, a really, really shitty boss, but overall this is probably the most pure fic I’ve ever written? Borderline 18+ at the very end but it’s mild as hell and mostly fluffy 😎

Words: 3,908

//

Always patient and responsible, Y/N decided she would give her two weeks at the end of the next day. She’d say nothing of Sitwell’s behavior, just move on quietly and hope something better came along.

She’d already looked at open listings on the company’s portal. There were so many jobs she could do, some she wasn’t exactly qualified for but seemed straightforward enough, and a few she probably wouldn’t even try to apply for, given her resumè and experience. Those were the ones that made Sitwll’s voice ring in her head over and over again about how she was nothing, she was just a clerical whore.

Y/N sighed and shook her head to clear the voice away.

She forced herself to think of her friends, of their faith in her. They made her believe in herself. But knew she wasn’t a firestarter, even if Nat’s suggestion was to burn the Accounting office to the ground along with Sitwell. Y/N was worthy and reliable, yes, she was sure of that now thanks to Nat and Wanda, but she was still someone who went quietly, but on her own terms. She could do both, and she was happy to do it that way.

But just before lunch, Tony Stark himself burst into the Accounting office. Everyone stirred, including Y/N, who watched incredulously as the CEO himself headed straight for her. She stood, and was just about to ask him what she could do for him when he asked, in a soft and careful tone that absolutely did not match the fire in his eyes, “Are you Y/N?”

She balked for a second, but nodded in the end.

“Follow me, please,” he said, hushed and hurried. And then he went right around her desk and into Sitwell’s office without knocking or any kind of acknowledgment.

“Mr. Stark,” Sitwell started. “What can I do for-”

“Stuff it, Jasper,” Tony interrupted. He turned to make sure Y/N was behind him, then held an arm out as a gesture for her to stand next to him. 

She looked between her boss and her boss’s boss, then hurried to do as the former said.

“You really took the piss this time, Sitwell,” Tony said.

Sitwell looked at them both, at Y/N who was trying not to cower beside the Boss To End All Bosses, and at Tony Stark, who’s eyes blazed with fury.

“I can assure you that whatever you’ve heard is a lie,” Sitwell said, eyes now stuck on Y/N. He glared at her like he had never been angrier in his entire life.

“Oh really?” Tony shoved his hands in his pockets and took a large step toward the desk. “You must have me confused with some idiot CEO, Sitwell. You think I don’t have this place surveilled? On the same floor as my security team, really?” He went forward and leaned on Sitwell’s desk like Sitwell had done to Y/N the other day. Only this time, Y/N watched in awe instead of fear. 

“You think I don’t have hours of footage of you verbally abusing this poor girl, forcing her to work so late she’s the last one in the building besides the nightly cleaning crew? Who the hell do you think you are?”

“Mr. Stark-” Y/N tried, to no avail.

He looked at her over his shoulder quickly. “No, Y/N. This’s been a long time coming.” And then, advancing once again on Sitwell, he lowered his voice. “Just because I’m a busy man doesn’t mean I won’t make the time to go back and watch every excruciating thing you’ve made this girl and the rest of your staff do and turn it back on you tenfold. Since my Director of Security is also on my board, I have that ability.”

“Yes, of course, Mr. Stark-” Sitwell tried.

“No, you shut the fuck up!” Tony said in an even tone, almost refusing to yell. Y/N was glad for it, at least. “All you’re hearing is me saying that this is a mark on your record, that once I leave this office, you might face a few small consequences but soon, everything will be back to normal. But I want to be crystal clear, no room for misunderstanding. You’re. Fired. Sitwell. And the second my team and I are done reviewing your tapes, expect to be served. Get your shit and get the fuck out of my building.”

Tony turned on his impeccable heel and marched out of the room. Y/N didn’t move for a split second, but then decided that following Tony Stark was a better idea than hanging out in a soon-to-be-emptied office with a man she hated. A man that had tried to knock her down every chance he’d gotten and was currently glaring at her, sweat dripping down from his bald head and around his nose.

A man who was no longer her problem.

She knew Nat was at the core of this altercation. She’d said something to Bucky, who’d said something to someone or maybe just went straight to Tony himself. She’d never be able to thank her friend enough for saving her, even if she’d asked not to be saved the night before.

Because, when she thought about it, Nat and Bucky or whoever caused this wasn’t just saving her. If Jasper Sitwell was fired - and he was - then he could never do what he’d done to her to anyone else.

When they came back to her desk, Tony closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths. Then he looked at her in a completely different way from the glare he’d given Sitwell.

She could’ve sworn she saw kindness and empathy in that look. Maybe a hint of regret, too.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re done in this office,” he said quietly.

For a beat, her heart stopped as she thought that Tony Stark, the Boss To End All Bosses, was firing her, too.

But then he said, “I looked into your background a little. There’s a job in P.R. opening that a mutual friend of a friend - and your resumè - says you might be perfect for. It’s creative, in a much nicer office, and all yours if you want it. There’s a sign-on bonus and a raise involved, too.”

Of course she wanted the job. Being a secretary wasn’t her life-long dream, just the only job she’d thought she was worthy of, despite her degree. Until recently, that is.

Something still held her back, though.

“Mr. Stark, I-”

“Tony.”

“I can’t just walk into a job I didn’t earn, sir. Or even apply for.”

“Please, call me Tony. And our mutual friends’ word is reliable.”

Since she didn’t know exactly what “mutual friend” he might be talking about, and since she  was determined now to prove her worth, she pushed back. “You have no idea if I can even do the job. You haven’t interviewed me or anything!”

He sighed, and everyone listening to this conversation had to have seen the gears turning in his head. Tony Stark hadn’t kept his father’s company running the way he had by being bad at business, after all. Even if he was a genius scientist, he was still a genuinely talented CEO.

And one that cared, apparently. A busy man, like he’d said, but one that still came down to the Accounting office to take care of some little thing - comparatively, or at least that’s how Y/N would see it for a time.

“Fine. You’re right,” he conceded. “Take the rest of the day off, with full pay, and come in tomorrow for an interview. I’ll have my assistant email you the best times, so keep an eye out for that. Be prepared to present in front of me and my head of P.R. Clear?”

She nodded, and for the first time that day, smiled. “Yes. Yes, thank you, Mr. Stark.”

“You’re not gonna get the job if you don’t call me Tony. ‘S just the rules.” He shrugged as he backed up, turning quickly to the door, though not so quick that Y/N missed his smirk.

She saw it. She reveled in it.

And then she looked back at Jasper Sitwell through the glass office walls and gave him the most genuine, biggest smile she’d ever smiled.

---

“So,” Bucky said as he strode right into Thor’s office, no questions asked. Not even by Val, who gave everyone a hard time. “Did you hear about Accounting?”

Thor nodded. “I think everyone heard about it.”

“Right.” Bucky took a seat across from Thor, but didn’t look settled. His thumbs ran in circles over one another, and his foot bounced on the opposite bent knee. “I heard Sitwell’s secretary was offered a promotion, point-blank.”

“Where’d you hear that?” Thor finished up what he was doing on his computer, then sat back to really see his friend. His body language read all wrong, but Thor couldn’t decide what, exactly, was off.

“Tony.” Bucky shrugged. “Said she refused the offer without an interview. Something about earning her way and proving herself or somethin’ like that.”

“Sounds like a smart woman,” Thor said, completely oblivious. He wasn’t even subliminally wondering why Bucky was talking about some random secretary, just reacting to whatever the man said. “Tony can be impulsive when he’s emotional.”

“Oh my god,” Bucky whispered. Clearly, he knew something, but it only hit Thor when he asked, “You really don’t know, do you?”

Thor stared. “Know what?”

It took Bucky a second to respond. He kept a close eye on Thor, but he breathed heavily and fiddled with his left arm - muscle tears and scar tissue beneath his jacket sleeve that would be with him til the end of his days. Messing with the arm was another one of Bucky’s tells, one that Thor was confident enough in their friendship to read well.

“What’s going on, Barnes?”

Bucky sighed. “I probably shouldn’t be the one to tell you this. Nat said she wanted to do it herself, but the line out your office the other day scared her off and-”

“Who?” Thor interrupted. “What’s this about?”

“You remember Natasha, right? The drop dead gorgeous model I’m seeing?”

Thor nodded. “‘Course. Glad to hear it’s going well.”

“Well, her roommate was Sitwell’s secretary.” Bucky’s eyebrows rose, and Thor could just tell he expected Thor to know where this was going.

But he truly didn’t. He had no clue. Not even an inkling.

“‘Are you really that dense? What- she had to be, like, the only woman on the floor - maybe the whole god damn building - that didn’t come crawling up here for the chance of getting you to notice her.” Bucky shook his head, dropped his leg so both feet were flat on the floor, and leaned forward. “Thor, c’mon, man. Get with it, I mean this is so obvious! I shouldn’t have to spell it out for you-”

“And yet,” Thor interrupted again, “I’d like for you to get to the point anyway, James.”

That name was only used, in reference to Bucky, when his friends were tired of games. Thor wasn’t so much tired as he was perplexed and a little frustrated, but it was enough. The effect was the same.

“The girl with the interview - the only woman that didn’t come to claim the mask - is the one you’re looking for, dude. Nat’s roommate was Sitwell’s secretary, who was the only other person left on the floor the night you got on the elevator with a woman you didn’t know. I know for a fact she’s the girl you danced with at the gala, despite never having seen her, because their other roommate needed the dress she was wearing at the gala. Nat’s told me everything. Made me swear I wouldn’t say anything unless it was absolutely necessary but, my god, was it necessary.” He finished it all off with a laughing flourish, shaking his head in disbelief.

Thor sat straighter in his chair and, once more, just stared. He processed what he’d heard, tried to make sense of it all, and wondered why he hadn’t put it all together himself first. But he knew, with how little information he had on his Elevator Crush, he couldn’t have done it anyway.

Bucky’s girl was, apparently, the key. But he had to be sure.

“Bucky, did Natasha say how she knows all of this?” he asked.

“I assume Y/N told her.”

Y/N. Well, he finally had a name. He’d deal with the fact that he’d gotten it from Bucky before he’d gotten it from her later.

“But she… She never came. She didn’t even email me back about the mask, not even to say she didn’t want it.”

“Again, probably shouldn’t be saying anything but Nat thinks she’s scared.” Bucky picked up a pen off Thor’s desk, just to tap it against the nameplate that faced him. “Tony gave her the rest of the day off, so she’s gone home by now.” He smirked, tapped the pen once more, then put it down again. “But lucky for you, I happen to know her roommate pretty well.”

---

She was in her room organizing the things she’d brought home from her former desk when someone knocked on the door. Too engrossed in her work to get it herself, she yelled out for Nat since she knew at least one of her two roommates was home.

The day didn’t feel real. She’d had every intention of going into work with a job and coming out as a quitter, had never even fathomed that what had happened today was possible.

An interview? With Mr. Stark - Tony - himself? For a job he was ready to give her on sight, no questions asked?

She never would have accepted the position without a proper interview, but she did at least appreciate the thought. She’d appreciate it more when she had the chance to prove that she was worthy, when she could put herself on display for her new potential bosses and earn their respect with just her own two hands and intellect.

Which meant she had a lot to prepare for the next morning. She’d picked the earliest interview possible, so she might have the rest of the day for training or a celebratory walk through Central Park. It’d been so long since she’d had time and energy to explore the park, and even though it was starting to get cold out, she nearly convinced herself to go see it now.

But Nat called her name, which meant the park would have to wait. She wondered if her roommate had ordered lunch and forgot cash for a tip or something, so she picked up her purse to fish her wallet out before heading down the short hallway into the living room.

The whole world stopped then. Or at least it felt like it did.

Two men stood by the door - one of them had to be Bucky, if Y/N was guessing by the way he held Nat close to him. He smiled vaguely at her and sent a polite nod in her direction.

It was really the other man that made her stop, though. Tall and handsome, broad shouldered and bright eyed. Just like she remembered him. She couldn’t remember how long it’d been since she’d seen him in person, especially not with the way he was looking at her.

Like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

She just barely heard Nat clear her throat and announce that she and Bucky were leaving before they did. And then she and Thor were left alone.

Before she knew what she was saying, she let out, “You-you’re here.”

That seemed to break some of the tension between them. Thor went to step further into the apartment before he realized it wasn’t his space, so he backtracked. Y/N hardly noticed, since her eyes were glued to his face.

“I, uh, came to return this,” he said. One hand dipped into the inside pocket of his blazer, but Y/N didn’t look until he pulled something out.

Her mask. She’d all but forgotten about the thing by then, even though she’d gotten in that line the other day in an attempt to retrieve it. The mask had never been important, not even when she’d looked at that line, despite what she’d told herself.

In that moment, she knew she’d gotten in that line just to talk to him. To find out who he really was, even though Nat and Thor himself had already told her. She should have stayed, but she didn’t know it until this moment.

A moment where the past didn’t really matter anyway because there he was, standing in her living room. He was there for her, and she just knew it.

She approached him, accepting the mask even though it wasn’t important. “Thank you,” she whispered, surprising herself as her nerves kicked in. The only time she’d been nervous around him before was on that elevator. Now seemed a rather arbitrary time to feel that way again.

He didn’t move. Neither did she. They looked at one another and, clearly, could see the same battle in the other’s eyes. They each fought for what to say next, what to do next. This situation was unprecedented for them both.

Thor pushed through a lump in his throat and said, “Actually, that’s not why I came.” He made sure to keep eye contact strong, but not intimidating. Honestly, he liked looking at her more than anything, and he wanted to read her reaction to what he said next. “I’m Thor, and I didn’t really know how else to find you. This was Bucky’s idea, really. Well, no, the mask was my mother’s idea- and now that I say it, I realize how embarrassing that is.”

She laughed and shook her head. “No, no. That’s...cute.”

His smile widened at her approval. His fingers rested just beneath hers, because as much as he was confident in what he was saying, he was still cautious. After all, she had run away from him twice now.

“But I needed to know, one way or another, who you were. Why I kept being pushed toward you. And you didn’t even answer my email so I’d all but given up, and then in storms Bucky looking like he knows every secret about you and-” He sighed. Bucky clearly hadn’t known that much about Y/N, but that didn’t stop him from feeling...well. Jealous. “I had to know.”

Her mind immediately screams I’m no one.

Jasper Sitwell had not been the first person in her life to say so. Her stepmother had done just as much damage, usually when her father hadn’t been around to protect her. 

But she had removed herself from her stepmother’s clutches, and she’d proved to be a bigger person than Jasper Sitwell. She’d gotten herself an interview for a better job and suddenly had the opportunity to make something of herself-

So no. She was not no one, not nothing. Thor being in her apartment only made her think he saw something like that, too.

“I’m Y/N,” she said, placing the mask on one of the end tables with her equally useless wallet. “And up until recently, I didn’t think that meant anything. But I was wrong.” A surge of confidence boosted her, and she grabbed one of Thor’s hands between hers. “I don’t know you well, Thor, but I’m pretty sure you’ve gotten this far by thinking I was worth something. I’d really like to thank you for that.”

---

SIX MONTHS LATER

The town car was parked at the end of the row, with only a handful of empty cars that were situated at least seven spots away. The party had already started, which meant they were not likely to be disturbed, at least not for a little while.

That was the thought process Thor had used to seduce Y/N into the back of the car - the rented car - where he now pinned her body to the seat with his own. There was barely space enough to breathe, especially given how electric their kiss was. And how sweltering the New York summer was around them. But neither had power over the connection, so they succumbed to it, drank in the energy and tension and let it wash all thoughts of a posh and somewhat unnecessary summer solstice party away.

Thor knew that, eventually, they would have to go back in. This was his mother’s party, one she threw every year. It was the first time he was bringing Y/N to an official family function, and he was...nervous. Actually, really nervous. She’d already met his parents but Hela and Loki were in that building, and they’d somehow evaded them both before sneaking back out to the car.

His solution to those nerves was to keep her to himself for as long as he could. She calmed him down while simultaneously riling him up. She kept him grounded even when he felt like he was flying.

It’d only been 6 months since they’d finally, officially started seeing each other but he was sure he loved her. It wasn’t so much that knowledge that put him on edge, but the idea that showing up together tonight meant that everyone else would know how important she was to him. Even his siblings.

But when he really thought about that, the nerves melted. Some totally normal feeling settled, and he felt...content.

One of his hands attempted to run up one of her legs beneath her heavy, pale blue velvet gown, but she stopped him and pulled her lips back from his. The look in her eyes was playful, but she shook her head.

“We’ll spoil the whole evening like that,” she whispered, chest rising to meet his quickly as she tried to reign in her breathing.

“Screw the evening,” he retorted, attempting to dive back into the kiss.

Her free hand stopped him by his shoulder. “I did not fight with the zipper on this dress and spend two hours doing my makeup and hair to have you mess it all up in the back of this car, Thor Odinson.” She tapped his shoulder, disguised as a meaningless slap, and he relented.

“Fiiine,” he whined, head slumping against her shoulder. “But the second either of us is bored, we’re out. Deal?”

She giggled and ran her fingers through his freshly cut hair. “I’d say that’s fair. Deal.”

“In the meantime,” he murmured, kissing up her neck and along her jawline, “if I keep my hands here,” as he pressed his fingers into her waist above the velvet dress, “can we stay like this for...five more minutes?”

Their eyes met just as she was rolling hers. He kissed her, knowing he’d gotten his way.

“Five minutes, no more.”

He kissed her quickly.

“You’re incorrigible.”

“Not my fault you’re irresistible.” A quick peck. “Absolutely ravishing in this dress.” A longer, more meaningful kiss this time. 

“Hey Jarvis,” she called out into the empty cab of the car. When the familiar voice responded, she told it, “Set an alarm for five minutes, and lock the doors until it goes off.”

Thor shook his head, ignored Jarvis’s response, and went right back into the kiss.

[fiveisnumber1]

Hoo boy this is gonna be a long one so I apologize in advance. I'll try to keep it short tho. So you recommended me these songs and here's my view on them. I decided to mention them by name in case someone else wanted to listen too:

Last Dance - Diplomacy

This song is pretty much word for word Five's thoughts in the apocalypse. He's "looking for a way out the door" or how to *create* a door in his case. He's quite literally haunted by reader's ghost who "won't let him be" cuz he imagines her with him all the time. It's her vision that nags him to keep going when he's ready to give up so he can "find my way back to (reader)"

The Night We Met - Lord Huron

I feel this song is very sad, speaking of Five's regret of Time Traveling. He'd literally wish he could go back in time to when he first met reader and warn his younger self to not be an idiot or else he'd lose reader or at the very least, not "ride along with (her)" to make sure she doesn't get stranded in time too. "I had all and then most of you, some and now none of you" is pretty self explanatory. He had reader, he lost her and wishes he could change things.

Lately III - COIN

The house is too quiet. So I sleep in my car. I'm losing my magic. I hear your voice in my head, I think that I'm working too hard. But who, who am I-I kidding? I want you right back in my arms.

I can see these lyrics being from both reader's and Five's perspective but more Five cuz everything around him is quiet. He literally "lost his magic" as in his ability to time travel til he could figure out the equation. He can hear the reader's voice in his head both encouraging him but also telling him to rest when he works himself too hard but obviously it's more important for him him to get back to her so she's in his harms again.

Thirteen - Armors

This made me think of a "what if" from readers perspective or just the beginning of their friendship when Five defied his father to meet and befriend her. It could work in reverse too since readers parents also wanted to have her avoid the Hargreeves but I guess I thought of Five more cuz he had more to lose from disobeying Reggie and befriending reader. The lyrics of "going out on Friday/tickets for the dance" and getting "your dad off my back" and becoming an "outlaw for my love" makes me very much think of Reader not putting up with Reggie's bullshit and encouraging Five to break free of him even more.

Lover of Mine - 5SOS

This one was possibly my favorite. The chorus was everything.

"When I take a look at my life And all of my crimes You're the only thing that I think I got I right I'll never give you away 'Cause I've already made Already made that mistake".

It's so clearly Five talking about the Reader after be comes back. Maybe his residual fears of doing something wrong and losing her. She's the only thing he did right after his time at the commission killing so many people, his self loathing makes him feel like coming back to save her and his family is the only worthwhile thing he's ever done. The first part of the chorus as well, God knows we've come up with so many dancing headcanons for Five and reader so I didn't repeat that. And the verses, I feel could be more of Five blaming himself for all the regrets reader has. I could see the second verse as reader though cuz she knows what Five has been through "the world fall from his eyes" so she literally wants to "kiss the regrets goodbye" so they can be at peace instead of him constantly blaming himself for what happened.

I also am going to try my best not to analyze every single song in detail (although I do have a lot of opinions) so let's jump in my (hopefully) brief reply. This is where the fun begins.

Last Dance - Diplomacy

We were dancing through the city, And you were looking pretty, you held me close. 

Even through the white lies we both talked. Oh-oh, We were running far away, oh-oh, From those words we can't say

So this first line is Five remembering the night that he danced with the reader. Straightforward. The second line though is about both the reader and Five and how they hid their feelings from each other. They continued to talk and be friends even though they were both lying to themselves and each other about the strength of their feelings. They were running away from opening up and expressing how they really felt (the words they cannot say)

Let me took another moment. Painted such a foot prints in the snow. But we've reached another road short. Going through emotions we both know.

I like to think that the footprints in the snow are the ones that they left together before Five left and jumped into the apocalypse. It was the last moment they were together. Also, both Five and the reader are constantly going through the same emotions of hurt, loneliness, regret, love. They both know those feelings.

The Night We Met - Lord Huron

I've been searching for a trail to follow again, Take me back to the night we met.

This line can be about the reader and Five. Both of them have been dropped into unknown situations. They’re both now lost in life and are searching for a sense of normalcy like they had when they were with each other, but they still haven't found that path or trail to follow since they separated.

And then I can tell myself, What the hell I'm supposed to do. And then I can tell myself, Not to ride along with you.

I think for this line from the reader's perspective is that now that she’s in this whole new time, a whole new reality, and she doesn’t know what to do. She can’t tell herself how to change things or move forward because she doesn’t know what she’s supposed to do to accomplish that. And I think for the line “not to ride along with you” it’s the opposite of Five. Instead of Five wanting to not have brought her through time, it’s the reader wishing she held on and went along with him.

I had all and then most of you, Some and now none of you. Take me back to the night we met. I don't know what I'm supposed to do, Haunted by the ghost of you. Oh, take me back to the night we met.

Like you said self-explanatory but both Five and the reader want to go back to the simpler times when they had each other.

When the night was full of terrors, And your eyes were filled with tears. When you had not touched me yet, Oh, take me back to the night we met.

All I picture is the scenes I wrote where they’re both just crying over finally coming to the realization that they had truly lost the other. The reader on her knees below the portrait of Five above the fireplace and Five holding the now deceased in his arms. Both of them shedding tears at the terror of the situation and how they wished they could go back to when they met and start over so this would never have happened.

Lately III - COIN

Be honest with me. Do you, do you, do you wanna be honest with me right now? I swear to God it meant nothing.

I can see this as Five asking himself why he did what he did. Why did he not listen? Why did he jump through time? Looking back wanting to jump through time and defying Reginald really meant nothing in the grand scheme of things.

The house is too quiet

This line can also be applied to the reader because she’s staying in the empty academy house. There was once the sound of all the academy kids but now there’s nothing.

Thirteen - Armors

I don’t have any specific lines but I agree that overall this is definitely the reader trying to convince Five to break free of Reginald’s grasp and live life with her. She’s not going to force him hence the line “If it's no, then I can go. I won't make you.” but she wants him to be able to do normal things with her like go to a school dance without it being a problem.

[sweatersarecomfyy]

I Have Wings - Part 4/6 (Bucky x reader series)

Series Summary: During Bucky’s time as the Winter Soldier he wasn’t alone. A girl with wings was also the subject of super-soldier testing, unfortunately she never gets to tell Bucky how he feels during their time together. When they meet years later, she remembers him but he doesn’t remember her. Does she tell him what she remembers, or will that affect their growing feelings for each other?

A/N: This chapter is super fluffy and ends kind of angsty, but don’t worry, Tomorrow there will be more! I hope you enjoy it. If you would like to see the future chapters, please follow my blog or the tag #i have wings.

The song I used in this chapter is ‘Love Someone’ by Lukas Graham.

Word Count: approx 1K - If you are liking this story or have feedback, let me know in a message or comment! Thank you for the likes!

“Tell me.”

“No.”

“Tell me,” He insisted

“NO,” I said, leaning against the counter and folding my arms.

He mirrored me, looked me in the eyes, and gave an over-dramatic sigh, “If you don’t tell me the secret ingredient, I’m going to tell Sam about your little weakness.”

“I have no weaknesses,” I narrowed my eyes at him.

“Oh really, because as I recall there is a certain trick one can do to make a bird fall asleep.”

I tried to look as ominous and scary as possible, going as far as to puff out my feathers, but his expression didn’t change, we were caught in a face-off.

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Wouldn’t I?” He smirked.

We stared at each-other for another second and then he gave another over-dramatic sigh and unfolded his arms.

“Alright, I’m going to go tell Sam,” He started walking towards the door.

I watched him walk, sure he was going to chicken out and turn around, but he didn’t.

“Wait!”

He turned around, his smirk getting more defined.

I huffed out a frustrated breath, “Fine.”

He raised his eyebrow expectantly.

“But it’s not a secret ingredient. It’s more like a secret process.”

“And?” He still stood by the door-frame.

I rolled my eyes, “I’ll teach you, okay? I’ll teach you.”

He clenched his fist in victory and jumped towards me.

“What?”

“Well, show me.”

“Now?”

“Yes now.”

I rolled my eyes again, but smiled at his antics nonetheless. I directed him to get some ingredients from the cupboard while I set up the mixer, and switched my music onto shuffle. A couple minutes later we were chatting away while mixing up the ingredients.

“You’re sure we put these in before?” James said, looking at the bag of chocolate chips.

“Yeah.”

“You’re sure?” He teased.

I grabbed them from him, “Yes. If you put them in after the flour mixture it will over-mix.”

He grabbed them back from me, split it open, and took a rather generous serving.

“Hey!”

“What?” He looked at me with feigned innocence, “Isn’t this part of the process?” He plopped them in his mouth.

I shook my head, laughing, and poured the rest of the chocolate into the mixer before he ate any more, “I suppose you will want to eat the dough too?”

“Duh.”

I pushed him in the shoulder, which ended up with him pushing me back, and then getting into a small pushing war that escalated as time went on before Sam walked in.

“Whacha’ doin’?” He said, looking at us knowingly.

James blushed, “Nothin’”

“Uh huh,” Sam kept walking.

Once he left we both broke into fits of giggles as the last of the flour was incorporating itself into the wet mixture. We both quieted down as we started scooping out the dough and rolling them into balls to put into the freezer. I was looking down at my hands, but I kept seeing him steal glances at me out of the corner of my eye. I smiled down at the chocolate chips.

“This recipe is unnecessarily complicated.”

“You’re unnecessarily complicated,” I retorted rather immaturely.

He snorted, “Well I guess that’s how you get good cookies.”

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

He thought for a second, “Weren’t you technically flattering me?”

I flicked a piece of dough at him and he made a sound of amused indignation.

“Where did you learn how to do this?” He asked, sounding amazed as he looked at the cookies.

I thought for a second, and the light happy feeling started to fade as I tried to think to back before everything had happened to me, happened to us. There was some sort of block. I just didn’t know where I had come from. My heart started to hurt again, but I hid it to the best of my ability. One of my first memories was of him, and I didn’t want to tell him that.

The first few guitar notes of one of my favorite songs started playing over the speakers and I smiled.

There are days

I wake up and I pinch myself

You’re with me not someone else.

He was staring at me, I don’t know how much of my thought process he could see, but he definitely saw the smile when the song started.

And I’m scared, yeah I’m still scared

That it’s all a dream.

“Let’s dance,” He held out his hand to me.

My eyes snapped up to his, and I took his hand tentatively. His hands found themselves on my hips and I circled mine up around his neck. He didn’t want to seem to do any of the things he taught me, but just to be close to me, swaying back and forth.

'Cause you still look perfect as days go by Even the worst ones, you make me smile I'd stop the world if it gave us time

He brought his forehead to mine, but didn’t look me in the eye, still just seeming like he wanted to be closer. I could feel his gentle breaths lift wisps of my hair.

'Cause when you love someone You open up your heart When you love someone You make room If you love someone And you're not afraid to lose 'em You'll probably never love someone like I do You'll probably never love someone like I do

Nearing the end of the song, we were literally dancing cheek to cheek. I closed my eyes, savoring our closeness, and felt as his grip on me tightened, bringing me closer to him. He sang the last verse of the song quietly into my ear along with the music.

“All my life I thought it'd be hard to find The one 'til I found you And I find it bittersweet 'Cause you gave me something to lose”

           When he had whispered the last word of the chorus he stopped and pulled me close, wrapping his arms around me in a tight hug. He didn’t see the tears that clung to my eyes, partially from happiness, and partially because of the conflict that was going on within my brain.

           “Can I ask you something?”

I nodded into his chest.

“Were we something, you know, before?”

I stiffened and pulled back slightly, not knowing what to do.

He looked at me longingly, and slightly hurt, it was almost enough to make me give in.

“James,” I took my hand off his shoulder “I…”

He caught my hand in his, “You know you can tell me anything.”

I looked down at our hands.

“Hey,” he lifted my chin back up to gaze into his eyes, “You’ve gotta know how I feel about you by now, I just want to know what happened.”

My vision grew blurry as the tears became real. I looked away from him blinking, “I don’t know James, I don’t know if it’s a good idea.”

“Why?” He stepped back.

“Can’t you just see me in the now? What if I don’t want you to know that version of me?”

He let go of my hand, “But you knew me back then. Is that really fair?”

“Nothing that happened to us was fair,” I shook my head and folded my arms tightly over my chest.

He stood, watching me.

I shook my head again, “It’s in the past.”

“I can’t make peace with my past until I know what my past is,” He was frustrated now, his voice raised slightly. He looked away and then slowly turned towards me again, “Is this because of something I did in that time? Is that why you’re not telling me?”

He looked scared. “I don’t understand,” I replied.

“Are you scared of me?” He looked betrayed and took another step back.

I paused, trying to understand what he meant, and he must have taken that for an answer. “No, James, it wasn’t like…”

He scoffed.

“James…” I took a couple steps toward him, reaching out, but he just stepped back again. “I could never,” Tears were streaming down my cheeks again, “Please, please don’t do this.”

He looked at me sadly and I saw a tear roll down his cheek as well. “I love you Angel, I don’t want you to be scared of me.”

I sucked in a breath at this proclamation.

“But I need to know what happened,” He continued.

I opened my mouth but was interrupted by Fury coming into the room, who didn’t seem to see what was happening, “Angel, we need you for a mission.”

I didn’t move, but continued to look at James, hoping Fury would get the message. He looked back and forth between the two of us, and then back at me.

“Immediately,” He said authoritatively, “Anything else can be taken care of when we get back.”

When I still didn’t move he sighed and urged me, “We leave in 15 minutes, go get your bag.”

I nodded and he left.

“If you put the frozen dough in for 8 minutes at 350 degrees they’ll be the way you like them.”

James opened his mouth like he was going to say something, but I was already walking out of the room, trying to wipe my eyes and stifle the sobs that were making their way up my throat every couple of seconds.