#h. how do i tag the first one of its just pretend smoking

[spamsandsuch]

All of the valentines cards i got from the undertale newsletter lol

[angry-geese]

Hi there <3 I've read some of your works and i'm in love with your writing. May I please request a fluff gojo x fem!reader? Like they finished their work in the evening and spend the rest of the night together at home💕 It could be a oneshot or a hc, whichever you feel to write. Thank you so much ^^ I'm sorry just in case my request is somehow not really clear☺️

Of course! here you go <3

Mochi

Gojo Satoru x reader

Warnings: none! entirely fluff! this will quite literally rot your teeth. afab reader

a/n: this ended up being a little longer than I intended lol whoops

Word Count: 2.5k

Satoru Gojo is a busy man.

The strongest can't really take a break. He’s on call 24/7. People are pulling him in all directions simultaneously. With everything that's been going on, between the mess with Sukuna, and everything happening at the school, he’s been short on time.

He needs a break.

He's more tired than he lets on. He’s good at hiding it. Especially around his students. It's hard to pull him away from his work. He's insistent that he’s fine. When you’re around someone for so long, you learn to pick up when they aren't. He can pretend to be fine all he wants. You know otherwise.

Sometimes what the strongest needs is someone to boss him around.

He’s capable of taking care of himself. He’s proven that already. But worrying is in your nature. You care about him, of course you’re going to worry.

You were a first year when you met him, having just transfered schools after an incident involving a curse. In a matter of weeks your life had seemingly been flipped on its head. The switch took some time to get used to. Switching schools your first year, let alone switching to this one in particular, was never going to be easy. Getting used to the way Jujutsu society worked took a while. He was a year above you, and you remember absolutely hating him. Gojo was insufferable- or you found him to be such. But he was friends with Nanami, who was a friend of yours, so you reluctantly hung out with him. Nanami, being in the same year as you, was the first to help you out, extending a hand and helping you get used to the way things worked.

Spending time with him didn't do much to change your views. The two of you couldn't have been more different. You still are. But something about opposites attracts.

The first time you gave him the benefit of the doubt was the first time he saved your life.

It may be a bit of an over exaggeration. You’re certain you would have survived without his help, but that could also be an attempt to preserve your pride. You went after a curse, not expecting it to be as strong as it was. As far as you knew, it shouldn't have been stronger than a grade three. Being a grade two at the time, this should have been well in your ability. There ended up being more than one curse, and they were stronger than anyone had realized. You were in over your head.

It wasn't your fault. You couldn't have known. It's not like you could pick and choose which curses you fought. As a student, that was decided for you.

You had resigned to your fate, separated from the others, injured. Nothing fatal. It left a cool scar, though. But you were well out of your league, put on an assignment far harder than you could deal with. You hate to admit defeat, but you had no other option.

Out of what seemed like thin air came Gojo, taking out both curses like it was nothing. Despite not liking him all that much, it was hard to not be impressed. He was strong. Stronger than you could ever hope to be.

You made it home in one piece.

It was three days before you’d finally confront him.

Getting him alone was hard enough. Being an underclassman, you didn't interact with him a whole lot. You didn't have any classes together. The few times you ran into him were when you hung out with Nanami, who was gone at the time.

When the opportunity presented itself, you took it, cornering him behind the school.

Even back then it was impossible to sneak up on him. He could sense you coming.

“Jesus-” he said, referring to you by your last name, “you look like you want to kill me.”

“You helped me out.” You said. “Why?”

He only shrugged. Not wanting to take that for an answer, you followed him. You were insistent you paid him back. You’d never let a debt like that go unpaid. The first debts are always the hardest to pay back. And when a first debt involves saving your life, well, you’ve got a lifetime to pay back. You only left once Gojo showed up. He needed to talk to Gojo about something, and although you were curious, you didn't feel like sticking around.

Gojo spent the next couple days scheming. You were determined enough you would do just about anything. He could have easily abused his power. It would have been even easier to force you to drop it, but something told him you weren't about to take no for an answer.

You wouldn't.

3pm in the bathrooms. It was hardly a week later. Your last class had ended for the day. You had snuck cigarettes in, blowing the smoke out of the crack in the window. You don't smoke anymore, but you went through nearly a pack a day in high school. There wasn't a specific brand you liked—you didn't necessarily like smoking, but you did it when you were stressed—you just used whatever you got ahold of.

You didn't hear the door open. Gojo wasn't the sneaky type, but he could be when he wanted. You weren't too hard to sneak up on.

If you didn't have contraband that likely would have gotten you expelled, you would have screamed when you saw him. He scared you, not to mention he snuck into the girl’s bathrooms. The two of you would be in equally deep shit if you reported the other. So at that moment you came to a silent agreement.

“You still want to pay me back?” He asked. “Cause I have an idea.”

You perked up at his words.

“Get me mochi from that shop just down the road. You know the one that just opened up?” He asked. “Bring me some and I’ll call us even.”

“That's it?” You asked. It was almost anticlimactic. But despite everything, he was insistent.

Gojo hasn't changed a whole lot since then.

He still has his sweet tooth. He still makes you get him mochi from that shop. It feels like you’re the ones keeping it in business nowadays.

You’re not quite sure who made the first move.

Soon you began spending more time together away from Nanami and Geto. You got along better than anyone—mostly you—ever expected. You weren't the most outwardly affectionate. While you were far from shy, pda wasn't really your thing. Gojo is the opposite. Even now, years after you began dating, he’s still clingy. You’ve gotten used to it. Gojo is possessive, he wants everyone to know you’re his. Not that they don't know already. He can't shut up about you.

Getting him alone has always been hard. Not much has changed in the past few years. He’s only gotten busier. Try to drag him away from work all you want, you rarely succeed.

Tonight he's come willingly. He finished his work early, and all you had left was stuff you could finish in the morning.

Nights at home like this—together—are rare. It feels like you hardly see him anymore. You often fall asleep alone, only to wake up to the other side of the bed being cold. He’s been so occupied with this business with Yuji, that he’s hardly had time for anything else. You sneak away during your breaks, like you’re teenagers again, stealing kisses between classes. You almost don't know what to do.

It almost feels like you should do something to celebrate.

The lights are off when you get home. Your apartment looks empty. Megumi must still be out with his friends.

“What should we do for dinner?” Gojo asks.

“Takeout?” You say. "I don't feel like cooking."

Gojo’s a decent cook, but he doesn't feel like doing so either. He’d get takeout every night if you’d let him. But that's not good for him (or Megumi) so you force him to do otherwise. Because you’re normally home, and you like baking, you’re usually the one to make dinner. There's not much in the fridge. You'll have to get groceries eventually. Not tonight. Maybe tomorrow. It shouldn't take long.

“How does Korean barbeque sound?" He asks. "From that place down the street?”

"Sounds good,"

You find a menu buried in one of your kitchen drawers, stashed with other takeout menus. You pick out something—two meals, plus some sweet buns for dessert—he calls the restaurant. You pay the extra cash to have it delivered. Neither of you feel like going and picking it up. It's more convenient than the alternative.

The tv drones on in the background while you wait. There’s not much on tv at this hour. News, some late night soaps. While you do like your occasional soap opera, none that you normally watch are on. Gojo changes it to the news. The weather. It looks like it'll rain tomorrow morning, but the rest of the day is supposed to be warm.

"We should go to the park tomorrow," you say, "having a picnic sounds nice."

Gojo hums in approval. As long as you make those tea cakes—the ones with honey drizzled on top—he'll agree to tag along. Maybe you'll go check out the bookstore too. It's been a while since you've last gone.

You strip out of your uniform, pulling on some more comfortable clothes; a pair of shorts and one of Gojo's shirts. It smells like him. You can't help but bury your nose in the collar.

When there’s a knock at the door, Gojo is the one to answer. He returns with your food. You gather napkins and utensils. Gojo never saw the point in anything other than stainless steel chopsticks. Or wooden ones—those given to you with takeout—if he wasn't feeling up to doing dishes. You, on the other hand, bought all sorts of colorful ones and stands that may or may not have been lifted from various restaurants. That's one habit from your teenage years you never lost. You'd pocket almost anything that wasn't nailed down. Your apartment has a rather impressive assortment of salt and pepper shakers. Not to mention the box of hotel soaps you never use, but took because you "might" need it. He enables you, taking some whenever he stays out of town, bringing them home for you. Gojo can hardly say no to you.

Gojo settles next to you on the couch, his shoulder pressed to yours. He can't keep his hands off of you. He’s possessive by nature. Everyone has to know you’re his. He always has to be touching you. Not necessarily with his hands, but he presses his thigh against yours while sitting next to you, or his body pressed against yours from behind in public.

The two of you eat in relative silence. Gojo’s attention turns to the tv, but that doesn't stop him from practically laying on top of you. Occasionally he’ll sneak bites of your food, and you of his.

When you’re done, you clear away the empty containers, sitting any leftovers in the fridge. Gojo sprawls out on the couch. He easily takes up any bit of space. The couch can hardly fit all 6-foot-something of Gojo. It hardly fits you. You've been meaning to look for another one, but haven't found the time to.

He opens his arms, and instinctively you go into them. You move so you can rest partially against the arm of the couch, Gojo's head leaning against your shoulder. His arms loop around your waist, his fingers lacing over your stomach.

It doesn't take him long to begin to drift off. He falls asleep in the crook of your neck. The low sound of the tv, combined with the warmth of his body makes you want to drift off to sleep. Sleeping on the couch like this isn't very good for your (or his) back, but you don't want to move.

The next time your eyes open, some late night game show plays, disturbing your sleep with loud music. The clock on the wall reads some time past two. It's hard to read the minute hand. You gently shake Gojo awake. One of his eyes cracks open and he lets out a soft “hm?”

“Come to bed,” you say, your arms wrapping around his neck, “it's late.”

His eyes close, and for a moment you think he’s drifted back off to sleep, when his grip around you tightens, and he’s rolling over on top of you.

“I think I’ll stay here with you, mochi,” he says, planting a wet kiss to your neck. The feeling of his lips on your neck makes you shiver.

And though he doesn't move, there's a look in his eyes that tells you he has something planned. You only notice too late that his grip never loosens, and the mischievous glint to his eyes. You couldn't wiggle out of it if you wanted to. You're effectively trapped.

He litters your neck with kisses, sending you into a giggling fit, and he doesn't stop until you’re begging him to. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes from laughing. Your nails dig into your palms so hard they leave little crescent-shaped indents.

When you finally settle down, he’s pulling you into his arms bridal style, heading for your shared room. The bed is still unmade from this morning. Neither of you bothered to put it away. You were busy, and the thought slipped your mind.

Gojo shoves the covers aside, pulling you to lay on his chest. His fingers gently trace up the curve of your spine as he watches the steady rise and fall of your chest. Goosebumps prickle your exposed skin. He’s careful with how he touches you, loving, and soft. It's like he’s trying to memorize every inch of your body. His heartbeat is audible. Steady, and quet, acting as a lullaby. Your eyes shut, but you’re still awake. The intimacy of the moment doesn't go over your head.

He thinks he could die happy at this moment. Any moment, with you, really. Even during fights, or nights where he doesn't come home until long after you’ve fallen asleep, and you’re left irritated with his lack of time. As long as you’re by his side, he’s content.

He doesn't give much to the thought of settling down. His work will never let him. Neither does he think much about having any biological children. You practically have two already. Settling down isn't really an option for the strongest. This is the closest he’ll get to it.

For now, he just thinks about the park, and the blue sundress you always wear when you go.

Not many people can say they’ve changed who Satoru Gojo is as a person—let alone for the better—but you’ve changed him twice. Once in your meeting behind the school, and once again tonight. He’s found the one.

The first debt is always the hardest to pay back. But you've paid it in full.

[batarangsoundsdumb]

guess fucking what? my inbox is so fucking full right now i'm unloading all of this shit in one post.

For the 11th gotham memes: gothamites react to bruce being jacked in a tiktok he made with kids, like super yoked, ripped as hell

fucking hilarious thanks. i think i did it in one meme post, but i genuinely don't remember which one

i dunno which of the batfam would do this but one time i was sleeping over at a friends house and ended up on the floor bc the bed was so very small and i just stayed there because the rug was soft

that's a drunk jason move i don't know what to tell you

tim and jason are "i listen to pop punk" solidarity. whenever jason highjacks the batmobile theyll go on long ass car rides blaring mcr and paramore and then never talk about it again

as they should!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! tim: no jason it's my turn using the aux cord i gotta put on my jams jason: don't you dare put on weird shit tim: don't worry, you're gonna love this *plays fearless (taylor's version)

hear me out hear me out, red hood stans 🤝 nightwing stans t h i g h s

holy shit yes.

SNL au: Bruce breaks character when pretending to superman and says something like "I'm not superman! You've seen his gps!! It's from 2001!!!" @sabeanybabe

superman flies past the snl building the next day just to say 'actually it's from 2005, i'm not a heathen'

does your back hurt from carrying the batfam fandom

it hurts more from the exotic rock collection i keep in my backpack, but thanks for the concern.

I love your posts by why would you always leave the best parts in the tags?

as a treat for the people that check the tags ;) (and also because i'm committed to the short post aesthetic)

somehow your playlist was everything i never knew i needed. i mean it. this is my new favorite playlist.

and don't you dare get a new favourite playlist!

babe ur stoner tim playlist is exactly too perfect, earth is literally blessed by ur existence

babe thanks so much! i love my stoner tim playlist because it's just my usual playlist but people think it's an artistic choice that i put taylor swift and britney spears in there, when it's just what i unironically like listening to

JANDKSKDK BILLY RAY CYRUS ON THE STONER TIM PLAYLIST I LOVE IT IT

again it's not even an ironic choice, i know every single word and i genuinely like the song

The last chapter of Fundamentals of Casework has me crying at work. Thanks I love it @dudelookitsalesbian

oh babe, i'm sorry, but also, not sorry i love chapter 4 so much it's my lovechild with the 'mental illness' tag

soooo....stumbled on your tumblr by some stroke of fate??? read your DC fanfic first. which is PHENOMENAL btw. then found all the batmemes; the funniest thing EVER bc everyone forgets about regular old gothamites. kept scrolling and your blog pops up as recommended. clicked on the ao3 for shits and giggles and waddaya know?!?!? it's YOU!!! you're LEGEND!!!! ever seen that meme? it's a video of a cat that got into a baseball field and the two announcers get really invested in his escape attempt and start giving a play by play of the cat instead of the game. memeable moment: "GREAT stuff from the Cat!!!"

i seriously think about this ask every single day and it's so fucking funny to me that i've never seen the meme you're referencing, but i still find myself going 'GREAT stuff from the Cat!!!' whenever i see something funny. but wow i'm glad you liked this steaming pile of garbage

Fav dc character overall? And fav batfamily character?

don't ask me to pick between the loves of my life, but i can tell you i've cried about every single batfamily member and also wally west (my beloved)

What's your opinion on fans having a problem with batfam being "too big"? And some even claim that batfam is just "Bruce Alfred Dick Damian" and the rest of them are just "friends and allies" (source: reddit) Personally, I like batfam because of this reason but idk

stupid. a family can never be too big. i'm not that big a fan of like huge batfam stuff with everybody from every single universe, because as much as it's funny for bruce to have like 30 kids, it just feels a little too OOC for me.

This is the best tag I've seen involving the batfam, thanks for thinking of it

This is canon now @nctxrejects

lmao yeah i think at that point alfred has had to sit through like at least a dozen coming out talks and just has a pride flag collection in the attic that he pulls out whenever a kid comes out

idk why batfam hits different as compared to any other superhero family

bc it's found family and usually the other superhero families are almost all genetically related in one way or another

I don't know if you watch the umbrella academy but I saw your last post about batcest and saw the similarities. But the thing is (although I think it's weird) in TUA, they addressed it by saying "they were raised as weapons, not siblings" or something along those lines, which is simply not the case with batfam.

yeah i watched tua but i also thought it was ridiculous and they still treated each other as siblings so i didn't like the luthor/allison thing, and am glad they stopped doing that shit bc it fucking sucked.

Hot take: Batcest shippers are the same people who believe adopted siblings are not actual siblings

smoking hot take: batcest shippers are the people who watch 'my sister got stuck in the washing machine' porn

Duke was adopted by Bruce?

not technically no, but do i, tumblr user batarangsoundsdumb, look like i care?

True story but I had to change my freaking name because it used to be "Damien" and most people would go "OH LIKE DAMIAN WAYNE" like please I'm just tryna live

true story, but i don't actually think of damian when i hear the name damian, literally the first thing that pops up is damian darkh like bruh what?

apparently dc comics company supported comic stores by giving out new titles and stuff during the beginning of the pandemic to help them run and I just think that's wholesome

ah yeah that's so fucking cool, still don't like dc, the company, because this world is a capitalist hellhole and we're all owned by warner brothers or disney with no in between.

ayo looking at tumblr head canons and finding out bruce is actually a terrible father is a punch in the gut

lmao yes, in like 50% of comics bruce is a terrible father and it gives me whiplash

oooh I just saw the jason todd vs winter soldier post and the real question is: batman vs iron man

while iron man has like hundreds of cases of armor, batman could throw out an emp and have the guy dropping out of the sky in 2 seconds.

dickfast = fastdick = quickdick = quickie

magnum hot take

hey bata(?) just thought I'd let you know I have copied the obnoxious emoji and Billy Ray post for use on simping men going forth

thank you 😘🌷 (@spacebarsidecar)

why would you do that to your followers???? i get why i did it, but why would you???

what is scarecrow made the nightwing funko pop himself, like those diy-ers that paint over other ones

oh god no, horrible take, horrible take, that's a disgusting thought oh no

I see your HC that Bruce and Oliver fucked and raise you this: Dick and Roy ALSO fucked

yes they did and it was a horrible moment for jason to find out dick has fucked both of his best friends

"at this rate bruce adds like 1 child to his family every decade or so" Duke is introduced in 2013, Damian as Damian, not as an unnamed child, in 2006. And he is already 14 years old, Robins rarely remain Robins after 16 😬 It looks like a new Robin and Batkid will appear in a couple of years

i mean i can't wait? but somebody will probably die first tho, we're due for another major character death. my money's on either cass or duke this time.

BRO you're so right all of your Bruce's ex headcanons are amazing but they aren't ships, that's kinda wild. Like I don't want any peeks into how their relationship was I just want to see everyone make fun of them

lmao YES it's just i love bruce being a slut, like good for him.

I am in love with your posts your honour thank you

omg thanks are we like,, gonna kiss now?

The justice league needs to have a meeting to discuss how many of their members/partners have slept with bruce. Because through a combination of cannon & fannon (if DC wasn’t homophobic) we have AT LEAST: 1) clark 2) lois 3) oliver 4) dinah 5) john

Thats not counting villains or random civilians @dudelookitsalesbian

yes yes yes, they'll have a yearly meeting about how many of their collective exes could be out for revenge and batman's list just keeps getting longer.

tim was like "i'm drake now" and everyone was like ahh so your fursona is a dragon and tim was like pffffft no. ducks.

and what about it?

when steph's fighting livewire and she zaps her with lighting and nothing happens and then they both just. stand there awkwardly for a second and talk. yeah i couldn't stop laughing at that batgirl steph is the BEST

oh yeah that was fucking hilarious and i think it would be so cool and sexy of dc to give steph a little comic series,,, as a treat

Hi I absolutely adore all of yours "Bruce and Oliver very badly pretending they didn't fuck each other" memes

lmao i do too

I need you to know that “Bruce Wayne had frosted tips” is one of my favorite Bruce takes of all time it’s so galaxy brained. you’re right and you should say it

he also painted his hair blonde once when he was travelling and in conclusion, this is why he's being blackmailed by the gotham gazette.

you know my thing about gordon being branded as the only good cop in gotham is its a load of shit like arguably he's a good person and not working to screw people over or anything but the fact that he also works w. batman makes him a shit cop. like yea batman is better than the mob but its still illegal its still an abuse of power he just not making bank

babe, all cops are bad cops. (but yeah youre absolutely right, working with vigilantes makes you a shit cop, but also working against vigilantes just makes you an asshole cop yanno?)

ruh roh i think i’m about to add “so not yeehaw” every time i don’t like something

that's a very good vocabulary upgrade

somehow i feel like steph already knew. like babs obviously knew but i feel like bruce got high/drunk in front of steph and started telling his boarding school stories and steph was just like “oh you fucked up i’m never gonna forget this”

steph and bruce have weird uncle/rebellious niece dynamic and they just hang out sometimes and bruce will be like 'i once broke my arm when i tripped over a hedge when i was drunk so oliver drove me to the hospital on an electric scooter' and steph will just have to sit there with that knowledge in her head.

Hello I just wanted to tell you you are So right in all your steph opinions bc she is, in fact amazing and I think that's very sexy of you. Ps. Your Bruce/Oliver fic is hilarious

babe, thank you so much and yes steph is amazing and i love her and she deserves the world and she's the best member of the batfam hands down. also thanks

In Supersons we see a couple of kids that are implied to be Damian and Jon's children and the boy has laser eyes and can fly, so I asume he's not adopted. The girl, who calls Bruce grandpa, can also fly, btw. So it's canon (probably by accident) that Jon can have kids and he must have married one of Bruce's kids. (I'm hoping for Damian, mostly because any other of his children would be waaaaaaaaaaaaay too old.) @artemisa97

lmao that was probably an accident seeing as jon is a 17 year old superhero in the year 3000 (by the jonas brothers)

You know, I'm a die hard fan of your memes, but I gotta say one thing: if Gothamites actually took gas mask everywhere with them, then the Scarecrow would just be a weird dude in a weird costume, and not a villain oh so scary. DC really should just takes notes from you.

bold of you to assume there's no gothamite anti-maskers

How does it feel being the funniest person on this app?

horrible, next question.

I can't listen to Green Day or Billy Joel without thinking of your post about how Bruce got arrested at a Billy Joel concert @nightwings-kid

yeah that's your mistake, i on the other hand can't enjoy billy joel without thinking about the glee rendition of 'uptown girl'

I've FINALLY been watching the Batman animated series and I gotta say, after watching "the gray ghost" I am CONVINCED that Batman is a closeted super hero geek who was 100% freaking out the first time he met Superman and is just REALLY good at hiding it.

superman: so what do you do in your free time? batman, thinking about the superman fanfiction he's writing on the batcomputer: i have no free time

bruce and oliver be like boyfriends to co-workers 401k (do the justice leagues get 401ks??? not that bruce and ollie would need them, but-)

lmao yes just 400 thousand words of bruce realising 'oh dip oliver is such a fucking dumbass' (also i don't know what a 401 k is but i assume they don't?)

Gothamites would totally boo superman as he saves Gotham while batman is out. @meenje

he's like 'okay think about that next time you want to be saved from an alien octopus'

I just took long break from dc comics and I come back to see ric grayson ??

i think it's very cool and sexy of dc to see dick and just think 'you know what? let's just give him a traumatic brain injury' and then didn't develop his character in any real way

SPEAKING OF RIC GRAYSON, gothamites making confused memes out of ric grayson is much needed

'dick grayson is my taxi driver? can anyone explain what the fuck happened he looks like an italian plumber?'

i hate to say it but batfam are def "marvel characters" in that sense they are characters who are human but become superheroes unlike most dc characters who are gods trying to be human maybe this is why I like batfam

fair enough

[harryhandstan]

gotta get better

gif credit

This concept has been in my head for a while now and it took me like a month to write and edit and just get it all out! I had surgery two years ago today and it was one of the most emotional, stressful experiences of my life simply bc I’m just a big baby lol. This is just something to celebrate that day and the fact that I’m still so happy it’s all over! Fluffy af as usual cause that’s all I know how to write. :)

Thankful to @bfharry​ and @bopbopstyles​ for not only inspiring me with their amazing writing but pushing me towards finishing this and reaching (even going over) my personal 5k goal! I appreciate you both so much!!

I recently saw a post about tagging triggers properly so I’m gonna do it that way but if I do it wrong or it doesn’t work PLEASE let me know and I will fix it immediately (just want to be sure all my bases are covered)

// needles tw, pills tw (prescription), anxiety tw // (if I missed anything I should’ve tagged please please let me know!!) and I’m sure there are some medical inaccuracies bc that whole day is kind of a blur for me haha 

as always likes/rbs/comments are welcome but absolutely not necessary :) 

final word count: 7.1k

//

"Y'nervous, angel?"

"Hmm?"

"Bout to chew your finger off. I know there can't be much of a nail left."

Your hand drops back to your lap. You hadn't even realized you were doing it. A bad habit of the nervous child you thought you'd long forgotten. He offers his left hand and you accept it, thumb swiping over the cross painted across his skin. He knows it's one of your favorites and you're thankful for the comfort. You don't know how many times he'd teased you about how you would eventually rub it off one day and he'd have to get it redone.

"S'a routine surgery, I bet they do them all day. You're gonna be fine."

You'd been over all this a thousand times before. Harry had to ban you from looking up the procedure online at one point. You became obsessive with worry. What if you're still awake when they cut into you and you can't talk? What if you feel everything and can't tell anyone? What if you don't wake up? He had shot down every one of your horrifying theories.

"How much longer before they take me back?"

"Nurse said it would be about 10 minutes when we checked in. Shouldn't be too much longer. Want me to check the board again?"

Checking in had only consisted of a nurse taking your name and giving you your bracelet for the day with an ID number. The number would help Harry stay updated on where you were throughout the whole process. The "board" was simply a tv mounted to the wall that frequently cycled through each patient's last name and ID number.

"No, no," You cling to his sleeve like a desperate child, "Don't leave again. She said they wouldn't update anything until I went back anyway."

Harry had left you only briefly when you first arrived. Hands in his pockets, wandering around like a lost child around the big, open expanse of the waiting room. He stayed where you could see him and the whole time you had anxiously chewed your bottom lip until he returned. You hated it, but you knew he was just as nervous as you. So you let him have that moment. To check his surroundings and release some of the nerves so he could come back to you, calm and cool as always.

When the nurse does call your name, you almost jump out of your skin. You freeze, unable to move. Harry stands and flashes the nurse a quick smile before turning back to you and offering his hand.

You shake your head, "I can't do this, H. I feel like I'm gonna throw up if I move."

"You're not, promise. Remember those breathing exercises we practiced? Do those. C'mon..deep breath in. Pause. Slowly let it out. Do it while we walk."

Slow deep breath in. Pause. Slowly let it out.

You remember how silly you felt the first time you did it. How it made you giggle at first. This is never going to work. But eventually it did. Anytime you got upset or started to overthink about this day, Harry made you stop whatever you were doing and sit down. Breathe.

It was a little difficult to do while walking. Your body wanted to pause your steps when your breath paused, but Harry tugged you along, you almost hiding behind him until you made it through a set of heavy wooden doors to a small space with a hospital bed and a curtain drawn in front of it.

//

The IV had had been your biggest dread, the fear overriding any logic that it was something you needed, instead of something the nurses decided to do simply to torture you.

Your face twists into a wince of pain when the needle goes into your vein, Harry standing over you, his face a mirror of your own as you squeeze his hand. When the nurse pulls away with a triumphant "all done!" you flash a look of surprise between your arm and Harry.

"Not that bad, eh? Think ya overreacted a bit about how bad that was gonna be?" He raises his eyebrows, waiting for you to shoot him a nasty look for teasing you.

"Maybe a little." You pinch your index finger and thumb together, indicating a minimal amount.

"Tiny bit more, babe," Another nurse appears from around the curtain and he laughs before speaking to her, "it's all she's worried about all morning."

"Honestly that's everyone's least favorite part. The rest of the day should be aces if you can handle that!"

Harry settles himself into a chair while the nurse goes through a myriad of questions. Any other surgeries? Allergies to medications you know of? Do you smoke? Drink?

Harry snorts when you say no to drinking, but quickly clasps his hand over his mouth when the nurse's head snaps to look between you and him.

"The occasional drink is fine, no worries. Nothing this morning though, right?"

"No, ma'am."

Your eyes meet his, a mischievous grin still plastered across his face. He mumbles a quick "sorry" while you try to pull your concentration back towards the nurse and the remainder of her questions.

"Alright, time for the good stuff," she passes you a small clear cup with two white pills, "First one is just something to keep you calm and relaxed, second one is to prevent any pain after the procedure. They'll give you something to make you sleepy when you get to the OR, but this might make you a bit loopy for now."

"This should be fun." Harry claps his hand in front of him, rubbing them together quickly. He leans forward in his chair, as if ready for a show.

"Yeah? Is she a happy drunk?"

Harry had only ever experienced you high on any sort of prescription medication once, almost a year ago when you went on a girl's trip with your best friend and twisted your ankle in an attempt to make it back to her car after dinner out one night. You calling him from an unknown ER in the middle of the night had terrified him enough to start packing a bag to fly to you before your best friend could grab your phone and assure him you were fine and she would put you on a plane home to him in two days as planned. He had teased you endlessly when he picked you up from the airport and for the next few days afterwards as you limped around on a bruised, ACE bandage wrapped foot.

But after too many wine drunk nights to count, he had enough stories to humiliate you with and the thought of any one of them being told now had you sinking further into the hospital bed.

"You could say that. Last time she.." His voice trails off at the sight of your eyes, wide as saucers, begging him to stop.

The nurse grins, her face kind and sympathetic to your silent cry for help.

"We're a little behind schedule this morning so it may be about 20 minutes before they come transport you, okay?" You nod, the effects of the sedative already working its way through your system, "Keep an eye on her? Make sure she behaves?"

"Yeah, I got her. We'll be fine, thank you so much." He's closer now, standing next to you again, a hand sliding up your arm to settle on your shoulder. You manage a thumbs up and a sleepy "thank you" as an affirmation that you appreciate all she's done for you.

"You're more than welcome. You'll have a different set of nurses in recovery but if you need anything until they come get you, just let me know, alright?"

"We will, thanks." His thumb ghosts across the front of your collarbone, the lightest of touches to soothe you, his eyes still focused on the nurse.

"Good luck! You're gonna do just fine, I promise."

The second she's around the curtain, Harry nudges you lightly, "Scoot."

"Huh? What do you mean..Harry, there's not enough room for you in this bed." Your head feels too light to deal with his nonsense now.

"Yeah there is if you scoot. C'mon. Hurry before we get caught. M’supposed to be keeping an eye on you, remember? Gotta make sure you don't fall outta the bed."

He's already wedged himself next to you, trying to make his tall frame fit into the limited space.

You move over as much as you can, the rail of the bed poking into your hip.

He tucks one arm behind your head, the other one thrown behind his own as a cushion.

"You feel more relaxed now, lovie?"

You scrunch down in the bed, just enough that you can tuck your head under his other arm, "A little. I don't feel sleepy enough though," Your eyes dart up, seeking the comfort of his face, "I'm scared, H."

"I know you are, baby," the hand behind your head shifts to cup around your arm, pulling you closer, "Just pretend you're home with me and we're taking a nice little nap together, yeah?"

"But you won't be there with me, not really."

"I'll be there when you wake up though. First thing you'll see when you open your eyes, promise." He runs a finger along the curve of your nose, "Close your eyes. Try to sleep, hmm?"

You shake your head, turning towards him to hide your face in his side, inhaling his scent.

"Want me to turn the light off? Would that help?"

"No," You toss the arm that isn't trapped between you two over him, holding tightly to his shirt, "Stay."

"Alright, then. We'll just wait," He tilts his head to rest closer to yours, "Have you thought about what you want to eat after?"

"Not really. M'too nervous to think about food."

"We'll think of something good. Whatever you want."

"You're gonna get us in trouble, better scoot back to your corner like a good boy." Your words come out unintentionally slurred and you weakly push yourself up and away from him as he slides off. He doesn't sit though, just stands near you, an anxious look flashing across his features.

"Hey, c'mere. Gonna be fine, routine surgery, remember?" You stretch your arms out to him, a plea to be near his warmth again.

He sits on the edge of the bed, facing you. You tug lightly at the sleeve of his cardigan, a feeble attempt to pull him closer. He indulges you, his brow still creased with distress.

"Know ya gonna be fine, just hate you have to go through it at all. Wish I could take it from you without all this." He gestures to the IV he knows you despise so much.  

"You have helped take it from me. All the sleepless nights you spent up with me, holding my hair back when I got sick. All the days after when I was too drained to get out of bed. You were there for as much of it as you could be. And you pushed me to go see the surgeon in the first place. You've helped me more than you give yourself credit for."

His fingers intertwine in yours, the pad of his thumb soothing over the front of your hand.

"Make sure you keep my phone with you, my mom will probably call you every 30 minutes for updates." A yawn stretches across your face, "She has your number too, bullied me into giving it to her last week when I called to tell her about the surgery."

He nods, patting his pocket to make sure both phones are still nestled there together.

Another yawn threatens to escape and you muffle it this time, more content to fight sleep to stare at Harry; his hair a perfect mess of curls under the harsh brightness of the hospital lighting. His face is more relaxed now, his eyes still focused on your fingers tangled together. He catches you, your eyes glazed over, too heavy and threatening to close.

"Darling, please close your eyes. I can see how tired you are," His fingertips sweep delicately over your nose again, as if he was lulling a baby to sleep, "You don't have to stay awake for me."

"Closing my eyes for just a second, alright? Not because you told me to though. I want to. Wake me up in 2 hours, don't wanna sleep too long."

Your eyes are already drifting closed, the last thing you hear is a chuckle; effortless, light as air, "I will, promise."

Soft kisses pressed across your face, "Sweet dreams, love."

//

His voice is the first you hear as you wake up in the dimly lit recovery room. Well, really it was more like a big cubicle, another space with a curtain drawn in front of it. Even with the floaty, dreamy feeling flowing through your system, you can still detect the worry in his voice.

"Harry?" It takes your mind a minute to catch up and process where you are and what had happened.

Oh yeah. Surgery day. No more annoying gallbladder. No more sleepless nights. Freedom to eat what you want and not be haunted by nausea and sickness from what you ate.

"How are you feeling? Any pain?" Suddenly a nurse in bright blue scrubs is there, way too animated and loud at the moment, "Pain scale 1-10?"

"I don't have any pain. Zero." You're aware of how high you sound and a giggle escapes through the haze. That earns you a smile from Harry, one that lights up his whole face and makes his dimples shine through.

"Awesome! Well then as soon as you're good and awake we're gonna get this IV out and go over some paperwork for both of you to sign. I want you to drink something for me too, so what would you like?"

You request a ginger ale and as soon as the nurse leaves to retrieve it for you, Harry scoots the chair he's sitting in as close to the bed as possible.

"How long was I out?"

"Couple of hours," He absentmindedly fixes your hair, looping various curls back around to their respective places, "Took a little longer than expected, you had a small infection so they had to make sure it hadn't spread."

"How much longer?"

"Long enough you had us all slightly worried." His hand trails down your cheek to cup your chin gently, urging you to look at him, "You sure you're not in pain? Now's not the time to do that stubbornly brave thing you do where you pretend nothing's wrong."

"I feel fine, really. Just a little tired, ready to go home."

He studies your face, trying to find any trace of dishonesty. When he's satisfied you're being truthful, he stands and extracts your phone from his pocket.

"Already talked to ya mum, but your co-workers were all texting you, asking how you were. Figured you'd want to handle that yourself, didn't know how much detail you would want to give them."

"Did you give my mother all the details? Infection and everything?"

"Um, no. I knew better than to do that. Promised her you would call when I got you settled at home."

"You promised or she demanded?"

"Okay..she politely asked that you call her when we get home."

"That sounds more like her." You roll your eyes, pushing yourself so you're sitting more upright in the bed.

"She just worries about you." He adjusts the pillow behind you, fluffing and tucking it where you direct it, against your lower back.

"I know. I'll FaceTime her when we get home to prove I'm alive."

"It's been a while since we've seen them, maybe we should plan a visit?" He plops himself back in the chair, leaning back as far as he can go; hands behind his head, eyes closed. You'd both gotten very little sleep the night before, you were too anxious and he was too gracious to let you suffer alone.

"Oh please, I'm lucky I even got time off to do this. My boss would never allow another break so soon."

"Maybe for the holidays?"

"Maybe..but only if you can go with me, you know they love you more than me by now anyway."

"They do not," He peeks one eye open at you, "They love us both equally."

You shoot a quick text to your co-workers, using the group chat between the few of you to make it easier.

I'm out! Feeling okay for now but that might change later lol

The nurse is back, apologizing for taking so long, "We've been so behind all day, it's crazy busy. I had to wait for your doctor to sign off on your release." She hands you a can of ginger ale, white bendy straw already poised and ready for you.

"Just need you to sign here," She holds a clipboard and a pen out to you and you balance the can dangerously in one hand while you scribble something that resembles your signature. Close enough. She gestures for you to pass the clipboard to Harry, "His signature goes under yours, just says he's responsible for you for the next few hours until everything wears off."

"This means I'm the boss, right?" He leans over to grab the board, a wink thrown in your direction. He's enjoying himself way too much at the thought of being in control of you for the next few hours. Smug son of a bitch.

She takes the clipboard back and pulls off a yellow sheet of paper, "This is just your copy of what you signed, and also has post op instructions for your bandages. Your prescription's been sent to the pharmacy, and there's a brief summary of pain management information on the bottom there just in case you need it."

"Thank you." You transfer it right to Harry's waiting hand, knowing he'll be the one surveying every word, making sure you follow everything to the letter.

"I know you mentioned earlier having a little bit of a drive home, so probably once you get her some food and pick up her prescriptions, it'll be time for another round of meds. Okay?" She turns to you again, "I know it sounds silly, but one of the most important things after this particular surgery is lots of walking. Otherwise you'll be miserable. Rest for a while when you get home, then get up every 10 minutes or so until bedtime. Don't let her skip that part, alright? Very important."

"I heard you weren't a big fan of this thing," She nods towards the IV in your right forearm, "So this'll probably be the best part of this whole process for you. We'll get this out and then you can get changed and we'll get someone to wheel you down and out of here, alright? Don't look and you won't even know when it's gone."

"Hey, think about what you want to eat, huh? Your first freedom meal. Yay!" He slips his hand into your left, raising your connected hands victoriously. You didn't think it was possible for you to love him anymore until this moment. The way he could so easily erase your fear was one of his many gifts you adored him for, "What are we having, babe?"

You don't even hesitate before answering, "Pizza, from Milano's. It's my favorite, other than that one place in Italy you took me to. Please? Oh and one of their salads, with the little bread knots on the side!"

He glances at the nurse, awaiting a reprimand for your meal choice.

"As your nurse, I feel I should remind you that while you can have anything you feel like eating, we usually recommend something small and light at first. Broth or soup with some toast, maybe. The salad may be fine, but the pizza might be a little heavy. Taking it slow would be best. But everyone is different."

"So..just cheese then? Maybe some mushrooms?"

You let your head fall back against the pillow, a foggy haze settling over you, "Plain cheese, no mushrooms."

"Alright, sounds good. Why don't I go call it in and pull the car around? Meet you out front?" He leans closer, a quick peck to your cheek before pulling his hand loose from yours and turning to leave.

"Hey, wait," You attempt to tug at his wrist, but fail, your brain still set to slow-motion. He takes pity on you and returns to your side, "Let's eat there. It's in the mall so we can window shop after we eat."

"You sure? You still seem a bit tipsy, honey."

You don't feel tipsy. Just tired, and hungry. Very hungry. As if on cue, your stomach makes a remarkably loud noise; an objection at not being fed for the past 12 hours.

"Alright, alright, calm down. " You let out an embarrassed groan when you realize he's talking to your stomach, "We'll eat there."

He kisses you again, closer to your mouth, "Missed."

"I did, huh?" He chuckles, close enough to your face now your noses are almost touching, "Let's try again."

This time his lips meet yours and you know he missed on purpose the first time by how amused he looks when he pulls away.

"One more for luck?" You can't resist letting the back of your hand wander over his face, before resting the palm of your hand against his cheek.

"I think I can handle that," He smiles before landing another quick peck to your lips, "Be good for the nurse while I'm gone. I'll have the getaway car ready in 10, yeah?"

//

You're certain Harry would have fed you if you would have let him, right here in the mall food court in front of everyone. But you refuse, insisting even, on carrying your own tray to the table. He chuckles when you pull your phone out of your sweater pocket to take a picture of your food, quickly uploading it to Facebook.

He watches you closely as you take the first bite, even pulling his own phone out to sneak a photo of you when you temporarily close your eyes to appreciate the indulgence of being able to eat one of your favorite foods again; free from that anxious feeling of whether or not it would settle right with your body later. You open your eyes the very moment after he captured the image.

"Harry!"

"You just looked so happy! I couldn't help it. You know I'll never post it anyway. Snagged a few of you earlier in your little blue cap they made you wear too." He flips back through to show you. You try to snatch the phone away, but he's too quick to pull his hand back and stash his phone in his pocket.

"When??"

"After you fell asleep, right before they came to take you back."

He takes a bite from his own generous slice of pizza in front of him before gesturing to your tray, "How is it?"

"Amazing. Even better than before, if possible."

His smile is bright, loving the satisfaction of seeing you actually enjoy food again.

Your plan to walk around the mall was cut short, you could barely make it through one store without yawning. You cling to Harry most of the way back to the car, his arm securely wrapped around you to keep you steady.

You doze off on the drive home, and when your eyes flutter open you find him opening the passenger door, offering a hand to help lift you out of the car and up the stairs into the house. Your foot stumbles on the first step, failing to make contact and you almost fall back.

"Easy," He giggles, an arm thrown behind your back to catch you before encouraging softly, "Try again."

When he's confident you're stable enough on your feet, he lets go to unlock the door.

You're greeted by a bouquet of flowers, a colorful arrangement of roses and lilies from Harry's band mates. You immediately recognize Sarah's handwriting on the card and make a mental note to shoot everyone a thank you text later. You don't know if it's the medication still in your system, the exhaustion of the day, or the overwhelming amount of love that makes you teary eyed.

Harry stands behind you as you admire the flowers and the card, arms curving around to hug you, careful of the large bandage on your upper abdomen and the two smaller steri-strips on your right side.

"How did they know pink roses were my favorite?"

"They love you, peach." He rests his chin on your shoulder, "Besides, you've only mentioned growing up with a pink rose bush in your Nanna's garden about a hundred times."

"I always loved it. Still do."

Your mind travels back to your earliest memories spent there; summers when you practically lived at the small house on the hill. Helping pick tomatoes and peppers from the garden, too warm afternoons spent with a book in your lap under the shade of a peach tree, your grandfather's corny jokes and loving smile. Your Nanna's too generous portions of food contributing to the few extra curves you still carried with you to this day.

You don't even notice the tears at first. They slip down your cheeks and land on his arm. Once you realize, you try to quickly wipe them away, but Harry sees.

"Hey..c'mon, I think your high's wearing off a bit, bub. Pajamas, meds, nap. Sound good?" He turns you to face him, using the sleeve of his shirt to brush away any tears that still linger at the corner of your eyes.

"What time is it?"

"Almost 3..why?"

"No nap. I'll never sleep tonight, and you know how grumpy I get when my sleep schedule is thrown off." Even with your declaration of not wanting a nap, you can't help but rub your eyes, a weak attempt to keep yourself awake. Any resolve Harry had to try to convince you to nap melts away. A smirk on his face, he knows you'll eventually crash later, most likely on his chest or in his arms. He's content to let you be stubborn for now.

"Okay, then. New plan. Pajamas, meds, movie. Better?"

"Better. You get everything ready and pick the movie while I change?"

"You don't wanna pick the movie?"

You wave him off, already shuffling towards the bedroom, "You're the boss today, remember?"

You take your time gathering what you need to get cozy for the rest of the day, selecting an oversized, well-worn tie dye t-shirt and leggings from your dresser. You even take a moment to dip into Harry's extensive sweatshirt collection, grabbing your favorite one. It's amazingly soft and still smells of him, a faint scent of his cologne and well..just Harry. You couldn't imagine anything more comforting.

In your pursuit to feel more lucid, you venture into the bathroom, taking a moment to wash your face. The cool water instantly refreshes you and pushes you closer to feeling like yourself again. Wanting your hair out of your face, you pluck a scrunchy from your shared collection of hair accessories. You quickly recognize that your arms still have that too heavy feeling of unconsciousness and after a few attempts to gather your curls into some sort of up-do, you give up and loop the accessory around your wrist to try again later.

Harry senses your frustration when you find him in the kitchen, two small green pill bottles sitting on the counter in front of him. He's already filled your favorite cup with ice water, and you gratefully take it and drink from it.

"What's wrong?" His brow creases with concern and you feel guilty for making him worry over something so silly.

"Nothing..just wanted my hair up out of my face but my arms wouldn't cooperate." You try to laugh it off to put him more at ease, "It's not a big deal."

You know it's only the weariness of the day still making you feel so emotional, clear-headed you would not be upset over something so small.

"Here. Let me try." He slides the scrunchy from your wrist and pulls you closer to him, moving behind you to gently work long fingers through your hair, gathering it all in a loose ponytail on top of your head before securing it around a few times with the scrunchy.

You let your shoulders drop with a deep sigh when he's done, it was such a simple thing, but it made you feel so much lighter. He spins you around to face him, a charming gleam of pride at his handiwork adorning his face, "Too tight?"

"No. Much better. Thank you, Harry. You take such good care of me always, but today..I don't know what I would've done without you. I made such a big fuss and probably made you miserable with all of my worrying." You're suddenly very aware that you are rambling, but when you catch a glimpse of his face, his smile is wide. So bright that the skin around his eyes is crinkling.

He leans towards you, lips stopping whatever words may have come next, arms wrapping around you to pull you closer in a soft, warm embrace. When he pulls away, his eyes bore right into yours, and your heart swells with more love than you could ever imagine having for one person. But he wasn't just any person. He was your person, your whole word staring back at you.

"I'm SO proud of you. You've been so strong today, always knew you had that strength in you, but seeing you take that leap of faith..doing something you knew you should despite your fear, that's all you, love. I can't take any credit for that. You've made me anything but miserable, trust me."

His face is still close enough to yours that you nudge forward, pressing your forehead to his, a silent appreciation of his affection.

"Any pain yet?" He pulls back, a thumb across your cheek, eyes still locked on yours.

"My head kind of hurts? And I still just feel kind of..drunk."

"You have always been a bit of a lightweight, babe. And a thief too, I see. S'that my sweatshirt?"

"Have not!" You swat playfully at his arm, "Maybe. Is that my hair clip in your hair?"

"Possibly." His eyes dart up to the swoop of curls on top of his head, a black plastic clip twisting it back and away from his face.

"Guess we're even then."

"S'pose we are." He tries to keep his eyes narrowed in a mock attempt of annoyance, but it quickly fades into laughter.

You decide against FaceTiming your family, hoping that hearing your voice will be enough. It seems to satisfy them at least for the rest of the day. You assure them that Harry is taking very good care of you and that everything went as smooth as could be expected.

He raises one eyebrow at you as you hang up, "As smooth as expected, huh? You aren't going to tell them the truth?"

"What's to tell? I had an infection and now it's gone. I'm fine, there's no sense in worrying them. We can give them the full story later."

He shrugs, fingers working to open one of the green pill bottles before passing one of the white pills to you, "For your headache, lovie. There's something here for nausea too if you need it. M'worried the pizza might've been too much. Maybe you should take one of these..just in case?"

"Harry, I promise I will tell you if I feel anything other than fine." Your hand runs from his shoulder down his bicep, squeezing gently, "Besides, I cannot take a whole one of those. If you think I'm a lightweight now..I'll sleep for the whole week if I take that."

He slips the bottle in his pocket, pulling you in to press a kiss to the top of your head, "We'll keep it close just in case, okay?"

"Sounds good," Your hand trails back up to his neck to work fingers through his hair, "Hey, thought we were watching a movie? What'd you pick?"

"Thought we could decide together. C'mon, let's get you comfy in bed."

"Ever the gentleman, always trying to get me in your bed."

"Hey! I am a perfect gentleman, thank you very much," He chuckles, a hand coming to rest on the small of your back, "Just thought you'd be more comfortable, you can prop up and stretch your feet out."

You let him tug you along for the second time today, thankful it's the luxury of your shared bed you get to settle into this time. He tucks you in softly, propping pillows behind your back and head.

"Comfy? Need anything else?"

"No, just need you to quit babying me so much and relax with me for a bit."

"Since when am I not allowed to baby you?"

You roll your eyes, "Never said you weren't allowed. Just want you to stop worrying so much, that's all."

"Good. Cause y'are my baby," No matter how many times you'd heard him say it before, it never failed to make you blush, "Do anything for you, y'know that, right?"

"I know," You look down at your hands, trying to slow your racing heart, "You never let me forget."

"Hey," He pokes your cheek, pulling your gaze back up to him, "I love you."

"I love you more, H."

He kisses your forehead, "Impossible. I love you most."

The reference to one of your favorite movies has you smiling at him, that dreamy feeling falling over you again, "Can we watch Tangled?"

"Sure, princess."

He sinks next to you, head propped up on your shoulder, navigating easily through Disney+ to find your requested movie.

Your eyes drift closed right about the time the lanterns are being released in the sky, a moment that normally leaves your face wet with tears, the soft vibrations of Harry humming along the perfect lullaby to push you further into your dream.

//

He wakes you later in the evening.

"Dinner's on the table if you want to join me."

"Time's it?" Your voice is still heavy with sleep.

"7. You were sleeping so deeply I didn't want to wake you, thought your body could use the extra sleep today."

"Yeah. It was nice, thank you." You stretch your arms forward, reaching for his hands to help pull you up.

"How do you feel?"

"A little sore. More sober, for sure."

Dinner is simple; a bowl of plain broth, salad, and toast. Exactly what the nurse suggested earlier. There's even a warm mug of tea waiting for you.

"With honey for my honey," He's so proud of his cheesy expression of love you cannot help but smile.

You look at him curiously when he sits next to you, the same boring meal set out for himself.

"Harry..you can eat what you want, babe. Seriously you've done enough today, more than enough to be supportive. It wouldn't hurt my feelings if you made yourself something different."

"Nah. S'fine. We're in this together, yeah?"

You raise your eyebrows at him playfully, "Did you have an organ snatched from your body today?"

"No, I didn't." He laughs, "I just meant food wise, love. It's vegetable broth, by the way, hope that's alright."

"It's perfect."

You nudge him lightly, an elbow to his side, shifting closer to ask for a kiss. He meets you the rest of the way, lips planted firmly on yours. When you don't pull away, he quickly adds another.

After dinner is done and you have another round of meds, the two of you end up in an awkward ball of cuddles on the couch. Harry flips through the channels on the tv before finding a show you both agree on.

But you're too restless, unable to find a position comfortable enough for you. You shift a few times, finally giving up and letting out a frustrated groan before tossing the blanket off the both of you and springing up and off the couch.

Harry doesn't panic, just grabs your hand before you can get too far away or lose your balance, keeping his voice low when he asks, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing hurts. I just can't get comfortable, and I don't feel right."

"What doesn't feel right, angel? Explain."

"I don't feel like myself. I don't know how to explain it. Just feel off."

He sees you're on the verge of tears and ascends from his spot on the couch, arms quickly enveloping you before placing a finger under your chin to pull your face up to look at him.

"It's probably gonna take a day or so to adjust, baby. Yes it was a minor surgery but it was a major change to your body." He's bending now to look right into your eyes, searching them,  "How can we fix it tonight, hmm? What do you need?"

Tears are free flowing, falling on the front of your t-shirt and down to the floor.

"Take your time. Breathe." A large hand smoothing warm circles firmly across your back; a balm for your restless spirit.

You pause, deep breath in before slowly letting it out, "I think I just need to move around for a bit."

"Let's go for a walk, eh? A quick one and then back to bed. Your mind needs more rest. How's that sound?" He taps your forehead softly.

"Okay, yeah." You nod your head, an approval of his plan.

"Don't worry about it, okay? Everything's gonna be fine. You're gonna be fine."

You nod again, scared your voice will break if you try to speak. He knew that those words held a lot of weight for you, he'd repeated them often throughout this whole process and to hear them now was a reminder of how safe you were. That with him, you would always be safe and loved.

Being dark outside meant you gracelessly padding through the house, up and down the hallway a few times and back to the living room. Harry stays close, encouraging you along with little claps and kisses to motivate you. When your stomach starts to feel uneasy, he urges you once again to take something for nausea. You agree to take a half a pill, knowing it'll help you sleep.

Despite the nap you had earlier and only being awake for a couple of hours, it doesn't take much convincing for you to settle back into bed.

"Harry?"

"Hmm?"

He's already reclined next to you, book in hand, the soft light from the lamp illuminating one side of his face. You're smushed against him, drifting between that sweet space of almost asleep and wanting to stay awake to enjoy any spare moment you get with him. His hand working through your hair helps push you towards the former of the two.

"I'm sorry to be such a burden today," Your words are slurring together but you continue on, just needing to get your thoughts out before he can stop you, "I don't deserve you and I shouldn't have overreacted so much about something so simple."

"Hey, none of that now," He lays the book on the nightstand, careful to save his place for later before pulling you closer to him, "You were not, nor have you ever been a burden to me. Just because you needed a little extra help today does not mean you aren't deserving of me or my love. You will never have to earn that. It's yours, always has been, will be as long as you decide to keep me around."

"Thank you. For all of it. I'll always want you."

"Always? Y'might change your mind someday, angel."

"I won't. Promise."

"Yeah? Me either."

A kiss laid delicately to the top of your head has your eyes dangerously close to falling shut again before another thought navigates its way through your mind and out of your mouth before you can stop it.

"H..what am I gonna do with a full week off from work?"

"Let me take care of you?"

//

And that's exactly what he does.

Mornings spent sleeping in, late breakfasts made together and afternoon walks. Evenings consisting of the two of you preparing dinner together or ordering takeout from some of the forbidden places you couldn't eat from before. Mugs of herbal tea before early bedtimes, you sweetly falling asleep to the sound of his voice reading to you most nights.

But his favorite part was that the scent of lavender was no longer cursed for you. Some nights before your surgery, when you simply could not fall asleep the pain was so unbearable, you would fill the tub with hot water and lavender scented bubbles to try to calm yourself enough to be able to drift off afterwards. It never worked, the heat always doing more harm than good. Harry would always be waiting for you, open arms and a soft towel to wrap you in.

So the smell became one you hated, memories of sleepless nights and nausea. But now you were free to use it again for what you always loved it for before it was cursed. In your body wash, lotion, even your laundry detergent; spreading the scent all over your shared space in as many ways as you could.

He even mentions it one night after dinner, when the two of you are pressed impossibly close together on the couch. His nose buried into your neck, inhaling deeply, pulling away to announce, "You smell like you again, love. Missed it so much." He burrows back in, placing kisses from your neck to your shoulder, ignoring your giggles and protests of how much it tickles.

A week later, the alarm wakes you sooner than you've become accustomed to, reminding you of your return to work. Harry's arm thrown over your waist pulls you closer as you try to leave the bed, a sleepy "Don't go." mumbled in your ear.

You do your best to peel yourself away from him, admitting silently to yourself how much harder it is for you to leave the warmth of your bed as it is for him to let you go.

//

2 years later, you have a scar you swear didn't heal right, and a man who loves you even more because of it.

[crashdevlin]

Centerfold 4- Memory’s Been Sold

Centerfold Masterlist

Author’s Note: Written for Meghan who requested some fluffy A/B/O smut and then I came up with an idea and ran with it. Smut will start after the plot is established. Also, this is gonna go toward my @spnabobingo​ squares. This chapter fills my Slutty Omega square and is rated E for Explicit.

Summary: Dean is living the normal-boring life with Lisa. When he opens the newest Playboy, he gets the shock of his life.

Pairing: Alpha!Dean x Beta!Lisa, Alpha!Dean x Reader (memory)

Word count: 2083

Story Warnings: A/B/O dynamics, 18+! HERE BE SEX!! DON’T READ IF YOU’RE A YOUNG’UN!!! , masturbation, pornography, mentions of multiple partners, mentions of fem-fem porn

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

Dean pulled his pickup into the gas station down the street from Lisa’s house...his house. He had a house. He had a home, a family, an 8-5 job on a construction crew. He had...a real life. A real boring life. He was bored, but he supposed it was normal to feel bored, right?

“Hey, Jerry. The coffee fresh?” Dean asked as he walked into the convenience store.

“Half hour old,” the clerk, Jerry, answered with a smile. “And, uh, it’s Tuesday!”

Dean chuckled as he grabbed a thick paper cup and poured dark, bitter liquid into it. “New mags came in, huh?”

“Yeah. The Penthouse center is hot as hell, man. Oh, and the Playmate of the Month is the hottest omega I’ve ever fuckin’ seen!”

Dean laughed as he fitted the top on the cup. “Well, bring ‘em out, man. You know I’m gonna buy ‘em.” He took a drink as he walked up to the counter. Jerry had a Penthouse and a Playboy on the counter already. “They’re that good, huh?”

“Dude...especially the omega Playmate, man. She is smoking hot.”

Dean set the coffee on the counter and picked up the Playboy, slipping it out of the sleeve and looking at the cover. The cover was a woman, Taffy Rose according to the tiny script on the bottom next to the photographer credit, in a strawberry-print bikini and bunny mask. Hot, but nothing special. Nothing different or new. But he flipped the magazine open to the center and gasped.

“Holy shit.” The bunny mask was gone, her body on full display except the bits of skin hidden by the pink feather boa. His throat went dry. His cock got hard in jeans. His head felt like it might explode.

“I know, right?!” Jerry exclaimed, happily. “Isn’t she the hottest thing you’ve ever seen?”

“Yeah. She’s the hottest thing I’ve ever…” Dean’s voice trailed off as he focused on her neck. No mark. He hoped they hadn’t photoshopped one out. She was the hottest thing he’d ever touched, tasted, the best thing he’d ever missed out on...Taffy Rose, Y/n Y/l/n...his omega. Dean cleared his throat and tried to close the magazine, but he couldn’t. She’d grown up so beautiful and he couldn’t take his eyes off of her. “She, uh...she been in anything I might’ve seen?”

“I don’t know, Dean. I’m Googling her name as soon as I get home. I suggest you do the same, man.”

“Yeah. Uh...I’m just gonna...I’m just gonna take the Playboy. I’ll get the Penthouse next time, Jer.” Dean threw a ten on the counter and walked out with the magazine, leaving his coffee behind and not even caring. He sat in his truck cab for a few minutes, staring at her photo. Y/n went into porn. Whoever would have thought that sweet little innocent young woman with the overprotective parents would- “Actually, no, that makes sense.”

He rubbed his hand over his erection as he looked at the ‘fuck me’ look in her eyes. It didn’t take long for his mind to drift back to her under him, holding him, letting out gasping cries as he fucked her, that look in her eyes as she dug her nails into his shoulders.

His cock softened as he remembered getting on the phone with her to tell her he was leaving.

He felt like he was going to cry when the line clicked. “Y/l/n Residence!”

“Y/n, it’s Dean.”

“Oh, hey! I just got finished washing every surface you touched,” she said, giggling. That giggle tugged at his heart. “I can’t wait to see you again, though. It was so worth the cleaning time.”

“Yeah, uh...it was awesome, baby, but...my, uh, my dad called.”

“Oh?” Dean could almost hear the heartbreak in her voice.

“Yeah. He...got word of a job in Connecticut. He’s pickin’ us up tomorrow.” There was silence on the line for a minute. “Y/n?”

“You’re leaving?” she squeaked.

“Yeah.” Dean had to fight the tears. “Yeah, we’re leaving.”

“But...what about...I...am I gonna get to see you again at all?”

“Not unless you can sneak out tonight. Dad’ll be here in the morning. We’ll be gone before noon.”

“Oh God.”

Dean took a deep breath and started the truck, driving home with a pit in his stomach. He immediately hid the magazine in his desk and sat in the rolling desk chair. He looked around to make sure Lisa and Ben were both out of the den area, hoping they were out of the house, before pulling up Google and searching for ‘Taffy Rose omega xxx’. Several thousand results popped up, so Dean went to the first. A video on Pornhub labeled ‘Sweet omega Taffy seduces her best friend Kat at a sleepover’. Dean swallowed and licked his lips, turning his volume down almost all the way and clicking on the video. She looked fairly innocent, without looking fake, which was a feat of its own considering he knew he was watching porn. The other actress wasn’t pulling it off anywhere near as well, especially the overacted reaction to ‘Taffy’ kissing her.

Dean could remember making out with her when she was just a little younger than the 18 year old she was pretending to be on his screen and it filled him with yearning to see her wrap her arms around this other woman’s neck and pull her in for a passionate kiss. He watched a little longer before hitting the back button and started searching through more and more results.

‘Omega Taffy Rose and her hot omega stepmom’ ‘Taffy Rose fucks her best friends’ ‘Sunny Sweets and Taffy Rose Turth or dare’ ‘Batgirl and Supergirl caught by Poison Ivy’

“Holy shit, she’s the hottest Supergirl,” Dean whispered, as he pulled his dick out of his jeans and started pumping it. It occurred to him, as he lazily jacked off and clicked through the ‘Taffy Rose’ tag on XNXX .com, that she was always with other women, usually other omegas. It took him forty minutes of clicking to find ‘Beta Brad Bull wants to know what omega tastes like’.

Not a single alpha in any of her videos, and not a mark on her neck, despite the fact that so many of her omega co-stars had marks that they had failed to cover no matter the makeup they used. And Brad and Taffy didn't go further than oral.

"That's weird," Dean whispered, tucking his dick back into his boxers but leaving the jeans open in a V. "Usually 'mega actresses are getting knotted every other scene."

He clicked off of the porn site and went back to Google, searching 'Taffy Rose alpha'. He found several blogs asking why a porn actress was unmated, some wondering how she could be in this business without fear of being taken by force, and some judging her for doing porn in the first place, but eventually he found an interview with her. He turned up the volume a bit and started it.

"Taffy, you have just burst on the scene and you've been staring in so many films this past year, it's crazy how popular you are all of a sudden!"

"Yeah, it is. I mean, I just started this as a fun way to make some money and now it's a full-on career!" Dean gasped at her voice. It was deeper than he remembered, seasoned with age, but that giggle at the end was exactly the same. That giggle made his heart hurt.

"Well, as long as you're having fun, right?"

"Exactly!"

"Now, I've noticed, and I'm not the only one, that you seem to favor lesbian scenes. Is that a personal preference, a reference to your actual sexuality, or-"

"Oh, no! I love guys. I live for cock, but…” Dean’s dick twitched at that. Why did her voice sound so musical...especially saying something so filthy? “I don't fuck alphas and there's a lot more work for an omega willing to fuck another omega than an omega willing to fuck a beta."

"Now, why don't you fuck alphas? It would seem a natural thing for you, right?"

She looked down, a bit of the bashful teen girl showing on her face. "Um...I just...it's dangerous, since I'm not mated...and it's special, ya know?” She bit her bottom lip and looked back up and Dean’s jaw dropped. “I may be a slut, but I can't fuck some random alpha and take his knot. I've never taken a knot and...probably never will."

"Fuck, I'd give anything to have you on my knot, Y/n," Dean whispered as the door opened and Lisa and Ben entered. Dean scrambled to exit out of the browser and cover the open jeans with his t-shirt. Reality crashed down on him. There was his family. There was his beta girlfriend and her son...his boy whether by blood or not. “H-hey, honey. How was work?”

“It was good. How was your day, Dean?” she asked, walking over to the desk in the den.

“It was-it was a day,” he answered, tilting his head to allow her to kiss his cheek.

“What’s this?” Lisa asked, pulling open the half-closed desk drawer. She gasped and slammed the drawer closed when she saw the magazine. “I cannot believe you!” she snapped.

“Come on, Lees, it’s just a Playboy,” Dean defended.

“‘Just a Playboy’? Dean, you’re living with a teen boy now! You can’t have this stuff! You can’t expose him to-”

Dean scoffed and stood, looking down into her eyes. “Lisa, I promise you that boy knows about porn and knows how to find the good stuff online. My Playboy is probably too tame for him.”

“How dare you? Ben would never-”

“Yeah? Check his browser history.” Dean rolled his eyes and stepped around her, walking out of the house and to the garage. He grabbed the cover and pulled it up just enough to open the door and climb into the front seat of the Impala. He took a minute to let a wave of nostalgia roll over him at the feel and smell of his baby before he settled back, legs kicked out and jeans shimmied down enough to pull his cock out.

He closed his eyes and wrapped his fingers around his base. He could see Y/n in his mind. He could hear her laugh. He could see her smile, the way her eyes lit up when he said her name. He started moving his hand up and down his length as he remembered the way Y/n looked at him the first time he sunk his dick into her.

He ran his thumb across the head and gasped as he remembered her digging her nails into his shoulder muscles, how innocent she sounded when she said ‘I think you can go faster’, the way she whimpered with every thrust, the way she wrapped her legs around his waist and babbled his name, the way she whispered ‘harder’ and thanked him when he grabbed her white wood headboard and started pounding into her like the alpha he was. He wanted nothing more than to knot her, but she couldn’t take it.

She could take it now. He wanted to fill her and knot her and make her scream. He wanted to hear her moan and giggle and gasp and-

His breath caught as cum shot out of his cock, splashing over his hand. He gasped in a breath before another stream of semen left him. “Fuck.” Dean fucked himself through his climax until there was absolutely nothing left for him to give and then he slumped into the leather.

He was suddenly filled with despair. He found her. His omega, the one that got away, the one woman his mind returned to in quiet moments. He found her, but she was in the San Fernando Valley in California and he was in Cicero...with Lisa and her boring, normal life. Lisa and her son that she coddled. Beta Lisa that sent him away when he went into rut, who would never be able to take a knot. He loved that Lisa took him in, nursed him back from the brink of breakdown, but the yearning he had pushed down since he was sixteen years old was now back with a burning vengeance.

And there was nothing he could do about it.

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

The Kitchen Sink - @emoryhemsworth​ @flamencodiva​ @wasabiwitteks​ @rainbowkisses31​ @rissbennett @mariekoukie6661​ @officiallyunofficialperson​ @dolphincliffs​ @mrs-meghan-winchester​ @gayspacenerd​ @foxyjwls007​ @ilovefanfic86​ @marvelfansworld​ @f-yeahfandoms​ @wonderlandfandomkingdom​ @hhiggs​ @sev3nruby​  @hobby27​ @paintballkid711​ @divadinag​ @thewhiterabbit42​ @fantasymyth-1 @queenoftheunderdark​ @cosicas-cuquis​ @superfanficnatural​ @letsby​ @supernatural-bellawinchester​ @onethirstyunicorn​ @swinchester27​ @chalicia​ @sunnyroadtrips​ @screechingartisancashbailiff​ @death-unbecomes-you​ Hunter Tags - @atc74​ @sandlee44​ @spnbaby-67​ @kalesrebellion​ @tumbler-tidbits​ @hoboal87​ @stoneyggirl​ @kbl1313​ @cookiechipdough​ @mrswhozeewhatsis​ @winchesterxfamilybusiness​ @holylulusworld​ @pretty-fortune​ @screechingartisancashbailiff​ @we-are-all-a-bunch-of-idjits​ @imperiusimpala​

Gaga For Green Eyes Tags- @typicalweirdbookworm​ @deanmonandnegansbitch​ @jadesupernatural​ @stoneyggirl​ @4fareader​ @squirrelnotsam​ @lyarr24​ @akshi8278​ @pretty-fortune​ @we-are-all-a-bunch-of-idjits​

Centerfold Tags- @mychemicalimagines​ @moron225​ @ladyofmaidensandwine​ @that-one-gay-girl​ @roonyxx​ @teresa-67​

[marvelfansince08love]

The Pleasure is all mine  Chapter 2

Word count: 2616 

Pairing: Lou Miller x Fem!Reader, Background Platonic friendship Debbie Ocean x Lou Miller. 

Setting: Three weeks after their initial meeting, they finally meet again but does the reader assume things to quickly...  (of course she does because I wrote it and I’m an over-thinker)

A/N: I am so sorry for the late update, I was going to do it yesterday but I just needed to add a couple of things to it before uploading. Also I skimmed through this... does that count as proof-reading?

Tags: @waitingfortheendtocome​ @natasha-danvers​ @5aftermidnight​

P.S: Your comments puts fuel/gas in my car, much appreciated x

I do not own the gif below! ♥

Chapter 2 

Erin is a sweet five year old girl with the cutest blonde curls and crystal blue eyes reminding me of a certain hot knight in shining armour.

"See you around Y/N from Y/H/T"

"Miss Nurse do you have any fish?"

I shake the thoughts of Lou out of my head before focusing on the important question asked by my patient.

"No, but I did have when I was younger. He was a clown fish"

"Just like Nemo!" She squeals excitedly.

I grin softly at the innocent statement.

"Just like Nemo"

"Do you think if I ask mummy real nicely, she will get me Nemo once I'm better" she asked sweetly with a hint of sadness. I frown slightly thinking about the treatment that she's currently going through before quickly masking it behind a sweet smile.

"Well there's no harm in asking hey, my little munchkin?" I stroke my thumb across her cheek softly offering some comfort.

"Miss Nurse do you think I'll get any better?"

I fumble slightly trying to gather my thoughts. This has always been the most difficult part of the job but somehow, I wouldn't change it for the world.

"I sure hope so kid! But just know that me and your parents are going to be right here, with you, all the way" I reassure her before standing up and letting her know that she's due her medication.

 Leaving the room, I sigh gently before rubbing my tired eyes. After working three twelve-hour shifts in a row a girl could use a nap. I straighten myself up again and turn towards the nurse’s station, on my way over I see Erin's parents coming through the door and towards her room. They glance over and offer a polite smile and wave before entering. I turn back towards the nurse's station and see Rachel standing behind the desk going through medical files. She quickly glances my way before returning to her task with a mischievous grin.

"Someone looks like shit today; you want to borrow some of my concealer"

" Ha.Ha. very funny Rach, for that you can go on the next medication round"

She pokes her tongue out playfully before abandoning her task and turning her full attention to me. She places her face in the palms of her hands innocently before asking:

"Wanna come out tonight? Please, pretty please?" With a pout for good measure. I groan before rolling my eyes in displeasure.

"The last time I ended up out with you, I almost fractured my ankle" I complain. She scoffs and waves her hand in dismissal.

"Oh please! you were fine after a week besides you got rescued by some hot blonde, if anything you should be thanking me!" She teases. I roll my eyes in good nature before taking the medical file from her pile and walking away.

"I take that as a yes!" She states loudly, leaning over the desk. I turn my head to face her with a grin.

"Of course" with a quick playful wink before heading off to my next patient. I hear a loud "Yes!" from behind me before walking into the patients room.

................................................................................

The club is hot and dark with lightly dimmed blue lights. My tight black dress already clinging to my body like second skin from the heat. If I squint hard enough I can make out the sea of people dancing within the thick smoke on the dance floor.

"Okay before we hit the bar I need to dance the stress of work out of me" I state before being led by Rachel towards the dance floor in the middle of the room.

My hips sway in time with the beat of the song, warm bodies pressed close all around the busy dance floor. I can feel the floor vibrate beneath my feet. Rachel grabs my hand and twirls me around with Lucas our fellow paediatric nurse cheering us on. After half an hour of dancing I can feel my throat becoming drier indicating the need for a drink.

"You guys wanna get a round in" Rachel shouts to the both of us while gesturing to the packed bar in the middle of the room. We all cheer in agreement before grabbing onto each other and making our way through the crowd to the bar.

She waves over the bartender like greeting an old friend. She smiles charmingly at Rachel while leaning over the bar counter.

"There's my favourite girl! What can I get cha tonight Rach?" She says flirtatiously as she eyes Rachel's outfit. She's also opted for a tight-fitting dress in red. She giggles and places her hand on top of the flirty bartender's.

"Can we get a tray of vodka shots please?" She bats her eyelashes for extra measure. The bartender winks cheekily before turning around and preparing our tray

.

"You are such a flirt Rachel" Lucas says from beside me. I laugh in agreement as she pretends to be outraged by the accusation before grabbing the tray from the bartender and handing us both two each.

I bring the shot to my mouth and let the burning liquid travel down my throat. I splutter slightly from the first shot before downing my next one; this time going down a little easier - almost a little too easy. I grab another one from the tray that's still in Rachel's hand and down my third.

"Is it me or is the vodka a little weak?" I say loudly to the pair. They both chuckle and roll their eyes at me.

"Oh the big mighty Y/N thinks she can handle her drinks better than us Rach" Lucas mocks in good nature. I roll my eyes before giving him a playful shove on the shoulder.

"I'm sorry the vodka isn't to your likening"

That voice

Oh how I've dreamt of that voice.

I turn around with wide eyes my mouth opening in shock to see her stood with such confidence and beauty.

Lou

She's got the same signature smirk on her face just like that night in the food truck. I quickly close my gaping mouth and throw Lou a shy smile.

"Just point me in the direction of the club manager because there's no way that's just vodka" I awkwardly tease. I hear Rachel gasp next to me and with a quick glance her way she shakes her head as if indicating for me to stop talking, her eyes wide with slight fear and amusement.

"There's no need to take you to her when she's right here, love" she teases with her deep Australian accent. There's that damn smirk again.

Shit!

"Oh my god Lou, I am so sorry I didn't mean it in a bad way. I guess I can just handle stronger vodka" I ramble feeling embarrassed that I've managed to make a fool of myself TWICE in front of this woman.

She walks slowly up to me so we are in closer proximity and leans towards my ear, her breath smells of mint and is warm against my cheek. I close my eyes at the feeling of it – feeling intoxicated by it.

Maybe the vodka is a bit stronger than I thought.

"If you want something stronger all you gotta do is ask my darling" she pulls back and winks while chewing lazily on a piece of gum.

I shake the dirty thoughts out of my head before straightening up and quickly glancing at the two spectators in this flirtatious game. Their eyes moving back and forth between the two of us, Rach clashes her eyes with mine and winks before mouth "go for it". I quickly look back to Lou and notice that she's still staring at me waiting for a response her crystal blues look dark under the dimmed lights.

"Okay"

Her lips twitch in amusement before replying:

"Okay"

I smile wide at the similar exchange from our first meeting.

I turn back towards my friends to see them subtly giving me approval and making whipping noises.

I am so not whipped.

I feel her arm circle around my waist and her mouth close to my ear - barely touching.

"I hope you don't mind but I'd hate to lose you in the crowd after I've just found you again" she says loudly into my ear before escorting me through the crowds, her arm never loosening its hold around me.

As we come to a flight of stairs, I tense and turn towards her in confusion which effectively removes her arm.

"My office is up here and it's quiet, I'd like to talk to you. I know it sounds crazy, but I've not been able to get you out of my head" she looks deep into my eyes with slight insecurity. I smile gently before gently taking hold of her hand and heading for the steps. I look over my shoulder at her and see that her eyes are glued to one place only:

"I hope you weren't looking at my ass, Aussie" I say cheekily with a smirk. She quickly looks away and smirks; as if she's not ashamed of being caught. Just like that the insecurity is gone.

"I wouldn't dream of objectifying you like that darling"

 The cheek of this woman!

 You secretly love it though

 I blush at the nickname as well as my thoughts before hiding it by turning back around and continuing up the stairs.

We finally reach her office space and gestures for me to seat down on a very expensive black plush sofa.

This is place is huge!

Lou moves over to a small bar in the corner of the room and pours two small glasses of vodka. She walks over with confidence and hands me a glass before taking a seat next to me - hip brushing against hip. She leans her forearms onto her thighs and turns to look at me with those crystal blue eyes.

"Thanks for coming up here it gets a bit much downstairs, how are you? How's that ankle of yours?" She asks softly with some concern.

I smile and feel my heart beating faster at our proximity.

"Uh yeah I'm doing okay. I've managed to see more of New York and made a few friends, plus my ankle is a hundred times better now thanks to you" I say with a teasing undertone. I gently bump my shoulder against hers and grin.

She laughs, mouth wide showing her perfect white teeth.

"So I see you run your own little kingdom around these parts huh. First the burger truck and now a nightclub you must be pretty busy" I state jokingly, she shifts uncomfortably before masking her discomfort with a smug smirk.

"I'm a woman of many talents Y/N" I raise an eyebrow in question to her diverting away from the statement. Her shoulders drop before taking a sip of her drink.

"Growing up... I didn't have a lot. My father worked two jobs trying to provide for us, we moved constantly, never staying in the same place longer than six months. I guess it made me more determined to not have that constant worry of where my next meal was coming from or if I had a roof over my head. So eventually I moved to New York starting working a few highly paying jobs and managed to afford this place.... 5 years later I'm running one of the busiest nightclubs in New York" She stares at me with a soft expression.

"Your amazing" I whisper my eyes taking her in, trying to piece this beautiful woman together. Maybe there's a softness to the mysterious confident Lou. She reaches over and takes my hand into hers, her thumb brushing softly against my skin.

"Listen Y/N...

"Hey Lou baby, we need talk about this plan because I've been up all night thinking about and honestly I need a listening ear... oh you have company"

Lou quickly let's go of my hand and stands briskly, her eyes widen as if being caught doing something she shouldn't be doing.

"Debs I uh, this is Y/N you know the woman I helped a few weeks ago" her voice tight and rushed; as if trying to justify my presence. I reel off all the possibilities as to why she's retreating in this woman's presence until a cold realisation dawn's on me as I stare at them both.

She has a girlfriend

A hot girlfriend

Fuck!

I stand quickly and both women turn and look towards me. Lou seems to realise my conclusion and steps forward, mouth opening as if to reel off an explanation. I sidestep out of her reach and look at her crestfallen face.

"I uh, I should go. My friends will be wondering where I am, it was nice meeting you" I stutter as I clumsily make my way to the door. The hot brunette seems to raise an eyebrow, silently questioning my sudden departure.

"Wait Y/N stay please" Lou asks desperately. My eyes widen at her tone of voice and I can see the brunette is also surprised by her desperation.

"I really can't do this. I'm sorry" I whisper before fleeing the room and down back to the club floor. I quickly find my friends through the sea of people. I grab onto Rachel's arm and lean my mouth to her ear:

"I gotta go I'm not feeling well"

She wiggles her eyebrows playfully.

"Oh yeah I bet you are, how was she?"

There's that sick feeling again; or is it the vodka.

"No seriously I'm gonna head home I'm tired and think I'm coming down with something"

She looks at me with a frown noticing the serious tone of my voice.

"Are you sure? Do you want me to come with you?"

"No its okay, I'll grab a cab from outside and text you in the morning"

I blow a kiss over to Lucas who seems to be too busy with a tall handsome god of a man and quickly leave. As I get to the door a look up towards the office and see Lou looking down scanning the crowd; for me.

It's like a magnet charging between us because in a second her eyes turn to me. She looks pissed and, on a mission, as she quickly takes to the stairs. I turn around and head out of the door and take a deep breath in the cold New York air before heading for a cab. I feel a hand wrap around my elbow desperately.

"Wait Y/N there's been a misunderstanding somewhere, I thought we were getting along"

"Look Lou, I think you're great but this, whatever it is, needs to stop"

She let's go of my arm and stands still, her eyes boring into mine before scanning every inch of my face.

"If that's what you want, I won't pursue anything but I want to at least be your friend Y/N. I know it sounds crazy even I can't believe it but there is something about you Y/N from Y/H/T and I can't get you out of my head. I shouldn't want this but fuck! I need you around... your presence grounds me" she sighs in defeat looking lost her crystal blue eyes pleading for me to understanding.

"Lou I... can't do this. I will not be that girl who gets involved with someone who's already taken, I'm sorry" I whisper before taking a step back - away from her and fleeing before she can explain further.

Once in the cab I look out of the window to see Lou running her hands through her blonde hair in frustration before storming back inside.

What have I gotten myself into.

[cocastyle]

Change - Ch. 2 | O N E

Pairing - Bill Denbrough x reader

Word Count - 13,258

A/N - super long beginning chapter for this half of the series but one hundred percent necessary! I didn’t want to split up the part where each person gets their phone calls, so I decided to make it one long chapter to kick the second movie rewrite off. I am beyond excited for what’s to come and I really hope you all enjoy this rewrite!

if you would like to be added to the tag list for this series let me know!

C H A N G E

Change Series Masterlist

* - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - *

O N E - Beginning of the End

* - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - * - *

Memory. It's a funny thing.

People want to believe they are what they choose to remember—the good stuff, the moments, the places, the people we all hold onto. But sometimes. . .sometimes we are what we wish we could forget.

The thing is sometimes what we wish was forgotten, what we tried to leave in the past, won't stay there. Sometimes it comes back for you.

- - -

Bill Denbrough stared blankly at his computer screen, watching as the cursor blinked repeatedly as he had yet to type a word other than the setting which was 'attic' on the paper. A copy of his latest book titled The Attic Room sat beside his computer, little slips of paper sticking out from different pages he had marked down and made notes on.

A knock on his trailer door was what finally snapped the man out of his thoughts, lifting his head in the direction of the door in a tired manner as if he wasn't quite sure if the knock was real or not. When the door suddenly opened up, Bill was quick to sit up and nod his head forward, the action causing his glasses to fall from his forehead and back onto his nose as he pretended to be typing away. "Mr. Denbrough," a soft voice said and Bill glanced over to see a woman a little younger than him with short blonde hair and a headset, "they need you on set."

It took all of Bill's willpower not to look at all surprised when he was practically screaming inside of his head. Already? Hadn't he only just sat down to write? How long had he been sitting there? Glancing at his watch, Bill swallowed thickly once he realized he had been sitting there for hours now, the day already almost over by now.

Bill could feel the woman's eyes still on him and he was quick to plaster a fake smile on his face as he looked to her and gave her a short nod. That seemed to be enough of an answer for her and she disappeared outside leaving Bill to collect his things as he tiredly took his glasses off his face.

His eyes instantly flickered to his computer and he put both hands on his face before dragging them down with a small sigh. Bill reached out and shut the computer without another thought about it and grabbed the computer and copy of his book before hurrying out of his trailer where the woman was waiting for him.

"We're just going to go this way," the woman said as she began to walk Bill towards one of the many buildings on the Warner Bros property.

Bill was trying his best not to seem as nervous as he was, gripping onto his book and computer tight enough with one hand that his other could relax peacefully by his side. He felt queasy and for a moment he wondered if he was going to be sick. He hadn't felt this nervous in a long time and Bill thought to himself about the last time he had been this nervous if not more.

For just a second it was like a image of startling e/c eyes flashed through his head, but it had vanished before he could grasp it. The image was gone as quick as it had came and Bill had no clue what he had even been thinking about in the first place.

A small frown began to make its way onto Bill's face, but it was quickly replaced by a panicked look once he saw the garage door to the set beginning to fall closed. His eyes widened and he jogged past the woman who shouted after him, but he ignored her and was quick to slide under the door just as it was closing.

"Hey, use the door!" a man exclaimed as he pointed towards the regular door that Bill could've easily walked through. "Come on! You never seen Indiana Jones?" Bill questioned, his eyebrows furrowing at the man. It had only been a joke, something to get his heart bumping in an excited and adventurous way instead of the nervous beating his heart had encountered moments before.

"Watch it!" another voice exclaimed and Bill was quick to stop in his tracks as a man walked past him with a container of props rolling across the floor. Bill shook his head slightly, already overwhelmed, and began to make his way across the room and over to where he assumed the director would be.

"Hey, hey, you a member?" a man asked, but Bill was barely able to register what he said as he walked past him. "Hmm? I'm. . .the writer," Bill finally managed to get out before he walked onto set.

Instead of finding the director, Bill was met with another sight that made him even more uncomfortable then he already was. "Bill," Audra Phillips, the leading lady of the movie who also happened to be his ex-wife, greeted him. "Hey."

He had been married to Audra for eight years before the two had ended things a year back. In all honesty, Bill wasn't quite sure why he had married the woman in the first place. He had thought he loved her, but the moment she had asked for a divorce he could only describe having felt one emotion—relief. Their marriage hadn't ended badly and there had been no problems. It was just two people simply falling out of love with each other. Audra had even started to date a co-star she had met a few months back and Bill was happy for her. After all, he had come to the realization that Audra wasn't the girl for him. He had a feeling like there was someone out there for him and the crazy thing was that he felt like he had already met her, but that she was lost. Weird, right?

Bill and Audra weren't exactly friends per say and only saw each other as business partners, knowing that neither one would be able to survive in their business without a mutual agreement between the two. However, Bill still couldn't help but think about how much he hated having to work the same movie with her.

"Do you have the pages?" Audra questioned, snapping Bill out of his thoughts as she took a step closer to him, her eyes staring intently at him in both a questioning and alarmed manner. Bill hesitated and it was then that Audra's eyes widened. However, neither got a chance to say anything before the director was suddenly lowering his seat down in between the two, his gaze on Bill.

"My friend," the director Peter began, looking to Bill in exasperation, "a film needs an ending. You do know that right?" "Oh, yeah," Bill replied, looking to Peter in slight disbelief. However, he couldn't blame him for asking. Bill had a tendency to procrastinate when it came to writing especially when it was something like this where they wanted him to change the ending of his book.

"You said that you needed another day to finish the pages and we're shooting this thing. It's tonight," Audra told him, her eyes still on Bill as she spoke in an accusing tone. "It's been seventeen hours," Bill muttered, but no one seemed to be listening to him.

"Everybody calm down, okay?" Peter said, his eyes flickering between the two as if he were afraid they would begin to fight. Despite their business agreement, Audra and Bill had been known to argue on more than one occasion and it was obvious Peter did not want to see another one of those. "I'm calm," Bill told him, unsure as to where Peter could see any hostility in what he was saying.

"I want you to be happy with the movie, you understand? I'm on your side," Peter insisted. "That's. . .that's great. Cause in my book the ending-" Bill began. "Is terrible," Peter finished with no regret or hesitation. Bill blinked in surprise and looked to the director with furrowed eyebrows. "With all due respect, people love your book. Love! But they hated the ending."

"You said you liked the ending," Bill said, looking a little defeated as he studied the man in front of him. Did people really hate his endings? "That was a lie," Peter told him bluntly while Audra glanced to Bill in a way that seemed to hold just a tad bit of sympathy. "We got to do better, okay?" Bill was hesitant before looking down at the ground and nodding his head. "Yeah," he breathed out, although he wasn't sure what to think.

"Audra, you have my notes. Could you-?" Peter questioned as he gestured towards Bill causing the man to look up and over at Audra in surprise while she nodded in response. "Thank you very much. Could you take me back to-"

Before Bill could even hear the rest of his sentence, Peter was gone and back into the film leaving Bill and Audra standing there. "You have his notes?" Bill finally questioned, turning to look at his ex wife in disbelief. “He's not wrong," Audra sighed. "You hate my endings too?" Bill asked surprised, having never heard in their eight years of marriage that she hated his endings. In fact, she had praised him on multiple occasions. Had a year of them not being married changed her perspective that much?

"Not all your endings. This just-" Audra admitted while Bill's eyes widened and he turned to walk away. Audra was quick to follow after him, knowing that he had to get the pages done in order for this movie to be finished. "What? Do you want me to keep lying to you just because we used to-" "Be married?" Bill questioned as he looked back at the women. "No, no. You just. . .you been blowing smoke up my ass for eight years? I guess I thought you were someone else."

"I have not been blowing smoke up your ass," Audra said, a look of anger crossing her face as she stopped beside Bill who was at the catering table.

"Everybody wants a happy ending. Everybody wants closure, but it's not the way life works out," Bill insisted, hesitating slightly as he felt his heart ache. For a moment he thought he felt something poking his brain, a memory begging to be let out. But it was gone just as fast as the image from earlier and he was already forgetting about it.

"I think what Peter wants and what the studio wants-" Audra began only for Bill to snap his head in her direction. "The studio?" he questioned, even more surprised than before now that he knew that everyone seemed to be talking about his book and how much the ending sucked. "When did you become the company? You're an artist. Come on. What's wrong with doing it the way it's written? The way I want it? What's wrong with being the woman I want you to be?"

Audra's eyes widened a little in anger and she gritted her teeth before saying, "Fuck you, Bill!"

"On the page," Bill sighed, not having meant it the way Audra was taking it, but it seemed the woman didn't care. "The part I mean. Not you. I don't even care about you in that way." Audra's eyes widened even more in anger and Bill swore she was about to slap him. "Shit, that came out wrong."

Bill's cell ringing was what finally saved him from himself and he went to fish his phone out of his pocket while Audra sent a glare at him before walking away. He didn't even bother yelling after her for he knew there was no point. She wouldn't want to listen and they would just end up arguing more than they just had.

Turning back to the food table so that Bill wouldn't have to acknowledge the eyes that were staring at him from all around the movie set, the man glanced at his phone to see that it was a call coming from Derry, Maine. Bill got that same feeling once again, like there was something he was missing, but he pushed it aside and instead exited out of one of the back doors so that he woundn't disrupt filming.

"Hello?" Bill questioned as he put the phone to his ear, confused as to who could be calling him that lived in Derry, Maine. "Bill Denbrough?" a deep voice said, a voice that Bill did not recognize at all. "It's Mike." Bill furrowed his eyebrows, still not knowing who this person was. "Mike who?" Bill asked.

"Mike Hanlon."

It took Bill a moment to even register what the man had said and it was in that moment that he stopped in his tracks. The nervousness he had felt earlier about talking to Peter and Audra was nothing compared to the feeling he was suddenly getting.

It was like his whole body had gone cold, so cold in fact that he was numb to all other sensations. All he could hear was a ringing in his ears before it was quickly overpowered by his heartbeat that had begun to race so fast despite Bill not knowing why. His breathing picked up its pace ever so slightly and Bill didn't even register his hand which had started to shake as it held onto his phone.

Fear, that was what he felt. But for what? He was unsure.

"From Derry."

And it was then that Bill was brought back to reality, wincing slightly as he suddenly got a flashback of a young dark skinned boy smiling at him. He had to have been thirteen years old and the image of the boy plus the name Mike Hanlon and the connection of Derry were enough for Bill to remember who it was he was talking to.

How had he been able to forget about Mike? They had been best friends up until the day Bill had moved away and for a moment Bill remembered having promised to keep in touch with Mike only to realize he never had. Now why was that?

A few more memories flashed through Bill's head and it felt as if he couldn't breath as he remembered his thirteen year old self sitting in a circle with the people who had all been his best friends—Stanley Uris, Mike Hanlon, Ben Hanscom, Beverly Marsh, Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak, and Y/N Uris.

Bill felt like he had just gotten a punch to the gut at that last name, his eyes widening as he suddenly saw an image of Y/N Uris standing before him in a field. Her h/c hair blowing gently in the wind, her e/c eyes glistening under the rays of the sun while she sent him one of those effortless smiles of hers that used to make him feel as if he were going to have a heart attack.

You make me happy, Bill Denbrough.

Y/N Uris.

Now how the hell could he forget about her?

Before Bill could think of her much longer, his hand suddenly began to flare up in pain. The man winced and was quick to look down at his hand and at a scar that ran along his palm, a scar that he didn't remember having until that very moment. And all he could do was stare at the scar while Mike's voice rang in his ear.

"You need to come home."

- - -

"Eddie, I keep telling you not to scare me like this and you never listen to me," Myra Kaspbrak complained over the speaker of the car while a shaky hand reached for the glove compartment to pull out a container of pills.

"Alright, Myra!" Eddie Kaspbrak exclaimed, knowing that there was no other way to gain the attention of his wife unless his voice was louder than hers. He held the bottle of pills up to his lips and was quick to dump his doctor prescribed amount into his mouth. "Please not now."

"You shouldn't be out there," Myra insisted while Eddie huffed in annoyance low enough that she couldn't hear. "Eddie, it's not safe to drive when the roads are slick like this."

"Sweetheart, it stopped raining like three hours ago, alright? Everything's going to be fine," Eddie assured her before the honking of a cab gained his attention. The man was quick to look out the window and yell, "Hey, dickhead! Slow traffic mean anything to you?"

"What if you hydroplane?" Myra continued, ignoring Eddie's yells. "I'm not going to hydroplane," Eddie insisted, already feeling himself becoming more and more tense behind the wheel. He was trying to keep himself calm, but that was hard. How had he ever been able to calm his younger self down when there are people like Myra always yelling at him?

Taking in a deep breath, Eddie managed to keep his voice steady long enough to reply, "It is my job to assess risks so please trust me when I tell you that statistically speaking I am much more likely to get into an accident because I am talking to you on the phone! Alright? I have to go. I will talk to you soon. Goodbye."

Eddie didn't even give Myra time to respond before he was ending the call and he let out a small sigh of relief once it was over. However, he had barely even gotten the sigh out before his phone was ringing again.

Eddie was quick to press the answer button and, thinking it was a client, he said, "Edward Kaspbrak speaking." "You didn't say 'okay, bye, I love you' like you usually do," Myra's voice came through the speaker once again.

Eddie had to resist the urge to scream as he said, "Listen to me! I can't! I'm going to be late to this-" His phone began to ring again and he glanced down at the screen before falling quiet, his eyes locking onto the caller ID which read Derry, Maine. "-meeting."

Eddie felt as if someone had dunked a bucket of ice cold water on him, the cold seeping all the way down to his bones and making his whole body ache. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end and for the first time in a while he had the sudden urge to use his inhaler.

He was afraid, but what of?

But then he saw a flash of an image, a boy with thick rimmed glasses grinning at him as he nudged his side with his elbow. And then he was hearing a voice that didn't belong to the boy with glasses whisper into his ear, soft and so familiar despite the fact that he couldn't pinpoint why he remembered it.

Eds.

He had never been called Eds before to his knowledge, having always hated it since he was a child. So why did he suddenly hear a young girl's voice whispering it into his ear? And why was that enough to calm him down and make his fear disappear?

"Say 'I love you,' Eddie," Myra insisted, but Eddie was barely listening to her, his gaze still focused on the caller ID. "Okay. I love you, Mommy," Eddie muttered as if in a trance. "What?" Myra's voice said and that was enough to have Eddie snap out of it.

"Myra," he corrected before going to end the call. "Bye." Eddie didn't even hesitate to answer the call from Derry, but when it got to speaking, he found himself hesitating longer than he should've for an unknown reason.

"Hello?" Eddie finally said, his eyes staring warily at the screen as if that would answer all of his unknown questions. "Who is this?"

"It's me. Mike," a voice replied and Eddie gulped, his eyes still on the screen. "Mike who?" Eddie questioned nervously. He was too focused on the screen to notice that he ran a red light until honking was heard and a yellow cab hit the car from the side. Eddie's car came to a screeching stop as all air bags went off.

"Eddie, you okay?" Mike asked in a panic after hearing the crash from the other side of the line.

From under the air bag, Eddie's voice croaked out. "Yeah, I'm pretty good," Eddie replied although he had a feeling he was going to be anything but okay after this phone call.

- - -

Richie Tozier gripped onto the metal stair railing the best that he could as he puked over the side and onto the ground below. His whole body was shaking as he stood there feeling colder than he had ever felt before yet sweating to the point where his glasses began to slide down his nose.

He was sick once more over the side of the railing before he managed to glance at his phone which he had been on only moments before to answer a call from Derry, Maine. He hadn't known what to expect when answering it and had honestly thought either a fan had found his number or someone was calling to try and book him.

However nothing could prepare him for Mike Hanlon to be on the other end, a name he hadn't heard of in years and a boy he hadn't heard from in just as long. He hadn't even remembered the boy until Mike had said his full name, the name jogging something in Richie's mind as he remembered the homeschooler he used to be friends with.

It was then that Richie remembered the rest of his best friends who had all dawned the group name of the Losers Club and Richie realized he hadn't thought of them in what seemed like forever. In fact, he couldn't even remember half of the things they did together, but as the minutes ticked by he slowly began to remember his best friends who he had joked and messed around with until he was pretty sure the memories had gotten too much for him that he had been sick.

It had to be the memories, right? What else could it be?

"What the fuck?" a voice exclaimed behind him causing the man to stand up and look to see his manager standing at the door that led back into the club. "You were fine like five seconds ago. Who was it? Who called?"

Richie couldn't bring himself to say anything, his whole body still shaking violently as he gripped onto the metal railing. Why did he suddenly have a feeling like something was wrong? Was it because Mike told him he needed to come home? Was it because he felt guilty for having forgotten about the very friends he used to swear he would never forget about?

"Rich?" his manager said and for a moment Richie swore he heard the nickname said in what he distantly remembered as Eddie Kaspbrak's voice. "Rich?" there it was again, but this time it sounded like a girl. It took merely a second for Richie to identify it as Y/N Uris and he swore he grew paler, but why?

"Talk to me," his manager said and it was then that Richie began to snap out of it and stood up taller as he knew that neither Eddie or Y/N were here or even still thirteen years old. "You're on in two minutes," his manger announced as he handed Richie a rag which he quickly used to wipe his mouth. "You good? Cause you look not good."

In all honesty, Richie wasn't sure if he was good or not. He had forgotten about his best friends. Mike Hanlon had called telling him he needed to come home without any explanation why. His hand hurt like a bitch because of some scar he didn't remember having. And he had a sickening feeling in his gut which he could only describe as fear. But fear of what exactly?

"I'm fine," Richie insisted, quickly leaving the alleyway and walking back into the club. He couldn't think about Derry or the Losers any more especially not when he was supposed to be doing a show. Mike would just have to wait.

"You're fine? Good. Okay. And we're walking and we're walking," his manager muttered as he quickly stepped into line by Richie's side. "Sixty seconds," a stage manager announced to the pair. "Even faster," his manager said as he ushered Richie to pick up his pace, but Richie was struggling to even stand up right at this point. "Could you get him a bottle of water maybe?"

"Bourbon," Richie corrected, knowing he would need something a lot stronger to get through the show. "Bourbon?" his manager questioned before realizing Richie was serious and nodding to the stage manager to go. "Sure. Sure." "And a mint," Richie muttered as he grimaced at the taste in his mouth.

"Showtime," his manager said as they got closer to the stage, but Richie shook his head in distress. "I don't think I can do this," Richie admitted, feeling sicker by the second. His manager began to grumble behind him, but Richie was barely paying attention as someone was suddenly handing him a glass of bourbon and a container of mints. "That was fast."

Richie downed the drink almost instantly before popping multiple mints in his mouth. Knowing he had a crowd waiting for him, Richie took in a deep breath before walking over to the door that lead to the stage but that actually happened to be the emergency exit.

"This way," his manager corrected him, directing the man down a different hallway and through a different door. "Attaboy. Okay." "Alright, how do I look?" Richie questioned, his hands violently shaking the glass and a container of mints in his hands while he forced a smile onto his face.

His manager grimaced slightly and stared at Richie for a moment before sighing, "Yeah, your hands are shaking, Rich." Richie blinked in surprise before looking down at his hands to find that they were in fact shaking. "Shit," he muttered before quickly shoving the two items into his manager's hands. It was too late to do anything else, so the man began to walk towards the stage, slowly breathing in and out to try and calm his nerves.

"Ladies and gentlemen. Please welcome Richie Tozier!"

Richie was quick to put on a fake smile and raise his hand as he walked out on stage. The crowd began to clap and cheer, a sound that usually made Richie feel at home but tonight made him feel more alone and uncomfortable than ever.

Cursing himself slightly, Richie walked over to the microphone in the middle of the stage and took in a deep breath before smiling at the audience and beginning his routine, ignoring the slight shake of his hands that he was desperately trying to control.

"Alright, how we doin' today?" Richie questioned earning a roar of cheering from the audience. It was obvious that they couldn't tell he was nervous and that put Richie a little bit at ease.

"So my girlfriend caught me uh masterbating to her friend's Facebook page and uh. . .so now I'm in masterbaters anonymous," Richie said, reciting the lines he had read off of a script for the first time the night before. The crowd seemed to like it and laughed and that laughter only made Richie feel more at ease.

"And I stand up at the first meeting and I say 'my name is Richie Trashmouth-'" Richie stopped abruptly, his whole demeanor changing as he accidentally said the nickname that he been bestowed upon him when he was younger. He hadn't even remembered the nickname up until it slipped from his mouth. Where had that come from?

Oh okay, trash the trash-mouth, I get it, he distantly heard his thirteen year old voice say in his head although he couldn't remember why he was saying that or to whom.

In a blink of an eye the memory was gone and Richie could do nothing but stand there on stage with a blank expression, the joke completely gone from his head. In fact, he couldn't even seem to remember the rest of the script he had spent hours practicing.

"Trashmouth uh. . .I forgot the joke," Richie admitted while a whistle was heard from the crowd. Before long people had started to whisper, some even booed before a woman yelled out, "You suck!" Richie faked a smile at that before looking down at his feet. He was suddenly overcome with another wave of nausea and Richie couldn't help but think back to the phone call with Mike.

What the fuck had that phone call done to him?

- - -

"Thank you, ladies and gentlemen, for letting us present to you today," an employee of Hanscom & Associates said, his eyes flickering over the table before him before he gestured towards the building model on the table in front of them. "Now this will include over a million square feet of commercial and residential space-"

"What I'm really looking for is to understand how we create even more retail opportunities," another man at the table explained, his gaze steady and calculating. "If we put in walls here and all along here-“

"Lose them," a new voice said causing everyone in the room to look to the television screen which held a video conference call with the owner of the company himself. "With all due respect, Mr. Hanscom," the original man began, but Ben Hanscom was quick to correct him.

"Ben," he insisted as he leaned back a little in the office chair he had at home. "And with all due respect, I'm getting claustrophobic just looking at this model, aren't you? Look throw up more walls, it's gonna feel like a prison. You know what people want to do in prison? Get out, right? This should be a place that brings people together. A meeting ground."

Ben's eyes flickered down to his wallet and he gently reached for it before opening it up, his fingers brushing against an old folded piece of paper that was slightly sticking out with cursive handwriting just beginning to peak out behind the leather.

Ben rested his fingers against the paper and looked up thoughtfully as an image of a wooden room filled his thoughts, laughter of children echoing in his head as he distantly remembered a group of kids that had changed his life forever.

"Clubhouse," he whispered, his eyes glazing over as he got lost in thought. "And if, while people are there then-"

A small buzz pulled the man out of his thoughts and he trailed off as he looked to his right and at his phone sitting beside him. He froze at the sight of a number calling from Maine.

It was like time stood still and he was sure his face paled. For some reason he felt a sense of dread wash over him, like something was nagging at the back of his head telling him to either ignore the call completely and never think of it again or drop everything just to answer it.

He didn't know why, but it felt like his throat was beginning to close up, his heart thumping a little faster while a prickling feeling started from his toes before moving up the rest of his body. For the first time in Ben didn't know how long, he felt scared. But why? It was only a phone call? What was there to fear?

"Excuse me for one second," Ben said as he looked back at his computer before quickly pausing the video conference. "Hello?" Ben said as he stood up, his voice shaky although he wasn't sure why.

"Ben? It's Mike Hanlon from Derry."

- - -

Beverly Marsh awoke with a jolt, the feeling of something wet against her cheek being enough to wake her almost instantly. However, when she went to rub her cheek, there was nothing there. Frowning, Beverly stared up at the ceiling with a blank expression on her face but was quickly startled once again when her phone began to buzz beside her.

The red head snapped her head in the phone's direction, her eyebrows furrowing at the sight of someone from Maine calling her, and was quick to pick up her phone and rush to the kitchen as to not wake up her husband.

It wasn't long before she was sitting at her kitchen table, the voice of one of her childhood best friends Mike Hanlon ringing in her ears. "You made a promise, Beverly," Mike said almost sadly, but Beverly could barely register it. She was still getting an overwhelming amount of sudden memories flashing through her head, memories she had thought she had forgotten.

She tried to grasp onto the memories, but each time she did they would disappear back to the depths of her mind just out of reach. It was like she was remembering, but not at the same time. She felt as if there were things she was forgetting, fragments of her past missing from her mind. Although she barely remembered anything from her past up until Mike had called, so why was she worried about it?

"I-I'm so sorry, Mike," Beverly sighed, shaking slightly as she hugged her body with her free arm. She wasn't sure why she was so cold all of a sudden or why she felt like her heart was in her throat. Why was she so afraid? She was only talking to Mike. "I don't even really remember."

"Haven't you ever wondered why you can't seem to remember the things most people should? About where they're from? About who you are?" Mike questioned and Beverly swallowed thickly for she knew exactly what Mike was talking about. People had asked her before about her past, but she had never been able to answer them. It was like part of her life was missing from her mind and she had no idea why.

"Why you have that scar on your hand?" Mike questioned once Beverly didn't respond and that was enough to have the red head freeze. She shakily held her hand out, her eyes locking on the scar that ran across the palm of her hand. She had barely even stared at it for a second before she suddenly felt a searing pain grow where the scar was.

"No one else remembered either. Eddie, Bill, Richie, Ben," Mike listed off all while Beverly stared at her hand. But at the mention of the last name, she couldn't help but freeze.

"Ben," she whispered almost in a daze for she hadn't heard that name in a long time. At least not when referring to the boy she used to be best friends with. For a moment she remembered a field and walking along a small path with Ben by her side, the shy boy hesitantly brushing his fingers against her own before Beverly had smiled and taken his hand in hers.

"You have to come back," Mike said, his words finally snapping out of her thoughts long enough for her to look away from her scarred hand and outside at the pouring rain. "You all do."

Beverly got that sinking feeling in her stomach once again, her whole body chilled down to the bone. "When?" she breathed out, her voice barely above a whisper.

It wasn't long before Beverly was off the phone and packing her bags. Her nerves were haywire causing her to frantically rush around while her thoughts jumbled around in her brain. She couldn't even think straight, so it didn't even register to her just how loud she was being until she had grabbed her packed bag and was going to leave her closet only to find her husband standing there.

Beverly jumped back out of pure fright, her eyes wide before she registered that it was her husband standing before her and not—

The red head's thoughts stopped instantly in their tracks. Whatever she had thought was waiting for her was gone and for a moment she wondered what she had been expecting and why she couldn't remember.

"Woah, you okay?" her husband questioned causing the red head to snap back to reality as she looked to him. "What's going on? It's uh. . .the middle of the night and you're packing?"

Beverly was quick to lean up and peck her husband's lips once as she began to walk past him. "I didn't want to wake you," Beverly admitted. "Honey, I know this week's been really exhausting. I just got a phone call from an old friend from Derry. I have to go back there. It's really hard to explain why."

"It's okay," he assured her as he walked over to where she was currently sitting on their bed tying her shoes. He sat down next to her, his face completely blank of emotion, but his voice soft. "You don't have to explain yourself to me. Relax." He reached out and gently took Beverly's hand in his own. "I trust you."

"Thank you," Beverly sighed as she leaned forward and kissed the man once more. She went to get up and grab her bag, but she barely got a step away before her husband was gripping onto her wrist tightly, his fingers digging into her arm hard enough to make the woman wince.

Beverly froze, a sickening feeling growing in her stomach once again but this time the fear was directed at her husband. She slowly turned to look at the man who was staring at the ground shaking his head.

"I just don't understand why you'd lie to me," he said before he looked up at Beverly with an accusing glare. Beverly began to shake her head, but the man ignored it and stood up, pulling her dangerously closer to him. "I heard you. You said the name Mike."

"Yes, my friend," Beverly insisted. "There was a group of us back then and-and we all made a promise to each other when we were kids-"

"You know trust is everything in a relationship," her husband persisted, his grip tightening before he released her in order to reach out and brush his hand against her cheek. Beverly couldn't help but move away ever so slightly from his touch. "You know it means everything to me, right?"

"I know," Beverly told him. "But this isn't-" "What?" her husband asked, letting his hand drop to his side as his gaze grew colder by the second. "Like the last time?" "I never cheated on you," Beverly tried to say as she leaned forward to comfort the man, but he was quick to grab her hair from behind, pulling her back and making Beverly gasp in pain.

"You're a bad fucking liar, Bev," he said behind gritted teeth, tightening his grip on her hair and pulling her down even more that she was bent at an odd angle. "You're not going anywhere, okay? I want you to stay right here and you're going to show me what it is you're going to do with Mike, okay?" He slammed the red head against the wall and Beverly bit her lip to hold back a scream of pain that was begging to escape.

"You're. . .you're hurting me, honey," Beverly muttered but he didn't seem to care. "No one else is going to love you like me, you know that right?" he asked aggressively, not noticing that Beverly had shakily brought her hand up to his cheek until she scratched him across the face. His hold on her instantly dropped and he yelled out in pain while Beverly stood up. Her eyes widened and she was quick to go up behind him, whimpering slightly as she whispered, "I'm. . .I'm sorry."

She didn't even have time to think before her husband was suddenly turning on her and hitting her with his belt as hard as he could. Beverly grabbed onto his arm and he gave her a deathly glare. "Don't make this fucking harder!" he growled and Beverly had to take in a shaky breath to try and calm her nerves. "Don't," she whispered, but it was too late. Her husband threw a punch that knocked her back so hard she fell onto the bed. When she turned around, he had begun to take his shirt off and Beverly felt as if she were going to be sick. Just when he was pulling the shirt over his head, Beverly thrust both of her legs out so that she kicked him back.

He stumbled back with a groan and Beverly tumbled off the side of the bed as she desperately tried to grab something. She could hear him running at her, so the red head grabbed onto a picture frame and threw it at her husband only for him to knock it aside like it were nothing. Just when he was about to grab her, Beverly got onto her feet with a glass vase in hand and smashed it against his head.

Her husband fell to the ground almost instantly and Beverly was quick to grab her things and rush out of the room. "You're nothing without me! You know that, right?" her husband yelled after her as Beverly ran down the rest of the stairs and out the door. She didn't even flinch under the touch of the rain and continued her way down the steps, placing her wedding band on top of the stair railing before walking away as fast as she could.

Beverly didn't know where she was going, the shock of what had just happened carrying her down the middle of the street. She couldn't even process the honking of the cars as she walked, her only thoughts on how she needed to get to Derry.

As she walked down the street, the rushing of water was enough to make her snap out of her senses. Beverly glanced to the side, her eyes instantly locking on the sewer drain beside her. For but a moment, Beverly felt as if there was something trying to break through the back of her memories, a voice screaming at the top of their lungs. She had never felt so uneasy than she did in that moment and Beverly was quick to walk away as fast as she could. She had to get to Derry was what she reminded herself.

Yet she couldn't help but look back at the sewer once more wondering why she felt more afraid of a sewer than she was of her now ex husband.

- - -

Birds and a weird fascination for the animals had always been a part of Stanley Uris' life for as long as he could remember. Something about them just intrigued the man and even to this day he would spend his mornings bird watching in his backyard, his cousin by his side more often than not.

Birds had become a constant theme in his life and the puzzle on the table in front of him was no exception. He stared blankly at an empty place before letting his eyes roam over the small pile of pieces he still had left. His gaze was calculating as he tried to solve the puzzle in his head, but it quickly disappeared as he looked up at the sixteen year old sitting by his side.

Greyson Uris had his gaze locked on his mother who sat beside Stan's wide Patty, the two women whispering between each other as they pointed at something on a computer screen. Stan watched Greyson for a moment, letting his eyes flicker over the messy mop of brown hair he had and the features of his face that looked so much like his cousin. He was without a doubt his cousin's son especially when it came down to his huge heart.

It was obvious by the way Greyson was watching his mother that he was worried and Stan gently nudged the young boy so that he turned to look at him. Stan gave him a soft smile before whispering, "Penny for your thoughts?"

That was enough to crack a small smile on the teen's face, but it flickered as he glanced back at his mother. "I just worry about her is all. She's been working extra shifts at the office the last couple of weeks and I know it's because she's trying to hide the fact she's a little tight on money right now. She keeps trying to act like everything's fine just for my sake, but I can tell she's tired," Greyson admitted, shifting his gaze back to Stan. "I know it's hard being a single mother, but she doesn't have to hide it from me. I just want to help."

Stan stared at the boy for a moment, a small sympathetic smile on his face as a flicker of sadness flashed through his eyes. He knew what Greyson was talking about. His cousin had been struggling to raise enough money to both keep the two up on their feet while also still giving Greyson the childhood she thought he deserved. She was tired and life was becoming heavier on her shoulders every day.

Stan blamed Greyson's father, the man having walked out on his best friend the moment he heard she was pregnant. He left her without a moment of hesitation and didn't bother helping pay child support or make an effort to be a part of Greyson's life.

He had tried once a couple of years back, but the bond between mother and son was unlike any other and Greyson who had been fourteen at the time hadn't hesitated to show the man to the door and tell him never to come back. His cousin had come to Stan crying that night over how sweet her little boy was and how much she loved him and Stan had only grown more respect for the boy ever since.

Greyson's father hadn't been in the picture since and Greyson didn't seem all too upset about it. For as long as he had his mother, he was okay. That's why he was always so worried about her because she was not only his mother but his best friend and had raised him on her own with a little help here and there from Stan and Patty. It had always just been Greyson and and his mother, so it was no surprise for Stan to hear about the boy's concerns.

"Well," Stan began once he noticed Greyson's gaze was back on his mother, "I think your mother just doesn't want to worry you is all. All she wants is for you to have a worry free childhood especially after what happened with her own parents. She doesn't want you to have to go through any of that pain like she did."

Greyson was silent for a moment before he looked to Stan almost hesitantly. "It doesn't mean she can't ask for help," he spoke softly. "All of this is just stressing her out and I don't even remember the last time I saw her genuinely happy."

Stan went silent at that and thought back to the girl he remembered growing up with compared to the woman he knew now. There was definitely a difference in her happiness, but when it came to Greyson she had never loved or cared for someone more. Greyson was what kept her from falling apart and the boy didn't seem to realize how much just being himself helped his mother through the hard times.

"I know it's hard, kid," Stan sighed as he put a hand on the boy's shoulder. "But the best you can do right now is stick by her side and hopefully she will come around. She needs you just as much as you need her." Greyson was quiet for a moment before numbly nodding his head and looking back to the puzzle. Stan took that as an end to the conversation and turned his attention back to the puzzle as well, a comfortable silence falling among the two.

It was minutes later before Greyson spoke up again, his happy demeanor back once again and the conversation from before way behind them. "Here it is," Greyson exclaimed triumphantly as he handed a puzzle piece to Stan who had been staring at a missing piece on the board in concentration.

Stan glanced at the boy before gently taking the puzzle piece and placing it in the spot. It fit perfectly and Stan looked back to Greyson before giving him a small smile, the action making Greyson smile wide in response. “This is why I keep you around," Stan joked as he reached out to ruffle the sixteen year old's hair. Greyson let out a small chuckle and smiled at the man before him, not noticing his mother's gaze from behind.

"Greyson," Y/N Uris softly called out from where she sat beside Stan's wife Patty who was currently scrolling through plane tickets on her computer. The sound of his mother's voice was enough to have Greyson turning to look at the woman and she smiled softly before saying, "Time to go, kid." Greyson instantly frowned. "Come on, Mom. Uncle Stan and I are almost done with the puzzle!" Greyson complained while Stan threw a small smirk in his cousin's direction.

Stan wasn't technically Greyson's uncle, but since Stan was pretty much like a brother to Y/N, Greyson had been calling him his uncle since he could talk. Every time he referred to Stan as Uncle Stan, the Uris cousins couldn't help but smile, and this was found true yet again as the corners of their mouths perked up slightly at Greyson's words.

"I know, Grey, and I'm sorry. However, it's already almost midnight and we've already been here an hour later than we should've," Y/N said, watching as Greyson winced slightly before giving her a shy grin. "I was hoping you wouldn't notice," Greyson admitted making Y/N chuckle as she looked at her son in adoration. The teen was quick to turn around to face his mother completely, a pleading look on his face as he looked at her. "Please, Mom. Just until we finish the puzzle? Come on."

Stan glanced at his nephew before turning around as well and giving his cousin the same pleading face her son was. The two boys then leaned in together and looked over at Y/N who narrowed her eyes at the two.

"You know I hate when you two do that," Y/N muttered as she fought back the urge to yawn. “That's why they do it," Patty chuckled while Y/N let out a small sigh. "Fine," Y/N gave in causing the two boys to smile and high five each other. "But let's pack the car up first. Then you can come back in here and finish the puzzle before we leave."

"Deal," Greyson agreed before he shot up off of the couch to go grab his things. "Don't finish it without me, Uncle Stan!" "Wouldn't dream of it, kid!" Stan called after him while Y/N watched her son race into the front hall to grab his things. Stan glanced over at his cousin and smiled as she walked over to him. "Some kid you got there, Y/N."

"I got lucky, didn't I?" Y/N whispered with a small yet proud smile on her face that Stan couldn't help but return. "We all did," Stan agreed causing Y/N to look at him. The two cousins smiled at each other and Y/N reached out to ruffle her cousin's hair. Stan was tried to lean away with a playful glare on his face and Y/N merely smiled before heading towards the front door.

"We'll be right back. Try not to miss us too much," Y/N joked as she winked back at Stan. The curly haired boy let out a soft chuckle and put a hand to his chest dramatically. "I shall try my hardest," he joked back and the two cousins chuckled before Y/N disappeared out the front door with Greyson at her side.

Stan shook his head at his cousin's antics before noticing his wife staring at him with a small smile on her face. "What?" Stan questioned, quirking an eyebrow at her amusingly. "Nothing. I just wish I had a bond like you and Y/N had is all. You two aren't even siblings and are closer than I was with any of my brothers," Patty spoke up.

"I've been lucky," Stan sighed. "Y/N may not be my actually sister, but she might as well be. After all, it's always been the two of us. For as long as I can remember, I've always had her." A distant look appeared in Stan's eyes before he smiled and shrugged his shoulders. "I guess we're so close because of how much time we've spent together and what we've been through especially with that son of a bitch she used to call her husband," Stan muttered. He was quick to shake the thought of him off and thought back to Y/N.

For a moment he thought he remembered a glimpse of them riding through town on his bike, her arms up in the air as she laughed and yelled for him to pedal faster all while Stan laughed and tried to pedal as fast as he could. However, the memory was quickly gone and for a moment he felt his hand hurt, but he ignored it. “She's my best friend," he admitted before looking over at Patty who was holding a hand against her chest as if her heart were about to burst from how adorable they were. Stan rolled his eyes playfully at his wife before looking back to his puzzle.

Knowing that was the end of the conversation for now, Patty went back to looking at her computer screen while Stan tried to mentally put the pieces where he thought they should go so that he could help Greyson once he returned.

"Should I just book it?" Patty finally asked, referring to the vacation the couple was wanting to go on. "You sure you can get away from work?" "It's summer. Why not?" Stan asked. "I'm sure Y/N wouldn't mind watering the plants and getting the mail for us. We could even have Greyson do it and maybe even pay him. He's been saving up for that new computer for his writing pieces you know." "Okay. We are Buenos Aires bound," Patty announced excitedly while Stan finally noticed that one of the puzzle pieces was missing. He was quick to look under the table and he sighed at the sight of the piece right underneath.

Stan was quick to get down on the floor to grab it and just when he had latched onto the puzzle piece, his phone began to ring. Stan stayed on the floor and glanced up at his phone through the glass table to see who was calling. However, as soon as his eyes latched onto the caller ID he couldn't help but furrow his eyebrows in confusion.

Maine? Now who could possibly be calling from Maine?

Stan sat up and set the puzzle piece down before picking up his phone and placing it to his ear. "Stanley Uris speaking?" he said. "It's Mike," the person on the other line replied almost instantly and Stan furrowed his eyebrows even more. Mike? "I'm sorry?" Stan said, hoping the man would elaborate more. "Mike Hanlon," the voice said and Stan swore his heart stopped beating completely. "From Derry."

It took but a second for Stan to make the connection of the caller to the Mike Hanlon he had used to be best friend with when he was younger. He had been a homeschooler and Stan suddenly got a flashback of an intense rock war with Henry Bowers and his gang as him, Y/N, and his other friends had saved Mike from the bullying he was receiving.

However, that one memory seemed to open up the gateway for all of his memories, everything snapping back into place in his mind like a puzzle that hadn't been completed in years. Stan could remember everything down to his life when he had lived in Derry, the summers Y/N would spend down there with him, the laughs he had with Bill and Richie and Eddie, the summer Y/N's parents had got a divorce and sent her to stay with him—Stan froze at that.

The summer of 1989. Now that was a memory he wish he still couldn't remember. Although not all of it he wanted to forget. After all, that was the summer he met Mike Hanlon, Beverly Marsh, and Ben Hanscom. That was the summer he and Y/N created a bond that made their friendship as strong as it was today. The bad memories was what he wanted to forget—the Neibolt House, the lady from the painting, It.

"Mike. God, sorry. Yes. Hi. I don't know why I. . .I didn't um. . ." Stan trailed off and it was then that he remembered something that he really wished he hadn't.

The promise.

Stan's blood ran cold at that memory, his whole body so numb that it was like he wasn't there in the moment even though he knew he was. He breathing was shaky and he felt the sudden urge to throw up. All he could feel was fear and he knew exactly why that was. But this couldn't be real. It hadn't been that long had it? There was no way.

"How long has it been?" Stan finally found himself asking, his hand gripping onto his phone tightly as his voice shook. "A long time," Mike admitted and the fact that he didn't tell Stan an exact number was enough to make Stan's stomach drop. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end and Stan gulped as he pulled himself up onto his feet. He wasn't the same thirteen year old from that summer, but for some reason he felt like the Stanley Uris who had been too afraid to walk into the Neibolt without his cousin holding onto his hand.

Maybe if Y/N had been by his side right then instead of out by her car, Stan would've felt better, but for some reason he felt as if he couldn't tell her. They had never spoken about what happened that summer and if Stan hadn't been able to remember until Mike called them Y/N sure as hell didn't remember. He did not need her worrying about that right now, not when she had a kid to worry about.

"Twenty seven years," Mike finally said after a long silence, confirming Stan's suspicions and causing the boy to stumble slightly as he tried to stand back up. Thankfully Patty was too focused on the Buenos Aires trip she was finalizing to notice Stan and for a split second he wanted to tell her to not bother for he had a feeling they would never get to go on that trip together.

"It's come back, hasn't it?" Stan whispered, his voice shakier now so that he knew Mike had to have heard. "That's why you're calling." "It's starting again, Stan. Bad things are happening," Mike admitted while Stan squeezed his eyes shut in disbelief. It was like with each second that passed, he was becoming more and more consumed by his fear. This couldn't be happening. There was no way.

"Did. . .did you call the others? I mean what if. . .what if they don't come back?" Stan questioned, hoping that Mike would say someone wasn't coming and that he could stay home and forget this whole thing ever happened. All he wanted to do was take Patty, Y/N, and Greyson and keep them away from this whole thing. He wanted to keep them in this house, lock all the doors, and refuse to come out. All he needed was to have those three by his side and he would be okay.

"Everyone except for Y/N. But we made a promise, remember?" Mike reminded him, his words causing Stan to feel even more sick than before once he realized there was no getting out of this. He wouldn't be able to just ignore this and his thoughts flickered over to Greyson and Y/N, how Y/N would no doubt go back to make sure everyone was safe and how devastated Greyson would be if anything were to happen to her. Stan knew if anything were to happen to Y/N it would be because of his own cowardice and that was enough to make Stan feel even worse.

"How soon can you get here?" Mike asked. "Well. . .uh. . .I uh. . .I would need to do a few things. I would-" Stan muttered, his eyes closing once again as sheer panic and fear coursed through his veins. "Tomorrow," Mike decided for him and it took all of Stan not to throw up right there. "We don't have much time. I'll text you everything you need. I'll see you soon, Stan the Man."

Stan didn't even have time to respond before Mike had hung up, but the man didn't move and merely kept the phone up limply in the air with his eyes closed, his face pale as he stared blankly at the wall. He didn't even notice when Y/N and Greyson had returned, the teen hurrying over to the puzzle almost instantly while Y/N look to her cousin with a smile.

However, it disappeared at the sight of him and she was quick to go to his side and place a hand on his arm. "Stanley?" Y/N whispered, her soft voice making the man's eyes snap open almost instantly. "Are you okay?" Stan looked to her at that and Y/N blinked in surprise at the look that dawned her cousin's face. She had never seen him this way, never seen him look so afraid. What kind of phone call could make him that scared? "I'm fine," Stan assured her although his shaky voice was enough to make her narrow her eyes slightly at him as she tried to read him.

Stan just gave the girl a small smile which she knew was forced and gently took her hand off of his arm before holding onto it the same way they would hold hands when they were kids. He gave it the smallest squeeze and for a moment Y/N felt as if she were back in Stan's backyard when they were younger. watching birds fly by in the early morning. "Seriously," he whispered and Y/N gave him a look that said she didn't believe him but that she would drop it for now. Stan knew they would have to talk about it eventually if Y/N had any say in it, but little did she knew that they never would.

"Uncle Stan, care to do the honors?" Greyson asked as he looked up to his uncle with a small smile, holding the last puzzle piece up in the air. Any other night Stan would've told Greyson to be the one to finish the puzzle, but he was eager to take the distraction and get away from his cousin's calculating look. He went and sat beside Greyson and Y/N watched as Stan hesitated as he stared at her son, his eyes flickering over Greyson as if he were never going to see him again and was trying to memorize this moment right here. But before Y/N could send him a questioning look, Stan had snapped out of it and was putting the puzzle piece in its place, bringing the puzzle to an end.

It wasn't long after that that the two families found themselves out on the front porch saying goodbye. They were lucky enough to only live a few neighborhoods down, but for some reason Stan acted as if they wouldn't see each other for a long time and that was enough to give Y/N an unsettling feeling that she quickly pushed aside.

"Uncle Stan," Greyson said as he pulled away from Patty's hug to look to his uncle. "I was thinking maybe we could go to the bookstore later this week. You know how my favorite author is that Bill Denbrough guy, right? He's coming out with a movie soon and released a special edition copy of his book The Attic Room that I was wanting to pick up." Stan blinked in surprise, finally putting together why Greyson's favorite author had a name that had sounded so familiar. How had he not realized it before?

Stan suddenly got a memory of looking out the window to see Y/N and Bill walk up to his house hand in hand on the day they had made the promise, the two exchanging a small kiss that left them both with goofy smiles on their faces before Stan had teased his cousin endlessly about them. His eyes instantly flickered over to Y/N, trying to see if any sort of recognition flickered across her face at the mention of her first love, but there was none. She was too busy discussing some last minute things with Patty and hugging his wife to really pay attention and Stan couldn't help but wonder how Y/N would react upon seeing Bill again.

He found himself hoping that Bill wasn't married. After all, Y/N deserved to live a happy life and the Bill he remembered would have done anything to give it to her. If Bill was still the same Bill he remembered, then he would not only be a perfect match for Y/N, but a perfect father figure to Greyson. The thought was enough to put the smallest of smiles on Stan's face despite everything going on and the thought of Y/N, Bill, and Greyson finally getting to live a happy life after It was defeated was the only reassuring thing for Stan at the moment, the only thing keeping him calm.

Stan turned his eyes back to his nephew and smiled as he pulled the boy in for a hug. "Sounds like a plan, kid," Stan told him, knowing that he had to act as if everything were okay. Greyson was quick to hug his uncle back before pulling away, allowing his uncle to ruffle his hair once before he let his mother go to Stan.

Y/N stopped in front of her cousin, her eyes hesitantly flickering over his face as if she were trying to determine if Stan was actually okay or not. Stan could do nothing more than look at the girl, swallowing thickly as he knew she was going to be in for a world of pain and that he wouldn't be able to help her. He wanted to say he was sorry for being so selfish and to explain himself right then and there, but he knew he couldn't. Y/N would try to stop him and then his reckless actions against It would get her killed. So Stan just let himself take in the girl that stood before him as he struggled to hold back the tears that he knew were begging to break free.

Before Y/N could notice that, Stan was pulling her in for a hug, the action making Y/N chuckle and hug him back instantly. There was so much Stan wanted to say, so much he wanted to tell her, but he knew he couldn't. At least not right now.

"I love you," Stan finally decided on saying, the words being a normal between the two but something that held more meaning in that moment than Y/N would ever know. Y/N hugged her cousin harder at that before pulling away to look at the face of her best friend. "I love you too, Stanley," she whispered. "I'll see you tomorrow, yeah?" She tilted her head her so slightly and gave him a grin that made his heart ache.

"Yeah," he told her, nodding despite the heavy feeling in his heart. Y/N smiled softly at that and reached up to ruffle his hair, not knowing it would be her last time. Stan didn't even try and pull away like usual and just enjoyed his cousin's touch before sending her a small smile which she easily returned.

Y/N then pulled away and began to walk down the stairs. All Stan wanted to do was pull her back and hug her again, but he knew it would only make her more suspicious than she already was. So when she turned back to wave at him and Patty one last time, Stan put on a fake smile and waved to her just like he did every other time she left. He would give her no indication that this would be the last time, no reason to hold her back from going to meet with the Losers. Y/N turned and whispered something to Greyson who smiled before wrapping an arm around his mother as they walked to the car. Stan couldn't help but smile at the sight, knowing that the two would be okay as long as they had each other.

And with that, Stanley Uris watched as his cousin got into her car and drove off, knowing that everything he was about to do was only so her and Greyson would be safe in the end.

- - -

"Bill Denbrough," Y/N muttered, confusion evident in her voice as she stared at the book Greyson was currently reading. Greyson's honey brown eyes instantly flickered to her, a small smile on his face as he brushed his brown hair away from his eyes. "Still the best author of all time," Greyson said as he sat down on his bed beside his mother. "His endings aren't the best, but they aren't bad either. I was hoping we could try and go see his new movie when it comes out?"

"Of course we can, kiddo," Y/N assured the boy as she got up and set the book down on his nightstand next to the printed copies of Greyson's work which were really just alternate endings to this Bill Denbrough guy's books, pushing aside her thoughts of how the name sounded so familiar.

That was the moment her phone decided to ring and Y/N sighed before taking her phone out of her pocket. Her eyebrows furrowed slightly at the sight of a number from Maine calling her and she glanced at her son who had already picked the book back up to read.

"I'm gonna take this. I'll come check on you in a little bit, okay?" Y/N said, knowing her son wouldn't be going to bed anytime soon since they had only just gotten back from Stan's. Greyson hummed in response and Y/N was quick to walk out of his room before pressing the accept button and putting the phone to her ear.

"Hello?" she questioned. "Is this Y/N Uris?" a voice asked and Y/N frowned ever so slightly as she walked down the stairs and towards the kitchen to grab something to drink. "This is she. May I ask who is calling?" Y/N asked. "This is Mike," the man explained and just when Y/N was about to question him further, he went on as if he had said it multiple times before. "Mike Hanlon from Derry."

Y/N stopped in her tracks at that and for a brief moment it was like she was standing in the middle of a blizzard, her whole body so cold that she could barely think straight. Her hands began to shake and she could hear her heart beating in her chest. Yet she had no idea why she was so scared all of a sudden. Why was she filled with so much fear? However, the fear began to dim ever so slightly as a sharp pain went through her head, images flashing by as she heard the distant sound of children laughing, remembering the feeling of splashing into water before playing chicken fight with the people she used to call her best friends.

She remembered them all only momentarily starting with the boy she was talking to right now, Mike Hanlon, the boy who had been homeschooled all of his life and who she had saved from Henry Bowers when she threw a rock at his head. She remembered Ben Hanscom, the boy who loved New Kids on the Block and would spend countless hours in the library researching Derry. She remembered Beverly Marsh, the fiery red head who was also the first girl best friend that she had ever had. Then there was Richie Tozier, the boy who liked to flirt way too much and say more crude jokes then one could count but who had a big heart when it counted most. There was Eddie Kaspbrak, the boy who had been like her brother and who she used to calm down during some of his little episodes. Of course there was her cousin Stanley, but she already remembered him.

And then there was Bill Denbrough. No wonder the name had sounded so familiar. She had known him. He had been her best friend and the boy she had crushed on for forever. Her shaky hands went up to her lips and for a split second she remembered a warm September afternoon and the feeling of a soft pair of lips against her own. However it disappeared just a quick, almost as if it were nothing but a dream.

How could she have forgotten about him? How could she have forgotten about any of them? How could she have forgotten about the Losers?

"Mike," Y/N breathed out in disbelief, a smile dawning her face as her fear was pushed to a back burner. "It's been so long. How are you?" "You need to come home," Mike said and Y/N furrowed her eyebrows but kept her smile on her face. "I'm sorry. What?" she questioned. “You need to come home, Y/N," Mike repeated and Y/N's smile fell from her face as the fear suddenly cane back although she didn't know why.

The girl winced as a sudden pain shot through her hand. Y/N quickly glanced down at her hand and didn't understand why she felt so sick at the sight of the scar that ran across her palm. However, she had a sneaking suspicion it was because she hadn't even known she had a scar on her palm up until that moment. "When?" she found herself asking, but she didn't ask the question that she was dying to know the answer to, afraid of what the answer might be despite not knowing it herself. "Tomorrow," Mike replied and there was a long moment of silence as Y/N tried to process everything. She honestly had no clue what was going on, but she knew she had to get to Derry. She wasn't sure why, but she just had a feeling and she knew her fear and queasy stomach would not relent until she was back in Derry.

"I'll be there," Y/N whispered, her voice shaky as she squeezed her throbbing hand shut. "Great. I'll see you there, Y/N," Mike's voice whispered in her ear and Y/N knew she should've been excited to see her friend after so long, but all she felt was another wave of nausea. She didn't even wait for Mike to hang up and did it herself before staring blankly at her phone.

“Fuck.”

- - -

"I don't understand. One of your childhood friends calls you in the middle of the night saying that you have to get to Derry which is in Maine by the way and you're just packing everything up and going?" Greyson questioned in disbelief, his eyes following his mother around the room as she frantically threw stuff into a suitcase. Y/N paused for a just a moment and gave her son a nervous look. "Yes?" she said in a questioning voice before going back to packing. She didn't know how to explain it to her son, how to tell him that she had made a promise that she didn't necessarily remember and that she had to get back. Hell, she didn't even know how to explain to him that one of her childhood friends happened to be the author Greyson admired so much.

"Mom," Greyson said and that was enough to have the woman looking over at him. The sixteen year old was leaning against the doorframe of her bedroom, his brown eyes staring at her in concern as he tried to read her, as he tried to understand despite just how tired he was. Y/N sighed and walked over to the boy who stood up a bit straighter. She gently took his hands in her own and stared at her son before saying, "Greyson, honey, I need you to try and work with me here. I honestly don't know why I'm going, but I have to, okay? It's a gut feeling. You just. . .you got to trust me on this." Greyson was silent for a moment as he stared at her and Y/N could practically see the gears moving in his head before he finally let up and gave her a tiny nod. "I trust you," he assured her and Y/N smiled before leaning forward to press a small kiss to her son's forehead. "Thank you," she whispered. "Now go finish packing your things. You can sleep in the car. It's a long way to Maine from here, kid."

Greyson nodded and was quick to do as his mother said, disappearing up the stairs to finish packing while Y/N rushed back to her own things. It wasn't long before they were loading their things into the car and Y/N had returned to her frantic state once again, completely forgetting about her cousin who had to have been going through the same thing as her at that very moment.

They were on the road less than thirty minutes after the call, but it wouldn't be until they were two hours into the drive that Y/N would realize she left her phone sitting on top of her bed at the house. It was that same phone that now had three missed calls from Patty Uris.

If Y/N had known what was going to happen once she got to Derry, she would've turned around right then. But she didn't, so Y/N just drove down the road, her nerves being enough to keep her awake while Greyson slept soundlessly in the passenger seat beside her.

Neither Uris knew what would be in store for them when they reached Derry and the horrors Y/N had witness twenty seven years earlier? They were nothing compared to what was ahead.

- - -

Permanent Tag List

@marvelismylifffe @purplelittlepup @amberkay284 @blogforhoes @artlovingbre @the-story-of-the-tucks @thisismythirdblogandihatethat

Series Tag List

@starshininginthedark @luckygirl144 @tinycolorwhispers @deviantly-gayy @jacinta-lexianne @foxykatniss123 @nightbu-g @kielemarie @princessserena23 @curtishoney @pheonix-nin @aphrcditeee @wednes-day-addams @lxdyred @spiderw1tch @rosi3e @taestheticwonnie @witch-of-all-things-soft @cedricisnotonfire @theamandarenee @hawkxyes @mysteryartisticwriter @winterphoenixsposts @motleyfuckingcruee @frozenhuntress67 @tenderlyunlikelyexpert @70sgubler @welcome-to-derry @queenmizusposts @loisers @mychemicalimagines @toziersrxchie @spiderheaven

[disconnected-from-reality]

Fanfic Rec: 00Q Part 3

It’s been more than a year! I have totally been procrastinating in doing this if I’m truly honest. A lot of things happened in my life as well! There are good and bad things, but what matters most is that I still have a number of fics to recommend for you! I haven’t stopped reading, don’t worry. 

Also I think it’s a good time to post my list. The next Bond movie has released its trailer and the 00Q crumbs we got from the trailer got a lot of shippers back on board. If you’re that person, you might want to check these fanfics out! 

To see the other parts, click here for part 1 and for part 2.

Let Love In by dhampir72  [Words: 21,437 | Teens and Up Audiences] They're still learning that love is more of a journey and less of a destination. [A series of interconnected vignettes].

Ulysses by girlbookwrm [Words: 89,065 | Teens and Up Audiences] “Paperwork for the new head of Q-Branch,” Tanner said. “Of course.” The words were like glass in his throat. Smoke inhalation was a bitch. His brain felt slow and foggy, like it was full of smoke too. “Who shall I take them to?” M lifted one white brow. “They’re for you, Quartermaster.” Bond and Q are drawn together by names, work, and a certain Aston Martin. In which Q is kidnapped once, Bond is poisoned twice, and Eve is a badass on at least three occasions. AKA that time I tripped and wrote 80,000 words of 00Q. All titles unapologetically stolen from Alfred, Lord Tennyson.

Espionage is a Family Affair by nagapdragon [Words: 78.403 | Mature] It's common knowledge that angels make good weapons and terrible soldiers. They're hard to kill, hard to catch, and leave a swathe of destruction wherever they go. That's why MI6 likes them. James Bond, Agent 007, is one of the most devastating weapons MI6 will admit to having. Explosions follow his every whim and he's nearly impossible to kill, despite the best efforts of terrorists worldwide. He's second only to the weapons MI6 pretends don't exist- archangels are only a theory, after all. Aren't they?

Bond to You by therunawaypen [Words: 5,749 | Mature] Bond isn't a name. It's a rare breed of people that have designated soulmates, to whom a Bond will be eternally faithful to. Every child dreams of being a Bond's Chosen soulmate. James uses his status as a Bond to seduce many a mark into thinking they're his Chosen, while deep down he resents his identity because he has been unable to find his Chosen. Then he meets Q that fateful day in front of that painting.

How Q Hacked Online Dating by JayPendragon [Words: 23,836 | Explicit] “How does that lead to…?” Eve waves her hand at the mess behind Q’s back. Q feels his expression morph into a sly grin. “I have a new plan. I’m going to stay on these dating platforms, but I’m going to treat them as databases. Rather than waiting for an algorithm to set me up, I'm going to try reverse-engineering this entire system.” In which Q works in the private sector, still winds up friends with Eve, and applies science to his love life. Obviously, Eve gets involved.

Leading Edge by Batsutousai  [Words:  7,251 | Teens and Up Audiences] All fae-born were raised on stories of how cruel dragon-borns were, how they had no care for anyone outside themselves and their greed, that they would sell their own mother's soul to the devil before allowing themselves to be hurt. They were told that all dragon-borns were to be killed on sight, and taught spells that would do just that, if ever given the chance. It would be just Q's luck that one of his agents was dragon-born.

Pen and Paper by Salios [Words:  5,300 | Teens and Up Audiences] Q wrung his hands anxiously, teeth gnawing at his lower lip. It was a bad habit, biting his lip, but he couldn’t help it when he was nervous. And he really did have reason to be nervous. Well, excited to the point of nearly crippling nervousness, actually. Today he’d finally get to meet his boyfriend of three years. For the first time ever.

people can surprise you (or not) by pdameron [Words: 10,538 | Teens and Up Audiences]   “I’m not you, Bond. I don’t exactly have a technique for getting rich strangers to like me.” “Just do your naive cute puppy thing, and they’ll be doting on you in no time,” Bond replies as he pulls up to the grand estate. “My what?” Q asks incredulously. Bond doesn’t answer, simply giving him an indulgent smile. The fucker. (or: 00q meets Gosford Park. Except not really.)

A Common Solution by SailorChibi  [Words:  17,654 | Teens and Up Audiences] Bond has been ignoring his biological needs. Boothroyd is retiring and MI6 is in need of a new Quartermaster. What do these two things have in common? They both have an easy solution... if only M can get Bond to extract a certain hacker  NOTE: This does not have the “James Bond/Q” tag, but I’ll add it in my list anyway.

Taken by Nana_41175 [Words: WIP | Explicit]    Or, the cheating fic that *nearly* is! Q is engaged to be married, but not to Bond. Excerpt: Bond blinked. “Boyfriend? What do you mean, boyfriend?” “I mean exactly that,” said Moneypenny. “Honestly, what’s the matter with you? Q’s been seeing someone for over a year. And if I’m not mistaken, Daniel is going to pop the question on him this evening. Dan asked me for advice on the ring, after all.” NOTE: This is currently a WIP fanfic, but it’s almost done with 2 chapters left to be posted. Would be a bummer if I don’t add it, right? 

His Keeper by Nana_41175 [Words:  45,482 | Explicit] Protecting the Quartermaster entails a special set of circumstances, and Q is the last one to know. Excerpt: “Your identity has been compromised,” M said as he leaned forward in his chair, his features grim even as his tone remained even and calm. “I am standing you down from all your duties in Q branch. Kindly hand in all personal computers and devices. I am placing you on administrative leave, effective immediately. You need to disappear for a while, Q, for your own safety. Think of this as the holiday you never had these past two years. We will get down to the bottom of this and repair the damage done; otherwise I shall have to ask you to step down. ”Q gaped at him, finally speechless. “At any rate, quartermasters are entitled to double-O agents as bodyguards, when the need arises, and he personally volunteered,” M continued as though he’d not just dropped the equivalent of a bomb and a death sentence through slow torture rolled into one, “and I do agree that under the circumstances, 007 would be the best choice as your bodyguard.”

Daddy and Uncle James by 1MissMolly [Words:  26,115 | Teens and Up Audiences] James Bond can remain cool and collected in the most trying of circumstances. He is an expert at hand to hand combat and marksman with numerous weapons. He can seduce any woman or man he chooses. He has the highest success rate at achieving his goals, and he has his sights on the young Quartermaster. The only thing standing in his way is the only thing that will surely defeat him. A six year old girl named Elizabeth Park. Bond's planned seduction of Q is interrupted by the arrival of Q's daughter, Lizzie.

Treason, Traitors, and Treachery by Kryptaria, zooeyscigar [Words:  63,230 | Mature] All James Bond wanted was a quiet holiday on his luxury motoryacht on the Costa del Sol. Time to recuperate and think about his future with MI6. But his plans get hijacked when a traitor to the crown returns, bringing news of an even greater threat to MI6. And the traitor isn't working alone.Thankfully, neither is James.

Playing the Part by ElektricAngel [Words: 23,116 | Teens and Up Audiences] James Bond comes into Q Branch after a mission with all of his equipment accounted for and in tact, and a complete mission report in Q's inbox. Q is pleasantly surprised and more than a little suspicious. Rightly so, as it happens, because Bond makes an unusual request of him. And yet, his license to kill is not the only thing that makes the man difficult to say no to...

Breathe With Me by Flantastic [Words: 7,575 | Explicit] When James Bond goes back to MI6 following his disastrous relationship with Dr Madeleine Swann, Q wants nothing to do with him. Then there's an accident in Q-Branch...

Bittersweet by dr_girlfriend [Words:  14,229 | Explicit] The first time Bond flirted with Q, it was purely out of self-defense. The second time Bond flirted with Q was largely manipulation. The third time Bond flirted with Q, he just wanted to feel something. The fourth time Bond flirted with Q was out of sheer boredom.Somehow, flirting with Q became something of a habit for Bond.And then, it became something else.

A Bond of Matrimony by enigma_kar [Words: 12,691 | Mature] The one where Bond’s next mission involves going undercover with Q. Includes: banter, fake marriage, espionage, car chases, life-or-death situations, and Moneypenny taking far too much delight in the whole affair.

as permanent as stone cathedrals by pdameron [Words: 6,002 | Teens and Up Audiences] Q has been in love for two years, six months, and twelve days when James Bond walks away, leaving him with a bleeding head and a broken heart on a dark and noisy London bridge.

just like old times (please don’t ever change) by Rosslyn  [Words:  5,173 | Teens and Up Audiences] Sometimes when Q is alone in his workshop and there is an experiment that needs to be supervised and he can’t go home and he can’t sleep, he watches Bond’s vitals.

How Much Love Can the Weight of Water Carry? by 00QEros (Dassandre) [Words: 39,549 | Explicit] Though Bond returned to MI6 after his ill advised jaunt around the globe with Madeleine Swann, Q still struggles with his own feelings for the agent in spite of the fact that Bond is clearly not the same man as the one who walked away from their friendship on Westminster Bridge. James regrets having left London and MI6, but it is nothing in comparison to the remorse he feels for abandoning Q. However, James has made repairing their friendship his primary goal in the hope of gaining something he never realised he needed as badly as he does. But Bond really hasn’t had a good time of it lately. Breaking his leg in a freak accident, James camps out at Q’s flat when the white-washed, soulless walls of Medical become too much for him to tolerate. Unfortunately, his leg is only the beginning of Bond’s health problems, and Q is conscripted into being James’ caretaker. Confined to the close quarters of Q’s flat, the Quartermaster finds himself opening back up to the agent, but will the two men find their way to one another as they should have done years ago, or is time no longer on their side?

So I guess that’s it for now! I still have a couple in my belt, but most of them are still WIP so I’d keep them for now. I’ll be adding them once they are finished. 

[dakotacrisis]

Deal’s End (12)

One final wish.

(Read on AO3)

---

Months rolled by as Marinette moved on with her life without Felix. It took some getting used to waking up and not having him around. She had even avoided saying his name as much as she could. Everyone at school figured that he moved away but didn’t give it much thought beyond that. The only other people that seemed to note his absence outside of Marinette were Adrien, Alya, and her parents.

Alya was Marinette’s rock during the beginning when she was most broken up about it. A number of sleepovers that ended in cartons of ice cream and a box of used tissues.

And then there was Adrien. Marinette’s now official boyfriend. She insisted on taking things slow when they started. She was in no proper headspace to be a normal girlfriend and wanted to distance herself from the new relationship for some time before she was back to normal. Adrien didn’t question her and said that he didn’t want to rush her into anything she was uncomfortable with. So a lot of their quote unquote dates were casual lunches and hand holding in the park.

After the first month Marinette was as normal as she thought she was gonna get. Her dates with Adrien branching out to more traditionally romantic and a few kisses exchanged. The first time they kissed there was a small fluttering in her stomach but not much beyond that. It wasn’t the spark that Marinette had heard Alya talk about when she had her first kiss with Nino.

Summer had come and gone and autumn had officially began. The trees burning in colors of orange and yellow and red. It was chill enough to break out the fluffy sweaters and warm drinks but not enough that it was uncomfortable to be out. It was a picture perfect backdrop to a romantic season.

After school one day Adrien invited Marinette over to his house for a study date. There wasn’t a lot to work on but she was happy to spend some time with him outside of school. When it came to go Adrien walked her out to the front door.

“Do you need to get home anytime soon?” Adrien asked after they stepped out of the house.

“No. Why? What’s up?” She asked.

Adrien came up to her, his wide green eyes tenderly watching her. “Marinette, I wanted to talk to you about something that may not be the easiest thing to talk about. But I care about you and if one of us isn’t happy then it should be addressed. Don’t you think so?”

“What are you getting at?”

He held her hands, “Do you love me?”

“What kind of a question is that? Of course I love you. You’re my boyfriend.” She tried to laugh it off.

“I believe that you love me as much as say you love Alya.” He continued, “You love me as a friend. But not more than that.”

“What makes you think that?” Marinette backed up an inch.

“Marinette, I do love you.” Adrien held her hands tighter, “You’re an amazing person and I am so happy spending time with you. But we both know that whatever this is between us isn’t working and it is because we’re trying to force romance into what is meant to be a friendship.”

“Are you breaking up with me?” Her voice broke a touch.

“Are you happy with me?” Adrien asked, “When you look into the future is it me you’re seeing? Cause I don’t think it is.”

“I am happy with you. I love hanging out with you and if I were to look into the future I would hope that you were there with me.”

“I may be there and you may be happy with me but are you happy with me as a romantic partner?”

“Adrien…”

“We both know who it is you really want.” He stared down at their interlaced hands, “I thought that maybe I could be what you wanted. But with how sad you were when he moved away and how distant you’ve been since we started dating I couldn’t keep going on. Not when I knew that whatever this is between us was only hurting you more.”

Marinette started to break down completely. There was no use pretending now. “I never meant to hurt you or use you.” She whispered, “I thought you were what I wanted. What I needed. But in the end I was using you. You were the kind and handsome placeholder for all the emotions and love I wanted to give to someone. Then he showed up and little by little everything changed. I told myself that it was just a phase. A passing fancy. That I was your girlfriend and my feelings for him would drift away as a pleasant memory. I squashed them down and left them to wither and die in my gut. But they just wouldn’t.” Marinette sat down on the steps. “I led you on because being with you was better than being alone.”

Adrien sat down next to her. He held her close and rubbed her back gingerly. “It’s alright, Marinette. I’m not upset if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“How can you not be? I--I--”

“You’re hurting and if being your boyfriend helped you not to hurt then I’m okay. But you are still hurting. All I want is for you to be happy. You’re my friend and I love you and I want to help you however I can. But I think what is best for the both of us is if we stop pretending and go back to what works best for us.”

“You still want to be my friend?”

“Do I still want to be friends with the kindest, smartest, funniest, most talented, and bravest girl I have ever met? I think I’m gonna have to say, duh!” he said. Marinette laughed a bit.

“I love you. I really do.” Marinette leaned her head on his shoulder, “As my friend.”

“I love you too, friend.” They sat on the steps watching cars and people go by. Their relationship as a couple officially at an end. What had she done to deserve someone as great as Adrien in her life?

Upon returning home she collapsed onto her chaise and let herself have a good cry. She had put herself through all this pain and for what? Breaking up with Adrien wouldn’t bring Felix back. She had given up years of her life for a relationship she ended up not really wanting. Now all she had to show for it was a heart more broken than before.

She reached into her pocket and pulled out the note Felix had left. The last thing he had ever given her. She held it close, a stray tear hitting the paper. “I wish you were here.” she whispered.

All of the sudden she felt a hand on her back. She turned around and saw her mom kneeling next to her. “Oh sweetie, what’s wrong?”

“Mom.” Marinette hugged her tightly. “It hurts so much.”

“What does? What happened?” She asked.

“Adrien and I broke up.” Marinette muttered.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Her mom held her closer, “I’m so sorry. It’s gonna be okay.”

Her sobs grew louder and her dad came up to check on her as well. Both her parents held her in their arms as she let out all the pain she had been bottling in for months. They thought it was all for Adrien and she was fine to let them believe that. The reality hurt much worse.

Marinette went to bed early that night. She was too exhausted to see the note on her desk until she woke up in the morning. Picking it up her heart leapt into her throat. It was the paper from her sketchbook. The one with Felix’s sigil on it. She hadn’t seen this since she signed it.

Quickly turning it over she saw the contract was there with large black letters that read: VOID, stamped across it. One hundred percent satisfaction or your years of life back guarantee. Just as soon as she read it the paper caught fire and burned up in her hands leaving nothing but a puff of smoke in its wake.

Her five years had been returned. She called it a small victory.

Getting ready for school was a chore. But she felt lighter somehow. Like a weight had been taken off her shoulders and she could finally move forward. Walking into class she said hi to her friends. They were all sympathetic about her break up with Adrien but she assured them it was fine. Maybe under different circumstances they could have made it work but she was happy to have him in her life as just a friend.

In all honesty not being a couple helped a lot since they could just hang out without any expectations. She’d tag along to some of his photoshoots and make funny faces at him to break his concentration. He’d come over to play video games at her house after school. They’d study together and cracked jokes and made dumb puns. It was nice.

There was still that aching feeling in her chest when she thought of Felix. She missed him and often times found herself doodling his sigil in the margins of her notes. And she would be lying if she said she wasn’t tempted to try and summon him again. In the end she talked herself out of it. It was too big of a risk.

One day Adrien was over at her house studying what with exams on the way they could use all the study time they could get.

“UGH!” Marinette snapped her textbook closed. “I can’t focus.”

“Video game break?” Adrien suggested.

“No. I think I just need some fresh air and some snacks. You wanna come?”

“You go on. I’m still copying down the notes I missed.” Adrien gestured to the notebook Marinette had lent him.

“Alright, I won’t be long.” Marinette headed downstairs and stepped outside. The cold wind snapped her senses back into focus. She took a few minutes to breathe and people watch before she went back in and grabbed a couple snacks before heading back up to her room.

“I have macarons and juice.” Marinette announced. A small shiver went down her spine upon entering the room. “Adrien? What are you doing buddy?”

Adrien was half off the chaise and his eyes were wide. He looked like he had just seen a ghost. “Oh uh hi there.” He waved at her.

“Hey yourself.” she tossed him a juice bottle. “Why are you so squirrely?”

“There was a um...a spider. It’s gone now.”

“Freaking spiders.” Marinette sighed, “Remind me I need to vacuum up the cobwebs in here this weekend.”

“Will do.” Adrien was kinda restless the rest of the afternoon they were working and Marinette decided to call it off early. He wasn’t focused and her brain was going to melt if she kept trying to cram information in it.

“We still on for group study in the library tomorrow?” she asked before he left, “Alya and Max are bringing flashcards.”

“Yeah. Sounds good. See you then.” Adrien said before turning around to his car muttering to himself.

“Weirdo.” Marinette chuckled as she went back inside and got ready for bed.

The next day at school Marinette shuffled inside and placed her things in her locker. She had trouble falling asleep last night and was still sleepy when her alarm went off in the morning. What she would have given for another hour of blessed sleep.

Upon walking into the classroom she received a jolt that woke her up instantly. A figure in black jeans and a red hoodie was sitting in her seat with their feet propped up on her desk and their hood up. She rubbed her eyes but the figure remained.

She felt her feet moving beneath her without any sort of command from her brain as she neared her desk. “You’re in my seat.” Her voice was quiet.

They looked up, pushing the hood back off their head, revealing grey eyes that sparkled like silver and mussed blonde hair. “Surprised to see me?”

“Yes I am.” She took in a shaky breath. “Felix...what…”

“Come here, love,” he stood up and took her out of the classroom. They passed Adrien in the doorway who gave them a knowing smile.

Felix dragged her down to the now empty library. They stood apart from each other as Marinette tried to settle all the emotions in her head. Felix was here. Why was he here? How was he here? Was it because her wish had been voided?

“Marinette,” Felix spoke first, “I--”

She rushed him in a hug. His arms closed around her molding her to him. She was shaking and crying but god help her if she could stop. “There, there, love,” Felix whispered as he tried to soothe her, “Cry it out. It’s alright.”

“I’m okay.” Marinette broke out of the embrace abruptly. “Sorry. I got overwhelmed.”

“Don’t apologize.” He smoothed out her hair. “I can imagine that this is a bit of a shock.”

“A bit of a shock?” Marinette stepped further away from him. “A bit of a shock!”

“Oh boy here we go.” Felix braced himself, “I’m ready let’s have it.”

“I haven’t seen you in months!” Marinette shrieked, her whole body filling with anger and sadness, “I was left alone on a dance floor trying not to cry my eyes out the last time I saw you. I entered into a relationship I ended up not even wanting because pretending to be in love was better than being alone. All I had left was this note in my fridge to remember you by cause all the pictures you were in mysteriously vanished. I was finally starting to accept that you were a strange and heartbreaking moment in my life and was moving on from it.”

She rushed up to him jabbing a finger into his chest. “Now you’re here and I don’t know what to think or what to feel. I’m angry and upset and happy and confused and worried and hopeful and about a billion other things. So yes, seeing you in my seat like nothing has happened was ‘a bit of a shock!’”

She turned away taking several deep breaths to calm herself. This was too much to deal with this early.

“Marinette,” Felix touched her shoulder but just as quickly withdrew it when he saw her glare, “What do you want me to say? You want me to apologize for leaving? You want me to say that I should have stayed and damn the consequences? Cause we both know it wouldn’t have helped. It would have just made everything worse.”

“Then why are you back?” Marinette rounded on him, “Why are you back? Is it because my contract was void? Do we have to strike a new deal or something? I am not in the mood for games, Felix. I don’t want any roundabout answers or riddles. I just want a straightforward answer.”

“It has nothing to do with your contract. We don’t need to make any new deal. Your years of life were returned. That was the end of it.” Felix explained calmly.

“So what is it then?”

“I was summoned.”

“Not by me.”

“No, love, not by you.” Felix reached into his notebook and took out a piece of paper before handing it to her.

“My chemistry notes?” She scanned over the paper. “How did you get this?”

“Because of this.” He pointed to a doodle in the margin. A smear of dried blood on it. “Funny what a little paper cut can do.”

“But if it wasn’t me then…” the realization started to dawn on her. “I gave Adrien my notes to copy. I went downstairs for snacks and…”

“When you came back up he was acting weird?” Felix nodded with a crooked smile. “Yes.”

“He…” Marinette’s hands flew to her mouth. “Adrien! Oh god, what did he wish for? What was the price? I swear if you took his soul--”

“Hey, hey, calm down.” Felix eased her, “He’s fine. No soul reaping here. I promise. I understand your worry but there is nothing to be worried about. Everything is fine.”

“Has he made a deal with you yet?”

“Yes.”

“No!” Marinette was pacing again, “Oh god this is so bad!”

“Marinette, love, will you get ahold of yourself for five minutes and let me explain?” Felix grasped her by the shoulders to stop her movement. “Can you give me that? Can you give me five minutes?”

Marinette nodded. “Okay,” he let her go, “Let me start from the beginning when Adrien first summoned me.”

“A good a place as any to start.” Marinette took a seat at one of the tables. “I’m listening.”

“When I first showed up in your room I was panicked because I thought you had gotten incredibly stupid and conjured me again. When I looked around though the only one there was Adrien. He was startled and confused as to why I was there and how I had appeared. I knew you would be back any second so I quickly explained that I had never been a transfer student and was actually a demon that you had accidentally summoned that one day you got hit in the face with a dodgeball. I begged him not to let you know I was there and that I would explain everything once we were away from your house.”

“Why didn’t you reveal yourself to me when you were in my room? If anything I think I could have helped explain to Adrien what you are.”

“Given your reaction to seeing me just now I am gonna say that you would have not been any help at all. If you knew I was there it would have been extra gas on the fire and that was not going to be good for anyone.”

“That’s fair.” Marinette relented. “Go on.”

“So after we left and went back to Adrien’s house I explained the situation more and I had to tell him about our deal and how he had factored into it. He was good about it. I swear that he is one of the most understanding people I have ever met. He really does take everything in stride. He didn’t even get mad when I told him it was I that cut the air conditioning in your house that one day.”

“Felix, you’re drifting.” She said.

“Sorry. Back to it.” Felix cleared his throat, “After we got all of that out of the way I told him that since he summoned me, accident or not, we had to make a deal or else I could never leave. So we made a deal.”

“And this is where my worries come in.” Marinette said, “I fought you for a week before striking a deal. You’re alone with Adrien for one night and he’s quite literally made a deal with the devil. So just tell me what it was he did wish for.”

He reached out a hand and gently stroked her cheek. “He wished for the brute to be a gentleman,” His voice broke a touch, “or in my case, human.”

Marinette shot to her feet so fast the chair clattered to the ground behind her. Human? Her throat felt dry. “He can wish for that?” 

“Apparently so.” Felix chuckled.

“But why?”

“Because he loves you. And he’d do anything to make you happy.”

“And he thought that was you?” Marinette joked.

Felix scoffed, pretending to be wounded. “Was he mistaken, love?”

“How much did that cost if not his soul?”

“Turning a demon into a human is seen as a punishment where I was from. My bosses were already pissed at me for how much time I spent up here, complaining about me going soft. They were going to punish me somehow but in their eyes Adrien did that for them. So they may have let the price slide just this once.”

“How is being human a punishment?”

“Loss of immortality and you are now under the sway of god again which you had fallen from before. It’s basically seen as a betrayal to your fallen peers.”

“I have so many more questions about the logistics of this. I mean, do you have a soul now? What happens when you die? What is your DNA? Do you even have a place to live?”

“In order: yes, I don’t know, I don’t know, and no. That being said, can I stay your house for a couple weeks? I have literally nowhere to go and no money.”

“I’ll talk to my parents. Maybe you can take the photographer’s advice and become a model. He said he knew an agency.”

“A model? I can see it. I may be mortal but I am still hot as hell and devilishly handsome.” Felix laughed. The sound filled Marinette with warmth.

“On second thought I don’t think you need your ego fed anymore.”

“Too late, I’m already imaging.” He started making ridiculous poses.

“Okay cool it, Jojo.” Marinette rolled her eyes. She approached him, resting a hand on his chest. “Are you really human?”

“Yes.”

“Are you here to stay?”

“Yes.”

“Do you…do you…” The question was stuck in her throat.

“I do.” Felix cradled her face in his hands. “It isn’t much and I’ve a lot to learn still but that’s half the fun of love isn’t it?”

“Yes.” She was crying now. Felix gently wiped away her tears and waited patiently for her to calm down.

“So, are you happy?” He asked.

“I am. I thought I’d lost you forever.” She hiccuped.

“You think you could drive me off that easily?” He pressed his forehead to hers, “You couldn’t shake me when I was a demon and now that you’re my girlfriend you’re never getting rid of me.”

“Girlfriend? Jumping ahead of ourselves don’t you think?” She laughed, “Shouldn’t you take me on a date first?”

“Was extinguishing every light in Paris so we could watch the shooting stars not a good enough first date for you? Cause I hate to tell you but I’m not gonna be able to top that now without any powers.”

“How about dinner?” Marinette suggested, “Then dessert at Andre’s.”

“Sounds perfect.” he leaned in closer. “But first I am going to drag us back into the far stacks of the library to make out because that is all I have been thinking about since that night we watched the stars.”

Marinette stood on her toes and pressed her mouth against his. Her hands balled in the fabric of his hoodie. His hands wove into her hair pulling her closer still. Butterflies, fireworks, bouncy balls, everything was going off inside her as he kissed her deeply. This was what it was supposed to feel like.

He wasn’t letting her go any time soon either. One kiss followed another more desperate and hungry and loving than the last until they were both out of breath. “I love you,” She whispered against his lips. “I love you, Felix.”

“I love you too, Marinette.” he kissed her again. “I do have one little condition though?”

“And what would that be? More eclairs?” She giggled punctuating her words with small darting kisses.

“Well yes, obviously, but more than that I want to make one last deal. An official end to my demon dealing ways.” He looked at her with so much love and adoration it threatened to strangle her. “I’ll trade you the rest of my life for the rest of yours. Sound fair, my love?”

Marinette laced her hand with his, “It’s a deal.”

THE END

---

(1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8) (9) (10) (11)

---

(tagged)

@sannsibarr @miss-mysterys-blog @maribug-adrienoir @mermaidreject @corabeth11 @goblinwhoships @symwinter  @dreaming-being  @yourgeekysister

[degenerate-perturbation]

Chapters: 18/28 Fandom: Dragon Age - All Media Types Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Female Amell/Female Surana Additional Tags: Established Relationship, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Self-Harm, Blood Magic, Prostitution, Drowning Series: Part 2 of void and light, blood and spirit Summary: Amell and Surana are out of the Circle, and are now free to build a life together. But when the prison doors fly open, what do you have in common with the one shackled next to you, save for the chains that bound you both?

When the Maiden’s Teeth launched, Yvanne dreaded the onset of seasickness, before remembering that she was here explicitly as a mage didn’t have to hide her magic anymore. At first she felt shy using magic—it had been so long, and a part of her was afraid she’d forgotten—but when the ship began to pitch and roll properly, she rapidly got over it. The spell for suppressing nausea wasn’t exactly simple, but  cast well consumed little enough energy that she could afford to keep herself cloaked in its soothing aura indefinitely. 

She had spent her last voyage huddled miserably in the hold. Now she stood on the deck, nominally a part of the crew, feeling the spray of the sea

The captain was a grey-bearded Nevarran man. He was, charitably, not particularly talkative.

“When do we arrive?”

“Soon.”

“What should I do if there’s already a strong wind?”

“Eh.”

Yvanne soon gave up.

The strangest thing was how the crew treated her. They were unfailingly polite—but it was a politeness born of fear. After all, all they knew about her was that she was an apostate, a criminal. That she technically wasn’t didn’t seem prudent to mention. Yvanne got the impression that most of them didn’t really know what magic was and wasn’t capable of, and suspected that a few thought that she was already possessed. She tried explaining it to them a few times, and got a lot of polite, nervous nods.

Having nothing to do, she practiced wind spells, dreading the moment she’d be called upon to do her job. The might of her magic had once summoned storms and sustained armies; now she wasn’t sure if she could even manage a decent gale. 

But as it happened along the journey the winds were fair, and Yvanne’s services weren’t needed. After several days of bored staring at the horizon, they made port.

Dairsmuid...wasn’t what she’d anticipated. It seemed so plain. She had been expecting—well, more than this. This port looked not too different from any large Ferelden town.

She made to disembark, eager to release her anti-nausea spell, when the captain stopped her. “Be back in two hours.”

“Back?” she said quizzically. “But I’m getting off. Isn’t this Dairsmuid?”

He looked at her like she was stupid. “No,” he said, “This is Jader.”

“Jader? But that’s in Orlais!”

“I congratulate you on your grasp of basic geography.” He went back to examining the manifest.

“But I thought this ship was bound for Rivain.”

“Yes, yes,” the captain said irritably. “Eventually Rivain. But first, Orlais”

“And when exactly will we reach Dairsmuid?” she demanded, but the captain pretended like he hadn’t heard her.

She didn’t go ashore. She spent her two spare hours steaming in her hammock belowdecks, furious at the captain for his rudeness, Anders for putting her on this ship, and the Maker for making her be born in the first place. She would come to regret this decision when the Maiden’s Teeth  launched again, and her opportunity to set her feet on dry ground for a time disappeared.

The few days she had spent with nothing to do had been tolerable. The next few, less so. Yvanne could tell by the sun that they were headed west, not east. They were getting further from Dairsmuid. This would be a long voyage.

The prospect of nothing to do for weeks on end but be alone with her thoughts was unspeakable. So she cut the skirt of the dress she’d bought back in Highever in half, clumsily stitched the tattered remnants into half-decent trousers with a borrowed whalebone needle, and resolved to become a sailor.

She learned to tie knots, scale the rigging, read the stars. What she liked best were the songs. The sailors sang work songs as they heaved and pulled, and these she learned swiftest of all; their simple call-and-response structure made that easy.

The crew didn’t seem exactly thrilled by her participatory spirit, though she could usually find someone to show her how to do something that needed to be done. With her magically augmented strength, she made for a fine strong pair of hands, and the Maiden could always use those. 

The only member of the Maiden’s crew that didn’t keep some level of distance from Yvanne was a Qunari woman covered in intricate tattoos. She was as much an outsider as Yvanne, and no wonder; as the only Qunari aboard, she stood out. Easily eight feet tall, she had biceps as thick as Yvanne’s waist, and a long white braid that wrapped around the sawn-off remnants of her horns. It was she who taught Yvanne many of the skills she needed to be a real member of the crew.

“So you’re Qunari?” Yvanne finally asked her, by way of casual conversation.

Immediately the woman’s massive hand darted out to cuff her across the ear. Yvanne saw stars. “What was that for!” she demanded.

“I am not Qunari. I am Tal Vashoth.”

“Alright,” said Yvanne, who didn’t know the difference and had a hunch that asking would warrant another cuff across the ear. “What’s your name, then?”

“I am called Cheddar.”

“Cheddar?”

“Under the Qun I was told I was Arvaarad. Now I am no longer under the Qun, and I choose what I am called.”

“So you chose to be called Cheddar?”

“Yes,” she said proudly. “And what are you called?”

She hesitated, but what was the point? “I’m Yvanne.”

Cheddar burst out laughing.

“What?” Yvanne demanded. “What’s so funny?”

She grinned. “Someday when we are better friends I will tell you what that word means in my language.”

Yvanne harrumphed. But she took that to mean that they were at least some kind of friends.

From Jader they made port in Cumberland. The College of Magi met here, Yvanne was vaguely aware. The Maiden wasn’t staying in port for long enough for Yvanne to see much of it, though the soaring pillars and golden domes of Cumberland tempted severely. Surely this was a city large enough to fit several Denerims within it. She found herself feeling terribly provincial, and sorry that she wouldn’t be staying.

After Cumberland the Maiden again made west. Yvanne nearly tore her hair out when she realized where the vessel was headed. She was further now from Dairsmuid than ever. She confronted the captain over this,  nearly kicking down the door—with slightly more force than she could naturally produce.

“Yes, yes,” he told her, unphased by the crackling in the air. “First Jader, then Cumberland, then Val Royeaux. Then Dairsmuid.”

“Are there any other stops that I should know about?”

“Get back to work,” the captain said disinterestedly. 

Her anger drained quickly, though, when they made port in Val Royeaux. It shamed her proud Ferelden heart, but it was the most beautiful city she had ever seen. They had a few days of shore leave, and received some of their pay besides. This astonished her; she hadn’t realized that she was getting paid. 

She wandered the markets and cafes with Cheddar, gawking at the ridiculously outfitted and masked Orlesians.

“I’ve been a sailor for many years,” said Cheddar, “But Val Royeaux still impresses me. Bit of a backwater compared to Qunandar, sure, but I like how colorful it is.”

“What’s Qunandar like?”

“Big. Efficient. Steel and smoke and wondrous works.” The corners of her mouth tightened. “But I don’t miss it.”

They passed a stand of colorful pastries that looked like tiny clouds. Cheddar’s face lit up. “Here, little bird, you have to try these,” she said eagerly. “I’ve only ever seen them sold in this particular quarter of Val Royeaux.”

Yvanne bought one. It tasted exactly like how she always imagined clouds tasted, and disappeared almost at once. The sugar was so intense it made her teeth hurt. “Since when am I ‘little bird’?” she asked, wondering whether it would be worth her meager pay to buy another sugar-cloud.

Cheddar grinned sheepishly. “Sorry. I can’t bear to call you—what you’re named. It’s just so silly.”

“This coming from someone named Cheddar?” Yvanne said indignantly. 

“At least I chose my silly name.”

They both laughed.

For the first time in years—for the first time since she’d met her—Yvanne hardly thought about Loriel at all.

—

The next leg of the journey was the longest yet. Yvanne’s hands grew thick and calloused. Salt settled in her hair, and the sun freckled her skin. As time went on, she had to rely on arcane warrior magic less and less to pull her weight. For the first time in her life, she actually had something identifiable as muscles.

One morning she forgot to cast the anti-nausea spell, and didn’t realize it til late in the afternoon, when despite its absence, she felt perfectly fine. The sea was within her now. She wondered how much sooner this might have happened if she’d forgone the spell entirely.

The other sailors never quite felt fully at ease with her, but that was changing, especially as she used magic less and less. Sailors had to trust each other in order to work together. But what she thought really did it was the songs. It was hard to sing with a person, striving for the same goal, hauling the same load, and not get to like them at least a little. The longer Yvanne spent as a sailor the more the crew seemed to forget that she was also a mage.

“You have to tell me,” she asked Cheddar one night. “Why Cheddar?”

The Vashoth woman wrapped her braid contemplatively around one massive finger. “I will tell you,” she said. “When I decided I would no longer be Qunari, it was not an easy journey. First I had to escape the Qun in mind and soul. That part was very hard. Then I had to figure out what I was to do with my Saarebaset—”

“Saarebaset?”

“Things like you. Eh, I forget the word—maj? Mage?”

A drop of cold slid down Yvanne’s back. “Things?”

“In your language Saarebas means ‘dangerous thing,’” Cheddar said casually. “And yes, I knew they were dangerous. I knew if I ceased to be Arvaarad, demons could take them, and many would suffer. But they made me so sad. I didn’t want to hold their leash anymore.”

“You were like a Templar.”

“No,” Cheddar said irritably. “I was Arvaarad. Now I am Cheddar. Get it straight, eh?”

“Alright, alright. So why Cheddar?”

“Oh, yes. I told my Saarebaset that I was freeing them. They begged me not to. They would be lost without me. That was the worst part. It almost made me reconsider! But I was no longer Qunari. I could not protect them, even if I wanted to.”

“What happened to them?”

“Oh, they killed themselves, I think,” Cheddar said vaguely. “That is what they are supposed to do. I doubt they had the imagination to do anything else.”

“And you let them?!” Yvanne stood up, unconsciously pulling in Fade energy in preparation for—she didn’t know what.

“I could hardly have stopped them.”

“You could have freed them, too!”

“I told you—they did not want to be free.”

“You didn’t try!”

“They were Qunari, body, mind, and soul,” said Cheddar, unperturbed. “I had no say over their souls. That was their business and theirs alone.”

“Then—you could have stayed for them.”

“And remained a prisoner myself?” She shook her head. “Now that I was not willing to do.”

Yvanne had no response to that.

“That’s life for you.” Cheddar shrugged. “Do you want to hear the story or not?”

With effort, Yvanne let go of the Fade energy she hadn’t realized she’d been holding on to. “Yes.”

“Once I had freed my mind and my soul, I had only to free my body. Now that part was easy. I just walked away.”

“You could do that?”

“Sure. It was easy. I was stationed in Kont-arr, on the north coast of Rivain. Hardly the Qunari heartland.”

“Oh.”

“Anyway,” said Cheddar, “I was walking down the road, completely alone for the first time in my life. The first night, I slept under an white-barked tree, ate what I could find, drank from puddles of rainwater, and I did not see another soul. At some point along the way I realized I was no longer Arvaarad, but did not yet know who I would be. I could not stand to be Arvaarad, but neither could I stand to be nobody. Within that very hour I saw a man headed up the road, his cart pulled by a brawny goat. I did not speak his language very well, but I asked him the name of his goat. He answered that it was ‘Cheddar,’ and that was as fine a name to me as any, so I decided that it would be my name, too.”

“You named yourself after a goat?”

“Yes!”

“That doesn’t strike you as demeaning? What with, you know—” Yvanne gestured vaguely at the remnants of her horns. 

“No more demeaning than accepting someone else’s naming of you like a dumb animal is named,” she said disdainfully.

“Fair, I guess.” Perhaps some day she would leave Yvanne behind for good. “I didn’t realize you were from Rivain. What’s it like?”

Cheddar thought on this. “Bit of a backwater,” she said eventually. “Swamps are full of crazy women summoning demons. But it was home, for a time. Maybe you’ll like it.”

“Yeah. Maybe.”

They lay in their hammocks for a time—Yvanne curled inward, Cheddar nearly spilling out from hers, legs dragging on the deck floor. The Maiden creaked in her comfortable way. Somewhere beyond the haven of the ship that had become (however briefly) home, roared the sea.

Eventually, Yvanne said: “So will you tell me what my name means in your language now?”

Cheddar grinned. “No. It is much funnier this way.”

—

“Hey, Cheddar,” Yvanne said as Ostwick—yet another stop that Yvanne was not, in so many words, informed of—disappeared behind them. “You were kind of a Templar—”

“Arvaarad,” Cheddar corrected. “Not much like your toothless Templars.”

Toothless. Not the word Yvanne would have used. “Right,” she said, disheartened. “I’m just surprised. Of everyone on this ship you’re the only one who doesn’t seem to think I’m dangerous—”

Cheddar burst into laughter. “Of course you are dangerous!” she said. “At any moment demons could burst through and take your soul, and then you would kill us all in your mad rage.”

“That—that wouldn’t happen!” Yvanne said, indignant. “I trained to guard against that. I was the youngest Harrowed mage in a generation.”

Cheddar waved away her words with a wiggle of her fingers. “Trained,” she said dismissively. “That is just there to make you feel safe! You cannot train to guard against a demon. It will take you whether you will it or no, if it decides it wants you.”

“If you think I’m so dangerous, then why befriend me?” Yvanne demanded. “Why agree to work alongside me at all?”

Cheddar gave her a quizzical look. 

“The sea is dangerous,” she explained, as though Yvanne was a slow child. “But still we sail upon it.”

“But—”

Cheddar reached out to pat her on the back. “Do not worry. If demons eat your heart,I won’t blame you. I’ll know you couldn’t have done anything about it.”

Yvanne was so puzzled by this reaction that she only managed to produce a consternated, “Thanks, I think?”

“Enough about that,” said Cheddar. “Ostwick is little to write home about, but next we go to Antiva City. Now that is a marvel! Rialto Bay at this time of year is a flurry of colors from all the ships that come to trade there. You can find anything in Antiva City!”

Yvanne found herself looking forward to it, and not thinking too much about what would come after.

—

But as it happened, Yvanne never reached Antiva City, because off the coast of Llomeryn, they were attacked by pirates.

The rival ship began to approach late in the day. Yvanne didn’t notice it at first. When the captain pulled her away from swabbing the deck to summon a wind, she didn’t think it too strange, although usually she was only ordered to use magic if the winds were really still. A merry gale already the sails that morning, albeit at an angle, when Yvanne took up her position

Her wind magic was woefully inefficient, even she could tell. Only a fraction of the magical energy she was expending was going into the gale itself; the rest sparked off as waste heat, crackling sound, and little lightning strikes that left her hair standing on end. Work like this at Kinloch would have seen her whipped.

“Can’t I stop yet?” she complained to the captain. “The wind’s plenty strong as it is.”

“No.” 

“But—”

“You’ve your orders.”

She grumbled, but maintained the wind. Only then did she notice the other ship on the horizon.

“Are we close to a port?” she asked a fellow crewmember, a dwarven woman named Molly who was adjusting the aft sail in earshot. “I thought we weren’t due in Antiva City for another few days.”

Molly only shook her head and grunted in response. By afternoon the captain had not changed his orders, and she was starting to feel faint. Cheddar brought her a midday meal. 

“Is it normal for a ship to pursue another for so long?” she asked Cheddar, once she’d finished scarfing the unexciting sailor’s fare. 

Cheddar looked to aft, and the other ship there. It was still there—and closer now than ever.

“No,” she said. “Probably pirates. Captain hasn’t said anything to prevent panic, but everyone knows, I think, or at least suspects.”

“Pirates?” Yvanne said anxiously. 

“Oh, sure. Plenty of their ilk around here.”

Yvanne watched the ever-less-distant blur for a time. Now she understood the captain’s orders, but would it have killed him to tell her? “How are they still behind us? I’ve been summoning wind all day!”

“They’ll have their own windmage,” Cheddar explained. “And they’ll be in a smaller ship, not so loaded with cargo. They will not catch us at once, but if they are very determined, they will catch us.”

“And then what happens?”

“We fight them, of course!” Cheddar laughed. “These canons are not just for show.”

“And if we lose…?”

Cheddar rubbed her chin. “Well, we might be killed. Or compelled to join their crew, or marooned on an island, or enslaved.”

“Killed? Enslaved?”

“Well, that’s life for you.” Cheddar shrugged. “But I’ve never been killed or enslaved by pirates before, so I don’t see why I should start now.”

Yvanne watched the ship in the distance. It didn’t appear to draw any closer, but that made it worse—the thought that they would be caught inevitably, however long it took if they did not make Antiva City first.

And it was inevitable. At her peak Yvanne had commanded oceans of mana—and even then she’d consumed lyrium by the gallon to sustain her casting habits. Since then, she had abandoned magic, let it atrophy and rot away like a vestigial limb, and while she had forgotten nothing, she was not as strong as she had been. She could already tell that she wouldn’t be able to sustain a wind this strong for much longer; already she was feeling the telltale signs of mana exhaustion. 

“Get back to work, windmage!” the captain barked in her ear startling her out of her reverie.

“If I do that, I’ll be useless by sundown,” she protested. “Unless you happen to have a stash of lyrium potions somewhere aboard that you’ve failed to inform me of?”

He scowled at her. 

“The problem is you have me summoning wind,” she complained. “I can do so much more than that. If you’d let me—”

“Do your job,” said the captain. She sighed and began again to cast.

And still the pirates approached.

Well, we might be killed...or enslaved. Was that true? She had no way of knowing, but no real reason to doubt. But the Maiden’s cannons were strong, weren’t they?

Now the pirate ship was close enough that even a dull eye could spot the colors they flew.

The crew was beginning to murmur nervously. Some threw her dirty looks, no doubt holding her responsible for being bad at her job.

The next time Cheddar came to check on her, as the sun was setting, even she looked a little unnerved. “What’s going on?” Yvanne panted. She was scraping the very bottom of her well of mana.

“Things don’t look good,” said Cheddar. “Raiders out of Llomeryn can be handled civilly, but these aren’t Raiders. Those are Silesian pirates, sailing out of Tevinter. They don’t generally come this far.”

Yvanne did not like how nervous she sounded. “What does that mean?”

“It means that we had better sink their ship before they engage. Or else.”

“Or else…?”

Cheddar shook her head. “Best not speak of it. If you are lucky you will not live to see it.”

“And what are the odds of us sinking their ship?”

Cheddar made a noncommittal sound and wiggled her hand back and forth.

Yvanne snapped. She ended the wind spell, damn what the captain said. She would have to take this into her own hands. The pirate vessel was obviously too far for ordinary combat magic. She could shoot all the lightning she wanted at them; it would still fall short, though it would probably fry plenty of the fish in the sea in the bargain. And any closer, the pirates’ own mage—and they would well have more than one, if they were out of Tevinter—would be more than a match for her. Her mind tumbled and spun and produced an idea.

“Cheddar,” she said, steady, “would a smaller ship like theirs withstand stormy weather as well as ours?”

“No, of course not,” she answered, puzzled. “It would be much more likely to sink. Piracy’s dangerous business, after all.”

Yvanne’s teeth flash in the growing dark. “Great,” she said. “I’m going to try something.”

Cheddar didn’t look convinced. “Are you sure?”

“I think we have no other choice,” she said grimly “You may want to hang on. And tell everyone else to hang on, too.”

For a moment she thought the Vashoth woman was going to stop her, that her essential Arvaarad nature would get the better of her. But she only shrugged, said “Alright, little bird, good luck,” and asked no more. 

Yvanne wasted no time, even as other crewmembers shouted at her for abandoning her post. Betrayer, they called her, faithless abandoner, but she paid no heed. She climbed the rigging with practiced if not expert ease, until the deck below was dizzyingly far away.

Vertigo she was used to. Being in the crow’s nest itself was another thing. Barrel duty—for the nest was little more than a barrel fastened to the main-mast—was often doled out as punishment, and no wonder; every motion of the ship was multiplied many times over, with every motion threatening to toss the barrelman into the sea. Yvanne  regretted having no anti-nausea spell, but now there was no time for it.

What she needed was a storm. A big one. 

She had always been good with storms. Her earliest use of magic had been lightning, and many had told her that even her healing had felt like a shock back to life. It was all second nature to her, the thunder and the lightning and the wind and rain—not so much the constituent parts as the tempest as whole. Of course she was no good at tempered wind spells; her magic tended to spread out and spark and roil. A simple gale did not become her.

But a deadly storm at sea to sink a rival ship? This she could do. 

She reached inside herself, drawing from the endless well of power that she knew the Fade to be, and found—a puddle. A few drops. It was like forcing the ocean through a drinking straw.

Cursing her shortsightedness in not abandoning her post earlier, she wished for lyrium above all things. She had not had a drop of it in so long. But she had no lyrium. She had nothing. She was spent, utterly empty.

...no, not utterly empty. There was power yet inside her. Power in her blood.

Sickening memories overwhelmed her at the thought, worse even than the swaying of the ship. She reached again for the Fade, desperate for any other way. 

Please, she called out in panicked anguish. Please! But there was nothing.

She would have to do it.

At first she worried that she would not remember how to do it—but blood magic was not the sort of thing one could forget. She had no dagger; only her own ragged fingernail. She had to make several attempts, and she had to press hard. At first she worried that she simply wouldn’t be able to break the skin, but finally her scrabbling succeeded. The wound bled, and it hurt.

Like a dam breaking, new power flowed through her. It came from a reservoir that was all her own. And from this reservoir, still clinging to the mast, she began to chant.

Nobody came up to stop her. She silently thanked her friend for it.

The storm that materialized off the coast of Llomeryn came on fast, even for a storm at sea. Mere minutes ago the sky had been clear, and now clouds gathered there like battalions of an army. As her lips formed the words—words that were not necessary, no more than the precise shapes of her fingers, although they helped—the storm grew. The waves rose taller, rougher. 

The clouds she had gathered rumbled darkly. Rain began to fall, first in drops, then sheets. They fell so cold and hard that it hurt her skin, and this pain, too, she channeled. Life was pain—where had she heard that? Life was pain, sure enough, and life was power.

She could feel the storm’s power. It dwelled in the clouds, in the growing waves, the rising winds. It filled her up even as her blood flowed. For one wild moment, she felt alive again.

Lightning streaked out towards the Maiden’s mast, sure to strike—and at the last moment, she turned it away. Instead it hit the pirate’s vessel. In the distance—though it was increasingly hard to see—she saw a brief fire ignite before being put out.

The waves reared up taller than the mast itself; the Maiden surged up, crested, fell. She could no longer see the other ship, and anyway, now all her focus was concentrated on keeping the Maiden intact. She had more than an inkling that the only thing that now protected it was some fey power she had summoned from within herself—but which was not quite of herself. But the storm was hers, and the ship was hers, as Vigil’s Keep had once been hers; this, she would protect.

Time froze, or compressed, or both. She could not have said how long she clung to the crow’s nest, crackling with blood and spirit, her awareness more in the wind and water than her body.

The storm raged.

Eventually, it ceased.

The Maiden had survived.

She  had no idea how she got down from the crow’s nest. Her world spun and sparked, the residual rain flattening her clothes to her skin and making movement all the more difficult. Rough warm hands studied her; the grey blur resolved itself into her astonished friend.

“Wow!” she told Cheddar, breathless and giddy. “I had no idea I had that in me!”

After that she knew no more.

—

Yvanne awoke in chains and darkness, sodden and frozen.

She tried to scream, and realized she was gagged. I failed, she thought despondently. The pirates had captured them after all. 

No! She would not allow it! She would die first. She would ensure she died first—

—but no. She had seen the encroaching ship break and sink. Hadn’t she? It had been so dark. Perhaps she had felt rather than seen them go down.

She risked a wisplight, and as its greenish glow illuminated her surroundings, her heart sank. This was the hold of the Maiden. Her own crewmates had put her in chains.

How long she sat there shivering in the dark, she couldn’t say. She’d never been in solitary at Kinloch. Loriel had always managed to protect her. She had no worked out method of marking the time, save by her growing hunger and thirst; and even then this told her little, save that she was very hungry, and very thirsty.

And worse, she was tired; tired in a way she’d never been before. Something vital had been wrung out of her. Even her connection to the Fade felt tenuous, a fog obscuring her sense of it. The blood magic, she realized dully. It had drained her so completely that, though enough time had passed by now that she should have full access to the Fade again, she had almost no mana at all. This was what Loriel had been doing to herself? It was completely unsustainable. No wonder the Tevinter magisters sacrificed their slaves.

The shackles chafed her wrists, and her shoulders ached miserably from the awkward position they’d been forced into, but the gag was the worst of it. It had been done inexpertly and pressed at the corners of her mouth, making it impossible not to drool.

But finally they came for her.

Two men, who she had trusted with her life less than a day ago, hauled her abovedecks, where relentless daylight nearly blinded her. It must have been high noon already. The Maiden had survived, yes, but barely. The mainsail was in shreds. The jibe was gone altogether. The mast leaned at a crooked angle. 

But all the crew were alive. Alive, and staring at her, not a shred of pity in their eyes.

The men forced her to her knees.

She found Cheddar in the crowd, towering head and shoulders above the rest. Yvanne stared at her, pleading, but Cheddar only gave a little shrug.

Someone ripped away her gag. The captain approached her, keeping a careful distance. He looked only, and said nothing.

Yvanne fought the bizarre urge to apologize. She kept her chin up and looked him in the eye.

“Windmage, you are being tried for treason,” the captain said finally.

“Treason?” she burst out. “I saved all our lives!”

“You have lead this ship into needless danger. You have blown us hopelessly off course. You have all but destroyed this ship. All this is tantamount to treason.”

“I’m no citizen of any country,” she protested. “How can I be a traitor?”

“You are part of this ship!” roared the captain, “and now you will answer to it!”

She glared. “I did only what was necessary to preserve the life of this crew. At great personal cost. I’m no traitor.”

“She’s possessed, I say!” shouted a crewman. His name was Derrick. He had ruddy red cheeks and a fondness for dirty jokes. He’d shown her how to tie a bowline knot. “Demons dwell within her! Traitor or not, we must be rid of her before she dooms us all!”

Stone-faced, the captain turned to Cheddar. “You, Arvaarad. You know about demons. Is she possessed?”

“Cheddar,” Cheddar corrected absently. She scrutinized Yvanne with her bright blue eyes, and for a moment Yvanne was so bold as to hope. Then Cheddar shook her head. “Can’t say for sure. Demons are tricksy; it’s their nature. She might be possessed, and the demon yet hiding.”

“And do you suppose,” said the captain, “that an unpossessed mage would have been capable of what we saw?”

Cheddar shrugged. “Couldn’t say. Best assume every mage is possessed, if you’re not sure. Saves a lot of trouble in the long run.”

Murmurs of assent spread through the crowd.

“Please,” Yvanne said. “At least consider self interest! You’ve blown off course. With the damage to the ship it may take weeks to find your way back. Once my mana regenerates I could shorten that time to mere days.”

“That would have been so,” said the captain, “if you could be trusted.”

“Alright, then,” she replied coldly. “Don’t trust me. Fear me instead. You saw what I did last night. You all know what I’m capable of. Do you suppose, if you turn on me, that you’ll be spared my wrath? Release me now and I may yet guide this ship to safe harbor. Keep me bound and you may be sure that none of you will ever see land again.”

Scraping at the corners of her soul for even a drop of mana, she managed to briefly make her eyes glow. Just to make a point. Just so that they would remember what she was.

It almost worked. Several members of the crew drew back or gasped.

Then the bosun—an Orlesian elf called Annette—called out, “She’s bluffing. She has no mana left. She said so herself! Arva—Cheddar, that’s true, isn’t it? They need time to regenerate, do they not?”

“That’s true,” Cheddar said reluctantly, not looking at Yvanne. 

“If she had any power she would have freed herself already,” the Orlesian snarled. “If she really had the power to slay us all and seize the ship, she would have done so. I suggest we do not wait to see whether she is capable of this. Execute her now for treason while we still can!”

“Bad luck to slay a mage at sea,” rumbled another crewman, a burly Marcher with a short blond beard. “The winds would turn on us. We would be lost for certain.”

This got murmurs as well. Thank the Maker, thought Yvanne, rejoicing, for all these stupid bloody sailor’s superstitions.

“That’s true,” said the captain, measured. “Bad luck to slay a mage at sea. But neither can we risk her presence.”

At length he considered.

Finally, the captain spoke: “Throw her overboard. The sea will decide her fate.”

Yvanne at least had the satisfaction of not begging as they hauled her to the edge. Even now at her most powerless the crew was loath to touch her; they dragged her by the chains.

She had one chance to look back at the Maiden, at these people she had raised her voice with, these people she had trusted, at Cheddar who she had thought her friend. The Vashoth met her eyes. There was no trace of guilt in them. Regret, perhaps, but not guilt.

All of a sudden the crowd receded. She stood bound and alone at the precipice. 

“You will jump,” ordered the captain. 

“You can’t be serious,” Yvanne said dully.

“We prefer not to force you. We are good men. And I am sympathetic,” the captain said reasonably. “I understand it was not your fault. But you cannot remain aboard this ship. If we must use force, we will.”

Cheddar gave her an encouraging smile and a shrug, as though to say, Well, that’s life for you!

Yvanne gazed at the choppy waves. How many miles would her body sink? How long would it take her to drown? Would it hurt? Would it be so bad?

She tried to think of some parting words, but found that she had nothing to say. Nothing at all.

Whether she jumped or slipped or was pushed in the end did not matter. She managed a single deep breath against all odds, and then she sank, dragged down by the weight of her chains. She struggled; it was a difficult instinct to suppress. Her hair and clothing billowed out, medusa-like. How quickly the light went away, how rapidly the pressure built. Only a moment ago she had bathed in sunlight and in air, and now her world was crushing darkness, crushing cold. 

Now this was truly the end of the line. The Fade would not save her. Her blood would not save her; it would hasten her death if anything. She could not escape the chains, and even if she did, what then? She could not swim forever. The sea would get her in the end.

Oh, and wasn’t it better this way? Wasn’t it neater? What in her life had been worth living, since she had left Vigil’s Keep? What a pointless farce it all had been. A drowning woman’s final gasping struggle, before succumbing to the totality of her irrelevance. How fitting, how neat.

Her lungs burned. Seawater poured into her throat. Oh Maker, drowning hurt. She had not thought it would hurt so much.

Then all of a sudden the pain receded. Her rigid limbs relaxed. It no longer seemed so bad to drown.

The blackness in front of her eyes faded to a pale and calming grey. It would be easy. It would be good.

Then somewhere something deep inside called out with the animal fury of a thousand generations: 

I

want

to 

LIVE!

The pale grey of a peaceful death bloomed into a violent green.

—

Eventually she washed up on a beach.

She had no memory of how she came to be there; not of escaping the chains (though she must have, for they were gone), nor of floating on the currents, nor of being deposited on the shore. It did not seem like she had been unconscious; she could not say that she had ‘woken up.’ At best it felt like she had been a passenger inside herself, and was only now fully in control again. When she searched for the memories, they were not there.

Best not to think about it, she told herself as she lay in the sand, the tide lapping at her feet.

For hours she lay there, too tired to move. She drifted in and out of consciousness, half in dream and half in fantasy, not quite in either realm. Every time she managed to open her eyes, the sun had fallen further into the horizon.

Around dusk she finally sat up and examined her surroundings. The beach was deserted, littered with stones and shells and little creatures. The strangest trees she had ever seen grew further up the beach, swaying gently in the late-afternoon breeze.

Abruptly she was struck by a memory at Kinloch Hold. Back before Anders had tried to escape across the lake and gotten them all banned from outside time, they’d been permitted on the lakeshore. Yvanne had liked to swim, and Loriel had liked to sit on the rough grey sand and read, but sometimes she could be persuaded to come play. They’d waded in the shallows and looked for interesting rocks and shells and built lopsided structures in the sand. Then at night they would giggle and whisper about the island they would rule someday, as soon as they escaped. When had they stopped fantasizing about their secret island? Presumably the day they realized that they would never escape.

Despite everything, this place was beautiful. Soft white sand. A soft breeze of gentle air. The smell of salt and fading sunlight, the rustling of the trees. She watched as the sun sank into the sea and set the sky aflame, a panoply of color just for her. As it set, the stars came out, a sparkling veil with no moon to dim their shine.

She wondered if Loriel would have liked it here.

Then she bent over in shattered grief, keening, and for the first time, felt no anger, none at all.

[itsclydebitches]

Lovely Good Omens fandom! Many of you have asked for/mentioned having a text version of the Yelp reviews, which if I were a better person I would have remembered to include in the first place. Better late than never? So here’s a version below and I also threw this up on AO3 so there are options. For the record, I’m not at all trained in transcribing visual media, so if anyone wants to add to/edit/do whatever to this post, especially to make it more accessible, you have carte blanche to do so 👍

Also I typed this up in a hurry so, as always, apologies for any typos. 

Tagging: @lethargicdolphin, @marithlizard, @pearwaldorf

A.Z. Fell and Co. Antiquarian and Unusual Books 

Recommended Reviews 

Lindsay F. 

London, United Kingdom 

71 friends

3000 reviews

9874 photos

So I slipped into this place because I spotted my ex across the street and would have rather chugged a cocktail of bleach, lighter fluid, and a condensed solution of all my middle school years then talk to that asshole. Owner was on me the second I walked through the door and I thought he was gonna be one of those ‘Either buy something or get out’ types. Nah. I spilled the story, said I really wasn’t looking to purchase anything, and he LIT UP like nobody’s business. He gave me tea and promised I’d never run into my ex again. Which is a super sketchy promise on its own and also should have been hilarious coming from a guy a century behind in style.

...Kinda believed him though. 

Marina G. 

London, United Kingdom 

0 friends

33 reviews

48 photos

Pretty sure this guy wants a library, not a bookshop. I mean, he’s nice and all when you first come in, but trying to actually buy a book? Good fucking luck. He’s too busy to see you right now (for the record he’s super bad at pretending to be busy). Or claims that this book has already been put on reserve (then why wasn’t it in the reserve pile...?). Or the price suddenly jumped an obscene amount. Or he just straight up hems and haws until you get fed up and leave. I watched him pull a novel straight out of a woman’s hands once when she claimed that price was no object and she wouldn’t be leaving the store until she’d purchased it. You’d think she was trying to kidnap one of the guy’s kids!

So yeah. Feel like popping in to browse, maybe take pictures for your research, all while making quiet conversation with someone who quite frankly knows his stuff? This is the place for you. Want to actually buy something? Go elsewhere. Pretty sure Fell doesn’t even own a cash register. At least I’ve never seen one. 

He wants a library and I’d honestly tell him as much if he didn’t scare me just a little bit...

Aaron S. 

New York, NY

68 friends

212 reviews 

337 photos

I stayed here for three days once. Found a bathroom off the romance section and a chair hidden away in the back. Way comfier than my mattress at home. Mostly played iPhone games and kept real quiet at night. Experiment ended when I popped out for breakfast and didn’t make it back before a random 10:00am closing. Don’t think the owner ever realized what was up. 

Hana S. 

London, United Kingdom 

112 friends

115 reviews

208 photos

I really love this place. I’ve been coming here since I moved to London, about twelve years ago, and it’s one of the most soothing bookstores I’ve ever had the pleasure of visiting. Yeah, you hear talk of weird things going on at Fell’s, but really? We could all do with a bit more quirky in our lives. And Fell provides that in spades: Annual plants that never seem to wither, let alone die. The smell of incense mixing with cocoa. Strange books tucked horizontally into the shelves, feeling like they have a touch of magic to them. Nonsensical conversations taking place in dark corners (I’m talking candid chats about the apocalypse and whether angels could actually bless all the rains down in Africa. I swear Fell and his boyfriend are the religion Mythbusters or something.) I’m going to sound like a total nerd here for a moment, but it feels like some sort of liminal space. You know when you were a kid and you were just desperate to receive your Hogwarts letter? Or find your own wardrobe to Narnia? That’s what walking into Fell’s feels like. Like you’ve finally found that portal and can stay as long as you like, provided you don’t try to take anything back with you into the ‘real’ world. Hell, maybe that’s why he won’t let anyone buy his books. 

Robert T. 

Union City, CA

4 friends

26 reviews

3 photos

There’s a snake?? In this shop?? A reALLY MASSIVE SNAKE????? What are y’all doing talkin’ about your meet cutes and shit someone call pest control!

Malini D. 

London, United Kingdom 

0 friends

48 reviews

99 photos

I’m not gonna pretend I have anything to say about whether this is a good bookstore or not, but if you ever want knitting help you should definitely stop by. Mr. Fell knows an absurd amount about crafts for a guy who looks like my grandpa and he’s now replaced Youtube as my go-to for alleviating “Omg please fix this how the hell did I manage to reverse the pattern??” panic. For the record, I didn’t just wander up to a random bookseller one day and demand that he help me salvage the ruins of my first sweater. I’d taken a seat inside to wait out a storm, had my messy sleeve stuffed into my purse, and he’d offered the help. Bit of a bastard about things like gauge and color--not everyone wants to wear tartan, dude--but you get used to that. He means well. Said I should come back to show him the finished piece, which I did. Things just kind of spiraled from there. He’s an absolute treasure trove of knowledge once you get him talking and a muffin to boot. If he were twenty years younger and in any way straight I would have asked him out in a heartbeat. As it is I’m considering setting him up with Grandpa. 

Tiffany L. 

London, United Kingdom 

132 friends

312 reviews

34 photos

I’m not really a book person myself but I followed my wife in with our seventh-month old and was kinda embarrassed when he started making a fuss. Normally I’m full Badass Mom mode while in public--I’ve got a kid to feed, change, sooth, and you all can damn well deal with it--but this place was so quiet Liam seemed extra loud in comparison. I was about to take him back out when a man appeared out of nowhere. The owner I guess, based on how some of these other reviews describe him. Older gentleman with clothes out of some period piece. Anyway, he scoops Liam into his arms like he was born for it and started bouncing. Our fussy, temperamental, drama queen Liam settled in an instant and my wife got to browse to her heart’s content. I don’t know how he did it, but that man is an absolute angel. Full stars for that moment alone. 

Gillian L. 

The Hague, The Netherlands

283 friends

256 reviews

60 photos

Anyone know if the old Bentley parked out front is for sale? 

Update: It’s really, really, really not 

Billy H. 

Austen, TX

40 friends

2073 reviews

774 photos

QUEER BOOKS QUEER BOOKS QUEER BOOKS QUEER BOOKS QUEER BOOKS QUEER BOOKS QUEER BOOKS QUEER BOOKS QUEER BOOKS QUEER BOOKS QUEER BOOKS QUEER BOOKS SO MANY QUEER BOOKS!!!

Gabriela G. 

London, United Kingdom

3 friends

22 reviews

1 photos

Run by this delightfully frumpy guy who sometimes hands out biscuits from a sewing tin like my gran used to. He asked me if I was looking for anything in particular and I told him my name was Jared, I was 19, but sadly I’d never learned how to read. I have NEVER seen a man more confused in my life. 10/10 would meme him again. 

Colie A.

Enola, PA

201 friends

2778 reviews

10382 photos

I’m setting the record straight here since there are a bunch of reviews claiming it’s just London folklore: there is a snake at A.Z. Fell’s. Must be an exotic pet he usually keeps upstairs because I’ve only ever seen it twice. Is it big? Yes. Scary? Fuck yes, but I’ve never seen it do anything more than give a warning hiss at this drunk who wandered in and started yelling. (Are snakes good guard dogs? This one is.) The other time he was just chilling on top of one of the shelves. Snoozing, I guess. I asked Mr. Fell if I could pet him and he said maybe after he woke up, but then I had to get to class and all. 

Afraid of snakes? Steer clear. Otherwise I’d really recommend popping in and seeing if he’s around. Idk, maybe I’m just a snake fan but he looks super sweet and chill. Life is short. Boop the snake snoot. 

Jeremy W. 

London, United Kingdom 

86 friends

409 reviews

12 photos

I live down the street from A.Z. Fell’s and let me tell you, this place is spooky as fuck. All sorts of weird lights and noises coming from it. At all times of the day and night too. Either this bowtie wearing bookworm has one crazy sex life or the place is haunted. Jury’s out on which. 

Heather Ki. 

London, United Kingdom 

0 friends

3852 reviews

1 photos

This shop smells. Not that old book smell either, oh no, but like something is molding. I took my little Johnny in here to try and get him interested in something other than those damned video games and I walk into what smells like a whole cloud of toxic mold! My boy has a weak constitution as it is and if he comes down with anything I will be pressing charges, you mark my words. 

Jo. W. 

London, United Kingdom 

32 friends

410 reviews

61 photos

Hey, does anyone want to talk about the fact that this place burned down last month? As in, completely up in flames, I saw it happen, nothing but a smoking husk afterwards? Does no one else remember this??

Tiggi N. 

London, United Kingdom 

32 friends

33 reviews

24 photos

Has anyone read this guy’s opening hours? I included a photo above: “I open the shop on most days about 9:30AM perhaps 10:AM. While occasionally I have opened the shop as early as 8, I have been known not to open until 1.” Absolutely insane. This guy’s a madman and I love him. If anyone actually manages to get into this place please let me know because I need to shake Fell’s hand. 

Mackenzie J. 

City Centre, Manchester, United Kingdom 

807 friends

2592 reviews

13218 photos

I told my girlfriend this shop’s got a snake named Anthony and she didn’t believe me. Going back for proof next week. 

Update: got the snake selfie!!!!!!!!

Penny O. 

Chicago, IL

87 friends

557 reviews

16 photos

Caught the owner snogging some hot twink behind the cookbooks. Well done, my dude. 

[eeyore101247]

Are You Trying To Kill Us?!

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Roommate AU Prompt: New roommate cooks alone for the first time and almost burns down the house (@americanbeautiies)

Warnings: Fluff, fluff, and more fluff

1,541 words

Masterlist

You groaned as you looked over your scattered notes and lab data sheets. You had a major lab due soon, and you were struggling to get it typed up. Nothing seemed to make sense in your data, and it didn’t seem to support your hypothesis, no matter how many times you rewrote it. Maybe you just weren’t approaching it right, or maybe you were looking at it all wrong. After 5 hours of staring blankly at the numbers and words littering the pages, you had come no closer to a resolution.

Your pencil snapped underneath your stressed grip, and you cursed under your breath. Dropping the broken pieces, you sighed, running your fingers through your (Y/H/C) hair, messing it up even further. You were getting nowhere with your work, and it was only frustrating you more. It didn’t exactly help that in the last hour, your new roommate had decided to start banging around pots and pans in the kitchen.

You groaned as a particularly loud thud came from down the hall. You buried your face in your hands; you didn't even want to know what Peter was up to. There was something weird about him, but ever since your last roommate just sorta disappeared, you needed help with the rent. Within a week of putting up a post, Peter Parker had showed up at your door with a sheepish smile on his face, stuttering over his words as he asked if the offer was still open.

It had been a crazy couple months since he had moved in. He was rarely around, always sneaking into the apartment in the dead of night. You swore you heard him talking to himself occasionally when you walked past his room. On the days he was home, he would be rushing to get homework or studying done. Sometimes, you were able to convince him to stay home and watch movies for a night so the two of you could relax. Those nights were always fun and where you really got to know the adorably nerdy dork you lived with. Your favorite nights were the ones where the two of you would stay up late trying to binge watch all the Star Wars movies. You always managed to fall asleep halfway through, but Peter never seemed to mind. 

One time, you had faked it, having been curious how you always ended up in your bed. As you laid across the couch, pretending to be asleep, you heard Peter start to make a comment then stop. A soft chuckle came from him, the sound of the movie coming to a stop as his presence on the couch disappeared. It wasn’t long before you felt his arms slide under your back and knees, gently picking you up bridal style and carrying you to your bedroom. Your mind raced, wondering if he did this every time you fell asleep during movie nights. You soon felt the softness of your bed, and the warmth of his arms disappeared as he pulled away. You stayed still and waited for the sound of your door shutting, but you had to suppress a shutter when you felt a soft pair of lips press against your forehead. Peter mumbled a soft 'goodnight' before his footsteps left and the door shut behind him.

You were pulled out of your thoughts by the high pitched sound of the smoke alarm and the scent of smoke filling your nose. Eyes wide, you quickly pushed away from your desk, hurrying to the kitchen to see what was happening. You heard the clash of pots, followed by muttered curses and the sound of something being sprayed. As you round the corner, you saw Peter standing in the kitchen, fire extinguisher in hand as he sprayed it at the flames that consumed whatever was in the pan.

“Peter! Are you trying to kill us?!” You yelled as you ran into the kitchen, grabbing a dish towel and trying to smother the flames since the extinguisher didn’t seem to be working. You managed to put out the fire, releasing a breath you didn’t know you were holding. In the pan, sat the remnants of a pancake, though by the smell, something hadn’t been right with the batter to begin with. With a sigh, you brought your attention to the batter mixture to your left, leaning over and giving it a sniff.

Yep, something is definitely not right with that batter.

You bite back a gag as you turned around to face Peter. His head hung as he stared at the floor sheepishly. A trail of bright red led from the tips of his ears down across his cheeks. You could tell he was embarrassed by the way his shoulders hunched forward like many of the other times you’d caught him in weird situations. You let out a sigh, walking over and giving him a smile.

“It’s fine Peter. You were trying to do something nice. I get it.” You said softly, resting your hand on his shoulder and giving it a gentle squeeze. He relaxed under your touch, letting out a breath before looking up at you.

“So you aren’t mad at me for almost burning down the apartment?” He asked softly, his gaze hopeful and pleading. He looked similar to a sad puppy, pleading for forgiveness from its owner. You crumbled beneath that look, shaking your head slightly as you dropped your hand back to your side.

“I’m not mad Pete. What matters is that you and I are both ok.” You said with a smile, turning around and starting to clean up the mess. You heard Peter scramble behind you to help, quickly picking up the ruined batter and dumping it in the trash. 

“Wanna just get take out?” You asked, looking over at him with a smile. He gave a small nod, his gorgeous brown eyes meeting yours. 

“Yea, um, sure.” He stuttered, giving you a goofy smile before focusing on helping you clean. You couldn’t help but smile at his adorably dorky personality, remembering all the Star Wars stuff in his room. Several action figures and other collectibles always littered his room, his collection ever growing as he start collecting Funko Pop figures. His Lego Death Star he said he built with his best friend Ned, sat securely propped up on his large desk, the Millenium Falcon decorating the other side.

You watched out of the corner of your eye as he wiped his hands off on a Star Wars towel he got off Amazon, pulling his phone out of his pocket. “Pizza?”

“Pizza sounds good.” 

He nodded in response, dialing the number and walking off, putting in your order. You watched him walk off, admiring the toned muscles in his back that you could see through his shirt. For as dorky of a guy he was, he was extremely fit and good looking. One of the many reasons you had fallen for your roommate. You would never admit that secret though, knowing he would never feel the same way about you. 

You knew plenty of his secrets, though it was by complete accident. He didn’t know you knew though, having only caught him when his back was turned or he was too distracted. You knew how much he missed his aunt, having caught him looking at her picture several times. You’d also caught him doing impressions of the Avengers in a mirror, which always caused you to giggle. You’d also seen a lycra suit in his laundry one day, but you didn’t say anything. Of course, it explained his late nights and sudden disappearances. It also explained his fast reflexes whenever you tripped over your own feet. 

You remembered one particular spill you'd taken not too long ago - one that had changed how you felt for the adorable brunette. You were returning home after a particularly long day. Your bag had broke, leaving you to carry all of your textbooks and folders in your arms. By the time you had reached your apartment, your arms ached and legs shaking a bit from having to stabilize all this weight without the support of the handrail. You had managed to finagle the door open, gently pushing it further with your foot as you stepped in, but with your luck, you stumbled over one of your shoes sitting by the door, your books tumbling out of your arms and to the floor. You squeezed your eyes shut, expecting the painful collision with the hardwood floor, but it never came. Instead, you had felt two strong arms wrap around your waist, catching you before you could fall to the floor. The strong scent of a familiar cologne had filled your nostrils, heart fluttering in your chest as his warmth soaked through to your very core.

You let out a sigh as you set the now clean dishes in the cabinet, turning around and smiling as you saw Peter sitting on the couch, heart fluttering in your chest.

You had fallen in love with Spider-Man, and didn’t know what the hell to do about it. But padding across the living room to plunk down next to him on the couch seemed like a pretty good place to start.

AN: Ahhhhhh! This is has been sitting in my finished work for a while and I’ve been kinda hesitant about posting it, but here it is! Thank you so much Carrie (@spidey-waffles11) and Anna (@softspideyboy) for betaing this!

Thank you for reading!

~ LoLo *^-^*

If you wish to not be tagged, shoot me a DM!

Want to be added to my tag list?

Send me any questions, what you thought, or if you have any ideas!

Tagging my beautiful mutuals: @spidey-waffles11 @parkerpuffwrites @unholyhaz @louistwinslover @marvelrreigns @softspideyboy @loveme-hollandx @harringtonsholland @mlt2000 @ptersparkers @mybabyboytony @spidey-holland7 @devin-marie @hollandsosterfield @saysomethingspiderman @petersstealthsuit @moonstruckholland @starenemy

Strikethrough means I can’t tag you!

Taglist: @moonwarriorx3 @itseightbeats @stretchkingblog97 @legendsofwholock @ad-iuficium @miss-mcbotty @trustfundparker @theparkerindustries @house-arya

[glitterslag]

Any Day of The Year - Roger Taylor x Reader (Valentine’s Day)

GUYS i’m literally so buoyed up by all the nice things people have said about Booty Call & its put me in the mood to just write and write and never stop SO here’s a silly little roger blurb thing i just wrote in one go because to be honest i’ve still got so many valentine’s feels and i’m not ready for the love to be over!!  i had to get this out even though it was 2 days ago    D E A L  W I T H  I T

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings: language, smut

Summary: Modern day AU. You’ve broken up with your boyfriend and your friend Roger doesn’t want you to be alone on Valentine’s Day.

1.

“Prick.” Rog mumbled absentmindedly, mouth full of a cigarette as he chucked takeaway menus and unopened post everywhere, searching the cluttered kitchen counter for his lighter. “I’ll kill him.”

“It’s here, idiot.”

He turned to you, sat on the sofa with your arm held out, zippo in hand. He walked over to stand in front of you, staring down at you while you lit his cig for him.

“Has he cheated on you?” He demanded. 

“No, Rog.” You said gently, sighing. 

He raised a bemused eyebrow, hands on hips. 

“Well what happened, then?” 

He asked it as though he’d never heard of any other reason to break up with someone. In fact, he probably hadn’t. 

You just shrugged, looking anywhere in the room but at him. 

“Just said it wasn’t gonna work out.” 

“Wanker.”

“Yeah.” 

Roger flopped down next to you on the settee, arms spread over the back as he blew smoke at the ceiling. 

“You bothered?” He said, eyeing you quickly before he dropped his head back again, tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip. 

“A bit,” you mused. It wasn’t like the two of you had been going out long. “It’s more the fact that it was only the day before Valentine’s Day. Wish he could’ve waited, you know? Now I don’t have anything to do.” 

Roger chuckled, letting his outstretched arm come down to rest on your shoulders. It was always straight to the point with you two. 

“Saving himself a good fifty quid by not taking you out for dinner, mind.” He said to himself, staring at something far-off with awed eyes. “I like his style.” 

You shoved him hard, and he dropped the deadpan act in exchange for a hearty laugh. 

“Not funny.” 

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

2.

Valentine’s was probably the only night of the year Roger Taylor didn’t have a date. 

Bad for his rep, he said, to be seen out with a girl on Valentine’s Day. Couldn’t be doing with them getting any ideas, thinking he was looking for relationships and romance. Besides, he could get laid any other day of the week. 

He was happy to stay in with you, eating pizza all night and keeping you distracted from the heartbreak of losing Jonty. 

“It’s Jeremy!” You hissed at him for the twelfth time. “And I am NOT heartbroken.” 

He shrugged easily and popped open a beer, grinning. 

“Whatever.” 

Roger never liked your boyfriends, and couldn’t ever pretend to be too upset when it all went pear-shaped (which it usually did). He’d always give the stupidest reasons, like not liking a guy’s hair or that his jeans fit badly, and even once because he “didn’t like the way he ate his cereal”. 

A few too many bottles of beer later and you were starting to wonder whether he was right, though, scrolling up through yours and Jeremy’s old text conversations, trying to pin-point the exact moment it had all gone wrong this time.  

You had Rog temporarily distracted, trying to make sense of the pizza menu whilst tipsy and not wearing his glasses, squinting and muttering to himself darkly. 

“I keep telling you to get contacts.” You said, half irritated, and he looked up and noticed what you were doing. 

“Are you reading old texts?!” 

You made a move to hide your phone. Too slow, he snatched it away from you. 

“Stop it!” You protested, making grabby hands at him. He held it high above your head. 

“You’ll only drunk text him.” He warned, as if he had all of a sudden become the authority on all things romantic, and you rolled your eyes, annoyed. 

“What kind of pizza should I get?” 

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

3.

Roger could be a gent, when he wanted. He provided the beers and paid for the pizza (you’d usually always go halves on takeaways) and his unspoken sympathy offering didn’t go unnoticed. 

He also knew how to be a little shit. 

When the delivery man had smiled and told the two of you to have a good night, Roger had shot him an evil grin, taking the pizza box under one arm and pulling you into his side. 

“Oh, I will mate.” He’d said, roughly grabbing your arse as you stifled a squeal. “If you know what I mean.”

He gave your bum a playful slap, winked at the blushing pizza boy and swung the apartment door shut in his face. 

“ROGER!” 

He just burst out cackling as you shoved him away. 

You tutted to yourself as you took the food back into his bedroom, getting yourselves settled on the bed. You felt bad for the poor boy. He couldn’t have been any more than sixteen. 

You weren’t really angry, though. It was all in good fun. You knew Rog could never talk to you ugly or touch you ugly. 

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

4.

“Hey this pizza’s shaped like a heart!” You exclaimed, pleased, as you opened the box. “Valentine’s Day, and all that. I love Pizza Hut!”

Roger peered in. 

“Cute.” He commented, reaching for your confiscated phone in his back pocket. “Should instagram it.”

You froze, watching him as he fumbled with the password. 

“Rog, don’t.”

“Why?”

You reddened, answering him in the smallest of voices.

“Don’t want Jeremy to see it.” 

He put your phone away, but scoffed at you nevertheless. 

“Why d’you care?”

You didn’t say anything. 

As mugged off as you were feeling, you could never bring yourself to do something like that. Even though it had been him who dumped you, you wouldn’t want Jeremy to think you were on some kind of date only a day after the breakup. 

“Fine,” Roger started casually, searching the bed for his own phone. “I’ll just post it on mine.” 

You eyed him warily. 

“Why would you do that? You hate all that cheesy stuff.”

He ignored you, hovering over the bed on his knees so he could take his picture from above. 

“Does Jeremy follow you?” You asked uneasily. 

He still wouldn’t answer. 

“Roger!”

“What?” He said defensively, and you watched him helplessly as he posted the picture. “Got to give him something to be jealous about.” 

“You better hadn’t have tagged me!”

“He needs to realise how much of a prick he’s been.” He replied simply, as if that explained everything, leaning back on his hand and stuffing a slice of pepperoni into his big fat mouth. 

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

5.

A couple more beers later and you were snogging in a giggly heap and to be honest, the only thing you could think was how much of a miracle it was that it hadn’t happened sooner. His tongue tasted like garlic mayo, and you weren’t even mad about it. 

You knocked a beer bottle over in the process and realised you were far too drunk for this, and had it been anyone else but him it could never have been a good idea. You felt bad about Jeremy for what - a second? But it was Roger for christ’s sake. He couldn't exactly be one to judge. 

“Bet you didn’t think you would be getting it in tonight.” You said, strained, tongue poking out a little as you tried to wiggle out of your skinny jeans. 

“I mean I was kind of hoping.” He looked at you apologetically, scratching his head. “Is that allowed?”

After a few unsuccessful attempts to bend you over (”why d’you keep turning round?” “Because I want to look at you you fucking idiot!”) Roger conceded. 

“Fine.” He huffed, flipping you back over and rolling his eyes like it was some big chore. You bounced a little, giggling. “Guess we’ll have to do it the ‘romantic’ way.” 

Oh what a shame. 

You could practically hear the air quotes in his voice, but he smushed his face into your neck all the same, nuzzling at you with his nose as he pushed back into you. You sighed dreamily, running your fingers through his hair, and judging by the size of his smile against your skin he wasn’t really all that opposed. 

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

6. 

Ten minutes later and you were both dressed again, back to stealing his pizza crusts like it was any other night. He searched for something to watch on Netflix and you rested your head against his shoulder. Easy.

“We did it the wrong way around.” You remarked sleepily, and he didn’t understand what you meant. 

“It’s supposed to be Netflix and then chill.” You explained. “We did the chilling part first.” 

He winced, chuckling. 

“I don’t think it specifies the order, babe.” 

It wasn’t until a little while later, when you’d nearly fallen asleep, that he finally looked down at you, voice low and eyes suddenly serious.

“The only thing I’ve done in the wrong order was leaving this until tonight instead of doing it two years ago.”

He pressed a kiss low on your neck, then, suddenly making you feel very sober, and your heart was beating so fast you had to turn away. 

[strawori]

Srodulv || Elu (2/2)

Summary: "The only thing he knew for sure was that he had told Eliott, not so subtly, that choices had to be made sometimes. And he also knew that choosing meant more than slipping a sentimental drawing into his pocket."

Or, the one where Lucas finds Eliott's Instagram.

Words: 4.3k

He found another drawing on Thursday. This time, there weren’t two drawings side by side. There was no comparing realities. There was only one drawing, one reality. Their reality and one hedgehog. Lucas.

The little hedgehog had an angry expression on his face that made Lucas scoff. At least Eliott noticed that he wasn’t happy and fine with life at the moment. He guessed that, as much as Eliott didn’t care, at least he had enough empathy to notice that.

But, apparently, the hedgehog's expression wasn’t the most important part of the drawing. The hedgehog had a phone in his hand and Lucas could see the Instagram logo on the top corner of the phone. There was a caption on the bottom of the paper just like there had been on Friday, but it was different this time. It wasn’t about Eliott, it was about Lucas.

“ Lucas nº 1 discovers @ srodulv ”

It confused Lucas despite how straightforward it was. What did Eliott want? Was srodulv Eliott’s Instagram? That would explain why Lucas hadn’t found him when he had searched his name weeks ago. But what could possibly be in his Instagram that would justify Eliott coming forward and giving him his name?

Those questions could probably be solved easily if Lucas just got his phone out of his pocket and searched for Eliott’s Instagram. Lucas knew that. However, he wasn’t sure he wanted to do that. Wouldn’t that be like giving in? wouldn't that be like going back and almost ignoring the hurt?

Truth be told, he was afraid of what he would find when he opened up Eliott’s Instagram. It surely wouldn’t be just selfies and pictures of landscapes, Eliott wouldn’t have gone out of his way to give him the drawing and his username for that. It had to be something deeper and way more meaningful.

He managed to avoid thinking about going on Instagram until his classes ended. Every time he started thinking about it, he shut his brain down, not wanting to deal with a wandering mind. He knew, deep down, that he would look for it as soon as he got home. But he didn’t want to start imagining what he would find when he finally ‘discovered srodulv’, not in the middle of class, at least.

But then the bell rang and he put his books in his backpack and he couldn’t pretend he wasn’t thinking about it any longer.

And he was curious, he wanted to know what Eliott wanted him to see, what he wanted him to discover. Would it change Lucas’ mind? Would it make the hurt go away?

When he finally got home, he quickly looked around to make sure no one else was there. He felt like he should be alone for this, like it was too much of a private moment to share with anyone. He knew that Manon had stayed in school after he had left because he had seen her there and, since he hadn't seen Mika in the apartment, he probably had a shift at work. Lisa could be in her room, Lucas didn't check, but he knew that she wouldn't bother him if he didn't bother her.  

He sat on the couch after dropping his backpack to the floor and taking off his shoes, he threw his jacket to the armchair and pulled a blanket over him. He didn’t know if it was because it was still cold in March, if it was because he needed some type of comfort, or if he was using it as a shield against whatever he was going to see that might hurt him.

He grabbed his phone and opened the Instagram app. The drawing was laying next to him and Lucas’ eyes kept shifting to it, to the angry hedgehog and the words on the bottom of the page. He had so many questions and he could get the answers so easily but he was too afraid to type the word he needed to type.

He took a deep breath and typed srodulv on the search bar, careful not to make any mistakes. This was important. Way too important.

Lucas’ hands were sweating and his heart was beating frantically. Questions were swirling around in his head and his hand shook when he clicked on the first profile that appeared. There were twenty pictures on Eliott’s profile and Lucas wasn’t sure if he should look at the newest one or go all the way to the first one he ever published.  

But this was Eliott and Eliott was an artist. Eliott knew how to tell a story and stories start at the beginning. So, he scrolled down Eliott’s page, avoiding looking too much into what he knew were drawings, not wanting to mess this up, and opened Eliott’s older picture.

It was a picture of him, his face wasn’t showing and the main focus was the necklace resting on his chest. Lucas didn’t know if it had some kind of deep meaning, but since it was dated November 2018, way before they had met, Lucas didn’t think it was important for him to see and understand right now. If things ended up working out, maybe he would be able to ask Eliott about it.

The picture after that was a drawing. Or rather, three small drawings of a cat and a raccoon in a vague heart shape. Lucas knew who the raccoon was and he had a pretty good idea about the cat. Lucille. It could only be her based on the affection that seemed to be present between the two spirit animals. It was from the beginning of January, though, so Lucas tried to tell his mind and his heart not to dwell on it too much. It was a bit hard since he could only remember how Eliott had kissed her at Chloé's party as if he hadn't been with Lucas just a few days before.

He went to the next post before his heart could start squeezing painfully inside his chest. He wasn't prepared for the drawing he saw, though. He wasn't ready at all and it made him take in a sharp intake of breath.

He remembered the 25th of January, he remembered seeing Eliott for the first time in the common room. He remembered the eye contact that made Lucas dizzy and he remembered sitting with him at the bus stop. Chelou. Sharing some vending machine food that Eliott had brought for them and sadly getting interrupted by Chloé. He could remember all of it and it surprised him that that moment had been important enough for Eliott to draw. Already important enough back then to warrant a place in the Instagram where he had almost nothing up to that moment.

It warmed Lucas' being, just like Eliott's expressive eyes and his kind smile had done back in that bus stop on that Friday night.

Lucas also recognized the next picture. He recognized the image from Polaris, the one he had seen so long ago when he had been looking for Eliott on the Internet. The picture that now brought him to another Friday night when he had felt like he could conquer the world.

He moved on to the next one quickly, not wanting to think about that night and how happy he had been then. It was a terrible contrast to the way he had been feeling recently and Lucas didn't want to relive it yet.

February 1st. Lucas had loved that night. Or most of that night, at least.

He had loved spending that time with Eliott just smoking and joking around. He had loved talking to him and discovering things about him. That was the night when he had discovered that Eliott was an artist, that his spirit animal was a racoon and that he had shitty taste in music. Discovering things about Eliott had been an amazing experience and Lucas remembered never wanting that night to end.

He had wanted to never leave Eliott’s house and just stay there with him until the end of eternity.

He had even played the piano for Eliott. He never really played the piano when anyone was in the room with him. It had always been his own little private thing, but, in that moment of trust and soft glow, it had felt so right to share a little bit of himself with Eliott, that Lucas hadn’t even thought twice about it.

He could hear the soft sound of the piano now. ‘I love you’ hanging in the air with every note, and he saw Eliott’s mesmerized expression as clear as the day. He had never gotten a reaction like that and, seeing Eliott looking at him in that way, had made him feel like the best pianist in the whole world.

Suprenant. Eliott liked surprising people and, when he told Lucas that, it had sounded like a confession to Lucas’ ears. It sounded like a promise and like the future.

But they had been interrupted again. By Eliott’s phone this time. The sound like a wake-up call in the middle of the paradise they had been sharing. Looking back now, Lucas felt bad when he remembered that he had only regretted ditching his friends and Chloé when he saw Eliott kiss his girlfriend. Leaving Eliott and going to the party with them hadn't even seemed like a possibility to him before that.

The next picture didn’t seem like it had a deeper meaning than just a picture Eliott had taken. But that might just be Lucas’ brain not wanting to work anything out. There was a light in the dark and that made him think back to Polaris and its concept, though. It did seem plausible that Eliott was referencing it, but Lucas couldn’t be sure; so, he moved on.

Oreo made him chuckle. It was such an Eliott thing to post about him to mourn the raccoon. His little spirit animal. Lucas smiled softly. Eliott was a dork and he was adorable and Lucas still wished he hadn’t fallen for him. It was too hard to get over Eliott, especially when he was so soft and kind. Especially when he had such a beautiful soul.

Lucas couldn’t tie the next drawing to anything he had lived with Eliott, but he guessed it was pretentious to assume that everything on Eliott’s Instagram related to him, somehow.

The brain with the ‘Lost & Found’ tag worried him though. What had Eliott been thinking, what had he been going through when he drew that. Was he hurting in some way? Why had he been lost? Where had he found himself and had he lost himself again after that drawing? Why was his brain inside of a jar? It worried Lucas beyond belief. As hurt as he was with Eliott and what had happened between them, he still wanted Eliott to be alright and happy. And this drawing hadn't been made by someone who was alright and happy. It came from a place of pain, Lucas was sure of that, and he didn't want Eliott to feel the need to draw something like it, ever again.

The next caption said ‘Man Underwater’ and it was a beautiful painting. Lucas knew that most of the time art was open for interpretation and that the meaning of it changed depending on the person. He could see himself in it. The need to stay afloat and the difficulty in doing so. Lucas wondered if Eliott understood what it was like to feel like he was drowning, too. If he also felt like he couldn’t breathe at times. If he felt like a force bigger than him was pulling him down and keeping him from staying above water. He didn’t wish that feeling on anyone, but, selfishly, he liked to feel understood.

The post after the painting was a video, the only post where Eliott showed his face.

He didn’t say anything, but Lucas hadn’t really expected him to do so. This was Eliott. Speaking without words was something that was part of him, something he was extremely good at. Lucas thought that Eliott not speaking made it more personal because it reminded him of silent moments and intense stares. Eliott talked with his eyes and Lucas had fallen for every word they had said to him. He loved Eliott’s eyes and he missed looking into them, wished he could look into them right now. Wished he could see them in front of him, pure and unfiltered.

He gulped and moved to the next image. It wouldn't do him any good to get distracted thinking about Eliott's eyes.

He frowned at the image of the raccoon and the mess of lines around it. There was only one thing that drawing could mean.

Lucas checked the date - 13th February, - the day he had stood Lucas up, the day they were supposed to paint the mural together. Eliott had said he had had a problem, but it hadn’t crossed Lucas’ mind that maybe he had had a problem with himself, a problem inside of himself.

All those lines could only mean messy thoughts, a cluttered and chaotic mind and Lucas was starting to wonder if there was much more to Eliott than what he let the world see. He had forgiven Eliott for not showing up, he had understood that sometimes people are met with a problem they aren’t expecting and have to cancel plans. However, he had never though into it any further and he now regretted it.

What if Eliott had actually been in trouble with other people or with himself? What if he had been to caught up in his mind for whatever reason? What if he had actually wanted to be with Lucas that day but it hadn’t been possible? Had he had someone there to help him and support him? Lucas hoped so.

He left that picture, the bitter taste of guilt still in his mouth, and tried to understand what Eliott wanted to tell him next.

He didn’t know how to analyze the bow with the word Polaris in it. He was sure it meant something - Eliott didn't post things just because -  but he didn't know what. Did it have anything to do with Valentine’s day? Pointing an arrow at someone like Cupid does? Falling in love, maybe? Falling in love with the light to Eliott’s dark? Falling in love with the light that would enlighten his confused thoughts. Maybe it meant finding the person who completed Eliott's own personal Polaris story. The possibility left Lucas' hands tingling with the memory of how he had initiated their first kiss, exactly with the Polaris scene.

Lucas couldn’t help but laugh at the black and white video that came up next. ‘Double trouble’ on the 14th of February. Could it be a reference to the double date Chloé had planned for them for the day after? Lucas wasn’t sure. Paying attention to the lyrics he felt like maybe he was reading too much into it and told himself again that not every post had to be about him. He opened the next picture before he could make up some crazy theory.

Lucas had never read ‘The Waves’ before but he suddenly wanted to get the book and read it as soon as possible, if only to make sure he understood exactly what Eliott was trying to convey with that quote.

Did he want the ‘star’ to carry him with it? Take him to the sky and ‘consume him’? Lucas had never known there was so much depth to Eliott, so many feelings and emotions behind the smiley boy he had fallen for. And that depth made Eliott so much more interesting as if he wasn’t already interesting enough in Lucas’ eyes. Lucas wanted to know more about Eliott. He wanted to learn what happened in his mind, what went on behind his beautiful eyes. He wanted to understand what had happened and how Eliott was feeling. Wanted to be there for him in times when he felt like drawing raccoons surrounded by chaotic thought and times when he wanted to be consumed by stars. Lucas was hurt, but he wanted to be there for Eliott, because maybe he hadn’t been the only one hurt in this whole situation. Maybe they just had to understand each other and then they could be happy and there for each other every step of the way.

Lucas' eyes widened when he saw the drawing of the raindrops that appeared after the quote.

Pas peur.

He felt tears come up to his eyes at the memory of what they had shared that day and at the knowledge that it had been as important to Eliott as it had been to him. It had been important to Eliott. It hadn't been a game to him. It had meant something.

The memory was clear in Lucas’ mind. The rain falling over them, Eliott’s cold hands on his hair and on his face, Eliott’s soft, wet hair between his fingers. He could smell the rain, the wet soil and Eliott’s cologne. He could still taste Eliott and the water on his tongue.

It was as if he was living that moment again through Eliott’s drawing and, if that was the reason why Eliott had drawn it, then Lucas couldn’t try to convince himself that he didn’t mean anything to Eliott any longer.

Because he clearly did. The proof was right there in the form of the raindrops Eliott had drawn after their first kiss. Eliott had to care.

Pas peur.

He wiped his tears. The combination of being flooded with so many memories and feelings and seeing Eliot in a different light being too much for him to handle. But he had to keep going. He wasn’t done seeing every post Eliott had made and he had to, he knew he had to. Eliott wanted him to see it all and he was now understanding why. He wanted to see everything just as much as Eliott wanted him to.

The post that appeared after the one from that dreamlike Friday was a big contrast from it.

There wasn’t a memory attached to it on Lucas’ side but it was clear that what Eliott had been feeling when he posted it was the opposite of what he had felt on the night they had kissed.

The mood of the post was completely different, it was sad and doubtful. It had Lucas worried.

There had to have been something going on with Eliott. Something must have happened that made him doubt his happiness this much. Eliott had felt the need to reassure himself that everything was going to be alright and that didn't sit well with Lucas; Eliott should never feel like that.

Lucas could only hope that Eliott was feeling better now and that that momentary sadness had been exactly that, momentary.

The next picture confused him.

The date didn’t ring any bells at first, and only when he checked the calendar and saw which day of the week it had fallen on, did he understand the connection with himself.

It had been the day he had left his Biology test unfinished to see Eliott. Eliott had kissed him right outside the classroom and they had been lucky no one had seen them. Despite the danger of being seen, Lucas had been happy to be with Eliott for that little bit of time, to kiss him and to be careless for a few blissful seconds.

And then everything had gone down the drain. Eliott had lied to his face, he had told him that Lucille knew about them and that they had broken up. Lucas had believed him and, as long as Eliott hadn’t been sad, he had been happy too, more than happy.

Lucas even opened up to him about his family. He had told Eliott about the situation with his father and then about his mother. Or rather, half lied about his mother. In his defence, he just hadn’t wanted to drive Eliott away because of his mother, he hadn't wanted Eliott to leave because Lucas had too much baggage or something like that. He had wanted him to stay and so he had told him not to worry  because he didn't talk to his mother anymore.

But Eliott had closed himself off after that. He hadn’t let Lucas kiss him again and he had left without any explanation to why he had to suddenly go. Lucas had been confused at the time, but he hadn’t dwelt on it too much, especially since things got even worse the next day.

But now, looking at Eliott’s thoughts, Lucas could see that something about that conversation had hurt Eliott. Something had hurt him so much that he had felt the need to build a wall between himself and the world and that was what the drawing showed.

Lucas just couldn’t figure out what in that interaction had made Eliott feel like this. It might have been because of what he said about his mother, but what exactly and how exactly? Lucas couldn’t be sure unless Eliott told him with his words. And maybe it was about time they did exactly that, talked things out and understood each other. If not to get back together, then at least to understand each other’s perspective and put this mess behind their backs.

The raccoon trying to write something only to crumple the paper in his hands and throw it away broke his heart.

Had this been the image of Eliott trying to convey his feelings and reach out to Lucas?

Maybe that’s where the drawings came from, Eliott trying to make sure that Lucas knew what he was feeling, a place of hurt and confusion.

It made Lucas feel guilty because just like Eliott had crumpled those papers and threw them away, Lucas had done the exact same thing with the drawings Eliott had given him. He had thrown away the only way Eliott had finally found, after struggling, to reach out to him.

But Lucas still couldn’t understand what had happened.

Why had Eliott been fine only to pull away and go back to Lucille in a matter of days? Lucas was confused and hurt. Eliott had hurt him. He had asked him time and then went back to his girlfriend and now he was trying to make amends with Lucas? Why? When would Eliott make up his mind? He couldn’t have both as Lucas had told him in the cafeteria. He had to choose. Lucas wouldn't let himself be played like that.

But maybe Eliott had already made his choice.

At least, the next picture seemed to confirm that. It had been posted last Tuesday, on the day Lucas had seen him in the cafeteria and had told him that choices were necessary sometimes.

Perhaps Eliott wasn’t brave enough or confident enough to tell Lucas that he had made his choice. Maybe he was afraid of rejection or of something else. Lucas didn’t know. It could be more than one thing or maybe Eliott wasn’t afraid at all and Lucas was just reading too much into this post.

However, the description that Eliott had written with it and the fact that the man in the picture was hugging a male statue, made Lucas think that he was the only person he could ever be referring to was him. It couldn’t be Lucille. It just couldn’t. It had to be Lucas.

“In case you ever foolishly forget: I am never not thinking of you.”

It had to be him. It had to.

Because Eliott cared for him. He cared and he thought of Lucas. And he had made his choice.

There was only one last picture on Eliott’s Instagram. Lucas took a deep breath before opening it.

And nothing could keep the smile out of his face after he saw it.

It was precious and it confirmed every suspicion he had. Eliott had made his choice and he had chosen Lucas. Even if he still didn’t tell it to his face, even if he couldn’t look in Lucas’ eyes and tell him, maybe because Lucas hadn’t looked like he wanted to be anywhere near him recently. But he had made his choice and that was what mattered the most.

The little raccoon in the drawing had a shy, almost closed off and cautious expression on his face. He looked unsure but he was still standing there in front of a hedgehog. The hedgehog looked mad, but his expression was softening around the edges and his hand was reaching out. Reaching out to the heart that the raccoon was holding out to him. The description was a simple sentence. Please forgive me.

But Lucas had already forgiven him. He had because Eliott deserved another chance. Because all of this mess was probably coming from their lack of communicating. Because he loved Eliott and Eliott was never not thinking of him.

Because that’s what his Instagram meant, wasn’t it? That’s why Eliott had wanted him to see it. It was because Eliott posted about everything that impacted his life one way or the other, everything that was important to him. And Lucas had seen more than one post about him. For weeks, Lucas had been impacting Eliott’s life and starring in his thoughts just like Eliott had been doing to him.

And it was time to put all of this behind their backs. It was time to talk to each other. To explain and to listen. It was time to understand what had happened and maybe be happy again.

Be happy with each other.

His hedgehog had accepted the raccoon’s heart. Lucas nº1 had discovered srodulv. And now, it was time for Lucas to find Eliott and learn everything about him too.

lucallemant started following srodulv

[lowtldes]

you were trouble by design - f!deputy/jacob seed

a little fic from my mob au

words: 5.9k

warnings/tags: swearing, mentions of violence, angst (this ship is probably doomed to fail), emotionally charged frisking

also on ao3

-

Apartments. 08:00. Come alone.

“Asshole,” Rook mutters, anxiously checking her phone for the sixth time to make sure she’s not hallucinating. The text message is there, clear as day, glaring up at her from the cracked screen of her phone.

She rubs her thumb across the little text bubble, as if she can wipe away the words like they’re a smudge on her screen. Sure, she can just delete the message, delete the entire conversation, delete his goddamn contact, but if Rook’s being honest with herself, she’s stalling.

Rook plans to throw the whole phone away, she does. Really. She does.

It’s just that she might have a little trouble letting go of ten months of working undercover as security for the Seed Family. What if she gets some useful information, right? What if she needs to contact any of the Seeds for some kind of deal?

As if any of the Seeds or their underlings would ever speak to her without shooting first.

Then why has Jacob fucking Seed summoned her to the Seed family’s apartments? More importantly, why did she actually come?

It’s not like she’s been hitting the Bliss or anything, no, anyone who worked under Jacob’s command was forbidden from indulging in Faith’s product. I guess I’m just out of my fucking mind.

Rook gets out of her car with a sigh and crosses the street, finishing her coffee with a few greedy gulps before tossing the cup into the overflowing garbage can on the sidewalk.

The two guards outside the building give her the stink eye, knowing exactly who she is. Jacob’s ex-second-in-command. A traitor. An undercover cop. A snake in the garden.

“I’m here to see Jacob,” Rook says firmly. She’s not gonna let a couple of disposables intimidate her. “He wanted to see me.”

“You’re not welcome here no more, sinner,” one of them spits, then literally spits on the ground in front of her.

“Check with one of the Chosen,” Rook glares. “Feeney or Lonny or whoever the fuck they hired to replace me. I’m getting into this building, whether you like it or not.”

 The guard glares right back at her, and the two of them are caught in a staring match, waiting to see who cracks first. It’s one of Rook’s vacation days and it’s too goddamn early to deal with this bullshit, but she’s gonna stand out here all fucking day if she has to wait for this guy to crack.

“Uh, hey,” the other guard says, clearing his throat. “I think Jacob did send word down the line that he was expecting someone—”

“He didn’t,” the guard stuck in her staring contest hisses, “don’t be a fucking coward. We can’t let her through.”

Rook unlocks her phone without breaking eye contact, she knows she’s left his text on as the first thing on her screen. She holds it up, flashing the screen. “He sent this to me. Last night. Who do you think he’s gonna have words with if he finds out I wasn’t let into the building?”

“Okay, okay, we really should—”

“She’s a traitor, and she’s not authorized.” The guard’s eye twitches. He seems to be turning red. “We’re not letting her in—”

“How ‘bout I call him?” Rook says breezily, muscle memory helping her tap away to her phone app without looking. “I’m sure Jacob will want to talk—”

“Let her through!” The other guard caves, nudging the reluctant guard hard on the shoulder and stepping aside for Rook. “Just. Just go. If you’re really not allowed inside, Jacob will shoot you himself, right? Go on in.”

Fuck. He might have just called me over here to shoot me in the head.

“Thanks,” Rook deadpans. She steps past the guards, right through the doors to the lobby with a sigh, trying to calm her anxious thoughts. Anxious as they are, they make sense. Why the fuck did she come here without back up, without telling anybody?

Guess it’s harder than she thought to weasel Jacob’s authority out of her head.

One of the elevators arrive just a second after she hits the button. Rook stands in front as the ding! tells her the doors are opening. It’s on its way up, coming from the basement levels. As the door opens, Rook finds herself dreading who she’s gonna see inside the elevator. Don’t be a Seed don’t be a Seed don’t be a Seed.

The doors open, and the first thing she’s hit by is the familiar mingling scents of whiskey and blood, along with JOHN SEED in bold black ink.

“Well, well. Look who it fucking is.”

Rook sighs and steps into the elevator. She keeps her distance. “Hi, Lonny. Gonna kill me?”

Lonny’s lips curl into a sneer, then he relaxes, leaning back against the wall of the elevator and drumming his gloved—bloodstained gloved fingers against his thighs. The doors close, and Rook does her best to not shift uncomfortably in the presence of her ex-coworker-slash-homicidal-friend.

“Nah,” he says casually, but his fingers twitch. He wants to strangle the life out of her, she knows. “Figured you’d be dead already if we wanted it. No use getting this elevator all bloody over something John won’t give me the order for.”

“Aw, thanks,” Rook says dryly. “I didn’t know you could be so sentimental.”

Rook moves to press the button for the Seeds’ floor, only to see that the button’s already lit.

“Gonna pay the big bad wolf a visit?” Lonny asks, tone dripping with malice.

“Yep,” Rook sighs, rolling her eyes at Lonny’s nickname for Jacob. What she says next slips out before she even notices she’s speaking again. Old habits. “What about you, Lon? Reporting your business in the basement back to John?”

“Don’t do that,” Lonny hisses, standing up straight now. He glares daggers at her. “Don’t you fuckin’ pretend we’re still friendly, ‘cause we’re not. That’s on you.”

Rook grimaces, biting down on her tongue. She only nods in return, because she knows that if she speaks again she’ll probably make things worse.

Like a fucking godsend, the elevator slows to a halt. Over Lonny’s death glares, the elevator dings! and the doors slide open. Lonny swings one hand forward, gesturing for her to step out first. Somehow, the nicety of it stings.

Rook steps out and turns the corner, knowing the floorplan by heart. She hears Lonny saunter out after her, walking in the other direction, towards the entrance to John’s penthouse.

“You better watch your back, Deputy,” Lonny’s voice echoes down the hall. “You never know who might wanna crack open that thick skull of yours after you showed your true nature.”

Rook tries her best not to dwell on whether or not that was a threat or a warning.

 -

 Jacob opens the door after her first knock. Rook’s hand is still floating where the door used to be, curled into a fist as if she’s ready to rap her knuckles on Jacob’s chin.

“You’re late,” is all he says, warm breath fanning across her raised fist. He steps away from the doorway, swinging the door open wider and jerking his head in motion for her to enter.

Rook glances her phone. 08:01.

“The meatheads outside the building held me up,” she replies, stepping into Jacob’s studio.

Jacob has the smallest apartment out of all the siblings. It’s still the biggest fucking studio apartment she’s ever been in, but she knows Joseph’s has a walk-in closet and guest room, Faith’s got a massive penthouse, and John has a fucking swimming pool in his massive penthouse.

Jacob is just as dramatic as the rest of his family, but he’s always preferred simpler things. Rook and Lonny used to joke about how Jacob probably wouldn’t mind living in some tiny downtown studio with moldy walls and a broken fridge if John had no say in his family’s living situations.

Jacob quietly shuts the door and crosses his arms, scrutinizing Rook with narrowed eyes. Rook swallows hard, nervous about this whole damn thing, but she narrows her eyes right back at Jacob, refusing to crack under his cold gaze.

He looks like shit. Well, he almost always looks like shit—bloodstained and faded shirts, the scarring, the sleepless nights purpling beneath his eyes—but this time around it’s worse than usual. Reminds her of times he’d get into arguments with Joseph, or the one time John was kidnapped by Pagan Min to shake them.

She looks away from him for a moment, eyes darting across the studio to the balcony where she knows an ashtray sits on a small metal table. There are still thin wisps of smoke rising from it. She knew it, she could smell it on him from here. He’s been smoking again. He only smokes when he’s really stuck on something.

The circles around his eyes are more pronounced, even more like bruises than they usually are. There’s a cut high on his neck, just beneath his beard, dark red splotches of dried blood soaking through gauze. She recognizes the grey shirt he’s wearing, the pattern of old, faded blood splattered across the right shoulder. Pagan Min’s blood, if she remembers correctly.

She still remembers the massacre. Only You, Jacob’s fucking calling card, playing softly in the background. Bodies strewn about. The smell of gunpowder and blood in the air. Pink suit crumpled in Jacob’s fist. Jacob beating the blond bastard within an inch of his life. Rook’s own strength useless in trying to pull Jacob off the other crime lord. John, bruised but whole, rope burn around his inked wrists, shrugging Lonny off and trying to help Rook calm Jacob.

Jacob, stop it! We can’t have another war on our hands.

He took you, John.

And now he’s almost dead. He’s atoned. Let him go.

It’s only after John’s reasoning does Jacob surrender into Rook’s hold. Whenever she looks back at that night, some fucked up part of her thinks it was almost an embrace.

There’s a new shade of red painted across the chest of his shirt. A dark, vibrant red. Dry, but new. The smears look like fingerprints, like someone was grabbing desperately at him. Was it the same person who gave him that cut on his neck? Just another day in the life.

“What are you thinking?” Jacob asks, oh so casually, dragging her thoughts back into the present.

“You look like shit.”

“Always the charmer.”

“Could say the same about you,” Rook shrugs, shoving her hands into her pockets to stop from fidgeting. “Now what the hell did you call me here for?”

It’s only been a week since she last saw that piercing gaze. So much has changed in a week, including her tolerance for Jacob’s intensity. It’s either she’s imagining something different in the weight of his gaze, or she’s no longer accustomed to it.

Whatever it is, her skin crawls all the same.

She’s just waiting for a gun to be drawn at her, a knife pointed at her throat, a punch in the fucking face—anything. Anything that’ll fucking make sense. After her cover was blown, she wasn’t able to see or speak to Jacob before she had to bail. There was no closure. Now here she is, a week later, basically letting herself be trapped in a room with big bad Jacob Seed, waiting for some kind of vengeance.

She never bought into Eden’s Gate, into the shit Joseph Seed preached, but deep down she regrets the attachments she had for some people—Faith, Lonny, Jacob—she regrets her betrayal just because of them. She knew better than to like these people, but she did anyway, and now she’s here.

Maybe the reason she came here without a second thought was that she sought penance. Maybe she wants to atone. What better way to make up for betraying people she foolishly grew to care about than to let Jacob himself cull her?

But Jacob doesn’t move. He doesn’t draw a weapon. He doesn’t blink. He doesn’t fucking breathe.

“Wanted your opinion on something,” Jacob says slowly, as if he’s testing the words.

Rook blinks. “You wanted… my opinion on something.”

“Come on,” Jacob nods, and jerks his head for her to follow. He walks over past the kitchenette, socked feet padding softly on the marble floor, towards the large desk by the window.

Rook’s head is spinning. She doesn’t know how she actually decides to follow him. She could have floated all the way to the desk for all she knows, but suddenly she’s there, looking over the papers and blueprints scattered around the table while Jacob stands close enough to be practically breathing down her neck.

“I don’t work for you anymore, Jacob.”

He ignores her. “After that shit with Pagan Min went down, we need to secure another trade deal, new alliances. Joseph doesn’t like it, but John and Faith agree that we should look to other gangs.”

Rook chews on her lip. She squints at the papers, then glances back up to see that Jacob’s already looking at her. “Not a bad idea. Who do you have in mind?”

“The Highwaymen.”

“The twins? They’re a couple of loose cannons. That’s not gonna last.”

“True. Vaas Montenegro?”

Rook snorts. “Even more of a loose cannon. Plus, he’s in the middle of a power struggle with his sister. Citra. I don’t think it’ll do you any good working with either of them.”

Jacob juts out his bottom lip, making a show of thinking. “Hm. The Van Der Linde MC.”

“The motorcycle club?” Rook scoffs, shaking her head. “Sure, if you want them to bleed us dry. We both know John’s a good talker, an even better negotiator. But I’ve investigated them before—I’ve met Dutch Van Der Linde and Hosea Matthews. You can’t trust a single word that comes out of their mouths.”

“Heard they’re a little unstable at the moment,” Jacob shrugs, icy blue eyes lighting up, leaning closer to her. “I’ve got intel that some jackass named Micah Bell has joined them, and it’s stirred some shit up within their ranks.”

“That doesn’t matter. We can’t trust them.”

Jacob’s serious façade suddenly melts into a grin, razor fucking sharp. Rook’s suddenly all too aware of how close he is.

“What?” She asks, swallowing hard. “What is it?”

“You still give a shit,” he says, voice low. Almost a purr. “You said ‘we.’”

Shit. Shit. Wasn’t even thinking. Rook steps back, shaking her head, a sudden panic spiking her pulse. “No. No, no, no. I didn’t. I don’t. That was—that was just out of habit.”

Jacob takes another step closer, looming over her, dog tags swishing on his chest like a pendulum. “You wanna know why I brought you here?” He scoffs. “Shit, I was surprised that you even showed up.”

“You brought me here for some kind of revenge, I’m guessing,” Rook says, mouth suddenly dry. She takes another step back, desperate for space. “You’re pissed, I get it.”

Jacob just follows her step, he’s no longer grinning. Instead, he looks at her curiously. “Why did you show up, huh? You wanted to see what would happen? Old habits, maybe? Still got it stuck in your head, fuckin’ autopilot for you? I call, you come—no questions, no second thought, is that it?”

“Jacob—”

“Or are you here for more undercover work?” Jacob continues, tone mocking, face twisted into a sneer. “You wearing a wire? Can all your little cop friends hear me, see me?”

“I’m not—I’m not wearing a wire,” Rook says. Her back hits something—the kitchen counter. He’s got her cornered. “Why did you tell me to come here? To see how much dirt I got on you and your family? Not enough, since you’re all still here and not behind bars. You don’t need to bother with me—”

“I wanted you here to see how much of it was a fucking lie.”

Rook blinks. “Excuse me?”

“Been thinkin’ a lot since you left us.” Jacob leans forward, hands bracing the edge of the counter at her sides—caging her in. “Wanted to see if I was right. Wanted to see if you actually cared.”

Rook sucks in a breath, looking anywhere but at the prying, eviscerating look in Jacob’s blue, blue eyes. “What does it matter?”

She can hear a knuckle crack as Jacob tightens his grip on the countertop’s edge, the pads of his fingers squeaking against the black marbled granite. Voice so low, so husky, it’s a goddamn crime. “It matters.”

“I don’t care about what your brother preaches. I never did,” Rook says firmly, quietly. “I never cared about Eden’s Gate. I never gave a shit about your family’s plans.”

“Seemed to care quite a bit whenever you helped me map out our attacks, our culling. Seemed to care about what happens to all of us,” Jacob near whispers, leaning down so close that she can feel his breath hot on her face. “Just now—you warned me against all those potential deals. Like you said, you don’t work for us anymore. So what made you give a shit about that, huh? Enlighten me, Deputy.”

He spits Deputy like it’s venom in his mouth, unable to hide the hurt in his voice, in his eyes.

“Look. The time I spent here—I made mistakes,” Rook begins, standing up straighter, head held high. Holding her fucking ground. He’s trying to pull the intimidation act on her, but Rook isn’t going to let him. “I don’t give two shits about the Project.”

Jacob remains unfazed. He doesn’t look very happy about that admission, but he still looks expectant. Head tilted down to look at her, cold blue eyes watching her intently. Leaning in so close that Rook can see every detail, every scar on his face. The crow’s feet, the frown lines, the dark circles from the demons in his sleep. The old, barely-there scars of chemical burn across his cheeks. Small, silvered cuts from when he served. The newer scars—the split brow and slash above his beard from bad deals, the long, pinkened gash going down his cheekbone from Eli Palmer.

It’s a strange thing, to know so much about a person and then pretend you never knew them at all.

“Cat got your tongue?” Jacob breathes. She’s been staring for too long. “C’mon, you got something to say, don’t ya? It’s written all over your face.”

“Fuck you.”

“I know you. Don’t you forget that,” Jacob sneers, contempt jumping out in the form of a curled lip, bone white teeth. “I thought a lot would change about you after you dropped the act, but you’ve still got the same quirks, the same look in your eye. You’re still a goddamn open book.”

“I don’t care about Eden’s Gate.”

“You care about something, that’s for sure.”

Might as well just let the chips fall, right? She came here for some kind of closure, didn’t she? Might as well just vent about all the shit she’s been keeping cooped up. Jacob’s always been a good listener, if he decides to grant you the time of day, that is.

Fuck it.

“I made the mistake of caring about people,” Rook hisses. “People I shouldn’t have, people who don’t deserve it. I fucked up, I gave a shit about what happens to Faith, what happens to Lonny—sometimes I even cared about what happens to your goddamn brothers.” Rook juts out her index finger, driving it right past Jacob’s dog tags and into the meat of his chest. “But I guess my biggest, unholy, grandiose fuck up of all fuck ups,” she jabs her pointer finger at him again, and god, she hopes she leaves a bruise, “is giving a shit about what happens to you.”

Jacob Seed, the goddamn sword of the Eden’s Gate Mob. Criminal. Hunter. Weapons-dealer. Killer. Brainwasher with a fondness for old music. Fucking monster.

Rook saw it all, Rook saw the worst of it. What does that say about her, her self-preservation? She was here to observe and report. Here to ruin him and his family.

And what did she end up doing? She ended up caring.

You fucking idiot, she thinks to herself as she stares down Jacob goddamn Seed.

Jacob draws back, not dropping his arms from trapping her by the counter, but he puts some breathing room between them again. His brow twitches, mouth curling into something that almost looks like disdain. But Rook knows him well enough to know that whenever he makes that face, the root of it is usually uncertainty.

“That’s cute,” he scoffs, sounding a little hoarse. “You rehearse that with your people back at the precinct?”

“Nobody knows I’m here.”

He frowns down at her, eyes narrowed, a how stupid do you think I am? kind of look.

“I don’t know what you want from me,” Rook says with a bitter laugh, shaking her head. “I’m not working you. I’m not wearing a wire or anything. I—fuck—I’m technically on vacation. What the fuck am I doing here?”

Jacob doesn’t speak, doesn’t move, doesn’t do anything except watch her with a guarded expression.

Rook waits a moment, for any kind of response, a kind fuck off, but instead gets nothing. The silence is like a weight on her chest, about to crush through bone. It’s too early for this shit. She pushes one of Jacob’s hands off the counter, a light slap to his scarred forearm, and sidesteps away when he drops his arm.

“I think it’s best for everyone if you don’t contact me again,” Rook says, trying to keep her voice even. She brushes past him, shoes quietly tapping on the marble floor as she heads for the door.

She makes it four steps before Jacob grabs her wrist, the warmth of his palm burning into her skin, tugging slightly to stop her from moving further.

“We’re not done here,” he grates, a sour expression on his face.

Rook spins around to face him, at her wit’s end, and shoves him once with her free hand. “Quit playing games, Jacob. I’ve got better fucking things to do.”

Jacob doesn’t let go of her wrist, the pressure of his grip near bruising. His frown deepens, Adam’s apple bobbing. There’s a far, far away look in his eyes. “You lied.”

“I was doing my job,” Rook says quietly. Badly, she wants to say, I was doing my job badly.

“And now?” Jacob asks, voice softer than she’s ever heard it. His other hand rises to hold her chin, gently tipping her head up to look at him. He sounds like he’s swallowed a mouthful of gravel, low voice scratched up in his throat. “How much of what you said is true? Say it again. Look me in the fucking eye.”

Rook can hear her pulse thundering in her ears. Ten months—ten fucking months of working for the Seeds, of seeing Jacob all hours of the day every day, and they barely touched that entire time. A professional distance always kept between them despite whatever the fuck was going on with the tension that grew steadily each day. The most they ever touched before this was probably when she was holding him in place after the shit with Pagan Min, and before that it would barely be a brush of hands, a gaze that lingers for a little too long. That was always the extent of it.

So this? Standing way too close for the second—no, third time in one day—in one morning? Calloused hand braceleting her wrist, thumb pressed against her chin and knuckles gently grazing her throat?

This is too much. Rook’s gonna fucking lose it. This thing that grew slow and steady between them for the better part of a year—Rook was ready to just ignore it. She’s been ignoring it. And now it’s about to snap. Pop like a fucking bubble.

 “I fucked up,” Rook murmurs, feeling like she’s burning up. It’s like looking into the fucking sun. His gaze is too close, too intense, but Rook can’t tear her eyes away no matter how much she wants to. “I ended up caring. About you.”

Jacob inhales shakily, face shuttering as his grip tightens around her wrist. He leans in closer, tilting down down down until Rook ends up leaning towards him, against the thumb pressing into her chin, meeting him halfway when he presses his forehead against hers. Rook, quietly freaking out, feels herself lean into him with a heavy sigh.

Forehead touches are the Seed Family’s trademark. Rook’s never been on the receiving end of a Seed forehead touch, it being reserved for the Family and the Family only, but she’s seen them in action. An intense, familial bond displayed in a single touch between bowed heads, usually initiated by Joseph Seed.

This feels entirely different. Neither of them are pulling back. Jacob presses his forehead into hers, the warmth of his skin burning into her own, feeling almost feverish. That’s what this is—a fever dream. Rook lets Jacob tilt her head up higher, noses bumping, facial hair tickling her skin. Jacob looks down at her lips, his eyes hooded.

“What are you doing,” she whispers. A question spoken like a statement, a statement that’s secretly an order, a demand. Do something.

“You betrayed us,” Jacob rasps, his breath hot on her face. He relieves the pressure off her chin, then his thumb treks up, coming to rest on the center of her bottom lip, pressing lightly. He starts to lightly trace the length of her lip. So slow, so enthralled, as if he’s trying to memorize the very feel of it.

Rook has never seen Jacob Seed gentle. It might just be the strangest fucking thing she’s ever seen.

He stops, pulls back ever so slightly so that their faces are no longer touching. Close, too close, but just enough space left between them for Rook to get her thoughts in order. His thumb leaves her lips and he drags his hand down to cage around her throat, closing around her neck just shy of uncomfortable.

“You betrayed us,” he says again, more like a growl this time, like he’s trying to reason with himself. He glares down at her, pupils dilated, but anger renewed. “A goddamn cop. How the fuck am I supposed to trust that there isn’t anyone else listening in right now?”

“What if—” Rook pauses, her mind screaming at her to get out now. To go right out the door and never come back. There’s still time, she hasn’t damned herself yet.

Jacob leans closer, watching, waiting. Rook swallows hard, feels Jacob’s thumb roll over her throat.

“What if I could prove it to you?” She pulls her wrist out of Jacob’s grasp and holds his forearm with both hands, distantly realizing that this is the first time she’s touched the scars there, that Jacob never lets anyone this close to his scars.

“How?” Jacob’s voice so low, so hoarse, it almost makes her knees weak. His eyes dart down to her hands around his arm, his scars, then back at her face, scrutinizing. He gives her throat an apprehensive little squeeze. A warning, but she’s not sure what for.

Rook slides her hands down his arm to hold his wrist. A moment passes, every other sound drowned out by the thundering of her blood rushing through her ears. Thud and thud and thud.

Then Rook pulls Jacob’s hand close, pressing his palm flat against her chest, foolishly, right over her rabbit heart. “Check me for a wire.”

Jacob makes a gutted, breathless sound as his head sways close, nose brushing hers. “That’s how it’s gonna be, huh?”

“Go ahead. Check me.” Whose conviction would Jacob fully trust but his own, after all?

Jacob lets out a quiet scoff and releases her neck, the air in the room suddenly feeling so much colder compared to the warmth of his hand. He grips her shoulder, holding her steady, then starts to roam her chest with his other hand. Tracing her collarbones over the fabric of her shirt, outrageously skipping over her breasts through a modesty she didn’t know was possible from him, and settles high above her navel, tracing circles over her ribcage.

“You know,” Rook breathes, “wires would typically be worn under the shirt.”

“You’re playing with fuckin’ fire, Deputy,” Jacob warns, fingers digging into her shoulder.

Working around the Seeds for ten months, Rook’s been cut, punched, and fucking shot at. Yeah, she’s playing with fire, but it’s just another hazard to the long list. Maybe she wouldn’t mind getting a little burned.

Jacob’s already left his scars, deep beneath her skin, right to the marrow. Like the old third-degree burns on Jacob’s skin. Rook’s never gonna get him out.

So she does the only thing her Jacob-drunk mind can think of and lets him right in.

It’s like kissing a statue at first—Jacob freezing up the moment she grabs him by the shirt and reaches up to press her lips against his. Hands bunching the chain of his dog tags, the bloodstained fabric of his shirt. Clutching right where those smeared handprints are of his most recent punching bag.

He only reacts when Rook takes his bottom lip between her teeth and bites. The nip of teeth is like a jumpstart of electricity. Jacob groans and opens his mouth to her, hands suddenly bracing her arms at each side and guiding her around, back to the spot against the kitchen counter he’d trapped her by before.

They both have the same idea, because the second Rook starts to lift herself up onto the counter, Jacob’s hoisting her up onto the countertop like she weighs nothing. Once Rook is settled, barely seated on the edge and locking her legs around Jacob’s waist, Jacob dutifully returns to the task she had assigned him.

Rook’s supposed to be out buying a new phone or catching up with Hudson over a cup of coffee. Or, considering the time and day, she should still be fucking sleeping right now. Yet here she is, about to hit second-base with Jacob fucking Seed.

Jacob’s hands snake underneath her shirt, drawing a small gasp out of Rook when he drags his warm, warm hands across her stomach, pinching the skin of her waist. Jacob kisses her hard, exploring every bit of her mouth with his tongue, his facial hair scraping against her face. Rook leans in closer, tangling her fingers in his hair, kissing back with vigor, teeth clashing, lips bruising.

“Don’t think you’re wearing a wire,” Jacob hums against her face, voice low and hoarse, peppering light kisses across her cheek, down her jaw.

“Really?” Rook says, gasping when he cups her breasts, a thumb flicking over one of her nipples through her bra.

“Can’t fuckin’ trust you still, though,” Jacob mutters. His hands snake around her back and unhook her bra. “So I should be thorough.”

Then there’s a knock. Knuckles rapping impatiently on Jacob’s door. Voices on the other side, muffled and close.

“Shit,” Jacob hisses. He extracts his hands from her beneath her shirt and rests them on her denim-clad thighs, gripping tight as he leans his forehead against hers again, eyes shut. “What’s today?”

Rook cradles his face in her hands, feeling the fuzz of his beard against her palms. She whispers, “Sunday.”

“Shit.”

The knocking starts again. This time louder, sharper. A fist pounding against the door.

“Jacob! Wake up! Stop moping about the traitor, we’re going to be late for Joseph’s mass.”

“John, be nicer.” The next words are spoken quieter, but now that Jacob and Rook are silent and listening, it’s not quiet enough. “She obviously has him going through something. It affected all of us differently.”

Rook bites her lip hard, trying to stifle the ridiculous urge to giggle—to fucking giggle.

“We’re going to be late, Faith. We’re never late.”

“Fine. You’re right.”

“JACOB!” More knocking. “It’s 8:53, get up!”

God, Rook almost forgot how insistent John can be.

Jacob tears away from Rook with a sound that’s closer to a snarl than a sigh. He strides over to his door and cracks it open, using his body to block his siblings’ view of the apartment’s interior. Rook sighs quietly and hops off the counter, reaching behind to redo the clasp on her bra.

“Go already,” Jacob grumbles to them, curt, “I’ll be down in a minute.”

“Are you—”

“Wait in the goddamn car,” he says and shuts the door.

Jacob stands facing the door, listening to Faith and John mutter to each other and leave. When he’s sure they’ve gone, he steps away from the door and slowly turns around.

Rook smooths down her shirt and combs her hair with her fingers, doing her best to look like Jacob wasn’t just running his hands all over her.

“I like you here,” Jacob says. He frowns, fists clenched at his sides, like he didn’t mean to say that.

Rook barks out a laugh, a bitter sound. “You should have said that months ago.”

“Would this shit have turned out differently if I did?”

“Probably not.”

Jacob nods, lips pressed into a thin line, a muscle tensing in his jaw.

They stand there for a while, just staring, holding back words that would make this worse. Jacob is the first to break eye contact, shaking his head and taking a step towards his boots resting by the door. He shucks them on, swipes his gun and keys off the counter, tucks the gun into his waistband behind him, and grabs his military jacket of a nearby chair.

“Come on,” he says gruffly, shrugging the jacket on and opening the door again. He jerks his head in motion for her to go out first. “You’re taking the stairs.”

“You know it’s not a secret I’m here, right?” Rook snorts, walking out the door. She waits for Jacob to exit and lock his door before continuing down the hall. “The guards outside know. Lonny knows. Which means John probably knows, or will know. And Faith just knows everything. Joseph too.”

“I know,” Jacob mutters, keeping a good distance between them as they walk. It’s painfully familiar. They stop in front of the staircase landing. “Just don’t want them to bother me about yo—this yet.”

Rook glances at the stairs, then back to Jacob, who’s standing so much closer again. She smacks her lips. She doesn’t know what to say. She knows what she wants to say. “Jacob—”

Cold eyes flash. “Don’t.”

Rook nods, exhaling shakily, and steps back. She turns around and starts down the stairs, pretending that everything is okay. She reaches the bottom of the flight and stops when Jacob speaks again, rough voice projected slightly by the acoustics of the stairwell.

“Don’t come back.”

Rook frowns up at him, white knuckling the railing. “I won’t. Don’t contact me. This can’t happen again.”

Jacob nods stiffly, expression unreadable. “This can’t happen again.”

And then he leaves, disappearing around the corner towards the elevators.

Rook makes it down three floors before she stops, falls back to sit on the steps, and tries to banish the hollow feeling in her chest.

It’s for the best.

[maladaptive-ninja-returns]

Blame It On Your Beats (6)

Bucky x Reader Series

Chapter Content: Fluff, singing.

Summary: A brush with the underworld leads you on a run, away from what was supposedly your normal life, with Bucky Barnes. You two do not seem to be in sync as Bucky tries to keep you alive, trying your best not to kill each other. Or that’s what you think you are doing.

Series: contains smut, adult content in there somewhere in the future chapters so please look at the chapter content and warnings before you proceed.

Chapter Warnings: None.

A/N: This series is written for @littledarlinhavefaithinme ‘s MK Writing Challenge. Thank you so much for hosting. I am having a lot of fun with the prompts. But I am clearly behind schedule. Eep! Thanks for being so patient!

Tags for this fic are open

MASTERLIST

“That's it?”

You looked at Bucky, whose expression did a one-eighty, flashing his features from a smug grin to a blank expression at your very casual response to the statement he just made.

His biceps were waiting to be ripped out of his black shirt as they sat crossed very his chest taking in all the tension you were building up by not giving him the reactions he wanted.

He was about to speak something when you giggled and broke his train of thought.

“Oh, oh, so you thought making me sleep on the couch would...what, bruise my ego or something? Darling, I've slept on worse things!”

“Really?” His brows came together in the twist of genuine curiosity as you jumped back on the bed and rested on your shoulder.

“Yeah! Mostly bad relationships though. Actually, any relationship.”

You scrunched your nose and ran your finger through your hair before getting up and picking a sundress Louise had hand selected for you. “Ugh, I'm getting out of these clothes. They smell,” you declared to yourself before picking up a towel from the handy stand right outside the no-door bathroom.

Bucky took a whiff of his clothing, never too discreetly. “No, they don’t,” he stated, plopping down where you had been a few seconds ago.

“Yes, they do,” asserted as you tilted your heads towards him, “they reek of lies and near death experiences...with an ‘s’.”

Bucky rolled his eyes and huffed. “Let it go,” he nearly moaned into the air, tired of being reminded of the same thing repeatedly.

“I will, eventually,” you cooed, before drawing the curtain over the space that was looking straight inside the orange-walled bathroom. “No peaky-peaky, Sergeant.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, doll,” he chided, taking his arms up and behind his head, his legs crossed and swinging lightly. He finally relaxed his muscles, easing the tension bit by bit through every part of his body, letting them loose to breathe in the surroundings for the first time. The sea breeze coming in from the balcony doors you’d left open was welcoming on his skin, letting the air filled with the smell of the salty sea, grass, wine and smoke from burning charcoals play with his hair.

The sound of water spattering over the wooden tiles inside the bathroom grazed by his ears, making the swinging of his legs stop abruptly on their own.

A hum filled the atmosphere next.

Let’s fall in love for the night and forget in the morning…

It was more of a honey whisper, a slow, stretched tone from what Bucky could hear as your words bounced across the bathroom walls and leapt over the sound of water.

Play me a song that you like and I bet I’d know every line…

Bucky’s chest felt an unknown warmth easing inside it.

I’m the boy that your boy hopes that you would avoid…

He never realised the smile that slowly crept on his lips as he heard your voice take a high note.

Don’t waste your eyes on jealous guys, fuck that noise…

A new scent filled the air around him; a hint of passion fruit and a dense whiff of strawberries. He waited and waited, turning his head in the direction of the bathroom, eventually raising it up when you didn’t make a sound for an elongated moment.

“Woah! This smells delicious,” you exclaimed, making Bucky realise his heart was beating a bit faster than it normally did for some unknown reason, his veins in the neck pulsating.

I know better than to ever call you mine.

He laid his head back down and closed his eyes, letting your voice engulf his tired existence, allowing him to float in a world free of bad guys and weapons, evil masterminds and racoons, technology and things that began with ‘smart’, drifting on a boat of a beautiful siesta where he saw you. Your glistening figure floating inside the clear blue sea while he swam towards you. Your Y/H/C hair spreading like a coloured halo unfurling itself around your head as you spoke his name, his arms steadying yours over his, his eyes taking in the sombre expression on your face.

You called him out again. And again.

“Sergeant?”

But he couldn’t move, trying to bring his fingers forward to touch your cheeks in some partial reassurance. Just when he could almost touch you, an uninvited touch broke him out of his nap.

WIthin a flash, Bucky grabbed your hand that had tapped him on his shoulder to wake him up pushing you onto the bed by his metal.

“Hahh!” you nearly squealed, “I was just trying to wake you up. Ow!”

The moment a wince left your mouth, Bucky let go of your hand and moved a few inches away from you, afraid of hurting you unintentionally.

“Please go take a shower,” you pleaded the man as you supported yourself on the bed on your elbows, your wet hair glistening and marring your skin, while your legs half dangled down the bed, catching the sun reflecting from the glass on the doors, stirring something inside Bucky.

“Why-” he pushed the feeling back where it came from- “so you could take the bed?”

“Seriously, Sarge, how old are you?” you squinted your eyes at him. “Of course, I’m taking the bed.”

“You know I can pick you up and throw you over the couch without much effort,” he elaborated, his hands resting on his hips as he stood in front of you, ready to do what he stated at any given moment.

“Make me, Barnes,” you announced, riling up some really rowdy tiny beasts inside you both, and plopped your head back into the bed. Bucky could clearly watch the victory smirk on your face, his eyes travelling down your neck, chest and stomach. “You asked for it,” he threw the words at you as he bent over your figure- his one leg coming over the bed onto your side- to let his hands wrap themselves around your waist but was stopped by the flinch he felt as your fingers poked a very specific point on his torso.

“Oh, are you ticklish?”

Your eyes clicked with the most innocent look at him as you tried to keep the outburst of your laugh within your lips by biting down on them while he let out a grunt of surprise.

You teased the spot again, making him jump and slap your hand away before shooting daggers at you.

“Don’t,” he growled, making you almost throw your restrains to the wind.

“Why not?” you asked with sheer curiosity as your hands went up again while you snickered with pure joy.

What’s he going to do? Throw me back into the water?

This time you felt a jolt go through your body when his fingers teased you right above your waist, forcing a tiny scream out of you.

“I told you, don’t,” his husky voice sang as his he towered over your alert figure almost curled up into a ball under him.

“No, James, do-”

Your words turned to squeals in the air as he tickled your sensitive spots again, his eyes lighting up with pure playfulness on seeing you squirm and giggle under him.

“This is so much worse than the water. Just take me to the water and I’ll jump in myself! Please! Stop!” you shrieked as your figure writhed under him while he tried his best to stop you from doing the same to him but was failing time and again.

The giggles and curses filling the room were broken by the familiar ring of Bucky’s satellite phone, making you and him pause midway in breathless states, your hands entwined in his as his glittering oceans stared down at you through the forest of autumnal mess that was his hair- almost tickling your cheeks as it swung about above you.

Suddenly both of you were overtly conscious of each other’s presence- the flushed faces being the biggest evidence as Bucky got up in a daze to pick up the phone while you tried to compose your heart running a marathon of its own, pushing your mess of a dress- a floral navy blue one- down your thighs and knees.

“Is Y/N okay?” was the first thing Stark spoke as soon as Bucky connected the call, taking both you and Bucky by confused surprise.

“I’m fine, Mr Stark,” you responded, tucking your hair back and getting up to walk over to Bucky’s side. Both of you could feel the warmth emanating out of the other’s body, speaking nothing but being aware of the measured distance. “Is everything alright?”

“That’s what I’m asking you,” Stark articulated, “your heart rate was through the roof just now.”

You could’ve sworn you felt your body take a dip in a virtual pool of ice, bringing all the blood gushing out to every little vein as you turned towards Bucky, who had more or less felt the same but instead of freezing where he stood, he shifted his weight on his legs, his pink lips parting in some quick thought.

“Oh, that!” you voiced into the phone, trying to buy yourself time to come up with a decent explanation before blurting, “the...uh...a bee stung me I think.”

Bucky’s brows came together, looking at you with such a bland expression, suddenly questioning your motor skills, making you shrug.

“I thought it was poisonous so I kind of had a jumpscare,” you stretched the corner of your lips at the garbage you were spewing just to hide the fact that you and the assassin you were pretending to be married to just had a tickle fight.

And you thought he was a drag, your voice teased you, lighting up the spots Bucky’s hands had so effortlessly tortured.

“Anyways,” you broke your train of thought, “did you find how the bad guys were able to break through the facility’s security?”

Bucky’s shoulders eased themselves, glad to have the topic diverted as he kept having reruns of your touch over his stomach while your new fragrance filled up his lungs, striking a tune with all the right nerves- wrong to his brain.

“Yeah,” Stark snapped back to the present, bringing you and Bucky with him, “they used a reflective bridge to block the encryption flow, feeding Friday her own information, giving them a two minutes window to bypass through the levels before she was able to recognise the breach.”

Tony went on about the logic behind it, spewing all the technical ingredients for the recipe, driving Bucky away from his ramblings to your face. He had to do a double take of your features to realise something had changed.

Your one arm gripped the other, fingers digging into your flesh, your expression growing sombre, your eyes stuck to the phone’s screen. Your lips were parted in a thought that did not seem anywhere near a positive one.

“...I am pissed. Impressed but pissed. I really want to know who came up with the bridge.”

Bucky didn’t have to know much about the technicality of the situation to realise what was going on.

“I did,” he heard your quivering voice speak.

The other side went silent except for Pepper’s whispered curse.

“I didn’t-” you muttered as you tried to blink away the tears, your legs shifting your weight between them while your hands went behind your neck, “I didn’t know…”

A long exhale was all that came from the other side.

“I’m so sorry Mr Stark,” you croaked before taking a step away, clenching your stomach and walking out of the room.

__________

“Of course she feels guilty, Tony,” Pepper’s soothing voice came over the speaker now resting on Bucky’s ears, “she had no idea her work was going to be used to steal, let alone to nearly kill her. You know it better than anyone else.”

“I know, but I’m worried,” Tony sighed, “she just can’t seem to catch a break. It’s one incident after another for this one.”

“Tony, you’re doing it again,” Pepper cautioned, “just liked you did with Peter.”

“Well, Peter had May, I had you. Who does she have with her right now?”

“Bucky,” Pepper stated matter-of-factly. Tony scoffed at the statement, making Bucky straighten up where he sat, ready to throw words at Stark but finding nothing much to go on.

“Bucky,” Pepper’s voice echoed, “just keep an eye on her, will you? She’s a bit socially awkward but she’s an amazing girl who just is having a string of bad things following her for some time now.”

“Put on some music for her,” Tony added, “that always seems to rub her the right way. She must have done that already though.”

Bucky’s eyes flickered at the statement. ”No. She did turn on the radio but shut it just a few seconds later. Speaking of socially awkward, Pepper, she has been quite vocal about her hatred towards me for pushing her down into the water against her will. More than once.”

“Okay, and?” Pepper questioned for continuation, taking Bucky by surprise.

“And...that’s it. She’s been going on about it since the moment she woke up.”

Silence.

A light laugh reverberated through the speakers. Pepper’s laugh.

“Good, God, Bucky,” she implored, “what do you do when Sam or Tony force you to do things you do not like?”

Bucky blinked, sitting straight on the couch before bending again. “I...tell them I don’t like it.”

“Uh huh. And why do you bother doing that?”

A gong went off in Bucky’s head a bit later than Pepper anticipated.

“And just so you know,” Pepper added, “that’s the part she wants you to know. So there could be a whole lot more.”

“Yeah,” Tony’s voice chided, “so, remember, songs. And be careful when she sings. She sings when there is something bothering her.”

Now that you caught Bucky’s attention. He cursed his ignorant self for not realising you were as alone on this uncalled mission as him, maybe even more.

“I’ll remember. Thanks, Pepper.”

“My pleasure Bucky.”

Bucky could still hear their voices bickering at the other end.

Why do you call him Bucky?

Because I’m allowed to.

Since when are you two on nicknames basis.

Since we first went out for coffee.

Wha-When did that happen?!

Continued Here

TAGLIST

Permanent

@magiclolipopqueen  @choke-me-sweet-pea  @smexylemony  @hazzastyles2471 @lokis-lady-death  @lokixme  @l0kisbitch  @tarithenurse  @hiddlestonstansworld @itheoneofmanyfandomsi @nalokoniloki @fuckidontknow @qualitynerdwasteland @cryinglots @unipanda1006 @literalangels @meganlikesfandoms  @kcd15

BIOYB

@klmpun