#how does the coffee machine work? hit the fucking button that says press to start and maybe you'll find out

[house-in-the-backyard-trees]

Half of these customers problems would be resolved if they opened their eyes and looked for half a second instead of immediately asking me stupid questions

[insomniumstella]

fitting in

bucky x reader 

summary: an unfortunate series of events or Bucky Barnes tries to fit in at the compound 

warnings: some talk of sex, fluff, curse words, awkwardness 

word count: 1,828

To say Bucky’s glad to have Steve would be an understatement. He’s delighted and overjoyed to have a best friend, a brother who never gave up on him, who saved him, who brought Bucky to the compound, a place he calls home and introduced him to his teammates, the people Steve wholeheartedly loves. Steve’s family in a way. Bucky’s happy for Steve, he really is, but sometimes he feels jealous, and sometimes, he cannot help, but wonder how would it feel like to fit in, to have the same friendships Steve has with the others. He’s drinking his morning coffee when y/n comes into the kitchen at 6:03am. She rubs her sleep painted face, and he smiles, offering to make her a cup. Grateful, she sits down, watching him try and figure out the espresso machine. He, himself, never uses it, preferring to make coffee the 1940s way, with a kettle and coffee grounds, but he remembers y/n making a disgruntled face every time Steve hands her an old-fashioned cup of coffee, and so even though he doesn’t understand how the machine works, he’s modern enough to know that pressing the ‘black coffee’ button will make her a cup she’ll actually like. He doesn’t say anything when she pours, what seems like, half a bottle of creamer, either, even if he doesn’t understand it. She smiles after taking a sip, and it brightens Bucky’s heart. Ironically, he’s always more careful around y/n, because she’s the nicest, and she made him feel welcome from day one. Bucky doesn’t want to lose her trust. He smiles to himself when she pats a chair, inviting him to sit right next to her, and he gladly accepts it, sitting down so close, their arms brush against each others. Neither speak up as they drink their coffee in comfortable silence, and watch as the rising sun paints the sky in warm orange and golden hues. He puts his mug down, studying her as she closes her eyes, relishing in the warmth coming through the window, and strangely, he feels more content than he did in the last 70 years. But then she suddenly opens her eyes, startling Bucky and he accidentally moves his arm, in turn knocking his cup down, and the boiling beverage spills down y/n’s old t-shirt. Wide-eyed, he start mumbling something along the lines of sorry and it was an accident, but she puts a hand on Bucky’s shoulder, and slightly smiles at him before disappearing from the kitchen. A sight makes its way past his lips and Bucky lets his head fall down, forehead hitting the hard marble.

Embarrassment washes over him again when he and Steve enter the gym for their 12pm training session, and he sees her. y/n’s standing in the boxing ring, having changed out of the t-shirt into a more sparring appropriate outfit of a workout bra and leggings. “Ready to get your asses kicked, boys?” She laughs, the sound of it coming teasing and sweet. Rolling his eyes, Steve puts a hand on Bucky’s shoulder when they walk up to the girl.

“I’m not fighting today, but I’m sure Bucky’s ready.” Bucky smiles timidly upon hearing Steve’s voice and straightens his shoulders. He nods his head, throwing his towel to the side, and chooses to climb up into the ring from the side instead of using the stairs. Bucky’s tall, so it’s easy, and y/n playfully rolls her eyes when they’re standing eye-to-eye.

“Show off.” y/n teases, but Bucky has no chance to reply, as she swings herself onto him just seconds later, wrapping her legs around his head, and throwing Bucky to the floor in a couple swift moves. They lock eyes for a bit, and y/n tilts her head, as if asking why he’s not moving, but Bucky quickly recollects himself, grabbing onto her ankle, and bringing her down onto the floor before she can attack him further. She swiftly gets up, Bucky following right after, and for a couple moments they just walk, both in fighting positions, and both ready to attack when the time will seem right to do so. She gets behind him, and when Bucky tries quickly turning around, he accidentally lifts his metal arm up, hitting y/n in the stomach so hard, she falls out of the ring and on the hard floor, groaning. Steve jumps up from his spot, running to check up on y/n, but thankfully, she’s uninjured, the only sign of the accident being an already forming bruise on her right shoulder. “It’s my fault, really.” She groans out, but Bucky does not seem to hear that. y/n leaves the gym shortly after that, and Bucky tells Steve about the coffee incident, stopping him before the blonde has any chances of making fun of the man.

It’s 3:12pm, when the shower in Bucky’s bathroom runs out of hot water and he’s walking up to Steve’s room. Usually, he’d knock before entering someone’s room, but it’s Steve’s, and Bucky knows Steve stayed behind for an extra cardio session. Shaking his head at the blonde’s passion for working out, he strips off his clothing, and enters the bathroom. It’s warm and a little foggy, almost as if someone was just showering, but Bucky’s not fazed, thinking it was probably Steve that came down to shower before his run, a towel still left close to the shower’s curtain. Neatly placing a clean outfit and a pair of boxers on the sink’s edge, he looks at himself in the mirror. If he thought spilling boiling coffee down his crush’s t-shirt or knocking her down was embarrassing, his ungodly thoughts seem downright shameful. A war happens inside his mind as he looks down at his hard-on, but Bucky needs this, he needs to let down some steam. Grasping the sink, Bucky palms his dick in his hand; he thinks back to her legs wrapped around him, and the way her ass, covered in lacy panties, peaked from under her shirt this morning. It’s only when an involuntary moan slips past his lips, does y/n fully understand how much trouble she’s in. Her shower had run out of hot water when she’s gotten back from the gym, so she went over to Steve’s without thinking much about it. Except now she’s soapy and wet, stuck in his shower, with only a curtain between her and Bucky, and she’s pretty sure those are moans that she’s hearing. Her mouth drops open when she realises she might be listening to Steve and Bucky having sex, and when the thought fully settles in her mind, she vows to herself to never use other people’s showers without asking. It’s both a relief and a nightmare, when a metal arm pushes the curtain open and a naked, mortified Bucky stares back at her. Her gaze drifts to his hard on for a moment, before she closes her eyes all together. Bucky tries his best to not let his eyes wonder around her body, but the image of her, seemingly perfect, curves already carved deep, deep into his brain. Closing the curtain, he hears the water start running again, before a hand reaches for a towel, and seconds later, y/n steps out, wrapped in the fluffy, white material. She tries smiling at him, but he’s still naked, as in the midst of shock he forgot to cover himself, and it’s awkward as hell, so y/n quickly scurries past Bucky, and out of Steve’s room completely. Looking down, Bucky sights. “How in the fucking hell are you still up?”

When the whole teams comes to the dining room for their usual 8pm dinner, Bucky’s too mortified and embarrassed to look y/n in the eyes. He can sense she also feels awkward, avoiding him as much as possible, setting the table up and bringing dish after dish from the kitchen. When she comes out with the final plate, the only open seat is next to Bucky, and even though she still feels weird, she reluctantly sits down, and even smiles at him slightly. Everyone’s plates are full, and people have started eating when Steve sparks a conversation.

“So, all the hot water in my room was gone when I got back.” He focuses on Bucky and y/n. “Either of you have something to say?” Shaking her head no, y/n continues eating her meal, playing innocent and smiles at their Captain. “What about you, Buck?” Sighting, he puts his fork down, and looks at his best friend.

“Alright, I took a shower in your room, because mine was broken.” He admits, hoping Steve will leave the topic alone, but strangely, he doesn’t.

“At least two people had to shower in my room to use up the hot water.” Bucky can only hope his face isn’t flaming red, but he can feel the heat rising up to his cheeks and spreading down his neck. Noticing Steve’s waiting for an answer, y/n turns to Tony.

“I can’t believe you’re a billionaire, but half of the showers at the compound are broken.”

“y/n, I also found your panties in my bathroom.” Choking on her bite, y/n takes a sip of her drink, before meeting Steve’s eyes. Everyone’s looking at y/n and Bucky, Tony’s amused face doing nothing, but fuelling y/n’s anger. “Did you and Bucky shower together?”

If Bucky could have just one wish, he’d wish for the Earth to swallow him whole in that very moment. “Steve, we were not showering.” Bucky blurts out, realising how insinuating it sounds only when half of the team’s jaws drop to the floor.

“Did you have sex instead?” Natasha asks, a teasing smile on her face.

“No!” They both blurt out at the same time, faces heated up in embarrassment. Bucky looks at y/n apologetically, and raises his eyes back to Steve.

“We didn’t-“ he starts “I didn’t-“ he tries to form a sentence, but keeps choking over his words. Knowing the team won’t believe them either way, y/n takes over for Bucky.

“Steve, Bucky and I are sorry for not leaving you any hot water. The rest of you can go back to eating.” Y/n has that overly sweet smile on her face, but when she turns to Bucky, her face softens, and she rubs his shoulder, whispering it’s not worth it. And so he drops the topic, leaving it alone, and goes back to eating his meal in quiet. But for what seemed like the worst day ever, it’s not so bad; it’s the first time Sam doesn’t make a joke where his teammates laugh at Bucky, instead laughing with him, and it’s the first time Tony smiles, genuinely smiles at him, gesturing to y/n when she isn’t looking and holding thumbs up. And when the sun has hidden all the way, and the time for sleep has come, y/n smiles at him before disappearing into her room, and, yeah, he thinks, I guess it wasn’t such a bad day after all.

[queensoybean0724]

Succession Chapter 17 (Karl Heisenberg/female reader) Resident Evil Village fanfic

Title: Succession Chapter 17

Characters: Karl Heisenberg, female reader

Rating: NC-17 for sex and language (spanking, cunnilingus, handcuffs, restraints, blindfolding, P in V, creampie, unprotected sex *wrap it up kids* )

Summary: you discover a long lost relative has died and made you his sole beneficiary.  While flying to collect your inheritance, you crash in a village in Romania.

Author’s Note: I do not own the characters from Resident Evil Village.  This is a work of fiction.  Anything remotely similar to anyone living or dead is purely coincidental.

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter 17

“Are there any clothes of yours that you would like me to wash?”

You were on your knees by the dirty pile of clothes next to your suitcases.  It had been slowly growing as the days went by and you needed to get them clean.  The shirt and jeans you wore were the only decent clothes you had, and even that was suspect seeing as they smelled of cigar smoke and various other odors from the factory.

“You do know that there is a laundry machine, right?  You don’t actually have to wash them by hand…” Heisenberg remarked, taking steps towards you on the floor, a cup of coffee in hand.  He felt tired after only a small amount of sleep the night before.  But it was nobody’s fault but his own.  The constant fucking and his inability to keep his hands off you were hindering his sleep schedule.

“Really?” you said, looking up at him, “oh wow, I just assumed…”

“...being a Lord in a small village has its perks,” Heisenberg quipped, “...it’s an older model, but it still does the trick.”

“Well, what I said still holds.  I can wash your clothes along with mine,” you offered.

He smiled at you. “I don’t expect you to do anything for me, dollface.  We can wash our respective clothes together.”

You shrugged your shoulders in agreement and gathered the dirty clothes in your arms, standing to your feet.  “Okay, let’s go!”

Heisenberg finished his coffee and set the mug down on the table, removing his sunglasses.  You could barely see his eyes under his wide brimmed hat, but what you could see of them gleamed in mischief.  Oh, shit, what did he have planned now?

“We can do that later,” Heisenberg murmured, taking a step closer to you, “but now...I’m calling in my favor…”

“What favor?” you asked suspiciously.

“Oh come on,” Heisenberg scoffed, “don’t tell me you forgot.  A few days ago when I took you to see Moreau...you said if I accompanied you, that you would make it up to me…”

Your throat went dry.  Your fingers dug into the clothes piled up in your arms.  Realization, a bit of dread, and a twinge of excitement started in your body.  You did say that you would do anything to make up for it.  But with Heisenberg and that mischievous smirk on his lips, that could mean anything.

“What do you have in mind?” you asked hesitantly.

“Oh, pussycat...you have no idea.  Put those clothes back on the floor…”

You swallowed the nervous lump in your throat, turned, and let the pile fall to the floor next to your things.  Turning back to Heisenberg, you watched him remove his hat and put it on the table.  His trenchcoat was next.  He tossed it across one of the chairs.  

“Take off your clothes,” he ordered as he unbuttoned his shirt.  You stood there dumbfounded for a second as you watched him untuck his shirts, letting the buttoned-up one slide down his arms.  He reached for his undershirt, pulling it off overhead.  The objects around his neck clattered noisily as he set them on the table.

“I said, take off your clothes…” he repeated, his voice low and menacing.

You quickly jerked out of your stunned ogling and began to unzip your pants, not wanting to try his patience..  Heisenberg grinned as he unbuckled his belt, pulling it from the loops of his pants.  He folded the belt and grabbed each end in his hands, making it snap noisily.  You jumped at the loud noise and he laughed.

“Oh, I am going to have so much fun with you…” he promised.  Your heart raced in your chest.  You felt equal parts apprehension and excitement.  He was intelligent and creative...the possibilities that this favor held were endless…

He watched as you finished removing your clothes and you stood before him naked.  His tongue slid along his lips as he stepped towards you.  You looked up into his eyes as he slowly moved to your left, circling your body.  He looked you up and down, admiring every inch of you.  His belt touched your skin and you yelped.  Heisenberg chuckled.

“Bend over the bed, your hands pressed to the sheets,” he commanded, sliding his belt up your spine.  An exhilarated thrill surged through you and you turned to the bed, bending forward from your hips.  Heisenberg took the belt and let it roam along your ass.  You bit your bottom lip, wondering what he had in store for you.

You didn’t have long to wait as his belt came down across your ass, giving you a swift spank. A shriek escaped your mouth and Heisenberg laughed.  “Did that scare you, pussycat?” he asked playfully.  You exhaled and turned your face to look at him.  He stood there with his folded belt in his hands, an amused smile on his face.  His shirtless torso showed off his toned chest and stomach, making him look every bit the dangerous dominant man he was.

“Karl...please, do it again,” you murmured.  With a low growl, he brought the belt down again.  The spanks stung as they connected to your ass, him waiting momentarily in between.  The pain was brief before giving way to pleasure.  You felt his hand caress your cheeks, squeezing each in his grasp.

“You’re so fucking beautiful, Y/N,” Heisenberg marveled, placing one hand on the small of your back as he spanked you.  You moaned loudly, lifting your gaze upwards.  After every couple of hits, he would rub and massage your ass, making sure you were okay.  Your skin reddened and was hot to the touch.  His gaze looked over your body, watching as you shivered at the blows of the belt.  Your moans and whimpers were like music to his ears.  And he wasn’t done with you yet.

“Lie on your back on the bed, your head on the pillow,” he ordered.

You followed his command, unable to hide the excitement on your face.  Heisenberg noticed and laughed.  “Oh, you are enjoying this, aren’t you, pussycat?” he marveled.  He walked to the head of the bed and bent down.  The familiar jangling of chains made your eyes go wide.

Heisenberg stood up with the makeshift handcuffs in his grasp.  You looked up at him, his eyes boring holes into yours.  Without a word, he took the cuffs and wrapped the headboard railing with the chains, looping them around and around until they were tight.

“Give me your hands,” he ordered.  One by one, you lifted your wrists and let him restrain you with the cuffs.  Your heart pounded and your mouth was dry.  There had been several nights in the past that you had entertained the fantasy of a man handcuffing you to a bed and raining down torturous pleasure so intense that it made you go insane...you couldn’t think of any other man that you wanted to submit to like this but Karl Heisenberg.

“Oh, fuck…” you moaned as Heisenberg’s fingers slid down your forearm and tricep.  He trailed his fingers down your body to your feet, slowly walking along the bed.  Your skin shivered and peppered with goosebumps.  This man knew just how to touch you.  In the short time you two had been fucking, he memorized every spot that made you whimper and every move that had you crying out in ecstasy.

He pulled his hand away and went to your suitcase, rifling through your things.

“What are you doing?” you asked, lifting your head to look at him.

“Looking for this,” he replied, standing straight, a scarf in his hand.  You released a breath as he sat on the edge of the bed next to you.  Leaning forward, he took the scarf and covered your eyes, tying it behind your head.

“Karl…” you whispered, gripping the chains of the handcuffs.  He adjusted the scarf over your face so that you couldn’t see anything.  You were bound and blindfolded, completely at his mercy.  The arousal that swirled in your belly was astronomical.

“Let me know at any time if you want me to stop,” Heisenberg said, “if it gets to be too much, tell me.  I don’t want to do anything you aren’t comfortable with…”

“For fuck’s sake, Karl, please don’t stop!” you whined, pushing your hips upwards, “this is so fucking hot…”

Heisenberg laughed and stood to his feet.  You heard the zipper of his pants and the sound of him kicking off his boots.  The shuffling of fabric followed by the drop of the remainder of his clothing met your ears.  How desperate you were to look at him standing naked before you.  You wanted to see his muscles flex, you wanted to feel his body under your hands, and you wanted to watch his face contort as he fucked you.

The mattress dipped under his weight as he spread your legs.  He lifted your right leg, his hand circling your ankle.  You sucked in a breath and released an anguished moan at the feel of his lips kissing down your calf.  Wetness slipped from your pussy and dripped onto the sheets.  The man’s soft lips coupled with the roughness of his beard made your senses go into overdrive.

His lips kissed to the back of your knee and his tongue licked lazily along the skin.  You arched your back and groaned.  The area was sensitive and erogenous.  You didn’t know that it was a place on your body that could elicit such pleasure.

“Karl...please…” you mewled.  Your body writhed in waves as he kissed down your inner thigh.

“I meant it when I said I wanted to kiss and lick every inch of your skin, Y/N…” Heisenberg said, “...I could devour your flesh, suck the sweat off and drink it…”

You felt like you were on the verge of insanity by the time he kissed down between your legs.  His hand gripped the outer thigh of your leg, spreading it wide as he kissed along your pussy lips.

“God dammit, Karl, please...I need it...I can’t take anymore…” you pleaded, bucking your hips upwards impatiently.  Heisenberg simply chuckled as he took his other hand and placed the lightest of touches on the tip of your clit.  

You let out an anguished squeal, grinding your head back into the pillow.  His kisses and touches were surprising and unexpected.  You took advantage of your sense of sight before, always being able to know when and where he would touch you...but in that moment everything was unknown, surprising, and agonizing.

“This pretty clit…” Heisenberg said teasingly, looking up your body as he continued to lightly graze it with the pad of his finger, “...how desperate are you for me to touch it...to kiss it...to wrap my lips around it and suck?”

The scarf soaked up your frustrated tears.  The chains clattered noisily against the headboard as you bucked and writhed on the bed.  “Please, Karl...I’m begging you...please…”

“Mmmmm pussycat...I love it when you beg…”

His tongue snaked out and circled your clit.  He lifted your thighs over his shoulders, holding your hips down with both hands.  Your hips trembled and shook, desperate to ride his face.  His grip of your hips was firm, keeping you pressed to the bed, unable to move for any kind of friction.  You were completely at his mercy.

“Oh god Karl...oh fuck...yes...yes...keep licking my cunt…” you pleaded.  He chuckled as his tongue flicked slowly at your clit, looking up at you twisting and struggling for relief from his torture.  His cock was rock hard and desperate to fuck you.  Fantasies of you being cuffed to his bed while he fucked you had been flowing through his mind since he first restrained you.  At that time, it was to ensure you wouldn’t run away, but this...this is what he wanted from the moment he laid eyes on you.  You, submissive, desperate, and begging for him…

He finally gave you what you wanted and started sucking hard on your clit.

“KARL!!!!” you screamed, your legs quaking on either side of his head.  Your thighs squeezed his face and he became feral, licking and devouring the most sensitive part of you.  

The echoes of your pleasure reverberated in his room.  He growled deeply, continuing his assault on your pussy.  

“Karl...oh fuck, you’re gonna make me cum...I’m gonna fucking cum...please, Karl...please…”  

He held you to the bed and continued sucking...more...more...more...until you felt the world stop.  Your mouth flew open and you screamed as you came ferociously and intensely.  Heisenberg’s mouth left your clit as he laughed triumphantly, prolonging your orgasm with his fingers, applying pressure and rubbing.  Your eyes rolled into the back of your head under the scarf, aftershocks shaking your body in waves.

“Good girl...good fucking girl…” Heisenberg marveled.  Your arms hung limp from the handcuffs, sweat forming at your brow.  He kissed up your quivering stomach to your breasts, cupping both in his hands.  He kissed your soft skin, moving to your nipple.  Your legs wrapped around his waist as his tongue traced the hardened peak, flicking and sucking.

“Karl…” you moaned, your hips arching to his body.  Your orgasm was intense and incredible and already you wanted another one.  You wanted him inside of you, to grip his cock and pulse around him.  He had given you insurmountable pleasure and you desperately wanted to return the favor.

“Fuck me, Karl…” you begged, grinding your hips upwards, “...please...I want to make you cum...let me make you cum…”

“Oh, Y/N...I love it when you talk dirty…”  

He continued kissing your breast, palming and squeezing, as his other hand went to his cock, teasing along your wet pussy.  You cursed loudly and wriggled your hips, which made him laugh harder.  “You are quite greedy, dollface…” he marveled, “...yes...so greedy...bound and writhing on my bed...I ought to keep you like this forever…”

You bit your lip and whimpered as he sucked on your nipple, sinking his teeth into your flesh.  You were going to go insane if he didn’t fuck you soon.

Heisenberg sat up and inched closer between your legs.  Sitting back on his heels, he pushed the tip of his cock into your wet cunt.

“Karl!!” you shouted, feeling equal parts relief and dread...relief that he was inside of you and dread that there would be too much time between then and your next orgasm.

Heisenberg gripped your hips and pulled you forward to meet his thrusts.  He pumped deeper into you, his hands holding you flush against him.  Your breasts bounced with the force of his movement.  You clenched around his cock, going tight and pulsing rhythmically, which seemed to please him as evidence from the throaty growls coming from him.

“Fuck...fuck...oh god dammit, Y/N...take my cock…” he moaned.  He took in the sight of you:  your fingers wrapped around the chains, your tits heaving, your thighs quivering around his body, and those sweet, cock hardening moans that flew from your mouth.  You were a vision...a fucking goddess.

“Karl...don’t stop...I want you...I want to make you cum...oh fuck, please…”

His right hand slid up your stomach to your breast, squeezing and slapping it.  You shrieked at the sudden mixture of pleasure and pain.  “That’s it, baby...let me hear you...you filthy fucking little girl…”

You were close.  Heisenberg’s hands all over your body turned you on more than anything you had experienced before.  His lips and talented tongue could make you sell your soul for one last orgasm.  All you wanted was him and he was all you would ever want for the rest of your life.

“I’m gonna cum, Karl...please cum with me...cum inside of me…”

Heisenberg leaned over you and swiftly pulled the scarf from your head.  It took a second for you to adjust to the light before your gaze settled on him.  His body pressed to yours, his hips hammering down on top of you.  His arms pushed under your shoulders and his hands went to the back of your head, making you focus on him.

“Look at me, Y/N...look at me when you cum…” he commanded.  Your clit was trapped against his skin, providing perfect friction along with his cock rocking back and forth inside of you.  It felt overpowering, devastating, and unbearable.  This orgasm was going to destroy the both of you.

“Karl...I’m...I’m...gonna…” you screamed, your eyes wide, never leaving his gaze.

“Tell me...tell me you’re gonna cum...cum for me, Y/N...cum hard…” he yelled, his lips hovering over yours.  You wanted to toss your head back, but his hands on the back of your head kept you still; you had no choice but to stare into the eyes of your executioner.

“I’m cumming...Karl...KARL, OH FUCK, I’M CUMMING!!”

Your body flailed under him, your orgasm so violent that you bucked his body on top of yours.  Heisenberg shot his hot cum deep inside of you as you came around his prick.  Both of you moaned and yelled loudly, so loudly that you felt as if the whole village could hear you.  His hips continued to fuck you into the bed, eager to prolong your orgasm.  His lips clamped over yours, kissing you deeply.  You returned the kiss, your tongue voracious in his mouth.

His hips slowed their movements as he lowered his face between your breasts, kissing as much of your skin as he could.  “You’re gonna be the death of me, pussycat…” he marveled.  You laughed breathlessly, lifting your arms in the chains.  You winced feeling how tender your wrists were, not realizing how hard you were tugging on them.

“Karl...my wrists…” you whispered.  He lifted his head and inspected the handcuffs, seeing the beginnings of red marks on your wrists.  He unlocked the cuffs and wrapped his arms around you, rolling onto his back, pulling you with him.

Your head fell to his chest, too weak to do anything.  Both of your arms hung on either side of his body.  His hands caressed your hair, moving down the nape of your neck and up and down your back.  You smiled and melted into him.

“My sweet dollface,” Heisenberg praised, “...mine...all mine…”

[abarbaricyalp]

hi. you still taking prompts? sambucky meet cute: the lobby of some kind of really tall building and they both have to get to the to top floors. bucky gets to the elevator first, pushes the "door close" button cause he's in a hurry even though he sees sam rushing towards it, but sam gets there just in time. he saw what bucky did so in retaliation he just pushes every single button to make bucky late. now they're stuck in the longest elevator ride, having to stop at every floor

Friend, this is not a meet cute. This is full on meet ugly 😅

AO3 link in the reblog

Push All My Buttons

Bucky was being haunted. That was the only logical explanation for how someone followed him from Brooklyn to Manhattan, mostly on foot. He’d seen the same guy on two trains, across approximately a thousand city blocks, and in the dumb cafe that Bucky squeezed into five seconds after it opened.

And now, the same handsome young black man was standing in the middle of the Stark Tower lobby, looking lost. Bucky quickly hit the close door button of the elevator that he blessedly had to himself. Apparently, he hit it too loud because the guy’s gaze snapped over to him and recognition lit on his face.

Bucky hit Close Door again.

“Hey! Could you hold that!” the guy called, jogging across the lobby floor and avoiding milling people. The fucking tourists on the ground level were killer.

Bucky was not letting a stalker into the elevator with him when he had 91 floors to get up. He hit Close Door for a third time.

Finally, the guy seemed to realize what Bucky was doing and he scowled before tossing his army bag towards the closing doors. They hit the bag and opened up just in time for the guy to jog over, grab his bag, and step inside.

“You’re kind of an asshole,” he said as he slung the duffle over his shoulder again.

“I’m late to a meeting,” Bucky said, which was true. Mostly what he wanted to say was ‘don’t kill me and wear my face as a mask’ or whatever someone who’d followed him over three boroughs would want to do.

The man looked over at him from the corner of his eyes, looked at the highlighted 91 and then reached over to smooth his hand up every single button on the machine. 2-93 lit up.

Bucky stared.

The man crossed his arms. “Now we’re both late.”

92 and 93 unlit themselves. Those were Stark’s personal suites. 2-91 remained lit.

“You fucking asshole,” Bucky groaned and dragged his hands over his face. “Why would you do that? I’m meeting with Stark. I’ve got his-his-his fucking coffee. Jesus.”

“Because I’d rather be late and piss you off than be on time and let you get away with trying to close the door in my face.”

“What was the point of following me all the way around the city? Are you trying to make my life difficult?”

Now the man fully turned to look over at him. The elevator stopped on the second floor and no one was waiting. “I’m not following you. I don’t even know who you are.”

“Are you kidding?” Bucky asked. “You’ve been on my ass since Lloyd’s, in Brooklyn.”

The man frowned. The elevator eased up to the next floor. “Why would you stop at Lloyd’s if you were coming all the way in here?”

“I like to eat on my commute, that’s not the point! You followed me!”

“Pal, I dunno how to tell you that anyone coming from Brooklyn to Stark Tower’s gotta take a pretty similar route.”

“It’s Bucky, pal.”

“Sam,” the guy said and then honest to God offered his hand out like he wasn’t actively ruining Bucky’s life.

On the fifth floor, someone stepped into the elevator, looked at the buttons and stepped back out. Bucky shook Sam’s hand with a resigned sigh.

“Where’d you get that piece of machinery on your arm?” Sam asked around floor eight.

“It’s not on my arm,” Bucky answered. “It is my arm.”

Sam rolled his eyes and punched the door close button. “Fine, where’d you get that piece of machinery on your torso?”

“It’s not Stark tech,” he answered because he knew that was actually what Sam was asking about. He let his eyes slide over Sam’s body quickly, trying to discern if Sam was here for a prosthetic. The bag on his shoulder and the silver ball-chain around his neck gave away that he was military. Stark Industries had a veterans program, so there was a good population of soldiers walking around the building at any given time. Sam was wearing pants, so Bucky couldn’t be totally sure he didn’t have a bad leg, but he hadn’t clocked any limp or awkward gait since Brooklyn. “You here for a prosthetic?” he asked anyway.

Sam snorted and shook his head. The door opened again and someone got on before reaching to press the ground level button.

“Shit,” the woman said, upon seeing everything else lit up. She quickly hit the door open button and jumped back out. “You know, if you two wanted extra time together, having the doors open on every floor was probably a bad idea.”

“That’s not what we--” Bucky started to argue, but the doors slid shut in front of him.

“Anyway,” Sam started again. “I’m not here for a prosthetic. I’m here with Colonel Rhodes.”

“Wow, big man on campus,” Bucky said drily.

“Oh, right, you’re so unimportant, going up to the 91st floor,” Sam shot back.

“I work here,” Bucky said. He held up the quickly cooling coffee in his hands. “Glorified secretary most days, but I’m supposed to be an engineer.”

“What kind of machines do you work with?”

“Not the planes or the suits. Military tech, mostly. I try to stay away from weapons when I can.”

“Did you serve?” Sam asked.

Wish I hadn’t, Bucky wanted to say. “Nah, actually I lost my arm when Stark flew into an uncaffeinated rage and threw a saw at me.”

“Whatever, man. There’s a thousand ways to lose an arm. It ain’t gotta be out in the desert.” His cheeks didn’t quite color, but he crossed his arms and stared ahead.

“Mountains,” Bucky corrected. “Special OPs.”

“Oh, right, but I’m the big man on campus,” Sam said, holding up his hands in mock surrender.

“Rhodes is a big deal around here. You think Stark’s letting him out of his sight for just anyone?”

“The Air Force is testing a new gadget. Rhodes is involved ‘cause Air Force. Maybe you worked on it.”

“Yeah, maybe. It’s a big program. Stark’s got a lot of things going on all at once. Lots of engineers and designers.”

The elevator stopped on the 25th floor and Sam and Bucky both said, “We’re going up,” at the same time to keep the group of suits from crowding into the elevator with them.

Sam kicked his bag into the corner and sat down heavily in front of it, leaning back and closing his eyes. “So you’re a soldier who works for Stark Industries but didn’t get your prosthetic from him, even though he’s the cutting edge of prosthetics and has a full-paid program for those injured in duty.”

Bucky gave up and sat down too. He cradled the coffee cup between his legs, which was probably a bad idea, but this whole morning had been bad. “My story’s a little more complicated than that,” he said. “A lot more twists and turns. My arm is still high tech, though. I asked for a flamethrower, or at least a saw hand but I didn’t get it.”

Sam laughed and, for the first time all morning, Bucky thought maybe he wasn’t so angry at him anymore. Sam laughed like nothing had ever hurt him before, which made it feel like maybe nothing had hurt Bucky either. “Well, there’s your problem. Stark would’ve definitely given you that, from what I hear about the man.”

Bucky grinned over at him and dropped his head back against the wall. It was uncomfortable and the jostling of the car every few seconds rattled his brain, but it beat standing up, or keeping his eyes on Sam for too long. “You’re still in the service?”

“Well, not all of us are so lucky to get a medical discharge on our first tour.”

“Oh, yeah, real luck of the Irish, me. And it was my second. I wasn’t SpecOps until I finished my first stint in the army.”

“Right, right,” Sam said. Then, “You joined up young.”

“So did you. I mean, I assume you’re on your second or third tour too, if you’re being asked to work with Rhodes.”

“Second. I took a long leave to do some school stuff.”

“Oh, so working with Rhodes and you’re smart. You really are the whole package.”

“I’m working with Colonel Rhodes because I’m smart,” Sam corrected. “I could probably take your job. I’m real techy.”

“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t. I’m fond of my apartment and I definitely can’t afford it without being here.”

“Right, I assume you make buck working for Stark.”

“Eh, he’s still a multi-billionaire, he could pay us more.”

“What’s that say about the military then?”

“I’ll drink to that, bro.”

Sam chuckled again and opened his eyes to glance over at Bucky. “How does someone go from losing their arm in a SpecOps mission to working for Stark Industries.”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you. It’s at least a three course discussion.”

The elevator dinged on level 39 and paused, though there was no one there.

“Almost halfway up,” Sam pointed out.

“You are good at math,” Bucky joked just to see Sam roll his eyes again, which he did. “Why Air Force?” he asked when the doors decided to shut again.

“It’s gonna sound so stupid, but I’ve been dreaming about flying since I was a little kid. I wanted to be an astronaut and a lot of astronauts were in the military. So, air force. Figured if I never got to space, at least I spent years in the air anyway.”

Bucky didn’t think that was stupid at all. “You’re right, that’s pretty dumb.” Sam flipped him off with a laugh. “Are you a good pilot?”

“Pal, I’m one of the best out there.”

“God, you chair force guys are all the same,” Bucky said. He squawked as Sam leaned over to tackle him down. “Coffee, coffee! Sam, if you spill Stark’s coffee I’ll make you explain it to him!” he threatened as Sam pulled him away from the cup that had managed to remain upright by an unlikely bout of luck and physics.

Sam was fucking strong, wrangling Bucky down and holding him still. Sure, he was on his knees and Bucky’s legs were mostly trapped under him, but still. Bucky wasn’t a small guy and the prosthetic wasn’t light either but Sam had tugged him out of the corner anyway.

“Oh my God, seriously?” a guy asked on the next floor.

Bucky took the moment of distraction to dig his knee into Sam’s ribs and flip them over as the doors shut again. He locked his fingers around Sam’s wrist and held it to the floor. Sam tugged at the hold futilely.

“Shit, what’s that made out of?”

“That’s another three course answer.”

“At this rate? No chance,” Sam said and got his foot braced against Bucky’s shoulder before shoving him off. Bucky sat back and made sure the coffee was still standing. Sam leaned up against the wall by the doors. They both took in heavy breaths.

“What are you doing with Rhodes?” Bucky asked at floor fifty, when he was pretty positive they weren’t about to leap at each other again.

“Maybe that’s a three course answer,” Sam responded with a small smirk.

“I didn’t know Stark was working on planes with the Air Force.”

“Did I say plane?”

“Helicopters, whatever,” Bucky amended with a wave of his hand. “What do you fly?”

“I’m pararescue.”

Bucky let out a low whistle. “Shit, that’s more impressive than working with Rhodes, maybe. You a doctor?”

“I’ve got triage training, but I’m not, like, ready to walk into an E.R. as soon as I get home or anything.” Sam ran his hand over his buzzed hair and Bucky suddenly wanted to know what it looked like grown out, or if he’d ever kept it long. How he styled it and if he had facial hair and what he was hiding under his shirt and Jesus Christ, he needed to think about anything else.

“Well, from what I’ve seen, your beside manner probably sucks.”

Sam kicked out his foot lamely, missing Bucky’s by a mile. “You ain’t hurt. I don’t gotta give you no bedside manner.”

“What floor do you want off on?” Bucky asked after a glance at the rapidly dimming lights on on the button panel.

“85.”

“Right, yeah, Rhodes works there. We’re at 70 now.”

“What’s it like? Just offices?”

“Nah, he’s got a whole training floor. There’re a few offices, a reception area, but there’s also a gym and some space for simulated battle, sparring rooms. It’s pretty cool. You’ll have a lot of room for whatever he’s doing.”

Sam nodded and looked over at the gaping doors with the first look of unease he’d had all morning.

“You nervous?”

“You would be too,” Sam answered. “If you knew what I was doing. But, hey,” he looked away as the doors shut, “my partner’s already up there, so I can’t make any more of a fool of myself than he probably already has.”

Bucky grinned and shrugged. “I dunno about that. You seem pretty incapable,” he said sarcastically.

Sam kicked out his leg again and then stood up and grabbed his bag from next to Bucky. “You work here every day?”

Bucky nodded and took Sam’s hand when he offered it down to him to haul himself up. “9 to too late.”

“Well, I’m around for a few weeks. Maybe we could walk together instead of around each other next time,” he suggested.

Bucky ignored the swooping of his stomach. “Yeah, if you can keep up.”

Sam jostled his ribs with an elbow. “I can keep up. You’re the one with the machine on your arm.”

“Yeah, and what about it? I could hand-walk faster than you could run.”

“Oh, I doubt that,” Sam snorted. The door opened on floor 80 and Sam’s mouth screwed to one side briefly before he looked at Bucky. “Maybe you’ll get my number out of all of this eventually.”

“Maybe I don’t want it after this stunt.”

Sam placed his hand on Bucky’s metal shoulder solemnly. “You want it.”

With a grin, Bucky shrugged Sam off and shoved him forward. “Get outta here, Wilson.”

“How’d you know--?” Sam asked, taking half a step back to the doors.

Bucky reached over to trace his fingers over the name patch on the other side of the bag. “I’m just a good guesser.”

“Hey, that’s not fair. What’s your--”

The door shut between them and Bucky sagged back against the wall with a sigh. His heart was racing like he was a teenager again and his head felt cloudy. This meeting was not going to go well at this point. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to focus on anything but Sam’s smile or the way he looked in boots or the weight of him above Bucky’s body.

When the elevator dinged on 91, he grabbed Stark’s coffee and let himself off and then almost immediately ran into Rhodes.

“Oh, hey, sorry. Hey, I was just on the elevator with your meeting,” he said. “Sorry he’s late. I hit a bunch of buttons on accident when I got in,” Bucky lied as he passed the coffee to Stark.

“No harm, no foul,” Rhodey said easily. “Clearly I wasn’t even down there. I was actually waiting on you.”

“Me? What for? I’m not working on anything military.”

“You’re not?” Stark asked around a mouthful of coffee. “You assigning yourself projects now?”

“You didn’t say anything about the wings being military. I mean, how would that even work? It’d put a soldier in the air bare.”

“Yeah,” Stark agreed sarcastically and clapped a hand down on Bucky’s metal arm. “What kind of soldier runs around without full body protection.”

“What are you calling the project?” Rhodey asked, guiding the discussion back to where it was supposed to be.

“EXO-Falcon,” Bucky said. “I was modeling it after some of Stark’s EXO-skeleton suits, but it’s much more compact, situated on the back with all support sitting around the chest and ribs.”

Rhodey nodded. “Can I see them?”

Bucky quickly dashed to his work bench and came back with the wings in their case. “They’re carbon fiber, which makes them a little more flexible and keeps them a little lighter weight. I had thought about doing interlocking plates like my arm, but it wasn’t working. I took some of the more basic structures of my arm and modeled a folding mechanism out of it instead. The wings retract into and out of the case.”

He pulled the jetpack on and stepped away from the other work spaces before clicking the wings open. They snapped out behind him, grand and proud. Not unlike how Bucky was feeling at that moment.

“And the jetpack? Is that ready to go?” Rhodey asked.

Bucky shifted from foot to foot. “Well, in theory. I haven’t tested it out yet ‘cause I’m not trained to do things like that, but I’ve put DUM-E into the air and nothing blew up.”

“Well, the Air National Guard guys here today will be thrilled to hear that,” Stark said. “Shall we?”

“You don’t wanna test the jets before you put it on someone?” Bucky asked, a little strangled. He trusted his design. But he really, really hadn’t put as much time into the whole human safety element as he did the ‘up and running’ element.

“We’ll strap a crash test dummy to them in over the mats. It’ll be fine. The fire suppression system on 85 is better than up here.”

“No it isn’t. It’s just further from your suites,” Rhodey said.

Stark shrugged and tossed a piece of pastry in his mouth. “It’s my building. I say we go down to 85.”

“Well, that’s where I left your trainee or whatever too,” Bucky said as he shrugged off the pack and packed it all back up. “Do you want me to grab the other pack?”

“No worries, I’ve already moved it,” Stark said. “I knew Rhodes was coming by. You’re welcome, those things are heavy.”

“Don’t act like you didn’t have DUM-E move it,” Rhodey teased. He made his way over to the elevator and Bucky followed with Stark on his heels. The ride down to 85 was much faster than the ride up to 91. It was a miracle what not hitting every button could do. They stepped out onto the floor and made their way to the training mats, where two other people were already standing.

“Barnes, I’d like to keep you on the Falcon project,” Rhodey said. “No one knows the wings like you do. That being said, you’ll be working with live test subjects now, so it’s a little more critical.”

“Hey, you don’t have to say it that way!” the blond man in the middle of the room said. “Call us, like, Top Guns or something.”

“You don’t get to choose your nickname around here,” Stark called over, propping himself up on a stack of sparring mats to watch from afar. “Ask Manchurian Candidate. He definitely didn’t choose his.”

Rhodey rolled his eyes. “Barnes, this Sergeant Wiatrek and Sergeant Wilson.”

Fuck.

“It’s Barnes, huh?” Sam asked, smugly crossing his arms over his chest.

“Oh, Sammy, you didn’t hook up with this guy already did you?” the blond asked in teasing horror.

“Screw you, no. I met him this morning.”

“Ah,” Rhodey said with a grin. “This was the meeting you made late,” he said to Bucky.

“Yeah, we met this morning,” Bucky confirmed with a raging blush. How was this his life?

“Well, good, you can get right to work on the wings,” Rhodey said. “Let me go find a crash dummy.”

“DUM-E,” Stark called as Rhodey started away.

“I’ll find that doll first,” Rhodey challenged.

Bucky turned from their bickering and looked at Sam, then the blond next to him.

“It’s Riley,” the other man said and offered out his hand. “I’m better conversation than this one.”

Bucky doubted it. He shook the guy’s hand and then held out the briefcase like a shield between him and Sam’s teasing gaze. “Do you wanna see the wings?”

Riley nodded eagerly and Bucky moved to another stack of mats to open the case. Riley and Sam stood on either side of him. As Riley pulled the jetpack free, Sam pulled out his phone. Bucky thought he was going to film his friend inevitably crashing, but instead he turned on the auto-help.

“Hey, where’s the nearest three-course restaurant?” he asked without looking away from Bucky, without his grin faltering.

Bucky dragged his hands down his face as he looked at Sam. Riley yelped behind them after the tell-tell whoosh of the jet pack, but Sam still didn’t look away. Bucky couldn’t either.

[hepalien]

Shrunkyclunks (Modern Bucky/Cap Steve) Fic Rec

Hate Sex & Hair Protocol by @maddiewritesstucky - Mature, 1.8k

SHIELD Agent Bucky, UST, Enemies to Lovers (in Steve’s head), Humor

They’re all full of shit, Steve decides.

His team don’t have a clue what they’re talking about, running their mouths about the way he and Bucky look at each other; the tension that seems to be at a constant near-snapping point between them.

'It’s called annoyance' Steve wants to yell in each of their faces, loud and one by one. It’s the pain of having to exist every day in close proximity with someone who drives you out of your fucking mind.

---

In which Steve discovers that ire and desire may just exist side by side in his brain.

Stop interrupting my grinding series by @rohkeutta - Teen, 2.5k

Nurse Bucky, Wrong Number, Fluff, Humor

“I tried to call Sam,” Captain America says, bewildered. He’s sprinting like Usain Bolt and doesn’t sound even a little out of breath. Fucker. “Who’re you?”

“Someone who’s watching you live on TV,” Bucky tells him as the tiny patriotic figure on the screen takes the turns like he instructed. Bucky should probably be a lot more freaked out about this, but honestly? After a tour in the Middle East and six years as a nurse in New York, even this isn’t enough to ruffle him. One sees a lot of shit in the ER. “Also, you better hang up now, that thing is behind the next bend.”

“Uh, okay,” Captain America says. “Thanks?”

“Whatever,” Bucky says, disconnects the call and turns the TV off to get ready for his shift.

Save a Horse, Ride a Captain by @galwednesday - Teen, 2.7k

War Vet Bucky, Meet Cute, Fluff, Humor, Modern Howlies

Bucky tapped him on the shoulder, swaying back and forth a little as he waited for the man to turn around. “Hello,” he said, and then promptly forgot what else he was going to say, because this guy was fucking beautiful. “Wow. Good face.”

Two of the guy’s friends, a man wearing a suit that fit so well it had to be bespoke and a man with a cute little gap between his front teeth, started cracking up. The petite redhead sitting next to them cocked her head to the side and pulled her phone out of her handbag. Beautiful Face just looked kind of pained, so Bucky redirected. He was a gentleman. He could take a hint. No hitting on beautiful guys who were uncomfortable with that sort of thing, no matter how lickable their jawlines were.

“Hello,” he repeated, doing his best to mind his manners. “I’m very sorry to bother you. Can I have a piggy-back ride?”

You Make My Heart Skip A Beet by @musette22 - Teen, 3.8k

Chef Bucky, POV Outsider, Fluff, Humor

“I made soda bread.”

Steve lets out the 6’2” supersoldier equivalent of a squeak. “Oh, I love soda bread,” he says eagerly, rolling forward on the balls of his feet like he does when he gets excited. “My mom used to make it all the time when I was growing up.”

The tips of Barnes’s ears turn red, and he mutters something that sounds suspiciously like, “I know.”

more under the cut

Cafe Au Écoute by @littlesystems - Teen, 3.8k

Coffee Shop AU

No matter where Steve goes, there's always the chance that he'll overhear a conversation about himself - or rather, Captain America. This coffee shop is no different. The fact that he keeps eavesdropping well past the point of plausible deniability is another matter entirely.

#TweetMeDaddy by StarSpangled - Teen, 4.1k

SHIELD Employee Bucky, Misunderstandings, Crack, Humor

Coulson, for his part, stares up at Bucky with such a betrayed look of frozen horror that Natasha actually goes the extra step and presses another button, capturing the moment and airdropping the photograph to her phone for posterity. When he speaks, his voice comes out as a hoarse whisper. “Why…?” He swallows and starts again, trying for some semblance of normality. “...Why would you tweet something like that?!”

“If you must know, sir,” and somehow he manages to make ‘sir’ come out with the same inflection most people reserve for ‘motherfucking son of a bitch’, “it’s because I have a difficult time doing my job when my job involves monitoring the man with the best fucking ass in the United States of America.” He slowly lowers himself back into his seat until he’s at eye level, making extreme eye contact with Coulson until Coulson turns away to make mortified eye contact in Natasha’s general direction through the one-way glass. Natasha would take another picture, if she weren’t too busy catching Steve’s red-faced sputtering. “Sometimes, I vent to my Twitter followers. Sometimes, it’s about hot men with washboard abs. Can I go now, or do you need a graphic description of how I pleasure myself at night?”

at first chance i'd take the bed warmed by the body by @spacebuck - Explicit, 8.2k

YouTuber Bucky

This close, Steve can see exactly how beautiful his hands are. He’s never really noticed before, or at least he’s never really had a reason to notice, but the man’s hands are large, tanned like he works outside all day. There’s an endearing callus on the heel of one of his palms, and Steve can’t quite work out when calluses became endearing.

Steve pauses the video. Swallows hard. Casts his eyes around for anything that’ll keep his mind off the hands on his screen, off the words inked into those hands, the delicate shape of a bird’s wing, the curling edge of a vine.

He looks down. The name of the channel is right there, blaring the man’s name right into Steve’s brain until it feels like he’s known it all along.

Bucky Barnes.

OR: the one where Bucky's a youtuber who solves puzzles on camera, and steve's smitten and horny

Came with my cool (I dropped it) by @liionne - Teen, 9.2k

Yoga Instructor Bucky

"When you said I need to loosen up, I didn't think you meant literally."

"I meant it every way. Mentally, emotionally, and physically." Natasha says, and thrusts a yoga mat at him.

there once was a diamond by bloobeary - Teen, 11.3k

Fluff, Thanksgiving

"You," Becca seethes, and hits him with a wooden spoon. "Could have told me," Hits him again. "You were dating Captain America." Final hit, Bucky laughs. He supposes he deserves it, giving her no more information than the fact he was bringing his boyfriend to Thanksgiving dinner at her house and then showing up with Steve.

Salt by littleblackfox @thelittleblackfox - Mature, 12k

Bakery AU

The cinnamon roll is gone in four bites. Four indecent, jaw-unhinging bites, and Steve sucks the last traces of lemon and icing from his fingers with a low, throaty sound of satisfaction. He glances up at Bucky, who is leaning against the counter and watching him with avid fascination.

“Um…” Steve says around his index finger. There’s still a little icing on the bed of his fingernail, and he stops trying to work it off with his tongue.

“You know those movies where the girl eats an eclair or something, and it’s really, like, sexually charged?” Bucky asks.

Steve pulls his finger out of his mouth. He’s never seen that kind of movie, but the thought of Bucky eating an eclair is certainly… well, it lingers. “Uh?”

“Yeah, well that was the exact opposite.” Steve scowls, and Bucky cackles gleefully. “You are something else, Steve.”

Leg Day by Brokenpitchpipe - Explicit, 12.1k

Gym Thot Bucky

“So talk to him,” Sam says.

“I can’t,” Bucky groans. “I can’t, Sam, I. He just.” He fluffs his hair up and stares at Sam, distraught. “I want him to bench press me.”

“Okay, so it’s serious,” Sam interprets. “Got it."

(Or: The one where Sam is Bucky's long-suffering roommate, Bucky is a hot mess of a millennial, and Hot Steve spends far too much time on the Lat Pull-Down machine.)

Art Nouveau by voluptuous_panic - Explicit, 12.2k

Bartender Bucky, Tattooed & Pierced Bucky

Steve's on the worst date of his life. At least the bartender's cute.

much tattoo about nothing by @deisderium - Explicit, 14.5k

Tattoo Artist Bucky

Steve Rogers gets a lot of email requests, but never one like this: James Barnes wants to use his healing factor to practice tattoos.

Turns out tattoos give Steve boners.

No Wonder There's Panic in the Industry by sprinkle_of_cinnamon - Not Rated (I’d say Mature?), 20.5k

Stark Industries Intern Bucky, Team fic, Humor

In which Bucky Barnes and his BFF, Clint Barton, are NYU interns for Stark Media Group competing to be Pepper's favorite.

Or alternatively, the time Bucky assisted the P.A. team on the Steve Rogers piece and ended up (adopted) with a contact list full of Avengers.

Life of the Party by @aggressivewhenstartled - Explicit, 21.6k

Superhero Impersonator Bucky, Mistaken Identity

“You know, kids,” Steve heard from the backyard, “one of the most common threats a superhero has to face is inside an active volcano! We’re going to have to work on your evasion skills, so for the next five minutes, the floor is lava!” This was met by a sudden spike in both volume and pitch from the small children as they scrambled onto every raised surface they could find and immediately launched themselves right back off.

“I’ve never seen actual lava in my entire life,” Steve said, vaguely offended.

“You got a superhero impersonator for The Falcon’s niece’s birthday party,” Sam said, incredulous. “The Falcon, who is an actual superhero.”

Trust Enough by @geneticallydead - Explicit, 23.3k

Misunderstandings

“Saturday. Yeah, that’s good,” Steve says, and actually scuffs his shoe at the ground. Like a ridiculous shy superhero damsel. “Say eight? I live-“

“Yeah, big building with the A on it,” Bucky says, and can’t help a big stupid grin. Steve stares at him, looking a little dazed, and after their whole conversation it’s only now that Bucky’s brain catches up and realises Steve finds him quite attractive. So. Win for Bucky.

“Let me get your number,” Steve says finally, after they’ve stared stupidly at each other for about three hours, taking out his phone.

So they exchange numbers, and then Steve says he should go, and Bucky agrees, and they kind of stare at each other for a bit more, then Steve actually does go, but not before taking Bucky’s hand and squeezing it warmly in a way that makes Bucky want to shiver all over. Then Steve is gone, and Bucky is standing alone in the alley, grinning to himself.

Right up until the moment he remembers that Steve thinks Bucky is an escort he’s just hired.

Well fuck.

The Roommate by layersofart, Niitza - Teen, 28.6k

War Vet Bucky, Roommates AU, Humor, Fluff, Angst, Team fic

In which Steven G. Rogers, a.k.a. Captain America, gets a roommate. Who rapidly turns into his "roommate"—in the euphemistic sense of the word.

It takes SHIELD and the rest of the Avengers an absurd amount of time to notice.

Brooklyn Baby by sprinkle_of_cinnamon - Mature, 33.7k

Coffee Shop AU, Modern Howlies, Mistaken Identity, Team Fic

In which Bucky is just trying to live life and enjoy his unofficial official table at the obnoxiously hipster coffee shop but some guy named Steve stole his spot.

Or, the time that Bucky unintentionally befriended the Avengers and had no idea.

Never Talk to Strangers by mambo @whtaft - Teen, 40.4k

Grad Student Bucky, Slow Burn

Never Talk to Strangers: or; How a Forgotten Childhood Lesson Led Bucky Barnes to Appreciate Charlie Chaplin, Befriend an A.I., Slip on Soap Bubbles, Be Mistaken for a Succubus, and Try to Woo a Superhero.

Sinking Our Teeth In The Heart Of The Sun by fallendarlings @pressrestartwrites - Explicit, 102.8k

Single Dad Bucky, Kid Fic, Slow Burn, Domestic, Fluff, Mutual Pining, Steve has Autism

Bucky Barnes never intended to become a single father at 25. But life has always enjoyed kicking him while he's down and it's showing no signs of stopping. A chance meeting with a brick wall of a guy named Steve in the formula aisle of the grocery store leads to a friendship it seems like both of them need. If only Bucky could remember that's all they are- friends. If only Steve didn't slot into their lives so perfectly and look so good spoiling Bucky's daughter (and Bucky, despite his protests).

Oh, if only Steve didn't turn out to be Captain America.

Steve Rogers is wandering around a world that he doesn't fit into, fighting for a government that he doesn't trust, just because he doesn't know what to do with himself if he ever relaxes long enough to actually think about anything other than the next mission.

And then came Bucky Barnes and his newborn baby.

More recs

[justthehiddleswrites]

Anesthesia | Tom Hiddleston x Reader

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x Reader

Summary:  Tom suffers a serious car accident and the reader is the nurse on duty in the ER. Tom and anesthesia don't mix and Tom acts very out of character. Can Tom regain his composure or will he continue to shamelessly flirt with the reader? And is Benedict going to work all of this to his advantage?

Warnings: Car Accidents, Hospitals, Anesthesia Makes people act crazy, Tom quoting Shakespeare

-

“Tom?”

Tom’s eyes fluttered, and he blinked several times, adjusting to the bright white light.

“Nurse! He is waking up!”

Nurse? Waking up? Tom reached out and cold metal hit his hands. Safety rails. The air was cool, dry, and sterile. As he attempted to sit up, he felt a cold air hit his bare back.

“Hey buddy, lie back down. You gave us quite a scare,” the familiar voice reassured him as he lowered himself back down to the bed.

Tom turned his head to the sound and once he saw Benedict’s face he smiled. Ben smiled back.

“Welcome back to Earth, Tom.”

“Thanks, what happened?”

The last thing Tom remembered was climbing into the stunt car to rehearse the big action shot. After that, it was just flashes of fire, screams and sirens.

“The brakes failed and the stunt coordinator doesn’t know what happened. But the important thing is you got out alive.”

Tom attempted to sit up again and felt winces of pain throughout his body.

“What was the damage?”

Benedict looked down.

“To you or the car?”

“The car… of course me! I feel as though a Mack truck hit me.”

“You are not far off. You broke your clavicle, wrist, and a few ribs. Um… lacerations everywhere and a… a ruptured spleen.”

Tom twisted to see his friend’s face better and felt the stitches and bandages strain. He winced at the sharp pain on his left side. Benedict hit the call button and in minutes, the nurse arrived.

She smiled as she approached the bed.

“Feeling pain?”

Tom nodded.

She looked at your chart before adding some pain meds to Tom’s IV.

“That should do. I would suggest lying down and the doctor should be in about twenty minutes.”

Tom thanked her and couldn’t help but notice her gazing over her shoulder as she left the room. Her smile barely contained her giggles. Tom’s eyes widened.

“Do they know who I am?”

Benedict averted his eyes and rose from the chair, feigning interest in the generic artwork on the wall. Tom narrowed his eyes at the clear avoidance of the question.

“What are you not telling me?”

“Oh boy, you don’t remember anything when you got here, do you?”

Tom shook his head.

“No, what happened?”

“You were in a lot of pain. Tell me have you ever been under anesthesia before?”

“Maybe, once or twice…” Tom questioned, but then he stared his friend down for answers.

“What did I say, Ben?”

“You don’t want to know.”

“Yes, I do. Sit down and tell me, and I will decide if you live or die.”

Dejected, Ben returned to the chair and let a sigh out.

“I’m sorry, Tom.”

Four Hours Earlier

The gurney burst through the ER doors just fifteen minutes after you started your shift. Emergency room shifts are never boring but physically and emotionally draining. You put down your cup of coffee and headed in to assess the patient.

A man lied, groaning on the gurney. His face covered in scrapes and blood staining his ginger whiskers. His left wrist sat at an unnatural angle and his shirt cut away by the paramedics to administer help.

“Car accident,” the EMT relayed, “stunt gone wrong.”

A specific hazard unique to Los Angeles. They wheeled him to the examination room and put him onto the bed with care. He wore a C-collar, but the jostling stirred the man. His eyelids fluttered open and his blue eyes work to focus on his surroundings.

“Hey…” you looked down at his chart, “Tom. How are you doing?”

“Pain.”

“I know you are in pain, but where?”

Tom gestured to the left side of his abdomen.

“Okay.” You grabbed some morphine and added it to his IV. “Any allergies?”

He shook his head.

“Anyone come with you?”

As if on cue, Benedict pulled back the curtain.

“I did.”

You recognized the man standing before you. Benedict Cumberbatch was quite the movie star.

“Really?” You attempted to keep your cool. This was no time for fan girling.

Within minutes, Benedict could communicate the information about not only the accident but Tom’s medical history as well. It had all been on file with the production company.

The doctor came in and did a quick examination.

“We need to get a CT scan and X-rays. Looks like there may be internal injuries.”

You nodded as you prepared to wheel Tom down the hall.

“Ready to go for a ride?” you asked.

Tom nodded and gave a goofy smile.

“What’s your name?”

“Y/N.”

“Y/N, Y/N. That’s a beautiful name. My name is Tom Fucking Hiddleston.”

The drugs were doing their job.

“Nice to meet you, Tom. We will take you for some tests.”

“But I didn’t study!” he sounded dismayed.

You could not suppress your laugh.

“I think you will be fine.”

Tom grabbed your hand and looked up at you, tears in his eyes.

“Will you help me study?” he asked with a serious tone.

“Of course.”

Tom continued to babble on for the rest of the trip to imaging. He spoke about how nice you smelled and how pretty your eyes look. The full court press of flirting. As you reached the room, you and the other nurse lifted Tom onto the machine.

“Here you go.”

Tom grabbed your hand once again.

“Please don’t leave. I’m scared of the dark.”

While his words spoke of her fear, his eyes and smile said something else.

“Are you flirting with me, Mr. Hiddleston?”

His smile only grew.

“Is it working?”

You leaned in to his ear to whisper, “No, but the drugs are.”

Tom pouted.

“Not fair.”

“But you are cute.”

His face lit up once again.

“I came, saw and overcame.” Tom was being dramatic.

At that point, the other nurse started up the machine, and you walked away to let the rest of nurses to care for his needs. After his scans, you headed back to the waiting area. You found Benedict pacing the floor in anticipation. His long fingers alternating between steepling in front of his face and raking through his hair. As you approached, you cleared your throat.

“Yes?” his voice shared a tone of concern and hopefulness.

“A few broken bones but the big thing is that his spleen has ruptured. He needs surgery right away.”

Ben’s face fell.

“Will he be okay?”

You nodded.

“He will make a full recovery. Would you like to see him before they send him in to operating?”

You led Ben back to where they were prepping Tom for surgery. The anesthesiologist added drugs to the IV and Tom was now in a full hospital gown. His tattered rags of clothes in the garbage.

“No fair!” Tom bellowed as you entered with Ben throwing the thin sheet over his legs. The two of you shared a knowing look, “You have seen me naked but I have not had the chance to see you naked.”

You leaned into Benedict.

“It would seem that the medicine does not agree with your friend,” you smirked.

“Oh, I don’t know, I rather like him like this, so not proper. So not Tom Hiddleston.”

You smiled as you looked upon Tom who, in vain, tried to cover his body. Even loopy on drugs, he charmed and warmed your heart.

“I will leave you to it.”

As you turned to leave, Tom shouted at you.

“I love thee, Y/N. By which honor I dare not swear thou lovest me, yet my blood begins to flatter me that thou dost, not withstanding the poor and untempering effect of visage. And therefore tell me, most fair Y/N, will you have me?”

You suppressed a small giggle.

“I will see you later,” you let them both know as you shut the door.

As soon as the door latched, Tom grabbed Benedict’s arm and pulled him down close.

“Ben! Ben! Have you met my wife?”

Benedict screwed his face up with confusion.

“The nurse? That is just the drugs talking, Tom. You barely know her.”

“Nonsense. She will be my wife and you shall be my best man.”

Benedict looked at Tom with an exasperated face but Tom’s only contained earnest. With a chuckle, Benedict conceded.

“Very well, Tom. I will be your best man.”

Tom slapped Benedict’s shoulder.

“That’s the spirit. As my best man, I require you to acquire my future bride’s number.”

Benedict could not resist at this point to play along with his friend’s drug-addled fantasy.

“I will, on one condition.”

“Name your price.”

“Name your firstborn after me.”

“Consider it done.”

“Then consider the number yours.”

Tom’s face beamed and as if on cue, the nurses came to wheel Tom into surgery.

***

“Oh dear, God. I quoted Shakespeare.”

Tom hung his head and his face and neck turned a bright shade of red.

“Yep. The Henry the Fifth wooing speech too. Honestly, it was one of your better performances. Might I suggest doing all your roles drugged from now on.”

Tom shot Benedict a withering look.

“Ha ha. Very funny. I can’t show my face to her again.”

At that moment, the door opened, and you entered. The color drained from Tom’s face, while the smile grew on Benedict’s.

“Y/N!” Benedict cooed, “We were just talking about you. So nice of you to stop in.”

Your shift ended half an hour ago, but you wanted to check in on Tom before going home. Today was not the first time a patient hit on you, although they are usually not an award-winning actor with a penchant for quoting Shakespeare. But, you would remain ever the professional. You checked the chart before wishing the two men well.

As you turned to exit, Benedict walked you out.

“Thank you, Y/N for attending to Tom.”

“My pleasure. Even under the influence, he is quite charming.”

Benedict took this opportunity.

“Speaking about that…”

3 years later

“Tom!”

You yelled down the hall of your London home, beckoning your husband. At six months pregnant, getting up and down was no easy task. Tom rushed to your side. He gave you his arm and with a rocking start; you extracted yourself from the chair.

“Thanks, darling.”

“I am at your beck and call.”

You rubbed your swollen belly as you waddled your way down the hall. Tom followed you to the kitchen.

“Now about names for this little young man here.”

Tom grew ashen. He thought he could avoid this conversation, but it seems his luck had run out.

“Yeah, I have I mentioned today that I love you.”

Tom kissed your lips, and you looked at him with distrust.

“What have you done?”

Tom smiled and rubbed his neck, a nervous habit.

“I may have promised to name the child after Benedict.”

Tom flinched.

“You what? Why on earth would you do that?”

“It was for a good cause.”

“Which was?”

“Your phone number.”

With that, Tom took off down the hallway. You smiled as you walked with much effort behind him.

“We are NOT naming our child after breakfast food!”

You heard Tom’s laughter fill the house.

[yespolkadotkitty]

i think it’s fair to say that i’ve fallen far too in love with your zach one shots — not only do you capture his persona so well, it genuinely feels like i’m watching an episode of brothers & sisters

also, your ricky one shot was also so so so good!! you have no idea how grateful we all are that you pluck these characters from obscurity and portray their defining characteristics so accurately while also adding the loveliest fluffiest fluff of all time

i was wondering if you would consider writing a jealous!zach one shot? ngl, the (mutual) pining mixed with jealousy trope is my guilty pleasure and i feel like jealous zach would be 11/10

anyway, just wanted to say you’re fucking amazing and i adore your writing — i hope you’re having a great day!!

THANK YOU FOR THIS LOVELY ASK

(NB: Ok I know this is not Zach but it COULD be. It’s the right year. There are SO FEW pics of Zach so let’s just go with it).

Words: 1700 ~ Warnings: jealousy, pining, angst, fluff, one awesome kiss

Pairing: Zach Wellison x gn!reader

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

YOU: Is it wrong to be attracted to the super in my building?

BFF: Why would it be wrong? Use it to curry favour! Get stuff fixed faster! What is he/she like?

YOU: Tall. Tanned. Dark blond. Has a tattoo - military maybe? Sexiest voice ever.

BFF: If you don’t get him, I will.

You set your phone down and smiled.

Maybe I should say something.

Zach had been the building super of your apartment block for the last three months. He was a massive improvement on the last guy, who spent his days playing Zelda and smoking weed and very occasionally getting off his ass to fix stuff.

He’d been to your place - conveniently next door to his, he had a live-in type gig - four times. The garbage disposal, the leaky faucet, the faucet again, and then the window.

Notes could be left in his mailbox downstairs by tenants who needed assistance. He always responded the same day, the next day at the very latest, and he always tried to arrange a time with the occupant that suited them.

He’d gotten all greasy and wet fixing the faucet, his plaid button-down clinging to him, and eventually he’d stripped it off, revealing a tattoo you hadn’t been brave enough to try and examine properly, and some serious biceps.

Next time I see him, you promise yourself.

BFF: Btw, what’s happening with the dude at no 16?

YOU: Nothing.

You’d engaged in a mild flirtation with the well-built guy across the hall. Sometimes he got your mail in his box by mistake and he dropped it off, but lately he hadn’t engaged with you, and you began to think he was just being friendly.

The next day, before you could properly think of what to write down for Zach, the washing machine that came with your place started to leak. You noticed when trying to take your clothes out of it.

“Crap!”

Rather than put a note in his box, you knocked on Zach’s door.

He opened it after a minute, surprise sketched on his handsome face, hair ruffled, sweat beading at the neck of his t-shirt. Past him, you could see weight lifting equipment on the floor, along with a small speaker playing 70s rock.

“Fleetwood Mac?” You ask, smiling. “They’re my favourite.”

“No kidding?” A smile tipped up one corner of his mouth. “So... “ His brown eyes met yours, warm, concerned. “Are you okay?”

“I hate to bother you directly, but my washer’s busted - leaking.”

“It’s no bother.” He glanced behind him. “Give me five, okay? I’ll be right there.”

“Thanks so much, Zach.”

He nods and closes the door. You’re about to turn back to your apartment when Well Built Guy - Damon, you think his name is - comes out of his own apartment.

“Hey,” he greets you.

“Oh, hey. How are you?”

He pushes a hand through his short, black hair. His single earring glints in the daylight; gives him a pleasingly piratical look. “I’m good. How are you?”

“Yeah, good - thanks.” You move again.

“Wait.” He takes a step closer in the small hall. “I was wondering if you - if you wanted to get coffee sometime? This place two blocks over does an amazing dark roast.”

“Oh, well-”

You’re cut off when Zach’s door swings open. He’s changed into a clean shirt, a forest-green henley, and he carries a faded red toolbox. His gaze darts between you and Damon, wary, and for a second, his mouth turns down.

As quickly as you see it, it’s gone.

“Sorry to interrupt,” he mutters, to you. “Can I go in?”

“I’ll let you in, Zach.” You turn your attention to Damon.”Catch you later?”

“Sure, sweet thing.”

He’s called you the nickname before but it’s never chafed until today.

Zach doesn’t react as you come to the door and let him in.

“Thanks for coming by so quickly.”

He doesn’t look at you. “You didn’t have to cut your time with your boyfriend short.” He sets his toolbox down by the washer and kneels, unbothered by the pool of water that begins to leech into the pale denim of his jeans.

“He isn’t my boyfriend.”

Zach sets about exploring the washer. “Okay.”

“He isn’t.” You stuff your hands in your pockets. “You want some coffee?”

For the first time, he looks up at you, and the expression in his honey-brown eyes is scraped bare, and then he looks away and the connection is lost. “Sure. Thanks. Black, one sugar.”

You busy yourself, just a few feet away - your kitchen is not big by any stretch of the imagination.

“Here you go.”

“Thanks.” He’s absorbed, only his waist and ass sticking out from the drum of the washer.

You potter off to do some work.

An half hour later, Zach knocks on the door of your tiny office - the only other “room” of your studio aside from the bathroom. 

“All fixed.”

“Thank you so much, Zach.”

He swipes the back of his hand over his forehead, leaving a smear of grease. “No problem.”

“You’ve got a-” You reach up, every nerve on end, wanting to touch him.

A knock sounds at your door.

Dammit.

“Sorry,” you mutter.

You swing the door open and Damon is there with two coffees.

“I was on my way back from the office,” he says. “I thought you might like to - oh, the super’s still there. Not fixed yet, pal?”

Damon says it innocuously but you see Zach’s shoulders tense.

“Nope, all good.” He rubs the palms of his hands together in a “that’s done” gesture. “I’ll get out of your hair.”

“... Place next door is this amazing Italian,” Damon is saying, oblivious. “It’s pretty pricey but I’d love to take you there.”

Zach pushes between you and out of the door, but you see the crestfallen set of his shoulders as he goes.

The door swings shut behind him and you turn back to Damon, resigned to see this conversation out, and to make it clear that he’s kind, but you aren’t interested.

*******

That evening, you take the stairs down to the communal gym in your building. Well. Gym is stretching it. There’s one ancient rowing machine, one treadmill, a barbell that has seen much better days, and a CRT TV that only shows Judge Judy. But, you don’t have to pay for it, so it beats a gym contract elsewhere in the city.

When you push through the door, Zach is on the treadmill, earphones in. He’s wearing a sleeveless vest and your gaze is drawn to his intricate tattoo - an eagle perched on a world, an anchor hugging the globe. Marines.

Wow, you think - wow.

Sweat trickles down the back of his neck, and his thick, dark gold hair curls around his nape.

Now or never.

You walk over to the treadmill and drop your gym bag to announce your presence.

Zach turns, does a double take, and then presses a button on the treadmill to slow it down. He pulls his earphones out.

“Hey.”

“Hey, Zach.”

Curiosity flits across his features. “Something you need?”

You swallow. He looks so good, his pale gold skin slick with clean sweat, his breath coming in soft pants, his chest rising and falling, lean muscles delineated by the clinging vest.

“No. I mean, yes.”

“And you can’t get the guy at 16 to help?” he snarks.

You step back.

“Sorry,” Zach says, immediately. “I just…”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” you assure Zach.

Above his head, on the TV, Judge Judy silently reprimands a woman with six face piercings.

“He could be. Guy like him. Good job. He’d take you to fancy Italian places.”

You curl your hand around the arm of the treadmill. “Maybe I don’t want to go to fancy Italian places.”

Zach huffs out a breath, but you have his interest.

“Maybe I’d just like to hang out with you.”

Suspicion narrows his eyes. “Why?”

“Maybe I like you? Did you consider that? Maybe, for some bizarre reason, I think you’re nice and attractive?” you wave your arms, frustrated.

Zach folds his arms across his chest, pursing his lips. “I used to be a Marine, but I had to resign my commission because I got hit hard with PTSD. I lived on the street for two years.”

You hold his gaze as he speaks. 

“Why are you telling me this?”

But then you know. He’s telling you so you’ll turn tail and go back to Damon, with his suits and fancy haircut and ability to take you out for $100 dinners.

He expects you to turn him down.

Because that’s what happens. What has happened and what he thinks will happen now.

Zach firms his lips and shakes his head slightly.

“Just go,” he says, so softly, mistaking your silence for pity, rather than resolve.

“No.” Instead, you lean up on your toes and touch your lips to his.

He starts, and then holds perfectly still. You break the kiss, and look up into his face, and he’s gazing at you like you hung the moon and all the stars.

“I like you, Zach,” you whisper. “And I don’t care if our first date is a picnic in the park.”

He blinks, turning away from you for a second, and then he ducks under the arm of the treadmill, and he’s so close that you breath catches. 

“I’ve thought about this,” he murmurs, and then he cups your face in his hands and kisses you like he means it, lips and teeth and tongue, and it’s everything.

You spear your fingers into his hair and breathe him in, press yourself against the hard wall of his chest, sigh his name against his lips.

“I gotta shower,” he says, with clear reluctance, his voice half an octave lower, unsteady from a kiss that has rocked both your worlds. “Then, let’s see about that picnic.”

**********

Zach Pit & permanent taglist: @mrschiltoncat @astroboots @songsformonkeys @biblioworm @aeryntheofficial @thirstworldproblemss @wheresarizona @pedropascalito @knittingqueen13 @alwaysbethewest @agirllovespancakes @f0rever15elf @heatherbel @frannyzooey @lannister-slings-and-arrows @sarahjkl82-blog @thedazeinmylife @holographic-carmen @idreamofboobear @fromthedeskoftheraven @disgruntledspacedad @chicken-nugget-puta @miulola @nelba @alienprincesspoop @tardisfangurl @synystersilenceinblacknwhite @mylonelylittleappreciation @filthybookworm @absurdthirst @thestrawberry-thief @lilangeldevil006 @marydjarin @jedi-mando @havenforafrazzledmind @myoxisbroken @10-96dispatcher @stormtrooperofficerbrowneyes @mrsparknuts @roxypeanut

[hecate-spawn]

We didn't start the fire. Just kidding I did, It was worth it.

A/n: This is probably the only thing that I can write at the moment because SOMEONE *looks at writers block* feels like being a bitch. Anyway have this. Whatever it is

CW: Fire (Meg carries a pocket flamethrower) basically some demons try to attack them and Meg just shoots out a two foot flame and burns them.

I hate the first day of school. Even if it's demon school. Even if it involves an insanely beautiful angel that I may be staring at for much too long. But I wouldn't do that.

But I am. Right now. He just introduced himself as Simeon and I think I'm just making dying noises

"Are you okay?"

Yeah I'm definitely making dying noises. Great. The only thing I've done so far is embarrass myself here. Why does socialising with pretty people have to be so hard. Socialising in general.

"I'm Megan. But you can call me Meg. You're also one of the prettiest people I've ever met. Also is God real," I pause to take a breath and the reality of what I said hits me like an isekai truck. Well. Shit.

"Hey Simeon," a white haired dude waves to Simeon distracting him enough for me to fucking bolt and turn the nearest corner before slowing to a speed walk. Now to find class.

Oh shit. I don't know what time it is.

Buffering

OH FUCKING SHIT I DON'T KNOW WHAT TIME IT IS!

Whipping out my D.D.D faster than you can say 'what the fuck' I check the time. 8:00 am. Thirty minutes until school officially starts and I am lost. The upside? There's grimm on the ground and a vending machine like, three feet from me, and around the corner are the bathrooms. Maybe God does love me. I mean, in a kind of fucked up my my dream has come true. I'm meeting demons and angels, they're really pretty, one is a literal angel child that I want to adopt. But back to the vending machines because it has fucking coffee. I did not have coffee since Beel was in the kitchen and I'm still terrified of talking to anyone. Well maybe Levi because he's into anime and I'm into anime and I will be his friend since he doesn't have any and neither do I at the moment and-

"If you're not going to get anything from the vending machine just move."

Great people, well demons actually, are now crowding me. I hate everything. I have half a mind to ask them to kill me now so I don't have to deal with school but I'm pretty sure they would.

"Yeah sorry." I slide my grimm into the coin slot and press the button that will get my coffee so I can get through the day. Once I figure out where my class is. But Lucifer mentioned me and Mammon are in the same classes so I just have to find him, which considering how fucking loud he is, will be easy.

Taking my drink I walk off from the group to find the wannabe Yumeko Jabami.

"You're new here right?"

Alas I cannot get a moment where I can just drink my coffee.

"Yes. What can I do for you today?" I asked semi sarcastically. Dude please just let me have my coffee.

"Good. I skipped breakfast today so I'm hungry." He starts stalking towards me and pounces towards me. I'm barely able to dodge but he ends up knocking my freshly opened coffee out of my hand. Everything moves in slow motion as my coffee spins in the air and lands on the floor and the hot brown liquid starts pooling.

"My.... Coffee," I whisper. All feelings are void, now there is only rage. "Okay dude. I'm giving you three seconds before I burn your dick off." I reach in my pants pocket and take out one of my special weapons. Mini flamethrower. "One."

A growl escapes his limits and I take half a step back pointing it directly at him. "Two."

"You really think you can fight me with that little thing."

"Yeah. Also this is three. Giving up?"

The demon lunges towards me and I light the flamethrower up torching him in his nether regions, and he staggers back howling in pain. So I guess fire does work against demons. I should probably report these guys. Thankfully D.D.D's work almost the same as human phones.

"Hey, uh Lucifer, sorry to bother you but there was a bit of a mishap near the vending machines near the bathrooms..."

"So you pulled out a mini flamethrower because he spilt your coffee?''

"Yeah. Oh he was also trying to eat me so it was really just self defence. And I said he had three seconds before I burned his dick off."

We (me Lucifer and Diavolo) are currently at the scene of the crime. My spilt coffee. I've been given another coffee that I was actually able to enjoy, Lucifer looks like someone told him his kid hit someone with a toy truck because the made fun for not being able to pronounce Cinderella and Diavolo... he looks like Rengoku from fucking demon slayer he's smiling so much. Anyway my coffee is actually pretty decent.

"I think we should let Megan off," Diavolo finally says. "They were attacked unprovoked, and those students knew who she was."

"They also made me spill my coffee," I add helpfully.

"It's not that bad Lucifer. At least we know she can handle herself. And it'll teach others not to attack them."

"Fine."

"Oh do you guys know where my homeroom is? I can't find Mammon. Also, wasn't he supposed to be guarding me?"

[michelangelinden]

A coffee order doesn’t tell you someone’s sexuality (but it kind of really does)

HAPPY BIRTHDAY @iti-iskuna I WROTE THIS FOR YOU I HOPE YOU LIKE IT

this is a willex coffee shop au because there aren’t enough already! (Thank you @sunsetcurbed for beta reading ily)

(6.2k words, link for ao3 is in the reblogs)

„Honey, I’m home,“ Luke calls as he strides into the apartment.

Alex groans loudly as a greeting. He doesn’t want to get up from the couch. His position isn’t very comfortable – his face is pressed into the armrest, his neck at a very awkward angle – but he needs to lie like this to mope correctly.

“Why isn’t dinner on the table yet? What are you doing in the living room?” Alex lifts his head to stare at him. “Sorry,” Luke says quickly and comes over. He drops his backpack by the coffee table and Alex pushes himself up so that Luke can sit on the couch and Alex can lie back down over his lap. Luke begins to gently card his hands through Alex’s hair.

“Why are you moping?” he asks, scratching Alex’ scalp and he feels himself relax a little.

“You know how I work at the coffee shop down Wilshire Boulevard?” he begins and Luke chuckles.

“Yes, I am in fact aware of that job. Pays our rent.”

“Right. Get a job, by the way.” Alex turns his body so that he’s lying on his back and his face isn’t squished by the cushion.

“I’m working on that. Continue.” Luke starts pushing Alex’ hair out of his face.

“Anyways. So, you know how I meet a shit load of people every day. Like, we have our regulars, but we have a lot of new people coming in, too.”

“Let me guess,” Luke interrupts him, “cute boy?” Alex groans again in response and raises a hand over his eyes.

“So cute. You have no idea.”  

“You’re gonna tell me about him.” It’s not a question. Luke already knows what’s coming.

“I sure am, close your eyes.” Alex peers up at him but the angle doesn’t let him see if Luke actually did as he was told. “Are they closed?”

“They’re closed.”

“Alright, picture this.” Alex thinks back to the situation from this afternoon. “I’m just chilling behind the counter, wiping the same spot for like three minutes straight, ‘cause I’m so bored, it’s a Tuesday afternoon, you know the drill.” Luke nods. “Flynn said some stupid shit, as she does, I’m laughing, and the bell above the door rings. So, I whip around, a little surprised, because, you know, Tuesday afternoons are always super lame and no one gets coffee –“ there’s a bite of pain his side “– hey!”

“Get on with it.”

“Chill. Okay. So, I turn around and in walks this absolute god of a man.” Alex takes a moment to envision him again. “Long, dark hair, black shorts, a skateboard under his arm, tie-dye shirt that’s, get this,” Alex pauses, “cropped.”

“Oh shit,” Luke gasps, rightfully so, that has been a damn sight for Alex’s sore eyes.

“YES! And he just strolls into the shop like it’s no big deal, like I’m not dying behind the espresso machine just looking at him.”

“Did you greet him?”

“I didn’t, at first, I was too stunned by the inch of skin visible above the shorts.” Luke laughs because that definitely hasn’t been the first occasion that Alex has been stunned into silence by the looks of a cute boy. “But Flynn pushed me and I had to serve him.”

“And?”

Alex frowns.

“What?”

Luke sighs.

“What’s his name?”

“Oh. Yeah, I didn’t ask.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Luke looks down at him, his eyes now open and his eyebrows in a deep frown.

“It’s a Tuesday afternoon, the shop was empty! I can’t just ask him for his name if he’s the only one there,” Alex exclaims, gesturing wildly, before hesitating. “He’d think I’m a creep,” he concludes.

“But now he just thinks you’re not interested in him!” Luke counters.

“Good! He’s not supposed to.” He glares at him. “He’s a customer, Luke, I have rules.” He groans again. “Hell, I don’t even know if he likes men.”

“What did he order?”

“Vanilla cold brew.” Luke squints his eyes at him until he continues. “With oat milk.”

“He’s gay,” Luke says with a satisfied nod.

Alex scoffs.

“What? Luke, someone’s coffee order doesn’t –“

“Have you ever had a customer order a vanilla cold brew with oat milk that gave you heterosexual vibes?”

Luke raises his eyebrows at Alex, who frowns in concentration. Then he sighs.

“No, I haven’t.”

“Told you!”

Alex grumps.

“Maybe he’ll come back,” Luke offers, patting Alex’s chest consolingly.

“God, I hope he doesn’t,” Alex answers, but at Luke’s confused face he quickly adds, “I’d combust if I had to see him again.”

Luke makes his ‘that’s fair’ face. Alex drops his arm over his eyes again, trying to block out reality.

The front door opens again, a fresh gust of wind blowing over Alex’s face and he lifts his arm. Reggie’s face pops up in his vision, sporting a bright grin, but it turns into a concerned frown when he spots his roommates on the couch.

“Oh no,” he starts, stopping in his tracks, “why are you in the ‘Alex is sad’ position?”

“I’m not sad, Reggie, just gay,” Alex answers him tiredly.

“Oh my god, same,” Reggie exclaims loudly.

He lifts Alex’s legs and drops himself onto the couch next to Luke, draping them over his own lap. Alex turns so that his face is pushed into Luke’s stomach. Luke gives a small ‘oof’-sound in surprise but starts stroking Alex’s hair again.

“Bobby took me to the petting zoo to pet some goats and it was really cute and he was really cute and I was so excited and he took a photo of me and called me ‘Boo’ and –“

Alex closes his eyes. He really loves Reggie but he can’t really handle listening to him gush about his almost-boyfriend-but-also-not-really-boyfriend-but-actually-definitely-his-boyfriend while he’s still moping.

So, he tunes him out, presses his face further into Luke’s stomach, and lets him handle the situation.

 ***

 It’s another Tuesday afternoon and Alex is fucking bored. The shop has been a desert for the better part of his shift – he’s had like three customers and none of them wanted cool fancy drinks but instead something like ‘a coffee, black’ or ‘a green tea, please’.

Not that there is anything wrong with liking black coffee or green tea, but the least his three customers could do for him is ordering something fun for him to make that requires more than pressing a single button. Especially when it’s a Tuesday afternoon.

Flynn is on her break in the back, talking to her girlfriend Carrie on the phone, but Alex doesn’t mind that she left him alone; it’s not like they have anything to do anyways. And when she uses her break to talk to Carrie, the amount of time she spends to talk about her is much shorter, which Alex appreciates. He loves Flynn and Carrie both, but they’ve been dating for two years now and act like an old married couple which can get hella annoying hella fast.

He’s standing behind the counter, sharpie in one hand, drawing random doodles on the paper cup in his other. He’d started with a ghost, that’s his go-to drawing when he’s bored, but now it has four friends, three dogs, a small drum set, a microphone and two failed attempts at a guitar.

When the bell chimes and the door opens, Alex lifts his head and he almost drops his pen.

It’s the boy from last week – hair down, shirt cropped, a skateboard in hand.  And he’s headed his ways.

Alex looks over his shoulder to check if Flynn finished her break and magically appeared behind him but nope, he can still hear her giggling in the break room.

Fuck, he thinks as he turns back around. He startles when he sees the boy right in front of the counter, smiling at him.

He straightens up and clears his throat quickly, running a hand through his hair, almost tangling the pen in it. He drops it and it hits the counter’s edge before falling to the floor and Alex crouches down at rocket speed to pick it up. When he snaps back up he sees that the boy’s eyes follow every movement, his eyebrows quirked and his lips in a lopsided grin.

“You good?” he asks, his eyes scanning Alex up and down.

He clears his throat again, his mind scrambling for an answer for probably a moment too long.

“Yeah!” he settles on eventually, really rushed and with too much air to be too convincing. “Uh, yeah, sorry,” he continues, tucking the pen in the front pocket of his apron. “I didn’t have a lot of customers today, I didn’t, uh, I didn’t expect you.”

The boy chuckles and tucks a strand of hair behind his ear and Alex could combust right then and there. Who gave this man the right?

“Yeah, it’s not very busy right now,” he says, looking around a little. He turns back to Alex. “I was here last week, though.”

“I- yeah. I, uh, I just didn’t expect you to come back.” Alex is so sure his face his bright red from embarrassment. Why can’t he just hold a conversation like a normal person?

“Well,” the boy starts, leaning his board against the front of counter, “I liked your coffee.”

Alex stares at him for a hot second before clearing his throat a third time.

“Anyways, what can I get for you?”

The boy smiles again.

“I’ll have a vanilla cold brew with oat milk, please. The biggest one you have.”

Alex smiles a little at the order but nods, punching the order into the cash register and picking up one of the plastic cups. He contemplates for a second, before pulling the sharpie from his pocket again, starting to push the lid off with his thumb.

“Uh, what’s your name?” he asks carefully. God, he hopes he doesn’t sound creepy.

“I’m the only one here,” the boy answers and Alex half expects him to frown, when he looks up at him, but he’s sporting a small grin.

“Uh,” Alex just says again and mentally kicks himself for it. “Sorry, I-,” he continues, closing the sharpie again and beginning to tuck it back into his apron, when the boy speaks up again.

“It’s Willie,” he says with a smile shining through his voice and Alex blinks at him. “My name is Willie. With ‘ie’.”

Alex looks at him for a second longer than probably appropriate, studies his long, brown hair falling over his shoulders as if carefully draped there; the small golden earring in his right ear, glistening in the afternoon sun shining through the windows; the mischievous glint in his dark eyes as he looks back at Alex. He decides that Willie with ‘ie’ fits perfectly.

Alex smiles at him. He flicks the lid off the sharpie, careful not to send it across the counter, and writes ‘Willie' on the cup in his hand, adding a smiley face after another second of contemplating and deciding that fuck it, he deserves a smiley face.

He moves over to the coffee making station, flipping the lid of the vanilla syrup open and swirling some into the cup with a skilled motion. He adds a scoop of ice and then another, filling the cup almost to the brim. He’s just closed the fridge getting the cold brew when he hears the boy – Willie – speak up again.

“Is this yours?” he asks and when Alex turns to him, pitcher of coffee in hand, he sees that Willie is holding the paper cup full of doodles. “Did you draw these?”

Alex feels an embarrassed blush creep up his cheeks and he looks down again, concentrating on not missing the cup when he fills it with coffee.

“Uh, yeah, I was bored.”

“They’re cute,” Willie says and Alex feels that it’s genuine, the smile noticeable through his words. “I like the ghosts. And the dogs.”

“Thanks,” he answers, not looking up out of fear that Willie might notice his blush.

“What are they called?”

Okay, now Alex does look up, looking at Willie with a frown.

“What?”

“You need to give them names,” Willie tells him as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

Really Alex, why haven’t you given them names yet, huh?

“Uh,” he just says, unable to form correct words in his head.

“Can I name them?”

Willie looks at Alex with his eyes sparkling softly, the excitement clear on his face and if the plastic cup full of coffee in hand weren’t for him Alex would crush it for sure.

Can Willie name the doodled ghosts and dogs on his cup? Of course, he fucking can, he can name Alex first born if he asks like that.

“Uh, sure, go ahead.”

He’s so glad he sounds so calm because he’s totally screaming on the inside.

Willie beams at him and turns back to the cup, holding it closer to his face and studying the drawings.

“I’ll call this one George, totally the vibe. And this one – oh, that’s a cool drum set!”

He’s turned the cup over looking at the other side and for a moment Alex feels bad that he has to see his ugly drawn guitars.

“Thanks,” he says anyways, because yes, his drum set did turn out pretty good.

“Do you play?”

Alex’s head snaps up from where he’s pouring oat milk into the cup.

“How- how do you know?”

“You do?” Willie's eyes widen as he looks up at Alex. “Really? That was a wild guess.”

Alex can’t help but grin back at him, Willie's excitement over that revelation infecting him too.

“Yes, I play,” he tells him happily, setting the carton of milk down to not spill anything. “I’m actually in a band too,” he adds because a little promo can’t hurt.

“Dude!” Willie almost yells, leaning over the counter to get closer to Alex. “That’s so cool! What are you called?”

Alex feels pride and excitement bubble up in his chest as it always does when he gets to talk about his band.

“We’re ‘Julie and the Phantoms.’ Tell your friends!”

“Oh, I will! Do you play gigs? Are you on Spotify?”

Alex chuckles a little when Willie pulls his phone out of his pocket eagerly.

“We are, we have an EP out. You should check it out.”

“I definitely will!” Willie taps on his screen before he gasps. “That cover looks so cool!”

“Thank you so much,” Alex says genuinely. “Julie designed it herself.”

Willie looks back up at him, the smile still stuck to his lips.

“Who’s Julie?”

“Oh, our lead singer. She’s honestly the best. You’ll be so impressed when you hear her, I promise.”

They’d all been there when they first heard her sing. That girl has a power that’s not to be underestimated.

“I can’t wait,” Willie answers and his clear voice accompanied by his honest eyes tells Alex that he means it.

For a moment they just stare at each other, both smiling, a blush high on Alex’s cheeks, Willie still holding his doodle cup in one hand and his phone in the other.

It gets awkward after another moment because Alex notices the ice in the cup in his own hand hurting his fingers a little. He pulls his gaze away from Willie and down at the coffee, busying himself with slapping a lid on it.

“Your, uh, your coffee.”

He walks back over to the counter and sets it down in front of Willie, pulling a paper straw from the tall glass next to him and balancing it on top.

“Thanks, uh,” Willie's eyes flick down to the name tag on Alex’s chest, “Alex,” he finishes with a smile. “What do I owe you?”

Oh. Right. Money.

He glances at the cash register.

“$4.55, please. Do you want a receipt?”

“No, thanks,” Willie says. He pushes his hand into the pocket of his shorts and fishes out a $5 bill, sliding it over to Alex.

“Keep the change,” he says while dumping another $1 bill into the tip jar. He grabs the straw and his cup and slowly walks back towards the front door. “I’ll see you around?”

Warmth spreads in Alex’s chest at the thought of seeing Willie again.

“Yeah, definitely.”

Willie smiles at him and salutes him with his drink before he turns and exits the shop.

Alex stares at the closing front door for a moment, watching Willie place his board onto the ground and step on it, pushing off and skating away out of Alex’s sight. When he can’t see him anymore and it doesn’t look like another customer will enter the shop, Alex places his hands on the edge of the counter and leans forward to let out a loud groan towards the floor.

What just happened? Where did Willie come from and why does he make Alex’s insides feel like mush?

This – this – is not okay!

“Ehm, what did I just witness?”

Alex’s head snaps over to Flynn standing in the doorway to the hallway, one hand propped up on her hip, the other holding her phone.

“How long have you been standing there?” Alex asks, not moving from his awkward position at the counter.

“Long enough to watch you fall head over heels for a skater boy.”

Alex gets up straight immediately, holding his hands up in defense.

“I – I didn’t – I’m not in – I didn’t fall – You can’t,” he starts to splutter, taking a step back and bumping his hip against the counter. “What?”

“Sweetie, you had a whole gay panic in the 30 seconds I watched you.”

“What?” he says, his voice raising at least an octave and he clears his throat. “No, I didn’t.”

Flynn doesn’t answer him, just tilts her head and raises an eyebrow.

He groans again because yes, she’s right, he did have a gay panic.

But who can blame him, honestly, when Willie exists with his beautiful hair and his beautiful smile and he’s just strolling into the coffee shop wearing a cropped shirt and –

“Alex!”

His head snaps around to the source of the voice and his eyes lock with his friend Julie, Luke standing behind her.

“Are you okay?” she asks, one hand hovering in the air as if close to reaching out for him.

“Yeah,” he starts, but Flynn butts in and yells “gay panic!” over from where she’s standing behind the espresso machine.

Luke perks up behind Julie, his eyebrows flying up until they’re hidden under his fringe.

“Was it the crop-top boy from last week? Did he come back?” He comes up behind Julie to stand next to her, leaning over the counter to get closer to Alex.

“I –“ he pauses, glancing back at Flynn, who just raises her eyebrows at him. “Yeah,” he answers with a sigh, watching Luke gasp excitedly.

“Did you finally get his name?” Luke asks.

“Wait, what? Who are we talking about?” Julie asks with a frown, looking back and forth between Alex and Luke.

“Alex has a crush on a –“ Luke starts to explain, but Alex cuts him off.

“I do not have a crush on him!”

“Then tell me why you were staring longingly after him just three minutes ago.”

Alex gasps dramatically at Flynn’s betrayal, turning back and glaring at her, but she just glares back at him. He sighs again, turning back to his friends.

“So, there’s this customer, his, uh, his name is Willie.” He pauses for a second for Luke to start vibrating out of excitement about the new information. “He came here for the second time today and – and he’s so beautiful, fuck!” He slumps forward, burying his face in his arms on the counter.

“Oh Alex,” Julie said consolingly but he can hear her smile. He feels her hand patting his hair gently and he lifts his head a little, setting his chin on his forearms.

He’s fucked. He’s so fucked. And Willie is so beautiful, Alex just wants to scream.

 ***

 “No- no Flynn, you can’t – don’t leave me!” Alex argues as Flynn struggles to release his grip. “It’s 3.30, he’ll come any minute now!”

“Exactly, which is why I don’t want to be here!” she argues back, softly punching him in the stomach to let go of her. It doesn’t hurt but he gets the message and releases her shoulders. “I don’t want to watch you simp over this guy for five minutes while you stretch making his coffee just so you can talk to him.”

She’s calling him out and she’s right. He does take way too long making his drink just to get him to stay a minute longer. But it’s not like he’s harming anyone with it. Most of the times Willie came in in the past month he’s been the only customer and he never seemed to be in a rush, so Alex doesn’t feel bad for pouring the milk in very slowly.

And yes, she’s also right about the simping part, even though he really doesn’t want to admit it. He keeps staring at him when he talks about a topic he’s interested in – art for example, he really likes art – and has to be careful not to spill anything when that happens. It happened once. He’s not proud of it.

But every time he starts to ramble about something he likes his eyes start to sparkle and it seems like he’s glowing and his hands are everywhere and he makes it really hard for Alex to look away.

Willie got him to ramble too, one time, about the band and their music and when Alex looked up from the cup in his hands and at Willie, he saw that he had the brightest smile on his face, teeth shining and his eyes crinkling. Alex had felt the punch in his gut before his brain caught up to him.

Yeah, he does have a crush on Willie, there is no denying it now, as much as he wants to. But there’s not really much he can do about it.

So, he can kind of get why Flynn tries to get on her break. Still.

“I don’t want to be alone with him, Flynn. He’ll say something cute and I’ll start crying.”

“Oh my god!” Flynn lets out an exaggerated groan. “Just – be the responsible one and start flirting with him or something. Tell him he’s cute.”

“I can’t!” he says loudly. “I have anxiety.”

Now it’s Flynn’s turn to put her hands on his shoulders, shaking him a little while she speaks.

“Alex. You’re 20 years old, you pay rent for an apartment, you’re an adult, you play drums in front hundreds of people! You can tell a boy that he looks cute!”

Alex opens his mouth to argue but she shushes him.

“I –“ he tries again but she cuts him off with a “nope” and when he opens his mouth again she finally asks “what?”

“This is different,” he says, very softly, hoping she finally gets his struggle.

She doesn’t.

“Okay, how is this different?”

He groans internally. How do people not get this?

“I – I don’t know, I –“ he breaks off to heave a sigh. “I really like him, okay? I don’t want him to think I’m weird.”

Flynn tuts. Not in the annoyed way, but in the way she does when Julie is being really dense about Luke’s crush on her or when Reggie hurts his foot jumping around while playing bass.

“Alex,” she says slowly, grabbing his face and making him look at her. It’s a little awkward, her being almost a foot smaller than him, but her grip is strong and her message clear.  “He wears crop tops and buys coffee with oat milk. I don’t think there is a single drop of toxic masculinity in him that would make him think it’s weird if you call him cute.”

He stares at her, his head unmoving between her palms, as she glares into his eyes, into his soul. She squeezes his cheeks a little and he chuckles quietly. She smiles at him and releases his face.

“Here,” she says, looking down at her chest and removing the small rainbow pin from her apron. “Maybe this can give you some emotional support.” She fastens the pin to his own chest, right next to his nametag, and puts her hand over it once she’s done.

“You got this!”

“Thank you,” he says genuinely.

The bell above the door chimes and Flynn’s eyes fly over to the entrance.

“Oh, he’s coming,” she whisper-yells, removing her hand and turning on her heel. Alex takes a step forward in panic, trying to get her to stay one last time.

“No, Flynn, please,” he tries but she shakes her head without looking back at him.

“Nope, I’m already leaving, good luck!” She throws him a thumbs up before she disappears around the corner.

Alex stares after her for a moment before turning around slowly, facing the counter and Willie behind it. Willie smiles brightly when their eyes meet, his gaze warm and Alex feels his stomach flip from that alone.

“Hey,” Willie says, “what’s up?”

Oh, nothing, I’m just hopelessly in love with you, Alex thinks but thankfully doesn’t say out loud.

“Nothing,” he answers instead. He steps closer automatically and props himself up with his hands on the edge of the counter, as he always does when Willie comes in. “Just, uh, life, I guess.”

Willie chuckles at that, a strand of hair falling in front of his face and he brushes it back with his hand absentmindedly. Alex follows the motion closely and hopes Willie doesn’t notice him staring.

“Yeah, I get it.”

They both stay silent for a moment before Alex remembers why Willie came here in the first place.

“Coffee,” he blurts before he can stop himself and he leans back to get to the cash register.

“Right,” he hears Willie say and then the sound of him setting his skateboard onto the floor.

“Vanilla cold-brew with oat milk?” Alex asks, his fingers already hovering over the buttons.

“Actually,” Willie starts and Alex looks at him, “I kind of want to try something new today.”

“Oh, sure. Do you already have an idea?”

“Hm, no, not really.” Willie leans forward, settling his palms on the counter, his face turned upwards at the menu above Alex’s head.

“Do you mind if I suggest something?” Alex asks carefully. Willie tilts his head to look at him and smiles.

“No, not at all, please.”

“So, you like sweet things, right?” Willie nods. “Okay, I’d suggest a latte and we got this cool new cinnamon syrup that makes everything taste like cinnamon buns. I can make it iced and with oat milk, too, if you want to.”

Willie's face lights up and he nods excitedly.

“That sounds great, thank you so much,” he comments. Alex bites at his bottom lip for a second but then he smiles, giving himself a second to appreciate Willie's smile before turning to make his drink.

Out of the corner of his eyes he sees Willie leaning forward, his elbows on the counter and resting his face in his palms. He can feel him watching him work, observing his motions of preparing the espresso, swirling the inside of his cup with the cinnamon syrup and filling it with ice. It’s not really something to show off with, but if he could he totally would. When he turns to get the milk from the fridge he catches Willie's gaze, head tilted slightly to the side, and he feels a blush creeping up his cheeks. Knowing someone is watching you is one thing, but seeing it makes it more intense.

“So,” Willie starts to strike up a conversation, “what made you decide to be a barista?”

Alex huffs a laugh, taking the espresso cup and tipping it over the plastic cup.

“It’s really not as exciting as you might think,” he says, setting the empty cup next to the sink and looking at him. “I moved into an apartment with my friends, needed a job, saw that the café was hiring and applied and thankfully I got the job.” He adjusts the straps of his apron as Willie takes a short look around the shop.

“Do you like working here?” he asks when his eyes have settled back on Alex, now slowly pouring the milk into the cup. He’s taking his time, not only to not overfill it, but also to get Willie to stay longer, talk to him longer, to look at him like that for just a little bit longer.

“Yes,” he decides, because it’s true. He does like working here. “Yeah, I really do.”

“What’s your favorite thing about it?” Willie asks, his gentle voice showing genuine interest.

“Oh, that’s hard.”

There are so many things to like about his job. He likes that it always smells like coffee and sugar when he comes in, he likes it when the sun shines in through the glass panels at the front and paints the entire café in golden hues, he likes having his regulars greet him like friends and tell him about their day. And he likes the work too, making coffee, preparing desserts, talking to his coworkers.

But then he knows what to say.

“Probably observing people,” he finally answers, causing Willie to laugh.

“What?”

“Oh, no, I know how it sounds, but not in the creepy way.” He allows Willie to calm down for a second. “I like watching them being here as a part of their daily routine, you know. When they come here before work they’re stressed because they have somewhere to be, but when they come here after work they always stay to chat for a bit.” Willie nods. “And sometimes we have people come in here, order a hot chocolate and a croissant and then they sit here for hours typing on their laptops or writing in notebooks. And there are people going on dates here and there are many friends and families just spending their afternoon and –“ he breaks off, noticing how he’s rambling and spares a glance at Willie.

“Oh, please continue,” he encourages him, the smile on his lips warm and comforting.

“I – I don’t know, I just – I like the idea of being a part of their life, in a way. Giving them something nice to make their day a little better.” He looks down at the drink in front of him. “Even if it’s only an iced cinnamon latte. Do you want whipped cream? It’s vegan.”

“Yes, of course, thank you.” Willie straightens up, pushing his hands into the pockets of his shorts. He watches Alex add whipped cream to his drink, as well as another small swirl of the syrup and a sprinkle of cinnamon.

“Ah, look at how pretty that looks.” Alex carefully takes the cup and places it in front of him on the counter. “Please appreciate it for a second, before I slap a lid on and smush it.”

Willie laughs but leans forward again to take a closer look.

“It looks very nice, excellent swirl, chef’s kiss.” His eyes flick up at Alex and he feels the blush, that has never quite left his cheeks, darken.

“Thanks,” he says with a short laugh.

“I don’t think I need a lid,” Willie says as he leans back again, “but I do need a straw.”

Alex nods, pulling a paper straw from the glass and sticking it into the cup.

“Voila. Now it’s done.” He pushes it a little closer to Willie. “Please try it.”

Willie reaches for it immediately, picking it up slowly to not spill anything. Alex can’t help but stare in anticipation as Willie takes the first sip through the straw. His eyes flutter closed and he lets out a satisfied hum and Alex is too busy blushing hard to be proud to have evoked that reaction.

“This is really good,” Willie says after a moment, keeping his eyes closed and taking another sip. “Thank you for recommending it.”

Alex clears his throat, trying to get his brain to focus again.

“Sure. You’re, uh, you’re welcome.” He has to scrunch up his eyes for a second and when he opens them again he sees Willie looking at him with an eyebrow raised.

“You good?” he asks and Alex nods.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m glad you like it.”

“I do, really. How much is it?”

Alex’s brain jumps on again and he moves over to the cash register, tapping in the order.

“$5.20, please. Would you like a receipt?”

Willie shakes his head, setting the cup back onto the counter and pushing his right hand back into his shorts pocket. Alex fiddles with his apron straps again while he waits and adjusts his nametag, too.

When Willie hands him the cash, dropping $2 into the tip jar, his eyes settle on Alex’s chest and a smile on his lips.

“Nice pin, by the way,” he comments, stuffing his hands back into his pockets.

Alex, who thought it had stopped, blushed again, looking down at the rainbow pin still on his apron.

“Thanks, it’s my friend Flynn’s.”

He now remembers why he’s wearing it, too. Emotional support. For telling Willie that he looks cute. He can do it, he thinks. But he doesn’t.

“Here’s your change,” Alex says as he hands over a few coins.

Willie nods and a silence forms around them, while they both kind of stare at each other but also kind of don’t. At least Alex tries to hide it, but Willie's eyes bore into his face.

“So,” he starts and Alex can hear his foot scuffing the floor. He’s nervous. “Are you, like, an ally?”

Alex blinks.

What?

Alex didn’t hear him correctly. He can’t have. That can’t be what Willie just asked him.

He blinks again and a concerned frown settles on Willie's face.

“Are you – not an ally?”

What?

“I’m gay.”

Realization dawns on Willie's face. His frown loosens and he opens his mouth slightly.

“Oh,” he says softly. “Yeah, that makes sense.”

“Yeah,” Alex answers, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

“Cool.” Willie pauses, nodding. “Me too.”

“Cool,” Alex repeats, to seem causal, but inside his brain he’s yelling gaygaygay on repeat.

Willie stares at him for another moment and Alex tries his best to stare back.

“I’m gonna go now,” Willie says, grabbing his drink and taking a step back.

Alex’s thoughts are a wild mixture of no, please stay, you make everything feel warm and oh my god, please leave, this is getting too awkward, but he doesn’t want to say either of those so he just says “okay” very quietly and mentally kicks himself for it.

So much for telling Willie that he’s cute.

Willie walks backwards a few steps before finally turning, holding his board under his arm and his drink in his hand, to pull the door open. Alex watches him, unmoving behind the counter. Just as Willie's about to step outside, he turns again, still holding the door handle. He closes his eyes for a moment and breathes in and out.

“Hey, uh, if I were gonna ask you out on a date,” he pauses, “would you say yes?”

Ohmygodohmygodohmygod.

“Yes.”

Ohmygodohmygodohmygod.

“Okay, cool.” Willie moves to leave again, before stopping once again. “When does your shift end?”

Alex can’t believe this is really happening. He glances back at the clock above the menu.

“In about an hour,” he answers, his voice raising at the end like a question even though he’s never been more sure of anything in his life.

“Okay, cool,” Willie says again and Alex laughs a little. Willie smiles at him.

“I’ll see you then?” Alex asks, just to clarify what Willie seems to imply.

“Totally.”

Alex can’t help but grin back at him.

“Okay, cool,” he repeats Willie's words and this time Willie laughs a little.

Willie takes one last look at him before actually moving out of the door, placing his board onto the ground and stepping on it. He doesn’t push off right away, shooting one last smile at Alex and waiting for him to smile back and wave at him.

Alex’s eyes follow him rolling past the front of the shop. He’s still smiling when he disappears out of his sight and Alex feels like his whole body is glowing.

He grips the straps of his apron, biting back a laugh.

This can’t be real, he thinks, but the condensation of the drink on the counter is real and the tips in the tip jar are real and the blush on his cheeks is real and the date – date – is also real. So very real. Holy fuck.

[redhoodedwolf]

“Oh shit I just spilled you coffee everywhere” sterek prompt

The first time Stiles made coffee for his boss, he was halfway to a panic attack, which was a weird thing to be anxious over. Except for the fact that his boss was Derek Hale. And Derek Hale liked his coffee made by one person in the office only, and that was Erica Reyes, his old assistant.

Stiles had always been told he was shit at making coffee. It was the one thing he’d lied about being good at in order to get this job.

Thankfully, Erica still worked for Hale Corp, just under a different position, so Stiles had struck a deal with her. She would have Derek’s coffee ready for him every morning so he could pass it off as his own. In return, he had to keep her up to date on all Derek gossip, apparently the one fun thing her new job lacked.

Easy decision. Stiles shook his soul away, but he got Derek his coffee every morning, and had even seen him smile a few times.

All was well for a few weeks, up until Jackson Douchemore came back from an extended business trip. Stiles knew Jackson from outside of the job, because he was friends with Lydia. Jackson also knew Stiles and knew exactly how to ruin his day, just because he could.

Feet from Derek’s office, Jackson rounded the corner, an evil look in his eyes, and proceed to trip Stiles, sending him and the coffee to the floor.

“Whoops,” Jackson crowed.

Derek stuck his head out of his office, stopping Stiles form either punching Jackson in the face or just melting through the ground and ceasing to exist.

Jackson’s triumphant look cowed under Derek’s glare. “Whittemore, call maintenance and have them clean this up before it stains too badly. And bring Stiles your extra shirt.” Jackson opened his mouth, probably to protest, but Derek added, “Now,” and the blond was gone.

“You okay?”

Stiles looked up at Derek and tried to ignore his brain adding angel wings and a halo to Derek’s figure. “Yeah, yeah, fine. Sorry about your coffee.”

“It’s fine. Just rinse out the mug and make it again, after you get changed.”

“Right.” Stiles froze. “Wait. Again?”

Derek smirked. “The company is doing well enough that every employee can have more than one cup a day. It won’t break the bank.”

“Ha! Right!” Stiles jumped to his feet and took the plain white button up that Jackson threw at him as he passed. “I’ll just go change and do that!”

He swiped the mug from the floor and raced for the kitchen. Depositing the mug in the sink, he swung around the corner into the Men’s and undid his shirt, wincing at the stain that would never come out. Stiles was keeping Jackson’s shirt forever, he owed him a new one anyway.

One problem solved. Now...

Stiles stared at the mug of steaming coffee. Easy part done, he just had to press the buttons on the machine. Now came the cream and sugar. How many spoonfuls of sugar does Erica usually add? Three? Dammit, he should have taken notes!

Creamer was easier, at least. He added until the coffee looked like the right lighter shade, then stopped, stirring it all together. Okay, maybe the coffee was a touch lighter than usual, but maybe Derek wouldn’t notice and would just be happy he had coffee at all? Right, sure.

Stiles was going to be fired over coffee.

To amuse himself, Stiles played a funeral dirge in his head as he trudged to Derek’s office, eyes peeled for sneaky Jacksons.

Stiles knocked on the office door, and Derek called him in.

“Coffee!” Stiles declared, lowering the mug onto Derek’s coaster at the corner of his desk.

“Thanks,” Derek said, a small smile given to Stiles. His eyes flicked down, then back up. He cleared his throat. “Shirt looks good on you.”

Stiles glanced down. It was maybe a bit tight. Stiles had shoulders where Jackson had none, so it stretched a bit (it was probably fitted, the rich bastard), but it was wearable for sure.

“Certainly nicer than anything I can afford,” Stiles agreed.

Derek reached for the mug and Stiles flinched back.

“Right, I’ll just...” he jerked his thumb behind him to the door.

“Actually if you wait just a second, I just have to moved the files onto this flashdrive, but then could you take it down to Argent for me?”

“Sure, no problem,” Stiles rushed to say, rocking back and forth on his heels.

Derek brought the mug to his lips, tilted it to sip, and Stiles stared.

Derek glanced up, lips detaching from the mug’s rim. “Everything okay?”

“Yep!” Stiles squeaked.

Derek took a long drag of the coffee this time and then sighed. Stiles’ shoulders relaxed. Somehow he’d managed it. Miracle of miracles. 

Derek handed him the flashdrive seconds later, and Stiles was out of there.

*

Jackson had not given up, it seems, on his venture to get Stiles fired through coffee, because he struck again the week after.

“Oh, was that yours? My bad, I thought it was old so I dumped it,” Jackson said, Derek’s mug upside down over the kitchen sink, the last drips hitting the metal basin with a sad plop.

“What the fuck, Jackson?” Stiles hissed, looking back to see if Erica was still around and could remake the mug she’d expertly crafted, but she was gone. He tore the mug from Jackson’s hands. “Seriously, go to therapy. It’ll do you wonders.”

Stiles violently threw a new pod into the Keurig and shoved the mug under the spout before turning back to the snake of a man. “Who knows, maybe Lydia will take you back then.”

Jackson’s face shut down, and he turned and left the kitchen without another word.

Not letting the guilt get to him, because Jackson deserved what he’d said, Stiles reached for the sugar and creamer, once again going to guess Derek’s flavor combination.

It looked to be the correct shade this time, and Derek hadn’t said anything against it last time, so maybe he wasn’t such a coffee snob?

“I bring good juice and good news, both piping hot,” Stiles declared upon entering Derek’s office.

Derek stared at him for a moment, lips parted, before his mouth snapped shut and he gestured Stiles to come forward. “Hot. Yes?”

“The good news is that someone is going to be calling today about her United States debut,” Stiles sang, setting Derek’s mug down on its space.

Derek’s eyes lit up. “Cora?”

Stiles nodded. “Mhmm. It’s already in your schedule and everything. I scheduled it right before lunch, in case you want extra time to talk with her about, you know, logistics.” Stiles waved a hand.

Derek took a gentle sip of his coffee, eyes slipping closed, clearly happy to discuss his sister’s joining of the company. Stiles may have stared at the happy-bliss look for too long. He averted his eyes just in time.

“Thank you, Stiles.”

Stiles shrugged his shoulders, hands shoved into his pockets. “Just my job.”

Stiles left the office then, closing the door behind him and taking a steadying breath. His heart should not be going so wild. Derek was his boss. It was totally unprofessional.

“Stilinski.”

Stiles’ spine went ramrod straight, and he turned towards the sharp voice of Jackson, ready to give as good as he got, when he saw the other man’s face and he paused.

Jackson wouldn’t meet his eyes. “You really think therapy will help me get her back?” He sounded like a broken man. 

Stiles groaned loudly and slumped over in half, head pressing against Jackson’s chest.

Derek popped his head out of his office, asking what the noise was about.

Stiles didn’t have the energy to move off of Jackson’s unfairly sculpted torso, just waved his hand in Derek’s direction. “Just releasing my pride.”

Jackson awkwardly patted him on the back, and Stiles raised his head enough to give him a tight-lipped smile.

Derek said nothing for a moment, but then his office door closed swiftly with an audible click.

“Okay, dude, let’s reconvene at lunch, eh? We’ll talk it out then.”

Jackson nodded tersely and then turned around and went back to his office. Stiles wanted to groan again, but apparently Derek didn’t like it, going by the practical slam of his soft-close door, so he held back and decided to save it for later.

*

The third time was truly all Stiles. He’d grown out of his clumsy ways after high school, but he still had the occasional twitch that caused a commotion.

He supposed he could blame Derek too, but he couldn’t blame another man for his reactive emotions. 

It had been two weeks since Jackson and Stiles had met for lunch and Stiles listened to Jackson for perhaps the first time in his life. He’d recommended a psychologist, gently suggested anger management classes, and promised he’d put in a good word with Lydia and assured Jackson that she was single and wasn’t interested in anyone else. 

Since then, Jackson had gone back to mostly ignoring his presence, which Stiles was fine with. But they greeted each other in the halls when they passed. The one time Derek and Jackson were having a meeting and Stiles had come in to deliver mail, Derek had stared with wide eyes at the smile Jackson gave him when asking how his day was going. 

So that issue was solved. Stiles thought he was in the clear. Shame on him, really.

He held Derek’s mug securely in his hands, reveling in the warmth from the drink. It had been a cold walk from the bus this morning, and the coffee was finally zapping the lingering cold from his phalanges. 

Stiles raised a fist to knock on Derek’s door, but heard someone’s voice first. And not Derek’s.

Now, Stiles was Derek’s assistant, so he had a right to be a bit nosy into who was ruining his perfect schedule for Derek, right? 

Stiles unashamedly pressed his ear against the door.

“You should take him,” Derek said, then added something else Stiles couldn’t catch.

The other person in the room laughed, and Stiles realized it was Cora. She did start work on Monday, so it made sense for her to be here to get everything squared away. Still...

“... can’t be his boss anymore...”

“Why?”

“Cora... better suited...”

“Sure, that’s why...coffee?”

Stiles startled, the voice much louder than it had been, and he didn’t step away in time before the door opened. The mug flew from his hand, thankfully away from other people, and once more the carpet was stained. 

“Oh no! I’m so sorry, Stiles!”

Stiles recovered the thankfully unbroken mug from the floor and stared dejected at its emptiness. “Nope, that was all on me. I was, um, not paying enough attention to hear you?”

“I’ll call maintenance. You go bring my brother his lifeblood,” she joked. 

Derek stood in the doorway, face surprisingly blank, and Stiles wondered if Derek had guessed he’d been eavesdropping. 

“I’ll be right back, Stiles mumbled and escaped. Because the look on Derek’s face was worrisome. Why would Derek need to hide his emotions regarding their conversation from Stiles, unless...

“Shit, I made him shit coffee twice and now I’m sacked!” Stiles shouted to the sink. Thankfully, the kitchen was empty, but the sink gave him nothing to work with. 

Screw it, he was already a gonner.

Stiles mixed the coffee haphazardly, not even sure he’d added sugar. Maybe he’d grabbed the salt. Either way, Derek deserved it for shipping him off to Cora because of two bad mugs of coffee. 

“Here,” Stiles offered, voice terse, holding the mug out to Derek a few minutes later. He refused to set it down on principal.

Derek was keeping his neutral face mask on, which pissed him off even more. Still, he took the mug gingerly and then stared down into it.

“Drink it,” Stiles challenged.

“Did you poison it?” Derek asked, eyebrow raised.

“Do you know of a reason I would poison your coffee, Derek?” Stiles asked batting his eyelashes innocently. 

Derek blanched, but clearly had nothing to say. He brought the mug to his lips and took a careful sip. He smacked his lips afterwards and set the mug on the coaster. “I think I’ll live,” he declared, a few seconds later.

“It’s shit,” Stiles spat, throwing himself into the chair across from Derek’s desk. Might as well get the transfer done sooner rather than later.

“The coffee? Tastes fine to me.”

“How can it?!” Stiles exclaimed. “I made it!”

“I’m not picky about my coffee, Stiles,” Derek argued, which. 

What?

“But... when I was interviewed, I was told that getting your coffee just right was first and foremost.”

Derek rolled his eyes. “Erica interviewed you, didn’t she? I think she went with that excuse to weed out the weaklings, or something.”

So, Stiles had been plying Erica with Derek gossip for months while she just made a random cup of coffee?!

But, wait.

“If it’s not my coffee-making skills, why are you firing me?”

Derek’s eyes went wide. “You were-- Eavesdropping, Stiles, really?” He sighed heavily. “Also, you’re not getting fired. I’m suggesting you transfer over to Cora’s assistant because she’s working in a division that suits your job advancement better. This was never a permanent position for you at Hale Corp, Stiles. You’re far too smart to organize my calendar all day.”

Stiles’ head was reeling. “Wait, so... wait. I’m. You think I’m smart?” he squeaked.

Derek chuckled and stood, walking out from behind the desk. “Yes, I do. And so does the company. But I also think you’re very attractive and if I’m your supervisor I can’t do anything about it. So?”

Derek leaned over Stiles, arms bracketing him in as the clutched at the arms of the chair. 

Stiles swallowed thickly, eyes bouncing all over Derek’s face, looking for any sign of a joke.

“How--” he cleared his throat and felt his face burning in embarrassment over the crack in his voice, “how fast can we get the transfer paperwork done?”

Derek grinned. “Fast enough that you’ll be under Cora by Friday night. Say six thirty?”

“Rather be under you Friday night, but yeah, Sounds great,” Stiles spoke on a exhale as Derek rocked closer, the foreheads touching. 

“Gross.”

Stiles sighed heavily. “Jackson,” he snapped, eyes sliding closed as he felt Derek pull back. “I thought we were done with the bullshit.”

Stiles turned in the chair to look at the blond who simply shrugged. “I already got Lydia’s forgiveness, what more do I need you for?”

Dammit. Lydia was fickle in love. Then again, who was Stiles to judge?

“Forget it. What do you need?”

“It is the middle of a work day, in case you forgot,” Jackson pointed out, and Stiles felt the urge to punch him rising.

“I’ll be with you in a second, Jackson,” Derek said, managing to sound not pissed off.

Jackson backed out of the office, but left the door wide open. 

Stiles glanced back at Derek. “Look, I know he’s the illegitimate son of your wild and estranged uncle, so technically, despite the fact that he was adopted into a different wildly rich family, he is Hale by blood, but does he have to work here?”

“You should meet Peter’s illegitimate daughter.”

Stiles scrunched up his nose. “No thanks.”

Derek smirked. “Get back to work, Stiles. We can iron out Friday’s details later.”

Stiles grinned, bubbling happiness filling his chest. “I’ll pencil it in.”

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Blood, Freely Given

CW: Blood, vampirism, referenced dissoci@ted identities, vague referenced severe childhood trauma, brief noncon refs, brief torture references

The automatic double-doors slide open, and their bare feet move over the scratchy mat just inside, smearing mud across the black nylon. 

Water drips down from their hair, running in rivulets over the line of their throat, dipping beneath their soaked-through tank top, dripping with a soft pat pat pat pat onto the tile. They move as if floating past the welcome desk at the hospital.

Shadows, thick and velvet, swallow them whole. The shadows feel like arms holding them tight, like the grasp of a lover, like being loved.

When the admin assistant working the welcome desk looks up, light glinting off his nametag, to see who has come in through the door, he blinks as the lights flicker overhead, and for just a second he sees a flash of green hair stained reddish-brown and caked with drying dirt, a haunted blank face and empty glowing eyes… and then there’s no one there.

“Weird,” He mutters, staring as the doors slowly slide closed again. “Fucking weird.”

Outside, lightning flashes and thunder booms right on its heels, a deafening roar of sound that seems to rattle even the solidity of the hospital. The admin swallows, hard, staring out into the total blackness of the storm raging outside the safety of the brick and stone walls that surround them.

He’s already forgotten the half-second of sight, and thinks now only about the thunder and lightning. Water drips along the floor as they walk, ignoring him. 

He doesn’t matter.

Nothing matters but finding Ryan.

The shadows move around them, twist and dance around their feet like spirits, like animals, like children who never leave them. People look at the water on the floor and wonder why it hasn’t dried, find themselves baffled at the sight of mud dissolving into the puddles, but they don’t see the feet that make the puddles, they don’t see the drip of water from green hair, off of wrinkled fingertips.

They don’t see Ora Collins, because Ora Collins does not want to be seen.

Their cheekbones are pronounced, gaunt in their face. Hazel eyes glow, set into the lines of their face. Their hair hasn’t grown since the last day in the farmhouse, since the moment Ryan’s teeth pierced their skin. A broken fingernail has never regrown. A cut on one leg doesn’t heal, but it doesn’t hurt, either.

There’s a bruise that is now a permanent fixture on their left arm, a memory that might as well be a tattoo.

Dead and not-dead, they follow a heartbeat that pulses in perfect rhythm with their own. He’s upstairs, they know that. Waiting for them, knowing they’re coming. He feels them as strongly as they feel him.

We feel our own. We always feel our own.

Ora’s eyes flutter shut, and they see through his, the sight of the redheaded man covered in bandages and on the bed, the way blue eyes stare with emptiness into nothing, accepting the pain the way someone else has always stepped up when it became too much to bear.

Ora swallows, their throat moving, seeing on Danny’s body now the ghostly marks of times he has cried in the night.

They see, in that breath, that it began as a child used to feed his own mother, a little boy bled to sickness and then allowed to heal and then bled again. They see the fracture in him, how he hid from the reality in order to forget it, not to know. They see how he lost nights and days and no one believed him when he wondered why.

They see a shimmer of him where he lays in the bed, three sets of fingers, three pairs of wide blue eyes, three reasons to scream. They see how he is only alive because Abraham Denner didn’t know until later that he had someone who would step forward to take the worst of it so the others could survive. 

Funny, how much more you know when you’re dead.

Ora rolls their head around, small cracks in their spine releasing tension that will build again, and again, and again. Their mouth waters. This place is full of life, and it is their way now to take it.

Nothing matters but blood.

The shadows move, as a woman heavy in her pregnancy walks past them - stops, and turns to look at the presence she just felt nearby - and sees nothing.

Nothing but the flicker of lights overhead, and a spot of red in a droplet of water on a white tile floor.

The woman shudders against instinctive unease and keeps walking, heading for the double-doors, for the storm that pounds rain into pavement, the dim headlights barely visible through a curtain of rain. 

Ora can smell the woman’s blood, and knows in an instant that she is seven months pregnant, and her husband is here for a problem with his kidneys, and she will go home to three other children and cry, that the oldest child will hold her and they will tell each other it’ll be okay and neither one will believe it.

They know also that the husband will recover, and come home, and then the future is murkier, more uncertain. But Ora can see the happy day he sleeps in his own bed again. 

They pause, and turn, watching the woman’s back as she walks.

They mouth the words, you’ll be okay, and the baby will be fine. He will come home to you. They make no sound, and yet something in the woman’s shoulders relaxes, and she opens her umbrella and steps out into the night with a new confidence that, however terrifying the moment, everything will be alright in the end.

They might be dead, but they can soothe the restless fear of life as easily as they can feed them. They don’t have to be wicked, they don’t have to be evil, they don’t-

They don’t have to be Ashley.

They will not kill like Ashley did, they will not take captives, they will not delight in torture and fear and they will not feed on screaming. 

They don’t have to be Ashley.

That is all that matters.

Ora turns back to look ahead of themself, the soft neon lights of the food court on their right, conference rooms and offices on the left. 

Ahead, the elevators.

A man waiting for the elevator is suddenly distracted by feeling like a gust of wind hit his back. He drops his coffee cup, spilling it all over the floor. Lights above him flicker as he drops to a crouch, cursing, pulling out napkins to wipe up the spill. While he’s distracted, the elevator doors open, water drops inside in a soft pitter-patter, and they close again.

He looks up in time to see a flash of glowing eyes and green hair, a torn and mud-stained tank top and shorts, spots dried reddish-brown that can’t be anything but blood. He sees a hint of mud-covered bare feet.

He stares, and Ora looks back at him.

He doesn’t matter.

“Look away,” They say in a croaking voice, cracked from disuse. “Look away.”

The man looks down and forgets about everything but his coffee and his sense that something is very, very wrong.

They press the button for the sixth floor and the elevator lurches into motion, shakily. Lights flicker and power drops and jumps back up around them. They don’t care.

Ryan is waiting.

The elevator doors slide open on the sixth floor and three people sitting in a small lobby look up to see an empty box, with a puddle of water on the floor. The doors slide shut again, and the elevator heads back to the first floor.

A bit of rainwater runs down Ora’s cheek like the tears they no longer cry.

Dead people don’t cry.

Nothing matters enough to be worth weeping over.

Ora thinks of Danny’s eyes in the bed, water gathering over the empty places, running down to pool in the shell of his ear and dampen his dirty unwashed hair. They think of Ryan sobbing next to his bed in the first days when a tube down Danny’s throat breathed so he didn’t have to breathe for himself. They think of Nathaniel Vandrum’s hand silently laid on his back as he leaned over, and the two men meeting in the middle, dropping as always their loathing of each other for their love for a man who has had to make the choice to live too many times.

A doctor walking past brushes against Ora’s shoulder and they shiver at the beat of her heart, her pulse, the hint of her blood they can taste in the air. 

A nurse comes too close and Ora’s teeth are sharp, begging to bury in soft skin, pull out the life inside, and hand it over to the darkness that made them. Ora moves with the shadows, and the shadows bay for blood.

But this nurse has done nothing but try her best to save the lives of people who don’t know her, who she will never truly know, and Ora turns away. 

They will not be Ashley Denner.

That is what matters.

They find the room without hurrying, taking each step slowly. The tile floor is cold, they know this, but they don’t feel it.

Ryan has life beating in his blood alongside the death. He is made of green hills and murder in the darkness. He is made of eyes open to delight in flowers and of eyes slowly closing from a wasting disease that can’t be explained. 

Ora doesn’t have the life, anymore.

They wasted theirs, anyway.

All they are is death.

Is this a second chance? Could they start again? They haven’t thought about it. They walked to Tennessee - walked and rode in the back of trucks and cars, shredding the people who tried to hurt them thinking they were weak and leaving the kind ones unharmed, and drove until the car ran out of gas and then found another ride again - and then returned.

The cold silver-colored door handle turns easily under their hand, and when they step into the room Nate Vandrum is asleep on a sort of couch, a thin blanket thrown over him, the light of the machines in the room lining his face. 

Lightning flashes through the closed blinds, and thunder rolls.

Ora is a creature made of rainy seasons, lurking in stagnant pools of water, waiting for their chance to slip underneath protective nets and clothes and glide around candles. They are a heavy death, a slow death, but-

They don’t have to cause death at all.

They will not.

They will not.

Daniel Michaelson, laid out on the hospital bed, flickers his eyes open and turns to look at them. They see what he sees, eyes that glow in the darkness, a pounding hunger that must be satisfied. 

“Mom,” He whispers, voice trembling, and Ora tilts their head, wet hair sticking to their cheekbones, mouth watering at the beat of his heart, the hint of his blood. “Mom, no, please-... God, no-”

“It’s alright, Dan. They’re not Mom,” Ryan says, standing in the open doorway to the small bathroom attached to this private hospital room. He’s just come from a shower and heat mists off his skin, his black curls hang over his forehead and stick to the nape of his neck. His eyes glow, a soft gleaming yellow in the shadows, match Ora’s hazel for strength and more. All their heartbeats led them back to him. “And that won’t happen to you again. I promise. I’ll never, ever let anyone take from you again.”

“Ryan-” Danny’s eyes are impossibly wide, as always, and the darkness deepens the scars on his face until they are canyons cut into a plateau, the aftermath of a volcanic eruption, the lines of glaciers tearing up earth and turning flatlands into valleys. His voice is weak, and Nate Vandrum stirs, on the couch, called close to waking by the fear in Danny. “Help me, please, Mom’s h-hungry-”

“It’s okay, Danny,” Ryan says, soft and loving. He moves to put a hand on his brother’s shoulder, to tuck a bit of hair behind one ear. “Go back to sleep. They’re not here for you.” His eyes stay on Ora’s as he says, with a shiver of something running underneath him, utterly inhuman and his birthright and hidden from him for too many years, “Calm, if you are living.”

Danny’s eyes flutter shut, and his breathing settles, deep and even. A machine over his shoulder beeps slowly as he settles. Nate, on the couch, breathes out in a long slow sigh, and Ora watches his right hand, curled into a painful fist, relax. 

“Can I do that?” They ask, hoarsely.

“No,” Ryan says, with a hint of warmth, watching his brother’s eyes move under his eyelids. “That’s from my father, not my mother.”

“Oh.”

Ryan looks back at Ora, relaxing now that his brother is soothed. “You walked a long way. Is she at rest?”

“Ashley? I ate her heart.” Their voice is flat, decayed, like the taste of Ashley’s black heart on their tongue.

“No… your girlfriend. From before.”

Ora looks down at their hands, the dirt pressed into the lines until it seems like they will never be clean. “I buried Penny like she deserved,” They say, voice low, twining around the sound of the machines. Only Ryan can hear them. 

“Good. That’s the last thing they took from us, then, made right.” Ora moves closer to him, and he watches them move. They watch him swallow, the movement of his throat. “Are you hungry?”

He’s beautiful, always. He’s so beautiful, even at his worst. Even tied to Bram’s bed he was beautiful, even screaming for mercy he was beautiful, even now, a predator set free, he is so beautiful.

He tilts his head to the side, and Ora hitches in breath they don’t need at the way the thin light from the machines moves over his skin. The flutter of his pulse.

Their only heartbeat is his. 

They want it.

“Yes,” They breathe. “I’m so hungry, Ryan.”

Ryan smiles at them, in the darkness, and reaches out. They take his hand and he pulls them close, sliding his other hand up into their hair, uncaring about it being wet, about the water that soaks him as well when he pulls them close. He pressed the back of their head to move them forward until their lips touch the heat of his neck. He’s so warm.

He’s so warm, and they’re so-

“If you’re hungry,” He whispers, “Then feed. I made you - I owe this, and more, for helping me save my brother.”

Ora buries their teeth in his throat and takes the blood like a sacrament. Blood, freely given and offered, blood that won’t kill, blood that won’t cause harm. Blood that won’t take a life and leave the grieving behind. Blood that won’t run from wrists or backs or legs. 

Blood, given to them openly and with love. 

They will not be Ashley Denner.

That’s all that matters.

---

@slytherynjolras, @whump-it, @bleeding-demon-teeth, @finder-of-rings, @burtlederp, @whumpywhumper, @18-toe-beans, @pumpkinthefangirl, @special-spicy-chicken, @swordkallya, @astrobly, @slaintetowhump, @moose-teeth, @untilthepainstarts, @whumpiary,  @lave-whump @raigash @cupcakes-and-pain, @whump-tr0pes| @wildfaewhump

[plaidbooks]

hi can i request a Barba x reader where the reader is a detective and they like each other, and there is a hard case that raf is getting a lot of pressure from the squad, and he is so stressed out (he does not sleep or eat) and he and the reader are in his office discussing the case and passes out in front of her from stress / exhaustion🥺

Exhaustion

A/N: Hey Anon! I’ve, uh, I’ve definitely been Rafi in this story...up for 40+ hours without eating (hurray full time job + full time student!) and it’s not fun. Make sure y’all eat, drink water, and sleep.

Tags: none

Words: 1462

Taglist: @the-baby-bookworm @beccabarba @thatesqcrush @itsjustmyfantasyroom @stardust-fray @permanentlydizzy @infiniteoddball @ben-c-group-therapy @glowingmess @whimsicallymad @averyhotchner @mrsrafaelbarba @detective-giggles @dianilaws

You groaned inwardly as you arrived at One Hogan Place, a pile of case files under your arm, already hearing Rafael’s exhausted voice in your ears, even if he tried to hide it behind snark and quips. But the truth was, this case was taking its toll…on all of you. Even Liv was getting pissed; you had overheard her and Rafael get into one of their very rare screaming matches last time he was at the precinct. They never yelled at each other like that, but this case was just that bad.

Knocking on his office door, you let yourself in. Rafael didn’t even glance up from his desk, asking a terse, “what?”

You walked silently to his desk, depositing the case files onto the top of it. He glanced up then, his green eyes narrowing in annoyance, but his exhaustion was deep in there, too, the bags under his eyes deeper than you’d ever seen before. His recycle bin by his door was overflowing with takeout coffee cups, and three more were on his desk.

“Here’s the statements from the latest victims, along with the DNA evidence and all the other forensics found at each crime scene,” you listed off, stifling a yawn. You were currently working a double, and it was mercifully nearing the end of the day for you…at 11pm. A small part of you felt bad for Rafael having to be holed up in his office this late, too, but that was his choice; he didn’t have a Lieutenant ordering him to stay on. He could go home, go to sleep for a few hours before tomorrow.

“Hmph,” he grunted, going back to what he was working on.

You waited for a moment, long enough that he looked up at you again, quirking an eyebrow as if to ask why you were still there. “Why don’t you get some sleep, Rafael? The trial’s still a couple days away, and slaving away into the night isn’t going to help anyone. Go sleep, have a fresh set of eyes in the morning.” While all that was true, you were also just…worried about him. It felt like he was always at the courthouse, or in his office, and you wanted to make sure he was sleeping. Hell, you normally got lunch with him in the middle of trials, but during this case, he had become a recluse, rushing from office to courthouse then back again. He barely spoke to you—any of you—unless it was absolutely necessary, and you were just…worried.

Rafael glared at you, slowly putting his pen down. “I don’t need you to tell me what to do, Detective. I’m perfectly fine, and I have a job to do,” he scowled. But you could hear his tired voice, his words slurring slightly from his exhaustion.

“Wouldn’t you do it better with a clear mind?” He opened his mouth to argue, but you pressed on, “come on, Barba, even we sleep, even if it’s for an hour or two. When was the last time you slept? How long?”

“Worry about yourself,” Rafael growled, waving you off. He went to get back to work, but with his dull reactions, you snatched his pen from his fingers, and then his legal pad off his desk. The glare you got in return would kill a lesser person. “Detective, I’m not playing. Give. It. Back.”

“I’m not playing, either, counselor. You’re done for tonight.” Your eyes softened. “Don’t make me arrest you.” Rafael’s face was turning beat red from anger. “I can and will take you in, force you to sleep in the Sleeping Quarters. I’ll cuff you to the bed.” Your cheeks warmed, hearing yourself saying such suggestive words to Rafael—you liked the man, and the thought of him handcuffed to your bed had passed through your mind before.

Rafael slammed his hands down on his desk, standing quickly, and making his way around his desk towards you. But as you watched, his eyes unfocused, his feet stuttered a step, and he started going down. Gasping, you dropped his pen and pad, reaching to catch his limp body. In your haste, you slammed your hip against the corner of his desk, letting out a hiss of pain as you caught him, gently lowering him to the ground.

“Shit, fuck, Raf are you okay?” you asked, the pain in your side exploding through you. He grumbled, but was still pretty out of it. Rubbing away the pain in your hip, you braced yourself, silently thankful that you hit the gym so often as you scooped Rafael into your arms, struggling to carry him over to his couch. He was starting to stir, and you went to get him a glass of water from his cooler in the corner of his office.

“Wh-what happened?” Rafael croaked out, sounding disorientated. You came back, helping him gently into a sitting position, giving him the water to drink.

“You tell me; you stood up, then dropped like a sack of potatoes,” you explained, taking the empty glass and refilling it.

Rafael sighed, suddenly looking much older, much more exhausted than he had earlier. “Okay, so, maybe I haven’t slept in a while….”

“When was the last time you’ve eaten? Or drank something without caffeine in it?” you asked.

“What day is it?”

You gave him a pointed look, before answering in a timid voice, “Thursday.”

Rafael closed his eyes for a moment, thinking. “Last I slept was…Monday, I think. Eaten was maybe Tuesday evening? Drank something without caffeine…uh, well….”

“Rafael Barba, I am taking you home right now. You are going to eat something, and then you are going to drink water, and then you are going to sleep,” you instructed, in disbelief. How was he still functioning?

“I can’t sleep,” he admonished. “This case is too important! Those—what he did to those women…those children…” he trailed off, looking like he may cry. Tears appeared in your eyes as you thought about the details of the case before you blinked them away.

“Raf…you’re not helping anyone by passing out in your office. It’s…it’s not admitting defeat to admit that you’re human,” you said softly. He closed his eyes at your words. “Come on, these case files will be here tomorrow; you need to take of yourself so that you can take care of the victims.”

Rafael nodded softly. “Fine, alright. I’ll go home for the night…but,” he sighed, “but I’m a little afraid to stand right now.”

“Want me to get you something from the vending machine down the hall?” you asked, giving him a small smile.

“Please—just something small; I’ll eat a real meal at home,” he returned your smile. You nodded, refilling his water once before and handing it to him before heading to the vending machine. Small bag of chips in your hand, you made your way back to Rafael’s office.

“Here’s some chips for you—” you stopped talking as you noticed his eyes were closed, his head leaning back on the couch, his mouth slightly parted, soft snores coming out. You smiled at Rafael, debating if you should wake him to move him, or simply let him sleep on the couch for the night. But it wouldn’t be comfortable, and being hungry, dehydrated, and sore wouldn’t be great tomorrow morning, so you gently shook him awake. He grumbled groggily, and you forced the chips into his hands. Once he ate them, you pulled him to his feet, wrapping an arm around his waist and leading him out of his office.

“I can walk on my own,” Rafael mumbled, still half-asleep.

“And I bet you’re also okay to drive,” you replied, hitting the elevator button.

He scoffed. “No one drives in New York; there’s too much traffic.”

You chuckled, leading him from One Hogan Place to your car, shoving him into the passenger seat. You drove him to his apartment in silence, mostly because he was nodding off in his seat before jolting awake.

“Do I need to stay the night? Make sure you sleep the full night?” you asked, half-joking. You’d do it if he asked; you just wanted to make sure he was okay.

“I’m fine, Detective,” Rafael rolled his eyes dramatically. Then in a soft voice, he said, “thank you, for taking care of me. I’ll see you tomorrow at work.”

“See you tomorrow, Raf…and please eat something, okay?”

He chuckled. “I will. Promise.”

You watched him until he made it into his building, making a mental note to yourself to stuff your purse with snacks, to make sure he ate something over the next coming days. Like you said before, the trial was still a few days out, and it promised to be a bad one.

[imagineaworlds]

I Love You (Part Ten) -- Aaron Hotchner

Written By: @desperately-bisexual​

Request: None.

Warnings: Mentions of getting shot. Mentions of blood. Explosions. Mentions of kidnapping. Mentions of stalking. Literally the whole shabang.

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Greenaway!Reader

Word Count: 11066

Timeline: Season 2 Episode 01. Right after part nine.

HOTCH’S POV

Morgan came into my office just as the sun was rising over Quantico. The rest of the BAU, and really all of the FBI, was just starting to pour into the building for a long day’s work. He told me that Y/N went to get donuts and coffee for everyone, and offered me the chance to order something if I wanted. I stared at him with a blank face for a moment. No one went with them? We had an Unsub stalking us, and no one left Quantico with them? What the hell were Reid and Morgan thinking? Gideon made JJ hold a press conference almost two hours prior— which was a bad idea on its own— and now Y/N left without anyone with them? I didn’t doubt that they could handle themselves. I knew that they could. But this guy knew everything about us. We could afford to take such a risk.

“No. I don’t want anything,” I responded calmly. Morgan shrugged and nodded, patting the door frame before leaving. The second he was out of sight, I picked up my cell and started calling them. They picked up after the first ring.

“Morgan was supposed to call me with your order, Aaron.”

“I know, I know. Why did you leave without someone else?”

I could hear the annoyance and defiance in their voice, “It’s not that big of a deal, Hotch. I’m just going to Leonard’s for donuts and coffee, and then I’ll be right back. You won’t even miss me.”

I already missed them, though. And I was already worried about them. They should have just gone home or stayed at the office. They knew better. But they were also reckless, and they didn’t like to listen to me. It was fun for them to push my buttons, but this simply wasn’t the time.

“Leonard’s and right back. I’m serious.”

“You promised to not worry so much about me,” they sing-songed.

I couldn’t help it. They sprang the “I love you” on me just the other night, and it awoke something in me that I hadn’t felt since Haley. Actually… to tell the truth, it didn’t even feel this way with Haley. All my life, I thought I was going to spend it with Haley; but she got tired of waiting around for me, and I couldn’t blame her. Then Y/N came along, and something changed. I didn’t have to pretend or settle for them. This job was just as important to them as it was for me. Making it work rather than putting unfair pressures on each other made me feel comfortable and loved. And now they were telling me to not worry about them as if I hadn’t said “I love you” back to them the other night and in Jamaica yesterday. I loved them with every inch of me and I worried about them every second of every day. I earned that right when I saw them playing with Jack and getting along so well with him. I earned that right when we said “I love you” to each other. I earned that right when they became my partner. I knew our rules, I knew our dynamic… But none of my feelings just washed away whenever I would get to work, contrary to popular belief.

“I'm not worried,” I lied. “I love you.”

I could practically hear them smiling through the phone. “I love you, too.”

We hung up our call and I sighed. They would be fine. Leonard’s was just a few blocks away— not even a ten minute drive. They would be around people, in the public eye. No one would be able to take them if they were being careful. And then they would be back before I could even say their name.

I stood and exited my office to check on the rest of the unit who was just now appearing for work. They all seemed busy, yet entirely ignorant of what was really going on. They only knew what everyone else had seen on the news, and that was all they needed to know. Everything was going to be fine. Like Y/N said, I had nothing to worry about.

And then I spotted Anderson at the copy machine.

My brows furrowed as I hurried down the ramp outside of my office and called his name. He looked up from the machine and fixed his posture to stand at attention like a soldier would for his commanding officer. I asked him where Elle was, and he only responded with a confused look. I asked him why he was back already, and he still looked confused.

“You told me to take her home, sir.”

“I understand that, but taking her home is not the same thing dropping her off. We have an Unsub who’s stalking our unit. He knows all of our personal information, including our addresses. You can’t just leave her there. Get back there now.”

He opened his mouth to argue, but I glared and he silently retreated out of the building. I picked up the nearest phone, which happened to be on Y/N’s desk, and tried calling Elle’s cellphone. When she didn’t pick up, I figured that she must have let it die or left it in her purse when she fell asleep. So I tried calling her house number. Still, nothing. Shit. I kept trying to reach her. I wasn’t about to give up. Soon, she would finally get annoyed by the constant ringing and would get her ass out of bed long enough to pick up the phone and let me know that she was alright. Either that or Anderson would get there on time and he’d call to let me know that she was safe. But until then, I wasn’t going to stop calling.

“Agent Hotchner,” one of the secretaries approached me. I raised a brow at her while still dialing Elle’s number. “The delivery man from the news last night is on his way up. He just turned himself in.”

Shit. I put the phone down. “Thanks for letting me know. Do me a favor, keep calling Agent Greenaway for me until she picks up her phone.”

“Which Greenaway, sir?”

“Elle.”

“Right away.”

We separated in opposite directions. She returned to her desk, while I headed up to Gideon’s office to let him know about the delivery man. Reid was in his office with him, which saved me some time from running around to tell everyone on the team. Gideon was up on his feet the moment I mentioned a delivery man, he didn’t even need to hear the rest because he already knew. That was why he had JJ hold the press conference. It wasn’t to snuff out the Unsub, but our only living witness thus far.

I was the first one into the interrogation room where the witness was waiting. He matched the description that Jessica gave the sketch artist perfectly. As we entered the room, his terror filled eyes looked up at me. People only looked like that when they had something to hide, but I didn’t think that a guy like this could be our Unsub. He was too shaky and shy for that— Not to mention that our Unsub wouldn’t’ve turned himself in when we still had some kind of quest to complete.

I decided to be up front with him. No dancing around it. We needed answers and we needed them fast. “You delivered a packing to my ex-wife’s house yesterday, and it was addressed to my son—”

“Do I need a lawyer?” he questioned.

I continued, trying to move past the idea of calling a lawyer because that would only slow us down. “It was late in the day. You told the woman you gave the folder to that it was imperative that it get to me because a girl’s life depended on it. Ring any bells yet?”

“I— I guess I could check my logs, yeah,” he stuttered.

“No, you already know which one I’m talking about.”

“Listen, all I know is that a guy came up to me, asked me if I could drop off this package a mile down the road, and that a girl’s life depended on it. I was headed that way, anyhow, I figured what could be the harm?”

“And you didn’t find it at all suspicious that this guy mentioned that a girl’s life was at stake?”

The witness shifted in his seat uncomfortably, a telling sign that he was about to lie. “No, I didn’t think anything of it. I heard that a girl was in trouble, so I knew that I just had to help. Does that make me a bad guy?”

I chuckled, “So you’re a humanitarian, then?”

“Yeah, I guess you could say that.”

“How much did he pay you?” Gideon asked.

The witness looked at him and shifted again. “I… I don’t know what you mean…” He looked back at me, but I didn’t budge for him. He swallowed hard. “A thousand dollars in cash. Gave it to me when he gave me the folder.”

“What did he look like?”

“I don’t know. He had a big coat on and a big hat covering his face. All that I could actually see was his neck and his hands, and they were all fucked up. It looked like he had been burned everywhere.”

I looked over at Gideon. That was everything we were going to get out of this guy, and it was really all we needed. We silently left the interrogation room, but we didn’t release the witness yet in case we decided that we would have more questions for him later.

“Burn scars would explain why he seemed uncomfortable in the video,” I told Gideon.

“It’s also how we’ll find him.”

Reid smiled ear to ear after I complimented his good work— rightfully so, too. Together, him and Garcia had cracked a huge problem in the case. While we had earlier hit a wall with the numbers on the letter Jessica gave us, they had figured it all out finally.

Garcia opened her mouth like she was about to say something, likely to apologize again for her mistake. She knew that she had fucked up, and she knew that Gideon was the most upset about all of it. But as she was about to begin, a secretary joined us in the hallway to deliver a message.

“Agent Gideon, there’s a call for you on line 2.”

Garcia closed her mouth and let her shoulders fall as she hugged her files over her chest in order to put her guard up again. What little bravery she had mustered only seconds ago immediately disappeared and she was back to being silent and self-loathing again. Gideon sighed at the interruption, however, and asked who was calling and if it was really all that important. When the secretary responded that it was urgent and that the man calling had named himself “The Fisher King”, we all knew that something was wrong.

We all rushed to the door that led to the BAU wing. Gideon and I were the first to the phone; Reid, Garcia, and the secretary chased after. Gideon unmuted the call, put it on speaker, and introduced himself.

“I didn’t have any other choice,” the Fisher King said. It was the same voice which called me the other night when I was with Y/N. This was our Unsub. “It was distasteful and barbaric. But it had to be done. You forced my hand, Agent Gideon. I told you that there were rules, and you blatantly ignored me. So I had to make sure that you would never break the rules again. Agent Greenaway didn’t have to die like that, Agent Gideon, just remember that. If you would have listened, I wouldn’t have done it. Not like that. Remember the rules or there will be more consequences.” And then the call ended.

I looked up at Jason, my heart racing in my chest. Both Elle and Y/N were out. Anderson had just gone back to Elle’s place, which meant… No. I immediately reached for my phone and took a step away from the group as I began to dial their number. Straight to voicemail. I cursed under my breath as I dialed again.

Behind me, Gideon was instructing Reid to reach out to every nearby hospital in search of a patient with the last name Greenaway. The whole office was set in motion as everyone went to do their assigned jobs for when an agent was to go missing. Garcia hurried to her office to check the computers and Gideon went to grab his things— including his car keys. By the time he returned, I had called Y/N three times, and every time it went directly to their inbox. Either they were being an asshole and not picking up, or something truly did happen to them. I prayed that they were just being an asshole again.

“Hotch!” Reid called from the balcony. I looked over. “It’s Elle! She’s at Sentara Northern Virginia Medical Center!” He retreated back into the boardroom to sort things out while Gideon threw his keys at me as we both turned to the exit.

I immediately turned on the lights and the sirens after we pulled out of Quantico. I was speeding down the roads, trying to avoid all of the cars who weren’t moving to the side for us, while also trying to call Y/N to let them know what had happened. They still weren’t picking up, and I remembered that they told me not to worry, but I didn’t end up worrying about Elle, and look at what happened. So I just kept dialing while Jason watched me out of the corner of his eye.

Please just be an asshole and not dead. That was all I wanted from them. I wanted the excuses, I wanted the fighting back, I wanted the sass and bratiness that all came with dating them. I wanted to know that I would get to see them again, to just hold them in my arms and tell them that I love them again. If I could have, I would have never stopped saying it because I wasn’t about to let them get away like I had with Haley. They weren’t going to win that easily. But they just had to pick up the fucking phone first.

I slammed my hand against the steering wheel. “Fuck,” I cursed under my breath.

“I’m not going to say it…” Gideon said, looking out the window to avoid my glare.

“Good. Then don’t.”

I knew what he was going to say. He didn’t like the idea of me and Y/N dating. He didn’t like the idea of anyone dating on the team because he knew what potential distractions it could create. But I didn’t care what he thought. At least not then when I just needed to focus on literally anything positive. So I tried to focus on how happy it made me to see Y/N with Jack. They were so good with him, and he took to them immediately. I had never seen him connect with anyone like that before. It was such a relief to me that they liked each other.

And then my phone started ringing.

I briskly flipped it open and brought it to my ear.

READER’S POV

I was busy juggling a box of donuts and a cardboard cup holder carrying four coffees when my phone started ringing again. Morgan had called me just before I started ordering inside at Leonard’s to tell me that JJ wanted a cup of cold brew, and that Hotch and Gideon turned down coffee, but Gideon would love a donut. So I ordered a dozen donuts— just to make sure there were plenty extra— and four coffees. Yes, four. I heard Morgan tell me that Hotch didn’t want anything, but I knew him better than that, and I knew that he would want it later, so I got him one anyways. I figured that even if he didn’t end up drinking it, someone else would. Maybe Elle would take it when Anderson would bring her back to the office.

My phone rang again on the way to the car, but I still couldn’t reach it with both of my hands full, so I just tried to hurry up to the car. It rang a third time and I groaned. It was probably just Aaron again, all worried that I wasn’t back yet. It wasn’t my fault that I got caught in the morning traffic outside of Quantico, and I didn’t realize that Leonard’s had some kind of deal on Sunday mornings which always drew in a huge ass crowd. It wasn’t like I made my trips to Leonard’s a common occurrence. I hardly ever went there, so I sure as hell didn’t know about any discount deal that somehow brought in half of Virginia.

The damn phone rang again and I cursed Hotch for making me practically run to the car. He was too worried about me since the other night. Granted, I basically had a breakdown yesterday when I saw my jewelry box, but we had our rules for a reason. I just needed him to calm down and wait until I could call him back. He had already called me three times while I was ordering, which I couldn’t answer any of those calls since I was already busy. Now he had called me at least four times on the way to the car, which meant that he wasn’t even waiting for it to go to voicemail every time.

I put the cupholder on the roof of the car so that I could have a free hand to open the car door. I reached into the car and set the box of donuts on the passenger’s seat, then went back to grab the coffees. They wobbled in my hands as one of the cups managed to slide out of the grip a little too far. I managed to catch it on time, thankfully, before it could spill all over me, and let out a sigh of relief before making sure the cup was put back all the way.

I slid into the car, closed the door, and put the coffees next to the donuts on the seat. When that was settled and I was fairly sure that nothing was going to fall over or spill everywhere, I reached for my phone to see what the hell was going on. Aaron had called me seven times. Seven. Either he was dying or they caught the guy and I could go home. Either way, I was going to kill him.

I dialed his number and called him back. It rang twice before he picked up. “I’m on my way, Hotch. Did you guys find something?”

“Why the fuck weren’t you answering your phone?”

“My hands were full. I couldn’t reach my phone. What’s going on?”

“The Unsub shot Elle.”

I stopped worrying about turning the car on and getting out of the parking lot in a rush but also satefly as he said it. I froze for a moment, just staring at the building in front of me. I tried to wrap my brain around what he said, and almost went to deny it, but I knew that he wouldn’t lie to me like that. So why had he said it? Maybe this was Gideon’s next ploy to try to weed out the Unsub, but they had to make it real, so they had to make me believe it. That had to be it. Elle was fine.

“Y/N?”

“Hmm?” I hummed into the phone.

“She’s alive,” he clarified. My gaze fell from the building and to the car’s emblem in the middle of the steering wheel. I was slowly starting to come back to reality. “She’s at Sentara North. Gideon and I are headed there now. I can have Reid pick you up.”

“No,” I insisted, my eyes falling shut. “I’ll… I’ll meet you there.”

“Y/N—”

“I’ll be fine.”

I hung up before he could say anything. He didn’t want me driving. I understood. But what else were we going to do? I put the car in reverse and started backing out of the parking spot I was in. I was just trying to come to terms with how the hell this could have happened. Aaron sent Elle home with Anderson. She should have just been resting in her bed while he kept watch. So how the fuck did the Unsub manage to break into my sister’s home and shoot her? Where was Anderson?

I thought about how Hotch wanted me to go home, even if it was with Elle or Morgan. He just wanted me to get some rest since I hadn’t slept in nearly forty hours. But I turned him down selfishly because I wanted to focus on the case. I knew that there was an Unsub out there who had it out for my sister, and I chose to stay at the office with Hotch. If I would’ve just listened, I could have been with Elle, and maybe I could have stopped the Unsub. Maybe she wouldn’t be in the hospital at all.

Sentara Northern Virginia Medical Center was only a twelve minute drive from Leonard’s, I made it in nine. One of the Bureau’s vehicles was parked directly out front, and I knew that it had to be Hotch and Gideon, so I parked Hotch’s car next to it and hurried out the second I turned the ignition off. I left my purse, the donuts, and the coffees all in the car as I just hauled ass inside and ran up to the front desk.

The nurse at the front desk was taken aback by my panic and the way I was flashing my badge in her face, demanding for the floor number that Elle was on. After likely having just dealt with Hotch and Gideon perhaps a few minutes prior, the nurse already knew the floor to give me, and I was running again to the elevators where I kept pressing the up button like it would somehow make it arrive faster.

My foot tapped against the bottom of the elevator anxiously as I counted the floors I passed and the seconds it was taking to get there. For all I knew, Elle could have already been dead. Every second spent trapped in that elevator was one less second that I would get to be by my sister’s side when she needed me most. And I absolutely hated it. I hated not being able to make the elevator go faster. I hated that I didn’t pick up Hotch’s calls sooner. I hated that I didn’t just go home with Elle, instead I chose to get coffee and donuts like an idiot. Gosh, I was so fucking stupid.

The elevator dinged before the doors began to slowly slide open. The second the gap was wide enough, I squeezed past and ran into the bright white hallway. Ahead of me was a glass wall that divided the waiting room from the hallway I was standing in. Behind the glass, I could see Hotch sitting across from Gideon, who was working on a crossword puzzle in today’s newspaper. Hotch looked up from his hands like he could sense that I had just arrived. When our eyes met, he pushed himself to his feet and hurried to meet me halfway. I ran up to him and jumped into his open arms. My arms wrapped themselves around his neck and I cried in his shoulder. He tried to soothe me by rubbing small circles on my back with one hand, and whispering that it would be okay in my ear.

“She’s alright,” he told me. “She’s in surgery still, but she’s going to be alright.”

“I should’ve gone with her.”

“You didn’t know.”

“I should’ve been there. It should’ve been me.”

“No,” he shook his head. “No.”

“How did this happen, Aaron?”

I felt like I was going to be sick again. The whole car ride over, I was convinced that it was some kind of sick joke. I didn’t want it to be real, so I tried to pretend that it wasn’t. But standing in that hallway, wrapped in Hotch’s arms as I sobbed and he tried to calm me down, I knew that it was real. I could feel it. My sister had been shot. The Unsub promised that the other one was being taken care of, and we thought that it was over when we got Elle out of jail in Jamaica. But the Unsub was only just getting started. He saved his big moment for when we least expected it. When we were all exhausted, hungry, separated, and our anxieties had actually calmed down. It was the calm before the storm, and none of us saw it coming.

Hotch was trying to find the best way to explain without hurting me. He was treating me like a victim of a case rather than his partner, because that was all he knew how to do. With Haley, he thought that he knew what he was doing, but she shattered his idea of love, comfort, and romance when she left him suddenly. Now, he didn’t know anything about how to comfort me in the way I needed most. And it made me sad. I was trying so hard to help him. We had gotten so far together since he first asked me out, but this was the one thing that we hadn’t prepared for. This was the one thing we never wanted to be ready for because we didn’t want to imagine that it could happen. So now he wasn’t prepared and it broke my heart.

He did what he understood, though, and that was explaining it to me like a stranger in a case who just lost a loved one. “He went in through the back door, caught her by surprise, and shot her.”

“Where?” I begged him for more details. As both an agent and her sister, I needed to know more than just that.

“The living room. He went through the kitchen and into the living room, and shot her point blank in the shoulder.”

I squeezed his neck tighter and he pulled me closer. “Why didn’t we know sooner?”

“The Unsub took her badge and gun.”

I pulled from Hotch and he let me, but his touch didn’t leave me. His left hand trailed up my side and up my neck before he cupped my cheek. He wiped away one of my tears with his thumb.

“The crime scene— I’ve got to go look at it,” I said desperately, trying to make a move for the elevator.

Hotch made sure to hold me still as gently but as assertive as he could. “No,” he insisted. “You don’t need to see it. Trust me. Anderson’s there and he’s sending me photos. You don’t want to know, Y/N.”

“I can find this asshole. I can do it if you just let me.”

“You need to be here for when Elle gets out of surgery and wakes up. She’s going to need you.”

I wiped another tear that was falling down my cheek. “That’ll be hours from now. I have to go—”

“I’m not letting you go anywhere,” he whispered with more harshness to his tone. “He called us after he did it…” Hotch pressed his forehead to mine. “He said that ‘Agent Greenaway didn’t have to die like that’ and I thought that he meant you.” His eyes fell shut as he tried to stop himself from crying. “I thought it was you and I nearly died.” He kissed me tenderly yet eagerly, just wanting to know that I was still there with him and that he could still kiss me. He didn’t want to think about losing me and the opportunity to love me. “So you’re not going anywhere until we find this guy.”

My fingers found the back of his neck and slid under the ends of his short hair. I grabbed slightly, not enough to hurt, but just to be affectionate. “Okay,” I gave in. He didn’t want me to leave, and I wasn’t going to fight him on this one thing. It made sense and I didn’t need to get under his skin when there was already so much happening. “I’ll stay.”

He let out a sigh of relief, “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

It felt good to say it again to his face. It was the first time since the other night at his house. Just the difference between saying it against his lips compared to saying it into a phone made my heart flutter in my chest. Every time he said it, every time his face was so close to mine that I could feel his breath, and every time he looked at me like he loved me more than anything in the world, my day brightened just a little more.

Hotch escorted me to the waiting room where Gideon was pretending to still be focused on his newspaper, when, in reality, he had likely been watching Hotch and I in the hallway to get a feel for how serious our relationship was. I wondered what he thought about us. Gideon was always a softie deep down, and he was just another hopeless romantic like the rest of us; but he also held his own bias against coworkers dating, which made him view us differently. But I wondered that if after seeing us in the hallway and how we needed each other, he decided that maybe it was alright after all. Maybe he wouldn’t try to convince Hotch that it was a bad idea.

I sat down in one of the seats across from Gideon and Hotch let go of my hand. He wiped his face with both of his palms as he tried to recollect himself before turning back to Gideon. “Any luck reaching Morgan and JJ?”

Gideon shook his head, writing in another word on the crossword table. “They’re still out of cell range.”

“Keep trying.” He turned back to me, “Did you leave the drinks and food in the car?” I nodded. “Okay, I’ll go get them. You need something to eat.”

I whispered a thank you and slumped against the seat I was in. I watched him leave and step into the elevator. As the elevator doors began to close, he sent me a short, small smile. My head fell back gently against the back support of the seat I was in and I let out a heavy sigh. All I wanted was to be with Elle at her house, her asleep with me watching over her to make sure that she was alright. Maybe I just needed food and sleep like Aaron kept telling me. This whole time, while I had been fighting against him to make sure that I was constantly keeping up to date with the case, I had forgotten that I needed to take care of my body in order to keep pushing. And without having eaten anything in hours and I hadn’t slept in almost forty hours, I felt so weak. Even if Elle woke up or they found the Unsub, I felt like I would be of no use in the state I was in. It made me feel utterly powerless.

Gideon was still paying no attention to me— or at least pretending as such. He was purposefully doing it. No one could actually focus on a crossword puzzle like he was when one of the teammates was up in surgery and it was his fault. Yeah, I said it. This was all his fault. The Unsub gave specific instructions that we weren’t allowed to go to the media or any outside resources. He knew that there were rules, and he broke them, and I was sure that it had to do with Elle getting shot. Not only did the Unsub want Elle out of the way for some fucked up reason, but he wanted to make sure that we understood that there were consequences to breaking his rules. So he won by getting rid of Elle and proving a point to us. Two birds, one stone.

Gideon should have been more careful. He should have listened to Hotch about not holding the press conference. And that was likely why he wasn’t looking at me. He knew that I would be upset with him for letting this happen to my sister. He also knew that I wasn’t going to blame Hotch, even though he was the one who sent Elle home. He knew that I couldn’t do that, but I’d be looking to point fingers, and it all pointed to him. He was ashamed, and as much as I hated to think it, I was glad that he felt that way. I wanted him to regret his decisions. Because if he had just stopped to consider instead of going on a personal witch hunt, then Elle wouldn’t have been lying on a surgical table with doctors trying to pull a bullet out of her chest.

When Hotch came back with the donuts and coffee, I pushed myself to sit back up again. He took the seat next to me and handed me one of the coffees, another to Gideon, and one for himself. I knew that he would want it. I tried not to smile behind my cup. It didn’t feel like the time to smile about such a silly thing, but I couldn’t believe that I had him pegged like that. It felt good knowing him that well.

“I called JJ and Morgan, told them about Elle, but they're still heading out there,” Hotch explained to Gideon as he handed him a donut.

I raised a brow after accepting my own donut from Hotch. “Where are they?”

“They’re checking up on a lead about the victim and her family. They’re going North to talk to her family.” He relaxed in his seat beside me, “Anderson called as I was about to get in the elevator. He told me that they found a partial print at the crime scene.”

That was the best news we had all day. While we had been falling short of any real leads since finding the jewelry box yesterday, the Unsub leaving a partial print in Elle’s house meant that we were one step closer to catching him. One step closer to me looking at my sister’s attacker in the eyes as I got to read him his Miranda Rights and put him away for a very long time. That was a reason to smile.

“How did they get the partial?” I asked.

Hotch looked at me with soft eyes that spoke volumes. I didn’t want to know, according to him. But him not telling me only confirmed any suspicions I might have had about the crime scene. I saw what happened in Jamaica, I saw what happened with Frank Giles. Our Unsub liked to write messages in blood. “SAVE HER”, “IT’S BEEN HANDLED”, and “HERE THY QUEST DOTH TRULY BEGIN” were all apart of his M.O. He wouldn't have left Elle without completing his ritual.

So I wanted to know the truth. “What did it say?”

Hotch scratched his stubble and shifted in his seat uncomfortably. He knew that I wouldn’t stop pressing for answers, especially when it came to Elle. His choices were to either tell me or find a way to travel back in time and stop himself from ever saying anything else about the crime seeing. Seeing as the second option was neither logical nor possible, he had to give me something. He knew that I had seen all of the other crime scenes first hand, and if he reused to tell me, I would just walk right out of the hospital and drive over there to see it for myself. It didn’t matter what promises I made to him. If I didn’t get answers, I wasn’t going to stick around long enough for him to start an argument about it.

“It said ‘RULES’... In Elle’s blood.”

“I’m going to kill him, Hotch. I swear, I’m going to kill him, even if it kills me.”

I was right about the Unsub and his reason for attacking Elle. Gideon broke the rules and the team had to pay.

“We still don’t have enough for a profile yet, though,” Gideon said quietly. “At least not a good one.”

Hotch picked up my free hand with his and held it tight. Even with Gideon in the room, Hotch was going out of his way to make sure that he was with me, that I understood that he wasn’t going anywhere. We had our rules. We knew that we weren’t supposed to touch at work— especially not like this. But something had happened to Hotch while I was at Leonard’s. He said that the Unsub called them to tell them that he had killed Elle, but he used our last name, and Hotch’s first worry was me. The fact that he called me on my way out of the parking lot to give me crap about leaving on my own, then all of the calls at Leonard’s, and his persistent need for touch all told me that the Unsub had really gotten under his skin by using me. The call when we were together the other night was the first step, and it kept escalating from there. The Unsub wanted us to be together at all times, for some reason, and he found a way to ensure that it would happen. All it took was stalking us, sending something to Jack, and scaring the crap out of Hotch about losing me on a thousand separate occasions.

Hotch’s hand squeezed mine. “Once JJ and Morgan finish up with Rebecca’s family, we’ll hopefully have another lead. Until then, there’s not much we can do. I think we should all get some rest.”

Gideon shook his head and flipped the newspaper pages to a sudoku puzzle now. He was really trying not to face me, and I didn’t blame him. I was sending him the worst death glare I could throw at him for what he did. But Hotch was at least right about the sleep idea. I was done with my donut, and the warm coffee was starting to lull me to sleep, even though the caffeine should have knocked me back on my feet. I guessed that I just was so tired that even caffeine couldn’t save me. And there wasn’t anything to do with the case or about Elle in surgery. Hotch had the right idea, and sleep was the one thing I couldn’t argue with at that point.

I peeled my hand from Hotch’s so that I could push myself to lean forward and put the cup of coffee on the table in front of us.  When I reclined back in my seat, I shifted to the side so that I could rest my head against his shoulder. My eyelids were already heavy to the point that they fell shut without any effort. Sleep felt so natural, I didn’t have to fight to keep my eyes shut or quiet my thoughts.

Everything was oddly peaceful in that hospital waiting room. The lights were gold and dim in order to comfort those who would be waiting around, just like we were. All of the newspapers and magazines that Gideon had collected in front of him just reminded me home and how my dad would lay them out the same way. The air conditioning was right above my head, blowing cool air that helped my heart rate slow down and find peace. It was just so quiet as though the room itself were inviting me to sleep for once. I didn’t mind the feeling at all.

“The press conference was the right thing to do,” Gideon said quietly, assuming that I was already asleep and didn’t want to wake me up. Hotch’s hand fell to my knee and his thumb started to draw slow circles over the fabric of my pants. “I mean, it forced the Unsub to come out, forced him to make a mistake like leaving a partial print. If I hadn’t done what I did, who knows if we would have that information. I did the right thing. I know I did. I was just doing my job. Elle will understand that and Y/N will forgive me.”

“Jason…” Hotch whispered, trying not to move the shoulder I was resting on. “It’s no one’s fault but the Unsub.”

“I know.” He sounded so unsure about himself as he stood to leave. “I know.” He carefully put the newspaper back down on the table. “Let them sleep. I’ll be outside if you find anything out from Morgan or JJ.” He patted Hotch’s other shoulder gently on his way out.

When Gideon was gone, Hotch kissed the top of my head clemently, “I love you.”

I nuzzled against his shoulder and picked his hand up to intertwine our fingers again. “I love you, too,” I whispered. He kissed my head again and I let out one last breath of relief and tranquility before I managed to fall asleep.

Hotch gently shook me awake about an hour later. I woke up carefully, rubbing the side of my neck where it was sore from being crooked against his shoulder for so long. He massaged my shoulder in an attempt to help with my tight muscles, but also to help me wake up from my nap. I didn’t think that I would be out of it for so long, but if I were just being woken up by Hotch, it meant that something had only just happened. Whether it was about the case or Elle, I didn’t know until Hotch was sure that I was entirely awake again.

I reached out for my coffee on the table, which was now cold, but it was better than nothing. I chugged the rest of it before setting it back down. Hotch threw his arm over my shoulders as I leaned back.

“The team identified the Unsub,” he finally said.

“How?”

“I don’t know. Gideon’s sending me to oversee the arrest.”

I jumped out of my seat. “I’ll go with you.” I was already fixing my hair back out of my face and making sure that my gun was prepped in its holster on my hip. I knew what Hotch was going to say before he even said it, and I already knew what my response was going to be.

“No. Stay here and wait for Elle.” Like I said, he was being predictable.

With my response already prepared, I grabbed my purse from the floor. “I’m coming with you, Hotch. I want to be there when we get this guy. I want to see his face when he realizes that he lost.”

Hotch stared at me for a moment before nodding, “Okay.”

He wasn’t going to win this one. I had gotten some food, coffee, and sleep. I was now at the top of my game, perfect for arguing with him. And while he usually enjoyed playing along, we were on a time crunch. So he gave in and we headed for the elevator. As we waited, I asked what we knew since I fell asleep.

Hotch told me everything the team had told him. Our Unsub’s name was Randall Garner. We stepped into the elevator. He was Rebecca Bryant’s biological father who had been severely burned in the fire that burned their family home down and killed everyone but Rebecca and Randall. When she was sixteen, Rebecca had been kidnapped by her father after he was released from a mental institution. He had been keeping her for two years before finally contacting us. Hotch wasn’t sure why yet, but he was sure that Spencer would have answers for when we would get to the office.

And answers he did have. From the moment we stepped into the office, everyone started bombarding me with questions about Elle, while Reid was trying to catch Hotch up with everything he had learned about the Unsub and the profile he had created single handedly while everyone was gone. Morgan and JJ were following me around with endless questions, even though I really didn’t know much more than them about Elle’s condition or the crime scene since Hotch refused to take me or tell me much of anything about it. I apologized for not having answers, and they seemed upset that they were just as helpless as I was. 

“He thinks that we’re modern-day Knights of the Round Table,” Reid explained to us as the group of us walked into the boardroom. There was a woman sitting in the corner, biting her nails, but I was the only one who seemed to take notice. “He thinks that he’s in a fantasy world where Rebecca is a grail that we need to rescue in order to save the day.”

“Do we know where he is?” Hotch asked, refusing to take a seat at the table.

Reid, Morgan, and JJ all looked through the files they had pulled and the notes they had taken, but there was nothing. His last known address was his home before it burned down in the fire— then, technically, the mental hospital. That was it, though. When he was released, he went off the grid. No one had any clue as to where he was.

“I have something,” the woman in the corner spoke up.

Reid leapt from his chair and hurried over to her, “No, mom, it’s okay—”

He came to a sudden halt when his mom pulled a photo from her purse and handed it to him. Spencer examined both sides before turning to all of us with wide eyes that told us that he suddenly understood so clearly. He handed it off to me and I took a look at it myself. One side was an address and the other was a picture of a large house in the middle of the woods.

Reid’s mom had this the entire time and she never said anything. The Unsub gave her another clue— the last clue— because he knew that Reid would send for her. To make sure that she was safe. He knew Spencer and the rest of us like he was us and could guess what we would do before we could even think of it for ourselves. He was ten steps ahead of at all times when he never should have even been a single step ahead of us in the first place.

I handed the photo over to Morgan. “Shiloh, Virginia?” he read the address. “That’s only ten miles from here.”

“Gear up quickly,” Hotch ordered, already heading for his office.

We all jumped to our feet and headed for our desks. Hotch was up in his office, calling the SWAT team for back up and giving them the address of where to meet us. Morgan tossed me another flashlight after I tested mine to find that it had died after Reid used it yesterday to find the jewelry box clue.

The five of us— me, Hotch. Morgan, JJ, Reid— all hurried to one of the FBI company black SUV vehicles and stuffed ourselves inside. Hotch turned on the lights and sirens before we even made it out of the parking lot and started hauling ass down the streets towards Shiloh. None of us said anything. We were all just focused on getting there and finally taking this guy down. We wanted answers and we wanted him to pay for all of the suffering he caused. It was high time he met his modern-day Knights of the Round table, just like he wanted.

The SWAT team Hotch had called in was already parked in front of the house when we arrived. They were all huddled around the trunks of their cars as they put on their gear and loaded their weapons. While we drove up the path with all of the lights off, they looked over to make sure that we were a friendly vehicle and not the suspect or otherwise.

Gravel crunched under my shoes as I jumped out of the car and walked around to the back where Hotch had popped the trunk for us to grab our bullet proof vests. I threw mine over my head and worked in silence as I connected all of the straps. Everyone was silent. The only sounds that echoed were from everyone’s boots compressing the gravel under us. If the Unsub were near a window or door, he likely would have heard us, even though we were all trying to be quiet.

When everyone was ready, Hotch traveled to the front of the group to lead us in. He gave a silent signal, and the SWAT team split into three small groups. One headed to the left, another to the right, and the one Hotch and I went with went straight for the front door. Our team split up, too. JJ and Morgan went to the left, Hotch and I down the middle, and Reid to the right.

We were still quiet as we ran up to the door and Hotch messed with the doorknob to see if it was unlocked. When the door opened easily, he gave us a silent signal to be careful because the Unsub was likely expecting us. This was his game, afterall. He had to know where the players were at all times.

Hotch and I went together towards the dining room while the SWAT members of our group branched off to check the kitchen. With our guns raised, Hotch and I ran into the room. We checked every corner, hiding spaces behind doors, cabinets, etc. but there was nothing. Rebecca had to be somewhere in the house, we were sure of that much, the only question was where?

I dragged a finger over the dining room table before bringing it up to my eyes. The table was caked in dust, just like everything else in the dining room. Around the table were six chairs, each covered by white sheets. From the other end of the table, Hotch whistled quietly to catch my attention. He was holding Elle’s badge and gun. So we did have the right guy’s house. That was some consolation.

“It’s Morgan. We’re clear on this side,” he said over the comms.

“Kitchen’s clear.”

“Living room clear.”

“Nothing in the parlor.”

“Dining room’s empty,” I said.

“I’ve got movement upstairs,” Reid said.

Hotch and I gave each other a nod before traveling together towards the staircase. Reid was halfway up, his gun and flashlight pointing at the hallway that diverted to the right of the stairs. He gestured with his flashlight that he saw someone heading that direction, and we followed him up.

The SWAT team ran past us, taking the lead in order to clear the upstairs rooms while we followed Spencer’s hunch. Reid, Morgan, and Hotch were in front of me, JJ behind me. She tapped my shoulder when we reached the top floor and she pointed towards the left, letting me know that she was going to look for Rebecca on the left side of the house with the SWAT team. I nodded an acknowledgement and continued to the right.

Reid jumped across the entrance to another hallway that turned to the left. He hid on the wall opposite Morgan, Hotch, and I. Morgan took point on that wall closest to the new hallway, meanwhile Hotch and I backed up for support. Down the new hallway that we had discovered, there was a room all the way at the end. The door was half open, and I saw a man pass by it. My blood ran cold as I gestured to Hotch that I saw Randall Garner.

“Cover me,” Morgan whispered to us.

“No, no, no,” Spencer insisted. Morgan stepped back from the corner. “Give me a second.” He raised his voice, “Mr. Garner? My name is Dr. Spencer Reid. I’m with the FBI. You were in the hospital with my mother. I think she may have confused you about who we are and what we do. All we want to do is help Rebecca— which is what you want to do, too, right? That’s why you sent us the puzzles and the clues. That’s why you wanted to see us.”

“Did you bring her?” Garner asked from his room down the hall. The sound of leather creaking echoed in the hallway just after I saw him taking a seat at a desk inside.

“Bring who? Rebecca? We don’t have her. You do.”

“No. No. The one Arthur loves. Guinevere.”

Hotch, Morgan, and I all exchanged confused glances. Arthur and Guinevere? We knew that he saw us as the Knights of the Round Table, but we didn’t know that he had assigned us to the specific character.

“We didn’t bring any Guinevere,” Reid played along.

Randall Garner huffed angrily from his office. “I was very specific that Agent Hotchner and Agent Greenaway were to be together the entire time. Did you not learn your lesson about obeying the rules?”

I suddenly realized that Aaron was Arthur and I was Guinevere. That was why he wanted us together. He saw our relationship and wanted us to recreate how he imagined the characters behaving in his delusion. We were only confused at first because he said “she” and that wasn’t what any of us were used to. The only “she” we brought with us was JJ, and she was off searching the other side of the house. 

“We brought Agent Hotchner and Agent Greenaway, yes.”

“Ask the question, dear Guinevere.”

I looked across to Reid for an answer because I didn’t know of any question. Was it in one of the clues that Spencer solved? It had to be. “He believes that if you ask the right question, then it will magically heal his wounds. That’s why he wanted us. He thinks that we have magic.”

“Do you know the question?” Hotch whispered.

Reid shook his head, “But I know what he wants. Fall back.” He held his gun out to me, which I reluctantly took. “It’ll be fine…” he told us before walking into the hallway with his hands raised. “Stay calm, Mr. Garner.”

“Ask the question, Ser Percival, if Guinevere is incapacitated.”

“I told you, I’m not Percival and Y/N isn’t Guinevere. My name’s Spencer and we work for the FBI. You know my mother, Diana, from the hospital. Do you remember?” He kept walking down the hallway, closer and closer to the room Randall was in. “I think she might have made you think that your daughter is a grail and that we’re knights sent to rescue her.”

“No. Your mother was very specific—”

“My mother is a paranoid schizophrenic who would forget to eat if she wasn’t reminded. She doesn’t know real from fiction, just like you, Mr. Garner. We’re not characters in a story. We’re real people who have come to help you and your daughter.” Reid finally reached the door and carefully pushed it open. I tried to crouch down low to get an angle on Garner, but Reid was entirely in the way. I couldn’t see anything. “Don’t you want to help your daughter?”

“My daughter doesn’t really exist. She never did.” Leather creaked again and I could tell that Randall had spun around in his chair, but I still couldn’t see him. “Ask the question!” he demanded with more force.

“Hey, guys…” Spencer called back to us calmly. “Maybe you guys should go wait downstairs.”

“What?” I hissed.

“We’re not going anywhere,” Morgan responded to Spencer.

“Ask the question! Heal me!” Mr. Garner shouted.

I couldn’t hear anything else that was being said. They were too far into the room and their voices had lowered so that their conversation was just theirs. I didn’t know if Reid was getting anywhere with Randall, and I didn’t know if we were going to get the location of Rebecca. Now that we had the bastard, all we needed now was to find his daughter.

Reid started running back down the hall, headed straight for us, yelling, “Run!”

Next thing we knew, the office Mr. Garner was in exploded, shaking the entire house. Reid dove to get further from the blast, and Hotch turned and covered my head with his arm. After the explosion, Hotch and I stood up straight again and made sure that the other was alright before looking over to Morgan and Reid. Morgan was putting out a fire that caught on Spencer’s legs while also helping him up to his feet.

The fire from the explosion started to spread along the hallway, making its way straight for us. We didn’t have much time before the whole house would burn down. I made a dash for the side of the house, calling for the SWAT team and JJ to hurry back downstairs, warning them of the fire that was spreading. Hotch and Morgan were pulling Reid along with them towards the stairs.

“What the hell was that?” Hotch asked.

“He had a bomb,” Reid responded, coughing the smoke out of his lungs. I went in front of them and started racing down the steps. “Wait— Stop, stop, stop, stop… Rebecca—”

“Reid, there’s no time for a search.”

Spencer shushed Hotch and pushed his hair out of his face so that he could think more clearly. “Randall was the fisher king, and this is his castle… Rebecca has to be here…” He snapped his fingers when a lightbulb went off in his mind. “The basement! She’s in the basement!”

Everyone started running downstairs, chasing after Spencer who decided to take the lead again. The boys ran into the basement while JJ and I made sure all of the SWAT team got out safely. We weren’t about to leave a man behind after all of this. Once they were all out, JJ and I stood on the grass in front of the house to watch as it burned. I was staring at the front door intently, praying that they would het Rebecca and come out soon, because if they were going to waste another minute inside, I was going to go back in to find them.

Just as I thought it, though, Reid and Morgan came stumbling out, but not Hotch. I ran back up to the front of the house and caught Morgan. “Where’s Hotch?” I questioned. He was coughing too hard to answer. All he could do was point into the house. “Hotch!” I called, continuing up to the door. “Hotch!”

When I was about to take a brave step into the house, Hotch came stumbling out with Rebecca in his arms. I moved out of the way and followed him back into the grass where he gently put her down. I grabbed his shoulders and turned him to face me.

“You okay?” I asked worriedly.

He nodded. “You?”

I nodded with a sigh of relief.

“Hey, lovebirds!” Morgan called. “Fire department's on their way! We should get Rebecca to the hospital!”

He was right. Randall was gone and Rebecca needed to get treatment. She had been trapped in that basement for two years— who knew what he did to her, even if she was just his daughter. The fact that his delusion was so strong that he couldn’t even recognize that they were family meant that he could have done horrible things to her. Things that I didn’t want to consider. So the best thing to do was make sure that some doctors could check on her.

JJ, Morgan, and Reid took Rebecca in the car we arrived in. Hotch decided that he was going to stay to make sure the fire would be contained and that the SWAT team would clear the area safely. In the car, however, there was no room for me when they had laid Rebecca down next to JJ in the backseat to make sure that she was comfortable. My only option was to stay with Hotch and wait to get a ride back into town.

When the fire department showed up, they drove onto the grass and tried to maintain the fire spread, attempting to keep it away from the woods surrounding us. As Hotch and I watched, my phone started ringing. I turned around, took a few steps out of the way, and answered the call.

“Y/N?” It was Gideon’s number, but it was Elle’s voice. She had woken up after surgery. She was okay. “Are you there?”

I didn’t realize how silent I had been while just thinking about the weight that lifted off of my chest when I finally got to hear her voice again. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m here, Elle.”

“Did you catch the son of a bitch who did this to me?”

I glanced over my shoulder to look at the burning house. “He’s gone.” I bit at my nails and kicked the gravel under my feet nervously. “Are you okay?”

“Never felt better,” she laughed shortly before wincing in pain. “When can you come visit me?”

“I’m on my way right now. I promise.” I snapped in Hotch’s direction to catch his attention before pointing to my phone and mouthing Elle’s name to him. He nodded, said goodbye to the chief of the fire department, and came over to me. “Hotch and I will be there in a few minutes, okay?” Elle hummed an agreement on the other end. “I love you, Elle.”

“Whatever you say, loser. Just get here as soon as you can,” and she hung up.

I rolled my eyes and bit back a smile. The SWAT team had room for us in one of their trucks and offered to drop us off at the hospital. It was a kind gesture, one they really didn’t have to give us, but they said that they didn’t mind since it was on the way back to their office. In the truck, everyone was just as silent as when we first arrived at the house. Even when they dropped us off at the hospital, they only wished us goodnight in quiet murmurs before we closed the back of the vehicle and they were off again. Hotch and I didn’t watch them drive off. We immediately hurried into the hospital and headed for the room that Elle had been assigned to.

When we got to Elle’s room, I saw Gideon sitting beside her, reading something about the case, and she was staring at the ceiling, lost in thought. As Hotch and I entered, however, Gideon stopped reading and Elle broke her trance to look over at us standing in the doorway. She smiled at me as best she could considering the facts. She had only just gotten out of surgery and she was in a lot of pain, and she would be for a long time. The physical and mental wounds of being shot at point blank range wasn’t anything that usually disappeared overnight, no matter how hard Elle would try to convince herself and us otherwise.

Gideon squeezed Elle’s hand gently before standing from his seat and taking his leave from the room, still refusing to look up at me. Once he was gone, I stepped further into the room and took a seat next to Elle’s hospital bed.

“He’s dead,” I told her. My vest was still on and my hair was still pulled back out of my face, which was a tell tale sign that we had just gotten back from a scene, but the fact that Hotch was covered in soot was another sign that something had happened. “We found the girl. She’s going to be okay.”

“That’s good,” Elle smiled.

Hotch was still standing in the doorway, watching Elle from a distance as she slightly struggled to breathe with the oxygen they were pumping into her nose. He gulped and looked at the floor. “I’m going to head out and make sure that the rest of the team is alright.” He glanced at Elle shortly, like he had only mustered enough courage to do so for a few seconds, “I’m glad that you’re here. I’m sorry for sending you home like that.”

“It wasn’t your fault, Hotch,” she insisted, shaking her head to encourage her point. 

Hotch nodded like he was trying to convince himself that she was telling the truth, but it wasn’t quite sticking with him yet. He switched his glance to me, “Are you going to stay here tonight?” I nodded. “Do you want me to bring you a change of clothes?”

“If you don’t mind.”

The left side of his mouth curled into a small, shy smile. “I’ll be back in a few hours.” He waited for Elle to look away for a brief moment so that he could steal a second to whisper that he loves me. I whispered it back to him and his smile brightened before he left.

Elle looked at me with a grin, “So… Hotch, huh?” I glared playfully at her, daring her to be careful. “I can’t believe I owe Morgan $20. Is it too late to break up with him?”

I smiled but scrunched my brows in curiosity. “$20?”

“I thought that you would end up going out with him. He didn’t think it was possible. Maybe he knew about you and Hotch this whole time and just wanted my $20.” I hit her good arm gently. “Ow!” she laughed.

“It’s a good thing we’re in a hospital, otherwise I would have killed you.” The joke didn’t quite land the way I thought it would. “Sorry,” I doublebacked.

Elle squeezed my hand. “I’m just glad that you’re here and that you’re happy. That’s all a sister could ask for.”

“I love you.”

She smiled behind the oxygen and the pain coursing through her veins. “I love you, too.”

[newcaptainofsquad9]

I’m Your One and Only, Right?~Sub! Park Jimin x fem! reader

Pairing: Jimin x reader

Summary: Jimin acts clingy and a bit jealous during your time out with a friend, forcing you both to go, leaving you a little angry at Jimin’s actions. However, once you return home, you couldn’t stay mad at your boyfriend, at least until he started to beg.

Genre: Smut, Fluff, Romance, Angst

Word Count: 2, 235

Warnings: Smut, don’t read unless you’re 18 and above. Sub Jimin and some of the kinks that come with it.  Author’s Note: More Jimin, yes I know I need to do other members to and they will get done soon. I ya’ll enjoy these sub fics because I would like to write more.

I should have known Jimin was being petty the moment we walked into the Whailen Arcade with Baekhyun, all in a fit of mega watt smiles and giggles. Excluding Jimin, who gives Baekhyun a tiny twitch of the lips before pointing at a skee ball machine. 

“Y/N!” he shouts, “bet I could score a hundred points easily.”

His plump cheeks raise up in that cutsy smile, making my heart skip a beat. I open my hand for him, he takes it, squeezing it rather hard. Hard enough for me to gasp. Jimin’s eyes soften as he lessens his grip. 

“S-sorry jagi,” he whispers. 

“That hurt a little Jimin.”

“I-I didn’t mean to,” he whines, “I just thought-”

“Y/N! I forget this place had Tekken!” Baekhyun bellows from across the arcade, “I can totally beat you in a first to five!”

I shake my head and scoff. 

“Oh you’re on!” I say. 

“But, skee ball,” Jimin says, while rubbing a soothing had down my arm. 

His voice is low and laced with sweetness; a deadly combination with his thick lips in a pout and downcast eyes. I wrap my arms around his waist, lean in and rest my forehead against his, meeting his intense, yet intimidating stare. A stare he usually saves for the intimate bedroom moments. An unwanted shiver crawls up my spine as Jimin’s hands find the tender spots on my sides. 

“A-Are you all rig-”

Jimin ceases my words with a kiss; a tender one that forces my heart to hammer and rattle at my rib cage. I kiss back for a moment, a small peck with a hand on his chest to nudge him back, yet Jimin doesn’t move. My eyes open to see his closed, nose scrunched up in concentration. I apply more pressure onto his chest, finally making him move. What the hell is his problem? 

“Jimin, what. The fuck,” I say, “we’re in public.”

Jimin bites his lip, eyes sweeping from across the room then back to me. 

“I know jagiya, I-I just really want you to play skee ball with me,” he groans. 

I raise an eyebrow. 

“And a makeout was your way of asking?” I say, “children come to this arcade too Jimin.”

His eyes soften, his mouth opens then closes as Baekhyun walks up to us. 

“Are you still down for some Tekken Y/N?” Baekhyun asks, “or was I interrupting a couple thing?”

I turn to him and shake my head.

“No, let’s get some matches in,” I say, “that all right with you, Jimin?”

Jimin narrows his eyes at Baekhyun, but nods anyway.

“I guess we can skee ball after,” Jimin grumbles.

...

After doesn’t come, I’m too engrossed in the clock running out on Baekhyun and I’s match. We’re tied 2-2, I’m up two rounds and both of our characters are down to their last few pixels of health. Baekhyun’s character, King rushes in for an elbow, luckily I’m able to side step, to deliver a high kick. I miss and tap my thumb back against the joystick, forcing my character, Nina back a few paces. It’s my chance to rush in this time, however I freeze as Jimin wraps his arms around my waist, lips brushing against my ear.

“Y/N,” he whispers, “I wanna play skee ball, please?”

His kisses the area below my ear, leaving me still as Baekhyun jabs my character. 

“Woo hoo!” he cheers, “caught you slipping and won! What a comeback!”

The feeling in my hands manage to return, along with the anger that overwhelms and flushes my skin. I turn around in Jimin’s arms, witnessing his blank stare transform as his brown pupils grow large at my heated expression. 

“Jagi-”

“Don’t you fucking Jagiya me,” I growl, “you made me lose!”

Jimin scoffs, making my blood boil even more. 

“Y/N I-I-”

He pauses as his lips curling into a frown when his hand comes up to touch my arm. 

“Don’t! I don’t wanna play skee ball anymore!” I declare, “I’m going home!”

Baekhyun frowns. 

“Ah, dude,” he groans, “why’d you ruin the fun Park?”

Jimin grits his teeth at Baekhyun with chest puffed out along with his cheeks. 

“Me? You were the one who-”

Jimin’s mouth closes once I grip his arm tightly and pull him back from Baekhyun. 

“I’m sorry for him, Baekhyun,” I say, “it was a fun time while it lasted.”

Baekhyun only blinks, nods sharply and waves. 

...

“Jagiya, jagiya, Y/N,” Jimin urges, “please talk to me!”

I continue to ignore Jimin as I push through the threshold of our shared apartment, drop the keys into the tiny bowl on the coffee table and slump down onto the cream colored sofa. Jimin slides right down beside me, suffocating me with his clingy essence. 

“Y/N, could you look at me?”

I groan and push against his chest.

“Space Jimin, please?” 

Jimin whines, but does what he’s told as he scoots over, leaving plenty of room between us. 

“Can I hold your hand?” he asks. 

I roll my eyes and place my hand down in the middle of the space, allowing him to intertwine our hands. 

“Y/N, are you a-all right?” 

I scoff at his question. Do I fucking look all right? Could not pick up the fact that I was having fun and his clingy ass ruined it?

“Y/N-”

“No, Jimin!” I shout, “I’m not all right! you made me lose the game and fucked up my time with Baekhyun!”

Jimin scowls as his eyes furrow in an intimidating manner. 

“What else would you have done with him if I wasn’t there?” he ponders.

“What the fuck are you suggesting Jimin?”

He hesitates, mouth opening and closing as he slides back over, pressing himself against me. God, I don’t have time. I rise and he predictably follows. My skin flares again as a flood of tears build up. I can’t believe he’d even fathom the thought of me cheating. 

“Y/N I didn’t mean it!”

“Then what did you mean Jimin? Do you really think I’d do that to you? Are you insane?”

Jimin pushes the coffee table back with his foot prior to getting down to his knees while never breaking his grip on my wrist. I try to step away, yet his other hand flies up to my knee. 

“Jimin-”

“You’re right!” he gasps, “I am insane! For you, Y/N, I love you so much. I-”

He pauses again as my lip quivers and the tears flow down my cheeks. Jimin’s up in an instant, hands cupping my cheeks as his thumbs wipe away the tears. 

“Don’t cry Jagiya, I didn’t mean it,” he whispers. 

“But you still did it Jimin,” I say, “maybe I just need some time away.”

Jimin pouts, his arms wrap around my waist as he leans into me. His chest and forehead press against me. This time I don’t move, feeling him this close soothes me. 

“Please, I know I’ve been a jerk today.”

“No,” I say, “more like an asshole.”

Jimin giggles, his breath hitting my ear as his lips ghost across my neck. 

“I know,” he whines, “can I make it up to you?”

I nod as I lace my fingers through his black locks, eliciting a low groan from him. 

“Of course you will, you’ve been so bratty all day,” I snap, “you were jealous, weren’t you?”

Jimin shuts his eyes as my grip tightens on his hair, not a word coming from his mouth, forcing me to panic. 

“Jimin, this isn’t too much, is it?” I ponder. 

His eyes pop open, brown pupils shrouded in lust.

“No, it just feels so good mommy,” he moans. 

My body jolts at his sudden switch into the pet name. Jimin usually uses the mommy card when he wants to submit fully. This time however, I don’t want to be nurturing, I’ve got something better in mind. 

“No mommy today baby boy,” I say, “try again.”

Jimin gulps and drops back to his knees.   

“Mistress?”

I don’t even get a chance to nod as Jimin’s fingers scramble on the button and zipper of my jeans, forcing my breath away. 

“Jimin-”

“I’ll make you feel good mistress, please-”

“No,” I command, “bad boys don’t get to touch, on the couch.”

Jimin freezes, but don’t move, keeping his lips between his teeth while aiming those saddening eyes. Maybe it would have worked if he wasn’t a brat earlier. 

“On the couch baby,” I say.

Jimin hops up before I could repeat. My eyes follow the tent growing in his black jeans as he plops down on the couch. I follow slowly, taking my sweet time to hover over him then straddle him. He growls, it comes deep from his throat once I sit directly on his growing problem, eyes shut as his head lulls back. 

“Jimin, sweetie, eyes on me.”

Jimin tilts his head and squirms as bounce up and down on his lap. 

“God, mo-mistress don’t tease,” he moans. 

I tilt my head in faux confusion as my hand wonders down his toned chest before stopping at his belt. 

“It’s not teasing when you brought this upon yourself sweetie.”

I gasp at how hard he feels under me. 

“J-Just punish me already!” he cries, “I just want to feel you! Please!”

I slide from his lap and down to the floor to make quick work of his belt, tossing it aside to roll his zipper down. His bulge is more prominent in his boxers, I gently palm at it as I bring the boxers down to Jimin’s ankles along with his jeans. His member pops up, it already hard upright and leaking with pre cum. 

“So hard for me already baby,” I say, “I’ve barely touched you yet.”

Jimin stifled a moan as I tapped my fingers against his hard cock.

“Hmm, no. Bad boys don’t get to be silent,” I say, “open your mouth, let me hear you.”

“Ah! Y-Y/N, mmm,” he groans as I slide my fingers around him then pump slowly. 

“Huh? I didn’t quite catch that.”

“Y/N I’m-”

He cuts himself off with a high pitched moan as I speed up, jerking him at a steady pace. The way his eyes roll prior to shutting lights a fire within me, forcing me to close my legs at how wet I’ve gotten. 

“Jimin, tell me,” I say, “tell me what you were going to say and I’ll go as fast as you like.”

Jimin squirms, his hands clutching onto the soft fabric of the couch for dear life. 

“Oh God!” he shouts, “I-I’m sorry, Y/N.”

There it is, exactly what I wanted to hear. I slow my movements just a bit, licking my lips as Jimin bucks into my hand. 

“Continue,” I say.

Jimin blinks. A gleam of sweat slicks down his forehead as he breathes through his mouth. Tears build in his eyes, making my heart sink. 

“Jimin, baby, talk to me, are you all right?”

“Yes, mistress,” he says, “I-I ah, I’m sorry, for today- I just get so worried. I felt like-”

“Like what Jimin?” I ask.

He whines as I let go of his member, stand and sit beside him. His eyes shift over to me expectantly.

“Come here, you can touch me,” I whisper, “you don’t have to call me mistress.”

Jimin scoots over, wrapping his arms around me as his dick presses against my thigh. 

“Can I kiss you?” he asks.

“Over course you can.”

Our lips meet, Jimin hitting me with so much passion that I fall against the couch. His hands travel down to my shirt, reaching down to squeeze my breasts, making me gasp against his mouth. 

“I want you so bad, Y/N,” he says, “can I be inside you?”

As soon as I nod, Jimin’s clawing at my jeans, dragging them down along with my panties. A sigh escapes me as the air hits me, along Jimin’s intense stare. The tears in his eyes still linger as he pushes himself against my warm center. We both moan as he enters fully, his arms clutch onto my sides while I cling onto his shirt. 

“Jimin, tell me what you’re thinking baby,” I breathe, “please, I- ah!”

Jimin pulls out then slowly thrusts back in, sighing against my neck while he steadily moves. 

“I-I’m your one and only, right? Y/N?” he whispers.

I nod through half lidded eyes as his thrusts continue to build until his hips knead into my own at a quick pace. 

“Ah! Fuck yes! Jimin, you’re my one and only, do you understand?”

Jimin grunts as his thrusts start to slow.

“You’re squeezing me so tight,” he groans, “I’m so close, is it ok if I?”

I nod. 

“Go ahead, I want to feel all of you.”

Jimin gives me a few more powerful thrusts before spilling himself inside, groans against my neck as he trembles. I hit my high as well, my feet clenching hard as my chest heaves along with his. 

“Jimin-”

He cuts me off with a deep kiss, pulling out as he does so. 

“Are you sure you forgive me?” he asks. 

I get lost in his deep, brown pupils before answering. 

“Yes, now could you please?”

I gesture to his mess down my legs and he brightens. 

“Oh! Of course! I’ll be right back, don’t go anywhere!”

I roll my eyes as he kisses my forehead and bolts up stairs.   

[katsukikitten]

Going down?

NSFW BBS

To say you were the luckiest and yet most unlucky person in the world would be an understatement.

You were a living, breathing contradiction considering the quirk you have and where you've ended up.

Most people are envious, even jealous of the position you have.

A secretary to both of the top two number one heroes!

You were lucky, your little meek self landed the spot wholly by accident.

On a train ride bumping into the Director of the agency by mere fucking chance, agitating your already hyper active quirk.

For a moment time slows, you do not have much time to inform him of what is happening.

The train doors will be shutting soon, sealing his fate and losing out on something big.

Detrimental to the company even.

"Oh um, excuse me sir." You stammer, lowly enough that he does not hear you, "Sir?"

You breathe in deeply trying once more as his fingers fly across the lit glass in his hands.

"S...sir?" He is too distracted by whomever is on the other side to notice you.

In your mind's eye you see the train director reaching for the button for the doors. Anxiety rips through your body only to be out won by your fear.

Fear of small mistakes leading to much bigger disasters.

"SIR! YOU'RE ON THE TRAIN HOME! YOU NEED TO BE ON TRAIN D OR YOU'LL MISS THE MEETING YOU'VE FORGOTTEN!" You huff, hands shaking as the man stares down at you with a mix of horror and awe.

All before he grips onto your wrist dragging you along with him.

And that's how you became secretary to Midoriya Izuku and Bakugou Katsuki.

Better known as Deku and Ground Zero.

One made your life heavenly, touching them, seeing them and the details of their work and interpersonal lives was easy. The fact that you had a crush on them made it even better.

While the other, well the other made your life a living hell. Considered you too meek and seemed to hate your guts with a burning intensity that rivaled the heated gaze in his eyes.

Again you were the luckiest and yet most unlucky person alive.

You stare at the screen as your quirk has you hyper fixated on the janitor's next few hours of possible futures and unnecessary details of his life all because he brushed your fingers while passing you something you've dropped.

"Y/N." Deku calls softly and you cannot hear him, "Y/N."

He steps towards your desk just outside of the two opposing offices, leaning closer to you.

"Y/N." It comes out like liquid honey, and your gut flutters. You flush bright red as you blink furiously.

"I.. I'm sorry. Oh! Izuku-sama you need to be leaving in the next five minutes or you'll be late for your..." You struggle when you see it.

The beautiful woman with short chesnut hair sitting in a chair at an upscale restaurant in a deep pink dress.

Showing off her curves and her breasts in a tasteful manner.

Your heart sinks to your stomach like a brick, weighing heavy as you realize what is happening and suddenly you are crushed

The word date cannot escape your lips so you clear your throat.

"Your day is free tomorrow until 4pm and nothing extra will come up." You add instead and he nods.

"Thank you Y/N." He smiles sweetly before beginning to leave, "Don't stay too late okay?"

"Oh and um Izuku-sama...."

"Yes?" He stops turning back to face you. He did not mind you looking into his personal life.

Or at least never said anything agaisnt it.

"Please be sure to charge your phone on the way there. Other wise it will die and you won't be able to capture a special moment." You say softly, unable to keep eye contact with those shining emeralds.

It hurt too much to.

You could have kept it to yourself, or forced yourself not to look like you have to do with thathot head but...but if his phone would have died..

He would be missing the picture that would lead to them dating.

"Thanks Y/N." He says smiling so brightly before turning on his heel.

All the while you try to forget about the kiss they share after their failed selfie.

He leaves without another word and you stare after him longingly.

That is before your quirk pulls you to the only other body on the floor.

He'll be running out of coffee soon and he will be angry, distracted even to have to leave his desk when he is finally making some progress on his paper work.

The coffee pot in the break room is finishing up at the perfect time thanks to the director's secretary. You pull out Bakugou's second favorite mug from your desk and stand.

Before stopping as you relive a memory.

"Quit using your quirk to spy on me."

His snarl so dark and upsetting that you could no longer attend the hero ceremony.

You begin to pack your things instead. Bakugou won't be in a good mood for the rest of the evening on top of that nothing is happening and even if something was he wouldn't want your help anyway.

You hesitate, only for a moment, maybe he would want that cup of coffee. You stare at the mug as if it would have answers but it would never know.

Just like you wouldn't, unless you touched him.

And he would never allow that.

So you shrug your purse higher on your shoulder before heading to the elevator.

Your press the button and count loudly in your head to help calm your nerves.

Inanimate objects are almost as difficult as people if you don't touch the right part of them.

You know at some point this thing is going to break down and get stuck between floors.

You just don't know when.

Why not take the stairs?

Well the stairs had a worse outcome.

"It's only possibilities Maybe futures."

You try to remind yourself.

What you dont remind yourself of is your 95% accuracy rate.

The elevator dings pulling you to the here and now.

You step into the shiny death trap with smooth tiles and walls that reflect your fearful face.

Bland music takes up the space in the background as your eyes fly over the seemingly endless buttons.

You hit G and the elevator dings again before shuttering as the doors begin to close.

They never get the chance to close, instead a toned forearm is hit by the two sheets of steel before the safety feature forces the doors back open.

You freeze like a mouse caught by two shining eyes in the dark.

Burning red eyes.

"Tch." He sucks his teeth as he steps in, standing to the far side of the elevator.

You look at him expectedly, waiting for an answer on the floor he needs and when none is given you assume he is leaving for the day too.

The elevator begins its descent to the safety of the garage.

But not quickly enough.

Numbers flash on a panel with an annoying ding that inturpts the flat music, your eyes stare at the white digits watching them shrink.

As you feel yourself shrink as you always do beneath that gaze. The details of his life creep in first and you try your best to focus on something else.

Izuku comes to mind and with it, wonder on how he date is going, your heart pulls harshly on the muscles in your chest.

The failed selfie is happening right now and they should be kissing soon.

You hold onto your purse tighter and the digits read 22.

Suddenly the descending box of steel groans before jerking causing you to lose your balance.

You begin to fall towards the middle of the elevator, of course you couldn't have fallen towards the damn railings less than three inches from you.

You just had to fall to be met face first with cold harsh tile. You squeeze your eyes shut for impact but mostly so you cannot read the disappointment in the ash blonde's face.

But the cold slap never comes, instead a warm, almost comforting touch holds you. Callused hands wrapped around your bare shoulders as they right you to your feet.

The possible futures flood in along with the details of his last 24 hours.

First comes the past, he smells of perfume, floral with hints of amber, lipstick stains on his throat and collar. Before anger ignites in your belly, half your own from anyone "marking" Bakugou and the other half is his. Katsuki yells at this mystery woman, he spies a text from another man on her phone. The present begins to overwrite the past his phone is sitting in his office on his desk. He has unintentionally forgotten it, leading you to remember that yours is still locked in your top drawer.

Lastly comes the future, your breath begins to hitch as it unfolds, and your premonition from when you first started almost a year ago is finally coming true.

"THE ELEVATOR IS GOING TO STOP!" You grip onto strong forearms as you scream. Nails biting into toned flesh as tears begin to prick your eyes.

"Wha..what?" Is all Bakugou gets out before the machine comes to a grinding halt.

Fear seizes your very bones while rage grips the blonde's.

"What the fuck?!" He snarls, "Did you know this was going to happen the whole fucking time? You let me on here anyway?"

"N..no." Fat tears begin to drip down reddened cheeks, "It was just because we touched."

His fingers squeeze tighter on your shoulders as he watches the tears cascade down. You see a few more seconds into the future before he let's go.

"Fuck." He hisses. A series of explosions erupt busting out one of the lights and something in the corner.

"P...please be careful, you've destroyed the camera. I..its close to the electrical panel." You speak to the floor loudly and he turns his ire onto you

"Be careful?! You're the seer why didnt you tell anyone about the elevator? Or tell me not to get on?" He invades tour space spiking your panic. His agitation over the situation is amplified as it is mixed with a conflicting feeling that has pulled has his gut for majority of this year.

"BECAUSE YOU WONT ALLOW ME TO SEE YOU!" You huff and as quickly as that rage came it melts away. Leaving you a mess of impossibly fatter and bigger tears.

You bend over slightly, losing your breath to panic as you gasp for air.

Bakugou damns himself as he looks over you.

He always seems to make you uneasy or upset, he could live with those emotions considering that's how most people felt around him.

But to watch you cry has knives plunging into his Godly abs.

"Oi..." He says softly and when you do not move he comes closer.

"Oi." He tries again, righting you once more as he rubs a deadly hand on your shoulder.

His skin is electrifying, sending a shudder through your body that you must suppress. He's close enough that you can smell the sweet smell of burnt sugar that seems to cling to his skin. You dare meet his heated gaze from beneath long lashes only to be surprised.

His eyes are far from carrying the weight from annoyance or anger as you thought them to be.

No they hold something else for once.

Concern.

You swallow thickly as your chin is lifted before a padded thumb swipes at a tear.

Your breathing hitches harshly.

"No need to cry okay. I'm sorry I yelled that was an asshole thing to do." His other hand continues its soothing cirlce, "Why don't you take a deep breath with me?"

He breathes in deeply through his nose, eyes expecting you to mimic and you do.

He holds it for just a moment before letting his diaphragm push the air naturally from his mouth.

After a few times your head feels a bit clearer and Bakugou takes notice as your cheeks are no longer flush.

"Now what will be easier to see my future or the elevators?" He asks softly and his manner throws you off.

You had heard rumors of his cruelty when it came to inconvenience, some dating back to before he was a pro.

Not to mention you had witnessed it first hand, so to see those normally hash scarlet red eyes softened for you has your stomach doing flips.

"Ummm..." You gulp, fearful to answer but by lying will that make it worse.

After a few brief seconds you choose to tell the truth with a heavy heart, wholly expecting a violent reaction.

"You..." A breath of a word as Bakugou purses his lips for a fraction of a second.

He liked his privacy bit not being stuck in this tin can would be worth violating it.

"Alright. Then see our way out of here little Oracle." You blush from his nonchalant tone and the use of the nickname.

Little did he know you had once picked that out to be your hero name.

But dreams die as we get older.

Especially if one doesn't feed them.

You look into the future a few minutes, hoping you'll see whatever will lead you to freedom.

But you see something else instead, it pulls your stomach lower heating your core a bit.

The blood rushes to your face as Bakugou scrunches his own.

"I..." You are suddenly hyper aware of the proximity the two of you share.

Of his warm hand resting on your bare shoulder, of the closeness of his face and the gentle touch of his fingers. He gives a look as if to say go on, you look down as you speak again.

"B..Bakugou-sama, I think my quirk might be acting up. I may be seeing the implausible possibility..." Eyes squeezed shut as you expect an explosion.

But it never comes.

"What do you mean? I've heard your information is always good, little Oracle." His thumb swipes at another stray tear, "What did you see?"

Cheeks burn impossibly hotter as you look again only to receive the same result.

Truly truly implausible.

He tilts your face to his and his gaze is too much.

"I...ummm....we....yo..you kiss me." You bite your lip as you speak and the action fills Bakugou with desire, more than he's ever possessed for you before.

And always more than what he's felt for another woman.

You being able to see some of that no matter how slim the chances of him acting on the feeling is the MAIN reason he actively "hated" and avoided you.

But to feel your smooth skin beneath his rough palms, to smell your sweet mango perfume and to hear your adorable voice fill up the space that only posses the two of you becomes too much.

Too quickly.

Katsuki pushes you against the wall, the railing bites into your back but it goes unnoticed as your eyes flutter.

Dominat tongue swirling around your own has your core molten.

Had you like Bakugou?

Had you ever been attracted to him?

The answer was yes and had always been yes. You just tried to make it easier on yourself, hoping that devloping a crush on kind Deku would eventually push your feelings for the hot head to the background.

It worked. But only if the emerald haired man was around.

When he wasn't your mind always floated to the hot head.

He rips the buttons from your blouse and you gasp with both pleasure and concern.

He reads you like a book as he pulls the fabric open to look at you in all your glory, even pulling the scratched white fabric from your black skirt.

"You said I took out the camera right?" He drinks you in before his mouth finds a sweet spot on your throat, "Don't worry I'll give you my jacket when I'm through with you, my little Oracle."

You swoon, knees becoming weak from such little contact. His mouth works wonders as he un hooks your bra, pulling it and your shirt from your chest. Greedily lapping at your perked nipples. A moan escapes you then, further encouraging his advancement to which you wouldn't dream oppose.

Not with how good you feel now. Soon his hands find your hips as he crushes his lips to yours, pulling the bottom of your skirt up over your thick thighs and ass before letting it stay at your natural waist.

"Are you wet for me?" He asks by way of permission.

To which you surprise both of yall with your answer.

"Go and find out."

Katsuki gives you a deadly smile as your face deepens in hue. His fingers snake slowly down your chest, teasing when he gets close to the hem before sliding over your laced underwear.

You watch as his eyes flutter slightly before a groan escapes his kissable lips, you clench at the sound.

"You're soaking through your underwear." He voice drips with desire by your ear, "Does the director know how naughty you are?"

He leaves a trail of kisses before biting down on your neck, fingers still relishing the feeling of soaked fabric.

"Does he know that you're wet for one of your bosses?" He begins pressing against your throbbing button through the thin fabric. You buck your hips agaisnt his touch and moan when he chuckles darkly.

"I didn't hear an answer, baby girl." Your mouth moves without thought as he presses harder.

"N..no. No one knows."

"And who are you wet for?" His other hand is preoccupied with your breasts. Tweaking the nipples pushing you closer to a surprisingly close edge. His strong hand moves away from your needy nipple to find your throat.

He applies the right amount of pressure that your breathing becomes labored.

"Y..you Bakugou-sama!" You squirm, wanting, needing to be touched by the man before you.

"That's my good girl." He slips his fingers past your underwear finding the swollen bud he was teasing, swirling two fingers as his palm presses down on your mound.

You're moaning loudly, uncaring if anyone will hear as his fingers work you over like magic. His grip tightening just enough as you get closer and closer.

Finally your vision blurs in your peripheral before his husky voice is back at your ear.

"Just one more thing, do you see yourself getting fucked little oracle?"

You do not need to look into the future to answer

"Yes...yes Bakugou-sama." With a deadly smirk he sends you over the edge, not letting up as your crescendo once, twice, three times from his fingers alone. You see stars as your body convulses beneath his touch, voice caught in your throat as you shudder.

Your knees become weak as he slowly eases away after teasing at a hint that a fourth time could have been coaxed from you.

He holds you steady kissing you sweetly on the lips. He gives you a moment as you lean on him before you're flipped around.

You stare at your reflection. Hair disheveled, falling from its normally tight bun, breasts exposed as you're bent over and lips tinted with the best of red hues.

Red eyes admire you as he unbuckles his pants.

"You're such a gorgeous mess. And who are you a mess for?" He asks, placing your hands onto the railing.

"Y..you." Breath fogs your slightly distorted reflection and he smiles.

"God damn right." He purrs in your ear, pressing himself against you and you moan, "Hold on tight, it's going to be a bumpy ride."

You wiggle your hips, pressing your ass as close to him as you can before he grabs onto you with a bruising grip.

He eases himself in slowly, keeping you from pushing agaisnt him until he's filled you completely. He stays still for a moment and the feeling of fullness alome has you squirming, begging for more.

"Pl..please Bakugou-sama. Please..." He grabs a fist full of your hair, pulling your face to meet his reflection.

"Please what?" He grins devilishly and you cannot fathom how he holds back so well. You feel him twitch within you, your eyes roll for a moment before you answer him.

"Please just fuck me and fill me. Please please Bakugou-sama." You cry out trying your best to rock against him, hoping his one hand would not be enough to stop any friction from happening.

But some how it is.

"Now be a good seer and watch how well you take my cock baby girl." He purrs, pulling harder on your hair until you meet your gaze.

He begins to pound into you, hard and fast. The sound of your meeting bodies echoes off the four walls and for once you cannot see anything.

Because you cannot focus on anything aside from the feeling of aggressive thrusts and the ash blonde reflection. He grunts as he looks you over. Your skirt makes your ass seem bigger than what it is and you're so wet you make a delectable sound with each withdraw not to mention your thighs are beginning to dew.

The sensation, sound, and sight of you being so pleased and submissive for him begins to make Bakugou spiral.

And it shows with each thrust as it gets harder, faster, and sloppier.

He fucks you with enough force that the metal box begins to rock.

Your eyes flutter as you begin to climb again, feeling him getting closer and closer himself before he hits you just right as he groans out a delightful "fuck"

You scream, gripping onto him in pulses before he loses himself. Burying himself deep within you with a satisfied growl.

You both still for a moment before he withdrawals. His seed spills from you making him want to fuck you again.

But instead he moves your underwear back into place, smooths your skirt back down your hips and ass before pulling up his own pants.

He turns you around, peppering your dazed face with kisses before he sheds his jacket and places it on you.

Zipping it up to your throat. He pulls you into him and you note the heavy smell of his caramel sweat. You kiss his neck tenderly causing a rumble to emit from him.

"Are you okay little one?" He asks softly, "Was I too rough? Too much?"

"No...perfect." You snuggle into him and he holds you for a moment. Your nose brushes against his exposed throat before you see it.

"Oh!" You push away from him enough to see his face before you blush deeply.

The elevator whirls back to life, the ding of floors pulls you back into reality and for a moment you think it a dream.

You expect him to shove you away now that he is done, especially so since that the moment of an almost claustrophobic disaster no longer hands over your heads.

But the look of hated annoyance does not return to his eyes as he gazes down at you.

If anything he looks at you softly expectant of an answer before it dawns on him.

"Oh." He says with a deadly smirk, "Was fucking the only way to fix it?"

You laugh nervously before admitting.

"I never looked past that kiss. I.."

He kisses you softly again before a final ding rings out and the two of you are met with the cool summer air of the parking garage.

"Hmmm I think I saw something." He smirks and you look puzzled, the world only slowly beginning to beg for your attention.

"W..what did you see Bakugou-sama?" You ask timidly as he pulls you out of the sinful box. Guiding you to his black motorcycle. You stop to blink over the bike, trying hard to see whatever he could be alluding to without allowing yourself his future out of habit.

"I see you calling me Katuski over dinner." He smiles as he places his only helmet on your head before his powerful leg swings over the body of the bike.

You stare down dumbfounded, dazed over everything that has happened in the last hour and a half.

When you do not move he pets the seat behind him.

"Coming to make my prediction true little oracle?" You nod swiftly pulling up your skirt enough to straddle the bike. You delicately wrap your arms around a muscled torso.

"Hold on tight." He says, squeezing your hand before the bike roars to life, "Its going to be a bumpy ride."

[sunshinejins]

if i was dying on my knees (you’d be the one to rescue me)

chapter 2!  she’s here, she’s long, she’s very delayed, but she’s here.  you can also read this fic on ao3 under the username joylight if you want!  i’d almost suggest it as the formatting is probably a lot better lmao.

here’s the link to chapter 1

without further ado!

When Julie wakes up the next morning, she feels slightly as though she’s broken out from the surface of a very warm but turbulent lake.  After her impromptu performance yesterday where oh my God she sang again, she had been dragged from the bar by her friends.  Guitar Player had chased after her for a moment, before supposedly clocking the look on Flynn’s face and backing off.  Her best friend had been quiet the whole drive back, and Allison, besides complimenting Julie calmly on her performance, had also remained silent.  Allison’s silence was normal; Flynn’s was not.  It was only when Allison rolled to a stop at Julie’s house, Flynn was supposed to sleep over, that Flynn broke the quiet.

“Actually, Allison, could you take me home?” Julie’s head whipped around so fast that she would have fallen if she was standing.

“You’re going home?”

“Yeah, I am.” Flynn’s tone was set and Allison simply pressed her lips together and pointedly looked out the window.  Julie shook her head.

“Why?”

“Well you clearly didn’t need me to sing again, so I’m assuming you don’t need me to sleepover either.” Julie’s mouth fell open in shock.

“Flynn, it’s not like that.  They needed me-”

“Oh so when three random hot guys you’ve never met need you, you find your voice, but when your best friend begs you for six months to sing again, you can’t do it?  I see how it is, Jules.” Julie couldn’t find any words to counter that, seeing as she hadn’t processed that she had sung again, so Flynn glared pointedly at the door.

“Could you please get out so Allison can take me home?”  Allison had shot Julie a sympathetic look but offered no advice, and Julie had managed to stumble from the car with her head still spinning in shock.  She had managed to get up to bed without her dad or Carlos giving her any issues, but before she could really process what had happened, the adrenaline drained from her body and she had fallen asleep.

Now, laying in bed, she allowed herself a moment to put together the pieces.

She had sang again for the first time in six months.

She had sang again for the first time in six months with three random strangers.

She had sang again for the first time in six months with three random strangers in front of an entire barful of people.

Flynn was incredibly mad that she had done the above things.

And she had a shift at the coffee shop in forty minutes and it took thirty to drive there.

As she pulled on her work uniform and tugged a comb through a few pieces of her hair, Julie tried to feel something other than shock.  Nothing came to mind.  Maybe if she had just sang again, she would have been able to process it.  But Flynn was mad at her too.  That alone scrambled her brains.

Her dad simply waved as he saw her tear from the house and into her car.  The radio blared for a moment and Julie hesitated.  All the times before when music had started playing, she’d been quick to turn it off.  Now, she hovered her finger over the off button on the radio for a second before letting it play.  Another baby step, even smaller than the one she’d accidentally taken last night, but important nevertheless.

She stumbled into work two minutes before she was supposed to clock in.  Allison was already there, expertly pulling shots of espresso and looking ultimately way too put together.  She offered Julie a calm smile.

“Hi, Jules.”

“Clock in.  Gotta.  Almost… late,” Julie’s heaving breaths.  Her normal parking space was filled and she ended up parking a good ten minute sprint away.  And Julie is not a sprinter.  She manages to swipe her card on time, locates her apron, and joins Allison at the espresso machine with her heart still pounding against her ribs.  Allison’s hands move quickly enough as she assembles a line of mobile ordered lattes, and Julie takes the second of reprieve from the lack of customers in the shop to catch her breath.

Allison tucks the drinks into a carrier, and finally turns to Julie with the same calculating look she had given last night right after Julie had said the guys needed her.

“So.”

“Soooo…” Julie runs her fingers over the touchscreen of the till.  Allison raises an eyebrow.

“You sang.”

“I did.”

“With total strangers.” “Yep.”

“I’m really quite fucking proud of you,” Julie’s eyes widen as Allison finally breaks eye contact and begins filling the whipped cream canister.  

“You’re proud of me?” Julie’s voice squeaks and Allison sends her a smirk.

“Obviously.  You finally let that killer voice out of its cage for the first time in months and you had fun.  And you’re okay.  That’s all that matters to me.”

“How did I do that though?” Julie asks, though she doubts Allison will have an answer.  She doesn’t even know.  What she does know is that when she hit the high note at the end of the song, it felt like her lungs had finally opened up again after a long time crushed under her grief and it had felt better than good.  It had felt amazing.  Allison sets the whipped cream down and shrugs.

“I’m not sure, Jules.  Maybe you were just ready.  Didn’t you say those guys needed help?”

“Yeah, I guess their rhythm guitarist bailed on them last minute,” Julie chews her lip, remembering the dejected looks on the faces of her impromptu band.  She hadn’t even gotten to ask them if she had butchered the song or not.

“Then it sounds to me like your mama bear instincts kicked in a bit.  That, and I’m pretty sure you were into the guitar player.” Julie’s head shoots up.

“What!  I don’t even know his name!  I was helping for purely unselfish reasons.”  Allison raises an eyebrow.

“You’re telling me that you didn’t even notice his biceps?  Or that smile?”  Julie would normally begrudgingly admit that yes, Guitar Player was ridiculously cute.  But her mind had wandered yet again to her best friend, and she felt the familiar tug of sadness at her chest.

“Flynn hasn’t texted me back.”  Allison’s teasing expression falls solemn and Julie almost wished that everything had been a giant dream. She missed her, and it had barely been 24 hours.  The last time they’d had a fight, Flynn had tried to egg her room.  Julie didn’t even want to know what would happen this time.

Allison hasn’t given any advice, which means Flynn ranted to her the whole drive home and she’s either being very respectful or is sparing Julie the specifics.  Either way, it makes her slump against the register and attempt to forget her issues as milk froths and keyboards clack around her.

Her shift passes in a blur, the post-lunch rush nearly overwhelming the small shop.  Allison leaves an hour before Julie, and as she does, she lays a gentle hand on her shoulder.

“Just go see her.  I’m sure she won’t be as mad if you explain your thought process.” Julie desperately wants to scream that she didn’t have one, but Allison is already gone and there’s a stressed college student in front of her looking for six shots of espresso.  As she pulls the shots, she mulls over the previous night in her mind.

She knows inherently that the reason she was able to perform was because someone needed her.  Someone needed help.  That was different than people wanting her to sing so she could get back to normal.  She also knows she sang because it was a song which had nothing to do with her mother, whereas the songs she sang for class or the songs Flynn tried to get her to belt out at karaoke had all been songs her mother knew and loved.  It was a complicated mix of reasons, but Julie needed to sort them out before she went to Flynn.  Otherwise, the eggs were gonna come out again.

By the time she closed up the shop with hands still faintly smelling like espresso and sweet cream, Julie had basically given in to the fact that she was never going to figure out how to apologize to Flynn and that there was going to be an omelette frying on her windowsill for the next few days.  Then, as she was tucking the keys into her purse, she heard the tell-tale rumble of her best friend clearing her throat.  Julie’s head shot up and it was indeed Flynn, arms crossed, and bejewelled sneaker tapping a beat into the sidewalk.

“Flynn!”

“You’ve got two minutes to explain.  I’m about to be towed,” Flynn jerks her head towards her car which is, naturally, parked in a drop off zone for Uber drivers.  Julie nods quickly, trying to order all her thoughts from during her shift into orderly lines in her head.  She needs to mention the “someone needing her” thing, and the “song her mother never knew” thing too.  

All that comes tumbling out of her mouth is: “I’m sorry.” Flynn sighs.

“I know that, Jules.  But you still haven’t explained why you did it.  Why you sang with a bunch of random strangers!”

“I told you, they needed me!”

“Yes!  You said that!  But how is that any different from me needing you?”

“Because!” Julie runs her hands down her face in frustration as she tries to compose herself, “You needed me to sing because you needed me to feel better.  You needed me to go back to normal and grieve and whatever.  These guys just needed a fourth singer.  You should have seen them.  The guitar player was almost crying.” Flynn remains silent for a moment and Julie takes the silence as an excuse to guide her to a bench beside the coffee shop.  The silence continues to hang over them for a moment, and Julie is shocked when Flynn finally turns to her and there are tears rimming her eyes.

“Did you feel like I was forcing you to sing?  Did I push you?” Julie’s heart thaws.

“I mean, yes.  A bit.  And I completely understood why.  But I just couldn’t sing unless I was ready, and for a bit it felt like you didn’t understand that.”

“Of course I get that, Jules!  I’m sorry!” Flynn opens her arms for a hug and Julie tumbles into them without hesitation, inhaling the scent of vanilla that still clings to Flynn’s skin from her job at a bakery near the pier.

“I forgive you, don’t worry.  I just hope you can forgive me too.” “Obviously.  I know how you are with the “need to help everyone who needs it” thing.” Julie shoves her but her heart soars when Flynn tumbles into giggles.

“I still don’t really know how I did it,” Julie admits, tracing her toe on the concrete.  Flynn frowns slightly.

“Do you think it was a one time thing?”

“Maybe?” Julie winces a bit at the thought of taking a step back again.  Even though she knows healing isn’t linear, she’d really like to get over this specific part of grief a little faster.  She couldn’t ignore how good it felt to belt out the penultimate lyrics of a random band’s song either.  Flynn wraps an arm around her shoulders and squeezes.

“Whatever it was, I support you 100%.  And those guys were super cute!”

“You’re a lesbian, Flynn.”

“I still know eye candy when I see it.” Julie bursts out laughing.

“Okay, maybe they were cute!  But I’ll probably never see them again.”

She thinks.

The rest of the week goes by a lot easier knowing Flynn is no longer mad at her.  When she comes to work the next day and regales Allison with the tales of how her and Flynn patched things up, Julie pretends not to notice the private smirk that overtakes Allison’s face as she mentions how Flynn showed up at work.  Julie even manages an A+ on an essay the day after, and finally makes a venti half-caf skinny peppermint mocha with no screw ups at work.  She listens to music again normally, and joyfully hugs her dad when he notices.

Life’s pretty normal, until of course it’s not again.

Their coffee shop hosts open mic nights a lot, and when Julie started working she requested to be scheduled away from them.  When her weekly schedule comes out displaying a shift during the three hour long open mic and her heart rate doesn’t immediately rise, she’s pretty excited.  She even manages to shock Allison when her friend offers to switch shifts with her and Julie heartily declines.

“Look at you go,” Allison flicks her towel at Julie, “That open mic really did something to you, huh?”

“Yeah!” Julie smiles as she restocks the caramel sauce, “I actually feel like I can be around music again.”

“I still think it was Grinny McBiceps that did a number on you, not the music.” Julie tosses a bottle of sauce at Allison which she readily catches with a surprisingly loud laugh.

“I’m just saying, Julie-”

“So that’s your name!” Both girls freeze and turn to see none other than Grinny Mc- no! Guitar Player and his band all gathered at the counter with their jaws open.  Allison recovers first and arranges her face back into the cool expression she uses with customers.  Julie can’t exactly manage it, because even though she’s spent the last week denying how cute these boys are, the hint of abs poking through Guitar Player’s cutoff are scrambling her brain.

“So the girl Luke can’t shut up about now has a name,” Drum Player says dryly, shoving Guitar Pl- Luke in the shoulder to break him from the trance he’s apparently entered along with Julie.  Bass Player leans forward excitedly.

“We’ve been looking for you since the open mic!”

“You found me,” Julie’s voice feels dry.  Luke grins at her and she feels her stomach swoop as he does.

“Where did you end up?  We wanted to ask you if you wanted to jam with us again,” Luke says, leaning against the counter.  Julie’s brain whirrs as she processes this, and luckily Allison steps in.

“I had an emergency.  Had to take her out of there.”

“What sort of emergency?” Bass Player asks, leaning forward with a smirk and a wink.  Allison raises an eyebrow.

“Forgot to take my birth control.” Bass Player chokes on air and Drum Player bursts out laughing.  Luke doesn’t seem phased and turns back to Julie.

“So do you wanna?  Jam with us again?  We’re signing up for the open mic here.” Julie tries to shrug noncommittally.

“I dunno.  I’m pretty busy.” Luke deflates, but Drum Player steps in.

“No pressure, obviously.  Just if you end up wanting to play with us again, you can.  You completely elevated our sound.  I’m Alex, by the way.”

“Reggie,” Bass Player adds, though he still seems shaken by Allison’s words.

Julie smiles at them.  Luke seems to recover some of his energy at her smile and pulls out a piece of paper from God-knows-where and a pen and scribbles something on it.

“This is my number.  Seriously, call me at any time if you wanna play again.  We’re totally into it.  Even into having you in the band if you want.”

“Dude, stop being so intense the second you see a cute girl,” Reggie groans.  Both Luke and Julie blush and it’s at this point that Allison fully steps in.

“I appreciate the business transaction that just occurred, but this is a coffee shop and not a corporate mixer.  Can I get you anything to drink?”  The boys chorus their orders and Julie turns to make them as Allison fends off Reggie’s renewed advances with a sigh.  They leave the shop with a loud “goodbye” and Julie slumps against the counter when they leave.  Allison evaluates her with a steady gaze.

“Are you going to play with them again?”

“No clue.” Julie pushes her hands into her face and groans.  Allison pats her back.

“Think about it.  They seemed nice.”

“Even Reggie?” If Julie hadn’t been mistaken, a hint of flush appears on the apples of Allison’s cheeks.

“Even Reggie.  Now get up.  You’ve got another hour left of your shift and Caleb told me I’m too nice to you.”

“Still very weird to me that you call your dad, Caleb.”

“Adoptive father,” Allison corrects and turns away before Julie can prod more as usual.  She takes another second to compose herself and stow Luke’s number deeper in her pocket before turning to the stack of green tea lemonade she has to make and burying her nose in her work.

It’s later, when she’s sitting alone in her room massaging her sore feet and looking at the keyboard in her room, that Julie truly considers Luke’s offer.  It’s not that she doesn’t think playing music with them again will be fun; she does.  But there’s something holding her back, and she’s pretty sure it’s the four sheets of piano music laying on her keyboard.

It’s a huge step.  A massive, giant, life-changing step.  One her mother would want her to take.  Does she want to?  Julie pulls out her phone and texts Flynn, who’s in the middle of sending her opinions on episode six Outer Banks.

from: julie molina is a star

what would you say if i told you i was considering playing music with those ute guys again?  slash maybe joining their band?

from: double trouble

i would say your pacing deeply confuses me.

but i am proud.

and very supportive.

Julie smiles, and sets her phone to the side and stands.  Her keyboard sits in front of her, no longer mocking, but encouraging.  She lifts the sheets of paper and spreads them on the stand.  “Wake Up.”  Her mother’s last gift to her.  The last thing she needs to do before she can play music again, for real.

Julie’s pretty much fucking terrified.

But she still presses the keys.

Here's one thing I want you to know

You got someplace to go

Life's a test, yes, but you go toe-to-toe

You don't give up, no, you grow