#guess who has the whole day off and i lying on bed with a mug of freshly brewed coffee ready to binge the shit out of this

[carolperkinsexgirlfriend]

Steddie Upside-Down AU Part 40

Part 1 Part 39

Days pass, and Steve’s painkiller script runs dry. Without the pills, Steve’s every waking moment twinges, but what irks him more is the way his life is passing him by.

He spent almost a week in a painkiller haze of sleep, and now he’s awake and pissed off.

The swimming season is almost over, he’s going to be drowning in schoolwork, and he’s just sitting in the Munson trailer, rotting with Eddie by his side.

Will had gone back to school yesterday, and Steve’s itching to scrabble back into mundanity.

His doctor, Wayne, Eddie, hell even Joyce, all act like it’s too soon, like he’s made of crumpled paper, like he needs handled delicately or he’ll tear.

He’s sick of it. Steve wakes up, too early with the taste of ash in his throat. Eddie’s already awake, curling his fingers around Steve’s forearm and dragging him closer in his small shoebox bed.

“What day is it?” Steve asks.

Eddie squints at the clock, reading the vivid red 4:43 on the clock like it’s a calendar. “Thursday…” he says, voice ragged with sleep, trailing off, clearly unsure.

Steve stares up at the dark ceiling, doesn’t look at the glowing red, and says, “I’m going to school today.”

Eddie squeezes his forearm, says, “Steve,” plaintively.

“I can’t do this Eddie,” Steve whispers. He blinks and he’s there, staring up at the vines writhing on Eddie’s ceiling, the red of Eddie’s alarm clock pouring through the windows. He blinks again, and he’s back, Eddie’s warmth beside him. “I’m going crazy, cooped up in here.”

Eddie sighs, a long, dramatic groan that vibrates Steve’s head where it’s propped up against his chest. “I can’t believe you’re making me go to school, Stevie,” he says, trailing his fingers gently up and down Steve’s shoulder.

“Don’t you miss your friends?” Steve asks, pointedly not thinking of his own.

Eddie’s still rubbing Steve’s shoulder, as he replies, “Yeah. Jeff called a few days ago, and Wayne told him I had the flu.” He sighs. “I just hate lying to them.”

Steve’s relationship with Tommy and Carol is built on a bed of deflection and lies. No, what you said didn’t hurt my feelings. Of course, I want to throw a party and get stuck holding the bag when the cops show up. Yeah, my parents are out of town a lot, you’re right, it’s the best.

But sometimes, when Tommy was just the right level of tipsy, or late at night at one of his sleepovers with Carol, one of them would say something real. Carol would whisper about the diet her Mom was on, how her bones were that of a bird and Carol was so afraid of being whittled down to nothing. How Tommy’s dad had hit his face hard enough to bruise, and then gotten made that he looked like a ruffian the next day.

How Steve’s parents don’t stick around long at all.

Those are the people he misses. The people left rotting in the corners of the ones who roam the halls of Hawkins High. That’s not who he’ll get to see at school today.

“They’d understand,” Steve says. “If they’re your friends, they’d understand.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Eddie says, letting the topic drop.

Wayne grumbles over his mug of coffee when they stumble out of Eddie’s bedroom, both dressed in Eddie’s clothes, but doesn’t say much. They share a quiet breakfast, as Wayne scarfs down his meal before bed, drooping into his plate.

Eddie rifles through the whole trailer until he finally finds the van keys discarded in the bathroom. Wayne sends them off with a gruff, “come home if ya get tired,” as they walk through the door.

Steve doesn’t notice he doesn’t have any of his stuff until Eddie’s already pulling into the parking lot, students glaring and giving a wide berth to his van as it loudly chug chug chugs into a space.  

He can’t remember if he had any assignments due, what they were learning, barely even remembers his class schedule. It’s like everything from before has the haze of a dream. Only the nightmare of after is crisp and real.

The whispers as he stumbles out of Eddie’s van, start slow. They grow louder when Eddie rushes to the other side of the van, holding out his arm in an offer of support that Steve snubs.

Eddie walks by his side, leaning into him like he just can’t help himself. “You know,” he whispers conspiratorially. “It’s not too late to pretend I kidnapped you or something.”

Steve snorts, letting his elbow slide into Eddie’s ribs as he takes a step closer, even as the stares fillet his skin right open. “I’d make a terrible captive.”

Eddie laughs. “You really do,” Eddie says, shaking his head in mock disappointment. “Coming here against the doctor’s orders? Naughty naughty!”

Steve jams his elbow into Eddie’s ribs, hard this time, sending him reeling even as he laughs, clutching the abused spot.

No one approaches them, treating the whole spectacle like it’s a television show. Fascinating and untouchable.

But the bubble inevitably bursts. Tommy’s loitering by Carol’s locker, arm slung over her shoulder as she digs through its contents. She laughs, smacking his arm even as she smiles up at him. They look happy. Fine. Normal. Like Steve hasn’t been missed at all.

There’s something dark and slimy slithering up Steve’s throat. He swallows it down.

He keeps walking, Eddie by his side, not looking their way. So, it’s a shock when a small hand grabs his hand and yanks.

“What the hell, Steve?” Carol says, looking up at him with wide eyes. “Where have you been?”

“Nevermind that, what happened to your hair?” Tommy asks, laughing. Like Steve being missing is a joke. Like everything always is, with him.

“Just felt like a change,” Steve says, smiling sarcastically at them before trying to continue on his way.

Carol’s hand tangled in his sleeve stops him. He looks down at it. Her fingernails are turning white under her pretty pink nail polish. He sighs, stops, Eddie stopping beside him.

“I was in the hospital,” he says, meeting Carol’s eyes, pretending Tommy isn’t there at all. “Thanks for visiting by the way.”

She takes a startled step back, stretching Steve’s borrowed sweatshirt out with the way her fingers are still hanging onto it. As if she can sense people staring, she steps forward, holds her ground as she glares up at him, hissing, “we didn’t know!” she stamps her foot, loud with her clunky heels. “We went to your house, and no one answered!”

“And you didn’t think that was weird?” Steve demands. “You didn’t think, huh, maybe we should look for Steve? You couldn’t even pretend to give a shit?”

“Steve, I—” Carol starts, before Tommy interrupts her.

“So, what?” he demands, posturing into Steve’s space before Eddie throws out an arm, pushing him back. “You got your feelings hurt and you decide to start slumming it with the trailer trash?”

That dark thing slithers back up Steve’s throat. He pours it out at Tommy’s feet. “Anyone’s an upgrade compared to you,” he spits. “Poor little Tommy, has to make everything a joke so no one will notice there’s nothing underneath.”

“Steve!” Carol gasps.

“Oh, like you’re any better!” he says, something vicious and snarling crawling out of him. “Act like a bitch so no one gets any closer.”

“And what does that make you?” she demands.

“Steve,” Eddie says, pulling him back. “Let’s go.”

Steve looks at the two people who were his best friends and feels nothing. “You’re right,” he says, turning around and not looking back. “They’re not worth it.”

“Whatever,” Tommy shouts. “Just go off and fuck your new boyfriend, see if I care!”

People in the hallway are staring. Steve feels their eyes like fingernails down his face. Eddie takes a step away from him but doesn’t leave his side.

“Are you okay?” Eddie asks.

Steve nods, afraid he’ll spit up rage like bile if he opens his mouth. Eddie doesn’t leave him alone until he’s at the threshold of English class.

“I’m in shop,” he says, eyeing Steve critically. “Get me if you need me, okay?”

Steve nods.

“Promise me,” Eddie says, crossing his arms and staring Steve down. They both ignore the furtive look other students give them as they slip past to get into the classroom.

Steve chokes out, “I promise,” maintaining eye contact with Eddie until he finally turns and leaves with a strained sigh.

Once he’s out of sight, Steve runs on shaky legs, shoving through the nearest bathroom door and dropping painfully to the tile as he leans over the open lid of the toilet, stomach heaving.

It’s not rage that crawls out. Something small, and slimy, and black slithers out of his throat and into the bowl.

Steve flushes the bowl, washes his mouth out and goes back to class just before the bell.

Part 41

Taglist: @deany-baby @estrellami-1 @altocumulustranslucidus @evillittleguy @carlprocastinator1000 @1-8oo-wtfbro @hallucinatedjosten @goodolefashionedloverboi @newtstabber @lunabyrd @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @manda-panda-monium @disrespectedgoatman @finntheehumaneater @ive-been-bamboozled @harringrieve @grimmfitzz @is-emily-real @dontstealmycake @angeldreamsoffanfic @a-couchpotato @5ammi90 @mac-attack19 @genderless-spoon @kas-eddie-munson @louismeds @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @pansexuality-activated @ellietheasexylibrarian @nebulainajar

[noosayog]

[Liar Liar] you can lie about anything in your life. except for your boyfriend ft. Miya Osamu

wc: 800

warnings/content: silly reader, fluff i guess?

noos's notes: thinking abt writing a version of this for Iwa but reader says "my boyfriend is a trainer for olympians." and acquaintance shuts the fuck up

“Stop shaking yer leg, annoyin’” Osamu says.

You shoot him a glare, but your leg continues to bob, a habit when you're anxious. You’re about to shoot a nasty comment back, but it’s then that your lunch plans arrive.

Your acquaintance from high school; you’ve always been competitive but something about her brings out the petty in you. When she had reached out to catch up, your boyfriend asked if he could come along to meet your friend. You agreed.

It’s been almost 10 years out of high school, but you feel the irrational urge to show that you’re successful and happy with your life.

When she shows up, her tall, rich-looking boyfriend by her side, you’re glad you brought Osamu along.

“So how have you been?” she asks when she settles into the seat across from you.

The boys introduce themselves and four of you play catch up.

“What have you been up to? My boyfriend and I love to hit the gym after work together. You know, to stay fit!” she punctuates the sentence with a giggle and coy look at her boyfriend.

You pinch your face, “Yeah, I wake up at 5 everyday to go to the gym, too! I love to go… lift!”

You get up exactly at 8:54 am everyday because that’s the absolute latest you can afford to get up to start your 9AM work-from-home job.

You feel Osamu’s eyes bore into you from your left. His hands come over your shaking thigh in a warning squeeze.

And so lunch goes much the same way. She pulls, you push.

“I do so much great work at my job working with children and such!” she says.

“Yeah, totally get the whole making a difference thing. My role really supports the success of my company!”

You work in accounting at a regular corporation.

“I love to volunteer at the senior home on the weekend. All the people there are so lonely but sweet!”

“Totally, I go to the soup kitchen every Saturday to serve… soup.”

You sleep in on the weekends while Osamu cleans the house.

“I recently joined a book club and we’ve recently read The Feminine Mystique. It was so rewarding to be with like-minded girl bosses!”

“That’s soo inspirational of you! I’ve recently read The… Communist Manifesto. You know, the failure of free markets and all that.”

You watch the Great British Bake Off in bed every night.

You glance over to see Osamu practically shaking in laughter. He has his mug up to his face to hide the guffaws and you want to smack him in the head.

“That’s amazing! Well enough about us, what about your boyfriend? Mine works in investment banking. He’s such a hard worker. One of a kind, babe” she says, resting a french-manicured hand on her boyfriend’s bicep.

“Osamu-”

You pause, not sure how to go about this. There’s a lot of silence as you close your mouth and look down.

“I own a restaurant,” Osamu finally answers for you.

Osamu’s hand has left your thigh and he was no longer laughing. He didn’t sound very happy either. You wrap up your lunch, Osamu mostly sitting in silence for the remainder of the meal. You say your goodbyes before long and you and Osamu make your way home to your shared apartment.

At home, Osamu is uncharacteristically pouty for the rest of the day.

“What’s with the attitude?” you prod. He’s probably just hungry or something.

“Oh, attitude,” he mocks. “Is that why ya had nothing good to say about me at lunch? Because I’m embarrassing to yer perfect life ya want people to think ya have?”

You flinch a little. In truth, you had been feeling a little guilty about that.

“‘Samuuu,” you whine.

You sidle up to your boyfriend, who leans away from you. He’s putting on a dramatic pout, but you can tell he's hurt.

“‘Samu,” you cup his puffed cheeks in your hands. “I didn't wanna say anything about you because I was lying about everything else and I didn't want you to think the stuff I say about you is a lie. I wanted to say that you’re my buff, hot, cooking, Onigiri man. You have your own successful business, you're kind and thoughtful, and you have the hottest dad bod ever.”

Osamu scoffs, “lying. Understatement.” But you can see the corner of his lips upturning. One more push.

“And I love youuuuu,” you pinch his cheeks.

Osamu lifts you by the thighs and you wrap your legs and arms around him. “Well you better tell yer friend all that stuff ya just said about me next time. Don’t want her thinking her investment banking boyfriend has a one-up on me.”

“Hell no, I’m never seeing her again.”

[turtle-steverogers]

i was thinking but do you know the unsent project? it is this website where you can write a message to your first love that you never sent to them. now imagine steve writing one (or multiple) to bucky after he came out of the ice after nat told him about it... yeah

hello hi anon this broke me and it was too perfect not to turn into a ficlet klafjldskjfalskf thank you

-

Unsent Letters

To:

Steve’s fingers freeze over the keyboard, the cursor blinking at him. It feels like it’s taunting him-- teasing him with the burden of choking out a name. What should he even say? The sender is anonymous, but how many people are named Bucky out there? Would anyone even care?

To: Bu

Steve huffs and backspaces, his hands trembling as he curls them into fists. He isn’t sure what provoked Natasha to tell him about this website. It’s a cruel tease to everything he wishes he could say-- wished he could say before Bucky slipped through his fingers. And now his only option is yelling into an abyss. The text box is black and daunting. He turns it yellow. No, too happy. Green. Yes, that’s fine. Bucky’s favorite color was always green.

His gaze wanders away from the screen of his hefty Dell laptop and out the window of his apartment. DC’s low rising buildings span out in front of him. His gut aches; he misses New York already. But he knows being there would only mangle his soul further, seeing his already alien home torn to shreds by literal space whales. He huffs, thinking of Bucky’s comics. His stories came to life after all. Bucky would have probably vibrated out of his skin if he knew there was other life out there.

To: My astronaut

How’s space treating you? It’s treating me pretty badly, if I’m being honest. If only you could see what it’s done to Brooklyn. I think you’d be pretty mad at it if you knew…

Steve hesitates, reading back over what he’s typed. It’s stupid as hell, and he cringes, but he doesn’t backspace. His fingers find the keys again.

I miss you something awful. I don’t think that even encompasses how much I’m hurting without you. I feel so lost right now-- space is much bigger and scarier than you’d think. I know you’d love it. I wish you could see bits of it, but god, I just want to go home. I want you to come home.

Steve freezes again and finds the screen blurry where tears have welled in his eyes. His jaw clenches as he pictures the way Bucky would laugh at him-- teasing him for his dramatics and ruffling his hair. He wishes he could be there now, rolling his eyes and nudging Steve’s shoulder.

“What’re you upsetting yourself for?” He’d say, gently closing the laptop and coaxing Steve into his arms. “I’m right here, pal.”

And if Steve closes his eyes, he can almost feel Bucky’s warmth enveloping him. But he’s not there. He’s dead, and Steve’s a goddamn ghost, drifting through a future that doesn’t know him.

He opens his eyes and stares at the text box, then clicks submit.

The screen loads, and his message is gone, his pain forever documented in the abyss.

-

For someone who fought aliens two weeks after waking up from his impromptu seventy year sleep, Steve’s life is pretty monotonous. He contemplates this unfortunate fact as he stands in front of his toaster, hair sticking up on the back of his head as he nurses a mug of coffee and waits for his toast to pop.

It’s 5:45 in the morning and he tries to remember a time when he didn’t rise this early. Before the war, perhaps. Though, he’s always been a bit of an early bird. His home life was sporadic to put it lightly and he’d learned from an early age that the sooner he was awake, the better it was for everyone. Vigilance is not a new concept for Steve.

He hasn’t always stayed up late, though. That’s certainly new, and he feels this fact viscerally as he catches sight of his reflection in the microwave. There are bags under his eyes that will be gone by mid-morning thanks to the serum. Dermatologists hate him, Natasha says. Steve thinks he’s pretty lucky that the serum more or less equipped him with a built-in anti-aging agent. His father had started balding by thirty.

His toast pops and he starts a little, blinking blearily at the slightly burnt bread as he pulls it out of the toaster with his thumb and forefinger. He spreads on the same raspberry jam and butter that he uses every morning and tries not to think of how bland it tastes in his mouth as he eats it standing at the counter. Another routine.

He tries not to look at last night’s dishes in the sink as he stacks his plate and silverware on top and doesn’t bother sorting out his hair before pulling on his sneakers and slipping out of his apartment. The sun hasn’t quite risen yet, only the beginning tendrils of light sneaking over the low tops of the DC buildings, and Steve vaguely regrets not grabbing a sweatshirt before he left. It’s not quite Summer yet and the mornings could still get pretty cool.

He’s about to take off down the street when he freezes. Natasha is sitting on the steps of his complex, wearing a pair of pink tinted sunglasses and tossing up and down the keys to her car. Steve blinks, rubs his eyes, then blinks again. Nope. She’s still there.

“Nat?”

Natasha looks up at him and smiles. “Hello.”

Steve shifts, uncomfortable. “Hi. You need something? Is there a mission?”

“No,” Natasha says lightly, standing. “You’re not running this morning, though. Come on, I’m taking you to Starbucks.”

“What?”

“Starbucks. You’re going to try it.”

“I don’t want--”

“Steve, you do the same thing every day. Step out of your comfort zone a little.”

Steve frowns, but Natasha’s right-- he really doesn’t ever stray from his routine.

“Fine,” he says, and twenty minutes later, they’re strolling into the nearest Starbucks.

He’s only been in one before, and that was to use the restroom while on a run. He’d bought a water bottle in an attempt to not be rude and use their facilities without giving them any business, but he hadn’t even considered the expansive menu. All the fancy names were too daunting.

They’re just as daunting now as he stares up at the board, heart hammering out of his chest as he’s faced with indecision. Natasha takes one look at his face, and reaches out to squeeze his arm.

“I’ll order something for you,” she says. “What kind of coffee do you like?”

Steve gives her a pained look. “Um… just coffee?”

Natasha quirks a smile and orders him something called a caramel macchiato. He’ll take it, he guesses.

The drink is too damn sweet and sugary and he almost gags. Still, he was always told to finish what he was given, so he drinks the whole thing.

-

To: Mr. Sweet Tooth

You’d fucking love it here. Everything is packed with sugar and sweetness-- enough to make even my teeth rot. I had something called a caramel macchiato today and it tasted like someone took your ma’s caramels and condensed them into a cup. I couldn’t stand it, but I know if you were here, you’d want at least twelve. I hope you’re enjoying all the sweets you can up in space.

Love, Mr. Boring

-

Steve’s fingers are stiff and frozen as he works at the straps of his stealth suit. The tangy taste of saltwater still sits heavy on his tongue, and he clenches his jaw to keep his teeth from chattering too harshly as he finally peels off his suit. It’s not much better, being naked, but at least the wet fabric isn’t clinging to him anymore.

The mission had been pretty straightforward until some alien tech managed to blast the quinjet to kingdom come, and they all free-fell straight into the freezing Atlantic.

Steve had managed to keep it together as they took down the goddamn mad scientist that fucked them over, but now that he’s home and alone, he can feel the adrenaline crashing.

He’s shaking from more than just the cold as he draws himself a warm bath, and he pulls his knees up to his chest, trying to breathe through the panic that wants to engulf his entire being.

He loses time for a bit, and comes back to himself lying in his bed, burrowed under several thick layers. He feels so cold, down to his very soul-- a chill that he can never seem to truly shake, even when he’s warm.

Not for the first time, he wishes Bucky were there to hold him. He slips off to sleep thinking old, comforting thoughts of Bucky rubbing his hands between his own, coaxing his head under his chin to engulf him in that natural warmth of his. He always was a fucking furnace.

But when Steve wakes an hour later, shaking hard enough to move the bed with the force of the nightmare he’d dropped into, Bucky is not there to soothe away the ice.

-

To: JB

im so cold and i cant breathe ever and nothing feels right. I dont know what to do, u were always the problem solver between us and i cant think straight right now and i just want you here please. I cant do this anymore, im so tired please come back. I need you please

-

The Winter Soldier file sits in front of Steve-- a horrifying nightmare wrapped up in a neat brown folder. Residual nausea swirls around in his gut as he comes down from the horrible high of reading through the contents. His hands shake where they grasp the thick paper. His heart clenches hard in his chest.

Bucky is alive. Bucky is alive, and he’s been unmade.

Steve doesn’t know where he is-- if he’s escaped, or if Hydra found him again. It’s been three weeks now since the helicarriers, and he’s only just gotten the courage to sit down and wade through the shit that is Bucky’s reality.

He just hopes he’s safe. God, he hopes.

Sam says he’ll help him look, and Steve needs to know he’s at least out of danger, but he barely knows where to start.

And he’s sorry. He’s so fucking sorry.

Blinking out of his reverie, Steve looks at his laptop. He feels strange and detached as he reaches for it and logs in.

To: Bucky

And yes, that feels right. He should use his name, since he suspects no one has for a long, long time.

I’m so sorry for what happened to you. I’m sorry that you’ve been hurting so quietly for so long. I understand if you’re not ready to come home-- I understand if you never are. I just hope that you know that there will always be a place with me that is safe. I love you so much and I’m here, forever and always.

Love, Steve.

He’s not naive. He knows it would be dangerous to submit that particular message, so he doesn’t. But that’s okay. That one’s just for him-- for them.

-

“Steve? What is the… Unsent Project?”

Steve frowns and pokes his head out of the kitchen. Bucky is sitting on the couch in the living room, using his laptop, because his own is having storage issues.

Bucky looks at him. “It’s one of your saved tabs. What is it?”

And oh, fuck. Steve had forgotten to remove that from his homepage-- it really wasn’t needed anymore. He blushes all the way to his ears.

“Oh, it’s-- nothing. Not anything important--”

But Bucky has already clicked on the tab.

“The Unsent Project,” he reads aloud. “A collection of unsent text messages to… first… loves…”

He trails off as he processes what he’s looking at, and Steve can’t quite read his expression when he looks at him again. His eyebrows are furrowed, and he’s looking at Steve like he’s some sort of kicked puppy. Steve shifts, uncomfortable.

“Were you sending me… messages? While I was dead?”

Steve swallows. “Um…” and now that Bucky says it out loud, it really does sound quite sad. He shrugs. “It’s Natasha’s fault?”

Bucky shakes his head, clicking on the search bar. He starts to type his name, but Steve shakes his head.

“I didn’t use your name.”

“Oh,” Bucky says, then frowns at him again. “What did you use?”

Steve blushes harder, sitting next to Bucky and taking the laptop from him.

“Um…” he hesitates, then types what he was sure he used as his first alias.

My astronaut

The screen buffers and loads, then fifty or so messages pop up. Steve scrolls down-- it doesn’t take long to find his.

They’re both quiet as they read, and Steve cringes. Jeez, he really had been pretty dramatic. Next to him, Bucky makes a hurt noise.

“Oh, honey,” he murmurs, taking the laptop back from Steve. He reads the message again, then once more, and reaches out for Steve. “Aw, I’m here now.”

Steve huffs, embarrassed. “I know,” he says. “That was way back, like, three weeks after I woke up.”

Bucky stills. “You fought aliens three weeks after you woke up?”

“... More like two.”

Bucky hums. “Are there others?”

“Yeah,” Steve says, reaching out to type on Bucky’s lap, because Bucky is holding him now and he’s quite reluctant to move. He thinks for a moment, then types in the next one he remembers.

Mr. Sweet Tooth

Bucky laughs, and Steve finds himself smiling.

“I find this funny,” Bucky says. “Because caramel macchiatos are definitely one of my favorites now.”

Steve laughs, too, and butts his head against Bucky’s shoulder.

“If only I could tell that to myself back then-- he’d be thrilled.”

“I’m sure,” Bucky says. “Any more?”

Steve hesitates, thinking of the one he’d sent after that nightmare-- when he was low and hurting. Incoherent. He isn’t sure he wants Bucky to see that particular side of his soul, but Bucky has been more than generous in letting him in on his pains nowaday, and it’s not like Bucky hasn’t witnessed Steve’s own current nightmares.

He bites his lip and types in JB. That seems to yield a lot more results, and it takes a while for Steve to find the message.

He hides his face in Bucky’s neck as he reads. Bucky’s arms gradually tighten around him, and a moment later, he feels him kiss the top of his head.

“Honey, I hate that you were hurting so bad,” Bucky mutters against his hair.

Steve shrugs. “We both were,” he says, and it’s true. There’s something to be said about the guilt they both feel for not being able to save the other person at their lowest, but life hasn’t been kind to them. The vitriol, Steve thinks, should be directed at the goddamn universe for keeping them apart, not themselves for fucking dying. They’re working on it.

Bucky’s quiet for a long time. “Yeah, I guess you’re right,” he says. “Is that it?”

Steve shakes his head. “But I never sent the last one.”

“Why not?”

“I wrote it after DC.”

He feels Bucky squeeze him again, and he squeezes back.

“Oh.”

“I just-- I wanted you to know that you didn’t have to come home. That I just wanted you to be safe; needed to know you were safe, but it was up to you. I just needed you to know I was here, if you needed me.”

Bucky pulls back then and cups his face, kissing him soundly. Steve’s surprised for only a moment before he’s kissing back.

“I did know that,” Bucky says against his lips. “I needed time-- I was lost-- but the first thing I knew when I remembered who you were was that you were a safe person, because you’d never force me anywhere.”

Steve kisses him again, then pulls him into a hug. “I’m glad you knew that.” It’s warm, where their chests meet, and Bucky is solid beneath him. Real. He isn’t speaking into an abyss anymore.

-

There’s a sticky note on Bucky’s pillow next to his head when he wakes up the next morning. Steve’s side of the bed is already vacant, and he can’t hear him downstairs. He must have already left for a run.

Propping himself on an elbow, Bucky plucks up the sticky note.

To: My Bucky

Thank you for choosing me to be your home, and thank you forever, for being mine.

I love you with everything I have.

Love, your Steve

Bucky smiles, heart light as he folds the notes. He’ll keep that one with him, he thinks. A little bit of home to bring wherever he goes.

-

anyway yeah fslkjflaskjfls i-- ouch. anything to do with letters w these two hurts me immensely

[honeymoonjin]

ᴘ��ɪʀɪɴɢ: ot7 x reader || ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 6.6k || ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: smut - rated 18+

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ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: mentions of sexual content

A/N: please do tell me your thoughts on this chapter ! lots of things are going on at once and you may not be happy with me about all of them fskjfksdfjsd

DAY TWENTY-FIVE

You wake up to hair tickling your nose. Flinching away automatically, you’re met with the sight of Taehyung’s distinctive curls as he snores against your chest. His weight presses you against the bed, one of his hands tucked around the nape of your neck and a leg hooked over your hip. Even though Tae was a cuddler, this was closer than he tended to be.

Coming to sit on the side of the bed above you, you catch sight of Jimin leaning in with a fond, albeit sleep-deprived smile to ruffle Taehyung’s hair and then gently buff you on the cheek. You can’t help but return his smile, but it only takes a moment for the reminders of reality to flood back into your mind.

Jimin, already fully-dressed and with subtle sweeps of pearlescent silver on his lids, frowns at your change in demeanour. “He’ll be okay,” he whispers, not needing to ask you what’s on your mind.

You nod, careful not to jostle the sleeping man on your chest. Part of you just wants to fall back unconscious with him until things are back to normal, though the thought of going into town to visit Yoongi gives you something to stay awake for. “Are the others up?”

“Not yet,” Jimin mumbles, glancing towards the door as if he could see them from his spot on the bed. “I wanted to let them sleep. I’ve been messaging hyung.”

Fighting the urge to sit up, your eyes widen. “Is he doing okay?”

Jimin shrugs. “I doubt he’d admit over text if he wasn’t, but he seemed hopeful. His father is starting to stay awake for longer bouts of time, almost enough to hold a conversation.”

“That’s good,” you respond in a small voice, though it’s just a guess, your voice lilting at the end in uncertainty. You didn’t know anything about heart attacks, had never been confronted by them in your life, and could only assume that responsiveness was a positive sign.

Taehyung shifts on top of you, and you freeze, waiting for him to adjust himself, grumble a bit, and continue snoozing.

Jimin quirks a smile, gets up, and makes his way around to your side of the bed. Lying on top of the covers, he turns his face to you, so close you feel the tip of his nose bump yours. “Y/n,” he starts off slowly, eyes swimming in some unreadable emotion.

You find yourself unable to break the gaze. “Mm?”

“I don’t want to wait.”

Your brows furrow. “Wait for what? The others?”

“No, no,” he dismisses, plush lips protruding a little in insistence. “I… This has me thinking. The whole situation with Yoongi’s father, I mean. I can’t imagine any of us here are exactly at risk of heart failure, but it does make me think about just how much is left up to fate.” He drops his eyes, then, tilting onto his back to stare up at the ceiling. You feel a nudge on the back of your hand, and look down to see Taehyung unconsciously reaching out, wrapping his fingers around yours. When you look up, Jimin still hasn’t continued. His jaw works, like he’s toying with the right words to say.

When he finally speaks, his voice is a low, smooth murmur, barely loud enough for the two of you to hear. “Our plan of waiting until we can date like normal seemed logical at the time. But I care so much about the two of you. Too much. It seems foolish to postpone anything just to play it safe.”

You blink, stunned by the vulnerability in his voice and the words it delivers. “So… What are you saying, Jimin?”

He swivels, quick enough to jiggle the bed, and Taehyung whines against your collarbone, slowly beginning to rouse from sleep. Jimin doesn’t notice, his eyes burning twin fires as he leans in close again. “I don’t want to wait to tell you I love you.”

“I love you too,” you whisper back without hesitation. Jimin’s hands reach out gently to cup the sides of your face so tenderly, eyes crinkling, and suddenly you feel the sting of tears. Taehyung’s weight begins to shift and lift off of you, rolling onto the other side of the bed, and the sudden change has you feeling unmoored. “This is going to get messy, Jimin. You know that.”

“What’s going to get messy?” Beside you, Taehyung pushes himself up onto one elbow, blearily rubbing at his eyes.

Instead of responding, Jimin’s teeth peek out from a grin as he launches himself over you and collides with Taehyung mouth-first, gripping his t-shirt and holding him close for a few, meaningful moments.

When they break apart audibly, Taehyung looks stunned still, and Jimin lets out a disbelieving laugh, like he can’t even process his own enthusiasm. “Tae-tae, I love you,” he announces in visible delight, smile stretching.

Taehyung’s eyes widen and glisten, and his fingers jump up to wrap around Jimin’s wrist. “Minnie,” he breathes, and the three words that follow don’t need to be voiced for you - and Jimin - to hear them.

Straightening up further and turning to address the both of you, Jimin looks like a mad scientist on the verge of a breakthrough, his previously coiffed appearance looking decidedly rumpled. “It- I don’t care if it’s messy,” he confesses, “I don’t. And I don’t care that it’s scary, or that I don’t know what I’m doing when it comes to- to this, or that we’re still in the show. You make me happy, both of you, and I love both of you, and…” He cuts himself off to swallow and suck in a breath, fingers clenching in the fabric of Tae’s shirt that he never let go of. “And I think I deserve to have this.”

When he puts it like that, you have no rebuttals. Sitting up to meet him halfway, you seek out his lips and let your eyes fall closed to savour the closeness.

Jimin kisses you like he never has before. It’s free, unfiltered, and not in the greedy, intense way he kissed you when you were scening together. Jimin kisses you like he’s entirely liberated, like he could spend an eternity with his lips joined to yours, unhurried and assured.

Your lungs lighten with a lack of oxygen, but you refuse to part from the softness of his embrace until you’re physically tugged out of it.

Taehyung pouts up at you, tilting his chin up. Even as he feigns being playful, you know what he’s asking for, and it’s more than just a kiss.

You turn to him, bending until your cheek is pressed to his. “Taehyungie, I love you,” you profess into his ear, lips curled at just how true it is, at how light it makes you feel to say it.

“That’s a relief,” he mumbles, pulling back just enough to give you an indulgent yet chaste kiss, mouthing the words I love you too against your mouth. With a dreamy sigh, he collapses back onto the mattress and bats his eyes up at Jimin. “I hope this confession doesn’t make you too soppy.”

“And why is that?” Jimin asks, a hand lazily running up and down Taehyung’s side, skimming his hip and dipping beneath his shirt to rub his soft stomach.

Arching into the touch like a pleased pet, Taehyung shrugs in mock-innocence. “Y/n and I still need someone to rail us,” he states. “When is mean Minnie going to come out again?”

Jimin’s eyes glint at the prospect, and suddenly you see the expression of the man who originally entered the Villa. The cocksure, unforgiving dom who had you weak at the knees from the start. If it didn’t send a spark of arousal through you, you’d probably be impressed at how naturally he brings it to the surface. “If you’re needing a little discipline, Taehyung, you only have to ask. I won’t be so soft on you next time. I hope you don’t regret it.”

Shameless, Taehyung pouts and whines deep in his throat, wrapping his lower half around where Jimin’s seated. “Well, don’t do it now,” he scolds in a small voice, “it’s not fair making me horny before we go to the hospital. You better fix this.”

The mention of the hospital sobers you all up a bit, but Jimin just furrows his brow down at Taehyung, pushing him flat on his back with a single strong hand, and using that same hand to palm roughly at Taehyung’s crotch, a tent beginning to form in the boxer shorts Tae had worn to bed.

Taehyung keens, but lays back obediently and lets Jimin massage him to full hardness, heavy breaths pushed out of his nose.

“Come on, then,” Jimin says after a moment and removes his hand entirely to stand up, ignoring Taehyung’s indignant gasp, “let’s take a shower and get that little demon back under control. Y/n?”

“It’s not little,” Taehyung grumbles under his breath as he gets up and hobbles toward the bathroom with a visible erection.

You sit up, shaking your head at Jimin’s question. “I want to check on the others when they wake and let them know we’re visiting Yoongi today. Maybe pack some of the leftovers in the fridge so the Min family have some decent food there.”

Jimin hums in acknowledgement, half-turns as if to leave, then freezes, waiting until Taehyung disappears inside the bathroom, turning the shower on with inaudible muttering. “Y/n,” he starts, huffing out a breath and letting his shoulders relax. “I know it’s not only us.”

You cock your head to the side in confusion. “Huh?”

He sends you a smile, halfway between shared humour and resignation. “You really should tell Yoongi-hyung.”

Before you can process the response, he’s in the bathroom and shutting the door behind him.

Down in the kitchen, Jin has bet you to the leftovers, bent over the counter with a red-stained pair of chopsticks hovering above the bowl. Mouth full, he puffs his cheeks in a smile of greeting.

You slink behind him to grab a mug for coffee, admiring the broad planes of his shoulder blades beneath a fine knit sweater. “I was going to bring those for the Mins today,” you say with a mock sigh, mind already straining to think of what else you could bring.

Jin is one step ahead of you. Without pausing his chewing, he props himself up on his elbow and points the set of chopsticks at the dining room table, which you didn’t notice is laden with tupperware containers, stocked with different foods. “Couldn’t sleep,” he states after finishing his mouthful. “What time are we heading in?”

You shrug, using the coffee machine to brew a cup entirely on auto-pilot. “Jimin and Taehyung are awake, but I’m not sure about the others. Let’s wait a bit and then check in with Yoongi.”

With a slow nod, Jin carefully sets his chopsticks down, balancing on the brim of the bowl. “You worried me last night,” he admits softly.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he rebuts without hesitation, turning to offer you his open arms. Abandoning the coffee, you step forward into his embrace, the tension in your muscles loosening the second he tugs you in closer with a strong arm around the small of your back. If he tilts his chin up, he can rest it on the top of your head, and you smother a giggle at the odd feeling of it moving against you as he continues to talk. “All that matters is that you’re okay. Are you okay?”

You melt against his chest, linking your hands around the back of his neck to return the hug. “Mostly,” you say after a moment.

Jin hums, making no move to break apart the hug, and begins to gently rock the two of you back and forth, free hand running lazy figure eights up and down your back. “I’ll take it. Maybe after we visit Yoongi, you’ll be a little more okay.”

“I think so,” you murmur into his sweater. Truth be told, you feel so safe and at peace in Jin’s unhurried embrace that you feel somewhat better already. Closing your eyes to enjoy the slow swaying, you let go of the thought that’s been festering in the back of your mind for a while now. “Does it feel like everything’s falling apart to you? Not- not all at once and dramatic, but like we’re all unraveling on a single thread.”

When Jin sucks in a deep breath, his chest puffs and jostles you slightly. “I understand what you mean. I don’t think it is, though.”

“You don’t?” Suddenly, the snug grip around you loosens, and Jin pulls back to release you from his hold, hands slipping down to link with yours. You miss his warmth immediately, feeling slightly unsteady on your feet. “But Yoongi might not come back. And- And I voted you off and now I’ll have to keep voting you off and it just feels worse every time, and it feels like nobody is really doing this just for the competition anymore and... “ You find yourself falling short, unable to articulate your thoughts. Jin waits patiently, his deep brown eyes watching you kindly. “I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop. For everything to turn sour.”

“It might,” Jin admits, gaze darting up and around in thought, until it catches on the coffee machine, sputtering out the last few drops. He squeezes your hands reassuringly before letting them go, and moves over to grab the coffee cup as he continues talking, pouring some milk from the fridge just how you like it. “But then again, it might not. I think focussing on that worry too much will only make it more likely to happen, or will at least prevent you from enjoying the good things to come.”

“Maybe.” You take your coffee from him with a grateful smile, though you’re still not convinced. “How do I just ignore that dread, then?”

Jin leans back against the counter top, shrugging with a thoughtful look on his face. “We have no control over whether Yoongi returns or not. The best we can do is support him through a difficult time. Then, even if he doesn’t come back to the show, I’m sure we’ll stay close. That’s what you really fear, isn’t it? That this house is the only thing tying us together?”

Taking a sip of the coffee, you nod silently. Even hearing Jin say it aloud strikes a note in your heart, and the pang of Yoongi’s absence flares up with it.

The therapist just gives you a warm, genuine smile. “Then I have good news, Y/n. It’s not true. Ask any one of us. The grounds we met may have been set up, but it’s far beyond that now, and I think you feel that yourself, deep down. At the very least, I fully intend to bless you with my companionship for the rest of your life. You aren’t getting rid of me that easily.”

Despite yourself, you let out a surprised laugh, and feel your worries ease. “As long as you still cook for me sometimes,” you bargain, and Jin mock-winces, before reaching out to link your pinky fingers together in promise. “You have a deal,” he declares, moments before you hear a rolling thunder of feet banging down the stairs.

Practically tumbling into the kitchen, Hoseok, Taehyung, and Jungkook barrel into each other with heavy breaths. All three have jackets on and are holding pairs of shoes, like they’re ready for a school trip. Jimin and Namjoon join behind them a few moments later, far more calmer than the formers, but are equally dressed-up.

“Guys!” Jungkook pants, hand whirling at the door like he’s directing traffic. “We gotta go!”

“Is Yoongi okay?” you ask immediately, heart skipping a beat at the fearful looks on their faces.

“No,” Taehyung says in a frantic, thick voice, “hyung said the hospital served him plain toast and orange juice for breakfast. With pulp! We gotta get something to him and his family fast, that’s like prison food!”

A heavy breath whooshes out of your lungs, and your body goes weak, nearly tipping your coffee over by the handle. “Jesus, don’t scare me like that! Okay, let me just get my jacket and we can head there. Jin already made some food.”

You’re just reaching the doorway before Namjoon sucks in a dramatic gasp. You turn around to watch him raise a hand to cover his mouth, looking around at all of you.

“How… How are we going to get there? We don’t have a car, and Sejin isn’t here today.”

Jimin’s shoulders sink, and his eyes fall shut in visible pain. “Shit. Then we only have one choice.”

Taehyung frowns and reaches back to rub Jimin’s shoulders in encouragement. “Hey, how bad can it be?”

Jimin stiffens and glares out the window as a beefy stranger in sweaty workout clothes bumps into him after the bus takes a tight left turn. “Hey, hyung?”

Jin, with one hand in his pants pocket and the other on one of the overhead loops, glances up. “Yeah?”

“I don’t suppose you’d have room for one more patient at your practice?”

With a click of his tongue, Jin shakes his head. “You’ll survive, Your Majesty.” The bus  hits a road bump at speed, sending the gym rat knocking into Jimin, pinning him against the side of the bus, before using Jimin’s shoulder to catch his balance again. Instead of apologising, the man gives a short laugh and moves back, lifting a hand up to grab onto the bar and exposing the dark sweat stain on his armpit. Jin’s face goes pale. “Tuesdays at seven.”

The professional porn star grits his teeth, staring past Jin’s broad shoulders to the scrolling LED display at the front of the bus, an automated voice announcing the stop in unison to the text running across the screen. “We’re the next stop,” he declares with a shiver of relief. “Come on; I’m heading to the doors.”

With a brute determination, Jimin winds past high school students, office workers and small families alike, collecting you all on the way. Most of you had managed to get seats together or sitting next to strangers, but Jimin and Jin were the last ones to get on (Jimin out of sheer reluctance, Jin because he’d taken on the role of counting heads) and missed out on the luxury of sitting down.

The bus driver truly had no qualms about speeding through the streets of Seoul, shaking the metal carriage from side to side with abandon. It was nothing you weren’t used to, but for Jimin, his first time riding a bus certainly didn’t seem to be a pleasant or tolerable one.

Before long, you’re on steady ground again, breathing in the cool air outside Severance Hospital. Now so close to Yoongi again, you feel anxious to get inside and find him, but Jin insists on double-checking you’re all still in one group. Once he’s satisfied, he leads from behind and you make your way to the front entrance of the massive building.

Inside, the lady at the reception directs you to the cafeteria, where Yoongi said he’d meet you. Secretly relieved that you weren’t going to his father’s hospital room, you make your way there and pick two tables by the windows, pushing them together to make enough room for the eight of you.

Even just counting the eight chairs has your eyes pricking, and you find yourself unable to sit still waiting for Yoongi. A single day feels like a lifetime of anxiety, and even as you and Taehyung watch Jungkook play a game on his phone with running commentary, your gaze keeps darting to the automatic doors every five seconds.

Because of your intense vigilance, it’s you who spots him first, the mop of dirty blonde hair (the mint barely still clinging to the ends) catching your eye the second the doors open.

You get up without words, leaving the group. Noticing your sudden absence, you hear them the moment they see Yoongi waving shyly and tiredly, but you have a few metres advantage, and it’s you who meets him halfway before anyone else.

It’s all you can do to hold yourself back from running in the hospital cafeteria, but by the time you get close enough to see the puffiness under his eyes, you dash the last few steps and wrap him in a tight hug, burying your face into the crook of his neck.

Your heart is racing wildly, and you can feel an unmatched but equally frantic rhythm beat against you too, Yoongi holding onto you just as strongly.

“Oh, sweetheart. I’ve missed you.”

His voice brings tears to your eyes, harsh and unforgiving, and you have to fight the tremble in your lip to return the sentiment. You feel arms around you from behind, the pressure increasing as the others join the hug. The vulnerable tone of Jungkook, Namjoon’s broad hand on your shoulder, the relieved sigh from Taehyung, Jimin’s deceptively strong body weaving into the center. There’s an absence, still, and you all break apart the group hug after a few moments, seeking the final member out.

To your surprise, Jin is only a step behind you all. Preventing him from joining the hug, however, are the tears wetting his face and blurring his vision, eyes squeezed shut in an unsuccessful attempt to stem the wave of emotion. He sobs silently, breaths uneven and shoulders shaking, trying to wipe his face with clumsy hands but only soaking them too, knuckles pressed to his eyes.

Yoongi lets out a wounded noise, hurrying forward despite him exhaustion. “Hyung, hey, shh, I’m here.” He hooks onto Jin around his waist with one arm and gently tugs one of Jin’s hands away from his reddening face, pressing it to Yoongi’s own cheek in an invitation to look at him. “I’m okay. I’m here now, I’m with you.”

Jin hiccups, visibly fighting to calm down as he blinks through streaming eyes to look down at the younger man. “It wasn’t the same,” he sniffles, “it’s not right without you.” He takes in a single, laboured breath and swallows the thickness in his throat, slowly settling with Yoongi in his arms. “Is your dad okay?”

Yoongi lets out a laugh of disbelief, pulling Jin back towards the tables you’d been waiting at. The rest of you migrate there too, nobody wanting to let Yoongi get too far. “He’s doing fine, actually. Fine for a Min, at least. Near-death experience and he’s already getting my older brother to get him tickets for the Samsung Lions game next week.”

The eight of you sit, finally filling all the chairs the way it should be. Jin takes some tissues from Hoseok’s small satchel to clean up his face, nodding soberly. “That’s really good to hear, Yoongi-ah. All of us were so worried.”

Pressing his lips together in a sad smile, Yoongi looks around at you all. “I was too. I- I really appreciate you all coming in to visit. Dad’s recovering, but… it’s still scary. They’re keeping him here for a bit longer, and after that he’s going to live with my brother for a bit since he lives closer.”

Hoseok, on the other side of Yoongi, leans in for a side hug, pouting. “I can’t even imagine. How are the others holding up?”

“Mom’s doing okay. She’s always been the strongest out of all of us. Yoonji took it really hard. Her and dad have always been the closest. She hasn’t left his bedside since we got here. She says to say hi, though.”

Your heart aches for the poor girl, unable to picture her so despairing after how she’d been in her short time at the Villa. There’s a question on your tongue, but you feel hesitant about bringing it up at the wrong time.

Jungkook, however, has no such concerns, sitting beside you, opposite Yoongi, with bambi eyes. “Does that mean you’re coming back home, hyung?”

Yoongi lets out a small breath at the use of home, and nods after a moment. “Tomorrow, I think. I haven’t talked to Sejin about it yet.”

Jin presses his lips together. “Leave that up to us, Yoongi-ah, just focus on you and your family right now. Oh! That reminds me-” he pushes the bulging grocery bag down the table to Yoongi. “That’s for you all to have. Taehyung told me the food here wasn’t so good.”

“You didn’t have to,” Yoongi breathes, eyes wide as he glances between his hyung and the stacked tupperwares, “but thank you. I’m sure they’ll love your cooking as much as I do.”

“Ah, now you’re laying it on too thick,” Jin deflects with a wave of his hand, though you catch the pink in the tips of his ears. His eyes are still reddened, and when the attention is off him you think you catch his lip tremble a few times, but other than that he seems to have settled down again, relieved just as you are to have Yoongi in your company again.

Jungkook, on the other hand, hasn’t looked away from Yoongi for a single second, eyes wide and focused in as if he might vanish at any moment. The rest of you chat about how strange it is to be outside of the show, and how long ago that first night now feels, but Jungkook offers up nothing. He’s across from Yoongi, Taehyung lazily tugging his hand into his lap and leaning on his shoulder, but even that doesn’t deter his watchful gaze.

It’s not until Yoongi is sharing a story about the horror on his brother’s face when they received their first meal at the hospital that suddenly Jungkook is pitching forward in his seat, elbows crashing on the slightly wobbly cafeteria table. “Hyung!” he blurts, cutting the elder off mid-sentence.

Yoongi’s brows lift in shock, eyes darting to the youngest. “Yeah, Jungkookie?”

“Can I- can we, uh talk in private?” Jungkook swallows, looking smaller and more vulnerable than usual, wearing a zip-up hoodie that’s entirely too big for him and with his hair tucked behind his ears. After Yoongi acquiesces, the two disappear down a hall that leads to a private outdoor smoking area, leaving the remaining six of you in confused silence.

“What was that all about?” Hoseok asks after a moment, glancing back and forth at all of you. “Did I miss something?”

“I think we all missed something,” Namjoon responds quietly, equally befuddled. “Jungkook did seem pretty distressed.”

Taehyung, without a shoulder to lean on, sits up and tries to bury his worries. “Let’s just wait and see what happens when they get back. If it’s important, I’m sure they’ll tell us, right?”

“Maybe they’re just re-enacting The Bachelor,” Jin theories, “if Jungkook comes back with a single rose, be suspicious.” He pauses, eyes narrowed in thought. “Or Yoongi’s fly was down and Jungkook didn’t want to embarrass him in front of everyone. There are too many variables here.”

“They could be planning a surprise birthday party for one of us,” Hoseok offers up.

“Or one of us has been replaced by an alien and Yoongi is the only one Jungkook can trust,” Taehyung suggests, voice wary.

“Or they’re elo-” Jimin cuts himself off, head darting to the side. “Oh, here they come. Yeah, they definitely just eloped.”

The two guilty parties are doing a miserable job of playing casual. As they approach the table again, Yoongi is in front with red cheeks and bright eyes, surreptitiously pressing his lips together, and Jungkook is trailing behind with a hand fisted in the fabric of Yoongi’s shirt, unable to contain his grin.

“So…” Hoseok trails off meaningfully, beaming at the two of them. “When’s the honeymoon?”

Jungkook’s smile drops, replaced by genuine confusion. “Huh?”

Hoseok blinks. “Didn’t you two just-?”

“Just what?” Shaking off his frown, Jungkook cheers up again. “Hyung is letting me stay in the hospital overnight!”

“What?” you blurt out incredulously, not expecting that to be the reasoning for the strange meeting.

“I’ve never stayed overnight before,” Jungkook gushes, feet tapping on the floor tile in excitement, “and I read somewhere that the fourth floor is haunted. But you need to either be the one in hospital or be family for them to let you stay. Yoongi’s gonna vouch for me and say I’m his brother.”

“In exchange for…” Yoongi starts emphatically, eyes intense and serious.

Jungkook huffs, but it doesn’t dampen his obvious thrill. “In exchange for buying Yoongi lamb skewers from the restaurant down the street tonight and tomorrow morning. What a deal, right?”

Taehyung perks up, eyes wide. “Wait, can I stay too? I wanna see the ghosts!”

“There are no ghosts in the-” Jin begins with a sigh, but Jungkook interrupts, placing a gentle hand on Taehyung’s shoulder.

“I’m so sorry, hyung,” he murmurs softly, “but the doctors would never believe you’re one of the Mins. You’re too hot.”

Yoongi’s mouth drops open in apparent offense, before he cocks his head to the side. “You do realise you’re also insulting yourself, right, Jungkook?”

“Listen, that’s not important now,” Jungkook insists simply. “Tae-tae-hyung, I promise I’ll facetime you from the fourth floor. Be ready for the witching hour.”

Taehyung swallows in reverence and nods. “I’ll be waiting.”

“Oh my god,” Yoongi mutters under his breath, pinching his brow. “What have I signed up for?”

By the time conversation naturally starts to die off, your social batteries draining, it’s time for Yoongi (and Jungkook, apparently) to go back up to the room for dinner. The remaining six of you make your way home on the bus with distinctly less fanfare than when you arrived, all a little exhausted from the onslaught of public spaces after being in the Villa for so long.

It’s weird how tiring it is just being in society, even when you weren’t really interacting with anyone else. But everyone seems to breathe a sigh of relief when you let yourselves in the front door and collapse in the living room inside, Jin making some coffee and the rest of you taking a moment to rest your weary feet.

The absence is still felt, even more so with Jungkook gone too, but it’s far less distressing. Instead, the quiet is a little calming, like a lazy day in after a stressful week. Jimin and Taehyung head upstairs early, and you let them go alone, sensing they’re wanting some time to themselves.

Downstairs, Jin, Hoseok, Namjoon and you spread out on two couches, cradling hot mugs to wake you up a little. It’s easy enough to sit in silence for a bit, but then Hoseok is sitting up, biting on his lip.

“If Yoongi-hyung is coming back tomorrow,” he starts softly, “then what does that mean for all of this? Do we just… start it back up? The competition, I mean.”

“I guess so,” you venture. “But we can’t exactly start a week on a Friday. Maybe Sejin will wait for Monday?”

“Eh, it’s all the same to me,” Jin quips. “Not much skin in the game anymore, huh?”

A flash of guilt strikes your face as you recall only days ago the way he’d been so blindsided by your elimination. It was hard to say if you regretted the decision; you’d originally hoped taking the competition out of the equation would make things simpler, but the fallout that followed and the unsteady peace between the two of you doesn’t really feel worth it. Despite that, there was no easy choice, and for all you know the exact thing could happen with whoever you vote out. You just wish you had some conviction for it.

Jin notices your expression and frowns, but before he can open his mouth, Namjoon pitches in. “I’m kind of dreading going back to it,” he admits, scratching at his knee through a small hole in his pants, “but at the same time I wish we could go back to it already. At least it was consistent. This whole break just makes me anxious.”

“It definitely isn’t fun,” Hoseok supports, sending Namjoon a reassuring smile. “But hyung said he’s coming back tomorrow, and Sejin has been good to us so far. Let’s have some faith that it’ll turn out fine!”

You bite down hard on your tongue. Even if it turns out fine, there’s only so much time you’ll have before you’ll have to boot another man out of the running of the game. Hoseok, Jimin, Yoongi, Jungkook or Namjoon. Despite everyone feeling that your bond is stronger than just circumstance, you know it’s impossible not to take that decision personally, and you’re dreading going back to it.

Though, deep down - and it flares that guilt even stronger to think of it - part of you is growing restless, fidgety at having suddenly been deprived of the physical pleasures you’d grown used to receiving in such abundance. It’s only been two days, and you feel stupid for even noting your body’s yearning after such a short time, but it’s nonetheless there, and at least if you went back on schedule, you’d be able to indulge again.

Things felt so somber and serious when all you had were those swirling emotions, and no way to release them. But it feels wrong to even think about pursuing anything when the whole status of the group is on rocky footing.

“You’re thinking too hard.” The voice tugs you unceremoniously out of your haze with a gentle shove to accompany it. Jin, sitting beside you, has scooted closer to eye you with a warm albeit slightly concerned gaze. “What’s on your mind?”

“Everything,” you admit, and Namjoon makes a noise of agreement from the other couch. Hoseok has an arm slung over his shoulders, and you blink in surprise at the casual contact the two of them are sharing. Neither of them have seemed to be the touchy type since you’ve met them, but they appear perfectly comfortable. You make a mental note to keep an eye on them, but it quickly dissolves in your brain the moment Jin puts a hand on your knee and gently squeezes it.

“Hey,” he buffs in a low voice, “let’s get some fresh air, yeah? You boys up to join? It’s still warm out.”

“We’ll head up,” Hoseok says after a glance shared with Namjoon, “it’s been a long day.”

“That it has.” Jin squeezes your knee once more and gets up as the two others heave themselves off the couch and thud upstairs. Holding out a hand to you, the eldest helps you up and leads you out back, linking your arms tightly and walking side-by-side with you out the back door.

The stars are blocked from view by cloud, but the moon provides enough waxy light to see by, the grass glinting silver. Like two lovers from a Jane Austen book taking a turn around a room, the two of you begin a lap around the expansive backyard, following the path.

“This feels very cheesy,” you admit to Jin, glancing up at him with a bemused smile. If you’re honest with yourself, the distinct oddity of wandering around a lawn late at night for no apparent reason is enough to distract you from your worries.

Jin returns your smile broadly, and presses you a little closer to his side. “All the more fun, don’t you think? The cameras aren’t even on. We can actually enjoy the privacy for once.”

You sigh out filaments of tension with every breath, the cooler night air easing your lungs. “That’s true. I haven’t actually come out here often.”

“I noticed. Afraid of the sun?”

“Oh, please,” you defend, “if either of us is a vampire it’s clearly you.”

Taking a few, quiet steps, Jin hums calmly, then suddenly lunges for your throat. A startled yelp leaves you as his face buries in the crook of your neck, and your shoulders rise up to wiggle away from the cold tip of his nose. “St-ah-stop!”

He pulls back, satisfied at his own joke and how effectively it caught you by surprise, but the adrenaline from the sudden fright has you giggling hopelessly, using your free hand to press against your mouth.

“Oh my god, you’re so mean,” you whine, but there’s only playful pouting in your tone, no real malice.

Jin clicks his tongue, entirely unruffled as if he’d never launched himself at you. “What can I say? Daddy is getting old, I think I’d prefer being called Sire.”

You splutter on air, reaching over to whack him. “Be careful what you wish for. I know several kinky little shits in this house that would take you up on that.”

“Strange,” Jin muses, “that you seem to think you’re not one of them.” He sends a smirk down at you, but as you stare up at him too, the gaze softens. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I shouldn’t make those jokes when we can’t actually- Never mind.”

Without intending to, you come to a stop, stepping across from him so you can see him head-on. “The cameras aren’t on,” you point out. “The show is paused.”

Jin’s brows come together, his lids lowering. “Y/n…”

“We could. Not even the- the whole kinky thing, just…” You bite down on your tongue at the reluctance on Jin’s face. “If you wanted to.”

He exhales raggedly, stepping closer and placing his broad hands on the sides of your shoulders. “Of course I want to,” he says, enunciating each word with intentioned care, “but you voted me off, Y/n.”

A chill runs through you, though the air is unchanged. “But Jin, the- we aren’t- that doesn’t matter, the show isn’t even-”

“I understand that,” he allows, closing his eyes briefly with a slight shake of the head, “but I’m going to respect your decision, even if you don’t. I want to do this the right way.”

Your heart sinks, unable to be mad even as humiliation stings your cheeks red. “I don’t even know when the show will end, it could be longer because of this break.”

“And I’m a patient man,” Jin states. You can feel the finality in the air. His choice wasn’t going to change, and you no longer have the energy to try. Instead, you just nod silently, missing the atmosphere only five minutes ago when you hadn’t put yourself on the line and gotten rejected.

His hands on your shoulders feel hot, anchoring you, and acknowledging them only makes your eyes prick more, wishing you could feel his whole body against you again. Knowing that you - god, that you loved him - and that he felt strongly about you too, but that you’d voted him out just to make things easier… It didn’t feel easy now. It didn’t feel worth it now.

“I think it’s time for me to go to bed now,” you say hollowly. You can’t imagine sleep will come kindly, but you feel the desire to be alone and bury yourself deep under the covers until morning. Perhaps longer.

Before you can pull away, Jin leans in, and your heart stops.

With eyes fluttering closed instinctively, you feel lips press chastely, but meaningfully against your cheekbone, before a soft whisper wishes you goodnight.

When he stands up again, you open your eyes and blink harshly, willing the pooling tears not to fall before you’re out of his sight. Emotion is swelling and crashing inside you like a storm at sea, and all you can manage is to choke out, “that’s not fair,” before you’re rushing across the grass, uncaring if your socks get dirty or stained, and barreling up the stairs with tears rendering your vision useless.

[kj-1130]

Nothing For Me

Part 7

Main Masterlist

Part 6|Part 8

     You and MJ’s relationship continued to grow as time went on. 

     As she started her first year of high school, you worked on yourself, wanting to be good for her.

     Overtime, you learned how to process and deal with things better. You focused on yourself and your developing relationship with MJ and needless to say, things started to look up. 

     The ‘present but not really present father’ thing didn’t affect you as much as it did, but it was still there. It was one of the only things you hadn’t fully processed and to be honest, you didn’t think you ever could. 

     Your father is there, and has been aware of presence for almost a decade. And not once has he given you any type of consolation or love like a father should. You would think after Pepper was getting more involved in his life and forcing him to clean up (most of) his act, he would open his eyes and realize that a whole human being was living with him, waiting for him to realize that they were supposed to be relying on him; not an AI built in the comfort of their room. 

     But nope. Absolutely nothing changed. If anything, things got worse. 

     He was away more often, focusing on the Avengers. Or he was with Pepper, the new love of his life. 

     You tried not to linger on the situation often, knowing it would only lead to pain in your chest. So you just stuffed it in the back of your mind, hoping one day that the pain would just lessen all together. 

     About two months ago, you and MJ had decided to make things official after going on your first date. At first you talked about how fast the two of you were going, but Michelle simply said ‘we’ll be u-haul lesbians then.’ That was the end of the conversation. 

     Currently, you and your girlfriend were facetiming. You would’ve made the trek to her house but she was about to study and you both knew that you’d distract her. Plus the two of you were due for some time away from each other considering the fact that you’re at her place almost everyday. 

     “Okay, so I found this recipe the other day and I’m just now remembering it.”

     MJ looks at you confused, “Okay?” 

     You roll your eyes playfully.

     “I wanted to try it with you. After my ban from your place has been lifted.” 

     “It’s not a ban,” she chuckled.

     “Well, it sure as hell feels like one ba-”     “Mr. Stark has arrived with a guest,” M.I.A cut you off. 

     “Who is this guest?” 

     “Secretary of State, Thaddues Ross,” the AI replied, pulling up pictures of the man. 

     “Hey M, I’m gonna call you back.”

     “Yeah, yeah,” she nods, looking a little concerned. “Take all the time you need. Let me know if everything’s okay.”

     The two of you give your goodbyes and you ask M.I.A to pull up the live footage from the conference room.

     “Perspective. The world owes the Avengers an un-payable debt. You have fought for us, protected us, risked your lives… but while a great a=many people see you as heroes, there are some who would prefer the word “vigilantes”, is what you first hear when you start watching. 

     Immediately your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. 

     “And what word would you use, Mr. Secretary?” Natasha asks.

     “How about ‘dangerous’?” he replies. “What would you call a group of US-based, enhanced individuals who routinely ignore sovereign borders and inflict their will wherever they choose and who, frankly, seem unconcerned about what they leave behind?”

     The secretary activates a screen behind him which begins to play the previous battles the Avengers and SHIELD have fought in. 

     “New York.” 

     He clicks a button, footage of chitauri, shooting guns, and Hulk smashing plays. 

     “Washington D.C”

     A new video appears, showing the insight helicarriers firing at each other with chaos following. 

     “Sokovia.” 

     The frame changes, showcasing the terrified citizens that were on the flying piece of land. 

     “Lagos.” 

     “That’s enough,” Steve interrupts. 

     Ross nods in response and begins his speech again. 

     “For the past four years, you’ve operated with unlimited power and no supervision. That’s an arrangement the governments of the world can no longer tolerate. But I think we have a solution.”

     He places a thick document on the table and slides it across to Wanda. As the team slides the book to each other Ross starts talking. 

     “The Sokovia Accords. Approved by 117 countries… it states that the Avengers shall no longer be a private organization. Instead, they’ll operate under the supervision of a United Nations panel, only when and if that panel deems it necessary.” 

     “The Avengers were formed to make the world a safer place,” the Captain begins. “I feel we’ve done that.”

     “Tell me, Captain, do you know where Thor and Banner are right now?” There was a momentary pause as the two men’s eyes met. “If I misplaced a couple of 30 megaton nukes… you can bet there’d be consequences. Compromise. Reassurance. That’s how the world works. Believe me, this is middle ground.”

     At this point, you’re walking out of your room after transfering the feed to your tablet and making your way to the elevator.

     “So, these are contingencies,” Rhodey states. 

     “Three days from now,” Secretary Ross begins. “The UN meets in Vienna to ratify the Accords. Talk it over.” 

     Natasha speaks up, “And if we don’t come to a decision you don’t like?”

     “Then you retire.” 

     The elevator stops and you look up seeing the Secretary walk in with someone behind him. You give him a subtle disgusted look before turning your attention back to the security footage.

     As the deathtrap descends, you can feel his eyes lingering on you. 

     “Can I help you?” 

     “You’re a little young to be an intern.” 

     “You’re a little old to be looking at me like that,” you shrug, swiping away from the video on your tablet as you feel him looking over your shoulder. 

     Ross gives an awkward chuckle and furrows his eyebrows. When you reach the bottom floor, he gets ready to step out and places a hand on your shoulder. 

     You look at him like he’s lost his mind. 

     “You seem like a good kid. Be sure to make good choices.” 

     Raising an eyebrow, you refrain from saying what you want to say. You lift your hand and gently take his off of you. 

     “Don’t touch me,” 

     Once he exits, you hear the chatting start back up.

     “Secretary Ross has a Congressional Medal of Honor,” Rhodes told Sam. “Which is one more than you have. 

     “So let’s say we agree to this thing,” Wilson starts. “How long is it gonna be before they LoJack us like a bunch of common criminals?”

     “117 countries want to sign this. 117, Sam, and you’re just like, ‘No that’s cool. We got it.” 

     “I have an equation,” Vision announces as you get back on the elevator. 

     “Oh this will clear it up,” Sam mutters. 

     “In the eight years since Mr. Stark announced himself as Iron Man, the number of known enhanced persons has grown exponentially. And during the same period, the number of potentially world-ending events has risen at a commensurate rate.“

     “Toaster oven’s got a point there,” you mumble, stepping back on the metal deathtrap. 

     Steve asks,“Are you saying it’s our fault?”

     “I’m saying there may be a causality. Our very strength invites challenge. Challenge incites conflict. And conflict… breeds catastrophe. Oversight… oversight is not an idea that can be dismissed out of hand.” 

     “Boom,” Rhodey says.                             

     You see Tony lying on the couch, quite relaxed, contradicting the tense atmosphere. 

     “Tony,” Nat starts. “You are being uncharacteristically non-hyper-verbal.”

     “It’s because he’s already made up his mind,” Steve explained. 

     “Boy, you know me so well,” Stark starts, getting up and rubbing the back of his head. “Actually I’m nursing an electromagnetic headache,” he pauses to grab a mug of coffee. “That’s what’s going on, Cap. It’s just pain. It’s discomfort. Who’s putting coffee grounds in the disposal? Am I running a bed and breakfast for a biker gang?”

     Tony puts his phone in a basket and taps the screen. An image is projected of a smiling young man. 

     “Oh, that’s Charles Spencer, by the way. He’s a great kid. Computer engineering degree, 3.6 GPA. Had a floor level gig at Intel planned for the fall. But first, he wanted to put a few miles on his soul, before he parked it behind a desk. See the world. Maybe be of service. Charlie didn’t want to go to Vegas or Fort Lauderdale, which is what I would do. He didn’t go to Paris or Amsterdam, which sounds fun. He decided to spend his summer building sustainable housing for the poor. Guess where, Sokovia.”

     He pauses for a second as the team soaks in the information.

     “He wanted to make a difference, I suppose. I mean, we won’t know because we dropped a building on him while we were kicking ass.

     “There’s no decision-making process here. We need to be put in check! Whatever form that takes, I’m game. If we can’t accept limitations, if we’re boundary-less, we’re no better than the bad guys.”

     “Tony, someone dies on your watch, you don’t give up,” Steve rebuttals.

     “Who said we’re giving up?” 

     “We are if we’re not taking responsibility for our actions. This document just shifts the blame.”

     “I’m sorry. Steve,” Rhodey blurted. “That-that is dangerously arrogant. This is the United Nations we’re talking about. It’s not the World Security Council, it’s not SHIELD, it’s not HYDRA.”

      “No, but it’s run by people with agendas, and agendas change.”   

      “That’s good,” Tony starts. “That’s why I’m here. When I realized what my weapons were capable of in the wrong hands, I shut it down and stopped manufacturing.  

     “Tony, you chose to do that. If we sign this, we surrender our right to choose. What if this panel sends us somewhere we don’t think we should go? What if there is somewhere we need to go, and they don’t let us? We may not be perfect, but the safest hands are still our own.”

     “If we don’t do this now, it’s gonna be done to us later. That’s a fact. That won’t be pretty.”

     Wanda finally speaks up, “You’re saying they’ll come for me.”

     “We would protect you,” Vision promised. 

     “Maybe Tony’s right,” the redhead speaks. “If we have one hand on the wheel, we can still steer. If we take it off--”

     “Aren’t you the same woman who told the government to kiss her ass a few years ago?” Sam interrupts. 

     “I’m just… I’m reading the terrain. We have made… some very public mistakes. We need to win their trust back. 

     “Focus up,” Tony says. “I’m sorry, did I just mishear or did you agree with me?”

     “Oh, I want to take it back now.”

     “No, no, no. You can’t retract it. Thank you. Unprecedented. Okay, case-closed--I win.” 

     From what you see, Steve stands to leave abruptly. 

     You then walk out of the elevator, tablet still in hand with the footage up. The captain walks past you just as you turn the corner and spot the team. 

     “Someone’s upset,” you hum. 

     You walk past everyone towards the fridge and grab a water bottle. 

     “Anyway, that was very childish. And kinda stupid.” 

     Inquisitive looks are thrown your way and you hold up the tablet awkwardly as you plop down on a chair. 

     “I was watching you. I kinda do that a lot. It’s not as creepy as it sounds.” 

     You open the bottle and take a sip. 

     “What are you doing down here kid--”

     “Ahhh,” you interrupt. “Don’t call me a kid. I haven’t been a child for years.”

     “Just answer the question,” Tony snaps. 

     “I like to stay informed. No one tells me anything and while you think that these private meetings only affect you, it doesn’t. It affects me too. You may not remember I’m your child but several people do. And that puts me in danger. So yes, I listen to your conversations to make sure it’s nothing I need to worry about.” 

     An awkward silence washes over as you gulp down more water. 

     “Anyway, I was just riding up and down the elevator waiting for you guys to finish. That Ross dude is kinda creepy by the way. But you’re really considering signing that thing?” 

     “Not you too,” your father mutters. 

      You let out a laugh and everyone looks at you strangely. 

      “Is this funny to you?” Rhodey asks. 

      “Yes,” you stop laughing abruptly. “I find it hilarious that this is the same government that was ready to drop a nuke on the city during the Battle of New York not giving a damn about a single civilian that was still in the area. I find it hilarious that this is the same government that lets thousands of children and women of color go missing and not do a thing about it. It’s funny that this is the same government that let HYDRA, Red Room, AIM; all that shit grow right under their nose. It’s funny because this government is the same one that uses taxpayer money for dumb ass projects and unnecessary military funding instead of using it to fund shit that helps the civilians they claim they care so much about. I mean how can you not find this situation amusing?”

     “Look,” Tony attempts. 

     “I’m not finished,” you challenge, looking him dead in the eyes. “This government don’t give a damn about y’all, especially not the three of us,” you say, gesturing to yourself, Sam, and Rhodey. “We’d be booted out of this country before you could even blink if they ever got the chance and you know that.

     “I don’t know why y’all are so adamant on gaining the government’s trust when they don’t give a flying fuck about you or these goddamn civilians. All they care about is power. They don’t care how many civilians come up missing or die in some tragic accident. It doesn’t matter what happens. When they see someone becoming richer or smarter or more powerful than they are, they will do anything to shut that shit down. 

     “I don’t understand how you can’t see that. And maybe it’s just me. Maybe it’s just me and my experience,” you pause, catching the gaze of every person in the room with hard eyes. You take a deep breath and try to calm down. “Sign it if you want to. Think about how many lives you’ll lose then.”

     You stand from your spot and walk into the open elevator, ready to get to the comfort of your bed. 

-

     It had been two days since the initial meeting and you were currently sitting on Michelle’s bed watching her read. 

     “You’re really pretty,” you muttered out of the blue.

     You saw your girlfriend’s cheeks develop a subtle red tint as she mumbled back a ‘thank you, and continued reading. You groan and gently pull the book out of her hands. 

     “Hey,” she quietly protests. 

     “Please,” you pout, holding your arms out as an invitation.

     MJ fondly rolls her eyes before lowering herself onto you. You hummed contently and squeezed her before planting a kiss on her cheek. 

     She surprised you by turning her head and giving you a lingering kiss. That one kiss soon turned into something more. 

     Michelle gently pushed you onto your back and straddled your hips. Bending down she kissed you once again, her lips gliding with yours. 

     This continued for a few minutes, taking small breaks in between to breathe. You don’t think you could ever get enough of her and hoped that she was feeling similarly.

     You kissed until your jaws hurt. The euphoric feeling still lingered as MJ rested her forehead against yours, trying to catch her breath. 

     “We should do that again sometime,” you mumbled. 

     Your girlfriend nodded in response, giving one more chaste kiss to your lips before dropping to your side. 

     “Tomorrow,” she said after glancing at the clock that read 10:47. 

     “Guess I’m spending the night then.” 

     “I have no problem with that.”

-

     The next day, you were awoken by beeping from your phone. Once you were fully aware of your surroundings you picked up the device and read the notifications that M.I.A sent through. Scanning through them, you sat up with urgency and played the video. 

     “A bomb hidden in a news van ripped through the UN building in Vienna. More than 70 people have been injured. At least 12 are dead, including Wakanda’s King T’Chaka. Officials have released a video of a suspect who they have identified as James Buchanan Bares, the Winter Soldier. The infamous HYDRA agent, linked to numerous acts of terrorism and political assassinations.”

     Carefully removing Michelle’s arm from around your waist, you stand up and move to the corner of the room. You press the contact and hold the phone up to your ear. 

      “Nat what the fuck is going on?”

     You hear the woman sigh on the other side of the phone.     “Look, just… stay wherever you are.”

     “Yeah, okay, whatever. I want answers, Nat.”

     “(Y/n),” she says firmly. “Calm down and go back to whatever you were doing. Right now, this does not concern you and I would like it to stay that way. Do you understand me?”

     There was some silence, before you let out a forced chuckle. 

     “Okay, whatever. Bye.”

     “(Y/n) c’mo--”

     You disconnected the call and gently tossed the phone onto MJ’s desk.     “You sound stressed.” 

     Turning around to face the bed, you see Michelle sat up and leaning against the headboard. You nod slowly and crawl your way up towards her. 

     “I am.”

     You feel her hand take hold of your clenched ones and she rubs them, causing you to relax slightly. 

     “There was a um, bombing at the--the um… signing thing. And no one wants to tell me what’s going on, so,” you end the sentence, shrugging. 

     MJ’s head drops onto your shoulder and you let her cuddle close. 

     “They told me to stay where I was. So hopefully we can get something good out of that.” 

     There was no response and you thought she had fallen back asleep, but you were proven wrong when your girlfriend started getting up. 

     “C’mon,” she instructed, holding her hand out when she saw the look of confusion on your face. 

     Taking her hand, the two of you made your way to the kitchen. 

     She turned around and grabbed your shoulders. 

     “We are going to make some breakfast… or lunch whatever. And then we are going to binge watch until we can binge watch no longer. Alright?”

     You nod your head, chuckling and then got to work. 

-

     It had been days since you last heard from anyone. No updates from Natasha. M.I.A even told you there hasn’t even been a great deal of movement in the compound. Today you decided you would head back. 

     When you arrived it was quiet. As you walked down the halls you heard distant chatter and followed it. 

     Turning the corner, you were surprised at what you saw. 

     “What the hell happened?”

     The two men turned to look your way, but you were given no answers. 

     Tony had bruises on his face and he looked more tense than usual. Rhodey had some sort of tech on his legs. 

     “You fought them. You fought them all, didn’t you?” 

     Both men looked away and avoided your gaze. 

     “You didn’t even listen to what I said. This is what the government does. I tried to tell you, but you didn’t even fucking listen,” you ranted, your voice slightly raising.

     “Us breaking apart wasn’t the government. Most of this is on some guy th--”

     “Well the government allowed it to happen so I’d say it is their fault!” 

     You turned to your father with pleading eyes. 

     “Where are they, Tony?”

     “Kid, they’re criminals now, I don’t--”

     “Stop calling me that! I’m--I’m not some kid. I’m not your kid,” you let out a frustrated breath. “You--you couldn’t talk it out? Like mature adults? You just had to go assert your dominance somewhere--in what? An--an airport? Some vacant lot? You just had to fight. Do you not know how to communicate?” 

     You looked at the two men, shook your head, and brushed past them. 

     Just when things were alright.

-

     “(Y/n)?” 

     “What M.I.A?”

     You were currently laying in your bed trying to control the tears that were begging to fall from your eyes due to the amount of overwhelming shit you had been hit with. You talked with MJ for a little while and while it helped a bit, you honestly were still feeling like… well shit.

     “There’s a package for you.” 

     Furrowing your eyebrows, you head down to where the mail is usually placed, get the package with your name on it, and head back to your room. 

     Grabbing a pair of scissors, you cut the tape and open the box. Inside was a letter and a phone. 

     Hey sweetheart.

     It was Natasha’s handwriting.

     I’m sorry. I really am. We all are. I wish things wouldn’t have ended this way, but they did and we can’t really do anything about it now. 

     I listened to what you said. I listened and I tried my best to understand. I don’t think I ever wanted to sign the accords in the first place. The only reason I did so was so that we could stay together. So that I could stay with you. This team is the only family I’ve had in a long time. The fact that that stack of papers could end that scared me. 

     I just kept trying to convince myself that signing the Accords was the right thing to do; anything to keep this team together. Anything to keep everything from falling apart. 

     But the more I thought about it, I realized. You were right. Everything you said. This government doesn’t care. And if the government doesn’t care like they’re supposed to then we need to. People need the government, but they don’t have it. They do have us though. And they always will. 

     I love you. I didn’t say it enough and I don’t know when or if I’ll ever get to tell you that again. You are so precious to me and I’m sorry I couldn’t stay. If you ever need anything, you can always give me a call. 

     You wiped your eyes and gently picked up the phone. You held it in your hands for a moment before setting it down. You folded the letter back up neatly and placed both items in the top drawer of your nightstand. 

     You laid back down on your bed with less tears on your face. 

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Permanent Taglist

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@littlegasps​, @leahnicole1219​, @thebadassass, @legendarymcnuggies, @big-galaxy-chaos​, @believinghurts​, @play-morezeppelin​, @vavilip​, @coollemonsaresour​, @ximaginx​, @xx-narcissa​

Marvel Taglist

@hateinthemorning​, @mylove4life​, @badbitchyonjii, @blueposthings​

[ssahotchhner]

angel of spite

hi, i wrote a quick little something about the reader intentionally making hotch jealous as revenge. i hope you like it (: i'll be working on a few requests in my inbox next. i also finally made a masterlist which i'll link below!

masterlist

questions, comments, concerns

You supposed you should have known better than to spite Aaron for staying at the office too late, again. You had simply texted him that since he was going to be working late to not expect you to be there when he got home. Maybe that had been unfair to him, and you were normally so patient with his work schedule, but the last three nights in a row he had promised to be home for date night and continually cancelled last minute. Tonight, you had gotten angry when he texted you yet again, apologizing and saying he would be back late.

He tried calling you over an hour after you had sent the text message, having just then seen it in the throws of a difficult case, but you didn’t pick up. He tries to push down the flare of annoyance he feels, after all, this was the third time he had flaked on you. But still, you were acting like a child. He also knew part of the reason you were doing this was because you knew it would piss him off.

All he wanted at the end of a hard day was to see you waiting in bed for him with open arms. He put on a big show of being the dominant one in the relationship, but both of you knew Aaron became putty in your hands when you gently scratched at his scalp and whispered sweet nothings in his ear. You purposely took that away from him, knowing it was one of the only things that could get him through a tough work day. The more he sat at his desk trying to work, constantly checking his phone to see if you’d called or texted again (you hadn’t) the more angry he became. In fact, he stormed out of the BAU without saying goodbye to anyone without finishing his report.

He called you over and over again until you started sending him straight to voicemail. And so by the time he’s able to make an educated guess about what bar you’re in, his rage ripples off him in waves. He flashes his FBI badge to the bouncer to get inside without waiting in line, something he’s definitely not supposed to do, and heads up the elevator to the rooftop. Once up there, he heads straight to the bar. He scans the room quickly, but you’re nowhere to be found. Until, across the room, sparkling golden crescent moons dangled from someone’s ear. Aaron knew those earrings, he had bought them for you for your birthday this year. And standing in front of you is a broad, tall man. Not as tall as Aaron, but he was built a bit wider than Aaron, as if to make up for it. You sit on the arm of the couch, you look relaxed, your legs open just enough to get the man that was in front you salivating.

When your eyes settled on him, you couldn’t help the cocky smile that lit up your mouth. Unbridled fury filled his face when he saw the lawyer in front of you that was clearly wondering what you’d let him do to you in bed. You sigh as Aaron begins walking over you and turn to look at the lawyer, “I’m really sorry about this.” You say, cutting off whatever he was saying.

He frowns at you, “What?”

But Aaron was here now, “Hi baby,” You say sweetly, “I didn’t think you were going to make it tonight.”

He gives you a withering look as if to say I’ll deal with you later, before turning to the lawyer. “This is Ronnie, he’s a lawyer.”

Ronnie stared from Aaron, who was still silent, to you and back again. “And… who is this?” He refers to Aaron.

You open your mouth, but Aaron speaks first, “Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner, Unit Chief of the BAU. I’m also her boyfriend.” He gives the lawyer a look that anyone in opposition to the unit chief had experienced many times over the course of his career.

I’m sorry, you were mouthing to Ronnie from behind Aaron’s shoulder. “She didn’t mention a boyfriend.” Ronnie says.

You sigh, leave it to you to pick the one guy in this room that would decide to challenge Aaron Hotchner rather than just apologizing and walking away, “Oh, you idiot.” You murmur.

Aaron tilts his head to the side in an almost predatory way, “Are you suggesting that I’m lying?”

“I’m suggesting that the lady obviously doesn’t want you since she didn’t mention you, Mister FBI.”

“Oh, God help us.” You shake your head and say into your lap and the next time you look up Aaron’s fist has connected with the man’s face and whiskey had splashed on the floor and your ankles. At that your eyes widen, “Aaron, what the fuck?” Aaron had given many men that flirted with you a firm talking to, sometimes escalated to yelling, but never in the entire time that you’d known him had Aaron physically hurt anyone who had advanced on you.

Aaron puts a firm hand on your wrist as a commotion begins to gather around the two of you and pulls you away. He doesn’t speak as he practically drags you out to the back door, down several flights of stairs and out another door behind the building. Once the cold night air hits you, you pull your wrist away from him, “What the hell did you do that for?”

“Did you want him to fuck you?” He practically growls.

“No,” You say, exasperated, “Aaron, we play this game all the time, you’ve never hit someone.”

“You’ve never deliberately gone out of your way to flirt with someone else.”

It was true, you supposed. You always let the men come up to you if they were interested, but you never were the one to initiate. Why would you when no one would compare to Aaron anyway? Today you had come here with specific intentions to speak with someone that would piss off Aaron. “You’re right,” You admit softly, “I’m sorry, I just… I wanted you to feel what I’ve been feeling.”

“Do you think I enjoy coming home late and not spending time with you?”

“Yes, I do! You love your job!”

“So you behave like a child because you’re jealous of my job?”

When he says it out loud like that, it sounds ridiculous and your eyes water, “Yes.” You say quietly, “Because I need to make sure you still want me just as much as your job.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose, “Honey, of course I do, but I can’t control when I have more paperwork or a heavier caseload than usual.”

You feel deflated and stupid all of a sudden with the condescension that’s written so clearly on Aaron’s face. “Whatever, let’s just go home.”

“Sweetheart—“

“I don’t want to talk about it. Did you drive the SUV here?”

He looks at you hopelessly and then sighs, “Yes.”

You let him walk a couple of steps ahead of you the whole way, not wanting to let him hold your hand if you were close enough. He did open the car door for you, but you didn’t look at him as you climbed in.

“I’m sorry that I didn’t consider your feelings more this week when I cancelled our dates.” Aaron says. You remain quiet. “I’m nearly certain I’ll be off work this weekend. I’ll make it up to you then.”

You can’t help the roll of your eyes, “You have to stop making me promises that you can’t keep. We all know you’ll probably get a case in the middle of the weekend.”

His fingers flex on the steering wheel, “I don’t know what you want from me.”

“Aaron, I’m not even mad about you not being here all the time. I accepted that when we first started dating. I just hate when you promise you’ll do something and then you don’t do it. We planned this dinner weeks and weeks ago and you swore to me you’d get it off. And then we had to reschedule the reservation three nights in a row and you still didn’t show. Then you do show up, but only for the chance to be mad at me and condescend me which just tells me that you could have left work tonight if you wanted to. That’s why I’m mad.”

He supposed you were right. He had ended up leaving work early because he was upset with you. He knew that hadn’t been your intention, you had expected him to quietly stew in his anger until the next morning or until you had come home that night. But he had done it all the same, unable to bear even the idea of you flirting with another man in his absence. He figured it had to do with previously being cheated on because of his job, but he knew you would never do that. Knew that your relationship wasn’t fundamentally broken in that way, could tell by the way adoration still glowed in your eyes when he came home every night. But if he wasn’t careful, he wondered if you ever would. Just the thought had his knuckles whitening as he clenched the steering wheel. It was this thought that had made him punch that lawyer back at the bar.

When you arrive home, you get out of the car without waiting for Aaron, unlocking the door before he’s even out of the car and heading inside, heels in hand. Jack was sleeping at a friend’s house tonight as it was supposed to be date night. You don’t slam the bedroom door, but you close it as Aaron is walking down the hallway which in his mind is the same thing. He stops in the middle of the hallway, wondering if he should go in anyway. A minute later, he hears the intro to The Phantom of the Opera blaring from your bedroom.

He sighs, “Fuck.” He murmurs to himself and turns away from the room. Your mutual love of the theater had been something the two of you had bonded over early in the relationship. Aaron had learned quickly there was a specific stage performance of Phantom of the Opera that you turned to for comfort. If he ever came home to it playing, he knew you had had a bad day. Rarely, though, had you put it on after a fight with him.

He heads to the kitchen and turns on the electric kettle figuring he’d better come into the bedroom with your favorite tea if he was going to brave it at all. He sits down as he waits, resting his head in his hands. The two of you rarely ever fight and so Aaron is still trying to figure out how to do that with you in a productive way.

The kettle switches off and he pours the boiling water into your favorite mug, dunking your favorite tea bag before leaving it to steep. He takes a deep breath before picking up the mug and walking to the bedroom. When he enters, you don’t look at him until he stops by your nightstand, noticing he brought you tea. The gesture is sweet and so you sigh and pause the show.

“Hi.” You say softly to your boyfriend who’s still standing next to you.

“Hi.” He says gently, “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” You say, and he knows it’s a test.

“For making promises I know I can’t keep. For leaving work early after I told you I wouldn’t be able to solely to punch whatever man wanted to sleep with you. For patronizing you.”

You cover your hand with his, “And I’m sorry for flirting to intentionally make you upset. You know I’d never actually do that, right?”

Aaron looks down at your hands, “I saw the way you had spread your legs for him, just a little bit, and I…” He sighs, “I never told you this, but my last wife cheated on me because I wasn’t around enough and seeing you like that, I guess I just…” He trailed off shaking his head, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have snapped like that.”

“Baby,” You say softly, eyes wide, “I’m so sorry, I had no idea… I never would’ve done that if I had known.”

“I know.” He gives you a small smile.

“Why don’t you come lay down and tell me about your day?”

His smile grows and he crawls into bed, laying his head in your lap and your fingers begin combing through his hair as he talks about the case.

[riversofmars]

Interrupting my usual broadcast of DW fic to bring you another British gay mess: Please enjoy my first attempt at Caroline/Gillian! And as if I haven't got enough WIPs on, this is gonna be four parts, as it turns out! I don't know why I'm like this :D Anyway here we are due to popular demand!

Gillian takes Caroline up on her offer of moving in together and pooling their resources. A month has gone by and Caroline is surprised at how easy and comfortable life on the farm has become. The arrangement works for both of them: Gillian's financial struggles are a thing of the past and while it isn’t exactly the traditional family set-up Caroline would have wanted, Gillian turned out to be exactly what she needed in a partner to help raise her daughter. Adding romance to the otherwise perfect set-up is a pipe-dream on the headteacher's part, but the more time she spends with the sheep farmer, the more drawn she is to her. Rating: M (language & sexual themes)

Home Is Not A Place - Part 1: The Dinner

“For goodness sake,“ Caroline groaned, as she stepped out of her SUV and right into a puddle. Resigned to her changed situation, she decided from now on she would have to switch shoes after work, from her favourite heels, to a lesser loved pair. There was no two ways about it. But at least then there would be absolutely no danger of ruining a two-hundred pound pair of Jimmy Choos, upon her arrival at Greenwood farm. Of course she wouldn’t mention this to Gillian, God no, otherwise her Christmas present to her might end up a new pair of wellingtons.

In the open court yard of the farm, the wind was biting cold and encouraged the headteacher to hurry up the stairs to the relative safety and comfort of the house. Caroline cursed under her breath as the wind wreaked havoc with her hair, and the cold crept up her legs, underneath her woefully-inappropriate-for-farm-life pencil skirt. The British weather was really giving its all this year to live up to its reputation. Well in the grip of Winter already, it only took Caroline to stay late at work by an hour - like today - and night had already fallen. Preparations for this year’s Nativity were gathering steam and - being the hands-on headmistress she was - there was no way Caroline would allow the theatre department to shoulder the burden all on their own. Working late would usually have required a lot of planning for a single parent such as herself, but things had gotten a lot easier, recently.

“Hiya Caz,“ Gillian called from the lounge, when Caroline closed the front door of the farm house behind her and smiled at the chipper greeting.

“Hiya!“ She called back and pushed her soaked shoes into a corner. With any luck, Gillian wouldn’t spot them and she could deal with them later. The sheep farmer would only get suspicious if she lingered in the hallway for too long. “Evening,“ Caroline smiled as she stepped into the living room. Flora and Calamity were sitting on the sofa in front of the tv, dressed in pyjamas. She walked over to them, pressing a kiss to her daughter’s head and then, for good measure, repeated the gesture on Calamity. The girls were the closest of friends and since Caroline and Flora had moved in at the farm, they had become closer still - almost like real siblings - and Caroline had found herself treating them as such with increasing frequency.

“Wet out, is it?“ Gillian smirked, observing Caroline’s dishevelled head of hair, drawing her attention. The sheep farmer was leaning against the kitchen counter, mug in hand, assessing her over the rim of it.

“What’s this?“ Caroline raised her eyebrows, as she spotted two - and only two! - places set at the kitchen table, complete with wine glasses.

“Girls have eaten. Just having a bit of telly before bed,“ Gillian explained, nodding towards the pre-schoolers that were engrossed in their cartoons. “Lasagne is in oven, thought you might be hungry, with your long day n’all.“

“You made lasagne?“ Caroline asked, though it sounded more bewildered than she had intended. It wasn’t uncommon that Gillian would cook for all of them. She was the one at home, her work was here, it made sense. Caroline was a woman of science, of hard facts, so she liked things to make sense. But for some reason, coming home to Gillian Greenwood - who had cooked for her and looked after her daughter - was still something of curiosity, despite empirical evidence to the contrary. Caroline was still not quite used to it, no matter how much sense it made.

Caroline had managed to convince Gillian of the sense behind them pooling their resources not long after she had floated the idea for the first time. Her and Flora moved in at the farm a month ago, and much to everyone’s surprise - and her mother’s dismay - it worked surprisingly well. This was not the first time she had come home to a cooked meal, it was becoming a regular occurrence, so Caroline was at a loss as to why this time, it felt different. Perhaps it was the absence of Raff and Ellie who - as Caroline now remembered - had been invited to Ellie’s mother’s to parade around the little one. Perhaps it was because there were only two places set at the table. Or perhaps it was the warmth of Gillian’s chuckled as she replied:

“Well, had to make something.“

“You really didn’t have to, I don’t… expect to come home to a home cooked meal every day,“ Caroline felt obliged to state, just for the record, though she knew that Gillian would do whatever the bloody hell she wanted anyway. It wasn’t like Caroline - or anyone else for that matter - had any bearing on what this infuriatingly independent and bull-headed woman did or didn’t do.

“Nice though, innit,“ the sheep farmer shot back with surprising enthusiasm. “Guess that was part of the deal. Least I can do, mind the kids and cook you some tea.“ She gave a shrug like it was nothing; when to Caroline, it was a huge deal. This wasn’t something she would have admitted to, of course; just as she wouldn’t have admitted that there was something very appealing about coming home to Gillian.

“I’m not expecting you to pretend to be my stay-at-home housewife or something, Gillian,“ Caroline tried to brush it off with a joke.

“You better not. Cause that’s not me,“ Gillian retorted with good-natured humour, and it struck Caroline that she was a far cry from the tense, short-fused woman she’d met seven years ago. It was moments such as these, that the headteacher realised how much she had changed. Healing would be too strong a word for it; Caroline couldn’t imagine how anyone could possibly heal from what Gillian had been through, but she seemed to be doing, better. She seemed more comfortable in her own skin, and more comfortable with her life. Secretly, Caroline hoped she had contributed to her wellbeing in some small way; even if it was just by giving her the security that she wouldn’t have to give up the farm.

“Don’t I know it,“ Caroline chuckled. “Wine, too, is it?“ She picked up the bottle on the table and checked the label. It was one of her favourites and for a moment, she wasn’t sure whether Gillian had remembered, or if they’d still had that bottle lying round somewhere. “Is there a special occasion? One month since we moved in?“ It wasn’t like she had been counting…well, she had. But only to be able to lord it over her mother about how long they had managed to stay under the same roof, without tearing each other’s heads off…or each other’s clothes…she added as an after thought. But only for her own amusement, not for public consumption.

“I guess I just…wanted to say thank you…for agreeing to this,“ Gillian huffed, suddenly appearing self-conscious, as if she wondered whether she had made a mistake. Caroline felt guilty immediately. For someone with self-esteem as fragile as Gillian, doubts came quickly, and cut deep.

“It was my idea! It’s to both of our advantage. I couldn’t have carried on the way it was, particularly now that our parents aren’t…able…to help as much as before…“ Caroline was quick to assure her. It had made a lot of sense, and she was glad she had managed to persuade Gillian of the proposal’s merit. Even once their parents had volunteered the money to pay for the work on the roof, it didn’t change the fact that Gillian was barely breaking even financially. Certainly not with the sheep that had escaped a few months ago, and once Raff and Ellie moved out - which was only a matter of time - they wouldn’t be contributing anymore, either. Gillian needed someone with her, and Caroline was more than happy to be that person, for numerous reasons. Some of them she cared to discuss, like the practicalities of it, some she would keep to herself, thank you very much.

“Just wanted to say, I do appreciate it, Caz,“ Gillian interrupted and held her hands up, as if she just had to get that out there - and would shut up now that it was said. “And I hope you’re not gonna regret it.“

“Gillian, we’ve known each other seven years now,“ Caroline couldn’t help but point out, as she set the bottle of wine back down on the table. “Yes, we’ve had our ups and downs, but all things considered, I think we’re about as steady as our parents, don’t you think?“ She gave her a soft smile. They really had come an incredibly far way since they first laid eyes on each other. To this day, Caroline was still embarrassed about her behaviour on the day they’s met, and was beyond relieved that with time, Gillian had come to see the funny side of the whole thing.

“Suppose so. Just without the sex,“ Gillian snickered and took a sip of her tea, hiding her grin in her mug as she seemed to relax again.

“I don’t want to think about our parents having sex, thank you very much!“ Caroline exclaimed, mortified, and quickly turned to check the girls hadn’t accidentally overheard. To her relief, she found them still very much engrossed in their tv show.

“God no. I don’t know if they still can, I mean, at their age…“ Gillian huffed, matter-of-factly. “And with his heart too, better mind his blood pressure hadn’t he… Mind you, probably wouldn’t be worst way t’go. Right in throes of…“

“Yes, right. That’s it, change of subject please!“ Caroline shook her head vehemently and Gillian laughed.

“Go and get changed, didn’t mean to ambush you, it’ll keep.“ She gestured to the oven. “I’ll get little ones in bed.“

“If you’re sure.“ Caroline glanced at the clock. She hadn’t realised how late it was. “How about bath time?“

“All this fun stuff you miss out on when you work late. It’s done and dusted. Go on. You don’t wanna be throwing lasagne down that fancy blouse o’ yours,“ Gillian observed, nodding towards her cream blouse.

“Right.“ Caroline gave a soft smile and watched the sheep farmer gulp down the rest of her tea, before sitting it down in the sink.

“You want me to make you a cuppa first?“ Gillian asked, seemingly confused as to why Caroline hadn’t taken her up on the offer yet, instead lingering in the kitchen.

“No, no, it’s fine, I’ll have wine if that’s going,“ Caroline answered quickly, snapping out of her moment of marvelling at how bloody perfect life was right about now to retrieve the corkscrew.

“Well, you know where everything is by now, don’t you. It’s your home too,“ Gillian observed, with an ease that astounded Caroline, that Gillian didn’t seem to think anything of. She just headed to the sofa where she put an arm around each of the girls from behind. “Right you two monsters, show’s over, off to bed wi’ you,“ she announced, leaving Caroline to forget all about the wine. She just watched the display of perfect family life in awe.

——

“Is it bad that I’m sort of looking forward to Raff and Ellie moving out?“ Caroline mused, watching Gillian’s reaction over the rim of her wine glass. “With the baby and everything, the walls aren’t exactly thick.“

“You knew that before moving in,“ Gillian pointed out. She wasn’t unkind about it, she was amused if nothing else.

“Yes, and I’m not complaining. I just didn’t think I’d be doing this still, at gone fifty, I mean…I’m just glad Flora is through the worst of it now.“ Even now, there were still times where Caroline wondered whether she was too old for all this. She had two grown up sons, starting again with Flora and doing it all on her own had been tough. Thankfully, finally, she wasn’t alone anymore. It wasn’t exactly the traditional family set-up she would have longed for, but she knew Gillian would be everything Flora needed in a second parent. She could also be everything Caroline needed in a partner, but that was just wishful thinking on the headteacher’s part. She would content herself with the way things were, as it was shaping up to be everything she wanted, just sadly minus the romance.

“Nowt saying William or Lawrence couldn’t have started early,“ Gillian retorted and Caroline laughed:

“William? Please!“ They were on their third glass of red and Caroline was feeling warm and relaxed. Her reactions had lost the restraint and reservedness she usually maintained with people, even the ones closest to her. “And Lawrence needs to seriously work out whatever he is doing with his life. And with Angus!“ She had often wondered about his relationship with his best friend. At this point, things could go either way.

“Fair. Not much of a chance of getting knocked up there,“ Gillian chuckled.

“Raff’s done alright though, hasn’t he. Becoming a dad so young and still seeing through his education and getting a good job at the end of it, it’s quite the accomplishment,“ Caroline smiled and delighted in the way Gillian’s face brightened with pride.

“He’s a good boy, our Raff,“ she commented, and Caroline was determined to push the matter over the finish line:

“That’s a credit to you. He couldn’t have done it without your support,“ she added kindly, as she put her cutlery down. Dinner had been a delight, but then by this point, Gillian could have probably fed her anything and she would have thanked her with a dreamy eyed smile. Caroline felt the warmth radiating from her cheeks; a combination of wine, the fire going in the adjoining room, and her own conflicted feelings towards her step sister. For the sake of her own sanity, she refused to refer to her as that whenever possible, particularly in her own head.

“More like in spite of me,“ Gillian huffed, her mood swinging like a pendulum. She had been much more steady in recent years, but that wasn’t to say she was free of the crippling self-doubt that always chose the most inopportune moments to rear its ugly head. “Never would’ve happened wi’ someone else. Not like your boys went and knocked up their girlfriend, is it.“

“Don’t be ridiculous,“ Caroline cut in quickly, but Gillian just downed the rest of her wine and carried on:

“You know it’s true, ‘as bad as his mother’ is what they were saying, and if they weren’t, they were thinking it.“ She gave a bitter laugh that stood in stark contrast to the carefree atmosphere they had enjoyed.

“You have many flaws, Gillian, it’s part of your charm, but being a bad mother? That’s certainly not one of them.“ Caroline was quick and decisive, in intervening. There had been times where she had been quite happy to shoot a snide comment her way herself, but not anymore.

“Hm.“ Gillian’s response was minimal, which indicated to Caroline that she hadn’t listened or taken in what she’d said.

“It’s not!“ She insisted firmly.

“Alright!“ Gillian exclaimed, exasperated.

“Do you think I’d have come here, to live with you, having you help look after my daughter, if I didn’t think you were a good mother and a good person?“ Caroline leaned forward onto her elbows, regarding the farmer with a stern look that she had perfected in many years of teaching.

“’suppose not.“ Gillian folded, just as one of Caroline’s six-formers would have done.

“Well then.“ The headteacher straightened herself up again and proceeded to divide the rest of the bottle in between their two glasses.

“Their faces. When you told them.“ Gillian suddenly burst out laughing and Caroline grinned, recalling the conversation in vivid detail. The pendulum that was Gillian’s emotional well-being, had swung back around.

“Of all the stupid, stupid videos Lawrence has done… that would have been the moment to capture,“ she shook her head to herself, remembering how comical and surreal the whole thing had been.

“It was your Mum more than me Dad, that face she pulled!“ Gillian couldn’t stop laughing; it was infectious and prompted Caroline to launch into a scarily accurate imitation of her mother:

“Caroline, you can’t really be considering moving to a farm, and HER farm of all places. Is that any way for Flora to grow up? What if she…catches something or…“ Caroline could hardly breathe for laughing. “Honestly Mum, what is she gonna catch? Fresh air?“

“Touch of the common farmer, more like,“ Gillian grimaced, but she didn’t seem to care, not really.

“Like she’s never stayed here herself.“ Caroline rolled her eyes at the hypocrisy.

“I think she was more concerned with me, than the farm,“ Gillian pointed out, taking a deep breath to calm herself down - but her face continued cracking up and gave her away.

“Well obviously.“ Caroline just waved it off. They were both used to her mother’s strong opinions, and readily chose to ignore them.

“What will you be doing with Gillian around all the time?“ Gillian tried herself at Celia’s accent which caused Caroline to launch into another laughing fit.

“I don’t know, Mum, maybe we will have a wild sapphic love affair,“ she reprised her witty response with tears of laughter in her eyes.

“You nearly gave her a heart attack an’all,“ Gillian snickered.

“Well, it’s none of her business.“ Caroline took a deep breath, regaining some small measure of self control. “And really, she only has herself to blame. If she hadn’t been on at your Dad about lending you that money, and then telling me they wouldn’t be picking up Flora anymore, none of this would have happened.“

“So really, we should be thanking her, shouldn’t we.“ Gillian grinned after brief contemplation. “To your mother.“ She raised her glass and Caroline toasted her:

“I’ll drink to that.“

The evening wore on, and just as they contemplated opening a third bottle, Raff and Ellie returned with the baby, who was sleeping soundly in his car seat. Thank God for small favours, Caroline thought. They had cleared up from dinner and were lounging on the sofa with the telly on.

“Mum. Caz. Alright?“ Raff greeted them.

“Had a good evening?“ Gillian asked, looking around.

“Yeah great thanks,“ Ellie smiled in response and made her way up the stairs with the little one.

“You watching University Challenge, Mum?“ Raff asked, bemused, as he noticed the program they were watching.

“Through no fault of my own!“ Gillian was quick to point out. She shot Caroline a look who was sitting to the other end of the sofa.

Caroline considered it a safe distance, but not as safe as the other sofa would have been. It was one small thing she allowed herself. It was innocent enough, and Gillian didn’t seem to think twice when their legs intertwined on the two-seater.

The sheep farmer carried on explaining their television agreement to her son: “We compromise, see, she gets to watch something she wants and then I get to watch something I want.“

“Trust her to chose the most obnoxious thing she can possibly find, just to wind me up,“ Caroline interjected but without averting her eyes from the screen. She mumbled the answer to yet another obscure question under her breath.

“Sounds about right,“ Raff chuckled and Gillian leaned over the back of the sofa to slap her son’s arm.

“Remember, it’s a school night,“ she pointed her finger at him.

“Bit rich coming from you.“ He eyed their empty wine glasses. “I feel like the alcohol consume in this house has sky rocketed in the past month.“

“Yeah, well, got to knock ourselves out somehow between the baby crying and you two going at it,“ Gillian quipped, and returned her attention to the television as well.

“You’re just jealous cause you haven’t go a fella right now,“ Raff teased.

“Yeah well, I’m over that for the time being,“ Gillian gave a dismissive wave of her hand.

“Think you’ve finally gone through all the eligible bachelors in West Yorkshire?“ Caroline saw an opportunity to jump in and tried her best to keep the smallest twang of jealousy from her voice.

“And some of the ineligible ones too,“ Raff added, with a smirk.

“OI!“ Gillian exclaimed, shooting him a glare and kicked Caroline’s leg for siding with him.

“I’d better see if Ellie needs some help…“ Raff was quick to make his escape.

“Yeah, you’d better,“ his mother shouted after him.

“I have to say, you have come a long way since we met. From having three blokes you’re shagging staying over in this place,“ Caroline couldn’t help but comment, recalling the fateful night their parents had gone missing and they had stayed at the farm with Gillian’s three merry men - Paul, John and Robbie - all crammed onto these sofas.

“Bet you wouldn’t have come to stay then, would’ya,“ Gillian hummed, her voice surprisingly neutral.

“Could have joined that exclusive club,“ Caroline smirked, the alcohol loosening her tongue enough to make a joke, one too close to the truth for comfort. She forced herself not to think about what else she could be doing with her tongue right about now.

“Caz!“ Gillian exclaimed, and the headteacher couldn’t quite tell whether she was offended, self-conscious or flattered.

“It really is easy to tease you,“ Caroline back-peddled to safer waters.

“Yeah well, you’re living with Yorkshire’s greatest slapper so jokes on you,“ Gillian huffed. “Watch your f-bloody University Challenge.“

“Hm, yes, what will people think,“ Caroline chuckled and did as she was told.

[dustofbrokenheart]

The Covenant: Presents and Kisses

Reid Garwin x Reader

Word Count: 1,858

Summary: It’s reader’s birthday and Reid has some surprises up his sleeve. Dedicated to the lovely @saviorsong​. Happy Birthday! 

The café was a small, single room operation so sound from both the dining area and the kitchen traveled throughout. And everyone heard when your boyfriend came out of the bathroom, throwing the door open with such force that a bang rang out from where it hit the wall.

The poor barista almost dropped a drink they were making out of surprise.

“Babe, that was the biggest shit I’ve taken this month,” Reid practically shouted as he made his way back to the table.

You didn’t bother to acknowledge that particular comment and kept your attention on Tyler who had also tagged along with you guys. It was better to not entertain poop talk seeing as how you were in public.

“Babe! Did you hear what I said?”

“I think everyone did,” you replied pointedly. He dropped into his chair, hands clutching at his stomach.

You continued chatting with Tyler about a class you were taking and Reid still kept fidgeting and groaning. He was normally dramatic but he was really hamming it up.

You turned to him with a raised brow. That was all it took for him to increase his complaining.

“I think it was the food. It’s gotta be food poisoning, I feel so sick.”

“But we ate from the same plate.”

A glance at the table showed a shared plate that had long been eaten with not a drop of sauce left on the it after you both had all but cleaned the dish. If he actually had food poisoning, shouldn’t you be feeling it too? Your stomach felt perfectly fine, if not satisfied.

“Everyone reacts differently to these things, you know.”

Tyler nodded seriously, corroborating Reid’s claim. Those two were thicker than thieves, always ready to back each other up.

“No telling how bad this could get. I’m gonna head home but you should stay, Ty can hang out with you,” he said.

“Really?” Your tone was colored with incredulously. “Today of all days?”

He completely ignored that and bent down for a kiss. You were extremely tempted to turn away but ended up giving in. Reid may be an idiot, but he was your idiot. Keeping up with the sick-as-a-dog routine, he gingerly hobbled out of the café.

And since he was your idiot, you knew something was definitely up. You didn’t claim to be the smartest person around but Reid wasn’t exactly subtle.

Immediately, your attention turned towards Tyler. If one was plotting, then the other would know.

The brunette raised his hands as if to keep things peaceful. “Okay, okay. Don’t be upset.”

“It’s my birthday and my man just ran out under suspicious circumstances. I have every right to be annoyed.”

“Exactly! You’re the reason why he left!” He paused for an awkward second. “Wow. That came out totally wrong. What I mean is that he’s setting up something nice for you.”

“He is?” you asked suddenly touched.

Reid was a romantic sort. Maybe not always so smooth about it, but a romantic nonetheless. And he did do things for you often, even if a good number of things were in an attempt to apologize for something stupid he did, but he had never done a birthday surprise.

Well, not one where he had kept it a surprise for this long. Normally he couldn’t keep quiet about his plans so you were a bit impressed that you hadn’t noticed until his terrible acting just then.

Tyler nodded again, this time in excitement. “Yep. He needs a few hours to get it ready though…we can either stay here or walk around. Your birthday, your choice.”

His methods may be, well, unconventional, but your heart beat a little faster knowing he was planning something. Your mind wandered, thinking up various possibilities. Two hours couldn’t go by fast enough.

***

It ended up being close to six o’clock before you returned home.

You closed the door gently and toed your shoes off. The quietness seemed that much thicker with anticipation weighing heavily.

A trail of rose petals wound around the living room and trailed down the hallway, presumably to the bedroom, but you got distracted by a tantalizing aroma. 

You followed that into the kitchen instead and found a skillet filled with something delicious. Other bowls with other fantastic side dishes were arranged randomly around it on the countertops.  

And then you noticed the cake. Unlike the others, the cake was displayed on the table, a package of candles lying next to it. You walked closer to get a better view and couldn’t the grin hat spread across your face.

Clearly, he had made the cake himself. Not that that was off-putting to you in any way. It was really quite cute.

He had made a small two-layer cake which in of itself didn’t look too bad. The sides were not traditionally frosted so, the parts that were visible, you could see that the shape and the softness looked about right. Kind of. 

In lieu of normal frosting, he had attempted to coat them with a crumb frosting of some sort. Despite his best effort, the crumbs didn’t hadn’t spread evenly with some parts having barely any and others having too much.

It looked like he also had issues with the frosting on top. You guessed that he had tried to apply it while the cake was still warm because it was thinner than it should have been, almost glaze-like. Some had even started to leak over the sides before it was cool enough to harden up again.

Even with flaws, it was still the sweetest, frumpiest birthday cake you could ever remember someone making for you.

You stuck out a finger trying to taste the crumb coat when you felt a sharp smack to your ass.

“Oww!” Rubbing it, you saw Reid standing behind you with a towel in his hand. “Did you really just spank me with a towel?”

“It’s not time for cake yet,” he said. He was shirtless, tattoos on display, baggy cargo pants riding low on his hips. There was a hint of tiredness in his eyes but it was mostly irritation. “This part was for last. You were supposed to follow the roses first.”

Ah. He was irritated that you messed up the plan. But you were so excited to see what else he had in store that you didn’t answer back with a sharp quip of your own. “Then lead the way.”

With a sigh, he put his hands on your shoulders and walked you out of the kitchen. His grip was gentle though so you knew he wasn’t seriously frustrated with you.

The path of rose petals came back into view and you realized they were from a real flower and not plastic. A warm feeling spread through you and it only grew the closer the closer the path drew you to the bedroom. Reid stayed just behind you the whole way, your gentle guide.

“The flowers are beautiful, Reid.”

“I know. And a normal person would’ve followed them from the start.”

“Sorry,” you giggled. “The food all looked really good though. Three Michelin stars across the board.”

“Yeah, yeah. Just open the door, would ya?”

You pushed the door with your fingers, thoughts racing. What were you going to find? That fancy stationary set you’d been eyeing online? A fluffy, tail-wagging puppy? A chest of kinky toys?

With Reid it could any one of the three. Maybe even all three.

Tons of balloons were inflated and rolling around the floor, so much so that you had to kick a few out of the way to be able to step in. Even a birthday banner hung over the bed when he had thumbtacked it into the wall.

But the gift was unmistakable.

The large woven basket was sitting on the dresser, fibers dyed your favorite color was hard to miss.

Then came the stuff that was practically overflowing from said basket. You rummaged through it like a old woman at a yard sale, pulling out something new with every handful.

Jewelry. A soft blanket. Cans of your favorite type of drink. Hand painted ceramics. Some hard cover additions you’d been meaning to add to your personal library. New head phones. Dozens of origami creatures. A tee from your favorite team. Coffee mugs and several blends of beans. Hand-held tools  to replace your old ones with. And not only a stationary set but a wax letter stamp seal as well.

And everything from the basket to the last gift followed the same theme: it was all in your favorite color.

You jumped into his arms and he caught you. “I’m—this is…this is…”

“What?” he said, his breath tickling your ear and fingers gripping your thighs tightly. “Impressive? Inspiring? The best goddamn gift you’ve ever seen?”

“Touching,” you whispered.

You couldn’t see it, but you could sense the soft expression on his face.

“How did you even manage to find some of this stuff in this color?”

“It wasn’t easy, let me tell you…”

He went on explaining how he started with the just the stationary (you were right and he had noticed you looking at it) in your favorite color.

Then he added the headphones, also in your favorite color.

Then he’d painted the ceramic pieces himself.  

Eventually thinking up even more potential presents to get, he’d come up with the idea to do everything in that color. The tools were the hardest but he was very proud that he’d been able to pull it off with the help of a custom order from a local business.

“This is super touching. Thanks for putting in this much thought and effort,” you said finally lifting your head up to give him a kiss.

It was meant to be a quick peck but Reid’s lips followed yours when you tried to pull back, turning it into something more passionate. He even managed to lick his way into your mouth before you finally parted, panting for air.

“Mmm,” he breathed, lips back on yours. “You’re eager to get to the next event.”

You made a confused sound in your throat which he swallowed. One of his hands traveled up your leg and over your hip to come to a rest on your lower back. He turned you and that’s when you noticed the bed.

The comforter was already pulled slightly down and more rose petals were scattered all around. He laid you down on the mattress and prowled up your body. The petals were even more fragrant now that you were closer to them.

“What’s the next event?” you asked coyly although it wasn’t hard to guess.

“One kiss for every year you’ve been alive,” he said with a cocked smile. “It was either that many kisses or that many orgasms—I figured all those orgasms might be too much for you though.”

You bit his bottom lip and snuck your fingers under the waistband of his cargo pants suggestively. “How about both?”

He watched in rapture as you removed your shirt, eyes glued to your chest.  

“Anything for you, babe. Happy Birthday.”

_______________

Yay! Thanks for reading. I hope this was alright. 

In my mind, Reid is the type of romantic to make you things, hence the food, origami, and ceramics. But sensual time will also be included just because. 

Honestly, he probably heard what Caleb did for his s/o and, in typical competitive fashion, decided he could do better. He roped in Tyler to keep reader distracted and spent a few hours cooking, decorating, and assembling the massive personalized gift basket. 

They likely did reach fulfill the birthday kiss count but how many orgasms they managed to achieve is up to your imagination. 

[writingsfromhome]

Bad Timing III

A/N: Okay. This one has it all: action, betrayal, confessions, concussions (again), snark, and an ending that is neither happy nor sad, or maybe you make it what you want it to be :) This was so different from anything I’ve written and I want to say thank you everyone for reading it and motivating me to continue loll

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4

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

I’m surprised to find Harry on my doorstep this early on a Wednesday morning. At first, I think he’d cracked the case. But he looks like he’d just rolled out of bed, a stubble roughening his usual freshly shaved face. He didn’t look like he had good news.

“You look rough,” I comment. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” he blows his cheeks out with a breath. “Ab-so-lutely nothing, literally. I’m hitting a dead end with your case and I feel like shit about it.”

“So...you’ve decided to knock on my door at quarter to 8 and? Discuss the case with me?”

“Well I...not exactly.”

“Did you want to come in? Maybe go through some more of my private boxes?” I ask. I was being petty, making him feel uncomfortable. But I also wanted to just put it out there, so it didn’t hang above us like the rest of our past. The last thing I wanted from him was pity, so if I had to make him feel guilty instead I would own that.

He blushes, just like I knew he would. “M’sorry about that,” he mumbles, looking appropriately self-conscious. “I could do with a coffee if you have some?”

“You look like you need one but...I’ve got to head out soon.”

“I’ll give you a ride in,” he offers. “I...we can just talk about the case. This can be professional.”

My laugh is brittle as I open the door to let him in, like a stray I knew I would regret. “Nothing about this is professional.”

He walks right in through to my kitchen--he knew where it was by now. I put on another pot and the awkward silence settles in. This was exactly how my friends described interactions with their exes, I guess I was truly living the life of a divorcee and it was all very mundane.

“So, did you have a guest over?” He asks. I raise an eyebrow and he motions to the two cups sitting on the table.

I roll my eyes and pick them up, “Great observation skills, Detective.”

“It’s my job,” he rolls with the sarcasm, cracking the ice we’d found ourselves in again. He takes a seat at the table and begins, “So the group that hit your bank hit up two more in the last week.”

“Two?” I was shocked. So many victims, I almost want to make a Bank Heist Survivor Group for us.

“Yeah,” he accepts the cup I pour for him. I sit across him with my second of the morning. The first I had drank with an on-and-off again guy I’d been seeing for the last few months--Alec. I never really let myself get serious with him, afraid to get hurt I guess. I knew he liked me, and he was good to me, but I didn’t want to make any commitments. This morning was the first time I let him stay for breakfast...after that letter it felt like something changed in me.

The letter...Harry...I focus back on his words as I realise he was talking to me, “...last one they’ve actually put someone in hospital--the ICU. If she doesn’t make it, it becomes homicide and-”

“Homicide?” Once again, I’m shocked. These people were really terrorizing the banks, and the police had no leads. Or at least that’s how Harry made it seem: “Any leads?”

“Um, I probably shouldn’t say-”

“So that’s a no.”

He looks up sharply before a small embarrassed smile softens his gaze. “Nothing serious.”

“That sounds like a load of useless shite you lot are doing at the station. Three banks and you’ve got nothing?”

He avoids answering, taking a sip of his coffee. “There are some leads, but the group’s really good. I just--I feel like there’s something staring me right in the face but I can’t see it.”

“What’s new?” I raise an eyebrow. He lets out a short laugh, shaking his head as he busies himself with the coffee. “What? I’m not joking.”

“This,” he gestures to me. “This snarky Y/N is a bit of an adjustment. I know you like your sarcasm, I just haven’t had it directed at me in a while.”

I cross my arms, maybe I needed to dose up my attitude so he knew I was 100% serious. When he catches on, he sets his cup down. “They’ve hit your bank up first yeah? I feel like there’s a reason for that, some personal connection maybe? Have you guys turned down anyone for a loan or anything recently? Someone that might want to target your bank first?”

“I’d have to check,” my mind begins to go over anyone we’ve had come in recently with issues.

“Oh!” He jumps in his seat. “The client you were meant to see--did you talk to him? I was going to ask you when you came to pick up the evidence but...”

“I was too busy to go.” I finish his sentence for him. “It’s weird actually, I called and got voicemail. I also emailed to apologise and reschedule but his office is away, I only get automated replies that they’re out of office or something.”

Harry pulls out the notebook he uses and asks me to write down their information, I was sure I’d written it down for him already but I write it a second time. I push the notebook back towards him, and he places his hand on top of mine instead of taking it back from me. I freeze, his large hand familiar and yet, heavier than I remembered.

“What are you doing,” I ask.

“I...want to apologise. For the other day.”

“Please let go of me,” I stare at his hand on mine.

“If I can just say-”

“Let go,” I say, slower. He clears his throat and removes his hand.

I pick up my mug, and move to the sink. Harry realises he’d overstayed his welcome and gets back up, throwing his jacket over his arm and hovering at the edge of the kitchen.

“Thanks for the coffee,” he says awkwardly. “And letting me think out loud. Should I um, wait outside?”

I remember I’d forgone getting to work on time on my own for his coffee and case updates. Fuck, this was going to be awkward. “Sure, I’ll just grab my things.”

He waits on my front stoop, talking on his phone and once he’s done we walk silently to his car when I join him. The silence in the car is deafening. I watch his hand twitch to the radio but he rests it back onto the steering wheel without turning it on. After a few more moments of silence, he speaks up.

“So uh, did you want to ask me about what you brought up...the day you came to pick up the evidence? You said you had questions?”

“Are you serious?” I look at him, incredulous. He really was incredibly thick if he thought I wanted to have this conversation now, after this morning.

“What? I’m just trying to make conversation and you’re the one that wanted to talk about it so-”

“Have I not made it crystal clear that I only want to talk to you about the case? What makes you think that’s a good topic right now?”

He shrugs, and I once again pray that the other people on his team were smarter than him because if he was the lead, my case was going nowhere.

“Can I just ask one question?” He tries again. I almost want to slam my hands on the dashboard but I sigh through gritted teeth instead and tell him he could. “Did you...ever actually read the letter? Last week...you sounded sort of surprised when I mentioned it.”

“I...” I consider lying. but I go for the truth which is a change for us. “I didn’t.”

“Oh,” he sounds dejected.

“I read it last weekend.”

“Oh,” he says again, slightly hopeful. “But this whole time...you didn’t know?”

“That’s another question.” I didn’t want to go into what I thought of him this whole time. “I only agreed to one question.”

“Fair enough,” he taps the steering wheel. We’d managed to get stuck in some traffic. “So that box I sort of looked into the other day...”

“I said no to more questions, Harry.”

“That wasn’t a question,” he says, neatly catching me in his trap. I glare at him, but his cheeky smile tells me he was slightly enjoying pushing my buttons. I make a mental note to never accept a ride from my ex-husband ever again.

We fall silent, and the letter plays through my mind again, I’d reread it a few times before I tucked it into my bookshelf. I’d decided after that, to take The Box and tape it up. I wrote my sister’s address and left it by my front door to mail out when I had the chance. It was time I let it go, I realized. My sister was having her third child, and I was so happy for her. I had people who loved me, and people I loved. I realised that I was holding on to the box and it was just torturing myself. I had enough torturous things in my life, I didn’t need to be one of them.

It feels like forever until Harry pulls up to the curb down the street from my building. I thank him properly, not wanting to be a complete bitch.

But as I walk around to the sidewalk, he calls my name. I turn back to him standing outside his car with his hand outstretched.

“You forgot this,” he holds out my umbrella. I sigh and go back to take it from him but he holds onto it.

“Are you going to let me have it?” I tug again.

“Yes,” he lets go and I have to balance myself on my back leg. “Thanks for taking me in this morning. And for the coffee...you didn’t have to, yet you did.”

“Don’t read into it detective,” I scowl. “It was purely to get more insight on the case.”

“Right,” he smirks.

“But since you had no insights, it was a waste of time.”

“Don’t say that so loud,” he hisses. “I’ve got a reputation to uphold.”

“I’m not telling the people something they don’t already know.”

He narrows his eyes and grins, and my heart skips a beat. It was a familiar look, he used to look at me like that all the time. And I realise that maybe I’d just been flirting with him a little, albeit aggressively but...I drop my smile into a neutral expression. He notices the change and drops his own grin.

“I spoke to my supervisor and I’m going to set up in an empty room if that’s alright. I wanted to interview some of your staff, see if they had any clients who might want revenge by-”

“You’re coming in today?” I feel like he’d just pulled some sleight of hand trick on me, driving me to work only to come in with me. “I don’t know if my staff wants to talk.”

“It’s an investigation, they all agreed to further questioning when they gave their statements Y/N, I’m not going to be invasive. You won’t even notice I’m there.”

“I have no choice do I?” I turn around and begin walking up the street. He follows me in.

And surprisingly, I barely notice him in the empty conference room until after lunch when he comes in to tell me he would be back later, that he had to drop by the station for something his evidence team found.

I make a few rounds to my staff, make sure Harry didn’t disrupt their peace. That they were still okay after talking about the thieves. Being on the floor, my eyes continue to dart to the door, eyeing each of the customers.

I lock myself in my office for the last hour, channeling the nervous energy to get work done. It’s a few minutes before closing that I get the email. I rush to open it: the client I was meant to see finally responded.

Good afternoon Ms. Y/L/N,

We apologise for the delay in our response, our offices have been closed for the last week blah blah blah. We’re very sorry to hear about the events that occurred in your bank. As a loyal client, we would like to extend our sympathy...

I skip to what I needed to know:

To respond to your inquiry about the meeting we had scheduled, there doesn’t look to be anything on our end. I’ve spoken to the advisor personally, he had a flight out of the city that exact date so he wouldn’t have booked a meeting at the same time. I think this could be an error on your end but do let us know if there’s anything we can provide to help...

I sit back from my screen, my thoughts racing. I read it again to be sure and bury my face in my hands. I read it a third time to be sure.

Adam had specifically told me the meeting was at 10am sharp, the client threatened to switch banks if I didn’t attend. But if they never booked it...I actually had no reason to be there.

Except I was the only one who had access to the vault.

I stand up in a rush, this was an inside job! Someone I worked with knew who robbed this bank, they worked with them! Harry was right, the truth was staring at us and it was so obvious!

I take out my phone and text Harry: call me, the client for Thursday just got back to me...he wasn’t in the city that day?  I think about adding more, but I didn’t want to freak him out. This could be a big misunderstanding, and I didn’t want him to come here only for it to be nothing. I place my phone on my desk and take a few deep breaths to calm myself down.

I walk out of my office, most of my staff had cleared for the day. Two of them deal with the last customers, but my eyes are searching for Adam. I had to ask him more about this client phone call, what number had they called from? Was he sure it was from the correct offices?

But Adam is nowhere to be found, which was weird because he worked until 5pm.

I move to the staff room, but stop in my tracks when a familiar voice chills me to the bone. I knew the voice, it was the same distinct voice that haunted my thoughts for the last two weeks.

I peek around the corner, Adam and a muscled bloke stand right outside the staff room. My shock catches itself in my throat as my heart plummets; the inside man--it was Adam. Adam had betrayed us all. Shy, awkward Adam. Suddenly I remember all of his jumpy behaviours since the robbery, and all his questions about security before. I just thought he was trying to learn more about the bank. Little did I know...my blood boils but  I have to put aside my own feelings of betrayal when the conversation grows louder. I strain to hear.

“The phone and the fucking card are missing, you better not be the reason we’re found out!” The muscled guy with the voice jams his finger into Adam’s chest. Adam looks scared shitless.

“I swear, I looked through the evidence they returned. I-I gave you the phone back! They haven’t said anything-”

“But that one detective was sniffing around here this morning? That’s why you texted me right? What did you tell him huh?”

“I didn’t say anything, he hasn’t even talked to me I-”

“That’s right. Make something up, a crazy customer from the day before some shite like that. If you even look suspicious to him, I’m going to come over to your flat for a nice dinner and invite my friend with me.”

My eyes bug out when I see him shift his jacket to reveal the hilt of a gun. Fuck!

I reach down for my phone but I don’t have it, double fuck, I think. I left it on my desk after texting Harry. I was an idiot, a big big idiot.

I try to soften my footsteps as I walk away from the staff room but the conversation must have ended because their footsteps echo on the tiled floor. I push into the nearest door and lay flat against the wall inside. I’m so focused on listening for their voices that I don’t realise I stepped into the men’s room.

“-before I leave..” to my horror, their voices stop right outside the room I’m in. I look around and realise I was in the men’s room. My instinct is to hide in a stall but this was a one-toilet bathroom, there was absolutely nowhere to go.

In slow motion, the door in front of me opens and the muscled, gun-owning guy looks right at me. It feels like a Western showdown as we lock eyes and freeze.

“Hey...Adam,” the guy calls out to Adam who must’ve been behind him. Adam peers around his shoulder and tenses when he notices me. “She’s in the men’s room! Isn’t that weird?”

“I-Y/N...she usually uses the men’s room.” Adam tries to cover for me but my deer-in the headlights expression is enough to give away that I knew who he was. I was trapped in here like prey. Adam lowers his voice, “C’mon, just leave her here and go-”

“She’s seen my face though,” He steps in and I inch into the corner.

“Look, I can forget your face. We can pretend this never happened please, I really really don’t want to die in a men’s room.”

Tattoo laughs, untucking his gun from his waistband. “I don’t believe you. Adam, get some tape so we can tie her up. I don’t want blood on my hands but if you make any noise, I’m painting this room fucking red.”

I keep my mouth shut, and nod. I’m reliving the worst day of my life all over again as I stare at the barrel of the gun. A small part of me wonders how my life could hang in the balance of this man’s fingers, twice, but I stay silent.

“There’s nobody here, everyone’s gone home.” Adam says, more to me. Tattoo pushes me against the tiled walls and pats me down roughly. I protest but he pushes the gun against my skull and I fall silent. Adam tries to step in, offering to make sure I didn’t have anything on me like my phone but I was stupid enough not to have it on me. His friend steps into the hall and makes a call, I assume to his crew.

“Y/N, I’m so sorry.” Adam’s voice breaks as he pats me down gently. I turn to him, with tears in my eyes. I was scared, and I needed Adam to get help. “Adam please, please don’t do this. Whoever he is, the police can protect you I-”

“He’s my cousin Y/N, you don’t understand he will kill me if I go against him. It’s complicated--my family’s complicated. I’m not like them. Y/N I’m so sorry I swear he...” he falls silent as his cousin comes back in. Adam makes a show of taping my hands and legs. I try to whisper, beg him to try but Tattoo notices and shoves me against the tiles. I think I black out for a second because the next moment, he’s pressing tape down over my mouth. I feel the panic I’d kept at bay blow up in full force, along with an ache in my temples. My breathing comes out short and I squeeze my eyes shut so I wouldn’t cry. I was going to die in a men’s restroom; this was what my miserable life had culminated to.

I remember the text to Harry then, maybe he’ll come. With backup. Maybe he’ll save the day for once. And I think about security, they surely noticed I never left the building, maybe they’ll go looking for me.

But my hopes are dashed when a woman comes in, I recognise her voice as the one who’d pushed me into putting the code into the vault.

“The side door was unlocked,” she tells Tattoo. She notices me and smirks, “It’s like you want your bank to be robbed. Who leaves the side door open after hours?”

She laughs and turns back to Tattoo, tells him that the guards were down and the place was officially locked up. They bring Adam in, and check with him that he knew where I kept my passwords, that he could clear out any money still left at this time of the day. I don’t hold back then, my tears flow silently down my cheeks as I watch them all leave me in the dark. If the police still hadn’t arrived, I really was going to die here like this. I don’t know when, but I pass out, and when I come to again I’m being pulled up aggressively while a familiar voice shouts at the people dragging me. Was that Harry?

H’s POV:

The one time I leave my phone in my car, I miss the most important text of my entire career--my entire life.

Around 2:30, the evidence team calls me, there was a breakthrough on the phone and card from the scene. A few numbers, but they were still trying to process the application for the records. I decided I couldn’t sit around and wait so I drive to the station and rush inside, leaving my phone behind.

It’s a waste of time though, the number leads to a burner that leads to a local shop that leads to a credit card. And that leads to a warrant which could take hours. Two hours later and I’m frustrated and moody. I decide to get some fresh air, and check my phone but reaching for my pocket I realise it wasn’t there.

I head to my car and find it between the seats. When I turn it on, Y/N’s name stands out and her text pushes me to my feet and into my car. I call her three times on my way to the bank but it keeps ringing. Fuck, I think. What if something happened to her? How was it that it was now a second time I was rushing to where she worked, afraid for her life.

I pull up the closest parking spot I can find to see security locking up. I rush to knock on the door but he only glances me, points to the closed sign, and walks away disinterested. I was in plainclothes today so he must have thought I was a customer. I reach for my badge to show him, and realise I’d left that in my jacket in my car. I couldn’t get anything fucking right today. I bang on the door but he ignores me, and the people outside begin to stare at me.

“I’m a detective,” I try to reassure them but they hurry past. It was stupid but I squint to see if anyone was inside, but there’s not a single soul. I see movement cast a shadow at the very end of the room but I can’t see anything with the way the glass is positioned. I center myself at the front again but the security is gone--I was going to have to find another way in.

I move around the big block of a building, looking high and low for another entrance into the building but the next shop over is a cafe so I double back and try the other way. A wooden door sits between the bank and the purses crowded in the store window on the other side. I try the door but it’s locked. Of course.

I go back to my car and find my lock pick kit, picking up my badge was a good idea. Within minutes, I’m in and a sterile hall greets me. I try the door on the left, but notice the keypad. After some bad guesses, I consider who set this: Y/N. I try her birthdate, her family’s birthdates--as close as i could remember. My feet tap against the tile rhythmically when the door knob turns right in front of my eyes. I dash to the side and huddle in front of the next door, rattling my keys as if I were trying to get in. Luckily, that door is unlocked and it’s a utility closet. I rush inside and peek through the crack; a man comes out and holds the door open while a woman opens the door I just came in from.

“It was unlocked,” she says skeptically.

“Shite security, just come in. When’s Russ getting here? He’s always the bloody last of us anywhere.”

Something was very wrong, I realize. But I don’t have time to think, I jump out of my hiding spot and manage to slide my hand into the closing door. I nearly crush my fingers but I nudge the door back open and slip into the bank.

The area’s clear, I move in to investigate. It’s only when I move from the hidden passage to the main lobby that the weight of the situation dawns on me. A different man wraps the security’s hand behind his back and pushes him against the wall. Push was nicer than what it looked like, he practically drags the guard into the wall.

My shoes squeaks on the floor and he looks up sharply, eyeing the area I was peeking out from. I crouch down, next to the trash bin and wait for his footsteps to leave. When I peer around the corner again, a familiar face paces behind the desks. Adam, I think it was, Y/N’s assistant.

It becomes clear in an instant, like a timelapse of a foggy night clearing into a bright blue sky. It was right in front of my face: Y/N’s assistant. The one who’d asked her to come in for a made-up appointment, the one who knew her exact schedule, the one who was jumpy and nervous every time I spoke with him. I thought he was just a shy kid but...he’d betrayed Y/N and been the inside man for these robberies.

I take my phone out, ready to text someone for backup but voices coming my way forces me to stop what I was doing. I press myself against the wall, trying to make myself smaller.

“I think she’s knocked out-”

“Don’t hurt her,” That was Adam. I recognised his cowardly voice. “We wouldn’t have gotten this far without her just, leave her in the bathroom. We can take everything and go.”

“You don’t have a say what goes on around here,” the woman says to him. “Your puny arse is why that detective was sniffing around here anyway.”

“She’s seen all our faces,” one of the guys says. “I’ll do it after you go.”

“She won’t remember, please.” Adam tries again. “Leave the charges at robbery, don’t add murder. She’s my boss I...”

The blood rushes to my head: his boss. Y/N was here, and they were casually talking about killing her? I take my phone out just as it begins to vibrate. I jump and manage to stop it in time, but my badge--the one thing I’d taken from my car purposely, clangs against the metal trash can.

Footsteps rush towards me and I stand up with my hands up, “Backup’s on the way, I suggest you lot put down-” they were all pointing guns at me. Bollocks. “your weapons.”

“That’s the fucking detective,” the one I’d seen tying up security waves his gun at me and I try not to panic. I wasn’t involved with a lot of guns, just the wounds they left in victims. I listen to him swear, “Backup yeah? I don’t hear shit. How did you even get in here?”

“I told you, the door was unlocked. The security here is shite.” The woman says, eyeing me. “I say we tie him up with the bitch and skip out now.”

“We haven’t even taken everything, this idiot doesn’t know the passcode-”

“I told you it changes every week. She must have changed it today.”

“Adam, how could you?” I speak up and all eyes-and guns-are back on me. Adam opens his mouth like a fish out of water but nothing comes out, I watch as he squirms and his group moves closer to me.

“Phone,” the one with tattoos points to the device in my hand. “Check his phone, if he called backup it would be on it.

I curse, they were smart. They’d robbed three banks after this and hadn’t left much behind--I should’ve known to be better prepared.

Someone takes my phone, another comes around and shoves the gun in my back which forces me to walk out into the lobby. They go through my phone and snicker at something. type something in and then toss the phone in the trash can beside us. I balk at the sound it makes when it crashes; the gun in my back pushes me forward and I’m forced to walk down the lobby, through a door and up to the men’s room.

“Wake the bitch up,” one of them men speak behind me. “Tie this one up and get her to open the safe with the new code.”

I knew I was outnumbered, they push me through the door and Y/N’s body is curled in one corner. The freshly pressed clothing from this morning are rumpled around her frame and she looks unconscious. The one who tied up security tapes my hands around my back and pushes me beside the sink.

“Don’t touch her!” I struggle against the arms who hold me back as the tattooed guy hauls her up and slaps her face.

“Wake up, it’s show time.” he shakes her. I push against the body pressing me down as they take Y/N out of the room. Her eyes flutter open and catch mine before she’s dragged out.

“I swear if you guys touch her I’ll snap your neck in half,” I can’t stop the panic turning into rage. “She-”

“Are you sleeping with her or something? Shut the fuck up.” The woman kicks the back of my knees and I fall, hitting my head as I crash down on my knees. She closes the door behind her.

I don’t know how much time passes but it feels like hours. The next time the doors open, they shove Y/N inside and she stumbles. I jump up to help her but with both of our hands behind our backs I accidentally lurch forward and her head bumps off chest.

“God! Harry!” She winces. “Way to hit the one part of my body that already feels like it’s going to explode.”

“Y/N,” I steady her with my chest and lean down to look at her. “Are you alright? Did they do anything to you?”

“Other than terrify, harass, and manhandle me? Oh, and give me another concussion...hm...”

“Here,” I motion with my chin. “Turn around, I’m going to get this tape off of you and you help me.”

She does as I say and I use the sharp edge of the ring I wore to make a small tear.

“Holy shit that’s better,” she shakes her hands out and gets to work on mine. As soon as my hands are free I try the door, there was a slim chance but we were in a restroom. I had to try. But it’s locked. Y/N speaks up from behind me: “They lock from the outside if you have the key--they probably got it from security. I don’t know who I angered in a past life but this is some shitty karma.”

“There’s got to be a way out of this room,” I wasn’t about to give up.

“There isn’t. But shouldn’t there be, like, backup coming?” Y/N takes a seat against the wall, watching me explore every inch of the tiny room.

“I...no. They took my phone before I could-”

“You came here without telling anyone? Even after the text I sent?” She shoots daggers at me.

“Well your text wasn’t exactly screaming danger!”

“I really have no fucking clue how you got your position Harry, surely anyone else would not be this dense.”

“I’m trying to find us a way out of here, this isn’t my fault! And anyway, it is your assistant that’s set this all up,” I say defensively.

“Sure know how to pick the men in my life, don’t I?” She says, but quieter. Seeing her bruised and hopeless there fuels me to look harder for a way our but after a frantic search, there really wasn’t anything in this place. No window, no vent big enough, nothing to pick the lock. I find a first aid that’s mostly empty, but there’s still an ice pack, tape, and painkillers inside. I crack the ice pack and hand it to Y/N who takes it silently, and then I slump down against the wall opposite Y/N and hang my head.

“What do you reckon they’re doing out there?” she asks.

“They were going to clean the place out and skip town.”

“Do you think we’re gonna die here?” she asks, her voice wobbly like she was about to cry. “Don’t. Don’t look at me like that, I’m just...asking.”

I look away from her face, her expression crumbling under my light scrutiny. She sniffs. Without looking at her I say “We’re not dying here. I told my guys to call me when they have something, and if they can’t reach me it’ll be suspicious enough to followup at least.”

“By the time they grow suspicious enough to track you, we’ll be dead. I’ve not got much faith in your team.” Y/N crosses her arms. Even under these circumstances, she’s fierce.

“They’re close to a breakthrough. It was them calling me that got me caught out there actually. Not even the call itself...my bloody badge clanged against the--it doesn’t matter anyway. But they must have something, they’ll be here soon. We won’t die in here.”

I felt more than hopeless stuck here. Out of the two of us, I was supposed to be the one who could make their way out of this type of situation. Months of training and years of experience, and here I sat stuck in a bathroom with the woman I gave up on.

“What a way to go,” she sighs. “In the bloody loo.”

I want to go over and put my arm around her, maybe I needed the comfort more than she did. But based on the way she crosses her arm and keeps her legs up I know she’s guarding herself. I could read the signs. So we sit there silently for who knows how long. Every so often a muffled noise comes from outside, we hear a crash but the silence after doesn’t tell us whether the thieves had left or they were still around.

With Y/N going mute, I look around the room again but there’s still nothing. She slumps further to the floor, and I seat myself back down again. I stare at her, remembering the shape of her face under my hand, the curve of her hips when my fingers traced them. Her laugh, the way she liked to tease me. If I was dying here, and this was my life flashing before my eyes...I sure had missed out on a lot of it. And if the robbers decided to come in here, and put a bullet in each of us, what kind of person had I even been?

A new surge of energy goes through me, I take the slim door handle and try it again. I know it wasn’t going to open but I tug it, again and again. I brace my foot against the wall and try and try again. But it remains stubbornly closed.

Winded, I sit back down. Y/N just watches me silently as the hope officially leaves my body. We sit in silence.

“Are you happy?” she asks after a few minutes. I look over at her bruised forehead, she raises an eyebrow and immediately winces. I reach over--in the small space, even on opposite walls, she was an arm away. I guide her hand with the ice over the bruise.

“I don’t know,” I admit, leaning back against the wall. “Why?”

She shrugs, going silent. I stretch my legs out and she mimics me, finally letting down her guard as her legs rest beside mine. I give her another minute, and she responds. “Your letter, you said you left because you weren’t happy. So I’m just wondering...are you happy now?”

“If I said yes, would it make you feel better?”

“Well, it would make you falling in love with another woman and breaking my heart in the process a little easier to accept...it wouldn’t have been for nothing if you’re happy.”

“You sure have a lot of tact,” I sigh.

“We might die here?” she fixes me with an annoyed glare. “There’s no time for tact when I could get closure? Before I die?”

“We’re not dying in here,” I promise but she shrugs like she didn’t have much faith in me. And why should she?

“Don’t avoid the question: are you happy?”

I give myself a moment, taking in her face. I didn’t know how to answer that without the overwhelming shame and guilt choking me. In a way, yes. In others, no. I settle for, “Sometimes.”

“What the fuck does that mean?” she hits her foot into my knee. “Sometimes? You cheated on me, and dumped me for a sometimes?”

“Okay wait,” I stop her. “I want to get something straight, I never cheated on you--”

“You did! You fell for some woman a-and you literally married her not even a year after we split!”

“Y/N,” I grow serious. She had thought that this whole time that I... “That’s not how it-” I let out a breath, truly realising what she thought of me this whole time. “Y/N, I fell for someone, sure, but I never even went out with her before we split. Nothing happened! It just took falling for someone else to make me realise my heart wasn’t in it--with us. It made me see I wasn’t happy where I was. But I-I went on one date with that person after we split and it was awful. She avoided me at work after that.”

“What?” she furrows her brows. “So-so who the fuck did you marry?”

I almost laugh, but it would be so inappropriate. “Someone else I worked with-”

“Wow, Harry, you really know how to get around.” She crosses her arms.

“I never denied that--you knew me in uni.”

A small smile cracks her guard but she covers it with an eye roll. “That’s the only thing you’ve said all day that’s actually made sense.”

“It’s nice to see you smile,” I say which earns me a glare. I saw it coming, and that makes me smile. Her glare falters at my smile and she covers her face with the ice pack. I continue, feeling more confident to explain. “Anyway, it was this other person from work, we’d worked on a few files together and she was actually the one who asked me out when she found out I was single. I felt like I had a strong connection with her--to be honest I think I was just lonely and h-um,..y’know. Mistook that for a gem, and married her.”

“I always thought you married the woman you fell for. So you could have a baby.”

I have to laugh at that. “I didn’t want a baby that badly--with someone I barely knew at best.”

She shrugs, “Well we were so tumultuous after we found out our chances were low and you were such a bitch to me about that so what else was I to think?”

I feel like an arse all over again. “I was an idiot, a big fucking idiot Y/N.”

“When did you realise?” She leans forward. “Cuz I’ve known that for years now.”

I rub my face with my hand, she was never going to make this easy. “I thought having a kid would make me happy, make me feel complete; it was the missing thing in my life. So when I realised our chances were low, it just killed my hope of ever being happy. Honestly I think even if we got pregnant I would’ve still been unhappy. I was just...using that as an excuse to..break us apart. It was never about you, I was just too cowardly to admit that I was going to hurt you if I told you I wanted a divorce for the real reason: because I wasn’t happy.”

“So...you made me feel like a fuck-up for not being able to get pregnant instead?”

“I...yeah,” there was the waves of shame crashing into me, I was drowning in it. Y/N just sits there, I can feel the judgement and hurt rippling off of her as she pieces everything together. “I feel awful about that. You really didn’t deserve that.”

“No, I didn’t.”

Her tightened fists tell one story, but the tears pooling in her eyes tells a different one. I slide closer to her, crossing my legs in front of her. “There’s nothing I can say to even begin to apologise for that. I should have just been honest, told you I wasn’t happy in the relationship, in my job, where my life was heading. But I let you believe it was somehow your fault and I can never take that back.”

She continues to watch me, her mouth a tight line as she tries not to cry. But with a blink of her eyes, the tears are streaming down her face. I reach out to her, out of habit, but she shrinks away. So I move back to the opposite wall and watch miserably as she cries into her sleeves.

“I was still unhappy, after the other marriage.” The only thing I can do is continue, I didn’t want to watch her cry in silence. “It took me finding her flirting with another bloke at work to realise we were a farce. I split with her, quit my job a few weeks later, and it was only then I felt free. It was a good feeling; the closest to happiness I’d felt back then. And then I lived with my sister for a few weeks while I figured out my next steps. You should know she was fuming when she found out we split, she didn’t talk to me for weeks.”

Y/N had wipes her tears by now, and listens to me talking in silence. When I mention my sister, she smiles. “We talk, here and there. Never about you, but I still keep in touch with her. And your mum. We had dinner when they were in London last year, it was really nice.”

“What?” This was news to me. “They never mentioned it.”

“Obviously not,” a smile pulls at her mouth and I’ve never been more relieved to see it. “They like me better than you.”

“Ouch,” If we got out of this--when we got out of this, I had questions for my mum.

“So,” she traces a crease on her trouser. “you switched jobs? Found the right fit?”

“Yeah, I did really good there. Moved up quickly. I found something I was passionate about, and it felt good. I think I was happy until...recently.”

“What happened?”

A shout from the other side of the door gives us pause, the door bursts open and I quickly move to block Y/N. But someone pushes an unconscious body into the room with their hands tied. With three bodies in here, it’s suddenly overcrowded.

“If you say one more thing to me, I will put a bullet in his fucking head...” The conversation fades out as the door slams and they walk away. Y/N rushes past me to the body and turns it face up.

“Adam,” she gasps. I walk over and her assistant lays there with a black eye and bruises forming all over his face. She unties his gag and I make sure he’s breathing.

“He’s alright, Just unconscious.” I let her know as she pulls off her jacket and piles it under his head. “He is the one who let these people into your life, you remember that?”

She glares at me, “He didn’t have a choice Harry. I spoke to him when I gave him the code--one of them’s his cousin. He said they were going to break in one way or another and if he didn’t help they would shoot him and me during the process.”

“He had plenty of time to tell you after the fact-”

“Have a little compassion,” she throws her hands up. “He didn’t ask to have a fucking criminal family. Just, let’s wait for him to wake up. He’s been through a lot.”

“So have we,” I mumble but she doesn’t acknowledge me. She moves to her wall instead, putting her hand to her head.

“Let me see,” I slide myself towards her and move her hand away from the area. I pick up the ice she abandoned on the floor and hold it to her head but she snatches it back, saying she could hold it herself, right before she pitches forward and passes out herself.

Y/N’s POV:

I wake up confused and groggy, only to see Harry’s face hovering above mine. For a second, I think that maybe I was living in a twisted Groundhog Day type of situation, forced to relive the bank heist until I resolved things with Harry. But then I notice his split lip and remember my life was that unlucky that I was in the same position twice.

“Jesus, you’re awake.” Harry lets go of my hand which he’d been holding.

“It’s actually just Y/N,” I try to crack a joke. It flies past his head, his eyebrows pinching together. He asks me if I remembered my name, where I was, and a dozen other questions even though I insist I was fine. I was laying down with my head in his lap, I realise halfway through the interrogation. But trying to get up made me dizzier so I stay. He shows me the paracetamol he found in the first aid and forces me to down two, and I only agree because my head had started pounding.

“Don’t do that to me again,” he pushes my hair back. I try not to focus on the warmth of his hand on my skin, how nice it felt. I was bloody delirious. “You have to stay awake Y/N, this is the second time you’ve hit your head I think your concussion might be more serious this time if you’re passing out--”

“Harry please,” I put my hand up to stop his rambling. “Your voice is hammering at my migraine.”

“Sorry,” he smooths down my hair again, and again, like it soothed him more than it soothed me. “I’m not used to feeling so useless like this. But there’s absolutely nothing in here that’s going to help us get out. All we can do is sit tight and wait for one of them to come back.”

“So finish your story,” I ask. “You said you were happy until recently. What happened.”

He looks at me skeptically but I insist I wanted to know. I was finally getting the full story, the closure that actually made sense. And I wanted all of it. The good, the bad, and the ugly.

“The box,” he says simply and I flinch because I know exactly what he’s talking about. “Well, seeing you and realizing-- this whole time it’s like, I’ve missed you in the peripheral y’know? And seeing you that day, forced me focus on how much I missed my...best friend. And after that, the box? I realized what I did to you...the impact of it? Maybe I was just daft this whole time for not really thinking about it but-”

“I was pregnant,” I blurt out. If I was going to die, I may as well tell him. “A few weeks before our...breakup. I found out. And I was going to tell you. I was-I was just so excited I’d bought some things prematurely. But then I lost the...baby. I’d just boxed the shite away after that. Carrying it with me...it hurt but I almost believed that I deserved it?”

I watch him swallow, from this angle I can see the muscles in his jaw clench. I reach up and my hand lands on his neck, I move it to rest on his chest where I intended. He looks down and I see the tears coat his lower lashes. I think I was half-drowsy from the pain meds but I want to cry with him, and wipe his tears. A distant part of my brain screams at me for being confused and slightly fucked up, but my medicated brain reach up to pat his face. My heart flutters when he closes his eyes and leans into my palm.

“Why didn’t you ever tell me?” He whispers.

“Would it have made a difference?” I ask, my eyes drifting shut. But he shakes me rudely and they fly open.

“Stay awake.” He insists. “And...it wouldn’t have made a difference but at least you wouldn’t be carrying it alone.”

“Well I’m not, anymore.” I yawn. “I told you, and you seen it. And m’gonna mail the box to my sister--she’s pregnant by the way. She might have better use for it.”

He eyes me, “How did that make you feel?”

“You’re not a bloody therapist,” I laugh. “Don’t ask me that.”

“I think I’d make a good therapist,” he says over-confidently.

“You’re the reason why I had a therapist,” I mumble. “You’d be an awful therapist. Your patients would need therapy from therapy.”

I laugh, it wasn’t even that funny but everything just felt ridiculous. Harry’s smiling down at me, but a loud crash from outside wipes it. His body tenses, and I watch the door.

“Sorry,” he whispers before gently moving my head off his lap and onto his jacket he’d bundled. He picks something up from beside him--the toilet seat.

“Why are you holding a toilet seat?” I whisper-shout. He puts his finger to his lips and crouches on the side of the door.

“You were passed out for a while, I had time to make a bit of a mess-”

He cuts his sentence short as the door opens and Adam’s cousin comes in swearing at Adam but before he can reach for him, Harry slams the toilet seat over the guy’s head. I watch it all sideways, my head feels too heavy to pick it up. The man crumples on top of Adam, and Harry expertly searches him, picking his gun off of him.

From outside, the woman’s voice come closer.

“What’s taking so long? The car’s outside just grab your stupid cousin let’s go! The cops will be here any min-”

She freezes when she comes face to face with the gun in Harry’s hand. She reaches for hers and in half a second, Harry’s fired his gun into her arm. She lets out a shout and falls to the floor. Harry kicks the gun out of her hand and pulls her inside, blood trailing in her wake. He uses the jacket under Adam’s head to tie her arms and comes back to me.

“Y/N, let’s go. I hear sirens.” Harry bends down and gently lifts me up. I feel like a ragdoll in his arms but I manage to prop myself enough to walk beside him. He closes the door behind him and checks the handle that it was locked.

He helps me down onto a chair, the brightness of the lobby nearly blinds me, my migraine tearing my skull apart. I think I throw up on the floor, I felt entirely out of it. I keep my eyes closed, but I hear Harry letting in some people, and I feel arms putting me on a stretcher, taking me out into the cool air. The fresh air smelled incredible, and that’s the last thought I have before I pass out.

***H’s POV:

It was a crazy 24 hours.

Right before I’d been shoved into a 7′ by 5′ restroom, my team at the station had received the warrant for the credit card. That was the call I received that put me in the tiny room with Y/N. When I didn’t pick up, Detective Cole had taken the lead in tracing it. The credit card belonged to Adam’s cousin and they eventually traced him to Adam. That was the smoking gun for them, they tried me a few times. Finally, tracking my car to outside the bank. Suspicious, they sent out a few uniforms here and when they noticed my car sitting empty, and no guard at the entrance, they called for backup.

I’d debriefed, spoken and written out in detail, what happened. They’d taken pictures, handcuffed everyone in the bathroom, and I’d watched triumphantly as they walked the criminals out. Two had escaped after hearing the sirens, but at least two would be put away.

I drink my third coffee at the station now, when my supervisor finally comes in to talk to me. Tells me I could go home, finally. To get rest--the paramedics had checked me out and I was okay considering what just happened.

But instead of going home, I drive straight to the hospital where Y/N lay like a shell of herself. A tall bloke in a perfectly pressed suits stands above her, brushing her cheek. I watch as she reaches up and holds his hand, I watch him pull her hand up and kiss it. Then he leans down and kisses her bandaged forehead.

My stomach is in knots; I can’t look away. It was the same person who left her flat just this morning--god, this morning felt like years ago. It must be her boyfriend, but she didn’t mention she was seeing someone. Maybe it was casual, I think. But casual wouldn’t come to hospital like this, caress her like that.

The obvious was that I was lucky just to have a glimpse of her in my life again, long enough to clear the air between us. But I couldn’t hold on to her, when I let go so many years ago, I’d lost my grip entirely. And now she was out of my grasp.

I knock gently on the door, Y/N’s boyfriend (?) looks up.

“Sorry, the doctor doesn’t want anyone taking her statement right now-”

“I’m not-” I unclip my badge to show that I wasn’t there for my job. At the same time Y/N rests her hand on his arm.

“Alec,” she says in a hoarse voice. “It’s alright, that’s Harry.”

“Oh,” I can read everything in the two-letter word and the look he gives me. He seems to swallow what he really wanted to say and comes up to me to shake my hand instead. “Thanks, for helping Y/N tonight.”

“I didn’t do anything,” I grasp his hand, he had a strong handshake. Which was a stupid thing to think about I realise, as my eyes land on Y/N. She’s looking at him with a purity in her eyes that she used to look at me with. Something inside of me falls away, it feels raw and dark. I remove my hand from his, “Y/N’s a strong woman.”

“She is,” he looks at her with the same look she gives him. I felt like I should go, like I was interrupting them. But Y/N asks him to give us some space. He happily obliges, like I wasn’t even a threat to him. With what Y/N told him, everything she knew to be the truth before tonight, I didn’t blame him.

“Hi,” she says, she clears her throat, watching me watching her.

“How are you feeling?” I brush her hair back from the bandage on her head.

“Like there’s a rock concert in my head,” she jokes. “Except it’s mostly screaming.”

“Kind of like that one party we went to in uni,” I remind her.

“I thought the party’s theme was emo,” a laugh bursts out of her.

“It was screamo,” I laugh with her. “My ears were bleeding the next morning.”

“You crashed in my bed that night,” she remembers, her voice soft as the nostalgia washes over us. I take her hand in mine and brush my thumb over her knuckles. How times changed.

“You know, my girlfriend broke up with me that day when she found out I shared a bed with another girl.”

“Really?” She laughs again, twice in one conversation with me. She must be high on meds, or finally letting me in again. “You never told me that.”

“I never told you much about the girls I dated,” I say truthfully. “A lot of them dumped me after seeing how close we were. There was always that ultimatum: you or them.”

“Hm,” she hums. “I guess you chose me until you didn’t.”

We lock eyes and I open my mouth--to apologise? To explain something? But she waves her hand. “It’s a habit, I’ve got to get all the one-liners I’ve kept pent up out. I’ll be done eventually, don’t worry.”

“I look forward to that day,” I drum my fingers against the bed. “In the meantime...Alec?”

“Oh,” her face flushes as she looks out the door to where he stands on his phone. “Yeah. He’s been...really good, he came over as soon as he heard.”

“How long?” It was torture for me but it was like I needed to know.

“A few months, on and off again. I think I’ve just been keeping him at arm’s length because...well...”

“Us,” Once again, I’m reminded that I could never fully grasp the enormity of the damage I’d done. “He seems like a smart chap--he’s here for you after all.”

“That would make you a smart chap too,” she says which brings my attention back to her cheeky smile. “If you want to compliment yourself, you don’t have to do it in such a roundabout way.”

I laugh, she was good. She grins back at me and my breath catches, this feeling in my chest made me feel like I was drowning. I couldn’t breathe deeply enough, the old fear of being unhappy had been creeping up on me ever since I got here and saw Alec with Y/N. Now it drapes over my shoulders like a heavy coat.

“What’s wrong?” Y/N asks.

“Nothing,” I sit on the edge of the bed. “Just thinking about everything that happened. And what we talked about.”

“I’m glad that we...” she picks at the thin blanket covering her body. “I feel like I have some closure now?”

“I wish I knew...what you thought this whole time. The baby and...everything.”

“I’ve got a long way to go but,” Y/N rubs my arm. “Let’s just agree to leave all the heavy stuff behind. And live our lives to the fullest. Almost dying in a men’s room has really given me perspective. We both deserve to be happy.”

“You should write a book,” I joke. “It would sell.”

“We can co-write it.”

“We’ll title it Bad Timing,” I say. “A memoir of two people, right place, wrong time.”

“That’s good!” She grasps my arm. “And you could write the whole thing and just give me credit.”

“I’m okay with that,” I would do anything for her.

“You’re the writer after all,” she smiles and it strikes me again, how deeply she knew me. I don’t know if anyone would ever know me the way she does. “Do you still write?”

“Not really,” I didn’t at all.

“I was remembering the other day how you used to leave post-its all over my room-”

“I remember that,” I remind her of a few of my famous ones including one I stuck on her back that said kiss me. She scolds me for that and I pretend to be sorry but she knows I’m not.

“I am sorry,” I say, resting my hand on her arm and she understands I’m not talking about the prank.

“I know,” she looks away, out the door to Alec.

“So I should go, maybe I’ll be the one to take your statement? Tomorrow--or I’ll have my best officer come in here for it.”

“You should take a day off,” she says. “We almost died today.”

“You’re one to talk,” I say. “And we were not going to die today. You’re so dramatic.” I flick her knee and she flinches.

“Ouch,” she milks her current position in the hospital bed, rubbing the spot on her knee.

“Did that hurt? I don’t remember any knee injuries in your file.” I lean down over her and pat it extra hard.

“You’re evil,” she grins but for a small second her eyes flicker down to my lips, and when they meet mine again they look uncertain.

“Alright. Rest up. I’ll see you...later.” I lean down, my lips ghost her cheek, and I hear her sigh. “Goodbye Y/N,” I say, and somewhere it feels final. I don’t dare look at her when I stand up. I walk out of the room, and out of her life.

I think back to the one other time I saw her before the bank robbery. It was outside a grocer, and she’d told me to never talk to her again. I was glad the universe or whatever hadn’t listened, that our lives had crashed into each other even though that meant that in the end she was left in hospital and I was left unhappy again, realizing what I was missing in life. But for a brief moment, in the grand expanse of this universe, we orbited each other again.

As I nod at Alec on the way out. I stand to the side as he walks back in. I hear him comforting her, and I hear her tell him she had to talk in a low voice. I leave then, with every intention to leave her alone. She deserved this happiness she was finally finding as she put our past to rest, she didn’t need uncertainty. As for myself, it felt like it was my burden to bear now; Y/N and I just had bad timing, it felt like, but I just wanted her to be happy. So I let her be; I let go.

[onewithnomightypowers]

clandestine (chapter 5)

PAIRING: Tom Holland x fem!Reader

SUMMARY: Y/N is an up and coming actress, married to a once hotshot actor, Harrison (Haz). What happens when her co-star, Tom, makes her realise that she is stuck in a loveless marriage. A marriage starts crumbling and a new romance stars brewing.

chapter 5: the rumour has it

A/N: i do not encourage cheating. i hope you guys like this chapter!! feedback is always appreciated. thanks for reading <3

warnings: drinking, cursing

word count: 1.6k

important: bold and italic are character thoughts

series masterlist   main masterlist   chapter 4   chapter 6

The video of Y/N and Tom singing ‘SOS’ broke the internet. It was trending for at least four days. The whole internet, already on the witch hunt to find evidence of a relationship, was being fed. The paparazzi were circling around like vultures. The threat of being outed made them hide in their caves.

Haz was coming to London in two days. Y/N was trying to rid the house of anything and everything that hinted that Tom had been staying with her. Between the paps, shooting, and Haz, she couldn’t find time to meet Tom and give him his things.

There were Polaroids scattered all over the house. While she was packing a box to parcel to Tom, she found a Polaroid on her glass coffee table next to her ‘vanilla sage’ candle from Bath and Body Works. In the photo, Y/N was lying on her stomach on the hardwood floor in her living room, a gin and tonic next to her. Tom was sitting on the floor with his right arm extended to take the photo. They were both smiling.

She remembered when he took that photo. It was the same day she found a vintage vinyl of Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong’s ‘on verve’, during her exploration of Camden market. They decided to have a listening party of that album on the floor. Tom found his new favourite song that day, ‘let’s call the whole thing off’. She smiled at the memory. Instead of putting it in the box, she went into her room to put it in her wallet where only she could find it.

Y/N noticed her phone vibrating next to her purse. It was Harrison.

“Bonjour mon amour”,

“Hi Haz, did you board the flight?”

“Just did; listen you don’t have to pick me up from the airport, I know you are busy at work”

“Fine. Text me when you land”

“Su-“, she hung up the phone.

I can’t believe I have to live with this man for a whole week.

Haz came in late at night, even though his flight was supposed to land at 5pm. Y/N was already sleeping. When she woke up around 8 next morning, she found, much to her surprise, Haz snoring next to her. Last night she made sure that there was a pillow and a blanket on the couch for him, a subtle way of saying ‘I don’t want you sleeping in the same bed with me’. Also because she thought he knew about the affair and wouldn’t want to sleep next to her.

God, I wish I had another bedroom

Y/N was sitting on the bar stool with her laptop on the kitchen island, going through her mail while drinking coffee. Haz had just woken up from his deep slumber, and found his way to the kitchen to fetch him some coffee.

“Good morning!” she said enthusiastically, without looking up from her laptop screen. She had thought it was a sleepy Tom, coming out of the bedroom to make himself tea.

“Morning”, Haz said as a reflex, rubbing his eyes. Y/N’s smile disappeared upon hearing the sound of his voice.

“Did you make breakfast?” Haz asked while pouring himself coffee into a mug Tom had gifted Y/N.

“I made myself breakfast when I woke up, three hours ago. Was I supposed to make breakfast for you too?” It was a rhetorical question. Y/N noticed the mug, it made her uneasy watching a man she doesn’t love drinking from a gift given by the man she did love.

“There’s eggs and bread in the fridge, help yourself”, she pointed at the refrigerator.

As Haz cracked open an egg on the pan, Y/N received an email from Greta.

“Good news, Netflix bought the distribution rights to Greta’s movie, she just sent me a mail”

“Oh”

Oh? Seriously, oh?

“They are planning the premier for this Friday, do you want to go with me?”

“I don’t think so, I don’t really like the people you work with” he was putting butter on cold bread.

There is nothing more tragic than love turning into hate. Tragedy had struck their marriage. The rest of the week, they only spoke when they absolutely had to. It was like living with a roommate, you share a bed with but cannot share your day with.

--

It was Friday, the day of the movie premiere. Y/N was excited to see Tom after a week without him, which felt like an eternity to her. She was wearing a silver colored floor length gown with heavily studded earrings. Her hair was up in a bun with two strands out, to shape her face.

Since it was Netflix, the event could afford to take place at the Royal Albert Hall. Y/N had only been there once, for an Arctic Monkeys concert. When she stepped out of the car, she was met by blinding lights of the cameras. She walked over to the whole cast on the red carpet. The only thing she could hear was the deafening noise of photographers screaming to look towards them and in between, tabloid journalists asking her questions about her life and rumours.

Y/N was still pretty new to walking red carpets because she had mostly worked on indie films that couldn’t afford a grand premiere as most of the money would go towards entering different festivals. Y/N was wearing a mask of pure joy on her face but Tom could see right through it. He could see how uncomfortable Y/N was feeling.

He walked towards her, “you look gorgeous darling” he whispered in her ears and for a second that mask she was wearing became real. They both posed together, but regretted it immediately. The whole media went on overdrive, seeing them together.

“Are you guys seeing each other?” a person from the left screamed.

“Y/N, did you leave Harrison?” someone from the right asked

The voices were coming from everywhere. All they could do now was walk off the carpet. Tom had arranged for Y/N to sit next to her during the screening. His hand was linked with Y/N’s the whole time. He could feel her shivering.

“Are you cold?” he asked her.

“Not really”, she took a long pause. “I am just nervous about my performance in the movie and I guess the questions really got to my head, it’s all making me very anxious”

“Don’t worry babe, everyone is going to love you in the movie, and those hunters out there are shell of a person, all they care about are these bullshit rumours. They don’t deserve a house in your thoughts”

“Shhhhhh” someone whispered from the row above theirs.

Y/N’s phone was vibrating, it was Harrison’s fourth call in fifteen minutes.

Why is he not getting the hint that I don’t want to talk to him

She ignored it.

A few minutes later, her phone rang again.

What if it’s serious?

She got up and went outside of the theatre to take the call.

“What is it, Haz? You know I’m busy right now”

“Umm, are you Y/N?” A man with a heavy, older voice said.

“Yes?” She was confused. “Who is this and how do you have my husband’s phone?”

“Your husband is trashed, ma’am. He passed out on my bar counter about half an hour ago. Your number was on his emergency contact list so I'm calling you to pick him up”

“I’ll be right there, can you tell me the address?”

“Yeah sure it’s 141 Albert Street, Spread Eagle”

Tom came out of the theatre.

“Is everything okay, Y/N?”

“I have to go pick up Haz, he’s splashed out on a bottle somewhere, bloody fool can’t even walk”, she said whilst texting her driver to pick her up.

“Do you want me to go with you?”

“No, I need to deal with this alone”

She walked out the back gate and got in a black Audi.

The paparazzi had noticed her early departure, so they started following her recklessly.

It was a corner pub, the bar was at full capacity. Y/N saw Haz with his head down on the counter, an almost empty tequila bottle next to him.

“Haz wake up, come on, we need to go, get up darling” Y/N was trying to shake him awake.

“O-oh Y/N, y-you’re he-ear”, he was slurring his words.

“Yeah now let’s go”

He started to get up, Y/N had her one hand on his back and the other on his forearm, to support him.

“Honey I th-think I’m going to puke”, he looked sick.

“Is there a restroom here?” She asked the bartender. He pointed towards the corner of the room, a dimly lit area.

“Thank you”. She helped Harrison to walk to the restroom.

The washroom felt like their marriage. They were cramped up in it. The whole room was pure white but also yellow, caused by the lack of cleaning. There were no windows and had only one white florescent light. It was suffocating. The room made her realise that she could not hide from the inevitable, anymore.

Has was on his knees, holding on to the toilet seat with his dear life, puking all the poison out. Y/N was standing near the sink, taking off her statement earrings. She could see a vulnerable Harrison in the reflection of the mirror.

“I want a divorce”, she whispered, loud enough to be heard in this stifle room.

@mysticapples17  @storybookholland

[poptod]

The Breeding Kings (Ahkmenrah x Reader)

Description: Ahkmen’s new school year starts with a bang.

Notes: guess who has imposter syndrome!!!! heres my next work i think??? idk where my inspiration is gonna pull me at any given time. i just wanna say this takes place when ahk’s pretty young! not like ten or something lmao but lets just say hes not an adult. by the way, the reader is indian (indus valley, at the time). WC: 7.3k

+

"Don't we look like a dream?"

A sharp inhale brought his eyes to shoot open, staring through the cold air to the blank ceiling above him. For a moment he frowned, as his bed had a silk canopy above it, but he quickly realized he had passed out in his friend's room again. He groaned softly, raising his hand to rub his face.

"What... happened last night?" He grumbled, his voice turning to a whisper when the volume of it left him wincing.

No response.

"Piye?"

Ahkmen raised himself, though very strenuously, and looked over the tables and stools thrown beside him. Splinters nearly dug into his fingertips, but he jerked away before anything could lodge.

Piye was much in the same position. Quite literally, with their limbs strewn about, hair a knotted mess upon their head. The only difference was that Piye was lying face down, their face squished into one of the table legs. He almost laughed, but even the spreading of a smile sparked a headache, so instead he poked his blacked out friend.

They groaned, loudly, but did not move. Ahkmen continued to poke them until they finally had enough, pushing themselves upwards.

"What the hell do you want?" They asked, their voice low and scratchy. Even their eyes had yet to open, stuck shut with crushed eyelashes.

"What did we do last night?" He asked in a mumble, resting his weight on the thin edge of a fallen table.

"You invited Panya and she killed us with beer," Piye breathed out, shielding their eyes from the sun with their hand.

"Fuck," said Ahkmen. "An... what day's today?"

Piye breathed very deeply before opening their mouth, letting out a roar of a yell, "DAD?!? What's today??"

Ahkmen winced away, covering his ears until Piye lay back down, still relaxing into the pile of chairs and tables.

"It is the eleventh of Khuiahk," came Adom's voice from around the corner of the tiny hallway leading to the door of Piye's room. Ahkmen heard a flip of papyrus before he spoke again, "you have school today, if that's what you're wondering."

"Ah... shit," Piye sighed.

"That means I have school too," Ahkmen said with widening eyes, a pitiful sense of dread overcoming his hangover. "I can't learn like this. I haven't showered since yesterday, I – I barely have a hold on my thoughts, I can't stand loud noises –"

"If you can still gripe like that, you're fine," Piye said flatly, lying for a moment more before their eyes opened, making way for them to sit up and stand.

"But –"

"Calm down, my Prince," Piye said with a derisive bow. "It's quite alright. I'll get us ready within the hour."

Having Piye as a friend came in handy a number of times, but especially when it came to maintaining his image of a perfect son. His parents adored him dearly, but Ahkmen was convinced that that status could be stripped at any moment, and that they would begin to treat him as they did his brother, Kamun. Thus having Piye to excuse away his mistakes was beyond helpful to him, let alone the secret capabilities of the palace physician's child.

In a calm-as-ever demeanor, Piye shoved both him and themself into clothes too warm for the sunshine already beating down on them through windows. The Prince felt a little off––a little more disgusted with himself than usual––but his discomfort was quickly remedied with a stop by the Nile, where the two quickly washed themselves.

Returning into clothes was made easy by the sun that dried the water on their skin within a minute of leaving the river. The two dressed, shoving their legs into skirts and golden bands as they walked, stumbling through the streets with soaking wet hair.

"One last stop," Piye said before they reached the center of the city, pulling Ahkmen off down a hidden alley.

Boxes and carts of goods had been stacked as wide as the thin alley, but they were easily climbed, and the two found themselves in an entirely different part of town.

"How quick is this stop going to be? We're already going to be late," Ahkmen said, but continued to follow Piye without fail.

"Wouldn't worry about it," they assured as they directed him into a tent of red and purple drapes.

Smoke welled in the ceiling, already uncomfortably low for Ahkmen, and even worse for Piye. It must've been important, whatever Piye was trying to do, as they were particularly sensitive about their height at times, and tried not to draw attention to it. The only true light inside the tiny shop was the burning incense, and what little sun could make it through the dark fabric that made up the ceiling and walls. When Ahkmen caught the scent, he recognized it easily––myrrh.

"What are we doing here?" Ahk whispered, trying to look over Piye's shoulder as they led the way through continuous halls of silk.

"Yogi?" Piye said, knocking against the first hard surface they could find.

There was a moment of silence before the wall of satin before him rustled, rippling till it split open to reveal you; a small, foreign child about his age, with a bright red dot on your forehead above wide eyes. His heart thumped erratically as you met his gaze. While he couldn't directly place where you were from, the style of your home and lavish clothes as well as your facial features assured him you were not Egyptian.

"Be needing something, Piye?" You said in a thick accent, looking up at the magi who towered above you.

"One of your drinks," they said. You nodded and ducked back into your room.

"We don't need more to drink," Ahkmen whispered.

"It's a hangover cure. You'll be wanting it."

"Oh."

A moment later you returned, two clay cups in hand swirling with a red mixture. Ahkmen looked suspiciously into the liquid, trying to decipher the ingredients, before Piye knocked their whole cup back and swallowed it in a single gulp. Scuffing his sandal against the floor, he copied his friend's movements.

Sweet, but thick. Like dough, but slimy, and the sensation of it slowly sliding down his throat only brought about more questions as to the ingredients.

"You must be one of their friends," you said once they both finished, handing their mugs to you.

"Well, um..." Ahkmen looked up to Piye, "yes. We're on our way to Osiris' temple."

"You are, then... students?"

"Yes. I study language and morals, Anpu here studies law," Piye answered for him, patting Ahkmen's shoulder.

"The bell will start soon. You should go, the priests are not made of give," you said as you set the cups aside, showing them out the door.

Blazing sun burnt the back of his eyes as he stepped outside, back into the radiating heat and the empty street, which lay an alley's walk away from the Temple of Osiris. He squinted, searching for the boxes he'd climbed earlier.

"Over here," Piye directed him, and he followed.

"Where's your friend from? Doesn't sound like –"

"- like Egyptian is their first language," Piye finished. "I've never bothered to ask, but if I had to guess, somewhere in the east. Our friendship is mostly limited to school, and medicine."

"They study medicine?" Ahkmen asked incredulously. If you weren't native to Egypt, and it was painfully obvious you weren't, it would be a feat beyond God to achieve any form of education concerning the human body.

"Not proper medicine, mind you. It's back-alley magic," Piye said, opening the door to the temple and allowing Ahkmen to pass in front of them.

"Quite literally," Ahkmen mumbled beneath his breath, scanning the main temple for any sign of the priests.

"Right."

"And what was with that fake name?"

"I don't think they –"

"I cannot imagine it will be a fantastic impression on your teachers that you are late on your first day of schooling," came a voice from behind them.

Both Ahkmen and Piye whirled around, wide eyes meeting the High Priest of Osiris, an older man named Yafeu that had never been fond of the royal family. Fortunately, he would not be teaching anyone––the High Priest's position was 'too important' to concern itself with the younger generations teachings. Osiris and his temple required constant cleaning, as well as regularly cleaned offerings of jewels and flowers, plates of delicacies that reached the knee of the massive statue sat at the head of the temple.

In fact, that was where Ahkmen stood; before the statue of Osiris. Somewhere he was not supposed to be.

"We're having trouble finding our class," Piye said before Ahkmen could even think of how to reply.

Yafeu raised a single brow, scanning the both of them with an unimpressed expression. He raised his finger to point at a small door behind Osiris.

"That way."

"Thank you, sir," Piye said with a small bow, taking Ahkmen's hand and rushing him out the door.

While the temple of Osiris held much land, and much of it was occupied by caretakers both priestly and humble, who worked to please Osiris, commoners and non-priests were generally not allowed. Gardens bloomed around the sacred lake, lovingly tended to fit the needs of the temple.

As Ahkmen and Piye walked down the long, open hallway, which on the left side held the many rooms of those working in the temple, and on the right displayed the wealth of the courtyard, the Prince wondered upon the subject of the temple. Very few people were allowed inside––hence his apprehension upon being caught––but considering the amount of people it took to care for the temple, it seemed to him a little unfair that others couldn't come to bow at the statue's feet.

Perhaps the priests, and his father, did not want commoners coming to Osiris with petty issues.

"You handled that quite well," Ahkmen said as he noted the arch to class approaching.

"I fucking hate priests," they seethed, but the expression gave way for a smile in an instant when they both entered the room.

Yafeu might've been old, but the priests that retired into teachers were much older. Last year, Ahkmen's teacher had been a much younger scribe, but this year his class of four would be taught by a priest who had spent his better years tending to Sobek's temple, and consequently had lots of experience with crocodiles. That was about the only interesting thing about the man, except for the fact that his name was Setet, which according to Ahk’s classmate meant 'Daughter of Set'.

A very strange name indeed. Ahkmen let the thought of it occupy his thoughts for a minute or two, but grew quickly bored of the subject, and eventually his mind wandered back to the events of the morning. If Setet had the gall to be this uninteresting, Ahkmen could be allowed time to think and gather himself.

Last night, he thought, chewing on his bottom lip. What had happened?

The details were fuzzy in his head––more a mess of mangled half-memories soaked in beer and wine. According to Piye, who now sat cross-legged on the carpet beside him, something had happened with his friend Panya that made both of them drink a lot of beer. A drinking contest, maybe––Ahkmen was, at times, too prideful for his own good.

Panya couldn't really be considered a friend. She was rarely ever kind to him, and he treated her in much the same light. Despite her crude behavior, she was quite beautiful, and attended the same prestigious school as he did––only in a different class.

What is he talking about? he thought to himself blearily, trying to focus back in on the man in front of him talking.

Then there was the question of you––the pretty little potionmaker––and with that thought implanted in his mind, he left the classroom in every way imaginable except physical.

Ahkmen very rarely met anyone from other countries that weren't royal, so the sudden presence of you was something he could think about for a good, long while as he waited out the school day. He thoroughly enjoyed any research into the cultures and activities of citizens in countries his own and not his own.

You came up about to his shoulder––which meant you were only as tall as Piye's elbow––and your skin was of a darker, more vibrantly red color than those of the Egyptians he usually related himself to. The lighting in your tent had been subpar, making it hard for him to recall what color that dot on your forehead had been. All he could remember was that it existed.

The hangover remedy you had concocted had, without Ahkmen entirely noticing, taken away his headache and minimized his sensitivity to light and sound, which convinced the Prince that you had some sort of schooling behind you. Maybe you weren't as poorly as you looked––all respect to you, of course––and, maybe, you were someone of similar noble standing.

He wasn't sure which theory he liked more.

Unfortunately, he couldn't remember your name, and now that class had started he would have to wait until lunch to ask Piye.

When midday finally did come around, he, Piye, and the other two students in his class were excused to the garden. In the center of the courtyard, the High Priest readied himself for the midday ceremony by bathing in the sacred lake placed there by hand. Clerks and jewellers flitted about from place to place, carrying the finished products of beautiful works that would never see the light of day beyond Osiris' temple. Similarly, weavers and barbers tended to Yafeu as he bathed in preparation.

"What was that eastern brewer's name again?" Ahkmen asked, tugging on Piye's skirt as he attempted to catch up with their long strides.

"The one from the alley? Yogi," they said with a curious tilt of their head. "Why?"

"Oh, I've been thinking about it all morning. I couldn't remember but I know you called them by name."

"Right. Hungry?" Piye asked, stopping before the door to the kitchens.

"I want to find Panya first," Ahk said as he scanned the courtyard.

"Well I want to eat. If you want to try and wade through that crowd for a woman who hates you, go ahead," Piye said, waving him off before promptly slamming the door behind them as they left.

"... right," Ahkmen muttered to himself under his breath.

There were far too many people going about the temple that, standing from his position, it was impossible to see everyone. One thing he did know about Panya, though; she always brought her own food and always sat alone.

Ten minutes later Ahkmen found himself yelling up into a tree that Panya had managed to scale.

"Get lost, goldie!" She yelled from above, picking one of the dates and lobbing it at his head. He dodged, eyes darting down at the ground, where the date had made a dent in the dirt.

"Come on, I just have a question!" He said, squinting from the sun shining directly above him.

"The answer's no. Now go away! You're going to attract one of the priests with all that yelling," she said, cocking her chin into the sky.

"Oh, fuck you," he muttered as he at last looked down, his neck sore from craning it so long. So much for figuring out last night.

As he made his way back to the kitchens, he crossed the middle of the courtyard and spied through the pillars of stone the open door of the inner temple. Inside grew an ethereal blue light, surrounding the figures of stone, warped with smoke as Yafeu knelt to his knees before Osiris. His mouth moved in constant prayer, but Ahkmen could not hear from his distance. He could only watch.

Until one of the clerks shut the door.

He frowned, but headed on his way, soon sliding in next to his friend, Piye. They had taken a seat on one of the many carpets set out on the floor, the open roof allowing sunlight to flood the otherwise dark room. All that protected the students and chefs from the heat of the sun, as well as the heat of the ovens, was the thin tarps covering the majority of the ceiling, though not entirely. There was still room for a couple rays of unbroken sun.

"Find her?" Piye asked through a mouthful of food.

"Yes, but she wouldn't talk to me," Ahk said, irritant in his movements as he began to eat his own lunch.

"Sounds like her."

By the end of school, the sun was already cresting the horizon of low mountains, leading his shadow to tall heights as he walked with Piye, their backs to the sun. Inside the courtyard of the temple, servants and workers planted seeds in the black mud gathered from the Nile's banks. Outside it, however, bustled the busy life of Memphis markets that always received the most amount of patrons after school and work was finished for the day.

Wading through the crowd had always been more of an art than anything, though Ahkmen couldn't practice that art very well with Piye beside him. They stuck out horribly, too tall to duck beneath the swaying barrels and baskets, and unable to pass people by without seeming rude.

"Oh shit!" Ahkmen exclaimed in a moment of remembrance, raising his hand to stop Piye. "I remember why Panya came over."

"Really?" They pulled both of them to the side, pressed against a restaurant wall. "What was it?"

"Drinking contest. Remember last Friday? We had that bet and then I lost, and I had to give her one of my necklaces, but I couldn't part with any of mine, so I just stole my mother's. Then my mother started asking questions, and... oh fuck. Mother's going to kill me," Ahk said with wide eyes, raising his hands to cover his mouth.

"I would love to help you out with this problem, but she's really not going to do anything, and I need to help my father collect ingredients from the market. Is that alright?"

"Yes, I... I understand. Any advice though?"

"Go find Yogi. They might be able to help. See you," they said as they turned and left, all but their shoulders and head disappearing in the crowd.

Ahkmen had little on his persons except the clothes he wore, and the bands he had on his arms marked him as royal. They could not be sold, bartered, or traded in any way, as any non-royal found wearing them was jailed or enslaved. He could not give them to Panya in exchange. Panya might've been annoying, but she didn't deserve something like that.

Since that was the only idea he had, he found himself sneaking back towards Osiris' temple, and going through the streets leading to it in hopes of finding that alleyway once more. It was less of an alley and more of a space between two close buildings, but that distinction easily led him back to climbing over boxes of storage.

In the warm blush of evening, it was hard to make out the different alleys leading to this singular space between buildings, where nothing had been built except that tent of yours. It appeared as though you had blocked it off purposely––made your home secret for a reason.

Questions swarmed his head as he ducked beneath the flap of your home, watching his head for anything hanging too low. He raised his hand, searching for a hard surface––something to rapp his knuckles on, as Piye had.

"Uh... Yoshi?"

"My name is not that. Do not call me that," you said, walking out from behind what Ahkmen thought was a wall. He nearly jumped at your sudden appearance.

"Sorry. I was, um, here this morning, with my friend Piye? They said you might be able to help me," he said in a rambling manner, playing with his fingers.

"What help you need?"

"I had a bet with this girl from my school, and she ended up with my mother's necklace, and I need that necklace. My mother was asking me about it earlier, so I know she's noticed."

"Hmm..." you glanced to the side, placing your hands on your hips. "What was.. your bet on?"

"Drinking contest."

"Ah," you said with a sudden smile. "No problem. You find your girl, bring her here. I will give her my beer."

"You brew beer?" Ahkmen asked incredulously, his eyes widening. Beer-making was something generally reserved for adults.

"I do many things. Do not worry. She will not die," you said, shaking your head as though that would assure him.

"Why would she die?!" Ahkmen asked with even larger eyes.

"I just tell you she will not die! Now go grab her. I will be here with your cups. Tell her you want to do it again," you said, pushing him out the door. He was not at all swayed by your efforts, but allowed you to move him anyway, and soon he stood outside in an evening where the sun had set too fast.

A chill ran over his skin, at which point he acutely missed the warmth of your tent. How you kept it so comfortable, as well as clean in there was a mystery, but that was not at the forefront of his thoughts. Instead he tried to recall where Panya might be––perhaps at school, perhaps at home, or maybe with her friend. She only had one.

After clambering back over the wall of boxes and crates, he snuck back into the courtyard of the temple, keeping a careful eye on any movement he saw. The task proved hard after about five seconds of being in there, as the next ceremony was soon approaching. The Priests would put Osiris to rest for the night.

In several of the rooms he passed, he found other children of noble bearings discussing quietly with the older priests and clerks, who passed the time of their elderly years raising the next generation. He checked each door, but in the end he found Panya on the edge of one of the creeks that ran like veins with the lifeblood of the Nile.

"Can we talk now?" He asked, taking great enjoyment in her surprise as she turned.

"I'd prefer we didn't," she said, turning back to look at the river.

"If I recall correctly," which he did not, "I won last night's contest, right? That puts us at a tie."

"You big liar," said Panya, who also did not recall the events of last night. "I quite distinctly remember rubbing your face in my win."

"Come now, all I'm offering is one more drinking contest. You get to get drunk for free. If you win, I... I'll owe you one favor. One thing you ask of me, I'll do, no questions asked. If I win, I get that necklace back."

"You're vain sometimes, you know that?" She said in a quieter voice as he stood to face her, watching her fingers play with the massive emerald that now dangled from her shoulders.

"So are you."

She raised an unimpressed brow, scanning the Prince before she sighed, closing her eyes.

"Very well. Is Piye going to be overlooking it again?"

"No, no," Ahk said with a dismissive hand, dropping his other to grab Panya's hand and direct her along. "They're busy tonight. I've got someone else on board."

It took a little convincing to get the noble girl to climb up and over the boxes for a secret part of the city, but he eventually won her over and directed her inside your tent. She was about your height––maybe a little taller––and had no problems standing in your low-roof home. Ahkmen on the other hand took a seat as soon as he could.

You introduced yourself with a small bow, bringing forward a low table with a long strip of embroidered cloth, upon which you placed four small cups built of what appeared to be clay. All of this you did in a smooth, practiced swoop that lasted only a moment before Ahkmen was forced to face Panya once more.

Ahkmen might've been a desperate man––in more than one sense of the word––but he would not resort to cheating by stealing. Not to good people. Thus he would keep his word concerning the prizes of the competition, no matter how certain he was that he would fail.

He was a prince, accustomed to constant fine wines and thick beer that smelled strongly of alcohol. A sipper in small amounts.

Panya was not. She had quite a lot of money like his family, but she was far more connected with the world of other teenagers than Ahkmen was.

"I like you to state what you will win if you... win," you said, standing beside the table Ahk and Panya sat at. "That way, it is honest."

"If Panya wins, she can tell me to do one thing that I must do without question. If I win, I get that necklace back," Ahk said as he pointed to each of the things he referred to.

"Okay. Let us begin!"

Four cups. Two on either side of the centerpiece of the table. Ahkmen reached forward at the same time as Panya, grabbing the cups from the right and downing both of them quick as he could. The less he thought about it, the better. Panya soon copied him, finishing much faster than he had, and slamming the cups down so hard he nearly jumped.

"Good start," you said with a nod. "Feel good?"

"I feel about myself," Ahk offered.

"Then you have not drinking enough." You brought out another four cups in a flash. "Try not to let any of it fall!"

It burned his throat––physically burnt it from the alcohol level. No beer or wine had ever done that before, and he nearly spit it out, but managed to swallow it and hide his teary eyes at the same time. He then watched Panya carefully for any reaction, and noted the same surprise in her expression.

"Is a bit stronger. That is how my game works. By your six rounds, it only takes a cup to get a little," you grinned and rolled your eyes in two different directions. Ahk raised his brows, unable to look away, but said nothing.

"God damn," Panya said after downing the second cup of her's on the table. "Where do you get this stuff?"

"I make it. It is levels of dizziness."

"Do you mean drunkenness?" Ahkmen asked, looking apprehensively down into his second cup.

"Whatever. It is family's secret. I sell it to markets, get a good price, people like becoming drunk," you said with a shrug, taking the old cups, and refilling them with yet another mixture.

"Come now, Ahk," Panya chuckled from across the table. "Gotta finish that second cup if you're gonna challenge me to this kind of a competition."

Ahkmen glared at her for a moment before raising his cup to his lips, knocking it back as he attempted to once again ignore every sensation happening in his throat.

"Good boy," you said, taking his cup and setting it on the shelf behind you.

Four more cups were then placed on the table, and the drinking continued.

By the fifth round, he was already inebriated, his tongue soaked in the numbing powers of this drink you had concocted. There was a part of his not-all-there brain that thought you had taken this drink from the underworld; some sort of backwards world where the Nile flowed with pure alcohol.

If you were telling the truth, and he quite well trusted your word this far, he could be dizzyingly intoxicated with your next drink. He barely had the state of mind to look at Panya, much less decode her own level of drunkenness. That left him blind to the status of his likelihood of winning. And yet, when the next cup was set down in front of him, he gulped it like a sober brewer. Panya did the same.

"Feeling a little of it now?" You asked with a grin.

"Some... something dike lat," he mumbled, his mouth smushed against the hand he supported his head on.

"Do you one finish?"

"... what?" Panya asked, her brow furrowed as she stared intensely at you.

"Do one of you give up?" You tried.

"Hell no," Panya said with an adamant shake of her head. "Get me another!"

"Me too!" Ahk said, raising his hand high as his head fell to the table, knocking against it with a loud thunk. He hissed, curling back on himself with little grace.

Panya snorted, leading into a long laugh as she cherished the look of drunken disdain painted over the Prince's face. You said nothing, but went to fulfill their requests, returning with the same drink as the last one.

"This my strongest drink. What you had before. It is good for you!"

"It may be good for me, but I think my friend over there is going to pass out," Panya said, grabbing you by your collar and forcing you to lean down so she could talk closer to your ear. You giggled.

"You have big strength," you said, stepping away as she downed yet another drink.

"Thank you, uh.. what's... your name?"

"... it is Yogi."

"Well then, Yogi. Another!"

If you had some sort of secret plan to get him to win, he was desperate to see it. This drink of yours had only seemed to be detrimental to him, not to Panya, and anxiousness stewed as he glanced into his cup. She was already ahead of him––to equalize the cards, he had to drink another cup, just to be equal.

You reentered the room as he knocked it back, carrying two more cups. When he set his cup down, you placed the others in front of him, and grabbed the empty one to clean it.

Ahkmen looked up, and through the haze of his thoughts, he might've seen you wink at him with a sly smile. Maybe. It was also possible you had just blinked and his eyes were being slow.

He grabbed his cup, and before he could think about it he chugged it. In a horrifying moment of clarity, he recognized the drink he'd had that morning––some sort of hangover cure that felt like smooth, squishy mud in his mouth. You returned a minute or two later, more drinks in hand. By then your mixture took effect, and much of his wooziness faded away, bringing him back to the land of sobriety before being offered his next cup.

It was all he needed.

Panya went on for a good long while, but without the special concoction she lost by the tenth round. During that time, Ahkmen had plenty enough beer, and had returned to the spinning thoughts of his alcohol-fueled brain, now focused on the one who had helped him so readily––you.

"What are – are you gonna do with... her?" Ahkmen asked through a half-stuffed nose, gesturing weakly to Panya, who had passed out in the corner only moments earlier.

"Do you know her parents?"

"... sort of," he answered vaguely. He definitely knew about them. Her father was Yafeu, and though he did not like Ahkmen, Ahkmen had a fair amount of information about him.

"Will they... scared, about her going.. missing?" You said, slowly piecing together a sentence you had clearly never said in Egyptian.

"You mean does she have to be home tonight?"

You nodded.

"She'll be fine. Her father will... worry, a little, but she can say she was sleeping in a friend's house. They won't.. uh... worry," he said in a mumble, laying his head to rest on your table.

"Then we put her to sleep. Let her rest for a while," you said, bowing your head as you collected the rest of the cups, disappearing behind yet another wall.

He tapped his fingers against the wood, keeping them close to his eyes so as to see his hand better. A long sigh left him.

"Will you go home? Or stay?" You asked upon your return.

"I – I have a lot of answers for you," he said, suddenly quite vindictive and stern as he pointed to you with a shaky finger. "And I want you.. to question..."

He trailed off as he realized his mistake. Embarrassment was clear on his face as he shriveled into himself, but you just giggled, sitting down across from him with a large bag in your lap.

"What is your questions?"

"What's your name? Your full name. You don't... seem happy when.. people say Yogi," he said, resting the majority of his weight on the pillows built up against one of the rare solid walls.

"Well, I come from a long travel. My name is not something many know here," you said with a shrug, digging your hands into the bag and rooting around it. "It is Yogasundari."

"Y.. yogetsury?" He tried on his clumsy tongue.

"Yogasundari. It is okay you can not say it. It is why most call me Yogi."

"So – where do you come from then? If y-you come from," he pushed down a hiccup, "from far away?"

"The east. My city was named Harappa. We live in a beautiful river, like you," you said, smiling a soft, thoughtful smile as you recalled images of your past. "Our city was great. Had all things. But my family is poor and it is easy to live here. We can make our own great.. um..."

"Riches?"

"Yes! Gold, and – and silk, you have, but we change the shape of iron," you said, your grin spreading into excitement. "We have good drinks. You want them here, so we come here, and we live much better than we live in Harappa."

"So you're... here with your family?" He asked in genuine curiosity, looking up at you from his collapsed position on the floor.

Your expression fell away, and an anxiousness overtook your demeanor.

"I was," you said, then frowned with spiteful eyes. "Those kings of yours kill my family, sell them. I love this, the river, but your kings are unjust. They take my parents and I never saw them again."

"I'm sorry," he murmured.

"It is okay. It is not your fault. I have a good home and I know how to stay away from soldiers. They go everywhere in this city. Not like my home. So that is why I am here," you said, gesturing to the patterned cloths that made up your ceiling.

"And it's just you here?"

"There is the cat," you said, looking back down to his chest, where unbeknownst to him, a thin, hairless cat had made a bed.

"Oh," he whispered softly, taken aback.

The purring was nice––actually, most of the cat's presence was nice, except when he went to pet it, and it raised its' head. At that point he saw the gaping holes where eyes were supposed to be, where they probably once were, and he just about jumped out of his skin, and would have if its' claws weren't kneading at his stomach.

"What the fuck," he whispered in a tense breath.

"She is good. Very kind. You do not worry."

"Where'd you find her?" He asked, eyes darting between you and the cat.

"On the street," you said, nodding. "She comes in for eating at some times."

"... delightful."

"What of you?" You asked. "What are you from?"

"I..." he paused, recalling your contempt for the royal family, and then the much earlier occurrence of Piye using a cover name. "... my father's a priest at Osiris' temple. Not the High one, but.. one of them. That's why I go to school there, and that's how I met Panya."

"Are you good friends?"

"Not really," he chuckled. "We have our fights but I respect her, most of the time."

"More with Piye, then?"

"Mm... yeah. How'd you meet them?"

"You have to ask them. They came in my home one day and asked for my brew."

"Which one?"

"The good one," you said with a wink that had Ahkmen snorting. "I have forgot to ask your name. Your friends name you two things."

What had Piye called him that morning? Panya had used Ahk, that he knew definitively.

"Ak'anpu," he answered after a moment's thoughts.

"It is a nice name," you said, bringing your lips to a glass contraption. With one flame on the other end, you breathed in deeply, exhaling thick clouds of smoke that easily outweighed the smoke of incense already flooding the ceiling.

"What is that?" Ahk asked with a groan as he brought himself to sit up, forcing your cat to jump off his middle.

"Shemet. I get it at the markets, by the river. It is good to sleep and calm down. Want to try?" You offered the tool to him.

"Sure," he said, though he was fairly certain he'd already had this before, and that you were simply pronouncing the name strangely.

From the taste alone he recognized it as something he and Piye had used extensively at some points. It didn't pair well with beer, which he knew from experience, so he took only one more puff before handing it back to you with a quiet 'thank you'.

"I must get home to my father, he's –" he tried to stand, falling back down when he tripped over his own feet. "He's gonna want to see me in the morning."

"You are a little... drunk to be seeing a father yet," you said, a grin tugging at your lips.

"That you are most certainly 'bight'," he said as he, again, attempted to stand.

When he nearly caught his head in one of your hanging scarves, you jumped to your feet, grabbing his arm and pulling his whole body back before he ran into it. He stumbled backwards, spinning around just in time to catch himself on the wall with you in front of him.

"Oh..." he stuttered, a warmer blush filling his head as he looked down at you. "I'm.. sorry."

But you just laughed, much harder than the times you had before, till a dark flush built in your creased cheeks, stark against your bright eyes.

"You are funny. It is alright," you said, patting his bare chest. "I don't think I trust you will get home safe."

"Is this because I'm drunk?" He asked in a teasing tone, leaning in closer with his own cocky smile. For a moment he worried your hand on his chest would feel the thundering of his heartbeat.

"It is because you are stupid," you said, ducking out from his grip and pulling the necklace from Panya's neck, handing it to him.

You took his hand in yours, carefully leading him out of your home without wrecking any of it. The ascent over the crates was a little more clumsy than usual, but in the end you both landed safe back in the regular streets of Memphis, the temple of Osiris to your right and the palace to your left.

"Which way is your home?" You asked, looking up at him after you confirmed it to be a vacant street.

"Easy there," he said as he raised his hands defensively. "I'm – can't go home this.. like this. I'm gonna go down to the Nile, and... I'm going to wash up."

"They say not to go by yourself," you said, following him when he turned to the right. "Dangerous animals."

"More guidelines than rules, really," he said as he shambled along. "And I have you now, d–don't I?"

"If fish eat your ass, I am not saving you," you said with a certainty.

Ahkmen spluttered into a laugh.

"What?" You asked, your own smile growing as you watched him, confused.

"Don't – don't ever say that again. Don't talk about anything eating ass," he said through a massive grin.

Once the two of you reached the river, which didn't take long at all, Ahkmen stripped himself of his garments, setting aside his jewelry in a neat row on the banks. His mother's necklace he set on his clothes, making sure not to dirty it in any way.

"It is funny how you Egyptians do this," you said, perching on one of the boulders present.

"Do what?" He asked, looking over his bare shoulder. Your eyes darted up from staring at something lower.

"Wash in the river."

"Not everyone does," he said, kneeling in the water. "A lot have small pools in their homes. Mostly the rich, I guess. Everyone else just bathes here."

"Maybe I am just... not knowing much about being without many clothes," you attempted to translate, the words clearly spinning in your head. You looked to him to see if he understood you.

"That I can see," he said, bringing the water over his legs and chest, trailing up to his face. "You've got quite a style. Very.. colorful. It looks expensive."

"I make my own clothes," you said with a small, but proud smile.

"You're a seamster?"

"I am many things."

"So I've seen," he chuckled. "How do you know so many things?"

"I had to learn. I had to teach me, from what I could see my family doing," you said, your feet wagging back and forth from the boulder's height. "I get not many people who.. who buy. But I have many things. I think it helps."

"Impressive," he said softly as he returned to washing himself.

By dunking his whole head into the cool water, he hoped to return more of his senses to himself, and with it his more prolific words. He didn't need drunken sentences messing up your understanding of him further. Besides, it was hard enough on its' own to try and piece together your own sentences that were jargled and brambled words of what you'd picked up in Memphis.

"Are you ready to go?" You asked after having fidgeted for several minutes, now letting your head hang upside-down off the rock.

"I suppose so," he said, rising to his feet. "I think I can probably bathe more once I get home. And if not, the morning will come, and I can wash then."

As spiritual an experience as it was to bathe in the lifeblood of Egypt, Ahkmen couldn't deny he missed the lavender soaps and gentle oils massaged and soaked into the skin.

He stumbled his way back to shore, slipping easily on the slick mud beneath him, making up the fertile silt of the Nile. You laughed from your vantage point, knocking your head back with the loudest belt of a laugh he'd ever heard. It was made especially amusing by the fact that such noise could come from someone so small. By the third time he slipped, though, you spared a little pity and climbed down from your tower to help him.

"You are funny," you said with the brightest grin he'd seen, offering him your hand with a long reach in an attempt to keep your shoes clean. Unlike Ahk's, they were made of a sort of fabric.

"I'm so sorry," he said, his legs shaky from his laughter and yours. "This doesn't usually happen."

He reached forward, setting his hand into yours, and allowing you to direct him forward. To your unfortunate surprise––though, still, very amused surprise––his weight ended up pulling both of you down, slipping into the shallow reaches of the river.

"Oh Gods," he said as he resurfaced. "I am so sorry, I -"

Your clothes, and you, were then soaked in both water and mud that easily stained to the palms of your hands as you hauled your heavy clothes out of the river. Wide eyes looked to him, your mouth open in surprise. He cringed backwards, a horribly apologetic look on his face as he watched you stand, shaking your body to test your new weight.

Glancing around your legs, midsection, and arms, you found mud dug into your elbows, your knees, around your hips, and all across your shoulders.

You laughed. Relief flooded him upon the sight of your smile, covering your mouth with a dirty hand.

"Don't we look like a dream?" You giggled.

[caranfindel]

Take these broken wings and learn to fly (15.20 coda)

het, but Wincest-compatible | about 2300 words | PG-13 for language | characters: sam winchester, sam’s blurry wife |

Julia has been widowed (God, what an awful word, widowed) for three years when she meets Sam. It’s a work-based friendship at first. She’s kind of lonely and sad, he’s kind of lonely and sad, and they gravitate toward each other. And then one evening they’re at a bar, the last ones left from an after-work happy hour, both of them drinking more than they should, and she thinks he’s kind and thoughtful and smart and he may be 10 years older than me but he’s still hot as hell and I enjoy being with him and I look forward to seeing him and maybe I should just… and she kisses him. He’s shocked; shocked enough to confirm that he wasn’t just hanging around hoping to make it out of the friendzone. And then he’s holding her face in his hands and he’s kissing her too.

It’s good. They’re good together. It’s not the earth-shattering, all-encompassing romance she had with Shaun. Julia knows she’ll never have anything like that again. Most people don’t even get one soulmate in their lives; no one gets two. And she knows Sam doesn’t have that same desperate love that Shaun had for her; she knows she’ll never have his whole heart. (She knows the woman he intended to marry was killed in a fire, she knows another woman he loved went back to her ex. She doesn’t know which of these women still owns that last piece of Sam’s heart.) But she loves Sam, and he loves her, and they get married.

(The sex is amazing. Sometimes he’s gentle, almost reverent, as if he’s afraid he’ll break her, and other times he’s fierce and passionate and almost tries to break her, and she loves both ends of the spectrum.)

She suggests they melt down her old wedding band to make a new one. It was an heirloom from her grandmother, a plain wide band of yellow gold that she loves, that she thought she’d wear for the rest of her life. But Shaun is the one who put it on her finger the first time. It doesn’t seem right to ask Sam to accept it now. A new band from the old gold seems like a good compromise. No, Sam says, I couldn’t ask you to do that. I know a way we can make it ours. He has the inside of the band engraved with the same symbol he wears tattooed over his heart, and makes her promise to never take it off. Bad luck, he says.

He’s such a contradiction. Scary smart, but as superstitious as an Appalachian grandmother. Calm and unflappable, but with a weirdly hyperactive startle reflex. Kind and empathetic, but capable of extreme violence when pushed to his limits (seriously, don’t walk your drunk ass up to Sam Winchester’s wife and lay hands on her, and don’t get mouthy when she tells you to back off) and just really, frighteningly skilled at that violence.

(A little frightening and also very sexy. Julia’s always had a thing for the hero type.)

They both have nightmares. One night Julia watches Shaun’s face melting under his gear and wakes with a cry of horror. Sam holds her as she tearfully describes living on the knife edge of constant fear that comes with loving someone whose job is literally running into burning buildings. I know, he says, over and over, even though he can’t possibly know. The irony of their first loves both dying in flames is not lost on her, but it’s not like his college girlfriend was a firefighter. It’s not like he watched her go to work every day and prayed she’d make it home alive.

Julia’s pregnancy is a wonderful surprise. She and Shaun had tried for over a year before she was widowed, and she just didn’t count on it happening with Sam. They agree not to name the baby after anyone they’ve lost. Let’s not name him after our pain, she says, and Sam is okay with that. (Or he isn’t. But ever since she showed him the positive pregnancy test, she’s known she could ask him for anything. She’s known he would rip out his heart and serve it on a platter if she asked for it.)

But they haven’t decided on a name yet when her water breaks four weeks early. When their perfect baby boy is born at 12:10 a.m., the nurse announces the date and time and Sam looks up at her in shock and blinks away happy tears and says it’s the 24th. It’s my brother’s birthday. Julia is flying high on endorphins; she loves this baby and she loves this man and she even loves his dead brother she never got to meet, and she says it’s got to be a sign; let’s name him Dean.

She takes off her wedding ring, just this once, to have Dean’s birthdate engraved on the inside. Sam does the same with his own ring. He insists they go to a jeweler who will engrave while they wait, rather than leaving the rings there. She waves a hand at her lumpy postpartum body. You afraid someone’s gonna make a move on all this if you don’t keep a ring on it?

He laughs at her and says you’re onto me, even though he’s the one who needs to be locked away, still with that long lean runner’s body and the amazing shoulders and the goddamn dimples. I just don’t like us being without them, he says. He is a sweet, sentimental fool and she adores him. He bends down to kiss her, carefully maneuvering the baby he’s wearing in a sling, and Julia looks at this man and this baby and this life she didn’t think she was get to have and knows she’s happier than she has any right to be. And she’s relieved when Sam slips the ring back onto her finger, this ring imbued with the men she loves, so maybe he’s not the only sentimental fool.

(One thing she loves about Sam is that he understands why she feels guilty that Shaun didn’t get to share this life with her.)

In July they light a little candle for Dean’s six-month birthday. When Julia wakes the next morning, Sam’s side of the bed is empty and cold. She finds him cuddling their sleeping baby in the living room. I got up to give him a bottle, Sam says. I guess I just fell asleep out here. His red-rimmed eyes and empty coffee mug suggest he didn’t actually sleep at all, but, well. They’re both battling their own private demons. If a night cradling the baby gives Sam some peace for whatever reason, she’s glad of it.

Sam’s fierce love for their child takes her by surprise. If Julia has 90% of his heart, his son has 110%. He parents with a vengeance, is the only way she can think of to describe it. Like he’s making up for something. She doesn’t feel slighted, but it’s impossible to ignore that ever since Dean was born, Sam’s prime objective has been to make sure the boy is happy and safe. Everything else comes second.

(When she notices Sam has been carefully marking his tattoo symbol onto Dean’s clothing, hidden near seams and always in a color that almost matches the fabric, she decides not to say anything. He gets a little funny about his superstitions sometimes.)

Sam desperately wants Dean to have a sibling, and they try for another one, but it doesn’t happen. Julia reminds him that they’re lucky to have even one child. That having a sibling is not a lifetime guarantee of companionship and love. She should know, after all, since Stephanie cut her off after she married that asshole Scientologist and decided she couldn’t have a relationship with anyone who wasn’t also in their stupid cult.

Dean has plenty of friends and tons of activities, which Sam encourages with an almost religious fervor, but he never pulls away from his parents. They have so much in common, Sam and his son. Instead of rebelling as a teenager, Dean seems to grow even closer to his father. They spend hours together, paging through the ancient books in Sam’s study (she hates them, they smell musty and make her sneeze) or driving in the old Chevrolet. They even travel together sometimes, visiting those friends of Sam’s that live up north somewhere. Julia met them at the wedding and they were perfectly nice, thrilled to death that she and Sam had found each other. But she always feels like an outsider when they’re around, like they’re part of something she’ll never understand. So much history, with Sam and the brother she never got to meet. They absolutely dote on Dean though, and he seems to love them too, so the boys’ trip to Sioux Falls becomes an annual event.

(Dean is 14 years old when he comes home from one of these trips with his own version of the tattoo.)

When Julia is diagnosed with cancer, Dean is 16 years old. Sam does his best to ensure life goes on as normal for their son but somehow never neglects Julia’s needs. He throws himself into research and is always on top of the latest treatment, always at her elbow with the top internet-recommended remedy for her side effects, making sure both she and Dean have everything they want and need, all the attention and support they can tolerate. She doesn’t know when, or if, Sam actually sleeps. When she feels up for it, he arranges experiences for the three of them. A week lying on the beach, a weekend in New York City, a night in the mountains looking at the stars. When we look back on this time, he says, I don’t want us to only remember how much it sucked. I want us all to have good memories too.

(She doesn’t know why he’s concerned about her memories. There’s a good chance she won’t have much time to enjoy them. But it’s good for Dean. She doesn’t want this to ruin Dean’s childhood.)

Sam insists Dean go away to college as planned. Julia agrees, although she’s kind of surprised he’s willing to let the boy out of his sight. Aren’t you going to miss him? she asks.

So much, he answers. But this isn’t about me, and what I need. It’s about him. They drive Dean to school in the ancient Chevrolet. Supposedly because the trunk has room for all of his stuff, but Julia is pretty sure it’s just one last sentimental road trip in the old thing before Sam retires it. When they pick Dean up at the end of the school year, it’s in her SUV. Dean promises his father, more than once, that he’ll restore the Chevy someday.

Five years after Julia’s diagnosis, she’s sitting in the doctor’s office learning that her last remission was her last remission. There are no more options. She has months, not years. Sam clutches her hand and nods, once, as if to say I should have known this would happen; I should have expected something like this. Then he takes her home.

It’s a blessing in a way, he says late that night, after a little too much to drink. Knowing what’s coming. Having time to say goodbye. You don’t always get that. And yes, she knows this as well as anybody does.

Sam has always been supportive of her choice not to contact Stephanie, but one day he says Jules, I promise I’ll never bring it up again. It’s just that I don’t want you to have any regrets. I don’t want you miss the opportunity to say things that you’ll wish you’d said. Julia isn’t sure Steph will speak to her. She’s not even sure she’ll have the same phone number — they haven’t spoken since Dad’s funeral, a year after she was widowed — but she makes the call. And Steph answers. And cries. And comes to visit, where she hugs and cries some more. Sam watches it all with a sad smile for a while, then disappears into the garage to sit in the old Chevy.

When Julia takes her last conscious breaths, Dean is holding one hand and Sam is holding the other. She squeezes her son’s hand and thinks I love you, dear boy, and I’m sorry I have to leave you. She squeezes her husband’s hand and thinks thank you for giving me this, thank you for taking care of me, thank you for loving me and letting me love you. Then she closes her eyes and lets the soft, warm darkness take over.

And then. Then she wakes to a cool breeze and the sound of chirping birds. She’s standing at a lake she recognizes. It’s Shaun’s favorite fishing spot. And Shaun is there, waiting for her. And everything is okay.

Sam does show up eventually. Julia’s sitting on the porch of the cabin with Shaun, enjoying the perpetual nice day (sometimes a spring morning, sometimes a fall afternoon, but always nice) when she hears the familiar rumble. It cant be, she thinks. It can’t be that old car. But it is.

I’m glad you found someone with good taste in cars, Shaun says, as Sam unfolds himself from the driver’s seat. He looks exactly as he did the day she met him; no glasses, only a little grey at his temples. Still tall and strong and beautiful. She runs to meet him and embraces him as Shaun watches from the porch.

You found Shaun, Sam says. I’m so happy for you, Jules. I really am. He doesn’t seem to have any intention of joining her (their) Heaven permanently, but he doesn’t seem to have anyone else with him either. Where is the dead girlfriend? How is this fair?

They talk about Dean, and Julia’s heart swells with pride over her strong, smart, kind, brave son. He’s like you, she says. He’s just like you.

Sam shrugs. He’s a Winchester.

But what about you? she says. You’re not — you’re not alone here, are you?

Nah, he says. I’m good. I promise.

(Eventually Julia meets the first Dean, and she understands.)

===

I know a lot of people have mocked Sam's blurry wife, but I actually have grown to love the concept. Because it means she can be anything we want her to be. And yeah, initially I liked the idea of her being Dr. Cara, or Eileen. But now I don't think that would happen. I think Sam would have to start fresh to have that kind of relationship. And I also like the idea of Sam's wife having her own soulmate somewhere, waiting for her, so she's not a huge part of Sam and Dean's shared Heaven. I mean, they're gonna visit, obviously. And then they'll go home to their soulmates.

The title is from "Blackbird" by the Beatles.

[superbadassnatural]

The One With The Morning After

Summary: Y/N has to deal with the aftermath of a night filled with booze, sex, and questionable choices. Pairing: Dean x Reader Word count: 3,143 Warnings: mostly fluff, tiny bit of angst, a bit of smut, hangover A/N: this was written for @smol-and-grumpy​’s awesome challenge “SuperFriends Tittle Challenge”. The prompt is the title of this story of course. Hope you all enjoy it!

(x)

Few rays of sunshine struggled to get past the blinds and illuminate the room. As the warm light ghosted over your face, your eyes fluttered open. You blinked a few times before taking in your surroundings. A thin white sheet covered your body. You lifted it only to notice you were naked. You felt disgusting as if you had sweated the whole night.

Turning on your back, you noticed the guy you spent the night with was still there. He was on his side, his back to you. The sheet only covered his lower half. Fresh scratches covered his back. You didn’t have to put your tired mind through much thinking to know you were the one who caused them. As much as you wanted to see his face to at least have an idea if you had picked it right, you didn’t want to wake him and deal with the whole morning after thing. One night stands are good. You have fun and most of the time you get off. The problem was the morning after itself. Unlike most people, you thank god when you wake up and the guy has already left or when you wake up first and leave without explanation. The whole ‘it was good, I had fun’ was annoying. Every time you had to put an extra effort to not roll your eyes.

It was frustrating, to say the least when you didn’t even remember the guy’s appearance. You could only hope a glimpse of his face would come back to you. You took one last glance at him before getting up. You nearly choked when your eyes landed on the small scar on the side of his hip. There was no way in hell you wouldn’t recognize that scar. You were the one who stitched him up back then. Clothes formed a trail on the floor, you scooped them up and dressed as fast and as quiet as you could. Your heart was almost leaping out of your chest by the time you walked out of the room.

Outside of the motel, you allowed your breath to even and your heart to calm down in your chest. His car was parked only a few feet away. You ignored the shining impala and made your way back to the bunker. It wasn’t the first time you came to this particular motel so you knew the way.

It was early. Dean never wakes up before noon after a night at a bar. You had enough time to get home, shower, and take a nap before he came back. You could only hope he’d remember as much as you did. Nothing. The thought of ruining your friendship with Dean had your palms sweating. It was undeniable that you felt something for him. Those feelings were buried way too deep and throughout the years you learned how to live with them. He didn’t make it any easier on you though. Dean was constantly flirting with you. In the beginning, it was tough to be around him. Dean’s a flirt. Every now and then he’d give you his signature smirk and wink followed by a flirty comment. Although it caused a weak in your knees, you figured it was best to keep your feelings to yourself rather than risk losing him.

Arriving at the bunker, you made your way to the war room, hoping to find one of your best friends. There was no sign of Sam. You figured he’d either be on his morning run or making breakfast. It wasn’t even eight yet, so he must be home.

“Hey you,” you smiled, leaning on the fridge.

“Hey,” he greeted as he finished making his sandwich. “I didn’t expect you to be back already.”

“Yeah, I know. Just missed my bed I guess.”

“Dean’s not home yet. Did you hear from him?”

“Nope,” you were grateful he had his back to you and wouldn’t catch you lying.

“Do you want me to make you something?” He turned to you, hazel eyes widening as they roamed over your entire body. “You okay? You've been crying?”

“What? No, of course not. Why?”

“Your mascara or eyeliner, I don’t know, is a little smudged.”

“Oh,” your fingertips touched the skin under your eyes softly. You left in such a hurry that you didn’t even look in the mirror. “Guess that’s what happens when you sleep with makeup on,” you shrugged. “Alright, I’m gonna take a shower then take a nap. Trust me, I need it.”

“Okay, you do you.”

You headed straight to the shower. The need to wash off the guilt and fear of ruining your thirteen-year friendship grew stronger by the second. You could only hope those feelings would be dispelled down the drain along with the stink of alcohol and sex. The water felt good on your tired body. You didn’t take long in there though. Every cell in your body claimed to be in bed again. You needed at least two more hours of sleep to survive the rest of the day. That and being away from Dean for twenty-four hours both physically and psychologically. Mission impossible.

Your eyes fell closed the second your body hit the soft mattress. Memory foam hugged your limbs, lulling you to sleep.

The headboard banged against the wall. Your mind was in a haze of alcohol and pleasure. Dean’s groans sounded distant. His hands were all over your body. His thrusts were erratic as he searched for the final push. You arched against him, breasts pressed to his firm chest. He whispered soft praises against your skin as a wave of pleasure consumed you.

Your eyes shot open as you sat in bed abruptly. Beads of sweat covered your forehead. Pulling the covers off, you got up, making a beeline to the bathroom. You washed your face in an attempt to get rid of the images of last night. It was in vain. The mirror only reflected how screwed you were. As if the images and the sounds running wild in your mind weren’t enough, your cleavage was covered in hickeys. You closed your eyes and suddenly you were back in that cheap motel room.

Dean’s lips kissed and sucked every patch of skin they could. Your hand shot to his head, fingers tugging at his hair. He groaned against the curve of your neck. His lips descended to your collarbone. Dean marked your skin as his hand squeezed your breast softly. He drunkenly mumbled “mine” against you.

Shaking the memory away, you turned off the tap and headed to your room. It was early which meant you had high chances of not seeing Dean. You just needed to eat and take a pill for the pounding headache. Then you could come back and hide in your room for the rest of the day. Pulling on a hoodie, you made your way to the kitchen.

“You’re awake,” Sam greeted. “Thought you were gonna sleep for the rest of the morning.”

“Yeah, me too,” you sighed, turning on the coffee maker before grabbing some bacon in the fridge for you to cook. “I wanted to, but I had a bad dream.”

“Wanna talk about it?”

“Not really,” you shrugged.

“I found us a case,” he announced as you sat in front of him with a plate and a mug in your hands. “Omaha, Nebraska. I think it’s a spirit. A quick salt and burn will do it.”

“Good. When do we leave?” you asked, munching the crispy bacon.

“Tomorrow?”

“Okay.”

“And, uh, do you mind if it’s just you and Dean on this one? Eileen and I have a date tomorrow and uh-“

“Yeah, s-sure. I don’t mind going alone with Dean. I mean… Why would I mind? It’s not like we haven’t been on hunts just the two of us.”

“Y/N? Is everything okay?”

“Sure,” you tried to keep your voice as normal as you could, but failed miserably. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

“I don’t know,” he shrugged. “You’re the one acting weird.”

“Okay,” you sighed. “I need to tell you something, but you can’t tell anyone. Last night I didn’t come home because I was with Dean. After you left the bar, we had a few more drinks. A lot more. And we slept together.”

“Finally,” he breathed out and you gasped at his reaction. “I just don’t understand why you guys went to a motel instead of coming home.”

“The motel was closer and we were kinda in a hurry.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” you said as you finished your breakfast.

“Why didn’t he come home with you?”

“I panicked when I saw him sleeping next to me. I practically ran out of the room. I think he won’t remember a thing. At least I hope he doesn’t.”

“Why? You’ve known each other for thirteen years. You have feelings for each other for at least ten. I’m surprised it took this long for something to happen.”

“You don’t understand, Sam,” you shook your head. “I can’t ruin my friendship with him. I can’t risk that.”

“Of course you can. You’re just afraid.”

“Afraid of what?” Dean asked as he walked into the room. You nearly gasped. He shouldn’t be back already.

Dean was sporting a hickey on the right side of his neck. You felt your cheeks heat up at the sight of it.

“I’m afraid of spiders and I can’t kill them,” you said fast before Sam could say anything.

Dean only hummed, opening the fridge and grabbing a pot with overdue food. He put some in his mouth but spat most of it, grimacing. A chuckle left your lips at the scene.

“What you got?” he mumbled, turning on the coffee machine.

“Salt and burn. Omaha, Nebraska. Should be easy for you and Y/N.”

“You not tagging along?”

“Nah, got a date with Eileen,” Sam smiled.

“You’re finally getting some,” the older Winchester teased. “Y/N and I can cover it. We are a great team, right sweetheart?”

He gave you a wink. You wondered if he remembered anything of your activities the previous night.

“Right,” you clicked your tongue.

Dean grabbed his coffee and sat beside you. He stank of alcohol and sex. He should’ve gone straight to the shower but he didn’t. He was still in the same clothes as last night for crying out loud.

“Dude, you smell terrible,” Sam grimaced.

“That, Sammy, is the smell of a man who had a crazy night of hot sex. You should try it sometime.”

Fuck, he remembers, you cursed.

“You’re disgusting.”

“No, I’m not. It’s a shame I had what was probably the best night of my life and I don’t remember shit. Not even her face. She left without a note. She could at least have left her phone number somewhere. But she did leave this bad boy here,” he pointed to the purple mark in his neck.

You could only hope neither of them would notice your flaming cheeks. He was so close. You were afraid he’d take one look at your face and all the memories would come back to him. You were afraid he’d still be able to smell his scent ingrained in your skin.

“I do remember some things though. Hmmm, some really good things,” Dean nearly moaned as he closed his eyes and bit his lower lip. Sam quickly glanced at you, hazel eyes wide before staring back at his brother. “Whoever she was she surely knew what she was doing to me. Her body was trapped under mine as if she belonged there. Her hands all over my body, exploring it. Oh, and her skin felt so good under my touch. That I remember damn well.”

You fought hard to repress a moan. The words rolled out his tongue in a sensual song. Your thighs clenched unwittingly. Though you were as much aroused as you were embarrassed. He was saying all that in front of his brother after all. Sam didn’t want to know anything about Dean’s activities, but the look in his eyes told you he was having fun seeing you suffer.

“And she smelled good too. So fucking good. I swear that if I close my eyes, I can feel her touch. I can even hear her soft moans. What wouldn’t I give just to know her name.”

“Maybe you should try asking the bartender if he remembers her face or even her name,” Sam suggested and you kicked his foot under the table. “I’m sure he might remember something.”

“She felt absolutely perfect,” Dean completely ignored his brother. “The way her fingers tugged at my hair, making it hurt just a little. Then her legs wrapped around me and… fuck,” he growled. “That was mind-blowing. She clenched around me so tight-”

“Dude, too much information. You should keep that to yourself,” Sam interrupted his brother while you prayed neither of them had listened to the small groan that left your lips.

“All I’m saying is she was too fucking hot. I wished she could’ve had the decency of leaving me her number,” he sighed. “If you guys think this hickey is the only thing she left for me, you’re wrong. She might not have left a note, but she did leave some real sexy marks all over me. Hmm, I love it when they mark me up. So damn hot.”

“Dude-“

“And if I concentrate hard enough I can still taste her in my tongue,” Dean smirked.

“That’s enough, man. I’m gonna have nightmares for the rest of my life.”

Dean chuckled at his brother’s reaction and took one last gulp of his now lukewarm coffee.

“Excuse me, but I, uh, I’m gonna take a nap. I’m tired,” you hurriedly stood from your seat. “I’ll catch with you guys later.”

As you disappeared in the hall, Dean’s grin got even wider as he shook his head. Sam scoffed, realization dawned on him.

“You remember, don’t you?” Sam asked his brother, a smile on his lips.

“Every single detail,” Dean nodded with a smirk.

“Dude, you aren’t worth a penny.”

“What can I say? I love seeing her squirm.”

“You should go after her.”

“I am,” Dean said. “I’m just gonna give her some time to pull herself together.”

Sam nodded. Silence fell between the brothers. Each of them lost in their own world. Dean tried to come up with a way to approach you without making it weird. Sam tried to erase the images his brother put in his mind. The younger Winchester was sure he threw up in his mouth a little. Dean had given him a share of traumas concerning sex when they were teenagers and now this?

Dean got up from his seat and before he headed to your bedroom, he placed his mug on the dishwasher. He was about to leave the kitchen but stopped and glanced at his brother.

“You were the only one who didn’t score last night, Samuel,” he teased and Sam rolled his eyes.

Three soft knocks on the door startled you, dragging you out of your trance. Mumbling a “c’mon in”, you straightened yourself at the edge of the bed.

“Hey,” Dean smiled, peeking his head through the door.

“Hi,” you smiled, a thumping beat of your heart in your chest.

Dean made his way to your bed and sat just a few inches from you. His thigh brushing against yours.

“How’re you feeling?” He glanced at you but your eyes were fixated on the closed door.

“Really tired. You?”

“Exhausted. Don’t know if I should take a shower or a nap.”

“I think you need both,” you smiled as a chuckle reverberated in his throat.

“Yeah, you’re right,” he clicked his tongue, green eyes falling in his hands as he rubbed them together. “You know, I must confess that you did rock my world last night.”

“You remember?” You stared at him wide eyed only to meet a crooked grin on his lips. “Of course you do,” groaning, you buried your face in your hands.

“How could I ever forget?”

“We had a lot of drinks. A whole lot.”

“Yeah, guess I just needed to get my ass drunk to finally go after something I wanted.”

“Don’t do this, Dean,” you pleaded, staring into his forest green eyes.

“I thought last night meant something, you know? I thought it would change things between us for the best. I couldn’t believe I was the only one feeling something. Not with the way we look at each other and the constant flirting and the way we hold each other. Now imagine my disappointment when I woke up and you weren’t there.”

“Dean, I-“

“I thought you were gonna be there. I thought we were gonna talk and figure things out between us, but you didn’t even give me a chance. It felt as if you regretted it, as if what happened between us was a mistake,” his voice was low, barely upon a whisper.

“No, Dean, I don’t regret it,” you shook your head. “It wasn’t a mistake but we shouldn’t have done it.”

“Why? Why shouldn't we have done it? Give me one good reason why.”

“Because we are friends and I don’t want to ruin that.”

“We were never friends, Y/N. I feel something for you from day one. And I know you feel something for me too. Now you either-“

You captured his plump lips in yours. His eyes widened and it took him a second before kissing you back. His hand cupped your face, thumb caressing your cheek. The gentle press of his lips almost made your heart leap out of your chest. He pulled away a little too soon for your liking. Dean placed a small peck to your lips before resting his forehead against yours.

“Now I either what?” You giggled, opening your eyes and finding his still closed.

“I don’t know,” Dean chuckled. “Guess this changes things, right?”

“Mmhmm,” your hands were on each side of his neck as you pecked his lips.

“Good.”

“I hate to tell you but you need a shower.”

“Yeah, I do,” he said sheepishly, his hands were on your waist as he moved you to straddle his lips. “But I think you should come with me. You know, that whole save water, shower together thing.”

“Hmmm, I’ve kinda already showered.”

“Do it again. I promise you won’t regret it,” he smirked.

“I thought you said you hated shower sex. You said it was too complicated.”

“I don’t hate it. It is complicated though, but I’m sure we can work things out,” he grinned, standing up with you in his arms as you wrapped your legs around his waist. “‘Sides, you ought to see all the damage you caused last night.”

“You’re gonna be the death of me, Winchester.”

I’d love to know what you think of this one!! Consider sharing your thoughts with me via reply, reblog or ask!

Note that if your name is crossed, tumblr wouldn’t let me tag you :(

Forevers: @hobby27​ @thewinchesterandreidwhore

Dean Sweethearts: @maya-craziness​ @akshi8278​ @herfalsegod​ @witch-of-letters​ @weepingwillowphoenix​ @deanmonandnegansbitch​

[ziee]

Blinky x Reader (18+)

Arcadia. Back once more after the 15 years you've been gone. You were a friend of the Domzalski's, and the un-paid babysitter of their baby son. The day they won the lottery, you cheered in excitement for them. And the day they fell into the sea, you cried for them.

The heartbreak of your 2 best friends struck you so severely, you couldn't stand being in Arcadia any longer. The memories, the high school all 3 of you went to, the restaurant you went to after every celebration. You just couldn't bear it. The last memories of the small town were bidding little Toby and Nana goodbye.

But now, you're back.

Nana had contacted you, saying she needed help with Tobies. Half-blind and all, old and raising a teenager, you could see why. You didn't want to be out of your best friend's childs' life completely at the loss of his parents, so once in a while, you phoned your adoptive nephew. Just checking up on him, seeing how he was.

You had accepted, of course. Slightly jumping at the opportunity and a reason to come back to Arcadia, you called in sick for an indefinite amount of days and packed a suitcase. Filling up your car, you hopped into the driver's seat and started the long drive.

You were kind of thankful that you didn't have to buy a plane ticket, hating planes and airports, but the long, lonely roads brought into account new emotions. This is the first time you're going back to your hometown in 15 years.. You're going to see the high school. And the restaurant. And.. Their house.

The house you saw them buy, build and love. You remember watching them set up a room for the new baby. Deciding the colors, layout, and designs of the wall. You remember getting sloshed in the living room, accidentally breaking one of the photos upon the fireplace. Your kind of glad you did, seeing as you took the photo and hung it in your house.

The photo of the 3 of you.

The days were long in your small car, the best you could afford. Stopping at family dinners and shitty motels to rest. The cycle stopped on day 6, finally reaching the sign with bold letters spelling out, 'Arcadia'.

You picked up your phone and dialed Nana. She picked up after the 3rd time. "Hello dear! Y/n, are you coming soon?" She spoke happily, a bag crunching in the background.

"Hi, Nana. I just got into Arcadia, I'll be there in less than 10 minutes!" You smiled as you heard the old lady scolded one of her many cats.

"Alright dear. See you soon." She ended the call before you could bid farewell. You chuckled and rolled your eyes, setting your phone down into your cup container. You took in a deep breath as you entered the small town.

Driving past the buildings that seem so familiar but have changed so much, you felt an array of emotions. Happy your here. Confused as to why they would change things. Sorrow as you remembered multiple memories in the areas you passed.

Driving into the neighborhood, your car stilled at the infamous yellow house. Their house. You stared at it through your window, looking into their own as light shone from within. You sighed and started your car again.

Eventually, you pulled into Nana's driveway. Strolling up to the doorsteps, you knocked 3 times before waiting. A shuffle, a huff, and then the door opens. You smiled as your eyes suddenly felt teary. "Y/n! Oh dear, come inside, come inside." She urges you inside, holding a foot out to prevent a black cat from escaping.

You enter the warm house, the smell of bread and... Burritos filling the room? You shrug it off as you're ushered to the couch. Sitting down, you let out a heave of relief. You're not sure why. "So, how have you been?" You ask as Nana moves towards the kitchen, presumably to make you some tea.

"Oh, I've been fine. Toby and the cats keep me busy." She laughs as she grabs 4 cups. 4 cups? You could understand that the other 1 would be for Toby, so who was the other one for?

"That's great Nana." You smile, sinking into the soft cushion. Your car was not the worst, but my god the seats were terrible. It felt like nails were digging into your back and ass. Not that good for almost a week's road trip.

"So how are you dear?" She spoke as she took the kettle off the burner as it began to scream.

"Oh I've been better, I mean- WAIT- NANA, LET ME HELP YOU!" You shout, running towards the old lady, taking the opened kettle out of her hands. Unbeknownst to her, she had almost poured boiling water onto her cat.

"Ohoho, your so helpful already." She mumbles, skittering off into the living room. You look down at the tea bags sat in one of the empty cups. Orange Pekoe..  She still knows what kind you like after all these years. Your heart swells as you pour hot water into the cups, your lips rising like a goofball.

Stirring the drinks, 2 of the cups had hot chocolate and the other 2 had tea. You could guess which is which, so you handed Nana a cup while placing your own on the table before grabbing the other 2 mugs.

"I'm gonna bring this to Toby and..?"

"Oh! Toby has a friend over. His international friend, his names Arthur-San." You nodded and headed upstairs. From the top, you could hear loud cheers from inside the room you thought to be Tobies'. You knocked and waited, but you don't think they heard you from the loud volume of a video game.

You sighed and opened the door. Inside, 2 backs were turned to you. One, obviously being Toby and the other.. It was a white sheet. A large, very large in fact, figure was sat beside Toby, wearing a bedsheet. Uh-

"Hey Toby, and Arthur, Nan-" You stopped mid-sentence as the heads turned to you. A large, circle-ish face appeared from the draped sheet. A green, mossy beard decorated its chin, a mouth with 4 long teeth sticking out, and are those- HORNS??

"T-Toby.. Who is that?" You cautiously, and very slowly, set the drinks down onto a nearby dresser.

"Aunt Y/n?! What are you doing here?" Toby gets up and comes near you. You quickly grab onto him, wrapping your arms around him as you run out the door. "Wait- Auntie Y/n, he's a friend!" You turn around and quickly shut the door as you place Toby back down.

"Toby, go get Nana and run!" You scream. He just stands there, sighing. A knock from the inside of the room startles you. "Wingman?" A gruff voice speaks. You shriek as the knob is pulled from your grip, the door opening as the large head sticks out, right in front of you. Its black nose presses against your shoulder, pulling in a long sniff.

"Oh go-" And your fainting. A stone hand stops you mid-fall, preventing you from hitting a hard bottom as your eyes closed.

"I'll call Jim."

-

You awoke on a soft plush. Feeling around, you realize you're on a bed. "Master Jim, Lady Y/n is awaking." A deep voice calls out, sensing that you knew he was close to you from how loud he was. You sit up, rubbing your eyes as you adjust to the light of the room. Looking around, it was just a regular room. Including a monster with 6 eyes.

"AHHHH!" You scream, scrambling off the bed. The moment you do so, 2 teenagers including Toby run into the room. You move near Toby, your eyes locked on the monsters.

"Woah! Calm down Miss Y/n, if we can just explain everything-" You cut the boy with twig legs off.

"Oh, you kids better explain as to why there is a- .. A-"

"I believe the word is 'Troll." The blue monster says.

"Yes! That! Why there is a troll with 6 eyes and 4 arms staring at me right now!" You pointed to Toby, "And you! Explain what happened earlier, with that big guy. Right now." You huffed.

"Is she talking about Aaarrrgghh?" The girl with a blue streak in her hair spoke.

"Aaarrgghh? Wait a minute.. Arthur?!" Your brows furrowed. "Toby, have you been lying to Nana about this 'International student'?" You made finger quotes as you looked upon your nephew's embarrassed face.

"Uhhh, maybe?" He shrugs. You sigh, disappointed in your nephew.

"If you'll allow me to explain, Lady Y/n,"

Oh- no man, or at least you think it's male, has ever called you lady..

"Aaarrrggh and I are trolls. Master Jim as you see over there," He points to chicken legs, "Is the troll hunter. Underneath your world, there is a magnificent other world, filled with trolls and things you couldn't possibly believe." He waves his hands up in the air.

You nod, taking it all in.

"Ugh, this hurts my head." Another world? Trolls? Troll hunter?? Jim moves beside the blue troll whose name you don't know and speaks to him softly.

"Hi, I'm Claire." There's a hand that's shoved in front of you, in which you awkwardly shake.

"Hey, I'm Toby's aunt. Not biological but I knew his parents well." She nodded before removing her hand from yours. You leaned down, whispering into Toby's ear.

"Who's 6 eyes?"

A voice answered you before Toby's mouth even opened. "My name is Blinky. A pleasure to meet you, lady Y/n." The troll paddles over to you, his stone feet making satisfying clicking sounds as he walks. He holds one of his upper hands out for you to shake.

He didn't seem like such a threat, in fact, he seemed like a gentleman. You smiled and shook his hand. His skin was stone, as you could feel the cracks engraved into it as your hand flooded with a strange warmth.

"Nice to meet you too, Blinky." You release his hand after a few seconds of shaking.

"Master Jim and I were discussing a matter regarding you. If you would like, we could show you Troll Market."

"Troll Market?" You question.

"The home of trolls such as myself, and Aaarrrgghh over here." He points behind him, your eyes wander over to the window as you see that large head. The large troll waves a hand and smiles, seeing as everybody's eyes are now on him.

"Has he been out there the whole time?" You ponder. Why isn't he just in the room?

"Rooms too small." You look around, finding it is indeed smaller than your nephew's room. Oh well. You think about the opportunity to travel to this unknown world. Eh, why not. You would be keeping an eye on Toby as well, so that's always good.

"Um, well, if your offering then, of course, I'd come. Thank you for inviting me." You smile at the blue troll. He smiles back, his 6 eyes staring into your 2. His eyes just seemed so soft.. And mesmerizing, having never seen anyone like this before. Your eyes ghost his face, inspecting upon closer details on the stoned troll.

...

"Ahem." Jim coughs. You both suddenly break eye contact as Blinky coughs, making his way towards the exit.

"Aha! Yes, we should be going. Daylight is rising." He muttered as the teens follow him out. You follow, exiting the house as the breeze of the night flushes your already pink cheeks. Your lead to the bridge you had driven over while entering the town, but now under it.

Aaarrrgghh is tossed a glowing stone by Blinky, creating a semi-circle on the stone of the bridge. He punches the wall, creating a crack before it starts to fall apart. Yellow swirls around the stone before creating something like a portal?

The trolls head in, followed by Jim and Claire. "Cmon auntie, it won't hurt you." You begrudgingly sigh and follow him inside the glowing portal. Stepping inside, you wince as you close your eyes.

Not even a second later, you could feel your area darken. Opening your eyes, you see everyone else staring at you. Your cheeks flush in embarrassment. Goddammit. The kids laugh as Blinky looks at with you an indescribable expression.

Is he disappointed? Shocked? Unbeknownst to you, the corners of the blue troll's lips rose. "This way, lady Y/n." His 4 hands motioned you to the crystal stairs, swirling downwards in a circle. Oh my god- Wow.

Everyone makes their way down the steps, in comfortable silence. Coming further down, you stop as you take in the view. The magnificent, one-of-a-kind, breathtaking, OH MY GOD, view. "Wow." You mumble in awe, looking up at the enormous, orange crystal in the center. Everything was so beautiful.

"Welcome to HeartStone Troll Market!" Blinky exclaimed from behind you. The other smiled as they watched your reaction. Stepping down the steps, you ended up beside the 6 eyed troll as you stopped.

"Where should we go first?" Toby asked as you gazed upon the well-spoken mystery. Now taking a better look as the others speak, you watch as his eyes blink simultaneously. How the 2d tooth on both sides of his mouth is cracked. The deep grooves into his stone skin. You paid minor attention to what he was wearing before, but now looking closer you see the 2 satchels sporting each hip on his brown overalls.

Your gazing ventures further down, looking at his flat feet. Heh, they look stumpy. "Great! We'll take you to the forge, where you can see my impressive hammer skills!" Toby proclaimed, steering your head up from your gaze.

6 eyes met yours. Oh god, did he see you staring at him? Did he see you staring below his waist??? He doesn't bring it up if he did, instead leading the 5 of you to the 'forge'.

"This is the forge, where many of our great warriors have trained." Blinky gestures around the grand room. You look around in awe, feeling a little overwhelmed by such a beautiful realm.

"It's amazing." You whisper, settling yourself on the sidelines of the giant arena as the kids grab weapons. Weapons?! Oh god.. Aaarrrgghh comes and sits behind you, jolting you with a loud thud as he sits. Blinky stands beside you, gazing out at the children.

"Indeed they are." Your eyes meet his 6, a glance before breaking contact. You smile, proud of your little nephew.

"Aunt Y/n! Look!" The ginger boy yelled from across the large expanse. You watch as he pulls out a small item, before smashing it to the ground. It sprouts a large, flaming orange hammer. Your mouth widens in shock as you see him swish the weapon around. "Impressive, right? It's my war hammer." He says as he trudges over to you.

"Uh yeah, just please be careful with that." He laughs before skittering off. Guess he gets that from Nana. You sigh as you watch the kids spar, rather impressed by Jim's armor and Claire's staff. After they were done fooling around, you see as Claire checks her watch.

"Guys, it's almost 6:30. We should get going." Mumbling as she puts away her shadow staff. Toby groans, retracting his hammer as Jim takes off the amulet.

"Ughh, I forgot we had school today." You slightly chuckle at the kids' words, being the exact same as a child. Jim, Claire, and Toby all run towards the exit of Trollmarket whereas you stand still. Toby looks behind him, seeing your unmoving form.

"Are you coming, auntie?" He cocks his head.

"Oh! Yeah, yeah, I just thought I would have more time checking the place out.." You trail off, glancing at what you thought to be your last look at the mysterious underground world. From behind you, Blinky and Aaarrrgghh look towards each other.

"Ahem, if I may, Aaarrrgghh and I will accompany Lady Y/n down here while you're at school. If.. That is alright with you?" His dark, red eyes turn to your form. You nod excitedly.

"Yes! Yes, I would love that." His lips form a smile, 6 eyes gleaming at you before turning back to the other 3 humans.

"Now, run along kids. Aaarrrgghh and I will keep Lady Y/n safe." 2 of his hands form a 'shoo' motion as they smile. You move towards Toby, wrapping him in a hug before bidding goodbye. Turning towards your new-found troll friends, you couldn't help but grin as your leaded into the busy streets of the market.

"This place is so beautiful. How long have you guys been living down here?" You wonder, looking around at all the shop stalls.

"A few centuries, after the battle of Killahead bridge, we had traveled until we found the heartstone you see today." Blinky gestured a hand to the bright, orange crystal towards the center wall of the market.

"Hated boat." Aaarrrgghh chimed in from behind, his large statue circling both the conundrum troll and the female human.

"Yes, we all did." Memories flashed in his 6 eyes before he shivered, obviously not liking that part of his life.

"Killahead bridge? What's that?" You question. You're stopped in front of what looked to be a bookstore. The 2 trolls enter, you following closely behind them as you take in the view. Books littered the walls everywhere. Bookshelves, books on tables, and some even on the floor.

"Ah, and that's the reason why I took you here. You seem like a lover of history, as I am. Therefore, Lady Y/n, I have taken you to my lodgings to learn about troll history!" He exclaims, clearly excited.

"This is your house?" Looking around, it does suit him.

"Indeed, now make it as if your own. I will fetch you some books you can read that will fully satisfy a craving for troll history." He runs around the room, 4 arms stacked full of large books that would most likely take you hours to read. Aaarrrgghh yawns from the corner, bored.

A few minutes later, he sets the books down with a thud on a large table. You sit in one of the chairs presented, grabbing one of the books from the top of the stack. Opening it up, you stare blankly. Turning the pages, you realize you can't read the language.

"Blinky, I can't read this." You say, head popping up from the pages, meeting his 6 eyes. He walks over to you, standing closely behind you as he looks over your shoulder. Your heartbeat quickens as you can see the strands of each of his hair. His long ears softly flap as his eyebrows furrow while reading what you can't.

"Hmm.. That is an issue." He sets a hand on his chin, pondering for a quick while before getting an idea. Sliding a chair over, he sits in front of you, grabbing the book from the table into his 2 upper hands. "Well, I'll just read it to you!" He smiles as you nod, eagerly wanting to learn about something you didn't know existed until 2 hours ago.

And so began the many hours of Blinky reading trollish to you. At some point, Aaarrrgghh decided to leave the hole, leaving you and the conundrum troll alone. You arch your strained back as he finished reading the last sentence of the 3rd book. "And those were all the creatures starting with an A!"

"Wow Blinky that was really, informational." Stretching your legs outwards, you bump onto his foot with your own. Recoiling your legs, you speak quickly, "Oh, sorry." Your cheeks flush.

"No worries Lady Y/n." He sets the book down on the table. "This may sound a bit odd," His eyes find yours, "but I've always been fascinated with the human body. If it's alright with you, lady Y/n, may I take a look at you?"

You thought for a second. Of course, you would also be curious about a different type of species other than your own. Plus, although you've only known him for a few hours, you trusted him. You nod, "Yea sure." He visibly relaxed at your answer. "But," You continue, " I want to look at you too."

He blinked, processing your words before smiling. "Of course." You were unsure of what to do now, sitting in silence as you both watched each other. It was only when he scooted closer, the sound of his chair scraping the ground broke you from your gaze.

"If I may..?" He gestured towards your resting arm. You quickly lifted it up and bent closer, showing him your fleshy arm. He told ahold gently, stone hands that were surprisingly warm against your skin. He traced up and down your arm, squishing a few times.

His breath tickled your skin, resulting in tiny goosebumps forming. "What are those small bumps?" He mumbled, eyes fixated on your arm.

"Those are goosebumps. Humans get them when we're cold." You answer, enjoying being the teacher for once.

"Fascinating." He moved down from your arm towards your fingers, squishing, prodding, rubbing. Your hands tingled in his own as he poked your fingernails. "And these?" He pointed towards them.

"Those are fingernails, they're made of keratin." He nodded, placing your hand down.

"Thank you for allowing me to look at you, lady Y/n." You smiled, waving your hand.

"No problem. Now it's my turn." He lifted his lower arm and extended it towards you. You grab hold, a bit taken aback at the size. His hand could easily fit around your whole face. You rub the warm stone, strumming your fingers along it as you play a rhythmic tune.

Unlike you, he only had 4 fingers, every one of them very large. While your head is down playing with his hand, his 6 eyes gaze upon you. Never did he allow a human he just met to poke and prod at him, so why did he allow you? The moment you had awoken in Toby's house, a scream and a stumble he had expected when you saw him, but he didn't expect you to shake his hand for so long.

He would have sufficed a quick shake and a fearful let go, leaving you in his 'ok' books. But, you just kept staring at him, even now, he feels his heart shake a little as you examine his arm. Standing near him willingly, refusing to leave with Master Jim and the others, but to stay and explore more of his world? Oh dear.

"You know," Your voice snaps him out of his daydream, "even though you're made of stone, you're actually very warm." You note as you caress his arm.

"Ah, yes, rather strange isn't it?" He brings an upper hand of his to his mouth and coughs. He could feel as you trace the engravements on his skin, your fingernails scratching him a little.

"Can I touch your belly?" He sputtered at the question.

"My stomach?" You lift your head, watching as his face contorts into a confused expression.

"I mean, uh- never mind." You release his hand and try to laugh it off. Well, that was embarrassing. You feel your cheeks rise in heat as you look at the ground.

"You may." A soft voice beckons you to look up, staring at the oh-so-kind troll, looking down at you with gentle eyes. You smile, giving a small thank you before moving your hand towards the troll's exposed stomach. Settling your hand on the stone belly, you felt him jolt slightly.

Tracing the engravings upon his skin once more, you lean closer and place your other hand onto him. Your eyes focus on his body, not daring to make eye contact. Whereas, his 6 eyes stared intently down at you. Watching, feeling your every move. He could somewhat feel your breath on his stone skin as well. Although he did find it odd you would want to touch his stomach, it did feel nice.

Your hands caress his body, leaning your face in as you stare into the cracked stone. Wonderous. As you slid your hands up, you went a bit further than you assumed as your hands went upon his chest. "Oh- sorry about that, getting a little handsy heh." You remove your hands and scratch your neck as you mentally slap yourself. Goddammit Y/n. You could feel your cheeks reddening.

He says nothing, so you look up at him. His eyes, half-lidded, staring at you with an unexplainable expression. What is..?

"May I smoosh faces with you?"

"Pardon?" You lower your hand from your neck, head shooting up from his words. Smoosh faces? Wait.. Did he mean kissing? "Do you want to kiss me?" You whisper.

"Yes! That's the word." He nodded.

"Then, yes." You nod, slowly leaning back towards him. He swallowed as you closed your eyes, coming towards him ever so slowly. He pushed his face towards yours, his large lips pressed against yours. His teeth touched your cheeks, but he was careful not to hurt you. 2 of his arms came and clutched onto your shoulders.

Unconsciously pulling you closer towards him, you lifted yourself out of your seat and onto his lap. Lower hands settle onto your waist, holding you close as you continue the kiss. He pulled away first, 6 wide eyes settled upon you.

"That was.." You try and find the word.

"Magnificent." He breathed out. His arms slowly slid up and down your waist, caressing your clothed skin. "May I.. Remove your shirt?" Struck with lust, you nodded, lifting your arms up as he removes your shirt. Discarding the shirt to the floor, he leans in and breaths in your scent.

"Blinky," You whisper in his ear, "take off my pants." You slowly grind against him in his lap, breathing heavily. He aides you in removing your clothing, until your sitting on him with only a bra on. You unclip your bra and toss it to the side, your breasts free from the barrier. Your nipples harden at the cool air, gaining the troll's attention.

He asks for your permission, "Blinky, I wouldn't get naked just so you can't touch me." He removes his upper hands from your shoulders and placed them over your breasts. He experimentally kneads, pushes, and rubs your fat lumps. You softly moan, encouraging him to continue.

"You are very squishy.." He mumbles, softly pinching your nipples. You arch your back, pushing your chest further into him as one of his lower hands moves to support your back. You grab his hand attached to your waist and pull it between your legs.

"Touch me here." You release the stone as he complies, his large fingers fiddling between your folds. He takes experimental rubs into you, finding your clit with your help as you release a loud moan. His hands continue to rub your tits, rubbing your nipples with soft strength.

"O-oh.." You grind into his hand as he rubs your button.

"I'd like to take a closer look, if I may?" He puffs in your ear. You nod, frowning as he removes his hands from your body, only to lift you up and carry you towards a back room. Entering the new room, you see a pile of pillows and blankets littering the floor. He sets you upon them before removing his overalls.

You move a hand between your legs and feel your wetness, circling your clit a few times as you beg for him in your mind. He lays his clothes on the side before returning to your side. Settling his face between your legs, he inhales your scent deeply through his large orange nose. "Human anatomy is rather fascinating up close."

He says it as if he.. You sit up, bumping against his nose before he brings his head up, a confused expression on his face. "Blinky, is this the first time you've done it?"

"Done what?"

"Had sex..?" He smiles at your worried expression. "Cause we can stop if you want to-"

"My dear, this is only the first time I've done anything with your kind. As well, I am positively overjoyed to be with you right now. Rest assured, I want to do this." You exhale and smile, flopping your head back down.

"Well, that's a relief. And I am too, Blinky, really happy to do this with you." You avoid eye contact, your cheeks too flushed to be seen. He returns his head back down, his fingers spreading your lips as he explores you.

He blows air, rubs, licks. As his mouth plays with your outer part, a stone finger gently prods your entrance. Sliding into you with ease, you gasp as you thought how a single digit was so thick. You're having sex with a troll, duh.

Soon enough, with all of his stimulation, you came around his finger. "AhhH~" Crying out, he halts his movements as you come down from your high. He leans up as your thighs twitch, bringing his soaked finger to his mouth before licking.

"Was that alright?"

You panted, holding up a thumbs up. "Amazing." He gave an innocent smile, amusing in the situation that had just occurred. You leaned up, sitting on your butt. "Blinky, so um," You gestured towards his blank pelvis.

"Ah, for me to release my, 'intimacy', I will need to be coaxed open. Protective plates will shift, revealing myself." You nodded, crawling closer towards him as he leaned back, parting his legs. You didn't know exactly what to do, so you started with rubbing the stone. Looking up towards your lover's face, he seemed to like it as his 6 eyes fell half-lidded, staring down at you.

You continued rubbing until what he had said happened, his plates parted, revealing not one, but 3 appendages. The middle, being the largest, whereas the other 2 were shorter. "Ah.. Yes, the middle one is the functioning one, carrying the sperm. The others are for added stimulation." He muttered as your hand softly caressed his cocks.

"So, how do you wanna do this? You lie down or me?" You stroke him as he ponders.

"It is your first time with a troll, so allow me to take command." A breathy voice mutters, hands removing yours from himself as he sets you on your back. "I fear the other way around would have you in pain." He was right, cowgirl position usually gets deeper.

You settle down as he scooches near you, hands ahold of his larger phallus. The smaller ones swirl and wrangle as their placed near your thigh creases. He angles the middle one to your hole, as 2 of his hands grasp your waist. Pushing his hips forwards, he slowly slides in, stretching you no man, or toy had ever done to you.

Your hands find his attached to your skin, grasping onto his hand and signal him to slow down. He does, waiting for you to adjust to his girth. It takes a long while as you wait for the pain to settle as he pushes himself in little by little. After a couple of minutes, you finally have him all inside without any pain. Discomfort? Yes, but nothing you cant handle.

As he pulls out, the first few pushes are testing. Testing your levels and discomfort. Hearing the soft sounds you make as he slowly enters you, he speeds up his thrusts. Rocky digits hold onto your skin, moving upwards towards your breasts as another set comes onto your skin. He leans over you as he rhythmically pounds into you.

His smaller tendrils wiggle and surround your opening, gently prodding your hole. You couldn't dare to fit another one inside, could you? He stares at your form, looking for any signs of pain. "Are you alright so far?" He rolls his hips against you.

"Yes! It feels so good.." You lift your arms and place your hands onto his cheeks. He gives you a toothy smile before returning to the task at hand. Your arms fell to clutch his own around you as he gives a sharp thrust. You moan as he bites his lips.

A deep growl resonated within the bookworm's chest as one of his smaller tendrils slowly pushes its way inside of you. You whine as it snakes its way through your hole, wiggling against your walls. You feel so full. You could feel yourself coming undone, a ball in your stomach forming as he slithers inside of you.

The outer phallus slides up your vulva, towards the top of your lips, finding your little pink button. You squeal as you are overwhelmed with pleasure. He grunts over you, clenching his teeth as he continues to thrust. Wet sounds surrounded the room, the slapping of him against you is the only sound in the room.

You clench down around him, both of his cocks still moving as you release onto them. Soaked in your juices, they glisten in the light as they're pulled from you in mere milliseconds before pounding back inside you. You cry out from the overstimulation, your face contorting into many expressions as your opening's abused by large cocks.

As he nears his end, his chest rumbles as he begins to make curious sounds. Deep throaty rasps, before a loud yelp lets out from his tusked mouth. Hot seed envelopes your insides, soaking your walls. He continues to thrust, riding out his orgasm before he settles down. Pulling out from you, he leans to the side and flops down.

You pant and turn towards him, grabbing onto his hand as he heaves. You both lay in silence, catching your breath from such an exhilarating activity.

[bunnyywritings]

I can’t believe I found someone that writes for soul eater 🥺😭 I was wondering if I could get a sweet fluffy fic where ragnarok ends up telling the reader that Crona has a crush on her pls 🥺

wikihow: how to kiss someone

crona gorgon x fem!reader

[a/n: oh my goodness, yes yes yes! My first soul eater request 🥺 thank you anon, crona is a precious baby who must be protected at all costs, enjoy ! -yours truly, bunnyy -`ღ´-]

It had been a month or two since Crona had officially enrolled in the DWMA and he was finally getting used to hanging out with the others. Someone he couldn’t deal with, however, was you. Well it wasn’t really you per se, he just couldn’t deal with the fact that you made him feel some sort of way. Everything you did made his heart thump crazily. Ragnarok had told him that it was because he harbored feelings for you but he refused to believe it. This caused Crona to start avoiding you however he could. The feeling scared him and he didn’t like being scared.

Sadly, for you this meant that Crona disliked you, or you thought it did at least. You watched as Crona and Maka spoke comfortably as they made their way over to where you and Soul were sitting. By the look on your face, Soul could tell that you were upset.

“Crona’s still ignoring you?” He asked carefully. You heavily sighed and tore your eyes away from the two.

“Yeah, he still is.”

“How totally uncool.” He clicked his tongue, opening his mouth again but was cut off by you.

“I’m just gonna get going. I don’t want to make him uncomfortable. See ya’ later Soul.”

“Yeah...see ya’.”

As they approached, Maka frowned as she watched you walk off. “Is everything okay?”

“Hmm? Oh, yeah. She just has a headache.” He didn’t like lying to his partner but he cared about you and didn’t want to sell you out so he opted to tell Maka about it later.

“Oh dear, maybe you should go check on her Crona.”

Oh yeah, I guess I forgot to mention, Crona is your roommate. You were the only other student who didn’t have one, so Lord Death asked you to take in the pink haired boy. That’s what made this whole situation even more painful.

“Huh? I-I should go ch-check on her? Uhm o-okay.” Crona’s cheeks flushed pink as he agreed to Maka’s suggestion and made his way over to your guys’ shared apartment. “W-what if she’s s-sick? I d-don’t think I-I know how to deal w-with sick people...” He mumbled to himself as he shut the door behind him.

You hastily wiped your tears when the door softly shut, slightly tensing up when you heard footsteps moving towards the kitchen.

“(Y/n)? Is everything o-okay?” You silently cursed your heart for getting excited by his sweet voice.

“I’m okay Crona. Thank you for checking up on me.” You attempted to reassure him as you poured your tea.

He frowned, you didn’t sound okay at all. “A-Are you sure?” You turned around, mug in hand, and gave him a sad smile.

“I’m sure.”

Right when you were gonna turn to go to your room, a familiar presence was made known.

‘goo-bee’

“You idiot! Of course she’s not okay! Look at her!” Ragnarok bonked Crona on the head with his little fist. “She’s sad because your ignoring her.” He then turned to you. “I can’t take it anymore, this little twerp likes you! That’s why he’s been avoiding you. So stop cryin’.” And with that, he retreated back into Crona. Leaving the both of you in a tense silence.

“Crona y-you like me?” Your voice was hopeful, of course he hadn’t caught onto that so he thought you were making fun of him.

“Well there’s no need to poke fun at me...” He had a little pout on his face.

“No no, I’m not making fun of you Crona. I really want to know cause, in that case, then I uh- I like you too.” The way he looked up at you made your heart clench. There was a cute little smile on his lips and a pink tint on his cheeks.

“R-Really? You do?”

After establishing that the both of you did in fact have feelings for each other, you both agreed to go on a date that weekend.

Currently, you were getting ready for bed. After showering, you had gone to the kitchen to make yourself another cup of tea. There had been a permanent smile on your lips ever since Ragnarok had outed Crona’s secret. Meanwhile, the whole rest of the day, Crona was cooped up in his room and googling what he should do when he has feelings for someone. After reading multiple blog posts, he realized that all of them came to the same conclusion. He had to kiss you. So naturally, his next search was ‘how do I kiss someone.’ Clicking on the first promising on from a website called ‘wikihow’ he began to scroll through the different ways he could go about kissing you. All of them were a little too much for him except one. It was a simple peck on the cheek.

“Hmm I-I think I can d-do that...r-right?” He mustered up all the courage he could and finally ventured out of his room, it seemed like he was right on time too because you were on your way to you room, which was across the hall from his, with a mug in one hand and a book in the other.

“Hey uh (y-y/n)?”

“Yes, Crona?” The smile on your lips made his heart feel fuzzy and warm and made him start to panic just a bit.

“C-can I uhm can I k-kiss you?” You were taken aback by the sudden request, it was a little out there for him to be asking that type of question but the determined look in his eyes was hard to deny.

“Of course you can.”

Once those words left your mouth, he slowly approached you. You patiently waited as he went at his own pace, that patience was a bit difficult because there were sparks of excitement lighting up your heart. He was an arms length away before he leaned over and planted a sweet little kiss at the edge of your lips. He quickly backed away, face a dark shade of red.

“I-I’m sorry! I didn’t mean for it t-to be that close t-to your lips!” He screwed his eyes a shut as he apologized profusely.

“It’s okay Crona. No need to be nervous.” Your reassurance was all it took for him to calm down. “Or maybe you did it on purpose? Hmm?” You teased, small smirk on your lips.

“Well no, I-“ he shut his mouth when you leaned in close, lips grazing the shell of his ear.

“I don’t think I’d mind all that much though.” You whispered before placing a quick kiss on his cheek and pulling away. “Good night Crona. Get some rest.” And with that, you went into your room.

gєиєяαℓ тαgℓιѕт (open): @ohbois-biggay-bnha

“Y-yeah...g-goodnight (y/n).” He rubbed the back of his neck before going into his own room and flopping back onto his bed. He replayed the moment in his head while hugging his pillow. He was actually excited for your guys’ date. It was the first time in his life where he felt like he could actually handle something on his own.

[wtf-yoongi]

“I need one of those baths”

pairing | yoongi x reader

genre/warnings | literally how can giving a bath to yoongi have any warnings except for it’s 100% fluff and i’m 100% soft

words | 2,576

note | i had this idea and i’m sorry in advance oh man

Your head instinctively turns.

The TV is on. You’re sitting down with your legs close to your body when you hear a sharp noise coming from the door. You know it all too well – it’s Yoongi’s keychain hitting the wooden door with the many other keys he just has to carry around with him.

From the moment he walks through the door, you know it’s been one of those days. His hair is sticking to his forehead a little bit and he’s carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. Even more so than usual.

It’s that time of the year again. Deadlines are almost here.

You know that not just because he casually mentioned it like it was nothing a few weeks ago, but also because of the way his shoulders don’t really fit into his usual posture and he seems to push every single body cell to just drag himself to the sofa and collapse next to you.

You notice there are little pen stains on his fingers that he couldn’t wash away.

“So I’m guessing it was a productive day at work,” you start slowly, waiting for an affirmative response. “It’s past 10 p.m.”

“I guess you could say that,” he says with his eyes closed, his voice small and calm despite looking like he just crossed the whole desert to come home. “I’m sorry for being so late, but there’s still some adjustments and…”

“How much time left now?”

“Ah, a couple more days, I guess… Until we have to send some things for them to hear.” Yoongi moves his body slightly, trying to make himself more comfortable. “I don’t wanna talk about that, I’m sick of talking about work.”

He laughs lightly at his own statement and opens his eyes, right hand looking for yours. When Yoongi finds it, he immediately intertwines your fingers and brings them closer to his chest.

“I need to ask you something, though.”

This guy has plans. You nod your head for him to go on.

“I need one of those baths,” he confesses in a very low voice and a small smile appears on his lips. He knows you know what he’s talking about.

“Wanna spend the bath card so early in the month?” You ask with a raised eyebrow. “Must be serious.”

“It is,” he agrees. “Very serious indeed. Literally, the whole next album depends on this.”

“I thought you said it was almost finished,” you scoff, turning your whole body in his direction.

“Yeah, but the finishing touches are like the icing on the cake, I can’t mess it up now or everything will be ruined.”

You both laugh lightly, almost as if you’re trying not to wake up someone sleeping right next to you.

“I’m so tired, and tense, and stressed out from work, I just need it now,” he tries to convince you, kissing your knuckles for better effect. 

Even if it is supposed to sound exaggerated, you know with a heavy heart that it is actually true. He’s just making fun of his own misery as he usually does. It’s a self-defense mechanism. 

“Come on, it’s my bath card, I can use it wherever I want.”

“Yeah, and a week after this you’ll forget you’ve used it already and ask for a bath again.”

Yeah, that has happened, like, a thousand times before.

“Can’t I just get an advance from the months I won’t be home?”

“You’re getting advances for as long as I can remember, how is that fair to me? I don’t get advances ever.”

“I’ll give you ten baths before going on tour, I promise,” he holds onto your hand a little bit tighter and smiles again. “Please, I just need it.”

You take a deep breath and close your eyes, faking an annoyance you both know it’s not there. You love giving him baths – it’s just one of those intimate things that no one knows about. It’s like waking up in the morning and lazily dragging yourself closer to him as he whines a little bit from wanting to sleep more and not be disturbed, but welcomes you in his arms anyway; or Yoongi brewing coffee and serving you a mug exactly as you like it even though he doesn’t and could never understand how you take your coffee with one and a half teaspoons of sugar (“it’s disgusting, you’re ruining it by trying to make it sweet”).

Without saying a word, you’re the first to move, reaching for the remote to turn the TV off and leave the sofa, dragging Yoongi by the hand he is already holding. When you look behind you, he’s still moving his feet like he doesn’t really want to move his feet at all, but at least he has a shy smile on his face – the smile of contained victory.

Upon entering the bathroom, you leave him for a moment to open the hot water tap on the bathtub and check the temperature until it becomes warm so can you can close drain. Meanwhile, Yoongi is slowly but surely moving his hands to reach for his toothbrush.

“You wanna wash your hair?” You ask casually, picking up the products from where they usually stay inside the shower. Looking over at Yoongi, he slowly nods, so you pick up his shampoo and conditioner too.

Looks like he’s going to fall asleep at any moment now.

You move over to him as he just finishes wiping his lips to get rid of the leftover toothpaste. He looks so soft and sleepy you just can’t resist leaving a kiss there when you get close enough to start stripping him out of his day clothes. Everything is so calm and natural it’s almost like you rehearsed it a thousand times – and you kind of actually did if you count the times this has happened in the past.

“If you fall asleep in the water, I’m gonna have to wake you up and you don’t like that,” you warn him with a smile, one he promptly, but lazily mirrors. “I don’t want you mad at me so you better keep yourself at least 10% awake.”

Yoongi nods slowly again while he helps you free his body of the ripped jeans. “I’ll do my very best.”

As soon as he’s in the water, you turn the tap to slow the flow. There’s a bath cup you bought for the only purpose of helping you give baths to Yoongi and that’s the first thing you reach for to aid you in bringing the warm water to his shoulders. He immediately drops his head in front of him and you can almost feel the tension starting to leave his body.

“Yeah, I really needed that,” he admits, taking a deep breath. “Thanks.”

“I didn’t even shampoo your hair yet,” a small laugh leaves your lips and you lean in to kiss his left shoulder. “I’m sorry about work, I know it’s too much sometimes.”

“It’s part of the deal,” he simply says, and you finally pour enough water to wet his hair. “I wouldn’t have it any other way. How cliché is that?”

“Ninety seven percent cliché,” you agree, picking up some shampoo in your hands to start massaging it into his hair. “But it’s true.”

“How do you think my hair is holding up after being bleached yet again?” He suddenly asks, mocking the state of his own hair. It’s not even a joke anymore, it just needs a break.

“Definitely holding on for dear life,” you both laugh on queue. “Not as bad as last time, though, I think this new shampoo is helping with something.”

“Yeah, I don’t know what it is, but it doesn’t feel as bad.” Yoongi inhales deeply, really enjoying the moment. “I love it when you wash my hair, you do it better than anyone else.”

“This is the epitome of idol who doesn’t even know how to wash his hair anymore because other people do it for him,” you mock him, taking your soapy hand and touching his face with it. 

He turns to stare at you with the most unbelievable smile. “It was supposed to be a compliment, you know?” He moves his hand to his face to wipe it off. “You do everything better than anyone in the team… But I think my opinion is biased.”

“Oh, really?” You ask with an unsurprised voice.

“Yeah, because you sleep in my bed and there are things you do that no one else in our team does to me.”

“Well, good to know, I guess?” 

You smile and keep working on his hair for a few minutes before asking him to close his eyes so you can rinse it properly. Next, you apply the conditioner in silence, turn the tap off completely and move on to scrub his back with that grapefruit-scented thing he loves too much. You can feel him starting to lean forward a little bit.

“Hey, don’t sleep on me,” you try to get his attention and Yoongi soon scratches his eyes. “Just a few more minutes, huh?”

Yoongi slowly turns his head to look at you while you soak the sponge with more water. “Could this last forever?”

“Your fingertips would turn into a pudding and the water would become cold and you would have a sore throat. And all of that in less than 17 minutes,” you smile at him as he pouts. “Come on, wash the rest of your body while I do your back.”

Yoongi is not exactly satisfied with it, but he does as you instruct and moves his hand to reach for the body soap while you massage his shoulders. He isn’t lying, he is tense. You try your best to relieve some of it and all of a sudden he corrects his posture to crack his spine. 

He laughs at your look of horror. 

You absolutely hate it when he does that. It sounds like he is going to break into two completely separate pieces. 

“Ah, that felt nice,” he fully smiles now, knowing pretty well how you feel about that. 

You don’t open your mouth to give him the satisfaction of a reply. Instead, you just move your hand to rinse the conditioner – and his shoulders in the process. Only a few minutes pass before you’re standing up again to grab a towel.

Opening your arms, you spread the towel to welcome him in. When he stands up, you immediately press the towel against his chest, then shoulders, then arms, only stopping when his still wet hands reach for your face. Yoongi leans in for a sweet and delicate kiss.

He doesn’t say anything – and, honestly, he doesn’t really have to. The way he holds your face in his hand protectively and looks into your eyes are probably worth hours upon hours of deep conversation. Nothing needs to be said anymore at this point, so he just moves his hands to circle around your whole body in a tight embrace.

You can’t count the moments you stand in the same position, but long enough so that his hair is dripping on your white oversized shirt, wetting the left side of your hair as well. His body is now growing cold even in the warm bathroom.

“You should get dressed,” you suggest, not having enough courage to actually move. 

“I think I folded that t-shirt I wore to bed yesterday and put it in the second drawer, can you get it for me?” 

He doesn’t move either.

“Sure,” you say, but nothing moves, not even the air around you. “You have to let me go, though.”

“I’ve changed my mind. I’m gonna stay here, freeze to death and get a sore throat, I don’t mind.”

“Stop being silly,” you laugh lightly and take a small step backwards. “You’re really gonna get sick.”

Yoongi reluctantly lets you go, clutching the towel so it doesn’t fall into the water. As you move into the bedroom to get his clothes, you can hear him leave the bathtub and finish drying himself off. 

You get back and hand over his change of clothes. “Are you going to blow dry your hair?”

“Probably should, but I don’t wanna,” he says, doing his best to take the excess water off with the towel and shaking it with his fingers. “Too lazy, too sleepy.”

“It’s gonna be a mess in the morning,” you warn. 

“It’s gonna be a mess anyway,” he corrects. “Who cares? I’m just going to the studio, a hat can cover it all up.”

After getting dressed, he looks at himself in the mirror and you know he’s wondering if it’s too bad to skip skincare for a night. The bags under his eyes are begging for some rest.

“Just moisturize and go to bed,” you laugh at the internal battle he is struggling with. “No one has to know.”

Yoongi finally gives in and picks up some of your own moisturizer for whatever reason. You don’t actually mind and help him out with some leave-in for the hair.

“I know you don’t really like to bleach it, but this color looks so good on you,” you compliment, both of you looking in the mirror. “I think this dark gray is my favorite.”

“It’s so close to black, though. I wish it was just black.”

“I think this is sexy, honestly.”

“Don’t try to change my mind.”

“I’m just saying!” You raised your hands in the air before washing them with warm water to get rid of the leftover product. “You don’t need it, but it looks good on you.”

“Come on, you can’t just say those things,” Yoongi whines, somehow finding a way to hug you from behind and kissing your half-exposed shoulder in the process. “I’m too tired for that now.”

“I didn’t say anything,” you laugh briefly, his movements tickling your neck, while trying to turn both your bodies to finally go to bed.

“Oh, but you did. You can’t just say something is sexy and move on like it’s nothing.”

“It’s just hair.”

“You said I didn’t even need it. Did you mean I’m already sexy enough?”

“I wish I had your self-esteem sometimes.” 

You move closer to the bed and try to pull the covers, but Yoongi is just making things difficult by not letting go of your middle. You’re not complaining, just… Mentioning.

He finally lets go for a few seconds, just enough for both of you to get under the thick comforter. As soon as you pull it to you neck, Yoongi is once again turning to your side, raising one leg to rest on top of yours. He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes.

“This isn’t because you just gave me a bath, but I really do love you.” He has a shy smile on his lips and opens his eyes again just to stare into yours. “I also love you for giving me a bath, but I want you to know I would love you regardless.”

You can’t help but smile back. “I’m just glad you’re feeling better. Are you feeling better?”

“Much, much better,” he nods.

“Good,” you say, adjusting your face on the pillow to rest in a more comfortable way.

“Say you love me back before I fall asleep,” Yoongi asks, slowly closing his eyes.

“I love you.”

“Good.”

He immediately drifts off.

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